Milk and Honey: Essays on Ancient Israel and the Bible in Appreciation of the Judaic Studies Program at the University of California, San Diego 9781575065786

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MILK AND HONEY

Milk and Honey Essays on Ancient Israel and the Bible in Appreciation of the Judaic Studies Program at the University of California, San Diego

Edited by Sarah Malena and David Miano

Winona Lake, Indiana Eisenbrauns 2007

ç Copyright 2007 by Eisenbrauns. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. www.eisenbrauns.com

Cataloging in Publication Data Milk and honey : essays on ancient Israel and the Bible in appreciation of the Judaic Studies Program at the University of California, San Diego / edited by Sarah Malena and David Miano. p. cm. ISBN 978-1-57506-127-6 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Bible. O.T.—Criticism, interpretation, etc. 2. Bible. O.T.— Language, style. 3. Bible. O.T.—Antiquities. I. Malena, Sarah. II. Miano, David. III. University of California, San Diego. Judaic Studies Program. BS1171.3.M55 2007 221.6—dc22 2006101554

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

Contents Foreword . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Preface: vbdw blj ‘Milk and Honey’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Encomia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Judaic Studies Program at UCSD: A History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sarah Malena and David Miano Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Part 1 Genesis A Goddess in the Garden? The Fall of Eve . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Shawna Dolansky

3

Jacob’s Bargain with God (Genesis 28:20–22) and Its Implications for the Documentary Hypothesis . . . . . . . . Jeffrey C. Geoghegan

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Do Not Interpretations Belong to God? A Narrative Assessment of Genesis 40 as It Elucidates the Persona of Joseph . . . . . . . . . Miriam Sherman

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Part 2 Poetry and Prophecy Quantitative Analysis of the Tribal Sayings in Deuteronomy 33 and Its Significance for the Poem’s Overall Structure . . . . . . . . . Brian Kelly

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The Lion Has Roared: Rhetorical Structure in Amos 1:2–3:8 . . . . . . . Jack R. Lundbom

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On the Use of the Name of God in the Book of Jonah . . . . . . . . . . . Elizabeth Goldstein

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Part 3 Narrative and History The Good Book and the Bad Movies: Moses and the Failure of Biblical Cinema . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Michael M. Homan v

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What Happened in the Fourteenth Year of Hezekiah? A Historical Analysis of 2 Kings 18–20 in the Light of New Textual Considerations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113 David Miano Where Is God? Divine Presence in the Absence of the Temple . . . . . . 133 Risa Levitt Kohn and Rebecca Moore

Part 4 Lexicon The First Halleluyah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157 Ziony Zevit Spice Roots in the Song of Songs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 Sarah Malena The Participle in Biblical Hebrew and the Overlap of Grammar and Lexicon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185 Francis I. Andersen and A. Dean Forbes

Part 5 Archaeology and Paleography Biomolecules, Bedouin, and the Bible: Reconstructing Ancient Foodways in Israel’s Northern Negev . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215 Margie Burton From the Wilderness of Zin alongside Edom: Edomite Territory in the Eastern Negev during the Eighth–Sixth Centuries b.c.e. . . . 241 Laura M. Zucconi The Gamla Coin: A New Perspective on the Circumstances and Date of Its Minting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 257 Yoav Arbel Indexes Index of Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277 Index of Scripture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 282

Foreword In a very short stretch of years, the Judaic Studies Program at the University of California, San Diego, has developed into one of the most important centers for teaching and research in biblical studies, in ancient Near Eastern and biblical archaeology, and more generally in Judaic studies. The program now rivals far older centers of study in these fields in eastern research universities. I have been an admirer of the program for some years, proud of former students of mine whose energy and foresight have contributed to the developments in La Jolla, including the establishment of endowed chairs that guarantee the future of this center and its program. Richard Elliot Friedman, a Harvard doctorate, came to San Diego in 1976 as an Assistant Professor, and virtually alone began the development of the Judaic Studies Program, immediately becoming the director of the program. In 1987, he became a full professor and published Who Wrote the Bible?, a serious scholarly work that became, mirabile dictu, a best seller—a unique event, I believe, in our field. At the same time, David Noel Freedman, a marvelously prolific scholar and peerless editor, joined the younger Friedman. The elder Freedman and I go back more than 50 years, when we wrote two joint dissertations at Johns Hopkins University, another unique occurrence, I believe. This was thanks to the boldness of our teacher William Foxwell Albright and to his impatience with convention. Noel Freedman has brought to the program his genius for collaboration and for the organization of scholarly projects (including the Anchor Bible and The Anchor Bible Dictionary ). William Propp, another gifted and versatile young Harvard Ph.D., was added to make up a triumvirate in biblical studies and Semitics. David Goodblatt’s expertise in Second Temple Judaism and Late Antiquity expanded the horizons of the growing program. In 1992, Thomas E. Levy, a brilliant and energetic young archaeologist, joined and rounded out the faculty in the ancient field. He is known for his pioneering research in the Negev, especially in the Neolithic, Chalcolithic, and Early Bronze ages. Currently his discoveries in ancient Edom have been making headlines. Most recently, Deborah Hertz, a specialist in modern Jewish history was added to the ranks. I shall not attempt to mention all the scholarly publications and projects of these six scholars; the list would rival the length of the following volume. This collection of essays honoring the Judaic Studies Program and its faculty is a testimony to the fecundity of the program in producing scholars, vii

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whose essays dominate the collection. Several essays come from other scholars whose home base is in the West and who have engaged in colloquia and common pursuits with the San Diego faculty. Unlike most Jubilee volumes, which hew to a single topic or two, this collection of essays is wide-ranging. There are sections on Genesis, poetry and prophecy, narrative and history, lexicon, archaeology, and (not least) paleography. Frank Moore Cross Harvard University May 1, 2005

Preface vbdw blj Milk and Honey We are very happy to offer this tribute to UCSD’s Judaic Studies Professors and Program in celebration of 30 years of growth and prosperity. This project grew out of our appreciation for the Judaic Studies Program and all that it includes: the professors, visiting scholars, lecturers, community, staff, and family of graduate students. Those who have heard Professor Richard Friedman describe this program will recall his frequent comparison between the landscapes of southern California and the land of the Bible. Anyone who has visited both places knows that his comparison is not an exaggeration: beaches, coastland, lush green valleys and waterfalls, deserts, and mountains (not to mention fault lines) all lie in close proximity in both locations, and in fact, La Jolla and Akko are both coastal cities that are located on the same latitudinal parallel (32° 55u N). At this point we may also make a comparison with the famous biblical image of a “land flowing with milk and honey.” While the biblical phrase, alluding to a material inheritance, served as a source of encouragement to the Israelites in a time of crisis, our referent is an intellectual promise and legacy. The pairing of “milk and honey” evokes an image of fertility, but it is more than the fertility of flocks and groves. Ben Sira lists milk and honey among the basic necessities of life, while the Song of Songs employs the two words in images of luxury and indulgence. 1 William Propp’s musings on the subject reveal the nuances of parental nourishment and comfort. 2 And in the frequent reiteration of the divine promise one perceives the connotation of security and longevity. Likewise, in the Judaic Studies Program one finds a deep concern for the nurturing and fruitfulness of the department and finds a home in a land of prosperity for growth and development. Students find the basic necessities as well as the sweetest comforts. 1. Sir 39:26; Song 4:11, 5:1 2. William H. C. Propp, “Milk and Honey: Biblical Comfort Food,” Bible Review 15/3 (1999) 16, 54.

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We would like to express our deep appreciation to everyone who has contributed to this volume. We are thrilled to have essays from generous, accomplished scholars, who have also supported the Judaic Studies Program by means of past visits and guest lectures. Thanks also go to the UCSD alumni and current students, without whom we would not have been able to showcase the yield of the Judaic Studies Program. In addition to contributions from the authors featured in this volume, we have received both financial and moral support, and we offer a sincere thank you to the individuals responsible. Finally, we are most grateful to Eisenbrauns, especially Jim Eisenbraun, for agreeing to take on the project, and editor, Beverly McCoy, for her superb job in preparing the manuscript for publication. Thus, by means of this volume of scholarship, we offer the reader a cluster of produce from this rich land. hyrpAhzw. Sarah Malena and David Miano September 10, 2005

Encomia It is a joy and a privilege to be a part of the UCSD Judaic Studies Program, with its intimate and friendly environment, where professors are always available to students and eager to offer their expert knowledge. We are very lucky to have some of the best minds right here in San Diego, highly specialized in their field of expertise. The UCSD Judaic Studies Program has opened worlds that I had always wanted to explore. Though it has been a humbling experience to walk among these lettered giants in their field, it is also true that they have mastered a style that is never pretentious but makes students feel like a part of a learning family. I will always be thankful for all I have learned with Profs. Goodblatt, Propp, and Friedman and for the ongoing experience of reading through the Bible with Prof. Freedman.—Miriam Sherman My paper is dedicated to the professors of the Judaic Studies Program at the University of California, San Diego, all of whom have embraced and encouraged students from diverse backgrounds and disciplines to create an open dialogue on issues related to ancient Israel and the southern Levant. I wish to acknowledge especially Prof. Thomas E. Levy, who has been a pioneer of multidisciplinary research in Israel and Jordan for over 20 years and continues to inspire me and many others to work toward a better understanding of the past.—Margie Burton It is my distinct privilege to submit my article in recognition of my alma mater, the Judaic Studies Program at the University of California, San Diego. My wife, Therese, and I spent seven years under its auspices, and there we acquired some of our best memories. For Therese, these fond recollections include walks on the beaches of La Jolla, parties in nearby Tijuana, and the birth and nurturing of our first child. For me, the memories are of spending every waking minute inside concrete buildings memorizing grammatical paradigms of dead languages. But along the way, I learned the discipline of biblical studies from some of the field’s greatest minds, and there I made some of my dearest and most appreciated friends. This essay is dedicated to the faculty, staff, and students who combined to create such a fantastic learning environment. The program’s founder, Richard Friedman, deserves special accolades for a job well done. Friedman is the best lecturer I have ever heard, xi

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due to his combined masterful ability to tell stories and his polymathic interests. One of the interests that we share is the cinematic arts. My essay analyzes and summarizes the five dramatic films thus far made about Moses, and it is written in appreciation for and admiration of Friedman and his auspicious creation, Judaic Studies at UCSD.—Michael M. Homan A general tribute would not adequately express the contributions made by each of the Judaic Studies faculty to my academic and personal life. Therefore, here is a brief note of appreciation to each: Dr. David Noel Freedman, you instilled in me a love of the field of biblical studies and impressed upon me the importance of publishing as a stimulus to that field. You treated me as a colleague from the very beginning, allowing me the privilege of collaborating with you on a number of projects. Moreover, your professionalism and congeniality taught me what it means to be both a scholar and a gentleman. Dr. Richard Elliott Friedman, you impressed upon me the importance of evidence, not as a means of supporting my argument, but as data from which to derive it. Your own commitment to intellectual integrity is exemplary, as is your concern for your students’ professional and personal development. Dr. David Goodblatt, you introduced me to essential yet often untapped resources for understanding the Hebrew Bible: Late Second Temple and early Rabbinic Judaism. In addition, your ability to take a vast amount of knowledge and distill it into an engaging 50-minute lecture still serves as a model for my own teaching. Dr. Thomas Levy, you were the spokesperson for archaeology in numerous seminars and colloquia, ensuring that our discussions took into account the anthropological models and archaeological data relevant to understanding ancient Israel. Your insights, combined with your collegiality, enriched my graduate career immensely. Dr. William H. C. Propp, you were a trustworthy guide through the difficult terrain of doctoral studies in ancient history. Along the way you made me a better researcher, writer, thinker, and person. Your own academic rigor and open-mindedness have left an indelible mark on me and my scholarship. As I reflect on the privilege of studying under so prestigious a group of scholars, the caveat so often applied to our written work certainly applies to me: “Any deficiencies or errors that remain are strictly my own responsibility.”—Jeffrey Geoghegan

The Judaic Studies Program at UCSD: A History Sarah Malena and David Miano In the mid-1970s, when UCSD’s Judaic Studies Program was but newly formed, it was competent but rather unremarkable. It had no permanent faculty. A local rabbi offered an introduction to Judaic Studies course, there was a Lecturer in Hebrew Language and Literature, and a distinguished visiting professor each year. Undergraduates could choose Judaic Studies as a minor field of study but not as a major. Then in 1976, the program came under the part-time direction of a new, young faculty member from the Literature Department, Assistant Professor Richard Elliot Friedman. Friedman expanded the course offerings and arranged for a new series of lectures by distinguished guests, which began early in 1978. Throughout this period, there was intermittent university support for the Program. However, when Richard C. Atkinson assumed office as Chancellor of the University in 1980, things began to change. Among his first acts was to approach the University’s Office of Development, which raises funding and awareness for new academic positions and programs. At the time, the Office consisted of but one person, Ray Ramseyer (there is now a development staff of over 70). Atkinson asked Ramseyer to arrange a meeting with members of the local Jewish community. This took place in the form of a parlor meeting hosted by David and Dorothea Garfield in their home. The Garfields were prominent in the Jewish community, highly regarded, and one of the first Jewish families to move into La Jolla. The meeting was on August 13, 1980. At the meeting, Chancellor Atkinson told the group that he wanted to make Judaic Studies a field of major concentration and elevate the program to national status. This would require the creation of an endowment to support the program and to provide for an accomplished and experienced full-time professor. He challenged the community to help make this a reality. The group accepted the challenge. Dorothea Garfield and Jerome Katzin were appointed joint chairs of an ad hoc steering committee that proceeded to go into the Jewish community to raise the funds. The goal was $700,000. The response was forthright and generous and showed the community’s xiii

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commitment both to the encouragement of Jewish scholarship and to the university. Throughout the process, Chancellor Atkinson provided encouragement and support, and on occasion even met with important prospective donors. Dr. Morris Friedkin, chairman of the interdepartmental Committee on Jewish Studies, and Professor Friedman gave valuable assistance as well. In just over a year, the steering committee secured pledges for $770,000. On September 18, 1981, on Chancellor Atkinson’s recommendation, the Board of Regents approved the establishment of the Judaic Studies Endowment. This official action was necessary to appoint a full professor and to place the funds within the custody and under the jurisdiction of the university. The nature of the Endowment and the Program was defined in an official Memorandum of Understanding. The tripartite Memorandum was entered into by UCSD (Atkinson signing on its behalf ); the UCSD Foundation, which would take custody of the funds and be responsible for investment (Ramseyer signing on its behalf ); and the co-chairs of the steering committee (Katzin and Garfield), acting on the behalf of the community and the donors. The Memorandum of Understanding was a unique document, because the Judaic Studies Endowment was the first undertaking of its kind on the UCSD campus. In order to ensure use of the Endowment to expand the Program, provision was made in the Agreement for scholarships, fellowships, lectures, a special library, a biannual international conference, and publication. The agreement also established a Board of Visitors, appointed by the Chancellor, in order to provide continuing oversight of the Endowment and advice on the Program, and for a community affiliate (which eventually became the Friends of Judaic Studies). The steering committee, having completed its task, was dissolved. Throughout all of this effort, the guiding light of the Program was then Associate Professor Richard Elliot Friedman, who had been in charge of the modest preexisting program in addition to his teaching responsibilities on the Literature Department faculty. Friedman became the driving force in the campaign and of the Program. He set the goals in developing the Program, participated in the selection of faculty, and has insisted, ever since, on maintenance of the highest standards of scholarship and purpose. In the 1983–84 academic year, William H. Propp, fresh out of Harvard, came to the university to teach courses in Hebrew and in Bible. Propp was proficient in some 15 languages, most of them no longer spoken. It took several years before a search committee settled on their first professorial appointment in Judaic Studies. In 1987, they selected Professor David Noel Freedman of the University of Michigan. Professor Freedman was and is considered to be one of the outstanding biblical scholars of our times. He had been a visiting professor since 1985. His appointment to the Endowed Chair in Hebrew Biblical Studies immediately thrust the program

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into the first rank of Judaic Studies programs in this country. About the same time, Bill Propp was appointed to Full Professor. After heading the Program for ten years, Professor Richard Friedman, who wanted to devote more time to research and writing, stepped aside, and the job of coordinator of the Program fell to Bill Propp. As more professors were added to the ranks, each would serve as Director of the Program on a rotating basis. The Endowment continued to grow from contributions and successful investment and is today one of the largest endowments of its type on the UCSD campus. Additional professorships were authorized by the Regents as funds became available, and student enrollment increased. In 1988, Professor David Goodblatt joined the faculty. In 1994, he was named to the Chair of Judaic Studies, which had been carved out from the growing Endowment. At the same time, Professor Richard Friedman was appointed to the newly endowed Katzin Chair in Jewish Civilization. In 1992, Professor Thomas Levy was appointed Professor of Biblical Archaeology in the Anthropology Department. In 2003, Professor Deborah Hertz was appointed to joined the Program’s newly created Herman Wouk Chair in Modern Jewish Studies endowed by the Price family of La Jolla. Today there are six full professors in the Judaic Studies Program (Friedman, Propp, Freedman, Goodblatt, Levy, and Hertz), four of whom are endowed chairs. Few Judaic Studies programs in the United States have as many endowed chairs. The Program also has three lecturers, Shawna Dolansky Overton, Alana Shuster, and Randy Linda Sturman. There are also contributing faculty from the departments of Literature, Anthropology, History, Political Science, Sociology, and Music. The faculty have been consultants for publishers, film, and television. Our visiting faculty have included notables such as historian Sir Martin Gilbert; philosopher Nahum Glatzer; folklorist Yosef Dan; archaeologists Yigal Shiloh and Ami Mazar; Bible scholars Moshe Weinfeld, Menahem Haran, and Baruch Halpern; and Dead Sea Scrolls scholar Geza Vermes. International conferences have been a regular and important feature of the program, bringing scholars from around the world to UCSD’s students and community. Richard Friedman and Bill Propp organized four conferences on the Bible, David Noel Freedman a conference on Hebrew orthography, David Goodblatt a conference on the rabbinic period, Tom Levy a conference on the archaeology of society in the Holy Land and a joint UCSD conference with Oxford on radiocarbon dating, and Deborah Hertz a conference on gender in German Jewish history. The Biblical Colloquium, the society of 30 of the leading American scholars in the eastern United States, held two of its annual meetings at UCSD. In 2001, David Noel Freedman created its sister organization, a society of leading biblical scholars in the western United States, the Biblical Colloquium West. All five of its annual meetings

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have been sponsored by UCSD. In addition, there have been all-day conferences offered by our faculty for the San Diego community, as well as all-day conferences held by our graduate students for the San Diego community. In 2007, when the annual national meeting of the American Academy of Religion, the Society of Biblical Literature, and the American Schools of Oriental Research takes place in San Diego, UCSD’s Judaic Studies Program will play a significant role and hold a special session. Undergraduate enrollments have been between 1,000 and 1,500 every year for over 20 years, and the Program has a record of placing 100 percent of its graduate students in jobs. UCSD students have voted awards to Goodblatt, Propp, Levy, Hertz, Sturman, and Friedman for their teaching. The faculty have good relations not only with their students but with the community as well, teaching and lecturing at churches, synagogues, book fairs, and organizations. They have taught for the San Diego Rabbinical Association and the La Jolla Ministerial Association and lectured at the National Cathedral in Washington. The faculty have been prolific, producing hundreds of books and articles. They have published seven volumes of articles from conferences held at UCSD, and produce their own series of volumes: Biblical and Judaic Studies from the University of California, San Diego. David Noel Freedman is the Editor-in-Chief of the Anchor Bible project, a best-selling commentary series on the Bible (more than three million copies). Full-year abroad education programs and a summer archaeology program provide undergraduate and graduate students with the opportunity to study in Israel. Excavations were conducted four years in the City of David in biblical Jerusalem, and Tom Levy has led excavations at Shiqmim and Kibbutz Lahav in Israel and has been excavating in the Wadi Faynan, Jordan, since 1997. (It is considered prestigious to excavate under the auspices of a Judaic Studies Program in Jordan. The Jordanians also have been very welcoming; Queen Noor has lent the use of her helicopter for the aerial photography.) UCSD has established an archaeology laboratory that is growing, with rich collections of new material donated by the Department of Antiquities of Jordan and by the Israel Antiquities Authority. Tom Levy conducted his own program on UCSD-TV, entitled “Dig This!” With regard to Judaism in antiquity (specifically, the Bible, the early postbiblical world, and related Near Eastern archaeology), UCSD is known to be particularly outstanding. It is remarkable that a university renowned for its achievements in the sciences should also excel in humanities-based fields such as these. UCSD’s Judaic Studies Program is not resting on its laurels, however, and continues to move forward. The program is currently expanding its expertise in the modern period of Judaic Studies. Mazal Tov!

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UCSD’s Judaic Studies Professors and Notable Publications David Noel Freedman Ph.D., The Johns Hopkins University, 1948 Endowed Chair in Hebrew Biblical Studies, Department of History: Biblical Studies Author of Pottery, Poetry, and Prophecy (1980), The Unity of the Hebrew Bible (1991), Divine Commitment and Human Obligation (1997), Psalm 119: The Exaltation of Torah (1999), and The Nine Commandments (2000). Richard Elliott Friedman Ph.D., Harvard University, 1978 Katzin Chair Emeritus of Jewish Civilization, Department of Literature: Hebrew and Comparative Literature Author of Who Wrote the Bible? (1987), The Hidden Face of God (1995), The Hidden Book in the Bible (1998), Commentary on the Torah (2001), and The Bible with Sources Revealed (2003). David Goodblatt Ph.D., Brown University, 1972 Endowed Chair in Judaic Studies, Department of History: Jewish History Author of Rabbinic Instruction in Sasanian Babylonia (1975), The Monarchic Principle: Studies in Jewish Self-Government in Antiquity (1994), and Elements of Jewish Nationalism (2006). Deborah Hertz Ph.D., University of Minnesota, 1979 Herman Wouk Chair in Modern Jewish Studies, Department of History: Jewish History, German History, and European Women’s History Author of Jewish High Society in Old Regime Berlin (1988), Briefe an eine Freundin: Rahel Varnhagen and Rebecca Friedlaener (1988), and How Jews Became Germans (2007). Thomas E. Levy Ph.D., Sheffield University, 1981 Norma Kershaw Chair in the Archaeology of Ancient Israel and Neighboring Lands Department of Anthropology: Archaeology of Israel Editor of Shiqmim I (1987), The Archaeology of Society in the Holy Land (1995), Egypt and the Levant (with Edwin C. M. van den Brink; 2002), and The Bible and Radiocarbon Dating (with Thomas Higham; 2005). William H. C. Propp Ph.D., Harvard University, 1985 Department of History: Biblical Studies, Semitic Languages Author of Water in the Wilderness (1987), Exodus 1–18 (1999), and Exodus 19–40 (2006).

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The Judaic Studies Program at UCSD: A History Biblical and Judaic Studies from the University of California, San Diego Series published by Eisenbrauns, Winona Lake, Indiana

1. The Hebrew Bible and Its Interpreters (1990) Edited by W. H. Propp, B. Halpern, and D. N. Freedman 2. Studies in Hebrew and Aramaic Orthography (1992) D. N. Freedman, A. D. Forbes, and F. I. Andersen 3. Isaiah 46, 47, and 48: A New Literary-Critical Reading (1994) Chris Franke 4. The Book around Immanuel: Style and Structure in Isaiah 2–12 (1996) Andrew H. Bartelt 5. The Structure of Psalms 93–100 (1997) David M. Howard, Jr. 6. Psalm 119: The Exaltation of Torah (1999) D. N. Freedman, J. C. Geoghegan, and A. Welch 7. Between Heaven and Earth: Divine Presence and Absence in the Book of Ezekiel (2000) John F. Kutsko 8. The Storm-God in the Ancient Near East (2003) Alberto R. W. Green 9. Le-David Maskil: A Birthday Tribute for David Noel Freedman (2004) Edited by R. E. Friedman and W. H. Propp 10. The Priest and the Great King: Temple-Palace Relations in the Persian Empire (2004) Lisbeth S. Fried

Abbreviations General asv BM cv E EA ET J jpsv K kjv LXX MT nab nasb ncv neb niv njb njpsv nkjv nrsv R reb RS rsv rv Syr. Vulg.

American Standard Version tablets in the collections of the British Museum Confraternity Version of the Bible Elohist source of the Pentateuch El-Amarna (tablet) English translation Yahwist source of the Pentateuch (from German Jahwist) Jewish Publication Society Version of the Tanakh tablets in the Kouyunjik collection of the British Museum King James Version Greek Septuagint Masoretic Text New American Bible New American Standard Bible New Century Version New English Bible New International Version of the Bible New Jerusalem Bible New Jewish Publication Society Version New King James Version New Revised Standard Version final editor(s)/redaction(s) of the Pentateuch Revised English Bible field numbers of tablets excavated at Ras Shamra Revised Standard Version Revised Version Syriac translation of the Bible Latin Vulgate translation of the Bible

Reference Works AB ABD ABRL

Anchor Bible Freedman, D. N., editor. The Anchor Bible Dictionary. 6 vols. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1992 Anchor Bible Reference Library

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xx AfO ANET

Abbreviations

Archiv für Orientforschung Pritchard, J. B., editor. Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. 3rd ed. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969 ARAB Luckenbill, D. D. Ancient Records of Assyria and Babylonia. 2 vols. Chicago: 1926–27 ATD Das Alte Testament Deutsch BA Biblical Archaeologist BAR Biblical Archaeology Review BAR Int. Series British Archaeological Reports, International Series BASOR Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research BDB Brown, F.; Driver, S. R.; Briggs, C. A. A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament. Oxford: Clarendon, 1907 BHK Kittel, R., editor. Biblia Hebraica BHS Elliger, K., and Rudolph, W., editors. Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1984 BI Biblical Illustrator Bib Biblica BibOr Biblica et Orientalia BKAT Biblischer Kommentar: Altes Testament BRev Bible Review BZAW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly CHANE Culture and History of the Ancient Near East CNI Publications Carsten Niebuhr Institute of Ancient Near Eastern Studies Publications ErIsr Eretz-Israel HAR Harvard Annual Review HSM Harvard Semitic Monographs HSS Harvard Semitic Studies HUCA Hebrew Union College Annual ICC International Critical Commentary IDBSup Crim, K., editor. Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible Supplementary Volume. Nashville: Abingdon, 1976 IEJ Israel Exploration Journal Int Interpretation IOS Israel Oriental Studies JANES Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society JARCE Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt JBL Journal of Biblical Literature JJS Journal of Jewish Studies JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament

Abbreviations JSOTSup JSP JSPSup JSS JTS NEAEHL

NIB NICOT NovT OBO OIP Or OTL OtSt RB REJ SAAS SBLDS SBLMS SBT ScrHier SJOT VT WMANT ZAH ZAW ZDPV

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Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Supplements Journal of Semitic Studies Journal of Theological Studies Stern, E., editor. New Encyclopaedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land. 4 vols. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Carta / New York: Simon & Schuster, 1993 New Interpreter’s Bible New International Commentary on the Old Testament Novum Testamentum Orbis biblicus et orientalis Oriental Institute Publications Orientalia Old Testament Library Oudtestamentische Studiën Revue biblique Revue des études juives State Archives of Assyria Studies Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series Studies in Biblical Theology Scripta Hierosolymitana Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament Vetus Testamentum Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testaments Zeitschrift für Althebraistik Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins

A Goddess in the Garden? The Fall of Eve Shawna Dolansky Northeastern University

The Hebrew Bible is the only witness to an ancient religion that does not explicitly acknowledge the existence of a goddess. 1 All of Israel’s neighbors actively worshiped at least one female deity within their cult. Heading their pantheons, however, was always a powerful male god acknowledged as king. Earlier myths and archaeological artifacts from these cultures attest to the fact that this was not always the case. Studying these myths and artifacts reveals a general pattern of transformation in the evolution of these ancient religions over time. This pattern unfolds as follows: Early religion centers on the figure of a mother goddess, often personified as the earth itself. The earth is responsible for the production of life and also claims all of life in death; burial can be understood as a reentry into the womb of the mother. This archetype of female divinity becomes subdivided, manifesting herself in such characters as the Mother, the Maid, the Lover, and the Warrior. Each of these is conceived in mythology as a separate personality within the pantheon, and each is appealed to by people when her particular function (e.g., fertility, aid in warfare) is required within human society. The goddess gives birth to the god, and he also diversifies into separate and distinct personalities, each of whom in time comes to preside over different societal functions. As society continues to change and evolve, however, Author’s note: I presented an earlier version of this paper as a graduate student in the Judaic Studies seminar at UCSD in 1999. I am very grateful to all of the faculty for their encouraging and helpful feedback in this, as in all my scholarly endeavors. 1. There are two places in the Hebrew Bible in which a direct acknowledgment that some Israelites worshiped a goddess seems undeniable. 1 Kgs 18:19 refers to prophets of Asherah, implying that asherah here refers to a deity and not a cult object (as the remainder of references to asherah in the Bible can be understood). And in Jer 44:17, the people claim that worshiping the “Queen of Heaven” created prosperity for them in former times and that their abandonment of her at Jeremiah’s instigation has brought about their downfall.

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different roles are required of the gods, and some deities begin to fade in importance, while others assume new functions. Pantheons shrink and deities become multifaceted. Many of the previous differentiations between deities, particularly goddesses, become blurred, and goddesses are often recombined back into the figure of the primal archetype. Parallel to these developments, transformations in society begin to necessitate changes in gender roles, and mythology reflects these changes as male gods begin to usurp some of the traditional roles of goddesses. It may seem patently impossible to posit a pattern of this sort for ancient Israel or to attempt to discern it in the biblical corpus. However, these transformations can often be traced through mythology. Studying the evolution of a society’s myths over time reveals a gradual differentiation, subordination, marginalization, recombination, and ultimate transformation of the goddess. Analysis of biblical mythology within the context of this greater cross-cultural pattern demonstrates how this transformation in Israel resulted in the eradication of the goddess from official religion altogether. The Bronze Age in the ancient Near East saw a number of social, political, and cultural changes that were naturally reflected in religion, theology, and mythology. People moved from the village to the town, the town to the city, the city to the state, and from the state to the empire. Originally agricultural or seminomadic, rural people were now living in closer proximity to each other and facing new career opportunities. The accumulation of a food surplus resulting from better agricultural technologies led to various specializations, with new groups of priests, farmers, craftsmen, and warriors being formed. The growth in technology and the building of cities combined with an increase in nomadic invasions, requiring the reorientation of the community for purposes of defense. Thus villages centered on a temple mound and focused on agricultural and pastoral activities became city-states ruled by kings who might also serve as high priests. The temple, no longer a communal responsibility, was now the concern of a specialized group of priests who also oversaw taxation, land apportionment, and food distribution under the authority of the king. As noted by C. Meyers, “The rise of the state meant the gradual end of a society in which the household was the dominant social unit.” 2 Meyers explains that social life moved from the private realm to the public, which increasingly came under male control as women remained in charge of the private world of the household. The establishment of a nation-state resulted in the growth in importance of the military, as well as state and religious bu2. C. Meyers, Discovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988) 190.

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reaucracies that controlled economic development and, as Meyers points out, “These institutions are typically public and male controlled; whenever they become an important part of a society’s organization, female prestige and power recede. . . . The rise of male-controlled military, civil, and religious bureaucracies, and the concomitant breakup of kinship-based social organizations must have taken a toll on gender relations.” Changes on such an immense scale had a major effect on theology and are particularly evident in mythology. Mythology is not a static canon of texts and stories but a dynamic and fluid body of narratives that serves a variety of purposes ranging from etiological or historical to moral and instructional. In ancient cultures as well as modern, the stories we tell reflect our understanding of the world around us; thus they must constantly change in order to continue to be relevant in a society that is regularly evolving. 3 While individual myths reflect frozen moments in time, they form a living body of mythology that as a whole is fluid and dynamic, changing over time. Myths were told and retold differently in diverse times and places, often sharing themes, but reflecting changing meanings, interpretations, and emphases, depending on sociohistorical circumstances. This mythological evolution involves changing characteristics, specialties, attributes, roles, and relative status of the various gods and goddesses in a culture’s pantheon. The goddess, like the god, is an abstract assemblage of various characteristics, a conjunction of ideas sorted out differently in different places and times. She is an archetype of feminine divinity who is divided and specialized into different characters according to cultural, social, and historical needs, all of whom often recombine and are collapsed back into the one goddess. The transformation of the goddess tends to occur in one of three ways: (1) certain personified aspects of the goddess simply fade into the background and disappear entirely from mythology; (2) a goddess’s special function is preempted by a male counterpart, eliminating any further need for or importance of that goddess; (3) several goddesses recombine into the figure of one major goddess, who retains a mixture of the functions and attributes of her composite deities. Often in a culture, as we shall see below, all three methods of marginalization occur simultaneously, while parallel changes take place among male gods who are rising in dominance and importance within the pantheon as the goddesses recede. 3. As stated by Joseph Campbell in Transformations of Myth through Time (New York: Harper & Row, 1990), “The material of myth is the material of our life, the material of our body, and the material of our environment, and a living, vital mythology deals with these in terms that are appropriate to the nature of knowledge of the time.”

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The archetype of the goddess can be pieced together and reconstructed as an “ideal type” by studying the various characteristics and affiliations associated cross-culturally and cross-temporally with goddesses in general. Certain characteristics and attributes cluster, such as earth, tree, snake, and associations with fertility and motherhood. In some cultures, the mother and the virgin are known as goddesses with different names, while in others they are seen as simultaneous aspects of the same goddess. When we speak of “the goddess,” we are referring to an archetypal female deity. A pioneering work in demonstrating the transformation of the goddess is J. Harrison’s Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Religion. A significant part of this work is dedicated to documenting changes over time in the nature, role, and functions of the deities of ancient Greece as reflected in art and textual remains. For example, Harrison shows that first and foremost in early Greek religion was the mother goddess, conceptualized as the earth itself, who gives birth to all of life and to whom all return in death. One of the earliest aspects or personalities of the mother goddess was Kourotrophos, the “Lady of the Wild Things.” Demonstrating the changing nature of religion and mythology corresponding to social transformations, Harrison states that “[s]o long as and wherever man lived for the most part by hunting, the figure of the ‘Lady of the Wild Things’ would content his imagination. But, when he became an agriculturist, the Mother-goddess must perforce be, not only Kourotrophos of all living things, but also the Corn-mother, Demeter.” 4 From here, the goddess further diversifies and is not only Demeter, the mother, but also Kore, the maid. As society changes, further transformations and bifurcations of the goddess occur. T. Frymer-Kensky has documented a similar phenomenon of Mesopotamian religion in her book In the Wake of the Goddesses. She notes that “[t]he Sumerian pantheon . . . was never uniform or static,” reflecting changes occurring “in many aspects of society: in the organization of the state, in the socioeconomic system, in the concept of the nature of kingship and political authority, and in theological conceptions of the world of gods.” Among the transformations taking place in theology, Frymer-Kensky particularly notes that “one trend that becomes very clear is the ongoing eclipse and the marginalization of the goddesses.” 5 This tendency seems to have continued and become more manifest during the Old Babylonian periods and later, as goddesses either disappear from mythology entirely, combine with other god4. J. Harrison, Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Religion (2nd ed.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1908) 21. 5. T. Frymer-Kensky, In the Wake of the Goddesses (New York: Fawcett Columbine, 1992) 70.

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desses or even gods, or are subsumed by their male counterparts to become primarily consort figures rather than important deities in their own rights. 6 This is likewise demonstrated by Harrison to have occurred in Greek religion. She points out that, “[i]n Olympia, where Zeus in historical days ruled if anywhere supreme, the ancient Heraion where Hera was worshipped alone long predates the temple of Zeus.” 7 Over time, however, the figure of Zeus, the “father of men,” became attached to Hera as a spouse, and then subjugated her, although as Harrison further points out, “[i]t was not only the Olympian Father Zeus who victoriously took over to himself the cult of the Earth-Mother and the Earth-Maidens. Even more marked is the triumph of the Olympian Son, Apollo.” 8 In a rather telling myth, Apollo is said to have slain the Python, the attendant serpent of the oracle of Ge-Themis, the old earth goddess at Delphi. 9 With this act, Apollo effectively took over the attributes of Themis, goddess of law and order, as well as Ge’s association with the Python via a priestess known as the Pythia, who contacted the god by means of his sacred tree, the laurel. 10 This observation points to another pattern paralleling the marginalization of goddesses in the transformation of ancient religions: the ascendance and eventual dominance of the pantheon by a younger warrior god, who receives the title of “king” and who rules alongside the deus otiosus but at the same time absorbs the characteristics and symbols of many gods of the older pantheon. This trend is best exemplified by Baºal at Ugarit, whose ascendancy is described in the “Baºal Cycle,” and by Marduk in Babylonian mythology. 11 From such examples and others, scholars have begun to generalize this transformation of the goddess as endemic to ancient Near Eastern creation stories, observing that “[g]ods who created replaced goddesses who procreated 6. Ibid., 71. 7. Harrison, Prolegomena, 315. 8. Ibid., 319. 9. W. La Barre, The Ghost Dance: Origins of Religion (Long Grove, Ill.: Waveland, 1990) 457. 10. Ibid. 11. Marduk’s supremacy is exemplified at the end of Enuma Elish, when he is attributed with the characteristics of other deities. See T. Jacobsen, The Treasures of Darkness: A History of Mesopotamian Religion (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1976) 212; and M. S. Smith, The Early History of God: Yahweh and Other Deities in Ancient Israel (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1990) xxv. This is further evidence of the fluid nature of divine attributes; the primary divine principle or archetype is divided into separate, gendered personalities with unique characteristics, but deities can overlap and often encompass each other, with some becoming subsumed and others taking on more central importance in a given cult.

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and controlled the cycles of birth and death and the seasons.” 12 Often the mythological details of these events are explicit, as with the slaying of Tiamat, a mother goddess figure, by her son Marduk, an act which allows Marduk to create the world from his mother’s carcass. Frymer-Kensky describes several Mesopotamian myths in which the mother goddess is denied her procreative ability, as it is taken over first by Enlil and later increasingly by Enki (known as Ea in later myths). 13 The Atrahasis myth also seems to reflect the beginning of this transition in thought as the creation of humanity necessitates the combined efforts of Mami and Enki. However, by the time of Enuma Elish, “Ea is the sole creator of humanity, and he is given a special name, Nudimmud, ‘the man-creator.’ ” 14 Similar transformations occur in Greek mythology, the most potent and relevant example of which is the story of Pandora. Harrison states that “Pandora is in ritual and matriarchal theology the earth as Kore, but in the patriarchal mythology of Hesiod her great figure is strangely changed and [di]minished. She is no longer Earth-born, but [now] the creature, the handiwork of Olympian Zeus.” 15 Similarly, Athena is not born, but springs forth fully formed from Zeus’s forehead. This tendency for gods to assume the procreative ability of goddesses (to such an extent that gods now create goddesses rather than the other way around) seems to be the final step toward subsuming them by rendering their particular attributes and abilities irrelevant. It is a widespread phenomenon 16 and one that epitomizes the trend toward the marginalization of goddess figures. Despite their original importance, over time, goddess figures seem to diminish in status and often disappear entirely from myths in which they had once figured prominently. At first the great earth-mother becomes diversified, multiplying into a variety of female deities with different attributes and characteristics. Later in the trend toward marginalization, the goddesses often seem to become collapsed into a few composite figures, because many of the older “minor” goddesses no longer figure in mythology. As Harrison describes with reference to the evolution of Greek theology, we see “one woman-form take various shapes as Mother and Maiden, as duality and trinity; we have seen these shapes crystallize into Olympian divinities as Athene, 12. J. A. Phillips, Eve: The History of an Idea (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1984) 5. 13. In the Wake; see especially pp. 72–75. 14. Ibid., 75. 15. Harrison, Prolegomena, 284. 16. In his discussion of the creation of Eve from Adam’s rib in Genesis 2, W. Propp notes that “The motif of the removal of a child from a male’s body is also found in the myths of Sumer, Hatti, Greece, and many other cultures” (“Eden Sketches,” in The Hebrew Bible and Its Interpreters [ed. W. H. Propp, B. Halpern, and D. N. Freedman; Biblical and Judaic Studies from UCSD 1; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1990] 194).

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as Aphrodite, as Hera, and as it were resume themselves again into the great monotheistic figure of Venus Genetrix.” 17 Similar patterns can be discerned in the Near East. Already in latefifteenth- and early-fourteenth-century Syria, there seems to be a confusion or blending of Asherah and Astarte. 18 Lucian’s De Syria Dea indicates a later, further synthesis of goddesses, probably Astarte, Anat, and Asherah, in his discussion of Atargatis, 19 although there is some debate over which three goddesses are included in this composite deity. 20 Even prior to Atargatis, there is some evidence that Anat and Astarte were combined at Ugarit. In Egypt, these two goddesses are often indistinguishable. 21 Harrison attests to the same trend in Greek depictions of goddesses. An archaic votive relief shows three women carrying fruit and a wreath, and Harrison notes that, were it not inscribed, the identity of the women portrayed would be difficult to discern: “Most happily the sculptor has left no doubt. He has written against them . . . ‘Sotias (dedicated) the Korai’ the ‘Maidens.’ Sotias has massed the three stately figures very closely together; he is reverently conscious that though they are three persons, yet they are but one goddess. He is half monotheist.” 22 Frymer-Kensky describes another method of marginalization at work in Sumerian literature as Enki/Ea takes over the functions of such goddesses as Nammu and Ninurra; the god Damu subsumes the healing role of the goddess Gula; and Nabu takes over Nisaba’s role as goddess of writing and patron of scribal schools. 23 In this case, it is not so much that goddesses are blended with each other as it is that they are simply taken over by male gods and, no longer useful, disappear from the mythological literature altogether. A similar process of synthesis seems to have occurred among gods in the ancient Near East. Marduk’s supremacy in the Enuma Elish is one example. Some scholars see the same trend at work in ancient Israel. As M. Smith states, “the oldest stages of Israel’s religious literature exhibit signs of Yahweh having assimilated the imagery of the primary deities.” 24 This trend could account for the diminution in the number of deities attested in earlier as 17. Harrison, Prolegomena, 323. 18. W. A. Maier, ªAserah: Extrabiblical Evidence (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986) 65. 19. See R. A. Oden, Studies in Lucian’s De Syria Dea (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1977) 48–53, 55–58. 20. Maier, ªAserah, 66. 21. Maier (ibid., 77 n. 73) discusses incantation text RS 24.244 in this regard and compares this synthesis to a similar tendency in Egypt, as seen for example in a treaty between Ramesses II and Hattusilis that names a Syrian goddess ºntrt as witness. 22. Harrison, Prolegomena, 289. 23. Frymer-Kensky, In the Wake, 71. 24. Smith, Early History of God, 22.

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opposed to later pantheons in the Levant. Smith suggests that “it would appear that the first-millennium neighbors of Israel did not maintain cultic devotion on the same scale as the second-millennium religion in the Levant. While more than two hundred deities are attested at Ugarit, the texts from the first-millennium states in the region attest to ten or fewer deities.” 25 The difference between the tendency to collapse many gods into a few major figures and the similar trend in goddess worship is that gods have not only subsumed the most important of female attributes, but they now figure as the major deities of most ancient Near Eastern civilizations. Israelite mythology epitomizes this trend, collapsing the two major god figures of the ancient Near East, the deus otiosus known as El and the young warrior god comparable to Baºal and Marduk into the figure of Yahweh, and the official religion documented in the Hebrew Bible denies the legitimacy of any goddesses whatsoever. However, traces of the presence of a goddess remain in biblical stories. Inscriptions such as those found at Kuntillet ºAjrud and Khirbet el Qom and the biblical allusions to a cult object bearing the name of the Canaanite mother goddess demonstrate the vestiges of ancient goddess beliefs similar to the beliefs of Israel’s neighbors and ancestors. An examination of the major attributes and characteristics of the goddess in the ancient Near East provides the background required to discern, extract, and interpret the remnants of belief in a goddess in some of the stories of the Hebrew Bible. But how do you find a goddess who is no longer there? If we only possess Israelite stories from the stage at which the goddess has already disappeared, how can we recover or trace the process of transformation? Fortunately, the consistency of the pattern of disappearance is paralleled by a consistency of goddess attributes throughout the ancient Near East. In a groundbreaking study, W. A. Maier has demonstrated that the same basic goddess, known to us as Asherah from the Ugaritic texts, permeates representations of the goddess “from Hierapolis and the Near East to Spain.” 26 She endures in different forms with different names over the last two millennia b.c.e. By examining similarities in attributes and characteristics of a variety of goddesses, Maier is able to conclude that “the Qudsu representations, dt btn, bºlt gbl, Tannit, Derketo, Phanebalos, and lbªt should be identified with Aserah, and she is one of the deities comprehended in Atargatis.” 27

25. Ibid., 24. W. Propp notes, in private communication, that there are several complex factors at work here. For one thing, larger political entities tend to favor syncretism, as in Egypt. Additionally, there is a decline in texts from the Mesopotamian “list tradition” in Syria–Palestine by the first millennium. 26. Maier, ªAserah, 195. 27. Ibid., 194.

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As noted by Maier, what is most striking about the nature of goddess worship in the ancient world is its widespread diffusion, its endurance, and its basic consistency over the centuries. 28 Maier’s study, though impressive in its scope and constituting a major contribution to our knowledge of this goddess, only incorporates material from the ancient Near East from the second millennium b.c.e. to the beginning of the Common Era. Adopting an even wider lens yields even more impressive results, revealing the basic continuity of human conceptions of the goddess from the earliest paleolithic art through medieval depictions of the Madonna, with a geographical diffusion of common characteristics encompassing even South America. In all ancient depictions of the goddess, from the earliest pictorial records persisting over millennia in historical mythologies and recorded texts, there is a remarkable continuity in the nature of her attributes, associations, and characteristics. The “Goddess of Laussel,” dated between 22,000 and 18,000 b.c.e., is depicted with a crescent moon in her hand, a popular attribute of the goddess in the ancient Near East, as exemplified by a Babylonian figure of Astarte with the crescent moon on her head dated to the second century b.c.e. 29 A similar type of association between the goddess and birds can be traced through Egyptian, Sumerian, Minoan, and Greek representations and mythologies; Isis and Nephthys are often depicted as birds; the swallow and the dove are sacred to the Sumerian goddess Inanna as well as to Isis in Egypt; the swan and the goose belong to Aphrodite, while the owl is Athena’s familiar. The goddess has a similar affiliation with lions: a terra-cotta sculpture dating to 6000–5800 b.c.e. found at Catal Huyuk depicts the mother goddess giving birth between lions, 30 while frequently Inanna-Ishtar, Isis, Sekhmet, the unnamed Minoan goddess, Cybele, Hera, and even the Indian goddess Durga are represented by lions, walk with or on lions, or sit on a lion throne or in a chariot pulled by lions. Even more remarkable and consistent are the associations of the goddess with the earth, with trees, and with snakes. These are often also used as implicit symbols of fertility, associated with the cyclical nature of life. The earth is the most obvious of these symbols; the concept of “mother-earth,” from which all life is born and to whose womb all return in death, is widespread. 31 28. Ibid., 195. 29. The “Goddess of Laussel” can be found in the Musee d’Aquitaine, while Astarte with a crescent moon on her head is located in the Louvre, Paris. Both are depicted in A. Baring and J. Cashford, The Myth of the Goddess: Evolution of an Image (London: Viking Arkana, 1991) 44. 30. This sculpture is found in the Museum of Anatolian Civilization in Ankara and is reproduced in ibid., 83. 31. See chap. 2 of Campbell’s Transformations of Myth through Time; and La Barre, Ghost Dance, 255.

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Snakes shed their skin and are “reborn”; trees reach deep into the ground and high up into the heavens, and they bear fruit that sustains life and contains seeds to create new trees. 32 The goddess was either associated with trees or was worshiped in the form of a life-giving tree in Greece, Sumer, Phoenicia and the Punic colonies, 33 and Egypt, where artistic evidence associates deities such as Selkit, Isis, Nut, and Hathor with trees. Egyptian goddesses are often represented either in a tree or as a tree. In Crete, the tree was worshiped as the image of the goddess herself. 34 The association of trees with fertility is similarly widespread. 35 The serpent seems to be an almost universal symbol of wisdom, fertility, and health and is thus deified in cultures all over the world, from the Mayan and Aztec civilizations to India, Sumer, Greece, and Old Europe 36 as well as being associated with the goddess in these areas in addition to Africa, southeast Asia, Indonesia, and Melanesia. 37 In Sumerian mythology, Nammu, the great serpent goddess of the abyss, gives birth to earth and heaven. In Old Europe, the snake goddess, ruler of the earth, is the counterpart of the bird goddess, mistress of the heavens. 38 Harrison states that in early Greek religion, “[t]he snake is clearly regarded as the vehicle of the wrath of the goddess . . . [as well as] the earliest form of every earth-born Kore.” 39 She also attests to the snake as the male principal, symbol of life, fertility, and soul in the old chthonic religion, yet even in association with masculinity and phallic imagery, the serpent’s association with the goddess is only increased: as such, the serpent is the quintessential consort of the Mother, with the imagery of a snake disappearing into a cleft in the earth or, more symbolically, emerging from the cleft of the goddess. 40 32. In Primitive Mythology: The Masks of God (New York: Penguin, 1987), J. Campbell notes that, cross-culturally, the tree is seen as the world axis, the power of which can be captured in the wood used to create cultic objects, such as the drum (p. 257). 33. Harrison, Prolegomena, 322; Jacobsen, Treasures of Darkness, 212; Maier, ªAserah, 109; and see also Oden, Studies in Lucian, 154. 34. See R. F. Willetts, Cretan Cults and Festivals (New York: Barnes & Noble, 1962) 70. 35. See H. Eilberg-Schwartz, The Savage in Judaism: An Anthropology of Israelite Religion and Ancient Judaism (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990) 145–46 for cross-cultural studies and pp. 161–62 for Israelite associations of trees with fertility. 36. See J. Campbell, The Mythic Image (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1974) 281–302. 37. See idem, Primitive Mythology, 384–91. 38. See M. Gimbutas, The Goddesses and Gods of Old Europe: Myths and Cult Images (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987) chap. 7. 39. Harrison, Prolegomena, 305. 40. As in a sculpted figure showing the goddess giving birth to a snake and simultaneously suckling it at her breast, of unknown date, possibly Gallo-Roman, found in a village

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Similar imagery can be found in the ancient Near East. “When judged along with its other sexual and fertility associations, the serpent seems to signify the life of nature rising from the earth and emanating from the goddess.” 41 In Greece, “Hermes, Meilichios, Asklepios, Crecrops, Erichtheus and many others were snakes in body form or ‘attribute’; even Athena the Maiden was attended by a chthonic snake; and when a man died, a snake glided forth from his loins, to remain, as is the wont of snakes, immortal.” 42 In India, the “Mother of All That Moves” and Goddess of the Earth sometimes bore the title Sarparajni, “Serpent Queen,” and, as the female serpent Kundalini, she represented the inner power of the human body. 43 The Buddha is also portrayed as seated on the coils of the great serpent goddess Mucalinda, protected by her hoods. In Crete, the goddess is often depicted with snakes in her hands or wrapped around her body. The famous portrayal of a goddess with the head of a serpent, holding her child, known as “the serpent Madonna” 44 was found in Ur and dates to 4000–3000 b.c.e. On an 800 b.c.e. Assyrian seal depicting the battle between Marduk and Tiamat, Tiamat is portrayed as a serpent. 45 Scholars have long recognized the association of the serpent elsewhere in the ancient Near East with prolonged life and with powers of healing, as well as with wisdom and fertility. 46 The fertility symbolism of the conjunction between the goddess image of Mother Earth and her association with the serpent is unmistakable, as stated by Joines: “the serpent-goddess-sex association represents the life of the earth.” 47 The conjunction of tree, goddess, and snake constitutes a widespread mythological theme in the ancient Near East. A Sumerian cylinder seal dating to 2500 b.c.e. depicts a tree flanked by a goddess and a god, with a serpent standing behind the goddess. 48 Surviving myths also attest to this association. For example, in the fragmentary remains of a story known as Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld, the goddess Inanna planted a tree in order to use the wood when it was grown, but her goal was thwarted because in the Luchon region of the Pyrenees, southwestern France (Baring and Cashford, Myth of the Goddess, 67). 41. K. Joines, Serpent Symbolism in the Old Testament (Haddonfield, N.J.: Haddonfield House, 1974) 64. 42. La Barre, Ghost Dance, 455. 43. B. Walker, The Woman’s Dictionary of Symbols and Sacred Objects (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1988) 387. 44. Campbell, Transformations, 63. 45. Baring and Cashford, Myth of the Goddess, 273. 46. See H. N. Wallace, The Eden Narrative (HSM 32; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1985) 192–93; Joines, Serpent Symbolism, chaps. 2 and 3. 47. Ibid., 71. 48. Baring and Cashford, Myth of the Goddess, 212, 489.

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the thunderbird Imdugud built a nest in its crown, the demoness Kiskillilla lived in its trunk, and a huge serpent nestled at its base. 49 Recall also the nature of the Delphic Oracle, later taken over by Apollo, which required communication between the earth as mother goddess, the Python, and the priestess via the sacred laurel tree. Goddess, snake, and tree are also conjoined symbolically, as in the Punic caduceus, connected with the “sign of Tannit.” 50 Oden argues that the pole around which the snakes are entwined represents a stylized palm tree. 51 All of the above has implications for the study of ancient religion in general, as well as the particulars of Israelite theology portrayed in the Hebrew Bible. We need to begin to think of “the goddess” and “the god” in more generic terms, as archetypes; there is little to be gained by trying to figure out, for example, to what degree Yahweh incorporates aspects of Baºal instead of El. He is simply “the god” and incorporates aspects of male divinity (and sometimes female). 52 Likewise, there is little point in trying to demonstrate why Asherah cannot be identified with Astarte, Tannit, and others. The goddess (like the god), is an abstract assemblage of various characteristics, but they are not random. Certain characteristics cluster, as we have seen—for example, mother goddess, tree, and snake. These are often but not necessarily linked. Thus we should not try to derive biblical Asherah from Ugaritic Atiratu. It is much more fruitful to see a conjunction of ideas sorted out differently in diverse places and times. Because these are archetypes, even when they detach they may recombine in different ways; they are always together in folk tradition, and as their meanings change over time due to social and political circumstances, the way in which they are recombined both is indicative of and causes transformations in their status and meanings. The next step is to apply the broad perspective afforded by cross-cultural analysis of the primary attributes and characteristics of the goddess to the study of the Hebrew Bible. Biblical mythology, in particular the story of the Garden of Eden, presents a case study in the transformation of the goddess in the ancient Near East that parallels similar marginalizations described by Frymer-Kensky in Sumerian and Babylonian mythology and by Harrison in Greek mythology. What is even more remarkable about the biblical case is that the goddess herself has all but disappeared; she must be reconstructed by piecing together the clues she has left as a legacy. The story of the Garden of Eden in Genesis 2 and 3 superficially has nothing to do with a goddess; in fact, the opposite is emphasized—namely, the creation of life by Yahweh alone rather than procreation by a goddess or 49. 50. 51. 52.

Jacobsen, Treasures of Darkness, 212. Oden, Studies in Lucian, 143–44. Ibid., 149–55. See Smith, Early History of God, 97–103.

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even a human woman. God forms man, and then man “gives birth” to woman via Yahweh’s intervention. However, the juxtaposition of many of the major elements associated with the goddess throughout the ancient Near East appears here in such an obvious manner that it cannot be attributed to mere coincidence. Man (ªadam) is created out of the (feminine) earth (ªådamâ); he is placed in a garden of which the central features are two magical trees, and a woman, later known as “the mother of all living,” is addressed by a serpent, who does not attempt to communicate with the man. Probably the most studied passage in the Hebrew Bible, the story of the Garden of Eden has been interpreted and reinterpreted in countless ways over the past two millennia. As W. Propp points out, “[t]he basic plot, which tells of the rupture of the harmony of God, humanity, and nature, is fairly clear; nevertheless, many details are not well understood.” 53 Particularly, theologians and commentators attempt to make sense out of the significance and nature of the trees, the creation of woman after man (versus the creation of humanity described in Genesis 1), the name of the woman, and the anomaly of a talking serpent who chose to deal with Eve instead of Adam. It has also been noted that, while all have been banished from the Garden in order to prevent access of humans to the Tree of Life forever, it is the woman, the snake, and the earth who are actually cursed. The etiological, moral, and theological subtexts of the basic plot are fairly evident and have been explored in every possible manner; the importance of these details, however, has not been entirely clear. The perspective afforded on these issues from a crosscultural comparison of the elements within the story reveals deeper layers of meaning and places the story of the Garden of Eden squarely within the category of mythological portrayals of the transformation of the goddess. Prior to delving into an analysis of this story from this perspective, I consider it important to emphasize the establishment by scholars such as Harrison and Frymer-Kensky of a genre of mythological literature devoted to the subordination, marginalization, and ultimate transformation of the goddess in the wake of social and political changes correlating to the rise of states and the movement from rural to urban lifestyles. In addition to the stories discussed above, the story of Pandora affords a striking parallel to Eve in the Eden story, as has often been noted by artists, theologians, and scholars. 54 53. Propp, “Eden Sketches,” 189. 54. A comparison between Eve and Pandora has been made by many contemporary scholars; see for example Phillips, Eve, chap. 2. However, the history of this idea reaches much further back, almost two thousand years, as the Church Fathers perceived the story of Pandora as a completion of and commentary on the story of Eve (see Dora Panofsky and Irwin Panofsky, Pandora’s Box [New York: Pantheon, 1962] 15). A sixteenth-century painting entitled Eva Prima Pandora by Jean Cousin demonstrates “a clear artistic confusion of the Eve and Pandora stories,” during the Renaissance (Phillips, Eve, 22).

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What is only recently becoming clear, however, is that the similarity between these stories is precisely the fact that they are of the same genre: a type of mythology devoted to the legitimation of a new social order that places males on top and that will go so far as to claim the ability of procreation for male deities, usurping the traditional power of the goddess. As Kate Millet stated in her Sexual Politics of 1970, “The figure of Eve, like that of Pandora, has vestigial traces of a fertility goddess overthrown.” 55 The surviving account of the story of Pandora is Hesiod’s version. In this myth, Zeus, angry at Prometheus for helping humans obtain fire from the gods, decides to punish humanity by creating the first woman. Her name is Pandora, meaning “all gifts,” and the gods make her irresistibly beautiful and equip her with a jar containing sickness, disease, and all evils. Once accepted into human society, Pandora opens the jar and releases evil into the human realm forever. The only item remaining in the jar is hope. Scholars suspect that this was not the original myth and that Pandora represents a goddess, originally the “bestower of all gifts” to humanity, who has become transformed to become the “receiver of all gifts” and bestower of evil. Harrison describes the transformative effect of Hesiod’s myth of Pandora on the nature and status of the goddess: Pandora is in ritual and matriarchal theology the earth as Kore, but in the patriarchal mythology of Hesiod her great figure is strangely changed and minished. She is no longer Earth-born, but the creature, the handiwork of Olympian Zeus. . . . Through all the magic of a poet, caught and enchanted himself by the vision of a lovely woman, there gleams the ugly malice of theological animus. Zeus the Father will have no great Earth-goddess, Mother and Maid in one, in his man-fashioned Olympus, but her figure is from the beginning, so he re-makes it; woman, who was the inspirer, becomes the temptress; she who made all things, gods and mortals alike, is become their plaything, their slave, dowered only with physical beauty, and with a slave’s tricks and blandishments. . . . Such myths are a necessary outcome of the shift from matriarchy to patriarchy. . . . So the great figure of the Earth-goddess, Pandora, suffered eclipse: she sank to be a beautiful, curious woman; . . . she that was Mother of Life. 56

Is there a parallel here with the story of Eve? An exploration of the connections between the earth and creation, coupled with the elements of tree, snake, and woman indicates that the Eden story reflects a similar memory of a once-powerful goddess who has been marginalized. 57 55. Quoted in Phillips, ibid., 177 n. 3. 56. Harrison, Prolegomena, 284–85. 57. There are other stories in the Hebrew Bible that may indicate such a legacy of goddess beliefs. With the adoption of this wider, cross-cultural perspective on the attributes and affiliations of the goddess, several other such connections come to mind that

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Much scholarly discussion of Eden focuses on the two trees in the Garden, one of Life and the other of the “knowledge of good and bad,” or Wisdom. 58 It has been suggested that the two trees could be considered variants of a single motif that have been combined in the present version of the narrative, 59 a combination that is not unknown in traditional literature. Wallace suggests another explanation, however, which emphasizes the connection in Proverbs and Psalms as well as in some extrabiblical material, between wisdom and life, stating that “the association of the tree of life and the tree of knowledge which gives wisdom is a traditional feature of the story” and not a result of separate redactions. 60 Wisdom and life are similarly attributes of the goddess (as well as of the serpent), who is seen as bestowing both on humankind in the earliest myths centered on the figure of the mother goddess. This association strengthens Wallace’s suggestion and also contributes to the hypothesis that perhaps we have here a faint memory of the goddess as the primary nurturer of humankind, responsible for endowing us with both life and wisdom. 61 In this regard, it is certainly meaningful that, although there is no longer evidence of an earth goddess who gives birth to humankind in our story, in order to create man, God requires the material substance of the earth, which

would need to be investigated further to determine their merit. For example, the Hebrew word na˙as, which means “snake,” is also the verb meaning “to divine.” A cult object employed by the Israelites until the time of Hezekiah bears a name derived from this root as well; Ne˙ushtan was the bronze serpent fashioned by Moses to heal snakebites in the wilderness. Aaron’s rod, made of wood, becomes a serpent in Exodus 7. There seems to be a connection between divination and healing, wood, and the goddess Asherah, suggested by a Late Bronze Age letter from Taanach in which the uman Asirtu, the “expert of Asherah,” is said to perform divination (see ANET 490; note also that Albright, in ANET 490 n. 28, compares this “expert of Asherah” to the prophets of Asherah in 1 Kgs 18:19). De Moore suggests that the asherah, the wooden cult object involved in the Israelite cult, may have been used in divination (J. C. de Moor, “Diviner’s Oak,” IDBSup, 243–44). Smith submits that “Hosea 4:12 may also preserve a record of the role of divination through the asherah: ‘My people inquired of a thing of wood (ªeß ), and their staff gives them oracles” (Early History of God, 85). In Gen 30:37–43, Jacob performs a curious magical ritual with the aid of various tree shoots. In Numbers 17, Aaron’s rod blooms and is thereafter kept in the Tabernacle. 58. For details on the history of this discussion, see Wallace, Eden Narrative, chap. 4. 59. Ibid., 160. 60. Ibid., 161. 61. Note similarly, in the story of Gilgamesh, not only is there a plant that is said to be able to confer immortality on humans (and that is stolen by a serpent), but it is a woman who is sent to Enkidu, the primitive man, in order to teach him the arts of civilization and with her knowledge give him the gift of culture, which separates him from the animals.

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is animated by his breath. It is interesting to note that the Edomite goddess “Edom,” who may have at one time been worshiped in Jerusalem, 62 shares the same etymology as the material out of which humans are created: ªdm (also the name of the first man) means “red, dark soil,” is directly cognate to Hebrew ªådamâ, and seems to be a “Mother Earth” figure. This recalls the transformation of the procreative role of the mother goddess in Sumerian and Babylonian mythology described by Frymer-Kensky, of which the first step can be seen in the Atrahasis myth, because the efforts of both Mami and Enki are required for the creation of humanity. The transformation is completed by the time of the Enuma Elish, because Ea becomes the sole creator of humanity. 63 In Enuma Elish, however, Ea’s creation is not only completed without the aid of a mother figure, but he also no longer uses the material of mother earth, instead fashioning humankind out of the blood of a slain god. The Eden story thus seems to fall somewhere between Atrahasis and Enuma Elish on the spectrum of transformation with regard to the appropriation of procreative abilities by the dominant male god. The serpent often represents wisdom and life cross-culturally, as well as being a symbol of fertility. As we have seen, the connection between the goddess and the serpent is widespread. Within this context, therefore, the first question we must answer is whether the figure of Eve, like Pandora, can be seen as representing a de-deification of the goddess; that is, whether her character reveals a memory of the goddess archetype, indicating that her association with the serpent in this story is more than accidental. The etymology of the name Eve (˙awwâ ) is a topic that has long fascinated interpreters of the Bible. 64 The Bible’s own etymology suggests a connection with the verb ˙yy, because the reason given for her name is that she was “the mother of all living.” 65 The Greek text agrees with this etymology, translating Zoe. Other etymologies abound, however, two of which are most intriguing. A widely accepted derivation for Eve’s name, first suggested in the

62. G. W. Ahlström, Who Were the Israelites? (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1986) 93. 63. See Frymer-Kensky, In the Wake, 75. 64. For details of the etymologies proposed by different scholars and a discussion of their relative merits, see Propp, “Eden Sketches,” 196; and Wallace, Eden Narrative, 147–48. 65. With regard to this epithet, Phillips (Eve, 28), citing Bruce Vawter, On Genesis (New York: Doubleday, 1977), points out that in Sumerian religion the cuneiform signs nin.ti could be read as either “lady of life” or “lady of the rib.” Recalling that Eve was created out of Adam’s rib, she states that “[t]he author may very well know this and wish to reflect on the circumstances of Eve’s creation with a pun that is reinforced by the wordplay possible with the Hebrew ßelaª (‘rib,’ but also ‘stumbling’).”

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Talmud, 66 is from the root ˙wy, cognate to Old Aramaic ˙wh, later Aramaic ˙ewyaº and Arabic ˙ayya: all words for “snake.” 67 In the early part of this century, a Punic tablet dated to the third to second centuries b.c.e. was discovered, with an inscription that begins rbt ˙wt ºlt mlkt, 68 “[to] the lady Óawat, goddess queen.” The name Óawat in this context seems to be an epithet of the goddess Tannit, the mother goddess of Punic religion whose name is the feminine form of the word tannîn, meaning “dragon” or “serpent.” 69 Wallace suggests, “One could argue that the goddess was given the epithet ˙wt precisely because it conveyed both the aspect of life associated with the mothergoddess and the connection with serpents.” 70 Thus the name conferred on the first woman may have been associated with the figure of a mother goddess, the main attributes of whom were her role as “the mother of all living,” as well as her ancient affiliation with serpents. Further evidence of the connection between Eve and a figure of a mother goddess has been put forth by Wallace. He draws attention to Eve’s role as mother in Gen 4:1, when, after giving birth to Cain she states qanîtî ªîs ªetyhwh. 71 Referring to the odd use of the preposition ªet here, Wallace states that “[a]s it stands the expression seems to suggest that Eve was the wife of Yahweh not Adam.” He further points out that the verb qnh, “to create,” is not normally used for the act of childbirth and suggests a connection to Asherah’s epithet in Ugaritic mythology, qnyt ªilm, “creatress of the gods.” The conjunction of the above elements in the story of the Garden of Eden indicates a subliminal equation between the figure of Eve and a mother goddess. The etymology of Eve’s name, her connection with the snake, the creation of man out of the earth, and the presence (and forbidden nature) of the Trees of Life and Wisdom combine in a manner that is beyond coincidence. This creation story draws on a multiplicity of goddess symbols yet attributes creation to a male god, acting alone. In this version of the myth, the “mother” is created last because her procreative abilities are usurped by God, and even by the man, inasmuch as Eve’s creation out of his rib seems to imply 66. For more details, see A. J. Williams, “The Relationship of Genesis 3:20 to the Serpent,” ZAW 89 (1977) 357–74. 67. Propp (“Eden Sketches,” 196 n. 13) suggests that this root can also be found in Ugaritic. 68. See B. C. M. Lidzbarski, Ephemeris für semitische Epigraphik (3 vols.; Giessen: Alfred Töpelmann, 1902–15) 26–34. 69. See F. M. Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1973) 32–33. Cross states that “the epithet tannittu would mean literally, ‘the One of the serpent,’ or possibly, ‘the Dragon Lady.’ ” 70. Wallace, Eden Narrative, 190. 71. Ibid., 191. Propp notes, in private communication, that, taken literally, this phrase almost seems to indicate that Eve is Yahweh’s mother.

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that he has given birth to her. Although the use of earth is necessary to create man, it requires God’s breath for animation and life. The woman retains her title of “mother of all living,” but this seems almost a mockery in this context, particularly because it is bestowed by the man, demonstrating his superiority. All of the aspects of a transformative myth that is legitimizing the transformation of the old order, in which the goddess was a figure of primary importance, into a new one dominated by a male creator god are present. The curses with which God punishes Eve, the earth, and the serpent further confirm the attribution of the Garden of Eden story to this genre. As many commentators have noticed, much of the story and the curses that result revolve around the issue of fertility, the creation of life. The earth, the woman, the trees, and the serpent are all representative of life and its renewal. In this story however, the association of all of these elements leads instead to death and sterility. Soggin sees in this reversal an Israelite attack on the incorporation of syncretistic elements from Canaanite religion into the Israelite cult. He argues that in Genesis 3 the author has reversed an originally Canaanite story about fertility, in which a serpent goddess taught humans how to dominate nature and thereby become god-like, for polemical purposes. He concludes that “what produces life and fertility in Canaan, in Israel is rebellion against God and causes death and drought, since it is impiety and sacrilege.” 72 In a similar vein, Wallace states that “[t]he narrative is a polemic against fertility practices in the Canaanite cult,” although he is referring to the sacred marriage rite. 73 He concludes that [t]he couple seek to imitate the gods in sexual activity. The setting for this is described in terms of the garden of God, the location of the divine marriage itself. The passage is replete with terms and concepts reminiscent of the Canaanite mother-goddess, the serpent with its mythical associations, and concepts of fertility of womb and field. The final outcome, however, is the reverse of what could be expected. Instead of fullness of life and abundance there is expulsion into a world marked by sterility, toil, pain in childbirth, and ultimately death itself. The sexual activity leads only to shame.

The story can be seen as somewhat polemical in nature, for the reasons outlined by Soggin and Wallace. Within the context of larger transformations occurring throughout the ancient Near East and affecting theology, religion, and mythology, however, we might instead view this story as a reflection of the gradual diminishment of the role and status of the goddess. Note that the outcome of Eve’s activity is that enmity will be placed between herself and the serpent and their descendants. The goddess has already been demoted in 72. J. A. Soggin, “The Fall of Man in the Third Chapter of Genesis,” Old Testament and Oriental Studies (BibOr 29; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1975) 169–78. 73. Wallace, Eden Narrative, 206.

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becoming a human woman created by a male god out of another male figure, and her final de-deification is her separation from her former attributes, the serpent and the tree. Fertility for the woman will be a hardship now, because her curse includes pain in childbirth. The positive association of the goddess and women with motherhood has been reversed. The final aspect of her curse is her future subordination to her husband; a reflection of the human domain in the larger story of the goddess’s complete subordination (to the point of nonexistence) to the god. The serpent is cursed with separation from the woman as well as a demotion to the status of the lowest animal. And last, the earth (not the man) 74 is cursed with difficulty in fertility, paralleling the curse on the woman. In a sense, the future relationship between men and “Mother Earth,” in all of her manifestations, will be a strained one. From this perspective, the lesson that Yahweh seems to be teaching the humans at the end of this story is that, like Zeus with respect to Pandora, he is the only one who grants fertility; neither the earth nor women have this power in their own right. The transformation of the goddess and, with her, human women has been completed with the transference to the god of the goddess’s ultimate power, that of procreation. The story of the Garden of Eden demonstrates that a mythological subtext not always evident to the modern interpreter can be extracted when we recognize the dynamic nature of mythology and its influence by and reflection of contemporary issues. This analysis also makes evident the symbolic associations attached to certain elements incorporated into biblical narratives. Analysis of this symbolism can often tell us a story about Israelite religious beliefs as they may have existed prior to the formal record of the official Israelite cult contained in the Hebrew Bible. In Greek and Mesopotamian mythology, the existence of a genre of mythology concerned with the transformation of the goddess can be readily traced because we possess copies of earlier myths as well as later ones, and an evolution can thereby be discerned. For Israelite religion, however, the only record of mythology in existence is the Hebrew Bible, the final redaction of which represents a fairly uniform and static view of theology, giving us very few glimpses of prior or alternate beliefs and practices. The story of the Garden of Eden suggests that earlier mythologies existed in which a goddess figure was likely involved in creation; such a story, however, has been lost to us, and we are left with the version that inverts her role and marginalizes the goddess to such an extent that she is no longer directly present in any myths. Thus the implications of this analysis reach far beyond Genesis 2 and 3; the Garden of Eden is only the most obvious conjunction of the attributes of the goddess in the tale of her transformation. 74. As noted by Meyers, Discovering Eve, 92.

Jacob’s Bargain with God (Genesis 28:20–22) and Its Implications for the Documentary Hypothesis Jeffrey C. Geoghegan Boston College

The viability of the Documentary Hypothesis appears to be in serious jeopardy as a growing number of scholars no longer speak of refining Wellhausen’s influential theory but, rather, of reconsidering or even rejecting the whole. 1 Conversely, there are those who vigorously defend the theory, arguing Author’s note: An earlier form of this essay was presented at the 2004 Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in San Antonio, Texas. I wish to thank the participants of the Pentateuch Section for their questions and comments that helped to refine the present work. I wish also to thank Christopher Harris of Boston College for his research assistance during the final stages of writing. Any errors or infelicities that remain are my own. 1. J. Wellhausen, Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels (Berlin: Reimer, 1883; originally published as Geschichte Israels, Berlin, 1878). For recent surveys of scholarship on the Documentary Hypothesis, see H. Schmid, Die Gestalt des Mose: Probleme alttestamentlicher Forschung unter Berüchsichtigung der Pentateuchkrise (Erträge der Forschung 237; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1986); A. de Pury and T. Römer, “Le Pentateuque en question: Position du problème et brève histoire de la recherche,” in Le Pentateuque en question: Les origins et la composition des cinq premiers livres de la Bible à la lumière des recherches récentes (ed. A. de Pury; Geneva: Labor & fides, 1989) 9–80; C. Houtman, Der Pentateuch: Die Geschichte seiner Erforschung neben einer Auswertung (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1994); E. W. Nicholson, The Pentateuch in the Twentieth Century: The Legacy of Julius Wellhausen (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998). For those arguing against the Documentary Hypothesis, especially as it bears on the ancestral narratives, see R. Rendtorff, The Problem of the Process of Transmission in the Pentateuch (trans. J. Scullion; JSOTSup 89; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990. German original: Berlin: de Gruyter, 1977); E. Blum, Die Komposition der Vätergeschichte (WMANT 57; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1984); idem, Studien zur Komposition des Pentateuch (BZAW 189; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1990); D. M. Carr, Reading the Fractures of Genesis: Historical and Literary Approaches (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996); idem, “Genesis 28,10–22 and Transmission-Historical Method:

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that one cannot truly understand the development of Israelite religion or even rightly interpret the biblical text without first undertaking a thorough source analysis of Israel’s traditions. 2 As a contribution to this debate, the present essay examines Jacob’s vow at Bethel (Gen 28:20–22), tracing its threefold structure of provision, protection, and return throughout the remaining cycle. 3 What becomes evident, both on linguistic and thematic grounds, is that Jacob’s bargain with God finds its proper denouement only when the sources are read together. Put another way: to remove any of the hypothesized sources from the Jacob cycle unravels its narrative development and undermines the purpose of Jacob’s revelation and vow at Bethel. 4 The implications of these findings for the A Reply to John Van Seters,” ZAW 111 (1999) 399–403; J. Van Seters, Prologue to History: The Yahwist as Historian in Genesis (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992); idem, “Divine Encounter at Bethel (Gen 28,10–22) in Recent Literary-Critical Study of Genesis,” ZAW 110 (1998) 503–13. 2. See Nicholson, The Pentateuch, esp. pp. 249–68, as well as several contributions by R. E. Friedman: The Bible with Sources Revealed (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2003); idem, “An Essay on Method,” in Le-David Maskil: A Birthday Tribute for David Noel Freedman (ed. R. E. Friedman and W. H. C. Propp; Biblical and Judaic Studies from the University of California, San Diego; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2003) 1–15; idem, “The Recession of Biblical Source Criticism,” in The Future of Biblical Studies (ed. R. E. Friedman and H. G. M. Williamson; SBL Semeia Studies; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987) 81–101; idem, “Some Recent Non-arguments concerning the Documentary Hypothesis,” in Texts, Temples, and Traditions: A Tribute to Menahem Haran (ed. M. Fox et al.; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1996) 87–101. 3. In using the term cycle, I do not mean to imply that the Jacob material once existed as a separate saga or novella. Although this is possible, the Jacob material is so well integrated into its present narrative context that it cannot be extracted without doing violence to the ancestral narratives as a whole. See, for example, the discussion of the theme deception for deception, below. 4. This observation applies most notably to the non-P material, though, as we will see below, even P’s account has been incorporated into this theme by use of the same redactional terms and techniques. For the purposes of this study, source identifications follow S. R. Driver, Introduction to the Literature of the Old Testament (New York: Scribner, 1892); M. Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichte des Pentateuch (Stuttgart, 1948; ET, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions [Scholars Press reprint series 5; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1981]); and R. E. Friedman, The Bible with Sources Revealed. Where identifications differ from Driver, Noth, or Friedman, I provide explanation in the notes. For recent treatments of source analysis in the Bethel pericope in particular, see S. McEvenue, “A Return to Sources in Genesis 28,10–22?” ZAW 106 (1994) 375–89; and L. Schmidt, “El und die Landverheissung in Beth-El (Die Erzählung von Jacob in Beth-El: Gen 28,11–28),” in Wer ist vie du, HERR, unter den Göttern? Studien zur Theologie und Religionsgeschichte Israels für Otto Kaiser zum 70. Geburtstag (ed. I. Kottsieper et al.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994) 156–68. A. de Pury’s Promesse divine et légende cultuelle dans le cycle de Jacob: Genèse

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viability of the Documentary Hypothesis will be explored at the conclusion of the study. Jacob’s Initial Indifference toward God (Genesis 27) Jacob’s bid for his brother’s blessing in Genesis 27 sets the stage for his eventual bargain with God in Genesis 28 and therefore requires brief attention. At the instigation of his mother, Jacob poses as Esau in order to steal his brother’s blessing. Wearing goat hair to simulate his brother’s feel and Esau’s coat to simulate his fragrance, Jacob enters the room of his bed-ridden father and declares, “I am Esau, your firstborn. I have done as you asked. Please sit up and eat some of my game so that you can give me your blessing” (Gen 27:19). When asked how he could have returned so quickly from the hunt, Jacob responds: “Yhwh your God gave me success” (Gen 27:20). Jacob’s willingness to lie to his ailing father is reprehensible enough, but to do so in the name of Yhwh reveals the depths of his “supplanting” nature. 5 Yet, more important for the author’s purposes is Jacob’s reference to Yhwh as “your [i.e., his father’s] God.” 6 This seemingly trivial detail introduces what becomes a major theme of the cycle: Jacob’s acceptance of Yhwh as his God. 7 At this point Jacob has little use for God except to lie in his name 28 et les traditions patriarcales (Paris: Gabalda, 1975) remains important for understanding Genesis 28 and its contribution to the remainder of the ancestral narratives. For developments since de Pury’s original study, see his “Situer le cycle de Jacob: Quelques réflexions, vingt-cinq ans plus tard,” in Studies in the Book of Genesis: Literature, Redaction, and History (ed. A. Wénin; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2001) 213–41. 5. Von Rad’s descriptions of Jacob’s actions as “a monstrous crime” and his words as “a frightful lie” capture well their moral character, whether viewed from an ancient or a modern perspective (Das erste Buch Mose: Genesis [ATD 2–4; Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1956]; ET, Genesis [London: SCM, 1961] 272–73). Arguments that Jacob’s behavior would not have seemed immoral to an ancient audience are unconvincing, especially given Jacob’s own hesitation before deceiving his father (Gen 27:11–12), the sympathetic presentation of Esau and Isaac after Jacob’s ruse (Gen 27:33–38), Jacob’s later attempt to repay Esau for his misdeed (Gen 33:8–11), the negative responses to deception throughout the Jacob cycle (see, e.g., Gen 29:25), and the prophetic reflections upon Jacob’s nature and behavior (Hos 12:1–7; Jer 9:3–8). See also the midrashim, which either reinterpret Jacob’s words and actions to clear him of any wrongdoing (for example, Gen. Rab. 65:18–19: ˚rwkb wç[ lba twrbdh trç[ lbql dyt[ ykna, “I am [to receive the Ten Commandments, but] Esau [is] your firstborn”) or openly acknowledge his duplicity (for example, Num. Rab. 20:19). 6. Compare the purposeful interplay of the possessive pronoun in Moses’ and God’s interaction concerning the people of Israel (Exod 32:7, 11). 7. Note the similar observations by Van Seters (“Divine Encounter at Bethel,” 508– 9) and J. P. Fokkelman (Narrative Art in Genesis: Specimens of Stylistic and Structural Analysis [2nd ed.; Biblical Seminar 12; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991] 230).

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to get what he wants. Before the cycle’s end, however, Jacob will embrace his father’s God, but only after God proves himself worthy of his devotion. Jacob’s Bargain with God (Genesis 28) The conditions of Jacob’s allegiance are outlined at Bethel following his famous vision(s). 8 After consecrating a pillar in recognition of the hallowed nature of the site, Jacob makes the following vow: ˚lwh ykna rça hzh ˚rdb ynrmçw ydm[ µyhla hyhyAµa yba tybAla µwlçb ytbçw çbll dgbw lkal µjl ylAˆtnw hyhy hbxm ytmçArça tazh ˆbahw µyhlal yl hwhy hyhw ˚l wnrç[a rç[ ylAˆtt rça lkw µyhla tyb If God will be with me and guard me on this way that I am going, and give me food to eat and clothes to wear, and I return in peace to my father’s house, then Yhwh will be my God, and this stone that I have set up as a pillar will become a house of God, and I will give him a tenth of all that I have. (Gen 28:20–22) In short, Jacob stipulates three conditions that God must meet before he will acknowledge Yhwh as “my God”: 9 8. The question of whether Jacob’s vision consists of a distinct angelophany and theophany is one of the main points of departure between documentarians (see, for example, McEvenue, “Sources in Genesis 28,10–22?” especially pp. 376–80) and the scholars who argue for the structural unity of this material, even if it consists of more than one literary level (see, for example, Blum, Vätergeschichte, especially pp. 34–35). McEvenue’s observation concerning the three-part repetition of hnhw (Gen 28:12–13a) as a structuring element in Jacob’s vow—especially if it consists of two sources (J and E)—is relevant to the present argument that the redactor sought to maximize the thematic unity and theological meaning of the traditions he was joining. Cf. E. van Wolde, “Linguistic Motivation and Biblical Exegesis,” in Narrative Syntax and the Hebrew Bible: Papers of the Tilburg Conference 1996 (ed. E. van Wolde; Leiden: Brill, 1997) 21–50, esp. pp. 44–47. Van Wolde’s application of the linguistic models of markedness/unmarkedness and grounding similarly reveals the conscious effort of an author or editor to heighten the reader’s experience of Jacob’s vision and to give the narrative literary coherence. 9. We might add “divine presence” (“If God will be with me”) as a stipulation of Jacob’s vow. However, this seems to be more of an underlying condition for the fulfillment of the other stipulations. That is, the concrete manifestation of God’s presence in Jacob’s life will be protection, provision, and a peaceful return. God’s presence, in fact, is reiterated throughout the cycle and always in connection with God meeting one or more of these conditions. Thus, when informing Rachel and Leah of his intentions to leave Paddanaram, Jacob prefaces his comments with the notice, “The God of my father has been with me” (31:5). As a result, “God has not allowed [Laban] to harm me” (31:7; protection), and “God has taken away your father’s livestock and has given them to me” (31:9; provision). Similarly, when reproving Laban for his many abuses, Jacob remarks, “If the God of my

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1. Protection: If God will be with me and guard me on this way that I am going 2. Provision: and give me food to eat and clothes to wear 3. Peaceful return: and I return in peace to my father’s house Much of the rest of the Jacob cycle chronicles the ways in which God meets each of these conditions. God’s Fulfillment of Jacob’s Vow (Genesis 29–33) Following his experience at Bethel, Jacob journeys to Paddan-aram, where he falls in love with Rachel and offers her father, Laban, seven years of labor in exchange for her hand in marriage (Gen 29:16–18). Laban agrees, but after Jacob’s period of servitude is over Laban deceptively gives Jacob his older daughter, Leah, as a wife. When confronted for his trickery, Laban responds, “It is not our custom to give away the younger [in marriage] before the firstborn” (Gen 29:26). As R. E. Friedman and others have observed, the biblical author purposefully employs hrykbh (“the firstborn”) when describing Leah in order to make a point: it was precisely over the rights of the firstborn that Jacob deceived his own father and brother. 10 He is now being paid back in kind. Indeed, both the Jacob and Joseph cycles participate in this pattern of “deception for deception”—a finding that, like the fulfillment of Jacob’s vow, has implications for source analysis in these narratives (a subject to which we will return shortly). 11

father—the God of Abraham and the Fear of Isaac—had not been with me (divine presence), you would have certainly sent me away empty-handed (provision). However, God has seen my hardship and the toil of my hands, and he rebuked you last night (protection)” (Gen 31:42). 10. R. E. Friedman, “Deception for Deception,” BRev 2 (1986) 22–31. For others observing the irony of Laban’s use of hrykbh, see E. A Speiser, Genesis: Introduction, Translation, and Notes (AB 1; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1964) 227; N. Sarna, Understanding Genesis (New York: Schocken, 1966) 184; M. Fishbane, Text and Texture (New York: Schocken, 1979) 55–57. Many translations obscure what is going on here by rendering the Hebrew hrykbh as “the older” to parallel Laban’s earlier reference to Rachel as hry[xh (“the younger”). For English translations rendering hrykbh as “the older,” see, for example, jpsv, ncv, neb, niv, and the Berkeley Version. 11. See, for example, Genesis 37, where Jacob is deceived by his own sons when they present him with the torn and bloodied coat of his favorite son, Joseph (Gen 37:31–33). The blood, of course, is not Joseph’s, but a goat’s. Yet a coat and goat are precisely the items used by Jacob when deceiving his own father in order to steal the blessing of Isaac’s favorite son, Esau (Gen 27:15–17). Note also the parallels between Judah’s involvement in deceiving his father and his being deceived by his daughter-in-law. Specifically, Judah and his brothers say of Joseph’s bloodied coat, anArkh, “Recognize this” (Gen 37:32), precisely

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In the present circumstance, Jacob and Laban work out a deal whereby Jacob is allowed to marry Rachel in exchange for seven more years of service, and, in relatively short order, Jacob and his wives and their maidservants have numerous children. In addition, over the next six years Jacob gains considerable personal wealth due to his own ingenuity and, especially, to divine intervention. 12 As Jacob says to Rachel and Leah: “God has reclaimed Laban’s property and given it to me” (Gen 31:9). Thus, God has met one of Jacob’s conditions in his bid for Jacob’s devotion: provision. Soon after these events God appears to Jacob again and informs him that it is time to go home: “Return (bwç) to the land of your ancestors and your birthplace, and I will be with you (˚m[ hyha)” (Gen 31:3). God’s words recall his earlier promise to Jacob at Bethel: “I will be with you and will guard you wherever you go (˚ltArça lkb ˚ytrmçw ˚m[ ykna) and I will cause you to return (˚ytbçhw) to this land” (Gen 28:15a). Indeed, it is from this earlier promise that Jacob derives his own tripartite bargain with God (Gen 28:20– 22), even employing the same verbal elements: If God will be with me ydm[ µyhla hyhyAµa and guard me on this way that I am going ˚lwh ykna rça hzh ˚rdb ynrmçw and I return in peace µwlçb ytbçw

Now, 20 years later, God sets in motion the final condition established at Bethel: Jacob’s safe return home. In fact, God makes explicit appeal to this earlier episode: “I am the God of Bethel, where you anointed a pillar and where you made a vow to me. Now depart from this land and return to the land of your ancestors” (Gen 31:13). On Jacob’s way, God meets another of his conditions: protection, first in Jacob’s dispute with Laban (Gen 31:22– 55) and then in his reunion with Esau (Gen 33:1–16). 13 At last, Jacob crosses the Jordan River into Canaan proper. The notice of Jacob’s return is laden with significance for those keeping track of his vow: µra ˆdpm wabb ˆ[nk ≈rab rça µkç ry[ µlç bq[y abyw Jacob came peacefully to the city of Shechem, which is in the land of Canaan, on his way from Paddan-aram. (Gen 33:18a) the words used by Tamar when presenting Judah with his own staff, seal, and cord (Gen 38:25). These two passages, in fact, mark the only occurrences of anArkh in the Bible. For the details of this pattern, see Friedman, “Deception for Deception,” 22–31. 12. We may never know the exact assumptions informing Jacob’s peculiar genetic experiment with the rods (Gen 30:37–42). However, God is viewed as the ultimate cause of the flock’s fecundity, a fact that is emphasized both in Jacob’s report of his dream (Gen 31:10–12) and in his comments on his acquired wealth (Gen 31:9; 32:10). 13. God’s protection of Jacob is explicit in the case of Laban (31:24, 29, 42). Although there is no equivalent notice of divine protection when Jacob meets Esau, Jacob’s prayer prior to their reunion makes it clear that he is looking to God for protection (32:9–12).

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The details of this notice, that Shechem was “in Canaan” and that Jacob was “coming from Paddan-aram,” are superfluous in their context, suggesting that they have been included for another purpose: namely, to highlight the significance of this event. 14 Confirming this assessment is the statement in this same verse that Jacob returned to Canaan “peacefully” (µlç). This notice recalls the language used by Jacob when making his initial vow to God: “and if I return in peace” (µwlçb ytbçw). 15 God has met the last of Jacob’s conditions: a peaceful return. It is now time for Jacob to fulfill his end of the bargain. Jacob’s Acceptance of YHWH as “My God” (Genesis 33:20) Upon his return to Canaan, Jacob builds an altar (Gen 33:20), calling it El Elohe-Israel (larçy yhla la). Westermann’s 16 contention that this name gives testimony to the replacement of Canaanite El with the God of Israel, or Blum’s 17 proposal that this name reflects the worship of El among preYahwistic Israel, while perhaps coming close to describing the altar’s actual raison d’être, does not address the significance of its name in the present narrative. Jacob is Israel, as he just received a name change during his struggle with God (Gen 32:24–30). This altar, therefore, with its affirmation that “God (is) the God of Israel,” represents the fulfillment of Jacob’s vow: God is now the God of Jacob (i.e., Israel). Fokkelman’s observations regarding the significance of this altar for the larger Jacob cycle are right on the mark: 18 [Gen] 28:21b was concerned with the question of whether the God of Abraham and Isaac would also make himself the God of Jacob. . . . Now, in Canaan, now that all problems have been solved, now that the new Jacob has reconciled himself with his brother and has crossed the river Jordan in peace, he speaks another whole-hearted yes, he puts down an altar and calls it “God/ El (is) the God of Israel.” 14. See von Rad, who likewise notes the redactional character of the notice “which is in the land of Canaan, on his way from Paddan-aram” (Genesis, 323). 15. Fokkelman has also observed the significance of µlçb in connection with Jacob’s vow at Bethel (Narrative Art in Genesis, 229–30). Compare C. Westermann, who follows earlier exegetes and several versions (LXX, Syr., Vulg.) in reading µlç as a place-name (Genesis 12–36: A Commentary [trans. J. J. Scullion; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1985; German original, 1981] 528). Arguing against this view is the absence of a preposition (i.e., l, b, ˆm) or direction marker (i.e., directive-h) characteristically used with the verb awb (see, for example, Gen 7:7; 24:32; 25:29; 27:18; 30:16; 31:33; etc.). 16. Westermann, ibid., 530–31. 17. Blum, “Genesis 33:12–20: Die Wege trennen sich,” in Jacob: Commentaire à Plusieurs voix de Gen 25–36. Mélanges Offerts à Albert de Pury (ed. J.-D. Macchi and T. Römer; Geneva: Labor & Fides, 2001) 227–38. 18. Fokkelman, Narrative Art in Genesis, 230.

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Only one aspect of Jacob’s vow remains: his promise to establish Bethel as a cultic site. We are actually given two accounts of Jacob’s hallowing of Bethel by means of a sacred structure: in one he builds an altar in response to God’s past deliverance (Gen 35:6–7); in the other he erects a pillar in response to God’s promise of future blessing (Gen 35:9–15). With these actions, the theme of Jacob’s bargain with God comes to its completion. Jacob’s Vow and the Documentary Hypothesis Jacob’s bargain with God and God’s meeting each of its conditions, even with the exact linguistic parallels observed above, achieve a nice narrative development. In particular, a plot tension introduced near the beginning of the Jacob cycle finds expression throughout and then resolves near the end. There’s only one problem: this development cuts across several sources. For example, most scholars assign Jacob’s night vision (Gen 28:13–15), in which God promises to be with Jacob, provide for him, and bring him home, to J. However, Jacob’s bargain (Gen 28:20–22), which immediately follows this vision and makes use of the same linguistic elements, is usually attributed to E. 19 One reason for assigning this latter passage to E is that a subsequent passage, which calls the deity “God” (Elohim) and which lacks P-like language, explicitly refers to this same vow (Gen 31:13). 20 Moreover, Jacob’s fulfillment of the final part of his vow (the building of an altar at Bethel) similarly uses the designation Elohim: “And [Jacob] built an altar there and he called the place El-Bethel because God was revealed to him there when he was fleeing from his brother” (Gen 35:7). However, if one considers Jacob’s vision at Bethel, God does not appear to him in E (Gen 28:11b–12) but in J (Gen 28:13–15). 21 Furthermore, God’s command to Jacob in E to return to Bethel to build the promised altar (Gen 35:1) as well as E’s account of its construction (Gen 35:7) both mention Jacob’s flight from Esau, which is similarly unattested in E but appears in J (Gen 27:1–45). Finally, Jacob’s vow in E that he will return to Bethel and make it a “house of God” uses the divine name Yhwh, which is also presumed to be a sign of J. 22 19. Driver, Introduction, 14; Noth, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions, 34–35; Friedman, The Bible with Sources Revealed, 77. 20. Indeed, Gen 28:20 and Gen 31:13 mark the only occurrences of rdn in Genesis. 21. Van Seters rightly points out that Gen 28:11–12 does not satisfy the criteria of a theophany as described in Gen 31:13 (“Divine Encounter at Bethel,” 507). For the possibility that E originally contained a theophany that was subsequently dropped in favor of J’s, see Noth, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions, 34. 22. Driver, Introduction, 14; Noth, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions, 35; Friedman, The Bible with Sources Revealed, 77. On the secondary character of Gen 28:21b, see, for example, Noth, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions, 35 n. 133; Blum, Vätergeschichte, 89–92;

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And this is not the only example of the divine name showing up in the “wrong place.” For example, during Jacob’s vision, there appear “angels of God” (Gen 28:12—presumably a sign of E), but it is Yhwh who speaks. 23 Similarly, in a narrative that most scholars assign to E (Gen 31:1–16), and one that uses language elsewhere appearing in E, it is Yhwh (not Elohim) who tells Jacob to return to his homeland. 24 Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Jacob’s reference to Yhwh as his father’s God (Gen 27:20), which introduces the plot tension of whether Jacob will embrace Yhwh as his own, appears in a passage attributed to J. 25 However, Jacob’s vow at Bethel to make Yhwh “my God” (Gen 28:21b) appears, as already noted, in what is thought to be E, as does Jacob’s construction of the altar “El Elohe Israel” (Gen 33:20), which brings the narrative theme of Jacob’s embrace of God to its completion. 26 So how do we account for the narrative development of Jacob’s vow across, and even requiring traditions from, several sources? There are at least three possibilities. 1. The thematic connections in the Jacob cycle are coincidental. That is, the narrative development of Jacob’s acceptance of God is the chance outcome of the combination of sources by a later redactor. While this is possible, the many thematic and linguistic parallels noted above make it very unlikely. For and Carr, Fractures, 168. Significantly, this half-verse contains the thematic bridge to Jacob’s vow and subsequent ownership of God: “then Yhwh will become my God.” In other words, if Gen 28:21b is secondary, then the hypothesis that the redactor consciously highlighted this theme in the Jacob narratives finds additional support (see discussion below). 23. Most commentators assign the verses describing the activity of the “angels of Elohim” (Gen 28:12b) to E, while Yhwh’s speech (Gen 28:13–15) is attributed to J. See Driver, Introduction, 14–15; Noth, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions, 35; Friedman, The Bible with Sources Revealed, 77. For the problems with this approach, see the discussion on the relationship between Yhwh’s promise and Jacob’s vow below. 24. Friedman ascribes all of Genesis 31 to E except vv. 3 and 17, which he gives to J, and v. 18, which he assigns to P (The Bible with Sources Revealed, 82). Driver gives slightly more (vv. 1, 3, 46, 48–50) to J and slightly less (only v. 18b) to P (Introduction, 15). Noth’s analysis is “all over the map,” so to speak, with every other verse or so alternating between J and E (A History of Pentateuchal Traditions, 35). As Driver observes, “Each account (i.e., J and E), however, appears also to contain notices incorporated from the other, which, in some cases, harmonize imperfectly with the present context” (p. 15). The reason for this apparent admixture of J and E is, in my opinion, due in part to the redactor’s attempts to accentuate the theme of Jacob’s ownership of God in his merger of both accounts (see discussion below). 25. Driver, Introduction, 14; Noth, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions, 29; Friedman, The Bible with Sources Revealed, 75. 26. Driver, Introduction, 14; Noth, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions, 29–30; Friedman, The Bible with Sources Revealed, 77, 87.

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example, the likelihood that both J and E would by chance establish the same criteria by which Jacob would embrace God, even using the same turns of phrases and linguistic structures, seems improbable. In addition, the fact that Jacob’s vow, which is generally ascribed to E, includes the divine name precisely where Jacob promises to embrace Yhwh as his own (Gen 28:21b) cannot be ascribed to the accidental joining of sources. Indeed, as we will see below, many scholars have determined that this half-verse has been secondarily added by a redactor. What is more, there is the evidence of other thematic strains running through these sources that are too pronounced to be coincidental. A case in point is the “deception for deception” pattern noted above, which, though subtle at times, is undeniable once it has been recognized. 27 We could add to this the repeated allusions to the exodus in the lives of the ancestors, which similarly cut across sources. 28 These allusions are not coincidental, and there is no compelling reason to suggest that the narrative development of Jacob’s vow is either. 2. The Documentary Hypothesis is erroneous. That is, the very presence of these narrative themes “across sources” undermines the notion that we are here dealing with distinct sources such as those conjectured by the Documentary Hypothesis. This proposal has more merit, especially as a protest against dissecting biblical narratives in such a way as to eviscerate literary themes and theological ideas that are developed across larger units of text. Nevertheless, this proposal has its shortcomings as well, particularly in its failure to provide an alternative model that adequately accounts for the textual data. For example, the persistence of doublets, differing literary styles, distinct vocabularies, and varying divine names is still best explained as deriving from the 27. Friedman has argued that the theme of “deception for deception” is largely attributable to J (The Hidden Book in the Bible, 36–45). Several of Friedman’s most important examples, however, require both J and E (see, for example, Gen 31:32–35; 35:16–20; 42:25; 50:15–21) and at least one redactor (Friedman’s R JE; see, for example, Gen 37:28). Moreover, limiting this theme to J does not account for a pivotal moment in its development and in the development of Jacob’s character more generally: Jacob’s admission that the one guilty of stealing the objects representative of a household’s blessing and birthright (i.e., Laban’s térapîm) deserves death (Gen 31:32 = E). For further evidence of Jacob’s character change during his stay in Paddan-aram, see his words to Laban (Gen 31:42) and his prayer to God (Gen 32:10–13). 28. For allusions to the exodus in the lives of the ancestors, see Gen 12:10–20 = J; Gen 15:12–16 = J and/or R; Genesis 22 = E, and perhaps R and/or J; Genesis 31 = J and E. These allusions have been observed by ancient (Midr. Gen. 46.6), medieval (Nachmanides), and modern commentators (D. Daube, The Exodus Pattern in the Bible [London: Faber & Faber, 1963]; R. Alter, Genesis [New York: Norton, 1997] 52; R. E. Friedman, Commentary on the Torah [San Francisco: HarperCollins, 2001] 53, 103); J. C. Geoghegan, “The Abrahamic Passover,” in Le-David Maskil [ed. R. E Friedman and W. H. C. Propp; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2003] 47–62).

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combination of once-discrete sources. 29 Indeed, this explanation is perhaps nowhere more satisfying than in the thematic development of Jacob’s vow, where we encounter two different accounts of Jacob’s being blessed by his father (Gen 27:27–29; 28:1–4), two reasons for Jacob’s departure from Canaan (Gen 27:41–45; 27:46–47:5), at least two different accounts of Jacob’s return to his homeland (Gen 33:18; 35:6), two accounts of Jacob’s name change (Gen 32:28; 35:10), and at least two accounts of Jacob’s establishment of Bethel as a cultic site (Gen 35:7, 14; cf. 28:10–22)—each with its distinct vocabulary, divine names and narrative details. Thus, while Nicholson in his recent treatment of the Documentary Hypothesis is correct in his assessment that the theory has its “shortcomings,” he is also correct that it “remains the most comprehensive among all those that have recently been advanced as its replacement.” 30 This leads to what is to my mind the most likely explanation for the narrative development of Jacob’s vow across sources. 3. An alert editor, aware of the faint outline of this development in the Jacob material, arranged and augmented his sources to bring this theme into sharper relief. This model provides the most satisfying solution to the evidence noted above, especially: • the repetition of specific phrases from God’s promise and Jacob’s vow in what are reputedly different sources • the reference by one source back to events that occurred only in another source (for example, the theophany at Bethel, Jacob’s flight from his brother, and so on) • the “misplacement” of the divine name in these same sources at key junctures in the development of this theme

29. Friedman marshals several types of evidence (linguistic, thematic, structural, and historical) in defense of the Documentary Hypothesis that, when taken together, provide a compelling case (The Bible with Sources Revealed, 7–31). See also Nicholson, The Pentateuch in the Twentieth Century, esp. pp. 222–48. Contrast, for example, Van Seters (“Divine Encounter at Bethel,” 510), who explains the change in divine name in the Jacob cycle as dependent upon the addressee (e.g., Aramean versus Israelite), a hypothesis that is repeatedly refuted by the evidence (Gen 29:31, 35; 30:24, 30; 31:49; cf. Genesis 24). For a defense of the Documentary Hypothesis in the specific case of the Bethel pericope, see McEvenue, “Sources in Genesis 28,10–22?” On the whole, I find McEvenue’s arguments persuasive, though his criticisms of Blum (and defense of Wellhausen) on the irreconcilability of the two aspects of Jacob’s vision (angelic activity versus divine speech) and the impossibilities of translating wyl[ in Gen 28:13 as “upon it” (i.e., the stairway) are overstated. 30. Nicholson, The Pentateuch in the Twentieth Century, 195.

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This model also helps to explain other “source anomalies”—anomalies that, in turn, further confirm that the hand of a redactor was at work in making this pattern emerge from the sources. For example, the name Paddan-aram is usually viewed as a sign of P. 31 However, this name appears twice in contexts that interrupt E material at critical moments in the fulfillment of Jacob’s vow. The first notice (Gen 31:18) reports the initiation of Jacob’s return home with the abundance of his possessions, which serves to emphasize God’s provision. The second notice (33:18) tells of Jacob’s entrance into Canaan, which highlights God’s protection and culminates in Jacob’s “peaceful” (µlç) return to his homeland. Friedman says of this latter notice, Paddan Aram is used only in P for the place in which Jacob had spent the years with Laban, but it comes here in the middle of the JE story of Jacob’s return. Also, the phrase in which it occurs (“which was in the land of Canaan, when he was coming from Paddan-aram”) is unnecessary in the JE story. This phrase is therefore likely to have been added by the Redactor. 32

Friedman’s observation that the hand of the redactor (his R) is perceptible precisely where the culmination of Jacob’s ownership of God takes place provides further evidence for the redactor’s awareness of and involvement in highlighting this theme. Also pointing toward the purposeful activity of the redactor at key points in Jacob’s bargain with God is that P’s version of Jacob’s name change and altar building (Gen 35:9–15) begins with the same redactional comment, “when he was coming from Paddan-aram,” µra ˆdpm wabb (Gen 35:9). This notice not only introduces P’s version of Jacob’s fulfillment of his vow at Bethel (namely, that he would establish Bethel as a cultic site), but it follows the statement that God appeared to Jacob “again” (dw[), which must derive from the hand of the redactor because God has yet to appear to Jacob in P. 33 In fact, the most obvious referent to “again” is God’s speech to Jacob earlier in this same chapter (Gen 35:1), which is in the context of what is thought to be E’s version of Jacob’s altar building and which itself refers back to God’s appearance at Bethel when Jacob was fleeing from his brother. But, as noted 31. W. T. Pitard, “Paddan-Aram,” ABD 5.55. 32. Friedman, The Bible with Sources Revealed, 87. 33. Driver (Introduction, 9–10), Noth (A History of Pentateuchal Traditions, 17–18), and Friedman (The Bible with Sources Revealed, 74–90) are virtually unanimous on what constitutes P in Genesis 27–35. According to Friedman, P includes: Gen 27:46–28:9; 31:18; 35:9–15, 22b–29. Noth gives Gen 33:18a and 35:6 to P as well, but attributes 35:14 to E. Driver assigns 35:14 to J and adds 29:24, 29, and parts of Genesis 34 to P. These slight differences do not affect the present analysis. On the redactional character of dw[ (Gen 35:9), see von Rad, Genesis, 334.

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above, according to traditional source divisions God does not appear to Jacob at Bethel in E, nor does E have an account of Jacob fleeing from his brother —at least not in the text as we have it. 34 Yet, this is precisely the point: it is only in the text as we have it—that is, in its redacted form—that the individual narrative details make sense and the larger thematic development of Jacob’s ownership of God comes to full fruition. 35 This proposal of what might be called “redactional intentionality” also helps to explain why the wrong divine name shows up at important moments in this development: the redactor, who prefers the divine name when making his own narrative contributions, 36 is consciously inserting material in order to highlight (and, in some cases, even create) the themes that give the ancestral narratives their literary unity and theological thrust. Minimally, then, I would propose the following editorial additions in the development of Jacob’s acceptance of God: (1) Jacob’s promise, “then Yhwh will become my God” (Gen 28:21b), which uses the divine name in what is otherwise thought to be E, interrupts the structural climax of Jacob’s vow (i.e., the establishment of Bethel as a cultic site 37) and, in combination with Gen 27:20, establishes the theme of Jacob’s eventual embrace of Yhwh as his God; (2) Gen 31:3, which uses the divine name where Elohim prevails, interrupts the narrative flow between vv. 2 and 4 and causes a repetition in the divine command of return (cf. 31:13); and (3) the notices beginning “in [Jacob’s] coming from Paddan-aram” (Gen 33:18; 35:9), both of which also interrupt what is considered E, are superfluous in their context, and highlight some aspect of God’s fulfillment of Jacob’s vow. It may even be that Yhwh’s speech at Bethel (Gen 28:13–15) owes its final form to the redactor as a means of emphasizing the tripartite structure of Jacob’s vow and of making 34. As stated above (n. 21), we might postulate a theophany in E (so Noth) that was replaced by the redactor in preference to J’s theophany, but this only underscores the point: the thematic development of the Jacob material transcends the individual sources and requires the active cooperation of the redactor. 35. Note the comparable problem of Jacob’s reunion with Esau (Gen 33:1–20), which is generally ascribed to E. However, during their meeting, Jacob presses Esau to “take my blessing,” ytkrbAta anAjq (Gen 33:11), which seems a purposeful reversal of Jacob’s having taken Esau’s blessing in a passage traditionally assigned to J (Gen 27:1–45). 36. In fact, the redactor (R by the standard nomenclature of the Documentary Hypothesis) seems to be the one responsible for the tradition that the divine name was in early use. See Gen 4:26, which bears every mark of being redactional, appearing between a genealogical list (Gen 4:25) and the Book of Generations (Gen 5:1–32). A similar phenomenon may be attested in the reports of altar-building and “calling upon the name of Yhwh” (Gen 12:8; 13:4; 21:33; 26:25), which often appear adjacent to itinerary notices and other redactional material, suggesting that these too derive from the redactor. 37. See van Wolde, “Linguistic Motivation and Biblical Exegesis,” esp. 44–47.

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God its initiator. 38 If the final form of Yhwh’s speech derives ultimately from the redactor, then the revelation at Bethel, beyond its transformative effects in Jacob’s life, sheds light on the redactor’s objectives when bringing together Israel’s diverse traditions: to maximize their literary unity and to deepen their theological meaning. By repeating the conditions of Jacob’s vow, the redactor highlights their role in providing structure for the remaining cycle. By making God the initiator of Jacob’s vow, the redactor underscores a theological principle found elsewhere in the ancestral narratives and in the Bible more generally: God is the originator and sustainer of Israel’s faith. 38. This proposal also helps to account for the redundancy between God’s and Jacob’s speeches, as well as the difficulties arising from the two aspects (that is, angelophany and theophany) of Jacob’s vision. See nn. 8, 21, and 34 above.

Do Not Interpretations Belong to God? A Narrative Assessment of Genesis 40 as It Elucidates the Persona of Joseph Miriam Sherman University of California, San Diego

And they said to him, “We have dreamed a dream, and there is no interpreter of it.” Joseph said to them, “Do not interpretations belong to God? Do tell me now.” (Gen 40:8) Then Daniel went to his house . . . to ask for mercy from before the God of heaven about this secret. (Dan 2:17–18)

The Joseph story, as it reaches Genesis 40, contains a dream narrative whose theme is that God, the wellspring of all power in the universe, may communicate through dreams in order to achieve His purpose. When compared with other biblical dream phenomena, it is most analogous to Daniel’s experience. An analysis of the narrative elements of Genesis 40 reveals the writer’s strategy in depicting how God is indeed the source of dream interpretation, in what is arguably Western civilization’s archetypal and mostbeloved dream tale. Though only 23 verses long, it is richly endowed with wordplays and patterns of comparisons and contrasts. Furthermore, frequent reference is made to the number three. It appears no less than nine times, more frequently than in any other chapter of the Torah and certainly more creatively than in various later chronologies. Additionally, the number three appears in “hidden” contexts in another nine cases, either as threefold repetitions of specific word roots, or as three-unit action sequences. This generous use of poetic technique and the number three in Genesis 40 awakens renewed respect for the art of the story’s author. In fact, the literary devices appear to be so meticulously crafted as to invite speculations regarding the writer’s ultimate vision of the personality and character of Joseph. The dream narrative of Genesis 40 constitutes a pivotal moment in Joseph’s fortunes and provides a vantage point from which to integrate the saga of his earlier dreams in 37

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Genesis 37 with his final dream encounter in Genesis 41. Finally, because Joseph’s remarks in Gen 42:9, 45:7, and 50:24–25 reveal his view of the events of his life, the materful crafting of Genesis 40 comes into fuller focus in elucidating the persona of Joseph. Setting of Genesis 40 The setting of the story is a prison in the captain of the guard’s house in Egypt. The opening sentence establishes that the story takes place after Joseph has been in prison for a while (v. 1), put there by his master, the captain of the guard, after his wife accused Joseph of attempted rape (Gen 39:19– 20). The chief cupbearer and the chief baker, on the other hand, are in custody because they “sinned against their lord the king of Egypt” (Gen 40:1– 3). There are three scenes in this story: the background (vv. 1–4a), the main part of the narrative (vv. 4b–19), and the conclusion (vv. 20–23). The story progresses chronologically, although we do not know exactly how long the courtiers have been in prison before they dream, because the narrator just states that “they had been (some) days in custody” (v. 4b). The main part of the story occurs during one night and the following morning, while the denouement happens three days later (v. 20), followed by a coda that sets the stage for a later episode (v. 23). Characters and Characterizations There are three active and two background characters in this story. In addition, God and the omniscient narrator are involved. As one of the three active figures, Joseph is a round character and the major persona in this story. He is trustworthy, concerned, helpful, and confident but also unhappy with his present situation. His trustworthiness is evidenced by his master’s unabated trust, which is why a Hebrew slave is in the prison “where the king’s prisoners are bound” (Gen 39:20) and why he is assigned to the two imprisoned officials (Gen 40:4). Joseph’s concern is revealed by the way he reacts (v. 6) and talks (v. 7) to the disgraced courtiers when he sees their distress: he is clearly trying to help when he asks to be told the dream (v. 8b). This, in turn, reflects Joseph’s confidence, for although he has dreamed before (Gen 37:5–7, 9), he has never yet had any experience in dream interpretation. Through the years, however, he has gained confidence inasmuch as he has noticed that “God is with him” (Gen 39:2–3, 21, 23) and that everything he does succeeds (Gen 29:3, 23). Therefore, because “interpretations belong to God” (Gen 40:8b), he thinks that he may be successful in this endeavor as well. After he interprets the cupbearer’s dream, this confidence leads him to ask for a favor in return and emboldens him to state his unhappiness and to point out the injustice done to him through no fault of his own (vv. 14–15).

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The other two active characters, the chief cupbearer and the baker, function as the instrument through which Joseph establishes his reputation as an interpreter of dreams. They are both officials at Pharaoh’s court, although perhaps the cupbearer is more important than the baker, because he is singled out as “the cupbearer of the king of Egypt,” while the chief baker is simply “the baker” (v. 1), a distinction that may hint at their respective fates. However, they are both important enough to be put in the same prison as Joseph, “where the king’s prisoners are bound” (Gen 39:20), while Pharaoh decides how to deal with their cases (Gen 40:2–4). Another clue to their high status is their distress that, because they are in prison, there is no one to perform the important service of dream interpretation (v. 8). Verse 9 creates a separation between the two characters. The cupbearer is the more self-assured of the two and readily tells his dream when Joseph asks, saying, “in my dream. . . .” He does not comment on either Joseph’s interpretation or his plea to mention his case to Pharaoh (vv. 12–14)3839. As a matter of fact, the narrator tells us in the coda to the story that “the chief cupbearer did not remember Joseph but he forgot him” (v. 23). This sets the background for his remembering at the right moment (Gen 41:12), when Joseph is called upon to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams, and thus he forms another link in the divine scheme. The baker, on the other hand, is more hesitant and cautious in his attitude. He only tells his dream after seeing “that [Joseph] interpreted well.” He hopes to equate both dreams and share in the auspicious interpretation by saying, “I was also . . . ,” but to remain separate as he continues, “. . . in my dream” (Gen 40:16). It could be that he is more hesitant because he knows that his violation is more serious than the cupbearer’s and wants the interpretation of his own dream to be as propitious as the other. However, although the text does not report his reaction to Joseph’s ominous interpretation (vv. 18–19), we can only imagine his horror, especially considering how important the preservation of the bodies of the dead was in the upper echelons of Egyptian society. The first of the two background characters is Pharaoh, the mighty king of Egypt, a flat character whose defining attribute is power, which he displays in a flash of anger (vv. 2–3) as well as in a calculated fashion at public occasions (vv. 20–22). In this story his power serves as a tool to validate Joseph’s interpretation of the imprisoned officials’ dreams (vv. 21–22) and God’s plan. The captain of the guard, Joseph’s master, is an agent whose only role is to provide a link between Joseph and the disgraced officials (v. 4). Perhaps he expects Joseph to provide information about the prisoners that he can report to Pharaoh, but the narrative is silent in this regard. The cast roll is completed by the omniscient narrator, who tells the story except when the characters speak. He sets the background (vv. 1–5) and introduces the characters’ dialogue. Thus he informs us that Pharaoh is angry

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(v. 2) because his courtiers offended him (v. 1), and later he tells us why the baker has decided to relate his dream (v. 16). He also provides insights into the characters’ attributes by showing their points of view, such as allowing us to see through Joseph’s eyes that the two officials are distraught after their dream (v. 6). Similarly, the narrator allows Joseph to tell his personal distress in his own words (vv. 14–15) and provides the baker’s point of view when he “sees” how favorably Joseph has interpreted (v. 16). Finally, the narrator comments on the story in the form of a brief “aside” to emphasize Joseph’s accuracy and credibility (v. 22). In one instance, the narrator provides information not available to any of the characters: from the beginning, the cupbearer and the baker are continually spoken of as a unit—to such an extent that “they dreamed a dream the two of them” (v. 5a), which implies a single dream for both. Then, almost casually, a break is provided by the narrator as the verse continues, “each his own dream and each dream with its own meaning” (v. 5b), thereby predicting different outcomes for the two dreamers. However, when Joseph inquires about their distress, the two officials still answer in the singular: “we dreamed a dream and there is no interpreter for it” (v. 8a). Thus, although v. 5a brings about a complete rift between the two dreamers, only the narrator and the reader are aware of it. The cupbearer and the baker, awed by the unique occurrence of having dreamed what they perceive to be similar dreams on the same night, still see their lots as a single entity. The narrator does not tell us how the two officials perceive Joseph, nor do their words or actions elucidate this issue, but we might conclude that they just see him as a foreign captive, not worth a second thought, based on the cupbearer’s stance at the end of the story (v. 23). As a final note on the characters, though the narrative is restrained with regard to character development, it does provide a few clues. In the beginning, the cupbearer and the baker are lumped together: they both “sinned against their lord,” who gets angry at both and puts them both in the prison, where Joseph is assigned to them, attending to both (vv. 1–4). They also see themselves as a set, as evidenced by their reply to Joseph when he probes into their unhappiness (v. 8a). Nevertheless, the cupbearer immediately responds to Joseph’s entreaty (v. 8b) by telling his dream (vv. 9–11), while the baker hesitates and waits, only telling his dream after “he saw that [Joseph] interpreted well” (v. 16). With regard to Joseph, the narrative emphasizes his imprisonment with the repetition of words expressing this situation (vv. 3, 4, 5, 7), focusing on the prison-custody motif, which persists until Joseph interprets the cupbearer’s dream. Up to this point in the biblical narrative, Joseph has not reacted either to his enslavement or to his imprisonment, but here he alludes to both. Thus he verbalizes his yearning to be freed from “this house” (v. 14), which suggests the two places where he has no freedom: the prison house,

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where he is a prisoner; and the captain of the guard’s house, where he has been a slave. In the next poignant verse he states the injustice of his situation and his innocence of any wrongdoing: “and also here I did not do anything that they put me in the pit” (v. 15). With the word “also” Joseph alludes both to his brothers’ putting him in the pit (Gen 37:23) and to the reason for his present situation (Gen 39:20). Hence, he refers to the prison as “the pit” (bôr), instead of “the prison,” as elsewhere in the narrative (Gen 40:3, 4, 5, 7). Thus, Joseph’s petition to the cupbearer achieves a twofold purpose: it shows Joseph’s confidence in the truth of his interpretation and, perhaps more important, it allows Joseph finally to express his pain at the wrong done to him. Motifs and Issues in the Development of Plot The main functions of this dream account in the Joseph narrative are to provide a crucial juncture in Joseph’s destiny, a bridge between previous and later dream episodes, and to establish his credibility as an interpreter of dreams, the one through whom God can make His communications understood. Through this focus on dreams, God’s initiative and control over the course of events become evident, whereas Joseph’s role becomes more secondarily compliant. A number of techniques and devices are used to achieve this end. One is the synonymous parallelism that appears in the coda: “the chief cupbearer did not remember Joseph, and he forgot him” (v. 23). This double statement stresses the cupbearer’s forgetting as background for his remembering at the appropriate moment in the narrative, when Joseph is called upon to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams (Gen 41:12). In addition, the narrator’s combination of “showing” and “telling” (he begins with straight narration [Gen 40:1–6], continues with dialogue [vv. 7–19], and returns to straight narration at the end [vv. 20–23]) highlights the dialogue and allows the characters to interact in a more personal manner. The narrator also uses repetition of key words and ideas to emphasize certain issues, the main motif revolving around the number three. Even after a cursory first reading, one observes that the number three is plainly featured in the officials’ dreams and their interpretations: there are three branches (vv. 10–12), three baskets (vv. 16–18), and three days (vv. 12, 13, 18, 19), plus the third day mentioned at the end (v. 20). Further examination of the text reveals more threes that are veiled in varied contexts: Pharaoh’s name is mentioned three times in the cupbearer’s dream (v. 11), as well as three more times in Joseph’s interpretation (vv. 13, 14), which may symbolically indicate that eventually a royal pardon will be granted. Additionally, Pharaoh appears as a character in the first three verses of the narrative and in the three verses immediately following the dialogue (vv. 1, 2, 3, 20, 21, 22), thus framing the dream story between Pharaoh’s anger and retribution.

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Other motifs that appear three times are the word for “custody” (mismar, vv. 3, 4, 7), which emphasizes Joseph’s plight, and the root of the verb “remember”/“remind” (zkr, vv. 14 [2x], 23), which lays important background for the next episode. Another instance of a threefold repetition involves the expression that is literally translated “lift someone’s head” (vv. 13, 19, 20); this term usually appears in the sense of pardoning or raising someone’s status, but here the author uses it to full ironic advantage. As Joseph interprets their dreams, he tells both the cupbearer and the baker that Pharaoh will “lift their heads” (vv. 13, 19) albeit with vastly different results. Then, at the climax, the narrator reiterates the statement, thus highlighting the accuracy of Joseph’s interpretation (v. 20). More threes appear when we examine the cupbearer’s dream, where the narrative manipulates time. In this dream things happen at an accelerated pace: the cupbearer sees a vine and, with the use of three quick verbs, “bud,” “flower,” and “ripen” (v. 10), a whole season passes before his very eyes. This is followed by another set of three, fast-paced actions, in which he takes the grapes, presses them into wine, and gives the wine to Pharaoh (v. 11). In contrast, in the baker’s dream, time is not an issue: a foreshadowing of death. The rapid time progressions contribute a surrealistic touch that helps to convey a dream-aura. Additionally, the cupbearer’s dream shows him actively involved in his work, doing what he is supposed to be doing: he sees a vine with three branches, picks the grapes, makes the wine, and serves it to Pharaoh (vv. 9– 11). One more sequence of three events follows the cupbearer’s recounting of his dream. It appears in Joseph’s interpretation and involves “lifting up the head,” “restoring to place,” and “giving Pharaoh’s cup” (v. 13), a sequence that will be repeated when Joseph’s interpretation proves to be correct (v. 21). The baker’s dream, on the other hand, shows him passively holding three baskets of baked delicacies on his head, while birds eat the bread (vv. 16–17). However, in recounting his dream, the baker chooses to focus on the similarities he perceives between his dream and the cupbearer’s, such as the “three” baskets and the “delicacies for Pharaoh,” which correspond to the “three” branches and the “wine for Pharaoh.” Nevertheless, the ominous portents are there: while the cupbearer sees himself actively serving Pharaoh, the only action in the baker’s dream is the birds’ eating “out of the basket above [his] head” (v. 17). The narrative does not mention any move on the baker’s part to shoo them away, leaving the reader with another presage of death. An additional interesting devise in this segment involves the ironic play on the Hebrew words for “baker” (ªopeh) and “birds” (ºôp). In the baker’s dream, the ºôp eat the maºå¶eh ªopeh or “bakery goods” (v. 17), but in its interpretation the ºôp eat the ªopeh (v. 19), although this is not literally stated. Another play involves the word meºal (“above,” “from on”), which appears both in the baker’s dream and in its interpretation. In the dream, the birds eat from the

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basket meºal the baker’s head (v. 17), while in the interpretation the birds eat his flesh meºal him (v. 19). Relation to Other Dream Stories In the Tanakh there are other dream narratives, especially in the book of Genesis. In some of these stories, God appears in people’s dreams in order to convey a specific message. Thus God appears to Abimelech, king of Gerar to warn him that Sarah is a married woman (Gen 20:3). The next instance is when Jacob is fleeing from Canaan and he has a dream at Beth-el in which God appears to promise him divine protection and to promise that his descendants will possess the land (Gen 28:12–16). Years later, Jacob reports a dream to his wife Rachel in which the angel of God tells him to return to Canaan (Gen 31:11), while his father-in-law, Laban, has a dream in which God warns him not to disturb Jacob as he goes on his way (Gen 31:24). Another instance of a direct communication from God in a dream appears in Solomon’s dream, in which God asks Solomon what he desires (1 Kgs 3:5–15). However, there are other circumstances in which this divine communication is not as straightforward, and the dream consists of images that must be decoded in order to understand God’s message. This happens in Joseph’s own dreams, in which first his brothers’ sheaves bow to his sheaf (Gen 37:6– 7), and then the sun, moon, and eleven stars bow to him (Gen 37:9). The imprisoned royal officials’ dreams also belong to this category, as well as Pharaoh’s own dream of the seven lean cows and seven lean stalks eating the seven fat cows and seven fat stalks (Gen 41:1–7). Other similar occurrences are the dream of a man in Gideon’s camp, in which a cake of barley bread tumbles into the host of Midian (Judg 7:13), and King Nebuchadnezzar’s and Daniel’s dreams (Dan 2:31–35, 4:1–15, 7:2–22). In all these incidents the dreams are indeed understood to come from God, but their meaning may not be immediately clear to the dreamers (although others do understand). This is the case with Joseph’s dreams, which his brothers grasp, at least superficially (Gen 37:8, 10), and also with the dream of the man in Gideon’s camp, the meaning of which is revealed by another man (Judg 7:14). In the Bible, however, Joseph and Daniel are the only official interpreters of dreams and their careers parallel each other in many respects. Both are young men (Gen 41:12; Dan 1:4, 6) who assert that dreams come from God and, consequently, so do their interpretations (Gen 40:8; 41:28, 32; Dan 2:28). Both Joseph and Daniel are Israelites in a foreign land, called upon to interpret the king’s dreams after all the king’s wise men have been unable to do so (Gen 41:8, Dan 2:10–11). Finally, both Joseph and Daniel are recognized as wise men by the rulers and are elevated to high government positions, acquiring much power in their respective countries (Gen 41:41, Dan 2:48).

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In both cases, the narrative deals with three dream sequences: one in which they experience personal dreams (Gen 37:5, 9; Dan 7:1), and two in which they deal with the dreams of others (Gen 40:5, 41:1; Dan 2:3, 4:2). The comparisons are sufficiently impressive to invite speculation that the author of Daniel may not have been entirely naïve about the symmetry of the circumstances. The final, “take-home” message of all these stories is that God speaks to people through dreams in order to achieve his purposes, and all interpretations of those dreams come from Him; this message, in turn, relates to the running theme of the Bible as the story of God’s relationship with mankind. Assessment of Genesis 40 as It Elucidates the Persona of Joseph Having reviewed the narrative elements of Genesis 40 and compared the Joseph dream narrative with other biblical dream episodes, we can make initial observations and attempt to assess the function of this chapter in the meaning of the larger Joseph story. In the first place, the main events of Joseph’s life are directly related to three dream couplets, of which the pivotal one is in Genesis 40. The first couplet (Genesis 37), where Joseph rather presumptuously shares his self-aggrandizing dreams, leads to his pitiful downfall into slavery; the second couplet, involving the chap. 40 dreams of the cupbearer and baker, is the direct source of his release from the pit to Pharaoh’s palace; finally, the third couplet, Pharaoh’s two-part troubled dream, transports Joseph to power and fame. Therefore, beyond the issue of dream interpretation, dreams themselves become the moving force in the progression of the Joseph story. It is conceivable that the “threes” in Genesis 40 are a subtle literary way to draw the reader’s attention to the three phases of Joseph’s life. If so, because chap. 40 contains the critical turning point of Joseph’s fortune from dejection to distinction, a careful scrutiny of its narrative elements may provide a vantage point from which to elucidate his development and growth as a biblical literary figure. The setting of the events of chap. 40 provides an initial insight into Joseph as a literary persona. Therein, he is depicted in the passive role of having been placed in prison by his master, the captain of the guard. Joseph did not choose to be there, nor did he orchestrate the arrival of the chief cupbearer and baker. Thus, Joseph is portrayed not as a person who controls his own life but as one to whom pivotal events happen. In assessing whether this pattern also characterizes his prior life, we notice that his first dream couplet was presumably divinely willed. Life thrusts further events upon him: he is sent by his father to his brothers at Shechem, and when he cannot find his way, is redirected by a mysterious man (Gen 37:14–15); subsequently he is cast into the pit (Gen 37:24), sold to the Midianites (Gen 37:28), and later to

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Potiphar (Gen 37:36); finally, he is falsely accused of attempted rape (Gen 39:14). Even when he is imprisoned, his good fortune is passively assured by God’s arranging for him to be favored (Gen 39:21). What remains for consideration is whether Joseph continues in this passive stance as future events unfold. An analysis of character portrayal and development provides further insight into Joseph’s role. The narrative assessment has revealed multiple clever literary clues that enable the attentive reader to predict the fates of Joseph’s two active co-characters, the cupbearer and the baker, through their manner of speaking and the accounts of their dreams. However, the story gives us no indication that Joseph uses this information in interpreting their dream. Furthermore, though Joseph has dreamed before, he has never yet had any experience in dream interpretation. In fact, in an almost presumptuous fashion, analogous to the uninhibited spewing forth of his dreams to his brothers in Hebron, Joseph confidently announces, “Do not interpretations belong to God? Do tell me!” (Gen 40:8), almost creating an impression that the meaning of their dream will flow from him by a robotic process in which he is an unthinking, incidental bystander. This same self-assured, programmed style continues to be evident when he interprets Pharaoh’s dreams (Gen 41:16). How appreciably different is the tone of Daniel’s dream interpretation, in which he exercises an active role in the interpretive process: “Then Daniel went to his house . . . to ask for mercy from before the God of heaven about this secret” (Dan 2:17–18). Clearly, one function of the cupbearer and the baker is to serve as the instrument through which Joseph establishes his reputation as an interpreter of dreams. However, the juxtaposition of Joseph and the king’s courtiers may also provide a test to determine Joseph’s potential for growth and maturity. Though Joseph is never able to admit it, he did bear some responsibility for his brothers’ anger by bearing tales to his father (Gen 37:2). As he finds himself thrust into prison with the potentially guilty cupbearer and baker, his interaction with them offers an opportunity to consider his own guilt and innocence. As dreams may reveal the true character of the dreamer, the carefully crafted language of Genesis 40 carries subtle distinctions with regard to the characters’ guilt and innocence. As he hears the dreams, Joseph is offered an opportunity for self-reflection. Certainly, he aligns himself with the cupbearer in proclaiming innocence. However, the story indicates that there may have been justification for the cupbearer’s confinement; Joseph, in contrast, never acknowledges that he too may have acted indiscreetly. Again, he shows no aptitude for growth in self-perception. Pharaoh, as a background character, is introduced in Gen 40:2–3 as a man of power who may display flashes of anger (Gen 40:2–3); this is in marked contrast to the narrator’s later docile, benevolent characterization of

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a Pharaoh who allows himself to be manipulated by Joseph (Gen 41:33), warmly promotes him, while ipso facto accepting his God. In fact, in Pharaoh’s benevolent treatment of Joseph’s family, whose patriarch subsequently blesses him (Gen 47:10), there is almost a surrealistic texture. The most powerful sovereign of the time is introduced as a lion but evolves as a gentle lamb. Pharaoh’s full cooperation is an implication that the events are tightly under divine control. True to the clues given in the narrative’s setting, Joseph emerges as a somewhat passive functionary for whom ideal circumstances are created to accomplish an unanticipated purpose. Still to be assessed is the role of the omniscient narrator, presumably representing God himself. The narrator does more than provide information and serve as a stylistic link between chap. 40 and the remainder of the Joseph story. The narrator is a surrogate voice effectively obviating any need for the literary development of a relationship between Joseph and God. In fact, it is rather striking that, given Joseph’s prominent role as the patriarchal heir to Jacob and the recipient of Jacob’s final favorable blessing (Gen 49:26), Joseph is unique in having no direct contact with God. Adam, Noah, the patriarchs, Moses, Aaron, and Miriam all enjoy various permutations of being addressed by, dialoguing with, or receiving direct blessings from God. Joseph, however, never has a dialogue with God. He is never spoken to or blessed by God, nor is he ever portrayed as having prayed or spoken to God, Who in merely providing dream interpretation only accomplishes a rather technical feat. In fact, aside from assuring his prosperity, God seems to keep His distance from Joseph in the sense of personal relationship. Again, Joseph is increasingly portrayed as a reactive character, available to serve a mission, but not even deserving of the niceties implied by an interaction with the Divine such as were accorded his predecessors and successors. By far the most abundant literary techniques in Genesis 40 are the wordplays, patterns of comparisons and contrasts, and the frequent references, direct and hidden, to the number three; most important is the final contribution to flavor resulting from double meaning. Nothing is straightforward and obvious. For example, the chief cupbearer’s “not remembering/forgetting” parallelism serves to emphasize the fact that Joseph’s present situation is but a fragment of a more-important, more-global future mission. Likewise, lifting one’s head in honor is a hairsbreadth away from decapitation, which is portentous of the way that history may view people who are unable to rise in insight and maturity. The action-verb triplets accelerate the plot relentlessly away from what superficially seems important in the prison to the aftermath that God has intended. An entire season of budding, flowering, ripening, and an entire enterprise of picking, pressing and serving pass by in an instant. Wordplays such as the ªopeh (“baker”) and ºôp (“birds”) maintain a dreamy atmosphere from which God creates future developments while Joseph is a

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passive participant. The three dream couplets catapult Joseph into the three stages of his life, and we are left to wonder whether Joseph’s adventures and interpretations function as anything more than passing illusions in front of a much greater but unrevealed purpose that he lacks the insight to fathom. We have focused on the portrayal of Joseph that emerges from the setting, character assessment, and plot development achieved by the metaphorical language of Genesis 40. We attempt here a final characterization of Joseph that draws on the three stages of his life, conveniently heralded by each of the three dream couplets. The young dreamer of Hebron senses the self-aggrandizing potential of his dreams. Unlike Pharaoh or Nebuchadnezzar, Joseph does not even show curiosity with regard to their interpretation or deeper meaning. Neither is he cautious in sharing their content, instead imposing them presumptuously upon his family. Similarly, Joseph is self-confident and presumptuous in his management of the dreams that come his way in prison and in Pharaoh’s court. He gives no hint of understanding the double meanings and deeper mysteries, though the poetic language of Genesis 40 is rich in meanings of this sort. For instance, though the reader is enriched by the fact that lifting one’s head in honor is juxtaposed with beheading, the dual meaning appears to go above Joseph’s own head. In other words, though he features in the narrative of chap. 40 as its chief character, Joseph is largely naïve about its greater meaning for him or for his family. He certainly does not have Daniel’s interest or humility in relying on God, presuming instead that he will be handed the correct answers on a silver platter. Furthermore, he ends up being correct, which validates his assumption. However, he is not privileged to enjoy a special relationship with God, except in the pragmatically functional sense that God uses him to stage a larger mission. Thus, we should not be particularly surprised if in the spotlight of fame there is even less impetus for growth and maturation. Joseph wears no new colors in the coat of his personality and character. Most revealing is Joseph’s rationalization when he attempts to comfort his brothers: But now do not be sad, and let it not anger you that you sold me here, since it was for preservation of life that God sent me before you. For this is two years of famine in the midst of the land, and still five years that there is neither plowing nor harvest. And God sent me before you to set for you a remnant in the land, and to preserve life for you for a great survival. (Gen 45:5–7)

Here there is no recognition on Joseph’s part of his own role in having incited the ill will of his brothers. Furthermore, Joseph, in keeping with his presumptuous approach, assumes that the final divine purpose was to help him to be the heroic savior of his family in a time of famine. Joseph never asks why God made the famine in the first place or whether the need for the famine might have been mitigated if Jacob had not favored him to the point of

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creating family disharmony. From Joseph’s perspective, God’s entire purpose was to arrange refuge from famine. There is never a hint that Joseph, the literary persona who dwells within the poetic double meanings of Genesis 40, imagines that God may have had a greater purpose in bringing him to Egypt than providing rations. Joseph is self-absorbed and does not conjecture about God’s ultimate reason for leading Israel into Egypt. Joseph, the presumptuous, favored son of Jacob, is now fittingly lifted to be second only to Pharaoh (Gen 41:43–44), and there is little reason to believe that, up until the final moments of his life, it ever dawns on him that there was anything of importance to be learned from his sojourn in Egypt beyond the provision of his family’s physical needs. Only on his deathbed do we sense that Joseph has an encounter with insight that the Israelite saga will go beyond his purview as he informs his brothers, “I am dying and God will indeed remember you and take you up from this land to the land that He swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob” (Gen 50:24). Conclusion On one level, the Joseph story is a wonderful example of how the biblical author weaves God’s omnipresence into a tale that holds the reader’s attention. Even without having God directly involved in the story, the author manages to underscore God’s centrality in the affairs of men. On a deeper level, this narrative analysis of Genesis 40 reveals it to be a masterpiece of literary craftsmanship, suggesting its importance to the biblical writer, who challenges us to understand the persona of Joseph as a biblical literary character. In a narrative that exploits the number three on multiple levels, Genesis 40 is the turning point from the lowest ebb of Joseph’s life; it contains the second of three dream couplets and thereby stylistically serves to unite the earlier and later dream episodes that when taken together organize the direction of his life into an integrated whole. The narrator’s well-placed hints, the repetition of key words, the ironic turn of phrase, and the double meanings all create a level of sophistication that is truly divine. In contrast, Joseph as persona seems oblivious to these sorts of complexities. He feels favored by God but never quite motivated to question or privileged to understand the greater purpose of events. Although he is involved in revealing the simple meaning of dreams, he never engages in a struggle similar to Daniel’s to understand the secret behind the simple meaning. He therefore lives on a level of pragmatic achievement that does not approach a true interactive relationship with God. Accordingly, though he does technically grant the Divine full credit for the interpretation of dreams, he makes assumptions that reveal an oversimplified view of his own centrality to God’s purpose. Thus, at the moment of reunited brotherhood, Joseph readily asserts that the retrospective

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purpose of his youthful dreams was that they foretold God’s plan to send him to Egypt to save his family from famine. However, apparently surpassing Joseph’s level of insight, God is not limited to the simple meaning. For reasons known to Him, presumably with due attention to its redeeming value, the Israelites were destined to endure the iron crucible of Egypt (Deut 4:20). Joseph is merely the compliant vehicle of this transition. In the final assessment, though the biblical writer’s narrative art has revealed Joseph to be a character with a somewhat imperfect level of insight, this vision most certainly does not limit the purposeful mind of God. For God may choose to send a dream, but the interpretation belongs to Him!

Quantitative Analysis of the Tribal Sayings in Deuteronomy 33 and Its Significance for the Poem’s Overall Structure Brian Kelly University of California, San Diego

The question of meter in ancient Hebrew poetry has long vexed scholars. Various schemes have been proposed, but all assume that the meaningful unit for analysis is the line, as in Western poetry. However, line lengths, or the number of stresses per colon or line, tend to yield no consistent pattern. In a series of articles, David Noel Freedman has shown that a more meaningful unit for metrical—or, more properly, quantitative—analysis is the entire poem. Freedman has shown that, within certain well-defined groups of poems, the one constant is overall length (measured in the number of syllables). 1 One poem, or rather partial poem, that Freedman has subjected to this kind of analysis is the “Framework” of Deuteronomy 33, the so-called Blessing of Moses. 2 By “Framework” Freedman means vv. 2–5 (the “Opening”) and vv. 26–29 (the “Closing”). Because Deuteronomy 33 is a unique composition, 3 there is no guideline for the quantitative structure. However, Freedman discovered that the Framework has a striking internal structure: when the subunits of the Opening are paired with similarly structured subunits in the Closing, a chiastic, symmetrical structure emerges; the first subunit of the Opening has the same number of colons and syllables as the last subunit of the Closing, and so on. 4 There are even some matches in the distribution of 1. A helpful summary may be found in D. N. Freedman, “Another Look at Biblical Hebrew Poetry,” in Divine Commitment and Human Obligation (ed. J. R. Huddlestun; 2 vols.; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1997) 2.218–22. 2. Idem, “The Poetic Structure of the Framework of Deuteronomy 33,” in ibid., 2.88–107. 3. Genesis 49 is also a “tribal blessing,” but it lacks the psalmlike Framework of Deuteronomy 33. 4. Freedman, “Poetic Structure,” 97–99.

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colon lengths. The overall result is that both the Opening and the Closing have 14 colons and 98 syllables. It is worth noting in passing that both of these figures are evenly divisible by 7. The quantitative symmetry is mirrored to some extent by linguistic correlations, but these are substantially weaker. 5 The structure would be more satisfying if equally strong linguistic and thematic parallels accompanied the quantitative parallels, but the quantitative argument alone is quite impressive. In what follows, I adopt Freedman’s division of the poem into sections, as well as the names that he assigned to these sections. Because Freedman did not treat the middle part of the poem (the statements about the various tribes), I take the liberty of naming it myself. Although this part is traditionally held to consist of “tribal blessings,” not every unit within it belongs to the genre of “blessing.” For this reason I shall employ the more neutral designation “Tribal Sayings.” The divisions are therefore as follows: Section

Verses

Contents Yahweh’s march from the south; Moses and the tôrâ at the gathering of the tribes Reuben, Judah, Levi, Benjamin, Joseph, Zebulun/ Issachar, Gad

Opening

2–5

Tribal Sayings, Part 1

6–20

Divider

21

(Moses)a

Tribal Sayings, Part 2 Closing

22–25 26–29a

Peroration

29b

Dan, Naphtali, Asher Incomparability of El, the storm god; his benefactions to Israel; Israel’s security Triumph of Israel over enemies

a. Although this verse appears to continue the Saying about Gad, I agree with Freedman that it actually applies to Moses. The reasons for this interpretation will be discussed below.

One apparent anomaly created by Freedman’s chiastic structure for the Framework is that the structure excludes the Peroration. Freedman counted the Peroration’s syllables and colons, 6 but he did not attempt to integrate these numbers into any larger quantitative scheme. Freedman accorded a similar treatment to the Divider. 7 However, in this paper I hope, by analyzing the quantities of the Tribal Sayings, the only remaining section of the poem, to uncover an overarching structure in which the quantities of the Divider and the Peroration make sense. 5. Ibid., 99. 6. Ibid., 98. 7. Ibid., 96.

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Before proceeding, I consider it appropriate to review the reasons for treating the Divider as a distinct unit. Commentators have long noted (a) that the content does not seem appropriate for Gad, under whose heading it falls, and (b) that the phrase raªsê ºam as well as the themes of commanding and judging seem to link the Divider with Moses and the tribal assembly in vv. 4 and 5. What remains unexplained, besides the Divider’s role in the poem’s quantitative structure, is its specific placement. I follow Freedman’s principles of quantitative analysis, which bear repeating here. The first principle is to take the received text as the basis, eschewing emendation as much as possible. Freedman achieved his results on the Framework with only one emendation (the elimination of ªaser in v. 29a). 8 In what follows, I have not been quite as strict: I accept six emendations, a proportion of emendations to colons about two and one-half times Freedman’s in his work on the Opening and Closing. 9 However, this rate is still extremely low; further, most of the emendations I make have been proposed before, and only three of them affect quantity. I will comment at the appropriate points in the translation. The other principles concern the counting of syllables: segolates (such as the word ºezer) are counted as one syllable; the second masculine-singular pronominal suffix is not counted as a syllable, even if the Masoretes vocalized it with a qamaß (-ka); 10 the dual ending is counted as a single syllable (and transliterated here as -êm); furtive pata˙ is not counted, nor is compound séwâ under a laryngeal; and Masoretic contractions of the vowels of initial waw + yôd into a single ˙îreq are accepted. 11 Finally, I would add a rule of my own: syllables formed by the addition of a preposition to a word beginning with séwâ (as in lizbûlun, v. 18) are considered closed (that is, they are not followed by a vocal séwâ), even if a following begadkepat letter does not have a dages. My argument is that, if the ˙ireq of the inseparable preposition were long, at least part of the time one would expect to see plene spellings: for example, lyzbwln instead of lzbwln. This, however, never occurs.

8. Ibid., 94. Freedman also accepted the established emendation in the Divider (v. 21) of spwn wytª to wytªspwn, which does not affect the syllable-count, though it does change the division of the verse into colons. 9. Freedman proposed 1 emendation for 30 colons (0.033 emendations per colon); my figure is 6 emendations in 70 colons (0.086). 10. With singular nouns, the second-person singular masculine suffix will be transliterated -ak, as it is in pausal forms of that suffix in the MT. With plural nouns, the MT’s -eyk(a) will be retained, minus the (a ). 11. For justifications of these principles, see Freedman, “Poetic Structure,” 93, which refers to further discussions.

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Content of the Tribal Sayings The Tribal Sayings mention all of the traditional tribes except Simeon. The poem itself expresses no view on a normative number, but its content is consistent with the traditional 12, provided one counts not Joseph but his subdivisions, Ephraim and Manasseh. The list is unusual, however, in that other biblical lists that divide Joseph do so to make up for the omission of Levi, whereas here, Levi is quite prominent, while Simeon is missing. 12 Each Saying except the first is introduced by a heading that identifies the tribe to which the Saying applies. Zebulun and Issachar are combined into a single Saying, although the heading mentions only Zebulun (v. 18). Some readers may be inclined to exclude the headings from any quantitative analysis, on the grounds that the headings must be “secondary.” However, although the headings do differ in function from the Sayings proper, they are integral parts of the poem. Without them, the Saying for Benjamin (v. 12) would lack any tribal identification, and the pertinence of Joseph’s long Saying (vv. 13–17) to Ephraim and Manasseh would remain obscure until the very end (v. 17b). For the other tribes, the headings alert the reader or listener that one Saying has ended and another is about to begin. This is important, considering the brevity of some of the Sayings and the fact that the tribal name is not always the first word in a Saying. Thus even if one believes that the poem was assembled by a redactor out of existing Sayings, the poem as a whole (including the headings) is that redactor’s product, and any intentional quantitative structures that are shown to exist must be attributed to that redactor. Following is a translation and transliteration of the Tribal Sayings. The figure to the right of each line in the transliteration (each of which represents a single colon) represents the number of syllables in the line, counted according to the rules set forth above. Verse

Translation

(6) May Reuben live, and may he not die, although his males be few. (7) And for Judah he said this: Hear, Yahweh, the voice of Judah, and bring him back to his folk. (May) his hands (be) great for him, And may you be a help against his enemies. (8) And for Levi he said: Your tummim and ªurim for your faithful man,

Transliteration

Syllables

yé˙î réûben wéªal-yamôt wîhî métayw mispar wézôªt lîhûdâ wayyomar sémaº yhwh qôl yéhûdâ wéªel ºammô tébîªennû yadayw rab lô wéºezr a mißßarayw tihyeh

9 6 8 8 8 4 7

ûlélewî ªamar tummeyk b wéªûreyk léªîs ˙åsîdak c

6 10

12. See, for example, the tribal census lists in Numbers 1 and 26.

Quantitative Analysis of the Tribal Sayings in Deuteronomy 33 Verse

(9)

(10)

(11)

(12)

(13)

(14)

(15) (16)

(17)

Translation Whom you tested at Massah, You strove with him at the waters of Meribah. The one who said to his father and to his mother, “I do not regard him,” And his brothers he did not acknowledge, And his sons he did not know. For they guard your pronouncement, and your treaty they protect. They shall convey your decisions to Jacob, and your instruction to Israel. They shall set incense at your nose and whole offerings upon your altar. Bless, Yahweh, his wealth, and accept the work of his hands. Smite the loins of his attackers, and may those who despise him not stand. For Benjamin he said: Adored by Yahweh, he dwells securely; Eli hovers over him all day long, and between his shoulders he tents. And for Joseph he said: Blessed by Yahweh is his land, with the riches of the heavens above and of the deep crouching beneath, and with the riches of the produce of the sun, and with the riches of the output of the months; and with the finest of the ancient mountains, and with the riches of the eternal hills; and with the riches of the inhabitants of the earth,g and with the favor of the Dweller in the Bush. May it all come upon the head of Joseph, and upon the crown of the one set apart from his brothers. The firstborn of a [his] bull: it is splendid! And his horns are the horns of a wild bull; with them he gores peoples, the ends of the earth as one.

Transliteration [ªåser]d

nissîtô bémassâ térîbehû ºal mê mérîbâ haªomer léªabîb ûléªimmô

57

Syllables 6 9 10

loª réªîtîw wéªet ªe˙ayw loª hikkîr

4 7

wéªet banayw loª yadaº kî samérû ªimratak ûbérîtak yinßorû yôrû mispateyk léyaºqob

7 7 7 8

wétôratak léyi¶raªel ya¶îmû qétôrâ béªappak wékalîl ºal mizbé˙ak barek yhwh ˙êlô ûpoºl yadayw tirßeh mé˙aß motnêm qamayw ûmé¶anªayw min yéqûmûn

8 9 7 6 6 6 8

lébinyamin ªamar yédîd yhwh yiskon labe†˙ ºelî e ˙opep ºalayw kol hayyôm ûbên kétepayw saken ûléyôsep ªamar méborekt yhwh ªarßô mimmegd samêm meºal f ûmittéhôm robeßt ta˙t ûmimmegd tébûªot sams

7 8 9 7 6 8 6 7 7

ûmimmegd gers yéra˙îm

7

ûmeroªs harérê qedm

7

ûmimmegd gibºôt ºôlam ûmimmegd ªerß ûméloªah

7 8

ûréßôn sokénî séneh

8

tabôª h léroªs yôsep

6

[û]léqodqod nézîr ªe˙ayw

8

békôr sôr[ô]i hadar lô

6

wéqarnê réªem qarnayw

7

bahem ºammîm yénagga˙ ya˙dayw ªapsê ªarß

7 5

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(18)

(19)

(20)

(22)

(23)

(24)

(25)

Translation And they are the myriads of Ephraim, and they are the thousands of Manasseh. And to Zebulun he said: Rejoice, Zebulun, in your going forth, and Issachar, in your tents! They summon peoples to the mountain, there they offer fitting sacrifices. For they suck the riches of the seas, and the hidden things buried in the sand. And for Gad he said: Blessed is He who enlarges Gad! Like a lioness he lies in wait, and he tears the arm, along with the head. And for Dan he said: Dan is a lion’s whelp, who leaps back from a serpent.j And for Naphtali he said: Naphtali is sated with favor, and full of Yahweh’s blessing. West and South are his inheritance. And for Asher he said: Most blessed of sons is Asher! May he be the most favored of his brothers, and may he dip his foot in oil. Iron and bronze are your doorbolts, and as are your days, so is your strength.

Transliteration

Syllables

wéhem ribébôt ªeprêm wéhem ªalpê ménasseh

7 7

wélizbûlun ªamar ¶éma˙ zébûlun béßeªtak wéyi¶¶akar béªohleyk ºammîm har yiqraªû

6 8 7 6

sam yizbé˙û zib˙ê ßedq kî sepº yammîm yînaqû û¶épûnê témûnê ˙ôl

7 7 8

ûlégad ªamar barûk mar˙îb gad kélabî saken wétarap zéroº ªap qodqod

5 5 5 8

ûlédan ªamar dan gûr ªaryeh yézanneq mibbasan k ûlénaptalî ªamar naptalî ¶ébaº raßôn ûmaleª birkat yhwh yam wédarôm yérasâ ûléªaser ªamar barûk mibbanîm ªaser yéhî réßûy ªe˙ayw

5 4 6 7 7 7 7 6 8 6

wétobel basemn raglô barzel ûné˙ost min ºaleyk ûkéyameyk dobªak

7 7 5

a. The second vowel of the segolate is omitted in keeping with the principle of counting segolates as a single syllable; see above. b. For the transliteration of the suffix, see n. 11. c. For the transliteration of the suffix, see n. 11. d. This word, because it is rare in poetry, is probably a later intrusion. Compare Freedman’s discussion of the same word and his reasons for deleting it in v. 29: “Poetic Structure,” 94. e. I follow Cross and Freedman here in emending ºalayw to ºelî. See F. M. Cross and D. N. Freedman, Studies in Ancient Yahwistic Poetry (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1997) 76 (n. 38 to their translation of the Blessing of Moses). f. Emending m†l to mºl. See ibid., p. 77 n. 43. g. Literally, “riches of the earth and its fullness.” As Tigay notes (citing Ramban), in other occurrences of this phrase in the Bible, “fullness” usually means “inhabitants” (J. Tigay, Deuteronomy [Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1996] 328). That it cannot mean agricultural abundance is clear from v. 14, which already covers that aspect of Joseph’s good fortune. Tigay suggests that “this phrase may refer to gifts or tribute from all the inhabitants of the earth,” and here I adopt this suggestion.

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h. Emending tbwªth to tbwª. See Cross and Freedman, Ancient Yahwistic Poetry, 78 n. 55. i. The versions and Qumran omit the suffix on sôr, which may also be a copyist’s error. However, the colon reads better without it, for presumably it is Joseph himself who is the “firstborn of a bull,” and the referent of the 3rd masc.-sing. suffix is therefore unclear. I therefore emend and adjust the syllable count accordingly. j. Following Albright’s suggestion as presented in Cross and Freedman, Ancient Yahwistic Poetry, 80 n. 74. k. Following Cross and Freedman (ibid.), I delete the article here. Although Cross and Freedman did so “for metrical reasons,” which would be invalid in this study, they also pointed out that, “in any case, the article is not expected in early Hebrew poetry.”

Quantitative Analysis of the Tribal Blessings and of the Entire Poem Table 1, below, summarizes the syllable and colon counts for the Tribal Sayings. The results are striking. The number of colons (70) is evenly divisible by 7, as were the numbers for the Opening (14 colons) and the Closing (14 colons). Further, the average number of syllables per colon in all three sections (Opening, Sayings, Closing) comes out to exactly 7. If this is not because of sheer coincidence, I suggest that it is because the number 7 was the structuring quantitative principle for this poem. When this evidence is added to the evidence of the quantitative symmetry and chiastic arrangement of the Opening and Closing (see above), a strong argument emerges for the intentional structuring of the poem on the basis of the number 7. Table 1. Tribal Sayings No. of Colons Tribe Reuben (v. 6)

Heading

Saying

No. of Syllables Total

Heading

Saying

Total

—

2

2

—

15

15

Judah (v. 7)

1

4

5

8

27

35

Levi (vv. 8–11)

1

17

18

6

125

131

Benjamin (v. 12)

1

3

4

7

24

31

Joseph (vv. 13–17)

1

16

17

6

118

124

Zebulun/Issachar (vv. 18–19)

1

6

7

6

43

49

Gad (v. 20)

1

3

4

5

18

23

Dan (v. 22)

1

2

3

5

10

15

Napthali (v. 23)

1

3

4

7

21

28

Asher (vv. 24–25)

1

5

6

6

33

39

Totals

9

61

70

56

434

490

Avg. # of syllables/colon = 490 ÷ 70 = 7.00

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It remains, however, for us to account for the place of the Divider and the Peroration in the poem. The numbers for those two sections (summarizing Freedman’s results) are as follows: Table 2. Divider and Peroration Section

No. of colons

No. of syllables

Divider (v. 21)

5

34

Peroration (v. 29b)

2

19

7

53

Totals

Avg. # of syllables/colon = 7.57

Notice that, if these two sections are taken together, the total number of colons is divisible by 7, as were the colon counts of the Opening, Sayings, and Closing. However, the ratio of syllables to colons is not as close to 7 as it was for the other sections, due to the higher syllable count of the Peroration. The totals for the entire poem are as follows: Table 3. Entire Poem Section

No. of colons

No. of syllables

Opening

14

98

Tribal Sayings

70

490

Divider (v. 21) Closing Peroration (v. 29b) Totals

5

34

14

98

2

19

105

739

Avg. # of syllables/colon = 7.04

The total colon count is 105 (7 x 15), and the average number of syllables per colon is 7.04. Numerological Reflections We have seen that for the three main sections, as well as for the entire poem, the poet seems to have aimed for a number of colons that was evenly divisible by 7. To that extent the poem has a unified quantitative structure. But why did the poet choose 7? Indeed, because the poem treats the tribes, would not 12 (or even 6) have been a more appropriate number? A possible answer lies in the “cosmic” framing of the poem. In vv. 2 and 3, the poet refers to “holy myriads” and “all his holy ones” in connection

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with Yhwh. These could easily be the stars, elsewhere referred to as “the host of heaven,” over whom Yhwh now confidently rules. If this is the case, both the number 12 and the number 7 are significant: the former represents the signs of the zodiac, and the latter the planets. Thus the numerical structure of the poem reinforces the concept of Yhwh’s universal sovereignty. Is there, then, any significance to the particular multiples of 7 that the poet chose to implement in each section of the poem? It is not clear why the Opening and Closing should each have 14 colons. Fourteen is not a particularly important number in the Hebrew Bible. 13 Assuming, however, that the poet was aiming for a number of colons divisible by 7, it could be that 14 was the smallest multiple in which he could express all that he wanted to express in each of the two sections. On the other hand, combining the colon totals of the Opening and Closing yields 28, or 4 x 7. As is clear from the stock Mesopotamian phrase “the four corners of the earth,” 4 symbolizes the entire earth. If the poet had this phrase in mind, an allusion to it would have added a terrestrial dimension to the idea of Yhwh’s universal dominion, which was already represented on the cosmic level by 7 and 12. The number of colons in the Tribal Sayings (70), on the other hand, suggests numerous possible symbolic allusions. As is well known, the number 70 is used in the Bible to represent both Israel and the entire world. 14 The poet may have had the former allusion in mind due to the image in vv. 5 and 21 of the “heads of the (Israelite) people” assembling before Moses. The Place of the Divider and the Peroration in the Overall Poetic Structure In his study of the Framework, Freedman noted that the Divider (v. 21) is related to both the Opening and the Closing by its 5-colon length (both 13. The number 14 appears only 10 times in the Tanakh—Gen 14:5 (year in which Chedorlaomer’s vassals rebelled); 31:41 (years that Jacob served Laban for Jacob’s two wives); Josh 15:36 and 18:28 (towns in certain districts allotted to Judah and Benjamin, respectively); 2 Kgs 18:13 (year of Hezekiah in which Sennacherib attacked Jerusalem); 2 Chr 13:21 (number of King Abijah’s wives); Isa 36:1 (doublet of 2 Kgs 18:13); Ezek 40:1 (years after the destruction of Jerusalem that Ezekiel had his vision of the rebuilt Temple); 43:17 (length and breadth of the ledge around the altar hearth of the restored Temple, two uses). 14. In the Pentateuch, the number of “elders” in Israel is twice given as 70: for the sacred meal on Sinai (Exod 24:1, 10–11) and in the episode of the descent of the spirit of prophecy (Num 11:24). Likewise, the number of descendants of Jacob who went down to Egypt is given as 70 (Gen 46:27). Seventy is also the number of nations descended from Noah (Genesis 10), although the text does not explicitly state the total. In general, then, the number 70 seems to symbolize the totality of a population (be it of Israel or the entire world) in the persons of its representatives (elders or national eponyms).

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the Opening and the Closing have 2 subunits of that length), and it is also linked to the Opening (vv. 4 and 5) by its vocabulary and theme (namely, the gathering of the nation’s leaders before a supreme leader who gives instruction and judgment). 15 My analysis of the overall structure of the poem has now revealed an additional link, the link between Divider and the Peroration, because the 2 units combine to yield a final set of 7 colons, thereby preserving the divisibility by 7 of the total number of colons in the poem. This provides another explanation for the presence of the Peroration, in addition to the ones that Freedman offers. Freedman writes: While the last unit [the Peroration, v. 29b] is linked grammatically with what precedes through the presence of second person pronominal forms, it also serves to close the entire poem on a triumphant note. As noted, the bicolon is heavier in metrical terms than any other in the Opening and Closing, and since there is no correspondent passage in the Opening in an otherwise completely symmetrical structure, it may be regarded as an added ornamentation, a conclusion to the unit and to the poem as a whole. 16

As we have seen, once the entire poem has been analyzed quantitatively, the Peroration appears to be less “an added ornamentation” than an integral part of the structure, via its quantitative link with the Divider. But there also may be a thematic link between the Divider and the Peroration. Notice that the Peroration, at least in its Masoretic vocalization, looks to the future (“Your enemies will come cringing to you / And you shall tread upon their backs”), whereas the Opening looks mainly to the past, while the Closing looks to both past and present. By linking the Peroration to the Divider by means of quantity, the poet may have wanted to suggest that “Yahweh’s justice” (v. 21, the Divider) is not only a vital part of Israel’s past and present, but it is also essential to its future survival (in the form of victory over national enemies). It was an article of faith to the Deuteronomist that national triumph was conditional upon obedience to the tôrâ. To have a prediction of triumph standing without some reminder of the condition of obedience would be disturbing to any poet or redactor under the influence of the Deuteronomistic world view. If, therefore, the linking of Divider to Peroration was intentional, then not only does the theme of tôrâ extend from the Opening via the Divider to the very end of the poem but also we may have a clue regarding the historical period of the poem’s final redaction. The close link between Yahweh, Moses, and the tôrâ may also explain why the Divider occurs after the Saying about Gad. The “blessing” in Gad’s Saying is directed toward “the one who enlarges Gad,” which probably means 15. Freedman, “Poetic Structure,” 96. 16. Ibid., 107.

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Yahweh. 17 If so, then Gad’s is the only Tribal Saying to “bless Yahweh.” That alone may have sufficed to make this the proper place to insert the Divider, in which Yahweh figures so prominently. But the poem’s narrative background offers another reason. The “enlarging” of Gad recalls the procurement of his territory through victory over the kings of the Transjordan. In that victory, both Moses and Yahweh played crucial roles. Further, after the victory, Moses delivered the tôrâ to the assembled nation in the long speech that forms the book of Deuteronomy. The convergence of all three themes—Yahweh, Moses, and tôrâ—in the narrative background is thus another reason that Gad’s Saying was considered an appropriate place to insert the Divider. Finally, the placement of the Divider also brings us back to the principle of the number 7. I noted above that the Sayings of Zebulun and Issachar are unusual in that they occur together under a single heading (which, curiously, mentions only Zebulun). Thus, although vv. 18–19 cover two tribes, they appear to constitute a single Saying. 18 The effect of this is that the Divider appears immediately after the 7th Saying. This is further evidence of the importance of the number 7 to the structure of the poem. 17. See, for example, Tigay, Deuteronomy, 331. 18. This impression is strengthened by the observation that the verbs in v. 19 are plural, as if predicating the same things about both Zebulun and Issachar.

The Lion Has Roared: Rhetorical Structure in Amos 1:2–3:8 Jack R. Lundbom Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg

Mark Rose, in a study on the Shakespearean plays, has shown that before acts came into being plays were structured by design, not plot, and as a result were symmetrical. 1 The division into acts came later. Something similar has occurred in the text of the Hebrew Bible. Scribal additions of various descriptions—introductions, summaries, and explanatory supplements—have served to obscure preexisting rhetorical structures made by repeated or balancing vocabulary and phraseology, key word inversions, speaker alternations, and symmetries of a numerical, rhythmic, or thematic nature. These structures emanate from the biblical preachers and writers or from scribes who collected and compiled inspired discourse for representation to later audiences. Chapter numbers from a still-later date obscure these structures even more when they follow the scribal additions, which they often do. Some years ago I argued that King Ahaziah’s obituary in 2 Kgs 1:17–18, which completes the Deuteronomic formula begun in 1 Kgs 22:51–53, breaks up and obscures a preexisting rhetorical structure taking in four originally separate legends from the Elisha cycle in 2 Kings 1–2. 2 The structure here is a controlling chiasmus depicting a circuitous journey that begins in Samaria (1:2), moves south and east into the Transjordan, where Elijah is taken into heaven, and then returns again to Samaria, where it concludes (2:25). The climax of the journey is in the center (2:9–13), where Elijah’s mantle falls to Elisha, and Elijah ascends into heaven in a fiery chariot. With the elimination of the obituary, the two main legends—legend one reporting Elijah’s denunciation of Ahaziah and his servants for seeking help from Baal-zebub (= Baal-zebul) in curing the king’s sickness (1:2–16), and legend two reporting Elisha’s final walk with his master and Elijah’s departure in a fiery chariot (2:1–18)—are seen in a new light. Elijah’s chariot ride, which is also a ride to death, comes in response to the prophet’s conquest of 100 men in Ahaziah’s 1. Mark Rose, Shakespearean Design (Cambridge: Belknap and Harvard University Press, 1972). 2. J. R. Lundbom, “Elijah’s Chariot Ride,” JJS 24 (1973) 39–50.

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army. The 50 men watching from a distance with the sons of the prophets when Elijah and Elisha have their parting words at the Jordan (2:7) are Ahaziah’s third contingent of 50 who were spared (1:13–15) and who are now beholden to Elijah and allied with him. Legend two also aids in clarifying unspecified details in legend one: The “messenger of Yahweh” (hwhy ˚alm) in 1:3 and 15 is Elisha, and “the mountain” (rhh) in 1:9 is Mount Carmel. At the beginning of the book of Amos, a preexisting rhetorical structure in 1:2–3:8 has similarly been broken up and obscured by the scribal introduction to Yahweh’s weighty pronouncement in 3:2. This introduction, “Hear this word that Yahweh has spoken against you, O children of Israel, against the whole family that I brought up from the land of Egypt” (3:1), is a later addition, providing another “Hear this word . . .” beginning (w[mv hzh rbdh [ta]) similar to the sayings in 4:1 and 5:1. In 4:1, “Hear this word” is a bona fide beginning to a poetic oracle; but in 5:1, as here, it is a prosaic addition betrayed by the nota accusativi, a recognized prose particle, which occurs in both texts. This particle is not present in 4:1. Chapter numbers, not surprisingly, have been guided by the “Hear this word” beginnings in 3:1, 4:1, and 5:1; and in the present passage, commentators take 3:1 as the beginning of a new unit extending through either v. 6 or v. 8. 3 Condamin, however, correctly saw that the literary unit was in fact 1:2– 3:8, 4 and some recent commentators have moved modestly in this direction by noting that Yahweh’s roar in 1:2 connects in some fashion with the lion’s roar in 3:8. 5 Andersen and Freedman, though not entirely clear about the delimitation of units in these verses (for example, they accept the break at 3:1 and state also that “2:9–3:8 can be viewed as a unit with internal continuity, in spite of the break between 2:16 and 3:1” [p. 378]), nevertheless call 1:2 and 3:8 an inclusio. The verses read: 1:2 Yahweh from Zion roars, and from Jerusalem he utters his voice, and the pastures of the shepherds mourn, and the top of Carmel withers.

gavy hwhy wlwq ˆty

3. W. R. Harper, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Amos and Hosea (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1905) 12; R. S. Cripps, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Amos (London: SPCK, 1929) 149; J. L. Mays, Amos (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1969) 58–59; H. W. Wolff, Joel and Amos (trans. Waldemar Janzen et al.; Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977) 181 (= Dodekapropheton II: Joel und Amos [BKAT 14/2; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1969]); F. I. Andersen and D. N. Freedman, Amos (AB 24A; New York: Doubleday, 1989) 206, 384; S. M. Paul, Amos (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991) 100. 4. A. Condamin, Poèmes de la Bible (2nd ed.; Paris: Gabriel Beauchesne, 1933) 59–71. 5. Mays, Amos, 62; Wolff, Joel and Amos, 118; Andersen and Freedman, Amos, 17, 219–26.

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gav hyra rbd hwhy ynda

Some have suggested that Yahweh’s roar in 1:2 is the roar of thunder, because the parallel expression about Yahweh “uttering his voice” has this reference elsewhere (Ps 18:14[13] = 2 Sam 22:14; Isa 30:30). 6 But thunder would not issue forth in a drought, which is what v. 2b envisions. 7 The roar (Heb. gav) must be the roar of a lion, as most commentators agree. The thesis to be put forth in the present essay is that 1:2–3:8, excluding the supplemental 3:1, shows itself to be a single discourse with a developed rhetorical structure, some portions of which may at one time have been selfstanding, but which in their present configuration are intended to be heard as part of a unified prophetic utterance. In this discourse the prophet begins by announcing Yahweh’s roar from Zion (1:2) and concludes by arguing that he is therefore left no choice but to prophesy (3:8). In between there is full and irrevocable judgment on all the nations of the world. The foreign nations are judged because of gross inhumanity toward one another; Judah and Israel are judged for covenant violation, stated again succinctly and climactically at the center of the discourse (3:2). It is generally agreed that 1:2 is a self-standing verse of poetry introducing the oracles to the nations; some take it to be a titular summary in hymnic style of the whole of Amos’s preaching. 8 That it does not connect with the first oracle in 1:3–5 is clear from the petu˙ah after v. 2, as well as the “Thus said Yahweh” messenger formula beginning the first oracle. Yahweh is the speaker in all of the oracles following, but not in 1:2. In the opening oracles of the book, Yahweh announces irrevocable punishment on eight nations or their capital cities: Damascus, Gaza, Tyre, Edom, Ammon, Moab, Judah, and Israel (1:3–2:16). All the oracles begin with a stereotyped indictment: For three transgressions of ________ and for four, I will not revoke it.

They conclude—all except the oracle against Israel—with variations of a stereotyped judgment: 6. Cripps, Amos, 157; Mays, Amos, 21–22; J. A. Soggin, The Prophet Amos (trans. John Bowden; London: SCM, 1987) 28; cf. Job 37:4; Rev 10:3. 7. Wolff, Joel and Amos, 119. 8. Harper, Amos and Hosea, 12; Cripps, Amos, 115; Mays, Amos, 21; Wolff, Joel and Amos, 119.

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So I will send/kindle a fire against (the wall/the house of ) _________ and it will consume the strongholds of ________/her strongholds.

The lack of a stereotyped judgment against Israel can be explained as a deliberate deviation from an established pattern, 9 here replaced by a different type of judgment oracle (2:13–16). The question has been raised whether these oracles should be taken separately or together. All have their own messenger formulas; in fact, all have both opening and closing formulas except the oracles against Tyre, Edom, and Judah, which lack a concluding “oracle of Yahweh.” Some have therefore argued that these three oracles are later additions. 10 The petu˙ah section markings after 1:5, 8, 10, 12, 15; 2:3, 5, and 16 delimit eight units. So one must reckon with the possibility that all eight oracles could at one time have been delivered separately, but in their present configuration they doubtless belong together. Sigmund Mowinckel in discussing these oracles gave customary lip-service to the form-critical maxim of brief units but then went on to conclude that the eight oracles make much more sense when taken as a unity. 11 Shalom Paul has also shown that the six oracles addressing the foreign nations are linked together by catchphrases, which once again supports the argument that these oracles, at least, have been crafted into a larger unity. 12 Because only the foreign nation oracles are linked, however, might the oracles against Judah and Israel be later additions? Andersen and Freedman think the list of eight nations is complete as it stands, mainly because of a 7 + 1 pattern known to be conventional in both Canaanite and Israelite literature. 13 The numbers 3, 3 + 1, 7, and 7 + 1 all signify completeness. Here in each of the foreign nation oracles is the stereotypical: “for three transgressions . . . and for four” (3 and 3 + 1 totals 7). For the numbers 7 and 8 (= 7 + 1) in parallelism, see Mic 5:4[5]. In our day we cite the baseball maxim “three strikes and you’re out” to indicate completeness or finality. Enumerations in a 7 or 7 + 1 pattern occur with particular frequency in the book of Amos. 14 Gordis cites the list of seven nations in chaps. 1–2, after 9. D. N. Freedman, “Deliberate Deviation from an Established Pattern of Repetition in Hebrew Poetry as a Rhetorical Device,” in Proceedings of the Ninth World Congress of Jewish Studies (Jerusalem, August 4–12, 1985), Division A: The Period of the Bible (Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies, 1986) 45–52 (repr. in D. N. Freedman, Divine Commitment and Human Obligation II [ed. John R. Huddlestun; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1997] 205–12). 10. Mays, Amos, 25–26; Wolff, Joel and Amos, 140. 11. S. Mowinckel, Prophecy and Tradition (Oslo: Dybwad, 1946) 56–57. 12. S. M. Paul, “Amos 1:3–2:3: A Concatenous Literary Pattern,” JBL 90 (1971) 397–403; idem, Amos, 13–15. 13. Andersen and Freedman, Amos, 206. 14. R. Gordis, “The Heptad as an Element of Biblical and Rabbinic Style,” JBL 62 (1943) 17–26 (repr. in Gordis, Poets, Prophets and Sages: Essays in Biblical Interpretation

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which Amos’s preferred nation comes up for review: Israel (= 7 + 1). Other examples in the book: 1. the 7 transgressions of Israel in 2:6–8 (selling the righteous; selling the needy; tamping the earth with the head of the poor; thrusting aside the afflicted; gang-raping a young girl; sleeping on garments taken in pledge; drinking wine of those fined); 2. the 7 acts of punishment for Israel in 2:14–16 (the swift cannot flee; the strong will lose strength; the mighty will not escape with his life; the bowman will not stand; the swift of foot shall not escape; the horseman will not escape with his life; the stout-hearted will flee away naked); 3. the 7 + 1 series of rhetorical questions in 3:3–8, about which I will say more below; 4. the 7 verbs calling ironically for sanctuary worship in 4:4–5 (come, transgress, multiply, bring, burn, proclaim, publish); 5. the 7 prior calamities cited by Yahweh in 4:6–12 (I gave you cleanness of teeth and lack of bread; I withheld the rain from you; I smote you with blight and mildew; I sent among you a pestilence; I slew your young men with the sword; I made the stench of your camp go up into your nostrils; I overthrew you); 6. the 7 verbs in the hymnic fragment of 5:8–9 (He who makes the Pleiades and Orion; turns deep darkness into morning; darkens the day into night; calls for the waters of the sea; pours them out upon the face of the earth; makes destruction burst upon the stronghold; brings destruction upon the fortress); 7. the 7 things Yahweh hates in 5:21–24 (your festivals; your solemn assemblies; burnt offerings; your meal offerings; peace offerings; noise of your songs; the melody of your lutes); 8. the 7 verbs calling for woe in 6:4–6 (lie, sprawl, eat, improvise, compose, drink, anoint); 9. the 7 damning quotes from the merchants in 8:5–8 (When will the new moon be over so we may sell grain; and the sabbath so we may open to sell wheat; to make the ephah small; and to make the shekel great; and to cheat with deceitful scales; to buy the poor with silver and the needy with a pair of sandals; and sell the refuse of the wheat). Various attempts have also been made to find a logic or fixity in the ordering of these oracles, such as a geographical, historical, or cultic ritual order. But these have not been particularly successful, with one exception. Nils Lund [Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1971] 95–103); M. Weiss, “The Pattern of Numerical Sequence in Amos 1–2,” JBL 86 (1967) 416–23; J. Limburg, “Sevenfold Structures in the Book of Amos,” JBL 106 (1987) 217–22.

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proposed a number of years ago that the eight oracles in sequence form a simple crosswise pattern that follows the points of the compass. 15 The first four locations, more distant from the prophet addressing them, make an X; the four remaining locations are then addressed in clockwise fashion, beginning with Ammon and ending with Israel, at which point the climax is reached, the drama ends, and the audience is shocked to learn the outcome. The four nations of the inner ring, located on either side of the Jordan, complete the X figure: (3) Tyre

(1) Damascus (8) Israel

(5) Ammon

X (7) Judah (2) Gaza

(6) Moab (4) Edom

If Amos can be imagined standing somewhere between Jerusalem and Samaria (the X in the diagram)—perhaps at Bethel, the one location where he is known to have preached (Amos 7:10–13)—his recitation of oracles while facing each nation would constitute drama of a high order. Amos first faces the Aramean city of Damascus to the northeast, then turns 180 degrees to face the Philistine city of Gaza to the southwest. The prophet then faces northwest to address the Phoenician city of Tyre, after which he makes another 180 degree turn to address Edom in the southeast. In the sweep of nations closer to home, Amos first addresses Ammon in the near northeast, then Moab in the near southeast. Turning west, he then addresses Judah in the near southwest, and finally Israel in the near northwest. The masterful survey ends right where the prophet intends: with Israel. If the audience has given hearty assent to the judgment on seven nations, which doubtless it has, it cannot now stop the momentum and refrain from judging Israel, the eighth, which it would like to do. This audience—presumably Northern Israelite—has been trapped, and the prophet’s object has been achieved. We must also ask whether the Israel prophecy has undergone subsequent expansion. Wolff takes the historical recital and shift to direct address in 2:10–12 as a later “Deuteronomic” supplement, judging the verses also to be prosaic. 16 Andersen and Freedman also note a broadening in 2:9, where the focus is now on Israel, the nation as a whole, 17 but they still want to maintain the unity and integrity of 1:2–2:16. Here we get no help from section mark15. Nils W. Lund, Chiasmus in the New Testament (Chapel Hill, N.C.: University of North Carolina Press, 1942) 87–88. 16. Wolff, Joel and Amos, 112–13, 141–42. 17. Andersen and Freedman, Amos, 206, 378.

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ings, which delimit only the unit 2:6–16. Messenger formulas in the verses indicate two oracles: (1) vv. 9–12; and (2) vv. 13/14–16. Oracle I continues the prior indictment; Oracle II announces the judgment. Both have nice key word structures, the first of which argues against Wolff ’s view that vv. 10–12 are secondary. The two stanzas of Oracle I contain these repetitions and balancing key words: I And I, I destroyed the Amorite before them ................. ................. And I, I brought you up from the land of Egypt ............... to possess the land of the Amorite

2:9

II And I raised up some of your sons to be prophets and some of your choice men to be Nazirites . . . . . . . . . . . . . . said Yahweh But you made the Nazirites drink wine and the prophets you commanded: “You shall not prophesy!”

2:11

2:10

2:12

Stanza I has parallelism and a key word inclusio; stanza II has a key word chiasmus. In stanza II we see also that the messenger formula comes at the center (v. 11), not at the end, as in the judgment oracle following (v. 16) and in prophetic oracles generally. Oracle II may also be two poetic stanzas, although there is uncertainty about the nature of v. 13. With its problematic verb qw[ (“press down”), it can be tentatively translated: I Look I am pressing (you) down in your place just as the cart presses down the one full of sheaves.

2:13

The prosaic rvak (“just as”) may be an indication that this verse is a later addition. Andersen and Freedman label it “a transitional statement.” On the other hand, rvak makes a simile in other Amos poetry (5:19). So far as “Look I” (ykna hnh) with a participle is concerned, this turns up later in Jeremiah as the most common beginning to the prophetic oracle, in both prose and poetry. 18 So here in v. 13 we may well have a genuine poetic bicolon belonging to an oracle composed of vv. 13–16. If so, the bicolon should probably be delimited as a separate stanza, because vv. 14–16 have their own rhetorical structure, as we shall see presently. In any case, v. 13 must be joined with vv. 14–16 because it is part of the judgment, not the indictment. 18. J. R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 1–20 (AB 21A; New York: Doubleday, 1999) 242.

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The remainder of Oracle II has key word repetitions that form an inclusio and an inverted sequence in the center. It can be taken as a second stanza of the oracle: II Flight (swnm) shall vanish from the swift 2:14 .................. and the mighty shall not escape with his life ................... 2:15 and he who is swift of foot shall not escape and the rider of the horse shall not escape with his life and he who is stout of heart among the mighty 2:16 shall flee away (swny) naked in that day, said Yahweh.

We must conclude, then, that 2:9–16 contains two self-standing oracles that are now part of the prophecy against Israel and are integral to the prophecy. This is because without them there is no judgment on the nation, which there must be. Most commentators concur, seeing 2:16 as a conclusion to the Israel prophecy and the prophecies to all the nations. 19 The end of a unit is indicated also by the “oracle of Yahweh” formula concluding v. 16, after which comes a petu˙ah section marking. In the larger rhetorical structure of 1:2–3:8, the center is occupied by the divine word in 3:2, commonly agreed to be the weightiest prophecy uttered by the prophet from Tekoa and one of the weightiest prophecies in the entire Hebrew Bible. In this word Yahweh affirms his special covenant relationship with Israel, but then to the great surprise of this Northern Israelite audience, he says that because of this relationship, not in spite of it, he intends to punish the nation for all its iniquities: Only you have I known of all the families of the earth therefore I will punish you for all your iniquities

3:2

There are no messenger formulas or section markings in 3:1–8, which means for the interpreter less certainty about delimiting units in the verses. Nevertheless, v. 2 is generally taken to be a self-standing prophecy, introduced by the prosaic v. 1, about which I remarked above. The rhetorical questions in vv. 3–8 are a different literary genre entirely, and the speaking voice there is doubtless the voice of the prophet. In v. 2 it is Yahweh addressing the people directly. Most commentators therefore combine the divine word in v. 2 with its introduction in v. 1, taking the two as a single unit. But Andersen and 19. Harper, Amos and Hosea, 47; Mays, Amos, 44–45; Wolff, Joel and Amos, 127–73; Soggin, Prophet Amos, 46; Paul, Amos, 43–99.

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Freedman identify both verses as prose, 20 which v. 2 does not seem to be. Admittedly, this verse begins its last colon with ta, but this may simply be to balance µkta (“you”) in colon one. The modern English versions follow Biblia Hebraica and scan the verse as poetry, which it gives every indication of being. What follows is a string of rhetorical questions that is unparalleled in prophetic literature (3:3–8). If Amos is the prophet of the heptad, he is also the prophet of the rhetorical question. These questions are not prophecy per se but an exercise in disputation betraying unmistakable grounding in Israelite wisdom tradition. The series begins with a single question (“Do two walk together . . . ?”), after which come six more questions in pairs: (1) Does a lion roar . . . Does a young lion lift up his voice . . . ? (2) Does a bird fall upon a trap . . . Does a trap spring up . . . ? and (3) If a trumpet is blown in a city . . . If evil befalls a city . . . ? The setup questions number seven, preparing for the concluding double question of v. 8 (7 + 1). The double question at the end once again traps the audience into engagement with the prophet. By having made seven “no” responses to the setup questions, the audience must now answer “no one” to the final questions about who on earth can remain quiet once Yahweh has roared. These final questions indirectly validate the call Amos has received to become Yahweh’s prophet. Because a prose statement in v. 7 interrupts the full number of rhetorical questions, and because v. 8 departs from the h" and µaI interrogative particles in vv. 3–6 and uses the interrogative mI instead, some commentators argue that the original unit ended at v. 6, and vv. 7–8 are said to be fragments of a separate discourse. 21 It has been noted also that v. 8 departs from the qina (3:2) meter of vv. 3–6. But none of these changes in vv. 7–8 materially affects the conclusion most everyone reaches, that v. 8 is the end toward which everything moves, except to say that the statement in v. 7 may have been inserted later, as some commentators allege (Harper; Baumgartner; Mays; Wolff ). Andersen and Freedman, however, argue that v. 7 is authentic and an integral part of the discourse. 22 The rhetorical strategy, in any case, is the same as in the parade of oracles against the nations, where seven prophecies were a foil for the prophecy on which the accent was meant to fall. 23 Here seven questions in very mechanical fashion become foil for a double question that is infinitely more important, leaving us with another 7 + 1 pattern in the book. 24 It may also be that this double question at the end intends to return the 20. 21. 22. 23. 24.

Andersen and Freedman, Amos, 378–79. W. Baumgartner, “Amos 3 3–8,” ZAW 33 (1913) 79; Cripps, Amos, 150–53. Andersen and Freedman, Amos, 391–92. Paul, Amos, 105. Limburg, “Sevenfold Structures,” 220–21; Andersen and Freedman, Amos, 391.

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hearer to the single question that begins the series, which would make an inclusio for 3:3–8. The two walking together would then be Yahweh and Amos, who have been brought together by divine plan. This preexisting rhetorical structure in 1:2–3:8 can be outlined as follows: a Amos hearing the voice of Yahweh: Yahweh from Zion roars . . . b Oracles against the nations in a scheme of 7 Oracle against Israel with supplements c Yahweh stating to Israel terms of the covenant Only you have I known . . . therefore I will punish you . . . bu Set-up rhetorical questions in a scheme of 7 Supplemental word authenticating the prophets

1:2 1:3–2:5 2:6–16 3:2

3:3–6 3:7

au Amos’s double question validating his call: The Lion has roared; 3:8 who will not fear? Lord Yahweh has spoken; who will not prophesy?

With a strengthening of the view that 1:2 and 3:8 begin and end a single rhetorical discourse, our interpretion of these verses can be clarified at two points. First, because Amos is the speaker in 3:8, he should be taken also as the speaking voice in 1:2. The initial “And he said” beginning 1:2 indicates as much, connecting as it does the superscription naming Amos (1:1) with the opening prophecy of the book. 25 This opening prophecy then need not be assigned to a later Judaic redactor or explained in some other way as being of anonymous origin. Second, the linking of 1:2 and 3:8 points to the synonymous parallelism in 3:8 being exact; that is, the lion said to have roared in 8a is Lord Yahweh, said to have spoken in 8b. 26 The reference here is not to just any beast in the forest, which effectively rules out a connection, implied or otherwise, to the lion mentioned in 3:4. 27 The lion in 8a is also not a metaphor for the coming Assyrian army, 28 despite future renderings of the verb (“a lion shall roar”) in the LXX and Vulg. The term here is employed as a pure metaphor for God, a coinage found nowhere else in the Bible. Only in the NT is the resurrected and exalted Jesus called “the Lion of the tribe of Judah” (Rev 5:5). However, the portrayal itself of Yahweh as a lion is not a rarity in the Hebrew Bible. The expression “Yahweh roars” in 1:2 (also Jer 25:30 and Joel 4:16[3:16]) is 25. 26. 27. 28.

Paul, Amos, 37. Andersen and Freedman, Amos, 400. Pace Wolff, Joel and Amos, 125; Paul, Amos, 113. Pace Harper, Amos and Hosea, 73–74.

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an implied metaphor, which was called an abusio by the classical rhetoricians. 29 And we often meet up with similes such as the one in Hos 5:14, where Yahweh says, “For I will be like a lion to Ephraim, and like a young lion to the house of Judah.” See also Hos 11:10, 13:7–8; Isa 38:13; Jer 25:38, and 49:19. With “lion” in 3:8a as a pure metaphor for God, the term should then be made definite and capitalized (“The Lion has roared”), which none of the modern English versions does. Andersen and Freedman make the term definite but do not capitalize. 30 29. Rhetorica ad Herennium 4.33. 30. Andersen and Freedman, Amos, 383.

On the Use of the Name of God in the Book of Jonah Elizabeth Goldstein University of California, San Diego

In their article “Composition and Paronomasia in the Book of Jonah,” B. Halpern and R. E. Friedman reveal the high level of literary artistry in Jonah. 1 Word repetition, wordplay, and frequent punning span the landscape of this short, four-part narrative. Whether the chapters of the book were born of several minds or just one, the final product demonstrates a clear intention by one person to integrate literary themes through precise wording. 2 I offer as an example of this intention what appears to be the purposeful selection of the divine names Yhwh and Elohim throughout the narrative portions of Jonah, which should not be attributed either to the combination of sources or to random usage. Modern scholarship occasionally has shown that an individual biblical author may choose to use a divine name selectively. For example, Friedman demonstrates that the narrator in J always uses Yhwh, while individual characters in the J stories use both Yhwh and Elohim. 3 Umberto Cassuto, arguing that the names for the Deity carry certain connotations, tries to make a case that a single author wrote the entire Pentateuch, selectively using divine names according to an established set of rules. 4 The attachment of a specific meaning to divine names is not a novel idea. Author’s note: In Jonah 2, the Hebrew versification differs from the English by one number. In this essay, I am following the versification of the MT. 1. Baruch Halpern and Richard Elliot Friedman, “Composition and Paranomasia in the Book of Jonah,” HAR 4 (1980) 79–92. 2. For a list of scholars who hold that the book was formulated and written by one author as well as those who see a tapestry of voices in the final product, see the following two references: Jack Sasson, Jonah (AB 24B; New York: Doubleday, 1990) 16–19; Phyllis Trible, “The Book of Jonah: Introduction, Commentary and Reflections,” NIB 7.463–529. 3. R. E. Friedman, Who Wrote the Bible? (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1987; repr., San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1997) 81. 4. Umberto Cassuto, The Documentary Hypothesis and the Composition of the Pentateuch: Eight Lectures (trans. I. Abrams; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1961) 31–32.

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The rabbis of old attributed midat ha-din, the value of justice, to the name Elohim, and midat ha-ra˙amim, the value of mercy, to Yhwh. 5 While there are significant problems with Cassuto’s evidence against the Documentary Hypothesis, 6 the theory that divine names may have been employed for more reasons than simply mood or taste may be valid. One of Cassuto’s claims about the use of divine names in the Pentateuch resembles my own explanation for the writer’s choice of divine names in the book of Jonah. 7 Cassuto states that Yhwh is used in reference to the God of Israel, relative to Israelites or their ancestors. In contrast, Elohim is used when God is spoken of in relation to a non-Israelite. 8 For Jonah, the rule should be reformulated as follows: the name Yhwh serves when the Deity engages directly with an Israelite, while the term Elohim is employed in descriptions of the relationship God has with non-Israelites. This distinction works clearly in the four chapters 9 of narrative in the book. 10 First, I will demonstrate that the issue of voice is connected to the author’s choice of Yhwh or Elohim. Following the discussion of voice in the book, I will outline a potential problem in the fourth chapter and offer a solution according to my adapted rule. Voices in the Book of Jonah Four categories of voice exist in this dramatic showdown between God and his prophet: the voice of Jonah, the non-Israelites (either the sailors or the Ninevites), the narrator, and God. 5. Gen. Rab. 33:3. 6. The very fact that his rules do not work for the entirety of the Pentateuch and that patterns can be seen within the context of a single author or editor actually lends support to the Documentary Hypothesis. 7. The present author’s theory was discovered independently of knowledge of Cassuto’s work. I wish to thank William H. C. Propp for pointing me toward this source. 8. Cassuto, Documentary Hypothesis, 31–32. 9. The distinction also holds true for the poem (2:3–10), but given the debate surrounding the place of the poem in the book, I am omitting all but a brief discussion of it. See Sasson for a complete overview of the debate (Sasson, Jonah, 17). 10. Many have noticed the clear differentiation between the use of Yhwh and Elohim in the narrative. Some have noted only the distinction, such as Trible, “Book of Jonah,” 464; Sasson, Jonah, 17–18; and Uriel Simon, Jonah (JPS Bible Commentary; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1999) 42. Others, such as Magonet, Limberg, and Kamp, attribute some meaning to the choice of names. Jonathan Magonet, Form and Meaning: Studies in Literary Techniques in the Book of Jonah (Bible and Literature Series 8; Sheffield: Almond, 1983) 33–38. Albert Kamp, Inner Worlds: A Cognitive-Linguistic Approach to the Book of Jonah (trans. D. Orton; Biblical Interpretation Series 68; Boston: Brill, 2004) 124–25. James Limburg, Jonah: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1993) 45–47.

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Jonah Jonah does not call on God with the vocative “Elohim.” In 4:2, Jonah addresses Yhwh, saying, “O Yhwh, was this not my saying when I was in my own land . . . ?” Because it is unclear whether the author of the poem is the same as the author of the rest of the book, the fact that Jonah calls out to Yhwh twice in the second chapter (2:3, 10) cannot be central to this analysis. When referring to God in the third person, Jonah similarly uses Yhwh. For example, in 1:9, Jonah says, “I am a Hebrew, and it is Yhwh, the god of heaven, I fear.” Non-Israelites Unless informed by Jonah, no other person refers to the Deity as Yhwh. Sometimes, as in the case of the sailors, they say élohêka, “your god” (Jonah 1:6). More often, when non-Israelites speak about God, they refer to God as ha-élohîm. The mariners ruminate, “Maybe ha-élohîm will pay attention to us” (1:6). 11 Later, in the third chapter, the Ninevites muse, “Who knows if ha-élohîm will turn and repent and turn from his anger?” (3:9). To which god are they referring? The author knows that these peoples would not know the name Yhwh yet wants to assert that there is only one God. He is caught in a quandary. He could have the people pray to a named ancient Near Eastern deity, or he can eliminate any cause to disengage his Israelite audience from the non-Israelite characters and their plights. Jonah’s author chooses the latter and, albeit subtly, the Israelite audience is able to identify with non-Israelite peoples, even an enemy as great as the Ninevites. The Narrator The narrator shifts between referring to God as Elohim, when the situation involves non-Israelites, and Yhwh when telling of God’s relationship with Jonah. “The word of Yhwh came to Jonah” (1:1). Twice in 1:3, Jonah runs from Yhwh. In 1:10 the narrator explains that the sailors come to understand that it is Yhwh who is causing the storm after the lot falls on Jonah (1:7). Then the mariners refer to God by the name Yhwh when they pray to him, and we are told that they also offer sacrifices to Yhwh (1:14–16). We do not know if they have learned a new name by which to identify their chief god, whether they have become monotheists, or whether they have ultimately switched their allegiances from their former gods to Yhwh. Whatever the situation, the narrator is explicit in showing that the sailors only 11. In 1:14, the mariners do call upon “Yhwh” but only after they are explicitly told that Yhwh is causing the storm. See below.

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know the name Yhwh because Jonah has shared it with them, and they now turn to worshiping Yhwh, at least for the moment. In 2:1, Yhwh appoints a great fish to swallow Jonah and, consequently, Jonah prays to Yhwh (2:2). Although Jonah is running from a task that would ultimately affect the fate of the Ninevites, the symbolic “death” of Jonah concerns his relationship with Yhwh. This sentiment is expressed in the poem that follows these lines, revealing an intimate relationship filled with both emotional and physical anguish. “I am cast out from before your eyes, but I will continue to look toward your holy temple” (2:5). Yhwh accepts Jonah’s prayer and the fish spews him out on dry land (2:11). Yhwh calls to Jonah again and Jonah responds by going to “Nineveh according to the word of Yhwh” (3:1–2). The rift between Jonah and God is seemingly healed, but Jonah still lacks the understanding that non-Israelites, though they may sin, are also God’s children. Jonah’s remaining weakness is revealed at the beginning of the fourth chapter, when he says, in an almost childlike tantrum, “O Yhwh! Was this not my saying when I was [back] in my own land? It was for this (reason) that I preemptively fled to Tarshish, for I knew that you were a merciful and compassionate god [ªel ], long-suffering, full of grace, forgiving of evildoings” (4:2). It is in chap. 3, after the healing of the rift between God and Jonah, that the narrator explores the relationship between Nineveh and God. Nineveh “is a city that is great to Elohim” (3:3). Commentators have been puzzled by this terminology. David Kim˙i, the late-twelfth-century Hebrew grammarian thought the construction indicates the superlative. 12 In other words, the phrase should be translated “Nineveh is the largest city.” According to Trible, most ancient translations support taking lªelohîm literally. 13 A literal reading works well to support the proposed theory that, when the author wants the audience to reflect on the relationship between God and non-Israelites, he uses Elohim. Reading the line “a great city belonging to God” also ties in nicely with 3:5, in which the narrator tells his audience, “The people of Nineveh trusted in Elohim.” We should also note that nowhere in Jonah’s prophecy does he mention God. When the narrator tells us that the people of Nineveh trusted in God and, previously, that they were a great city belonging 12. M. Zlotowitz, Jonah: A New Translation with a Commentary Anthologized from Midrashic and Rabbinic Sources (Brooklyn: Mesorah, 1980) 120. 13. Phyllis Trible, Studies in the Book of Jonah (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1963) 42. Except for the Vulgate and Arabic, early translations of the book of Jonah take Elohim literally. Sasson also favors reading lªelohîm literally, rendering a genitival construction suggesting belonging to God. See his comments for a full discussion of the phrase (Sasson, Jonah, 228–30).

spread is 12 points short

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to God, he is reminding us that the Ninevites have a preexisting relationship with God, although different from Jonah’s. Subsequently, the narrator continues, “They called out to Elohim and turned from their evil ways” (3:8). Not surprisingly, God (ha-élohîm) took pity on the Ninevites and did not execute his plan (3:10). 14 God Considering that much of the narrative concerns the relationship between God and his prophet, God speaks surprisingly infrequently in the book. God speaks directly once in the first chapter (1:2), once in the third chapter (3:2), and three times in the fourth chapter (4:4, 9, 10). When God does speak (and he speaks only to Jonah), he is referred to as Yhwh in every instance but one, in which he is identified as Elohim (4:9). 15 Analysis of Chapter 4 Because the author shifts back and forth between Yhwh and Elohim in matters pertaining only to Jonah, many scholars have concluded that any pattern previously established will break down in the fourth chapter. 16 In an attempt to defend the theory that the names are employed selectively, Jonathan Magonet and Albert Kamp put forth theories attempting to explain the author’s choices. 17 Magonet suggests that two different systems are at work in the book with regard to the use of the divine name. He divides the book and claims that, in chaps. 1–3, “Yhwh is the God of Israel, who is also the God of the heavens, the supreme God. Each sailor, and the people of Nineveh, has a ‘local’ [quotation marks his] god, or local concept of god, to which he prays: Elohim.” 18 For Magonet, in chap. 4 and in 2:1, the system changes, and the differentiation is based on new criteria. In chap. 4 and in 2:1, Yhwh signifies unlimited compassion, and Elohim “teaches His creatures to understand to share in this compassion.” 19 In his own commentary, Kamp praises Magonet’s explanation with regard to chap. 4 but rightly points out that his theory “raises corresponding dilemmas for the book as a 14. The abortion of the plan is in direct response to the rhetorical question of the people of Nineveh in 3:9, “Who knows if ha-élohîm will turn and repent and turn from his anger?” 15. Below, the analysis of the fourth chapter will show how this unique usage conforms to my rule. 16. For example, see Simon, Jonah, 42. 17. Magonet, Form and Meaning, 33–38; Kamp, Inner Worlds, 124–25. 18. Magonet, Form and Meaning, 35. 19. Ibid., 37.

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whole. Thus in Jonah 3:10, God (Ha-Elohim) is full of compassion and capable of internal change. In 4:1a Yhwh creates a difficult situation for both the sailors and Jonah in the form of a storm.” 20 Kamp suggests a different explanation, in which “the various divine names are connected with the different perspectives from which one views God.” 21 According to Kamp, Elohim is used in three different situations: (1) when the name Yhwh is not recognized (as in the case of the mariners), (2) “when no acquaintance at all is made with God’s name (the Ninevites),” or (3) “when his actions are not unambiguously clear to the participants in the narrative world.” 22 Kamp explains that Yhwh is used for instances in which “God is already known (Jonah), is becoming known (sailors) or when it is clear that certain actions are appropriate to him (such as the storm in 1:4a).” 23 While Kamp’s explanation is excellent in that it accounts for all of the uses of the divine name in the book of Jonah, his explanation is more complex than it needs to be. A simpler answer accounts for every instance of the divine name in the book. Let us analyze the third-person narration alongside the three instances of God’s direct speech. In 4:2, the narrator tells us that Jonah prays to Yhwh. The content of his prayer is the tantrum described above, in which he despairs because God spared the Ninevites. Then Jonah asks, “And now Yhwh, please take my life from me because my death is better than my life” (4:3). And Yhwh responds, “Is your anger very great?” (4:4). Jonah does not respond in words but in action. He leaves the city in order to observe its fate from afar. But Jonah already knows that God has saved the city (4:2). Because of his refusal to acknowledge God’s relationship with non-Israelites and God’s ability to forgive them, as God forgave Jonah himself in 2:11–3:1, a surreal, moralizing scene ensues. Part of what marks the beginning of this scene is the shift in divine name. Even though Jonah relates to God as Yhwh, Elohim emerges to convey the concern God has for the Ninevites. In 4:6, the narrator says that Yhwh Elohim appointed a gourd to provide shade for Jonah. This construction poses a challenge but, seen through the lens of the present theory, it makes sense. The plant has a dual purpose. Yhwh provides the plant as shade for Jonah, but the aspect of God that has been expressed so far as Elohim, uses the plant to demonstrate to Jonah the divine concern for non-Israelites. 24 In 4:7–8, Elohim sends the worm and the wind 20. Kamp, Inner Worlds, 125. 21. Ibid. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid. 24. Kamp explains the combined name similarly but through his own theory about shifting perspective. He says, “the combined divine name . . . in 4:6 leaves it open from

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to devour the plant. Our theory does not require that only God-by-thename-of-Yhwh deal with Jonah. When God’s concern for other people is being expressed, as it is in the lesson of the plant’s destruction, the author uses Elohim. The climax of the narrative is 4:9, in which Elohim speaks to Jonah. Elohim says, “Is it good for you to be angry about the plant?” The message is almost the same as the question posed by Yhwh in 4:4, but now the focus is on the plant and Jonah’s misplaced attachment. The plant becomes symbolic for the “other,” for whom Jonah cannot muster any compassion. In the last communiqué between God and Jonah, the author carefully returns to the use of Yhwh. Yhwh offers the final response, explaining the symbolic nature of the plant. Despite Jonah’s clear lack of compassion, Yhwh will relate to Jonah as he has come to know him. In 4:10–11, Yhwh shows compassion for Jonah, even though Jonah’s own ability to forgive is severely impaired. Conclusion The frequent shift between divine names is explained by the observation that, when the narrative concerns the relationship between God and Israel (represented by Jonah), the author uses Yhwh, and when the narrative’s concern is the relationship between God and non-Israelites (represented by Nineveh), he uses Elohim. Through the use of the divine name, the author intends to show that, although Israelites are “Yhwh’s” people, non-Israelites are responsible to this same God. God demonstrates the same characteristic mercy to them as he does to Jonah. By using Yhwh in specific cases and Elohim in others, the author indicates that, even if one does not know the special name by which Jonah and the Israelites call God, one can still derive the benefits of allegiance to him. what perspective one views the plant: from the reader’s perspective, or from Jonah’s perspective at the moment when he does not know the plant has come from Yhwh” (ibid.). Magonet’s explanation of this verse is closer to my own. He explains that the name change “is to draw Jonah out from his own self-centeredness to a greater sensitivity to others” (Magonet, Form and Meaning, 36).

The Good Book and the Bad Movies: Moses and the Failure of Biblical Cinema Michael M. Homan Xavier University of Louisiana

A Plot from Heaven Once upon a time, far away in ancient Egypt, Israelite slaves gave birth to a son who would change the world. To save him from a death prescribed by the king, they abandoned their child in a reed basket on the banks of the Nile River. This floating baby was rescued by an Egyptian princess, given the name Moses, and raised by the royal family in the most powerful nation on earth. As an adult, he discovered his true identity, murdered an Egyptian official, and fled to the desert wilderness. There he rescued damsels in distress, married, and started a family. But the best part was still to come. He returned to Egypt to lead the Israelites out of bondage to their new home, a journey filled with narrow escapes from peril, suffering, controversy, and rebellion. Moses is arguably the most dynamic and colorful character ever presented in literature. His story has unsurpassed drama, complex characters, creative subplots, and even timeless humor. And best of all, as far as Hollywood production is concerned, it is among the most popular and widely read stories in all of Western civilization and has had 3,000 years of publicity. Moses’ story seems natural for the silver screen and, to date, five dramatic feature films have been made on the subject: The Ten Commandments (1923), The Ten Commandments (1956), Moses the Lawgiver (1975), Moses (1996), and The Prince of Egypt (1999). 1 Yet tragically, each of these films is at best comedic 1. Two short dramatic films about Moses also exist from the early history of cinema but are not included in this article. The first is Moses and the Exodus from Egypt (1907), created in France by Pathé, and is a mere 478 feet in length. The second is The Life of Moses (1909–1910), directed by J. Stuart Blackton, and consists of five reels on Vitagraph. Scenes from the life of Moses are depicted in The Green Pastures (1936), based on Marc Connelly’s theatrical musical about biblical events as interpreted by rural African-Americans in New Orleans, starring Rex Ingram as De Lawd and Frank Wilson as Moses. Comedies often have success in portraying aspects of the life of Moses. These include: Wholly Moses!

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because of ridiculous dialogue coupled with overacting, and at worst is so safe and devoid of anything interesting, it is rendered unwatchable. So why isn’t there a good movie about Moses? God won’t allow it. A Plot from Hell God’s hindrance to the making of a quality Moses drama has a long history, as Josephus records that the tragic poet Theodectes was struck blind when he attempted to create a play based on the Hebrew Bible. 2 But for modern film makers, more problematic than fear of divine punishment is that God is notoriously difficult to represent on film. Certainly any cinematic representation of any hierophany is challenging, but God presents more of a problem than any other subject, and this problem grows with time. As film technology (most notably computer animation) improves, audiences are treated to characters and settings that increasingly appear realistic. But as the other characters and their surroundings become more realistic, the depictions of God seem more and more absurd. 3 By way of example, Dante’s journey through hell in the Inferno would be a much better film subject than the culmination of his journey in heaven when he views God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, as recorded in Paradise. No matter how talented the film maker, the latter subject would appear ridiculous on film.

(1980), with Richard Pryor as Pharaoh and Dudley Moore as a charlatan prophet competing with Moses; The History of the World Part I (1981), with Mel Brooks as a clumsy Moses; and last, And God Spoke (1994), casting Soupy Sales as the famous lawgiver. The Polish director Krzysztof Kiesålowsk also draws from the life of Moses in his ten one-hour films called Dekalog (1988), in which the violation of each commandment is explored in contemporary Warsaw. Many films draw on imagery from Moses’ story, most notably Stagecoach (1939), in which John Wayne as Ringo Kid is betrayed by his people and abandoned, represents the law in the wilderness, carries a Winchester instead of a staff, battles Native Americans rather than Amalekites and Midianites, and has a shoot-out with the three Plummer brothers instead of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram (see Bernard Brandon Scott, Hollywood Dreams and Biblical Stories [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994] 69–97). Note also Spielberg’s homage to The Ten Commandments (1956), in Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), in which the scene of the children watching the parting of the Red Sea on television parallels the revelation of the mystery of the aliens. 2. After praying to God for forgiveness, Theodectes regained his vision. Josephus, Ant. 12.2.14. 3. Note Nietzsche’s comment that art “treats illusion as illusion; therefore it does not wish to deceive; it is true” (Friedrich Nietzsche, Philosophy and Truth [trans. and ed. Daniel Breazeale; Atlantic Highlands, N.J.: Humanities, 1979] 84). Thus, when the illusions created by the cinematic arts are wrongly understood as truth, art is destroyed. When cinematic arts are understood as illusions, art is true, albeit as a lie. Compare also the concept of sprezzatura: “that art is art which does not appear to be art.”

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In the minds of most movie-watchers, God’s appearance is abstract and by nature cannot be limited to a single image. God is most often thought of as anthropomorphic, though transcendent and polymorphic rather than static. Personally, I do not know what God looks like, but I know I have not seen it yet in film. Even so, I am certain God looks nothing like fireworks filmed in reverse (The Ten Commandments, 1929), has never appeared as an animated burning bush resembling an electric fireplace (The Ten Commandments, 1956), and would never consider the guise of George Burns (Oh, God! 1977) or Alanis Morissette (Dogma, 1999). This problem of representing God does not exist to the same degree in literature and theater, where an individual’s imagination is granted more freedom to compose personal pictures of the divine. Yet, as difficult as it is to portray God in the cinematic arts, the imagery is vital in any attempt to record Moses’ life. This is because God plays a major role in the story, and Moses’ and Israel’s interactions with the divine are some of the most compelling aspects of the biblical account. However, consider the difficulty filmmakers face in tastefully capturing the following scenes, each crucial to Moses’ story: 1. God tries to kill Moses but is saved by Zipporah (Exod 4:24–26). 2. In the most intimate theophany, God places Moses in the cleft of a rock, covers him with his hand, and passes before him (Exod 33:20– 34:8). 3. Moses’ intimacy with God is physically manifested with ˆrq (horns, rays of light, or a skin disease; Exod 34:29–35). 4 4. In the story best epitomizing the difficulty in mediating between God and the Israelites, Moses verbally lashes out at God and asks for death after the people complain about the lack of meat (Num 11:11–15). 5. Moses convinces God to alter his intentions to kill the Israelites (Exod 32:14; Num 14:20). Not one of the five films examined in this essay portray any of these events. Giving the People What They Want God’s popularity further impedes a quality film about Moses. God, as depicted in both the Hebrew Bible and New Testament, is at times terrifying: he can lose his temper and occasionally commands things such as genocide, 5 which by today’s standards seems barbaric. Imagery of this sort would create 4. See William H. Propp, “The Skin of Moses’ Face—Transfigured or Disfigured?” CBQ 49 (1987) 375–86. 5. E.g., Exod 17:8–16, Numbers 31, Deut 25:17–18.

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an outcry and alienate the desired religious audience, best exemplified by the controversy surrounding Martin Scorsese’s Last Temptation of Christ (1989). 6 Audiences do not expect surprises when watching Bible movies. They have preconceived ideas and want them reaffirmed, much the same as did theater audiences attending the religious dramas of ancient Greece. Thus, Moses is most often depicted in movies by duplicating safe and familiar images, such as Michelangelo’s statue of Moses. 7 The scale of Bible movies is traditionally epic; they cost much more than average film productions. In order to ensure a return on investment, there is often more effort put into making certain that no one is offended than there is into emphasizing quality artistic elements, such as script writing. 8 Thus far, every dramatic Moses movie has sought extensive input from Christian and Jewish (and more recently, Islamic) spiritual leaders. But this all-consuming effort not to offend anyone produces simple, bland, and sterile movies: the villains are ruthless and ugly, the heroes are compassionate and attractive, and nobody lies in-between. 9 Moses movies have also suffered to a degree because they have melded the biblical Moses to fit their religious agendas. Nearly all Moses movies are written, produced, directed, and acted by Protestant and Catholic men. 10 They intentionally reduce the Jewish elements in the story to 6. Richard C. Stern, Clayton N. Jefford, and Guerric DeBona, Savior on the Silver Screen (New York: Paulist Press, 1999) 265–95. 7. Cecil B. DeMille cast Charlton Heston as Moses because of this very issue (see The Ten Commandments [1956] movie trailer; and W. Barnes Tatum, Jesus at the Movies [Santa Rosa, Calif.: Polebridge, 1997] 7). These cinematic pictures of Moses further influence society’s image of Moses, performing religious and iconoclastic functions (Joel W. Martin and Conrad E. Ostwalt Jr., eds., Screening the Sacred: Religion, Myth, and Ideology in Popular American Film [Boulder: Westview, 1995] vii). 8. See Lloyd Baugh, Imaging the Divine: Jesus and Christ-Figures in Film (Kansas City, Mo.: Sheed & Ward, 1997). Note also the production of Mel Gibson’s film, The Passion, about the final hours of Jesus’ life. Gibson’s desire for the actors to converse in Latin and Aramaic in a film without subtitles was fought by the Hollywood studios for financial reasons. 9. DeMille sought religious advisers for his Bible films and encouraged worship on the set with Jews, Catholics, and Protestants (see Tatum, Jesus at the Movies, 45–46). On the simplistic tendency to match morality with good looks, see R. Christopher Heard, “They’re Not Just Bad, They’re Stupid and Ugly Too: The Depiction of Baal Worshippers in Nest Entertainment’s Animated Stories from the Bible,” in Culture, Entertainment, and the Bible (ed. George Aichele; JSOTSup 309; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000) 89–103. 10. In fact, photographic film was invented by an Episcopal priest, Hannibal Goodwin. The first photographic film ever shown was The Passion Play of Oberammergau, modeled on Medieval passion plays, and premiered in January of 1898 (Margaret R. Miles, Seeing and Believing [Boston: Beacon, 1996] 6).

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make it more appealing to the larger Christian audience. 11 Thus these films focus on the Decalogue and ignore the other laws. 12 Like all Bible movies, dramatic films about Moses suffer from the heavyhanded moralizing of contemporary issues. This was especially true during the 1920s and 1950s, the two golden ages of biblical cinema. 13 During the 1920s, Bible movies focused on the moral bankruptcy of the nation and paralleled the sins of ancient Israel with the sins of people in the early twentieth century, blaming immorality for the First World War. Similarly, Bible films in the 1950s explored the causes of WW II, but they additionally mirrored the Civil Rights Movement as well as the politics of modern Israel’s formation in 1948. 14 Similarly, the Bible provided a safe subject during anticommunist investigations. 15 The Future of Moses Movies? And so how does one create an artistically successful movie about Moses, one that captures the biblical drama and represents all aspects of quality film making? One doesn’t, it seems. The difficulty in creating realistic theophanies on film, combined with the potential danger of offending a religious audience appears to render this task impossible. Perhaps the only solution would be to make Moses and God secondary to the plot, much in the fashion of what Ben-Hur films did with Jesus. What follows are summaries of the five dramatic feature films about the life of Moses, with in-depth analyses of what works well in each film as well as what ultimately fails.

11. However, note that many reviewers and film critics of The Ten Commandments (1956) mistakenly interpret the paleo-Hebrew letters on the two tablets as invented symbols to make ancient Israel seem less Jewish. See, for example, Bruce Babington and Peter William Evans, Biblical Epics: Sacred Narrative in the Hollywood Cinema (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1993) 35. 12. See R. Sklar, Movie-Made America: A Cultural History of American Movies (2nd ed.; New York: Vintage, 1994). 13. For biblical films from the 1920s, note especially The Ten Commandments (1923), King of Kings (1927), Ben-Hur (1925), and Noah’s Ark (1929). For films from the 1950s, note Samson and Delilah (1949), David and Bathsheba (1951), Quo Vadis? (1952), The Robe (1953), The Ten Commandments (1956), Ben-Hur (1959), and Solomon and Sheba (1959). 14. Babington and Evans, Biblical Epics; Martin and Ostwalt, eds., Screening the Sacred. 15. Neal Gabler, An Empire of Their Own: How the Jews Invented Hollywood (New York: Crown, 1988).

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Director: Cecil B. DeMille. Cast: Theodore Roberts (Moses), Charles DeRoche (Ramesses), Lawson Butt (Dathan), James Neill (Aaron), Estelle Taylor (Miriam), Julia Faye (Pharaoh’s wife). Background: Cecil B. DeMille, a pious film maker with a bad-taste reputation for things such as showing bathrooms in his movies, solicited ideas for his next project from readers of The Los Angeles Times. The reward was $1,000, and he received letters from all over the world. However, the contest was won by a lubricant manufacturer who wrote the pithy phrase “You cannot break the Ten Commandments; they will break you.” And with that, film history changed forever. The project further attracted DeMille because of heightened interest in ancient Egypt at the time, due in large part to Howard Carter’s discovery of King Tutankhamon’s tomb in 1922. The movie was filmed in Hollywood, San Francisco, and the Mohave Desert and cost at the time an unprecedented $1.5 million. 16 DeMille hired thousands of extras, including Orthodox Jews who took part in the Exodus scene. The movie was a huge success—it broke every attendance record and actually inspired some people to become rabbis, priests, and ministers. 17 Plot: This silent movie consists of two parts: the “Prologue” (even though it runs for half the movie) about Moses, and the contemporary “Story,” set in the 1920s. The film opens with the Israelites suffering in servitude in Egypt, with nine of the plagues having passed. Moses and Aaron appear before Pharaoh and inform him that his firstborn will soon die. This happens, and when Pharaoh is presented with his dead son, Moses further chastises Egypt’s leader, demanding freedom for the Israelites. Pharaoh acquiesces, and the Israelites, with a few goats, leave Egypt. Pharaoh changes his mind and pursues his former slaves. Israel arrives at the banks of the Red Sea, the water splits thanks to God and Moses, and Israel has safe passage to the opposite shore. Still, everyone doubts Moses’ ability, even Aaron, mostly because the Egyptian army is racing toward them. However, at Moses’ command, the water returns and drowns the Egyptian soldiers. The scene shifts to the summit of Mt. Sinai, where Moses receives the Decalogue, while simultaneously Israel builds the Golden Calf below. There is a drunken orgy led by a scantily clad woman. She is turned into a leper, and Moses shows up quoting (out of context) Deut 9:7: “Woe to thee, O Israel!” Lightning destroys the idol, and the prologue ends as the Israelites are being annihilated. 16. Miles, Seeing and Believing. The set, constructed to resemble an ancient Egyptian city, was buried north of Santa Barbara and was excavated by archaeologists in 1983. 17. Babington and Evans, Biblical Epics.

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It turns out that the prologue was actually the Exodus story being read from the family Bible of an elderly woman, Mrs. Martha McTavish. She had been telling the story to her two sons: John, the good pious carpenter, and Dan, the bad atheist businessman. John enjoyed the story, but Dan says: “All that’s the bunk, Mother! The Ten Commandments were alright for a lot of dead ones—but that sort of stuff was buried with Queen Victoria!” Mom kicks him out in the rain, and he proceeds to Dugan’s (cf. Dagon) Lunch Wagon, where he and others laugh about religion. A penniless vagrant named Mary, traveling with a dog, steals Dan’s hamburger and a mob chases her. She finds refuge in John’s shop and is invited to stay with the McTavishes. She is also an atheist, and on the Christian Sabbath she and Danny play “I’ve Got Those Sunday Blues” on the record player. An unhappy mom smashes the vinyl. John loves Mary, but due to a misunderstanding she thinks it is Dan who is smitten. Three years later, Dan and Mary are now husband and wife, and he is a successful building contractor. However, Dan uses a lean mix of concrete to increase his profits when building a church. Dan also gets romantically involved with Sally Lung, a dangerous stowaway from the Leper Island of Molokai. She is half French and half Chinese and is described as being “more dangerous than nitroglycerine.” By this point in the story, Dan has broken all of the commandments except the one prohibiting murder. But then, as luck would have it, Mom enters the church Dan is building, and a giant sculpture of the Ten Commandments not so subtly falls on her head. Right before she dies, she speaks to Dan about how she should have taught him to love God rather than fear him. Dan takes her death pretty hard but then is distracted when he discovers that a local newspaper is going to run a story about his illegal building practices unless he can pay them off. Dan returns to Sally Lung to reclaim some pearls he gave her. She won’t part with them, and Dan winds up shooting her dead. Dan, now leprous himself, returns to Mary and she hides him from the police in bed. Dan escapes but not before giving leprosy to Mary; then he heads off to Mexico in a small boat called Defiance. But he never makes it. Stormy waters smash the boat against a giant rock, and just before Dan dies, he sees a vision of the Ten Commandments carved on the cliff. Mary, now suffering from a skin disease, finds herself where she was at the beginning of her story—penniless and drenched from the rain. Once again John rescues her. He reads her the Bible, and briefly we see Jesus curing a leper. The sun comes up, and Mary’s leprosy is gone. Hallelujah! Successes and Failures: The movie is certainly dated, though in several ways this works to the film’s advantage. The primitive film technology and the soundtrack playing the Wurlitzer organ leave Moses and God to the imagination of the audience to a great extent. The film’s most remarkable special effect, one that still looks good today, was the splitting of the Red Sea,

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which was created by molding cliffs from gelatin towering above a narrow passageway and pouring water out of the model to represent the split. Furthermore, the realism of some of the scenes is improved because the film was shot prior to the creation of ordinances protecting the safety of actors and animals. In one of the most dramatic scenes, Egyptian soldiers race their chariots down a steep hill in the desert, and several of the horses and riders fall hard. When the waters of the Red Sea return, we witness live horses underwater, visibly panicking and in misery because of the lack of air. But the film fails to present a believable God. God exists here in the brief and limited form of fireworks shown in reverse. These fireworks are accompanied by giant celestial English words for each of the Ten Commandments. After each commandment, Moses turns to a rock and carves a single letter in the tablet. He seems genuinely surprised that gimmel follows beth. The film’s biggest abomination is the prop used for the Golden Calf. It resembles a frogeyed baboon with two horns and one tooth, attached to the body of a praying mantis, just shot out of a cannon. If the original idol looked anything like this, no wonder Moses was so upset. The film is also quite heavy-handed regarding morality. Consider the opening lines: Our modern world defined God as a “religious complex” and laughed at the Ten Commandments as old fashioned. Then, through the laughter, came the shattering thunder of the World War. And now a blood drenching, bitter world—no longer laughing—cries for a way out. There is but one way out. (10 commandments. . . .) They are not laws—they are the law.

Thus, the movie blames the outbreak of World War I on society’s abandoning God and the Decalogue, in much the same way as televangelists Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson blamed the attacks of September 11, 2001, on what they perceived to be a modern lack of morality. 18 (And honestly, if I had to choose between a Sunday dinner at the McTavish home and the drunken orgy of the Golden Calf scene, I’d take the latter any day.) The film also suffers from simplistic contrasts between good and evil, including Moses and Pharaoh, John and Dan, jazz music and the Wurlitzer church organ, Egyptian lavish horses and Israelite simple donkeys, Egyptian beatings and Israelite compassion for the elderly. The film also portrays the events of the Bible as a class struggle, with Egypt being metropolitan aristocracy and the Israelites the rural, oppressed proletariat. Last, DeMille creates an Exodus of covered wagons that resembles the westward expansion of North America more than anything biblical. This is reinforced by the organ that plays cowboy music during the Exodus scene. 18. Jerry Falwell made these remarks on September 12, 2001, during the broadcast of The 700 Club, and Pat Robertson agreed with them.

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The Ten Commandments (Paramount, 1956) Director: Cecil B. DeMille. Cast: Charlton Heston (Moses), Yul Brynner (Ramesses), Anne Baxter (Nefretiri), Edward G. Robinson (Dathan), Yvonne DeCarlo (Sephora), Debra Paget (Lilia), John Derek (Joshua), Sir Cedric Harwicke (Sethi), Nina Foch (Bithia), Martha Scott (Yochabel), Judith Anderson (Memnet), Fraser Heston (infant Moses). 19 Background: Cecil B. DeMille’s first biblical subject was The Ten Commandments (1923), and it was his final movie’s title as well, because he died shortly after the film’s completion (he had suffered a heart attack during the filming of the Exodus). This is arguably the most famous of all Bible movies, so much so that much of it has become cliché. The movie forever linked DeMille’s name to the genre, as well as Heston to the character of Moses. However, DeMille’s first choice for the role of Moses was William Boyd, the star of Hopalong Cassidy films and television. Cassidy turned the role down. This film boasted the biggest sets, the largest cast, an unprecedented amount of research; and wound up, at over $13 million, being the costliest film to date. DeMille used 12,000 extras and 15,000 animals for a single scene: crossing the Red Sea. DeMille and his team bragged about having consulted 1,900 books and periodicals, collected 3,000 photographs, and used the facilities of 30 libraries. DeMille also brought in hundreds of religious leaders as technical advisers and stated his desire that the movie would form a bond between Christians, Moslems, and Jews. DeMille, a strong supporter of the state of Israel, hoped that the film would enable Arabs and Israelis to live side by side in peace. Although it did not bring peace to the Middle East, the film was a success both at the box office and with the critics. It shattered attendance records and was nominated for Academy Awards in the categories of Best Picture, Best Cinematography, Film Editing, and others, though it won only one Oscar, for Special Effects. Plot: After a lengthy overture, Cecil B. DeMille walks to a microphone in the center of a stage. He tells us that this action may seem unusual, but we are dealing with an unusual subject: the birth of freedom. He says that, even though the Bible omits some 30 years from the early life of Moses, we can use Philo and Josephus to reconstruct these events, because they had access to documents now lost. He then states:

19. The credits also cite assistance with historical reality from Dr. William C. Hayes from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York; Dr. Labib Habachi from the Department of Antiquities, Luxor; Rabbi Rudolph Lupo from the Jewish Community Library in Los Angeles; and from the Oriental Institute: Dr. Keith C. Seele, Ralph Marcus, and George R. Hughes.

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The theme of this picture is whether men ought to be ruled by God’s law, or whether they are to be ruled by the whims of a dictator like Ramesses. Are men the property of the state, or are they free souls under God? This same battle continues throughout the world today. Our intention was not to create a story but to be worthy of the divinely inspired story created 3,000 years ago.

Then we see five minutes of credits, and a narrator states that God created light, man was given dominion over all creation, but because human beings were evil they took dominion over other men. They forgot God’s law and instituted slavery, but God saw to it that Amram got Yochabel pregnant, and this child would grow and receive God’s commandment and be “One man to stand alone against an empire.” Pharaoh is informed by his astronomers of a bad star, which corresponds to the Israelites’ growing in population. The priests advise Pharaoh to destroy the Israelites, but he needs slaves to build his monuments. They compromise by giving the order to kill all male Israelite babies. Yochabel (Moses’ mother) and Miriam then place a baby in a reed basket along the banks of the Nile. Miriam is sad that they have not given the infant a name, but Yochabel says, “God will give him a name.” The baby floats down the river to a girls’ beach party at the Egyptian palace. Bithia, Pharaoh’s daughter, is a widow and sad about not having a baby. She finds the basket, opens it, and tells her crotchety old chaperone, Memnet, that she has found the answer to her prayers. Memnet responds, “You prayed for a basket?” The baby is wrapped in the Levite cloth of Hebrew slaves, and Memnet keeps the cloth. Bithia names him Moses. Years pass, and Sethi is the leader of Egypt, though advanced in years. He will give the crown of Egypt and the beautiful Nefretiri to either Moses or his half-brother, Ramesses—whoever proves to be the most able. Moses returns from Ethiopia in a chariot. It turns out that he did not travel south to subjugate and enslave the Ethiopians but to make a treaty between equals. The massive tribute from the south proves to Sethi that the alliance with Ethiopia will prove more profitable than war would have proved. Ramesses has not been so successful. Commissioned to build store cities in Goshen, he has been having trouble with the Israelite slaves because they speak of a deliverer. Moses goes off to build Goshen, but before he leaves, he endures some pretty heavy flirting from Nefretiri, witnessed by Bithia and Memnet. Ramesses is also sent to Goshen, to discover more about this deliverer by means of covert operations. In Goshen we meet the swashbuckling Joshua, who swings from ropes and loves the water girl Lilia. But Dathan, the vile gangster taskmaster also loves her. Ramesses commissions Dathan to learn more about this deliverer. Meanwhile, a large stone is being moved, and it traps Yochabel’s robes underneath. Joshua swings down and stops the rock, but now an angry official

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wants to kill Joshua and the old woman. Yochabel sends for Moses, and he arrives and saves them. Moses decides that he would get more work done if he gave more grain to the Israelites—grain that comes from the temples. Back at the palace, Nefretiri and Sethi are playing Jackals and Hounds. The priests are furious that Moses is giving away their grain, though Sethi is pleased with the results. Nefretiri clearly wants Moses to be her husband, though when asked about his divine status as an Egyptian king, she says, “I’d prefer him as a maaaaaaaaan.” Moses and Ramesses are summoned by Sethi, but only Ramesses shows up. They ride off to Goshen to see if Moses has committed treason. They discover that Moses could not come due to a great strain on a large obelisk honoring Sethi’s jubilee that is in the process of being erected. Sethi is so pleased that he announces that Moses will be the next pharaoh of Egypt. Nefretiri is elated, but Memnet is not. She is adamant that no Hebrew slave will sit on the throne of Egypt, and she shows Nefretiri the cloth. Nefretiri kills Memnet, and the cloth falls to the floor. Moses enters, sees the cloth, and learns that Nefretiri killed Memnet. Moses demands to know what the cloth has to do with the current situation. He discovers that he is an Israelite, and though Bithia denies this, he travels to Yochabel’s house. She says that, if Moses believes in the institution of slavery, he cannot be her son. However, she will not swear in the name of her God that he is not, and so Moses learns the secret. He meets Aaron and Miriam. He decides to stay with the Israelites to see why anyone must be a slave. Moses works with the Israelites in the mud pits making bricks. He discovers the horrors of slavery and the small value that the Egyptians place on the lives of slaves. An Egyptian official named Baka now becomes the third man to be smitten with Lilia and orders her to his house. Nefretiri shows up at the mud pits and flirts with Moses. She asks why he will not bend his knees to bow to her and jests that she will call the guards. Moses boasts, “Do you think they could bend them?” Then Nefretiri responds, “O Moses, Moses! You splendid, stubborn, adorable fool!” She won’t tell the secret, because the truth would break Sethi’s heart and send Bithia into exile or death. She explains to Moses that, if Ramesses becomes pharaoh, than the workload for the Israelites will double. That night, Moses sneaks into Baka’s house to pay back the official for injustices. There Lilia is being dressed for Baka. Suddenly, Joshua swings down from a rope and sets the chariot house on fire. He hits Baka and is seized, bound between two columns, and whipped, while Baka taunts him. Moses enters and shouts, “Death will bring death,” and he kills Baka. Now Joshua is the first to realize that Moses is the deliverer, though Dathan stealthily overhears this conversation. Ramesses and his servants find Baka buried in

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the sand. They initially accuse Joshua, but Dathan says that it was not Joshua. Dathan, for ten talents of fine gold, his freedom, Lilia, and the house of Baka, tells Ramesses that Moses is an Israelite and is the deliverer. In the Egyptian court, Sethi and Ramesses are seated while Moses is late. Ramesses says he has discovered the identity of the deliverer: Moses. Moses is brought in wearing chains. Bithia is exiled, and Sethi is accepting of Moses’ background; he only wants assurances that Moses will never use the slaves to rebel against him. Moses says it would take a god to free them, but if he could, he would. Sethi then chooses Ramesses to be his successor and gives him permission to eliminate Moses any way that he sees fit. Ramesses will not kill him, because this would make him a martyr. Instead he strikes Moses’ name from the record (which seems to be an effort to explain why no inscriptions mentioning Moses have been found), takes him to the edge of the wilderness, gives him his Levite cloak, the binding pole as a staff, and one day’s rations of food and water. In the desert Moses nearly dies, though we are told that the harsh conditions cleanse and purge him. The narrator says, “At last, the metal is ready for the maker’s hand.” Moses arrives at Midian, and falls asleep near a well. There, seven sexstarved, giddy girls are talking about men, and Sephora finds Moses. The girls ask, “Is he handsome?” But then some Amalekite “ne’er-do-wells” show up, hassle the girls, and Moses awakens and beats them with his staff. The girls fight over the privilege of washing Moses’ feet. Jethro, the sheik of Midian, is very hospitable. Sephora tells Moses about a god called “He Who Has No Name” that lives on Sinai. Moses questions this god’s benevolence if slavery exists, though Sephora warns Moses against questioning God. In Jethro’s tent, a party is thrown in honor of Moses. Each of Jethro’s seven daughters will do a dance, and Moses will choose which one he wants to marry. Back in Egypt, Sethi is on his deathbed. He knows Nefretiri loves Moses and warns Ramesses that he can overcome anything but his own arrogance. He calls Nefretiri “my kitten” and dies. One day while Moses tells Gershom the story of Hagar and Ishmael, Joshua shows up, having escaped from the copper mines of Sinai, and says that Moses is the deliver. They see a bush on fire way off in the distance, on Sinai. And just how they see it is a miracle, because Moses has to hike miles up the mountain and enter a fissure. There he sees a giant, electric Christmas log. God tells Moses to take off his shoes, and God gives Moses the task of freeing Israel. Moses accepts, and now with gray hair and a distant look, Moses descends without his shoes and tells Joshua and Sephora what transpired. Joshua wants to take up arms against Egypt, but Moses says, “It is not by the sword that he shall deliver his people but by the staff of a shepherd.” Then the intermission begins.

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Moses, with his wife and son, travels to Egypt. There, in the court of Pharaoh, Ramesses receives red silk cloth from King Priam of Troy’s ambassador. Nefretiri recognizes Moses, and Moses claims he has a message from the Kingdom of the Most High. He tells Ramesses for the first of several times, “Thus saith the Lord God of Israel, ‘Let My people go!’ ” To give some credence to the command, Aaron throws the staff on the ground, and it turns into a cobra. Jannes, the Egyptian magician does the same trick, though Moses’ snake eats the Egyptian one. Ramesses is upset and orders that from then on the Israelites will fetch their own straw for making bricks. The Israelites are angry about this added burden and nearly stone Moses, though the Egyptian guards save him and take him to Nefretiri. Dathan tells the Israelites, “There goes your deliverer; now go find your straw!” Nefretiri still yearns for Moses and asks out loud (unfortunately): “Moses, Moses, why of all men did I fall in love with the prince of fools?” Nefretiri cannot understand how he could love a shepherd girl more than he loves her. She tells Moses that the Israelites cannot leave Egypt unless he sleeps with her. Meanwhile, Joshua hides out at the well to meet with Lilia. She has given up hope, even though Joshua tells her the hour of deliverance has come. Pharaoh arrives at the Nile to bless the water. Moses and Aaron turn the water to blood, thus starting the plagues. After several plagues, Ramesses still does not believe in any god, saying that priests invented the idea. He explains the plagues as naturally occurring scientific phenomena. But after three days without sunlight, the priests try to persuade Ramesses to let the Israelites go. And whenever Ramesses even entertains the idea of releasing them, Nefretiri chastises him as being a wimp, bowing to the gods of slaves. Ramesses nearly lets them go but is embarrassed that his son would see him in such a weakened state. He thus orders that all Israelite firstborn will die. Nefretiri is nervous for Moses, and she sneaks away to Moses’ house. There Nefretiri meets Sephora. Sephora says, “He has forgotten both of us. You lost him when he went to seek his god; I lost him when he found his God.” To save Gershom, Nefretiri has Sephora and the boy join a caravan to Midian. Moses arrives and learns that Ramesses is amassing Libyan axe-men to destroy the Israelite children. At that moment Moses learns about the final plague. Nefretiri begs for help, and even though she tried to save Moses’ son, Moses tells her he will not be able to save hers. Joshua sneaks into Dathan’s courtyard and sees Lilia playing a lyre. He has brought lamb’s blood to save her, but Dathan orders that no blood be put on his door. Joshua puts the blood on anyway, unbeknown to Dathan. Then a green cloud by a sliver of moon descends, with ominous music, and screams are heard throughout Egypt. Inside Moses’ house, people are eating the Passover meal. Gershom and Eleazar ask the standard questions, and Bithia

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arrives, converts to Judaism, and eats with them. Later, Ramesses discovers his son dead, and Moses arrives. Pharaoh is broken, and allows them to leave the next morning. Moses says: “Tomorrow we go forth a free nation, where every man shall reap what he has sown, and bow no knee except in prayer.” The sun rises, and a mass of Israelites and their belongings gather at the gates of Egypt. Egyptian officials kick Dathan out because of the blood on his door, though everyone else leaves Egypt joyfully and willingly. The narrator gives a short speech in which he uses the word “freedom” about 20 times, and with the help of Joshua, the people are organized to leave Egypt. They all work together, helping children and the elderly and blind. Moses says the Shmaº prayer, and they leave. Nefretiri is pretty upset with her husband and demands that he bring her Moses’ corpse. She informs Ramesses that Moses spurned her sexual advances and that people in the desert are laughing at him. He gets his war crown and summons his chariot. The army races off and finds Israel at the shore of the Red Sea. The people led by Dathan question Moses, and Moses gets angry at their fickleness. While a pillar of fire holds Egypt back, Moses stretches his hand over the waters and the sea parts. Israel, carrying the mummy of Joseph, crosses the parted sea. The army pursues, and the water caves in on them, with Ramesses as the only Egyptian survivor. In a scene reminiscent of Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire (1951), Yul Brenner (Ramesses) puts his hands to his head in anguish and screams. Ramesses returns home and takes out his sword to kill Nefretiri. She seemingly would die willingly but asks to see the blood of Moses on the sword first. Ramesses throws the sword to the ground; both of them failures, Ramesses and Nefretiri sit facing each other. She says, “You couldn’t even kill him,” and Ramesses replies, “His god is God.” We next see Israel camped at Mt. Sinai, and Moses has delayed in coming down. Dathan implies that Moses is dead and wants Aaron to make an idol to lead them back to Egypt. This god would somehow convince the Pharaoh not to kill them. Aaron makes the Golden Calf from the spoils of Egypt. Meanwhile, on Sinai’s summit, Moses receives the Ten Commandments, as fire writes them in a rock. The receiving of these laws is interspersed with scenes of drunken debauchery down below. God cuts out the tablets and tells Moses, “thy people have corrupted themselves.” Moses descends and angrily confronts Israel. Dathan wants freedom without law, which Moses says is impossible. Aaron tells his brother that the people made him do it, and Moses throws the tablets on the Golden Calf; it explodes. He yells, “Those who shall not live by the law shall die by the law.” Lightning and fire kill several people and, to prove whether the Israelites will keep the commandments, they are forced to wander for 40 years.

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In the final scene, Moses on the summit of Nebo spies the Promised Land. He explains to Joshua and Sephora that God was angry with him because he disobeyed. The people below arrive at the Jordan River. Moses gives Joshua the Levitical cloth and his staff; he gives five books to Eleazar and tells him to place them in the ark of the covenant. Moses climbs back up the mountain, and a scene with the burning bush and the Decalogue are shown, while the narrator proclaims, “So let it be written, so let it be done.” Successes and Failures: For several generations, this film defined the genre of Bible epic. It is spectacular, mostly because of the settings. Much of it was filmed on location in the Sinai, which testifies to DeMille’s desire for authenticity. In fact, he had the two stone tablets used in the movie carved from the red granite of Jebel Musa and had the paleo-Hebrew text carved according to the advice of Dr. Ralph Marcus of the Oriental Institute. DeMille displayed these tablets in his office until his death. The film’s special effects remain famous to this day, especially the parting of the Red Sea. John Fulton, who did the special effects with gelatin in The Ten Commandments (1923), for the remake used a giant tank holding 300,000 gallons of water. The water was filmed being rapidly poured out, and it was shown in reverse along with mattes of the Israelites crossing. Other special effects were less successful. The animations for the burning bush and pillar of fire / flaming candy cane are comical, and the photographic flash powder that burned the inscriptions does not look realistic. God’s voice was supplied by two actors: first Delos Jewkes (a bass singer) recorded God’s voice used at the giving of the law, and later Heston himself recorded God’s voice in the scene at the burning bush. Both were sonically modified. But, in a story relating the excessive degree to which this team took themselves seriously, Heston states that, while camping on Sinai, he struggled to hear the voice of God. That night at dinner he told DeMille that he heard God inside his own head. 20 DeMille later gave him the role as God’s voice. Crew members also spoke about Heston roaming around the set discussing Moses’ id and speaking often about his resemblance to Michelangelo’s sculpture. The film has more to do with Abraham Lincoln than Moses at times, based on the recurrent theme that the institution of slavery is wrong, and God is the head of a spiritual ACLU. This is evident at the beginning, when DeMille states that the theme of the film is about the evils of slavery, and at the end, when Moses tells Israel to “go, proclaim liberty throughout all the land, and to all the inhabitants thereof.” The final scene shows Moses on the mountain’s summit with the camera’s eye looking up to a Moses holding his

20. Charlton Heston, In the Arena (New Jersey: Simon & Schuster, 1995).

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staff in a raised right hand, very similar to the Statue of Liberty. 21 Heston believed that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was a modern Moses, put here by God to deliver the people. The film’s endorsement of King’s nonviolent approach can be seen when Joshua wants to take up arms against Egypt, but Moses says that God will deliver His people by the staff of a shepherd rather than the sword. In a bizarre twist, Dr. King watched The Ten Commandments on the night before he gave his famous “Birth of a New Nation” speech and referred to the film several times in the speech. The movie contains several other issues prevalent in the 1950s, including women’s liberation. Both Nefretiri and Lilia suffer at the hands of oppressive husbands. Nefretiri tells Ramesses that she does not love him, and he informs her that she will come when called and enjoy it. This is contrasted with the character of Moses, who treats women better. The film weighs in heavily on Middle East politics, released the same year as the Sinai/Suez War. Jethro tells Moses that the Midianites are Bedouin, the children of Ishmael, his firstborn. Moses is attracted to Jethro’s wisdom and states, “I will dwell in this land.” DeMille connects the laws and freedom of ancient Israel to modern Israel’s commitment to order and freedom. So too is a “godless” Russia contrasted with a religious Israel and America. The movie is also overtly Christian. For example, when Moses comes down from Sinai to speak with Joshua and Sephora, he says that God’s word was revealed to his mind, stating, “and the Word was God,” and “he is not flesh but Spirit, the Light of the eternal mind.” Both of these statements have more to do with the Gospel of John than anything from the Torah. So too is DeMille’s implementation of King James English for all things religious. Moses speaks fairly normally until the theophany, from which point on Heston stares into space like a zombie and speaks like a Shakespearean actor. The acting is also horrendous. The actors do not speak to one another; rather, they engage in lengthy monologues and never respond to their environments. Even Moses does not seem to be impressed with having to speak to a burning bush. But of all its faults, the worst is the dreadful dialogue in some places. Most troubling is the fact that it took a team of writers three years to come up with the script. This breaks down to a period of approximately 10 days needed to come up with the line “You splendid, stubborn, adorable fool!” This must be why God told Moses, “You shall not add to the word which I command you, nor shall you subtract from it” (Deut 4:2). The dialogue is so bad that popular culture, based on a comedic skit by Billy Crystal, holds that at one point Dathan asks, “Nyah, where’s your God now, Moses?” The Simp-

21. Babington and Evans, Biblical Epics, 10.

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sons parodied this by having Chief Wiggum ask Flanders, “Nyah, where’s your messiah now, Flanders?” Moses the Lawgiver (Incorporated Television Company, 1975) Producer: Vincenzo Labella. Director: Gianfranco De Bosio. Cast: Burt Lancaster (Moses), Anthony Quayle (Aaron), Ingrid Thulin (Miriam), Will Lancaster (Young Moses), Irene Papas (Zipporah), Laurent Terzieff (Pharaoh Mernephta), Yousef Shiloah (Dathan), Aharon Ipale (Joshua), Shmuel Rodensky (Jethro), Richard Johnson (Narrator), Mario Ferrari (Ramesses II), Mariangela Melato (Princess Bithia). Background: This was a six-part miniseries, each part one hour in length, that aired in the summer of 1975. It was filmed in Jerusalem and the Negev in 1973, and for a time the cast and film team were caught in the middle of the Arab-Israeli War. The miniseries found a large television audience and won a great deal of critical acclaim. In 1976, the six-hour film was reedited and released in theaters but received little notice. Plot: The story opens in Canaan, where a drought forces Jacob’s family to move to Egypt. There they are quite successful. Time passes, and the Israelites become numerous. To combat this threat, the king of Egypt says to his officials, “Deal wisely with them,” purposely not specifying anything that might come back to haunt him. The next scene shows Egyptian officials killing babies, burning tents, and enslaving Israelites. It seems that they were free until this point. During this tumultuous time, Jochebed silently delivers her baby. Miriam comes up with idea of the reed basket, and the baby is sent down the river. Downstream, an Egyptian princess is bathing with other girls, singing lurid songs about date palm fertility. The princess finds the floating baby and names him Moses. In the next brief scene, Moses is a teenager who interacts with his younger cousin, the spoiled Mernephta. Then, an adult Moses beats an Egyptian who is whipping an Israelite. During the scuffle, the Egyptian official accidentally hits his head on the ground and dies. When an inquiry is made, the Israelite that Moses saved from flailing quickly “rats him out,” saying, “He is an Israelite.” Thus, Moses discovers his identity and returns to reunite with his mother. The Egyptians hunt Moses, but he escapes on the back of a fast camel. During the journey, the camel dies and Moses roasts the meat. Nearby, he meets Jethro’s family, which is having trouble with the local Midianites because Jethro has turned against idolatry; thus, now they oppress him and his daughters. Moses marries Zipporah, and in the meantime Pharaoh Ramesses dies, leaving the throne to Mernephta.

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Moses watches Jethro’s sheep and sees a mountain rumbling. God in the form of several small burning bushes commissions Moses to lead Israel out of bondage. Moses leaves his family behind and returns to Egypt. Mernephta is happy to see Moses but is not impressed with his request to let the Israelites go for three days to sacrifice. Pharaoh forces Israel to gather their own straw, and the people grow furious with Aaron and Moses. Aaron wants out of the team. Plagues show up to help convince Pharaoh. Finally Passover arrives, and the angel of death kills the Egyptians’ firstborn. Mernephta loses his son and acquiesces to Moses’ demand. The Israelites, nearly all barefoot, leave Egypt and follow a dust cyclone eastward. Meanwhile, back in Egypt, five days have passed since Israel left, and Pharaoh orders that they be brought back. They find Israel on the banks of the Red Sea, and Israel questions Moses’ plan. A very rough sea is calmed, and a narrow isthmus opens for Israel to cross over. Once they are safely across, the water returns and drowns the Egyptians. The women sing a victory song, and Moses implements the Sabbath, saying that those who break it will be punished. When asked how, Moses replies, “We’ll think of that later.” The Israelites wander in the wilderness, quail drop from the sky, manna shows up on bushes, and they figure out a way to smoke the Amalekites out of caves so they can kill a few of them. Moses leads Israel to Mt. Horeb, and there he is reunited with his family. Israel anxiously accepts the covenant. Nevertheless, things quickly deteriorate. Moses sees a puppet show of himself and God, and Moses smashes the puppets. Dathan persuades the people to demand their portion of the treasures, and they melt gold to form the Golden Calf. Gradually the image takes on divine attributes in the minds of the people, and they start killing female virgins during a chaotic mob scene. Moses comes down, exonerates the Levites, and makes the guilty people drink the molten gold, forcing them to throw up. The spies go to the land, while a man is stoned to death for gathering palm fronds on the Sabbath. The film never shows Meribah, though Moses does ask God to let him out of the deal. God states, “I will ride you as a horseman rides a horse. I will never let you go, but I will never let you enter.” Moses replies, “You’re a hard and unforgiving God!” to which God replies: “I’m not so unforgiving.” Mercifully, the six-hour film comes to an end. Successes and Failures: The background scenes are excellent and appear realistic, because the film was shot in Italy and Israel. The film additionally benefits from quality editing and camera work. Many of the dramatic scenes include a quick-editing sequence analogous to Planet of the Apes (1968). Several of the plagues are masterfully shot, particularly the frogs and locusts. The casting of extras is also better than usual, with dark-skinned Egyptians and Middle Eastern actors playing several roles. However, not all of the casting is successful. Burt Lancaster’s portrayal of Moses is far too simi-

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lar to Charlton Heston’s, and his blue-eyed son, Will Lancaster, as a teenage Moses is hard to believe. Worst of all, Mernephta looks eerily similar to Marilyn Manson. One of the most devastating problems of the film is its euhemeristic tendency to rationalize the miraculous. Not only does Moses know that manna is simply produced by tamarisk trees shedding resin but also that quail tire and drop after migrating over water. The pillar of cloud that guides Israel is a dirt cyclone common to the desert, and the Red Sea never splits; wind simply blows up shallow portions of it, creating a narrow isthmus. There is nothing miraculous in the burning bush scene; it consists of several small brush fires. The ground does not open up and swallow Dathan and his rebellious followers; instead, we see caverns, implying that they fell into the ground. The props are also terrible. The Decalogue looks more like a bad pottery experiment than an ancient Near Eastern tablet. The Golden Calf looks like a cheap piñata. The film never shows God. Instead, occasionally we hear the voice of God, apparently Burt Lancaster with a slight British accent, very rational and calm, resembling HAL from 2001—A Space Odyssey (1968). Thus the film becomes more of a psychological exploration of Moses, who appears to be schizophrenic. Moses simply gets ideas in his head and then brutally enforces them. The film is also very political, tying ancient Israel’s Exodus to the modern state of Israel. For example, Aaron’s wife notices that in the past many nations have died. Aaron responds: “Israel will live forever. Because for the first time the nation will not be greater than the smallest member of it.” The film also suffers from several inaccuracies. For example, the name Moses is given to the baby by the princess, because she says it means “My son.” God identifies himself to Moses by claiming, “I am the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and of Moses.” The Israelites celebrate Passover because “tomorrow, we pass over,” meaning they pass out of Egypt. Worst of all, this film would have been mind-numbingly boring even had it been only two hours long instead of six. Moses (Turner Home Video, 1996) Director: Roger Young. Cast: Ben Kingsley (Moses), Christopher Lee (Ramesses), Frank Langella (Mernefta), Anna Galiena (Ptira), Enrico Lo Verso (Joshua), Geraldine McEwean (Miriam), Maurice Roeves (Zerack), Philip Stone (Jethro). 22 Background: This was a two-episode miniseries made for TNT. It premiered on April 7, 1996, at 8:00 pm, the same night that ABC rebroadcast 22. Biblical advisers: Marco Frisina, Heinrich Krauss, Nazareno Marconi, Ginmario Pagano, Riccardo DiSegni, Alberto Soggin, Gianfranco Basti, Daniele Garrone.

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The Ten Commandments (1956) at 7:00 pm. Though more people watched The Ten Commandments that night, Moses was critically acclaimed. It was nominated for an Emmy for the best miniseries, though it lost the award to Gulliver’s Travels (NBC). Plot: The film briefly opens showing an elderly Moses and then flashes back to an unidentified screaming woman giving birth. The Egyptian soldiers seize the baby and drown him in the river, an act witnessed by the pregnant Jochebed and her daughter Miriam. We then see the infant Moses placed in a basket. He is adopted by the Egyptian princess Ptira, growing up in the house of Ramesses, with Mernefta as his rival. Moses has a speech defect, causing him to stutter. The Israelites are then shown suffering under the burden of slavery. Moses suspects that his mother is Jochebed, as does everyone else, although Ptira seems to have been living in denial. Moses sees an Egyptian beating a slave, who happens to be Aaron, and Moses saves the life of his brother while killing the Egyptian. Finally Jochebed admits to Moses that she is his mother, and he flees to Midian and narrowly escapes a sandstorm. Moses arrives in Midian and meets Zipporah and her sisters. Zipporah is a strong woman, but Midianites with goats show up and hassle her. Moses uses his brains rather than his fists to defeat them: he shows his close connection to the Egyptian pharaoh, and they leave the girls alone. Moses then departs before Jethro can thank him, and so Jethro summons Moses. Moses returns to Jethro’s tent, falls in love with Zipporah, and they have a wedding. Meanwhile, back in Egypt, Ramesses dies. Moses, it turns out, is quite fond of goats, and one day while watching them he notices a burning bush. God commissions Moses, and Moses tries to get out of it. Moses cannot understand why God would choose a murderer. Moses seems genuinely surprised with the staff-to-snake trick, accepts the job, and comes down the mountain. Soon thereafter, Moses questions if it really was God, and he throws his staff to the ground—this time it remains wood. Even so, Zipporah is supportive. Moses leaves his family and returns to Egypt alone, riding a donkey. Aaron shows up on a camel, claiming he too was commissioned by God to accompany Moses. Moses doubts his own abilities, as do his fellow Israelites, though the stick-to-snake trick works again here. Miriam believes in the possibility of deliverance and begins to sing Exodus 15 in Hebrew. Moses appears before Pharaoh and demands some time off so that he and the people can go sacrifice to Yahweh in the wilderness. Pharaoh adds to their tasks the gathering of straw, “so deceitful promises don’t distract them.” The plagues begin to convince Pharaoh, brought about by Moses and Aaron, who take turns working the wonders with the magical staff. The magicians duplicate many of the plagues but not all. Finally the 10th plague arrives, though

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the movie never shows how the Egyptians die. Families simply hold their dead relatives while praying to a statue of Horus. Mernefta finally allows Moses and the Israelites to leave. During the night, Israel walks out of Egypt. Far from being on an epic scale, this group of about 30 people arrives at the shores of the Red Sea. Zerach, a former taskmaster working for Egypt, questions Moses. Moses holds his staff out over the water and nothing happens for half a day. With this, part one ends. The next morning, the Israelites awaken with a strong wind in their faces, and they notice that the sea has parted. But Pharaoh and his army arrive. The pillar of fire, here in the form of lightning, keeps his army back. The army of Egypt, consisting of about 15 people, charges into the parted Red Sea. Soon thereafter, we see several dead horses, chariots, and riders. The Israelites chant Exodus 15 in a fashion that resembles cheerleading. But the evil Zerach again is causing trouble. He claims that Moses has lost contact with God, and they will soon starve. Fire shoots up and burns the guilty parties’ tents. While they try to put out these fires, many die from smoke inhalation. Moses becomes angry with God, complaining that his burden is too great, though he does not ask for death. Manna appears, as do quail, and Moses begins to laugh a great deal. Jethro shows up, and Moses asks about Zipporah. She is doing well, he is told. Moses hears cases and is getting “stressed out,” so Jethro tells him to delegate. Zerach now doubts that God is really speaking to Moses, so Moses has God speak to all of the Israelites after they have consecrated themselves for three days. God in the form of trumpets, bassoon, wind, and general dissonance is heard, and the people decide they do not want any part of this. God then tells Moses the Ten Commandments. Zerach again leads a rebellion and wants to make a gold statue. Aaron is forced to acquiesce, though Miriam never does. Moses shows up with the tablets of the covenant, sees the Golden Calf, and smashes the Decalogue. Moses calls on those loyal to him to kill the others. There is a brutal civil war. A few days later, Miriam rebels, asking if God speaks only through Moses. For this, Miriam gets leprosy, though this upsets Moses and he asks God to go easy on her. Moses brings her food, puts his cheek to hers, and begs God for healing. When Miriam asks why Moses does this, he replies, “You’re my sister.” Several events happen rapidly at the end of the film. The spies go into the Promised Land, and many Israelites want to return to Egypt. For this they receive the punishment of 40 years of wilderness wandering. Miriam, while kneading bread, dies, sad that she was so close to the Promised Land but couldn’t make it. After the funeral, the people demand water, and Moses loses his temper and screams at a rock: “I command you to yield water to the people. Yield! Yield! Yo!” He then hits the rock once, and in the next scene we see Moses in the tabernacle’s Holy of Holies, saying, “I lacked faith. I should have waited. My anger, my arrogance. Huh? Mmm.” Next, Aaron is

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on his deathbed. He wants to know if God will forgive him for his role in the Golden Calf episode, and Moses assures him that God will. Aaron dies, and Moses realizes his own mortality. He passes on his leadership role to Joshua and tells the people from Mt. Nebo, “I was arrogant, struck rock twice . . . it was my anger. God cannot build a nation on anger.” Moses dies, and Joshua brings down the staff and cloak of Moses, and the people moan and wail. They are anxious to go to Canaan, and the narrator says, “And the children of Israel ended their wandering.” Successes and Failures: The film suffers from awkward dialogue and very simplistic character development and plot. Everything wrong with the Israelites is molded into one character: the diabolical Zerach. Once again, this movie is more about the wrongs of slavery than anything biblical. Filmed on location in Morocco at Quarzazate and Agadir, the scenery is fantastic. Even so, there were strange decisions regarding some of the settings. For example, they chose a set for the wedding of Moses and Zipporah that resembles a lush Canadian forest more than anything in Midian. This is the first Moses movie in which characters speak or sing in Hebrew. This is also the first film to depict Moses with a speech defect, one of the possible interpretations of Exod 4:10. Ben Kingsley is also the first (and only) actor to play Moses with at least a partial Jewish heritage. But, while Ben Kingsley is a great actor, and in my opinion successfully played the role of Potiphar in Joseph (1995), here he does a terrible job. Kingsley’s portrayal of Moses is more of a giddy cult member than a struggling mediator. Moses is portrayed as a great family man, saving the beaten slave because it was Aaron, feeling terrible when Miriam suffers, because she is his sister. However, he is a deadbeat dad, abandoning Zipporah and his son. In this film, Moses communicates with God by soul-searching and meditation. The film never shows God outside natural contexts, such as fire or lightning; it just shows Moses delivering the laws to the people. The film goes to great lengths to play down the miraculous. I was happier to see Moses die in this movie than in any of the others. The Prince of Egypt (DreamWorks, 1999) Producer: Jeffrey Katzenberg. Directors: Brenda Chapman, Steve Hickner, Simon Wells. Voices: Val Kilmer (Moses and God), Ralph Fiennes (Ramesses), Patrick Stewart (Seti), Sandra Bullock (Miriam), Michelle Pfeiffer (Tzipporah), Jeff Goldblum (Aaron). Background: This was the first full-length animated feature put out by DreamWorks after Jeffrey Katzenberg’s split from Disney. Initially in the for-

spread is 12 points short

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mation of DreamWorks, Steven Spielberg proposed a project on the scale of The Ten Commandments (1956), and it was decided that Katzenberg would make a film about the life of Moses. Using 200 animators and consulting over 700 clerics and scholars, as well as 4,000 Wal-Mart employees from Texas, Katzenberg finished the film. 23 Plot: The film begins with the following disclaimer: “While artistic and historical license has been taken, we believe that this film is true to the essence, values, and integrity of a story that is a cornerstone of faith for millions of people worldwide.” We then see the Israelites suffering and singing slave spirituals in the hot Egyptian sun, building monuments, and frequently being whipped. Jochebed, Aaron, and Miriam take Moses to the Nile and place him in a basket, singing him a lullaby. The baby barely escapes crocodiles and hippos and winds up drifting toward the Pharaoh’s young wife, who is holding up a one-year-old baby Ramesses. In the next scene, Ramesses and Moses have grown into teenagers and, while recklessly racing their chariots, they knock off the nose of a statue of Seti. Seti is upset, mostly with Ramesses, and we learn that the weight of all Egyptian history is on Ramesses’ shoulders because he is the crown prince. Ramesses suffers under this burden, but Moses reminds him how to have fun by throwing water balloons on the two priests Hotep and Huy. That afternoon, Seti appoints Ramesses to be prince regent in charge of temples, and Ramesses in turn appoints Moses to be royal chief architect by giving him an official ring. A beautiful though feisty prisoner (Tzipporah) is presented as a gift to Ramesses. He in turn gives her to Moses, and Moses treats her badly, earning the disappointment of his adopted mother. Moses feels bad; that night he sees Tzipporah escaping, and he follows. Along the way he encounters Aaron and Miriam, and Miriam tells Moses that he is their brother. She then sings him the lullaby that he heard as a baby, which greatly disturbs him. Moses returns to the palace and dreams that Seti ordered the death of all Israelite children, including Moses. Seti is present when Moses awakens and informs Moses that this is all true. The Israelites were growing too numerous and might have risen up against Egypt, according to Seti. He tells Moses that sacrifices must be made at times for the greater good, and besides, “They were only slaves.” While the Israelites are building monuments, an evil Egyptian beats a helpless Israelite man. Miriam cries for help, and Moses rushes to the rescue but knocks the official from the scaffold. The official is killed, but it was clearly an accident. Even though Ramesses begs Moses to stay, Moses feels terrible and leaves Egypt. He nearly dies in the desert as a giant sandstorm buries him 23. Kim Masters, “The Prince and the Promoter,” Time, December 14, 1998, 91–92.

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up to the top of his head. He is rescued by a camel that drags him to a well. There some girls are being harassed by a number of Midianite men. Moses frees the men’s camels, and they are forced to give chase; thus he rescues the girls. However, Moses falls into the well while flirting, and Tzipporah grabs a rope and raises him. Once she recognizes him, she drops the rope and sends him back down. Soon thereafter, she and Moses are married. One day, Moses chases a sheep into a cave and he sees a burning bush. God commissions Moses, and though Moses initially tries to get out of his calling, he eventually concedes. Moses returns to Egypt with a goat. Ramesses is happy to see him and pardons his crime. Moses does a few magic tricks, but the Egyptians, especially the magicians Hotep and Huy, are not impressed. Moses returns the ring that Ramesses gave him when he was appointed royal chief architect, an act that greatly disappoints Ramesses. Ramesses is troubled by competing impulses. He longs to be Moses’ friend again and have fun as they did in the past, but now that he is Pharaoh, the weight of Egypt is upon him. He also does not want to dishonor the memory of his father. Thus, Ramesses transforms from the likable friend to the stoic machine. He doubles the workload of Israel, and soon thereafter, nine plagues appear simultaneously. Ramesses, mirroring his father’s order, says to kill all of the Israelites. Moses tells his former friend that “you bring this (10th plague) upon yourself.” The Passover meal takes place, while a ghost-like angel of death goes house to house blowing out candles. Ramesses’ son dies, and he lets the Israelites go. The Israelites sing (in Hebrew) portions of Exodus 15. They march all night with torches and reach the shore of the Red Sea. Ramesses’ army arrives, and a pillar of fire stops their pursuit. The Red Sea splits, and the Israelites cross. Egypt pursues, led by Ramesses, but water throws him out and kills the rest of the Egyptians. The Israelite people are free, and the movie ends with rapid scenes of Sinai, as Moses receives the two tablets of the Decalogue. With his back to the audience, Moses descends the mountain toward the faces of the anxious people. Successes and Failures: The best aspects of The Prince of Egypt can be attributed to its being animated. Very talented artists created the beautiful backdrops and characters. But the animation is also creative, especially during the dream sequence, in which the hieroglyphs and reliefs come alive— one of the best scenes in the film. Animation also helps in the portrayal of God. God appears as a sort of blue natural gas flame that does not burn Moses’ hand. It doesn’t look like God, but it is more effective than the other movies reviewed in this essay. Val Kilmer provides the voice of God, which Moses hears from several directions. The voice of God carries a wide range of emotions, at times even becoming a bit angry. The original concept for God’s voice in this film was to use a variety of actors, with the main voice changing from man to woman to child. This innovative idea was abandoned, however,

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because it was decided that too many people would be offended if God’s voice was represented by a woman. 24 Animation also eases the implementation of singing. It would be much more difficult with a nonanimated film to have Moses break into song, no matter how intriguing the thought of Charlton Heston in a musical might be. The lyrics by Stephen Schwartz and the scores composed by Hans Zimmer are well done. They also can be commended for having the characters sing in Hebrew at times. This is not as innovative as some think, because Moses (1996) also has Exodus 15 sung in Hebrew. The movie also recognizes, for the first time in a dramatic movie about Moses, that the story of the Egyptian magicians contains comedy. 25 Steve Martin and Martin Short as the voices of Hotep and Huy are fabulous, especially with the number “You’re Playing with the Big Boys Now.” Unfortunately, they were directed to tone down their performances. The film represents the character of Ramesses very believably. Unlike most other films, in this one Ramesses is complicated. The development of the sibling rivalry between Ramesses and Moses is masterfully developed, 26 as is Ramesses’ transition from fun-loving buddy of Moses to responsible man and ruler of Egypt. The film implements several modern issues. Moses states, “No kingdom should be built on the backs of slaves.” Thus, once again, this is a movie about slavery (much along the same lines as Amistad [1997], Steven Spielberg’s first production for DreamWorks). The Prince of Egypt also addresses twentieth-century political issues. This is especially apparent with the character of Jethro, a giant mass of compassion in the form of a Sephardic Tevye who sings songs resembling the traditional songs from the time of the formation of modern Israel. The marriage of Moses and Tzipporah mirrors the marriage between Ashkenazi and Sephardic Jewish cultures. Additionally, and unlike the biblical text, Israel is presented as completely unified. There are no complaints against Moses during the Exodus. Virtually all violence is removed from the story. Even God “gets off the hook” in this film. God is forced to carry out the killing of the Egyptian firstborn because Ramesses himself ordered all Israelites dead. The character of Aaron is unfortunately changed dramatically into a wimpy, apathetic whiner. When Moses appears and lets the Israelites know that God has heard them, Aaron responds, “When did God start caring about 24. Ibid. 25. Yehuda T. Radday, “On Missing the Humour in the Bible,” On Humour and the Comic in the Hebrew Bible (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990) 21–38. 26. See Jennifer Rohrer-Walsh, “Coming-of-Age in The Prince of Egypt,” in Screening Scripture (ed. George Aichele and Richard Walsh; Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 2002) 77–99.

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us?” Thus when Moses appears before Pharaoh demanding the Exodus, he is accompanied by Zipporah rather than his weak brother. Other major changes include the disappearance of Amram, presumably to heighten the drama by introducing a single-mom family, the mother working so hard to save her son. The biggest problem with the film results from its fear of offending anyone. As a result of requesting the input of 700 Christian, Jewish, and Muslim clerics and scholars, not to speak of 4,000 Wal-Mart employees, it allied itself with religious conservatism and dulled the artistic creativity.

What Happened in the Fourteenth Year of Hezekiah? A Historical Analysis of 2 Kings 18–20 in the Light of New Textual Considerations David Miano University of California, San Diego

The Second Book of Kings explicitly states that in Hezekiah’s 14th regnal year the Assyrian king Sennacherib came up against Judah (18:13). Sennacherib’s annals likewise record this event, placing it in his own 4th year, for which the commonly accepted date is 701 b.c.e. 1 Seemingly, then, we have a concrete synchronism: the 14th year of Hezekiah = the 4th year of Sennacherib. However, 2 Kings also says that, only 8 years prior to Sennacherib’s invasion, in the 6th year of Hezekiah, the kingdom of Samaria fell to the Assyrians (2 Kgs 18:10). The historical records of Assyria, according to which a firm, year-by-year chronology can be established, does not allow for such a short span of time between the two events. Although the exact date of the fall of Samaria has been disputed, it definitely occurred between the final year of Shalmaneser V (722 b.c.e.) and the 2nd year of his successor, Sargon II (720 b.c.e.). Samaria’s overthrow, therefore, is separated from the 4th year of Sennacherib by some 20 years. 2 It is no wonder, then, that historians have been wrangling over the discrepancy for over a century. 3 Because there is no way to squeeze the events of 20 well-attested years into a mere 8, most have concluded either that Samaria did not fall in Hezekiah’s 1. A. Millard, The Eponyms of the Assyrian Empire, 910–612 bc (SAAS 2; Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 1994) 12–14, 60; M. Cogan and H. Tadmor, II Kings (AB 11; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1988) 246–51. 2. Epigraphs from the time of Sargon II confirm that the length of his reign was no less than 16 years. 3. For an introduction to the problem, see B. S. Childs, Isaiah and the Assyrian Crisis (SBT n.s. 3; London: SCM, 1967) 11–12.

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6th year or that Sennacherib did not invade Judah in Hezekiah’s 14th year. 4 Either way, it is assumed that one of the chronological tags in the biblical account is inaccurate. 5 With so much having been written on this conundrum, it appears that every angle has been considered and that all possible solutions have been duly examined. Before we resign ourselves to choosing and rationalizing one of the existing hypotheses, however, let us return to the heart of the issue to see whether we may make any further progress in unraveling the difficulties. Previous observations regarding the pertinent biblical passages will need to be noted, but new textual and historical considerations may aid us in calculating the temporal placement of the events recorded in 2 Kings 18–20 and in shedding further light on this interesting period in Israelite and Assyrian history. In the text of Kings, the passage dealing with the Assyrian campaign against Judah begins thus: 13In the fourteenth year of King Hezekiah, Sennacherib the king of Assyria came up against all the fortified cities of Judah and seized them. 14Hezekiah, the king of Judah, sent a message to the king of Assyria at Lachish as follows: “I have transgressed. Withdraw from me [and] whatever you impose upon me, I shall bear.” 15So the king of Assyria required from Hezekiah, the king of Judah, 300 silver talents and 30 gold talents. And Hezekiah gave all the silver that was to be found in the house of Yhwh and in the treasury of the king’s palace. 16(At that time Hezekiah stripped the doors of the house of Yhwh and the doorposts that Hezekiah, the king of Judah, had plated and delivered them to the king of Assyria.) 17 The king of Assyria sent the viceroy, the chief eunuch, and the chief attendant from Lachish to King Hezekiah with a large military force to Jerusalem. (2 Kgs 18:13–17a)

Others have convincingly argued that the section here italicized (vv. 14–16) is derived from a source separate from the main narrative, vv. 14–15 perhaps stemming from the state annals of Judah. 6 The parenthetical statement 4. For a survey of the opinions, see G. Galil, The Chronology of the Kings of Israel and Judah (Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East 9; Leiden: Brill, 1996) 99. 5. An alternative argument has also been offered that attempts to reconcile the biblical data by suggesting that a coregency existed between Hezekiah and his father, Ahaz, and that the statement in 2 Kgs 18:1 refers to Hezekiah’s becoming coregent (e.g., Naªaman, “Historical and Chronological Notes on the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah in the Eighth Century b.c.,” VT 36 [1986] 84–85, 90). But see Galil (Chronology, 99–102) for the problems with this theory. 6. See L. L. Honor, Sennacherib’s Invasion of Palestine: A Critical Source Study (Contributions to Oriental History and Philology 12; New York: Columbia University Press, 1926) 36–37. There is clear evidence that the books of Kings contain extracts from annals,

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(v. 16) may come from a temple chronicle. 7 Interpreters have often remarked that there are perceptible differences in style between vv. 14–16 and the material that surrounds them. The usual observation is that the information provided in these verses is factual, concise, void of embellishments, and written from a political perspective, just as one might find within a state document. 8 In other words, no attempt is made to color the episode to suit a particular bias, which might be expected if the passage came directly from the hand of the person who composed the main body of narrative. 9 The section that follows, in direct contrast to this, is a theologically driven dramatic presentation in the usual style of the book. 10 However, making an assessment of source derivation on the basis of style is a precarious undertaking. Of more weight and significance would be linguistic features in vv. 14–16 that distinguish these verses from the rest of the text. We see a difference of this sort in the manner in which Hezekiah’s name is presented. In the surrounding narrative, the king of Judah’s name is regularly spelled WhY;qIz]jI. The portion of the text under analysis, however, spells the name hY;qIz]jI in every instance. 11 Furthermore, it uses the appellation “Hezekiah, the king of Judah” (hyqzj hdwhy ˚lm), a formal title, rather than “King Hezekiah” (whyqzj ˚lmh), an epithet of familiarity. The latter appellative is the favored designation for the because they frequently refer to the Book of the Annals of the Kings of Judah as a source. (In this case, see 2 Kgs 20:20.) This source book may have been kept in the government archives. This is not to say that all accept this view. J. H. Hull (Hezekiah, Saint and Sinner: A Conceptual and Contextual Narrative Analysis of 2 Kings 18–20 [Ph.D. diss., Claremont Graduate School, 1994] 91–92), for example, draws attention to the fact that these citations are usually presented as rhetorical questions and thus cannot be used to prove that the writer drew from the source he mentions. However, the expression µybwtk µnh used in some of these citations (1 Kgs 14:19; 2 Kgs 15:11, 15, 26, 31) implies that the documents were readily available, and there is every reason to believe that the writer used them. 7. The existence of a temple chronicle is only hypothetical, but the introductory statement “at that time” may indicate a second excerpt. Still, this excerpt may not necessarily be from a different source but from a different location in the same source (Childs, Isaiah and the Assyrian Crisis, 70–71; F. J. Gonçalves, L’expédition de Sennachérib en Palestine dans la littérature hébraïque ancienne [Louvain-la-Neuve: Université catholique de Louvain, Institut orientaliste, 1986] 361–63). 8. Ibid., 367–70. 9. The passage may be construed as anti-Hezekiah in view of his disfurnishment of the temple, but no judgments are made about Hezekiah’s actions in the excerpt itself. (How the passage is used by the Deuteronomistic historian is another matter.) 10. It may also be significant that the parallel account of Sennacherib’s invasion in the book of Isaiah, which is almost an exact duplicate of the Kings version, entirely omits the small section equivalent to 2 Kgs 18:14–16 (see Isa 36:1–2), but it is more likely that the passage is missing in Isaiah as a result of haplography (jlvyw « jlvyw). 11. The only other two occurrences of this spelling are in 2 Kgs 18:1 and 10, the statements of which may come from the same source document.

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king of Judah in the material immediately before and after vv. 14–16. 12 I believe that the presentation of the names is a key to establishing sources in the text and that, by ascertaining these sources, a solution to the chronological problem will begin to manifest itself. Because the beginning of v. 13 uses the epithet “King Hezekiah,” it may be that it derives from a source other than the source of vv. 14–16 and is associated with the main body of narrative. 13 There has been some question regarding the origin of the second half of v. 13 (“Sennacherib the king of Assyria came up against all the fortified cities of Judah and seized them”). There are indications that it has a stronger kinship with vv. 14–16 than with 13a. For instance, the epithet “Sennacherib the king of Assyria” (rwva ˚lm byrjns) matches the form “Hezekiah the king of Judah” (hdwhy ˚lm hyqzj) found in vv. 14 and 16. Additionally, vv. 14–16 cannot stand by themselves. They require an introductory statement, not only to provide a setting for the report, but also to explain Hezekiah’s capitulation. 14 Verses 13b–16 form a suitable parallel with the passage in Sennacherib’s own annals dated to his 4th year. Sennacherib describes the event this way: (As for) Hezekiah the Judaean (who had not submitted to my yoke), I surrounded and conquered 46 of his strongly fortified walled cities and countless small towns in their vicinity by stamping down siege ramps, bringing up battering rams, the relentless attacks of footsoldiers, bored holes, breaches, and picks. I brought out of their midst 200,150 people, small and big, male and females, horses, wild asses, donkeys, camels, oxen and sheep without number and I classified (them) as spoil. (As for) him, I enclosed him like a bird in a cage in the midst of Jerusalem, his royal city. I erected fortresses against him and made it unthinkable for him to go out of the gate of his city. His cities, which I had despoiled, I cut off from his land and gave to Mitinti, king of Ashdod, Padi, king of Ekron, and Sil-Bel, king of Gaza. I (thus) reduced his land. To the earlier tax, their annual 12. Cogan and Tadmor, II Kings, 228, 240–41. 13. It is true that Leningrad Codex B 19a reads hY;qIz]jI in this location, and this form was adopted in the 3rd edition of BHK and in BHS. However, in all other instances in the Hezekiah narratives, WhY;qIz]jI, not hY;qIz]jI, follows ˚lmh immediately, and it is significant that the parallel verse in Isa 36:1 contains the longer form in all extant manuscripts except 4QIsaa. The similar phrase in 2 Kgs 18:9a also encourages acceptance of the longer spelling in 18:13a, which is attested in the first two editions of BHK, in Jacob ben Hayyim’s “Bomberg Edition” (1524–25), and in all the Kennicott manuscripts prior to 1200 (see S. Norin, “An Important Kennicott Reading in 2 Kings XVIII 13,” VT 32 [1982] 337– 38; A. Laato, “Hezekiah and the Assyrian Crisis in 701 b.c.,” SJOT 2 [1987] 50). 14. Gonçalves, L’expédition de Sennachérib, 360. It is true that the person who incorporated the annals extract into the text could have simply used a fragment of the account without the proem, but it would have been more natural for him to have included the statement that introduced the setting of the event.

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payment, I added tribute (and) gifts for my lordship and imposed (these) upon them. (As for) him, Hezekiah, the fear of the radiant splendor of my lordship overwhelmed him and he sent after me to Nineveh, my capital, ambushers and his select troops whom he had brought in to strengthen Jerusalem, his royal city, and whom he had acquired as auxiliary troops, (as well as) 30 talents of gold, 800 talents of silver, choice antimony, large blocks of carnelian, beds (inlaid) with ivory, armchairs (inlaid) with ivory, elephant hide, ebony, boxwood, garments with multi-colored trim, linen garments, blue-purple wool, red-purple wool, utensils of copper, iron, bronze, tin and iron, chariots, shields, lances, coats of mail, swords on belts, bows and arrows, tilluequipment, instruments of war without number along with his daughters, his palace women, and male and female singers—and, in order to deliver the tribute and to carry out his servitude, he dispatched his messenger. 15

The correspondence between the two accounts, although not exact, is remarkable. Particularly noteworthy is the agreement in a number of details, such as the general terms of the tribute. Both accounts mention the 30 talents of gold; and although the silver amount is greater in the Assyrian record, the biblical source seems to indicate that Hezekiah gave more silver than was demanded of him. Did Sennacherib require all the silver that was in the temple and in the palace? 16 Some have played down the similarities between the two sources in an attempt to cast doubt on the annalistic origin of the biblical passage, 17 but most scholars conclude that the biblical report in 2 Kgs 18:13b–16 was drawn from a contemporary document of historical weight equal to the Assyrian source and believe that the two can be harmonized. It thus seems best to take v. 13b as part of the pericope that includes vv. 14– 16 18 and to consider these 3!-2 verses to be accessory to the main narrative. (For convenience, we shall follow scholarly convention and refer to verses 13b–16 as segment A throughout the remainder of this discussion.) Oddly, the Assyrian record agrees only with segment A, while the rest of the narrative in chaps. 18 and 19 has no parallel in the Assyrian sources. 15. From the Rassam Cylinder (700 b.c.e.). The translation is William R. Gallagher’s (Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah: New Studies [Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East 18; Leiden: Brill, 1999] 129–30). 16. Cogan and Tadmor, II Kings, 229. 17. For example, C. R. Seitz (Zion’s Final Destiny: A Reassessment of Isaiah 36–39 [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991] 47–66, esp. pp. 61–66), whose main purpose is to prove the priority of Isaiah’s version over Kings. J. B. Geyer (“2 Kings XVIII 14–16 and the Annals of Sennacherib,” VT 21 [1971] 604–6) also plays down the similarities but only in order to point out that there is not an exact correspondence between the Assyrian and biblical sources. 18. For a discussion of the issue, see Honor, Sennacherib’s Invasion, 37–40.

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Although the Assyrian report is a typical example of Assyrian propaganda, and it is probable that Sennacherib deliberately omitted any information that would present him in a bad light, 19 little of what is described in Kings would have embarrassed Sennacherib apart from his inglorious defeat in 2 Kgs 19:35–36. So the omission of a great number of details on the Assyrian side constitutes a noteworthy discrepancy between sources. We are now left to ponder the significance of v. 13a. Although it appears to be written specifically as an introduction to segment A, we may consider the possibility that it was not originally linked to segment A. As has been mentioned above, v. 13a cannot refer to Sennacherib’s campaign in his 4th year without disrupting the chronological statement of 2 Kgs 18:1. It simply does not fit where it is currently situated, at least from a historical standpoint. Thus v. 13a has become a notorious crux because no one knows for sure to what the chronological statement “in the 14th year of King Hezekiah” refers. Interestingly, there is a passage nearby that is indeed set in that year, the account of Hezekiah’s illness in chap. 20. We know that the events of chap. 20 are supposed to have taken place in Hezekiah’s 14th year, because on that occasion he is granted another 15 years of life, and the total length of his reign is given as 29 years (14 + 15 = 29). 20 Some have suggested that v. 13a originally introduced chap. 20. 21 But chap. 20 possesses an opening chronological statement of its own (“in those days”), and there is no textual evidence to suggest it is not original. Nonspecific temporal expressions such as µhh µymyb (“in those days . . .”), ayhh t[b (“at that time . . .”), and others, do not introduce major structural units in the narrative but are coordinating clauses that mark a turning point within a story and refer back to a previous date formula. 22 The events of chap. 20 are clearly subordinate to a more momentous series of events. Therefore, we may view the account in chap. 20 as being part of a longer narrative, for which 18:13a provides the temporal setting. We should also expect, between 18:13a and 20:1, a major episode that would recount the principal set of circumstances in which chap. 20 plays a part. So the question is: How much of chaps. 18 and 19 are part of the original tale? The invasion of Sennacherib as described in vv. 13b–16 cannot be viewed as the original setting for Hezekiah’s illness. I have already pointed out the linguistic dissimilarities between segment A and the narrative in which it is embedded, as well as the chronological problem. But still other factors alien19. See the excellent article by A. Laato, “Assyrian Propaganda and the Falsification of History in the Royal Inscriptions of Sennacherib,” VT 45 (1995) 198. 20. 2 Kgs 18:2. See Cogan and Tadmor, II Kings, 228. 21. Ibid. 22. Hull, Hezekiah, Saint and Sinner, 220–23.

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ate the passage from its context. The succession of events from vv. 13b–16 to v. 17 is unnatural. Why would Sennacherib send his officials to demand the unconditional surrender of Jerusalem immediately after Hezekiah made peace with him by way of a substantial tribute? Every indication is that Sennacherib accepted this tribute and was appeased. In a similar vein, why would Hezekiah willingly yield to Sennacherib but decide to resist forthwith? With regard to either king, the actions after segment A are incongruous with the behavior that has been displayed in segment A. Furthermore, the account from v. 17 forward makes no reference whatsoever to Hezekiah’s capitulation and proceeds as though the events of segment A were never recounted. 23 This is odd, considering the pivotal role of the tribute and its considerable size. The abrupt and problematic transitions, therefore, on either side of segment A probably signal redactional seams. Although it may be possible to conclude that this passage is an addition from an entirely different hand, the source citation in 2 Kgs 20:20 seems to indicate that this passage was incorporated into the text from the very beginning—that is, if it is truly derived from the state annals, as many have argued. I contend that 2 Kgs 18:13b–16 was deliberately moved to its current position from another location within Kings itself. The motivations for the repositioning of the segment will be addressed hereafter. However, if A’s present position is secondary, then its omission should reveal the original sequence of the narrative. The text would have read: “In the fourteenth year of King Hezekiah, the king of Assyria sent the viceroy, the chief eunuch, and the chief attendant from Lachish to King Hezekiah with a large military force to Jerusalem,” v. 13a leading directly into v. 17. 24 At first glance, it seems that no chronological difficulties are solved by the removal of segment A. However, difficulties remain only if we assume that the account beginning with v. 17 refers to events having to do with Sennacherib’s invasion. As we shall see, this may not be the case. Before I discuss the significance of my last statement, I suggest that we determine whether any other part of chaps. 18–19 is not original to the Sennacherib story. The remainder of the narrative, often called segment B (18:17–19:37), presents certain difficulties of its own. It has been suggested, and widely accepted, that segment B contains two separate stories. Strand B1 23. Childs, Isaiah and the Assyrian Crisis, 73. 24. Gonçalves’s remark (L’expédition de Sennachérib, 359) that v. 13a could not have been connected to 17ff. because prophetic narratives never contain introductions with precise dating such as this is simply not true. The account in 2 Kgs 22:3ff., which describes Josiah’s seeking an oracle from the prophetess Huldah after the book of the law was found in the temple is one example. In fact, the order of the elements in the date formula of 2 Kgs 22:3 is the same as in 2 Kgs 18:13. (For other examples of precisely dated prophetic narratives written in the third person, see Jer 28:1ff., 32:1ff., and 36:9ff.)

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recounts the appearance of three Assyrian officials, who threaten King Hezekiah, at Jerusalem’s gates. The king turns to Isaiah, who predicts the withdrawal of the Assyrians, and the prophecy comes true when they pull away from Lachish (19:8). In strand B2, Sennacherib sends a threatening letter to Hezekiah, who prays for assistance and receives a reassuring prophecy from Isaiah. The story concludes with the miracle of the angel of God, who slays 185,000 of the Assyrian army. There are several convincing reasons for dividing the account in this way: (1) It is difficult to understand how Sennacherib could have expected his letter(s) to frighten the Judahites into surrendering Jerusalem (19:9, 14), when his personal ambassadors had already failed to do so by means of a display of force (18:17, 18), especially when the message of the second threat is merely a repetition of the first. 25 (2) Why would Hezekiah pray for Yahweh to turn his attention to the situation and save Jerusalem (19:15–19) when Isaiah had already promised him that Yahweh would not allow Jerusalem to be taken and that the king of Assyria would withdraw to his own land and die there (19:6, 7)? Similarly, Isaiah’s prophecy in 19:20–34 is presented as though this were the first time he had provided a reassuring oracle to Hezekiah concerning Sennacherib. (3) In 19:32–33, the prophet assures Hezekiah that the king of Assyria will not lay siege to the city, the imperfect verb forms indicating that the Assyrians had not yet done so. This seems odd, considering that the king had “sent a heavy military force to Jerusalem” immediately prior to this (18:17). 26 That the Assyrians are actually laying siege to the city in chap. 18 is supported by iconographic evidence that suggests that the actions of the Rabshakeh as described in 2 Kings reflect part of the Assyrian siege method. 27 25. K. A. D. Smelik’s argument that the letter was a logical follow-up to the visit of the Rabshakeh is weak (“Distortion of Old Testament Prophecy: The Purpose of Isaiah XXXVI and XXXVII,” in Crises and Perspectives: Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Polytheism, Biblical Theology, Palestinian Archaeology and Intertestamental Literature [OtSt 24; Leiden: Brill, 1986] 81). He would have us believe that the letter was “the culmination of Sennacherib’s arguments and blasphemy,” asserting that “a letter has to convince where spoken words have failed.” Even if we were willing to accept the logic of this statement, he simply fails to take into account that the earlier threat was backed by a show of military strength, whereas the later, written threat was not. The approach of Kushite forces would have further reduced the intimidating effect of the letter. 26. Laato, “Hezekiah,” 63. 27. In The Art of Warfare in Biblical Lands, Yigael Yadin calls attention to this interesting artifact: “There has been preserved a unique relief from the reign of Sargon . . . which, in my opinion, depicts an Assyrian officer taking cover behind the turret of a battering ram . . . and apparently reading from something that looks like a scroll. It may be, perhaps, that he is reading a surrender order to the defending inhabitants on the walls”

spread is 12 points short

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A fourth argument used to support the division of segment B, and the most predominant among scholars, calls attention to the similarity in the sequence of events outlined in the two accounts. Both begin with a demand for surrender by Assyrian messengers, and the threats are strikingly similar in both of the narratives. In each account, Hezekiah seeks divine assistance, and Isaiah provides him with a prophecy of hope, which is in turn fulfilled. This has led many to conclude that each strand is merely a different version of the same tale. Although there are grounds for separating the section into two accounts, the idea of parallel narratives cannot be sustained. To my knowledge, the only place we find parallel adjacent accounts in the Hebrew Bible is where a redactor has joined two preexisting works that he either was not at liberty to cut or that he found impractical to cut. Usually the stories are of two different genres (prose and poetry), such as we find in Exodus 14–15 and Judges 4–5. Author-redactors who had greater editorial freedom made an effort to blend various accounts into a flowing narrative, as we know the Deuteronomistic historian consistently did elsewhere. Both B1 and B2 exhibit evidence of Deuteronomistic editing. For example, we can be fairly confident that the second account was put into the history by the Deuteronomistic historian, because we find typical Deuteronomic phraseology in Hezekiah’s prayer (19:15– 19). 28 There are also indications that he had a hand in the first story, not only because there are Deuteronomic themes present, 29 but also because there are elements in B1 that anticipate elements in B2. 30 It does not seem reasonable to conclude that he would add a second version of the same story immediately after the original one without expecting readers to conclude that the latter piece described events that happened after the first story. 31

(Yadin, The Art of Warfare in Biblical Lands in the Light of Archaeological Study [trans. M. Pearlman; New York: McGraw-Hill, 1963] 320, 424–25). 28. For example, ≈rah twklmm lkl ˚dbl µyhlah awh hta (“You alone are the God of all the kingdoms of the earth”); cf. Deut 4:35; and ˆbaw ≈[ µda ydy hc[m (“human handicraft, wood and stone”), Deut 4:28. See M. Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972; repr., Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1992) 39. 29. See the article by Ehud Ben Zvi, “Who Wrote the Speech of Rabshakeh and When?” ( JBL 109 [1990] 79–92) especially pp. 85–86, 88. 30. For example, 18:27 and 31 appear to anticipate 19:29, and 18:35 appears to anticipate 19:18. (See Gallagher, Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah, 159.) 31. There is always the possibility that the Deuteronomistic historian, drawing from two separate sources, did not realize that both accounts described the same events, but this could only be true if one of the sources was so damaged that its setting was unclear and if the historian himself was a bit naïve.

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The similarities between the two accounts of Assyrian invasion are only superficial. The Rabshakeh, the central figure of the first account, does not figure in the second whatsoever. Eliakim, Shebnah, and Joah, who participate in the dialogue in the first section, are not even mentioned in the second. Isaiah, who is featured prominently in B2, has only a minor role in B1. While B1 states that Egypt is Judah’s ally, B2 speaks of Kush. 32 The content of each of Isaiah’s messages has some noteworthy differences as well. Although both predict the withdrawal of Assyrian forces, the prophecy in B2 does not mention that the king of Assyria returned to his homeland, after hearing a report of trouble, and then was killed there. A further significant variance, which seems odd if both stories are relating the details of the same event, is that Assyrian forces actually come to Jerusalem in B1 but not in B2. In fact, B2 states that a siege will not take place. Another striking difference is that only B2 recounts the dramatic finale of the angel who struck down 185,000 Assyrian soldiers. There is nothing even remotely parallel to this in B1. The most interesting difference in the players of each drama pertains to the king of Assyria himself. Strand B1 mentions the Assyrian monarch ten times, but only as rwva ˚lm, “the king of Assyria” (18:17, 19, 23, 28, 30, 31, 33; 19:4, 6, 8). Not once is a name provided. 33 Strand B2, on the other hand, calls the king “Sennacherib” three out of the four times he is mentioned (19:16, 20, 36). It is therefore possible that Sennacherib does not feature at all in the first account. There is, admittedly, an unmistakable parallel between the Rabshakeh’s speech in B1 and Sennacherib’s letter in B2 (cf. 18:33, 34 with 19:12, 13), 34 but in all probability the reason for the correspondence between the Assyrian speeches in each strand is not that both stories go back to a common source but that both were composed by the same hand. The notion that strands B1 and B2 are variants of the same tradition will therefore be rejected in favor of a theory that each strand recounts an independent and distinct series of events and that the second series of events did not ensue immediately after the first.

32. Although many historians have argued that these two place-names are almost synonymous, it must be acknowledged that the Assyrian sources differentiate between the two (A. Spalinger, “The Year 712 b.c. and Its Implications for Egyptian History,” JARCE 10 [1973] 100), and so we should be careful to avoid generalizations. Historically, it was during Hezekiah’s reign that Kush gained ascendancy over Egypt (712 b.c.e.; ibid., 95–101), and therefore the second story may reflect events from a later period than does the first. 33. This was noted by A. K. Jenkins (“Hezekiah’s Fourteenth Year: A New Interpretation of 2 Kings xviii 13–xix 37,” VT 26 [1976] 287). Verse 20:6 also neglects to name the king. 34. For a fuller discussion of this issue, see Gallagher, Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah, 153–59.

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Sargon and Hezekiah If we accept the datum that Samaria was conquered in Hezekiah’s 6th year, then it naturally follows that his 14th year would fall within the reign of Assyrian King Sargon II, rather than the reign of Sennacherib. Because 2 Kgs 18:13a may introduce the account recorded in segment B1, and because this segment allows for the participation of someone other than Sennacherib as the king of Assyria, it requires no forced understanding of the text to imagine Sargon as the king. 35 Extrabiblical evidence adds weight to this hypothesis. For example, Sargon’s army did, in fact, campaign into the Levant in Sargon’s 10th regnal year (712 b.c.e.). There is every indication that this year coincided with the 14th year of King Hezekiah. Gershon Galil has persuasively argued in favor of dating the fall of Samaria to 720 b.c.e., Sargon’s 2nd year and Hezekiah’s 6th. 36 He bases his argument on several factors: (1) in the Babylonian Chronicle, the Samaria ravaged by Shalmaneser V could be the entire Northern Kingdom of Israel rather than the city itself; (2) the biblical text, although connecting Shalmaneser to the events associated with the conquest of Samaria, does not explicitly state that he was the king who conquered it; and (3) the numerous testimonies to Samaria’s overthrow in the time of Sargon cannot be ignored or presumed false. By Galil’s dating, Sargon’s military endeavor on Judah’s doorstep in 712 matches Hezekiah’s 14th year precisely. According to Sargon’s annalistic and display inscriptions, it was necessary at this time to put down a revolt in the Philistine city of Ashdod led by a certain Yamani. The earliest is Nineveh Prism A, Fragment D. 37 The account breaks off during the description of the Ashdod campaign, and it is impossible to tell how much further the text went on. In English, the text reads as follows: [But these] accursed [Hittites] conceived [the idea] of not delivering the tribute and [started] a rebellion against their ruler; they expelled him . . . Yamani, 35. This observation is not new. However, previous attempts to equate the narrative with Sargon have proved unconvincing. For example, Jenkins, accepting the theory of parallel narratives, relates both B1 and B2 to Sargon, arguing that all references to Sennacherib in B2 are a later editor’s reinterpretation of the text. C. Schedl goes one step further and associates 2 Kgs 18:13–16 with Sargon’s campaign to Judah following Ashdod’s revolt, which fails to account for the passage’s similarity with Sennacherib’s annals (“Textkritische Bemurkungen zu den Synchronismen der Könige von Israel und Juda,” VT 12 [1962] 88– 119). The theory presented here does not necessitate the rejection of the name Sennacherib in the narratives. 36. Galil, Chronology, 83–97. 37. Original publication by H. Winckler, Die Keilschrifttexte Sargons (2 vols.; Leipzig: Pfeiffer, 1889) 1.186–89.

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a comm[oner without claim to the throne] to be king over them, they made sit down [on the very throne] of his (former) master and [they prepared?] their city for the at[tack] (lacuna of 3 lines) . . . its neighborhood, a moat [they prepared] of a depth of 20+ cubits . . . it even reached the underground waters. In order to [. . . To] the rulers of Philistia, Judah, Ed[om], Moab, (and) those who live by the sea and bring tribute [and] tamartu gifts to my Lord Assur [he spread] countless evil lies to alienate (them) from me, and sent bribes to Pharaoh the king of Egypt, a prince incapable of saving them, and asked him to be an ally. But I, Sargon, the rightful ruler, devoted to the pronouncements of Nebo and Marduk, who observes the orders of Assur, led my army over the Tigris and Euphrates, at the[ir] highest water level, the spring high water, as (if it were) dry ground. This Yamani, their king who had put his trust in his own power and who did not bow to my rule, heard about the approach of my expedition (yet) far away, and the terror of my Lord Assur overwhelmed him and . . . of the bank of the river . . . in the depth of the waters . . . distant . . . fled . . . Ashdod . . . I took [the road]. The city of . . . against . . . in the midst . . . as . . . the city of Lu . . . the city of . . . against the land of . . . the city of . . . the land of Egypt . . . his stones . . . over the people. . . . 38

Sargon claims that Judah received an invitation to join Yamani’s anti-Assyrian coalition. Whether or not Yamani was temporarily successful in alienating from Assyria the states here mentioned is not stated, but the biblical text testifies that Hezekiah rebelled against his Assyrian overlords. 39 If this was the context of Judah’s rebellion, Sargon may very well have responded with a show of military strength. The text breaks off just as it is getting interesting. It appears that several cities were engaged by Assyrian forces, but only Ashdod’s name is preserved. Another (“Lu . . .”) is partially preserved. Parallel sources also mention Gath and Ashdod-Yam. 40 38. Translation partly from Pritchard, ANET, and partly from Luckenbill, ARAB. 39. 2 Kgs 18:7. For a full discussion of the evidence, see P. K. Hooker, The Kingdom of Hezekiah: Judah in the Geo-political Context of the Late Eighth Century b.c.e. (Ph.D. diss., Emory University, 1993) 18–32. 40. The other inscriptions describing the Ashdod campaign shed no more light on whether Judah was involved. The Display Inscription on the walls of the Khorsabad Palace (first published in Winckler, Die Keilschrifttexte Sargons, 1.115–16) reads: “But the[se] Hittites, always planning evil deeds, hated his (their former ruler Ahimiti’s) reign and elevated to rule over them Yamani who, without any claim to the throne, had no respect for authority, just as they themselves (did not). In a sudden rage, I did not assemble the full might of my army (or to) prepare the camp(ing equipment), (only) my warriors who, even in friendly areas, never leave my side. But this Yamani heard about the approach of my expedition (yet) far away, and he fled into the territory of Egypt that belongs to Kush; and his (hiding) place could not be detected. I besieged (and) conquered the cities of Ashdod, Gath, Ashdod-Yam; I declared his images, his wife, his children, all his possessions and treasure of his palace, as well as the inhabitants of his country, as booty” (translation partly from Pritchard, ANET, and partly from Luckenbill, ARAB ). We are informed that Gath and

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From the pertinent inscriptions, we are able to ascertain a general order of events relating to the campaign: a. The Philistines of Ashdod (“accursed Hittites”) depose and expel Sargon’s vassal king, Ahimiti, and elevate Yamani as king in his place. b. The Ashdodites begin preparations for invasion, including the digging of a moat and the sending of conspiratorial messages to neighboring kingdoms (Judah, Edom, Moab, and other Philistine cities) and a payment to Egypt for military assistance. c. Sargon and his personal guard cross the Tigris and Euphrates (springtime) and approach Ashdod. d. Yamani goes to Kush, leaving his family behind. e. Sargon besieges and conquers Ashdod, Gath, and Ashdod-Yam. f. Other cities, the names of which are not preserved, are apparently conquered or attacked. 41 Did Judah actually have a military encounter with Assyria at this time? We do have epigraphic evidence to support this conclusion. The text commonly known as the Azekah Inscription describes the siege of the fortified city of Azekah in Judah by Assyrian forces. It consists of two fragments (BM 82-323, 131 and K 6205), originally published separately; 42 but in 1974, Nadav Naªaman discovered the join and made a preliminary analysis. 43 Naªaman Ashdod-Yam, both Philistine cities, were among the conquests of Sargon, but Judah is not mentioned. The Khorsabad Annals (II 21 and H1, lines 249–61, originally published in A. G. Lie, trans. and ed., The Inscriptions of Sargon II, King of Assyria [Paris: Geuthner, 1929] 38–41) also mention the campaign, and their description is very similar to the Display Inscription: “But the[se] Hittites, always planning evil deeds, hated his (Ahimiti’s) reign and elevated to rule over them Yamani who, without any claim to the throne, had no respect for authority, just as they themselves (did not). [In a sudden rage], I marched quickly in my state chariot and with my cavalry which, even in friendly areas, never leaves my side against Ashdod, his royal residence. I besieged (and) conquered the cities of Ashdod, Gath, Ashdod-Yam; I declared the gods residing therein, himself, as well as the inhabitants of his country, the gold, silver, and his personal possessions as booty” (translation partly from Pritchard, ANET, and partly from Luckenbill, ARAB). Again, no reference is made to Judah. 41. Interestingly, a recent study offers evidence that sites destroyed in eighth-century southwestern Judah, often attributed to Sennacherib’s campaign of 701, should be associated with a slightly earlier Assyrian campaign into that area (J. A. Blakely and J. W. Hardin, “Southwestern Judah in the Late Eighth Century bce,” BASOR 326 [2002] 11–64). 42. K 6205 originally published by Rawlinson and Smith in Cuneiform Inscriptions of Western Asia III 9, 2 (London: Bowler, 1861–1909); BM 82–3–23, 131 first appeared in H. Winckler, Altorientalische Forschungen (3 vols.; Leipzig: Pfeiffer, 1893–1905) 2.570–74. 43. N. Naªaman, “Sennacherib’s ‘Letter to God’ on His Campaign to Judah,” BASOR 214 (1974) 25–39.

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dated the inscription to Sennacherib’s 701 campaign against Judah; however, his position has been called into question recently by several scholars, who prefer to date the events described in the text to Sargon’s campaign of 712. 44 Their reasons are as follows: (1) The inscription locates Azekah “between my border and the land of Judah” (line 5). Because the Assyrians turned Ashdod and its environs into a province as a result of the 712 campaign and because Sennacherib’s Annals refer to Ashdod as a vassal kingdom as a result of the 701 campaign, the inscription must have been composed between 712 and 701. Furthermore, there is no evidence for any Assyrian campaign against Philistia in this period. Therefore, the events described must refer to Assyria’s last venture into the territory. (2) The literary style of the inscription is closely akin to Sargon’s epic description of his campaign against Urartu, the last major campaign that Sargon undertook before the Ashdod affair. (3) The writer spells the deity name “Ansar,” rather than “Assur,” which is typical of many of Sargon’s early inscriptions. For these reasons, the inscription is best dated to the time of Sargon. An English translation of the text reads as follows: (1) . . . . (2) . . . . (3) . . . and to Ju[dah I approached]. In the course of my campaign, [I received] the tribute of the ki[ng/kings of . . .] (4) [with the power and mi]ght of Ansar, my lord, [I overwhelmed] the district of [Hezek]iah of Judah. L[ike a hurricane] (5) . . . Azekah, his stronghold, which is located between my [la]nd and the land of Judah . . . (6) [. . .] it is located on a mountain ridge, like pointed daggers without number reaching high to the heaven . . . (7) [its walls] were strong and rivaled the highest mountains, to the (mere) sight, as if from the sky [appears its head . . .] (8) [I besieged (this city) by means of beaten (earth) ra]mps, (by) great? battering rams brought near (its walls), (and with) the attack by foot soldiers . . . (9) . . . they had seen [the . . . of my cav]alry, and they had heard the roar of the mighty troops of the god Ansar and [their hea]rts became afraid . . . (10) I captured [this stronghold], I carried off its spoil, I destroyed, I devastated, [I burned with fire] (11) [I approached Ekron], a royal ci[ty] of the Philistines, which [Hezek]iah had captured and strengthened for himself . . . (12) . . . like a vine (planted) [on a peak of a mountain]

44. Hooker, Kingdom of Hezekiah, 32–38; Gershon Galil, “Judah and Assyria in the Sargonid Period,” Zion 57 (1992) 111–33 [Hebrew]; “A New Look at the ‘Azekah Inscription,’ ” RB 102 (1995) 327–28; J. Goldberg, “Two Assyrian Campaigns against Hezekiah and Later Eighth Century Biblical Chronology,” Bib 80 (1999) 363, esp. n. 10.

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(13) . . . it was surrounded with mighty towers and [its ascent] was very sloping . . . (14) . . . a palace? (huge) like a mountain was barred in front of them and high is [its top . . .] (15) [its ascent] was dark and the sun never shone on it; its waters were situated in darkness and [its?] overflow . . . (16) . . . it was cut with axes, and a moat was dug around it(s walls) . . . (17) (his) skillful in battle warriors he caused to enter into it; his weapon he bound (on him) . . . (18) . . . all the units of Amurru; I caused them to carry earth . . . (19) . . . against them. In the seventh time, its mighty . . . [I smashed] like a pot [of clay . . .] (20) [. . . shee]p I carried out from it, [and counted as] spo[il . . . (21) . . . . 45

The Azekah Inscription confirms that Sargon not only settled matters in Ashdod and other Philistine cities but also punished Judah for its support of Yamani’s rebellion. At the very least, the Assyrians besieged Azekah and (apparently) conquered it. There is a reference to the siege and conquest of another city. Though unnamed, it is identified as a former Philistine city that Hezekiah had recently taken over. Galil makes a good case for identifying the city as Eqron. 46 A passage in the book of Isaiah clearly relates to the time of Sargon’s attack on Philistia: 1In the year that the viceroy came to Ashdod, when Sargon the king of Assyria sent him, he fought against Ashdod and captured it. 47 2At that time, Yahweh

45. The translation is Galil’s (“New Look,” 323–24). 46. Galil, “Judah and Assyria,” 111–33. 47. Many consider the grammatical structure of vv. 1–3 to be awkward, chiefly because v. 1 seems to be left hanging and does not appear to continue until v. 3. The most common explanation is that v. 2 is a later additon, or at least a parenthetical statement. To support such an interpretation, some have argued that God’s command to Isaiah must have preceded the assault on Ashdod because the explanation of the three-year sign had to have been given at the end of the prophetic activity and when the Philistines were still hoping that Egypt would come to their aid (cf. v. 6). Therefore the ayhh t[b (“at that time”) of v. 2 cannot refer specifically to the event mentioned in v. 1 but must refer to a time at least 14 months prior (O. Kaiser, Isaiah 13–39: A Commentary [OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1974] 113–14; J. N. Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah: Chapters 1–39 [NICOT; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1986] 384; J. H. Hayes and S. A. Irvine, Isaiah, the Eighth-Century Prophet: His Times and His Preaching [Nashville: Abingdon, 1987] 270–71). However, v. 2 probably is original to the story because sign-act prophecies follow the pattern: (a) command, (b) execution, (c) interpretation. The command cannot constitute a later addition (H. Wildberger, Isaiah 13–27: A Continental Commentary [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1997] 286–87; cf. Jer 13:1ff.). Recognizing this, others have suggested that v. 1 is an addition and

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spoke by means of Isaiah the son of Amoz, saying, “Go, and loosen the sackcloth from around your waist and take your sandals off your feet.” And he did so, walking around naked and barefoot. 3 Then Yahweh said, “Just as my servant Isaiah walked naked and barefoot (three years there was a sign and an omen concerning Egypt and Kush), 48 4so shall the king of Assyria lead the captives of Egypt and the exiles of Kush, young and old, naked and barefoot and with buttocks stripped, [from] the nakedness of Egypt. 5And they will be terrified and ashamed of Kush their hope and of Egypt their pride. 6And the inhabitants of this coastland will say on that day, ‘So this was our hope to which we fled for assistance to be delivered from the face of the king of Assyria. Now how shall we escape?’” (Isa 20:1–6)

This prophecy may be about the “inhabitants of this coastland,” that is, the Philistines, but it is surely directed to a Judahite audience. Isaiah’s own people would see his signs, and they would be the ones interested in them. The implication is that the Philistine appeal to Egypt was a topic of concern in Judah, no doubt because the Judahites also feared reprisal from the Assyrians. Judah also entertained hopes of Egyptian protection because they were among the rebels. That Isaiah had been speaking out against a JudahiteEgyptian alliance is clear from prophecies in the book bearing his name (cf. Isa 30:1ff., 31:1ff.). It is therefore likely that Ashdod and Judah were united against Assyria at this time. That Isaiah was already wearing sackcloth before he was asked to remove it is an indication that he had been in mourning for some time. 49 This attire may have been prophetic of what he thought would result from the alliance, namely, the destruction of Judahite cities and the death of many of their inhabitants. An examination of the Rabshakeh’s taunts in a Sargonic context proves rather interesting. He calls to Judah’s attention how certain other states have fallen to the might of Assyria (2 Kgs 18:33–35). He specifically mentions Arpad, Hamath, Sepharvaim, Hena, Ivvah, and Samaria. It may be no coincidence that Sargon, in his annals, boasts of putting down a rebellious coalition that the original context of v. 2 is lacking (ibid., 287). I do not think that this is necessary. Grammatically, we may understand v. 1 as a complete sentence, with a preterital, prefixed verb introducing the apodosis. My translation reflects this interpretation. Naturally, this would indicate that God commisions Isaiah to perform the sign the same year that he explains it. 48. Most commentators consider the three years to be the period that Isaiah walked naked and barefoot; however, the final part of v. 3 can be understood as a parenthetical statement and translated as a verbless clause. The three years would indicate the period in which the prophet had been giving signs and omens against an Egyptian alliance but not necessarily the time he walked naked and barefoot. The three-year figure aids us in determining the time that Yamani’s rebellion began. An approximate date of 714 is indicated here. 49. J. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39 (AB 19; New York: Doubleday, 2000) 323.

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from Arpad, Hamath, and Samaria in the 2nd year of his reign. The Rabshakeh’s reference to this could not have been more apropos, because now Judah is taking refuge in a similar coalition, and the fate of Samaria and its allies is still fresh in mind. 50 Sepharvaim, Hena, and Ivvah were probably located in eastern Babylonia 51 and would have been conquered by Sargon when he campaigned against Marduk-apla-iddina. However, it is especially interesting that in B2 Sennacherib makes similar statements (2 Kgs 19:12, 13) but remarks that Arpad, Hamath, Samaria, Sepharvaim, Hena, and Ivvah are among the lands “that my forefathers brought to ruin.” In strand B1, the king of Assyria gives due credit, not to his ancestors, but to himself: “Where are the gods of Hamath and Arpad? . . . Have any delivered Samaria out of my hand?” The reference to the appearance of Sargon’s viceroy (Hebrew tartan; Akkadian turtanu) at Jerusalem’s gates in 2 Kgs 18:17 is historically possible, because we know that he was in the Levant during the campaign in 712 (Isa 20:1). Thus the tartan mentioned in Kings and in Isaiah may be one and the same person. One must acknowledge, however, that in the Kings account, the king of Assyria is said to be personally involved in the campaign, while in the eponym chronicle for that year, Sargon is reported as staying home. This seems to be supported by Isa 20:1, which describes the turtanu, rather than Sargon, as leading the assault on Ashdod. However, in his annals, Sargon depicts himself as personally leading the campaign into the Levant. Likewise, in the Azekah Inscription, the king maintains that he is involved in the siege. Although we can easily dismiss his claims as self-aggrandizement, we should at least consider the possibility that Sargon participated in the campaign. Where does strand B1 end? The account would logically conclude with the king fighting against the Philistine city of Libnah (19:8) but would not include the reference to Tirhakah (mentioned in the next verse), because he would not have been alive at that time. 52 Although Sennacherib is credited with capturing Lachish, it is not anachronistic to find Sargon there in 712. He too may have attempted to take the city—perhaps with success, perhaps not. The reference to Sennacherib’s death in 2 Kgs 19:37 has usually been considered the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy in 19:6–7 that the Assyrian 50. See Chaim Cohen, “Neo-Assyrian Elements in the First Speech of the Biblical Rab-saqê,” IOS 9 (1979) 36–38. 51. N. Naªaman, “New Light on Hezekiah’s Second Prophetic Story,” Bib 81 (2000) 394–95. 52. The historicity of Tirhakah’s involvement in the second account is substantiated by Kenneth Kitchen in The Third Intermediate Period in Egypt (1100–650 b.c.) (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1973; 2nd ed. with supplement, 1986) 157–61.

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king would fall by the sword in his own country. However, the phrase “fall by the sword” (brjb lpn) in the Bible refers to casualties of war, not to assassination (cf. Lev 26:7–8, Num 14:43, 2 Sam 1:12, Ezek 11:9–10). Because Sargon was killed in battle in 705 b.c.e. near the eastern Assyrian border, this prophecy applies more fittingly to him. Sennacherib and Hezekiah The second tale, strand B2, begins with the statement, “When he heard it said about Tirhakah, the king of Kush, ‘He is now coming out to fight against you,’ he sent messengers again to Hezekiah” (2 Kgs 19:9). The “he” referred to is no longer Sargon but Sennacherib. However, one must note that the pronoun “he” has no antecedent, and the word bçyw indicates a previous correspondence between Sennacherib and Hezekiah. B2, therefore, seems to require a proper opening. As Antii Laato has pointed out, the narrative beginning with Tirhakah’s advance “presupposes some kind of introduction, for which purpose Tirhakah’s planned campaign is eminently suitable.” 53 However, the opening need not be segment B1. Surely the withdrawal of the Assyrian king to Libnah (19:8) constitutes the conclusion of an episode rather than an introduction. It is at this point that we should again take note of segment A. We have not yet determined its original context in Kings, and it is evident that it cannot stand on its own. Some continuation of A must be assumed, because it does not contain a conclusion. What was Sennacherib’s reaction after Hezekiah paid the tribute? Was the attack on Judah halted? 54 In this case, the simplest solution works best: segment A is the most suitable prologue to B2. This conclusion is supported by the remarkable affinity between B2 and A. The use of epithets for the kings corresponds to the suggested divisions (see table, top of p. 131). The formula “x, the king of y” is common in both A and B2 but is not found in B1. Moreover, the title “King Hezekiah” is used in B1 but not in either A or B2. A personal name by itself is found in all three segments. I believe the manner in which the names are used is an indication that the Deuteronomistic historian drew from two sources, one that described Sargon’s campaign of 712 and one that recounted Sennacherib’s invasion of 701. This interpretation is reinforced by the fact that segments A and B2 both feature Sennacherib as the antagonist, whereas B1 does not mention him at all. Furthermore, the sequence of events from A through B2 flows smoothly and better fits the extrabiblical evidence for Sennacherib’s invasion of Judah in the 4th year of his reign. Likewise, as we have seen, the account in B1 best fits a historical context in the reign of Sargon. 53. Laato, “Hezekiah,” 53. 54. Ibid., 56–57.

What Happened in the Fourteenth Year of Hezekiah? A (18:13b–16) a Sennacherib, the king of Assyria (13b) Hezekiah, the king of Judah (14) Hezekiah, the king of Judah (14) Hezekiah (15) Hezekiah (16)

B1 (18:13a; 18:17–19:8) King Hezekiah (13a) King Hezekiah (17) Hezekiah (19) Hezekiah (22) Hezekiah (29) Hezekiah (30) Hezekiah (31) Hezekiah (32) Hezekiah (37) King Hezekiah (19:1) Hezekiah (3) King Hezekiah (5)

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B2 (19:9–37) Tirhakah, the king of Kush (9) Hezekiah (9) Hezekiah, the king of Judah (10) Hezekiah (14) Hezekiah (14) Hezekiah (15) Sennacherib (16) Hezekiah (20) Sennacherib, the king of Assyria (20) Sennacherib, the king of Assyria (36)

a. References to kings that are not accompanied by a personal name are not listed in this table.

If indeed segments A and B2 were once connected in a separate narrative, and if the Deuteronomistic historian was aware that each invasion story was distinct, then B2, like A, was not in its present position in an early edition of the Deuteronomistic History. Without B2, the story in B1, set in Hezekiah’s 14th year, leads neatly into chap. 20, which also recounts events of that very year. Hence, the narrative sequence may once have run as follows: 18:13a 18:17–19:8 20:1–19

These events all are set in Hezekiah’s 14th year, and because the Babylonian king Merodach-baladan (Marduk-apla-iddina) mentioned in chap. 20 reigned from 721 to 710, there is further reason for accepting 712 b.c.e. as Hezekiah’s 14th regnal year. If all mentioned portions of the text were put in chronological order, segments A and B2 would be positioned after 2 Kgs 20:19. This order would account for the apparent discrepancy of Isaiah’s predicting Hezekiah’s deliverance (20:6) after the deliverance is recounted (19:35). It would also explain how it happened that Hezekiah showed off his great treasures (20:13) after he had given them all away (18:15–16). It seems sensible to conclude that the Sennacherib story once followed on the heels of the narratives found in chap. 20. Who Reordered the Narrative and When? Ascertaining the person responsible for restructuring the Hezekiah narratives and the date of his editing is extremely difficult. First, we do not know whether Kings or Isaiah has priority. Most scholars assume that the Kings

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version came first. The important point is that both versions are out of order and agree in their disorder. There are several possible explanations for their commonality. The Kings version could have been taken directly from Isaiah after the text had already been rearranged, or the Isaiah version may have been drawn from Kings after Kings was rearranged. On the other hand, it is possible that both Kings and Isaiah were copied from a common source. However, if Kings were copied from Isaiah or if Kings and Isaiah share the same source, the original source would have had to have been rearranged prior to any copying. This would necessitate a very early date for the reorganized text. I am therefore inclined to give priority to Kings. Whatever the case, the layout of the reordering is simple and clear:

2 Kings 18:13a 2 Kings 18:17–19:8 2 Kings 20:1–19 2 Kings 18:13b–16 2 Kings 19:9–37

This sort of restructuring of a narrative sequence by ancient editors of texts is by no means uncommon and was usually done for thematic or idealogical reasons or simply to “correct” a text that was seen to be inaccurate or problematic. 55 With all of the difficulties involved, I can only present a possible scenario: the Deuteronomistic History had the material in the proper sequence, but the Redactor of the Primary History (Genesis–2 Kings), perhaps under the influence of the Chronicler’s version of the story, altered the sequence. An editor of the book of Isaiah copied the later version. Other scenarios may also be conjectured. What seems certain, however, is that editorial activity in both 2 Kings 18–20 and Isaiah 36–39 has obscured an original story about a Sargonic invasion of Judah in 712 b.c.e. and created a historical misunderstanding that has lasted until today. 55. See D. A. Glatt, Chronological Displacement in Biblical and Related Literatures (SBLDS 139; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993).

Where Is God? Divine Presence in the Absence of the Temple Risa Levitt Kohn and Rebecca Moore San Diego State University

The authors of the Hebrew Bible deal with the issue of the so-called “dwelling place” of the God of Israel in a variety of ways. The idea of locating the deity within a specific space was key to the delineation of an ongoing and productive relationship between the Israelites and their God. The “location” of God, the physical place where one could find him, would become the center for divine-human relations. 1 Any change in the status of this space would in turn necessitate a theological reevaluation of this relationship and the rituals and practices associated with it. Just as the Israelites exiled to Babylon struggled with the problem of where God dwelled after the destruction of the Jerusalem temple in 587 b.c.e., so they contemplated this issue again when the Second Temple fell to the Romans in 70 c.e. Those who had been exiled by the Babylonians were perhaps reassured by the visions of Ezekiel (10:18; 11:22, 23), who believed that God had left the temple and was not destroyed among the ruins. Ezekiel then saw God return to “dwell” (literally, “to tabernacle”) in the temple as part of his utopian vision in Ezek 43:7. In this essay, we explore various answers to the question of where God “went,” or where the God of Israel dwelled, after the destruction of the Jerusalem temple in 70 c.e. The identification of the location of God led ineluctably to the development of different orientations to God and, as a result, to the rise of Christianity and Rabbinic Judaism. Consequently, Jesus came to be viewed as the locus for encounter with the divine for early Christians, while the Torah became the locus for Jewish encounter with God. In addition, however, both groups eventually believed that God dwelled in the community of believers. 1. See R. E. Clements, God and Temple (Oxford: Blackwell, 1965) 1.

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Risa Levitt Kohn and Rebecca Moore The Dwelling Place of God in Biblical Israel

The Israelite tabernacle is referred to most often as the ˆkvm, a term derived from the root nkv “to dwell.” The use of this particular verb suggests that God does not “live” in the tabernacle in the same way that humans “reside” (bvy) in a house; rather, the concept of ˆkv illustrates “the tenuous character of divine presence.” 2 The ˆkvm appears in the Hebrew Bible as the visible sign of God’s presence among the people of Israel. Indeed, more verses of the Torah are devoted to it than to any other object. Homan describes the ˆkvm as “a metaphor for God, life, the universe, Israel, and Judah.” 3 In the book of Exodus, God commands the Israelites to construct the tabernacle while the people are encamped at Sinai immediately after the miraculous theophany at the mountain. Propp notes that there are significant parallels between Sinai/Horeb as the “nexus between heaven and earth” and the tabernacle. It is almost as if the tent and ark are constructed in order to ensure that God, so clearly present at Sinai, would not be left there once the people continued toward Canaan. “The Tent is essentially a portable Sinai, wherever it stands bridging the gulf between heaven and earth”; its “function is to transport God’s presence from Sinai to Canaan in a safe container.” 4 As a result, in Exod 25:8 God tells Moses to have the Israelites “build me a sanctuary that I may dwell in their midst.” The rest of Exodus is devoted to the assembly and function of this sanctuary. The text details the construction of the ark and of the tent in which it is housed. In fact the ark and the tent appear together in the text, so it is often difficult to discern the exact nature of the relationship between the two. 5 Both objects are directly associated with God’s presence. Clements notes that, “where the ark is, Yahweh is,” and the same can be said of the tabernacle. 6 Both of these items were seen as portable representations of the presence of God. The tent is called both a dwelling place (ˆkvm) and a meeting tent (lha dawm) and appears in the Torah as the focal point of Israelite religious worship. It is the place where God speaks to Moses, it houses the ark of the cove2. R. W. Klein, “Back to the Future: The Tabernacle in the Book of Exodus,” Int 50 (1996) 271. 3. M. Homan, To Your Tents, O Israel! The Terminology, Function, Form, and Symbolism of Tents in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East (CHANE 12; Leiden: Brill, 2002) 1. See also R. E. Friedman, “Tabernacle,” ABD 6.292–300. 4. W. H. C. Propp, Exodus 19–40 (AB 2; New York: Doubleday, 2006) 365. For discussion of Sinai/Horeb as the locus of God’s temple, see D. N. Freedman, “Temple without Hands,” in Temples and High Places in Biblical Times (ed. A. Biran; Jerusalem: Keter, 1981) 21–30. 5. This is especially true in P texts. See C. L. Seow, “Ark of the Covenant,” ABD 1.388. 6. Clements, God and Temple, 29.

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nant, and it is the only acceptable place to offer sacrifices, the primary mode of communion with the God of Israel. The glory of God (dwbk) enters and resides in the tabernacle, and in that sense the tent serves as a “site of an unceasing and ever-accessible theophany.” 7 Consider the description of the function of the tent in Exod 29:43, 45–46, I will meet with the Israelites there and it shall be sanctified by my glory; I will consecrate the tent of meeting and the altar; Aaron also and his sons I will consecrate, to serve me as priests. I will dwell among the Israelites, and I will be their God. And they shall know that I am the Lord their God, who brought them out of the land of Egypt that I might dwell among them; I am the Lord their God.

The presence of God in the tabernacle demands constant covenant obedience within the Israelite camp. It becomes the task of the Israelites to keep their camp worthy of this presence on a variety of different levels. In addition, it is God’s presence or dwelling within Israel that fulfills the promise he makes to the people in Exod 29:45 that he “will be their God.” In the book of Deuteronomy, we are told that the divine name dwells in God’s sanctuary (12:5, 11; 14:23–24; 16:11). The resulting image in the redacted Torah is that the ˆkvm is the dwelling place of God, the location of his glory and of his name on earth. Propp’s “nuclear power plant” analogy is instructive: Consider the Tabernacle as a nuclear power plant, channeling cosmic power from Heaven to Earth. It must be meticulously tended by specially trained personnel clad in protective garb, who periodically deal with crises of contamination. The least breach of protocol can be disastrous, not just for the technicians but for the entire community. The most dangerous moment . . . is when it is switched on. In a split second, the shrine ceases to be a human artifact and becomes Heaven-on-Earth; the Impure and the Holy almost touch. 8

Following the Israelite conquest in the book of Joshua, the tabernacle is erected at Shiloh (Josh 18:1); then, according to 1 Kgs 8:4 = 2 Chr 5:5, it is moved along with the ark to the temple built by Solomon. 9 According to 1 Kgs 8:10–13, God’s presence (dwbk) fills the temple, just as it did the tabernacle. Although none of the narrative books of the Hebrew Bible provides any information about the fate of the tabernacle after Solomon, both Ps 74:7 and Lam 2:6–7 allude to its destruction along with the temple in 586/87 b.c.e. But what happens to the presence of God? 7. B. Sommer, “Conflicting Constructions of Divine Presence in the Priestly Tabernacle,” BI 9 (2001) 42. 8. Propp, Exodus, 19–40, 367. 9. On the possibility that the tabernacle stood in the temple, see Friedman, “Tabernacle,” 298; and Homan, To Your Tents, 173–85.

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Ezekiel 10 constitutes an elaborate vision of God’s departure from the Jerusalem temple. In 10:18–22, the dwbk moves off the threshold of the temple onto cherubs, who take off, pause briefly at the east gate, and then carry God eastward out of the city to the Mount of Olives. The theological implications of this vision are far-reaching and significant. God was not destroyed by the Babylonians in the Jerusalem temple but survived and literally abandoned the city to its fate. When Ezekiel is finally shown a vision of the future, rebuilt temple, he sees the return of God to “dwell” in the holy of holies, expressly corresponding to the vision of God’s departure (43:2–4). The prophets Haggai and Zechariah seem to mirror the view of their predecessor Ezekiel by reiterating that God will return and inhabit a rebuilt temple: Go up to the hills and fetch wood and build the temple that I might take pleasure in it and that I might appear in glory. (Hag 1:8) I will return to Zion And I will dwell in the midst of Jerusalem. (Zech 8:3)

The Dwelling Place of God, 586/87 B.C.E. to 70 C.E. It is apparent that Israel’s prophets who were active during the Exile hoped that the return to Judah and Jerusalem and a new temple would accelerate and assure God’s return. With the rebuilding of the Jerusalem temple under Cyrus, it appears that Ezekiel’s visions were in fact realized. Though the plan of the Second Temple did not follow the prophet’s blueprint, the return of God to Jerusalem may have been implicit in both the renewed presence of the temple and the resumption of sacrificial offerings. This was most likely the approach eventually adopted by those whom we now identify as the Sadducees. The New Testament points to the importance of the Jerusalem temple and its priesthood in the first century. 10 The ark and the tabernacle, the two biblical elements directly tied to God’s presence, are not present in the Second Temple, and this may have opened the door to some dismay with the view that everything in Israel had gone back to the way it was before the Exile. 11 Even before the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 c.e., various Judaic groups had “moved” the dwell10. A. F. Segal notes the usefulness of the New Testament as a source for understanding first-century Judaic religion, in Paul the Convert: The Apostolate and Apostasy of Saul the Pharisee (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990) xiv–xvi. D. Goodblatt, however, expresses more caution. See “Judean Nationalism in Light of The Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Historical Perspectives: From the Hasmoneans to Bar Kokhba in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (ed. D. Goodblatt, A. Pinnick, and D. R. Schwartz; Leiden: Brill, 2001) 18. 11. There are several rabbinic midrashim in which the ark and the spirit of God or the Shekinah are listed among the items missing from the rebuilt temple (see, for example,

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ing place of God from the temple or had redefined the temple and sacrifice so as to make the centrality and sanctity of the Jerusalem temple less relevant, and perhaps irrelevant. 12 There were several alternate modes of achieving holiness and thus creating an environment in which God’s presence could be located. It seems that at least some of the descendants of Israelite religion had other holy sites where they could encounter God. There was an additional sacrificial system that existed within the land of Israel in the Persian period observed by the Samaritans, who had their own temple on Mt. Gerizim in their own holy city of Shechem. The community of Elephantine in Upper Egypt also had its own temple that housed the presence of God (and perhaps goddess), and thus its own system of sacrifices, until the temple was destroyed in 410 b.c.e. A third temple, established by Onias IV in Leontopolis in Lower Egypt, was built under the Ptolemies and existed until 73 or 74 c.e., according to Josephus. Frey argues that each temple was built for political reasons and notes that, while Philo and Josephus “highlight that the unity of the temple corresponds to the unity and universality of God, this claim did not completely fit the situation in the Diaspora.” 13 The Jesus Movement The Jesus Movement offered another alternative to the Jerusalem temple. The gospels depict Jesus in conflict with temple authorities, though whether this reflects historical events or retrojects tensions felt at the time of gospel composition is not entirely clear. They mention temple priests, including the high priest, Caiaphas by name, and present Jesus in conflict with Sadducees over the question of resurrection. But Jesus is also shown teaching or healing in the temple (Mark 12:35, 14:49 // Matt 21:14 // John 7:28), and on one occasion he directs ten lepers to the temple, and they are healed en route (Luke 17:14). 14 The Jesus Movement directly challenged the temple system in one important regard. Like John the Baptist, Jesus offered forgiveness of sins, an act Num. Rab. 15:10; m. Yoma 21b; Songs Rab. 8.9.3). Clements posits that this hints at dissatisfaction with the Second Temple even at an early stage (God and Temple, 126). 12. We are using the term Judaic religion (rather than Second Temple Judaism or “Judaisms”) to encompass the variety of practices and beliefs observed by a number of groups, all claiming to be descendants of biblical Israel. 13. J. Frey, “Temple and Rival Temple: The Cases of Elephantine, Mt. Gerizim, and Leontopolis,” in Gemeinde Ohne Temple / Community without Temple (ed. Beate Ego, Armin Lange, and Peter Pilhofer; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999) 137. 14. Below, we will discuss the incident of Jesus’ overturning the tables of the temple money changers.

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that bypassed the sacrificial system. Baptism served not only as the marker of this change but also as the very means. This is evident in Mark 1:4–5, “John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” In baptism, according to Crossan, “the rite removed sin just as surely as did the actions of the priests in Jerusalem’s temple. It was . . . a calculated alternative to that salvific system.” 15 Jesus went still further, however. In healing people by forgiving their sins (e.g., the healing of the paralytic in Mark 2:3–11), God’s presence seems to move to Jesus himself. When the scribes ask, “Who can forgive sins but God alone?” (Mark 2:7), the question begs an answer. The divine presence comes to Jesus at his baptism, when the gospels say that the Holy Spirit descends upon him like a dove, and a heavenly voice announces that “this is my Son” (Mark 1:10–11 // Matt 3:16–17 // Luke 3:21–22 // John 1:32–33). The fact that the Spirit comes upon Jesus suggests the presence of God in him. This is most fully developed in John’s Gospel. The Qumran Community and the Pauline Churches Another apocalyptic group, the community at Qumran, completely abandoned the Jerusalem temple before 70 c.e., identifying it as corrupt and impure and therefore lacking the divine presence. “By rejecting the Temple and its cult, the Qumran community had to confront a world without Jerusalem even while the city was still standing.” 16 The altar had been polluted, thus rendering sacrifices unclean. Because the priests failed to observe the commandments (sleeping with menstrual women, marrying nieces, defiling the holy spirit by expressing uncertainty), “whoever comes close to them will not be unpunished; [the more he does it], the guiltier he shall be” (CD-A 5:14–15). 17 The only solution was to separate the community completely from the temple and its cultus, and this is exactly what the community at Qumran did. 18

15. J. D. Crossan, Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1994) 34. 16. J. Neusner, “Judaism in a Time of Crisis: Four Responses to the Destruction of the Second Temple,” Judaism 21 (1972) 317. 17. Translation from F. G. Martínez and E. J. C. Tigchelaar, eds., The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition (2 vols.; Leiden: Brill / Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997–98). 18. L. Schiffman argues that “Remnants of the pious Sadducean priests . . . found it necessary finally to withdraw from participation in the Jerusalem Temple because of the changeover from Sadducean practices to those in accord with the Pharisaic point of view” (“Community without Temple: The Qumran Community’s Withdrawal from the Jerusalem Temple,” in Gemeinde Ohne Temple / Community without Temple [ed. B. Ego, A. Lange, and P. Pilhofer; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999] 268).

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God would build a renewed temple in some eschatological future; in the meantime, God had deserted the temple in Jerusalem, preserving a remnant, however, and providing them with a Teacher of Righteousness to guide the way (CD-A 1:3–11). The community itself would temporarily function as the temple. “The people of the new covenant become themselves the ‘temple’ of God’s presence in the midst of an evil age and in anticipation of its consummation.” 19 By virtue of its adherence to the law and its holiness, the community served as the dwelling place of God, excluding anyone and anything that failed to meet the purity requirements of Lev 21:16–24 and 22:17–25 (1QSa 2:3–11). The life of the community was conducted as if it were a virtual temple. 20 A number of texts describe the group as a “house” or “house of truth.” The Community Rule, for example, says: When these things exist in Israel the Community council shall be founded on truth, to be an everlasting plantation, a holy house for Israel and the foundation of the holy of holies for Aaron, true witnesses for the judgment and chosen by the will (of God) to atone for the land and to render the wicked their retribution. This (the community) is the tested rampart, the precious cornerstone that does not [ ] whose foundations shake or tremble from their place. [ ] (It will be) the most holy dwelling for Aaron with eternal knowledge of the covenant of justice and in order to offer a pleasant [aroma]; and it will be a house of perfection and truth in Israel in order to establish [. . .] a covenant in compliance with the everlasting decrees. (1QS 8:5–10)

Column 5 of the Community Rule reiterates the purpose of righteousness: “to lay a foundation of truth for Israel, for the Community of the eternal covenant. They should make atonement for all who freely volunteer for holiness in Aaron and for the house of truth in Israel and for those who join them for community, lawsuit and judgment, to proclaim as guilty all those who trespass the decree” (1QS 5:5–7). The members of the community acted as the temple and as priests by performing the atonement required by God through living in purity and holiness until the eschatological world to come. Thus, if the temple is the house of God, and the community at Qumran is serving as the temple, then God is present in the community. This is not entirely explicit in the texts, however. Schiffman says that “it was the view of the sectarians that, in view of the impure state of Temple worship, life in the sect, following its principles and its laws, would best bring humans into close 19. S. J. Hafemann, “The Spirit of the New Covenant, the Law, and the Temple of God’s Presence: Five Theses on Qumran Self-Understanding and the Contours of Paul’s Thought,” in Evangelium, Schriftauslegung, Kirche: Festschrift für Peter Stuhlmacher zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. O. Hofius et al.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997) 184–85. 20. Schiffman, “Community without Temple,” 273.

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contact with God.” 21 Yet we have been unable to identify any texts that explicitly state that God dwells in the community, and so we essentially are extrapolating this view from the texts that speak about the holy house that has been created within and by the community. In contrast, the Apostle Paul explicitly says that “we are the temple of the living God,” referring to believers (2 Cor 6:16). Despite this distinction, there are more similarities than differences between the theology of Qumran and Paul. The apostle and his churches share a similar vision of the temple and the presence of God. Like the Qumran community, Paul believes that the faithful must separate themselves from the unclean, maintaining their purity and holiness apart from the defiling world. “Do not be mismatched with unbelievers. For what partnership is there between righteousness and lawlessness? Or what fellowship is there between light and darkness? What agreement does Christ have with Beliar? Or what does a believer share with an unbeliever? What agreement has the temple of God with idols?” (2 Cor 6:14–16). Just as Qumran differentiated between the righteous and the unrighteous, light and dark, and idols and the true temple, so too Paul makes these distinctions. 22 Perhaps most interesting is the shared metaphor of constructing a building, which we find in 1 Corinthians 3, where Paul states that Christ (rather than the community) is the foundation and concludes by saying, “Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy that person. For God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple” (1 Cor 3:16–17). It is important to note that Paul is referring to the entire congregation, not to single individuals, for the “you” is plural. Additional references in the New Testament also point to Christ as the foundation, or cornerstone, of the church (Rom 15:20, Eph 2:20) or to the church as Christ’s body (1 Corinthians 12, Eph 1:23, Col 1:18). 23 The primary difference between Paul and the Qumran community is that Paul believed that the temple, already existing within and as the community, would not be replaced by a literal temple. The members of Qumran, however, were only temporarily acting as the temple, until God built a new one. “This temple was to come down from heaven, and would be eternal.” 24 The Qumran group seemed to share the idea apparent in intertestamental litera21. Ibid., 272. 22. B. Gärtner, The Temple and the Community in Qumran and the New Testament: A Comparative Study in the Temple Symbolism of the Qumran Texts and the New Testament (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965) 50–51. 23. Since many scholars question attributing Colossians and Ephesians to Paul, we note these references simply to show the trajectory of thought that links temple, Christ, church, and body. 24. Gärtner, Temple and Community, 17.

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ture (such as 1 Enoch and Jubilees, found in the caves) that God was to be found in heaven. It would only be in a future, messianic era that God would reconstruct a heavenly temple. The Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice, for example, provide an angelic liturgy for this heavenly temple. 25 A further difference, of course, is in both communities’ understanding of sacrifice. The sectarians at Qumran believed that they would “atone for the guilt of iniquity and for the unfaithfulness of sin, and for approval for the earth, without the flesh of burnt offerings and without the fats of sacrifice— the offering of the lips in compliance with the decree will be like the pleasant aroma of justice and the perfectness of behavior will be acceptable like a freewill offering” (1QS 9:4–5). Because the temple in Jerusalem was no longer holy, sacrifices performed there were inadequate. The community itself would atone for Jerusalem’s sins, through prayer and righteousness. Paul also rejected the sacrificial system of the Jerusalem temple, but he interpreted Jesus’ death as an atoning sacrifice for all, thus ending the need for any further offerings or sacrifices. While Qumran believed that the obedience of the community served a sacrificial function, Paul believed that Christ’s obedience to God was sufficient and put an end to all other types of sacrifice. Thus, Paul gave meaning to the death of Jesus and at the same time provided Gentile audiences with an explanation for abandoning their own local temple sacrifices. The Pharisees Yet another model for encountering God existed before 70 c.e. The theology of the Pharisees seems to have been founded on the premise that the geographical separation envisioned by the Sadducees at the temple, the sectarians living in Qumran, and others could not lead all people to holiness. 26 They believed it was possible and in fact necessary for all Israel to fulfill God’s command to holiness in Lev 19:2 and to present themselves as holy before God, no matter where or how they lived. They strove to keep the purity laws, traditionally reserved for the temple priesthood, outside the temple. While the Pharisees did not oppose the temple or its priests, their adoption of the priestly rules of purity did help undermine the authority and 25. A. Spatafora, From the “Temple of God” to God as the Temple: A Biblical Theological Study of the Temple in the Book of Revelation (Rome: Editrice Pontificia Università Gregoriana, 1997) 83. 26. Admittedly, outside the New Testament (which presents its own set of issues; see n. 10 above) our sources for the Pharisees before 70 c.e. are sparse. It is, however, possible to reconstruct some of their views, because they are represented in later rabbinical literature, though the reliability of these sources, as with the New Testament, is not entirely certain. See the comments of Neusner, “Judaism in a Time of Crisis,” 320–22.

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status of the temple. The holiness of priests, and by implication the temple, could now be extended to the whole people Israel. If God was holy, the people were holy. This meant that the home was sanctified in a way quite similar to that of the temple: the altar was transformed into the dining table. “The Pharisees thus arrogated to themselves—and to all Jews equally—the status of Temple priests and did the things which priests must do on account of that status.” 27 The immanence of God in the home and in the lives of individuals became a real possibility. In addition, the Pharisees observed the Sabbath by gathering together in the synagogue. Again, the New Testament provides abundant evidence of a well-established synagogue system. 28 The four gospels indicate that Jesus taught or healed in the synagogue on more than a dozen occasions. At the same time, Jesus is shown in frequent conflict with the Pharisees over activity representing some type of work on the Sabbath. What is most striking is that in the areas where Jesus preached and taught in the Galilee, the temple was a distant institution, while the synagogue was local, immediate, and apparently thriving. Thus, an emerging community apparently met weekly to read and discuss Torah in the land of Israel as well as in the diaspora. 29 While the Sadducees focused on temple worship, the Pharisees focused on the law. Although neither group rejected or neglected either component, “there was much in the priesthood that Pharisees could not but condemn and that created friction between the priests and the Pharisees, who were essentially purists.” 30 The Pharisees’ interpretation of the law and its application frequently put them at odds with the temple priesthood. In short, well before the destruction of the temple, a number of alternate dwelling places for God—and for God’s glory, presence, and name—were in existence, in well-developed or nascent form. And after 70 c.e., a number of Judaic groups took the dwelling of God still further in new, but not entirely surprising, directions.

27. Ibid., 322. 28. Goodblatt notes that “the origins and early history of the synagogue are much debated and no consensus has emerged” (“Judean Nationalism,” 15). For additional sources regarding the synagogue, see ibid., n. 30. 29. Frey notes that synagogues apparently developed by the third century b.c.e. in the diaspora but that they emerged rather late in Palestine, quite possibly due to the existence of the temple, because “they are given a quite profane designation which avoids any danger of rivalry with the Temple of Jerusalem” (“Temple and Rival Temple,” 197). 30. W. D. Davies, “Aspects of the Jewish Background of the Gospel of John,” in Exploring the Gospel of John: In Honor of D. Moody Smith (ed. R. A. Culpepper and C. C. Black; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996) 47.

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Where Does God Dwell after 70 C.E.? Torah as the Location of God The Pharisaic response to the destruction of the Second Temple comes to us in a variety of later rabbinic writings edited and revised over hundreds of years. 31 These sources appear to indicate that, for the early rabbis—who viewed themselves as the immediate successors of the Pharisees—the temple, and by extension the divine-human encounter, need not be restricted to one specific geographic location. 32 By focusing on interpretation of Torah commandments and by pushing the observance of these commandments outside the temple precinct, the Pharisees were able to contend that, for them, the loss of the temple did not cut one off from God. Instead, the precursors to rabbinic Judaism met God in the Torah. The Torah is the record of the Israelite God’s encounter with the people of Israel. The Torah presents the revelation of God to Israel via their ancestors and in nature and history. This revelation, according to the Pharisees, is no longer understood as a series of events in the distant past but, rather, is viewed as an ongoing encounter with God, who reveals himself within this material to all generations past, present, and future. It is in this context that one can understand the opening tractate of m. ªAbot. As Neusner puts it, “study of Torah in the chain of tradition formed by the relationship of disciple to master, from the present moment upward to Moses and God at Sinai . . . affords that direct encounter with God through his revealed words that Judaism knows as revelation.” 33 Torah study then is, in essence, an encounter with God, and as such Torah becomes more than a recollection of past events but rather an experience and opportunity for each person to encounter God in the present. Torah in this sense replaces the tabernacle as the dwelling place of God. Consider m. ªAbot 3:6:

31. See Neusner, “Judaism in a Time of Crisis,” 324. There remains a great deal of difficulty in dealing with the complexity, volume, and inconsistency of the rabbinic literature that the Talmud comprises. It is also difficult to determine within the rabbinic corpus which material is reflective of attitudes immediately following the events of 70 c.e. and which material is from periods considerably later. 32. Even though the Mishna presupposes the existence of a heavenly temple, the rabbis have clearly adopted priestly rules for all, thus diminishing the need for an earthly temple as the locus for the encounter with God. For the rabbinic concept of the heavenly temple, see S. Safrai, “The Heavenly Jerusalem,” Ariel 23 (1969) 11–15. For the concept of a heavenly temple in the biblical period, see Freedman, “Temple without Hands,” 21–30. 33. J. Neusner, Judaism in the Beginning of Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984) 16.

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Rabbi Halafta of Kfar Hananiah says, “Among ten who sit and work hard on Torah study The Presence comes to rest, as it is said, ‘God stands in the congregation of God’ (Ps 82:1). . . . Whence do we know even by five? As it says, ‘the foundation of his group is on earth’ (Amos 9:6). When do we know even by the three? As it says, ‘among the divine beings he pronounces judgment’ (Ps 82:1). Whence do we know even two? As it says, ‘Thus those who fear the Lord have conversed one with another and the Lord has heard and listened to it’ (Mal 3:16) And how do we know that this is even so of one? Since it is said, ‘In every place where I record my name I will come to you and I will bless you’ (Exod 20:24) and it is in Torah that God has recorded his name.” 34

Torah study among a community of devoted believers, even individual Torah study, is envisioned as occasioning the presence of God. 35 The following passage from b. Sabb. 63a is illustrative of a similar attitude: R. Abba said in the name of R. Simeon b. Lakish: “When two scholars pay heed to each other in halachah, the Holy One, blessed be He, listens to their voice, as it is said, ‘Thou that dwellest in the gardens, The companions hearken to thy voice: Cause me to hear it.’ But if they do not do thus, they cause the Shechinah to depart from Israel, as it is said, ‘Flee, my beloved, and be thou like. . . .’ ”

Just as God is present, some would even say incarnate, in Torah, so too can the presence of God be found in prayer. 36 There are several rabbinic texts that suggest that Jewish prayer involves envisioning the presence of God in one’s mind; “the one who prays must see himself as if the Shechinah were opposite him, as it says, ‘I have set the Lord always before me’ ” (Ps 16:8) (b. Sanh. 22a). Wolfson argues that the rabbinic idea of true intention in prayer or hnwk (from the root nwk, “to turn” or “face a particular direction”) 34. A similar concept is found in b. Ber. 6a, where God’s presence is said to dwell among ten men praying together, three who deliver judgment, and two who study Torah. So too in a midrash on Lamentations, it is said that one who sits in private Torah study has God sitting with him. Similarly, a midrash on Song of Songs, “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth,” declares that, “when two colleagues sit and study Halacha together, it is as if they kiss God.” Both quoted in J. Abelson, The Immanence of God (New York: Hermon, 1912) 144. See also E. Wolfson, “Judaism and Incarnation: The Imaginal Body of God,” in Christianity in Jewish Terms (ed. T. Frymer-Kensky et al.; Boulder: Westview, 2000) 246–48. 35. There is a correlation between the name of God (in this case the actual letters that make up the divine name) and the presence of God as symbolically located in Torah, and the Deuteronomic idea that God dwells in the sanctuary that bears his name (cf. Deut 12:5, 14:23–24, 16:11). 36. For discussion on Torah incarnate, see J. Neusner, The Incarnation of God: The Character of Divinity in Formative Judaism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988) 82 and following; and Wolfson, “Judaism and Incarnation,” 246–51.

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“involves the formation of an iconic image of God within the mind or heart.” 37 In this sense, God is present among those engaged in prayer, just as he is among those involved in the study of Torah. In rabbinic literature we also encounter the concept of the presence of God as the “Shekinah.” This term derives from the verb nkv, “to dwell,” and is directly related to the etymology of the ˆkvm. Indeed the initial use of nkv referred to the dwelling place or abode of God and only gradually came to refer to God himself. 38 As such, numerous rabbinic texts reflect the difficulty in comprehending what happened to the Shekinah after its initial dwelling place (the Jerusalem temple) was destroyed: It has been taught: R. Simon b. Yohai said: “Come and see how beloved are Israel in the sight of God, in that to every place to which they were exiled the Shechinah went with them. They were exiled to Egypt and the Shechinah was with them, as it says, ‘Did I reveal myself unto the house of thy father when they were in Egypt.’ They were exiled to Babylon, and the Shechinah was with them, as it says, for your sake I was sent to Babylon. And when they will be redeemed in the future, the Shechinah will be with them, as it says, ‘Then the Lord thy God will return [with] thy captivity.’ It does not say here ‘and he shall bring back’ but and ‘he shall return.’ This teaches us that the Holy One, blessed be He, will return with them from the places of exile.” Where [is the Shechinah] in Babylon? Abaye said: “In the synagogue of Huzal and in the synagogue of Shaf-weyathib in Nehardea. Do not, however, imagine that it is in both places, but it is sometimes in one and sometimes in the other.” (b. Meg. 29a)

The rabbinic concept of Shekinah suggests that the early rabbis did not entirely abandon the idea of tabernacle but in fact redefined it. Now the portable tent containing the presence of God became the portable presence of God himself. Jesus as the Tabernacle of God The most dramatic shift in New Testament theology regarding the destruction of the temple in 70 c.e. appears in the Gospel of John, where Jesus’ body becomes the new temple, and he himself serves as the tabernacle for the presence of God. “In this historical situation the Johannine community transferred the meaning of the Temple to the person of Jesus.” 39

37. See E. Wolfson, “Iconic Visualization and the Imaginal Body of God: The Role of Intention in the Rabbinic Conception of Prayer,” Modern Theology 12 (1996) 139–40. 38. Abelson, Immanence of God, 79. 39. M. L. Coloe, God Dwells with Us: Temple Symbolism in the Fourth Gospel (Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 2001) 6.

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All four gospels depict Jesus overturning the tables of money changers in the temple (Mark 11:15–17, Matt 21:12–13, Luke 19:45–47, John 2:15– 16). Wohlgemut identifies three ways that this scene is usually interpreted: that the financial transactions occurring were corrupt and thus open to condemnation; that Jesus is criticizing the practice of commerce occurring in the temple; and that Jesus is signaling the “replacement” of the sacrificial system and Jewish worship. 40 Sanders argues that Jesus was preaching the restoration of a renewed Israel, symbolized by his prophetic act. 41 John’s account of this event differs from the synoptic reports in several key ways. The synoptics place this event at the end of the gospels—perhaps indicating that this is the way Jesus came to the attention of temple authorities. John locates it at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, as its inauguration. 42 The Judeans ask Jesus what he thinks he’s doing causing a ruckus, and he replies: “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” The Jews then said, “This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?” But he was speaking of the temple of his body. After he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed the scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken. (John 2:19–22, nrsv)

Unlike the synoptics, John states explicitly that the temple is Jesus’ body. Kerr observes that Jesus may be referring to his resurrected body as the new temple. 43 He highlights the difference between Jesus’ body in John 2:21 and Jesus’ flesh in John 1:14 and notes that the weakness of the flesh may explain “why John does not speak of the Temple of Jesus’ flesh, but the Temple of his body.” We believe that something else is going on in John’s Gospel, however —namely, a deliberate contrast between temple and tabernacle. This becomes clear in the prologue to the Gospel in 1:1–18. John 1:1–4 identifies Jesus as the Logos of God. Logos is usually translated “Word,” though Logos in Greek thought suggested God’s rationality, reason, 40. J. R. Wohlgemut, “Where Does God Dwell? A Commentary on John 2:13–22,” Direction 22 (1993) 87–93, here p. 88. Wohlgemut argues for replacement. 41. E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (London: SCM, 1985) 75. 42. R. E. Brown argues that John puts the temple scene at the beginning to link it to the anti-temple statement made by Jesus. The Gospel according to John (2 vols.; AB 29– 29A; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1964) 1.118. 43. A. Kerr, The Temple of Jesus’ Body: The Temple Theme in the Gospel of John (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002) 93–94. Others note the connections, and comparisons with Moses in John’s Gospel, for example, J. F. McGrath, John’s Apologetic Christology: Legitimation and Development in Johannine Christology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001) 151–82.

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and wisdom. Logos also referred to God’s rbd or Word spoken at Creation, and thus John 1:1–3 shows Jesus—or rather, the Logos—present and involved in creation. “In the beginning was the Logos, and the Logos was with God, and the Logos was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.” Not only was the Logos with God, but the Logos was God. Because the Gospel narrates the life of Jesus, the author begins the work by establishing a clear relationship between Jesus and God. We see an identity between Jesus, the son, and his divine Father throughout John. For example, Jesus says, “If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him. . . . Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. . . . I am in the Father and the Father is in me” (14:7, 9, 10). A second text in John links the divine Logos to the human Jesus. “And the Logos became flesh, and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14, nrsv uses “Word” rather than Logos). The Greek word translated variously “lived” (nrsv), “dwelt” (rsv), and “made his dwelling” (nab) is ejskhvvnwsen, which comes from the Hebrew word for tent, or tabernacle. John is saying that the Logos “tabernacled” among us. Thus, the Logos of God is present to humanity in the flesh of Jesus. The idea of God tabernacling with us on earth, rather than in heaven, appears throughout Jewish Scripture. Ezekiel reports God saying: “My tabernacle [kataskhvnwsÇÍ] also shall be with them: yea, I will be their God, and they shall be my people” (37:27, kjv). The prophet Joel states, “so shall ye know that I am the Lord your God tabernacling [kataskhnΩn] in Zion, my holy mountain: then shall Jerusalem be holy, and there shall no strangers pass through her any more” (3:17 kjv). A third example comes from Zechariah: “Sing and rejoice, O daughter of Zion: for, lo, I come, and I will tabernacle [kataskhn∫sw] in the midst of thee, saith the Lord. And many nations shall be joined to the Lord in that day, and shall be my people: and I will tabernacle [kataskhn∫sousin] in the midst of thee, and thou shalt know that the Lord of hosts hath sent me unto thee” (2:10–11 kjv, 2:14–15 in LXX). While it is possible that John 1:14 is alluding to these prophetic works, the evangelist seems to be referring to the actual tent of meeting, or tabernacle, of the Israelites, which is described in great detail in the book of Exodus. The fact that John uses the word “glory” two times in reference to the Logos’s “tabernacling” among us points to Exod 40:34, when “the cloud covered the tent of meeting, and the glory of the Lord filled the tabernacle.” 44 God’s “glory” appears elsewhere in Exodus when, for example, God tells Moses to hide in the cleft of a rock so that, when the glory passes by, Moses 44. Kerr, Temple of Jesus’ Body, 117–23.

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will see it only from the back (33:17–23). Draper argues that in John 1:14 “the emphasis lies on glory and not flesh.” 45 In both Exodus and John, a theophany occurs. “With Jesus, the Word made flesh,” writes Kerr, “there is a new beginning—in particular a new beginning for the locus of the presence of God. His presence is no longer found in the Tent of Meeting/Temple, but in Jesus Christ.” 46 Unlike Kerr, we are not equating the tent of meeting with the temple in this paper. On the contrary, the two concepts have very different meanings. Propp regards the temple and the tent (tabernacle) “as alternative, not complementary loci of worship.” 47 This view seems supported by the New Testament, in which the tabernacle generally is viewed positively while the temple generally, though not always, is viewed negatively. The use of “tabernacle” in John, for example, may imply an audience of Samaritan Jews and others for whom the temple in Jerusalem was not sacred. 48 It seems to us that the temple of Jesus’ body implies a fixity that the concept of tabernacle undermines. While the temple is set on Mount Zion in the holy city, with God enthroned in heaven and on earth, the tent of meeting or tabernacle suggests God’s portability and mobility, God’s presence wherever we are. Propp calls Jesus the revived tabernacle, “God’s temporary, soft, mobile presence on Earth,” and this seems to be what John is implying. 49 At the same time, the perishable tabernacle of flesh is replaced by the imperishable temple of Jesus’ resurrected body, according to John’s Gospel. John’s discussion of the Logos’s tabernacling among us echoes the tabernacling of Sophia, or Wisdom, in the deuterocanonical book of Sirach, which was written in Greek before 180 b.c.e. Sirach claims that Sophia “tabernacled” in the highest heavens and had a throne “in a pillar of cloud.” She was also sent to earth to “tabernacle” among the people. Then the Creator of all things gave me a command, and my Creator chose the place for my tabernacle [skhnhvn]. He said, “Make your tabernacle [kataskhvvnwson] in Jacob, and in Israel receive your inheritance.” Before the ages, in the beginning, he created me, and for all the ages I shall not cease to be. In the holy tabernacle [skhn¬Å] I ministered before him, and so I was established in Zion. (Sir 24:8–10, nrsv)

45. J. A. Draper, “Temple, Tabernacle, and Mystical Experience in John,” Neotestamentica 31 (1997) 275. 46. Kerr, Temple of Jesus’ Body, 103–4. 47. Propp, Exodus 19–40, 391. 48. C. Koester, The Dwelling of God: The Tabernacle in the Old Testament, Intertestamental Jewish Literature, and the New Testament (Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association, 1989) 108, 115. 49. Propp, Exodus 19–40, 391.

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Here the tabernacle could refer to the literal tent of meeting; but it also could imply the presence of God among the Israelites. The reverberation of Sirach 24 in the prologue to John is rather unmistakable, with references to Sophia/ Logos, Creation, and tabernacling. “John has capitalized on an identification of Jesus with personified divine wisdom as described in the Old Testament.” 50 Tabernacle usually seems to refer to the immanence of God, while temple seems to refer to the priestly cultus and thus the separation from God that is overcome by sacrifice. In this respect, the tabernacle is “superior” and the temple is “inferior,” especially after its destruction. We can see this in a number of New Testament texts, including the book of Acts. 51 There Stephen indicts his Jewish listeners for building a temple rather than a tabernacle, arguing, “the most High dwelleth not in temples made with hands” (Acts 7:48, kjv). “In the place of the building made by hands Stephen contrasts the direct access to the glory of the heavenly place where Jesus stands at the right hand of God.” 52 Later in Acts, when the early church is debating Torah requirements for Gentile followers of Jesus, James quotes the prophet Amos, who says that God will raise up the tabernacle of David and repair it in order to call out all the Gentiles (Amos 9:11). The tabernacle harks back to Mosaic traditions, to which a variety of different Judaic groups might subscribe. While Luke–Acts does not have an incarnational Christology the way John does, 53 this reference to Amos could be alluding to the tabernacle of God in Jesus. The book of Hebrews—probably written after 70 c.e., though a few scholars date it as early as 60—ignores the temple (although it does discuss priests) and focuses completely on the tabernacle and sanctuary that Jesus entered. These are heavenly, rather than made of human hands (Heb 9:11, 24). “Just as the first covenant is inferior to the new covenant, there is also an aspect of the first tent [the outer tent of Leviticus 16] that makes it inferior to the second tent or holy of holies.” 54 Just as there is a greater and lesser tent in Israelite tradition, there is a greater and lesser priest and sacrifice: Jesus is the new, and greater, priest and sacrifice in Hebrews. The path to God comes 50. R. E. Brown, An Introduction to the Gospel of John (ed. Francis J. Moloney; ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 2003) 259. 51. C. R. Hutcheon argues that, in general, Luke–Acts views the temple positively rather than negatively, seeing it as God’s presence with us and the location of God’s revelation; “ ‘God Is with Us’: The Temple in Luke–Acts,” St. Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 44 (2000) 3–33. 52. Draper, “Temple, Tabernacle,” 274. 53. But for a type of pneumatic incarnation, see M. Borg, Jesus: A New Vision: Spirit, Culture, and the Life of Discipleship (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1991). 54. S. Stanley, “Hebrews 9:6–10: The ‘Parable’ of the Tabernacle,” NovT 37 (1995) 385.

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through Jesus’ blood, “by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain (that is, through his flesh)” (10:20). In the original tabernacle, access to the holy of holies was limited to the high priest, but in Hebrews, all now have access to the divine presence. 55 As in John’s Gospel, Jesus’ body is glorified and serves a salvific purpose, much as the tabernacle does. “It is only the glorified body of Christ that can give humanity access to God.” 56 We will conclude this discussion of tabernacle with two provocative references from the Apocalypse of John. Rev 7:15 envisions God dwelling with the redeemed, in heaven. “Therefore they are before the throne of God and serve him day and night in the temple [naåÅ ] of him, and the one sitting on the throne will spread [his] tent [skhn∫sei] over them.” In this passage, “tabernacle” indicates God’s protection. But the conjunction of temple and tabernacle in the same verse suggests something more, the push-pull of transcendence (the God hidden in the holy of holies) and immanence (God present in the tent of meeting). “By associating the two symbols John is affirming that the transcendent Deity is no longer separated from his people, but is immediately present to them.” 57 Rev 21:3–4 uses the word “tabernacle” in the sense of the divine presence in the tent: “And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘See, the tabernacle [skhnh;] of God is among mortals. He will tabernacle [skhn∫sei] with them; they will be his people[s], and God himself will be with them [alt: and be their God]’ ” (nrsv). Chapter 21 describes a new heaven and a new earth, and a new Jerusalem coming down out of heaven in which no temple exists, “for its temple is the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb” (21:22). Koester argues that the tabernacle is both Jerusalem and the Christian community, saying “the tabernacle-city is the church in the new age.” 58 Spatafora agrees that the heavenly temple symbolizes the church, “because the Church is the place where Christians encounter God.” 59 When Jesus dies in John’s Gospel, his followers confront the same potential problem as those who suffered the destruction of the Second Temple: where does the divine presence reside once the tabernacle is gone? “If the Temple has its sole meaning expressed in the sarx [flesh] of Jesus, then the Johannine community is in the same position as its Jewish contemporaries who have lost their Temple.” 60 The language of glorification that appears through55. Ibid., 394. 56. Spatafora, From the “Temple of God,” 121, citing A. Vanhoye, Prêtres anciens, prêtre nouveau selon le Nouveau Testament (Paris: Parole de Dieu, 1980). 57. Spatafora, From the “Temple of God,” 155. 58. Koester, Dwelling of God, 131. 59. Spatafora, From the “Temple of God,” 158. 60. Coloe, God Dwells with Us, 216.

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out John’s Gospel, however, indicates that the story does not end at Jesus’ death. 61 Furthermore, the evangelist continuously sets the stage for the transfer of divine presence from Jesus to the community surrounding him. At the Feast of Tabernacles in chap. 7, for example, Jesus promises his disciples “living water”: On the last day of the festival, the great day, while Jesus was standing there, he cried out, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink. As the scripture has said, ‘Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.’ ” Now he said this about the Spirit, which believers in him were to receive; for as yet there was no Spirit, because Jesus was not yet glorified. (John 7:37–39, nrsv)

This passage points to Jesus’ promise of “another Advocate” (14:15–17), which God the Father will give and which the disciples will recognize “because he [the Advocate] abides with you, and he will be in [among] you” (14:17b). Indeed, Coloe argues that the major theme of Jesus’ final discourses in John (chaps. 13–17) is preparation of the disciples for Jesus’ future absence. In chap. 14 Jesus discusses “my Father’s house,” which she understands as “household,” thus referring to a group of people, rather than family. “It has a personal and relational sense rather than a physical building.” 62 Although Jesus is leaving the disciples, God’s presence is not departing, as Jesus makes clear to the “beloved disciple” by instructing his mother that this is her son, and the “son,” that this is his mother (19:26–27). “Here at the cross as Jesus dies and hands down the Spirit, the Beloved Disciple, representative of all disciples, is reborn into a new familial relationship with the Father, drawing him into the ‘household’ of the Father. As one Temple is raised up on the cross, a new Temple is being raised up at the foot of the cross.” 63 Other scholars have also identified the re-creation of the temple, and thus the presence of God, within the community of Jesus’ followers in John and additional New Testament texts. 64 61. C. Cory, “Wisdom’s Rescue: A New Reading of the Tabernacles Discourse (John 7:1–8:59),” JBL 116 (1997) 108. 62. Coloe, God Dwells with Us, 217. But see Draper, who argues for Merkabah mysticism (“Temple, Tabernacle,” 275–85). 63. Coloe, God Dwells with Us, 219. 64. Gärtner claims that, for the early Judaic communities of Qumran and Paul as well as the later New Testament communities reflected in the Gospel of John, Hebrews, and 1 Peter, the community comes to represent the temple. “As [God] had once ‘dwelt’ in the temple, so he now lived in the midst of the community” (Temple and Community, 100). Hutcheon sees God “going out” from the temple and from Jerusalem and the holy land and spreading throughout the world in Luke’s book of Acts (“God Is with Us,” 379– 95). Wohlgemut argues that “[t]he Johannine community does not simply worship a

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Jesus’ followers, therefore, shifted God from the temple into the community of believers both before and after the destruction of the Second Temple. Paul wrote that believers were the new temple of the Spirit. John wrote that God “tabernacled” in Jesus during his lifetime but “moved” into the community in the life of the Spirit. Later Christian literature considers both the church and the individual to be the temple of God. The move of God’s indwelling presence from Jesus into the community allows for the continuing encounter with God even after the death and resurrection of Jesus. God was not absent, no matter what. Conclusion The destruction of the Second Temple forced Judaic religions to reassess the locus of God’s immanence. Yet even before the temple system collapsed, various groups had developed creative ways to “find God” and to offer sacrifices. The idea of tabernacle—the mobile divine presence traveling with a holy people—and the idea of temple—the fixed location for encountering the divine—led to diverse explanations and interpretations of what these concepts might mean. The existence of a temple in Jerusalem did not negate the possibility of a human temple existing as community, as is seen in Qumran and the Pauline churches. The community at Qumran sought God within their own geographical isolation, while the Pauline churches encountered God within the “temple” of the community. In addition, the Jerusalem temple did not preclude the existence of other temples outside Judea. With the temple destroyed, we find that different Judaic groups began to use temple and tabernacle terminology as metaphors for the presence of God. That is, they redefined temple and tabernacle, interpreting them in imaginative ways to meet the demands of a new historical situation and to answer the pressing question of the whereabouts of God. The Pharisees, for example, found God within the Torah itself, while the followers of Jesus identified God in Christ. God was present to the emerging Christian community in the word (Scripture) about the Word (Jesus): “If two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven,” Matthew quotes Jesus as saying. “For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them” (Matt 18:19–20). God was present to the emerging ‘once-for-all’ entry of God into human history: it sees itself as the dwelling place of God in the present context” (“Where Does God Dwell?” 92). Finally, Spatafora claims that, whereas John’s Gospel uses “tabernacling” to refer to God’s presence in Christ, Revelation uses tabernacling to indicate “God’s indwelling in the Church” (Rev 7:15–17, 21:3). “God ‘pitches his tent’ over his people in the Church in the present age and he will dwell with them in the perfected Church of the New Jerusalem” (From the “Temple of God,” 289).

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Jewish community also in the word (Torah), for Rabbi Halafta had said, “ ‘The Shechinah dwells amongst ten men who sit together occupied with the Torah . . .’ and even among a single one, for as Exodus 20:21 says: ‘In every place where I cause my name to be mentioned I will come to you and bless you’ ” (m. ªAbot 3:6). Both communities envision a divine body, though the substance of that body differs. According to Wolfson, for Jews “the divine body is composed of the letters of the Torah, which is the name, but that body is apprehended only when the Torah is contemplated with the proper intention. Through the body of the text one accesses the text of the body.” 65 Propp notes this phenomenon in Jewish synagogue practice, where “worshipers face the scroll; it is dressed in fine clothes and precious metals and paraded around.” Although the Torah’s “skin” may not be touched, its garments may. “To outward appearances, in other words, Torah serves as a surrogate for God.” 66 For Christians the divine “body” exists in Jesus, and we see a similar pattern in the centrality of the cross (and for Catholics, the crucifix) in the architecture of the church. In addition to the presence of God in the Logos, however, God exists in Scripture. For both groups, therefore, the “body” has its home within the community of interpreters. In this sense, “what the Torah is for Jews, Jesus is for Christians.” 67 Both provide for the ongoing encounter with God in the present, and both establish the immanence of God in the congregation of believers. The different locations for finding God affirm the basic fact of God’s ongoing presence to Christians and Jews. 65. Wolfson, “Judaism and Incarnation,” 251. 66. Propp, Exodus 19–40, 374. 67. L. Kravitz, “The Torah and Jesus,” Living Pulpit 6/4 (1977) 26.

The First Halleluyah Ziony Zevit University of Judaism

According to the J source in the Pentateuch, humankind began to address the deity by the name Yhwh in the days of Enosh, the grandson of Adam and Eve: “then people began to call on the name of Yhwh” (Gen 4:26). According to traditions preserved in the E source, this particular appellation was used only after its revelation to Moses at Mt. Horeb/Sinai; prior to that, a variety of other names were known and used: ªélohê ªabraham, ªélohê yiß˙aq, ªélohê yaºåqob, ªel, ªélohîm, ªel sadday (Exod 3:6, 13, 15; 6:3). In addition to these, various texts in the Tanakh know of an additional divine name, one never reported as having been revealed. The name that never appears in casual narrative prose but is attested in psalmody, heroic poetry, and as a theophoric element in personal names is Yah. Commonly acknowledged to be derived from Yhwh—a name based on some form of the Hebrew word for existence—Yah is inexplicable as the end-result of some phonological process in Hebrew. It is a nonce form. What is even more interesting about this name when compared with all other divine appellations is that it makes no lexical sense. 1 It lacks meaning. It appears to be an arbitrary coinage, a private name, something comparable to a made-up term of endearment bestowed by a lover to the beloved. 1. In 1936, M. Buber presented a suggestion attributed to a remark by Bernhard Duhm in a Göttingen seminar almost 50 years earlier, a remark never published—that is, the divine name originated as an appellation based on a vocative element /ya/ and the masculine pronoun hwª, which would have been pronounced either /hu/ or /huwwa/ (on the basis of Arabic), conveying an undefined sense such as “Oh, it is he!” Eventually, the primeval designation Yah or Yahu evolved into a standardized primeval “Gott-Schrei,” divine invocation. Yhwh developed as the “primitive sound” was etymologized in Hebrew (Königtum Gottes [Berlin: Schocken, 1936] 83–84; Moshe [Jerusalem: Schocken, 1946] 38–39 [Hebrew]). According to the Buber-Duhm explanation, Yah anticipated and indeed precipitated the longer name. Hebrew inscriptional evidence from the Iron Age coupled with the data adumbrated below do not support this contention. I thank my colleague David Lieber for drawing my attention to Buber’s comments.

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In most Masoretic texts, the he grapheme is usually dotted with a mappîq when yh is written as a self-standing word or when connected to a preceding word by a maqqep. This indicates that the final grapheme was realized as a consonantal /h/. Consequently, the pronunciation of Yah ended in a puff of exhaled breath after the vowel. It did not terminate in an extended vowel that could be dragged on and slowly fade like English “hurrah.” When integrated into the preceding word, as in the case of anthroponyms, Masoretic tradition did not mark the he with a mappîq. This indicates that in the tradition recorded by the medieval Masoretic scholars, its pronunciation was not distinguished from the feminine ending -â in which the final he is a mater lectionis for the vowel /a/. Loss of the final consonant /h/ may have been due to the rarity of words with final consonantal /h/ in Hebrew combined with the increasing tendency in common speech to prefer shorter forms of names and to shorten long ones. Attested from the end of Iron Age II, this tendency is discussed below. The objective of this paper is to ascertain through a consideration of both epigraphic and biblical evidence in combination when men coined and began to call the name Yah. Evidence from Israelite proper names, both biblical and extrabiblical, has been studied in detail elsewhere and may be summarized briefly. To date, about 30 -yh names such as gdyh, ßpnyh and pl†yh and approximately 265 -yhw names such as gdyhw, ßpnyhw, and pl†yhw are attested from the latter half of the Iron Age II period in inscriptions, seals, and bullas. Thus, although infrequent, -yh names now compose approximately 10% of inscriptionally attested preexilic names terminating in either -yhw or -yh. 2 On the basis of this epigraphic evidence, the earliest date at which -yh names appear to have been given is the middle of the eighth century b.c.e. 3 From the last quarter of the eighth century until the Exile, these names be-

2. Z. Zevit, “Onomastic Gleanings from Recently Published Judahite Bullae,” IEJ 38 (1988) 233; N. Avigad, “Two Seals of Women and Other Hebrew Seals,” ErIsr 20 (Yadin Volume; 1989) 93; J. Renz and W. Röllig, Handbuch der Althebräischen Epigraphik (vol. 2/1; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1995) 55–87; R. Deutsch, Messages from the Past: Hebrew Bullae from the Time of Isaiah through the Destruction of the First Temple. Shlomo Moussaieff Collection and an Up to Date Corpus (Tel Aviv: Archaeological Center Publications, 1997) 144. Although the discovery of Iron Age inscriptions is rare and the discovery of a new name in the epigraphs even rarer, finds of this sort do occur. Projecting into the immediate future on the basis of what has been discovered randomly over a century of excavation and exploration, the number of -yh and -yhw names will continue to change, but the ratio between them is unlikely to shift dramatically. 3. Z. Zevit, “A Chapter in the History of Israelite Personal Names,” BASOR (1983) 10, 14.

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came more frequent. After the Exile, they became dominant, all but replacing -yhw names. 4 A historical-critical evaluation of the 91 -yh names reported in the Bible, particularly names reported in historical narratives, indicates that these names became popular in Israel only at the end of the ninth century b.c.e. and in Judah by the middle of the eighth century, 50 years later. 5 The author of 2 Kings 18 refers to Hezekiah as ˙izqiyyahû (vv. 9, 17, 22, 31) as well as ˙izqiyyâ (vv. 1, 10, 13, 14, 15, etc.). Sennacherib’s inscriptions about his 701 b.c.e. campaign into Judah verify that this use of both forms of the divine name in the name of the same person is not the result of scribal error but a reflection of actual usage. Hezekiah’s name appears in the Annals not only as ha-za-qí-a-ú but also as ha-za-qi-ai-a. 6 The divine name Yah is best known in the collocation hallélûyah in the book of Psalms. Eight psalms begin and end with it, while 13 only end with it. Occurrences of the vocable as introductory and/or concluding formulas are useless for this inquiry because they are extrinsic to the compositions, not being part of the poetic weave of the individual poems. Although they could possibly be original, they could also have been added in the postexilic period for liturgical or redactional reasons. 7 Extrinsic references to Yah are the following: Ps 104:35; 105:45; 106:1, 48 (added to the doxology); 8 111:1; 112:1; 113:1, 9; 117:2; 135:1, 21 (the call to “bless [b-r-k]” in vv. 19–21 is satisfied by v. 21a); 146:1, 10; 147:1 (extrinsic only if kî is an asseverative), 20; 148:1, 14; 149:1, 9; 150:1 (?), 6 (?). 4. Ibid., 3. 5. Ibid., 3–4. This conclusion is based on (a) the assumption that some of the 20 -yh names reported for the tenth–ninth centuries in documents used for the Deuteronomistic History may be the consequence of scribal errors and (b) skepticism regarding the authenticity of the 66 -yh names reported by the postexilic Chronicler for characters living in the tenth–ninth centuries (see pp. 10, 14 ad 3). The assumption reflects my bias that historical narratives and relevant epigraphic resources reflect the actual state of affairs better than do the much-copied genealogical lists. Admittedly, there are almost no epigraphic data bearing on the tenth–ninth centuries b.c.e. Should data of this sort be discovered in abundance, they might necessitate a change in my evaluation of data in Chronicles. Others accept all data in Chronicles at face value and do not distinguish between the two types: J. D. Fowler, Theophoric Personal Names in Ancient Hebrew (JSOTSup 49; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1988) 32–38, 371, table 4:4; J. C. de Moor, The Rise of Yahwism: The Roots of Israelite Monotheism (rev. ed.; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1997) 10–33. 6. Cf. D. D. Luckenbill, The Annals of Sennacherib (OIP; Chicago: Oriental Institute, 1924) 31, 77. 7. Cf. G. H. Wilson, The Editing of the Hebrew Psalter (SBLDS 76; Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1985) 5. 8. The fact that it was added mechanically to the doxology is in itself an argument for the lateness of many of these hallélûyahs.

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An additional -yh that must be accounted for is salhebetyâ in Song 8:6. This word parallels résapêha, “her darts/sparks/arrows,” and is either a gloss or the first word of a missing phrase. No matter which explanation is preferred, parallelism suggests that it should be vocalized like résapêha as a plural noun with a 3rd fem.-sing. possessive suffix: salhabotêha, “her flames.” 9 The word, consequently, is not relevant to this following analysis, even should Song of Songs be dated early. The name Yah is intrinsic to 13 psalms, integrated into the art of the poets and the flow of their lines. One example is Ps 68:5. Although the syntax of the verse is not clear and although the text may be corrupt, Yah is clearly marked as the name of “our god.” A. F. Kirkpatrick plausibly rendered the relevant words “extol him by his name, Yah,” considering the beth of byh, a beth essentiae connected to zammérû. 10 Other possible renderings are “sing concerning” (cf. Ps 138:5) or “by means of ” (cf. Ps 71:22; 144:9; 147:7) “Yah, his name.” 11 Other intrinsic examples: Ps 68:19, yh ªlhym; 77:12, mºlly-yh, “the acts of Yah”; 89:9 (yh appears to be presented as another name for yhwh ªlhy ßbºwt); 94:7 (yh is presented as another name for ªlhy yºqb); 94:12 (yh seems to be another name for yhwh in vv. 11, 14; 102:19, cf. v. 20); 115:17, 18; 116:19, cf. vv. 17–18; 118:5, 14 (this verse will be discussed below), 17, 18, 19; 122:4; 130:3; 135:3–4; 150:6. These psalms can be dated roughly. None contains clusters of postexilic vocabulary or turns of phrase and may therefore be considered preexilic. 12 None contains clusters of morphological or syntactic features characteristic of “early” poetry, such as the preservation of a final root consonant y/w when it opens a syllable—for example, ˙syw (Deut 32:37); use of z as a relative pro9. Cf. M. Pope, Song of Songs (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1977) 670–71. 10. A. F. Kirkpatrick, Book of Psalms (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1939) 380. H.-J. Kraus emends the text to brkw smw, “priest seinen Namen” (Psalmen [1–150] [BKAT 15/1; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1961]). A. Guillaume’s suggestion to connect byh with Arabic baha, “he remembered, was mindful of,” and to render the line “be mindful of his name / and exult before him” is inviting because it obviates the necessity of forced explanations and emendations (“A Note on Ps LXVIII,5,” JTS 13 [1962] 322–23). Hebrew usage would demand a preposition b- after the verb and before sémô. 11. For recent, extensive discussions of Psalm 68, attempting to resolve both linguistic and narrative difficulties in a historical context, see de Moor, The Rise of Yahwism, 171– 98; Z. Zevit, The Religions of Ancient Israel: A Synthesis of Parallactic Approaches (London: Continuum, 2001) 680–84. 12. A. Hurvitz, The Transition Period in Biblical Hebrew (Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 1972 [Hebrew]). Hurvitz dates only 6 psalms to the postexilic period on the basis of linguistic criteria, along with all 4 doxologies that divide Psalms into five books: 103, 117, 119, 125, 144, 145.

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noun (Job 15:17; 19:19); the regular use of the prefix conjugation with and without waw to express the past tense—for example, yiq†ol = wayyiq†ol. 13 They are therefore similar (with regard to these characteristic features) to prophetic texts of the eighth–sixth centuries b.c.e. 14 The name is found three times in what are considered authentic Isaianic passages dated to the last half of the eighth century b.c.e. In Isa 12:2b, it is found in the name of a hymn: ºzy wzmrt yh yhwh wyhy ly lyswºh, “Yhwh is my strength and zmrt yh, and he has become salvation for me.” In its extant form, this verse is syntactically difficult. 15 If, however, the bound form zmrt yh is a lexical unit marking the superlative, “most mighty power” (compare mªplyh, “mighty/great darkness,” Jer 2:31), then yh is the divine name used as a superlative, and the syntactic problem is eliminated philologically. 16 Basing himself on a reading in the Isaiaha Scroll and the Samaritan version of the Torah, S. Talmon proposes a textual solution. He suggests that the original form of the phrase, along with the similar form in Exod 15:2 and Ps 118:14 was ºzy wzmrty yhwh. 17 However, in Isa 12:2b, yhwh may be a gloss on yh as in the second half of Isa 26:4: b†˙w byhwh ºdy-ºd // ky byh yhwh ßwr ºwlmym, “trust in Yhwh forever // indeed in Yah, Yhwh the eternal rock.” 18 In Isa 38:11, lª ªrªh yh yh bªrß ˙yym, “I will not see Yah, Yah (is) in the land of the living,” the second yh may be a dittography 19 or yh yh may be a 13. The reasons for this are discussed in my Anterior Construction in Classical Hebrew (SBLMS 50; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998) 49–65. 14. D. A. Robertson, Linguistic Evidence in Dating Early Hebrew Poetry (SBLDS 31; Missoula: Scholars Press, 1972). Psalms characteristic of the early style, according to this system, are 78, 104, 114. Other biblical texts are the Balaam oracles, Deuteronomy 32, and Job (cf. Robertson, Linguistic, 145–46). I am not comfortable with the use of Robertson’s analysis for dating; nevertheless, it enables us to say that the psalms in which we are interested are written in fairly standard hymnal-poetic Hebrew, the syntax of which is similar to the syntax of the poetic speeches of eighth–sixth century prophetic rhetoricians. 15. The combination yh yhwh was read in a large inscription found in an excavated tomb from Kh. Beit Lei. A new investigation of the inscription indicates that the correct reading is yd yhwh (Zevit, The Religions, 317–27 and the earlier literature cited there). 16. For zmrt, “power, protection,” see the extended discussion and still-relevant analysis of comparative Semitic data by M. L. Barré, “My Strength and My Song in Exodus 15:2,” CBQ 54 (1992) 629–37. 17. S. Talmon, “A Case of Abbreviation Resulting in Double Readings,” VT 4 (1954) 206–8. 18. Usually the uncommon b + yh is perceived to be extraneous. A. B. Ehrlich, Randglossen zum Hebräischen Bibel IV (Leipzig: Hinrich, 1912) 91 omits it, as does O. Kaiser, Isaiah 13–39 (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1974) 205. Here Guillaume also considers it b + yh, cognate with Arabic baha, “he remembered/was mindful” (“A Note”). 19. H. Wildberger, Jesaja (BKAT 10/3; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1976) 1440.

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corruption of yhwh. 20 Thus, it is possible that this verse did not originally include the name Yah. Yah appears also in Exod 15:2, in the Song of Moses, and in Exod 17:16, a liturgical oath swearing eternal enmity against the Amalekites. The poem in Exod 15, conceded to be “early” by most American scholars, is in its extant form no earlier than the dedication of Solomon’s temple in the 11th year of his reign, ca. 951 b.c.e. (cf. Exod 15:13b, 17). It reflects awareness of the conquest traditions, Exod 15:13–16, perhaps even in a proto-Deuteronomistic formulation (cf. Josh 2:9). Yah is evoked in Exod 15:2, part of a liturgical fragment (vv. 2–3) that interrupts the connection between the end of v. 1 and its parallel in v. 4a. F. M. Cross and D. N. Freedman, in their well-known study of this poem, argued on both thematic and metrical grounds that this verse is a late insertion. Although the poem appears to scan in a 2:2 rhythm as discerned through word accents, these lines are in 3:3. 21 Accordingly, this particular reference to Yah, which is similar to the Yah in Ps 118:14 and more original in formulation than the Yah in Isa 12:2 from the late eighth century, cannot be dated with any exactitude. The following reconstruction of the phrase’s history, therefore, is but a guess. The ºzy wzmrt yh phrase is most embedded in Ps 118:10–14, which expresses confidence in divine rescue at almost the last moment from enemies hedging in the psalmist from all sides, surrounding him. Ps 118:14, which contains the phrase, is linked to v. 13 phonologically by the echo of -ºzrny (v. 13), -ºzy wzmrt and to v. 15 semantically by the punned synonymity between zmrt and rnh (v. 15), as well as by the repetition of yswºh (vv. 14–15). In addition, Yah appears in v. 5 of the psalm and three additional times, vv. 17, 18, 19, in the same section of the psalm. After Ps 118:10–15 came to be interpreted as a reference to the miracle at the sea, the phrase was appropriated for Exod 15:2 from the psalm. Accordingly, I conclude that the phrase’s earliest use was in Ps 118:14, a psalm of the eighth century b.c.e., from which it was borrowed and inserted into an earlier composition, “The Song at the Sea” (Exod 15:2), and quoted in Isa 12:2. 22 Exod 17:16, yd ºl ks yh, “hand on the throne of Yah,” is some sort of oath formula associated with the anti-Amalekite tradition. 23 Whatever the exact 20. Kaiser, Isaiah 13–39, 398. 21. F. M. Cross and D. N. Freedman, Ancient Yahwistic Poetry (SBLDS 21; Missoula: Scholars Press, 1975 [a published version of their joint 1950 dissertation]) 54–55. 22. For the opinion that Exod 15:2 is the original source, see W. H. C. Propp, Exodus 1–18: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 2; New York: Doubleday, 1999) 471, 511–13. 23. The context suggests that ks may be an error for ns, “standard” (cf. v. 15), owing to a copyist’s confusion of kap and nun in either paleo-Hebrew or the Herodian square script; but this is irrelevant for dating the passage. Propp connects the emended text, yd ºl

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nuance of this phrase, the anti-Amalekite tradition in Israel is premonarchic. It is taken for granted in the Saul narratives (see 1 Samuel 15, especially v. 33, which implies a long-standing enmity between the Amalekites and Israel, known to the characters in the story as well as to its readers). 24 Furthermore, nothing in biblical historiography that relates events after the establishment of the Davidic monarchy suggests an origin for the ancient antipathy. Despite the fact that Exod 17:16 is embedded in the E narrative from the ninth–eighth centuries b.c.e., the tradition that it represents, whatever its date of origin, is pre-Saul, ca. 1030 b.c.e. 25 Accordingly, the oath formula yd ºl ks yh may represent the oldest attested use of Yah as a divine name in Israel. However, the fact that the narrative strand reporting the phrase is two centuries younger than the reign of Saul renders its date uncertain. The following is a proposed chronology of Yah-attestations in ancient Israel according to the types of evidence considered above: 1. Exod 17:16: oral tradition from the eleventh century b.c.e.? 2. Biblical onomasticon weighted critically: rare in the end of the tenth century, infrequent in eighth century, and then more common 3. Exod 17:16: written text from ninth–eighth century b.c.e. 4. Hebrew onomasticon as represented in epigraphic sources: from the middle of the eighth century b.c.e. 5. Psalms: (ninth [?]), eighth–sixth centuries b.c.e. 6. Exod 15:2: not before the beginning of the eighth century 7. Isa 12:2, 26:4 (38:11 [?]): last part of the eighth century Although a small amount of biblical evidence hints that Yah may have been used infrequently as a divine name in the eleventh–tenth centuries b.c.e., all such attestations are suspect. Biblical and extrabiblical evidence attests to its usage by the eighth century. Therefore, assuming its coinage, perhaps at the end of the tenth, it may be concluded that Yah first became a known but uncommonly used divine name earlier, during the ninth century, and it was then that the first hallélûyah was uttered. ns yh, with Isa 49:22, in which ydy is parallel to nsy but opts conservatively, and correctly in my opinion, to work with the MT (cf. ibid., 620). 24. B. S. Childs, The Book of Exodus (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1974) 311– 12. For the traditiohistorical difficulties of this verse, see M. Noth, Exodus (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1962) 143–44. Propp draws attention to the fact that many medieval manuscripts write ksyh as a single word (Exodus, 615). Although interesting, this writing cannot be considered an authentic refraction of Masoretic tradition in view of the fact that it is not found in the more ancient and highly prestigious codices. The reading itself, however, has no bearing on the argument advanced here. 25. For the attribution to sources, see R. E. Friedman, Who Wrote the Bible? (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1997) 251.

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How did this shout of praise sound? My speculation rests on comprehending Hebrew h-l-l as an onomatopoeic word referring to ululating joyously. When ancient Israelites performed a hallélûyah, they ululated, repeating /lalalala/ before calling out the complete name; or perhaps they echoed /yayayaya/ many times before intoning the final consonant /h/. And, as their breath expired, they held the /h/, terminating finally in drawn-out silence. If this speculation has merit, possibly the coinage was born in ancient reflections on the divine name Yhwh. These may have associated its lexical notions of being and existence and its first root consonant /h/ with a contemplative breathing-practice based on rhythmic inhalation and exhalation. This may have been expressed by the psalmist: “Every breath ululates ‘Yah’! Ululate ‘Yah’ ” (Ps 150:6).

Spice Roots in the Song of Songs Sarah Malena University of California, San Diego

The Song of Songs is unique in the Hebrew Bible, particularly in its focus on secular life and love. Its origin, date, and purpose remain a puzzle, and its historical and cultural contexts are difficult to identify. Scholars have looked throughout the ancient and modern worlds—from ancient Egyptian and Indian love poetry to modern Arabian and Syro-Palestinian songs to the sacred marriage rites of the Sumerians—for clues to explain the text we have today. However, there is a feature of the poem that has not received sufficient attention by commentators: the poem uses natural imagery, especially of spices and perfumes, in the descriptions of the lovers. As they praise each other in Solomon’s Jerusalem, they become an emporium of imports. The clues continue in their dialogue—gushing with comparisons to exotic locations, perfumes, and luxuries. The unifying factor among these qualities is the spice trade from Arabia that reportedly ran through Israel’s territories. A variety of evidence—the Song’s language, imagery, and geography; extrabiblical documentation and archaeology of the ancient spice trade; and discussions of trade in other biblical texts—reveals this often overlooked perspective. Behind the obvious message of human, sexual love is a glorification of Jerusalem’s role in the ancient spice trade. The poem is a swan song to a once great and rich kingdom. This analysis is not meant to be purely literary, however. When we consider the Song as a testament to trade activity, we find additional historical implications. Comparative linguistic analysis suggests a chronological setting in the last days of the Judean monarchy or during the Exile, and historical and archaeological material suggests that we reconsider legends of Solomon, and by extension, Israel’s participation and interest in interregional trade. Through this investigation we find renewed reasons to consider the role this trade played in the development of Israel. Linguistic Evidence The most obvious clue to the relationship between the Song of Songs and the spice trade is the spices themselves. The entire poem provides a rich and detailed catalog of luxury goods, and the man’s praise of his lover in 4:13–14 165

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presents a telling concentration of aromatics: the lover’s jlv holds “excellent fruits” and µymcb yvar lk “all chief spices” along with henna, nard, saffron, cane, cinnamon, frankincense, myrrh, and eaglewood. While µcb “spice” and rpk “henna” may refer to indigenous products, 1 many of the goods in the poem were known only through trade and trade contacts. These imported goods will be the first in our investigation. Frankincense and myrrh, the latter dominating among the poem’s spices, are perhaps the best known of the ancient aromatics. 2 Their sourceland—the southern extent of the Arabian Peninsula and the corresponding region in eastern Africa—is well attested in our ancient documents and in modern research. 3 Our earliest knowledge of these products comes from Egyptian records describing expeditions to (or tribute from) Punt on the eastern coast of Africa, 4 but the Song emphasizes the other source of these goods and the more lucrative trading center of southern Arabia. Nard, saffron, cinnamon, 1. The word µcb is a general term for perfume or aromatics but also refers specifically to the balsam tree and/or oil; Greek bavlsamon (from bavssamon) indicates this narrower sense (Ludwig Koehler and Walter Baumgartner, A Bilingual Dictionary of the Hebrew and Aramaic Old Testament [Leiden: Brill, 1998] 156). In the Septuagint’s Song, however, µcb is translated aßrwma (Song 4:10, 16; 5:1, 13; 6:2; 8:14) and muvrwn (Song 4:14). The literal root meaning of rpk (Song 1:14, 4:13, 7:12) “to smear,” as in pitch, may be the application to the hair and body of dye made from henna leaves. The term is common among Semitic languages including Ugaritic, Akkadian, Aramaic, and Arabic and later is introduced into Greek and Latin (Koehler and Baumgartner, 453). Jericho and Engedi are known for balsam, which grows successfully in the Rift Valley even today; henna’s origin is not known, but it grew throughout the ancient Near East, from eastern Africa to western India and continues to grow in the Jordan Valley (Michael Zohary, Plants of the Bible [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982] 190, 198–99). 2. Frankincense and myrrh are quite familiar from the reference to them in the New Testament (Matt 2:11, John 19:39; also Mark 15:23?) as appropriate markers of or gifts for royalty (see below for discussion of royalty). 3. Kenneth Kitchen is particularly active in writing about this subject; see, for example, his “Egypt and East Africa” and “Sheba and Arabia” in The Age of Solomon: Scholarship at the Turn of the Millennium (ed. Lowell K. Handy; Leiden: Brill, 1997) 106–53; idem, “Punt and How to Get There,” Or 40 (1971) 184–207; see also Nigel Groom, Frankincense and Myrrh: A Study of the Arabian Incense Trade (New York: Longman, 1981) 25–29. 4. There is not a direct correlation between the English words frankincense and myrrh and the Egyptian. Egyptian ºntyw is often translated “myrrh” but seems to refer to Puntspices or incense; sntr is a more generalized term for incense, which included incense native to Egypt (Kjeld Nielsen, Incense in Ancient Israel [ed. J. A. Emerton et al.; VTSup 38; Leiden: Brill, 1986] 5). For early references to Punt, see J. H. Breasted, Ancient Records of Egypt: Historical Documents from the Earliest Times to the Persian Conquest, Collected, Edited, and Translated with Commentary (5 vols.; New York: Russell & Russell, 1962) vol. 1, §§161, 360–61.

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and eaglewood (Song 4:14) are not indigenous to the ancient Near East; the names of the spices themselves point to their origins: ˆwmnq, “cinnamon,” twlha, “eaglewood,” drn, “spikenard,” and µkrk, “saffron,” all derive from Sanskrit terms and are products of southeast Asia. 5 Closer to Israel are Lebanon’s cedar, as well as zwga, “walnut” (6:11), and hnq, “cane” or “calamus” (4:14), both known primarily from Persia. 6 5. The word ˆwmnq is not Hebrew but entered the Semitic languages from India, then from Semitic languages to Greek (Koehler and Baumgartner, 844; Nielsen, Incense in Ancient Israel, 64); the product is indigenous to Ceylon and the Indian coast and was traded from the Far East through the Arabian ports (Zohary, Plants of the Bible, 202). “Eaglewood,” twlha, is also known as “agarwood,” the genus Aquilaria from southeast Asia (Sanskrit aghal ) and is the source of perfume that was much sought after in the ancient and medieval world. From Zohary’s evidence, it appears that the term came into Greek from contact with India; the LXX simply transliterates the Hebrew, alwq. John 19:39 contains ajlovhÍ, a form closer to Hebrew (Zohary, Plants of the Bible, 204; Koehler and Baumgartner, 17). Nard (Song 1:12; 4:13, 14) is known in the Hebrew Bible only through this poem. The plant and name come from India (Sanskrit nalada), where the plant was introduced from the Himalayas; the term appears also to have entered Greek use through Semitic use (Zohary, Plants of the Bible, 205; Nielsen, Incense in Ancient Israel, 64; Koehler and Baumgartner, 635). “Saffron,” µkrk, a hapax legomenon in the Hebrew Bible, may refer to two different plants, Crocus sativus L. and Curcuma longa L.; the former is more widely accepted as the µkrk of the Song of Songs (LXX translates µkrk as krovkoÍ). The alternate, Curcuma longa, turmeric, was used for flavoring foods, as a dye, and for its aromatic properties (Athalya Brenner, “Aromatics and Perfumes in the Song of Songs,” JSOT 25 [1983] 76; Zohary, Plants of the Bible, 206–7). The term has cognates in Akkadian, Aramaic, Arabic, Persian, and Greek. Like nard, the term (Sanskrit kurkuma) and plant come from India; however, Brenner entertains (and dismisses) a more remote possibility that Akkadian kurkanû is the oldest form and was borrowed to the east and applied to the plant (p. 76). 6. “Cedar,” zra, appears in the Song (1:17, 8:9) though not specifically as incense. “Walnut,” zwga, is also a hapax legomenon in the Hebrew Bible. Its origin is unclear, but it appears in later Hebrew and in other Semitic languages (it is argued to occur in Ugartic; see Marvin H. Pope, Song of Songs [AB 7C; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1977] 575). The walnut tree is indigenous to the area between southeastern Europe and Persia (Zohary, Plants of the Bible, 64), but Josephus claims that Galilee is a good setting for walnuts. It has been suggested that the walnut garden of the Song was the king’s garden in Jerusalem, based on the Arabic name Wadi al-Joz for the Kidron Valley (Pope, Song of Songs, 580–81). The word hnq, “cane,” has cognates in Semitic languages (e.g., Ugaritic qn or Akkadian qanû †abu; also Aramaic, Arabic, and Phoenician); the term “calamus” has cognates in Latin, Greek, Sanskrit, and Arabic. The terms refer to the aromatic reed as well as a reed used for measuring or writing. The word hnq refers to any number of aromatic grasses of the species Cymbopogon, among them palmerosa oil grass, camel grass, and lemon grass. Cane’s uses range from medicinal to cosmetic. The residual scent of cane was even detected in explorations of New Kingdom tombs (Zohary, Plants of the Bible, 196). The grasses grow from Israel to India, but Jeremiah identifies the source as “a far away land” (6:20). Nielsen suggests Mesopotamia as a source, because the same phrase in Akkadian (qanû

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The majority of these terms passed into Greek through Semitic forms, which was apparently a consequence of their demand and transport throughout the ancient world, indicating the role of Semitic peoples in trade toward the Mediterranean. The luxury commodities, however, were not limited to the aromatics that are so familiar to modern readers. There are many other foreign luxuries in the Song that further contribute to the trade theme. The poem also employs the “culture words” 7 ˆga and ˆmgra, which connect the text to commerce from the Mediterranean throughout the ancient Near East. The word ˆga, meaning “bowl” generally but also more specifically a krater for mixing wine, has cognates in Akkadian, Hittite, Egyptian, Aramaic, Phoenician/Punic, and Ugaritic. Analysis indicates that the word is of non-Semitic origin, and its path through the Near East is nearly impossible to trace. 8 In Hebrew, ˆga appears on an Arad ostracon in a discussion of the Kittim and a request for provisions including wine. 9 Archaeological finds from the trade centers Cyprus, Palmyra, and Petra include ceramic forms labeled ªgnª, dedicated in offerings to deities. 10 In Akko, the term appears on a Persian period Phoenician ostracon detailing provision for a shrine. 11 Homer’s Odyssey mentions the seemingly related 12 aßggoÍ (16.13), when Eumaios is mixing wine for Odysseus. The term also turns up in Hesiod’s Works and Days (613) in his instruction to Perses regarding Dionysus’s gifts. 13 The image in the Song (7:3) is in praise of the woman’s inviting, round figure; †abu) refers to a local product (Incense in Ancient Israel, 63). Koehler and Baumgartner’s definition, “Persian reed,” seems to agree (p. 844). Pope, however, suggests that it grows in Arabia and Lebanon (Song of Songs, 493–94). 7. P. Mankowski uses this term (Kulturwörter) for “words marked by a high degree of mobility (thus recognizable at the same period in more than one language family and in disparate geographical regions) for which no ultimate linguistic provenance can be assigned” (Akkadian Loanwords in Biblical Hebrew [HSS 47; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2000] 7). 8. Ibid., 21. 9. Yohanan Aharoni, Arad Inscriptions (trans. Judith Ben-Or; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1981) 12–14. 10. Pope, Song of Songs, 618; see also S. A˙ituv, “Flour and Dough: Gleanings from the Arad Letters,” in Solving Riddles and Untying Knots: Biblical, Epigraphic, and Semitic Studies in Honor of Jonas C. Greenfield (ed. Z. Zevit, S. Gitin, and M. Sokoloff; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1995) 381–82, though he disagrees that the ˆga of Arad is the same kind of vessel as the ˆga in the Song. 11. M. Dothan, “A Phoenician Inscription from ºAkko,” IEJ 35/2–3 (1985) 81–94. 12. See Pope, Song of Songs, 618. 13. ◊AggoÍ appears in a number of other instances in Homer (Odyssey 2.289; Iliad 16.643), as well as in Herodotus (The Histories 4.62.3; 5.12.4) but in less comparable contexts.

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first her navel is a wine-filled ˆga krater and then her belly a heap of wheat ornamented with lilies. The word ˆmgra (3:10; 7:6), “purple,” refers to the red dye of the murex shellfish from the Phoenician coast. The term is familiar throughout the ancient sources (variations appear in Luwian, Hittite, Ugaritic, Akkadian, and Aramaic) and not surprisingly considering its value, the product develops royal associations: in Luwian, Hittite, and Ugaritic, its meaning includes “tribute.” 14 The word ˆmgra appears numerous times in the Hebrew Bible (twice in the Song), but the reference in Judg 8:26, in which the Midianites 15 wear ˆmgra ydgb, suggests yet another trade clue in the Song of Songs. Along with the purple garments of the Midianites (who are linked to trade in other biblical texts), Gideon receives the twqn[, the camels’ ornaments, as booty. Like the Arabian camels, who would be the actual conveyers of trade goods, the lover in the Song is also adorned with an qn[ necklace (4:9). The Song employs the Sumerian-Akkadian loanwords ˆma (7:2), “artisan,” and µtk, “gold” (of zp µtk, “fine gold” in 5:11). Both terms are easily traced through trade connections. Sumerian kudim moved into Akkadian as kutimmu, and from Akkadian, the term entered early Canaanite, where it came into contact with Egyptian. It was forgotten in Israel and was later (re)introduced to Hebrew from Egyptian. 16 The term’s travels as a loanword indicate trade, but its association with biblical Ophir makes the connection certain. 17 Trade from Ophir is reported to have come to Israel via the Red Sea port of Ezion-geber (1 Kgs 9:26–28). “Gold of Ophir” (rpa.bh[z]) has also turned up on an ostracon from Tel Qasile, written with some Phoenician characteristics. 18 The word ˆma, “artisan,” originates in Sumerian ummea (Akk. ummânu) and is widely attested in the ancient Near East. It has been proposed in Phoenician and Punic, 19 and its occurrences in Nabatean and Palmyrene Aramaic connect again to trade. 14. Pope, Song of Songs, 444; Mankowski, Akkadian Loanwords, 38–39. 15. The Midianites in the Gideon story are “kings,” µyklm but are also associated with “easterners” (µdq ynb, Judg 7:12, 8:10) and Ishmaelites (8:24) and, according to the nrsv, “the caravan route east of Nobah and Jogbehah” (hhbgyw jbnl µdqm µylhab ynwkvh ˚rd), all conjuring up images of the nomadic desert trader, as in the Joseph story (see Genesis 37). 16. Mankowski, Akkadian Loanwords, 76–77. 17. See Isa 13:12, Psa 45:10, and Job 28:16. 18. Three parallel lines follow the inscription, with a ç to designate “thirty shekels” in what the excavators describe as “the accepted system of writing numerals in Phoenician inscriptions.” This and another ostracon also describing trade goods (oil) were surface finds but were dated to the late Iron Age based on epigraphy (Trude Dothan and Immanuel Dunayevsky, “Tel Qasile,” NEAEHL, 1206. 19. Mankowski, Akkadian Loanwords, 33–34.

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Three other non-Hebrew words conclude our examination of linguistic borrowings. The word vyvrt (5:14) refers to a precious stone in the Song but is also related to a place. The precise location of Tarshish is unknown, but descriptions indicate a Mediterranean site, and the relationship between Tarshish ships and Hiram of Tyre reveals the significant role Tarshish played in Mediterranean sea trade. 20 The word ˆwyrpa (3:9), used in describing Solomon’s litter, is an import from either Sanskrit (paryanka) or Greek (fore∂on), the latter being the most accepted. 21 The word sdrp in the Song (4:13) is the setting for the list of spices in 4:13–14. The Persian pairi-daeza means “enclosure” and “park” in the Akkadian borrowing pardisu 22 and has an additional significance in that the term has connections to royalty. In the sense of a garden of spices, Hatshepsut’s efforts to transplant myrrh trees to her palace garden come to mind as one example 23 but, more generally, rulers typically maintained control of trade activities. These terms, though most familiar because of their use in dating the Song, should also be considered evidence of exchange. In addition to the specific commodities and loanwords, a number of other descriptions in the Song contribute to a trade context. The term jqrm describing the lover’s cheeks in 5:13 is a hapax legomenon, but forms of jqr refer to “perfume ointment and the perfume apothecary.” 24 Another form appears in Song 8:2 for spiced wine, jqrh ˆyy. The woman’s seal in 8:6 finds a parallel in Jerusalem archaeology in a stamped jar handle that also belonged to a woman, which was found in a seventh-century context south of the Temple Mount. 25 Women’s seals had been found before this one, but no impressions of the seals were known. N. Avigad stresses the significance of finding the impression on a jar handle rather than a clay bulla: “It proves that Hannah, the owner of this seal, was involved in a business enterprise. She stamped jars which apparently contained some liquid merchandise such as 20. See, for example, 1 Kgs 10:22. 21. Koehler and Baumgartner, 79. Looking to a Greek origin for the term (derived from forevw, “to carry”) leads many to posit a late, Hellenistic date for the Song, but we know that sea trade around the Mediterranean was active long before the Hellenistic period, and there appears to be plenty of contact in the sixth century b.c.e. to account for borrowings of this sort: the mention of Greeks as Kittim in the Arad ostraca, the appearance of myrrh and frankincense in Sappho’s poetry, and we have already noted the aßggoÍ of Homer and Hesiod (see n. 13 and below), so a Greek origin may not dictate such a late setting. 22. Koehler and Baumgartner, 776. 23. See Pope, Song of Songs, 491. 24. Ibid., 540. 25. Nahman Avigad, “A Note on an Impression from a Woman’s Seal,” IEJ 37 (1987) 18–19, pls. 1:A, B.

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oil, wine, or the like . . . unmistakably demonstrating her active part in administering the production and trade of agricultural commodities.” 26 Thus, the lover’s µtwj takes on a new, commercial possibility. In addition to Hannah’s seal, Jerusalem yielded a handful of potsherds from the City of David excavations inscribed with South Arabian letters and symbols in contexts that date from before the Babylonian destruction. The sherds were incised in “a characteristically Judean chiseling technique,” and at least one sherd (IP 46) may date to as early as the ninth century b.c.e. 27 The import of these terms creates a feeling of exoticism and floods the senses; the reader imagines a luxurious paradise setting. Here, the large number of trade goods and “culture words” are expressed in a number of hapax legomena, a fact that reveals a specialized vocabulary, outside the concern of most biblical texts. We may view the poem as simply a celebration of the great riches, luxury, and success of Solomon, renowned for this sort of extravagance, and tied explicitly to the goods in the poem; but there are additional indications that Solomon’s trading activities are the focus. The poem heightens our awareness of the sources of these items and terms, especially in relationship to the main characters. Geographic References Like the trade terminology, geography in the poem plays an important role in directing us. The most frequently mentioned place in the Song is Jerusalem. The vocative phrase “O daughters of Jerusalem,” which accounts for the majority of the references, locates the speakers and the audience in the capital city. The poem indicates to the reader over and over again that the setting and focus is Jerusalem. The reminders also appear in indirect references to the city. The poem’s attribution to Solomon (Song 1:1) is our first indicator. The reader is immediately transported to Jerusalem, the king’s residence. Even if we discount the first verse as a later addition, numerous references to Solomon pull us into the city. In 1:5, the lover is “black and beautiful” like Solomon’s curtains; 28 Solomon’s litter and his wedding are the subjects in 3:7–11, and in 8:11 and 12 Solomon, the vineyard owner, is addressed by the lover. 29 26. Ibid., 19. 27. Maria Höfner, “Appendix: Remarks on Potsherds with Incised South Arabian Letters,” in Excavations at the City of David VI: Inscriptions (ed. D. T. Ariel; Qedem 41; Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University) 26–28. Four sherds appear in the publication: three from stratum 10 (ca. 650–586 b.c.e.); one was a surface find. 28. This reference contains a play on words between Solomon and Salmah; see the next paragraph. 29. David is also brought into the story in Song 4:4, where the lover’s adorned neck is compared to David’s armored tower.

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The poem frames its focal point with geographical references to the primary northern and southern trade specialists: Phoenicia and Arabia. In Song 3:6, the lover’s words point us directly to Arabian sources: Aˆm hl[ taz ym lkwr tqba lkm hnwblw rwm trfqm ˆv[ twrmytk rbdmh, “Who is this coming up from the wilderness like a column of smoke, emitting incense smoke of myrrh and frankincense, of all the trader’s powders?” The caravan bearing Arabian products is ascending toward Jerusalem from the Judean Desert. Further, the mountains of frankincense and myrrh that are the lover’s destination in 4:6 can only refer to southern Arabia. Through more than a dozen indirect references, the poem alerts the audience to a special relationship with the famous spice resource. In addition, we find connections to Arabian traders in the mention of Kedar and Salmah, set parallel to one another in an alternative reading (“Salmah” rather than “Solomon”) of the previously mentioned Song 1:5. Both were important in transporting goods from South Arabia. Kedar appears as one of Ishmael’s sons in Genesis 25; the list of Ishmael’s descendants follows directly after the genealogy of Abraham and Keturah (literally “incense”). Salmah, though vocalized hmøløv‘ by the Masoretes and often translated “Solomon,” appears in later sources as a North Arabian tribe. 30 The graphic ambiguity works as a clever tool to bring together the controller of trade, Solomon, and the conveyers of trade. The northern extent is marked by the mountains Senir, Hermon, Lebanon, and Amana. Lebanon is mentioned most frequently and would be widely recognized as the source for cedar; Amana (4:8), the Anti–Lebanon mountain range, served as Mesopotamia’s source for aromatics. 31 Senir and Hermon (4:8) are additional mountains from these northern ranges. 32 Persia’s cane and walnut may have come to Israel through Mesopotamia and Phoenicia. The reference to Solomon’s vineyard in ˆwmh l[b (8:11) has provoked comparison to the deities El, Astarte, and Baal of ˆwmj, known from cultic evidence in Phoenician/Punic cities. 33 Similarly, the previously mentioned vyvrt, though it refers to a precious stone in 5:14, necessarily calls to mind Solomon and Hiram’s ships and the Mediterranean trade city (1 Kgs 10:22). The poem uses the double meaning to expand the geographical range of the poem to the reaches of Phoenician influence and trade, an extension of Israel according to Solomon’s partnerships in the biblical history. The northern and southern markers directly parallel the Arabian and Phoenician trade 30. See E. A. Knauf, “Shalma,” ABD 5.1154. 31. Amana was popular before trade connections were established with South Arabia (W. F. Leemans, Foreign Trade in the Old Babylonian Period: As Revealed by Texts from Southern Mesopotamia [Leiden: Brill, 1960] 4, 8–9). 32. Deut 3:9 clarifies that these are in fact two names for the same mountain, but they may also refer to different parts of the same mountain range; see Pope, Song of Songs, 475. 33. See ibid., 686–88; see also Koehler and Baumgartner on ˆwmj, ˆwmh.

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contacts reported in the Deuteronomistic History, placing the poem and Jerusalem at the center of the resources. The geographical focus of the poem is without doubt Jerusalem, but the added regional context implies the role of a royal, administrative center that controls the rich commerce flowing in all directions. The poem’s other references to geography map out the extent of Israel’s trade connections. The best illustration of these connections is revealed in 1 Kings, where Solomon establishes trade partnerships to the north with Hiram, the king of Tyre, and to the south with the Queen of Sheba. In 1 Kings 10, we see the establishment of Jerusalem as a stage in the conveyance of spices along the land routes from Arabia to the Mediterranean and Mesopotamia. According to the story, Solomon did not limit himself to the Arabian theater. Relations with Phoenicia are hinted at early in the narrative, where Solomon’s governor of Naphtali, which lay in close proximity to Phoenicia, married Solomon’s daughter named tmcb “spice” (Basemath, 1 Kgs 4:15). Further, the Sheba episode is framed by the establishment of sea routes. Beginning in 9:26–28, Solomon and Hiram set up a fleet at Ezion-geber for sea trade to Ophir; we see the economic return from his partnerships in 1 Kgs 10:11–15. In the end, the extent of Solomon’s trade relations ran from Arabia to Tyre and from Egypt to Aram. This activity would have generated serious rivalry between Israel and its neighbors. According to Naªaman, the rebellions against Solomon in 1 Kings 11 when read with trade in mind appear to be reactions to Israelite control of trade. 34 Travel on the King’s Highway, which brought commerce to the Transjordanian lands of Edom (represented by Hadad in the story) and Aram (represented by Rezon), would have been disrupted by Solomon’s activity. Egypt, which provided refuge to Hadad, was also inconvenienced, because Israelite interference encroached upon Egyptian control of the Via Maris. Diverting the routes through Israel would have effectively shut out these neighbors from the profits. The Song’s imagery parallels Solomon’s potential control of the Transjordan. While in 7:5 Heshbon’s pools represent the lover’s eyes, politically, Heshbon functioned as a royal city and strategic stopover on the King’s Highway. 35 Because of its location, Heshbon would certainly have benefited economically from the usual practice of taxing traders. Gilead (4:1, 6:5) appears for its pastoral associations: the lover’s hair waves like the flock of goats descending the mountain. Its choice pastures are the reason given in Numbers 34. Nadav Naªaman, “Israel, Edom and Egypt in the 10th Century b.c.e.,” Tel Aviv 19 (1992) 71–93. 35. For excavation results, including studies of the large reservoir, see The Hesban Final Publication Series (Berrien Springs, Mich.: Andrews University Press and Institute of Archaeology, Andrews University).

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32 that Gad and Reuben settled in Transjordan, and its ability to support life is praised in Jeremiah’s prophecies (22:6, 50:19), but the region’s richness is not its only attribute. Gilead’s first connection to trade in the biblical texts appears in Gen 37:25, where Ishmaelites carry their balms and aromatics past Joseph’s brothers on their way from Gilead to Egypt. In Jer 8:22 and 46:11, Gilead is identified as a source of balm. 36 The Song draws on Gilead as a resource and the notion that it was once an Israelite territory. In light of these allusions, we should consider Mahanaim (Eng., “two armies”) in 7:1[6:13] to be a place-name. The site was a border town between Gad and Manasseh in Gilead. 37 The city is tied to biblical royalty in 2 Samuel 2, when Abner takes Ishbaal to Mahanaim and makes him king over the North. These Israelite, Transjordanian locations are further assertions of trade control. The poem also refers to resources and territories inside Israel. En-gedi is mentioned early in the poem (1:14) and, like Gilead, was a source of balm. Excavations at Tel Goren have revealed vats, pithoi, and ovens from the late Iron Age (end of the seventh to early sixth century), which along with the site’s organization and reputation indicate that En-gedi functioned in the perfume industry. Jar handles bearing the markings of the Judean monarchy confirm royal control of the site. 38 Finally, the reference to Tirzah in 6:4 serves as a particularly good example of the effort to play with multileveled implications throughout the poem. Despite the parallelism with Jerusalem in the verse, the Septuagint and some English translations do not read the proper name. Instead they translate it “pleasure,” “beauty,” or “desire,” tapping into the sensual and physical praise on the surface of the Song. The name Tirzah also appears as the great-granddaughter of Gilead (Num 27:1). Equally striking is Tirzah’s relationship to the monarchy. King Baasha moved the Northern capital to Tirzah (I Kgs 15:21), and it functioned as the capital until Omri (1 Kings 16). Considering the prominence of Jerusalem and the royal and trade implications in the poem, Tirzah must also be read as a proper name. When we consider the above correlations, we find that the spice trade is personified through the characters, their praises, and their movements. The concentration of references in Song 3:6 to 5:1 provides a revealing sample. In 3:6, the lover ascends from the wilderness, presumably coming from the southeast up to Jerusalem, emitting the smoke and smells of frankincense, myrrh, and all the merchant’s aromatics. Then we have the description of 36. The references in Genesis and Jeremiah refer to a spice trade, but the vocabulary differs from what we have in the Song of Songs. 37. See Joshua 13. 38. B. Mazar, “En-Gedi,” NEAEHL 2:401–2.

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Solomon’s litter in Jerusalem (3:7–11) made of luxuries imported from the Mediterranean. In 4:1, the lover’s hair is compared to the goats descending from the mountain of Gilead. The poem refers to another monarch, David, and his tower, returning us to Jerusalem (4:4). The lover continues south to the mountains of frankincense and myrrh, Arabia (4:6). We are then redirected to the northern sources of trade goods, Lebanon and Amana (4:8). Milk and honey in 4:11 recall the common description of Israel. In 4:13–14, we have a full list of the merchant’s goods, spices that we know were conveyed through the ports of South Arabia. The lover’s jlv of 4:13 is a sdrp orchard full of the richest commodities. The jlv, if taken here to be a channel, a water course, 39 becomes a causeway, a trade route of the best aromatics, and, though once locked, the waters flow again from Lebanon in v. 15. The illustration continues in v. 16; the north and south winds meet at the lover’s garden. Finally, the poem steers the lovers’ meeting to the center of the trade route, where they reunite in the garden, in Jerusalem (5:1). Extrabiblical Evidence of the Spice Trade The complication in reading these parallels is the notoriously elusive tenth century in recent scholarly debate. The antiquity and historicity of these sources is the not the primary concern here; however, extrabiblical evidence does provide a framework and context for both the logistics of trading activities in the ancient Near East and the involvement of a king and palace in manipulating this trade. Our most extensive knowledge of the ancient spice trade comes from classical sources, with some information from ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. In addition, archaeological survey and excavation are beginning to fill in the details from the spice land itself, Arabia. All of these sources are in general agreement regarding the demand for the spice products, the wealth it brought, and the desire and pride that came with being in control of the various stages of the acquisition and trading process. Except perhaps for the very earliest stages of exchange, we find rulers overseeing routes and trade industries. We have good examples of these efforts in the Late Bronze Age with the spice trade. Egypt, which maintained a heavy hand in the southern Levant after the expulsion of the Hyksos, exhibited clear, explicit royal control and activities during this period. Queen Hatshepsut boasted of her role in controlling access to Punt. Upon the return of her expeditionary troops, she received the goods with praises and offerings to the gods and declared her place in the history of Egypt, asserting that she was 39. Like the Akkadian silihtu; see Pope, Song of Songs, 490–91; Koehler and Baumgartner, 976.

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the first to send expeditions to the Punt region and that the goods of Punt had not before been brought in this way to a pharaoh; that is, others may have reached Punt, but none was able to take over the routes and retrieve so many goods or bring Punt to the god and his house. 40 Expeditions to Punt continued through the reign of Ramesses III, but his would be the last until the Greeks took control of Egypt. 41 We also begin to see accounts of incense trade and tribute from other regions, including Retenu, during the New Kingdom. 42 The famous descriptions of the Shasu include a reference to an ointment characteristic of them. 43 In these references, we appear to have early evidence of an alternate spice trade developing by land through Arabia; however, the Egyptian vocabulary prevents us from knowing for certain whether the goods from Retenu and the Shasu were the Arabian equivalent of ºntyw, Punt-spice—that is, frankincense or myrrh. 44 Evidence from the Amarna Letters seems to indicate Egyptian control of the commodity and/or an African source in a letter from Milkilu of Gezer requesting myrrh. 45 Two other letters from Tusratta cataloguing gifts from Mitanni mention perfumed oils, including myrrh and kanatku. 46 Outside Egypt, three Ugaritic texts include myrrh oil in inventories and descriptions of offerings. 47 In Mycenean Greece, the perfume industry of Pylos functioned from its palace. 48 During the Old Babylonian period, Mesopotamia is known to have traded for incense, wood, and other materials with regions such as Syria and Lebanon to the west and the Persian Gulf, Oman, and Bahrain to the east. 49 It does not appear to have come into more direct contact with southern Arabia until the eighth century b.c.e. The earliest evidence from Mesopotamia 40. Breasted, Ancient Records of Egypt, 2.§§267–95. 41. Ibid., 4.§407; Kitchen, “Punt,” 193. 42. Breasted, Ancient Records of Egypt, 3.§486 for Tuthmoses III; 3.§§475–76 for Ramesses II. 43. R. Giveon, Les Bedouins Shosou des Documents Egyptiens (ed. W. F. Albright and J. Vandier; Documenta et Monumenta Orientis Antiqui 22; Leiden: Brill, 1971) 121–24. 44. See above, n. 4. 45. EA 269; William L. Moran, The Amarna Letters (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992). 46. EA 22, lines 29–35; EA 25, line 51. The meaning of kanatku is uncertain; some suggest “frankincense” (Nielsen, Incense in Ancient Israel, 27, 115 n. 162). 47. Smn mr in texts 12 (lines 2, 8, 15), 120 (line 16), and 173 (line 22) in C. Gordon, Ugaritic Textbook: Texts in Transliteration Cuneiform Selections (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1965). 48. Cynthia Wright Shelmerdine, The Perfume Industry of Mycenaean Pylos (Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology 34; Gothenburg: Åströms, 1985). 49. In Leemans’s list of trade items, oils and “essences” tend to come from trees outside southern Arabia/Punt; frankincense and myrrh are not listed (Foreign Trade, 4–9, 14–17).

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comes from the records of Tiglath-pileser III. In a number of inscriptions, he records his defeat of Samsi, queen of the Arabs, and his taking of “all kinds of spices”; in addition, the inscriptions mention a number of tribes including “Saba” in a land not known to his fathers. 50 The report also mentions his gaining control of Gaza, which he claims to have turned into “an Assyrian emporium.” 51 Later, Nebuchadnezzar is said to have created a southern post, Teredon, which, according to Arrian, was a gathering center for frankincense and other Arabian products. 52 It is not too large a leap to imagine that Nabonidus’s Arabian retreat may have actually been an attempt to form a trade relationship. 53 Similarly, confusion regarding the Gerrhaeans in the classical sources may have resulted from Mesopotamian intervention. D. Potts reconstructs their journey from their southern Mesopotamian origins to eastern Arabia for a period of exile, during which they likely became involved with trade, bringing them into contact with the southern Arabian spice source and the overland trade to the Mediterranean. The Seleucids, interested in taxing trade, negotiated with the Gerrhaeans to bring trade back to Babylon. 54 Our most complete descriptions of Arabia come from classical sources. We know that many of the goods mentioned in the Song were imported through South Arabia from India and points farther east and, together with frankincense and myrrh, these spices were then traded from the South Arabian kingdoms to the Mediterranean. These trade activities, however, are not limited to late periods of classical Greece and Rome. The Greeks’ awareness of the exotic spices is first revealed in the late seventh or early sixth century in Sappho’s poetry, which describes the special, valuable qualities of myrrh, frankincense, and cassia. 55 Reports of the South Arabian industry begin in the fifth century 50. H. Tadmor, The Inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser III, King of Assyria: Critical Edition, with Introductions, Translations, and Commentary (Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1994): Summary Inscriptions 4, 7, 8. B. Doe doubts that the seventh-century Assyrian evidence refers to Saba of southwest Arabia; instead, he thinks that it refers to Sabeans who were farther north and later moved south (Doe, Monuments of South Arabia [New York: Oleander, 1983] 252). 51. Tadmor, Summary Inscription 4. 52. D. T. Potts, The Arabian Gulf in Antiquity (2 vols.; Oxford: Clarendon, 1990– 92) 1.349–50. 53. Suggested by Paul-Alain Beaulieu, The Reign of Nabonidus, King of Babylon, 556– 539 b.c. (Yale Near Eastern Researches 10; New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989) 178–85; and I. Ephºal, The Ancient Arabs: Nomads on the Borders of the Fertile Crescent, 9th–5th Centuries b.c. (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1982). 54. Potts, Arabian Gulf in Antiquity, 2.85–98. 55. Fragments 2, 44, 94 in Poetarum Lesbiorum Fragmenta (ed. E. Lobel and D. Page; London: Oxford University Press, 1963) 4–5, 36–37, 75–76; Sappho’s contemporary Alcaeus invokes the more generic muron (fragments B18, Z39 in Poetarum, 50, 275).

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b.c.e. with Herodotus’s History and culminate in the first century c.e. with reports from Pliny the Elder and the Periplus Maris Erythraei. The historians’ and geographers’ reports begin with Herodotus, who reports that Arabia is the only producer of frankincense, myrrh, cassia, cinnamon, and “ledanon.” 56 The writings of Theophrastus (fourth–third centuries b.c.e.) add that these goods come from the more specific locations of Saba, Hadramuta, Kitibaina, and Mamali. 57 The Sabaeans controlled the region, and the temple was the collection and trade center for the spices. 58 Diodorus raves about the pleasing, nearly intoxicating odor that drifts out to sea travelers. 59 He describes briefly what was known of the international trade system. From Arabia, the spices were purchased and traded to Phoenicia, Coele-Syria, and Egypt, which then transported the spices throughout the inhabited world. By the first century b.c.e., sea routes between the Indus Valley and Arabia were active. Diodorus notes that sailors from Alexander’s Potana (and other parts of the world) stopped at the islands near Saba. Diodorus and Strabo provide descriptions of the Arabian kingdoms. Strabo describes the societies as wealthy monarchies with temples and palaces. 60 The Sabean people were ruled by a hereditary monarchy. Diodorus describes the rest of Arabia, as far east as Gedrosia, as also prosperous, inhabited by peoples in villages, cities, and large royal centers. The Gerrhaeans and Minaeans were the transporters of frankincense and spices through “Upper Arabia” to Petra and Palestine. Pliny reports that a tax was collected by the priests before the goods could continue. 61 The traders conveyed the frankincense through Gebbanitae, where the king demanded a portion before allowing the departure for the 65– stage journey to Gaza. Taxes and other payments were assessed along the way. The author of the Periplus Maris Erythraei (a contemporary of Pliny) was a well-traveled sailor who wrote as a guide specifically for sea trade from Egypt to India. He reports that aromatics, including frankincense and especially the finest myrrh, were brought from African ports across the Red Sea to Arabian ports, such as Okêlis and Muza. 62 The port of Eudaimôn Arabia, 56. Herodotus, The Histories 3.107.1 (the actual land of origin for cinnamon is not clear in his description of its collection in 3.111.1–3). 57. Theophrastus, Enquiry into Plants and Minor Works on Odours and Weather Signs, 9.4.2. 58. Ibid., 9.4.5–6. 59. Diodorus’s discussions are found in 3.42–47 and 5.41–42. He also tells of the disadvantages for the region’s inhabitants, who are overcome by the unlimited resource and must burn asphalt and goats’ beard to counter the aroma (3.47.3). 60. Strabo’s discussion is found in Geography, 16.4. His account, which he attributes to Artemidorus (Geography, 16.4.19), is very similar to Diodorus’s work. 61. Pliny, Natural History, 12.32–35. 62. Relevant sections are Periplus Maris Erythraei, 7–13; 26:8.26–31; 27:9.8–12; 32; 36. spread is 6 points long

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that is “Blessed Arabia,” functioned as an entrepôt for trade between India and Egypt before the time of the Periplus, and Omana served a similar purpose along the Arabian Gulf. Frankincense from the entire region was brought by land and water and collected at Kanê. During the author’s time, Kanê was a port for trade to the east. By that time, ships left from Kanê using the monsoon winds for more efficient travel. The classical sources are consistent in their descriptions of the general logistics of the Arabian control of the spice trade, though accounts differ regarding control of specific aspects of trade at various times. All agree on the prominence of the Sabean kingdom, presumably biblical Sheba, who according to the Periplus, was “a friend of the emperors.” 63 The period of the Late Bronze and early Iron Age yields the least amount of explicit material, but it is the most critical in understanding the development of the Arabian portion of trade in aromatics and is under the most scrutiny in Israel’s history. The best resource for the period is archaeology. Surveys and excavations in Saudi Arabia are in early stages of discovery; however, recent investigations are redefining our understanding of the earliest periods of urban development in Arabia. Though Egypt originally enjoyed a monopoly, so to speak, on the spice market, eventually Egypt weakened, and trade expanded beyond the control of the Egyptian powers. K. Nielsen’s study of incense in ancient Israel asserts that the beginnings of Arabian trade routes were during the Late Bronze period. 64 From the material record in Arabia, scholars are coming to the same conclusions, that a number of factors coincided to cause a proliferation of urban development in the transition from the Bronze Age to the Iron Age. Evidence at multiple sites in southern Arabia now indicates that urban, agricultural settlement begins toward the end of the second millenium. 65 J. Sauer and J. Blakely’s findings from a survey of the trade route between 63. Ibid., 23:7.29–30. 64. Nielsen, Incense in Ancient Israel, 22. 65. Sauer and Blakely date sedentarization in their survey to ca. 1300 b.c.e. (J. A. Sauer and J. A. Blakely, “Archaeology along the Spice Route of Yemen” in Araby the Blest: Studies in Arabian Archaeology [ed. D. T. Potts; Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 1988] 91). Biªr Hamad is a site in western Hadramawt that yields evidence for settlement at the end of the second millennium and was occupied until the first century b.c.e. Evidence of ancient irrigation was identified in the surrounding farmland (A. V. Sedov, “Biªr Hamad: A Pre-Islamic Settlement in the Western Wadi Hadramawt—Notes on an Archaeological Map of the Hadramawt, 1” Arabian Archaeology and Epigraphy 6 [1995] 106, 110). The earliest pottery found at Hajar bin Humeid in Qattaban is dated to ca. 1000 b.c.e.; this level of occupation sits on top of earlier agricultural silt (R. L. Bowen, “Irrigation in Ancient Qataban (Beihan),” Archaeological Discoveries in South Arabia [Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1958] 65); Bowen also dates the development of the Sabean irrigation and trade to the end of the second millennium (p. 88).

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Marib and Timnaº reveal a population increase in the Late Bronze and early Iron Ages in western and southern Arabia, which they link to the domestication of the camel. 66 The introduction of the camel allowed South Arabians to engage in interaction across distances not previously traversable. Sauer and Blakely suggest an interrelationship between the South Arabians’ use of the camel (leading to international trade possibilities), Egypt’s decline in power (due to economic competition), the development of organized, sedentary societies (that would become the Sabean and Qatabanian kingdoms), and their agricultural and military colonies along the caravan routes (who would impose tolls on the traders in exchange for protection). 67 The evidence becoming available in Southwest Arabia is not isolated. Surveys in Northwest Arabia are also revealing large-scale, urban, agricultural communities developing at the same time. 68 If we continue to look north along the trade route, evidence for the early stages of trade and settlement extends into Israel as well. I. Finkelstein has suggested an explanation much like Sauer and Blakely’s to make sense of the puzzling twelfth–eleventh-century settlement pattern in the Beer-sheba basin, and specifically at the site of Tel Masos. 69 The development and decline of Tel Masos are not consistent with the data of the nearby settlements of Arad and Beer-sheba, both of which are confidently associated with the rise of Israelite authority. Tel Masos flourished before the rise of Israel and declined as the early Israelite centers were thriving, around the tenth century. In addition, the material culture from Tel Masos, while similar in some respects to Israelite sites, is not homogenous. Finkelstein, like Sauer and Blakely, finds an answer in the developments surrounding the domestication of the camel. He suggests that Tel Masos functioned as the northern limit and control for the spice trade during the short period between Egyptian control of trade and Israelite control of the area. The economic security provided by the trade allowed the development of agricultural communities. 66. Sauer and Blakely, “Archaeology along the Spice Route of Yemen,” 100. 67. Ibid., 107. 68. The majority of the work has been done by P. Parr; see “Contacts between North West Arabia and Jordan in the Late Bronze and Iron Age,” in Studies in the History and Archaeology of Jordan (ed. Adnan Hadidi; Amman: Department of Antiquities, 1982) 1.127–34; idem, “Pottery of the Late Second Millennium b.c. from North West Arabia and Its Historical Implications,” in Araby the Blest: Studies in Arabian Archaeology (ed. D. T. Potts; CNI Publications 7; Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 1988). See also G. Bawden and C. Edens, “Tayma Painted Ware and the Hejaz Iron Age Ceramic Tradition,” Levant 20 (1988) 197–213; J. Kalsbeek and G. London, “A Late Second Millennium b.c. Potting Puzzle,” BASOR 232 (1978) 47–56. 69. “Arabian Trade and Socio-Political Conditions in the Negev in the Twelfth– Eleventh Centuries b.c.e.,” JNES 47 (1988) 241–52.

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Finkelstein sees trade as the motivation for attempts to control the Negev by a variety of groups: the Egyptians before the Late Bronze Age collapse, the “desert peoples” of the transition between the Late Bronze and early Iron periods, the Israelites during their rise to power, and Shishak’s campaigns. Other sources indicate that exchange from South Arabia was taking place at the beginning of the first millennium. Northern influences have been detected in the material remains of Arabian cultures: two steles from the Timnaº area, both from the first half of the first millennium b.c.e., reveal influences from northern traditions and, early in the first millennium, SyroPalestinian and Mesopotamian forms are found in pottery. 70 The eighth century is also the beginning of South Arabia’s historical period. 71 The earliest formal inscriptions come from the Sabeans. 72 Like the classical sources, the South Arabian evidence points to the Sabeans as the strongest of the cultures and perhaps the first to emerge as a power in trade. Though attempts have been made to reconstruct the ancient trade route, it is more likely that more than one route existed. 73 Arabia had more than one center, more than one port, and power shifted within the region. 74 All of these factors would have contributed to determining the preferred route of the time. In general, trade would have been organized around the regional centers, then transported by nomadic traders through the North Arabian centers, through southern Jordan and the Beer-Sheba basin, and then on to the markets in Gaza and Egypt. The Song in Light of Other Biblical Texts Here we reunite with the biblical traditions. The Solomonic narratives assert participation in—perhaps even the entrepreneurial spirit behind—the passage of Arabian goods north and to the Mediterranean and beyond. In the Iron Age, however, extrabiblical evidence is very limited until the eighth century, when Mesopotamian rulers sought to take over the trade routes from South Arabia. But there is increasing archaeological evidence for just this sort of effort by peoples in this region and eventually by the Israelite monarchs. With this history in mind, I contend that many references and motifs in the

70. G. W. Van Beek, “Frankincense and Myrrh” BA 22 (1960) 89; of the steles, one reflects Syro-Phoenician and one Syro-Hittite types. 71. A. Jamme in ANET, 663. 72. Doe, Monuments of South Arabia, 91. 73. Groom, Frankincense and Myrrh, 211–13. Nielsen cites Grohman’s route (Incense in Ancient Israel, 23). 74. Bowen, “Irrigation in Ancient Qataban,” 38, 42; Van Beek, “Frankincense and Myrrh,” 75.

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Song of Songs evidence a relationship between the poem and the Solomonic spice trade, or at least the Deuteronomist’s account of it. If we compare these two sources once again, we find additional similarities. Jerusalem is the center, and all routes, primarily the routes from the north and south, pass through the capital. The Deuteronomist and the author of the Song of Songs give complimentary, positive reports regarding trade, and both texts can be dated to the end of the Judean monarchy. The linguistic evidence in the Song, however, does not set the poem firmly in the period before the Exile. In fact, it has many similarities to the Priestly source (whose date is too debated to be useful here), Esther, Nehemiah, Proverbs, Second Isaiah, and Ezekiel. More often than not, the Song of Songs is considered to be among the latest of the books of the Hebrew Bible. The trade emphasis that I argue here suggests a change in that assumption. The most useful comparison of the above group is with the book of Ezekiel, which is more easily situated chronologically as a product of the Babylonian Exile. The book provides linguistic similarities but a contrast in outlook. Ezekiel 26–28 consists of prophecies against Tyre, and the descriptions in chap. 27 especially contain many parallels to the Song. Ezekiel’s words not only condemn Tyre and its royalty but also the trading activity that made Tyre successful. The result is a negative ruling concerning trade. The prophecies open as Yhwh is quoting Tyre’s reaction to Jerusalem’s destruction: “. . . what Tyre said regarding Jerusalem: ‘Aha! The doorway of the nations is broken, it has turned to me; I will be filled, now that it is wasted’ ” (Ezek 26:2). Tyre’s celebration informs us that Jerusalem was the hub as goods and travelers crossed throughout the world. With Jerusalem out of the picture, Tyre assumed this position, the commerce filtered through one less middleman, and the Phoenician city reveled in the economic consequences. Following this boast, Ezekiel’s descriptions of Tyre’s trade employs language very close to the Song’s (see table, p. 183). The similarities suggest that Ezekiel’s prophecy and the text of the Song are nearly contemporaneous, though they represent two very opposing views of trade. Ezekiel describes Tyre at its commercial height, and the similarities in the Song appear also to refer to the days of successful trade. The account in the Song would fit well just before or just after Jerusalem and its control were dismantled. 75 Both of these chronological possibilities coincide with the Deuteronomist’s authorial activity. The links between both the Song and the Deuteronomist and the Song and Ezekiel are not strong enough to show that the Song relied on ei75. Another strong possibility is the period of Persian control of Jerusalem, which at that time was once again a strong administrative and economic center. The status of the garden in 4:15, once locked but again open, is very suggestive of Jerusalem’s reclaimed (or soon-to-be reclaimed) prominence.

Spice Roots in the Song of Songs Ezekiel 27

Hebrew

passim vv. 3, 4 v. 5 v. 5 v. 5 vv. 6, 15 vv. 7, 16 v. 10a v. 11 v. 11 v. 11 vv. 12, 25 v. 14 v. 17 v. 17 v. 17 v. 18 v. 19 v. 21 v. 21 v. 22

lkr hpy rnc zra ˆwnbl ˆv ˆmgra ˆgm hlt flv ldgm vyvrt sws vbd hfj ˆmv ˆyy hnq rdq lya ˆcb

v. 22

ˆcb + var

English

Song of Songs

trader beauty Senir cedar Lebanon ivory purple shield to hang shield tower Tarshish horse honey wheat oil wine cane Qedar goat aromatics/ spice best of spices

3:6 passim 4:8 8:9 passim 5:14; 7:5 3:10; 7:6 4:4 4:4 4:4 4:4 5:14 1:9 (feminine) 4:11 7:3 1:3 passim 4:14 1:5 2:9, 17; 8:14 passim

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4:14

a. Ezek 27:10–11 is very close to Song 4:4. More comparison between these verses may shed some light on the enigmatic meaning of 4:4.

ther of these texts. Rather, the best explanation is a common chronological setting among the three. Both the Deuteronomist and Ezekiel witnessed the final days of Jerusalem and the Judean kingdom; their responses to the crisis come in moral lessons to correct bad behavior and repair the human-divine relationship. The Song, however, answers with laudatory images of Jerusalem’s prosperity and independence—a potentially important and hopeful message for a frightening time. Trade considerations alter our previous understanding of the date of this text, as well as the historical and cultural contexts of the author. Reading with attention to trade brings an additional dimension to the Song, a new understanding to a rich and puzzling text. The abundant comparisons to spices, agriculture, and luxury items are explained if the author was familiar with the commercial relations in and out of Israel. Illustrations that use geography

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take on new meaning as we understand that they refer to the trade routes and source lands. Jerusalem, the Song’s primary setting, has added significance as the royal seat and administrative commercial center. We also find new reasons to dig deeper into Israel’s Iron Age commercial endeavors. The linguistic affinities with descriptions of trade in Kings and Ezekiel bring the date of the text closer to the Judean kingdom. Extrabiblical references and archaeological evidence suggest that Solomon’s legends may be less legendary. They do not clarify the figure of Solomon but the fact that commercial control was a compelling and powerful force in Iron Age development. Thus, the trade implications in the Song illuminate another stratum. This poem has traditionally been read as an allegory for the relationship between humans and the divine. We now have an alternative reading. An “allegory” implies a full substitution of meaning, but this poem is more than allegory, and it is for this very reason that the Song evades a strict analysis and interpretation. The poem inundates us with allusions: sensual, political, historical, and even mythical. We now have a richer understanding of the influences surrounding this work, but we should not forget to follow the lover’s instructions to drink and become drunk with the Song’s intoxicating mixture of many meanings.

The Participle in Biblical Hebrew and the Overlap of Grammar and Lexicon Francis I. Andersen and A. Dean Forbes Melbourne, Australia, and Palo Alto, California

Two Basic Questions In this contribution, based on a thorough study of one Hebrew word (tmE, met), we suggest answers to two questions regarding the nature of the participle in Biblical Hebrew: Question #1: When is a participle (pt) not a participle? Answer: When it functions as a noun (nn), as an adjective (adj), or as a verb (vb). Question #2: How does one know how a given participle is functioning? Answer: By comparing the unmarked form with similarly situated marked forms.

One Participle in One Context We ask, “What does tmE, met, mean in 1 Kgs 14:17–18?” He had died? He died? He has died? He is dead? He is a deadun? He’s dying? He’s gonna die? He will die? Here is the text: µ[: b}r;y ; tv≤aE µq:T:w' Ël