Open-Mindedness in the Bible and Beyond: A Volume of Studies in Honour of Bob Becking 9780567663801, 9780567663818, 9780567663795

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LIBRARY OF HEBREW BIBLE/ OLD TESTAMENT STUDIES

616 Formerly Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series

Editors Claudia V. Camp, Texas Christian University Andrew Mein, Westcott House, Cambridge

Founding Editors David J. A. Clines, Philip R. Davies and David M. Gunn

Editorial Board Alan Cooper, John Goldingay, Robert P. Gordon, Norman K. Gottwald, James E. Harding, John Jarick, Carol Meyers, Carolyn J. Sharp, Daniel L. Smith-Christopher, Francesca Stavrakopoulou, James W. Watts

OPEN-MINDEDNESS IN THE BIBLE AND BEYOND

A Volume of Studies in Honour of Bob Becking

Edited by Marjo C. A. Korpel and Lester L. Grabbe

T&T CLARK Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA BLOOMSBURY, T&T CLARK and the T&T Clark logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2015 Paperback edition first published 2018 © Marjo C. A. Korpel and Lester L. Grabbe, 2015 Marjo C. A. Korpel and Lester L. Grabbe have asserted their rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Editors of this work. For legal purposes the Acknowledgements on p. x constitute an extension of this copyright page. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by Bloomsbury or the authors. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN: HB: 978–0–56766–380–1 PB: 978–0–56768–169–0 ePDF: 978–0–56766–379–5 A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. Series: Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies, volume 616 Typeset by Fakenham Prepress Solutions, Fakenham, Norfolk NR21 8NN To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

CONTENTS Contributorsviii Acknowledgementsx Introduction (Lester L. Grabbe and Marjo C. A. Korpel) Professor Bob Becking Summaries of Papers Bibliography of Professor Bob Becking List of Abbreviations OPEN-MINDEDNESS FOR UNDERSTANDING THE FORMATION OF THE PENTATEUCH: THE CHALLENGE OF EXODUS 19–20 Rainer Albertz EMPIRE! ‘… AND GAVE HIM A SEAT ABOVE THE SEATS OF THE OTHER KINGS WHO WERE WITH HIM IN BABYLON’: JEREMIAH 52.31–34: FACT OR FICTION? Hans M. Barstad

xi xiv xxi xxxvii

1

11

BEN SIRA AND SONG OF SONGS: WHAT ABOUT PARALLELS AND ECHOES? Pancratius C. Beentjes

25

OPEN-MINDEDNESS AND PLANNING FOR THE FUTURE OF ACADEMIC STUDIES IN ANCIENT ISRAEL HISTORY Ehud Ben Zvi

37

ISAIAH 24–27: SPACING A PROPHETIC VISION Willem A. M. Beuken

45

EINÜBUNG IN DEN AUFRECHTEN GANG: BEISPIELE FÜR ZIVILCOURAGE IN DEN SAMUELBÜCHERN Walter Dietrich

57

SWORDS OR PLOUGHSHARES? THE TRANSITION FROM THE LATE BRONZE TO THE EARLY IRON AGE IN NORTHERN JORDAN Meindert Dijkstra and Karel Vriezen

69

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PENETRATING THE LEGEND: IN QUEST OF THE HISTORICAL EZRA Lester L. Grabbe

97

JOSEPH, THE PASTOR AND THE CONQUEROR OF EVIL BY USING GOOD: OBSERVATIONS ON GENESIS 50.15–21 IN DUTCH CHILDREN’S AND FAMILY BIBLES Cornelis Houtman

111

THE MYTH OF THE REBORN NATION Izaak J. de Hulster

123

LEADING SCHOLARS AND THE INTERPRETATION OF SCRIPTURE: THE CASE OF LXX HAGGAI 2.1–9 Arie van der Kooij

139

MEMORIES OF EXILE AND RETURN IN THE BOOK OF RUTH Marjo C. A. Korpel

151

THE QUESTION OF JOB Peter Machinist

165

THE OPEN MIND OF THE MAN BORN BLIND (JOHN 9) Maarten J. J. Menken

179

JERUSALEM: NIGHTMARE AND DAYDREAM IN MICAH Johannes C. de Moor

191

FOUR NOTES ON THE ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN MARZEAḤ Nadav Na’aman

215

THE ABOLITION OF THE CULT OF THE DEAD KINGS IN JERUSALEM (EZEKIEL 43.6–9) Herbert Niehr

223

A HUMAN AND A DEITY WITH CONFLICTING MORALS (QOHELET 2.26) Paul Sanders

237

A PROPHET CONTEST: JEREMIAH 28 RECONSIDERED Klaas A. D. Smelik

247

COMPARING THE BOOK OF JUDGES TO GREEK LITERATURE Klaas Spronk

261

Contents

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SPEAKING OF GODS: DIMENSIONS OF THE DIVINE IN THE ANCIENT NEAR EAST Karel van der Toorn

273

IS THE CRITICAL, ACADEMIC STUDY OF THE BIBLE INEXTRICABLY BOUND TO THE DESTINIES OF THEOLOGY? Christoph Uehlinger

287

BIBLICAL STUDIES AND THE ART OF CIVILIZATION MAINTENANCE Anne-Mareike Wetter

303

A NEW DIVINE TITLE IN ISAIAH 10.17 H. G. M. Williamson

315

Bibliography321 Index of Biblical Texts 359 Index of Names and Subjects 373 Index of Names 377

CONTRIBUTORS Rainer Albertz, Emeritus Professor of Old Testament at the University of Münster, Germany. Hans M. Barstad, Emeritus Professor of Hebrew and Old Testament Studies at the University of Edinburgh, Scotland. Pancratius C. Beentjes, Emeritus Professor of Old Testament Studies at the Tilburg University, the Netherlands. Ehud Ben Zvi, Professor of History and Religious Studies at the University of Alberta, Edmonton, Canada. Willem A. M. Beuken, Emeritus Professor of Old Testament at the Faculty of Theology of the Catholic University Leuven, Belgium. Walter Dietrich, Emeritus Professor of Old Testament at the University of Bern, Switzerland. Meindert Dijkstra, Assistant Professor of Old Testament, Utrecht University, the Netherlands. Lester L. Grabbe, Emeritus Professor of Hebrew Bible and Early Judaism at the University of Hull, England. Cornelis Houtman, Emeritus Professor of Old Testament at the Protestant Theological University at Amsterdam, the Netherlands. Izaak J. de Hulster, Post-doc Researcher at the Georg-August-University Göttingen, Germany and at the Faculty of Theology, Helsinki, Finland. Arie van der Kooij, Emeritus Professor of Old Testament at Leiden University, the Netherlands. Marjo C. A. Korpel, Associate Professor of Old Testament at the Protestant Theological University at Groningen, the Netherlands. Peter Machinist, Hancock Professor of Hebrew and Other Oriental Languages at Harvard University, USA. Maarten J. J. Menken, Emeritus Professor of New Testament Studies at the Tilburg University, the Netherlands. Johannes C. de Moor, Emeritus Professor of Semitic Languages and Cultures of the Ancient Near East at the Protestant Theological University at Amsterdam and Groningen (formerly Kampen), the Netherlands. Nadav Na’aman, Professor of Jewish History, Tel Aviv University, Israel. Herbert Niehr, Professor for Biblical Introduction and History at the University of Tübingen, Germany and Extraordinary Professor at the University of Stellenbosch, South Africa. Paul Sanders, Assistant Professor of Old Testament at the Protestant Theological University at Amsterdam, the Netherlands.

Contributors

Klaas A. D. Smelik, Professor of Hebrew and Judaism at the University of Ghent, Belgium. Klaas Spronk, Professor of Old Testament at the Protestant Theological University at Amsterdam, the Netherlands. Karel van der Toorn, Faculty Professor of Religion and Society in the Faculty of Humanities, University of Amsterdam, the Netherlands. Christoph Uehlinger, Professor in Comparative History of Religions at the University of Zürich, Switzerland. Karel Vriezen, Associate Professor of Biblical Hebrew and the Archaeology of Palestine, Utrecht University, the Netherlands. Anne-Mareike Wetter, Post-doc Researcher at Leiden University, the Netherlands. H. G. M. Williamson, Regius Professor of Hebrew at Christ Church, Oxford University, England.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS We thank some colleagues for their help: Meindert Dijkstra and Karel Vriezen for their initiating and preparatory work with regard to this volume, already begun at the end of the year 2011. We then strove for presentation of the volume at the retirement of Bob Becking and the twenty-fifth anniversary of his professorship in 2016, still unaware of the university plans to close the Theology programme long before. But we found out soon enough, and frequently had to change our plans and dates, because the retirement dates of Bob Becking also fluctuated several times. We regret that the symposium organized in honour of Bob Becking now has also to be interpreted as a farewell of more than 375 years of Theology and especially Biblical Studies at Utrecht (since 26 March 1636). Therefore we hope that this volume in honour of Bob Becking will also show the viability and importance of Biblical Studies for the university, society and church. Furthermore, we thank Anne-Mareike Wetter for her help with the indexes and translation of some difficult German texts into English.

INTRODUCTION Lester L. Grabbe and Marjo C. A. Korpel Professor Bob Becking Professor Bob Becking was born Bernhard Engelbert Jan Hendrik Becking in Geldrop, the Netherlands, on 25 May 1951. His schooling was in Eindhoven. From 1973 to 1978, he studied the subjects of Theology and Semitic Languages at the University of Utrecht. He completed the Doctoraalexamen Theology (MSc) in 1977, with a major in Old Testament Studies and minors in Church History, Ethics and Semitics. He studied in 1980–4 as a non-resident PhD student, with supervisors C. van Leeuwen and M. Weippert, receiving his Doctorate in Theology from Utrecht University in 1985. During this time, he worked as a Teaching Assistant for Hebrew and Akkadian (part-time) in the Faculty of Theology in 1973–8. He was appointed Lecturer for Old Testament Studies in Utrecht University, 1987–91, then served as Ordinary Professor of Old Testament Studies, Utrecht University, 1991–2008. Finally, from 2008 he has been Senior Research Professor (Dutch: Faculteitshoogleraar) for Bible, Religion and Identity. His scholarly accomplishments, in addition to a great many publications (listed below), included appointment to a number of prestigious editorships: co-editor of the Dutch commentary series De Prediking van het Oude Testament, 1991– ; editor for Hebrew Bible of Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift, 1999–2010; editorin-chief of Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift, 2006–10; member of the editorial board of Review of Biblical Literature, 1999–2005; Mitherausgeber of Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechtsgeschichte, 2002– ; member of the editorial board of Studies in Theology and Religion, 2003–5; editor-in-chief of Oud Testamentische Studiën/Old Testament Studies, 2004– . He also had the responsibility of chairmanship of the Oudtestamentisch Werkgezelschap in Nederland en België, 2008–10. In addition, there were many duties more directly relating to his university post at Utrecht. He was instrumental in organizing the very first meeting of the European Association of Biblical Studies (Utrecht, 6–9 August 2000) as Secretary of the Organizing Committee. He acted as Managing Director of INTEGON, Research Institute of the Faculty of Theology of Utrecht University and the Catholic Theological University, 2000–4, and Co-chair of INTEGON, 2009–10. He served as Managing Director of NOSTER, the Dutch Research School for Theology and Religion, 2003–5.

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He also served as a minister of the Dutch Reformed Church, completing the examination by the Church (MDiv) in 1978. He carried out his clerical duties while studying for higher degrees and then while lecturing at the University of Utrecht. He was Assistant Vicar in Amsterdam, 1978–9. Following this he served as Minister in the Dutch Reformed Church in the villages of Broek in Waterland (1979–84) and Huis ter Heide (1984–9; part-time). The outline of an academic career just given above hardly does justice to Bob Becking the man. Professor Becking has a reputation for scholarship in quite a number of areas of biblical studies. But for his friends and colleagues who know him on a personal level, one of his most important personal characteristics is that of open-mindedness. In planning a volume of essays in his honour, therefore, it was decided that this collection should have as its main theme that of openmindedness, while allowing the theme to be illustrated in a wide variety of the scholarly areas in which Bob is an expert. If we define open-mindedness as the willingness to reconsider one’s established paradigms in the light of new data, Bob is a prime example of this praiseworthy attitude. In his long career he has had to cope with many crises, challenges and changes. Yet his amiable nature forbade him to reject proposals of administrators or other scholars out of hand. He always carefully examined their arguments and, if convinced, he smoothly adapted to new theories and circumstances. However, if the opinions of others failed to convince him, he felt free to take a firm stance against them, though always in most courteous terms. Many of Bob’s friends will recognize him in this very sketchy portrait, which was the reason to propose the theme indicated above. When an invitation to submit an essay to this Festschrift was issued, contributors were urged to express their appreciation of his scholarship by contributing an article which took account of that theme. The following fields were especially emphasized as appropriate for an essay dedicated to him: 1. Methodological reflections upon open-minded research in biblical scholarship, especially changing paradigms with regard to historiography and the use of epigraphy, archaeology and iconography. 2. Changing paradigms in academic policy. Everywhere biblical studies are threatened or absorbed into the Humanities (Religious Studies). The Bachelor-Master model (that was borrowed from the Anglo-American academic tradition) that was adopted all over Europe leaves hardly any room for extra study of ancient languages or archaeology anymore. This calls for a total reorientation of our discipline. Or for vigorous protest. 3. Open-minded figures in the Hebrew Bible. We think of people who were courageous enough to break away from established convictions in the ancient world. Patriarchs, prophets (among them Bob’s favourite, Jeremiah), religious leaders rethinking Israel’s traditions in exilic and post-exilic times, women like Tamar, Deborah, Esther, Ruth and Judith, who overstepped genderimposed borders. 4. Open-minded personalities in early Judaism and Christianity. 5. Freethinkers in the ancient Near East and Greece.

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This invitation left a wide choice of topics for scholarly essays, and the essays contributed reflect this extensive range. Not all of them fitted neatly into one of these five categories, but all reflected the spirit of bringing together openmindedness and one of the areas relating to Bob’s own research or interests. For example, Greek is often brought into discussions of the Hebrew Bible via the Septuagint translation, and Arie van der Kooij’s essays included the Septuagint which is one of his specialties. But there was also the essay of Klaas Spronk which brought in Greek culture and literature in ways not so frequently seen in the Hebrew Bible area. Other essays that do not seem to conform to usual contributions to Hebrew Bible studies are Cornelius Houtman’s observations on Dutch children’s and family Bibles, Anne-Mareike Wetter on biblical studies and the art of civilization maintenance, Ehud Ben Zvi on the future of academic studies on ancient Israelite history and Christoph Uehlinger’s similar discussion but focused more widely on biblical studies, but a closer look shows that they all fit quite well. The last two complement each other very well, since Ehud Ben Zvi’s is written primarily from the perspective of North America, while Christoph Uehlinger focuses specifically on the European context. With a few exceptions, each essay in this collection deals with one or more biblical passages, including one on the New Testament (Maarten Menken on John 9). The prophets get treatment from a variety of directions: Hans Barstad (Jer. 52.31–34), Willem Beuken (Isa. 24–27), Arie van der Kooij (Hag. 2.1–9 in the Septuagint), Johannes de Moor (Micah), Herbert Niehr (Ezek. 43.6–9), Klaas Smelik (Jer. 28) and Hugh Williamson (Isa. 10.17). Two essays discuss wisdom writings: Peter Machinist (Job) and Pancratius Beentjes (Ben Sira and Song of Songs). For the Pentateuch, we have Cornelius Houtman on Gen. 50.15–21, Anne-Mareike Wetter on Lot’s wife (Gen. 19), and Rainer Albertz on Exodus 19–20. For the Deuteronomistic History, we have Klaas Spronk on Judges and Walter Dietrich on 1–2 Samuel. For the other Writings, there is Lester Grabbe on Ezra 7–10 (and Neh. 8), Marjo Korpel on the book of Ruth and Anne-Mareike Wetter also on Ruth. Several essays have to do with Israelite religion in one form or another: Izaak de Hulster (‘The Myth of the Reborn Nation’), Herbert Niehr (‘The Abolition of the Cult of the Dead Kings in Jerusalem’ [Ezek. 43.6–9]), Karel van der Toorn (‘Speaking of Gods: Dimensions of the Divine in the Ancient Near East’); Hugh Williamson’s essay, ‘A New Divine Title in Isaiah 10.17’, also has implications for Israelite religion. Several contributors dealt in one way or another with the exile and return: Izaak de Hulster on the myth of the reborn nation, Lester Grabbe on the historical Ezra, Marjo Korpel on memories of exile and return in the book of Ruth. Several essays focused on topics relating to history (including archaeology): Hans Barstad on ‘indirect rule’ in ancient Near Eastern empires, Izaak de Hulster on an aspect of archaeology in the Persian period, Meindert Dijkstra and Karel Vriezen on the settlement in the Jordan Valley in the Late Bronze–Early Iron Age transition, Lester Grabbe on the historical Ezra and Nadav Na’aman on the marzeaḥ in the ancient Near East.

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Summaries of Papers Rainer Albertz (‘Open-Mindedness for Understanding the Formation of the Pentateuch: The Challenge of Exodus 19–20’) uses his own example of having changed his opinion on the formation of the Pentateuch three times during his scholarly career. This was in part caused by reviewing Erhard Blum’s book. But the real opportunity to rethink the whole question came with undertaking to write the Zürcher Exodus commentary. This led to a new approach to the question, which is outlined here in six points to illustrate how thinking through the problem while analysing the text led to new strategies for explaining its tradition history. Interestingly, an application for funding a project to discuss models for Pentateuchal formation failed because some of the reviewers insisted that it should take the traditional Source Theory into account! Hans M. Barstad (‘EMPIRE! “… and gave him a seat above the seats of the other kings who were with him in Babylon”: Jer. 52.31–34: Fact or Fiction?’) uses Jeremiah 52.31–34 as a window into the wider historical context. From the background provided by some other biblical texts (e.g. 2 Kgs 17.1–7; 23.33–35) and the Babylonian Chronicles it becomes clear how ancient Near Eastern empires in the first millennium bce controlled surrounding city-states through local dynasties, often referred to as ‘indirect rule’. Jehoiachin is an example of how royal prisoners formed an important part of imperial courts as strategic pawns who could be re-installed if local rulers appointed by imperial kings misbehaved. The Neo-Babylonians (Chaldeans) simply continued the imperial policies from Neo-Assyrian times (unlike the Achaemenids who practiced ‘direct rule’). We also see indirect rule in the later Ottoman and British empires. Pancratius C. Beentjes (‘Ben Sira and Song of Songs: What about Parallels and Echoes?’) looks at the suggested parallels between the Song of Songs and Ben Sira offered especially by Marco Treves, Teresa Ann Ellis and Martti Nissinen. One of the problems is that such parallels often make use of the Greek text of Ben Sira which, he argues, is not a reliable guide to the original Hebrew text. It is interesting that many of the alleged parallels to the Greek Ben Sira are found in Chapter 24. Most of the alleged parallels are not convincing: it is far more likely that Ben Sira took advantage of topoi related to ancient Near Eastern love lyrics, especially to vegetation imagery. Ehud Ben Zvi (‘Open-Mindedness and Planning for the Future of Academic Studies in Ancient Israel History’) examines a subject dear to the hearts of most readers: how can the continuation of the opportunity to study the history of ancient Israel be ensured? He first surveys the present situation (mainly as it is in North America, whereas the situation in Europe is often different [see Christoph Uehlinger below]), which is a period of great change from an older position in which Biblical Studies was heavily historically based. In most cases today, Biblical Studies is carried on in departments of religion or other contexts, which does not encourage specialized teaching. The best solution, it is proposed, is that historians of ancient Israel operate in university departments of history. There is no doubt that the situation is serious if we want to see the subject continue in the future.

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Willem A. M. Beuken (‘Isaiah 24–27: Spacing a Prophetic Vision’) investigates a growing area in biblical studies: the subject of space, from the point of view of cultural philosophy that space in literary texts is determined by the role-players. Space is a social or cultural construct. The self-contained passage of Isaiah 24–27 (the so-called `Isaiah Apocalypse’) contains many references to space, including ‘heaven and earth’, the city (of Jerusalem), the mountain(s) (including Mount Zion) and so on. The passage is analysed in detail from the point of view of space as a dynamic subject of action. Walter Dietrich (‘Einübung in den aufrechten Gang: Beispiele für Zivilcourage in den Samuelbüchern’) writes on civil courage, the power of resisting danger and opposition. The example of Abraham who sacrifices his son without protest, if his God asks him to do so, is the opposite of civil courage, so the question is whether the Bible gives room for protest. From the books of 1 and 2 Samuel examples are given of people who have the courage (1) to oppose the abuse of power (e.g. Jonathan who prevents his father from killing David, 1 Sam. 19.4–5); (2) to criticize abuse of power that already has taken place (e.g. 2 Sam. 6.20, Michal criticizes David for his bad behaviour in front of his subjects, both male and female); (3) and to strive for good and helpful use of power (e.g. David who dares to contradict the king in the fight with Goliath: Saul refuses David as a fighter, but David replies that as a shepherd he is used to fighting with predators, and so he also will be able to conquer the ‘uncircumcised Philistine’, 1 Sam. 17.34–37). These examples show that one does not always have to follow the orders of a leader, and at certain times even has to protest against the will and probably also the arbitrariness of institutions and individuals. Meindert Dijkstra and Karel Vriezen (‘Swords or Ploughshares? The Transition from the Late Bronze to the Early Iron Age in Northern Jordan’) give a survey of historical and archaeological views on the Late Bronze–Iron Age I transition in Cisjordan, on the evidence for Middle Bronze, Late Bronze and Iron Age settlement in northern Transjordan (as well as the LB-IA transition), the Egyptian New Kingdom topographical knowledge of Transjordan, and finally comparing the Cisjordan and Transjordan archaeological and historical evidence for general and regional patterns in development. This has shown the pivotal role of the northern part of the central Jordan Valley in the demographic changes of the early Iron Age and in the military and commercial exchange between Cis- and Transjordan. After a period of decline and even drought, the still existing infrastructure in the northern Jordan region was helped by a slowly increasing precipitation rate in the Jordan basin in the Late LB II and Early IA I. This area now offered an adequate living for traders, townsmen, agrarians and pastoralists alike, which may have stimulated individuals and groups to move around to either side of the river. Such an exchange sufficiently explains traditions such as that the Israelite tribe of Manasseh lived on both sides of the Jordan, the idea of an ‘Israelite’ province of Gilead as a bone of contention, and even the conflict between Gilead and Ammon. Lester L. Grabbe (‘Penetrating the Legend: In Quest of the Historical Ezra’), while having pointed out in detail the many incongruities of the Ezra story (summarized here), still accepts that there may have been a historical Ezra. The

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decree in Ezra 7 is an important component for believing this: although in its present form it is clearly a post-Achaemenid text, there are signs of a Persianperiod original – probably issued by a satrap or other Persian official, not the king. A detailed examination of this and other passages suggests that indeed an Ezra figure apparently had something to do with the Jewish Law – the Pentateuch – either in its composition or its promulgation or possibly both. This conclusion may seem unexceptional, but it comes about after taking full account of the unreliable nature of the Ezra tradition. Cornelis Houtman (‘Joseph, the Pastor and the Conqueror of Evil by Using Good: Observations on Gen. 50.15–21 in Dutch Children’s and Family Bibles’) shows how the passage of Genesis 50.15–21 is treated in an insensitive way in children’s Bibles in the Netherlands. Joseph’s brothers ask for forgiveness for what they did to their brother and Joseph in a positive way answers them and even comforts his brothers. Often this passage is seen as a repetition of Genesis 45, and many children’s Bibles skip the passage and end with the death and burial of Jacob. In the twentieth and twenty-first century Bibles for children, the short text receives only minor attention, whereas in the nineteenth century versions the passage is treated as an educational story: evil has to be conquered by good. From a scholarly view it has to be admitted that there is a relationship between Joseph’s belief and piety and his actions. Therefore, it would be recommendable to present Joseph as the shepherd of his brothers and the one who conquers evil by using good. As such, Joseph deserves to be described as an example to be imitated. Izaak J. de Hulster (‘The Myth of the Reborn Nation’) addresses again a question about which he has written in some recent articles: the question of monotheism in Persian Judah. Menahem Stern had argued that figurines, which had been common in Judah and continued to be widely found outside the province, disappeared in Yehud itself during the Persian period. It is true that archaeology had suggested a drastic reduction in numbers found, but there are several explanations for this. First, figurines are not absent from Persian contexts: a number of fragments have been found at such places as Gibeon, Tell en-Naṣbeh, En-gedi and even Jerusalem. A second point is that archaeologists have not always been clear to which periods the figurines belong, since there was continuity from the late Iron Age, and a number found in a Persian context have been labelled Iron II. The thesis that all those in Yehud had embraced monotheism goes along with other myths, such as those of the empty land, the reborn nation and the mass return. Arie van der Kooij (‘Leading Scholars and the Interpretation of Scripture: The Case of LXX Hag. 2.1–9’) finds that the Greek text differs in various ways from the Hebrew; notably Hag. 2.9 in Greek contains a long plus which is not easy to interpret. Looking at recent work on translation theory, such differences are often due to the interpretation of the text by the scholar-translator rather than cases of error or a different Hebrew Vorlage. This passage in Haggai 2 makes up a coherent picture that conveys a prophetic message differing from that contained in MT. The issue at stake is the question of the reliability and fulfilment of prophecies. The prophecy concerning the glorious temple had not yet been fulfilled, and therefore the text of vv. 3 and 6 was slightly modified in order to make clear that it will

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come true but at a date later than the time of the prophet himself. The plus in v. 9 seems to be part of the same strategy because it makes explicit the idea that the rebuilding of the temple as a glorious one will be carried out by builders in a period later than the time of Zerubbabel and Joshua. Read in this light, it would make perfect sense to interpret the phrase ‘everyone who builds’ as a reference to Hasmonean rulers like Jonathan and Simon as the ‘builders’ of the city. Also the gift of ‘peace of soul for preservation’ fits this leadership well. Part of the prophecies had come true, and this may have nourished the hope for a rebuilding of the temple in its former glory by the Hasmoneans. However, it was not the Hasmoneans but Herod the Great who carried this out. Marjo C. A. Korpel (‘Memories of Exile and Return in the Book of Ruth’) notes that the major characters in the book of Ruth – Naomi, Ruth and Boaz – are literary inventions with a purpose. An investigation of what is narrated about the three reveals remarkable similarities with prophetic texts from the exile. Memories of the exile and return are undoubtedly present in the book of Ruth. Reacting to hotly debated views on ethnicity and the collapse of the Davidic royal dynasty in post-exilic Judaism, the novelist has woven a provocative story around two brave women who must have lived many centuries earlier, but were considered role models for Jerusalem, whereas Boaz in his role of the redeemer seems to function as a symbol for God. The many similarities will render it henceforth impossible to neglect the allegorical layer in the Ruth story. Peter Machinist (‘The Question of Job’) joins the many through the ages who have wanted to provide an exegesis of this wonderful but still mysterious book. Although it appears straightforward at first, it is full of obscurities, not least the language of the poetic section. The book has three sets of paired features: prose and poetic sections; Job the patient and Job the impatient; and piety and suffering. The challenge is to bring these together to make sense of the book as a whole. Piety and suffering are interrelated already in the prologue, because the Satan persuades God to test Job’s piety by making him suffer. There is subversive irony throughout the book. In the poetic section neither side can find any rational arguments to explain Job’s suffering because none of the participants know of the wager between God and the Satan that started the whole process, and Chapter 28 invalidates all the dialogue that has gone before it. The ultimate irony is that when God speaks, Job does not answer him according to his previous challenges (e.g. that God has not explained his suffering) but in a humble and submissive way. He has changed, and exhibits the piety of the prologue. Another irony is that God pronounces Job ‘correct’. Part of the solution seems to lie in three sorts of wisdom, arising from the three viewpoints of Job and friends, the reader and God. Above all, the book teaches us to recognize our limits before we submit to God’s unlimited knowledge and power, and ultimately that we must find a way to live with uncertainty. Maarten J. J. Menken (‘The Open Mind of the Man Born Blind [John 9]’) spends much of his article on a detailed analysis of John 9, which shows a clear structure, including six scenes. Within it the man born blind and healed by Jesus develops in various ways. At the beginning, he is the passive object of the actions of others:

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he executes a command of Jesus, he politely and correctly answers questions. From the third scene onward, the man becomes an independent subject. He gives his own view of Jesus, he makes a stand against his interrogators and enters into a theological debate with them, and finally decides to believe in Jesus as the Son of Man. While the healed man becomes more and more spiritually seeing, his interrogators become more and more spiritually blind. Open-mindedness is the main characteristic of the man born blind. He persists with what is to him the highly relevant fact, namely his healing by Jesus, and derives his views of Jesus from this fact and not from preconceived ideas about what is allowed on the Sabbath. Whereas his interrogators make Scripture and their tradition into a closed system that excludes new experiences, the man handles them in an open way. If the theory does not agree with the facts, the theory has to be adapted, not the facts. For readers, the man born blind is apparently a character with whom to identify. He has individual traits, one of which is his ‘open mind’, his ability to really experience what happens to him and around him. Johannes C. de Moor (‘Jerusalem: Nightmare and Daydream in Micah’) gives a detailed overview of the time of the prophet Micah the Morasthite, who fiercely protested against the religion politics and shameless exploitation of the rural population of Judah by the ruling elite in Jerusalem. Gradually a love–hate relationship developed between Micah and the city, culminating in his shocking announcement of the destruction of the temple on Mt Zion (Mic. 3.12) that was still remembered centuries later (Jer. 26.18). At that time Micah’s prophecy of doom still remained unfulfilled and there is reason to suspect that he ended his life disillusioned in prison, in the city he came to regard as his enemy. Archaeological finds confirm that Micah’s critique of the religious and social policies of Ahaz and Hezekiah was justified to a large extent. Although he continued to care for the city, he had no hope for its future. Study of the relationship between the older and later layers of the book of Micah reveals intriguing changes in the evaluation of the role of the city. The canonical book of Micah contains several passages that promise Jerusalem a bright future. Generally, these must have been later attempts to neutralize the impact of Micah’s terrible message. Nadav Na’aman (‘Four Notes on the Ancient Near Eastern Marzeaḥ’) discusses the meaning of the ancient Near Eastern institution of marzeaḥ that is mentioned sporadically over a period of about 3,000 years and a very large geographical area. He first examines two Ugaritic texts and suggests a new reading and/or interpretation. He then suggests that the basic meaning of marziḫu is ‘a drinking/feast place’, not ‘a drinking association’ as some assume. The drinking associations that did exist might have belonged to different classes, but our sources mainly reflect those of the elite. Elements common to all references to marzeaḥ are the drinking of alcohol and possibly the religious connection of the feast. Otherwise, each place has its own version of the feast or festival. Herbert Niehr (‘The Abolition of the Cult of the Dead Kings in Jerusalem [Ezek. 43.6–9]’) points out that the common Semitic theology of the beneficent dead was also shared by Israel during the Iron Age. According to Ezekiel 43.6–9, (a) an architectural structure with a threshold, a doorpost and a wall were found

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in the inner court; (b) a cult was practiced here; (c) there were effigies or stelae of deceased kings. This shrine was placed in the immediate vicinity of the temple and like the temple it was probably oriented to the east. It is important to note that the text does not mention tombs or burials, contrary to what has often been said. A clear distinction was made between the royal burial places with the corpses, on the one hand, and a cult place for the ancestors represented by their effigies or stelae, on the other hand. This combined worship of the highest god and the deceased kings – the cultic concept assumed for the ancestor shrine in the vicinity of the Temple of Jerusalem – is heavily criticized by Ezekiel. The text does not speak about removing the corpses of the kings from their tombs, as often presumed, but rather the removal of the royal effigies from the temple precinct. This ancestor shrine was in existence until the fifth century bc, the most likely date of Ezekiel 43. What had so far been part and parcel of the royal cult in Jerusalem is now denounced as idolatry. Paul Sanders (‘A Human and a Deity with Conflicting Morals [Qohelet 2.26]’) points out that for a long time, Qoh. 2.26 was regarded as a crux interpretum. First it was seen as an addition by a pious redactor and later the words ‫טוב‬ ‘good’ and ‫‘ חוטא‬sinner’ were supposed to have a non-moral sense. However, these interpretations are unconvincing. A related passage in the Babylonian composition Ludlul bēl nēmeqi suggests that in Qoh. 2.26 God’s assessment of human behaviour is supposed to differ from the assessment by humans themselves. God may see as wrong what humans regard as right and vice versa. In the Ugaritic legend of Aqhat, the goddess ‘Anat regards the rebellion of the prince Aqhat as sinful, although his conduct is beyond reproach. She reacts impulsively and kills him. Although this parallel casts some light on the interpretation of Qoh. 2.26, the idea that God’s judgement is arbitrary does not suit the theology of Qohelet. Qohelet cannot embrace God’s rule, but he cannot reject it either. Klaas A. D. Smelik (‘A Prophet Contest: Jeremiah 28 Reconsidered’) gives a literary analysis of Jeremiah 28, which is an important chapter in the book of Jeremiah because it embarks on the difficult problem of how to make a distinction between true and false prophecy. This distinction was not merely theoretical – in those days, it meant even the difference between life and death. While Chapters 26 and 36 of the book of Jeremiah describe how the prophet’s life is threatened, in Chapter 28 it is his honour and his credibility that are at stake. The authors want to convince the readers that listening to the wrong prophet will lead to the complete destruction and disappearance of the kingdom of Judah. In Chapter 28, they do this in a very intriguing way. They postpone the outcome of their story deliberately in order to mislead their readers. Not to deceive them but in order to teach them not to put their trust in a prophet who enjoys a temporary success by prophesying what his audience wants to hear. Klaas Spronk (‘Comparing the Book of Judges to Greek Literature’) catalogues some of the suggestions of the past, linking the book of Judges to Greek literature and culture. An educated Jew in third-century Jerusalem might well be familiar with many of the Greek myths. A number of examples are looked at, some

xx Introduction

more convincing than others. But one can note the similarity of the sacrifice of Jephthah’s daughter (Judg. 11.29–40) with the similar story about Iphigeneia, the daughter of Agamemnon. The enigmatic reference to the tribe of Dan ‘abiding with the ships’ (Judg. 5.17) has a parallel in Achilles staying with his ships in the Iliad (where the Greek warriors besieging Troy are called Danaans). An educated Jew reading the stories of Samson might very well ponder the similarities with Hercules, including their relations with the gods and with women (e.g. Heracles is brought down not by brute force but by a woman he loves). The famous story of the rape of the Sabine women (told by Livy, History 1.9, and Plutarch, Romulus 14.4–5) may be compared with the final verses of the book of Judges with regard to the Benjaminites and the girls from Shilo. This is only a sample of the examples discussed. In recent years, there has been a much more positive view about contacts between Greek and Semitic cultures. While this should be welcomed, such comparison needs to be done with proper methodology. But when this proper methodology is applied, it is not only possible to read the book of Judges against a Hellenistic background but also plausible that this book was written and edited by someone living in the early Hellenistic period and familiar with Greek literature. Karel van der Toorn (‘Speaking of Gods: Dimensions of the Divine in the Ancient Near East’) examines a wide range of Mesopotamian and other literature that provides data on their view of the divine. A brief survey of all the elements that belong to the class of ‘gods’ (DINGIR) yields an impressive list: cosmic phenomena; natural phenomena such as mountains, rivers and seas; extraordinary human beings, in particular kings and the dead; objects that pertain to the sphere of the gods and their cult; particular topographic places; some rare abstractions; and finally a variety of beings that by our standards would qualify as demons, angels and demi-gods. Many of the Mesopotamian gods are the result of an anthropomorphic perception of cosmic and natural phenomena, but to qualify Mesopotamian religion as ‘nature religion’ merits a critical reassessment. Our notions of what it means to be a god have been shaped by centuries of exposure to biblical imagery and Christian theology. Many people will think of Christianity as a more spiritual and therefore higher form of religion than the crude nature religions of India, Mesopotamia or ancient Egypt. This popular theory embraces the same Darwinist evolutionary perspective that was popular in the nineteenth century but has been generally given up among specialists. The Mesopotamian gods are not human, but they are in many ways like humans. Owing to their anthropomorphic nature, they have become far removed from the realities of nature from which they sprang. Gods may be qualified as perfected humans: they are like humans but better. What is true of the Mesopotamian view of the gods is valid for all of the ancient Near East, including ancient Israel. It is one of the ironies of history that the Christian tradition, while claiming the Hebrew Bible as its inheritance, has transformed the notion of God in such a way as to make him unrecognizable as an ancient Near Eastern deity. Christoph Uehlinger (‘Is the Critical, Academic Study of the Bible Inextricably Bound to the Destinies of Theology?’) tackles the fraught question of the changes

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xxi

to the discipline of Biblical Studies in universities across Europe in recent years. He notes how historically Biblical Studies were part of faculties of theology but how their interests were often quite different. Biblical Studies became affected by the rise of the discipline of History of Religions but still was often isolated from developments in other disciplines, at least until recently. The situation varied considerably of course in different European countries, but the relationship of Biblical Studies with Systematic and other forms of Theology tended to be similar, especially in Protestant faculties. Now, in most countries Theology, Biblical Studies, and other subjects within Humanities are required to link their results – especially their research results – to the economic and social needs of the individual society. The question is how the subject can survive and develop properly in the current situation. The answer is not to develop further faculties of theology (alongside Protestant and Catholic faculties, as is happening in Germany) but perhaps for Biblical Studies to ally itself more closely to the study of religion/s. Anne-Mareike Wetter (‘Biblical Studies and the Art of Civilization Maintenance’) begins by observing that ‘real readers’ – the average religious people who read the text for help in their everyday lives – are themselves often estranged from those who deal with Scripture within an academic context. But contrary to some who see historically oriented scholarship as the cause of the problem, her paper argues that the role of biblical studies as practised within a historical paradigm is the key to ‘civilization maintenance’. She illustrates this by an appeal to the examples of Lot’s wife and of Ruth. The historically informed reading of such cases as these can show how they undermine the simplistic reading to support, for example, colonialism. It allows a dialogue between our world and the text, but subverts both sweeping statements about the ‘enlightened Judeo-Christian tradition’ and the happy-go-lucky co-existence of various ethnic, religious and cultural identities. It exposes unwarranted appropriations of the texts we hold so dear. H. G. M. Williamson (‘A New Divine Title in Isa. 10.17’) examines Isaiah 10.17 in the context of the use of light imagery in the Hebrew Bible. Different from most of the other metaphors relating the deity to light is the wording of Isa. 10.17, which uses the phrase, ‘Light of Israel’. A number of commentators emend ‘light’ to ‘rock’ or even ‘God’. But ‘Light of Israel’ is parallel to ‘Holy One (of Israel)’ in the next line. Unlike in other passages, this is not just a metaphor but an actual divine title. It could well be a coining of the author rather than something he took from elsewhere, though he may well have been influenced by and playing on the Assyrian king’s self-reference to his own ‘splendour’ or ‘glory’.

Bibliography of Professor Bob Becking Monographs 1. De ondergang van Samaria: Historische, exegetische en theologische opmerkingen bij II Koningen 17. Meppel 1985, xii + 292 pp. [Dissertation Utrecht 7 November 1985]

xxii Introduction

2. Blijf bij Uw Bevrijder. In de leer bij de Tien Geboden, Kampen: Kok, 1986. 3. Nahum. Verklaring van een bijbelgedeelte, Kampen: Kok, 1987. 4. The Fall of Samaria: An Historical and Archaeological Study. SHANE 2; Leiden: Brill, 1992. 5. Een magisch ritueel in Jahwistisch perspectief: Literaire structuur en godsdiensthistorische achtergronden van 2 Koningen 4, 31–37. Utrechtse Theologische Reeks (UTR) 17; Utrecht: Faculteit der Godgeleerdheid, Rijksuniversiteit te Utrecht, 1992. 6. Between Fear and Freedom: Essays on the Interpretation of Jeremiah 30–31. OTS 51; Leiden: Brill, 2004. 7. From David to Gedaliah: The Book of Kings as Story and History. OBO 228; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007. 8. Ezra, Nehemiah, and the Construction of Early Jewish Identity. FAT 80; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011, xvi + 189 pp. 9. Een dwarse dromer: Meedenken met Micha, Gorinchem: Narratio, 2013. Articles in Refereed Journals   1. ‘Is het boek Nahum een literaire eenheid?’, Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 32 (1978), 107–24.   2. ‘Der Text von Jesaja 9,2a’, Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 92 (1980), 142–5.   3. ‘Bee’s Dating Formula and the Book of Nahum’, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 18 (1980), 100–4.   4. ‘Zur Interpretation der ammonitischen Inschrift vom Tell Sīrān’, Bibliotheca Orientalis 38 (1981), 273 –6.   5. ‘The Two Neo-Assyrian Documents from Gezer in their Historical Context’, Jaarbericht Ex Oriente Lux 27 (1981/82), 76–89.   6. ‘Elia op de Horeb’, Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 41 (1987), 177–86.   7. ‘A Remark on a Post-Exilic Seal’, Ugarit Forschungen 18 (1987), 445–6.   8. ‘Theologie na de ondergang. Enkele opmerkingen bij 2 Koningen 17’, Bijdragen 49 (1988), 150–74.   9. ‘Kann das Ostrakon ND 6231 von Nimrūd für ammonitisch gehalten werden?’, Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palestina Vereins 104 (1988), 59–67. 10. ‘“Wie Töpfe sollst du Sie zerschmeissen”: Mesopotamische Parallelen zu Psalm 2,9b’, Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 102 (1990), 59–79. 11. ‘“They Hated him Even More”. Literary Technique in Gen. 37.1–11’, Biblische Notizen 60 (1991), 40–7. 12. ‘Baalis, the King of the Ammonites. An Epigraphical Remark on Jeremiah 40:14’, Journal of Semitic Studies 38 (1993), 15–24. 13. ‘Noch einmal Psalm 2,9b – eine Korrektur zu ZAW 102 (1990), 75–76’, Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 105 (1993), 269–70. 14. ‘Does Jeremiah x 3 refer to a Canaanite Deity called Hubal ?’, Vetus Testamentum 43 (1993), 555–7.

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15. ‘Elisha: “Sha’ is my God”?’, Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 106 (1994), 113–16. 16. ‘Jeremiah’s Book of Consolation: A Textual Comparison: Notes on the Masoretic Text and the Old Greek Version of Jeremiah xxx–xxxi’, Vetus Testamentum 44 (1994), 145–69. 17. ‘“A Voice Was Heard in Ramah”. Remarks on Structure and Meaning of Jr 31,15–17’, Biblisches Zeitschrift 38 (1994), 229–42. 18. ‘Het “Huis van David” in een pre-exilische inscriptie uit Tel Dan’, Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 49 (1995), 108–23. 19. H. M. Barstad and B. Becking, ‘Does the Stele from Tel-Dan Refer to a Deity Dôd?’, Biblische Notizen 77 (1995), 5–12. 20. ‘Divine Wrath and the Conceptual Coherence of the Book of Nahum’, Scandinavian Journal for the Old Testament 9 (1995), 277–96. 21. ‘A Judge in History: Notes on Nahum 3,7 and Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty § 47: 452’, Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte 1 (1995), 111–16. 22. ‘“Touch for Health”. Magic in 2 Kings 4:31–37 with a Remark on the History of Yahwism’, Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 108 (1996), 34–54. 23. ‘The Second Danite Inscription: Some Remarks’, Biblische Notizen 81 (1996), 21–30. 24. ‘Text-internal and Text-external Chronology in Jeremiah 31:31–34’, Svensk Exegetisk Årskrift 61 (1996), 33–51. 25. ‘The Times They are A Changing: An Interpretation of Jeremiah 30:12–17’, Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 12 (1998), 3–25. 26. B. Becking and J. A. Wagenaar, ‘Het “Huis van JHWH” en het “Verzoek van de weduwe”: Enkele opmerkingen bij twee recent gepubliceerde oud-Hebreeuwse inscripties’, Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 52 (1998), 177–93. 27. ‘Does a Recently Published Paleo-Hebrew Inscription Refer to the Solomonic Temple?’, Biblische Notizen 92 (1998), 5–11. 28. ‘The Seal of Baalisha, King of the Ammonites, Some Remarks’, Biblische Notizen 97 (1999), 13–17. 29. ‘Did Jehu Write the Tel Dan Inscription?’, Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 13 (1999), 187–201. 30. ‘Is de Hebreeuwse Bijbel een hellenistisch boek?’, Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 54 (2000), 1–17 31. ‘The Idea of Thorah in Ezra 7–10: A Functional Analysis’, Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte 7 (2001), 273–86. 32. B. Becking and J. A. Wagenaar, ‘Personal Name or Royal Epithet? A Remark on Ostracon 1027 from Tell el-Far‘ah (South)’, Biblische Notizen 107–8 (2001), 12–14. 33. ‘Joods syncretisme in Elefantine?’, Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 56 (2002), 216–31. 34. ‘Sour Fruit and Blunt Teeth: The Metaphorical Meaning of the māšal in Jeremiah 31:29–30’, Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 17 (2003), 7–21.

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35. ‘Does the Stele from Tel Dan refer to a Deity Bethel?’, Biblische Notizen 118 (2003), 19–23. 36. ‘Temple, marzēah, and Power at Elephantine’, Transeuphratène 29 (2005), 37–47. 37. ‘Het boek Jeremia in de NBV: Zwakte en sterkte van een eigenzinnige versio moderna’, Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 59 (2005), 274–85. 38. ‘Is God Good for His People? Critical Remarks on a Recently Proposed Emendation of Nahum 1,7’, Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 117 (2005), 621–3. 39. ‘Koersen op kwaliteit: over de toekomst van dit theologisch tijdschrift’, Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 60 (2006), 275–81. 40. ‘Sennacherib and Jerusalem: New Perspectives’, Journal for Semitics 16 (2007), 267–88. 41. ‘Temples Across the Border and the Communal Boundaries within Yahwistic Yehud’, Transeuphratene 35 (2008), 39–54 + Planche 1. 42. ‘The Identity of Nabu-sharrussu-ukin, the Chamberlain: An Epigraphic Note on Jeremiah 39:3. With an Appendix on The Nebu(!)sarsekim Tablet by Henry Stadhouders’, Biblische Notizen 140 (2009), 35–46. 43. ‘God-Talk for a Disillusioned Pilgrim in Psalm 121’, Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 9 (2009), article 1: www.jhsonline.org/Articles/article_117.pdf 44. B. Becking and M. C. A. Korpel, ‘To Create, to Separate or to Construct: An Alternative for a Recent Proposal as to the Interpretation of the Verb ‫ברא‬ in Genesis 1:1–2:4a’, Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 10 (2010), article 3: www. jhsonline.org/Articles/article_131.pdf 45. B. Becking and Paul Sanders, ‘De inscriptie uit Khirbet Qeiyafa: een vroege vorm van sociaal besef in Oud-Israël?’, Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 64 (2010), 238–52. 46. ‘Exilische identiteit als post-exilische ideologie: Psalm 137 opnieuw gelezen’, Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 64 (2010), 269–83. 47. B. Becking and M. Dijkstra, ‘ ‘‘A Message from the King …’’:  Some Remarks on an Edomite Ostracon from Ḥorvat ‘Uza’, Journal of Northwest Semitic Literature 37 (2011), 113–22. 48. ‘Zedekiah, Josephus and the Dating of the Books of Chronicles’, Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament 25 (2011), 217–33. 49. B. Becking and Paul Sanders, ‘Plead for the Poor and the Widow: The Ostracon from Khirbet Qeiyafa as Expression of Social Consciousness’, Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte 17 (2011), 133–48. 50. ‘What Forms of Life are to be Protected? Exegetical Remarks on Patrick Miller’s Interpretation of the Fifth (or Sixth) Commandment’, Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte 17 (2011), 149–59. 51. ‘Semitisch sprekende slangen: Over de betekenis voor de wetenschap van het Oude Testament van een bijzondere vondst in de Piramideteksten’, Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 66 (2012),  203–17.

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52. ‘Othmar Keel and Christoph Uehlinger, Göttinnen, Götter und Gottessymbole, en de Contextual Return’, Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 67 (2013), 242–50. 53. ‘Creation and Covenant in a Via Media Position: The example of J. J. P. Valeton jr.’, Hervormde Teologiese Studies 69/1 (2013), 6 pages: http://www. hts.org.za/index.php/HTS/article/view/1989 54. B. Becking and A. M. Wetter, ‘Boaz in the Gate (Ruth 4,1–12) – Legal Transaction or Religious Ritual’, Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte, 19 (2013), 283–97. 55. ‘Phoenician Snakes and a Prophetic Parallelism: An Implication for Zephaniah 1,9 of a Recent Discovery in the Egyptian Pyramid Texts’, Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 40/1 (2014), 1–16. 56. ‘Hizkia in drievoud: Het beeld van deze koning in 2 Koningen 18–20 in drie historische contexten’, Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift  68 (2014), 297–307. Articles in Refereed Volumes   1. ‘“I Will Break his Yoke from off your Neck”. Remarks on Jeremiah xxx 4–11’, in A. S. van der Woude (ed.), New Avenues in the Study of the Old Testament: A Collection of Old Testament Studies Published on the Occasion of the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Oudtestamentische Werkgezelschap and the Retirement of Prof. Dr. M.J. Mulder (OTS 25; Leiden: Brill, 1989), 63–76.   2. ‘Jehojachin’s Amnesty, Salvation for Israel? Remarks on 2 Kings 25, 27–30’, in C. Brekelmans and J. Lust (eds), Pentateuchal and Deuteronomistic Studies: Papers Read at the XIIIth IOSOT Congress Leuven: Peeters, 1989 (BETL 94; Leuven: Peeters, 1990), 283–93.   3. ‘“A Divine Spirit is in You”. Notes on the Translation of the Phrase rûah ‘elāhîn in Daniel 5,14 and Related Texts’, in A. S. van der Woude (ed.), The Book of Daniel in the Light of New Findings (BETL 106; Leuven: Peeters, 1993), 515–19.   4. ‘A Task for Theology?’, in M. Klopfenstein and W. Dietrich (eds), Ein Gott Allein? JHWH-Verehrung und biblischer Monotheismus im Kontext der israelitischen und altorientalischen Religionsgeschichte (13. Kolloquium der Schweizerischen Akademie der Geistes- und Sozialwissenschaften 1993; OBO 139; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994), 387–90.   5. ‘Passion, Power, Protection: Interpreting the God of Nahum’, in B. Becking and M. Dijkstra (eds), On Reading Prophetic Texts: Gender-Specific and Related Studies in Memory of Fokkelien van Dijk-Hemmes (Biblical Interpretation Series 18; Leiden: Brill, 1996), 1–20.   6. ‘Inscribed Seals as Historical Sources for “Ancient Israel”? Jeremiah 40.7–41.15 par exemple’, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Can a ‘History of Israel’ be Written? (European Seminar in Historical Methodology 1 = JSOTSup 245; Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 65–83.

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  7. ‘From Apostasy to Destruction: A Josianic View on the Fall of Samaria’, in M. Vervenne and J. Lust (eds), Deuteronomy and Deuteronomic Literature: Festschrift C.H.W. Brekelmans (BETL 133; Leuven: Peeters, 1997), 279–97.   8. ‘Assyrian Evidence for Iconic Polytheism in Ancient Israel?’, in K. van der Toorn (ed.), The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East (CBET 21; Leuven: Peeters, 1997), 157–71.   9. ‘Ezra’s Reenactment of the Exile’, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Leading Captivity Captive: The ‘Exile’ as History and Tradition (European Seminar in Historical Methodology 2 = JSOTSup 278; Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 40–61. 10. ‘Ezra on the Move: Trends and Perspectives on the Character and his Book’, in F. García Martínez and E. Noort (eds), Perspectives in the Study of the Old Testament and Early Judaism: A Symposium in Honour of Adam S. van der Woude on the Occasion of his 70th Birthday (VTSup 73; Leiden: Brill, 1998), 154–79. 11. ‘Continuity and Discontinuity after the Exile: Some Introductory Remarks’, in B. Becking and M. C. A. Korpel (eds), The Crisis of the Israelite Religion: Transformation of Religious Traditions in Exilic and Post-Exilic Times (OTS 42; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 1–8. 12. ‘Continuity and Community: The Belief-System of the Book of Ezra’, in B. Becking and M. C. A. Korpel (eds), The Crisis of the Israelite Religion: Transformation of Religious Traditions in Exilic and Post-Exilic Times (OTS 42; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 256–75. 13. ‘No More Grapes from the Vineyard?: A Plea for a Historical-Critical Approach in the Study of the Old Testament’, in A. Lemaire and M. Sæbo (eds), Congress Volume Oslo, 1998 (VTSup 80; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 123–41. 14. ‘From Exodus to Exile: 2 Kings 17:7–20 in the Context of its Co-text’, in G. Galil and M. Weinfeld (eds), Studies in Historical Geography and Biblical Historiography Presented to Zecharia Kallai (VTSup 81; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 215–31. 15. ‘The Hellenistic Period and Ancient Israel: Three Preliminary Statements’, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period (European Seminar in Historical Methodology 3 = JSOTSup 317; Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 78–90. 16. ‘The God in Whom They Trusted …: Assyrian Evidence for Iconic Polytheism in Ancient Israel?’, in B. Becking, M. Dijkstra, M. C. A. Korpel, K. J. H. Vriezen (eds), Only One God? Monotheism in Ancient Israel and the Veneration of the Goddess Asherah (The Biblical Seminar 77; London and New York: Continuum, 2001), 151–63. 17. ‘Only One God? On Possible Implications for Biblical Theology’, in B. Becking, M. Dijkstra, M. C. A. Korpel, K. J. H. Vriezen (eds), Only One God? Monotheism in Ancient Israel and the Veneration of the Goddess Asherah (The Biblical Seminar 77; London and New York: Continuum, 2001), 189–201.

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18. ‘The Exile Does not Equal the Eschaton: An Interpretation of Micah 4:1–5’, in F. Postma, K. Spronk, E. Talstra (eds), The New Things: Eschatology in Old Testament Prophecy Festschrift for Henk Leene (Amsterdamse cahiers voor exegese van de Bijbel en zijn tradities: Supplement 3; Maastricht: Shaker, 2002), 1–7. 19. ‘Setuma and Petucha in Jeremiah 30–31’, in M. C. A. Korpel and J. Oesch (eds), Studies in Scriptural Unit Division (Pericope 3; Assen: Van Gorcum, 2002), 1–45. 20. ‘West Semites at Tell Šēh Hamad: Evidence for the Israelite Exile?’, in E. A. Knauf and U. Hübner (eds), Kein Land für sich allein: Studien zum Kulturkontakt in Kanaan, Israel/Palästina und Ebirnâri für Manfred Weippert zum 65. Geburtstag (OBO 186; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002), 153–66. 21. ‘Expectations about the End of Time in the Hebrew Bible: Do They Exist?’, in C. Rowland and J. Barton (eds), Apocalypticism in History and Tradition (JSPSup 43; Sheffield Academic Press, 2002), 44–59. 22. ‘Law as Expression of Religion’, in R. Albertz and B. Becking (eds), Yahwism after the Exile: Perspectives on Israelite Religion in the Persian Era (Studies in Theology and Religion 5; Assen: Van Gorcum, 2003), 18–31. 23. ‘Chronology: A Skeleton without Flesh? Sennacherib’s Campaign as a Case-Study’, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), ‘Like a Bird in a Cage’: The Invasion of Sennacherib in 701 BCE (European Seminar in Historical Methodology 4 = JSOTSup 363; Sheffield Academic Press, 2003), 46–72. 24. ‘Nehemiah 9 and the Problematic Concept of Context (Sitz im Leben)’, in E. Ben Zvi and M. A. Sweeney (eds), The Changing Face of Form Criticism for the Twenty-First Century (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 253–65. 25. ‘Die Gottheiten der Juden in Elephantine’, in M. Oeming and K. Schmid (eds), Der eine Gott und die Götter: Polytheismus und Monotheismus im antiken Israel (Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments 82; Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 2003), 203–26. 26. ‘Divine Reliability and the Conceptual Coherence of the Book of Consolation (Jeremiah 30–31)’, in M. Kessler (ed.), Reading the Book of Jeremiah: A Search for Coherence (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2004), 163–79. 27. ‘Jeremiah 44: A Conflict on History and Religion’, in T. L. Hettema and A. van der Kooij (eds), Religious Polemics in Context: Papers Presented to the Second Conference of the Leiden Institute for the Study of Religion (LISOR) Held at Leiden, 27–8 April 2000 (Studies in Theology and Religion 11; Assen: Van Gorcum, 2004), 255–64. 28. ‘ “Until this Day” On an Adverbial Adjunct and Biblical Historiography’, in M. Müller and T. L. Thompson (eds), Historie og Konstruktion: Festskrift til Niels Peter Lemche i anledning af 60 års fødselsdagen den 6. September 2005 (Forum for Bibelsk Exegese 14; Copenhagen: University of Copenhagen/ Museum Tusculandum Press, 2005), 19–29.

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29. ‘ ‘‘We All Returned as One”: Critical Notes on The Myth of the Mass Return’, in O. Lipschits and M. Oeming (eds), Judah and the Judaeans in the Persian Period (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 3–18. 30. ‘The Return of the Deity from Exile: Iconic or Aniconic?’, in Y. Amit, E. Ben Zvi, I. Finkelstein and O. Lipschits (eds), Essays on Ancient Israel in Its Near Eastern Context: A Tribute to Nadav Na’aman (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 53–62. 31. ‘Zerubbabel, Zechariah 3–4, and Post-Exilic History’, in B. E. Kelle and M. Bishop Moore (eds), Israel’s Prophets and Israel’s Past: Essays on the Relationship of Prophetic Texts and Israelite History in Honor of John H. Hayes (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 446; London and New York: T & T Clark, 2006), 268–79. 32. ‘The Prophets as Persons’, in G. Glas et al. (eds), Hearing Visions and Seeing Voices: Psychological Aspects of Biblical Concepts and Personalities (Dordrecht: Springer, 2007), 53–63. 33. ‘Do the Earliest Samaritan Inscriptions Already Indicate a Parting of the Ways?’, in O. Lipschits, G. Knoppers, R. Albertz (eds), Judah and the Judaeans in the Fourth Century BCE (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 213–22. 34. ‘Nehemiah as a Mosaic Heir: Nehemiah 13 as Appropriation of Deuteronomy 7’, in J. Pakkala and M. Nissinen (eds), House Full of All Good Things: Essays in Memory of Timo Veijola (Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 96; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2008), 224–37. 35. ‘Sabbath at Elephantine: A Short Episode in the Construction of Jewish Identity’, in A. Houtman, A. de Jong and M. Misset-van de Weg (eds), Empsychoi Logoi Religious Innovations in Antiquity: Studies in Honour of Pieter Willem van der Horst (AJEC 73; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 177–89. 36. ‘The Enigmatic Garden of Uzza: A Religio-Historical Footnote to 2 Kings 21:18,26’, in I. Kottsieper, R. Schmitt, J. Wöhrle (eds), Berührungspunkte: Studien zur Sozial- und Religionsgeschichte Israels, Festschrift für Rainer Albertz zu seinem 65. Geburtstag (AOAT 350; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2008), 383–91. 37. ‘The Boundaries of Israelite Monotheism’, in A. M. Korte and M. de Haardt (eds), The Boundaries of Western Monotheism: Interdisciplinary Explorations into the Foundations of Western Monotheism (STAR 13; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 9–27. 38. ‘Does Exile Equal Suffering? A Fresh Look at Psalm 137’, in B. Becking and D. Human (eds), Exile and Suffering: A Selection of Papers Read at the 50th Anniversary of the Old Testament Society of South Africa (OTS 50; Leiden: Brill, 2009), 183–202. 39. ‘Abram in Exile: Remarks on Genesis 12:10–20’, in A. C. Hagedorn and H. Pfeiffer (eds), Die Erzväter in der biblischen Tradition: Festschrift für Matthias Köckert (BZAW 400; Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 2009), 35–47. 40. ‘On the Identity of the “Foreign” Women in Ezra 9–10’, in L. L. Grabbe and G. A. Knoppers (eds), Exile and Restoration Revisited: Essays on the Babylonian and Persian Periods in Memory of Peter R. Ackroyd (Library

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of Second Temple Studies 73; London and New York: T & T Clark, 2009),  31–49. ‘Means of Revelation in the Book of Jeremiah’, in H. M. Barstad and R. G. Kratz (eds), Prophecy in the Book of Jeremiah (BZAW 388; Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 2009), 33–47. ‘Exile and Forced Labour in Bêt Har’oš: Remarks on a Recently Discovered Moabite Inscription’, in: Gershon Galil, Mark Geller and Alan Millard (eds), Homeland and Exile: Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honour of Bustenay Oded (VTSup 130; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 3–12. ‘Love Thy Neighbor’, in R. Achenbach and M. Arneth (eds), ‘Gerechtigkeit und Recht zu üben’: Studien zur altorientalischen und biblischen Rechtsgeschichte, zur Religionsgeschichte Israels und zur Religionssoziologie. Festschrift für Eckart Otto zum 65. Geburtstag (BZAR 13; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2009), 182–7. ‘In Babylon: The Exile in Historical (Re)construction’, in B. Becking, A. Cannegieter, W. van de Poll, A.-M. Wetter (eds), From Babylon to Eternity: the Exile Remembered and Constructed in Text and Tradition (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2010), 4–33. ‘Does Wisdom Come From Edom? Remarks on an Ostracon from Horvat ‘Uza’, in S. Fischer and M. Grohmann (eds), Weisheit und Schöpfung: Festschrift für James Alfred Loader zum 65. Geburtstag (Wiener Alttestamentliche Studien 7; Frankfurt am Main: Petert Lang, 2010), 29–42. ‘“As Straw is Trodden Down in the Water of a Dung-Pit”: Remarks on a Simile in Isaiah 25:10’, in M. N. van der Meer et al. (eds), Isaiah in Context: Studies in Honour of Arie van der Kooij on the Occasion of his Sixty-Fifth Birthday (VTSup 138; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 3–13. ‘Drought, Hunger, and Redistribution: A Social Economic Reading of Nehemiah 5’, in P. R. Davies and D. V. Edelman (eds), The Historian and the Bible: Essays in Honour of Lester L. Grabbe (LHBOTS 530; London and New York: T & T Clark, 2010), 137–49. ‘David between Evidence and Ideology’, in B. Becking and L. L. Grabbe (eds), History of Israel between Evidence and Ideology (OTS 59; Leiden: Brill, 2011), 1–30. ‘Signs from the Garden: Some Remarks on the Relationship between Eve and Adam in Genesis 2–3’, in G. Eidevall and B. Scheuer (eds), Enigmas and Images: Studies in Honor of Tryggve N. D. Mettinger (Coniectanea Biblica Old Testament Series 58; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 22–36. ‘Once in a Garden: Some Remarks on the Construction of the Identity of Woman and Man in Genesis 2–3’, in B. Becking and S. Hennecke (eds), Out of Paradise: Eve and Adam and their Interpreters (Hebrew Bible Monographs 30; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2010), 1–13. ‘Yehudite Identity in Elephantine’, in O. Lipschits, G. N. Knoppers, M. Oeming (eds), Judah and the Judaeans in the Achaemenid Period: Negotiating Identities in an International Context (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 403–19.

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52. ‘The Story of the Three Youth and the Composition of First Esdras’, in L. S. Fried (ed.), Did First Esdras Come First? (SBL Ancient Israel and Its Literature 7; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011), 61–71. 53. ‘The Ambivalence of Adaptation and the Ongoing Strength of Religion’, in B. Becking (ed.), Orthodoxy, Liberalism, and Adaptation: Essays on Ways of Worldmaking in Times of Change from Biblical, Historical and Systematic Perspectives (STAR 15; Leiden: Brill, 2011), 271–6. 54. ‘David at the Threshold of History: A Review of Steven L. McKenzie, King David: A Biography (2000) and Baruch Halpern, David’s Secret Demons: Messiah, Murderer, Traitor (2001)’, in L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Enquire of the Former Age: Ancient Historiography and Writing the History of Israel (European Seminar in Historical Methodology 9 = LHBOTS 554; London and New York: T & T Clark, 2011), 197–209. 55. ‘A Fragmented History of the Exile’, in F. R. Ames, B. E. Kelle and J. L. Wright (eds), Interpreting Exile: Interdisciplinary Studies of Displacement and Deportation in Biblical and Modern Contexts (SBL Ancient Israel and Its Literature 10; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011), 151–69. 56. ‘Is There a Samaritan Identity in the Earliest Documents?’, in J. Frey, U. Schattner-Rieser and K. Schmid (eds), Die Samaritaner und die Bibel/The Samaritans and the Bible (Studia Samaritana 7; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2012), 51–65. 57. ‘Global Warming and the Babylonian Exile’, in J. Ahn and J. Middlemass (eds), By the Irrigation Canals of Babylon: Approaches to the Study of the Exile (LHBOTS 526; London and New York: T & T Clark, 2012), 49–62. 58. ‘Memory and Forgetting in and on the Exile: Remarks on Psalm 137’, in Ehud ben Zvi and Christoph Levin (eds), Memory and Forgetting in Early Second Temple Judah (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 277–99. 58. ‘Temple Vessels Speaking for a Silent God: Notes on Divine Presence in the Books of Ezra and Nehemiah’, in B. Becking (ed.), Reflections on the Silence of God: A Discussion with Marjo Korpel and Johannes de Moor (OTS 62; Leiden: Brill, 2013), 13–28. 59. ‘Silent Witness: The Symbolic Presence of God in the Temple Vessels in Ezra and Nehemiah’, in N. MacDonald and I. J. de Hulster (eds), Divine Presence and Absence in Exilic and Post-Exilic Judaism (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 267–81. 60. ‘Micah in Neo-Assyrian Light’, in R. P. Gordon and H. M. Barstad (eds), “Thus Speaks Ishtar of Arbela”: Prophecy in Israel, Assyria, and Egypt in the Neo-Assyrian Period (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2013), 111–28. 61. ‘Gottes Eifersucht als eine der Wurzeln des altisraelitischen Monotheismus’, in Chr. Schwöbel (ed.), Gott, Götter, Götzen: XIV Europäischer Kongress für Theologie (Leipzig: Evangelischer Verlagsanstalt, 2013), 292–303. 62. ‘Er waren eens drie jongelingen …: Over de functie van een Hellenistische hof vertelling in 3 Ezra’, in P. J. van Midden (ed.), Deuterocanonieke Boeken (Bergambacht: Uitgeverij 2VM, 2013), 87–96.

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63. ‘Between Realpolitiker and Hero of Faith: Portraits of Hezekiah in Biblical Traditions and Beyond’, in E. Ben Zvi and D. V. Edelman (eds), Remembering Biblical Figures in the Late Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods: Social Memory and Imagination (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 182–98. 64. ‘Coping with Drought and Famine in some Post-Exilic Texts’, in: E. Ben Zvi and C. Levin (eds), Thinking of Water in the Early Second Temple Period (BZAW 461; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2014), 229–55. Others   1. ‘Gesplitste bronnen’, in B. Becking and K. A. D. Smelik (eds), Een patriarchale leugen (Het verhaal in Genesis 12 verschillend belicht, Baarn: Ten Have, 1989), 20–36.   2. ‘Historisch reliëf ’, in B. Becking and K. A. D. Smelik (eds), Een patriarchale leugen (Het verhaal in Genesis 12 verschillend belicht, Baarn: Ten Have, 1989), 37–53.   3. ‘“Bedrukte Rachel schort dit waren”. Jeremia 31:15–17, Mattheüs 2:18 en Vondels Gysbreght’, in B. Becking, J. van Dorp and A. van der Kooij (eds), Door het oog van de Profeten: Exegetische studies aangeboden aan Prof. dr C. van Leeuwen (Utrechtse Theologische Reeks 8; Utrecht: Faculteit der Godgeleerdheid, Rijksuniversiteit te Utrecht, 1989), 9–22.   4. ‘Iphigeneia in Gilead, over het verstaan van Richteren 11,29–40’, Kerk en Theologie 41 (1990), 192–205.   5. ‘Van afval tot ondergang. Een Josiaanse visie op de ondergang van Samaria (2 Koningen 17:21–23)’, Acta Theologica 10 (1990), 1–14.   6. ‘Gij weet van de verborgen strik. Opmerkingen bij Psalm 142 vers 4’, in P. Beentjes, J. Maas, T. Wever (eds), ‘Gelukkig de mens’: Opstellen over psalmen, exegese en semiotiek aangeboden aan Nico Tromp (Kampen: Kok, 1991), 74–85.   7. ‘Jeremia’s beeld van God en zijn strijd tegen de godenbeelden’, Kerk en Theologie 43 (1992), 280–90.   8. ‘Verschuilen kan niet meer. Een interpretatie van Jeremia 31:29–30’, in A. Hofman and D. Jorissen (eds), Hoogten en Diepten. Opstellen over gemeente-zijn voor A.A. Spijkerboer (Kampen: Kok, 1993), 30–40.   9. ‘Goddelijke toorn in het boek Nahum’, in A. de Jong and A. de Jong (eds), Kleine Encyclopedie van de Toorn (Utrechtse Theologische Reeks 21; Utrecht: Faculteit der Godgeleerdheid, Rijksuniversiteit te Utrecht, 1993), 9–19. 10. ‘Valetons Visie op het Verbond: Gemeente-zijn in het perspectief van Jeremia 31:31–34’, in J. R. A. Vlasblom and J. G. van der Windt (eds), Heel de Kerk: Enkele visies op de kerk binnen de ‘Ethische Richting’ (Zoetermeer: Meinema, 1995), 142–60. 11. ‘Verder na Vriezen: Kanttekeningen bij zijn ‘‘Hoofdlijnen’’ op de drempel van het derde millennium’, in M. Dijkstra and K. J. H. Vriezen (eds), Th.C. Vriezen Hervormd Theoloog en Oudtestamenticus: Studies over theologie van

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25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35.

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van de Th.C. Vriezen Stichting 1; Utrecht: Universiteit Utrecht, Faculteit Geesteswetenschappen, 2011), 35–46. ‘Een “loflied” op Gods constructie van de werkelijkheid: Gedachten over het begin van Genesis’, Kerk en Theologie 62 (2011), 15–25. ‘Over het begin: De actualiteit van Valetons visie op Genesis 1–3’, in B. Becking (ed.), J.J.P. Valeton jr. als mens en theoloog: Studies over een ethisch theoloog bij zijn 100e sterfdag (MTCVS 2; Utrecht: Universiteit Utrecht, Faculteit Geesteswetenschappen, 2012), 47–63. ‘Een tijd om te doden en een tijd om te genezen: Exegetische opmerkingen bij het zesde gebod’, Kerk en Theologie 63 (2012), 189–200. ‘Wie schreef de Bijbel?’, Phoenix 57 (2012), 79–85. ‘Ook dit begin is moeilijk: Over de vertaling van de eerste zin in het Oude Testament. Interpretatie’, Tijdschrift voor bijbelse theologie 20 (2012), 4–7. ‘Brood uit Baäl Shalisha: Exegetische Inleiding bij 2 Kon. 4,42–44; Ps. 145; Ef. 4,1–6 Joh. 6,1–15’, Tijdschrift voor Verkondiging “De gewijde rede” 84 (2012), 217–19. ‘Toen God ons thuisbracht … Exegetische en theologische opmerkingen bij Psalm 126’, Kerk en Theologie 64 (2013), 112–22. ‘Erkenning; Exegetische Inleiding 1 Kon. 17,17–24’, Tijdschrift voor Verkondiging “De gewijde rede”, 85 (2013), 149–52. ‘Toekomstmuziek of verleden tijd? Een tweeluik over Psalm 126’, Interpretatie: Tijdschrift voor bijbelse theologie 21/6 (2013), 40–3. ‘Crisisjaren. Sefanja: profeet tussen eb en vloed’, Schrift 45/1 (2013), 3–7. ‘Het verraad van Edom’, Schrift 46/2 (2014), 44–8. C. van Waveren Hogervorst, W. Smeets en B. Becking, ‘Teksten in herdenkingsbijeenkomsten: voor ‘elk wat wils’ of richten op grootste gemene deler?’, Tijdschrift Geestelijke Verzorging 17.75 (2014), 37–41. ‘Waarom de clou weg vertalen? Over Psalm 124 in de Bijbel in Gewone Taal’, Kerk en Theologie 66 (2015), 75–87.

Publications in Dictionaries   1. Contributions to K. van der Toorn, B. Becking and P. W. van der Horst (eds), Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible (Leiden: Brill, 1995): ‘Abel’ (cols 3–4), ‘Amalek’ (44–5), ‘Ancient of Days’ (77–81), ‘Breastand-Womb’ (336–8), ‘Cain’ (343–4), ‘Day’ (418–21), ‘El-rophe’ (558–60), ‘Ends of the Earth’ (573–6), ‘Exalted Ones’ (604–06), ‘Girl’ (658–9), ‘Hubal’ (814–15), ‘Ishhara’ (843–4), ‘Jaghut’ (866–7), ‘Jalam’ (867–8), ‘Japheth’ (868–70), ‘Jordan’ (892–6), ‘Kenan’ (902), ‘Lagamar’ (930–2), ‘Protectors’ (1259–60), ‘Qatar’ (1267–8), ‘Rapha’ (1298–9), ‘Raven’ (1300–1), ‘Sarah’ (1365–6), ‘Sasam’ (1367–9), ‘Sha’ (1414–15), ‘Shalman’ (1431–3), ‘Shelah’ (1440–3), ‘Shem’ (1443–5), ‘Shunama’ (1467–9), ‘Sisera’ (1483–4), ‘Thillakhuha’ (1617–18), ‘Thukamuna’ (1631–4), ‘Vanities’ (1674–6), ‘Varuna’ (1676–7), ‘Virgin’ (1678–80), ‘Ya’uq’ (1740–1), ‘Yehud’ (1741–4), ‘Zamzummim’ (1745–6).

xxxiv Introduction

  2. ‘Babylonisches Exil’, in H. D. Betz et al. (eds), Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart: Handwörterbuch für Theologie und Religionswissenschaft, Band 1 A-B (4. völlig neu bearbeitete Auflage; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), cols 1044–5.   3. Contributions to K. van der Toorn, B. Becking and P. W. van der Horst (eds), Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible: Second Extensively Revised Edition (Leiden: Brill, 1999), ‘Arm’ (cols 89–90); ‘Blood’ (175–6), ‘Eagle’ (271–2), ‘Shining One(s)’ (774).   4. Contributions to D. N. Freedman (ed.), Eerdmans Dictionary of the Bible (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), ‘Calah’ (pp. 209–10), ‘Gozan’ (524), ‘Halah’ (541).   5. ‘Frankena, Rintje’, in C. Houtman et al. (eds), Biografisch Lexicon voor de Geschiedenis van het Nederlandse Protestantisme deel 5 (Kampen: Kok, 2001), 184–5.   6. ‘Babylonian Exile’, in H. D. Betz, D. S. Browning, B. Janowski and E. Jüngel (eds), Religion Past and Present 1 (A–B) (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 341–2.   7. Contributions to M. Bauks and K. Koenen (eds), Das wissenschaftliche Bibellexikon im Internet (WiBiLex; 2007), ‘Jahwe’, ‘Hoschea’.  8. ‘‫ כלי‬vessel, utensil, etc.’, in J. C. de Moor (ed.), ‫ כלי‬Database: Utensils in the Hebrew Bible (2010–14), http://www.otw-site.eu/KLY/kly.pdf   9. Contributions to J. A. Weinstock et al. (eds), Encyclopedia of Literary and Cinematic Monsters (Burlington: Ashgate, 2014), ‘Behemoth’ (37–8), ‘Leviathan’ (377–9), ‘Moloch’ (422–3), ‘Tiamat’ (532–4). 10. ‘Exile, I. Hebrew Bible/Old Testament’, in D. C. Allison Jr. et al. (eds), Encyclopedia of the Bible and its Reception. Volume 8: Essenes – Fidesim (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 388–91. Editorial Activities   1. B. Becking and K. A. D. Smelik (eds), Een patriarchale leugen. Het verhaal in Genesis 12 verschillend belicht, Baarn: Ten Have, 1989.   2. B. Becking, J. van Dorp and A. van der Kooij (eds), Door het oog van de Profeten. Exegetische studies aangeboden aan Prof. dr C. van Leeuwen. Utrechtse Theologische Reeks (UTR) 8; Utrecht: Faculteit der Godgeleerdheid, Rijksuniversiteit te Utrecht, 1989.   3. D. van der Plas, B. Becking and D. Meijer (eds), De schepping van de wereld. Mythische voorstellingen in het Oude Nabije Oosten. SEOL 1; Muiderberg: D. Coutinho, 1990.   4. D. van der Plas, B. Becking and D. Meijer (eds), Landbouw en irrigatie in het Oude Nabije Oosten. SEOL 2; Leiden: Ex Oriente Lux; Leuven: Peeters, 1993, 143 pp.   5. K. van der Toorn, B. Becking, and P. W. van der Horst (eds), Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible. Leiden: Brill, 1995.   6. B. Becking and M. Dijkstra (eds), On Reading Prophetic Texts: GenderSpecific and Related Studies in Memory of Fokkelien van Dijk-Hemmes. Biblical Interpretation Series 18; Leiden: Brill, 1996, xiii + 295 pp.

Introduction

xxxv

  7. B. Becking and M. Dijkstra (eds), Eén God Alleen? Over monotheïsme in Oud-Israël en de verering van de godin Asjera. Kampen: Koik, 1998, 181 pp.   8. K. van der Toorn, B. Becking and P. W. van der Horst (eds), Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible: Second Extensively Revised Edition. Leiden: Brill, 1999, xxxviii + 960 pp.   9. B. Becking and M. C. A. Korpel (eds), The Crisis of the Israelite Religion: Transformation of Religious Traditions in Exilic and Post-Exilic Times. OTS 42; Leiden: Brill, 1999, vi + 311 pp. 10. D. van der Plas, D. Meijer and B. Becking (eds), Geschiedschrijving in het oude Nabije Oosten. SEOL 3; Leuven: Peeters, 2000, 160 pp. 11. B. Becking, M. Dijkstra, M. C. A. Korpel and K. J. H. Vriezen (eds), Only One God? Monotheism in Ancient Israel and the Veneration of the Goddess Asherah. The Biblical Seminar 77; London and New York: Continuum, 2001, 231 pp. 12. R. Albertz and B. Becking (eds), Yahwism after the Exile: Perspectives on Israelite Religion in the Persian Era. Studies in Theology and Religion 5; Assen: Van Gorcum, 2003, xxi + 300 pp. 13. B. Becking, M. C. A. Korpel and J. A. Wagenaar (eds), Tussen Caïro en Jeruzalem: Studies over de Bijbel en haar Context aangeboden aan Meindert Dijkstra en Karel Vriezen bij hun afscheid van de Universiteit Utrecht 13 januari 2006. Utrechtse Theologische Reeks 53; Utrecht: Faculteit der Godgeleerdheid, Rijksuniversiteit te Utrecht, 2006, 180 pp. 14. B. Becking and G. Rouwhorst (eds), Religies in Interactie: Jodendom en Christendom in de Oudheid. Utrechtse Studies 9; Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2006, 190 pp. 15. B. Becking and E. Peels (eds), Psalms and Prayers: Papers Read at the Joint Meeting of SOTS and OTW. OTS 55; Leiden: Brill, 2007, 306 pp. 16. B. Becking and A. Merz (eds), Verhaal als Identiteits-Code: Opstellen aangeboden aan Geert van Oyen bij zijn afscheid van de Universiteit Utrecht. Utrechtse Theologische Reeks (UTR) 60; Utrecht: Faculteit der Godgeleerdheid, Rijksuniversiteit te Utrecht, 2008, 355 pp. 17. B. Becking and D. Human (eds), Exile and Suffering: A Selection of Papers Read at the 50th Anniversary of the Old Testament Society of South Africa. OTS 50; Leiden: Brill, 2009, xiii + 280 pp. 18. B. Becking, A. Cannegieter, W. van de Poll and A.-M. Wetter (eds), From Babylon to Eternity: The Exile Remembered and Constructed in Text and Tradition. London: Routledge, 2010. 19. B. Becking and L. L. Grabbe (eds), History of Israel between Evidence and Ideology. OTS 59; Leiden: Brill, 2011. 20. B. Becking and S. Hennecke (eds), Out of Paradise: Eve and Adam and their Interpreters. Hebrew Bible Monographs 30; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2010, xiii + 198 pp. 21. B. Becking (ed.), Orthodoxy, Liberalism, and Adaptation: Essays on Ways of Worldmaking in Times of Change from Biblical, Historical and Systematic Perspectives. STAR 15; Leiden: Brill, 2011, 304 pp.

xxxvi Introduction

22. B. Becking (ed.), J. J. P. Valeton jr. als mens en theoloog: Studies over een ethisch theoloog bij zijn 100e sterfdag. MTCVS 2; Utrecht: Faculteit der Godgeleerdheid, Rijksuniversiteit te Utrecht, 2012. 23. B. Becking (ed.), Reflections on the Silence of God: A Discussion with Marjo Korpel and Johannes de Moor. OTS 62; Leiden: Brill, 2013. Reviews in the Following Journals  1. Bibliotheca Orientalis  2. Bulletin of the School of Oriental and Asian Studies  3. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament  4. Journal of Hebrew Scriptures  5. Kerk en Theologie  6. Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift  7. Nederlands Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis  8. Review of Biblical Literature  9. Ars Disputandi 10. Journal of Semitic Studies 11. Journal of Biblical Literature 12. Orientalische Literaturzeitung

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS AASFB ACOR ADAJ ADPV AnBiB AncB AOAT ASOR ATAbh ATD AThANT AuLOR BA BAR BASOR BBB BCAT BdA BEHE.R

Annales Academiae Scientiarum Fennicae: Series B American Center of Oriental Research (Amman) Annual of the Department of Antiquities of Jordan Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins Analecta Biblica Anchor Bible (Commentary) Alter Orient und Altes Testament American Schools of Oriental Research Alttestamentliche Abhandlungen Dat Alte Testament Deutsch Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments Aula Orientalis Biblical Archaeologist Biblical Archaeology Review Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research Bonner biblischer Beiträge Biblischer Commentar über das Alte Testament La Bible d’Alexandrie Bibliothèque de l’École des Hautes Études: Section des Sciences Religieuses BETL Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium BiB Biblica BibInt Biblical Interpretation: A Journal of Contemporary Approaches BFCT Beiträge zur Förderung christlicher Theologie BJS Brown Judaic Studies BKAT Biblischer Komentar zum Alten Testament BLS Bible and Literature Series BN Biblische Notizen BOT Boeken van het Oude Testament BTAVO Beihefte zum Tübinger Atlas des vorderen Orients BThSt Biblisch-theologische Studien BTL Benjamin’s Translation Library BTS Biblical Tools and Studies BWANT Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament BZ Biblische Zeitschrift BZAR Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechtsgeschichte BZAW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft BZNW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft CAD Chicago Assyrian Dictionary CAH Cambridge Ancient History

xxxviii CBET CB.OT CBQ CNRS CRINT DCH DCLS DCLS DDD DJD DoA DÖAW.PH DUL EABS EHAT ET FAT FOTL FRLANT FzB GAT GGG HALOT HAWAT HBS HCOT HdO HexR HKAT HThK.AT HTR HUBP HUCA ICAANE ICC IEJ IES IOSOT JADIS

List of Abbreviations Contributions to Biblical Exegesis & Theology Coniectanea Biblica, Old Testament series Catholic Biblical Quarterly Centre national de la recherche scientifique, Paris Compendia Rerum Iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum D. J. A. Clines (ed.) The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993–2011). Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature Studies Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature Yearbook K. van der Toorn, B. Becking and P. van der Horst (eds), Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible (2nd rev.ed.; Leiden: Brill, 1999) Discoveries in the Judaean Desert Department of Antiquities Denkschriften der Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-historische Klasse G. del Olmo Lete and J. Sanmartín, A Dictionary of the Ugaritic Language in the Alphabetic Tradition (2 vols; Leiden: Brill, 2004) European Association of Biblical Studies Exegetisches Handbuch zum Alten Testament English translation Forschungen zum Alten Testament The Forms of the Old Testament Literature Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments Forschung zur Bibel Grundrisse zum Alten Testament O. Keel and C. Uehlinger, Göttinnen, Götter und Gottessymbole (Freiburg: Herder, 1992; 4th ed. with appendix: 2010) Ludwig Koehler et al. (eds), The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament, 5 vols. (tr. Mervyn E. J. Richardson, Leiden: Brill). E. König, Hebräisches und aramäisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament (Leipzig: Dieterich, 1910) Herders Biblische Studien Historical Commentary on the Old Testament Handbuch der Orientalistik Hexateuch Redaction Handkommentar zum Alten Testament Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament Harvard Theological Review Hebrew University Bible Project Hebrew Union College Annual International Congress on the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East International Critical Commentary Series Israel Exploration Journal Israel Exploration Society International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament Jordan Antiquities Database and Information System

JAOS JBL JBQ JHS JNES JPF JPS JSJSup JSOT JSOTSup JSSEA JTS KAI KAT KHCAT KTU

List of Abbreviations

xxxix

Journal of the American Oriental Society Journal of Biblical Literature Jewish Bible Quarterly Journal of Hebrew Scriptures Journal of Near Eastern Studies Judahite pillar figurine Jewish Publication Society Journal for the Study of Judaism, Supplements Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, Supplement Series Journal of the Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities Journal of Theological Studies H. Donner and W. Röllig, Kanaanaische und aramaische Inschrifien (3 vols.; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1962–1964) Kommentar zum Alten Testament Kurzer Hand-Commentar zum Alten Testament M. Dietrich, O. Loretz and J. Sanmartin, Die Keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neuirchener Verlag, 1976) LHBOTS The Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies LXX Septuagint MRS Mission de Ras Shamra MT Masoretic Text MTCVS Mededelingen van de Th.C. Vriezenstichting MUS Münchener Universitäts-Schriften NABU Nouvelles Assyriologiques Brèves et Utilitaires New Century Bible (Commentary Series) NCB Nederlands Bijbelgenootschap NBG New English Translation of the Septuagint NETS NICOT New International Commentary on the Old Testament NIV New International Version Novum Testamentum, Supplements NovTSup NRSV New Revised Standard Version Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis OBO Österreichische Biblische Studien ÖBS OIMP Oriental Institute Museum Publications Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta OLA Orte und Landschaften der Bibel OLB Old Testament Library OTL Oudtestamentische Studiën/Old Testament Studies OTS PEQ Palestine Exploration Quarterly POT Prediking van het Oude Testament ppb paperback Qatna Studien Supplements QSSup RdQ Revue de Qumran REB Revised English Bible Revised Standard Version RSV RINAP The Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period

xl SAA SAAS SAM SBS SBL SBLDS SBLSS ScrH SCS SEL SHANE SJOT SNTSMS SSN STAR Str-B.

List of Abbreviations

State Archives of Assyria State Archives of Assyria Studies Sheffield Archaeological Monographs Stuttgarter Bibelstudien Society of Biblical Literature Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Symposium Series Scripta Hierosolymitana Septuagint and Cognate Studies Studi Epigrafici e Linguistici sul Vicino Oriente Antico Studies in the History of the Ancient Near East Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series Studia Semitica Neerlandica Studies in Theology and Religion Hermann L. Strack and Paul Billerbeck, Kommentar zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und Midrasch (6 vols; München, Beck, 1922–61) SubBi Subsidia Biblica SVTP Studia in Veteris Testamenti pseudepigrapha TAVO Tübingen Atlas des Vorderen Orients TRev Theologische Revue ThWAT G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren (eds), Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament (Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1970–2000) UBL Ugaritisch-biblische Literatur UF Ugarit-Forschungen Vetus Testamentum VT Vetus Testamentum, Supplements VTSup Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament WMANT WUNT Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament ZA Zeitschrift für Assyriologie Zeitschrift für Althebraistik ZAH ZAR Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechtsgeschichte Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft ZAW Zürcher Bibelkommentare: Altes Testament ZBK.AT ZDPV Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins

O P E N - M I N D E D N E S S F O R U N D E R STA N D I N G T H E F O R M AT IO N O F T H E P E N TAT E U C H : T H E C HA L L E N G E O F E XO DU S 1 9 – 2 0

Rainer Albertz

University of Münster, Germany

Bob Becking, whom I would like to honour with this contribution, is an outstanding example of an Old Testament scholar, who never accepted a blinkered attitude in disputes, but looked out for new solutions by including archaeological and epigraphical data and even insights from other sciences. Thus, I hope to delight him by reflecting some personal experiences of ideological barriers and open-mindedness, which I just had, when I was working on a commentary of the book of Exodus. The formation of one of the most important pieces of literature within the Hebrew Bible, the Pentateuch or Hexateuch, has been hotly disputed for more than 30 years, but no consensus is on the horizon. On the contrary, supporters of the classical Source Theory allowing many variants, the New Documentarists and several creators of compositional and redactional theories have taken their stand side by side or against each other and seem to be more interested in defending their own position than looking for a consensual solution. Because of the paucity of external evidence and the high number and complexity of internal exegetical and historical data the discussions seem to be influenced by unconscious prejudices and ideological limits, which are difficult to clarify. Observed from the outside, this kind of dispute appears to be strange and may even damage the academic reputation of the discipline.1

  1. The loss of reputation and relevance may even cause the loss of financial and institutional support for the discipline.

2

Open-Mindedness in the Bible and Beyond

A Self-Critical Reflection Since I do not want to assume that any of my colleagues involved in that dispute are lacking in open-mindedness, I prefer to give a self-critical reflection. During my lifetime, I changed adherence to a particular theory about the formation of the Pentateuch three times. Educated in Berlin and Heidelberg in the 1960s, I learned the classical Source Theory in that form, with which Martin Noth had provided it. From his book ‘Überlieferungsgeschichte des Pentateuch’, the lists of those passages which he attributed to the Yahwist, Elohist and the Priestly Source (Noth 1948: 17–40) served me as the basic orientation for all exegetical work to be done on the Pentateuch. Being an assistant of Claus Westermann during the 1970s, I learned from my teacher that Genesis 20–22 are to be classified as a later addition to a stock of older Abraham stories in Genesis 12–19* (see Westermann 1981: 490–2, 629). Thus, the theory of an independent Elohistic Source running parallel to the Yahwistic narrative strand had to be given up, at least for Genesis. Just before I changed from Heidelberg to the University of Siegen, Erhard Blum finished his Dissertation on ‘Die Komposition der Vätergeschichte’ in 1981/82 (published as Blum 1984). I still remember that I had strong reservations against his compositional-redactional approach at the beginning. His view of independent smaller compositions around certain Patriarchs (Abraham-Lot- Gen. 13–19* or Jacob-Esau-narrative 25.19–33.17*), which were subsequently amplified, linked and reworked by several redactions, seems to make any Yahwistic Source superfluous. Some years later, however, when I studied the book once more for a review, Blum almost convinced me. I recognized that Blum’s formation model – extended to the rest of the Pentateuch – might have the potential of becoming a better alternative of the Source Theory, whose weakness had become more and more apparent (Albertz 1986). Consequently, I was disappointed that Blum (1990) did not really elaborate his model for the entire Pentateuch, but restricted himself to just a description of what he thought were the last two formative layers of its origin (KD and KP). Was it a sign of open-mindedness or rather of weakness that I was convinced by observations and arguments from other scholars and changed my mind twice? In any case, it was a painful process; Westermann was really angry about my positive review of Blum’s book, for example.

Developing a New Model of Formation When I had accepted the commission of writing a commentary on Exodus in the Zürcher series 2006, I was forced to find a model which would be able to explain the formation of this book in its Pentateuchal or Hexateuchal context. Since no comprehensive and detailed model was available, I started the project ‘Pentateuch Models in Discourse’ together with some leading experts in Pentateuchal research2   2. These were Reinhard Achenbach, Erhard Blum, Jan Christian Gertz, Christophe Nihan, Thomas Römer, Konrad Schmid, Jean-Louis Ska.



Open-Mindedness for Understanding the Formation of the Pentateuch

3

in order to develop those existing models, which promised to become a better replacement for Source Theory, towards a possible consensus. Unfortunately, the project failed to get public funding from the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (DFG), because some of the reviewers insisted on taking Source Theory or its variants into serious consideration. The idea that open-mindedness should be a virtue of every reviewer is not universally accepted in our discipline. Fortunately, I learned a lot from the discussion with those colleagues of the project group and developed a new model for the formation of the Pentateuch or Hexateuch, which intended to take up and combine many of their good observations and inspiring ideas. Here is not the place to enfold the model in detail; I have done it elsewhere (see Albertz 2011d; 2012). I would like to draw only the outline. First, since I noticed that there was a pre-priestly, originally independent Exodus Composition, which started with Israel’s oppression in Egypt (Exod. 1.9) and ended with Moses’ instalment as a saving mediator of the renewed covenant (Exod. 34.28–32), I was able to follow Blum’s compositional-redactional approach and also elaborated it for the book of Exodus. As Blum’s exilic Patriarchal Narrative the Exodus Composition included several smaller older compositions or single stories, for example, a political Moses narrative (Exod. 1.15–2.23aα*; 4.19–20a, 24–26), a call story (Exod. 3.1–17*), a Plague-Exodus-composition (Exod. 7.14–12.39*) or a Reed Sea story (Exod. 14.5a, 6–30*). None of them run all the way through, none of them is complete, because they were only partially cited by the redactor of the Exodus Composition (REX) and connected by means of compositional links and structuring bridges. As the REX included Israel’s apostasy from YHWH (Exod. 32) in its foundation history, he probably already reflected the catastrophe of exile and should be dated around 540 bce. Second, I followed Martin Noth and many other supporters of Source Theory in attributing the traditional P passages of the book of Exodus to the priestly writer. But according to my view, he was an editor within the book of Exodus, not an author of an independent source.3 Thus, my model is a consistent supplementary theory. I followed Konrad Schmid and Jan Christian Gertz in suggesting that it was the first priestly editor (PB1) who connected the Patriarchal to the Exodus narrative.4 Following Christophe Nihan (2007: 379–94) I think that the first priestly edition comprised the corpus of Genesis 1–Leviticus 16*. More than others, however, I try to distinguish different priestly editors, for example, a second priestly editor (PB2), who added the Holiness Code in Leviticus 17–26 and reworked some priestly passages of the book of Genesis and Exodus,5 and others.   3. Here I came to similar insights as Berner (2010: 4–7), although his model of a continuous Fortschreibung of the biblical text does not really fit the model of a supplementary theory.   4. See Schmid 1999: 152–3; Gertz 2000: 357–66; Blum, who had formerly ascribed the connection to KD (1984: 255–7), has now accepted this new view (2002: 145–51).  5. Gen. 17.9–14, 23–27; Exod. 12.14–17, 43–51; and perhaps 27.20–21; 29.38–42; 31.12–17; 35.1b–4a.

4

Open-Mindedness in the Bible and Beyond

Third, I took up and modified the brilliant idea of Eckhart Otto (2000: 242–5; 2003: 1097–102) that the Pentateuch emerged from two centres, the Dtr. book of Deuteronomy including Joshua and the priestly edited books of Genesis–Leviticus, which Thomas Römer (2002: 218–24) labelled with the term ‘Tritoteuch’, which should better be called ‘Triteuch’. Römer had the good idea that the book of Numbers was created as a late bridge in order to connect the two centres. This suggestion does not only explain why such a lot of late material is included in this book, but also supports my view that the Exodus Composition really ended in Exodus 34.32. The non-priestly narrative thread, which starts in Numbers 10.29–36, does not continue or fit the Exodus story.6 Fourth, as many others, I reckon with a late-Deuteronomy redactor (D) in the book of Exodus, but reduce his contribution to it.7 In contrast to Blum, I postdated D after the priestly composition: that means after PB1 and PB2 (Albertz 2011b: 37–9; 2012: 72–3). In my view, D was the first editor who connected the Triteuch and the book of Deuteronomy via the book of Numbers, whose first non-priestly layer he created (Albertz 2011a: 336–40). After him the third priestly editor (PB3) provided the book of Numbers with a strong priestly shape for the first time. As far as I see he contributed only a few additions to the book of Exodus.8 Fifth, I took up Blum’s observation that there was a late non-priestly edition, which he called Mal’ak redaction (Blum 1990: 365–78). It is characterized by a heavenly messenger, who accompanied Israel on its way to the promised land and asked for its obedience to the divine law, especially by separating itself from the ‘Canaanite’ population (cf. Judg. 2.1–5). According to my investigations, not only Exodus 23.23–23; 32.33aβ; 33.2; 34.11–27, but also 15.25b–26; 16.4–5, 28–29 can be attributed to it. Sixth, I agree with Blum, Otto, Römer and many others that there existed a Hexateuch redaction (HexR), which created Israel’s first foundation charter in the range from Genesis 1 to Joshua 24 and preceded the final redaction.9 In contrast to Otto and in agreement with Blum, however, I assume that it belongs not in the middle but in the last phases of the formation process. Going beyond Blum’s results, however, I have shown that the Hexateuchal redactor was not only focused on Joseph’s bones to be buried in Shechem (Gen. 33.19; 48.21–22; 50.24–26; Exod. 13.19; Josh. 24.32) and on designing the transition from the Patriarchal to the Exodus period (Exod. 1.1b, 5b–6, 8), but also on a lot of compositional work for a better structuring of Israel’s salvation history: for example, he inserted the   6. On the one hand, Num. 10.29–36 does not refer back to the divine order to set off from Mount Sinai in Exod. 33.1–6; on the other hand, Exodus 34 does not look forward at a departure at all. The Ark of Covenant, which plays a central role in Num. 10.33–36, is not even mentioned in the pre-priestly Exodus narrative at all.   7. Mainly Exod. 4.1–4, 6–17, 20b, 21–23, 27–31; 5.1b–2; 12.21–27; 13.1–16; 14.31; 19.9; 24.2; 32.13; 33.1b, 7–11.   8. So Exod. 16.8, 31–34, 35b–6; 40.36–38.   9. See Blum 1984: 39–61; 1990: 363–5; 2010: 262–76; Otto 2003: 1099–100; Römer/ Brettler 2000: 408–16.



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song of Moses (Exod. 15.1–18) at the end of Israel’s liberation from Egypt; he marked the beginning (13.17–19) and the end of Israel’s wanderings through the wilderness (Num. 20.14–21; 21.10–32) and he provided the change from the Exodus to the Sinai events with the new transitional chapter (Exod. 18), where Jethro looked back at Israel’s liberation and prepared Moses for mediating the divine law looking forward. Thus, the HexR turned out to be one of the most influential non-priestly editions in the formation process (Albertz 2011a: 340–4; 2012: 24–5).10 Finally, in agreement with many others I postulate a Pentateuch redaction at the end of the formation process, after the decision for excluding the book of Joshua from the charter document was made. The details of this redaction are not clear; perhaps it took place in several steps. One late priestly editor (PB4) seems to have amplified the book of Numbers with additional material; another priestly editor (PB5) provided the Pentateuch with a substitute for the book of Joshua (Num. 25–36) and a genealogical framework (Albertz 2013: 227–32);11 also non-priestly editors seem to have done some final compositional work (Deut. 32; 33). Although still more research has to be done at this point, I believe that the Pentateuch was almost finished and promulgated at the beginning of the fourth century.12 Thus, this formation model includes many observations made by different scholars, modifies some of them and tries to organize them within a consistent theory. It is much more complex than the rather simple Source Theory; apart from the different Vorlagen it distinguishes no less than four non-priestly and five priestly compositional or redactional layers. As far as I tested the model on the first 18 chapters of the book of Exodus, I can say that it offered an easy diachronic explanation for more than 90 per cent of the present text. Thus, I became confident that a valid model for explaining the formation of the Pentateuch was found.

The Challenge of Exodus 19–20 When I turned to Exodus 19–20 many details of my formation model were confirmed. In contrast to the Source Theory, which got into heavy difficulties with 10. Apart from the passages mentioned above, the following verses can be attributed to him in the book of Exodus: Exod. 3.4b, 6a, 12aβ–15, 16aβ; 4.5; 33.18–23. 11. In the earlier books the Pentateuchal Redactor supplemented Gen. 46.8–27; Exod. 6:13–30; 12:12b; cf. Numbers 26. What Achenbach (2003: 629–38) regarded as Theocratic supplements, which followed the Pentateuchal redaction, appears to constitute parts of the priestly Pentateuchal redaction itself, according to my view. 12. The later date of Ezra’s mission (398 bce) much better fits the political situation at the end of the fifth and the beginning of the fourth century bce than the earlier dating in the year 458; see Albertz 2011c: 487–501 and Fantalkin/Tal 2012: 2–17, 201–4. See also Grabbe 2004: 331–43, especially 342–3, and Grabbe’s contribution to this volume.

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these chapters,13 I easily detected that the REX used and reworked an older Vorlage here as he already had done in earlier parts of his composition. In reconstructing that Mountain of God story I could almost follow Wolfgang Oswald (1998: 119–67, 256–61), who had shown that it already included the Book of Covenant and aimed at its divine authorization. According to this narrative, Israel’s encounter with the divine at Mount Sinai was well prepared for by several sanctifying rites (Exod. 19.2b–3a, 10–11a, 13b–15). Moses led the people from the camp towards God (v. 17a), and YHWH descended on the mountain accompanied by thunderstorms, eruptions of fire and earthquakes (vv. 16–19). Not before the people experienced this divine majesty, they were afraid and stopped their ascending (20.18b). The Israelites asked Moses to mediate the divine words to them (vv. 19–20*). Thus, Moses alone approached God (v. 21), and YHWH revealed to him all the laws and commandments collected in the Book of Covenant (Exod. 20.22aα, 24–6*; 21.2–23.22*). After this revelation Moses came back to the Israelites and delivered all the words of YHWH to them (24.3a). The story ended when the people committed themselves to do all the words of YHWH and Moses wrote them down (vv. 3b, 4aα). The REX converted this coherent theophany story into a covenant narrative. He inserted an offer for a covenant between YHWH and Israel into the preparations for the theophany (19.3b–8) and added a covenant ceremony at the end (Exod. 24:1*, 4aβ–8), including another tradition of a meal on the mountain (vv. 1*, 9–11). He also integrated the Decalogue (Exod. 20.2–17), which he needed as a criterion for Israel’s apostasy to be recounted in Exodus 32*, by means of an introduction in 20.1, a presumptive repetition of the theophany in v. 18a and a flashback in v. 22aβb. Apart from this compositional work of REX, small additions from the first priestly (19.1, 2aβ; 20.8–11*) and the late Deuteronomistic editors (Exod. 19.9; 24.2) can be noticed. Thus, the formation of most of these chapters, which gave so much trouble in the past, can successfully be explained with the help of my Pentateuchal theory. There are, however, several passages left (Exod. 19.11b–13a, 20–25, and possibly v. 17b) which also got me into trouble. They contradict the entire plot of the original story, which intended to show an encounter with the divine. Although God has ordered the Israelites to sanctify themselves for the encounter (vv. 10–11a, 14–15), they are now strictly forbidden to touch even the edge of Mount Sinai (vv. 11b–13a). And although God has ordered the Israelites to climb up the mountain after they would have heard a certain signal (v. 13b) and Moses led them from the camp towards God (v. 17a), it is told in v. 17b that the people already stop moving at the foot of the mountain (v. 17b). Moreover, at the climax 13. With regard to Exodus 19, Baentsch (1903: 170) stated: ‘Das Kapitel bietet der Analyse grosse Schwierigkeiten.’ Half a century later Noth (1968: 123) seems to be more confident: ‘Das Nebeneinander verschiedener nachträglich ineinander gearbeiteter, ursprünglich selbständiger Erzählfäden ist also deutlich erkennbar’, but conceded: ‘Freilich ist eine glatte und befriedigende Aufteilung des Ganzen auf die beiden alten Quellen nicht mehr möglich’ (124).



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of the theophany, according to vv. 20–25, YHWH had nothing more important to tell Moses than that neither the laypeople nor the priests should force their way to YHWH on the top of the mountain, but only Aaron next to Moses would be allowed to step on to it. All these passages intend to protect the sanctity of the mountain from any violation. The verses 19.11b–13a and 20–25 share also some stylistic elements and motifs. YHWH speaks of himself in the third person (vv. 11b, 21, 22, 24), the identity of the mount is stressed several times (‘Mount Sinai’ in vv. 11b, 20, 22)14 and YHWH’s visible descent to the mountain is emphasized (vv. 11b, 20).15 Thus, they seem to come from the same author,16 but how can he be determined? In the past, scholars were undecided about the author’s origin. While Bruno Baentsch (1903: 171–7) attributed Exod. 19.11–13a, 20–21, 25 to the Yahwist and vv. 22–24 to the Yehowist, for example, John Van Seters (1994: 250–1) assigned vv. 11b–13a, 20–5 to the priestly editor.17 The fact, however, that v. 24 restricted access to the most holy area to Aaron (obviously representing here the High Priest) points to the post-exilic period (Lev. 16.2–3) and seems to exclude a pre-exilic origin. And although the passages show some priestly interest, they do not speak a priestly language, at least not that language which we know from the priestly editors of the Pentateuch.18 Thus both solutions seem to be very improbable. Anyhow, I was confronted with similar difficulties: The strange mixture of priestly interest and non-priestly language that is typical for these passages does not fit any of those post-exilic editors which I had distinguished in my formation model so far. What should I do? Should I weaken the stylistic criteria to make them fit my theory, or should I attribute them to an unexplainable remainder? When I investigated the language and ideology of those passages, I was surprised to meet the closest parallels in the books of Chronicles. This is especially true for the divine statement of Exodus 19.22: ‘The priests, who approach to YHWH, must consecrate themselves (qādeš hit.), lest YHWH breaks (a breach) among them (pāraṣ be).’ Apart from this verse, all other instances, where the verb qādeš is constructed in the hitpa ‘el stem and refers to priests or Levites, occur in the books of Chronicles no less than 13 times.19 This emphasis has to do with the fact that in the time of Chronicles the priests were organized in 24 classes (1 Chron. 24; Josephus, Ant. 7.365–66), who practised their profession at the Jerusalem temple in turns just for two times eight days a year, but lived for the rest of the time somewhere in the country. Thus, for transferring their status of a layman into that of a priest twice a year, their consecration became 14. The ‘Mount Sinai’ is only once mentioned in the older story (Exod. 19.18). 15. The divine descent on the mountain is only told in the background by the older story (Exod. 19.18). 16. Cf. the reference of Exod. 19.23 back to v. 12. 17. Dozeman (2009: 425) did the same for Exod. 19.11b, 20–25. 18. See only the verbs sāqal Exod. 19.13a; hāras vv. 21, 24; pāraṣ vv. 22, 24, which never appear in priestly passages of the Pentateuch. 19. See 1 Chron. 15.12, 14 and 2 Chron. 5.11; 29.5, 15, 34 (2×); 30.3, 15, 17, 24; 31.18; 35.6.

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absolutely necessary and must explicitly be mentioned. Moreover, the rare expression ‘YHWH breaks (a breach) among (pāras be)’ in the second part of the statement, repeated in v. 24, refers back to an accident, which happened when David tried to transfer the Ark to Jerusalem. When the oxen stumbled a certain Uzzah grabbed the Ark and died immediately (2 Sam. 6.7), thus, the entire action failed. In this situation, David coined the expression that ‘YHWH has broken a breach (pāraṣ pæræṣ be) against Uzzah’ (v. 8). The astonishing reference to this rather unimportant event can only be understood by the fact that the Chronicler used it for creating a warning example for what would happen if non-consecrated people dared to touch holy objects (1 Chron. 13 and 15). Only after the priests and Levites had consecrated themselves (qādeš htp. 15.12, 14) were they able to carry the holy Ark into Jerusalem without any further accident (vv. 11–28). Thus, also the effort to keep laymen from the holy mountain for their own security, which is expressed by Exod. 19.12–13a, 21, corresponds to the same Chronistic ideology. If one is ready to accept such a late origin of these additions to Exodus 19, some strange features of vv. 12–13a perhaps become easier to understand. In these verses everybody, be it a human being or an animal, who would touch even the edge of the mountain, is threatened to be stoned or shot to death immediately. Since the animals are included and shooting by order was never a form of execution in Ancient Israel, no human punishment can be meant. It is rather imagined that the mountain itself, whose sacredness was injured, would throw stones and shoot arrows on the intruder. This rather curious notion may have been taken from the catapults, which were introduced in the Greek world from 400 bce onwards. Such artistic machineries of war were only mentioned in the book of Chronicles (2 Chron. 26.15), where it said that they are constructed to shoot (yārā’) arrows and big stones (cf. Welten 1973: 111–14). As even a similar verb is used here as found in Exod. 19.13a (yārâ), there is not only a material but also a semantic correspondence. Taking all the evidence into consideration, I could not help but accept that the editor who inserted Exod. 19.11b–13a, 17b, 20–5 came from a Chronistic milieu of the late fourth or early third centuries bce.

Final Remarks I admit that I was troubled over this result. It not only forced me to introduce a new layer into my model for the formation of the Pentateuch, but questioned my suggestion that after the final redactions and the promulgation of the Pentateuch during the late fifth and the early fourth centuries bce no major changes of the text took place. Thus, my open-mindedness was heavily strained. I know that some scholars reckon with a longer sequence of Fortschreibungen and even deny the notion of a final edition.20 How can such a concept of post-canonical additions, however, be reconciled with the public authority of the Pentateuch, which became apparent from its translation into Greek during the middle of the 20. Cf. e.g. Otto 2000: 260–3; Achenbach 2003: 615–33.



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third century bce at the latest? I have no easy answer to this question, but I felt obliged to keep my formation model as flexible as needed for including all observations made from the text, even if not all questions can be answered. I reassured myself with the fact that the Chronistic additions to the book of Exodus seem to be very limited. Apart from Exodus 19.11b–13a, 17b, 20–25, as far as I can see, only 32.26–29 may be attributed to them. The fact that a late editor from the Chronistic milieu felt obliged to make some additions to the already existing Pentateuch suggests an utmost concern. Probably the editor was concerned that – according to Exodus 19 – the laypeople, who were sanctified in some way, should have access to the sacred area and could question the priestly and Levitical privileges.21 Taking Mount Sinai as an example for the Jerusalem temple the editor clarified that laymen, although all Israel was honoured to become a ‘kingdom of priests’ (v. 6), were not allowed to break through to YHWH, that is, injure those walls which kept the sacred area (vv. 21, 23),22 for their own sake. The editor stated that only those priests who had ordinarily consecrated themselves are allowed to approach YHWH (v. 22). But even they were excluded from the Holy of Holies, where only High Priests would have permitted access (v. 24). Finally, in Exodus 32.26–29 the editor provided the Levites – still missing in Exodus 19 – with quasi-priestly rights. Inserting all these regulations into Israel’s foundation charter, the Chronistic editor possibly reacted to disputes of his time, which he wanted to bring to an end. Thus, even a literary historical derivation, which has questioned my former opinion, makes sense. The biblical texts are dependent on the open-mindedness of the exegetes.

21. Cf. a similar dispute fought by a later priestly editor (PB3) in Num. 16–17. 22. See the use of the verb hāras in Exod. 19.21, 24, which denotes the destruction of buildings made from stone, like walls (Ezek. 13.4), fortresses (Mic. 5.10; Lam. 2.2) or towers (Ezek. 26.4). It does not fit the context of a remote mountain, but seems to refer to temple buildings with structurally separated precincts.

E M P I R E ! 1 ‘… A N D G AV E H I M A SE AT A B OV E T H E

SE AT S OF T H E O T H E R K I N G S W HO W E R E W I T H H I M I N B A B Y LON .’ J E R E M IA H 5 2 . 3 1 – 3 4 : F AC T OR F IC T ION ?

Hans M. Barstad

University of Edinburgh, Scotland

Background Among other Jeremiah texts that also contain important historical information about Neo-Babylonian matters, we should include Jeremiah 52.31–34.2 In the thirty-seventh year of the exile of King Jehoiachin of Judah, in the twelfth month, on the twenty-fifth day of the month, King Evil-Merodach of Babylon, in the year he began to reign, showed favour to King Jehoiachin of Judah and brought him out of prison; he spoke kindly to him, and gave him a seat above the seats of the other kings who were with him in Babylon. So Jehoiachin put aside his prison clothes, and every day of his life he dined regularly at the king’s table. For his allowance, a regular daily allowance was given him by the king of Babylon, as long as he lived, up to the day of his death. (NRSV)

Chapter 52 is added to the Jeremiah scroll. As Jeremiah 52 and 2 Kings 24.18– 25.30 are ‘identical’, I will not comment further on this matter here. It may be that editors added the text because of the importance of King Hezekiah of Judah   1. When the editors sent out invitations for the present Festschrift they reminded all of the remarkable generous nature of the jubilar, hoping that this might somehow influence our choices of topic. However, since Bob Becking is generous in so many different ways, not least as a close friend, this is not a straightforward task. Among scholars, his generosity towards truly multi-interdisciplinary approaches is well known. In the present contribution, I have taken particular inspiration from Bob’s wonderfully useful ‘Global Warming and the Babylonian Exile’ (Becking 2012).   2. I have dealt with historical problems in the book of Jeremiah on various earlier occasions, most recently in Barstad 2012.

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(ruled c. 715–687 bce) throughout the book of Jeremiah. It is not likely, however, that someone added the text directly from the present form of 2 Kings. When we look closer at the Masoretic text, both Jeremiah 52 and 2 Kings 24.18–25.30 reveal diachronic issues. Evil-Merodach (’wyl mrdk) referred to in Jeremiah 52.31–34 is Amel-Marduk (ruled c. 562–560 bce), son of Nebuchadnezzar II.3 The way Jehoiachin was treated by Amel-Marduk corresponds to a common imperial pattern in the Near East. Following the death of Nebuchadnezzar, his son would have to reshuffle local dynasties as necessary. Apparently, Amel-Marduk invited Jehoiachin to become part of the court in Babylon and gave him a ‘salary’. This may indicate that the Chaldeans planned to reinstate Jehoiachin as king. In view of Zedekiah’s ‘bad performance’, his nephew would now most certainly be given a second chance. However, since Amel-Marduk only lived for a very short time we do not know anything further of what happened to these plans. Many biblical scholars have pointed to the fate of King Jehoiachin of Judah as a resident of Babylon, particularly following the publication of Weidner 1939. However, what happened to Jehoiachin in Babylon around 560 bce would, more or less, be standard court procedure in Mesopotamia. From the so-called Weidner Chronicle, we learn how numerous kings from around the Neo-Babylonian Empire, including Egyptian Pharaohs,4 lived in Babylonia during the time of Nebuchadnezzar. In addition to foreign kings and members of ‘dynastic’ families, large numbers of officials, master artisans, craftsmen, servants and slaves were deported. This kind of ‘forced hospitality’ is well known from many different periods. There appears to have been comparatively large colonies of ‘foreigners’ both in Babylonia and Assyria. Obviously, such minority settlements would have developed over many years, even centuries.5   3. The Chaldean kings were Nabopolassar (c. 626–605); Nebuchadnezzar (c. 605–562); Amel-Marduk (c. 562–560); Neriglissar (c. 560–556); Labashi-Marduk (c. 556–556); and Nabonidus (c. 556–539), all bce. See Sack 1994: 3 for a more detailed chronology. On Amel-Marduk, see above all Sack 1972. See also Arnaud 2004: 295–8; Glassner 2004: 32–80 and Wiseman 2000: 240–3. However, it is important to realize that Neo-Babylonian studies have made tremendous progress in recent years, and that it is necessary to consult some of the updated literature. See, for instance, Joannès 2004; Sack 2003; Schaudig 2001; Beaulieu 1989. On Nebuchadnezzar and Jerusalem, see Barstad 2008: 90–1; 98–9; 107; 112; 118–19; 121; 123; 125–7; 136–7; 144–5; 150; 156; and 158–9.   4. There are some speculations among scholars, occasionally unfounded, concerning the whereabouts of Necho following the 605 bce Carchemish Battle. One possible clue for this debate was offered by Elmar Edel who reminds us there are references to other foreign kings, including Egyptian pharaohs. The name Necho, too, appears in the list (Edel 1978: 18; 1980: 25). See also Bongenaar and Haring 1994. On Necho, see also below, n.14.  5. Ran Zadok has written many important works on Judeans in Babylon in the Neo-Babylonian era. A recent contribution is Zadok 2012. Among others that could be mentioned are Pearce 2006; Joannès and Lemaire 1996; Weidner 1939.

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I mention ‘royal prisoners’ throughout the study at hand. Since uproar and shifting loyalties were so commonplace in the history of Near Eastern empires, a very long list indeed could easily have been supplied. Since this is not worthwhile, I am content to refer only to a couple of examples here. The rebellion of King Metinti of Ashkelon under Tiglath-pileser III (ruled c. 744–727) in the Calah annals reminds one of the Jehoiachin story.6 The very same Mitinti, a son of Sidqa, appears to have grown up and been educated at the Assyrian court.7 Another instance of ‘royal prisoners’ occurs in Grayson Chronicle 1 (see text ‘paraphrased’ below). In this story, we may read how Esarhaddon (ruled c. 680–669 bce) marched to Egypt in his tenth year and conquered the royal city of Memphis. Further, we note how the king’s son and brother were taken prisoners by the Assyrians.8 It is very possible that they were taken to Assyria. On the other side, it is not likely that they suffered decapitation by Esarhaddon like some other foreign kings.9 Instead, they may have been kept alive for dynastic control purposes.

Some Notes on Assyrian Imperial Policy An adequate illustration of how some Neo-Assyrian kings operated may be found in 2 Kings 17.1–7. In this text, we learn how the Samarian king Hoshea (ruled c. 732–724 bce) stops paying tribute to Assyria. Instead, he seeks to make alliances with Egypt. As a result, Shalmaneser (ruled c. 726–722 bce)10 besieged Samaria over a longer period, captured the city and removed the king.11 ‘The End of Samaria’ story corresponds to the ‘End of Jerusalem’ story in the book of Kings. Obviously, neither city ceased to exist at all. In the twelfth year of king Ahaz of Judah, Hoshea son of Elah began to reign in Samaria over Israel; he reigned for nine years. 2. He did what was evil in the sight of the Lord, yet not like the kings in Israel who were before him. 3. King Shalmaneser of Assyria came up against him; Hoshea became his vassal (‘bd), and paid him tribute (mnḥh). 4. But the king of Assyria found treachery (qšr) in Hoshea; for he had sent messengers to King So of Egypt,12 and offered no tribute (mnḥh) to the king of Assyria, as he had done year by year; therefore the king of Assyria confined him (wy‘ṣrhw) and imprisoned him (wy’srhw byt kl’). 5. Then the king of Assyria13 invaded all the land and came to Samaria; for three years he besieged it. 6. In the ninth year of Hoshea, the king of Assyria captured   6. See Tadmor 2007: 82–3.   7. See Lamprichs 1995: 161 n. 13; 256.   8. Grayson 2000: 85–6.   9. See, for instance, Grayson 2000: 82–3 10. Probably Shalmaneser V (Ululaya). For this Assyrian king, see Grayson 2000: 242. 11. See, Joannès 2004: 38–41. 12. sw’ is possibly Osorkon IV (ruled c. 730–716 bce). 13. Possibly Sargon II. Ruled c. 721–705 bce.

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Also relevant as background document for Jeremiah 52.31–34 is 2 Kings 23.33–35. Pharaoh Neco confined him (wy’srhw) [Jehoahaz] at Riblah in the land of Hamath, so that he might not reign in Jerusalem, and imposed tribute (wytn‘nš) on the land of one hundred talents of silver and a talent of gold. 34. Pharaoh Neco made Eliakim son of Josiah king in place of his father Josiah, and changed his name to Jehoiakim. But he took Jehoahaz away; he came to Egypt, and died there. 35. Jehoiakim gave the silver and the gold to Pharaoh, but he taxed (h‘ryk) the land in order to meet Pharaoh’s demand for money. He exacted the silver and the gold from the people of the land (’t-‘m h’rṣ), from all according to their assessment (’yš k‘rkw ngś), to give it to Pharaoh Neco. (NRSV)

From the latter text, we learn of details of imperial practice in Egypt in the Near East under Necho.14 The Egyptians ruled their vast empire through local dynasties. Zedekiah, the last king of Judah (ruled c. 597–586), was installed as king by Nebuchadnezzar II in 597 bce. This event is described in 2 Kings 24.17. The king of Babylon made Mattaniah, Jehoiachin’s uncle, king in his place, and changed his name to Zedekiah. (NRSV)

The episode is also referred to in Grayson Chronicle 5, reverse, 11–13.15 11. The seventh year: In the month Kislev the king of Akkad mustered his army and marched to Hattu. 12. He encamped against the city of Judah and on the second day of the month Adar he captured the city (and) seized (its) king. 13. A king of his own choice he appointed in the city (and) taking the vast tribute he brought it into Babylon.

The ‘king of his own choice’ is Zedekiah, mentioned briefly in Kings and Chronicles, as well as numerous times in the book of Jeremiah. When the king installed by Nebuchadnezzar later rebelled (making an alliance with the Egyptians), Jerusalem was besieged and subsequently captured in 586 bce There are no contemporary extra-biblical sources for ‘the fall of Jerusalem’. The Babylonian Chronicle Series is broken in the middle of Nebuchadnezzar’s eleventh year (594 bce), and picks 14. Necho II / Wahibre (ruled c. 610–595 bce). For Necho, see surveys by Barstad 2012: 91–4; James 2000: 715–19; Grimal 1995: 359–62; Spalinger 1992: 361–2. On the battle, see also Arnaud 2004: 45–8 and Wiseman 2000: 229–30. On Necho and Carchemish, see further Redford 1992: 452–62. 15. Grayson 2000: 102. Zedekiah’s name does not occur in the chronicle and has to be supplied from 2 Kings 24.17.

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up again for the third year of Neriglissar (557 bce). Consequently, the 43 years’ rule of Nebuchadnezzar from c. 605 to 562 bce remains mostly undocumented in contemporary sources. However, a short British Museum text published by Donald Wiseman in 1956 deals with a combined land and sea attack on Egypt in Nebuchadnezzar’s thirty-seventh year (c. 568 bce). The invasion took place under Pharaoh Amasis (ruled c. 570–526 bce).16 Also earlier parts of Grayson’s chronicle series contain historical information relevant as background for the paper at hand. For instance, Grayson Chronicle 1 bears witness to a period of Assyrian imperial aggression and domination.17 The part that deals with Esarhaddon (c. 680–669 bce) represents yet another example of how competent kings, who ruled for longer periods, were able to expand and consolidate their empires. The core of royal accomplishments in ancient Mesopotamia was above all successful military operations abroad. For the present purpose, I will mention briefly only a few references in the series concerning the relationship between the Mesopotamian empires and Egypt. According to Chronicle 1, Esarhaddon was defeated in Egypt in year seven of his rule. In the tenth year, the army marched victoriously to Egypt where a ‘massacre’ took place. Memphis was captured and the king’s son and brother imprisoned. In the twelfth year, Esarhaddon also marched to Egypt, but became ill and died during the march.18 From Chronicle 2, we learn how the ‘new’ Chaldean dynasty causes problems for the Assyrians. In his early years, Nabopolassar (c. 625–605 bce), the father of Nebuchadnezzar, experiences successes on the battlefield and Babylon is strengthening her position.19 Chronicle 3 contains the story of the sack of Nineveh. We note how in the twelfth year of Nabopolassar, the Egyptians have become allies with the Assyrians.20 In year sixteen, Nabopolassar is victorious against the combined forces of Assyrians and Egyptians and conquered Harran.21 However, in the king’s seventeenth year where there is a reference to a large Egyptian army successfully reconquering the Assyrian capital Harran, the crown prince Nebuchadnezzar appears to be present.22 The well-preserved Chronicle 4 deals with the eighteenth to twenty-first years of Nabopolassar. In the nineteenth year, the king and Nebuchadnezzar (crown prince and son) are both active. Nabopolassar marches to Kimuhu.23 In the twentieth year, the army of Egypt marches against the garrison of Kimuhu (south

16. Wiseman 1961: fig. XXI, 94–5. For a detailed ‘Egyptian’ comment on this text, see Edel 1978. 17. See comment in Grayson 2000: 14–17. 18. Chronicle 1 iii 38–1 iv 32 (see Grayson 2000: 82–6). On Esarhaddon, see also Grayson 2000: 217–19; Joannès 2004: 42–5. 19. Grayson 2000: 87–90. 20. Grayson 2000: 91. 21. Grayson 2000: 95. 22. Grayson 2000: 96. 23. Grayson 2000: 97.

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of Carchemish) and the Egyptians push the Chaldean army back.24 The battle of Carchemish25 took place around 605 bce, in the twenty-first (and final) regnant year of Nabopolassar, who died later that year. Nebuchadnezzar was in charge of the Chaldean army. The encounters between Nebuchadnezzar and the Egyptians are described in moderate detail in Grayson Chronicle 5.26 According to this source, the Egyptian army retreats, and is completely overrun by Nebuchadnezzar. Further on, he chases the Egyptians to Hamath and completely finishes off the rest of the Egyptians. At the same time, Nebuchadnezzar secures the district of Hamath for the Chaldeans. In Nebuchadnezzar’s fourth regnant year, he marches to Egypt and meets the Egyptian army somewhere on the way. Both sides suffered losses.27

Summing Up: Wider Perspectives Based on what we may glean from the small selection of texts referred to in the present paper,28 some main concerns and practices can be assumed. The overall purpose of imperial activity in the Middle East in the first millennium bce was to secure tribute and tax from various ‘city-state members’ (see below). Yet again, it is important to underline how the Neo-Babylonians (Chaldeans) continued imperial policies from Neo-Assyrian times. There appears to be some kind of consensus among cuneiformists and ancient historians with regard to the way ancient Mesopotamian empires were organized.29 Detailed and complex taxation systems secured a steady flow of income into contemporary power hubs, intermittently swaying between Egypt, Assyria and Babylonia, and later Achaemenids and Macedonians. A successful ‘forced trade’ was at the heart of this economy and led to prosperity in many areas, and not only in the royal cities of various shifting empires. Local kings were necessary and vital for the control and upkeep of individual, subjugated city-states. 24. Grayson 2000: 98. 25. The name of the Egyptian king is not in the Babylonian Chronicles. The king is Necho II (Wahibre), who ruled c. 610–595 bce. This king is referred to a few times in the Hebrew Bible. The battle of Carchemish is clearly reflected in Jer. 46.2. On Necho, see also above note 14. 26. Grayson 2000: 99. 27. Grayson 2000: 101. 28. Above all, Jer. 52.31–4; 2 Kgs 17.1–7; 2 Kgs 23.33–5; and Grayson 2000: Chronicles 1–7. 29. See the fine volume, Joannès 2004. For Assyria, see the excellent study Fales 2001 and the very useful Parker 2001 (the latter focusing on the northern frontier of the Assyrian empire). For a detailed study of the province of Urartu under Assyria ninth–seventh centuries bce, see Zimansky 1985. For valuable heuristic inspiration, see Rowlands, Larsen and Kristiansen 1990. However, such recent and updated views are less frequent among some biblical scholars and ‘biblical’ archaeologists.

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Tribute In the following very small selection I refer to ‘tribute’ in a very simplified and general manner, more or less synonymously with ‘tax’, ‘booty’ or ‘spoils of war’. In reality, texts vary a lot and each and every instance has to be looked into separately. The overwhelming concern in all imperial policy is how to organize tributary systems in the best possible way for the ‘receiving end’. Bradley Parker’s The Mechanics of Empire contains a wealth of information on a variety of issues and should be consulted on vassalage, tribute, uproar and many other related issues in Assyria.30 In the present context, I will only refer to two instances from Parker. Others, too, could have been added. In the survey of the history of the vassal state of Kumme, we learn how tribute (labour, carnelian, wine, barley, sheep) was secured through the role and function of ‘vassal kings’ rather than ‘annexation’.31 In another example, we may read of the inhabitants of Nirbu (in Upper Tigris) who during the time of Ashurnasirpal II (c. 883–859 bce) were forced to give up horses, mules, sheep, wine, labour and bronze vessels as tax and tribute. However, the villagers immediately rebelled and refused to pay. To set an example to everyone, Ashurnasirpal massacred all the villagers in a most atrocious way.32 Paul Zimansky, Ecology and Empire, too, has numerous references to tributary activity in the Assyrian empire, and ought to be consulted for further information. In one instance, we note how the Urartians took prisoners, horses, cattle, sheep and goats as booty.33 It may be useful for comparative purposes to refer briefly also to the tributary system of the Achaemenid kings. Again, the literature is huge and I will mention only one contribution in the present context. Pierre Briant’s Histoire de l’Empire perse is a veritable gold mine and should be consulted on multiple issues, not least tributary practices.34 Moreover, Briant is probably correct when claiming that tax and tribute demanded systematically by Achaemenid kings were not as heavy as has been assumed by some scholars. Instead, uproar and rebellion were often caused by greedy local rulers who did not follow any Persian tributary policy.35 According to Briant, many of the concubines at Persian courts were originally foreigners taken as prisoners of war or tribute from various parts of the empire.36 Another group of attractive foreigners were skilled workers.37 The status of the 30. The word used in the Neo-Assyrian inscriptions for tribute is maddattu (Parker 2001: 170). 31. Parker 2001: 89–94. 32. Parker 2001: 169–70. 33. Zimansky 1985: 57. 34. See, for instance Briant 1996: 399–433 and 820–2. However, this volume refers to tribute in numerous places. 35. Briant 1996: 829–32. 36. Briant 1996: 290–1. 37. On kurtaš, see Briant 1996: 446–56 and passim.

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latter group is unclear. Some of them, at least, appear to have been prisoners of war or slaves.38 There were, apparently, differences between imperial policies in Egypt and Mesopotamia on one side and the ‘Persians’ on the other. Whereas ‘indirect rule’ (government through local dynasties) was common in the Levant and Mesopotamia, the Achaemenids practised ‘direct rule’. This difference may follow from the fact that most Achaemenids were semi-nomadic or agro-pastoral.39 Many led a military life.40 The satraps (governors) controlled the empire through the army.41 However, the satraps (governors) of the various ‘provinces’ and the high military leaders were always Achaemenids, never foreigners.42 Different ways of running the empires also led to different roles for ‘royal prisoners’ in the Persian Empire.

Indirect Rule/City-States: Some Reflections Today, we find theoretical observations on empires in general sporadically in works like the substantial volume by Bradley Parker.43 Theoretical observations are not so common among biblical scholars. A lack of interest in empire theory, however, is shared also by other subject areas.44 There is now a fairly comprehensive secondary literature on empire and empire theory, especially from recent years. Much of it appears to be useful for the study of ancient Israel and should be taken into consideration in future research. However, some new orientation is clearly also necessary. This has partly to do with problems following the use of outdated sociological methods on historical texts. For my own part, I find all sharp distinctions between vassalage that includes upkeep of local dynasties and ‘total’ annexation artificial. Rather, we are dealing with a rich variety of local systems, and intervention or control in one form or another, to varying degrees, of course, was always necessary.45 Parker describes how the Aztecs of Mexico during the fourteenth to sixteenth centuries of our era left local governments intact and did not interfere with their work as long as they continued paying tribute to the imperial capital.46 He does 38. Briant 1996: 472–3. 39. Briant 1996: 100. 40. On the Achaemenid army, see Briant 1996: 803–20. 41. For how satraps controlled the empire, see Briant 1996: 350–9. 42. For a survey of satraps and military high officers showing their Persian names, see Briant 1996: 362–3. On foreigners in ‘Persia’, see also Cagnazzi 2001. 43. Parker 2001: 12–17 passim. 44. As Averil Cameron has pointed out. For valuable reflections on Byzantium as an empire, see Cameron 2014: 26–45. 45. According to Parker, for instance, duties of vassal kings included regular reports to the Assyrians about Assyria’s ‘enemies’ (Parker 2001: 91). 46. Parker 2001: 14.

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not, in this important volume, as far as I can see, use the term ‘indirect rule’. However, Parker builds this argument on the work of Ross Hassig who would use the term. Parker also shows convincingly how a similar system existed in Assyria, during the reign of Sargon II (c. 721–705 bce). He underlines how the status of the Assyrian vassal secured the position of local dynasties as long as they continued to conduct the day-to-day affairs of the kingdom.47 In my view, an additional reason why ‘indirect rule’ was such a great success in the Middle East in antiquity was the wider tributary system of ‘city states’.48 City-states formed in themselves a sort of ‘mini empire’, where local kings in ‘bigger’ cities (like Samaria, Jerusalem, Rabbah or Damascus) controlled and taxed a whole series of other walled cities and towns. City-states would make military alliances with other city-states and wage war in order to ‘get a better deal’. The wider imperial context was more often than not defined by the heavyweights Egypt, Assyria and Babylon. Such ‘enemy’ coalitions are frequently referred to in first millennium bce Assyrian and Babylonian royal inscriptions. However, unlike today’s international scene, shifting loyalties were not bound up by stale patterns, but were rather pragmatic. Even if sharing the same high-god, YHWH, during the Iron Age, Jerusalem and Samaria were not always ‘on the same side’. This fact has occasionally led to scholarly misconceptions like ‘United Monarchy’. The combined resources of city-states should not be underestimated. For instance, in a system like this the size of walled capital cities is not always of great importance. Also, there is no reason to consider, as some scholars do, Jerusalem as ‘inferior’ to Samaria. The story about Egypt taking control of Jerusalem in 2 Kings 23.33–35 (see above) reflects the relative economic importance of Jerusalem around the middle of the first millennium bce. Among Jerusalem’s many assets the most undisputed would apparently be oil.49 In the Hebrew Bible, we find occasionally names of cities and towns that ‘belonged to’, for instance, Jerusalem or Samaria, and it would be possible to make lists of ‘city-state members’. Such reconstructed lists will not only be tentative, but certainly incomplete. However, as is quite often the case with the Hebrew Bible, one may come across important historical information indirectly and coincidentally. Thus, the prophetic word of doom against Moab in Jeremiah 48 gives away, apparently, all the cities and towns that ‘belong to Moab’. For the present purpose, I quote Jeremiah 48.21–25 (NRSV). However, one should note that the rest of Jeremiah 48 should also be consulted.

47. Parker 2001: 90. 48. Since the expression ‘city state’, although helpful, is used differently among scholars, the phrase will need to be ‘redefined’ whenever it is used. Further on my usage above, see Barstad 2008: 149–50 passim. My use of ‘city state’ is very far from, for instance, Elizabeth Stone, who works with a model inherited from the Greek debate relating to freedom and democracy (Stone 1997). 49. On the value of olive in Judah in antiquity, see Barstad 2008: 127–9.

20

Open-Mindedness in the Bible and Beyond (21) Judgement has come upon the tableland, upon Holon, and Jahzah, and Mephaath, (22) and Dibon, and Nebo, and Beth-diblathaim, (23) and Kiriathaim, and Beth-gamul, and Beth-meon, (24) and Kerioth, and Bozrah, and all the towns of the land of Moab, far and near. (25) The horn of Moab is cut off, and his arm is broken, says the Lord.

Dibon appears also in Jeremiah 48.18; Nebo also 48.1 and Kiriathaim also in Jeremiah 48.1. In addition to the above, also further towns and cities controlled by, or allied with, Moab are mentioned in Jeremiah 48. Thus, Aroer occurs in Jeremiah 48.19; Eglath-shelishiyah in 48.34; Elealeh in Jeremiah 48.34; Heshbon in 48.2, 34, 45 (twice); Horonaim in Jeremiah 48.3, 5, 34; Jazer in 48.32 (twice); Kir-heres in Jeremiah 48.31, 36; Luhith in 48.5; Sibnah in 48.32; Sihon in 48.45 and Zoar in Jeremiah 48.34. Very simplified, ‘indirect rule’ will imply that local ‘rulers’ continued as ‘vassals’. They were only replaced if they malfunctioned. In Mesopotamia, kings (Akkadian šarru) were vassals; in the Ottoman Empire ‘amirs’ and in British India ‘princes’. A huge variety of different kinds and degrees of ‘indirect rule’ can be identified in all three cases, but I will not go into any details here.

The Ottoman Empire Two immediate problems present themselves if we want to take the ‘Ottoman Empire’ into consideration. The first is that I can refer only to very few academic studies in the present contribution. There are numerous relevant studies on the Ottoman Empire, and even if I had added many more, it would still be a case of the proverbial tip of the iceberg. The second issue is that because of the immense, often shifting areas and a history of around 600 years there will often be a lack of uniformity. It will be no surprise that ‘indirect rule’ was quite common in the enormous Ottoman Empire. Under Sultan Bayezid I (ruled 1389–1402) the empire consisted of approximately 700,000 km2. Already during this early period we may talk of a pax ottomana in Anatolia, with local loyal vassals continuing in their positions whereas amirs who rebelled and made alliances with the enemy were laid siege to and subjugated.50 Thomas Kuehn, Empire, Islam, and Politics of Difference,51 provides a fine case study. The book shows how similar systems as during the time of Bayezid I for organizing and securing tribute existed in Yemen from the mid-nineteenth to the early twentieth century of our era.52 Similarly, Karl Kaser has pointed out, in a more general way, how kings from local dynasties on

50. Majoros and Rill 2011: 137. 51. Kuehn 2011. 52. On the role of amirs, see above all Kuehn 2011: 142–3.

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the Balkan Peninsula under the Ottomans kept their positions if they allowed themselves to be controlled by the sultanate.53 However, as Lisa Balabanlilar has shown in her study on the Mughals, not all ‘Ottomans’ practised ‘indirect rule’.54 The Timurid-Mughal Dynasty of India (1483–1707) was run very successfully in a vast, not easily ruled area.55 Despite many major cities, this Turco-Mongol empire had nomadic (peripatetic) courts.56 The dynasty also practised succession by primogeniture, not normally the rule with indigenous courts in South Asia.57 One should note that the Mughals share ‘direct rule’ with the Achaemenids described above. Similar to what we noted above concerning ancient Mesopotamia, ‘tribute’ and ‘dynastic control’ were closely associated throughout the Ottoman period. For this reason, ‘royal prisoners’ are richly attested to in Ottoman history, too. Particularly exposed were legitimate heirs to the throne. Among countless examples, I will only mention a couple of Ottoman cases. When the Ottoman sultan Bayezid II (ruled 1481–1512) accessed the throne, his brother Cem challenged the legitimacy of his regime. Cem lost the civil war between the brothers that followed and fled to Rhodes. Later on, Bayezid paid the Johanniter Order an annual sum of 45,000 ducats to ‘look after’ him.58 Following allied victory in World War 1, the Ottoman Empire subsequently lost control over the Arab countries. Faysal I (Faysal ibn Husayn al-Hashimi, 1883–1933) ruled Syria 1918–20. He was also the first king of Iraq (ruled 1921–5). Faysal was the son of Husayn ibn Ali al-Hashimi (1856–1931). The latter was Sharif (amir) of Mecca 1908–25. Faysal spent large parts of his childhood in Baghdad because his father was an involuntary guest at the court of the Ottoman sultan Abdulhamid II (ruled 1876–1909).59 Faysal’s father, the Hashemite Amir of Mecca, later ‘started’ the Arab Revolt against the Ottoman Empire. The sultan, therefore, apparently knew well what he was doing. The only problem was that Sharif Husayn managed to escape.

British Empire During the last year or so I have had the opportunity to read books and articles on what has been referred to as ‘indirect rule’ in British Colonial history.60 53. Kaser 2011: 49. 54. Balabanlilar 2012. On the Mughal Empire, see also Richards 1993. 55. Balabanlilar 2012: 100–139. 56. Balabanlilar 2012: 71–99. 57. Balabanlilar 2012: 125. 58. Majoros and Rill 2011: 201–4. 59. Russell 1985: 2. 60. I am very grateful to my friend and colleague Knut Holter who was the first to mention the usefulness of the recent debate on ‘indirect rule’ in the British Empire in a conversation highly useful to me. He even pointed me in the right direction to make sure that I should come across literature relevant for the present project.

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It soon turned out, to me at least, that imperial policies in the Levant in the first millennium bce were not unlike those used by the British Empire in India, and in other parts of the world. The main strategy was that ‘forced’ trade and military control went hand in hand. However, even if military force were necessary in initial stages, it would not be successful as a long-term solution. If one could replace the army with local governments the situation would be completely different. The theory and practice of indirect rule in colonial India made it possible to control and keep up hegemony over an incredibly vast area following military invasion and annexation with minimal tax support from the British parliament. Barbara Ramusack’s book, The Indian Princes and Their States (published 2004), is already a ‘classic’ and contains a wealth of useful information on British imperial policy in India.61 Of particular interest to the present paper is her discussion on ‘indirect rule’, including a system of princely clients.62 The system with British-educated princes as vassals was (for the most part) a great success and lasted until 1947. It would not have been possible for political, economic or military reasons to keep up the huge Empire of India without the use of local nobility as imperial clients. In this way, annexation could be avoided. Instead, the British intervened where necessary. Occasionally, problems arose following the succession of viceroys who were dealing with the princes. The most dramatic of these would be the shift from the ‘interventionist Curzon to the laissezfaire Minto’.63 Occasionally, there were clashes between viceroys and provincial governors, the latter being better informed about local governments. Also, various political agents and residents who were meant to support the interests of the princes in relation to the British were not always successful.64 Equally important was the ‘indirect empire’ made up by British India’s residency system in Asia, Africa and the Gulf area, going back a very long time.65 I find James Onley’s The Arabian Frontier of the British Raj particularly relevant for the study at hand. He mentions how all of the states and territories around British India, whether independent or under British protection, were eventually incorporated into a vast diplomatic network controlled from British India.66 As we see, this description fits equally well both the Ottoman and Mesopotamian empires.

Final Remarks The present essay takes its starting point in Jeremiah 52.31–34, using the pericope as ‘a window’ into the wider historical context that once created the 61. Ramusack 2004. 62. Ramusack 2004: 88–131. For further literature on indirect rule in India, see 285–6. 63. Ramusack 2004: 130. 64. Ramusack 2004: 131. 65. Onley 2007. Other useful studies are Robinson 1972 and Fisher 1991. 66. Onley 2007: 12.

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text. In addition to Jeremiah 52, other texts taken into consideration are, first and foremost, 2 Kings 17.1–7; 2 Kings 23.33–35 and Grayson Chronicles 1–7. Against the background of this small, although representative, collection of texts we learn how Middle Eastern empires in the first millennium bce controlled surrounding city-states through local dynasties (‘indirect rule’). Occasionally, indigenous kings made alliances with other native kings in order to throw off the imperial yoke. Yet again, it is important to underline how the Neo-Babylonians (Chaldeans) continued imperial policies from Neo-Assyrian times. King Jehoiachin ruled only for three months in 598 or 597 bce before he was deported. Members of royal families were not really ‘prisoners’ in the normal sense, but strategic ‘pawns’. They could be reinstalled if local rulers appointed by imperial kings misbehaved (stopped paying tribute or taxes) or made uproar. Royal prisoners formed an important part of imperial courts at ‘all’ times and in many different empires. It is of considerable interest that the way in which ‘indirect rule’ is described in ancient Near Eastern sources during the Iron Ages appears to be common also in later times. For comparative purposes, I give some (very few) examples of this policy during the Ottoman and British empires.

B E N S I R A A N D S O N G O F S O N G S : W HAT A B O U T P A R A L L E L S A N D E C HO E S ? *

Pancratius C. Beentjes

Tilburg University, the Netherlands

Introduction The date of Song of Songs has been disputed and still is. However, whether it is estimated pre-exilic or post-exilic, there is no doubt that it existed in Ben Sira’s time, at the end of the second century bce. This poses the question whether the Jerusalem sage in his bulky volume makes reference to Song of Songs, and if so, in what way (Dell 2005). Subsequent to the discovery of several Hebrew Ben Sira manuscripts at the very end of the nineteenth century, quite extensive lists were published in which almost every Hebrew word, word pair or phrase from the book of Ben Sira was traced back to the Hebrew Bible (Schechter and Taylor 1899: 13–25; Gasser 1904: 203–53; Eberharter 1911: 6–52). It is striking, however, to ascertain that these lists are to a high degree completely different from each other, since the compilers did not give due consideration to methodological points of reference.1 As far as connections between the book of Ben Sira and Song of Songs might concern, Solomon Schechter and Charles Taylor, Johann Gasser, and Andreas Eberharter each listed just one single parallel. It is quite remarkable, however, that three completely different references were given, as can be seen in the following:

Schechter and Taylor (1899: 14) refer to

Sir. 6.5 ‫ חיך ערב‬ Cant. 5.16 ‫ חכו ממתקים‬

(‘pleasant speech’) (‘his speech is most sweet’)

  * With this essay I would like to thank my colleague Bob Becking for fruitful and friendly cooperation in an oecumenical setting during so many years.   1. For an application in respect of Sir. 36.1–17 [36.1–22 Gr.], see Beentjes 1981: 5–19.

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Gasser (1904: 235) points to Sir. 17.22 Cant. 8.6

w9v sfragi\v ‫ כחותם‬

(‘like a signet ring’) (‘as a seal’)

Eberharter (1911: 30) only refers to Sir. 37.24b ‫‘( ויאשרוהו כל רואיהו‬all who see him call him happy’) Cant. 6.9 ‫‘( ראוה בנות ויאשרוה‬maidens see her and call her happy’)

The resemblance between Sir. 6.5 (‘Pleasant speech makes many a friend’, Corley 2002: 38) and Cant. 5.16 (‘His speech is most sweet’, NRSV) consists only of the noun ‫‘( חך‬speech’, lit. ‘palate’), which in my view is too small to postulate a literary or thematic parallel. As to Sir. 17.22 and Cant. 8.6, we come across a question that to a considerable extent dominates Ben Sira research. First, by suggesting that Hagg. 2.23 might be considered a parallel too,2 Gasser to some extent weakens his observation. Second, since to date only two-thirds of the book of Ben Sira were recovered in Hebrew, scholars continuously have to face questions as to whether the Greek translation by Ben Sira’s grandson is a reliable mirror of the Hebrew parent parts that are missing. We will discuss this topic in due course (see also Beentjes 2011). With regard to the parallel listed by Eberharter, no doubt the resemblance between Sir. 37.24b and Cant. 6.9 at first glance is striking. Israel Lévi, for example, is absolutely sure: ‘Imitation de Cant 6,9’ (Lévi 1901: 193). One nevertheless could hold the view that the phrase ‘all who see him call him happy’ that in Sir. 37.24b relates to the wise, has little in common with the content of the poem in Cant. 6.9, in which the bridegroom says about his bride: ‘Maidens see her and call her happy’. The phrase in Ben Sira looks more like a topos than being a direct reference from Song of Songs. This short statement of affairs is solid proof enough that establishing parallels between documents is a delicate and complicated matter.

New Avenues The discovery of fragments of a Hebrew Ben Sira scroll at Masada in 1964, as well as the publication of the great Psalms Scroll from Qumran Cave 11 in 1965, were conclusive evidence that the Hebrew text of the medieval Ben Sira manuscripts which had been discovered in the Cairo Genizah in 1896 was to a high degree authentic (Yadin 1965; Sanders 1965).3 From then on, Ben Sira scholars were able to shift their attention from textual criticism to other fields, such as literary, theological and sociological topics.   2. ‘aber auch Hagg. 2:23’; Gasser 1904: 235.   3. These findings matched the assessment of Di Lella 1966: 23–105.



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As a consequence, a re-evaluation of the extensive lists of parallels between the book of Ben Sira and the Hebrew Bible was part of that Ben Sira revival. The ‘parallelomania’ (Sandmel 1962) which so strongly dominated the first wave of Ben Sira research was in fact disputed for the first time by John Snaith, who brought to the fore that [t]he amount of Ben Sira’s conscious literary quotation from the Hebrew Bible has been over-estimated through lack of detailed investigation into each alleged instance. Careful investigation into the contexts of both passages is necessary before conscious quotation can be acknowledged with any certainty…. What matters is what Ben Sira did with his quotations. (Snaith 1967: 11) [F]or it is not only through such study of contextual information in both occurrences that we can hope to discover what significances (if any) we may see in his quotations. Our aim is to discover something of what Ben Sira meant by his quotations and references rather than to assess how many there are or to show how wide their range. (Snaith 1967: 4)

Compare Samuel Sandmel’s observation: Detailed study is the criterion, and the detailed study ought to respect the context and not be limited to juxtaposing mere excerpts. Two passages may sound the same in splendid isolation, but when seen in context reflect difference rather than similarity. (Sandmel 1962: 2)

Scholars nowadays are convinced that in all those cases where he quotes Scripturein-process-of-formation, Ben Sira not only adopted the biblical wording as such, but also added a contextual clue that supports his use of Scripture. This is a major methodological observation that is important for people who wish to discuss intertextuality in the book of Ben Sira. If such an additional contextual clue is not fixed in advance, one gets mixed up with a very unwanted situation, as was the case in Ben Sira research at the beginning of the twentieth century.

Ben Sira and Song of Songs With regard to Song of Songs, three authors in particular have incited me to investigate whether in all likelihood there might be established close connections between the book of Ben Sira and Song of Songs. In a 1956 article, Marco Treves is of the firm opinion that Ben Sira was very familiar with Song of Songs: ‘Il Cantico dei Cantici era ben noto a Gesù ben Sirach’ (Treves 1956: 395). His overview finds at least a dozen verses from the book of Ben Sira that bear a resemblance to Song of Songs. A couple of years ago, in an essay on Lady Wisdom in Ben Sira chapter 24, Martti Nissinen reached the conclusion that ‘… the Song of Songs, among other texts, has served as a subtext for Chapter 24 and some other texts’ (Nissinen 2009:

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384). And in a recent monograph, Teresa Ann Ellis contends that the book of Ben Sira ‘shares significant vocabulary’ with Song of Songs.4 Before starting to test the results advanced by Treves, Nissinen and Ellis, however, a methodological aspect should be touched on.

Hebrew and Greek Ben Sira Since a complete Hebrew text of the book of Ben Sira is not at hand, the study of the Greek and Syriac versions of the book of Ben Sira is therefore of great importance, but at the same time has its limits. Is the Greek translation, for instance, a reliable reflection of Ben Sira’s original Hebrew text? In this respect, one should refer here to the investigation by Benjamin G. Wright, who offered an excellent monograph dealing with the interrelationship of the Greek translation of the book of Ben Sira and its Hebrew parent text (Wright 1989). He posed the question whether the Hebrew parent text of the Greek translation could be reconstructed at all. His investigation tends to be pessimistic about the prospect of recovering the grandson’s Hebrew text. Among other things, Wright elucidated this conviction by referring to Patrick W. Skehan’s Hebrew retroversion of Chapter 24 from the Greek Ben Sira text (Skehan 1979), adducing solid evidence that Skehan’s retroversion is far from convincing (Wright 1989: 236–50). It is a pity, therefore, that Wright has not favoured the most obvious conclusion, namely that both the Hebrew text of Ben Sira and the Greek translation by his grandson must be considered as literary entities of their own, which cannot be exchanged as one pleases. Some years later, Antonio Minissale published a monograph dealing with a particular aspect of the Greek version of Ben Sira (Minissale 1995). He offers an analysis of ten pericopes in the book of Ben Sira which are all attested in more than one Hebrew Ben Sira manuscript and deal with one central topic (Sir. 4.20–6.4; 6.18–37; 10.19–11.6; 31.25–32.13; 32.14–33.6; 37.16–31; 41.14–42.8; 42.15–25; 44.1–15; 51.13–30). The aim of his study is to re-examine the Greek translation in its relation to the Hebrew source text and establish to what extent the Greek translator(s) have been influenced and inspired by midrashic or targumic hermeneutics. Minissale’s study reveals that the Greek text seems to be more specific, picturesque and generic, expressing the cause instead of the effect and vice versa, the concrete instead of the abstract and vice versa. Thematic variations include concern for the transcendence of God, stressing the action of God but avoiding references to divine causality with respect to evil and natural phenomena, and avoidance of mythological allusions. A rather weak point of this study is, however, that nowhere is a definition offered as to what Minissale actually understands by ‘midrash(ic)’ and ‘targum(ic)’. This might be the reason why the huge amount of material collected in this study is not really evaluated.   4. Ellis 2013: 182–5 (quotation 182).



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29

In my view, both Wright’s and Minissale’s monographs allow just one conclusion: the Greek translation is unsuited to serve as a reliable witness for a reconstruction of the Hebrew text(s).5 Therefore I like to argue strongly in favour of the view that there is in fact only one legitimate way to investigate the book of Ben Sira properly, namely to study each text, each version, even each manuscript, on its own, and not to mingle them ad libitum, thus offering a text that does not even exist. As a consequence, henceforth we will draw a distinction between Hebrew and Greek Ben Sira texts that are associated with passages from Song of Songs. Hebrew Ben Sira texts are related to the Masoretic text of Song of Songs, whereas Greek Ben Sira passages are mirrored to the Greek version of Song of Songs.

Alleged Parallels in Hebrew Ben Sira Treves Treves’ references from Song of Songs to Ben Sira passages of which a Hebrew text has been handed down are the following, each pair being provided with a characterization of their common topic: Sir. 6.19 Cant. 7.13 I frutti della Sapienza [‘the fruits of Wisdom’] Cant. 3.4 pigliaria e non la lasciar più Sir. 6.27 [‘to held and let not go’] Cant. 1.11 la collana d’oro Sir. 6.29–30 [‘ornaments of gold’] Sir. 14.23 Cant. 2.9 spiare alla finestra [‘gazing in at the window’] la tenda, il meriggio Sir. 14.24–27 Cant. 1.7–8 [‘the tent, at noon’] Cant. 5.1 la sposa offre da mangiare e da bere Sir. 15.2–4 [‘the bride offers to eat and to drink’] Sir. 26.16–18 Cant. 6.10; 5.15 il paragone col sole e le gambe come colonne [‘the comparison with the sun and the leg as a column’]

First, it catches the eye that the eight alleged parallels from Song of Songs are found in just three Ben Sira passages, viz. Sir. 6.19–30; 14.23–15.4; and 26.16–18. It is quite remarkable that the first two clusters relate to the same theme: Sir. 6.18–37 is about ‘encouragement to strive for Wisdom’, whereas Sir. 14.20–15.10   5. ‘… the grandson’s translation could be characterized as not representing the Hebrew closely. … the Greek Sir. would not seem to provide a firm basis for reconstructions. The grandson’s approach to the Hebrew seems to reflect more of a concern for the message than the medium’; Wright 1989: 115.

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is a poem that ‘describes the blessedness of the person who seeks Wisdom and her ways and her paths’ (Skehan and Di Lella 1987: 190, 263); Sir. 26.13–18 offers an extensive description of the charm of a good wife (Balla 2001: 61–8; Trenchard 1982: 9–18). Second, attention should be paid to the fact that within each of these three Ben Sira passages the references to Song of Song are so spread out all over this document. It means no trace is found here of the literary device that Daniel Patte has coined ‘structural use of Scripture (or structural style)’. It is a phenomenon to the effect that a passage in a (non-canonical Jewish) writing to a high degree is structured by elements from one or two biblical texts (Patte 1975: 171, 189). As an example Patte mentions Sybilline Oracles 3.8–45, in which one can clearly recognize the pattern of Isaiah 40.18–28, whereas Sybilline Oracles 3.62–91 should be read in the light of Deuteronomy 13 (Patte 1975: 186–9). Patte discovered the application of ‘structural use of Scripture’ just in Jewish writings that can be dated to about the second century bce, being the same period in which Ben Sira composed his book.6 Some comments on Treves’ references are in order now. His association of Sir. 6.27 and Cant. 3.4 might be inferred from the going together of the verb ‫‘( רפה‬to let go of ’) and the verb ‫‘( מצא‬to find’). Sir. 6.27 Cant. 3.4

‫דרש וחקר בקש ומצא והחזקתה ואל תרפה‬ ‘Search her out, discover her; seek her and you will find her’ ‫עד שמצאתי את שאהבה נפשי אחזתיו ולא ארפנו‬ ‘when I found my true love; I held him and would not let him go’.

However, the Ben Sira text has two additional clues which might argue in favour of quite another parallel. For in Sir. 6.27b we come across a pair of verbs that is quite rare, viz. ‫‘( חזק‬to get hold of ’) and ‫ רפה‬which are found in Proverbs 4.13. Of overriding importance, moreover, is that in Prov. 4.13, just as in Sir. 6.27, the noun ‫‘( מוסר‬instruction’) is found relating to wisdom: ‘Keep hold of instruction; do not let go; guard her, for she is your life’. As a consequence, Proverbs 4.13 would be a far more likely parallel to Sir. 6.27. An intriguing case shows itself when investigating the parallel between Sir. 14.23 and Cant. 2.9 in Treves’ list. Sir. 14.23 Cant. 2.9

‫המשקיף בעד חלונה ועל פתחיה יצותת‬ ‘who peeps through her window and listens at her doors’ ‫הנה־זה עומד אחר כתלנו משגיח מן־החלנות‬ ‘look, there he stands behind our wall, gazing in at the windows’.

At first sight the combination of the verb ‫‘( שקף‬to look out’) and the noun ‫‘( חלון‬window’) in Sir. 14.23 might suggest that Prov. 7.6 (‫כי בחלון ביתי‬   6. For an overview of this literary device in the book of Ben Sira, see Beentjes 2000: 600–2.



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‫‘[ בעד אשנבי נשקפתי‬For at the window of my house I looked out through my lattice’]) is more likely to be considered a parallel than Cant. 2.9. However, it is the context of the latter that appears to be preferred as a parallel to Sir. 14.23. For Sir. 14.20–15.1 describes a person who is pursuing wisdom, lying in wait on her paths, peering through her window and listening at her door. In the same vein Cant. 2.9 describes the lover’s action to come as close as possible to her house (see Reitemeyer 2000: 139–45; Marböck 1995: 94). To my view, the similarities between Sir. 26.16–18 and Cant 5.15; 6.10 are too small to establish a firm parallel, since it would only rest on the occurrence of the noun ‫‘( יפה‬beauty’; Sir. 26.16b; Cant. 6.10) and the participle ‫‘( בחור‬elected’; Sir. 26.16b; Cant. 5.15b). As an additional problem, Sir. 26.18 has not been handed down in Hebrew. In the Greek, the only similarity would be stu=loi (‘columns’; Sir. 26.18a; Cant. 5.15a).7 As a consequence, from Treves’ list relating to Hebrew Ben Sira passages there appears to be just one possible parallel to Song of Songs, namely Cant. 2.9 and Sir. 14.23.

Nissinen As a matter of fact, Sir. 14.22–23 is also mentioned by Nissinen, but here it is linked to Cant. 5.2–4. Though he typifies it a ‘clearly reminiscent’ reference (Nissinen 2009: 384), it hardly is, since there are no explicit points of contact even on the lexical level. I also have doubts about linking Sir. 15.3 to Cant. 4.16–5.1 and 6.2 (Nissinen 2009: 384). In Sir. 15.3, Lady Wisdom will feed the one received by her with ‘bread of understanding’ and will give him to drink ‘water of wisdom’, whereas in Cant. 4.16–5.1 the action of eating and drinking is completely from the perspective of the male protagonist. Moreover, on the lexical level both passages have only the verb ‫‘( אכל‬to eat’) in common. The reference to Cant. 6.2 is completely puzzling. Ample attention is paid to Sir. 50.1–10, the opening lines of the praise of Simon the High priest, which according to Nissinen contain a series of allusions to Song of Songs. ‘This is important to note because the description of the high priest unmistakably repeats motifs used in Sir. 24.1–22 of Wisdom herself ’ (Nissinen 2009: 384). As Chapter 24 is not extant in Hebrew, it complicates matters. Therefore, we will discuss this important chapter later on in the section on Greek Ben Sira. According to Nissinen, the phrase ‘How glorious is he when he looks out of the tent’ (Sir. 50.5a) should be considered ‘a variation of the “Lady at the window” image’ (Nissinen 2009: 384). No doubt, in the Old Testament this topic has several times been associated with royalty: Sisera’s mother (Judg. 5.28), Michal, David’s  7. Trenchard mentions that in the Syriac of Sir. 26.18 the objects and metals of which the columns are composed have been reversed, so that it coincides with Cant 5.15 (Trenchard 1982: 190, nn. 25–6).

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wife (2 Sam. 6.16), Jezebel (2 Kgs 9.30). Since Ben Sira is definitely presenting Simon (as earlier Aaron) as a royal representative (Beentjes 2009: 171–2), we cannot repudiate Nissinen’s reference, seeing that it is not present in Song of Songs.8 When Cant. 6.10 and Sir. 50.6–7 are read in translation, there seems to be a close parallel because they correspond to ‘the astral imagery’ (Nissinen 2009: 384). If both texts, however, are read in their Hebrew form there is no similarity at all. It is more likely that the collocation ‫‘( ככוכב אור‬like a star shining’; Sir. 50.6a) was adopted from Ps. 148.3b, whereas ‫‘( כקשת נראתה בענן‬like the rainbow appearing in the clouds’; Sir. 50.7b) reaches back to Ezek. 1.28. In Sir. 50.8–10, Simon the High Priest is described with the help of 12 metaphors. Nissinen argues that in these lines a series of allusions to the Song of Songs is to be found. As images in Sir. 50.8–10 that may be inspired by Song of Songs Nissinen mentions the following ones: ‘lilies’, ‘Lebanon’, ‘bowl’, ‘precious stones’ and ‘berries’ (Nissinen 2009: 384–5). Now a methodological approach is in order. As to ‘lily’ (‫שושן‬, Sir. 50.8b), Nissinen listed no less than seven occurrences in Song of Songs (Cant. 2.1–16; 4.5; 5.13; 6.2–3; 7.3), whereas ‘Lebanon’ (Sir. 50.8c) is recited by him six times (Cant. 3.9; 4.8, 11, 15; 5.15; 7.5). A possible point of contact between Sir. 50.8–10 and Song of Songs only gains credit, however, if it were more structural than just to offer a ‘concordance’ of the nouns under investigation. To my mind, of all these occurrences Cant. 5.13–15 is by far the most appropriate parallel.9 First, because there is a condensing of terms. Second, because this passage is metaphorical too. And third, since it relates to a male person, whereas the correspondences to Cant. 7.2–10 relate to a female person.10 A last cluster of references in Hebrew Ben Sira, with ‘[m]ore distant but still recognizable echoes from the Song of Songs’ (Nissinen 2009: 384), is found in Sir. 51.17–21. It is part of an alphabetic acrostic (Sir. 51.13–30), a praise to Lady Wisdom, that has given rise to a vivid debate ‘whether or not the poem should actually be attributed to the Jerusalem sage’, as a similar version has been discovered among the Dead Sea Scrolls (11QPsa), and ‘whether or not the poem’s language should be construed as “erotic”’ (Reymond 2007: 207). Nissinen’s rendering of Sir. 51.17 (‘Wisdom was my wet nurse; thanks to the one who taught me’) follows the interpretation of ‫ ועלה היתה לי‬as introduced by J. A. Sanders and since then adopted by several scholars (Sanders 1965: 81; Reymond 2007: 218–19). In so doing the noun ‘nurse’ and the verb ‘to teach’   8. In Cant. 2.9 it is the male protagonist ‘gazing in at the windows, looking through the lattice’. Nissinen’s remark (2009: 384) that the Lady at the window image ‘has also been recognized in Cant 6:10’ is puzzling.   9. Canticles 5.10–16 is an example of the so-called wasf. See Gerleman 1965: 171–8. For Targum Canticles 5.10–16, see Alexander 1988: 234–7. 10. It is not quite clear which Hebrew nouns in Sir. 50.8–10 are considered by Nissinen as parallel to ‘bowl’ (Cant. 7.3), ‘berries’ (Cant. 7.14) and ‘precious stones’ (Cant. 5.14). As to the latter, see Beentjes 2000: 603.



Ben Sira and Song of Songs

33

might be considered ‘a heavily modified reading’ of Cant. 8.2, though ‘this remains somewhat unclear’ (Nissinen 2009: 384). Since the noun ‫‘( עלה‬yoke’), however, will recur in Sir. 51.26 (‘submit your neck to her yoke’), it is more than likely that ‫ עלה‬in Sir. 51.17 instead of ‘nurse’ should rather mean ‘yoke’, just as in the Syriac of this verse (‘her yoke meant glory for me’). A further argument in favour of ‘yoke’ would be that in Sir. 6.30 it is Wisdom of which is said: ‘Her yoke will be your gold ornament’. Therefore, Sir. 51.17 should not be considered a parallel or an allusion to Cant. 8.2. Finally, some echoes ‘can quite plausibly be traced’ (Nissinen 2009: 384) between Sir. 51.19c (‫‘[ ידי פתחה שעריה‬my hand opened his gates’]) and Cant. 5.4a (‫דודי שלח‬ ‫‘[ ידו מן־החר‬my beloved put his hand to the latch’]), and between Sir. 51.21a (‫מעי‬ ‫‘[ יהמו כתנור להביט בה‬my belly was stirred up like a furnace to look upon her’]) and Cant. 5.4b (‫‘[ ומעי המו עליו‬my belly yearned for him’]). Though the latter expression is also found in Isaiah 16.11 and Jeremiah 31.20, Cant 5.4 is to be preferred, because in the immediate Ben Sira context at least one more allusion to the same verse occurs.11 In sum, the vast majority of allusions and/or echoes between Hebrew Ben Sira and Song of Songs as propagated by Nissinen should be disregarded.

Ellis In her monograph investigating ‘gender in the book of Ben Sira’, Teresa Ann Ellis contends that this document ‘shares significant vocabulary’ with Song of Songs (Ellis 2013: 182). According to her, the two strongest parallel pairs would be (1) Sir. 40.20 and Cant. 1.2b; 4.10, since they share a similar set of words: ‘wine’ – ‘better than’ – ‘love-making’ (Ellis 2013: 183). Sir. 40.20 Cant. 1.2b Cant. 4.10

‫יין ושכר יעליצו לב ומשניהם אהבת דודים‬ ‘Wine and strong drink delight the heart, but better than either, the affection of friends’. ‫ כי טובים דריך מיין‬ ‘for your love is better than wine’. ‫ מה־טבו דדיך מיין‬ ‘how much better is your love than wine’.

(2) Sir. 51.15, 20 and Cant. 5.3–5, sharing ‘foot’ – ‘hand’ – ‘to open’, all with clearly erotic connotations (Ellis 2013: 183). Sir. 51.15 ‫ באמתה דרכה רגלי‬ Sir. 51.20 ‫ ידי פתחה שעריה‬ Cant. 5.3c–d ‫ רחצתי את־רגלי‬

‘my foot advanced on level ground’ ‘my hand has opened her gates’ ‘I have bathed my feet’

11. Nissinen’s view that Sir. 51.18–21 also has echoes and allusions to Cant. 3.1–4 is less convincing.

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‫‘ דודי שלח ידו מן־החר‬my beloved reached his hand towards the hole’ ‫‘ קמתי אני לפתח לדודי‬I, myself, arose to open to my beloved’.

Cant. 5.4a Cant. 5.5a

To me, these similarities seem to be more topos-like than being classified as deliberate adoptions from Song of Songs by Ben Sira. And indeed, the final sentence by Ellis relating to this question leaves this possibility: ‘Whether Ben Sira read or heard a version of Song of Songs that resembles the MT, or else availed himself of a standardized “vocabulary of love” from which the images in both texts were crafted, in either case, a semantic equivalence between the book of Ben Sira and the Song of Songs matches the similarity of language’ (Ellis 2013: 185).

Alleged Parallels in Greek Ben Sira First, we offer a list of parallels, allusions and echoes to Song of Songs in the book of Ben Sira as presented by Treves and Nissinen of which only a Greek Ben Sira text is at hand. Treves has specified his references as follows (Treves 1956: 395): Sir. 24.13–17 Sir. 24.14 Sir. 24.14 Sir. 24.15 Sir. 24.17 Sir. 24.19

Cant 5.15 Cant. 7.7 Cant. 2.1 Cant. 4.14 Cant. 2.13 Cant. 4.11

I cedri del Libano la palma la rosa gli aroma la vite fiorati il favo, il miele

(‘the cedars of the Libanon’) (‘the palm’) (‘the rose’) (‘the flavours’) (‘the vine in blossom’) (‘the honeycomb, the honey’)

Nissinen, on the other hand, suggests the following echoes and analogies (Nissinen 2009: 381–3): Sir. 24.13 Sir. 24.14 Sir. 24.14 Sir. 24.15 Sir. 24.19 Sir. 24.20 Sir. 24.29 Sir. 24.30 Sir. 24.33

Cant. 1.17 Cant. 2.3 Cant. 4.13 Cant. 4.14 Cant. 4.16 Cant. 5.1 Cant. 8.6–7 Cant. 4.13 Cant. 4.15



(‘parallelism of cedar and cypress’) (‘like a palm tree’ // ‘like an apple tree’) (‘beside the water’ // ‘watering channels’) (‘catalogue of fragrances’) (‘invitation to come and eat’) (‘honey and honeycomb’) (‘sea, abyss’ // ‘death, Sheol’ // ‘water, rivers’) (‘Ben Sira compares himself with a watering channel’) (‘pouring out instruction’ //

‘echoing the flowing streams from Lebanon’)

Comparing both lists with each other, it immediately attracts attention that all occurrences relate only to Chapter 24. And moreover, undoubtedly a salient characteristic is that both lists, as well as their approaches, are so diverse. Finally, one can’t get away from the impression that Nissinen has paid far more attention to the context in which topics and collocations are found.



Ben Sira and Song of Songs

35

The only reference both lists have in common, however, relates to Sir. 24.15 and Cant. 4.14, a ‘catalogue of fragrances, of which cinnamon and fragrant cane, as well as myrrh, are common to Sirach and the Song of Songs’ (Nissinen 2009: 382). In fact, however, only ‘cinnamon’ and ‘myrrh’ are a common feature in the Greek texts.12 Since Sir. 24.15 unmistakably includes a plain parallel to Exodus 30.23 (LXX) and 30.34 (LXX), namely an inverted quotation (Beentjes 1981: 89–90; 1996: 39–40), the parallel to Cant. 4.14 is considerably weakened, the more since the text of Sir. 24.15 is a classic example of ‘structural use of Scripture’ from Exodus 30. Twice Nissinen mentions Cant. 4.13 as an allusion to passages in Sir. 24. The first one is found in Sir. 24.14 where ‘Wisdom (according to one branch of the textual tradition) “is lofty beside the water”’, and Cant. 4.13, where ‘pomegranates with choice fruits grow by watering channels’ (Nissinen 2009: 382). The textual tradition Nissinen is referring to concerns the Lucian tradition or the so-called Greek II, four minuscules of which (Nissinen 2009: 248, 743, 157, 797) have e0f udatov (Ziegler 1965: 238), whereas the Syriac has ‘l my’ (‘near water’).13 In the Greek of Cant. 4.13, however, there is nothing that equals ‘watering channels’. Again, Nissinen bases this case on the Hebrew text of it and, moreover, on a rather special interpretation of ‫ שלחיך‬by Othmar Keel (1986: 162–4). Canticles 4.13 is also mentioned as an echo to Sir. 24.30. ‘When Ben Sira, again, reflects his own role as a teacher of wisdom, he compares himself with a watering channel, hence invoking the watercourses of Cant. 4:13, and his “pouring out instruction” can be read as echoing the flowing streams from Lebanon in Cant 4:15’ (Nissinen 2004: 383). Though the water images in Cant. 4.15 are quite strong (‘a garden fountain, a well of water, flowing and purling from Lebanon’), the factual similarities, however, are rather weak. At least a disputable point of view remains. According to Nissinen (2009: 381), ‘the statement of Lady Wisdom about herself in Sir. 24.14, “Like a palm tree in En-Gedi I stand out”, rather calls to mind what the woman says about her beloved: “Like an apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among men” (Cant. 2.3)’. As a consequence, he evidently feels forced to state: ‘Obviously, Ben Sira does not read this imagery as gender-specific but is free to adapt the originally male image to Lady Wisdom, the focus being on her outstanding quality’ (Nissinen 2009: 381). However, there is no resemblance whatsoever between these two passages, not even on the literary level, that underscores Nissinen’s view. Both in Sir. 24.19 and in Cant. 4.16 there is found an invitation to come and eat (see Beentjes 2013). Nissinen (2009: 383) contends that ‘[a] conscious allusion to the Song of Songs becomes all the more probable when we notice that the 12. See Calduch-Benages 1999 for an extensive overview of fragrances in the book of Ben Sira. 13. Peters pertinently remarks that the parallelism requires this apposition because of the three previous cola that end ‘in Engeddi’, ‘in Jericho’, ‘in the plain’ respectively (Peters 1913: 200).

36

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fruit metaphor is followed by that of honey and honeycomb in both texts: “I eat my honeycomb with my honey” (Cant. 5.1) – “My remembrance is sweeter than honey, inheritance better than the honeycomb” (Sir. 24.20)’. Here again the problem is that the Greek text of Cant. 5.1 is rather different from its Hebrew parent text, since it reads: ‘I have eaten my bread with honey’. It therefore can hardly go for a solid additional argument. Though ‘[t]he passages following the self-praise of Lady Wisdom are less filled with allusions to the Song of Songs’, Nissinen nevertheless introduces ‘a few obvious and important cases’ (Nissinen 2009: 383). One of them would be Sir. 24.29 (‘deeper than the sea are her thoughts, her counsels, than the great abyss’) and Cant. 8.6–7 (‘love is strong as death, passion as adamant as Sheol’). Having said that ‘sea’ and ‘abyss’ certainly allude to Genesis 1.2 as well as to Proverbs 8.24 in the first place, ‘a clear echo from Cant. 8.6 can also be heard’, the more since it is followed by ‘flood’ and ‘rivers’ in Cant. 8.7 (Nissinen 2009: 383). In my view, however, we have to do with two contexts that are completely different from each other. In Sir. 24.29 it is the immense qualities and characteristics of wisdom that are described with the help of ‘sea’ and ‘abyss’, whereas ‘the flood’ and ‘rivers’ in Cant 8.6–7 are brought to the scene in order to illustrate in a negative way that love and passion will never be overwhelmed. ‘Death’ and ‘Sheol’ are also from a field different from ‘thought’ and ‘counsel’.

Conclusion This essay made an attempt to clarify the claim by some modern scholars that the book of Ben Sira has to a high degree incorporated phraseology, collocations and images from Song of Songs. A close inspection of such alleged parallels and analogies, particularly in Chapter 24 of the book of Ben Sira, brings to light that it is far more likely, however, that Ben Sira took advantage of topoi related to ancient Near Eastern love lyrics, especially to vegetation imagery. To my mind, it is not by accident therefore that Nissinen several times refers to the well-known Akkadian Love Lyrics of Nabû and Tašmetu (SAA III).

O P E N - M I N DE DN E S S A N D P L A N N I NG F OR T H E F U T U R E OF A C A DE M IC S T U DI E S  I N A NC I E N T I SR A E L H I STORY

Ehud Ben Zvi

University of Alberta, Edmonton, Canada

Open-mindedness is certainly one of the many great attributes of our colleague and friend Bob Becking. It is within this spirit of open-mindedness and honouring his willingness to ask the ‘hard’ questions that I have decided, for once, not to write a contribution on the range of topics that I have written about for years, but about one for which there are no research groups in our conferences and, needless to say, one that we rarely address in our published works, despite the fact that its significance for the future of our field is much larger than any particular piece of research we may write, including our best pieces. I decided to write about the challenges posed to our area of studies by trends shaping academic administrative structures and the related matters of the academic location of our scholarship. This issue is close to Bob’s heart and, in fact, it is close to the heart of most of our colleagues, who often talk about these matters in private settings or in the corridors of our institutions. But, the fact is that we all are socialized not to engage these matters openly through our main means of communicating, discussing and constructing knowledge. Indeed, whereas numerous books in our multiple sub-specializations have been published in the last five–ten years, none to my knowledge have been devoted to these systemic challenges. In what follows, I hope to open a public and hopefully ongoing discussion on these issues and there is nothing better than a (hopefully, sharp) ‘position paper’ to fulfill this role. But before I do so, it is worth stressing what is at stake. What is at stake is actually the future of our field, both in terms of the potential for future academic positions in our area and the potential path that future scholarship will take, because the academic frames within which both scholars and their disciplines develop have a substantial impact in shaping preferred trends, discourses and outcomes. After all, scholarship is practiced within particular social structures. Academic location is certainly not a matter of secondary relevance or just an issue of practical ‘convenience’. Academic structures come with their own expectations

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and not only facilitate scholarship but directly, and far more importantly indirectly, socialize scholars in particular ways. Academic structures have an impact not only on the selection of courses being taught and thus eventually in both the formation of a new generation of scholars and the ‘retooling’ of existing ones, but also in the selection of common conversation partners. Moreover, academic departments as such shape (and must shape) narratives about their identity, goals and their roles. Faculty in these departments will sooner or later align with the latter. In addition, the intellectual and social tendencies that shape and reshape academic structures and scholars’ locations and partners within institutions of higher learning are bound to be at work also in granting agencies. Let me stress and exemplify the point of how academic locations are bound to shape a preference for certain future scholarship paths and a dis-preference for others. Historians of ancient Israel who serve in Religious Studies departments interact with and teach along with colleagues in Religious Studies whose interests may be, for instance, in contemporary Buddhism, impacts of globalism in Islam, material Christianity, eco-feminism or religion and pop culture. Moreover, they are being hired, promoted and evaluated by these colleagues. In addition, as members of such departments they are expected to contribute to the academic coherence of their units. Given that members of such a department work and were trained in different areas of research, historians of ancient Israel working in Religious Studies (as some other colleagues in their department) will tend to find the common ground necessary for the viability of their academic home in terms of methodologies and approaches that may inform multiple areas. This situation leads, for obvious reasons, to a stress on interdisciplinary approaches. One may say that today’s widely talked about differences between some styles of scholarship common in, though certainly not exclusive to, ‘continental’ Europe and others common in, though certainly not exclusive to, ‘Anglophone’ countries are in part the result of their different social/academic location in which the relevant scholars evolved.1 If their department of Religious Studies has, as many today, an increased focus on today’s world, they will tend to shift their attention away from ancient history and towards, for instance, current uses of particular mnemonic narratives about the biblical past, the biblical past in contemporary popular culture or sociology of knowledge within our guild. There is nothing wrong, of course, with any of this, but this translates into, by all means, a significant shift in a particular direction in our field. My example is, of course, not chosen at random. Departments of Religious Studies emerged out of and replaced, for the most part, old biblical and theological departments within university and professional structures in North America.2   1. One often hears about some academic spaces in which ‘one cannot get hired/tenured unless one is a redactional-critical scholar’ (in a more or less traditional form) and about academic spaces in which a (‘traditional’) redactional-critical scholar ‘would never be hired to begin with’.   2. Similar processes took place in professional associations. The ‘Association of Biblical Instructors in American Colleges and Secondary Schools’ was founded in 1909 and in



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This change was consistent and partially a response to social developments that led to new expectations and cultural norms about the humanistic (and social scientific) study of ‘religion’ or ‘religions’ in ‘liberal’ (secular or non-secular) universities and colleges. Whereas, explicitly or implicitly, Christianity (or more precisely particular versions of Christianity) stood at the centre of the former departments, the new ones had both the academic study of ‘religion’ and of multiple ‘religions’ as their focal point. To be sure, no one doubted that the academic study of Christianity/ies (as well as for Judaism/s) should continue to be carried out, but their place was now in a multi-focal academic space. Although, the mentioned process took time and in some institutions initially little more than a name ‘reform’ occurred, partially because the rate of change of academic personnel is slower than conceptual changes, the underlying logic of this process and the new social and academic expectations eventually led to a strong de-emphasizing of the Christian theology/ies and, often, biblical theologies (due to the original importance of Protestant and Protestant influenced discourses) in these departments/programmes. The latter were and are still construed as reasonable topics for study, but for seminaries, not ‘liberal’ educational institutions.3 Since the mentioned academic processes are associated with multiculturalism, widespread acceptance of secularized (post?) Christian attitudes (shared by many ‘Christians’ and ‘non-Christians’) and the desire to create spaces for teaching and research meant to not privilege any single religious traditions, none of which are restricted to North America (or the ‘Anglophone’ world), it is a very reasonable assumption that it is a matter of time until essentially similar, though always attuned to the academic particularities of each country and society, processes will

1922 it became the ‘National Association of Biblical Instructors’ (NABI), whose acronym explicitly associated members of the association with constructions of biblical prophets, but in 1962 it changed its name to the American Academy of Religion (AAR) and was incorporated under this name in 1964. A memory/memorial for this institutional evolution is provided and placed prominently in the website of the AAR (see http://www.aarweb.org/ About_AAR/History/default.asp).   3. The present contribution deals only with the future of ancient Israelite history at ‘liberal’, state or private, universities in the so-called global North. It does not deal with seminaries, in the global North, whose main goal is training religious leaders for particular religious groups or sets of groups for today’s world. There is no doubt that such seminaries will continue to exist for any foreseeable period not only in the ‘global North’, but in most countries of the world. One may mention, though, that ‘academic’ biblical studies play a less central role than in the past in some/many (?) ‘liberal’ (both Christian and Jewish) seminaries, for a variety of reasons. In addition, some churches who have (traditionally) ‘outsourced’ the training of their future religious to what they conceive to be secular/ secularizing academic institutions have begun to question these arrangements. A study of these processes is beyond the scope of this essay.

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develop in other ‘Western’ academic worlds. In fact, similar processes are indeed taking place outside North America.4 Further, one is to anticipate that the convergence of (a) financial pressure on institutions of higher learning – an all too common feature of academic politics and economics in OECD (or OECD-type) countries, and needless to say outside them as well – (b) the concomitant stress on required number of students for the ‘sustainability’ of academic units along with a more prominent discourse about equal-teaching-load among colleagues within the university/faculty and (c) current social and cultural processes that tend to reduce the number of students in ‘traditional’ ‘academic’ biblical studies in our societies is more than likely to provide significant additional pressure for a similar shift in academic structures, and therefore, eventually in academic research. I am convinced, however, that such outcomes are not inevitable and that we, as historians of ancient Israel, still have some agency, and therefore must engage in these debates and attempt to influence the outcome. I am convinced also that this is particularly important for the future of our field, since, in my opinion, the historical study of ancient Israel will likely face insurmountable systemic problems in the long term if it is confined to the frame of ‘Religious Studies’ departments.5 To put it bluntly, departments of Religious Studies are devoted to the study of the major world religions and the concept of religion. Ancient Israel is not a major world religion; it is not even a ‘religion’, by any definition of the term of which I am aware. To be sure, various constructed social memories of it that existed among countless Christian and Jewish groups – and to some extent in Muslim groups as well – through time and space became important for their   4. To be sure, they are not (yet?) taking place ‘everywhere’ within ‘Western’ countries. Thus, for instance, in Western Europe, similar processes have been taking place in some academic locations, but not others. Although currently widespread, it still remains to be seen whether these or similar processes will eventually encompass the vast majority of (state-funded) universities in ‘Continental’ Europe. This said, given the considerations advanced here, if present trends continue, this may eventually be the case, even if the pace of change and the particular forms it may take will strongly depend on the academic structures, traditions and history in each country, area, or, at times, even institution. In any event, the processes mentioned here are so widespread that their present (and future) impact on our field as a whole warrant much study and discussion.   5. Two caveats are in order. The first is that some doubt the long-term viability or desirability of Religious Studies departments. This issue requires a separate discussion, but it is relatively safe to assume that Religious Studies departments not only will continue to exist in one form or another in North America but also will become more widely present outside it. The second caveat is that this essay deals with general systemic tendencies. There is no doubt that there will always be individual scholars who, due to their good fortune, social skills or their sheer stature in their own institutions or the academic world, will be able to create their own personal teaching and research niches in whatever department they may happen to be. This essay deals with the potential future of a discipline, not of particular scholars, as important as they may be.



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own self-understandings and were involved in each groups’ claims for continuity. But (a) the study of these memories does not belong to the field of ancient Israel history and (b) a study of these memories makes only a contribution to, but certainly does not serve as a substitute for, the contemporary, academic study of Christianity, Judaism or Islam as religious systems, which is a central role of these departments. In addition, not only Religious Studies departments but even ‘biblical studies’ in general are becoming less and less focused in ancient history. They tend to pay more attention to present-day, global and local environments. Thus one finds scholars whose work deals with, for instance, political science, anthropology, cultural studies and intercultural and multiculturalism studies. There is a clear tendency towards interdisciplinary studies. This tendency makes the presence of historians of ancient Israel even more precarious and draws particular attention to their anomalous place in departments of Religious Studies.6 As most structural anomalies, this one is the result of cultural and institutional history. But anomalies do not tend to continue unabated, particularly if the message they seem to convey runs counter to the basic message that the group, in this case departments of Religious Studies, tends to communicate. After all, the presence of such historians of ancient Israel within the department cannot be seen from the perspective of these groups but as a remnant of a cultural prioritization of Christianity and, even to a large extent, of some Protestant approaches to Christianity particularly, given the emphasis on the ‘Bible’ and the ‘original’ meaning of the ‘Bible’ over that of the many ‘Bibles’ and their meanings throughout time and space and up to today, both among central and marginalized   6. For the record, and to make myself clear, I am absolutely convinced of the importance of these approaches and of the crucial need for further and ever more sophisticated studies of the present-day, global and local societies and cultures. My only point is that our shared ‘social good’ requires also the study of the ancient pasts, including those that ancient societies construed for themselves. My point is that we need to study not only ‘contemporary usable memories of the past’ held by current-day or recent groups and subgroups, but also the ancient pasts reconstructed by professional historians. For instance, to study memories of the Exodus as held, shaped and constantly reshaped by various Jewish and Christian communities is important, but that does not mean that it is not important to study why a mnemonic metanarrative evoking an Exodus of ‘all Israel’ became central for ongoing processes of formation of social identity and as a core ground for explorations of key ideological issues in ancient Israel. In addition, empires, global spaces, multicultural spaces and intercultural interactions, processes of hybridity, the particular roles and character of boundary areas, constructions of the ‘Other’, shaping and reshaping of social (or cultural) memories (involving, of course, the process of forgetting and at times the sudden ‘reappearance’ of what was ‘forgotten’) and the like are not recent phenomena. Studying these in ancient societies may actually provide an important and necessary comparative dimension to studies on these matters in contemporary settings. I will not address the importance of ancient history in this contribution, since its likely readership is well convinced of it. This contribution is not an attempt to ‘preach to the choir’.

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groups.7 Sooner or later, and particularly as time passes and existing faculty retires, the tendency in these departments will be to shape faculty renewal in such a way as to align it with their own goals, needs and social, academic and administrative expectations from them. Again, I found nothing to condemn, complain or criticize, but let us be clear this does not bode well for the future of historians of ancient Israel in this academic structural setting. Elsewhere and in a different context I noted that historians of ancient Israel are still a kind of ‘anomaly’ among historians. The vast majority of historians are trained, socialized and work as professionals in departments of history or ancient history.8 This is certainly not the case for historians of ancient Israel today who tend to interact mainly with themselves or with their colleagues in their institutional, academic homes, namely colleagues in theology or in religious studies. As suggested above, it would be naïve to assume that differences in the compositions of the basic networks within which scholars are trained and within which they work and are evaluated would have no impact on their ways of thinking and research methods. It would be naïve to assume also that relative, professional isolation from the vast majority of historians would not be conducive to an inner discourse in the field, among ancient Israel historians, that might be seen as somewhat peculiar to many historians working in other fields. Given the long history of (religiously based) exceptionalism regarding the Bible and ancient Israel, a sense that the discourse of many historians of ancient Israel is somewhat peculiar may well raise questions among other historians about whether, in ways known or unbeknownst to their practitioners, the endeavour of historians of ancient Israel is still influenced by remnants of positions according to which both the Bible and ancient Israel are not to be studied through the historical approaches common elsewhere in the field. In any event the absence of historians of ancient Israel from departments of history or ‘ancient history’ cannot but send a connoted message to students, other historians and the academic community that what historians of ancient Israel do is not completely ‘historical’, that they themselves are probably not really historians. More importantly for the future of the field is the fact that the exclusion of the history of ancient Israel from departments of history or ancient history communicates structurally a message that the history of ancient Israel has no necessary (or  7. It can be hardly denied that the emphasis on the ‘Bible’ and its ‘original’ (/historical) meaning is at least partially related to the once widespread consensus in European and European-based societies or their elites that the Christian Bible (/Christian Theology) along with a very particular subsection of Greco-Roman history and literature (i.e. the ‘Classics’) were the indispensable sources for proper civic and virtue formation and thus had to stand at the very centre of the educational (/socializing) enterprise.   8. I made these observations in a different context in my ‘Clio Today and Ancient Israelite History: Some Thoughts and Observations at the Closing Session of the European Seminar for Historical Methodology’, in Lester L. Grabbe (ed.), ‘Not Even God Can Alter the Past’: Reflections on 16 Years of the European Seminar in Historical Methodology (tentative title) (LHBOTS/ESHM 10, London: T & T Clark), forthcoming.



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even ‘real’?) place in the humanistic study of past societies and cultures and could be safely left to the Church/churches/Jewish religious denominations, rather than to professional (and professionally-trained, as agreed upon by the guild) historians. Given the expected readership of this volume, there is no need to dwell on the many ways in which these messages structurally conveyed by these academic structures damage our field, its impact on society and its future and, along with it, the future of its current and future scholars. In addition, I would say that in the long term it diminishes our own cultures at large and has a negative impact on the general ‘social good’ in our societies.9 It is clear by now that the position advanced by this ‘sharp position paper’ is that the strongly preferred option in the mid- and long term for the continued flourishing of studies of ancient Israel history should be inclusion of the field (and its practitioners) in departments of history or ancient history.10 But, of course, history or ancient history departments are not and cannot be expected to be academic paradises. No such things exist in the academic world. Public discourses, university politics and relative scarcity of resources in many academic spaces might lead some departments of history that include ancient history to emphasize and allocate more resources to studies of modern and recent history over ancient. Departments of ancient history may at times be endangered by some (but not all) of the socio-cultural processes and academic discourses that have negatively affected research and teaching in the area of ancient Israel. Departments of ancient history may be split among scholars who have been socialized each in their own ways, still be focused on just a few (historically/ culturally) preferred periods or areas and still may fail to fully participate in more general historical discourses. In addition, for the reasons hinted above, in some departments of history or ancient history there might be some initial reservations about the inclusion of historians of ancient Israel. The latter issue will be solved as historians of ancient Israel contribute more and more to the general discourse of their discipline and its methodological approaches, in addition to their contributions to their own area of studies. Most of the other issues mentioned above, due to their contingent character, are far more likely to be resolved than the core, structural, long-term problems raised by the inclusion of the study of ancient Israel in departments of Religious Studies. I have focused here on studies of ancient Israel history. ‘Biblical Studies’ is, of course, a much larger area of study. Within this context it is worth mentioning, however, that many of the social and cultural processes mentioned above and their academic reflections are far more likely to shape a future for academic ‘Biblical   9. For the reasons I hinted above.   10. To be sure, any actual implementation of this preference has to pay careful attention to the particular structures and realities of each place. The approach adopted in this essay is, obviously, a ‘bird’s view’ approach and necessarily so given its general character. All ‘bird’s view’ approaches have obvious limitations, but they may bear, at the very least from a heuristic perspective, many benefits as well and they are among the best to initiate wide and substantial academic discussions.

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Studies’ as an area of studies in which the history of ancient Israel no longer plays a central or, needless to say, hegemonic role than one in which it does so. I would argue that this process is moving at different speeds in different countries but it is already at work in most of them. Historians of ancient Israel should be aware of this development and re-orient themselves accordingly. The position advanced in this ‘position paper’ offers what in my opinion is the best possible re-orientation, while at the same time allowing them to socialize, interact and participate in an interdisciplinary area programme in ‘Biblical Studies’, along with, for instance, scholars in cultural studies, popular culture, music, art history, political sciences, sociology, social anthropology, contemporary translation studies and other historians working, for instance, on the reception of the Bible during the Reformation, each one of them associated with, trained and socialized in their own disciplinary departments and fields. It is precisely in this academic context that academic ‘Biblical Studies’ may maximize, in my opinion, its contribution to the academe and to the larger public and not only survive somewhat ‘for a while’ within the said academic institutions, but actually flourish. But as mentioned above, this is for another essay.11 I hope these comments would encourage an open-minded and necessary discussion among us that may inform the ways in which we may use our agency. I hope and I am convinced that Bob will be glad that this time I decided, just for once, not to write about ancient Israel.

11. The multiple potential futures of ‘Biblical Studies’ in many countries included in the so-called global South is also a topic that requires a separate discussion and has not been dealt with at all in this contribution. The same holds true for issues concerning the range of possible collaboration among various ‘Biblical Studies’ discourses, each of which is strongly influenced by their own social locations.

I S A IA H 2 4 – 2 7 : S PAC I N G A P R O P H E T IC V I SIO N

Willem A. M. Beuken

Catholic University Leuven, Belgium

Space brings an awareness of (other) spaces, both within and significantly beyond the reach of the texts

(Sleeman 2013: 66)

Systematic investigation of space not only in narrative, but also in poetic texts belongs to the wide range of current literary methods applied to the Scriptures. Studies to that effect are fast appearing.1 The method relies on the insight of cultural philosophy that space, in the same way as time, does not underlie literary texts in the Cartesian (?) sense of an immutably prerequisite void in which the acting persons make history, but is totally determined by the role-players. The new understanding of space found a beginning in French philosophy, first of all with Henri Lefebvre (1974) and Michel Foucault (1984). It is characterized by terminology that stems from Lefebvre and recurs time and again. Space arises from the continuous shift from the physical environment (‘l’espace perçu’, ‘firstspace’) along its cognitive understanding (‘l’espace conçu’, ‘secondspace’) to its perception in terms of experienced values (l’espace vécu’, ‘thirdspace’). Thus the interpersonal activity makes space (‘Raum’) into place (‘Ort’). Foucault takes a different but not contrary approach. He elaborates the bonding or fusion of these three ‘spheres of space’: they are realized or not realized in the course of history by the complex interaction of social powers that take turns. A great number of philosophers have elaborated the paradigm created by these two thinkers in various ways. The new focus leads to a revolutionary movement in human sciences (‘spatial turn’). It exceeds my competence and the set-up of this article to describe its development. It suffices to notice that it branched off in various streams and nowadays affects all theological disciplines (for a survey, cf. Geiger 2010: 32–59; Sander 2013). 1. Productive centres have been the Constructions of Ancient Space Seminar of the Society of Biblical Literature and the cooperating Oberseminare Altes Testament in Kassel and Marburg.

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It is feasible, of course, to examine the book of Isaiah from the space perspective. Readers are invited to do so, since at the beginning the prophet encourages ‘heavens and earth’ to listen to God’s word (Isa. 1.2), while at the end Yhwh himself announces that he will create ‘new heavens and a new earth’ (Isa. 66.22). In other words, cosmic space is not a crystal ball in which events of a higher order take place, but throughout the book it is involved in the interaction of Yhwh, the prophet and Israel, and even other agents like the nations. It would, however, be a misapprehension to expect a linear development of concepts and images that bear upon space. The book of Isaiah is the end result of a long-standing and complicated, redactional process in which smaller literary units were integrated into ever larger structures. Therefore, the working of space exhibits a variegated pattern on the basis of gradual autonomy. It is not characterized by logical progress. Within a specific textual composition it can function in a rather self-reliant way. One example from Isaiah 1–12 suffices. The locality ‘Zion/Jerusalem’ is found in different applications, subject to the course of actions. In the context of politics, it appears as the object of discord between foreign powers and Yhwh (Isa. 1.8; 7.1; 8.7; 10.24, 32). In connection with Yhwh, the actual city is variedly conceived: from being an abandoned booth in a vineyard (Isa. 1.8) to an impregnable fortress (Isa. 7.1) and God’s dwelling place (Isa. 8.16), while it is expected to become a deposit of torah (Isa. 2.3) and refuge overshadowed by Yhwh (Isa. 4.5). It even takes part in the action, personified in the present as a harlot (Isa. 1.21), and in the future as a proclaimer of God’s great deeds (Isa. 12.6). These applications, of course, are tied together. Because the role of space in literary units is connected to the activity of the persons in view, it can be studied as a self-employed phenomenon in larger, somewhat independent compositions. Against this background, it makes sense to investigate the working of space within the span of Isaiah 24–27. It is generally accepted that these four chapters constitute a literary, autonomous booklet, without prejudice to their integration in the overall context of Isaiah 1–30. The study will hopefully demonstrate that their self-employed character affects the function of space within. From the course of actions their internal structure allows division of the discussion between the four chapters.

Isaiah 24: Earth and Heights, City and Mount Zion The issue of space is raised from the beginning (v. 1) by means of the frequent use of the word ≈ra, ‘earth’ (16 uses in ch. 24; 2 uses in ch. 25; 9 uses in ch. 26; 1 use in ch. 27 [in the sense of ‘land’ in the final v.13]). The earth does not function as the unvarying scene of what happens but participates in it. Yhwh takes action on it (vv. 1, 3); consequently it ‘languishes/withers’ in all its dimensions (v. 4: ‘world/ height’). Its inhabitants have polluted it by breaking the ‘covenant’ (v. 5) which brought ‘a curse’ upon it (v. 6). So the earth shows up as suffering from both the moral offences of its residents against itself and Yhwh’s punishment. The calamitous situation is manifest in the urban society. From v. 7 onwards, the prophet



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focuses not on the earth in its global magnitude but in its social assignment to serve the life of humans on it: it no longer provides prosperity (v. 7: ‘wine with singing’) and security in solid constructions (v. 10: ‘the city of chaos is broken down’). At the end, the seer returns to the umbrella theme of ‘the earth (/ the nations)’, yet under the aspect not of offering a rich harvest for consumption but of being wounded in its fruit-bearing overgrowth (v. 13). Hereafter the image of space in chapter 24 shifts considerably. The earth appears as geographically structured according to the four directions of the wind: ‘from the west … in the east … in coastlands of the sea … from the ends of the earth’ (vv. 14–16). Socially it is structured as the space where no longer ‘sighing of the merry-hearted’ in the vineyards (v. 7) and ‘outcry in the streets/desolation in the city’ (vv. 11–12) resonate but where ‘voices are lifted up that sing for joy… and give glory to Yhwh’ (vv. 14–16). The names that are assigned to God reflect his dominion (v. 14: ‘the majesty of Yhwh’), his particular works (v. 15: ‘the God of Israel’ [the nation]) and the order by which he maintains the world (v. 16: ‘the Righteous One’). Those who lift up their voices remain nameless; the place where they are located determines their identity: ‘We hear from the ends of the earth’ (v. 16). Moreover, the praise of Yhwh is heard by the speaking prophet and, strikingly enough, by his ambiance. In this way space itself, in all its geographical and social dimensions, either singing or listening, is involved in the eulogy of Yhwh. The song of praise from the ends of the earth does not imply, however, that the inhabitants who asked for its devastation can leave without hindrance. The prophet, upset by the treachery in the world (v. 16: ‘Woe is me!’), ascertains that their downfall is close (vv. 17–22). The ordeal will inescapably strike the inhabitants of the earth along with the earth itself (vv. 17–18), in a sort of collapse of the cosmos, for ‘the windows from on high’ and ‘the foundations of the earth’ make the surface of the globe tremble and break it open (vv. 19–20). So the earth turns up personified into an accomplice of its inhabitants: ‘staggering like a drunken man … its iniquity lies heavy upon it, and it falls, and will not rise again’ (v. 20). The closure of the chapter (vv. 21–23), introduced by the formula ‘on that day’, elaborates the sketch of the judgement on the world and its inhabitants. The prophet mentions its initiator by name: ‘Yhwh will punish’ (v. 21) / ‘Yhwh reigns’ (v. 23). In this way, he returns to the word spoken by God himself (cf. v. 1: ‘Yhwh lays waste’; v. 3: ‘Yhwh has spoken’), even though he has not mentioned God in his explanation (vv. 4–13) and only reported him as the object of praise of others (vv. 14–16). The theological interpretation of the ordeal in vv. 21–3 adds new aspects to the presentation of space. Now the earth appears as part of the cosmos in which from top to bottom alien powers dominate (v. 21: ‘the host on high/the kings of the earth’). Yhwh, however, shall incarcerate and punish them ‘after many days’ (v. 22). By presenting the earth as bordering the whole cosmos, Yhwh’s reign over space tout court is underlined, in the same way as the detention of all hostile powers in view of their final punishment expresses his reign over time tout court. The fact that Yhwh exercises his royal authority ‘on Mount Zion and in Jerusalem’ makes this city into the centre of the cosmos. An overview of the working of space in chapter 24 shows the following:

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Open-Mindedness in the Bible and Beyond (1) The cosmos does not come up in the merism ‘earth – heavens’ but in ‘earth – height (on high)’ (vv. 4, 18, 21 [twice]: ≈ra – µwrm). ‘Height’ stands for space in as far as it is beyond the reach of earthlings, yet involved in the drama of God and humankind. Actually, the word ‘heavens’ (µymv) is fully lacking in chapters 24–7, although it is expected in the verses at stake, due moreover to its role in the opening of the book (Isa. 1.2) and in characteristic sketches of the ordeal (Isa. 13.5, 10, 13; 14.12–13; 34.4–5; 37.16). (2) Earth in its fullness (v. 4: ‘utterly’) does not constitute the immovable frame of Yhwh’s dealing indiscriminately with all human beings (vv. 1–3) but is itself the object of his activity in as far as his judgement affects its inhabitants because they have broken the everlasting covenant. In this way, Yhwh enforces the cosmic order. The unexpected, anonymous praise of Yhwh which resounds from the ends of the earth (vv. 14–16) can be comprehended, in retrograde from Yhwh’s kingship on Zion (v. 23), as an anticipating sign that his reign knows no bounds, not only in might but also in space. (3) While all conceivable localities on earth are called subject to commotion, this is not told of ‘Mount Zion and Jerusalem’. Here applies only: ‘Yhwh reigns as king’ (Isa. 14.23: hwhy ˚lm). With regard to Yhwh’s activity, the verbal form qatal is remarkable,2 as opposed to yiqtol dqpy in v. 21: ‘Yhwh will punish the host on high and the kings of the earth’ (cf. the participles + weqatal in v. 1). The essential and foundational character of Yhwh’s dominion bestows on ‘Mount Zion and in Jerusalem’ where it is located, the stability that in the contemporary world view is due to heavens and earth. Mount Zion is the centre of the universe: from there Yhwh reigns and arranges the universe, if need be by punishment.

Isaiah 25: Yhwh’s Stronghold and this Mountain This chapter develops the arrangement of space as construed in the previous chapter, provided that we consider the I-figure of the praise in vv. 1–5 as continuing the I–figure of the woe-call in Isaiah 24.16. He speaks to Yhwh in vv. 1–5, about Yhwh in vv. 6–8; moreover, he announces what some we-figure (‘all the nations’ of the previous verses) will say about Yhwh ‘on that day’ (v. 9), and he comments on their confession (vv. 10–12). The prophet gratefully recognizes Yhwh’s reign ‘on Mount Zion/in Jerusalem’ (Isa. 24.23) as the unique centre of rule and power. ‘The fortified city/the palace of aliens, made a ruin’ (Isa. 25.2–3) makes way for Yhwh who, most remarkably, 2. The clause hwhy ˚lm is as qatal–x unique in the Hebrew Bible (only Ps. 47.9: µyhla ˚lm; as opposed to the usual x–qatal in the psalms of Yhwh’s royalty). The stative meaning (‘rules as king’; Joüon–Muraoka, § 111 b) imposes itself in light of the context (v. 21: hwhy dqpy); cf. ThWAT, IV, 952 (K. Seybold); RGG4 IV, 1591–3 (B. Janowski): the universal and (perhaps) eschatological extension of Yhwh’s royal might is based on the order of creation.



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is himself a form of space: ‘You have been a stronghold to the poor/the needy in his distress’ (vv. 4–5). Subsequently, the prophet draws up those whom Yhwh welcomes as residents to ‘this mountain’: ‘all peoples/all nations’ (vv. 6–7). They gather for the meal of those who are rescued from tears and death, while ‘his people’ is saved from the global disgrace (vv. 6–8). The praise of ‘Yhwh, the God of Israel’ resounded earlier from the ends of the earth (Isa. 24.14–16) but now it appears fully that Yhwh’s dominion on Zion does not prejudice the nations all over the world but serves their salvation and leads them to confess Yhwh as ‘our God’ (v. 9). The prophet opposes by way of example and conclusion, ‘this mountain’ to Moab: on the former rests ‘the hand of God’, the latter with ‘the high fortifications of its walls’ embodies ‘the fortified city/the palace of aliens’ (v. 2) and ‘is cast to the earth’ (vv. 10–12). Now it appears that the cosmos is centred around ‘this mountain’, where Yhwh offers salvation to all humankind.

Isaiah 26.1–27.1: Yhwh’s City a Refuge for the Righteous Nation This composition3 continues the structure of space, in connection with time, as it has been inaugurated in chapters 24 and 25. Within the course of actions of these chapters, the formula ‘on that day’ first determines Yhwh’s intervention in Isaiah 24.21–23, immediately followed by the prophet’s reaction in 25.1–8, and next a confession of the we-figure with a comment (vv. 9–12; cf. above). Thereupon the formula introduces ‘the song in the land of Judah’ in Isa. 26.1–19 (a literary composite). The place-name ‘Judah’ seems to cancel the geographical anonymity which characterizes chapters 24 and 25; just the same, attention has already been turned towards ‘Zion/Jerusalem’ (Isa. 24.23; cf. ‘this mountain’ in 25.6–7, 10 and its counterpart ‘Moab’ in 25.10). Moreover, the song from the ends of the world which resounds in the midst of the judgement has already praised ‘Yhwh, the God of Israel’ (Isa. 24.15). Yhwh’s attachment to his people has prepared an answer to the question of how the worldwide ordeal will turn out for the land claimed by the people named Israel. In this way, the comprehensive view of the world in chapters 24 and 25 has already lead to a focus on this specific land which from 26.1 onwards is called ‘Judah’. It is the land where the sole mountain and city mentioned so far are situated: ‘Mount Zion in Jerusalem’ (Isa. 24.23). This city appears, again, anonymous in this song (Isa. 26.1–6) and in the following lament (vv. 7–19), yet now it is characterized as ‘a strong city’ built by Yhwh (v. 1: ‘He sets up salvation as walls and bulwarks’; [cf. Isa. 25.11]) and destined for ‘a righteous people’, in the same way as God, its builder, has earlier been called ‘the Righteous One’ (cf. vv. 2,[7] with 24.16; ‘righteous’ [qydx] occurs only in these places of chapters 24–7). The anonymity of the city underlines its challenge: ‘to trust in Yhwh’ (vv. 3–4). For it may be true that ‘God has brought low the inhabitants of the height, the lofty city’ (vv. 5–6) as the speakers recognize: 3. With regard to the inclusion of Isa. 27.1 in Chapter 26, see the next section (Beuken 2007: 395–6).

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‘You make smooth the path of the righteous’ (v. 7), nevertheless, these people are looking for further salvation: ‘In the path of thy judgments we wait for you … that the inhabitants of the world may learn righteousness’ (vv. 8–10). In this way, the lament continues the structuring of space into two contrary cities, as designed in chapter 25, by another contrast, i.e. between ‘the earth/world’, whose inhabitants should learn righteousness through God’s judgement (v. 9), and ‘the land of uprightness’ where perversity is common, as the prayers complain (v. 10). The context and development of chapter 26 invite you to identify this land as ‘the land of Judah’ (v. 1). Meanwhile the structure of space is specified. The meanings ‘land’ and ‘earth’ of the term ≈ra are not distinct applications: ‘In the land of uprightness the wicked deals perversely’. It is there where he has no eye for ‘the majesty of Yhwh … your hand … the zeal for your people’ (vv. 10–11). In short, in this ‘land’ the controversy between God and the evil-doers takes place. It ends on the one hand with the fall of the latter, and on the other hand with the enlargement of the ‘nation/ land’ to Yhwh’s credit (vv. 12–15). However, in the same way as the wicked do not get authority over the land, so the prayers, in anticipation of God’s peace (v. 12) and under his chastisement (v. 16), confess their powerlessness with regard to the earth: ‘We bring about no deliverance on the earth, the inhabitants of the world do not fall’ (vv. 17–18). Consequently, the speakers do not isolate themselves from what happens on the earth, but they prove to be unable to procure its salvation. This they expect Yhwh to do. Accordingly, the presentation of space in Chapter 26 is far from uniform but consistent: it develops in connection with the course of actions. Land and earth, covered by the same term ≈ra, relate as directive points on the horizon of the space in which the actants move. It fits into the picture that the tension between both locations is intensified by the absolute discrepancy between ‘our God’ and ‘other lords besides you’ (vv. 12–13) and between life and death (vv. 14–19). In both antinomies the former actant gets the better of the fight: Yhwh (v. 15: ‘You are glorified’) and life (v. 19: ‘O, dwellers in the dust, awake!’). The prophet’s answer (vv. 20–21) to the lament of the we-group (vv. 7–19) seems to change radically the experience of space so far by ordering: ‘Enter your chambers, and shut your doors behind you’ (v. 20). It is, however, in line with the opening of the we-group’s song: ‘Open the gates, that a righteous nation may enter in’ (v. 2). The prophet’s exhortation implies that the audience has a chance to retire to a safe place (for ‘chambers’, cf. Gen. 43.30; 1 Kgs 1.15; 20.30; 22.25; Sir. 4.15), as opposed to ‘the city of chaos’, in which all houses are destroyed (24.10), but also opposed to the place where the haughty usually hide themselves from Yhwh’s ordeal, yet in vain (cf. Isa. 2.19, 21). In Isaiah 26.20–21 two biblical stories serve as a model. On Yhwh’s command Noah, with family and animals, went into the ark in order to be saved from the punishment for the deterioration of morals on earth (Gen. 7.7–16, esp. v. 16: ‘They entered … and Yhwh shut him in’). Also on Yhwh’s command, the Hebrews in Egypt secluded in their houses which they had marked with the blood of the pesach lamb (Exod. 12.23: ‘Yhwh will pass over the door, and will not allow the destroyer to enter your houses to slay you’). Similarly,



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in Isaiah 26.20–21, the development of actions, i.e. Yhwh’s intervention on behalf of the prayers in vv. 7–19, is connected to a specification of space resembling images in Israel’s tradition. This specification is in line with the working of space in the lament (vv. 7–19). The location that offers God’s people safety against the ordeal (v. 20: ‘your chambers’) is situated on ‘the earth’ (v. 21). Here the conflict between the righteous and the wicked takes place (vv. 5, 9, 18–19). It is brought to an end now that ‘Yhwh is coming forth out of his place’ (v. 21a). ‘His place’, in the same way as ‘your chambers’, is not specified: indeterminate expressions characterize a theophany (cf. the relation between ‘the wrath’ and ‘Yhwh’, and the adjunct of time ‘a little while until’ in vv. 20–21). Just the same, both adjuncts of space, ‘your chambers’ and ‘his place’, signify locations that add meaning to the indefinable ‘the earth’: the protection of ‘my people against the wrath’ and the punishment of ‘the inhabitants of the earth for their iniquity’. This chastisement, however, is not the purpose of God’s intervention. This is only achieved by the redress of righteousness when the earth will be discharged from blood-guilt: ‘The earth will disclose the blood shed upon her, and will no more cover her slain’ (v. 21). In this way, Yhwh’s intervention against the earth, as announced in 24.1, will come to fulfilment. The working of space in Chapter 26 comes to completion in 27.1 (redaction – historically an addition to 26.21 as appears from the introductory formula ‘on that day’ and the hinge word ‘to punish’). The verse extends Yhwh’s punishment: the subjection of the earth (26.21) is followed by the subjection of the sea (27.1). The creation motif of Yhwh’s victory over the monster in the primeval flood, Leviathan, serves to complete the image of his victory over the cosmos (as a supplement to 24.21: ‘the host of the height/the kings of the earth’).

Isaiah 27.2–13: Yhwh’s Vineyard and the Holy Mountain Chapter 27 forms a supplement to Chapters 24 and 26, not only because of the redactional frame formulas ‘on that day/and it will be on that day’ (vv. 1, 2, [6], 12, 13), but also from the viewpoint of space. This is evident with regard to the complementary locations ‘the earth’ (Isa. 26.20–21) and ‘the sea’ (Isa. 27.1), which serve as parts or dimensions of the cosmos. Subsequently, Yhwh’s song on his ‘vineyard’ (Isa. 27.2–5) comes as a surprise, but not fully, for it specifies the image of the earth after Yhwh’s intervention in favour of the prayers, in the same way as previously the lament ‘the vine languishes’ embodied the collapse of the earth under the judgement (Isa. 24.7). Subsequently to Yhwh’s song, the prophet interprets the vineyard as ‘Jacob/ Israel’ (vv. 6–11). In chapters 1–39, the name ‘Jacob’ does not refer to the territory of the Northern kingdom but to Yhwh’s people as it goes the way out of guilt and punishment to loyalty and salvation (Isa. 2.5–6; 8.17; 9.7; 10.20–1; 14.1; 17.4; 27.6, 9; 29.22–23). Isaiah announces its future fecundity for ‘the whole world’ (v. 6: lbt). With this, he links up with the idea of space in Isaiah 26.21 (‘to punish the earth/ the earth will disclose’; cf. ‘earth/world’ in Isa. 24.4; 26.9, 18), the more so because

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the topic ‘to slay’ (grh) from 26.21 (‘the earth will no more cover her slain’), by way of 27.1 (‘Yhwh will slay the dragon’), dominates the eye-catching question of 27.7: ‘Has he been slain as his slayers were slain?’ (Beuken 2007: 395–6, 401–3). Hereafter, the prophet shortly addresses Yhwh (v. 8a) and resumes from his song (v. 2) the specific space image of the ‘vineyard’: ‘By exact measure, by sending her away you contend with her’ (hnbyrt Hjlvb). ‘Her’ refers to the location ‘vineyard’. On account of its female gender, the Hebrew word (µrk)4 is personified as Yhwh’s opponent. This is effectuated in the topics of divorce, ‘to send away’ (jlv pi’el: Deut. 22.19; 24.1–3; Isa. 50.1; Jer. 3.1,8), and ‘to contend’ (byr: Jer. 2.9; Hos. 2.4; 4.1). Subsequently the prophet elaborates the term ‘to send away’: ‘He has removed5 (her) by his harsh wind on the day of the east wind’ (v. 8b). The first verb (jlv pi’el) expresses relational estrangement, the second (hgh) chasing off, yet not directly, for a place-name is missing; only the circumstances are mentioned (‘his harsh wind/the east wind’) which suggest a scorched region (Jer. 18.17; Ps. 103.15–16; Job 27.21). In this way the space imagery gets a double face. The vineyard is as a repudiated woman in a withered landscape, the opposite of a fostered vineyard (vv. 2–3) and a fertile land/earth (v. 6). According to some authors, moreover, the combination of ‘by sending her away’ and ‘he has removed through his harsh wind/on the day of the east wind’ would allude to the deportation in exile (jlv pi’el: Jer. 24.5; 29.20).6 This can neither be proven nor refuted to be a deliberate reference; however, the context makes clear that the attention is mainly directed to the domestic land, more specifically in as far as it is polluted by places of a sinful cult and waits the expiation of Jacob’s guilt by their demolition (v. 9). Verses 10–12 are an intermezzo. They interrupt the connection between v. 9 (false cult) and vv. 12–13 (true cult), and do not continue either the course of actions from Isaiah 24.1 up to 27.9 or the space image of 27.1–8. They do not announce the judgement but describe its effects in ‘the fortified city’: this has forever turned into a prairie, left over to animals, a site where firewood is found (vv. 10–11a). This state originates from ‘the lack of discernment’ of the inhabitants which restrains Yhwh from showing favour (v. 11b). It is not clear to which place ‘the fortified city’ in v. 10 refers. Following the line of chapters 24–7, this could be the anonymous ‘lofty city’ of 26.5, but subsequently to vv. 6–9 and in connection with v. 11b (‘this people… he made them/he formed them’) anonymity runs out: in one way or the other, ‘the fortified city’ is allied to ‘Jacob/ Israel’ (vv. 6, 9). Its identity is not of geographical but of theological character. It is the city of those who lack ‘discernment’ (twnyb) that qualifies for 4. The feminine object suffixes in v. 8a continue those of v. 3 which refer to ‘the vineyard’, µrk, in v. 2; cf. Oswalt 1986: 495; Beuken 2007: 395–6. 5. Delitzsch (1889: 308) does not interpret hgh in a local sense, but in a metaphorical sense as ‘to repudiate’. The absence of an object for this verb can be explained as double duty of the object suffix in the preceding verbal form hnbyrt, the more so because the verb hgh as tertium he hardly accepts a suffix (Joüon–Muraoka, § 79 k; DCH, vol. 2, 487). 6. RSV: ‘by exile’; cf. Wildberger 1978: 1019; Sweeney 1996: 348; Hibbard 2006: 186. An allusion to Exod. 14.21 (‘Yhwh drove the sea back by a strong east wind’) is not conceivable, for this intervention of Yhwh was fortunate for the Hebrews.



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Yhwh’s ‘compassion/favour’ (v. 11b), as he has declared to show to his vineyard: ‘I am its keeper … I have no wrath … let them lay hold of my protection, let them make peace with me’ (vv. 3–5; cf. also the connection between the thorns and briers of the vineyard which Yhwh would like to burn up [v. 4] and the dry boughs which women set afire [v. 11]). The city refers rather in the wider context of the whole book both to sinful Jerusalem, which does not comprehend Yhwh’s judgement (cf. Isa. 1), and to Ephraim, which is connected to syncretistic Damascus (cf. Isa. 17.1–9; cf. agreement of terminology). From the point of view of space, the intermezzo takes its own place, different from the over-all development. Here, space is not connected to the course of actions in Chapters 24–7: as a matter of fact, there is hardly a continuous course of actions in Chapter 27. The three segments, introduced by ‘on that day’ (vv. 1, 2–11, 12–13), constitute clarifying panels to the dominating event of ‘Yhwh is coming forth out of his place’ (Isa. 26.20–21). The first segment is actually linked to it along the line of actions (‘Yhwh will punish’ in Isa. 26.21 and 27.1). In the second, Yhwh himself explains that his intervention, as announced by the prophet, stems from his care for his vineyard (vv. 2–5). The prophet, subsequently, applies this to Jacob/Israel: he foresees a worldwide renaissence for this people ‘in days to come’ (v. 6) and he founds this on Yhwh’s most special dealing with them in the past (vv. 7–8). Thus far, Yhwh is the object of discourse (‘I’ or ‘he’), but no longer so from this point onwards: the argument proceeds in an associative way. The expiation of Jacob’s guilt, the purpose of Yhwh’s special conduct (vv. 7–8), requires that Jacob himself crushes the sites of idolatrous veneration (v. 9). To what disaster the worship of idols has led Jacob is illustrated by a static description of ‘the fortified city, deserted and forsaken’ (v. 10), and of its ‘people without discernment’ and therefore devoid of Yhwh’s ‘compassion/favor’ (v. 11). Thus ‘the fortified city, deserted and forsaken’ (v.10) serves as a counterpart of Yhwh’s ‘vineyard, watered and guarded’ (v. 3). Both places symbolize attitudes of Yhwh as role-player. In vv. 12–13, the prophet leaves the intermezzo and resumes the perspective of Yhwh’s coming intervention in v. 1. The passage is clearly structured, with regard to both courses of action (A B B A: inversion) and space (C C D: climax): 12 And it will be on that day that Yhwh will beat out (the grain) (active: Yhwh – [Israel]) from the river Euphrates to the brook of Egypt, (location)  and you will be gathered, one by one, O children of Israel. (passive: Israel) 13 And it will be on that day that a great trumpet will be blown, (passive: trumpet) and those lost in Assyria and those driven out to Egypt (location) will come and worship Yhwh (active: Israel – Yhwh) on the holy mountain at Jerusalem. (location)

A C B B C A D

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Space in this passage gives evidence of an antithesis between the width of the diaspora (‘from the Euphrates to the brook of Egypt’ and ‘in the land of Assyria and in the land of Egypt’) and the unique spot of ‘the holy mountain at Jerusalem’. Furthermore, the courses of action in Chapters 24–7, together with the development of space in it, comes to completion here – after its first occurrence in Isaiah 24.23 (‘Yhwh of hosts will reign on Mount Zion and in Jerusalem, and before his elders glory’) and its results (Isaiah 25.6–7, 10: ‘on this mountain’). The final verses of chapters 24 and 27 are complementary in view of the relation subject–object: ‘Yhwh – his elders’ (24.23) over against ‘those who come and worship – Yhwh’ (Isa. 27.13). The adjuncts of place differ slightly: Yhwh’s dominion in Isaiah 24.23 comprises ‘Mount Zion and Jerusalem’; the veneration of Yhwh in Isa. 27.13 takes place on ‘the holy mountain in Jerusalem’. The attribute ‘holy’ characterizes this mountain as Yhwh’s abode (cf. Ps. 48.2; DCH, vol. 7, 196–7). The relative independence and internal cohesion of chapters 24–7 invite the reader to compare this end with its beginning: ‘Behold, Yhwh will lay waste the earth … and scatter its inhabitants’ (24.1). The general character of the judgement, missing any names (‘the earth [≈ra]/ its inhabitants’), in the opening of the composition is filled in and specified at the end by three names. Two of them comprise the whole world as known at the time: ‘the land (≈ra) of Assyria/ the land (≈ra) of Egypt’, the third one attributes the world as a centre in Yhwh’s presence: ‘the holy mountain at Jerusalem’. The end keeps silent about ‘the inhabitants’ in general, but the gathering of ‘those lost/those driven out’ and their coming to Yhwh’s mountain in order to adore him there reveal the purpose of the worldwide judgement.

Conclusion The courses of action in Isaiah 24–27 put themselves forward as a cohesive set of events. Against that background space does not form a composite of immobile spheres (heaven and earth) and changing places (the city of chaos; the ends of the earth; Yhwh’s mountain, his strong city and his vineyard) in which persons play their role but space itself is an object or product, even a subject of action. Agents are neither at the mercy of their locations nor do they manipulate them at their own discretion, but they stay in interaction with space in its endless potentiality of form and shape. This world view lies at the basis of Chapter 24. The earth mourns and withers (Isa. 24.4), and staggers like a drunken man (Isa. 24.20), the coastlands of the sea are invited to give glory to Yhwh (Isa. 24.15), even moon and sun are confounded and ashamed (Isa. 24.23). The one place that is not imagined as manipulatable is ‘Mount Zion in Jerusalem’ where Yhwh exercises his authority (Isa. 24.23: ‘he reigns/ [manifests] his glory’). The mountain of God embodies the ordering of heaven and earth as a cosmos. The courses of action gradually focus on this site of Yhwh’s acting: at ‘this mountain’ he prepares a banquet for all the nations that puts an end to all suffering (ch. 25), and in ‘the strong city where he sets up



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salvation as walls’ (Isa. 26.1) are those who trust in him waiting for his judgements of righteousness (ch. 26). ‘Mount Zion in Jerusalem’, however, is not a substitute for the earth, the home of the wicked, when this place collapses. The earth has a future. Surely, the we-group must confess: ‘We have wrought no deliverance on the earth’ (Isa. 26.18), but Yhwh is coming forth and makes sure that ‘the earth will no more cover her slain’ (Isa. 26.21). So the earth is granted to be a habitat without iniquity, with justice restored under Yhwh’s reign from Mount Zion. Next to Zion, a second place warrants Yhwh’s intervention in favour of the livability of the earth: the vineyard Jacob/Israel, object of his care, ‘will fill the whole world with fruit’ (Isa. 27.2–6). Yhwh the Vine-dresser is also the Harvester: ‘Yhwh will thresh out the grain from the river Euphrates to the Brook of Egypt’ (Isa. 27.12). He re-orders the earth when he allows the deportees in the two super-powers of the world, Assyria and Egypt, to return and to worship him on ‘the holy mountain at Jerusalem’ (Isa. 27.13). The excellence and extent of Bob Becking’s exegetical work would allow him, if he were not so unassuming, to side with the Psalmist: ‘You have set my feet in wide space’ (Ps. 31.9). I dedicate this article on space in Isaiah 24–27 as a token of appreciation for his open-mindedness towards the work of his colleagues.

E I N Ü BU N G I N D E N AU F R E C H T E N G A N G :  B E I SP I E L E F Ü R Z I V I L C OU R AG E I N D E N S A M U E L BÜ C H E R N

Walter Dietrich

Universität Bern, Schweiz

Zivilcourage und Glaubensgehorsam ‘Mut zeiget auch der Mameluck, Gehorsam ist des Christen Schmuck’. Mit dieser Sentenz wird in Friedrich von Schillers (1759–1805) Ballade ‘Der Kampf mit dem Drachen’ ein junger Johanniter konfrontiert, der soeben einen fürchterlichen Drachen erlegt, dabei aber gegen einen Befehl seines Ordensoberen verstoßen hat. Dieser hatte nämlich, nachdem fünf Ritter im Kampf gegen das Ungeheuer ihr Leben verloren hatten, weitere Versuche untersagt, seiner Herr zu werden. Der besagte Ritter nun hatte eine glänzende Idee, wie er das doch bewerkstelligen kann – und dies gelang ihm tatsächlich. Nach vollbrachter Tat tritt er vor den Oberen und meldet mit gelassenem Stolz: ‘Ich hab’ erfüllt die Ritterpflicht; / Der Drache, der das Land verödet, / Er ist von meiner Hand getötet.’ Darauf der Ordensmeister: ‘Was ist die erste Pflicht / Des Ritters, der für Christum ficht, / Sich schmücket mit des Kreuzes Zeichen?’ Der junge Held antwortet errötend: ‘Gehorsam ist die erste Pflicht, / Die ihn des Schmuckes würdig zeiget.’ Nachdem er dann doch ausführlich berichtet hat, unter welch enormem Aufwand und unter welchen Gefahren er seine ‘Ritterpflicht’ erfüllt habe, entgegnet ihm der Ordensmeister: Die Schlange, die das Herz vergiftet, Die Zwietracht und Verderben stiftet, Das ist der widerspenst’ge Geist, Der gegen Zucht sich frech empöret, Der Ordnung heilig Band zerreißt; Denn er ist’s, der die Welt zerstöret. Mut zeiget auch der Mameluck, Gehorsam ist des Christen Schmuck.

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Das Christentum steht nicht im Ruf, eine Religion zu sein, auf deren Boden eine Tugend wie Zivilcourage gut gedeihen kann. Muss man das nicht von allen drei sog. abrahamitischen Religionen fürchten, wenn es vom Urahn Abraham jene Erzählung gibt, nach der er bereit ist, auf Gottes Anweisung hin seinen eigenen Sohn zu opfern (Gen. 22)? Die Geschichte von ‘Isaaks Bindung’ dient seit jeher als Exempel dafür, dass einem göttlichen Befehl, und sei er noch so unbegreiflich und unmoralisch, unter allen Umständen Folge zu leisten sei. Der polnische Philosoph Leszek Kolakowski (1927–2009) äußert sich in einer der ‘erbaulichen Geschichten’, die er unter dem Titel ‘Der Himmelsschlüssel’ veröffentlicht hat, dazu in spöttischem Ton: Gott habe sein Versprechen, aus Abraham ‘ein großes, besonders gesegnetes Volk zu machen’, an eine ‘Bedingung’ geknüpft: ‘absoluten Gehorsam gegenüber der Obrigkeit’. Das zukünftige Schicksal des Volkes und die Größe des Staates hängen von der getreuen Erfüllung aller Befehle der Obrigkeit ab. Aber die Obrigkeit verlangt von ihm, daß er das eigene Kind opfert. Abraham hatte zwar die Natur eines Gefreiten – er war jedoch nicht ohne Mitgefühl für das Los der Familie. Als Gott ihm befahl, den Sohn dem Feuer zu opfern, hatte er es nicht für notwendig erachtet, den Befehl zu begründen. Es ist nicht Art von Vorgesetzten, dem Untergebenen den Befehl zu erläutern. Das Wesen des Befehls besteht darin, daß er ausgeführt werden muß, weil er ein Befehl ist, und nicht deswegen, weil er vernünftig, erfolgversprechend, durchdacht ist; es ist keineswegs erforderlich, daß der Gehorchende den Sinn des Befehls versteht – sonst kommt es unweigerlich zu Anarchie und Chaos. Ein Untergebener, der nach dem Sinn des erhaltenen Befehls fragt, sät Unordnung.1

Man kann die Isaak-Geschichte auch anders lesen, gewiss.2 Doch dass der im Alten wie im Neuen Testament gefeierte Glaubensmut Abrahams3 gern mit bedingungsloser Unterwürfigkeit verwechselt wurde und wird, ist nicht zu bestreiten. Der zusammengesetzte Begriff ‘Glaubensgehorsam’ ist denn auch durchaus geläufig. Für Friedrich Nietzsche war die biblische Religion insgesamt ein ‘gebotene[r] Glaube’, eine ‘Religion aus Unglück und fürs Unglück’, eine ‘Sklavenreligion’, die ‘nur die Herrschaft oder die Knechtschaft zulässt’, in der alle ‘Genien, in denen die Menschen vereinigt sind’, ‘an den Himmel verschleudert’ seien und die so in ‘Entselbstung’ und ‘Selbst-Entfremdung’ ende.4 Kann man da hoffen, aus der Bibel lasse sich etwas über ‘Zivilcourage’ lernen? Gemäß dem jüdisch-marxistischen Philosophen Ernst Bloch: ja. Einer seiner Haupthelden ist Hiob5 – Hiob freilich nur insofern und nur so lange, als er gegen die (scheinbare?) Willkür Gottes aufbegehrt. Wenn dann gegen Ende des   1. Kolakowski 1965: 27–8.   2. Reichliche Anregung dazu bietet Veijola 2007: 88–133.   3. Vgl. Gen. 15.6; Röm. 4.3; Heb. 11.17; Jak. 2.21.   4. Vgl. Busche 1992: 92.   5. Vgl. zum Folgenden Bloch 1968: 104–18.



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Hiobbuchs der Rebell Hiob durch lange Gottesreden mundtot gemacht wird und kleinlaut ‘die Hand auf den Mund legt’, dann ist dies laut Bloch der nachträgliche Versuch, einen Mann mit ‘aufrechtem Gang’ niederzubeugen und zu gebückter Haltung zu zwingen, auf dass nicht etwa in seinem Gefolge sich viele aufrichteten! Der Hiob-Schluss stamme von priesterlichen Verfechtern jenes Untertanengeistes, der dem ‘echten’ Hiob so gänzlich fern lag. Man muss nicht bei Hiob stehenbleiben, gar einem Teil-Hiob, um Beispiele für Menschen mit ‘aufrechtem Gang’ zu finden. Der systematische Theologe Helmut Gollwitzer bestreitet mit Vehemenz die Behauptung, die Bibel erziehe Menschen zur Unterwürfigkeit und zum Kadavergehorsam: Die Legende, daß durch die Aufforderung zum Gehorsam gegen Gottes Gebot notwendig autoritäre Persönlichkeiten und Untertanenmentalität erzeugt würden, wird nicht wahrer dadurch, daß sie immer wieder erzählt wird. Mißbräuchliche Inanspruchnahme der Autorität, des Namens und des Wortes Gottes für das Gefügigmachen von Menschen unter menschliche Autorität gab und gibt es massenhaft … Dem muß mit Erziehung zur Kritik und mit Einübung im Ungehorsam begegnet werden … Wo Menschen wirklich unter die Autorität des Wortes Gottes geraten sind, haben sie dadurch nicht Duckmäuserei, sondern aufrechen Gang gelernt.6

Im Umfeld des biblischen Gottes und im biblischen Gottesvolk gedeiht Zivilcourage viel besser als Duckmäusertum. Dies soll im Folgenden anhand der Samuelbücher aufgezeigt werden. In ihnen, die ja die Einrichtung des Königtums und die Errichtung eines Staates in Israel schildern, könnte man ein starkes Plädoyer für die Unterscheidung von Oben und Unten, von Herrschern und von Untertanen, von Befehlenden und Gehorchenden erwarten. Das Gegenteil ist der Fall. Sie enthalten zahlreiche Geschichten über die Gegenwehr von Menschen gegen staatliche Macht. Bezeichnend ist bereits, dass Samuel, der große Gottesmann und letzte ‘Richter’ Israels, dem Wunsch des Volkes nach einem König partout nicht nachkommen will (1 Sam. 8). Er beklagt sich bei Gott, dass die Leute nun nicht mehr ihm, sondern einem König untertan sein wollten. Das ist eine bemerkenswerte Entgegensetzung. Im Orient (und nicht nur dort!) pflegten die Macht der Götter und die Macht der Herrscher bestens zu kooperieren – laut Samuel aber sollen sie in Konkurrenz zueinander stehen. Freilich ist dies die Meinung nur einiger, nicht vor der Exilszeit wirkender Schriftsteller bzw. Theologen.7 Während der Epoche der Staatlichkeit (vom 10. bis ins beginnende 6. Jahrhundert) dachte Israel überwiegend ‘gut orientalisch’. Dementsprechend werden in den Samuelbüchern Feindseligkeiten und Umsturzversuche gegen   6. Gollwitzer 1972: 370–1 (Kursivierung von W. D.).   7. Auch wenn das sog. ‘Königsrecht’ in 1 Sam. 8.11–17 ein königszeitlicher Text sein dürfte, ist 1 Sam. 8 stark deuteronomistisch geprägt. Vgl. – mit Differenzen im Einzelnen – Veijola 1977: 53–72; Müller 2004: 119–47; Dietrich 2011: 339–77.

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die regierenden Könige klar negativ konnotiert. Leute, die dem frisch gekürten Saul die Huldigung verweigern, werden als benê belijja‘al bezeichnet, etwas wie ‘Staatsfeinde’ oder ‘Terroristen’ (1 Sam. 10.27), und Aufstände gegen David – geführt vom Prinzen Abschalom und von einem Benjaminiten namens Scheba (2 Sam. 15; 20) – werden ohne jede Sympathie geschildert. Menschen mit ‘aufrechtem Gang’ sind offenbar nicht darauf aus, den Mächtigen ihre Macht streitig zu machen oder sie an sich zu reißen. Sie besitzen vielmehr, wie jetzt gezeigt werden soll, die Courage, drohendem Machtmissbrauch entgegenzutreten, eingetretenen Machtmissbrauch zu kritisieren und zu gutem, sinnvollem Gebrauch der Macht anzuhalten.

Mächtigen couragiert in den Arm fallen Die Königskinder Michal und Jonatan verhindern, dass ihr Vater, König Saul, den ihrer Meinung nach unschuldigen David, den er aber für seinen Rivalen hält, umbringt. Als Saul das erste Mal offen seine Tötungsabsicht geäußert hat, legt Jonatan für seinen Freund Fürsprache ein; dabei geht er sehr weit in dessen Rühmung, lässt aber nie den gehörigen Respekt vor dem König missen (1 Sam. 19.4–5). Das couragierte und doch besonnene Auftreten des Sohnes verfehlt seine Wirkung nicht. ‘Da hörte Saul auf die Stimme Jonatans’; der König legt einen Eid ab, er werde David nichts zuleide tun (1 Sam. 19.6). Diese Szene (1 Sam. 19.1–7) wurde gestaltet vom Grundverfasser der Samuelbücher,8 dem sog. ‘Höfischen Erzähler’, der im ausgehenden 8. oder frühen 7. Jahrhundert aus älteren Quellen ein ‘Erzählwerk über die frühe Königszeit in Israel’ geschaffen hat.9 Ihm lag offenbar daran, den Kronprinzen Jonatan als Menschen mit ‘aufrechtem Gang’ zu zeichnen und seinen Vater, König Saul, als einen Herrscher, der imstande ist, beherztem Widerstand gegen eine von ihm getroffene Entscheidung stattzugeben. Dem Höfischen Erzähler hat in dieser Hinsicht die ältere Saul-Überlieferung vorgearbeitet. Zu dieser gehört der Grundbestand der Erzählung von Sauls erster großer Philisterschlacht (1 Sam. 13–14). Nachdem die Philister im benjaminitischen Bergland besiegt worden waren und ihr Heil in der Flucht suchten, wollte Saul ihnen sofort nachsetzen, um sie vollkommen zu vernichten. Seine Krieger sind bereit, doch sein Priester erhebt überraschend Einspruch: Man solle zuerst einen Gottesbescheid einholen (1 Sam. 14.36). Das ist ‘ein ziemlich heftiger Affront’, in dem kaum verhüllt der Vorwurf steckt, der König lasse es an ‘kultische[r] Korrektheit … fehlen’.10 Und Saul fügt sich! Bei der dann durchgeführten Gottesbefragung nun verweigert Gott die Antwort.11 Es stellt sich heraus, dass jemand ein zuvor von Saul verhängtes Speisetabu übertreten und   8. Vgl. Dietrich 2012–14: 463–65.   9. Zum Charakter dieses Werkes vgl. Dietrich 1997: 259–73. 10. Dietrich 2012–14: 96. 11. Vermutlich hat man sich vorzustellen, dass bei dem angewandten Alternativorakel weder das Ja- noch das Nein-Symbol erschien, sondern gar keines.



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dadurch den Zorn der Gottheit gereizt haben muss. Ein Losordal erweist Jonatan als den Schuldigen – ausgerechnet ihn, durch dessen heldenmütigen Einsatz die Philister aus dem Feld geschlagen worden waren. Saul jedoch verurteilt, ohne Zögern und bekräftigt durch einen Eid, den eigenen Sohn zum Tode – und dieser erklärt sich zum Sterben bereit (1 Sam. 14.43–44). Man kann das von beiden Seiten heroisch finden, die israelitischen Soldaten aber finden es vollkommen verfehlt. Sie ‘lösen’ Jonatan ‘aus’12 und verhindern so seine Hinrichtung (1 Sam. 14.45). Und wieder gibt Saul nach! Auch von David gibt es eine Erzählung, 1 Samuel 25, der zufolge er sich von einem beeideten Vorsatz hat abbringen lassen. In seiner Zeit als Milizenführer hat ihm ein reicher Herdenbesitzer, ein gewisser Nabal, die ihm seiner Meinung nach zustehenden Abgaben verweigert. Er schwört daraufhin, er werde in Nabals Anwesen alles auszurotten, ‘was an die Wand pisst’ (1 Sam. 25.22) – ein so undiplomatischer wie unmissverständlicher Vorsatz. Nabals Gattin Abigajil wird der drohenden Gefahr gewahr und tritt dem Zornschnaubenden in den Weg. Natürlich wäre es ihm ein Leichtes gewesen, sie weg- oder niederzustoßen, doch er lässt sich von ihr besänftigen. Sie erreicht dies durch eine Mischung aus großzügigen Geschenke und goldenen Worten. Namentlich in den letzteren ist die Hand des Höfischen Erzählers zu spüren, die Kerngeschichte aber stammt aus älterer Davidüberlieferung.13 Dies waren positive Beispiele von gewissermaßen ‘belohnter’ Zivilcourage: Mächtige sind bereit, sich durch schwächere, ihnen aber beherzt widerstehende Personen von geplanten schlimmen Handlungen abhalten zu lassen. Es gibt allerdings auch negative bzw. traurige Gegenbeispiele, in denen sich die Mächtigen über noch so berechtigte Einsprachen bedenkenlos hinwegsetzen. Saul hat sich durch den oben geschilderten Versöhnungsversuch Jonatans auf Dauer nicht davon abbringen lassen, dass David sein schlimmster Feind und dass er unbedingt zu liquidieren sei. Einmal versucht er es selbst, durch einen Spießwurf; doch die Waffe verfehlt ihr Ziel, David kann entweichen (1 Sam. 19.9–10). Als Saul ihn doch noch fassen will, trifft er auf den Widerstand seiner beiden Kinder, Michal und Jonatan. Erstere, zu der David nach dem Spießwurf geflohen ist, entdeckt vor ihrem Haus die Häscher, die den Flüchtigen verhaften sollen, und verhilft diesem daraufhin zur Flucht durch ein Fenster auf der Rückseite des Hauses. Ihrem Vater, der sie hernach zur Rede stellt, lügt sie vor, David habe sie bedroht, und deshalb habe sie ihn laufen lassen müssen (1 Sam. 19.11–17). Jonatan setzt sich ein weiteres Mal vor Saul für David ein, wird diesmal aber wüst beschimpft und gar mit dem Tod bedroht (1 Sam. 20.28–33). Daraufhin

12. Bei Dietrich 2012–14: 106, Erwägungen darüber, was mit diesem ‘Auslösen’ gemeint sein könnte. 13. Peetz (2008) sieht keine Anhaltspunkte für eine solche Schichtung, sondern hält das gesamte Kapitel für einheitlich, freilich nicht aus der Davidszeit, sondern aus dem 8. oder 7. Jahrhundert stammend, was unserer Ansetzung des Höfischen Erzählwerks entspricht.

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deckt auch er die Flucht des Freundes vom Königshof (1 Sam. 20.34–42).14 Saul taxiert dies zwar als Verrat (1 Sam. 22.8), vergreift sich aber nicht an seinem Sohn. Auch Michal gibt er ‘nur’ einem anderen Mann, tut ihr sonst aber nichts an. So hat die Zivilcourage der beiden keine für sie katastrophalen Folgen. Hätten sie aber nicht so gehandelt, wie sie es taten: Die Geschichte Davids wäre vorzeitig zu Ende gewesen und Israel hätte seinen nach Meinung der Erzähler größten Hoffnungsträger verloren. Die Priester des Heiligtums von Nob waren, eher unwissentlich und unwillentlich, David auf seiner Flucht vor Saul behilflich. Saul erfährt davon, bestellt sie ein, führt einen Hochverratsprozess gegen sie und verurteilt sie zum Tode. Als er seine ‘Läufer’ auffordert, das Urteil zu vollstrecken, rühren sich diese ‘gewiß nicht zartfühlenden Knechte des Königs’15 nicht von der Stelle (1 Sam. 22.16–17); sie scheuen sich, Hand an unbewaffnete Gottesdiener zu legen, halten offenbar auch das Urteil für verfehlt. Auch wenn sich dann ein anderer, williger Henker findet, bleibt ihre Weigerung als Fanal dafür stehen, dass Soldaten unrechtmäßige Befehle verweigern können, ja müssen. Einmal erlebt auch David, dass ihm ein Soldat, der ‘Hetiter Urija’, den Gehorsam verweigert. Der König hat Urijas Frau, Batscheba, geschwängert und holt nun den Mann aus dem Felde zurück, gibt sich ihm gegenüber außerordentlich huldvoll – und schickt ihn zu seiner Frau, um auf diese Weise seine eigene Vaterschaft zu vertuschen. Doch Urija weist des Königs Ansinnen mit den Worten zurück: ‘Die Lade, Israel und Juda wohnen in Hütten, und mein Herr Joab und die Knechte meines Herrn lagern auf dem Acker – und ich soll nach Hause gehen, um zu essen und zu trinken und mit meiner Frau zu schlafen?’ (2 Sam. 11.11) Dieser Mann hat Ehre im Leib, der König nicht. Allerdings muss Urija seinen Anstand – oder ist es seine Widersetzlichkeit, weil er das Spiel des Königs durchschaut? – mit dem Leben bezahlen. Auch Davids Heerführer Joab handelt einmal einem Befehl des Königs zuwider: nicht so sehr aus Zivilcourage als vielmehr aus politischem und militärischem Kalkül, vielleicht auch aus persönlichen Gründen.16 Entgegen Davids ausdrücklicher Anweisung, in der Schlacht gegen den rebellischen Abschalom das Leben des Prinzen zu schonen (2 Sam. 18.5), bringt ihn Joab, als er ihn hilflos mit seinen Haaren im Geäst eines Baumes hängend findet, zu Tode (2 Sam. 18.14). Wie ruchlos sein Handeln ist, erhellt aus dem Kontrast zu einem einfachen Soldaten, der Abschalom in seiner misslichen Lage entdeckt hat und den Joab dafür tadelt, dass er ihn nicht sofort umgebracht habe. Der wackere Mann widerspricht seinem 14. Es handelt sich offenbar um zwei Parallelüberlieferungen, die eine mit Michal, die andere mit Jonatan als Zentralfigur. Wahrscheinlich sind diese beiden, neben David, die ‘Helden’ zweier verschiedener ‘Erzählkränze’ oder -sammlungen, die der Höfische Erzähler in sein Werk eingearbeitet hat; vgl. Dietrich 2012–14: 461–3, 525–6. 15. Hertzberg 1965: 152. 16. Immerhin ist Joab verantwortlich dafür, dass David nach seinem Brudermord (2 Sam. 13) rehabilitiert (2 Sam. 14) und damit in die Lage versetzt wurde, seinen Aufstand vorzubereiten (2 Sam. 15).



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General: Alle hätten gehört, wie der König die Schonung des Prinzen geboten habe – er würde einem solchen Befehl um noch so viel Belohnung nicht zuwiderhandeln (2 Sam. 18.10–12). Hier spricht ein Mann mit ‘aufrechtem Gang’!

Herrscher couragiert kritisieren Noch ziemlich am Anfang seiner Karriere muss David eine heftige, gar handgreifliche Kritik an seinem Führungsverhalten hinnehmen. Als er mit seiner Söldnertruppe von einem Feldzug nach Ziklag zurückkehrt, einer ihm zum Lehen gegebenen Stadt, findet er diese ausgeplündert und ausgebrannt vor, alle Frauen und Kinder sind verschleppt. Seine Krieger sind derart betroffen und empört, dass sie ihren Anführer zu steinigen drohen (1 Sam. 30.6). Vielleicht ist Zivilcourage nicht der richtige Ausdruck für das, was diese Männer treibt; immerhin zeigt die Episode, dass auch die Person Davids vor Unzufriedenheit und Wut nicht gefeit ist. Doch David gelingt es, den Zorn von sich ab und gegen den Feind zu wenden, eine amalekitische Nomadenbande, die über die schutzlose Stadt hergefallen ist. Tatsächlich gelingt es, die Räuber zu stellen und ihr die Beute wieder zu entreißen. Danach ist Davids Autorität wieder hergestellt. Auch in einer viel späteren Phase seines Lebens bekommt es David mit handfester Kritik zu tun. Als er sich vor der zunächst erfolgreichen Rebellion Abschaloms aus Jerusalem zurückziehen muss, wird er von einem Sauliden namens Schimi öffentlich beschimpft und mit Steinen beworfen. Was Schimi David vorzuhalten hat, ist Blutschuld am Hause Sauls (2 Sam. 16.7–8). Nun gibt sich zwar der Höfische Erzähler alle Mühe, David von solcher Blutschuld freizusprechen;17 doch die außerhalb des Erzählwerks erhalten gebliebene Erzählung 2 Samuel 21 spricht eine andere Sprache, und so ist es gewiss kein Zufall, dass David jenen Vorwurf Schimis schweigend entgegennimmt. Das Angebot eines ihn begleitenden Offiziers, ‘hinüberzugehen und ihm den Kopf abzuschlagen’, weist er zurück (2 Sam. 16.9). Als er von der Auseinandersetzung mit Abschalom siegreich zurückkehrt, kommt ihm Schimi entgegen und nimmt seine Vorwürfe zurück – anscheinend ist ihm die Zivilcourage abhanden gekommen. David verhindert auch diesmal, dass er getötet wird, schwört ihm vielmehr, sein Leben zu verschonen (2 Sam. 19.22–24).18 17. Dass David Saul und seiner Familie die Macht nicht gewaltsam entrissen, sondern jederzeit und konsequent das Leben von Sauliden geschont (notfalls auch: gerächt) habe, ist ein durchgängiges Motiv im Höfischen Erzählwerk (vgl. nur 1 Sam. 20.14–15; 24.7, 22; 26.9; 2 Sam. 1.14; 4.10–11; 9.3). 18. Seinen Sohn und Nachfolger Salomo sieht er an diesen Schwur nicht mehr gebunden, vgl. 1 Kgs 2.8–9. Kipfer (2013: 190–1) mutmaßt, die 1000 Mann, die Schimi begleiteten (2 Sam. 19.18), seien eine zu große Macht gewesen, als dass David sich mit ihrem Anführer hätte anlegen wollen. Das ist denkbar, doch den Erzählern ist wohl wichtiger als eine solche rational-militärische Motivation, dass David einmal mehr Großmut gegen einen Sauliden zeigt.

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Auch ein weibliches Mitglied des Hauses Sauls, Michal, wagt es, David offen zu kritisieren (2 Sam. 6.20). Was sie treibt, ist nicht Empörung über die Behandlung ihrer Familie durch David, sondern dass ihr Gatte sich in einer in ihren Augen vulgären Weise bei seinen Untertanen, namentlich denen weiblichen Geschlechts, angebiedert habe; offenbar hat er anlässlich der Überführung der heiligen Lade in die Residenz Jerusalem gar zu freizügig getanzt. David bestreitet das gar nicht, beharrt aber darauf, dies gehöre für ihn zur rechten Verehrung Jhwhs (2 Sam. 6.21–22). Michals Kritik bleibt insofern nicht folgenlos, als sie von David keine Kinder bekommt (2 Sam. 6.23) – wobei offen bleibt, ob David fortan den Kontakt mit ihr gemieden oder sie sich ihm verweigert hat. Ungestraft und mit uneingeschränkter Zustimmung der Erzähler üben in den Samuelbüchern Propheten Kritik an den Königen. Der Gegenspieler Sauls ist Samuel, derjenige Davids Natan. Es ist bemerkenswert, dass beide Propheten nicht von Beginn an Königskritiker sind, sondern anfänglich – im Falle Natans auch am Ende wieder – dem jeweiligen Herrscher eng verbunden sind. Samuel wird geradezu als der ‘Entdecker’ und in der Folge als Mentor Sauls geschildert (1 Sam. 9–11). Doch dann entzündet sich Streit zwischen ihm und seinem Protegé über die Frage, inwieweit dieser ihm bzw. seinem Gott Gehorsam schulde. (‘Zivilcourage’ gegen Gott ist also nicht zulässig!) Im Prinzip befolgt Saul Samuels Anweisungen treulich und zieht, wie von diesem verlangt, in den Krieg zuerst gegen die Philister, dann gegen die Amalekiter.19 Doch beide Male geht er dabei angeblich ein wenig zu selbstständig vor und wird dafür von dem Gottesmann nicht nur kritisiert, sondern förmlich relegiert (1 Sam. 13.7b–15; 15.26–29). Erstaunlicherweise lässt Saul den prophetischen Kritiker unangetastet, bittet ihn beim zweiten Mal sogar fast unterwürfig darum, mit ihm ‘umzukehren’ und ihn nicht vor seinen Kriegern zu desavouieren – worauf sich Samuel gnädig einlässt (1 Sam. 15.30–31). Angeblich haben sich Samuel und Saul danach nie mehr gefunden, ja, selbst, als der König den verstorbenen Propheten aus dem Totenreich heraufholen lässt – eine in der Bibel einmalige Szene – wiederholt Samuel nur seine alte Kritik wegen Amalek (1 Sam. 28.18).20 Natan hat drei große Auftritte: den ersten und den dritten als Unterstützer Davids und seines Königtums (2 Sam. 7.1–17; 1 Kgs 1), den zweiten als scharfer

19. Der prophetische bzw. göttliche Befehl zum Bannkrieg gegen Amalek in 1 Sam. 15.3 ist nicht zu überhören, derjenige zum Losschlagen gegen die Philister in 1 Sam. 10.7–8 etwas verdeckter; doch folgten ursprünglich die Salbungserzählung 1 Sam. 10.1–8 und eine Grundform der Philisterkriegserzählung 1 Samuel 13–14 unmittelbar aufeinander, vgl. Dietrich 2012–14: 33–4. 20. Die Erzählungen 1 Samuel 15 und 1 Samuel 28 sind dtr bearbeitet, in einem breiten Grundbestand aber vor-dtr. Ob sie zum Höfischen Erzählwerk gehörten, ist zumindest fraglich, vgl. Dietrich 1992: 9–27.



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Kritiker des Königs (2 Sam. 12.1–24a).21 Ohne ihn blieben Davids Ehebruch mit Batscheba und der Mord an Urija ungeahndet, jedenfalls unkommentiert. Natan aber bewertet beides als abgrundtief gemein und absolut unerträglich. Direkt wagt er das dem König nicht zu sagen; er sagt es durch die berühmte Parabel vom reichen Mann, der sich das einzige Schaf eines Armen nimmt (2 Sam. 12.1–4). In dieses Gewand gekleidet, erscheint David sein eigenes Verhalten als straf-, ja als todeswürdig (2 Sam. 12.5–6). Weil er Einsicht zeigt, wird die Todesstrafe auf das im Ehebruch gezeugte Kind verschoben; der König versucht, auch diese Bestrafung abzuwenden – vergeblich (2 Sam. 12.7–15). Kaum gehörte diese Natan-Story schon zum Urbestand der Erzählungen über Davids Thronfolge; ursprünglich war Salomo schlicht die Frucht des Ehebruchs Davids mit Batscheba.22 Den Tradenten aber erschien es offenbar als unmöglich, dass ein solch schlimmes Vergehen nicht geahndet worden wäre; es musste jemand auftreten, der die nötige Zivilcourage aufbrachte, den großen David in die Schranken zu weisen. Dabei handelt Natan bezeichnenderweise nicht aus eigenem Antrieb, sondern weil das Vorgefallene ‘in den Augen Jhwhs böse’ war und der Prophet darum dem König entgegentreten musste (2 Sam. 11.27b; 12.1a). Zivilcourage hat hier ihren Grund im Glauben an die Präsenz und die Gerechtigkeit Gottes.

Mächtige couragiert zu richtigem Handeln bewegen Als David sich zum Zweikampf mit Goliat meldet, will Saul ihn von dem scheinbar aussichtslosen Unterfangen abbringen (1 Sam. 17.33). David wagt es, dem König zu widersprechen: Er sei als Hirte den Kampf mit Raubtieren gewöhnt, und er werde auch mit diesem ‘unbeschnittenen Philister’ fertig werden (1 Sam. 17.34–37). Daraufhin will Saul ihn wenigstens angemessen ausstatten: Er legt ihm seine eigene Kampfrüstung an. Als David versucht, damit zu gehen, vermag er es nicht, legt sie wieder ab und zieht mit seiner Hirtenschleuder in den Kampf (1 Sam. 17.38–40). An sich ist das ein Affront gegen den wohlmeinenden König, doch David muss, sich selbst und Israel zuliebe, in diesem Fall den Wünschen des Monarchen widerstehen. So geht dem couragierten Kampf mit dem übermächtigen Gegner ein Akt der Zivilcourage gegenüber dem eigenen König voraus. Als bald nach Davids glänzendem Sieg Saul ihm seine ältere Tochter Merab zur Gemahlin geben will, lehnt David dies so höflich wie entschieden ab: ‘Wer 21. In 2 Sam. 12.25 scheint Natan indes wieder mit David zu kooperieren. Die drei Natan-Szenen in ihrer gegenseitigen Abhängigkeit und Verflechtung untersucht Oswald (2008); ob seine Hauptthese, Natan sei eine rein literarische Invention aus dem 7. und 6. Jh., zutrifft, bleibe dahingestellt. 22. Vgl. Veijola 1990: 84–105. Auch nach Dietrich (1997: 253–7) gab es eine alte ‘Batscheba-Salomo-Novelle’, bestehend aus 2 Sam. 11–12* und 1 Kgs 1–2*, in der Salomo direkt die Frucht des Ehebruchs Davids mit Batscheba war.

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bin ich und (wer sind) die Meinen und die Sippe meines Vaters in Israel, dass ich ein Schwiegersohn des Königs werden sollte?’ (1 Sam. 18.18) Vermutlich schwebte Saul keine Vollehe vor, durch die David ein vollwertiges Mitglied der Königsfamilie geworden wäre, sondern eine ‘Dienstehe’, durch die David in einer inferioren Stellung an den König gebunden worden wäre.23 Das war nicht in seinem Sinn, und so zog er es vor, das Angebot auszuschlagen. Als ihm Saul dann die Heirat mit seiner jüngeren Tochter Michal anbot, willigte David ein: vermutlich nicht nur deswegen, weil Michal ihn ‘liebte’ (1 Sam. 18.20; 28), sondern weil er für sie eine Brautgabe entrichten konnte (in Form von 100 bzw. 200 Philistervorhäuten!) und damit zum vollwertigen Schwiegersohn des Königs wurde (1 Sam. 18.20–7). So bahnt sich David couragiert und selbstbewusst seinen Weg in die Königsfamilie. Sehr viel später wird ein anderer Mann ihm selbst gegenüber ebenfalls ein großzügiges Angebot ausschlagen: Barsillai, ein hochbetagter Notabler, der ihm während des Abschalom-Aufstands sehr geholfen hat, lehnt es ab, mit ihm nach Jerusalem zu ziehen und sich am Königshof eine Apanage ausrichten zu lassen. Der alte Herr formuliert seine Ablehnung ausgesucht höflich und macht zudem einen Gegenvorschlag, auf welche Weise David seinen Dank doch abstatten könne; auf diese Weise vermeidet er es, den Monarchen zu kränken (2 Sam. 19.32–41). Die Beispiele lehren, dass man keineswegs immer das tun muss, was die Könige wollen, auch dann nicht, wenn sie es offenbar gut meinen.24 Ein Bürger darf seinem Herrscher gegenüber durchaus seine eigenen Interessen vertreten, sollte dabei allerdings die guten Formen wahren.25 Für beides ist die Frau von Tekoa (2 Sam. 14) ein glänzendes Beispiel. Sie hat von Joab den Auftrag, David zur Rehabilitation seines Sohnes Abschalom, des ins Ausland geflohenen Brudermörders, zu bewegen. Sie bringt dieses Anliegen indessen nicht offen und sofort zu Gehör; das würde der König als Vermessenheit empfinden. Vielmehr geht sie äußerst behutsam und geschickt zu Werke, trägt dem König einen fingierten Rechtsfall aus ihrer eigenen Familie vor, der ihn mitleidig und milde stimmt, ehe sie unter vielen Kautelen, Ausschmückungen und unterwürfigen Floskeln ihr eigentliches Anliegen zur Sprache bringt. David durchschaut ihre List und Gewitztheit, wird aber nicht zornig, sondern lässt sich erweichen. Ähnlich verläuft die Geschichte der Rizpa (2 Sam. 21.8–14) – auch wenn sie sich vor einem ungleich schaurigeren Hintergrund abspielt. David hat sieben 23. So Willi-Plein 2002: 85. 24. Hinter den Heiratsangeboten Sauls an David sollen sogar arglistige Hintergedanken gesteckt haben (1 Sam. 18.17b; 21; 25b), doch sind dies Einträge vonseiten des Höfischen Erzählers, vgl. Dietrich, 2012–14: 411. 25. Deswegen ist das Verhalten Nabals gegenüber David (1 Sam. 25.10–11) im Sinne der alttestamentlichen Schriftsteller kein positives Beispiel für Zivilcourage: Dieser Mann vergreift sich in Ton und Sache vollkommen und wird entsprechend vom Erzähler wie von seiner eigenen Gattin negativ qualifiziert (1 Sam. 25.3; 25)



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Sauliden, darunter zwei Söhne von Sauls Nebenfrau Rizpa, für eine rituelle Tötung freigegeben. Statt, wie vorgesehen, die Leichname zur Abschreckung öffentlich ausgestellt und zum Fraß wilder Tiere werden zu lassen, hält Rizpa bei ihren toten Söhne Wache: ein wortloser, starker Protest gegen einen königlichen Rechtsentscheid. Die Frau hält so lange durch, bis David nachgibt und die Leichen bestatten lässt. Es ist auffällig, dass in den Samuelbüchern gerade auch Frauen Zivilcourage zeigen: außer der Frau von Tekoa und Rizpa auch Abigajil und Michal. Frauen hatten in der damaligen patriarchalen Gesellschaft keinen starken Stand; sie waren aber nicht schwächer als die Männer und nicht weniger als diese zu einem ‘aufrechten Gang’ gewillt. Ihnen wie ihren männlichen Gesinnungsgenossen sei hiermit ein kleines Denkmal gesetzt. Eine führende Enzyklopädie definiert ‘Zivilcourage’ sehr knapp als den ‘Mut, sich im bürgerl.[ichen] Leben für die eigene Überzeugung einzusetzen’.26 Nach der vorangehenden Durchmusterung der Samuelbücher wäre diese Definition etwas auszuweiten und zu präzisieren: Warum braucht es ‘Mut’? Weil sich Menschen mit ‘aufrechtem Gang’ regelmäßig mächtigen Interessen oder dem Willen Mächtiger ausgesetzt sehen, vor denen der Normalbürger gern klein beigibt. ‘Bürgerliches Leben’ hätte auch soldatisches Leben einzuschließen – nicht im Kampf (da wäre eher von Tapferkeit o.ä. zu reden), wohl aber im Verhalten gegenüber Vorgesetzten, denen Untergebene mit ‘aufrechtem Gang’ gelegentlich ein Dorn im Auge sind. Und woraus speisen sich die ‘eigenen Überzeugungen’ der Menschen mit Zivilcourage? Laut den Samuelbüchern aus gesellschaftlichem Konsens, persönlichem Anstandsempfinden – und aus religiösen Maximen. Gern widme ich diese Überlegungen einem aufrechten Kollegen, der seinerseits verschiedentlich gegen den Willen und wohl auch die Willkür übergeordneter Institutionen und Personen anzukämpfen hatte.

26. Brockhaus Enzyklopädie, Bd. 20 (Wiesbaden: Brockhaus, 1974): 719.

S WO R D S O R P L OU G H SHA R E S ?  T H E T R A N SI T IO N F R OM T H E L AT E B R O N Z E T O T H E E A R LY I R O N A G E I N N O RT H E R N J O R DA N

Meindert Dijkstra and Karel Vriezen Utrecht University, the Netherlands

The Old Testament contains strong traditions about tribal confederations residing on both sides of the Jordan from which the Iron Age kingdoms of Moab, Ammon, Israel and Judah eventually emerged. We do not know exactly what administrative forms and structures these federations had. Presumably they changed name and constituency through time. Martin Noth’s idea of a fixed amphyctiony, however genially perceived, has not been corroborated by contemporary evidence and has been generally dismissed. But in the light of archaeological evidence assembled over the past 50 years, it is hard to deny that in the transition from the Late Bronze Age to the Iron Age demographic changes took place and tribal groups1 started to settle on the slopes and mountainous regions of both sides of the Jordan Valley, among them early Israelite tribes. Perhaps also some evidence may be deduced from the famous Libyan Victory stela of Pharaoh Merenptah from his sixth year (1208 bce) erected after his Libyan war. As part of the aftermath of this war, this stela contains also some triumphant lines about a minor campaign to Canaan, presumably conducted by his son and army commander Sethi II,2 and mentions an Israelite tribal group somewhere on the north-eastern fringe of Canaan. Nothing less and nothing more. The Egyptian administrative and military occupation of Canaan, continuing far into the twelfth century bce,3 does not seem to

  1. The Old Testament knows many a name of non-Israelite tribes. See below.   2. Dijkstra 2011: 59 n. 61; Gilmour and Kitchen 2012: 8–11.   3. Our main reasons to date the ending of the Egyptian presence in the Levant after 1150 bce are the twentieth Dynasty activity in stronghold Beth-Shan (mentioning the first jubilee of Ramesses III 1152 as a terminus post quem), in Tall as-Sa‘idiyya and in the temples and mines of Serabit el-Khadim and Timnah (Ramesses VI c. 1141–1133 bce).

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have been bothered by its existence any more.4 Still they continued to have troublesome dealings with Shosu-Bedouins and other groups and cities in the region of Canaan, in particular the settlement of the Philistines and other Sea Peoples. The story of Jacob’s fight in the River Jabbok (Nahr az-Zarqa), identifying him as an ancestor of Israel (Gen. 32.22–32), may have been an ancient cult-saga of such an Israelite group living at Pnuel / Pniel in Transjordan. If these people were related to the inhabitants of the Dayr ‘Alla plain in the early Iron Age (Valley of Sukkoth?), they apparently spoke a Transjordan dialect as in the Balaam-inscription and shared their ancient form of El religion. After 1200 bce a rather peaceful settlement of a variety of settlers started on both sides of the Jordan for a number of reasons, more or less unnoticed by official administration during the gradual withdrawal of Egypt from Canaan in the later twelfth century bce. It explains also why these demographic developments left hardly a trace in both contemporary Egyptian administrative documents and later biblical tradition.5 How does such a state of affairs fit into the pattern of settlement deduced from archaeological evidence collected for the area in the transition from the Late Bronze Age, the period of the New Kingdom dominion in the Levant, to the Iron Age, the period in which this Egyptian dominion ended and new kingdoms on both sides of the Jordan emerged? Since the seminal study of Albrecht Alt about the Landnahme Israels, Israelite settlement in Canaan has long been discussed in quite a number of different proposals sometimes even presented as paradigm changes. This volume is dedicated to our friend and colleague Bob Becking, whose willingness, if not his nature, to reconsider established paradigms and world views in the light of new evidence is known to all his friends and followers. Herewith we submit once more our views on Israelite settlement between history and ideology, now also taking historical and archaeological data from Transjordan into account. Our contribution will start with a survey of historical and archaeological views on the LB-IA I transition in Cisjordan. Then we will present in three maps the collected evidence for Middle Bronze, Late Bronze and Iron Age settlement in northern Transjordan and discuss the period of LB-IA transition. Next we will survey topographical knowledge of the Egyptian New Kingdom dynasties about Transjordan and their political and commercial interests and discuss material evidence for Egyptian administration and control of the area in addition to previous studies.6 Comparing the Cisjordan and Transjordan archaeological and historical evidence for general and regional patterns in development will finally

 4. Which does not mean, of course, that they have completely annihilated this ‘Israelite’ group as the standard claim bn prt.f ‘his seed is not’ suggests. On the rhetorical character and ideological nature of this claim, see Rainey 2001: 57–66.   5. See, on the awkward silence of the sources, Dijkstra 2011: 43–4.   6. Kitchen 1992: 21–35; Dijkstra, Dijkstra and Vriezen 2009: 68–72; Dijkstra 2011: 47–61.



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show the pivotal role of the northern part of the central Jordan Valley7 in the demographic changes of the early Iron Age.

Waves of Settlement in Canaan Egyptian domination, and Philistine and Phoenician expansion, did not leave much room for the expansion of Israelite settlement into the Canaanite lowlands and coastal areas in the Early Iron Age.8 There is no written record about this settlement outside the Bible. However, what is not yet historically recorded might be detectable in archaeological evidence of long-term socio-cultural and demographic changes. For demographic changes took place from about 1200 bce onwards outside the direct control of the Egyptian authority but still – so to speak – under their noses: economic decline and impoverishment of urban communities, insecurity in rural areas and a horde of poor people, starving local shepherds and destitute farmers and foreign migrants on the move. Just as the Egyptian withdrawal from the Levant happened in different phases and at different rates, the settlement of Israelite and other tribes may have been a far from unique and uniform process. Historical developments are always more pluriform and more complicated than any theoretic model. Once more it is between the lines that biblical tradition repeatedly affirms the complex ethnic origin of early Israel and other tribes in the southern Levant. Even the collective memory of biblical tradition reflects that Israel’s origins were of a mixed nature (Ezek. 16.3). Hebrews augmented by a large company of every kind (Exod. 12.38), in other words a ‘Mixed Multitude’.9 These many varied origins are also expressed in the concept of ‘bastard tribes’ of Dan, Naftali, Asher and Gad. Gad is of special interest in our essay because biblical and extra-biblical traditions and documents place this tribe in the southern Transjordan area (our area B–D, see below). Moreover, there is also the strong tradition that pre-Israelite Canaan was inhabited by a cultural and ethnic amalgam of seven peoples: Canaanites, Horites, Hivites, Jebusites, Perizzites, Hittites and Girgashites, some of whom continued to inhabit the land together with the Israelites (Judg. 2.21–23, 6; Josh. 9). Some of these names are familiar also from extra-biblical sources. Others are as yet not identifiable, but they seem based on sound tradition, amplified by a large score of different Egyptian names for territories and people of the Levant. Such standard traditions are not immediately translatable into demographic history, but they certainly reveal a deep-rooted awareness of a fragmented, multicultural population in Canaan through the ages. Many documents from the Late Bronze Age such as the Amarna letters, reports and narratives create the confusing picture of a small strip of land populated by city states, wandering tribes, herdspeople and gangs of bandits, different cultures, languages and   7. Here especially the area between the Yarmūk and Zarqa Rivers.   8. Dijkstra 2009: 63–5.   9. See the fine synthesis of Killebrew 2005: 149–85.

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societies, sometimes difficult to grasp for Egyptian scribes and usually viewed with disdain. This regional and cultural diversity and complex social and political stratification has remarkably consonant parallels in the books of Judges and Samuel. Names such as Upper and Lower Rethenu, Djahi, Upe, Qedem, Amurru, Geshur, Maaka, Apiru/Habiru, Shosu, Sutu, Asher, Canaan, Aram, Tahas, Kharu / Khuru / Hor, Moab and Edom perhaps represent only the tip of the iceberg of geographical and demographic diversity in the Levant during the Late Bronze and Early Iron Age. Even more significant from an Egyptian perspective is the Late Bronze appearance of new names alongside the old names, e.g. Kharu / Khuru, Aram, Moab, Edom, Asher and in the brink of time also Israel as an ‘afterthought’ at the end of the LB Age. From such a viewpoint of diversity, the settlement process is best understood as a complex and pluriform process in different waves of migration and settlement, especially if also the other side of the Jordan is given its prominent role in the longue durée.

Who Were These Settlers? Several theories are considered in addition to the classic Biblical view of Joshua’s Conquest or Invasion conquering the promised land in a kind of Blitzkrieg avant la lettre. This view was first thoroughly questioned in Alt’s Landnahme or infiltration theory. This in turn was questioned by the idea of a peasants-revolt and indigenous migration also called the withdrawal theory. It was suggested that impoverished and marginalized elements from the centres of urban Canaanite culture in the coastal area and lowlands, nolens volens, looked for a better life in the highlands. Finkelstein cum suis, however, assumed that these new settlers were offspring of the farmers of the Middle Bronze Age who returned to an agrarian way of life after centuries of a wandering lifestyle as shepherds keeping sheep and goats. Settlement of the Central Hill Country of Canaan was a process of the longue durée taking place intermittently in the third and second millennia bce.10 We will not discuss the long-term oscillation of settlement and nomadism here. Dever warned us against pressing all the possible evidence for the Israelite Settlement into a single mould.11 However, such cyclic patterns do not mean that the increase of settlements observable in the early Iron Age was the result of a single chain of events. On the contrary, history does not repeat itself, not even in the same environment and under similar conditions. In the Iron I Period, it was a process that took place during and after the decline of Egyptian domination, and along with expansion of the newly created Phoenician commonwealth to the south and settlement of Philistine and related groups in the southern coastal area, and maybe in the Jordan Valley. They apparently did so in symbiosis with people from the lower areas who were enlarging their dry farming grounds higher up along the slopes of the wadis 10. Finkelstein 1996: 209; idem 1998: 11, 14–16. 11. Dever 1990: 95.



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in the Uplands and who were ready to share their skills. Finally, some scholars such as Giveon, Rainey, Weippert and Aḥituv view pastoral tribes, especially the Shasu / Shosu, as invading from the semi-arid regions of the Hejaz, Negev and Sinai, and giving birth to Israel. This theory has the advantage that Egyptian and other ‘sources’ provide us with rather rich documentary and iconographic records in which they show these tribes as belligerent semi-nomads on the move to new homes in northern Sinai, southern Canaan and Transjordan. The problem is that often one of these options is accepted and propagated exclusive of other options. History is much more complex than that and therefore the ‘mixed throng’ approach to describe the origins of Early Israel is a more promising model.12 The discussion of the passage from a pastoral to an agricultural society of Tel Masos / Khirbet el-Meshash in the Be’er-Sheva Valley offers an interesting regionally based example of this complexity.

The Case of Tel Masos in the Be’er-Sheva Valley Herzog attributed the process of settlement in this valley in the southern foothills of the Judaean Mountains to climate change. Dendrology and pollen analysis indicate a moister climate, i.e. a movement of the border of minimum annual rainfall