Midrash and Context (Proceedings of the 2004 and 2005 Sbl Consultation on Midrash) (Judaism in Context) [1 ed.] 9781593335823, 1593335822

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Midrash and Context

JUDAISM IN CONTEXT

5 Series Editors

Naomi Koltun-Fromm, Lieve M. Teugels and Rivka Ulmer

Midrash and Context

Proceedings of the 2004 and 2005 SBL Consultation on Midrash

LIEVE M. TEUGELS AND RIVKA ULMER EDITORS

GORGIAS PRESS 2007

First Gorgias Press Edition, 2007 Copyright © 2007 by Gorgias Press LLC All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of Gorgias Press LLC. Published in the United States of America by Gorgias Press LLC, New Jersey

ISBN 978-1-59333-582-3 ISSN 1935-6978

GORGIAS PRESS 46 Orris Ave., Piscataway, NJ 08854 USA www.gorgiaspress.com Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Society of Biblical Literature. Consultation on Midrash (3rd : 2004 San Antonio, Tex.) Midrash and context : proceedings of the 2004 and 2005 SBL Consultation on Midrash / editors, Lieve M. Teugels and Rivka Ulmer. -- 1st Gorgias Press ed. p. cm. -- (Judaism in context ; v. 5) Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-1-59333-582-3 1. Midrash--History and Criticism--Congresses. I. Teugels, Lieve M. II. Ulmer, Rivka. III. Society of Biblical Literature. Consultation on Midrash (4th : 2005 Philadelphia, Pa.) IV. Title. BM514.S62 2004 296.1’406--dc22 200603804 3

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standards. Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS Introduction ..........................................................................................................vii Jason Kalman: Repeating His Grandfather’s Heresy: The Significance of the Charge That Job and Esau Denied the Resurrection of the Dead for Understanding Rabbinic Polemics ..................1 Matthew Kraus: Jerome, The Book of Exodus, and the World of Late Antiquity .......................................................................................................17 Joshua Moss: Being the Temple: Early Jewish and Christian Interpretive Transpositions ................................................................................39 Annette Yoshiko Reed: Reading Augustine and/as Midrash: Genesis 6 in Genesis Rabbah and The City of God .......................................61 Elke Tönges: The Letter to the Hebrews: Between Jewish and Christian Hermeneutics .....................................................................................111 David Nelson: Orality and Mnemonics in Aggadic Midrash ..................... 123 Rivka Ulmer: Egyptian Magic and the Osiris Myth in Midrash ..................139

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INTRODUCTION “When someone builds a house he adds windows that are narrow on the outside and wider on the inside, so that the light may enter from the outside and illuminate the interior.” (Num. Rab. 15:2) This book contains a selection of the papers presented in the sessions of the Midrash Consultation of the Society of Biblical Literature Annual Meeting. The title of this volume, Midrash and Context, combines related themes of two successive Midrash sessions. The theme of the 2004 Midrash Consultation, held in San Antonio, was “Jewish and Christian Hermeneutics.” The study of the relationship between Jewish and Christian biblical interpretations has flourished for over a century, but most scholars have distanced themselves from the polemical and triumphal approach that characterized the early research in this field. The initial five articles in this volume describe various aspects of the mutual influence, shared context, and the interrelationship between Jewish and Christian interpretations of the Hebrew Bible or Old Testament. Jason Kalman, HUC-JIR, Cincinnati, investigates the denial of the concept of the Resurrection of the Dead and the impact of this denial upon our understanding of rabbinic polemics. Matthew Kraus, University of Cincinnati, focuses upon Jerome’s mediation of classical exegetical approaches through rabbinic ideology, “transgressing the boundaries between Jewish, Classical and Christian culture.” Joshua Moss, American Hebrew Academy, Greensboro, N.C., describes early Jewish and Christian interpretive transpositions in respect to the Jerusalem Temple. Annette Yoshiko Reed, McMaster University, Canada, reads Augustine’s The City of God from a midrashic perspective. Elke Tönges, Ruhr Universtität, Germany, re-examines the underlying Jewish and Christian hermeneutical principles in The Letter to the Hebrews. The two final papers in this book were presented in the 2005 Midrash Consultation in Philadelphia in which the theme was “Midrash and Cultural Studies.” In “Orality and Mnemonics in Aggadic Midrash,” David Nelson, Brite Divinity School - Texas Christian University, investigates the mnemonic methods and structures that served to facilitate oral transmission in early aggadic midrash, a field that has remained largely unexplored in comparison with the study of oral transmission in halakhic texts. The article by Rivka Ulmer, Bucknell University – Yale University, investigates the role Egyptian magic plays in rabbinic midrash. In comparing the midrashic renvii

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dering of the recovery of Joseph’s coffin by Moses with the Egyptian traditions about the recovery of Osiris’ coffin, she examines the hermeneutical role of Egyptian cultural icons in midrash. A note is necessary concerning the bibliographical styles used in this book. The authors followed different styles in their references, and the editors decided to preserve these to the largest extent possible. The articles and their differences in methodologies, as well as referencing conventions, reflect the creative diversity that inevitably exists when different scholars join together in multi-disciplinary conference sessions. We are pleased that the status of the “Midrash Consultation” has been enhanced by the Society of Biblical Literature to continue as a “Midrash Section.” Lieve M. Teugels & Rivka Ulmer

REPEATING HIS GRANDFATHER’S HERESY: THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE CHARGE THAT JOB AND ESAU DENIED THE RESURRECTION OF THE DEAD FOR UNDERSTANDING RABBINIC POLEMICS Jason Kalman HUC–JIR, Cincinnati

INTRODUCTION Recent works on the resurrection of the dead in rabbinic Judaism have focused on two specific areas. Claudia Setzer has highlighted the important role that claims made about those who denied this tenet had in allowing the rabbis to identify and protect their community boundaries. 1 Harry Sysling’s work outlines various groups who might be identified as those implicitly attacked by the rabbinic teachings; that is, he reads the rabbinic accusation as polemics against various non-rabbinic or non-Jewish groups. 2 This paper continues Sysling’s work. Ultimately, his list of possible targets does not take into account enough of the rabbinic material. According to a series of teachings preserved in the Babylonian Talmud (b. B. Bat. 16a/b) both Esau and Job were guilty of denying the rabbinic assertion that the dead will be resurrected at the end of days. 3 The Septuagint and other early Jewish texts

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Claudia Setzer, The Resurrection of the Body in Early Judaism and Early Christianity (Leiden: Brill, 2004). 2 Harry Sysling, Tehiyyat Ha-Metim (Tubingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1996). 3 This article continues a project begun in Jason Kalman, “Job Denied the Resurrection of Jesus? A Rabbinic Critique of the Church Fathers’ Use of Exegetical Traditions Found in the Septuagint and the Testament of Job” in I. Henderson and G. Oegema (ed.), The Changing Face of Judaism, Christianity, and Other Greco-Roman Religions in Antiquity (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlaghaus, 2006) 371397. It has been necessary to summarize some of the arguments in this article here for the sake of comparison, but this has been kept to a minimum. For a much fuller discussion of Job in rabbinic anti-Christian polemic, please see this earlier work.

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record that Job was Esau’s grandson 4 and as such this heresy remains “in the family.” 5 This article explores the significance of the charges leveled at Job and Esau in the broader context of rabbinic polemic.

THE RABBIS AND THE RESURRECTION OF THE DEAD Discussion of the resurrection of the dead in rabbinic thought must begin with the locus classicus, Mishnah Sanhedrin 10:1. The text outlines those members of the community of Israel who have, for various reasons, forfeited their respective places in the world to come. According to m. Sanh. 10:1, all Israel has a place in the world to come, except those who, among some other grave transgressions, deny the resurrection of the dead (or according to most modern editions, those who deny that the resurrection of the dead is a Torah-based teaching). 6 The reading, “all Israel,” is found in most modern editions. However, medieval manuscripts and text witnesses vary in their presentation of this mishnah. For example, MS Kaufmann (A50) begins: These are those [the people] who have no place in the world to come. This passage tends, in scholarly works, to be understood as an antiSadducean polemic. Lawrence Schiffman summarizes the issue as follows:

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The LXX to Job 42:17 states that Job was Esau’s grandson. T. Job 1:6 suggests that he was Esau’s son. 5 Why these sources chose to connect Job and Esau is never explicitly stated. Both the LXX and T. Job call Job by the name Jobab. Gen 36:33 describes Jobab as the second king of Edom. Here the exegesis depends on relating Job and Jobab. What may also be plausible is a connection already found in the Hebrew Bible, that of Esau and Edom, and Job and Edom. Esau is clearly connected to Edom in Gen. 36:1, “This is the Line of Esau—that is Edom” (NJPS). The connection between Job and Edom is somewhat more ambiguous, but is best understood by connecting the land of Uz, of Job 1:1, with the land of Edom. See, for example, Lam. 4:21: “Rejoice and exult, Fair Edom, Who dwell in the land of Uz!” (NJPS). For an extensive presentation of the evidence for Uz-Edom equation see, John Day, “How Could Job be an Edomite?” in W. Beuken (ed.), The Book of Job (Leuven: Peeters, 1994) 392-399. 6 The latter half of the teaching, asserting a pentateuchal prooftext, does not appear in either the Kaufmann Manuscript (Library of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Kaufmann A50) or the Codex Parma (Biblioteca Palatina, De Rossi 138). It does appear in the first printed Mishnah with the commentary of Moses Maimonides, Naples 1492.

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This mishnah is most probably directed against the Sadducees, who, Josephus tells us, did not accept either the immortality of the soul or the idea of reward and punishment after death. Indeed, both of these doctrines are inextricably connected with the doctrine of resurrection as mentioned in our mishnah, and the Pharisees saw resurrection as a prelude to the world to come. Our mishnah states that those Sadducees who deny the resurrection of the dead would therefore have no share in the world to come [emphasis mine]. 7

Certainly the reading “all Israel” limits the potential targets of the accusation; the passage thus cannot refer to non-Israelites who deny the resurrection of the dead. But, given the MS. Kaufmann variant, who are “those” who deny the resurrection for the dead? And further, how should the accusation be understood? Setzer explains the role of the statement as follows: “The rabbis in the Mishnah and Tosefta are most explicit that belief in resurrection puts one within the bounds of community and rejection of it puts one outside.” 8 This presentation raises a difficulty. Although the rabbinic use of commitment to the resurrection of the dead as a boundary marker is clear, the earliest presentations (tannaitic material) require that the outsider be identified by his or her refusal to accept this tenet. Thus a question must be raised: Should rabbinic accusations of denying the resurrection of the dead be understood as anti-Sadducean polemics? What other groups did the rabbis confront who denied the resurrection of the dead? Can the rabbis level the charge of denying the resurrection of the dead for reasons other than the fact that an opponent (an individual or group) actually denied this fundamental tenet? This last question is where we begin. The rabbis did not always explicitly use the denial of the resurrection of the dead as a general boundary marker. In a number of texts they level the charge against specific individuals. This article argues that these cases provide evidence for the fact that the charge should be understood as polemical but in a much more expansive way than has been proposed previously. Job and Esau are both charged by the rabbis with denying the resurrection of the dead. However, the rabbinic charges against these two biblical figures were leveled in different circum7 Lawrence

Schiffman, Who was a Jew? (Hoboken: Ktav, 1985), 42. See the work of Arthur Marmorstein for the same idea established almost a century earlier (1915): “The Doctrine of the Resurrection of the Dead in Rabbinic Theology” reprinted in Arthur Marmorstein, Studies in Jewish Theology (ed. J. Rabbinowitz and M. Lew; London: Oxford University Press, 1950), 147. 8 Setzer, Resurrection of the Body, 46-47.

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stances and for very different reasons. In the case of Esau the charge stems from the rabbis identifying others with Esau; in the case of Job it stemmed from the rabbis disapproval of others identifying themselves with Job. With regard to Esau the rabbis were attacking groups who may have originally denied the resurrection of the dead; with Job the attack was directed against people who, in fact, asserted the resurrection of the dead (or of their dead messiah, at the very least.) Ultimately, the necessity to turn to the locus classicus and its scholarly interpretation may unduly influence the way other passages dealing with denial of the resurrection of the dead are explained. The fact that in this case an anti-Sadducean polemic is likely intended does not necessarily demonstrate that this is so each time this specific charge is leveled. The rabbinic tradition almost always identifies Esau as a wicked character. He is rarely praised and, given even the most sympathetic reading, the Bible presents him as lesser than his twin brother Jacob. While negative depictions of Esau abound and are discussed to some degree below, positive presentations are few, and even these are quickly undermined by juxtaposition with other rabbinic teachings. 9 Further Esau’s name is linked with a number of historic enemies of the Jews and their ancient Israelite ancestors, including among others, Edom and Rome, and as a result of this association the rabbinic critique of him was that much harsher. 10 The accusation that Esau denied the resurrec-

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The best example is found in Gen. Rab. 57:9 wherein R. Simeon b. Eleazar argues that Esau reconciled with Jacob when he kissed him. Immediately following this statement R. Yanai comments that he did not kiss him but actually wanted to bite him. Interestingly, Aminoff points out that the fact that Simeon b. Eleazar has to use the superlineal dots appearing in the biblical text to prove what the text says explicitly [he kissed him], shows the difficulty that those who attempted to defend Esau had to overcome. Irit Aminoff, “The Figures of Esau and the Kingdom of Edom in Palestinian-Midrashic-Talmudic Literature in the Tannaic and Amoraic Periods” (Ph.D. diss., Melbourne University, 1981) 120-121. 10 As shown above in n. 3 the book of Genesis already identifies Esau with Edom. With regard to the identification of Esau with Rome the earliest reference may appear in the first-century text 4 Ezra 6:7-10. The text is somewhat ambiguous but I am inclined to agree with Sysling’s conclusion that this text does intentionally equate Esau with Rome (although only implicitly). [Sysling, Tehiyyat Ha-Metim, 107108]. Cohen agrees that Esau functions as a symbol but that Jews-Rome is only one way to understand the archetypal relationship established in 4 Ezra between Jacob and Esau. He doubts the author had Rome in mind:

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tion of the dead is only one of many negative charges directed at the opponents represented by Esau. By contrast, at varying points in time, the early Jewish exegetical tradition lauded Job. Tannaitic sources asserted his loyalty to God as the biblical tale does. 11 Yet, by the fourth-century, a radical shift took place and charges of heresy and rebelliousness were flung at Job. 12 The most significant charge is that attributed to the Babylonian Amora Rava. His assertion that Job denied the resurrection of the dead contrasts sharply with the Septuagint and the Testament of Job, both of which explicitly guarantee Job will be among those raised at the end of days. 13 Rava’s charge appears to be a response to the changing nature of the interpretation of Job by the nascent church. By the time of Rava, the Christian exegetes had begun to assert that statements in the book of Job that could be understood to demonstrate that Job supported the dogma of the resurrection of the dead illustrated that he was a witness to the resurrection of Jesus (as in the commentary of Julian of Eclanum) 14 and that Job was the perfect model of the faithful Christian (as …the passage in no way warrants the conclusion that the designation of Rome by Esau or Edom had been consciously made. In IV Ezra, Jacob and Esau clearly represent cycles of history as much as they do specific empires. [Gerson Cohen, “Esau as Symbol in Early Medieval Thought” reprinted in id., Studies in the Variety of Rabbinic Cultures (Philadelphia: JPS, 1991) 244]. By the amoraic period this identification of one with other was well attested. For a discussion of anti-Esau/Rome polemics in the midrash see Harry Freedman, “Jacob and Esau : Their struggle in the Second Century” JBQ 23 (1995) 107-115. Aminoff argues that Esau should also be understood as the Church because a number of passages about him highlight his negative attitude to circumcision (e .g, Gen. Rab. 63:13). This she associates with Paul’s denigration of circumcision of the flesh. Her argument is not entirely convincing. However, she is quite correct in her presentation of the Church’s identification of Esau with rabbinic Jews who refused to become part of the Church. That the rabbis might choose to turn the anti-Jewish polemic around and assign the name Esau to the Church is plausible but Aminoff does not provide enough evidence. [Aminoff, “The Figures of Esau and the Kingdom of Edom,” 123-136]. 11 See for example, m. Sotah 5:5; t. Sotah 6:1; b. Sotah 31a; p. Sotah 5:7/20c. 12 For discussion of Job in rabbinic and Patristic sources see, Judith Baskin, Pharaoh’s Counsellors (Chico: Scholars Press, 1983) 7-44. 13 LXX to Job 42:17 and T. Job 4:9. 14 Julian of Eclanum. Commenting on Job 19:25 he noted that Job, “full of prophetic spirit, foretold of the incarnation and the resurrection of our savior, saying: ‘For I know that my Redeemer lives, and on the last day I will rise from the

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in Aphrahat’s Demonstrations). 15 The rabbis, who undoubtedly had previously appreciated having a biblical character support their assertion of the resurrection, turned against Job. In contrast to the rabbinic attack on Esau, which was actually an attack on Edom or Rome or Sadducees, none of whom identified with Esau, the rabbinic attack on Job was specifically directed at him to undermine those who themselves chose to identify with him. In other words, in the case of Esau, they chose to use denial of the resurrection of the dead as way of describing his wickedness, by the amoraic period this had little to do with rabbinic attempts to secure the dogma among their followers. While there must have been those Jews who still did question this particular issue, the attack on Rome through the conduit of Esau, had little, if anything, to do with resurrection of the dead.

THE GRANDFATHER—ESAU DENIED THE RESURRECTION OF THE DEAD In order to function as a polemic, a midrashic text must succeed at two tasks: (1) it must respond to a difficulty of some sort in the biblical text, or at the very least interpret it, and (2) the subject of the attack must be identifiable. The former is usually clear; the latter is often much harder to ascertain. This, in fact, remains the greatest methodological problem for working with rabbinic polemics. How does one identify the target when the polemicist is understandably shady about revealing it, and since a polemic must also work as an exegetical statement, how does one know that it really is a polemic and not simply an attempt to solve a textual difficulty? 16 In dealing with the charge against Esau, the polemic is rather clear; the situation with Job is somewhat more ambiguous. As noted above, the attitude to Esau expressed in rabbinic literature is rather negative. Although a number of passages reveal a positive view, Aminoff, to a certain degree following Glatzer’s lead, has attempted to demonstrate that these resulted from the occasionally positive view of

earth.’” L. De Coninck (ed.), Expositio Libri Iob, CCCM 88 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1977) 53-54. 15 See examples below. 16 For discussion of these methodological issues see, Herbert Basser, “The Neighbor You Love and the Decalogue: Speculations on Some Textual Evidence for Early Jewish Polemics” in id. (ed.), Studies in Exegesis: Christian Critiques Of Jewish Law And Rabbinic Responses, 70-300 C.E. (Leiden: Brill, 2002) 51-105.

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Rome reflected back onto Esau rather than Esau’s own merit. 17 However, much of the positive material that appears concerning Esau deals with his loyalty to his father. Rather than reflecting changing attitudes to Rome, this may be a case of the rabbis’ continued acknowledgment of the fact that Esau was a member of the patriarchal family, and as such he could not be portrayed entirely negatively. However, given the general distaste for Esau as a rival to Jacob in the biblical text, it is no wonder that the vast majority of rabbinic responses to Esau are negative. But, is the charge that he denied the resurrection of the dead directed at him or a specific group? Targum Neofiti 1 translating Gen 25:34 reads: “And Jacob gave Esau bread and lentil stew, and he ate and drank, and rose and went his way. Thus Esau despised his birthright and (derided) the resurrection of the dead and denied the life of the world to come.” 18

Hayward has argued, building on the work of Levy, that the discussion of the resurrection of the dead in this verse is a clumsy addition to the targumic text. Levy highlights the apparently missing verb describing what it is that that Esau does with the resurrection. A missing verb may indicate that the verb “fell out” of the text. By contrast, Hayward sees the absence of the verb as an indication of a scribal addition. 19 The question, then, is to whom or against whom is this passage directed? Hayward states that although Neofiti never identifies Esau with Rome, the scholarly consensus is that this is the result of censorship of the manuscript. If this is correct the polemic seems to have been directed at Rome. In other words, Edom like Esau denied the resurrection of the dead. We then have a case where this accusation is clearly not an anti-Sadducean polemic. He is in agreement with Shinan who alone had suggested that the denial of the resurrection of the dead is fundamentally a symbolic charge pointing to the general wickedness of the party against whom it is leveled, rather than a specific accusation. 20 The only difficulty with this conclusion results from Hayward’s suggestion that 17 Aminoff,

“The Figure of Esau and the Kingdom of Edom,” 117. Cf. Nahum Glatzer, “The Attitude to Rome in the Amoraic Period” WCJS 6 (1975) 9-19. 18 Trans. Sysling, Tehiyyat Ha-Metim, 115-116. 19 Charles T. R. Hayward, “A Portrait of the Wicked Esau in the Targum of Codex Neofiti 1” in D. Beattie and M. McNamara (eds.), The Aramaic Bible (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994), 299-300. References for Levy are found in Hayward, 299. 20 Avigdor Shinan, The Aggadah in the Aramaic Targums to the Pentateuch (Jerusalem: Makor, 1979) 98, 346. See Hayward’s discussion of Shinan’s view, Wicked Esau, 300.

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this part of the verse is a later addition. If the charge against Esau is an antiSadducean charge in its earliest witnesses, its late addition to Neofiti may have little to do with Rome, and everything to do with assembling in the targum a collection of descriptions of Esau’s wickedness. What, then, are the versions of this rabbinic accusation? The Fragmentary Targums MS Paris 110 and MS Vat Ebr. 440 agree essentially in content although they alter the order of the verse. 21 The targum reflects the established rabbinic tradition preserved in Gen. Rab. 63:14: And Jacob gave Esau bread and pottage of lentils and he did eat and drink and rose up, and went. Esau despised (eth) his birthright What did he despise with it? Said R. Levi: He despised [i.e. rejected belief in] resurrection. Thus it is written, ‘When the wicked cometh, there cometh also disgrace, and with ignominy reproach (Prov. 18:3). ‘When the wicked cometh’ alludes to Esau, as it says, And they [Edom] shall be called the border of wickedness (Mal. 1: 4). 22

As a stand-alone charge denial of the resurrection may have once served very well as an anti-Sadducean polemic. In the words of Marmorstein, ‘When the rabbis speak of Esau as being a man who denied the resurrection, they really meant their own contemporaries.” 23 Sysling has concluded that the pairing of denial of the resurrection of the dead with derision of the afterlife in Targum Neofiti is most likely directed at the Sadducees, although he also notes that this also could have target Samaritans and some Christians. 24 Here he echoes Schiffman’s reading of m. Sanh. 10:1. Aminoff concludes similarly: “It is rather clear that these sentiments reflect disputes with the likes of Sadducees or their followers…” 25 According to a number of sources Esau was guilty of committing five sins on the day of his grandfather’s death. The Babylonian Talmud, B. Bat. 16b records the following teaching (in fact, we now return to where we began.): 21

Sysling, Tehiyyat Ha-Metim, 115-119. Sysling provides the most thorough study of this material and the various targumic textual traditions. 22 Translation cited from Midrash Rabbah: Genesis (trans. H. Freedman; ed. H. Freedman and M. Simon; London: Soncino Press, 1983) 570-571. 23 Marmorstein, “The Doctrine of the Resurrection,” 160. 24 Sysling, Tehiyyat Ha-Metim, 130. Sysling here notes the possibility that it may be just as well understood as a general accusation of heresy as Shinaan did much earlier. Sysling’s work, however, shows no awareness of Shinaan’s. 25 Aminoff, “The Figures of Esau and the Kingdom of Edom,” 48.

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R. Joʘanan said: That wicked [Esau] committed five sins on that day. He dishonoured a betrothed maiden, he committed a murder, he denied God, he denied the resurrection of the dead, and he spurned the birthright. [We know that] he dishonored a betrothed maiden, because it is written here, And Esau came in from the field, and it is written in another place [in connection with the betrothed maiden], He found her in the field. [We know that] he committed murder, because it is written here [that he was] faint, and it is written in another place, Woe is me now, for my soul fainteth before the murderers. [We know that] he denied God, because it is written here, What benefit is this to me, and it is written in another place, This is my God and I will make him an habitation. [We know that] he denied the resurrection of the dead because he said, Behold, I am on the way to die: also that he spurned the birthright because it is written, So Esau despised his birthright. 26

Similar lists are found in Targum Pseudo Jonathan to Gen. 25:29, Gen. Rab. 63:12, Ex. Rab. 1:1, Tanh. Shemot 1, Pesiq. Rab. 12 (47b-48a), Pesiq. Rab Kah. 3:1; Tanh. Buber Toledot 3, and Midr. Psalms 9:7. Collectively they include a list of eight sins committed by Esau: idolatry, murder, rape, theft, denial of God, denial of the world to come, denial of the resurrection, and contempt of the birthright. It appears that defining the extent of Esau’s wickedness was a project frequently taken up by the rabbis. It seems likely that the accusations varied based on varying influences. Sysling regards the abundance of the hostile reports in the third and fourth century targumim (and suggests that Gen. Rab. is their shared source) as suggesting that they reflect the increasing hostility of the Rabbis to Rome in that particular period. Hadas-Lebel has commented: “These crimes can be reduced to three [categories]: idolatry, debauchery, [and] murder which constitute the three capital sins traditionally blamed on Rome.” 27 In other words, what may have begun as an anti-Sadducean polemic became part of a broader attack on Esau qua Rome. In this secondary use the content of the charge was not nearly as significant as its aggressive tone. Charging Rome with denying the

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Translation cited from The Babylonian Talmud: Seder Neziqin 2 (Trans. M. Simon and I. Slotki; ed. I. Epstein; London: Soncino Press, 1935) 84 27 Mireille Hadas-Lebel, “Jacob et Esau ou Israel et Rome dans Le Talmud et le Midrash”, RHR 201 (1981), 383. Translation mine.

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resurrection of the dead made little practical sense. 28 Who ultimately cared that pagan Romans denied the resurrection?

THE GRANDSON—JOB DENIED THE RESURRECTION OF THE DEAD In contrast to the frequency of the charge leveled at Esau, denying the resurrection of the dead only appears once in the context of rabbinic discussions of Job. As the cloud is consumed and vanisheth away, so he that goeth down to Sheol shall come up no more. Rava said: This shows that Job denied the resurrection of the dead. 29

Rava, the fourth century Babylonian Amora, charges Job with this heresy and it allows him to kill two birds with one stone. With reference to our earlier methodological consideration Rava’s statement provides an explanation of a difficulty in the biblical text – Job is punished with severe afflictions because he is a blasphemer. Secondly, the statement allows Rava to take a swipe at his contemporary Christian thinkers who placed Job on a pedestal describing him as a witness to the resurrected Christ and the ideal model of the pious Christian. In other words, while the charge against Esau was directed at living breathing people who were scoundrels and blasphemers, Job is charged with denying the resurrection of the dead to undermine Christian identification with him. This is not to suggest an equation between Job and Christians like that established between Esau and Rome. Rava’s accusation against Job is not launched strictly to highlight that Christians who deny the resurrection of the dead have no place in the world-to-come but specifically to change the perception of Job. By the fourth century resurrection of the dead had be-

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However, it might be argued that since the dogma concerning resurrection of the dead served to provide hope to persecuted Jews who served Rome, highlighting the fact that the oppressor would not be resurrected (because they denied the tenet) may have served to shore up the community (whether the accusation was correct or not). On the role of belief in the resurrection in the Jewish community of antiquity see Setzer, Resurrection of the Body, particularly pp. 44-52 29 b. B. Bat. 16a. Translation cited from The Babylonian Talmud: Seder Neziqin 2, 80.

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come an essential dogma for most Christian churches. 30 Claiming that Job denied the resurrection of the dead could not have been understood as an attack on Christians who denied the same belief—by the fourth century most Christians asserted the resurrection as well. Rather, the attack was on those who held up Job as the model believing Christian. Rava was in essence teaching his fellow Jews (and Christians within hearing distance) that Job, whom Christians asserted prefigured Christ and whom they wished to emulate, was a blasphemer who could not gain access to eternal life. Their Old Testament saint was a fraud. As is clear from the discussion above the rabbis devoted much teaching to help reinforce Jewish commitment to the tenet that that dead will one day be resurrected. It was clearly to their benefit to find biblical characters they could describe as asserting this position. The Christian assertion that their messiah was resurrected created a problem for the Jewish sages. Chrisitian sages, to support their presentation of a resurrected messiah, could likewise use biblical figures the rabbis used to support the idea of the resurrection of the dead. 31 Rava appears to have been responding to this dilemma and his attack on Job should be understood in this context. Baskin and others have more than adequately shown that rabbinic presentations of Job changed over time and she, in particular, relates these changes to the churches growing interest in Job. Her work focuses primarily on the western Church Fathers but this change is best demonstrated by comparisons between Babylonian rabbis and Eastern Christian sages. In the tannaitic period reflections on Job were generally positive. By the late third century there is certainly evidence of a change in rabbinic attitude. Rava’s particularly negative presentation was not unique to his time but his specific accusation against Job was. The accusation is best understood when placed side by side with the statements of Rava’s Christian contemporary Aphrahat. Building on the work of Jacob Neusner and others, Naomi KoltunFromm has concluded that there was an ongoing conversation between

30

On the significance of resurrection for the development of the dogma of the nascent church see Bruce Chilton, “Resurrection in the Gospels,” in J. Neusner et al. (ed.), Judaism in Late Antiquity, vol. 3 part 4 (Leiden: Brill, 2001) 215-239. 31 For further discussion of this issue see Marmorstein, “The Doctrine of the Resurrection,” 157.

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Jews and Christians under Sassanian rule. 32 She has demonstrated that Aphrahat was the major figure among Christian participants. Neusner has shown that there is correlation between a number of Rava’s teachings and those of Aphrahat. A comparison of the two men’s exegesis shows Job may have been one of the topics of this conversation in antiquity. Aphrahat’s Demonstrations, a prime example of an anti-Jewish polemical treatise, was composed to teach eastern Christians, many of whom were drawn to Judaism, about Christianity and to encourage adherence to its tenets. Aphrahat used the stories of Hebrew Bible figures to model and explain Christian beliefs and practices. He discusses Job or the book of Job some twenty times in the Demonstrations. 33 For Aphrahat Job was a model Christian whose faith was tested and proven. Job’s devotion to God while confronting extreme suffering, and the place in the resurrection Aphrahat assured him, was proof of the opportunity available to all pious Christians who responded appropriately to similar circumstances. Job, who swore that he would not give up his integrity and that he would persist in his righteousness until his death (Job 27:4-6), exemplified faithfulness, and seemingly in Aphrahat’s mind, faith in Jesus. Aphrahat and his fellow Eastern Christians needed Job’s example. Many Christians, persecuted by Shappur II, the Persian king, and witnessing the prospering Jewish community, became attracted to Judaism and to the security it might offer. Aphrahat offered up Job as a way of encouraging these Christians to remain Christian. Job, who endured trials and maintained faith, was a model to be emulated. He would not give up his faith when confronted by evil and neither should Aphrahat’s audience. Additionally, he stressed that Job never blasphemed. Of all the potential heresies Job might have spouted, Aphrahat made sure to demonstrate that Job never denied divine providence. 34 Aphrahat’s concern with affirming notions of divine providence to his audience is certainly understandable in light of the persecution faced by them and the position that Job never blasphemed and never denied divine providence is particularly important in light of Rava’s teaching. In addition 32

Naomi Koltun, “Jewish-Christian Polemics in Fourth-Century Persian Mesopotamia: A Reconstructed Conversation,” (Ph.D. Diss., Stanford University, 1994). 33 A number of these are cited below. For a more extensive description and analysis see Kalman, “Job Denied,” 387-391. 34 Dem. 13:4, On the Sabbath, as translated in Jacob Neusner, Aphrahat and Judaism (Leiden: Brill, 1971) 46-47.

REPEATING HIS GRANDFATHER’S HERESY

13

to asserting that Job denied the resurrection of the dead, Rava asserted Job denied divine providence: “Rava said: With his lips he did not sin, but he did sin within his heart. What did he say? The earth is given into the hand of the wicked, he covereth the faces of the judges thereof; if it be not so, where and who is he?” 35 Rava’s statement is in direct opposition to Aphrahat’s assertions. Aphrahat was certain that Job never blasphemed and wholeheartedly believed in divine providence. Rava was committed to the fact that Job denied both. Aphrahat writes concerning Job’s reward: …and Job, [God] gave double his years, goods, and offspring. If someone argues: But Job did not receive the doubling of all this!, - let him accept this argument without disputing. It is indeed written: So God blessed the latter end of Job more than his beginning: And he had fourteen thousand sheep, and six thousand camels, and a thousand yoke of oxen, and a thousand sheasses. He had also seven sons and three daughters.[Job 42:12-13] His seven sons and his three daughters, the new ones and the old, he will receive them doubled when the righteous are resurrected and, it is in this world, he receives double all his goods. We must also note that God gave a doubling of his years to him, – as it is written: So Job died, being old and full of days. [42:17]; - And after this Job lived a hundred and forty years [42:16], however, he was seventy years old at the time of his trial. Thus, the promise of Scripture was fulfilled for him: Job received double of everything [42:10], - of years and goods in this world, of sons and of daughters in the world of the righteous. 36

Rava’s declaration that Job denied the resurrection dismissed in one fell swoop all of Aphrahat’s statements concerning Job. By denying the resurrection of the dead, Job broke faith, blasphemed, and eliminated his place in the world-to-come and among the righteous people who will be raised at the end of days; Rava’s Job could never serve as a model of Christian piety. Although there are a significant number of references to Sadduccees in rabbinic texts of this period, 37 it seems unlikely that Rava’s charge that Job 35 b.

B. Bat. 16a. Dem. 23:18, On the Grapecluster, translated from Aphrahate, Les Exposés (trans. M.-J. Pierre; Paris: Cerf, 1988), 909-910. 37 Although in many ways dated, the Jewish Encyclopedia contains a useful list of amoraic discussions of the Sadducees. See Kaufmann Kohler, “Sadducees” JE 10, 633. 36

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denied the resurrection is an anti-Sadducean polemic and to date no one has offered this suggestion (in fact, none has been offered at all). Given the scholarly tendency demonstrated in previous interpretations of Esau’s denial one might be inclined to see Job’s heresies in the same light. The correlation with Aphrahat makes this conclusion difficult to draw. While the charge directed at Esau is best understood as part of a general attack on Rome--denial of the resurrection being used to highlight just how wicked Rome is or was (not their specific evil actions)--here the charge is necessarily specific. Rava has asserted that Christians identify positively with a figure who is nothing but a blasphemer who undermines their own necessary belief in the resurrection of the dead. If Job denies the resurrection generally, he certainly cannot be the kind of witness to the resurrected Christ best described by Jerome: Listen to those words of thunder which fall from Job, the vanquisher of torments, who, as he scrapes away the filth of his decaying flesh with a potsherd, solaces his miseries with the hope and the reality of the resurrection: “Oh, that,” he says, “my words were written! Oh, that they were inscribed in a book with an iron pen, and on a sheet of lead, that they were graven in the rock for ever! For I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that in the last day I shall rise from the earth, and again be clothed with my skin, and in my flesh shall see God, Whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold, and not another. This my hope is laid up in my bosom.” What can be clearer than this prophecy? No one since the days of Christ speaks so openly concerning the resurrection as he did before Christ. He wishes his words to last for ever; and that they might never be obliterated by age, he would have them inscribed on a sheet of lead, and graven on the rock. He hopes for a resurrection; nay, rather he knew and saw that Christ, his Redeemer, was alive, and at the last day would rise again from the earth. The Lord had not yet died, and the athlete of the Church saw his Redeemer rising from the grave. When he says, “And I shall again be clothed with my skin, and in my flesh see God,” I suppose he does not speak as if he loved his flesh, for it was decaying and putrifying before his eyes; but in the confidence of rising again, and through the consolation of the future, he makes light of his present misery. 38

38

Jerome, To Pammachius against John of Jerusalem 30 (NPNF 6, 439-440).

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CONCLUSION To conclude, the generally accepted notion that the rabbinic charge of denial of the resurrection of the dead should be understood as necessarily attacking groups who voiced the same blasphemy needs to be reevaluated. Quite simply, not every rabbinic teaching asserting that someone denied the resurrection of the dead can be understood as an anti-Sadducean polemic. In the case of Esau, it seems likely that by the fourth century the attack had lost its specificity and was understood more generally as a charge of blasphemy; the charge was one of animosity and not necessarily of competing dogmas. Initially the charge may have been used to highlight disagreement with competing Jewish sects. Esau, like other Jews, was a member of the family, but he, like some Jews denied their birthright-access to the messianic era when the dead will rise. The analogy is perfectly reasonable. However, once the Esau-Rome relationship was firmly established it could not have made sense to continue using the charge in an anti-Sadducean context. As such, this charge was “packaged” with the charges of rape and murder as way of highlighting the breadth of the wickedness of Esau-Rome. In the case of Job, the charge was not against people who denied the resurrection but against people who identified positively with a character the rabbis felt was disposable. In other words, the rabbis were saying to Christians – if you want to identify with Job, do so, but we would certainly not choose to hold this blasphemer up as a model. In neither of these cases are the groups critiqued by the rabbis guilty of the specific blasphemy of denying the resurrection of the dead. There can be little doubt that in a significant number of cases the rabbinic charge of denying the resurrection of the dead must be understood as a polemic against an opposing group. But it is clear from examining the cases of Esau and Job that classical interpretation of the charge cannot be uncritically maintained. The polemic has a far wider spectrum of potential interpretations than has previously been presented. The list of groups who actually denied the resurrection is relatively short. The case of Esau highlights that the group being attacked with this charge may have been in the rabbis’ gaze for reasons having nothing to do with the resurrection. The case of Job shows that the group under attack may actually have been committed to the dogma that the dead would one day live again thus agreeing with their attackers. The rabbis may have been using the charge to polemicize against three broad groups; those who denied the resurrection, some who affirmed it, and some whose crimes were entirely unrelated to the charge.

JEROME, THE BOOK OF EXODUS, AND THE WORLD OF LATE ANTIQUITY Matthew Kraus University of Cincinnati An old joke begins with the disingenuous question, “who is buried in Grant’s Tomb?” More interesting, however, is the question “who is buried in Jerome’s tomb?” Although his tomb is in Bethlehem, his body, more or less, lies in Rome. 1 One could make much post-modern hay from the fact that the Latin father of asceticism has a tomb lacking a body. I would interpret this rather complex state of affairs in a different vein, as a compelling metaphor for the study of Jerome. A good part of Jeromian scholarship involves locating where Jerome is “buried”. Should he be entombed in a plethora of Palestinian Jewish traditions or should we locate him in Classical or Christian Rome? 2 Or, in accordance with contemporary notions about Late Antiquity, does Jerome typify the Late Antique individual who constantly negotiates various cultural systems—in a sense, simultaneously located in Bethlehem and Rome? 3 1

Eugene F. Rice, Jr., Saint Jerome in the Renaissance (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1985) 55-59. Contrary to claims that Jerome’s body rests intact in S. Maria Maggiore, several churches throughout Italy and the rest of Europe possess various parts of his body. Three places, St. Mary Magdalen in Cologne, the monastery of Cluny and the church of Nepi, lay claim to Jerome’s head (Rice, pp. 57, 59, 222). 2 Titles themselves are illustrative: Y. M. Duval, ed., Jérôme entre l’Occident et l’Orient (Paris, 1988); F.X.A. Murphy (ed.), A Monument to St Jerome. Essays on some Aspects of his Life, Works and Influence (New York, 1952); Harald Hagendahl, Latin Fathers and the Classics (Goteburg, 1958); Adam Kamesar, Jerome, Greek Scholarship and the Hebrew Bible, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993); Virgil Brown, Vir Trilinguis (Kok Pharos, 1992); D.S. Wiesen St. Jerome as a Satirist. A Study in Christian Latin Thought and Letters (Ithaca, N.Y., Cornell Studies in Classical Philology, 1964); Hillel Newman, “Jerome and the Jews” (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University, 1997, [Hebrew]); F. Cavallera, St. Jérôme: sa vie et son oeuvre (Louvain-Paris, 1922). 3 The bibliography on Late Antiquity is immense. See for example, Peter Brown, The World of Late Antiquity (New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 1971);

17

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Numerous contemporary scholars have applied cultural studies in order to understand Late Antique society. 4 Such cultural studies assume that every society has a culture, but each culture is different. 5 Moreover, rather than existing as entities in and of themselves, cultures are constructed through language. 6 Jerome’s translation of the Bible according to the Hebrews (Iuxta Hebraeos, hereafter IH), the so-called Vulgate, provides a template for examining the Late Antique cultural context of Jerome. In his letters, commentaries, and polemical works, Jerome often hypostasizes (i.e., constructs in words) the cultural communities in which he traffics. Such statements as “you are a Ciceronian not a Christian” 7 and…. “we learned these things from the most educated of that [Hebrew] nation.... 8 presume a world divided into three parts: pagan, Christian, and Jewish. Jerome’s discourse of distinction apparently correlates with the notion of deeply inscribed social and intellectual categories that characterize standard scholarly treatments of Late Antiquity. Conceptualizing Late Antiquity as a period of harshly delineated communities, however, grossly oversimplifies the actual fluid nature of a world in which identity was not so starkly delimited as our loudest sources like to suggest. 9 For the sharp distinction between pagans, Christians, and Jews in many of our sources should be heard more as a rhetorical cry against the prevalent effacement of cultural borders. Antiochenes who went from church to synagogue had to be told by John Chrysostom that they were crossing irrevocable boundaries. 10

id., Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian Empire (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1992); Glenn Bowersock, Hellenism in Late Antiquity, Jerome Lectures (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990); Daniel Boyarin, Dying for God: Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999); and Averil Cameron, Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire: The Development of Chrisitan Discourse (Berkeley: Univeristy of California Press, 1991). 4 Dale B. Martin, “Introduction,” in The Cultural Turn in Late Ancient Studies: Gender, Asceticism, and Historiography (ed. Dale B. Martin and Patricia Cox Miller; Durham, North Carolina: Duke University Press, 2005) 1-21. 5 Martin, p. 8. 6 Martin, pp. 8, 18. 7 Ciceronianus es, non Christianus (Ep. 22.30). 8 Haec ab eruditissimis gentis illius [Hebraei] didicimus (Ep. 73.9). 9 See Richard Miles, ed., Constructing Identities in Late Antiquity (London: Routledge, 1999). 10 Robert Wilken, John Chrysostom and the Jews: Rhetoric and Reality in the Late Fourth Century (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983) 148-153, 158-160.

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The Vulgate is a suggestive artifact of Late Antiquity, because, as a translation, it lacks delineated cultural borders. Jerome funnels Jewish, Classical, and Christian culture into a unified, characteristically Late Antique whole. To be sure, Jerome at times conflates Jewish, Christian, and Classical traditions in his other works without highlighting his sources. Recent scholarship on Jerome’s Classical influence have noted numerous quotations from Classical literature without any introductory formulae. 11 Hillel Newman, who has collected all of Jerome’s explicit references to Jewish teachings, notes that there are also numerous “hidden” references. 12 Jerome’s commentary on Zechariah quotes extensively from Didymus the Blind without always explicitly acknowledging his debt. 13 Nevertheless, the translation of the Bible is unique because it persistently and seamlessly integrates Jewish, Christian, and Classical traditions. 14 11

Neil Adkin “Some Features of Jerome’s Compositional Technique in the Libellus de Virginitate Servanda (Epist. 22),” Philologus 136 (1992) 234-255, id., “Biblia Pagana: Classical Echoes in the Vulgate,” Augustinianum 40.1 (2000): 77-87, and C. Brown Tkacz, “Labor tam utilis: The Creation of the Vulgate,” VC 50 (1996) 42-72. The existence, purpose, and implications of such influences are matters of debate. Adkin, for example, questions some of the Classical allusions claimed by Tkacz and attributes Classical allusions to “Jerome’s own desire to dazzle at all costs....” (“Libellus,” p. 237). While I would not deny Jerome’s proclivity towards the rhetorical flourish, with Tkacz, I would not rule out the possibility of Jerome manipulating Classical references to advance substantive interpretations. 12 Newman, p. 203. Even when Jerome cites an attribution, he rarely refers to a specific Jewish text or author, but assigns the interpretation to the “Jews” or the “Hebrews” or his “Hebrew teacher”. Such vague attribution should not be surprising since, as Newman demonstrates (pp. 70-74), Jerome primarily received his Jewish traditions orally. 13 See Didyme L’Aveugle, Sur Zacharie, éd. Doutreleau, 3 vol. (SC 83-85; Paris: Cerf, 1962) and the astute observations by Pierre Jay in L’Exégèse de Saint Jérôme d’après son “Commentaire sur Isaïe” (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1985) 37. 14 Translation theory sheds light on these considerations because of its close relationship to cultural studies. Translation theory can be divided into two categories: the process of translation and the experience or effect of translation. Those who have theorized about the process of translation, from Jerome until modern times, have discussed what translation demands, namely transferring a source text from the source language to a target text in the target language. Such a discussion has been extensively nuanced, but ultimately can be reduced to an attempt to negotiate the Ciceronian distinction between word for word translation and sense for sense for translation. Contemporary theorists, with various degrees of

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This absorption of traditions should not be equated with an attempt by Jerome to create an ecumenical document. He unequivocally conceives of himself as a Christian producing a Christian text for a Christian church. Late Antique Christians, however, simultaneously incorporated and distinguished themselves from other cultures. 15 Sarah Kamin correctly claims that Jerome’s Vulgate had the theological purpose not of introducing Christians to Jewish traditions, but rather to eliminate the need for Christians to resort to Jewish sources in the future. 16 One could make the same observation about the pagan elements of the Vulgate. Jerome christianizes Classical culture once and for all in his version of the Bible. This suggests that Jerome creates a type of Classical literature through a translation of the Bible. Therefore, Catherine Brown Tkacz rightly argues for a reading of the Vulgate as Latin literature. 17 More precisely, it should be read as Late Antique Latin literature—reflecting a period of permeable borders between pagan, Jewish, and Christian cultures. Acknowledging the Vulgate as a literary text engenders a whole new set of interpretative issues. Tkacz’s consideration of the work as a selfcontained unit enhances our ability to understand the immediate readerreception of the Vulgate and its interpretative possibilities, but this is only part of the story. We cannot neglect the implications arising from Jerome’s rich cultural background. His translation is truly an interpretatio based on sophistication, essentially reinscribe these traditional categories. When analyzing the effects of translation, with some recent exceptions, authors concentrate on the experience of the audience. The experience of the translator, however, substantially differs from that of the reader. In general theoretical terms, then, Tkacz analyzes the experience of the audience (Latin readers of a Latin text) while I concentrate on the experience of the translator (Jerome “translating” the linguistic, literary, and socio-cultural environments of Judaism, Christianity, and Classical tradition into a single system). For historical and modern perspectives on the theory of translation, see Rainer Schulte and John Biguenet, eds., Theories of Translation (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992) and Susan Bassnett, Translation Studies, 3d ed. (London: Routledge, 2002). For a rabbinic parallel to the distinction between literal and free translation, see Tosefta Megillah 3:41 and b Kiddushin 49a with Rashi and the Tosafot, a.l. (I am grateful to Mayer Gruber for the reference). 15 See, for instance, the works of Bowersock and Brown, above, n.3. 16 Sarah Kamin, “The Theological Significance of the Hebraica Veritas in Jerome’s Thought,” in “Sha’arei Talmon”: Studies in the Bible, Qumran, and the Ancient Near East presented to Shemaryahu Talmon, (ed. Michael Fishbane and Emanuel Tov; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbruns, 1992) 242-253. 17 Tkacz, p. 42.

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Jewish, Christian, and Classical traditions. Unpacking these influences enable us to understand the interpretative processes behind the composition of the Vulgate. Applying source-criticism in combination with literary analysis to a translation can be a tricky business because the basic source text rather than profound theological or literary concerns may determine a particular reading. Therefore, I have narrowed down the analysis to renderings that have “exegetical” significance. To a large extent subjective, exegetical significance can be broadly limited to two categories: 1) Latin renderings of unclear Hebrew passages; 2) Latin renderings that include features not found in the Hebrew. Having identified exegetically significant renditions, two crucial questions emerge: what is the source of the rendition, and why does Jerome make an exegetically significant rendition in the first place. Identifying the source of the translation involves three steps. First, it must be determined whether the context of the Hebrew/Bible itself can account for an interpretative tradition. 18 That is, some renditions could be logically inferred from the immediate context. After eliminating the Hebrew as a potential source, the next step is to consider whether Jerome is following one of his Vorlagen from the Greek tradition—the Septuagint, Aquila, Symmachus, Theodotian, and Old Latin—which all contain interpretative traditions. 19 When these two possibilities are eliminated, then we can posit the existence of a Jewish, Christian, and/or Classical interpretative tradition. The more difficult question is why Jerome incorporates exegetical elements in his translation. Locating the exegetical tradition within Jewish, Christian, and Classical literature provides key information indicating Jerome’s rationale. In what follows, I will discuss closely some selected examples from Jerome’s translation of the Book of Exodus. My goal is to go beyond parallelomania and source criticism, that is, the simple identification of a similarity between Jerome’s rendition and a rabbinic tradition or attribute Jerome’s rendition to a Jewish source. Rather, by examining such parallels in a Late Antique context, we gain a glimpse at the dynamic interaction between Jewish, Christian and Pagan cultures. I should add that while ultimately I am trying to blur the categories of Jewish, Christian and Pagan, for the sake of heuristic clarity I have preserved these distinctions for this discussion. In order to understand IH as a 18

See my “Jerome’s Translation of the Book of Exodus Iuxta Hebraeos in Relation to Classical, Jewish, and Christian Traditions of Interpretation,” (Ph. D. diss., University of Michigan, 1996) 16-33. 19 See ibid., pp. 34-60.

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whole, it is necessary to dissect it into its constituent parts and then examine how these parts come together. The focus of our discussion will be on Exodus, in part because its exegetical traditions have been underdetermined, but especially because it includes narrative, legal, and poetic sections. 20 The following examples reflect interpretative moves traceable to references in Jewish, Christian, and Classical literature. 21 All these examples cannot be explained by Jerome’s Vorlagen nor by the context of the Hebrew. For the most part, I am bypassing the complicated and technical stages for identifying a rendering by Jerome that engages with exegetical traditions. I will start, however, with a relatively simple example in order to demonstrate when we know Jerome is drawing on a Jewish exegetical tradition and can reasonably explain why Jerome does this.

1. EXOD. 9:24 œŽ±ÞŽ  £Õ³ † ކ ³  î ¥ ³† §Š ڙ† ‹ ž--œŽ±šŽ ¢†Š ¢ž IH et grando et ignis inmixta pariter ferebantur

20

The Classical tradition pays acute attention to genres and the rabbinic corpus is distinguished by aggadic (narrative) and halakhic (legal) material. Therefore, by concentrating on the Book of Exodus, it becomes possible to investigate how Jerome applies Classical and Jewish literary categories in the interpretative elements of his translation. Moreover, both the Classical and Jewish generic categories engender their own interpretative dynamic. Generic “rules” have long played a determinative role in the interpretation of Classical texts (See for example, Gian Biagio Conte, Latin Literature: A History [Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994] and Albin Lesky, A History of Greek Literature [New York: Crowell, 1966]). On the distinctive literary features and exegetical implications of aggadah and halakhah, see the James Kugel and Rowan Greer, Early Biblical Interpretation (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1986); Chaim Nahman Bialik’s classic essay, Halachah and Aggadah (trans. by Leon Simon; London: Education Department of the Zionist Federation of Great Britain and Ireland, 1944); Isaac Heinemann, The Methods of Aggadah (Hebr.; Jerusalem, 1949, 3d ed. 1970). 21 Naturally, most of the Jewish and Christian traditions appear in the extensive corpus of rabbinic and patristic biblical commentaries. With some minor exceptions, we do not find biblical commentary in the classical corpus. Thus, I use the term Classical exegetical tradition somewhat loosely to refer to the interpretative gestures traceable to Jerome’s Classical education.

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Septuagint J?P FG> J ZCNC\C MCK> VQ> RWT HNQIK\QP GP VJ^ ZCNC\J!

Aquila UWPCPCNCODCPóOGPQP

Symmachus GPGKNQW`OGPQP

For the seventh plague, rather than dispatch ordinary hail, God sends a juiced-up version, a kind of natural molotov cocktail: “and there was hail and fire was taken inside the hail.” It is unclear what exactly “fire taken inside the hail” means or how it might be possible. Jerome’s version, “and the hail and fire, evenly mixed, were delivered” cannot be explained as a simple rendition of the Hebrew or Greek. 22 Such a strange phenomenon requires the Late Antique commentator to draw on the resources of historia. A technical term common among Late Antique scholars, Jerome’s understanding of historia represents a combination of the Classical grammatical tradition and patristic exegesis. According to classical grammarians historia can refer to a type of content or an exegetical technique. As content, historia refers to actual facts or at least, a verisimilitude of actuality. As an exegetical technique, historia indicates the use of realia to explicate a literary text. 23 This Classical grammatical understanding of historia becomes the lens by which Jewish traditions are evaluated by Christian scholars such as Jerome. 24 Here, then, Jerome utilizes a Jewish aggadah to explain the unusual realia of the hail. One of the earlier versions of the tradition which can be found in a number of places, appears in Pesiqta de Rab Kahana 1:4.

22

Aquila (UWPCPCNCODCPóOGPQP) and Symmachus (GPGKNQW`OGPQP) correctly alter the Septuagint’s rendering of ³  î ¥ ³† §Š with HNQIK\QP from a syntactic point of view (³  î ¥ ³† §Š is reflexive) and a semantic point of view (³  î ¥ ³† §Š comes from the root  °¥ ‘take’). Although inmixta could perhaps be derived from Aquila and Symmachus’ rendition of ³  î ¥ ³† §Š , inmixta pariter introduces a completely new idea. 23 David Dietz, “Historia in the Commentary of Servius,” TAPA 125 (1995) 6197. 24 Adam Kamesar, “The Evaluation of the Narrative Aggada in Greek and Latin Patristic Literature.” JThS 45 (1994) 37-71. Historia is one of 4 tools (vocabulary, grammar/rhetoric, meter) used in the interpretation of texts. Interpretation has four parts as well—proper pronunciation, establishing the correct text, exegesis of the text, and aesthetic evaluation (Kamesar, p. 40).

24

MIDRASH AND CONTEXT R. ʗanin explained R. Neʘemiah’s 25 “it [the hail] is like the fire of a lamp”--because the water and oil are mixed as one together (œ ™¤ ¨¢š±«§) and the flame burns from inside.

Not only is Jerome’s inmixta pariter ‘mixed equally’ the semantic equivalent of œ ™¤ ¨¢š±«§, ‘mixed as one’, it also preserves the same syntax. Jerome and R. ʗanin, unlike the Hebrew, treat fire and hail as a compound subject! . Donning the persona of the Classical grammarian, Jerome draws on Jewish tradition to explain an unusual phenomenon.

2. EXOD. 15:1 Žž¢¥ Ž±¢ÚÒ Š ±§™¥‹ Ⱨ™ † 垍 ,Žž¢¥ ,³™ã Ž±¢ÜŠ  -³™Œ ¥™Ž ‹ ±ÛŠ† ¢ ¢‹©šâ † ÚŒ § ±¢ÚŽ Š ¢ ŸÒ IH tunc cecinit Moses et filii Israhel carmen hoc Domino et dixerunt: cantemus Domino gloriose enim magnificatus est Septuagint 6QVG J?UGP /YWUJL MCK> QK WKQK> +UTCJN VJ>P Y FJ>P VCWVJP VY!` SGY!` MCK> GK?RCP NGIQPVGL  #UYOGP VY!` MWTKY! GPFQEYL IC>T FGFQECUVCK

Old Latin tunc cantavit Moyses et filii Israel canticum hoc Domino et dixerunt dicere: Cantemus Domino gloriose enim magnificatus est As an exegete in the Classical tradition, Jerome would be sensitive to issues of genre. Therefore, we would expect Jerome to show interest in the proper classification of the Song of the Sea. The Hebrew, repeating the root for song three times, clearly identifies the genre, but the biblical understanding of a song or poem differs from Classical literary theory. 26 At first glance, Jerome’s translation does not seem remarkable. That he bases his translation on the Old Latin emerges not only from the close similirility between the two texts for the entire song, but also because this similarity cannont simply be explained by coincidence. 27 Therefore, the fact 25

R. Nehemiah (and R. Judah, with whom he disputes) lived in the mid 2nd century C.E. 26 See Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Poetry (New York: Basic Books, 1985) and Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985). 27 For example, unlike the common singular in the Hebrew, Old Latin and Jerome translate cantemus. Moreover, gloriose enim magnificatus est avoids

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that Jerome uses cecinit and carmen rather than cantavit and canticum becomes significant. Although canere and cantare are similar, canere belongs to more exalted poetic utterances while cantare refers to the activity of singers or actors. Thus, canere much more appropriately introduce a poem celebrating national deliverance. The same applies to carmen and canticum: Canticum refers to a song in Roman comedy or a lampoon or incantation whereas carmen refers to the more lofty lyric or epic poety or prophecy. 28 Thus, Jerome would be following Josephus’s claim that Moses composed the poem in hexameters, i.e., epic verse. 29 The use of canere is especially striking. According to the Late Antique pagan grammarian Servius, who may have even studied with Jerome, 30 commenting on the opening of the Aeneid, canere refers to three actions: praise (laudare), predicting the future (divinare), and the physical act of singing (cantare). 31 In a comment on Eclogues 7.5 (et cantare pares et respondere parati), Servius refines the possible senses of cantare by delineating two types of singing. He explains that cantare can refer to the recitation of a continuous poem (continuum carmen) or the responsive performance characteristic of the amoebaeic song. 32 Since Miriam antiphonally responds to Moses’s song, Jerome captures all the aspects of canere’s meaning in a Late Antique context. Let me boldly suggest that Jerome drew upon his Classical grammatical education here because this technical Late Antique Latin terminology correrendering the repeated root in the Hebrew, ÒŽß ™›Ž -¢çŠ ‘for he is highly raised high’, ascensor is an unusual rendering of ՚¤† ± ‘its rider’ since it is ecclesiastical Latin, and deiecit is not the only available translation for §Ž Ž ± throw’. 28 See LS, s.v. Jerome also may be influenced by the Septuagint’s J!?UGP VJ>P Y !FJP. 29 Josephus, Ant., 2:346: /YWUJL Y!FJ>P GKL VQ>P SGQ>P GIMYOKQP VG MCK> VJL GWOGPGKCL GWZCTKUVKCP RGTKGZQWUCP GP GECOGVTY! VQPY! UWPVKSJUKP 30

Both Jerome and Servius were pupils of the Aelius Donatus. See Louis Holtz, Donat et la tradtion de l’enseignement grammatical: étude sur l’Ars Donati et sa diffusion (IVeIXe siècle et édition critique; Paris: Centre national de la recherche scientifique, 1981). 31 Servius on Aeneid 1.1 cano polysemus sermo est. tria enim significat: aliquando laudo, ut “regemque canebant” (7.698); aliquando divino, ut “ipsa canas oro” Aeneid (6:76); aliquando canto, ut in hoc loco. nam proprie canto significat, quia cantanda sunt carmina. 32 Servius a.l. et cantare pares et r. p. hoc est qui possent et continuum carmen dicere-nam hoc est cantare, ut “extinctum nymphae crudeli funere Daphnim”, vel “candidus insuetum miratur lumen Olympi”-et amoebaeum referre, ut “et me Phoebus amat, Phoebo sua simper apud me munera sunt lauri”.

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lates with rabbinic interpretation. The Mekhilta’s exegesis of Exod. 15:1 includes the three possible meanings for song as well: Then Sang Moses: Sometimes “then” refers to what is past, and sometimes “then” refers to what will come in the future....And they spoke, Saying: Rabbi Neʘemiah says: The Holy Spirit Came to rest on Israel, and they recited the Song like people reciting the Shema. Rabbi Akiba says: The Holy Spirit came to rest upon them and they recited the Song like people reciting the Hallel [songs of praise]. Rabbi Eliezer ben Taddai says: First Moses would begin a sentence and then Israel would repeat after him. 33

As in Servius, the song refers to the future, it is a form of praise, and it is a particular type of antiphonal singing. Jerome translates Jewish tradition into the language of Late Antique grammarians. Having said that, we should not make the mistake of concluding that Classical and Rabbinic technical terms for “song” and “singing” have precisely the same meanings in Jerome. For example, it should be obvious to us that Jerome would be imagining a future very different than the future conceived by Vergil or the Mekhilta. The following examples demonstrate how Jerome employs Classical and Jewish traditions to embed a Christian understanding of the future into the biblical text.

3. EXOD. 14:13 Ûˆ Œ «¢-±Úˆ Œ ™ ,Žž†¢ ³«âچ  ¢-³™Œ ♱⠆ âší† ¢³† Š --♎±¢ñ-¥Ñ Š ,¦«Ž -¥ Ž ™Œ ÚŒ § ±§™ Œ 垍 .¦¥Õ« Ž -œ« ,œÕ« ¦³Ž ™±† ¥Š â­ªŠ ³ ™¥--¦Õ坍 ¦Š¢± ¯† §Š -³™Œ ¦³¢ Œ ™Š ±† ±Úˆ Œ ™ ,¢çŠ :¦Õ坍 ¦¤Œ ¥Ž IH et ait Moses ad populum nolite timere state et videte magnalia Domini quae facturus est hodie Aegyptios enim quos nunc videtis nequaquam ultra videbitis usque in sempiternum Septuagint GK?RGP FG> /YWUJL RTQ>L VQ>P NCQP 3CTUGKVG UVJVG MCK> QTCVG VJP UYVJTKCP VJ>P RCTC> VQW SGQW JP RQKJUGK JOKP UJOGTQP QP VTQRQP IC>T GYTCMCVG VQW>L #KIWRVKQWL UJOGTQP QW RTQUSJUGUSG GVK KFGKP CWVQW>L GKL VQ>P CKYPC ZTQPQP:

The exegetical traditions associated with Exodus 14:13 have been extensively treated by James Kugel, although he does not specifically refer to 33

Translation from Judah Goldin, The Song of the Sea, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1971) 65, 77-78. Emphasis added.

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the Vulgate. 34 It is worth paraphrasing much of Kugel while discussing this passage in order to demonstrate the interpretative elements of Jerome’s translation as well as some of the problems involved in explaining the source and significance of these features. Immediately before the Red Sea parts and the Israelites are miraculously saved from their Egyptian pursuers, in Exodus 14:13 Moses exhorts the Israelites to behold the impending “salvation of the Lord.” Although Jerome usually adheres closely to the singular and plural forms of his Hebrew source text, here he renders the singular “salvation” with the plural “mighty works.” The Israelites will see not a single act of salvation, but a multitude of great things. Given such a minor alteration, one may well wonder, “who was counting?” Apparently, R. Yose Ha-Gelili, a second century C.E. rabbi was counting: How can we deduce that the Egyptians suffered ten plagues in Egypt, but fifty plagues at the Red Sea? With regard to [the plagues in] Egypt, what does the text say? “And the wizards said to Pharaoh, ‘It is the finger of God!’” At the Red Sea, however, what does the text say? “And God saw the mighty hand which the Lord had used against the Egyptians....” [Exod. 14:31]. If, by the “finger of God” they had suffered ten plagues, one might conclude that at the Red Sea [where the “hand of God” appeared] they were stricken with fifty plagues.35

The mishnaic tractate Avot 5:4 takes a slightly different tack, altering the number and presenting the salvations from a different vantage point: “Ten miracles were done for our ancestors in Egypt, and ten more on the Sea.” 36 Avot presents the mighty acts not as plagues against the Egyptians, but salvations on behalf of the Israelites. Such a distinction is crucial because it prevents us from tracing Jerome’s rendition directly to the rabbinic tradition. Rather, as Kugel has shown, the plurality of miracles on behalf of the Israelites belongs to a inner-biblical exegetical tradition. Ps. 77:15-20 34

James Kugel, The Bible as It Was (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997) 341-342. 35 Cited in Kugel, p. 342 from the Passover Haggadah. 36 Kugel, p. 342. See also Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1909-1938) 3:22 and 6:6-7. Some of the 10 miracles include 12 paths, one for each tribe, the waters forming a vault, the water became transparent, the soil was dry, and a stream of drinking water flowed through the split waters by which the Israelites could slake their thirst. Theodoret, Quaest Exod. 25 hesitantly acknowledges the tradition of the 12 paths, although he prefers the literal meaning of one large pathway.

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lists numerous natural wonders associated with the parting of the Red Sea, while Deut. 11:3-4 and Neh. 9:9-11 could be read as referring to “signs” and “wonders” occurring both inside and outside of Egypt. 37 Interestingly enough, elsewhere in Jerome, we find magnalia referring both to the plagues and the salvations. In Psalm 106:21-22 the text reads: “...[God] had done marvelous things in Egypt, wonders in the land of Ham, miracles at the Red Sea.” 38 Jerome translates the “marvelous things” done in Egypt as magnalia ‘mighty acts’, which must refer to the plagues. He uses the identical term in Exodus 14:13, were it refers to the miracles at the sea. 39 Nevertheless, although Jerome may be following an inner-biblical tradition, the fact that magnalia refers to the plagues in Egypt in the Psalm and to miracles associated with the Red Sea in Exodus indicates, I would suggest, that Jerome cleverly incorporates the two different rabbinic traditions from the Hagaddah and mAvot. That is, read intertextually, magnalia ‘mighty acts’, refers simultaneously to plagues inflicted upon the Egyptians and miracles performed on behalf of the Israelites. Moreover, Jerome’s connection of this tradition of numerous miracles at the Red Sea to Exod. 14:13 instead of 14:31 (as in the Haggadah), may also be significant. Since 14:31 refers to the event after it happened, the miracles are unequivocally limited to a particular group (the Israelites) and place (Red Sea). By transferring the plurality of “mighty acts” to 14:13, Jerome expands the provenance of these salvific deeds to the future, to the mighty acts that God will perform (videte magnalia Domini quae facturus est). 40 What might these future mighty deeds be? By Jerome’s time, it had become commonplace among Christian writers to view the crossing of the Red Sea as a symbol of baptism and conversion! 41 By moving the Jewish tradition from the past tense (Exod. 14:31) to the future tense (14:13), Jerome exemplifies his general view that the Jewish literal reading of Scriptures ignores the many concealed references to the Christian future.

37

Kugel, p. 341. Kugel, p. 342. 39 Psalms 105:21 ILXX=obliti sunt Deum qui salvavit eos qui fecit magnalia in Aegypto. Magnalia corresponds exactly with the Hebrew, ³Õ¥œ›† ÛŒ « --¦«¢ Ž ÚÕ§ Š ¥™‹ â ¤† ڎ ¦Š¢±Ž ¯† §Š Þ.† 40 Granted that hodie ‘today’ limits the actions to the crossing of the Red Sea, nonetheless, from a strictly Latin literary point of view, the phrase can be read polyvalently, referring to both all future events and the future events today. 41 Brevard Childs, The Book of Exodus: A Critical, Theological Commentary, (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1974) 234-235. 38

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4. EXOD. 4:13  ¥Ž چ ñ-œ Š ¢Þ† ,™Ž©- ¥ چ IH mitte quem missurus es Septuagint RTQZGKTKUCK FWPCOGPQP CNNQP QP CRQUVGNGKL

Old Latin provide alium quem mittas Such a veiled Christological allusion appears in Jerome’s rendition of 4:13. Our reluctant hero Moses, after exhausting a number of attempts to excuse himself from redeeming the Israelites on the grounds that he lacks the appropriate qualifications, finally requests that God “send, I beg you, whom you would send.” According to the Septuagint tradition, Moses begs God to send somebody else, anybody else. Pirke de Rabbi Eliezer is more specific: “[Moses] said before him, ‘Master of the Universe, send whom you will send, i.e., that person whom you will send in the future’.” 42 The Jerusalem Targum leaves no doubt as to the identity of this individual. “Send on this mission of yours, Phinehas, who is worthy of being sent.” 43 Jerome’s rendition reflects this Jewish tradition by using the indicative mood. The Vulgate does not say “send someone else” or “send whomever you would send,” but “send the one whom you will [definitely] send”. Whom Jerome has in mind is obvious as we see in a fragment preserved from the Antiochene exegete, Eusebius of Emese. 44 He notes that “the prophet [Moses] knew who will be sent, Jesus Christ, the true, savior.” Reading Jerome’s version in connection with rabbinic exegesis and Eusebius of Emese strikingly demonstrates how Jerome incorporates a Jewish eschatological tradition into his translation. This example is particularly telling because the Jews have attributed the verse to the wrong messianic figure, Phinehas. 45 Thus, Jerome includes a messianic reference whose history Pirke de Rabbi Eliezer 40: ž³ž™ œ¢š  ¥²³ œ¢š ™© ¥² ¦¢§¥ž« ¥¤ ¨žš¢ ž¢©­¥ ±§™ . ž¥²¥ œ¢³« ³™² ²¢™ 43 ™ ¥³²§¥ ¢§ œ ª ©­ œ¢š £³ž ¢¥² ¨žœš  ¥² 42

44

Eusebius of Emese, Devresse p. 89, *!FGK IC>T Q RTQHJVJL VQ>P OGNNQPVC RGORGUSCK +JUQWP :TKUVQ>P UYVJTC VQ>P CNJSKPQP 45

An indirect chain of exegetical traditions resulted in the connection between Phinehas and messianic traditions thereby producing his unexpected appearance in Exodus 4:13. In the first century CE work Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum 48.1-2,

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of interpretation would seem to indicate that the Jews were on the right track, but ultimately missed the real meaning. He takes an opportunity to allow his readers to reach the correct and obvious interpretation. Basil of Caeserea provides plausible explanations not only for why God sends Moses instead of Christ but also for why Jerome might want to allude to the future Messiah without specifying Christ: “That is, let the true law giver come, the able saviour, the one alone having the power to free from sins. Since the completion of the times has not yet come, and it is necessary that humanness be accustomed beforehand through types, on account of this the request of the prophet is not heeded.”46

Jerome wants to preserve the prepatory affect of typology. I would add another reason. Using a Jewish tradition of a messianic reference effectively responds to the pagan contention that Moses fails to mention Jesus. 47 Jerome may have felt pressure from the pagans such as the emperor Julian who writes “[Moses] never knew or clearly taught about the firstborn son of God, or God as the Word, or any of those things falsely assumed by you [Christians] later.” 48 Since the claim that Christians misinterpret ChristologiPhinehas is identified with Elijah. The eschatological and messianic associations of Elijah subsequently adhere to Phinehas. Phinehas-Elijah, although not the messiah per se, announces the coming redemption. Since both Origen (Comm. in Joann. 6.14) and Jerome refer to a Jewish tradition of identifying Phinehas with Elijah (Eliam esse Phineas Hebraei ex Apocryphis persuasum habent 5. 813 Vallarsi), we can be confident that Jerome immediately noticed the messianic implications of the targumic tradition. On Phinehas in Jewish and Christian tradition, see Samuel Krauss, “The Jews in the Works of the Church Fathers,” JQR 5 (1893) 153-154; Louis Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews, 6:138, 315-316; C. T. R. Hayward, “Phinehas-the Same is Elijah: The Origins of a Rabbinic Tradition,” JJS 29.1 (1978) 22-34. 46 Basil of Caeserea Enarrationes in Isaiam 7.187 in Thomas C. Oden, ed., Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: Old Testament (vol. 3, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy; Chicago: Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers, 2001). 47 In identifying a specific individual with eschatological overtones, Jerome follows the direction of Targum Yerushalmi’s rendering “send now your agency through the hand of Phinehas who is fit to be sent at the end of days” On the pagan claim that Moses does not allude to Jesus, see John Gager, Moses in GrecoRoman Paganism (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1972) 109. 48

2TYVQVQMQP FG> WKQ>P SGQW ? J SGQ>P NQIQPJ VK VYP WH’ WOY`P WUVGTQP [GWFY`L UWPVKSGPVYP QWVG J!FGK MCV’ CTZJ>P QWVG GFKFCUMG HCPGTY`L Julian, Galil. 290 E in

Giancarlo Rinaldi, Biblia Gentium: primo contributo per un indice delle citazioni, dei

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cal references in the Hebrew Bible would also have been known to Jerome, here he can rely on Jewish tradition to support a messianic reference. 49 In typical Late Antique fashion, Jerome simultaneously differentiates Paganism, Judaism, and Christianity while comfortably negotiating and incorporating their exegetical traditions.

5. EXOD. 3:2 Œ©ë†  £Õñ † §Š --ڙ‹ -³Þ ¥ ކ ,ž¢¥Ž ™‹ Žž†¢ £Ñ † ¥† § ™Ž±å‹ž IH apparuitque ei Dominus in flamma ignis de medio rubi Septuagint YHSJ FG> CWVY! CIIGNQL MWTKQW GP HNQIK> RWTQ>L GM VQW DCVQW

Exodus 4:13 is not an isolated example of Jerome’s incorporation of Christological references. Jerome draws on Jewish traditions to resolve a theological problem in Exod. 3:2 as well. In the famous story of Moses and the burning bush, the Hebrew Bible clearly states that an “angel of the Lord” appeared to Moses through the flame from inside the bush. Jerome, surprisingly, indicates that the Lord, not an angel of the Lord, appears to Moses. The distinction is crucial. Commenting on Exod. 3:4 (“The Lord called out to him from the bush”), Jerome’s younger contemporary Augustine wonders if the Lord is calling through an angel or is it Christ appearing in the flame. , “Does the Lord call through an angel? Or is the Lord that angel who is called ‘the angel of great counsel’ (Isa. 9:6) and is understood to be Christ? For above it said: the angel appeared to him in the flame of fire from the bush. 50 riferimenti e delle allusioni alla bibbia negli autori pagani, greci e latini, di età imperiale [Rome: Libreria Sacre Scritture, 1989], 266). 49 The Jewish interlocutors in the Adversus Iudaeos literature accuse Christians of inventing such references. See Gager, p.109. 50 QE, 3. Clamavit illum dominus de rubo. Dominus in angelo? An dominus angelus ille qui dictus est “magni consilii angelus” (Isa. 9:6) et intellegitur Christus? Supra enim dixit: adparuit illi angelus domini in flamma ignis de rubo.” Theodoret (Q5) and Severus of Antioch (Françoise Petit, ed., La Chaîne sur L’Exode: I. Fragments de Sévère D’Antioche [Louvain: Peeters, 1999] 2-3) also identify the angel of God with Christ. See also Justin Martyr Dial. 59-60: MCK> GRK> VQWVQKL GRGHGTQP ?9 CPFTGL PGPQJMCVG NGIYP QVK QP NGIGK /YWUJL CIIGNQP GP RWTK> HNQIQ>L NGNCNJMGPCK CWVY!` QW=VQL CWVQX SGQ>L YP UJOCKPGK VY!` /YWUGK QVK CWVQX GUVKP Q SGQ>L #DTCC>O MCK>> + UCC>M MCK> + CMYD -CK> Q 6TWHYP 1W

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Augustine’s query begs the question. Why did Jerome miss an opportunity to include a Christological reference? Jerome could be following those rabbinic readings of the verse which equate “angel of the Lord” with Lord: From a thornbush. A Gentile asked R. Yehoshua b. Qarcha (mid. 2nd century C.E.), ‘Why did the Holy One see fit to speak from a thornbush?’ The rabbi responded, ‘if had been from a carob tree or from a sycamore, you would asked me the same thing. But I cannot send you forth without an answer. Why from the thornbush? To teach you that there is no place free from the Divine Presence, even a thornbush....R. Eliezer (2nd century, C.E.) said, ‘just as the thornbush is the lowliest of all the trees in the world, thus was Israel the lowliest when they were down in Egypt. Therefore, the Holy One was revealed to them and redeemed them, as it is written, and I will go down to save them from the hand of the Egyptians (Exod. 3:8).’ 51

Since there is an equally prominent strand in aggadic tradition that understands the text as literally referring to an angel of the Lord, we still must explain why Jerome prefers one Jewish tradition over another. A response to a pagan critique of Exod 3:2 provides a solution. This critique can be gleaned from Ambrosiaster, Questions on the Old and New Testaments 42: “Why was the angel that was sent appear to speak to Moses in a fire from a bush, on a mountain?” 52 In a striking coincidence then, the question in Ambrosiaster almost exactly parallels the question asked by a gentile of R. Yehoshua. The answers as well parallel each other by indicating that God can appear anywhere and that descending into the thornbush is a gracious act revealing sympathy for a suffering humanity. According to AmVQWVQ PQQWOGP CRQ> VY`P NQIYP VY`P RTQNGNGIOGPYP GNGIGP CNN QVK CIIGNQL OG>P J?P Q QHSGK>L GP HNQIK> RWTQX SGQ>L FG> Q QOKNY`P VY!` /YWUGK YUVG MCK> CIIGNQP MCK> SGQP FWQ QOQW QPVCL GP VJ! VQVG QRVCUKC! IGIGPJUSCK…-CIY> RCNKP *FJ OGPVQK Y_ 6TWHYP CRQFGKEY QVK RTQ>L VJ! /YWUGYL QRVCUKC! CWVQ>L QW=VQL OQPQL MCK> CIIGNQL MCNQWOGPQL MCK> SGQ>L WRCTZYP YHSJ MCK> RTQUYOKNJUG VY!` /YWUGK` QWVYL IC>T GHJ Q NQIQL 9HSJ FG> CWVY!` CIIGNQL MWTKQW GP RWTK> HNQIQ>L GM DCVQW MCK> QTC!` QVK Q DCVQL MCKGVCK RWTK Q FG> DCVQL QW MCVGMCKGVQ 1 FG> /YWUJL GK?RG 2CTGNSY>P Q[QOCK VQ> QTCOC VQWVQ VQ> OGIC QVK QW MCVCMCKGVCK Q DCVQL YL F’ GK?FG MWTKQL QVK RTQUCIGK KFGKP GMCNGUGP CWVQ>P MWTKQL GM VJL DCVQW 51

Exod. Rab. 2:5 (H. Freedman and M. Simon, eds., Midrash Rabbah [London: Soncino Press, 1961]). See also Pirke de Rabbi Eliezer 40. 52 Cur angelus missus loqui ad Moysen in igne et rubo apparuit in monte? (Rinaldi, Biblia Gentium, p. 264).

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briosiaster, “God is exalted; therefore deserved to appear on high, in a place which is close to the sky… God made it so that he appear in a bush for the sake of sins. For he descended to give the law for the sake of sins (thorns symbolize sins).” Since Ambrosiaster’s answer begins by positing that an exalted God should appear in an exalted setting and then allegorically defends God’s presence in the lowly fire and bush, the basis of the pagan critique must be the impropriety of God appearing in a lowly thornbush. Having the angel appear in the bush would improper. In effect, then, Jerome not only agrees with Ambrosiaster’s response, but translates the text in a way that clarifies that God, not a messenger, appears in the fire and bush. 53 Jerome’s version eliminates the “middle angel” because it is the most effective response to the pagan critique and there is a basis in Jewish exegetical traditions. Moreover, Pirke de Rabbi Eliezer 40 also records the famous tradition that God descends into the prickly thornbush in order to emphasize divine empathy for the suffering of the Israelites. Thus, from the Jewish side, Jerome’s rendition precisely supports the idea that God loves the people so much, that God is willing to appear in a lowly form—Jerome accepts the premise of the pagan critique and turns it on its head to give it a positive spin. From the Christian side, Jerome does not counter the messianic allusion, but wishes to indicate typologically that just as God is willing to appear in the bush, so God will be willing to appear in the flesh. For Augustine, Theodoret, and Severus (see above n. 50), the burning bush actually has the Son; for Jerome, it symbolizes the possibility of the Son. 54

6. EXOD. 32:34 Ž ©­Ž ¥† £† ¥‹ ‹ ¢ ,¢¤Ò Š ¥† § ‹êŠ --£† ¥Ž ¢ñŠ ±† ލ àŠ -±Úˆ Œ ™ ¥™Œ ,¦«Ž -³ Ž ™Œ  ‹ ©† £† ¥‹ ñŽ « ž† ,¢œŠ °† ìŽ ¦Õ¢šâ † ;£¢Œ ¦³™ Ž äŽ   ¦Œ ¥ˆ ‹ « ¢ñŠ œ† ° ­â Ž IH tu autem vade et duc populum istum quo locutus sum tibi

53

It would not be problematic for a lesser being to be situated in a lowly bush. According to Ambrosiaster, fire is appropriate because it seeks the higher while the unconsumed thornbush symbolizes the redemption of sinners: just as the thorns are revealed, but not consumed by the fire, so too does the law point out sins first before punishing them. Moreover, the thorns refer to accidental sins because a rubo does not have thorns on its roots. 54 Such an allegorical reading of the bush reflects numerous interpretations of the episode. Cf. Kugel’s application of the famous slogan, “the medium is the messaage.”

34

MIDRASH AND CONTEXT angelus meus praecedet te ego autem in die ultionis visitabo et hoc peccatum eorum Septuagint PWPK> FG> DCFK\G MCVCDJSK MCK> QFJIJUQP VQ>P NCQ>P VQWVQP GKL VQ>P VQRQP QP GK?RC UQK KFQW> Q CIIGNQX OQW RTQRQTGWGVCK RTQ> RTQYURQW UQW J! F CP JOGTC! GRKUMGRVYOCK GRCEY GR  CWVQW>L VJ>P COCTVKCP CWVY`P

Old Latin ...ecce angelus meus antecedet te... If the eating of the forbidden fruit represented the sin par excellence for Augustine, the worship of the Golden Calf functions as the paradigmatic sin in Jewish tradition. Moses, intercedes on behalf of the Israelites, and begs God not to blot out this idolatrous people completely. God tells Moses to descend and lead the people with the help of a divine angel, but God promises that “I will punish their sin on the day of punishment.” Jerome’s rendition has unusual features that may be of theological significance. Rather, than realize the repeated Hebrew root (“punish on the day of punishment”), Jerome has “I will see (or punish) even this sin on the day of vengeance.” Although the biblical text in its original context could hardly be alluding to an apocalyptic vision of the end of days, by the time of Jerome, eschatological ideas had become commonplace. Therefore, Jerome had something very specific in mind when he used the phrase “day of vengeance”. To drive the point home further, Jerome adds autem ‘however’ twice (a word not appearing in the Hebrew) which highlights the distinction between Moses (you, however) and God (I, however). Such a contrast underscores the dichotomy of present time and future time--now, temporarily forgiven, the Israelites are permitted to follow Moses, but God will ultimately avenge their sin. There seems to be something special about the sin of the Golden Calf because Jerome also adds an et ‘even’, “I will punish even this sin of theirs.” According to R. Isaac (2nd or 3rd century CE), “You do not have any punishment which does not include 1/24 of a litra of the original Golden Calf, as it is written. I will punish their sin on the day of punishment (Exod. 32:4). 55 Rather than punish the Israelites at once, God distributes the punishment in tiny units through all the punishments experienced by the Israelites. Christian tradition also recognizes the uniqueness of the Golden Calf incident. 55

B. Sanh. 102a (I. Epstein, The Babylonian Talmud, [London: Soncino Press, 1935-1948]).

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According to the Epistle of Barnabas, the sin resulted in God cancelling the covenant with Israel, while Justin and the Apostolic Constitutions characterize the revelation of the ceremonial law as a punishment for this heinous act of idolatry. 56 For Stephen, in Acts 7:1-53, the sin of the Golden Calf is part of a long tradition of stubborn Jewish blindness, culminating in the rejection of Christ. Again, Jerome alludes to a Jewish tradition that has been more “correctly” understood by Christian exegetes. Namely, the punishment of this sin typologically represents the punishment for rejecting Christ. There are numerous other examples of the incorporation of theological traditions preserved in Christian and Jewish exegetical sources. Such examples may erroneously give the impression that Jerome’s interpretative translations are always motivated by a desire to impose a Christian theological hermeneutic. Nothing could be further from the evidence.

7. EXOD. 33:7 ¥Œ ™ Õ¥ ™Ž±°Ž ž† ,Œ© ˆ é  -¨§Š ° ‹ ±†  ,Œ© ˆ é ¥ ®â §Š Õ¥-¡Ž Ž ©ž† ¥Œ ™Ž -³™Œ  îŠ ¢ ÚŒ §â .Œ© ˆ é ¥ ®â §Š ±Úˆ Œ ™ ,œ«Õ§ ‹ ¥Œ ™-¥™Œ ™¯‹ ‹ ¢ ,Žž†¢ Úî‹ š §-¥ † çŽ ,Ž¢†ž Ž ;œ«Õ§ ‹ IH Moses quoque tollens tabernaculum tetendit extra castra procul vocavitque nomen eius tabernaculum foederis et omnis populus qui habebat aliquam quaestionem egrediebatur ad tabernaculum foederis extra castra Septuagint -CK> NCDYAP /YWUJL VJ>P UMJPJ>P CWVQW GRJEGP GEY VJ!  RCTGODQNJ! OCMTC>P CRQ> VJ! RCTGODQNJ! MCK> GMNJSJ UMJPJ> OCTVWTKQW MCK> GIGPGVQ RC`L Q \JVY`P MWTKQP GEGRQTGWGVQ GKL VJ>P UMJPJ>P GEY VJ! RCTGODQNJ!

Old Latin et sumens tabernaculum Moyses, fixit illud extra castra, longe a castris et appellatum est Tabernaculum testimonii. Et fiebat ut omnis quicumque quaerebat Dominum, ibat ad Tabernaculum testimonii, foras extra castra. I will conclude with an apparently innocuous translation of Jerome that in fact is fraught with meaning. In response to the embarrassing disaster of the Golden Calf, which can partially be blamed on his long absence 56

Childs, p.575. See also L. Smolar and M. Aberbach, “The Golden Calf Episode in Postbiblical Literature,” HUCA 39 (1968) 91-116.

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from the Israelite camp while receiving the revelation on Mt. Sinai, Moses establishes a kind of sacral Help Desk: Now Moses would take the Tent and pitch it outside of the camp, at some distance from the camp. It was called the Tent of Meeting, and whoever sought the Lord would go out of the Tent of Meeting that was outside of the camp.

Jerome, however, produces a sense strikingly different from the Hebrew. Rather than referring to an individual seeking guidance, Jerome pictures the whole people (omnis populus) coming to the tent of meeting with a question. This image can be explained through his use of the term quaestio, a technical term well-known among Late Antique scholars. 57 Based on the Greek \JVJUKL ‘question, inquiry’, the term goes back to the Greek commentary tradition which consisted of questions (\JVJUGKL) and answers (NWUGKL) on Homer. This technique of Hellenistic Alexandrian scholars was picked up by Jewish writers such as Philo and later Christians such as Origen, while Theodoret and Augustine published works consisting of questions and answers on books of the Bible. 58 Jerome himself wrote an exegetical tract entitled Hebrew Questions on Genesis and may have planned a similar work on Exodus, although the evidence is somewhat flimsy. 59 Moreover, in letters such as Ep. 36, he publicly responds to specific questions on Scripture raised by Pope Damasus. Therefore, the image of the people gathering to resolve a quaestio evokes the Late Antique image of a scholar publicly expounding a difficulty of Scripture. There is an even more surprising feature in Jerome’s translation. The Hebrew has “he who seeks the Lord,” but the Vulgate makes no reference to God! God has not disappeared, but has become absorbed into the quaes57

Jerome may have been introduced to the idea through the Septuagint’s

\JVY`P, but Jerome goes much further by using the noun quaestio rather than the

participle of the Greek and the verb in the Hebrew and Old Latin. 58 See Adam Kamesar, Jerome, Greek Scholarship, and the Hebrew Bible: A Study of the Quaestiones Hebraicae in Genesim (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998); Sze-Kar Wan, “Philo’s Quaestiones et Solutiones in Genesim: A Synoptic Approach,” Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 32 (1993) 22-53; Natalio Fernandez Marcos and Angel Saenz-Badillos, Theodoreti Cyrensis Quaestiones in Octateuchum: Editio Critica (Madrid: Instituto “Arias Montano,” 1979); Agnethe Siquans, Der Deuteronomiumkommentar des Theodoret von Kyros (Frankfurt am Main: P. Lang, 2002); Annelie Volgers and Claudio Zamagni, eds., Erotapokriseis: Early Christian Question-and-answer Literature in Context (Leuven: Peeters, 2004). 59 See my “Jerome’s Translation of the Book of Exodus,” p.5.

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tio. Thus, Jerome does more than retroject Classical grammatical terminology into the desert experience of the Israelites. By placing quaestio in the Tent of Meeting, he equates his own exegetical work with encountering the Divine. Engaging in questions and answers on Torah translates a common Classical grammatical technique into a sacred act. Constructing Torah study as a sacred act correlates with a characteristic feature of rabbinic Judaism. For many rabbis, the Torah replaced the Temple as the locus of the cult. Many passages could be cited as evidence, but there is one that interprets Exod. 33:7 in this vein by equating the teaching of Torah to appearing at the Tent of Meeting, the center of the sacrificial ritual: Our Rabbis have taught. When our teachers entered the vineyard at Yavneh, there were among them R. Judah and R. Jose and R. Nehemiah and R. Eliezer the son of R. Jose the Galilean. They all spoke in honour of hospitality and expounded texts [for that purpose]. R. Judah, the head of the speakers in every place, spoke in honour of the Torah and expounded the text, Now Moses used to take the tent and pitch it without the camp (Exod. 33:7). Have we not here, he said, an argument a fortiori? Seeing that the Ark of the Lord was never more than twelve mil distant and yet the Torah says, Everyone that sought the Lord went out unto the tent of meeting, how much more [is this title ‘the one who seeks the Lord’ applicable to] the disciples of the wise who go from city to city and from province to province to learn Torah! 60

In transferring this rabbinic concept into the technical Classical term quaestio that describes his own scholarly activity, Jerome defines the exegesis of scripture as a sacred act in and of itself. Such a move suggests that Jerome mediates Classical traditions through rabbinic ideology, transgressing the boundaries between Jewish, Classical and Christian culture. Applying the Classical quaestio to Scriptures, and understanding this exegetical activity as a sacred act consonant with rabbinic ideology, reflects the cultural amalgamation typical of Jerome. Late Antiquity can represent a time of ascribing and transgressing boundaries.

60

B. Ber. 63b (I. Epstein, The Babylonian Talmud, [London: Soncino Press, 19351948]).

BEING THE TEMPLE: EARLY JEWISH AND CHRISTIAN INTERPRETIVE TRANSPOSITIONS Joshua L. Moss American Hebrew Academy - Greensboro, North Carolina

INTRODUCTION Early Christian literature contains a variety of different interpretations of the symbol of the Temple: from the Temple as Jesus’ body, to the Temple as the Church itself, to the Temple as the heavenly realms where the Christ entered as priest. Early Midrash resists such transpositions and its dominant approach is to present law related to the Temple as if it still stood. Even that approach implies a transposition, however: the equivalence of the study of Temple-related mitzvot with the performance of them. Each approach represents not only a hermeneutical method, but the interpreter’s conception of the relationship of his community’s life to Second Temple Judaism. My question is: Which is the controlling factor? Does hermeneutics explain the community’s sense of continuity/discontinuity, or vice versa? When a musician transposes, she sees one note on the page, but plays another. The substitution is not random, but it allows an otherwise discordant pattern to blend with an ensemble. An interpretive transposition occurs when a pious reader sees one thing in a holy text, but understands another. To an outsider, the substitution may make no sense. However, the transposition allows a text that would otherwise occur as jarring or discordant to be subsumed into an existing system. Without the transposition, the text or the system would have to be rejected—or at least endure some degree of discord.

INNER-BIBLICAL TRANSPOSITIONS Tabernacle to Solomon’s Temple (or vice versa) The Temple represents one of the first great transpositions of the Bible. The Torah gives detailed laws concerning the Tabernacle— its dimensions and its rituals. There are allusions to the idea that a permanent sanctuary 39

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will one day be established (Deut. 12:5; 16:2; 26:2), but little actual legislation concerning it. Solomon’s Temple is built as described by the book of Kings, with no clear guidance from Moses’ Torah as to what its dimensions or furnishings should be, in what respects it should continue the ritual of the Tabernacle, and in what respects the Temple ritual may differ. Whatever Solomon decides to do apparently meets with manifest divine approval, and that is good enough for the vast majority of the faithful. The Temple follows the laws of the Tabernacle, except where it doesn’t. The interpretive transposition is complete. 1 Solomon’s Temple to Second Temple (Ezra’s Temple) When the exiles returned from Babylonia to re-establish the Temple, they made several very dramatic assumptions: (1) that sacrifices might properly resume before the structure was completed (or even begun); (2) that the Temple can be valid even without some of its most distinctive furniture such as the Ark of the Covenant; and (3) that the scale and furnishings of Solomon’s Temple need not be duplicated. People notice the differences … and some mourn them (Ezra 3:12). Nevertheless, for the vast majority of the faithful, the interpretive transposition works. The rituals of the Second Temple agree with the Mosaic law of the Tabernacle and the example of the First Temple, with the exception of exceptions. Practice triumphs over text. Solomon’s Temple to Mystic Temple (Ezekiel’s Temple) Ezekiel argued for a variety of specific changes in the physical structure and ritual of the Temple as well as the priestly line. Though he was a prophet, his prestige was not enough to have his visions incorporated into practice. 2 The mainstream of Jewish interpretation deferred the fulfillment of his visions to a future era. But the sectarians of the Judean Desert refused to believe that Ezekiel’s vision was meant to be deferred.

HEROD’S TEMPLE – A DRAMATIC TRANSPOSITION Hellenistic Jews and the Temple Daniel R. Schwartz has asserted that the Jewish communities of the western diaspora had a minimal feeling of connection to the Temple as a Sanctuary 1

Historically, the institution of the Temple actually predated the descriptions of the Tabernacle which appear in the Pentateuch. 2 Compare Maimonides, Hilkhot Beit haBeʚirah, chapter 2. Rambam believes that the altar in the Second Temple conformed to the dimensions set forth in Ezekiel.

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– although they had a maximum of feeling of attachment to Jerusalem as their polis of primary loyalty. 3 … the notion of God living in a specific place elsewhere, and of the only legitimate Jewish cult being limited to that specific place, was one which no exilic community could live with for long. 4 … negative and positive factors combined to encourage Hellenistic Jews to focus their attention on Jerusalem rather than the Temple… The positive factor is the high valuation of cities in the Greek and Hellenistic tradition, which made Jewish attachment to Jerusalem a virtue, and which legitimized Judaism by defining it as the patria politeia of the Jews’ mother-city. 5

Despite the plausibility of many of his assertions, several of Schwartz’ proof texts do not pan out – for instance, his assertion that Wisdom of Solomon 3:14 and 9:8 speak of the Temple of God in opposition to Temple of Jerusalem. 6 If Philo of Alexandria is representative of the Western Diaspora, it is clear that the Temple was held in very high esteem indeed by some Hellenistic Jews. Yet it is true that people who did not participate in the Temple ritual, yet claimed to hold to the law of Moses, would have to have theological ways of overcoming the cognitive dissonance. Some of Schwartz’ characterizations must certainly have held true. Philo Philo regards the “temple made by hands” as an imitation of its cosmic archetype. The whole universe must be regarded as the highest and, in truth, the holy temple of God. As sanctuary it has the heaven, the most holy part of the substance of existing things; as votive offerings it has stars; as priests it has angels, ministers of His powers, unbodied souls, not mixtures of rational and irrational nature such as ours turn out to be, but having the irrational cut out, in all respects wholly intellectual, unmixed reasonings made like to the One. As for the temple 3

Daniel R. Schwartz, “Temple or City: What did Hellenistic Jews See in Jerusalem?” in The Centrality of Jerusalem: Historical Perspectives (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1996) 114-127. 4 Ibid., p. 117. 5 Ibid., p. 123. 6 Ibid., p. 119.

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MIDRASH AND CONTEXT made by hands -- it was necessary that there be no driving back of the eagerness of men who pay their religious dues to piety, and who wish by sacrifices either to give thanks for the good things which happen, or to ask forgiveness and pardon for matters in which they have sinned. (De Spec. Leg. I 12:66-67, emphasis mine) 7

Despite its being a mere copy of the true Sanctuary above, the ministrations in the Jerusalem Temple had a beneficial effect for all of humanity and for nature itself. … The high priest of the Jews offers both prayers and thanksgiving not only for the whole race of men, but also for the parts of nature, earth, water, air, and fire, considering that the universe (which is in fact the truth) is his native land, on whose behalf he is accustomed to propitiate the ruler with supplications and entreaties, beseeching him to make what he has created a partaker of his own fair and merciful nature. (Ibid. 97) 8 For there are two temples of God, I believe: the one is this universe in which indeed the high priest is the first-born, the divine Logos; and the other is the rational soul, whose priest is the Man-in-Reality, whose sensible copy is that one who offers the ancestral prayers and sacrifices. To him it has been committed to put on the aforementioned tunic which closely imitates the whole heaven, so that the cosmos too may jointly offer sacrifices with mankind, and that mankind might do the same with the cosmos. (De Somniis I. 37) 9

TRANSPOSITIONS OF QUMRAN The Dead Sea community was a group who developed their self-concept from an interpretation of the prophets, particularly Ezekiel. Forsaking the corruption infecting the Temple and cleaving to the pure paths of their Righteous Teacher, their radical reinterpretations of Priesthood, Temple, and Torah made them heretics from the perspective of their contemporaries, and pioneers of the perspective of “Being the Temple.” 10 7

Translated and presented in C.T.R. Hayward, The Jewish Temple: A Non-Biblical Sourcebook (London: Routledge, 1996) 109. 8 Ibid., p. 110. 9 Ibid., p. 111. 10 The view that the Qumran community maintained a complete boycott of the Temple is not universally held. See Philip R. Davies, “The Ideology of the Temple

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From the point of view of “mainstream” Jewry, the words of Ezekiel pointed to an indefinite future when new ideals would supplant the existing order of procedure in the Temple: [The Levites] shall be ministers in my sanctuary, having oversight at the gates of the temple, and serving in the temple; they shall slaughter the burnt offering and the sacrifice for the people, and they shall attend on them and serve them. Because they ministered to them before their idols and made the house of Israel stumble into iniquity, therefore I have sworn concerning them, says the Lord God, that they shall bear their punishment. They shall not come near to me, to serve me as priests, nor come near any of my sacred offerings, the things that are most sacred; but they shall bear their shame, and the consequences of the abominations that they have committed. Yet I will appoint them to keep charge of the temple, to do all its chores, all that is to be done in it. But the levitical priests, the descendants of Zadok, who kept the charge of my sanctuary when the people of Israel went astray from me, shall come near to me to minister to me; and they shall attend me to offer me the fat and the blood, says the Lord God. It is they who shall enter my sanctuary, it is they who shall approach my table, to minister to me, and they shall keep my charge. (Ezekiel 4:11-16) 11

For the Qumran community, Ezekiel’s Torah did not apply to a far-off future, but gave the norms for their own time. The Temple of present time was indeed the Lord’s temple, but its rituals were so corrupt that the righteous were scandalized. The community of Qumran came to see itself as the b’nei tsadoq, the heirs of the blessings of those who keep God’s charge. 12 in the Damascus Document,” JJS 33 (1982) 287-302. Davies believes that the Damascus Document shows that members of the community did participate in the Temple, with objections [p. 293]. This much is clear: The Qumran community regarded the Temple as potentially legitimate to the degree that they were deeply scandalized by the illegitimate behavior which they felt took place there. Had the Temple meant nothing at all to them, there would have been no scandal. 11 English translations of the Bible in this paper generally follow the Revised Standard Version, with modifications as necessary to highlight the point of view of the ancient interpreters. 12 Professor Wacholder argues that the Qumran community understood the references to b’nei tsadoq in the Temple visions of Ezekiel as having primary reference to Qumran and a secondary superficial reference to the ancient priests.

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MIDRASH AND CONTEXT So he built for them a faithful house in Israel, like none that had ever appeared before; and even at this day, those who hold firm to it shall receive everlasting life, and all human honor is rightly theirs, as God promised them by Ezekiel the prophet, saying, “The priests and the Levites and the sons of Zadok who have kept the courses of My sanctuary when the children of Israel strayed from Me, they shall bring Me fat and blood.” (Ezek. 44:15) “The priests”: they are the captives of Israel, who go out of the land of Judah and the Levites are those accompanying them; “and the sons of Zadok”: they are the chosen of Israel, the ones called by name, who are to appear in the Last Days. (Damascus Document [CD] 3:19-4:4) 13

Certainly the members of a community which boycotted the Temple service in protest must have had some rationale for how they could be considered faithful to the Torah in the absence of the many mitzvot related to the Temple rituals. And indeed the community did have such a rationale. The Rule of the Community indicates that the community considered its faithful observance of the law to constitute the equivalent of the Temple Service and of pure burnt offerings to the Lord. When, united by all these precepts, such men as these come to be a community in Israel, they shall establish eternal truth guided by the instruction of His holy spirit. They shall atone [or, in order to atone (±­¤¥)] for the guilt of transgression and the rebellion of sin, becoming an acceptable sacrifice for the land through the flesh of burnt offerings, the fat of sacrificial portions, and prayer, becoming—as it were—justice itself, a sweet savor of righteousness and blameless behavior, a pleasing freewill offering. At that time the men of the Yaʘad shall withdraw, the holy

“‘Zadok’ in the Qumran texts, except perhaps when these works cite Ezekiel, is not a biblical figure, but is either the Moreh Tsedeq or the patronymic of the elite in the commune.” Ben Zion Wacholder, The Dawn of Qumran: The Sectarian Torah of the Teacher of Righteousness (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1983) 115-116. If the Qumran community constituted a spiritual priesthood and Ezekiel’s references to the priesthood were mere symbols applying in fact to Qumran, it naturally follows that a spiritual priesthood requires a spiritual Temple. References to Ezekiel’s Temple must apply primarily to the sanctuary God finds among the elect who observe his laws in the fullness practiced among the Dead Sea sect. 13 Translations of the Dead Sea Scrolls here and throughout the paper are taken from Michael Wise, Martin Abegg, Jr., and Edward Cook, The Dead Sea Scrolls: A New Translation (San Francisco: Harper San Francisco, 1996).

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house of Aaron uniting as a Holy of Holies, and the synagogue of Israel as those who walk blamelessly … (1QS 8:13-16) When such men as these come to be in Israel, then shall the society of the Yaʘad truly be established, an eternal planting, a temple for Israel, and— mystery! —a Holy of Holies for Aaron [or, a mystical Holy of Holies]; true witnesses to justice, chosen by God’s will to atone for the land and to recompense the wicked their due. They will be “the tested wall, the precious cornerstone” (Isa. 28:16) whose foundations shall neither be shaken nor swayed, a fortress, a Holy of Holies for Aaron, all of them knowing the Covenant of Justice and thereby offering a sweet savor. They shall be a blameless and true house in Israel, upholding the covenant of eternal statutes. They shall be an acceptable sacrifice, atoning for the land and ringing in the verdict against evil, so that perversity ceases to exist. (1QS 9:3-6)

The Qumran community believed that it constituted, in itself, Priesthood, Temple, and Offerings, and that its observance of Torah made the atonement which could not be made in the corrupt sanctuary where corrupt priests defiled the offerings through their ignorance of the true Torah. The Qumran community had a thoroughgoing and systematic program for suspending, sublimating, and one might well say, subverting major aspects of the religion of the traditional Torah. They functioned with a substitute priesthood, substitute temple, revised Torah and a realized theocracy. In its quest for radical fidelity to the Torah, the Qumran community altered the very basis of the Law. Transporting the Temple and priesthood into the wilderness, they paved the path trod by the author of Hebrews who transported Temple and priesthood into the heavens, and by Paul who transferred Temple and priesthood to the church. Unlike the Qumranites, the New Testament interpreters realized the effect of their daring transposition, as the book of Hebrews says, “For when there is a change of the priesthood of necessity also there is a change of the law.” (Heb. 7:12) Yet for all their daring transpositions, the Qumranites were deeply concerned about the Jerusalem Temple as it existed. It was not a false temple – it was a true temple being subjected to constant, dreadful sacrilege. Ezekiel’s vision, by which the community had chosen to live, had yet to reach ultimate fulfillment. The Qumran community had a form of “realized eschatology,” in which it proleptically fulfilled Ezekiel’s hopes of reformed Torah, restored Temple, sanctified Priesthood and even Renewal of the Land of Israel. The life of the Qumran community in the present constituted true realization of the words of the prophets. Yet without contradiction they believed that the prophetic promises awaited ultimate, physical,

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manifest fulfillment in the future. The Qumran community was the means and the ends-in-progress simultaneously.

TRANSPOSITIONS OF THE NT Matthew The Jerusalem Temple as God’s House Matthew regarded the Jerusalem Temple as a true “Temple of God.” Matt. 21:[12] And Jesus entered the temple of God and drove out all who sold and bought in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who sold pigeons. [13] He said to them, “It is written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer’; but you make it a den of robbers.”

Jesus seemed to believe that the Temple was about to be destroyed, but the destruction was quickly to be remedied with the coming of the Son of Man and the ideal era. 14 Matt. 23: [20] So he who swears by the altar, swears by it and by everything on it; [21] and he who swears by the temple, swears by it and by him who dwells in it; [22] and he who swears by heaven, swears by the throne of God and by him who sits upon it.

Matthew’s Jesus has a quite conventional, even prosaic notion of the Temple as God’s house. This holds true even though he believes that he himself is even more significant: Matt. 12: [3] He said to them, “Have you not read what David did, when he was hungry, and those who were with him: [4] how he entered the house of God and ate the bread of the Presence, which it was not lawful for him to eat nor for those who were with him, but only for the priests? [5] Or have you not read in the law how on the Sabbath the priests in the temple profane the Sabbath, and are guiltless? [6] I tell you, something greater than the temple is here.

14

See E.P. Sanders, The Historical Figure of Jesus (London: Penguin Books, 1993) 255-7, and Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985) 70-76.

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John The Temple as Christ’s Body In John’s version of the story of “the cleansing of the Temple,” we find the interpretation that while the Jerusalem Temple was in some sense God’s house, the true temple was Jesus’ own body. References to “Temple” are transposed. John 2: [14] In the temple he found those who were selling oxen and sheep and pigeons, and the money-changers at their business. [15] And making a whip of cords, he drove them all, with the sheep and oxen, out of the temple; and he poured out the coins of the money-changers and overturned their tables. [16] And he told those who sold the pigeons, “Take these things away; you shall not make my Father’s house a house of trade.” [17] His disciples remembered that it was written, “Zeal for thy house will consume me.” [18] The Jews then said to him, “What sign have you to show us for doing this?” [19] Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” [20] The Jews then said, “It has taken forty-six years to build this temple, and will you raise it up in three days?” [21] But he spoke of the temple of his body. [22] When therefore he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed the scripture and the word which Jesus had spoken.

Acts In the book of Acts, we see a difference in attitude toward the Temple on the part of converts from the Greek-speaking and Aramaic-speaking communities. On the one hand, the eastern members of the Judeo-Christian community continued to esteem the temple and visit it; while the western members questioned its validity – not only since the coming of the Christ, but in essence from its inception. Thus: Acts 4: [46] And day by day, [they were] attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, they partook of food with glad and generous hearts …

and on the other hand: Acts 7:[48] [St. Stephen said:] Yet the Most High does not dwell in houses made with hands; as the prophet says, [49] ‘Heaven is my throne, and earth my footstool. What house will you build for me, says the Lord, or what is the place of my rest? [50] Did

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MIDRASH AND CONTEXT not my hand make all these things?’ [51] “You stiff-necked people, uncircumcised in heart and ears, you always resist the Holy Spirit. As your fathers did, so do you.

For St. Stephen, God did not dwell in the Jerusalem Temple because he never did, and it was impossible to conceive that he could have. None of the complex explanations of the book of Hebrews are necessary for him. This is not a transposition but a simple rejection. Paul Paul’s letters contain a variety of transpositions of the theme of the Temple. He makes no reference to the Jerusalem Temple in his letters. The Afterlife as the Temple 2 Cor. 5: [1] For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. [2] Here indeed we groan, and long to put on our heavenly dwelling, [3] so that by putting it on we may not be found naked. [4] For while we are still in this tent, we sigh with anxiety; not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. [5] He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee. [6] So we are always of good courage; we know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, [7] for we walk by faith, not by sight. [8] We are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord. [9] So whether we are at home or away, we make it our aim to please him.

The Individual Christian’s Physical Body as the Temple 1 Cor. 3: [16] Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you? [17] If any one destroys God’s temple, God will destroy him. For God’s temple is holy, and that temple you are.

The Church Collectively as the Temple 1 Cor. 6: [16] What agreement has the temple of God with idols? For we are the temple of the living God; as God said, “I will live in them and move among them, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. [17] Therefore come out from them, and be separate from them, says the Lord, and touch nothing unclean; then I will welcome you, [18] and I will be a father to

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you, and you shall be my sons and daughters, says the Lord Almighty.” 15

Hebrews The book of Hebrews represents a sustained interpretive transposition of the theme of the Temple. Hebrews 13: [10] We have an altar from which those who serve the tent have no right to eat. [11] For the bodies of those animals whose blood is brought into the sanctuary by the high priest as a sacrifice for sin are burned outside the camp. [12] So Jesus also suffered outside the gate in order to sanctify the people through his own blood.

With this strong exhortation, the author of Hebrews sums up the goal of his entire sermon – to urge his hearers not to forsake Christ for the worship rites of the Temple. Yet the author of Hebrews makes no actual mention of the Temple. He refers to “those who serve the tent.” There were no such people, and there hadn’t been for at least 600 years. He speaks of animals burned “outside the camp.” The camp hadn’t existed for more than a thousand years. Further detail regarding Hebrews’ sublimated non-treatment of the Temple: Hebrews 8: [1] Now the point in what we are saying is this: we have such a high priest, one who is seated at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in heaven, [2] a minister in the sanctuary and the true tent which is set up not by man but by the Lord. [3] For every high priest is appointed to offer gifts and sacrifices; hence it is necessary for this priest also to have something to offer. [4] Now if he were on earth, he would not be a priest at all, since there are priests who offer gifts according to the law. [5] They serve a copy and shadow of the heavenly [sanctuary]; 16 for when Moses was about to erect the tent, he was instructed by God, saying, “See that you make everything according to the pattern which was shown you on the mountain.”

Again the book of Hebrews mentions, present tense, the existence of the rejected Aaronide priesthood, but he makes no mention of the “Temple” of Jerusalem. The author consistently refers to the Tabernacle of Scripture rather than the Temple of his present reality. That is his first transposi15 16

Compare Ephesians, chapter 2. ƯƪƴƩƭƥƲ ƶưƯƤƥƠƣƬơƴƩ ƪơƠ ƳƪƩƢ^` ƫơƴƱƥƾƯƵƳƩƭ ƴƺ`ƭ ƦưƯƵƱơƭƠƹƭ

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tion. The second transposition, for which Hebrews is well known, is the transposition of the sacrificial ritual as a symbol of Christ, who is both high priest and offering.

TRANSPOSITIONS OF “THE FATHERS OF THE CHURCH”: THE EXAMPLE OF ORIGEN If we wish to compare an interpretation by an early Church Father with the interpretations from the early Midrash, a key issue is to decide what passage of Scripture might be revealing as a common ground for interpretation. I have selected two texts: Numbers 28:1-10 and Leviticus 4:27-5:13. Numbers 28 begins with the tamid (daily) offerings and by proceeding as far as verse 10, we include consideration of the Shabbat musaf (additional) offering. The reason for this selection is twofold: First, by all accounts, the tamid offering was the foundation of Temple worship and was seen as such by contemporary Jewish writers. In both the first and the second temple God was worshiped through sacrifices, that is, the slaughter, roasting, and eating of animals. Offerings of grain, fruit, bread, and incense played only an ancillary role. The most important sacrifice was the Tamid (“continual offering”) which was burnt on the altar every morning and afternoon (Num. 28:1-8). The Tamid was God’s daily “food” (Num. 28:2), and the priests did their utmost, even at times of great danger, not to let the offerings lapse. The profanation of the temple by Epiphanes and the destruction of the temple by Titus caused the cessation of the Tamid, a tragic event (Dan. 11:31 and Josephus, Jewish War 6.2.1, §94-102). The Tamid, like the special sacrifices offered on the Sabbath and the festivals, was purchased with public monies and was burnt on the altar in the name of the entire nation. Other types of sacrifices, notably the whole-burnt offering (usually known by its Greek designation, “holocaust”), the “peace offering,” and the “sin offering,” were purchased and brought to the temple by individuals, either to seek atonement or to express gratitude to God. (The Passover offering was of a different sort altogether: it was a family or group feast at or near the central shrine.) Since only the priests were allowed to enter the inner precincts of the temple and approach the altar, they alone did the slaughtering and the roasting (and much of the eating). They ministered before the Lord on behalf of the people. 17

17

Shaye J. D. Cohen, From the Maccabees to the Mishnah (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1987) 62-3.

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Secondly, the tamid (like the Shabbat musaf) offering is untouched, interpretively, by Hebrews and the New Testament. Hebrews and the gospels lay down clear lines of interpretation for any texts regarding Passover, Yom Kippur, and sin offerings, however, the tamid offering is not mentioned by the New Testament and therefore open for creative interpretation by an early homilist. The guilt offerings of Leviticus 4:27-5:13 offer similar advantages. They were very common offerings and should invite abundant interpretation by anyone familiar with the practice of the Temple. Secondly, these offerings explicitly call for female animal offerings or even a meal offering of atonement – thus making a neat “fit” with the lines of interpretation laid down by Hebrews impossible. (Hebrews asserts that the offerings prefigured Christ.) Where Hebrews does not dictate the interpretation, the patristic homilist is free to offer his own speculations and opinions. The writings of most early Church fathers are topical epistles and not homilies. Those who do offer homilies rarely touch the latter books of Moses (though Genesis is quite popular). Indeed, the only ante-Nicene Father to offer homilies covering Leviticus and Numbers is Origen (as far as I have been able to discover). Therefore it is to Origen that we will turn for our comparison. Homilies to Leviticus Origen’s second homily to Leviticus covers precisely our passage of interest dealing with the guilt offering (asham) of individuals. In the main body of the homily, Origen reveals no interest in the presence or absence of the Temple. His first goal seems to be a clarification of the simple meaning (like the rabbinic peshat) – to give an explanation of the actual procedures envisioned by the commandments in the passage. This he does, generally, in the present tense. 18 From literal meaning, Origen proceeds into an allegorical, psychological interpretation of the offerings. For example: I think indeed that “a person” refers to that one who, made “in the image and likeness” of God, lives rationally. Therefore, this one presents “a calf” as an offering to God when he overcomes the arrogance of the flesh; he brings “a sheep” when he corrects his irrational and foolish impulses; “a goat” when he overcomes his lewdness. He likewise offers “a pair of turtledoves” when he 18

Gary Wayne Barkley, Origen: Homilies on Leviticus 1-16 (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1990).

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Not until the summation of the homily does Origen leave the pattern of literal explanation followed by allegorical/psychological interpretation. A Christological interpretation of these offerings not being clearly given by the New Testament, Origen finds the stimulus for his summation in a midrash-like focus upon a grammatical “surprise” in the text. For a long time, something amazing in this word astonished me, for I see no logic in the saying that “a soul sins and does one thing from the commands of the Lord that it should not do.” For if it is a command of the Lord, how ought it not to be done when surely the commands of the Lord are given to be done? … Rather what is needed is a sense of deeper meaning of the passage. Inasmuch as we can grasp it, this, it seems to me, is the solution. Some commands of God were given to be kept; others, ought not to be kept. But human necessity demanded that the things which ought to be done should be interspersed with those which ought not to be done. For example – let us take an example from these very things that we now have in hand – a lamb is commanded to be killed at the Passover (Exod. 12:3); certainly not as if God was requiring the offering of a lamb every year, but rather he designated that “that lamb” ought to be killed “who takes away the sin of the world.” (John 1:29) Therefore he wanted the latter done, not the former. Thus through Isaiah the Lord says, “What are the multitude of your sacrifices to me? I am full of them. I do not want whole burnt offerings of rams, and the fat of sheep, and the blood of bulls and he-goats.” (Isa. 1:11) Did you hear how he does not want “an offering of rams nor the fat of sheep”? Yet, he gave the command in what way an offering either of bulls or of sheep ought to be offered. But the one who understands the Law spiritually seeks to offer these things spiritually. But if anyone should sacrifice according to the outward appearance of the command of the flesh, this is “one soul from the people of the land who sinned involuntarily, because he did that one thing that should not be done from all of the commands of the Lord, sinned.” (Lev. 4:27) And for this reason, it adds in the following, “and when the sin which he commanded was made known to him, he will present his offer19

Ibid., p. 41.

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ing to the Lord.” (Lev. 4:28) For the soul ought to present an offering when “it becomes known to it” that God does not seek a carnal sacrifice because “a crushed spirit is a sacrifice to God.” (Psalm 51:17) Therefore, “its sin becomes known to it” when it learns from the Lord who says, “I prefer mercy rather than sacrifice” (Hosea 6:6); and when it should know to offer “a sacrifice of praise” in the Church and to render “prayers to the most High” (Psalm 49:14), through Christ our Lord, “to whom be praise and glory forever and ever. Amen!” (Romans 16:27) 20

Origen, not finding any direct Christological significance in the guilt offering of a female sacrificial animal, brings in the topic of the Passover lamb, for which a Christological interpretation is already supplied by the gospel of John. The interpretation of Hosea 6:6 is also given by the gospels (Matt. 9:13; 12:7). The transposition is that one should not offer a literal sacrifice, but a spiritual sacrifice of praise to God through Christ (cp. Heb. 13:15; 1 Pet. 2:5). Origen’s commentary on Numbers 28 and the tamid offering has a similar hermeneutical shape. He shows no direct knowledge of the offerings or the Temple – he simply interprets the Biblical text as a sophisticated and spiritual reader. Again there is no reference either to the Tabernacle or the Temple in his exposition. He introduces his homily with a general assertion that the advent of Christ has replaced the earthly and mundane forms of worship, as given in the Torah, with spiritual worship. 21 He begins his exposition of the specific offerings and feasts with a delightful and midrash-like contrast between this passage which refers to “my offerings” (where the worshipper offers to God what already belongs to God, out of a full heart) and “your offerings” which God says “my soul hates.” (Isa. 1:9) When the worshipper imagines that he is making a present to God from what is really and essentially human property, God hates such an offering. 22 20

Ibid., pp. 50-51. End of Homily 2. Louis Doutreleau, ed., Origène: Homélies sur les Nombres. Volume III. Latin text of W.A. Baehrens. French translation by André Méhat. (Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1996) 107-9. Homily 13, beginning. These homilies have been lost to history in their original Greek, but they come down to us in the translation/condensation of Rufinus. Thanks to Ms. Lori Baron, a doctoral student at Duke University, for helping me to obtain this text, and to Ms. Sylvie Spielman of the American Hebrew Academy for helping me to decode it. 22 Ibid., pp. 109, 115 21

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Origen builds upon the notion of the tamid (perpetual) offering as a continuous offering. The tamid was “perpetual” in the sense that it was offered each day. With homiletical exaggeration, Origen transitions to his allegorical/psychological motif and makes the tamid an argument for celibacy, following the logic of St. Paul. Because of one’s sins offering the perpetual sacrifice to God is an impossibility. One can only make such an offering who takes care without relenting to be righteous and to keep oneself from sin. Thus if one slackened one day and fell into sin, it is obvious that on that day he did not offer the perpetual sacrifice. [And thus its “perpetuality” is broken forever.] 23 I am concerned to wrestle with a subject which comes from the words of the Apostle, and by way of which I risk causing pain to some of you. Because on the one hand, “the prayer of the righteous is offered like incense before God and the raising of his hands is as the sacrifice of the evening” (Psalm 141:1-2) 24; on the other hand, the Apostle in addressing those who are married says to them, “Do not refuse yourselves to each other, except if it is by mutual agreement, for a time in order to be occupied with the prayer and to return then to the common life.” (1 Corinthians 7:5) 25 “In this case, it is obvious that there is a prevention of the continuity of the sacrifice for those who are bound by the obligations of marriage. This is why I consider that the offering of the perpetual sacrifice is reserved only for one who has dedicated himself unreservedly to perpetual chastity. But there are other festivals for those who could not offer the perpetual sacrifice of chastity… 26

Origen concludes with the belief that the order of sacrifices and festivals he has discussed remain to be fulfilled in the world to come, with the pure and spiritual worship of heaven. 27

23

Ibid., p. 119. “Let my prayer be counted as incense before thee, and the lifting up of my hands as an evening sacrifice!” (RSV) 25 “Do not refuse one another except perhaps by agreement for a season, that you may devote yourselves to prayer; but then come together again, lest Satan tempt you through lack of self-control.” (RSV) 26 Ibid., p. 121 27 Ibid., p. 145. 24

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TRANSPOSITIONS OF EARLY MIDRASH: THE EXAMPLE OF SIFRA Sifra is the opposite of Hebrews. Hebrews pretended the Temple didn’t exist while it did. Sifra (along with Sifre), pretends the Temple exists while it does not. Sifra: Parashat Vayikra, Dibura deʙovah, Pereq 10 28 A. “He shall lay his hand upon the head of the sin-offering.” (Leviticus 4:29) This serves to encompass under the rule of the laying on of hands the sin-offering brought in connection with idolatry. “And the sin-offering shall be slaughtered,” indicating that the act of slaughter should be only at the northern side of the altar (M. Zeb. 5:3), “at the place of burnt offering.” B. “The priest shall take with his finger some of its blood and put it on the horns of the altar of burnt-offering.” This indicates that the act of receiving the blood should be done at the north side of the altar. (M. Zeb. 5:3) On this basis sages have ruled: If one slaughtered the beast at the northern side of the altar but received the blood at the south, at the south but received the blood at the north, the priest has invalidated the offering. [It is valid only if] he slaughters at the north side of the altar and receives the blood at the north side of the altar. C. “And all the rest of its blood he shall pour out at the base of the altar.” And elsewhere [Scripture says], “Its blood will be poured out.” (Lev. 4:25) On this basis sages have ruled: A sin-offering, the blood of which one received in four cups, if he placed blood from this one on this corner, from that one on that corner, how do we know that all four of them are poured out onto the foundation? (T. Zeb. 8:29) Scripture [explicitly] says, “and all the rest of its blood he shall pour out at the base of the altar.”Might one think that even if he put the blood of only one of them, in four acts of sprinkling, all of them are poured out on the foundation? Scripture says, “Its blood will be poured out.” (Lev. 4:25) How so? That one is poured out onto the foundation and the blood in the other 28

The translation here is that of Neusner. I have altered the formatting and some of the wording in order to clarify the subject matter as it pertains to this paper. Jacob Neusner, The Components of the Rabbinic Documents: From the Whole to the Parts. Volume 1, Part 1. Sifra (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997).

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MIDRASH AND CONTEXT cups are poured out into the gutter. (T. Zeb. 8:29) R. Eliezer b. R. Simeon says, “And how do we know that even if he placed only the blood of one of them in four acts of placing blood, all of them are poured out onto the foundation? (T. Zeb. 8:29) Scripture [explicitly] says, “and all the rest of its blood he shall pour out at the base of the altar.” D. “All its fat he shall turn into smoke on the altar, like the fat of the sacrifice of well-being.” Just as the rule is spelled out in connection with the sacrifice of peace-offerings that what is involved is an even layer of fat covered with a membrane and easily peeled, the two kidneys, and the protuberance of the liver, so here too what is involved is an even layer of fat covered with a membrane and easily peeled, the two kidneys, and the protuberance of the liver. E. “Thus the priest shall make expiation on his behalf [for his sin].” The atonement must be for the designated sin, and one may not atone for two sins simultaneously. The upshot is that a priest must effect atonement in his own behalf. F.

29

“And he shall be forgiven.” The matter is not suspended until the Day of Atonement. 29 Or might one suppose that even if one has sat and not brought the offering [but only repented], that suffices? Scripture [explicitly] says, “he” [indicating only one who presents the required offering].

Sifra refers to the theory that, for certain sins, Teshuvah is not a sufficient means of atonement – based on Teshuvah, sentence is merely suspended until Yom Kippur which then atones. See Mishnah Yoma chapter 8: “The sin-offering and the guilt-offering [for the] undoubted commission of certain offences procure atonement. Death and the Day of Atonement procure atonement together with penitence. Penitence procures atonement for lighter transgressions: [the transgression of] positive commandments and prohibitions. In the case of severer transgressions it [penitence] suspends [the divine punishment], until the Day of Atonement comes to procure atonement. If one says: I shall sin and repent, sin and repent, no opportunity will be given to him to repent. [If one says]: I shall sin and the Day of Atonement will procure atonement for me, the Day of Atonement procures for him no atonement. For transgressions as between man and the Omnipresent the Day of Atonement procures atonement, but for transgressions as between man and his fellow the Day of Atonement does not procure any atonement, until he has pacified his fellow.” (Soncino translation)

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Sifra here, like its counterpart passage in Sifre Numbers to Numbers 28, 30 seeks to define and explain the sacrificial law while taking absolutely no notice of the non-existence of the Temple and the impracticability of this entire area of law.

SUMMARY The Temple is a magnet for interpretive transpositions – both during and after its physical existence. When it stood, it represented the primary conduit of God’s interface with humanity. Such an important institution was in no way diminished by an absence of black letter Torah law concerning how its ritual should be conducted. Yet many aspects of the conduct of the Temple could not live up to the ideals of the faithful. The Temple became a lightning rod for malcontents, and dispute with its practices became a way of expressing idealism. This was so for the Qumran sect and perhaps for Jesus. While the Temple stood, early Judeo Christians who had identified with the Temple before their conversion to Christianity continued to identify with it. Hellenists and non-Jews who had disidentified with Jerusalem Judaism before their conversions continued to disidentify after becoming Christians. But the interests of the mainstream in the early church lay elsewhere. As for the synagogue – the rabbis continued to teach and review the ritual of the Temple, and it was a long time before it became customary to speak of the Temple as an institution that had passed away and was not likely to return in the foreseeable future.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Attridge, Harold. “Christianity from the Destruction of Jerusalem to Constantine’s Adoption of the New Religion: 70-312 C.E.,” in Hershel Shanks, ed., Christianity and Rabbinic Judaism: A Parallel History of Their Origins and Early Development, 151-194. Washington, D.C.: Biblical Archaeology Society, 1992. Alan J. Avery-Peck. “Judaism Without the Temple: The Mishnah,” in Harold W. Attridge and Gohei Hata, eds., Eusebius, Christianity, and Judaism, 409-434. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1992. 30

Translation is available in Jacob Neusner, The Components of Rabbinic Documents: From the Whole to the Parts (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997), vol. 12 part 2, pp. 81-90. The same pattern holds true as in Sifra – the passage is interpreted with references to the sacrifices in present tense, with no notice taken as to the absence of the Temple.

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Barkley, Gary Wayne. Origen: Homilies on Leviticus 1-16. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1990. Burghardt, W. J. “Fathers of the Church.” New Catholic Encyclopedia 3:640643. Detroit: Thomson, Gale, 1967-. Clifford, Richard J. The Cosmic Mountain in Canaan and the Old Testament. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1972. Cohen, Shaye J. D. From the Maccabees to the Mishnah. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1987. Davies, Philip R. “The Ideology of the Temple in the Damascus Document.” JJS 33 (1982): 287-302. De Jonge, Marinus. “Two Interesting Interpretations of the Rending of the Temple-Veil in the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs.” Jewish Eschatology, Early Christian Christology and the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs 220-231. Leiden: Brill, 1991. Dimant, Deborah “The Apocalyptic Interpretation of Ezekiel at Qumran,” in Ithamar Gruenwald, Shaul Shaked, and Gedaliahu G. Stroumsh, eds.,. Messiah and Christos: Studies in the Jewish Origins of Christianity, 31-52. Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr, 1992. Doutreleau, Louis ed. Origène: Homélies sur les Nombres. Volume III. Latin text of W.A. Baehrens. French translation by André Méhat. Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1996. Friedman, Richard Elliott. “Tabernacle.” Anchor Bible Dictionary 6:292-300. New York: Doubleday, 1992. Hayward, C.T.R. The Jewish Temple: A Non-Biblical Sourcebook. London: Routledge, 1996. Horovitz, H. S., ed. Siphre d’be Rab [to Numbers, with textual variants and notes]. Leipzig: 1917. Reprint. Jerusalem: Wahrmann, 1966. Kovacs, Judith L. “Concealment and Gnostic Exegesis: Clement of Alexandria’s Interpretation of the Tabernacle.” Studia Patristica 31 (1997):414437. Levenson, Jon D. Sinai and Zion: An Entry into the Jewish Bible. Minneapolis: Winston Press, 1985. Maier, Johann. “Temple,” in Lawrence H. Schiffman and James C. Vanderkam, eds., Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls 921-927. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Meyers, Carol. “Temple, Jerusalem.” Anchor Bible Dictionary 6:350-369. New York: Doubleday, 1992. Murphy, Frederick J. “The Temple in the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch.” JBL 106 (1987): 671-683.

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Neusner, Jacob. The Components of the Rabbinic Documents: From the Whole to the Parts. 12 volumes. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997. Nickelsburg, George W. E. and Michael E. Stone, Faith and Piety in Early Judaism: Texts and Documents. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1983. Parmentier, Martin. “No Stone Upon Another? Reactions of Church Fathers Against the Emperor Julian’s Attempt to Rebuild the Temple.” The Centrality of Jerusalem: Historical Perspectives 143-159. Kampen, the Netherlands: Kok Pharos, 1996. Saldarini, Anthony J. “Varieties of Rabbinic Response to the Destruction of the Temple.” SBL Seminar Papers 21 (1982): 437-458. Sanders, E.P. Jesus and Judaism. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985. _______. The Historical Figure of Jesus. London: Penguin Books, 1993. Schiffman, Lawrence H. Reclaiming the Dead Sea Scrolls. New York: Doubleday, 1995. Schwartz, Daniel R. “The Three Temples of 4 Q Florilegium.” Revue de Qumran 37 (1979): 83-92. _______. “Temple or City: What did Hellenistic Jews See in Jerusalem?” The Centrality of Jerusalem: Historical Perspectives 114-127. Kampen, the Netherlands: Kok Pharos, 1996. Shukster, Martin B. and Peter Richardson. “Temple and Bet Ha-midrash in the Epistle of Barnabas.” In Stephen G. Wilson, ed., Anti-Judaism in Early Christianity, vol. 2, Separation and Polemic 17-32. Waterloo, Ontario: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1986. Sparks, Hedley F. D. “The Symbolical Interpretation of Lebanon in the Fathers.” Journal of Theological Studies 10 (1959):264-279. Touger, Eliyahu. Maimonides, Mishneh Torah: a new translation with commentaries, notes, tables, charts and index. Vol. 21. Hilchot Bais HaBechirah, The Laws of God’s Chosen House. New York: Moznaim, 1992. Wacholder, Ben Zion. The Dawn of Qumran: The Sectarian Torah of the Teacher of Righteousness. Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1983. _______. “Geomessianism: Why Did the Essenes Settle at Qumran?” in Stanley F. Chyet and David H. Ellenson, eds., Bits of Honey: Essays for Samson H. Levey 131-157. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993. Weiss, Isaac Hirsch, ed. Sifra d’vei Rav: hu’ Sefer Torat Kohanim [with commentary of Abraham b. David of Posquieres]. Vienna, 1865. Reprint. New York: Om Publishing, 1946. Wise, Michael, Martin Abegg, Jr., and Edward Cook. The Dead Sea Scrolls: A New Translation. San Francisco: Harper San Francisco, 1996.

READING AUGUSTINE AND/AS MIDRASH: GENESIS 6 IN GENESIS RABBAH AND THE CITY OF GOD Annette Yoshiko Reed McMaster University Can Christian texts be read as midrash? This question, posed by Lieve Teugels and Rivka Ulmer for the 2004 session of the SBL Midrash Consultation, 1 raises a host of issues pertaining to the interpenetration of Jewish and Christian traditions in Late Antiquity. How much of Christianity’s connection to Judaism is retained – or regained – in the methods of its exegesis? And, conversely, has the Christianization of Roman Palestine shaped Rabbinic reading? In Late Antiquity, do Jewish and Christian interpretation still form part of the same discourse? 2 Or, have their paths diverged, such that their respective approaches to their shared Scriptures embody the essential difference asserted by their respective elites? And, more pragmatically: how might midrash, and the modern scholarly study of midrash, aid us in the study of Patristic hermeneutics? In my view, the recent intensification of research on the history of biblical interpretation may open new paths for investigating such questions in a manner that sheds light on late antique Judaism as well as late antique Christianity. Despite the foundational work in this area in nineteenthcentury German scholarship, surprisingly little attention has been dedicated 1

An earlier form of this piece was presented in the above mentioned panel; I thank its organizers, presenters, and attendees for a thought-provoking discussion. For preparation of the written form, support was provided by the National Endowment for the Humanities (U.S.A.) and the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. I am grateful to Benjamin Fleming, Paula Fredriksen, Hindy Najman, Zdravko Planinc, Karl Shuve, Susan Wendel, and Stephen Westerholm for their comments and suggestions. A special thanks to Peter Schäfer for pushing me on a number of points. 2 I will not here address the ample research on “midrash” in the New Testament, which raises its own sets of issues, on which see B. L. Visotzky, Fathers of the World: Essays in Rabbinic and Patristic Literatures (Tübingen, 1995) 3-5.

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to the task of comparing Jewish and Christian hermeneutics. 3 Concurrent with the growth of interest in Jewish/Christian relations in the wake of World War II, a growing number of studies have considered parallels in the content of Rabbinic and Patristic exegesis; for the most part, however, the focus has fallen on identifying shared motifs and pinpointing the direction of influence. 4 Comparisons of exegetical methods have been rarer. Until very recently, moreover, most have remained wedded to the traditional assertion of the supposedly stark differences between Rabbinic and Patristic approaches to their shared scriptures. Comparisons of their hermeneutics have tended to draw a sharp contrast between Rabbinic and Patristic approaches, as emblematized by the differences between the midrash of late antique Palestinian Rabbis and the allegory of Alexandrian Church Fathers. Hermeneutical differences have often been dramatized with appeal to the dichotomies traditionally drawn between Jerusalem and Athens, Hebrew and Hellene, Judaism and Christianity. 5 One might, however, question the explanatory value of such contrasts. Not only have recent studies stressed the many commonalities that contin3

Note esp. L. Ginsberg’s expansive and synthetic Die Haggada bei den Kirchenvätern und in der apokryphischen Litteratur (1899-1935). On the history of scholarship see J. Baskin, “Rabbinic–Patristic Exegetical Contacts in Late Antiquity: A Bibliographical Reappraisal,” in Approaches to Ancient Judaism, vol. 5, ed. W. S. Green (Atlanta, 1978) 53-80; Visotzky, Fathers of the World, esp. 5-10, 24-27; also É. Lamirande, “Étude bibliographique sur les Pères de l’Église et l’Aggadah,” Vigiliae Christianae 21 (1967) 1-11. M. Hirshman, for instance, notes how surprisingly little has been done to follow on the insights of German scholarship since Ginzberg’s monumental volumes, pointing to the shift of scholarly attention toward the compilation of critical editions; “Polemic Literary Units in the Classical Midrashim and Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho,” JSQ 83 (1993) 369. 4 See Visotzky, Fathers, 8-10. On the pre-occupation with “influence” in comparative research on Jewish and Christian traditions, see P. Schäfer, Mirror of His Beauty: Feminine Images of God from the Bible to the early Kabbala (Princeton, 2003) 229-41. 5 A striking recent example of this familiar trope is S. Handelman, The Slayers of Moses: The Emergence of Rabbinic Interpretation in Modern Literary Theory (Albany, 1982). Such dichotomies have also been used to categorize different Christian hermeneutics (Jewish literalism vs. Christian allegory Æ Antiochene Christian exegesis vs. Alexandrian Christian exegesis) – although further attention to the range of inner-Christian hermeneutical difference has largely led to the deconstruction of this simple distinction; F. M. Young, Biblical Exegesis and the Formation of Christian Culture (Cambridge, 1997).

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ued to connect Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity, but research in Rabbinics and Patristics has shown the complex, variegated, and highly localized character of their interactions. 6 One can no longer ask whether and how “Judaism” and “Christianity” are different without also asking when and where. Here, as perhaps elsewhere, the challenge of comparative study lies, not only in resisting the temptation to essentialize, schematize, and reify difference, but also in avoiding the danger of conflating differences and ignoring specificities. In my view, insights from recent research on Rabbinic midrash may aid us in mapping a middle path. “Midrash,” as is often noted, denotes multiple related phenomena: its semantic field encompasses the process of classical Rabbinic biblical interpretation, the distinctive worldview therein and thereby inscribed, and the various products of the process, including interpretations (midrashim), the texts in which they are preserved (midrashic collections), and the totality of these interpretations (“the Midrash”). 7 Most concur that “midrash” consists of more than a group of methods and the products of their application. 8 Almost all agree that it is difficult, if not impossible, to define. 9 However the term is defined, it is widely agreed that midrash is uniquely and distinctively Rabbinic, finding its fullest expression in the interpretations anthologized in the classical midrashic collections compiled by 6

See e.g. the essays in A. H. Becker and A. Y. Reed, eds., The Ways that Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, TSAJ 95 (Tübingen, 2003) and bibliography there. 7 For discussions of whether and how to define “midrash” see G. Stemberger, Midrasch: Vom Umgang der Rabbinen mit der Bibel (Munich, 1989); R. Le Déaut, “Apropos a Definition of Midrash,” Interpretation 25 (1971) 259-82; G. Porton, “Defining Midrash,” in The Study of Ancient Judaism, vol. 1, ed. J. Neusner (New York, 1981) 55-92; J. L. Kugel, “Two Introductions to Midrash,” Prooftexts 3 (1983) 131-55, repr. in Midrash and Literature, ed. G. Hartman and S. Budick (New Haven, 1986) 77-103; I. Jacobs, The Midrashic Process: Tradition and Interpretation in Rabbinic Judaism (Cambridge, 1995) 1-20; L. M. Teugels, Bible and Midrash: The Story of ‘The Wooing of Rebekah’ (Gen. 24), Biblical Exegesis and Theology, 35 (Leuven, 2004). 8 E.g. Kugel, “Two Introductions,” esp. 91; G. Porton, “Rabbinic Midrash: Public or Private?” Review of Rabbinic Judaism 5.2 (2002) 142-44, 154-56. Note, however, A. Goldberg’s formal approach (e.g. “Die funktionale Form Midrasch” [1982] reprinted in Rabbinische Texte als Gegenstand der Auslegung, Gesammelte Studien II, ed. M. Schlüter and P. Schäfer, TSAJ 73 [Tübingen, 1999] 199-229). 9 See e.g. D. Boyarin’s Intertextuality and the Reading of Midrash (Bloomington, Ind., 1990) viii.

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Rabbis in late antique Palestine. Interestingly, some of the same scholars who stress this specificity also analyze midrash in a manner that invites comparison: whether midrash is placed at the heart of the Jewish encounter with Scripture or posited to exemplify elements of human interpretation more broadly, it has been described in terms that have rendered it into a comparative category. 10 In recent usage within and beyond the field of Rabbinics, “midrash” has thus risen to the strange position of a specialized term that invites parallels, paradoxically combining the culturally contingent with the comparable. Whether such comparative usage enriches or dilutes our understanding of late antique Rabbinic culture, it remains that the concept of “midrash” has resonated across a surprisingly wide variety of disciplines. Scholars have adopted the concept as useful for understanding figures as far-flung as Jesus, John Milton, and Jacques Derrida. 11 Is “midrash” process or product? Is it particularly Rabbinic or essentially Jewish or somehow universally human? For our present purposes, the task of defining “midrash” proves less relevant than the very fact of the flexibility in its web of meanings. This combination of different meanings serves, in my view, as a poignant reminder of the inextricability of hermeneutics from epistemology, on the one hand, and textual reception, produc10

J. Kugel, for instance, calls midrash “the perfect expression of rabbinic theology” (“Two Introductions,” 80). His mapping of the methods and assumptions of midrash (esp. In Potiphar’s House: The Interpretative Life of Biblical Texts [Cambridge, Mass., 1990] 247-68) has nevertheless facilitated comparison with other hermeneutics, just as his collection of early exegetical motifs in Traditions of the Bible (Cambridge, Mass., 1996) has exposed the breadth and depth of the commonality in content between Jewish and Christian traditions of biblical interpretations (see Traditions, 40; In Potiphar’s House, 266-68). Another interesting example is D. Boyarin’s Intertextuality, which focuses on a single work – Mekhilta de R. Ishmael – but highlights aspects of the human practice of interpretation more generally. 11 E.g., F. Kermode, The Genesis of Secrecy: On the Interpretation of Narrative (Cambridge, Mass., 1979) 82-99; J. S. Shoulson, Milton and the Rabbis: Hebraism, Hellenism, and Christianity (New York, 2001); T. R. Wright, “Midrash and Intertextuality: Ancient Rabbinic Exegesis and Postmodern Reading of the Bible,” in Divine Aporia: Postmodern Conversations about the Other, ed. J. C. Hawley (Lewisburg, 2000) 97-122. Note also T. Lubin, “The Virtuosic Exegesis of the Brahmavadin and the Rabbi: Parallel Resemblances of Similar Centralized Cultic Rites and Internalized Ritual Knowledge in Hindu and Judaic Cultures,” Numen 49 (2002) 427-59; Z. Longxi, “Cultural Differences and Cultural Constructs: Reflections on Jewish and Chinese Literalism,” Poetics Today 19 (1998) 305-32.

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tion, and transmission, on the other. Accordingly, the difficulty in defining “midrash” may signal the inadequacy of investigating the intellectual significance of interpretation apart from its historical and cultural significations. And, in pointing to the need to approach biblical interpretation as both social and discursive practice, the multi-valence of “midrash” may push us towards a fresh perspective on the diversity of Jewish and Christian approaches to Scripture – as well as how best to compare them. In what follows, I attempt to bring some insights from recent research on Rabbinic midrash to bear on Patristic hermeneutics. 12 I seek to do so, however, while also retaining an understanding of midrash as a culturally specific set of reading practices and methods, predicated on a very particular understanding of the importance of Scripture and its (Rabbinic) interpreters. At the same time, I hope to use comparison further to situate midrash in its broader late antique contexts. Perhaps even more than other forms of interpretation, midrash invokes an intimate encounter between reader and text. Often, Sage and Scripture seem to form part of a closed circuit, which excludes the present and which admits only those Rabbinic realities that can be refracted through the Written Torah. 13 It can thus be tempting to study midrash in isolation from socio-historical specifics. 14 Comparison with other Jewish and Christian hermeneutics suggests that this stance towards Scripture reflects a distinctively Rabbinic cultural context – albeit shaped by broader debates about interpretation, authority, and identity. Comparison with Patristic hermeneutics may thus help us to locate Rabbinic midrash within the religious landscape of Late Antiquity. This article is an experiment in exploring the similarities between Rabbinic and Patristic hermeneutics in a manner that is sensitive both [1] to the distinctive ideologies and epistemologies that inform them and [2] to the specific socio-historical contexts to which and from which each speaks. As my “test-cases,” I take two celebrated and influential works from Late Antiquity: Genesis Rabbah and Augustine’s City of God. I will begin by consid12

I do not mean to imply that Church Fathers are the only Christian exegetes in Late Antiquity, nor that Rabbis are the only Jews. I have chosen the two for comparison [1] because of the limitations of our extant evidence and [2] because they share the status of educated elites interested in constructing and maintaining the boundaries between “Judaism” and “Christianity” – a shared practice of selfconscious social and religious differentiation that makes the continued convergences in their reading practices all the more significant. 13 Kugel, “Two Introductions,” 90. 14 Kugel, In Potiphar’s House, 3-9, 247-55.

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ering scholarly insights into the characteristic elements and social contexts of Rabbinic midrash as distinct from the biblical interpretation of Church Fathers in general and Augustine in particular. Then, I will turn to consider their respective approaches to Gen 6:1-4 – an infamously troublesome basetext which, as we shall see, tests the limits of their approaches to Scripture. By examining the reading strategies that each marshals to meet this challenge, I hope to help illumine the hermeneutics that informed these two fifth-century sources as well as their contexts, their constraints, and the circuits of tradition and transmission that might connect them.

COMPARING RABBINIC AND PATRISTIC HERMENEUTICS What can be gained from comparing the writings of Augustine with the classical Rabbinic midrashim collected in Genesis Rabbah? Before turning to examine our sources, it may prove helpful to reflect a bit further on the promises and pitfalls involved in such an enterprise. The pitfalls, in particular, loom large. Even if we eschew ahistorical or essentialist generalizations about Christianity’s differences from Judaism, an argument can still be made for the incommensurability of Rabbinic and Patristic approaches to biblical interpretation. After all, the Church Fathers have different scriptural canons, which include New Testament texts as well as “Old Testament apocrypha.” Most, moreover, encounter the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament in Greek or Latin translation. Whereas the insights of Rabbinic interpreters are collected in anonymously edited anthologies such as Genesis Rabbah, Christian interpreters like Augustine adopt Hellenistic modes of literary production, penning works in their own names and adapting a variety of Greco-Roman literary genres. Recent scholarship on midrash has also stressed its distinctively Rabbinic context and character. In response to the fascination with midrash among literary critics in the 1980s, 15 fresh efforts have been made to understand its forms and methods in relation to the self-definition, social status, theology, epistemology, and literary production of Rabbis in Late Antiquity. Scholars such as Steven Fraade, Gary Porton, David Stern, and Azzan Yadin have analyzed tannaitic and amoraic midrashim in terms of a culturally specific set of reading practices that can be located in the socio15

E.g., Handelman, Slayers; Faur, Golden Doves; G. H. Hartman and S. Budick, eds., Midrash and Literature (New Haven, 1986). See discussion in D. Stern, “Mosescide: Midrash and Contemporary Literary Criticism,” Prooftexts 4 (1984) 193-213; idem, Midrash and Theory: Ancient Jewish Exegesis and Contemporary Literary Studies. Rethinking Theory (Evanston, Ill., 1996), esp. 1-9.

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historical context of the slow rise of the Rabbinic movement in late antique Roman Palestine. 16 Comparisons between pre-Rabbinic and Rabbinic interpretation, on the one hand, and between tannaitic and amoraic midrashim, on the other, have further demonstrated how certain characteristic features of midrash developed at specific times and in specific contexts. 17 Although some still approach midrash as an expression of an essential or enduring element of Judaism, these lines of research have shown how our understanding of the Rabbinic movement, late antique Judaism, and the history of biblical interpretation can be enriched by an approach to midrash as an historically situated social practice. Illustrative is the treatment of midrash’s embrace of multiple meanings, a feature often cited as among its most distinctive and characteristic elements. 18 Whereas other exegetes are said to seek singular and certain scriptural meanings, late antique Rabbis are celebrated for approaching Scripture as an endlessly generative source of truth, a divine text that accepts – and, in fact, necessitates – a plurality of human interpretations. The epistemological ramifications point to the distinctively Rabbinic ideological context in which this polysemy operates. In theory, the acceptance of multiple meanings assumes a radical understanding of the revealed nature of the Written Torah. 19 In practice, midrashic polysemy stands predicated on the

16

Esp. S. Fraade, From Tradition to Commentary: Torah and its Interpretation in the Midrash Sifre to Deuteronomy (Albany, 1991); D. Stern, Parables in Midrash: Narrative and Exegesis in Rabbinic Literature (Cambridge, Mass., 1991); idem, Midrash; Porton, “Rabbinic Midrash”; A. Yadin, Scripture as Logos: Rabbi Ishmael and the Origins of Midrash (Philadelphia, 2004) 17 Most frequent are contrasts with Qumran pesher and Philonic allegory. Fraade, From Tradition, 3-6, 13; Stern, Midrash, 22-23; Kugel, “Two Introductions,” 86-90; P. Mandel, “Midrashic Exegesis and its Precedents in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 8 (2001) 149-168. See Yadin, Scripture, on the tannaitic midrashim associated with R. Ishmael as compared to later “classical” exemplars. 18 Stern, for instance, calls polysemy “a virtual ideological cornerstone of midrashic exegesis” (Midrash, 18). See also Fraade, From Tradition, 15-18, 123-27; Faur, Golden Doves, xiii-xv; Porton, “Defining,” esp. 79; M. Fishbane, The Exegetical Imagination: On Jewish Thought and Theology (Cambridge, Mass. 1998) esp. 12-13. For a Rabbinic expression of this principle, see the celebrated midrash on Jer 23:29 in b. Sanh. 34a. 19 Porton, “Rabbinic Midrash,” 143-46.

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unifying concept of the Oral Torah, as continually constituted by the discourse of the Sages. 20 In dialogue with recent correctives to the traditional understanding of the status of Rabbis in the first centuries of the Common Era, scholars have sought to situate this polysemy within the early history of the Rabbinic movement. Shaye Cohen, for instance, has proposed that this principle was critical to the Rabbis’ purported success in unifying Judaism after 70 CE. 21 David Stern, however, points to the degree to which this polysemy is a literary artifact: in his view, the redactional juxtaposition of conflicting views in the classical Rabbinic literature begins as a “fantasy of social stability,” a textual representation of “an idealized academy of Rabbinic tradition where all the opinions of the sages are recorded equally as part of a single divine conversation.” 22 More recently, Azzan Yadin has proposed that midrashic polysemy is absent from the tannaitic midrashim associated with R. Ishmael (i.e., Mekhilta and Sifre Numbers); this feature may have come to be central to Rabbinic midrash and Rabbinic self-definition more generally, but it cannot merely be treated as essentially Rabbinic – let alone essentially Jewish. 23 Like other features deemed characteristic of midrash, polysemy is often explained through a contrast with Christian approaches to Scripture. 24 Just as Rabbis are celebrating multiple meanings, it is often said that Church Fathers are doing their best to try to stop at one. Accordingly, early Christians are often characterized as culling the Jewish Scriptures for prooftexts and prophesies about Christ – an activity that, at its most extreme, involves extracting and compiling Christologically-useful passages into testimonia,

20

Fraade, From Tradition, 123-62; Stern, Midrash, 27-32; Fishbane, Exegetical Imagination, 19-20. On the development of the idea of the Oral Torah, see P. Schäfer, Studien zur Geschichte und Theologie des rabbinischen Judentums (Leiden, 1978) esp. 162; M. Jaffee, Torah in the Mouth: Writing and Oral Tradition in Palestinian Judaism, 200 BCE–400 CE (Oxford, 2001). 21 E.g., S. J. D. Cohen, “The Significance of Yavneh: Pharisees, Rabbis, and the End of Jewish Sectarianism.” HUCA 55 (1984) 27-53. See also his “A Virgin Defiled: Some Rabbinic and Christian Views on the Origins of Heresy,” USQR 36 (1980) 1-11, which – notably for our purposes – draws a contrast with early Christian approaches to internal difference and division. 22 Stern, Midrash, 33, see pp. 17-38 and Fraade, From Tradition, 15-19. 23 Yadin, Scripture, esp. 68-69. 24 Stern, Midrash, 23-24; Handelman, Slayers, xiv; Porton, “Rabbinic Midrash,” 162; Boyarin, Intertextuality, 108-11.

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while paying little heed to the rest. 25 When seen from this selective perspective, the contrast seems stark indeed with the celebration, in Rabbinic midrash, of Scripture’s omni-significance and its status as God’s firstcreated and mediatory Wisdom. 26 By this logic, Christian exegetes looked behind and beyond the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament in a process that differs markedly from the approach at the heart of midrash, which looks within it – deeply, repeatedly, and for its own sake. If such sweeping contrasts prove persuasive, it may be in part because their origins root, not in essential difference, but in an historically situated and deliberate process of differentiation. As Marc Hirshman, Reuven Kimelman, Jeffrey Siker, and others have shown, Rabbinic Jews and protoorthodox Christians defined distinct identities in Late Antiquity partly by means of their rivalrous approaches to the Scriptures that they shared. 27 Daniel Boyarin has gone even further, proposing that Christian supersessionism is tacit in, and promoted by, the characteristically Christian use of allegory to read the Old Testament as preface to the New. 28 By abstracting biblical claims to record a specific people’s sacred history, it is alleged that the Church Fathers also denied the validity of the Jews as a living and embodied people. If Rabbis responded with a “resistance of allegory,” 29 then it was because Patristic interpretation was predicated on a perniciously different approach to the Hebrew Bible: as empty letter figuring the fullness of Christian spirit. No doubt, there is some truth to the contrast between Rabbinic and Patristic approaches to Scripture. With the recent growth of scholarly interest in the hermeneutics of both Rabbis and Church Fathers, however, it has also become clear that the exegetical imaginations of each are more complex – and more specific to individual authors, collections, and locales –

25

On testimonia, see H. Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church (New Haven, 1995) 24-28. 26 On Torah as Wisdom, see esp. Gen. Rab. 1.1-2 and discussion in Stern, Midrash, 23-24; Porton, “Defining,” 81-83; Fishbane, Exegetical Imagination, 13-18. See below for a comparison with Augustine’s view of Christ/Logos. 27 E.g. Hirshman, Rivalry; R. Kimelman, “Rabbi Yohanan and Origen on the Song of Songs: A Third-Century Jewish–Christian Disputation,” HTR 73 (1980) 567-95; J. S. Siker, Disinheriting the Jews: Abraham in Early Christian Controversy (Louisville, 1991). 28 Boyarin, Radical Jew, esp. 13, 104-5. Cf. idem, Intertextuality, 108; Sparks of the Logos: Essays in Rabbinic Hermeneutics (Leiden, 2003) 184-210. 29 Boyarin, Radical Jew, 264 n.8.

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than any generalization can convey. 30 We can, moreover, cite counterexamples to situate cases of exegetical rivalry in a more variegated terrain of direct and indirect interchange of interpretative ideas. 31 The sharing of Scriptures seems to have laid some common ground for Jews and Christians, providing a site for contact no less fertile for the contestation that there took place; contrary to any simple model of influence, controversy and polemics may have played a role in the transfer of exegetical motifs across confessional boundaries. 32 Likewise, one also wonders whether and how hermeneutical methods may have traveled along these same embattled bridges, crossing the boundaries between these and other competing religious groups in Late Antiquity. As foci for exploring such questions, Augustine and Genesis Rabbah are an interesting pair. The two come from around the same time; the former wrote in the fifth century, contemporaneous with the redaction of the latter. Both became influential in their respective traditions, informing the con-

30

J. D. Dawson has recently problematized Boyarin’s understanding of Christian figurative reading as allegory in simple supersessionist contrast to literalism (Christian Figural Reading and the Fashioning of Identity [Berkeley, 2002] 19-64; see also further comments by M. Vessey in his review in BMCR 2002.11.16). For our present purposes, Dawson’s book proves interesting inasmuch as he unsettles some of the base assumptions about Patristic hermeneutics that underlie the usual contrasts with Rabbinic midrash. 31 This is most obvious in the case of Syriac Christians and Babylonian Rabbis, who shared linguistic and geographical proximity; S. Brock, “Jewish Traditions in Syriac Sources,” JJS 30 (1979) 212-32; N. Koltun-Fromm, “A Jewish–Christian conversation in fourth-century Persian Mesopotamia,” JJS 47 (1996) 45-63; eadem, “Aphrahat and Rabbis on Noah’s Righteousness in light of the Jewish–Christian polemic,” in The Book of Genesis in Jewish and Oriental Christian Interpretation, ed. J. Frishman and L. Van Rompay (Louvain, 1997) 57-71; eadem, “Zipporah’s Complaint; Moses is Not Conscientious in the Deed! Exegetical Traditions of Moses’ Celibacy,” in Ways that Never Parted, 283-306. 32 Notable in this regard are the examples of Origen and Jerome, on whom see e.g. N. de Lange, Origen and the Jews: Studies in Jewish–Christian Relations in ThirdCentury Palestine (Cambridge, 1976); A. Salvesen, “A Convergence of the Ways? The Judaizing of Christian Scripture by Origen and Jerome,” in Ways that Never Parted, 233-57.

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tent, form, and methods of biblical interpretation in Late Antiquity, the Middle Ages, and beyond. 33 Recently, moreover, Augustine’s hermeneutics have been cited both as an exemplar of a supersessionist use of allegory and as a close Christian corollary to midrashic polysemy. Boyarin sees Augustine as heir to Paul and Origen’s purported emptying of the Old Testament of any literal truth tied to particularistic Jewish cultural identity. 34 Yet, when Stern contrasts midrash with Christian allegory in general, he stops to single out Augustine as “the closest analogue to midrashic polysemy that one can find in the Church Fathers.” 35 Not only does Augustine call the Old Testament “the 33

To this we might add Stock’s more general insight about the need more comprehensively to investigate “Augustine’s relationship to Jewish thought” (Augustine, 392 n. 231). 34 Boyarin, Radical Jew, 13, citing adv. Iud. 7.9 as a “characteristically Augustinian text.” One could counter his citation with the argument that Fredriksen makes against Blumenkrantz in a different context, namely, that the Tractatus adversus Iudaeos “occupies a quite minor part in Augustine’s rich corpus” (“Excaecati Occulta Iustitia Dei: Augustine on Jews and Judaism,” JECS 3 [1995] 323). See also her very different assessment of the lines of continuity and change from Paul to Origen to Augustine, both in terms of their respective hermeneutics and in terms of their respective (related) views of the Jews, in “Allegory and Reading God’s Book: Paul and Augustine on the Destiny of Israel,” in The Human Condition: A Study of the Comparison of Religious Ideas, ed. R. C. Neville, J. Berthrong, and P. Berger (Albany, 2000) 133-56. See also J. Neusner, “Augustine and Judaism”, JJS 53 (2002) 49-65. 35 Stern, Midrash, 24. Stern goes on to qualify his comparison in two ways: [1] Augustine’s notion of multiplicity of meaning is based in a sense of the obscurity of Scripture and [2] exegetical exuberance is held in check by the requirement that meanings are “congruous with the truth taught in other passages of Scripture,” namely love of God. Stern interprets the latter as “a ‘rule of faith’ under which all multiple interpretations are subsumed” (p. 25), noting that Augustine is the first Christian exegete to use such a “rule of faith” to justify exegetical freedom. Even if we question his equation of Augustine’s stress on the love of God with the earlier Christian use of a “rule of faith” as the normative horizon of biblical exegesis (see below), it remains significant that Stern admits how tricky it is to distinguish Augustine’s approach from midrash. He stresses that classical Rabbinic Judaism outlines no explicit “rule of faith” in the sense of listing articles of faith, yet he points to some institutional controls on exegesis, however tacit, obscured, and difficult to describe (pp. 25-26). Unfortunately for our purposes, Stern’s discussion of the question of this issue here leads him in another direction, such that he leaves

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autograph of God” (En. in Ps. 144.17), but he stresses that “by these words many things may be understood, all of which are still true” (Conf. 12.8.27). In addition, their interpretations of Gen 6:1-4 are marked by many similarities in aim and approach as well as content. 36 To be sure, there are numerous parallels in content between Rabbinic and Patristic biblical interpretation. 37 But, whereas many can be explained (at least in part) with reference to a common heritage in Second Temple Judaism, the convergence of Rabbinic and Patristic interpretations of Gen 6:1-4 is something different: a shared departure from earlier Jewish tradition. By the fifth century, learned elites in both traditions had rejected the interpretation of this passage that had been dominant in Second Temple Judaism. Almost all pre-Rabbinic Jewish exegetes had identified the “sons of God” with angels and read this passage in terms of fallen angels. 38

aside the question of the parallel with Augustine’s biblical hermeneutics. Contrast Handelman’s conflation of Augustine’s hermeneutics with the hierarchy of meanings in later medieval Christian exegesis (Slayers, 109; on the problems with this reading of Augustine, see R. A. Norris, “Augustine and the Close of the Ancient Period of Interpretation,” in A History of Biblical Interpretation, vol. 1, The Ancient Period, ed. A. J. Hauser and D. F. Wilson [Grand Rapids, Mich., 2003] 39799). 36 Gen 6:1-4: “When humans began to multiply on the face of the earth and daughters were born to them, the sons of God [ohvktv hbc; some LXX MSS: angels of God] saw that the daughters of men were fair; and they took wives from them as they chose. The Lord said: “My spirit shall not remain [so LXX; meaning of Heb. iush uncertain] in man [LXX: these men] forever, since he is flesh; let the days allotted to him be 120 years.” The Nephilim [LXX: Giants] were on the earth in those days, and also after that, when the sons of God came in to the daughters of men, and they bore children to them. These were the Gibborim [LXX: Giants] of old, men of renown.” 37 For a sense of the sheer number of shared exegetical motifs, one need only skim Kugel, Traditions. 38 E.g. 1 En. 1-16; Jub. 4-5; 1QApGen 11,1; 4QAgesCreat A frag.1 7-10; CD-A II, 17-19; 2 En. 7:3-5, 18:1-9; 2 Bar. 56:9-16; T. Reub. 5:4-6. For a survey see A. Y. Reed, Fallen Angels and the History of Judaism and Christianity: The Reception of Enochic Literature (Cambridge, 2005) 24-116; also F. Dexinger, “Judisch-christliche Nachgeschichte von Genesis 6,1-4,” Zur Aktualitat des Alten Testaments (Frankfurt am Main, 1992) 155-75. In pre-Rabbinic Jewish sources, I know of only three exceptions to the angelic interpretation of Gen 6:1-4, and all are found in Hellenistic Jewish sources: the euhemeristic interpretation of these figures by

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Around the second century, however, Rabbis seem to have rejected this view, reading Gen 6:1-4 euhemeristically; 39 they asserted that the “sons of God” are only human. 40 Although the angelic interpretation had a longer afterlife in the church, Christian exegetes eventually followed their Rabbinic counterparts, interpreting the “sons of God” as a metaphorical title for a certain group of humans. 41 Elsewhere, I have suggested that the Christian adoption of euhemeristic interpretations of the “sons of God” of Gen 6:1-4 may have been indirectly influenced by Rabbinic developments. 42 As with other Rabbinic traditions, these may have been mediated through the writings of Christian scholars who spent time in the Holy Land, such as Julius Africanus, Origen, and Jerome. 43 Origen’s influence may have been particularly significant, in this case, insofar as his Hexapla included the Greek renderings of the Torah by the Jewish translator Aquila and the Jewish or Jewish-Christian translator Symmachus. In a manner consonant with the Rabbinic traditions found in Genesis Rabbah as well as with the Aramaic renderings of Gen 6:2 in the targumim, 44 Symmachus translates “sons of God” as “sons of the powerful” QK WLRL> WZ`Q GXQDVWHXRQWZQ), thereby negating any connection with Josephus (Ant. 1.73) and in Sib. Or. 1.90-103, and the allegorical interpretation by Philo (esp. Giants 6.1; QG 1.92). 39 By “euhemeristic,” I mean a rationalizing and naturalizing mode of interpretation whereby references to divine figures (e.g. gods, angels) are read in terms of humans. Initially popularized by fourth-century BCE Greek author Euhemerus, this type of interpretation was widespread in Hellenistic tradition. See W. A. Adler, Time Immemorial: Archaic History and Its Sources in Christian Chronography (Washington, D.C., 1989) 112-31, on this hermeneutical method and its application to Gen 6:1-4. 40 So P. S. Alexander, “Targumim and Early Exegesis of ‘Sons of God,’” JJS 23 (1972) 60-71, as followed and expanded in Reed, Fallen Angels, 136-49. See esp. Gen. Rab. 26.5 and Targums Onqelos, Neophyti, and Pseudo-Jonathan ad Gen 6:2 as quoted below. 41 Adler, Time Immemorial, 113-22; W. Wagner, “Interpretations of Gen 6:1-4 in Second Century Christianity,” Journal of Religious History 20 (1996) 137-55; L. R. Wickham, “The Sons of God and the Daughters of Men: Gen IV 2 in Early Christian Exegesis,” in Language and Meaning: Studies in Hebrew Language and Biblical Exegesis, ed. J. Barr et al. Oudtestamentische Studiën, 19 (Leiden, 1974), 135-47; also Reed, Fallen Angels, 149-226 on the various reasons for this development. 42 Reed, Fallen Angels, 205-26. 43 Julius Africanus apud Sync. 19.24-20.4; Origen, c. Cels. 5.52-55. 44 See below and discussion in Reed, Fallen Angels, 213-18.

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angels. By means of Origen’s Hexapla, this tradition came to be transmitted to other Christian exegetes. 45 The convergence in the content of Rabbinic and Patristic interpretations of Gen 6:1-4 sheds light on the indirect connections between Jewish and Christian learned elites in the Roman Empire. It also serves, in my view, as an interesting starting point for comparing their hermeneutics. In both Christianity and Rabbinic Judaism, the rejection of the angelic interpretation of Gen 6:1-4 was accompanied by efforts to promote euhemeristic alternatives. Augustine and the redactors of Genesis Rabbah thus faced much the same set of challenges. In what follows, we shall consider the range of methods that each of them used to re-read these verses in terms of human “sons of God” and to integrate this new reading into their broader understandings of primeval history, salvation, and eschatology.

THE GENERATION OF THE FLOOD IN GENESIS RABBAH In the expositions of Gen 6:1-4 collected in Gen. Rab. 26.5-7, 46 we find a number of the features that scholars often cite as exemplary of Rabbinic hermeneutics. 47 Well attested, for instance, are the interpretation of Scripture from Scripture to connect far-flung texts, the assumption of Scripture’s omni-significance whereby every element of the text is read as important, the focus on verses and phrases rather than chapters and books, the polyvalent word-plays, and the special attention to “surface irregularities” in the text. 48 Many of these midrashim also evince multiple layers of polysemy. The anonymous redactors responsible for Genesis Rabbah have here collected a group of discrete midrashim expounding Gen 6:1-4 – most of which themselves contain multiple interpretations of the lemma, as typically

45

Augustine, for instance, seems to know Symmachus and Aquila’s translations of Genesis due to Jerome’s use of the Hexapla in his Questions on Genesis; see Wickham, “Sons of God,” 146-47, and discussion below. 46 Translations of Genesis Rabbah are based on the Soncino edition (H. Freedman, trans., Midrash Rabbah I-II [London, 1939]), as revised against J. Theodor and C. Albeck, eds., Midrasch Bereschit Rabbah mit kritischem Apparat und Kommentar (Berlin, 1912-1927; repr. Jerusalem, 1965). 47 Traditions from Genesis Rabbah are frequently cited to expound the defining features of midrash. E.g. Porton, “Defining,” 81-82; Kugel, “Two Introductions,” 94; Stern, Midrash, 23-24; Fishbane, Exegetical Imagination, 13-21. 48 On these features as characteristic of midrashic hermeneutics, see e.g. Kugel, “Two Introductions,” 91-95; idem, In Potiphar’s House, 246-64.

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attributed to multiple Rabbis, without privileging any one position as correct. 49 Even more interesting, for our present purposes, are the ways in which Gen. Rab. 26 contravenes – and thus questions – the usual modern expectations of Rabbinic midrash. As noted above, these traditions include our earliest evidence for the Rabbinic rejection of the dominant understanding of Gen 6:1-4 in earlier Jewish tradition, which read the “sons of God” as fallen angels. 50 To dismiss and displace the earlier interpretation, the Rabbis responsible for Genesis Rabbah marshal a broad variety of methods, both hermeneutical and redactional. 51 In light of the polysemy characteristic of midrash, one might expect to find some debate here preserved. Strikingly, however, the proper understanding of “sons of God” of Gen 6:1-4 as human beings is simply asserted at the outset by means of two dicta attributed to R. Simeon b. Yoʘai: The sons of God saw, etc. (Gen 6:2). R. Simeon b. Yoʘai called them sons of judges [vhbhhs hbc]. 52 R. Simeon b. Yohai cursed all who called them sons of God/gods [thvkt hbc].” (Gen. Rab. 26.5)

One might expect for R. Simeon’s opinion to be paired with dissenting opinions, arguing for an angelic interpretation of the “sons of God.” Not 49

D. Stern, “Anthology and Polysemy in Classical Midrash,” in The Anthology in Jewish Literature (Oxford, 2004) 108-39. 50 See further Reed, Fallen Angels, 24-116. 51 It is widely acknowledged that Genesis Rabbah, as an exegetical midrash, collects and arranges its composite midrashim following the order and content of Genesis. I here treat the selection and arrangement of midrashim in Gen. Rab. 26.5-7, in particular, as the product of additional redactional choices, which are deliberate and ideologically-motivated. In this, I am drawing on Stern’s approach to classical Rabbinic midrashic collections as neither wholly consistent compositions nor random assemblages of traditions (“Anthology,” esp. 108-110). He suggests that, in certain cases, “the very anthological form of the midrashic collection, with its proclivity for preserving multiple interpretations, may sometimes disguise the presence of an editorial hand that has consistently excluded an unnamed interpretative approach – an approach, in other words, that could not, for ideological or political reasons, be preserved” (p. 110). I propose that Gen. Rab. 26.5-7 on Gen 6:1-4 is one of these cases. 52 At Gen 6:2, Targum Neophyti translates ohvktv hbc with “sons of the judges” [thbhs hbc]; Targums Onqelos and Pseudo-Jonathan similarly render ohvktv hbc with “sons of the nobles” [thcrcr hbc].

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only would the prominence of this exegesis in earlier Jewish tradition seem to demand some defense of an alternate approach, but midrashic polysemy would seem to necessitate the inclusion of multiple opinions about a point of exegetical uncertainty. Yet, the opinion is simply stated in the name of a single Sage. No scriptural support is given, and no debate recorded. The matter is treated as beyond question. The angelic interpretation is similarly absent from the traditions that follow. 53 In a departure from typical Rabbinic redactional practice, the Rabbis responsible for Genesis Rabbah go on to present a variety of readings of Gen 6:1-4, attributed to different Sages who disagree on a number of textual and other matters – yet they include only those traditions that accept the human identity of the “sons of God.” In a manner more reminiscent of early Christian tradition than Rabbinic midrash, R. Simeon’s assertion seems almost to function like an extrabiblical rule that guides biblical interpretation. 54 Accordingly, the next question addressed is not whether these figures are human but why they are called “sons of God.” The discussion proceeds with no reference to Scripture and centers on their longevity: Now, why are they called “sons of God”? R. ʗanina and Resh Lakish said: “Because they lived a long time without trouble and without suffering.” 55 (Gen. Rab. 26.5)

This assertion is followed by two explanations for their longevity (cf. Augustine, Civ. 15.9-12): 53

Directly following R. Simeon’s curse are two traditions about leadership, the first of which is attributed to the same Sage. The placement of these traditions directly after a comment on Gen 6:2 results in the impression – otherwise unstated – that the “sons of God” are the (human) leaders of the Generation of the Flood. 54 The parade example is Irenaeus’ “rule of truth” (Adv.haer. 1.10.1, 22.1; 2.27.1, 28.1-2; 3.2.2, 4.1, 5.1, 14.4; 4.32.1, 33.8), on which see F. M. Young, The Art of Performance: Towards a Theology of Holy Scripture (London, 1990) 46-53; eadem, Biblical Exegesis, 18-21. See below on the normative horizon of Augustine’s interpretation. 55 For other traditions about the ease of life for the Generation of Flood, see e.g. Gen. Rab. 26.6 and 36.1 (also Sifre Deut. 43, 318; b. Sanh. 108a). This tradition often serves to stress their wickedness – i.e., even under the best living conditions, this paradigmatically rebellious Generation was unable to be righteous. In other cases, as in Gen. Rab. 26.6, their lack of suffering is causally connected to their wickedness: “R. Aibu interpreted [God’s statement in Gen 6:3 to mean]: ‘What was the reason that they rebelled against Me? Was it not because I did not bend them through suffering? What keeps a door in position? Its hinges!’”

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R. ʗuna said in R. Jose’s name: “It was in order to understand [astronomical] cycles and calculations ¥«ž ³ž­ž°³ [¥« ³ž©žš² ].” The Sages said: “It was in order that they might receive their own punishment and that of the Generations that followed them [¦¢± ™ ¦¢™š ³ž±œ ¥²ž].” (Gen. Rab. 26.5)

In the juxtaposition of these explanations, we find an example of the redactional evocation of harmonious Rabbinic debate discussed by Stern. 56 Alexander has also noted how the inclusion of multiple opinions in Rabbinic midrashim can function, in some cases, as an effective strategy for displacing unwanted interpretations. 57 In the present example, this strategy seems to be at play: a constraint is placed on the exegetical exuberance of Rabbis with regard to Gen 6:1-4, and the appearance of polysemy distracts from the complete omission of certain opinions from the conversation. The discussion of the longevity of the “sons of God” serves to distract from the issue of their identity as well as to displace other possible views of these figures. Comparison with earlier Jewish and contemporaneous Christian exegesis helps us to see just how many other options are here being ignored. For instance, even if one accepts the human identity of the “sons of God,” one might well assume that Scripture uses this title to express something positive (e.g., their purity, their nearness to God, their membership in a chosen line). 58 Yet, in Genesis Rabbah, their association with the divine is dismissed, without exegetical or other explanation, as merely a metaphor for long lives. Of the two reasons given for their longevity, one is neutral and the other negative. The first recalls Hellenistic Jewish traditions explaining the long life-spans of the earliest humans in terms of the time needed to observe astronomical cycles. 59 The second draws on the Rabbinic tradition 56

Stern, Midrash, 25-26. P. S. Alexander, “Pre-Emptive Exegesis: Genesis Rabba’s Reading of the Story of Creation,” JJS 43 (1992) 230-45; Stern, “Anthology,” 110. 58 Philo, for instance, reads “sons of God” as a title for “good and excellent men” (QG 1.92). See also Ephraem, Comm. Gen 6:3 and below on Augustine, Civ. 15.23 and related traditions. 59 In Ant. 1.106, Josephus explains that God allowed early humans to live long lives in part to advance knowledge in astronomy and geometry; note also Ant. 1.6970 on the sons of Seth discovering “science of the heavenly bodies and their orderly array” due to their long history of peace and prosperity. 57

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that shapes the reading of Gen 6:1-4 throughout Genesis Rabbah, namely, the motif of the Generation of the Flood (kucnv rus) as one in a series of wicked Generations and as a paradigm of sinners who stand totally beyond redemption, punished without even hope of resurrection and judgment at the End of Time. 60 As we shall see, the imposition of this schema helps even further to displace the angelic interpretation of the “sons of God”: not only does the Generation of the Flood absorb a number of the exegetical traditions associated with the angelic “sons of God,” but earlier Jewish ideas about the corruption of civilization by the fallen angels (e.g. 1 En. 6-16) are supplanted by an account of the hopelessly wicked state of humankind prior to Abraham (e.g. Gen. Rab. 19.7, 39.5). In other words, the motivations for the selection and arrangement of the midrashim about Gen 6:1-4 in Genesis Rabbah may not simply be exegetical: this section of Genesis Rabbah may be shaped by the redactors’ concern to suppress the angelic interpretation and to place another schema in its stead. If so, it would help to account for many of the peculiarities noted above. Especially in light of the other biblical uses of “sons of God” to mean angels (e.g. Job 1:6, 2:1, 38:7), 61 it is surprising to find a euhemeristic reading here assumed without any further explanation. Also odd, in my estimation, is the lack of justification for assuming that Scripture would choose to call certain humans “sons of God” to express something negative about them. And, yet, this is precisely what is necessitated by the Rabbinic interpretations of Genesis’ statements about the “sons of God” in terms of the paradigmatically wicked Generation of the Flood. The connection between the two is achieved in Genesis Rabbah 26.5, but only with recourse to reading strategies that are usually deemed uncharacteristic of midrash: the assertion of Rabbinic authority apart from biblical support, the exclusion of contradictory interpretations, and the explanation of the meaning of Scripture apart from a close reading of its words. 62 60

On this motif see Isaac, Midrashic Process, 26-42, 173-78; S. D. Fraade, Enosh and His Generation: Pre-Israelite Hero and History in Postbiblical Interpretation (Chico, Calif., 1984) 109-155 passim, and discussion below. Although distinctly Rabbinic in the forms here discussed, the motif has roots in the biblical contrast between Noah and his generation in Gen 6:9 and 7:1, wherein God finds Noah “righteous in his generation.” See Gen. Rab. 30.1, 30.6, 30.7, 33.2, 34.3, 36.1, 36.2 (cf. 26.6, 28.8). 61 Compare Gen. Rab. 65.21, in which ohvktv hbc in Job 38:7 are explicitly identified as the ministering angels. 62 As should become clear below, these reading strategies are actually quite characteristic of Rabbinic midrash; my point here is that generalized treatments – and especially generalized contrasts with Patristic exegesis – tend to gloss over

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In rejecting the angelic interpretation of Gen 6:1-4, the Rabbis responsible for Genesis Rabbah must deal with the main weakness of the euhemeristic interpretation of the “sons of God”: it is not difficult to see how the sexual mingling of angels and women might prompt God to purify the earth, but what could be so terrible about marriages between human “sons of god” and “daughters of men”? In the midrashim collected in Gen. Rab. 26, the Rabbinic motif of the Generation of the Flood serves (among other things) to solve this problem. Central to the motif is the notion that the Generation is evil beyond redemption – a notion supported and developed by reading the references to the “sons of God” in terms of the statements about humankind in Gen 6:5-6 and by reading verses about the wicked throughout Scripture (esp. from the Book of Job) in terms of this specific Generation. 63 Accordingly, in Gen. Rab. 26, the Sages’ statement linking the longevity of the “sons of God” with “the punishment of the Generations after them” (i.e. 26.5, as quoted above) marks a shift in focus from the “sons of God” to the Generation of the Flood. The displacement of the (angelic) “sons of God” by the (human) Generation of the Flood is evident in the subsequent midrashim, which expound their wickedness as paradigmatically great. Consistent with the theme of marriage and childbirth in Gen 6:1-4 – and with earlier interpretative traditions about the sins of lust of the angelic “sons of God”– the transgressions of the Generation of the Flood are primarily sexual: That they were fair [,ucuy] (Gen 6:2). R. Judan said: “Actually ,cy is written: when a bride was made beautiful [ohchyn] for her husband, the chief [of the Generation of the Flood] entered and enjoyed her first. Thus it is written, For they were fair, which refers to virgins. And they took them wives, refers to married women. Whomever they chose: that means males and beasts!”

these strategies and to privilege others as central in their definitions of what makes Rabbinic midrash both “midrash” and distinctively Rabbinic. 63 On the application of verses from Job to the Generation of the Flood, see Isaac, Midrashic Process, 26-42. In Gen. Rab. 26.7, this practice is exegetically justified with appeal to Gen 6:4: “R. Johanan interpreted: ‘These were the Gibborim of old, and who enumerates their deeds? The men enumerated by name [oav habt] – i.e., Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite.’ For Rabbi said: ‘Had Job come for no other purpose but to enumerate for us the deeds of the Generation of the Flood, it would have sufficed him!’”

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MIDRASH AND CONTEXT R. Huna said in R. Joseph’s name: “The Generation of the Flood (kucnv rus) was not blotted out from the world until they composed nuptial songs in honor of pederasty and bestiality!” (Gen. Rab. 26.5; cf. Tanh. Buber Gen 1.33; Lev. Rab. 23.9)

As in earlier traditions about the “sons of God” as fallen angels, we here find accusations concerning their transgression of proper categories (e.g., 1 En. 15; T. Napht. 3.5; Jude 6; Justin, 2 Apol. 5). The transgression is here transposed, however, from sex between angels and humans, to sex between humans and animals. Interestingly, the misdeeds associated with the Generation of the Flood also recall the sins attributed to the Sodomites (see e.g. Gen. Rab. 50.7). In this connection, we may see traces of earlier interpretations of the “sons of God,” in which the fallen angels were paired with the Sodomites as paradigms of sinners who were unable to control their fleshly desires and who thus sated their lust with “unnatural” sexual activities (e.g., Jub. 20:5; Sir 16:7-9; T. Napht. 3-4; Jude 7). In the midrash that follows, for instance, the two are similarly treated as a pair, and each is interpreted in terms of the another: R. Simlai said: “Wherever you find sexual immorality [,ubzv], an epidemic visits the world which slays both good and bad.” R. ‘Azariah and R. Judah b. R. Simon in R. Joshua’s name said: “The Holy One, blessed be He, is long-suffering for everything except sexual immorality [,ubzv]. What is the proof? The sons of men saw (Gen 6:2) etc., which is followed by, And the Lord said: I will blot out humankind (Gen 6:7).” R. Joshua b. Levi said in the name of Bar Padiah: “The whole of that night Lot prayed for mercy for the Sodomites. They [i.e., the angels] would have heeded him, but as soon as they [i.e., the Sodomites] demanded ‘Bring them out unto us, that we may know them (Gen 19:5) for intercourse,’ they said, ‘Have you here any besides (Gen 19:12)? Previously, you [i.e., Lot] may have pleaded in their defense, but you are no longer permitted to do so!’” (Gen. Rab. 26.5; cf. Lev. Rab. 23.9)

By the time of the redaction of Genesis Rabbah, the pairing of the Generation of the Flood and the Sodomites was already being developed in new ways (esp. m. Sanh. 10.3). Hence, the redactional combination of traditions about the two in Genesis Rabbah may reflect Rabbinic precedents as well as the influence of pre-Rabbinic exegesis. 64 64

See Gen. Rab. 27.3, 28.5, 49.5, 49.13.

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In other cases, earlier traditions about fallen angels seem to have transferred almost directly onto the Generation of the Flood. 65 Most striking is a midrash attributed to R. Berekiah: And also after that, when the sons of God came into the daughters of men (Gen 6:4). R. Berekiah said: “A woman would go out into the marketplace, see a young man, and conceive a passion for him, whereupon she would go, cohabit, and give birth to a young man like him.” (Gen. Rab. 26.7)

The tradition is almost incomprehensible as an exegesis of Gen 6:4, and R. Berekiah here posits a lack of carnality that stands in stark contrast with other Rabbinic traditions about the sexual exploits of the Generation of Flood. The midrash does make sense, however, when read in terms of pre-Rabbinic Jewish traditions about how angelic “sons of God” could “come into” fleshly “daughters of men.” 66 As part of the discussion about the logistics of angelic/human copulation, 67 there developed the opinion that the “daughters of men” had visions of fallen angels while having sex with their husbands and that these visions resulted in the birth of hybrid offspring (e.g., T. Reub. 5:6). Genesis Rabbah seems to preserve a version of this tradition, reapplied to humans who lived in the Generation of the Flood. The thrust of the tradition may be lost, but echoes of its origins remain, preserving traces of the process by which the angelic interpretation of “sons of God” came to be displaced by euhemeristic alternatives. In most of the midrashim collected in Gen. Rab. 26, this process has been successful. Not only are the “sons of God” supplanted by the Generation of the Flood, but Gen 6:1-4 is read through the lens of a Rabbinic schematization of biblical history whereby this Generation is one in a series of wicked groups. That this schema was initially developed in the context of Rabbinic discussions about salvation history and eschatology is clear from its earliest exemplars (esp. m. Sanh. 10.3; t. Sanh 13.6-12). 68 The redactors 65

On the transfer of exegetical motifs, see Kugel, In Potiphar’s House, 255-59. For the original context of this tradition, it is telling, in my view, that it is here associated with Gen 6:4 rather than Gen 6:2 – even though Gen 6:2 includes language of vision (i.e., And the sons of God saw). A solution is here posited to the problem posed by the sons of God came into the daughters of men (Gen 6:4), even though the human identity of both makes this no longer a problem. 67 The persistence of this concern is clear from Augustine’s comments in Civ. 15.32, as discussed below. 68 Other tannaitic examples include t. Sota 3.6-12; Mekh. Shirta 2.13-19; Sifre Deut. 43, 310, 311, 318, 324, 350, 351, 361, 375. 66

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of Genesis Rabbah, however, have selected and arranged the constituent midrashim so as to transform this schema into an exegetical principle for reading Genesis. In Gen. Rab. 26 we can see the influence of two versions of the schema. The first involves a trio of Generations: the Generations of Enosh, the Flood, and the Dispersion. 69 The trio occurs frequently in Genesis Rabbah, often exemplifying the decline in early human history prior to God’s choice of Abraham and establishment of the nation Israel. 70 Accordingly, one of the midrashim on Gen 6:4 (The Nephilim were on the earth in those days, and also after that…) explains as follows: In those days, and also after that. Judah b. Rabbi commented: “The later Generations would not learn from the earlier ones – the Generation of the Flood [would not learn] from that of Enosh, and the Generation of the Separation [would not learn] from that of the Flood.” (Gen. Rab. 26.7; cf. 38.4)

More pervasive, however, is the influence of an earlier version of the schema: the list of the groups who have no share in the World to Come in m. Sanh. 10.3. The Generation of the Flood is the first in this list: The Generation of the Flood has no share in the World to Come, nor will they stand at the Judgment, as it is written, My spirit [hjur] will not judge [iush] man forever [okugk] (Gen 6:3a). There will be neither Judgment [ihs] nor spirit [jur] for them! (m. Sanh 10.3)

This group sets the pattern for the treatment of others: the Generation of the Dispersion, the men of Sodom, the Spies, the Generation of the Wilderness, the congregation of Korah, and the Ten Tribes. 71 In each case, the group’s omission from the World to Come is stated and supported with a

69

On Enosh, see Fraade, Enosh, 109-234. That this is a later version of the schema is clear from the inclusion of the Generation of Enosh, which is missing from tannaitic lists of the wicked (p. 130). The concept of the Generation of Enosh, like the concept of the Generation of the Flood, is a Rabbinic innovation; there is no precedent for the interpretation of Gen 4:26’s comments about Enosh in terms of a paradigmatically wicked Generation. The Generation of the Dispersion denotes the people who built the Tower of Babel in Genesis 11. 70 See Gen. Rab. 4.6, 5.1, 22.6, 26.7, 28.2, 38.4, 38.5. The Generations of the Flood and Separation are treated as a pair in Gen. Rab. 33.5, 38.2, 38.3, 38.6, 38.9, 52.6. For the contrast with Abraham, see Gen. Rab. 39.5. 71 Some MSS omit the Generation of the Dispersion and Spies.

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biblical proof-text. This is followed by a consideration of whether or not they will be resurrected and stand at the Last Judgment. Consistent with the eschatological concerns of m. Sanh. 10.3, many of the midrashim in Gen. Rab. 26 focus not on the Flood but rather on postmortem judgment. As in the Mishnah, this discussion is spurred by a “surface irregularity” in Gen 6:3a, namely, the hapax legomenon iush; typically rendered in English translations as “remain” or “abide,” following the Septuagint (NDWDPHLQY), this verb can also be read in terms of judgment (ihs). 72 Just as the Mishnah uses Gen 6:3 to conclude that “there will be neither judgment [ihs] nor spirit [jur]” for the Generation of the Flood, 73 so the exposition of Gen 6:3 in Genesis Rabbah includes two sets of traditions – the first set focuses on the lack of spirit, and the second on judgment. In the first set, the unifying theme is the idea that the Generation of the Flood will not be resurrected: And the Lord said: My spirit will not abide in man forever (Gen 6:3a). R. Ishmael said: “I will not put My spirit in them [xvc hjur i,ub hbht] when I give the righteous their reward [xhesmk rfa i,n i,ub hbhta vgac].” (Gen. Rab. 26.6)

In light of the close relationship between traditions in Genesis Rabbah and traditions in the Talmud Yerushalmi, as noted by Hans-Jürgen Becker and others, 74 it is interesting to point to the close parallels with the comments on m. Sanh. 10.3 in the Yerushalmi: 72

E. A. Speiser, “YDWN, Gen 6:3,” JBL 75 (1956) 126-29; J. W. Wevers, Notes on the Greek Text of Genesis (Atlanta, 1993) 76-77; J. Bowker, The Targums and Rabbinic Literature: An Introduction to Jewish Interpretations of Scripture (Cambridge, 1969) 154-55; C. T. R. Hayward, Saint Jerome’s Hebrew Questions on Genesis (Oxford, 1995) 129-30. It is possible that there once circulated Hebrew MSS that read rush (“endure”) and/or ihsh (“judge”) for iush/ The former reading is attested in 4Q252 I 2 and may underlie LXX Gen 6:3. The latter seems presumed in the paraphrase of Pseudo-Philo (LAB 3.2: “My spirit will not judge [diiudicabit]”) and the translation of Symmachus (“My spirit will not judge [NULQHL`]”). Furthermore, Questions in Genesis 6:3, Jerome notes: “In the Hebrew it is written: ‘My spirit will not judge these men forever….’” Cf. Jub. 10:11-18. 73 The use of Scripture in m. Sanh. 10.1-3 is discussed in A. Samely, Rabbinic Interpretation of Scripture in the Mishnah (Oxford, 2002) 99, 332-33 74 H.-J. Becker, Die großen rabbinischen Sammelwerke Palästinas: Zur literarische Genese von Talmud Yerushalmi und Midrash Bereshit RabbaTSAJ 70. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999). References to y. Sanhedrin follow P. Schäfer and H.-J. Becker, eds., Synopse zum Talmud Yerushalmi, Band IV (Tübingen, 1995).

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MIDRASH AND CONTEXT R. Judah said: “My spirit will not abide in them, because I shall not place my spirit in them [xvc hjur i,ub hbhta] when I place my spirit [hjur i,ub hbta vgac] in humankind [xst hbcc].” R. Simeon said: “My spirit will not abide in them, because I will not put my spirit in them [xvc hjur i,ub hbhta] when I pay the reward which is coming to the righteous [xhesm ka irfa i,n i,ub hbta vgac].” (y. Sanh. 10.3)

In the Mishnah and Yerushalmi, Gen 6:3 is presented as a prooftext for the omission of the Generation of the Flood from the end-time Resurrection and Judgment. In the midrash attributed to R. Ishmael in Gen. Rab. 26.5, the same interpretation is presented from an exegetical perspective, as one of a number of interpretations of Gen 6:3. The other interpretations of Gen 6:3 are similarly shaped by the concerns in the Mishnah and Yerushalmi. As in y. Sanh. 10.3, the discussion of the spirit is connected to a discussion of Gehenna. The reference to the future time when God will “give the righteous their reward” prompts the inclusion of three traditions with no direct connection to Genesis, which use prophetic prooftexts to explore the precise nature of post-mortem punishment: R. Jannai and Resh Lakish said: “There is no other Gehenna except for a Day that will burn up the wicked. What is the proof? And the day that comes will set them ablaze (Mal 3:19).” The Sages maintain: “There will be a Gehenna, for it says: Whose fire is in Zion and His furnace in Jerusalem (Isa 31:9).” R. Judah b. R. Ilai said: “There will be neither a Day nor a Gehenna, but fire shall come forth from the body of the wicked himself and burn him up. What is the proof? You conceive chaff, you shall bring forth stubble, your breath is a fire that shall devour you (Isa 33:11).” (Gen. Rab. 26.5)

In an interesting example of midrashic polysemy, three very different opinions are here offered, but the debate is left unresolved. Having the mapped a range of possible post-mortem punishments, the redactors of Genesis Rabbah turn back to God’s choice to exclude the Generation of the Flood from the end-time Resurrection: R. Huna interpreted [Gen 6:3a] in R. Aʘa’s name: “When I restore the spirit [jur rhzjta vgac] to its sheath [vbsbk], I will not restore their spirit to their sheathes [ivhbsbk ijur rhzjn hbht].”

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R. Hiyya b. Abba interpreted: “I will not fill them with My spirit when I fill all other men with My spirit, because in this world it spreads only through one of limbs, but in the future it will spread throughout the body, as it is written And I will put My spirit [hjur] within you (Ezek 36:27). (Gen. Rab. 26.6; cf. y. Sanh. 10.3) 75

The next set of interpretations read Gen 6:3 in terms of judgment. Here too, the Mishnah’s assertions about the omission of the Generation of the Flood from the Resurrection and Last Judgment are assumed. Moreover, in a manner reminiscent of traditions from the Yerushalmi, the focus falls on questions about the relationship between justice in this world and judgment in the next: whereas the Mishnah asserts the exclusion of certain groups and individuals from the World to Come (m. Sanh. 10.1-3), the commentary in the Yerushalmi includes a concern to ensure a balance of justice in this world and the next (y. Sanh. 10.1-4). To the Mishnah’s first list of those with no share in the World to Come, for instance (m. Sanh. 10.1), the redactors of the Yerushalmi respond by outlining different kinds of sin and associating them with different kinds of punishment; some people are punished in this world in order to inherit the World to Come, whereas the punishment of others is forestalled until the World to Come (y. Sanh. 10.3). Accordingly, the Yerushalmi’s treatment of the Generation of the Flood explicitly addresses the question: “do they receive their punishment [i.e. in this world] and then receive a portion in the World to Come?” (y. Sanh. 10.3). 76 The answer, as in the Mishnah, is negative. Nevertheless, it is notable that, by the time of the Yerushalmi, the justness of this divine decision is a concern (cf. t. Sanh. 13.6-12). A similar concern may be evident in the midrashim on Gen 6:3 and judgment in Genesis Rabbah. These include attempts to explain how the Flood relates to the denial of further judgment for this Generation: R. Judan b. Bathyra interpreted it [i.e. Gen 6:3a]: “Never [okugk] again will I judge [is] man with this judgment [vzv ihsv].” R. Huna commented in R. Joseph’s name: “I will not again curse... I will not again smite (Gen 8:21) [means] let this suffice.” The Rabbis 75

The tradition attributed to R. Huna similarly recalls an anonymous tradition in y. Sanh. 10.3: “Others say: ‘My spirit will not abide in them, for I will not restore [rhzjn hbhta] to its sheath [vbsbk; MS Leiden 244b].’” 76 Another tradition in y. Sanh. 10.3 has that the waters of the Flood heated by the fires of Gehenna, in a clever combination of this-worldly and otherworldly punishment.

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MIDRASH AND CONTEXT said: “I will not again curse refers to the children of Noah; I will not again smite, to future Generations. I intended that My spirit should judge them [i.e., at the End of Time], but they refused; behold, therefore, I will bend them through suffering [i.e. in this world].”… (Gen. Rab. 26.6)

Directly following this discussion is a series of traditions asserting that all of God’s creations are answerable for their deeds; even trees “must render an account” (Gen. Rab. 26.6). The inclusion of these traditions functions to develop the theme of retributive justice. At the same time, it serves to underscore the justness in God’s treatment of the Generation of the Flood as well as in His destruction of plants and animals as well as people in the Flood. Genesis Rabbah then presents further traditions that explore the theme of judgment (ihs) in terms of different readings of Gen 6:3. These midrashim explore the reasons for God’s destruction of this Generation by Flood in this world, as noted in Genesis 6-9, and His denial of their resurrection and participation in eschatological judgment, as noted in the Mishnah and other Rabbinic traditions. Here too, we may sense some discomfort with the severity of God’s punishment of this Generation. Some of these midrashim, for instance, connect the divine punishment of this Generation with their lack of any laws or justice system of their own, and particularly to their lack of knowledge of the Torah; 77 as such, their punishment seems linked to their misfortune of living prior to God’s revelation of both the Noachide Commandments and the Torah. A certain discomfort with the omission of this Generation, without further judgment, from the World to Come, may also echo in a saying attributed to R. Jose, which assures us that their fate was exceptional: R. Jose the Galilean interpreted [God’s statement in Gen 6:3a to mean]: “No more will I judge [is] My attribute of justice [ihsv ,sn] before My attribute of mercy [ohnjr ,sn]!” 78 77

E.g., Gen. Rab. 26.6: “R. Eleazar said: ‘Wherever there is no judgment [below], there is judgment [above].’ R. Bibi the son of R. Ammi interpreted, following R. Leazar: ‘If they have not judged, then My spirit [will judge].’ R. Meir said: ‘If they did not perform judgment below, am I too not to perform judgment above? Thus it is written, Is not their tent-cord plucked up within them? They die, and that without wisdom (Job 4:21) – i.e. lacking the wisdom of the Torah…’” 78 A similar point is made in Targum Pseudo-Jonathan’s rendering of Gen 6:3: “And the Lord said by His Word: ‘None of the evil Generations to arise in the future will be judged by the order of judgments applied to the Generation of the

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In the end, however, the justness of God’s judgment is confirmed – again with reference to the Mishnah. Consistent with the ruling in m. Sanh. 10.1 that those who deny Resurrection have no place in the World to Come, Genesis Rabbah’s collection of midrashim on Gen 6:3 ends with two traditions, attributed to Rabbi and R. Akiba. Both stress the lack of belief in Resurrection amongst the Generation of the Flood: Rabbi interpreted: “And the Generation of the Flood said: ‘The Lord will not judge my spirit!’” 79 R. Akiba cited Thus does the wicked condemn God and say in his heart, ‘You will not require?’ (Ps 10:13) – meaning that [the Generation of the Flood said:] ‘There is no judgment [ihhs] or judge [ihs].’ There is judgment, and there is a Judge!

The rationale is left unstated, but with knowledge of the Mishnah, the point rings clear: to assert their lack of belief in Resurrection is to assert their just exclusion from the World to Come. The influence of mishnaic and talmudic traditions about those omitted from the World to Come is also evident in traditions about Gen 6:4 in Gen. Rab. 26.7. Here, we find some interpretations that explore the euhemeristic interpretation of the “sons of God” through traditions about the Generation of the Flood. Although these traditions leave open the possibility that the Nephilim have some superhuman nature, the references to the “sons of God” and Gibborim are read in terms of the Generation of the Flood. Interesting, for our purposes, are the interpretations of the reference to the latter as “men of renown” (oav habt). A tradition attributed to R. Yohanan uses the verse to justify the Rabbinic practice of expounding the deeds of the Generation of the Flood by means of statements about the wicked in the Book of Job. 80 This is followed by a tradition attributed to R. Aʘa, which stresses the paradigmatic wickedness of the Generation of the Flood and which forestalls any positive reading of “men of renown” by using this phrase to connect the Generation of the Flood with Korah and his followers: R. Aʘa said: “Dissension is as great an evil as the Generation of the Flood. It says here (i.e., Gen 6:4): men of renown [oav habt], Flood, which is to be destroyed and eliminated from the world’”; Bowker, Targums and Rabbinic Literature, 151-56. 79 The full verse reads okugk ostc hjur iush tk 'v rnthu. This tradition interprets only hjur iush tk 'v rnthu, understanding the Generation of the Flood as the speaker. 80 See above, and Isaac, Midrashic Process, 26-42, 173-78.

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MIDRASH AND CONTEXT while elsewhere (i.e., Num 16:2) it says, They were princes of the congregation, the elect men of the assembly, men of renown [oav habt].” (Gen. Rab. 26.7)

Inasmuch as Korah is counted among those with no share in the World to Come in m. Sanh. 10.3, R. Aʘa’s appeal to Num 16:2 here functions to underline the connections among the paradigmatically wicked groups from biblical history, even as it serves to support an euhemeristic reading of Gen 6:4. The midrashim collected in Gen. Rab. 26 are diverse. Nevertheless, in a striking departure from earlier exegesis of Gen 6:1-4, all treat “sons of God” as human beings. Most, moreover, read Gen 6:1-4 through the extrabiblical principle that the Generation of the Flood is one in a line of evil Generations. To expound upon the evils of this Generation, the midrashim in Genesis Rabbah thus turn to traditions about the other evil groups, particularly those listed in the Mishnah. Interpretations of Gen 6:3, in particular, are framed in terms of Gehenna, the Last Judgment, and the end-time Resurrection of the dead. More specifically, the redactors seem to engage the same questions and concerns as the Rabbis who were redacting the Talmud Yerushalmi in the same place and around the same time. Interestingly, some of the interpretative methods and choices that shape this section of Genesis Rabbah fit better with the familiar generalizations about Christian exegesis than with the conventional modern characterizations of midrash. Not only do the Rabbis responsible for Genesis Rabbah read Gen 6:1-4 through a later schema of salvation history, but they view primeval times in terms of eschatology and use Scripture to trace a genealogy of error. Even as Genesis Rabbah here appears to be engaged in exegesis of Scripture from Scripture, its silent dialogue partners are the Mishnah and Talmud Yerushalmi. 81 And, perhaps most strikingly, all of these interpretations follow from the rejection of an interpretation of “sons of God” as angels, which is based only on the authority of a single Sage (i.e., R. Simeon b. Yoʘai) and which is asserted apart from any exegetical or other explanation. The Mishnah and the Talmud Yerushalmi, of course, form part of the Oral Torah, and the schema of the evil Generations is there developed with appeal to prooftexts from the Written Torah. Nevertheless, in Genesis 81

I borrow this language from Alexander’s analysis of Genesis Rabbah’s commentary on Genesis 1, which engages the discussion of Ma’aseh Bereshit in m. ʗag. 2.1 and y. ʗag. 2.1 (“Pre-Emptive Exegesis,” 233-36). See also Becker, Die großen rabbinischen Sammelwerke Palästinas, 16-60.

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Rabbah’s re-application of this schema to Scripture, we may find a sort of parallel to the Christian use of the New Testament as interpretative guide to the Old Testament. 82 The parallel proves particularly intriguing inasmuch as the extrabiblical schema in question involves salvation-history and eschatology – two concerns typically associated far more with Christianity than with Rabbinic Judaism. 83 One cannot, moreover, dismiss this section of Genesis Rabbah as merely atypical of Rabbinic midrash. Its interest in eschatology and salvation history is hardly singular. 84 Nor is its bold approach to re-reading Scripture unusual. 85 And, even if these interests reflect the polemical aims of the redactors, it remains that we find other cases of polemicallymotivated midrashim. 86 Consequently, the example in Gen. Rab. 26.5-7 may 82

P. J. Tomson, “The New Testament Canon as the Embodiment of Evolving Christian Attitudes towards the Jews,” in Canonization and De-Canonization, ed. A. van der Kooij and K. van der Toorn (Leiden, 1998) 107-31. 83 Kugel, for instance, posits the irrelevance of eschatology to midrash inasmuch as the latter treats Scripture as “a world unto itself” (“Two Introductions,” 90). 84 On the importance of eschatology and salvation history within Rabbinic Judaism, see A. Goldberg, “Schoepfung und Geschichte: Der Midrasch von den Dingen, die vor der Welt erschaffen wurden,” repr. in Mystik und Theologie des rabbinischen Judentums: Gesammelte Studien I, ed. M. Schlueter and P. Schäfer (Tübingen 1997) 148-161; P. Schäfer, “Zur Geschichtsauffassung des rabbinischen Judentums,” JSJ 6 (1975) 167-188. Note also A. J. Saldarini, “Uses of Apocalyptic in the Mishna and Tosepta,” CBQ 39 (1977) 396-409; Saldarini’s collection of references attests the richness of tannaitic traditions about the Resurrection of the dead and God’s end-time judgment (and the interest in reading this judgment into the biblical texts from which post-mortem punishment is otherwise absent), even as his interpretation of this data shows the scholarly tendency to downplay any Rabbinic interest in the eschatology. 85 See, e.g., B. L. Visotzky’s assessment of Leviticus Rabbah’s approach to biblical exegesis in Golden Bells and Pomegranates: Studies in Leviticus Rabbah. TSAJ, 96 (Tübingen, 2003) esp. 173-4. 86 I have argued elsewhere that this departure may have been motivated by polemics against non-Rabbinic groups (whether Jewish, “Jewish-Christian,” or Christian) who continued to transmit early Enochic texts and traditions; Reed, Fallen Angels, 136-47. For examples of polemically-motivated midrashim, see e.g. Hirshman, “Polemical Literary Units”; Visotzky, Fathers, 93-105. For a recent treatment of influence and polemics see M. R. Niehoff, “Creatio ex Nihilo Theology in Genesis Rabbah in Light of Christian Exegesis,” HTR 99 (2006) 37-64.

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help us to move beyond simple contrasts between Jewish and Christian hermeneutics to explore the range of reading strategies current among late antique Rabbis as they relate to the range of reading strategies also used by Christians of the time.

ANGELS/SONS OF GOD AND GIANTS IN THE CITY OF GOD Roughly around the same time that Genesis Rabbah was being redacted in Christianized Roman Palestine, Augustine was penning – across the Empire in North Africa – his celebrated City of God. 87 Although it is not formally a work of biblical exegesis, the second half of the book features a retelling of Creation (books 11-14) and biblical history (books 15-18) as well as eschatological reflections (books 19-22) in terms of the contrast between the city of God and city of men. 88 Augustine’s discussion of Gen 6:1-4 occurs in book 15, an expansive exposition of Genesis 4-9. 89 At first sight, its literary setting may thus seem more similar to the rewritten Bible of pre-Rabbinic Jews (e.g., Jubilees, Josephus, Ant.) than to the midrash of late antique Rabbis. Whereas rewritten Bible collapses the lines between lemma and interpretation, however, Augustine here combines paraphrases of Genesis with detailed exegetical discussions, both of his lemma and of other texts with lexical or thematic connections to it. As in Genesis Rabbah and other midrashic collections, quotation, paraphrase, exegesis, and exposition are here combined, just as close textual, lexical, and even numerological analyses of the lemma are juxtaposed with creative appeals to intertexts and prooftexts from every corner of his biblical canon. 90 Seen from the standpoint of hermeneutics, more-

87

English translations below follow H. Bettenson, trans., City of God (Harmondsworth, 1984), and quotations of the Latin are taken from the edition of B. Dombart and A. Kalb, as reprinted in G. Bardy and G. Combès, La Cité de Dieu (Paris, 1959-1960). 88 This schema builds on biblical, Jewish, and Christian ideas about Jerusalem and Babylon, on which see G. O’Daly, Augustine’s City of God: A Reader’s Guide (Oxford, 1999), 53-66; J. van Oort, Jerusalem and Babylon: A Study into Augustine’s City of God and the Sources of his Doctrine of the Two Cities (Leiden, 1991). 89 On book 15 see further F. E. Cranz, “De Civitate Dei, XV, 2, and Augustine’s Ideas of the Christian Society,” Speculum 25 (1950) 215-25; O’Daly, Guide, 160-70. 90 Cf. the summary of midrash’s literary features in Porton, “Defining,” 79. Of course, the City of God is a single-authored text as opposed to a collection. Parallels

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over, the very project stands as exemplar of the complexity of Augustine’s hermeneutics and its resistance of simple contrasts between literalism and allegory: throughout the City of God Augustine draws upon Scripture to understand the two cities in simultaneously historical and meta-historical terms. 91 In contrast to the Rabbis responsible for Genesis Rabbah, Augustine explicitly counters the angelic interpretation of “sons of God.” He is dependant on Greek and Latin translations of Genesis and seems to use a version that reads “angels of God” at Gen 6:2 and “sons of God” at Gen 6:4. 92 Nevertheless, he argues for an understanding of these figures as human beings and does so largely on exegetical grounds. Interestingly, as we shall see, he achieves this goal by means of many of the same reading strategies found in Rabbinic midrash. Scripture is here treated as omni-significant, and “surface irregularities” are approached as invitations to explore new levels of meaning. His interpretation involves close readings of his lemma in combination with intertexts drawn from the Prophets and Hagiographa as well as the New Testament. By interpreting Scripture from Scripture, he demonstrates its unity in multiplicity in a manner that serves to justify and elevate a specific biblical canon. 93 Moreover, this section of the City of God reflects Augustine’s interpretative polysemy. By means of literal and allegorical modes of reading, he here unfolds the historical and meta-historical meanings in Scripture, which is seen to speak

with midrash, however, may offer a fresh perspective on Augustine’s reading strategies. 91 I.e., in speaking of the two cities, Scripture is both historian and pedagogue, expressing historical truths and ahistorical truths – neither of which can be reduced to the other. See G. Lavere, “Metaphor and Symbol in Augustine’s De civitate Dei,” in Collectanea Augustiniana, ed. J. C. Schnaubelt and F. Van Fleteren (New York, 1990) 225-43; P. Pulsiano, “Language Theory and Narrative Patterning in De Civitate Dei, books XV-XVIII,” in The City of God: A Collection of Critical Essays, ed. D. F. Donnelly (New York, 1995) 242. 92 The reading RL DJJHORL WRX` THRX is found in the fifth-century Codex Alexandrinus as well as in a handful of related miniscules from the medieval period and in marginal notations in the Syro-Hexapla. It is also attested by a number of Jewish and Christian authors (e.g., Philo, Didymus, Eusebius). 93 In Augustine’s time, the Christian canon is still in the process of being set in the Roman Empire. On his canon see Doctr. Chr. 2.8 and discussion in A.-M. La Bonnardière, “The Canon of Sacred Scriptures,” in Augustine and the Bible, ed. and trans. P. Bright (Notre Dame, 1986) 26-41.

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of the city of God and the city of men both in the timeless language of God and in the time-bounded language of humankind (see Civ. 11.3-4). 94 In book 15, Augustine begins by expounding the contrast between the cities in genealogical terms. He does so with reference to Cain and Abel (15.1) and, after Abel’s death, with Cain and Seth (15.8, 15, 17) and their respective progeny (15.15, 20, 22-23). 95 Within this schema, Gen 6:1-4 serves an important role: the passage is used to explain how genealogical distinctions between the city of God and city of men became muddled by intermarriage between the Sethian and Cainite lines. 96 Before Augustine defends his interpretation from a close reading of Gen 6:1-4, he communicates its conclusions by means of a paraphrase that assumes the human identity of the “sons of God” and their association with the city of God as well as with the sons of Seth: …there arose a mixture and confusion of the two cities by their participation in a common iniquity. And this calamity, like the first [i.e., the Fall], was occasioned by woman, although not in the same way [i.e., as Eve]. For these women [= the “daughters of men”] were not themselves betrayed nor did they persuade the men to sin. But, having belonged to the earthly city and society of the earthly, they had been of corrupt manners from the beginning and were loved for their bodily beauty by the “sons of God” (cf. Gen 6:2), or the citizens of the other city which sojourns in this world… and when they were captivated by the “daughters of men,” they adopted the manners of the earthly to win them as their brides and forsook the godly ways they had followed in their own holy society. (Civ. 15.22)

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See Pulsiano, “Language Theory”, 241-52. Pulsiano discusses books 15-18 in terms of Augustine’s “concern with language and narrative as syntactic structures of meaning at once temporally bound and yet atemporal as they urge their way towards the divine” (p. 242). 95 To make these connections, Augustine engages in detailed exegesis of the names and numbers in the genealogies in Gen 4-5. His concern for their historicity is clear from the space dedicated to the question of lengths of their lifetimes, and his interest in accounting for the different numbers, as given in the Hebrew original and Greek and Latin translations (Civ. 15.10-13). For the comparison with midrash, it is also interesting to note his concern for the Hebrew meanings of the names of early humans (esp. 15.17-21). 96 In identifying the “sons of God” with Sethians and “daughters of men” with Cainites, Augustine follows the dominant stream in late antique Christian interpretation of Gen 6:1-4; Reed, Fallen Angels, 221-26.

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Unlike the Rabbis responsible for Genesis Rabbah, Augustine makes explicit the schema through which he is interpreting Gen 6:1-4. And, thereafter, he explains and defends his rejection of the angelic interpretation. This exegetical discussion is introduced by the question of “whether angels, inasmuch as they are spirits, could have bodily intercourse with women” (Civ. 15.32). In a manner reminiscent of Rabbinic petiʚot, 97 he does not immediately quote and discuss the passage at hand. First, he brings in a series of intertexts, beginning with a passage from the Psalms: For it is written, Who makes His angels spirits [Qui facit angelos suos spiritus; Ps 104:4a] – that is: “He makes His angels those who are by nature spirits by appointing them to the duty of bearing His messages. For the Greek word DJJHORL, which in Latin appears as angelus, means “messenger.” But whether the Psalmist speaks of their bodies when he adds and His ministers a flaming fire (Ps 104:4b), or whether he means that God’s ministers ought to blaze with love as with a spiritual fire, is unclear. (Civ. 15.23)

For Augustine, Ps 104:4a confirms that angels are spirit rather than flesh. But it also raises questions. Does Ps 104:4b refer to these spirits as made of fire? Or, does it refer to human ministers who blaze, metaphorically aflame, with love? In a passing example of Augustine’s interpretative polysemy, both options are presented, but the answer is left open. An embrace of Scripture’s singularity in multiplicity is also suggested by his subsequent appeal to a dissenting opinion in “the same trustworthy Scripture.” Psalm 104 may express the identity of angels as spirits and/or fire, but the same Scripture also attests that “angels have appeared to men in such bodies as could not only be seen but also touched” (Civ. 15.32; cf. 13.22). This leads him to depart from Scripture, citing supporting examples from his own time concerning spirits made flesh; he brings in the evidence of rumors about incubi and devils who “have often made wicked assaults upon women and satisfied their lust upon them” (Civ. 15.32). Deeming the evidence of present-day rumor and experience inconclusive, however, Augustine quickly turns back to the trustworthy testimony of what is – for him – canonical Scripture. He draws an intertext from the New Testament: 97

On the use of intertexts in petiʚot, see J. Heinemann, “The Proem in the Aggadic Midrashim: A Form-Critical Study,” Scripta Hiersolymitana XXII, Studies in Aggadah and Folk-literature, ed. J. Heinemann and D. Noy (Jerusalem, 1971) 100-22. On the Psalms and Augustine, see R. Williams, “Augustine and the Psalms,” Interpretation 58 (2004) 17-27.

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MIDRASH AND CONTEXT But certainly I could by no means believe that God’s holy angels could at that time [i.e., before the Flood] have so fallen! Nor can I think that it is of them that the Apostle Peter said: For if God spared not the angels that sinned, but cast them down to Hell and delivered them into chains of darkness, to be reserved unto judgment (2 Pet 2:4). I think he rather speaks of these who first apostatized from God, along with their chief the Devil, who enviously deceived the first man [i.e., Adam] under the form of a Serpent (cf. Gen 1-3). (Civ. 15.32)

From both his method and his argument, it is clear that Augustine presumes that the entire canon must speak with a single voice: however one interprets Gen 6:1-4, it must be consonant with 2 Pet 2:4. In this case, the assumption of scriptural unity complexifies the task of interpretation. Inasmuch as 2 Pet 2:4 originally referred to angels who fell before the Flood, Augustine is faced with a double challenge: to counter the dominant Christian understanding of the “sons of God” of Genesis as fallen angels and to re-read the peshat of 2 Pet 2:4. In order to argue against the angelic interpretation of Gen 6:1-4, he must also defend an alternative interpretation of 2 Pet 2:4 (cf. Civ. 11.33). As in Gen. Rab. 26, there is more at stake here than antediluvian history. Augustine denies the fall of the angels in the days before the Flood with appeal to a different narrative of primeval decline, as outlined in books 11-14 of the City of God. His schema involves a single angelic fall at the beginning of time (11.9-20), 98 which is correlated with the fall of humankind (13.1-15; 14.1-22) and which will be reversed by end-time events inaugurated by the incarnational intervention of Christ as second Adam (esp. 12.13; 13.23; 14.27-28). Just as the Rabbis responsible for Genesis Rabbah interpret Gen 6:1-4 with reference to a schema of salvation-history and genealogy of error developed in the Mishnah, so Augustine here uses the New Testament to understand Genesis, and he appeals to extrabiblical traditions about the fall of Satan at Creation to understand what is – and is not – said in Gen 6:1-4 and 2 Pet 2:4. 99 He does so, moreover, in the broader interests 98

His stress on singularity is important to note (Civ. 11.13: “For what a catholic Christian does not know that no new devil will ever arise among the good angels, just as he knows that this present devil will never again return into the fellowship of the good?”); contrast Manichean beliefs about fallen angels, on which see J. C. Reeves, Jewish Lore in Manichaean Cosmology: Studies in the Book of Giants Traditions (Cincinnati, 1992) 185-209. 99 Augustine interprets the separation of light and darkness in Gen 1:4 as denoting the fall of angelic hosts under the leadership of Satan (Civ. 11.19-20, 33).

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of promoting a new schema: only through euhemeristic interpretation can he re-read the “sons of God” and “daughters of men” as part of the course of the city of God and city of men in human history. Having established an alternative framework for the interpretation of 2 Pet 2:4, Augustine lays the exegetical groundwork for his interpretation of Genesis’ “sons of God” as human beings who participate in and point towards the city of God. As noted above, he knows Gen 6:1-4 in its Latin and Greek versions and, more specifically, seems to use a text that reads “angels of God” at Gen 6:2 and “sons of God” at Gen 6:4. In order to argue against the established, angelic interpretation of this passage, Augustine must thus explain why “sons of God” need not mean angels and also why “angels of God” need not mean angels either. Consistent with the canon that constitutes his Scripture, he does so by drawing examples from both the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament and the New Testament. Although the scope, shape, and language of his canon differ from those of his Rabbinic counterparts, he approaches his canon much like they approach theirs. Even though Augustine’s Scripture is constituted by different books, he uses the same practices of intertextual interpretation to legitimate, naturalize, and celebrate it. 100 As with midrash, moreover, his hermeneutics stand predicated on a radical understanding of Scripture as revelation. 101 The univocality of Scripture is presumed in the act of interThe separation of good and wicked angels both prefigures and parallels the separation of humankind into the city of God and city of men (Civ. 11.1, 37; 14.2728). 100 Note Boyarin’s tentative definition of midrash as a “radical intertextual reading of the canon, in which potentially every part refers to and is interpretable by every other part” (Intertextuality, 16). Kugel points to midrash’s “canonizing interest” – its “striking interest in connecting one biblical text or problem to another at some remove from the first” – as distinguishing it from earlier exegesis (In Potiphar’s House, 261-64). See Fishbane, Exegetical Imagination, 12, on midrash as predicated on canon. 101 For the dynamics in midrash, see Fraade, From Revelation, 25-68; Fishbane, Exegetical Imagination, 12-21. Notably, Porton defines midrash in a manner that centers on its view of Scripture as revelation (“Rabbinic Midrash,” 142), and he asserts that the “Rabbinic view of revelation and approach to interpreting the Hebrew Bible may be unique in late antiquity” (p. 156), drawing a contrast with Christian views in particular. Even as he admits the complexity and development in Augustine’s approach to Scripture (p. 156 n. 62), he goes on to conflate Augustine with Origen when arguing for the supposedly stark differences between Christian hermeneutics and Rabbinic midrash (pp. 156-162). It is arguable that Augustine’s

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preting Scripture from Scripture. And, when Augustine outlines different possible interpretations and unfolds different levels of meanings, he is able to do precisely because this multiplicity is set under the unifying rubric of Scripture’s divine singularity. In the process, his seemingly paradoxical association of Scripture’s unity with interpretative multiplicity gives poignant expression to the gap between divine Wisdom and the human wisdom which strives towards it through the study of Scripture. To expound Gen 6:1-4, Augustine draws intertexts from throughout his canon, and he interweaves them in a manner that both assumes and asserts their unity. When he introduces cases in which human beings are called “angels” by Old Testament prophets and New Testament gospels, for instance, he frames both as evidence offered by “the same Holy Scripture”: But the same Holy Scripture affords the most ample testimony that even godly men have been called angels. Of John it is written: Behold, I send my messenger [angelum] before Your face, who shall prepare your way (Mark 1:2). And the prophet Malachi, by a peculiar grace specially communicated to him, was called an angel (Mal 2:7). (Civ. 15.23)

When Augustine then turns to argue on the basis on the identity and origins of the Giants, 102 he again brings evidence from his own times to support the witness of Scripture: later works are shaped by a view of Scripture’s revealed nature that falls closer to late antique Rabbis than to Origen, for the reasons discussed above. To expound the difference between midrash and Christian interpretation, Porton also cites the Rabbis’ belief in the direct divine authorship of Scripture in contrast to Christian beliefs in indirect inspiration of biblical authors by the Holy Spirit (p. 156). That the former is more complex is suggested by Rabbinic traditions about Moses’ mediation of revelation (on which see S. D. Fraade, “Moses and the Commandments: Can Hermeneutics, History, and Rhetoric be Disentangled?” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation; Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel, ed. H. Najman and J. H. Newman [Leiden, 2004] 399-422). That the latter is more complex is suggested by Augustine’s many statements about the inspiration of the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament, as noted above. 102 Augustine here addresses an argument that seems to have developed within the context of anti-Christian polemics. Julian uses the supernatural character of the Giants in Gen 6:1-4 as proof that Moses meant to assert the angelic character of the “sons of God” who dwelt on earth in the days before the Flood. See Cyril, c. Julian. 9, and discussion in Wickham, “Sons of God,” 136-37.

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Some, however, are moved by the fact that we have read that the fruit of the connection between those who are called angels of God [qui dicti sunt angeli Dei; Gen 6:2] and the women they loved were not men like our own breed but Giants (Gen 6:4) – just as if there were not born even in our own time, as I have mentioned above, men of much greater size than the ordinary stature. Was there not at Rome a few years ago, when the destruction of the city now accomplished by the Goths was drawing near, a woman, with her father and mother, who by her gigantic size over-topped all others? Surprising crowds from all quarters came to see her, and that which struck them most was the circumstance that neither of her parents were quite up to the tallest ordinary stature! (Civ. 15.23)

By drawing on contemporary data, he suggests that Giants can be born to ordinary human parents. This opens the way for an interpretation of Gen 6:4 (There were Giants on the earth in those days, and also after that…) as meaning that Giants have been born, not only to the “sons of God” and “daughters of men,” but also to human parents before “and also after that”: Giants, therefore, might well be born even before the sons of God, who are also called angels of God [filii Dei, qui et angeli Dei dicti sunt], formed a connection with the daughters of men, or of those living according to men [filiabus hominum, hoc est secundum hominem uiuentium] – that is to say, before the sons of Seth formed a connection with the daughters of Cain. (Civ. 15.23)

It is in the course of his reading of Gen 6:4 in terms of Giants past and present that he links his exegesis with his understanding of the “sons of God” and “daughters of men” as terms for the Sethian city of God and Cainite city of men. Having carefully outlined the meaning of each of the key elements in Gen 6:1-4, Augustine finally turns to quote and discuss the text. After quoting the passage as the testimony of “the canonical Scripture [canonica scriptura] itself,” he explains: These words of the Divine Book sufficiently indicate that already there were Giants on the earth, in those days in which the sons of God took wives of the children of men when they loved them because they were good [bonas], that is, fair [pulchras] – for it is the custom of this Scripture to call those who are beautiful in appearance “good.” But after this connection had been formed, then too were Giants also born. For the words are There were Giants in the earth in those days, and also after that, when the sons of God

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MIDRASH AND CONTEXT came in unto the daughters of men. Therefore there were Giants both before in those days and also after that. And the words they bore children to them show plainly enough that before the sons of God fell in this fashion they begat children to God not to themselves – that is to say, not moved by the lust of sexual intercourse, but discharging the duty of propagation, intending to produce, not a family to gratify their own pride, but citizens to people the city of God. And to these they, as God’s “angels” (cf. Gen 6:2) would bear the message that they should place their hope in God – like him who was born of Seth [i.e. Enosh], the son of resurrection, and who hoped to call on the name of the Lord God (Gen 4:26), 103 in which hope they and their offspring would be heirs of eternal blessings and brethren in the family of which God is the Father. (Civ. 15.23)

To shed doubt on the supernatural character of the figures mentioned in Gen 6:1-4, Augustine has already appealed to other biblical uses of the term “angel” and to Gen 6:4’s depiction of Giants as he understands it. He now turns to argue more pointedly for the human identity of the “sons of God.” As in Genesis Rabbah 26, the statement about God’s spirit in Gen 6:3 proves central to his assertion of a euhemeristic understanding of “angels/sons of God.” Augustine is not faced with the same “surface irregularity” as the Rabbis. Moreover, the LXX version of the verse makes an explicit connection with the “sons of God” of Gen 6:2 and the people mentioned in Gen 6:3, explaining that God’s “spirit will not abide in these men (cf. MT: humankind) forever because they are flesh.” He thus identifies the “angels of God” of his version of Gen 6:2, not only with the “sons of God” of Gen 6:4, but also with the “men” who are “also flesh” according to Gen 6:3: But that those angels were not angels in the sense of not being men, as some suppose, Scripture itself decides, which unambiguously declares that they were men. For when it had first been stated that the angels of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair, and they took them wives of all which they chose (Gen 6:2), it was immediately added, And the Lord God said, “My Spirit shall not always strive with these men, for they also are flesh [Non permanebit spiritus meus

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Augustine’s view of Enosh (developed further in Civ. 15.17-18) contrasts strikingly with the Rabbinic conception of the Generation of Enosh as paradigmatically wicked discussed above; on Christian views of Enosh, see Fraade, Enosh, 47-107, esp. 75-80 on Augustine.

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in hominibus his in aeternum, propter quod caro sunt; Gen 6:3].” (Civ. 15.23)

Assuming Scripture’s inspiration and omni-significance, he then explains what each term adds to the description of these figures: For by the Spirit of God [Spiritu Dei] they had been made “angels of God” [angeli Dei; Gen 6:2] and “sons of God” [filii Dei; Gen 6:4]. But, declining towards lower things [sed declinando ad inferiora], they are called “men” [homines; Gen 6:3] – a name of nature not of grace. And they are called “flesh” [caro; Gen 6:3] – as deserters of the Spirit [desertores spiritus], and by their desertion are deserted [et deserendo deserti]. (Civ. 15.23)

Having used Gen 6:3 to confirm that the “angels/sons of God” of Gen 6:2 and 6:4 must have been men, Augustine re-reads these verses in terms of questions about why these men are named in these specific terms: he proposes that the terms in Gen 6:2 and 6:4 express their spiritual gifts, whereas the references to them in Gen 6:3 point to their desertion of these gifts. This approach to Scripture as unified and omni-significant recalls Rabbinic reading strategies, especially in the atomized focus on the biblical text and in the assumption of the significance of Scripture’s every word choice. In this, however, Augustine faces more of a challenge than the Rabbis responsible for Genesis Rabbah. He must account for the variant readings in the Hebrew, Greek, and Latin versions used by Christians at the time. The strength of his commitment to expressing the unity of truth expressed and interpreted multi-vocalically in Scripture is perhaps nowhere clearer than in his approach to this problem in Civ. 15.23. He does not seek to select the best reading. 104 Nor does he simply privilege the Septuagint, even though he deems this translation inspired (Civ. 18.43). Rather, he tries to explain how all the variant readings can be correct, by showing how each unfolds different aspects of the meaning of the passage: The Septuagint indeed calls them both “angels of God” (Gen 6:2) and “sons of God” (Gen 6:4) – although all the copies do not show this, some having only the name “sons of God” (i.e., also at Gen 6:4). And Aquila, whom the Jews prefer to the other

104

Cf. Civ. 15.10-14, where he reconciles the “diversity of numbers which distinguishes the Hebrew from the Greek and Latin copies of Scripture” in the genealogies of Genesis 4-5 by appealing to scribal error in the transmission of the LXX. See Pulsiano, “Language,” 243-44.

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MIDRASH AND CONTEXT interpreters, 105 has translated neither “angels of God” nor “sons of God,” but rather “sons of gods” [non angelos Dei, nec filios Dei, sed filios deorum]. 106 But both are correct! For they were both “sons of God” [filii Dei] – and thus brothers of their own fathers, who were children of the same God – and they were “sons of gods” [filii deorum], because begotten by “gods” together with whom they themselves also were “gods,” i.e., according to that expression of the Psalm: I have said, “You are gods, and all of you are sons of the Most High” [Dii estis et filii Excelsi omnes; Ps 82:6]. (Civ. 15.23)

To understand the identity of the figures discussed in Gen 6:1-4, Augustine stresses that one must understand how they are “sons of God” but also “angels of God” (as some MSS of the LXX say) and even “sons of gods” (as Aquila says). He shares with late antique Rabbis, then, the idea that apparent difficulties in Scripture as invitations to look deeper – in accordance, moreover, with a similar view of the place of biblical interpretation in God’s pedagogical guidance of humankind. 107 Even after mining such a richness of meaning from Gen 6:1-4 in its various versions, Augustine cannot resist stopping to defend the Septuagint’s inspiration. 108 In passing, he suggests how this example may show some superiority of the LXX over the original Hebrew: For the Septuagint translators are justly believed to have received the spirit of prophecy, so that, if they made any alterations under His authority and did not adhere to a strict translation, we could not doubt that this was divinely dictated. The Hebrew term, however, may be said to be ambiguous, and to be susceptible of

105

It is notable Genesis Rabbah contains multiple references to the translation of Aquila (called xkheg or rdv xkheg; 21.1; 46.3; 93.3) as well to as Aquila himself (rdv xkheg in 70.5; also 1.12). Note also the tradition attributed to Bar Kappara in Gen. Rab. 36.8 about the permissibility of translating the Torah into Greek (“Let the words of the Torah be uttered in the language of Japheth in the tents of Shem”). 106 I.e., RL XLRL> WZ`Q THZ`Q (lit. “sons of the gods”), rendering ohvktv as a plural. As noted above, Augustine probably does not write from direct knowledge but is likely dependant on Jerome for these details. See Jerome’s Hebrew Questions on Genesis 6:2; also A.-M. La Bonnardière, “Did Augustine Use Jerome’s Vulgate?” in Augustine and the Bible, esp. 45-49. 107 On Scripture as divine pedagogy, see Stock, Augustine, passim. 108 E.g. Augustine, Civ. 18.42-44; also Ep. 71; Doctr. Chr. 2.15.

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either translation “sons of God” or “sons of gods.” (Civ. 15.23) 109

Nevertheless, it remains that Augustine outlines an hermeneutic that embraces the multiple meanings found in the multiple versions and translations of Scripture. Rather seeking to solve such problems through textual criticism, or by privileging one version above the rest, Augustine here finds an interpretative solution to the problem posed by textual variation. 110 This strategy is consistent with his treatment of Scripture’s unity in multiplicity; in effect, his assumption of the divine inspiration that unifies the different books of Scripture and the different possible meanings of its verses is here extended to different translations and versions. 111 That much is at stake in his stress on Scripture’s unity becomes clear when Augustine then turns to discuss “the book of Enoch” – an early Jewish text that had been excluded from the Christian canon (e.g., Athanasius, Ep. 39) despite its popularity among earlier Christians and its quotation in the Epistle of Jude (i.e., 1 En. 1:9 at Jude 14-15). Inasmuch as this text had been influential in shaping earlier Christian views of the “sons of God” as fallen angels and had been widely used to support the angelic interpretation of Gen 6:1-4, 112 Augustine here addresses its status and reliability. 113 Having already marshaled so much scriptural evidence – from the Old Testament and New Testament, as well as from multiple versions of the former – to speak with a single voice, Augustine is able to present the canon as a unified front against the cacophonous diversity of this and other 109

Compare the references to verses that the Septuagint translators “altered for King Ptolemy” in Gen. Rab. 8.11; 10:9; 38:10; 48:17; 98:5. Gen. R. 38:10 similarly answers concerns about the use of plural forms for God in the Hebrew (here: Let us go down… in Gen 10:7) as they might confuse readers of Greek. See further b. Meg. 9a. 110 Pulsiano, “Language,” 244. On Augustine’s departure from earlier Christian exegetes – most notably Origen and Jerome – see P. Benoit, “L’inspiration des Septante d’aprés les Pères,” in L’homme devant Dieu, ed. H. de Lubac (Paris, 1963) esp. 184-85. 111 Note the stark contrast with the text-criticism and “corrected” canon of the Manichees. See Augustine, Conf. 5.11; cf. c. Faust. 11.2. 112 See e.g. the use of 1 En. 1-16 and defense of the “book of Enoch” in Tertullian, Cult. fem. 1.2-3. For a summary of the early Christian reception of Enochic literature, see Reed, Fallen Angels, 147-89. 113 Note also the continued popularity of Enochic traditions in Manichaean tradition, on which see Reeves, Jewish Lore.

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so-called “apocrypha.” Whereas his references to Scripture had stressed the status of canonical books as trustworthy testimonies, he dismisses “apocrypha” as suspect in origin and character. In describing their content, he draws on the contrast with what he sees as the unique omni-significance, authority, and truth of Scripture. Accordingly, he notes that “though there is some truth in these apocryphal writings, they contain so many false statements, that they have no canonical authority” (Civ. 15.23). He does not dismiss “apocrypha” as false. Rather, he proposes that they cannot be canonical because they are not – like Scripture – completely and wholly true. 114 This understanding of Scripture, however, raises another problem visà-vis the “book of Enoch,” due to its quotation by Jude. Whereas Jerome, for instance, does not hesitate to impugn Jude’s value on this account (Vir. ill. 4), Augustine does not compromise his concept of Scripture by denigrating any of its parts. Rather, he asserts that “we cannot deny that Enoch, the seventh from Adam, left some divine writings, for this is asserted by the Apostle Jude in his canonical epistle” (Civ. 15.23; also 18.37-38). 115 In order to justify the exclusion of the “book of Enoch” from the interpretation of Gen 6:1-4, he calls upon the witness of the Jews: …these writings have no place in that canon of Scripture, which was preserved in the Temple of the Hebrew people by the diligence of successive priests; for their antiquity brought them under suspicion, and it was impossible to ascertain whether these were his genuine writings, and they were not brought forward as genuine by the persons who were found to have carefully preserved the canonical books by a successive transmission. (Civ. 15.23)

To the Jews is attributed the trustworthy transmission of Scripture, to which is tied their trustworthy testimony against “apocrypha.” 116

114

On Augustine’s concept of canonical authority, see e.g. Civ. 11.3; c. Cresc.

2.31. 115

That Jude’s place in the Christian biblical canon was debated is attested by Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.25.1-7. Its inclusion in Augustine’s canon is clear from Civ. 4.23 and 18.38. 116 Augustine accepts other books, of course, as canonical despite their omission from the Jewish canon. Note his comments on Judith, Wisdom of Solomon, Wisdom of ben Sira, and 1-2 Maccabees in Civ. 17.20, 18.26, 18.36; also La Bonnardière, “Canon,” 34-36. Augustine admits, however, that such books “do

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This appeal to the witness of the Jews serves to introduce Augustine’s final argument, namely, that the Jews and Christians derive the same reading of Gen 6:1-4 from each their own Scriptures: There is therefore no doubt that, according to the Hebrew and Christian canonical Scriptures [scripturas canonicas Hebraeas atque Christianas], there were many Giants before the Deluge, and that these were citizens of the earthly society of men, and that the “sons of God” who were according to the flesh the sons of Seth [Dei autem filios, qui secundum carnem de Seth propagati sunt], sunk into this community when they forsook righteousness. 117

Earlier Christian exegetes often associated Jews with literal reading, typically in a contrast between Jewish flesh, conceived in negative terms, and Christian spirit, conceived positively and associated with allegory. Yet, in this case, the Jewish association with literalism proves to be a very helpful thing indeed. By appealing to the Jews and their Scriptures – both in the Hebrew and in Aquila’s Greek – Augustine can not only establish a consensus about the identity of the “sons of God” as human beings, but he can affirm that this reading is indeed the peshat of the passage. 118 Paula Fredriksen has suggested that Augustine’s approach to literal reading is closely connected with a view of Jews more complex than simple supersessionism. 119 Thus it proves particularly intriguing that Augustine’s not have the same force among our adversaries because they are not part of the Hebrew canon” (17.20). 117 Augustine is, as we have seen, correct about the adoption of euhemeristic approaches to Gen 6:1-4 among his Jewish contemporaries. But Jewish traditions about “sons of God” as sons of Seth who marry sons of Cain only emerge in early medieval midrashim (e.g., PRE 22; praef. Aggadat Bereshit); Reed, Fallen Angels, 22126. 118 In effect, Jewish literalism is here pitted against Manichean literalism (see below). This is notwithstanding the fact that Jewish literalism, thus conceived, is a Christian construct, and that late antique exegetes conceived “literalism” in a manner different than moderns. On “literalism” in the history of Jewish biblical interpretation, see D. Weiss-Halivini, Peshat and Derash (Oxford, 1991); Isaac, Midrashic Process, 3-13. 119 P. Fredriksen, “Augustine and Israel: Interpretatio ad litteram, Jews, and Judaism in Augustine’s Theology of History,” Studia Patristica 38 (2001) 119-35; eadem, “Excaecati,” esp. pp. 313-17 on the contrast with Justin Martyr and Tertullian; eadem, “Allegory and Reading God’s Book,” 139-56; eadem, “Secundum Carnem: History and Israel in the Theology of St. Augustine,” in The

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approach to Scripture in some ways falls closer to Rabbinic midrash than to the approaches of his Christian predecessors. That Augustine cares about the literal meaning is important in itself. Despite his initial Manichaean disdain for the Old Testament and his later attraction to Ambrose’s allegorical explanations, 120 Augustine eventually sought to struggle towards an hermeneutic that could combine the spiritual ascent to Christian truth through allegory, with a commitment to the historical truth of Scripture as established through interpretation ad litteram. 121 Just as midrashic hermeneutics cannot be described in terms of a dichotomous understanding of allegorical and literal, so Augustine worked to develop a way of reading the words of Scripture both as true records of historical truth and as signs that point beyond it. 122 Augustine’s own contacts with Jews were probably indirect, mediated by authors like Origen and Jerome. His views on reading, moreover, are rooted in, and react against, his Greco-Roman education. 123 His assertion of the unity of Scripture must similarly be seen against the background of his defense of the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament against the Manichees. 124 In addition, his hermeneutics reflect his theology. He qualifies the central place of the practice of scriptural reading in divine pedagogy with the assertion

Limits of Ancient Christianity. Essays on Late Antique Thought and Culture in Honor of R. A. Markus (Ann Arbor, 1999) 26-41. Contra Boyarin, Fredriksen stresses that Augustine’s hermeneutics and his views of Jews and Judaism depart from earlier Christian approaches in interlinked ways. She considers the development of his thought, showing how later works (such as already the City of God) contain an historicizing hermeneutic and an interest in interpretation ad litteram alongside a view of the “continued religious significance of the Jewish people” and their special status as “protected witness people” (“Excaecati,” 320). 120 E.g. Augustine, Conf. 3.5.8-9 on the former and 5.14.24 on the latter. Also Froehlich, “Take Up,” 3-4; Stock, Augustine, 43-64. 121 This is clear, for instance, in his interpretation of the Flood as both figure for church and as historical event in Civ. 15.26-27 (note esp. his defense of this double reading in 15.27). On the development in his hermeneutics, see e.g. M. Cameron, “The Christological Substructure of Augustine’s Figurative Exegesis,” in Augustine and the Bible, 74-103. 122 Froelich, “Take Up,” 8-9, 12; Fredriksen, “Excaecati,” 312-13. 123 Stock, Augustine, 65-74. 124 Fredriksen, “Excaecati,” 302-12, 320-24; Stock, Augustine, 163-65; R. J. Teske, “Augustine, the Manichees, and the Bible,” in Augustine and the Bible, 208-21.

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that interpretation only became necessary after the fall of humankind. 125 And, if Augustine departs from an earlier Christian assertion of the spiritual truth of allegory as superseding the carnality of Jewish literalism, then his search for a more integrative approach to the Old Testament may be best read as a quest for the hermeneutical counterpart to Christ’s incarnation, as holy spirit in Jewish flesh. 126 It remains, however, that his approach to Scripture recalls classical Rabbinic midrash both in its hermeneutics and in the epistemological assumptions that inform them. For both Augustine and late antique Rabbis, Scripture is inspired and speaks with one voice, and due to its divine origins, its words cannot be reduced to single and simple meanings. 127 Moreover, Augustine’s own treatment of Genesis may perhaps find no closer corollary than in the midrashic presentation of the Rabbinic encounter with Torah as on-going and continually fruitful. Throughout his life, Augustine returned time and again to Genesis 1-2, for instance, writing multiple commentaries and uncovering new meanings each time. 128 That an exegesis of these chapters forms the climax of the account of his conversion in the Con-

125

Augustine, De Diu. Quaes. 52; De Gen. ad Litt. 8.17; for discussion and further references, see Stock, Augustine, 15-16. By contrast, Genesis Rabbah depicts the Torah as pre-created and with God as a helper at Creation (1.1-2), in a manner more consistent with the place of Logos/Christ in Christian schemas. Note, e.g., Augustine’s explanation of Moses’ inspired authorship of Genesis in Civ. 11.4: “Was the prophet [i.e. Moses] present when God made the heavens and the earth? No, but the Wisdom of God, by whom all things were made, was there, and Wisdom insinuates itself into holy souls and makes them into the friends of God and into His prophets (Wisd 7:25-26), and it silently informs them of His works.” Wisdom, in this case, is Christ/Logos: “God made all things by His Wisdom or Logos, who is named in Scripture the beginning (Gen 1:1), just as he himself, in the gospel, replied to the Jews when they asked him who he was, that he was the beginning (John 8:5)” (11.32; cf. Gen. Rab. 1.1-2 on Torah, Wisdom, and Bereshit). 126 On the interconnections between hermeneutics and Christology in Augustine’s work, see Williams, “Augustine,” 20-21; Cameron, “Christological Substructure.” 127 On Augustine’s theory of language, and view of the differences between divine language and human language, in the City of God, see e.g. Civ. 11.6, 16.4, 18.6; Pulsiano, “Language,” esp. 244-45. 128 I.e., de Genesi contra Manichaeos (389 CE); de Genesis ad litteram imperfectus liber (ca. 393 CE); Confessions 11-13 (397 CE). See Froelich, “Take Up,” 6-7.

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fessions (books 11-13) may also bespeak a similar view of the significance of reading as religious practice. 129 For both Augustine and late antique Rabbis, interpretation is a difficult yet exhilarating task that enriches the interpreter and forms a central part of spiritual development. In both cases, the boundaries between study and worship are blurred in creative and generative ways. Augustine may differ from Rabbinic exegetes in explicitly naming the guiding rule and normative horizon of his interpretation of Scripture. 130 Yet it is perhaps significant that he judges interpretative truth against the affirmation of the love of God and neighbor (e.g., Doctr. Chr. 1.36.40) in a manner that recalls Hillel’s famous summary of “the whole of the Torah” (b. Shabb. 31a), 131 no less than the “golden rule” attributed to Jesus in the Gospels (Mark 12:29-31; Matt 22:37-39; Luke 10:27).

CONCLUSION Parallels in the form, methods, and content of Jewish and Christian biblical interpretation are usually explained with appeal [1] to the independent use of common elements from the ancient Israelite, Second Temple Jewish, and/or Hellenistic heritage, or [2] to geographical proximity and other factors that render plausible the exchange of traditions by contact and/or by participation in shared discourses. What fascinates me about the comparison at hand – between Augustine and the Rabbis responsible for Genesis Rabbah – is the inadequacy of any such explanations. The two, as noted above, both depart from Second Temple Jewish tradition to interpret Gen 6:1-4. They share many of the same assumptions 129

On reading as religious practice, see Stock, Augustine, passim. Notably, Augustine’s famous account of his conversion experience in Confessions 8.6 finds an intriguing Rabbinic counterpart in a tale of “a Gentile who was passing behind a schoolhouse and heard the voice of a child reading” in ARNA 15 (cf. b. Shabb. 31a); see Visotzky, Fathers, 167-68 for a detailed discussion of the parallels and their possible meaning. 130 On the character and ramifications of this difference, see Stern, Midrash, 25; Boyarin, Intertextuality, 68-70. 131 I.e., “What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. That is the whole Torah. The rest is commentary.” Although this tradition is typically used to compare Hillel and Jesus, it might be more apt to compare late antique Jewish and Christian appeals to the “Golden Rule”; see P. S. Alexander, “Jesus and the Golden Rule,” in Hillel and Jesus, ed. J. H. Charlesworth and L. L. Jones (Minneapolis, 1997) 363-88.

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about Scripture as well as many of the same reading strategies for naturalizing innovative interpretations and integrating extrabiblical traditions into Scripture. While some of their assumptions have precedents in preChristian and pre-Rabbinic Jewish forms of exegesis, others are late antique innovations. 132 In the case of Augustine, moreover, his hermeneutical similarities with Rabbinic midrash root in his departures from earlier Christian tradition during the course of his own personal journey: his approach in the City of God is the product of a long process whereby he developed his own distinctive perspective on Scripture, the practice of reading, and the nature of language and meaning. 133 This convergence, however, cannot be explained in terms of direct contact. Genesis Rabbah and the City of God may be contemporaneous, but there are only indirect lines of contact connecting them. 134 These Rabbis are separated geographically and linguistically from Augustine, and the hermeneutics of both are shaped by their own local cultures. 135 They participate in a common discourse only in the broad sense of living in the enduringly Greco-Roman cultural milieu of the Roman Empire at a key moment in the process of its Christianization and seeking to understand their experiences through Scripture. 136 What, then, can we gain from the comparison? Illuminative, in my view, is Augustine’s own appeal to the Jewish and Christian consensus on Gen 6:1-4. This sense of interpretative commonalities with Jews in the Holy Land – Jews whom he seems to know mainly through Jerome – may prompt us to approach our comparison from a different perspective: modern scholars may be accustomed to contrasting Jews and Christians, but Augustine here appeals to the Jews to counter the Manichees. Likewise, our comparison of Augustine and late antique Rabbis may be best seen against the backdrop of the diversity of late antique religions. When seen from this perspective, what stands out is their radical view of 132

See above, e.g., on interpretative polysemy as well as on intertextuality as canonical discourse. 133 Esp. Augustine, Conf. 1-9 and analysis in Stock, Augustine, 23-121. 134 I.e., the mediated transfer of traditions by figures like Jerome. 135 The Palestinian context of Genesis Rabbah is evident in its relationship with the Yerushalmi (see Becker, Die großen rabbinischen Sammelwerke Palästinas and above). The African context of Augustine’s hermeneutics is most often discussed with reference to Tyconius; e.g. C. Kannengiesser, “Augustine and Tyconius: A Conflict of Christian Hermeneutics in Roman Africa,” in Augustine and the Bible, 149-77. 136 R. Kirschner, “Two Responses to Epochal Change: Augustine and the Rabbis on Ps. 137 (136),” Vigiliae Christianae 44 (1990) 242-62.

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the unity, inspiration, and divinity of the canon and text(s) of Scripture. In holding such beliefs and in embedding them within their practices of reading, these exegetes distinguished themselves from most others: Valentinians, Ebionites, and Manichees seem to have read the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament in selective or dismissive ways. Marcionites and so-called “pagans” rejected it altogether. And many Christians and Jewish-Christians, no less than so-called “heretics,” saw fit to use textual criticism to shape biblical texts to fit their beliefs. 137 The very aspects of the Hebrew Bible that others tried to ignore, allegorize, or efface were embraced by late antique Rabbis; in the process, moreover, they developed a complex and creative understanding of tradition, language, text, and the multiplication of meaning. 138 By the challenge of rendering the Old Testament acceptable and accessible to Greco-Roman readers, Augustine is also pushed to explore the gap between divine and human language as well as the generative spaces in between. By marshalling many strategies – including intertextual modes of reading similar to those used in Rabbinic midrashim – Augustine integrates the Old and New Testaments of the Christians into an inextricable whole; the result is a single Scripture, whose many words stand unified by his belief in the one Logos. If, in the case of Augustine, Christian literature can profitably be read as midrash, I suggest that the profit may lie both [1] in a recognition of the surprising re-convergence of hermeneutical paths once divided and [2] in an acknowledgement of their similar epistemologies – both of which, more-

137

We might see the efforts of Christian scholars like Origen as part of a continuum of text-critical efforts to come to grips with the ancient Israelite materials in the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament and the Jewish traditions in the New Testament from a Greco-Roman perspective. Such a continuum might also include the “doctrine of false pericopes” in the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies whereby scriptural references to God’s imperfection, divine multiplicity, and patriarchal immorality are dismissed as later textual corruptions (Hom. 2.38-52, 3.4-6, 9–11, 17-21, 3.37-51, 16.9-14, 18.12-13, 18.18-22), Ptolemy’s assertion that certain (esp. legal) portions of the Pentateuch are additions to God’s word by Moses and the elders in his “Letter to Flora” (apud Epiphanius, Haer. 33.3.1-33.7.10) as well as Marcionite efforts to de-Judaize the New Testament by omitting allegedly Judaizing textual corruptions (e.g., Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 1.27.3; 3.2.2; 3.13.1-2). 138 This dynamic has perhaps been best described by M. Fishbane in his work on myth and midrash; see Exegetical Imagination, 22-40, 94-99, and, most recently, Biblical Myth and Rabbinic Mythmaking (Oxford, 2003).

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over, stand in stark contrast to the denigration of the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament by the enemies that they shared. 139 Such comparisons may also be fruitful for what they tell us about our own modern blind-spots and biases. Precisely because of the probable lack of any direct connection between Augustine and late antique Rabbis, their commonalities may provide a useful check on scholarship. 140 Recent work on Augustine’s ideas about language and reading, for instance, may point to the potential benefits of further exploration into whether and how GrecoRoman reading practices shaped Rabbinic culture. 141 The turn towards exe139

See Fredriksen, “Excaecati,” 320-24, on Augustine’s embrace of literal exegesis as forged in response to Manichees, rather than in interactions with Jews. 140 Due to the sophistication of their views of language and their embrace of the multiplicity of interpretative meaning, both share a status as late antique darlings of literary critics with a postmodern bent. On midrash, see above, and on Augustine, J. D. Caputo and M. J. Scanlon, eds., Augustine and Postmodernism: Confessions and Circumfession (Bloomington, 2005); F. Young, “Augustine’s Hermeneutics and Postmodern Criticism,” Interpretation 58 (2004) 42-55; eadem, “From Suspicion and Sociology to Spirituality: On Method, Hermeneutics and Appropriation with Respect to Patristic Material,” Studia Patristica 29 (1997) 421-35. What they share, then, may also speak to the differences between post-modern and late antique hermeneutics. It can be tempting to treat their theories and practices of biblical interpretation as comments on reading and interpretation in general, forgetting that their intertextualities are not merely the usual and unavoidable referential web from which any cultural production springs. Yet both stand predicated on a particular concept of Scripture and its inspiration. Accordingly, the acceptance of an indeterminacy of interpretative meaning cannot be understood, in either case, apart from the radical centralization of truth in a singular divine source. For both Augustine and the Rabbis, it is perhaps their beliefs in the unique nature of Scripture as divine revelation that prompt their theories of language and their approach to reading as devotion. 141 Research on Rabbinic hermeneutical rules and their Greco-Roman parallels has been limited but important and intriguing: see D. Daube, “Rabbinic Methods of Interpretation and Hellenistic Rhetoric,” HUCA 22 (1949) 239-64; S. Lieberman, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine (New York, 1962) 68-82; W. S. Towner, “Hermeneutical Systems of Hillel and Shammai: A Fresh Look,” HUCA 53 (1982) 107-9. The range of attitudes towards “Greek wisdom” in Rabbinic culture is perhaps most poignantly expressed by the traditions collected in b. Sotah 49a. Some of the comments follow the mishnaic dictum that “No one should teach his son Greek,” making exceptions only in specific cases. We also find, however, an interesting tradition attributed to Rabbi: “Why use the Syrian language in the land

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gesis in recent research on midrash may have distracted scholars from considerations of how polemical concerns and context may have also shaped Rabbinic midrashim. 142 In turn, insights from exegetically-oriented research on midrash may help scholars to illumine Christian interpretations. Furthermore, the example of Augustine suggests the need to look more closely at the impact of the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament on Christian culture. Especially in light of the current interest in exploring how the differences between Judaism and Christianity originated, it can be tempting to compare generalizations, idealizations, or reifications of the two traditions rather than grapple with specificities of the authors and texts that constituted them. By some standards, for instance, our two examples could be dismissed as too atypical for inclusion in a comparative discussion. Contrary to the modern view of Rabbis as this-worldly thinkers who responded to Christianity by retreating into the world of the biblical text, Genesis Rabbah exhibits eschatological concerns and bears the scars of polemics against non-Rabbis and non-Jews. Contrary to the modern view of late antique Christian biblical interpretation as Christological eisegesis justified with appeal to the spirit’s supersession of the letter, Augustine takes seriously the encounter with the text of Scripture as an act of divine worship and divine/human conversation. This, in my view, is part of what makes these examples valuable. It goes without saying that there are many differences between Rabbinic and Patristic approaches to Scripture, but these examples suggest that we might benefit from situating specific works and authors within a broader continuum that includes internal as well as external diversity. Attention to commonalities may yield surprising points of convergence which, in turn, open the way for a more textured view of the hermeneutics used by late antique Jews and Christians to define themselves in relation to a variety of “others” – both past and present, both distant and near.

of Israel? Either use the holy tongue or Greek!” This is followed by the assertion that “The Greek language and Greek wisdom are distinct.” And, in response to the question of whether Greek philosophy is forbidden, a tradition attributed to R. Simeon b. Gamalial asserts that “There were 1,000 pupils in my father’s house; 500 hundred studied Torah and 500 studied Greek wisdom” (cf. b. Men. 64b; 99b). See also Neusner, “Augustine and Judaism”, 49-65. 142 This task entails a great deal of methodological care, due both to the form of the classical Rabbinic literature and the opacity of the Rabbis on the topic of their opponents, but it does, I think, nevertheless remain worthwhile; see the methodological discussion in Visotzky, Fathers, passim.

THE LETTER TO THE HEBREWS: BETWEEN JEWISH AND CHRISTIAN HERMENEUTICS Elke Tönges Ruhr Universität, Bochum

I. INTRODUCTION None of the texts of the New Testament canon cites more biblical texts, stories and themes from the Hebrew Bible than the so-called Epistle to the Hebrews (henceforth Hebrews). Therefore it seems necessary to relate its traditions to the Jewish context, as I showed in my paper in Cambridge in July 2003. 1 The hermeneutical strategy of the text consists in replacing the Jewish traditions and its temple worship service through the Messiah Jesus. In this paper I will concentrate on the relationship between the hermeneutical principles and the religious traditions of the text. Important for our question is the method: How are the stories of the time of the ancestors related to those of Jesus’ time. For centuries Christian scholars have interpreted Hebrews in terms of a model of substitution: In Hebrews they understand the citation and reference to the characters of the ancestors and their time as a medium for interpreting Jesus and his function for the people of Hebrews. But not only Christian scholars have interpreted our text using a model of transformation. The interpretation of the new covenant which substitutes the former covenant between God and Israel does this also. Jon D. Levenson showed in his statement about the innerJewish debate of “Dabru Emet” that Jewish Scholars hesitated to reconcile with Christian Scholars. Therefore he refers to the constitutive theology of Hebrews by showing that the Christians critisized Tora as nomos and preferred love and the spirit, as mentioned in Hebrews in the context of a quotation from Jeremiah: these are the terms of the new covenant which has been placed into the heart of the people. 2 1

Cf. Elke Tönges, “The Epistle to the Hebrews as a Jesus-Midrash”, in: Gabriella Gelardini (Ed.), Hebrews. Contemporary Methods – New Insights, Studia Post-Biblica 75 (Leiden: Brill, 2005) 89-105. 2 Cf. Jon D. Levenson, “Wie der jüdisch christliche Dialog nicht geführt werden soll”, in: Commentary 2001 (2001) 13-20: 17.

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We have seen that Christian scholars and Jews interpreted the text from their viewpoint as a document of the church of gentiles. A sentence like “We are the house of God, if we hold firm to our boldness and hopefull pride” (3,6) sounds different depending on whether we hear it as a reference to a worldwide powerful church or as a reference to a small probably oppressed group struggling for its survival against the prevailing Judaism and the Imperium Romanum. This is an important distinction, because the history of the interpretation of Hebrews shows some very anti-Jewish tendencies. 3 The question is whether these are already implicit in the text of Hebrews. In my opinion, the separation of the church of the gentiles from the Jewish congregation and its loyality to the Imperium Romanum at the end of the second century A.D. – some decades after Hebrews was written - is the turning point and marks the beginning of such an anti-Jewish interpretation. 4 The change was influenced by Jewish and Christian models of interpretation which explained the destruction of the second temple as God’s judgement against Judaism. My thesis is that Hebrews is in fact a document arising from an innerJewish discussion, which was later on incorporated into an explicitly Christian context, the New Testament canon. Therefore Hebrews shows a discours culture with and about Scripture on the basis of the central Jewish literature, the Tenakh. As the second step the text was interpreted and got a different connotation by a christocentric, messianologic, dogmatic and philosophic interpretation. Later we will see the significance of this thesis for the interpretation of the content of this book.

II. HEBREWS AT THE LIMEN - A JEWISH OR CHRISTIAN TEXT? The first question which we have to answer in this context is whether Hebrews can best be understood as a specifically Jewish or a typically Christian text. We will examine this question in three methodological steps. First, we will take a look at the transformation of texts and themes from the Tenakh. Then we will examine the history of the text, asking: who are the addressees? Afterwards we will try a philological approach. Finally we examine the “theology” of Hebrews and come to a conclusion.

3

Cf. W. Krauss, “Neuere Ansätze in der Exegese des Hebräerbriefes”, Verkündigung und Forschung 48 (2003) 65-80: 67f. 4 Cf. Krauss, 2003, 78.

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A. Religious Traditions – Transformations of Persons and Themes When we examine references to biblical figures, we see that the ancestors are most important for Hebrews. Abraham 5 and Moses 6 are the important figures in Hebrews. Their time and role for the people of Israel are brought to the mind of the congregation of Hebrews. Abraham is the forefather, who received the blessing and the promise of children and grandchildren; Moses is the reedemer, who guided the people of Israel out of their life as strangers in a foreign country without any rights. These ancestors are used to describe Jesus’ role for the people of Hebrews, who are living in a similar situation of oppression (cf. Hebr 10,32-34). The political dimension of this time and the situation of oppression can be shown by the use of Psalm 110 at the beginning of Hebrews. Martin Karrer suggests that the enemies in Ps 110 may have a political dimension. Since Ptolemaic times, oikoumene, world, has had a political dimension. This passage seems to include an indirect allusion to foreign peoples. The Caesar at the time of the Romans was praised as a heavenly figure (Wesen) and donor to the oikoumene. Hebrews uses this language by emphasizing that God “presents the first-born to the world” (Hebr 1,6a). By claiming this role for the Messiah Jesus, Hebrews suggests a competition between the sons of the Caesar and the first-born son of God. 7 Besides the ancestors discussed above, Esau, Isaac and Jacob are mentioned several times. As the heirs of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob are traditionally concerned for the welfare and offspring of the Jewish people. Esau, who prostituted himself and sold his rights for a single meal, may be a metaphor for Rome (Hebr 12,16). The addressees of Hebrews are in a similar situation. They could lose their connection to the Firstborn (1,6) in the assembly of all the firstborn (12,23). Esau did not get a second chance and neither do the addressees! The most important role is played by Melchisedek. The central chapters 5 to 7 discuss his priestly duty, which is compared to Jesus´ function for the “Hebrew” people. In a time, where the Temple as a place for the daily offering has been destroyed, Jewish authors are interpreting its role and function for the people of Israel and beginning to transfer its functions to other institutions. This is clear in the Talmudic and Midrashic literature, which developed into full blossom after the destruction of the Second Temple. This literature finds other rituals to take over the ethical content of 5

Cf. Hebr 2,16; 6,13-15; 7,1-9; 11,8-10.17. Cf. Hebr 3,1-6.16; 7,14; 8,5; 9,19; 10,28; 11,23-29; 12,21. 7 Martin Karrer, Martin, Der Brief an die Hebräer, ÖTK 20/1, (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2002) 140. 6

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offerings. Synagogal prayers for example developed their central role in daily faith and religious practice right after the destruction of the temple. I presume that Melchisedek was used because he had encountered Abraham, the forefather of the Jews. The Hebrew Bible does not give much information about Melchisedek. Jesus´ function and role was compared with Melchisedek’s, in order to show the supremacy of Jesus over Abraham, because Abraham was blessed by Melchisedek. According to the concept of Hebrews Melchisedek as the first priest mentioned in the Hebrews Bible is surpassed by Jesus. 8 The concept that priests and Sages (¦¢§¤ ) opposite is common in Rabbinic literature, too. Let me show it on the popular beginning of the mishnah m. Ber. 1,1: “From what time in the evening may the Shema’ be recited? From the time when the priests enter (the Temple) to eat of their Heaveoffering until the end of the first watch. So R. Eliezer. But the Sages say: until midnight”.

The dispute between the early tanna R. Eliezer and “the Sages” is, how prayingtime is determined. R. Eliezer takes his orientation from the timeschedule of the priests and their offering services at the temple in Jerusalem. R. Eliezer still follows the priestly concept, whereas the Sages are bound to the Roman time system. We see in this model, that during the rabbinic time, the sages concurred with the priests. So Jesus as the heir of the new messianic congregation is described in priestly terms, by transforming the Israelite priest concept to the concept of Melchisedek. B. History of the Text The inscription “to the Hebrews” 9 seems to be – as I have shown in my short text about religious themes and persons - the program of the text. It was added to the text to show that Hebrews deals with a special JewishChristian identity. This concept was questioned after a new interpretation of Jesus’ death as the single offering for the sins of the people to the congregation. This anonymous inscription also suggests that whoever is reading the 8

Klaus Bensel showed 2005 in his dissertation that Hebr 7,1-25 is a midrash on psalm 110,4, which was the basis for the christian supersession christology later on (Dissertation of the protestant faculty of Leuven, Belgium). 9 Against Harnack, who presumes that the text is addressed to the Gentiles (Adolf Harnack, “Probabilia über die Adresse und den Verfasser des Hebräerbriefs”, ZNW 1 (1900) 16-41, esp. 19). His thesis was cited by many scholars until today.

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text, should read it from the perspective of a “Hebraios” – a Jew. 10 Since the first church fathers the text is related to “Jewish Christians” in the land of Israel. 11 Backhaus asked 1999 whether the Inscriptio “Pros Hebraios” is directing itself to or against the Hebrew people. The question, which translation may be preferred, changes the readingperspective of the whole text and its theology. Backhaus examined antijudaic passages and summarizes that the texts is not aiming to present a polemic-apologetic reduction of Israel (or of some Jewish groups with different religious or ethic behaviours), but tries to solve the problem of Jewish-Christian identity by explaining in a theological way the interpretation of Jesus’ death. 12 Menachem Stern showed in his classic work about “Greek and Latin authors on Jews and Judaism” that in antiquity Non-Jews did not know anything about Torah and Jewish life. 13 So the people for whom Hebrews was written, must have a profound Jewish background like reading the Parashat haShavua each week. This can be philologicaly shown by the following paragaphs: a) The People of Hebrews There are two groups mentioned in Hebrews: Jewish people, who believe, that Jesus is the Messiah and redeemer of God’s word to Israel (and the nations), and those who have changed their mind about this and who no longer believe in Jesus as Messiah. This group is returning to their roots, Judaism as the religio licita in the Imperium Romanum. Several texts deal with the tensions between these two groups. For example Hebr 2, 1-4: “Therefore, it is necessary for us to pay even closer attention to what has been heard, lest we slip away...” Hebrews has many parenetic texts which warn its people not to return to Judaism. The congregation should take heed, because of the superiority of the Messiah Jesus. They should continue believing that the death of their Messiah took place for their sins. The other group of people, 10

The problem of the inscriptio is, that it was written some decades after the text. The inscriptio is first mentioned in the Chester Beautty Papyrus (p46) about 200 A.D. 11 See Clemens Alexandrinus cited by Eusebius, hist. eccl. VI 14, 2.4 and Tertullian, i 20. 12 Knut Backhaus, “Das wandernde Gottesvolk”, in: R. Kampling (ed.), “Nun steht aber diese Sache im Evangelium …”. Zur Frage nach den Anfängen des christlichen Antijudaismus (Paderborn/München u.a., 1999, 2nd ed. 2003), 301-320, esp. 319. 13 Cf. Menachem Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, (Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1984) 3 volumes.

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who have returned to Judaism, is not namend in Hebrews. They are just implicitly mentioned by emphazising, that it is impossible for those, who were once enlightened and “fall away, to renew them again unto repentance” (Hebr 6, 4-6). A second chance is stricly negleted by the Hebrew text. This subject seems to be a new creation of the oppressed minor Jesus-group. After examining the struggling groups mentioned in Hebrews, we see that the congregation is called “Hebrews”, “Jews” or simply “people” 14. A group called “Christians” does not exist in our text. These people mentioned in Hebrews are also “people of God” 15. So the terminus laos is nothing but connected to Israel. From the context of these verses, the relation to Israel is unmistakable: “Jesus brings an offering for sins for himself as for the people (5,3) and might sanctify the people through his own blood” (13,12). b) Jesus Jesus is namend with the Greek word for meschiach: “Christos”. In Hebr 10,10; 13,8.21 Jesus is called the “Messiah Jesus”, other texts mention the Messiah (3,14; 5,5; 6,1; 9,14.28; 11,26) or just a Messiah (3,6; 9,11.24). Important for Jesus’ role is his messianic sonship to God (Hebr 1,2-4; 3,6; 4,14 cf. 6,6) 16 and its link to the function of the high priest (cf. 5,5; 9,11.14.24.28). Jesus’ death is interpreted as the once and only sacrifice for the sins of his believers (ephapax). Therefore, Hebrews cites and uses the high priestly traditions and those of offering and sacrifice. c) The Nations Hebrews ignores the gentile nations. The Greek words ethny or ethnikos do not appear in our text. Already in its first verses, Hebrews shows that its adressees are heirs of the forefathers and -mothers, to whom God spoke through the prophets. They are the fathers and mothers of Israel and the text is directed to their heirs, the children and grandchildren of Israel. In contrast to the contemporary text 1Clem 17 Hebrews emphasises, that the nations do not exist. Some scholars have interpreted the caution with which Hebrews ignores the nations as a liminal theology (limen-treshold: border

14

Hebr 5,3; 7,5.11.27; 8,10; 9,7.19; 10,30; 13,12. Hebr 4,9; 11,25. 16 The motif of the sonship of the Messiah is taken from Psalm 2,7 and Nathans promise about David and his kingship (2 Sam 7,14) in Hebr 1,5. 17 First Clemens is written at the same period like Hebrews and shows a positive image of the nations (ethny) (cf. 1Clem 55,1). 15

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or boundary). 18 In addition the boundary which the text mentions does not refer to the separation between Jews and Gentiles (horizontal perspective), but between heaven and earth (vertical perspective). 19 For example Hebr 10,23: Let us be firm and unswerving in the confession of our hope, for the Giver of the promise, [the God of Israel], may be trusted. The eschatological hope is bound to the heavenly God. The author of Hebrews finds his hope in the legacy of his past and starts with the new interpretation. Such heavenly perspectives are not unusual for contemporary Jewish texts. 20 Hebrews thus creates a new reality which is far away from earth and offers a reality bound to heavenly perspectives. This may be also shown by the expressions for “assembly”. The gathering of the people is called episynagoge. Hebr 10,24f.: “And let us have consideration for one another with an aim of provoking love and good works, 25 not forsaking our own assembly, as is the custom of some, but encouraging one another ...”. This rare expression does not occur until the end of the first century A.D. for the meaning of “gathering/assembly”. In 2Macc 2,7 it expresses a gathering of the people of Israel, which was called by God himself. The second expression for the gathering of the people in Hebrews is ekklesia. This appears in Hebr 2,12 in a citation of Ps 21,23 (LXX) 21 and in Hebr 12,23 “assembly of the firstborn who are inscribed in heaven”. These three verses show the social criticism of Hebrews. Hebrews calls for a new ethics, which is grounded in God and Jesus and which allows the members of the congregation to see themselves as brothers and sisters by encouraging one another. This ethic is based on heavenly terms. Hebr 3,1 names its profound possibilities: Its peopleîbrothers and sistersî, “become partakers by the heavenly calling.” The cautions with which Hebrews ignores the gentiles nations also suggests, that whoever is reading the text should do so from the perspective of a “Hebraios” – a Jew. And here we are again at the turning point for our interpretation. Let us see, whether it is possible to strengthen this thesis by examining references to persons, symbols and stories of the Hebrew Bible.

18

Cf. Karrer, 48-53. Cf. Bertold Klappert, “Begründete Hoffnung und bekräftigte Verheißung”, in, R. Heß/M. Leiner (ed.), Alles in allem. Eschatologische Anstöße, FS Chr. Janowski zum 60. Geb. (Neukirchen: Neukirchner Verlag, 2005) 447-474, esp. 456-458. 20 Cf. m Pes. 10,6 and the 17th berakhah of the Amidah. 21 “I shall proclaim your name to my brothers and sisters, in the midst of the assembly I shall sing your praise.” 19

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C. Theology of Hebrews It is important to notice that as the program of the inscription points out, neither the author of Hebrews nor his readers had become disloyal to their Jewish heritage by transforming the biblical persons! Jesus was sent to the “seed of Abraham” (Hebr 2,16). 22 This expression refers to Jes 41, the text “God adresses the nations”, where God promised Israel, Jacob, the seed of Abraham, that God chose them and will not cast them off (V.8f.). This text has messianic connotations: at the end of the chapter, God offers a reminder that there is one who will speak first as advocate from Zion. Here God appoints a defending counsel for Jerusalem (V.27). While Attridge 23 interprets the seed of Abraham in Hebr 2,16 metaphorically, Buchanan and Crüsemann argue that the adressees must be literal sons and daughters of Abraham. 24 This may be also shown by Hebr 6,13-17, where the numerous heirs of Abraham are called “heirs of the promise” and, we might add “of the God of Israel”. 25 It is worth to notice, that the theory of transformation does not replace a model of substitution. Both models of interpretation had a antiJewish history of reception. In my opinion the congregation of Hebrews had no other choice of describing Jesus’ story by comparing and referring it to persons and stories of the Hebrew Bible. For the Hebrews the perspective of the Hebrew Bible was the background of interpreting the world. 26 22

See Ps Sol 9:17; 18:4; Jn 8:33 and 3 Macc 6:3 and Gal 3:29. Byrne sees in the determined Abraham in Gal 3:29 a “highlighting” of the forefather “in a special way” (B. Byrne, `Sons of God´- `Seed of Abraham´, Analecta Biblica 83, Rome: Biblical Institute Press 1979, 172). 23 Harold Attridge, The Epistle to the Hebrews. A Commentary, Hermeneia 28 (Philadephia: Fortress Press, 1989) 94f. 24 George W. Buchanan, To the Hebrews, Anchor Bible 36 (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday 1972) 36; Frank Crüsemann, “Der neue Bund im Neuen Testament”, in: E. Blum (ed.), Mincha: Festgabe für Rolf Rendtorff zum 75. Geburtstag (Neukirchen: Neukirchner Verlag, 2000) 47-60, esp. 57. 25 The motif, that the Jesus-believers mentioned in Hebrews are declared as true heirs of the promise of Abraham may be found in other texts of the New Testament (cf. Luke 1,55; Gal 3,8-9,29; 4,28-31; Rom 4,1-25; John 8,33). 26 That this interpretations was one among a lot of different interpretations in the rabbinic world and does not opposite a common fixed rabbinic halakha may be shown with Paul Heger, The Pluralistic Halakhah. Legal Innovations in the Late Second Commonwealth and Rabbinic Periods, Studia Judaica 22 (Berlin/NY: Walter de Gruyter, 2003) 260-285. For informations about Jewish education see Catherine Hezser, Jewish literacy in Roman Palestine, TSAJ 81 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001) 40-109.

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III. HERMENEUTICS A. Strategy of Hebrews This loyality to Judaism can be shown not simply from the persons mentioned, but also from its transformations of themes: this extends throughout the text. One of the central themes is the new covenant, which is given and promised to the congregation of Hebrews. This promise is primarly embodied in the new covenant, which is cited from Jer 31,31-34 in chapter 8 (8,6) and 10. In 8,13, the citation of Jer 31 is summarized in the following words: “In speaking of the new covenant God has made the first one antiquated, and that which becomes antiquated and aged is close to vanishing.” This verse is not an abrogatio legis, because the new covenant does not replace the former one. The covenant of the heart is closely linked to the former covenant for the content of the former covenant is written into the hearts of the people. So this earlier covenant cannot be terminated. It is important to notice, that the adressees of Jeremiah 31 are Israel and Judah. So are the adressees of Hebrews. The promises, that “Jesus has become the surety of a greater covenant” (Hebr 7,22) must be interpreted in terms of that comparative. It shows the intention of the author of Hebrews, to praise Jesus’ role and function for his congregation. He is undertaking an “advertising campaign” for Jesus, because the believers are tempted to return to their Jewish roots (common Judaism). Therefore, the comparative style 27 is an advertising strategy rather than a dogmatic statement. This advertising strategy agrees with the paraenetic tone which appeals to the Jesus-believers, asking them to persist in believing that Jesus was the Messiah (of Israel) and their teacher. This solely strategy can be seen as an example that in Hebrews topics, which are discussed in rabbinic literature, also appear. Some texts of the Talmudic tradition discuss the question, whether it is better to learn just with one Rabbi or more. M. Avot 1,6 asks to take one teacher (š± £¥ ²«) 28 to learn the Mikra, Mishna and both forms of midrashim from him (ARN(A) 8) 29. The later Talmudic tradition prefers that the pupils learn

27

Cf. the use of the word kreitton “higher, better” in Hebr 1,4; 6,9; 7,7.19.22; 8,6; 9,23 et al. 28 This discussion is transferred by the second pair. Jehoshua ben Perachja and Matai from Arbel. Jehoshua ben Perachja was known according to bSan 107b as teacher of Jesus, but lived around 100 B.C! 29 ARN(B) 18 mentions just the aggadic and halachic midrashim.

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Tora from more than one teacher. 30 In opposition to the talmudic tradition Hebrews focusses on Jesus as the only trustworth Rabbi. According to the talmudic tradition the congregation of Hebrews also had many teachers who told them the basic knowledge about the main points of their believe system and encourage each other (cf. Hebr 2,1; 3,1.12 et al). In the next chapter, Hebrews emphasizes that the new covenant has no connection to the so-called “fleshly law” (9,10). This criticism is already found in the Hebrew Bible: the prophetic critic, of Jeremiah, had demanded a radical shift away from the fleshly covenant, which was constituted at Mount Sinai (Ex 24f.). Hebrews therefore inherits cult-critical verses, but does not critisize the Torah itself! To summarize: By showing the sources of biblical persons and themes, we see that the argumentation in Hebrews is based solely on God’s word written in scripture, i.e., the Hebrew Bible in Greek translation. The social situation and the environment are rarely mentioned by the text, written at the end of the first century C.E. (Common Era). Although we have hints concerning the addressees and the context of the letter, the text itself makes the impression that the context and links to the contemporary situation of the congregation are irrelevant. B. Form of Hebrews We have seen, that the background of the Jesus-believers is Jewish and that in a time of oppression, some of the congregation had returned to their roots, the common Jewish congregation. Texts which deal with the interpretation of Jesus’ life and function use methods common in antiquity for their interpretation. One of these methods of interpretation is the Midrash. In his methods, the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews is thoroughly Jewish. He or she uses exegetical terminology, rules of interpretation and expository patterns similar to the Midrash that are found elsewhere in Judaism (cf. Qumran, Philo, the Sages, apokryphical text). As an interpretive activity the midrashic procedure is mostly oriented to Scripture, adapting it to the

30

B. AZ 19a.b: „R. Hisda said to the pupils: I want to tell you something, but I fear that you will leave me and go away. Whoever is learning the Torah from just one teacher never sees a sign of blessing in her/his life. As a matter of course they left him and went to Raba. He told them: This refers only to the logical deductions (milei sabra), it is better to learn Gemara from one teacher only, so that you do not have to remember different expressions.”

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present for the purpose of instructing or edifying the current reader or hearer. 31 The technique of using the Jewish traditions is typical for inner biblical exegesis. This stands in relation to the fact that rabbinical rules like the Middot of Rabbi Hillel are also common in this letter. 32 We saw by examining the liminal theology, that Hebrews applies to biblical interpretations and does not stand in relation to discussions of the contemporary Judaism of its time. C. Messianological or christological interpretation? One of the problems of declaring Hebrews to be a Midrash is that it uses traditions of the Hebrew Bible only to explain and declare Jesus’ superiority and to evaluate these traditions. The hermeneutical strategy of Hebrews is a messianological interpretation: Jesus is the Messiah of Israel and comes to fulfill the promises. But he comes to Jewish people alone. The religious traditions used in the text are also thoroughly Jewish. The question is whether we may call the text a Midrash. The messianological interpretation is not the problem, because we know the Midrash Pesher, which has as a motto a messianological interpretation. The problem arises when we want to call this kind of interpretation “christological”, because it is related to a Greek text, which interprets Jesus as the messiah/christ. The most difficult point is the context of our text and the history of its reception! The text was collected and printed in a canon which had been collacted by Christians who did not have much connection to Judaism. By then, the separation of Christians and Jews had already taken place. By claiming Hebrews for the church of the gentile nations, its content differs and its interpretation changes from being the literature of a small and persecuted group (Jesus-believers) to being that of an institution with influence and power. This church reads the text as though it were written for a seperate group and no longer as a contribution to an inner-Jewish discussion. It is a historical fact that this anonymous group 31

Cf. a list of texts, which are called Midrash in my article E. Tönges, “The Epistle to the Hebrews as a Jesus-Midrash”, 91f. Some scholars think, that the whole document is a midrash (f.e. G.W. Buchanan, xix). G. Gelardini showed, that it could be a homiletic midrash written to Tisha be-Av (G. Gelardini, “Hebrews, an Ancient Synagogue Homily for Tisha be-Av: Its Function, its Basis, its Theological Interpretation”, in: Gelardini (ed.), Hebrews. Contemporary Methods – New Insights, Biblical Interpretation Series 75 (Leiden/Boston: Brill 2005) 107-127. 32 Cf. Gezera Shava in Hebr 4,3f. and Kal vaʚomer in Hebr 9,14; 10,29 and 12,9.

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which later came to be called “Christians”, developed to a world-wide congregation. They started to interpret the text from a viewpoint of power and supremacy. The problem is that this way of reproducing the text, which takes a text written for a small and minor group and turns it into a source of dogmatic principle. This is what happens to the text of Hebrews from the second century C.E. on.

VI. SUMMARY To return to our main question: Yes, when Hebrews was written, it was possible to call the opus a “homiletic Midrash”. The authors of Hebrews used many strategies to explain Jesus’ role and function through biblical persons and stories. The text refers exclusively to figures and symbols of God’s story with Israel. The social situation of Hebrews: two groups struggeling for their identity and using the same method of interpretation to describe their belief make it likely that Hebrews is a Midrash. But, once the text had been taken into the New Testament canon, things changed. The text gained a dogmatic and specific “Christian” connotation. Scholars tried to interpret it in terms of antique rhetoric or gentile Christian perspectives. To some extent, scholars used to interpret the world and texts of ancient Judaism in two different ways: Palestinian and rabbinic source were seperated from Hellenistic Jewish scripture traditions. Hebrews was interpreted as Hellenistic Jewish scripture and separated from its Jewish roots. But the distinction between Hellenism and Judaism cannot be maintained – as Hebrews shows - in modern times.

ORALITY AND MNEMONICS IN AGGADIC MIDRASH W. David Nelson Brite Divinity School – Texas Christian University In recent decades, the study of early Rabbinic Judaism has witnessed a renewed interest in critically-informed research on the oral characteristics of early Rabbinic religious tradition. 1 This interest has resulted in new schol1

Recent research by a significant number and range of scholars of Rabbinic literature and early Judaism has contributed to this resurgence of interest. Over the past two decades, the most programmatic, sophisticated and influential body of research is the work of Martin S. Jaffee, who pioneered the application of the theoretical advances realized by the interdisciplinary field of Orality Studies to the study of early Rabbinic oral and written textuality. His works include: “Oral Torah in Theory and Practice: Aspects of Mishnah-Exegesis in the Palestinian Talmud,” Religion 15 (1985) 387-410; “Writing and Rabbinic Oral Tradition: On Mishnaic Narrative, Lists and Mnemonics,” Journal of Jewish Philosophy and Thought 4 (1994) 123-46; “A Rabbinic Ontology of the Written and Spoken Word: On Discipleship, Transformative Knowledge and the Living Texts of Oral Torah,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 65, no.3 (Fall 1997) 27-61; “The Oral-Cultural Context of the Talmud Yerushalmi: Greco-Roman Rhetorical Paideia, Discipleship, and the Concept of Oral Torah,” in The Talmud Yerushalmi in Graeco-Roman Culture I, ed., P. Schäfer (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998) 27-61; and, Torah in the Mouth: Writing and Oral Tradition in Palestinian Judaism, 200 BCE-400 CE (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). Additional, important contributions to the growing, critical mass of Oralityinfluenced scholarship on early Rabbinic literature include: E. Alexander, Transmitting Mishnah: The Shaping Influence of Oral Tradition (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006); Y. Elman, Authority and Tradition: Toseftan Baraitot in Talmudic Babylonia (Hoboken: Ktav Publishing House, Inc., 1994); Y. Elman, “Orality and the Transmission of Tosefta Pisha in Talmudic Literature,” in H. Fox and T. Meacham, eds., Introducing Tosefta: Textual, Intratextual and Intertextual Studies (Hoboken, NJ: KTAV, 1999) 123-180; S. Fraade, From Tradition To Commentary: Torah and its Interpretation in the Midrash Sifre to Deuteronomy (Albany: SUNY Press, 1991); S. Fraade, “Literary Composition and Oral Performance in Early

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arly conceptualizations of the mutual dynamics of the written preservation, memorization, and declamation of Rabbinic tradition, as well as the influence these dynamics exerted on the emergence and development of early Rabbinic Judaism, its social formation and its theological mindset and worldview. One of the most important advances of this research has been its recognition of the imperative to situate and analyze the reciprocal development of the oral and written textuality of early Rabbinic Judaism within the context of the evolution of the early Rabbinic social, pedagogical setting. Thus, as the social world of early Rabbinic Judaism has been reevaluated and reconceptualized by social historians of early Judaism, 2 so, too, has the process, role and significance of the methods of performance, memorization, recitation and transmission of the shared religious tradition of early Rabbinic Judaism undergone similar scrutiny and reappraisal. 3 This has resulted in reconceptualizations of the oral and written nature of early Rabbinic tradition, based upon the function it played within the social structures of early Rabbinic Judaism. In the first centuries of the Common Era, as Rabbinism struggled to establish itself as the dominant form of Judaism and to fill the void caused by the gradual the demise of Temple-based forms of Judaism, it constituted a religious community comprised of small, intimate – interrelated, yet independent – master/disciple circles of learning, within which the performance, declamation, and recitation of memorized and internalized religious tradition played a most crucial role. The relationship between the early Rabbinic sage and the early Rabbinic student/disciple was one founded upon the disciple’s devotion to, and emulation of, the particular Rabbinic sage whose circle of learning he had Midrashim,” Oral Tradition 14, no. 1 (March 1999) 33-51; and W.D. Nelson, “Oral Orthography: Early Rabbinic Oral and Written Transmission of Parallel Midrashic Tradition,” AJS Review 29:1 (2005) 1-32. 2 Particularly noteworthy, in this regard, is scholarship produced recently by social historians of early Judaism that has influenced and shaped current understanding of the early Rabbinic master/disciple relationship. See, for example, L. Levine, The Rabbinic Class of Roman Palestine in Late Antiquity (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi and Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1989) 98-133; C. Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement in Roman Palestine (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), and D. Goodblatt, Rabbinic Instruction in Sasanian Babylonia (Leiden, The Netherlands: E.J. Brill, 1975). 3 See, for example, E. Alexander, Transmitting Mishnah, 117-173; M. Jaffee, Early Judaism (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1997) 213-43; and M. Jaffee, Torah in the Mouth, 126-52.

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joined. The learning process and path to revelation overseen by the early Rabbinic sage was one of performance bravado, whereby the aspiring disciple proved his worth and valor by sparring verbally over Rabbinic tradition, by composing and reciting Rabbinic tradition from memory, and by rhetorically associating and drawing connections between seemingly random elements of Rabbinic tradition. Although the development of this trajectory of Orality-influenced research on early Rabbinic literature is still nascent, a trend or pattern is becoming evident in the utilization and conceptualization of early Rabbinic literature in this emerging critical mass of scholarship. As the basis of many of its models and theories of the influence of oral performance on the transmission of early Rabbinic tradition, much of this recent research has tended to focus to a disproportionate degree on the Rabbinic halakhic textual tradition to the substantial neglect, in particular, of the midrashic aggadic tradition. 4 This is not without good cause: halakhic textual tradition lends itself readily to Orality-based analysis, due to its overt mnemonic structure, form, and characteristics. That is, halakhic textual traditions are distinctive in their patterned structures of thought, succinct, repetitious employment of language, and formulaic styles of composition to such an extent as to allow them to be easily envisioned and analyzed as oral “building blocks” 5 of tradition that were memorized, internalized and utilized in a mnemonically-based, oral-performative context. On the whole, the situation is very different for early Rabbinic midrashic aggadic tradition, which has been employed by recent Oralityinfluenced scholarship to a greater extent as supporting evidence for building conceptualizations of the oral, pedagogical social setting of the early rabbis, within which halakhic tradition has been envisioned primarily as the tradition memorized, declaimed, and recited. That is, midrashic aggadic tradition has been adduced most often as support for reconstructing and envisioning the development and evolution of the early Rabbinic didactic setting within which halakhic tradition served as the “substance,” so to speak, of 4

Overarching references to types and collections of Rabbinic tradition is a complicated, confusing and largely imprecise endeavor. For the purposes of this publication, “halakhic textual tradition” encompasses broadly early Rabbinic tradition that pertains to legal/religious praxis, as well as specifically the texts of the Mishnah and Tosefta. “Midrashic aggadic tradition” encompasses early Rabbinic tradition that pertains to history, theology and lore that was transmitted as a direct interpretation or explanation of Scripture. 5 This terminology is borrowed from E. Alexander, Transmitting Mishnah, 39-40.

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the rabbinic performative, learning process. 6 This dichtomomy between halakhic and aggadic textual tradition, itself a deeply rooted traditional, scholarly bifurcation, represents a potential challenge to the validity of the Orality-based scholarly endeavor. Theories and conceptualizations are required that consider and account more fully for the mutual oral/written engagement and transmission of midrashic aggadic tradition to accompany those developed recently for the halakhic textual tradition. This paper aims primarily to initiate consideration of this complex subject. A first step of this consideration involves identifying and determining the mnemonic characteristics of midrashic aggadic tradition – characteristics which, most often, are not as readily evident as those in the halakhic textual tradition. What follows is an analysis and consideration of a midrashic aggadic excerpt from the Mekhilta of Rabbi Shimon b. Yoʚai, in order to discern the structural characteristics that facilitated its employment in the oral, didactic realm of early Rabbinic pedagogy. This analysis will illustrate how elements such as prooftext employment, thematic development, and patterned structure of thought together formed the mnemonic foundation that enabled the spontaneous recitation and declamation of these materials in an oral, didactic setting. Additionally, characteristics that are routinely cited as evidence of the redaction of this textual tradition will be cast in a new light, in order to provide insight as to how these traditions were not only written and read, but also memorized and performed. Finally, this paper aims to encourage scholars interested in research on the oral transmission of Rabbinic tradition to consider more extensively how these processes included 6

As stated above, the differing emphases on, and employment of, the halakhic and midrashic aggadic textual tradition is not an absolute phenomenon, but rather, an emerging trend. Examples of recent Orality-influenced research that have focused primarily, if not exclusively, on the halakhic textual tradition include: E. Alexander, Transmitting Mishnah; M. Jaffee, “The Oral-Cultural Context of the Talmud Yerushalmi”; and M. Jaffee “Writing and Rabbinic Oral Tradition.” By contrast, see S. Fraade, From Tradition to Commentary, for an effort that focuses primarily, if not exclusively, on midrashic aggadic tradition. The issue, again, is not so much whether or not all types of Rabbinic tradition are being utilized in Oralityinfluenced research, but rather, the particular purposes for which particular types of tradition are utilized. Whereas it is taken for granted that the actual oral/rhetorical/performative pedagogical moment involved the engagement of all types of Rabbinic tradition, when recent Orality-based scholarship has turned its attention specifically to analyzing the actual performative moment vis à vis the evidence of the Rabbinic corpus, it has focused primarily on the halakhic textual tradition.

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and were affected by midrashic aggadic tradition, and how this is evidenced in the written preservation of these materials currently available. The excerpt at hand is a series of midrashic traditions associated by the text’s anonymous editor with Exodus 3:1ff – the biblical narrative of God’s revelation to Moses at the Burning Bush. 7 Although this series of interpretation is, indeed, interested in God’s choice of a lowly bush as the locale for revelation, other than that fact, there is no overt, exegetical link with the biblical base verse of Exodus 3:1. The text presents a series of five units of interpretation, all beginning with the formulaic question: “Rabbi X says: ‘Why did the Holy One, blessed be He appear from the heavenly heights and speak with Moses from within the bush?’”: 1. A. “Now Moses was tending (the flock of his father-in-law Jethro), etc. An angel of the Lord appeared to him (in a blazing fire out of a bush), etc.” (Exod. 3:1–2): B. R. Shimon b. Yoʘai says, “Why did the Holy One, blessed be He, appear from the highest heavens and speak with Moses from within the bush? Because just as this bush was the thorniest of all the trees in the world, in that any bird that entered into it could not manage to exit without tearing itself limb from limb, likewise was the slavery of Israel in Egypt the most oppressive slavery in the world. C.

7

“[Moreover so oppressive was Egypt that] no male or female slave ever left Egypt a free person, except for Hagar. As it says in Scripture, ‘And Pharaoh put men in charge of him, (and they sent him off with his wife and all that he possessed)’ (Gen. 12:20). 8

This textual excerpt is taken from J.N. Epstein & E.Z. Melamed, Mekhilta d’Rabbi Sim’on b. Jochai: Fragmenta in Geniza Cairensi reperta diggesit apparatus critico, notis, praefatione instruxit (Jerusalem: Mekitze Nirdamim Publishers, 1955) 1-2. The translation of the excerpt is taken from W. David Nelson, Mekhilta de-Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai: Translated Into English With Critical Introduction and Annotation (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 2006) 2-4. 8 1.C is clearly disjunctive to the interpretive progression of this unit from 1.B to 1.D, which could compel one to view it as an editorial or scribal interpolation. Nonetheless, it is attested in all the available sources for this unit of tradition. The gist of the interpretation is clear: Genesis 12:20 indicates that Abraham departed Egypt with his wife and all that he possessed—which included his future concubine, the Egyptian maidservant Hagar.

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MIDRASH AND CONTEXT D. “And how does one know from Scripture that the slavery of Israel was more oppressive than any slavery in the world? As it says in Scripture, ‘And the Lord said, “I have marked well 9 the plight of my people (in Egypt, and have heeded their outcry on account of their taskmasters)”’ (Exod. 3:7). E.

“And why does Scripture state ‘I have seen’ twice? 10 Because after [the Egyptian taskmasters] drowned their 11 sons in water, they would then embed them [into the walls of a] building.

F.

“They told a parable: To what is the matter alike? It is like one who took a staff and struck two people with it, such that the two of them received a wound from the blow of the staff. Likewise, was the slavery of Israel in Egypt the most oppressive slavery in the world. And this was abundantly clear to God. Thus it is stated in Scripture, ‘Yes I am mindful of their sufferings’ (Exod. 3:7).” 12

2. A. R. Eliezer says, “Why did the Holy One, blessed be He, appear from the highest heavens and speak with him from within the bush? Because just as this bush is the lowliest of all the trees in the world, likewise had Israel descended to the lowest level. And the Holy One, blessed be He, descended with them and redeemed 9 Emphasis added. Utilizing a routine, midrashic hermeneutic ploy, the text is focusing its attention on the scriptural employment of the infinitive absolute ʤʠʸ ʩʺʩʠʸ (“I have marked well”) – in Exodus 3:7, assuming that the seemingly doubled form of the verb requires interpretive explication. The text, therefore, determines that the doubled verb indicates a doubled form of oppression by the Egyptian taskmasters. 10 See note 9. 11 I.e., the sons of the Israelites. 12 The implication of this parable is that the physical cruelty of the Egyptian taskmasters to the Israelites was felt, as well, by God. The parable, therefore, builds on the “double” theme established in 1.E., while simultaneously leading the theme in a different direction. This is motivated by the text’s understanding of an interpretive relationship between the two clauses in Exodus 3:7. The “doubled” infinitive absolute in the first half of the verse is interpreted as referring to the twofold cruelty of the Egyptians as explained in 1.E. The employment of the parable in this fashion, however, carries the theme forward and applies it subtly as well to the second part of the verse (“I am mindful of their sufferings”), which is understood to indicate that two sufferers—both the Israelites and God—felt the corporeal pain.

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them. As it says in Scripture, ‘I have come down 13 to rescue them from the Egyptians’ (Exod. 3:8)”. 3. A. R. Joshua says, “Why did the Holy One, blessed be He, appear from the highest heavens and speak with Moses from within the bush? Because when Israel went down to Egypt, God’s presence went down with them. As it says in Scripture, ‘I Myself will go down with you (to Egypt)...’ (Gen. 46:4). 14 “When they left [Egypt], God’s presence was revealed 15 with them. As it says in Scripture, ‘... and I Myself will also bring you back’ (Gen. 46:4). “[When] they went down to the [Reed] Sea, God’s presence was with them. As it says in Scripture, ‘The Angel of God (which had been going ahead of the Israelite army) moved (and went behind them)’ (Exod. 14:19). “[When] they came to the wilderness [of Sinai], God’s presence was with them. As it says in Scripture, ‘... and in the wilderness, where you saw (how the Lord your God carried you) ...’ (Deut. 1:31).” B. R. Hiyya and R. Judah say, “Come and observe the love of He who spoke and the world came into existence! In that whenever Israel is situated in suffering, there is [also] anguish before Him, as if it were possible. As it says in Scripture, ‘In all their afflictions, He did not afflict’ (Isa. 63:9). 16 13

Emphasis added. The text here presumes familiarity with the midrashic notion that the Burning Bush was chosen as the location of revelation because of its homely nature and low status, which corresponded with the humiliated status of the Israelites in Egypt. 15 I.e., went out. 16 In the manuscript tradition of the Hebrew Bible, Isaiah 63:9 has variant attestations. The verse as it is cited in the text of the Mekhilta of Rabbi Shimon b. Yohai employs the Hebrew word of negation “ʠʬ.” However, the text’s interpretation clearly assumes the traditional, Jewish rendering of this word, which is the prepositional “ʬ” with the third person, masculine pronominal suffix—ʥʬ— “to Him.” This variation renders the meaning of the verse: “In all their afflictions, He [i.e., God] was (also) afflicted.” This midrashic tradition is widely attested throughout the corpus of early Rabbinic literature. See, e.g., Sifre Numbers., Piska 84. 14

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“From this I only know [that God suffered along with] the suffering of the [entire] community. How does one know from Scripture [that the same holds true for] the suffering of the individual? The verse states, ‘He shall call to me, and I will answer him. I will be with him in trouble’ (Ps. 91:15). And thus Scripture states, ‘Whoever touches you (touches the pupil of his eye)’ (Zech. 2:12).”

D. R. Judah says, “The verse does not employ a vav [at the end of the word ‘eye’ in Zechariah 2:12 above, which would render its meaning as ‘his eye’], rather a yud [which renders its meaning as ‘my eye’]. This teaches that whosoever harms a person from Israel, it is as if he does harm before He who spoke and the world came into being. And whenever Israel dwells at ease, the Holy One, blessed be He, dwells at ease with them in joy. And thus Scripture states, ‘... that I might see the prosperity of your chosen ones’ (Ps. 106:5).” 4. A. Yosi ha-Galili says, “Why did the Holy One, blessed be He, appear from the highest heavens and speak with Moses from within the bush? Because it is pure, in that the nations of the world do not use it as an idol.” 5. A. R. Eliezer ben Arach says, “Why did the Holy One, blessed be He, appear from the highest heavens and speak with Moses from within the bush? Shouldn’t He appear 17 from the heights of the world, from the cedars of Lebanon and from the tops of mountains and from the tops of hills? B.

17

“Rather, the Holy One, blessed be He, humbled His presence, and made his request normally, lest the nations of the world should say incorrectly, ‘[Only] because He is God and the master of His world did he 18 obey His request!’

This introductory interrogative in 5.A, as reconstructed in the Epstein/Melamed text, is a confusing combination by the editors of a variant of the phrase that appears in Midrash Ha-Gadol with a variant phrase attested in another manuscript source for this tradition – the Notes of Rav Abraham ha-Lahmi. The combination of the different introductory clauses from the two versions is neither clear nor particularly easy to render into idiomatic English. I have chosen to translate the introductory clause as it appears in the JTS manuscript for this portion of the text (JTS Rab. 2404, folios 1–2). 18 I.e., Moses.

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C. “Therefore, the Holy One, blessed be He, pressed Moses [about it at the bush] for six days, and on the seventh he said to Him, ‘Make someone else Your agent!’ (Exod. 4:13). As it says in Scripture, ‘But Moses said to the Lord, “Please, Lord, I am not a man (of words)”’ (Exod. 4:10). D. “They told a parable: To what is the matter alike? It is like a king who had a servant whom he loved completely. The king sought to make him his administrator overseeing the maintenance of the members of the king’s palace. What did the king do? He took the slave by his hand, and brought him into his treasury, and showed him his silver vessels, golden vessels, fine stones and gems, and all that he possessed within his treasury. After this, he brought him outside and showed him [his] trees, gardens, parks, enclosed areas, and all that was his in the fields. E.

“Afterward, the slave closed his hand and said, ‘I am unable to be the administrator overseeing the maintenance of the members of the king’s palace.’ The king said to him, ‘Since [you knew] that you could not be the administrator, why did you put me through all this trouble?’ And the king was angry with him, and decreed that he should never enter his palace.

F.

“Likewise, the Holy One, blessed be He, pressed Moses [at the bush] for six days, and on the seventh [Moses] said to him, ‘Make someone else Your agent!’ [At that moment,] the Holy One, blessed be He, swore that he would never enter the Land of Israel. As it says in Scripture, ‘(Because you did not trust Me enough to affirm my sanctity in the sight of the Israelite people), therefore you shall not lead (this congregation into the land that I have given them)’ (Num. 20:12).”

What follows is an evaluation of the structure of each of the five units within this series: Unit 1: 1. A. Biblical base verse. 1. B. Opening, formulaic question in the name of R. Shimon b. Yohai (“Why did the Holy One, blessed be He, appear from the highest heavens and speak with Moses from within the bush?”).

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MIDRASH AND CONTEXT Answer provided to this question, introduced by the word “Because” (Hebrew: ʠʬʠ = “ella”), and analogy drawn between the bush and the situation of the Israelites in Egypt, introduced by the word “likewise” (Hebrew: ʪʫ = “kach”). 1. C. Disjunctive comment, supported by a prooftext from Genesis 12:2. 1. D. Request for scriptural proof to support the analogy drawn in 1.B. introduced by the term “And how does one know from Scripture” (Hebrew: ʯʩʰʮ = “minayin”). Supporting prooftext is provided (Exodus 3:7). 1. E. Explanation of prooftext (Exodus 3:7). 1. F. Parable provided to illustrate prooftext (Exodus 3:7).

Unit 2: 2 A.

Opening, formulaic question in the name of R. Eliezer (“Why did the Holy One, blessed be He, appear from the highest heavens and speak with him from within the bush?”). Answer provided to this question, introduced by the word “Because” (Hebrew: ʠʬʠ = “ella”), and analogy drawn between the bush and the situation of the Israelites in Egypt, introduced by the word “likewise” (Hebrew: ʪʫ = Prooftext provided (Exodus 3:8) to support final assertion. “kach”).

3. A.

Opening, formulaic question in the name of R. Joshua (“Why did the Holy One, blessed be He, appear from the highest heavens and speak with Moses from within the bush?”). Answer provided to this question, introduced by the word “Because” (Hebrew: ʠʬʠ = “ella”), and analogy drawn to situation of Israelites in Egypt. Prooftexts provided (Genesis 46:4; Genesis 46:4, Exodus 14:19, Deuteronomy 1:31) to support assertions.

Unit 3:

3. B.-D. Lengthy, associated discussion in the name of R. Hiyya and R. Judah. Unit 4:

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4. A.

Opening, formulaic question in the name of R. Yosi haGalili (“Why did the Holy One, blessed be He, appear from the highest heavens and speak with Moses from within the bush?”). Answer provided to this question, introduced by the word “Because” (Hebrew: …ʹ ʩʰʴʮ = “mipnai sh…”).

5. A.

Opening, formulaic question in the name of R. Eliezer ben Arach (“Why did the Holy One, blessed be He, appear from the highest heavens and speak with Moses from within the bush?”). Answer provided to this question, introduced by the word “Rather” (Hebrew: ʠʬʠ = “ella”).

5. B.

Prooftexts provided (Exodus 4:13, Exodus 4:10) to support answer.

Unit 5:

5. C.-D. Parable provided to illustrate prooftexts, and to serve as an editorial segue to the subsequent material. A conceptualization of these traditions solely informed by compositional, redactional considerations would advance the argument that these five units of tradition are the result of a written, editorial effort, one that produced a series of similar midrashic traditions, quite naturally grouped together in anthological form, one following the other. Additionally, there are characteristics of these units of tradition that could readily be understood or envisioned as the result of editorial/redactional processes, including: 1. The disjunctive interpolation of 1.C between 1.B. and 1.D. 2. The parable in 5.C.-D., which serves as an editorial segue from the exegetical theme of 5.A.-B. to the material that follows in the Mekhilta of Rabbi Shimon b. Yoʚai – a sizeable unit of midrashic tradition concerning Moses’ hesitancy to accept, as well as his attempts to reject, God’s call to act on His behalf against Pharaoh and the Egyptians. 3. The fact that the text assumes, at times, prior familiarity by the “reader” with these traditions of interpretation, and, as such, simply implies some of their elements, as opposed to stating them fully and explicitly. For example, in 3.A. the text assumes the reader understands that an analogy is drawn between the homely and low na-

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However, recent orality-based research on early Rabbinic literature calls into question such a conceptualization, by challenging the degree to which these characteristics are entirely, or even partially, indicative of editorial/redactorial processes. 19 Indeed, when situated within the oralpedagogical setting of early Rabbinism, these traditions of interpretation are more appropriately envisioned as an examplification of how the written preservation of Rabbinic midrashic tradition served as something akin to an early Rabbinic primer – one that preserved a series of formulaic, midrashic “exercises” around a common aggadic interpretive theme, and was designed to facilitate the honing and improvement of its declaimed presentation. 20 Although each unit differs somewhat substantially in its content, a common, simple, and overarching structure is evident among all of them which supports this conceptualization of these materials: 21 1. Formulaic question 2. Answer to the question 3. Prooftext(s) providing scriptural support for the answer

19

It is in this respect that the application of Orality Studies to early Rabbinic literature has realized its most dramatic results. Orality theory has compelled scholars of Rabbinic literature to consider how the mutual oral and written composition and transmission of early Rabbinic tradition is evidenced by a Rabbinic textual tradition marked by fluidity and a lack of fixity. This has resulted in significant shifts in long-standing scholarly paradigms employed for interpreting and understanding characteristics in the manuscript and early printed textual evidence for Rabbinic literature, such as variances, corruptions and repetitions. For a concise, clear discussion of this paradigm shift, see E. Alexander, Transmitting Mishnah, 1-29. 20 This conceptualization is indebted to the work of M. Jaffee in “The OralCultural Context of the Talmud Yerushalmi.” Jaffee argues that insight into the phenomenon of early Rabbinic transmission of multiple, diverse versions of common tradition can be gained through comparison with the Progymnasmata – written collections of common literary forms of Greco-Roman tradition (chreiae) – which functioned as textbooks of both Sophistic and early Christian rhetorical education. See, as well, R.F. Hock and E.N. O’Neil, eds., The Chreia in Ancient Rhetoric. Volume I: The Progymnasmata (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 1986). 21 Unit 2 provides the most basic example of this structure.

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In its written form, this series in the Mekhilta of Rabbi Shimon b. Yoʚai provided the early Rabbinic disciple with outlines and examples of possible declamations of a common midrashic aggadic theme – a primer of disciplined, midrashic memorization presented in multiple versions. Whereas Unit 2 represents an example of the most basic version of this exercise, the other units present various possible examples and methods of augmentation and/or formulation of the basic core of this tradition of interpretation. Taking Unit 1, once again, into consideration, its overall structure is indicative of both written preservation/redaction and oral/rhetorical employment and augmentation. Whereas the unit begins with the formulaic question followed by both the formulaic answer and application/analogy to the Israelites in Egypt (1.A.-B.), the next section is clearly disjunctive, in that it interrupts the rhetorical structure and flow of this particular presentation of this unit of tradition (1.C.). The disjunctive nature of 1.C. is even more evident, when one notes how 1.D. resumes and responds directly to the point made at the end of 1.B., and then presents the formulaically requisite scriptural prooftexts and additional explication (1.E.). Finally, our basic structure is augmented with an illustrative parable (1.F.). Thus, the preservation in this text of this “performance” of Unit 1 is the product of a mutual interaction between the written/compositional and oral/performative facets of both early Rabbinic textuality and textual evidence. Additionally, this series of tradition illustrates some of the fundamental, mnemonic aspects and characteristics of midrashic aggadic tradition that facilitated its employment and declamation within the early Rabbinic performative-pedagogical context. One was discussed above: the basic, overarching structure that served as the mnemonic framework for all five of these units of tradition. A second characteristic is the formulaic, technical terminology that these units employ, each of which identifies, represents or facilitates specific midrashic/rhetorical patterns of thought and logical argumentation that occur with great frequency (e.g., ʠʬʠ [1.B., 2.A., 5.A.], ʪʫ [1.B., 2.A.], and ʯʩʰʮ [5.D.]). Whereas this terminology is routinely regarded and examined as evidence of historically distinct redactional processes that led to the production of the Rabbinic textual tradition, it bears emphasizing that the primary function of this type of terminology was aural. That is, as these traditions of interpretation were spoken or read aloud, this terminology both facilitated and triggered within the members of the “listening audience” an internalized and intuitive understanding of the rhetorical flow, argumentation, logical shifts, and patterns of early Rabbinic textual traditions that were primarily, if not exclusively, experienced and encountered as spoken word.

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A third characteristic is the mnemonic aspect innate to the midrashic prooftext, namely, the phenomenon of a specific midrashic interpretation becoming associated inherently with a specific biblical verse, due to the reinforcement provided by the repeated, mutual adduction of both the verse and the midrashic interpretation within the early Rabbinic oral-performative context. Stated differently, specific biblical verses became signifiers of specific midrashic traditions of interpretation, 22 to such an extent that it became impossible to separate the biblical verse from its midrashic meaning and the midrashic meaning from its biblical verse. 23 In this manner, midrashic prooftexts served a twofold mnemonic role when utilized performatively in the early Rabbinic pedagogical setting: 1) they signified their specifically associated midrashic interpretations; and, 2) they served as the mnemonic outline/framework of the declaimed series or unit of midrashic tradition. The function of the prooftext from Exodus 3:7 at 1.D. (“I have marked well the plight of my people…”) is an exemplification of this twofold mnemonic role. This biblical verse and its midrashic explication – that the seemingly doubled infinitive construct form is indicative of the doublydifficult nature of the Egyptian enslavement – were intrinsically connected and intimately co-associated, to such an extent that the two resounded in the consciousness of the Rabbinic sage or disciple, who could not encounter this biblical text without instinctively recalling and associating it with this midrashic meaning. Adducing Exodus 3:7 as a midrashic prooftext automatically signified the doubly-difficult slavery in Egypt, which, in this particular instance at 1.E., was illustrated specifically by the drowning and subsequent embedding of the Israelite sons.

22

For a concise definition and explanation of both the religious act of signifying and its importance in the field of semiotics, see C. Long, Significations: Signs, Symbols, and Images in the Interpretation of Religion (Aurora, CO: The Davies Group, 1995) 1-9. 23 The prooftext Exodus 3:8 in Unit 2 provides an illustration of the first of these two roles. Once the Rabbinic disciple encountered the association of God’s “coming down” to Egypt to redeem the Israelites, who likewise had “descended” to the lowest level in Egypt, all of which utilized to explain God’s decision to “come down” from the highest heavens and appear to Moses in a lowly bush, it became permanently internalized and emblazoned in the performative “storehouse” of prooftext employment for the disciple. Never again would Exodus 3:8 stand alone in its biblical context; rather, its meaning would forever be fixed associatively, as well, with this midrashic encounter.

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Noteworthy, as well, is the introductory question of 1.D.: “And how does one know from Scripture that the slavery of Israel was more oppressive than any slavery in the world?” This question is generated by the point established at the end of 1.B. (“…likewise was the slavery of Israel in Egypt the most oppressive slavery in the world”), which itself is a response to the formulaic question that initiates all five units of tradition in this series (“Why did the Holy One, blessed be He, appear from the highest heavens and speak with Moses from within the bush?”). In so far as Exodus 3:7 is adduced in 1.D. as a prooftext to respond to this question, its midrashic signification of the doubly- difficult Egyptian enslavement is extended to serve as the scriptural basis of the explanation of why God selected a lowly bush as a location of revelation. As a result, the entire unit of tradition (Unit 1.A.-F.) is built upon a mnemonic framework rooted in the prooftext signification of Exodus 3:7. To conclude, it is somewhat surprising that the prooftext has never been the subject of a comprehensive, systematic, scholarly research endeavor, given its importance, complexity and ubiquity in early Rabbinic literature. In so far as the prooftext played a central role in the formative processes of transmitting, engaging and embodying Rabbinic tradition, it is clear that the phenomenology of the mnemonics of the midrashic prooftext merits much additional scholarly attention and investigation. Among its many potential benefits, a research trajectory of this sort promises to serve as one means towards situating and analyzing early Rabbinic aggadic midrashic textual tradition more substantially as a fundamental part of the early Rabbinic performative pedagogical process. Ultimately, this will expand the purview of future Orality-based scholarship, and will facilitate deeper insight into how the mutual oral and written transmission of early Rabbinic traditions have left their imprint on the written textual evidence that time and fate have rendered available today.

EGYPTIAN MAGIC AND THE OSIRIS MYTH IN MIDRASH Rivka Ulmer Bucknell University - Yale University The rabbinic interpretations of the Bible as found in midrashic texts demonstrate a profound hermeneutical engagement with Egypt. The metaphor “Egypt” is of almost equal theological significance as the metaphors “the Romans” or “the destruction of the Temple;” the memory of the Exodus was a major theological topic that shaped the expression of Jewish thought from antiquity to modernity. Even in 20th century Germany, rabbis in their sermons referred to Egypt as the ultimate Diaspora experience of initial assimilation and the subsequent return to one’s heritage, “dissimilation.” Similar cultural tendencies were experienced by Moses and Joseph in the Bible as well as in midrash. 1 Egypt had become more of an ideological position than a real place. This ideological position served as a vehicle to defeat religious and cultural threats posed by life in the Diaspora. The quest was how to leave the Diaspora which was like another Egypt. Furthermore, the impact of Egypt upon Jewish memory is pervasive in rituals, such as the Passover celebration and the Kiddush for the Sabbath. All of these references to the Exodus and Egypt recall the divine defeat of the Egyptians and their gods. Egypt is recognized as a major source of magic in rabbinic midrash. The texts refer to the magic that is prevalent in Alexandria, and some rabbinic texts claim that the origins of magic are to be found in Egypt, 2 a view

1

For example, Joseph’s hair-style is subjected to the hermeneutics of midrash and it becomes an Egyptian hair-style in the view of the rabbis. Gen. Rab. 84:7; 87:3. 2 ‘Abot R. Nat. 48; Gen. Rab. 86:5; b. Shabb. 115b; B. Rivka Kern-Ulmer, “The Depiction of Magic in Rabbinic Texts: The Rabbinic and the Greek Concept of Magic,” JStJ 27 (1996) 289-303, 294. Generally, see Philip Alexander, “Incantations and Books of Magic,” in The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (ed. Geza Vermes, Fergus Millar, and Martin Goodman, Edinburgh, 1983), vol. 1, 342379.

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that the rabbis shared with others, such as Clement of Alexandria. 3 Thus, viewing Egypt as the center of magical activities was a common idea in antiquity 4 that assisted in the continuous creation of stereotypical views of Egypt and its culture. Any attempt to speak about magic in Egyptian or Rabbinic texts is, of course, limited by the application of the term “magic” from our own perspective and the fact that we have merely literary representations of magic in midrash. However, present western definitions of magic are deeply influenced by attempts already present in antiquity to differentiate magical procedures into those that are based upon “rational” explanations and those that are seemingly irrational and superstitious. 5 Nevertheless, it seems a daunting task to construct a general theory of magic in antiquity in spite of the fact that there are similar evaluations of magic across different cultural and religious spheres. There are a few structural analogies between the phenomena relating to magic, but these are also present in medieval and even later magical texts. 6 Since our categories of magic are not easily applicable to rabbinic texts, I submit that the rabbis viewed magic as belonging to that area of human experience that we call religion, a term that is likewise unknown to the rabbis of the midrashic texts. The rabbinic texts do not provide a sophisticated theory of magic; rather, the apparatus of magic found in the texts depends on such theories without explica3

According to Clement, Egypt was the mother of magicians; Clement of Alexandria (ed. G. W. Butterworth, LCL). John Chrysostomos, in his homily on Matth. 7:4, expresses similar views. See also Lucian, Philopseudes 34, who asserts that the culture of the Egyptians is expressed in their magical expertise. 4 Compare Origen, Cels., 1:22. 5 See Dale E. Martin, Inventing Superstition: From the Hippocratics to the Christians (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2004), 15ff., in respect to the shifting attitudes to what constitutes superstition in antiquity. Similar developments and shifts in evaluating superstitions are present in the corpus of rabbinic writings from late antiquity. 6 For an excellent statement concerning the problematic definition of magic in antiquity, see Michael Becker, “Die ‘Magie’-Problematik der Antike. Genügt eine sozialwissenschaftliche Erfassung?” ZRGG 54 (2002) 1-22; Becker, 21, writes: “Mit Blick auf die Antike darf keineswegs übersehen werden, daß daneben tiefgreifende strukturelle Analogien zwischen den als different charakterisierenden Phänomenen bestehen.” See also Yuval Harari, Ha-magyah ha-yehudit ha-kedumah: iyunim metodologiyim u-fenomenologiyim (Jerusalem: Hebrew University, Ph. D. Diss., 1998). An extensive list of titles relating to Jewish magic in antiquity and the definition of magic compiled by Scott Noegel may be viewed at http://faculty.washington.edu/snoegel/jmbtoc.htm

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tion. 7 Additionally, rabbinic texts from different periods and different geographic areas approach magic from different perspectives and they have different nascent theories. Generally, we may observe that the rabbinic texts have a different agenda than the magical books; rabbis and their associates of late antiquity and the early Middle Ages compile, sort, and interpret traditions and laws that are apparently important to the transmission and revival of Judaism. The rabbinic texts neither follow the patterns provided by philosophical treatises 8 nor do they follow the conventions of contemporary scientific or natural histories. An approach describing the cultural phenomenon of magic in midrash as comparable to that in the culture of Greco-Roman 9 and Coptic Egypt 10 -- a time that roughly parallels the inception of rabbinic Judaism and its major documents -- offers possibilities of expanding our knowledge of magic in homiletical midrash. Rabbinic Judaism as found in the midrashic corpus and related talmudic texts, merely conceptualizes magic as belonging to “permissible” or “prohibited” categories within the larger framework of halakhic formulation by utilizing this dichotomy on a sliding scale. As such, magic may be forced unto the outer margins of the rabbinic religious system and magic rites may be perceived to be deviant from most religious rites discussed by the rabbis; thus, often practitioners of magical arts are members of certain social classes and professions. 11 However, sacred figures of the Jewish tradition 7

In particular, this is evidenced in the extensive pharmacopoeia which utilized body fluids and other ingredients for magical purposes. 8 The famous case of Apuleius, who was accused of practicing magic, is discussed by Fritz Graf, Magic in the Ancient World (trans. F. Philip, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1997) 84f., who remarks that for Apuleius the difference between magic and philosophy was similar to the difference between education and rural ignorance. 9 The term “Greco-Roman” refers to the alien culture in Egypt that led to syncretistic forms of religious expression in Ptolemaic Egypt (305-30 B.C.E.) and Roman Egypt (30 B.C.E. - 395 C.E.). 10 The Roman period partially includes the Coptic period, from the early 1st century until the 7th century. 11 Georges Vajda, “Le magie en Israël,” in Le Monde Du Sorcier (Paris: Éditions du Seauil, 1966; Sources Orientales, vii) 127-153, 137, mentions the difference between the work of shedim (demons) and the work of magic (keshafim) as perceived by the rabbis. This comment is applicable to the Babylonian Talmud and to a lesser degree to midrashic texts. Magic was a more distinct category in Roman legal and philosophical thought; see Matthew W. Dickie, Magic and Magicians in the GrecoRoman World (London: Routledge, 2001), 124f.

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(such as Moses) and the intellectual elite (such as the rabbis themselves) are not criticized or condemned for practicing magic, possibly due to their alliance with a higher authority. Moses as a magician 12 is compared to God in a midrashic text; traces of this idea are found in the Hebrew Bible. 13 Magic is sometimes considered to be star worship, foreign worship (idolatry) or Amorite practice. 14 This may be the reason that the centers of magic— Egypt and Babylon—are viewed to be geographically and ideologically external to the Land of Israel and Palestinian Judaism. Furthermore, magic might cast doubt on the idea of an omnipotent God. Magical activity in 12

See Wayne A. Meeks, “Moses as God,” in Religions in Antiquity (ed. Jacob Neusner, Leiden: Brill, 1968) 354-371, 354. 13 E.g., Exod 4:16, in which God refers to Moses as god; Exod 7:1, which states that Moses will be made god to Pharaoh; s. also Philo, Vit. Moys., 1:158 (Philo Judaeus, ed. F. H. Colson, G. H. Witaker, and J. W. Earp, LCL). A midrashic passage attempts to prove that Moses was like God; see Deut. Rab. 11:4 (compare Bate Midrashot [ed. Shlomo Aharon Wertheimer, 2nd ed. Abraham J. Wertheimer, Jerusalem: Ktav va-sefer, 1968, 121-122]): “Another comment: And this is the blessing (Deut 33:1) ... R. Shmuel b. Naʘman said: When Moses was going to bless Israel, the Torah and God likewise came to bless Israel. And this is the blessing refers to the Torah of which it is said, And this is the law which Moses set before the Israelites (Deut 4: 44). With which Moses blessed (Deut 33:1), this refers to Moses. The man of God (ibid.) refers to God, of whom it is said, The Lord is a man of war (Exod 15: 3). And why all this? In order to fulfill Scripture: And a threefold cord is not quickly broken (Eccl 4:12). Another comment: And this is the blessing (Deut 33:1)—R. Tanʘuma said: If Moses is referred to as ‘God,’ why [is he also referred to as] ‘man’, and if ‘man,’ why also ‘God’? The reason is the following: When he was cast into the river of Egypt, he was a man, but when the river was turned into blood, he was like God. Another comment: When [Moses] fled from Pharaoh he was a man, but when he caused [Pharaoh] to drown he was like God.” The quasi divine status of Moses in respect to his ability to perform magic, is probably implied by Josephus’s portrayal of Moses, Ant. 2.286 (Josephus, ed. H. St. J. Thackeray, R. Marcus, A Wilgren, and L. H. Feldman, LCL), in an exchange between Pharaoh and Moses. It is Moses who states that his deeds are superior to those of Egyptian magicians, “in the same way as things divine are remote from what is human.” Louis H. Feldman, “Moses,” in idem, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998) 374-442; 428f. mentions that Moses acknowledges their “cunning;” Josephus, according to Feldman, uses rationalization, relating Moses’ powers to divine providence (prónoia). 14 Kern-Ulmer, “Depiction,” 293; similarly, unacceptable magic in Egypt was performed by foreigners.

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midrashic texts is often channeled through Judaizing expressions, or, the activity is spiritually connected to the divine. For example, one may observe substitutions of names, “Jewish” names for non-Jewish names, and substitute ingredients that derive from the local markets for foreign and “exotic” ones. Mainly, rabbinic attempts at defining magic are adaptations of the Biblical categories that are part of the forbidden practices in Exodus 22:17 and Deuteronomy 18:9-14; 15 there is relatively limited creativity in respect to the invention of new practices of magic and the analysis of the phenomenon of magic in midrash. In Egypt, we have at least a term, heka (fig.1), 16 (Coptic: hik) a cosmic force that refers to magic or to ritual power. Heka was a force holding the universe together; it could be represented by a divine entity, the god Heka 17 and specifically the god Thot, who is said to have possessed heka. However, even Egyptian magic, 18 was quite fluid and it changed under the influence 15

Deut 18:9-14: When you come into the land which the Lord your God gives you, you shall not learn to do after the abominations of those nations. There shall not be found among you any one who makes his son or his daughter pass through the fire, or who uses divination, or a soothsayer, or an enchanter, or a witch, or a charmer, or a medium, or a wizard, or a necromancer. For all who do these things are an abomination to the Lord; and because of these abominations the Lord your God drives them out from before you. You shall be perfect with the Lord your God. For these nations, which you shall possess, listened to soothsayers, and to diviners; but as for you, the Lord your God has not allowed you so to do. 16 This restrictive use of the term is probably an invention of German Egyptologists; in Egypt, as in most religious cultures of antiquity, magic and religion are inseparable. H. Te Velde, “The God Heka in Egyptian Theology,” in Jaarbericht ... van het Vooraziatisch Egyptisch Genootschap; Ex Oriente Lux, vol. 21 (Leiden: Brill, 1969-70) 175-86, who discusses Heka as the god called “eldest magician.” Magic was certainly part of the Egyptian religion and as such it may be characterized as performative religion. The Egyptian embalmers, who are often referred to as sorcerers in biblical and midrashic texts, were secretive; they whispered during the embalming ceremony and they did not communicate with others about their professional activities. 17 For a depiction of Heka, see the Tomb of Ramses I, Valley of the Kings. I would like to emphasize that the concepts of Pharaonic Egypt were in continuous use even in Coptic Egypt, albeit in Christian garb. 18 Adolf Erman, Die Religion der Ägypter, ihr Werden und Vergehen in vier Jahrtausenden (Berlin, 1934); T. Hopfner, Griechisch-Ägyptischer Offenbarungszauber, 2 vols. (Leipzig 1924, StPP 23); Erik Hornung, Das esoterische Ägypten. Das geheime Wissen der Ägypter und sein Einfluss auf das Abendland (Munich, 1999); László Kákosky,

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of Hellenism and Christianity with their ensuing syncretism of forms and rituals. 19 Egyptian magical practices became widespread in the Mediterranean world in late antiquity, with Egyptian gods found in spells and curses outside Egypt. 20 In Egypt, priest and magician were overlapping performatory categories and they were the same cult functionaries; 21 as such they fulfilled the social norms of Egyptian society. 22 The Jewish historian Josephus was correct, when he wrote that Egyptian priests practiced magic and thus gave expression to Egyptian wisdom. 23 Magicians 24 became a separate category of practitioners and replaced priests only later and in a presumably less literate society, 25 although in most cases the combined identity of priest/magician continued to exist until late antiquity. 26 The Egyptologist Jan Assmann emphasizes this intersection between magic and theology in Egypt, and that it is impossible to set the Egyptian heka into opposition with religion. 27 Zauberei im alten Ägypten (Leipzig 1989); Robert K. Ritner, The Mechanics of Ancient Egyptian Magical Practice (Chicago: The Oriental Institute, 1993; SAOC 54). Some of the major collections of Egyptian texts, which are magic texts from our perspective, are found in Papyrus Harris (Hans O. Lange, Der magische Papyrus Harris, Copenhagen, 1927). 19 Joachim Friedrich Quack, “Kontinuität und Wandel in der spätägyptischen Magie,” SEL 15 (1998) 77-94, 89. 20 Graf, Magic, 5. 21 Geraldine Pinch, Magic in Ancient Egypt (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1995), 9, differentiates between the following types of magic in Egypt: funerary magic, ritual magic of the temples, and everyday magic; however, she concedes that magic was performed by priests. 22 See Robert Ritner, “Egyptian Magical Practice under the Roman Empire: the Demotic Spells and their Religious Context,” in ANRW, Vol. XX.2, 3333-3379, 3354. 23 Ant. 2:286. 24 Important Egyptian performers of magic included the sem (lector) priests. 25 In respect to Egypt, especially later, Roman Egypt, see Pinch, Magic, 49f.,58, and based upon her, David Frankfurter, “Ritual Expertise in Roman Egypt and the Problem of the Category ‘Magician,’” in Envisioning Magic: A Princeton Seminar and Symposium (ed. Peter Schäfer and Hans G. Kippenberg, Leiden: Brill, 1997) 115-136, 119f. 26 Zosimus of Panopolis (3rd-4th century C.E.) claimed that Egyptian priests were knowledgeable in alchemy. 27 Jan Assmann, “Magic and Theology in Ancient Egypt,” in Envisioning Magic, 1-18, 2, 3.

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For the purposes of this investigation, Egyptian magic in midrash is defined as the utilization of rituals that purport to take place in an Egyptian context or that are similar to Egyptian magic rites. Generally, a ritual recreates in the present, actions which happened in the past; thus, a magical rite that was successfully performed can be repeated with renewed force. We may define ritual as the language of religion; this definition applies even more to magic which is based to a large extent upon linguistic performance. 28 I suggest using a pragmatic approach to the appearance of Egyptian magic in midrash that is informed by semiotics. There seems to be a conflation of the discourses of religion and magic in midrashic texts; we may only speculate under which circumstances this occurred and if a rabbinic theory of magic was involved. Due to these factors, and because midrash seems to have incorporated Egyptian magical practices, I am applying my method of a cross-cultural reading of the texts from an Egyptological perspective focusing upon performative rites (magic) and the Horus-Osiris myth. The methods I have previously applied to Egyptian objects and ideas in Rabbinic texts include the following: (1) Comparative literature; 29 (2) Semiotics; 30 (3) Notions of Time and Space, based upon Ernst Cassirer, as well as some methods from the Frankfurt School of thought, such as the dialectical model of Theodor Adorno, and some theories of cultural identity expressed by Jürgen Habermas; 31 (4) Issues of iconography; 32 (5) Landscape 33 theory; (6) The organization of memory and the embodied fragments of memory. 34

28

Kern-Ulmer, “Depiction,” 293. Kern-Ulmer, “Zwischen ägyptischer Vorlage und talmudischer Rezeption: Josef und die Ägypterin,” Kairos 24/25 (1992/93) 75-90. 30 Ulmer, “The Divine Eye in Ancient Egypt and in the Midrashic Interpretation of Formative Judaism,” Journal of Religion and Society 5 (2003), 1-17. 31 “Visions of Egypt and the Land of Israel under the Romans: A Dialectical Relationship between History and Homiletic Midrash,” Frankfurter Judaistische Beiträge 33 (2006, forthcoming). 32 Ulmer, “Egyptian Cultural Icons in Rabbinic Literature: Cleopatra, Isis, and Serapis,” Henoch (forthcoming);” idem, “Visions of Egypt in Midrash: ‘Pharaoh’s Birthday’ and the ‘Nile Festival,’” in Isaac Kalimi and Peter Haas (eds.), Biblical Interpretation in Judaism and Christianity (Sheffield: T&T Clark International, 2006) 52-78. 33 Ulmer, “Visions of Egypt in Midrash: The Nile as the Landscape of the Other,” in Discussing Cultural Influences: Text, Context, and Non-Text in Rabbinic Judaism (Lanham, Md.: UPA, 2006) 193-234. 34 Ulmer, “Visions of Egypt in Midrash,” (papers presented at UCLA, 2005, and UC Berkeley, 2006). 29

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The Biblical Joseph, who, according to the Bible and midrash, experienced an extraordinary career in Egypt, was buried twice, in Egypt and in the Land of Israel. 35 At the time of the Exodus from Egypt, it is Moses 36 who is confronted with the task of finding the coffin of Joseph in Egypt, and Moses utilizes magic to raise the coffin. This is either improvised magic or magic based on oral and literary traditions with fixed formulae and utensils. The midrashic texts (s. Table 1) provide two separate legends in respect to Joseph’s coffin: 37 (1) Joseph in his coffin had a proper Egyptian burial; (2) Joseph’s coffin is located at the bottom of the river Nile. In particular, this latter motif is close to motifs extant in the Egyptian Osiris myth, since Osiris was buried in the Nile; additionally, the double burial of Joseph in Egypt and in the sacred earth of the Promised Land is reminiscent of the Egyptian god Osiris who was buried twice as well. The midrashic text in Exod. Rab. 20:19 reads:

™± ±²™ ³š  ±ª ™”¢ ±žš° ¬ªž¢ ¢ ¨¤¢ «œ¢ ²§ ¢ ¨¢©§ž 'ž¤ž ²§ ²« § ªž¥¢©š ±žš° ¢ž ž³ž™ ¦¢±žš° ¦¢¤¥§² £±œ¤ ±žš° ¢ ¨¢±¡¥­ £ž³š ™”¢ž “How did Moses know where Joseph was buried? Some said that Serah bat Asher showed him the place in the Nile where he was

35

Joseph’s death and the embalming of his corpse in Egypt is mentioned in Gen 50:24: And Joseph said to his brothers, I die; and God will surely visit you, and bring you out of this land to the land which he swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.25. And Joseph took an oath from the people of Israel, saying, God will surely visit you, and you shall carry up my bones from here.26. So Joseph died, being a hundred and ten years old; and they embalmed him, and he was put in a coffin in Egypt. Joseph’s burial in Canaan is mentioned in Josh 24: 32: And the bones of Joseph, which the people of Israel brought out of Egypt, buried they in Shechem, in a parcel of ground which Jacob bought from the sons of Hamor the father of Shechem for a hundred pieces of silver; and it became the inheritance of the sons of Joseph. However, the so-called “small Genesis” in Jub. 46:9 states that the Israelites brought out all the bones of Jacob’s sons except Joseph’s bones. Josephus, Ant. 2.195-200: the bones of Joseph were carried away to Canaan much later, when the Hebrews left Egypt. 36 Exod 13: 19 And Moses took the bones of Joseph with him; for he had solemnly sworn the people of Israel, saying, God will surely visit you; and you shall carry up my bones from here with you. 37 Joseph Heinemann, Agadot ve-toldotehen: ‘iyunium be-hishtashelutan shel mesorot (Jerusalem: Keter, 1974) 49-61, 49, adds a third version that is found in Samaritan texts.

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buried ... Others say that he was buried, like the kings, in a mausoleum.” 38

The midrashic textual unit about Joseph’s burial with the Egyptian kings refers to the royal “mausoleum;” the text witnesses 39of this passage contain different readings for this term, which may also be translated as “palace” or “capitol.” Whether this is supposedly Memphis or the necropolis on the Western Shore of the Nile in ancient Thebes or a more contemporary mausoleum in Roman Alexandria is left open. The specific location is irrelevant, because Joseph’s burial with the pharaohs merely emphasizes his importance in Egypt. 40 The first part of the midrashic narrative, namely that Joseph was “buried” in the Nile, is clearly reminiscent of the Egyptian Osiris myth. 41 The presence of the Osiris myth in midrashic texts has been recognized since the 19th century; 42 however, some of the earlier conclusions in respect to 38

In Midrash Rabbah (Vilna: Romm, 1938, repr.). Jacob Z. Lauterbach, ed & trans., Mekilta de Rabbi Ishmael: A Critical Edition on the Basis of the MSS and Early Editions … with an English Translation, Introduction and Notes (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 2004, repr.): ʯʩʬʥʨʩʴʷ, 177: editio princeps, Constantinople 1515: ʯʩʬʥʨʩʴʩʷʤ; 2nd edition, Venice 1545: ʯʩʬʥʱʥʴʩʷ; Mekhilta de-Rabbi Yishma’el (ed. Hayyim Shaul Horovitz and Yisrael Avraham Rabin, 2nd ed., Jerusalem, 1970), 78f., list similar differences. In regard to b. Sotah 13 “ʨʩʰʸʡʷ,” see Michael Sachs, Beitraege zur Sprach- und Alterthumsforschung: aus jüdischen Quellen, 2 pts. (Berlin: Veit, 1852-1854), pt. 1, 55, he emends “ʨʰʩʸʡʬ” (Labyrinth); this would place Joseph’s tomb in the Fayoum “labyrinth” of the Middle Kingdom. Test Simon 8:3 states that the bones of Joseph were kept in the tombs of the kings. 40 Osiris was also buried with the kings of Egypt, i. e., the early kings in Abydos. 41 “Visions of Egypt in Rabbinic Bible Interpretation” (paper presented at Society of Biblical Literature Annual Meeting, Session: Egyptology and Ancient Israel Section, Atlanta, 2003). 42 Jakob Horovitz, Die Josephserzählung (Frankfurt a. M.: Kauffmann, 1921), 125129, passim, presents a thorough investigation of the biblical Joseph in midrashic and related literature. Other interpreters of the coffin legend include: Bernard Heller, “Die Sage vom Sarge Josephs,” MGWJ 70 (1926) 271; idem, “Egyptian Elements in the Haggadah,” in Ignace Goldziher Memorial Volume, pt. I (ed. Samuel Löwinger and Joseph Somogyi, Budapest, 1948), 412-418, 414f. Moritz Güdemann, “Joseph-Osiris,” Religionsgeschichtliche Studien, Schriften des Israelitischen LiteraturVereins, 2 (Leipzig: Oskar Leiner, 1876) 26-40. Based upon the work of Güdemann, Joseph Heinemann, Agadot ve-toldotehen, 53, refers to the Osiris myth in very general terms in a short chapter about Joseph’s bones. James L. Kugel, In Potiphar’s House. The Interpretive Life of Biblical Texts (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard 39

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this topic need to be challenged and additional components have to be considered. Judah Goldin, 43 Gideon Bohak 44 and I have also referred to it 45 from the perspective of magic. 46 We thus find that in several midrashic texts remnants of the Osiris myth are applied to the recovery of Joseph’s bones and coffin, which are supposed to travel with the Israelites from Egypt to Canaan. 47 However, there are many variants and conflations of the so-called “Osiris myth” in ancient Egypt and in Greco-Roman antiquity. 48 University Press, 1990) 137, either ignores or rejects any Egyptian evidence; Kugel merely cites Güdemann and Heller. Arthur Marmorstein, “Egyptian Mythology and Babylonian Magic in Bible and Talmud,” in: Dissertationes in honorem dr. Eduardi Mahler ... (Budapest, 1937) 469-487, 470, assumes that a popular folk tale and magical elaborations were used in the midrashic legend. 43 Judah Goldin, “The Magic of Magic and Superstition,” in Aspects of Religious Propaganda in Judaism and Early Christianity (ed. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1976) 115-147. 44 Gideon Bohak, “Rabbinic Perspectives on Egyptian Religion,” Archiv für Religionsgeschichte 2 (2000) 215-231, 220f. 45 “Visions of Historical Egypt and Homiletic Midrash” (paper presented at the British Association of Jewish Studies Conference, Oxford, England, 2004); “Visions of Egyptian Magic in Midrash” (paper presented at the International Society of Biblical Literature/European Association of Biblical Studies, Groningen, The Netherlands, 2004). 46 Heinemann, Agadot ve-toldotehen, does not mention any magical activity; he utilizes the term “miracle working” in regard to Moses, 49. 47 Tanʘ., printed edition, Beshallah 2:5; Eqev 6:5 (Midrash Tanh̙uma, ed. Hanokh Zundel, repr. Jerusalem, 1974; A. Kensky, Tanhuma ha-nidpas (Ph. D. Diss., The Jewish Theological Seminary, New York, 1990); Mek. de-Rabbi Yishmael, Beshallaʘ, Petihta (ed. Horovitz/Rabin); Deut. Rab. 11:5 (Vilna: Romm, 1887); Pesiqta de-Rav Kahana 11:5 (ed. Dov Mandelbaum, 2 vols., New York, 1962); Midrash Petirat Moshe in Bet ha-Midrash (ed. A. Jellinek, Jerusalem, 1967, 3rd ed.), vol. 1, 115-116; Midrash Shir ha-Shirim (ed. E. Halevi Grünhut Jerusalem, 1981), 13ab; Midrash Agadah (ed. S. Buber, Vienna, 1893, repr. Jerusalem, 1961) 13; Pesiq. Rab. Kah. 11; Pesiqta Zutarta (Midrash Lekahҕ Tov [ed. S.Buber, Vienna, 1884] on Exod. 13:19; Midrash Petҕirat Moshe, Bet Ha-Midrash, vol. 1, 115; Divre Ha-yamim shel Moshe, Bet-Ha Midrash, vol. 2, 10-11; Pereq R. Yoshiahu, Bet Ha-midrash, vol. 6, 112-113 (and the reprinted texts of these midrashic works in Otzar Midrashim [ed. J. D. Eisenstein, New York: 1956]); Midrash Ha-Gadol, Bereshit (ed. Mordecai Margulies, Jerusalem: Mosad Harav Kook, 1975) on Gen 50:24; Yalq. Shim’oni Beshallahҕ 226 and passim; Sotah 4:7 (ed. Saul Lieberman, New York, 1955; ed. Zuckermandel, 299-300) and the version in b. Sotah 13a; Bereshit Rabbati

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If we examine the elements of the Osiris myth, we find that the major motifs are extant in the Pyramid texts, 49 the oldest written Egyptian documents (3rd millennia BCE), Osiris’ son, Horus, together with Isis and Nephthys, Osiris’ sisters, search for the body of Osiris who has been murdered. Horus finds his father and is able to revive him; “To say it is Horus; he is come to reclaim his father, Osiris N. ...” (Pyr. T., 1335a). The god Osiris experienced a complicated development in many different locations. Originally, Osiris was a god who represented the fertility of the earth, but many attributes of other gods were attached to him as well. 50 His cult in Busiris in the Nile delta merged forms of a local god from ‘Andjety with Osiris. Osiris rivaled Ra of On (Heliopolis); Osiris became a member of the original nine Egyptian gods (psd .t-ntrw) as the son of Geb and Nut; thus, he also emerged as the brother of Isis, 51 Nephthys and Seth. Additionally, the falcon-bodied Horus became Osiris’ son. In Memphis Osiris was syncretized with Sokaris and eventually with Ptah. Here the features of the Osiris myth which related to his kingdom on earth became dominant, while simultaneously he became the god of the dead. In Abydos Osiris gradually suppressed Chontamenti, the “prime among the Western beings,” as the god of the dead and the necropolis. 52

(Jerusalem, 1967), Va-yehi, 264; Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Exod 13:19, Gen 50:26. Table 1 has a list pertaining to the narrative in different texts. 48 J. Gwyn Griffiths, Plutarch’s De Iside et Osiride: Edited with an Introduction, Translation and Commentary (Cambridge: University of Wales Press, 1970) works with the variants of the Egyptian myths that relate to Osiris, Isis, and Horus in order to discover Plutarch’s sources; for example, Griffiths mentions that Plutarch used sources of extremely varied chronological origin, 38. 49 However, these texts do not offer a coherent mythology because they are performatory texts and as such consist of spells to be recited by the deceased king [pharaoh]. The texts are found in several pyramids and they were published in Kurt Sethe, Übersetzung und Kommentar der Altägyptischen Pyramidentexte (Glückstadt: J. J. Augustin, 1935-62); Raymond O. Faulkner (transl.), The Ancient Pyramid Texts (Oxford, 1968). 50 See J. Gwyn Griffiths, The Origins of Osiris and his Cult (Leiden: Brill, 1980); Jan Bergman, Ich bin Osiris: Studien zum Memphitischen Hintergrund der Griechischen Isisaretalogien (Uppsala, 1968). 51 LÄ III, 203, s.v. “Isis;” and IV, 623-633, s.v. “Osiris.” 52 Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 33, states: “At the time when Plutarch wrote his book, the god Osiris and his circle had been worshipped for two and a half millennia.”

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Plutarch composed the most elaborate version of the Osiris myth. 53 According to the myth in Plutarch, Isis and Osiris descend to earth to civilize Egypt, domesticating animals and raising crops. Isis and Osiris are so successful in civilizing Egypt, i.e., the people of the Nile valley, that Osiris goes away to teach the rest of the world to be civilized. 54 At this juncture in the myth, we may observe the concept of the diffusion of civilization from Egypt to other lands. While Osiris is away, Seth tries to do harm to Egypt. However, Isis, the sister-wife of Osiris, is very powerful, because she is in possession of magic; her epithet is “she who knows all the names.” 55 This means that she knows the “secret” names of humans, as e.g., the Egyptian king’s secret name. Isis is able to control her evil brother, Seth, through magic spells, and as a result Egypt is protected from disaster. Eventually, Osiris returns; however, Seth is always scheming. While Osiris is sleeping Seth takes his physical measurements and he builds a wooden chest to Osiris’ exact proportions (resulting in an anthropoid coffin). At a banquet Seth tricks Osiris and promises a prize to anyone who exactly fits into this chest; guest after guest tries, but it does not fit. Finally Osiris tries and it fits him, but Seth nails the chest shut, pours molten lead on the coffin and throws it into the Nile. 56 Osiris dies in the chest. It is 53

Plutarch, Is. Os. (Moralia, vol. V., transl. Frank Cole Babbitt, LCL), mainly in chs. 12-20. Although Plutarch had based his work on literary works relating to Egypt, he changed and added Greek motifs and interpreted the myth; see Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 48, who writes: “By way of contrast, many of his interpretations are intensely Greek, and they derive principally from two traditions, the Neo-Platonic and the Stoic.” Additionally, there are Gnostic as well as Iranian elements in Plutarch. 54 According to Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 53, this is a reflection of a Hellenistic image of Dionysus. 55 For example, Papyrus Turin, 133, 1 (and Papyrus Chester Beatty, 11). 56 Plutarch, Is. Os. (LCL), 13.356C: “Then Osiris got into it and lay down, and those who were in the plot ran to it and slammed down the lid, which they fastened by nails from the outside and also by molten lead. Then they carried the chest to the river and sent it on its way to the sea through the Tanitic Mouth. Wherefore the Egyptians even to this day name this mouth hateful and execrable.” Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 311, mentions that “[t]he detail of the Plutarchean episode is not, however, paralleled.” Nevertheless, Griffiths continues to enumerate related Egyptian motifs; Papyrus Harris 8,9-9,14, concerning a giant entering a shrine of certain measurements; Pyramid Texts, 184a-b, state that Osiris is “He who is in the chest …;” furthermore, Griffiths states: “The story recorded in Plutarch recalls depictions of the god in or on a sarcophagus…” (ibid.)

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noteworthy that there was no contradiction involved in someone being a god and dying in ancient Egypt. The Nile flows northwards toward the Mediterranean and carries the chest along. The chest washes ashore in Byblos; 57 and it is blown by a storm into the branches of a tree. 58 The tree grows to tremendous proportions, encompassing the chest in the trunk. The King of Byblos plans to build a palace and he needs large trees for pillars and roof beams, and this tree is cut down and incorporated into the palace. It becomes a pillar, but Isis, the devoted wife of Osiris, sets out on a journey to recover his body. She finds out where Osiris is located. Isis works as the handmaiden of the queen of Byblos 59 and speaks to the queen and explains that Osiris is in the pillar of the palace. The queen lends her ear to Isis and the pillar is cut down. The dead Osiris is in the pillar. Isis brings the body back to Egypt for proper burial, but Seth, who is always scheming, finds the body. He finds the properly buried body of Osiris, cuts it into fourteen (Papyrus Jumilhac: twelve) pieces, 60 and scatters them up and down the Nile. Isis searches for the body parts. There are different places where the pieces are buried. Isis, wanting to give her husband a proper burial, finds the pieces with the help of her sister, Nephthys. 61 According to Plutarch, they find almost all of the pieces of Osiris; however, the phallus is missing. 62 It had been thrown into the Nile and was devoured by three fish. Isis reassembles the body, and fashions an artificial phallus for Osiris. 63 However, according to Papyrus Jumilhac, 64 the phallus of Osiris is discovered. Isis is able to reverse the decay of Osiris’ body, and she uses magical spells

57

Although one would expect that this element in the myth is a later interpolation, Hellmut Brunner, “Osiris in Byblos,” Revue d’Égyptologie 27 (1975) 3740, finds hints at this location in earlier Egyptian texts, dating well before Plutarch. Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 54, 321, discusses some of the motifs in Plutarch that may be considered as “un-Egyptian embellishments.” 58 Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 322f. discusses this tree (“Erica”). 59 See Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 326. 60 Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 55, 339, emphasizes the Egyptian origin of this motif. 61 Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 256, Isis is known for her wisdom and her magic powers. 62 Is. Os., 17.357F. 63 Plutarch, Is. Os. (ed. Griffiths in idem, Plutarch’s), 18, 358B. In addition, for resurrection the body had to be complete, even if artificial limbs had to be made by the embalmers. 64 Papyrus Jumilhac, 4.20 (ed. J. Vandier, 1962). This papyrus from the GrecoRoman period contains among other myths the Osiris myth as it was known in a local variant in Upper Egypt.

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and breathes life into Osiris. 65 There are many scenes in Egyptian temples 66 depicting Isis taking the form of a bird, hovering over her husband. Osiris is “resurrected” (i.e., revived), and as the resurrected one he becomes the god of the dead. Many Egyptian funerary beliefs may be traced to this myth, in particular to the motif of the mourning of Isis and her sister, Nephthys. 67 It is crucial to Isis to recover the body and bury it on Egyptian soil; there is something special about Egyptian soil. Nobody wanted to die outside of Egypt; the deceased were brought back to Egypt, mummified, and buried. In addition, there seemed to have been the belief that there was a container for the body that was going to preserve it; every human being had that special coffin. If the body was complete and buried in Egyptian soil, then, like Osiris, a person would be resurrected and enter the next world. 68 Thus, a coffin was the most important and most consistent item of funerary equipment in Egypt. The myth continues in various ways in the different textual traditions; Osiris has a son, Horus, 69 who battles his evil uncle, Seth; 70 in Plutarch, the

65

Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 63, states: “The joyous reaction to the finding of Osiris and to his revival after death is amply evident in Egyptian texts of all periods.” 66 For example, in Abydos. See also Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 328, and the discussion of Isis as a bird. 67 The mourning of Isis and Nephthys is also found in the Pyramid Texts, 1280cf.: “Isis bewail thy brother! Nephthys, bewail thy brother!” This motif was part of the Greco-Roman descriptions of Isis and it was reenacted in public performances (cf. Apuleius, Metam., 11) 68 The belief that human beings were to be resurrected as gods, specifically Osiris, was “still alive when Christianity took root in the Nile Valley” (Christian Cannuyer, Coptic Egypt: The Christians of the Nile [New York: Abrams, 2001] 12); in respect to Osiris in Coptic Egypt see also Claus Wessel, Coptic Art (transl. from the German by Jean Carroll and Sheila Hutton, New York: McGraw-Hill, 1965) 93. 69 Hermann Kees, Horus und Seth als Götterpaar, 2 vols. (Leipzig, 1923-24), v. 1, 89. Horus also continued in different appearances into Coptic Egypt; for example, the representations of Jesus standing on crocodiles in the Alexandrian funeral niches which is a Christianizing interpretation of the god Horus (see Alexander Badawy, Coptic Art and Archaeology: the Art of the Christian Egyptians from the Late Antique to the Middle Ages [Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1978], 20). There are depictions of Horus and Thot drawn in the (ancient) Egyptian composite projection (idem, 230f.), Tomb chapel at Hermopolis West, 11 C.E. 70 The filial piety of Horus is “on solid Egyptian ground” (Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 55).

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brother of Osiris is named Typhon 71 and Harpocrates, not Horus, was born after the death of Osiris. 72 One of the important messages that is conveyed in the battle is that Horus defeats Seth; however, two important events take place: Horus’ eye is taken out in the battle, but it is magically regenerated. In the Pyramid texts (591b) the myth is presented in reverse order: (1) in a conflict between Horus and Seth, Horus lost his eye; after his eye has been restored, Horus presents the healed eye to the dead king (pharaoh); (2) Osiris is identified with the dead king and Seth becomes the enemy of Osiris; (3) Isis and Nephthys are searching for Osiris. 73 Although Horus defeats Seth, he does not kill him. On a wall of the Temple in Edfu, a hippopotamus that represents a form that Seth has taken 74 is shown on a very small scale compared to the figure of Horus who spears Seth. The idea behind this depiction may be that by reducing evil it becomes limited, which is a magical practice. In my opinion, a superior understanding of the elements of the Osiris myth as found in midrashic texts would not only rely upon the version in Plutarch but also explore earlier, 75 albeit scattered, Egyptian versions of the myth. 76 Mainly a single detail in several of the midrashic texts, Joseph’s

71

Additionally, Nephthys is the wife of Typhon, but is impregnated by Osiris; she abandons the boy because she is afraid of Typhon. Isis together with Anubis searches for the child; Plutarch, Is. Os., 12-19, 38f.; see J. Gwyn Griffiths, The Conflict of Horus and Seth from Egyptian and Classical Sources; a Study in Ancient Mythology (Liverpool, 1960) 101. 72 Plutarch, Is. Os. (LCL), 19, 358D: “Typhon formally accused Horus of being an illegitimate child, but with the help of Hermes to plead his cause it was decided by the gods that he also was legitimate. Typhon was then overcome in two other battles. Osiris consorted with Isis after his death, and she became the mother of Harpocrates, untimely born and week in his lower limbs.” 73 See Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 34. 74 Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 52, mentions that in Plutarch (50, 371D) Typhon changes into a crocodile; this may be seen as an Egyptianizing tendency in Plutarch. 75 Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 103f.: “Although [Plutarch] was writing a little before A.D. 120 at a time when demotic had long been in use and less than a century before the emergence of Coptic, all Plutarch’s allusions to written modes are to hieroglyphic, and his etymologies and derivations seem often to involve a much earlier phase of language than that current in his own day.” 76 I would prefer to refer to the versions as “cycles,” because they are part of myths that focus upon different heroes and locations; in respect to the Temple in Dendera, see Horst Beinlich, “Zwei Osirishymnen,” ZÄS 122 (1995), 5-30, who

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metal coffin, resembles Plutarch’s elaborations of the myth, 77 although some Egyptian funerary shrines were coverd in metal (gold). Generally, the midrashic texts are closest to the Egyptian Horus myth which we find partially on the walls of the ambulatory of the Temple in Edfu (early 1st century B.C.E.) 78 (fig. 2) and in Papyrus Jumilhac (Greco-Roman period). The problems of identifying any Egyptian model of the Osiris myth in midrash are multiplied by the fact that the Egyptians did not have a canonized body of religious texts and that religious ideas were spread through a multitude of texts over many centuries. However, the Osiris myth was ancient and it was wide-spread in the Greco-Roman era, 79 probably because in Egypt the Osiris cult spread after the New Kingdom, in particular from the 22nd dynasty 80 onwards, with many local shrines. 81 The different Osiris tombs were venerated until the 4th century C.E. 82 If we review the literary elements of the Osiris myth and the literary elements of the midrashic texts in respect to Joseph’s burial we may perceive certain similarities. In midrashic texts, Joseph in his coffin was thrown into the Nile by the Egyptians or more specifically by the Egyptian magicians. In the Osiris myth, Osiris is trapped by his brother Seth in a coffin which is enclosed in lead before it is thrown into the Nile. The midrashic texts frequently mention that Joseph’s coffin was made of lead or metal before it was thrown into the Nile by the magicians. One late version of the midrashic legend 83 states that the Egyptian magicians sealed Joseph’s coffin on its four corners. In at least one Egyptian version of the Osiris myth preserved in Papyrus Jumilhac the god Osiris was said to have been drowned in the Nile; Griffiths mentions that in later periods “death by drowning was translates the texts on the roof that mention many Egyptian nomes, e.g., Heliopolis, Busiris , etc. 77 See Table 1. 78 Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 38, states: “Egyptian temple inscriptions of the Ptolemaic era … are linguistically archaic and may well incorporate much earlier traditions.” 79 Papyrus Oxyrhynchus XI. 1380 contains an Isis hymn that shows elements from the Osiris myth; see also Diodorus, Hist., I, 13-27. 80 945-715 B.C.E. 81 Marco Zecchi, A Study of the Egyptian God Osiris Hemag, Archeologia e Storia della civiltà egiziana e del vicino oriente antico, 1 (Imola: Editrice la mandragora, 1996) 82 For example, the Temple in Philae and the Osireion in Abydos. Originally, there may have been one burial place (Abydos). The burial of Osiris in different places is mentioned and documented by Griffiths, Plutarch’s, 340f. 83 Petirat Moshe, Bet Ha-midrash, 1, 115.

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blessed because it was like the death of Osiris.” 84 A water ritual 85 showed Osiris’ recovered body being carried by Seth. One magical technique that might be applied to the midrashic story is hydromancy; 86 after all, Moses is attempting to locate Joseph and his coffin in the water of the Nile and Moses is casting magical paraphernalia into the Nile. Moses’ action is somewhat similar to the Egyptian water ritual; 87 additionally, Moses is said to have carried Joseph’s coffin on his back out of Egypt just as Seth carried Osiris. It is also possible that the funerary rite of carrying the coffin of the deceased in a boat on the Nile was involved in the Egyptian Osiris myth. Osiris’ body is being borne by a ship to its funeral and Joseph’s coffin floats on the Nile. Alternatively, the floating on the water could refer to Osiris in the so-called “floating” position (fig. 3), 88 which is assumed by him after the application of magic. The Egyptian king is identified with Osiris in the funerary cult. Thus, Horus, the son of Osiris, was the living king 89 and the father, Osiris, was the dead king. The major episode in the Osirian myth is the revivication of the dead god. In the midrashic texts, Joseph is the dead leader and Moses is the living leader. It is noteworthy that neither Osiris nor Joseph were truly resurrected. 90 Osiris continued as the god of the dead and Joseph was to be reburied. 91 Depositing the coffin in the Nile according to the text in Devarim Rabbah 92 adds the element that this was done because of the Nile as a source of fruitfulness for the land. This is expanded in the Talmudic version: “[But 84

Griffiths, Origins, 9. Griffiths, Origins, 160. 86 Goldin, “Magic,” 126, mentions that hydromancy would require that a stone be cast into the sea and that counting take place; this type of magic would be ruled out by the rabbis because it would resemble the forbidden ways of the “Amorites.” 87 In Exod. Rab. 1:18 the Egyptian astrologers predict that Israel’s savior would be drowned in water. 88 For example in the late temples at Dendera and Philae, see Trygge N.D. Mettinger, “Dying and Rising Gods” in the Ancient Near East (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2001) 173. 89 Griffiths, Origins, 3. 90 Osiris became the god of the netherworld; he did not return to the land of the living. 91A comparisons of Joseph to the Egyptian or Greco-Roman god, Serapis, is found in b. ‘Abod. Zar. 42a; additionally, Isis is compared to Eve (see Ulmer, “Cleopatra”). 92 See also Yal. Shim’oni, Beshallaʘ227; Ve-zot ha-berakhah 965. 85

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how did Moses] know where Joseph was buried? It is told that Seraʘ bat Asher was a survivor of that generation. Moses went to her and asked: ‘Do you know where Joseph was buried?’ She said to him,’ The Egyptians made a metal coffin for him and cast it into the river Nile in order to bless its waters’ ...” (b. Sotah 13a) The rising of the coffin is compared to the sprouting of a “stalk of reed”œ ™ ©°¤ ³ž§ž³ ¨§ ¥ž«ž «­«­§ ¬ªž¢ ¥² ž©ž±™. The “stalk” of reed is also a strong hint at Osiris, because the connection between life after death and the sprouting of plants as well as the agricultural cycle is best seen in this Egyptian god of the dead, 93 Osiris, who was also the god of vegetation and was frequently painted green; 94 moreover Osiris is depicted with plants sprouting from his mummy, because he was closely associated with germinating grain (fig. 4). 95 Deut. Rab. 11:7 96 “And why did Moses merit that the Holy One, Blessed be He, should busy Himself with his burial? Because when He went down to Egypt and the time for the redemption of Israel had come, all Israel were busy (gathering) silver and gold, but Moses was walking through the city, and for three days and nights he was trying to locate Joseph’s coffin, since the Israelites could not leave Egypt without Joseph. Why? Because he bound them by oath before his death, as it is said, And Joseph took an oath of the children of Israel saying, etc. (Gen. 50:25). When Moses had become extremely tired, Seraʘ bat Asher met him and seeing that he was tired she said to him: My lord Moses, why are you tired? He said: For three days and nights I have been walking through the city to locate Joseph’s coffin, but I cannot find it. She said to him: Come, I will show you where it is. She brought him to the river and said to him: This is the place where the magicians and astrologers made a coffin of five hundred talents for him and cast it into the river; they said to Pharaoh: If it is your wish that this people should never leave, then as long as they will not find the bones of Joseph, they will be unable to leave. Immediately Moses placed himself by the bank of the river and shouted: Jo93

Coffin texts; 3:744 (R.O. Faulkner, The Ancient Egyptian Coffin Texts, 3 vols., [Warminster, 1973-1978]). 94 See, e.g., the paintings in the Tomb of Horemhab, Valley of the Kings. 95 E.g., in a vignette in Papyrus Jumilhac and in the Philae Temple (fig.4, Sprouting Osiris, Philae Temple, source: Kurt Aram, Magie und Zauberei in der Alten Welt, 1927, 233). 96 Bereshit Rabbati, Va-yeʘi, 264, has a slightly embellished version of this midrash).

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seph, Joseph, you know how you swore to Israel, God will surely remember you (Gen. 50:25); honor the God of Israel and do not delay the redemption of Israel; you have good deeds to your credit. Intercede with your Creator and come up from the depths. Immediately Joseph’s coffin began to break through the water and to rise from the depths like a stalk of reed. Moses took it and placed it upon his shoulder and carried it, and all Israel followed him. And while the Israelites carried the silver and gold which they had taken away from Egypt, Moses was carrying Joseph’s coffin. The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to him: Moses, you say that you have done a small thing; by your life, this act of kindness is a great thing; since you ignored the silver and the gold, I will do unto you this kindness in that I will busy Myself with your burial.” 97

Seraʘ bat Asher appears in several texts relating to the retrieval of Joseph’s coffin; it is not plausible to compare her to either Isis or Nephthys of the Osiris myth. 98 The above passage may reflect the idea of the Biblical Exodus report that Moses is more powerful than the Egyptian “magicians” (embalmers), and additionally that Moses can “undo” their magic by performing neutralizing water rituals. Midrash follows the Biblical example of equating the ʚartumim (embalmers) with magicians, but adds the term “astrologers,” a more Romanized term. 99 One element in the Osiris myth is the seeking and finding of the deceased. In midrash, this may be accompanied by the fear of abandoning an ancestor, as exemplified by leaving Joseph’s 97

Another midrashic passage points out that Moses carried boards for the construction of the future Temple, while the Israelites carried gold and silver (Gen. Rab. 94:4). 98 However, Moritz Güdemann, “Mythenmischung in der Hagada,” MGWJ 5 (1876) 177-195; 6 (1876) 225-231; 7 (1876) 255-261, 231, compares Seraʘ bat Asher to Isis and offers an etymology of the name ʸʹʠ; according to him, the name is based upon “Osiris” (“the daughter of Asher” thus becomes “the daughter of Osiris”). 99 In respect to the meaning of the biblical term, see Jan Quaegebeur, “On the Equivalent of Biblical Hartummim,” in Pharaonic Egypt, the Bible, and Christianity (ed. Sarah Israelit-Groll, Jerusalem, 1985) 162-172. Reinhold Merkelbach, “Diodor über das Totengericht der Ägypter,” ZÄS 120 (1993) 71-84, mentions the travels of Diodor through Egypt in 56 B.C.E.; the embalmers were artisans that would be classified as ƣƱơƬƬơƴƥƽƲ (the supervisor), ƴơƱơƳƷƟƯƴƧƲ (the cutter, who opened the body), and ƴơƱƩƷƥƵƴơƟ (the one responsible for preserving the mummy), 73; Reinhold Merkelbach, “Porphyrion über das Totengericht der Ägypter,” ZÄS 127 (2000) 181-182, has further additions to the judgment scenes.

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bones in Egypt. The rabbis give a new meaning to the Osiris myth by envisioning a proper burial for Joseph. The appeal of Moses to Joseph to rise from the Nile is similar to the appeal of Isis, 100 the wife of Osiris, for her husband to rise. Isis used magic incantations to revive Osiris, e.g., “I am Isis, the goddess, the possessor of magic, who performs magic ...” 101 Moses also used magic to raise Joseph’s coffin. The conviction that Moses was a magician 102 was wide-spread in antiquity. 103 Pliny the Elder even defines a school of magic related to Moses, namely Jannes, Lotapes and “the” Jews. 104 In Acts of the Apostles it is stated: “So Moses was instructed in all the wisdom of the Egyptians and was pow100

The Isis cult continued into Coptic Egypt; see Wessel, Coptic Art ..., 93, 99. Metternich Stela. C. F. Sander-Hanssen, Die Texte der Metternichstele (Copenhagen, 1956). 102 See, for example, Graf, Magic, 5ff.; Georg Luck, Magie und andere Geheimlehren in der Antike (Stuttgart: Kröner, 1990) 14, 53. 103 John G. Gager, Moses in Greco-Roman Paganism (Nashville: Abingdon, 1972; SBLMS, 16); see also idem, “Moses the Magician: Hero of an Ancient CounterCulture?” Helios 21 (1994) 179-188. 104 Nat. 30.2.11 (Pliny, Natural History, W. H. S. Jones, LCL); this passage also mentions Jannes and Lotapes. In regard to Pliny, see, Stephen Gero, “The Enigma of the Magician Lotapes (Pliny, Nat. 30.11),” JStJ 27 (1996) 304-323; Charles C. Torrey, “The Magic of ‘Lotapes,’” JBL 68 (1949) 325-327. In midrash, the chief magicians accompanying Pharaoh are called Yoʘaney and Mamre (Exod. Rab. 9:6; compare b. Menaʘ 85a); Pharaoh’s magicians were among the mixed multitude joining the Israelites (Tanʘ, printed edition, Ki Tissa 19); thus, Egyptian magic followed the Israelites during the Exodus. Pharaoh’s magicians, who competed against Moses, are mentioned in 2 Tim 3:8.This idea continues into different texts, e.g., Eusebius, Ev., 9.8, supposedly relying upon Artapanus, mentions that these magicians were able to overcome the disease that Moses allegedly brought upon the Egyptians; Origen, Comm. Matt. 27:9 (Origenes Matthäuserklärung [ed. E. Klostermann, Leipzig, 1933]) mentions them as well. Origen, Contra Celsum, 1.26, implies that Moses was a teacher of magic. The Apocryphon of Jannes and Jambres tells the Exodus story from an Egyptian perspective in a retrospective account dating to the Greco-Roman period. When Jannes was called to Pharaoh, he matched the feats of Moses; see Albert Pietersma, The Apocryphon of Jannes and Jambres the Magicians: P. Chester Beatty XVI (with new Editions of Papyrus Vindobonensis Greek inv. 29456+ 29828 verso and British Library Cotton Tiberius B.v.f. 87), Religions in the Greco-Roman World, 119 (Leiden: Brill, 1994). Pietersma provides a list and a discussion of the different names of these magicians, 38f., in Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek and Latin. 101

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erful in his words and acts.” 105 This recognizes that Moses had magical powers and presupposes his Egyptian education; similarly, Jesus is thought to have received his education as a magician in Egypt. 106 That Moses was one of the most powerful magicians is claimed by Apuleius. 107 The Egyptian god Thot, who possessed magical powers, in the form of ThotHermes 108 or Hermes Trismegistus, was occasionally identified with Moses as well. 109 Moses is mentioned in the Greek Magical Papyri 110 (e.g., 105

Acts 7:22. Philo, Mos.1.6 mentions that Moses received an Egyptian education in science, art, and philosophy. The power of Egyptian magic is acknowledged in Philo, 1.92; Josephus, Ant. 2.284. Among the numerous passages asserting that Moses was educated in Egypt, Philo, Mos. 1.21, specifically mentions that Moses learned Hieroglyphs and both “Chaldean and Egyptian astrology” (1.24). See Louis H. Feldman, “Philo’s View of Moses’ Birth and Upbringing,” CBQ 64 (2002) 258-281; and idem, “Josephus’ Portrait of Moses,” JQR 82 (1991-92) 285-328; 83 (1992-93) 7-50, 301-30. See the “instruction” received by Moses in Ezekiel the Tragedian (3rd/2nd century BCE), Exagoge 36-38 in Ton Hilhorst, “‘And Moses was Instructed in All the Wisdom of the Egyptians’ (Acts 7.22),” in The Wisdom of Egypt: Jewish, Early Christian and Gnostic Essays in Honour of Gerard P. Luittikhuizen (ed. Anthony Hilhorst and George H. Van Kooten, Leiden: Brill, 2005) 153-176, 162. 106 Origen, Cels., 1:28, in the words of Celsus; Morton Smith, Jesus the Magician (New York: Harper and Row, 1978), 93. 107Apol., 90 (Apuleius, R. Helm, ed., Apologia, Bibliotheca Teuberiana, Leipzig); in comparison to Jannes. 108 Artapanus in Eusebius, Ev., 9:27.3. This extended also into Syriac literature, e.g., Michael the Syrian. See also Luck, Magie, 57. Gerard Mussies, “The interpretatio Judaica of Thot-Hermes,” in M. Heerma Van Voss, D. J. Hoens, G. Mussies, et al. (eds.), Studies in Egyptian Religion Dedicated to Professor Jan Zandee (Leiden: Brill, 1982) 89-120, refers to Eupolemus in Eusebius, Ev., 9:17,9. One may note that Mussies found many similarities between Moses and Thot in addition to their supposed authorship of magical writings, e.g., 110, Thot came forth from the Nile (as represented in the Book of the Dead). 109 Hermetica, 1st-4th century C.E. (ed. Walter Scott, Hermetica. The Ancient Greek and Latin Writings which contain Religious or Philosophic Teachings Ascribed to Hermes Trismegistus (Boulder: Hermes House, 1982); Garth Fowden, The Egyptian Hermes: A Historical Approach to the Late Pagan Mind (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986) 23. 110 The Greek Magical Papyri in Translation (ed. Hans Dieter Betz, Chicago, 1986). According to Assmann, “Magic and Theology ...,” 17, “the magical discourse of the greco-egyptian papyri is fundamentally different from that of the traditional

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XIII.1060); the Papyri include a book of instruction in magic ascribed to Moses. 111 In addition to the visions from late antiquity of Moses as a magician knowledgeable in the Egyptian mysteries, the Bible portrays Moses as a magician, 112 in particular as a magician, who had power over the Nile. This is presupposed in the midrashim that refer to the retrieval of Joseph’s coffin from the Nile. There is no attempt in the midrashic texts about the coffin legend to relate Moses to other late antique practitioners of magic, 113 including those that are mentioned in talmudic literature. There is no further development in the midrashic portrayal of Moses as a magician. Moses simply performs rituals that are common in Egyptian magic. An analysis of the magical elements in the midrashic passages from an Egyptian perspective would include the following: incantations, pebbles, sticks, tablets, pottery, and dogs. Pesiq. Rab. Kah. 11, Vayehi beshallaʘ (Mandelbaum ed., 187-188) reads:

¥¤² ²§ ¥² ž š² «¢œž¥ ’ž¤ž... ž§« ¬ªž¢ ³ž§¯« ³™ ²§  °¢ž  °¢ž ’³¤œ ™¢ ’œ ¬ªž¢ ³ž§¯«š °žª« ²§ž Ÿ¢šš ¨¢°žª« ’±²¢ © §š ž§¢« ¨© ž¢ ±”™ ž§« ™ž § ž§« ¬ªž¢ ³ž§¯« ³™ ²§ ±²™ ³š  ±² ž±§™ ±žš° ¬ªž¢ ¢ ¨¤¢™ ²§¥ «¢œž ¢§ ¢ž¥ £¥ ±žš° ¬ªž¢ ±© ªž¥¢©š ²§ ²§¥ ±§™ ±žœ ž³ž™š ³¢ «² «¢› ¬ªž¢ ¬ªž¢ ±§™ž ±© ªž¥¢© ¥« ž¥ œ§«ž ²§ ... ž¢©š ³™ ¥™ž› ”š°² Egyptian sources,” because they reflect domestic applications of magic. However, Daniel Sperber, “Some Rabbinic Themes in Magical Papyri,” JStJ 16 (1985) 93-103, did find similarities to Jewish magic in some papyri; see also Dieter Betz, “Jewish Magic in the Greek Magical Papyri,” in Envisioning Magic, 45-63. 111 PGM 7:620; Graf, Magic, 6, mentions this didache of Moses, (the Anastasi papyrus) in addition to the Eighth Book of Moses from the mid 4th century which is found in the Anastasi papyrus, 6, see also Morton Smith, “The Eighth Book of Moses and How it Grew (PLeid. J 395),” in Shaye Cohen (ed.), Studies in the Cult of Yahweh, 2 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 1996) 27-226. 112 Moses and his brother, Aaron, are viewed as possessing magical powers in Exod 7:9-12, 20-22; 8:2-3; 13-14. See A. Hermann, “Der Nil und die Christen,” JAC 5 (1959) 30-70, 44, who mentions Moses’ magical powers over the Nile; Scott B Noegel, “Moses and Magic: Notes on the Book of Exodus,” Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society 24 (1997) 45-59; John Van Seters, “A contest of magicians? The Plague stories in P.,” in David P. Wright, David Noel Freedman, and Avi Hurvitz (eds.), Pomegranates and Golden Bells; Studies in Biblical, Jewish, and Near Eastern Ritual, Law, and Literature in Honor of Jacob Milgrom (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1995) 569-580. 113 Such as blood-letters (b. Git. 69a) and barbers (Eccl. Rab. 1:22).

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¦™ £¥ ¨¢š¤ž«§ œžš¤ ¢©©« £¥ ’¢š¤ž«§ ’±²¢ £¥ ³š¤ž«§ ©¢¤² ž©¢³žš™ ³™ ³«š²² «žš²§ ¦¢¢°© ž©™ ¢± £§¯« ³™ «¢œž§ ... ¬ªž¢ ¥² ž©ž±™ ¬¯ œ¢§ “Moses went and took the bones of Joseph with him (Ex. 13:19). Moses went and stood over the river Nile and said: Joseph, Joseph the time has come that the Holy One, Blessed be He, will redeem his children ...”

The wording “Moses stood over the river” recalls the midrashic reading of Gen. 41:1, in which Pharaoh is standing over the river, meaning that he had power over the Nile (and the supposed Nile god). 114 This Pharaonic posture is ascribed to Moses. Moses calls out the name of Joseph twice. Doubling words could be a magical repetition; it is attested in the Magical Papyri. In the context of resurrection it is mentioned in the Babylonian Talmud 115 that naming is a means of raising the dead from their tombs. Many magic spells in the Magical Papyri describe how to make a god appear and respond to questioning; this may be compared to the rebukes and questions that Moses addresses to the dead Joseph in the Nile. The questioning by Moses may also incidentally represent the Egyptian idea of the dead as merely sleeping at the location of the burial. 116 Drowning in the Nile assigned a sacred, divine status to the dead in Egypt; it was common practice to mention these drowned people in magic spells. Another aspect of Moses’ adjuration of Joseph is that it contains an accusation of “sins” against the Israelites. 117 Similar accusations are found in renditions of the Egyptian scenes concerning the judgment of the dead. 118 If Joseph does not rise, he will impede the future redemption of Israel. If the coffin story is considered to include the element of raising the dead, the question could be asked, whether the raising of Joseph’s coffin involves an act of necromancy. 119 After all, Moses attempts to speak to a dead person; however, Joseph does 114

Eccl. Rab. 5:1. b. Sanh. 65b. 116 Am Duat. 117 This is somewhat reminiscent of the genre Letters to the Dead that flourished mainly before the 13th century B.C.E. (Sir Alan H Gardiner and Kurt Sethe, Egyptian Letters to the Dead (London: Egypt Exploration Society, 1928). 118 See Merkelbach, “Diodor,” 75, the deceased is placed upon water, i.e., on a pool or container of water, while humans accuse him. 119 Jonathan Seidel, “Necromantic Praxis in the Midrash on the Seance at En Dor,” in Leda Ciraolo and Jonathan Seidel (ed.) Magic and Divination in the Ancient World (Leiden: Brill/Styx, 2002) 97-106. 115

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not communicate verbally with Moses whereas the purpose of necromancy is to retrieve verbal messages from the dead. Moses’ attempt to receive an answer is somewhat reminiscent of the mouth-opening ceremony that was performed on Egyptian mummies. 120 Additionally, Moses is not only credited with raising Joseph from the Nile but also the dead Israelite children that were thrown by Pharaoh into the Nile. 121 The midrashic texts provide the text of the spell that Moses used to raise Joseph’s coffin; it is otherwise rare that such an incantation is preserved in rabbinic text, which usually avoid the exact wording and paraphrase the spells with “he said what he said” and the action with “he did what he did.” 122 The midrashic texts contain the following elements of rebuke in Moses’ incantation: not fulfilling an oath, delaying redemption, disturbing the appearance of the Shekhinah and the clouds of glory, etc.: “Joseph, Joseph, you know how you swore to Israel, God will surely remember you; honor the God of Israel and do not hold up the redemption of Israel; you have good deeds to your credit. Intercede then with your Creator and come up from the depths.” (Deut. Rab., ibid.). This is similar to the Egyptian incantation of attributing impious acts to an adversary —the so-called magical “transfer” situation that is found numerous times in Egypt. In the alternative, it could be a reflection of the negative confession of the deceased in Egypt which lists prohibited acts that the dead did not commit during their life. 123 Many Egyptian magic spells begin with the invocation of divine beings, 124 because the magician hoped to emulate the creative power of au120

The Opening of the Mouth ceremony served to re-animate the mummy during the seventy day interval between death and burial; after the 4th century BCE there were Books of Breathing that imply new life is granted to the dead based upon divine decrees. 121 Gen. Rab. 97:4: “R. Levi said: The wives of the Israelites conceived sixty myriads of children in one night; they were all cast into the Nile, but they came up again through the merit of Moses. This is meant when he said, The people, among who I am, are six hundred thousand men at my foot (Num 11: 21)— they all came up at my foot. R. Zakkai the Elder derived it from this verse, And let them increase like fish in the midst of the earth (ibid.). As there were sixty myriads in the midst of the earth, so there were sixty myriads in the domain of the fish. Since they did not die in the midst of the earth, so they did not die in the domain of the fish [in the Nile].” 122 b. B. Metsi’a 107b; b. Sotah 22a: “the magician mumbles and does not know what he says.” 123 Book of the Dead, Spell 125. 124 Pinch, Magic, 70.

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thoritative utterances. Additionally, the magician who knew the name of a god or a goddess, such as Isis, could require their assistance. Isis uses magic to force the god Ra to reveal his secret name, and she uses magic to cause him to suffer from fiery poison. Isis claims that if she knew his secret name, the poison would dissipate quickly. 125 The spells in midrash resemble the Egyptian dd (djed: statement), which is used to refer to magical words utilized by Egyptian magicians. Moses makes statements when he calls Joseph. The midrashic texts have a double incantation, one at the Nile and the other at the royal cemetery. The purpose of Moses’ incantations is to raise Joseph; there are numerous Egyptian litanies that address the same request, among the sources is the Book of the Dead, 126 in which it is said: ts tw “raise yourself.” One of the incantations 127 utilized in midrash is perplexing: Moses adjures Joseph and says: ‘aleh shor, “rise, oh ox.” 128 Although the identification of the bulls Apis and/or Serapis with Joseph is a common theme in Jewish and early Christian literature, I do not perceive this connection in this adjuration. 129 If vocalized differently, the lemma from Gen. 49:22, a problematic 125

ANET, 12-14; Papyrus Turin, 131-132. Spell 168. 127 Tanʘ, Beshallaʘ 2, printed edition; Jacob Mann, Texts and Studies in Jewish History and Literature (Cincinnati,: Hebrew Union College Press, 1931-1935), Genizah fragments, a fragment of Midrash Tanʘuma, 116; Bereshit Rabbati, vayeʘi, 264; Otzar Midrashim, 1, 202a. Compare Rashi on Exod 32:4; Zohar, Shemot 46a, reflects the legend: “Some say that Joseph’s coffin was in the Nile and Moses removed it from there by the power of the Holy Name; he also said: Rise, o ox! The time of the redemption of Israel has come. Some say that his body was buried among the kings of Egypt, and had to be removed from there. Others say that his body was put into the Nile in order that the Egyptians should not practice idolatry, and that Serah, the daughter of Asher, showed Moses the exact spot where it lay.” Tanʘ, ki tissa 19, printed edition, refers to the coffin legend: “[Moses] took the tablet on which he had written ‘Rise, oh ox!’ when he raised Joseph’s coffin…” In this retold version Moses utilizes the same tablet for another purpose. 128 Joseph is described as “an ox” in Moses’ farewell speech: The firstling of his herd, grandeur is his, and his horns are like the horns of a wild ox; with them he shall push the people together ... (Deut 33:17). 129 The identification of Joseph with Serapis is known in antiquity and later (e.g., Suidas, Lexicon, sv. ƓƜƱơưƩƲ), Gerard Mussies, “The Interpretatio Judaica of Serapis,” in M. J. Vermaseren (ed.), Studies in Hellenistic Religions (Leiden: Brill, 1979), 189-214; Horovitz, Josephserzählung, contains a very extensive discussion of Joseph as Serapis, esp.120-128; most of this early work parallels the excellent survey by Mussies. See the additional, older literature: Sachs, Beitraege zur Sprach- und 126

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verse, is read ‘aleh shur, “above the wall.” It contains a lemma (‘aleh ‘ayin) that is used to demonstrate that Joseph is “above the eye,” i.e., he is protected from the evil eye. 130 Recovering something that has been thrown into the Nile through magic spells is found in Egypt 131 and it may be related to Moses’ ability seen throughout his career to perform magic involving water, which is found in the Bible as well as in our passage.

Alterthumsforschung, pt. 2, 99; Güdemann, “Mythenmischung,” 255; Saul Lieberman, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine (New York: JTS, 1962) 136-138, 138, n. 87. Serapis embodied Osiris, and Joseph was identified with Osiris in midrashic texts (see Ulmer, “Cleopatra”; however, the midrashic resemblances of Osiris in the Horus and Osiris myths have little in common with Osiris-Apis, i.e. Serapis. Additionally, the equation of Joseph as a bull to the Apis bull is questionable in the midrashic texts about the coffin legend; the equation of Joseph with Serapis is in all likelihood based upon Manetho’s etymology of Osarsyph (Josephus, C. Ap. 26.26, relates it to Osiris in Heliopolis. We may also note “The aged Osiris” at Heliopolis). Mussies, “Interpretatio Judaica,” 212, concludes that there is no connection; the equation of Joseph with the bull is found in the Church Fathers; he states, 193, that the identification of Joseph with Serapis dates at least from the 2nd century BCE; Mussies refers to Melito of Sardis as the earliest Christian source (before 190 CE): “The Egyptians worshipped Joseph, a Hebrew, who was called Serapis, because he supplied them with sustenance in the years of famine.” Giuseppe Veltri, Eine Tora für den König Talmai: Untersuchungen zum Übersetzungsverständnis in der jüdischhellenistischen und rabbinischen Literatur, TSAJ, 41 (Tübingen: Mohr/Siebeck, 1994) 69, mentions that the identification of Serapis with Joseph [in b. ‘Abod. Zar. 43a] could have derived from the identification of Joseph with a bull, since Serapis was a designation of the divine Apis bulls in Memphis; furthermore, this identification of Joseph with a bull is inherent in a passage in Deut 33:17. However, I agree with Mussies; there is a difference between the bull (ox) Joseph in the Hebrew bible and Joseph as Serapis, the god who may have the shape of a bull. 130 See Rivka Ulmer, The Evil Eye in the Bible and in Rabbinic Literature (Hoboken, NJ: Ktav, 1994) 166. 131 Miriam Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature: A Book of Readings, 3 vols. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973), vol. 1:216f.; Papyrus Westcar 17th century B.C.E.), in which a lector priest recovered a lost object from a pond by parting the waters; see also Serge Sauneron, “Le monde du magicien Égyptien,” in Le Monde Du Sorcier, 27-65, on retrieving lost jewelry from a lake, which he relates to Moses at the Red Sea, 52: “Il prononc à quelque mots magiques, puis il plaça une motié de l’eau du lac sur l’autre moitié, et il retrouva le bjou qui reposait sur un tesson ; il alla le chercher, de sorte qu’il fut restitué à sa propriétaire ...”

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In addition to these orally pronounced incantations, Moses is described as throwing magical paraphernalia into the Nile or writing incantations or the Tetragrammaton 132 on different media. Depending on the manuscript consulted, Mekhilta deRabbi Yishmael has a “stone” 133 (Ms Oxford 151, Neubauer, from 1291) that Moses cast into the Nile or “Moses wrote the Tetragrammaton on a golden tablet” (MS Munich 117 from c. 1435). 134

ž¤ž³¥ °±Ÿž ±ž±¯ ¥¡© ªž¥¢© ¥« œ§«ž ™š ¦² š °° ž šŸ ¥²  ž¥ ¥¡© ªž¥¢© ¥« œ§«ž ™š ž¤ž³¥ °±Ÿž ²±ž­§ ž¤ž³¥ ž°±Ÿž ±ž±¯ ¥¡© ªž¥¢© ¥« œ§«ž ™š

Horovitz/Rabin text MS Munich

ž¤ž³¥ °±Ÿž ±ž±¯ ¥¡© ªž¥¢©¥ œ§«ž ™š

Editio princeps, 1515

MS Oxford

Inscribing a magical golden tablet or leaf is a practice familiar from the Magical Papyri 135: “I call upon you, the one on [corrected by Morton Smith: “in”] the gold leaf, before whom the unquenchable lamp continually burns, the great God ...” (p. 61). More specifically (XIII. 899), engraving of gold or silver lamella is mentioned. The Magical Papyri also mention tablet charms 132

Eccl. Rab. 3:11 mentions the power of the letters of the Divine Name. A plate with the Tetragrammaton is referred to as one of the magical paraphernalia utilized by Balaam (Num. Rab. 20:20). 133 ±ž±¯ (Lauterbach ed., I, p. 176); a stone is a common medium in the “sorcerer’s laboratory.” The cursory discussion of the Mekhilta passage by HansJürgen Becker, “The Magic of the name and Palestinian Rabbinic Literature,” in. Peter Schäfer (ed.), Talmud Yerushalmi, vol. III (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002) 391407, contains several errors: (1) Becker translates ʸʥʸʶ as “bundle.” Tseror in this context means “pebble” or “stone;” magicians often used stones to perform magic. (2) Becker bases his further arguments on the passage from MS Munich (in the Lauterbach ed. of the Mekhilta) mentioning the gold tablets, and which, according to Becker, is a singular passage in rabbinic literature. However, we may note some parallels (see Tanʘ, printed ed., Beshallaʘ; Pesiqta Zutarta, Shemot 13:19, which also state that Moses utilized a “pebble” that he throws into the Nile); other passages mention the writing on a “stone,” a “tablet” or a “pottery shard” and other stable media (cf. Table 1). 134 See also Goldin, “The Magic,” 127: “[he] engraved on it the Ineffable Name ...” 135 PM IV:1215.

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(e.g., VII. 925) and they often state that spells had to be written on metal tablets, lamella, made from metals, such as gold or lead. Pesiq. Rab. Kah.11, Vayehi beshallaʘ (Mandelbaum 187-188, continued from above)

¬¯ œ¢§ ±ž™¢¥ ž¤¢¥²ž ²±ž­§ ¦² ž¢¥« š³¤ž ª±  ¥¡© ’ž™ ²¢ž ¨¢²± œ ¨¢š¥¤ ¨¢±³ ¨§³ ¨žž [¦¢§ ›”« :¤] ¬ªž¢ ¥² ž©ž±™ ¥«ž ¨ž³™ ™§« ²§ ’§™ ²§š ¨¢ š© [œ”ž¢ ©ž ¨¢¡¢² ¨¢š :¯] ¨ž±² ¦­¥ ¨œž¢ ±”™ ¨¢š© ™±°²œ ¨¢š¥¤ž ¨¢ š© ™¥ ’¡²ž°œ ¨žš¥¤ ¨¢§  ®± ¢ ™¥ ’±²¢ ¢©š ¥¤¥ž ™¤ ¦±š ¢©²¢¥š ³¢ ¥§ ™š¥¤ ¨¢œœ ... (Ÿ:™¢ ³ž§²) ž©ž²¥ š¥¤ “Others say that Moses took a pottery shard, wrote the Tetragrammaton upon it, and tossed it into the Nile. Immediately Joseph’s coffin floated [MS variant: up to the surface of the water]. There were two dogs [MS variant: between the acacia 136 trees]; they barked at Moses. Moses said: Come, people, look. Real dogs would not bark but artificial dogs would bark ...”

The means employed by Moses to raise Joseph’s coffin are different in the text-witnesses; here we have a piece of pottery. Spells were often written on pots, bowls and other dishes, a usual practice in the Ancient Near East and during the Byzantine period in Palestine. Written words had magical powers because they were fixed and did not disappear into the wind. As is often the case, the Mekhilta attempts to provide settings for the Exodus stories that are antiquitizing and therefore point to Egypt. The most elaborate magical writing is mentioned in a later midrashic work, 137 which is otherwise similar to the text in Deut. Rab.:

¬ªž¢ ±§™ž ±© ªž¥¢© ¥« œ§«ž ²§ £¥ ±žš° ¬ªž¢ ±© ªž¥¢©š £¥ ³š¤«§ ©¢¤²ž ž¢©š ³™ ¥™ž› ”š°² «² ³ž™ «¢› ¬ªž¢ ¦™ž š¡ž§ ¢± £§¯« ³™ «¢œž§ ³™ ¦™ž £¥ ¨¢š¤«§ œžš¤ ¢©©«ž ¬ªž¢ ¥² ž©ž±™ ¬¯ œ¢§ ž©³«š² ±²™ £³«žš²§ ¦¢¢°© ž©™ ¢± ž™¥ ¥›« ³±ž¯¤ ž¢³ ³ ¢ž ²±ž­§ ¦² šŸ ®¢¯ ¥« š³¤ ±§ž™ ²¢ž ... ¬ªž¢ ¥² ž§ž±™ ¥«ž ¬¯ œ¢§ ±ž² ¥« ±§™ž ªž¥¢© ±©š ž°±Ÿž “[Joseph was buried in the Nile and Moses] went and stood over the river Nile and spoke: Joseph, Joseph, the time has come that the Holy One, Blessed be He, will redeem his children, but the Shekhinah and the clouds of glory are delayed. If you make 136

This could be a reference to the location of magical acts; b. Git. 69b mentions acacia extract in a list of remedies. 137 Cited in Otzar Midrashim, 1, 202a-b.

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yourself known—good; if not, we will be exempted from the oath that you swore. Immediately Joseph’s coffin floated to the surface. Others say, he wrote the Tetragrammaton on a golden tablet and beneath it was the image of a calf and he threw it into the Nile and spoke: ‘Aleh shur!’ And Joseph’s coffin rose.”

In addition to words, Moses uses images that are engraved on the underside of the tablet or stone; again, we may refer in general terms to the Egyptian evidence, 138 although tablets of lead with defixiones, binding spells, were equally wide-spread in Greco-Roman culture. 139 The version of Shir Rabbah, which is based upon a Genizah fragment of the midrashic text, mentions the four images from Ezekiel that Moses engraved on magical tablets, which possibly leads us into Merkavah Mysticism. Midrash Shir Ha-Shirim, ed. Grünhut, 13a-b: “When [Moses] came to raise the coffin, he inscribed and engraved on four silver tablets the images of four living creatures: a lion, a human being, an eagle, an ox.”

After this short description of the magical paraphernalia we might ask: Why did Moses not use his magic staff? 140 This staff was a magic wand as well as a symbol of power. 141 As is known from studies of Egyptian magical artifacts, staffs, wands, and rods were widely utilized. 142 A typical magic rod in Egypt would carry the symbol of the protective wedjat eye (Horus eye), contain engravings, and have magical figurines attached. 143 Some of the Egyptian magic spells refer to the magician holding a simple stick or tree branch, however, the knowledge of the exact use of the sticks seems to have been lost. 144 Similarly, there is also a lack of information in respect to 138

Pinch, Magic, 74, fig. 36, shows a magic spell board. Graf, Magic, 3; 118f. 140 Moses’ staff is mentioned in Esth. Rab. 7:13. Christine Meilicke, “Moses’ Staff and the Return of the Dead,” JSQ 6 (1999) 345-372, 350 refers to the possibility of magic related to Moses’ staff. 141 Staffs were carried by Egyptian officials. 142 Snake-shaped wands and bronze cobra wands existed in Egypt; see John D. Currid, “The Egyptian Setting of the ‘Serpent’ Confrontation in Exodus 7:8-13,” BZ 39 (1995) 203-224. 143 See Pinch, Magic, 79. 144 Moses’ staff and the magic he worked with it is well-known and has been discussed in the literature. Scott Noegel, “Moses and Magic: Notes on the Book of Exodus,” JANES 24 (1997) 45-59; Rimon Kasher, “Sorcery and Magic in Targum Pseudo-Jonathan of the Pentateuch and in the Toseftot Targum to the Prophets,” 139

168

MIDRASH AND CONTEXT

gestures in the midrashic passage; however, Egyptian water spells involved at least an extended forefinger. 145 In regard to a variant of Moses’ attempt to raise Joseph’ coffin, a wooden staff is mentioned through the application of a scriptural passage, in which Elisha uses a wooden stick: And when they came to the Jordan, they cut down trees. But as one was felling a tree-trunk, the ax head fell into the water; and he cried, and said, Alas, master! for it was borrowed. And the man of God said, Where did it fall? And he showed him the place. And he cut down a stick, and threw it in there; and made the iron float. (2 Kings 6:4ff.).

This passage is cited as proof in the Joseph story for the “fact” that the metal coffin could float and rise to the surface of the Nile, 146 but there is no direct connection between Elisha’s staff and Moses’ staff except that Elisha is presented as a distant disciple of Moses. The midrashic texts that dramatize the recovery of Joseph’s coffin do not mention that Moses was using his staff or a magic wand to raise Joseph’s coffin, although Moses’ magic powers are otherwise displayed by historicizing his magic acts in Egypt and locating them in Pharaonic Egypt. In addition to the magic performed by the magicians, there are also opposing powers that Moses has to combat when attempting to locate Joseph’s coffin at the time of the Exodus from Egypt. Exod. Rab. 20:19 (continued)

ž¢¢ ¦²¥ ¦œ™ ™š¢ ¦™² ¦¢­²¤š šŸ ¥² ¦¢š¥¤ ¦¢±¯§ ž²«ž ²§ ¨°³²ž ¦ž¢ ’§ £¥§ ¦¢±¯§ ®±™ ¥¤š £¥ž ¨¥ž°ž ¦¢ šž© (Ÿ:™¢ ³ž§²) ž©ž²¥ š¥¤ ®± ¢ ™¥ ¥™±²¢ ¢©š ¥¤¥ž ±§™©² “... and the Egyptians had constructed dogs made of gold which, by means of magic, barked for forty days whenever a man approached the sarcophagus, however, Moses made them shut up, as it is said: But not a dog shall growl at any of the Israelites [not at people, not at animals, so that you shall know that the Lord makes a distinction between Egypt and Israel] (Ex. 11:7).”

(paper presented at the Society of Biblical Literature, International Meeting, Groningen, 2004), presented an example from Targum Pseudo-Jonathan to Exod 4:20, which mentions that Moses’ staff was engraved with the divine name. 145 Tomb of Queen Ti, 18th dynasty; a shepherd (priest) makes a hand gesture to protect the fording calves. 146 Mek. de-Rabbi Yishmael, Beshallaʘ 1; Tanʘ, printed edition, Beshallaʘ 2; b. Sotah 22a; Mishnat Rabbi Eli’ezer 19 (New York: Bloch, 1969).

EGYPTIAN MAGIC

169

Within the different cycles of the Joseph legend in midrash, we find “magical dogs” or “artificial dogs” that are rendered powerless by Moses. The Oxford manuscript of Pesiqta de-Rav Kahana cited by Mandelbaum has “among the acacia trees,” which is a further indication of magic activity that often took place under trees. These dogs are fashioned from gold, which was frequently utilized in funeral rites and furnishings in Egypt because of the eternal value of the material. It is remarkable that the dogs are identified as watching over the tombs in some versions of the midrashic texts. The dog motif brings to mind the jackal-headed god Anubis 147 who was a figure prominent in the rites of embalming (fig. 5); specifically, Anubis or a man dressed up as Anubis watched over the embalming of the deceased. 148 For example, on a shroud painting from Coptic Egypt (c. 180 C.E.) we find Anubis attending to the deceased, a man in Roman garb, i.e., the mummified Osiris. 149 Among the numerous examples from the Coptic period in Egypt, there are painted cartonnages of the deceased that show Anubis. 150 In the above-mentioned version of the Osiris myth in Papyrus Jumilhac, Anubis can resist Seth because Anubis is pictured as the commander of the arms-carrying followers of Horus. Anubis was also a wellknown figure on amulets from the 1st-3rd century C.E. 151 Some of these amulets had mixed inscriptions, e.g., the name of the Hebrew God in Hi-

147

LÄ, vol. I, 327-333, sv. “Anubis.” Pyramid Texts 1122c-d; depictions of Anubis in this function are numerous, e. g., the Tomb of Rai, Dra Abu el-Naga, 18th dynasty, 1300 B.C.E. (Staatliche Sammlung Ägyptischer Kunst München, 1996); the Temple of Hatshepsut, Der elBahari; Der el-Medina, Tomb No. 1 (Emma Brunner-Traut, Kleine Ägyptenkunde [Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1982, 4th ed.]); Papyrus Rhind (ca. 9 B.C.E.); see also Merkelbach, “Diodor,” who refers to the voice of Anubis, 77; Günter Vittmann, “Von Kastraten, Hundskopfmenschen und Kannibalen,” ZÄS 127 (2000) 167-182, 167; Josephus, Ant. 18.65, mentions Anubis. 149 See Cannuyer, Coptic Egypt, 12 (The picture is based upon a shroud in Staatliche Museen Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Ägyptisches Museum, Berlin). 150 See for example exhibits numbers 9 and 10, from the late 3rd-4th century C.E., described on 16f., in Pagan and Christian Egypt; Egyptian Art from the First to the Tenth Century A D. ... Exhibited at the Brooklyn Museum (Brooklyn: Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Sciences, 1941; repr. Arno Press, 1969) and the catalogue of the Coptic Museum (Egyptian Antiquities Organization, Coptic Museum [Cairo, 1984]), no pagination), a funerary stela from the 4th century C.E., “bearing the ancient Egyptian” influence. 151 Pinch, Magic, 166f. 148

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MIDRASH AND CONTEXT

eroglyphs. 152 Moses is in the possession of superior or correct magic and is able to locate Joseph between the royal tombs. Within the midrash, if we read the midrash from the bottom up, “backwards,” which is a regular method in midrash and in magic, 153 the magical dogs are Egyptian dogs stripped of their divine status and their magical powers. They are hermeneutically reduced to the “barking dogs” that are present in the Biblical passage (Ex. 11:7). Table 1 154 Elements of the narrative in different texts Texts Ȼ

Joseph’s coffin is in the Nile

t. Sotah 155 4:7 (ed. Lieberman) Mek., Beshallaʘ, Petiʘta (Horovitz/ Rabin, p. 78) Mek., Beshallaʘ 1

+ metal rods fastened with lead + metal coffin

152

+ metal coffin

Moses’ adjuration at the Nile +

¬ªž¢ ¬ªž¢ «¢› «žš² «š²©²

Magical devices

pebble

¥¡© ±ž±¯ °±Ÿž ž¤ž³¥

¨š ¬ªž¢ gold š°«¢ tablet «¢›

Moses’ incantation at the tombs +

¬ªž¢ ¬ªž¢ «¢› «² ¬ªž¢ ¬ªž¢ «¢› «žš² «š²©² ”š 156

Joseph’s burial place in the royal tombs Egyptian

¨¢¥žªž­¢° 157

¨š ¬ªž¢ royal š°«¢ ¨¢¥ž¡¢­° «¢›

Additionally, we might also consider the Egyptian upuaut, the jackal or dog watching over desert trails, or the magical dog called “Tutu.” Tutu also appears in composite form consisting of different animals and human features in Sais during the Greco-Roman period; Tutu had apotropaic qualities. 153 The instruction to read a name backwards is found in b. Git. 69a. 154 Goldin, “Magic,” 126-127, briefly discusses some parallels. 155 t. Sotah 4 (Zuckermandel, 299-300); b. Sotah 13a, has a metal coffin, made from iron; the burial place is in the royal necropolis; Moses’ adjuration: ¬ªž¢ ¬ªž¢ "š° «š²©² ³« «¢›. 156 The version in the Oxford manuscript states: “They buried him with the kings, as it says they embalmed him; and how did Moses know which coffin was Joseph’s? Moshe stood among the coffins and shouted: Joseph, Joseph ... and Joseph’s coffin moved.” 157 Possibly related to “capitolium,” as discussed by Horovitz/Rabin, 78f.

EGYPTIAN MAGIC

«žš² [ms:

(ed. Lauterbach, 1, 176)

+ metal coffin

Exod. Rab. 20:19

+

158

«žš²

pebble]; Tetragrammaton

Mek. De RashBY 13: 19 (ed. Epstein/M elamed)

Deut. Rab. 11:7 158

171

+ metal coffin

+

¬ªž¢ ¬ªž¢ in

¬ªž¢ ¬ªž¢ «¢› «² «š²©² +

the

royal

¨¢¡©±š°

¬ªž¢ ¬ªž¢ «¢› «² ³±§™² œž°­ œž°­¢ ¦¢¥™ ¦¤³™

+

¬ªž¢ ¬ªž¢ ³«œ¢ ³™ £™¢ ³«š²© ¥™±²¢¥ œž°­ œž°­¢

See also Midrash Petirat Moshe in Bet ha Midrasch, vol. 1, 117f.

in the royal

;¨¢±¡¥­ golden magical dogs

172 Tanʘ 159 (printed ed.) Beshallah 2

MIDRASH AND CONTEXT + metal coffin

Pereq R. + Yoshiahu (Bet HaMidrash, ed. Jellinek, 6, 112-113) 161

+ pebble;

¬ªž¢ ¬ªž¢ inscrip«¢› tion 160 «² ¥¡© ±ž±¯ °° ž žšž + gold 162

¬ªž¢ ¬ªž¢ leaf; ³ž™ «¢› inscrip... «² tion;

¬ªž¢ ¬ªž¢ em«¢› balmed; «² royal necropolis

royal tombs

¨¢±¢¡¥­

Tetragrammaton

š³¤ ®¢¯ ¥« šŸ ¦² ²±ž­§ ¢ž ž¢³ ³ ³±ž¯¤ ¥›« ž°±Ÿž ±©š ªž¥¢© and he said:

±ž² ¥«

159

See also Kit’e midrashim, ad. loc., which contains the pebble motif and the inscription; compare Tanʘ, Eqev 6, Joseph’s coffin is “among the coffins ...” (there is no further specification, and there is no Nile legend). Rashi on Exod 32:4 comments that Moses utilized the Tetragrammaton and a tablet (ʱʨʥ ʭʹ) and wrote “ʸʥʹ ʤʬʲ.” 160 Mann, Texts and Studies, a Tanʘuma fragment, 116, is very similar. 161 Reprinted in Otzar Midrashim, 1, 202b. 162 The passage is introduced as a variant legend by “others say …”

EGYPTIAN MAGIC Divrei ha- + yamim shel Moshe (Bet Hamidrash, 2, 10-11) 163

173

Moses writes the Tetragrammaton and

±ž² ¥« Petirat Moshe (Bet HaMidrash, ed. Jellinek, 1, 115) 164 Pesiq. Rab. Kah. 11 vayehi Beshallaʘ 166 Shir HaShirim (ed. Grünhut)

+ clay/ lead 165 coffin

Midrash Ha-Gadol, Gen. 50:24

+ (and in the ocean) 167

163

+

+

¬ªž¢ ¬ªž¢ «œž¢ ³™ ¨§Ÿ «¢›² ... + pottery

¬ªž¢ ¬ªž¢ shard; «¢› Tetra... «² gram+

+ artificial dogs

maton + ¬ªž¢ pottery «¢› ¬ªž¢ shard; «² Tetragrammaton

¬ªž¢ ¬ªž¢ «¢›

Reprinted in Otzar Midrashim, 2, 361b. Reprinted in Otzar Midrashim, 2, 362a. 165 This may refer to the earth used by potters; alternatively, the term may be a variant spelling for “lead.” The midrashic text specifies that the “four corners were bolted down.” 166 Yal. Shim’oni, Beshallaʘ, 226, utilizes the same version of the legend. 167 In Mishnat R. Eli’ezer, 19, the proposition that Joseph was buried in the ground is refuted and it is stated: “they put him in the ocean.” This short reference to the coffin legend does not contain the motif of a metal coffin; Moses merely stands on the bank of the Nile and speaks to Joseph, no mention is made of magical paraphernalia. 164

174

MIDRASH AND CONTEXT

«²

Pesiq. Zutarta, Shemot 13 Midrash Agadah (ed. Buber) 13 168

+ metal coffin + lead coffin

pottery shard; Tetragrammaton pebble; Moses speaks Moses writes the Tetragrammaton

In late antiquity, magic is strongly identified with Egypt; the rabbinic texts express this idea and they weave together details of cultural and religious icons from (Greco-Roman and Coptic) Egypt with rabbinic interpretations of Biblical passages. Midrashic literature has references to Egyptian magic, from magical rites to apotropaic menstrual rags reminding us of Hypatheia of Alexandria 169 as well as other magical supplies that were traded and imported in the first six centuries C.E. 170 As a result, the Land of Israel was probably filled with magical artifacts from Egypt, such as amulets 171 and pharmaceuticals, and the ideological and social relationships with Egypt

168

“[The Egyptians] put Joseph in a lead coffin and cast it into the Nile. They said: ‘From here it cannot be raised,’ but Moses wrote the Ineffable Name [the Tetragrammaton] and cast it into the Nile and Joseph’s coffin floated to the surface.” The author of Bereshit Rabbati presents many different versions of the coffin legend that he excerpted from the midrashic corpus (in a dictum of R. Natan, Joseph is buried in the royal ¨¢¥ž¡¢­°, in an additional excerpt he is buried in the ¨¢±¡¥­); these passages resemble some of the textual versions cited in this essay. 169 Tanʘ, ed. Buber, Va’era 12; see Ulmer, Evil Eye, 141. 170 Daniel Sperber, “Objects of Trade between Palestine and Egypt in Roman Times,” JESHO XIX, part II (1976) 113-147, 128f. 171 Claudine Dauphin, “A Graeco-Egyptian magical amulet from Mazzuvah,” Atiqot 22 (1993) 145-147, describes a 3rd century C.E. amulet with exclusively Egyptian motifs. See also Gideon Bohak, “A Note on the Chnoubis Gem from Tel Dor,” IEJ 47 (1997) 255-256.

EGYPTIAN MAGIC

175

were extensive. 172 This requires us to examine Egyptian references in midrash in addition to the often studied elements from Greco-Roman, Persian and Babylonian cultures. In the midrashic texts that focus on the retrieval of Joseph’s coffin during the Biblical Exodus from Egypt there are specific elements from Egyptian culture: magic and myth. Joseph’s coffin that Moses has to retrieve is either located in the royal tombs or at the bottom of the Nile. The elements of the narrative have many parallels to the Egyptian Osiris myth. The magic that Moses performs to raise Joseph from the Nile is similar to Egyptian magical practices and there are very specific parallels. From a reader-response perspective, Moses and his magical methods make for a picturesque, visibly pleasing, story. Although the rabbis might have followed the high prestige that anything Egyptian enjoyed in late antiquity in order to provide a historical garb to their arguments, there are several intersections with the Osiris myth, which are generally close to, but not limited to, the version in Papyrus Jumilhac: the concept of a double burial, a coffin, the fruitfulness and the blessing related to the coffin, the coffin at the bottom of the Nile, finding and raising the coffin through the use of magic, carrying the coffin, and the reburial. Additionally, the midrashic texts provide further elements of the Egyptian funeral cult: embalmers (magicians), protective dogs and royal tombs. The elements of the midrashic narratives are listed in Table 1. The question of why the framers of some midrashic texts purport to refer to Egyptian magic is a hermeneutical question that is largely determined by rabbinic theology. This hermeneutical question might have been created by the cultural and religious situation of the late midrashic texts themselves, in which Egypt had become a metaphor for the Romans, Byzantines or other foreign rulers. Egypt was associated with the estrangement of Diaspora Jews from the situation in the Land of Israel and the memory of the Exodus provided them with hope for a return to the Land. Whether or not the rabbinic interpreters of the Bible inherited accurate descriptions of Egyptian magic, their historicizing and 172

The first Egyptian Christians came from the ranks of Alexandrian Jewry; Acts 2:10 states that Jewish pilgrims from Egypt had taken part in the Pentecost in Jerusalem and then preached Christianity; Apollos, the Alexandrian Jewish preacher, became Christian (Acts 18:24ff.). On the other hand, Philo’s allegorical reading of the Hebrew Bible was adopted by Egyptian Christians. In Alexandria, the largest Jewish community of the Jewish Diaspora, traditions of Judaism, Greek thought, and the new mystery cults intermingled with ancient Egyptian concepts. b. Šabb. 115a and b. Meg. 18a, specify that the Bible may not be read in Coptic, which suggests that that such a practice existed.

176

MIDRASH AND CONTEXT

Egyptianizing reconstructions, and my Egyptological readings of the texts, are close to the model provided in the Osiris myth and Egyptian magical practices.

EGYPTIAN MAGIC

177

ILLUSTRATIONS Acknowledgements: Figs. 3,4: Kurt Aram, Magie und Zauberei in der alten Welt (Berlin: Buchgemeinschaft, 1927), p. 232 (floating), p. 233 (sprouting), Philae, tomb of Osiris; Figs. 1,2,5: Ulmerm, Tut Ankh Amun collection)

Figure 1 Heka (Tomb of Ramses I)

178

MIDRASH AND CONTEXT

Figure 2 Edfu, ambulatory (Horus spearing Seth [hippopotamus])

Figure 3: Philae (Floating Osiris)

EGYPTIAN MAGIC

Figure 4: Philae (Sprouting Osiris)

Figure 5: Anubis (Cairo Museum, Tut Ankh Amun collection)

179