Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures V: Comprising the Contents of Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, Vol. 8 9781463219178

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Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures V

Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures and its Contexts 6

The series Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures and its Contexts publishes academic works dealing with study of the Hebrew Bible, ancient Israelite society and related ancient societies, biblical Hebrew and cognate languages, the reception of biblical texts through the centuries, and the history of the discipline. Volumes in the series include monographs, collective works, and the printed version of the contents of the important on-line

Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures V

Comprising the Contents of Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, vol. 8

Edited by

Ehud Ben Zvi

9

34 2009

Gorgias Press LLC, 180 Centennial Ave., Piscataway, NJ, 08854, USA www.gorgiaspress.com Copyright © 2009 by Gorgias Press LLC

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of Gorgias Press LLC. 2009

‫ܝ‬

9

ISBN 978-1-60724-326-7

Printed in the United States of America

ISSN 1935-6897

TABLE OF CONTENTS

VOL. 8 (2008) The Noun ‫’( ִאישׁ‬îš) in Biblical Hebrew: A Term of Affiliation Rabbi David E. S. Stein .................................................................................1 The Friends of Antiquities (in Heb. ‫)נאמני עתיקות‬: The Story of an Israeli Volunteer Group and Comparative Remarks Raz Kletter.....................................................................................................29 The Vav-Prefixed Verb Forms in Elementary Hebrew Grammar John A. Cook ................................................................................................53 Elisha and The Miraculous Jug of Oil (2 Kgs 4:1-7) Yael Shemesh ................................................................................................71 The Elisha Stories as Saints’ Legends Yael Shemesh ................................................................................................93 The Doings of the Wicked in Qohelet 8:10 Aron Pinker .................................................................................................141 Beyond Purity and Danger: Mary Douglas and The Hebrew Bible Ronald Hendel and Saul M. Olyan ..........................................................167 Mary Douglas and Anthropological Modernism Ronald Hendel ............................................................................................171 The Relationship between the Sacrificial Laws and the Other Laws in Leviticus 19 Alfred Marx .................................................................................................183 Mary Douglas’s Holiness/Wholeness Paradigm: Its Potential for Insight and its Limitations Saul M. Olyan..............................................................................................197 v

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

The Problem of Magic and Monotheism in the Book of Leviticus Rüdiger Schmitt ..........................................................................................207 Deciphering a Definition: The Syntagmatic Structural Analysis of Ritual in the Hebrew Bible David P. Wright..........................................................................................221 Imagining Ezekiel Silvio Sergio Scatolini Apóstolo ...............................................................231 Did Rashi Notice a Janus Parallelism in Ezek 20:37? Herb Basser .................................................................................................265 Moses Outside the Torah and the Construction of a Diaspora Identity Thomas Römer ...........................................................................................269 Characterizing Esther from the Outset: The Contribution of the Story in Esther 2:1–20 Jonathan Jacobs ..........................................................................................283 “The Editor Was Nodding” A Reading of Leviticus 19 in Memory of Mary Douglas Moshe Kline ................................................................................................297 Saul as a Just Judge in Josephus’ Antiquities of the Jews Michael Avioz .............................................................................................367 The Temple in the Book of Haggai Elie Assis......................................................................................................377 Psalm 133: A (Close) Reading F. W. Dobbs-Allsopp.................................................................................389 In Search of The Ancient Name of Khirbet Qeiyafa Nadav Na'aman ..........................................................................................421 Khirbet Qeiyafa: Sha’arayim Yosef Garfinkel...........................................................................................429 Letters of Kings about Votive Offerings, The God of Israel and the Aramaic Document in Ezra 4:8–6:18 Andrew E. Steinmann................................................................................439 Shaaraim – The Gateway to the Kingdom of Judah Nadav Na'aman ..........................................................................................455 Late Biblical Hebrew and The Qumran Pesher Habakkuk Ian Young ....................................................................................................461

TABLE OF CONTENTS

REVIEWS KUSATU (Kleine Untersuchungen zur Sprache des Alten Testaments und seiner Umwelt; ed. Reinhard Lehmann) 6 (2006). Reviewed by Gary Martin.................................................................... 507 Nava Bergman, THE CAMBRIDGE BIBLICAL HEBREW WORKBOOK: INTRODUCTORY LEVEL Reviewed by Robert D. Holmstedt ................................................... 511 Steve A. Wiggins, A REASSESSMENT OF ASHERAH, WITH FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS OF THE GODDESS Reviewed by Joseph Azize .................................................................. 515 Steven L. McKenzie, HOW TO READ THE BIBLE: HISTORY, PROPHECY, LITERATURE—WHY MODERN READERS NEED TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE AND WHAT IT MEANS FOR FAITH TODAY Reviewed by Brian P. Irwin ................................................................ 520 William M. Schniedewind and Joel H. Hunt, A PRIMER ON UGARITIC: LANGUAGE, CULTURE, AND LITERATURE Reviewed by Charles Halton............................................................... 522 Mark S. Smith, THE RITUALS AND MYTHS OF THE FEAST OF THE GOODLY GODS OF KTU/CAT 1.23: ROYAL CONSTRUCTIONS OF OPPOSITION, INTERSECTION, INTEGRATION, AND DOMINATION Reviewed by Steve A. Wiggins ........................................................... 525 Thomas Römer, THE SO-CALLED DEUTERONOMISTIC HISTORY: A SOCIOLOGICAL, HISTORICAL AND LITERARY INTRODUCTION Reviewed by Barbara Green ............................................................... 527 Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer, PRIESTLY RITES AND PROPHETIC RAGE: POSTEXILIC PROPHETIC CRITIQUE OF THE PRIESTHOOD Reviewed by T. M. Lemos ................................................................. 530 Tallay Ornan, THE TRIUMPH OF THE SYMBOL: PICTORIAL REPRESENTATION OF DEITIES IN MESOPOTAMIA AND THE BIBLICAL IMAGE BAN Reviewed by Bernard F. Batto............................................................ 533

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

James Robson, WORD AND SPIRIT IN EZEKIEL Reviewed by D. Nathan Phinney ....................................................... 536 Jill Middlemas, THE TROUBLES OF TEMPLELESS JUDAH Reviewed by Ken Ristau...................................................................... 539 John Jarick, ed., SACRED CONJECTURES: THE CONTEXT AND LEGACY OF ROBERT LOWTH AND JEAN ATRUC Reviewed by David A. Bosworth....................................................... 541 Robert Rezetko, SOURCE AND REVISION IN THE NARRATIVES OF DAVID’S TRANSFER OF THE ARK: TEXT, LANGUAGE, AND STORY IN 2 SAMUEL 6 AND 1 CHRONICLES 13, 15-16 Reviewed by Keith Bodner ................................................................. 545 Jon D. Levenson, RESURRECTION AND THE RESTORATION OF ISRAEL: THE ULTIMATE VICTORY OF THE GOD OF LIFE Reviewed by Alan Lenzi ...................................................................... 548 Linda Day, Carolyn Pressler, eds., ENGAGING THE BIBLE IN A GENDERED WORLD: AN INTRODUCTION TO FEMINIST BIBLICAL INTERPRETATION IN HONOR OF KATHARINE DOOB SAKENFELD Reviewed by Irene Nowell .................................................................. 551 Randall Heskett, MESSIANISM WITHIN THE SCRIPTURAL SCROLL OF ISAIAH Reviewed by Phillip J. Long................................................................ 553 Robert Wright, THE PSALMS OF SOLOMON: A CRITICAL EDITION OF THE GREEK TEXT Reviewed by Kenneth Atkinson......................................................... 557 James L. Kugel, THE LADDER OF JACOB: ANCIENT INTERPRETATIONS OF THE BIBLICAL STORY OF JACOB AND HIS CHILDREN Reviewed by Dan Clanton .................................................................. 560 George W. E. Nickelsburg, RESURRECTION, IMMORTALITY, AND ETERNAL LIFE IN INTERTESTAMENTAL JUDAISM AND EARLY CHRISTIANITY Reviewed by Dan Clanton .................................................................. 564 Keith Bodner, DAVID OBSERVED: A KING IN THE EYES OF HIS COURT Reviewed by Ellen White .................................................................... 569 Luke Emehiele Ijezie, THE INTERPRETATION OF THE HEBREW WORD ‫עם‬ (PEOPLE) IN SAMUEL-KINGS Reviewed by Garrett Galvin ............................................................... 571 Melody D. Knowles, CENTRALITY PRACTICED: JERUSALEM IN THE RELIGIOUS PRACTICE OF YEHUD AND THE DIASPORA IN THE PERSIAN PERIOD Reviewed by Jeremiah Cataldo ........................................................... 574

TABLE OF CONTENTS Giovanni Garbini, MYTH AND HISTORY IN THE BIBLE Reviewed by David Bergen ................................................................ 577 James W. Watts, RITUAL AND RHETORIC IN LEVITICUS: FROM SACRIFICE TO SCRIPTURE Reviewed by Bernon P. Lee ............................................................... 580 Calum Carmichael, ILLUMINATING LEVITICUS: A STUDY OF ITS LAWS AND INSTITUTIONS IN THE LIGHT OF BIBLICAL NARRATIVES Reviewed by William Gilders.............................................................. 582 Michael Malessa, UNTERSUCHUNGEN ZUR VERBALEN VALENZ IM BIBLISCHEN HEBRÄISCH Reviewed by Richard Benton ............................................................. 586 Mark Gray, RHETORIC AND SOCIAL JUSTICE IN ISAIAH Reviewed by Michael Duggan ............................................................ 588 Russell E. Gmirkin, BEROSSUS AND GENESIS, MANETHO AND EXODUS: HELLENISTIC HISTORIES AND THE DATE OF THE PENTATEUCH Reviewed by Joyce Rilett Wood ......................................................... 591 Stefanie U. Gulde, DER TOD ALS HERRSCHER IN UGARIT UND ISRAEL . Reviewed by Mark W. Hamilton........................................................ 594 Gerald A. Klingbeil, BRIDGING THE GAP: RITUAL AND RITUAL TEXTS IN THE BIBLE Reviewed by Michael Allen Daise...................................................... 597 Brian D. Russell, THE SONG OF THE SEA: THE DATE OF COMPOSITION AND INFLUENCE OF EXODUS 15:1-21 Reviewed by Shawn W. Flynn ............................................................ 601 Oren Tal, THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF HELLENISTIC PALESTINE: BETWEEN TRADITION AND RENEWAL Reviewed by Gunnar Lehmann ........................................................ 604 John L. Thompson, READING THE BIBLE WITH THE DEAD: WHAT YOU CAN LEARN FROM THE HISTORY OF EXEGESIS THAT YOU CAN'T LEARN FROM EXEGESIS ALONE Reviewed by Amanda W. Benckhuysen............................................ 606 Bruce K. Waltke, A COMMENTARY ON MICAH Reviewed by Carolyn J. Sharp............................................................. 609 N. Wyatt, WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE, AND OTHER PAPERS ON UGARITIAN THOUGHT Reviewed by Mark S. Smith ................................................................ 611 Elizabeth Boase, THE FULFILMENT OF DOOM? THE DIALOGIC INTERACTION BETWEEN THE BOOK OF LAMENTATIONS AND THE PREEXILIC/EARLY PROPHETIC LITERATURE Reviewed by Dianne Bergant.............................................................. 615

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Lee Martin McDonald, THE BIBLICAL CANON: ITS ORIGINS, TRANSMISSION, AND AUTHORITY Reviewed by Alex Jassen ..................................................................... 617 William Foxwell Albright, ARCHAEOLOGY AND THE RELIGION OF ISRAEL Reviewed by Carl S. Ehrlich ............................................................... 620 Dianne Bergant, ISRAEL’S STORY: PART ONE Reviewed by John Kaltner .................................................................. 624 David M. Carr, WRITING ON THE TABLET OF THE HEART: ORIGINS OF SCRIPTURE AND LITERATURE Reviewed by Wesley Hu ..................................................................... 627 Tiberius Rata, THE COVENANT MOTIF IN JEREMIAH’S BOOK OF COMFORT: TEXTUAL AND INTERTEXTUAL STUDIES OF JEREMIAH 30-33 Reviewed by Bob Becking................................................................... 629 John Van Seters, THE EDITED BIBLE: THE CURIOUS HISTORY OF THE “EDITOR” IN BIBLICAL CRITICISM Reviewed by Yehoshua Gitay ............................................................. 632 William S. Morrow, PROTEST AGAINST GOD: THE ECLIPSE OF A BIBLICAL TRADITION Reviewed by William Irwin ................................................................ 634 Victor H. Matthews, STUDYING THE ANCIENT ISRAELITES: A GUIDE TO SOURCES AND METHODS Reviewed by Bruce Power................................................................... 637 Victor H. Matthews, 101 QUESTIONS & ANSWERS ON THE PROPHETS OF ISRAEL Reviewed by Todd Hibbard................................................................ 640 Walter Brueggemann, LIKE FIRE IN THE BONES: LISTENING FOR THE PROPHETIC WORD IN JEREMIAH Reviewed by Briana Lee ...................................................................... 642 Joseph Blenkinsopp, OPENING THE SEALED BOOK: INTERPRETATIONS OF THE BOOK OF ISAIAH IN LATE ANTIQUITY Reviewed by Judith H. Newman ....................................................... 644 Francisco Javier del Barco del Barco, CATÁLOGO DE MANUSCRITOS HEBREOS DE LA COMUNIDAD DE MADRID Reviewed by Colette Sirat.................................................................... 646 Paul M. Joyce, EZEKIEL: A COMMENTARY Reviewed by Marvin A. Sweeney ....................................................... 650 Benno Jacob, THE FIRST BOOK OF THE BIBLE: GENESIS, AUGMENTED EDITION Reviewed by John Van Seters............................................................. 653

TABLE OF CONTENTS Ehud Ben Zvi, HISTORY, LITERATURE AND THEOLOGY IN THE BOOK OF CHRONICLES Reviewed by Steven L. McKenzie...................................................... 656 James L. Kugel, PRAYERS THAT CITE SCRIPTURE Reviewed by Andrea K. Di Giovanni ............................................... 659 Mark J. Boda, Daniel K. Falk, and Rodney A. Werline, eds. SEEKING THE FAVOR OF GOD. VOLUME 1: THE ORIGINS OF PENITENTIAL PRAYER IN SECOND TEMPLE JUDAISM Reviewed by Andrea K. Di Giovanni ............................................... 661 Sariana Metso, THE SEREK TEXTS Reviewed by Jean Duhaime ................................................................ 664 Theodore A. Perry, GOD’S TWILIGHT ZONE: WISDOM IN THE HEBREW BIBLE Reviewed by Timothy Senapatiratne ................................................. 667 Korpel, Marjo C. A.; Oesch, Josef M. (eds.), UNIT DELIMITATION IN BIBLICAL HEBREW AND NORTHWEST SEMITIC LITERATURE Reviewed by Matthias Hopf ............................................................... 669 Thomas Krüger, Manfred Oeming, Konrad Schmid, and Christoph Uehlinger (eds), DAS BUCH HIOB UND SEINE INTERPRETATIONEN. BEITRÄGE ZUM HIOB-SYMPOSIUM AUF DEM MONTE VERITÀ VOM 14.-19AUGUST 2005 Reviewed by Philippe Guillaume ....................................................... 675

PREFACE The present publication includes all the articles and reviews published electronically in the Journal of Hebrew Scriptures vol. 8 (2008). A companion including volume 9 (2009) will be published in 2010. The Journal of Hebrew Scriptures provides freely available, prompt, academically responsible electronic publication in the area. By doing so, it fulfills the important academic needs, and particularly in relation to the prompt and effective dissemination of knowledge and eventually in the creation of new knowledge through discursive interactions in ways. It successfully disseminates knowledge in a way that is not limited by a person’s ability to access recent scholarship. As such it opens increased possibilities for scholars in Third World countries, public libraries anywhere, graduate students and interested public. In addition, it is the policy of the Journal to include, and disseminate not only contributions of established scholars but also appropriate contributions of scholars in their first stages in the field. JHS’s authors and readers have come from different countries and such it contributes to a scholarly conversation that is not restricted by geographical boundaries. The Journal has grown substantially in the number of published contributions through the years, but it is still run in the main by volunteers. The journal is and has always been a demanding work of love. It is in this context that I want to mention its editorial board. It consists of Adele Berlin, Philip R. Davies, Michael V. Fox, William K. Gilders, Gary N. Knoppers, Robert A. Kugler, Francis Landy, Niels Peter Lemche, Hanna Liss, John L. McLaughlin, Hindy Najman, Scott B. Noegel, Saul M. Olyan, Gary A. Rendsburg, Gene M. Tucker and Jacob L. Wright. I thank all of them. John McLaughlin served as Review Editor since January 2004 to July 1, 2008. He deserves much praise and all the credit for the excellent reviews included here. I am particularly thankful to him and so should the readers of the journal. Beginning July 1, 2008, a team of Review Editors has taken his place. Konrad Schmid is the Review Editor for books published in xiii

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

("continental") Europe in any language except Spanish; Mark J. Boda serves as Review Editor for books published in North America or anywhere in the English speaking world and Maria-Teresa Ortega Monasterio is the Review Editor for books published in Spanish, whether in Spain or anywhere in the world. (Publishers in the UK and Ireland may send books for review to either Mark J. Boda or Konrad Schmid. Publishers of books in Catalan, Portuguese, or any other language spoken in the Iberian peninsula may send books to Maria-Teresa Ortega Monasterio and publishers in Asia and Africa may send books to any of the three). I thank the three of them. Karl Anvik, University of Alberta, has provided technical support for JHS. Sonya Kostamo, with the help of Katie Stott, prepared the present manuscript. A substantial number of individuals contributed to the preparation of articles and reviews during this year or to aspects of this manuscript. I thank them all. I would like to thank in particular the Arts Resource Centre, the Faculty of Arts, and the dept. of History and Classics at the University of Alberta for their continuous support. It is pleasure to acknowledge a grant from the Social Sciences and Humanities Council of Canada, and the willingness of Library and Archives Canada to archive the journal. All of them contribute much to the success of JHS. Finally, I would like to thank George Kiraz for publishing the printed version of JHS through Gorgias Press, for understanding the importance of maintaining the freely available electronic version of the journal, and for his own role in the development of open-access electronic academic journals. As I complete this preface and go over the many explicit thanks—and in my mind also those that are implicit here, or minimally mentioned—I can only think of how well they reflect the basic fact that the continuous existence of this open access journal and its present publication in hard copy are the result of a work of love carried out by and through so many willing hands. Ehud Ben Zvi University of Alberta, General Editor, Journal of Hebrew Scriptures

ABBREVIATIONS You will need to work through the whole document and find all the abbreviations that have been used and list these here, with name in full. You can refer to the abbreviations pages of previous volumes of JHS for the titles in full or many commonly used Journals and resources. If you find any in the current volume that can’t be identified using the earlier lists try searching for it on the internet or consult with Ehud. Here is an example of how to format the abbreviations AASF AASOR AAR AB ABD ABRL ACJS ADPV AJS ANES ANET AOAT AOTC ASOR ASV ATD AuOr AUSS BA BAR

Annales Academiae scientiarum fennicae Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research American Academy of Religion Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Dictionary Anchor Bible Reference Library Annual of the College of Jewish Studies Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins Association for Jewish Studies Ancient Near Eastern Studies Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. Edited by J. B. Pritchard. 3d ed.; Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969. Alter Orient und Altes Testament Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries American School of Oriental Research American Standard Version Das Alte Testament Deutsch Aula orientalis Andrews University Seminary Studies Biblical Archaeologist Biblical Archaeology Review xv

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

BASOR

Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research Bulletin for Biblical Research F. Brown, S. R. Driver, and C. A. Briggs. A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1907) Beiträge zur Erforschung des Alten Testaments und des antiken Judentum Biblical Hebrew Biblica Biblical Interpretation Biblica et orientalia Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester Brown Judaic Studies Biblischer Kommentar, Altes Testament. Edited by M. Noth and H. W. Wolff. Babylonian Talmud Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Civilizations of the Ancient Near East. Edited by J. Sasson. 4 vols. New York, 1995 Catholic Biblical Quarterly Cambridge Commentary on the New English Bible Culture and History of the Ancient Near East Context of Scripture Dictionary of Classical Hebrew. Edited by D. J. A. Clines. Sheffield, 1993– Discoveries in the Judaean Desert Deutsch Verein zur Erforschung Palsätinas Early Biblical Hebrew Eretz Israel Egypt Exploration Fund English Standard Version Forschungen zum Alten Testament Forms of the Old Testament Literature Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments Freiburger Zeitshrift für Philosophie und Theologie

BBR BDB BEATAJ BH Bib BibInt BibOr BJRL BJS BKAT B.T. BZAW CANE CBQ CNEB CHANE COS DCH DJD DPV EBH EI EEF ESV FAT FOTL FRLANT FZPT

ABBREVIATIONS GAT GKG GTJ HALOT HAR HBS HCSB HS HSM HTR HUCA IAA IBC ICC IDAM IEJ IES IOSCS JANES JAOS JB JBL JBQ JETS JHS JJS JNES JNSL JPS JQR JSOT JSOTSup JSS JTS KAT

Gundrisse zum Alten Testament Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar. Edited by E. Kautzsch. Translated by A. E. Cowley. 2d. ed. Oxford, 1910. Grace Theological Journal The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament Hebrew Annual Review Herder’s Biblical Studies Holman Christian Standard Bible Hebrew Studies Harvard Semitic Monographs Harvard Theological Review Hebrew Union College Annual Israel Antiquities Authority International Bible Commentary International Critical Commentary Israel Department of Antiquities and Museums Israel Exploration Journal Israel Exploration Society International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University Journal of the American Oriental Society Jerusalem Bible Journal of Biblical Literature Jewish Bible Quarterly Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society Journal of Hebrew Scriptures Journal of Jewish Studies Journal of Near Eastern Studies Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages Jewish Publication Society Jewish Quarterly Review Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, Supplement Series Journal of Semitic Studies Journal of Theological Studies Kommentar zum Alten Testament

xvii

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

LBH LCL LXX MH MSIA

Late Biblical Hebrew Loeb Classical Library Septuagint Mishnaic Hebrew Monograph Series of the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University Masoretic Text The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land Neue Echter Bibel New Century Bible New Century Bible Commentary New International Commentary on the Old Testament New International Version New International Version, Inclusive Language Edition New Jerusalem Bible Tanakh: The Holy Scriptures: The New JPS Translation According to the Traditional Hebrew Text New Jewish Publication Society Translation New Living Translation New Revised Standard Version Oriental Institute Publications Old Testament Essays Old Testament Guides Old Testament Library Oudtestamentische Studiën Palestine Exploration Quarterly Palestine Exploration Fund Qumran Hebrew Revista de interpretación bíblica latino-americana Revised Standard Version Stuttgarter biblische Aufsatzbände Society of Biblical Literature Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Septuagint and Cognate Studies Society of Biblical Studies Seminar Papers Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament

MT NEAEHL NEchtB NCB NCBC NICOT NIV NIVI NJB NJPS NJPSV NLT NRSV OIP OTE OTG OTL OtSt PEQ PEF QH RIBLA RSV SBAB SBL SBLDS SBLSCS SBLSP SHCANE SJOT

ABBREVIATIONS SSN STDJ TA TBC TDOT ThStKr TNIV VT VTSup WBC WMANT WTJ ZAH ZAW

Studia semitica neerlandica SubBi Subsidia biblica Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah Tel Aviv Torch Bible Commentary G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren (eds.) Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament (Eerdmans: Grand Rapids, 1974–) Theologische Studien und Kritiken Today's New International Version Vetus Testamentum Vetus Testamentum Supplements Word Biblical Commentary Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament Westminster Theological Journal Zeitschrift für Althebraistik Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft

xix

THE NOUN ‫’( ִאישׁ‬Ί) IN BIBLICAL HEBREW: A TERM OF AFFILIATION RABBI DAVID E. S. STEIN FREELANCE JUDAICA EDITOR

“The last place to look for the meaning of a word is in the dictionary.” —Harold P. Scanlin1

One of the most frequent nouns in the Hebrew Bible is ‫( ִאישׁ‬and its functional plural, ‫) ֲאנָ ִשׁים‬, appearing well over two thousand times.2 Lexicons and grammars generally gloss it as “man” (adult male). However, my own semantic analysis suggests that ‫ ִאישׁ‬functions very differently in biblical Hebrew than the conventional view allows. Most often, it seems to be a term of affiliation; that is, the noun denotes relationship either to a “The Study of Semantics in General Linguistics,” in Walter P. Bodine, ed. Linguistics and Biblical Hebrew (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1992), p. 134. 2 This article, which I dedicate to the memory of my gracious mother-in-law, Nicole Uffer (d. 3 Feb. 2008), is based on my presentation to the Biblical Lexicography section of the Society of Biblical Literature on Nov. 19, 2007. I thank Prof. Carol Meyers (Duke Univ.) for patiently critiquing several iterations of my understanding of ‫ ִאישׁ‬during our work on The Contemporary Torah: A Gender-Sensitive Adaptation of the JPS Translation (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2006), for which I served as the revising editor. I am grateful also to Dr. Reinier de Blois (Editor, Semantic Dictionary of Biblical Hebrew) for his tutelage, as well as to Rabbis Ivan Caine and Vivie Mayer (Reconstructionist Rabbinical College), Dr. Laurence Kutler, and Professors Adele Berlin (Univ. of Maryland), Alan Crown (Univ. of Sydney, emeritus), Edward Greenstein (Bar-Ilan Univ.), Stephen Kaufman (Hebrew Union College/Cincinnati), Samuel Meier (Ohio State Univ.), Bruce Waltke (Reformed Theological Seminary), and Ziony Zevit (American Jewish Univ.) for their thoughtful responses to my queries on the semantics of ‫ ִאישׁ‬. I also thank the anonymous reviewers. 1

1

2

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

group or to another party. Only occasionally and incidentally does ‫ִאישׁ‬ connote an “adult male.” My analysis treats in a more cursory way the feminine counterpart term ‫ ִא ָשּׁה‬, which appears in the Bible some 781 times, roughly one-third as often as ‫אישׁ‬. ִ It evaluates the semantic correspondences between the two terms mainly for what they say regarding ‫אישׁ‬. ִ

PRIOR SCHOLARSHIP ON ‫ ִאישׁ‬AS A TERM OF AFFILIATION More than thirty years ago, the late Alison Grant examined 2174 instances of ‫ ִאישׁ‬in the Bible.3 She classified each instance according to the nature of its reference—most basically, whether it was particular or general. Latent in her article are the distributions shown in the following table. Types of Reference

Frequency of usage

Any or each member of a defined group or class

74%

Particular individual (definite or indefinite)

20%

Anyone (undefined group)

4%

General human reference

1% 99%

Grant found that at most 20% of all instances of the noun ‫ ִאישׁ‬point to a particular individual (with either definite or indefinite reference). In nearly 3 out of 4 cases, ‫ ִאישׁ‬denotes any or each member of a defined group or category of persons. The distribution is so lopsided that one can hardly gainsay that most biblical instances of this word situate the referent in relation to a group.4 Grant drew the following conclusion: Alison M. Grant, “’Adam and ’Ish: Man in the OT,” Australian Biblical Review 25 (1977), pp. 2–11. Grant checked all instances that she could locate. According to TLOT (below, n. 10), the common noun ‫ ִאישׁ‬occurs 2183 times in the Bible; per DCH (below, n. 8), 2179 times; per Accordance 7.4 (Bible software), 2187. The discrepancy of 1% does not affect Grant’s overall results or principal conclusions. 4 Grant’s report did not present a complete tabulation of how she categorized every instance of the words under study. Arguably the reader or the present author might well prefer to classify some instances of ‫ ִאישׁ‬differently. However, because most instances of ‫ ִאישׁ‬are uncontroversial, chances are that any such reclassification would not appreciably affect the basic result. 3

RABBI DAVID E. S. STEIN

3

’ish . . . relates primarily to an individual as a member of a particular group. . . . [An] ’ish . . . would not be thought of as an individual with an independent existence, . . . but always in relation to [a] particular group or community. (pp. 9–10)

In other words, ‫ ִאישׁ‬appears to be a term of affiliation. Yet Grant’s insight into the nature of ‫ ִאישׁ‬hardly figures into recent lexicography, as can be seen by checking six standard lexical reference works published since her article appeared. The first meaning (implicitly or explicitly the primary meaning) listed in those works is as follows: • “Connotes primarily the concept of man as an individual.”5 • “Biologically male nature.”6 • “Man in a general sense, with further specification via opposition.”7 • “Usually man, person, often without contextual emphasis on gender.”8 • “The basic meaning of ʾîš is man, and it is the opposite of ʾîššâ, woman.”9 • “The word’s basic meaning is ‘man’ (the mature male in contrast to the woman).”10 Even such a brief glance is sufficient to show that the lexicographers have not perceived ‫ ִאישׁ‬to be an intrinsically relational term.11 Although 5 Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament (1980), edited by R. Laird Harris; entry 83a on ‫ ִאיש‬by Thomas E. McComiskey. 6 “biol. männliches Wesen” (my transl.), Hebräisches und Aramäisches Handwörterbuch über das Alte Testament (1987), by Wilhelm Gesenius, 18th edn., rev. Rudolph Meyer and Herbert Donner, pp. 50–51. 7 “Hombre. En sentido genérico, que se puede especificar por polarización, es decir, contrapuesto a otro” (my transl.), Diccionario Biblico Hebreo-Español [= DBHE] (1993), edited by Luis Alonso-Schökel. 8 The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew [= DCH] (1993), edited by David J.A. Clines, Vol. 1: 221–22. 9 New International Dictionary of Old Testament Theology and Exegesis (1997), edited by Willem A. VanGemeren; entry #408 by Victor P. Hamilton, pp. 388–90. This entry cites Alison Grant’s article yet does not engage her conclusions. 10 Theological Lexicon of the Old Testament [= TLOT] (1997), edited by Ernst Jenni and Claus Westermann, transl. Mark E. Biddle; entry by J. Kühlewein, pp. 98–104. 11 A more comprehensive examination of the cited articles yields the same result—as does consultation of the following six earlier reference works, listed in chronological order: The Brown-Driver-Briggs Hebrew and English Lexicon [= BDB] (1906), based on the work of Wilhelm Gesenius, p. 35; Ensîqlopedyâ miqrāʾît (1950), ed. Eleazar Sukenik, pp. 273–274; Osar lĕshôn ha-miqrāʾ (1957), ed. S.

4

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

some lexicons do indicate that ‫ ִאישׁ‬occasionally bears the sense of someone who stands in relationship to a group or party (e.g., “retainers,” “governor,” “escorts”), the cases that they then cite tend to signal affiliation syntactically—via a possessive suffix or a genitive construction—rather than stating that ‫ ִאישׁ‬alone may bear this meaning. However, Grant’s finding warrants a second look because of other, nonlinguistic scholarship during the past three decades. Various scholars have applied social science methodologies to reconstruct the society of ancient Israel and its neighbors. They have consistently concluded that ancient Near Eastern societies were group-oriented rather than individualoriented, and personal identity was viewed in relational terms.12 Of course, a conceptual group orientation does not necessarily determine the meaning of any particular word in that culture’s language. Even so, it does commend to Loewenstamm and Y. Blau, pp. 100–101; The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament [= HALOT] (1967), edited by Koehler, Baumgartner, Stamm (transl. Richardson, 2001), Study Edn., Vol. 1: 43–44; Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, ed. Botterweck and Ringgren [= TDOT] (transl. 1974), entry on ‫ ִאישׁ‬by N. P. Bratsiotis, Vol. 1: 222–35; Qônqôrdansyâ hădāshâ (Hebrew), ed. Abraham Even-Shoshan (1977; 4th edn., 1982), p. 49. 12 Those scholars’ statements, listed in chronological order, include the following: “In the ancient world, . . . individuals were first and foremost members of a group.” —Karel van der Toorn, Family Religion in Babylonia, Syria, and Israel (1996), pp. 3, 374. “The primary means of maintaining [social] order [was the] opposition between [competing] groups—families, clans, . . . lineages, and tribes.” —Paula McNutt, Reconstructing the Society of Ancient Israel (1999), p. 78. “In kinship-based communities [like ancient Israel], persons . . . interact with one another . . . to a large extent on the basis of blood descent.” —Timothy Willis, The Elders of the City: A Study of the Elders-Laws in Deuteronomy (2001), p. 21. “A person was not an autonomous entity but someone’s father, mother, daughter, son, grandparent, and so forth. These terms designated behavior as much as biology.” —Carol Meyers, “The Family in Early Israel,” in Families in Ancient Israel (1997), pp. 21–22. “The ‘household’ . . . provides the template for social interaction at all levels. . . Subordinates are either ‘sons’ or ‘servants’ of the person in authority, [and] superiors are ‘fathers’ or ‘masters.’ ” —J. David Schloen, The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol: Patrimonialism in Ugarit and the Ancient Near East (2001), pp. 70–71.

RABBI DAVID E. S. STEIN

5

us a procedural preference: when we have a choice between two plausible ways to construe ‫אישׁ‬, ִ the one that warrants consideration first is the one closest to ancient Near Eastern realities and concepts. In this article, therefore, I investigate the validity of Grant’s conclusion regarding the semantics of ‫אישׁ‬, ִ using the tools of modern linguistics. Specifically, I examine whether ‫אישׁ‬, ִ in its primary (that is, most frequently attested) sense, intrinsically denotes relationship or affiliation.

PARADIGMATIC (COMPARATIVE) ANALYSIS ‫ אִ ישׁ‬versus ‫אָדָ ם‬ Grant’s article mainly contrasts the usage of the noun ‫ ָא ָדם‬with that of ‫אישׁ‬, ִ because both words were usually considered similar enough to lie in the same semantic domain. In conducting that paradigmatic analysis, Grant’s interest was to clarify the meaning of ‫ ָא ָדם‬in Genesis 1–3; she paid attention to ‫ ִאישׁ‬because it might shed light on ‫ ָא ָדם‬. Thus she tallied the referents of all of the Bible’s instances of ‫ ָא ָדם‬in the same way as she did for ‫אישׁ‬. ִ After her initial tally, Grant hypothesized that a biblical author would employ the word ‫ ִאישׁ‬when thinking of either a particular individual or group of individuals, or any member of a particular group; whereas the text uses the word ‫ ָא ָדם‬to refer either to humankind, human beings in general, or any human being. She then conducted a second tally. She found that out of some 2700 instances, at most a dozen could possibly be said not to fit the hypothesis. Grant concluded that the two words are employed so differently that the burden of proof would seem to be on those who think that these two words belong in the same semantic domain. The essential semantic distinctions are dramatic and robust. As we have seen, ‫ ִאישׁ‬usually situates its referent as “a member of a group or category,” whereas less than 2% of the instances of ‫( ָא ָדם‬that is, 13 cases) could possibly be said to refer to someone as part of a group. And whereas 20% of instances of ‫ ִאישׁ‬refer to a particular individual, no instances of ‫ ָא ָדם‬do so, apart from one special case: the mythical progenitor of the human species.13 Grant concluded— correctly, in my view—that the terms ‫ ִאישׁ‬and ‫ ָא ָדם‬cannot be considered

Grant cited also Josh 14:15 as referring to a particular individual, but more precisely it is a class reference to a progenitor. 13

6

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

synonyms.14 The following chart graphically illustrates Grant’s spotlight on the semantic contrast of the two words. Key Semantic Contrasts of ’ish and ’adam Frequency Distribution of Each Noun’s Referents

80% 60% ’ish ’adam

40% 20% 0% Any or each member of a defined group or class

Particular individual (aside from Adam the progenitor)

General human reference

‫ אִ ישׁ‬versus ‫בֵּן‬ Now let us compare ‫ ִאישׁ‬to another noun, ‫בּן‬,ֵ which is unquestionably a term of affiliation. Someone who is a ‫ ֵבּן‬is not a lone individual, but rather She wrote: “The two words may be sharply distinguished in meaning . . . almost without exception throughout the whole of the Hebrew OT” (p. 2). In certain situations ‫ ִאישׁ‬and ‫ ָא ָדם‬at first glance do seem interchangeable; the Bible sometimes uses them as a stock word pair (e.g., 2 Kgs 7:10; Isa 2:9; Jer 2:6). This apparent synonymity can be explained simply: in such cases, the group of which an ‫ ִאישׁ‬is the member is the entire human race. The two terms (‫ ִאישׁ‬and ‫ ) ָא ָדם‬are then functionally synonymous within that very limited context, even though they approach their referent from different angles. Laurence Kutler, who correctly stresses the biblical use of ‫ ִאישׁ‬as a military term whereas ‫ ָא ָדם‬is not, unfortunately overlooks Grant’s work, whose results undermine his assertion that “’îš and ’ādām are close but not identical synonyms. . . . Each verse must be scrutinized on its own merit” (“A Structural Semantic Approach to Israelite Communal Terminology,” JANES 14 [1982], pp. 69–77; 73–74). 14

RABBI DAVID E. S. STEIN

7

is a ‫ ֵבּן‬of somebody or something else. Thus, if ‫ ִאישׁ‬is indeed a relational term, its nature should become clearer through our comparison. As it happens, ‫ ֵבּן‬is one of the Bible’s most frequently occurring words, appearing nearly five thousand times—more than twice as often as ‫אישׁ‬. ִ Fortunately, for the purposes of this article a schematic comparison between ‫ ִאישׁ‬and ‫ ֵבּן‬will prove to be sufficiently conclusive. The two nouns seem similar to each other—and unlike ‫— ָא ָדם‬in the following six ways: 1. Both ‫ ִאישׁ‬and ‫ ֵבּן‬can point to a specific party, which enables delineation of relationship.15 ‫ץ־עוּץ ִאיּ֣ וֹב ְשׁ ֑מוֹ‬ ֖ ‫( ִ ֛אישׁ ָה ָ ֥יה ְב ֶ ֽא ֶר‬Job 1:1) ‫וּשׁ ֖מוֹ ֶא ְביָ ָ ֑תר‬ ְ ‫־א ִח ֔טוּב‬ ֲ ‫ימ ֶל ְ֙ך ֶבּן‬ ֶ֙ ‫־א ָ֗חד ַל ֲא ִח‬ ֶ ‫( וַ יִּ ָמּ ֵ ֣לט ֵבּן‬1 Sam 22:20) 2.

Both of our nouns can ascribe membership in a genus (that is, affiliation with a group) even to non-human entities.16

‫ח־לָך֛ ִשׁ ְב ָ ֥עה ִשׁ ְב ָ ֖עה ִ ֣אישׁ וְ ִא ְשׁ ֑תּוֹ‬ ְ ‫הוֹרה ִ ֽתּ ַקּ‬ ֗ ָ ‫( ִמ ֣כֹּל׀ ַה ְבּ ֵה ָ ֣מה ַה ְטּ‬Gen 7:2) ‫ל־הכּ ֵֹ֔הן‬ ַ ‫יוֹנ֑ה ֶא‬ ָ ‫( ִיָב ֙א ְשׁ ֵ ֣תּי ת ִ ֹ֔רים ֥אוֹ ְשׁ ֵנ֖י ְבּ ֵ ֣ני‬Num 6:10) 3.

Both can express relationship with a person, as is made clear by a possessive suffix:17 ‫( ְבּ ָ ֑נהּ‬Gen 21:10)

4.

‫ישׁהּ‬ ֖ ָ ‫( ִא‬Gen 16:3)

Both can refer to a human being in terms of membership in a category. Here, for example, are instances where the two nouns are treated as roughly parallel in function:18

15 The first example introduces the character Job; the second focuses on a priest’s sole surviving son. Similarly, both ‫ ִאישׁ‬and ‫ ֵבּן‬form plurals and are countable entities: ‫( ִשׁ ְב ִעים ָבּנִ ים‬Judg 8:30); ‫( ִשׁ ְב ָעה ֲאנָ ִשׁים‬Jer 52:25). In contrast, ‫ ָא ָדם‬is never plural in the biblical corpus and is not countable (cf. Num 31:46). 16 In the first example, God instructs Noah to take representative animals; the second example refers to birds fit for use in a priestly ritual. 17 “Her son” and “her husband,” respectively. In contrast, in the biblical corpus ‫ ָא ָדם‬never takes a possessive suffix. 18 The first example describes Saul’s search for qualified warriors; the second describes the character of those who gathered around a treasonous outlaw. Other ֖ ָ ‫( ֶב‬1 Sam 20:31) and examples that indicate membership in a category: ‫ן־מוֶ ת‬

8

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES ‫־חיִ ל וַ יַּ ַא ְס ֵ ֖פהוּ ֵא ָ ֽליו׃‬ ַ֔ ‫בּוֹר וְ ָכל־ ֶבּן‬ ֙ ִ‫( וְ ָר ָ֨אה ָשׁ ֜אוּל ָכּל־ ִ ֤אישׁ גּ‬1 Sam. 14:52) ‫( וַ יִּ ָקּ ְב ֣צוּ ָע ֗ ָליו ֲאנָ ִ ֤שׁים ֵר ִק ֙ים ְבּ ֵנ֣י ְב ִל ַ֔יּ ַעל‬2 Chr 13:7) 5.

Both can refer to a constituent of a group that is signified by a collective term:19 ‫ן־ה ָע ֙ם ַבּיּ֣ וֹם ַה ֔הוּא ִכּ ְשׁ ֹ֥ל ֶשׁת ַא ְל ֵ ֖פי ִ ֽאישׁ׃‬ ָ ‫( וַ יִּ ֤ ֹפּל ִמ‬Exod 32:28) ‫־א ָ ֽדם׃‬ ָ ‫( ֽל ֹא־יֵ ֵ ֥שׁב ָשׁ ֙ם ִ֔אישׁ וְ ֽל ֹא־יָ ג֥ וּר ָ ֖בּהּ ֶבּן‬Jer 49:18)

6.

Both can refer to a group that is expressed in construct terms—that is, where the group is identified as comprised of its individual members: ‫( ָכּל־ ְבּ ֵנ֣י יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵ ֑אל‬Josh 10:24)

‫( ָכּל־ ִ ֣אישׁ יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵ֗אל‬Exod 34:32)

From these six similarities I provisionally conclude that ‫ ִאישׁ‬functions like the relational term ‫בּן‬.ֵ That is, both nouns relate individual members to a group, and vice-versa. And their focus on relationship transcends even the boundary of humankind, to include other entities. Thus it seems to me that ‫( ִ ֥אישׁ ָ ֖מוֶ ת‬1 Kgs 2:26); ‫ן־חיִ ל‬ ַ֔ ‫( ֶבּ‬1 Sam 14:52) and ‫( ִ ֣אישׁ ָ ֑חיִ ל‬Judg 3:29); ‫( ֶבן־נָ ִ ֖ביא‬Amos ֲ ‫( ֶבּ‬Isa 19:11) and ‫( ִ ֥אישׁ ָח ָ ֖כם‬1 Kgs 2:9). 7:14) and ‫( ִ ֥אישׁ נָ ִ ֖ביא‬Judg 6:8); and ‫ן־ח ָכ ִ ֥מים‬ Likewise, a chief servant is called ben bāyīt (Gen 15:3, Eccl 2:7) or hā-ʾîš ʾăšer ʿal hā-bāyīt (Gen 43:19) or hā-ʾîš (43:17). Both terms also indicate national ִ ‫( ִא‬1 Sam 30:11) and ‫ֽי־מ ְצ ַ ֛ריִ ם‬ ִ ‫( ְבּ ֵנ‬Ezek 16:26). In contrast, only membership:֙‫ישׁ־מ ְצ ִרי‬ once in the biblical corpus does the word ‫ ָא ָדם‬arguably form a construct relation of any kind: ‫( ָא ָ ֣דם ְ ֭בּ ִליַּ ַעל ִ ֣אישׁ ָ ֑אוֶ ן‬Prov 6:12), the first two words of which can be ְ ‫( ֶבּ‬1 Sam 25:17). likened to ‫( ִ ֣אישׁ ְ֭בּ ִליַּ ַעל‬Prov 16:27) and to ‫ן־בּ ִליַּ ַעל‬ 19 The first example counts the dead after a police operation, treating ‫ ִאישׁ‬as the individual correlate of ‫— ַעם‬a pairing that E. A. Speiser already noted (“‘People’ and ‘Nation’ of Israel,” JBL 79 [1960]: 160) and Kutler affirmed (“A Structural Semantic Approach,” 77; above, n. 14); in the second example, for the collective ‫ ָא ָדם‬, the individual correlate is ‫ן־א ָדם‬ ָ ‫ ֶבּ‬, a term that occurs more than ninety times. Both Speiser and Kutler assert meanwhile that ‫ ָא ָדם‬is the individual correlate of the collective term ‫ ;גּוֹי‬the only evidence offered, however, is the expression ‫ל־א ָ ֣דם ָי ַֽחד׃‬ ָ ‫( וְ ַעל־גּ֖ וֹי וְ ַע‬Job 34:29), yet this example is inconclusive, because there ‫ ָא ָדם‬can also be read as a general term for “humankind,” like the parallelism of ‫ל־בּ ָשׂר‬ ָ ‫ ָכּ‬and ‫ ָא ָדם‬in Job 34:15, or between ‫ גּוֹיִ ם‬and ‫ ָא ָדם‬in Jer 49:15 and Ps 94:10. Nor does the presence of ‫ יָ ַחד‬necessarily imply a subsidiary ordering of terms; cf. Deut 12:22; 2 Sam. 14:16; Jer 48:7; Ps 49:3.

RABBI DAVID E. S. STEIN

9

these two words may be said to lie in the same semantic domain of “relational” terms. As for contrasts in the usage of the two nouns, I will mention one that seems instructive. When a group is identified via a plural construct term such as ‫בּנֵ י יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵ֗אל‬,ְ one might then expect that its constituent members are identified via the singular ‫בּן‬,ֵ but that is often not the case. Rather, the constituent member of a ‫בּנֵ י‬-defined ְ group is an ‫אישׁ‬: ִ ‫( ִאישׁ ִמ ְבּנֵ י יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵאל‬1 Sam 9:2) rather than, say, ‫ ֵבּן ִמ ְבּנֵ י יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵאל‬or simply ‫בּן־יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵאל‬.ֶ As will be demonstrated below, the usage rule in biblical Hebrew seems to be: whenever a member is typifying or representing such a group, this is conveyed via ‫אישׁ‬, ִ not via ‫בּן‬.ֵ

LEXICAL AND CONTEXTUAL MEANINGS My analysis of hundreds of instances suggests that the primary (most common) sense of the noun ‫ ִאישׁ‬refers to types of affiliations and relationships that together in English can be designated only by several overlapping terms. Today one cannot be sure whether the native Hebrew speaker considered these situationally defined types to be distinct senses of the word ‫אישׁ‬. ִ (Hebrew did not force the speaker to make a distinction.) At any rate, the remainder of this article will treat what in English are three semantic nuances of ‫אישׁ‬: ִ participant member, representative member, and representative. All three nuances involve relationship (with another party) or affiliation (with a group). In Hebrew these three nuances may have been considered a single lexical semantic domain. Let me now introduce what I, as a contextually oriented translator, have perceived as distinct English equivalents for the biblical Hebrew usage of ‫אישׁ‬, ִ within each of the three aforementioned nuances. A later section will give examples. Participant Member An ‫ ִאישׁ‬can simply be a member of the group in question, as Grant mentioned. Likewise, ‫ ִאישׁ‬seems to be the appropriate word choice for situations where a person is a participant—such as a party to a marriage, a legal proceeding, a transaction, a contract, or a conflict.

10

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Representative Member Another nuance of ‫ ִאישׁ‬is to refer to a typical or characteristic exemplar of the group in question. In this sense, any single member “represents” the other members of the group because they are interchangeable for purposes of the discussion. In English translation, these usages are rendered variously as: one, each (one), anyone, or someone.20 Representative on Behalf of Others The third related nuance is “representational”—that is, an ‫ ִאישׁ‬possesses the authority to stand for the group, or to act on behalf of the group, or to act on behalf of another party. In English terms, these meanings include: ruler, leader, notable, or householder; representative, delegate, or commissioner; agent, emissary, or envoy; deputy or subordinate; scion or heir.

PROCEDURAL NOTES The next section will examine characteristic examples from each of the above three nuances of lexical meaning, in order to further demonstrate my contention that ‫ ִאישׁ‬is intrinsically a relational or affiliational term—at least in most of its biblical attestations. But first, two procedural notes. Spotting Both of the Noun’s Referents A relational term has, in effect, not one referent but two: a direct referent and an indirect one. In the case of our noun ‫אישׁ‬, ִ it points directly to the individual (member or party or representative), while indirectly it refers to the group or situation or party with which that ‫ ִאישׁ‬is affiliated. And our noun functions so as to relate those two referents to each other. Depicted schematically, the meaning of our word has three aspects:

My classification transcends the distinction drawn by grammarians who discuss “someone” as being a “weak” meaning of ‫ ִאישׁ‬, and “each/every” as being a “strong” meaning. See Heinrich Ewald, Syntax of the Hebrew Language of the Old Testament, transl. from the 8th German edn. by James Kennedy (London: T & T Clark, 1891; repr. Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 2004), §§ 278b, 294b(2); Paul Joüon, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew, transl. and rev. by T. Muraoka (Rome: Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 1991), Vol. II § 147.b–c. 20

RABBI DAVID E. S. STEIN

11

To understand how ‫ ִאישׁ‬is functioning in a given instance, the listener or reader must discern both referents. In many cases, however, the indirect referent is not stated outright; it must be inferred from the situation.21 Avoiding Syntactic Markers of Affiliation In biblical Hebrew, one can easily convey a sense of affiliation between a given noun and something else via syntactic markers—either a construct relationship (such as ‫ ) ַאנְ ֵשׁי ָדוִ ד‬or a possessive pronominal suffix (such as ‫) ָדּוִ ד וַ ֲאנָ ָשׁיו‬. In order to clarify whether ‫ ִאישׁ‬functions as a term of affiliation on its own, the following analysis focuses on instances where the Bible employs ‫ ִאישׁ‬or ‫ ֲאנָ ִשׁים‬as absolute nouns.22

SYNTAGMATIC (CONTEXTUAL) ANALYSIS Collocated Verbs Evidence in support of viewing ‫ ִאישׁ‬as a term of affiliation comes from looking at the collocated verbs. With regard to the proposed nuance of ‫ ִאישׁ‬as “participant member (of a group),” one would expect to find ‫ ִאישׁ‬correlated with verbs that presume group membership. That is, only those individuals who are members of the group in question would be involved in the action described by the verb. For example, consider the verb ‫“( קבץ‬gathered”), . . .‫( וַ ִיּ ְֽת ַק ְבּ ֣צוּ ֠ ֵא ָליו ָכּל־ ִ֨איש‬1 Sam 22:2) ‫וַ יִּ ְהי֣ וּ ִע ֔מּוֹ ְכּ ַא ְר ַ ֥בּע ֵמ ֖אוֹת ִ ֽאישׁ׃‬ The following groups appear in the Bible as direct objects of this verb: ‫ל־ה ָעם‬ ָ ‫הוּדה • יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵאל • ָכּ‬ ָ ְ‫ְפּ ִל ְשׁ ִתּים • ִמ ְצ ַריִ ם • י‬ 21 For more on how to identify the indirect referent of ‫ ִאישׁ‬, see further below, especially the Discussion. 22 As identified via Accordance 7.4, of the Bible’s 2187 instances of our noun, 73% are in absolute form (1331 singular, 273 plural).

12

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

And in context, the constituents of these groups are designated by the following terms: ‫ִאישׁ • ַאח • ָח ֵבר • זָ ֵקן • ֵבּן • ַבּ ַעל‬ The first five words on this list are relational terms. By virtue of being on such a list, the implication is that the last word, ‫אישׁ‬, ִ is a relational term as well.23 I observed the same phenomenon with regard to other verbs that similarly presume group membership: ‫“( קהל‬assembled”), ‫זעק‬ (“mustered”), ‫“( אסף‬brought together”), and ‫“( לקט‬collected”). Examples of where ‫ ִאישׁ‬can be construed as a “participant member” include: ‫יכה ִ ֽנ זְ ֲע ֔קוּ‬ ָ֔ ‫ם־בּ֣ית ִמ‬ ֵ ‫ים ֲא ֶשׁ ֙ר ִע‬ ֙ ‫( וְ ָה ֲאנָ ִ֗שׁים ֲא ֶ ֤שׁר ַבּ ָבּ ִתּ‬Judg 18:22) ‫יקים‬ ִ֔ ‫( וַ ִיּ ְֽת ַל ְקּ ֤טוּ ֶאל־יִ ְפ ָתּ ֙ח ֲאנָ ִ ֣שׁים ֵר‬Judg 11:3) Correlated Group Nouns Another line of evidence to suggest that ‫ ִאישׁ‬can denote a “participant member” is its correlation with collective group nouns. For example:24 ‫ל־ה ֵע ָ ֖דה ִתּ ְק ֽצֹף׃‬ ָ ‫( ָה ִ ֤אישׁ ֶא ָח ֙ד יֶ ֱח ָ֔טא וְ ַ ֥על ָכּ‬Num 16:22) ‫( ִכּי֩ ְב ִמ ְצ ֨ ַער ֲאנָ ִ֜שׁים ָ ֣בּאוּ ׀ ֵ ֣חיל ֲא ָ ֗רם‬2 Chr 24:24) That is, the individual correlate of ‫“( ֵע ָדה‬community”) and of ‫“( ַחיִ ל‬army”) is ‫אישׁ‬. ִ Similarly, as we saw earlier, ‫ ִאישׁ‬is also the individual correlate of ‫ַעם‬ (“people, fighting force”). Thus, it seems to me that the recurring idiom ‫( ְכּ ִאישׁ ֶא ָחד‬literally, “like one ʾîš”) makes sense quite directly if understood to mean “like a group that has only one member.” ָ ‫( וַ יָּ֙ ָק ֙ם ָכּ‬Judg 20:8) ‫ל־ה ֔ ָעם ְכּ ִ ֥אישׁ ֶא ָ ֖חד‬

The indirect referent of ‫ ִאישׁ‬is thus defined by the verb; that is, the group in question consists of those who are gathered. 24 In the first example, Moses and Aaron speak while trying to calm God down during Korah’s rebellion. The Contemporary Torah (above, n. 2) thus reads: “When one member sins, will you be wrathful with the whole community?” The second example is describing the success of Aram’s army against that of Judah. 23

RABBI DAVID E. S. STEIN

13

With the Preposition of Membership A further line of evidence for a “membership” sense of ‫ ִאישׁ‬is the frequency and variety of similar constructions in which ‫אישׁ‬, ִ in context, can only mean “one member out of the specified group.” The preposition ‫ ִמן‬is a key part of this construction, as these examples show: ‫( וְ ֵ֨אין ִ֜אישׁ ֵמ ַאנְ ֵ ֥שׁי ַה ַ ֛בּיִ ת ָ ֖שׁם ַבּ ָ ֽבּיִ ת׃‬Gen 39:11) ‫( וַ ֵיּ ֶ֥לְך ִ ֖אישׁ ִמ ֵבּ֣ית ֵלִו֑י‬Exod 2:1) ‫ישׁ ִמ ֵבּ֣ית יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵ֔אל‬ ֙ ‫( ִ ֥אישׁ ִא‬Lev 17:3) ‫יוֹאב‬ ֑ ָ ‫ישׁ ָע ַ ֣מד ָע ֔ ָליו ִ ֽמנַּ ֲע ֵ ֖רי‬ ֙ ‫( וְ ִא‬2 Sam 20:11) Narrative Presumption of Membership Occasionally, the construction of a narrative seems to presume that ‫ ִאישׁ‬has a “membership” sense. Consider the case of the ‫ ִאישׁ‬who is gathering wood on the sabbath day: ‫וַ יִּ ְהי֥ וּ ְב ֵנֽי־יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵ ֖אל ַבּ ִמּ ְד ָ ֑בּר‬

(Num 15:32)

ְ ‫ַו‬ ‫ֽ יִּמ ְצ ֗אוּ ִ ֛אישׁ ְמק ֵ ֹ֥שׁשׁ ֵע ִ ֖צים ְבּי֥ וֹם ַה ַשּׁ ָ ֽבּת׃‬ The perpetrator, who is identified only as an ‫אישׁ‬, ִ is soon stoned to death in punishment for the deed. Now, the relevant laws about observing the Sabbath apply only to Israelites (Exod 35:1–3). So how is it that the readers are supposed to realize that this fellow is an Israelite? The way that this passage makes the best narrative sense is to presume that the audience should know that ‫ ִאישׁ‬means “a member of the group just mentioned.”25 Partner in Marriage The universally recognized nuance of ‫ ִאישׁ‬as “husband,” which occurs in more than seventy biblical instances, can be seen as an expression of our noun’s “participant member” sense.26 That is, the noun ‫ ִאישׁ‬serves to 25 To convey the relational nuance of ‫ ִאישׁ‬in translation, I have construed the verb impersonally and rendered the clause ‫ ַוֽ יִּ ְמ ְצ ֗אוּ ִ ֛אישׁ ְמק ֵ ֹ֥שׁשׁ ֵע ִ ֖צים‬as: “one of their fellows was found gathering wood” (The Torah: A Women’s Commentary (NY: URJ Press, 2008). 26 The King James Version (KJV) renders ‫ ִאישׁ‬as “husband” 77 times. All 12

14

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

denote (the male) partner or party to the marriage, which is our noun’s implied indirect referent. Examples of ‫ ִאישׁ‬in the context of marriage, often counterposed with ‫א ָשּׁה‬, ִ include the following.27 ‫ת־עו ָֹנֽהּ׃‬ ֲ ‫( וְ נִ ָ ֥קּה ָה ִ ֖אישׁ ֵמ ָע ֹ֑ון וְ ָה ִא ָ ֣שּׁה ַה ִ֔הוא ִתּ ָ ֖שּׂא ֶא‬Num 5:31) ָ ‫( וְ ִא‬Num 30:7) ‫֑יה‬ ָ ‫יה ָע ֶל‬ ָ ‫ם־הי֤ וֹ ִ ֽת ְהיֶ ֙ה ְל ִ֔אישׁ וּנְ ָד ֶ ֖ר‬ ְ ‫יכם נָ ִ֗שׁים וְ ֶא‬ ֶ֜ ֵ‫וּק ֨חוּ ִל ְבנ‬ ְ (Jer 29:6) ‫ת־בּנֽ ֵוֹת ֶיכ ֙ם ְתּנ֣ וּ ַ ֽל ֲאנָ ִ֔שׁים‬ In such situations, the sense of “husband” is easily explained by viewing our noun as an intrinsically relational term. Meanwhile, the feminine counterpart term ‫ ִא ָשּׁה‬likewise is understood to mean “wife” in similar contexts. Such correspondence in usage corroborates the proposed “(male) party to a marriage” interpretation of ‫אישׁ‬. ִ 28 Party to a Proceeding The noun ‫ ִאישׁ‬is sometimes used conspicuously in the context of a legal proceeding, dispute, or violent conflict.29 Examples include the prescription of legal procedures:30 lexicons cited above list “husband” as a meaning of ‫ ִאישׁ‬. However, only a few of them (HALOT, TDOT, DBHE; above, nn. 8 and 11) recognize this sense—albeit rarely—even in the absence of a possessive pronoun (e.g., “her ‫)” ִאישׁ‬. 27 The first example ends the passage about a ritual for a husband who accuses his wife of adultery; the second example conditions a woman’s freedom to make vows on whether she has a husband; and the third example encourages matchmaking. 28 The correspondence in usage also explains why the feminine term is used even for slave-wives and concubines (Gen 16:3; 25:1 [in light of v. 6]; 30:4; Judg 19:1). Further, it undercuts a statement by Carol Meyers in The Torah: A Women’s Commentary (above, n. 25), which infers from a lexical fact—that ‫ ִא ָשּׁה‬means both “woman” and “wife”—that “a woman’s identity was virtually inseparable from her status as a married woman” (p. xli). Rather, the primary sense of ‫ ִא ָשּׁה‬appears to be “(female) affiliate,” for which the most salient English rendering in marriage-related contexts is “wife.” Thus, what the word ‫ ִא ָשּׁה‬says about “a woman’s identity” is only that the Bible almost always expresses that concept in relational terms—just as it does for a man’s identity. 29 “Conspicuous” usage means that the noun could be either omitted or replaced with a pronoun and the passage would still make grammatical sense. 30 The first example discusses how a party is to be compensated for having

RABBI DAVID E. S. STEIN

15

. . . ‫ת־א ָשׁמוֹ‬ ֲ ‫( וְ ֵה ִ ֤שׁיב ֶא‬Num 5:7–8) ‫וְ נָ ַ֕תן ַל ֲא ֶ ֖שׁר ָא ַ ֥שׁם ֽלוֹ׃‬ ‫ם־אין ָל ִ֜אישׁ גּ ֵֹ֗אל ְל ָה ִ ֤שׁיב ָה ָא ָשׁ ֙ם ֵא ֔ ָליו‬ ֵ֨ ‫וְ ִא‬ ‫ר־ל ֶ ֥הם ָה ִ ֖ריב … ִל ְפ ֵ ֤ני ַה ֽכֹּ ֲהנִ ֙ים‬ ָ ‫ֽי־ה ֲאנָ ִ ֛שׁים ֲא ֶשׁ‬ ָ ‫( וְ ָע ְמ ֧דוּ ְשׁ ֵנ‬Deut. 19:17) The same conspicuous usage of ‫ אִישׁ‬is found in direct speech:31 ‫ת־ה ְפּ ִל ְשׁ ִ ֣תּי ַה ֔ ָלּז‬ ַ ‫ישׁ ֲא ֶ ֤שׁר יַ ֶכּ ֙ה ֶא‬ ֙ ‫( ַמה־יֵּ ָע ֶ֗שׂה ָל ִא‬1 Sam 17:26) ‫ן־מוֶ ת ָה ִ ֖אישׁ ָהע ֶ ֹ֥שׂה ֽז ֹאת׃‬ ָ֔ ‫( ִ ֣כּי ֶב‬2 Sam 12:5) ִ ְ‫( ו‬1 Kgs 21:10) ֒ ‫ֽי־ב ִליַּ ַע ֮ל נֶ גְ דּוֹ‬ ְ ‫הוֹשׁיבוּ ְשׁ ַ֨ניִ ם ֲאנָ ִ ֥שׁים ְבּ ֵנ‬ Similar to such instances are those that designate both parties as ‫אישׁ‬: ִ 32 ‫( ִמ ְשׁ ַ ֤פּט ֱא ֶמ ֙ת ַ ֽי ֲע ֶ֔שׂה ֵ ֥בּין ִ ֖אישׁ ְל ִ ֽאישׁ׃‬Ezek 18:8) ‫( וְ נִ ַ ֣גּשׂ ָה ֔ ָעם ִ ֥אישׁ ְבּ ִ ֖אישׁ וְ ִ ֣אישׁ ְבּ ֵר ֵ ֑עהוּ‬Isa 3:5) ֹ ‫ישׁו‬ ֔ ‫( וַ יַּ ֙כּוּ ִ ֣אישׁ ִא‬1 Kgs 20:20) Both types of usage are easily explained by viewing our noun as an intrinsically relational term, whose indirect referent is the set of interested parties to the proceeding in question, while the direct referent is one of the parties. Meanwhile, the feminine counterpart term ‫ ִא ָשּׁה‬likewise is used

been wronged; the second example discusses the disposition of a legal dispute. 31 The first example is young David’s question regarding the reward for whoever challenges Goliath, who has twice demanded an ‫ ִאישׁ‬with whom he can fight (vv. 8, 10); the second example is King David’s condemnation of the guilty party in Nathan’s parable; and the third example is Queen Jezebel’s secret instructions to arrange for false witnesses so as to condemn Naboth. 32 The first example states that doing justice is part of the characterization of a righteous person; the second example, that divine punishment of the Judahites will involve mutual oppression; and the third example describes the progress of a battle. Compare the construct expressions ‫“( ִאישׁ ִריב‬disputant”) in Judg 12:2, Isa 41:1, Jer 15:10, and Job 31:35; and ‫“( ִאישׁ ִמ ְל ָחמוֹת‬party to war”) in 2 Sam 8:10 (= 1 Chr 18:10), Isa 42:12, and 1 Chr 28:3. See also 1 Sam 2:25.

16

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

conspicuously to mean a “party” in similar contexts.33 Such correspondence in usage corroborates the proposed interpretation of ‫אישׁ‬. ִ As Characteristic of a Group of Human Beings Let us move to the second basic nuance of ‫אישׁ‬, ִ namely, where it denotes a typical or characteristic exemplar—what I call a “representative member.” By all accounts, one frequently attested meaning of ‫ ִאישׁ‬is “each one” in a group. Consider this example from the episode in which Abram and his nephew Lot part company: ‫( וַ יִּ ָ ֣פּ ְר ֔דוּ ִ ֖אישׁ ֵמ ַ ֥על ָא ִ ֽחיו׃‬Gen 13:11) If ‫ ִאישׁ‬is intrinsically about affiliation, then this usage is easy to explain. As stated earlier, ‫ ִאישׁ‬functions so as to relate a direct referent to an indirect one. It points (indirectly) to the group and (more directly) to its individual members. Here—as defined by the plural verb—the “group in question” consists of those kin who are now separating from each other. The individual members of that group, as they part ways, are momentarily interchangeable with regard to the action described. It is in this sense that each one is an ‫אישׁ‬. ִ 34 Corroboration of this understanding of ‫ ִאישׁ‬comes from the corresponding usage of ‫ ִא ָשּׁה‬in distributive or reciprocal references within a specifically female group.35 As Characteristic of a Group with Non-Human Members On some two dozen occasions, ‫ ִאישׁ‬means “each one” in a group that is defined by the verb—as discussed above—yet that group comprises direct referents that are not individual human beings. For example: ‫ישׁ ְבּ ַ ֣נ ֲח ָל ֔תו יִ ְד ְבּ ֕קוּ ַמ ֖טּוֹת ְבּ ֵ ֥ני יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵ ֽאל׃‬ ֙ ‫( ִכּי־ ִא‬Num 36:9) Here our noun ‫ ִאישׁ‬relates a group (“those who shall remain attached” to their landholding) to its members, but the group’s members are not individuals. Rather, each member is one of “the tribes” of the Israelites. E.g., Exod 2:7; Deut 22:14; 1 Kgs 3:16; Ezek 23:2. Alternatively, rather than describing the situation in English in terms of member-and-group, one could characterize Abram and Lot as parties to the proceeding, that is, to the action being described. See the previous sub-section. 35 Exod 3:22; Jer 9:19; Ruth 1:8. 33 34

RABBI DAVID E. S. STEIN

17

Biblical Hebrew similarly applies ‫ ִאישׁ‬to the elements of many other abstract sets: households (Exod 12:4; Num 1:52, 2:2, 2:34); Israelite clans or lineages (Num 26:54, 35:8); nations (Gen 10:5b; Zeph 2:11); foreign deities (2 Kgs 18:33; Isa 36:18); and spiritual creatures with wings and multiple faces (Ezek 1:9, 11, 12, 23). Our noun also designates various concrete inanimate objects: split halves of animal carcasses (Gen 15:10); Leviathan’s scales (Job 41:9); engraved stones on the high priest’s breastplate (Exod 28:21); brackets for bronze lavers (1 Kgs 7:30); images of cherubim (Exod 25:20, 37:9); and stars in the sky (Isa 40:26).36 This remarkably wide range of application makes perfect sense if ‫ ִאישׁ‬is indeed a term of affiliation. It then functions in all such cases according to its primary sense as “representative member”: whenever one has in view a group or set that is comprised of interchangeable members, ‫ ִאישׁ‬is the word that enables a Hebrew speaker to refer to each of them. As Alison Grant noted, the scope of such entities cited above “suggests that the word ‫ ִאישׁ‬itself carries the meaning ‘each one (of a group)’ rather than meaning ‘man.’ ” (p. 9). This is a strong argument in favor of construing ‫ ִאישׁ‬as a relational term.37 And further corroboration comes from the fact that the feminine equivalent ‫ ִא ָשּׁה‬is used in a corresponding manner.38 Representing a Group as Its Authority As stated above, a third nuance of ‫ ִאישׁ‬is as a “representative”—one who is authorized to stand for the group (or another party), or to act on their (or its) behalf. Grant does not mention this sense as intrinsic to ‫אישׁ‬, ִ nor do the lexicons cited above. Yet even without proceeding systematically, I have 36 Inexplicably, Robert Alter states in his commentary (The Five Books of Moses: A Translation and Commentary [NY: W.W. Norton & Co., 2004]) that ‫“ ִאישׁ‬is a word applied to animate beings, not to things,” an assertion already disproved circa 1160 by Abraham Ibn Ezra, ad loc. 37 The sense of “each” is conventionally explained as a case of semantic extension, whereby ‫ ִאישׁ‬was initially used to mean “a man,” and then “each man,” and later “each human,” and eventually “each member” of some non-human set. While such development is possible, it would have required greater conceptual leaps than the hypothesis offered here. 38 E.g., Exod 26:3 (cloths); Isa 34:15 (buzzards); Ezek 1:9 (wings); Zech 11:9 (sheep).

18

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

found that more than 10% of the instances of ‫ ִאישׁ‬employ it in a grammatically absolute and syntactically conspicuous manner in this sense.39 Representational function is thus a significant part of the semantic range of this noun. When Genesis describes the growth of Jacob’s wealth, the usage of ‫ִאישׁ‬ is anomalous enough (per the conventional view) that the critical scholar Claus Westermann opined that “there is no reason for the designation.”40 ‫אד‬ ֹ ֑ ‫אד ְמ‬ ֹ ֣ ‫( וַ יִּ ְפ ֥ר ֹץ ָה ִ ֖אישׁ ְמ‬Gen. 30:43) ‫חוֹת וַ ֲע ָב ִ ֔דים וּגְ ַמ ִ ֖לּים וַ ֲחמ ִ ֹֽרים׃‬ ֙ ‫וּשׁ ָפ‬ ְ ‫ֽוַיְ ִהי־לוֹ֙ ֣צ ֹאן ַר ֔בּוֹת‬ In this passage, the direct referent of ‫ ָה ִאישׁ‬is evidently the previous verse’s last noun, which is ‫יַ ֲעקֹב‬. But the usage is conspicuous: if in our verse the stated subject ‫ ָה ִאישׁ‬were left out, its two verbs (with their masculine inflections) would still unquestionably refer back to Jacob. The wording prompts the text’s audience to construe ‫ ִאישׁ‬in some meaningful sense— which would not be “adult male,” because Jacob’s social gender is neither in question nor particularly germane. Looking to the narrative context, we see that Jacob has expressed a concern that drives this whole passage: “It is high time that I do something for my own household (‫( ”) ַבּיִ ת‬v. 30, transl. Speiser). That is, Jacob was a householder responsible for four wives and many children, yet he lacked an independent means of supporting them. Now, however, we are told that his wealth increases (literally “bursts”)—and it is Jacob who becomes the trustee of all the assets detailed. The context thus suggests that the sense of ‫ ִאישׁ‬here has to do with his position as representing the entire corporate household.41 The term conveys his relationship to that household (v. 30), which is the indirect referent of ‫ ָה ִאישׁ‬in our verse. For a list of more than two hundred instances, see my memorandum “What Does It Mean to Be a ‘Man’? The Noun ’ish in Biblical Hebrew: A Reconsideration,” http://home1.gte.net/res0z77f/ContempTorahpg.htm (Part II). Furthermore, such usage is consistent with the way that the Bible employs the term’s bound forms in dozens of instances. See also Anton Jirku, “Der ‘Mann von Tob,” (2 Sam 10:6.8),” ZAW 62 (1950): 319; Alan D. Crown, “An Alternative Meaning for ‫ ִאישׁ‬in the Old Testament,” VT 24 (1974): 110–112; Marvin L. Chaney, “Whose Sour Grapes? The Addressees of Isaiah 5:1–7 in the Light of Political Economy,” Semeia 87 (1999): 112, 116. 40 Genesis 37–50: A Commentary (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), p. 484. 41 TDOT (above, n. 11) recognizes the meaning “office or rank” for ‫ ִאישׁ‬, but 39

RABBI DAVID E. S. STEIN

19

In short, the text’s composer(s) apparently presumed that its original audience would grasp that ‫ ִאישׁ‬here means something like the English term “family patriarch.” Selecting a Certain Number of Representatives from a Group A second example from the book of Genesis further illustrates the sense of ‫ ִאישׁ‬as a duly authorized “representative.” The narrator relates that after Joseph’s father Jacob and his extended family arrive in Egypt, Joseph the vizier prepares them for an audience with the king: ‫וּ ִמ ְק ֵ ֣צה ֶא ָ֔חיו ָל ַ ֖ קח ֲח ִמ ָ ֣שּׁה ֲאנָ ִ ֑שׁים וַ יַּ ִצּ ֵג֖ם ִל ְפ ֵנ֥י ַפ ְר ֽעֹה׃‬

(Gen 47:2)

This usage of ‫ ֲאנָ ִשׁים‬is conspicuous; the initial clause could easily have omitted the term, saying ‫“( וְ ָל ַקח ֲח ִמ ָשּׁה ִמ ְק ֵצה ֶא ָחיו‬having taken five from among his brothers”). In other words, the text has gone out of its way here to employ ‫ ֲאנָ ִשׁים‬, giving the word extra significance: those who are chosen are not merely ‫“( ַא ִחים‬brothers”)—they are more specifically ‫ ֲאנָ ִשׁים‬. The co-text further strengthens the importance here of ‫ ֲאנָ ִשׁים‬: as the late E. A. Speiser pointed out, the word ‫“( ִמ ְק ֵצה‬from among”) serves to emphasize Joseph’s selectivity.42 And in the context of a larger pool of available candidates, the verb ‫ ָל ַקח‬connotes an act of conscious selection. Taken together, the verse’s wording prompts the audience to read ‫ֲאנָ ִשׁים‬ meaningfully—and not as “adult males,” for that fact is both known and irrelevant. The narrative context conveys that Joseph is designating some of his brothers to represent them all. Such a sense for ‫ ֲאנָ ִשׁים‬fits the verse’s syntax perfectly, in contrast to any other recognized sense, yielding: “Having from among his brothers selected five representatives, . . .” In short, the text’s composer(s) presumed that its original audience would grasp that ‫ ֲאנָ ִשׁים‬relates the selected individuals to the larger group of brothers (the indirect referent) whom they will be representing.

only with a genitive construction. HALOT (also n. 11) recognizes “rank” or “position,” but only with a genitive or an appositive construction. 42 The Anchor Bible: Genesis (Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, 1962), ad loc. Nevertheless, Speiser did not render ‫ ֲאנָ ִשׁים‬directly in this clause, translating it as follows: “he had picked several of his brothers and presented them to Pharaoh.”

20

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Choosing Representatives: Various Verbs and Various Groups For selecting a specified number of representatives from a group, the Bible includes eleven other instances with the same basic construction that uses the verb ‫ ָל ַקח‬.43 The various human groups from which selection is made include: Israelite tribes; Gideon’s servants; Israelite warriors; the king’s servants; privy counselors; citizens of another country; and resident elders. (Arguably all of those chosen are men, but maleness is incidental to the activity of selection.) Four similar cases that employ different verbs, all of which use ‫ ִאישׁ‬conspicuously in a selection from a larger pool of persons, are: ִ ֞ ‫( ֶא ְס ָפ‬Num 11:16) ֒ ‫ישׁ ִמזִּ ְק ֵנ֣י יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵאל‬ ֮ ‫ה־לּי ִשׁ ְב ִ ֣עים ִא‬ . . .‫ל־עם ַה ִמּ ְל ָח ָ ֖מה‬ ֥ ַ ‫הוֹשׁ ַע וְ ָכ‬ ֛ ֻ ְ‫( וַ ָ ֧יּ ָ קם י‬Josh 8:3) ‫בּוֹרי ַה ַ֔חיִ ל‬ ֣ ֵ ִ‫ישׁ גּ‬ ֙ ‫ֹלשׁים ֶ ֤א ֶלף ִא‬ ִ֨ ‫הוֹשׁ ַע ְשׁ‬ ֻ ‫וַ יִּ ְב ַ ֣חר ְ֠י‬ ‫צוֹת ֩ם‬ ָ ‫י־דן ׀ ִ ֽמ ִמּ ְשׁ ַפּ ְח ָ֡תּם ֲח ִמ ָ ֣שּׁה ֲאנָ ִ ֣שׁים ִמ ְק‬ ֣ ָ ֵ‫( וַ יִּ ְשׁ ְל ֣חוּ ְבנ‬Judg 18:2) ‫ים ִמ ָבּ ָ֔ניו‬ ֙ ‫ן־לנוּ ִשׁ ְב ָ ֤עה ֲאנָ ִשׁ‬ ָ ֜ ‫( יֻ ַתּ‬2 Sam 21:6) Again the groups to be represented are varied: elders, troops, a tribal clan, and descendants. Most striking is an instance using ‫ ָל ַקח‬for selection from a group, in which our noun ‫ ִאישׁ‬refers not to humans but rather to animals: ‫ח־לָך֛ ִשׁ ְב ָ ֥עה ִשׁ ְב ָ ֖עה ִ ֣אישׁ וְ ִא ְשׁ ֑תּוֹ‬ ְ ‫הוֹרה ִ ֽתּ ַקּ‬ ֗ ָ ‫( ִמ ֣כֹּל ׀ ַה ְבּ ֵה ָ ֣מה ַה ְטּ‬Gen 7:2) These animals are headed onto Noah’s Ark, where they will represent their species, not only as typical specimens but also as those designated to act on behalf of their species as progenitors. As with the non-human applications of ‫ ִאישׁ‬discussed earlier, this one makes perfect sense if we construe ‫ ִאישׁ‬as a relational term. Note that ‫ ִא ָשּׁה‬functions the same way as does ‫ ִאישׁ‬in this passage. It designates a specifically female representative of each species.44 Once again, the usage of ‫ ִא ָשּׁה‬corroborates the relational nature of ‫אישׁ‬. ִ

Gen 7:2 (which is discussed separately, below, page 18); Deut 1:23; Josh 3:12; 4:2; Judg 4:6; 6:27; 1 Sam 24:3; Jer 38:10; 52:25; Ezek 33:2; and Ruth 4:2. 44 For another instance where ‫שּׁה‬ ָ ‫ ִא‬designates non-human representatives, see Zech. 5:9. 43

RABBI DAVID E. S. STEIN

21

SUMMARY OF THE EVIDENCE 1.

2. 3.

4.

5. 6. 7.

Construing ‫ ִאישׁ‬as a relational term is preferable to the conventional view, for affiliation is more consistent with ancient Near Eastern thought categories and Israelite social structure. ‫ ִאישׁ‬hardly behaves like the standalone term ‫א ָדם‬, ָ whereas it characteristically behaves like the relational term ‫בּן‬.ֵ Even without syntactic markers of affiliation: • the Bible deploys ‫ ִאישׁ‬with verbs that presume group membership; • the Bible collocates ‫ ִאישׁ‬with collective nouns as the individual correlate; • the Bible uses ‫ ִאישׁ‬in constructions that single out one of the members of a group; and • the Bible places ‫ ִאישׁ‬conspicuously in constructions and situations that prompt the reader to construe it as a term of affiliation. The widely recognized biblical nuances of ‫ ִאישׁ‬as “husband” and as “each” or “any” member (of a group or category) are easily explained by construing ‫ ִאישׁ‬as a term of affiliation. These usages account for >3% and 74% of all instances, respectively. More than 1% of biblical instances of ‫ ִאישׁ‬refer to entities other than individual human beings. Such usage is easily explained by construing ‫ ִאישׁ‬as a term of affiliation. More than 1 out of 10 biblical instances of ‫ ִאישׁ‬bear a representational sense that is best understood as a type of affiliation. All told, at least 87% of biblical instances of ‫ ִאישׁ‬can be accounted for by construing it as a term of affiliation, and some usages are best explained in just this way.

DISCUSSION This article began with the suggestion that ‫ ִאישׁ‬intrinsically conveys affiliation. It tested the word’s usage to see how far this hypothesis could be sustained. It presumed a semantic coherence for ‫ ִאישׁ‬unless the linguistic evidence would compel us to conclude otherwise. We have seen that not only does the Bible seem to employ ‫ ִאישׁ‬most of the time in a manner consistent with a relational sense, but also a sense of

22

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

affiliation repeatedly generates meaning from what are otherwise anomalous or conspicuous usages of ‫אישׁ‬. ִ 45 Thus the hypothesis appears to offer a simple yet elegant explanation for how ‫ ִאישׁ‬usually functions—an explanation that seems superior to the conventional view that the primary meaning of ‫ ִאישׁ‬is “adult male.” The analysis has treated biblical Hebrew as a single linguistic system. Although Robert Holmstedt has rightly called such an approach into question,46 the hypothesis that ‫ ִאישׁ‬is primarily a relational term is not sensitive to this assumption. It is therefore a valid simplification for the purposes of this article. Furthermore, my research thus far seems to confirm the assumption of uniformity with regard to ‫אישׁ‬. ִ The usage within the Bible is strikingly consistent. The three lexical nuances discussed above appear repeatedly across the whole range of biblical genres, registers, dialects, postulated source documents, and historical stages. Application to Other Instances The fact that the Bible’s composers usually employed ‫ ִאישׁ‬as a term of affiliation is no guarantee that they always did so. Words can have senses that are unrelated to each other. Without having examined every instance of ‫ ִאישׁ‬in the Bible, I mean only to claim that the affiliational aspect of ‫ ִאישׁ‬is its primary (most frequent) sense. Being the primary sense, it is the first one to try upon encountering a given instance of the word in question.47 The burden of proof is then on whoever would assert that the context justifies construing ‫ ִאישׁ‬as something other than a term of affiliation. In expecting ‫ ִאישׁ‬to be a meaningful term, I draw a contrast with the linguist Martin Joos’s rule of thumb that lexicographers should assume the least possible meaning for a hapax (otherwise unknown) word in context, due to the “redundancy of natural language” (see Moisés Silva, Biblical Words and Their Meaning, rev. edn. [Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1994], pp. 153–155). To this editor’s eye, the Bible is a carefully crafted work, in which the artifice and economy of wording make it rather unlike natural language. When ‫ ִאישׁ‬is repeatedly conspicuous by its presence or is employed as a leading word, such usage indicates a semantic significance. 46 “Issues in the Linguistic Analysis of a Dead Language, with Particular Reference to Ancient Hebrew,” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures, Vol. 6, Art. 11 (2006), pp. 2–21. 47 Mark Strauss, “Current Issues in the Gender-Language Debate,” in Glen G. Scorgie et al., eds., The Challenge of Bible Translation (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2003), pp. 133–34. 45

RABBI DAVID E. S. STEIN

23

Our noun’s relational aspect may not be obvious in many cases. Contemporary readers—who are accustomed to viewing ‫ ִאישׁ‬as a standalone term—will easily spot the noun’s direct referent, yet they may find its indirect referent relatively challenging to identify. In the simplest cases, the text designates the indirect referent explicitly. Sometimes it is stated before the word ‫( ִאישׁ‬as shown here in blue; “the sons of Israel who came to Egypt with Jacob [as their paterfamilias]”): ‫מוֹת ְבּ ֵנ֣י יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵ֔אל ַה ָבּ ִ ֖אים ִמ ְצ ָ ֑ריְ ָמה ֵ ֣את יַ ֲע ֔קֹב‬ ֙ ‫( וְ ֵ֗א ֶלּה ְשׁ‬Exod 1:1) ‫יתוֹ ָ ֽבּאוּ׃‬ ֖ ‫וּב‬ ֵ ‫ִ ֥אישׁ‬ In other instances, the indirect referent appears after the word ‫ִאישׁ‬ (here, “members of the household”): ‫( וְ ֵ֨אין ִ֜אישׁ ֵמ ַאנְ ֵ ֥שׁי ַה ַ ֛בּיִ ת ָ ֖שׁם ַבּ ָ ֽבּיִ ת׃‬Gen 39:11) Often, however, the indirect referent is only implied. It may require some practice to perceive how ‫ ִאישׁ‬functions in such an instance to relate its two referents to each other. To triangulate an implied referent, the text employs a wide variety of constructions, as three further examples will illustrate. 1. Joseph (as the vizier of Egypt) employs ‫ ִאישׁ‬in order to single out a member of the group: ‫ה־לּי ֔ ָע ֶבד‬ ֣ ִ ֶ‫יע ְבּיָ ֗דוֹ ֚הוּא יִ ְהי‬ ַ ‫( ה ִָ֡אישׁ ֲא ֶשׁר֩ נִ ְמ ָ֨צא ַהגָּ ִ֜ב‬Gen 44:17) In so doing, Joseph refers implicitly to all of his eleven brothers—for the stated condition applies in potential to any of them (“the one [in whose possession the goblet is found]).” The indirect referent is thus the entire party of travelers. 2. The narrator employs ‫ ִאישׁ‬to point at the unnamed party who attacks Jacob: ‫ישׁ ִע ֔מּוֹ ַ ֖עד ֲע ֥לוֹת ַה ָ ֽשּׁ ַחר׃‬ ֙ ‫( וַ יִּ וָּ ֵ ֥תר יַ ֲע ֖קֹב ְל ַב ֑דּוֹ וַ יֵּ ָא ֵ ֥בק ִא‬Gen 32:25) In the process, the narrator defines an indirect referent: the group consisting of participants in that conflict. (In this regard, Jacob could likewise be termed an ‫אישׁ‬. ִ 3. When counterposed with a term for the Deity, refers indirectly to the human species (of which any given ‫ ִאישׁ‬is a member), as in Balaam’s poetic pronouncement: ‫ן־א ָ ֖דם וְ יִ ְתנֶ ָ ֑חם‬ ָ ‫וּב‬ ֶ ‫יכ ֵ֔זּב‬ ַ ‫( ֣ל ֹא ִ ֥אישׁ ֵאל֙ ִ ֽו‬Num 23:19)

24

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

In this case, humankind as a divisible group is implicitly contrasted with God’s singularity. Implications for Stating English Equivalence In English dictionaries, grammars, and commentaries on the Bible it is a common practice to gloss ‫ ִאישׁ‬as “man.” The foregoing analysis suggests that such a practice is misleading, because the two words correspond poorly with regard to affiliation. In biblical Hebrew, ‫ ִאישׁ‬generally (and perhaps always) retains the flavor of affiliation, whereas the English word “man” often lacks that sense. In 1624, the English poet John Donne famously penned the gender-inclusive statement “No man is an island, entire of itself”; yet if a biblical Hebrew writer were to express such a thought using ‫אישׁ‬, ִ it would be a tautology. While the word “man” does convey affiliation in certain constructions, it unfortunately fails to do so in most of the contexts in which ‫ ִאישׁ‬appears in the Bible.48 Given such a limited semantic correspondence between ‫ ִאישׁ‬and “man,” a more fitting general gloss would appear to be an “affiliate,” or possibly “participant” or “party.”49 Implications for Translation What affects an isolated gloss can also affect the contextual translation of certain passages. For example, the subject of Judg 18:7 is a small band of warriors on a mission: ‫כוּ ֲח ֵ ֣מ ֶשׁת ָה ֲאנָ ִ֔שׁים וַ יָּ ֖בֹאוּ ָ ֑ליְ ָשׁה‬ ֙ ‫וַ יֵּ ְל‬ for which ‫ ֲח ֵמ ֶשׁת ָה ֲאנָ ִשׁים‬is rendered as “the five men” almost universally, even in translations that have attempted to be gender-sensitive (NRSV, NLT, TNIV).50 When the NIVI rendition appeared (England, 1996) and See further § VII.G.4 of my memorandum “What Does It Mean to Be a ‘Man’?” (above, n. 39). 49 On why a gloss for ‫ ִאישׁ‬in English should be gender neutral (despite the existence of a feminine counterpart to ‫)אישׁ‬, ִ in Part V of my memorandum “What Does It Mean to Be a ‘Man’?” (above, n. 39) or—more formally and precisely—my article “The Grammar of Social Gender in Biblical Hebrew,” Hebrew Studies, Vol. XLIX (2008), pp. 7–26; http://tinyurl.com/GrammarGender. 50 Key to abbreviations in this subsection (in order of their appearance): NRSV = New Revised Standard Version; NLT = New Living Translation; TNIV = Today’s New International Version; NIVI = New International Version, Inclusive Language Edition; KJV = King James Version; HCSB = Holman Christian 48

RABBI DAVID E. S. STEIN

25

rendered the phrase as “the five of them,” D. A. Carson objected that because the referent is to warriors (who are presumably males), “there is no good reason to change from ‘men’ to some gender-neutral form.”51 However, construing ‫ ִאישׁ‬as a term of affiliation provides such a reason. Without questioning the presumption that these five figures are all males, it should be noted that the narrator refers to them via a term that clearly calls attention to their affiliation with their tribe (as well as to the non-feminine social gender of at least one of their number). When the narrator first identified these ‫( ֲאנָ ִשׁים‬in verse 2 of the passage; see above), the sense of affiliation was specifically representational. The NIVI rendering as “the five of them” signifies affiliation, and thus it conveys the Hebrew term’s most relevant meaning, which the conventional rendering does not. In this respect, rendering Judg 18:7 with the word “men” sacrifices some accuracy in translation. Another example of how the findings of this article affect translation is in Exod 32:28, which, as we saw above, treats ‫ ִאישׁ‬as the individual correlate of ‫ ַעם‬. In other words, ‫ ַעם‬is here the indirect referent of ‫אישׁ‬: ִ ‫ן־ה ָע ֙ם … ִכּ ְשׁ ֹ֥ל ֶשׁת ַא ְל ֵ ֖פי ִ ֽאישׁ׃‬ ָ ‫ִמ‬ This verse’s wording says nothing about social gender; in context, our noun simply means “members of the group in question.”52 Rendering the phrase as “of the people . . . three thousand men” (KJV) may have been defensible in 1611, when the word “men” still had a primarily gender-neutral cast. In contemporary English, however, “men” is predominantly a male term, so that a similar rendering today (“three thousand men among the people,” HCSB; “three thousand men of the people,” Alter, ESV) overtranslates the male gender-marker of ‫אישׁ‬. ִ 53 A rendering that expresses affiliation (e.g., Standard Bible; ESV = English Standard Version; NJPS = New Jewish Publication Society version. 51 The Inclusive-Language Debate: A Plea for Realism (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 1998), p. 139. 52 Mark L. Strauss correctly notes that in this case “it is difficult to discern whether to take ’îsh as inclusive or exclusive” (Distorting Scripture? The Challenge of Bible Translation and Gender Accuracy [Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1998], p. 107). The text’s wording itself is agnostic on this question, while context gives little indication as to the social gender of the ‫ ַעם‬in view. 53 On how the male gender-marker in ‫ ִאישׁ‬is suppressed by the grammatical construction of this verse, see “The Grammar of Social Gender in Biblical

26

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

“three thousand of the people,” NJPS, NRSV, NIV, TNIV; or “three thousand of the men”54) more accurately conveys the main semantic feature of our noun, albeit at the cost of one-to-one correspondence with Hebrew wording, which some translators seek. Implications for Exegesis Construing ‫ ִאישׁ‬as a term of affiliation solves a number of exegetical cruxes that have resulted from understanding it as “adult male.” For example, at Gen 4:1, when Eve first gives birth, she bestows the name Cain and ִ ‫ ָק ִ ֥נ‬.” Claus Westermann notes the classic explains it via the clause “…‫יתי ִ ֖אישׁ‬ difficulty, “namely that the word ‫ ִאישׁ‬cannot mean the newly born child and that it never occurs with the meaning ‘male child.’ ” He therefore opines that Eve “sees in the child she has borne the (future) man.”55 However, in light of the Bible’s abiding interest in population increase, the ancient audience would probably perceive this inaugural infant as remarkable foremost for his being an addition to the human species. And if ‫ ִאישׁ‬is a term of affiliation, then what Eve is saying would make perfect sense in context: “I have created a member [of humankind] . . .” Likewise in Exodus, when Pharaoh’s courtiers conspicuously propose that “‫ ” ָה ֲאנָ ִשׁים‬of the Israelite slaves be dispatched to worship their deity …‫ת־ה ֲאנָ ִ֔שׁים וְ ַי ַֽע ְב ֖דוּ‬ ֣ ָ ‫( ַשׁ ַלּ ֙ח ֶא‬Exod 10:7) they do not mean “the men” (as opposed to “the women”; so translations such as RSV, NJPS, NLT, ESV, HCSB), nor do they mean “the people” in general (so NRSV, NIV, TNIV). Rather, the courtiers take for granted that every ethnic group recognizes that particular officials or elders can represent the populace on certain occasions. Thus the courtiers’ proposal is: send their authorized representatives. This reading explains why Pharaoh then asks Moses, “Who in particular are the ones to go?” (‫ ; ִ ֥מי וָ ִ ֖מי ַהה ְֹל ִ ֽכים‬v. 8). Hebrew” (above, n. 49). That article’s findings, when taken in combination with the findings of this article, call into question § A.4 of the Colorado Springs Guidelines for Translation of Gender-Related Language in Scripture (1997), which states that ‫“ ִאישׁ‬should ordinarily be translated ‘man’ and ‘men.’ ” The guidelines are available at www.bible-researcher.com/csguidelines.html). 54 This would be the more accurate translation if one were to argue that the particular ‫ ַעם‬in view was entirely male (as is sometimes the case). 55 Genesis 1–11: A Continental Commentary (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1994), p. 290.

RABBI DAVID E. S. STEIN

27

As Rabbi Moses Nachmanides commented more than seven hundred years ago: “Pharaoh initially wanted [only] leaders and elders to go—‫ ֲאנָ ִשׁים‬who would be ‘designated by name’ ” (at 10:8, quoting Num 1:17). As biblical words go, ‫ ִאישׁ‬is not a trivial term. It functions as a theme word in the book of Genesis, and it is a key term in the interpretation of certain passages. Consequently, if this article’s thesis withstands scrutiny it should significantly affect the prevailing plain-sense exegesis of famous verses in the biblical text.56 It should also alter our contemporary view of androcentrism in the Hebrew Bible. At least linguistically, the Bible does not treat adult males as “the measure of all things,” despite the claims of many contemporary interpreters—both feminists and complementarians among them.

CONCLUSION This article confirms the thrust of Alison Grant’s (largely ignored) finding that an ‫ ִאישׁ‬would “be thought of always in relation to [a] particular group or community.” It has also confirmed Grant’s perception of a “membership” sense of ‫אישׁ‬. ִ Our conclusions go further than did Grant’s, in two main respects. First, we have identified related nuances for ‫—אישׁ‬most ִ importantly, that this noun can convey representation. Taken together, the “affiliational” nuances account for at least 87% of all biblical instances of the word. And we have added to Grant’s list of instances that seem to be best explained by construing ‫ ִאישׁ‬relationally. Therefore, it appears that in biblical Hebrew, ‫ ִאישׁ‬intrinsically denotes affiliation. The second conclusion beyond Grant’s work is an ancillary one. In the process of investigating the behavior of the word ‫ ִאישׁ‬we have seen that its feminine counterpart, ‫ ִא ָשּׁה‬, functions in much the same way. This correspondence suggests that ‫ ִא ָשּׁה‬is also a term of affiliation. Lexically speaking, the relational meaning of ‫ ִאישׁ‬exists independently of the male semantic content that ‫ ִאיש‬can bear by virtue of its having a feminine counterpart. Although ‫ ִאישׁ‬can connote “an adult male,” that meaning is found in a small minority of the word’s instances, as determined

56 For application to the interpretation of three such passages (Gen 18:2, 19:5, and Num 30:3), see Part VIII of my memorandum “What Does It Mean to Be a ‘Man’?” (above, n. 39).

28

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

by the context. In most cases, the maleness of the word ‫ ִאישׁ‬is not a salient feature. Construing ‫ ִאישׁ‬as a term of affiliation (and for the same reasons also ‫ ) ִא ָשּׁה‬holds great promise and thus bears further investigation—in biblical and epigraphic Hebrew, in subsequent versions of Hebrew, and in other Semitic languages in which a cognate term appears.

THE FRIENDS OF ANTIQUITIES (IN HEB. ‫)נאמני עתיקות‬: THE STORY OF AN ISRAELI VOLUNTEER GROUP AND COMPARATIVE REMARKS RAZ KLETTER INSTITUTE OF HISTORY, TALLINN UNIVERSITY 1. BACKGROUND When the state of Israel was established in 1948 it had almost no resources for maintaining its archaeological sites and historical monuments. The Palestine Archaeological Museum (“Rockefeller Museum”), with its rich collections and administrative archives, became part of East Jerusalem and was held by the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. All Israelis were refused access to the Museum by Jordan; even the one Israeli representative on the international body that managed the Museum was denied access. Israel’s feeble efforts to find some compromise or even to divide the Museum assets through either the British Government or UNESCO failed (Kletter 2006:174-192). Although relatively few local, small Museums and archaeological collections dating from the British Mandate Period existed in the area that eventually became Israel in 1948, some of those that were suffered badly through the 1948 war, acts of looting, and vandalism that occurred in Caesarea, Megiddo, Jerusalem and other places (Kletter 2006:19-33). The Hebrew University of Jerusalem was the only institute of Higher Education with a Department of Archaeology. Thus the number of academic positions for archaeologists in Israel was very limited. Almost from scratch the State established a new “Antiquities Unit” that was affiliated first to the Public Works Department and to the Ministry of Education since 1949. In 1955 it became the Israel Department of 29

30

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Antiquities and Museums (IDAM for short; for convenience sake, I shall use this term also for the period before 1955). The IDAM started with barely 15 workers. Most of them came from the former British Mandatory Department of Antiquities. They occupied a few rooms and shared a library that numbered about one hundred books. Even the manager of the new unit, Shmuel Yeivin (see picture 1) had no separate room for himself at first. Only three supervisors were responsible for the preservation of all the archaeological sites and historical monuments in the area of the State. Many sites, especially near the borders, were either under military rule at the time or could not be reached by public transport. Moreover, inspectors lacked cars. In 1953 a “guards’ battalion,” numbering 20 guards at its height, was established. . They all lacked formal archaeological education. Most of them were placed as stationary guards, but one guard alone could not adequately protect large sites such as Megiddo or Ashkelon (Kletter 2006:117-132). For example, the antiquities guard stationed at Atlit (a large Crusader fortress south of Haifa) had to travel each week by public transport to Hadera to fetch foodstuffs and to receive his salary; he lacked official documents to prove his position and was dependent upon the goodwill of the authorities of the Atlit military base. In 1957 the army occupied most of the ancient site, eliminating the need for an antiquities guard. Yeivin tried for years to secure a legal basis for the guards. Without it, as stated clearly in an official legal advice, guards could neither detain persons caught in the act of robbing antiquities nor demand the return of the looted antiquities. All a guard could do was to ask politely for the person’s name and address, information the later was not obliged to give (Kletter 2006:130). The situation of ancient sites in Israel was aggravated by two processes over which the fledgling IDAM had little influence. First, there was the process of destruction associated with war and its aftermath. All wars damage human archaeological heritage sites and the 1948 war in Palestine/Israel was not different (Kletter 2006:1-30). Moreover, considerable damage to ancient sites was caused by the destruction of many deserted Arab villages and urban quarters (even in cities of a mixed Arab-Jewish population, such as Tiberias): many of these places were situated upon ancient sites or incorporated ancient remains (Kletter 2006:42-64). In addition, the need the State of Israel had to maintain a large army ready for battle forced the building of many new army bases and border fortifications, as well as space for training units, which at times occurred at the expense of ancient sites. Jean Perrot was almost targeted by such a training unit once while

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excavating a site in the Negev. Some large coastal sites (that naturally occupied the few natural harbors) were occupied by the army—including Dor, Appolonia-Arsuf and Atlit. A border post facing Syria was built on the ancient city of Susita, east of the Sea of Galilee (Kletter 2006:37-40). Development was the second process that damaged human archaeological heritage sites in Israel during the early years of the State. Between 1948 and 1953 a million new immigrants arrived in Israel, more than doubling the pre-war Jewish population of 600,000. The massive development this caused included—not only the foundation of new settlements and towns and the enlarging of existing ones, but also an unprecedented number of development projects that changed the landscape completely (roads, factories, plantation of forests, development of agricultural fields; Kletter 2006:64-81). Economic reality, which rendered many unemployed, forced the creation of a welfare system. Indeed, the large excavations of the 1950s and early 1960s in Israel were all carried out and made possible by the existence of ‘cheap’ welfare workers (Kletter 2006:133-149). The pressures of development were such that there were a considerable number of official bodies dealing with the creation of new villages and kibbutzim, and some that did not always work ‘by the rules’. In some cases new temporary camps for immigrants (ma’abarot) were built right on ancient tells. IDAM protested once this was discovered but its protests were mainly ignored (Kletter 2006:66-68)

2. THE CREATION OF THE FRIENDS OF ANTIQUITIES Given this background, the idea to use volunteers to help preserve Israel’s archaeological heritage is not surprising. We find the idea first expressed even before the State was established. On December 16, 1947 senior Hebrew archaeologists met to discuss the future of archaeology in Palestine. This was at a time when the creation of two states was envisioned- one Jewish and one Arab—in which some basic services would be shared and cooperation maintained. According to detailed minutes and a short report (GL44868/7, Kletter 2006:1-2) the participants recommended that the future Department of Antiquities of the Hebrew state would maintain close contacts with the general public and engage in education for the safekeeping of antiquities through a body called Hever Shoharey ‘Atiqot (“Band of Antiquities Enthusiasts”). However, no action was possible in the first half of 1948 to fulfill this recommendation since the conditions at the

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time were so difficult. Also, it is not known who conceived of the idea in the first place. Shmuel Yeivin realized from the first days of the IDAM that its workforce was extremely limited and started to prepare a body of volunteers. The history of the first decade of the volunteers is documented mainly by file GL.444866/3 of the Israel State Archive, which consists mostly of correspondence within the IDAM (as a result, many of these documents were not numbered and one can refer to them only by the general file number and by date). Another major source about the early history of the volunteers is the IDAM’s newsletter in Hebrew - the “Alon” of which six volumes appeared between 1949 and 1957. Yeivin began to create the body of volunteers in the second half of 1948. He did this mainly by approaching people whom he met while touring the country or in work meetings in the IDAM premises, mainly in Jerusalem and in Tel Aviv. He would explain the roles of the future body and ask them to join it as members. It was never meant to be a large-scale body, open to the general public. On the contrary, the concept was to nominate one volunteer at each village or Kibbutz who would be responsible for the surrounding region as well. In large cities, four or five volunteers would be selected. The term coined for these volunteers was “Friends of Antiquities” (‫נאמני עתיקות‬, hereafter, mainly “Friends”). They would be the unofficial and unpaid “eyes and ears” of the IDAM, appointed from among local amateurs interested in archaeology. In close contact with the IDAM, they were supposed to notify it about new discoveries or sites in danger. The “Friends” would also help to run local collections, arrange exhibitions and assist in educating the general public (Alon I:3-4; IEJ 1:248). Initially the body envisioned was called “Band of Enthusiasts of Antiquities” (e.g., in the meeting of December 1947). Soon after the term “Friends of Antiquities” was coined for the volunteers. For a short while both terms were used by Yeivin. But, in fact, only the “Friends of Antiquities” existed. The “Band” never materialized, and later this term was never mentioned. The first practical act in the creation of the body of volunteers took place in early August 1948. Still using the “enthusiasts,” the IDAM sent a “memorandum” to those considered candidates for the new body. : Letter of Memorandum Sent to Antiquities Enthusiasts

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To Mr. ........ At ......... [These details were to be filled by hand]. D[ear] S[ir], I am glad to inform you that an Antiquity Unit has been established in the state of Israel. It is the wish of this unit to closely cooperate with all parts of the nation. For that [aim], we are going to organize a “band of antiquities enthusiasts” and we will be happy if you agree to be a representative of this band at .......... [Place to be filled by hand]. This position of honor is related to certain acts, which we hope that you will not find too difficult to fulfill, such as: to be interested in the state of antiquities in your settlement and the near surroundings; to gather news about new finds or discoveries and inform the IDAM; to make suggestions about keeping and saving antiquities, etc. Explicit directions will be sent to you after we shall have your agreement [to join the new body]. Respectfully yours, Head of the IDAM (copies in GL44889/3, No. 1171a).

In the course of the 1950’s and 1960’s this type of application form underwent a few, minor changes. Not everybody was enthusiastic about becoming an enthusiast. Pesach Bar-Adon, then at Kibbutz Merhavia and considered to be a ‘type’ (sort of ‘bohemian’ or ‘eccentric’) answered thus: To: Mr. Sh. Yeivin, Manager of the Antiquities Unit in the State of Israel. Dear Sir, In answering your undated form, which I have received this week, I hereby announce that I do not accept any position of honor, until further notices... (GL44889/3) Yeivin explained in the first IAA newsletter (Alon) from 1949 that:

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES This trial is new in our land. Its planners and participants do not know yet the right way to choose for it to flourish... We hope that daily work and practical experience will teach the faithfuls and us what to do, what to beware of, and what to avoid. For that reason, we also publish this newsletter (Alon 1:3).

The first newsletter included explicit instructions, admittedly of a tentative nature, for the activity of the new volunteers. They were defined as the eyes and ears of the IDAM, expected to: Keep what survives and be aware of what is found… The Land of Israel, a land with a past of many generations, is rich in events, full of historical remains and antiquities on each and every step. The current activities of war, fortification works, defensive digging, bombing and removal of ruins may expose graves, remains of walls and buildings or detached antiquities... (Alon 1:4).

The “Friends” were instructed to arrive with great haste to any endangered site and try to persuade owners of property or managers of development works to temporarily stop the work. However, the “Friends” lacked official authority and could not order the cessation of work. They were advised to promise those in power that the IDAM did not intend to disturb the work, but only wished to check the antiquities, and not to “grasp treasures.” Another way to persuade contractors or landowners was to tempt them by national arguments: to explain to them that antiquities are a direct link between “our present and our past.” Such arguments were based on the high nationalistic sentiments of that period. The “Friends” were asked to report a discovery by submitting a descriptive report of the find as soon as possible, preferably written shortly upon discovery and including drawings, photographs, and a description of the grounds, walls, pottery, etc. Since “only experts can excavate properly,” “Friends” were not allowed to dig independently in order not to damage antiquities. “Friends” were allowed to remove antiquities from a site only in cases of emergency when the antiquities faced immediate danger; in such cases they were required to notify the IDAM immediately. Since few phones and cars existed in Israel in those years, notification was usually made by letters- even by scraps and pieces of paper (Zetalach in Yiddish). Telegrams could be used in cases of emergency, but the IDAM did not encourage this method, because of the cost it incurred (Alon I:3-5, 18-21).

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New members were appointed by recommendation of existing “Friends” or IDAM workers. Some people applied on their own accord, but not everyone was admitted. Yeivin insisted that dealers and private collectors of antiquities could not serve as “Friends,” even if they were reliable and were highly knowledgeable in their area (GL44844/8, No. 2 of 9.10.48). (However, later this rule was not strictly applied for owners of minor collections). Extant rejection letters reveal various reasons. For example, an applicant was deemed too young or lacking sufficient knowledge. One woman was rejected because she reputedly travelled too often, rendering her unavailable for safekeeping sites near her home. In another case recorded in September 1952, a doctor from Tel-Aviv was rejected because “there are already a considerable number of “Friends” from Tel-Aviv, so we can not appoint more.” News about the new body spread in 1949 through several newspapers (e.g., a letter by Eli Rothschild kept in GL1430/14 No. 6703; and the Jerusalem Post from 7.7.1949). Ha’aretz newspaper published the story how “Friends” discovered a mosaic floor near a temporary camp of immigrants in 1949 at Sha’ar ha-Aliyah, south of Haifa. Until the creation of the Ma’abarot this camp was cramped with immigrants. Living conditions there were very hard (cf. Segev 1984:129): The speedy action of the “Friends” can prevent damage... an example can be given by the discovery of a mosaic floor opposite of the Sha’ar ha-Aliyah camp near Haifa. A driver of a bulldozer brought up a stone that looked to him ancient. It was noticed by one of the “Friends” at Haifa - an owner of a delicatessen shop by profession and an amateur archaeologist by tendency. He went to the place together with another “Friend,” a police sergeant by profession, and both began to excavate carefully, till they reached the mosaic floor. Immediately, they photographed the site and notified the IDAM in Jerusalem (Ha’aretz 8.4.1951).

The mosaic floor, which was part of a monastery, was excavated and published by Dothan (1951). However, not everybody was aware of the new body of volunteers. In July 1949, a certain Franz Hichenberg from TelAviv who applied to the IDAM, suggested the establishment of an association of amateur archaeologists “in towns and villages;” he was apparently unaware that a similar body already existed. Hichenberg himself became a dedicated “Friend.”

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The IDAM started to activate new “Friends.” The young and very energetic Ruth Amiran, then Supervisor of the Northern district, wrote on 21.12.1948 to the appointed “Friend” from Kibbutz Manara, Y. Goldman: Since in your letter of August 8th, 1948, you have taken the role of a member on behalf of the “Band of Antiquities Enthusiasts” at your place; I apply to you in the following request... In my tour of the Galilee a week after it was conquered I saw a few ancient places while passing near Manara, one of which is Sheikh ‘Ubeid…. I ask you to visit this place and collect sherds and in due course send them to the IDAM GL44866/3). Amiran assumed that Goldman could find the said site and knew how to collect relevant sherds. Other “Friends” were in need of some education and training before would be able to perform such tasks.

3. HEADACHES OF ORGANIZATION By the early 1950s the IDAM had gathered a body of faithful members, but it required constant administration. Members changed their names into Hebrew, moved from place to place, or stopped volunteering without notice. In one case a woman wrote to the IDAM that the Alon newsletter arrived at the Kibbutz, but the appointed “Friend” was on a mission, so she volunteered to replace him. Another wrote that he was happy to accept the position of “Friends” and will be free for activities “at home before 8:00 and after 20:00, as well as on weekends.” Yet another sent a letter asking for a recommendation to the police in order to acquire a pistol. Franz Hichenberg from Mapu St., Tel-Aviv (whom we have already met) became Peretz Tura of Patai Street, Giva’atim (a neighboring city). He did receive a letter from the IDAM, which was sent to his old address. However, on 1.8.1956 he asked the IDAM to register new details- apparently not for the first time: Subject: your letter of 29.7.56, no. 1687. 1. I hereby acknowledge receipt of your said letter- It seems to me you have made archaeological excavations in your drawers and on that occasion found some letters of mine that survived so far unanswered. Since you are busy, probably, in surveying your correspondence, I ask you to register immediately my new accurate address. -Thanks to the blessed Giva’taim municipality, which was kind enough to name the street where we live (formerly, having no other alternative, it was named after the nearby street); it even gave a number to our house.

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2. As for your questions: “Friend” of the Department—I am ready to continue to carry this titlethough no sites as yet were discovered in Giv’ataim. Even the “ancient city of Giv’ataim,” that is, the neighborhood of Kiryat Yoseph, also called Khap neighborhood, lacks important antiquities [he was unaware of Chalcolithic burials discovered in the 1930s in Giv’ataim, later excavated by V. Sussman and S. Ben-Arieh]. Association of “Friends” abroad—the difficulties related to this plan [of mine] are not as great as you assume. I believe that there is interest among Jews and Gentiles in this field. The land of Israel can also give something to the big world, not just send employees to raise funds… I think it is possible to issue short, precise booklets and use the same photos [that are published in Israel] in English... The market available for such leaflets abroad, and for enlisting volunteers to the IDAM, exists among Rabbis, schoolteachers, Priests, etc. Nice drawings and short, factual descriptions will win the hearts and will also furnish cultural relations between Israel and abroad (GL44866/3).

At first the IDAM management (Yeivin and Ben-Dor) dealt with the “Friends” on a personal basis. Later the growth of the IDAM did not allow them to continue this personal mode of contact. During the 1960s, the connection between the “Friends” and the IDAM was maintained by district inspectors, each in his/her specific district. For example, Ram Gophna, working as an IDAM supervisor in the central district, reported on 7.1.1963: Subject: “Friends” at Kibbutz Hazerim. About three years ago the “Friend” at this place, Y. Meshorer, quit, and we have lost connection [with him]. Recently, there has been an awakening among some of the older members of the Kibbutz... I recommend nominating member G. El’ad as a faithful of antiquities at this place (GL44866/3)

The activities of the “Friends” had to be financed by IDAM funds, which were severely constrained (Kletter 2006:41, 279, 262, 303-304, 312 Table 6). However the costs were low, at least during the 1950s: no more than 1000 Israeli Liras per year. IDAM’s sponsorship of “Friends” was

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minimal at this stage: “Friends” received the Newsletter (Alon) for free and some of their discoveries were published in it. More expensive activities, such as general conferences for “Friends,” were developed only later (see below). The large majority of “Friends” were not professional archaeologists. There is, of course, no sharp line of division between professional and amateur archaeology; the boundaries also vary for each period and country. For the present article, professional archaeology can be defined roughly as that performed by academics (holding a BA degree or higher) related to institutes of higher education, the IEJ, the museums, or the IDAM. Although “Friends” could report a new or a damaged site, they could not always identify the period or understand whether a a find was common or rare. In 1952 Ruth Amiran saw a leaflet published by the Institute of Archaeology at the University of London which outlined its membership details. Established in 1936-7, this London-based association required that its members pay one guinea per year; in turn a member would be permitted to use the facilities, such as the institute library. Amiran sent the page to Yeivin and suggested that the “Friends” be organized on similar grounds: Perhaps we should move the friends to a structure of an association which pays something and gets something in return.... Really, why must we do everything free of charge?(GL44889/3). Yeivin did not like this suggestion and marked on the edge of her proposal: “It is completely unreasonable and the two cases bear no similarity at all.”

In 1949 the “Friends,” who were not numerous at the time, received maps which were made on a scale of 1:20,000; these were to be marked with new discoveries (GL44889/3 No. 481). Ben-Dor, Deputy Director of the IDAM, sent one map to Shlomoh Kamai from Tarbikha-Shomeriya in the Galilee on 28.9.1949, explaining to him: You ought to fix clear signs for each type of antiquities, for example: U – cave, * – Tell, O – pit, # – ancient building remains... In due course we will send you more signs GL44889/3). Such cartographic equipment led to the surprising arrest of Dr. Y. Kaplan, the famous pioneer of archaeology in the Tel-Aviv area. In early 1950, Kaplan, armed with this IAA map and an aerial photo (rare gadgets usually not held by Israeli civilians in those years), was surveying an area near an army camp. Walking with such a map (All

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1:20,000 maps were considered confidential) and an aerial photo, looking carefully at the ground as if searching for something, Kaplan was clearly not strolling for fresh air. Finding his activity suspicious, soldiers arrested Kaplan. Almost certainly Kaplan was walking near a large army base at Ramat Gan, looking for a fortress that he (later) identified as part of a Hellenistic period line of fortifications of King Alexander Yanneus (Kaplan 1993:1455). Yeivin wrote to Yigael Yadin, then Chief of Staff of the army: I must explain that Mr. Kaplan surveyed the area looking for remains of a large building- perhaps a fortress- on the ground. He seemed to identify its remains from the aerial photo. Mr. Kaplan told me that he showed the officer who arrested him the copy of the IDAM letter, nominating him as a “Friend”... Therefore, on behalf of the IDAM, I wish to ask you two things: A. In relation to the case of Mr. Kaplan, I’d ask that both the map and the aerial photo taken from him at the time of his arrest will be returned; for it is difficult to get new maps now, and completely impossible to receive a new British aerial photo. B. Can a general order be issued to the army, to take into consideration letters of nomination of “Friends” on behalf of the Band of Antiquities Enthusiasts? Where there is no real reason to doubt the intention of a certain person, this letter of nomination can be considered sufficient justification; so that holders of such letters can stay and explore antiquities... (GL44875/10 No. 2562).

A decade later the IDAM was requested to surrender the same 1:20,000 maps for security reasons. On 12.3.59 Y. Landau, the IDAM archivist, wrote to the manpower division of teaching at the Ministry of Education asking to locate an address of one “Friend,” a teacher with which the IDAM, “had relations in 1950-51. We wrote him about the map twice on 30.12.57 and 20.1.58, but received no answer” (GL44889/3 No. 1100). Ruth Amiran wondered about criteria for the “Friends”: A. On nominating the “Friends”: We ought to set certain rules in nominating and choosing “Friends” that will allow us to somehow “test” a nominee, of course without his knowledge.

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES For example: 1. As a first step, suggest to the nominee to correspond with the IDAM about antiquities in his area. With time, he will widen his scope of knowledge and enterprise, and the amount of time he is ready to sacrifice to the goal. 2. Only later and after consultations, to suggest nomination [to him/her] (GL44889/3, letter 8.7.1949).

4. THE “FRIENDS” GROW Lists of “Friends” were published in the newsletter of the IDAM (Alon) during the 1950’s. In January 1949 there were 10 “Friends” on army service and 27 civilians (Alon 1). The numbers rose fast, reaching 61 civilians and just 3 army men in March 1950 (Alon 2:3, inner back page). These statistics signify a return to civilian life, a result of the release from duty of the 1948 soldiers. In 1953 there were 76 civilians and 7 army members (Alon 4:back cover). By 1955 the “Friends” consisted of about one hundred in 85 settlements (Yeivin 1955b:3). In 1957 there were 125 civilians and 3 army “Friends.” Around 1958, about a decade after the body was created, there were 173 “Friends” in 140 towns and settlements (Alon 5-6: back cover; Yeivin 1960:2). A slightly lower number appears in another source (128 “Friends” in 102 settlements, Yeivin, GL44883/12 report p. 2). In the same year the IDAM had only 60 employees including the antiquities guards. The establishment of the body of volunteers was a success by all counts, a fact that contributed greatly to the very limited manpower of the IDAM. Attention should be paid to the very low number of soldier “Friends” throughout the 1950s. Soldiers, mostly young persons, did not join this body, or were not considered desirable candidates. . This was before some army generals developed a habit of collecting antiquities as status symbols. This did occur later, largely under the influence of General Moshe Dayan (Kletter 2004). Naturally, such activities completely negated the values of the “Friends.” However, it seems that during the 1950’s the Israeli army remained largely outside the so-called “cult of antiquities,” unlike the politicians. After 1958 the Alon ceased to exist, and lists of “Friends” were no longer published. Yet the body continued to grow and to flourish, reaching its zenith during the 1960s. A letter written in June 1962 mentions that there were about 180 “Friends.” Part of this growth can be attributed to the growing survey activity of that period. When Aharoni conducted his Galilee survey in 1956 he used volunteers from the area, and some were asked to join the “Friends.” When the Association for Survey (Hebrew Agudah le-

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Seker) was established in 1962, with the (explicit) aim of surveying the entire country, volunteers on the survey teams were also asked to join the “Friends.” Many “Friends” came from kibbutzim and from communal circles among whom the concept of “knowledge of the land” (Yedi’at Ha’Aretz) flourished. This situation also reflected the high status of members of kibbutzim during the period: they were considered an elite group in Israel. Practical reasons also played a part: the kibbutz allocated “cultural days” for members of kibbutzim, which they could employ for cultural activities such as archaeology (Y. Porat, interview 12.11.02). Individual working people, such as those living in cities, did not have free “culture days.” Yeivin expressed the wish to organize a conference of “Friends” in 1948, but hoped that their legal position could be sorted out beforehand. In 1952 a few “Friends” were invited to attend a seminar held for IDAM archaeologists (GL44866/3, 14.11.1951). A high-school education was required in order to attend. The IDAM even supplied free accommodation in Jerusalem, in return for commitment for future work in excavations for at least one summer month (when “Friends” could take a leave from their jobs). The seminar lasted from January to March 1952, with 130 hours of study. Joe Shadur, a “Friend” from Kibbutz Nirim, participated in two small “Friends” meetings in Jerusalem in the 1950s (pers. comm. 2004). One such meeting was mentioned in the press (Ha’aretz, 24.12.55, by A. Haimi). At least five general conferences were organized for “Friends” in the following years: 1. The first general conference of “Friends” was held in March 1958, but very little is known about it. Yeivin estimated (letters, GL.1430/14) that eighty “Friends” would participate. The cost was about four hundred Israeli Liras (IL 1.80 = US $ 1.00 in 1954, IL 3.00 = US $ 1.00 in 1962), including bed and breakfast for two nights in a youth hostel, presumably only for lecturers. 2. A second conference was organized four years later, in April 22-24, 1962 (during the Easter holiday). B. Mazar lectured about the Israelite [=Iron Age] period and the “Friends” visited the IDAM museum. The conference was opened by a lecture given by Avraham Biran (the IDAM manager 1962-1974) who said: “In the “Friends” I see the conscience of those who like antiquities. They indeed are those who stand guard… They are the ones who should alert us to action and to salvage” (HA 3:1). Biran stressed that antiquities are not a private property of the IDAM, but a

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cultural, national property, which is only entrusted to the IDAM for safekeeping (HA 3, 1962:1-2). 3. A third conference was carried out in 1963 in the IDAM premises, Jerusalem, with more than a hundred “Friends” in attendance (HA 6, 1963:28-29). Abba Eban, then Minister of Education and Culture, sealed the lectures. File GL44868/6 still contains some un-used breakfast coupons for Nakhshon club, Ben Yehuda Street 4, Jerusalem, courtesy of the IDAM. Presumably they belonged to “Friends” who were late on arrival or who had to cancel their attendance. One of them was Shimon Dar, later a Professor at Bar-Ilan University. “Friends” were also invited to attend the annual archaeological conference of the IES in 1965. 4. The next general conference took place in July 3-5th, 1966, in what was the new Israel Museum, Jerusalem. Excavations and surveys were the main topic. More than a hundred and fifty “Friends” attended this conference (HA 20, 1966:25). Biran described the new draft of the law of antiquities, Binyamin Mazar spoke on surveying, and Joshua Prawer gave the final lecture. 5. Yet another general conference of “Friends” was held after the 1967 war on 25-26 March 1968 at the Rockefeller building.. The general topic was the survey of the new (occupied) territories. Clearly, Biran continued Yeivin’s policy in trying to maintain and develop the “Friends” during the 1960s. Later—perhaps because of the large numbers of “Friends” and the rising costs—only smaller regional meetings were held for “Friends,” aimed at strengthening the relations between various IDAM districts and the “Friends” associated with them.

5. THE LEGAL STATUS OF THE VOLUNTEERS The lack of legal status for the “Friends” was a perennial problem for the IDAM throughout these years (see picture 2). In 1949 some “Friends” asked for a document that would indicate their official status and give them some authority in dealing with those who damage sites. However, since they had no official status, all they received was a general letter of support that mentioned their title. A letter between Emmanuel Ben-Dor (IDAM’s deputy) and Yeivin, dated 17.2.1949, documents an early case of a “Friend” who requested a letter of nomination to help him to fulfill his role. Ben Dor wrote to Yeivin: As you remember, [Avraham] Frankel of Haifa sat in the office when you gave Ruth [Amiran] your answer about documents for the members

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of the Band [of Enthusiasts]. Probably, you did not notice that he was sitting right there, or else, surely you would not have given the answer in such an upset tone… [Unfortunately, this answer is not specified further]. Anyway, he [Frankel] was very offended and wanted to resign from the band (and he is one of the very best!). Ruth pleaded with him [to stay] and asked him to wait. I suggest giving him a certificate and later draw a line [meaning not to give to others], on the excuse that we received orders from above. The certificate can be worded as follows: Member Avraham Frankel is a “Friend” on behalf of the Band of Enthusiasts of Antiquities under the IDAM, in the area of Haifa and the Carmel Mountain. Mr. Frankel is allowed to visit all the ancient places in his area and to make photos. The authorities and the public are asked to help him in fulfilling his role (GL44889/3).

While an official certificate was discussed in this case, we do not know if it was finally issued; even if so, it was an exception and not the norm. The only case, to the best of my knowledge, in which an official certificate of a sort was issued for a “Friend” in those early years concerned Emil RosenerModigliani. He was at the time a resident of Gedera, south of Tel Aviv, who was appointed as a “Friend” on 11.12.50 following the recommendation of Mrs. Cassuto. 1 Mr. Rosener-Modigliani brought ancient lamps from Qatra (a former Arab village) to the IDAM.2 It was agreed that Mr. Rosener-Modigliani could keep architectonic parts at his home until the IDAM could take them to Jerusalem. He also asked for and received a 1:20,000 Map. Some time later he moved to Rome. The IDAM sent him a certificate on 20.3.1955, probably in response to a request. It is the only such certificate that exists in English: 1 Bice Cassuto, the wife of the famous scholar Umberto Cassuto (1883-1951). Their eldest daughter, Dr. Milka Cassuto, served as librarian in the Rockefeller Museum and later in the IDAM. I did not find other documentation regarding Emil Rosener, nor on his relationship to the Jewish Italian family Modigliani, famous for the painter Amadeo Modigliani. 2 Qatra was occupied first by “Yugoslavian [Jewish] immigrants, but most of them moved elsewhere and Yemenite [Jews] took their place... In the mosque of the village, under the plaster, one sees capitals and there are granite and marble columns in the village…” (GL44866/3).

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES To Whom It May Concern This is to certify that Mr. Emil Rosener is a member of the “Friends” affiliated to the IDAM in Israel, and as such a corresponding member of that body in his place of residence. The “Friends” greatly help the work of the IDAM throughout Israel, and foster close co-operation between the IDAM and the public in the preservation and care of cultural heritage in this country. (Signed) S. Yeivin GL44866/3).

Apparently it was not sufficient and Mr. Rosener replied thus: Via Saint Bon 9, Rome, 25th April 1955 To: Direction, Department of Antiquities, Jerusalem Sehr geehrter Herr Director Jewin, Von einer Reise zuruckgekehrt finde ich Ihr Schreiben von 20. Maerz und danke Ihnen fuer Ihren freundlichen Begleitbrief. Beiliegend sende ich das “Certificat” zurueck. Das Department bestaetigt mir die Mitgliedschaft zu einem privaten Verein, dessen Mitgleid ich in Wirklichkeit gar nicht bin. Die Definition eines Neeman lautet: “Ehrenamtlicher Mitarbeiter des Department of Antiquities, der in seinem Wohnsitz die funktion eines Inspektors ausebt... (GL44866/3 No. 6488).

Mr. Roesener apparently believed that his activities as a “Friend” were not a private matter, and that he enjoyed a status similar to that of an employee of the IDAM who fulfills the position of an inspector of antiquities. Yeivin sent him the following reply on 2.5.1955: I am sorry that the certificate which I gave you in my last letter could not, so it seems, help you to achieve your goal. I do not know whence you have taken the definition of the role of the “Friends.” In the nomination document, which we issue to the “Friends,” it is said explicitly that they represent the “Band of Antiquities Enthusiasts” affiliated to the Department.... Naturally, it is only a role of honor. The IDAM has often expressed its gratitude to the “Friends” for their kind

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and dedicated help, but nobody ever thought of placing them as inspectors of antiquities... Inspectors are given certain authorities according to the Antiquities Ordinance; these authorities can be vested only in official employees of the government, whose scientific training and practical experience of work enable them to be employed in such duties. You surely would agree that such conditions do not apply to the “Friends” GL44866/3 No. 6488a).

Personal documents (on green papers) were issued to the “Friends” in 1962 for the first time. Legend has it that the first ‘green card’ was given to Sh. Avidan, the famous commander of Giv’ati Brigade from Kibbutz Ein ha-Shofet (see Jackier and Dagan 1995:199-200; Alon 5-6:48, no. 39). The drafts for the cards survived, dated May 1962. Still, the “Friends” lacked a legal position. The IDAM intended to include the “Friends” in future antiquities legislation, but the legislation was constantly postponed. Although Yeivin had commenced work on a general Antiquities Law in 1949, it was not until 1978 that one was finally passed. In 1959 regulations that arranged the status and duties of the antiquities guards were issued (file GL1430/12 is dedicated to these regulations). However, the “Friends” remained outside the scope of these regulations. In June 1962, before the green certificates for the “Friends” were issued, the IDAM asked Ruth Staner, the legal advisor to the Ministry of Education, for a legal opinion. On 13.6.1962 Staner replied: The term “Friend” is not recognized by Law, neither in the Ordinance of 1929 or that of 1935... The 1935 Ordinance knows a “policeman” (called then Noter), whose authorities are also defined in the 1959 regulations [but this relates to the guards, not to the “Friends”]. I do not see it as a good idea to nominate people to positions, which do not exist by Law, although it is done out of the best intentions. I fear even more giving documents that lend such people special positions, unrecognized by Law. The very request for such documents comes in order to “show off” [le-nafnef] with them, in front of other citizens GL44889/3 No. 990).

Biran suggested a postponement of the legal discussions, and a continuation of certificate distribution nevertheless (GL44889/3), and so was it. In a letter dated 4.4.1966 to a “Friend” from Kefar Rupin, Ina Pomerantz (then secretary of the IDAM) promised that while the British

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Mandatory Law did not recognize “Friends,” a proper section was being prepared for them in the proposal for a new Antiquities Law, which was currently under preparation (GL44889/3 No. 2685). This Law finally passed in 1978. However, the “Friends” were not mentioned in it, or in the IAA law of 1989, perhaps because by that time they were no longer considered important.

6. DETERIORATION AND CESSATION OF ACTIVITY During the 1980s the “Friends” experienced a period of rapid deterioration in their activity. In this period their numbers dwindled to a few dozens at the most. Documentation of this deterioration is hard to find, because the documents of this period are not yet opened for research (in Israel state archive documents are closed for 30 years), or have not yet been deposited in the State Archive. Perhaps people tend to stress (and to document) more successes than failures. With the establishment of the IAA in 1989, and after forty years of archeological interest and work, the “Friends” ceased their operations. It seems that questions revolving around insurance and responsibility for damage that might be caused by “Friends” had made an impact. In one case in the late 1980’s, a grandfather who was a “Friend” and a child from a kibbutz in the north of the country were killed when a cave collapsed as they were looking for antiquities (Y. Porat, interview 12.11.03; I did not find written data about this case). The IDAM was also embarrassed by the fact that some “Friends” developed the habit of collecting antiquities, as well as excavating without proper authorization. One archeologist, who asked to remain anonymous, reports that a “Friend” made an excavation at Tell Kedesh in Galilee without the consent of the IDAM, “for the sake of educating schoolchildren.” On another occasion in the 1980’s, a “Friend” reputedly became so excited, that he started a fire to weed out thorns in order to gain a better view of “the mystery of Roman Tiberias,” which resulted in a wild fire alarm. During the 1950s, in view of the hard conditions and lack of employees, collecting or even small-scale “cleaning digs” by “Friends” were not always condemned. The IDAM was aware that some “Friends” also collected antiquities, and at least tried to stop this habit (letters in GL44866/3). On 11.1.1950 Yeivin summarized a visit he had made to Tiberias with N. Zori and N. Mardinger. The last was a “Friend”: It was spoken with him about a complete prohibition to carry excavations; he said and stressed that he does not excavate, only collects

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and registers what lies on ground. Even in the cave that he wrote us about entering, he did not excavate, but collected what was lying there. I stressed again the need not to move any object which is not lying on the surface, and to register exactly the place [of each object] (GL44866/3).

Joe Shadur from Kibbutz Nirim in the Negev (interview, December 2003) remembered that there was a clear rule in the 1950s that “Friends” should not excavate. However, when the “Friends” discovered the mosaic floor of the synagogue at Nirim they could not restrain themselves and started to expose it. Often, when the IDAM learned about the existence of antiquities somewhere, a “Friend” was appointed in order to register and supervise them. Dr. E. Yannai of the IAA started his archaeological career as a “Friend” with a collection that he managed in his locality (pers. comm. 2003). Often the “Friends” did not report, (or were late in reporting) damage caused by their own settlements. Y. Porat, who started to work as a member of the IDAM in 1969, remembered the years when the “Friends” were no longer considered a prestigious group. They did not have much spare time, as most of them were working people; they were not professional archaeologists; and they did not receive sufficient financial support form the IDAM. (pers. comm., 2003). By the 1980s illicit diggings and collecting by “Friends” became unbearable in the eyes of the IDAM. The times were changing: the public obsession with antiquities and archaeology was declining in Israel, as well as the desire to volunteer. With the creation of more academic institutions and increasing demand for formal academic degrees for excavatiors archeology became a more professionaized vocation.

7. OTHER VOLUNTEERS IN ARCHAEOLOGY Amateur archaeologists preceded professional archaeology and remained alongside even after the later was born. Still today amateur archaeologists remain common. The lines between amateurs and professionals are not always clear-cut, but discussion of this issue deserves a separate article; what follows here is but a tentative and brief review. In the history of archaeology one can easily discern the period of ‘learned societies’ that spanned mainly from the second half of the 19th to the early 20th centuries CE. A few examples of such societies include the Palestine Exploration Fund (PEF), the Egypt Exploration Fund (EEF), the Deutsche Verein zur Erforschung Palästinas (DPV), and the Israel Exploration Society (IES). Lists of such societies, history pages of many of them and

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criteria for definition can be found in the Scholarly Societies Project presently available at www.scholarly-societies.org/archaeol_soc.html. The histories and the activities of many of these learned societies are well documented. Such societies were usually based on voluntarily membership; open to the public in general; and members normally paid dues. The societies’ main aims are to promote a certain academic field by holding conferences, joining and promoting academic research, publishing journals, working for education of the community, etc. Many such societies were formed before the establishment of official, government-related Departments of Antiquities. Although some of their duties have been assumed by the later, many societies continue to exist and are crucial for the development and maintenance of connections between professional archaeology/state archaeology and the public. In Jordan a voluntarily society called “Friends of Antiquities of Jordan” has been in existence since 1958. In cooperation with the authorities, universities and other bodies, it aims to protect and preserves sites and promote awareness of heritage in the community (http://www.foa.com.jo). Membership is free and members pay dues; hence the nature of this body is similar to that of learned societies, but dissimilar to the “Friends” in Israel. Groups of archeological volunteers exist in various countries without necessarily forming a strict “learned society.” One example is the organization of Dutch volunteers that combines several earlier separate organizations (Erfgoed Nederland, http://www.erfgoednederland.nl). Archaeological societies exist in many countries today, e. g. India (the Indian Archaeological Society), Germany (Deutscher Archäologen Verband), Canada (the Canadian Archaeological Association, the Ontario Archaeological Society), The United Kingdom (The British Arcaheological Association, founded 1843), the United States (Society for American Archaeology), and France (Société Française d’Archéologie, founded 1834). To the best of my knowledge the “Friends” in Israel are unique in that they were created by, and are affiliated with an official state agency in spite of being a voluntary body. Membership was not open to all: It was conditional on appointment by the IDAM, but no membership fees were imposed. In some societies membership is also not open to all. For example, in the Society of Antiquities of London (established 1751), fellows are elected by secret ballot. Only existing fellows can propose new ones, who must win four ‘yes’ to every ‘no’. Candidates have to be “excelling in the knowledge of antiquities and history of this and other nations” (see www.sal.org.uk).

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Yet, fellows pay annual fees and are not elected by a state body. Thus, the position of the “Friends” was not similar to that usually associated with members of ‘learned societies.” It is perhaps better to compare the “Friends” in Israel with other cultural, volunteer groups that evolved at times of “national awakening.,” Archaeology often occupies a major part in national ‘awakenings’ (Anderson 1983; Smith 1991; Gellner 1983; for archaeological aspects see Shenan 1989; Kohl and Fawcett 1995), however, often there are no official and professional bodies to take care of archeological finds. One example is the period of “national awakening” in Estonia at the end of the 19th century, in which archaeological amateurs were engaged in the first general inventory of sites. Jaan Jung (himself not a professional archaeologist) created this first inventory with the help of a network of local “correspondents,” who sent him data about ancient sites (Jung 1898; 1899; 1910). By 1896 Jung had received 428 such messages about antiquities. A second inventory of sites, carried out in the 1920s when Estonia was independent, was performed with the help of students of archaeology. A third inventory (in the 1960s) was made by professional archaeologists (Tvauri 2006:248, 259; Lang 2006:27). Similar stages of development can be seen in Israel. In both countries the national awakening and the first years of independence were marked by strong national feelings and a heightened awareness of the status of archaeology (Kletter 2006:314-319)

8. IN SUM The “Friends” in Israel were unique in that, to the best of my knowledge, despite being a voluntarily body, it was nevertheless created by and affiliated with an official state agency. Unlike most learned societies membership was not free; it was conditional on appointment by the IDAM, and no membership fees applied. Thus, the position of the “Friends” was not similar to that of members of ‘learned societies.” In the first two decades of Israel’s nationhood, when IDAM consisted of too few workers, the “Friends” were crucial in reporting endangered or damaged sites. “Friends” have discovered important sites and reported damage to sites that later proved to be important. A few examples include: the discovery and retracing of the course of the Islamic aqueduct to Ramla (Y. Zelinger, pers. comm. 2003); the site of the Nirim Synagogue in the Negev (Joe Shadur, interview 17.11.03; Levi 1960:77); and a Byzantine monastery near Haifa (Dothan 1951); and they also reported General Dayan’s theft of antiquities

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(see picture 3). However, part of this activity remains unpublished (Kletter 2004). The Israeli “Friends” were not related to the concept of foreign volunteers who joined archaeological excavations in Israel. Before the 1960’s initiatives to encourage foreign volunteers were mostly unsuccessful due to the availability of cheap, local welfare workers who were operative during the 1950’s. The situation changed in the 1960’s, when more foreign volunteers workers came to Israel. At its height the “Friends” numbered several hundred members. Many “Friends” were distinguished individuals and later became well-known professional archaeologists. A number of notable figures include Rafael Frankel (later of Haifa University, ancient agriculture specialist); Shmuel Avitzur (history of technology in Israel); Y. Braslevski (leader of youth tours and collector of folk tales); Mordechai Gichon (intelligence officer, later classical archaeologist, Tel Aviv University); Rehavam Ze’evi (a general, Head of the Eretz Israel Museum, later a Minister); Claire Epstein (famous for her work on the Chalcolithic period in the Golan Heights); Ya’acov Meshorer (numismatist, curator of the Israel Museum, Jerusalem); Zecharia Kallai (Professor of Historical Geography, the Hebrew University, Jerusalem); Elisha Linder (a founder of underwater archaeology in Israel); Raphael Giveon (Egyptologist, Tel Aviv University); Shmaryahu Gutman (excavator of Gamla); Ya’acov Kaplan (affiliated to Tel Aviv municipality, excavating many sites in its area); and Sh. Avidan (commander of the Giv’ati brigade in 1948). An important contribution the “Friends” made was the publication of the IDAM newsletter (Alon). This was the sole archaeological publication of the IDAM during its first eight years, except for some very minor site guidebooks. The newsletter set the format for the later journal Hadashot Archaeologiyot (HA or “Excavations and Surveys in Israel”), which appeared in 1963 and is still published today. The contribution of the “Friends” was important especially in the first years of modern Israeli nationhood. This being the case, it is surprising that nothing has been written about the “Friends” to date. Their existence is almost unknown outside Israel. In November 2002, the IAA decided to renew the activity of “Friends,” and about 300 applications were received by late 2003. Some members of parliament were given the status of “Friends,” in hopes that they will serve as an archaeological lobby. The role of these new volunteers is still unclear, however the connection to the wide

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public is vital for the IAA, and for Israeli archaeology in general. If the new volunteers will carry the old tradition with pride, in another fifty years they too will deserve a written history of their own.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS My interest in the subject began when I worked in the IAA, at a time when the renewal of the body of volunteers was considered. I was sent to locate archival material in the Israel state archive, and as a result wrote a short summary, published in Hebrew (Kletter 2004). I wish to thank the IAA, as well as the workers of the reading room at Israel State Archive, Jerusalem, for their help. The present paper is also based on material collected later in conversations with former “Friends” and archaeologists. I wish to thank Tsvika Gal, Yosef (Sefi) Porat, Ram Gophna, Y. Zelinger, Eli Yannai, Margaret Steiner, Evelyn van den Steen and the late Joe Shadur, who discussed with me several points and contributed from their time and knowledge. Hebrew documents were translated as faithfully as possible, with few (mainly stylistic) modifications, and for the sake of convenience the acronym IDAM and abbreviated “Friends” were used also in the translations of documents. Since nothing has been published so far on the “Friends” the list of references (below) is not long. I hope that following the publication of this article more data about the “Friends” may come to light.

REFERENCES Alon. 1949-1957. Bulletin of the Israel Department of Antiquities and Museums. 6 Volumes (Hebrew). Anderson, B. 1983. Imagined Communities. London: Verso. Dotahn, M. 1955. Excavations of a Monastery near Sha’ar Ha-’aliyah. Israel Exploration Journal 5:96–102. Gellner, E. 1983. Nationas and Nationalism. London. HA. 1962- Hadashot Arcaheologiyot (Hebrew). English version: “Excavations and Surveys in Israel.” Jerusalem: IDAM/IAA. Internet Journal since 2006. Jackier, E. and Dagan, S. 1995. Shimon Avidan. The Man who Became a Brigade. Daliya: Ma’arechet. Jung, J. 1898. Muiniasaja teadus Eestlaste maalt II. Jurjew (Tartu). Jung, J. 1899. Muiniasaja teadus Eestlaste maalt I. Jurjew (Tartu). Jung, J. 1910. Muiniasaja teadus Eestlaste maalt III. Tartu.

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Kaplan, J. 1993. Tel-Avi – Jaffa. In: Stern, E. ed. The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land. Jerusalem: IES: p. 1455. Kletter, R. 2004. IAA Newsletter Dvar Avar 5:18-19 (Hebrew). Kletter, R. 2006. Just Past? The Making of Israeli Archaeology. London: Equinox. Kohl, P.L. and Fawcett, C. eds. 1995. Nationalism, Politics and the Practice of Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lang, V. 2006. The History of Archaeological Research (up to the late 1980s). in: Lang, V. et als. Eds. Arcaheological Research in Estonia 1865-2005 (Estonian Archaeology I). Tartu: Tartu University Press: 13-40. Levi, Sh. 1960. The Synagogue at Maon (Nirim). Eretz Israel 6: 77-93 (Hebrew). Segev, T 1984. 1949- The First Israelis. Tel Aviv. Hebrew. Shenan, J.S. ed. 1989. Arcaheological Approaches to Cultural Identity. London. Smith, A.D. 1991.National Identity. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Tvauri, A. 2006. The Conservation of Arcaheological Heritage in Estonia. In: Lang, V. et als. Eds. Arcaheological Research in Estonia 1865-2005 (Estonian Archaeology I). Tartu: Tartu University Press: 247-266.

Picture 1 The second President of Israel, Yitzhak Ben-Zvi (sec. from left) and his wife, Rachel Yanait Ben-Zvi, (third from left) visiting the excavations of Shmuel Yeivin (left) at Ceasarea, 1955. Photo from the IAA archive, no. 12779

Picture 2 Draft for a new Ordinance of Antiquities written by Yeivin, late 1949. This draft stipulates the role of “Friends of Antiquities,” to be nominated for life-time by the Director of the IDAM. From the Israel State Archive.

Picture 3 M. Prausnitz, 30.9.1959, describing how Y. Ben-Yosef, a “Friend of Antiquities,” reported looting of antiquities by Moshe Dayan at Kibbutz Yas’ur. From the Israel State Archive.

THE VAV-PREFIXED VERB FORMS IN ELEMENTARY HEBREW GRAMMAR JOHN A. COOK ASBURY THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 1. INTRODUCTION The last few decades have given rise to a strange state of affairs in Hebrew studies.1 On the one hand, renewed discussions of the Hebrew verb and the application of linguistics to understanding the verbal system in Biblical Hebrew have continued unabated.2 On the other hand, the appearance of new elementary grammars of Biblical Hebrew has increased tremendously over the same period of time.3 Oddly, however, there seems to be very little influence between these two trends: the elementary grammars seem all but unaware of the verb discussion of the past decades and even the last century. Part of the reason may be a pragmatic attitude on the part of 1 This is a revised version of a paper delivered at the 2007 National Association of Professors of Hebrew Annual Meetings, in a session entitled “The Hebrew Verb: Advances in Linguistics and Pedagogy.” I want to thank the other participants and attendees for their feedback. 2 Examples (since 1990), Andersen 2000; Buth 1992, 1994; DeCaen 1995, 1999; Cook 2001, 2002, 2004, 2005, 2006; del Barco 2003; Eskults 1990; Dallaire 2002; Dobbs-Allsopp 2000; Furuli 2006; Gentry 1998; Goldfajn 1998; Gropp 1991; Hatav 1997, 2004, 2006; Heller 2004; Joosten 1992, 1997, 1999, 2002, 2006; Ljungberg 1995; Niccacci 1990, 1994, 1997, 2006; Roglund 2000, 2003; Shulman 1996, 2000; Talstra 1997; Warren 1998. 3 Examples (since 1990), Bergman 2005; Bartlet 2000; Bornemann 1998; de Claissé-Walford 2002; Dobson 2005; Ellis 2006; Futato 2003; Garrett 2002; Hostetter 2000; Kelley 1992; Kittel, Hoffer, and Wright 1989 (2d ed. 2004); Martin 1993; Pratico and van Pelt 2001; Rocine 2000; Ross 2001; Seow 1995 (2d ed.); Vance 2004; Walker-Jones 2003.

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Hebrew instructors, something like, “If it ain’t broke, doesn’t fix it.” In other words, even if the long-standing explanations of the Hebrew verbal system found in the grammars are not exactly accurate, they “work” well enough at the elementary level, so let the students figure out the “correct” analysis later on in their course of study. Another reason for this disconnect may be the fact that the field is still so reliant on older reference grammars and lexica, so that it is felt that students need to at least be familiar with the older nomenclature and theories in order to intelligibly use the available resources. In any case, this state of affairs is disturbing pedagogically, both because students deserve the most accurate grammar description of Biblical Hebrew and not just the most expedient, and because the traditional description has tended to portray the Hebrew verbal system as this strange beast without any parallel among human languages. In this short article I want to counter the disconnect between recent research on the Hebrew verb and the continued proliferation of elementary grammars by showing how modern linguistics, and particularly linguistic typology, provides a means of describing the Biblical Hebrew verbal system as “human.” That is, the verbal meanings and its configuration as a system are paralleled in other languages and make sense with what is known about verbal systems across the world’s languages. Anyone who has struggled to help students get past the “strangeness” of Biblical Hebrew can appreciate the importance of explaining the verbal system in a way that is both more accurate and more linguistically plausible to students than the traditional explanations. Practical considerations lead me to restrict my remarks to the vavprefixed verb forms, which simply means that I am not going to engage extensively with the long-standing debate over tense, aspect, and modality. I will begin with a survey of the traditional approach to the vav-prefixed forms, according to which they are usually labeled the conversive or consecutive forms, and I will illustrate how this traditional approach is entrenched in most of the grammars of the past century and up to the present. This survey provides a foil against which I want to present an updated understanding of the verbal system, informed by linguistic typology, with illustrations of how this understanding can be conveyed to first-year students.

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2. BIBLICAL HEBREW VERB THEORY AS REFLECTED IN ELEMENTARY GRAMMARS There is a parallel development between the linguistic study of tense, aspect, and mood or modality and the study of the Biblical Hebrew verb. When in the 1940s Reichenbach (1947) reinvigorated the philosophical and linguistic discussion of tense with his reference point theory, Hebraists were engaged in reanalyzing the Biblical Hebrew verbal system in terms of Bauer’s (1910) tense-model of Semitic (e.g., Blake 1946, 1951; Hughes 1955, 1962). Similarly, a renewed interest in aspect among linguists, marked by Comrie’s (1976) brief but influential book, was paralleled by the renewed debates of the 1980s and 1990s over tense and aspect in Biblical Hebrew (see note 2 above). True then to this pattern, the latest shift in the past couple decades to a renewed linguistic interest in mood and modality is reflected in the recent focus on modality in Biblical Hebrew (e.g., DeCaen 1995; Dallaire 2002; Shulman 1996, 2002; Warren 1998). However, despite all the debates and recent advances in our understanding of the Biblical Hebrew verbal system, these accomplishments are all but unnoticed in the recent spate of introductory grammars. For example, the following description of the vav-prefixed forms appears in the grammar by Kittel, Hoffer, and Wright: It is a stylistic device of Biblical Hebrew when narrating a series of past events to begin the narrative with an affix form of the verb and to continue it with a series of verbs in the prefix form with vav conversive. . . . When a vav ‫ ו‬is attached to the front of an affix form of the verb, it usually serves to give it a future tense translation. Hence the vav “reverses” the tense. The name vav reversive is an analogic extension of the vav conversive for the affix (Kittel, Hoffer, and Wright 1989: 387– 88; 2d ed. 2004).

This description of the vav-prefixed forms as having a special “converting” form of the vav appears already early in the sixteenth century, as described by Elias Levitas: Notice, when you want to convert a past into a future you place a vav with a šwa in front of it, as in the case of ‘keep’ in ‘And Yhwh will keep…’ [‫ושׁמר‬, Deut 7:12], which is like ‘and he will keep’ [‫]וישׁמר‬. Likewise, ‘And the sons of Israel shall keep the Sabbath’ [‫ושׁמרו‬, Exod 31:16]. It is like ‘and they shall keep’ [‫]וישׁמרו‬. . . . And notice that the style in the Bible is

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES to use a past in place of a future and a future in place of a past (my translation; cited in Leo 1818: 226).

Admittedly, however, few grammars continue to embrace the conversive theory as wholeheartedly as Kittel, Hoffer, and Wright. More frequently, they cite the conversive as one alternative alongside the consecutive theory, as illustrated in the following passage from Bornemann’s grammar: To express consecutive narration in the past the first verb is in the perfect (completed action) or its equivalent, and all the following verbs are in the imperfect and prefixed with · ַ‫ …ו‬. This narrative device is called vav consecutive imperfect. . . . For consecutive narration in the present or future the process is simply reversed. The first verb is in the imperfect (incomplete action) or its equivalent (including the imperative), and all the following verbs are in the perfect and prefixed with ‫ ו‬pointed exactly like the simple conjunction ְ‫( ו‬Bornemann 1998: 80–82).

This consecutive relationship, which Bornemann leaves unexplored, was explained by Ewald over a century earlier as follows: But as, in creation, through the continual force of motion and progress, that which has become, and is, constantly modifies its form for something new; so, in thought, the new advances which take place (and thus, then) suddenly changes the action which, taken by itself absolutely, would stand in the perfect, into this tense, which indicates becoming— the imperfect. . . . As, therefore, in the combination previously explained [i.e., vav-consecutive imperfect], the flowing sequence of time or thought causes that which has been realized, and exists, to be regarded as passing over into new realization; so in the present case [i.e., vav-consecutive perfect], it has the effect of at once representing that which is advancing towards realization, as entering into full and complete existence. Hence, each of the plain tenses gracefully intersects the other, by interchanging with its opposite (Ewald 1879: 20, 22–23).

A third understanding of the vav-prefixed forms, which generally masquerades under the label of consecutive, is illustrated by Hostetter: “From these examples it can be seen that the verb that stands first in such a series determines both the time (past or future) and the mood (indicative or subjunctive) of the verbs that come next” (Hostetter 2000: 84). Compare Hostetter’s statement with Gell’s early nineteenth-century explanation of what was termed the vav-inductive theory:

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When Verbs are connected in Hebrew (the connexion being generally indicated by the sign ‫ ו‬prefixed to the latter), the Power, whether temporal or modal, of the first or Governing Verb is communicated from it, and inducted into the Verb following. And whatever be the power proper to the latter Verb, it still retains its use subordinately; but that which is inducted becomes the prevailing power. If a third Verb follows in connexion, and so on, the power communicated from each successive Verb to that next following, without destroying its proper subordinate power, is the same as was previously inducted into the former (Gell 1818: 8; quoted in McFall 1982: 25).

Another early nineteenth-century theory, called the vav-relative theory, is also preserved in recent grammars, as illustrated by Futato: “The vav-relative is a special use of the conjunction vav (‫ )ו‬when attached to a pf or impf verb. This vav ‘relates’ the verb to which it is attached to a previous verb” (Futato 2003: 162). Compare Futato’s explanation with that of Schoeder’s description of the vav-relative on the imperfect form: Apart from these various usages, the Future [yiqtol] has yet another, unique and peculiar to the Hebrews, in that it receives the force of our Past, and designates a matter as truly past; not however by itself nor absolutely, but viewed in relation to some preceding past event. When different events are to be narrated that follow the one from the other in some kind of continuous series, the Hebrews consider the first as past, the others, however, that follow, as future on account of the preceding. Consequently, this describes something that, in relation to another past event, is itself later and future; it may be called the Future relative (Schroeder 1824: 239–40, my translation from the Latin).

Finally, Ellis presents a mixture of theories, as seen in the following excerpts from his recently published grammar: Perfect and imperfect verbs can also take a vav consecutive (vav cons) which has two functions. One is to convey the idea of a conjunction, just as the simple vav conj does. The other is to invert the meaning of the verb’s tense, so that a perfect verb with a vav cons has generally the same meaning as an imperfect, and an imperfect verb with a vav cons has roughly the same meaning as a perfect verb. . . . A perf + vav cons typically follows another clause or phrase which establishes the action in a text as incomplete, then the perf + vav cons continues the incomplete action. As

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES the term “consecutive” implies, vav cons usually appears in a language sequence that is governed by the temporal sense of a preceding verb or phrase. . . . An imperfect with vav cons (impf + vav cons) typically follows another clause or phrase which establishes the action in a text as completed, then the impf + vav cons continues the notion of completed action (Ellis 2006: 160, 161, 164).

This treatment contains elements of the conversive, consecutive, and inductive theories, all of which have roots traceable back two centuries or more. Sadly the advances in our understanding of the Hebrew verb are not influencing the recent generation of introductory grammars.

3. UPDATING THE DESCRIPTION OF THE BIBLICAL HEBREW VERBAL SYSTEM

What are those linguistic advances that have been made in the understanding of the vav-prefixed forms? Briefly, they are the following: first, comparative data have led to a fairly wide-spread consensus that two separate forms underlie the imperfect and the vav-prefixed imperfect; second, likewise comparative data have shown, by contrast, that the perfect form and the vav-prefixed perfect are a single conjugation; third, research on word order and the traditional modal forms of jussive, cohortative, and imperative has shown that the vav-prefixed perfect form is more closely aligned syntactically and semantically with these modal forms, than with the non-modal or indicative forms. I will elaborate on each of these three points in turn. The idea that the imperfect and vav-prefixed imperfect are two separate conjugations with distinct origins is widespread in the literature (see esp. Rainey 1986). This conclusion is based most notably on two pieces of evidence: the one is the comparative data of Akkadian, which has a prefixed past verbal conjugation (i.e., iprus); the other is evidence in the Amarna correspondence that the ancient Canaanite scribes likewise had a past prefix conjugation in their native West Semitic language, the precursor of Hebrew. This analysis of the vav-prefixed imperfect is prevalent enough to be appearing in elementary grammars, albeit in most cases relegated to footnotes. An example of this historical explanation prominently given is in the following quote from Seow’s grammar: In fact, the yiqtōl form has two different origins: *yaqtulu for imperfect and *yaqtul for the preterite (referring to past situations). But early in

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the evolution of the Hebrew language, final short vowels disappeared and so the imperfect form (*yaqtulu > *yaqtul) became identical to the preterite (*yaqtul). In time, *yaqtul (i.e., either imperfect or preterite) developed to yiqtol. Thus, the yiqtol form may be imperfect or preterite. In its latter function, of course, there is some overlap with the perfect. (Seow 1995: 225–26)

By contrast, the comparative data related to the perfect with the vav-prefix exhibit a situation quite unlike that just summarized regarding the vavprefixed imperfect. On the one hand, there is no evidence for two historically distinct suffixed conjugations—the perfect and vav-prefixed perfect are one and the same, morphologically speaking. On the other hand, the phenomenon of the perfect form expressing non-past or modal nuances alongside its past-perfective indicative sense is widespread in Semitic, including in Classical Arabic (Wright 1962: 2.14–17), Ethiopic (Dillman [1899] 1974: 548), Imperial Aramaic (Folmer 1991) and Syriac (Nöldeke [1904] 2001: 203–5, 265), Ugaritic (Tropper 2000: 715), Phoenician (Krahmalkov 1986), and Amarna Canaanite (Rainey 1996: 355–65). In particular, in these languages and in Biblical Hebrew modal meanings are correlated with the perfect form when it appears with a conjunction at the beginning of a conditional protasis or apodosis clause, as illustrated by example (1). ָ ‫ת־א ִביו וְ ָעזַ ב ֶא‬ ָ ‫א־יוּכל ַהנַּ ַער ַל ֲעזֹב ֶא‬ ַ ֹ‫ל‬ (1) ‫ת־א ִביו וָ ֵמת׃‬ The boy is unable to leave his father. If he leaves his father, then he (i.e., his father) will die (Gen. 44:22) At this point there is an important parallel between the vav-prefixed perfect and the traditional modal system in Biblical Hebrew. Revell (1989) and some of his students have developed an analysis in recent years showing that the prefix-pattern conjugations (imperfect, jussive, cohortative, and imperative) forms are syntactically distinct from the indicative forms in that they consistently appear in verb-subject word order. Revell (1989) argued that the imperfect appears at the head of its clause when it expresses modal or non-indicative meanings, and within its clause when expressing indicative meanings. Shulman (1996) demonstrated that in more than 96% of the occurrences of imperatives and morphologically distinct jussives and cohortatives in Genesis through 2 Kings, the forms appear at the beginning of their clause. DeCaen (1995) noted the syntactic similarity of the vav-prefixed forms and the imperative-jussive-cohortative

60

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

modal system in Biblical Hebrew and argued that the vav-prefixed forms are modal conjugations. On the strength of the comparative data, however, I disagree with half of DeCaen’s argument: rather, it is only the vav-prefixed perfect that is truly comparable with the modal system, meaning that it is both syntactically and semantically comparable. Thus, I hold that the vav-prefixed perfect form is a syntactically distinct modal use of the perfect conjugation in Biblical Hebrew. This modal use of the perfect is analogous with the modal use of the imperfect, which is syntactically distinct from the indicative imperfect in the same way (see Revell 1989). I would tentatively posit that the development of this modal use of the perfect conjugation came from its widely evidenced use in conditional clauses through a “conventionalization of implicature” (Dahl 1985: 11). In other words, the perfect became prevalent enough in conditional clauses, in which its modal nuance derived from the modal (protasis-apodosis) syntactic construction, that eventually that implied modal meaning came to be seen as integral with the form when used in VS position, so that it could be used apart from the protasis-apodosis context and still retain the associated modal meaning. This explanation is consonant with the available data and the way in which languages may develop new meanings for existing forms. The implications of these conclusions based on comparative evidence is that the Biblical Hebrew verbal system looks much different than the traditional portrayal, so much so that I would argue we need to approach our treatment of it in a wholly different manner than in the traditional descriptions.

4. TEACHING THE MODAL PERFECT TO ELEMENTARY HEBREW STUDENTS

In particular, I want to make three suggestions toward a different approach to the Biblical Hebrew verbal system based on the analysis of the vav-prefixed forms that I have just presented. As so many other Hebrew teachers, I too have turned to writing my own grammar. Thus, I will illustrate how the theory of the Hebrew verb I have just described can be presented to first-year students by citing portions of an unpublished grammar that I have co-authored with Robert Holmstedt of the University of Toronto (Cook and Holmstedt 2007).4 A draft of the grammar may be freely downloaded: http://individual.utoronto.ca/holmstedt/Textbook.html 4

JOHN A. COOK

61

First, the vav-prefixed forms should not be treated as analogous or identical phenomena. They deserve separate treatments in the grammar discussion and descriptions that relate them to something with which the students are familiar or at least with which they are more familiar than Hebrew grammar. Thus, for example, in Cook and Holmstedt the vav-prefixed imperfect is labeled the “past narrative” form and described as follows: Languages typically use a past tense or perfective aspect verb form for narrating past events (e.g., English Simple Past). Some languages, however, may devote a particular verb form entirely to literary narrative (e.g., French Passé Simple). In Biblical Hebrew an archaic past tense verb predominates and is mostly restricted to past narrative passages (Cook and Holmstedt 2007: 57).

The modal use of the perfect is presented in the grammar without any reference to the distinct and separate phenomenon of the past narrative form, as illustrated by the following excerpt: The Perfect Conjugation was described in Lesson 4 as expressing perfective aspect. The Perfect is also used to express non-indicative modality. . . . The most common modal function of the Perfect is to mark (semantically) subordinate clauses. These are equivalent to English clauses beginning with ‘if/when/so that/in order that/because’, i.e., conditional, purpose, result, or causal clauses. . . . The modal use of the Perfect is distinguished from the indicative by its word order: the Perfect functioning modally will have a verb-subject word order (Cook and Holmstedt 2007: 53).

Admittedly, teaching beginning students of Biblical Hebrew to distinguish forms based on word order is a challenge, thus there is a certain practicality required, as evidenced by the following note appended to the preceding quote: Often the subject is not explicit in BH clauses; in such cases, it is impossible to identify whether a perfect is used modally or not based on the word order. However, because most modal Perfects are prefixed with the vav conjunction, the presence of the conjunction is a good introductory way to distinguish the modal from the indicative use of the verb. (Cook and Holmstedt 2007: 53).

62

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Note, however, that while this note directs the student to pay some attention to the prefixed vav, it is not because the conjunction in any way contributes to the form or meaning of the modally used perfect. Rather, given Biblical Hebrew’s predilection for coordinated clauses, the vavconjunction is a useful indicator of the clause boundary. This presentation of the modal perfect raises two difficulties that deserve to be addressed further. First, there is the issue of word order in Biblical Hebrew. While the analysis of the modal perfect presented here does not require adopting the word order theory espoused in the grammar, it makes more sense when taken together with it. The word order view underlying the grammar is that Biblical Hebrew has a basic subject-verb word order in indicative clauses, and a verb-subject word order in nonindicative or modal clauses, as illustrated by the contrastive examples in (2) and (3). ַ ‫וְ ָא ִביו ָשׁ ַמר ֶא‬ (2) Indicative (subject-verb order) ‫ת־ה ָדּ ָבר‬ ‘and his father kept the word’ (Genesis 37:11) (3) Modal (verb-subject order) ‫וּב ַאשׁ ַהיְ אֹר‬ ָ ‫ר־בּיְ אֹר ָתּמוּת‬ ַ ‫וְ ַה ָדּגָ ה ֲא ֶשׁ‬ ‘And the fish that are in the Nile will die so that the Nile stinks’ (Exodus 7:18) Alongside this basic word-order division between indicative and nonindicative clauses, virtually all of the grammatical function words in Biblical Hebrew cause triggered inversion, so that clauses in which these words appear have verb-subject word order, regardless of whether they are modally indicative or non-indicative (see example 4 below). On this basis, the past narrative form is explained as being verb-subject word order not because it has a modal meaning, but because it consistently undergoes triggered inversion, perhaps because of a function word that is preserved now only in the doubling of the form’s prefix (example 5; and see Holmstedt forthcoming). ִ ‫ִכּי־יָ ְדעוּ ָה ֲאנָ ִשׁים ִכּ‬ (4) ‫י־מ ִלּ ְפנֵ י יְ הוָ ה הוּא ב ֵֹר ַח‬ ‘because the men knew that he was fleeing from Yhwh’ (Jonah 1:10) ָ ‫וַ יָּ ָקם יוֹנָ ה ִל ְבר ַֹח ַתּ ְר ִשׁ‬ (5) ‫ישׁה ִמ ִלּ ְפנֵ י יְ הוָ ה‬ ‘Jonah arose to flee to Tarshish from before Yhwh’ (Jonah 1:3) The other difficulty with this presentation of the modal perfect is how to bring first-year students to an understanding of a complex notion like

JOHN A. COOK

63

subjunctive modality—aside from the issue of how best to label it. In teaching I have tended to employ the notion of “contingent modality” to describe the modal perfect, and in fact we include the term in a couple of places in our grammar.5 To speak of contingent situations with respect to a given situation is to employ the same sort of temporal-spatial metaphor that is so frequently used to explain tense and aspect. In the case of modality, indicative or non-modal statements refer to the given or at-hand situation, whereas non-indicative or contingent modalities relate other states of affairs to the given situation in some sort of contingent manner, such as conditionally, temporally, or imperatively. In each case, the situation referred to by the modal form is in some way “irreal” versus the given “real” or “actual” situation. As illustrated in the following diagram, this concept of contingent modality might be schematized as a sort of mental mapping diagram, in which the central event is viewed as the actual or real situation, and the various irreal situations are related to the real one via various contingency notions.

The result of all of this is a very different sort of configuration of the Biblical Hebrew verbal system than portrayed in the traditional theories. The following chart is the summary of the verbal system presented in Cook and Holmstedt (2007: 88): In preparing this article I discovered that I am not the first to employ the term “contingency” for these non-indicative meanings in Biblical Hebrew; Yates (1954: 130) notes that “the Subjunctive Mood is the mood of contingency.” 5

64

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

SUFF INDICATIVE FUNCTION

‫ ָפּ ַקד‬Perfect: perfective (whole view of situation) Past Narrative (Preterite): past event in

PREF

‫ ) ַו(יִּ ְפקֹד‬narrative (or poetry)

Imperfect: imperfective (partial view of

‫ יִ ְפקֹד‬situation) SUFF MODAL

PREF

‫ )וּ( ָפ ַקד‬Modal Perfect: contingent modality/command Modal Imperfect: command or wish (it is

‫ יִ ְפקֹד‬negated with ‫)לֹא‬

Jussive: command or wish (any person; it is

FUNCTIONS PREF

‫ יִ ְפקֹד‬negated with ‫)אל‬ ַ

Imperative: command or wish (2nd person

‫ ְפּקֹד‬only; cannot be negated)

This chart shows that the indicative-modal distinction is the most salient one in the Hebrew verbal system. Within each of these domains the various conjugations of the suffixed and prefixed pattern function with complementary or overlapping meanings. The vav-prefixed forms are listed with the vav conjunction in parentheses to indicate that their meanings are in no way dependent on the semantics of the prefixed conjunction.

5. SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS In conclusion, I hope I have persuaded the reader that (1) we should teach good, linguistically informed understandings of the verbal system of Biblical Hebrew to beginning students, and (2) we can teach such theories in a way that is understandable to first-year language students without resorting to misleading and inaccurate explanations from past centuries.

JOHN A. COOK

65

REFERENCES Andersen, T. David 2000 The Evolution of the Hebrew Verbal System. ZAH 13/1: 1–66. Bartlet, Andrew H. 2000 Fundamental Biblical Hebrew. St. Louis: Concordia. Blake, Frank R. 1946 The Form of Verbs after Waw in Hebrew. JBL 65: 51–57. 1951 A Resurvey of Hebrew Tenses. Scripta Pontificii Instituti Biblici 103. Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute. Buth, Randall 1992 The Hebrew Verb in Current Discussions. Journal of Translation and Textlinguistics 5: 91–105. 1994 Methodological Collision Between Source Criticism and Discourse Analysis: The Problem of “Unmarked Temporal Overlay” and the Pluperfect/Nonsequential wayyiqtol. Pp. 138–54 in Biblical Hebrew and Discourse Linguistics, ed. Robert D. Bergen. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Claissé-Walford, Nancy de 2002 Biblical Hebrew: An Introductory Textbook. St. Louis: Chalice. Comrie, Bernard 1976 Aspect. Cambridge Textbooks in Linguistics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cook, John A. 2001 The Hebrew Verb: A Grammaticalization Approach. ZAH 14/2: 117–43. 2002 The Biblical Hebrew Verbal System: A Grammaticalization Approach. Ph.D. diss., University of Wisconsin, Madison. 2004 The Semantics of Verbal Pragmatics: Clarifying the Roles of Wayyiqtol and Weqatal in Biblical Hebrew Prose. JSS 49/2: 247–73. 2005 Genericity, Tense, and Verbal Patterns in the Sentence Literature of Proverbs. Pp. 117–33 in Seeking Out the Wisdom of the Ancients: Essays Offered to Honor Michael V. Fox on the Occasion of his Sixty-Fifth Birthday, ed. Ronald L. Troxel, Kelvin G. Friebel, and Dennis R. Magary. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. 2006 The Finite Verbal Forms in Biblical Hebrew Do Express Aspect. JANESCU 30: 21–35. Cook, John A., and Robert D. Holmstedt 2007 Ancient Hebrew: A Student’s Grammar Based on Biblical Texts:

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Unpublished Ms. (Draft available for download at http://individual.utoronto.ca/holmstedt/Textbook.html.) Dahl, Östen 1985 Tense and Aspect Systems. Oxford: Blackwell. Dallaire, Hélèna 2002 The Syntax of Volitives in Northwest Semitic Prose. Ph.D. diss., Hebrew Union College. DeCaen, Vincent 1995 On the Placement and Interpretation of the Verb in Standard Biblical Hebrew Prose. Ph.D. diss., University of Toronto, Toronto. 1999 A Unified Analysis of Verbal and Verbless Clauses within Government-Binding Theory. Pp. 109–31 in The Verbless Clause in Biblical Hebrew: Linguistic Approaches, ed. Cynthia L. Miller. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. del Barco, Francisco Javier del Barco 2003 Profecía y Sintaxis: El Uso de las Formas Verbales en los Profetas Menores Preexílicos [Prophecy and Syntax: the Use of the Verbal Forms in the PreExilic Minor Prophets]. Textos y Estudios “Cardenal Cisneros” de la Biblia Palíglota Matritense 69. Madrid: Instituto de Filología. Dillmann, August [1899] 1974 Ethiopic Grammar. Trans. James A. Chrichton. 2d ed. Amsterdam: Philo Press. Dobbs-Allsopp, F W 2000 Biblical Hebrew Statives and Situation Aspect. JSS 45/1: 21–53. Dobson, John H. 2005 Learn Biblical Hebrew. Carlisle, PA: Piquant. Ellis, Robert Ray 2006 Learning to Read Biblical Hebrew: An Introductory Grammar. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. Eskhult, Mats 1990 Studies in Verbal Aspect and Narrative Technique in Biblical Hebrew Prose. Studia Semitica Upsaliensia 12. Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell. Ewald, Heinrich 1879 Syntax of the Hebrew Language of the Old Testament. Trans. James Kennedy. Edinburgh: T & T Clark. Folmer, Margaretha L. 1991 Some Remarks on the Use of the Finite Verb Form in the Protasis of Conditional Sentences in Aramaic Texts from the Achaemenid Period. Pp. 56–78 in Studies in Hebrew and Aramaic Syntax, ed. K. Jongeling, H. L. Murre-Van ven Berg, and L. van Rompay. Leiden:

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Brill. Furuli, Rolf J. 2006 A New Understanding of the Verbal System of Classical Hebrew An Attempt to Between Semantic and Pragmatic Factors. Oslo: Awatu. Futato, Mark 2003 Beginning Biblical Hebrew. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Garrett, Duane A. 2002 A Modern Grammar for Classical Hebrew. Nashville: Broadman & Holman. Gell, Philip 1818 Observations on the Idiom of the Hebrew Language. London. Gentry, Peter J. 1998 The System of the Finite Verb in Classical Biblical Hebrew. HS 39: 7–39. Goldfajn, Tal 1998 Word Order and Time in Biblical Hebrew Narrative. Oxford Theological Monographs. New York: Oxford University Press. Gropp, Douglas M. 1991 The Function of the Finite Verb in Classical Biblical Hebrew. HAR 13: 45–62. Hatav, Galia 1997 The Semantics of Aspect and Modality: Evidence from English and Biblical Hebrew. Studies in Language Companion Series 34. Amsterdam: Benjamins. 2004 Anchoring World and Time in Biblical Hebrew. Journal of Linguistics 40: 491–526. 2006 The Deictic Nature of the Directives in Biblical Hebrew. Studies in Language 30/4: 733–75. Heller, Roy L. 2004 Narrative Structure and Discourse Constellations: An Analysis of Clause Function in Biblical Hebrew Prose. Harvard Semitic Studies 55. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Holmstedt, Robert D. forth. Word Order and Information Structure in Ruth and Jonah. JSS. Hostetter, Edwin C. 2000 An Elementary Grammar of Biblical Hebrew. Biblical languages. Hebrew 1. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic. Hughes, James A. 1955 The Hebrew Imperfect with Waw Conjunctive and Perfect with Waw Consecutive and their Interrelationship. Masters Thesis, Faith Theological

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Seminary. Some Problems of the Hebrew Verbal System with Particular Reference to the Uses of the Tenses. Ph.D. diss., University of Glasgow, Glasgow. Joosten, Jan 1992 Biblical weqatal and Syriac waqtal Expressing Repetition in the Past. ZAH 5/1: 1–14. 1997 The Indicative System of the Biblical Hebrew Verb and its Literary Exploitation. Pp. 51–71 in Narrative Syntax and the Hebrew Bible: Papers of the Tilburg Conference 1996, ed. Ellen van Wolde. Leiden: Brill. 1999 The Long Form of the Prefixed Conjugation Referring to the Past in Biblical Hebrew Prose. HS 40: 15–26. 2002 Do the Finite Verbal Forms in Biblical Hebrew Express Aspect? JNESCU 29: 49–70. 2006 The Disappearance of Iterative WEQATAL in the Biblical Hebrew Verbal System. Pp. 135–53 in Biblical Hebrew in Its Northwest Semitic Setting: Typology and Historical Perspectives, ed. Steven E. Fassberg and Avi Hurvitz. Institute for Advanced Studies 1. Jerusalem: Magnes /Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Kelley, Page H. 1992 Biblical Hebrew: An Introductory Grammar. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Kittel, Bonnie Pedrotti, Vicki Hoffer, and Rebecca Abts Wright 1989 Biblical Hebrew: A Text and Workbook. New Haven, CT: Yale University. [2d ed. 2004] Krahmalkov, Charles R. 1986 The Qatal with Future Tense Reference in Phoenician. JSS 31/1: 5– 10. Leo, C. 1818 An Examination of the Fourteen Verses Selected from Scripture, by Mr. J. Bellamy, as a Specimen of His Emendation of the Bible. Classical Journal 17: 221–40. Ljungberg, Bo-Krister 1995 Tense, Aspect, and Modality in Some Theories of the Biblical Hebrew Verbal System. Journal of Translation and Textlinguistics 7/3: 82–96. Martin, James D. 1993 Davidson's Introductory Hebrew Grammar. 27th ed. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. McFall, Leslie 1962

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1982 The Enigma of the Hebrew Verbal System. Sheffield: Almond. Niccacci, Alviero 1990 The Syntax of the Verb in Classical Hebrew Prose. Trans. W. G. E. Watson. JSOT Supplement Series 86. Sheffield: JSOT Press. 1994 On the Hebrew Verbal System. Pp. 117–37 in Biblical Hebrew and Discourse Linguistics, ed. Robert D. Bergen. Dallas: Summer Institute of Linguistics. 1997 Basic Facts and Theory of the Biblical Hebrew Verb System in Prose. Pp. 167–202 in Narrative Syntax and the Hebrew Bible: Papers of the Tilburg Conference 1996, ed. Ellen van Wolde. Leiden: Brill. 2006 The Biblical Hebrew Verbal System in Poetry. Pp. 247–68 in Biblical Hebrew in Its Northwest Semitic Setting: Typology and Historical Perspectives, ed. Steven E. Fassberg and Avi Hurvitz. Institute for Advanced Studies 1. Jerusalem: Magnes /Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Nöldeke, Theodor [1904] 2001 Compendious Syriac Grammar. Trans. James A. Crichton. Reprint ed. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Pratico, Gary D., and Miles V. Van Pelt 2001 Basics of Biblical Hebrew Grammar. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan. Rainey, Anson F. 1986 The Ancient Hebrew Prefix Conjugation in the Light of Amarnah Canaanite. HS 27/1: 4–19. 1996 Canaanite in the Amarna Tablets: A Linguistic Analysis of the Mixed Dialect Used by the Scribes from Canaan. Vol. 2, Morphosyntactic Analysis of the Verbal System. Handbuch der Orientalistik 25. Leiden: Brill. Reichenbach, Hans 1947 Elements of Symbolic Logic. London: Collier-Macmillan. Revell, E. J. 1989 The System of the Verb in Standard Biblical Prose. HUCA 60: 1– 37. Rocine, B. M. 2000 Learning Biblical Hebrew: A New Approach Using Discourse Analysis. Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys Publishing. Rogland, Max 2000 The Hebrew "Epistolary Perfect" Revisited. ZAH 13/2: 194–200. 2003 Alleged Non-Past Uses of Qatal in Classical Hebrew. Studia Semitica Neerlandica 44. Assen: Van Gorcum. Ross, Allen P. 2001 Introducing Biblical Hebrew. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker.

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Schroeder, N. W. 1824 Insititutiones ad Fundamenta Linguae Hebraicae. 4th ed. Glasguae: Prelum Academicum. Seow, C. L. 1995 A Grammar for Biblical Hebrew. 2d ed. Nashville: Abingdon. Shulman, Ahouva 1996 The Use of Modal Verb Forms in Biblical Hebrew Prose. Ph.D. diss., University of Toronto, Toronto. 2000 The Function of the ‘Jussive’ and ‘Indicative’ Imperfect Forms in Biblical Hebrew Prose. ZAH 13/2: 168–80. Talstra, Eep 1997b Tense, Mood, Aspect and Clause Connections in Biblical Hebrew. A Textual Approach. JNSL 23/2: 81–103. Tropper, Josef 2000 Ugaritische Grammatik. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 273. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Vance, Donald R. 2004 Introduction to Classical Hebrew. Leiden: Brill. Walker-Jones, Arthur 2003 Hebrew for Biblical Interpretation. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Warren, Andy 1998 Modality, Reference and Speech Acts in the Psalms. Ph.D., University of Cambridge, Cambridge. Wright, W. [1896–98] 1962 A Grammar of the Arabic Language. 3d ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Yates, Kyle Monroe 1954 The Essentials of Biblical Hebrew. Rev. ed. New York: Harper. [1st ed. 1927]

ELISHA AND THE MIRACULOUS JUG OF OIL (2 KGS 4:1-7)) YAEL SHEMESH DEPARTMENT OF BIBLE, BAR-ILAN UNIVERSITY, ISRAEL 1. INTRODUCTION Scholars who have studied the Elisha stories as literature have tended to focus on the longer narratives (chiefly 2 Kgs 4:8-37 and 2 Kgs 5), while neglecting the shorter miracle tales, which they dismiss as simple and undeveloped. 1 I believe this approach is mistaken. Through a close literary analysis of one of the short stories—that of the miraculous jar of oil in 2 Kgs 4:1-7—I want to demonstrate that these stories are on a higher artistic level than one might suppose, and employ various literary devices, including analogy.2 In addition, the stories are a faithful expression of the people’s veneration of Elisha. Through a close reading of the story, paying attention to the literary genre of the Elisha cycle in general and of the episode of the miraculous jar of oil in particular, I will attempt to arrive at a better understanding both of the story and of the unique figure of Elisha, as he is portrayed in the Bible.3 See, for example, W. Brueggemann, 2 Kings (Atlanta: Knox Prees, 1982), p. 18; A. Rofé, The Prophetical Stories (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1988), pp. 13-40 (esp. 13, 18, 27). 2 In my doctoral dissertation, written under the guidance of Prof. Uriel Simon, and completed in 1997, I sought to corroborate this argument through an analysis of the stories of the healing of the waters of Jericho (2 Kgs 2:19-22), “Baldhead” (ibid., 23-25), the bitter stew made edible (2 Kgs 4:38-41), and the multiplication of the food (ibid., 42-44). See Y. Shemesh, “The Stories of Elisha: A Literary Analysis,” Ph.D. dissertation, Bar-Ilan University, Ramat-Gan 1997, pp. 138-186 (in Hebrew). The story addressed here was not analyzed there. 3 On the benefits of a combination of close reading and genre criticism see, for 1

71

72

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

My basic axiom has already been stated by Meir Weiss: “The style of the creation in all its manifestations is not only a matter of aesthetics but also a matter of expressiveness.”4 I begin by considering the location of the story and its interrelations with its immediate environment—the account of the Moabite war, which precedes it (Chapter 3), and the three miracle tales that follow it in Chapter 4 (§2). Next I look closely at the story itself: first its structure (§3), and then a close reading that constitutes the bulk of this paper (§4). In this analysis I hope to demonstrate the high artistic level of this brief narrative, on the one hand, and to buttress my assertion that, generically, the Elisha stories are saints’ legends, on the other.5 The close reading will uncover, among other things, the parallel that the story draws between Elisha and the Lord, Who delivers Israel from bondage—a parallel that has not previously been noted in the research literature. After examining the story in isolation I will consider another parallel that cannot be missed—the one between this story, which describes a food miracle effected by Elisha, and the food miracle performed by Elijah (1 Kgs 17:8–16). I will show that this parallel, too, illuminates Elisha’s unique personality and the unique quality of the stories about him—a result of their literary genre (§5).

2. THE LOCATION OF THE STORY IN THE BOOK OF KINGS The fourth chapter of 2 Kings comprises four stories, which report five miracles worked by Elisha: the miraculous jar of oil (vv. 1-7), the miraculous birth and subsequent resurrection of the son of the Shunammite matron (vv. 8-37), the stew that he makes edible (vv. 38-41), and the multiplication of the barley bread and grain (vv. 42-44). The first two stories tell how Elisha helps individuals, in both cases a woman;6 the last two example, J. Muilenburg, “Form Criticism and Beyond,” JBL 88 (1969), pp. 6-7; B. O. Long, “Some Recent Trends in the Form Criticism of Old Testament Narratives,” WCJS/Bible 7 (1981), pp. 63-72. 4 M. Weiss, The Bible from Within: The Method of Total Interpretation (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1984), pp. 21-22. 5 On the Elisha stories as hagiography see Rofé, The Prophetical Stories, pp. 13-74, as well as my article, “The Elisha Stories as Saints’ Legends,” elsewhere in this volume. 6 Although there are, of course, differences between the two women: the first is desperately poor, the second well-to-do. The first needs relief from her economic plight, whereas the second supports the prophet and hosts him in her house whenever he passes through her city. The first calls on the prophet for help,

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stories recount his assistance to a large group of people, the disciples of the prophets who live around him in Gilgal. The first and last stories in the chapter involve a miracle that affects food—liquid food in the former case and solid food in the latter. In both miracles the assistance he renders goes beyond the immediate need, reflected in the use of the root ‫יתר‬: you and your sons can live on the rest (‫( ”)בנותר‬v. 7); “they shall eat and have some left over (‫( ”)והותר‬v. 43). The narrator adds that Elisha’s promise is fulfilled: “When they had eaten, they had some left over (‫)ויותירו‬, as the Lord had said” (v. 44).7 The account of the miraculous jar of oil has several linguistic links with the preceding story, which deals with the war of the three kings against Moab (2 Kings 3). Both stories employ the verbal forms of the root ‫יצק‬ (“who poured water on the hands of Elijah” [2 Kgs 3:11]; “pour into all those vessels” [2 Kgs 4:4]; “she poured” [2 Kgs 4:5]) and the root ‫נסע‬ (“they withdrew [‫ ]ויסעו‬from him” [2 Kgs 3:27]; “remove [‫ ]תסיעי‬the full ones” [2 Kgs 4:4]). There may also be a phonetic link in the similarity of the verb ‫‘ נשׂא‬respect’ employed by Elisha (2 Kgs 3:14) and the noun ‫נשׁה‬ ‘creditor’ used by the woman (2 Kgs 4:1). But the most important link between the two stories is thematic: the nature of the miracle—the miraculous filling of the dry streambed and of the jars—is similar. This thematic link is reinforced by the use made in both stories of the root ‫מלא‬ ‘fill’ in association with the miraculous deed. In the story of the Moabite war Elisha prophesies, “that stream-bed shall be filled with water” (2 Kgs 3:17), and the narrator reports the fulfillment of the prophecy: “the country was filled with water” (v. 20). In the story of the miraculous jar of oil Elisha instructs the woman, “remove the full ones” (2 Kgs 4:4), and the jars indeed fill up miraculously until all have been used, as reported by the narrator: “When the vessels were full” (v. 6). Thus in both stories Elisha satisfies a desperate need. In the first he is involved in rescuing the armies of Israel, Judah, and Edom from death by thirst, when the dry streambed whereas the second rejects his offers of assistance. On the distinctions between the two women, see R. L. Cohn, 2 Kings (Berit Olam; Collegeville, Minnesota 2000), p. 25. I believe that the reason for presenting two such different figures, both of whom are ultimately helped by the prophet, in different ways, is to depict the broad spectrum of the beneficiaries of Elisha’s miracles as well as their diverse character. 7 Compare N. Levine, “Twice as Much of Your Spirit: Pattern, Parallel and Paronomasia in the Miracles of Elijah and Elisha,” JSOT 85 (1999), pp. 25-46 (p. 29).

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fills up with water; in the second he rescues the widow of one of the disciples of the prophets from her destitution, which threatened the enslavement of her sons, by filling the empty jars with oil. An even stronger link is that between the story of the miraculous jar of oil and the episode that follows it, the miraculous birth of a son to the Shunammite matron and his later resurrection (2 Kgs 4:8-37). In both of them Elisha helps a woman who calls herself “your maidservant” (vv. 2 and 16).8 In the first story he saves the widow’s sons from slavery; in the second he works a miracle that provides the Shunammite with a son and several years later brings him back to life. Both stories present the woman as deserving the prophet’s assistance, although in the episode of the miraculous jar of oil it is the woman who attests to her own (admittedly vicarious) merit (“your servant feared the Lord” (v. 1), whereas in the story of the birth and resurrection of the Shunammite’s son her virtues are asserted by the narrator, through the details of the plot, and by Elisha, who, wanting to reward the woman for her goodness, tells her: “You have gone to all this trouble for us. What can we do for you?” (v. 13). In addition, the closing of the door as a precondition for the miracle is a detail common to both stories (vv. 4 and 5; 21 and 33).9 There are stylistic and linguistic ties between the stories, too: Elisha’s question to the Shunammite matron, “What can we do for you?” (v. 13), repeated to Gehazi in the next verse (“What then can be done for her?” [v. 14]), echoes almost word for word his question of the widow: “What can I do for you?” (v. 2). The Shunammite matron’s statement, “I have come to know” (v. 9), remind us of the widow’s “you know” (v. 1).10 Linguistically, both stories are notable for the Aramaism of the final yod in the secondperson feminine singular: ‫( לכי‬v. 2), ‫( שכניכי‬v. 3), ‫ נשיכי‬and ‫( בניכי‬v. 7) in the first tale; ‫( אתי‬v. 16) and ‫( הלכתי‬v. 23) in the second tale.11 This was noticed by Rofé, The Prophetical Stories, p. 50. Alongside the similarities there are of course differences. In the first story, the woman is desperately poor and cries out to Elisha for help, whereas in the second story the woman is rich and deflects Elisha’s offers of assistance. 9 This was noted by T. R. Hobbs, 2 Kings (WBC 13; Waco, Texas: Word Books, 1985), p. 49. But the widow has to be told by Elisha to close the door (4:4, 5), whereas the Shunammite matron understands on her own that she must close the door on her son’s body, which she has laid out on the prophet’s bed (4:21). 10 U. Simon, Reading Prophetic Narratives (trans. by L. J. Schramm; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997), p. 256. 11 This was noted by A. Šanda, Die Bücher der Könige (EHAT 9/2; Münster: 8

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There are also structural reasons for the juxtaposition of the story of the Shunammite matron, which concludes with the resurrection of her son, with that of the miraculous jar of oil: the editor of the Elisha cycle wanted to draw a parallel between Elisha’s miracles and those performed by his master Elijah: the story of Elijah’s resuscitation of the son of the widow of Zarephath is preceded by an episode in which “The jar of flour did not give out, nor did the jug of oil fail” (1 Kgs 17:16). But whereas in 1 Kings 17 the miracle of the flour and oil benefits the same woman whose son Elijah restores to life, and the two events can be seen as scenes of one story,12 here there are two different women and two separate stories, although linked by many bonds. The story of the miraculous jar of oil is the first in the Elisha cycle that recounts the deliverance of an individual—the widow of one of the disciples of the prophets.13 The story has no national or political significance.14 After a story that shows Elisha acting on the national plane and assisting the armies of Israel, Judah, and Edom in their war against Moab (chapter 3), the spotlight switches to the private domain, where we find that Elisha does not scorn small deeds and is willing to assist a single family in Israel—a widow and her two orphan sons. This is also the first story that provides evidence of the new relations forged between Elisha and the disciples of the prophets after the power struggle between them, Aschendorff, 1912), p. 79; J. Gray, I & II Kings: A Commentary (2nd edition; OTL 9; London: S.C.M. Press, 1970), p. 467. 12 See Simon, Reading Prophetic Narratives, pp. 159-168. 13 The miracles of individual deliverance found later in the Elisha cycle are the birth and resurrection of the son of the Shunammite matron (4:8-37), the healing of Naaman’s leprosy (ch. 5), making the borrowed axhead float to the surface for one of the disciples of the prophets (6:1-7), Elisha’s injunction to the Shunammite matron to leave the country, which stems from his prophetic foreknowledge of the seven years of famine that are about to strike the land, followed by the sequence of events based on the miraculously coincidental timing that ends with the king’s returning her lost property to her (8:1-6), and the resurrection of the corpse that comes into contact with Elisha’s bones (13:20-21). 14 Pace A. Winters, “Una Vasija de Aceite: Mujer, Deudas y Comunidad (II Reyes 4:1-7),” RIBLA 14 (1993), pp. 53-59, who asserts that Elijah and Elisha headed a resistance movement to the house of Ahab, a movement that fought against the introduction of Baal worship to Israel by the royal house and was motivated in addition by the economic hardship of many in the country. But there is no support for this argument in the biblical text, or for her conjecture that the widow is one of the female prophets active in the community (ibid., p. 57).

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described in the story of his consecration (2 Kgs 2:1-18).15 After Elisha serves as the patron of the widow of one of the disciples of the prophets, his assistance to the disciples themselves, as described in the sequel (chiefly 4:38-41, 42-44, dealing with food-related miracles, but also 6:1-7) is a natural continuation to the story.16

3. THE STRUCTURE OF THE STORY Although short, the story consists of three scenes, distinguished by changes of place and partial changes of characters, as follows: Scene 1: The widow’s appeal to Elisha and the prophet’s instructions (vv. 1-4). Characters: The widow of one of the disciples of the prophets and Elisha Location: Elisha’s residence (unspecified place) Scene 2: The miraculous flow of oil (vv. 5-6) Characters: The widow and her sons Place: the Widow’s residence (unspecified place) Scene 3: Elisha tells the widow how to benefit from the miracle (v. 7) Characters: The widow and Elisha Place: Elisha’s residence The story begins with the desperate widows’ cry for help to Elisha (v. 1) and concludes with Elisha’s instructions to the widow, which ends with the words “live on the rest” and removes the cause of her distress (v. 7). Its 15 On the power struggle between Elisha and the disciples of the prophets in the story of Elisha’s consecration as a prophet (2 Kgs 2:1-18), see Shemesh, “The Stories of Elisha,” pp. 107, 120-121, 131-137. And compare J. G. Butler, Elisha: The Miracle Prophet (Clinton: LBC Pub., 1994), p. 31, who notes that the disciples of the prophets, when they address Elisha at the start of the story (2:3, 5), are eager to show off their wisdom and superior knowledge. 16 The disciples of the prophets were in some respect prophets in training, or, as Maimonides wrote: “Those who aspire to prophecy are called ‘the disciples of the prophets’. Even though they concentrate their attention, it is possible that the Divine Presence will rest upon them, and it is possible that it will not rest upon them” (Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Yesodei Hatorah, 7,5 [ed. E. Touger; New York: Moznaim, 1989]). According to the Elisha cycle there were communities of disciples of the prophets in Gilgal, Bethel, and Jericho. We may assume that they lived a life of poverty. On the disciples of the prophets in Elisha’s period and their links with Elisha see Shemesh, “The Stories of Elisha,” pp. 117-120.

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basic structure, like all of the stories in chapter 4 and stories of miraculous deliverance in general, is “a movement from trouble to well-being.”17 And this takes place in the wake of intervention by the man of God. All three scenes begin with an action taken by the widow: in the first scene she cries to Elisha for assistance (v. 1), in the second scene she goes and carries out his instructions (v. 5), and in the last scene she returns (v. 7) and tells him what has happened. The widow’s sons, who are the subject of her appeal, are active only in the second scene, when they help their mother fill the jars of oil. But they are also mentioned in the other scenes. In the first scene, at the beginning of the story, their mother mentions them in the context of her misery: “The creditor is coming to seize my two children to be his slaves” (2 Kgs 4:1). In the third scene, in the sentence that concludes the story, Elisha’s instructions to the widow include them in her new-found relief: “you and your sons can live on the rest” (2 Kgs 4:7). Elisha is active in the first and third scenes. Although he is not present in the second scene, which reports the occurrence of the miracle, his spirit dominates it, both at the start, when the widow is following his instructions, and at the end, when the miracle he promised takes place.

4. A CLOSE READING SCENE 1: THE WIDOW’S APPEAL TO ELISHA AND THE PROPHET’S INSTRUCTIONS (VV. 1-4) The story begins when the wife of one of the disciples of the prophets (we do not yet know that she is a widow) cries out to Elisha (v. 1). Her first words indicate the initial cause of her misery—her husband is dead, she is deep in debt (we cannot know whether the debt was incurred by her husband, who died before he could repay it, or whether it was created after his death, as a result of the worsening of the family’s economic situation), and the creditor intends to collect what he is owed by selling her sons into slavery, if she cannot pay. In the Bible, appeals for help are almost always addressed to the Lord or the king.18 This one, however, is addressed to the man of God, Elisha. Brueggemann, 2 Kings, p. 17 (emphasis in the original). Cries for help to the Lord: Ex. 8:8 [12]; 14:10, 15; 15:25; Num. 12:13; Judg. 10:12; Ps. 77:2 [1], etc. Cries for help to a Gentile king: Gen. 41:55; Ex. 5:15. Cries for help to an Israelite king: 1 Kgs 20:39; 2 Kgs 6:26; 8:3, 5. An exception is the 17 18

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When a person petitions the king for help, the context is almost always that of the king as the supreme judicial authority, and the petitioner is asking for justice.19 This is not the situation in the present narrative. The woman is not going to a court of law, but to the man of God. Her appeal is a cry for help by a person in distress, not a request for protection under the law: the widow has no legal grounds to sue the creditor, who is acting according to the law, even if not mercifully. Biblical law, like the other legal codes of the ancient near East, permitted the enslavement of children in order to pay off a debt.20 The creditor was fully entitled to take a borrower or his son as slaves if the debt was not repaid (Isa. 50:1; Amos 2:6 and 8:6). The widow’s appeal to Elisha comprises three statements (v. 1): Your servant (‫ )עבדָך‬my husband is dead, and you know how your servant feared the Lord. And now the creditor is coming to seize my two children to be his slaves (‫)לעבדים‬. The woman’s factual exposition is made part of the plot rather than being stated by the narrator by way of setting the stage. This form of narration makes the woman’s appeal to Elisha more dramatic. It highlights the depths of her misery on the one hand and her respect for Elisha on the other, as expressed by the manner in which she addresses him. The woman begins with her husband’s death and continues with the problem associated with her two sons.21 Despite her wretchedness, she leaves herself almost totally out of the appeal and is not the subject of any of the three statements she makes. The subject of the first statement is her dead husband; of the second statement, Elisha (the main clause) and her late husband (the subordinate clause); and of the third statement, the Israelites’ appeal to Moses (Num 11:2), the widow’s appeal to Elisha in our story (2 Kgs 4:1), the appeal to Elisha by the disciples of the prophets (2 Kgs 4:40), and the request for help made to Elisha by one of the disciples of the prophets (2 Kgs 6:5). 19 See 1 Kgs 20:39; and, in the Elisha cycle, 2 Kgs 6:26; 8:3, 5. 20 See Exod 21:7; Isa 50:1; Neh 5:5. According to article 117 of the code of Hammurabi, a man may sell his wife and sons into slavery for a limited term of three years. On the biblical law that permits selling one’s sons into slavery see J. Van Seters, “The Law of the Hebrew Slave,” ZAW 108 (1996), pp. 534-546. 21 Similarly, the wise woman of Tekoa, who disguises herself as a widow, begins by stating that her husband has died (2 Sam 14:5) and then continues at once to her plight, also associated with her sons (2 Sam 14:6-7). Elisha, unlike David, cannot act on the judicial level and bend the law to help the widow; unlike David, though, he can work a miracle to deliver her.

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creditor. She herself intrudes only through the possessives attached to “my husband” and “my two children.” The first two statements relate to the past, and the third to the future: Should the widow not find a way to repay the debt, the creditor will collect it by enslaving her two sons. The first and third statements present facts associated with the woman’s distress: she has already lost her husband and is liable to find herself alone in her house after her two sons are also taken away from her. The middle sentence, which divides her past sorrow from her future sorrow, is a moral evaluation of her late husband’s piety. This assessment is presented by the woman as a fact, supported by Elisha’s conjectured knowledge thereof: “you know how your servant feared the Lord.”22 It is intended, of course, to support her right to petition him for help, by virtue of her late husband, who was Elisha’s servant and God-fearing. The emphasis on her husband’s loyalty both to the man of God and to his God allows the widow to emphasize Elisha’s moral responsibility for seeing to the welfare of his “servant’s” family.23 The content and style of the widow’s attestation of her late husband’s righteousness recall Obadiah’s justification of himself to Elijah (1 Kgs 18:914). On the surface the situations are similar: Obadiah is pointing out to Elijah the injustice of the situation in which he finds himself: he, who saved 100 disciples of the prophets from death, is now himself in peril of death. Similarly, the widow presents her case, noting that her late husband “feared the Lord,” just as Obadiah says of himself, “your servant has feared the Lord from my youth” (1 Kgs 18:12).24 Both of them rely on the prophet’s knowledge: “My lord has surely been told” (1 Kgs 18:13), says Obadiah to Elijah; “and you know” (2 Kgs 4:1), cries the widow to Elisha.

For the use of the idiom “you know” as indicating the speaker’s entitlement, see also Jacob to Laban, Gen 30:26, 29. 23 Compare Bergen, Elisha and the End of Prophetism (JSOTSup 286; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), p. 84; R. L. Cohn, 2 Kings (Berit Olam; Collegeville: Liturgical Press, Minnesota, 2000), p. 25. 24 It is this similarity that underlies the ancient tradition that identifies the widow’s unnamed husband with Obadiah. See Josephus, Jewish Antiquities 9, 4,2; Targum Jonathan on 2 Kgs 4:1; Pesiqta deRav Kahana 2,5. It is interesting that Levine (“Twice as Much of Your Spirit,” pp. 28-29) also assumes that the widow is Obadiah’s wife, even though there are no grounds for this assumption in the biblical text. Obadiah is described as Ahab’s majordomo (1 Kgs 18:3) and not as one of the disciples of the prophets. 22

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

But there is also a significant difference between the two situations. Obadiah is accusing Elijah that his command, “Go tell your lord: Elijah is here!” (1 Kgs 18:8), will bring disaster on his head.25 His emotional protest is meant to persuade the prophet to rescind his request. On the other hand, the widow is not trying to persuade Elisha to withdraw a potentially disastrous order, but to rouse him to act on her behalf. In other words, Elijah is being asked to refrain from action, so as not to cause harm to his interlocutor, whereas Elisha is being asked to act, so as to help his. The woman does not provide the prophet with details of her unbearable poverty, which has no doubt become worse since her husband’s death and left her close to starvation (only later, after the prophet inquires, does she tell him that all she has in the house is one small jug of oil). She limits herself to a brief presentation of the consequences of her bleak situation, which grieves her more than anything else—the creditor’s intention to enslave her sons. Like the people of Jericho (2 Kgs 2:19), the widow does not make an explicit request to Elisha, but only hints of her need, by making him aware (even if only in part) of her sad situation. Of this form of request Alexander Rofé noted: The attitude of fear and admiration towards the Man of God is also evident in the way in which he is addressed. Instead of a direct request for his assistance, his petitioners merely state their troubles. This indirect appeal expresses the intense faith of the common people in the ability of the Man of God to render aid and succor, but at the same time allows him the possibility of not intervening and still preserving his selfrespect. It can be said that the miracles performed by Elisha, his small acts of deliverance, are carried out by request, though the request is a silent one.26

The woman begins her petition with the words “your servant my husband.” Thus from the outset she speaks respectfully, referring to her husband as Elisha’s servant (and later to herself as his maidservant).27 She even puts her On Elijah’s public image as one who wreaks catastrophe, see Simon, Reading Prophetic Narratives, pp. 173-174, 177. 26 Rofé, The Prophetical Stories, pp. 16-17. 27 On respectful speech see G. Brinn, “Respectful Forms of Speech and Address in Biblical Language,” Molad n.s. 1 (1975), pp. 506-514 (in Hebrew). Other characters who address Elisha respectfully are the disciples of the prophets as a 25

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husband’s relationship to Elisha, “your servant,” before her own relationship to him (“my husband”), which is another way of showing respect for Elisha.28 The widow’s remarks create an inclusio: she begins with “your servant” (‫ )עבדָך‬and finishes with “slaves” (‫)לעבדים‬. This inclusio indicates that the situation is unfair and provides Elisha with an incentive to take action. How can he allow the children of someone who was his ‫( עבד‬metaphorically, meaning one of his loyal followers) to become ‫( עבדים‬slaves in the literal sense of the word)? Another way in which she emphasizes the injustice and loss liable to befall her is by juxtaposing “my children” with “his,” the creditor’s—as if to say to Elisha, the children are my children, but the creditor wants to make them his slaves. In various passages the Bible describes the Lord as delivering widows and orphans29 and as concerned to provide their needs.30 He hears their cries (Ex. 22:22 [RSV v. 23]), just as he hears the cry of the poor debtor oppressed by his creditor (v. 26 [27]). Our story combines these two elements: its beneficiaries are a widow and her orphan children, who are also debtors unable to repay a loan. The man of God, Elisha, like the Lord Himself, hears the cry of the poor indebted widow and delivers her and her orphan children.31 As the first scene progresses, readers oscillate between hope and despair as to whether Elisha will be able to rescue the widow and her sons. collective character (2 Kgs 2:16), one of the disciples of the prophets (6:3), Naaman (5:15, 17, 18), Gehazi (5:25), and Hazael (8:13), all of whom refer to themselves as Elisha’s “servant,” as well as the Shunammite matron, who calls herself “your maidservant” (4:16). But only here is the person described as Elisha’s servant not the speaker, but an offstage character—the speaker’s late husband. 28 Compare how Judah presents Jacob to Joseph—“your servant my father” (Gen 44:24, 27, 30), “your servant our father” (Gen 44:31)—and how David is described by Solomon in his prayer to the Lord: “Your servant my father David” (1 Kgs 3:6; 8:24, 25, 26). 29 Ps 68:6 [5]: “The father of orphans and judge of widows.” See also Deut 10:18; Mal 3:5; Ps 146:9, et passim. 30 Deut. 26:12-13 et passim. 31 As he responded to the plea by one of the disciples of the prophets whose borrowed axhead had sunk in the Jordan River (2 Kgs 6:5-6). On all of the parallels between Elisha and the Lord in the Elisha cycle, see Y. Shemesh, “‘I Am Sure He is a Holy Man of God’ (2 Kgs 4:9): The Unique Figure of Elisha,” And God Said, “You Are Fired”: Elijah and Elisha (ed. M. M. Caspi and J. T. Greene; Texas: Bibal Press, 2007), pp. 15-54 (on pp. 35-41).

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The very fact of her petition opens the door to hope. Elisha’s reply, in the form of the question—“what can I do for you?” (v. 2)—makes us fear that he cannot help her.32 It seems as if the prophet means that his hands are tied, because the creditor is indeed entitled to take her children. Without a pause, however, he seems to resolve to help her by means of a miracle,33 asking, “what have you in the house?” Neither the widow nor readers understand what he is getting at, although the question arouses hope that he does intend to do something to help her, using whatever remains in her pantry. The idea seems to be that a miracle must have some anchor in the real world and cannot be created out of nothing.34 The widow’s reply, “Your maidservant has nothing at all in the house,” seems to sound the death knell for the hopes created by the prophet’s question. But the qualification, “except a jug of oil,” opens another crack for hope, although it is difficult for readers, and certainly for the widow, to imagine how she could be delivered by the one tiny jug of oil that she still owns.35 The beginning of Elisha’s reply, “Go and borrow vessels outside” (v. 3) may give the impression that he intends to help her through some natural means, by advising her what she can do to support herself, but the continuation, “empty vessels,” catches her and us by surprise and indicates that we are about to experience some sort of miracle. If Elisha spoke with greater directness—“go and borrow empty jars from outside”—the effect of surprise would be lost. The story of the miraculous jar of oil alternates between two poles: emptiness and fullness. Elisha asks the woman what she has in the house (‫)מה יש לך‬, and she replies that she has nothing (‫ )אין …כל בבית‬there. In the 32 Cf. Gen 27:37; 1 Sam 10:2. This is also the argument of A. W. Pink, Gleanings from Elisha: His Life and Miracles (Chicago: Moody Press, 1972), p. 64; M. Cogan and H. Tadmor, II Kings (AB 11; [New York]: Doubleday, 1988), p. 56; Rofé, The Prophetical Stories, pp. 13, 17. 33 Just as he exchanged his proposal of natural assistance to the Shunammite matron (2 Kgs 4:13) with a miracle he could perform for her (vv. 15-17). 34 Similarly, the miracle of the multiplication of food by Elisha (2 Kgs 4:42-44) and the food-related miracles performed by Jesus (Matt 14:13-21; 15:32-39; Mark 6:30-44; 8:1-9; Luke 9:10-17; John 6:1-14). 35 ‫אסוך‬, a hapax, seems to be derived from the root ‫‘ סוך‬anoint’ and to denote a small clay container for liquids. On its shape, see J. L. Kelso, The Ceramic Vocabulary of the Old Testament (Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research, Supplementary Studies 5-6; New Haven 1948), §§22, 26, 35; A. M. Honeyman, “The Pottery Vessels of the Old Testament,” PEQ (1939), p. 79.

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first scene the emphasis is on emptiness: the woman’s husband has died, the creditor is going to take away her sons, too, and she has nothing in the house. Elisha’s instruction that she borrow empty vessels from her neighbors is astonishing: how can she be saved by empty vessels, which seem to be part and parcel of the sad picture of her empty house? But when he goes on, “pour [oil] into all those vessels, removing the full ones” (v. 4), the mystery is solved. The story is raised to the level of the miraculous and the pole of fullness. The prophet is telling the widow that a miracle will enable her to pour oil from the one small jug she has and fill an unlimited number of vessels, as many as she can collect from her neighbors.36 In contrast to the picture of dearth that she paints—“Your maidservant has nothing at all (‫ )אין…כל‬in the house” (v. 2)—Elisha instructs her to borrow vessels (‫)כלים‬ from all her neighbors (v. 3) and to “pour into all those vessels (‫”)כל הכלים‬ (v. 4). The play on words in the widow’s statement and Elisha’s instructions (‫ כל‬,‫ )כלים‬and the repetition of the word “all” (‫ )כל‬by both of them emphasize the contrast between the present bareness of the house and the imminent solution, which will be achieved through the vessels she must collect from all of her neighbors, following the prophet’s instructions. There is another instance of borrowing vessels from one’s neighbors, as the Lord instructs Moses: “Each woman shall borrow from her neighbor and the lodger in her house vessels of silver and vessels of gold, and clothing, and you shall put these on your sons and daughters, despoiling the Egyptians” (Exod 3:22). There are a number of words in common between the Lord’s instruction to Moses (Exod 3:21-22) and Elisha’s to the woman (vv. 2-4): 2 Kgs 4:2-4 What have you in the house? (v. 2) Go and borrow vessels outside, … empty vessels, empty vessels (v. 3) behind your sons (v. 4)

Exod 3:21-22 The lodger in her house (v. 22) you will not go away empty-handed (v. 21) each woman shall borrow vessels of silver and vessels of gold (v. 22) you will not go away empty-handed (v. 21) you shall put these on your sons (v. 22)

Another miracle of a flask of oil, perhaps inspired by our story, is recounted in the Talmud (B. Shab. 21b). According to the story there, in the times of the Hasmoneans a single cruse of oil found in the Temple, which should have been enough to keep the candelabrum in the sanctuary burning for only one night, miraculously sufficed for eight days. The difference is that, in that case, the quantity of oil was not unlimited, but only enough to last until new oil could be produced. 36

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The situations, of course, are different. The widow’s neighbors have not been exploiting her the way Egyptians exploited the Israelites during their years of slavery, so she is not despoiling them, but only asking them for help. We may be certain that she returned the borrowed vessels after selling the oil. But the two scenes also have much in common. In both stories there is an instruction to borrow vessels from neighbors and we read of the economic benefit produced after the words of the Lord or the man of God were obeyed. What is more, in both cases it is a question of delivery from slavery. It is hard to believe that the linguistic and plot similarities are coincidental. Rather the story of the miraculous jar of oil was intentionally written so as to call to mind the Lord’s deliverance of the Israelites from Egypt, which also included His concern for their future prosperity. In the same way, Elisha delivers the widow’s sons from slavery and provides for the economic security of mother and sons (v. 7). This resemblance between Elisha and the Lord is part of the broader picture presented by the Elisha stories, which draws a number of parallels between the man of God and his God,37 an analogy that indicates the extent to which the people and the authors of the stories about him venerated Elisha. Two other poles of the story are “inside” and “outside.” The woman goes out of her house in order to appeal to Elisha in the first scene, returns to her house and witnesses the great miracle that takes place inside it in the second scene, and goes back to Elisha to report to him about the miracle in scene three. The movement between outside and inside is duplicated in the prophet’s instructions in the first scene: as against “Go and borrow vessels outside,” an action that requires public knowledge (v. 3), the rest of his instruction, “then come in and shut the door behind you and your sons” (v. 4) means keeping the miracle private, inside the walls of her house, in the protected space behind the closed door. The miracle of the resurrection of the Shunammite matron’s son also takes place behind a closed door, evidently for reasons associated with magic.38

SCENE 2: THE MIRACULOUS FLOW OF OIL (VV. 5-6) This scene begins with the words “she went from him,” creating an impression of the widow’s prompt obedience to Elisha’s instructions, which began with the imperative “go” (v. 3). Elisha told her to “come in and shut 37 38

For more on this topic, see above, n. 31. This is the view of Rofé, The Prophetical Stories, p. 17.

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the door behind you and your sons” (v. 4), and she does precisely as instructed: “she shut the door behind herself and her sons” (v. 5). He instructed her to “pour” (v. 4), and we are told that this is what she did: “she poured” (v. 5). But one significant element of the prophet’s directions is not repeated in the account of their execution: borrowing jars from all of her neighbors. This makes it hard to know whether she complied with both parts of his instructions (to go to all her neighbors and to ask them for as many empty containers as possible) meticulously. It is easy to imagine how uncomfortable she might feel about such an action, which would make her seem strange to her neighbors. Certainly her request aroused their curiosity: why does our destitute neighbor need so many jars? We are not told whether she was allowed to tell them the reason for her request—that she was following the orders of the man of God. In any case, it must have been the topic of the day in her neighborhood. Because the elliptical description omits the stage of borrowing jars on the execution side, we are allowed to speculate that the woman asked for fewer vessels than she could have received, both because of the unpleasantness of the request and because of a natural sense of urgency, stemming from her desire to know whether the man of God’s words would be fulfilled and her one small jug of oil would fill up all the empty jars, rescuing her and her sons from their misery. So we may conjecture that when she told her son, “bring me another vessel,” and he replied, “there are no more vessels” (v. 6), her joy at the sight of all the full jars was accompanied by a feeling of disappointment that she had not been more scrupulous about complying with Elisha’s instructions to collect as many jars as possible.39 The scene concludes with the words “the oil stopped [sc. flowing],” which is another miracle: the wondrous flow of oil ended precisely when it was no longer possible to derive any benefit from it, in the absence of additional containers to hold it. Had the oil continued to flow the blessing might have turned into a curse—a common motif in folklore. That the flow ended precisely at the right moment is an indication of Elisha’s total control of the miracle, even when he is not present.40

39 Cf. R. S. Wallace, Readings in 2 Kings: An Interpretation arranged for Personal and Group Bible Study (Edinburgh: Scottish Academic Press, 1996), p. 41. 40 Simon, Reading Prophetic Narratives, p. 257.

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SCENE 3: ELISHA TELLS THE WIDOW HOW TO BENEFIT FROM THE MIRACLE (V. 7) The woman, who went away from Elisha in the previous scene (“she went from him” [v. 5]) to follow his instructions and make preparations for the miracle, now returns to report to him what happened (“She came and told the man of God” [v. 7]). At the start of the story she “cried out” to him (v. 1); at its conclusion there is no longer a need for crying, but only to deliver her report (“she … told”), which was certainly very excited and grateful. We should note that she does not dare do anything with the oil until she receives explicit instructions on the matter from Elisha. The reverence with which she treats the oil, acquired miraculously, is evidence of her reverence for the person who caused the miracle. Elisha tells her what readers could have supplied on their own—that she should sell the oil and pay her debts. In the ancient Near East, olive oil was an essential commodity for both rich and poor; it had many uses—dietary staple, medicine, and fuel for clay lamps.41 Clearly the woman had no trouble disposing of her stock of oil. “And you and your sons can live on the rest” (v. 7) indicates that the miracle exceeded the original need that had caused her to appeal to Elisha—a way to procure her sons’ freedom. The proceeds from the sale of the oil will allow her not only to pay her debts to the creditor and free her sons from slavery, but also to live on “the rest.” In contrast to the destitution described by the woman at the start of the story—“Your maidservant has nothing at all in the house” (v.2)—it ends with “the rest,” which indicates the new situation that now prevails in the widow’s home. Similarly, whereas the story begins with the widow’s plaint, “your servant my husband is dead,” it concludes with the prophet’s promise that “you and your sons can live on the rest.”42

On the importance of olive oil and its many uses see P. J. King and L. E. Stager, Life in Biblical Israel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001), pp. 9798; F. S. Frick, “‘Oil From a Flinty Rock’ (Deuteronomy 32:13): Olive Cultivation and Olive Oil Processing in the Hebrew Bible—a Socio-materialist Perspective,” Semeia 86 (1999) pp. 3-17 (esp. pp. 11-15). 42 Cf. Levine, “Twice as Much of Your Spirit,” p. 32. 41

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5. A COMPARISON OF ELISHA’S FOOD-RELATED MIRACLE (2 KGS 4:1-7) WITH ELIJAH’S (1 KGS 17:8-16) There is a story somewhat similar to ours in the Elijah cycle. The resemblances are unmistakable between them: the two prophets—Elijah and Elisha—work a food-related miracle for a widow (Elijah provides his with flour and oil; Elisha, with oil). In each case, before the miracle the widow’s house is totally bare. The widow of Zarephath makes it plain to Elijah that all she has left is “a handful of flour in a jar and a little oil in a cruse” (1 Kgs 17:12). The widow of one of the disciples of the prophets tells Elisha that all she has in her house is a “jug of oil” (2 Kgs 4:2). In both stories we are told that the widow obeys the prophet’s instructions (explicitly or implicitly): “She went and did as Elijah had spoken” (1 Kgs 17:15); “she went from him and shut the door behind herself and her sons; … she poured” (2 Kgs 4:5) But alongside the similarities there are significant differences: 1. Elijah works the miracle for a Gentile woman. Elisha, who is deeply involved in the life of his people, works it for an Israelite woman who is the widow of one of the disciples of the prophets. 2. Elijah’s food-related miracle begins with his asking the widow for something to drink and eat. By contrast, it is the Israelite widow who comes to Elisha with a (silent) request that he deliver her from her misery—the imminent enslavement of her sons. 3. Elijah performs his miracle only after subjecting the widow to two severe tests. First, he calls out to the widow, who is busy gathering wood, and asks her “Bring me a little water in a vessel, so I can drink” (1 Kgs 17:10). This is a test of her character: will the woman agree to stop working and do a favor for a thirsty stranger, in a time of severe drought? Next he puts her to a test of faith. After the widow explains that she cannot satisfy his second request to bring him some bread, because her cupboard is almost bare, with just enough flour and oil to provide one last meal for herself and her son, Elijah takes an oath in the name of the Lord that if she shares her pittance with him and feeds him before feeding herself and her son (in contrast to individuals’ natural instincts to provide for their families and themselves first and only then for other people, especially if they are utter strangers) she will not want for food

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES until the drought is over (vv. 12-15). The widow’s obedience to Elijah attests that she believes in the divine promise he conveys and passes the test of faith. Elisha, by contrast, does not put the woman to a test before performing the miracle for her.43 4. Elijah himself benefits from the miracle he performs, whereas Elisha gains nothing from his wondrous deed. 5. The nature of Elijah’s miracle is not readily apparent. Do the cruse of oil and jar of flour keep renewing themselves, as happens in the house of the Israelite widow?44 Or is it merely that the widow of Zarephath suddenly finds other and seemingly natural sources of sustenance (such as wages for work that she or Elijah performs for neighbors), so that there is no shortage of flour and oil throughout the drought? The second explanation detracts from the impression of the miracle. No such question exists when it comes to Elisha’s overt miracle. 6. The Lord is present and involved in Elijah’s miracle. The story begins with the Lord’s word to Elijah—“Arise, go to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and dwell there. Behold, I have designated a widow there to feed you” (1 Kgs 17:9)45— and concludes with the food-related miracle, “just as the Lord had spoken through Elijah” (1 Kgs 17:16). Elijah declares to the widow that the Lord will perform a miracle for her: “For thus said the Lord the God of Israel, ‘The jar of flour shall not give out and the cruse of oil shall not fail until the day that the Lord sends rain upon the earth’ ” (1 Kgs 17:14). For the narrator, too, the wonder is “just as the Lord had spoken through Elijah” (1 Kgs 17:16). By contrast, the Lord is not a character in the story of Elisha and the miraculous jar of oil. He is mentioned only when the widow notes, with reference to her dead husband, that “your servant feared the Lord” (2 Kgs 4:1). Unlike Elijah, Elisha does not use the formulaic “thus said the Lord” and the miracle is attributed to him, not to the Lord.

Cf. Rofé, The Prophetical Stories, pp. 132-133. This is the opinion of Gray, I & II Kings, p. 482. 45 Here we should understand ‫ צויתי‬not as “commanded” but as “ordained that such will be” (see 2 Sam 17:14 and 1 Kgs 17:4). The widow, of course, is not aware of YHWH’s decision. 43 44

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These differences between the food-related miracle performed by Elijah and by Elisha are in keeping with the different ways in which the two prophets are depicted in their respective story cycles. The Elijah stories portray him as a messenger-prophet, zealous for the Lord but aloof from his people. Although the popular view of Elijah in Jewish folklore, from the talmudic period to the present, sees him as working miracles to deliver individuals and the community, in the Bible itself Elijah performs only two miracles at his own initiative, both of them for the widow of Zarephath who provides him with lodgings, and then only after he has subjected her to two harsh tests, one of character and one of faith.46 Elisha, on the other hand, although referred to as a “prophet,” is usually not characterized as a messenger-prophet, but rather as “a holy man of God” (2 Kgs 4:9), endowed with supernatural powers, which he uses to work miraculous rescues of individuals and communities.47 He performs these miracles at his The other miraculous deliverance with which Elijah is associated, the end of the drought (1 Kings 18), comes at the Lord’s initiative rather than his own. 47 The difference between the two is also reflected in their names. Elijah’s name, which means “YHWH is God,” reflects his zealousness for the Lord and his campaign to impose pure monotheism in Israel and stamp out the syncretistic cult. Elisha’s name, which links el ‘God’ with the verb ‫‘ ישע‬deliver’, is appropriate to the centrality of miraculous deliverances in the stories about him. See, for example, R. D. Moore, God Saves: Lessons from the Elisha Stories (JSOTSS 95; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), p. 147; M. Garsiel, Biblical Names: A Literary Study of Midrashic Derivations and Puns (trans. from the Hebrew edition [1988] by P. Hackett, revised edition; Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1991), p. 219. The other side of the coin is the three miracles Elisha performs to punish those who displease him. The children who jeer at his baldness are mangled by two she-bears after he curses them in the name of the Lord (2 Kgs 2:23-25). Gehazi, who disobeys Elisha’s stated refusal to accept a gift from Naaman, and then lies to his master, is stricken with leprosy, which will cling to him and his descendants forever (2 Kgs 5:27). The king’s adjutant, who questions Elisha’s prophecy of deliverance from the siege of Samaria, sees the fulfillment of the prophecy with his own eyes, but does not enjoy it (just as Elisha told him would happen), because he is trampled to death in the gate by the people (2 Kgs 7:2, 17-20). Punitive miracles, frequent in hagiography, are another means of exemplifying and exalting the saint’s powers. See, for example, I. Ben-Ami, Saint Veneration Among the Jews in Morocco (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1998), pp. 51-53 et passim. It may be that the punitive side of Elisha’s character is reflected in his father’s name, ‫שפט‬ ‘Shaphat,’ which is related to ‫‘ משפט‬justice’. 46

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own initiative rather than as the representative of the Lord. In most cases, including the miraculous jar of oil, he does not address the Lord in prayer before performing a miracle. The Elisha stories emphasize the role of the man of God in the miraculous event and downplay that of God himself.48

6. CONCLUSION The short episode of Elisha and the miraculous jar of oil (2 Kgs 4:1-7), like the other stories about him, is designed to extol Elisha and attest to his supernatural powers. It is the first account in the Elisha cycle that deals with the miraculous deliverance of an individual. Nevertheless, because the miracle is performed for the widow of one of the disciples of the prophets, it foreshadows the relationship of patron and devoted followers that will emerge later in the cycle (2 Kgs 4:38-44; 6:1-7). In the story, the movement from the pole of emptiness to the pole of fullness emphasizes the magnitude of the miracle that Elisha performs. The widow’s attitude toward Elisha throughout the story is evidence of her reverence and respect for him. A comparison of her plea to Elisha (2 Kgs 4:1) with Obadiah’s to Elijah (1 Kgs 18:9-14), and a comparison of the entire story with the food-related miracle performed by Elijah (1 Kgs 17:816) shows that the Elijah stories and Elisha stories belong to different literary genres and that the characters of the two prophets are depicted in quite different ways. Elijah, too, is said to have effected great miracles (though many fewer than Elisha). Many scholars point to the similarity between the two prophets, on the basis of the miracles they worked, and ignore the material differences between the stories about Elijah and those about Elisha and between the figures of Elijah and Elisha. For example, Richard Elliott Friedman writes that the effect of the miracle stories associated with the two prophets is “to produce a picture of humans who are more in control of miraculous power than anyone preceding.”49 But this statement suits Elisha better than Elijah, in whose miracles the Lord is a conspicuous presence. The Elijah narratives are prophetic stories that emphasize the power and marvels of the Lord, whereas those about Elisha are chiefly 48 Although, of course, it does not eliminate God’s role, since it is assumed that the man of God receives his supernatural powers from God Himself. 49 R. E. Friedman, The Disappearance of God: A Divine Mystery (Boston: Little Brown and Company, 1995), p. 132.

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hagiographic and emphasize the powers of Elisha the wonder-worker. The Elijah stories depict a messenger-prophet, zealous for the Lord, and aloof from his people, whereas the Elisha stories portray a holy man of God, endowed with supernatural powers, who lives among his people and works miraculous deliverance for individuals and the community. There is also a parallel drawn between Elisha and the Lord, manifested in the fact that Elisha, like the Lord, is concerned for widows and orphans, rescues people from slavery, and provides for the economic well-being of those whom he delivers from bondage. This resemblance is part of the broad picture painted by the Elisha stories, which draw analogies, within limits, between Elisha and the Lord Himself. This phenomenon, which is unparalleled in the Bible—certainly in the scale and intensity found in the Elisha cycle—is yet another way of emphasizing the unique character of Elisha, the holy man of God endowed with supernatural powers.50

I would like to thank Beit Shalom of Japan for its generous support, which made this research possible. 50

THE ELISHA STORIES AS SAINTS’ LEGENDS YAEL SHEMESH DEPARTMENT OF BIBLE, BAR-ILAN UNIVERSITY, ISRAEL The present article seeks to define the literary genre of the Elisha cycle of stories. Let me state at the outset that I agree with the widespread view that these tales are intended to praise Elisha and belong to the genre of Saints’ legends or prophetic hagiography.1 But many have challenged this classification, which has generally been made intuitively and not been backed by solid proofs;2 some scholars have assigned all or some of the By contrast, some of the categories proposed for the Elisha stories—such as “prophet narrative” or “prophet legend”—seem to blur their distinctive character. For the former, see O. Plöger, “Die Prophetengeschichte der Samuel – und Königsbücher,” dissertation, Griefswald 1937, pp. 39-40 [this work is not available to me]. He proposes subcategories as well: “Prophet deed story” and “prophet word story.” His idea has been accepted by other scholars, such as: G. von Rad, Theologie des Alten Testaments (Munich: C. Kaiser, 1968), vol. 2:42 n. 2; R. M. Hals, “Legend: A Case Study in OT Form-Critical Terminology,” CBQ 34 (1972), pp. 166-176. Hals notes the problems with the term “legend” and proposes “prophet story” instead (p. 176). Similarly, De Vries and others would categorize the Elisha cycle as “prophet legends” (see S. J. De Vries, Prophet Against Prophet [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1978], p. 52). He accepts “prophet legend” as a broad category, which he then breaks down into distinct sub-categories that he applies to the Elisha stories (pp. 118-119). But his approach, which distinguishes, for example, between “later legitimation collection” and “early legitimation collection,” strikes me as artificial and as making no contribution to a better understanding of the stories. I believe that none of these proposals are suitable for the Elisha stories, because they obscure their distinctiveness and do not express their unmistakable veneration of Elisha and the intention to lionize the prophet. A prophet legend/story, it seems to me, may be any story about the words or deeds of a prophet, even an anonymous prophet, and the message, rather than the prophet, is at the center of interest (e.g., the story in 1 Kings 13). 2 An exception is A. Rofé, The Prophetical Stories (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1988), 1

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stories to different categories. What is more, in recent years we have been increasingly exposed to the argument that one or another of the Elisha stories, or even the entire cycle, is critical of the prophet, as a subversive reading of the text makes clear. For this reason, before I defend the genre assignment I accept I will review and refute the opinions voiced by various scholars (Part I). Next I will parry the contention that the Elisha stories disparage the prophet (Part II). Finally, I will show that the Elisha stories were motivated by strong admiration for him and do in fact belong to the genre of the saints’ legend (Part III).

1. FIVE GENRES PROPOSED FOR THE ELISHA STORIES A. A POLEMIC AGAINST BAAL WORSHIP

According to Bronner, the Elijah and Elisha cycles are polemics against Canaanite mythology and Baal worship.3 To support her contention she lists various motifs she asserts are common to Ugaritic and Canaanite literature and to the Elijah and Elisha stories: fire, rain, grain and oil, healing, revival of the dead, the ascent to heaven, and rivers. She also notes the open conflict between Elijah and Baal worshipers in 1 Kings 18 and the explicit taunt at Baal by Elijah’s mocking, “Shout louder! After all, he is a god. But he may be in conversation, he may be detained, or he may be on a journey, or perhaps he is asleep and will wake up” (1 Kgs 18:27). She also identifies an anti-Baal polemical intent in stories that have a strong ethical cast: the incidents of Naboth’s vineyard (1 Kings 21) and of the siege of Dothan (2 Kgs 6:8-23), which ends with Elisha’s release of the prisoners. She maintains that the Bible employs these literary devices to assail Canaanite mythology, which has no ethical dimension. This line indicates, however, just how far Bronner has gone in twisting the Elijah and Elisha stories to fit her definition of them as polemics against Baal worship. It is true that the central topic of the Elijah cycle is his open opposition to Baal pp. 13-74, but he too fails to deal with other positions advanced in the literature. 3 L. Bronner, The Stories of Elijah and Elisha as Polemics against Baal Worship (Leiden: Brill, 1968). See also: J. R. Battenfield, “YHWH’s Refutation of the Baal Myth through the Actions of Elijah and Elisha,” Israel’s Apostasy and Restoration: Essays in Honor of Roland K. Harrison (ed. A. Gileadi; Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1988), pp. 19-37; F. E. Woods, Water and Storm Polemics against Baalism in the Deuteronomic History (New York: Peter Lang, 1994), pp. 95-121 (to be mentioned below).

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worship (1 Kings 17-19, 2 Kings 1); but this theme hardly comes up in the Elisha stories. What is more, the motifs listed by Bronner are universal;4 most of them are anchored in the biblical tradition in general and in that of the Exodus in particular. The frequent occurrence of such motifs in distant and unrelated cultures is not astonishing, since it stands to reason that fundamental human experiences, such as the desire to overcome death, illness, famine, and childlessness, would produce stories with common motifs. Thus the mere presence of shared motifs says nothing about any intentional link between one story and another. Only a close literary analysis can discover such things. As Moore notes, however, Bronner does not offer such an analysis.5 Unlike Bronner, who found an anti-Baal polemic in all of the Elijah and Elisha stories, Woods proposes that it exists only where it is explicit (such as 2 Kings 1) or where the motif of water and storm is prominent (such as 2 Kgs 2:1-18), because Baal was the lord of the storm and controlled water. Among the Elisha stories he cites the following passages as anti-Baal polemics: 2 Kgs 2:8-14 (crossing the Jordan); 2:19-22 (healing the waters of Jericho); 3:4-27 (providing water in the desert); 5:1-19 (healing Naaman of his leprosy by having him immerse himself in the Jordan); 6:1-7 (making the iron axe-head float); 6:24-8:1 (stories about famine and the royal aide-de-camp’s sarcastic reference to “windows in the sky” in the first of these [7:2]).6 Wood’s overall thesis is that such a polemic against Baal imbues all of the Deuteronomist literature, from Deuteronomy through 2 Kings. But it is far from clear whether the Elijah and Elisha stories are Deuteronomist. Many believe that they predate that corpus,7 noting in 4 A glance at Stith Thompson, Motif-Index of Folk Literature, shows that all of the motifs mentioned by Bronner are widespread in world literature. For a discussion devoted specifically to the motifs shared by the Elijah and Elisha stories and world literature, see T. H. Gaster, Myth, Legend, and Custom in the Old Testament: A Comparative Study (New York: Harper & Row, 1969), pp. 498-525. 5 R. D. Moore, God Saves: Lessons from the Elisha Stories (JSOTSup 95; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), p. 39. For additional criticism of Bronner’s thesis, see P. A. H. de Boer, “Leah Bronner, The Stories of Elijah and Elisha as Polemics against Baal Worship [Review],” VT 19 (1969), pp. 267-269. 6 Woods, Water and Storm Polemics against Baalism, pp. 103-111. 7 See, for example: R. Kittel, Die Bücher der Könige (HK; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1900), p. 186, who thinks that the Elisha stories were written in 780-760 BCE; R. H. Pfeiffer, Introduction to the Old Testament (New York: Harper, 1948), p. 408; B. Lehnart, Prophet und König im Nordreich Israel (Leiden: Brill,

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particular that the Elisha stories (as well as the Elijah cycle) makes no reference to the centralization of the cult at a single site or of the shrines in Bethel and Dan, which aroused the wrath of the Deuteronomist editor of the book of Kings. B. EXALTING THE INSTITUTION OF PROPHECY

Long maintains that the Elisha stories are intended to exalt the institution of prophecy in general, and not just Elisha.8 He infers this from a study of the Sitz im Leben of the miracle stories about shamans, found in various cultures in North America, Central Asia, and central India. All of these stories were composed, he holds, in a period when shamanism was losing its luster and needed to be rehabilitated. This, he asserts, is the social background of the Elisha stories as well. Long claims that the Hebrew Bible provides abundant evidence of a popular enmity toward prophets, as well as skepticism and outright disbelief in their vocation; and the Elisha stories are intended to counter these.9 Like Bronner, however, Long does not ground his thesis in the details of the stories whose genre he would define. His sociological and anthropological method ignores the literary aspect and focuses on an attempt to discover the social background of shamanistic miracle stories. He does acknowledge that “unfortunately, we do not really know a great deal about the social settings for any of these traditions from Middle India, or for that matter, from Siberia, North America, or Africa.”10 But this lack of knowledge does not prevent him from arguing that what all these traditions have in common is that they were recounted in periods when shamanism was on the wane among the people.

2003), who argues that the stories about Samuel, Elijah, and Elisha are a preDeuteronomistic northern tradition. For a survey of the literature on the date of composition of the Elisha stories, see M. Avioz, “The Book of Kings in Recent Research (Part II),” Currents in Biblical Research 5(1) (2006), pp. 11-57 (p. 28). 8 B. O. Long, “The Social Setting for Prophetic Miracle Stories,” Semeia 3 (1975), pp. 46-63. 9 Ibid., p. 57. Long seems to have recanted this idea, however, since in his commentary on 2 Kings, published 16 years later, he defines most of the Elisha stories as “legends” and “prophet legends” intended to exalt Elisha himself. See B. O. Long, 2 Kings (FOTL 10; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), pp. 34, 35, 50, 61 et passim. 10 Long, “The Social Setting,” p. 55.

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As for the idea itself, I see no contradiction between lionizing a particular prophet and bolstering the status of prophecy in general: quite the contrary, since the latter depends on the former. Nevertheless, the Elisha stories clearly concentrate on the prophet himself. In the account of his prophetic consecration (2:1-18), all the sons of the prophets are depicted as grossly inferior to him in their powers; nevertheless, they challenge his prowess repeatedly.11 This unflattering picture of the sons of the prophets shows that even if the Elisha stories indirectly enhance the reputation of the prophetic institution, this is not their main goal. The fact that Elisha is an extraordinary figure, and certainly not a model or type of the typical biblical prophet undercuts Long’s argument. C. RELIGIOUS AND SOCIAL SATIRE AGAINST THE ROYAL HOUSE

Unlike Bronner and Long, who would define the genre of the entire Elisha cycle without a literary analysis of the individual stories, LaBarbera defines the genre of three stories based on a literary analysis. In his dissertation, an expansion of an earlier article he wrote on 2 Kgs 6:8-7:20, he maintains that the three stories in 2 Kings 5, 6:8-23, and 6:24-7:20 are religious and social satire directed against the socioeconomic elite of the Kingdom of Israel in the ninth century BCE.12 He holds that all three stories focus on the social tensions between an elite that is drawn to Baal worship and the lower class of peasant farmers, who are loyal to the Lord. All three depict the king of Israel (2 Kings 5; 6:24-7:20) or the king of Aram (2 Kgs 6:8-23) as helpless. In the latter two stories, with their parallel scenes of the king in consultation with his ministers, the king is depicted as misinterpreting the situation (6:11 and 7:12). Pace LaBarbera, the tension in the stories is not between the ruling class and the peasant class but between the king and the prophet of the Lord. The critical shafts directed against the king or his aide-de-camp, on whose arm he leans (2 Kgs 7:2), have nothing to do with the regime’s unjust treatment of the people, but with the king’s relations with Elisha. In the story of the siege of Dothan the king and the prophet are on good terms, See Y. Shemesh, “The Stories of Elisha: A Literary Analysis,” Ph.D. dissertation, Bar-Ilan University, Ramat-Gan 1997, pp. 107, 120-121, 131-137. 12 See R. D. LaBarbera, “The Man of War and the Man of God: Social Satire in 2 Kings 6:8-7:20,” CBQ 46 (1984), pp. 637-651; idem, “Social Religious Satire in the Elisha Cycle,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of California, Berkeley 1986 [Ann Arbor, Michigan 1989]). 11

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which is why LaBarbera has to invoke the king of Aram, who attempts to take Elisha prisoner (2 Kgs 6:13-14), to demonstrate the presence of a critical attitude toward the royal house. What is more, the Israelite common folk hardly appear in these stories, and when they do they are not depicted in a particularly flattering light. The woman’s complaint to the king (6:2629) exposes the harsh reality of mothers who eat their children during the siege of Samaria.13 Furthermore, the woman’s grievance is not that she was forced into such an appalling situation, but that the woman with whom she made the agreement has reneged on the bargain and hidden her son. The manner in which she presents her case makes it difficult for readers to identify with her suffering. There is no support in the Elijah and Elisha cycles for LaBarbera’s basic assumption that only the upper class in Israel was attracted to the Baal cult, whereas the lower classes worshiped the Lord.14 Elijah castigates “all the people”: “How long will you keep hopping between two opinions? If the Lord is God, follow Him; and if Baal, follow him!” (1 Kgs 18:21). By their mute response, “the people answered him not a word,” they corroborate the charge of syncretism that the prophet has lodged against them. As for the Elisha stories, there is nothing in them about Baal worship; certainly one cannot infer any correlation between social class and loyalty to the Israelite religion from their silence on the subject. D. A POLEMIC AGAINST THE HOUSE OF OMRI

Some scholars, taking a sociological perspective, reach a conclusion similar to LaBarbera’s, but add that the main thrust of the stories is to strip the House of Omri of its legitimacy and set up the House of Jehu in its place. The conflict they find in the story is not religious, but socioeconomic.15 See the criticism of LaBarbera by Moore (God Saves, p. 126) and S. Lasine (“Jehoram and the Cannibal Mothers [2 Kings 6.24-33]: Solomon’s Judgment in an Inverted World,” JSOT 50 [1991], pp. 27-53 [p. 38]). Unlike Lasine, I do not believe that the story is meant to condemn the women for eating their children, but only to illustrate the intensity of the hunger by means of such a shocking incident. Nevertheless, it is quite implausible that a story whose goal is to depict the people in a favorable light would include such an episode. 14 LaBarbera, “The Man of War,” p. 637. 15 See mainly T. H. Renteria, “The Elijah/Elisha Stories: A Socio-Cultural Analysis of Prophets and People in Ninth-Century B.C.E. Israel,” Elijah and Elisha in Socioliterary Perspective (ed. R. B. Coote; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992), pp. 75-126. So, too, J. A. Todd, “The Pre-Deuteronomistic Elijah Cycle,” ibid., pp. 1-35; and 13

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But this theory lacks even the barest support in the text. Only 2 Kings 3 refers to a king of the House of Omri by name; in all the others we always read of an anonymous “king of Israel.” It seems only logical that a story that targets a particular dynasty would not omit the name of the king(s) in question. In the short miracle tales about the assistance that Elijah and Elisha render to individuals (1 Kgs 17:8-16 and 17-24; 2 Kgs 4:1-7 and 6:17) and groups (2 Kgs 2:19-22; 4:38-41; 42-44), Renteria sees criticism of the House of Omri as responsible for the grave situation in which the people found themselves under its rule. But this argument, too, is left without proof. The Elijah stories in 1 Kings 17 are set, not in Israel, but in Sidon. The Elisha stories do take place in Israel, but none of them are set in a particular reign; we cannot know whether the king at the time was of the House of Omri or of the House of Jehu. Renteria assumes that the misery reflected in the stories is proof that a king of the House of Omri was on the throne at the time; but this is simply begging the question. E. DIDACTIC SALVATION STORIES

Like LaBarbera, Moore employs a literary analysis to determine the genre of 2 Kings 5, 6:8-23, and 6:24-7:20, but reaches a different conclusion. He sees all three as didactic salvation stories that teach that the Lord saved His people in one of the most difficult periods in its history.16 He maintains that the perpetual Aramean threat of the ninth century BCE provoked serious doubts in Israel, especially among royal circles, about the credibility of the tradition of the Exodus and the conquest of Canaan; namely, that the Lord comes to the defense of His people and fights against its enemies.17 These stories, according to Moore, are meant to buttress this tenet. His main evidence for this genre assignment is the emphasis in the stories on the

also, to some extent, S. D. Hill, “The Local Hero in Palestine in Comparative Perspective,” ibid., pp. 37-73. 16 This is also the interpretation proposed by B. Uffenheimer (Early Prophecy in Israel [trans. D. Louvish; Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1999], p. 462) for the story of the siege of Samaria (2 Kgs 6:24-7:20). He argues that “the whole story may be classified as a typical prophetic war tale, which leaves no room for heroic action by a human agency: the only hero here is God Himself.” 17 Moore accepts Lind’s idea about the influence of the Exodus tradition on the Elisha cycle. See M. C. Lind, “Paradigm of Holy War in the Old Testament,” Biblical Research 16 (1971), pp. 16-31 (p. 30); idem, Yahweh is a Warrior: The Theology of Warfare in Ancient Israel (Scottdale, PA: Herald Press, 1980), pp. 138-144.

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Aramean threat, on the one hand, and the prevalence of motifs associated with divine salvation, on the other. Of the three stories, he says, the siege of Samaria (6:24-7:20) is the least amenable to classification as hagiography; because it is hard to see how Elisha’s taking refuge behind a locked door (6:32) is compatible with praise for him.18 One of the weak points in Moore’s theory is his failure to prove that the background of these three stories is in fact the bitter warfare between Israel and Aram in the ninth century. In the account of Naaman’s miraculous cure, this conflict has only a secondary significance and is reported to us only in the exposition that sets the scene for the story (5:1-2). If the conflict with the Arameans and a demonstration that the Lord delivers His people from the enemy were the cruxes of the story, as Moore believes, we would expect a conclusion along the lines of “the Aramean bands stopped invading the land of Israel” (2 Kgs 6:23). Not only is there no such ending to the story of Naaman; the Aramean commander is not even present in the last scene. I do not mean to deny that one goal of the three stories is to exalt the name of the Lord. They certainly demonstrate His ability to save all Israel (6:8-23; 6:24-7:20) or an individual (chapter 5). In two of the stories the deliverance is indeed from the Aramean enemy (6:8-23; 6:24-7:20). In the third story, by contrast, it is precisely the representative of that enemy, the Aramean commander Naaman, whom the Lord delivers from his illness (chapter 5). Thus the Lord’s power is universal and not limited to a particular type of danger or a particular nation for whom He performs miracles. I do not, however, agree with Moore that exaltation of the Lord, and not of the prophet Elisha, is the main point of these stories. The status of the Lord and the status of His prophet Elisha are necessarily intertwined, of course. In my reading, these stories give greater weight to the latter.19 The last scene of the Naaman pericope, in which Gehazi and Elisha occupy center stage, demonstrates the prophet’s power to see what is hidden from others and to miraculously infect the transgressor with leprosy. Thus the story teaches that the prophet has the ability not only to heal the leprosy that afflicts a sick person, but also to invert the situation and inflict leprosy on a healthy individual. It is important to emphasize that in the 18 19

Moore, God Saves, p. 110. See also the succinct criticism by Avioz, “The Book of Kings,” p. 26.

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closing scene neither the narrator nor the characters mention the Lord. The miracle of Gehazi’s leprosy is attributed to Elisha and not to the Lord. As Gunkel notes, the two mirror-image miracles, curing and causing leprosy, equate Elisha with God as one who has the power to slay and to heal.20 In the story of the siege of Dothan (2 Kgs 6:8-23) it is the Lord who opens the eyes of Elisha’s lad (v. 17), deprives the Arameans of clear sight (v. 18) and then restores it (v. 20). Note, though, that the Lord does this in response to Elisha’s prayers. The fact that a fiery chariot and horses are sent from heaven to protect Elisha is an indication not only of the Lord’s power and might, but also of the lofty status of the man of God. Similarly, Elisha’s miraculous ability to see the heavenly troop that surrounds him enhances his reputation. Another supernatural ability associated with vision is recounted in the exposition. Elisha knows the location of the Aramean ambuscades and warns the king of Israel against them, “time and again” (6:8-10). In other words, Elisha is endowed with clairvoyance, the ability to know an event or scene that is beyond the range of his physical senses. The Lord is not mentioned in the exposition in connection with this extraordinary power wielded by Elisha. Elisha’s words of encouragement to his servant, “Have no fear; there are more on our side than on theirs” (6:16), is cited by Moore as proof that the story belongs to the genre of the “Wars of the Lord.”21 But this encouraging remark is not spoken by the Lord to the rescuer He has appointed for His people, as in the case of Joshua,22 or by the Lord directly to the people of Israel,23 but by Elisha to his servant. This reassuring statement plays no role in the plot, given that the fear that paralyzes the lad has no bearing on its development. On the other hand, the remark is important conceptually, serving as another indication of Elisha’s supernatural powers: not only does he enjoy Divine protection, he can also perceive the heavenly reality that surrounds him. The story of the siege of Samaria (2 Kgs 6:24-7:20) seems to come closer to the genre proposed by Moore. The town is delivered because “the Lord had caused the Aramean camp to hear a sound of chariots, a sound of horses—the din of a huge army” (7:6). But this story, too, reflects the supernatural powers with which Elisha is endowed. I find it hard to H. Gunkel, Geschichten von Elisa (Berlin: K. Curtius [1925]), p. 45. Moore, God Saves, p. 132. 22 Josh 8:1; 10:8; 11:6. 23 E.g., Deut 7:18; 20:1; Isa 10:24. 20 21

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understand Moore’s argument that the scene of the prophet’s locking his door against those who have come to kill him tarnishes his character. For precisely in this scene we encounter another example of Elisha’s clairvoyance: sitting in his home he perceives that the king has ordered his execution (6:32). The rest of the story also reflects his supernatural powers: he foretells the miraculous delivery of the city, which seems utterly impossible at the time. What is more, the mockery of the king’s aide-decamp causes Elisha to add his own portent, directed against the skeptic himself: “You shall see it with your own eyes, but you shall not eat of it” (7:2). The end of the story reiterates the fulfillment of Elisha’s enigmatic prediction (vv. 17-20). In addition to the various proposed definitions of the literary genre of the entire Elisha cycle or of some of its tales, which we have reviewed above, there are suggestions about individual stories, such as Marcus’ argument that “Go Away, Baldhead” (2 Kgs 2:23-25) is an anti-prophetic satire24 and Amit’s contention that the story of the Shunammite’s son (2 Kgs 4:8-37) is a development story intended to teach the prophet a lesson.25 What all of these proposals have in common is their assertion that stories that recount Elisha’s miracles are in fact critical of him. The validity of this approach, which seems to be winning more and more adherents, is examined in the next section.

2. DO THE ELISHA STORIES CRITICIZE THE MAN OF GOD? Not all scholars who have dealt with the Elisha stories agree that they honor and esteem him. Some have found a critical bent in one story or another, or even in the entire cycle. Here I will summarize the main points of this argument, in the biblical sequence of the stories, along with my responses.

2.1 “GO AWAY, BALDHEAD” (2 KGS 2:23-25) The Indictment This brief episode, in which the prophet’s curse results in the death of 42 children, provokes great unease for many scholars who have addressed it. 24 D. Marcus, “The Boys and the Bald Prophet,” in From Balaam to Jonah: AntiProphetic Satire in the Hebrew Bible (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995), pp. 43-65. 25 Y. Amit, “A Prophet Tested: Elisha, the Great Woman of Shunem, and the Story’s Double Message,” Biblical Interpretation 11 (2003), pp. 279-294.

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Gray, followed by Jones, is astonished by the inclusion of this anecdote— which, they say, does no credit to the prophet—in the Bible.26 Marcus reads the story as an anti-prophetic satire, just as he reads the incident of Balaam and his donkey (Num 22:21-35), the lying prophet of Bethel (1 Kings 13), and the book of Jonah.27 He emphasizes that the boys are small28 and that Elisha’s reaction is quite disproportionate to their assault on his dignity.29 Elisha, in this view, abuses his powers and in fact inclines toward the dark side.30

The Rebuttal Although I understand and share the moral revulsion that many have with this story, I cannot accept the attempts to “rescue” the story ethically at the price of what I see as total rejection of the author’s intention and of the genre—the saints’ legend.31 In the biblical view of things, all contact with the sacred realm is life-threatening. This is why the Israelites are warned before the revelation at Sinai, “Beware of going up the mountain or touching the border of it. Whoever touches the mountain shall be put to death: no hand shall touch it, but he shall be either stoned or shot; beast or man, he shall not live.” (Exod. 19:12-13).32 This is why people are in mortal fear after an encounter with the Lord (Deut 5:5, 20-24) or with an angel (Judg 6:22; 13:22). There is also an inherent danger in approaching too close to the sanctuary, which belongs to the realm of the holy. Hence the Israelites are warned, “any outsider who encroaches shall be put to death” J. Gray, I & II Kings: A Commentary (2nd edition; OTL 9; London: S.C.M. Press, 1970), p. 479; G. H. Jones, 1 and 2 Kings (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1984), vol. 2:389. See also R. S. Wallace (Reading in 2 Kings: An Interpretation arranged for Personal and Group Bible Study [Edinburgh: Scottish Academic Press, 1996], pp. 28-29), who argues that we must not assume that the narrator or Elisha was proud of what happened and thinks that Elisha probably remembered the incident with a sense of shame. 27 Marcus, “The Boys and the Bald Prophet.” 28 Ibid., pp. 49, 50-51. 29 Ibid., pp. 51, 65. 30 Ibid., pp. 64-65; Q. R. Conners, “Elijah and Elisha: A Psychologist’s Perspective,” Master of the Sacred Page: Essays and Articles in Honor of Roland E. Murphy (ed. K. J. Egan and C. E. Morrison; Washington: Carmelite Institute, 1997), pp. 235-242 (p. 239). 31 See below, §3. 32 See also Exod. 19:21-24; 24:1-2; Deut. 5:5, 20-24. 26

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(Num 1:51; 3:10, 38; 18:7); this ban even applies to the Kehathites, members of the tribe of Levi (Num 4:15, 20). The use of “foreign fire”— evidently a flame not taken from the perpetual fire on the sacrificial altar— results in the deaths of Aaron’s sons Nadab and Abihu (Lev 10:1-2). Any abuse of a sacred object, such as the Temple vessels (Daniel 5) or the holy ark,33 brings in its wake severe punishment, even when done inadvertently and with good intentions, as in the case of Uzzah (2 Sam 6:6-7). It is against this background that we must understand the story: the boys who offended the “holy man of God” (2 Kgs 4:9) are punished for sacrilege.34 It is important to understand that punishment of those who offend the dignity of a holy man, even slightly, is an important convention of saints’ legends. It is an affirmation, no less than the salvation miracles they work, of their great power and intimacy with the Lord.35 This is why Alexander Rofé asserts that “not the ethical categories of good and evil are relevant in this and in the other stories, but those of the sacred and profane.”36 Although there is much to be said for this argument, I believe that the story presents the boys who tease the prophet as deserving their punishment. It does so by means of various rhetorical devices, as I have tried to show in

See 1 Samuel 5, especially vv. 10-11; 6:19; 2 Sam. 6:6-7. Cf. J. Lindblom, Prophecy in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Blackwell, 1962), p. 62; T. R. Hobbs, 2 Kings (WBC 13; Waco, Texas: Word Books, 1985), p. 24; Rofé, The Prophetical Stories, p. 16. 35 See: E. Marcus, “The Oicotype of the ‘Desecrator’s Punishment’ (AT* 771),” Studies in Aggadah and Jewish Folklore 7 (1983), pp. 337-366 (in Hebrew); H. BarItzhak, “The ‘Saints’ Legend’ as a Genre in Jewish Folk-Literature,” Ph.D. dissertation, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Jerusalem 1987, pp. 71-72, 107, 108, 265, 312 (in Hebrew). Although Bar-Itzhak studied saints’ legends in the folklore of Jewish communities, many of her insights are valid for the genre in general and not just for folklore. See also the index to I. Ben-Ami, Saint Veneration Among the Jews in Morocco (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1998), s.vv. “curse” and “offense against saint.” Among the examples he cites are that of a Jewish woman who became pregnant after making a pilgrimage to the tomb of Rabbi Makhluf ben Yosef Abuhatsira, but lost her first-born son and then her second son because she did not give them the saints’ name (p. 52); a Jew who broke a pitcher belonging to the holy man Rabbi Hayyim Pinto the Younger and died a few days later after being cursed by him; and a physician who died the day after chasing a holy man from his house (p. 53). 36 Rofé, The Prophetical Stories, pp. 15-16. 33 34

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my analysis of the story.37 Here I will briefly review my argument. On the assumption that the boys are from Jericho (Elisha has to turn around to see them [v. 24a]),38 their ingratitude toward the prophet is contemptible. Although he has just made their town’s formerly toxic water supply drinkable (2 Kgs 2:19-22), they come out of the city not to provide him with an honor guard, as we might have expected, but to humiliate him and shout him out of town,39 mocking him as “baldhead.” Unfortunately we lack sufficient data about how readers in antiquity would have understood Elisha’s baldness. Some believe that it was a natural phenomenon and that the children’s ridicule targets an aesthetic defect.40 Others hold that Elisha had a shaven pate, which, they believe, was one of the hallmarks of prophets in Israel,41 similar to the custom among priests in Egypt, many of whom had polled heads and were consequently referred to as “bald ones.”42 The advocates of this view argue that in the ancient Near East men generally covered their heads, especially when traveling, meaning that the boys could not see Elisha’s scalp. But they inferred that he was bald because they knew that he was a prophet (perhaps because of the prophet’s cloak he wore). Support for the idea that Elisha’s is a ritual baldness may Shemesh, “The Stories of Elisha,” pp. 148-163. See: H.-C. Schmitt, Elisa: Traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur vorklassischen nordisraelitischen Prophetie (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1972), p. 180; Jones, 1 and 2 Kings, vol. 2:389; Y. Zakovitch, “ ‘Go away, baldhead, Go away, baldhead’: Exegetical Circles in Biblical Narrative,” Jerusalem Studies in Hebrew Literature 8 (1985), pp. 7-23 (p. 16) (in Hebrew). The variant “he turned after them” in MS Alexandria and MS Vatican of the Septuagint does not reflect a different Vorlage used by the translator but represents a correction or emendation based on the translator’s assumption that the boys were from Bethel. 39 Rashi explains that ‫‘ ֲע ֵלה‬go up’ means “go up [i.e., away] from here.” So, too, Schmitt, Elisa, p. 180; M. Cogan and H. Tadmor, II Kings (AB 11; [New York]: Doubleday, 1988), p. 38. For examples of the root ‫ עלה‬plus the preposition ‫ מן‬in the sense of “go away,” see Num 16:24, 27; 2 Sam 2:27; 1 Kgs 15:19; 2 Kgs 12:19; Jer 37:5. 40 See, for example: H. Gressmann, Die älteste Geschichtsschreibung und Prophetie Israels (2nd edition; Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1921), p. 290; Hobbs, 2 Kings, p. 24; Cogan and Tadmor, II Kings, p. 38. 41 See, for example, A. Šanda, Die Bücher der Könige (EHAT 9/2; Münster: Aschendorff, 1912), pp. 14-15; Lindblom, Prophecy in Ancient Israel, pp. 68-69; Gray, I & II Kings, p. 480; Jones, 1 and 2 Kings, vol. 2:389-390. 42 A. Macalister, “Baldness,” A Dictionary of the Bible (ed. J. Hastings; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1908), vol. 1:234-235 (p. 235). 37 38

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perhaps be found in the description of the ceremony for purifying the Levites before they could begin ministering in the sanctuary, which includes shaving their entire bodies (Num 8:7).43 If we accept this conjecture, the children intended to insult Elisha as a prophet rather than as a private individual, which makes their offense even more serious. Another possibility, considering that this story follows immediately upon Elisha’s prophetic consecration and has close links with it,44 is that Elisha shaved his hair in mourning for the loss of his master, Elijah. Despite the ban in Deuteronomy, “you shall not cut yourselves or make any baldness on your foreheads for the dead” (Deut 14:1), various biblical texts indicate that shaving the head was a common mourning practice in Israel.45 If so, the disrespectful children were offending not only Elisha, but also the memory of Elijah, which of course compounds their felony. As noted, we do not have enough information to choose among these options. But even if we assume that the boys’ sin was the least serious of these and that they were teasing Elisha for an aesthetic defect—natural baldness—their action constituted a severe attack on the dignity of the holy man, which cannot be ignored or forgiven. The reduplication of their taunt, “Go away, baldhead” (v. 23), indicates that the children repeated their gibe over and over. Remember, too, that dozens of boys took part—more than the number who died, since we are told that the she-bears mangle 42 “of them” (v. 24). The large number of children, plus the repetition of their rude remark, amplifies their sin and gives some idea of Elisha’s distress. The narrator precedes the neutral verb “they said” (‫ )ויאמרו‬with the loaded verb “they jeered” (‫[ ויתקלסו‬v. 23]). The root ‫ קלס‬denotes scorn and derision (Ezek 16:31; 22:5; Hab 1:10), as demonstrated by the occurrences of the noun ‫( ֶק ֶלס‬Jer 20:8; Ps 44:14; 79:4), as well as the noun ‫ ַק ָלּ ָסה‬, which is parallel to the noun ‫‘ ֶח ְר ָפּה‬reproach, shame’ (Ezek 22:4). The story portrays the boys’ punishment as measure for measure: they sin by speaking lightly of Elisha and are punished through speech—the Cf. Lev 14:8-9; Num 6:9, 18. On the links between the “Baldhead” episode (2 Kgs 2:23-25), Elisha’s consecration (ibid., 1-18), and the detoxification of the waters of Jericho (ibid., 1922), see Shemesh, “The Stories of Elisha,” pp. 149-151. 45 See: Isa 3:24; 22:12; Jer 7:29; 16:6; 41:5; Ezek 7:18; Amos 8:10; Micah 1:16. See also G. J. Botterweck, “‫ גלח‬gillach,” Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament 3 (1974), pp. 10-12. 43 44

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prophet’s curse. The parallel between the crime and the punishment is amplified by the play on words derived from the roots ‫ קלס‬and ‫ קלל‬which have the first two consonants in common and are associated with proximate semantic fields: ‫ קלס‬denotes mockery and abuse, which is also one of the senses of the ‫קלל‬,46 though not in our story. The children’s sin follows their first action—they “came out of the town” (v. 23); their punishment follows the action of the she-bears, the instrument of their punishment—they “came out of the woods” (v. 24). The root ‫‘ יצא‬come out’, used in both statements, and the phonetic and graphic similarity between the nouns ‫‘ עיר‬town’ and ‫‘ יער‬woods’ indicate that the structural and semantic principle of measure for measure continues to hold sway in the description of the punishment.47 To sum up, the story of Elisha’s consecration to prophecy (2 Kgs 2:118) is followed immediately by two short tales in praise of him, which recount how Elisha consolidated his status as Elijah’s legitimate heir. The two episodes seem to contradict each other, since the first is a miracle of deliverance and the second a miracle of punishment. The truth, though, is that the stories are complementary. Only the combination of the two opposed stories provides a full picture of the two facets of the man of God and highlights his full powers. Elisha keeps children from dying in the first story and causes children to die in the second story. The placement of the two stories adjacent to each other and immediately after the consecration story foreshadows Elisha’s characterization as a prophet and a holy man of God, who acts mercifully with those who merit favor but punishes the wicked.

2.2 ELISHA AND THE SHUNAMMITE MATRON (2 KGS 4:8-37) The Indictment This story seems to have been the target of most of the critical shafts aimed at Elisha.48 The prophet is indicted for announcing a miraculous birth of his E.g., 1 Sam 2:30; 2 Sam 16:7; Jer 42:18; Eccl 7:21. The Akkadian verb qullulu, too, means to offend a person’s honor, and is used as an antonym to kubbutu (cognate with the Hebrew kāvôd). 47 This was noted by Zakovitch, “Go Away, Baldhead,” pp. 11-12. 48 See, for example: R. Alter, “How Convention Helps Us Read: The Case of the Bible’s Annunciation Type-Scene,” Prooftexts 3 (1983), pp. 115-130 (p. 126); E. Fuchs, “The Literary Characterization of Mothers and Sexual Politics in the 46

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own accord, rather than in the name of the Lord, as in every other miraculous birth story in the Bible,49 and for doing so even though the Shunammite matron makes it plain that she expects no reward from him. Her son’s subsequent death is taken to be an annulment of the miracle.50 Simon even sees it as an indication that the Shunammite was right and Elisha wrong: the boy’s death is a retrospective confirmation of the fear she expressed immediately after Elisha’s announcement that she would become a mother: “Please, my lord, man of God, do not delude your maidservant” (v. 16). He understands the woman to be expressing her “profound doubt that she is worthy of such a miracle.” The source of this doubt is her “pious humility.” The matron, as he reads the story, is afraid of being disappointed by “a miracle that cannot last.”51 According to this Hebrew Bible,” Feminist Perspectives on Biblical Scholarship (ed. A. Yarbo Collins; Chico: Scholars Press, 1985), pp. 117-136 (p. 128); Rofé, The Prophetical Stories, pp. 29-30; B. O. Long, “A Figure at the Gate: Readers, Reading, and Biblical Theologians,” Canon, Theology, and Old Testament Interpretation: Essays in Honor of Brevard S. Childs (ed. G. M. Tucker et al.; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988), pp. 166-186; idem, 2 Kings, pp. 61-62; M. E. Shields, “Subverting a Man of God, Elevating a Woman: Role and Power Reversals in 2 Kings 4,” JSOT 58 (1993), pp. 59-69; F. van Dijk-Hemmes, “The Great Woman of Shunem and the Man of God: A Dual Interpretation of 2 Kings 4.8-37,” A Feminist Companion to Samuel and Kings (ed. A. Brenner; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994), pp. 218-230. P. J. Kissling, Reliable Characters in the Primary History: Profiles of Moses, Joshua, Elijah and Elisha (JSOTSS 224; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), pp. 189, 196; J. Siebert-Hommes, “The Widow of Zarephath and the Great Woman of Shunem: A Comparative Analysis of Two Stories,” On Reading Prophetic Texts (ed. B. Becking and M. Dijkstra; Leiden: Brill, 1996), pp. 231-250; U. Simon, Reading Prophetic Narratives (trans. by L. J. Schramm; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997), pp. 227-262; W. J. Bergen, Elisha and the End of Prophetism (JSOTSup 286; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), pp. 97-104; M. Roncace, “Elisha and the Woman of Shunem: 2 Kings 4.8-37 and 8.1-6 Read in Conjunction,” JSOT 91 (2000), pp. 109-127; Amit, “A Prophet Tested.” 49 See, for example, Bergen’s criticism (Elisha and the End of Prophetism, pp. 99, 101, 104) of Elisha for usurping the role of God. See also Amit’s claim (“A Prophet Tested,” p. 287) that Elisha “behaves arrogantly toward God” when he imposes the miracle on Him. 50 See, for example, Shields, “Subverting a Man of God,” pp. 65-66; Amit, “A Prophet Tested,” p. 282. 51 Simon, Reading Prophetic Narratives, pp. 242-243. Similarly Shields, “Subverting a Man of God,” p. 62, argues that the Shunammite matron’s “do not delude your maidservant” (4:16) alludes to her son’s death.

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reading, the Shunammite asks Elisha not to work a miracle, but the prophet, confident in his abilities and certain that his generous hostess merits a miracle, ignores her protest. Consequently he is responsible for the calamity of her son’s death, in that he gave her a son who was not viable. It is clear to Simon that the Shunammite wants a son but is afraid that she is not worthy of a miraculous birth. Other scholars, however, mainly of the feminist persuasion, reject the notion that motherhood is her goal. It follows that Elisha imposed his gift on her, one that reflects the patriarchal idea that every woman yearns for a son.52 Shields even associates the woman’s reaction to the promise of a son, “Please, my lord, man of God, do not delude your maidservant” (v. 16) with biblical rape stories,53 noting that this pattern of the negative hortative ‫ ַאל‬plus the vocative, followed by another negative and a verb, occurs elsewhere only in the stories of the concubine in Gibeah (Judg 19:23) and of Amnon and Tamar (2 Sam 13:12).54 Another critical point leveled against Elisha is that, flouting the convention found when a previously barren woman has a child, the Shunammite’s son remains nameless and has no national role to play or other vocation that would justify his miraculous birth.55 Elisha’s limited knowledge, as reflected by his acknowledgement that “the Lord has hidden it from me and has not told me” (2 Kgs 4:27), is also interpreted to his detriment.56 He clearly had no prophetic knowledge of the death of the boy whose miraculous birth he announced. See mainly Shields (“Subverting a Man of God,” pp. 62, 63, 67), who sees vv. 11-16 as a parody of the annunciation type-scene (p. 63). See also: Dijk-Hemmes, “The Great Woman of Shunem,” pp. 225, 228; Amit, “A Prophet Tested,” pp. 287288. According to Amit (p. 288), Elisha works a miracle that serves his needs more than those of the Shunammite matron. 53 Shields, “Subverting a Man of God,” p. 62. So too, in her wake, D. Jobling, “A Bettered Woman: Elisha and the Shunammite in the Deuteronomic Work,” The Labour of Reading: Desire, Alienation, and Biblical Interpretation (ed. F. C. Black et al.; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 1999), pp. 177-192 (p. 180); S. B. Plate, “The Gift that Stops Giving: Hélène Cixous’s ‘Gift’ and the Shunammite Woman,” Biblical Interpretation 7 (1999), pp. 113-132 (on pp. 126-127). 54 Shields, “Subverting a Man of God,” p. 62. But see 2 Sam. 13:25, for a sentence with a similar structure in a context not associated with rape. 55 Ibid., p. 63; Bergen, Elisha and the End of Prophetism, p. 97; Amit, “A Prophet Tested,” p. 282. 56 See, for example: Shields, “Subverting a Man of God,” p. 65, 66; DijkHemmes, “The Great Woman of Shunem,” p. 228; Kissling, Reliable Characters, pp. 52

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As for Elisha’s dispatch of Gehazi to revive the boy, it has been argued that Elisha continues to underestimate the severity of the situation and of the response required. Gehazi’s failure to revive the boy is considered to be Elisha’s failure.57 The Shunammite matron, who stubbornly insists that the prophet be directly involved, once again demonstrates that her understanding is superior to his.58 In light of all this, Simon argues that the story’s purpose is not to praise Elisha or showcase his miracles, but “to investigate the interaction between his ability to work miracles and his human limitations.” Elisha requires assistance from the beneficiary of the miracle, who, it is true, cannot perform miracles, but is nevertheless blessed with greater powers of understanding. Only when Elisha recognizes this and follows her lead can he fully realize his prophetic talents.59 Simon argues further that the story of the birth and revival of the Shunammite’s son depicts Elisha and Gehazi as sharing the concept of prophecy depicted in the short legends that present the prophet’s powers as unlimited and above reproach. The story, which does not share this view, for all that it was prevalent and accepted, is intended to demonstrate the peril that lurks for the man of God if he has too much confidence in his powers, as well as to teach his followers that his holiness does not make him immune to human frailty.60 Shields and Amit are even harsher in their censure of Elisha. They maintain that the story employs a narrative technique that permits reading on two levels. On the first level it is a legend that praises the prophet; on a deeper level, however, it exposes Elisha’s weaknesses, subverts the first level, and reveals the criticism that lies beneath the praise.61 According to Amit, such a reading entails the definition of a new genre, the “development story”: In a development story the miracles are meant not only to impress the prophet’s surrounding society and the readers of the story but also to teach the prophet a lesson and to suggest to readers that, although he 189-190; Siebert-Hommes, “The Widow of Zarephath,” pp. 240, 249; Roncace, “Elisha and the Woman of Shunem,” p. 118. 57 Fuchs, “The Literary Characterization of Mothers,” p. 128; Bergen, Elisha and the End of Prophetism, p.101. 58 Simon, Reading Prophetic Narratives, pp. 249-250. 59 Ibid., p. 235. 60 Ibid., pp. 233, 258. 61 Shields, “Subverting a Man of God”; Amit, “A Prophet Tested.”

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possesses super-human powers, the prophet is only a human being with human failings.62

Even though Elisha works two great miracles for the woman, his relationship toward her comes in for fierce criticism. Scholars emphasize his attempt to preserve his distance from her, manifested in the fact that she must speak to him through Gehazi and that he never addresses her by her name. Worse still, he refers to her (three times) as “this Shunammite woman” (vv. 12, 25, 36), which is disrespectful, as in similar uses of the deictic elsewhere in the Bible.63 Amit lists other biblical stories that criticize a prophet: Numbers 20:113, where the target is Moses; 1 Samuel 16:1-13, where the target is Samuel; and the book of Jonah, which is critical of its main character. The point of these stories, she asserts, is to draw a clear line between the prophets and the Lord.64 She includes 2 Kings 4:8-37 in this genre of criticism of prophets.65

The Rebuttal I begin with the last point, insisting that we pay attention to the difference between Amit’s examples and our story. The criticism of Moses (Num 20:113), Samuel (1 Sam 16:1-13) and Jonah is open and explicit. Here, by contrast, there is no overt disapproval of the prophet. But is it even possible to find covert censure, as so many scholars believe? On the surface there seems to be something to the argument that the story of the Shunammite matron is critical of Elisha, who works a miracle that does not last and fails in his first attempt to revive the boy. But even if we accept this line, we must not ignore the fact that the story centers on Amit, “A Prophet Tested,” p. 279. Shields, “Subverting a Man of God,” pp. 61-62; Amit, “A Prophet Tested,” p. 285. There is no real difference between ha-zot (vv. 12 and 36) and ha-laz (v. 25). 64 Amit, “A Prophet Tested,” p. 291. 65 But see a different view, which she advanced in an earlier article: Y. Amit, “Why were the Matriarchs Barren?” Reading Genesis: Women Write about Genesis (ed. R. Ravitzky; Tel Aviv: Yedioth Ahronoth-Sifrei Hemed, 1999), pp. 127-137 (in Hebrew). There she wrote, “The birth and revival of the Shunammite’s son, whose mortal peril could have been expected, illuminate the power and place of prophets, who could work miracles and redeem barren women and announce God’s continued involvement in the life of the people” (p. 137). See also her remarks at the bottom of p. 136. 62 63

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two great miracles. This is why Simon writes that “the man of God is described as a great and wonderful man but susceptible to human frailties.”66 The criticism of Elisha that Simon finds in the story is strictly circumscribed and never casts doubt on his supernatural powers. We can add that the depiction of the Shunammite’s superior insight about everything associated with her son’s life is perfectly compatible with the secondary use that the story makes of the genres of the miraculous birth and deliverance from death.67 Because it is the woman who bears children and guarantees the continuation of the human race, many stories illustrate how “the Holy One, blessed be He, endowed woman with more understanding than the man” (B Niddah 45b); hence it is the woman’s resourcefulness that overcomes barrenness, saves her son’s life,68 or saves lives in general.69 So praise of the Shunammite matron does not necessarily imply criticism of Elisha. A story can contain more than one positive character and need not be a dichotomy between a praiseworthy woman and a blameworthy man of God.70

Simon, Reading Prophetic Narratives, p. 261. See ibid., p. 279 n. 59. 68 On these two roles of women in biblical narrative, see the table in ibid., p. 36, in the column headed “The woman’s wisdom and resourcefulness.” See also (and especially) Y. Amit, “ ‘Manoah Promptly Followed his Wife (Judges 13.11): On the Place of the Woman in Birth Narratives,” A Feminist Companion to Judges (ed. A. Brenner; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), pp. 146-156. 69 For example, Rahab saved the two spies and her entire family (Joshua 2). The woman of Thebez saved the townspeople from being burned alive in their tower by killing Abimelech (Judg. 9:53). A woman from Bahurim hid the young priests Jonathan and Ahimaaz and kept them from being captured by Absalom’s men (2 Sam. 17:18-20). A woman of Abel Beth-Maacah negotiated with Joab and saved the town from destruction by killing Sheba son of Bichri, who had fled there (2 Sam. 20:16-22). Esther saved her people from genocide. In the Apocrypha, Judith rescued her town and people from the Assyrian invader. On women as lifesavers in the Bible, see U. Simon, Seek Peace and Pursue it (Tel Aviv: Yedioth Ahronoth, 2002), pp. 185-196 (in Hebrew). 70 This seems to be the basic approach of the feminist critic T. Frymer-Kensky, “The Shunammite,” Reading the Women of the Bible (New York: Schocken Books, 2002), pp. 64-73. She focuses on the Shunammite and illuminates her great and unusual character, but not by criticizing the male lead in the story, Elisha, for whom she reserves a few kind words about his greatness, wonder-working powers, and good intentions toward the Shunammite. 66 67

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What is more, I believe that the story can be interpreted in a different way, one that actually depicts Elisha as a supremely moral person. Elisha recognizes the debt he owes his generous hostess and seeks to provide her with some recompense for everything she has done for him and his servant.71 After the Shunammite matron rejects his offer to intervene on her behalf with the authorities, he does not give up, but continues to look for a way to reward her. With Gehazi’s help he finally discovers what this well-off woman who lives among her people is missing, and replaces his previous offer of pulling strings for her, which she declined, with the proclamation of a miraculous birth: “At this season next year, you will be embracing a son” (v. 16). The circumstances—an overwhelming desire to reward the Shunammite matron for her generosity—lead Elisha to intervene in a domain that is elsewhere reserved to the Lord. I believe that this is an expression of the strong admiration of Elisha, who like God himself, could grant the miracle of a child to a barren woman,72 rather than criticism that he did so of his own initiative. It bears noting that outside the Bible, miraculous births worked by saints are extremely common in saints’ legends to the present time. The argument advanced by Shields and others, mentioned above, that the Shunammite matron doesn’t want a son at all, ignores the social reality of the biblical era as well as the woman’s own response. She does not tell By contrast, Plate (“The Gift that Stops Giving”) criticizes Elisha for his stubborn insistence on rewarding the Shunammite for her kindness to him, which—he claims—turns her selfless generosity into a barter deal. Building on Hélène Cixous’ theory of gender differences with regard to gifts, he explains that Elisha’s need to respond to his hostess’s benefactions stems from his unwillingness to be in her debt. 72 This understanding of the miraculous birth in Shunem can be traced back to the Midrash (Deut. Rab. 10:3). To support his statement that “everything that God does, the righteous do,” the homilist invokes several miracles performed by Elisha and Elijah, beginning with this one. The same view is evident in what R. Aha stated in the name of R. Jonathan: “There are three keys which the Holy One, blessed be He, does not give over into the hands of an emissary: the key to the womb, for it is said, And the Lord … opened her womb (Gen 29:31); … Nevertheless, when it pleased the Holy One, blessed be He, to do so, He gave the keys over to righteous men. The key to the womb of a barren women, God gave over to Elisha, [for it is said], When the time cometh round, thou shalt embrace a son (2 Kgs 4:16)” (Midrash Shoher Tov on Ps 78, §5; in The Midrash on Psalms [trans. W. G. Braude; New Haven: Yale University Press, 1959], vol. 2:25 [slightly modified]). 71

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the prophet that she does not want a son, but pleads with him not to delude her. It is from the very intensity of her fear that we learn the intensity of her desire to hold a son in her arms.73 It is hard to understand the woman’s response, “Please, my lord, man of God, do not delude your maidservant” (v. 16), as reflecting a fear that the child would not survive.74 Such thinking, two steps ahead, seems to be quite implausible, given that the Shunammite is not blessed with prophetic knowledge. It is more likely that her doubt concerns the mere possibility that she might conceive and bear a child. Pace Shields and others, nothing in the Shunammite’s answer proves that she does not want a son. Quite the contrary. We may assume that as a woman with no sons, the Shunammite has had her fill of false hopes that she might be delivered of a boy. As the years passed, and especially after her husband grew old (v. 14), she must have despaired that she would ever hold a son, and learned to live with her disappointment. It was this resigned acceptance of her destiny that was threatened by the prophet’s announcement. This is why the Shunammite asks Elisha not to reignite vain hopes.75 Her reaction should be compared to the disbelieving laughter of Abraham and Sarah when they are told that she will have a son (Gen 17:17; 18:12). Their internal monologues inform us that their skepticism about God’s promise is related to their advanced age. So it is not astonishing that the Shunammite matron, whose husband Gehazi has described as “old” (v. 14), is hard put to believe the prophet’s declaration. Nor should we make an issue of the fact that the woman doubts this pronouncement by someone whom she has called “a holy man of God” (v. 9); Abraham, the father of the nation, doubted an unequivocal promise made by the Lord Himself. Her incredulity when she hears the promise contributes retrospectively to increasing the miracle.76 Indeed, despite the matron’s fears, the immediate continuation of the story is the 73 Cf. C. V. Camp, “1 and 2 Kings,” Women’s Bible Commentary, expanded edition (ed. C. A. Newsom and S. H. Ringe; Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1998), pp. 102-117 (p. 113). 74 This is the interpretation of Rashi, David Kimhi, and Gersonides; as noted, it is also how Simon understands the women’s anxiety (Reading Prophetic Narratives, pp. 242-243). 75 Cf. O. Thenius, Die Bücher der Könige (2nd edition; Leipzig: S. Hirzel, 1873), p. 288; Gray, I & II Kings, p. 496. 76 See Y. Zakovitch, The Concept of the Miracle in the Bible (trans. S. Himelstein; Tel Aviv: MOD Books, 1991), p. 44; Simon, Reading Prophetic Narratives, p. 45.

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precise realization of Elisha’s promise: “The woman conceived and bore a son at the same season the following year, as Elisha had said to her” (v. 17). Here, I believe, the prophet’s role and moral responsibility vis-à-vis the Shunammite could be at an end. Were this no more than a story of a miraculous birth, it would include the newborn child’s future vocation and we would expect to follow him into adulthood and see how he realizes his destiny. In this case, however, the miraculous birth paradigm is secondary. The true focus is not the child, who remains anonymous, but the miracleworker and his power. This is why the birth itself does not guarantee the boy’s survival and he is subject to the slings and arrows of life’s fortunes like any other human being. Had the narrator wanted to indicate that Elisha worked a miracle that cannot last, we would expect the realization of his promise to be followed immediately by something like “some time later the son of the Shunammite woman died.”77 Instead, the narrator informs us that the child grew up and provides a realistic description of the circumstances of his death: “The child grew up. One day, he went out to his father among the reapers. [Suddenly] he cried to his father, ‘Oh, my head, my head!’ ” (vv. 18-19). We are to understand that after staying out too long under the broiling harvest sun the child succumbed to heatstroke or sunstroke, as frequently happens in hot climates.78 But the Shunammite matron, a mother who fights for her son’s life and knows that only Elisha’s direct intervention can restore him, gives a broad interpretation to the man of God’s responsibility toward her and initiates a series of actions to exploit the prophet’s supernatural powers to bring her son back to life. The woman who has always maintained her distance from Elisha, who built him an attic room to provide him with maximum privacy, and who, when summoned to hear his promise of a miracle to benefit her was careful to stand in the doorway and not enter the room (v. 15), now lays her dead son on the prophet’s own bed in that very room. There are two possible explanations for this. It may simply be a technical matter: she Cf. the account of the death of the son of the widow of Zarephath (1 Kgs 17:17). 78 This view can be traced back to the Jerusalem Talmud, where it is expressed by R. Mana (J Yebamoth 15:2 [14d]). It is shared by, among others, Isaac Abravanel, Commentary on the Former Prophets (Jerusalem: Torah Vadaath Press, 1955), p. 617 (in Hebrew); Thenius, Die Bücher der Könige, vol. 2:288; Jones, 1 and 2 Kings, vol. 2:406. 77

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wants to conceal what has happened from others, and the best place to do this is the prophet’s room, which no one will enter. Alternatively, there may be an element of magic here, reflecting the notion, common in saints’ legends, that the personal effects of holy people absorb their sanctity and acquire their own intrinsic power to work miracles.79 Elisha’s bed, on which he lay whenever he came to Shunem (see v. 11), is such an object. By laying her son in the closed domain of the man of God, in his room, on his bed, she can suspend the process of death, even if she cannot restore the boy to life. Only the direct involvement of the man of God himself can work such a wonder. The Shunammite matron understands this very well, which is why she hurries off on the long journey to Elisha’s residence on Mt. Carmel. Elisha, who suspects that her arrival, when it is neither the New Moon nor the Sabbath, is an indication of distress, does not wait for her to reach him, but immediately orders Gehazi to “run at once to meet her, and say to her, ‘Is it well with you? Is it well with your husband? Is it well with the child?’ ”(v. 26). That the child is the last one he asks about indicates not only that he has no prophetic knowledge of the boy’s death,80 but also that his suspicions about the reason for her visit are not focused on the son at all. Thus we learn that the concern he evinces for the Shunammite is not motivated by a sense of responsibility for her calamity, but by a sincere wish to help the woman who has been so generous to him. The woman, in her clear knowledge that only Elisha can deliver her from her misery, dismisses Gehazi with the laconic “it is well” (v. 26); but then, belying her calm answer, she hurries up to the prophet and takes hold of his feet (v. 27). This is how she indicates that a great calamity has overtaken her. The reaction of Gehazi, who would defend his master’s dignity by pushing the woman away, represents the standard attitude toward the holy man of God. It is not meant to make Gehazi look bad, but rather to illuminate Elisha, by way of contrast, in a positive light.81 As opposed to the normative aversion that Gehazi feels for the woman’s atypical behavior, Elisha understands that now is neither the time nor the circumstances to For this idea, see I. Genuz, “The Belongings of Tsaddikim as Treasures of Virtues,” Proceedings of the Tenth World Congress of Jewish Studies, Division D, vol. 2 (1989), pp. 29-31 (Hebrew section). 80 As is noted by Šanda, Die Bücher der Könige, vol. 2:32; Simon, Reading Prophetic Narratives, p. 246. 81 On the use of minor characters as a device for the moral evaluation of the protagonist, see Simon, Reading Prophetic Narratives, p. 268. 79

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stand on his dignity: “Let her alone, for she is in bitter distress; and the Lord has hidden it from me and has not told me” (v. 27). His admission that he lacked prophetic knowledge makes it clear that it was not from disinterest or apathy that he did not help the Shunammite woman in her distress, but solely because he did not know what had befallen her. We may infer from this that had he known her trouble he would not have waited for her to come to him but would have taken immediate action on her behalf. Note that Elisha’s knowledge is described as deficient in the short tales that almost all agree are intended to praise Elisha (2 Kgs 4:2; 6:6). Evidently critical scholars expect the man of God to demonstrate supernatural powers even more than his own devotees and admirers did. Elisha realizes that only some serious distress could cause the woman to behave in this unrestrained fashion; but he does not know what it is. From her plaintive cry, “Did I ask my lord for a son? Didn’t I say: ‘Don’t mislead me’?” (v. 28), he infers that the calamity has to do with the son who was born as a result of his blessing. I believe that these words also provide a new interpretation for her earlier reluctance to hear the promise of a child. Looking back, the Shunammite matron can present her skepticism that she might conceive and bear a son as anxiety about a miracle that could not last.82 Now Elisha, who accepts this interpretation and the woman’s rebuke, displays moral greatness. Close attention to what the woman says indicates that while she makes it clear that the reason she has come involves her son, she does not say that he is dead.83 I believe that this explains the sequence of events in the rest of the story. Evidently Elisha fails to understand that the boy was dead and infers that he is seriously ill or has fainted.84 Consequently he believes it 82 This is also the understanding of G. W. Savran, Telling and Retelling: Quotation in Biblical Narrative (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1988), p. 99. 83 The reason for this, I believe, is her feeling that if she says anything about it out loud she will make her son’s death real and irrevocable and put an end to her hopes that he may be revived by the man of God. Another possibility is her fear that if Elisha knew that the boy was dead he would believe that nothing further could be done in the matter and would not accompany her back to Shunem. 84 Cf. Roncace, “Elisha and the Woman of Shunem,” p. 118. Roncace sees this as criticism of the prophet, who took action even before the Shunammite had had time to tell him that her son was dead, and may consequently have underestimated the gravity of the situation and thought that Gehazi could make matters right. My reading, by contrast, is that the woman had no intention of telling Elisha the full truth. In support of this, consider that during their long journey back to Shunem

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sufficient to send an emissary to effect a miraculous cure, using his staff and following his precise instructions. But the woman, who knows that her son is dead, and not merely ill, understands that in such an extreme case only Elisha’s direct intercession will avail. This is why she adamantly declares that “As the Lord lives and as you live, I will not leave you!” (v. 30). Here too Elisha demonstrates his greatness by accepting her terms and accompanying her back to Shunem. Gehazi’s inability to revive the boy retrospectively enhances Elisha’s own success,85 showing Elisha, Gehazi, and readers what the woman knew all along—that only the holy man of God could accomplish the impossible. Only when he reaches his room in the Shunammite woman’s house does Elisha discover that it is not a case of illness or faintness, but of death, and that he has been called to effect not a miraculous cure but a resurrection. The narrator does a good job of conveying the prophet’s surprise by suddenly presenting the story from his point of view, by means of the word ‫‘ והנה‬and there’:86 “Elisha came into the house, and there was the boy dead, laid out on his couch” (v. 32). This conveys nothing new to readers, whom the narrator has already informed that the child is dead. Hence I believe we must understand the verse as reporting Elisha’s sudden realization that the boy is dead. Elisha now understands that only a stubborn struggle for the boy’s life can restore him to his mother. Through a combination of prayer (whose content is not reported) and intensive physical exertion, which involves conveying the vital force from his own holy body to the child’s corpse,87 he succeeds in this greatest miracle of all.

she said nothing more about her son’s condition; it was only when Elisha reached her house and saw the boy with his own eyes that he realized he was dead (as I shall demonstrate below). 85 This is also the opinion of Gressmann, Die älteste Geschichtsschreibung, p. 294; Gray, I & II Kings, p. 93. Gressman compares Elisha’s success, after Gehazi fails to revive the child, with the cure worked by Jesus after the disciples fail to do so (Luke 9:37-42). 86 On the function of ‫ והנה‬as an indication of direct perception by characters, see: J. P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art in Genesis (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1975), pp. 50-51; A. Berlin, Poetics and Interpretation of Biblical Narrative (Sheffield: The Almond Press, 1983), pp. 62-63; S. Bar-Efrat, Narrative Art in the Bible (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1989), pp. 35-36. 87 See Gersonides on v. 34.

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Elisha’s miraculous resurrection exceeds that worked by his master Elijah in Zarephath (1 Kgs 17:17-24).88 In the first place, 2 Kgs 4:20 states explicitly that the Shunammite’s son is dead, so it is clear that Elisha brought him back to life. The matter is not so explicit in the case of Elijah, where the narrator is ambiguous, stating, not that the child is dead, but that “his illness grew worse, until he had no breath (‫ )נשמה‬left in him” (1 Kgs 17:17). A similar expression is used with regard to Daniel, who attests of himself that “no breath is left in me” (Dan 10:17), where the reference is to fainting rather than dying (see also Dan 10:9). Similarly, in her astonishment at Solomon’s wisdom and the lavishness of his court, the Queen of Sheba “was left breathless (‫( ”)רוח‬1 Kgs 10:5).89 The narrator’s use of the verb ‫וַ יֶּ ִחי‬ does not necessarily connote a miracle of resurrection, because the root ‫חיה‬ can also have the sense of healing (e.g., Josh. 5:8; 2 Kgs 1:2). The uncertainty as to whether the widow’s child really died contributes to the impression that Elisha is a more powerful miracle-worker than Elijah.90 Second, Elijah, who boarded with the widow when her son was left without breath, could begin his efforts to revive the child at once. But Elisha was on Mt. Carmel when the Shunammite’s son died, so that at least ten hours passed from the time of the child’s death until Elisha arrived in the woman’s home and began his efforts to revive the boy. This delay amplifies the miracle, since, as the story makes clear, time is of the utmost importance, for both the woman (v. 24) and for Elisha (v. 29).91 Why Elisha refers to his hostess as “this Shunammite woman” remains unclear, but I do not believe that it is meant disparagingly.92 The narrator never reports the woman’s name, so we cannot criticize Elisha for failing to address her by it.93 In fact, the deictic “this” or “that” is frequently used 88 Contrary to the view of Shields, “Subverting a Man of God,” pp. 60-61; Siebert-Hommes, “The Widow of Zarephath”; H.-J. Stipp, “Vier Gestalten einer Totenerweckungserzählung (1 Kön 17,17-24; 2 Kön 4,8-37; Apg 9,36-42; Apg 20,712),” Biblica 80 (1999), pp. 43-77 (p. 70). 89 See also Judg 15:19; 1 Sam 30:12. 90 See: Rofé, The Prophetical Stories, p. 134; Kissling, Reliable Characters, p. 195. 91 Cf. Gressmann, Die älteste Geschichtsschreibung, p. 294 92 Neither does Simon, Reading Prophetic Narratives, p. 326 n. 14, even though, as noted above, he does believe that the story is critical of Elisha in other respects. 93 Frymer-Kensky (Reading the Women of the Bible, pp. 64-65, 72-73) holds that the Shunammite matron is identified by her hometown because this is an important element in the identity and biography of a woman whose security derives from the fact that she lives among her relatives (4:13), later goes into exile at the prophet’s

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with no intention to belittle its referent, as we can see from “Who is able to stand before the Lord, this holy God?” (1 Sam 6:20) and many other passages.94 Note that after Elisha first tells Gehazi to “call this Shunammite woman” (v.12), he addresses her to express his gratitude: “You have gone to all this trouble for us” (v. 13). The parallel use of the deictic with reference to the woman and with reference to how she has treated him undercuts the argument that Elisha looks down at his hostess. Note, too, that all three times that Elisha refers to the Shunammite as “this Shunammite woman” he has good intentions toward her: in v. 25 he sends Gehazi to meet her, because of his concern at her unexpected arrival; the other two times it is associated with the miracles he performs for her (v. 12, when he wants to tell her the good tidings of the future birth; and v. 36, when he summons her after the child’s miraculous revival). The story concludes with the woman’s mute gesture of thanks: “She came and fell at his feet and bowed low to the ground; then she picked up her son and left” (v. 37). In her moments of joy, just as in her moments of grief, the woman falls at Elisha’s feet. But how great is the distance between her clasping his feet in despair (v. 27)—which, for all that it expresses her certainty that only Elisha can help her, is also an affront to his dignity—and the silent prostration that expresses her gratitude to the holy man of God who fought stubbornly to restore her dead son to life and to her arms. We see, then, that taken in isolation the story depicts Elisha as a wonder-worker and miracle-maker, but also as a moral figure who evinces true concern for the Shunammite’s fate. The death of her son spurs him to effect a miracle that exceeds the miracle of the annunciation of his birth. Consequently, from the overall perspective of the story, the boy’s temporary death cannot be viewed as an injury done by the prophet to the woman, just as it does not detract from his dignity. Furthermore, if we scrutinize the story in its broader context, the account of “all the great things that Elisha has done” (2 Kgs 8:1-6), we find that not only was the Shunammite matron not harmed by her son’s temporary death, but that in retrospect she actually gained by it. That miracle, which Gehazi has just been narrating to the king when she, by a miraculous concurrence, appears before him to plead her cause, advice, and finally returns to her hometown and has her property and rights restored by the king (8:1-6). 94 E.g., Gen 34:4; Exod 2:9; 15:1; Num 5:30; Deut 28:58; 29:20, 26; Judg 19:23, 24; 1 Sam 17:12; Jer 26:16; and, for ‫ ַה ָלּז‬, Judg 6:20 and 2 Kgs 23:17.

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accompanied by the son whom Elisha had restored, so impresses the king that he orders not only that her house and field be returned to her—the subject of her petition—but even what she had not dared dream of, that she be reimbursed for the harvests of the seven years when she was abroad (v. 6). Her son’s death and miraculous revival saved her from dispossession and penury many years later. Simon rightly argues that the account of “all the great things that Elisha has done” is an intrascriptural response95 to the story of the Shunammite matron.96 But whereas Simon sees this brief anecdote as a sort of corrective epilogue intended to refurbish Elisha’s tarnished prestige, I understand it as a complementary postscript, which shows that the woman’s close relationship with Elisha eventually helped her even in a domain that she had rejected when he proposed it—interceding on her behalf with the king (2 Kgs 4:13). I think that with regard to their attitude toward the prophet and to prophecy in general, the similarity between the two stories outweighs the difference. Both stories seem to imply that the prophet’s intervention in the Shunammite’s life (the miraculous birth; the advice based on prophetic knowledge, after which she leaves the country for seven years) harms her (the loss of the son and the loss of her property). In the event, however we find that in neither case was she—nor could she be—injured by the counsel of the holy man of God.97 Not only is the crisis provoked by his On the several varieties of intrascriptural exegesis, see M. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985). 96 Simon, Reading Prophetic Narratives, pp. 230, 258-262. 97 This lesson is frequent in saints’ legends. In some of them the pious man’s action or advice seems to make the petitioner-beneficiary’s situation worse, but ultimately this proves not to be the case. See, for example, Shivhei ha-Besht (ed. S. A. Horodetsky; Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1947), pp. 113-114 (in Hebrew). The story there is that a boy born as a result of the blessing given by the Baal Shem Tov, the eighteenthcentury founder of Hasidism, dies, only to return to life at the end of the circumcision ceremony. The dependence of that tale on the biblical account in 2 Kgs 4:8-37 is clear. With regard to seemingly bad advice that turns out to have been the key to salvation, see ibid., pp. 73-74, about the advice given by Dov Baer, the “Maggid of Mezhirech,” to two emissaries who consulted him. See also Qovez Eliyahu: Oral Tales (ed. H. A. Sternberg; Jerusalem: [Sternberg], 1983), pp. 22-23, §77 (in Hebrew). For a miraculous birth effected by a righteous man, which led to temporary difficulties, see the story there about a childless follower of the Baal Shem Tov, who had a son thanks to the latter’s blessing. When the boy grew up he abandoned religious observance and caused his father such pain that he was led to exclaim, “if only the boy had never been born!” Under the influence of the amulet 95

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intervention resolved (the revival of the son and the restoration of her property); after the fact it is clear that he helped her improve her situation. This improvement is not part of the story itself in Chapter 4 and must be derived from the broader literary context, the return of property in Chapter 8 as an indirect result of the miracle of her son’s resurrection. In Chapter 8, by contrast, the betterment of her situation is part and parcel of the story: had her property not been confiscated, she would not have petitioned the king when she returned to the country and would have lost the yield of her field for the time she was abroad. In sum, the message to be drawn from both stories is that Elisha’s intercession conveys only good to the beneficiary of the miracle, even if this is not apparent at first.

2.3 THE STORY OF NAAMAN (2 KINGS 5) The Indictment Zakovitch sees the story of the healing of Naaman as critical of Elisha.98 In his reading, Elisha is excessively proud and ignores his due subordination to the Lord. He bases this assertion chiefly on Elisha’s response to the king of Israel: “Let him come to me, and he will learn that there is a prophet in Israel” (2 Kgs 5:8). Zakovitch attaches great weight to the distinction he would make between the term “the man of God” used by the narrator (v. 8a) and the term “prophet” used by the Israelite slave girl (v. 3) and Elisha himself. Noting that these terms are used to designate two different characters in the story of the man of God from Judah and the lying prophet of Bethel (1 Kings 13), he sees “man of God” as positive and “prophet” as derogatory.99 According to him, the author of the story in 1 Kings 13 attaches a higher value to the designation “man of God,” because it includes a direct reference to God, whose emissary he is, whereas “prophet” does not.100 It follows that Elisha, who refers to himself as a prophet, ignores his due subordination to the Lord. So too, according to Zakovitch, the words “to me” in the message he sends to the king of Israel are an expression of that the Baal Shem Tov had given the father, however, the son became a penitent skilled in getting others to repent their evil ways, precisely because of his nonobservant past (ibid., pp. 41-42, §124). 98 Y. Zakovitch, “Every High Official Has a Higher One Set Over Him”: A Literary Analysis of 2 Kings 5 (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1985) (in Hebrew). 99 Ibid., pp. 29-30, 48-49. 100 Ibid., pp. 29-30.

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Elisha’s arrogance and egocentricity.101 He also disapproves of the fact that Elisha does not go out to meet Naaman, who is standing outside his door, but sends word to him via a messenger in order to impress him.102 For Zakovitch, it is only after Naaman has been humbled and come to recognize his subjection to the God of Israel and his prophet does Elisha, too, realize his own subordination to the Lord.103 Hence he is of the opinion that the point of the story is not Elisha’s miracles, but clarifying the concept of the hierarchy—“every high official has a higher one set over him” (Eccl. 5:7)—with the God of Israel highest of all.104 He adds that our story goes beyond Naaman’s recognition of the Lord and demands that Elisha, too, recognize his subordinate position to God.105

The Rebuttal As with the story of the birth and revival of the Shunammite’s son, no one disputes the magnitude of the two miracles that Elisha works in the Naaman pericope. Here too the criticism is of a moral order. Zakovitch’s interpretation of the story hangs on the supposed pejorative overtones of the word “prophet” used by Elisha (v. 8).106 It is true that the term is applied to both true prophets and false prophets and consequently can be intended either positively or negatively. But the sense depends on the context, and it is clear that when Elisha proclaims himself to be a prophet he is presenting himself as a prophet of the Lord who acts on behalf of that higher power. Nowhere in the Bible does a person refer to himself as a “man of God.”107 Wherever it is found it is employed by the narrator108 or 101 Ibid., pp. 50, 60. Similarly, Bergen maintains that Elisha is motivated by a desire to exalt his own name, not the Lord’s (Elisha and the End of Prophetism, p. 115). 102 Zakovitch, Every High Official, pp. 54-55. 103 Ibid., pp. 54, 134, 136. 104 Ibid., pp. 71-72, 133-136. 105 Ibid., p. 83. 106 Curiously, Gertel criticizes Elisha on precisely the opposite grounds: although Elisha does refer to himself as a prophet (2 Kgs 5:8), the stories about him call him a “man of God” instead. That his, he is not a prophet of the first rank, on the level of Moses, Samuel, and Elijah. See E. B. Gertel, “Moses, Elisha and Transferred Spirit: The Height of Biblical Prophecy? (part II),” JBQ 30 (2002), pp. 171-177 (p. 172). 107 Elijah’s “if I am a man of God” (2 Kgs 1:10, 12) is a provocative response to the vocative employed by the two unfortunate captains of fifty (vv. 9, 11).

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the other characters who address the man of God directly109 or are conversing among themselves about him.110 On the other hand, we do find messengers of the Lord who describe themselves as “prophets.”111 So there is nothing astonishing or unusual about Elisha’s referring to himself as a “prophet” and not as a “man of God.” When the king of Israel rends his garment and complains, “Am I God, to deal death or give life, that this fellow writes to me to cure a man of leprosy?” (v. 7), he is not questioning the Lord’s power of life and death, but only saying that he does not believe that the Lord will intervene in this case. He fails to draw the appropriate conclusion; namely, that to receive help from God one must turn to the man of God. His failure to think of the man of God constitutes a direct affront to Elisha’s status as a prophet and an indirect attack on the belief that the Lord acts in human history by means of His emissaries. Elisha’s retort to the king, “Why have you rent your clothes? Let him come to me, and he will learn that there is a prophet in Israel” (v. 8), echoes the king’s despairing “to me” in v. 7.112 Elisha is not boasting; he is merely proclaiming that the person who can work a miraculous cure is not the king of Israel, but the prophet in Israel. Because there is a prophet in Israel, the king’s strident despair is not justified. What is more, the first reference to Elisha as a “prophet” is made by the Lord, in his revelation to Elijah at Horev: “Anoint Elisha son of Shaphat of Abel-meholah to succeed you as prophet” (1 Kgs 19:16). In the early days of Elisha’s prophetic career, however, Jehoram of Israel does not recognize him as the person to whom he should turn to inquire of the Lord. It is one of his courtiers who notes the presence of “Elisha son of Shaphat” in the camp, and Jehoshaphat of Judah who proclaims that “the word of the Lord is with him” (2 Kgs 3:12). Like Jehoram on that occasion, in our story the unnamed king of Israel does not think to refer Naaman to Elisha, even though his reputation as a man of God is now so well established that even a young Israelite girl has utter confidence in his powers (2 Kgs 5:3). We should accordingly understand Elisha’s statement as a fully warranted rebuke of the king. It is to the king, even more than to Naaman, that Elisha wishes to make clear that “there is a prophet in Israel” (v. 8). See: 1 Sam. 9:10; 1 Kgs 13:1; 2 Kgs 4:21, 25; 6:6, 9; 7:2; 13:19; et passim. See 1 Kgs 13:14; 17:18; 2 Kgs 1:9; 4:40; et passim. 110 1 Sam 9:6; 1 Kgs 13:26, 31; 2 Kgs 4:9; et passim. 111 Deut 18:15 (Moses); 1 Kgs 18:22 (Elijah); Ezek 2:5 (Ezekiel). 112 Zakovitch, Every High Official, p. 50 108 109

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Although this statement is intended to defend Elisha’s own status, it contains the implicit recognition that the Lord intervenes in human history to benefit His people; or, in the words of Malbim on 2 Kgs 5:8, “it is an indication of the divine presence and of [the Lord’s] attachment to them.”113 Many scriptural passages view the gift of prophets who act in His name and convey His words as an expression of the Lord’s benevolence to Israel.114 By contrast, the absence of true prophets or the failure of the prophets to receive and convey the word of the Lord is a manifestation of the removal of Divine providence.115 It is not clear why Elisha is deemed to be arrogant for sending a messenger instead of going out to meet Naaman himself. In fact, it represents Elisha’s rebuke to Naaman’s presumptuous arrival by horse and chariot all the way to the door of his house, in an attempt to impress the prophet with his status and military power and to spur him to make a greater effort to heal him.116 By staying indoors Elisha, solicitous of his own dignity, also defends the honor of prophecy in Israel and of the God of Israel. One might also say that Elisha sends a messenger precisely in order to minimize his own contribution to the miracle and to magnify the Lord’s role. This is clearly behind his refusal to cure the leprosy by magical means, as Naaman had expected (v. 11). To do so would be to emulate the wizards or shamans of the ancient world;117 Naaman would have acknowledged Elisha’s prowess as a magician, but no more. It is precisely the unconventional treatment he prescribes (which echoes the language of Lev 14:8-9 about the role of the priest in the ritual to heal leprosy118) that brings R. Meir Leibush Malbim, commentary ad loc. See Deut 18:15, 18; 1 Sam 3:19-21; Jer 29:15; Ezek 2:5; Hos 12:14; Amos 2:11; et passim. 115 See 1 Sam 28:6; 1 Kgs 22:22-23; Hos 4:5; Ps 74:9. 116 Abravanel, Commentary on the Former Prophets, p. 619. This is also the understanding of Gunkel, Geschichten von Elisa, p. 35; Gray, I & II Kings, p. 506; R. L. Cohn, “Form and Perspective in 2 Kings V,” VT 33 (1983), pp. 171-184 (on pp. 176-177); Zakovitch, Every High Official, pp. 52-53. 117 That this is what Naaman expected Elisha to do is noted by Gunkel, Geschichten von Elisa, p.37; Cogan-Tadmor, II Kings, p. 67; Moore, God Saves, p. 75 n. 5. On the exorcist’s direct involvement in healing the sick, see F. Smyth-Florentin, “Histoire de la Guérison et de la Conversion de Naaman (II Rois 5, 1-19),” Foi et Vie 69(3) (1970), pp. 29-41. 118 See: J. Heller, “Drei Wundertaten Elisas,” Communio Viatorum 2 (1959), pp. 113 114

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Naaman to the recognition that “there is no God in the whole world except in Israel!” (v. 15).119 Elisha’s adamant refusal to accept Naaman’s generous gifts is fully compatible with his intention to minimize his role in the miracle and to present himself as no more than an emissary of the Lord, who derives his power from his Master.120 Various scholars have noted that, alongside the intention of lionizing Elisha and entrenching his status as the emissary of the Lord, our story seeks to exalt the Lord.121 To this we can add that the hero, Elisha, is described as sharing this latter intention. Elisha’s attempt to minimize his role in the miracle and to highlight the Lord’s power casts him in a positive light and, paradoxically, makes him seem even greater, as is frequently the case in saints’ legends.122

83-85 (p. 84); Zakovitch, Every High Official, p. 57. 119 Cf. S. Bakon, “Elisha the Prophet,” JBQ 29 (2001), pp. 242-248 (on pp. 246247). 120 Cf. T. E. Fretheim, Deuteronomic History (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1983), p. 154. 121 See, for example, S. H. Blank, Understanding the Prophets (New York: Union of American Hebrew Congregations, 1969), p. 18; Fretheim, Deuteronomic History, p. 151. 122 See, for example, the talmudic story of Hanan “the hidden”: “When the world was in need of rain the Rabbis would send to him school children and they would take hold of the hem of his garment and say to him, ‘Father, Father, give us rain.’ Thereupon he would plead with the Holy One, Blessed be He, [thus], ‘Master of the Universe, do it for the sake of these who are unable to distinguish between the Father who gives rain and the father who does not’ ” (B. Ta’anit 23b). For saints’ legends from more recent times, consider the tale about Rabbi Israel Abuhatseira (known as the “Baba Sali”). To the father of a girl who recovered from a mysterious and protracted ailment after the rabbi gave her his blessing and set the father a test of faith, he said: “It is not by my merit … but by the merit of Him who heals by grace” (Baba Sali—Our Holy Rabbi: The Holiness, Torah Learning, Precepts, and Miracles of our Holy Rabbi … R. Israel Abuhatseira (ed. E. Alfasi and H. Z. Be’eri [Jerusalem, 1983/4], p. 132 [in Hebrew]). Another story in that volume (pp. 134136) tells of a man who was about to have his leg amputated because of a blood clot. After making a pilgrimage to the rabbi’s house and receiving the holy man’s blessing, he felt a sudden improvement in his leg. To his emotional thanks, the rabbi replied, “Don’t thank me. Instead, say, ‘blessed be He who publicly sanctifies His name.’ ” Indeed, in R. Issachar Meir’s preface to the book, he praises the Baba Sali that “if his blessing was answered and a person was saved, he did not attribute it to his own merit” (ibid., p. 32).

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2.4 “ALL THE GREAT THINGS THAT ELISHA HAS DONE” (2 KGS 8:1-6) The Indictment Hobbs argues that this brief story takes Elisha down a peg, as it were, because it was his advice that the woman leave her home and country that caused her to be dispossessed. What is more, she complains to the king, not to the prophet, and it is the king, not the prophet, who solves her problem.123 Roncace develops this argument further. He finds literary links between 2 Kgs 4:8-37 and 8:1-6, which, he says, make the criticism more pointed. The Shunammite matron provided Elisha with food (4:8); he warns her of an impending famine (8:1). She provided him with a place to sleep in her home (4:9-11); he instructs her to “arise and depart” (8:1). She told him that “I live among my own people” (4:13), meaning among her kin, who provide her with security and status; he enjoins her to leave her people and land (8:1), and it is precisely this counsel that caused her problems. Roncace sees this advice as a continuation of Elisha’s tendency to ignore what the woman says: just as he ignored her reservations about his promise of a son, he also ignores her statement that she dwells among her people and tells her to abandon them, even though they are the source of her strength.124 According to Roncace, Elisha’s absence from the scene in which the Shunammite appeals to the king is ironic, since he had once offered to speak to the king for her (4:13).125 Instead, she finds Gehazi talking to the king about Elisha. Roncace sees irony in the fact that ultimately the Shunammite must plead her own case with the king.126 The son with whom Elisha blessed her proves to be of no help, for he is unable to solve her problem.127 Roncace adds that nothing in the story indicates that the king returns her property to her by virtue of the miracle Elisha had worked for her in the past.128 Comparing 2 Kgs 8:1-6 with Elijah’s proclamation of famine (1 Kgs 17:1), Roncace finds another negative evaluation of Elisha. Whereas Elijah

Hobbs, 2 Kings, pp. 97-98. Roncace, “Elisha and the Woman of Shunem,” p. 120. 125 Ibid., p. 122. 126 Ibid., pp. 123-124. 127 Ibid., pp. 122-123. 128 Ibid., pp. 124-125. 123 124

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has good reason to proclaim a famine—as punishment for Baal worship— the famine announced by Elisha is unmotivated.129

The Rebuttal First of all, it is important to emphasize that the famine of which Elisha warns the woman is not presented as his own initiative, but as the Lord’s: “for the Lord has decreed a famine upon the land” (2 Kgs 8:1). Elisha merely has prophetic foreknowledge of the famine and its duration, which he exploits to help his benefactress once again. There are no grounds for the notion that Elisha proclaims a famine in contraposition to the food she provided him. He is not the cause of the famine, but only attempts to minimize the harm it will cause her. The assertion that the story is critical of Elisha, because his advice is initially to the woman’s detriment, ignores the fact that the damage is temporary. What counts is that ultimately the woman reaps a great reward for heeding the prophet.130 Elisha’s absence from the scene in which the Shunammite appeals to the king is to be explained, I believe, by the fact that it takes place after Elisha’s death.131 This explains why the woman appeals to the king and not to the prophet, in whose power she had total faith. Similarly, the king’s eagerness to hear stories about Elisha (v. 4) makes more sense if we assume that the man of God has already passed away. Elisha is not an active player in the scene, but his presence is unmistakable. The king is eager to hear about Elisha’s miracles and Gehazi is happy to comply with his request. And then, with miraculous timing, just when Gehazi is telling the king about the revival of the Shunammite’s son, the woman herself appears on the scene to petition the king for the return of her house and field. Gehazi, strongly moved by this miraculous coincidence, emotionally informs the king that “this is the woman and this is her son whom Elisha revived” (v. 5). The king, who is certainly moved no less than Gehazi by this conjunction and the living evidence of the miracles—here are the Shunammite and her son who was revived standing before him—exploits the unlooked-for opportunity to hear from the beneficiary of the miracle, Ibid., p. 121. See above § 2.2. 131 See Gressmann, Die älteste Geschichtsschreibung, p. 295; Gunkel, Geschichten von Elisa, p. 29; Gray, I & II Kings, p. 525; M. Rehm, Das zweite Buch der Könige (Würzburg: Echter, 1982), pp. 27, 82; Rofé, The Prophetical Stories, pp. 26, 32-33. 129 130

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from her own perspective and in her own words, about what Elisha had done for her. Hence the Shunammite’s son also has a role to play in the story, since he is living proof of the miracle that the king cannot hear enough of. I have no doubt that the special favor the king extends to the woman, returning to her what is not hers by law—all the produce of her field since she had left the country—is a direct consequence of the strong impression made on him by the combination of Gehazi’s story about the miracle, the incredible coincidence that the woman and her son appear precisely then, and the narration by the woman herself, who corroborates Gehazi’s account.132 His generous decision is a gesture to Elisha, whom he admired so strongly. Hence it is wrong to argue that Elisha is not helping the Shunammite woman now. The story shows that even in his absence (and, as I read it, after his death) he continues to perform miracles.133

2.5 THE RESURRECTION OF THE MAN WHO TOUCHES ELISHA’S BONES (2 KGS 13:20-21) The Indictment Surprisingly, Zakovitch explains the short legend that concludes the Elisha cycle as a humorous barb at Elisha.134 He begins his article “Elisha Died” with a number of “heretical thoughts,” as he calls them, about the fundamental assumptions of the theory of biblical storytelling: “From time to time we should examine the axiom that each and every story in the Bible was written with petrifying seriousness, with no smile and no winks. 132 Contrary to the argument by Roncace, “Elisha and the Woman of Shunem,” pp. 124-125. 133 Contrary to Roncace’s contention (ibid., p. 125), that Elisha’s powers are effective only when he is present. In fact, the idea that the prophet continues to work miracles even after his death is embodied by the last two stories in the cycle. The three victories over Aram that Elisha, on his deathbed, promises Joash, almost certainly took place after his death (2 Kgs 13:14-19). This is certainly the case with the resurrection of the man who came into contact with the prophet’s bones (vv. 20-21). 134 Y. Zakovitch, “ ‘Elisha died … he came to life and stood up’ (2 Kings 13:2021): A Very Short Story in Exegetical Circles,” in “Sha’arei Talmon”: Studies in the Bible, Qumran, and the Ancient Near East Presented to Shemaryahu Talmon (ed. M. Fishbane and E. Tov; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1992), pp. 53*-62* (Hebrew section). Kissling, too (Reliable Characters, p. 198), briefly observes that one cannot rule out the possibility that the story is meant to be humorous.

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Another question we must ask ourselves again is whether the biblical narrator is really always seeking unlimited authority, whether he expects us, his readers, to display blind faith in his every word?”135 He supports these “heretical thoughts” with a number of arguments about the narrative of the dead man who is restored to life when his corpse comes into contact with Elisha’s bones: 1. The story says nothing about the national mourning that followed Elisha’s death or about his funeral. In fact, his burial place is not even specified. This leaves the impression that the prophet’s death did not produce any serious manifestations of grief. 2. The narrator never says that the anonymous man who is tossed in the grave was in fact dead. Perhaps he was still alive and it was a case of premature and mistaken burial. This possibility gives the story a humorous aspect. 3. It is possible that the subject of the verbs “he came to life and stood up” (2 Kgs 13:21) is Elisha, and not the anonymous man. In other words, it was Elisha who came back to life after coming into contact with the other corpse! 4. Even if we accept the simpler reading that it was the anonymous man who was restored to life by contact with Elisha’s bones, there is still a humorous vein if we picture him standing up in the grave into which he was thrown, perplexed and alone, with no idea of what has happened to him. The miracle seems to be just an accident. No one requested it and no one will give thanks for it—an unnecessary miracle by all accounts. 5. Elisha’s status is diminished by the fact that he can help others, but could not save himself and come back to life. 6. There are no witnesses to this miracle. Only the narrator attests to it, by virtue of the authority he arrogates to himself, and he makes no attempt to corroborate its truth. In practice, the narrator leaves readers to decide whether or not to believe him. All of this weakens the credibility of the story for readers. Zakovitch explains that the satire targets the traditions that attach holiness to a prophet’s tomb and recount miracles that take place there. He 135

Zakovitch, “Elisha died,” p. 53.

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says that the story aims to provoke skepticism about such traditions and even to deride them and to keep people from coming to pray at Elisha’s tomb.136

The Rebuttal Zakovitch’s reading of the story, whose genre is unmistakably the saints’ legend, is an extreme example of the common trend of recent scholarship to make the Elisha stories critical of him. In my opinion, however, his interpretation fails to undermine the basic premises of biblical storytelling—the fundamental seriousness of the story and the reliability of the biblical narrator—because these assumptions are sound and essential for understanding religious and ideological literature, and also because, even if we set aside the cultural and social context of the story, the reading is simply not persuasive. Although it is difficult to separate my two arguments, I will first attempt to deal with the proposed reading of the story and only then briefly consider the nature of biblical narrative and the implications of Zakovitch’s thesis for our understanding of biblical literature. There is no doubt that the elliptical nature of biblical storytelling creates many lacunae that make the stories harder to understand. Sometimes these gaps are permanent and cannot be filled in; but sometimes they are temporary and readers can fill them in after engaging in difficult but fascinating labor. Our very short story presents no such challenge, however. The gaps that Zakovitch finds in it are artificial and belong to the category of those that readers fill in automatically, without even being aware of them. The reasonable reader has no doubt that if we are reading about the burial of an unnamed person, he is in fact dead. Nor would one ever imagine that the subject of the verbs “came to life” and “stood up” might be anyone other than the anonymous man. Zakovitch’s proposal that Elisha is the subject is unreasonable, with regard to both plot and theme. Would anyone expect contact with the corpse of some unnamed person to bring the holy man back to life? Grammatically, too, this reading is far-fetched. Verse 21b begins “[when] the man came in contact with Elisha’s bones”— where the subject is clearly “the man” and Elisha’s bones the direct object. How can one maintain that in v. 21bβ the direct object becomes the subject, in the absence of some real difficulty that would force us to do so? 136

Ibid., p. 62.

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As for the claim that the narrator’s failure to describe the circumstances of Elisha’s death and burial suggest that the people did not mourn his passing, the answer is that a brief legend like this focuses exclusively on the miracle. One must not expect to find details outside its constricted narrative horizon—the immediate time and place of the miraculous resurrection. What is more, the story is part of a larger unit; its basic assumptions derive from the fact that it is a part of a whole—the Elisha cycle. Readers come to this brief legend equipped with everything they know about the prophet from the other stories in the cycle. These include the decisive proof of his standing with the king of Israel, as recounted in the preceding short episode (13:14-19). There can be no doubt that the assumption underlying our story is that Elisha’s death was a grievous blow for the king, which was alleviated, to some small extent, by the recognition that even after his death the man of God could perform miracles. The narrator is silent about the subsequent adventures of the living dead after his miraculous resurrection because he has absolutely no interest in his fate. The man’s sole narrative function is to serve as the object of a miracle that provides final evidence of the holiness and greatness of the deceased prophet. As Lasine maintains with regard to other stories of revival and resurrection, both in the Old Testament (1 Kgs 17:17-24, the revival of the son of the widow of Zarephath by Elijah; 2 Kgs 4:18-37, the revival of the Shunammite’s son by Elisha) and in the New Testament (Luke 7:11-16, the resurrection of the widow’s son by Jesus), none of them evinces any interest in the experiences of the beneficiary of the miracle.137 It should be obvious that Elisha cannot bring himself back to life, since no one can live forever; but contact with holy bones can bring someone else back to life. The meaning of the story, as Rofé notes, is that the unique energy latent in the holy man is not consumed by his death.138 This idea that sacred relics can work miracles is common in medieval Christian saints’ legends139 as well as in Jewish saints’ legends.140 Hence it is hard to 137 S. Lasine, “Matters of Life and Death: The Story of Elijah and the Widow’s Son in Comparative Perspective,” Biblical Interpretation 12 (2004), pp. 117-144 (p. 120). 138 Rofé, The Prophetical Stories, pp. 22-23. 139 See A. Jolles, Einfache Formen (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1968), pp. 32-33. For Jolles, “relics” include an item that belonged to a saint (a garment or cross) but also the saints’ tomb. See also Rofé, The Prophetical Stories, p. 23, on sacred relics in medieval Christianity. On the powers ascribed to the corpses of saints in Christianity and Islam, see Gaster, Myth, Legend, and Custom, pp. 251-252.

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understand how anyone could detect in the miraculous resurrection worked by Elisha’s bones mockery of a prophet because he helps others but cannot help himself.141 As for the assertion that the miracle worked by Elisha’s bones is not necessary, the answer is that it is not necessary in and of itself, but only as evidence of Elisha’s greatness. Something similar is told of the Moroccan Jewish saint Mulay Ighi (whom some traditions identify with Rabbi David Alshqar): lambs and a goat slaughtered at his tomb came back to life and began prancing about. The informant, who claimed to be an eyewitness of this miracle, which affected animals he had slaughtered himself as well as those slaughtered by others, concluded: “This is a sign that the holy man is alive and present and reveals his merits.”142 The miracle is needed only to demonstrate the departed Saints’ holiness and power. What is more, Zakovitch’s attempt to undermine the basic assumptions of the theory of biblical storytelling ignores the fact that biblical storytelling, which presents religious and ideological narratives, cannot allow itself to mislead readers, tease them, or hint that they should not relate seriously to the information and messages it conveys.143 Unlike modern stories, in which a reliable narrator is only one option among many, the religious and ideological stories in the Bible make no sense unless we take it as a literary convention that the narrator is utterly and completely reliable. Were the biblical narrator winking at his readers and urging them to doubt his words, as Zakovitch would have it, the Bible’s authority to teach its audience On hasidic rebbes who performed miracles by means of hairs of the Baal Shem Tov, see Yisrael Yaakov (Klapholtz), The Complete Tales of the Baal Shem Tov, part 1 ([Tel Aviv: Pe’er Hasefer], 1968/9), pp. 243-244 (in Hebrew). See also the index in Ben-Ami, Saint Veneration, s.vv. “incubatio,” “sleeping at the shrine,” “relics of the saint”; as well as Genuz, “The Belongings of Tsaddikim.” For examples of hasidic tales of miracles that took place at the tombs of rebbes, see G. Nigal, Hasidic Stories (2nd edition; Jerusalem: Institute for the Study of Hasidic Literature, 2001/2), p. 159 (in Hebrew). He mentions, inter alia, the story of the resurrection of the great-grandson of the Baal Shem Tov, after his granddaughter, the boy’s mother, placed the corpse on her grandfather’s grave. 141 Zakovitch, “ ‘Elisha died,” p. 57. 142 I. Ben-Ami, Saint Veneration among the Jews in Morocco (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1984), p. 447 (in Hebrew). This passage is not included in the abridged English edition. 143 On the religious and ideological nature of biblical narrative, see M. Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985), p. 37. This definition has implication for the narrator’s reliability (in the literary, not the historical, sense) and the mode of narration. 140

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religious truths to be steadfastly maintained and proper conduct to be followed, both in the relations among human beings and in those between human beings and God, would be severely impacted. Precisely because scriptural stories belong to the genre of religious and ideological texts they cannot employ the narrative technique, familiar to us from modern literature, of making both narrator and reader the butts of the hidden author’s irony. As Sternberg asserts, even if the whole truth is hidden in biblical narrative, the truth is nevertheless explicit.144 Readers may, it is true, miss some of a biblical text’s intentions; nevertheless, even in a passive reading they will not seriously err with regard to its meaning. The use of this narrative technique, which Sternberg refers to as “foolproof composition,” guarantees that readers will understand the main messages of the story.145

2.6 THE ENTIRE CYCLE The Indictment In contrast to the scholars already mentioned, who find criticism of Elisha in one or another of the stories about him, Kissling and Bergen believe that the entire cycle takes a critical attitude toward the prophet.146 There is nothing really surprising about this, because if we take all the stories already mentioned, which different scholars have asserted evince disapproval of Elisha, the overall impression must be that the entire cycle is a harsh indictment of him. Because many of the arguments advanced by Kissling and Bergen overlap those already presented and have already been rebutted, here I will review their arguments only in outline. For Kissling, Elisha is not a reliable character. Although he is certainly a master miracle-worker, even greater than Elijah, he sometimes employs his abilities in ways that are far from admirable.147 The contrast that Elisha is responsible for the death of children (2 Kgs 2:23-25) whereas Elijah is responsible for the death of soldiers (2 Kings 1) demonstrates Elisha’s moral inferiority to Elijah.148 Not only is Elisha’s credibility lessened by the fact that he instructs Hazael to lie to his master (2 Kgs 8:10); it is morally Ibid., pp. 49-52. Ibid., pp. 50, 230. 146 Kissling, Reliable Characters, pp. 149-199; Bergen, Elisha and the End of Prophetism. 147 Kissling, Reliable Characters, pp. 162, 172-173, 190-191, 194-195, 198-199. 148 Ibid., pp. 167, 195. 144 145

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reprehensible that he plants the idea of assassinating his master in Hazael’s mind, even if he does not do so directly.149 Bergen, too, proposes a subversive reading of the Elisha cycle that uncovers criticism of the prophet, although he does not reject the option of reading the stories as intended to exalt him and emphasizes that this is a choice between different strategies of reading.150 In addition, Bergen believes that the criticism he extracts from the Elisha cycle is not directed exclusively at Elisha, but also at the institution of prophecy as a whole. The stories seek to demonstrate the limits of prophecy and its ultimate lack of hope.151 Like Kissling, Bergen cites the amorality of the Elisha stories and notes that the prophet’s activities are not guided by ethical constraints.152 He also observes that despite the expectation that Elisha would be a firm opponent of the wicked king, his relations with the monarch are described as good or at least as ambivalent.153 But the crux of his criticism of Elisha is different. He emphasizes the fact that Elisha is a prophet with no mission and no message.154 He works miracles that are unrequested or pointless.155 The voice of the Lord is never heard in the Elisha stories and in practice the deity plays almost no role in them.156 Where we might expect to read the fulfillment formula “according to the word of YHWH,” we find instead “according to the word of Elisha” (2 Kgs 2:22; 6:18)157—as if Elisha has usurped God’s role.158 According to Bergen, readers must feel uncomfortable by this depiction of Elisha as supplanting the deity.159

The Rebuttal I have no doubt that Bergen feels uncomfortable when he reads the Elisha stories, which blur the boundaries between God and the man of God; apparently other readers react in a similar fashion. Nevertheless I cannot agree that the stories are meant to provoke such discomfort and to Ibid., pp. 167-170. Bergen, Elisha and the End of Prophetism, p. 46. 151 Ibid., pp. 11, 42. 152 Ibid., pp. 13, 14. 153 Ibid., p. 45. 154 Ibid., pp. 14, 176. 155 Ibid., pp. 13, 104, 177. 156 Ibid., pp. 44, 97, 103, 175. 157 Ibid., pp. 44, 67. 158 Ibid., pp. 101, 107, et passim. 159 Ibid., pp. 67, 107, 178. 149 150

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encourage criticism of the man of God. In fact, the unique lineaments of Elisha and the Elisha stories enumerated by Bergen are hallmarks of saints’ legends. It is true that Elisha has no message and no mission in the normal sense, but he is depicted as wielding supernatural powers that are consonant with the epithet applied to him—“a holy man of God” (2 Kgs 4:9). This also explains the absence, emphasized by both Kissling and Bergen, of a moral dimension in many of the stories. As for Kissling’s complaint that Elisha instructs Hazael to lie to his king (2 Kgs 8:10), remember that God himself told Moses to mislead Pharaoh (Exod 3:18) and told Samuel to deceive Saul (1 Sam 16:2). There are other cases in the Bible where prophets practice deception. There can be no doubt that the Bible recognizes that there are circumstances in which prevarication is essential and not to be condemned.160 I do believe, though, that whenever the Lord or one of His prophets is involved in such misrepresentations, as in 2 Kgs 8:10, the technique employed is one of ambivalence or half-truths, with a deliberate omission of details, so that even if the intention is to mislead, formally speaking there is no fabrication.161

3. THE ELISHA CYCLE AS PROPHETIC HAGIOGRAPHY MEANT TO EXALT THE PROPHET I believe there are solid grounds for assigning the Elisha stories to the genre of the saints’ legend: 1. Elisha is referred to as “a holy man of God” by the Shunammite matron (2 Kgs 4:9). The Bible frequently employs the adjective “holy” as an epithet of God,162 but it is also applied to the people of Israel,163 to priests,164 to Nazirites,165 and to angels.166 Its only occurrence with reference to a specific individual, outside the context of the priest’s ritual function, is in the case of Elisha. 160 See Y. Shemesh, “Lies by Prophets and Other Lies in the Hebrew Bible,” JANES 29 (2002), pp. 81-95. 161 Ibid., pp. 91-92. For an analysis that is similar in spirit though different in detail, see J. Grossman, “The Use of Ambiguity in Biblical Narratives of Misleading and Deceit,” Tarbiz 73 (2003-2004), pp. 483-515 (on pp. 490-493) (in Hebrew). 162 1 Sam 2:2; 6:20; Isa 6:3; Ezek 39:7; Ps 22:4; et passim. 163 Exod 19:6; Deut 7:6; 14:2, 21; 26:19; et passim. 164 Lev 21:6-8; Num 16:5, 7; et passim. 165 Num 6:5, 8. 166 Job 5:1; Dan 8:13.

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2. All of the Elisha stories, except for the narrative of his entering Elijah’s service (1 Kgs 19:19-21), describe his supernatural powers, manifested in various realms and diverse forms (miracles of healing and resurrection, a miraculous birth, clairvoyance, and so on). Most of his miracles benefit those who are close to him or appeal to him for assistance, as is common in Saints’ legends.167 Other miracles severely punish those who infringe the dignity of the holy man of God; this theme, too, is frequent in Saints’ legends.168 3. The Lord is not prominently involved in the Elisha stories, as opposed to His presence in the stories of Moses, Joshua, Samuel, and Elijah. In none of them does the Lord address Elisha or send him on a mission. Elisha effects miracles on his own initiative, without a divine order to do so. This is why, even though he is a prophet, he is described not as a prophetic emissary but as a holy man of God endowed with supernatural powers. 4. Those around him almost always treat Elisha with exaggerated respect and deference, manifested also in the way in which they address him when they request his assistance. As a respectful form of address169 they call Elisha “my Lord”170 and portray themselves as his servants.171 Even the king of Israel calls Elisha “my father” (2 Kgs 6:21; 13:14). Similarly Hazael, sent by the king of Aram to inquire of Elisha, begins with the formulaic “Your son Ben-hadad” (2 Kgs 8:9). It is precisely the reverent attitude that the beneficiaries of his miracles display toward Elisha that makes them worthy of these wonders, just as their scorn and mockery renders those who offend his dignity deserving of their punishment. See Bar-Itzhak, “The ‘Saints’ Legend’ as a Genre,” p. 311. See above § 2.1 169 On respectful speech see G. Brinn, “Respectful Forms of Speech and Address in Biblical Language,” Molad n.s. 6 (1975), pp. 506-514 (in Hebrew). 170 2 Kgs 2:19; 4:28; 6:5, 15; 8:12. 171 Naaman styles himself “your servant” no fewer than five times in his interchange with Elisha after he is healed (2 Kgs 5:15-18). Another prominent Aramean, Hazael, also refers to himself in this way (8:13). One of the “sons of the prophets” applies this term to all of them when he entreats Elisha to accompany them (6:3). So too, the widow of one of the “sons of the prophets” refers to her late husband as Elisha’s servant and to herself as his maidservant (4:1-2). 167 168

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5. One of the most impressive manifestations of this veneration of Elisha is the request by the king of Israel to hear “all the great things that Elisha has done”(2 Kgs 8:4). This fascinating evidence of a willingness and desire to recount and hear the prophet’s wonders perfectly matches the common phenomenon, known to us from outside the Bible and flourishing down to our own day, of stories of the wonders worked by saints, whether during their lives or posthumously. 6. Note that this is the only place in biblical literature where we encounter the transmission of traditions that deal with a person rather than with the Lord and that elsewhere in the Bible gedolot ‘great things’ always refers to divine deeds or miracles.172 The fact that this noun is employed for wonders worked by a human being only in 2 Kgs 8:4, with regard to Elisha, is evidence of the tendency to minimize the distance between Elisha the man of God and his God.173 7. The last story in the Elisha cycle, which tells of the resurrection of a corpse that comes into contact with Elisha’s bones (2 Kgs 13:20-21), serves as a fitting final chord to the praises of Elisha and as additional evidence that Elisha is a holy man of God. In conclusion, the Elisha cycle constitutes the earliest example in the literature of Israel of the genre of the saints’ legend. These tales, long and short, express the worshipful attitude and the intensity of the religious experience that people felt in the presence of the embodiment of holiness in the Lord’s emissary, the holy man of God, Elisha. As for the question of how these stories found their way into the canon, the answer is that despite their unusual nature in the Bible they do not transcend the bounds of monotheistic belief.174 The fundamental axiom This was noted by R. Kasher, “The Theological Conception of the Miracle in the Bible,” Ph.D. dissertation, Bar Ilan University, Ramat-Gan 1981, p. 65 (in Hebrew); Zakovitch, The Concept of the Miracle, p. 12. See also Deut 10:21; Ps 71:19; 106:21; Job 5:9; 9:10; 37:5. There are two exceptions to this general rule: Jeremiah’s question of Baruch son of Neriah, “do you seek ‫“( גְ ד ֹלוֹת‬great things”) for yourself?” (Jer 45:5); and the self-assessment by the psalmist, “I do not occupy myself with things too great (‫ )גְ ד ֹלוֹת‬and too marvelous for me” (Ps 131:1). 173 Kasher, “The Theological Conception of the Miracle,” p. 65. 174 According to Uffenheimer (Early Prophecy in Israel, pp. 469, 475), the veneration of Elisha pushed the authors of the stories about him “to the very limits of the monotheistic faith.” Even if this statement is understandable, the stories do 172

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of the saints’ legend is that their holiness derives from the saints’ proximity to God.175 The holy man’s powers are a direct consequence of this intimacy. For this reason, the figure of Elisha the wonder-worker, the holy man of God, made it possible for the compilers of the Bible to show that the Lord’s providence, power, and mercies accompanied Israel throughout its history, even if they assumed different forms in different periods. I believe that there is both internal and external corroboration for this. Within the biblical text, I am thinking of its manifestation in the stories about Elisha, in Naaman’s realization that the powers of the man of God are proof of the power and exclusive divinity of his God (2 Kgs 5:15). Externally, the same idea is found in post-biblical saints’ legends. The New Testament reports how the people reacted when Jesus healed the paralyzed man of his own accord, with no express authorization to do so by God: “When the crowds saw it, they were afraid, and they glorified God, who had given such authority to men” (Matt 9:8). The same idea is found in much later Jewish hagiography of the eighteenth century. In his approbation to the Praises of the Besht, a work that recounts the wonders worked by R. Israel Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Hasidism, R. Moses b. Israel (the rabbi of Kopys, in Belorussia, where the first edition of the book was published in 1815) declares that he found it to be “something exceedingly necessary, so that people may know and understand that the Lord has not abandoned us, but that in each and every generation He has provided us with faithful shepherds.”176

not really exceed the bounds of monotheism. 175 Bar-Itzhak, “The ‘Saints’ Legend’ as a Genre,” p. 93. 176 Shivhei ha-Besht, p. 31.I would like to thank Beit Shalom of Japan for its generous support, which made this research possible.

THE DOINGS OF THE WICKED IN QOHELET 8:10 ARON PINKER [email protected]

INTRODUCTION The interpretative efforts on Qoh 8:10, since antiquity to this time, have been aptly summarized by Crenshaw in his statement: “Interpretations of this verse have one thing in common: tentativeness.”1 Whitley considered this verse “obscure and uncertain.”2 With a deep sense of humility Longman says, “This verse vies for the most difficult in the book, and thus I begin its exposition by admitting that certainty eludes every honest interpreter, even though the problems are often hidden behind smooth English translations.”3 The verse is an obvious instance of a case in which every word of the sentence is well defined but the sentence does not make sense. Thus Gordis concludes that “the first part of the verse is manifestly not in order.”4 The verse reads, ‫וּמ ְמּקוֹם ָקדוֹשׁ יְ ַה ֵלּכוּ וְ יִ ְשׁ ַתּ ְכּחוּ ָב ִעיר ֲא ֶשׁר‬ ִ ‫יתי ְר ָשׁ ִעים ְק ֻב ִרים וָ ָבאוּ‬ ִ ‫וּב ֵכן ָר ִא‬ ְ ‫ן־עשׂוּ גַּ ם־זֶ ה ָה ֶבל‬ ָ ‫ֵכּ‬ Clearly, Qohelet saw something, which led him to the observation that what he saw was also ‫הבל‬. What did Qohelet see? A burial of wicked Crenshaw, J. L. Ecclesiastes, A Commentary. Philadelphia: Westminster Press (1987) 154. 2 Whitley, C. F. Qoheleth. BZAW 148. Berlin: DeGruyter (1979) 74. 3 Longman, T. The Book of Ecclesiastes. NICOT. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans (1998) 218. 4 Gordis, R. Qoheleth, The Man and his world, a study of Ecclesiastes. New York: Schocken Books (1968) 294. 1

141

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

persons, as the Septuagint suggests; wicked person already buried, as the Targum, Peshitta, and Vulgate suggest; the wicked approaching and coming, as Driver understood; or, neither of these?5 Were some illicit activities conducted in the holy sites? Does the entire verse refer to the wicked, or only the first part? What are the wicked doing in Qoh 8:10? Or, should we rather ask what is done to the wicked in Qoh 8:10? Logic guides Longman to the observation that “It is clear that the verse does speak of the wicked and of the holy place, and since it concludes with the ‘meaningless’ formula, there must be some anomalous connection between the holy place and the wicked that contributes to Qohelet’s feeling that the wicked do not get what they deserve. This starting point, however, is at odds with the most natural reading of the verse as it stands in the MT, a reading represented by the following paraphrase (I am paraphrasing here because even this reading involves emendation, which signals to me that the verse is problematic from a textual point of view): Qohelet observes that wicked people die and their deeds are forgotten (the verb in MT is the hithpael of ‫ )שכח‬in the city in which they were active in the holy place. On a surface level this sounds as good news to the righteous: What could be better than to have the wickedness of the evil slide into oblivion? But Qohelet surprises us and concludes, ‘This too is meaningless.’” 6 The purpose of this paper is to suggest that Longman’s initial observation is not only logical but also natural. I would advance the position that at issue in Qoh 8:10 is, indeed, the fact that previously wicked “do not get what they deserve.” Our major problem is to find the proper X and Y so that the verse

Y- ְ‫ ו‬X‫ְוּב ֵכן ָר ִא ִיתי ְר ָש ִעים‬ ‫ן־עש ֹוּ גַ ם־זֶ ה ָה ֶבל‬ ָ ‫וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ ָב ִעיר ֲא ֶשר ֵכּ‬

5 Driver, G. R. “Problems and Solutions.” VT 4 (1954) 230. Driver renders, “And then I have seen wicked men, approaching and entering the holy place, walk about and boast in the city that they have done right.” This starting point, however, is at odds with the most natural reading of the verse as it stands in the MT, a reading represented by the following paraphrase (I am paraphrasing here because even this reading involves emendation, which signals to me that the verse is Crenshaw, J. L. Ecclesiastes, 154). 6 Longman, 218.

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would make sense, assuming that it deals with wicked people who have repented and act as pious do. In this article I suggest that the Urtext was ‫וּמקוֺם ָקדוֺש יְ ַה ֵלּכוּ‬ ְ ‫יתי ְר ָש ִעים ְק ָב ִרים וְ אוֺב‬ ִ ‫וּב ֵכן ָר ִא‬ ְ ‫ן־עש ֹוּ גַ ם־זֶ ה ָה ֶבל‬ ָ ‫וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ ָב ִעיר ֲא ֶשר ֵכּ‬ “and also I saw wicked frequenting graves, and necromancer, and place of a holy. And they were forgotten in the cityin which they did so (correctly?). This too is absurd.” This Urtext, only slightly different than the MT, provides reasonable X and Y, and a profound thought. In Qohelet’s view experience shows that wicked could become pious, and consequently God’s being “slow to anger” has justification. That was apparently at odds with the normative position, which argued that this attribute of God promotes wickedness since it creates a time-disconnect between crime and its punishment.

MEANING OF THE VERSE The Septuagint has: Καὶ τότε εἷδον ἀσεβεῖς εἰς τάφους εἰσαχθέντας, καὶ ἐκ τοῦ ἁγίο καὶ ἐπορεύθησαν καὶ ἐπῃνέθησαν ἐν τῇ πόλει, ὅτι οὕτως ἐποίησαν καὶ γε τοῦτο ματαιότης (And then I saw the ungodly carried into the tombs, and that out of the holy place; and they departed, and were praised in the city, because they had done thus: this also is vanity).7 The Septuagint’s translation could be retranslated into a Hebrew text that reads: (‫וּמ ָמּקוֺם ָקדוֺש‬ ִ ) ‫וּמ ָקּדוֺש‬ ִ ‫מוּב ִאים‬ ָ ‫ואז ראיתי רשעים ֶק ֶבר‬ ‫ן־עש ֹוּ גַ ם־זֶ ה ָה ֶבל‬ ָ ‫וְ ָה ְלכוּ וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְבּחוּ ָב ִעיר ֲא ֶשר ֵכּ‬ This retranslation clearly demonstrates the many emendations that the Septuagint makes in the MT. Moreover, the reflexive hithpael of ‫ שבח‬cannot mean “were praised” (ἐπῃνέθησαν). According to Jewish tradition there is an obligation on the community to bury the dead before sunset even if a criminal. In addition to the reason given in Deut 21:23, this practice was also sensible in the hot climate and because Jews did not embalm the dead. Though the verse in Deut 21:23 refers to a person who was executed according to a court verdict, the burial obligation was understood as applying to any dead (Tosefta Gittin 5:5, j. Gittin 5:9, 47c). Josephus confirms Jewish adherence to this custom (Apion 7

Brenton, L. C. L. (trans.). The Septuagint with Apocrypha: Greek and English. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson (1986) [1851] 826.

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

2:211). Providing decent burial to a stranger was as giving bread to the hungry and cover to the naked (Tob 1:17–18). It seems that the Septuagint exploits a pious tradition that even a wicked person, or an alien, should be properly buried. The Talmudic statement ‫ אל תקרי וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ אלא וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְבּחוּ‬in b. Gittin 56b reflects perhaps an effort to strengthen this pious tradition. In this context, according to the Septuagint Qoh 8:10 speaks about wicked persons who have been given proper burial, including a stop at a holy place, and those who participated in the burial were congratulated in the city for what they have done. In this case it is difficult to understand why Qohelet would find this very humane and practical behavior to be ‫הבל‬. The Targum reads, ‫ובקושׁטא חמית חייביא דאיתקברו ואישׁתיצו מן עלמא מאתר קדישׁ דצדיקיא‬ ‫שׁריין תמן ואזלו לאיתוקדא בגיהנם ואיתנשׁיו מבין יתבי קרתא והי־כמא דעבדו‬ ‫יתעבד להון אוף דין הבלו‬ (And truly, I saw the wicked buried, and blotted out of the world and from a holy place where the righteous dwell, they went to be burned in Gehenna and were forgotten by the inhabitants of the city. And as they had done so was done to them. Also this is ‫)הבל‬, states the standard doctrine.8 It sees the verse expressing what one would normally wish to happen, a tit-for-tat punishment, a complete eradication. Thus, we would have expected such happening to be applauded, not denigrated as ‫הבל‬. The Peshitta literally follows the MT, reproducing all the problems that are inherent in the MT. Its transliteration in Hebrew letters renders: ‫והידין חזית רשיעא דקברירין ואתין ומן אתרא דקדושא אזלו ותטעוי‬ ‫במדינתא‬ ‫דהכנא עבדו הידין‬ (And so I saw the wicked buried, who had come and gone from the holy place, and they were forgotten in the city where they had done such evil things).9 The Vulgate renders vidi impios sepultos qui etiam cum adviverent in loco sancto erant et laudabantur in civitate quasi iustorum operum sed et hoc vanitas est (I saw the wicked buried: who also when they were yet living were in the holy place, and were praised in the city as men of just works: 8 Knobel, P. S. Targum of Qohelet. Aramaic Bible 13. Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press (1991) 42. 9 Lamsa, G. M. (trans.) Holy Bible from the Ancient Eastern Text. New York: Harper Row (1968) [1933] 691.

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but this also is vanity [Douay-Rheims]). The disparity between the Vulgate10 and MT can be seen if we retranslate it into Hebrew: ‫קברים אשר בחייהם היו במקום קדוש‬ ֻ ‫ראיתי רשעים‬ ‫וישתבחו בעיר ככן עשו גם זה הבל‬ Serrano rightly noted that the Vulgate “like most modern interpreters, succeeds in presenting and understandable reading, but only at the expense of the original.” 11 While Qoh 8:10 is linked in the Talmud (b. Gittin 56b) with the destruction of the Second Temple by the Romans, Rashi (1040–1105) takes this verse as referring to the Babylonians who destroyed the First Temple, to better fit the biblical period. He says, “and then (‫ )ובכן‬in this prophecy I saw the wicked buried (who were deserving to be Second Temple by the Romans, Rashi (1040–1105) takes this verse as referring to the Babylonians who destroyed the First Temple, to better fit the biblical period. He says, “and then (‫ )ובכן‬in this prophecy I saw the wicked buried (who were deserving to be interred in the ground because they were despised by other nations, as it is said about them “this nation was not” [Isa 23:13]),12 and they ruled in God’s house, which is a holy place (‫)מקום קדוש‬, and when they went from there to their land they boasted in their city that they did so and so in the house of God. And the rabbis homiletically read ‫וישתבחו‬ instead of ‫וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ‬. And regarding the forgetting, the Aggadah says that ultimately their name would be forgotten from the city in which they did so, as it is said “I will gather all the nations to the valley of Jehoshphat” (Joel 4:2). Where they besmirched before him, they will also be punished. And so he says “God is in the city their image he will shame” (Ps 73:20). This too is one of the ‫ הבלים‬presented to the world that God does not immediately punish the wicked and people figure that there is no judgment and judge.” 10 The Nova Vulgata has Et ita vidi impios sepultos, discedentes de loco sancto; in oblivionem cadere in civitate, quod ita egerunt: sed et hoc vanitas est. 11 Serrano, J. J. “I saw the Wicked Buried (Eccl. 8,10).” CBQ 16 (1954) 168. 12 In Midrash Tanhuma (on Yitro) it is asked: ‫וכי יש קבורים באים ומהלכים‬. R. Simon suggests there to understand the verse as if it read ‫כקבורים‬, i.e., the wicked are alive, but are as good as dead. Rashi seems to have adopted this position saying ‫ שהיו נבזים‬,‫שהיו ראוים להטמן בעפר‬.

146

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

This explanation, trying to adopt various Midrashic sources, is more a homily than a straight forward text-based interpretation, or typical Rashipeshat. The historical context is unlikely; Qohelet is not assumed to be prophetic; and Rashi cannot have it both ways with regard to ‫וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ‬. Sforno (1470–1550) says that the verse talks about Sennacherib and Titus, which would also make Qohelet into a prophet. Ibn Ezra (1089–c.1164) links Qoh 8:10 with the preceding verse. He says, “As I applied myself, I saw that wicked people who ruled others and caused them evil died without pain, and were buried in their grave as in ‫( אין חרצובות למותם‬Ps 73:4). Then they came to this world back, (in the sense) that their children will replace them and thus their memory will ֺ ‫וּמ ְמּ‬ ִ is that the holy ones who die continue. The meaning of ‫קום ָקדוֺש יְ ַה ֵלּכוּ‬ without children would be forgotten in the city that they were in and practiced truth (‫)כן‬, as in ‫( כן דוברות צלפחד בנות‬Num 27:7). Wonder how the memory of a righteous has been erased and forgotten, as well as all the good that he has done, yet this wicked died in peace and left children in his place? This too is ‫הבל‬.” Ibn Ezra’s contrivance of children for the wicked and childlessness for the righteous speaks volumes for the difficulties he must have faced with this verse. His unrealistic solution is no less problematic than the original text. Rashbam (c.1085–1174), follows his grandfather Rashi in understanding ‫ ְק ֻב ִרים‬as deserving to be dead and buried. He links this verse with several verses in the preceding chapter and what follows. Among the things that Qohelet did in 7:23 and 7:25, “delving in wisdom issues I [Qohelet] saw in the world wicked who deserve death and burial, coming and going from holy places and ruins where they committed many bad deeds.”13 Rashbam understood Qohelet as expecting the wicked to be quickly punished things. But ultimately their name and memory were forgotten in the city in which so was done. This, as the other things, is ‫הבל‬, since they were not quickly punished for their evil by God because their crimes were committed in holy places, and being disappointed that this is not the case. However, Qohelet’s resentment that the wicked are forgotten seems strange. Among the modern commentators, Hertzberg renders Qoh 8:10 thus: “Further, I saw sinners coming near and entering, while they (the righteous) must leave the holy place and be forgotten in the city where they 13

Japhet, S. and Salters, R. B. The Commentary of R. Samuel Ben Meir (Rashbam) on Qohelet. Jerusalem: Magnes Press (1985) 107–108.

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ָ ‫ ְק ֵר ִבים‬instead of ‫ ְק ֻב ִרים וָ ָבאוּ‬, which acted properly.”14 He reads ‫וּב ִאים‬ requires two metatheses, assuming a ‫י‬/‫ ו‬confusion in two cases, attachment of a ‫ מ‬to the preceding word, and several revocalizations. Already Gordis commented that Hertzberg’s reading: (1) Has no warrant in the MT; (2) Is not supported by any of the Versions; (3) Gives a highly awkward word order; and, (4) Has no clear sense.15 I might add that “coming near” would be superfluous if the wicked eventually “enter.” Gordis prefers to follow the Septuagint, translating “I have seen wrong-doers being carried with pomp to their graves, and, as men return from the sacred ground, the evil-doers are praised in the city where they ָ ‫יתי ְר ָש ִעים ֶק ֶבר‬ ִ ‫ ָר ִא‬, had acted thus. Indeed, this is vanity!”16 He reads ‫מוּב ִאים‬ and ‫ וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְבּחוּ‬instead of ‫וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ‬. This is based on dropping one ‫י‬, the attachment of a ‫ מ‬to the following word, the assumption of a ‫י‬/‫ ו‬confusion in one case, one metathesis, the attachment of a ‫ מ‬to the preceding word, the assumption of ‫ב‬/‫ כ‬confusion in one case, and several revocalizations. Moreover, Gordis adds much extraneous material to make the verse intelligible. There is nothing in the verse to justify use of “being carried,” “pomp,” “men return.” Finally, Gordis’ reliance on the Septuagint is somewhat shaky, since the Septuagint itself is not clear in this case. Gordis is, perhaps, assuming that “evil-doers are praised,” because of the custom not to speak evil of the dead, since it was believed that their spirits have great influence in the world of the living. Moreover, the cemetery, in which dead bodies are interned, cannot be “sacred ground,” since it is ritually unclean. Jastrow is sensitive to this problem. He has: “And so [among other things] I have seen wicked men buried, and [people] coming back from the sanctified ground, and going about singing their praises in the very city they acted thus-surely this is vanity.”17 However, “sanctified ground” would require ‫ מקום מקודש‬in the 14

Hertzberg, H. W. Der Prediger (Qohelet) übersetzt und erklärt von H. W. Hertzberg. Leipzig: Deichert (1932) 167. He renders “Und weiterhin sah ich, Frevler [sich nahen] und [eingehen]; doch von heiliger Stätte müssen weichen und vergessen warden in der Stadt, die ds recht taten—auch das ist eitel.” 15 Gordis, 295–296. 16 Gordis, 184. Barton (Barton, G. A. Ecclesiastes. ICC. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark (1908) 155), Kroeber (Kroeber, R. Der Prediger. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag (1963) 100), and Strobel (Strobel, A. Das Buch Prediger (Qohelet). Dusseldorf: Patmos-Verlag (1967) 131) considered the Septuagint version as being indispensable for the understanding of this verse. 17 Jastrow, M. A Gentle Cynic, Being a Translation of the Book of Qoheleth,

148

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

ִ if we assume that a ‫ מ‬dropped text, which is obtainable from ‫וּמ ְמּקוֺם ָקדוֺש‬ out by haplography, and a metathesis in ‫קדוש‬. Furthermore, “coming back” for ‫ באים‬is unattested. Adding these emendations, to those that were made by Gordis, amounts to a major reconstruction of the verse. Zimmermann makes it explicit that the ‫ מקום קדוש‬was not a cemetery, but rather the place from which the funeral procession started. He renders: ָ ‫) ֶק ֶבר‬, and “And so too I have seen scoundrels brought to burial (‫מוּב ִאים‬ they were given honor, and people made a procession from a holy place, and then they were eulogized (‫ )וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְבּחוּ‬in the city how rightfully they acted! This is revolting.”18 It seems though that in Zimmermann’s interpretation the order of event is reversed.19 Moreover, ‫ וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְבּחוּ‬cannot mean “and then they were eulogized” since the hithpael usually indicates a reflexive or reciprocal action, nor is there anything in the biblical text that could correspond to “and they were given honor.” Some commentators combined elements of the preceding interpretations in various ways. For instance Serrano renders “And then I saw the wicked approach, they entered and went out of the holy place, and they were praised in the city because they acted thus. Indeed this is vanity.”20 Crenshaw translates: “Then I saw the wicked, approaching and ָ ) the holy place, walk about and boast (‫ )וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְבּחוּ‬in the entering (‫וּב ִאים ְק ֵר ִבים‬ city that they had done right. This is also absurd.”21 Longman adopts from the Septuagint only ‫ וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְבּחוּ‬and mainly adheres to the MT. He reads: “Thus, I observed the wicked buried and departed. They used to go out of the holy place, and they were praised in a city where they acted in such a way. This too is meaningless.” He explains that “the wicked may indeed die, but even then they are buried and praised in the city where they did their evil deeds and religious posturing. It is the fact that the wicked continue to Commonly Known as Ecclesiastes, Stripped of Later Additions, also its Origin, Growth, and Interpretation. Philadelphia: Lippincott (1919) 228–229. 18 Zimmermann, F. The Inner World of Qohelet. New York: KTAV (1973) 172. 19 Usually the dead is cleaned and prepared for burial, then brought to the synagogue, where he is eulogized (b. Megillah 28b, b. Rosh ha-Shanah 25a, b. Mo’ed Katan 21b). The procession starts at the synagogue and ends at the cemetery where the dead is buried. While Qoheleth might have seen such a funeral, this practice was not yet established in the time of the second Temple. Qohelet alludes in 12:5 to professional mourners (‫ )הַסּוֹפְדִ ים‬who eulogized the dead in the marketplace. 20 Serrano, 170. 21 Crenshaw, 153.

ARON PINKER

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receive the praise owed to the righteous that frustrates Qohelet and leads him to utter his conclusion that ‘this is meaningless.’”22 Obviously, dead people need to be buried. This would not surprise Qohelet. Nor would he have been shocked by the wicked going to the holy place. What we are baffled by is their receiving praise altogether. This would have been illogical to Qohelet as it is to us. Thus, the verse cannot say “the wicked continue to receive the praise owed to the righteous.” The JPS (and NJPS) rearranges the verse and attaches ‫ גַ ם־זֶ ה ָה ֶבל‬to the beginning of the next verse. Retranslated into Hebrew, Qoh 8:10 would then read ‫ובכן ראיתי רשעים ממקום קדוש יהלכו וקבר מובאים‬ ‫ואשר כן עשו ישתכחו בעיר‬ i.e., “And then I saw scoundrels coming from the Holy Site and being brought to burial, while such as had acted righteously were forgotten in the city.”23 Fox explains in his commentary to the JPS translation, “While scoundrels receive elegant obsequies, the bodies of the righteous— presumably the righteous poor, who must rely on public beneficence for proper burial—lie unattended.” This depiction is unlikely in light of traditional Jewish customs with respect to the dead, the concept of ‫מת מצוה‬ and the institution of ‫( חברא קדישא‬burial society), which probably drew on ancient customs.24 Whybray is right in noting that “there is no suggestion in the text that that these funerals of the wicked were in anyway extraordinary.”25

Longman, 216, 219. Fox, M. V. The JPS Bible Commentary, Ecclesiastes ‫קהלת‬. Philadelphia: JPS (2004) 58. Cf. also Fox, M. V. Qohelet and His Contradictions. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press (1989) 250– 251. Seow (Seow, C. L. Ecclesiastes. AB 18c. New York: Doubleday (1997) 276) adopts Fox’s interpretation. 24 Respect for the dead motivates prompt burial of the dead. The Talmud notes that one of the ten edicts of Joshua was to bury any corpse found (b. Babba Kama 81a). This obligation is even incumbent on a High Priest who otherwise could not come in contact with the dead (j. Nazir 7:1). Though burying the dead is an obligation of the heirs, it is the community that is ultimately responsible for the burial. Consequently, in the time of the Talmud the institution of the ‫חברא קדישא‬ was established (b. Moed Katan 27b). 25 Whybray, R. N. Ecclesiastes. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans (1989) 135. 22 23

150

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

It seems as though the commentaries (and translations) of Qoh 8:10 can be divided into two major groups according to the treatment of the word ‫יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ‬. One group consists of those who retain the MT (e.g., Hertzberg, Ginsburg,26 Delitsch,27 Murphy,28 KJV, NKJV, NASB, ASV, ָ ‫ֵכּ‬ Young, Darby, Webster, HNV, MLB, NJPS), and usually understand ‫ן־עש ֹוּ‬ as “acted justly” and referring to the righteous. The other group (e.g., McNeile,29 Burkitt,30 Barton, Driver, Gordis, Jastrow, Zimmermann, Crenshaw, Longman, NIV, NRSV, ESV, RSV, NEB, JB) adopts the approach of the Septuagint (also found in Aquila, Symmachus, Theodotion, and the Vulgate), which emends ‫ יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ‬to ‫יִ ְש ַתּ ְבּחוּ‬. Each group has to make a number of additional emendations to obtain a sensible text.

ANALYSIS OF THE VERSE Almost each word in Qoh 8:10 has been subject to some emendation and it contains rare words or forms of words. In the following I will discuss each word in the verse. ‫וּב ֵכן‬ ְ : The word ‫וּב ֵכן‬ ְ is composed of the conjunction ‫ו‬, the preposition ‫ב‬, and the particle ‫כן‬. Waltke and O’Connor cite this word as an example of a “complex preposition that functions as an adverbial.”31 The particle occurs only here, in Est 4:16, and Sir 13:7, but is common in Aramaic.32 No ְ . The Septuagint has “and two of the Versions agree on the meaning of ‫וּב ֵכן‬ then” (Καὶ τότε), Targum ”and truly” (‫)ובקושטא‬, Peshitta “and so” (‫)והידין‬, and, it is omitted by the Vulgate. Already Ibn Janaħ (c.990–c.1050) 26

Ginsburg, C. D. Song of Songs and Coheleth (ed. Orlinsky, H. M.). New York: KTAV (1970) [1861] 398–399. 27 Delitzsch, F. Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Song of Solomon (trans. Easton, M. G.). Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans (1975) [1872] 346. 28 Murphy, R. E. Ecclesiastes. WBC. Dallas: Word (1992) 79–80. 29 McNeile, A. H. An Introduction to Ecclesiastes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (1904) 77, 106. 30 Burkitt, F. C. “Is Ecclesiastes a Translation?” JTS 23 (1921–1922) 26. 31 Waltke, B. K. and O’Connor, M. An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns (1990) 221. 32 Gesenius, W., Kautzsch, E. (ed.), Cowley, A. E. (trans.) (GKC). Gesenius’ Hebrew grammar. Mineola, N.Y.: Dover (2006) §119.ii, 384; Brown, F., Driver, S. R. and Briggs, C. A. (BDB). Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament. Peabody: Hendrickson (2001) 486. S.v. ‫ כֵּן‬3.b.

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discussed ‫וּב ֵכן‬ ְ and considered for it the meanings ‫ואז‬, “and then,” and ‫כן‬ ‫ואחר‬, “and afterwards,” eventually settling on ‫וכן‬, “and so.”33 Rashi’s and ְ has no support in the Hebrew Bible. It Ibn Ezra’s taking ‫וּב ֵכן = ואז‬ ְ in Est 4:16, though here apparently relies on the Targum (‫ )ובתר כן‬for ‫וּב ֵכן‬ ְ “and in that.” the Targum has ‫“ ובקושטא‬and truly.” Rashbam: ‫וּב ֵכן = ובכך‬ ְ a variety of meanings. For Modern scholarship assigned to ‫וּב ֵכן‬ instance, we find: “Further” (Hertzberg), “and then” (Crenshaw, Fox), “and so” (Jastrow), “thus” (Longman), “And so too” (Zimmermann), “indeed” (Zer-Kavod), and Gordis omits it. This is also the case with the Standard English translation, which use the meanings: “And so” (KJV, Webster), “Then” (NKJV, ESV, RSV), “Then too” (NIV), “So then” (NASB), “So” (ASV, HNV), “And so” (Young), “And” (Darby), “Not only that” (NEB), “and then” (JB), etc. Zer-Kavod felt that here and in Est 4:16 the particle opens the statement with emphasis, and consequently it is equivalent to ‫אכן‬, or ‫אמנם‬. However, in Sir 13:7 it is not at the beginning of the verse. It seems to me ְ .34 that “and also” would well serve in each of the three occurrences of ‫וּב ֵכן‬ This implies that Qoh 8:10 was linked to the text that preceded it. ‫יתי ְר ָש ִעים‬ ִ ‫ ָר ִא‬: The verb ‫ראה‬, in its various meanings, plays a significant role in the book of Qohelet. It is used 47 times in the book, and 18 times in the first person singular of the perfect tense (‫)ראיתי‬. Loader considered the ‫ ראיתי‬sentences, as well as those sentences introduced by ‫ידע‬, and a few other verbs, as belonging to a basic literary form (or Gattung), which he called “observation.” “The observation is marked by a first person singular style,” and it consists in a “report of what has been seen in life.”35 It seems that Loader’s definition fully applies to Qoh 8:10 and depicts here an actual observation.

33

Bacher, W. (ed.) The book of Hebrew roots, by Abu’al-Walîd Marwân ibn Janâh, called Rabbî Jônâh. Edited with an appendix, containing extracts from other Hebrew-Arabic dictionaries [by] Adolf Neubauer. Amsterdam: Philo Press (1968) 223. 34 Zer-Kavod, M. ‫קהלת‬. In ‫חמש מגילות‬. Jerusalem: Mosad Ha-Rav Kook (1973) 50. 35 Loader, J. A. Polar Structures in the Book of Qohelet. BZAW 152. Berlin: DeGruyter (1979) 25.

152

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

‫ ְק ֻב ִרים‬: The word is the qal passive participle masculine plural of ‫קבר‬, “to bury.” MT reading is attested by the Targum (‫)דאתקברו‬, Peshitta (‫)דקבירין‬, and Vulgate (sepultos), while the Septuagint has the noun “grave” (τάφους), and so do the Syro-Hexaplar and Coptic Versions. Both MT and Septuagint share the consonantal text ‫ קברים‬though they vocalize it differently. ‫( אל תיקרי קבורים אלא קבוצים‬b. Gittin 56b) is, however, a homiletic reading. The versions seem to favor the MT reading, and so do most of the Standard English translations (KJV, NKJV, RSV, NRSV, MLB, NASB, NIV, NJPS, NLT, ESV, ASV, Young, Darby, Webster, HNV, JB, etc.). The Midrash suggested understanding ‫ ְק ֻב ִרים‬as ‫כקבורים‬, which would make their moving possible. Rashbam probably echoes this Midrash by saying: “Wicked, while still alive are called “buried,” because they deserve death, as in Ez 21:30.”36 Ibn Ezra mentions, but rejects the borrowed sense ‫קבורים = שמורים‬, which probably derives from the story in b. Gittin 56. A number of commentators (Burkitt, Driver, Galling) have opted for ‫( ְק ֵר ִבים‬Qal active participle masculine plural of ‫קרב‬, “to near, to approach”) instead of ‫ ְק ֻב ִרים‬, a term that is often used in reference to a person approaching the Lord at the tabernacle or temple. This emendation can be justified as a case of metathesis, but not by the similarity between ‫ ר‬and ‫ ב‬in the paleoscript, as Serrano does, since it would date the book much earlier than generally accepted. The reading ‫ ְק ֵר ִבים‬was adopted by some Standard ָ ‫ ְק ֵר ִבים‬, which English translations (NEB, NAB). However, the phrase ‫וּב ִאים‬ is usually used for translation and interpretation, is not attested in the Hebrew Bible, which has only ‫( ֵק ְרבוּ ָלבוֹא‬Ezek 36:8), ‫( ִה ְק ִריב ָלבוֹא‬Gen 12:11), ‫( וְ ָקרוֹב ָלבוֹא‬Isa 13:22, cf. Jer 48:16), and ‫( ָק ְרבוּ וַ יֶּ ֱא ָתיוּן‬Isa 41:5). TurSinai suggested the clever emendation ‫“ ִבּ ָיק ָרם יָ בֹאוּ‬with their honor would come” for the expression ‫ ְק ֻב ִרים וָ ָבאוּ‬.37 Yet, this would leave the destination unidentified. ‫וָ ָבאוּ‬: MT is attested by the Targum, Peshitta, and Aquila. The ָ , which can be understood as formed by Septuagint apparently reads ‫מוּב ִאים‬ attaching to ‫ ובאו‬the ‫ מ‬that was lost by haplography because of the ‫ מ‬in ‫קברים‬, and the ‫ מ‬of ‫וממקום‬.38 36

Japhet and Salters, 170. Tur-Sinai, N. H. ‫הלשון והספר‬. Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik (1959) 148. 38 Seow, Ecclesiastes, 284. Seow suggests that the Urtext was ‫ קבר מובאים‬Æ 37

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The verb ‫ באו‬has been considered problematic in this verse. The verb ‫ בוא‬usually means “to go to, to enter, to arrive,” not “to depart,” which would be proper for those who have been buried. This has found its expression in the Midrashic question ‫וכי יש רשעים קבורים באים ומהלכים‬ (Midrash Tanhuma on Yitro). Already Ibn Ezra rejected attempts to translate ‫ וָ ָבאוּ‬as “disappeared, left” (cf. Targum’s ‫ואשתציאו‬, and see also Darby’s “and going away”) as in ‫ובא השמש‬. Some connect ‫ וָ ָבאוּ‬with ‫יְ ַה ֵלּכוּ‬, translating “coming and going” (Rashbam), or “they do as they wish.” These attempts were also rejected by Ibn Ezra. Still, a number of Standard English translations link ‫ וָ ָבאוּ‬with ‫( יְ ַה ֵלּכוּ‬KJV, NKJV, NIV, ESV, NASB, RSV, Webster). This linkage, however, creates redundancy, since ‫ יְ ַה ֵלּכוּ‬includes already the act of coming ֶ ‫א־כ ְמ ַה ֵלְּך ֵר‬ ִ ‫וּב‬ ָ ). Zimmermann considers ‫ וָ ָבאוּ‬another (Prov 6:11, ‫אשָׁך‬ example of confusion in translating from the original Aramaic. He assume that original was itta‘alu (‫ )יתעלו‬or perhaps ’i‘allelu (‫)איעללו‬. The translator erroneously thought the word being the Ittaph‘al of the root ‘al, “they came.” He should have taken it as the Ithpa‘al of ‘aly, be glorified, exalted.”39 Krüger renders ‫“ וָ ָבאוּ‬and went in to rest.”40 This interpretation has no support nor makes any sense. ‫וּמ ְמּקוֹם ָקדוֹשׁ‬ ִ : MT is attested by the Targum (‫)מאתר קדיש‬, Peshitta (‫)ומן אתרא דקדושא‬, and Vulgate (in loco sancto). It is possible that ‫מקום קדוש‬ is a euphemism for ‫מקום טמא‬, the cemetery, which being the place where dead are interred is considered as defiling (Feigin). Cf. Deut 22:9. The form ‫ ִמ ְמּקוֹם‬occurs in the late 2 Chr 6:21, and ‫ ִמ ָמּקוֹם‬in the late Est 4:14. Rossi manuscript 413 reads ‫ ִמ ָמּקוֺם‬, perhaps following the reading in Esther. The construct ‫ ְמקוֹם ַהקּ ֶֹדשׁ‬occurs in Lev 10:17, 14:13, Ps 24:13, and Ezra 9:8. Lev 10:13-17 shows that ‫ ְמקוֹם ַהקּ ֶֹדשׁ‬is synonymous with ‫( ָמקוֹם ָקד ֹשׁ‬cf. vv. 13, and 17), another priestly designation, which occurs in Exod 29:31, Lev 6:9, 19, 20, 7:6, 10:13, 16:24, 24:9, and Ez 42:13. The construct “‫ יְ ַה ֵלּכוּ‬X‫” ִמ‬

‫( קברם מובאים‬dittography) Æ ‫( קברים מובאים‬incorrect interpretation) Æ ‫מובאים‬ ‫( ְק ֻב ִרים‬incorrectly vocalized). This scheme does not provide a rationale for the incorrect vocalization. 39 Zimmerman, 154. 40 Krüger, T. Qoheleth (trans. Dean Jr. O. C.). Minneapolis: Fortress Press (2004) 158.

154

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

ִ never occurs in the Hebrew Bible. Whitely’s translation of ‫וּמ ְמּקוֹם ָקדוֹשׁ‬ “without (‫ )מן‬decent burial” has no support in the Hebrew Bible.41 Various referents have been assumed for ‫ ְמקוֹם ָקדוֹשׁ‬. Most commentators usually choose one of the following: a cemetery,42 the Temple (or the synagogue),43 or Jerusalem.44 Ibn Ezra, however, maintains ִ is the that ‫ ָקדוֺש‬refers to a person, “And the meaning of ‫וּמ ְמּקוֹם ָקדוֹשׁ יְ ַה ֵלּכוּ‬ holy ones who die without children.” I have already observed that the cemetery, being ritually unclean, would not qualify as a ‫ ְמקוֹם ָקדוֹשׁ‬. Several decades ago, Reines suggested that ‫ָמקוֹם‬ ‫ ָקד ֹשׁ‬is “the grave.”45 Thus, ‫ ובאים מקום קׇדוֹשׁ‬is “and come to rest in the grave” (cf. Isa 57:2, Gen 15:15). However, this meaning for the expression ‫ ָמקוֹם ָקד ֹשׁ‬is not attested in the Biblical or Post Biblical literature. Seow notes that it is unlikely that ‫ ָמקוֹם ָקד ֹשׁ‬refers to the Temple, since one would expect then ‫המקום הקדוש‬.46 The biblical references to ‫ָמקוֹם ָקד ֹשׁ‬ “probably designate[s] the religious purpose of a general area rather than a specific place.”47 It is also doubtful that ‫ ָמקוֹם ָקד ֹשׁ‬refers to a structure that served as a synagogue. Such structures did not exist prior to the Maccabeean struggle in the Land of Israel.48 Sukenik notes, “whereas there is archaeological evidence of the existence of synagogues in Egypt as early as the third century B.C., and in Greece as early as the second century B.C., the date of the oldest synagogue found in Palestine is not earlier than the

Whitley, 76. Jastrow, 229; Gordis, 295; and so Ewald, Zöckler, Volz, Humbert, etc. 43 Lauha, A. Qohelet. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag (1978) 155. Lauha says, “Die heilige Stätte (‫ )מקום קדוש‬war für Israeliten der Erscheinungsort Jahwes, d.h. in der klassischen und nachklassischen Zeit der Tempel (Lev 6,9.19; 14,13; Jos 5,15; Hab 2,20; Jon 2,5.8; Ps 24,3).” A similar view held Rashi; Barton, 153; Fox, 58; Whybray, 135; Crenshaw, 154; Zimmermann, 172; Ogden, G. Qoheleth. Sheffield: JSOT Press (1987) 135; NEB, etc. 44 Eaton, M. A. Ecclesiastes. Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity (1983) 122. 45 Reines, C. W. “Qohelet viii 10.” JJS 5 (1954) 86. 46 Seow, Ecclesiastes, 285. 47 Wright, D. P. The Disposal of Impurity: Elimination Rites in the Bible and in Hittite and Mesopotamian Literature. SBLDS 101. Atlanta: Scholars (1987) 232-235. 48 Oesterly, W. O. E. The Jews and Judaism During the Greek Period. The Background of Christianity. Port Washington, NY: Kennikat Press (1970) 213. 41 42

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first century A.D.”49 No one considered the possibility that ‫ ָמקוֹם ָקד ֹשׁ‬could mean “the resting place of a holy man” or “the residence of a holy man.” ‫יְ ַה ֵלּכוּ‬: This is the piel imperfect 3rd person plural of ‫הלך‬, “to go, come, walk” (Hab 3:11, Ps 81:14, 115:7). The more poetic form ‫ יְ ַה ֵלּכוּן‬occurs only in the Psalms (89:16,104:10, 26). The Septuagint seems to have read ‫וְ ָה ְלכוּ‬ (ἐπορεύθησαν) and so did the Peshitta (‫)אזלו‬, Aquila, and Symachus. However, nowhere else is the piel used for the qal. The Targum’s ‫תמן שרין‬ and Vulgate’s errant reflect the sense of “they walked around” for ‫יְ ַה ֵלּכוּ‬. The reading ‫ וְ ָה ְלכוּ‬can be found explicitly or implicitly in many translations or interpretations (Rashi, Ibn Ezra, KJV, NKJV, Darby, Webster, HNV, NEB, JB). However, the sense “return, coming back” (Jastrow, Gordis) is unwarranted. Whitley’s emendation of ‫ יְ ַה ֵלּכוּ‬to ‫יַ ֲהֹלכו‬ attempts to align the stem of this word with the qal of ‫ הלך‬in the other cases where Qohelet uses this root to denote “departure” from the world (3:20, 6:4, 9:10, 12:5).50 However, nowhere in the Hebrew Bible does mean ‫“ יַ ֲהֹלכו‬depart life,” nor is the verb used in this sense in the book of Qohelet. The best translation for ‫ יְ ַה ֵלּכוּ‬is probably “they go, they walk about, they frequent” (Rashbam, Hertzberg, Fox, Crenshaw, Zer-Kavod, Longman, NLT, ESV, NASB, RSV, NIV, ASV, Young, NJPS). ‫יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ‬: The MT ‫“ יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ‬they were forgotten” is the hithpael imperfect person masculine plural from ‫שכח‬, “to forget.” This grammatical form of ‫ שכח‬is a hapax legomenon.51 Rendsburg considers ‫ וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ‬to be a Northern Hebrew usage of Hitpa‘el with passive sense, as in Aramaic (two different T-stem formations) and MH (in the nitpa‘al form).52 In Driver opinion the MT, which has ‫יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ‬, is the consequence of confusion regarding the referents of the two parts of the verse. Assuming that the first part deals with the wicked and the second part with the ָ ‫ ֲא ֶשׁר ֵכּ‬was taken to mean “they that have done right” and righteous, ‫ן־עשׂוּ‬ 3rd

49 Sukenik, E. L. Ancient synagogues in Palestine and Greece. London: Oxford University Press (1934) 1. 50 Whitley, 76. 51 See HALOT, 1490, s.v. I ‫ שׁכח‬and BDB, 1013. 52 Rendsburg, G.A. “Comprehensive Guide to Israelian Hebrew: Grammar and Lexicon.” Orient 38 (2003) 18.

156

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

the subject of the two preceding verbs. This error led to the change of the original ‫ יִ ְש ַתּ ְבּחוּ‬into ‫יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ‬.53 The reading ‫ יִ ְש ַתּ ְבּחוּ‬is supported by four ancient versions Septuagint (ἐπῃνέθησαν), Syr-Hexaplar, Aquila and Theodotion (ἐκαυχήσαντο), Symmachus (ἐπαινούμενοι), Vulgate (laudabantur) and many Hebrew manuscripts. Only the Targum has ‫“ איתנשין‬they were forgotten.”54 The root ‫ שבח‬occurs altogether 11 times in the HB, mostly in the Psalms. The hithpael of ‫ שבח‬can be found only in the formulaic ‫( ְל ִה ְשׁ ַתּ ֵבּ ַח ִבּ ְת ִה ָלּ ֶתָך‬Ps 106:47, 1Chr 16:35).55 It is unlikely that the original reading of ‫ וישׁתבחו‬was confused for ‫ וישׁתכחו‬because the root ‫ שבח‬is much rarer than the common root ‫שכח‬. Qohelet uses ‫ שבח‬is twice and ‫ שכח‬three times. Taking ‫ וישׁתבחו‬in a passive sense, rather than the natural reflexive sense, has no support. The Ketib-Qere system attests to numerous cases of ‫כ‬/‫ ב‬confusion in the Hebrew Bible. Certainly, in the square script such confusion would seem possible. Consequently, the ‫ יִ ְש ַתּ ְבּחוּ‬/‫ יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ‬confusion cannot be ruled out. The logic of this reasoning is, however, weakened by the possibility that the Septuagint, and some other versions, tapped into an available homiletic saying that was created for a different purpose (b. Gittin 56b), rather than presented the meaning per se. Moreover, the reading ‫ יִ ְש ַתּ ְבּחוּ‬is not compelling. Standard English translations are divided regarding the reading ‫יִ ְש ַתּ ְבּחוּ‬. Several follow the MT and translate “they were forgotten” (KJV, NKJV, Young, Darby, Webster, ASV, NASB, MLB, NJPS, HNV), and almost an equal number have the alternate reading “they were praised, or “they boasted” (NLT, NEB, ESV, RSV, NAB, NIV, NRSV, JB). Similarly modern scholarship has for ‫ יִ ְש ַתּ ְבּחוּ‬/‫ יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ‬that they “are forgotten” (Hertzberg, Zer-Kavod, Reines); “are neglected” (Fox); “are praised” (Jastrow, Gordis, Longman); “boast” (Driver, Crenshaw); “were eulogized” (Zimmermann), etc. ‫ ָב ִעיר‬: The term ‫ ִעיר‬, “city, town,” occurs also in Qoh 7:19, 9:14, 15, and 10:15. Barton felt that the collocation of ‫ ָמקוֹם ָקד ֹשׁ‬and ‫“ ִעיר‬makes it clear”

53

Driver, 230. One manuscript of the Targum has ‫“ אתנשיאו‬they were lifted up.” 55 See HALOT, 1387, s.v. I ‫ שׁבח‬and BDB, 986. 54

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157

that Jerusalem, where Qohelet lived (5:1), is referred to.56 Qohelet’s use of ‫ ָב ִעיר‬is intended to strengthen his thesis by the multiplicity of people in a city or town. ‫ן־עשׂוּ‬ ָ ‫ ֲא ֶשׁר ֵכּ‬: The particle ‫ ֵכּן‬has been variously interpreted. The Septuagint translates ‫“ ֵכּן‬thus” (οὕτως), Targum has “and so” (‫)והיכמא‬, Peshitta has “such” (‫)הכנא‬, and Vulgate has “just” (iustorum). Symmachus ָ ‫“ ֲא ֶשׁר ֵכּ‬the righteous” (ώς δίχαια πρᾶξαντες). renders ‫ן־עשׂוּ‬ The two basic meanings for ‫ ֵכּן‬, the neutral “so” and the positive “true” found in the Versions, occur with minor nuances in all the interpretations of Qoh 8:10.57 For instance, Rashi and Rashbam have “so,” but Ibn Ezra has “truth,” as ‫( ֵכּן ְבּנוֹת ְצ ָל ְפ ָחד דּ ְֹבר ֹת‬Num 27:7). Similarly, ‫ ֵכּן‬was rendered “justly” (Delitzsch, Ginsburg, Murphy, Seow), “properly” (Hertzberg), “right” (Crenshaw, Krüger), “rightfully” (Zimmermann), “righteously” (NJPS), “thus” (Jastrow, Barton, Gordis, Zer-Kavod), “such” (Longman), etc. Gordis observes, “While this interpretation [‫“ = ֵכּן‬justly”] is ָ ‫ ֵכּ‬is not theoretically possible, the contrast between ‫ ְר ָש ִעים‬and ‫ן־עש ֹוּ‬ sufficiently strong to sustain it, and Koheleth never uses ‫ ֵכּן‬in this sense of “justly.” For this contrast, ‫ צדיק‬is the usual term (cf. 3:17, 7:20, 9:2).” 58 Ibn Ezra’s reliance on Num 27:7 appears somewhat biased. He should have more properly used Num 36:10 (‫) ֵכּן ָעשׂוּ ְבּנוֹת ְצ ָל ְפ ָחד‬, which is closer to the text that we have and where ‫ כן‬means “they did (precisely) so.”59 The ‫ כן‬emphasizes the exactitude of execution. Indeed, a survey of the cases having the form “‫ כן‬+ some form of the verb ‫ ”עשׂה‬reveals that in all these cases ‫ כן‬means “they did (precisely) so.” This survey also points to the source of the Targum’s expansion ‫וחיכמא דעבדו אתעביד להון‬. The principle 56

Barton, 64. Hertzberg, 170. Hertzberg considers the meaning “so” for ‫ כן‬as “sehr künstlich und wenig sinnvoll.” 58 Gordis, 296. 59 Gen 6:22, 18:5, 34:7, Exod 7:6, 12:28, 50, 22:29, 23:11, 26:4, 17, 36:11, 22, 29, 39:32, 42, 43, 40:16, Lev 24:19, 4:20, 16:16, Num 1:54, 5:4, 6:21, 8:4, 20, 22, 9:5, 14, 15:14, 17:26, 32:21, 36:10, Deut 3:21, 7:19, 20:15, 22:3, Jos 10:1, 37, 11:15, 14:5, Jud 11:10, 14:10, 15:11, 1 Sam 1:7, 8:8, 2Sam 9:11, 12:31, 1 Kgs 2:38, 6:33, 7:18, 11:8, 2 Kgs 16:11, 7:9, Jer 28:6, 42:5, 48:30, Ezek 45:20, 12;11, Prov 24;29, Neh 5:12, 1 Chr 20:3. This list illustrates the rarity of the form “‫ כן‬+ some form of the verb ‫”עשׂה‬ outside the Pentateuch and the historical books. The high frequency in Exodus stems from exactitude required in the construction of the sanctuary. 57

158

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

of ‫ מידה כנגד מידה‬is expressed in the HB by ‫( ַכּ ֲא ֶשׁר ָע ָשׂה ֵכּן יֵ ָע ֶשׂה לּוֹ‬Lev 24:19, Jud 15:11, Prov 24:29, cf. Jud 15:10, Jer 50:15, 29), which the Targumist skillfully exploited. Why did Qohelet use ‫ ֵכּן‬rather than ‫זֶ ה‬, which occurs many times in the ָ ֶ‫ ז‬being confused with the book?60 Perhaps, he did not want the ‫ זֶ ה‬of ‫ה־עש ֹוּ‬ ‫ זֶ ה‬of ‫גַ ם־זֶ ה‬. It is also possible that ‫ ֵכּן‬provided a clever ‘double entendre,’ it conveys both “so” and “correctly.” Since no specific acts of the wicked are referred to in the verse, according to available interpretations and ָ ‫ ֵכּ‬by “they did so” introduces considerable translations, translating ‫ן־עש ֹוּ‬ vagueness. ‫גַ ם־זֶ ה‬: The emphatic ‫גַ ם־זֶ ה‬, ”this too,” occurs 14 times in Qohelet (1:17, 2:15, 19, 21, 23, 26, 4:4, 8, 16, 5:9, 6:9, 7:6, 8:10, 14) and variants of it can be found in 2:1, 14, 15, 24; 5:15; 7:18 and 9:13. It is worth noting that the only other place in the Hebrew Bible where the emphatic ‫ גַּ ם־זֶ ה‬occurs is 2Sam 18:26, though ‫( גם־את־זה‬Gen 29:33, 44:29), ‫( כי־גם־זה‬Gen 35:17), and ‫( גם־בזה‬ISam 16:8, and 9) occur. ְ implies that Qoh 8:10 was We have seen that the presence of ‫וּב ֵכן‬ linked to the text that preceded it. The term ‫ גַּ ם־זֶ ה‬also suggests an addition to a previous set that has been, apparently, identified by being ‫ ֶה ֶבל‬. However, the closest ‫ – ֶה ֶבל‬statement preceding 8:10 is 7:6. Thus, either some material has been excised or rearranged by an editor. The existence of an editor, or “pious commentator,” was already suggested by Jastrow.61 ָ ‫ ֶא‬in Qoh 8:9. The other possibility is that the ‫ זֶ ה‬in ‫ גַּ ם־זֶ ה‬links to ‫ת־כּל־זֶ ה‬ Thus, among the various things that he considered, and that were described in the verses preceding 8:9, Qohelet now turns to despotism, and the subject matter of our verse. Obviously, attaching ‫ ֶה ֶבל גַּ ם־זֶ ה‬to the following verse, as the JPS does, resolves the difficulty. Yet, ‫ גַּ ם־זֶ ה‬never occurs at the beginning of a verse in the Hebrew Bible.

60

Jastrow, 71-76. Jastrow speaks of additions to the Urtext, which were intended to “tone down” some of Qohelet’s contentions. The ‫ זה גם‬in Qoh 8:10 might be indication that some material was deleted. 61 Qohelet uses ‫ כן‬only 6 times (3:19, 5:1, 7:6, 8:10 (2t), 11), two of which are in our verse, and 38 ‫ זֶ ה‬times (1:10, 17, 2:2, 3, 10, 15, 19, 21, 23, 25, 26, 3:19 (2t), 4:8, 16, 5:9, 6:2, 5 (2t), 9, 7:6, 10, 14 (2t), 18 (2t), 27, 29, 8:9, 10, 14, 9:1 (2t), 3, 11:6 (2t), 12:13).

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‫ ֶה ֶבל‬: This is the main term for the characterization, or judgment, of the various issues and cases discussed in the book of Qohelet. It means “vapor, breath,” something of no consequence, perhaps similar to the current “hot air.”62 Its notion of transience has been figuratively expressed by terms such as, “fleeting,” “temporary,” “insubstantial,” “utterly fruitless,” “incongruous,” “ephemeral,” “enigmatic,” and “absurd.” Miller renders ‫“ הבל‬vapor,” and shows that it has three distinct metaphorical nuances: insubstantiality, transience, and foulness.63 Farmer notes the virtual equality of ‫ הבל‬and ‫ רוח‬in Qoh 1:14, 2:11, 17, 26, 4:4, 16, and 6:9.64 This suggests to her that the material referent (vapor, or breath) should be contemplated for ‫ הבל‬in each case, to appreciate the metaphorical nature of the term. In Qohelet’s view human existence abounds in paradoxes; everything in it is of no consequence, as “thin air,” or emptiness. Thus the term is used frequently in the book, exactly 37 times, equal to the numerical value (Gematria) of ‫הבל‬.

SOLUTION The first difficulty in Qoh 8:10 is the impression that Qohelet is surprised by the fact of the wicked being buried. Zer-Kavod tried to justify this surprise, explaining that Qohelet saw “wicked buried [in the tomb that they prepared for themselves, and were not thrown out of it as befits them].”65 Except of the logical contradiction of this statement, it cannot be true in light of the ancient Jewish tradition to bury every dead before sunset. 62

Fox, M. “The Meaning of Hebel for Qohelet.” JBL 105 (1986) 409-427; Ogden, G. S. “The Meaning of the Term Hebel.” In Reflecting with Solomon: Selected Studies on the Book of Ecclesiastes (ed. Zuck, R. B.). Grand Rapids: Baker (1994) 227231; Seow, C. L. “Beyond Mortal Grasp: the Usage of hebel in Ecclesiastes.” AusBR 48 (2000) 1-2; Anderson, W. “The Semantic Implications of ‫ הבל‬and ‫ רוח רעות‬in the Hebrew Bible and for Qoheleth.” JNSL 25 (1999) 59-73; Miller, D. B. “Qohelet’s Symbolic Use of ‫הבל‬.” JBL 117 (1998) 437-454; Seybold, K. “‫הבל‬.” In Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament (TDOT), III (eds. Botterweck, G. J. and Ringgren, H.). Grand Rapids: Eerdmans (1978) 313-320. 63 Miller, D. B. Symbol and Rhetoric in Ecclesiastes: The Place of Hebel in Qohelet’s Work. Academia Biblica 2. Atlanta, GA, and Leiden: SBL and E. J. Brill (2002) 154. 64 Farmer, K. A. Who Knows What is Good? A Commentary on the Books of Proverbs and Ecclesiastes. ITC. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans (1991) 143-146. 65 Zer-Kavod, 50.

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

The Hebrew Bible mentions some unusual cases where the bones of the dead were thrown out of the grave. For instance, Josiah’s reform included the extraordinary actions of defiling the shrines to various idols with human bones taken out of their graves on the king’s orders (2 Kgs 23:14, 16, 18). Jeremiah prophecy makes the unusual point that “At that time—declares the Lord—the bones of the king of Judah, of its officers, of the priests, of the prophets, and of the inhabitants of Jerusalem shall be taken out of their graves and exposed to the sun, the moon, and all the host of heaven which they loved and served and followed, to which they turned and bowed down. They shall not be gathered for reburial; they shall become dung upon the face of earth” (Jer 8:1–2). Those were, however, highly demonstrative acts intended to make an indelible impression on the populace; hardly befitting regular scoundrels. Severe curses deterred people from tempering with the graves. The buried wicked per se could not have been the subject of Qohelet’s contemplation or observation. The second difficulty is the verb ‫וָ ָבאוּ‬. We have seen in the ANALYSIS section how exegetes unsuccessfully struggled with this word. The verb seems redundant in the presence of ‫יְ ַה ֵלּכוּ‬, and creates confusion in the flow of events. Simple metathesis yields ‫ואוב‬, “and necromancer,” from ‫ובאו‬, implying that the “wicked” visited the necromancer.66 Necromancy was widely practiced among the ancient people, particularly in Egypt. The Hebrew Bible certainly forbids several times the engaging in necromancy (Lev 19:31, 20:6, 27, Deut 18:10–11), but the practice apparently persisted. This can be deduced from the references to it, and actions taken against it. For instance, Isaiah says, “Now, should people say to you, ‘Inquire of the ghosts and familiar spirits for chirp and moan; for a people may inquire of its divine beings—of the dead on behalf of the living—for instruction and message,’ surely, for one who speaks thus there shall be no dawn” (Isa 8:19–20, cf. 9:3). We are told that the sins of king Manasseh included the following: “He consigned his son to the fire; he practiced soothsaying and divination, and consulted ghosts and familiar spirits” (2 Kgs 21:6, cf. 2 Chr 33:6). It is notable that the first king of Israel Saul (1 Sam 28) and the reformist Josiah (2 Kgs 23:24) tried to eradicate necromancy. Saul’s actions clearly demonstrate that it was easier to eradicate the necromancers from the land than the need for necromancy from the heart. The Bible refers to necromancy by the general term ‫דורש אל המתים‬, and ‫אוב וידעוני‬. The etymology and exact connotation of these words is, however, not clear (cf. TDOT I, 131–134). 66

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The Talmud also attests to the wide and open practice of necromancy, though there were some who expressed dissatisfaction (b. Berachot 59a), and the veracity of the spirits was not doubted (b. Shabbath 152b). We read of a pious man who was rewarded for eavesdropping on the prophecies of the dead (b. Berachot 18b). An Amora who inquired of a necromancer and the prediction indeed occurred (b. Berachot 59a). The scholar Banaah was well versed in necromancy (b. Babba Batra 58a). R. Akiva use necromancy to proof that the River Sambation stopped flowing on the Sabbath (Genesis Rabba 11:6). In b. Gittin 56b, we are told that the ghosts of Titus, Ballam, and Jesus are called upon to provide advice for Onqelos, the nephew of Titus, whether he should embrace Judaism. Ben Sira says: “Samuel prophesied after his death, and showed the king his end, and lift up his voice from the earth in prophecy” (46:20). The causal references to necromancy (Deut 26:14, 1 Sam 28, cf. 1 Chr 10:13), its wide use by pious persons in the time of the Talmud, and Josephus’ positive attitude toward the woman of En-dor (Ant. 6:14:4), all indicate that while necromancy was censured by the Torah, it was in practice tolerated, and probably considered by the common folks an act of piety.67 There was apparently a related practice of ‫דורש אל המתים‬, which involved fasting and sleeping in cemeteries to find communion with the dead (cf. b. Sanhedrin 65b, b. Haggigah 3b). If ‫ ואוב‬Æ ‫ וָ ָבאוּ‬and ‫ ְק ָב ִרים‬Æ ‫ ְק ֻב ִרים‬as the Septuagint reads, then it ִ ‫דוש‬ makes sense to understand ‫וּמ ְמּקוֺם‬ ֺ ‫ ָק‬as alluding to something of a funerary nature. I suggest that here ‫ ָקד ֺוש ָמקוֺם‬is the burial place of a holy man (Ezek 39:11), though it could also be the residence of a holy man. The concept of a person who was a ‫ ָקדוֺש‬in the sense of being distinguished by his piety and spiritual closeness to God is attested in the Bible. Such person was Elisha (2 Kgs 4:9), or those who fear God (Ps 34:10), and perhaps the holy mentioned in Isa 4:3, Hos 1:12, Zec 14:5, Job 5:1, Prov 9:10, and 30:3. The tradition of the saintly or holy man and his power found expression in later times in such statements as “said the Holy One, Blessed be He, ‘I rule over man, but who rules over me? The Saint, for when I issue a decree, he sets it aside’” (b. Moed Katan 16b). The Mishnah in b. Sanhedrin 65a has: ‫בעל אוב זה פיתום המדבר משחיו וידעוני זה המדבר בפיו הרי אלו בסקילה והנשאל בהם‬ ‫באזהרה‬ The difference in punishment is notable. Use of a necromancer warranted only a warning, perhaps because the custom was quite accepted. 67

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

It stands to reason that these holy men were visited, consulted, and venerated during their life (Gen 25:22, 2 Kgs 4:23) and after their death, in particular in a society that believed that the dead continued to affect life on earth.68 The Psalmist confession, “as to the holy and mighty ones that are in the land (grave?), those who espouse another, may have many sorrows! I will have no part in their bloody libations; their name will not pass my lips” (Ps 16:3-4), speaks volumes of the veneration of the holy men after their death.69 It is probably not far fetched to assume that the place of Moses’ burial was concealed (Deut 34:6) to avoid such veneration. If this understanding is correct, then Qohelet observes the wicked engaged in acts of piety focused on the dead. They visit the graves, go to necromancers, and frequent the graves of holy men (or visit living holy men). While the Hebrew Bible rejects all customs related to the worship of the dead, it is notable that feeding the dead was apparently practiced in the time of the Second Temple and was considered an act of piety at least among some of the “God fearers.” We find in Tobit 4:17 “Pour out your bread on the burial of the just, but give nothing to the wicked.” Similarly Ben Sira bears witness to this custom, though he opposes it. We read in Ecclesiasticus 30:18 “Delicacies poured upon a mouth shut up are as messes of meat set upon a grave” (cf. the Hebrew version in Sir 30:21). The causal description of a dead man’s revival upon touching Elisha’s bones (2 Kgs 13:21) would be inconceivable if some holiness and magic is not believed to have been retained by the dead. Taken together with the belief in the existence of Sheol and existence in Sheol, causal references to necromancy (Deut 26:14, 1 Sam 28), Job’s ruminations about hiding in and emerging from Sheol,70 and archeological evidence,71 one gets a strong 68

R. Yehoshua, upon receiving a satisfying rationale according to the teachings of the Shamai Academy, for a judicial question that bothered him, went to the graves of Beth Shamai in an act of appreciation (b. Hagigah 22b). R. Mani threw himself prostrate over his father’s grave in prayer for rain (b. Taanit 23b). 69 Qohelet makes it clear in 9:6 that the dead cannot benefit from what goes on earth. This view, however, does not undermine the possibility that the dead could affect what happens on earth. 70 Althann, R. “Job and the idea of the beatific afterlife.” OTE 4,3 (1991) 322. Althann believes that looking forward to a beatific afterlife is suggested in Job 19:25-27. The metaphor of the mythical phoenix in Job 29:18 indicates to him that “Job expects a life after death. The point of the comparison in colon 1 is precisely that death is not the end. Just as the destruction of the mythical bird’s nest is the source of new life, of a new phoenix, so Job’s death would be the gateway to a new

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feeling about the existence of popular beliefs regarding some post-mortem existence, which were not sanctioned but also not actively combated.72 Bickerman says, “Although the conventional view was that the spirit returns to God who gave it (Tob 3:6, Koh 12:7), the Jews continued to cling to the primeval belief in the continuous existence of the departed in their graves as long as their bones remained there. The tomb was man’s eternal home, as Kohelet (12:5) said. Offerings of food, generally bread and wine, were commonly brought to the grave in ancient Israel, the Lawgiver having forbidden only the offering of consecrated food to the dead (Deut 26:14).”73 The pious were apparently engaged in these activities of serving, reaching out to the dead and getting guidance from them. Qohelet saw the wicked doing the same things as the pious. Perhaps the wicked were repenting? As far as I could ascertain not a single commentator considered the possibility that Qohelet refers to a case of genuine repentance, though it has been suggested that the wicked frequent the holy place for “show” and deception. Yet, assuming that Qohelet saw the wicked repent makes sense, and it provides a context for a natural explanation of the verse. The event, from a theological standpoint, should have been prima facie evidence that God’s attribute of “slow to anger” is justified. It should have been preserved as an example of an actual case in which “slow to anger” was operative in a familiar and verifiable setting. To Qohelet surprise, in the city where the repentance occurred and was observed it was also completely forgotten. This was truly absurd. life for him.” 71 Friedman, R. E. and Dolansky, S. “Death and Afterlife: The Biblical Silence.” In Judaism in Late Antiquity, Part 4 (eds. Avery-Peck, A. J. and Neusner, J.). Leiden: Brill (2000) 36-37. The authors say, “We know that there was belief in an afterlife in Israel. The combination of archeological records and the references that we do have in the text leave little room for doubt.” They note the funerary archeological findings in Megiddo, Gezer, Tel Abu Hawam, Beth Shemesh, Sahab (TransJordan), and Dothan. 72 Brichto, H. C. “Kin, Cult, Land, and Afterlife—A Biblical Complex.” HUCA 44 (1973) 29. For instance, with respect to Deut 26:14 Brichto notes “not only does this verse attest to the practice, as late as the time of Deuteronomy, of offerings made to the dead; it attests that normative biblical religion accorded them the sanction of toleration.” 73 Bickerman, E. J. The Jews in the Greek Age. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press (1988) 272.

164

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES In my view the Urtext was as follows, ‫וּמקוֺם ָקדוֺש יְ ַה ֵלּכוּ‬ ְ ‫יתי ְר ָש ִעים ְק ָב ִרים וְ אוֺב‬ ִ ‫וּב ֵכן ָר ִא‬ ְ ‫ן־עש ֹוּ גַ ם־זֶ ה ָה ֶבל‬ ָ ‫וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ ָב ִעיר ֲא ֶשר ֵכּ‬

“and also I saw wicked frequenting graves, and necromancer, and place of a holy. And they were forgotten in the city in which they did so (correctly?). This too is absurd.” The verse can be paraphrased: “And I observed persons, who were considered wicked, frequenting cemeteries, necromancers, and the places of holy men. Yet they were not noted in the place where they did so. This too is absurd.” The suggested Urtext is only slightly different than the MT and does not require the emendation of ‫ וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ‬to ‫וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְבּחוּ‬. The specific changes are: (1) ‫ ְק ֻב ִרים‬has been revocalized as ‫; ְק ָב ִרים‬ (2) ‫ וָ ָבאוּ‬has been reordered and revocalized as ‫ ;וְ אוֺב‬and, ִ the ‫ ִמ‬was dropped. (3) in ‫וּמ ְמּקוֺם‬ As we have seen in the ANALYSIS section, most of the scholarship on Qoh 8:10 rejects the MT reading ‫ ְק ֻב ִרים‬. The words ‫ ְק ֻב ִרים‬and ‫ ְק ָב ִרים‬differ in a single vowel. Metathesis occurs frequently in the Hebrew Bible, as attested by the Ketib-Qere system.74 While metatheses involving two transpositions are less frequent than single transpositions, they are also attested in the Ketib-Qere system. It is certainly possible to justify the extra ‫ מ‬as an error of dittography.75 Thus, it would be relatively easy to understand how the MT could have arisen by a scribe making simple errors in transcription. I think, however, that the changes that have been made were intentional, and the justification for them was that they could have been scribal error. The construct X + (Y‫ )ו‬+ (Z‫ )ו‬occurs several times in

74 Tur-Sinai, 106-149. Most of the metathesis cases in the Ketib-Qere system involve only one transposition (ab Æ ba). There are, however, cases of more than one transposition: 2 Sam 14:30 ‫( והוצתיה‬K) but ‫( והציתוה‬Q); Isa 10:10 ‫( ולשימו‬K) but ‫( ;ולשומי‬Q); Neh 12:14 ‫( למלוכי‬K) ‫( למליכו‬Q); Exod 40:3 ‫ הפרכת‬but in other places ‫ ;הכפרת‬Gen 23:5 ‫ הביא‬but ‫ אביהו‬in the Septuagint; Jud 21:17 ‫ ירשת‬but ‫תשיר‬ ‫ = תשאר‬in the Septuagint; 1 Sam 13:20 ‫ מחרשתו‬but ‫ חרמשו‬in the Septuagint, etc. 75 The Ketib-Qere system attests to the following cases of a missing or extra :‫מ‬ 2 Sam 22:16 ‫( ויהמם‬K) but ‫( ויהם‬Q); 2 Kgs 12:12 ‫( הפקדים‬K) but ‫( המפקדים‬Q); 2 Kgs 17:16 ‫( שנים‬K) but ‫( שני‬Q); 2 Kgs 17:24 ‫( וספרוים‬K) but ‫( וספרוים‬Q); Ezek 44:23 ‫( לשפט‬K) but ‫( למשפט‬Q).

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Qohelet (2:7, 8, 12, 21, etc.). The suggested reading also eliminates the need to use the piel ‫ יְ ַה ֵלּכוּ‬for the qal ‫ ָה ְלכוּ‬. I have already mentioned that Jastrow detected in many instances in Qohelet the hand of a pious commentator. In particular, he ascribes the verses that follow Qoh 8:10 (v. 11-13) to this commentator. Jastrow says, “At this point, our pious commentator enters upon an elaborate argument (verses 11-13) somewhat in the style of Job’s friends to prove that the wicked are punished, even though the punishment be delayed. ‘Because the sentence for an evil deed is not promptly carried out, therefore the inclination of man is to do evil [cf. Gen 8:21]. But although a sinner does a great deal of evil and is accorded a respite, yet I know that good fortune will attend those who fear God [comment or variant: Those who fear His presence] and that it shall not be well for the wicked, and that he will not lengthen out his days as a shadow [?], because he does not fear the presence of God.’” 76 The cause for this outburst by the pious commentator can be found within the framework of the Urtext that I have suggested. It stands to reason that the pious commentator did not like in the Urtext before him two things: (1) consideration of necromancy as an act of piety; and, (2) the view that “slow to anger” has justification in the potential for repentance. He took care of the first problem by changing ‫ ואוב‬into ‫ובאו‬, and adding a ‫ מ‬to ‫ומקום‬, all changes that can be justified by being simple scribal errors. This completely obliterated Qohelet’s original thought. But that was not enough. It was necessary not only to eliminate Qohelet’s original thought, but to replace it with the normative thinking. That is why verses 11-13 were inserted.

CONCLUSION I suggest that at some time prior to the formation of the Septuagint, a pious scribe considered the Urtext reading, ‫וּמקוֺם ָקדוֺש יְ ַה ֵלּכוּ‬ ְ ‫יתי ְר ָש ִעים ְק ָב ִרים וְ אוֺב‬ ִ ‫וּב ֵכן ָר ִא‬ ְ ‫ן־עש ֹוּ גַ ם־זֶ ה ָה ֶבל‬ ָ ‫וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ ָב ִעיר ֲא ֶשר ֵכּ‬ as offensive, because it condoned necromancy and presented it as a mark of piety. Moreover, Qohelet’s view that wicked could become pious, and consequently God’s being “slow to anger” has justification, was at odds 76

Jastrow, 229.

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

with the normative position, which argued that this attribute of God promotes wickedness since it creates a time-disconnect between the crime and its punishment. This pious scribe masterfully changed the Urtext within the constraints of acceptable human error, obtaining a text that suggested the burial of the wicked. Apparently the sages of that time (or later) felt that the custom of giving burial to anyone needs strengthening and came up with the homiletic ‫( אל תיקרי וישתכחו אלא וישתבחו‬b. Gittin 56b). The Septuagint reflects this traditional view. Yet, ‫ אל תיקרי וישתכחו אלא וישתבחו‬in fact only strengthens the reading of ‫ וְ יִ ְש ַתּ ְכּחוּ‬in the MT. Yet, when we return to the suggested Urtext, we are in the presence of a deep thinker and keen observer, as Qohelet was. His theodicy, based on actual observation, dared to go against the accepted norms. God’s attribute of “slow to anger” has justification in real life, wickedness is not pathological. Why then are cases of wicked turning into pious men so quickly forgotten? And, that even in the place where they have occurred? The pious commentator provides the answer. These cases were forgotten because they clashed with the convenient normative theology. This is in Qohelet view an absurdity, because wicked turning into pious men should have been considered as instances that strengthen the theological foundations.

BEYOND PURITY AND DANGER: MARY DOUGLAS AND THE HEBREW BIBLE RONALD HENDEL UNIV. OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY AND

SAUL M. OLYAN BROWN UNIVERSITY The brilliant anthropologist Mary Douglas (1921-2007) has left an enduring mark on biblical scholarship. Although she had no formal training as a biblical scholar and knew only a little Biblical Hebrew, her forays into the Hebrew Bible were path breaking. She began her biblical adventures in 1966 with “The Abominations of Leviticus,”1 which remains her bestknown and most frequently anthologized essay. In it she recast the study of biblical ritual into a new key – focusing on the anomalies (“dirt is matter out of place”) that illuminate the conceptual categories at the heart of ancient Israel’s religious and cosmological vision. In a subsequent study, “Deciphering a Meal,”2 she related these conceptual categories to the structure and boundaries of Israel’s social order, in line with the anthropological imperative to investigate the correlations between social institutions and religious practices. She returned to the Hebrew Bible in her later years with a complex biblical trilogy, In the Wilderness (1993), Leviticus as Literature (1999), and

Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1966), 41–57. 2 Mary Douglas, Implicit Meanings: Essays in Anthropology (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1975), 249–75. 1

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Jacob’s Tears (2004).3 In these books she engaged in a sustained reading of the literary structures of the biblical books of Numbers and Leviticus. Most important, she brought to bear her mature theory of cultural analysis (first conceived in Natural Symbols, 1970),4 in which she worked out a correlation between types of societies (and institutions) and the types of religious and cosmological systems that these social structures support. For example, the contrasting cosmologies and ritual systems of P versus D can be explained in relation to the differing social institutions and commitments of the two sources. P’s social world and cosmology are hierarchical, and P’s discourse is correspondingly terse and analogically ordered. D’s social world is more individualist, and D’s cosmology is correspondingly focused on individual responsibility and interior dispositions. D’s discourse is more rhetorical, based on exhortation rather than densely nested system.5 Although the study of biblical ritual has been profoundly affected by Douglas’s work (see, e.g., the many references to Douglas in Jacob Milgrom’s magisterial Leviticus commentary in the Anchor Bible series), her legacy is still under construction. The current collection of essays illustrates this situation, as five scholars of biblical ritual refine, critique, and extend her theories in new directions. This is a generation of scholars for whom Purity and Danger has always been a classic – a source of inspiration (and occasional irritation) and a necessary point of departure for the scholarly study of biblical ritual. The five articles that follow in the journal engage Douglas’s studies of the Hebrew Bible from a variety of perspectives and on a variety of topics. Each contributor provides theoretical elaboration and critique of Douglas’s ideas. Several essays expand upon Douglas’s efforts to uncover the larger native structures of meaning underlying ritual or textual details and patterns, concluding that Douglas’s insights are applicable to data that Mary Douglas, In the Wilderness: The Doctrine of Defilement in the Book of Numbers (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993); idem, Leviticus as Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); idem, Jacob’s Tears: The Priestly Work of Reconciliation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004). 4 Mary Douglas, Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology (2nd ed.; New York: Random House, 1973). 5 The implications of Douglas’s cultural theory for the relationship between D and P had already been outlined by Ernest Nicholson, “Deuteronomy’s Vision of Israel,” Storia e tradizioni di Israele: Scritti in onore di J. Alberto Soggin, ed. D. Garrone and F. Israel (Brescia: Paideia, 1991), 191–203. 3

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SAUL M. OLYAN

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she did not consider herself. Some of the papers focus on Douglas’s early work; others on her later ideas. Several of the authors specifically address Douglas’s influence on their own work. Hendel’s essay places Douglas in the larger intellectual contexts of modernism in general and anthropological modernism in particular. In contrast to its evolutionary-oriented predecessors, anthropological modernism “turned away from great meta-narratives of cultural ascent and turned to micro-narratives of everyday events and cultural habits, yet always with an eye to reveal[ing] the fundamental and the universal in human culture.” Understanding Douglas as an heir of Radcliffe Brown, Malinowski, and Durkheim, Hendel shows how Douglas explores seemingly arbitrary ritual details such as the avoidance of pork with the goal of uncovering the larger, implicit native structures of meaning that constitute society, its elites, and its practices. For Douglas, the individual details reveal the larger reality. Marx elaborates upon Douglas’s argument in her most recent work that Leviticus as a literary work reproduces sacred geography in its structure. He applies this tack to two sacrificial laws in Leviticus 19 that have been interpreted as anomalous and intrusive in their literary context, concluding that “just as the structure of the tabernacle illuminates the structure of Leviticus, these two laws serve also to illuminate the following nonsacrificial laws,” revealing the principles that govern ritual and ethical relationships. Olyan’s focus is an assessment of what he calls Douglas’s holiness/wholeness paradigm. Introduced in the essay “The Abominations of Leviticus,” physical wholeness exemplifies holiness according to Douglas’s paradigm. Olyan begins by outlining several examples of the paradigm’s fruitful elaboration, and goes on to assess its strengths and weaknesses. Though the paradigm has been and continues to be influential and productive of insight, Olyan suggests that it has the potential to account for more phenomena if wholeness, rather than holiness, were to become its focus, given the demonstrated relationship of beauty to wholeness apart from considerations of holiness. Schmitt, who begins by acknowledging his intellectual debt to Douglas, provides a critique of Douglas’s construction of magic in her later works, which he finds less insightful than the views she expressed in earlier works such as Purity and Danger. Rejecting distinctions such as that between miracle and magic, Schmitt argues that biblical magic, in its various manifestations,

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

is treated in diverse ways by the text, and not in a single, negative way as Douglas claimed in her late works. Against Douglas, Schmitt finds that magic is not in itself incompatible with monotheism. Wright’s essay argues that Douglas’s method of ritual analysis demonstrated in “Deciphering a Meal”—that the particular detail is illuminated by its larger context—has great potential for insight through extension into new areas beyond culinary custom. It “even gets to the heart of the definition of what ritual is” according to Wright, who compares Catherine Bell’s theory of ritualization to Douglas’s syntagmatic analysis, and also considers whether such analysis can help us to understand ritual infelicity in contexts such as feasts and sacrifices with greater insight. Like Marx’s and Olyan’s contributions, Wright demonstrates how Douglas’s theorizing can be fruitfully elaborated and extended to materials she did not consider. The essays in this collection were originally presented at a special session of the International SBL meeting in Vienna in July 2007. Mary Douglas was eagerly looking forward to this session, where she was to be the respondent. Sadly, her plan was interrupted due to ill-health and mortality. She wrote in an e-mail in early May, “It breaks my heart that I cannot come to this lovely programme you have organized for me in Vienna. I am only just back from University College Hospital, and I cannot expect to be well enough to travel by July.” The following day she was knighted as Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire at a ceremony in Buckingham Palace. She passed away a week later, on May 16, 2007, at the age of 86. These essays are dedicated to her memory.

MARY DOUGLAS AND ANTHROPOLOGICAL MODERNISM RONALD HENDEL UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY INTRODUCTION Mary Douglas was one of the most brilliant and wide-ranging scholars of the last half-century, a period during which her subject—cultural anthropology—became an essential intellectual field. Among the many scholarly disciplines that she participated in and influenced, she had a longstanding engagement with scholarship of the Hebrew Bible. Although she was keenly aware of her lack of linguistic skills in her biblical work, her anthropological intelligence enabled her do path-breaking work in the study of biblical ritual, religion, and society. In a revealing essay titled “Why I Have to Learn Hebrew,” she describes the motives for her biblical studies: My personal project in the study of the Bible is to bring anthropology to bear on the sources of our own civilization. This is in itself enough of an explanation for having to learn Hebrew. But there is more. In preEnlightenment Europe, other religions were condemned as false, even as evil; the Enlightenment changed the condemnation to irrational superstition. Neither stance was conducive to understanding. The practice of anthropology has been to provide a critical, humane, and sensitive interpretation of other religions.1

As she observes, the anthropological study of biblical religion involves a twofold strategy. First, we must approach biblical religion in the same way 1 M. Douglas, “Why I Have to Learn Hebrew: The Doctrine of Sanctification,” The Comity and Grace of Method: Essays in Honor of Edmund F. Perry, eds. T. Ryba, G. D. Bond, and H. Tull (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 2004), 151.

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that anthropologists approach “other religions,” which is to say as an informed participant-observer. This stance involves a balance between critical distance and cultural empathy. A second step—really a corollary of the first—is to critique our own Western preconceptions about religion, in order to transcend the reductive dichotomies of revealed versus false religion or reason versus superstition. Ironically, in order to achieve “a critical, humane, and sensitive interpretation” of biblical religion, we must step aside from the biblical evaluation of “other religions,” and approach biblical religion as itself an “exotic” religion, a world that is both familiar and new. In many respects this anthropological approach is a refinement of the critical method in biblical studies developed by Spinoza, Herder, and others, which yielded what Jonathan Sheehan calls “the cultural Bible.”2 In Spinoza’s terms, this method addresses the Bible’s meanings within its own semantic and cultural horizons, and prescinds from theological judgments of truth and falsity.3 In Herder’s terms, it approaches biblical culture by means of participatory empathy (Einfühlung), bracketing our own cultural predispositions to the extent possible, and respecting the authenticity of its native structures of meaning.4 In other words, Mary Douglas’s anthropology does not present a wholly new method, but is a sophisticated and reflective development of the same critical method from which modern biblical studies arose. It is not surprising, therefore, that pioneers such as Herder and Robertson Smith were important figures in both biblical studies and cultural anthropology. Mary Douglas is a successor to these scholars, who brought to biblical studies an anthropological vision. In the following I will try to sketch the type of anthropological vision that she brought to bear, its intellectual backdrop, and a perspicuous example of her work on the Bible.

2 J. Sheehan, The Enlightenment Bible: Translation, Scholarship, Culture (Princeton: Princeton University Press), 219–21. 3 B. Spinoza, Theological-Political Treatise, ed. J. Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007 [Latin original, 1670]), ch. 7 (“On the Interpretation of Scripture”). 4 See I. Berlin, “Herder and the Enlightenment,” in idem, The Proper Study of Mankind: An Anthology of Essays (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1997), 359– 435, esp. 403–12.

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ANTHROPOLOGICAL MODERNISM In Mary Douglas: An Intellectual Biography, Richard Fardon describes Douglas’s oeuvre as “a classic expression of British anthropological modernism.”5 Anthropological modernism is shorthand for the dominant movement in British anthropology from roughly the 1920’s to the 1980’s. This movement was founded by Bronislaw Malinowski, professor at the London School of Economics, who championed the value of intensive fieldwork and “participant-observation,” and by A. R. Radcliffe-Brown, professor at Oxford, who melded Émile Durkheim’s theoretical sociology into a working model of “functionalism,” which focused on how social phenomena and practices mesh to create a coherent social system. As Adam Kuper describes this confluence of strategies and ideas: Malinowski brought a new realism to social anthropology, with his lively awareness of the flesh-and-blood interests behind custom, and his radically new mode of observation. Radcliffe-Brown introduced the intellectual discipline of French sociology, and constructed a more rigorous battery of concepts to order the ethnographic materials.6

An important strand of anthropological modernism is the turning away from evolutionary theories of human culture, which had, in good Victorian fashion, produced triumphal narratives of human ascent from primitive superstition to modern Western science. There are many reasons for the turn away from evolutionary theory, not least the devastations of World War I, which battered common faith in cultural evolution and progress. Modernism in general is characterized by a turn away from naive evolutionism and toward a cross-cultural examination of the human condition. Part of the stimulus was the dissemination of the art and literature of non-Western cultures—consider Picasso’s fascination with the abstractions of ancient and tribal art, or Eliot’s and Pound’s interest in Asian literature—which raised awareness of the complexity of other cultures. Anthropological modernism shares its intellectual horizons with other modernisms. The distinctive features of literary modernism are brilliantly

5

260.

R. Fardon, Mary Douglas: An Intellectual Biography (London: Routledge, 1999),

A. Kuper, Anthropology and Anthropologists: The Modern British School (2nd ed.; London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1983), 36. 6

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described by Erich Auerbach in his classic study, Mimesis.7 He observes a shift from the narration of great events and heroic protagonists to a focus on mundane, everyday events, which in their minute details are revelatory of universal human conditions. This shift in emphasis expresses something that we might call a transfer of confidence: the great exterior turning points and blows of fate are granted less importance; they are credited with less power of yielding decisive information concerning the subject; on the other hand there is confidence that in any random fragment plucked from the course of a life at any time the totality of its fate is contained and can be portrayed. There is greater confidence in syntheses gained through full exploitation of an everyday occurrence than in a chronologically well-ordered total treatment which accompanies the subject from beginning to end, attempts not to omit anything externally important, and emphasizes the great turning points of destiny.8

In other words, a large-scale and chronologically ordered realism gives way to a fragmented and subjective modernism, a messy and quizzical version of realism, which focuses on everyday events and details, and ordinary, unheroic protagonists. This is also the move of anthropological modernism, which turned away from great meta-narratives of cultural ascent and turned to micro-narratives of everyday events and cultural habits, yet always with an eye to reveal the fundamental and the universal in human culture. Auerbach further unpacks the implications of the modernist engagement with everyday events and their link with the universal, commenting on a mundane yet revelatory moment in Virginia Wolff’s To the Lighthouse: [W]hat happens in that moment [while Mrs. Ramsey is measuring a stocking] ... concerns in a very personal way the individuals who live in it, but it also (and for that very reason) concerns the elementary things which men in general have in common. It is precisely the random moment which is comparatively independent of the controversial and unstable orders over which men fight and despair; it passes unaffected 7 E. Auerbach, Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1953), 525–53 (ch. 20, “The Brown Stocking”). 8 Auerbach, Mimesis, 547–48.

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by them, as daily life. The more it is exploited, the more the elementary things which our lives have in common come to light.9

This search for the universal in the particular—in the mundane and everyday events that are largely unaffected by the vicissitudes of public politics and controversy—lies at the heart of anthropological modernism as well as literary. For Virginia Wolff, the scene of a woman measuring a stocking can be revelatory. For Mary Douglas, a joke or a meal can be a revelatory event or, in her friend Victor Turner’s words, a social drama, in which “the elementary things which our lives have in common come to light.” According to this modernist insight, the deep forms of human life and culture—whether of a particular culture or culture in general—are best pursued by teasing out the implications and connections of everyday, particular events, rather than the more famous unique events of political or public life. From this modernist insight, the historian Fernand Braudel developed his research program which emphasized the relatively unchanging habits and conditions of the longue durée, rather than restricting one’s focus to the unique events of l’histoire événementielle (“event-history”). The habits of everyday human practices are the preferred scope of modernist inquiry, for they open the path to understanding the complex relationship between the universal and the particular. This is the nexus that enables us to relate in “a critical, humane, and sensitive” way (in Mary Douglas’s words) with other peoples and cultures, and with our own cultural and religious past. The philosophical imperative to “know thyself” now involves knowledge of everyday habits and mundane practices, both in exotic cultures and our own. As Auerbach observes, in modernism this cross-cultural impulse results in a cultural universalism in which “there are no longer even exotic peoples,”10 since the others—seen in their particularity, not in abstract caricature—are now recognizably like us.

DOUGLAS AND DURKHEIM As mentioned above, anthropological modernism took a good deal of its intellectual capital from the pioneering work of Émile Durkheim. Durkheim, the scion of an eminent lineage of French rabbis, became a

9

Auerbach, Mimesis, 552. Auerbach, Mimesis, 552.

10

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secular rationalist and a founder of modern sociology.11 Although Durkheim’s writings maintain a wavering commitment to evolutionary theories of culture, many of the strategies and insights of anthropological modernism are represented, at least germinally, in his work, such as the view of society as a functional system and, perhaps most importantly, the embeddedness of cognitive and moral categories in social life. (I would note that much of what we call postmodernism also derives from aspects of Durkheim’s work, particularly his emphasis on the social construction of— and constraints upon—our systems of knowledge.12) Mary Douglas describes Durkheim as one of the great modern discoverers of “the secret places of the mind.”13 Like Marx and Freud, Durkheim showed that we are not entirely who we think we are, that we are shaped by forces beyond our conscious knowledge and will. This is a type of modernist insight, revealing a reality shaped by non-rational and unconscious forces, and uncovering a dimension of our selves and motives that is hidden from ordinary awareness. Douglas avers, however, that Durkheim flinched from pursuing the implications of his discovery of the social embeddedness of cognitive and moral categories. He held that primitive tribal cultures, united by “mechanical solidarity” (i.e., characterized by small size and nested social segments) are deeply shaped by social forces, which yield a shared collective consciousness and conscience. In contrast, modern Western cultures, united by a looser and more differentiated “organic solidarity” (i.e., characterized by a division of labor and greater population) are relatively immune to such forces, enabling the flourishing of individual thought. (Durkheim brilliantly argued that the modern concept of the individual is a distinctive outcome of organic solidarity.)14 As such, he exempted our culture from the implications of his analysis of simpler “primitive” cultures. Douglas compares the impact of Durkheim’s truncated theory with the impact of the other theorists: Marx and Freud were not sanguine when they unveiled the secret places See S. Lukes, Émile Durkheim: His Life and Work (London: Penguin, 1973). See K. E. Fields, “Introduction,” in É. Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, trans. Fields (New York: Free Press, 1995 [French original, 1912]), xxiii. 13 See n. 14. 14 É. Durkheim, The Division of Labor in Society, trans. W. D. Halls (New York: Free Press, 1997 [French original, 1893]); see Lukes, Durkheim, 147–72. 11 12

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of the mind. Marx, when he showed ideology for a flimsy justification of control, shook the great chancelleries. The scene of anguished hate and fear which Freud exposed to view was just as alarming at a more intimate level. The first looked to a long-span historical determination of political forms and the second to a short-span determination of the emotions in family life. Between these two, another intermediate span is necessary that Durkheim’s insights were ready to supply: the social determination of culture. It should have become the central critical task of philosophy in this century to integrate these three basic approaches.15

But since Durkheim exempted modern Western culture from the social entanglements of thought and practice that he found in primitive cultures, he authorized cultural anthropology to focus on “exotic” and “primitive” non-Western societies, and not to turn the anthropological gaze upon ourselves. Mary Douglas, more than any other modern anthropologist, explicitly revoked Durkheim’s exemption for modern Western societies from anthropological study. She argued that our thoughts, habits, and categories are also entangled in our social environments, in ways of which we are largely unaware. Douglas described this dimension of culture in various ways—as “implicit knowledge,” “cultural bias,” or “thought-styles”—and regarded it as the task of anthropological investigation to show how modern lives are shot through with practices, commitments, and habits of thought that are shaped by our social environments. In other words, our “forms of social life” and our “forms of moral judgment” are deeply interrelated, each supporting and ratifying the other, without our conscious awareness that this is so. This is the implication of Durkheim’s great discovery, which Mary Douglas has developed in various areas—in economics, risk theory, and even biblical studies. In so doing, she took on the delicate task of critiquing one’s own cultural bias, the social environment of one’s own commitments. This is a high-wire act, which requires empathy and critical distance regarding one’s own social engagements and cognitive situation. But this is a modernist dilemma that no one can escape, even—or especially—the postmodernists among us, who embrace the cultural politics of all knowledge. We are each implicated in our own inquiries—for example, in M. Douglas, Implicit Meanings: Essays in Anthropology (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1975), xx. 15

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the study of the Bible, which is our own heritage. This is a Janus-faced inquiry, for as we study particular cultures, we are simultaneously confronting the social forces that shape our own thought, thereby entering a labyrinthine and mirrored inquiry. The results—as Durkheim and Douglas would agree—will always be provisional, but it is an inquiry well worth the risk. Although Douglas consistently viewed her work as a development of Durkheim’s sociological project, in one important respect she diverged from his basic understanding of the social embeddedness of religious thought. Durkheim, as a good rationalist, viewed religion as a surplus or supplement added to the real world, originating as a projection of social needs and goods. He writes: [U]pon the real world where profane life is lived, [man] superimposes another that, in a sense, exists only in his thought, but one to which he ascribes a higher kind of dignity than he ascribes to the real world of profane life. In two respects, then, this other world is an ideal one.16

The sacred is an ideal world in the sense of its moral perfection and in its ultimate fictiveness. Religion, therefore, is a cognitive and performative supplement to the real world, even as it performs decisive functions in this world. In contrast, Mary Douglas, as a practicing Catholic, viewed the sacred as a supplement to the profane world that is found as well as made. It is part and parcel of the real world, yet—and this is the key point—what is found is always conditioned by one’s implicit knowledge and cultural bias. The sacred, like other aspects of reality, is perceived through the medium of human consciousness and the social forms that condition our consciousness. The difference between Durkheim, a secular Jew, and Douglas, a practicing Catholic, has to do with the etiology of religion, and implicates their own social environments. But irrespective of the origin of religion—which modernism tends to eschew as the province of outdated evolutionary theories or as sheer speculation—there is continuity of anthropological method and of the central insight of the social entanglement of our thoughts and habits.

THE ABOMINABLE PIG Let us consider the implications of anthropological modernism in Mary Douglas’s work on the Bible. In her famous study of the biblical dietary 16

Durkheim, Elementary Forms, 424.

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prohibitions (in Purity and Danger), she makes an essential modernist move in rejecting the older evolutionary model in which irrational magic (including ritual) belongs to the primitive stages of humanity, contrasted with the sacramental theology of modern Western (viz. Protestant) religion, which belongs to a more advanced stage of reason and morality. She confutes this dichotomy by showing that ritual has its reasons too, which are not at all irrational, and that modern religion too has symbolic actions; indeed “it is impossible to have social relations without symbolic acts.”17 Consider the pig taboo, a famous detail in the dietary laws of Leviticus 11.18 Douglas first shows how various medieval and modern interpretations of this ritual detail are spurious, because they are ad hoc and divorced from the wider realities of the cultural system. She argues that this is neither an irrational superstition (in Protestant theological terms, a “dead work”), nor a moral symbol (the pig as filthy or evil or an allegory of slothfulness), nor an instance of primitive medicine (avoidance of trichinosis).19 Rather than accepting these piecemeal explanations, she takes seriously the details and context of the ritual instruction. The text says: These you shall not eat, apart from those that chew the cud and have (cloven) hooves: .... the pig, for it has hooves which are cloven, but it does not chew the cud—it is unclean for you. (Lev 11:4,7)

These are ordinary, mundane-seeming details, but like a good modernist, Douglas traces the larger implications of the ordinary to unfold the conceptual world that it implies. She argues in good anthropological fashion that the pig taboo is part of a larger cultural system: Defilement is never an isolated event. It cannot occur except in view of a systematic ordering of ideas. Hence any piecemeal interpretation of the pollution rules of another culture is bound to fail. For the only way Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1966), 62. 18 In the following discussion, I synthesize details of several of Douglas’s discussions. She consistently revised her own views and sometimes rejected earlier versions. My comments represent a critical appropriation of her work—and include judicious pruning of her occasional errors, on which see, e.g., J. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16 (New York: Doubleday, 1991), 719–21. 19 It is unlikely that people in antiquity would have associated this disease with eating inadequately cooked pork; this correlation was only discovered in 1846. Moreover, as Douglas argues, this is not the reason given in Leviticus, and it fails to explain why all other non-ruminants are also prohibited. 17

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In this instance, she argues, “When something is firmly classed as anomalous the outline of the set in which it is not a member is clarified.”21 What is the set that the pig taboo and the allied taboos on camel, rock badger, and rabbit (Lev 11:4–6) clarify? The set in which they are not members is the land animals permitted for Israel’s food—animals which chew the cud and have cloven hooves (viz. cattle, sheep, goats, and the antelope family). The animals explicitly listed as excluded each have one of the two traits, but lack the other, so they mark a red line around the category of permitted cuisine. The reason the pig is singled out, along with the other three prohibited animals, is that these are borderline cases, pointing to the “cloven-hoofed, cud-chewing ungulates [which] are the model of the proper kind of food.”22 Why should these animals constitute a model of proper cuisine? Douglas observes (after Purity and Danger) that the category of land animals permitted for Israel’s food maps very closely onto the category of the land animals permitted for sacrifice to God (with the further qualification that sacrificial animals must be unblemished and domestic), setting up an analogy between God and Israel: permitted for God’s altar :: permitted for Israel’s table As Douglas notes, “a very strong analogy between table and altar stares us in the face.”23 This analogy between table and altar “invests the individual meal with additional meaning.”24 Drawing out the consequences of this analogy, Douglas finds that a number of features of the Israelite conceptual world are implicitly encoded into this food symbolism, including the following hierarchies:25 geography: holy space (altar) profane space (Israelite table) foreign space (foreign table, where all animals are permitted) Douglas, Purity and Danger, 41. Douglas, Purity and Danger, 38. 22 Douglas, Purity and Danger, 54. 23 M. Douglas, “Deciphering a Meal,” in idem, Implicit Meanings: Essays in Anthropology (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1975), 262. 24 Douglas, “Deciphering a Meal,” 257. 25 Douglas, “Deciphering a Meal,” 263–69; see further Milgrom, Leviticus, 721– 26; D. P. Wright, “Unclean and Clean (OT),” ABD 6. 739–41. 20 21

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people: holy people (priests, who officiate at the altar) profane people (all other Israelites) foreign people (outside of system of holy/profane) cosmic domains and their denizens: land, with land animals water, with water animals sky, with sky animals In other words, the prohibition of certain animals calls into play the structure of the created cosmos (land, water, sky, see Genesis 1), the distinctions and relationship between God, Israel, and other humans, and the divisions of holy and profane persons. This latter distinction also implicitly asserts the religious authority of the priests, who—not surprisingly—are the authors of Leviticus 11 and who administer its laws and practices. Distinctions of cosmos, divinity, ethnicity, and religious authority—of knowledge and power—are articulated within this system and are ritually enacted in the daily meal. As Douglas argues, the purity rules infuse into ordinary practices a multivalent system of implicit meanings. From her study of seemingly obscure details—including the food taboos, sexual taboos, and other matters of purity and impurity—comes a richer comprehension of biblical religion and cosmology. She summarizes her analysis of this system as follows: It consists of rules of behaviour, actions and expectations which constitute society itself. The rules which generate and sustain society allow meanings to be realised which otherwise would be undefined and ungraspable.... As in any social system, these rules are specifications which draw analogies between states. The cumulative power of the analogies enable one situation to be matched to another, related by equivalence, negation, hierarchy and inclusion. We discover their interrelatedness because of the repetitive formulas on which they are constructed, the economy and internal consistency of the patterns. The purity rules of the Bible ... set up the great inclusive categories in which the whole universe is hierarchised and structured.”26

The abominable pig in Leviticus is not an irrational superstition, a prescientific prophylactic, or a moral allegory. It is an instance of human social M. Douglas, “Critique and Commentary,” in J. Neusner, The Idea of Purity in Ancient Judaism (Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity 1; Leiden: Brill, 1973), 138–39. 26

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and symbolic behavior—of participating in and constituting the meaning of the world through everyday practices. It involves both the stability of the cultural-religious system and the risk of disruption and disorder. These rules and practices, Douglas observes, “are a single system of analogies, [which] do not converge on any one point but sustain the whole moral and physical universe simultaneously in their systematic interrelatedness.”27 As Erich Auerbach would observe, this is a modernist perspective, a “synthes[i]s gained through full exploitation of an everyday occurrence,” in which individual details are revelatory of the larger reality. As Durkheim would add, it is an exemplary anthropological demonstration of how rituals embed cognitive and moral categories in social life. Through the social practice of purity laws, the real is infused with the ideal. In all of these respects, the instance of the abominable pig shows the richness and explanatory scope of Mary Douglas’s version of anthropological modernism. 28

Douglas, “Critique and Commentary,” 140. For further elaboration of the Priestly food laws in a Douglasian mode, see R. Hendel, “Table and Altar: The Anthropology of Food in the Priestly Torah,” To Break Every Yoke: Essays in Honor of Marvin L. Chaney, eds. R. B. Coote and N. K. Gottwald (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2007), 131–48. 27 28

THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THE SACRIFICIAL LAWS AND THE OTHER LAWS IN LEVITICUS 19 ALFRED MARX FACULTY OF PROTESTANT THEOLOGY UNIVERSITY OF STRASBOURG Not only did Mary Douglas’ writings on purity and impurity spark a new interest in the study of Leviticus which had been neglected for a long time,1 she also contributed directly to this study by insisting, first, on the fact that Leviticus is not just part of the P document, but, whatever its connections with other P material in the Pentateuch might be, a book in its own right, and, secondly, on the fact that Leviticus is not simply an aggregate of different redactional layers but a literary work composed with great care.2 These insights, revolutionary as they were at that time, are now commonly accepted. However, exegetes of Leviticus have not really taken the full measure of another aspect of her approach: the conviction that there is no clear-cut distinction between sacral geography, ritual, and literature. She thus sees the structure of Leviticus as reflecting the threefold division of the tabernacle, the narratives of chapters 8–10 and 24 corresponding to the screens that separate respectively the Holy from the Holy of Holies and the Outer court from the Holy.3 Similarly, in the case of a communion sacrifice, the disposition of the various parts of the sacrificed animal on the altar is thought to reproduce the three zones of Mount Sinai and the three parts of Purity and Danger (London: Routledge and Kegan; 1967). Leviticus as Literature (Oxford: University Press; 1999). On Leviticus as a book, see Rolf Rendtorff, “Is it Possible to Read Leviticus as a Separate Book?,” in Reading Leviticus: A Conversation with Mary Douglas (John F.A. Sawyer, ed., Sheffield: Academic Press; 1996, JSOTS 227), 22–35. 3 Leviticus as Literature, 195–251. 1 2

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the tabernacle.4 Mary Douglas thus associates elements which at first sight might seem totally unrelated. The present paper wants to elaborate on that other aspect of her study of Leviticus in attempting to explain the surprising presence of two sacrificial laws in Leviticus 19, a chapter which otherwise is mainly concerned with altogether other issues. This is, of course, not the only instance in which sacrifice is referred to outside Leviticus 1–7; almost every chapter of Leviticus 1–16 mentions sacrifice. In Leviticus 17–27, however, these mentions are less frequent, especially as regards the regulations relating to special kinds of sacrifice. In fact, the only other case where we can find such specific regulation is the case of the tôdāh legislation in Lev 22:29–30. The presence of sacrificial laws in these chapters has generally been explained as an intrusion by a later redactor, if it has not been ignored altogether. Still, as Jacob Milgrom rightly observes, the question remains why these laws have been interpolated at that very place and not in chapters 1–7, where we would have expected them.5 It is generally agreed upon that Leviticus 19 occupies a key position in Leviticus. Indeed it is distinctly set apart. As Mary Douglas pointed out, it is central to the ring composition of Leviticus.6 Clearly, its authors wanted to emphasize the importance of this chapter—which has sometimes been labelled as catechism7—by placing it between, on the one hand, chapters 18 and 20, which are addressed to the “sons of Israel,” and, on the other, chapters 17 and 21–22, which addressed to “Aaron and his sons” in particular. Leviticus 19 is thus situated at the very centre of a concentric structure. This chapter is also set apart by the fact that its addressees are not, as previously, the “sons of Israel” but the “whole congregation of the sons of Israel,” which, it should be pointed out, is the only case in Leviticus where the congregation of Israel is specifically addressed. Moreover, the Leviticus as Literature, 66–86. Leviticus 17–22 (New York: Doubleday; 2000, AB 3A), 1615. 6 Mary Douglas, “The Forbidden Animals in Leviticus,” JSOT 59 (1993), 3–23 (see 10–11). See also Leviticus as Literature, 239. The central place of that chapter is also demonstrated by the observation made by Luciani that ch. 19 is with ch. 25– 26, the only section of Leviticus that contains allusion to nearly all the other parts of the book, see Didier Luciani, Sainteté et pardon (Leuven: Peeters; 2005, BEThL 185), 268. Interestingly, this observation coincides with the observation made by Mary Douglas that ch. 26 matches ch. 19 (Douglas, “Forbidden…,” 10). 7 See especially Erhard S. Gerstenberger, Das dritte Buch Mose: Leviticus (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht; 1993, ATD 6), 238–242. 4 5

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addressees are urged to “be holy as I am holy.” This expression, which, as is well-known, gave its name to the “Holiness code” (chapters 17–26) and occurs frequently in Leviticus 17–22 (Lev 19:2; 20:7, 26; 21:6), is used here for the first time.8 Another observation further reveals the very special position ascribed to Leviticus 19 by its authors. They seem to have been especially eager to write this chapter so as to make it look like the Decalogue.9 First, employing a device widely used to correlate distant texts, they inserted frame text taken from the first part of the Decalogue in order to connect Leviticus 19 to Exodus 20. Specifically, this is done by inversing the sequence of the Decalogue: placed at the end of Leviticus 19, v. 36b reproduces, with only slight modifications, the introduction to the Decalogue in Exod 20:2. Although, Lev 19:3–4a begins the chapter by referring to the first three commandments in Exod 20:2–12. These commandments are given in reverse order, beginning with the commandment on the honour (here: the fear) due to parents (the mother mentioned here first), followed by the commandment about the Sabbath, and culminating with the commandment which forbids the worship of idols and the making of molten gods.10 Secondly, the authors subdivide Leviticus 19 into two “tables” by inserting at the beginning of v. 19 an abridged form of the concluding exhortation found in 19:37, which itself echoes the admonishment of Lev 18:30 to keep the statutes of Yhwh. Finally, they divide these two “tables” into a series of paragraphs, each concluded either by the formula “I am Yhwh your God” (vv. 2, 3, 4, 10 and 25, 31, 34, 36bα) or by its shorter form “I am Yhwh” (vv. 12, 14, 16, 18 and 28, 30, 32, 37). These paragraphs, however, are not given equal treatment. A closer look reveals that although most of them comprise only one to five verses, two exceed that number, vv. 5–10 and vv. The only other occurrences are Lev 11:44, 45 and Num 15:40. Thus John E. Hartley, Leviticus (Dallas: Word Books; 1992, WBC 4) considers Leviticus 19 to be “an exposition of the Decalogue” (311) and Jacob Milgrom, “The Changing Concept of Holiness in the Pentateuchal Codes with Emphasis on Leviticus 19” in Reading Leviticus…, 65–75 speaks of “a new ‘Decalogue’” (73–74). This should not be confused with older attempts to reconstruct within Leviticus 19 one or two Decalogues. See for instance Sigmund Mowinckel, “Zur Geschichte der Dekaloge,” ZAW 55 (1937), 218–235 (see 222–227); Julian Morgenstern, “The Decalogue of the Holiness Code,” HUCA 26 (1955), 1–27; Elias Auerbach, “Das Zehngebot—Allgemeine Gesetzes-Form in der Bibel,” VT 16 (1966), 254–276 (see 266–268). 10 See also Milgrom, Leviticus, 1600–1602. 8 9

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19–25, and thus stand out. These two paragraphs, which are both concluded by the longer formula “I am Yhwh your God,” are placed at the beginning of the two tables as if to introduce the other commandments. They are further set apart by the fact that the regulations they contain are the only ones in Leviticus 19 that are put in the casuistic form: “If you (vv. 5, 9, 23)/ if a man…(v. 20).” Significantly, it is in these very paragraphs that we find, among other regulations, the laws on sacrifice. If we leave aside the frame verses (vv. 2–4 and 36b-37) and the two longer paragraphs, we notice that the other regulations fall neatly into ten paragraphs, corresponding to the ten commandments, four in the first “table,” six, in the second: respectively vv. 11–12, 13–14, 15–16, 17–18 and vv. 26–28, 29–30, 31, 32, 33–34, 35–36bα. Leviticus 19 is thus clearly intended to appear as an extension of the Decalogue, expanding on its three first commandments. All these observations point to a very sophisticated composition.11 The For other descriptions of Leviticus 19, see Jonathan Magonet, “The Structure and Meaning of Leviticus 19,” HAR 7 (1983) 151–167; Didier Luciani, “« Soyez saints, car je suis saint ». Un commentaire de Lévitique 19,” NRTh 114 (1992), 212– 236; Eckart Otto, “Das Heiligkeitsgesetz Leviticus 17–26 in der Pentateuchredaktion,” in Altes Testament—Forschung und Wirkung: Festschrift für Henning Graf Reventlow (Peter Mommer, Winfried Thiel, eds., Frankfurt a.M.: P. Lang, 1994), 65–80 (see 68–73); Andreas Ruwe, “Heiligkeitsgesetz” und “Priesterschrift” : literaturgeschichtliche und rechtssystematische Untersuchungen zu Leviticus 17,1 – 26,2 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck; 1999, FAT 26), 187–220. According to Luciani, Leviticus 19 is framed by vv. 1–2a and v. 37 and divided into three parts, vv. 3–18, 19–22, 23–36, the first and the third dealing with relationship to God (vv. 3–4 and vv. 30–31), to goods (vv. 5–12 and vv. 23–29), and to fellows (vv. 13–18 and vv. 32–36). This structure is mainly based on the observation of parallels in vocabulary, syntax and theme. E. Otto, on the other hand, considers Leviticus 19 to be a diptycon, divided into two parts by v. 19aα and framed by vv. 1–2 and vv. 36b-37, both parts of the diptycon being introduced by normative commandments, vv. 3–4 and v. 19aβb, followed, first, by casuistic laws, vv. 5–10 and vv. 20–25, and, second, by a series of prohibitive laws, vv. 11–18 and 26–36a. He calls attention to the fact that vv. 13–14 and vv. 32–33, on the one hand, and vv. 15–18 and vv. 34–36a on the other correspond to each other in reverse order. As for Ruwe, he begins with the observation that Leviticus 19 is punctuated with short exhortations: vv. 2, 19aα (to which he adds the central prohibition of mixes (v. 19aβb), and vv. 36b-37. Verses 3–4 introduce the first diptycon, and vv. 33–36 conclude the second. Each part begins with casuistic laws (vv. 5–10 and vv. 20–25) followed by apodictic laws (vv. 11–18 and vv. 26–32). Common to all these proposals is that they subdivide one (so Otto and Ruwe) or both (Luciani) of the two longer units which introduce both tables, and that they do not take into account the distinct role of the 11

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particularities of the sacrificial laws and the fact that their presence has the effect of adding new laws to the neat Decalogue-like series seem at first sight to confirm the opinion of those who attribute them to later redactors. But the question raised by Milgrom still remains: why have they been inserted at that very place or, to be more precise, why have they been inserted with such care at the beginning of each “table” so as to introduce the two sets of laws of the extended Decalogue? An answer to that question may, incidentally, help us uncover the logic behind the ordering of the various rules.12 The first sacrificial law, vv. 5–8, concerns the zebah šelāmîm, the communion offering. It lays down the time for the eating of the portions of meat allotted to the offerer and his guests. On pain of banishment, these portions must be eaten within two days and the remainder must be burnt. Strangely, this regulation is not a new one: it had already been stated in Lev 7:16–18, 20, in a section on the zebah šelāmîm (Lev 7:11–34), in connection with the neder, the votive offering, and the nedābāh, the freewill offering, whence it seems to have been taken over in an abridged form.13 In this passage, it follows the regulations on the tôdāh (Lev 7:12– 15) which, by the way, have an equivalent in Lev 22:29–30. The only innovation in Lev 19:5–8 as compared to Leviticus 7 is the reason why the trespasser has to be banished, absent in Lev 7:20: “he has profaned, hillel, the holy of Yhwh, qodeš yhwh.” The verb hillel is a distinctive characteristic of Leviticus 17–22, where it appears no less than sixteen times.14 The second regulation, Lev 19:20–22, is about the reparation references to the Decalogue as a frame to Leviticus 19. 12 J. R. Porter, Leviticus (Cambridge: University Press, 1976), 152 cautiously notes: “there is no clear or logical order in the way the commands are set out—or none, at least, that we can discover—but the compiler simply strings together loosely what was available to him.” According to Klaus Grünwaldt, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz Leviticus 17–26: Ursprüngliche Gestalt, Tradition und Theologie (Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1999; BZAW 271), 259, this absence of logic is intentional and aims at expressing the wide variety of life forms (see already A. Noordtzij, Leviticus, Grand Rapids; 1982, 189). 13 Whereas Lev 19:5–8 seems irrelevant to its context, Lev 7:11–34 is part of a larger section on sacrifice, Leviticus 1–7. The probability is thus that Lev 19:5–8 has been taken over from Lev 7:16–18, 20, and not the other way around. The two pericopes are connected intentionally by quoting in inverse order the two sentences “it will not be accepted,” “it has become defiled” (Lev 7:18//19:7). 14 In Leviticus, only Lev 18:21; 19:12, 29; 20:3; 21:6, 9, 12, 15, 23; 22:2, 9, 32

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offering, ’āšām. Unlike the regulations about the zebah šelāmîm, this sacrificial law is dealt with here for the first time. It pertains to the case of sexual intercourse with a betrothed slave-girl.15 Contrary to the common case of adultery (Deut 22:22–27), it states that the offender is not to be sentenced to death. However, in order to obtain forgiveness, he must bring a ram as a reparation offering to Yhwh. This special clause is explicitly motivated by arguing that the girl has not been ransomed nor has she been set free. Still, all these sacrificial regulations seem totally irrelevant to the other laws of Leviticus 19. More specifically, one may ask why the regulations of Leviticus 7:16–18, 20 had been taken over and inserted at the beginning of the first “table.” In addition, the two sacrificial regulations raise several other questions: why do the authors of Leviticus 19, or the supposed redactors, examine these two kinds of sacrifice, and only these? Why do they insist on these regulations in particular? Is it not curious that the regulation on the zebah šelāmîm concerns a matter of a ritual, whereas the one on the ’āšām pertains to a special case? An answer to these questions might bring us closer to a solution to the problem of their presence in Leviticus 19. Mentioning the zebah šelāmîm and the ’āšām together is, indeed, rather surprising: not only are these two kinds of sacrifice never associated elsewhere, they are, in addition, far from being the most important sacrifices, in any case far less important than the whole-offering, ‘olāh, the cereal offering, minhāh, and the so-called purification offering, hattā’t. Moreover, in a discourse addressed to the congregation of the sons of Israel, one would expect the mention of the ‘olāh and the hattā’t, as these two kinds of sacrifices, unlike the zebah šelāmîm and the ’āšām, belong to the regular sacrificial cult and are offered on behalf of the sons of Israel on every new moon and every day of each festival as well as on yôm hakkippûrîm, the Day of atonement, and also in order to atone for sins committed inadvertently by the congregation.16 In addition, the ’āšām is never offered on behalf of a group, but solely for individual transgressions. and, with as its object qodeš yhwh, Lev 19:8; 22:15. See also niphal Lev 21:4, 9. 15 On that case, see Jacob Milgrom, “The Betrothed Slave-girl, Lev 19 20–22,” ZAW 89 (1977), 43–50; Baruch J. Schwartz, “A Literary Study of the Slave-girl Pericope—Leviticus 19:20–22,” in Studies in Bible (Sara Japhet, ed., Jerusalem: Magnes Press; 1986, SH 31), 241–255. 16 The only case where a zebah šelāmîm is regularly offered is the Feast of Weeks, Lev 23:19–20.

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What then do these two kinds of sacrifice have in common in order that they be associated here? It is also surprising to find repeated here, out of ritual context, the very rule which governs the consumption of sacrificial meat. Sequential to the prohibition of idols in v. 4, a general rule forbidding sacrificing to the idols would have seemed more appropriate. All the more so as such a prohibition figures explicitly in the Decalogue (Ex 20:5; see also Lev 26:1 and cf. Lev 17:5, 7). The case considered in relation to the reparation offering is no less astonishing. The natural place of that regulation would have been somewhere in Leviticus 5, where the various circumstances requiring the offering of an ’āšām—trespass against Yhwh’s property or against the property of a fellow Israelite—are listed (Lev 5:14– 26). This case would fit there very well, since the slave-girl is considered to be the property of her fiancé. Also, the circumstances mentioned in Leviticus 5 are the only ones in which, as here, the required animal for the ’āšām is a ram. But the main question remains: why is Leviticus 19 specifically concerned with abuse toward a betrothed slave-girl? In the general context of Leviticus 19, this case seems altogether out of place. One would rather expect a reference to the ritual prescribed for the reinstatement of a healed “leper” (Lev 14:2–32) who, because of his “leprosy,” had been banned from the camp (Lev 13:45–46; Num 5:2). Surely such a case would be of greater concern to the congregation than a raped slave-girl. If we do not want to appeal to such convenient explanations as the alleged primitive mentality, whose logic supposedly differs from our own one, we must endeavour to explain why the authors of Leviticus 19 proceeded the way they did. A first clue might be found in the very nature of the two types of sacrifice. Although they serve different functions, both the communion offering and the reparation offering share the fact that, unlike the wholeoffering and the hattā’t which involve only Yhwh and the offerer, they both include the fellow Israelite. In the case of the communion offering, the meat of the animal is, for its most part, shared between the offerer and his guests (the breast and the right leg are reserved for the priests). As to the reparation offering, it is required, among other transgressions, in the case of trespassing on someone else’s property (Lev 5:20–26). The first offering is meant to promote a positive relationship through communion; the second describes prohibited relationships. The emphasis put on relationship with the fellow Israelite might explain the fact that, in the case of the

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communion offering, the regulation concerns matters of ritual, whereas the reparation offering deals with individual transgressions requiring a sacrifice. Thus, it seems very likely that the mention of these particular sacrifices springs from the fact that they both concern relations with fellow Israelites. An examination of the other rules assembled in the same paragraph might enable us to move a step further. The first table (Lev 19:5–10) begins with the regulation on the communion offering.17 Subsequent rules deal with harvesting and gathering (vv. 9–10). These rules command not to reap the whole field or the whole vineyard, but to leave part of it for the poor and the immigrant (see also Deut 24:19–22). Interestingly, cultic and social regulations are associated in this way in the same paragraph. The connection of these two kinds of regulations could simply be the result of a mere association of ideas on the theme of the remainder: in the case of the zebah šelāmîm the meat which remained after God had received his share, in the other, what is left at the end of the harvest.18 In fact, we find the same kind of association in Leviticus 23 where, after having referred to the offering of the zebah šelāmîm (vv. 19–20) the text produces the same regulation (v. 22) with only slight variations.19 Nevertheless, in that instance, the statement perfectly suits the context, coming, as it does, in relation to the Feast of Weeks at the end of the grain harvest. This, however, is not the case in Leviticus 19. We should thus consider the possibility that the authors mentioned this last rule in order to express in another way an idea already contained in the regulations on sacrifice or, better still that these two series of rules are set in a dialectical relationship. Indeed, common to both the regulation on the communion offering and the rules about harvest is the idea of restraint or limits on conduct: the offerer and his guests must eat the meat of the sacrificed animal within two days; the landowner must give up part of his harvest. Placed in connection with the regulation on sacrifice, this last rule suggests, first, that the relationship is one between people of high and low 17 Calum M. Carmichael, “Laws of Leviticus 19,” HTR 87 (1994), 239–256 relates most of the laws of Lev 19:3–18 to various episodes of the Joseph story, since he considers that the narratives are the source of the laws. 18 According to Milgrom, Leviticus, 1623–1624, vv. 9–10, through their association of both religious and ethical duties, constitute a bridge between vv. 5–8 and vv. 11–18. 19 The omission of the reference to the vineyard results from the fact that in Leviticus 23 this regulation is related to the Feast of Weeks.

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social status, and, secondly, that the offerer has a special obligation to share the meat with the needy. Conversely, the first regulation suggests that the part remaining for the needy is in some way holy, as is the meat of the communion offering (v. 8). The first table thus begins with a paragraph that places limits placed on high status individuals for benefit of those of lower social standing. If we look at the various commandments that complete the first table, we notice that most of them could be subsumed under the heading “restraint imposed on the stronger man in his dealings with his weaker fellow Israelite.” This restraint is generally expressed in the form of a prohibition. Reproducing the list of trespasses in Lev 5:21–22, the first set of prohibitions (vv. 11–12) sets the limits of proper conduct regarding the property of the fellow Israelite. The second set (vv. 13–14) imposes restraint in dealing with day labours—they shall not be exploited nor shall their wage be robbed of or held back—(v. 13) and with handicapped persons (v. 14). The third defines justice (vv. 15–16). It insists on the need for a just judgment, including the necessity to refrain from slander (and probably corruption) in order not to influence the judgment (v. 15–16aα). It also limits the nature of the sentence which the plaintiff may ask for, thus excluding capital punishment (v. 16aβ). The last set of commandments deals with sentiments (vv. 17–18). It exhorts the addressee to refrain from hatred, vengeance, and grudgery and culminates in the well-known requirement “you shall love your neighbour as yourself” (v. 18aβ). Interestingly this is the only case in vv. 11–19 where no limits are placed on the response of the addressee to the commandment. As is the case of the regulation on the communion offering, the regulation about the reparation offering is associated, in the same paragraph, with other, non-sacrificial, rules which function here as a frame.20 The first example is to be found in v. 19aβb. This equivalent of Deut 22:9–11 forbids various types of mixes: the pairing of different kinds of cattle, the mixing of different kinds of seed, the wearing of a garment woven with different kinds of textile.21 It not only serves as an introduction According to Otto, Das Heiligkeitsgesetz, the association of these various regulations is due to their common reference to Deuteronomy 22 (see pp. 69–70). 21 As is the case with vv. 3–18, Carmichael links this law to narratives from Genesis, see Calum M. Carmichael, “Forbidden Mixtures,” VT 32 (1982), 394–415; “Forbidden mixtures in Deuteronomy xxii 9–11 and Leviticus xix 19,” VT 45 (1995), 433–448. He insists that it need not to be read literally, but that it teaches through its reference to the story of Joseph “that involvement in foreign ways can 20

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to the second table but also connects it thematically to chapters 18 and 20, which forbid intercourse between various categories of living beings, between certain human beings, and between humans and animals.22 Coming after the regulation about the reparation offering, the second rule, vv. 23– 25, is related thematically to vv. 9–10, which conclude the first paragraph of the first table. It belongs to a general category of rules introduced by the formula “when you enter the land…” (Lev 14:33–53; 23:9–22; 25:1–22; Num 15:1–16). It stipulates that the fruit must be left on the tree for the first three years, offered to God in the next year, and only eaten during the fifth year after planting. During the first three years, the fruit is said to be uncircumcised.23 The various regulations of that paragraph are thus mainly related to each other through the idea of sexuality, as demonstrated by their vocabulary: they speak about breeding, mixing, sleeping with a slave-girl, circumcision (which is, as is well-known, related to sexuality). Common to them is the demand that these various kinds of relationships be prohibited. Prohibition, which is only implied in the sacrificial regulation, is clearly expressed both in the first and the last rule which frame the sacrificial regulation. Although other interpretations remain possible, the desire to insist on the prohibition may be the reason why vv. 23–25 have been inserted here. Verse 19aβb seems to have the additional function of extending the prohibition of sexual intercourse with a betrothed slave-girl to other relationships; whereas the special function of the sacrificial regulation may be to insist upon the authors’ special interest in relationship with other living beings.

compromise his [=Israels] cultural and ethnic identity” (p. 448; see also p. 438). It is not clear to me why some laws should be taken figuratively and others literally. See also C. Houtman, “Another look at forbidden mixtures,” VT 34 (1984), 226–228; Jacob Milgrom, “Law and narrative and the exegesis of Leviticus xix 19,” VT 46 (1996), 544–548; Jan A. Wagenaar, “You shall not Sow Two Kinds of Seed in Your Field. Leviticus 19,19 and the Formation of the Holiness Code,” ZABR 7 (2001), 318–331. 22 See Wagenaar, “You shall not…,” 327–330. 23 On the relationship between this rule and the preceding one, see Calum Carmichael, “A Strange Sequence of Rules: Leviticus 19.20–26,” in Reading Leviticus, 182–205, and discussion, 206–213. In line with his previous interpretation (see note 17), Carmichael explains the arrangement of these rules by their common link to the story of Joseph and the related story of Abimelech.

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The function of the first paragraph of the second table thus seems to insist on prohibited relations with various beings.24 This very idea can serve as a heading for the first three sets of commandments in the second table. The first set (vv. 26–28) prohibits all kinds of divination implicating the dead (see also Deut 18:10) as well as all contact with the dead through funerary rites (see also Lev 21:5), whose various forms are listed.25 The second set (vv. 29–30) prohibits the prostituting of Israelite women, underlined by the fact that it is associated with the law on the respect of the Sabbaths and the sanctuary (same regulation in Lev 26:2). The third set (v. 31) forbids all relations with the world of spirits through divination (see also Lev 20:6 and Deut 18:11). As in the first table, the second ends with positive commandments designed to promote community: in this particular case, respect of the elderly (vv. 32) and the love of the immigrants, whom shall be loved as oneself (vv. 33–34). The incongruous last set of regulations on weights and measures (vv. 35–36a; see also Deut 25:13–16) is probably due to the eagerness of the authors of Leviticus 19 to correlate the end of the first table and the end of the second. In both cases, the last two sets of regulations are introduced by a commandment on handicaps: one on the deaf and the blind (v. 14), the other on the elderly (v. 32). Both commandments are reinforced by the order to fear God, weyāre’tā 24 According to Magonet, “Structure…,” 164–165, vv. 19a-29 are thematically linked by the question of the relationship to possessions: animals, crops, clothing, slaves, land, body, and offspring. 25 So also Ruwe, Heiligkeitsgesetz, 212–214. Concerning the expression “to eat on the blood “(v. 26a), see also 1 Sam 14:33 and Ezek 33:25, where the eating on the blood is mentioned in conjunction to idolatry and murder. 1 Sam 14:32 gives an indication to the nature of that rite: the blood of the animal is allowed to pour on the ground, probably so as to be offered to the dead. See J.M. Grintz, “Do not Eat on the Blood,” ASTI 8 (1970/71), 78–105. See also Hartley, Leviticus, 319–320; Milgrom, Leviticus, 1685–1686. There is thus no necessity to correct the text. On v. 27 as a funerary rite, see also Saul M. Olyan, “The Biblical Prohibition of the Mourning Rites of Shaving and Laceration: Several Proposals,” in A Wise and Discerning Mind: Essays in Honor of Burke O. Long (S.M. Olyan, Robert C. Culley, eds., Providence: Providence Brown Judaic Studies; 2000, BJS 325), 181–189 ; Mathy Cohen, “La critique biblique tributaire à son insu de la tradition rabbinique,” ZAW 116 (2004), 82–98 (see pp. 92–96). On the ancestor cult, see especially Josef Tropper, Nekromantie. Totenbefragung im Alten Orient und im Alten Testament (Kevelaer, Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Vlg.; 1989, AOAT 223), 253–259; Mary Douglas, Jacob’s Tears: The Priestly Work of Reconciliation (Oxford: University Press; 2004), 176– 195.

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me’elohêkā. The next regulations are given in inverted sequence.26 The one about justice in court, at the beginning of the two last sets of laws in the first table (v. 15), is related to the law about justice in trade at the end of the second table (vv. 35–36a), both laws being introduced by the formula lo’ ta‘aśû ‘āwel bammišpat. Conversely, the commandment to love the neighbour as oneself, we’āhabtā…kāmôkā, at the very end of the first table (v. 18) corresponds to the commandment to love the immigrant as oneself, we’āhabtā…kāmôkā, at the beginning of the fifth set of regulations (vv. 33–34). The use of the same formulas in each set underlines the close correlation between the two tables. By proceeding in this way, the authors emphasize three values in particular: kindness to handicapped and elderly, justice in court and trade, and love for all countrymen, be they Israelites or immigrants. This tentative explanation leaves, of course, many questions open. Nevertheless, should it be considered valid, the following conclusions may be drawn. First, the authors of Leviticus 19 promote an ethic founded on two main principles: in the sphere of social interactions, a principle that places limits on all Israelites in their dealings with their fellow countrymen in order that they might refrain from taking advantage of a dominate position; and, regarding relations in the religious sphere, a principle of prohibition that forbids all contact with spiritual beings other than God. This implies, and this is our second conclusion, that, in the opinion of our authors, sacrificial worship and social ethics are not unrelated areas, but are governed by identical principles that express common values. In this, they are fully faithful to the message of the prophets.27 Lastly, sacrificial worship, whatever its specific function, also has a pedagogic function, teaching principles that affect both the religious and the profane behaviour of the Israelites. These principles, which find their pre-eminent expression in sacrificial worship, vitalize social life as a whole. Another conclusion which could be drawn would be a warning to exegetes not to be overly eager to explain all thematic changes as See also Hartley, Leviticus, 308–309. See also Jacob Milgrom, “The Changing Concept of Holiness in the Pentateuchal Codes with Emphasis on Leviticus 19” in Reading Leviticus, 65–75 (see especially 72–74). The author relates these commandments to Isaiah and insists that all commandments enumerated in Leviticus 19 fall under the rubric of holiness (68) and thus prescribe the means by which holiness can be achieved. 26 27

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indications of the existence of additional redactional levels. This draws attention to the limits of redactional criticism. Mary Douglas’ analogical reasoning, which connects sacral architecture and sacral geography with literature and ritual, can thus be extended to other realities. What we have tried to demonstrate, is that the two sacrificial laws in Leviticus 19 are not merely mentioned for their own sake. But, just as the structure of the tabernacle illuminates the structure of Leviticus, these two laws serve also to illuminate the following non-sacrificial laws, and help to find out the logic underlying their ordering.28

28

I would like to thank Jason Dean for reviewing my English text.

MARY DOUGLAS’S HOLINESS/WHOLENESS PARADIGM: ITS POTENTIAL FOR INSIGHT AND ITS LIMITATIONS SAUL M. OLYAN BROWN UNIVERSITY In her influential essay “The Abominations of Leviticus,” published in 1966 in the volume Purity and Danger, Mary Douglas introduced what I have chosen to call the holiness/wholeness paradigm, in which she links the idea of holiness directly with physical wholeness or completeness.1 Though criticized in its details, the paradigm has been profitably elaborated and modified by biblical scholars, and core aspects of it remain influential.2 It is 1 “The Abominations of Leviticus,” in Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (1966; London: Ark, 1984), 41–57. Though Douglas focuses mostly on physical forms of wholeness, she also includes non-somatic examples in her discussion. On these, see further n. 26. 2 For two important examples of the influence of core aspects of the paradigm, see, e.g., J. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16 (New York: Doubleday, 1991), 721: “To be sure, her definition of the term ‘Holy as wholeness and completeness’. . .is justified. . .”; G. J. Wenham, The Book of Leviticus (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1979), 23-25, 169: “In our Introduction [ ] it was suggested that the notion underlying holiness and cleanness was wholeness and normality.” See also P. J. Budd, “Holiness and cult,” in R. E. Clements, ed., The World of Ancient Israel: Sociological, Anthropological and Political Perspectives (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 286-90 for synopsis and analysis of reactions to Douglas’s ideas about wholeness and holiness, mainly in relation to the dietary laws. Especially notable in this regard is M. P. Carroll’s critique and reapplication using Levi-Strauss’s Nature/Culture binary (“One More Time: Leviticus Revisited,” Archives européennes de sociologie 99 [1978]: 339-46). See also E. Leach, “Anthropological Approaches to the study of the Bible during the twentieth century,” in Structuralist Interpretations of Biblical Myth, ed. E. Leach and D. A. Aycock (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 20–21, and J. Duhaime, “Lois alimentaires et pureté corporelle dans le Lévitique.

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my purpose in this paper to explore the paradigm’s potential for insight as well as its limitations, and to suggest some ways in which it might be reconfigured in order to explain better the biblical data concerning physical wholeness. In her exploration of the concept of holiness in “The Abominations of Leviticus,” Douglas noted the biblical emphasis on wholeness and completeness, and linked these directly to the holy. For Douglas, “holiness is exemplified by completeness”; in fact, “the idea of holiness was given an external, physical expression in the wholeness of the body seen as a perfect container.” “To be holy is,” for Douglas, “to be whole.”3 In a later essay, “Deciphering a Meal,” Douglas reiterates this association of holiness with wholeness in a slightly different way: “The sanctity of cognitive boundaries is made known by valuing the integrity of the physical forms.”4 In both “The Abominations of Leviticus” and “Deciphering a Meal,” Douglas understands wholeness as an articulation of holiness: it is an “external, physical expression” of it; it exemplifies it; it makes it known. In short, wholeness is understood as a communicator of holiness. In her more recent work Leviticus as Literature, Douglas reiterates the core ideas of the paradigm: “Only the perfect body is fit to be consecrated, no animal with a blemish may be sacrificed, no priest with a blemished body shall approach the altar….”5 Certainly there is more than a little evidence to support a linkage between the holy and the whole in the biblical text. Nearly all sacrificial animals presented before Yhwh had to be “without (physical) ‘defect’” (kolmûm lō’ yihyeh-bô) or “whole” (tāmîm) according to Lev 22:17–24.6 That most if not all of these sacrifices were sanctified is suggested by a variety of data, including the common label “holy things” or “holy foods” (qodāšîm) used of offerings reserved for the priests and, in some cases, their dependents, and by characterizations such as “the holy foods which the children of Israel have sanctified to Yhwh” (Lev 22:3). Other texts suggest L’approche de Mary Douglas et sa reception par Jacob Milgrom,” Religiologiques 17 (1998): 19-35. On the dietary laws and the holiness/wholeness paradigm, see my discussion ahead, and in n. 15. 3 “Abominations,” 51–52, 53, 54. 4 “Deciphering a Meal,” Daedalus 101 (1972):61–81; 76-77 for the quotation. Here, she emphasizes the value placed on wholeness. 5 Leviticus as Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 46. 6 I shall discuss the few exceptions ahead.

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that offerings not formally classed as qodāšîm were also sanctified. Lev 19:8 (H) states clearly that the well being offering (šĕlāmîm) is holy, and Lev 7:19–21 (P), which restricts the eating of the meat of the well being offering only to clean persons, and threatens those who would violate this restriction with termination of lineage (kārēt), suggests as much.7 The link between holiness and wholeness is also evident in Deut 15:19–23, which commands the sanctification of first-born male sacrificial animals to Yhwh. The exceptions to the rule of sanctification are those male cattle, sheep and goats with a “defect” (mûm). According to this text, such animals are not to be brought to the sanctuary and sacrificed; instead, they are to be treated as non-sacrificial game animals are treated, eaten in settlements by the unclean and clean alike after their blood is removed. The fact that persons who are unclean may eat sacrificial animals with “defects” indicates clearly that they are not understood to be holy, for that which is holy must be guarded from pollution, and the text permits unclean persons to eat defective animals. Thus, according to Deut 15:19–23, first-born male sacrificial animals with a “defect” remain unsanctified because they are not whole. Holiness and somatic wholeness are also related in Lev 21:17–23, which requires priests who offer sacrifices to Yhwh and priests of the high priestly line who approach the curtain of the holy of holies to be “defect”-free (=whole): “But to the curtain he shall not come, nor shall he approach the altar, for he has a “defect” (mûm); he shall not profane (wĕlō’ yĕhallēl) my sanctuaries, for I, Yhwh, sanctify them” (v. 23). That priests are holy according to Leviticus 21 is indicated in v. 7 (“For holy is he [the priest] to his god”) and in v. 8 (“You shall treat him as sacred, for the food of your god he brings near. . .”). As has been pointed out, Douglas, who also spoke of sacrificial animals and priests in her treatments, was not correct to claim that all sacrificial animals, all priests and all worshipers had to be physically whole, without “defect,” to gain access to the sanctuary.8 Lev 22:23 allows the sacrifice of 7 To Lev 7:19-21 one might compare Lev 22:3 (H), which uses very similar wording to speak of the punishment of those priests who have contact with a holy food while unclean. If the well being offering’s meat were not sanctified according to P, there would be no need to regulate the purity status of those who have contact with it (cf. Deut 15:22). 8 E.g., “Abominations,” 51: “Much of Leviticus is taken up with stating the physical perfection that is required of things presented in the temple and of persons approaching it.” For a detailed critique of Douglas on this matter, see, e.g., Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 720–21. Milgrom’s “reception” of Douglas is discussed at

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animals with two specific “defects” (probably limbs of uneven length) as free-will offerings;9 Lev 21:22 permits priests with “defects” to remain in the temple and eat holy and most holy foods;10 Deut 23:2 likely forbids men with genital damage from entering the temple, and 2 Sam 5:8b may bear witness to a proscription of worshipers with “defects,” but no text clearly bans all blemished worshipers, and—interestingly—no text in the P/H tradition even hints at any prohibition of worshipers with “defects.”11 Douglas was also incorrect to suggest—at least as I read her—that sacrifices, priests, worshipers and soldiers are all constructed as holy by biblical sources.12 Certainly priests are hallowed, as are most if not all sacrifices, but according to P, the possession of sanctity distinguishes priests from all other Israelites, including worshipers and soldiers (e.g., Exod 29:33; Num 16:1–17:5).13 Finally, Douglas tends to blur the biblical distinction between a lack of somatic wholeness (i.e., having a “defect” [mûm]), and impurity. This is clear in her classification of the “leper” and the parturient, both polluters, with persons and sacrificial animals that have “defects” (mûmîm). Though the “leper” and parturient are unclean, their pollution does not render them “defective” (=not whole), and therefore, they ought not to have been included in Douglas’s discussion. The same is true of length by Duhaime, “Lois alimentaires.” 9 On the specific “defects” in question (śārûa‘, qālût), see the discussion of Milgrom, Leviticus 17-22 (New York: Doubleday, 2000), 1878. H, the group responsible for Lev 22:23, appears to rank freewill offerings lower than vows and, by implication, thanksgiving offerings, given that animals with these “defects” are only acceptable as freewill offerings. Compare P, which apparently ranks the thanksgiving offering above the vow and the freewill offering (Lev 7:15-16). Milgrom’s critique of Douglas misses the fact that Lev 22:23 allows this exception regarding defective sacrificial animals: “The altar. . .is served only by whole (unblemished) animals and priests. . .” (Leviticus 1–16, 721). 10 This point is also noted by Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 721. For the holy and most holy foods, offerings reserved for the priests and their dependents, see, besides Lev 21:22, Lev 22:2–7, 10–13 and Num 18:8-19. 11 On Deut 23:2 and its probable reference to entering the sanctuary, and on the adage of 2 Sam 5:8b, see my discussion in Rites and Rank: Hierarchy in Biblical Representations of Cult (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), 107-111. 12 See, e.g., “Abominations,” 51, regarding soldiers: “The army could not win without the blessing and to keep the blessing in the camp they had to be specially holy.” The notion that worshipers are holy is implicit in Douglas’s treatment. 13 On Num 16:1–17:5 as a P text, see Olyan, Rites and Rank, 136 n. 63. On H’s view of the sanctity of Israel (contrast P), see Olyan, ibid., 121–22.

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persons with bodily discharges and priests polluted by corpse contact, both mentioned by Douglas among those who are not whole.14 One might add that unclean animals also have nothing necessarily to do with that which is defective, and clean animals are holy only when designated for sacrifice, if then.15 Even given these weaknesses in Douglas’s formulation, the link she established between holiness and physical wholeness is nonetheless evidenced, though not to the degree and with the consistency that she claimed. The holiness/wholeness paradigm has been elaborated in recent years by a number of biblical scholars in ways that suggest its continued utility. I shall speak of three specific examples of its elaboration, in order of their appearance in the scholarly literature.16 In a 1996 article published in ZAW, I argued that Douglas’s holiness/wholeness paradigm is evidenced in biblical materials even more extensively than she had suggested.17 My focus was the stones of the altar in Exod 20:25 and Deut 27:5–6, as well as the stones of the temple in 1 Kgs 6:7. Exod 20:25 forbids an altar made of ashlar (cut stone), warning that working altar stones with a tool profanes them: “If you wield your tool upon it, you profane it (wattĕhalĕlehā).”18 This statement indicates that according to Exod 20:25, altar stones, like most sacrifices and like priests, are sanctified. If this were not the case, the stones would not be subject to profanation. (Profanation transforms that which is holy into that which is common.) Deut 27:5–6, elaborating Exod 20:25, also forbids the use of a tool (explicitly iron) on the stones; it refers to the uncut stones from which the altar is to be built as “whole stones” (’ăbānîm šĕlēmôt). Thus, the unworked “whole stones” of Deut 27:6 “Abominations,” 51. As is well known, Douglas analyzes the biblical dietary laws in the context of her development of the holiness/wholeness paradigm (“Abominations,” 54-57). It is noteworthy that this particular aspect of her treatment has elicited such a spirited and often positive response from biblical scholars, given its problematic relationship to biblical discourses on wholeness and holiness. 16 Other examples of elaboration or modification could be discussed. See, e.g., the papers of P. Budd and M. P. Carroll cited in n. 2. I chose the three examples I discuss because they illustrate well a number of the ways in which Douglas’s paradigm might be supported through elaboration. My critique of her formulation follows. 17 “Why an Altar of Unfinished Stones? Some Thoughts on Ex 20,25 and Dtn 27,5-6,” ZAW 108 (1996):161–71. 18 Here I translate hereb as “tool” rather than sword, given the context. 14 15

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parallel the uncut holy stones of Exod 20:25. This suggests a connection between the wholeness of the uncut altar stones and their holiness, which is lost according to Exod 20:25 if they are worked with a tool. If I am correct about this connection, then we can compare Deut 15:21. Just as male firstborn sacrificial animals with a “defect” are not sanctified according to Deut 15:21, so altar stones that lose their wholeness lose their holiness. In both instances, that which is whole is understood to be holy, and that which lacks wholeness is treated as common. According to 1 Kgs 6:7, the temple, like the altar of Deut 27:6, was to be constructed from “whole stone” (’eben šĕlēmâ). The verse alludes directly to Deut 27:5–6 by mentioning “whole stone” and noting the absence of iron tools when the temple was built. Yet 1 Kgs 6:7 concerns the building of the temple, not the erection of the altar. It apparently applies the altar law to the construction of the temple, thereby elaborating it. Is the whole stone used to erect the temple holy? Though not stated explicitly, the whole stone may well be assumed to be sanctified by the text, given that the altar stones in the same D tradition appear to be (Deut 27:5–6, elaborating Exod 20:25), and given that other, non-D texts (e.g., P) understand the various implements of the sanctuary complex to be holy (e.g., Exod 30:22–29). A second, recent elaboration of the holiness/wholeness paradigm is Jacob Milgrom’s notion of “blemished time,” introduced in his analysis of the festivals of Leviticus 23.19 Building explicitly upon my treatment of the altar stones, and implicitly on Douglas’s original articulation of the holiness/wholeness paradigm, Milgrom argues for an analogy between sacred items and sacred time: “Just as the altar must be whole, so must sacred time. As human activity with stone desecrates the altar, so does human activity in time: work. Both space and time in their holy dimension must remain in their natural state; they may not be blemished or desecrated by human labor. To be sure, blemished time is an abstraction. It is not visible, as are blemished space and the changed appearance of a blemished priest, sacrificial animal, or altar…”20 Milgrom understands the Sabbath (hallowed time) as metaphorically whole and subject to “blemish” and desecration via human labor just as holy items such as altar stones are subject to a loss of wholeness and sacredness through being worked with a tool. 19 20

Leviticus 23-27 (New York: Doubleday, 2000), 1978-9. Ibid.

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Susan Niditch’s use of the paradigm to illuminate the proscription of priestly hair cutting and high priestly hair manipulation of any sort in mourning contexts is a third, and very recent, example of elaboration.21 Why must priests eschew shaving rites and high priests the manipulation of intact hair after the death of a close relative? The answer given by the text, as Niditch points out, is priestly holiness.22 Citing Douglas’s point that holiness is related to somatic wholeness, Niditch argues that “the priest needs to maintain bodily boundaries demarcated by intact hair and body.” Thus, she elaborates upon Douglas’s paradigm, arguing that holiness requires wholeness of hair as well as that of body. (Douglas had mentioned the bodies of priests in relation to “defects” [mûmîm], but had said nothing about hair manipulation.) Niditch further develops her elaboration of the holiness/wholeness paradigm in her discussion of restrictions on the high priest. “The high priest is even more holy than the priest, and thus his relation to death and to the manipulation of hair in connection with death is even more circumscribed.” For the high priest, even disheveled hair “interrupt[s] his wholeness and holy status.”23 Whether or not one finds Niditch’s explanation of proscriptions on priestly and high priestly hair manipulation, Milgrom’s notion of “blemished time,” or my treatment of the stones of the altar and temple convincing, they illustrate well the impact of Douglas’s thinking on biblical scholarship as well as the potential utility of Douglas’s holiness/wholeness paradigm for explaining phenomena of the cult. What of the paradigm’s limitations? Douglas argued that wholeness expresses holiness in a physical way, that the valuing of integrity communicates sanctity, that “holiness is exemplified by completeness.” If I understand Douglas correctly, wholeness acquires its significance through its relationship to holiness, as an expression or embodiment of it. Thus, for Douglas, the privileging of wholeness is the result of its relationship to holiness. This view of wholeness strikes me as overly limited in scope, for integrity of form can be shown to be prioritized in the world of the biblical text apart from considerations of holiness. In short, wholeness is desirable “My Brother Esau is a Hairy Man”: Hair and Identity in Ancient Israel (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008), 106-107. The prohibitions in question are to be found in Lev 21:5 and 10. 22 Niditch cites Lev 21:6 on the priest’s sanctification (ibid., 106); she could also have cited 21:15 on that of the high priest. 23 Ibid., 107. 21

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even in cases where holiness is not at issue. A prime example of this is the relationship between wholeness and beauty in a number of biblical texts. In each of the following examples, male or female beauty is discussed in a context completely removed from considerations of holiness. According to 2 Sam 14:25, Absalom’s beauty could not be matched in all Israel. He is described as “a handsome man” (’îš yāpeh) and the text goes on to state that “from the bottom of his foot to the crown of his head, there was no ‘defect’ (mûm) in him.” Thus, for the author of this text, Absalom’s wholeness, indicated by his complete lack of physical “defects,” is emblematic of his beauty. The same notion that wholeness is emblematic of beauty is to be found in the Song of Songs. In 4:7, the male lover describes the appearance of his beloved: “You are completely beautiful, my companion,” // “There is no ‘defect’ (mûm) in you.” In 6:9, the female lover, praised as singular, is described as “my perfect one,” tammātî, an adjective treated as a substantive which is derived from the same root (tmm) as tāmîm/tĕmîmâ, “whole,” the antithesis of defective; it is likely a reference to the female lover’s physical appearance.24 Finally, Dan 1:4, listing the attributes of the Judean youths to be recruited to Nebuchadnezzar’s court, includes both beauty of appearance (tôbê mar’eh) and a lack of “defects” (’ên bāhem kol-mūm). In all of these examples, wholeness is closely associated with beauty; in several, it is not only characteristic of the beautiful, it is emblematic of it. Douglas’s claim that “holiness is exemplified by completeness” could also be made about beauty as it is presented in texts such as 2 Sam 14:25 and Song 4:7. That which is whole is not necessarily understood to be beautiful or holy, but wholeness is not infrequently emblematic of both holiness and beauty.25 Given that the holiness/wholeness paradigm as formulated by Douglas does not account for the prioritization of wholeness apart from considerations of holiness, I propose to reformulate it with the focus shifted from holiness to wholeness: Physical wholeness may exemplify beauty or holiness.26 With Song 5:2 also has tammātî used in reference to the female lover. There are countless examples of whole persons, animals or things that are neither holy nor beautiful according to our texts. 26 There are other examples of the valuing of wholeness and completeness apart from considerations of holiness, but these tend to be non-somatic (e.g., Gen 6:9; 17:1, which use tāmîm in a behavioral sense: “innocent,” “having integrity”). Douglas included non-physical examples of wholeness in her original formulation (e.g., “rectitude and straight dealing”), though she associated them incorrectly with 24 25

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this change of focus, the paradigm does a better job explaining the evidence of the text. Douglas’s correct observation that wholeness exemplifies, expresses, makes known is preserved; her overly narrow notion of what wholeness communicates is jettisoned. The exceptions not accounted for by Douglas’s holiness/wholeness paradigm also suggest its limitations as an explanatory tool. As mentioned, the paradigm does not explain exceptional holy persons and animals that are not whole. Though a priest with a “defect” (mûm) may not approach the altar, and a potential high priest with a “defect” may not approach the curtain of the holy of holies, according to Lev 21:22, priests with “defects” retain access to the sanctuary and to holy items such as the holy and most holy foods: “The food of his god, from the most holy foods and from the holy foods, he may eat.” There is no hint in this text that the priest with a “defect” loses his sanctity, or loses access to all things holy. Quite the opposite. Likewise, according to Lev 22:23, sacrificial animals with certain, specific “defects” (likely limbs of uneven length) may be sacrificed to Yhwh as freewill offerings.27 Though some biblical texts that I have discussed suggest that a loss of wholeness results in a loss of holiness (e.g., Exod 20:25; Deut 27:5–6; Deut 15:21), or in loss of access to some holy space or holy items (Lev 21:23), this is not the case in every instance. How then are these exceptions to be explained? Though the priest with a “defect” does not lose his sanctification or his access to holy foods according to H, he does lose his access to the primary priestly activity: offering sacrifice. And though Lev 22:23 permits the offering of sacrificial animals with two particular “defects” as freewill offerings, it does not allow such animals to be presented to fulfill vows (or, by implication, as thanksgiving offerings). In other words, defective priests cannot perform central, elite rites, nor can defective sacrificial animals be presented as higher-ranked offerings holiness, which she tended to distribute too liberally (“Abominations,” 52–53). Are there examples of wholeness exemplifying both beauty and holiness at the same time? Though no explicit examples of this exist to my knowledge, it may be implied by the evident association of defective, first-born sacrificial animals with both nonsanctification and ugliness in Deut 15:19-23. It is clear that according to this text, the whole, first-born sacrificial animal is to be sanctified; what remains unclear is whether it is also considered beautiful. 27 That these are sanctified is likely given the witness of Lev 19:8 (H), which treats the well being offering as holy and subject to profanation, and the witness of Lev 22:21 (H), which classifies the free will offering as a type of well being offering (as does P: Lev 7:11–21).

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according to Leviticus 21 and 22 (H). Though tolerated, these exceptional cases nonetheless point to the inferiority of that which is defective and the desirability of that which is whole. The exceptions, whatever their motivation, reiterate the ideal of wholeness as an attribute of the holy, but the fact that there are exceptions suggests that Douglas’s absolute claims (e.g., “To be holy is to be whole”) limit her paradigm’s utility as an explanatory tool. It is also important to point out that Douglas’s paradigm may be better supported by some biblical sources than by others, as the exceptions I have noted are both present only in H texts. When we look at D and the Book of the Covenant, no exceptions challenge the requirement of wholeness for holiness (Exod 20:25; Deut 27:5–6; 15:21). Though Douglas did not distinguish between biblical sources, it is important that we do so if we are to evaluate the utility of her paradigm with any insight.

THE PROBLEM OF MAGIC AND MONOTHEISM IN THE BOOK OF LEVITICUS RÜDIGER SCHMITT MÜNSTER UNIVERSITY 1. INTRODUCTION I have not known Dame Mary Douglas personally, but I have read and used her works on many occasions, both in the classroom and in my own studies—always with great benefits. Her views about the functions of witchcraft accusations1 were especially inspiring for me during the work on my book on magic in the Old Testament.2 In my contribution to this set of essays, I want to discuss some of the theses about magic and monotheism from her books In the Wilderness, Leviticus as Literature, and Jacob’s Tears, especially the basic assumption that magic and divination were outlawed in the priestly conception of the reformed religion of Israel.3 Many more questions that derive from her basic assumptions could be discussed here, but I try to focus on the topic of magic.4 1 M. Douglas, “Thirty Years after Witchcraft, Oracles and Magic.” M. Douglas (ed.), Witchcraft Confessions & Accusations (London et al.: Tavistock, 1970), XIIIXXXVIII 2 R. Schmitt, Magie im Alten Testament (AOAT 313, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2004). 3 In the Wilderness. The Doctrine of Defilement in the Book of Numbers (JSOTS 158, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 29–34; Leviticus as Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 4–5; Jacob’s Tears. The Priestly Work of Reconciliation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 176–195. 4 The works of Mary Douglas, especially her contributions to the interpretation of the biblical books of Numeri and Leviticus have stimulated already a vivid discourse involving herself and several biblical scholars. The discussion is reflected J.F.A. Sawyer, Reading Leviticus: A conversation with Mary Douglas (JSOT 227; Sheffield:

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The present article is divided in three main parts: In the first part I will deal briefly with the scholarly perception of magic in the Old Testament and how the views of Mary Douglas concerning magic fit into the general tendencies of the scholarly perception of magic. In the second part I will present my view of how priestly and deuteronomistic literatures deal with the complex of magic, divination and communication with the dead. Some concluding remarks on tradition and innovation in post-exilic Yahwistic religion will form the third and last part of the essay

2. THE PROBLEM OF MAGIC IN OLD TESTAMENT SCHOLARSHIP Most Old Testament Scholars - still to this very day - share the opinion that magic in the Old Testament is something that the biblical writers reject. Jacob Milgrom states: The basic premises of pagan religion are (1) that its deities are themselves dependent on and influenced by a metadivine realm, (2) that this realm spawns a multitude of malevolent and benevolent entities, and (3) that if humans can tap into this realm they can acquire the magical power to coerce the gods to do their will … The Priestly theology negates these premises. It posits the existence of one supreme God who contends neither with a higher realm nor with competing peers.5

Old Testament scholarship has not denied that the Old Testament contains elements which can be defined as magic, but these are considered either survivals of Canaanite religion or as late—mostly Assyrian or Babylonian—intrusions into the formerly pure religion of ancient Israel.6 The underlying concepts of magic are more or less based on concepts of religion and magic from the late 19th century, represented by Edward Burnett Tylor, James George Frazer, Numa Denis Fustel de Coulanges, Émile Durkheim, Marcel Mauss and many others from this most fertile period of research. The evolutionist conceptions of the Victorian Era saw a Sheffield Academic Press, 1996) and also Vol. 18 of the Journal of Ritual Studies (2004) has been dedicated for the discussion about her interpretations, with contributions both from biblical scholars (among them Lester Grabbe) and anthropologists and – of course – Mary Douglas answers on various points of critique. 5 J. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16 (AB 3/1; New York et al.: Doubleday, 1991), 42–43. 6 For discussion of the relevant positions see Schmitt, Magie, 1–66.

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clear path of human progress from savagery, through barbarism to civilisation (in the words of Lewis Henry Morgan)7 and magic, of course, belongs to the first and the most primitive form of human religion, which is characterized by beliefs in the hidden powers of nature or spirits, which primitive humankind tries to use or abuse for its own benefits. In the view of most exegetes and scholars of religious studies, monotheistic religion rejects the mechanistic magic in favour of conceptions of the absolute dependence of human beings on to the one and only God, who cannot be manipulated by magic manipulations. For instance, Gerhard von Rad’s conception of the Yahwistic religion is simply incompatible with magic.8 Furthermore, religion was defined as a collective phenomenon, in which rituals and prayers serve the wealth of the collective, while magic is thought to be an individual practice for the benefit of the individual. In the words of Émile Durkheim: “A magician has clients, but not a church.”9 As a result, he OT as a document of monotheistic religion was read as opposing any form of magical thought and practise. Magical practices in the OT, e.g. in the priestly literature and in the Elijah-Elisha-stories, were classified as survivals from the Canaanite tradition. The last decade saw–following recent developments in cultural anthropology—a slow and slight change in the approach to magic in OT Studies as well as in ancient Near Eastern studies and Egyptology; a change towards a perception of magic and divination as an integral part of religion.10 However, the perception of magic in the tradition of the animistic/ dynamistic paradigm still persists among scholars, as the article about magic in the OT in the recently finished Encyclopaedia of Religion Past and Present shows.11 Mary Douglas’s position concerning magic in the priestly writings in her last book seems to be quite close to Milgrom’s. She writes:

7 L. H. Morgan, Ancient Society: Researches in the Lines of Human Progress from Savagery, through Barbarism to Civilisation (New York: Holt & Co., 1877). 8 G. von Rad, Theologie des Alten Testaments (4th ed.; München: Kaiser) 1957, vol. I, 47–48. 9 E. Durkheim, Die elementaren Formen des religiösen Lebens (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1981), 72. 10 See Schmitt, Magie, 29–42. 11 Cf. J. Joosten, “Magie III: Biblisch 1. Altes Testament,” Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart (4th ed.). 667–668.

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This position fits into the perception of magic, divination and other forms of communication with the dead in mainstream Old Testament scholarship. Remarkably, this is exactly the way of arguing that Douglas criticized so much in her earlier writings, in particular in Purity and Danger.14 The position taken up by Douglas in her late books is problematic in many ways. In particular there is no wholesale condemnation of magic in the Old Testament and the treatment of magic, necromancy and other forms of ritual actions involving the dead in the OT is much more diverse. In particular, we have to distinguish between the religious phenomena of ritual magic, necromancy and care for the dead which have quite different socio-religious functions and belong to different strata of religion that may or may not have been touched by the post-exilic reformation of the cult. Another problem is the alleged body-temple equivalent, which is based on Milgrom’s theory of the “priestly picture of Dorian Gray.”15 This problem however, deserves a separate treatment.

2. MAGIC, NECROMANCY AND CARE FOR THE DEAD 2.1 MAGIC The book of Leviticus itself does not deal with magic explicitly, except for Lev 19:26, which belongs to the later H source, which reworks and often radicalizes priestly regulations. The condemnation of magic in other priestly Douglas, Jacob’s Tears, 194. Douglas, Jacobs’s Tears, 193. 14 See M. Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1966), 25–27. 15 See the studies collected in J. Milgrom, Studies in Cultic Theology and Terminology (SJLA 36, Leiden: Brill 1983). 12 13

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and exilic/early postexilic writings is—of course—not as clear as scholarship in the last century thought it was. The prohibition of magic in passages like Exod 22:17: mĕkaššēpāh lō tĕhayyeh—“You shall not suffer a sorceress to live” and Lev 19:26b, 31 (“You shall not practice magic (nhš) or perform ‘nn-oracles. Do not turn to mediums or spiritists; do not seek them out to be defiled by them. I am YHWH your God”—cf. Deut 18:10) does not mean magic—in the sense of ritual performance—in general: kāšap and its synonyms (šōhar; lāhaš; nāhaš; hōber hāber/heber; etc.) similarly like akkadian kašāpu or sahiru, basically means black magic performed by illegitimate ritual specialists and prophets. Besides this meaning kāšap can be applied in a derogate sense to persons like the—in the view of the deuteronomists—evil queen mother Jezebel in 2 Kgs 9:22, or in the prophetic literature as a negative attribute of any kind of foreign religion in a more general sense. The term kāšap and its synonyms were never applied to persons considered legitimate prophets of YHWH and are reserved for abominable practices. But what constitutes the difference between kāšap and legitimate practises? A closer look at the polemics against witchcraft shows that also the magic of the illegitimate prophets is also not thought to be a manipulation of hidden powers or spirits. It appears that these practises are in fact—like in Ezek 13:18–21—magic in the name of YHWH: 17. And you, son of man, set your face against the daughters of your people, who prophesy out of their heart and prophesy against them. 18. And say: Thus speaks [the lord] YHWH: Woe to the women who are tying knots on all wrists, and make veils for the heads of persons of every height, to hunt down human lives. Will you hunt down lives among my people, and maintain your own lives? 19. You have profaned me among my people for handfuls of barley and for pieces of bread, for putting to death persons who should not die and keeping alive persons who should not live, by your lies to my people, who listen to lies. 20. Therefore: Thus says [the lord] YHWH: I am against your knots with which you hunt down lives like birds and I will tear them from your arms, and let the lives go free, that you captured like birds.

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Obviously the “daughters of Israel”—freelance women healers and ritual specialists—have misused the name of YHWH by performing black magic through tying knots and other manipulations. The profanation of the name of YHWH (in verse 19) indicates that these magic deeds were performed in the name of YHWH to mobilize him against a ritual enemy with the goal of killing him or doing him serious harm.16 Likewise the polemics against ritual magic in the book of covenant (Exod 22:17), in Deut 18:9–22 and in Ezek 13:17–21 concern black magic and do not deal with, and therefore cannot be construed as opposing legitimate forms of ritual acts performed by legitimate ritual specialists or prophets. Concerning prophetic healing and other rituals, Mary Douglas makes a distinction between miracles and magic (“When the Lord allows Elijah or Moses to perform miracles the miracles are not magic. In the Bible, magic is the secret lore of magicians, essentially working through spells and ritual formulae performed upon images”17). I feel that this distinction is artificial and not appropriate to ancient Near Eastern religions. An unbiased look at symbolic and therapeutic acts of legitimate prophets shows that their ritual behaviour is magic in its essence, but not considered kāšap. This can be illustrated with some examples: Prophetic therapies, like those performed by Elijah, Elisha and Isaiah in the books of Kings operate with symbolic acts accompanied by invocations of YHWH, like in 2 Kgs 4:18–37. The ritual action performed by Elisha consists of two single acts: First in verse 33 the prayer to YHWH, and second the anticipating act. Similar performances are known from neo-Assyrian exorcistic rituals performed by the ašipu, the professional, authorized exorcist. Therapeutic rituals of the man of god show that therapeutic magic operates with prayer accompanied by a symbolic act which anticipates the expected divine intervention. Most of the prophetic performances include a prayer to YHWH, but also in those cases that do not mention a prayer, like 2 Kgs 4:38–41 and 6:1–7, it is quite evident, that the man of god—as the term ´îš hā´ĕlōhîm ‘man of god’ indicates—has a close relation to YHWH and that YHWH has committed himself to the man of god ensuring the efficacy of his ritual actions. The 16 17

See Schmitt, Magie, 283–287, 360–362. Douglas, In the Wilderness, 33.

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type of charismatic magician (´îš hā´ĕlōhîm) represented by Elijah and Elisha is functionally the equivalent to the Mesopotamian (noncharismatic—but scholarly trained) ašipu. The difference between the religious phenotypes ´îš hā´ĕlōhîm and ašipu lies in their dissimilar sources of legitimacy: The ´îš hā´ĕlōhîm got his legitimacy through his special mangod relationship while the ašipu from his year-long specialist education standing in a tradition centuries-old. What they are actually doing—praying, performing ritual acts, and the like—is basically the same: They anticipate a divine intervention. Neither the Israelite nor the Mesopotamian “magician” can do anything out of his own power, or the power of spells nor can he even try to control a god. In the end the efficacy of ritual depends on god or the gods with no difference in mono-and polytheistic symbol-systems. Nevertheless the term “magic”—as it has been defined by late 19th and early 20th Century scholarship—has become problematic and prejudicial; there is at present no consensus about an adequate term to replace it. Therefore, I decided to continue to use the term “magic” for performative symbolic ritual acts, which are performed to achieve a certain result by divine intervention. Note that the definition given here is not meant to be a universal definition of magic. Derived from the evidence of ancient Israel and its ancient Near Eastern environment this attempt to give a definition of magic may only work for this cultural realm, while other cultural contexts (for instance late antique magical literature, and, of course, modern esoteric and neo-pagan “magic”)18 may require a different one. This however, is also one of the main problems with Douglas’ approach in her late work, as she is on the one hand applying an universal definition of magic following in the footsteps of Tylor and Frazer (or their reception in biblical studies), rather than arguing with more recent and more open definitions of “magic” like Tambiah’s,19 which have already been used successfully by biblical scholars.20 On the other hand Douglas takes the verdicts against “magic” in 18 It seems quite obvious that (post-) modern esoteric and neo-pagan magic practices quite fit well the definitions of Tylor and Frazer, as the protagonists of neo-paganism and “satanism,” like Aleister Crowley, have read their “Golden Bough” well. 19 S. J. Tambiah, Magic, Science, Religion, and the Scope of Rationlity (The Lewis Henry Morgan Lectures 1984, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1990), 288. Remarkably, in her essay on witchcraft from 1970 (Thirty Years, in particular XXXV-XXXVI) she is well aware of the problems and avoids any kind of universal definition of magic in favour for a context-oriented approach. 20 See F.H. Cryer, Divination in Ancient Israel and its Near Eastern Environment,

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the deuteronomic/ deuteronomistic and priestly literature (Deut 18:9–22; Exod 22:17; Lev 19:26b, 31) for granted, without recognizing their ideological character. Also in post-biblical Jewish literature and rabbinic writings magic—in the above defined meaning—is a regular practice of religion: In Jubilees 10:10 the art of magical therapy is taught to Noah by the angels, and Josephus (Ant. VIII 45) reports that YHWH himself taught Solomon exorcism and therapeutic magic. Rabbinic magic can refer to the healings of Elijah and Elisha and is therefore magia licita. Talmud Yerushalmi includes a clear statement that everything that leads to the healing of a person is not considered to be among “the ways of the Amorites” (y. Shab 6, 9).21 The same perception of magic is found in the early Christian writings, were the apostles performing magia licita, while the magic of Barjesus/Elymas and the sons of Skeuas is rendered magia illicita (cf. Acts 13:4ff; 19:11ff.). Magic was accepted practice and an integral part of also late Antique Judaism and Christianity, as shown by the great number of magical texts—both practical and theoretical—from the Cairo Geniza and similar Christian magical texts from Egypt.22 Like Douglas in her consideration of miracle deeds, most scholars have argued that the priestly rituals of atonement in the book of Leviticus cannot be classified as magic, because ultimately it is the Lord YHWH effecting the atonement.23 Of course, it is true that the atonement is made effective by God. But if we take a look at rituals of atonement and ritual cleansing in Israel’s Near Eastern environment, the logic of effecting something by rituals acts is the same: In Mesopotamia rituals do not operate ex opere operato or by manipulating gods or minor spiritual beings, but the addressed god or the gods effect the result the ritual anticipates. Like in Israel, the ritual itself, or the ritual material, is granted by the god(s). The godly gift is in ancient Near Eastern rituals mostly described in mythological passages of (JSOTS 142, Sheffield: Sheffield University Press 1994); A. Jeffers, Magic and Divination in Ancient Palestine and Syria (SHCANE VIII, Leiden et. al.: Brill , 1996). 21 ‫ר' שמואל ר' אבהו בשם ר"י כל שהוא מרפא אין בו משום דרכי האמורי‬ 22 See J. Naveh and S. Shaked, Amulets and Magic Bowls (Jerusalem/Leiden: Magness: 1985); ibid., Magic Spells and Formulae (Jerusalem: Magness, 1993); L.H. Schiffman and M.D. Swartz, Hebrew and Aramaic Incantation Texts from the Cairo Genizah (Sheffield: Sheffield University Press, 1992); M. Meyer, Ancient Christian Magic: Coptic Texts of Ritual Power (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999). 23 For discussion see Schmitt, Magie, 305ff.

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the ritual text. The mythological passages tie the actual ritual to the gods. So the ritual re-enacts deeds of the gods in mythical times. In a comparable way the rituals of the second temple are bound back in a mytho-historical past, when YHWH spoke to Moses and Aaron, the latter being the role model for the priest acting in the ritual. This is especially the case in the priestly account on the “battle of magicians” in Exod 7:8–13, were Aaron transforms a stick into a Tannin-monster, a magical act revealed by YHWH in Exod 4:1–6. Both the ancient Near Eastern and the priestly rituals are theistic, or in the words of the Egyptologist Jan Assmann cosmo-theistic.24 The effectiveness of a kippēr-ritual depends on the conviction that the ritual itself was granted by YHWH for atonement. The role of the priest both for diagnosis and therapy is of central importance in the priestly rituals of elimination. The priest alone proclaims the separation and re-integration of the ritual client and he alone is allowed to perform the rites. In all single steps of the ritual he is the one and only performer, while the ritual client is completely passive and has to obey the orders of the priest. Also in matters of grammar, the priest is always the subject of kpr: “Then the priest shall make atonement ...” (Lev 4:20). Focusing all ritual actions on the priest, the priestly ritual literature grants the priest a monopoly on the diagnostics and the ritual therapies. As the priest is the only legitimate performer of the ritual, all non-institutional or free-lance ritual specialists as well as family patriarchs or the elders of a community are denied legitimacy to perform such rituals.25 Thus, not magic per se is forbidden, but only magic done by people without legitimacy.

2.2 ANCESTOR CULTS, NECROMANCY AND OTHER FORMS OF COMMUNICATING WITH THE DEAD Concerning the different forms of communication with the dead we have to make a distinction between necromancy, ancestor cult and other forms of communication with the dead, especially mortuary and mourning rites, which are different phenomena with a different Sitz im Leben. First, some remarks on the ancestor-cult: Mary Douglas has argued that the strict monotheism promoted by the priestly writers abolished ancestor cults, because they were not compatible with the new paradigm, which

24 Cf. J. Assmann, Ägypten. Eine Sinngeschichte, (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1996), 232–242. 25 See Schmitt, Magie, 320–321.

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excludes the intercession of spiritual powers other than YHWH.26 This concept seems to me problematic, as there is no strong evidence that an ancestor cult in the sense of veneration of the ancestors as divine or quasidivine beings (as Douglas perceives them) ever played a role in Israelite religion or existed at all. However, Rachel’s tĕrāpîm, identified with an’êlōhîm (Gen 31:30 and 32) and the interrogation of Samuel’s ghost also addressed as ’êlōhîm in 1 Samuel 28, provide at least some evidence for belief in the existence of spirits of the dead and their special dignity—but not for a cult of the deceased ancestors. Moreover, for the exilic editors of the patriarchal stories and the deuteronomistic history work those practices may have been accounts of (fictional) practices of old and not of actual practices and beliefs. The accounts on special ritual actions for the deceased kings by lightening fires in 2 Chr 16:14; 21:19 and Jer 34:5 do not speak about offerings for the king; they are a special form of honouring the king and may have had an apotropaic function like similar rites in Mesopotamia.27 Also in Israel’s contemporary ancient Near Eastern environment (Phoenicia, Syria and Mesopotamia) there is no evidence for an ancestor cult, not even for the deceased kings, like in 2nd millenium Ugarit.28 Moreover, if there had been ancestor worship in ancient Israel we should expect verdicts and prohibitions in the biblical texts, especially the law codes, against ancestor worship. But no biblical text explicitly deals negatively with the worship or veneration of ancestors. Thus, I share the opinion of B.B. Schmidt, who states: “…the worship or veneration of the ancestors typically envisioned as underlying the mortuary rituals of Ancient Israel comprises a cherished relic of nineteenth century anthropology.”29 It is true that in Lev 19:27–28 (Holiness-Source) and Deut 14:1 some forms of mourning are prohibited. But the biblical prescription only addresses rites of self-mutilation. These rites suggest identification with the dead and threaten to profane YHWH’s holiness.30 Other mourning and mortuary rites are not the concern of the Holiness Code and are not Douglas, Jacob’s Tears, 174ff. See W. Zwickel, “Über das angebliche Verbrennen von Räucherwerk bei der Bestattung des Königs,” ZAW 101 (1989), 266–277. 28 See R. Schmitt, Art. Herrscherkult, Wissenschaftliches Bibel-Lexikon (http://www.WiBiLex.de). 29 See B.B. Schmidt, Israel’s Beneficent Dead. Ancestor Cult and Necromancy in Ancient Israelite Religion and Tradition (FAT 11, Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1994), 292. 30 See S. Olyan, Biblical Mourning. Ritual and Social Dimensions. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 122–123. 26 27

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forbidden. Moreover, I am not convinced that the status of the dead in post exilic times changed in a way that “[t]he dead can do nothing for the living, nor can the living to the dead.”31 There is some evidence even from sources of the Hellenistic time that the tie between the living and the dead was not cut off: In Sirach 7:33 giving food supplies (but not offerings) to the dead is a holy duty: “Give graciously to the living and do not withhold kindness from the dead.” In Tobit 4:17 a gift of bread on the tomb of the righteous, is mentioned as a duty of the living for the dead. Thus, in the realm of family religion care for the dead is an orthodox practice in the true sense of the word. The most striking example of care for the dead is found in 2 Macc 12:39–45: After the battle against Gorgias, Judas orders the performance of atonement rituals (v 43) for the fallen Jews who had carried amulets of foreign gods with them, to ensure that they may rise again from death in the time of resurrection. The possibility of a post mortem atonement ritual shows clearly that in 2 Maccabees—which is not suspected of promoting heterodox views—solidarity does not end with the death and that there was no dissociation of the living and the dead in post-exilic times. Archaeologically, supplies for the dead like lamps, cosmetic containers, cooking pots, bowls and jugs with food provisions in graves are well attested till the late second temple period.32 Second, I would strongly agree with Mary Douglas that necromantic practices—which were, according to 1 Samuel 28; Deut 18:9–22 and Lev 19:26b the subject of different ritual specialists—were ruled out because interrogating the dead was a threat to strict monotheism, since YHWH is the only source of oracles and revelations.33 However, one should not put too much weight on the problem of necromancy: The biblical accounts of necromancers outside the priestly and deuteronomistic law codes, especially in the deuteronomistic and chronistic history writings (1 Samuel 28; 2 Kgs 21:5; 23:24; 2 Chr 16:12), give the strong impression that necromancy played a certain role at the court, but not more. Like many verdicts in the priestly and deuteronomistic regulations and even more in the later Douglas, Jacob’s Tears, 177. A similar position is – among others – taken up by H. Niehr (“The Changed Status of the Dead in Yehud,” R. Albertz and B. Becking (eds.), Yahwism after the Exile. Perspectives on Israelite Religion in the Persian Era (STAR 5, Assen: Van Gorcum, 2003), 136–155. 32 H.-P. Kuhnen, “Palästina in hellenistischer Zeit,” HdA II/2 (München: C. H. Beck 1990), 77. 33 Cf. Douglas, Jacob’s Tears, 183. 31

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prophetic writings the condemnation of necromancy is just a stereotype for non-Yahwistic practices in general.34 The only account which could point to necromancy as a wide-spread form of divination is Isa 8:19, but this text is late or a later addition and is dependant on the deuteronomistic polemics. Thus, we have no textual data that necromancy was ever an integral part of family religion in pre or post-exilic times and therefore a widespread phenomenon.35

3. POST-EXILIC YAHWISM—AN OLD RELIGION RENEWED? The basic thesis of Mary Douglas’ books on the priestly writings is that these texts promote a renewed religion more abstract, more orderly, and more fully theorized than the religions in the Israelite ancient Near Eastern environment. In the new tabernacle-focussed symbol system with its one and only god, there is no more space for demons, ancestors or magic. The vehicle for the promotion of the new symbol system is in particular the book of Leviticus, which in itself has to be viewed as a projection of the desert tabernacle. 36 I would strongly agree that the final composition of the book of Leviticus gave birth to a text which is not a ritual handbook but something that we may call an “intellectual ritual”37 promoting ideas and teachings about clean and unclean and the ordering of the world around the tabernacle. However, I would disagree that the book of Leviticus is creating something radically new and promotes a new symbol system or cosmology that is free from magic and communication with the dead, unlike all the other religions in Israel’s ancient Near Eastern environment.38 The changes 34 For the stereotyped use of witchcraft and necromancy accusations see Schmitt, Magie, 335–381. 35 K. van der Toorn therefore concludes: “The occurrence of necromancy in early Israel does not imply that the consultation of the dead was an essential part of Israelite Family Religion. (…) there is no unambiguous evidence for necromancy by lay people. The documented cases always involved one or more specialists.” See K. van der Toorn, Family Religion in Babylonia, Syria and Israel. Continuity and Change in the Forms of Religious Life (SHCANE VII, Leiden et. al.: Brill, 1996), 233 36 Cf. Douglas, Leviticus, 230; Jacob’s Tears, 8–9. 37 Cf. B. Lang, “Das tanzende Wort. Intellektuelle Rituale im Frühjudentum, im Christentum und in östlichen Religionen,” B. Lang (ed.), Das tanzende Wort. Intellektuelle Rituale im Kulturvergleich (München: Kaiser, 1984), 15–48. 38 See R. Schmitt, “Die nachexilische Religion Israels: Bekenntnisreligion oder kosmotheistische Religion?,” A Wagner (ed.), Primäre und sekundäre Religion als

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that took place from the late monarchic period to the period of the second temple were a mere evolutionary process. On the one hand, they integrated structures and beliefs of the pre-exilic official religion, family religion and the pre-exilic and exilic reform movements and sorted out certain beliefs and practices on the other.39 The care for the dead as a central part of family religion was addressed in the margins. In particular certain mourning customs like self laceration and other expressive body-rites (e.g. Lev 19:28; Deut 14:1; Jer 16:6; 41,5) were forbidden. Necromancy, which never had a strong affiliation with family religion and has nothing to do with the care for the dead, was forbidden because it challenged the concept of prophecy with YHWH as the one and only source of divination as outlined in Deut 18:9–22. Magic, as ritual practice, was restricted to certain authorized (priestly and prophetic) functionaries, but not ruled out. Thus, the concept of monotheism has no effect on ritual ‘magic’ practices, because their concept was in essence theistic. Though the late works of Mary Douglas sometimes provide illuminating insights, it has already been noticed by other scholars that the relation between her literary and sociological analysis is sometimes uneasy.40 In particular in “Leviticus as Literature” she presents a highly speculative literary hypothesis and simply equates the theology promoted in the texts with socio-religious reality. Douglas’s claim that Israel’s symbol system was fundamentally different from those of its ancient Near Eastern environment seems to be apologetic. This may or may not be owing to her Roman Catholic background or not. Nevertheless, it is a step back beyond the much more differentiated and appropriate notion of “magic” in the Old

Kategorie der Religionsgeschichte des Alten Testaments (BZAW 364, Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 2006), 147–157 and M. Nissinen, “Elemente sekundärer Religionserfahrung im nachexilischen Juda?. Erwiderung auf R. Schmitt” op. cit., 159–167. 39 Cf. R. Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion in the Old Testament Period (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1994), vol. 2; K. van der Toorn, Family Religion, 373–379. 40 L. Grabbe (in his review article on Mary Douglas’ Leviticus as Literature, in Journal of Ritual Studies 18 [2004], 157–161) therefore states (ibid. 159): “They seem to me mixed up in a way that is methodologically unacceptable at times. By no means do I propose that the sociological analysis (…) should be omitted but rather that it should follow what must be a literary analysis first carried out independently of historical and sociological considerations.”

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Testament presented in Purity and Danger, which is still a helpful resource for the understanding of the priestly symbol system.

DECIPHERING A DEFINITION: THE SYNTAGMATIC STRUCTURAL ANALYSIS OF RITUAL IN THE HEBREW BIBLE DAVID P. WRIGHT BRANDEIS UNIVERSITY The work by Mary Douglas that has been the most influential in my own study of biblical ritual is not her book Purity and Danger and associated essays, as one might imagine given my long interest in biblical purity laws, but rather her little essay “Deciphering a Meal,” published first in Daedalus in 1972 and reprinted in her collection Implicit Meanings in 1975.1 This is not to gainsay the importance of her most famous work for stimulating modern conceptual anthropological analysis of the seemingly irrational requirements of Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14. But that detailed contribution, while it has implications for the study of broader notions of social and priestly class and sacred space and time, is limited to a rather specific problem. Her essay on meals, in contrast, even though the last half the essay comes back to address some criticisms of her analysis of the biblical dietary laws, sets out a method of ritual analysis that has application far beyond the study of culinary custom and even gets to the heart of the definition of what ritual is.2 1 Mary Douglas, “Deciphering a Meal,” Daedalus (Winter 1972), 61–81; it appears as chapter 16 in her Implicit Meanings (London: Routledge, 1975), 249–275. Her essay will be cited from Implicit Meanings below. This influenced my article “Spectrum of Priestly Impurity,” Gary A. Anderson and Saul M. Olyan (eds.) Priesthood and Cult in Ancient Israel (JSOTS 125; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991,) 150–181 and influenced the approach to ritual in my book Ritual in Narrative: The Dynamics of Feasting, Mourning, and Retaliation Rites in the Ugaritic Tale of Aqhat (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2001). 2 Douglas, Implicit Meanings, 249–261.

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While I call her study an example of ritual analysis, Douglas does not actually portray it as such. It is a method for examining the entire range of related activities within a specific cultural context or society, including activities that are not what we would call ritual. Indeed, in her focus on the phenomenon of meals, the majority of cases that she considers are in fact not ritual according to common definitions. And the features of meals that she uses for her analysis are not inherently indicative of ritual. It is no wonder then that, while she does refer to meals that are ritual events, she uses the term “ritual” only in a passing fashion.3 But it precisely this broad scope that makes her method ultimately pertinent to ritual analysis. It allows one to understand a given performance or custom which may be considered a case of ritual in the broad context of social practice and to identify more clearly the strategies used that constitute a ritual performance. The approach examines the context of all related action to elucidate any particular performance within a set of phenomenologically related activities. Douglas specifically conducts a syntagmatic analysis of meals of her London middle class background. She thus acts as both ethnographer and native informant. Her study has two aspects. The first, more rigorous and complex but less suitable for presentation in a brief essay, is the creation of a framework of analytic categories. She breaks down each event that involves ingestion into its basic elements so that it can be compared with other such events. She classifies meal units from largest to smallest (daily menu, meal, course, helping, mouthful) and identifies the specific food types that make up a meal (antipasti, meat dishes, grilled fish, melon, pudding, and so forth). This detailed classification allows her to identify patterns in the grouping of meal and food elements throughout the system. One pattern, which becomes important for her general analysis, is the presence of one main and two subordinate food items. In more elaborate meals, this pattern appears multifold, whereas a basic meal may consist of one instance of the pattern. She only samples the detailed classification of meals, recognizing that, though her analysis “advances considerably the analysis of our family eating patterns,” it also “shows how long and tedious the exhaustive analysis would be, even to read. It would be more taxing to observe and record.”4 3 4

See, for example, ibid., 254. Ibid., 253–254.

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To avoid ennui, she moves to a more general mode of analysis, and this is where her approach becomes particularly helpful for scholars of biblical ritual, especially since the Bible provides hardly enough evidence with which to ply her more exhaustive approach. We have the data that the biblical writers have chosen to record. Making sense of this often requires the nudge of creative insight. Among her chief general observations is that to understand any particular instance of a meal, one must understand the entire scope of related phenomena. She couches this observation in a criticism of the structural approach of Levi-Strauss. She says that by focusing merely on binary pairs, Strauss “affords no technique for assessing the relative value of the binary pairs that emerge in a local set of expressions.”5 She goes on to say: For analyzing the food categories used in a particular family the analysis must start with why those particular categories and not others are employed. We will discover the social boundaries which the food meanings encode by an approach which values the binary pairs according to their position in a series. Between breakfast and the last nightcap, the food of the day comes in an ordered pattern. Between Monday and Sunday, the food of the week is patterned again. Then there is the sequence of holidays, birthdays, and weddings.6

From this she observes: In other words, the binary or other contrasts must be seen in their syntagmatic relations. The chain which links them together gives each element some of its meaning.7

The key element for me here is not so much what she says about structural or sociological analysis, but that the analysis of a particular performance must occur in connection with the full array of similar phenomena. As she goes on to examine meals themselves, she notes that patterns in simple meals, a breakfast for example, may be replicated and multiplied in more complex meals, such as a Sunday afternoon or holiday meal. This is the pattern that I mentioned earlier, the presence of one primary and two subsidiary food items. Of the repeated patterns, she says: Ibid., 250 (my italics). Ibid., 250–251 7 Ibid., 251. 5 6

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES The smallest, meanest meal metonymically8 figures the structure of the grandest, and each unit of the grand meal figures again the whole meal—or the meanest meal. The perspective created by these repetitive analogies invests the individual meal with additional meaning.9

Part of her concern here is the phenomenology of meals, to explain why some things that purport to be meals are not in fact meals. She gives the example of soup and pudding together. One might fill up on these items— i.e., obtain some practical nutritional benefit—but it is not a “meal” by social definition or expectation or by the patterning exposed by syntagmatic analysis. This observation actually relates to another question in ritual analysis, that of infelicitous ritual, as explored by Ronald Grimes, and which I will discuss later on. Douglas’s syntagmatic analysis, which looks for patterns of structural repetition, may help clarify why some ritual acts do not work well. What Douglas says about repeated structure may be construed in a more general sense, as a need to search for intercontextual meaning between the grandest and meanest examples of phenomena of a particular type in whatever way the evidence allows or in connection with whatever specific methodology an analyst may use. When viewed broadly in this way, Douglas’s method of analysis ties into the definition of and approach to ritual proposed by Catherine Bell. For this recent theorist, there is no hard and fast demarcation between ritual and non-ritual. Rather, ritual acts are related to their non-ritual congeners and feature strategies that mark them as ritual. Because of this relationship between ritual and non-ritual acts, Bell prefers to speak of ritualization rather than ritual. She defines this as: a way of acting that is designed and orchestrated to distinguish and privilege what is being done in comparison to other, usually more quotidian, activities. As such, ritualization is a matter of various culturally specific strategies for setting some activities off from others, for creating and privileging a qualitative distinction between the ‘sacred’ and the ‘profane,’ and for ascribing such distinctions to realities thought to transcend the powers of human actors.10 Or synecdochically. Douglas, Implicit Meanings, 257. 10 Catherine Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 74. For continued discussion, see Catherine Bell, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions (New York: Oxford, 1997). 8 9

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This definition, like Douglas’s syntagmatic approach, places side-byside performances belonging to the same general phenomenology (e.g., meals) and implies that to understand the one it is necessary to understand the other and even a range of similar activities in a specific cultural context or society studied. Bell herself refers to meals to exemplify her definition of ritualization. She apparently is not thinking of Douglas’s essay, to tell from the lack of reference to it in her notes. But she nonetheless like Douglas places ritual and non-ritual versions of the same phenomenon in dialogue with each other: ...distinctions between eating a regular meal and participating in the Christian eucharistic meal are redundantly drawn in every aspect of the ritualized meal, from the type of larger family gathering around the table to the distinctive periodicity of the meal and the insufficiency of the food for physical nourishment. It is important to note that the features of formality, fixity, and repetition are not intrinsic to this ritualization or to ritual in general. Theoretically, ritualization of the meal could employ a different set of strategies to differentiate it from conventional eating, such as holding the meal only once in a person’s lifetime or with too much food for normal nourishment. The choice of strategies would depend in part on which ones could most effectively render the meal symbolically dominant to its conventional counterparts. The choice would also depend on the particular ‘work’ the ritualized acts aimed to accomplish in a situation. Given this analysis, ritualization could involve the exact repetition of a centuries-old tradition or deliberately radical innovation and improvisation, as in certain forms of liturgical experimentation or performance art.11

Though they have different theoretical motivations and have different analytic purposes, Bell’s and Douglas’s approaches thus go hand in hand in pointing to the necessity of viewing ritual as part of a larger context of similar practice including non-ritual practice. The new definition of ritualization as found in Bell’s work expands what might be included under the umbrella of ritual, since there are various strategies of ritualization and different degrees to which these are manifested. In terms of meals in the context of the Bible, when we look for ritual meals, we not only have to Ibid., 90–91. Bell does not cite Douglas’s essay at this point in her study (see pp. 151–152). 11

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look at sacrifice, where portions burned on the altar are Yahweh’s food and where priests and lay offerers eat portions of the sacrifice.12 We must look at other and, yes, secular meals for features of ritualization. Let us examine one such meal scene in biblical narrative that one may not think to consider when examining biblical sacrifice: the feast that Joseph holds with his brothers upon their second return to Egypt, when they bring their brother Benjamin, described in Genesis 43. When the brothers arrive and Joseph sees Benjamin, he immediately plans a feast and orders his steward to bring the men into the house and slaughter an animal (v. 16). This command may be seen as the initial ritualized feature of the feast. It is a performative speech act that marks the inauguration of the proceedings.13 It is further definable as ritual action in its connection with the whole of the feast that follows and in setting out the how the brothers are to first relate to the context of the feast. Following Joseph’s command, the steward takes the brothers to Joseph’s house (vv. 17, 24), and Simeon, who stayed as surety in Egypt, is brought to join them (v. 23). This, too, is a ritualized act since it puts the brothers in the physical space where the feast will take place.14 It is comparable to inviting guests through the front door into one’s home for a dinner party. Bell’s analysis helps us understand how this operates as ritual. For her, ritual does not simply symbolize or reflect social relationships, but is a means of creating them. In fact, she resists the dichotomy that an analysis of ritual as symbol creates. A dualism where meaning exists separately from the performance is theoretically problematic. For her, therefore, ritual’s meaning lies primarily in what it does, i.e., establishing power relationships between participants. In Joseph’s feast, the introduction of the brothers into the house is the beginning of formulating a new relationship with them. 12 For a recent basic theoretical consideration of sacrifice, see D. P. Wright, “The Study of Ritual in the Hebrew Bible,” Frederick E. Greenpahn (ed.) The Hebrew Bible: New Insights and Scholarship (Jewish Studies in the Twenty-First Century; New York: New York University Press, 2008), 120–138. 13 See J. L. Austin, How to Do Things With Words (2d ed.; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1975[1st ed. 1962]); John R. Searle, “What Is A Speech Act?,” Max Black (ed.) Philosophy in America (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1965), 221– 239. 14 For space in ritual, see, for example, Jonathan Z. Smith, To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual (Chicago: University of Chicago Pres, 1987).

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Preparations continue with the hospitality custom of allowing the invited guests to wash their feet (cf. 18:1–15; 19:1–14; 24:31–54). Though this has a practical purpose and is not religious in nature, it is still a ritualized act in that it is a benefit bestowed by a host on his guests and constructs a relationship between the parties. It is the context of deployed relationships that helps define this as ritual, as opposed, for example, to a non-ritual case of cleaning like the everyday brushing of one’s teeth. Brushing the teeth would be a ritualized act if a host were to provide a dinner-party guest with a toothbrush to be used in connection with the event. After the brothers wash, and Joseph arrives, they present to him the gifts that they brought and they prostrate themselves (v. 26). Not only does obeisance ritualize the gift giving, gift giving itself is a ritualized act. What they expect to get from Joseph is hardly equivalent to the gift, which is described as “some balm and some honey, gum, ladanum, pistachio nuts, and almonds” (v. 11; NJPS). The gift is a sign of the brothers’ submission to Joseph. It conveys something about their intent in this negotiation. It is the thought that counts here. The feast overall entails ritual infelicity. This is where something in the performance is not quite right or proceeds amiss.15 In the case before us, one element of infelicity is the cloud of deceit under which Joseph operates. The brothers do not know with whom they are dealing. Of course, from Joseph’s point of view, things do proceed according to plan. Another type of infelicity occurs in the gift-giving scene. One expects Joseph to acknowledge receipt of the gift. But he pays no attention to his brothers’ gifts, instead questioning them about to family issues. He first asks after his father. The brothers say that he is fine and bow again. It is as if they are waiting for him to recognize the gift and have to make the gesture of presentation a second time. Convention dictates a certain development in the interaction between the two parties, but Joseph goes off script. It is not that ritual cannot deviate from cultural norm or prescription. To view ritual as rigid and necessarily unchanging is to disregard the fact that ritual does change and evolve. It is precisely in designed or ad hoc variations that ritual is able to chart personal relationships ways different from what currently 15 See Ronald Grimes, “Infelicitous Performances and Ritual Criticism,” in his book Ritual Criticism: Case Studies in Its Practice, Essays on Its Theory (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1990), 191–209. See Wright, Ritual in Narrative, 108–118 and passim.

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exist. In our story, Joseph can be viewed as deviating from custom in order to achieve his particular social goal. Next Joseph recognizes Benjamin (43:27–28) and cites a short blessing over him: “May God show you favor, my son” (‫ ;אלהים יחנך בני‬43:29b)— again a ritualized act. It may be that the lack of acknowledging the gifts is the fault of Joseph’s emotions rather than a strategy to play with his brothers, because Joseph is immediately overcome and runs out of the room. In terms of literary technique, the story uses ritual infelicity to create a climax in the story. But the feast eventually continues. Joseph returns when he is composed and declares: “Set out the meal!” (‫ ;שימו לחם‬43:31). This command complements the initial declaration that begins the larger feast performance (in v. 16) and signals a new stage in the feast. The seating of the feast reflects national and familial relationships. “Egyptian” Joseph must sit separate from the Hebrews, since mixing is an abomination (‫ ;כי תועבה הוא למצרים‬v. 32). As for the brothers, Joseph arranges them in their birth order (v. 33).16 This is a surprise to the brothers—how could the Egyptian official know this detail about their family? Ritual here is used to create mystery and fear. As a final mapping of relationships, he gives Benjamin a greater portion of food. This brother is the youngest, and his place at the table reflects this, but he is honored with the greatest portion.17 The feast ends well, as indicated by the statement “and they (the brothers) drank and got drunk with him” (‫ ;וישתו וישכרו עמו‬v. 34). Drinking to excess is the type of behavior that marks a ritual event as opposed to eating for the sake of nourishment. The ritual succeeded overall in doing socially what it intended, at least for Joseph the host and for the narrator. The relationship of the brothers to him was defined and in particular the relationship of Benjamin to Joseph and the rest of his brothers. If we had time and space, we could study the whole range of feast passages in the Hebrew Bible and engage in a comparative and syntagmatic analysis, as Douglas does. We could use this analysis to throw light on form On the importance of seating arrangements in ritual, see Bruce Lincoln, Discourse and the Construction of Society (New York: Oxford, 1989), 75–84, 131–141. 17 On how portions (amount or quality) are indicative of social rank, see Lincoln, Discourse, 81–84. Note also the passages on priestly prebends and divine portions (e.g., Leviticus 1–7) and in Elkanah’s and Hannah’s sacrifice (1 Sam 1:5). See also Nancy Jay, Throughout Your Generations Forever: Sacrifice, Religion, and Paternity (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1992), 7. 16

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and meaning of the meal system in biblical Israel generally. We could also use this approach to elucidate particular instances of feasting anywhere in the continuum of examples. As noted earlier, this type of analysis would be helpful for the study of sacrifice, one category of biblical feasting. Certain common phenomenological features are visible between Joseph’s feast and sacrifice. These include ablutions preparatory for feasting; a specified space for feasting, in particular the house of the overlord; giving a gift to the overlord; a blessing from the overlord (through intermediaries); space assignments for eating within the larger ritual space or house, including where the deity, priests, and lay people are; portions served or due certain people; and enjoying oneself even to satiety. A study of secular feasts in connection with sacrifice also shows up ritual motifs that are not immediately apparent in biblical sacrifice, at least in Pentateuchal prescriptions, and points to things we might expect to find in sacrifice. In the Joseph story, for example, the brothers engage in obeisance. We could examine other texts, such as the Psalms, for evidence of this act in connection with sacrifice. Moreover, the actual feasting by humans in Pentateuchal prescriptions is almost an incidental feature of sacrifice. But Joseph’s feast makes us think that this is much more important than the prescriptions of Leviticus, for example, indicate. It makes the prescriptions in Leviticus look more like instructions in a cookbook for food preparation of the meal on Thanksgiving. They tell us how to prepare the turkey and other items and perhaps even how to present them on the plate and table, but they say little about how the occasion is celebrated by participants and how the different participants interact, specifically what we would like to know about if we are interested in true sociological analysis. Other feasts in the Bible may open the door to intuiting the human dynamics of sacrifice. Douglas’s approach can be applied to ritual phenomena distinct from meals. These include things like gift-giving, bargaining, beseeching, assembly, protest, naming and designation, cursing and blessing, promises and oaths, birth, coming of age, marriage, funeral and mourning activities, healing, memorial making, courting, and love-making, to sample a wide range of phenomena. In each case, all related activities—ritualized and nonritualized, religious and secular—must be studied together to elucidate the counterparts in the spectrum and to generate analytic questions.

IMAGINING EZEKIEL SILVIO SERGIO SCATOLINI APÓSTOLO LEUVEN, BELGIUM For recent studies, “genres constitute a form of communication, a system of shared meanings between author and reader.”1 Meanings can be shared if and when there are channels and codes that make such a sharing possible. Without a channel and a code bridging the gap between the sender and the receiver, there can be no communication. Literary genres belong to the encoded information that a text offers to its readers to facilitate their reading. This explains the importance attributed to the study of literary genres in the field of biblical exegesis. The aim of this contribution is to highlight some of the clues encoded in the biblical book of Ezekiel and aimed at guiding its audience to produce warranted readings. The following propositions encapsulate the four specific indicators to which I shall turn my attention. 1) Ezekiel constitutes a written compilation or collection of prophetic visionary experiences and oracles strung together within an autobiographical framework. 2) The visionary elements in Ezek 1:1–3:14, 3:23–24, 8:1–11:25, 37:1– 14 and 40:1–48:35 (and some of the sign acts, e.g. Ezek 4:4–14) highlight the fantastic dimension of the book. 3) Ezekiel is a work of religious literature constituting an example of Hebrew biblical as well as of biblical Hebrew literature.2 Margaret S. Odell, “Genre and Persona in Ezekiel 24:15–24,” in Margaret S. Odell & John T. Strong (eds), The Book of Ezekiel. Theological and Anthropological Perspectives (Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2000) 196. 2 Whenever we speak of Hebrew biblical we refer to the Hebrew canon of the Jewish Scriptures. Whenever we speak of biblical Hebrew we refer to the language as opposed, for instance, to Rabbinic Hebrew. 1

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES 4) All in all, the determining criterion for reading Ezekiel is that it belongs primarily to the order of the fictional (symbolical, metaphorical), prophetic use of language rather than the historical.

The narration is told not in order to convey the literal rendition of things that happened, as they happened, but in order to tell, persuade, convince, teach, challenge and, last but not least, rebut opinions, create meaning and convey an all-round religious message. Ezekiel is more of an imaginative rendition and re-creation of reality in terms of a religious (say, ideological) worldview than a literary photograph of the events mentioned during the narration. The “I-You” style of the book makes Ezekiel involve its readers in an active way. The readers cannot avoid being dragged into the ideological discussion being staged inside/by the book. It is to this autobiographical dynamic that I shall now direct my attention.

1.

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL DIMENSION

The first clue that the book gives us is contained in its introductory verses and sustained throughout. The continual “I-You” communication between God and the prophet, as well as between the prophet and his audience, gives the book a clear autobiographical character (which, nonetheless—as we shall see later— does not make it into an autobiography).3 Zimmerli did not fail to note that in its overall formation the book distinguishes itself from other prophetic books in that “it is throughout composed in the I-style. (…) This stylizing (…) gives to the book of Ezekiel the character of a continuum first person account,” cf. Walther Zimmerli, Ezekiel 1. A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel, Chapters 1–24 (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979) 24. Block speaks of an “autobiographical perspective,” cf. Daniel I. Block, The Book of Ezekiel. Chapters 1–24 (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1997) 27. Blenkinsopp describes it as “basically an autobiographical narrative,” cf. Joseph Blenkinsopp, Ezekiel (Louisville, KY: John Knox, 1988) 6. Lust has recently also drawn attention to the autobiographical character of Ezekiel, cf. Johan Lust, “‘Ik, Tiberius Claudius’ en ‘Ik, Ezechiël’,” in Schrift 201 (June 2002) 87–89. The book of Ezekiel begins in a clearly autobiographical mode (cf. Ezek 1:1, reinforced later by 8:1, 9:8 and 12:11) and continues that way up to the end. Only in Ezek 1:3 does the autobiographical perspective become biographical when the text switches from the first person singular to the third singular (betraying redactional work). All in all, the language of the book is deeply autobiographical since it presents the readers with a narration that is told from the point of view of the narrator-actant and describes the prophet’s inner world and actions as well as the occasional reactions of his audience. 3

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The inaugural verses of Ezekiel identify the (imaginary) author, the narrator, and the protagonist. This strategy is usually referred to as pacte autobiographique since it indicates that the book is a piece of autobiographical writing.4 One could thus compare the data regarding Ezekiel to what is said about Jeremiah5 and conclude that Ezekiel constitutes a prophetic autobiography. I prefer, however, to say that it is written in an autobiographical mode or within an autobiographical framework because Ezekiel is not exactly the same as modern autobiographies, which might lead to misconceptions and unwarranted expectations. The autobiographical mode of the book crystallises in the passage in which the prophet is told to eat the scroll (cf. Ezek 3:1)6 and its inner rationale is revealed in Ezek 24:24 (“Ezekiel shall be a sign to you; you shall do just as he has done.”).7 A first reading indicates that eating the message signifies its incarnation in the persona of the prophet. A deeper reading reveals that what actually takes place is an entextualization thereof: the divine message, the (imaginary) author, the narrator and the protagonist are all equally semiotic realities. They all exist in the symbolic realm of the text being activated by its audience. This is why Ezekiel is autobiographical, but not an autobiography. “Autobiography as such,” suggests Odell, “did not exist in the ancient world.”8 That is why “the term ‘autobiography’ is inadequate as a genre description not only for Ezekiel, but also for other contemporary first person accounts.”9 Ezekiel functions communicatively by using autobiographical strategies without being an autobiography. In a way, it is an example of biblical pseudepigrapha (in the sense given to this term by Davies10), rather than of hagiography. The character is an excuse: although he apparently occupies centre stage, it is God’s Message that matters. 4 Cf. Ulla Musarra-Schroeder, “Vormen van ‘autobiografisch schrijven’,” in Els Jongeneel (ed.), Over de autobiografie (Utrecht: HES, 1989) 42. 5 Cf. Alexander Rofé, The Prophetical Stories. The Narratives about the Prophets in the Hebrew Bible. Their Literary Types and History (Jerusalem: The Magnes Press, The Hebrew University, 1988) 122. 6 Intertextually read, this passage (“it was in my mouth as honey for sweetness,” Ezek 3:3) would also indicate that Ezekiel’s experience of the message and mission bestowed on him is somehow “sweeter” than Jeremiah’s. 7 Cf. Margaret S. Odell, “Genre and Persona,” 206–207. 8 Idem, 207. 9 Idem, 208. 10 Philip R. Davies (ed.), First Person. Essays in Biblical Autobiography (London, UK – New York, NY: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002) 11–14.

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However, given that God is not telling the story in person, it is the book— or, better still, the narration—that really matters. The canonisation of the book as Holy Writ further emphasises and consecrates this dynamic by stamping on it the seal of “God’s Word.” In fact, even God is a character within the space of the book. For it is not God whose voice the readers hear, but the book’s “God” (God according to Ezekiel). Because of all these reasons, it is important that we take stock of some of the issues and questions pertaining to autobiographical writings.

1.1.

TYPES OF BIOGRAPHICAL LITERATURE

Autobiographical strategies are among the different resources used in the literature that contains biographical details or components, the best-known ones being: biographies, autobiographies, memoirs, confessions and diaries. They all have in common a biographical mode, that is, each of them describes somebody’s life, be it partially or in its entirety, from a particular perspective and according to recognisable patterns.11 Yet the difference between memoirs, biographies and autobiographies is not irrelevant, since it sends a message to the readers as to how they must decode the information provided by the work. Biographies (sensu stricto) are writings about a period or the whole of somebody’s life written from the point of view of somebody else. Even in those cases in which this “somebody else” is the same person about whom the book is written, the language of a biography (i.e. third person) makes it clear to the readers that the author has opted to dissociate the functions of author, and of narrator-protagonist or internal focaliser (in Dutch, “interne focalisator”)12, rather than to cast the narration in an I-object form (author = narrator = protagonist).13 A biography can be the result of a scientific historiographic study and/or a literary genre. When one refers to a piece of writing whose formal object is the reflection of somebody’s life in a factual way, then one speaks 11 One must visualize here the distinction between the biographical writing mode and biographies as such. 12 Cf. Irene De Jong, Narrators and Focalizers: The Presentation of the Story in the Iliad (Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 1987) 41ff.; Dimitri Vanlessen, Een narratologische analyse van Kipphardts März [thesis] (Leuven: K.U.Leuven, 2004) e.g. 87. 13 This would result in a text that is explicitly a biography; while it implicitly is an autobiography. Cf. Sandro Briosi, “Over het literaire karakter van de autobiografie,” in Els Jongeneel (ed.), Over de autobiografie, 60.

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of scientific biography (“de wetenschappelijke biografie”). “A biography is a narrative account of the stages of a person’s life, an account which aspires to authenticity and historical accuracy. It records the actions of a particular individual and his experiences in his struggle to achieve his goals and pursue his principles.”14 This is a narration of the res gestae.15 There are other cases, however, in which a biographical narration is offered not to present mere history to its readers but rather a story (in the usual sense of the word, i.e. not as in opposition to subject); one speaks then of romanticised biography (“geromantiseerde biografie”).16 Whenever a biography is written in the “I”-form, one speaks of autobiography. It is the most explicit historical-literary way whereby the author can come to explicit self-knowledge by means of narration.17 The personal dimension (the “I”-perspective) of the narration is central to autobiographies: the factual is subsumed within the meaningful. Meaning rather than the naked facts is what is important.18 Even the historical side of autobiographies must surrender to the rhythm of storytelling. For history can be told only by means of stories.19 Facts are of themselves mute and must therefore be given a voice. Events must be strung together in causal relationships, which is an ideological narrative enterprise of the imagination. The readers of autobiographical writings must thus struggle against the temptation to identify in a factual way the author whose name is on the cover or the title or the opening verse with the narrator (as though: literary A = historical A). “De gelijkschakeling van auteur en verteller betreft dus alleen hun namen. Het is een illusie die ontstaan is uit een ‘autobiografische overeenkomst’ die niet kan bestaan zonder tegelijkertijd 14 Alexander Rofé, The Prophetical Stories, 109. See also B. Croce, Teoria e storia della storiografia (Bari: Laterza e Figli, 1948). 15 Cf. Karl Weintraub, “Autobiografie en fictie. De ontwikkeling van de autobiografie als vorm van zelfbewustwording,” in Els Jongeneel (ed.), Over de autobiografie, 11. 16 Cf. Hendrik Van Gorp et al., “Biografie,” Lexicon van literaire termen (Deurne: Wolters Plantyn, 71998) 57–58. 17 Cf. Karl Weintraub, “Autobiografie en fictie,” 9–26. 18 Cf. Bernd Neumann, “De autobiografie als literair genre,” in Els Jongeneel (ed.), Over de autobiografie, 34; see also Sandro Briosi, “Over het literaire karakter van de autobiografie,” 57–61. 19 Cf. Maarten van Buuren, “De biografie als literair genre,” in Johan Anthierens et al., Aspecten van de literaire biografie (Kampen: Kok Agora, 1990) 51, 54 and 59.

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een ‘denkbeeldige overeenkomst’ te worden (Lejeune). Rouseau zei dat de biograaf ‘zich toont zoals hij gezien wil worden.’”20 Another element of autobiographies (and also of biographical writings at large) is their retrospective character,21 which determines that construction according to literary convention and themes be the criterion, rather than the re-construction of historical facts in their chronological sequence.22 This makes the distinction between historically accurate autobiographies and pseudo-autobiographies rather difficult to determine. Such difficulty can be overcome by speaking of autobiographical writing rather than of autobiography23 in the sense of some sort of historiography of the self. Retrospection implies that whatever is enunciated about the past is said from the vantage point of the present—which is every now and then explicitly confessed by the text; for instance, in Ezekiel’s remark “to this very day” (Ezek 2:3) and the involvement of the prophet’s audience (e.g. Ezek 8:1; 20:1)—and with a view to the future.

My own translation: “The equation of actor and narrator concerns only their names. This is an illusion that originates from an ‘autobiographical pact’ which cannot exist without simultaneously becoming an ‘imaginary pact’ (Lejeune). Rouseau said that the biographer ‘shows himself as he wishes to be seen’.” Sandro Briosi, “Over het literaire karakter van de autobiografie,” 59. A good example of autobiographical “deception” would be the poetic book called Martín Fierro, which is written completely in the “I”-form from beginning to end and is a truthful account of the life of Martín Fierro as though he had written it—when in fact the whole tale has been an invention of Hernández. We can see this “deception” at its best in the second strophe: “Pido a los santos del cielo | que ayuden mi pensamiento | les pido que en este momento | que voy a cantar mi historia | me refresquen la memoria | y aclaren mi entendimiento,” [Our own translation: “I ask the heavenly Saints | that they help my thoughts | I ask them that at this moment | in which I am about to sing my story | they refresh my memory | and clarify my understanding”] José Hernández, Martín Fierro (Buenos Aires: Kapelusz, 1965) 5. 21 Cf. Ulla Musarra-Schroeder, “Vormen van ‘autobiografisch schrijven’,” 46ff. See also Robert Elbaz, The Changing Nature of the Self. A Critical Study of the Autobiographic Discourse (London – Sydney: Croom Helm, 1988) 2–3. 22 Cf. Bernd Neumann, “De autobiografie als literair genre,” in Els Jongeneel (ed.), Over de autobiografie, 38; see also Ulla Musarra-Schroeder, “Vormen van ‘autobiografisch schrijven’,” 42. 23 Cf. Ulla Musarra-Schroeder, “Vormen van ‘autobiografisch schrijven’,” 42–43. 20

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Whenever biographical writings stress the inner side or psychological development of the protagonist, they are called confessions, e.g. Saint Augustine’s Confessions.24 Memoirs concern mostly a period in someone’s life and his or her relationships with important personalities, the stress being on the interpersonal and social, rather than on the development of the personality of the protagonist.25 Some think they come close to the res gestae of classical literature.26 Diaries provide the readers with a more or less day-to-day description of events told from the point of view of the protagonist, where narrator and main character converge on the self-same literary persona. The day is the basic biographical moment, and each day has its own content and finality.27 No final evaluation of the global meaning of the whole is given beyond the boundaries of a day. In this sense, diaries give the readers a sense of quasisimultaneousness.28 The types of literature mentioned above (namely biographies, autobiographies, memoirs and diaries) pose the question whether they must be grouped under the umbrella of either history/historiography or literature.

1.2

BIOGRAPHICAL LITERATURE AND HISTORY

Are Saint Augustine’s Confessions, for instance, a piece of history-writing or an autobiographical literary composition? Or, do the autobiographical elements present in Ezekiel determine it as some sort of prophetic historywriting or an autobiographical literary work? According to Wellek and Warren, the difference between pure historiography and literature lies in the fact that a “character in a novel [and other literary works] differs from a historical figure or a figure in real life. He is made only of the sentences describing him or put into his mouth by the author. He has no past, no future, and sometimes no continuity of life.”29 This is so because time and space in literary works are not those of 24 Cf. Hendrik Van Gorp et al., “Bekentenisliteratuur,” Lexicon van literaire termen (Leuven: Wolters, 61991) 41. 25 Cf. Karl Weintraub, “Autobiografie en fictie,” 11; see also Bernd Neumann, “De autobiografie als literair genre,” in Els Jongeneel (ed.), Over de autobiografie, 30ff. 26 Cf. Bernd Neumann, “De autobiografie als literair genre,” 28. 27 Cf. Karl Weintraub, “Autobiografie en fictie,” 13. 28 Cf. Ulla Musarra-Schroeder, “Vormen van ‘autobiografisch schrijven’,” 46. 29 R. Wellek & A. Warren, R. Wellek & A. Warren, Theory of Literature. A seminal

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real life. Time, for instance, does not follow the laws of succession, but those of convention.30 The nature, form and style of an autobiographical writing will determine towards which side it leans most, whether it is a clear collection of documentation on facts or a personal recollection in which the narration does not primarily pretend to offer the facts and nothing but the facts, but a story about some facts. In this sense, Ezekiel can be said to be a literary work that contains some historical elements (e.g. dates are enunciated) rather than a piece of pure historiography.31 The use of historical elements in (auto)biographical literature raises questions about the accuracy of the story being told. These questions can at times be quite embarrassing for believers who are then faced not only with historical riddles, but also theological ones. Before they know it, reading an innocent piece of writing can turn into a theodicy crusade aimed at saving God’s face.

1.3 NORMATIVE CRITERION IN BIOGRAPHICAL LITERATURE Dealing with the relationship between literature, biography and history, Wellek and Warren made a very relevant remark in regard to the question about the literary and historical value of autobiographies. They point out that “the whole view that art is self-expression pure and simple, the transcript of personal feelings and experiences, is demonstrably false. Even when there is a close relationship between the work of art and the life of an author, this must never be construed as meaning that the work of art is a mere copy of life.”32 Literary tradition and convention frame the work of the writer in such a way that literature cannot be equated with a mere description of the naked facts, not even a perfect representation of the feelings of the author. Thus, St Augustine’s Confessions are first and foremost study of the nature and function of literature in all its contexts (Harmondsworth, UK: Penguin Books, 121985) 25. 30 Cf. ibidem. 31 Even in this respect we must bear in mind that history-writing and historiography are also forms of storytelling. “History is our way of giving what we are and what we believe in the present a significance that will endure into the future, by relating it to what has happened in the past. Or, to be a bit more precise: to write history is to write about events in relation to their own past, in order to provide those events with significance that makes them worthy of being remembered in the future:” Fred M. Donner, Narratives of Islamic Origins. The beginnings of Islamic Historical Writing (Princeton, NJ: The Darwin Press, 1998) 114. 32 R. Wellek & A. Warren, R. Wellek & A. Warren, Theory of Literature, 78.

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a literary work and only secondarily a historical document. Yet, even in this case, the perspective from which the work is approached will determine whether it is used as literature, i.e. for its literary value, or as a historical document. Looked at from the angle of its readership, the Confessions can be both a literary work and a historical document, depending on the intention and reading perspective of its readers. The normative backdrop of literature is not the order of nature, but the order of imagination. Nature provides literature with certain pointers (e.g. life spans from birth through growth to death); imagination does the rest.33 And imagination belongs within the realm of the conscious, the subconscious and the unconscious, of dreams and desires, vision and determination, both at the individual and the collective levels (e.g. the world of the language within which it originates and unfolds itself, and of collective archetypes). That is one more reason why a literary work escapes the boundaries of the intention of the author. Even if Ezekiel were indeed Ezekiel’s own autobiography (which must first be proven), the final composition has a far broader scope than the initial intention of the prophet. This has to do with what Gibson calls the principle of excess, whereby it is meant that “expressions contain more than their immediate employment in the narrative advertises.”34 Indeed, “a literary work of art is not a simple object but rather a highly complex organization of a stratified character with multiple meanings and relationships.”35 For a literary work “consists in a complex verbal system, in a system of structures on different planes, related among themselves. It is a system of significant forms.”36 This is so because, as Gibson pointed out, “narratives are theoretically pluralist. That is to say, the substructures of a large range of ancient Near East texts contiguous to and polemically intertextually subsumed in the Old Testament manifest in their semantics no single logical grammar, nor presuppose a common thematic mentality with respect to their underlying evidence of psycholinguistic phenomena. Although this may be thought to be a fairly obvious point, stated like this, the way the opinion is expressed is Cf. Brian Fay, “Do We Live Stories or Just Tell Them?,” Contemporary Philosophy of Social Science (Cambridge, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 1996) 188. 34 A. Gibson, Text and Tablet: Near Eastern Archaeology, the Old Testament and New Possibilities (Aldershot – Burlington USA – Singapore – Sydney: Ashgate, 2000) 70. 35 R. Wellek & A. Warren, Theory of Literature, 27. 36 Luis Alonso Schökel, A Manual of Hermeneutics [The Biblical Seminar, 54] (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998) 125. 33

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calculated to defend the notion that compositional activity has plural causal relations to author and written narrative, not merely to a reader’s indeterministic projection on to a text.”37 As readers, we must accept that the text—in this case, Ezekiel—is, as already said, a microcosm of its own, with its own relationships and rules, as well as its own pockets of unpredictability, singularity and chaos. Yet, it does not only have an inner texture that makes it into a microcosm, it also has a contextual texture.38 Ezekiel is, as any other text, both innovative and “traditioned.” Its originality is built on what came before.

1.4

BOTH INNOVATIVE AND “TRADITIONED”

Ezekiel exists within a macrocosm of which it unconsciously is, or consciously aspires to be, a reflection or a critique. The written words that make up the text are not self-centred; they do not point to themselves. The physical boundaries of the text and its meaning blocks are not prison bars but the doors and windows to a larger world of meaning and communication within which the text orbits in relationship to other meaning-producing and meaning-bearing entities. This is the symbolic dimension of literary texts, Ezekiel included. Literary works are pointers to something other and larger than themselves, to an intertextual ongoing communication; so as is each and every part of any whole. The fact that a literary work represents a new creation of the imagination, and that it comes into being within the intertextual matrix of a particular language embodying deeply human and universal sentiments and desires, has important repercussions for the study of literature. It shows the insufficiency of the exclusively historical approach to literary works, whereby literary works are seen almost as foregone conclusions of historical conditionings or as mere re-workings of preceding sources from which some of their parts would allegedly have stemmed. The whole of the text is innovative since it brings each and all of the parts into relationships that they did not know before the composition of the new text.39 It would, however, A. Gibson, Text and Tablet, 73. Cf. Dennis A. Foster, Confession and Complicity in Narrative (Cambridge London – New York – Rochelle – Melbourne – Sydney: Cambridge University Press, 1987) 1–2. 39 This means that this newness in redactional compositions must be attributed to the redactors. In this sense, if it was shown that Ezekiel has been the result of a multiple compositional process, we would have to acknowledge that the book’s 37 38

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be equally unrealistic and inadequate to approach literary works as though each one of them was a creatio ex nihilo (creation out of nothing), simply because they are not. Imagination is always-already conditioned, if not completely, at least in part.40 Wellek and Warren have therefore advocated for an approach to literary works that does justice to both their traditional and creative dimensions. They characterised this working method as perspectivism, which “means that we recognize that there is one poetry, one literature, comparable in all ages, developing, changing, full of possibilities. Literature is neither a series of unique works with nothing in common nor a series of works enclosed in time-cycles of Romanticism or Classicism, the age of Pope and the age of Wordsworth.”41 There is innovation within tradition. Ezekiel could be described as being a prophetical book because people already knew prophetic literature. Seen from this angle, it rested and still rests on particular social evidences. At the same time, Ezekiel’s autobiographical style distinguished it from some prophetic books and made it resemble others, especially Jeremiah. This combination of the prophetic and autobiographical styles is not an idle addendum and therefore deserves a closer look.

1.5

PROPHETIC AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL

Ezekiel is not only a piece of writing or a book in general; it is an instance of a prophetic writing or book. “A ‘prophetic book’ is a book that claims an association with the figure of a prophet of the past (...[in this case, Ezekiel]), and that is presented to its readership as YHWH’s word. As such the book claims to communicate legitimate and authoritative knowledge about YHWH.”42 Ezekiel—the actant, not the book—is clearly referred to as ‫נביא‬ (“prophet,” cf. Ezek 2:5, 33:33) and verbs from the root ‫“( נבא‬to innovative meaning potentials would not go back to some “historical Ezekiel” but to the redactor(s). We would thus read the redactor’s (or redactors’) Ezekiel, not Ezekiel’s Ezekiel, which is not an idle distinction for the exegesis of the book rather than its parts. 40 Cf. Floyd Merrell, Unthinking thinking: Jorge Luis Borges, mathematics, and the new physics (West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press, 1991) 182–197. 41 R. Wellek & A. Warren, Theory of Literature, 43. 42 Cf. Ehud Ben Zvi, Micah [FOTL, XXIB] (Grand Rapids, MI / Cambridge, UK: William B. Eerdmans, 2000) 4.

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prophesy”) occur 31 times throughout the book.43 The fact that most of the book is made up of visionary experiences and oracles about YHWH suggests to the readers that the mechanisms inherent to biblical prophecy must be taken into account as inscribed signposts along the readinginterpretative itinerary. The book is meant to be read and reread.44 Books that are meant to be read and reread will comprise different levels of meaning; they will tend to be polysemic and harbour many an instance of ambivalence and ambiguity. They will equally presuppose that its rereaders will be able to journey through the narration making multidirectional and cross-linked associations.45 These above elements—biblical and prophetic—root Ezekiel within a particular historical compositional tradition of thought that conditioned the birth of the book and that was in turn enriched by its particular contribution.46 In this sense, Ezekiel represents a particular culture: it is at once a cultural product and a producer of culture. The prophetic character of the book and its composition within the biblical tradition marks the whole of its narration. Even though the book presents itself as Ezekiel’s personal version of events, the main actant is YHWH.47 This is a typical factor in biblical prophetic literature and cannot be overlooked, especially not in the case of autobiographical writings that are decentred since the centre stage is occupied by YHWH and not by the actant whose autobiography the book is deemed to be (cf. Amos, Hosea, Jeremiah etc.). It has thus recently been remarked that “das Ich des Propheten neben das göttliche Ich im Spruchgut tritt, in dem die Person des übermittelnden Propheten faktisch nicht vorkommt.”48 43 Cf. Ezek 4:7, 6:2, 11:4, 12:27, 13:2.16.17, 21:2.7.14.19.33, 25:2, 28:21, 29:2, 30:2, 34:2, 35:2, 36:1.3.6, 37:4.7.9.10.12, 38:2.14.17, and 39:1. 44 We adapt here what Ben Zvi said about Micah: “As a written text, the book of Micah is aimed primarily at those competent to read it (...). Moreover, the book of Micah was not produced to be read once and then put aside, but rather to be read and reread and meditated upon (...),” Ehud Ben Zvi, Micah, 5. 45 Cf. idem, 6–7. 46 Cf. idem, 5. 47 This has been noted by Zimmerli, who states that “after the first appearance of an autobiographical structure to the whole book of Ezekiel, we must go on to mention a second, opposite feature. It is striking how, throughout the entire book of Ezekiel, the activity is set almost exclusively in the words and actions of Yahweh,” Walther Zimmerli, Ezekiel 1, 24. 48 Karin Schöpflin, Theologie als Biographie, 5 (said in this case esp. referring to

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Ezekiel is autobiographical insofar as it is the compilation of the divine revelations that befell Ezekiel the prophet, but not in the sense that it is the description of Ezekiel’s own self-unfolding.49 The fact that Ezekiel’s prophetic experiences and revelations are framed within temporal categories determined by dates makes the book resemble a prophet’s diary or memoirs.50 Some may object to calling the book “Ezekiel’s diary” on the grounds that the material that follows each date is too extensive to be exactly what we nowadays call “diary” since it can hardly be understood as the description of a day’s events. If it was to be seen as a diary, one would have to take the narrative wayyiqtols in the message-reception formula as one’s point of departure for establishing a day. Others may object to its being called “Ezekiel’s memoirs” since it does not throw much light upon anybody’s life—not even the prophet’s own life. The fact that the book resembles more a series of long divine monologues than a narration on Ezekiel’s life would make it somewhat more difficult to view the book as being Ezekiel’s “memoirs” in the present-day sense of the word, even though not wholly impossible. It could be argued that this is a case of prophetic memoirs constrained exclusively to the prophetic dimension of Ezekiel’s life.51 The oracular sections could also be understood as an explanation ad extra of the inner significance of Ezekiel’s personal prophetic and visionary experiences, the object of which is not how he experiences it but what is revealed to him by YHWH. The fact, however, that old literary forms such as confessio laudis, de vita, epistola, evangelion or hagiographia etc. cannot be equalled to the Jeremiah). 49 So as it is spoken of by Weintraub in the last words of his article, cf. Karl Weintraub, “Autobiografie en fictie,” 26. 50 In fact Block writes: “Since virtually all of Ezekiel’s oracles are cast in the first person, readers are left with the impression that they have gained access to the private memoirs of a holy man, a prophet of Israel (...). Ironically, although the oracles are presented in autobiographical narrative style, occasions where the prophet actually admits the reader into his mind are rare”. Daniel I. Block, Ezekiel 1–24, 27. 51 Clements has spoken of “the Isaiah Memoir” as being embedded in the text of Isaiah 6–8; cf. Ronald E. Clements, “The Prophet as an Author: The Case of the Isaiah Memoir,” in Ehud Ben Zvi & Michael H. Floyd (eds), Writings and Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy [SBL Symposium Series 10] (Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2000) 89; whole contribution, 89–101.

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“autobiographies” that originated in the 18th century C.E. 52 and are commonplace nowadays should warn us against any fixed imposition of modern categories on ancient writings without further considerations. It should also warn us against taking generic descriptions in too limited and limiting a way.53 In view of the composite nature of biblical books (indicated in the case of Ezekiel by its visionary and prophetic components and by its double introduction in first and third person singular, cf. Ez 1:1 and 1:3)54 and of the fact that the actual narration of the prophet’s life is suddenly truncated, whereby the person of Ezekiel just disappears from the narrative scene, I prefer to speak of the book not as a diary or the memoirs of the prophet, and not even as his autobiography, but as an autobiographical collection or compilation.55 I acknowledge that the autobiographical framework of the book is certainly not a superfluous addendum; on the contrary, it calls upon the readers to view all the different readings (i.e. the various parts of the compilation) not as independent units, but as constituents of one narration, or one book. Indeed, it contextualises them56 despite the fact that it has not been rounded off as an accomplished, worked-out personal account. Even after taking this autobiographical framework seriously, there still remains a feeling that although it could have become a diary, memoirs or autobiography, it did not quite go past being an autobiographical collection or compilation.57 Oracular and visionary passages were compiled and combined into one narration presented along autobiographical lines. Cf. Karl Weintraub, “Autobiografie en fictie,” 17. Cf. Roy F. Melugin, “Recent Form Criticism Revisited in an Age of Reader Response,” in Marvin A. Sweeney & Ehud Ben Zvi (eds), The Changing Face of Form Criticism for the Twenty-First Century (Grand Rapids, MI / Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans, 2003) 46–64, esp. 47. See also Margaret S. Odell, “Ezekiel Saw What He Said He Saw: Genres, Forms, and the Vision of Ezekiel 1,” in idem, 162–176. 54 The book of Jeremiah also has a similar double introduction. 55 Some speak of autobiographical report, e.g. Allen, Ezechiel 1–19, xxv; this echoes Zimmerli’s comment that Ezekiel constitutes “a first person account,” Zimmerli, Ezekiel 1, 24. Compare with what Rofé says about Jeremiah, cf. Alexander Rofé, The Prophetical Stories, 110–111. 56 Cf. Ehud Ben Zvi, Micah, 7. 57 We could say that Ezekiel is a biblical, prophetic diary or memoirs and that the characteristics noted above are typical of such sub-genre, but in order to speak of a sub-genre we would have to look at the whole range of prophetic material in the Hebrew Scriptures and that would be too big a detour from the intended course of my research. 52 53

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However, this is not just “any old autobiography;” it contains “mindblowing” material which has given rise to all sorts of interpretations. There is a notably fantastic ring to Ezekiel, on which I shall now briefly elaborate.

2.

EZEKIEL’S FANTASTIC DIMENSION

Ezekiel starts and ends with visionary glimpses of fantastic things (cf. Ezek 1:1–3:15, 3:23, 8–11 and Ezek 37:1–14, 40–48). Ezek 1:1–3:15 presents the two main actants: the manifestation of YHWH’s glory58 and of Ezekiel’s role in the book (cf. Ezek 1–3). Ezekiel 8–11 reveals the iniquity of Jerusalem and its Temple (cf. Ezek 8–11), the pride and joy of Judah, which will lead to its collapse. Ezek 37:1–14 depicts the victory of YHWH’s power over the pitiful, state of present “Israel.” Ezekiel 40–48 depicts a future of wonderful proportions: the idyllic future where YHWH, the land, the city, the Temple, the people and the leadership will be transfigured, thus undoing the iniquity and destruction of the past. This imagery is usually described as having “apocalyptic” virtuality. Apocalyptic literature produces “an implicit critique of the status quo” because it offers “another view of how life could be.”59 Ezekiel does this confronting its readers with material that has clear fantastic dimensions (e.g. the visions). “In a world which is indeed our world, the one we know, a world without devils, sylphides, or vampires, there occurs an event which cannot be explained by the laws of this same familiar world. The person who experiences the event must opt for one of two possible solutions: either he is the victim of an illusion of the senses, of a product of the imagination— and laws of the world then remain what they are; or else the event has indeed taken place, it is an integral part of reality—but then this reality is controlled by laws unknown to us. Either the devil is an illusion, an imaginary being; or else he really exists, precisely as other living beings— with this reservation, that we encounter him infrequently. The fantastic occupies the duration of this uncertainty. Once we choose one answer or the other, we leave the fantastic for a neighboring genre, the uncanny or the marvellous.”60 Now, while the uncanny is the inexplicable based on the Cf. Margaret S. Odell, “Ezekiel Saw What He Said He Saw,” 162–176. Jon L. Berquist, Judaism in Persia’s Shadow. A Social and Historical Approach (Minneapolis, MI: Fortress, 1995) 177. 60 Tzvetan Todorov, The Fantastic. A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1975) 25. 58 59

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current state of knowledge, the marvellous is what has never been seen (at least, not in the present light). The person who must opt how to interpret what appears fantastic is not really the prophet, but the reader. The vision is not really for Ezekiel (the actant), it is for the book’s readers. In this sense, some could argue that prophetic books in their totality have fantastic dimensions, not just in some parts. To acknowledge Ezekiel’s fantastic virtuality implies that the readers must hold their breath and judgement. They are expected to listen, or— better still—picture in their minds what the narration is telling them. The text narrates something which sounds fantastic (e.g. the visionary units), the interpretation of which will depend on the reader’s definition of reality and imaginary. Some will interpret the prophet’s visions as normal phenomena (as events that have regularly occurred in human history and are therefore “real”), some will understand them as an inventive literary strategy (nothing more and nothing less than a figure of speech), while others will discard it as propaganda or nonsense, or both. Fantastic accounts can be seen as strange or wonderful. The fact that the idea of having visions of YHWH may appear strange to present-day readers does not mean that the visions must have seemed equally odd to Ezekiel’s first audience. The visions must have responded to the revelatory canons of the time and must have had a place within the reader’s worldview. “Miracles and some monsters may have been thought to exist by their original audience and even their author, but were often acknowledged to be real only in a special fashion: they only enter the lives of the spiritually or heroically elect; they are miracula or things to be marvelled at, precisely because they are not everyday occurrences and cannot be controlled by just anybody who has a mind to try. We know we are dealing with a form of fantasy if the rhetoric of the text places the dragon fight somewhere else or once upon a time. Such distance and time markers commonly denote an awareness of fantasy.”61 There are certain phrases that constitute such markers within Ezekiel, for instance:

Kathryn Hume, Fantasy and Mimesis. Responses to Reality in Western Literature (New York – London: Methuen, 1984) 21. 61

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1:1 the heavens were opened, and then I saw mighty appearances

[divine sights] (…) 8:1 And it happened in the sixth year, in the sixth [month], in the fifth [day] of the month while I was sitting in my house, and while the elders of Judah were sitting in front of me there fell upon me right there the hand of the Lord YHWH 8:2 and I saw and behold! A likeness as the appearance of fire (…) As the readers opt for seeing the fantastic as a medium for the wonderful (and not just the strange), they take an important step: they accept the book’s invitation to deconstruct “reality.” When the prophetic eye sees what the average eye does not see, the everyday is questioned. If and when the readers accept what sounds fantastic as being a divinely orchestrated wonder, they are precisely where the book wants to have them. They are assenting to the idea that the secret of the “really real” can only be unlocked by the message mediated by the book that they are reading. Fantastic fiction can thus function as an eye-opener. This is why the narration cannot but present itself as a glimpse of an alternative world—if one is to believe the book—the real world. “For creative Fantasy is founded upon the hard recognition that things are so in the world as it appears under the sun; on a recognition of fact, but not a slavery to it. (...) If men really could not distinguish between frogs and men, fairy-stories about frogkings would not have arisen.”62 While the initial visions encapsulate the “Israel-that-was,” Ezekiel 40– 48 projects the vision of the “Israel-to-come.” Ezekiel’s visionary episodes could be described as “copias temporales y mortales de un arquetipo inconcebible”63 or as “a literature of desire, which seeks that which is experienced as absence and loss (...) The fantastic traces the unsaid and the unseen of culture: that which has been silenced, made invisible, covered over and made ‘absent.’”64 It could be said with Borges: “La filosofía y la J. R. R. Tolkien, “On Fairy-Stories,” in The Tolkien Reader (New York: Ballantine, 1966) 54–55. 63 My own translation: “time-bound and mortal copies of an inconceivable archetype.” Jorge Luis Borges, La cifra (Buenos Aires: Emecé Editores, 81992) 19. 64 Rosemary Jackson, Fantasy: The Literature of Subversion (London: Methuen, 1981) 3–4. 62

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teología son, lo sospecho, dos especies de literatura fantástica. Dos especies espléndidas.”65 Consequently, the statement that Ezekiel has fantastic dimensions is not intended to brand its material as untrue; it only means that the book presents the readers with a reality that is real in another way than the ordinary is real. This is so, among other things, because it represents an instance of religious literature. Ezekiel’s claims are religious and may therefore not be scrutinized as if they were statements made by a physicist or a sociologist. The religious and literary nature of the book must never be lost sight of; that is why I shall now briefly deal with some of its aspects. 3. AN EXAMPLE OF RELIGIOUS LITERATURE Whatever one may say about Ezekiel, one thing is undeniable: Ezekiel is a piece of writing, a work of religious literature. Ezekiel, just like all other religious texts, is a language production,66 furthermore, a literary work. It is not easy, however, to define what literature actually means. If we take as our point of departure Wittgenstein‘s principle that the meaning of words is the meaning that is given to them in their use, then we can say with Gaus that “what literature is depends on those who occupy themselves with it, and depends on the reasons why they occupy themselves with it.”67 Be it lyric, epic or drama, the literary use of language differentiates itself from scientific and everyday usage.68 Literary language, unlike scientific language, is more connotative than denotative. It is also essentially artistic and it “imposes some kind of framework which takes the statement of the work out of the world of reality.”69 While univocity is essential to scientific 65 My own translation: “Philosophy and theology are, I suspect, two species of fantastic literature. Two splendid species.” Jorge Luis Borges, La cifra, 105. 66 This is not limited to the Hebrew Bible, but applies also to other Holy Books. Cpr. with the discourse on Islamic revelation theology, Nasr Hamid Aboe Zaid, Vernieuwing in het islamitisch denken (Amsterdam: Bulaaq, 22002) 108. 67 H. Gaus, The Function of Fiction. The function of written fiction in the social process (Gent – Leuven – Antwerpen – Brussel: E. Story-Scientia p.v.b.a, 1979) 46. 68 Cf. R. Wellek & A. Warren, Theory of Literature, 25. 69 R. Wellek & A. Warren, Theory of Literature, 25. The difference that exists between Ezekiel and this present study is in fact itself an example of the difference between literature and literary study. “The two are different activities: one is creative, an art; the other, if not precisely a science, is a species of knowledge or of learning,” idem, 15.

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works (A must always and everywhere mean A), polysemy70 (A can mean A1, A2, A3 etc.) is at the heart of literary creativity. The difference between literature and everyday language is more difficult to establish theoretically, even though it is relatively easy to distinguish between texts that are considered to be literary creations and those that are not. One may say, however, that the line between a literary work, on the one hand, and a shopping list, a letter from a son to his mother, or a newspaper article reporting a crime, on the other, is that between art and practical life. Two criteria would seem to play a part in differentiating between the artistic and the everyday: the purpose for which it was created and the perspective from which it is used. Purpose is the first characteristic making it clear what function a text was destined to fulfil, and how the text profiles itself even now. Use determines the being of a written piece insofar as what a piece of writing is often depends on how it is approached. A letter between two people in love could be considered to be a piece of everyday language, of literature and/or of historical documentation for the reconstruction of the mood of a period. In the same way as “beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” so too is a piece of writing also art, namely literature, because its readers behold it as such. These two aspects are, in principle, aspects of the productive process: what the work has been conceived for (its purpose) and how it has been received (the perspective of its users). Ezekiel can thus be said to be a literary work insofar as it was conceived as part and parcel of a religious literary tradition and insofar as it has been received as such, since its readers have given precedence to its religious-literary content over all of its other components. Furthermore, at its most basic level literature has to do with the imaginative use of language. Imagination and literature exist only in concrete examples of imaginary thinking and of literary compositions. Ezekiel constitutes, therefore, not only an instance of literature but also of Hebrew biblical literature. This entails firstly that Ezekiel was written within the biblical tradition (which shaped its imagination by suggesting traditional archetypes71), within a religious community for which Ezekiel is a sacred text. Secondly, its composition happened within the branch of this tradition

70 Paul Ricoeur, The Rule of Metaphor. Multi-disciplinary studies of the creation of meaning in language (London: Routledge, 31994) 113ff. 71 The biblical tradition roots Ezekiel in what we now call the Jewish tradition, and not in the Buddhist or Hindu tradition.

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that cast its thoughts in Hebrew, as opposed to the other branch that formulated its ideas in Greek and gave rise to the LXX apocryphal writings. The fact that Ezekiel is a written literary text, as it has been indicated above, means that it has been encoded in a particular language, namely biblical Hebrew insofar as this is different from Rabbinic Hebrew or present-day ‘Ivrît.’ The book produces and communicates meaning in the manner that is proper to biblical Hebrew. Hebrew biblical literary works have known a process of compositional growth within a religious tradition. The literary works present now in the Hebrew canon (as reflected by the BHS) and the Greek canon (as witnessed by the LXX) have been the result of more than one agency, including oral and written stages, both converging and diverging.72 Hebrew biblical writings often represent the sometimes disconcerting concerted effort of a tradition rather than of an individual, where the appellative author of the text is shared by writer, editor(s), redactor(s) and copyist(s). One could speak thus, in a certain sense, of shared authorship since the initial writer and the preceding and ensuing tradition (oral tradition as well as redactors etc.) have co-operated in the making of the book, which they nonetheless saw as being one book and not wholly unrelated fragments or even books. This explains why Hebrew biblical literary works lack at times the unity of a modern piece of writing that has stemmed from one hand. This further complicates any question regarding the author’s intention (who is the author? and who can judge that?). It also makes it clear that biblical books enjoy a certain degree of openness to re-interpretation that relativises any dogmatism and one-sidedness, be it religious or literary, regarding their use and the boundaries of their meaning.73 The meaning of biblical literature cannot therefore be reduced to the intention of its author(s) or intentio auctoris/auctorum.74 This is particularly relevant for most Hebrew biblical books, in which the process of composition was not determined—not even stopped—by the intention of the initial “author.” As indicated above, the textual boundaries of the initial Lust gives some good examples of the issue of the “canon(s),” including material concerning Ezekiel, cf. Johan Lust, “Septuagint and Canon,” in J.-M. Auwers & H. J. de Jonge (eds), The Biblical Canons [BETL, 163] (Leuven: University press / Peeters, 2003) 39–55; see also the whole volume. 73 Reinterpretations are found even within biblical texts, cf. Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985). 74 Cf. R. Wellek & A. Warren, Theory of Literature, 42. 72

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composition were not seen as the absolute limits of creative imagination. In many cases, the Hebrew biblical text remained open until it was canonised. The results from scribal activity (e.g. mistakes, corrections, glosses) both before and after canonization75 as well as from the masoretic (interpretative) punctuation of the proto-masoretic text76 have become so engrained within the text that they have become part and parcel of that very text, thus changing its original configuration. Indeed, all those engaged in the arrangement and delimitation of a Hebrew biblical text know that, at least insofar as they have to make textual-critical decisions, the physical contours of the text continue to be somewhat open, even today.77 In the case of Hebrew biblical literature, critics have to work with books that in theory are holy (and therefore wholly untouchable) but in reality are fluid, somewhat unfinished and often ambivalent. What we have in front of our eyes now is neither the word-for-word transcription of prophetic delivery (which now would be impossible to determine on textcritical grounds) nor the first draft of the book of Ezekiel; yet it is this book and none other that is called Ezekiel. It is this book that one is asked to read, enter into dialogue with, and try to understand. It is in light of this that I prefer to concentrate on the intention of the text (intentio operis), rather than on the intention of the biblical author(s) (intentio auctoris) or the intention of the reader(s) (intentio lectoris).78 Cf. Emanuel Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible (Minneapolis: Fortress Press / Assen-Maastricht: Van Gorcum, 1992) 232–286. 76 Cf. Ernst Würthwein, The Text of the Old Testament. An Introduction to the Biblia Hebraica (London: SCM Press, 1980) 12–41; see also Emanuel Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible, 21–79; and Page H. Kelley, Daniel S. Mynatt & Timothy G. Crawford, The Masorah of Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia. Introduction and Annotated Glossary (Grand Rapids, MI / Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans, 1998) 13–45. 77 Cf. Johan Lust, “The Use of Textual Witnesses for the Establishment of the Text. The Shorter and Longer Texts of Ezekiel. An Example: Ez 7,” in Johan Lust (ed.), EHB, 7–20, esp.16–17; see also P.-M. Bogaert, “Les deux redactions conservées (LXX et TM) d’Ézéchiel 7,” idem, 21–47; Johan Lust, “The Final Text and Textual Criticism: Ez 39,28,” idem, 48–54; M. Dijkstra, “The Glosses in Ezekiel Reconsidered,” idem, 55–77. 78 Such methodological step has been suggested by Umberto Eco. Cf. Stefan Collini (ed.), Over Interpretatie. Umberto Eco in debat met Richard Rorty, Jonathan Culler, Christine Brooke-Rose (Kampen: Kok Agora, 1992) 34. See also Cf. Walter Vogels, Interpreting Scripture in the Third Millennium. Author – Reader – Text (Ottawa, Ontario: Novalis, 1993) 73–101. 75

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As a matter of fact, the intention of the text, in a sense, includes both the intention of the author (present in the encoded clues that he or she has left throughout the text to guide the reading)79 and that of the readers (allowed for by the [relative] open-endedness of the work).80 The interpretative re-constructive task of the imagination, whereby the meaning of the whole text and of its parts within the whole is sought after, must be led by the criteria of narrative coherence (e.g. as suggested by isotopy and by the “fibula-subject” or “story-plot” relationship).81 On top of this, encyclopaedic competence is also a sine qua non requisite for the readers to arrive at an authorized or warranted reading-interpretation of a literary work. Competent readers will understand that Ezekiel, as religious literature, must be approached in accordance with its own laws. As prophecy, it does not so much attempt to analyse and reproduce reality, but to critique it and to proclaim alternatives. It exists within the fictional order of what could/might be if certain variables are in place. Given that my use of the term fictional may scandalise some and dismay others, I will now further explain what is meant by it.

4.

BELONGING TO THE ORDER OF THE FICTIONAL

By saying that Ezekiel belongs to the order of the fictional, I mean that its content, strategies and structure82 are determined by the fictional writing mode rather than the factual (e.g. that of scientific historical biographies). I suggest, therefore, that this order be seen as the ultimate criterion

Cf. idem, 13–42. Cf. idem, 43–71. 81 These terms will be explained in some detail at a later stage. 82 This has clearly been highlighted by Schöpflin: “Daβ diese Aussage theologischer Natur ist, liegt in dieser alttestamentlichen Schrift nur allzu deutlicht auf der Hand. (...) So geht es dem Ezechielbuch nicht um Autobiographie [i.e. scientific (auto)biography], sondern um Theologie; in der autobiographischen Stilisierung—vielleicht auch Fiktion—spiegelt sich ein Theologischer Gedanke (…).” My translation: “That this statement is of a theological nature is only all too obvious in the case of this Old Testament writing (…) Thus, the book of Ezekiel is not about an autobiography, but about theology. Its autobiographical—perhaps also fictional—style [self-profiling] reflects a theological thought (…).” Karin Schöpflin, Theologie als Biographie, 18. 79 80

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determining all of the aspects encompassed by the artistic production of the work and the meaning of its truth.83 The word fiction comes from the Latin fingere, which means “to form, to pattern (after a model)” as well as “to feign.”84 The etymology of the word suggests already some of the dimensions of fiction: the relationship between the real and the fictional, the nature of fiction as thought pattern, and so forth. The sense that I attribute to fiction in the statement “Ezekiel is a fictional literary work” takes fictional in its more restricted meaning (i.e. as a writing mode) rather than in its “expanded” epistemological meaning (i.e. as a characteristic of language and of thought as such).

4.1

EXPANDED FICTION AND THE FICTIONAL LITERARY MODE

“Expanded fiction” refers to the hermeneutic conviction that renders hermeneutics into some sort of ontology since, in this sense, fiction has come to be considered no longer “como discurso dominante, sino (...) [que se] ha convertido en condición de cualquier discurso e incluso, al eludirse la distinción entre imitado e imitante, en condición, y desestabilización, del proceso de verdad.”85 The fictional would thus dissolve within the general attributive character of human knowledge at large, which is seen as knowledge without any absolutely necessary referent.86 Or, in other words, 83 Schöpflin has already drawn attention to this fact: “Es ist also auch in alttestamentlichem Schrifttum mit autobiographischen Fiktionen zu rechnen. Man wird im Falle des Ezechielbuches deshalb zunächst von dem Anspruch Abstand zu nehmen haben, den Verfasser mit dem Ich des Selbstberichtes gleichzusetzen und ihn folglich mit Ezechiel zu identifizieren. (…)” My translation: “One must therefore reckon with autobiographical fiction in the Old Testament, too. In the case of Ezekiel, one will first of all have to take distance from the [text’s] claim [or demand] to equate the author with the ‘ego’ of the ‘I’-reports and to therefore identify him with Ezekiel.” Karin Schöpflin, Theologie als Biographie, 6–7. 84 Cf. F. Cabo Aseguinolaza, “Sobre la pragmática de la teoría de la ficción literaria,” in Darío Villanueva (ed.), Avances en Teoría de la Literatura (Estética de la Recepción, Pragmática, Teoría Empírica y Teoría de los Polisistemas). Santiago de Compostela: Universidade de Santiago de Compostela, 189. 85 My translation: “as dominant discourse, but (...) it has become a condition that affects any discourse whatsoever and that even, when one eludes the distinction between that which is imitated and that which imitates, in condition for and destabilization of the process of the truth.” F. Cabo Aseguinolaza, “Sobre la pragmática,” 203. 86 There is a dimension of fictionality inherent to all human knowledge. One

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“se trata del énfasis en la determinación metafórica o retórica del lenguaje y la negación consiguiente de la posibilidad de su lenguaje exterior que pueda regir el discurso tropológico. Y por tanto de la de un deslinde estricto entre filosofía y literatura.”87 When fiction is extended to such all-encompassing proportions one can truly ask with Merrel, “Can we indeed be ‘outside’ the text, any and all texts, in order to formulate some ‘real’ or imaginary ‘proxy function’. Can we make a determinate referential statement about any text, any world, the universe?”88 Answering the question whether or not the fictional has a point of reference in the extra-textual world is not only of interest for epistemology but also for exegesis. The answer given to this question will determine what literary criticism, in general, and exegesis, in particular, actually mean. Should there be no relationship between fiction and the extra-textual world, there would be then no room left for literary or historical criticism either. How could exegetes ever arrive at the other side of a text, at its referent, if there were no epistemological and hermeneutic bridges to cross the immense mental lacuna separating the mind, the written words, and their cultural milieu? Such a literary agnosticism fails to see that fictional writing alwaysalready makes reference to the extra-textual, historical world of the language in which it was cast: to its vocabulary, grammar, syntax, and associations. Beyond the general arbitrariness that most or all words entail (onomatopoeic lexemes at least sound somewhat like the realities they convey), the meanings of words as well as their syntactical and semantic usage are socio-geographically conditioned. The meanings of words can grow, develop and eventually change. If one is really to understand what a word means, then its cultural (or socio-geographical and historical) referent could say with Brian Fay that “The stories agents tell themselves about themselves are not mere appendages imposed on activity after the fact. Activity is itself already narratively structured, such that stories are integral to the performance of every act. Acts are therefore enactments of some narrative”. Cf. Brian Fay, Contemporary Philosophy of Social Science, 192. 87 My translation: “It is the emphasis on the metaphorical or rhetorical determination of language and the ensuing negation of the possibility of an external language which might rule the topological discourse, and, therefore, also of a strict delimitation between philosophy and literature.” F. Cabo Aseguinolaza, “Sobre la pragmática,” 203. 88 F. Merrel, “Fiction, Fact, Phalanx,” in Diacritics 19/1 (1989) 13 [whole art. 2– 16].

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must somehow be taken into consideration. This holds true even in the case of simple things such as bread—for what the word “bread” refers to can change in shape, appearance, taste, and social connotations from place to place and at different times. Understanding what it means, even at its most basic level, entails in most cases (if not always) a certain degree of analogy and socio-geographical conventionality. This is the radically sociogeographical, and thus historical, predicament of human life and of all of its productions and manifestations, literature included. I cannot fail to agree with Warning’s remark that fictional writings are linked to a framework “which in the final analysis is dominated by a specific historical sociocultural situation, for which and within which fiction is fiction.”89 If indeed there were no relationship between the extra-textual world and fictional writings, how could one then even distinguish between fiction and history? The relationship between the fictional and reality is not an unimportant point. Fictional writings interact with reality in a different way than nonfictional literature does. The difference between the two lies in the fact that, while the question “Did it really happen?” is irrelevant in the case of the fictional, it is at the core of non-fictional writing, such as history writing.90 In Van Luxenburg’s words: “Omdat een fictionele tekst niet de werkelijkheid beschrijft, maar wel allerlei relaties en samenhangen laat zien die herkenbaar zijn op grond van de ervaring van de werkelijkheid, lijkt de fictionele tekst bij uitstek geschikt om typische aspecten van de werkelijkheid te illustreren. De fictionele tekst kan via de beschrijving van een uniek geval algemene psychologische problemen laten zien, of een algemeen aspect van het menselijk leven naar boven halen. We zijn hier weer dicht bij Aristoteles die (...) de waarde van de literatuur zag in haar vermogen het typische te tonen in het individuele, met als resultaat verdieping van het inzicht in de werkelijkheid. Fictionaliteit en mimesis, begrippen die elkaar schijnbaar tegenspreken, komen hier op een interessante manier samen.”91 R. Warning, “Staged Discourse: Remarks on the Pragmatics of Fiction,” in Dispositio 5 (1980) 43, whole article 35–54. 90 Cf. Hendrik Van Gorp, Algemene literatuurwetenschappen (Leuven: Acco, 2000) 71. 91 My translation: “The fictional text seems to be very apt to illustrate typical aspects of reality since it does not describe reality, but shows all kinds of relations and constellations that are recognizable on the basis of one’s experience of reality. 89

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THE FICTIONAL AND MIMESIS

The notion of the fictional is often understood in close relationship to mimesis or imitation, which can in turn be conceived of in at least three different, yet not exclusive, ways. The more classical school takes its cue from Gadamer’s notion of anamnesis92 and looks upon mimesis as a mental metaphor (“una metáfora mental”),93 a way of making present the form of things. Mimesis would thus be a manner of re-presentation. Mimesis has also been seen as an active mechanism whereby “L’imitation ou la représentation est une activité mimétique en tant qu’elle produit quelque chose, à savoir précisément l’agencement de faits par la mise en intrigue.”94 This approach is the one spearheaded by Ricoeur. What fiction actually does is to open the way for mimesis (understood as a meaning-producing mechanism) to expand itself by means of narrativity. The narrative functions in literature as the instrument whereby the metaphorical dimension of the whole of language95 creates new meaning. A third group sees mimesis as a pre-rational mechanism, prior to Plato’s mimetic taboo96 and Aristotle’s rationality. In this last sense, mimesis is comparable to dance and play insofar as it is a means whereby the By means of the description of a unique case, the fictional text can show general psychological problems or bring to the fore a general aspect of human life. We come then close to Aristotle, who saw the value of literature in its capability to show the typical in the individual, which results in a deepening of one’s insight into reality. Fictionality and mimesis, concepts that apparently contradict each other, come thus together in an interesting way.” J. Van Luxenburg, Inleiding in de literatuurwetenschap (Muidenberg: Coutinho, 31983) 38. 92 Cf. H.-G. Gadamer, Wahrheit und Methode (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1965). 93 Cf. A. Reyes, Obras Completas, XV (Mexico: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1963) 197 [a re-print of: El deslinde. Prolegómenos a la teoría literaria (Mexico: El Colegio de México, 1944)]. 94 My translation: “Imitation or representation is a mimetic activity insofar as it produces something, namely the very ordering of facts by fitting them into a plot.” P. Ricoeur, Temps et récits (Paris: Seuil, 1983) 60. 95 Since there is no one-to-one correlation between word and what is out there, one can say that language as such is somewhat metaphorical or figurative since it says and does not say, is and is not, just like metaphors are judgements of being and not-being. There is no absolute, ontological, “literal” correlation between words and things. 96 This refers to the metaphysical opposition between the ontological data regarding the “real” and the “representation.”

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difference between object and subject becomes blurred, even surmounted. In a way, it is no longer anamnesis of a priori forms, but forgetfulness or oblivion of them and of all distinction. Or, as Adorno puts it, it is a divergence that cannot be trivialized.97 It is no longer about presence but about absence, or better still, about ecstasy and a new unity that goes beyond any a priori heteronomy.98 I could thus say that Ezekiel first re-presents reality; it evokes it and places it before the readers’ eyes: this is the situation. Then, it sets in movement meaning-creating mechanisms that help readers to transcend the fixity of reality (its so-called literal sense) so that they may embrace it in a new way: they must see what it is (metaphor) in what it is not (fiction). When the fixity of everyday knowledge is de-centred by the metaphorical processes of fictionality, the readers will tap into a new dimension of reality, one that defies the conventionality of heteronomy: the liberating promise of what could be. In fact, it is these two aspects, the fictional (including fantasy) and mimesis, which make Ezekiel into a literary work rather than a mere historiographical word-for-word rendition of some prophet’s utterances.99

4.3

THE FICTIONAL AS WINDOW ONTO OTHER WORLDS

Ezekiel qua fictional narrative offers the readers a virtual world within which they can place themselves—a hologram within which the facts of life (actual, plausible or possible) are re-interpreted so that they can be seen as bearers of meaning (or even anti-meaning). Here lies the metaphorical dimension of fictional writings: each word that the readers read is like a stroke of a literary brush that paints before them another plausible or possible world. One could say, using a metaphor dear to Borges,100 that the 97 Cf. Theodor W. Adorno, Teoría estética (Madrid: Taurus, 1980) 160 [transl. of Gretel Adorno & Rolf Tiedemann (eds), Ästhetische Theorie (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1970,)]. 98 For a treatment of these three understandings of mimesis, cf. F. Cabo Aseguinolaza, “Sobre la pragmática,” 191–193. 99 Kathryn Hume argues that it is precisely fantasy and mimesis that are characteristic of literature, cf. Kathryn Hume, Fantasy and Mimesis. Responses to Reality in Western Literature (New York – London: Methuen, 1984) 21. 100 “El mundo, según Mallarmé, existe para un libro; según Bloy, somos versículos o palabras o letras de un mundo mágico, y ese libro incesante es la única cosa que hay en el mundo: es, mejor dicho, el mundo.” Quoted by María Adela Renard, “Estudio preliminar” in Jorge Luis Borges, Poesías (Buenos Aires: Kapelusz, 1993) 28.

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world is presented to the readers in the form of a book101 within which they are invited to take their place and by which they could be instructed if they surrender to the book’s dynamics. This view is present also in Ezekiel: 2:9 Then I saw: and behold, there a hand set out to me, and behold, in it was the roll of a book. 10 He then spread it out before me, and it was written upon in front and on the back and there were written on it dirges, and moaning and wailing. 3:1 And He said to me then: “Human! What you find, eat! Eat this roll, and go, speak to the house of Israel!” 2 Then I opened my mouth, and He made me eat this roll. 3 Then He said to me: “Human! Cause your belly to eat and cause your intestines to be filled with this roll, which I am giving you.” Then I ate it and it became in my mouth like honey for sweetness. “Ezekiel’s eating of the scrolls of the Torah indicates his becoming Scripture. Every cell of his body, every act as well as every thought, will henceforth breathe Scripture and thus form the hermeneutical framework out of which the priest understands his world.”102 The written word of Ezekiel re-presents or unfolds the world in which it lives (fictionalised history conceived of, and from the viewpoint of YHWH) as charged with meaning. For human consciousness, facts are not mere facts, they are carriers of meaning. In prophetic books it is YHWH that reveals the ultimate meaning and consequences of human actions: the realest reality is declared by YHWH, it is ‫“( נאם אדני יהוה‬declaration of YHWH”). This interpretation-revelation of the world is possible because we do not live in some sort of nameless space, but in our named world. Not only does language speak (as an intransitive event), it also speaks its speakers and it speaks the world they live in (as a transitive conception).103 For even the Cf. Johan Lust, “Een visioen voor volwassenen met voorbehoud (Ezechiël 1–3),” in Collationes 22 (1976) 445; whole article: 433–448. 102 Martin C. Srajek, “Constitution and Agency in Light of Some Passages from Ezekiel 1–4,” in Tamara Cohn Eskenazi, Gary A. Phillips & David Jobling (eds), Levinas and Biblical Studies (Atlanta, GA: SBL, 2003) 130. 103 Hans-Georg Gadamer, Philosophical Hermeneutics, 63; see also Martin Heidegger, Unterwegs zur Sprache (Pfullingen: Neske, 1971) 19; Martin Buber, I and 101

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conceived and pre-conceived concept of nature presupposes that the horizon whereon human existence takes place has logical laws, i.e., that it can be re-presented by means of logos. This capability of the text for creating and re-creating the world in terms of logos (meaning both verbum and ratio) entails that the universe’s mute facts can be structured and re-structured in several plausible ways around different centres and on the basis of different hermeneutical keys.104 This, too, constitutes the metaphorical, symbolical dimension of the whole of Ezekiel. Both the text and the world are therefore somewhat open; moreover, they can be opened up or unfolded in different ways. This is the precondition for “revelation” to take place, that meaning can be created and recreated. Neither the world nor the text are fixed once and forever. Any dogmatism regarding reading goes counter to the very dynamics of mediated revelation. “The openness of the text makes possible a relationship with God as interpretation while, at the same time, making space for the emergence of revelation. In other words, the existence of the text itself is not only dependent on being revealed by God, but it is also dependent on being interpreted by humanity. (...) Reading and revelation bring both God and humans infinitely close to this oneness [between them]; however, neither side will reach it fully. This perpetuates the process of interpretation and revelation ad infinitum.”105 It is at the metaphorical and symbolic level of the text that realism and creativity, the description of facts and the vision of another plausible order of things, historiography, and fictional writing touch upon each other without confusion. “For history-writing is not a record of fact—of what ‘really happened’—but a discourse that claims to be a record of fact or to unravel the inner rationale of those facts. Nor is fiction-writing a tissue of free invention but a discourse that claims freedom of invention. The antithesis lies not in the presence or absence of truth value but of the commitment to truth value.”106 It is important to stress at this point that, while reading, readers enter into a special relationship with the narration and the actants, approaching Thou (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1958) 4; Luois-Marie Chauvet, Symbol and Sacrament (Collegeville, Minnesota: The Liturgical Press, 1995) 84f. 104 Cf. Brian Fay, Contemporary Philosophy of Social Science, 178–198. 105 Martin C. Srajek, “Constitution and Agency,” 131 106 Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Bloomington: Indiana Univ. Press, 1985) 25.

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them in ways that are not wholly different from the ways that they look at people in the “real” or “extra-literary” world; “the clues that we take in and use to construct an image of a person are virtually identical in literature and in life.”107 In a similar way, as they must decipher the mystery of their “real” interlocutors, so too must they draw up a profile of the actants in a literary work. This dimension of reading-interpreting cannot therefore be absent from any reading of biblical texts. As the readers attempt to set the narrative scene in motion by means of their imagination, the fictional may spin off truths which can refashion the working understanding of reality with which the readers read the extra-literary reality. The fictional has its own truth deserving of proper recognition.

4.4

THE TRUTH OF THE FICTIONAL

Ezekiel uses elements taken from history (e.g. dates and names) and fictionalizes them. “The ‘act of fictionalizing’ embeds ‘reality’ with the triad of ‘the real’—‘the fictional’—the imaginary’ (Das Reale—das Fiktive—das Imaginäre).”108 Reality is used within the context of an account where the rules of the narration come before any strict truth principle in terms of historical correspondence between facts and words. The fictional in a literary piece of writing—even in a work with autobiographical features (and maybe an autobiographic claim)—consists in the so-called facts that are accompanied by (interpreted) connotative statements whereby meaning is attributed to them.109 Things are and events happen. They become meaningful when they are filled with meaning, i.e., when the mind reads meaning into them. Then, it strings them up together into semantic games that make judgements possible. Baruch Hochman, Character in Literature (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1985) 36. See also Howard Mancing, “Against Dualisms: A Response to Henry Sullivan,” in Cervantes: Bulletin of the Cervantes Society of America 19/1 (1999) 158–176. 108 Hanna Liss, “The Imaginary Sanctuary: The Priestly Code as an Example of Fictional Literature in the Hebrew Bible,” in Oded Lipschits & Manfred Oeming (eds), Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006) 669. Here, the author is following: W. Iser, Fingieren als anthropologische Dimension der Literatur (Konstanz: Universitätsverlag, 1990). 109 This is so because, so as Fay explains: “Countless facts, themselves the result of interpretations, can be arranged in any number of different ways to form a coherent configuration which makes a life intelligible. (…) That is, biography involves the creative imagination of the biographer as well as the intentions of the biographer.” Cf. Brian Fay, Contemporary Philosophy of Social Science, 188. 107

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The fictional nature of the narration does not mean that what is said is not true, but rather that what the book actually does is construct or imagine a new given. The reality of the book exists in the book. Literature exists in the realm of meaning. Literature exists in the real world because it exists in the mind and the mind is real. Furthermore, untrue statements may not be historically true, but they are still real. If they exist as thoughts, then they are real. Meaning takes place or is constructed at the level of consciousness. The mind interweaves a number of events and evaluates them in light of a continuum. This action of interweaving events or of breaking the flow of events into units that are assigned meaning is the fictional dimension of knowledge itself, present even in historiography. What happens is that writers can choose to emphasise either pole of the equation: the givenness of the event within the historical continuum or the meaning attributed to it within the narrative continuum. All writing that implies the existence of meaning does so in the light of a larger framework which in the end can neither be proven nor rebutted. In itself, if a text follows its own logic, it is true to itself. In comparison to other texts (including historiographical texts), a text’s description of extra-textual realities may then be considered to be untrue. Nonetheless, to say that meaning-oriented writings have a fictional dimension and that they ultimately rest on a symbolic framework is one and the same thing. In fact, “what makes fictional and breaks historical writing is not the presence of invented material—inevitable in both—but the privilege and at will the flaunting of free invention.”110 The comparison between what archaeology reveals about those self-same historical events and what Ezekiel tells the readers or makes them believe will offer clues about Ezekiel’s as well as the archaeologists’ own view of things. Even though Ezekiel does indeed contain elements from history, the final criteria according to which it was composed and must now be read and reread is rhetorical and ideological111 rather than historical or historiographical.112 Indeed, “the reality represented in the fictional text is Cf. Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative, 29. Cf. Jesús G. Maestro, “Reviews (of: Jean Canavaggio, Cervantes, entre vida y creación” (Alcalá de Henares: Centro de Estudios Cervantinos, 2000), in Cervantes: Bulletin of the Cervantes Society of America 22/1 (2002) 158–165, esp. 162. 112 To say that Ezekiel is composed according to the criteria of fictionality that rule autobiographical and ideological narration is taken by many as a denial of any 110 111

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not represented for its own sake. Rather, it functions as a reference or means to something that does not exist, but will be made imaginable. By means of fictionalizing, the author presents the world in the modus of ‘As if’ (Als-Ob), striving for the ‘irrealization of the real.’”113 As hinted above, the truthfulness of the book must not be equalled with its adequacy to render fixed facts. Truth is a logical and rational reality and thus mental, ideational and propositional114—which means that it is relative to the system within which it is expressed.115 Ezekiel has a message to convey, a tale to tell. Facts, on the contrary, are mute data calling for interpretation. In this sense, even historiography is based (in part) on fiction or creative imagination, on the skilful art of weaving a story around archaeological objects and past events, and on the re-construction and actualization of what is no longer at hand. Truth must therefore neither be equalled to happening nor opposed to imagination, for there are different kinds of truths. There are factual truths (“this is a chair”) and there are existential truths (“all humans are born equal”), and both types are relative to the ideational system that contextualises them within core of truthfulness. Zimmerli expresses such unease when he writes that “for all this, it is still not said that in Ezekiel’s visions and symbolic acts are have to do with a pure literary fiction. This interpretation, which was much favored in the precritical phase of Ezekiel study—and beyond it—is out of place. Everything which recent study of the prophets has brought to light of the true experiential background of prophecy renders it inappropriate to deny to Ezekiel, the younger contemporary of Jeremiah in whom the submission to the divine power is certainly not to be overlooked, a genuine experience underlying his prophetic teaching,” Walther Zimmerli, Ezekiel 1, 18. 113 Hanna Liss, “The Imaginary Sanctuary,” 672. 114 The relativity or relational nature of truth is implied by basic principles of (Western) rationality, namely the principles of identity (A=A), of non-contradiction (A=A and A=non-A cannot be true at the same time and looked at from the same perspective), and of excluded middle or tertium non datur (either A=A or A=non-A, there is no third possibility). The same can be said of the old logical axiom that truth and error exist only in the proposition (i.e. the sentence, A=B), which must be either true or false, i.e. the (semantic) principle of bivalance. The proposition’s truth or falsehood depends on and can be verified only in relation to an extra-propositional context that helps establish the value of A and of B and the perspective from which A and B are viewed. 115 For an interesting example of this, cf. Umberto Eco, “On Truth. A Fiction,” in Umberto Eco, Marco Santambrogio & Patrizia Violi (eds), Meaning and Mental Representations (Bloomington and Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Press, 1988) 41–59.

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which there must be nouns such as “chair,” “humans,” adjectives such as “equal,” and so forth. Things can therefore be completely true despite the fact that they may never actually have taken place or that they are wholly fictitious and imagined (for example, YHWH uniting the dispersed into one “Israel,” Ezek 34:12–16; 37:21–22). Truth and truths can thus also lie in the imagined future as a promise, i.e., as that which can be, in which case fiction would then be a more adequate way of attaining to truth than historiography. Ezekiel’s view is true, therefore, not because it is historical, but because from the perspective of the book, it will appear (i.e., reading can mediate revelation) that it makes sense. It may not be factual, but it is still true, if only one looks at it from the book’s own standpoint—the same can be said about the archaeologist’s truth. This is the truth of the metaphor, the truth of the literary work.116 The geniality not just of Ezekiel, but of the whole Hebrew Scriptures, lies in its ideology and “in the world view projected, together with the rhetoric devised to bring it home.”117

5.

CONCLUDING REMARKS

In this contribution, I have sought to highlight some of the dimensions of the biblical book called Ezekiel. I accept that biblical books are “books” in a special way, not only because they are approached as somehow being God’s speech, but also because the very compositional history of most of them deconstructs our usual notions of book, author and writer. If, as Jews and Christians believe, this book can indeed mediate God’s Revelation to the faithful (as it has done for so many throughout the centuries), then it can do this only by being a text. Therefore, theological exegesis cannot but entail the conscious and systematic effort to let Ezekiel be a biblical book and to speak to us as a book. We must consequently (re)discover and acknowledge its literary character. The first rule for reading understandingly is that readers should have enough encyclopaedic competence to commune with the text in its own terms, without “raping” it. Thus, the first skill we ought to acquire is respect towards the text. Whenever we disregard the literary nature of Holy Texts, say, under the pretence of saving their revelatory status, we will ultimately fail to appreciate the very dynamics of “entextualised” Revelation. 116 117

Cf. Luis Alonso Schökel, A Manual of Hermeneutics, 131. Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative, 37.

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The autobiographical, fantastic, and fictional dimensions of Ezekiel do not undermine its divine message; they actually bridge it over to the readers. Ezekiel’s message cannot be respectfully understood unless we recognise and interact with its autobiographical, fantastic, and fictional strategies. Acknowledging Ezekiel’s literary nature will not be a detriment to its message. On the contrary, it will keep us, the readers, from divinising anybody’s understanding of the text. The text is the meeting place where God and the readers can communicate, not God.118 When the doors of its encoded traces are opened by the inquisitive mind of the readers, meaning takes place and the conversation between God and the readers starts. Then, the Word of God happens. Consequently, it is no longer an extra-literary person who functions as prophet: the real prophet is the book. The stage where this revelatory meeting between God and the readers through the text occurs is our imagination, which explains the title of this contribution: “Imagining Ezekiel.” From a historical viewpoint, the literary character of Ezekiel suggests a close connection between the book and the literati (scribes and middle sectors of society). Its apocalyptic message further confirms this since as “a genre, apocalyptic could have flourished only within circles of sufficient education and erudition to produce this kind of literature.”119 This is an invitation for us the readers to read not only what is on the lines but also what is between the lines.

118 119

Cf. Hanna Liss, “The Imaginary Sanctuary,” 689. Jon L. Berquist, Judaism in Persia’s Shadow, 185.

DID RASHI NOTICE A JANUS PARALLELISM IN EZEK 20:37? HERB BASSER QUEEN’S UNIVERSITY, CANADA Ezekiel 20:1-37a speaks of how God chose Israel for himself, brought them out from Egypt where they polluted themselves with idols and God was angry with them and would have destroyed them. Yet, he gave them laws and festivals which they rebelled against and so he, in time, scattered them amongst the nations. Now he will bring them out, ruling over them with fury (20:33), from the lands of their captivity as he had before into a desertlike state. And he will (20:37) bring them once more under his rod and to his covenant, purifying them (20:38ff) of the rebels amongst them that they may thrive and return to their land. Ezek 20:37 is the transition point that moves the narrative from Israel’s past failure and accompanying punishments into a vision of a restored covenant. God will thus repair the breaches that had occurred from the Exodus until the Exile. I wonder if Rashi’s comments on Ezek 20:37 disclose an intuitive grasp of “Janus parallelism.” This term describes a feature in Scriptures that allows reading verses both in parallel and as progressions. It depends upon the author placing an ambiguous word-form with dual etymologies into the biblical passage. C. H. Gordon coined the term “Janus parallelism” to describe a literary phenomenon “that hinges on the use of a single word with two entirely different meanings: one meaning paralleling what precedes, and the other meaning what follows.”1 The argument that Rashi noted a Janus parallelism runs as follows. See C. H. Gordon, “New Directions,” Bulletin of the American Association of Papyrologists 15 (1978), pp. 59–66 (59–60), available online at http://quod.lib.umich.edu/b/basp/browse.html. For a discussion on this device 1

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Ezek 20:37: ‫אתי ֶא ְת ֶ ֖כם ְבּ ָמ ֥סֹ ֶרת ַה ְבּ ִ ֽרית‬ ֥ ִ ‫וְ ַה ֲע ַב ְר ִ ֥תּי ֶא ְת ֶ ֖כם ַ ֣תּ ַחת ַה ָ ֑שּׁ ֶבט וְ ֵה ֵב‬ Rashi: ‫ שתהיו כפופים לי ולמוסרי‬- ‫תחת השבט‬ ‫ בברית שמסרתי לכם‬- ‫במסורת הברית‬ Rashi’s understanding: I [have you pass] beneath the scepter [and I 2 [I will bring you]: that you become subject to (a) me and to (b) my band(s) [‫”;]מוֹס ַרי‬ ְ will bring you] by the masoret of the Covenant [commandments]: By the covenant [commandments] that I handed to you [but you ignored]. The scepter is the symbol of the king’s authority and his laws—so Rashi reads (comment on 37a) as if 37a and 37b are parallel—by making you kneel beneath the scepter you are now my subject and bound by my laws. So Rashi’s first comment reads ‫ ָמס ֶֹרת‬as obligation (the extended meaning of fetter).3 Greenberg got this translation exactly right although he need not have justified it by seeing ‫ ָמס ֶֹרת‬as ‫ ַמ ֲאסֺ ֶרת‬when ‫( מוֹ ֵסר‬fetter, band) works more elegantly, with no need for hypothesizing a dropped ‫א‬.4

on Job and numerous other texts see Scott B. Noegel, Janus Parallelism in the Book of Job (JSOTS, 223; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996). 2 It is possible that Rashi’s ‫ מוסרי‬stands for ‫מוּס ִרי‬ ָ “my instruction,” but such a reading of Rashi would change very little in terms of my argument about the presence of a Janus parallelism. 3 Ancient sources note two senses here: 1. “Shut up” (δεσμοῖς)—Aquila (like “in an iron collar,” διὰ κλοιοῦ in Symmachus) While Yehuda ibn Hayyuj proposes this meaning on the basis of an hypothetical reconstruction of a missing ‫ א‬in ‫ס ֶרת‬ ֺ ‫ ַמ ֲא‬, most likely these versions ‫ר‬ ‫ס‬ ֵ ‫וֹ‬ ‫מ‬ took it from (band, fetter). On ibn Hayyuj’s proposal see David Kimhi’s ‫“ ספר השרשים‬Book of Roots,” under the heading of ‫ אסר‬and M. Greenberg, “MSRT HBRYT, ‘The obligation of the covenant,’ in Ezekiel 20:37,” in Carol L. Meyers and M. O’Connor, eds., The Word of the Lord Shall Go Forth: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman in Celebration of His Sixtieth Birthday (Winona Lake, 1983), pp. 37–46 (39) and bibliography cited there. 2. Another meaning found in an ancient OG version is “handed-down tradition” (παραδόσει)—Theodotion. Rashi incorporates these two meanings in his comments and find both senses embedded in the verse. 4 See M. Greenberg, “MSRT HBRYT, ‘The obligation of the covenant,’ in Ezekiel 20:37.”

HERB BASSER

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For all intents and purposes, they mean the same thing.5 For Rashi the entire verse describes a kind of knighting ceremony where the subject kneels beneath the ruler’s scepter—a ceremony of loyalty to God and his obligations. Rashi’s wording suggests he sees the preposition ‫ ְבּ‬prefixed to ‫ ָמס ֶֹרת‬as carrying a meaning often associated with the preposition ‫( ְל‬i.e., ‫מוֹס ֵרי‬ ְ ‫) ְל‬, namely identifying obligations as the object of one’s loyalty. In his comments to 37a Rashi paraphrases the entire verse. But then Rashi reads the verse anew: 37b does not mirror back 37a but moves the action ahead: I will bring you [to full redemption] by means of the covenant that I have already delivered to you. Here ‫ ְבּ‬signifies agency, “by the covenant.” The inheritance of the laws or of the covenant of land (I’m not sure which he has in mind) are not the just for the purpose of my choosing you to be my people but act also as the instrument by which I lead you forward. And you already have it—I gave it to you long ago. What makes this reading fortuitous is that it could serve as a subtle polemic to undermine any notion that Ezekiel refers to a radically new covenant, as Christians may see it. Rather, he speaks of a renewed covenant, one which was given once and for all time at the occasion of the Exodus. For Rashi, ‫ ָמס ֶֹרת‬looks backward in the verse to the “scepter of authority” (‫ ) ֶשׁ ֶבט‬and forward to the eternal “covenant” (‫ ְבּ ִרית‬the next word after ‫ ) ָמס ֶֹרת‬already in hand.

See BDB 64a–b; under main heading ‫אסר‬, subheading ‫ ָמס ֶֹרת‬which notes this usage of “moser” ‫ מוֹ ֵסר‬in Ezek 20:37. 5

MOSES OUTSIDE THE TORAH AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF A DIASPORA IDENTITY THOMAS RÖMER COLLÈGE DE FRANCE - UNIVERSITY OF LAUSANNE

1.

THE SHARED FIGURE OF MOSES AND THE PENTAEUCH

In his seminal essay “The ‘Conquest of Canaan’ in the Book of Joshua and in History,” Nadav Na’aman has reminded us that the “written transcription of presumed oral tales may be more informative in regard to the period in which these tales were transcribed than to the time in which they were presumed to have been composed.”1 In this paper, I will apply this methodological reflection to some stories about Moses inside and outside the Torah, in order to show that these stories do not help us in reconstructing the ‘historical Moses’ but in understanding the diversity of nascent Judaism in the Persian period. The present debate about the composition of the Torah is at times confusing.2 Since the majority of scholars abandoned the traditional documentary hypothesis, no new consensus about the formation of the Bible’s first five books has emerged. This said, there is a widespread

1 This essay has been recently republished. See N. Na’aman, Ancient Israel’s History and Historiography. Volume Two: Canaan in the Second Millennium B.C.E. (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 317–92; citation from p. 326. 2 For an overview see T. B. Dozeman and K. Schmid (eds.), A Farewell to the Yahwist? The Composition of the Pentateuch in Recent European Interpretation (SBL SymS, 34; Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2006); G. N. Knoppers and B. M. Levinson (eds.), The Pentateuch as Torah. New Models for Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007).

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

agreement that the first publication of the Pentateuch—or of a ProtoPentateuch—took place in the middle of the Persian period.3 There is also a considerable degree of agreement on an understanding of the Torah as a ‘compromise document,’ in which different narratives and legal collections were gathered together in an attempt to accommodate the different ideological points of view of the Priestly school on one hand and a lay group, which one may call the Deuteronomists, on the other hand. In this regard it is interesting that, in Ezra 7:11, Ezra is called ‫“( ַהכּ ֵֹהן ַהסּ ֵֹפר‬the ֱ ‫ָכּ ֲהנָ א ָס ַפר ָדּ ָתא ִ ֽדּ‬ priest-scribe”), and in Aramaic (Ezra 7:12) ‫י־א ָלהּ ְשׁ ַמיָּ א‬ (“the priest, scribe of the law of the God of the Heavens”). In these texts, Ezra clearly appears as a priestly and literate figure that symbolizes and embodies the alliance between the Priests and the Deuteronomists. Within the Pentateuch, Moses plays the same role. He is definitely the central figure of the Torah, which according to Knierim,4 can be read as a Mosaic biography. After the prologue in the book of Genesis, Exodus opens with Moses’ birth and the last chapter of the Pentateuch relates his death. Moses is the mediator of both the Priestly and the Deuteronomic law. In the priestly texts, Moses is also described as the brother of Aaron, the founder of the priestly dynasty and the prime contractor for the mobile sanctuary built according to the divinely transmitted model. For the Deuteronomists, Moses is above all lawgiver, teacher and interpreter of the Law.5 Both Priests and Deuteronomists agree on the idea that Moses is the founder of the sanctuary, the cult and the Law, which are the institutions at the centre of rising Judaism in the provinces of Yehud and Samaria. Moses was not only the figure of identification for the two major ideological and economical groups inside the Land, but also for Diaspora Judaism. Some texts and hints reveal the importance of Moses for this Judaism outside the Land. They refer to Moses in order to legitimate This agreement echoes a traditional Jewish view, which makes Ezra the author or the editor of the Torah. 3

4 R. P. Knierim, “The Composition of the Pentateuch” in K. H. Richards (ed.) Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 24 (SBLSP, 24; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1985) 393–415. 5 J.-P. Sonnet, The Book Within the Book. Writing in Deuteronomy (BIS, 14; Leiden/ New York/Köln: Brill, 1997); E. Otto, “The Pentateuch in Synchronical and Diachronical Perspectives: Protorabbinical Scribal Erudition Mediating Between Deuteronomy and the Priestly Code” in E. Otto and R. Achenbach (eds.) Das Deuteronomium zwischen Pentateuch und Deuteronomistischem Geschichtswerk (FRLANT, 206; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004) 14–35.

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theological options different than those that were about to become standard in Jerusalem. Some of these attempts were finally integrated into the Torah and some were not. The ‘non orthodox’ traditions about Moses can nevertheless be detected through some allusions in the Biblical text and through traditions about Moses that can be found in the work of Jewish and Greek authors of the Hellenistic period. I would like to briefly present the most interesting of these traditions. Before doing so, it is important to draw attention to the end of the Torah, which tries to present Moses as a possible model for Diaspora Judaism.

2.

THE DEATH OF MOSES OUTSIDE THE LAND

The last chapter of the Pentateuch, Deuteronomy 34, highlights Moses’ incomparable status. Although Moses has to die at the age of 120 years,6 when he passes away he is healthy and full of vigour (the statement in 34:6 corrects 31:2). His death at the top of a mountain (cf. also Aaron’s death in Numbers 20) and his burial by Yhwh himself underline Moses’ exceptional and heroic character. The remark in verse 5, stating that nobody knows his burial place to this day, can be understood as a polemical statement against the veneration of Moses’ grave. But one should also consider, following a suggestion of Loewenstamm, that the biblical account presents a “cautious rejection of a myth predicating Moses’ assumption.”7 Such a tradition was perhaps already in existence when the last redactors of the Torah revised the account of Moses’ death. In fact, the almost divine status of Moses appears in the last verses of Deuteronomy 34 (vv 10–12), in which Moses is clearly distinguished from all other prophets and in which he becomes the author of the “signs and wonders” that in the Torah are exclusively accomplished by Yhwh himself. This epitaph also reflects a struggle between the advocates of a Hexateuch and those of a Pentateuch.8 In opposition to those who wanted to add the book of Joshua to the nascent Torah, the concluding verses of Deuteronomy 34 were added by the advocates of a Pentateuch. These The limitation refers to the beginning of the Torah (Gen 6:3) which narrates how God limits the age of the human beings to 120 years. 7 S. Loewenstamm, “The Death of Moses,” in G. W. E. Nickelsburg (ed.) Studies on the Testament of Abraham (SBLSCS, 6; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1976) 185–211. 8 For more details cf. T. C. Römer and M. Z. Brettler, “Deuteronomy 34 and the Case for a Persian Hexateuch,” JBL (2000) 401–419. 6

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

verses clearly communicate that the conquest of the land in Joshua does not belong to the Torah. The conclusion of the Torah with a narrative about Moses’ death outside the land opens the possibility for the Jews of the Diaspora to identify with Moses. One of their major fears was to be buried in a foreign land.9 During the Second Temple period, many ossuaries in and around Jerusalem contained the mortal remains of wealthy Jews from the Diaspora.10 Deuteronomy 34 may also be understood as a discrete critique of this practice: the most important thing is not to be buried in the land, but to observe the Torah transmitted by Moses.

MOSES, THE MAGICIAN 3. In the non-priestly call story of Moses in Exodus 3–4, late redactors inserted a long discussion between Moses and Yhwh that focuses on the people’s lack of belief.11 In response to Moses’ objections, Yhwh provides him with magic power. His rod becomes a serpent (4:1–5). This episode, as has often been observed, foreshadows the so-called plague narrative, in which Moses and Aaron confront Pharaoh’s magicians. But within the Priestly account of these confrontations, the term ‘plague stories’ is misleading. The accounts incorporated in the Priestly document are about Demonstrationswunder, that is miracles that seek to demonstrate Yhwh’s power. The Priestly version of the miracles in Egypt has five episodes. The first of them is in 7:1–13, which is often understood as a prologue to the series from a synchronic perspective.12 Moses and Aaron compete with the 9 To be buried in a foreign land was considered a curse. See Isa 22:15–18; Amos 7:1–7; Jer 20.6. 10 H. Lichtenberger, “«Im Lande Israel zu wohnen wiegt alle Gebote der Tora auf.» Die Heiligkeit des Landes und die Heiligung des Lebens” in R. Feldmeier and U. Heckel (eds.), Die Heiden. Juden, Christen und das Problem des Fremden (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1994) 92–107. 11 Cf. J. C. Gertz, Tradition und Redaktion in der Exoduserzählung. Untersuchungen zur Endredaktion des Pentateuch (FRLANT, 186; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1999) ; T. C. Römer, “Exodus 3–4 und die aktuelle Pentateuchdiskussion” in R. Roukema (ed.), The Interpretation of Exodus. Studies in Honour of Cornelis Houtman (CBET, 44; Leuven/Paris/Dudley, MA: Peeters, 2006) 65–79. 12 Belonging to P then, grosso modo, 7:19–22*; 8:1–3,11*; 8:12–15; 9:8–12. There is an astonishing unanimity on this matter among exegetes.

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273

magicians of Egypt in each of these five episodes.13 For instance, after Aaron’s staff is transformed into a “dragon” (interestingly P uses the term ‫ ַתּנִּ ין‬in 7:9–10, 12, which is also found in Gen 1:21), Pharaoh sends for wise men (‫ ) ֲח ָכ ִמים‬and sorcerers (‫ ְמ ַכ ְשּׁ ִפים‬, cf. Deut 18:10). These two categories of specialists are also called ‫( ַח ְר ֻט ִמּם‬often translated as “magicians”) in Exod 7:11. This term occurs in the five episodes (see 7:22; 8:3, 14–15; 9:11) and is probably a word borrowed from Egyptian, designating a priest of high rank, in charge of reading ritual instructions (Redford: “chief lector priest”).14 Aaron and the ‫ ַח ְר ֻט ִמּם‬have thus a double identity: Both are priests and “magicians.” The difference between the two lies in the origin of their knowledge. Egyptian magicians base their performance on occult sciences (cf. 7:11, 22; 8:3, 1415), whereas Aaron goes by Yhwh’s word as transmitted by Moses (7:9, 15; 8:1, 12). But just like Moses and Aaron, the magicians succeed in transforming water into blood (7:22) and are able to summon the frogs (8:2). This indicates that the author takes the magical abilities of the Egyptians seriously and that for him, magic as such is not a problem.16 Rather, he wants to prove that Yhwh’s words of magic are more efficient than the Egyptians’ magic. Thus, in the fourth plague, Egyptian magicians are unable to imitate Aaron’s magical gesture, namely the transformation of dust into mosquitoes (Exod 8:13–14). They acknowledge Moses’ and Aaron’s (and their God’s) superiority, when declaring to ִ ‫( ”) ֱא‬8:15). This expression, which Pharaoh: “this is the finger of God (‫ֹלהים‬ is attested in Egyptian magical formulas, probably refers to Aaron’s staff,17 13 J. Van Seters, “A Contest of Magicians? The Plague Stories in P” in D. P. Wright, D. N. Freedman and A. Hurvitz (eds.) Pomegranates and Golden Bells. Studies in Biblical, Jewish, and Near Eastern Ritual, Law, and Literature in Honor of Jacob Milgrom (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1995) 569–580; T. Römer, “Competing Magicians in Exodus 7–9: Interpreting Magic in Priestly Theology” in T. Klutz (ed.) Magic in the Biblical World. From the Rod of Aaron to the Ring of Solomon (JSNTS, 245; London/New York: T & T Clark International - Continuum, 2003) 12–22. 14 Donald B. Redford, A Study of the Biblical Story of Joseph (Genesis 37–50) (SVT, 20; Leiden: Brill, 1970) 203. 15 These are the only Biblical plural occurrences of the word. 16 Cf. Werner H. Schmidt, “Magie und Gotteswort. Einsichten und Ausdrucksweisen des Deuteronomiums in der Priesterschrift” in I. Kottsieper et al. (eds.) «Wer ist wie du, HERR, unter den Göttern?»: Studien zur Theologie und Religionsgeschichte Israels; für Otto Kaiser zum 70. Geburtstag (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994) 169–179 (178). 17 B. Couroyer, “Le «doigt de Dieu» (Exode, VIII, 15),” RB 63 (1956) 481–495.

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

whose superiority they acknowledge. The Egyptian magicians do not use ִ ‫) ֱא‬, the Tetragrammaton, but rather the more universal term “God” (‫ֹלהים‬ which is consistently used by P for narratives set in pre-Mosaic times, and ִ ‫ ֱא‬is a concept that for the deities of peoples other than Israel. For P, ‫ֹלהים‬ can be shared by Hebrews and Egyptians. Contrary to Pharaoh (whose heart Yhwh has hardened), the magicians begin to understand their adversaries’ superiority. The Egyptian magicians’ defeat is finally confirmed in the fifth episode, in which they themselves are affected by the ashes of the furnace that Moses and Aaron transform into skin disease carrier (9:10– 11). In this episode, one may observe an interesting shift. In contrast to the four previous episodes, the narrative does not open with “Yhwh told Moses: tell Aaron...” (cf. 7:8, 19; 8:1, 12), but with “Yhwh told Moses and Aaron” (9:8). Notice that Moses does not transmit the divine order to his brother so he may execute it later, but rather the two play a direct role in the magical operation. Moses even plays the most important part. It is as if the author wanted to show that it is through the direct involvement of Moses that the Egyptian magicians are finally defeated. Moses, who was more or less kept in the background of the first four episodes, is eventually characterised as the one who brings an end to Egyptian magic. According to Reindl, P likely took up a narrative that originated in the Egyptian Diaspora.18 This is an attractive idea. It is certainly not pure coincidence that all the other occurrences of the term ‫ ַח ְר ֻט ִמּם‬are all in the story of Joseph (Gen 41:8, 24) and in the narrative part of Daniel (Dan. 1:20; 2:2), that is to say in two Diaspora’s novels. Be that as it may, Exodus 7–9 may be understood as a dialogue with Egyptian culture. P accepts and maybe admires the magic knowledge of the Egyptian priests, but it wants to convince his readers that belief in Yhwh, the only God, may integrate and exceed such knowledge in might. F. Graf reminds us that traditions about Moses as a magician existed in Jewish circles located in Alexandria and in Syro-Palestine, as well as in the Graeco-Roman world. Exodus 7–9 may also reflect these traditions.19 The latter cannot but be grounded on a positive evaluation of the magical powers of God’s messengers. It is worth 18J.

Reindl, “Der Finger Gottes und die Macht der Götter. Ein Problem des ägyptischen Diasporajudentums und sein literarischer Niederschlag” in W. Ernst, K. Feiereis, F. Hoffmann (eds.) Dienst der Vermittlung. Festschrift Priesterseminar Erfurt (ETS, 37; Leipzig: St. Benno Verlag, 1977) 49–60. 19 F. Graf, La magie dans l’Antiquité gréco-romaine (Pluriel 8822; Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1994) 14–16.

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noting that the Talmud takes this fact into account when it declares that magical practices, when performed for the benefit of teaching are not included among the prohibitions (b. Sanh. 68a).20

4.

MOSES, THE LEPROUS

We can briefly turn back to the account of Exodus 4. A second sign— which is quite obscure—follows the transformation of Moses’ staff into a serpent (4:6-7). God asks Moses to put his hand into his bosom, the hand then becomes “leprous like snow” and is in turn restored. These two verses interrupt the link that exists between the first sign (Moses’ staff becomes a serpent) and the third sign (God’s announcement that the water of the Nile will become blood), both of which foreshadow the first two miracles of the plague narrative. The ‘sign’ of Moses’ leprous hand has no satisfactory explanation in the context of the biblical traditions about Moses. To understand these verses we need to turn to another Moses tradition, which is not attested in the Pentateuch but in the anti-Jewish treatises about the Jews. The work of the Egyptian priest Manetho—who wrote a History of Egypt at the end of the fourth century B.C.E., or beginning of the third— is of special interest here. Josephus quotes some fragments of it in his Contra Apionem. According to Josephus, Manetho knew a story of an Egyptian king Amenophis who wanted to purify Egypt from all lepers and sick people. He put them to work in stone-quarries, east of the Nile. He later transferred them to the city of Avaris, the former capital of the Hyksos (“the Shepherds”). A leprous Priest named Osarsephos/ Osarsiph/ Osarseph headed the colony there. Osarsephos gave them new laws21 (Ag. Ap. 1.239: “they should not worship the gods or show reverence for any of the animals regarded as sacred by the Egyptians … They should sacrifice and use all of them, and they should have nothing to do with any person except those who shared the oath”). Osarsephos allied himself with the 20 On attitudes about magical practices, cf. R. Schmitt, “The Problem of Magic and Monotheism in the Book of Leviticus,” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 8/11 (2008), available at http://www.jhsonline.org. 21 Translation according to Verbrugghe and Wickersham. See G. P. Verbrugge and J. M. Wickersham, Berossos and Manetho Introduced and Translated. Native Traditions in Ancient Mesopotamia and Egypt (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 2000). Cf. J. M. G. Barclay, Against Apion. Translation and Commentary (S. Mason, ed., Flavius Josephus Translation and Commentary, vol. 10; Leiden/Boston: E. J. Brill, 2007) 135-41.

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Shepherds from Jerusalem and together they fought against the Egyptian king who had to flee to Ethiopia where he stayed for thirteen years. Meanwhile, the lepers and the Shepherds burned cities and sanctuaries and destroyed statues of the gods. Finally, they were defeated by Amenophis and his army, who “killed many and pursued the rest as far as the borders of Syria.” At the end of the story, we are told: “It is said that the man who gave them their constitution and laws was a priest of the people of Heliopolis, named Osarseph22 from Osiris the god of Heliopolis. When he changed his allegiance, he changed his name and was called Moses” (Ag. Ap. 1.250). There is some debate whether Manetho reports this identification, or whether it was added later.23 The identification of Osarsephos and Moses is however supported by the biblical account in Exod 4:6–7. The biblical text could be understood as a “counter history” that reacts against an apparently important tradition describing Moses as a man affected with leprosy.24 To this tradition, the biblical text opposes the affirmation that Moses’ leprosy was only momentary; it happened in the context of a transfer of divine powers to him.

MOSES AND THE FOREIGN WOMEN

5.

The question of intermarriage presents a major issue for nascent Judaism. The Deuteronomists and the authors of Ezra-Nehemiah are fighting such marriages, as can be seen in texts like Deuteronomy 7 or 9, Ezra 9 and Nehemiah 10. Nevertheless, the Moses story reports that Moses had two According to Donald B. Redford, Egypt, Canaan, and Israel in Ancient Times (Princeton: University Press, 1992), 415–6, Osarseph is a polemical name for Akhenaton; others think of a combination of Joseph and Osiris, or Osiris and Sepa (Barclay, Against Apion, 137 n. 832). 23 See John G. Gager, Moses in Greco-Roman Paganism (SBLMS, 16; Nashville/New York: Abingdon Press, 1972) 113–118; Erich S. Gruen, Heritage and Hellenism: The Reinvention of Jewish Tradition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), 58–62; J. M. G. Barclay, Against Apion, 140-41, n. 871. 24 Apparently Hecataeus—who is often considered to be one of Manetho’s sources—knows a similar tradition, since he relates that a disease struck Egypt and that the Egyptians decided to expel the foreigners living in the country and among whom was Moses. Hecataeus does not mention explicitly Moses’ leprosy, but he combines the theme of the expulsion of Moses and his followers and the theme of disease. A text such as Deut 7:15: “all the dread diseases from Egypt that you experienced he (Yhwh) will not inflict on you” (see also Deut 28:60) might reflect such a tradition. 22

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foreign wives: Zipporah, the Midianite (Exodus 2) and a Cushite woman mentioned in Num 12:1. The tradition about a relation between Moses and the Midianites is probably quite old.25 When the Pentateuch was edited, a redactor tried to make this tradition compatible with the Priestly view of the connubium by adding a genealogy (Gen 25: 1–4) stemming from the union between Abraham and a third wife, Keturah, according to which Midian is a descendant of Abraham.26 The case of Num 12:1 is substantially different: Miriam and Aaron criticize Moses because of his marriage with a Cushite woman. Some commentators have tried to identify this woman as Zipporah, on the grounds that the tents of Cushan are mentioned in parallel with the land of Midian in Hab 3:7.27 But Num 12:1 suggests a new marriage and the mention of a Cushite/Ethiopian woman makes perfect sense in a Diaspora context.28 Josephus relates the story of a marriage between Moses and an Ethiopian princess. It is difficult to assume that Josephus would have invented the whole story in order to explain Num 12:1. The opposite is more plausible. Num 12:1 likely reflects a tradition about an Ethiopian wife of Moses that the last redactors of the Torah could not ignore completely. (Artapanus, like Josephus, reports that Moses led an Ethiopian campaign, but he does not mention Moses’ marriage. Some scholars think that Artapanus omitted this tradition, because he did not like it.29 But this position is not very convincing given Artapanus’ liberal attitude, which is reminiscent of some of the Biblical Diaspora novellas.30 It is more plausible to imagine that Alexander Polyhistor, who apparently shortened the Artapanus’ narrative when he transmitted it, censored this theme.31) 25 E. A. Knauf, Midian. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte Palästinas und Nordarabiens am Ende des 2. Jahrtausends v.Chr. (ADPV; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1988). 26 This post-priestly (see Knauf, op. cit., 168) constructed genealogy integrates the population of the incense road into Abraham’s descendants (qeturah means “incense”). 27 See for instance J. de Vaulx, Les Nombres (Sources Bibliques; Paris: Gabalda, 1972)159, who refers to traditional and critical commentators. 28 A. Shinan, “Moses and the Ethiopian Woman. Sources of a Story in The Chronicles of Moses,” ScrHier (1978) 66–78 (71–72). 29 M. Braun, History and Romance in Graeco-Oriental Literature (1938) (reprint; New York/London: Garland, 1987) 99–102. 30 J. J. Collins, Between Athens and Jerusalem. Jewish Identity in the Hellenistic Diaspora. Second edition (The Biblical Resource Series; Livonia: Dove Booksellers, 2000) 45. 31 E. Koskenniemi, “Greek, Egyptians and Jews in the Fragments of

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The tradition about Moses’ Ethiopian wife probably originated in a Diaspora context. Its aim was to legitimate intermarriages against the Jerusalemite orthodoxy. Within this context, one may mention, for instance, the situation in the Jewish colony in Elephantine, as already suggested by Diebner.32 In fact, this colony, which faced the land of Cush and which comprised many mercenaries, offers a fitting background to explain the origin of the tradition of Moses’ Ethiopian wife.33 Num 12:1 is therefore not the starting point of this tradition, but a discrete reflection.34 The redactor who incorporated this tradition in the book of Numbers tried to legitimate such marriages inside the Torah, as can be seen in the sanction against Miriam who criticized Moses. The popularity of this tradition in later Jewish legends35 confirms that it provided a path for identification within Diaspora Judaism.

6.

MOSES, THE WARRIOR

In the HB Moses is more or less demilitarized. He does not lead the people into the land and the military conquest is the work of Joshua, who is clearly depicted in the Hexateuch (in Exodus 17 and in the book of Joshua) as a warlord. This narrative structure shows that the redactors of the Torah were not interested in claiming political autonomy through military traditions. Nevertheless, there are some military traditions about Moses at the end of the book of Numbers and in the first chapters of Deuteronomy. He conquers the Transjordan territory and Num 20:14 even mentions a “book of the wars of Yhwh”36 which would have contained Moses’ military exploits. In these cases, Moses acts like Joshua in the conquest of Canaan. One may ask whether these stories at the end of Numbers reflect a tradition of Moses as a conqueror, which may be found in a fragment from Hecateus Artapanus,” JSP (2002) 17–31, 29. 32 B. J. Diebner, “»...for he had married a Cushite woman« (Num 12,1),” Nubica I/II (1990) 499–504. 33 This tradition incorporated possibly the fact that several Pharaohs took Ethiopian wives in order to symbolize their domination over the land of Cush, see D. Runnalls, “Moses’ Ethiopian Campaign,” JSJ (1993) 135–156 (150). 34 Targum Pseudo-Jonathan explicitly mentions a queen of Ethiopia. 35 Shinan, op. cit., 72–77; see also S. Brock, “Some Syriac Legends Concerning Moses,” JJS (1982) 237–254. 36 There is however a text-critical problem since the LXX reads “the war of Yhwh” not as the title of the book but as a “quotation” from it.

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and more extensively in the work of Artapanus in which Moses is characterized as an excellent commander leading an Ethiopian campaign. It is highly unlikely that Artapanus invented this tradition, since Josephus (Ant. 2.238–256) offers a similar account. Given that there is no direct literary dependency between the relevant works, one has to conclude that both authors took over an oral tradition from the Jewish Diaspora.37 Can we retrace the formation of this tradition? The Egyptian Jews certainly knew about the antagonism between Egypt and Cush. Wars between Egypt and Cush were common since the second millennium B.C.E. and, in fact, around 728 B.C.E. the Cushite king Piankhy invaded Egypt. He conquered Memphis and Heliopolis and was proclaimed king over Egypt. This Ethiopian occupation of Egypt, which only came to an end around 672 B.C.E with the installation of Neco I after the Assyrian invasion,38 offers a fitting background to Artapanus’ account (Praep. IX, 27, 3). The topic of Ethiopian campaigns led by Egyptian or other kings (Semiramis, Cambyses) became a literary motif during the Persian era.39 Egyptian Jews were likely aware of this motif. The legend that shows the largest number of parallels with the tradition reflected in Artapanus and Josephus is the story of Sesostris (Sesoosis).40 The legendary figure of Sesostris apparently combines recollections about Sesostris III—who defeated the Ethiopians—and Ramses II and was popular during the Persian period.41 Herodotus (II, 102–110), Diodorus Siculus (I, LIII– LVIII), Hecateus and Strabo all told of Sesostris’ achievements.

37 See for more details and the following T. Römer, “Les guerres de Moïse.” in La construction de la figure de Moïse - The Construction of the Figure of Moses (ed.T. Römer; Transeuphratène Suppl. 13; Paris: Gabalda, 2007) 169–193. 38 Cf. D. B. Redford, From Slave to Pharaoh. The Black Experience of Ancient Egypt (Baltimore - London: John Hopkins University Press, 2004). 39 J. M. G. Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora. From Alexander to Trajan (323 BCE – 117 CE) (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 129 and n. 9; Shinan, op. cit., 68; Collins, op. cit., 41. 40 D. L. Tiede, The Charismatic Figure as Miracle Worker (SBLDS, 1; Missoula: Society of Biblical Literature, 1972), 153–67; T. Rajak, “Moses in Ethiopia: Legend and Literature,” JJS (1978) 111–122, 115. 41 C. Obsomer, Les campagnes de Sésostris dans Hérodote : essai d’interprétation du texte grec à la lumière des réalités égyptiennes (Connaissance de l’Egypte ancienne, 1; Bruxelles: Connaissance de l’Egypte ancienne, 1989).

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According to this legend,42 Sesostris is both a brilliant legislator and an excellent head of state who organizes the land of Egypt in different departments (Herodotus II, 109; Diodorus I, LIV, 3). Artapanus tells the same thing about Moses (Praep. IX, 27, 3).43 He also claims that Moses introduced circumcision in Ethiopia, whereas Herodotus (II, 104) and Diodorus (I, LV, 5) mention circumcision in relation with Sesostris. But Sesostris is above all a fine strategist and wages war against Ethiopia (Strabo XVI, 4.4.). Moses is described in the same manner in the accounts of Artapanus and Josephus, and also goes to war against Ethiopia.44 Both authors also report that Moses has to face the hostility of the Egyptian court (Praep. IX, 27, 11–18; Ant. II, 254–256); the same holds true for Sesostris when, accompanied by his wife, he returns from his campaign (Herodotus II, 107; Diodorus I, LVII, 7–8).45 It is therefore a plausible assumption that the tradition used by Artapanus and Josephus was inspired by this legend.46 If this is the case then, within this tradition, Moses was constructed as a kind of Jewish Sesostris.47 One may speculate that this development of the image of Moses might have taken place among Jewish mercenaries, in Elephantine or elsewhere. These mercenaries were likely eager to refer to Moses as the inventor of military art and excellence.48 In any event, this story was excluded for obvious reasons from the official ‘biography’ of Moses in the Torah, even if some aspects of a military Moses were taken over into the book of Numbers.

42 For a summary of this legend cf. Braun, History and Romance, 13–18, who situates its origin in the Egyptian resistance against the Persian invaders. 43 Both authors mention 36 nomes. 44 Tiede, op. cit., 161. 45 According Herodutus and Diodorus, his brother wants to kill him through fire. Diodorus reports that the Gods decided to save him. Herodotus tells a cruel plan of his wife: Sesostris’ two sons perish in the fire, since Sesostris uses them as a bridge to cross the fire 46 See also Tiede op. cit., 16. He is, however, convinced that it was Artapanus who invented the Mosaic version of this legend: “it appears likely that Artapanus had adapted a version of this legend and applied it to Moses.” 47 Cf. Exodus 2 in which attributes of Sargon are associated with the figure of Moses. Cf. H. Zlotnick-Sivan, “Moses the Persian? Exodus 2, the ‘other’ and biblical ‘mnemohistory’,” ZAW 116 (2004) 189–205. 48 D. Runnalls, “Moses’ Ethiopian Campaign,” JSJ (1993) 135–156 (147, 150).

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SOME CONCLUDING REMARKS

Besides the image of the “official” Moses (prophet, mediator and legislator), other traditions existed during the Persian and Hellenistic era. Some of these traditions were integrated into the Torah while others can be detected only with difficulties. In fact, some allusions in the Pentateuch, like those in Exod 4:6–7 or Num 12:1, remain obscure unless the extra biblical traditions about Moses from the Second Temple period are consulted to shed new light on them. Another example of how extra-biblical texts from the late Persian or Early Hellenistic period were alluded to in the Torah may be found in the Enochic writings,49 and in particular in the Watchers Story. The closest contact between the two texts is to be found in Gen 6:1–4 and the beginning of the Watchers Story in Enoch 6:1–2 and 7:1–2. Traditionally it has been argued that that the Watchers Story is a rewriting of the account in Genesis, but it seems more plausible to consider Gen 6:1–4 as a ‘quotation’ from the Enoch story.50 If we accept this view, it means that we should question the often accepted assumption that all the traditions about Moses (or Enoch) found in the work of Jewish and Greek authors of that period are midrashic developments of the biblical text. We have to rethink the formation of the biblical account of Moses in the light of the stories transmitted by Hecateus, Manetho, Artapanus, Josephus and others. It appears then that the Moses stories in the Torah represent a selection of the stories that circulated at the time, either in Yehud, Samaria or in the Jewish Diaspora.

I thank Professor Ehud Ben Zvi for that suggestion. See on this P. Sacchi, Jewish Apocalyptic and Its History (JSPS, 20; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990) 82–83; P. R. Davies, “And Enoch Was not, for Genesis Took him,” in C. Hempel and J. M. Lieu (eds.), Biblical Traditions in Transmission. Essays in Honour of Michael A. Knibb (JSJS, 111; Leiden/New York/ Köln: Brill, 2006), 97–107. 49 50

CHARACTERIZING ESTHER FROM THE OUTSET: THE CONTRIBUTION OF THE STORY IN ESTHER 2:1–20 JONATHAN JACOBS DEPARTMENT OF BIBLE, BAR-ILAN UNIVERSITY, ISRAEL

1.

INTRODUCTION

The main plot of Esther begins in Chapter 3, with the description of Haman’s decree and the developments that follow. The first two chapters serve as extended expositions, introducing the main characters of the story. Chapter 1 introduces King Ahasuerus while Chapter 2 introduces Mordecai and Esther.1 Scholars have written extensively on the character of Esther, her development over the course of the story, and the changes that she undergoes. However, their focus has been concentrated mainly on the transformation that takes place in chapters 4–7.2 Less attention has been For a discussion of the first two chapters as an exposition of the rest of the narrative, see, e.g., C. V. Dorothy, The Books of Esther, Structure, Genre and Textual Integrity (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Pr., 1997) 231. 2 See, e.g., B. W. Jones, “Two Misconceptions About the Book of Esther”, CBQ 39 (1977) 172–177; M. V. Fox, Character and Ideology in the Book of Esther (Columbia: Univ. of South Carolina Pr., 1991) 196–211; K. M. Craig, Reading Esther, A Case for the Literary Carnivalesque (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Pr., 1995) 94–99; J. A. Berman, “Hadassah bat Abihail: The Evolution from Object to Subject in the Character of Esther”, JBL 120 (2001) 647–669. For a comprehensive review of the various scholarly positions concerning the character of Esther, see L. Day, Three Faces of a Queen, Characterization in the Books of Esther (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Pr., 1995) 11–15. 1

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paid to her character as described in the first part of the book. This article focuses on Esther’s character as portrayed in 2:1–20.3 Chapter 2 records the suggestion of the king’s advisors, the many young women who gather in Shushan (Susa), the treatment that they are given, and the selection of Esther as queen at Ahasuerus’s side. The purpose of this article is to address four important interpretative issues concerning this chapter: 1. Who is the main character in the chapter: Ahasuerus, Mordecai, or Esther? 2. How does the author shape Esther’s character in the chapter? 3. What is the general theme of the chapter and its purpose, within the overall framework of the aims of the book? 4. In what way do the lengthy descriptions of the maidens gathering at the palace of King Ahasuerus contribute to the general message of the chapter? The present discussion will include an analysis of the boundaries of the chapter, its structure, analogies, key words, and other literary devices.

2.

ESTHER 2: STRUCTURE

Chapter 2 contains a literary unit marked off from the preceding and the following units within the book by the fixed opening formula (“after these things”) in 2:1 and 3:1.4 This unit contains two narratives: (a) the primary This article addresses only MT Esther. For a comparison between the MT of chapter 2 and the Greek translations, see e.g. K. De Troyer, “An Oriental Beauty Parlour: An Analysis of Esther 2.8–18 in the Hebrew, the Septuagint and the Second Greek Text”, A Feminist Companion to Esther, Judith and Susanna (ed. A. Brener) (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Pr., 1995) 47–70; H. Kahana, Esther, Juxtaposition of the Septuagint Translation with the Hebrew Text (Dudley, MA : Peeters, 2005) 65–125. 4 A similar demarcation of the story is presented by Fox, Character, 26; Dorothy, Esther, 235; and A. Berlin, Esther (The JPS Bible Commentary; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2001) 21. However, this view is not universally accepted. L. B. Paton, Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Esther (ICC 22; Edinburgh: Clark, 1908) 186, was one of the first to regard vv. 19– 23 as an independent unit. Similarly, R. Gordis, “Studies in the Esther Narrative,” JBL 95 (1976) 47–48 elaborates on the connection between vv. 19–20 and v. 21 onwards. Many other scholars have demarcated the stories as follows: first story – vv. 1–18; second story – vv. 19–23. See C. A. Moore, Esther, Introduction, Translation and Notes (AB, 21; New York: Doubleday, 1971) 15, 29; D. J. A. Clines, Ezra, 3

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story in vv 1–20, which deals with the coronation of Esther, and (b) the brief story of the treason committed by Bigtan and Teresh in vv. 21–23.5 As per its title, this article deals with the coronation story only. In many cases the structure of a narrative helps to define the main character and the central idea of the chapter.6 Chapter 2 of Esther is a good example, because the structure of the chapter is of great assistance in clarifying some of the questions posed at the outset. The structure follows an a–b–c––a’–b’–c’ pattern.7 a

1–4

b

8–9

Advice of the attendants to bring maidens for the king “and let their ointments be given them” Esther in the custody of Hegay “[Esther] was brought to the king’s house… and the girl obtained favor in his sight”

Nehemiah, Esther (NCBC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1984) 284, 291. F. W. Bush, Ruth, Esther (WBC, 9; Dallas: Word Books, 1996) 360, 371; Bush (359–360) divides the unit comprising vv. 1–18 into three parts: 1–4, 5–11, 12–18, and lists the many stylistic links between them. I believe that the direct parallel structure proposed below, according to which vv. 19–20 parallel vv. 10–11, helps to connect vv. 19–20 with vv. 1–18. To my view the link that the above commentators propose, between vv. 19–20 and vv. 21–23, should also be rejected; see note 5 (below) for the considerations for regarding vv. 21–23 as an independent story. A different approach is adopted by L. M. Day, Esther (AOTC; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2005) 43. To her view, the story of Vashti’s refusal ends at 2,4, and the story of Esther’s coronation begins at 2:5. In an earlier study (see Day, Faces, 30), Day proposes that the story includes only vv. 7–20. J. D. Levenson, Esther, A Commentary (OTL 21; London: SCM, 1997) unites the first two chapters of the Book under a single heading: “A New Queen Is Chosen”. 5 The secondary story is an independent narrative with a new introduction: “In those days”; it features new characters – Bigtan and Teresh, and it contains an independent plot. This is a preliminary story necessary for the plot that will develop later on, in Chapter 6. See, for example, T. S. Laniak, Shame and Honor in the Book of Esther (Atlanta: Scholars Pr., 1998) 61. 6 Concerning the importance of the structure of a biblical narrative, see e.g. F. Polak, Biblical Narrative - Aspects of Art and Design (Heb.; Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1994) 214–227. 7 For a discussion of direct parallel in a biblical narrative, see e.g. Polak, Narrative, 221–227; S. Bar-Efrat, Narrative Art in the Bible (Sheffield: Almond Press, 1989) 103–109. Mention should also be made of Moore, who argues that this chapter is built on a chiastic parallel. However, he includes only vv. 10–20, while ignoring the first part of the chapter. See Moore, Esther, 22.

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c

10–11

a’

12–14

b’ 16–18 c’

19–20

Esther and Mordecai “Esther had not made known her people or her descent… Mordecai went about…” Esther and the other maidens—implementation of the suggestion Esther before Ahasuerus “And Esther was taken to King Ahasuerus… and she obtained grace and favor in his sight” Esther and Mordecai “Mordecai was sitting… Esther did not make known her descent or her people

Lines a–a’ present the advice of the king’s attendants and servants that maidens be brought before the king so that he can choose a new queen, (and the implementation of this suggestion). The stylistic element that serves to connect these two lines is the description of the ointments.8 Lines b–b’ present Esther as being taken, at the first stage to the women’s house and then in a second stage to the king’s house. In both units Esther is placed opposite Hegay, and at both stages she finds favor in the eyes of her beholders: first Hegay, the keeper of the women, and then the king himself. Lines c–c’ concern Mordecai’s instruction to Esther not to reveal her people or her descent. Here, too, there is a strong stylistic connection between the two lines. The stylistic parallels between the structural lines show that the chapter is carefully shaped. I believe that the chosen structure is also designed to demonstrate the centrality of Esther in Chapter 2. Esther is onstage throughout the chapter,9 while all the other characters surrounding her— Verses 5–7 are a later exposition, presenting the new characters—Mordecai and Esther—as a “flashback”; for this reason they are not included in the structure of the chapter. See Moore, Esther, 19; Clines, Esther, 284; Fox, Character, 28; Bush, Esther, 359–360. Concerning the later exposition in a biblical narrative, see, e.g., Bar-efrat, Narrative, 117–120; R. Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1981) 80–81; Polak, Narrative, 116. 9 Except for limb a, which precedes her appearance. Clearly, lines b, c, b’, c’ focus on a description of Esther. Below we shall demonstrate that limb a’ (11–15) also centers on her, with the description in these verses of the maidens who come to the king being secondary to the description of Esther. 8

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including Mordecai and Ahasuerus—are secondary figures that appear only for the purposes of illuminating her character.10 This chapter serves to present Esther to the readers. But how is she characterized? The existing research offers a range of different approaches to understanding Esther’s character. Jones asserts that in this chapter, Esther “appears stupid… either dumb or at least helpless”11. Day argues that Esther is a sophisticated, scheming character who pulls the right strings to achieve the royal status that she seeks.12 Fox adopts an approach somewhere in between these extremes, viewing Esther as a passive character who is subservient to Mordecai.13 The view position advanced here does not match any of these readings of the character of Esther. This view is based on an analysis of her character from three different perspectives: (a) her status prior to her meeting with the king; (b) her status following her meeting with the king; and (c) a literary comparison between her and Ahasuerus.

3. ESTHER PRIOR TO THE MEETING WITH THE KING Some initial details concerning the “girl” are provided by the last part of the background (vv. 5–7).14 The first two verses of the background concern Mordecai.15 The third verse addresses Esther, and follows a chiastic structure:16 a. He brought up Hadassa b. for she had no father or mother c. and the girl was fair and beautiful b. and since her father and mother had died a. Mordecai took her as his own daughter

Concerning the role of secondary characters in the biblical narrative, see e.g. Polak, Narrative, 255–262; Bar Efrat, Narrative, 86–88; U. Simon, Reading Prophetic Narratives (Bloomington: Indiana University Pr., 1997) 263–269. 11 See Jones, “Misconceptions”, 175–176. 12 See Day, Esther, 48–49. 13 See Fox, Character, 197–199. See also Berman, “Evolution”, 649. 14 Concerning the later background, see above, n. 8. 15 Day, Esther, 44, argues that although Mordecai is presented before Esther, Esther is the main character of the chapter. For the opposite view, maintaining that it is Mordecai who is at the center of the story, see Fox, Character, 30. 16 See Day, Esther, 47. 10

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The first and final lines of this section tell the reader that Esther is an orphaned girl, and that she is Mordecai’s cousin. Mordecai has adopted this orphan17 with a view to raising her up and educating her.18 At the centre of this chiastic structure, there is a bodily description of Esther. She is fair and beautiful (7). Here it should be noted that Vashti, too, is described as “beautiful” (1:11), and therefore the king’s attendants propose to bring “beautiful virgin maidens” before the king (2). The presentation of Esther as “fair” (‫ )יפת תאר‬as well as “beautiful” (‫ )טובת מראה‬anticipates the future selection of Esther as queen in place of Vashti,19 because of the fates of other biblical characters who are described in similar terms. Rachel, “fair and of fair appearance” (Gen 29:17), is selected by Jacob. Joseph, who is similarly “fair and of fair appearance” (Gen 39:6), is desired by Potiphar’s wife. Abigail, who is “fair” (1 Sam 25:3) 17 This is the only place in the Bible where we find a description of the adoption of a girl. The Talmudic sages (Meg 13a) teach that Mordecai took Esther as a wife, and the verse is interpreted in this way in the Septuagint (LXX) too. Concerning the Midrash and the Septuagint, see M. Zipor, “When Midrash met Septuagint: the Case of Esther 2, 7”, ZAW 118 (2006) 89–92. Support may be found for the view that Esther was Mordecai’s wife from the language of v. 7 – “Mordecai took her as his own…”. Many times in the Bible, “taking” is done for the purposes of marriage. See, for example, Gen 24:44; Deut 25:7. On the other hand, this is difficult to accept in view of the fact that the king is looking for “virgin maidens” (2). Likewise, the text states explicitly that she was taken as a “daughter”. Later on, too (v. 20), the text compares Esther’s new situation with her previous one, using a formulation that is more appropriate to adoption: “as when she was in his custody”. See Moore, Esther, 21. Clines, Esther, 287, and Bush, Esther, 364, also maintain that Esther was adopted as a daughter. It may be possible to combine these two views: the verb “l–k–h”, mentioned above as support for the view of the Talmudic sages, is a key word that appears four times in our chapter. Twice it refers to Mordecai taking (vv. 7, 15), and twice it is Ahasuerus who takes (vv. 8, 16) – and in his case Esther is certainly taken as a wife. Perhaps the analogy between Mordecai taking and Esther being taken hints that Mordecai did indeed adopt the girl, but with a view to marrying her in the future, as practiced in ancient Persia; see Bush, Esther, 364. See also Ibn-Ezra on v. 7. Day, Esther, 53, uses the key word “l– k–h” as the basis for deducing Esther’s passivity. 18 “He brought up (‫ )אומן את‬Hadassa” (7); cf. Moses’ relationship with Israel: “as a nursemaid (omen) carries the infant” (Num 11:12), and Naomi’s relationship with Ruth’s son: “And she became his nursemaid (omenet)” (Ruth 4:16). 19 Jones, “Misconceptions”, 173–174 points to the word tov (good) as a key word in the first chapters of Esther. See also Bush, Esther, 367; Laniak, Shame, 62– 63.

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is chosen by David. Esther is characterized in a way reminiscent of these personages, and such a characterization hints already at Esther’s selection by Ahasuerus. Aside from her family situation and outer appearance, the text provides no other explicit details about Esther. Her inner characterization must be sought within the body of the narrative. As it will be shown, the text construes Esther as not only being physically beautiful, but also as possessing a pleasant nature and qualities that impress all those who encounter her. The text conveys this message through the use of the unique expression, “she obtained grace and favour.”20 To illustrate, in v 9 it reads “The girl pleased him and she obtained his favour; “ in v 15, “And Esther obtained grace in the eyes of all who beheld her;” and in v 17, “And she obtained grace and favor from him, more than all the other maidens.” Esther’s character is revealed to the readers through the eyes of the literary personages surrounding her.21 Everyone who comes into contact with her is charmed—starting with Hegay, the keeper of the women, who handles thousands of young maidens yet pays extra attention to this special girl (v 9). Whoever sees Esther is impressed by her special character (v 15). Finally, the king himself—who spends every night with a different girl – finds that his attention is drawn only to her (v 17). It should be noted that, according to the original plan, “the girl who pleases the king shall reign in place of Vashti” (v 4). However, as the text describes the implementation of the plan, it notes that “the king loved Esther more than all the women… and he made her queen in place of Vashti” (v 17). In other words, the king favours Esther not only because of her external beauty, but because she captures his heart completely. What is the secret of Esther’s magic? In what way is she different from all of the other maidens, and worthy of being selected by Ahasuerus? 20 The expression “obtain favor” occurs only in Esther (2:15, 17; 5:2). The more common expression used in the Bible is “find favor” (some forty appearances), and in every instance the reference is to inner refinement rather than outer beauty. For example, “Noah found favor in the eyes of God” (Gen 6:8); “And now, if then I have found favor in Your eyes, I pray You – make Your ways known to me, that I may know You, in order that I may find favor in Your eyes” (Exod 3:13), and many others. The combination “to grant favor” (six times in the Bible) likewise refers to inner refinement rather than outer beauty. 21 Cf. U. Simon, “Minor Characters in Biblical Narrative;” JSOT 15 (1990) 11– 19.

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The narrator shapes Esther’s character through contrast to all of the other maidens by means of two secondary descriptive sentences that precede the description of Esther herself. Every maiden who is brought to Shushan undergoes a two-stage preparation. The first stage is described in vv. 8–9, and involves being accepted into the “house of the women” by Hegay, the keeper of the women. The second stage, described in vv. 12–15, concerns the encounter with the king.22 The text describes in both instances the procedure followed by the other girls before turning to Esther. The first stage is reported in an unusual way. The verse opens with a lengthy secondary clause – “And it was, when the king’s command and his decree were heard, and when many maidens were gathered to Shushan, the capital” (v 8). This clause serves as an introduction to the main clause, namely “that Esther was taken to the king’s house…”. This structure, with the secondary clause preceding the primary one, encourages the reader to compare them. Esther is not “gathered”, together with all the other women; rather, she is “taken”.23 Is this not perhaps an allusion to a strong inner character, inner grace that equals her outer beauty? All the maidens in the kingdom are surely standing in line, hoping for the chance to be chosen as Ahasuerus’s queen. Only Esther is “taken” against her will, to the women’s house. It would seem that her modesty and inner charm are what drew the special attention of Hegay (“[a]nd the girl pleased him and she obtained favor from him, and he speedily provided her ointments and her appointed 22 Attention should also be paid to a third stage. Following this first, single encounter with the king, the girl returns – not to the patronage of Hegay, in the women’s house, but “to another women’s house, to the custody of Shaashgaz, the king’s chamberlain, keeper of the concubines” (14). In other words, after this single encounter she is demoted from the status of “woman” to the status of “concubine”. It is reasonable to assume that, following her sexual encounter with the king, a woman would never go back to her home; rather, she would remain as a concubine to the king until her death. See Ibn-Ezra on v. 14; Day, Esther, 50–51; Berlin, Esther, 28. For other suggestions for understanding the word “sheni” (“another women’s house”), see Moore, Esther, 23–24; Gordis, “Studies”, 53–54. 23 “‘And Esther was taken’—against her will, and contrary to her benefit, as it is written concerning our matriarch Sarah (Gen 12:15), And the woman was taken to Pharaoh’s house – against her will and contrary to her benefit” (Aggadath Esther, par. 2, 8). See also Tg. Esth I: ‫ ואידברת אסתר באונסא‬and Bush, Esther, 367–368. It should be noted that many scholars maintain that Esther went willingly to the palace. See: Paton, Esther, 173; Moore, Esther, 21; Clines, Esther, 288; Fox, Character, 33–34; Levenson, Esther, 60.

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rations… and he advanced her and her maids to the best place in the women’s house.”) The comparison between Esther and the other women is even more prominent in the second stage of the description, where they visit the king’s house. Verses 12–14 describe at length the preparations undertaken by each maiden in anticipation of her encounter with the king. Scholars have advanced various explanations of the reasons for which the narrator provided such detail.24 My proposal is that that these verses represent— incidentally, once again, a long secondary clause that precedes the main clause – Esther’s own preparations for her encounter with the king. The two descriptions are introduced in the identical manner: Verse 12 reads, “And when the turn of each girl came to come to King Ahasuerus.” Verse 15 reads, “And when the turn of Esther… came to come to the king.” However, from this point onwards the description of the other girls is altogether different from the description of Esther. The text elaborates at great length in the description of the intensive preparations undertaken by each maiden in preparation for her meeting with the king: After she spent twelve months under the regulations for the women – for thus were spent the days of their anointing: six months with oil of myrrh, and six months with perfumes and with other ointments of the women (12).

Likewise, the text notes that on the big day—the day of the visit to the king—each girl is entitled request whatever she wishes: This is how the girl would come to the king: whatever she specified would be given to her, to take with her from the women’s house to the house of the king (13). To Clines’ view (Clines, Esther, 284), the purpose of these verses is to show the level of luxury and extravagance that characterize the palace, following on from the description in chapter 1, 6–8. Jones, “Misconceptions”, maintains that the text is poking fun at the empty vanity of the gentiles. Bush, Esther, 368, too, asserts that the aim is a satirical parody of Ahasuerus’s kingdom. Berlin, Esther, 27, suggests that the point in listing all of these preparations is to emphasize Esther’s natural beauty, requiring none of this excessive pampering. Fox, Character, 35 and Craig, Reading, 93–94 understand these verses as being meant to convey the absolute commitment to satisfying the king. Day, Esther, 59 maintains that the intention here is to paint a picture of a society that places its emphasis on outer beauty. See also De Troyer, “Oriental”, 54–55, who concludes from this description that the chapter was written from a male perspective. 24

292

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

The preparations for each girl’s fateful meeting with the king appear in a subordinate clause that precedes and highlights, through contrast, the description of Esther’s preparations: And when the turn of Esther… came, she asked for nothing but what Hegay, the king’s chamberlain, specified (15).

Esther’s behaviour is sharply contrasted with that of the other women who visit the king. Unlike the other girls, the modest and gracious Esther refrains from exploiting the unlimited options open to her by virtue of her status as a candidate for royalty. She remains modest and humble. As a result: Esther obtained favor in the eyes of all who beheld her (15). And the king loved Esther more than all the women, and she obtained grace and favor in his sight more than all the virgins, and he placed the royal crown upon her head, and made her queen instead of Vashti (17).25

In summary, the comparison between Esther and the other women serves to illuminate Esther in a strongly approving light. Her positive personality finds expression both in the fact that she is taken against her will to the women’s house, and in the fact that she remains modest,

Many different explanations have been offered for Esther’s behaviour in general and her refusal to request anything. For instance, Paton rejects the possibility that the text is commenting on Esther’s modesty, insisting that it was wise of Esther to rely on Hegay’s suggestions, as an expert on the king’s taste in women, rather than on her personal preferences (Paton, Esther, 182). This view is supported by Moore, Esther, 24, 27; De Troyer, “Oriental”, 54; and Levinson, Esther, 62. To Berlin’s view (Berlin, Esther, 28), the contrast between the other maidens and Esther is meant to emphasize the natural beauty of the latter, as opposed to the artificial façade of the former. Day, Esther, 54 accepts both explanations and offers a third: lack of imagination. Esther simply has no idea as to what aids she could use. Fox, Character, 37, likewise perceives Esther’s behaviour as arising from her passive personality. Obviously, these views are the opposite of the approach set forth above, since they assume that Esther is trying her wily best to find favour in the king’s eyes. According to Clines, Esther, 290, Esther requests nothing because of her pride as a Jewess and her unwillingness to allow gentiles to help her. 25

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293

rejecting the opportunity—seized by the other candidates—of taking advantage of her status.26

ESTHER’S CHARACTER FOLLOWING THE MEETING WITH THE KING

Will Esther retain her inner beauty, or gradually lose it to the blandishments of power? After all, there are certainly many precedents for such moral deterioration. Another look at the structure of the chapter, as set out above, serves to answer this question. The direct parallel structure creates a connection between three pairs of lines. The first two reflect development and dynamism in the plot: Lines a–a’ describe the advice of the king’s attendants to bring maidens to the king, and the implementation of this suggestion, with the gathering of the girls to the capital. Lines b–b’ depict two stages that Esther undergoes: first the arrival at the women’s house and then the arrival at the king’s house. The third pair, c–c’ differs from the other two: instead of development, the same identical fact is re-stated. Esther had not made known her people or her descent, for Mordecai has commanded her not to make it known (10) Esther did not make known her descent or her people, as Mordecai has commanded her” (20)27 Paton, Esther, 182, notes that the purpose of tracing Esther’s family, in v. 15 – “Esther, daughter of Abihail, uncle of Mordecai” – is to underline the distinction between the nameless women described in the previous verses, and Esther. 27 The text does not elaborate as to why Mordecai told Esther not to disclose her national and ethnic identity, and many different opinions have been offered in response to this question. Some scholars maintain that Mordecai was concerned about anti-semitic sentiment in the royal palace; see Clines, Esther, 288; Fox, Character, 32; Bush, Esther, 368. To Day’s view (Day, Esther, 58) what worried Mordecai was a lack of knowledge as to how to behave in the royal palace. To address the question adequately, we must add a further question: how is it that Mordecai did not hesitate to reveal his own origins: “For he had told them that he was a Jew” (4:4)? I propose here a brief outline of a possible answer which, I believe, has not been considered to date. It is possible that Mordecai learned a lesson from the events of Chapter 1, in which the text describes how, for the sins of a single woman (Vashti), all the women of the kingdom are made to suffer (1:20–22). According to this principle, Mordecai is concerned that if Esther’s origins become public knowledge, and then at some stage she happens to incur the 26

294

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

What purpose does this repetition serve? By comparing the innocent girl who enters the king’s palace with the woman who has already been chosen as queen and now occupies the royal throne, the text communicates that that Esther does not change. The great honour that she commands as queen, alongside Ahasuerus, in no way changes her character. She remains loyal and obedient just as she had been while under the direct guardianship of Mordecai. The text emphasizes this especially at the end of v. 20: “And Esther performed Mordecai’s bidding as she had done while in his care”. From the point of view of Esther’s inner character, nothing at all has changed.28 It should be noted that the word “bidding”(‫ )מאמר‬appears only three times in the entire Bible, all of them in the Book of Esther: concerning Vashti we read, “for not performing the bidding of King Ahasuerus” (1:15). Esther, as noted above, “performed the bidding of Mordecai” (20).29 This inverse analogy shows another aspect of Esther’s loyalty and of her stable character. king’s wrath, it is possible that all the Jews will be punished together with her – just as all the women suffered the effects of Vashti falling foul of the king. Therefore, Mordecai instructs Esther not to reveal her Jewish identity. When it comes to himself, on the other hand, Mordecai has no such concerns, since he does not occupy a central, influential position, and a slip on his part will not have an adverse effect on his entire nation. At this point the theme of “it was turned around”, which is interwoven throughout the story, becomes manifest: it is reasonable to assume that had Esther revealed her Jewish identity at the outset, Haman would never have dared to propose his decree against her people. On the other hand, had Mordecai not been openly identified as a Jew, Haman would not have sought revenge against the entire Jewish nation, but rather only against Mordecai personally. 28 Above, I emphasized the fact that this message arises from the general structure of the chapter, creating a clear parallel between Esther prior to the coronation and Esther after the coronation. In this sense Esther is similar to Mordecai, who, following the great honor that he receives from Haman, returns to his regular place at the king’s gate: “And Mordecai sat at the king’s gate” (6:12). It should be pointed out that further on in the story, in Chapter 4, a more mature Esther is faced with an entirely different sort of challenge: her dilemma is whether to remain modest and passive and abandon her nation to the hands of their adversaries, or to act positively and decisively to save her nation. For a discussion of the development of her character, see above, n. 2. Levinson, Esther, 61, regards the purpose of the repetition in vv. 10–11 as indicating Esther’s staunch loyalty to her uncle Mordecai. 29 The third appearance is at the end of the narrative: “And Esther’s bidding confirmed these days of Purim” (9:32).

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ESTHER IN THE PRESENCE OF AHASUERUS The opening chapters of the Book of Esther introduce the reader to the key characters in the story. Given that literary personages are often characterized also, even if indirectly, by comparing them or their behaviour to other characters in the story, a comparative exploration of the characterization of King Ahasuerus and Esther is in order.30 Ahasuerus, as presented at the beginning of Chapter 1, is a great and powerful ruler. As the chapter continues, however, it becomes apparent that his power is nothing more than an outward façade. At the first hint of crisis, he turns out to be helpless, and is drawn after and in fact controlled by his servants and underlings.31 Esther, in contrast, is presented at the start as someone who appears to be obedient and controlled by others. However, her obedience flows from her loyalty and respect for the person who is responsible for her welfare, rather than from weakness or helplessness. To the contrary, an analysis of the chapter shows that Esther is inwardly strong and steadfast. Thus, this aspect of the contrast between Ahasuerus and Esther contributes towards an amplification of her positive character. Does chapter two make a difference in the characterization of Ahasuerus advanced in chapter one? In Esther 2, he continues to adopt the advice of those who are subservient to him. More importantly, Ahasuerus is presented here as being led by his eyes and taking an interest only in external appearances: Let them gather every virgin maiden of beautiful appearance (3) The maiden who will be pleasing in the eyes of the king will rule in place of Vashti (4)

The new queen is going to be chosen on the basis of her external appearance alone. It is for this reason that the text describes in detail the long months during which the external beauty of each girl is painstakingly nurtured, with the help of ointments and perfumes (12–14).

30 It should be noted that the presentation of a king vis-à-vis a contrasting character (in our case, a young girl) is a common technique in the Bible; see, for example, Qoh 9:14–15. 31 Obviously, a separate discussion would be required for a full analysis of Ahasuerus’s character in Chapter 1.

296

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Esther is described as being of “fine form and of beautiful appearance”. Yet, she is chosen, as noted, not by virtue of her external appearance, but rather because of her inner character that captures the hearts of all who encounter her. By constructing this contrast between these two characters, the author of Esther hints, already at the very outset, that the covert battle for control, to be waged between King Ahasuerus and Queen Esther will ultimately be decided in Esther’s favour.

SUMMARY The story of the coronation of Esther (2:1–20) introduces the reader to an exemplary character worthy of emulation. Esther is a young, orphaned girl who is taken against her will from her home and forced to integrate into a foreign, alien world. She stands the test honourably, maintaining her dignity and her modesty at every stage preceding her selection as queen. More importantly, even after she is chosen, her character remains unchanged and she remains faithful to her values and her way. By virtue of the fact that Esther “asked for nothing” (15) at the outset, she receives the right to ask many things from Ahasuerus later on.32 The description of Esther in Chapter 2 is an appropriate introduction for the character that will ultimately, through her wisdom, come to save her people.

Verbal forms from the root ‫ בקש‬serve as key words in the rest of the narrative: “What is your request (‫ ?)בקשתך‬Up to half of the kingdom…” (5:3.6; 7:2), “What I ask and request (5:7) ”(‫“ ;)ובקשתי‬to perform my request (5:8) (‫)בקשתי‬ ; “My life at my asking and my people at my request” (5:3) (‫“ ;)בבקשתי‬What else is your request (‫)בקשתך‬, that it may be done?” (9:12). It is interesting to note that the text ironically states that “Haman stood up to plead (request) ‫ לבקש‬to Queen Esther for his life” (7:7). 32

“THE EDITOR WAS NODDING” A READING OF LEVITICUS 19 IN MEMORY OF MARY DOUGLAS MOSHE KLINE CHAVER.COM

…critics will not be convinced unless the alleged parallelism is supported by verbal evidence, such as marking the structural units by the exact repetitions which had led earlier students to suppose the editor was nodding.1

INTRODUCTION PREVIOUS READINGS In a recent book, Christophe Nihan has succinctly summarized research on Leviticus 19: The apparent heterogeneity of the various prescriptions and prohibitions grouped in Leviticus 19, as well as the absence of a clear framework, have traditionally led commentators to dispute the chapter’s literary coherence. In general, they assumed instead that this text was an assortment of laws from various origins. Alternatively, because of the manifest similarity of some laws with the Decalogue, form critics surmised that Leviticus 19 originated in a series of “decalogues” or even “dodecalogues”, the identification of which, however, was always disputed. Recent research on Leviticus 19 has tended to reject these two approaches as methodologically unsupported and has resumed instead 1

Mary Douglas, In The Wilderness (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), p.

xxiii

297

298

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES the search for a comprehensive structure in this chapter, even though no consensus has been reached so far on this point either.2

Nihan conveniently divides the approaches to Leviticus 19 into three general groups: 1) those who consider it formless, 2) those who consider it based on a decalogue structure, 3) those who still seek a comprehensive structure. Noth could be considered a spokesperson for the first group. He considers the chapter “a codex of regulations mostly concerned with daily life and its different circumstances and activities. In its transmitted form, this codex is indeed remarkably diverse and disordered.”3 Gorman seems to echo Noth: “Leviticus 19 consists of a series of miscellaneous instructions.”4 We will deal extensively with Decalogue and decalogue issues in the fourth section of this paper.5 For now, we can note that Schwartz has adequately countered the various D/decalogue arguments.6 As for the third group, to which this study belongs, the linchpin for identifying the structure of Leviticus 19 in recent studies is the formulaic usage of the divine first-person revelation. Wenham appears to be the first to identify the formula as a key for defining the structure of the chapter. In 1979 he wrote: This chapter covers such a variety of topics that the modern reader finds difficulty in seeing any rhyme or reason in its organization. But once it is recognized that ‘I am the Lord (your God)’ marks the end of a paragraph, its structure becomes much clearer. The chapter falls into sixteen paragraphs, arranged in three sections (4, 4, 8)… The first section (vv. 2b–10) consists of four paragraphs, each concluding with the motive clause ‘I am the Lord your God.’ The second section (vv. 11–18), also of four paragraphs each concluding with ‘I am the lord,’ is more tightly structured and builds up to a climax in ‘Love your neighbor Christophe Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch: a study in the composition of the book of Leviticus (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), p. 460 3 Martin Noth, Leviticus, (London: SCM Press, 1962), p. 138 4 Frank H. Gorman Jr., Divine Presence and Community, (Grand Rapids, Mich. Eerdmans, 1997), p. 111 5 For references to previous studies of the Decalogue and Leviticus 19 see Alfred Marx, “The relationship Between the Sacrificial Laws and the other Laws in Leviticus 19” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 8 (2008), article 9, n. 9 available at http://www.jhsonline.org 6 Baruch J. Schwartz, The Holiness Legislation: Studies in the Priestly Code (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1999), pp. 372–374 2

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as yourself’ (v. 18). The third section is longer and uses both ‘I am the Lord’ and ‘I am the Lord your God’ as a refrain.7

Wenham divides the chapter into sixteen units, according to the closing formula, which fall into three blocks: religious duties, 1–4; ethical duties, 5– 8; miscellaneous duties, 9–16. He further notes that units 1–4 end with “I am the Lord,” while 5–8 end with the longer form “I am the Lord your God.” In other words, the units containing religious duties have a different closing formula than the units containing ethical duties. The miscellaneous units have a mixture of the two endings. The fact that the first eight units display a correlation between content and closing formula suggests that the pattern may be significant in the structure of the chapter. Magonet also uses the formula to divide the text into components, but comes up with a different, and less satisfying, arrangement.8 Both Schwartz and Milgrom agree that Wenham’s second group is an organic section, but they dismiss his overall plan because in their view the formula does not mark the ends of all the units in Leviticus 19.9 Milgrom concludes: "Thus the units in this chapter are to be decided strictly by their content."10 In this article, I will explore the alternative that Milgrom and Schwartz rejected, that Wenham was right and that the ending formula does in fact determine the units of the chapter. I will present an integrated reading of the whole of Leviticus 19 based on the formula divisions. As Douglas pointed out, division by literary device is a priori preferable to division by fiat: "Everything depends on how clearly the units of structure are identified."11 One must make every attempt to understand the author’s devices before denying their significance. (I will demonstrate in the course of this paper that the literary complexity of the text indicates that we should consider it authored rather than edited or redacted.) Regarding content divisions, we might add from Douglas: "Semantic structures give a great deal of scope for arbitrary and subjective patternings… critics will not be convinced unless the alleged parallelism is 7 Gordon J. Wenham, The Book of Leviticus, (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1979), pp. 263–264 8 Jonathan Magonet, “The Structure and Meaning of Leviticus 19”, HAR 7 (1983), pp. 151–167 9 Schwartz, p. 269 and 365 fn. 3; Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22 (AB; New York. NY: Doubleday, 2000), pp. 1597–8 10 Milgrom, ibid. 11 see n.1

300

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

supported by verbal evidence, such as marking the structural units by the exact repetitions which had led earlier students to suppose the editor was nodding."12 Chapter 19 is replete with such repetitions, for example “keep my Sabbaths” in vv. 3 and 30; “fear your God” vv. 14 and 32; “You shall not do injustice in judgment” vv. 15 and 35. The solution that I will present accounts for these repetitions, and others, as part of the plan of the chapter.

THE PLAN I have divided the analysis into five sections. In the first section, I will demonstrate that the first eight units consist of two blocks of four units each, as indicated by Wenham. I will add to his reading that the two blocks form inverted parallels. Each of the blocks contains a progression of ideas from unit to unit. In one block, the progression is from good to bad, while the progression in the other block is the opposite, from bad to good. In the second section, I will analyze the last seven units according to Wenham’s division, which are six units according to my reading. I have combined his unit 15, (v. 36) and 16 (v.37) because v. 36 lacks the closing formula, which appears at the end of v. 37. I will demonstrate that the six units divide into two parallel blocks of three units each. Each block of three is closely connected to one of the blocks of four units by a set of linguistic hooks. When each of the three-unit blocks is appended to its similar four-unit block, it continues the progression identified in the first section. I will conclude that the underlying structure of the chapter consists of two parallel seven-unit blocks that create inverse conceptual progressions. Block L Organized from Good to Bad 1 2 3 4 10 11 12

12

Ibid.

Block R Organized from Bad to Good 5 6 7 8 13 14 15

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The third section is devoted to a close reading of the two seven-unit blocks. This reading reveals an additional level of organization within the chapter, a level that cannot be seen until the two seven unit blocks are examined in parallel. I will show that the two parallel blocks are composed of five consecutive textual pairs. Pair A B C D E

1 2 3 4 10 11 12

5 6 7 8 13 14 15

Each of the five pairs exhibits both a structural parallel and a content parallel. The two parallels reinforce each other and create similar progressions from pair to pair. The structural parallels create a process of separation from pair to pair by progressing in stages from inseparable internal elements in pair A, to fully articulated and separated internal elements in pair E. The parallel conceptual progression flows from an inseparable link with God in pair A to a total separation from God in pair E. As can be seen in the above table, there are two different types of pericopes in the five-pair structure. Units 1–8 appear in pairs A–D as originally identified by Wenham; each original unit is a structural unit. However, in pair E each structural unit is composed of three original units. For the sake of clarity, I will hereafter use the term “unit” to refer to one of the ten parts of the five-pair structure. I will reserve the term “pericope” for the three subdivisions of each unit in pair E and will use the following marking scheme throughout:

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Pair A B C D E

L AL (1) BL (2) CL (3) DL (4) EL ELa (10) ELb (11) ELc (12)

R AR (5) BR (6) CR (7) DR (8) ER ERa (13) ERb (14) ERc (15)

The pairs are marked A–E and the columns are marked L(eft) and R(ight). The pericopes of unit E are marked a–c. No reading of chapter 19 is complete without considering the significance of elements of the Decalogue that appear in this chapter. In section four, I will explain the relationship between the pieces of the “shattered tablets” found in this chapter and the ten-part structure consisting of five pairs, which appear to be carved in stone. The explanation is based on a new arrangement of the ten parts of the Exodus 20 Decalogue utilizing the MT division. I will show that the Decalogue was read by the author of Leviticus 19 as a document consisting of five consecutive pairs according to the MT division, and that Leviticus 19 is based on this arrangement. A unique unit consisting of verses 19b–26, unit [9], separates the two large divisions of the chapter, the first eight units and the last two. I will treat this unit separately in section five.

1. THE STRUCTURE OF THE FIRST EIGHT UNITS Table 1 The First Eight Units L AL ‫א וידבר יהוה אל משה לאמר‬ ‫ב דבר אל כל עדת בני ישראל ואמרת‬ ‫אלהם‬ ‫קדשים תהיו כי קדוש אני יהוה אלהיכם‬

R AR ‫יא לא תגנבו ולא תכחשו ולא תשקרו‬ ‫איש בעמיתו‬ ‫יב ולא תשבעו בשמי לשקר וחללת את‬ ‫שם אלהיך‬ ‫אני יהוה‬

‫‪303‬‬

‫‪MOSHE KLINE‬‬

‫‪BR‬‬ ‫יג לא תעשק את רעך ולא תגזל‬ ‫לא תלין פעלת שכיר אתך עד בקר‬ ‫יד לא תקלל חרש ולפני עור לא תתן‬ ‫מכשל‬ ‫ויראת מאלהיך‬ ‫אני יהוה‬ ‫‪CR‬‬ ‫טו לא תעשו עול במשפט‬ ‫לא תשא פני דל ולא תהדר פני גדול‬ ‫בצדק תשפט עמיתך‬ ‫טז לא תלך רכיל בעמיך‬ ‫לא תעמד על דם רעך‬ ‫אני יהוה‬ ‫‪DR‬‬ ‫)‪ (a‬יז לא תשנא את אחיך בלבבך‬ ‫הוכח תוכיח את עמיתך ולא תשא עליו‬ ‫חטא‬ ‫יח לא תקם ולא תטר את בני עמך‬ ‫ואהבת לרעך כמוך‬ ‫אני יהוה‬ ‫)‪ (b‬יט את חקתי תשמרו‬

‫‪AR‬‬ ‫‪shall not steal; you shall not‬‬ ‫‪deal deceitfully or falsely with one‬‬ ‫‪another. 12You shall not swear‬‬ ‫‪falsely by My name, profaning the‬‬ ‫‪name of your God: I am the Lord.‬‬ ‫‪11You‬‬

‫‪BL‬‬ ‫ג איש אמו ואביו תיראו‬ ‫ואת שבתתי תשמרו‬ ‫אני יהוה אלהיכם‬

‫‪CL‬‬ ‫ד אל תפנו אל האלילים‬ ‫ואלהי מסכה לא תעשו לכם‬ ‫אני יהוה אלהיכם‬

‫‪DL‬‬ ‫)‪ (a‬ה וכי תזבחו זבח שלמים ליהוה‬ ‫לרצנכם תזבחהו‬ ‫ו ביום זבחכם יאכל וממחרת‬ ‫והנותר עד יום השלישי באש ישרף‬ ‫ז ואם האכל יאכל ביום השלישי פגול‬ ‫הוא לא ירצה‬ ‫ח ואכליו עונו ישא כי את קדש יהוה‬ ‫חלל‬ ‫ונכרתה הנפש ההוא מעמיה‬ ‫)‪ (b‬ט ובקצרכם את קציר ארצכם‬ ‫לא תכלה פאת שדך לקצר ולקט קצירך‬ ‫לא תלקט‬ ‫י וכרמך לא תעולל ופרט כרמך לא‬ ‫תלקט‬ ‫לעני ולגר תעזב אתם‬ ‫אני יהוה אלהיכם‬ ‫‪AL‬‬ ‫‪1The Lord spoke to Moses, saying:‬‬ ‫‪2Speak to the whole Israelite‬‬ ‫‪community and say to them: You‬‬ ‫‪shall be holy, for I, the Lord your‬‬ ‫‪God, am holy.‬‬

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

BL shall each revere his mother and his father, and keep My sabbaths: I the Lord am your God.

BR shall not defraud your neighbor. You shall not commit robbery. The wages of a laborer shall not remain with you until morning. 14You shall not insult the deaf, or place a stumbling block before the blind. You shall fear your God: I am the Lord.

CL not turn to idols or make molten gods for yourselves: I the Lord am your God.

CR shall not render an unfair decision: do not favor the poor or show deference to the rich; judge your neighbor fairly. 16Do not deal basely with your countrymen. Do not profit by the blood of your fellow: I am the Lord.

DL (a) you sacrifice an offering of well-being to the Lord, sacrifice it so that it may be accepted on your behalf. 6It shall be eaten on the day you sacrifice it, or on the day following; but what is left by the third day must be consumed in fire. 7If it should be eaten on the third day, it is an offensive thing, it will not be acceptable. 8And he who eats of it shall bear his guilt, for he has profaned what is sacred to the Lord; that person shall be cut off from his kin. (b) 9When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap all the way to the edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest. 10You shall not pick your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen fruit of

DR (a) shall not hate your brother in your heart. Reprove your fellow but incur no guilt because of him. 18You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countrymen. Love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord. (b) 19You shall observe My laws.

3You

4Do

5When

13You

15You

17You

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305

your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger: I the Lord am your God. I have arranged the first eight units in two columns. The translation is the NJPSV, with a few changes that will be noted. The first four units, AL–DL, appear in the left, L, column and the next four, AR–DR, in the right column, R. The four units on the left close with the formula ‫אני יהוה‬ ‫“( אלהיכם‬I the Lord am your God”), and the four on the right close ‫אני‬ ‫“( יהוה‬I am the Lord”). There is another formal element, not reported by Wenham, which appears in the columns, in addition to the ending formulae. Allbee notes that all of the units in column R begin with ‫לא‬ (“You shall not”).13 None of the units in column L begins with this word. Therefore, the units are locked into the columns both by their openings and by their closings. I have made only one change to Wenham’s divisions. I have placed v.19a, ‫“( חקתי תשמרו את‬You shall observe My laws”), at the end of unit DR rather than at the beginning of unit [9]. This placement makes unit DR the structural parallel of unit DL. Both of these units now have two apparently independent elements, a and b. In both cases the second element appears to be out of place, since the content of each “b” element seems more appropriate to the opposite column. I will deal with this point at greater length later. In the following discussion as well as in other sections of this analysis, the closing formula is not considered part of the unit proper, with the exception of unit AL. Therefore, we can say, for example, that God does not appear in units CL and CR. I have given the columns the headings “usually suggested” according to Milgrom, “religious duties” on the left and “ethical duties” on the right.14 Even a cursory examination can reveal one of the reasons why Milgrom ultimately rejected these categories. The left column contains ‫“( איש אמו ואביו תיראו‬You shall each revere his mother and his father”), and ‫“( לעני ולגר תעזב אתם‬you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger”). Both of these are more “ethical” than “religious”. In the right column, we find ‫“( וחללת את שם אלהיך‬profaning the name of your 13 Richard A. Allbee, “Asymmetrical Continuity of Love and law between the Old and New Testaments: Explicating the Implicit Side of a Hermeneutic Bridge”, JSOT 31 (2006), p. 149 14 Milgrom, p. 1596

306

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

God”) and ‫“( ויראת מאלהיך‬You shall fear your God”). What makes these “ethical” rather than “religious”? Is there, then, any justification for classifying the two groups of four units by these, or any other, categories? The author has used obvious and redundant rhetorical devices, the opening and closing formulae, in order to divide the first eight units into two groups of four, so we should make an effort to determine whether the distinction is meaningful. There is clearly a difference between the contents of the groups, even if not exactly according to the proposed dyad. Matters of ritual appear only in the left-hand column. Antisocial behaviors appear only in the right-hand column. Therefore, we can see that there is an apparent content distinction, parallel to the rhetorical distinctions, and that it does have some connection to the dyad “religious” and “ethical”. By looking more closely at the exceptions to these two classes of “duties”, we will be able to describe the distinction between the groups more clearly. The two significant exceptions to the rule of “religious” in L are leaving the gleanings for the poor and reverence of parents. Both of these are limited private acts. Concerning the gleanings, the text says, ‫לעני ולגר תעזב‬ ‫“( אתם‬you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger”). They are not given to the poor; they must be left for the poor to pick for themselves. The owner of the field is required to leave something in the field when he/she harvests. Therefore, there is no direct contact with an “other” besides parents in column L. This observation sharpens the distinction between the columns. After taking into account the apparent exceptions, we can modify the subject of column L to “private acts” as opposed to the civil concerns of R. This is reinforced by the exceptions in R. There are references to God in three of the units of column R: AR, ‫ולא‬ ‫“( תשבעו בשמי לשקר וחללת את שם אלהיך‬You shall not swear falsely by My name, profaning the name of your God”); BR, ‫“( ויראת מאלהיך‬You shall fear your God”); DR, ‫“( את חקתי תשמרו‬You shall observe My laws”) None of these mentions rituals or worship. They all relate to God as the ultimate guarantor of social order. So, despite the apparent exceptions, we can say that the columns do indeed differ from each other in content and demonstrate two opposite fields of experience, private and public. We will soon see that there are even more satisfying relationships to be found between the columns than just a simple classification of the laws contained in them.

MOSHE KLINE

307

THE RIGHT COLUMN: FORMAL PROGRESSION Wenham has noted that there is a progression built into the units of the right-hand column.15 He bases the progression on the use of relational terms such as; ‫עמיתו‬, ‫ רעך‬and ‫אחיך‬. Each unit in column R contains such expressions.

Table 2. Relational Terms in Column R Unit

AR BR CR DR

Number of relational terms in unit

1 2 3 4

Relational Terms in Order of Appearance

‫אחיך‬

‫עמית‬

‫עמיך‬

‫רעך‬

‫שכיר‬

brother

fellow

Countrymen

neighbor

laborer

‫רעך‬ ‫רעך‬ ‫רעך‬

‫שכיר‬

‫עמיך‬ ‫בני עמיך‬

‫בעמיתו‬

‫אחיך‬

‫עמיתך‬ ‫עמיתך‬

The relational terms, as identified by Wenham, appear in the above table, with one addition. I have added ‫“( שכיר‬laborer” hired hand) from BR because it too is a relational term. As a result, we can see that there is indeed a progression from AR to DR. Each successive unit adds a term and the order of the terms is maintained throughout the four units. In effect, the units of this block are numbered by the relational terms: the first, AR, has one; the second, BR, has two, etc.

CONCEPTUAL PROGRESSION Schwartz and Milgrom, who have noted this progression, have not been able to explain it as a significant element in the plan of Leviticus 19. We will see that the “missing link” is found when we observe a similar phenomenon in the first block of four units, L. Both blocks contain a progression from unit to unit. The importance of the progression of relational terms in R is that it provides a formal verification of the conceptual flow from AR to DR.

15

Wenham, p. 267

308

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES Unit AR BR CR DR

Content ‫לא תגנבו…ולא תשבעו בשמי לשקר וחללת את שם אלהיך‬ You shall not steal... You shall not swear falsely by My name, profaning the name of your God ‫ולפני עור לא תתן מכשל‬ You shall not …place a stumbling block before the blind ‫בצדק תשפט עמיתך‬ Judge your neighbor fairly ‫ואהבת לרעך כמוך‬ Love your neighbor as yourself

The first unit, AR, warns against criminal behaviors ‫“( לא תגנבו‬You shall not steal”), and concludes with the desecration of God’s name. The fourth unit, DR, contains proactive relationships with another, reaching a peak with‫“( ואהבת לרעך כמוך‬Love your neighbor as yourself”). There is a transition from avoiding criminal antisocial behavior, to having positive relationships with others. The two intermediate units, BR and CR, contain transitional stages. Unit BR is similar to AR in that it proscribes actions that can damage another. However, there is no explicit warning that these actions can lead to the desecration of God’s name, as in AR. Unit CR is the first in this column to require a positive act: ‫“( בצדק תשפט עמיתך‬judge your neighbor fairly”). Nonetheless, this act is limited to a judge. Only unit DR contains a positive act demanded of every individual ‫ואהבת לרעך כמוך‬ (“Love your neighbor as yourself”). There is a continuous gradient from the negative to the positive: AR: avoid criminal behavior that can lead to desecrating God’s name BR: avoid causing damage to others CR: judge fairly DR: be proactive: reprove, love We can summarize this initial investigation of units AR–DR as follows: Each has the same opening term and closing formula. They are numbered from one to four by an internal literary device: relational terms. The content is graded from antisocial acts to positive acts.

MOSHE KLINE

309

THE LEFT COLUMN Let us look now at column L. Once we have noticed that there is a progression within column R, we are led to investigate whether there exists a similar phenomenon in column L. Unit AL begins with God’s desire for people to identify with Him and share His quality of holiness: ‫קדשים תהיו‬ ‫“( כי קדוש אני‬You shall be holy, for I am holy”) This relationship is very similar to identifying with the “other” in DR, ‫“( ואהבת לרעך כמוך‬Love your neighbor as yourself”). In AL the individual is commanded to be like another, God. In DR he is told to consider that another is like him. While the perspective changes, the relationship, being like another, is consistent. The similarity is reinforced by a structural similarity between AL and DR. Both AL and DR differ from the other units structurally. In AL, the closing formula, ‫“( אני יהוה אלהיכם‬I the Lord am your God”), is a necessary part of the content of the unit, ‫כי קדוש אני יהוה אלהיכם‬, (“for I, the Lord your God, am holy”). This is the reason to be holy. The words of the closing formula are part of the content of the unit. This is not true in any of the other units. In all of them, the closing formula is an appendix. This makes the first unit unique. Unit DR is also unique. If the closing formula is an appendix, unit DR has a “super appendix”, an addition after an addition, ‫“( את חקתי תשמרו‬You shall observe My laws”). Properly speaking, unit AL has no appendix, since the closing phrase is part of its content, while DR has two appendices. In this way, the two units complement each other structurally in a manner similar to the complimentary relationships between people and God in AL, and between people and their fellows in DR. In the course of this investigation, we will see that the intense use of formal structure to complement conceptual relationships is the hallmark of Leviticus 19. The structural link and content similarity between AL and DR indicate that we could be looking at half of a chiasm between the two columns. This is verified in DL, ‫“( כי את קדש יהוה חלל‬for he has profaned what is sacred to the Lord”), which parallels AR ‫“( וחללת את שם אלהיך‬profaning the name of your God”). The chiasm created by the first and last units in each column may indicate that opposite processes take place in the two columns. We have characterized the process in column R as graded from negative to positive. If the process in L is the opposite, it would be graded from positive to negative. This is verified by examining the contents of AL–DL.

310 Unit AL

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES Content ‫דבר אל כל עדת בני ישראל ואמרת אלהם קדשים תהיו כי קדוש אני‬

Speak to the whole Israelite community and say to them: You shall be holy, for I, the Lord your God, am holy. BL

‫איש אמו ואביו תיראו ואת שבתתי תשמרו‬

You shall each revere his mother and his father, and keep My Sabbaths CL

‫אל תפנו אל האלילים ואלהי מסכה לא תעשו לכם‬

Do not turn to idols or make molten gods for yourselves DL

‫כי את קדש יהוה חלל ונכרתה הנפש ההוא מעמיה‬

for he has profaned what is sacred to the Lord; that person shall be cut off from his kin Unit AL begins with the entire community uniting through divine holiness. An isolated individual who is cut off for having desecrated the holy appears in the last unit, DL, ‫ מעמיה‬...‫“( ונכרתה‬cut off from his kin”). In the middle are two stages of separation from AL ‫“( כל עדת בני ישראל‬the whole Israelite community”): BL ‫“( איש אמו ואביו תיראו‬You shall each revere his mother and his father”), and CL ‫“( ואלהי מסכה לא תעשו לכם‬Do not make molten gods for yourselves”). The first level of division, into families, is positive. The second level, creating private gods, is negative. This creates a gradient from positive/group to negative/individual, in a manner similar but opposite to the gradient that we noted in column R. Thus the chiasm between columns L and R is reflected in opposite processes that take place in the columns; in L there is a negative process of separation or individualization and in R a positive process of drawing closer to humanity, socialization of the individual. We can now begin to appreciate the literary skill of the author. While Schwartz had noted that column R contained a progression in the number of relational terms, he had no explanation for why this progression existed. We can now see how this progression is consistent with other observations we have made, especially the chiastic relationship with column L, which contains a process of separation or individualization. We noted that the contents of units AR–DR indicated a positive process of drawing closer to others, socialization. These units, AR–DR, demonstrate the same process by increasing the number of relational terms from unit to unit. They become more “sociable”! If the correlation between the flow of content from unit to unit and the parallel increase in relational terms is intentional,

MOSHE KLINE

311

we are looking at an extraordinarily sophisticated composition, a work of great artfulness and beauty. The author has used literary devices, the closing formula reinforced by the openings, to differentiate between two equal blocks of text, each containing four units. By separating the blocks according to the formula and comparing them, the reader discovers that the two blocks are apparently inverted parallels. Therefore, any exegesis of Leviticus 19 as a literary document should explore these eight units as a highly contrived and well-integrated structure.

SUMMARY OF CHARACTERISTICS OF THE FIRST EIGHT UNITS: Formal Units AL–DL end with ‫אני יהוה‬, (“I am the Lord”), while AR–DR end with the longer form, ‫ אני יהוה אלהיכם‬, (“I the Lord am your God”). Units AR–DR all begin with ‫לא‬, (“(You shall) not”). None of units AL–DL begins with this term.

Content The content of units AL–DL is generally characterized as “religious duties” and AR–DR as “ethical duties”. Closer inspection has indicated that “private duties” and “social duties” may be more appropriate.

Developmental There is a progression from unit AR to DR based on the number of relational terms that appear in each unit, from one in AR to four in DR. The formal progression of relational terms is mirrored in the contents of AR–DR, a progression from anti-social acts that can lead to defiling God’s name in AR to ‫“( ואהבת לרעך כמוך‬Love your neighbor as yourself”), DR. Units AL–DL are linked to AR–DR by a chiasm. The contents of units AL–DL create a progression that is the inverse of the flow from AR–DR. The processes can be characterized as “individualization” in L and “socialization” in R.

‫‪PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES‬‬

‫‪312‬‬

‫‪Combined content and developmental‬‬ ‫‪The column characterized as “private duties” contains a process of‬‬ ‫‪“individualization.” The column characterized as “social duties” contains a‬‬ ‫”‪process of “socialization.‬‬

‫‪2. ANALYSIS OF THE LAST SIX PERICOPES, PAIR E‬‬ ‫‪Era‬‬ ‫לב מפני שיבה תקום והדרת פני זקן‬ ‫ויראת מאלהיך‬ ‫אני יהוה פ‬

‫‪ELa‬‬ ‫כו לא תאכלו על הדם לא תנחשו ולא‬ ‫תעוננו‬ ‫כז לא תקפו פאת ראשכם ולא תשחית‬ ‫את פאת זקנך‬ ‫כח ושרט לנפש לא תתנו בבשרכם‬ ‫וכתבת קעקע לא תתנו בכם‬ ‫אני יהוה‬

‫‪Erb‬‬ ‫לג וכי יגור אתך גר בארצכם לא תונו‬ ‫אתו‬ ‫לד כאזרח מכם יהיה לכם הגר הגר‬ ‫אתכם‬ ‫ואהבת לו כמוך‬ ‫כי גרים הייתם בארץ מצרים‬ ‫אני יהוה אלהיכם‬

‫‪ELb‬‬ ‫כט אל תחלל את בתך להזנותה‬ ‫ולא תזנה הארץ ומלאה הארץ זמה‬ ‫ל את שבתתי תשמרו ומקדשי תיראו‬ ‫אני יהוה‬

‫‪Erc‬‬ ‫לה לא תעשו עול במשפט במדה במשקל‬ ‫ובמשורה‬ ‫לו מאזני צדק אבני צדק איפת צדק והין‬ ‫צדק יהיה לכם‬ ‫אני יהוה אלהיכם אשר הוצאתי אתכם‬ ‫מארץ מצרים‬ ‫לז ושמרתם את כל חקתי ואת כל‬ ‫משפטי ועשיתם אתם‬ ‫אני יהוה פ‬

‫‪ELc‬‬ ‫לא אל תפנו אל האבת ואל הידענים‬ ‫אל תבקשו לטמאה בהם‬ ‫אני יהוה אלהיכם‬

MOSHE KLINE

313

ELa shall not eat anything with its blood. You shall not practice divination or soothsaying. 27You shall not round off the side-growth on your head, or destroy the sidegrowth of your beard. 28You shall not make gashes in your flesh for the dead, or incise any marks on yourselves: I am the Lord.

Era shall rise before the aged and show deference to the old; you shall fear your God: I am the Lord.

ELb not degrade your daughter and make her a harlot, lest the land fall into harlotry and the land be filled with depravity. 30You shall keep My sabbaths and venerate My sanctuary: I am the Lord.

Erb a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him. 34The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I the Lord am your God.

ELc not turn to ghosts and do not inquire of familiar spirits, to be defiled by them: I the Lord am your God.

Erc shall not falsify measures of length, weight, or capacity. 36You shall have an honest balance, honest weights, an honest ephah, and an honest hin. I the Lord am your God who freed you from the land of Egypt. 37You shall faithfully observe all My laws and all My rules: I am the Lord.

26You

29Do

31Do

32You

33When

35You

Unit [9], vv. 19b–25, is a free-standing unit which divides the rest of the chapter into two blocks, units AL–DR, and ELa–ERc. I will refer to these two blocks as I and II. For the moment, we can consider the function of [9] as a form of punctuation. We will examine the content of unit [9] in section five. Blocks I and II have similar closings: in DR ‫“( את חקתי תשמרו‬You shall observe My laws”), in ERc ‫“( ושמרתם את כל חקתי‬You shall faithfully observe all My laws”). This may be the author’s way of hinting at the

314

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

detailed parallelism which exists between the blocks. I will begin the presentation by noting that the last six pericopes of the chapter, ELa–ERc, divide into two sets of three pericopes each and that they complete the two columns we identified in the previous section. After that I will detail the parallels between the blocks. I will show that each pericope in II is closely tied to a unit in its own column of block I.

CONTINUING THE COLUMNS As opposed to the first eight units, which are distinguished by categories of “duties”, Wenham states that the remainder of the chapter contains “miscellaneous” laws. This description is inaccurate. The reason why others have reached the mistaken conclusion that there is no formal order in the remainder of the chapter is that it differs significantly from the first eight units. By means of the closing-formula and opening word devices, the author made it relatively simple to see the division by “duties” in block I. The one-to-one correlation between content and opening/closing formulae does not hold in the remainder of the chapter. However, the clear identification of the first eight units as inverse parallels will enable us to sort out the organizing principles of the remaining “miscellaneous” pericopes. The last six pericopes, vv. 26–37, divide into two sets of three pericopes each, according to the same content distinction observed between the two blocks of four, “religious/private” and “ethical/social”. They also follow the same order. The first three, ELa–ELc, contain "religious" duties, while the next three, ERa–ERc, are "ethical." At first glance, the two closing formulae do not follow any rule in this section. However, the "duties" categories make it possible to see how the last pericopes continue the columns established in section one:

Table 3 Block II Continues the Columns of Block I “Duties” L R Religious/Private Ethical/Social Block I AL AR BL BR CL CR DL DR

MOSHE KLINE

315

Block II ELa ELb ELc

Era ERb ERc

LINGUISTIC PARALLELS BETWEEN THE BLOCKS Once the last six pericopes have been added to our original columns, the connections become all the more visible. Every one of the six pericopes in block II has a strong linguistic link to a unit in its own column in block I, as indicted in the following table. Block II I

Columns Left ELa ELb DL BL

ELc CL

ERa BR

Right ERb DR

ERc CR

Linguistic Parallels in Column L Units ELa and DL ELa ‫כו לא תאכלו על הדם לא תנחשו ולא‬ ‫תעוננו‬ ‫כז לא תקפו פאת ראשכם ולא תשחית‬ ‫את פאת זקנך‬ ‫כח ושרט ל נפש לא תתנו בבשרכם‬ ‫וכתבת קעקע לא תתנו בכם‬

DL ‫ה וכי תזבחו זבח שלמים ליהוה לרצנכם‬ ‫תזבחהו‬ ‫ו ביום זבחכם יאכל וממחרת‬ ‫והנותר עד יום השלישי באש ישרף‬ ‫ז ואם האכל יאכל ביום השלישי פגול‬ ‫הוא לא ירצה‬ ‫ח ואכליו עונו ישא כי את קדש יהוה‬ ‫חלל‬ ‫ונכרתה ה נפש ההוא מעמיה‬ ‫ט ובקצרכם את קציר ארצכם‬ ‫לא תכלה פאת שדך לקצר ולקט קצירך‬ ‫לא תלקט‬ ‫י וכרמך לא תעולל ופרט כרמך לא‬ ‫תלקט‬ ‫לעני ולגר תעזב אתם‬

316

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

26You

shall not eat anything with its blood. You shall not practice divination or soothsaying. 27You shall not round off the side-growth (edges) on your head, or destroy the side-growth (edges) of your beard. 28You shall not make gashes in your flesh for the dead (soul), or incise any marks on yourselves: I am the Lord.

(a) 5When you sacrifice an offering of well-being to the Lord, sacrifice it so that it may be accepted on your behalf. 6It shall be eaten on the day you sacrifice it, or on the day following; but what is left by the third day must be consumed in fire. 7If it should be eaten on the third day, it is an offensive thing, it will not be acceptable. 8And he who eats of it shall bear his guilt, for he has profaned what is sacred to the Lord; that person (soul) shall be cut off from his kin. (b) 9When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap all the way to the edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest. 10You shall not pick your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen fruit of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger: I the Lord am your God.

Unit DL presents a special difficulty because it combines two totally unrelated laws, tithes and the two-day limit for consuming the well-being offering. The linguistic links between DL and ELa provide verification that the two parts of DL should indeed be viewed as a single unit. There are three linguistic links between them that do not appear anywhere else in the chapter. Both units refer to eating meat. ‫“( פאה‬edges”) appears in both, referring to edges of the field in DL and edges of the face in ELa. ‫נפש‬ (“soul”) appears only in these two units in Leviticus 19. Units ELb and BL ELb ‫כט אל תחלל את בתך להזנותה‬ ‫ולא תזנה הארץ ומלאה הארץ זמה‬ ‫ל את שבתתי תשמרו ומקדשי תיראו‬

BL ‫ג איש אמו ואביו תיראו‬ ‫ואת שבתתי תשמרו‬

MOSHE KLINE 29Do

not degrade your daughter and make her a harlot, lest the land fall into harlotry and the land be filled with depravity. 30You shall keep My sabbaths and venerate (revere) My sanctuary

317

3You

shall each revere his mother and his father, and keep My Sabbaths

Units BL and ELb present one of the clearest examples of what Douglas has termed “exact repetitions which had led earlier students to suppose the editor was nodding”. Both include ‫“( את שבתתי תשמרו‬keep my sabbaths”). Both also contain ‫“( תיראו‬revere”), as well as a reference to parents and children. Units ELc and CL ELc CL ‫לא אל תפנו אל האבת ואל הידענים‬ ‫ד אל תפנו אל האלילים‬ ‫אל תבקשו לטמאה בהם‬ ‫ואלהי מסכה לא תעשו לכם‬ 31Do not turn to ghosts and do not 4Do not turn to idols or make inquire of familiar spirits, to be molten gods for yourselves defiled by them Both CL and ELc begin ‫“( אל תפנו אל‬do not turn to”), and refer to turning to supernatural entities.

LINGUISTIC PARALLELS IN COLUMN R Units ERa and BR ERa ‫והדרת פני זקן לב מפני שיבה תקום‬ ‫ויראת מאלהיך‬ 32You

shall rise before the aged and show deference to the old; you shall fear your God

BR ‫יג לא תעשק את רעך ולא תגזל‬ ‫לא תלין פעלת שכיר אתך עד בקר‬ ‫ולפני עור לא תתן יד לא תקלל חרש‬ ‫מכשל ויראת מאלהיך‬ 13You shall not defraud your neighbor. You shall not commit robbery. The wages of a laborer shall not remain with you until morning. 14You shall not insult the deaf, or place a stumbling block before the blind. You shall fear your God

318

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

‫“( ויראת מאלהיך‬you shall fear your God”) closes both ERa and BR. Both also refer to the proper treatment of others according to physical characteristics, including an interesting parallel between ‫מפני שיבה תקום‬ (“you shall rise before the aged”) and ‫“( ולפני עור לא תתן מכשל‬you shall not place a stumbling block before the blind”). Units ERb and DR ERb ‫לג וכי יגור אתך גר בארצכם לא תונו‬ ‫אתו‬ ‫לד כאזרח מכם יהיה לכם הגר הגר‬ ‫אתכם‬ ‫ואהבת לו כמוך‬ ‫כי גרים הייתם בארץ מצרים‬ 33When

a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him. 34The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt

DR ‫( יז לא תשנא את אחיך בלבבך‬a) ‫הוכח תוכיח את עמיתך ולא תשא עליו‬ ‫חטא‬ ‫יח לא תקם ולא תטר את בני עמך‬ ‫ואהבת לרעך כמוך‬ (a) 17You shall not hate your brother in your heart. Reprove your fellow but incur no guilt because of him. 18You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countrymen. Love your neighbor as yourself

Here is a very striking near repetition, ‫ כמוך‬...‫“( ואהבת ל‬love him as yourself”). Unit ERb appears to be the logical completion of DR. Units ERc and CR ERc CR ‫לה לא תעשו עול במשפט במדה במשקל‬ ‫טו לא תעשו עול במשפט‬ ‫ובמשורה‬ ‫לא תשא פני דל ולא תהדר פני גדול‬ ‫לו מאזני צדק אבני צדק איפת צדק והין‬ ‫בצדק תשפט עמיתך‬ ‫צדק יהיה לכם‬ ‫טז לא תלך רכיל בעמיך לא תעמד על‬ ‫אני יהוה אלהיכם אשר הוצאתי אתכם‬ ‫דם רעך‬ ‫מארץ מצרים לז ושמרתם את כל חקתי‬ ‫ואת כל משפטי ועשיתם אתם‬ 35You shall not falsify measures of 15You shall not (falsify) render an length, weight, or capacity. 36You shall unfair decision: do not favor the have an honest balance, honest poor or show deference to the rich; weights, an honest ephah, and an judge your neighbor fairly

MOSHE KLINE honest hin. I the Lord am your God who freed you from the land of Egypt. 37You shall faithfully observe all My laws and all My rules

319

(honestly). 16Do not deal basely with your countrymen. Do not profit by the blood of your fellow

Units ERc and CR have the same openings, ‫“( לא תעשו עול במשפט‬You shall not falsify”), and include ‫צדק‬, (“honest, fair”).

COHERENT COLUMNS We had no problem demonstrating that the columns were coherent in block I because of the common openings and closings of the units within the column. However, when we added block II to the columns we could no longer depend on the evidence of the openings and closings since the formulae do not seem to continue in block II. Therefore, we had to resort to content similarities, the “duties”, even though this is a weaker form of evidence. However, once we considered the content similarities, and placed the units of block II in the columns defined by block I, we were rewarded with strong linguistic verification that the columns are indeed coherent. Every single pericope in block II is firmly linked to a unit within its own column in block I, by a linguistic hook. Now that we have established that there are two coherent columns, we can examine the evidence that that the two columns are meant to be seen as structurally identical.

IDENTICAL COLUMNS The most obvious indication that the columns are structurally identical is that they both contain seven elements. (I am using the term “elements” to include both “units” and “pericopes.”) While this fact in itself is sufficient to define the columns as structurally identical, the author has reinforced it by marking the first and last element of each column as structurally parallel. Both of these parallels become apparent only after the text is arranged in the columns. The structural similarity of the first element of each column is a function of the linguistic parallels between bocks I and II. We have noted that each pericope of block II is closely linked to a unit in its column. Since there are three pericopes per column in block II and four units per column in block I, one unit in each column of block I lacks a linguistic link to a pericope in its column of block II. In both column L and column R the “unlinked” unit is the first in the column, AL and AR.

320

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Table 4. Formal Parallels Between the Columns L

R

First Units in Columns Not connected to Block II

1

5

Connected to Block II by linguistic parallels within the columns

2 3 4

6 7 8

10 11

13 14

12

15

Block I

Block II Last Pericopes in Columns Formulae match block I

Just as the first unit of each column is set-off by a rhetorical device, the lack of a linguistic link to block II, so too is the last pericope of each column set-off. The device that is used to set-off pericopes ELc and ERc is similar to the device that sets-off AL and AR. It too bridges blocks I and II. In fact, it can be seen as the inverse of the device used in AL and AR. Unlike other pericopes in II, both ELc and ERc follow the rule of the opening term as well as the rule of the closing formulae of block I. All units in column R of block I begin with “‫”לא‬, “(You shall) not”, and end with “ ‫אני‬ ‫”יהוה‬, “I am the Lord”, and so does unit ERc. No unit in column L of block I begin with “‫”לא‬, “(You shall) not”, and all end with “ ‫אני יהוה‬ ‫”אלהיכם‬, “I the Lord am your God”, as does unit ELc. Therefore, both ELc and ERc follow the rules of their columns as established in block I. These are the only pericopes in block II that match the in-column opening and closing formulae of block I. Lest there be any possibility that we miss the fact that pericopes ELc and ERc are structurally parallel, there is yet another strong parallel between these pericopes. The third units in Block I

CL ‫אל תפנו אל האלילים‬ Do not turn to idols

CR ‫לא תעשו עול במשפט‬ ‫בצדק תשפט עמיתך‬... You shall not render an unfair (false) decision …judge your neighbor fairly(honestly)

MOSHE KLINE The third pericopes in Block II

321

ELc Erc ‫אל תפנו אל האבת ואל‬ ‫לא תעשו עול במשפט‬ ‫הידענים‬ ‫והין צדק יהיה לכם‬... Do not turn to ghosts You shall not falsify measures …You shall have an honest hin

The third pericopes in both columns of block II, ELc and ERc, begin with exactly the same words as the parallel third units of block I and contain an additional parallel as well. In both CL and ELc, the objects of ‫אל תפנו אל‬ (“do not turn to”), are supernatural entities, thus strengthening the parallel. Both CR and ERc, begin ‫“( לא תעשו עול במשפט‬You shall not falsify…”), and also contain ‫“( צדק‬honest, fair”). None of the other parallels between the blocks includes the first words of units. It would seem that the author has placed a special emphasis on the last pericope in each column of block II, ELc and ERc, by way of a seemingly redundant parallel between them.

THE INVERTED PARALLELS CONTINUE We have now collected ample evidence that Leviticus 19 contains two parallel strands, which are structurally equivalent, and that pericopes ELa– ERc are firmly connected to our original columns. We must still determine whether the progressions we observed within the columns continue with the additions from block II. We noted earlier that the “ethical duties”, R, reached a peak in block I with ‫“( ואהבת לרעך כמוך‬Love your neighbor as yourself”). The identification with the “other” expands in ERb to include the ‫“( גר‬stranger”), who is also to be loved ‫“( כמוך‬as yourself”). This could indicate that the process in column R does continue into block II. In column L we saw a process of distancing from the holy. Pericopes ELa– ELc all include expressions of degenerate pagan practices. Therefore, the process of column L also seems to continue in block II. More specifically, we noted in DL that anyone who eats a well-being offering on the third day is to be cut off from his people. Corruption is a matter concerning individuals in that unit. However, in the continuation of L, in ELb, we find ‫“( ולא תזנה הארץ ומלאה הארץ זמה‬lest the land fall into harlotry and the land be filled with depravity”). Corruption has become a national concern. So the degenerative processes of column L as well as the positive process of R continue with the addition of block II to the columns. We have seen evidence that the two extended columns of seven elements are:

322

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

internally coherent, according to the “duties” structurally identical conceptually ordered, indicating processes inversely parallel In the next section, we will begin to see why the two columns have been constructed so carefully.

3. THE PAIRS FIVE PAIRS Perhaps the most interesting characteristic that we have noted in the columns is that they can be read as inversely parallel progressions, from good to bad in L, and bad to good in R. The next phenomenon that we will examine combines the two oppositely sensed columns to create a single unified composition. This new entity consists of a set of five pairs composed of parallel sections of the columns. The flow from pair to pair creates a third process, one that is independent of the two processes in the separate columns. In order to facilitate the discussion of the pairs, I will label them from A to E as follows:

A B C D E

L AL BL CL DL EL a–c

R AR BR CR DR ER a–c

NEW UNITS, NEW STRUCTURE We are about to see a transformation of the text as we decipher its structure. What began as fourteen elements that formed two seven-element inversely parallel structures, is about to morph into a ten-part structure consisting of five pairs. According to my reading, each set of three pericopes in the fifth pair creates one true unit. We have seen that amongst the last six of our original units, only the last one in each column, ELc and ERc, follows the rules of the first four units of its column for the opening word and closing formula. I have interpreted this fact to mean that the last three elements in each column, ELa–c and Era–c, are to be taken together as the structural equivalent of one single complex unit. I will clarify the

MOSHE KLINE

323

reasons for this interpretation as well as its ramifications through the analysis of the overall structure of the five resultant pairs.

PAIR E: THREE INDEPENDENT SEGMENTS The two units that compose each of the five pairs are structurally identical and no two pairs have the same structure. This point is clearest in the last two pairs. Both pairs E and D contain multiple parts. Each member of pair E contains three fully articulated parts. The divisions within these members are marked by what we might call “pseudo-units”, the first two parts of each unit, ELa and ELb in EL, ERa and ERb in ER. We have seen that these false units do not follow the rules of their columns. They apparently have two structural functions. First, they guarantee that the parallel segments of the columns which we have marked EL and ER will be seen as structurally identical. Second, they create complex units, which clearly subdivide into three large components. This subdivision becomes significant as we observe the structures of the other pairs.

PAIR D: TWO INDEPENDENT SEGMENTS Pair D

DL ‫( ה וכי תזבחו זבח שלמים ליהוה‬a) ‫לרצנכם תזבחהו‬ ‫ו ביום זבחכם יאכל וממחרת‬ ‫והנותר עד יום השלישי באש ישרף‬ ‫ז ואם האכל יאכל ביום השלישי פגול‬ ‫הוא לא ירצה‬ ‫ח ואכליו עונו ישא כי את קדש יהוה‬ ‫חלל‬ ‫ונכרתה הנפש ההוא מעמיה‬ ‫( ט ובקצרכם את קציר ארצכם‬b) ‫לא תכלה פאת שדך לקצר ולקט קצירך‬ ‫לא תלקט‬ ‫י וכרמך לא תעולל ופרט כרמך לא‬ ‫תלקט‬ ‫לעני ולגר תעזב אתם‬ ‫אני יהוה אלהיכם‬

DR ‫( יז לא תשנא את אחיך בלבבך‬a) ‫הוכח תוכיח את עמיתך ולא תשא עליו‬ ‫חטא‬ ‫יח לא תקם ולא תטר את בני עמך‬ ‫ואהבת לרעך כמוך‬ ‫אני יהוה‬ ‫( יט את חקתי תשמרו‬b)

324

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

(a) 5When you sacrifice an offering of well-being to the Lord, sacrifice it so that it may be accepted on your behalf. 6It shall be eaten on the day you sacrifice it, or on the day following; but what is left by the third day must be consumed in fire. 7If it should be eaten on the third day, it is an offensive thing, it will not be acceptable. 8And he who eats of it shall bear his guilt, for he has profaned what is sacred to the Lord; that person shall be cut off from his kin. (b) 9When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap all the way to the edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest. 10You shall not pick your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen fruit of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger: I the Lord am your God

(a) 17You shall not hate your brother in your heart. Reprove your fellow but incur no guilt because of him. 18You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countrymen. Love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord. (b) 19You shall observe My laws.

The units of pair D each contain two well-defined parts, (a) and (b). They differ in the manner in which these parts are defined. DL contains two independent subjects, the well-being offering and gleanings. The components of DR are separated by the closing formula. Therefore, both DL and DR have two distinct components. I would like to limit the discussion at this point to purely formal matters. However, I can see that the argument for pair D needs some reinforcement and that it will force me to transcend the limits I have set. The problem is in the part of DR that comes after the closing formula, ‫“( את חקתי תשמרו‬You shall observe My laws”). I gave some reasons earlier why this segment of verse 19 should be placed at the end of unit DR rather than in the beginning of [9], vis-à-vis the chiasm within block I. I will add a reason now that stems from the comparison with DR. The specific problem of the second component of DR is that it comes after the closing formula. We have no other example of such an addition in

MOSHE KLINE

325

the first eight units. I believe that it is meant to be a textual representation of the common thread of DL. While I have stated that the well-being offering and the gleanings are very different themes, closer inspection reveals a certain similarity. Both speak of leftovers. The leftover meat is forbidden. Some grain, on the other hand, must be leftover, not harvested. One is forbidden and one is required, but they are both leftovers. So is the second component of DR; it comes after the closing. The content of DL speaks of leftovers while the structure of DR creates a leftover! We will return to this point after looking at pair C.

PAIR C: TWO CONTENT RELATED SEGMENTS Pair C

CL ‫( ד אל תפנו אל האלילים‬a) ‫( ואלהי מסכה לא תעשו‬b) ‫לכם‬ (a) 4Do not turn to idols (b) or make molten gods for yourselves: I the Lord am your God.

CR ‫( טו לא תעשו עול במשפט לא תשא פני דל ולא‬a) ‫תהדר פני גדול‬ ‫בצדק תשפט עמיתך‬ ‫( טז לא תלך רכיל בעמיך לא תעמד על דם רעך‬b) (a) 15You shall not render an unfair decision: do not favor the poor or show deference to the rich; judge your neighbor fairly. (b) 16Do not deal basely with your countrymen. Do not profit by the blood of your fellow: I am the Lord.

Unlike E and D, the common structure in pair C is not obvious. It requires a close reading. Both units have a single broad subject, forbidden worship in CL and social justice in CR, but it is possible to see that both units divide in two. I have marked the components as (a) and (b). The distinction in CL is between worshiping commonly accepted gods (a) and creating your own images (b). In CR the distinction is between judges (a) and private individuals (b). In both CL and CR element (a) contains a public aspect of the subject, while element (b) contains a private aspect.

THE STRUCTURAL ORDER OF PAIRS C, D AND E We can now understand yet another reason for the unusual construction of pair D. Pairs C and E are each constructed according to different principles. Pair D, which is located between them, incorporates aspects of both adjacent pairs. The units of E are structurally equivalent because they are similarly divided into three separate parts by the pseudo-endings. The units

326

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

of C are subdivided by parallel content divisions. Pair D is divided by a content division in DL and by a false ending in DR. Therefore, D is a structural middle between C and E. Pair B: Fear as an Ambivalent Connection Pair B BL BR ‫(ג איש אמו ואביו תיראו‬a) ‫(יג לא תעשק את רעך ולא תגזל‬a) ‫( ואת שבתתי תשמרו‬b) ‫לא תלין פעלת שכיר אתך עד בקר‬ ‫יד לא תקלל חרש ולפני עור לא תתן‬ ‫מכשל‬ ‫( ויראת מאלהיך‬b) (a) 3You shall each revere his (a) 13You shall not defraud your mother and his father, neighbor. You shall not commit (b) and keep My sabbaths robbery. The wages of a laborer shall not remain with you until morning. 14You shall not insult the deaf, or place a stumbling block before the blind. (b)You shall fear your God Pairs A and B are similar. The identification of both pairs depends on linguistic and syntactical parallels. The key element in B is the parallel use of the verb ‫ירא‬. Both units contain two elements, marked (a) and (b), one of which contains ‫ירא‬, “fear, revere.” In both units, the reader must make a jump in order to connect the two elements. The only connection supplied by the author is the ubiquitous “‫”ו‬, a conjunction that requires over four pages of definitions in the BDB Lexicon.16 It is commonly understood that the fear of God in BR is given as a reason not to take advantage of others. The text itself is more equivocal. It does not spell out the connection between fear of God and the actions prohibited in element (a). It is left to the reader to deduce the connection from the syntax. The same problem exists concerning the connection in BL between fear/awe of parents and observing God’s Sabbath. The text can be interpreted, in parallel to BL, as implying that reverence for (Sabbath-observing) parents, leads to observing the Sabbath. Thus, the units are a pair based on an ambivalent connection between ‫ירא‬, fear or reverence, and the other element of the unit. 16

BDB, pp. 251–255

MOSHE KLINE

327

PAIR A: HOLY REASONS Pair A

AL

‫( קדשים תהיו‬a) ‫( כי קדוש אני יהוה אלהיכם‬b) (a) You shall be holy, (b) for I, the Lord your God, am holy.

AR ‫(יא לא תגנבו ולא תכחשו ולא תשקרו‬a) ‫איש בעמיתו‬ ‫(יב ולא תשבעו בשמי לשקר וחללת‬b) ‫את שם אלהיך‬ 11 (a) You shall not steal; you shall not deal deceitfully or falsely with one another. (b) 12You shall not swear falsely by My name, profaning the name of your God

The units of A consist of two inseparable segments. A key term links the segments within each unit. AL contains ‫“( קדש‬holy”) in segments (a) and (b) while AR repeats ‫“( שקר‬falsely”). Both units also link their two segments through reasons dependent on God: ‫“( כי קדוש אני‬for I, the Lord your God, am holy”) and ‫“( וחללת את שם אלהיך‬profaning the name of your God”). The divine reasons make the links between the segments unequivocal, as opposed to the ambivalent causal link we found in the units of B.

THE STRUCTURAL ORDER OF PAIRS A, B AND C We can now understand the arrangement of the first three pairs. Pair B plays a role that is similar to the role played by D in the arrangement we saw of C–E. Pair A is based on a causal relationship between two inseparable elements. Pair C, on the other hand, has no such relationship between its elements. Although the elements within the units of C do share a common subject, they are structurally independent. The units of B fall between the dependency of A and the independence of C. The ambivalence built into the units of B is evidently a necessary element in the organization of the pairs. It provides a step between A and C. The “ambivalence factor” in B also indicates that the demands of the non-linear reading may take precedence over the clarity of the linear reading. When reading the text linearly, the connection between respect for parents and observance of the Sabbath is obscured. It is purely a matter for speculation. The clarity of the linear

328

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

reading suffers. Only when we read BL in parallel with BR, in a non-linear reading, can we see that the ambiguity is part of the plan.

THE PROGRESSION OF THE FIVE PAIRS Let us examine now the order of the five pairs according to their structures. We have noted that there is a similarity between A and B based on the interconnection of the elements of each pair. Likewise, pairs D and E are similar, including well-articulated independent subunits. Pair C forms a bridge between the first two and last two pairs. If we characterize the first two pairs as having syntactical links within their units and the last two as having independent elements, then C can be seen as a medium between them. C is like A and B in that the elements of each unit in C are linked to each other by their content. C is like D and E insofar as the separate elements within the units are formally unlinked. We have now noted that pairs B, C and D have all been constructed in such a manner that they can be seen as structural middles: B between A and C; D between C and E; and C between A–B and D–E. This exposes the literary technique employed to create a sense of progression or process in the text. We can see the implied process in the following table.

Table 5. A Process of Separation Pair Common Structure in Each Unit of Pair A Two causally related clauses with linguistic links between them B Two segments linked by implied causal relationship With linguistic link between units C Two segments linked by similar content but without linguistic links One subject D Two fully articulated unlinked elements Two Subjects E Three fully articulated elements separated by pseudo-closings Three Subjects

Connection/ Process of Separation Inseparable Equivocally Inseparable Linked-Separable Partially Separated Fully Separated

MOSHE KLINE

329

We can see in the above table that the pairs are ordered according to the complexity of their common structures. The units of pair A cannot be sub-divided, while the units of E contain three formally separated elements. Pairs B–D are three intermediate stages between the inseparable elements of A, and the fully separated elements of E. The process, which appears across the five pairs, can be described as “separation”. Pairs C–E display a formal order based on the number of separate subjects in each unit of the pairs. The units of pair C each have two separate elements, but in both cases the elements form a single subject. In D, the two elements of each unit are separate subjects. In E, each unit contains three independent elements. So units C–E are ordered by the number of subjects in each unit, from one to three. This is similar to the internal numbering that we found in the first four units of column R. It also supports our decision to read each of the units of E as a single tri-part unit rather than as three separate units.

FROM STRUCTURE TO MEANING We have now identified one of the literary devices that have been employed in the construction of the pairs, and its concomitant process. We have seen that each pair has its own internal structure. Taken together, the five structures create a process of “separation” as we progress from pair to pair. The separation that we have observed is purely structural; it is not connected to any specific content. Yet, it is unmistakably one of the more inclusive features of the text. The next literary device we will examine becomes apparent only after the discovery of the pairs. It verifies the importance of the pairs in defining the structure, as well as demonstrating the link between structure and meaning. The second literary device is based on references to God within the units. Each pair combines these references with other material in a distinctive way. This phenomenon is systematic and embedded in the five-pair configuration. Just as each pair has its own unique structure, it also has its own unique set of references to God. In other words, God plays a different role in each pair. Again, we will see a process of separation appear from pair to pair as God’s role becomes less and less significant for the meaning of the pair. An understanding of the process described by God’s changing role will lead us to an understanding of the meaning of Leviticus 19 as a literary construct, as opposed to an agglomeration of laws.

330

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

REFERENCES TO GOD Near the beginning of this paper we noted that the author has used God’s appearances in the form ‫“( אני יהוה‬I am the Lord”), as a literary device to mark the ends of units, and as we have seen, pseudo-units. We will now examine a further systematic use of references to God. God is referred to within the units both directly, e.g. “you shall fear your God”, and indirectly, e.g. “You shall heed my statutes”. In the following discussion, I will include all of these references to God, both direct and indirect, within the general category of “God-oriented” material. Elements of text that do not refer to God will be termed “not God-oriented”. In the following table of the pairs, I have emphasized all of the God-oriented material. For the sake of clarity, I have removed the closing formulae.

Table 6. God Oriented and not God Oriented Material in the Pairs AL ‫( א וידבר יהוה אל משה לאמר‬a) ‫ב דבר אל כל עדת בני ישראל ואמרת‬ ‫אלהם‬ ‫קדשים תהיו‬ ‫( כי קדוש אני יהוה אלהיכם‬b) BL ‫(ג איש אמו ואביו תיראו‬a) ‫( ואת שבתתי תשמרו‬b)

CL ‫(ד אל תפנו אל האלילים‬a) ‫( ואלהי מסכה לא תעשו לכם‬b)

AR ‫(יא לא תגנבו ולא תכחשו ולא תשקרו‬a) ‫איש בעמיתו‬ ‫( יב ולא תשבעו בשמי לשקר וחללת‬b) ‫את שם אלהיך‬ BR ‫(יג לא תעשק את רעך ולא תגזל‬a) ‫לא תלין פעלת שכיר אתך עד בקר‬ ‫יד לא תקלל חרש ולפני עור לא תתן‬ ‫מכשל‬ ‫( ויראת מאלהיך‬b) CR ‫( טו לא תעשו עול במשפט‬a) ‫לא תשא פני דל ולא תהדר פני גדול‬ ‫בצדק תשפט עמיתך‬ ‫טז לא תלך רכיל בעמיך‬ ‫(לא תעמד על דם רעך‬b)

‫‪331‬‬

‫‪MOSHE KLINE‬‬

‫‪DR‬‬ ‫)‪ (a‬יז לא תשנא את אחיך בלבבך‬ ‫הוכח תוכיח את עמיתך ולא תשא עליו‬ ‫חטא‬ ‫יח לא תקם ולא תטר את בני עמך‬ ‫ואהבת לרעך כמוך‬ ‫אני יהוה‬ ‫)‪ (b‬יט את חקתי תשמרו‬

‫‪Era‬‬ ‫)‪ (a‬לב מפני שיבה תקום והדרת פני זקן‬ ‫)‪ (b‬ויראת מאלהיך‬

‫‪Erb‬‬ ‫לג וכי יגור אתך גר בארצכם לא תונו‬ ‫אתו‬ ‫לד כאזרח מכם יהיה לכם הגר הגר‬ ‫אתכם‬ ‫ואהבת לו כמוך‬ ‫כי גרים הייתם בארץ מצרים‬ ‫‪Erc‬‬ ‫)‪ (a‬לה לא תעשו עול במשפט במדה‬ ‫במשקל ובמשורה‬ ‫לו מאזני צדק אבני צדק איפת צדק והין‬ ‫צדק יהיה לכם‬ ‫)‪ (b‬אני יהוה אלהיכם אשר הוצאתי‬ ‫אתכם מארץ מצרים‬ ‫לז ושמרתם את כל חקתי ואת כל‬ ‫משפטי ועשיתם אתם‬

‫‪DL‬‬ ‫)‪(a‬ה וכי תזבחו זבח שלמים ליהוה‬ ‫לרצנכם תזבחהו‬ ‫ו ביום זבחכם יאכל וממחרת‬ ‫והנותר עד יום השלישי באש ישרף‬ ‫ז ואם האכל יאכל ביום השלישי פגול‬ ‫הוא לא ירצה‬ ‫ח ואכליו עונו ישא כי את קדש יהוה‬ ‫חלל‬ ‫ונכרתה הנפש ההוא מעמיה‬ ‫)‪(b‬ט ובקצרכם את קציר ארצכם‬ ‫לא תכלה פאת שדך לקצר ולקט קצירך‬ ‫לא תלקט‬ ‫י וכרמך לא תעולל ופרט כרמך לא‬ ‫תלקט‬ ‫לעני ולגר תעזב אתם‬ ‫‪ELa‬‬ ‫כו לא תאכלו על הדם לא תנחשו ולא‬ ‫תעוננו‬ ‫כז לא תקפו פאת ראשכם ולא תשחית‬ ‫את פאת זקנך‬ ‫כח ושרט לנפש לא תתנו בבשרכם‬ ‫וכתבת קעקע לא תתנו בכם‬ ‫‪ELb‬‬ ‫)‪ (a‬כט אל תחלל את בתך להזנותה‬ ‫ולא תזנה הארץ ומלאה הארץ זמה‬ ‫)‪(b‬ל את שבתתי תשמרו ומקדשי תיראו‬

‫‪ELc‬‬ ‫לא אל תפנו אל האבת ואל הידענים‬ ‫אל תבקשו לטמאה בהם‬

332

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

AL (a) You shall be holy, (b) for I, the Lord your God, am holy.

BL (a) 3You shall each revere his mother and his father, (b) and keep My sabbaths

CL (a) 4Do not turn to idols (b) or make molten gods for yourselves

AR (a) 11You shall not steal; you shall not deal deceitfully or falsely with one another. (b) 12You shall not swear falsely by My name, profaning the name of your God BR (a) 13You shall not defraud your neighbor. You shall not commit robbery. The wages of a laborer shall not remain with you until morning. 14You shall not insult the deaf, or place a stumbling block before the blind. (b) You shall fear your God CR (a) 15You shall not render an unfair decision: do not favor the poor or show deference to the rich; judge your neighbor fairly. (b)16Do not deal basely with your countrymen. Do not profit by the blood of your fellow

MOSHE KLINE DL (a) 5When you sacrifice an offering of well-being to the Lord, sacrifice it so that it may be accepted on your behalf. 6It shall be eaten on the day you sacrifice it, or on the day following; but what is left by the third day must be consumed in fire. 7If it should be eaten on the third day, it is an offensive thing, it will not be acceptable. 8And he who eats of it shall bear his guilt, for he has profaned what is sacred to the Lord; that person shall be cut off from his kin. (b) 9When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap all the way to the edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest. 10You shall not pick your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen fruit of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger

333

DR (a) 17You shall not hate your brother in your heart. Reprove your fellow but incur no guilt because of him. 18You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countrymen. Love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord. (b) 19You shall observe My laws.

334

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Ela shall not eat anything with its blood. You shall not practice divination or soothsaying. 27You shall not round off the side-growth on your head, or destroy the sidegrowth of your beard. 28You shall not make gashes in your flesh for the dead, or incise any marks on yourselves: I am the Lord. Elb (a) 29Do not degrade your daughter and make her a harlot, lest the land fall into harlotry and the land be filled with depravity. (b) 30You shall keep My sabbaths and venerate My sanctuary 26You

Elc not turn to ghosts and do not inquire of familiar spirits, to be defiled by them 31Do

Era (a) 32You shall rise before the aged and show deference to the old; (b) you shall fear your God

Erb a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him. 34The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt Erc (a) 35You shall not falsify measures of length, weight, or capacity. 36You shall have an honest balance, honest weights, an honest ephah, and an honest hin. (b) I the Lord am your God who freed you from the land of Egypt. 37You shall faithfully observe all My laws and all My rules 33When

THE PATTERN OF REFERENCES TO GOD Taken together, the references to God create a pattern that indicates that they have been carefully arranged. The eight units that contain God-oriented material are arranged symmetrically around two units that do not contain references to God. This symmetry is created by the absence of references to God in the central pair, C. Both units in each of the other four pairs do contain references to God. The fact that the only units lacking references to God are the two in C may indicate that the symmetrical arrangement around pair C is not arbitrary.

MOSHE KLINE

335

Another unifying characteristic of the references to God is the location of each reference within the individual unit. All of the God-oriented material is found within units that also contain not-God-oriented material. Moreover, except in DL(a), the God-oriented material always follows a section that is not God-oriented. This is indicated in the table above by the division into segments (a) and (b). Except for DL, the God-oriented always appears in segment (b). This arrangement could lead us to see the two types of material as unequal; one is primary and the other is secondary. The not God-oriented appears in all ten units and appears first in seven of the eight mixed units, so it would seem to be the primary stratum. The God-oriented, not appearing in all the units, and appearing second in seven of eight where it does appear, would seem to be a secondary stratum. These observations, taken together, are prima-facie evidence that the references to God play a part in the overall plan according to which Leviticus 19 was constructed. We will verify this hypothesis by examining the God-oriented material within each pair. We will see that there is a progression from pair to pair based on the nature of the connection between the God-oriented and not God-oriented material. From pair to pair, the connection between the two types of material becomes weaker and weaker, indicating a process of separation. I will refer to this process as the “divine process” in order to distinguish it from the “structural process”, which we have seen across the structures of the pairs. For the sake of this analysis, I have created the dyad “God-oriented”, “not God-oriented”. It should not be confused with the “religious” and “ethical” duties, which characterized the columns. We have already seen that there are references to God in “ethical” units such as “you shall fear your God” in BR. There is also a “religious” unit, CL, which does not mention God at all. Therefore, in my analysis I can say that CL is not “God-oriented”, although it falls in the “religious duties” column.

Pair A: God and Meaning are Inseparable AL ‫(א וידבר יהוה אל משה לאמר‬a) ‫ב דבר אל כל עדת בני ישראל ואמרת‬ ‫אלהם‬ ‫קדשים תהיו‬ ‫( כי קדוש אני יהוה אלהיכם‬b)

AR ‫(יא לא תגנבו ולא תכחשו ולא‬a) ‫תשקרו איש בעמיתו‬ ‫( יב ולא תשבעו בשמי לשקר‬b) ‫וחללת את שם אלהיך‬

336

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

AL (a) You shall be holy, (b) for I, the Lord your God, am holy.

AR (a) 11You shall not steal; you shall not deal deceitfully or falsely with one another. (b) 12You shall not swear falsely by My name, profaning the name of your God

The units of pair A consist of an opening clause that does not mention God, (a), and a closing clause, (b), that does. In our earlier analysis of pair A, we found that the two clauses in each unit are inseparable, since they are parts of a single idea. God is an essential part of each unit; removing Him would significantly change the meaning of what remains. God is the source of holiness in AL; dishonesty is to be avoided in AR because it can lead to the desecration of God’s name. Therefore, the segment in which God appears, (b) in each unit, is inseparable from the segment in which He does not appear, and God Himself is inseparable from the meaning of the pair. Now we will look at pair E, in which God’s appearances have so little to do with the surrounding text, that they seem virtually gratuitous.

Pair E: References to God are not Necessary ELa ‫כו לא תאכלו על הדם לא תנחשו ולא‬ ‫תעוננו‬ ‫כז לא תקפו פאת ראשכם ולא תשחית‬ ‫את פאת זקנך‬ ‫כח ושרט לנפש לא תתנו בבשרכם‬ ‫וכתבת קעקע לא תתנו בכם‬ ELb ‫(כט אל תחלל את בתך להזנותה‬a) ‫ולא תזנה הארץ ומלאה הארץ זמה‬ ‫(ל את שבתתי תשמרו ומקדשי תיראו‬b)

ELc ‫לא אל תפנו אל האבת ואל הידענים‬ ‫אל תבקשו לטמאה בהם‬

Era ‫( והדרת פני זקן לב מפני שיבה תקום‬a) ‫( ויראת מאלהיך‬b)

Erb ‫לג וכי יגור אתך גר בארצכם לא תונו‬ ‫אתו‬ ‫לד כאזרח מכם יהיה לכם הגר הגר‬ ‫אתכם‬ ‫ואהבת לו כמוך‬ ‫כי גרים הייתם בארץ מצרים‬ Erc ‫(לה לא תעשו עול במשפט במדה‬a) ‫במשקל ובמשורה‬ ‫לו מאזני צדק אבני צדק איפת צדק והין‬

MOSHE KLINE

337

‫צדק יהיה לכם‬ ‫( אני יהוה אלהיכם אשר הוצאתי‬b) ‫אתכם מארץ מצרים‬ ‫לז ושמרתם את כל חקתי ואת כל‬ ‫משפטי ועשיתם אתם‬ ELa shall not eat anything with its blood. You shall not practice divination or soothsaying. 27You shall not round off the side-growth on your head, or destroy the sidegrowth of your beard. 28You shall not make gashes in your flesh for the dead, or incise any marks on yourselves Elb (a) 29Do not degrade your daughter and make her a harlot, lest the land fall into harlotry and the land be filled with depravity. (b) 30You shall keep My sabbaths and venerate My sanctuary 26You

Elc not turn to ghosts and do not inquire of familiar spirits, to be defiled by them 31Do

Era (a) 32You shall rise before the aged and show deference to the old; (b) you shall fear your God

Erb a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him. 34The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt Erc (a) 35You shall not falsify measures of length, weight, or capacity. 36You shall have an honest balance, honest weights, an honest ephah, and an honest hin. (b) I the Lord am your God who freed you from the land of Egypt. 37 You shall faithfully observe all My laws and all My rules 33When

There are three references to God in pair E, in ELb, ERa and ERc. The symmetrical distribution of these three subunits creates a mirror image of the pericopes that do not mention God, ELa, ELc and ERb. This symmetrical distribution is reinforced by the repetition of the verbs

338

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

associated with God-oriented commands in ELb: ‫“( שמר‬keep, observe”), appears in ERc and ELb; ‫“( ירא‬fear, venerate”), appears in ERa and ELb. Only these two verbs have the divinity or His “possessions” as their objects in all of E. There are other common strands running through the three subunits in which God is mentioned. All three God-related subunits have two distinct parts, marked (a) and (b). In all three, the first part, (a), contains no mention of God; only the second part, (b), does, as in the units of A. Unlike pair A, in these three subunits there are no semantic links between the parts that refer to God and the parts that do not. Given that the parts referring to God are all at the ends of the units, they have the appearance of accretions to the text. However, since we have already seen signs that references to God are part of a larger plan, we should ask ourselves why they have been arranged in E to give an impression that they are either an afterthought or superfluous. The answer to our question can be found by positing that the author wishes us to see God as, in some way, unnecessary, or disconnected. The fact that the God-related material in pair E is unrelated to the not God-related material is consistent with our reading of the structure of the pairs. In our analysis of the common structures of the pairs, we characterized pair E as having fully separated structural elements. Similarly, it contains independent semantic elements: the God-related and the not God-related elements. This stands in opposition to the place of God-related material in the units of pair A, in which, as we saw, the God-related is inseparable from the not God-related. Just as the structures of the pairs indicated a process of separation, so too does the arrangement of God-related material.

TWO STRATA We earlier considered the possibility that the distribution of God-oriented material throughout the five pairs might indicate a stratification in which the “not God-oriented” is the primary stratum and the God-oriented is the secondary stratum. What we have seen in pair E would seem to verify this notion. Only half of the six pericopes of E contain God-oriented material. All of the three pericopes which contain God-oriented material begin with the not God-oriented. Most significantly, there is no apparent connection between the two types of material. So it would seem that we are justified in seeing the “not God” as the primary stratum. This distinction is important for understanding the function of the God-related material and the process it creates. If the primary stratum is “not God”, then the secondary “God”

MOSHE KLINE

339

stratum has been superimposed upon the “not God” in order to create a compound image. This textual overlay makes it possible to distinguish the changing role of the “God related” against the constant background of the “not God”. We will return to this discussion after examining God’s appearances in B and D.

PAIR D: REFERENCES TO GOD ARE PARTIALLY SUPERFLUOUS Pair D

DL ‫(ה וכי תזבחו זבח שלמים ליהוה‬a) ‫לרצנכם תזבחהו‬ ‫ו ביום זבחכם יאכל וממחרת‬ ‫והנותר עד יום השלישי באש ישרף‬ ‫ז ואם האכל יאכל ביום השלישי פגול‬ ‫הוא לא ירצה‬ ‫ח ואכליו עונו ישא כי את קדש יהוה‬ ‫חלל ונכרתה הנפש ההוא מעמיה‬ ‫(ט ובקצרכם את קציר ארצכם‬b) ‫לא תכלה פאת שדך לקצר ולקט קצירך‬ ‫לא תלקט‬ ‫י וכרמך לא תעולל ופרט כרמך לא‬ ‫תלקט‬ ‫לעני ולגר תעזב אתם‬ (a) 5When you sacrifice an offering of well-being to the Lord, sacrifice it so that it may be accepted on your behalf. 6It shall be eaten on the day you sacrifice it, or on the day following; but what is left by the third day must be consumed in fire. 7If it should be eaten on the third day, it is an offensive thing, it will not be acceptable. 8And he who eats of it shall bear his guilt, for he has profaned what is sacred to the Lord; that person shall be cut off from his kin. (b) 9When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap all the way to the edges of your field, or

DR ‫( יז לא תשנא את אחיך בלבבך‬a) ‫הוכח תוכיח את עמיתך ולא תשא עליו‬ ‫חטא‬ ‫יח לא תקם ולא תטר את בני עמך‬ ‫ואהבת לרעך כמוך‬ ‫אני יהוה‬ ‫(יט את חקתי תשמרו‬b)

(a) 17You shall not hate your brother in your heart. Reprove your fellow but incur no guilt because of him. 18You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countrymen. Love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord. (b) 19You shall observe My laws.

340

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

gather the gleanings of your harvest. shall not pick your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen fruit of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger 10You

DL(a) and DR(b) refer to God. DR(b), ‫“( את חקתי תשמרו‬You shall observe My laws”), is apparently superfluous, because it comes after the closing formula, ‫“( אני יהוה‬I am the Lord”). Therefore, half the references to God in pair D are effectively gratuitous, justifying its place between C and E.

PAIR B: THE CONNECTION WITH GOD IS NECESSARY BY IMPLICATION Pair B

BL ‫( ג איש אמו ואביו תיראו‬a) ‫(ואת שבתתי תשמרו‬b)

(a) 3You shall each revere his mother and his father, (b) and keep My sabbaths

BR ‫(יג לא תעשק את רעך ולא תגזל‬a) ‫לא תלין פעלת שכיר אתך עד בקר‬ ‫יד לא תקלל חרש ולפני עור לא תתן‬ ‫מכשל‬ ‫(ויראת מאלהיך‬b) (a) 13You shall not defraud your neighbor. You shall not commit robbery. The wages of a laborer shall not remain with you until morning. 14You shall not insult the deaf, or place a stumbling block before the blind. (b) You shall fear your God

In contrast with pair A, Pair B does not contain directly stated divine reasons. However, the juxtaposition of the God-oriented and not God-oriented may imply a causal connection. ‫“( ויראת מאלהיך‬You shall fear your God”), in BR(b) is generally understood as the reason to obey the previous laws, although there is no linguistic connection to BR(a) that demands this understanding. Similarly, the fear/reverence of parents in BL may lead to Sabbath observance. However it is also possible to read, ‫איש‬ ‫“( אמו ואביו תיראו‬You shall each revere his mother and his father”), and ‫ואת‬ ‫“( שבתתי תשמרו‬and keep My Sabbaths”), as two independent clauses. We

MOSHE KLINE

341

can conclude that the God-oriented material in pair A is more closely connected to the not God-oriented in A than the God-oriented in B is to the not God in B. Therefore, pair B does belong between A and C. In the following table, I have added a new column summarizing the relevance of references to God in the pairs to the columns summarizing the structure of the pairs.

Table 7. The Divine Process Pair

Common Structure in Each Unit of Pair

A

Two causally related clauses with linguistic links between them Two segments linked by implied causal relationship; linguistic link between unitsyerah Two segments linked by similar content but without linguistic links One subject Two fully articulated unlinked elements Two Subjects Three fully articulated elements separated by pseudo-closings Three Subjects

B

C

D E

ConnectionProcess of Separation Inseparable

Relevance of References to God Definitely necessary

Possibly inseparable

Possibly necessary

Linked-separable

None (neither necessary nor unnecessary)

Partially separated

Partially unnecessary

Fully separated

Unnecessary

THE CONCEPTUAL PROCESS We can now conclude that the structural process of separation that appears in the pairs has a semantic correlative associated with God. Just as the order of the five pairs indicates a progression from inseparable subunits to fully separated subunits, the references to God in the units lead to a parallel progression. From pair to pair God is less and less connected to the “not God”, until pair E, in which He is completely disconnected from the underlying not God-oriented text.

342

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

In addition to identifying the rule for references to God in the units of Leviticus 19, we have also identified the underlying mechanism by means of which the author has implemented the rule. The mechanism is based on the stratification into a primary “not-God” stratum and a secondary “God” stratum. The primary “not God” stratum is the equivalent of a fixed point against which the motion of the secondary “God” stratum can be measured. The “not God” has been organized in a manner that makes God’s changing roles visible.

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE PAIRS We have now completed the demonstration that Leviticus 19 contains five structural pairs. In order to grasp the full significance of what we have found, let us review the earlier steps of our analysis. The discovery of the pairs was predicated upon the previous discovery of the parallel columns. We found that the two columns are structurally identical and that each column has an independent theme, similar to Milgrom’s “duties”. The contents of each column are ordered; column L is ordered from good to bad and column R from bad to good. Taken together, the columns create an inverted parallel. These characteristics of the columns demonstrated that Leviticus 19 is a complex literary creation and not simply a collection of laws. Having determined that these two columns were parts of a literary composition, we faced the challenge of learning how to read that composition. The fact that the columns were structural parallels led us to examine them in parallel. We have seen that reading the columns in parallel leads to a redefining of the underlying structure. Now we can say that the structure consists of five well-ordered pairs. Our situation has become a bit similar to that of the physicists examining the nature of light who must admit that it is apparently both a particle and wave energy. While this is intuitively impossible, it is the only way to explain the appearances. Our structure can be described both as two columns, which are inverted parallels, and as five hierarchically ordered pairs. The “intuitively impossible”, or at least “unlikely”, element in our description is that the columns and pairs seem to reflect two independent principles of organization. It is as if the columns were organized as inverted parallels according to principles of good and evil and the “duties” by one hand, while the pairs were organized as direct parallels by rules of complexity and “God - not God”, by another hand. The problem is that both the

MOSHE KLINE

343

two-column description and the five-pair description contain exactly the same elements of text. The challenge of reading the composition has grown exponentially with the discovery of the pairs.

THE SOLUTION The solution to our “particle/wave” conundrum is that the document containing the columns and pairs was planned as a true table. Each of the ten units represents the intersection of two lines of thought, the vertical and the horizontal. In order to understand this concept, we must make a small change in nomenclature. We will rename the pairs “rows”. We are looking at a literary table consisting of two columns and five rows.

A B C D E

L AL BL CL DL EL

R AR BR CR DR ER

Each unit is a compound consisting of two components, which are represented by the two letters defining the unit. For example, unit AL contains the “A-ness” of row (pair) A, i.e. “inseparable” and the “L-ness” of column L, i.e. “private”. Row A has a certain character or rule, and so does column L. Unit AL represents the intersection of these two lines of thought. This view implies that the author began with the framework defined by the concepts that give definition to the columns, L and R, and the rows, A–E. Each unit was then constructed in such a manner as to reflect the two planning lines that intersect in it. The resultant composition can be described as “tabular” or “woven.” The discovery of a table within Leviticus 19 may raise more questions than it answers. While we can now point to the plan that required the combination of diverse laws in the chapter, we must begin to deal with the meaning of the resultant composition. How are we to read a tabular composition? How does it compare with a linear text? Why did the author choose this format? Are there similar compositions within the Torah? If so, how widespread is the phenomenon? In a previous article, I have demonstrated that the book of Leviticus consists of twenty-two literary

344

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

tables, which integrate into two large “tables of tables.”17 In the next section we will investigate the connection between Leviticus 19 and what may be the source of the literary tables, the Exodus 20 Decalogue.

4. THE DECALOGUE AND LEVITICUS 19 The Ten Commandments are probably the most famous bit of legislation in the world. Modern scholars are not sure, however, where exactly the Ten Commandments are, nor what they really mean.18 …if chap. 19 had the Decalogue in mind, why was it exemplified with such rare, ambiguous cases? Would anyone who heard or read this chapter have thought of these allusions without looking for them in advance?19

INTRODUCTION In this section, I will demonstrate that Leviticus 19 was modeled after the Exodus 20 Decalogue. The reason that others have explored the relationship between the Decalogue and Leviticus 19 is that Leviticus 19 contains word for word fragments of some components of the Decalogue, as well as some less literal allusions. Milgrom lists no less than six different “attempts to find the Decalogue in this chapter…both ancient and modern”.20 While the number of near repetitions has caused Schwartz to pose at least a common source, there is still no satisfying explanation for the parallels.21 My approach to this issue differs from the approach of my predecessors. I will demonstrate a connection between the structure of Leviticus 19 and that of the Decalogue. The five-pair tabular structure that we have described in the first three sections of this investigation is itself a decalogue composed of two five-part tablets (columns). I will examine the 17 Moshe Kline, “The Literary Structure of Leviticus”, The Biblical Historian, Journal of the Biblical Colloquium West, vol.2, number1 (2005), pp. 12–29; http://chaver.com/Torah-New/English/Articles/The Literary Structure of Leviticus (TBH).pdf 18 James L. Kugel, How To read The Bible (New York, NY: Free Press, 2007), p. 250. 19 Milgrom, p. 1600. 20 Ibid. 21 Schwartz, pp. 372–377.

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345

similarities between this decalogue and the Decalogue in Exodus 20 and conclude that a five-pair arrangement of this Decalogue served both as a structural model and a conceptual plan for Leviticus 19. After I demonstrate the formal relationship between the two ten-part structures, I will offer a hypothetical, literary, explanation for the similarity between them.

WHICH DIVISION INTO TEN The Torah says that the Decalogue contains ten Words (‫ )דברים‬but does not indicate how to divide the text into ten components. Different traditions have developed regarding this division. None of them base themselves on persuasive literary evidence. I will show that the division in the Masoretic Text (MT), which appears in the Torah scrolls read in synagogues, should be preferred because it leads to a reading that integrates all ten Words in a coherent document. The document itself consists of five consecutive pairs of Words organized hierarchically, from the first pair, which focuses on God, to the last pair, which is limited to subjective human experience, coveting. Once this internal structure is recognized, it leads to seeing a new arrangement of the Words as they might have been arranged on the two stone tablets. They should be seen as written in pairs across the two tablets, the first Word on one and the second Word on the other, the third on the first, etc. Thus one tablet contains the “odd” Words and the other the “evens.” This arrangement may be the literal meaning of the otherwise difficult verse in Exod 32:15, ‫ מזה ומזה‬,‫לחת כתבים משני עבריהם‬ ‫הם כתבים‬, (“(the writing was) written across both tablets; (alternately,) on one and (then) the other, were they written”).

The Sinaitic Decalogue According to Exod 32:15 AL ‫באנכי יהוה אלהיך אשר הוצאתיך מארץ מצרים‬I ‫מבית עבדים‬ ‫ לא יהיה לך אלהים אחרים על פני‬II ‫ גלא תעשה לך פסל וכל תמונה‬III ‫אשר בשמים ממעל‬ ‫ואשר בארץ מתחת‬ ‫ואשר במים מתחת לארץ‬ ‫דלא תשתחוה להם ולא תעבדם‬IV ‫כי אנכי יהוה אלהיך אל קנא פקד עון אבת על‬V

AR ‫ולא תשא את שם יהוה‬ ‫אלהיך לשוא כי לא ינקה‬ ‫יהוה את אשר ישא את שמו‬ ‫לשוא‬

346

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES ‫בנים על שלשים ועל רבעים לשנאי הועשה חסד‬ ‫לאלפים לאהבי ולשמרי מצותי‬ BL ‫זזכור את יום השבת לקדשו‬I ‫ חששת ימים תעבד ועשית כל מלאכתך טויום‬II ‫השביעי שבת ליהוה אלהיך‬

‫ לא תעשה כל מלאכה אתה ובנך ובתך עבדך‬III ‫ואמתך ובהמתך וגרך אשר בשעריך‬ ‫ יכי ששת ימים עשה יהוה את השמים ואת‬IV ‫הארץ את הים ואת כל אשר בם וינח ביום השביעי‬ ‫ על כן ברך יהוה את יום השבת ויקדשהו‬V CL ‫יבלא תרצח‬ DL ‫לא תגנב‬ AL I. 2I the Lord am your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, the house of bondage: II. 3You shall have no other gods besides Me. III. 4You shall not make for yourself a sculptured image, or any likeness of what is in the heavens above, or on the earth below, or in the waters under the earth. IV. 5You shall not bow down to them or serve them. V. For I the Lord your God am an impassioned God, visiting the guilt of the parents upon the children, upon the third and upon the fourth generations of those who reject Me, 6but showing kindness to the thousandth generation of those who love Me and keep My commandments.

BR ‫יאכבד את אביך ואת אמך‬ ‫למען יארכון ימיך על‬ ‫האדמה אשר יהוה אלהיך‬ ‫נתן לך‬

CR

‫לא תנאף‬ DR ‫לא תענה ברעך עד שקר‬ AR shall not swear falsely by the name of the Lord your God; for the Lord will not clear one who swears falsely by His name.

7You

MOSHE KLINE BL I. 8Remember the sabbath day and keep it holy.

347

BR your father and your mother, that you may lengthen your days on the 9 II. Six days you shall labor and do all land that the Lord your your work, 10but the seventh day is a God is assigning to you. sabbath of the Lord your God: III. you shall not do any work you, your son or daughter, your male or female slave, or your cattle, or the stranger who is within your settlements. IV. 11For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth and sea, and all that is in them, and He rested on the seventh day; V. therefore the Lord blessed the sabbath day and hallowed it. CR CL 13You shall not murder. You shall not commit adultery. DL DR You shall not steal. You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. ER EL 14You shall not covet your neighbors house You shall not covet your neighbors wife, or his male or female slave, or his ox or his ass, or anything that is your neighbors. 12Honor

FIVE PAIRS OF WORDS The above arrangement may explain why two Words begin “You shall not covet”. The apparent redundancy hints to the reader to investigate the other Words as pairs. While no other pair contains as obvious a link as EL and ER, two pairs, A and B, do contain linguistic and formal links while two others, C and D, contain content links. AL and AR contain acts that affect “the Lord your God”. BL and BR, the only two positive commandments, contain reasons that relate to God, as well as common references to the

348

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

parent/child relationship and time. CL and CR together encompass the lifecycle, from propagation to death. They forbid acts that begin and end human life. That leaves DL and DR. Both of them speak of dishonesty. Additional evidence of the validity of the MT division appears in Words AL and BL. AL has a highly symmetrical five-part structure, marked I–V. The envelope of the structure is defined by the inclusio of ‫אנכי יהוה‬ ‫“( אלהיך‬I the lord your God”), at the beginnings of elements I and V. The symmetry is based on three concentrically ordered triads. The first is chronologically ordered: I, past; II–IV, present; V, future. The second triad spans II–IV and is based on the grammatical persons which are the indirect object: II, first; III, second; IV, third. The third triad is found within III and is spatial: heaven above, earth, water under the earth. Only the MT division maintains the brilliant symmetry of this Word and its inclusio. Word BL, which also contains a five-part symmetric structure, can be seen as further evidence to the fact that AL is an authored unit. Taken together, the content pairs and the internal structure of AL are sufficient evidence to justify the interpretation of Ex.32:15: the pairs were written across the two tablets, alternately, on one and then the other.

THE DECALOGUE PAIRS IN LEVITICUS 19 Leviticus 19 contains literal fragments of the Decalogue as well as less clear references to it, as indicated in the various attempts to identify the Decalogue within Leviticus 19. However, the confused order of these fragments, combined with the veiled character of the references, has prevented critics from agreeing as to the nature of the connection between the two texts. The evidence vis-à-vis the common structure of the two texts makes it possible to view the connection from a new perspective. This is a significant advance, because we are no longer limited to comparing individual laws in Leviticus 19 with their parallels in the Decalogue. We can also compare structural elements. We will see now that the author of Leviticus 19 read the Decalogue according to our five-pair arrangement and incorporated its first four pairs into Leviticus 19.

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Pairs A AL ‫אוידבר יהוה אל משה לאמר בדבר‬ Leviticus ‫אל כל עדת בני ישראל ואמרת‬ 19 ‫אלהם קדשים תהיו כי קדוש אני‬ ‫יהוה אלהיכם‬ AL ‫ כי אנכי‬... ‫באנכי יהוה אלהיך‬ ‫יהוה אלהיך אל קנא פקד עון‬ Exodus ‫אבת על בנים על שלשים ועל‬ 20 ‫רבעים לשנאי הועשה חסד‬ ‫לאלפים לאהבי ולשמרי מצותי‬ AL 1The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: 2Speak to the whole Leviticus Israelite community and say to 19 them: You shall be holy, for I, the Lord your God, am holy. AL the Lord am your God …For I the Lord your God am an impassioned God

2I

Exodus 20

AR ‫יאלא תגנבו ולא תכחשו ולא‬ ‫תשקרו איש בעמיתו‬ ‫יב ולא תשבעו בשמי לשקר‬ ‫וחללת את שם אלהיך‬ AR ‫ולא תשא את שם יהוה אלהיך‬ ‫לשוא כי לא ינקה יהוה את אשר‬ ‫ישא את שמו לשוא‬ AR shall not steal; you shall not deal deceitfully or falsely with one another. 12You shall not swear falsely by My name, profaning the name of your God AR 7You shall not swear falsely by the name of the Lord your God; for the Lord will not clear one who swears falsely by His name. 11You

Pair A in the Lev structure precisely corresponds to pair A in the Decalogue. In the first element, L, God speaks about Himself, while the second, R, speaks of His name. The common subject of both pairs is God, His substance (L) and His name (R). Pair A in Lev also contains clear references to pair D in the Dec, stealing and lying testimony. ‫לא תגנבו ולא‬ ‫“( תכחשו ולא תשקרו איש בעמיתו‬You shall not steal; you shall not deal deceitfully or falsely with one another”) is virtually identical to ‫ לא‬,‫לא תגנוב‬ ‫“( תענה ברעך עד שקר‬You shall not steal, You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor”). So we have references to two Decalogue pairs in the first Leviticus 19 pair, one in place, parallel to the first Decalogue pair, and one out of place, parallel to the fourth Decalogue pair. The parallel with the Decalogue pair A is especially impressive because it contains a one-

350

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

to-one correspondence between both AL and AR. The parallel between Lev pair A and Decalogue pair D is more distant because both DL and DR of the Decalogue appear in AR of Lev. We will see that even this out-of-place parallel is part of a systematic plan.

Pairs B Leviticus 19:3, 13 Decalogus

Leviticus 19:3, 13

Decalogue

BL ‫ג איש אמו ואביו תיראו ואת‬ ‫שבתתי תשמרו‬ BL ...‫זזכור את יום השבת לקדשו‬ BL shall each revere his mother and his father, and keep My Sabbaths BL 8Remember the sabbath day and keep it holy… 3You

BR ...‫יג לא תעשק את רעך ולא תגזל‬ BR ‫יאכבד את אביך ואת אמך למען‬ ‫יארכון ימיך על האדמה אשר‬ ‫יהוה אלהיך נתן לך‬ BR 13You shall not defraud your neighbor…. BR your father and your mother, that you may lengthen your days on the land that the Lord your God is assigning to you. 12Honor

Leviticus 19 pair B, like Lev pair A, contains obvious literal references to the parallel Decalogue pair. ‫“( איש אמו ואביו תיראו‬You shall each revere his mother and his father (Lev–BL) reflects ‫“( כבד את אביך ואת אמך‬Honor your father and your mother”) (Dec–BR), and ‫“( ואת שבתתי תשמרו‬keep My Sabbaths”) (Lev–BL) reflects ‫“( זכור את יום השבת‬Remember the Sabbath day”)(Dec–BL). However, in this case there is not a one-to-one correspondence because both Decalogue Words appear in Lev–BL, much as we saw both Decalogue D Words in Lev AR. We have now identified three of the Decalogue pairs in Leviticus 19, so there can be no doubt that the author of Leviticus 19 was working with the five-pair arrangement of the Decalogue according to the MT division.

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351

Pairs C Leviticus 19 Decalogue

Leviticus 19:4, 15-16

Decalogue

CR CL ‫דאל תפנו אל‬ ‫טולא תעשו עול במשפט לא תשא פני דל‬ ‫ולא תהדר פני גדול בצדק תשפט עמיתך‬ ‫האלילים ואלהי‬ ‫מסכה לא תעשו‬ ‫טזלא תלך רכיל בעמיך לא תעמד על דם‬ ‫לכם‬ ‫רעך‬ CR CL ‫לא תנאף‬ ‫יבלא תרצח‬ CL CR 4Do not turn to 15You shall not render an unfair decision: do not favor the poor or idols or make molten gods for show deference to the rich; judge your yourselves neighbor fairly. 16Do not deal basely with your countrymen. Do not profit by the blood of your fellow CR CL 13You shall not You shall not commit adultery. murder.

All six of the “ancient and modern” attempts to find the Decalogue in Leviticus 19 quoted by Milgrom connect ‫“( לא תעמד על דם רעך‬Do not profit by the blood of your fellow”) with ‫“( לא תרצח‬You shall not murder”). The prophet Ezekiel is almost certainly referring to Lev 19:16 ‫לא‬ ‫ תלך רכיל בעמיך לא תעמד על דם רעך‬in Ezek 22:9 ‫אנשי רכיל היו בך למען‬ ‫“( שפך דם‬In thee have been talebearers to shed blood”) (Old JPS), equating murder with “talebearing” (“dealing basely” in NJPS). However, regardless of the precise meaning of the obscure phrase ‫ תעמד על דם‬and its connection with talebearing, it can only refer to a figurative murder. Our comparative reading of the two structures makes it possible to demonstrate that the author of Leviticus 19 created the “figurative” murder in order to match a figurative adultery. The Decalogue’s ‫“( לא תנאף‬You shall not commit adultery”), is matched in Leviticus 19 CL by ‫אל תפנו אל האלילים ואלהי מסכה לא תעשו‬ ‫“( לכם‬Do not turn to idols or make molten gods for yourselves”). While the figurative usage of ‫( זנות‬prostitution) meaning “idolatry” is widespread, ‫נאוף‬, adultery, with this meaning appears together with the figurative use of “prostitution” in Jer 3:9. ‫והיה מקל זנותה ותחנף את הארץ ותנאף את האבן‬ ‫“( ואת העץ‬and it came to pass through the lightness of her harlotry, that the

352

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

land was polluted, and she committed adultery with stones and with stocks”). It is clear now that the author of Leviticus 19 has created figurative parallels to both Words of pair C. The figuration of the parallel Decalogue Words is accompanied by a reversal of their placement. Lev CL links to Decalogue CR and Lev CR links to Decalogue CL. We have now seen that each of the first four Decalogue pairs has a parallel in Leviticus 19. Decalogue pair E has no parallel in Leviticus 19. The following table summarizes what we have learned about the links between the Decalogue pairs and Leviticus 19.

THE LINKS CREATE A FIVE-STEP PROCESS Table 8. The Arrangement of Decalogue Pair References in Lev 19 1 Dec. pair

3 Lev L contains

4 Lev R contains

A

2 Appears in Lev pair A

L

R

B

B

L+R

C

C

R

D

A

E

-

-

5 Type of link to Lev Literal

Literal L

Figurative

R+L

Literal

-

None

6 Summary of Decalogue pair links in Leviticus 19 Complete one-to-one in row correspondence, literal link In-row literal link, one Word in wrong column In-row figurative link, both Words in wrong columns Literal link in wrong row, one Word in wrong column No link

The above table summarizes the references to each Decalogue pair in Leviticus 19. Column 1 lists the Decalogue pairs and column 2 indicates in which Lev pair the Decalogue pair appears. Columns 3 and 4 indicate which Word of the Decalogue pair appears in which column of Leviticus 19. Column 5 describes what type of link exists between the pairs. Column 6 summarizes the characteristics of each link.

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353

Each Decalogue pair has been linked to Leviticus 19 in a unique way. The extremes are the most obvious. Decalogue pair A has a one-to-one literal link with Leviticus 19 pair A, while Decalogue pair E has no link whatsoever with Leviticus 19. The three intermediate Decalogue pairs are each linked to Leviticus 19 to a different degree. Decalogue pair B is almost like A in that it appears with literal references to it in the parallel Lev pair, but one of its elements, R, is in the wrong column. Decalogue pair C is less closely connected to its parallel pair in Leviticus 19 than B because both of its elements are in the wrong columns. In addition, the references to it in Leviticus 19 are not literal, but figurative. Finally, Decalogue pair D is totally out of place, appearing in Lev pair A. We can see from the table that the author of Leviticus 19 has manipulated the arrangement of the Decalogue pairs in order to create a sequence that is similar to the process of separation we identified in section three as “the progression of the pairs.” The following table will clarify this point.

Table 9. The Progression of Lev 19 Pairs and Decalogue Pairs From: The Progression of the Pairs From: The Arrangement in Section Three of Decalogue Pair References in Leviticus 19 Pair Common Structure Connection/ Summary of appearance in Each Unit of Process of of Decalogue pair in Pair Separation Leviticus 19 A Two causally Inseparable Complete one-to-one in related clauses with row correspondence, linguistic links literal link between them B Two segments Equivocally In-row literal link, one linked by implied Inseparable Word in wrong column causal relationship, with linguistic link between units C Two segments Linked-Separable In-row figurative link, linked by similar both Words in wrong content but without column linguistic links D Two fully Partially Literal link in wrong

354

E

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES articulated unlinked elements Three fully articulated elements separated by pseudo-closings

separated Fully separated

row, one Word in wrong column No link

The above table is composed of sections of two previous tables, “the progression of the pairs” from section three of this paper and the arrangement of the Decalogue pair references in this section. The comparison demonstrates that the two progressions are identical because the central column, which was originally created to describe the process of separation in the pairs of Leviticus 19, also precisely describes the procession of the links to the Decalogue. The comparison also justifies our decision to see a non-literal link between the C pairs, because the common structure of pair C in Leviticus 19, as noted above, lacks the linguistic links that are found in pairs A and B. This point emphasizes just how much attention the author gave to engineering the parallels with the Decalogue. The result is the extraordinarily ordered set of links that demonstrates the same organizing principle as the pairs of Leviticus 19. We have now seen three applications of a single five-step process: 1) the formal structure of the pairs in Leviticus 19; 2) references to God within these pairs; 3) references to the pairs of Words in the Decalogue. A close reading of the Decalogue, as arranged above, will reveal the same progression from pair to pair, as well as the same definitions for its columns, as we suggested for the columns of Leviticus 19. While this is not the place for a close reading of the Decalogue, nevertheless, we cannot avoid speculating why the author of Leviticus 19 was so intent on connecting it with the Decalogue.

HYPOTHETICAL EXPLANATION We will now consider a hypothesis that explains why Leviticus 19 contains the formal structures we have found in it and the links to the Decalogue. The hypothesis is based on an analogical reading of Leviticus, which can be seen as a development of the approach pioneered by Mary Douglas. I have proposed elsewhere that Leviticus can be read as containing three

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concentric rings of material.22 Each ring emulates an aspect of the Tabernacle; the outer ring the courtyard, the middle ring the Holy Place and the inner ring the Holy of Holies. According to this reading, Leviticus 19 is at the focus of the three rings. We can interpret its position within the ring of the Holy of Holies to imply that it represents the Ark of the Covenant. This would explain in part the appearance of Decalogue elements within the chapter, as well as the sixteen first-person divine speeches. The Ark of the Covenant served as the receptacle for the stone tablets as well as the source of divine communication between the cherubs. The solution that I propose is consistent with the view mentioned in the Talmud that the Ark contained the fragments of the first set of tablets as well as the intact second set.23 The hypothesis I propose is that the fragmented parallels to the Decalogue in Leviticus 19 are to be seen as the fragments of the first tablets, while the five-pair structure embedded in the chapter should be seen as parallel to the second tablets. Part of the function of the embedded structure might be to offer an exegesis of the Decalogue. The theory I propose has the added advantage of explaining what seems to be a great oversight in rabbinic exegesis of the Decalogue. Rabbinic commentaries, and earlier Philo, divide the Decalogue into ten parts differently than the MT. This is striking because the Decalogue is divided according to the MT in every Torah scroll in every synagogue. In other words, the rabbinic exegetical tradition is in conflict with the received text of the Torah. According to the theory I will present, it is quite possible that the rabbis suppressed the MT reading, and consequently, the five-pair reading of Leviticus 19. If so, their reason could be based on the reported difference between the two different sets of stone tablets. Moses reportedly brought down the first set of tablets in his hands. Had he entered the camp with them, instead of shattering them, everyone would have been able to see the writing on them. The second tablets were different, as described in Deut 10:1–5. ‫אבעת ההוא אמר יהוה אלי פסל לך שני לוחת אבנים כראשנים ועלה‬ ‫ בואכתב על הלחת את הדברים אשר היו‬:‫אלי ההרה ועשית לך ארון עץ‬ ‫ גואעש ארון עצי שטים‬:‫על הלחת הראשנים אשר שברת ושמתם בארון‬ ‫ דויכתב‬:‫ואפסל שני לחת אבנים כראשנים ואעל ההרה ושני הלחת בידי‬ ‫על הלחת כמכתב הראשון את עשרת הדברים אשר דבר יהוה אליכם‬ 22 23

See note 17 TB, BB, 14b

356

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES ‫ הואפן וארד מן ההר ואשם‬:‫בהר מתוך האש ביום הקהל ויתנם יהוה אלי‬ :‫את הלחת בארון אשר עשיתי ויהיו שם כאשר צוני יהוה‬ 1Thereupon

the Lord said to me, "Carve out two tablets of stone like the first, and come up to Me on the mountain; and make an ark of wood. 2I will inscribe on the tablets the commandments that were on the first tablets that you smashed, and you shall deposit them in the ark. 3I made an ark of acacia wood and carved out two tablets of stone like the first; I took the two tablets with me and went up the mountain. 4The Lord inscribed on the tablets the same text as on the first, the Ten Commandments that He addressed to you on the mountain out of the fire on the day of the Assembly; and the Lord gave them to me. 5Then I left and went down from the mountain, and I deposited the tablets in the ark that I had made, where they still are, as the Lord had commanded me.

The second tablets were to be placed in the box as soon as Moses descended from Mt. Sinai. No one was to see the writing on the tablets other than Moses. We can then say that the first tablets were exoteric, available to all, while the second tablets were esoteric, available only to Moses. We can learn from this that one set of tablets was exoteric and shattered, and the other was esoteric and whole. We have found a truly esoteric five-paired text in Leviticus 19 as well as fragments of the Decalogue according to the MT divisions. The MT provides a five-paired reading that replicates the five-step process we uncovered in Leviticus 19. I suspect that the process itself is in some way connected with the esoteric knowledge hidden in the Ark and suppressed by following generations. The Mishnah hints that the five-pair MT arrangement was considered esoteric. The first chapter of Mesechet Avot traces the esoteric (oral) tradition from Moses to the fathers of the reputed author of the Mishnah, R’ Yehudah Hanasi. This chapter contains a five-pair structure, which has all the signs of an esoteric text. A close reading of this structure reveals that it was composed as a parallel to the five-pair MT-divided Decalogue and contains multiple linguistic and conceptual links to it. This document can be read as R’ Yehudah Hanasi’s commentary on the esoteric Decalogue. When read together with the five-pair structure of Leviticus 19, it opens a new door to exegesis. Deo volente, I will present this material in the not too distant future.

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5. ANALYSIS AND EXEGESIS OF LEVITICUS 19:19B–25, WENHAM’S UNIT [9] INTRODUCTION At this point, we are in a position similar to the mechanic who has rebuilt a motor only to find that there are a handful of parts left over. To continue this metaphor, our motor is up and running, showing no need whatsoever for the remaining pieces, verses 19b–25, unit [9]. With the engine purring so beautifully, there is an enormous temptation to chuck the left over nuts and bolts with a response like “the editor was nodding.” Unfortunately, all the evidence we have gathered demonstrates that the editor was not nodding. In fact, there is no reason to posit the existence of an editor or redactor at all. The alignment of all the fine details of the five-pair, two-column structure indicates that we are reading an authored composition. No committee or series of editors could have constructed this chapter. It is just too coherent, given all its complexity. Therefore, unless we can prove otherwise, we will have to deal with unit [9] as part of the planned document. Close examination will have to show us what to do with the remaining nuts and bolts.

Table 10.The Three-Part Structure of Unit [9] La ‫בהמתך לא תרביע כלאים‬

Ma ‫כ ואיש כי ישכב את אשה‬ ‫והוא שפחה שכבת זרע‬ ‫והפדה לא נחרפת לאיש‬ ‫נפדתה או חפשה לא נתן‬ ‫בקרת תהיה לא יומתו לה‬ ‫כי לא חפשה‬ Lb Mb ‫שדך לא תזרע כלאים‬ ‫כא והביא את אשמו‬ ‫ליהוה אל פתח אהל‬ ‫כב וכפר מועד איל אשם‬ ‫עליו הכהן באיל האשם‬ ‫על חטאתו לפני יהוה‬ ‫אשר חטא‬

Ra ‫כג וכי תבאו אל הארץ‬ ‫ונטעתם כל עץ מאכל‬ ‫וערלתם ערלתו את פריו‬ ‫שלש שנים יהיה לכם‬ ‫ערלים לא יאכל‬ Rb ‫כד ובשנה הרביעת יהיה‬ ‫הלולים ליהוה כל פריו‬ ‫קדש‬

358

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Lc ‫ובגד כלאים שעטנז לא‬ ‫יעלה עליך‬

La You shall not let your cattle mate with a different kind;

Lb you shall not sow your field with two kinds of seed;

Lc you shall not put on cloth from a mixture of two kinds of material.

Mc ‫ונסלח לו מחטאתו אשר‬ ‫חטא‬

Ma If a man has carnal relations with a woman who is a slave and has been designated for another man, but has not been redeemed or given her freedom, there shall be an indemnity (inquestMilgrom); they shall not, however, be put to death, since she has not been freed. Mb 21 But he must bring to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting, as his guilt offering to the Lord, a ram of guilt offering. 22 With the ram of guilt offering the priest shall make expiation for him before the Lord for the sin that he committed; Mc and the sin that he committed will be forgiven him. 20

Rc ‫כה ובשנה החמישת‬ ‫תאכלו את פריו להוסיף‬ ‫לכם תבואתו אני יהוה‬ ‫אלהיכם‬ Ra When you enter the land and plant any tree for food, you shall regard its fruit as forbidden. Three years it shall be forbidden for you, not to be eaten. 23

Rb In the fourth year all its fruit shall be set aside for jubilation before the Lord; 24

Rc and only in the fifth year may you use its fruit that its yield to you may be increased: I the Lord am your God. 25

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FRACTAL TRIADS Unit [9] is composed of three seemingly unrelated subjects: v. 19b, mixing types, vv. 20–22, intercourse with a promised slave woman, and vv. 23–25, first fruits. I have placed the three subject elements in three columns, Left, Middle, and Right in the above table. Each column is itself divided into three parts, a, b, and c. The division within column M needs some clarification. My division of M is based on three discernable stages: a) a man sins by having sexual intercourse with a betrothed slave woman; b) he repents by means of a ram offering; c) he is forgiven. The unit is thus composed of triads of two different orders, the whole three-part unit and the three, three-part columns. This makes it a fractal, a text in which the parts have the same structure as the whole. Besides the single closing formula, this tight structure is the first indication that the unit must be dealt with as a whole, rather than as an assortment of laws. We will now see that a single theme integrates the diverse parts.

REPRODUCTION Each of the three columns begins with a similar act: L, “mate”; M, “has carnal relations”; R, “plant”. Although these three actions are different, they share a kernel of similarity, much as the three elements of column L. The more closely we observe the details of the columns, the clearer the picture that appears. In La, no actual engendering takes place; it is forbidden. The next column begins with an act of intercourse, Ma. In the third column, planting is just a preliminary; the main subject is the fruit. The three columns form an ordered set. At first, in L, we are presented with potential breeding and sowing of seeds. However, since the mixtures are forbidden, they exist only as potential, seeds. This is followed by actual sowing, intercourse, in M, and finally, harvesting the first fruits of planting in R. The order is “realization” or increase, L, seeds; M, sowing; R, harvesting. This theme is emphasized in the last words before the closing formula, ‫להוסיף‬ ‫“( לכם תבואתו‬that its yield to you may be increased”).

A MIXED METAPHOR It appears that [9] is conceptually unified by means of a single metaphor, reproduction, even though it combines animals, people and plants to create the total image. The author has integrated diverse laws into a single theme, one that is inaccessible without an understanding of the structure. While we have considered, primarily, matters of formal structure in the previous

360

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

sections, we have also gathered evidence that an understanding of the structure has the potential to deepen our understanding of meanings inherent in the text. Perhaps the clearest example of the interplay between structure and meaning that we have encountered so far was the analysis of the references to God vis à vis the pairs. We found a clear structural rule behind the distribution of these references. Nevertheless, it is impossible to relegate references to God within the units to a purely technical function in the arrangement of the chapter, as opposed to the closing formula, which marks off the units. The references to God are inseparable from the meaning. The case of [9] is even more dramatic. Identifying the structure has led us to see that the text demands to be read metaphorically. It may be, that the author has inserted this apparently out-of-place unit in an otherwise magnificently coherent chapter in order to indicate that the formal structure must lead to a metaphorical interpretation of the entire chapter. In any case, we will take the opportunity regarding [9] to explore the way structural analysis can lead to metaphorical exegesis. But before we take the leap, let us be completely certain that unit [9] is a coherent element in the overall plan of Leviticus 19.

DOES [9] FIT IN? Since we have seen that the other ten units can be viewed as a table consisting of five rows and two columns, we should try to determine whether [9] fits into this tabular structure. There are arguments both pro and con. The fact that it is not a member of a pair would seem to preclude the possibility of integrating it into the tabular structure. However, there are other indications that the structure of [9] creates a good fit where it appears, between pairs D and E. Like the units of E, it contains three well defined parts. Unlike E, there is no formal division between the parts of [9]. So [9] can be seen as a stage before the fully articulated triads of E. In fact, structurally, [9] is a perfect fit between the dyads of D and the fully articulated triads of E. We can deduce from this bit of analysis that [9], as we find it, containing three separate subjects, is a coherent element of the overall plan of Leviticus 19.

UNIT [9] AND THE COLUMNS Now that we have determined that [9] belongs where it is, we have to ask ourselves how it relates to the two-column, five-row structure of the remaining units of the chapter. Could it be the exception “that comes to

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teach about the rule”? If so, which rule? I want to suggest that we view it figuratively as a clasp that holds the two columns together. In this view, columns L and R of unit [9] link into columns L and R of the larger structure while 9M bridges the columns.

Table 11 L AL BL CL DL 9L EL

9M

R AR BR CR DR 9R ER

Unit [9] can be read as the key to the chapter in much the same way that a map has a key to its symbols. The two extreme elements of [9], 9L and 9R, characterize the columns, while M indicates how to integrate them. In order to see the relationship between columns L and R in the larger structure of the chapter and 9L and 9R, we need to do two things. First, we must clarify some of the characteristics of 9L and 9R. Then we will review what we learned about the columns.

LEGAL ORDER As soon as we see that the three columns of [9] form an ordered triad according to the theme of reproduction, it becomes apparent that it contains other themes that can also be read as ordered triads. One of these is found by considering the legal format of each of the columns. All the mixtures of the first section, 9L, are strictly forbidden. On the other hand, planting fruit trees, column R, is a positive commandment, and the fruit of the fifth year is the source of the blessing of plenty. In the center, between the negative of L and the positive of 9R, falls the shadow, the gray area. Intercourse with the promised slave is neither condoned nor fully punishable. The middle column is a conceptual middle. It includes the sense of “forbidden” in its first element, 9Ma, like all of column 9L; and like column 9R it contains a positive element, the assurance of forgiveness in 9Mc.

362

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

ONE AND MANY All the verbs in 9L are in the singular while all those in 9R are in the plural. The prohibitions of 9L are addressed to an individual while the obligations of 9R are addressed to a collective. This distinction between an individual and society as a whole clarifies the introduction to Ra: “When you come into the land.” It indicates an historical perspective applicable to the group rather than an individual. Considering that 9M concerns a couple, we can see that the three elements are ordered: L) one; M) two; R) many. We should note that that the subjects of the three elements of [9] have been chosen to emphasize the numeric relationship indicated by the verb forms. The subject of 9L is separation or uniqueness, 9R stresses increase, and 9M concerns a couple.24 The emphasis on these numeric considerations will play a significant role in the exegesis of the unit. We have now seen that the three segments of [9] display three principles of organization: 1) the theme of reproduction; 2) legal order; 3) numerical order. The last two principles will help us connect [9] with the columns of the larger structure.

REVIEWING THE COLUMNS Regarding the columns, we began with Wenham’s distinction between religious duties in L and ethical duties in R. We have continued using this dyad as a matter of convenience although we have already noted that there may be a more basic dyad underlying the distinction between the columns. We considered the possibility that column L could be read as “private” duties as opposed to the “public” duties of R. This distinction is consistent with the fact that there are no interactions with people outside of the family in L, while R is based entirely on such interactions. The dyad “private-public” fits the numeric characteristic of [9]. 9L uses the singular and its content deals with individualization; 9R uses the plural and is concerned with “increase.” Other characteristics of the columns of the table are also similar to the columns of [9]. We noted that both of our original columns have “direction”, indicated by an inner process. Column L is directed toward the negative and R toward the positive. These tendencies are consistent with what we found in [9]; 9L is negative and 9R is positive. There is another 24 The significance of the distinction between “one” and “many” cannot be overestimated. It is built into the biblical metaphysic by means of the creation narrative, distinguishing between the first three days and the next three.

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correlation between [9] and a characteristic of the larger structure, which we have not yet touched on. Each “unmixable” element of 9L points to a class of objects. 9R on the other hand is concerned with a process that is not only agricultural, but is also historical, “When you enter the land.” This historical process is picked up in ERb, “you were aliens in the land of Egypt”, and in ERc “who freed you from the land of Egypt.” EL has no such references. Like 9L it is concerned with objects rather than process. It is quite clear now that unit [9] is not only a coherent part of Leviticus 19, but also provides verification for two of our conclusions concerning the structure of the chapter. First, because it fits structurally between the pairs of D and the articulated triads of E, it verifies our identification of the triads in E as planning elements. Second, because the poles of [9] fit the pattern of the columns of the larger structure, we have verification that the author saw a distinction between the columns that could be defined in terms of individual (L) and community (R).

A READING OF [9] Reading the poles of 9L and 9R as “individual and community” provides an excellent framework for understanding 9M while creating the metaphorical exegesis we mentioned earlier. The narrative of column 9M depicts the tension between the desires of an individual and the accepted social norms. The protagonist has a one-night fling with a promised slave. He cannot have serious intentions. She is both a slave and promised to another man, if she is released. The language of the text emphasizes that this is a one-off event. The word that we have been translating “betrothed”, ‫נחרפת‬, appears nowhere else in the Torah. In addition, ‫בקרת‬, (“an inquiry”) also has no parallel in the Torah. This unique event is described in unique language. There is no crime of adultery since a slave cannot actually be engaged. Still, a public hearing is held in order to make known society’s disapproval. Even though this brief affair is not a crime or a sin, properly speaking, it is also not socially acceptable. This is indicated by the parallel use of ‫ חטא‬here and in DR, ‫הוכח תוכיח את עמיתך ולא תשא עליו חטא‬, (“Reprove your fellow but incur no guilt because of him”) to point to a social rather than religious offense. If the offending individual cannot achieve retribution for his offense to society through punishment, what channels are left open to him? He must turn from his private passions, to a renewed identification with social norms. He demonstrates his identification with the common weal by presenting himself at the central social institution, the Tabernacle, with his

364

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

guilt offering in hand. A public official, the priest, accepts the offering and effects his atonement before God. After he has participated in the ritual of atonement, he is forgiven and returns to the fold. The individual of 9L and the group of 9R have made peace through the conceptual middle, 9M, and by means of this exegesis, we have bound together columns L and R. I offer the above reading of unit [9] in full knowledge that it is highly speculative. Nevertheless, I consider it to be important as an example of the goal of the type of close reading I have presented in this article. I have attempted to integrate in it the characteristics of the text revealed by our analysis. I consider this integration to be the goal of close reading.

THE PLACE OF CHAPTER 19 IN THE PLAN OF LEVITICUS Towards the end of the previous section, we considered an analogical reading of Leviticus according to which Leviticus 19 represents the Ark of the Covenant.25 Our analysis of [9] enables us to clarify this analogy. It is based on a reading that sees Leviticus arranged with three concentric rings of material around Leviticus 19. Each ring is a literary parallel to one of the three parts of the Tabernacle: the innermost, closest to Leviticus 19, the Holy of Holies; the middle ring, the Holy Place; the outer ring the courtyard. This configuration is not actually similar to the Tabernacle because it was not arranged in rings. The analogy does not fit. It order to see Leviticus as the Tabernacle, we have to consider the experience of the reader. Moreover, the reader must be viewed as analogous to the High Priest on the Day of Atonement. The experience of reading Leviticus according to its (non-linear) literary structure has two components. The first traces the path of the High Priest inwards and the second covers the same path but facing outwards. This explains the ring format. In order to understand the differences between otherwise parallel material, such as Leviticus 18 and 20, it is only necessary to consider the two different perspectives of the High Priest. The first half of his “trip” is a turning inwards to face God one-to-one. For the second half, he must do an about face and turn outwards to the waiting community. Each stage thus has an inward facing and an outward facing phase. To clarify this point let us consider chapters 18 and 20, which seem to contain unnecessary duplications of sexual prohibitions. The difference between them is that chapter 18, containing only the prohibitions, is 25

See note 17

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365

addressed to individuals who might be tempted to engage in the prohibited acts. Chapter 20, on the other hand, containing punishments, is addressed to the community, which must carry out the punishments. This distinction characterizes the two perspectives of the inward and outward paths. Chapter 19 is the turning point and contains within it one column, L, addressed to the individual facing inwards, and one, R, addressed to the outward facing individual. Unit [9], and especially 9M, would then reflect the actual turning point. It would indeed seem that the “editor” was not nodding.

SAUL AS A JUST JUDGE IN JOSEPHUS’ ANTIQUITIES OF THE JEWS MICHAEL AVIOZ BAR-ILAN UNIVERSITY 1.

INTRODUCTION

The king was regarded as “the supreme legal authority, arbiter of justice, and appellate court” in Ancient Israel, as well as in Mesopotamia.1 He also had military duties and often went to war himself.2 When we examine the nature of these roles with reference to Saul in the book of Samuel, we find that he is depicted as a military leader only, i.e., not as a judge.3 This is contrasted with the figure of David, about whom the book of Samuel explicitly states that “David administered justice and equity (‫)משפט וצדקה‬ to all his people” (2 Sam 8:15; cf. 1 Sam 30:25).4 B. M. Levinson, “The Reconceptualization of Kingship in Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic History’s Transformation of Torah,” VT 51 (2001) 511-534 (518). See also M. Weinfeld, “Judge and Officer in Ancient Israel,” IOS 7 (1977) 65–88; idem, Social Justice in Ancient Israel and in the Ancient Near East (Jerusalem: Magnes; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995); K.W. Whitelam, The Just King: Monarchical Judicial Authority in Ancient Israel (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1979). 2 T. Jacobsen, Toward the Image of Tammuz (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1970) 143-47; R. de Vaux, Ancient Israel: Its Life and Institutions (trans. J. McHugh; London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1961) 122; Whitelam, The Just King, 17-37, 194; Gina Hens-Piazza, Of Methods, Monarchs, and Meanings: A Socio-Rhetorical Approach to Exegesis (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1996) 39; P. J. King and L. E. Stager, Life in Biblical Israel (Louisville, KY: Westminster / John Knox Press, 2001) 241; A. K. Thomason, Luxury and Legitimation: Royal Collecting in Ancient Mesopotamia (Aldershot, UK: Ashgate Publishing, 2005) 63. 3 S. Abramsky, Kingdom of Saul and Kingdom of David (Hebrew; Jerusalem: Shikmona, 1977) 112; Hens-Piazza, Of Methods, 61, 76. 4 Some scholars deduced historical conclusions from the differences between 1

367

368

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

This article will explore the portrayal of Saul as a judge in Josephus’ Antiquities of the Jews. It is true that some scholars have previously analyzed Josephus’ rewriting of the Saul narratives in the Book of Samuel (Ant. 6.45378).5 However, the particular issue of justice with reference to Saul has been discussed either very briefly or altogether ignored.6 Did Josephus adopt the critical view of Saul found in the Book of Samuel, or did he moderate this view?7

2.

LOUIS FELDMAN ON THE VIRTUE OF JUSTICE IN JOSEPHUS’ REWRITING OF THE SAUL NARRATIVES

Louis Feldman adopted a scheme in analyzing biblical characters in Josephus’s rewriting.8 He tried to show that Josephus emphasizes the cardinal virtues (wisdom, courage, temperance, justice, piety) in his retelling Saul and David regarding their judicial system. See, e.g., Wilson: “[T]he reign of David also marked the appearance in Israel of the traditional ancient Near Eastern doctrine that the king is directly responsible for maintaining justice in the land and assuring all citizens equal access to the courts.” See R. R. Wilson, “Israel’s Judicial System in the Pre-Exilic Period,” JQR 74 (1983) 242. However, my analysis will concentrate on the literary aspects of the narratives. 5 Citations from Josephus are taken from C. T. Begg, Flavius Josephus – Translation and Commentary, Vol. 4: Judean Antiquities Books 5-7 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2005). I wish to thank the Ihel fund for its support in preparing this research. 6 P. Spilsbury, The Image of the Jew in Flavius Josephus’ Paraphrase of the Bible (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998) 170-75; L. H. Feldman, “Josephus’ View of Saul,” C. S. Ehrlich (ed.) Saul in Story and Tradition (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006) 21444; D. Dormeyer, “The Hellenistic Biographical History of King Saul: Josephus, A.J. 6.45-378 and 1 Samuel 9:1-31:13,” J. Sievers and G. Lembi (eds) Josephus and Jewish History in Flavian Rome and Beyond, (JSJSup 104; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2005) 147-57. See also C. T. Begg, “King Saul’s First Sin According to Josephus,” Antonianum 74 (1999) 685-96; idem, “The Anointing of Saul According to Josephus,” BBR 16 (2006) 1-24; idem, “The First Encounter Between Saul and David According to Josephus,” AUSS 44 (2006) 3-11. Even in his essay on Josephus’ rewriting of 1 Sam. 21-22, Feldman does not deal with the issue of justice with regard to Saul. See L. H. Feldman, “Josephus’ Version of the Extermination of the Priests of Nob (1 Sam. 21, 1-11; 22, 9-23),” M. Mor et al. (eds) For Uriel: Studies in the History of Israel in Antiquity Presented to Professor Uriel Rappaport, (Jerusalem: Shazar Center, 2005) 9*-21*. 7 L. H. Feldman, “Josephus’ Version of the Extermination of the Priests of Nob.” 8 L. H. Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press, 1998).

MICHAEL AVIOZ

369

of the biblical characters. When rewriting the law of the king (Deut 17), Josephus writes that the king must “always have a concern for justice (δικαιοσύνης)” (Ant. 4.223). Many Greco-Roman thinkers also regarded justice as the most important function of the king.9 Since “justice” has a broad range of connotations, let us first try to define this term according to Josephus. Justice apparently meant “a detailed knowledge of the ancient laws and traditions.”10 In the rewriting of Jehoshaphat’s narrative, Josephus writes that Jehoshaphat ordered the local judges to “render equitable decisions for all, recognizing that God sees all that is done, even in secret” (Ant. 9.3). Feldman writes about Saul: “Not only does Josephus emphasize Saul’s qualities of wisdom, courage, and temperance; he also cites his sense of justice.”11 He alludes to several paragraphs in Josephus to show that Josephus considered King Saul as pursuing justice: • According to Josephus, Saul first goes to look for his father’s asses in “the territory of his father’s tribe, and only later passes over to that of other tribes (Ant. 6.46).”12 • The giving of a gift (‫ )תשורה‬to a prophet (1 Sam 9:7) might have been viewed as bribery. Josephus therefore emphasizes that Saul and his servant sought to give the present to the prophet unwittingly, being unfamiliar with the local custom (Ant. 6.48). It is debatable whether these examples present Saul as just.13 However, even if these examples are accepted as representing justice, there remain two On justice in the works of Josephus, see L. H. Feldman, Jew and Gentile in the Ancient World: Attitudes and Interactions from Alexander to Justinian (Ewing, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996). In this monograph, Feldman also cites sources from the Greco-Roman world. See also F.W. Walbank, ‘Monarchies and Monarchic Ideas’, CAH VII.1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University; 2nd ed. 1984) 62–100. 10 S. Mason, Life of Josephus, Flavius Josephus – Translation and Commentary, Vol. 9 (Leiden: Brill, 2001) 12, n. 48. On the connection between law and justice, see Ant. 7.374, 7.384. 11 Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible, 525-26. 12 Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible, 526. 13 Spilsbury, The Image of the Jew, 170, n. 75. Regarding Saul’s search for the asses, Spilsbury claims that Feldman “overstates his case.” Moreover, Josephus’s addition that “they were in error, due to their ignorance that the prophet did not take recompense” can be viewed as elevating the status of Samuel, and not of that of Saul. See Begg, Commentary, 109, n. 175. Begg’s interpretation might be supported by the fact the Josephus omits the giving of “ten loaves, some cakes, and a jar of honey” to the prophet in 1 Kgs 14:3 (Ant. 8.266–67). The two other cases wherein 9

370

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

narratives in the book of Samuel that show the contrary. Before we discuss Josephus’ rewriting of these narratives, let us focus on the biblical narratives themselves.

3

1 SAMUEL 14 AND 1 SAMUEL 22: SAUL AS A NON-JUDGE

3.1 SAUL’S VOW AND JONATHAN’S TRIAL IN 1 SAMUEL 14 First Samuel 14 is part of the description of the war between Saul and the Philistines. During the course of the war, Saul curses anyone who will eat until evening, when triumph over the Philistines is achieved (v. 24). However, Jonathan did not hear of this vow, and ate honey (vv. 25-30). When Saul finds out that his son violated his vow, he sentences him to death, but the people save him (vv. 43-45). The Septuagint to verse 24 reflects a denunciation of Saul’s vow: “And Saul was ignorant with great ignorance in that day and he laid an oath on the people.”14 Indeed, this vow caused trouble and can be compared to Jephthah’s vow in Judg 11:30-31. This story, where Saul functions as a judge, can hardly be considered a case of royal justice. On the contrary, by using narrative analogies the narrator tries to condemn Saul for both the vow and the near execution of Jonathan. An impression that Saul “was rash and presumptuous in his relationship to Yahweh, and that he tried to manipulate the Divine will through ritual formality” may be gained.15 When people bring gifts to a prophet are more complicated in Josephus’ rewriting. The Na’aman story (2 Kgs 5) is omitted completely, and therefore we cannot know how Josephus explained it. The other case is in 2 Kgs 8:8. Here Josephus writes: “Azael, joined up with Elissai, along with forty camels, which were bearing the best and most costly gifts from what was in Damascus and the palace” (Ant. 9.89). The giving of “the best and most costly gifts” (δῶρα) to a prophet is left unexplained. 14 καί Σαουλ ἠγνόησεν ἂγνοιαν μεγάλην ἐν τῇ ἡμὲρᾳ ἐκείνῃ καὶ ἀρᾶται τῷ λαῷ λπέγων Ἑπικατάρατος ὁ ἄνθρωπος. Translation is according to B. A. Taylor (trans.), New English Translation of the Septuagint: 1 Reigns (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2007) 258. McCarter sees this plus as original and even preferred over the MT. See P. K. McCarter, 1 Samuel (AB; New York: Doubleday, 1980) 245. He claims that the Hebrew text should be read as follows:. ‫ושאול שגה שגגה גדולה‬ ‫ביום ההוא‬ 15 McCarter, 1 Samuel, 251. There are analogies between Saul and Jonathan as well as between Saul and Jephthah and Gideon. These analogies strengthen the negative evaluation of Saul in 1 Samuel 14. D. Jobling, “Saul’s Fall and Jonathan’s Rise: Tradition and Redaction in 1 Sam 14:1-46,” JBL 95 (1976) 367-76; U. Simon,

MICHAEL AVIOZ

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considering this story as one of the “judicial narratives”16, the reader here sees Saul as a non-judge.

3.2 THE MASSACRE OF THE PRIESTS OF NOB IN 1 SAMUEL 22 During David’s flight from Saul, he reached Nob, city of priests. He asks Ahimelech to give him food, and is given bread and the sword of Goliath (1 Sam 21:2-10). Doeg, the Edomite, tells Saul of the secret meeting between David and Ahimelech. Saul summons Ahimelech for a trial in which he blames him for insurgency against the king. Ahimelech tries to explain, but Saul quickly declares that Ahimelech and his family will be executed. None of the king’s servants dare kill the priests of Nob. Therefore Saul sends Doeg, who kills 85 people.17 This narrative contains several condemnations of Saul for his behavior:18 • There is an analogy between Saul the way Saul treated Amalek and the massacre at Nob (1 Sam 15:3//22:19).19 Seek Peace and Pursue It: Topical Issues in the Light of the Bible; The Bible in the Light of Topical Issues (Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Yedioth Aharonot, 2002) 114-76; R. H. O’Connell, The Rhetoric of the Book of Judges (VTSup 63; Leiden: Brill, 1996) 288-89. 16 C. R. Mabee, “The Problem of Setting in Hebrew Royal Judicial Narratives” (Ph.D. diss.; Claremont Graduate School, 1977). 17 I do not intend to deal thoroughly with the many difficulties appearing in 1 Sam 21-22. See Pamela T. Reis, “Collusion at Nob: A New Reading of 1 Samuel 21-22,” JSOT 61 (1994) 59-73 with earlier literature. 18 According to Regev, Saul “is nowhere condemned for this act in the Bible.” See E. Regev, “The Two Sins of Nob: Biblical Interpretation, an Anti-Priestly Polemic, and a Geographical Error in Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum,” JSP 12 (2001) 93. Cf. C. T. Begg, “The Massacre of the Priests of Nob in Josephus and Pseudo-Philo,” Estudios Bíblicos 55 (1997) 171-98. However, this assertion does not correspond with the features of Biblical narratives. “Like a stage play, the OT narratives do more showing than telling. The reader is seldom explicitly told by the narrator how this or that character or this or that action, is to be evaluated.” See I. Provan, V. P. Long, and T. Longman III, Biblical History of Israel (Westminster / John Knox, 2003) 91. Cf. M. Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1985) 103, 122. That means that in evaluating his characters, the narrator may use indirect means such as analogies. 19 M. Garsiel, The First Book of Samuel. A Literary Study of Comparative Structures, Analogies, and Parallels (Hebrew; Ramat Gan: Revivim, 1983) 133. See also the commentaries of Brueggemann and Miscall: “It is ironic and telling that Saul refused to execute such massive destruction against the Amalekites (15:9), but now in his deterioration, he will act destructively against his own people.” W.

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The legal procedure in which Ahimelech and the other priests are put to death is irregular: Saul is basing his decision solely on Doeg’s testimony, and does not give Ahimelech a real chance to explain himself. 20 In this story Saul functions as both a prosecutor and a judge. 21

4.

JOSEPHUS’ REWRITING OF 1 SAMUEL 14 AND 1 SAMUEL 22

After dealing with the biblical narratives themselves, we are now in a position to decide whether Josephus followed the negative evaluation of Saul as judge, or adopted a more sympathetic view. It is clear that when comparing Josephus to the MT with reference to Saul’s vow and Jonathan’s trial (Ant. 6.116-28), Josephus departs from the MT in some details.22 However, concerning the motif of a just king, there is no indication that Saul was considered as such by Josephus. Josephus’ rewriting praises Jonathan for being brave and the people for their great efforts to save Jonathan. Josephus expands on Ahimelech’s defense regarding the massacre at Nob. Following Ahimelech’s speech, Josephus adds an evaluation of Saul’s decision to put Ahimelech and the priests of Nob to death, while ignoring Ahimelech’s truthful explanation: “for fear is so terrible that it does not believe even a truthful self-defense” (6.259). But Josephus’ most significant addition to the MT appears in paragraphs 262-67: This gives everyone [the opportunity] of learning about and discerning the ways of humans: As long as they are private, humble citizens, Bruegemann, First and Second Samuel (Interpretation; Westminster/John Knox, 1990) 160. “Through the hand of a foreigner, Saul perpetrates upon Israelites, priests of the Lord, what he himself did not perpetrate upon foreigners, the Amalekites.” P. D. Miscall, 1 Samuel: A Literary Reading (Indiana University Press, 1986) 136. 20 C. Mabee, “Judicial Instrumentality in the Ahimelech Story,” C. A. Evans and W. F. Stinespring (eds.) Early Jewish and Christian Exegesis: Studies in Memory of William Hugh Brownlee (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987) 17-32. 21 Weisman, People and King, 39, n. 10 refers here to Livius: “et nunc quereretur eundem accusatorem capitis sui ac iudicem esse” (Titus Livius, Ab urbe condita 8.32.9). Translation: “[Fabius found it far from easy to reply to each question in detail], and protested against the same man being both accuser and judge in a matter of life and death.” [Livius, The History of Rome, trans. Rev. C. Roberts (London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1905)]. 22 See Feldman, “Josephus’ Version of the Extermination of the Priests of Nob,” and Begg, “The Massacre of the Priests of Nob.”

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incapable of exercising their [true] nature or daring to do as they wish, such persons are gentle and moderate; pursuing only what is just, they devote all their loyalty and solicitude to this. As for the Deity, they are convinced that He is present to everything that happens in life, and not only sees the deeds that are done, but already knows the thoughts themselves from which those deeds will [flow]. When, however, they attain to authority and dynastic power, they set all these things aside. Taking off, like masks on a stage, these habits and manners, they put on audacity, insanity, contempt of things human and Divine. And now, when piety and justice are especially needed by them who are most exposed to envy with their thoughts and actions manifest to all, then it is that they––as though God no longer saw them or as if He were anxious before their authority––that act without restraint. What they hear, they fear; or they either willingly hate or cherish irrationally. To them these things seem certain and confirmed, and likewise true and pleasing to both humans and to God, while to the future they give no thought. [Initially], they honor those who have put themselves out in many ways for them, but having honored them, they then envy them. Having incited them to [gain] renown, they deprive those who had attained it, not only of this, but even, because of it, of life itself, doing so for vile reasons that are unbelievable in their exaggerations. They do not punish deeds worthy of judgment, but rather on the basis of slanders and unexamined accusations. They kill, not those who ought to suffer thus, but whomever they can.

According to the Josephus, the ideal judge is one who seriously investigates the witnesses, and demands strong evidence, especially when human life is involved. This is definitely not the case with King Saul, who commands the killing of the entire city of Nob, basing his decision on “slanders and unexamined accusations.” As we saw above, this is precisely how some modern scholars evaluated Saul in this narrative. Josephus uses themes and idioms similar to those he used in his retelling of Saul’s war with Amalek in 1 Samuel 15 in order to emphasize Saul’s sin in 1 Samuel 22. The differences between the narratives are even more telling: While in

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the war with Amalek, God ordered Saul so exterminate women and infants (6.136), whereas in the Nob narrative, Saul acted as if God did not see him (6.265).23 This comparison helps Josephus emphasize the gravity of Saul’s bloodshed, i.e., he treated Nob as if they were enemies while sparing the life of Agag,24 when he was ordered not to do so. The city of Nob did not deserve the rightful fate of Amalek’s cities.

5.

SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS

My inquiry has shown that when analyzing Josephus’ rewriting of the Bible, it is suggested that scholars first try to fully understand the biblical account in and of itself, appreciate the difficulties found therein, and evaluate the interpretive options. This process can be aided by the use of modern commentaries and studies on the relevant biblical book. Only then can we return to Josephus and analyze his retelling. This method can prevent unsolicited arguments regarding Josephus’ retelling of the Bible. Scholars who analyze Josephus must be acquainted with the literary and hermeneutical analysis of biblical narratives.25 Although we have demonstrated this principle in a particular case, we think that it can be demonstrated in other cases as well. Returning to the title of this essay, Josephus does not praise Saul for being a just king. It is David who is praised by Josephus for administering justice (Ant. 6.153; 6.160; 160; 6.290; 7.110; 7.269; 7.391). The only exception is the encomium on Saul, where Josephus writes: “He therefore seems to me a uniquely just (δίκαιος), courageous, and prudent man” (6.346). However, this general statement cannot be supported from Josephus’ retelling of the Saul narratives. This may be explained if we assume that Josephus entered the motif of justice into Saul’s encomium only as a mere literary motif and not as part of his overall understanding of Saul’s character. The encomium “is the most common form in antiquity for praising a person according to fixed, regular categories Contrast with Jehoshaphat’s orders to the local judges: “They were to render equitable decisions for all, recognizing that God sees all that is done, even in secret” (Ant. 9.3). 24 This was pointed out also by the rabbis (b. Yoma 22b). 25 Roncace also mentioned this problem in Feldman’s studies, albeit from another angle. See M. Roncace, “Another Portrait of Josephus’ Portrait of Samson,” JSJ 35 (2004) 185-207. 23

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(origins, parents, nurture, virtues, and death).”26 Josephus fits “into the international atmosphere of the Roman Empire, where it was common for historians and rhetoricians to describe, compare, contrast, praise, slander, and apologize for various cities and peoples.”27 If that is the case, then the motif of justice is not the main issue in Saul’s encomium, but rather his courage, “knowing his predicted doom, unflinchingly goes out to battle to meet it.”28 Alternatively, it is possible that Josephus tried to soften the negative depiction of Saul in the Biblical version. After all, Saul is the first king of Israel. In order to achieve this end, he added “a lavish encomium.”29 In the end of my discussion, I will briefly deal with the question of text that Josephus used in the retelling of the Saul narratives. Different viewpoints exist among Josephus’ researchers as to the Vorlage that Josephus used when rewriting the Bible. This issue is controversial among scholars and the last word on this subject has not yet been said.30 Ulrich and others claim that Josephus used the LXX as a basis for rewriting the Book of Samuel.31 I basically accept the view of Feldman and others32 that, as far 26 Jerome H. Neyrey, “Encomium versus Vituperation: Contrasting Portraits of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel,” JBL 127 (2007) 529-52 (529). 27 David L. Balch, “Two Apologetic Encomia: Dionysius on Rome and Josephus on the Jews,” ]SJ 13 (1982) 102-22 (122). 28 H. St. J. Thackeray, Josephus, the Man and the Historian (New York: Jewish Institute of Religion Press, 1929) 60. 29 H.W. Atttidge, The Interpretation of Biblical History in the Antiquitates Judaicae of Flavius Josephus (HDR, 7; Missoula, Montana: Scholars Press, 1976) 114. It seems that Dormeyer (“The Hellenistic Biographical History of King Saul”) overstates when he sees Saul as representing the Hasomonean dynasty as well as Josephus’ considering himself a legitimate heir to it. Had this been the case, Josephus should have stressed King Saul’s virtue of justice or even omit the problematic descriptions of him. 30 See C. T. Begg, Josephus’ Account of the Early Divided Monarchy (AJ 8, 212-420): Rewriting the Bible (BETL, 108; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1993) 271–76; Idem, Josephus’ Story of the Later Monarchy (AJ 9, 1-10, 185) (BETL. 145; Leuven: Leuven University Press & Peeters, 2000) 625–26; Feldman, Josephus’ Interpretation of the Bible, 23–36. 31 E. C. Ulrich, The Qumran Text of Samuel and Josephus (HSM 19; Missoula, Mont.:. Scholars Press, 1978); idem, L.H. Feldman and G. Hata (eds.) “Josephus’ Biblical Text for the Books of Samuel,” Josephus, the Bible and History (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1989) 81–96. 32 Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible, 36; Begg, Josephus’ Story of the Later Monarchy, 105, 125, 164–65, 185, 223, 270, 294, 312, 532, 596, 619, 625. In his

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as the Book of Samuel is concerned, Josephus shows clear signs of knowledge of both a Hebrew and Greek versions.33

articles on Josephus, Begg does not present conclusive conclusions on the question of Josephus’ Biblical text, and he admits that it is hard to know what text Josephus used in the particular narratives. And indeed, as G. Sterling has noted, it is “impossible to make a firm case for a specific textual tradition.” See G. E. Sterling, “The Invisible Presence: Josephus’s Retelling of Ruth,” S. Mason (ed.) Understanding Josephus: Seven Perspectives (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998) 109. Étienne Nodet has proposed an interesting suggestion. In his opinion, Josephus is the first translator of the historical books of the Hebrew Bible into Greek. Therefore, one cannot speak of the influence of the Septuagint on Josephus. Josephus’ Hebrew text was an authorized copy of the Jerusalem archives. See Étienne Nodet, “Josephus and the Books of Samuel,” S. J. D. Cohen and J. J. Schwartz (eds), Studies in Josephus and the Varieties of Ancient Judaism; Louis H. Feldman Jubilee Volume (Leiden: Brill, 2007) 141-67. 33 I would like to thank the Ihel and Beit Shalom Funds for supporting the research that led to this article.

THE TEMPLE IN THE BOOK OF HAGGAI ELIE ASSIS BAR ILAN-UNIVERSITY The purpose of this article is to discuss the Temple ideology that characterizes the book of Haggai. Although Haggai does not directly elaborate on the theological importance of the Temple, nevertheless, we may draw some conclusions about the particular Temple theology advanced in the book in general and the prescribed role of the Temple in the life of Israel. Clearly the Temple occupies a central position in the book of Haggai. In fact, most of the book deals with Temple matters. Three out of the four prophetic speeches in the book deal, in one way or another with the Temple, and the fourth is not unrelated to it either. In his first prophecy, Haggai calls upon the nation to build the Temple (chapter 1). In the second, he urges them on when they slacken, after the construction work is already underway (2:1–9). The subject matter of the third prophecy is debated. The prevailing view is that this pericope is to be understood literally, that is, as dealing with matters of ritual purity in the Temple.1 Another position is that the prophecy expresses opposition to any intermingling with those from the northern region, later identified as Samarians (2:10–19).2 If this is the case, 1 See for instance, C. L. Meyers and E. M. Meyers, Haggai, Zechariah 1–8 (AB, 25B; New York: Doubleday, 1987) 55–67; P. A. Verhoef, The Books of Haggai and Malachi (NICOT; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1987) 114–138; J. Kessler, The Book of Haggai: Prophecy and Society in Early Persian Yehud (VTSup, 91; Leiden: Brill, 2002) 203–206. 2 J. W. Rothstein, Juden und Samaritaner: Die grundlegende Scheidung von Judentum und Heidentum. Eine kritische Studie zum Buche Haggai und zur jüdische Geschichte im ersten nachexilischen Jahrhundert (BWANT, 3; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1908) 5–41; H. W. Wolff, Haggai (BKAT; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1986) 71–73. Many disagree with Rothstein’s hypothesis. See, for instance, K. Koch, “Haggai unreines

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the prophecy would also be related to the building of the Temple, since, within this understanding, it would addresses the desire on the part of the Samarians to participate in the building of the Temple in Jerusalem (cf. the account in Ezra 4:1–5, which likewise reflects opposition to their inclusion in the project). According to this approach, Haggai maintains that the project will be successful and lead to immediate economic abundance (2:15–19) if the people in Judah remain separate from the Samarians will. Hence these scholars have inferred from the text that one of the considerations in favor of cooperation with the Samarians was the assistance that they provided for the building of the Temple in Jerusalem.3 Haggai’s, fourth and final prophecy (2:20–23) addresses the future status of Zerubbabel, a scion of the house of David. At least formally, it is not directly related to the subject of the Temple, although it is likely that Zerubbabel’s status would be influenced by the future status of the Temple.4 In any event, this prophecy is extremely brief, covering only three verses out of the total of 38 verses that comprise the book of Haggai. What kind of Temple ideology was Haggai promoting? To begin with, according to Haggai, it was intolerable that Israel lived in the land without a Temple. Although an altar had been constructed in Jerusalem (Ezra 3:1–6) at the beginning of the Second Temple Period, and some temporary structure likely existed for the performance of its rituals,5 this was clearly insufficient for Haggai: He demanded that the Temple be rebuilt Volk,” ZAW 79 (1967) 52–66 and H. G. May, “‘This People’ and ‘This Nation’ in Haggai,” VT 18 (1968) 190–197. 3 See W. Rudolph, Haggai—Sacharja 1–8—Sacharja 9–14—Maleachi (KAT; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Gerd Mohn, 1976) 48–50. 4 On the importance of the Davidic descendent in the restoration of the Temple in Haggai, see A. Laato, Josiah and David Redivivus: The Historical Josiah and the Messianic Expectations of Exilic and Postexilic Times (ConB Old Testament Series, 33; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 1992) 226–229. See also A Laato, “Zachariah 4, 6b – 10a and the Akkadian Royal Building Inscriptions,” ZAW 106 (1994) 53–69. 5 It is clearly evident from Jer 41:5 that after the Temple’s destruction, offerings were still brought to the site, and pilgrims continued to visit there. See, among others, S. Japhet, “The Temple of the Restoration Period: Realty and Ideology,” S. Ahituv and A. Mazar (eds), The History of Jerusalem: The Biblical Period, (Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi Press, 2000) 345–382 (369–372) (Hebrew). But see O. Lipschits, The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem: Judah under Babylonian Rule (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2005)112-118.

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immediately (1:7; 2:4). The rebuilding of the Temple was the crux of Cyrus’s declaration (as formulated in Ezra 1:2–5) that facilitated the return of the exiles. Indeed, the people had intended to build the Temple immediately upon their return to Judah (Ezra 3:8–13). But according to Haggai the people, who are suffering economic hardship, decided to establish themselves economically before directing their efforts to rebuilding the Temple (Hag 1:5–6, 9–11).6 The prophet, however, maintained that, notwithstanding the sacrifice involved, the building of the Temple must take precedence over the accumulation of personal wealth. Seemingly, due to Haggai’s insistence that the Temple be built immediately, despite the difficult economic situation, the edifice was unimpressive, and clearly a far cry from the splendor of Solomon’s Temple (2:3). To be sure, Haggai believed and prophesized that the Temple should eventually be magnificent (2:6–9). In the meantime, however, a modest building devoid of splendor was preferable to a situation in which there is no Temple at all.7 To what extent should the perception of the Temple in Haggai be regarded as an innovation? The Pentateuch contains no explicit command to build a/the Temple, but the portable Sanctuary fulfilled its role in the wilderness. The prophets of the monarchic period lived at a time in which there was the majestic Temple in Jerusalem, which played a central role in the theology, politics, and economy of Judah. These prophets would often castigate Judah and its leaders for their wrongdoings—including an improper attitude towards the Temple itself. But one cannot compare the proclamations of these prophets with those of Haggai, since they lived in and dealt with drastically different circumstances. At least from the perspective of the action that they encourage and the ideological grounds on which its necessity is communicated, it seems interesting – and perhaps more pertinent – to compare the attitude reflected H. W. Wolff, Haggai, A Commentary (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1988) 41; J. Kessler, Haggai, 126. 7 Some scholars maintain that the initiative to rebuild the Temple dates back to the Persian king Darius I, and that Haggai and Zachariah embraced this Persian initiative. See C. L. Meyers and E. M. Meyers, Haggai, Zechariah 1-8, xxxvii-xliv; J. Weinberg, The Citizen-Temple Community (JSOTSup, 151; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992) 131-132. Others believe that the idea was raised by the Judeans, and received the support of the Persian rulers (cf. the book of Ezra). See P.R. Bedford, Temple Restoration in Early Achaemenid Judah (JSJsup, 65; Leiden: Brill, 2001, 230-299). This article does not deal with these matters directly; instead, its aim is to clarify Haggai’s Temple ideology. 6

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in Haggai’s urging to build the Temple with the presentation of David’s original initiative to build the Temple, in 2 Samuel 7. The latter presents the need for a Temple as a human need, as David’s initiative. David regarded the Sanctuary as a dwelling that was unbefitting God’s glory, in view of the king’s own majestic palace (2 Sam 7:2). The initial reaction of Nathan, the prophet, is one of support: “Do whatever is in your heart, for God is with you” (2 Sam 7:3), but there is no indication in his words that God demands the building of the Temple. According to Nathan, God will accede to David’s request because He supports him and his actions. This suggests that God has no need for a Temple. To build it is only a privilege granted to the king, and ultimately it is postponed from David’s time until the reign of the son who will succeed him.8 It follows then that according to the perspective of this text (a) it could have been possible for Israel to continue for a long time without a Temple; and (b) the building of the Temple was considered a human initiative, for the sake of humans and for the sake of the king, with God only allowing for its construction, subject to certain conditions. This position stands in contrast to the one advanced by the tabernacle tradition, in which the deity is the initiator (e.g. Exod 26:1– 7). It is also very different from Haggai’s Temple ideology. Haggai insisted that the Temple should be built without delay. Moreover, the clear impression arising from his words is that Temple building is God’s wish. Haggai’s position stands, in turn, in sharp contrast with the one advocated in Isaiah 66, which suggests that God has no need for humans to build Him a Temple.9 8 There is no need here to digress into the question of why David himself could not build the Temple. On this matter see M. Avioz, Nathan’s Oracle (2 Samuel 7) and Its Interpreters (Bible in History; Bern: Peter Lang, 2005) 13–23. 9 On opposition to the building of the Temple in Isa 66:1–2, and the stand against Haggai and Zechariah, see J. Lindblom, Prophecy in Ancient Israel, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1962) 407. See also J. D. Smart, History and Theology in Second Isaiah: A Commentary on Isaiah 35, 40–66 (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1965) 281–287. S. Japhet, “The Temple in the Restoration Period: Reality and Ideology,” idem, From the Rivers of Babylon to the Highlands of Judah: Collected Studies on the Restoration Period (Winona Lake, In.: Eisenbrauns, 2006) 223–226. However, others believe that the intention of the prophecy is not to condemn the rebuilding of the Temple but rather to protest against a mistaken attitude towards the Temple. See G. A. Smith, The Book of Isaiah, vol. 2 (The Expositor’s Bible; London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1910) 460. According to Westermann, the verses represent neither a polemic against the Temple nor a spiritual approach to counter a formal perception

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Given the emphasis on the new Temple in Ezekiel, one might have wondered whether Haggai’s intention was to implement the plan set forth in detail in Ezekiel 40–47. However, if Haggai had regarded himself as the executor of Ezekiel’s plan, one could reasonably expect to find points of contact between the two books. But they share no clear linguistic links. Moreover, Ezekiel makes no mention anywhere of any obligation to build the Temple. There is no actual instruction to build it in Ezekiel, nor a sense that the matter is urgent, as it is in Haggai, which is unique in this regard.10 A second innovative aspect of Haggai’s prophecy is the assertion that the existence of the Temple assures economic wealth. This point is reiterated several times in the book. In his first prophecy, Haggai attributes the two central economic problems— the drought (1:10–11) and the failing of it. Nevertheless, he does agree that the prophet opposes Haggai’s view that salvation depends of the completion of the rebuilding of the Temple. See C. Westermann, Isaiah 40–66, A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM, 1969) 412–413. Haran is of the opinion that Isaiah’s prophecy is meant for the time prior to the rebuilding of the Temple. Its purpose is to comfort the people for their failed efforts to build it. See M. Haran, Between ‘Rishonot’ (Former Prophecies) and ‘Ḫadashot’ (New Prophecies): A Literary Historical study in the Group of Prophecies Isaiah XL–XLVIII, (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1963) 94–96 (in Hebrew). Of course, the text in Isa 66:1-2 raises the issue of whether God dwells or can even dwell in the Temple. The perception that the deity dwelled in the temple is reflected in several texts (e.g., Exod 15:17; 2 Sam 7:2; Ezek 43:7). Several other texts indicate that God was not understood as dwelling (only) in the Temple. While the expression “House of God” does indicate that the house belongs to Him, it does not necessarily mean that He is inside it. In fact, in several places it is emphasized that God does not dwell inside the House, but rather that the House is built “for His Name” or in His honor (e.g., 1 Kgs 3:2; 5:17, 19; 8:17, 20). In the prayer that Solomon offers upon completing the construction of the Temple (1 Kings 8), he openly acknowledges the naiveté inherent in the very concept of the “House of God” and explicitly denies its literal intent: “For will God indeed dwell upon the earth? Behold, the heavens and the heaven’s heavens cannot contain You; how much less this House which I have built” (1 Kgs 8:26). Elsewhere in this prayer he emphasizes that God resides in the heavens (vv 39, 43), and answers to the payers of the worshippers in the Temple from heaven (vv 30, 34, 35, 39, 43). Isa 66:1–2 similarly presents the heavens, rather than the Temple, as the locus of God’s Throne. 10 For contrasts between the visions of Zachariah and Ezekiel regarding the restoration of the Jerusalem and the Temple, see D. L. Petersen, Haggai and Zachariah 1–8, A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1984) 116– 119.

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agriculture and economy (1:6)—to the nation’s failure to build the Temple. This would seem to suggest that the building of the Temple would solve these two problems. Until now the people have postponed the building out of a need to achieve first economic stability. Haggai takes the opposite view: the harsh economic conditions are the result of the absence of a Temple and, therefore the economic situation cannot be improved without building the Temple. In his third prophecy, Haggai goes so far as to assert that the connection between Temple and economy is direct and immediate: There will be a dramatic improvement from the very day of the laying of the foundations (2:15, 18). This idea is Haggai’s innovation, though a similar idea is found in Zech 1:16–17; 8:9–13. The only other text that shares a similar view is Ps 132:15, which has a similar historical setting.11 No other previous biblical source maintains that the existence (or building) of the Temple results material abundance.12 In contrast, the usual motif is that the observance of God’s 11 See e.g. H. Kruse, “Psalm CXXXII and the Royal Zion Festival,” VT 3 (1983) 279–297. 12 However this concept is well attested in ancient Near Eastern literature, see Gudea Cyl A cols. XI, 1–XII 1–2:

(1-6) When you, O true shepherd Gudea, will effectively start (to build) my House for me, the foremost house of all lands, the right arm of Lagaš, the Thunderbird roaring over the whole sky, my kingly Eninnu, (7-9) then I will call up to heaven for a humid wind so that surely abundance will come to you from above and the land will immediately (or: under your reign) gain in abundance. (10–11) When the foundations of my House will be laid, abundance will surely come at the same time: the great fields will "raise their hands" to you, dykes and canals will "raise their neck" to you, water will? for your profit? (even) rise to "hills" where it never reaches (in other years). (16–17) Under your rule more fat (than ever) will be poured, more wool (than ever) will be weighed in Sumer. (18–23) When you will have driven in my foundation pegs and will have effectively started (to build) my House for me, then I will direct my foot to the mountain where the north wind dwells, and the man of the enormous wings, the north wind, will blow favourably in your direction from the mountain, the pure place. (24–25) It will give life to the Land, so that a single person will be able to work as much as two. (26–27) At night moonlight and at noon the sun will send plentiful light for you, (xii 1–2) so that the day will build (the House), the night will make it grow for you. (D. O. Edzard, Gudea and his Dynasty (RIME; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997) 75–76; cf. R. E. Averbeck’s translation in COS, III, 423-24; for an electronic version of an English translation of this text see also http://www-etcsl.orient.ox.ac.uk/section2/tr217.htm

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commandments brings prosperity, while their violation, scarcity (e.g., Lev 26:35; Deut 7:12-16; 11:13-21). Admittedly, Ezekiel 47:12 indicates a link of some kind between the Temple and the fertility of the land. However, Ezekiel’s description is devoid of any concrete, tangible connection between the building of the Temple and the divine promise of material prosperity in all its forms.13 In sum, there is much innovation in Haggai’s Temple ideology. He advanced a new view of the Temple, the innovative obligation to rebuild it, and the original—within the biblical corpus—ideological position that posits a direct dependence between the national economy and the building of the Temple. The prophets who preceded Haggai proclaimed a different Temple ideology. Jeremiah, for instance, sought to uproot the idea that the Temple itself could protect the nation, regardless of their actions. The people, in Jeremiah’s time, clung to the belief that the Temple would prevent any cataclysmic defeat at the hand of their enemies, even if they did not behave in accordance with God’s will. Jeremiah sought to dispel this illusion, even going so far as to refer to the Temple as a “den of robbers” (Jer 7:11). It is difficult to imagine that Haggai adopted the position of the people whom Jeremiah had so strongly condemned and assumed that the very existence of the Temple will protect Israel/Yehud.14 On these matters, see also G. A. Anderson, Sacrifices and Offerings in Ancient Israel: Studies in their Social and Political Importance (HSM, 41; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987) 102–104; V. A. Hurowitz, I have Built You An Exalted House: Temple Building in the Bible in Light of Mesopotamian and Northwest Semitic Writings (JSOTS, 115: Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992) 322–323. See also M. J. Boda, “From Dystopia to Myopia: Utopian (Re)Visions in Haggai and Zachariah 1–8,” in E. Ben Zvi (ed.) Utopia and Dystopia in Prophetic Literature (PFES, 92; Helsinki/Göttingen: Finnish Exegetical Society/Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006) 210–248. 13 Hanson refers to Ezek 34:26–29 to demonstrate the prophet’s view of the blessing in the era of restoration, in relation to Haggai’s view of material abundance. See P. D. Hanson, The Dawn of Apocalyptic: The Historical and Sociological Roots of Jewish Apocalyptic Eschatology (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979) 174–175. However, this source does not link economic well-being with the rebuilding of the Temple as Haggai does. 14 Based on accounts of temple reconstructions from the ancient Near East, Boda argues that the ideology of the Temple construction in Haggai should be understood as the removal of the present curse and the promise of the future blessing. Although this conception is clearly evident in Haggai, as Boda demonstrates, this paper seeks to explain why Haggai adopted an approach so

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One might argue that Haggai’s message was focused on the importance of ritual in general, and the offering of sacrifices in particular and hence its heavy emphasis on the Temple.15 However, this hypothesis fails to explain the special status of the Temple in Haggai. Moreover, the book makes no mention of sacrifices at all.16 Schmidt and Verhoef believe that Haggai sought to avoid a situation in which the people might adopt a transcendental theological approach according to which they can practice their religion without a Temple. To their view, Haggai’s aim was to emphasize the importance of the institutional cult in combination with spiritual beliefs.17 However, the text makes only minor reference to the Temple cult (2:14). Had the offering of sacrifices and the Temple service been Haggai’s main concern, they would have been given a far more prominent and explicit expression in the text. A crucial text for understanding Haggai is 1:8. It reports the following divine speech: “Go up to the mountain and bring wood and build the House, and I will take pleasure in it and I will be glorified, says the Lord.” Some aspects of this text will be discussed below. For the present purposes, the focus is on the use of the expression “I will take pleasure in it” (‫ )וְ ֶא ְר ֶצה־בּוֹ‬in the context of the building of the Temple is particularly significant. Verbal forms of the root ‫( רצה‬to want, favour) often appear in the context of God’s acceptance (or lack of acceptance) of sacrifices (e.g., Lev 1:4; 7:18; 22:23, 25, 27; 2 Sam 24:23; Ezek 20:49; Hos 8:13; Amos 5:22; Mic 6:7; Mal 1:8, 10, 13).18 Although Haggai used language that brought to mind associations with the sacrificial service in the Temple, what he was in fact talking about was not sacrifices at all, but rather the Temple itself. He evidently opposed the conception of the pre-exilic prophets. See Boda, “From Dystopia to Myopia,” 210–248. 15 For variations of this approach see, for instance: R. H. Pfeiffer, Introduction to the Old Testament (New York: Harper, 1941) 603. 16 See also D. J. A. Clines, “Haggai’s Temple, Constructed, Deconstructed and Reconstructed,” D. J. A. Clines Interested Parties: The Ideology of Writers and Readers of the Hebrew Bible (JSOTSup, 205; Gender, Culture, Theory, 1; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995) 46–75 (53); originally published in SJOT 7 (1993) 19–30. 17 See M. Schmidt, Prophet und Temple: Eine Studie zum Problem der Gottesnähe im Alten Testament (Zürich: Evangelischer Verlag, 1948) 192–197; Verhoef, Haggai and Malachi, 36. 18 H. M. Barstad, “‫רצה‬,” TDOT, vol. 13 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004) 618– 630 (623–624).

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asserts that God will take pleasure in, or favour, the Temple that the people build. The prophet employs the terminology of God’s acceptance of the ritual service in order to express the importance of building the Temple. This clearly supports the contention that the focus of the prophet’s urging to build the Temple is the Temple itself. Of course, none of this necessarily indicates a fundamentally different view of the Temple’s function during the Second Temple period. The issue, however, remains the same: Haggai asserted that material prosperity is dependent not on the offering of sacrifices, but rather on the laying of the foundations of the Temple—even before any sacrifices can be brought there, that is “from the day that the foundation of God’s Temple was laid” (2:18)? Hence, economic abundance is dependent on the Temple itself, not on any ritual service that is performed in it. In other words, from the perspective of Haggai, there must be something essentially vital about the Temple itself. This vital, fundamental feature of the Temple must make its construction an immediate and urgent obligation for the people. Although Haggai does not state explicitly the fundamental attribute that makes building the Temple so important, an important hint appears in the already mentioned text in 1:8. The result of the building will be that “I will be glorified” (‫)וְ ֶא ָכּ ְב ָדה‬.19 This expression calls to mind the use of ‫ ָכּבוֹד‬in association with the Sanctuary/Temple (e.g., Exod 16:10; 24:16; 40:34–35; Num 14:10, 21). In every one of these instances, ‫ ָכּבוֹד‬, a nominal form, points at the Divine Presence.20 But in Haggai 1:8, there is a verbal (not nominal) form from the root ‫ כבד‬and God uses it in reference to His glory, in the sense of giving glory to God and making His Name renown among humankind—Israelites and gentiles alike. Similar instances of verbal forms of ‫ כבד‬occur in Exod 14:4; 17:18; Lev 10:3. The relevant expressions carry comparable meanings.21 In sum, according to Haggai, the purpose of building the Temple is to give glory to God and to make His Name great. Such a position can easily lead to the belief that it is necessary to build the Temple to give glory to God.22 19 20

(27).

‫ וְ ֶא ָכּ ְב ָדה‬represents the Qere; the Ketib is ‫ואכבד‬. M. Weinfeld, “‫כבוד‬,” TDOT, vol. 7 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995) 22–38

In 1 Sam 2:30 a similar expression (‫ ) ֲא ַכ ֵבּד‬appears, but here it refers to the status and renown of a mortal king, David. 22 This position is somewhat comparable to David’s original motivation for building the First Temple. David had sought to build a Temple because, having 21

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Still, the question remains: Why the urgency to build the Temple? Why so much was dependent upon laying the foundations for the Temple, according to Haggai? The answer to these questions is to be found in the particular situation of this period, its geo-political circumstances and their theological ramifications. The return to Zion had not proceeded in accordance with the people’s expectations.23 For instance, the economic hardship, the lack of political independence, the shrunken boundaries of the Judean state, and the inferior status of Zerubbabel—the Davide—caused disappointment. The people were inclined to believe that their situation was not part of any Divine plan and that God was not in their midst.24 It was this perception that Haggai adamantly opposed. His insistence on building the Temple was an essential part of his message. It was aimed at convincing the people that despite their circumstances, God was with them. The building of the Temple would strengthen their sense of God’s presence, and would glorify God’s Name – which had not become manifest in its full splendor in the physical reality, as the nation had expected it to.25 Hence, there was a need to build the Temple. The necessity of giving honor to God by building the Temple arose out of a human need to strengthen the people’s faith in God.26 Many of the prophets of the monarchic period had castigated the people for their attitude towards the Temple while it existed (see, for example, Isa 1:10–17; Jer 7:3–15; Hos 6:6; Amos 5:21–27; Mic 6:6–8). The attitude reflected in Haggai is altogether different. However, the contrast between them is not the result of differences of approach among the prophets, but rather a reflection of the different circumstances within which built his own palace, he felt that it was not proper for the king’s house to be more impressive and majestic than the House of God (2 Sam 7:2). 23 On the rebuilding of the Temple as a counter-solution to the unrealized expectations of the people regarding their restoration in the post-exilic time, see Japhet, “Temple in the Restoration Period,” 218–223. 24 See also E. Assis, “Haggai: Structure and Meaning,” Bib 87 (2006) 531–541; E. Assis, “To Build or Not to Build: A Dispute between Haggai and His People (Hag 1),” ZAW 119 (2007) 514–527. 25 On the Temple as a sign of God’s presence in the post-exilic period, see P. R. Ackroyd, Exile and Restoration: A Study of Hebrew Thought of the Sixth Century BC, (London: SCM, 1968) 248–249. 26 For this reason Haggai repeatedly emphasizes the Divine source of his words, see M. J. Boda, “Haggai: Master Rhetorician,” TyB 51 (2000) 295–304 esp. 298– 299.

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the prophets were active. The prophets of the monarchic period (and especially after the 8th century B.C.E) sought to condemn the popular perception of the unconditionally guaranteed eternity of God’s Temple (for this belief see Isaiah 29; Jeremiah 7; Psalms 46; 48; 71). The prophets had to speak out against this extreme view of the Temple and its rituals. Therefore, these prophets chose to emphasize mainly moral, social messages. They insisted that Temple ritual and moral corruption were mutually incompatible. They declared that the Temple could be destroyed, if the nation failed to conduct itself properly. Haggai was faced with the opposite situation. In his time, the people were mired in despair, feeling that God was not in their midst, and that there was therefore no point in building the Temple. Corresponding to the reversal of the nation’s attitude towards the Temple in the wake of the Destruction, Haggai adopts the opposite approach to that of the prophets of previous times: he emphasizes the importance of the Temple and asserts that God is indeed in their midst. To sum, the major problem that Haggai had to contend with was not the moral path of the people—as was the case of the monarchic period prophets, but rather their sense of despair and of loss of national religious identity. Thus he focused mainly on God’s Presence in their midst, by emphasizing the importance of the Temple in terms of bringing glory to His Presence, in and of itself, rather than indirectly through the ritual service performed in it. Here one is to find the source and core component of Haggai’s innovative Temple ideology.

PSALM 133: A (CLOSE) READING F. W. DOBBS-ALLSOPP PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 1. INTRODUCTION The art of reading remains the paradigmatic practice of literary criticism, even (and perhaps especially) on this, the thither side of theory. The principal thrust, for example, of T. Eagleton’s recent poetry primer is to call students of literature back to the practices and habits of close reading.1 In Biblical Studies, too, there have been kindred voices raised urging scholars and students of biblical poetry to move from a preoccupation with matters of underlying structure and prosody (never irrelevant issues) to a pursuit of “the poetry per se,” a pursuit, that is, of reading.2 Readings (always in the How to Read a Poem (Oxford: Blackwell, 2007), 1. E. L. Greenstein, “Aspects of Biblical Poetry,” Jewish Book Annual 44 (1986– 87), 42. The 1980s in particular witnessed a great amount of interest in scrutinizing key formal features (e.g., parallelism, meter, line structure) characteristic of biblical Hebrew verse, e.g., L. Alonso Schökel, A Manual of Hebrew Poetics (SubBib 11; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1988); R. Alter, The Art of Biblical Poetry (New York: Basic Books, 1985); A. Berlin, The Dynamics of Biblical Parallelism (Bloomington: Indiana University, 1985); A. Cooper, “Biblical Poetics: A Linguistic Approach” (unpubl. diss., Yale University, 1976); S. Geller, Parallelism in Early Biblical Poetry (HSM, 20; Missoula: Scholars, 1979); E. Greenstein, “How Does Parallelism Mean?” in A Sense of the Text (JQRSup; 1982), 40-71; D. Grossberg, Centripetal and Centrifugal Structures in Biblical Poetry (SBLMS, 39: Atlanta: Scholars, 1989); J. Kugel, Idea of Biblical Poetry (New have: Yale University, 1981); M. O'Connor, Hebrew Verse Structure (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1980); D. Pardee, Ugaritic and Hebrew Parallelism (VTSup 39; Leiden: Brill, 1988); W. G. E. Watson, Classical Hebrew Poetry: A Guide to Its Techniques (JSOTSup, 26; Sheffield: JSOT, 1984). So the desire for more attention to be paid to the biblical poems themselves 1 2

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plural) are the stuff out of which all construals of prosody and poetics are necessarily made and at the same time are what complete said construals. They are the ultimate justification of poetry, the gift of poetry. Readings of biblical poems, and especially close, deep, lusciously savored, highly imaginative readings, are still too few in the field. Such a reading of Psalm 133 is what I aim to put on offer in the body of the essay that follows. There is no one right way of reading, no tidy, pre-set template or calculus guaranteed to generate meaningful construals, sure and compelling readings. Reading is not an un-messy affair, not risk free. It is a practice, with many modes and an inestimable number of different and competing aims and outcomes. Proficiency (however measured) comes, much as it does in many other endeavors, through iteration and habituation, as does the peculiar and pleasurable satisfactions that it brings. My reading of the short Psalm 133 is here presented as but one example of what is possible, what is imaginable, what is readable. The reading itself is enacted in four main sections that fall out (mostly) according to the contours of the poem’s structure as I understand it. Along the way I press two considerations more closely, both of which I believe have significance beyond a reading of Psalm 133. Neither, however, is very radical or new. The first is that poetry, at bottom, is a way of words; it is, as has often been said, a making out of words—poesy (cf. maʿăśay, Ps 45:2). And therefore any sort of maximally empathetic reading of a biblical poem—here a psalm—will include a close attending to the words that enact that poem, words that are themselves the very means of getting from a poem’s beginning to its end—words as bearers of meaning (as they always are), rooted in a specific history and culture, and that have about them a certain “thingness,” a sound and shape, a physicality that can be repeated, played with, intensified, fractured. The main path (of reading) that I chart (and follow) through this particular piece of poetic discourse (especially in sections two, three, and five) finds its bearings literally word by word. And yet if poems are all about words, they are often also more than the sum of their words, and this is the second (larger) consideration to be pressed (especially in the short section four). In the end, though a poem is a making of and through words, what is ultimately made—the poem—does not lie in the words alone but emerges, as well, because of them and in between them, literally, in the case of our ancient psalm, in the spaces of and to the reading of these poems is understandable.

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uninscribed text that isolate and surround its words. Here, then, I also want to claim some significance for poetry’s sometimes distinctive (though not necessarily unparalleled) way of embodying knowledge. The final upshot of how Psalm 133, for example, engages, interrupts, breaks into the world is something more than a mathematical summing of its component words. This accounts, I believe, for a good part of this psalm’s appeal and satisfaction.3

2. AN OPENING EXULTATION The only claim made in the short Psalm 133 comes in the opening couplet (bicolon)4 where the beauty of brothers dwelling together is extolled. What is most striking about this claim is its unmistakable hyperbole and its thoroughgoing aesthetic character. As J. Culler observes, lyric discourse generally exhibits a strong attraction to extravagance, exaggeration, sublimity: “the tiger is not just orange but ‘burning’” and “the wind is the very ‘breath of Autumn’s being.’”5 In the first line of our poem the hyperbolic register is signaled by the twofold use of the exclamatory mah6

3 The essay has benefited from the insight and input of many, for which I am most grateful. Faculty and student colleagues at Princeton Theological Seminary have patiently and generously engaged it on more than one occasion. I presented versions of the essay on a number of occasions, including at the Lenox House Colloquium and as the 2008 presidential address at the MARSBL. Special thanks to Simi Chavel, Elaine James, Tod Linafelt, Leong Seow, and Ray van Leeuwen. All of these have made this a much more compelling piece. 4 Lineation of biblical Hebrew poems always requires specification. Which is to say that it is not a given. Two important sources of evidence for line structure in the Psalms come in the accents and page layout preserved in the various Masoretic manuscripts. In both Aleppo and B 19 A, normally each columnar line contains two poetic lines (or parts thereof) separated by a varying span of uninscribed text (space permitting). This ideal, of course, is not always ideally realized. The blank space between the two lines of the first couplet is minimal (but noticeable) in both Aleppo and B 19 A as the scribes endeavor to get the complete couplet on one columnar line. Spacing between poetic lines is not typically shown in 11QPsa—it is written chiefly in a prose format. However, there is a significant amount of uninscribed space separating the first two poetic lines of this psalm—a significant juncture, too, in my reading of the poem. 5 Literary Theory: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University. 1997), 72. 6 Transliteration after the example of mah-šĕmô in SBL Handbook (§5.1.1.4(5)).

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(“How!”), headed by the presentative hinnê (“Wow!”).7 If the semantics of such an additive strategy appears “strangely redundant,”8 a more satisfying sum is achieved when the arithmetic is factored in terms of rhetorical force. One plus one plus one, in this (new) poetic math, yields a threefold underscoring of the attraction of brothers dwelling together. Indeed, this piling up of exclamatory particles coupled with the withholding of the object of admiration means that the resulting surfeit of exultation seems to explode from the line as auditors move onto the second line in search of the unnamed topic so extravagantly hymned. Perhaps the closest parallel to the line comes in Song 7:7 (cf. 4:10), mah-yāpît mah-nāʿ̄ amtā “How beautiful are you, how pleasant...!” The phrasing itself nicely throws into relief the added rhetorical force of hinnê in Ps 133:1,9 but it is the obviousness of this line’s aesthetic interest that proves so crucial for our appreciation of Psalm 133 more generally. As the line in the Song is said of the Shulammite, we easily acquiesce to its defining aesthetic bent—after all she is repeatedly admired and found beautiful by her lover throughout the Song (e.g., 1:15; 4:1–7; 7:2). It is the aesthetic appeal of the less tangible “brothers dwelling together” that is front and center in the psalm. This is plainly indicated by the only two content words in the line, tôb and nāʿ̄ îm, both of which have pronounced aesthetic valences. The root nʿm in Biblical Hebrew (BH) chiefly signifies high aesthetic value, as well evidenced by Song 7:7 (cf. Gen 49:15; 2 Sam 1:26; Ps 16:6, 11; 135:3; 147:1; Job 36:11; Prov 9:17; 24:4; Song 1:16). By contrast, the semantic range of tôb is considerably broader. The term often conveys a positive ethical evaluation (e.g., Gen 2:17; 3:5, 22; 1 Kgs 8:36; Isa 7:15)— and indeed it is hard not to hear at least the faintest echo of Micah’s more obviously ethically oriented mah-tôb (6:8). But tôb, of course, implicates high aesthetic esteem as well (e.g., Gen 1:4; 2:9; 31:24; 2 Sam 19:28; Song 1:2; Qoh 11:7) and this is the range of meaning on which nāʿîm (see esp.

For a good orientation to the force and syntax of both exclamatory māh/mâ and presentative hinnê in Biblical Hebrew, see IBHS §§18.3f, 40.2.1a–c. 8 E. S. Gerstenberger, Psalms, Part 2, and Lamentations (FOTL 15; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 371. 9 Several of the versions are telling on this count as well. G underscores the hyperbole even further with its rendering of hinnê as idou dē—a double addition of sorts (i.e., compared to the Song passage). And the lack of an equivalent of hinnê in S points up the hyperbole of MT of Psalm 133 from a different angle. 7

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Gen 49:15; Ps 135:3) and the similes in 133:2–3 so clearly focus our readerly attention.10 The second line of the couplet, šebet ʾahîm gam-yāhad, provides the subject of this opening exultation, enacting the first instance of the poem’s defining rhythm of enjambment.11 The words nāʿîm and ʾahîm rhyme,12 the patterned cadences of their half-line phrasing (ûmah-nāʿîm/šebet ʾahîm) enhancing this sonic effect.13 Even the additive particle gam is figured to good effect: the note of emphasis that gam contributes (frequently when “giving an exaggerated, aggravated or extreme case”14) both heightens still further the couplet’s already highly exclamatory rhetoric and focuses the accent most particularly on the “unity, togetherness” of the brothers’

Akkadian damqu (lit. “to be good”) is used similarly to indicate high aesthetic esteem (see I. Winters, “Aesthetics in Ancient Mesopotamian Art” in CANE IV, esp. 2573). 11 All of the couplets in the poem, as well as the closing triplet, are enjambed— that is, the syntax of the individual line continues on across line boundaries. For more details on enjambment in Hebrew poetry, see F. W. Dobbs-Allsopp, “The Enjambing Line in Lamentations: A Taxonomy (Part I),” ZAW 113/2 (2001), 219–39; “The Effects of Enjambment in Lamentations (Part 2),” ZAW 113/5 (2001), 370–85. For other examples in which an infinitive construct heads a phrase that functions as a subject, especially in verbless clauses, see IBHS §36.2.1b. 12 Rhyme is here understood phenomenologically and in its broadest sense as “any one of several kinds of sound echo in verse” (T. V. F. Brogan, “Rhyme” in NPEPP, 1053). English speakers will be most familiar with rhyme at line-end in metrical verse where it is commonly used to mark the end of a line and to (help) structure stanzas and even whole poems. But this is only one variety of rhyme (end rhyme), however prominent in some kinds of verse. Many others exist. In biblical Hebrew verse rhyme is never systematic and not often used structurally, but it does occur (and not uncommonly). Here rhyme’s prototypical shape of echoing syllables with the same medial vowels and final consonants is in evidence. This kind of irregular, internal rhyming (“Rhyme,” 1057; Brogan, “Internal Rhyme” in NPEPP, 613–14) is quite common in nonmetrical (free!) verse. 13 Line internal troping of this kind is perhaps most recognizable in biblical verse in terms of parallelism (i.e., “half-line parallelism,” see W. G. E. Watson, Traditional Techniques in Classical Hebrew Verse [JSOTSup, 170; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1994], esp. 144–62). The poet of Psalm 133 seems especially fond of partial-line phrasing that echos across lines, e.g., hinnê mah-tôb//kaššemen hattôb (with word repetition), zĕqan-ʾahărōn//kĕtal-hermôn (with rhyme). 14 T. Muraoka, Emphatic Words and Structures in Biblical Hebrew (Jerusalem/Leiden: Brill, 1985), 143. 10

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dwelling (cf. Deut 25:5; Gen 13:6; 36:7),15 while its climatic position16 at line-end pleasantly balances the opening hinnê. The line itself is especially close to a clause in Deut 25:5, kî-yēšĕbû ʾahîm yahdāw “when brothers dwell together...,” which provides the phrase šebet ʾahîm ... yāhad with its most concrete sense, that of the patrimonial house—in BH, the bêt ʾāb. In ancient Israel and Judah, as throughout the ancient Near East, the patrimonial house was society’s chief socioeconomic unit. Ideally, it spanned three generations, consisting of a senior conjugal couple with their unmarried children, together with their married sons and the latter’s wives and children, as well as other dependents (e.g., paternal kinsfolk, servants). Such a family would have lived in a large, single, multi-roomed house or in a compound of smaller houses built closely together with shared courtyards, external walls, etc.17 It is just such a joint family that is assumed in Deut 25:5. That passage is concerned specifically with the practice of Levirate marriage and the division of family property after the death of the paterfamilias. The phrase kî-yēšĕbû ʾahîm yahdāw itself refers to the period of time after the father’s death but before the division of property when the brothers would have continued to live together on the undivided family estate.18 It is precisely the ideal of the multi-generation, joint family that most commentators privilege in their reading of the phrase as it appears in Psalm 133.19 And yet in the absence of the delimiting issue of Levirate marriage, which is nowhere in view in Psalm 133, and in awareness of the tendency for kinship language in Israel and Judah to get extended into other Cf. M. Dahood, Psalms III (AB 17A; Garden City: Doubleday, 1970), 251. Cf. Muraoka, Emphatic Words, 143. 17 For details, see L. E. Stager, “The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel,” BASOR 260 (1985), 1–35; J. S. Holladay, “House, Israelite” in ABD 3, 308– 18; “House: Syro-Palestinian Houses” in OEANE 3, 94–114; C. Meyers, “The Family in Early Israel” in Families in Ancient Israel (eds. L. Perdue et al.; Louisville: WJK, 1997); D. Schloen, The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol: Patrimonialism in Ugarit and the Ancient Near East (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2001); P. King and L. Stager, Life in Biblical Israel (London/Louisville: WJK, 2001), esp. 36–40. 18 R. Westbrook, “The Law of Biblical Levirate” in Property and the Family in Biblical Law (JSOTSup, 113; Sheffield: JSOT, 1991), 78; cf. D. Daub, “Consortium in Roman and Hebrew Law,” The Juridical Review 62 (1950), 71–91; Schloen, House of the Father, 149. 19 E.g., A. Weiser, The Psalms (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1962), 783; H.-J. Kraus, Psalmen 60–150 (BK 15/2; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1978), 1068. 15 16

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spheres (e.g., politics, cf. Amos 1:9) and used figuratively in various ways (e.g., Song 4:10), the phrasing in Ps 133:1 is considerably more capacious than normally thought. It may focus on the prototypical joint family, but it can as easily take into its purview other patterns of co-residence (e.g., whole villages, neighborhoods in walled towns),20 larger (potentially non-kinshipbased) political alliances, and the like.21 In the end, much will depend on the specific context in which the poem is heard.22 In sum, the opening couplet exclaims the aesthetic appeal of brothers (literal and metaphorical) dwelling spatially together. The initial point to be made here is that by itself the statement is rather abstract and provides no real warrant for our assent, aside from the inherent attraction of the proposition itself and the aesthetic appeal of the couplet having been so obviously and pleasingly figured. 20 For the prevalence of these other kinds of co-residence patterns in ancient Israel and Judah, see Meyers, “Family in Ancient Israel,” 11–13; Schloen, House of the Father, 15–65. 21 Interestingly, Tg. construes the phrase most specifically as referring to two brothers dwelling together (Zion and Jerusalem!), which surely would have been the more common reality in antiquity (esp. Schloen, House of the Father, 150, n. 24). Of course, Aaron’s mention a bit later in the poem makes one think of two other brothers, Moses and Aaron. And A. Berlin suggests that the image is to be understood as a call for the reunification of north and south (“On the Interpretation of Psalm 133” in E. Follis [ed.], Directions in Biblical Hebrew Poetry [Sheffield: JSOT, 1987], 142). The politics of the poem may also fall out more allusively, more tropologically, as šebet ʾahîm plays on *šēbet ʾahîm (cf. šēbet ʾābîkā, Num 18:2; mattê ʾābîhā, Num 36:8) and the image (šebet/*šēbet ʾahîm) tumbles down the surface of the poem along with the yōrēding oil and dew, until it reaches Zion, Judah’s political capital, and “pools” there in Yahweh’s “blessing” (bĕrākâ̂ “blessing” playing on bĕrēkâ “pool”; the puns were pointed out to me by R. van Lleuwyn and the political implications of the imagery by C. L. Seow). 22 The language of the psalm as transmitted in MT is late (A. Hurvitz, The Transition Period in Biblical Hebrew: A Study of Post-Exilic Hebrew and its Implications for the Dating of Psalms [in Hebrew][Jerusalem: Bialik, 1972], esp. 156–60), suggesting a post-exilic date. To what ideological end the poem’s valuation of family (in whatever manifestation) would have been put in this period is hard to determine without detailed socio-cultural information—it may well be, as Weiser contends (Psalms, 783), that the poem was intended to bolster the ancient family norm at a time of its decline—though here, too, Berlin’s reunification interpretation could make sense. Further, the language of this psalm (and of the psalms more generally) is open, and thus easily adaptable to the ever changing contexts of its auditors (see P. D. Miller, Interpreting the Psalms [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986], 50–51).

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3. A BODY OF SIMILES The body of the poem comes in vv. 2–3 with its dominating images of flowing oil and dew. This section is comprised of three couplets,23 and enjambment pervades the whole. In each couplet, the participle yōrēd stands on either side of a line juncture, effectively escorting auditors via its projection of the pure durative force of descending through the juncture. The participle’s nonfinite framing of bare action answers to the related focus of the infinitive construct in the opening couplet (šebet). And both contrast with the single finite verb, siwwâ, that comes in the poem’s concluding lines. Beyond accentuating and reinforcing the effect of enjambment, the threefold repetition of yōrēd eases the transition from the image of fine oil to that of dew, as the one liquid melds into the other, and further gives the little poem its basic trajectory: moving most emphatically from the opening exclamation (down) through (and via) the overflowing oil and dew and spilling (as it were) onto Yahweh’s blessing at the end of v. 3. In addition to this patterned play of line type, cohesion is built into this section of the poem through word (kĕ-, yōrēd, zāqān) and phrase (ʿal + prepositional object) repetition.24 At the heart of this poem—and ultimately one of the chief ways that it means—are two similes, one picturing “the finest oil” and the other, “dew.” The initial image of oil cascading viscously but bountifully over head and beard (ultimately spilling, we are led to imagine, down onto the unnamed figure’s clothes) continues the hyperbolic accent struck in the poem’s opening couplet. It does so in two principal ways. First, by designating the oil—which in the ancient Levant meant olive oil25—as the finest and most 23 The line structure represented here is basically that implied by the layout of B 19 A. The only difference is that in B 19 A there is no obvious extra space separating the fourth and fifth lines. But there is clearly a span of uninscribed text after mdwtyw in Aleppo, which otherwise is not as consistent in its use of space in this psalm (the first several lines in this block of material in particular is run together). 24 Berlin, “Psalm 133,” 141, 145; cf. O. Keel, “Kultische Brüderlichkeit—Ps 133,” FZPT 23 (1976), 69. 25 The olive tree (Olea Europeae) is hardy and long-lived (capable of growing to an age of one thousand years or more). It thrives in the highlands and hill country of the Levant with its rocky and shallow soil (cf. Deut 32:13) and where there is just enough chill during the rainy season to cause the fruit to mature. See King and Stager, Life in Biblical Israel, 95; M. Zohary, Plants in the Bible (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1982), 56–57; I. and W. Jacob, “Flora,” ABD 2, 807–8.

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expensive variety of olive oil (virgin oil), here šemen tôb (esp. 2 Kgs 20:13=Isa 39:2; cf. Song 1:3; 4:10; Qoh 7:1), but also called rēʾšît šĕmānîm (Amos 6:6) and šemen kātît lit. “crushed oil” (Exod 27:20; 29:40; Lev 24:2; Num 28:5; 1 Kgs 5:25) in the Bible and šmn rhs lit. “washed oil” in the Samaria Ostraca (16a.3; 16b.3; 17a.2; 18.2; 21.2; etc.). And thus the very designation of the olive oil cues the poem’s auditors that the high arc of the rhetoric continues. Indeed, the connection with the opening couplet is not left to chance, but is made plain to see and to hear through the verbatim repetition of the word tôb “good”—the first of Berlin’s “word chains” that help formally bind this poem together.26 The “good” (tôb) of the extended family is literally—at the surface of the poem—of “like the good oil” (kaššemen hattôb) that is poured over the head;27 the two tôbs materially, physically linking the two sentiments, underscoring their shared fineness. Olive oil ultimately becomes a source of economic prosperity in the region of Syria-Palestine.28 Since the climate in other parts of the Mediterranean world (e.g., Egypt, Mesopotamia) was not suitable for growing olives (too consistently warm), olives and olive oil were among the Levant’s chief luxury items coveted by the social and political elites and thus exported, either for profit or trade, or through gift exchange (Hos 12:2; Ezek 27:12; cf. EA 161.56; TAD B3.8.20), and commonly counted among other valuables (gold, silver, and the like, see 2 Kgs 20:13; cf. CTU 4.438.4; EA 1.70; TAD B3.8.20). Thus, it is not surprising that olive oil carries mostly positive symbolic associations in the Hebrew Bible, signifying prosperity (Ezek 16: 13, 20; Prov 21:17; ), high value and plenty (Deut 32:13; 33:24; 1 Kgs 17:12, 14, 16; 2 Kgs 2:4, 6, 7; Job 29:6), joy and wellbeing (Isa 61:3; Ps 92:11; 104:15). The gesture of anointing the head with oil (sacral and non-sacral alike), the image of which is specifically evoked in our verse, is a case in point. It is a high sign of richness, sufficiency, superabundance, and, above all, enjoyable pleasure (Ps 23:5; Qoh 9:8; cf. Ps 26 “Psalm 133,” 141; cf. Grossberg, Centripetal and Centrifugal Structures, 28—the device is prominent in many of the Songs of Ascents. 27 The way that tôb plays across the surface of MT is spot-lighted when comparing the translations of G (kalon/myron; cf. V) and S (tb/mšhʾ), which forego any attempt to offer a literal rendering (for different reasons) the “good oil” that might resonate with poem’s opening exclamation of “goodness”— contemporary English translations (e.g., NRSV, NJV) also obscure this play (but see R. Alter, The Book of Psalms [New York: W. W. Norton, 2007], 463: “how good .../ Like goodly oil....”). 28 King and Stager, Life in Biblical Israel, 96.

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141:5). The latter quality is especially to the fore in the banqueting scenes in Psalm 23 and in Qoheleth’s carpe deim speech in chapter 9, and even is echoed impressively in a description of Esarhaddon’s banquet celebrating the dedication of a new palace: “I drenched their heads with finest oil and perfumes” (Ì.SAG igulâ muḫḫašunu ušašqi, Borger Esarh. 63 vi 53, as cited in CAD R, 431b). Here in Psalm 133:2, then, not only does the oil’s specific designation as the finest (šemen tôb) match and thus redouble the preceding couplet’s rhetoric of extravagance, but so does the gesture of drenching the head with a superfluity of this fine oil, a literal image of over-the-topness, superabundance. The image of oil running down over the head and onto the beard foregrounds movement, energy—especially given the threefold repetition of yōrēd in the poem and the eventual melding with another liquid figure, that of a plentiful, abounding dewfall, the combination of which Z. Zevit vividly—and apropos of the poem’s deployment of these images— describes as chasing “a chain of similes into a verbal whirlpool.”29 This is not so very far from the hyperbole of Job’s “streams of oil” (palgê šāmen, Job 29:6) or Ezekiel’s likening of rivers to flowing oil (wĕnahărôtām kaššemen ʾôlîk lit. “like oil I cause their rivers to flow,” Ezek 32:14).30 Energy and force—the raw stuff of movement—are at the heart of “life” (hayyîm), which is the ultimate blessing of the poem (v. 3) and, interestingly, a figure of choice in the Hebrew Bible for rendering “running, fresh water,” i.e., “living water” (mayim hayyîm, e.g., Gen 26:19; Lev 14:5; Jer 2:13). Poetic imagery is not monolithic. If the oil’s treacly movement is figuratively and literally critical to how this poem gets from beginning to end (as it literally yōrēds from line to line), other sensorial dimensions of the image are important to the poem as well and also would likely have been elicited in the minds of ancient auditors. Two stand out. Touch is one of the actual consequences of oil poured on the head. The experiencer feels the oil as it comes in contact with the hair follicles and oozes down over ears, forehead, and face (or as here, over the beard). Oil has a palpable tactility about it. Though it is vain to try to contain oil in the human hand (Prov 27:16), it is soft and soothing to the hand’s touch (Isa 1:6; Ps 55:22; Prov 5:3), a well-known healer’s balm (Isa 1:6; cf. Ezek 16:8);31 it moistens “Psalms at the Poetic Precipice,” HAR 10 (1986), 356. Oil is even used as an extravagant figure for rain (CTU 1.6.III.6–7; cf. Gen 27:28; 1 Kgs 17:14). 31 See A. Ohry and A. Levy, “Anointing with Oil—An Hygenic Procedure in 29 30

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and soaks (bwʾ) into the body (Ps 104:15). Oil can be collected in jars (nbl šmn, throughout the Samaria Oastaca) and then handled and handed over (Arad 17.rev.1–2). And not only is there feel but there is smell, too. The finest oils are fine in part because of their sweet fragrance (Song 1:3; 4:10; cf. Qoh 10:1; cf. G’s myron). The highly figured representation of the male lover’s beard in Song 5:13 precisely accents the beard’s pleasing erotic scent—presumably reflecting the fact that the beard would have been routinely oiled as with other parts of the body. These tactile and olfactory dimensions of the image flood in mostly through cognitive associations, the poem’s auditors calling to mind (or projecting from) their own practical experiences with olive oil as the latter is evoked in the words of the poem.32 And thus, the image of cascading oil not only lends an energetic substantiality to the psalm (however viscous), but it also sensualizes the poem’s meaning, literally making it sensible, available to and through the senses—here to and through touch and smell as conjured in human mental activity. The addition of a second couplet in v. 2 forms what may be described as a kind of run-on simile, a simile, that is, in which the original meaning or imagery is expanded in some way, or even moves off in an entirely new direction. In either case, the expansion takes its cue from some aspect or element of the simile proper.33 In this instance the tag element is the term zāqān “beard,” which takes on a specific identity, as belonging to Aaron. The major interpretive issue raised in the secondary literature concerns the nature of this new, run-on part of the image. Does the image of overflowing oil continue, the oil now running down Aaron’s beard (as the dew in v. 3 will flow from Hermon to Zion)?34 Or, is an overflowing, and thus full, beard now in view, with the beard itself running down over Aaron’s robes?35 That is, is the antecedent of šeyyōrēd the phrase šemen the Bible and in the Talmud” Koroth 9 (1985), 174. 32 For a recent and provocative theoretical accounting of poetry’s nonreferential ways of meaning, see M. K. Blasing, Lyric Poetry: The Pain and the Pleasure of Words (Princeton: Princeton University, 2007), esp. 3, 6–8, 10–13. 33 Such similes are especially prominent in Classical Arabic poetry, see M. Sells, “Guises of the Ghūl: Dissembling Simile and Semantic Overflow in Classical Arabic Nasīb” in Reorientations/ Arabic and Persian Poetry (ed. S. Steikevych; Bloomington: Indiana University, 1994), 130–64. 34 E.g., Dahood, Psalms III, 252; D. T. Tsumura, “Sorites in Psalm 133:2–3a,” Bib 61 (1980), 416–17. 35 E.g. H. Gunkel, Die Psalmen (5th ed; Göttingen: Vändenhoeck & Ruprecht,

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hattôb, or is it zĕqan-ʾahărōn? Linguistically, both are possible. The latter is more proximate, and it is often the case that dependent relative clauses follow closely on their antecedents in BH. On this reading a full beard that runs down over the collar is imagined. It was customary for mature Israelite and Judahite males, as elsewhere in the Levant and Mesopotamia, to wear a beard. Indeed, as J. Milgrom reminds us, in some ancient societies, including Israel and Judah, “the beard was the prized symbol of manhood.”36 And not surprisingly, then, elite males, and especially royal males, are commonly depicted in the iconography of the ancient Near East with full beards.37 Even in Egypt, where it was more customary to shave, the pharaohs are frequently depicted with fake, ceremonial beards.38 And thus, as O. Keel contends,39 there may well be an intentional evocation of a long, flowing beard here. That is, the evocation of Aaron in particular is meant to summon the (ideal) image of a hoary old Israelite cultural icon, with the beard itself symbolizing vigor and vitality, just as with the flowing oil earlier. Note to this end that the appositional structure (i.e., “...beard,/ beard of....”; especially as accented in MT)40 extends by a whole again the physical length of the beard’s linguistic representation in the poem. That is, the length of the beard is effectively mimed in its very linguistic representation, as the Hebrew word for beard, zāqān, is repeated. Still, as Berlin observes with regard to the phrase kaššemen hattôb, “it is, of course, not necessary or even desirable to limit the sense of a poetic image.”41 Multivalence, after all, is one hallmark of the poetic the world 1968), 569; R. Kittel, Die Psalmen (Leipzig, 1922), 406; A. Weiser, The Psalms (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1962), 783; W. G. E. Watson, “The Hidden Simile in Psalm 133,” Bib 60 (1969), 108–9; Keel, “Ps 133,” esp. 74–75; L. C. Allen, Psalms 101–150 (Word; Waco: Word, 1983), 212. The plene reading of šyrd in 11QPsa is construable toward this end; see Keel, “Ps 133,” 69. 36 Leviticus 17–22 (AB 3A; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 1691; cf. 1801–2. 37 Keel, “Ps 133,” 74–75. 38 Cf. G. Robins, The Art of Ancient Egypt (Cambridge: Harvard University, 1997), ill. 107, 177, 233. 39 “Psalm 133,” esp. 75; cf. Allen, Psalms 101–150, 212. 40 The physical layout of the Aleppo Codex (distinct from B 19 A) enhances further the feel of continuation—there is no extra space between zāqān and zĕqan and the two are the last words in the manuscript line. The Masoretic accentuation also encourages the two to be taken together (contrast the punctuation in S, for example, which, if correct, would appear to separate the two). 41 “Psalm 133,” 144.

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over and of biblical poetry in particular. That the image of overflowing oil is here evoked alongside that of a beard running down a man’s cheeks and chin remains an attractive possibility. There is no syntactic obstacle inhibiting šeyyōrēd from picking up on the less proximate antecedent šemen hattôb. And several of the poem’s non-semantic features positively coerce such a reading. In particular, the repetition of zāqān and the phrase yōrēd ʿal strongly compels auditors to assume the continuation (repetition!) of the same subject matter, flowing oil. That the oil now spills down the beard and over the robe’s collar seems only natural. The continuation of the oil image is consistent, as well, with the prominence of liquified imagery in this poem more generally and follows, straightforwardly, as a consequence of the poem’s informing enjambment—that is, the oil and dew follow in the wake, as it were, of the syntax’s pronounced pull forward from one line to the next. Finally, besides the fact that nowhere in the Bible are there explicit references focusing on length as a notable characteristic of beards, the one other time that yrd is used in connection with a beard, it describes the spittle that runs down David’s beard in 1 Sam 21:14 (as he pretends to be mad): wayyôred rîrô ʾel-zĕqānô “and let his spittle run down his beard” (NRSV). Such usage makes it extremely difficult to ignore the strong attraction of the oil image in this context. Thus, imagery, line play, word repetition, and diction all conspire to keep the image of flowing oil before the auditor’s consciousness.42 If the question of šeyyōrēd and its antecedent(s) has preoccupied scholars’ philological interests, it is surely the identification of the beard as belonging to Aaron that is the most striking aspect of the couplet. To this point the imagery has been non-specific—unnamed brothers living together somewhere, oil, even the finest olive oil, poured over the head and beard of an unidentified man. Against such a background the sudden mention of a specific and even legendary figure commands our readerly attention. But to what effect? Aside from his ability to speak (kî dabbēr yĕdabbēr hûʾ, Exod 4:14),43 Aaron is not known for any outstanding physical attribute, such as 42 Thus I see things the other way around from Allen (Psalms 101–150, 212), namely, that far from “the line” under this construal being “hardly viable poetically,” it is precisely the poetics (viz. syntax, word repetition, and the like) that makes this reading viable. 43 Such an idea could resonate, though most obliquely, with the “pleasing words” of the poem itself (as in Ps 45:2, dābār tôb; cf. 1 Kgs 12:7; 18:24; 2 Kgs 20:19; Zech 1:13; Ps 141:6; Prov 12:25; 15:23),

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the beauty of David’s ruddy skin (1 Sam 17:42) or the disfigurement of Mephibosheth’s crippled feet (2 Sam 4:4). In fact, the biblical tradition pays no attention whatsoever to Aaron’s physicality, suggesting that the reference here to Aaron’s beard in one respect is conventional and iconic, following the representational trajectory better witnessed to in the two and three dimensioned representational art from the wider ancient Near East. This is not to downplay the beard’s symbolic significance—a specific emblem of (manly) vitality and weal, as suggested by Milgrom and others. To the contrary, the identification of the beard as belonging to Aaron, a cultural hero remembered as one of Israel’s founding patriarchs (alongside Moses; Num 33:1; Josh 24:5; 1 Sam 12:6, 8; Mic 6:4; Ps 77:21; 105:26) and first chief priest (Num 18:1; Josh 21:13; Ps 99:6; Ezra 7:5; Neh 10:39; 1 Chr 6:34; 24:19; 2 Chr 31:19), only heightens this symbolism. This is not just any beard but the beard of Aaron. And thus the poem’s high hyperbole continues still, the mention of Aaron upping the rhetorical ante just as in the opening couplet’s surfeit of exaltation, the specification of an overabundance of fine virgin olive oil, and the mimetic figuration (through repetition) of a doubly long beard. Even the passing fixation on the anointing of Aaron as high priest (Exod 29:7; Lev 8:12),44 which his naming here elicits allusively and retrospectively, follows this same trajectory, the already buoyant and beatific image of anointing becoming itself bathed in the extra specialness of a treasured sacral moment. Such specificity appears to flood the second half of this little poem— Aaron, Hermon, Zion, though always from the background; that is, the poetic focus stays trained specifically on the beard of Aaron, the dew of Hermon, and the (literal) mountains of Zion. Still, a turn away from the hitherto abiding anonymity is unmistakable and the poem’s second (explicit) simile, that of dew, as a consequence, takes shape against a more Most commentators do not fail to mention Aaron’s consecration as high priest in connection with the oil running over head and beard in Psalm 133 (almost uniquely, Weiser [Psalms, 784] foregoes any such observation, keeping the focus of his comment on “the deliciously scented” oil’s principal aesthetic significance). But if in fact this is what the psalmist “wishes to recall” (Dahood, Psalms III, 251), it is accomplished only through allusion, and at that not in any heavy-handed way. The language of oil yrd-ing over head and beard may well be compatible with that more specifically sacral anointing (though see Ezek 32:14), but it is not that language (see S. Paul, Amos [Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991], 208) nor is it even close to the wording in the actual biblical accounts of Aaron’s anointing (Exod 29:7; Lev 8:12). 44

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immediately recognizable backdrop. Its chief effect is to draw in the reader, quicken her attention, through the force of familiar names and places. The image itself—dew—maintains the poem’s liquid texture, with the repetition of the comparative kĕ- unleashing, as it were, a new surge of watery energy. The less viscous nature of dew itself, along with the final repetition of yōrēd, gives the strong impression of increased velocity and force— necessary, perhaps, to propel the dew (and reader, too) down its imaginary course from Hermon to Zion. Dew, “the deposit of water droplets on objects the surface of which is sufficiently cool, generally by nocturnal radiation, to bring about the direct condensation of water vapour from the surrounding air,”45 provides a critical water source in the subtropical and semi-arid climate regimes that typify most of the Levant.46 And though specific dewfall amounts and incidences vary across the region, the steady, moist prevailing west winds from the Mediterranean ensure a relatively stable number of dew events in general and in some places (e.g., Jerusaelm) the disposition amounts are relatively high.47 The ancients were well aware of this critical importance. Job uses the image of nightly dew on branches to figure his prior vigor and vitality (29:19; cf. Hos 14:6; Zech 8:12; Prov 19:12). The regularity and plenitude of dewfall was one of the characteristics of the land that made it so attractive for human habitation and therefore worthy of celebration: So Israel lives in safety, untroubled is Jacob’s abode in a land of grain and wine, where the heavens drop down dew D. Prinz, “The Role of Water Harvesting in Alleviating Water Scarcity in Arid Areas.” Keynote Lecture, Proceedings, International Conference on Water Resources Management in Arid Regions. 23–27 March, 2002 (Kuwait Institute for Scientific Research, Kuwait), vol. III, 107–122; cf. “Water Harvesting—History, Techniques and Trends,” Zeitschrift für Bewässerungswirtschaft 31/1 (1996), 64–105. 46 See “Palestine, Climate of” in ABD 5, 119–26. 47 See M. Mileta et al., “Comparison of Dew Yields in Four Mediterranean Sites: Similarities and Differences” in Proceedings of the Third International Conference on Fog, Fog Collection and Dew (2004); S. M. Berkowicz et al., “Urban Dew Collection Under Semi-Arid Conditions: Jerusalem” in Proceedings of the Third International Conference on Fog, Fog Collection and Dew (2004). 45

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Indeed, dew, as a gift from the heavens (tal haššāmayim “dew of heaven,” Gen 27:28, 39; Deut 33:13; Hag 1:10; cf. Dan 4:12; Ug. tl šmm, CTU 1.3.II.39) with no dependence on human agency (Mic 5:6; cf. Exod 16:13–14; Num 11:9), was thought of as a blessing of the gods, and often factored itself as a blessing (Gen 27:28; Deut 33:13), a wishing well (cf. Isa 26:19; Hos 14:5) and its lack as a curse (2 Sam 1:21; 1 Kgs 17:1). The mention of Yahweh’s commanded blessing in the immediately following lines will focus more precisely (if retrospectively) on this aspect of dew’s symbolism. But initially it is as an emblem of weal and well-being that the image of cascading dew registers in this psalm, especially coming so close on the beatific evocation of a superfluity of the finest virgin olive oil in v. 2. The poem’s rhetoric continues its hyperbolic reach. The dew, like the oil and beard before it, though of ordinary stuff cannot be truly ordinary but in the end also must be exceptional in some way. The exceptionality in this case is achieved through association with Mount Hermon, the high (ca. 2814 m), southernmost part of the Anti-Lebanon range whose snowcapped peaks are visible to many parts of Palestine. Dewfall in the Hermon is renowned for its copiousness, especially below the snowline.48 So the “dew of Hermon” is a literal cipher for heavy dew disposition. But beyond actual dewfall amounts, this dew gains a certain specialness from Hermon’s stunning iconicity. It is surely the iconic image of this mountain, with its imposing height and the hoary beauty of its high peaks covered almost year round with snow (so it is called in Arabic, Jabal al-Thalj “snowy mountain”; cf. Aram twr tlgh, Tg. Onq. Deut 3:9; Tg Cant 4:8), always present, whether up close or off on the horizon, perpetually a part of the area’s landscape, perpetually providing sensory input (conscious and otherwise) to the viewer’s visual system, that impresses itself most tenaciously and pervasively on the imaginations of any who have visited or lived in the region. And the views from Hermon are equally magnificent. The last repetition of yōrēd, finely balanced at the line’s end, can be heard in two ways. Since the ancients understood dew to be a meteorological phenomenon related to rain (esp. 1 Kgs 17:1; Mic 5:6; Prov 3:20; CTU 1.19.I.44; Sanh. 96b(52); FPT Deut 23:28[04]), they conceptualized it, like rain, as water which falls down (with yrd in Num G. A. Smith, The Historical Geography of the Holy Land (London, 1931), 65; cf. Weiser, Psalms, 784; Anderson, Psalms, 886. 48

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11:9; cf. Deut 32:2; 33:28; 2 Sam 17:12; Job 38:28; Prov 3:20; Dan 4:12) from the heavens (esp. Zech 8:12). This lexical association between the verb yrd and the noun tal is troubled initially by phrasing and syntax. The phrase “dew of Hermon” is itself a little surprising and even puzzling when heard instead of the commonplace “dew of heaven” (Gen 27:28, 39; Deut 33:13; Hag 1:10; cf. Dan 4:12; Ug. tl šmm, CTU 1.3.II.39) and the role that the phrase plays—goal, as would be more natural, or source—is not clarified until the prepositional object is given in the second line of the couplet. When the prepositional phrase does come (“upon the mountains of Zion”), it becomes apparent that Hermon is the source of the dew which descends upon Zion. Here the more natural yrd-ing of dew (i.e., falling out of the sky like rain) gives way to an image of the dew collected (cf. Judg 6:37–40) in the Hermon streaming (somehow) down onto Zion. We now feel the force of the earlier image of oil running down over head and beard, as well as the general association of the Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon mountains as a source of flowing water (e.g., Song 4:15)—the runoff from the Hermon actually feeds the headwaters of the Jordan. Having the dew spill down onto Zion some hundreds of kilometers to the south is a fabulous image.49 It accentuates the already high hyperbole and at the same time concretizes the image of superfluity, measures it, makes it graspable, imaginable to the mind’s eye. And as a felicitous consequence, the several ridges on which the ancient city of Jerusalem is situated (cf. Ps 125:2), rising no higher than 800 m, are made more noble, more majestic as they are bathed in the superabundance of Hermon’s copious dewfall. The magnificence imparted through this association is not unlike that when Zion elsewhere (Ps 48:3) is imagined to rival in height the loftiest peaks of the towering Mount Zaphon—present-day Mount Cassius (Ab. Jebel el-ʿAqraʾ) on the north Syrian coast, which rises some 1950 m above sea level.50 And all three mountains are divine mountains, homes to 49 The insistence by so many (most recently, Alter, Psalms, 463) on a strictly mimetic or realistic sense here is unwarranted. Biblical poets often show off a capacity for imaging the world other than through realism (e.g., the deer-lover in the Song of Songs; the speaking-but-not-literally-through-speech-cosmos in Psalm 19; conceptualization of the deity). 50 For this motif and the Zion tradition more generally, see J. J. M. Roberts, “The Davidic Origin of the Zion Tradition” and “Zion in the Theology of the Davidic-Solomonic Empire” in The Bible and the Ancient Near East: Collected Essays (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2002), 313–30 and 331–47; J. Levenson, “Zion Traditions” in ABD 6, 1098–1102.

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local deities,51 and thus it is no surprise that this spilling over of dew onto Zion literally attracts Yahweh’s blessing in the psalm’s closing triplet— according to the old Zion tradition, one of the more felicitous consequences of Yahweh’s residence on Zion is the beneficence and weal—the blessing (cf. Ps 128:5; 134:3; 135:21; Jer 31:23)—that devolves to Zion’s inhabitants.52

4. BEYOND WORDS Beyond a shared interest in aspects of everyday life, there is little of substance in the content of the two similes in Ps 133:2–3—one involving fine oil, the other dew—that necessarily connects them with the exaltation in 133:1.53 Rather, the connection lies in syntax and the force of juxtaposition, word repetition (tôb) and plays (the echoing of šebet in See generally R. J. Clifford, The Cosmic Mountain in Canaan and the Old Testament (HSM, 4: Cambridge: Harvard University, 1972). 52 Some have stressed a connection with the Zion songs (e.g., Keel, “Ps 133,” 77–78; Allen, Psalms 101–150, 214). However, such a connection (and its presumed cultic implications) is much more obvious in 11QPsa and S (and MTmss) where hr sywn is read. Which is to say that the plural of MT troubles (at the very least) the cuing of the Zion tradition here. One implication of the plural, on my reading, is that the surrounding hills of Zion are placed most immediately in focus (cf. Ps 121:1; 125:2), with the Zion tradition itself being alluded to only secondarily and at a distance (cf. Ps 87:1). Put still differently, the reading of the singular phrase, which is otherwise standard in the Zion songs, reads that tradition into this context far more explicitly than does the plural phrasing. 53 Berlin, “Psalm 133,” 144. Berlin even suggests that “making a connection” between these verses “is unnecessary, if not harmful, to a correct understanding of the poem.” In fact, one of the central aims of Berlin’s interpretation of Psalm 133 is to maintain that “the two comparative particles (k) do not introduce two similes which relate back to ‘dwelling in unity’” (“Psalm 133,” 144). Rather, she believes the two similes relate to each other, are equated, viz. “like the good oil on the head ... so is the dew of Hermon...” But the construction she cites in support of this construal (k- ... k-, J-M §174i), whether in poetry or prose, inevitably involves the sequence of particles in rather close proximity (esp. Isa 24:2; Ps 139:12), the close juxtaposition itself effecting the sense of equation (e.g., “like father, like son”), and often involves other linguistic cues in support of the construal (e.g., ʾāz, ʿāttâ in Josh 14:11; kî ... yahdāw yahălōkû in 1 Sam 30:24). Neither is obviously true of the similes in Psalm 133. Indeed, I think the scale (i.e., the comparisons in question being separated by several couplets) in this instance works against Berlin’s suggestion. But in any case the syntactic profile of the whole is sufficiently indistinct as to warrant consideration of other possible construals. 51

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kaššemen), and perhaps even a common rhetoric of extravagance. To what end? Surely, Weiser is correct in thinking that auditors are won over to the poem’s opening exclamation (in part) precisely “by means of” the “colourful images” of fine oil and dew.54 But the latter do not only illustrate the “harmonious beauty and charm” exclaimed in v. 1, though they do that, they concretize it, making it sensual (through figures of taste, feel, smell, and sight) and thus sensible, imaginable. The key is then, the combination of exclamation and similes. A great deal of what this poem achieves comes about expressly through the joining of elements, emerges in the literal space between the poem’s words55 and in the time that elapses during the poem’s performance.56 R. P. Blackmur observes in a comment on a similar figure in Wallace Stevens’s poem “The Death of a Soldier” that what is achieved is “not exactly in the words” themselves, but “because of them.”57 The force of the similes in our little poem is not so much “for example” but “just like” or “as” (in Hebrew literally kĕ-) and because of them the abstract exclamation in v. 1 (“how good...!”) is fitted out with qualities and feelings that it otherwise does not have. That is, the goodness of brothers dwelling together is beyond the sense of the specific words used to express it. What is good and praiseworthy is made known and knowable, finds its purchase in the variable sensibilities (as traced above) conjured by a superfluity of fine virgin olive oil and the fecundity of overflowing dew. This extraordinary goodness—trebly hyped—is the goodness of “good oil,” its feel and smell, its rich associations of richness, daily sufficiency, a life well and long lived Psalms, 784. Spacing was used to divide words already in Aramaic from the seventh century B.C.E. on (e.g., KAI 233; TAD A1.1) and becomes the normative scribal practice in most (biblical) manuscripts written in the so-called “Jewish script” recovered from the Dead Sea and its environs, see E. Tov, Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Jean Desert (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 131. 56 The experience of temporality, “a sense of real-time unfolding,” is a critical distinguishing characteristic of the poetic in general and nonnarrative, lyric poetry in particular—the elapse of time makes no difference in reading narrative prose (cf. B. Herrnstein Smith, Poetic Closure: A Study of How Poems End [Chicago: University of Chicago, 1968], 4; D. Attridge, The Singularity of Literature [London: Routledge, 2004], 71). 57 “Examples of Wallace Stevens” in Close Reading: The Reader (eds. F. Lentricchia and A. Dubois; Durham: Duke, 2003), 116. 54 55

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with family and among the gods, against the majestic backdrop of snowcapped Hermon and amid the surety of life promised in the dewy runoff so abundant that it finds a catch-point even amid the hills of Zion. This begins to approach—but only approach!—the goodness and pleasantness of “brothers dwelling together” hymned in this psalm. What is here put in words, then, as Blackmur observes, is at the same time put “beyond words and beyond the sense of words,”58 and herein lies another way of this poem and of poetry more broadly. That is, I want to claim for poetry—and here specifically biblical Hebrew poetry—the critical importance of its way of saying and what emerges as a product of that saying, a saying that necessarily says things one way and not another, chooses in this case to think goodness and pleasantness of family—an image which itself is already given very particularly, viz. “brothers living together”—through selected images of fine virgin olive oil, a long flowing beard, and heavy Mediterranean dewfall, and as a result gives rise to an idea, a sensibility, a knowing above and beyond (but always in light of, too) what is literally said (viz. the goodness, etc.) that is new, that does not exist apart from this (particular) way of saying it. To ventriloquize Blackmur one last time, “we cannot say abstractly, in words, any better what we know” about this goodness and pleasantness, “yet the knowledge has become positive and the conviction behind it indestructible, because it has been put into words,” into these specific words in this most particular way.59

5. A SENTENTIOUS CLOSING But this is not yet the end of the poem (or my reading of it), though the change in feel and form of the final three lines60 signals an impending ending. Compact to this point, orchestrated around the patterned play of Ibid. “Examples of Wallace Stevens,” 116. 60 Cf. Gunkel, Psalmen, 569. The lineation here again follows the spacing discernible in B 19 A. In Aleppo there is not a significant amount of space separating siwwâ and yhwh. This line division has sometimes been questioned. However, the fact of lineation itself is shown visually in the bi-columnar page layout with interspersed spacing of MT (the combination of spacing and column boundary is especially telling in Aleppo; in 11QPsa, b the psalm is written in prose format) and the resulting lengths of line are balanced (Dahood, Psalms III, 252) and comparable with those in the rest of the poem. Even the staging, i.e., in which subject and object comprise a single line of their own, has good parallels (esp. Lam 2:1a). 58 59

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couplets, the psalm now uncoils just a bit, as the closing declaration (“there Yahweh commands the blessing, life always”) spreads out over three lines instead of two, the extended reach enabled by the added bulk of the socalled prose particles (e.g., ha-, ʾet-).61 And the syntax here, still enjambed but now unfettered by the earlier lines’ rhetoric of repetition, straightens out noticeably, becoming more obviously sententious, plainer even— standard prose word order (VSO) prevails. With these subtle changes as signal guides—terminal modification is a quintessential mechanism of closure62—the poem glides to its seemingly inevitable (ʿad-hāʿôlām “always”) close.63 The force of kî here may be taken asseveratively (esp. Gen 22:17; Deut 2:7; 1 Sam 26:16; Isa 1:27, 29–30; 7:15–16; Jer 22:5, 24; 31:18–19; Amos 4:2; Ps 49:16; 77:12; Lam 3:22)64—in which case we have yet one further 61 Further, it should be recalled that the lack of the so-called prose particles in Hebrew poetry is largely a consequence of the compressed nature of the latter kind of discourse. There is no (metaphysical) reason why they should not appear in verse—and, in fact, they do quite commonly!—nor should their appearance be construed (invariably) as a sign of prose or a prosaizing style or insertion. Besides the Masoretes are not normally given to lineating prose and prosaic glosses are not common in the Psalms (outside of the superscriptions). 62 On the notion of “terminal modification” as an especially commonplace means for signaling closure in poems, see Smith, Poetic Closure, esp. 28, 43–44. 63 Smith notices that poems often allude at the end to experiences (literary or nonliterary) that have associations with “termination, finality, repose or stability” (Poetic Closure, 175–76). The language of perpetuity (ʿad-ʿôlām, etc.) in the Hebrew Bible carries just these kinds of associations (esp. finality and permanence), and even a cursory reading of how psalms typically end reveals a conspicuous preference for this language in closing lines (e.g., Ps 5:12; 12:8; 15:5; 18:51; 28:9; 30:13; 41:14; 45:18; 48:15; 52:10–11; 61:9; 72:19; 79:13; 89:53; 100:5; 106:48; 111:10; 115:18; 117:2; 118:29; 121:8; 136:26; 138:8; 139:24; 145:21; 146:10). 64 So Keel, “Ps 133,” 76 and n. 37; Allen, Psalms 101–150, 213. The question of asseverative kî has been thoroughly discussed of late. For bibliography, see Muraoka, Emphatic Words, 158–64; JM §§164, 165a, e; IBHS §39.3.4e. Muraoka’s discussion is most judicious and his summary statement may be offered as a working premise for the consideration of individual cases of asseverative kî (164): The etymologically deducible original demonstrative force of the particle kî was still alive alongside its later specializations, and this demonstrative function is the source of its occasional asseverative-emphatic use. It is used particularly when it appears in oath formulas, and closely related to that in the apodosis of conditional sentences. Beyond these uses, it may be used for the emphasizing purpose when directly fixed to the predicate, and that almost exclusively in

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(obvious) inflection of the poem’s rhetoric of extravagance—or logically and causally (esp. Gen 11:9; 21:31; Num 11:34; 2 Sam 1:21; Joel 4:12)65— wherein the simile-laden goodness so far hymned is provided with a kind of explanation, one loaded (the citation of divine blessing) such that it will brook no argument.66 And I see no reason why both senses are not to be heard here. But in either case (or even in both cases) the extended kî clause itself motivates what precedes it. Its target may be construed locally, as modifying the immediately preceding image (esp. 2 Sam 1:21; Joel 4:12). The poet has already used a run-on simile with regard to the elaboration of the beard as belonging to Aaron, so to see another here is unproblematic. The “there” (šām), then, on this reading would point back explicitly to the “mountains of Zion.”67 Most often the antecedent of this deictic particle (šām) in BH is local and proximate. And, of course, it is precisely from Zion (most especially in the so-called Zion tradition),68 the mountain home of Yahweh, that the deity’s commands and teachings are issued (Isa 2:1–4) and a bounteous life promised for Zion’s inhabitants (Ps 48:12–14; 132:13–18; poetic context. In his larger discussion, Muraoka also notes the use of asseverative kî in “a climatic construction” (e.g., Ps 77:12; Isa 32:13; Emphatic Words, 163). In all cases, of course, the discernment of emphasis is a consequence of contextual considerations. In Psalm 133 kî šām, which elsewhere is sometimes written with a maqqaph (i.e., kîšām, e.g., Gen 11:9; 43:25; Num 11:34; 1 Sam 7:17; 22:22) emphasizing the words close bond as a phrasal unit, directly precedes the predicate (siwwâ) and, if not locally climatic (in Muraoka’s sense), the closing triplet in Psalm 133 is certainly rhetorically prominent, even climatic. kî miššām in Jer 22:24 as a part of Yahweh’s oath is emphatic (“even there...,” NRSV) and kî šām in Hos 9:15, Ps 122:5, and Ps 137:3 may be taken asseveratively—or at least the force of the particle is not so obviously or necessarily logical in these passages (cf. 2 Chr 20:26). hinnê-šām (e.g., Ezek 8:4), ʾak-šām (Isa 34:14, 15), and gam-šām (Ps 139:10) exemplify related types of asseverative markers. 65 Weiser, Psalms, 785; Dahood, Psalms III, 252; Berlin, “Psalm 133,” 146; cf. IBHS §§38.4, 7–8, 39.3.4e. S construes specifically in this way: mtl dtmn “because there....” 66 The plainer, sententiousness of the lines suits the causal or logical construal especially well, as the appeal of the explanation is enhanced by the apparent simplicity or straightforwardness with which it is made. 67 Dahood, Psalms III, 262; Keel, “Ps 133,” 78–80; Weiser, Psalms, 785; Berlin, “Psalm 133,” 146. 68 See Roberts, “Zion in the Theology of the Davidic-Solomonic Empire,” 331– 347.

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147:12–20; Isa 33:17–24). In fact, šām echoes through several of the psalms in the small collection of Songs of Ascents (Ps 122:4, 5; 132:17), each time referencing Zion/Jerusalem, and thus šām is given a most specific semantic gloss as it is read across the surface of this particular sequence of poems.69 In Psalm 133 the content of the blessing Yahweh commands is spelled out most proximately in the immediately following line that concludes the poem: “Life always” (hayyîm ʿad-hāʿôlām). The phrase is stacked paratactically in apposition next to ʾet-habbĕrākâ, literally as if it were a gloss. This is the psalm’s second significant use of apposition, the first coming back in v. 2 and there also straddling a line boundary, viz. hazzāqān/ zĕqan-ʾahărōn. This is not the “eternal life” of later tradition (only in Dan 12:2),70 but the finite existence (i.e., life and not death, cf. Deut 30:15–20) that Yahweh, “maker of heaven and earth” (Ps 134:3), established and blessed for human beings. Ps 21:5 more explicitly glosses this notion of “life” with the standard royal leitmotif of “length of days” (e.g., KAI 4.5–6; 5.2; 6.2–3; cf. Deut 30:20; TAD A4.7.3), days, it is often implied, which are also full, abundant, satisfying.71 The expression “forever and ever” in that psalm is well explained by P. Craigie as implying “that such life would extend into the future as far as conceivable.”72 This is the basic sense of ʿôlām more generally and it holds for our expression in Psalm 133: life, good and whole and abundant, for as long into the future as possible, unto such a time that is not presently conceivable. Others, too, have noticed this tendency for šām to reference Zion/Jerusalem in a group of psalms (e.g., Allen, Psalms 101–150, 214). 70 Esp. J. J. Collins, Daniel (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 392, n. 212; P. C. Craigie, Psalms 1–50 (Word; Waco: Word, 1983), 191. Contra Dahood, Psalms III, 253. D. N. Freedman (as cited in Dahood, Psalms III, 253) raises the possibility that hyym may have been omitted intentionally in 11QPsa to avoid just this connotation of eternal life. 71 The Karatepe inscription of Azatiwada (KAI 26) elaborates well the kind of flourishing life (esp. ll. A i 1–21, ii 1–19) that the phrase “length of days” (l. A iii 5; C iii 20) implies and that results from divine blessing (ll. Ai 1, iii 2; C iii 16). The last rendition, written on the statue of Baal, fleshes out the general sense behind the language of Psalm 133:3 (though the latter, of course, does not have the king in view): “Now may Baal KRNTRYŠ bless (wbrk) Azatiwadawith with life (bhym) and health and mighty strength over every king; may Baal KRNTRYŠ and all the gods of the city give Azatiwada length of days (ʾrk ymm) and multitude of years and good (nʿmt) prosperity” (COS 2.31). 72 Psalms 1–50, 191. 69

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šām has a less proximate antecedent as well. This one cued by the ears, through the voiced quality of the word itself. The /-ām/ sound of šām’s single syllable, redoubled and thus sonically underscored in the /-ām/ of the triplet’s (and poem’s) final syllable, ʿôlām, echos the /-am/ of gam in the poem’s opening couplet. An alertness to the possibility of sound play is provoked, however briefly, in the rhyming /-ōn/ endings that connect the three named figures in the body of the poem—ʾahărōn, hermôn, siyyôn. But for the most part, at least to this point, the poem’s play with sound happens covertly, piggy-backing, as it were, on the poem’s more overt play of word (and phrase) iteration, viz. tôb/tôb, yōrēd/yōrēd/yōrēd, še-/še-, zāqān/zĕqan, kĕ-/ka-, ʿal/ʿal/ʿal/ʿal. And yet once the ear hearkens back to that initial couplet it will hear the rhyme and chime of other sounds, too, chains of sound (to match of the word chains already noticed) that appear to reach back over the body of similes to link the opening couplet to the closing triplet: the final /-ā/ in siwwâ and habbĕrākâ echoing the doubled mah in v. 1 and the /-īm/ of the plural morpheme in hayyîm resounding in the /-īm/ of nāʿîm and ʾahîm.73 Repetition here, too, is the means by which these sounds re-sound across the surface of the poem, our hearing of them helped by the absence of word final /-am/, /-ā/, and /-īm/ in the body of the poem. Thus, in addition to the sheer pleasantness of this burble of sound, we are seduced by its thrum into hearing the closing kî clause as if in answer to the psalm’s initial exclamation: Wow! How exquisite and how pleasant is The dwelling of brothers all together! .... There Yahweh Commands the blessing— Life always! 73 Cf. Freedman as cited in Dahood, Psalms III, 253. In 11QPsa, the lack of hyym explodes the /-īm/ chain of MT. While the linking succession of /-ām/ sounds can still be heard in the wording of this manuscript, it is the thrice repeated /-ā/ in šmh, swh, and hbrkh that answers most emphatically the doubled mh of v. 1.

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The “there” of the divine blessing so heard resides, it now seems clear, also in the brothers’ residing (together).74 That is, family, literally and in its many possible metaphorical and metonymic extensions, is one place where Yahweh’s blessing of life is made manifest (e.g., Gen 12:2; 2 Sam 7:29; Zech 8:13; Ps 37:26). Here, then, several other ways by which poetry means come into view. The way of sound, as it infects and affects thought and sense, Culler observes, is precisely one of the scandals of lyric verse.75 In this case, the “chaos of paronomasia, sound-links, ambiguous sense-links, and memorylinks” (to borrow N. Frye’s words) refocus the site of blessing in the psalm (euphonically relocating its šām in the opening couplet’s gam) and at the same time discloses an alternative formal structure operative in the poem. With šām’s most proximate antecedent uppermost in mind (i.e., the “mountains of Zion”), the poem may be read as consisting of an opening exclamation followed by two run-on similes.76 Yet when the links of sound are noticed, the initial couplet and closing triplet resolve into a frame, enveloping the similes of oil, beard, and dew.77 And if šām routinely takes a local and proximate antecedent in standard biblical Hebrew usage, it may also point more remotely and even generically. The triply repeated šām in Job 3:17 and 19 is a parade example. For the “there” in question is surely the underworld figured throughout this section of the poem (vv. 11–19) though nowhere precisely named. That is, šām in that poem has no single linguistic item to which it literally points, and so the antecedent does not lie in any of the actual words of the poem but in what those words imagine, create, conjure. Once cued to the more expansive purview of Yahweh’s blessing in the poem, it may also occur to some readers—especially those steeped in the stories and poems of ancient Israel and Judah, in their songs, psalmody, proverbial lore, and even royal annals—that fine olive oil (Deut 8:6–10; 33:24; cf. 28:1–15) and copious dew (Gen 27:28, 39; Deut 33:13; Zech 8:12–13; cf. Deut 28:1–15; Judg 6:37–38; Hos 14:6; Prov 19:12) are themselves often thought of as a blessing or the marks thereof. Indeed, Cf. Gunkel, Psalmen, 572; Weiser, Psalms, 785. Literary Theory, 75. 76 E.g., Berlin, “Psalm 133,” 145. 77 The frame is itself fastened to the poem’s body (ever so subtly) by the assonating play of sibilants and labials in šebet and šemen and sibilants and approximants in siyyôn and siwwâ (cf. Allen, Psalms, 101–150, 215). 74 75

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Hermon and Zion as divine mountains are inherently blessed (cf. Gen 49:26; Jer 31:23), or more properly, become sites of blessing as a felicitous consequence of their divine resident(s), and also sites from which blessings are effected (Ps 128:5; 134:3; 135:2; cf. Deut 27:2; Josh 8:33).78 Aaron, too, is a (verbal) source of blessing (Lev 9:22) and his posterity, the “house of Aaron,” even attracts blessing (Ps 115:12; 135:19), and blessings may themselves be characterized as “good” (Ps 21:4; Prov 24:25).79 And thus here again a glimpse may be had of how biblical Hebrew poems through their words can achieve something more than what those words literally say. It is as if once commanded by Yahweh the blessing is released and ricochets,80 retrospectively in this case,81 back through the psalm, pin-ball fashion, hitting and catching hold on words (momentarily) wherever it might, first through the attraction of sound and then through a rich if spasmodic and nonlinear array of association and implication.82 There is a substance and density that lyric verse takes on “by virtue of the quickenings or subtle gradations of sense established by the choice of words and the For a broad survey of the divine mountain in ancient Near Eastern thought, see Clifford, Cosmic Mountain. Roberts comments more explicitly on Zion as a site of blessing and well-being as a consequence of Yahweh’s dwelling there in “Davidic Origin of the Zion Tradition” and “Zion in the Theology of the DavidicSolomonic Empire.” 79 Cf. Weiser, Psalms, 785. 80 There is a substantiality—a thingness—to blessings and cursings in antiquity as they were the tangible products (viz. blessedness=deliverance from enemies, e.g., Qom 3.2) of speech acts (viz. “I hereby bless you,” KAjr 18.1–2; Arad 16.2–3; cf. S. Sanders, “Performative Utterances and Divine Language in Ugaritic,” JNES 63 [2004], 161–81, esp. 174). So in Lev 25:21 Yahweh’s blessing, once commanded, takes on an agency such that it can be conceptualized as the subject of a transitive verb: “... so that it (=blessing) will yield (lit. “do,” wĕʿāśāt) a crop (ʾet-hattĕbûʾâ) for three years.” 81 For the idea of “retrospective patterning” in poetry, see esp, Smith, Poetic Closure, 10–14. 82 Gerstenberger (Psalms, Part 2, 372) recognizes something of this retrospective resonance of “blessing” in Psalm 133, even if I think it ultimately comes off quite differently than Gerstenberger supposes: “The inner logic of the psalm, therefore, runs counter to the sequence of the text [viz. exclamation followed by similes and the concluding kî clause]. First, there is the blessing of Yahweh from Zion, then this blessing runs down to all who meet at the sanctuary, therefore they may be called ‘happy’ (although the standard expression of BEATITUDE, ʾašrê, is missing; cf. [Ps] 1:1).” Weiser (Psalms, 785) is also alert to the prospective and retrospective play of this poem, the need to always “look both ways.” 78

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patterns they enter into—as overt syntax and as elements thickening the texture of the attitudes projected by such gradations.”83 As a consequence, any fully empathetic, close reading of single items in a poem, words in particular, but also images, sounds, rhythms, and the like, will always require attending to their potential resonances, both prospective and retrospective; a detailed following out, that is, of the multiple, often discontinuous, and complex meanderings of sense and sensibility that are enacted in the event of the poem.84 This, too, is a prototypical way of poetry, and of lyric poetry most especially.

6. CONCLUSION I have lingered long over this psalm, in part, as I indicated at the outset, to savor the gift of reading that it sponsors. Along the way I hope to have illustrated as well some of the possibilities that accompany a reading attentive both to the words that make the poem, words in their manifold dimensions of meaning, form, and sound, and to what happens in the spaces between those words, what happens, for example, because of them, as a result of their being fitted together in one way and not another. And like all readings, my reading, however intentionally patient and mindful of larger horizons of interpretation, in the end is but a reading, singular, limited in how it sees, what it celebrates and luxuriates in. Other readers, bringing different eyes and ears, different sensibilities to bear on this small poem, have read and will read it differently. But even so not all poems, and surely not all biblical poems, will repay so handsomely such close attention, such close reading. If close reading is a practice I want to (re)claim for the study of biblical poetry, what is read closely also has much to do with what is ultimately readable. Psalm 133 is one of the Bible’s more stunning poetic gems, a poem whose lusciousness and depth belies its extreme brevity. This reading, many times longer than the poem itself, stands, finally, as testimony to my own sense of this psalm’s aesthetic achievement and to the kind of readerly engagement that it invites and even requires.

C. Altieri, “Tractatus Logico-Poeticus,” Critical Inquiry 33 (2007), 537. See the thoughts of M. Nussbaum on the medium of lyric verse and what it requires of readers in The Fragility of Goodness (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1986), 67–70. Cf. Altieri, “Tractatus Logico-Poeticus,” 538. 83 84

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7. APPENDIX: TEXT, TRANSLATION, AND NOTES hinnê85 mah-tôb ûmah-nāʿîm šebet ʾahîm gam-yāhad kaššemen hattôb86 ʿal-hārōʾš yōrēd87 ʿal-hazzāqān zēqan-ʾahărōn šeyyōrēd88

Wow! How good and how pleasant is The dwelling of brothers, all together— Like fine oil on the head Running down over the beard, The beard of Aaron which is running down

The reading in MT is presupposed by 11QPsa (hnh), Tg. (hʾ), and Vulg. (ecce) as well. LXX reads idou dē, though often referring to added emphasis explicitly present in MT (e.g., hinnê-nāʾ, Judg 13:3, 1 Sam 9:6, 16:5, 2 Sam 14:21, 2 Kgs 4:9, Job 10:16; hinnê ʾattâ, 1 Sam 28:9, cf. Job 27:12; rĕʾēh nāʾ, 2 Sam 7:2; kî hinnê, Isa 3:1), other times the emphasis implied represents LXX’s interpretation, i.e., there is no extra linguistic element in the immediate context in MT (e.g., 1 Sam 20:5; 28:21; 2 Kgs 5:11; Isa 22:17; 33:7; Ps 134:1), which seems to be the case here (and also in Ps 134:1). That is, there is no reason to think LXX was actually reading a Vorlage with hinnê-nāʾ or the like. Syr. leaves out a corresponding literal gloss for hinnê altogether (also in Ps 134:1), as usual its chief aim is to give the semantic sense of the Hebrew as clearly as possible. 86 LXX’s gloss as myron “sweet oil” does not quite capture the grade distinction denoted by the Hebrew, but it does nonetheless appear to get the extraordinary nature of the oil (the same rendering of šemen tôb is given in 2 Kgs 20:13=Isa 39:2). In Qoh 7:1 LXX translates (perhaps) more literally, elaion agathon. Any in case, the LXX should be construed here (in all likelihood) as supporting MT (along with 11QPsa, Tg., and Vulg.). The rendering in Syr., mšhʾ, again represents this translation’s habit of leveling through all tropological density in favor of a (more) straightforward semantic rendering (cf. Tg.’s kms̆ḥ ṭb). Therefore, it too is unlikely to be witnessing to a Vorlage that varies from MT. 87 There is no need to emend by adding a še- in imitation of the two other occurrences of šeyyōrēd (so Gunkel, Psalmen, 572; Kraus, Psalmen, 1067) or to follow the minority of Masoretic manuscripts that add a definite article (see BHS), conforming to the clustering of definite articles in the couplet. Both strategies level MT in light of the broader context. LXX (to katabainon), Vulg. (quod descendit), and Syr. (dnht) all similarly assimilate toward the other renderings of šeyyōrēd in the psalm. The reading in MT is reflected in 11QPsa (ywrd) and Tg. (nhyt). Further, while it is common in BH for the participle to be accompanied by a definite article when forming a relative clasue, it is by no means syntactically necessary, “because the participle, as a verbal adjective, by itself can serve as a relative clause” (IBHS §19.7b). 88 11QPsa reads šyrd in contradistinction to ywrd earlier and šywrd later. Of course, this could simply reflect a defective spelling of the participle (as in MT). However, the spelling in this scroll (and in the DSS more generally) is customarily full, opening up the possibility that the scribe intends the perfective form of the 85

F. W. DOBBS-ALLSOPP ʿal-pî middôtāyw89

417

Over the collar of his robes;

verb here. On this reading, Keel (“Ps 133,” 69) suggests that 11QPsa means to signal that it is taking the immediately preceding zqn ʾhrwn as the subject and not the šemen hattôb, which, like tal, governs a participle. However construed, the underlying Hebrew Vorlage is the same. 89 The Masoretes apparently vocalize as if from middâ “measure, measurement,” for which the feminine plural is well attested (Num 13:32; 1 Kgs 7:9, 11; Jer 22:14; Ezek 40:24, 28, 29, 32, 33, 35; 41:17; 42:15; 43:13; 48:16). The reading would be something like: “...the beard of Aaron which falls down according to (ʿal-pî; see Lev 27:8, 18; Num 26:56; Prov 22:6; Sir 13:24) its measures (i.e., length, size, Num 13:32; 2 Sam 21:10; Isa 45:14; Jer 22:14; 2 Chr 3:3; more commonly in BH with kĕ-, e.g., 1 Kgs 7:9, 11; cf. Keel, “Ps 133,” 71–73). N.B.: Jastrow has no entry for a lexeme from mdd meaning “clothes” or the like (only JBA maddaʾ)—though he does translate a paasage in Yebam. 76b with reference to 1 Sam 17:38 maddāyw kmiddātô “his (Saul’s) garments such as fitted his stature” (I, 732; cf. ʾyš špyr mddh “a man whose stature is beautiful,” TAD C1.1.95). In contrast, all the versions (LXX ōan tou endumatos autou, Tg. ʾymrʾ dlbwšwy, Syr. br swrʾ dkwtynh, Vulg. oram vestimentorum eius), and also 11QPsa and 11QPsb (both read mdyw) construe as if from BH mad “garment” (Lev 6:3; Judg 3:16; 1 Sam 4:12; 17:38, 39; 18:4; 20:8; Ps 109:18) or mādû/madweh “garment” (2 Sam 10:4=1 Chr 19:4). The problem is that the lexeme in Hebrew is normally masculine, except for a single occurrence at Qumran (mdt hdr “robe of honor,” 1QS 4.8). Ugaritic may also attest one instance of a feminine plural, mdth (CTU 4.182.55). MT is to be preferred (over the DSS readings) as the more difficult reading, though following the versions in construing the reference to be to a garment of some kind. This interpetation is supported by a number of considerations. One, there are the two other attested feminine forms at Qumran and in Ugaritic, the latter a plural. Two, if the Masoretes did not know a word for garment from the root mdd, then their construal as if a measure of some sort, as well as taking Aaron’s beard as the antecedent, is sensible but no longer overly compelling (the Masoretic accentuation, contra Dahood, Psalms III, 252, does not disambiguate the antecedent presumed to govern the relative clause). Besides I know of only one late reference to a long beard in the ancient sources: R. Payne-Smith cites Syr ʾarrîq daqnāʾ “long bearded” as a translation of an Arabic original (Ibn S. Thes. §3; s.v. ʾarrîq), and none of the uses of middâ pointed out by Keel and others offer very precise parallels, mostly indicating a large person or structure. An allusion via a play on middâ to the stature of the individual, especially in light of the explicit naming of Aaron, and even possibly, given the iconographic evidence, to the fullness of the beard imagined (so Keel’s “seiner ganzen Größe”), is entirely possible (so Ray Van Leeuwen, personal communication). Third, if the reference is to a garment, then there are good parallels to pî as indicating the collar or the neck opening of a garment (cf. all the versions): kĕpî kuttontî “by the collar of my tunic” (Job 30:18),

418

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES kĕtal-hermôn šeyyōrēd90 ʿal-harĕrê91 sīyyôn92

Like the dew of Hermon running down Over the mountains of Zion—

kĕpî tahrāʾ “by the collar of a coat of mail” (Exod 28:32; 39:23), ûpî hammĕʿîl “the opening of the robe” (Exod 39:23). Fourth, though perhaps incidentally, Aaron is himself fitted out with a “linen robe” (middô bar) in Lev 6:3. And the clincher is a passage in 1 Samuel 21 in which David, feigning madness, causes spittle to run down his beard: wayyôred rîrô ʾel-zĕqānô “and he causes spittle to run down his beard” (1 Sam 21:14; some Mss read ʿl for ʾl). That is, nowhere else do beards yrd. But to the contrary substances like “spittle,” and thus presumably, potentially “oil,” too, do yrd down upon and over the beard. 90 This is a late syntagma. Hurvitz (Transition Period, 156–58) points out that only here (2x) and in Haggai (2:1) and in Qoheleth (9:12; 10:15) does the syntagma še + participle appear in BH; otherwise it has the definite article (i.e., h + participle, cf. IBHS §19.6; for the SBH construction with yrd, see Deut 9:21; Josh 3:13; 2 Kgs 12:21; cf. Qoh 3:21; Neh 3:15). The še + participle construction is otherwise known in Rabbinic Hebrew (e.g., t. Hag. 2a; Mek. (226); Sanh. 7, 50b) and is also reflected in Targumic Aramaic (e.g., Tg. Onq. 2 Chr 18:7; see Hurvitz, Transition Period, 156–57). še- is itself a typically late affix, substituting for and even replacing the relative particle ʾăšer that dominates the early phases of the language (for discussion with earlier literature, see F. W. Dobbs-Allsopp, “Late Linguistic Features in the Song of Songs” in Perspectives on the Song of Songs—Perspektiven der Hoheliedauslegung (A. C. Hagedorn, ed.; BZAW; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2005), 46, 59–60. 91 The plural in MT is supported by LXX (orē), Tg. (twry), and Vulg. (montana). 11QPsa (hr) and apparently Syr. (twrʾ, without seyame), in contrast, read the singular. The latter reading is surely an assimilation to the standard phrase har siyyôn “Mount Zion,” elsewhere always in the singular (e.g., 2 Kgs 19:31; Isa 4:5; 8:18; 10:12; 24:23; 29:8; 31:4; Joel 3:5; Obad 17; Mic 4:7; Ps 48:3, 12; 74:2; 78:68’ 125:1; Lam 5:18). The plural “mountains” is the more unique and difficult reading, and hard to imagine a scribe coming to it from a putative Vorlage with a singular. But the rendering in 11QPsa and Syr. does point up a certain oddness to the phrasing of MT. Perhaps, indicating that something more or other than “Mount Zion” is intended here. The genitive construction involving “mountains” (in the plural) plus a Geographical Name is rather commonplace, e.g., “mountains of Ararat” (Gen 8:4), “mountains of Abarim” (Num 33:47), “mountains of Samaria” (Jer 31:5; Amos 3:9), “mountains of Israel” (Ezek 6:2, etc.), “mountains of Judah” (2 Chr 21:11). Hence, the reference may be taken rather straightfowardly (initially at any rate) as a reference to the “mountains of Zion,” namely, the several hills in and around Jerusalem (cf. Ps 87:1; 121:1; 125:2). The reanalyzed form of the plural with the typical infixed -a plural of qvtl nouns (the standard plural of the qvtl pattern with geminate roots in BH is qvllîm in the absolute and qvllê in the construct, cf. J. Fox, Semitic Noun Patterns [HSS 52;

F. W. DOBBS-ALLSOPP kî šām93 siwwâ yhwh ʾet-habbĕrākâ hayyîm95 ʿad-hāʿôlām96

419

There94 Yahweh Commands the blessing— Life always!

Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2003], 136, 147, 153), though not indisputably diagnostic of LBH, becomes (more) prominent in LBH and later dialects of Hebrew. A general trend towards more prominence is to be observed diachronically in the Aramaic dialects as well. For details, see Dobbs-Allsopp, “Late Linguistic Features,” 34–36. 92 All witnesses follow MT in reading “Zion.” Yet a number of emendations are routinely pressed (ʿiyyôn “Ijon,” ṣiyyâ̂ “parched,” śiyyôn [presumably for śîʾōn] “Sion”), since the notion of dew running down from Hermon to Zion is literally untenable. Alter (Psalms, 463) is exemplary, pointing out that the reading “mountains of Zion” does not “make much sense because Mount Hermon is geographically removed from the Judean mountains around Jerusalem, and dew certainly does not travel in this fashion.” But the realist assumptions of this logic do not necessarily hold. There is every reason to suspect that the poet means the image figuratively, similar to how Zion in other passages is imagined as high and in the far north (Ps 48:3)—it neither has high peaks or is located in the north, or in the Ugaritic Baal Cycle the heavens can rain “oil” (šmn) and the wadis run with “honey” (nbtm) (CTU 1.6.III.6–7). On this view, all of the suggested emendations are assimilatory and have little appeal beside the only material reading attested. 93 11QPsa reads the long form, šmh. 94 The rendering of kî šām as simply “there” follows the lead of NJV. This leaves ambiguous the question of whether to understand the force of kî here asseveratively or logically. As indicated above, I think both senses are to be heard. But any literal rendering of kî into English must favor one (“indeed, truly, verily”) or the other (“because, for”) construal. 95 hayyîm is lacking in 11QPsa. LXX, Tg., and Syr. add a conjunction. Vulg. and 11QPsb (as far as it is extant) follow MT. Of the two readings, the shorter and more syntactically challenging MT (and V) is likely the more original reading. The addition of the conjunction eases, and thereby clarifies and interprets explicitly, the appositional construction of MT (the addition of the conjunction earlier in v. 2 in S, viz. wʿl dqnʾ, is also of this nature). According to LXX, Tg., and Syr., Yahweh here commands two things: blessing and life. It is difficult to imagine the latter being simplified to an appositional construction, except through parablepsis (the waw being overlooked between the final he on hbrkh and the initial het from hyym (which are similar especially at Qumran, cf. P. Kyle McCarter, Jr., Textual Criticism [GBS; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986], 46): MT, Vulg. ʾt-hbrkh hyym ʿd-hʿwlm LXX, Tg., Syr. ʾt-hbrkh whyym ʿd-(h)ʿwlm ʾt-hbrkh ʿd- ʿwlm 11QPsa 11QPsb ʾt-hbrkh hyym[ ]lm

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The absence of hayyîm in 11QPsa is more puzzling. There is no obvious mechanical explanation of the minus here. Though not precisely paralleled, the sentiment of blessing or being blessed forever is not uncommon in the Psalms in particular (e.g., 41:14; 45:3; 72:19; 89:53; 106:48; 113:5; 115:18; 145:1, 2, 21). The reading in 11QPsa could be explained as a simplification of MT or simply a scribal error, or even as D. N. Freedman (cited in Dahood, Psalms III, 253) suggests, an intentional omission that was theologically motivated, viz. to get rid of any notion of an eternal life. But, in any case, of the two readings (MT and 11QPsa), it is hard to imagine the rationale for inserting hayyîm into a text like 11QPsa. Moreover, considerations of line length and of the sound patterns traced in the body of this essay support the suspicion that the reading in MT is more likely to have given rise to a reading like that in 11QPsa. 96 11QPsa and MTmss (Ken) read the common ʿd ʿwlm. The idiom with the definite article, as in MT, LXX (eōs tou aiōnos), and Tg. (ʿd ʿlmʾ; cf. Syr. ʿdmʾ lʿlm), is the more difficult reading and is a feature of LBH (see Hurvitz, Transition Period, 158–59): outside of the four instances in the Psalms (28:9; 41:14; 106:48; 133:3), ʿd-hʿwlm occurs only in the books of Chronicles, Nehemiah, and Daniel; it is in contrast to the SBH idiom ʿd-ʿwlm; and the targums consistently translate the latter as ʿd ʿlmʾ (= Heb ʿd-hʿwlm). Hurvitz gives the following example which nicely points up the contrast: 2 Sam 7:16: wnʾmn bytk wmmlktk ʿd ʿwlm 1 Chr 17:14: whʿmdtyhw bbyty wbmlkwty ʿd hʿwlm Targum (to Samuel): wqym bytk wmlkwtk ʿd ʿlmʾ 11QPsa (cf. 11QPsb: šlwm ʿl[ yśrʾl]) adds a line to the end of the poem not attested in MT or any of the other witnesses: šlwm ʿl yśrʾl lit. “Peace upon Israel.” This addition, combined with other variations in 11QPsa, significantly alters how this poem ends. The main upshot is to provide the blessing (šlwm ʿl yśrʾl) which Yahweh in 11QPsa is understood to have commanded. The plus itself occurs elsewhere in Ps 125:5 and 128:6, where it also closes the respective poems, and thus looks suspiciously secondary in Psalm 133. Again it is difficult to imagine varying a text like 11QPsa such that it would result in the verse attested in MT (this is supported by the need to reconstruct hyym in 11QPsa, which suggests the priority of MT).

IN SEARCH OF THE ANCIENT NAME OF KHIRBET QEIYAFA NADAV NA'AMAN DEPARTMENT OF JEWISH HISTORY TEL AVIV UNIVERSITY 1. KHIRBET QEIYAFA AND THE KINGDOM OF GATH Khirbet Qeiyafa is located on the north side of the Valley of Elah, east of Tell Zakariyeh (biblical Azekah) and north of Khirbet ‘Abbad (biblical Socoh). The Elah Valley, which it overlooks, is best known from the biblical story of the battle between David and Goliath (1 Sam 17:1). The recent excavations of Khirbet Qeiyafa unearthed a fortified stronghold on top of a hill. The stronghold was surrounded by a casemate wall covering an area of about 23 dunams, the pottery on the floors is dated to the 10th century B.C.E. (Garfinkel and Ganor 2008). Among the important finds from the site is a proto-Canaanite ostracon, as yet unpublished. Garfinkel and Ganor discussed the possible political affiliation of the city and suggested that it was a Judahite stronghold on the border of Philistia. Their main arguments are the similarity of the pottery to that of Judahite sites, the absence of pig bones and the assumed language of the ostracon. Since the site is peripheral, the kind of pottery unearthed there and the absence of Philistine pottery cannot decide the issue of political affinity. Moreover, it is precarious at this early stage of excavation to determine whether or not there are pig bones at the site. Even if we assume that the inhabitants of Khirbet Qeiyafa avoided consuming pork meat, it might have been a city of the kingdom of Gath, like the Iron Age I site of Beth-shemesh, which belonged to the kingdom of Ekron but its inhabitants avoided eating pork (for the issue of pig remains as an ethnic diagnosis, see

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Hesse 1990; 1995; Hesse and Wapnish 1997).1 Finally, Proto-Canaanite inscriptions of the Iron Age I-IIA are known mainly from the lowlands (i.e., ‘Izbet-Sartah, Gezer, Beth-Shemesh, Tel Batash, Tell es-Sāfi, Tel Zayit, Qubur el-Walaidah), and are rare in the hill country. Hence the assumption that

Khirbet Qeiyafa was connected to the neighboring lowland kingdom of Gath (Tell es-Sāfi), located 11.5 km west of it.

2. THE ANCIENT IDENTITY OF KHIRBET QEIYAFA What might have been the identity of Khirbet Qeiyafa? The story of the battle of David and Goliath describes the arena of the battle as follows (1 Sam 17:1–2): “Now the Philistines gathered their armies for battle; and they were gathered in Socoh, which belongs to Judah, and encamped between Socoh and Azekah, in Ephes-dammim; and Saul and the men of Israel were gathered, and encamped in the valley of Elah, and drew up in line of battle against the Philistines”. The description indicates that the story was written after the consolidation of the kingdom of Judah, when Socoh (and Azekah) were Judahite cities. According to the description, the Philistines encamped south of the Elah Valley, where Ephes-dammim must be sought, and Saul and his army arrived from the northeast and encamped north of the valley. Although the Israelite army encamped not far from Khirbet Qeiyafa, this important stronghold is not mentioned in the story. Evidently, the site was destroyed and deserted at the time when the story was written. There is yet another story of a battle between a Judahite warrior with Goliath of Gath, related in 2 Sam 21:19: “Again there was fighting with the Philistines at Gob; and Elhanan the son of Ya‘are >oregimt.41 If so, it is interesting that it is the EBH text which displays the more obviously Aramaic form. Furthermore the representation of proto-Semitic t with taw is only a regular feature in Persian period Aramaic i.e. in the post-exilic period.42 The criterion of external attestation might lead us to see ‫ פתר‬in G. J. Brooke, “The Biblical Texts in the Qumran Commentaries: Scribal Errors or Exegetical Variants?” Early Jewish and Christian Exegesis: Studies in Memory of William Hugh Brownlee (eds C. A. Evans and W. F. Stinespring; Atlanta: Scholars, 1987), 85-100; G. L. Doudna, 4Q Pesher Nahum A Critical Edition (JSPSup, 35; London: Sheffield Academic, 2001), 67-70; Lim, Pesharim, 18, 54-63; J.-H. Kim, “Intentionale Varianten der Habakukzitate im Pesher Habakuk Rezeptionsästhetisch Untersucht,” Bib 88 (2007), 23-37. 40 Its precise meaning in Qoheleth is not clear from the context. For a recent study see S. C. Jones, “Qoheleth’s Courtly Wisdom: Ecclesiastes 8:1-9,” CBQ 68 (2006), 211-28. 41 M. P. Horgan, Pesharim: Qumran Interpretations of Biblical Books (CBQMS 8; Washington: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1979), 236; H. J. Fabry and U. Dahmen, “‫ ֵפּ ֶשׁר‬pešer; ‫ ָפּ ַתר‬pātar; ‫ ִפּ ְתרוֹן‬/‫ ִפּ ָתּרוֹן‬pittārôn/pitrôn,” TDOT 12 (2003), 152. It is important to recall, however, that ‫ פתר‬is not attested in any Aramaic text. 42 R. Degen, Altaramäische Grammatik der Inschriften des 10.-8. Jh. V. Chr. (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1969), 32-36, 43; S. Segert, Altaramäische Grammatik 39

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Genesis as the post-exilic form, and ‫ פשר‬in Qoheleth, on the basis of its Akkadian attestation, as potentially pre-exilic.43 Horgan suggests further that the author of Genesis consciously avoided using ‫ פשר‬because of its magical connotations.44 Finally, also in regard to external sources, note that it is the root ‫ פתר‬which is favoured in Rabbinic sources.45 At Qumran, while ‫ פשר‬is much more common (due to its use in the Pesharim), the root ‫ פתר‬is also attested.46 In summary, ‫ פשר‬is at best a weak link to LBH. It exhibits no distribution, being unattested in core LBH, and only once in LBH-related; is without a clear linguistic opposition to ‫ פתר‬in Genesis; and is unlikely in any case to represent the free linguistic choice of the author. These factors together mean that we cannot designate this form as LBH, even under our loose definition of it. The use of ‫ אשר‬for “that” as in ‫“ פשרו אשר‬its interpretation (is) that…”47 is considered a feature of LBH.48 In this the author of PHab can (Leipzig: VEB Verlag Enzyklopädie, 1990), 92; Folmer, Aramaic Language, 70-74; T. Muraoka, and B. Porten, A Grammar of Egyptian Aramaic (Leiden: Brill, 20032), 78. 43 In any case, I consider Qoheleth a pre-exilic book, see Young, Diversity, 14057; Young “Biblical Texts,” 347-48; M. A. Shields, The End of Wisdom A Reappraisal of the Historical and Canonical Function of Ecclesiastes (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 22-27; cf. C. Rabin, “The Song of Songs and Tamil Poetry,” SR 3 (1973-74), 216. Of course, like any biblical text, Qoheleth was the subject of constant scribal reworking, cf. the many variant details of the Qumran manuscripts 4QQoha and 4QQohb (I. Young, “The Biblical Scrolls from Qumran and the Masoretic Text: A Statistical Approach,” Feasts and Fasts A Festschrift in Honour of Alan David Crown [eds M. Dacy, J. Dowling and S. Faigan; Mandelbaum Studies in Judaica, 11; University of Sydney: Mandelbaum, 2005], 102). There is thus no reason to believe that a preexilic origin of a book necessitates that every detail of the MT form of the book is pre-exilic. This especially applies to language, which is second only to orthography in its exposure to updating (Young “Biblical Texts,” 349-51). 44 Horgan, Pesharim, 235. 45 Berrin, “Qumran Pesharim,” 113. 46 M. G. Abegg, The Dead Sea Scrolls Concordance Volume One The Non-Biblical Texts from Qumran (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2003), 629 lists occurrences in two manuscripts of the Damascus Document, as well as one in 4Q298, the “Words of the Maskil to All Sons of Dawn”. 47 Brownlee, Midrash Pesher, 173; Horgan, “Habakkuk Pesher,” 179; M. Wise, M. Abegg and E. Cook with N. Gordon, “1QpHab, translation,” Dead Sea Scrolls Reader Part 2 Exegetical Texts (eds D. W. Parry and E. Tov; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2004), 89, among others, suggest that ‫ אשר‬in 10:13 should be rendered “since” or “because”. However, Brownlee, and Horgan, Pesharim, 46 point out that a translation like

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be said to have had more choice than in his use of ‫ פשר‬since other formulations were available, such as ‫“ פשרו על‬its interpretation concerns…” as in PHab 2:12.49 As is typical with LBH features, ‫ אשר‬for “that” is also well attested in EBH sources. According to the work of R. Holmstedt, of 49 certain cases of what he designates as “complement clause introduced by ’asher”, 19 appear in the core LBH books, and 11 in the LBH-related pre-exilic books of Ezekiel and Qoheleth, whereas 16 appear in core EBH sources, and three in EBH-related psalms.50 Thus, while we have a form that is at home in EBH, it may be considered particularly characteristic of some LBH sources, especially Esther (6 cases) and Nehemiah (8 cases).51 Hence, using the loose definition of LBH outlined above, we may count this as a LBH feature of PHab.

3.2.2. Preference for Hiphil Over Qal Stem Although attested in all strata of BH, it is argued that LBH has a particular tendency to use the hiphil stem of certain roots with an equivalent sense to the qal.52 According to most readings of PHab 4:2 we find the hiphil form ‫ילעיגו‬ “they mock”. Some scholars, however, have suggested reading the qal ‫ ילעוגו‬here.53 BDB calls the use of the hiphil stem of ‫“ לעג‬late”.54 In the MT “who” is also possible, thus e.g. G. Vermes, The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English (London: Penguin, 1997), 483. So too in 12:5 Brownlee, Midrash Pesher, 196 translates ‫ אשר‬as “for”, but, for example, Horgan, “Habakkuk Pesher,” 183 translates it as “whom”, and cf. Horgan, Pesharim, 51-52. 48 E.g. Rooker, Ezekiel, 111-12. 49 On the introductory formulas in the Pesharim see Horgan, Pesharim, 239-44. For a listing of the use of ‫ על‬in such formulae in PHab, see note 73, below. 50 R. D. Holmstedt, “The Story of Ancient Hebrew’asher,” ANES 43 (2006), 10 n.10; cf. R. D. Holmstedt, The Relative Clause in Biblical Hebrew: A Linguistic Analysis (Ph.D. diss., University of Wisconsin – Madison, 2002), 294 n.25. 51 Cf. also the LBH-related Qoheleth with nine. However, also note four cases in EBH Samuel. 52 M. Moreshet, “Hiph‛il le-lo’ hevdel min ha-Qal bi-lshon HaZaL (behashva‛ah li-lshon ha-Mikra,” Sefer Bar-Ilan 13 (1976), 249-81; Polzin, Late Biblical Hebrew, 133-34; Qimron, Hebrew, 49. 53 Segert in Brownlee, Midrash Pesher, 75. This is possible because of the great similarity of waw and yod in the script of PHab. For “pausal” forms in non-pausal positions in Qumran Hebrew see Qimron, Hebrew, 50-53; cf. e.g. ‫ יקבוצו‬in 9:5. 54 BDB, 541b.

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

it occurs five times, three in core LBH texts (Neh 2:19; 3:33; and 2 Chr 30:10), once in an EBH psalm (Ps 22:8) and once in the Archaic Biblical Hebrew (ABH) poetry of Job (21:3).55 Of these it is only the vocalisation that distinguishes the hiphil from the apparently identical meaning qal in three cases (Neh 2:19; 3:33; Ps 22:8). Of the 12 occurrences in the qal it is only the vocalisation that distinguishes eight of them from the hiphil. This is not a very secure link with LBH. Nevertheless, we accept this as a LBH feature of PHab. The same phenomenon of preference for hiphil over qal may occur also in PHab 9:11 where scholars have generally understood the phrase ‫( הרשיע על בחירו‬9:11-12) as “he [the Wicked Priest] acted wickedly against his [God’s] chosen”.56 In BH, the qal verb ‫ רשע‬means “to be wicked, to act wickedly” in both EBH and LBH. In the hiphil, however, the meaning “to condemn as guilty” is typical of EBH texts, never appearing in core LBH or LBH-related texts. Other texts, predominantly LBH, use the hiphil in the sense “to act wickedly”.57 Before declaring this to be another case of the LBH tendency to prefer hiphil to qal, however, we should eliminate the possibility that the scroll is to be translated according to the other, EBH, meaning of the hiphil. This is actually not easy to demonstrate. The translation that the Wicked Priest was punished because “he condemned as guilty [God’s] chosen” fits the context well. The lemma on which this text is commenting deals with ‫חמס‬, which often has connotations of “injustice”.58 Recent scholarship has For Job as ABH see D. A. Robertson, Linguistic Evidence in Dating Early Hebrew Poetry (SBLDS, 3; Missoula, MT: Scholars, 1972), 149, 155. For the problems with defining ABH see Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd, Linguistic Dating, 1.312-40. 56 See the translations cited in this study in notes 7 and 133. Brownlee, Midrash Pesher, 59-61 restores [‫ ירש]יעו‬in the sense “act wickedly” also at 2:14, but most read the traces and restore differently. 57 BDB, 957 notes this latter usage as “late”; cf. Qimron, Hebrew, 95. The LBH texts cited are Dan 9:5; 11:32; 12:10; Neh 9:33; 2 Chr 20:35; 23:3. There are three non-LBH texts. The poetry of Job regularly uses the hiphil in the sense “condemn as guilty”, but in 34:12 it has the sense “act wickedly”. Psalm 106 has “act wickedly” in verse 6; it is not one of Hurvitz’s LBH psalms since it has no accumulation of LBH features (Hurvitz, Transition Period, 173). Finally, although it is commonly emended, the MT of the EBH 1 Sam 14:47 seems to read “wherever [Saul] turned, he acted wickedly” (P.K. McCarter, 1 Samuel [AB, 8; New York: Doubleday, 1980], 254). 58 Cf. e.g. Wise et al., “1QpHab,” 89. 55

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emphasised that “there is a high level of inter-dependence between the lemma and pesher in the pesharim”.59 Thus the idea of the perversion of justice due to the false condemnation of the innocent is highly appropriate to this context in PHab. The tendency to translate the phrase in PHab as “act wickedly against” is probably influenced by the fact that in this case the verb coordinates with the preposition ‫על‬. The verb ‫“ הרשיע‬condemn as guilty” in BH often appears with an object, and this is always indicated by the direct object, not any preposition. However, this said, the verb in the sense “act wickedly” never appears in BH with an object. The use of ‫ הרשיע‬with ‫ על‬is thus unique in BH. As we shall discuss below (3.2.4), the appearance of ‫ על‬with this verb is a symptom of PHab’s strong predilection for the preposition ‫על‬. Its appearance here, as opposed to the use of the normal direct object with the verb, cannot be taken as decisive evidence. PHab could have used ‫“ הרשיע‬condemn as guilty” with ‫על‬. The purpose may have been to strengthen the adversative sense of the verb. Evidence against the translation “condemn as guilty” here can be found, however, in column 10, line 5, where the verb ‫ הרשיע‬is indisputably used in the sense “condemn”60 and the object of the condemnation is expressed not with ‫על‬, but with the direct object in the form of a pronominal suffix (‫“ ירשיענו‬he will condemn him”). Thus, although the author of PHab might not have been consistent with his language use and, as said, may have chosen ‫ על‬in 9:11-12 for extra emphasis, it is probably better to retain the translation “act wickedly” in 9:11 and thus see this as a second case of the LBH tendency to prefer hiphil over qal stems in some verbs.

3.2.3. Verb Suffixes The radically reduced use of the object marker ‫ את‬with pronominal suffixes is considered a mark of LBH.61 Thus, Daniel never uses ‫ את‬plus suffix, or 59 S. Berrin, “Lemma/ Pesher Correspondence in Pesher Nahum,” The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years After their Discovery Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20-25, 1997 (eds L. H. Schiffman, E. Tov and J. C. VanderKam; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2000), 341-50; S. Berrin, The Pesher Nahum Scroll from Qumran An Exegetical Study of 4Q169 (STDJ, 53; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2004), 18-19, quote from p.18. 60 See the translations. 61 Polzin, Late Biblical Hebrew, 28-31; Rooker, Ezekiel, 86-87; Wright, Linguistic Evidence, 37-41.

478

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Polzin claims that non-synoptic Chronicles prefers verbal suffixes over ‫את‬ plus suffix at a ratio of 10:1. This he contrasts with EBH sections from the Pentateuch and Samuel where he claims the ratio is 12:7, still in favour of verbal suffixes.62 PHab uses 21 verbal suffixes, with not a single case of ‫ את‬plus suffix.63 This seems, therefore, to be a strong LBH feature in PHab. It is interesting to note, however, that the EBH Book of Habakkuk as it is fully preserved in the MT, exhibits 18 verbal suffixes, and as in PHab has no examples of ‫ את‬plus suffix.64 The Pesher in this case shares this supposedly LBH feature with the EBH text upon which it is commenting, and is thus possibly influenced by the style of the lemma text.65 We may thus include this as a feature of LBH found in PHab, but we find that this LBH feature is also found in EBH texts. Habakkuk is in fact not the only EBH text with a radically reduced use of ‫ את‬plus pronominal suffix. Nahum, likewise an EBH prophetic book with a pre-exilic setting, has 10 verb suffixes without any occurrences of ‫ את‬plus suffix.66 It might be argued that PHab is itself close to the prophetic genre of these two works. Nevertheless, we may also point to EBH narratives sharing the same aversion to ‫ את‬plus suffix. Thus the core EBH text, 1 Kings 2, has 12 verb suffixes with no use of ‫ את‬plus suffix. The next chapter, 1 Kings 3, has another 4 suffixes with no ‫ את‬plus suffix.67 In this long stretch of EBH text, longer than the whole of PHab, there are thus 16 verb suffixes and no cases of ‫ את‬plus suffix. Polzin’s statistics therefore do not reflect the variegated reality of EBH. Also relevant to note is that the generally EBH book of Ruth has 15 examples of verbal object suffixes and no examples of ‫ את‬plus suffix.68 Note finally that the ninth century Mesha inscription from Moab, which is cited in the literature as evidence for EBH,69 contains 11 or Polzin, Late Biblical Hebrew, 28-31. 4:7, 7, 8; 5:11; 7:2, 4; 8:2; 9:10, 10; 10:4, 5, 5, 11; 11:5, 7, 8, 15; 12:5, 13, 13, 14. 64 Hab 1:3, 10, 12, 12, 15, 15; 2:2, 7, 8, 11, 17, 17, 18; 3:2, 10, 14, 16, 19. 65 But see section 4.4 on the relationship between the language of PHab and that of biblical Habakkuk. 66 Nah 1:4, 12, 12; 2:3, 4; 3:6, 6, 15, 15, 15. 67 1 Kgs 2:5, 8, 8, 9, 24, 24, 26, 30, 31, 32, 34, 42; 3:1, 20, 26, 27. 68 Ruth 1:16, 21; 2:4, 9, 10, 13, 15, 19; 3:6, 13, 13, 13; 4:15, 15, 16. 69 E.g. Rooker, Ezekiel, 115 n.167; F. H. Polak, “The Oral and the Written: Syntax, Stylistics and the Development of Biblical Prose Narrative,” JANESCU 26 (1998), 104-05; A. F. Rainey, “Mesha and Syntax,” The Land That I Will Show You: Essays on the History and Archaeology of the Ancient Near East in Honour of J. Maxwell 62 63

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12 verbal object suffixes and no case of ‫ את‬plus suffix.70 Thus, as is typical, this LBH feature is well attested in EBH texts also.

3.2.4. Preference for ‫על‬ It is argued that LBH shows a growing preference for the preposition ‫ ַעל‬, in particular at the expense of ‫ ֶאל‬.71 PHab certainly displays a strong preference for ‫על‬, using it 40 times, whereas ‫ אל‬only occurs twice.72 The figures for ‫ על‬are inflated by 20 cases of formulae such as ‫“ פשרו על‬its interpretation concerns”.73 Disregarding these we still have 20 uses of ‫על‬ against just two of ‫אל‬. More than just the sheer volume of PHab’s usage of ‫ על‬is the fact that ‫ על‬is used a number of times in coordination with verbs which normally in BH are used in different collocations.74 Sometimes the use of a particular verb with ‫ על‬is paralleled in core LBH texts. Thus, the verb ‫( לעג‬4:2) “to deride” is in the MT only used with ‫ על‬in Neh 3:33, whereas elsewhere it is used with the preposition ‫ ל‬or sometimes ‫ב‬. So too we have ‫“ בזה‬despise” plus ‫ על‬in 4:2, 5, only paralleled in Neh 2:19. ‫“ שחק‬laugh” plus ‫ על‬in 4:6 represents a different case where, although ‫ על‬is rare (‫ ל‬being usual), the MT parallels are not strongly LBH: the EBH Ps 52:8; the ABH Job 30:1; Miller (eds J. A. Dearman and M. P. Graham; JSOTSup, 343; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2001), 287–307. 70 Mesha 4, 4, 6, 8-9, 11, 12-13, 15-16, 17, 18?, 19, 20, 20. 71

72

Hurvitz, Transition Period, 22; Rooker, Ezekiel, 127-31. ‫על‬: 1:3, 4; 2:3, 10, 12; 3:4, 4, 9; 4:2, 2, 5, 5, 6; 5:9, 11; 6:7, 10, 11; 7:1, 4, 7, 10,

12, 15; 8:1, 8, 9, 12, 16; 9:4, 9, 12, 16; 10:9, 11:4, 12; 12:2, 3, 12; 13:1. Note in addition that ‫ ]ע[ל‬is restored by various scholars in 2:7; 4:10 and 11:15, and is repeated due to dittography in 7:2. ‫אל‬: 7:1(‫ ;)אל‬11:7 (‫)אליהם‬. Some scholars have interpreted the unusual form ‫ אבית‬in PHab 11:6 as a contraction of ‫( אל בית‬e.g. Horgan, Pesharim, 49). Others take it as equivalent to ‫( בבית‬e.g. Brownlee, Midrash Pesher, 182-84; Nitzan, Pesher Habakkuk, 190). Qimron interprets it as having a prosthetic aleph prefixed to ‫ בבית‬to avoid an initial consonant cluster (Qimron, Hebrew, 39). The first beth would then have assimilated to the second, leaving just ‫( אבית‬S. Morag, “Language and Style in Miqsat Ma‛ase Ha-Torah: Did Moreh ha-Sedeq Write This Document?” Tarbiz 65 (1996), 213 [in Hebrew]). 73 2:12; 3:4, 9; 4:5; 5:9; 6:10; 7:4, 10; 8:1, 8, 16; 9:4, 9, 16; 10:9; 11:4, 12; 12:2, 12; 13:1. 74 Already partially noted by K. Elliger, Studien zum Habakuk-Kommentar vom Toten Meer (BHT, 15; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1953), 82; Nitzan, Pesher Habakkuk, 121; Qimron, Hebrew, 88-97.

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

and the LBH-related Lam 1:7.75 As we have seen, of course, LBH features are not confined to LBH texts. ‫“ עזר‬help” plus ‫ על‬in 5:11 is paralleled in 1 Chr 5:20 (niphal); 12:22; 2 Chr 26:7, 13; although I could not find the sense “help against” in any EBH text using a verbal form of ‫עזר‬, but with nouns from the same root note Deut 33:7 (with –‫)מ‬ ִ and (with ‫ )בּ‬Judg 5:23. ‫“רחם‬pity” plus ‫ על‬in 6:11-12 is only paralleled in the LBH-related Ps 103:13 (twice).76 Other uses of ‫ על‬are not possible to compare with BH usage, but one might suspect they are symptoms of the general preference for ‫על‬. In this category we have ‫“ יתר‬exceed” in 7:7,77 ‫( משך‬niphal) “extend” in 7:12,78 ‫“ כפל‬double” in 7:15, and ‫“ הרשיע‬act wickedly” in 9:11-12 (cf. above, 3.2.2). On firmer ground, finally, we have ‫“ גמל‬recompense” plus ‫ על‬in 12:3, which is paralleled in a number of BH texts including the LBH text 2 Chr 20:11 and the LBH-related texts Ps 103:10 and Ps 119:17, but also including the EBH Ps 13:6. From this evidence it can be seen that PHab has a strong preference for ‫על‬, prominently so in cases where other prepositions are more usual in BH, including several cases where the use of ‫ על‬is characteristic of LBH texts. As with the preference for verbal suffixes, however, here too it is interesting to check the language of the EBH lemma text, the biblical book of Habakkuk. Here too, just like PHab, Habakkuk itself exhibits a strong preference for ‫על‬. It uses ‫ על‬19 times, as against just 4 cases of ‫אל‬.79 Furthermore, just as with PHab, the biblical book of Habakkuk displays a series of cases where ‫ על‬is coordinated with verbs which in BH normally coordinate with other prepositions or the direct object. Note ‫“ כסה‬cover” plus ‫ על‬in Hab 2:14 which is found in the core LBH texts Neh 3:37 and 2 Chr 5:8; the LBH-related Ezek 24:7; 31:15 and the post-exilic Mal 2:16, as well as the core EBH text Deut 13:9 among its 13 occurrences. ‫הביט‬ 75 For LBH, however, note the unique use of the hiphil of ‫ שׂחק‬in 2 Chr 30:10, which coordinates with ‫על‬. 76 Hurvitz, Transition Period, 107-09. 77 Brownlee, Midrash Pesher, 116 discusses the various options for understanding this word, as a verb or as a noun. 78 Although cf. Neh 9:30 where the sense of the qal is “you were patient” (NRSV). Brownlee, Midrash Pesher, 120 sees a specific “subjective connotation” suggested by the use of ‫ על‬with this verb in PHab: “when to them the last time seems to be delayed”. 79 ‫על‬: Hab. 1:4, 4, 15, 16, 17; 2:1, 1, 1, 2, 6, 6, 14, 15, 16, 16, 18; 3:1, 8, 19. Note that this includes five cases of ‫ על כן‬in chapter 1. ‫אל‬: Hab 1:2, 13; 2:5, 5.

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“look” plus ‫ על‬in Hab 2:15 is only found here in the MT Bible, and contrasts with the use of ‫ אל‬and the direct object in Hab 1:3, 13. ‫“ סבב‬go around” plus ‫ על‬in Hab 2:16 is only found 5 times in the MT, ‫אל‬, ‫את‬, and ‫ל‬ being much more common. Finally, ‫“ בטח‬trust” plus ‫ על‬in Hab 2:18 is less common than the use of the preposition ‫ב‬. The LBH feature of preference for the preposition ‫ על‬is thus clearly attested not only in the Habakkuk pesher, but is present also in the biblical book of Habakkuk.80 This again raises the possibility that the author of PHab was influenced to use this linguistic feature by its prominence in the text he was commenting on.81 A further motivation for avoiding the preposition ‫ אל‬may be suggested. This is that the author has a strong preference for using a word for “God” also spelled ‫אל‬. Perhaps he chose to use ‫ על‬as frequently as he did in order to avoid graphical (and phonetic?) confusion with the divine name.82

3.2.5. Pluralisation It is argued that it is a feature of LBH to prefer plural forms of words and phrases which normally appear in the singular in EBH.83 The expression ‫“ כלי מלחמותם‬their weapons of war” in 6:4 has both elements pluralised, whereas the normal BH expression, attested some eleven times is ‫כלי )ה(מלחמה‬, with the second element in the singular.84 Similarly the expression ‫“ דרכי תועבות‬abominable ways” in 8:12-13 represents a double pluralisation of a construct chain, although I have not found a MT parallel. So too, finally, there is the unparalleled expression Note that the lemma text of Hab 2:15 in PHab 11:3 has the more common biblical expression ‫הבט אל‬. All other preserved sections have the ‫ על‬in common with the MT. 81 But see below, section 4.4 on the relationship between the language of PHab and that of biblical Habakkuk. 82 Thus, PHab 9:11-12 could have been read “God condemned his chosen” if ‫ אל‬had been used rather than ‫על‬. Note also the scribal correction in 7:1 where the original scribe wrote ‫ וידבר אל חבקוק‬which was corrected by a second scribe (Nitzan, Pesher Habakkuk, 171) to read “And God (‫ )אל‬spoke to (‫ )אל‬Habakkuk”. Whether this is a clarification or correction of a scribal error is not clear due to the broken context. If a scribal error it illustrates the chances for possible confusion between the divine name and the preposition. 83 See e.g. Hurvitz, Transition Period, 37-38; Polzin, Late Biblical Hebrew, 42-43; Rooker, Ezekiel, 75-77. 84 Cf. Nitzan, Pesher Habakkuk, 169. 80

482

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

‫“ מעשי תועבות‬abominable acts” in 12:8, which represents a double pluralisation. Note, however, that double pluralisations such as ‫מעשי ידים‬ are attested in EBH.85 It has long been realised that the doubly plural construct chain is hardly confined to LBH.86 It is striking to discover that, as with the other cases we discussed above, the suggested LBH feature of pluralisation of words normally singular, for which we found some possible evidence in PHab, is also a feature of the EBH book of Habakkuk. In Hab 2:7 we have the plural form ‫“ משסות‬booty”.87 The other five times this noun appears in BH it is singular. So too in Hab 2:8, 17, we have the expression ‫“ דמי אדם‬men’s blood”. “Blood” in the plural is less common than the singular, 72 times as opposed to 288.88 Moreover, in this specific idiom we have a linguistic contrast with ‫ דם האדם‬in Gen 9:6. Finally, also in Hab 2:1 we have the word ‫“ בהמות‬beasts” in the plural rather than say in a singular collective. The plural of beasts is again the minority form, occurring 14 times against 176 times singular. We thus find that the LBH feature of pluralisation of words and expressions normally singular in BH is present not only in PHab but also in the EBH biblical book of Habakkuk. It is less easy in this case to argue direct influence from the language of Habakkuk to the language of the Pesher. This is especially the case since the PHab examples relate specifically to cases of double pluralisation in construct chains, whereas those in Habakkuk relate to other types of pluralisation.89

85

34:25.

See Jer 1:16; 44:8; Ps 8:7; 92:5; 111:7; 138:8; as well as the core LBH 2 Chr

86 S. Gevirtz, “Of Syntax and Style in the ‘Late Biblical Hebrew’ – ‘Old Canaanite’ Connection,” JANESCU 18 (1986), 28-29; G. A. Rendsburg, “Hurvitz Redux: On the Continued Scholarly Inattention to a Simple Principle of Hebrew Philology,” Biblical Hebrew Studies in Chronology and Typology, 113-15; Rezetko, “Dating Biblical Hebrew,” 231-33. 87 Hence the fabulous Authorized Version translation: “and thou shalt be for booties unto them”! 88 Note the use of ‫ דמים‬in PHab 10:10. However, the use of the plural of this word is too common for it, on its own, to be considered a clear case of pluralisation. 89 And see below, section 4.4, on the relationship between the language of PHab and that of biblical Habakkuk.

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3.2.6. ‫“ רזי‬the secrets of…” Three times in column 7 of the Habakkuk Pesher we find the plural of the word ‫“ ָרז‬secret”. We hear of “the secrets of the words of his servants the prophets” (7:5); “the secrets of God” (7:8); and “the secrets of his [God’s] wisdom” (7:14). The word ‫ רז‬is generally considered to have entered Hebrew (from Persian) via Aramaic. It is well attested in Biblical Aramaic, occurring nine times in the Aramaic sections of the LBH book of Daniel. Within BH, the word ‫ רז‬occurs twice in Isa 24:16 in the form ‫“ ָרזִ י‬my secret”. That this is how the word was understood by the Masoretes is made even more likely by the unanimous testimony of the ancient versions. Symmachus, Theodotion, the Peshitta, the Vulgate, and the Targum all understand the word in this way.90 A number of modern scholars agree in seeing ‫“ רז‬secret” here.91 Other scholars have argued that the word should be emended to read ‫“ ְרזִ י‬my leanness” (AV) > “I pine away” (NRSV), on the basis of a perceived parallelism with the following ‫“ אוֹי ִלי‬woe to me”.92 The root ‫ רזה‬in the niphal seems to mean “to dwindle, disappear” in Isa 17:4, and there is a feminine adjective ‫“ ָרזָ ה‬thin, gaunt” in Num 13:20 and Ezek 34:20.93 However, the sense required here, “leanness”, is expressed by the form ‫ ָרזוֹן‬in Isa 10:16; Mic 6:10; Ps 106:15.94 Whether ‫“ רז‬secret” occurs in the MT because it was in the “original” text of Isa 24:16 is disputed. Not only is there the possibility that ‫רזי‬ 90 The evidence of the versions is cited in H. Wildberger, Jesaja 2.Teilband Jesaja 13-27 (BKAT; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1978), 932; J. Niehaus, “Rāz-Pešar in Isaiah XXIV,” VT 31 (1981), 376, 378; J. D. W. Watts, Isaiah 1-33 (WBC, 24; Waco: Word, 1985), 324. 1QIsaa has the same consonants as the MT. Brownlee, Midrash Pesher, 111 sees the specific influence of Isa 24:16 in column 7 of PHab. 91 See e.g. G. B. Gray, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on The Book of Isaiah I– XXVII (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1912), 419; O. Kaiser, Isaiah 13-39 A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM, 19802), 189-90; Niehaus, “Rāz”; J. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39 (AB, 19; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 353-54. The latest edition of the Koehler-Baumgartner lexicon thinks that this and the alternative translation to be discussed “appear equally possible”: KBL, 3.1210. 92 E.g. I. Willi-Plein, “Das Geheimnis der Apocalyptik,” VT 27 (1977), 73; Watts, Isaiah, 323-24. One wonders whether another factor is the reluctance to see Persian words where they are not “supposed” to be, as documented in Young, “LBH and Inscriptions,” 284-85; cf. Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd, Linguistic Dating, 1.289-309. 93 KBL, 3.1209. 94 As pointed out by Gray, Isaiah, 419; cf. KBL, 3.1209-10.

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represents an otherwise unknown word meaning “leanness”; there is also the problem of the absence of this phrase from the Septuagint.95 This absence may be interpreted as evidence that ‫ רזי‬is a later addition to the text of Isaiah.96 Whatever we may decide on this question, the significance of this discussion for PHab is that while ‫ רז‬is found in the current MT, it is found only once in BH, and while Isaiah 24–27, “the Isaiah Apocalypse” is often considered a “later” section in the Book of Isaiah97 it is not considered to represent LBH.98 The word ‫ רז‬in PHab is thus not strictly a link with LBH. However, ‫ רז‬is considered a Persian loanword,99 and Persian loanwords are considered a feature of LBH.100 We have noted that LBH features typically are also found in EBH texts, just not with the same frequency. The discussion of the appearance of ‫ רז‬in the MT of Isa 24:16 alerts us to the fact that this is the situation with Persian loanwords, which can also be suggested in a number of EBH texts such as Deuteronomy, Kings and Nahum.101 Nevertheless, in line with our loose definition of LBH features we can accept this word as LBH in PHab, albeit in itself representing only a weak and indirect link with LBH.

Wildberger, Jesaja, 932. Gray, Isaiah, 419 and Blenkinsopp, Isaiah, 355 refer to a “glossator”. Against this, Willi-Plein, “Geheimnis,” 71-72 argues that the Septuagint represents a simplification, and hence is not original. 97 E.g. Kaiser, Isaiah, 173-79. 98 Gray, Isaiah, 463-72 argues for the lateness of the language and style of Isaiah 24–27, but his arguments have not been carried on in modern discussions of LBH, probably partly because of the limitations of his methodology. On the contrary, Wright, Linguistic Evidence, 68 n.53 considers a date in the exile, with reference to W. M. Millar, “Isaiah 24–27 (Little Apocalypse),” ABD 3.489, and refers also to the study of S. B. Noegel (“Dialect and Politics in Isaiah 24–27,” AuOr 12 [1994] 17792) who considers the linguistic peculiarities of Isaiah 24–27 as features of northern, Israelian Hebrew. See also the discussion of Isaiah in Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd, Linguistic Dating, 2.33-35. 99 Or more precisely an Iranian loanword, deriving from Avestan according to KBL, 5.1980-81. 100 C. L. Seow, “Linguistic Evidence and the Dating of Qoheleth,” JBL 115 (1996), 646-50; M. Eskhult, “The Importance of Loanwords for Dating Biblical Hebrew Texts,” Biblical Hebrew Studies in Chronology and Typology, 12-14. 101 Eskhult, “Loanwords,” 14 n.10; Young, “LBH and Inscriptions,” 284-85; Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd, Linguistic Dating, 1.303-09. 95 96

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3.2.7. Accumulation? We have thus identified a number of LBH features of the language of PHab. Several of them provide only weak and general links with LBH. The three strongest examples, verbal suffixes, preference for ‫על‬, and pluralisation, are all paralleled in the EBH text of Habakkuk. How do we proceed from here? Do we simply state that since some LBH features are found in PHab that therefore its language fits the late period of its composition? This would clearly be a wrong move, as the mere presence of LBH features cannot be a marker of LBH, since core EBH texts exhibit LBH linguistic features. This has been brought home to us forcefully by the fact that the most prominent LBH features of PHab are also shared by the EBH book of Habakkuk. This dilemma is the reason scholars of LBH were forced to have recourse to the criterion of accumulation to attempt to use LBH features for dating texts. As mentioned above, since LBH features occur throughout the Bible, this criterion states that a text can only be LBH if it exhibits an “accumulation” of LBH features. However, nowhere to my knowledge has an attempt been made to specify how much of an accumulation is necessary for a text to be LBH, nor how such an accumulation should be measured. In response to this problem I developed a simple test of accumulation. Plainly put, this counts how many different LBH features occur in a given stretch of text. Normally, this stretch of text will be of 500 words length,102 In fact, by necessity sometimes texts will not be 500 words in length. Thus we discuss below 2 Samuel 22//Psalm 18, which texts each have only about 380 words. The biblical book of Habakkuk has 671 words, but if we just wished to examine chapters 1–2, since chapter 3 is not commented on in PHab, we have only 459 words. Nevertheless, where at all possible, the stretch of text analysed is 500 words in each case. ָ “and in I use the term “words” to refer to Hebrew graphic units. Thus ‫וּב ִעיר‬ the city” counts as but one “word”, rather than four. Hebrew graphic units correspond on average to about 1.5 words in this latter sense, and hence a 500 word (graphic unit) sample is approximately equivalent to a 750 word sample in English. D. Biber, “Methodological Issues Regarding Corpus-based Analyses of Linguistic Variation,” Literary and Linguistic Computing 5 (1990), 258-61 argues that a 1000 word English sample is reliable for analyses of linguistic variation of grammatical features. Cf. C. L. Miller, “Methodological Issues in Reconstructing Language Systems from Epigraphic Fragments,” The Future of Biblical Archaeology Reassessing Methodologies and Assumptions (eds J. K. Hoffmeier and A. Millard; Grand 102

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

so that samples are comparable. Within this sample we count how many different LBH features there are. We do not count repetitions of the same feature. Once an author has demonstrated the possibility of using a particular LBH form, there is no reason it cannot be repeated as many times as opportunity presents itself. Thus, for example, the LBH order of substantive before numeral occurs seven times in Ezra 1:9-11 simply because it is a list. In this exercise we follow the loose definition of LBH linguistic features outlined above. In regard to “preference for” categories other than ‫על‬, and hiphil over qal, we decided to score this as a LBH feature if the feature in question occurs five times or more in the 500 word section with no examples of the EBH form or a ratio of 10-1 if the data so permitted. Thus both PHab and biblical Habakkuk show a preference for verb suffixes and hence register this as a LBH feature. On the contrary, the two examples of LBH ‫ זעק‬in biblical Habakkuk do not qualify as a LBH feature.

Rapids/ Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2004), 285 for the application of this principle to ancient Semitic linguistics. Note that Biber is not arguing that 1000 words is a minimum, only that 1000 words is adequate. The argument being made here is rather less linguistically sophisticated than the studies for which Biber found 1000 words adequate. 500 graphic units represents a compromise between having a large enough sample, and the problem that too large a sample size will render the method unable to be used on texts of the size of biblical Habakkuk or PHab.

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TABLE 1: LBH FEATURES IN BH TEXTS (DESCENDING ORDER)103 Text

Number of LBH Features104

Ezra 1:1-11; 9:1-10:29 Dan 1:1-20; 11:44-12:13 2 Chr 30:1-31:3

25105 24106 22107

103 Data from Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd, Linguistic Dating, 1.129-36. Out of the data presented there, here we concentrate on samples from the core LBH books and each of the core elements in EBH, i.e. the Pentateuch, the Deuteronomistic History, pre-exilic prophets, and EBH poetry. I also include the pre-exilic Arad inscriptions, the post-exilic prophet Zechariah (and of course PHab) since I discuss them later. 104 There is no space in this context to justify each feature judged to be LBH; below we merely list them. Although Rezetko, Ehrensvärd and I have thoroughly checked the samples, it is still possible that we have missed some forms in some of the samples, but the results are so clear that a slight adjustment here or there will not affect the picture that emerges. 105 ‫ –יָ ה‬names (1:1; 10:2); ‫ מלכות‬and ‫ עבדות‬with ‫ –וּת‬afformative (1:1; 9:8, 9); ‫( אלהי השמים‬1:2); motion verb + ‫( ְל‬1:3, 11); ‫( בית האלהים‬1:4, 9:9, 10:1) ‫–ותיהם‬ (1:6; 9:1, 2, 11, 12); ‫ נדב‬hithpael (1:6); ‫( על יד‬1:8); Persian words (1:8, 9); substantive before numeral (1:9 [x3], 10 [x3], 11); ‫( כפורים‬1:10 [x2]); ‫ זהב…כסף‬order (1:11); (ū)b/keqotlō temporal clause (9:1, 3, 5; 10:1 [x2]); ‫ נשׂא‬as ‘to marry’ (9:2, 12); weqatálti (9:2, 13); double plurals (9:1, 2, 11, 14); wa’eqtlah (9:3 [x2], 5 [x2], 6); ‫שמם‬ poel participle; –‫( עד ל‬9:4, 6); ‫( ִבּזָּ ה‬9:3, 4); ‫ עמד‬hiphil (9:9); ‫( אחרי זאת‬9:10); ‫לאין‬ (9:14); ‫ ידה‬hithpael (10:1); preference for verb suffixes 8-0 (1:4, 7, 8 [x2]; 9:8, 9, 11 [x2]). 106 ‫ מלכות‬with ‫ –וּת‬afformative (1:1, 20); ‫( מקצת‬1:2); ‫( בית האלהים‬1:2); infinitive for direct speech (1:3, 4, 18); Persian words (1:3, 5, 8, 13, 15, 16; 11:45); ‫( מדע‬1:4, 17); ‫ מנה‬piel (1:5, 10, 11); ‫ משתה‬as ‘drinking’ (1:5, 8, 10, 16); substantive before numeral (1:5, 12, 14, 15; 12:11, 12); ‫ –יָ ה‬names (1:6 [x2], 7 [x2], 11 [x2], 19 [x2]); ‫ גאל‬hithpael (1:8); ‫ אשר‬for ‫( כי‬1:8 [x2]); pluralisation (1:15; 12:2); nun of ‫ מן‬unassimilated (1:15); ‫ היה‬+ participle (1:16); – ‫ בין ב‬hiphil (1:17); ...‫ל‬..‫בין‬ (11:45); ‫ עמד‬for ‫( קום‬12:1, 13); weqatálti (12:5); (ū)b/keqotlō temporal clause (12:7; cf. 1:15, 18); wa’eqtlah (12:8); weyiqtol instead of weqataltí (12:10 [x2], 13 [x2]); ‫רשע‬ hiphil for qal (12:10); preference for verb suffixes 8-0 (1:2, 4, 5, 14, 18 [x2], 20; 11:44). 107 ‫ על‬instead of another preposition (30:1 [x2], 9, 18, 22); ‫( אגרת‬30:1, 6);

488

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES Neh 1:1-2:17 Esth 5:1-6:13a Arad Ostraca 1 Kgs 22:6-34 1 Sam 13.1–14.9

20108 17109 9110 8111 6112

infinitive for direct speech (30:1, 5); ‫ עמד‬hiphil (30:5; 31:2); ‫( –ותיהם‬30:7, 22); ‫ חנון…רחום‬order (30:9); ‫ היה‬+ participle (30:10 [x2]); ‫ לעג‬hiphil for qal (30:10; cf. ‫ שׂחק‬hiphil); motion verb + ‫( ל‬30:11); postpositive ‫ לרב‬in the sense ‘a lot of’ (30:13, 24); day-month word order (30:15); pluralisation (30:17); ‫ מצא‬niphal as ‘to be present’ (30:21; 31:1); ‫ ידה‬hithpael (30:22); ‫ רום‬hiphil as ‘to contribute for sacrifice’ (30:24 [x2]); substantive before numeral (30:24 [x2]); (ū)b/keqotlō temporal clause (31:1); –‫( עד ל‬31:1); ‫( אחזה‬31:1); ‫ מחלקות‬as ‘divisions’ of people (31:2 [x2]); nun of ‫ מן‬unassimilated (31:3); preference for collectives with plural verbs 6-0 (30:3, 13, 17, 18, 23; 31:1; cf. 30:25). 108 ‫ –יָ ה‬names (1:1 [x2]; 2:10); ‫( בירה‬1:1, 2:8); ‫( מדינה‬1:3); ‫ בכה‬wayyiqtol + long III-He (1:4); wa’eqtlah (1:4; 2:1, 6, 9, 13); ‫ היה‬+ participle (1:4; 2:13, 15 [x2]); ‫( אלהי השמים‬1:4, 5; 2:4); ‫ ידה‬hithpael (1:6); ‫ המלך‬ZYX (2:1); ‫ חיה‬jussive + long IIIHe (2:3); ‫ אשר‬for ‫( כי‬2:3, 5, 7, 8, 10, 17; Holmstedt [e-mail 21.05.06] considers most of these examples uncertain; only Neh. 2:10 is cited in Holmstedt, Relative Clause, 294 n. 25; “Story,” 10 n. 10); ‫( אם על המלך טוב‬2:5, 7); ‫( יטב לפני‬2:5, 6); ‫מהלך‬ (2:6); ‫( זמן‬2:6); ‫( אגרת‬2:7, 8, 9); ‫ על‬instead of another preposition (2:7; cf. 2:4); Persian word (2:8); substantive before numeral (2:11); preference for verb suffixes 8-0 (1:2, 9 [x2], 11; 2:5 [x2], 6, 7). 109 ‫ מלכות‬with ‫ –וּת‬afformative (5:1 [x3], 3, 6; 6:8 [x2]); ‫שׁה‬ ָ ‫( ַבּ ָקּ‬5:3, 6, 7, 8); e ‫( אם על המלך טוב‬5:4, 8); (ū)b/k qotlō temporal clause (5:9); ‫ זוע‬qal (5:9); substantive before numeral (5:14); ‫( יטב לפני‬5:14); infinitive for direct speech (6:1, 4); ‫ היה‬+ ָ ְ‫( גּ‬6:3); ‫ לאמר‬as embedded infinitive participle (6:1); ‫ אשר‬for ‫( כי‬6:2); ‫דוּלּה‬ expressing purpose/result (6:4); ‫( יותר מן‬6:6); ‫( על יד‬6:9); Persian word (6:9); ‫דחף‬ (6:12); preference for verb suffixes 5-0 (5:11 [x2]; 6:9, 11, 13). 110 Substantive before numeral (1:3, 7; 16:5; and many other cases); weqatálti (3:2–3; 16:4); ‫ על‬instead of another preposition (3:3); (ū)b/keqotlō temporal clause (16:3); ‫( על יד‬24:15); nun of ‫ מן‬unassimilated (26:2); ‫ רצה‬as ‘to want’ (40:6–7); ‫–יָ ה‬ names (107:2; 110:1, 2); ‫ לקח‬niphal for qal passive (111:4). 111 ‫על‬/‫ אל‬interchange/‫ על‬instead of another preposition (22:6 [cf. 22:15], 17, 32); ‫ –יָ ה‬name (22:11); ‫ אשר‬for ‫( כי‬22:16); masculine plural suffix for feminine plural (22:17); ‫ נכה‬and ‫ עלה‬wayyiqtols + long III-He (22:24, 34, 35); substantive before numeral (22:31); ‫ היה‬+ participle (22:35; cf. 2 Chron. 18:34); preference for verb suffixes 6-0 (22:8, 16, 21, 26, 27, 34; note that ‫ את‬+ suffix in 22:14 is forced).

IAN YOUNG 2 Sam 6.1–20a; 7.1–12 2 Sam 22:1-51 1 Kgs 2:1-29 Ps 18:1-51 Pesher Habakkuk 5:3-12:13 Hab 1:1-3:4 5120 121 4122 Gen 24:1-36 (J )

489

6113 6114 (7.9115) 6116 6117 (7.6118) 6119

‫ פוץ‬hiphil for qal (13:8); ‫ עלה‬wayyiqtol + long III-He (13:12); ‫על‬/‫אל‬ interchange (13:13; 14:4; cf. 13:12); ‫ מצא‬niphal as ‘to be present’ (13:15, 16); ‫ה‬ definite article non-syncope (13:21); ‫ –יָ ה‬name (14:3). 113 ‫על‬/‫ אל‬interchange/‫ על‬instead of another preposition (6:3, 10; cf. 6:6); weqatálti (6:16); ‫ היה‬+ participle (6:16; 7:6); ‫ ל‬for ‫( את‬6:16); ‫ היה‬wayyiqtol + long IIIHe (7:6, 9); wa’eqtlah (7:9). 114 Nun of ‫ מן‬unassimilated (22:14); pluralisation (22:22, 48, 49; cf. 22:12); ‫היה‬ wayyiqtol + long III-He (22:24); wa’eqtlah (22:24); absence of cohortative (22:50; cf. Ps. 18:50); preference for verb suffixes 31-2 (22:3, 5 [x2], 6 [x2], 15, 15 [Kethib], 17 [x2], 18, 19, 20, 21, 34, 36, 38, 39 [x2], 40, 41, 42, 43 [x3], 44 [x3], 49 [x3], 50 vs. 22:1, 20). 115 Since 2 Samuel 22 contains only 382 words, the figure in parentheses gives the projected number of LBH features in a 500 word sample. 116 Absence of locative he (2:3, 6, 8, 9; cf. 2:26); ‫ מלכות‬with ‫ –וּת‬afformative (2:12); ‫ המלך‬ZYX (2:17); ‫ על‬instead of another preposition (2:26); ‫ –יָ ה‬names (2:28; cf. 2:5, 22 with ‫צרויה‬, but the etymology is disputed); preference for verb suffixes 70 (2:5, 8 [x2], 9, 24 [x2], 26). 117 Nun of ‫ מן‬unassimilated (18:4, 49); pluralisation (18:22, 48); absence of cohortative (18:38; cf. 2 Sam. 22:38); ‫ על‬instead of another preposition (18:42); ‫( –ותיהם‬18:46); preference for verb suffixes 31-1 (18:2, 5 [x2], 6 [x2], 15 [x2], 17 [x2], 18, 19, 20 [x2], 21, 33, 34, 36 [x2], 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43 [x2], 44 [x3], 49 [x2], 50 vs. 18:1). 118 Since Psalm 18 contains only 394 words, the figure in parentheses gives the projected number of LBH features in a 500 word sample. 119 Biblical quotes are excluded from the sample. ‫ אשר‬for ‫( כי‬5:3, 7; 6:3, 6; 7:7, 15); ‫ רשע‬hiphil for qal (9:11); ‫על‬/‫ אל‬interchange/‫ על‬instead of another preposition (5:11; 6:11; 7:7, 12, 15; 9:12; 12:3); pluralisation (6:4; cf. 8:12–13; 12:8); Persian word (7:5, 8, 14); preference for verb suffixes 17-0 (5:11; 7:2, 4; 8:2; 9:10 [x2]; 10:4, 5 [x2], 11; 11:5, 7, 8, 15; 12:5, 13 [x2]). 120 ‫ עשׂה‬wayyiqtol + long III-He (1:14); pluralisation (2:7, 8, 17); ‫ על‬instead of another preposition (2:14, 15, 18; cf. 2:16); ‫ זהב…כסף‬order (2:19); preference for verb suffixes 15-0 (1:3, 10, 12 [x2], 15 [x2]; 2:2, 7, 8, 11, 17 [x2], 18; 3:2, 4). 112

490

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES Zech 1:1-3:1a 3123 Exod 6.2–12; 7.1–13; 9.8–12; 12.1–7b

(P124)1125

Table 1 is very clear. While all the samples contain LBH linguistic forms, the core EBH and core LBH books are at different ends of the scale in terms of the amount of accumulation of these LBH features. Thus, while the highest EBH sample, 1 Kings 22, has 8 different LBH features, the lowest LBH sample, Esther 5–6, has 17, more than twice as many as 1 Kings 22, while the other LBH samples have yet higher numbers of LBH features. Amidst the core EBH samples, we find our text, PHab, as well as the post-exilic book of Zechariah. The notable lack of LBH features in Zechariah 1–8 has been emphasised by Martin Ehrensvärd.126 Ehrensvärd mentions other examples of post-exilic EBH, and below we discuss other Second Temple period texts which demonstrate that the EBH style was fully at home in the post-exilic period.127 PHab also, despite its first century B.C.E. date, clearly fits an EBH profile of low accumulation of LBH features, in contrast to the much higher accumulations of the core LBH books. We recall, further, that of the six LBH forms in the PHab sample above, one (‫ אשר‬for ‫ )כי‬is taken over under the influence of the Pesher genre, while another three (verb suffixes, preference for ‫על‬, and pluralisation) might have been picked up under the influence of the EBH lemma text of Habakkuk. There is doubt, furthermore, about the LBH status of the form ‫ הרשיע‬in our sample (3.2.2). This would leave but one LBH feature, the use of Persian words. However, we note that this specific Persian word (‫ )רז‬is not attested in LBH. One could, therefore, make a case M. Noth, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions (Scholars Press reprint series, 5; trs. B. W. Anderson; Chico: Scholars, 1981), 29, 264. 122 ‫( אלהי השמים‬24:3, 7); ‫ אשר‬for ‫( כי‬24:3; Holmstedt, Relative Clause, 294 n. 25 does not cite this example but Holmstedt, “Story,” 10 n. 10 does); ‫על‬/‫אל‬ interchange (24:11); preference for verb suffixes 7-0 (24:3, 7, 16, 17, 18, 19, 27; note that ‫ את‬+ suffix in 24:14 is forced). 123 ‫ –יָ ה‬names (1:1 [x2], 7); day-month word order (1:7); motion verb + ‫( ְל‬1:16). 124 E.g. Noth, Pentateuchal Traditions, 18, 268. 125 Preference for ‫ אני‬over ‫ אנכי‬8-0 (6: 2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 12; 7:3, 5). 126 Ehrensvärd, “Linguistic Dating”; Ehrensvärd, “Why Biblical”. 127 See further Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd, Linguistic Dating, vol. 1, especially 1.56, 106-09, 119-29, 137-41, 250-79. 121

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that, unlike other EBH texts, PHab contains no LBH features used due to the free choice of the author. Every one of PHab’s LBH linguistic features is also attested in EBH sources. However, even accepting all the LBH features discussed above, the linguistic profile of PHab still aligns with EBH against LBH. The predictions of the chronological approach have thus been shown to be seriously off the mark. As discussed above, the defining characteristic of LBH is a concentration or accumulation of LBH linguistic features. PHab does not exhibit this defining characteristic and hence is not in LBH. We thus find it was indeed possible128 to write a biblical style Hebrew in the post-exilic period which was not LBH. This finding is another severe blow to the chronological approach to BH and its attempt to date biblical texts on the basis of their language.

4. EBH FEATURES IN PESHER HABAKKUK129 The link between PHab and EBH is strengthened even further by numerous cases where the language of PHab exhibits links with EBH against LBH. 4.1. EBH Lexical Features

4.1.1. ‫“ מאס‬reject” 1:11, 5:11130 The verb ‫“ מאס‬reject” is found 76 times in the Hebrew Bible, yet it is never found in core LBH books.131 The LBH book of Chronicles instead uses the hiphil of ‫ זנח‬for “reject” (1 Chr 28:9; 2 Chr 11:14; 29:19).132 Rejecting the Torah is found in EBH books using ‫( מאס‬Isa 5:24; Jer 6:19; Amos 4:2), yet similar LBH contexts of disobedience (e.g. Nehemiah 9) avoid using the

As stated above, whether this is due to imitation or due to natural continuation of the EBH style is irrelevant to the point being made, but see section 4.4 below. 129 The aim in this section is to describe PHab’s linguistic links with EBH as opposed to LBH. Thus, while interesting, and relevant in broader discussions about PHab’s language, we do not deal with the question of which of these linguistic usages are common and which are unusual in other Qumran texts. 130 ‫ מאש‬in 1:11; cf. below section 5. 131 In LBH-related: Ezekiel six times; twice in Lamentations. 132 BDB notes this usage as “late” (BDB, 276a). The qal of ‫זנח‬, with the same sense as the hiphil, is also not used in core LBH. 128

492

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

word, preferring instead other expressions, such as “they cast (‫ )וישלכו‬your Torah behind their backs” (Neh 9:26).

4.1.2. ‫“ בגד‬act treacherously” 2:1; 3:5; 8:10 None of the 49 verbal or five nominal or adjectival usages of the root ‫בגד‬ are found in core LBH texts, and of LBH-related we find only Ps 119:158 and Lam 1:2. LBH instead prefers the root ‫ מעל‬for “act treacherously”, also found in EBH (and PHab 1:6), which occurs in core LBH as a verb 16 times and as a noun 10 times.

4.1.3. ‫“ עריץ‬violent”133 2:6 The word ‫“ עריץ‬violent” is found 20 times in BH, never in core LBH, only in the pre-exilic/exilic LBH-related Ezekiel. Similarly, the cognate134 verb ‫“ ערץ‬be terrified/ terrify” is not attested in LBH or LBH-related. Due to the variability in scholarly understandings of the semantic range of ‫ עריץ‬it is hard to suggest a certain LBH equivalent, but for the meaning “to be terrified” we note the specifically LBH use of the niphal of ‫בעת‬, found in BH only in Chronicles, Daniel and Esther.

4.1.4. ‫“ ממשלה‬kingdom, dominion” 2:13 Although the word ‫ ממשלה‬is found in both EBH and LBH sources, it is noteworthy that PHab did not choose a specifically LBH form like ‫מלכות‬ or a derivative of ‫שלט‬.135

The older BDB dictionary glosses ‫ עריץ‬as “awe inspiring, terror inspiring” (BDB, 791-92). The recent edition of the Koehler-Baumgartner dictionary gives the glosses “violent, powerful, acting violently, potentate, tyrant” (KBL, 2.884). Translations of PHab vary: “ruthless ones” (Horgan, Pesharim, 13; Horgan, “Habakkuk Pesher,” 163); “cruel” (M. Wise, M. Abegg, Jr. and E. Cook, The Dead Sea Scrolls A New Translation [Rydalmere: Hodder & Stoughton, 1996], 116); “men of violence and breakers (of the covenant)” (Vermes, Complete Scrolls, 479); “violators (of the covenant)” (Brownlee, Midrash Pesher, 53; García Martínez and Tigchelaar, Dead Sea Scrolls, 1.13); “enemies” (Wise et al., “1QpHab,” 81). 134 BDB, 791-92; KBL, 2.888. 135 Note the regular practice of the Targum to render ‫ ממשלה‬with a form of ‫שלט‬. 133

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4.1.5. ‫“ ממרחק‬from afar” 3:10 The noun ‫ מרחק‬is found 17 times in BH, never in core LBH, and in LBHrelated only once in the pre-exilic/exilic LBH-related Ezekiel (23:40). In contrast to ‫“ ממרחק‬from afar”, LBH prefers other expressions using the root: ‫( מרחוק‬Neh 12:43), ‫( למרחוק‬Ezra 3:13; 1 Chr 17:17; 2 Chr 26:15) and ‫( מארץ רחוקה‬2 Chr 6:32, 36).

4.1.6. ‫“ משל‬rule” 4:5, 10, 12; 8:9 Although common to both EBH and LBH it is noteworthy that PHab avoids specifically LBH alternatives such as the root ‫שלט‬.136

4.1.7. ‫“ תפשׂ‬capture” 4:7 The verb ‫ תפשׂ‬is used of capturing cities only in EBH (Deut 20:19; Josh 8:8; 2 Kgs 14:7; 16:9; 18:13//Isa 36:1; cf. Jer 40:10; 49:16). For LBH note the parallel verses 2 Kgs 18:13//Isa 36:1//2 Chr 32:1 where the EBH books of Kings and Isaiah say of the fortified cities of Judah that Sennacherib captured them (‫)ויתפשם‬. In contrast, Chronicles says that Sennacherib thought to break into them (‫)לבקעם‬.137

4.1.8. ‫“ הרס‬demolish” 4:8 Only one (1 Chr 20:1138) of 43 occurrences of this verb is in a core LBH text. Rooker notes the EBH status of ‫ הרס‬and gives an example where, in expressing the idea “to tear down an altar” the EBH 1 Kgs 19:10 uses ‫הרס‬, whereas the LBH 2 Chr 34:7 uses the piel of the root ‫נתץ‬.139

4.1.9. ‫“ עוון‬wickedness” 4:8 Core LBH prefers to pluralise this word. It occurs six times in the plural (masc: Dan 9:13; Ezra 9:13; fem: Dan 9:16; Ezra 9:6, 7; Neh 9:2), but only As with ‫ ממשלה‬above, ‫ משל‬is commonly rendered in the Targum with words from the root ‫שלט‬. 137 This is not specifically a LBH term, see e.g. 2 Kgs 25:4. The point is that Chronicles did not use the exclusively EBH term ‫ תפש‬here. 138 Although not directly paralleled in Samuel, the verb ‫ הרס‬is used of the Ammonite capital in David’s instructions in 2 Sam 11:25, and hence this EBH passage may have influenced Chronicles’ linguistic choice in describing the fall of the Ammonite capital. 139 Rooker, Ezekiel, 142. 136

494

PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

three times in the singular (Dan 9:24; Neh 3:37; 1 Chr 21:8). In contrast to this 2:1 ratio in favour of plural in core LBH, overall BH prefers the singular at a ratio of 4:1. PHab does not follow the LBH trend.

4.1.10. ‫“ נדמו‬they kept silent” 5:10 The verb ‫“ דמם‬be silent” occurs 30 times in BH, never in core LBH and in LBH-related only in pre-exilic/exilic Ezekiel (24:17) and Lamentations (2:10, 18; 3:28). An alternative is to analyse the root as ‫דמה‬, which is similarly absent from core LBH.140 LBH uses other words for “be silent” such as ‫( אלם‬Dan 10:15; cf. Ezek 3:26; 24:27; 33:22).

4.1.11. ‫“ תוכחת‬rebuke” 5:4, 10 The noun ‫“ תוכחת‬rebuke” is never found in core LBH. LBH uses other roots with the meaning “admonish, rebuke”, such as ‫( זהר‬2 Chr 19:10; cf. Qoh 4:13; 12:12; 15 times in Ezekiel) and ‫( יסר‬2 Chr 10:11, 14// 1 Kgs 12:11, 14).

4.1.12. ‫“ מוראם‬their fear” 6:5 The noun ‫“ מורא‬fear, object of fear” appears 12 times in BH, never in core LBH or in LBH-related works, although it does appear in the post-exilic EBH of Malachi141 (1:6; 2:5). LBH prefers other words for “fear”, including substantives like ‫פחד‬.

4.1.13. ‫“ לחריב‬to devastate” 6:8 The root ‫ חרב‬in the hiphil “devastate” is found 13 times in BH, never in core LBH. LBH prefers other verbs for devastation and destruction such as ‫אבד‬.

140 ‫ דמה‬is favoured by, for example, KBL, 1. 225. The two roots are discussed by H. G. M. Williamson, “The Translation of 1 Q p Hab. V, 10,” RevQ 9 (1977-78), 263-65 who argues that a translation “they were reduced to silence” fits the meaning of the roots better. However, recent translations that I consulted have not followed Williamson’s suggestion. 141 On Malachi as post-exilic EBH, see Ehrensvärd, “Linguistic Dating,” especially 175-86.

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4.1.14. ‫“ פרי בטן‬fruit of the womb” 6:11-12 This expression is found 11 times in BH, never in LBH or LBH-related. Comparable lists in LBH simply leave this element out, e.g. Esth 3:13: “young and old, women and children” cf. 2 Chr 20:13; 31:18.

4.1.15. ‫“ חקק‬decree” 7:13 The verb ‫ חקק‬is used 19 times in BH, never in core LBH, and in LBHrelated only in the pre-exilic/exilic LBH-related Ezekiel (4:1; 23:14). For the sense “to decree” see e.g. Isa 10:1. LBH uses other words for enacting a decree such as ‫ הקים‬and ‫העמיד‬.

4.1.16. ‫“ ערמתו‬his wisdom” 7:14 The noun ‫“ ערמה‬craftiness, prudence” is only found in biblical Wisdom literature and in core EBH (Exod 21:14; Josh 9:4).142 LBH shares other, common words for “wisdom” such as ‫חכמה‬.

4.1.17. ‫“ קבץ‬gather” 8:11; 9:5 Although the verb ‫“ קבץ‬to gather” is attested in both EBH and LBH, it is noteworthy that PHab avoids using the LBH synonym ‫כנס‬.143

4.1.18. ‫“ פעל‬do” 8:13; 12:8 The verb ‫“ פעל‬to do” is found 56 times in BH, never in core LBH, and only once each in LBH-related psalms Ps 119:3 and Ps 125:5. Related nouns are used twice in Chronicles (1 Chr 11:22//2 Sam 23:20; 2 Chr 15:7). Thus out of 111 occurrences of the root ‫פעל‬, only four at most relate to LBH contexts. LBH instead just utilises the more common BH root ‫עשה‬.

4.1.19 ‫“ גויה‬body” 9:2 Although the word ‫ גויה‬for “body” is found in both EBH and LBH, we note that PHab does not use the LBH synonym ‫גופה‬.144

142 143

58.

144

Although these two texts exhibit only the negative sense “craftiness”. On ‫ כנס‬as LBH see e.g. Hurvitz, P and Ezekiel, 123-25; Rooker, Ezekiel, 156On ‫ גופה‬as LBH see Polzin, Late Biblical Hebrew, 132.

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

4.1.20. ‫“ שלל‬plunder” 9:5, 6 PHab chooses the common BH noun ‫ שלל‬for “plunder” rather than the LBH synonym ‫ ִבּזָּ ה‬.

4.1.21. ‫“ לענותו‬to humble him” 9:10 The use of the root ‫ ענה‬in piel meaning “to humble” is attested 69 times in the MT Bible. However, it never appears in core LBH books and in LBHrelated texts only twice each in Ezekiel and Psalm 119. LBH uses other terms for “to humble” such as the hiphil stem of ‫כנע‬.

4.1.22. ‫“ הרשיע‬condemn” 10:5 As discussed above in section 3.2.2, LBH uses the hiphil of ‫ רשע‬only in the sense “to act wickedly”, never in the EBH sense “to condemn as guilty”. Note the parallel texts 1 Kgs 8:32// 2 Chr 6:23. EBH Kings says that God will judge his servants by condemning the wicked (‫)להרשיע רשע‬. The parallel in LBH Chronicles, however, says that God will judge his servants by repaying the wicked (‫)להשיב לרשע‬. Also note LBH Dan 1:10 which uses the piel of the Aramaic root ‫ חוב‬for the sense “to make guilty”.145

4.1.23. ‫“ עדה‬congregation” 10:10146 Hurvitz argues that within BH the use of the word ‫ עדה‬rather than ‫ קהל‬for “congregation” is a characteristic of EBH texts as opposed to LBH ones.147

4.1.24. ‫“ גדפו‬they reviled” 10:13 The rare verb ‫“ גדף‬to revile” is found six times in EBH texts and only once in a LBH-related text, the pre-exilic/exilic Ezekiel. Cognate nouns are also found in Ezekiel, as well as EBH Zephaniah and the exilic EBH Isaiah 40– 145 J. J. Collins, Daniel A Commentary on the Book of Daniel (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 128 n.31; KBL, 1.295. For ‫ חוב‬as an Aramaism see M. Wagner, Die Lexicalischen und Grammatikalischen Aramaismen im Alttestamentlichen Hebräisch (Berlin: Alfred Töpelmann, 1966), 52. 146 Brownlee, Midrash Pesher, 91; Nitzan, Pesher Habakkuk, 166, among others, restore ‫ ע]דת[ם‬in PHab 5:12 rather than ‫ ע]צת[ם‬as in e.g. Horgan, “Habakkuk Pesher,” 168. 147 A. Hurvitz, “Linguistic Observations on the Biblical Usage of the Priestly Term ‛Edah’,” Tarbiz 40 (1970-71), 261-67 (in Hebrew); Hurvitz, P and Ezekiel, 6567.

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55. LBH uses other words for “to revile, insult” such as ‫חרף‬, found also in EBH, which PHab uses alongside ‫גדף‬. Compare PHab “and they reviled (‫ )גדפו‬and insulted (‫ )ויחרפו‬the chosen ones of God” with “and he insulted (‫ )ויחרף‬Israel” (1 Chr 20:7 [//2 Sam 21:21]; cf. Neh 6:13; 2 Chr 32:17).

4.1.25. ‫“ זמם‬he planned” 12:6 The verb ‫“ זמם‬to plan” occurs 13 times in the MT Bible, and the related nouns ‫ זמה‬and ‫ מזמה‬appear 29 and 19 times respectively, yet never in core LBH. The verb is found once in exilic LBH-related Lamentations, and the noun ‫ זמה‬is common in the pre-exilic/exilic LBH-related Ezekiel. LBH uses the common BH word ‫ חשב‬for “to plan”. In a negative context comparable to PHab see, for example, Esth 9:24: “he plotted (‫ )חשב‬against the Jews to destroy them”.

4.1.26. ‫“ עובדי‬servants/worshippers of” 13:3 The use of the plural participle of ‫עבד‬, rather than the cognate noun for “servants, worshippers” is restricted to EBH texts.148

4.2. EBH MORPHOLOGICAL AND GRAMMATICAL FEATURES 4.2.1. ‫“ מפיא‬from the mouth” 2:2 PHab always assimilates the nun of the preposition ‫“ מן‬from” to a following word without a definite article (2:2; 7:11; 10:4; 11:12; cf. ‫ מן הארץ‬in 13:4), against the LBH tendency to leave ‫ מן‬separate before an anarthrous noun.149

4.2.2. ‫“ בשמעם‬when they hear” 2:7 Polzin argues that there was a sharp decline in the use of the infinitive construct with beth or kaph in LBH, leading to its complete absence in Mishnaic Hebrew.150 He provides no guidance as to how to judge this

See 2 Kgs 10:19, 21, 22, 23; Ps 97:7. On the “loose” LBH status of this non-assimilation, see above in section 3.1. 150 Polzin, Late Biblical Hebrew, 45. The relevance of Mishnaic Hebrew to BH chronology is seriously questionable, since Mishnaic Hebrew is widely believed to represent a parallel, co-existing dialect, not a genetic descendent of BH; see above, section 3.1 and the discussion in Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd, Linguistic Dating, 1.223-49; 2.72-77. 148 149

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decline overall, but it is worth noting the occurrences of infinitive construct plus beth in PHab 2:7; 7:12; and 10:16.

4.2.3. ‫“ וקלסו‬and they mock” 4:3; ‫“ וידבר‬and he spoke” 7:1 Some scholars have claimed a breakdown of the classical Hebrew verbal system in LBH, including the breakdown of the use of converted tenses. PHab, on the contrary, consistently uses converted verbs, in accordance with EBH practice.151

4.2.4. ‫“ עם רב‬a large people/army” 4:3, 7 The core LBH books Ezra, Nehemiah and Chronicles, and the LBH-related Ezekiel construe ‫ עם‬very commonly as plural.152 Even though adjectives like ‫ רב‬are normally singular when referring to ‫עם‬, plurals can occur.153 PHab does not exhibit the LBH tendency to construe collectives as plurals.

4.2.5. ‫“ למו‬to them” 5:6 Although attested 55 times in the MT Bible, the preposition lamed with the archaic third person masculine plural suffix is never attested in core LBH, and in LBH-related only in the poetry of Psalm 119 and Lamentations. In contrast, the standard BH ‫ להם‬occurs 100 times in core LBH books.

Note the following quotes: from M. S. Smith, The Origins and Development of the Waw-Consecutive: Northwest Semitic Evidence from Ugarit to Qumran (HSS, 39; Atlanta: Scholars, 1991), 39: “The Pesharim contain no clear cases of unconverted imperfect with waw, but exhibit at least ten cases of converted imperfects”; p.40: “The Pesharim have at least eleven converted perfect forms and no cases of unconverted perfect forms”. It is thus beside the point for Nitzan, Pesher Habakkuk, 114 to remark that only a low proportion of verbs in PHab are converted forms. Given the brief nature of most sections of the pesher, the opportunities for consecution are limited, and the pesher uses the converted forms each time it is appropriate. A similar cause–hardly related to chronology!–helps explain the rare occurrence of converted forms in Hebrew inscriptions from the monarchic period, see Young, “LBH and Inscriptions,” 294-95. Furthermore, as Nitzan notes, the proportion of converted verbs in PHab is very similar to that in biblical Habakkuk. For the lack of continuity between the Qumran and LBH verbal systems see Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd, Linguistic Dating, 1.277-78. 152 I. Young, “‛Am Construed as Singular and Plural in Hebrew Biblical Texts: Diachronic and Textual Perspectives,” ZAH 12 (1999), 48-82. 153 Young, “‛Am,” 58 n.41. 151

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4.2.6. ‫“ לאותותם‬to their standards” 6:4 Against the LBH tendency to place the long third person masculine plural suffix on the feminine plural ‫–ותיהם‬, PHab follows EBH practice in using the shorter form ‫–ותם‬. See also in this line of PHab ‫“ מלחמותם‬their wars”.154

4.2.7. ‫“ נשים וטף‬women and children” 6:11 PHab’s word order “women and children” is found 14 times in EBH sources,155 and never in LBH. In contrast, the reverse “children and women” is found eight times in BH, four times in core LBH, once in LBHrelated, and three times in EBH.156 This is thus another case where PHab follows EBH practice against LBH.

4.2.8. –‫“ מרדו ב‬they rebelled against” 8:11 Against PHab’s LBH-like preference for the preposition ‫( על‬above, 3.2.4), note that here it follows the common BH use of the preposition beth with the verb ‫“ מרד‬to rebel” against the use of ‫ על‬in Neh 2:19 and 2 Chr 13:6.

4.3. PRELIMINARY CONCLUSIONS In the previous section we showed that, contrary to expectations, PHab has no higher a concentration of LBH features than many EBH texts, and decidedly fewer than appear in core LBH texts, and hence cannot be classified as LBH. In this section we have seen that additionally, PHab has many cases where its language exhibits close links to EBH as opposed to LBH. Whereas thirty-four lexical and grammatical features of PHab align with EBH (section 4), there are only six links with LBH (section 3). Thus, given the choice of classifying PHab as either EBH or LBH, we must clearly classify the language of PHab as EBH.

154 Horgan, Pesharim, 28; Horgan, “Habakkuk Pesher,” 165 n.29 reads ‫מחשבתם‬ in PHab 3:5 as a defectively written plural “their plans”. Similarly Horgan, Pesharim, 29 takes ‫ ובבהמתם‬in 3:10 as a defectively written plural. If correct, this may belong under “pluralisation”, see 3.2.5. 155 Num 14:3; 31:9; 32:26; Deut 2:34; 3:6, 19; 20:14; 31:12; Josh 1:14; 8:35; Judg 21:10; Jer 40:7; 41:16; 43:6. 156 Gen 34:29; 46:25; Deut 29:10; Ezek 9:6; Esth 3:13; 8:11; 2 Chr 20:13; 31:18.

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4.4. IMITATION? PHab’s language thus aligns much more closely with EBH than LBH. We have already raised the issue of whether such language use is due to imitation of biblical works in EBH or due to a continuation of the EBH style (section 2, above). These two possibilities are in fact not mutually exclusive, since education in the ancient world focussed on mastering a standard curriculum of ancient texts.157 It is widely acknowledged that well before the time of the composition of PHab in the first century B.C.E., the Jewish educational curriculum was based on biblical texts158 and that the core texts were EBH texts such as the Pentateuch, Isaiah, the Twelve Prophets, and Psalms, with the Wisdom works Job and Proverbs.159 Education thus involved mastery and memorisation of core EBH books, with a corresponding mastery of their language.160 Thus to say that PHab represents a continuation of the EBH style is to acknowledge that the author, like his predecessors, mastered EBH style by mastering the language of earlier works written in EBH. That PHab’s “imitation” of earlier linguistic models represents a broad mastery of the EBH style is evident on consideration of the distinctively EBH linguistic features we have just described. It is noteworthy that the great majority of them are not found in the biblical book of Habakkuk. Even those few that are found in biblical Habakkuk, commonly do not occur in the lemma of the section where PHab uses the same linguistic form. Thus, note that ‫( משל‬4.1.6; cf. Hab 1:14), ‫( תוכחת‬4.1.11; cf. Hab 2:1), ‫( פעל‬4.1.18; cf. Hab 1:5 [and 3:2]) and ‫( למו‬4.2.5; cf. Hab 2:7) occur in both PHab and biblical Habakkuk, but in different sections.161 In addition,

D. M. Carr, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart Origins of Scripture and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University, 2005). 158 Carr, Writing, 168, 253-254. 159 J. Trebolle, “A ‘Canon Within a Canon’: Two Series of Old Testament Books Differently Transmitted, Interpreted and Authorized,” RevQ 19 (2000), 38399. Carr, Writing, 155 points out the peripheral role of the core LBH books of Chronicles, Esther, Ezra and Nehemiah. 160 Carr, Writing, 16, 230 emphasises the ability of Second Temple period Jewish authors to produce various registers of BH. Cf. Qimron, “Observations,” 353-54: “The [Qumran] sectarians studied the Bible day and night so that its phraseology became a living component of their own language.” 161 Note, however, that ‫ משל‬in 8:9 is based on a play on words with ‫משל‬ “proverb, taunt song”. See Brownlee, Midrash Pesher, 133, 143-44. 157

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‫( תפש‬4.1.7; cf. Hab 2:19) not only occurs in a different section, but also in a different sense. Apart from the grammatical features of assimilation of ‫( מן‬4.2.1) and use of the waw-consecutive (4.2.3), which are found throughout both PHab and biblical Habakkuk, there are only two or three cases where the language of the pesher directly echoes an EBH feature of the lemma. The clearest case is ‫( קבץ‬4.1.17) which in PHab 8:11 is found in the pesher to Hab 2:5 which uses the same root, albeit in a different conjugation (qal vs. niphal). Note, however, that ‫ קבץ‬is also used in PHab 9:5 with no correlation in the lemma. PHab 8:3 cites the lemma with a form of the verb ‫( בגד‬4.1.2; ‫יבגיד‬ or ‫ יבגוד‬vs. MT ‫ בגד‬participle) and the pesher in PHab 8:10 uses the same verb. The participle of ‫ בגד‬is found in PHab 2:1, 3, 5, commenting on Hab 1:5, which is not preserved in PHab. Some scholars reconstruct the lemma to include the word ‫ בגדים‬also.162 Finally, the use of the noun ‫ שלל‬in PHab 9:5 (4.1.20) is related to the lemma since the cognate verb is used twice there (Hab 2:8). The majority of the EBH lexical (18 out of 25; 4.1.1, 3-5, 8-10, 12-16, 19, 21-26) and grammatical (5 out of 8; 4.2.2, 4, 6-8) features of PHab are not found in the biblical book of Habakkuk. This would seem to indicate that if the EBH language of PHab is produced by “imitation”, it is due to general knowledge of the EBH style, not the direct influence of the lemma text. If the author of PHab was struggling to master an alien style of language use, we might have expected him to rely more on the language of the text upon which he was commenting. Especially instructive in this regard is PHab 3:6-14. In PHab 3:6-9 the biblical lemma is quoted (Hab 1:8-9a) which in its description of the Chaldeans uses the common BH expression, used in LBH as well as EBH, ‫“ מרחוק‬from afar” (PHab 3:7).163 In contrast to this, PHab (3:10) uses the exclusively EBH form ‫ממרחק‬ (PHab 3:10; 4.1.5). In other words, even though provided with a common and perfectly legitimate BH linguistic form in the lemma, PHab chose instead to use a more specifically EBH form. 162 See e.g. Brownlee, Midrash Pesher, 54; Nitzan, Pesher Habakkuk, 152; Horgan, “Habakkuk Pesher,” 160 n.20, who reconstruct the lemma here as “Look, O traitors (‫ ”)בגדים‬with the LXX, rather than the MT “Look among the nations (‫”)בגוים‬. 163 Brownlee, Midrash Pesher, 68 understands this to go with the previous clause, hence “from afar they will swoop as an eagle”. Horgan, “Habakkuk Pesher,” 165 takes it with the preceding, hence “their riders spread out from a distance”.

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The evidence suggests, therefore, that PHab’s EBH language was produced due to general mastery of the EBH style. This was emphasised long ago by Elliger.164 We find no evidence that the author was struggling to write EBH. On the contrary, the language of the pesher sections of PHab shows a certain independence of the language of the lemma.165 PHab could write EBH successfully because the author was trained to do so by mastery of earlier, classical texts in EBH. In this regard, he was probably no different to earlier EBH authors. EBH was a style that continued to be learned and used throughout the Second Temple period. PHab’s language is thus produced by “imitation” only in the broadest possible sense of that term.

5. NON-MT LANGUAGE FEATURES IN PESHER HABAKKUK Although it is beyond the strict scope of this paper, it is worth briefly pointing out some of the linguistic features of PHab which are not normal in either EBH or LBH, some of which, in fact, are not attested in BH in its MT form.166 Many of these are orthographic, such as the use of the digraph ‫ –יא‬in ‫“ פיא‬mouth” (2:2; contrast ‫ פי‬in 2:7) and ‫“ כיא‬because” (2:3 etc; contrast ‫ כי‬in 3:2), or the digraph ‫ –וא‬in ‫“ יאמינוא‬they will (not) believe” (2:6; contrast e.g. 2:14)167 and gentilics of the pattern ‫“ הכתיאים‬the Kittim” (2:11 etc). Other cases involve vocalisations of words contrary to the Tiberian tradition in the current MT such as ‫“ ישופטנו‬he will judge him” (12:5). These peculiarities can be paralleled in some Qumran copies of EBH books, especially those in the so-called “Qumran practice”.168 Elliger, Habakuk-Kommentar, 80-86, and more generally pp.78-117. This may qualify the suggestions made above in sections 3.2.3, 3.2.4 and 3.2.5 that prominent LBH features of PHab were picked up under the influence of the style of biblical Habakkuk. Nevertheless, since these are not common features of EBH and are shared specifically by a particular text and the commentary on that text, the hypothesis is still worth considering. It is still obvious that in general there is a relationship between the language of the lemma and its pesher. 166 See Nitzan, Pesher Habakkuk, 103-22; and on Qumran in general, Qimron, Hebrew. 167 Horgan, “Habakkuk Pesher,” 162 n.31 says “It is unclear whether the ‫ א‬at the end of this line is part of an anomalous 3rd pl. form, or whether it is another sign at the end of the line”. 168 On the “Qumran practice” see E. Tov, “The Orthography and Language of the Hebrew Scrolls Found at Qumran and the Origin of these Scrolls,” Textus 13 164 165

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PHab has, however, some non-MT linguistic forms not involving orthography and pronunciation. Several of these are known as “Qumran” forms, such as ‫“ הואה‬he” (1:9; contrast ‫ הוא‬in e.g. 1:13),169 the predominant use of ‫ אל‬for “God” (1:11 etc), lexical peculiarities such as ‫ קץ‬as “age, period of time” (5:7; 7:2, 7), ‫“ גמר‬consummation” (7:2), ‫ תכונה‬as “fixed or right time” (7:13) and ‫“ יחד‬community” (12:4). In addition, note grammatical peculiarities such as the use of the preposition lamed, not beth, in the expression ‫“ לאחרית הימים‬in the last days” (2:5-6). In addition, there are various peculiarities that turn up as rare forms in BH, such as the ubiquitous dropping of the he of the hiphil infinitive (3:1;170 4:13; 6:8; 8:12; 10:10, 11; 11:8, 15; contrast 3:5; 7:8; cf. niphal in 7:12),171 the śin/samekh interchange in ‫“ מאשו‬they rejected” (1:11; contrast 5:11)172 and the “Qumran” form ‫“ להמה‬for them” (12:14) also found in Jer 14:16 (cf. ‫ בהמה‬in the MT of Hab 1:16!). This listing is not exhaustive, but gives the main features of the evidence.

6. CONCLUSIONS PHab does not exhibit a concentration of LBH linguistic features comparable to or exceeding the core LBH books of the MT Bible. In fact, the number of LBH features is no higher than in core EBH texts. In (1986), 31-57; E. Tov, “Further Evidence for the Existence of a Qumran Scribal School,” The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years After their Discovery, 199-216; E. Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible (Minneapolis: Van Gorcum, 20012), 107-11; E. Tov, Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert (Leiden/ Boston: Brill, 2004), 261-73, 277-88. 169 Brownlee, Midrash Pesher, 42 suggests that since the pronoun elsewhere in PHab is spelled short, this form should interpreted as a noun equivalent to biblical ‫“ הֹוָ ה‬ruin”. Most scholars have continued to read the pronoun here. Horgan, Pesharim, 23 points out that nowhere else in Qumran is the noun which Brownlee suggests spelled with aleph. Horgan, Pesharim, 23; Horgan, “Habakkuk Pesher,” 160 in fact read ‫“ היאה‬she” here. It is common for Qumran documents to exhibit a mixture of long and short forms of pronouns in the same text. This may indicate that this form too should be classified under “orthography and pronunciation”. 170 Brownlee, Midrash Pesher, 64-65; and Nitzan, Pesher Habakkuk, 157 mention an alternative derivation of ‫ לכות‬from ‫ כתת‬not ‫נכה‬, which might remove this example from this category. However, this alternative reading is generally rejected. 171 See Rendsburg, Diglossia, 95-102. All of the examples he discusses are in EBH texts. 172 For śin/samekh in EBH see Young, Diversity, 190-91.

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addition, PHab exhibits a high number of linguistic links with EBH in opposition to LBH. On this basis, we can say that PHab’s language aligns more closely with EBH than LBH. This result is contrary to the explicit expectations of the chronological theory of BH. According to that model the amount of LBH should increase over time, from virtually none in the pre-exilic period, through an exilic transition, to a post-exilic period characterised by LBH, which should be completely dominant at the time of the composition of PHab in the first century B.C.E. This model does not fit the evidence. The primary characteristic of EBH books that marks them apart from the core LBH books is a relatively low accumulation of LBH linguistic features. Quite apart from our case of PHab, other post-exilic works, such as Zechariah 1-8 also exhibit low, EBH accumulations of LBH features. The second century B.C.E. book of Ben Sira, like PHab, also has a typically EBH low accumulation of LBH features.173 In fact, in Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd’s investigations, no Qumran document yet studied exhibits an accumulation of LBH forms comparable to the core LBH works.174 In addition to PHab and Ben Sira, the Community Rule and the War Scroll175 all have less than or equal the number of LBH features found in the Arad Ostraca (see Table 1), extra-biblical sources from the pre-exilic period. In other words, some sources from the end of the Second Temple period have less LBH elements than the Arad Ostraca from the end of the First Temple period. Chronology is not the explanation for these accumulations of LBH features, but rather that some authors have a stylistic preference for them. Instead of a model whereby LBH is considered a linear development of EBH, which is incompatible with the evidence, a better model sees LBH merely as one style of Hebrew in the Second Temple period, alongside EBH.176 The post-exilic authors and scribes who composed and transmitted works in EBH exhibit a tendency to conservatism in their linguistic choices, only rarely using forms outside a narrow core of what they considered 173 Four LBH features, see Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd, Linguistic Dating, 1.266-75. 174 Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd, Linguistic Dating, 1.132-36, 39, 271-75. 175 Both the Community Rule and the War Scroll samples in Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd, Linguistic Dating, 1.134, 273 have an accumulation of nine LBH features, the same as the Arad Ostraca. 176 For the possibility of pre-exilic LBH, see Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd, Linguistic Dating, 2.89-91. Our focus here, however, is on the Second Temple period.

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literary forms. At the other extreme, the LBH authors and scribes exhibited a much less conservative attitude, freely adopting a variety of linguistic forms in addition to (not generally instead of) those favoured by the EBH scribes. Between extreme conservatism (e.g. Zechariah 1–8) and extreme openness to variety (e.g. Ezra), there was probably a continuum into which other writings may be placed (e.g. the Temple Scroll177). That we need to include not only authors but scribes in this picture is clear from those cases where we have the same biblical book in two linguistic forms, the classic example being the Book of Isaiah in its EBH MT form and the more LBH 1QIsaa.178 These two general styles of BH continued throughout the Second Temple period. We have seen here that PHab represents a continuation of the more conservative EBH approach which tended to avoid those linguistic forms favoured by LBH. Given the linguistic peculiarities mentioned in section 5, above, it is probably lacking nuance to simply label PHab’s language “EBH”. Perhaps PHab, including at least some of its nonMT linguistic features, thus represents “late EBH”179 or “Qumran EBH”. In any case, the discovery of the relationship of PHab with EBH rather

177 The Temple Scroll sample presented in Young, Rezetko and Ehrensvärd, Linguistic Dating, 1.133, 273 has the highest accumulation of LBH features of any Qumran text yet studied. However, its accumulation of 13 LBH features is still significantly lower than the lowest core LBH sample presented in Table 1, above. 178 Kutscher, Isaiah Scroll. 179 It will be clear to the reader that in this approach the labels “EBH” and “LBH” have been emptied of their original chronological significance. EBH is a style, which may have developed over time. However, any chronological development of EBH should be seen as parallel to (or at best slightly influenced by) the separate LBH style.

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than LBH is yet another sign that the chronological approach to BH has to be abandoned.

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KUSATU (Kleine Untersuchungen zur Sprache des Alten Testaments und seiner Umwelt; ed. Reinhard Lehmann) 6 (2006). Reviewed by Gary Martin University of Washington, Seattle, WA For a description of this series from the University of Mainz, see the review of Vols. 2-3 at: http://www.arts.ualberta.ca/JHS/reviews/review104.htm. Volume 6 of KUSATU comprises six articles, five of which target a linguistic audience. Of these five, the first three are in German (the first of which includes a summary in English) and treat issues of structure and grammar. The following two articles pertaining to semantics are in English. The sixth and last article, also in English, addresses issues related to assessing the authenticity of unprovenanced seals. The table of contents contains a typographical error in the title of the first article by Achim Behrens (pp. 1-32) that alters the intended focus. It reads: “Die ‘syntaktische Wiederaufnahme’ als textgrammatisches Problem im Biblischen Hebräisch.” The title appearing on the first page of the article itself reads “Phänomen” instead of “Problem.” Indeed, Behrens treats syntaktische Wiederaufnahme as a phenomenon to be investigated, rather than a problem to be solved. Behrens investigates the role of syntactic resumption “as a stylistic feature” that is “a useful tool for biblical exegesis.” He illustrates the phenomenon as it occurs in five examples from the Hebrew Bible: Amos 7-8, Jeremiah 24, Isaiah 6, 1 Kings 22, Ezekiel 37. 507

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Behrens places quotation marks around the designation of the phenomenon—“syntaktische Wiederaufnahme”—as though he has coined the term. However, the expression was in use even before his 1997 article on the feature in Amos. The term “Wiederaufnahme” (translated into English as “repetitive resumption” by most writers, or occasionally “resumptive repetition”), was introduced by Curt Kuhl in his 1952 article “Die ‘Wiederaufnahme’—ein literarisches Prinzip?” (ZAW 64, 1-11). Kuhl’s article is, surprisingly, not cited by Behrens, even though his bibliography contains works exclusively in German. Kuhl investigated a certain type of repetition that is often considered either a later addition or dittography. It occurs frequently in the Hebrew Bible—he counted 150 cases, mostly in the major prophets, especially Ezekiel. Its function is to resume the thread of a previous topic which was interrupted by other content. The resumption is carried out by repeating the last words, sentence, or section of the original thread, and then moving forward with the original topic (hence the English, “repetitive resumption”). In the present article, Behrens has observed that the form of the Wiederaufnahme sometimes involves repetition, not of the precise words of the original thread, but rather of syntactic and morphological components. So his topic focuses not so much on Wiederaufnahme per se as it does specifically on “syntaktische” Wiederaufnahme, though again, even this specific form of Wiederaufnahme was observed earlier by modern linguists (see, e.g. Anne Betten, “Fehler und Kommunikationsstrategien. Zur funktionalen Erklärung einiger häufig vorkommender syntaktischer Wiederaufnahme-Formen in der gesprochenen deutschen Gegenwartssprache,” in: D. Cherubim (Hg.), Fehlerlinguistik. Beiträge zum Problem der sprachlichen Abweichung, Tübingen 1980, S. 188-208). Behrens’ main argument is summarized in English at the end of the article, which I quote here in part: “Texts or several parts of one text can be joined together not only by use of connecting key words, but also by use of the reiteration of certain syntax constructions … this kind of textual grammar opens up a fresh look at form criticism and may prompt scholars to a new interest in text types which eventually may have a close resemblance to Gunkel’s ‘Gattungen’.” Behrens finds that syntaktische Wiederaufnahme sometimes serves to further develop a theme. In his example from Amos 7, he notes that syntaktische Wiederaufnahme serves to inform the reader of the dramatic change from avoidable to unavoidable calamity within the four visions. In 1

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Kings 22 the feature serves to bring two scenes together in contrast to each other. Whatever functions may be served by syntaktische or other forms of Wiederaufnahme, Behrens rightly draws attention to a compositional feature that is operative over large blocks of content. His main contribution here lies in the detailed analysis of his examples, which form a virtual methodological guide that the reader can in turn employ, with the goal of gaining additional insights into the form and function of biblical Hebrew composition. In the second article, “Grammatik und Bedeutung: Die Rolle des weqatál in Jer 31,31-34” (pp. 33-60), Bernardeth Carmen Caero Bustillos shows the significance of the “Assertiv” (asseverative) sense of the weqatál forms in Jer 31,31-34, which serve to emphasize future certainty. Bustillos identifies a progression of three asseverative verbs, framed by the outer two true weqatál verbs: (1) Jer 31:31c (“I will certainly make a covenant…”), (2) Jer 31:32e (“I will certainly enter into marriage with them.”) (3) Jer 31:33e (“I will certainly be their God.”). Bustillos argues that the structure of Jer 31:32e is the equivalent of a weqatál form (by eliminating the first person pronoun and joining the conjunctive waw with the following qatal verb). These three asseverative verbs form the crucial structural elements of the pericope. While Bustillos’ analysis and exegetical strategy “works” for the pericope in question, it is not clear that other interpretative strategies are thereby excluded. The case would have been strengthened by additional examples. The third article by Achim Müller is entitled, “Tiefenstrukturell nebensätzliche Parataxen: Einige Überlegungen zur Klassifikation und Übersetzung ‘impliziter Hypotaxe’ im biblischen Hebräisch am Beispiel der Fortführung des Imperativ” (pp. 61-86). Müller draws on recent studies by Johannes Friedrich Diehl and Ernst Jenni on the use of the imperative in biblical Hebrew. A central issue involves determining whether or not a construction with two infinitives, or with an infinitive followed by a verb, (with or without a conjunctive waw before the second element in either case), is syntactically paratactic or hypotactic. The problem may be one of our own grammatical taxonomy. For it seems that in biblical Hebrew the line is not always clear: The construction appears to vacillate between parataxis and hypotaxis. What appear to be paratactic constructions often embed “implicit hypotaxis” in the sense. Müller seeks criteria beyond mere intuition in order to differentiate more convincingly between simple parataxis and implicit hypotaxis. Gen 42:18 illustrates the approach, where

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Joseph directs his brothers, “Do this and live!” Here two infinitives are joined by a conjunctive waw. The structure appears paratactic: (1) Do this! (2) Live! Yet the sense seems conditional: “If you do this, then you will live.” Why is this the case? Müller argues that, while the first action is something that the brothers themselves can do, the second action actually lies in the hand of Joseph, i.e. “live” means “I will let you live.” Thus, the second imperative is not an independent action of the same subject as the subject connected with the first imperative. The structure, imperative + we + imperative, appears to be paratactic only superficially. On the basis of similar examples, Müller summarizes (which I translate into English): “On the grammatical surface, both imperatives are directed toward the same subject, but in the logical deep structure, different subjects act” (p. 73). Müller calls this circumstance “Kasusrollendifferenz,” since the nominative subject (“der Nominativ [grammatischer Kasus]”) is not identical to the acting subject (“das handelnde Subjekt [logische Kasusrolle]”). In the article “Biblical Hebrew Lexicology: A Cognitive Linguistic Perspective” (pp. 87-112), Christo H J van der Merwe succinctly states the thesis: “The primary aim of this paper is to explain why I find a cognitive approach to BH lexicography promising.” Van der Merwe finds that current BH lexica lack clarity in the purposes they are to serve from theoretical perspectives of modern linguistics. After providing helpful definitions of technical terms for those who are less informed in the field of Cognitive Linguistics, he outlines basic assumptions of Cognitive Linguistics in respect to the role they can play in constructing a more adequate model for the BH lexicon. What is needed is a large-scale working model to assess the real contribution that Cognitive Linguistics can provide future users of a BH lexicon utilizing its principles. Van der Merwe refers to such a project: The Semantic Dictionary of Biblical Hebrew project undertaken in connection with the United Bible Societies (web site: http://www.sdbh.org/). One can look forward to future reviews of this project as it moves beyond the initial stages. The fifth article by Francesco Zanella is entitled “Could Componential Analysis be more than a heuristic tool? Examples from Ancient Hebrew” (pp. 113-137). It is the only article in the series to begin with a formal Abstract, which states the thesis: “Specifically, this paper will try to demonstrate how CA [Componential Analysis] could deal and interact with a wider concept of meaning that entails references to cultural and cognitive aspects, without consequently being removed from its theoretical constraints.”

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While much of the article will be of interest primarily to specialists in linguistics, Zanella makes fundamental issues of semantic meaning accessible to non-specialists as well. In his article “A Critical Assessment of Unprovenanced Seals and other Artifacts Known since 1968 and Characterized by a ‘Lame Bet’” (pp. 139188; I note that the header to the article has “Ciritcal” for “Critical.”), Leonard Wolfe has provided an exceptionally useful discussion of the criteria one uses to determine the authenticity of artifacts (seals in particular), a topic that continues to receive a great deal of media attention, and one that has also generated sometimes heated scholarly debate. Wolfe lists 13 criteria and demonstrates how he applies them, which makes the article especially accessible even to the non-specialist. Wolfe identifies a number of areas which cause concern. Especially suspect are items that (1) “reach the market within a short space of time,” and (2) “share characteristic peculiarities which were hitherto unknown.” Wolfe’s article can be profitably incorporated in a course on inscriptions. Students who are typically given only a typeset version of an inscription to decipher need to be introduced to the issues covered in this article. One looks forward with eagerness to Wolfe’s forthcoming book on controversies and forgeries in Biblical archaeology.

Nava Bergman, THE CAMBRIDGE BIBLICAL HEBREW WORKBOOK: INTRODUCTORY LEVEL (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). Pp. xvi + 375. Paper, US$32.99. IBN 0-521-53369-4. Reviewed by Robert D. Holmstedt University of Toronto The narrator of Ecclesiastes said that “the making of many books—there is no end” (Eccl. 12:12). This gem seems particularly apt regarding the production of textbooks aimed at the first-year biblical Hebrew (BH) course. What is lamentable about the proliferation of introductory BH textbooks, though, is not the sheer number available, particularly in English;

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the greater the choice of style, organization, and linguistic presentation the better. The lamentable fact of current BH textbook writing is that the texts available vary so little from one another and reflect little of the recent advances in BH linguistic analysis and second-language-acquisition (SLA) teaching techniques. Bergman’s contribution seems to promise a departure from the status quo by applying “many of the tools of modern language acquisition to make learning this classical language an active and inspiring process” (back cover; cf. also pp. i, xi). It is thus with considerable interest that I read this textbook and in this brief review I will explore whether Bergman’s book lives up to its billing, particularly in the area of “modern language acquisition” (which I have taken to mean SLA). This workbook is organized into twenty-eight sections, in which grammatical information, vocabulary, and exercises are presented. This is followed by a text sampling of “four styles of biblical prose”: narrative, legal, parable and proverbs, and prophetic speeches. Appendices on learning Hebrew by using Hebrew proper names (Appendix I), regular sound changes in Hebrew (Appendix II), and a guide to grammatical terms (Appendix III) are followed by Hebrew-to-English and English-to-Hebrew glossaries and an answer key to the sectional exercises. Significantly, this workbook is intended as the first volume of a “comprehensive study-kit,” to include “a workbook for intermediate level, a textbook and an audio-CD package with word lists, exercises, texts and biblical songs” (xi), presumably in the near future. Such a collection of coordinated materials could easily become dominant in the one-dimensional BH textbook market, which makes a probing critique of this first volume all the more critical for potential users (and hopefully helpful to Bergman). Bergman’s workbook does a fine job in covering the grammatical issues common to first-year textbooks. The inclusion of both Hebrew-to-English and English-to-Hebrew glossaries is particularly helpful. One organizational issue that was new to me in a first-year textbook was the intermingling of the verbal stem/binyanim and weak verb morphology. Most textbooks choose to present either the binyanim in their entirety before moving to the weak verbs or all the verbs, strong and weak, in the Qal before moving on to the derivative binyanim. Bergman’s departure is intriguing and I am curious about the rationale for her choice in this matter as well as the response from teachers and students who use this workbook. It is possible that this is one of the SLA-influenced features of the textbook and so here I

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will turn to the heart of this review: determining whether Bergman’s workbook reflects the description provided for it in the title and preface. The first issue that is worth considering is whether the work is really a “workbook,” as the title indicates. A workbook, that is, a collection of all types of exercises, would be immensely valuable and, if each exercise concentrated on limited vocabulary and grammatical structures, fundamentally usable with any other textbook. Bergman’s book is not just a workbook, however. This is clear not only from the amount of grammatical description in each section (to which the exercises are keyed) but also from the preface, where Bergman indicates that the text can be used “more or less independently” (p. xii). Thus, I question both the title and the claim in the preface that the text “can be used together with any textbook for beginners” (p. xii): this work is a full-fledged textbook like any other on the market and because of this, that is, because Bergman presents grammatical description of Hebrew as she understands it and in an order at points unique to her grammar (e.g., the above-mentioned presentation of the verbal binyanim and weak verb morphology), I doubt that this text could be easily combined with any other introductory textbook. What about SLA influence on the book, both in presentation of grammatical description and formation of exercises? I should say, first of all, that there is a wealth of exercises in the text, the best of which come close to being Cloze exercises (see exercises 6.2, 8.1, 9.1, 24.5, 25.3, 26.7). Cloze exercises are immersion-type exercises in which students are given a paragraph of Hebrew phrases or clauses with blanks to be filled in from either a list of the appropriate BH words (plus a few that do not belong) or their own knowledge base (at a more advanced stage in the year).[1] Such exercises are used frequently in recent modern language introductory textbooks but rarely in ancient language textbooks and, to my knowledge, not at all in BH textbooks.[2] The problem with Bergman’s Cloze-like exercises is that there are too few and they simply include too much English information. Some are even based in English (e.g., 11.4, 12.6) rather than in Hebrew! This brings me to my second major criticism of this work: besides the lack of any clearly SLA-influenced exercises, there is too much English grammatical description of Hebrew for a workbook or a textbook grounded in SLA teaching techniques. Instead, the work reads like a traditional “grammar-translation” approach to teaching Hebrew, with, for example, detailed descriptions of phonology (e.g., sections 3-5, 7), sometimes

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accompanied by charts that are none too easy to decode (e.g., the vowel charts on pp. 61 and 109 do not contain headings, such as front, central, back and high, mid, low, or the typical trapezoid quadrilateral outline that gives it interpretable shape). Do first-year students really need to be informed about the changes in triphthongs and diphthongs in III-‫י‬/‫ ו‬verbs and other features similarly mind-boggling to the neophyte? To place this question, and others like it, in relief we should ask whether introductory students of any modern language are given similarly dense information of phonology and morphology in contemporary, SLA-influenced textbooks. To be fair to Bergman, such critical questions may be leveled at all first-year textbooks on the market in the English-speaking world (I claim little knowledge whether the situation differs for non-English-based textbooks). But this lack of distinctiveness for Bergman’s textbook runs counter to how it is presented in the preface. In sum, if we evaluate Bergman’s book by its own claims, I can only conclude that it fails in its goals or is simply mis-advertised. In contrast, if we evaluate this textbook directly against other introductory textbooks, it is similar in scope, contains some nice but mostly typical exercises, and shares this sub-field’s general disconnectedness to current work in BH linguistics (e.g., that the BH perfect and imperfect verbs express completed and uncompleted action [sections 13 and 16, respectively] or that the vav with the perfect and imperfect is an “inverting-Vav” [section 20]).[3] As such, it is simply another addition to the ever-growing pile of first-year textbooks. BH teachers may choose it for its price or some feature within that they find to their liking, but not because it represents something new among the plethora. [1] For a brief definition and description of Cloze exercises, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cloze. To be most effective, Cloze exercises are best designed as paragraph stretches of texts, even if the paragraph is simplified from the biblical text, rather than as a series of disconnected clauses. For a recent monograph on incorporating SLA research into teaching, see W. Wong, Input Enhancement: From Theory and Research to the Classroom (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2004). For a collection of recent articles on incorporating SLA research into the teaching of ancient languages, see J. Gruber-Miller, ed., When Dead Tongues Speak: Teaching Beginning Greek and Latin (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006). For an article focusing on SLA and BH in particular, see P. Overland, “Can

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Communicative Methods Enhance Ancient Language Acquisition?” Teaching Theology and Religion 7 (2004): 51–57. [2] The single exception to this is the two-part textbook developed by Randall Buth for his BH ulpan. For those instructors truly interested in an SLA-influenced textbook and approach to teaching BH, I suggest considering Buth’s Living Biblical Hebrew: ‫( אולפן לעברית מקראית‬Two vols. plus MP3 audio CD; Jerusalem / Zeeland, MI: Biblical Language Center, 2006). Description of Buth’s materials and courses is available at http://www.biblicalulpan.org. [3] For a recent overview of the primary proposals for the semantics of the BH verbs, see J. A. Cook, “The Hebrew Verb: A Grammaticalization Approach,” ZAH 14/2 (2001): 117-43. On the semantics of the so-called “vav-consecutive” forms, see idem, “The Semantics of Verbal Pragmatics: Clarifying the Roles of Wayyiqtol and Weqatal in Biblical Hebrew Prose,” JSS 49 (2004): 247-73. On the explanations of the vav-prefixed forms in BH textbooks, old and new, see idem, “The Vav-Prefixed Verb Forms in Elementary Hebrew Grammar” (paper presented at the annual meeting of the National Association of Professors of Hebrew, San Diego, 18 November 2007).

Steve A. Wiggins, A REASSESSMENT OF ASHERAH, WITH FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS OF THE GODDESS (Gorgias Ugaritic Studies 2, Piscataway NJ: Gorgias Press, 2007). Pp. xxiv + 365. Hardcover, US$90.00. ISBN: 978-1-59333-717-9. Reviewed by Joseph Azize University of Technology, Sydney This welcome volume is a newly typeset edition of Dr Wiggins’ 1993 book, together with three additional chapters. The bibliography has been updated, albeit not comprehensively, and there is a useful index of subjects. An index of references to ancient and modern texts would have been appreciated, but the full table of contents does enable one to find the chief treatments of any

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text. This is number 2 in the new Gorgias Ugaritic Studies series, edited by Nick Wyatt. The preface to the second edition concisely advises the reader of the nature and scope of the book. Chapter 1 deals with preliminary questions, and reviews previous scholarship. Chapter 2, the longest in the book, studies Athirat in the Elimelek (Ilimilku) tablets from Ugarit, and is complemented by chapter 3, which surveys the other pertinent Ugaritic texts. The contentious issue of Asherah in the Old Testament and, briefly, in rabbinic materials is found in chapter 4, followed by the Mesopotamian, Hittite and South Arabian evidence in chapter 5. Chapter 6 provides the epigraphic evidence from Hebrew, Phoenician and Aramaic sources, and chapter 7 furnishes the author’s conclusions. Here ends the original volume. Chapters 8 and 9 comprise two essays which were originally published elsewhere: “The Myth of Asherah: Lion Lady and Serpent Goddess”, and “Of Asherahs and Trees: Some Methodological Questions.” There is some overlap between the contents of these essays and the balance of the book. However, they are worthwhile additions because in each case they clearly show the weakness of the evidence that Asherah was in some special way a goddess of lions and serpents, and trees, respectively. In chapter 8, Wiggins also deals pithily but well, with the misconception that Asherah may have been a “Great Mother” (p. 237). Chapter 10 republishes reviews of the wellknown books by Binger, Hadley and Dever. Dr Wiggins’ critiques are fair and tactful, and provide particularly good coverage of Binger and Hadley’s contentions. There is no question that the data is covered carefully and soberly. To my mind, the difficult question is the methodological one: to what extent and in which circumstances are cross-cultural comparisons and conclusions legitimate? From another perspective, there is an issue as to what is being studied: a goddess who appears in various cultures but somehow transcends these as a quasi-archetype, or simply a series of goddesses in diverse cultures? While the subtitle of this volume refers to “the goddess” in the singular, the title of the thesis was Athirat, Asherah, Ashratu: A Reassessment according to the Textual Sources (p. xv). Wiggins accepts that “Asherah” may be identified with “Athirat” (p. 2), and surmises that through an inter-cultural study “we may be able to determine her essential nature” (p. 3 and also p. 33). If this is suggestive of a goddess with a trans-cultural identity, that approach is elsewhere eschewed. On the one page, Dr Wiggins accepts

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Gordon’s use of material from Israel and Judah to explain the Ugaritic royal family, but rejects Maier’s use of the Hittite Elkunirsa (el-ku-né-er-ša, perhaps “El creator of earth and heaven”, bearing the first syllable of each operative word) myth to explain Athirat’s rejoicing over Baal’s death (p. 78). He warns against taking all the evidence, from however many cultures it originates, and concluding that the agglomerate “fully represents the goddess” (p. 151). Wiggins doubts Perlman’s theory of Athirat, based on Amorite material, because it crosses “cultural gaps” (p. 49, see also pp. 1079 on Baal and Asherah in the HB). However, he concludes that Mesopotamian Ashratu is “likely the same figure as Ugaritic Athirat” (p. 186). Wiggins never makes a poor point (for example, I agree with his contention that the Elkunirsa myth is too remote from Ugarit to be used as Maier suggests), and he never falls into Jungian superstition, but I do not discern a consistent approach. Yet, the question calls to be addressed. The god lists KTU 1.47, 1.148 and RS 20.24 would appear to indicate that the Ugaritians were aware that Athirat and Ashratum were equivalent (if those lists may be read together). Wiggins’ treatment of the lists is silent on this. If van der Toorn is correct, and Amurru was anciently referred to as “the Amorite El,” the drawing of cross-cultural equivalences may not be a modern innovation. Likewise, the Keret (Kirta) epic recognizes Athirat as the goddess of the two Tyres and the Sidonians. Whatever view the Ugaritians had of Athirat, it was not parochial. Similarly, I think that Wiggins might have connected more of the intracultural references. For example, he will not allow that KTU 1.65 “alone” demonstrates that El and Athirat are consorts (pp. 101-2). This is understandable, but KTU 1.65 does not stand alone. I do not see why the Ugaritic context should be excluded. El (or rather, Ilu) is mentioned, together with Athirat, and then El is addressed once more. No other deity intervenes. The context is quite different from that in KTU 1.46. Wiggins enjoins “extreme caution” in making “mythological assumptions on the basis of ritual lists” (p. 102), I would have thought that “caution” sufficed, and that it was a different matter to use the lists to fill out the incomplete the picture we have from the mythological texts. We all understand the need for caution. It is sometimes surprising how much scholars claim to know about this topic. For example, G. E. Markoe, in The Phoenicians, writes that the asherah was “a small votive column or post of wood meant to evoke the sacred groves or wooded temple precincts

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of the same name that adjoined Phoenician fertility cults, such as that of Astarte at Afqa ..” (p. 122) It may well be so, however, he does not tell us how he knows all of this. But is Wiggins’ comparative method too cautious? Wiggins apologizes for using a text not written by Elimelek to illuminate one which was, when he refers to a “motif” concerning El’s sceptre which may have been “known by different Ugaritic mythological writers” (p. 54). I do not see any cause for concern. The guild of “Ugaritic mythological writers” is unlikely to have been unmanageably large, or to have held widely divergent opinions as to El’s sceptre. As an aside, I am sceptical of the view that in KTU 1.4.III.10-22, Athirat’s emblems suggests “sexual impurity” (pp. 61-63). Elsewhere, Wiggins describes Athirat as “more maternal” (p. 44). She was a goddess of royal childbearing, of spindle and whorl (cf. Proverbs 31). As Wiggins later notes, she is associated with the suckling of children, and with the goddess Rahmay (pp. 88-89), whose name is redolent of the womb. A spindle has to prima facie be suggestive of domestic stability, rather than licence. If Wiggins rejects the theory that Athirat was goddess of weaving because there is no direct evidence (p. 56), the same should apply to his suggestion that the spindle is a phallic symbol (p. 57). It seems to me to be at least possible that in so far as Athirat is “sexually active” (p. 64), her activity is the conjugal variety. As Wiggins insightfully concludes, “any hints of sexual activity connected with Athirat point to her status as the consort of El” (p. 84). To follow this line of thought, I wonder if there could be a connection between the weaving in 2 Kgs 23:7 and the spindle of Athirat in Ugarit. The standard interpretation of 2 Kgs 23:7 is not secure. I rather suspect from the context that, disappointing as some may find it, neither women nor the qedeshim were engaged in sexual activity. Wiggins is surely correct to say that “the mention of the asherah in this verse does not suggest any sexual activities on the part of the qedeshim” (p. 136). The RBL newsletter of 3 January 2008 provides a link to a review of Christine Stark’s recent «Kultprostitution» im Alten Testament? Die Qedeschen der Hebräischen Bibel und das Motiv der Hurerei where apparently she comes to a similar conclusion for the qedeshim. Wiggins’ treatment of the “Old Testament Asherah” is reasoned and meticulous. Today, of course, there are works like Zevit’s Religions of Ancient Israel to take into account, but Wiggins’ conclusions are still plausible: that an “asherah” may have been more than just one type of

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object, and that the few clear references to the goddess are unenlightening. I am quite persuaded by his arguments that the HB “does not lend support to the conception of Asherah as a ‘mother-goddess’ … (or) ‘fertility goddess’ …” (p. 149). The true common association between Ugaritic Athirat and Hebrew and Canaanite Asherah is as “queen mother,” so to speak (p. 150). The balance of the book is equally sound. Dr Wiggins was the student of two of the giants of NW Semitic studies, Professors Wyatt and Gibson. This has produced an interesting hybrid of styles. Both are known for their erudition and skill. However, while Gibson is a model of scholarly restraint and circumspection, Wyatt is bold and creative. Wiggins is clearly a sober scholar who has painstakingly studied the languages and skills, and can engage with and appreciate speculation. But my sense is that he likes watching poker from a little distance. As one example, take his dismissal of de Moor’s reconstruction of KTU 1.16.V.6-9 (pp. 32-33). I do not disagree with Wiggins’ critique at all: on the contrary, it is concise and telling. But given that the restoration of the name “Athirat” does seem likely in line 6 (only one letter is missing), a gamer player may have at least discussed some tentative possibilities. However, Wiggins austerely denies himself this innocent delight: one of the few pleasures scholars may indulge without fear of antagonizing students. Overall, the volume is more than useful. I think it is indispensable for scholars who need to consider Athirat, Asherah, or even “the Asherah.” The bibliography has been updated, but one item which should have been mentioned is Pardee’s vindication of the authenticity of the Arslan Tash amulet (D. Pardee, “Les documents d’Arslan Tash: Authentique ou Faux?,” Syria 75 [1998] 15-54), although I agree with Wiggins that the name which appears there is probably Aššur and should not be amended to read Asherah or Asherat (p. 211).

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Steven L. McKenzie, HOW TO READ THE BIBLE: HISTORY, PROPHECY, LITERATURE—WHY MODERN READERS NEED TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE AND WHAT IT MEANS FOR FAITH TODAY (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2005). Pp. 207. Hardcover, US$26.00, CAN$35.00. ISBN 0-19-516149-1. Reviewed by Brian P. Irwin Knox College Toronto School of Theology In How to Read the Bible, Steven L. McKenzie invites a popular audience to read the Bible with new eyes and unexpected questions. McKenzie’s entry point to the subject of reading the Bible is an awareness of genre. From the outset, McKenzie displays sensitivity to his audience and a passion for his subject that are the hallmarks of an engaging teacher. While many would begin a work of this kind with a discussion of form criticism, McKenzie defers, choosing instead to begin with an easy-going examination of Jonah from the perspective of literary technique and genre. The effect of this is to focus attention on the message of the book and how it is communicated and so to disarm readers who have been taught to read the story as history. Only once he has illustrated the value of recognizing genre does McKenzie turn to a discussion of form criticism. The rest of the book is structured around five chapters, each focusing on a different genre of biblical literature and each commencing with a common misconception regarding what this literature conveys or how it is to be understood. Pride of place is given to Old Testament genres and examples, not surprising given the author’s position as Professor of Hebrew Bible at Rhodes College in Memphis, Tennessee. The genres examined are history, prophecy, wisdom, apocalyptic, and epistles. On rare occasions, How to Read the Bible suffers from a limitation of interpretative options that comes when one reading strategy is privileged above all others. In his discussion of history writing in the Bible, for

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example, McKenzie tends to emphasize the presence of etiology in a way that might limit the possibility of application in the present. At times, the emphasis on etiology has the effect of relativizing the meaning of the text and drawing attention away from the meaning conveyed by the overall shape of the narrative. An example of this is the treatment of the Tower of Babel incident (Gen 11:1-9) about which McKenzie concludes, “Its intent is to provide an explanation for the origins of the different human languages and cultures associated with them” (p. 39). While this is undoubtedly true, in the final form of the book of Genesis, this story is used differently—to demonstrate the extent to which sin had separated humans from God and each other. In his chapter on prophecy (pp. 67-89), McKenzie explains how prophets encouraged covenant obedience through the use of predictions of blessing or chastisement set in the immediate future. Next, he leads readers through several passages, pointing out easily overlooked features of the text that are nonetheless vital to proper understanding. In one example he shows how the final verses of Amos reapply its message against Israel to exilic Judah (pp. 73-74). This same attention to detail is applied to an examination of how Old Testament prophecy is reinterpreted (often christologically) in the New Testament. Here the effect is to downplay such passages as intentional predictions of Christ. Next, he briefly shows how the New Testament authors appropriated these passages by seizing upon unexhausted meaning, making reapplication, and emphasizing what they regarded as a passage’s real intent (pp. 84-89). While McKenzie does an able job in the space allowed, a fuller treatment of the sample passages would be welcome, particularly given what many conservative readers are being asked to surrender at this point. From its opening pages, How to Read the Bible reveals the touch of a master teacher at work. From his judicious use of illustrations drawn from popular culture to the way in which he surreptitiously introduces critical concepts, McKenzie has produced a work that has the potential to transform how many read the Bible. Although it is perhaps best suited for religious studies undergraduates with little or no biblical background, this book will also be of great use to Christian liberal arts or Bible College undergraduates as well as laypeople whose understanding of the Bible may be hampered by misconceptions about the text. Readers from a more conservative church setting might detect an anthrocentric tendency and wish for a greater emphasis on theological meaning than McKenzie

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sometimes allows. Nonetheless, what is most beneficial in this book is not the author’s interpretation of this or that specific passage, but rather the way in which he shows how an appreciation of genre helps guide a reader in approaching a text. In a work directed at a popular audience, periodic reference to further resources and summaries of reading strategies would have been a useful addition. The book concludes with endnotes—many of which elaborate on ideas introduced in the body of the work—as well as a bibliography and a subject index. In How to Read the Bible, Steven McKenzie has made genre analysis accessible to a wide audience and in so doing has provided readers with a useful way to read the Bible intelligently for personal enjoyment and spiritual benefit.

William M. Schniedewind and Joel H. Hunt, A PRIMER ON UGARITIC: LANGUAGE, CULTURE, AND LITERATURE (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). Pp. xv + 226. Paper, US$40. ISBN 978-0-521-70493-9. Reviewed by Charles Halton Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion Learning an ancient language can be an intimidating task, particularly if that language uses a writing system different than one’s own. To make matters worse, the style of language in most grammars is in itself a challenge to decipher. In contrast to many introductory Semitic language grammars, this volume is surprisingly readable. The presentation is clear, accessible, and largely jargon-free. Because of the thoughtful arrangement and composition of this primer, students will be able to learn the language more quickly and enjoyably. The book begins by orienting the reader to the field of Ugaritic studies. First, Schniedewind and Hunt describe the location and geography of the city/state Ugarit. After this they survey the excavation and discovery of the city as well its history. Then, they include discussions not always found in grammar primers; they introduce life in ancient Ugarit as well as

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Ugaritic religion. These inclusions are surely welcome since they provide a measure of context for the language. Language does not exist in isolation from culture and social settings and the inclusion of these dynamics gives the language-learner awareness for these factors. The last section of the first chapter surveys the major genres of Ugaritic literature as well as some areas in which Ugaritic and biblical studies interact. Chapters 2 through 6 present an inductive study of the Ugaritic language through five genres of literature: school texts, letters, administrative texts, legal texts, and literary texts, respectively. Each chapter contains texts presented first in Ugaritic script and then unvocalized transcription as well as grammatical and discourse-level discussions. This grammar gives students ample opportunity to learn the Ugaritic writing system as well as to practice their comparative Semitic skills by vocalizing texts. However, if a professor does not wish to stress these aspects, the structure of the book is accessible enough to facilitate this decision. Schniedewind and Hunt are to be commended for their brilliant decision to introduce students to the Ugaritic writing system in a similar manner as did the teachers within the scribal schools of ancient Ugarit some three thousand plus years ago. The first Ugaritic text that students encounter is an abcedary. Then, the texts move up in difficulty until one reaches selections from the Baal Cycle, Aqhat, and the Birth of the Goodly Gods. The pedagogical format that this volume adopts is likely very similar to that of the scribal curriculum of ancient Ugarit. Furthermore, it is contrary to many approaches to teaching Ugaritic today in which students start out reading literary texts. There is much to commend Schniedewind and Hunt for this decision: this approach will expose students to all of the major genres of literature, it will help lower the intimidation of beginning students by gradually raising the difficulty level of the texts, and finally, what could be more thrilling than learning Ugaritic in a manner similar to that of ancient scribal students? The final sections of the book include a “Grammatical Précis” which presents a formal deductive grammatical survey, a glossary that includes plenty of Semitic cognates alongside English glosses, and resources for further study. Schniedewind and Hunt have produced such a fine work that there are only a few minor suggestions for improvement. In a description of the long imperative form they note: “Scholars think that the final –h of the longer form was originally ‘emphatic,’ though the precise nuance of this

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emphasis remains ellusive” (p. 52). The descriptive “emphatic” lost favor a long time ago amongst grammarians because it is such a broad term that it does not add anything to a semantic description. Instead, the authors should have discussed the fact that in almost every language there are many ways to indicate various gradations of imperatives. Sometimes these gradations are conveyed orally through placement of stress or lengthening syllables while at other times different morphological forms are used. The long imperative in Ugaritic is just one more form on the imperatival grade. The reason why grammarians have such a hard time assigning an exact meaning to the form is because the precise nuances of imperatives, like almost any form for that matter, depend on many factors such as body language of the speaker, tone of voice, and context. Therefore a long imperative could indicate greater focus upon the urgency of the command or it could just be a way of expressing playful banter. Also, in their “Resources for Further Study” section Schniedewind and Hunt cite Dennis Pardee’s review of Josef Tropper’s Ugaritische Grammatik that appeared in Archiv für Orientforschung 50 (2003/2004). However, they do not mention that this four hundred and four page review was never actually published in a hard copy and it is only available electronically. Schniedewind and Hunt have produced a very fine grammar that will surely be a welcome mainstay in all levels of introductory Ugaritic courses whether they are undergraduate or graduate programs. This grammar would be a perfect text for the first semester of an undergraduate course. For a PhD level class the instructor would certainly need to supplement this volume with materials mentioned in the “Resources for Further Study” section. Furthermore, additional reading texts would need to be provided since the accelerated pace of graduate studies would probably exhaust the texts included in this book before the end of the semester.

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Mark S. Smith, THE RITUALS AND MYTHS OF THE FEAST OF THE GOODLY GODS OF KTU/CAT 1.23: ROYAL CONSTRUCTIONS OF OPPOSITION, INTERSECTION, INTEGRATION, AND DOMINATION (SBL Resources for Biblical Study, 51; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2006). Pp. xvii + 201. Paper, US$24.95. ISBN 1-58983-2035. Reviewed by Steve A. Wiggins Piscataway, NJ Over the past decade Mark S. Smith has been providing the necessary lead into a resource that has largely been overlooked by students of both the Bible and Ugaritic literature, namely, commentaries on the Ugaritic texts. He began this undertaking in 1994 with the publication of the first volume of his commentary on the Ugaritic Baal Cycle. The present volume, on the much more concise text KTU 1.23, takes Smith into new territory. This contribution will surely be a necessary entry-point for future scholars of this intractable text. This brief study is divided into three main parts: Introduction and Text, Commentary, and General Interpretation. Smith begins his exploration by explaining his rationale and method for dealing with this single-tablet text. He notes the vexed attempts to sort out the mythic and ritual elements of the text, the recurrent reconstruction of a “sacred marriage” in the material, and the roles of death and destruction within it. His approach to interpreting the material may be broadly labeled “anthropological.” After providing a physical description of the tablet containing the text and a brief history of scholarship on it, Smith provides a new translation in parallel with the transcribed Ugaritic. For his work on collating the text he wisely made use of the excellent photographic archive of the West Semitic Research Project. Following this required starting point, he moves into the commentary proper in part two. Following lines scored across the tablet, as well as reasonable sense units, Smith divides the disparate text into manageable parts in order to

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provide commentary. Characterized by his usual encyclopedic use of primary and secondary material, this section justifies Smith’s translation and lays the groundwork for his general interpretations. This section is also the main body of the book and is what looks to biblical scholars most like a traditional “biblical” commentary. The third part of the book, General Interpretation, addresses in two sections what the text is not (a “sacred marriage”), and what it is (an intersection of genres and cultural codes). Final conclusions are offered and a bibliography, subject, author, and textual citation indices round out the monograph. For those familiar with Smith’s other works, this book will fit in with his general outlook regarding Ugaritic materials. Interestingly, Smith does take a stab at a few daring translations: “guys” for ǵ zr in line 17, Shapshu “braiding” branches in line 25, and, following Marvin Pope, “love staff” for El’s penis in line 44. Given the semantic sphere for ǵ zr, “guys” does seem to be within the range, but is quite colloquial for a text involving religious ritual, a most formal genre. One thinks of the disciples in the Christian tradition being referred to liturgically as “the boys,” and the sense of discomfort becomes palpable. Overall, however, Smith does an able job justifying his translation in the commentary section. At several points, and this may simply be due to the intractable nature of the text, Smith simply lays out the possibilities without making a strong case for his choice of words. The resulting sense of tentativeness would be well-suited to many biblical commentaries, and given the difficulty of this particular text it is appropriate. In the course of the commentary some interesting concepts regarding the Ugaritic divine world emerge: there are two classes of gods— El’s astral family and the earth-bound destroyers, and the idea, not original with Smith, that this text reflects a time when El (and probably Athirat) was (were) young. This was the period of theogony as opposed to the semiretired existence El seems to present in the Baal Cycle. Regarding the former observation, the reader is prompted to wonder how “Dawn” and “Dusk” are “astral” deities. The phenomenon is caused by the apparent motion of the sun. For the citizens of Ugarit, however, evening and morning are not directly astral, but rather the result of the movement of an astral body. “Light” seems to have its own realm not entirely fixed to astral bodies. Attempts to classify the “pantheon” at Ugarit in various ways have failed to find a strong consensus, but Smith’s suggestion, although it does not cover the entire divine world, is worthy of serious consideration. Smith

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notes that text 23 is unique among the Ugaritic tablets; all the more reason to be cautious with sweeping categories. Smith himself shows finesse in this regard when it comes to ritual and mythological sections in the tablet. His effort to take the text on its own terms is mostly effective, if complex. His rejection of a “sacred marriage” aspect of the text is well-founded. There is some confusion as to whether the ritual and mythological sections both contain sexual encounters; however, the category of hieros gamos, regardless, simply does not fit the material. In his assertion that the text represents “Intersecting Genres and Cultural Codes,” Smith interacts with the text in a decidedly etic way. It is difficult to imagine even an ancient priest thinking of this text as a “binary” exploration across two spatial zones in the fall interchange period. It is, however, at precisely this intersection between etic and emic, between ancient thought and post-modern thought, that necessary disjunctures must occur. Smith is to be applauded for taking the uncertain steps into this hazy realm in the hopes of gaining a clearer view of the nature and purpose of text 23.

Thomas Römer, THE SO-CALLED DEUTERONOMISTIC HISTORY: A SOCIOLOGICAL, HISTORICAL AND LITERARY INTRODUCTION (London/New York: T & T Clark, 2007). Pp. X + 202. Paper, US$29.95. ISBN 978-0-567-03212-6. Reviewed by Barbara Green Dominican School of Philosophy and Theology, Graduate Theological Union Berkeley, CA 94708 Römer’s thesis regarding the Deuteronomistic History emerges around the end of Chapter 2 as follows: What we call “DH” is the product of a small scribal group or “school” (first at court and then presumably as part of government bureaucracy)—whose time was spent managing archives and taxes, keeping track of main events, and developing propaganda—who maintained material in a small set of court scrolls that were revised at three

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moments: late 7th century (neo-Assyrian); early 6th century (neo-Babylonian): and early later 6th or early 5th century (Persian period). The case is built, as the title suggests, by bringing to bear general historical and archeological information (particularly regarding the imperial cultures), sociological frames and information (e.g., information on scribes and their likely roles in constructing memory), and “old” literary information (primarily redaction method, genre considerations, and comparative narrative material). Before getting to the meat of the study, Römer summarizes efficiently the earliest questions around the coherence of the books of Deuteronomy through 2 Kings, showing them generally unified by style, vocabulary and content (Chapter 1). Next comes a succinct review of the “DH hypothesis,” starting with pre-critical Rabbis and Christian scholars who evince little awareness of or interest in the question and following up with Renaissance and Reformation commentators who did note threads of coherence and pose new questions. “Pre-Nothians” laid some groundwork for the Noth hypothesis, which emerged to claim: the work in question is Deuteronomy and the Former Prophets; the interest is more on transmission issues than sources; the question is to show how D-language is visible in FP (in speeches and in narrative summaries); the date of composition ranges from 8th to 7th century to early in the exile period; the author was a Judean individual, ruminating on and explaining the massive defeat of Judah. Römer moves quickly to cover the main 20th century reactions to the thesis (Cross and Smend), to show those ramified by various others to the point of questioning of virtually all pieces of the thesis. From the shards Römer suggests that the best way forward (a compromise) is with Provan and Lohfink who see work on FP starting not sooner than neo-Assyrian times and continuing into Persian period, in three editions (all in Chapter 2). Why a compromise is best Römer does not explain; if the goal is to “save” the hypothesis, then Römer has indeed managed deftly. The thesis is illustrated most fully in Römer’s Chapter 3, where he demonstrates how the centralization law in Deuteronomy 12 can be seen to show a triple redaction: vv. 13-18 are neo-Assyrian; vv. 8-12 are neoBabylonian (exilic); and vv. 2-7 and 20-27 are early Persian. A first edition addresses landowners and herders in the late 7th century and talks about slaughter in practical terms: some can be done outside of Jerusalem and without priests, but no northern shrine is legitimated. A reworking

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addresses concerns of those living in exile with no access to a temple; this work de-legitimates Mizpah or Bethel as cultic sites. A third refinement is concerned with the practices of those returning to the land in the Persian period and makes the case for clear separation from others. The argument advanced in Chapter 4 demonstrates when the first edition was likely assembled: Hezekiah (in a time of shrinking and greater neo-Assyrian domination) is less likely than Josiah. Josiah’s fit is not simply based in 2 Kings 22-23 but on what is knowable about neo-Assyrian weaknesses from 640 on. The rest of the book demonstrates specifically what material in each of the seven present books comprising DH was included, shaped, and reshaped under those three sets of conditions. The main point was that Judah is the real Israel, and the worship site there is the legitimate one. The detail is rich, so one illustration will need to suffice: I will take the re-shaping of the material on Solomon from 1 Kings 1-11 as the sample. Römer says bluntly that a Solomonic era in the 10th century is wholly implausible historically, despite its ongoing popularity. The royal figure, he suggests, is constructed from the model of new-Assyrian kings (Sennacherib, Esarhaddon, Ashurbanipal) and designed to be a templefounder, a wise leader, a patron of the arts. Solomon’s Phoenician contacts are neo-Assyrian, and the references to labor forced on Solomon’s people may arise from the circumstances pertaining in the 7th century. This seventh-century “edition” is modified in the neo-Babylonian period at 1 Kings 9, where jarring notes are introduced: Solomon’s religious infidelities provide the explanation for the eventual expulsion from the land that will happen—that has happened by the time the “exilic” edition is being produced. Römer is distinctive, perhaps, in seeing an edition later than exilic: The evidence in the Solomonic material includes the possibility that YHWH’s power is not limited to the land of promise or to the Jerusalem temple, and that other peoples might revere Israel’s God as well (1 Kgs 8: 41-45). This exilic material is less well-developed than the other two moments in the book. I found the book well-conceived and scoped and clearly presented. Römer’s vast erudition and his long engagement with the material enables him to select and present with clarity. That the topic perhaps resists such clarity may be a problem: in a book of this size, the argument remains general and alternatives cannot be discussed. I have to confess to being unconvinced by the redaction layers, primarily because I don’t think that

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sort of detail is reconstructable. Römer’s effort is wholly plausible, but I would say the same about other constructions as well. My doubt is simply a major disagreement between scholars about method and possibilities. I found interesting and helpful the sociological material, particularly the information about scribes and scrolls. Römer’s identification of the scribes as a “mandarin” caste, distinct from priests and prophets and responsible for the construction of the story, is useful. There are helpful historical pieces of information new to me as well: that the “finding of the law” motif familiar to many from 2 Kings 22 is common in ANE literature; an explanation for the death of Josiah; the claim that the period of the judges is a sheer invention on the part of the neo-Babylonian re-workers. The title of the book remains somewhat puzzling to me, since it rings in my ear a negative note possibly not intended. I concluded that “so-called” modifies both “Deuteronomistic” and “history,” and cues readers that an investigation of what “Deuteronomistic” entails and what some of the problems in calling it a “history” include are what’s being offered.

Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer, PRIESTLY RITES AND PROPHETIC RAGE: POST-EXILIC PROPHETIC CRITIQUE OF THE PRIESTHOOD (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 2. Reihe, 19; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006). Pp. xvii + 318. Paper, €59,00. ISBN 3-16-149059-2. Reviewed by T. M. Lemos Boston University In this book, the author argues that the various post-exilic prophetic works, in spite of their differences, share a common perception that the priesthood was somehow failing in its duties to the people and to God. These prophetic works, she posits, not only critique the priesthood but hold the priests largely responsible for the fact that the promises and blessings of Isaiah 40-55 had not yet been fulfilled (p. 2). Moreover, she states that a critical disposition towards the priesthood is not unique to post-exilic

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prophecy but is in fact a feature that the post-exilic prophetic works share with many pre-exilic prophetic texts. With the many current debates in Biblical Studies over the dating of biblical texts, it is important to state from the outset that Tiemeyer’s discussion of post-exilic prophetic materials is limited to those texts, namely Isaiah 56-66, Malachi, Haggai, and Zechariah, that the majority of scholars regard as dating to the Persian period. She also examines the non-prophetic work of Ezra-Nehemiah, and various pre-exilic works where relevant, with Hosea receiving the most attention of the texts in that latter category. Tiemeyer has arranged the book in a topical fashion. She begins with a lengthy discussion of how one should delineate the passages that critique the priesthood, deals with the dating of these passages in a separate chapter, and then includes a series of chapters grouping together texts by the particular critiques they level at the priesthood; e.g., Chapter 7 deals with texts that allege the priests engage in unorthodox rites and Chapter 10 with those that attack the priesthood for their “cultic neglect.” Certain texts are thus dealt with at various points throughout the book. The major strength of this book is its extremely close reading of passages. Most of the texts with which Tiemeyer deals do not actually use the words ‫ כהן‬or ‫כהנים‬, and so the relevance of the texts to her argument and her interpretations of them often hinge on a particular phrase or the repointing of a difficult word. While there is a certain degree of speculation involved in this enterprise, Tiemeyer’s readings are generally reasonable and display a mastery of the different manuscript traditions. Tiemeyer’s technical skills are truly beyond question. Her overall argument, too, is convincing. While it is a commonplace of biblical scholarship that social critique stands at the heart of Israelite prophecy, Tiemeyer makes the case well that, apart from more general diatribes against those in power, postexilic prophetic literature is also concerned more specifically with the behavior of the priesthood. In this, post-exilic prophecy stands not apart from but alongside many pre-exilic prophetic texts. Yet, the priesthood nonetheless seems to have seen itself as just and holy (see Chapter 4 for a discussion of the priests’ claim to righteousness). Despite the persuasiveness of her overarching thesis, there are areas where Tiemeyer could have been clearer or gone further in making her argument. In terms of clarity, it would have been helpful for the passages in question to have been quoted more fully. At times, her lines of argument were difficult to follow without having a copy of the BHS, LXX, and BDB

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on hand. In addition, one sometimes longed for a more involved discussion of the social and political realities of the Persian period. If one follows Tiemeyer’s argument, the priesthood was very unpopular in prophetic circles, and so one wonders how this fact might have related to the waning importance of prophecy in this period, the, in some ways, theocratic nature of post-exilic Judean society, or even the processes leading to the final redaction of the Pentateuch. A greater engagement with certain areas of biblical scholarship, too, would have been desirable. This was most apparent in her discussions of Ezra-Nehemiah’s critique of priestly (and other) intermarriages (Chapter 8) and the issues surrounding priestly purity (Chapter 11 and elsewhere). One finds it surprising that many important recent works on these topics, including those of Saul Olyan, Jonathan Klawans, and Christine Hayes, were neither discussed nor cited in the book. Even the work of Jacob Milgrom is very sparsely cited. In addition, Tiemeyer’s use of cultic terminology at times seems imprecise. On p. 225, she states that impurity and holiness are opposites of one another. While this characterization is perhaps limited to the particular situation described, she does at other points appear to use the terms “defile” and “profane” interchangeably (e.g., p. 220). Her discussion of the relationship between sin and impurity (see p. 239 in particular) also strikes one as inadequate in light of Klawans’s recent work on the subject. Similarly, in her discussion of the attitudes displayed towards Gentiles in various Isaianic passages (Chapter 14), she uses the terms “convert” and “proselyte” in a manner implying that she sees the process of conversion as already having existed in the Persian period, making no reference to Shaye Cohen’s cogent argument that it was only in the mid to late Hellenistic period that religious conversion became possible. In a related sense, Tiemeyer applies the term “convert” to foreigners who have “attached themselves” (‫ )נלוה‬to Yahweh; a discussion of how that term may have related to the later usage of the word ‫ גר‬would have further enhanced her treatment of this topic. These issues aside, Tiemeyer’s work will make a valuable resource for those interested in the Persian period, prophecy, and matters of cult. Her overall argument that criticism of the priesthood is not “a marginal phenomenon…but rather represents a consistent trend” in post-exilic prophecy is compelling (p. 4). The seeming antagonism between priest and prophet is especially intriguing when one considers the fact that some

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biblical prophets were priests themselves. Thus, in addition to bringing one much closer to understanding how prophets regarded the priesthood in this period, this book also offers insight into how some priests saw their own brethren. It has long been postulated that the sectarianism of the Hellenistic and Roman periods saw its birth in an earlier era, and Tiemeyer provides yet further evidence that this was in fact the case.

Tallay Ornan, THE TRIUMPH OF THE SYMBOL: PICTORIAL REPRESENTATION OF DEITIES IN MESOPOTAMIA AND THE BIBLICAL IMAGE BAN (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis, 213; Fribourg: Academic Press\Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005). Pp. xii + 284. Cloth, €67.50, US$75.00. ISBN 3-7278-1519-1\3-525-53007-2. Reviewed by Bernard F. Batto DePauw University In common with other ancient Near Eastern cultures from earliest times, Babylonians and Assyrians conceived of their gods as having human form, as is evident from both textual and visual evidence. But while textual evidence shows that this anthropomorphic conception of the divine endured to the end, there is a marked decrease in human-shaped depictions of divinities in late Babylonian and Assyrian visual art. In this meticulous study of divine representations in ancient Mesopotamian art from the midsecond to the mid-first millennia, Tallay Ornan clearly documents an increasing reluctance by Mesopotamian artists, beginning in the mid-second millennium and culminating in the first half of the first millennium, to portray divinities—especially high divinities—graphically in anthropomorphic form. Ornan credits this as an intra-Mesopotamian development grounded in a deepening respect for the sacredness of the divine—a development that ultimately influenced the biblical prohibition against making divine images. Ornan’s methodology is both genre specific and diachronic. She systematically analyzes first Middle Babylonian and Middle Assyrian and

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then Neo-Babylonian and Neo-Assyrian works of art—from large monumental art to small glyptic art—for representations of the divine, whether in anthropomorphic form or in symbolic or emblematic forms. Included in this survey are reliefs, architectural decoration, statues, kudurrus, stone vessels, cylinder seals, and more. Ornan notes a duality in practice, established already by the end of the fourth millennium, for representing the divine. Commonly, gods and goddesses were depicted in human form; divinities were distinguished from humans both by their bigger size and their horned headdresses. Alongside, however, was another convention of representing divinities—especially the highest divinities—in nonanthropomorphic form by means of an identifying symbol or emblem, e.g., (sun-)disk, crescent, an animal, an implement. In particular, the two supreme Mesopotamian deities, Anu and Enlil, lack anthropomorphic renderings and are represented instead by horned tiaras. Ornan opines that this practice probably reflects from the beginning a “difficulty in visually concretizing the human-shaped image of the divine” (p. 168). During the Old-Babylonian period there is still a wealth of human-shaped deities. A tendency to suppress anthropomorphic representations is evident first on stone kudurru monuments of Kassite Babylonia dating from the fourteenth century and soon extended to Kassite art in general. A similar movement is also observed in Assyria from the thirteenth century onward. And during the first half of the first millennium in both Neo-Babylonian and NeoAssyrian artifacts there is a dramatic decrease in anthropomorphic representation of divinities. Human-shaped gods and goddesses seem to have been confined to the sacred space of temples, on the one side, and to small glyptic art, on the other. In monumental art, by contrast, anthropomorphic imagery was eschewed, being replaced instead by emblematic representation. Marduk, for example, was symbolized by his characteristic marru spade, Nabu by a stylus, and Adad by a forked lightning bolt. Written sources, including inscribed artifacts, reveal that NeoBabylonian and Neo-Assyrian Mesopotamians continued to conceive of their gods in anthropomorphic form. So how to account for the eschewal of human-shaped forms in the visual arts? Ornan speculates that this nonanthropomorphism was motivated by developments in political and theological thinking. On the one side, reliefs from Neo-Assyrian palaces reveal a new emphasis on the king, such that no other figure, not even the deity, is permitted to vie for the eye of the beholder. On the other side, the

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signification of divine presence through symbols and emblems rather than through anthropomorphism suggests a deepening consciousness of sacred status of Mesopotamian deities and their splendor, such that they were not to be viewed by humans. Finally, Ornan concludes that the Mesopotamian eschewal of anthropomorphism directly influenced the biblical ban on depicting the deity in visual form. Contrary to the common view that the biblical ban developed in opposition to Mesopotamian conceptions, Ornan postulates that it was inspired by contemporary tendencies in Babylonia and Assyria, all the more so because the biblical ban was articulated during the period when Assyro-Babylonian hegemony over Judah reached it peak. The book is richly illustrated with some two hundred twenty drawings from ancient Near Eastern art collected at the end of the book. Flipping continuously between text and illustrations is tedious but essential to follow Ornan’s well-reasoned argument. A full index, ample notes, and an extensive bibliography augment the utility of this important monograph, which deserves the attention of biblical scholars and ancient Near Eastern scholars alike. While Ornan does an excellent job of compiling visual data from which she draws valid conclusions, her accounting of the socio-political and theological context can be further refined and supplemented. As she notes, wall reliefs from the palace of Ashurnasirpal II at Nimrud do illustrate a Neo-Assyrian avoidance of anthropomorphic depictions of the divine. In these reliefs the Assyrian king is the central figure; nothing else is allowed to compete for the eye of the beholder. Leaving aside for the moment the anthropomorphic bust encased in a winged disk that hovers above the king in a few scenes, divine figures are completely lacking. Ornan identifies the anthropomorphic figure in the winged disk as the Assyrian national god Ashur, but this is by no means certain. Others have proposed an identification with Shamash or another god. Closer to the truth are those who identify the figure as a representation of the divine melammu (awe-inspiring brilliance) believed to surround the king. Elsewhere I have argued that this anthropomorphic figure represents the divine power invested in the king that makes him the earthly viceroy of the divine sovereign and empowers him to effect divine rule on earth (“The Image of God in the Priestly Creation Account,” in David and Zion: Biblical Studies in Honor of J. J. M. Roberts, ed. B. Batto and K. Roberts [Eisenbrauns, 2004], 143-86, esp. 149-62). If correct, then there is actually no deity at all

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portrayed here. Appropriate for Assyrian royal propaganda, the deity need not be present because the care for and rule of the world has been delegated completely to the divine sovereign’s earthly viceroy. Moreover, Ornan ignores a “monotheistic” impulse in Mesopotamia that parallels the development of non-anthropomorphism. A movement to attribute divine sovereignty to the Babylonian god Marduk that began in the Old Babylonian period reached its zenith in the Neo-Babylonian period, as evidenced by a Late Babylonian text (CT 24, 50, BM 47406, obverse) that identifies other gods and their functions as mere aspects of Marduk himself (W. Lambert, “Historical Development of the Mesopotamian Pantheon,” in Unity and Diversity, ed. H. Goedicke and J. Roberts [Johns Hopkins University, 1975), 191-200, esp. 197-98). A similar situation prevailed in Assyria whereby Neo-Assyrian writers attributed to their god Ashur the role of divine sovereign. Surely the tendency by both Neo-Babylonian and NeoAssyrian propagandists to aggrandize each their own national deity cannot be divorced from the simultaneous movement to upgrade the sacredness of the divine through symbolic and emblematic representation rather than through anthropomorphic depictions. Both practices should be attributed to a common impulse among the ancients toward theological sophistication. Likely here also, Israel’s increasingly sophisticated theology was in part inspired by contemporary theological developments in Babylon and Assyria. Ornan’s conclusions are thus substantiated by yet another route.

James Robson, WORD AND SPIRIT IN EZEKIEL (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies, 447; NewYork/London: T & T Clark, 2006). Pp. xiii + 311. Cloth, US$140.00. ISBN 0-567-02622-4. Reviewed by D. Nathan Phinney School of Theology, Malone College Canton, OH The prevalence and activities of the Spirit in Ezekiel have long been items of scholarly concern. In this excellent book, a revision of his Ph.D. thesis

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(Middlesex University, 2004), James Robson argues persuasively that the divine ‫רוּח‬ ַ in Ezekiel is better understood when it is set in relation to the concept of the divine word. Robson approaches the book as a redactional unity, datable to the late exile, and focuses his attention intra-textually, seeking to identify relationships between theological ideas found in the text. His method is also attentive to the “communicative intent” of the text (p. 10), which means that his investigation is undertaken with an eye toward what the book’s audience may have been meant to understand. Robson’s central thesis is that the relationship between the divine word and the divine ‫רוּח‬ ַ is best understood, not “in terms of the inspiration and authentication of the prophet, but in terms of the transformation of the addressees” (p. 24). He further asserts that the prophet himself, as he portrays his obedient encounters with the divine word and ‫רוּח‬, ַ is integral to effecting, or at least to modeling, this transformation in the book’s addressees (p. 193). Ezekiel’s life demonstrates that it is the divine ‫רוּח‬ ַ that enables obedience to the divine word and, further, that this life of obedience is possible for his readers. Robson develops his argument in three major sections. The first section is introductory. Chapter 1 provides a history of scholarship of the divine word, the divine ‫רוּח‬ ַ and the relation between them. Chapter 2 provides a sophisticated word study of the divine word in Ezekiel, emphasizing the “communication situations” (Yahweh to Ezekiel, Ezekiel to the people, Yahweh’s statutes, the book to its late exilic readers) in which this term appears (p. 27). In the second section of the book, Robson focuses more closely on the divine ‫רוּח‬. ַ Chapters 3 and 4 trace traditional arguments about the relationship of the ‫רוּח‬ ַ to prophetic inspiration, and argue persuasively that Ezekiel’s conception of the role of the ‫רוּח‬ ַ does not constitute either a development or a return to an earlier conception of prophetic inspiration (pp. 165-67). Further, references to the divine ‫רוּח‬ ַ do not seem to function primarily to authenticate the prophet (though authentication does result from these references). Rather, they have some other purpose. The third section of the book explores this other purpose: transformation of the book’s readers. Chapter 5 explores the ways in which the book of Ezekiel portrays the exiles as disobedient to the divine word (pp. 174-89) and also how it portrays the move from disobedience to obedience that it hopes to effect in some future ideal time (pp. 190-93). Most importantly, this chapter argues that the prophet Ezekiel is presented

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as a paradigm, a bridge of sorts to show his audience how Yahweh makes it possible to move from one state (disobedience) to another (obedience). In Chapter 6, Robson links Ezekiel’s present obedience, as well as the people’s future obedience, to the ‫רוּח‬. ַ It is the divine ‫רוּח‬ ַ that makes possible Ezekiel’s present obedience (demonstrated in passages like 2:2; 3:24; 8:3; 37:1) and it is the divine ‫רוּח‬ ַ that can make possible the people’s future obedience, both by prompting their initial response to Yahweh (37:1-14) and by enabling their ongoing obedience (36:26-27). While there are many sections of this book that will repay the careful attention of the scholar, three stand out. First, a major contribution of Robson’s work is his thorough and careful discussion of the relation of the ‫רוּח‬ ַ to prophetic inspiration and authentication, not only in Ezekiel, but in other pre-classical and classical prophets as well (Chapters 3 and 4). Robson’s critique of the standard pictures as well as his conclusion that Ezekiel is neither innovating nor returning to a pre-classical mode when it comes to his ideas about inspiration is persuasive and will give his readers much to discuss. Second, Robson’s discussion of the obedient Ezekiel’s role as exemplar for his audience will appeal to scholars interested in the significance of the prophetic persona in the book (Chapter 5). Most scholars working on the book would have little argument that Ezekiel is obedient; however, one prominent commentator, Daniel I. Block, sees Ezekiel as patently disobedient. While Robson does respond to Block in several places (pp. 195-96; 200-201), he perhaps could have dealt more directly with him. Finally, in his treatment of the divine word (Chapter 2) Robson productively suggests that speech act theory, in particular the concept of illocutionary action, can help explain how Yahweh’s word can seem to have different relations to the different groups to whom it comes. He appropriates Wolterstorff’s discussion of “divine discourse” in scripture in which Wolterstorff shows that a single act of locution may have multiple illocutionary actions as the locution is re-set and re-heard by different audiences. Though Robson is most interested in the illocutionary action directed toward the late exilic community reading the completed book (p. 75), his appropriation of Wolterstorff offers a helpful way to think about the audience problems of the book (Babylonian/Jerusalemite; hearers/readers).

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Jill Middlemas, THE TROUBLES OF TEMPLELESS JUDAH (Oxford Theological Monographs; Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2005). Pp. xv + 288. Cloth, CDN$151.50, US$115.00. ISBN 0-19-928386-9. Reviewed by Ken Ristau Penn State University In The Troubles of Templeless Judah, Jill Middlemas proposes to recover the history and the voice of the people of Judah who remained in the land after the destruction of Jerusalem in 587 BCE. She approaches her subject first, through a critical summary of textual and archaeological evidence concerning the history and religion of Judah from 587 through 516 BCE (Chapters 1–3) and second, through a careful study of the theological and ideological underpinnings of four of the five poems of Lamentations (Chapter 4). The body of the work is complemented by an introduction that addresses the need for the present study as well as defines the literary corpus and historical period in which the work is situated; a conclusion that neatly summarizes the book; and an excellent bibliography, index of biblical references, subject index, and table of contents. In the introduction, Middlemas observes that research on the period immediately following the destruction of the city and temple of Jerusalem has focused on the concerns and interpretation of the Golah rather than the people in the land. She notes that this likely results from the bias of the biblical texts and the relative lack of evidence that exists, textually and archaeologically, by which to resolve this problem. Her solution is a reanalysis of the historical and archaeological evidence and new readings of texts that might pertain to the people of the land, culminating in a reading of Lamentations, which she regards as the text that most plainly reflects the views of the people of the land. In Chapter One, Middlemas provides a historical reconstruction of the early Neo-Babylonian period in Judah, primarily through a critical engagement with previous studies by David Vanderhooft, Oded Lipschits, Hans Barstad, Joel Weinberg, Rainer Albertz, Ephraim Stern, and Charles

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Carter. Her position is developed largely in opposition to David Vanderhooft as she favors a view that the Neo-Babylonians established a provincial administration, centered in Mizpah, which had economic viability, vis-à-vis Vanderhooft’s position that the Neo-Babylonians did not support an imperial provincial administration. In Chapter Two, Middlemas looks at biblical passages concerning idolatrous cults among the people of the land in Judah. Her central claim in this chapter is that passages attributing idolatrous worship to the people of the land reflect an ideological and political bias. Interestingly, Middlemas does not commit to whether or not the claims have a factual basis, but her point, in any case, is that the worship of the people of the land exhibits considerable continuity with pre-exilic Judah and its condemnation by the Golah is purely subjective. In Chapter Three, Middlemas examines evidence for ongoing Yahwistic worship in sixth-century Judah. She accepts that it is plausible, even probable, that Yahwistic worship continued at either the temple ruins in Jerusalem and/or at Bethel, but she also observes that most texts, particularly laments, attributed to the Neo-Babylonian period actually have an uncertain provenance. Middlemas also appropriately recognizes that lament in the biblical text reflects a broader ANE milieu and, therefore, cannot be simplistically related to historical events or, in its general or formal tendencies and themes, define the outlook of a particular group. In Chapter Four, Middlemas analyzes four of the five poems of Lamentations to ascertain any unique beliefs and outlook that may characterize Judahite religion in contrast to Golah religion. She ultimately identifies five themes from Lamentations that she considers unique to Judahite religious expression (and therefore not present in Golah literature): “(1) the concentration on the extent of unalleviated human suffering, (2) the explicit assertion of uncertainty in future possibilities, (3) a deconstruction of the efficacy of human sin [as an explanation for the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple], (4) the need to witness to pain through the vocalization of grief especially within worship, and (5) the forming of grief in such a way as to limit it and evoke a future orientation” (p. 232). The strength of Middlemas’ work is the research presented in Chapter Four. Her method leads to productive conclusions that might distinguish Judahite religion from Golah religion and so provides an excellent foundation for the future research program she envisions, namely to apply

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her insights to a study of the Deuteronomistic History. The other parts of her work though are somewhat underwhelming as Middlemas rarely interacts directly with or brings to bear new primary sources and evidence but rather tends to summarize and evaluate secondary scholarship. As such, it might provide a useful introduction for people who are not well read in this area but it does not break any new ground and does not substantially inform the analysis in Chapter Four. For scholars of this historical period, it would suffice to read the conclusion, which is a wonderfully written, concise summary of the book, and Chapter Four, which provides an original contribution to the subject; and then, eagerly await Middlemas’ future work, for she certainly reveals careful judgment and a creative mind that will continue to advance our knowledge of the Neo-Babylonian period in Judah as she has done here.

John Jarick, ed., SACRED CONJECTURES: THE CONTEXT AND LEGACY OF ROBERT LOWTH AND JEAN ATRUC (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies, 457; New York/London: T & T Clark, 2007). Pp. xvii + 260. Cloth, US$140.00. ISBN 978-0-567-02932-4. Reviewed by David A. Bosworth Barry University In April 2003, Oxford University hosted a conference to mark the 250th anniversary of the publication of two seminal works in biblical studies: Robert Lowth’s On the Sacred Poetry of the Hebrews and Jean Astuc’s Conjectures on Genesis, both published in 1753. The conference consisted of thirteen papers presented by scholars from several countries and disciplines. Twelve of those papers are published in the present volume (the missing paper is “Lowth and Politeness” by Alun David). The essays are divided into two unequal parts: Part A consists of seven articles on Lowth and Part B of five essays on Astruc. John Jarick wrote the preface and the endmatter includes indices of ancient sources and modern authors.

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Part A begins with “Biblical Scholarship at Oxford in the MidEighteenth Century: Local Contexts for Robert Lowth’s De sacra poesi Hebreaorum” (pp. 3-24) by Cambridge historian Scott Mandelbrote. The work is difficult to read because it involves considerable historical detail and a large cast of characters involved in Church politics at Oxford. Mandelbrotte outlines Lowth’s alignment with those scholars opposed to the followers of John Hutchinson (1647-1737) and their triumph over their opponents. These political and related theological developments paved the way for Lowth’s success in his academic and clerical careers. In “Original Poetry: Robert Lowth and Eighteenth-Century Poetics,” (pp. 25-47) Anna Cullhed draws attention to Lowth’s work as a contribution to poetics rather than biblical studies. She notes that Lowth was Professor of Poetry, not Hebrew, and that he lectures on Hebrew poetry only, not on the prose passages of Scripture. She shows how Lowth related Hebrew poetry to the classical canon. For Lowth, Hebrew poetry was “‘original’ in terms of age, and in the sense that it performs the ‘original’ function of poetry in a religious context” (p. 31). Cullhead convincingly explains why Lowth influenced biblical studies more than poetics. Stephen Prickett argues that Lowth’s work is both traditional and transitional in “Robert Lowth and the Idea of Biblical Tradition” (pp. 4861). Prickett looks especially at Lowth’s Isaiah: A New Translation (1778). Although Lowth seems “modern” in his critical and historical scholarship, he remains committed to traditional Christian ideas about biblical inspiration and allegorical and typological interpretations. Prickett draws on the OED in an attempt to show that the idea of a singular biblical or apostolic tradition shifted toward the pluralistic idea of multiple biblical traditions treasured by various communities. The argument has merit, but needs further investigation. Christoph Bultmann explores the intriguing question of why Lowth chose to lecture on Hebrew poetry rather than classical poetry in “After Horace: Sacred Poetry at the Center of the Hebrew Bible” (pp. 62-82). As Bultmann shows in detail, Lowth might have been expected to speak about Horace, “who could be called the patron saint of English literary culture in the eighteenth century” (p. 63). Also, poetry has long been an uncomfortable element in Scripture for orthodox believers. However, improved texts of Hebrew were becoming available and discussion of

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natural religion often invoked Job and various psalms. Bultmann asks an interesting question and provides a partial answer. John Rogerson seeks to remind scholars of a forgotten pioneer in biblical scholarship in his essay “Charles-François Houbigant: His Background, Work and Importance for Lowth” (pp. 83-92). The French Catholic Houbigant completed the publication of a critical edition of the Hebrew Bible with notes in 1753, but fell into obscurity in part because of his unusual ideas about the unreliability of Masoretic pointing and his peculiar alternative. Houbigant introduced many emendations. Although some were accepted and others rightly discarded, Rogerson provides several examples of places where Houbigant suggested emendations that deserve further consideration from modern exegetes (Gen 9:5; Isa 7:17; 25:7; 28:4). Lowth used Houbigant’s edition and accepted several of his emendations. Rogerson situates Lowth in his context with Houbigant and successfully argues that Houbigant’s work, at least in the passages discussed, should be taken more seriously by modern scholars. Within Lowth’s book on poetry, Markus Witte looks specifically at Lowth’s treatment of Job in “Die literarische Gattung des Buches Hiob: Robert Lowth und seine Erben” (pp. 93-123). He focuses particularly on discussions of the form of the book (especially as drama) and its implications for interpretation from Lowth to the present, including the famous problem of the relation between the prose frame of the poetic dialogue. Although the essay focuses on Lowth and his legacy, it also provides thoughtful consideration of how tradition-historical questions influence the interpretation of the book. One of the gems of the collection is Wilfred G. E. Watson’s “The Study of Hebrew Poetry Past–Present–Future” (pp. 124-54). Since other essays in the collection focus on Lowth, Watson examines scholarship on Hebrew poetry since Lowth, especially the latter part of the twentieth century. This article provides an excellent survey of recent and current work. Watson’s survey combines breadth and depth. His summaries are accurate, balanced, and fair-minded. Anyone working on Hebrew poetry today will want to consult this review of the field. In “Jean Astruc: Physician as Biblical Scholar” (pp. 157-73) Rudolf Smend reviews Astruc’s life and medical work. Astruc was known as a great teacher of medicine for his clear and elegant presentations with attention to proper order and method. Smend next shows how Astruc brought these

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

qualities to his work on Genesis and highlights the apologetic aim of the work (to defend Mosaic authorship of the Pentatuech). Pierre Gibert looks at the predecessors of Astruc in “De l’intuition à l’évidence: la multiplicité documentaire dans la Genèse chez H. B. Witter et Jean Astruc” (pp. 174-89). Gibert notes the several scholars prior to Astruc who suggested that the Pentateuch was a composite work. Witte represents for Gibert “l’intuition” for suggesting two originally separate creation accounts in Genesis in 1711. Astruc’s work then represents “l’évidence” by arguing for multiple sources in a systematic way. In “Jean Astruc and Source Criticism in the Book of Genesis” (pp. 190-203), Jan Christian Getz places Astruc in discussion with Benno Jacob (1862-1945). Jacob opposed source criticism, although he did not defend Mosaic authorship. Jacob’s work has undergone a renaissance among German scholars critical of diachronic analysis. Getz outlines the work of Astruc and Jacob and evaluates their positions. His article is a brief and clear defense of source-critical methods pioneered by Astruc. However, he notes that scholars no longer devalue the redactors in favor of the sources, but have drawn on synchronic analysis to see how redactors practiced inner-biblical exegesis. He thereby shows how diachronic and synchronic approaches complement on another. In “The Memoires of Moses and the Genesis of Method in Biblical Criticism: Astruc’s contribution” (pp.204-219) Aulikki Nahkola highlights the methodology of Astruc’s biblical work. Although others had previously noted inconsistencies in Genesis, Astruc identified why they were there and showed a method for distinguishing sources. Although Astruc intended his work as a defense of Mosaic authorship, his deployment of a secular method gave rise to the higher criticism which made the Mosaic authorship of the Pentateuch a “pre-critical” position. Otto Kaiser explores Astruc’s influence in “An Heir of Astruc in a Remote German University: Hermann Hupfeld and the ‘New Documentary Hypothesis’” (pp.220-48). Hupfeld has been regarded as a dead end in source critical work because he argued that the sequence of documents was PEJ rather than JEP. Kaiser tells the biography of Hupfeld who was the first at the Philipps-University at Marburg to use the method pioneered by Astruc and developed by Eichorn. He uses Hupfeld’s life and work to illustrate how the adjustment to reading the Bible critically was not easy for some pioneers of modern methods. Hupfeld was a pietist who felt the

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tension between faith and reason and eventually modified his ideas about biblical inspiration to read Scripture historically and critically.

Robert Rezetko, SOURCE AND REVISION IN THE NARRATIVES OF DAVID’S TRANSFER OF THE ARK: TEXT, LANGUAGE, AND STORY IN 2 SAMUEL 6 AND 1 CHRONICLES 13, 15-16 (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies, 470; New York/London: T & T Clark, 2007). Pp. xiv + 418. Hardcover, US$180.00. ISBN 978-0-567-02612-5. Reviewed by Keith Bodner Atlantic Baptist University This book is a revised version of an Edinburgh dissertation under the supervision of Graeme Auld. As one might therefore expect, it is a high quality work of careful scholarship, with a bold hypothesis that runs counter to the prevailing consensus. The texts in question involve the conclusion to the “ark narrative,” with conventional thinking being that the Chronicler (in 1 Chronicles 13-16) draws on the antecedent Samuel material (in 2 Samuel 6). Rezetko argues for an inversion: “Samuel’s editors in the period of the Second Temple considerably reshaped an earlier version of the story of David’s ark transfer. Consequently, many textual and linguistic details attested in MT 2 Sam 6 are secondary and often later than details in the parallel texts of MT 1 Chron 13, 15-16” (p. 3, emphasis his). After a short introduction that outlines the direction of the book, the first two chapters set the stage for Rezetko’s argument. In chapter 1 (“Contexts: Books, Stories, Versions”) he establishes a framework for his study by surveying research done in three different areas: overall composition (including discussion of the issues of sources and trends in scholarship), a brief comparison of the transfer of the ark stories in Samuel and Chronicles, and the various versions of this account in terms of textual differences. In line with his overall thesis, a key point for Rezetko is that the textual disarray (often labeled as corruptions or mechanical errors) in

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PERSPECTIVES ON HEBREW SCRIPTURES

Samuel are not a result of scribal carelessness but rather have been caused by systematic revisions (p. 41). His discussion includes the MT and LXX traditions, as well as the 4QSama material. In chapter 2 (“Approaches: Synchronic, Diachronic, Textual-Exegetical”) Rezetko guides the reader in the methodology deployed, and begins with a survey of both synchronic and diachronic approaches. In his opinion there is an impasse (he uses the term “standoff” a few times) resulting in the need for a fresh appraisal. Consequently, Rezetko offers something of a hybrid methodology that merges literary criticism with text-critical controls: the “textual-exegetical approach.” He states that a host of details in 2 Samuel 6 actually reflect later stages in the editorial history of the text, and enhance a pro-David and antiSaul polemic. According to Rezetko’s hypothesis, the Samuel tradents understood David as the paragon, and so sought to enhance his image by inserting anti-Saul sound bytes at various places in the story. By extension, this pro-David agenda also enhances the divine image, as Rezetko explains: “…many specific readings in MT 2 Samuel 6 are united in their affirmation of several related revisionary targets, namely, apology of Davidic kingship and apology of Davidic and Yahwistic character” (p. 68). The next four chapters then delve into highly detailed analysis, often word by word, with vigilant comparisons of the relevant texts in Samuel and Chronicles that sequentially moves through the stories. Chapter 3 (“Exposition of the Plot: 2 Sam 6:1-5//1 Chr 13:5-8”) explores both the similarities and differences in the two narratives, and examines questions about the different numbers of participants involved in the transfer of the ark, different geographical descriptions, and possible reasons for the absence of Kiriath-jearim in MT Samuel. Chapter 4 (“Incitement, Complication, Rising Action I: 2 Sam 6:6-10//1 Chr 13:9-13”) presents a fascinating exploration of questions arising in the next segment of the story, including the mysterious death of Uzzah, the location of the threshing floor (with the various names: Nacon in Samuel and Chidon in Chronicles), the place name Perez-Uzzah and the reasons for David’s anger, as well the identity of Obed-Edom the Gittite (as it turns out, a timely discussion; cf. Nancy Tan, “The Chronicler’s ‘Obed-Edom’: A Foreigner and/or a Levite?” [JSOT 32.2, 2007]). Chapter 5 (Rising Action II, Climax, Resolution: 2 Sam 6:11-15, 1720a//1 Chr 13:14; 15:25-28; 16:1-3, 43) investigates the surprising blessing bestowed on the house of Obed-edom, with the subsequent response of David and the second attempt to transfer the ark. A highlight of this

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chapter is Rezetko’s discussion of David’s response to the blessing. Further, Rezetko discusses David’s slightly different apparel in Samuel and Chronicles, and the theories around the “linen ephod.” Throughout this chapter, Rezetko’s sobriety is evident: he discusses the various proposals about David’s role in this chapter as a priestly king (etc.) but is hesitant to force the material into conformity with (alleged) ANE parallels. Chapter 6 (“Michal the Daughter of Saul: 2 Sam 6:16//1 Chr 15:29 and 2 Sam 6:20b23”) turns to the material about David’s first wife, Michal. For this reviewer, Chapter 6 is a riveting read, and Rezetko’s analysis will surely prove to be an indispensable resource for research on this chapter. The heart of the discussion concerns the Samuel “additions”–the dialogue between David and Michal is only represented in 2 Sam 6, not Chronicles– but why then does the Chronicler include the tantalizing reference to Michal looking down out of a window? Either the Samuel material is a later editorial addition, or the Chronicler is only including a portion of the Michal tradition. Rezetko’s book ends with a helpful conclusion (summarizing his findings) and a lengthy appendix (with parallel aligned Hebrew and Greek texts of both Samuel and Chronicles, as attested in MT, LXXABL, and 4QSama). I fear that my short summary of Rezetko’s book is an inadequate tribute to the enormity of his research. He provides a fine synthesis of scholarship and excellent bibliography (with meticulous documentation from start to finish). A great positive is that one does not necessarily have to agree with Rezetko’s results in order to profit from his study. For instance, I suspect that many scholars will resist the conclusion that the majority of differences between 2 Samuel 6 and 1 Chronicles 13, 15-16 are a byproduct of later editorial activity to further a particular agenda (and defense of the major protagonists of the story). Yet Rezetko’s cataloging of opinions from commentators and researchers is judicious and highly serviceable for anyone working with these texts. Moreover, even after reading Rezetko’s book scholars still may be inclined to read the Samuel text as more ambivalent toward David’s efforts of ark-retrieval than Rezekto’s aggressively pro-David interpretation would allow. Still, he is arguing a bold hypothesis and does so with vigor and erudition. Likewise, many readers will continue to believe that the Samuel author is actually quite sympathetic toward Michal, and that David’s treatment of women (in general) and Michal (in particular) certainly leaves something to be desired. Yet as a compendium of research on the topic, this is a valuable study, and

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in fairness, Rezetko does allow for a slight possibility of Davidic critique here in this stretch of narrative. Overall, anyone undertaking serious study of these passages will have to reckon with Rezetko’s analysis, and those interested in the broader questions of text-critical controls as a means for determining earlier and later stages in a text’s editorial history will need to consult this very readable book.

Jon D. Levenson, RESURRECTION AND THE RESTORATION OF ISRAEL: THE ULTIMATE VICTORY OF THE GOD OF LIFE (New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 2006). Pp. xix + 274. Cloth, US$40.00. ISBN 0-300-11735-3. Reviewed by Alan Lenzi University of the Pacific In this book Levenson counters theological claims about the unessential character of bodily resurrection in Judaism and the preference among contemporary Jews for immortality by demonstrating resurrection’s centrality in Classical Judaism with roots in both rabbinic and biblical texts. Levenson surveys the rabbis’ exegetical rationale for resurrection in the Torah, claiming their “expectation of resurrection has far more continuities with their biblical predecessors’ thinking than has heretofore been recognized” (34). Levenson convincingly supports this in Chapters 3–13. Here Levenson challenges standard opinions about death and the development of bodily resurrection in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Judaism. Resurrection did not emerge de novo during the Seleucid persecution but developed organically from ideas already present in scripture, ideas he calls antipodes to death. Sheol, Levenson claims, is not a locale but a mode of existence. Illness and adversity are death-like and contrary to life. Deliverance is viewed as rescue from Sheol and “so miraculous as to be in the nature of a resurrection” (p. 39). The one who dies after a fulfilled life does not go to Sheol but is gathered to his kin and lives on through his descendants and

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name (p. 78). Redemption (Chapter 3) and birth/progeny (Chapter 4), therefore, are antipodes to death and Sheol. With its paradisiacal descriptions, the temple provides a spatial antipode to Sheol (Chapter 5). Its visitors experience an “intimation of immortality” because redemption and life (Ps 133:3) prevail there. The stories of Elijah and Enoch both offer rare examples of a life that ends without death. These point to the possibility of a permanent existence with Yahweh to which one’s experience in the temple only hints (see also Pss 49:15–16 and 73:23–28). Levenson rightly emphasizes that the self in ancient Israel was much more group-oriented than our Western individualistic notions (Chapter 6). Resurrection is always tied to communal concerns. “[I]nfertility and the loss of children serve as the functional equivalent of death” in Ruth, Job, and the Patriarchal Narratives because they threaten the perpetuation of an entire family (p. 119). Birth and progeny, in contrast, restore the family to life (a theme evidenced in Kirta and Aqhat, too, Chapter 8). The actual resurrection of the Shunammite couple’s son (2 Kings 4) illustrates this connection (Chapter 7): Yahweh raises the dead and restores familial wholeness. Second Isaiah’s message (Chapter 9), utilizing metaphors of “the return of the lost sons and daughters” (Isa 43:6; p. 143), “the patriarchal promise of posterity” (Isa 44:1–5, 48:17–19; p. 144), and the comforted barren/bereaved (Isa 49:14–26; p. 145) or temporarily abandoned (Isa 54:4– 6; p. 153) woman, proclaim a virtual resurrection for Israel. Ezekiel 37 (Chapter 10) envisions restoration from exile as a metaphorical re-creation, a re-birth. Levenson admits the biblical material he surveys is decidedly this worldly; that is, the antipodes to death and Sheol only hint at what would become physical resurrection. “[D]eath is universal and inevitable” generally in the Hebrew Bible (p. 179). But Levenson warns against imposing our notion of death as biological cessation upon what only looks to be metaphorical. For deliverance, healing, or restoration would be viewed in ancient Israel as rescue from death itself. Still, he sees a tension between a wholly negative view of death and Yahweh’s promise of life (Chapter 11), which develops toward resurrection: “what had been a rare exception [i.e., rescue from death] in the early period became the basis for a general expectation in the late one” (p. 175).

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Turning to Daniel 12 (Chapter 12), Levenson finds resurrection both an individual and corporate phenomenon. The people, identified with worthy individuals (p. 184), are raised to eternal life. There is a permanence to resurrection here lacking in previous texts. Although having developed under the influence of apocalyptic, Levenson shows continuity between Daniel 12 and earlier biblical texts, especially in Yahweh’s power to vindicate his people and restore them to life, and traces its specific intertextual connections with Isa 52:13–53:12, 66:22–24, and 26:13–21. He extends these connections in chapter 13 to earlier texts in Hosea (5-6, 13– 14) and the textual complex associated with the Divine Warrior. Resurrection, Levenson concludes, is ultimately rooted in the Divine Warrior’s cosmic renewal after his defeat of the powers of death. Levenson’s study is outstanding in tracing literary themes contributing to the development of bodily resurrection. But one senses the absence of other “social and cultural factors” (p. 196). He mentions briefly the impact of apocalypticism, the changing attitudes about a fortunate death (pp. 175, 213), and Ezekiel 18’s new focus on the individual (p. 178). But these are undeveloped. Zoroastrianism’s influence was indirect at best (pp. 157, 215– 16); Seleucid martyrdom and the supposed crisis this had on divine justice was insignificant (pp. 180, 191–96). Levenson’s sociological insight about ancient Israel’s group-oriented notion of self is important. But might there have been a shift toward individualism in Israelite society during the Hellenistic period (e.g., consider the increasing importance of attributing authorship to literary works) that contributed to the rise of individual bodily resurrection? As Levenson presents it, full-fledged resurrection was a literary-theological development of the tension between the inevitability of death, the promise of life, and the power of the deity to make good on his promises, especially as the latter two are found in earlier scripture. Although certainly true, this seems too literary and intellectualist to be the whole story. Especially valuable for its exegetical insights and important correctives to common thinking about afterlife and resurrection in ancient Israel (and contemporary Judaism), Levenson’s book is worthy of prolonged study. (The lack of a bibliography and subject index diminishes the book’s usefulness.)

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Linda Day, Carolyn Pressler, eds., ENGAGING THE BIBLE IN A GENDERED WORLD: AN INTRODUCTION TO FEMINIST BIBLICAL INTERPRETATION IN HONOR OF KATHARINE DOOB SAKENFELD (Louisville/London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2006). Pp. xxvii + 260. Paper US$29.95. ISBN 0-664-22910-7. Reviewed by Irene Nowell, OSB Mount St. Scholastica Atchison, KS 66002 In a lengthy introduction (pp. ix-xxvii) the editors of this volume describe their dual purpose: to honor Katharine Doob Sakenfeld and to provide an introductory text on feminist biblical interpretation. A textbook, they propose, is the best tribute to Sakenfeld, who is a master teacher. In addition to a brief description of feminist interpretation, the introduction includes material on the social location of the authors and their methods, as well as observations on issues of justice and language. The first essay, labeled as “Overview” is “The Feminist Movement Meets the Old Testament: One Woman’s Perspective” by Kathleen M. O’Connor (pp. 3-24), in which she uses the story of Elisha and the widow (2 Kgs 4:1-7) as a lens to view the rise of feminist movement and its effect on biblical scholarship. Her list of “problems for feminists reading the Bible” is painfully perceptive, but her essay ends on a note of hope with a description of the contributions of many feminist scholars and the challenges that remain. The following essays appear in Part One: Perspectives: “Communication as Communion: Elements in a Hermeneutic of Lo Contidiano” by Ada María Isasi-Díaz (pp. 27-36); “Womanist Biblical Interpretation” by Nyasha Junior (pp. 37-46); “Reading Ruth 3:1-5 from an Asian Woman’s Perspective” by Anna May Say Pa (pp. 47-59); “My Sister Sarah: On Being a Woman in the First World” by Beth LaNeel Tanner (pp. 60-72); and “Untying the Knot? Masculinity, Violence, and the Creation-

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Fall Story of Genesis 2–4” by Dennis T. Olson (pp. 73-86). The editors have done well to include not only essays from mujerista, womanist, and Asian perspectives, but also essays concerning the cultural challenges for white women (Tanner) and men (Olson) doing feminist interpretation. In Part Two: Texts, the essays are; “Ruth the Moabite: Identity, Kinship, and Otherness” by Eunny P. Lee (pp. 89-101); “Seeing the Older Woman: Naomi in High Definition” by Jacqueline Lapsley (pp. 102-13); “Wisdom and the Feminine in the Hebrew Bible” by Linda Day (pp. 11427); “’I am Black and Beautiful”: The Song, Cixous, and Écriture Féminine” by F. W. Dobbs-Allsopp (pp. 128-40); and “Job’s Wife” by C. L. Seow (pp. 141-50). Lapsley uses the puzzling picture that can appear either as a beautiful young girl or an old crone, to refocus the reader’s view of the two female characters in the book of Ruth. She wonders if Ruth gets most of the attention because she is a young silent sufferer. This renders the old complaining Naomi, whom she compares to Job, virtually invisible. Dobbs-Allsopp invites the reader to look again at Job’s wife, through interpretations of her story both positive and negative in art and literature. In Part Three: Issues, the essays are: “Image and Imagination: Why Inclusive Language Matters” by Christie Cozad Neuger (pp. 153-65); “Rupturing God-Language: The Metaphor of God as Midwife in Psalm 22” by L. Juliana M. Claassens (pp. 166-75); “Yahweh’s Significant Other” by J. J. M. Roberts and Kathryn L. Roberts (pp. 176-85); “Women, Violence, and the Bible” by Nancy R. Bowen (pp. 186-99); and “The ‘Biblical View’ of Marriage” by Carolyn Pressler (pp. 200-11). Neuger’s essay on inclusive language is particularly helpful for those who struggle against “idolatry, kyriarchy, and injustice in our communal prayer. In Part Four: Intersections, the essays are: “Feminist Interpretation and Biblical Theology” by Phyllis A. Bird (pp. 215-26); “Feminist Interpretation for the Laity” by Freda A. Gardner (pp. 227-37); and “What I Have Learned from My Sisters” by Patrick D. Miller (pp. 238-52). The book ends with a short essay, “The Accomplishments of Katharine Doob Sakenfeld” by Sarah Zhang (pp. 253-54) and a bibliography of Sakenfeld’s works. I have highlighted only a few of the essays in this excellent collection. All the essays are well crafted for the intended audience. The authors discuss significant issues in feminist biblical interpretation and highlight important resources. Each essay lists four or five works “for further study.” At the same time, the style is clear, without technical jargon or

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esoteric arguments. This book is useful not only for students, however. The wealth of material packed into this small volume will make it a handy resource for scholars and teachers as well. The book is a worthy tribute to a great scholar-teacher.

Randall Heskett, MESSIANISM WITHIN THE SCRIPTURAL SCROLL OF ISAIAH (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies, 456; New York/London: T & T Clark, 2007). Pp. xv + 353. Hardcover, US$160.00. ISBN 978-0-567-02922-5. Reviewed by Phillip J. Long Grace Bible College Grand Rapids, MI In this revision of his 2001 dissertation at Emmanuel College under the direction of Gerald Sheppard, Randall Heskett attempts to examine messianism in the final form of Isaiah rather than trace potential trajectories or developments of messianic thought from pre-exilic traditions (Isaiah 136) to the later post-exilic interpretations of the "school of Isaiah" (40-55, 56-66). In emphasizing the way in which Isaiah" functions as a scriptural book, "Heskett resonates with Brevard Childs, although he makes contributions which go beyond the "canonical criticism" of Childs as well as the "scriptural approach" of his dissertation advisor. Beginning with what he calls "pre-biblical" traditions, Heskett attempts to show that the final form of Isaiah has worked within the bounds of scripture to re-read earlier texts as expressions messianic hope even if these texts had historical referents or were originally ambiguous. In his first chapter, Heskett offers a definition of messianism which will guide his study. A "messiah" is a person or persons who "offer a solution in an extraordinary way to activate and restore within this world the promises made to David after the monarchy has ended" (p. 3). Given this definition, there can be no pre-exilic messianic texts in Isaiah since a king is still on the throne. A text such as Isa 32:1-8, for example, cannot be messianic since it

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is pre-exilic. The writer has used exaggerated language to describe a hope for an ideal king while the monarchy still exists. Pre-exilic texts often describe the king in idealistic or exaggerated language but are not messianic. Since an important element of messianic hope is the restoration of the Davidic king, the end of the monarchy provides the context for these hopes to develop. This definition of messianism is somewhat restrictive since it fails to allow for the possibility that some texts in the Hebrew Bible may express a hope for a future ideal king while the monarchy still exists. For example, 2 Samuel 7 seems to envision a perpetual Davidic king which goes beyond David's son Solomon. Two Samuel 7 provides a foundation for other prophetic reflection which might be termed "messianic" since no human could fulfill the promises of the Davidic Covenant. For Heskett though, a text that idealizes a king is not messianic until it is re-interpreted by the post-exilic community. Pre-biblical texts in Isaiah that were non-messianic may have been altered in the final scriptural form of Isaiah in order to warrant a messianic interpretation. In some cases the editors of scriptural Isaiah have combined pre-exilic hope for an ideal king with the post-exilic eschatological expectation of a renewed Davidic kingdom. In other places the editors have exploited pre-exilic ambiguity in order to make a messianic interpretation more clear. A third possible editorial strategy is for a post-exilic tradition to be placed into a pre-exilic context. These traditions may not have been eschatological or messianic at all, but in the post-exilic final form Isaiah, they have become messianic. Heskett devotes his second chapter to the declaration that Cyrus is "the Lord's Anointed" in Isa 44:28 and 45:1 as an example of how a royal text might be interpreted as messianic by a later tradition. The "pre-biblical" function of the declaration of Cyrus as "the Lord's Anointed" was probably part of a prophetic dispute in which the decree of Cyrus serves as a prophetic confirmation that the "former things" of Isaiah 1-39 have been fulfilled (p. 25). This pre-biblical Cyrus oracle was "messianized" by Second Isaiah since Cyrus functioned as a messiah by returning Israel to the land. But in the final scriptural form of Isaiah, the Cyrus saying is "rehistoricized" because Cyrus cannot fulfill the description of the messiah found in Isaiah 7-11, the whole of scripture, or later Judaism (p. 36). If Heskett is correct, then the Cyrus saying demonstrates his thesis that the later editors of Isaiah re-interpreted earlier texts in the light of growing messianic hopes of the early Second Temple period.

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Heskett studies three classic messianic texts from First Isaiah (7:14, 9:16, and 11:1-9) in order to test his thesis further (Chapter 3). Each of these texts is the subject of intense study and has generated a considerable secondary literature. To his credit, Heskett is able to manage this massive amount of material by summarizing them in broad categories as well as examining various theories of redaction of the book of Isaiah, although his purpose is not to offer a new solution to the formation of canonical Isaiah. He contends, rather, that Isaiah 7-11 represents a level of tradition which has been "rehistoricized" by the scriptural form of Isaiah (p. 39). Isaiah 7:14 had an original historical context that was non-messianic. The child who was born was not the messiah but rather a child in the house Ahaz. Postexilic editing of Isaiah has juxtaposed 7:14 with 6:11-13 and 7:18-25 in order to invite a messianic interpretation (p. 92). The prophecy of 9:1-6 was an enthronement song describing an ideal king. Post-exilic editors placed the text after the "former things" of 8:23 (p. 98). So too the imagery of a "shoot from the stump of Jesse" in 11:1-9 depends on chapter 10 for a messianic interpretation. For Heskett, 11:1-9 is a post-exilic text that "warranted messianic interpretation" and was interpreted as messianic in the scriptural form of Isaiah (p.132). Evidence for this re-interpretation is to be found in Isa 61:1 and 65:25. Both of these texts pick up imagery from Isaiah 11 and expand it in a fully messianic fashion. The Servant Songs (Chapter 4) are an example of a text that was not messianic in its pre-biblical form and was likely not viewed as messianic by the editors of the final form of Isaiah. The text takes on a messianic character only after later theological reflection (p. 224). It is impossible for a single chapter to do justice to the vast literature on the Servant Songs; therefore, Heskett once again uses several helpful categories in order deal with the identity of the servant and the possibility of messianism in these chapters. Since the Servant Songs have been removed from their prebiblical context, the identity of the servant is ambiguous with respect to historical circumstance, audience and identity of the servant (p.172). The servant in the scriptural book of Isaiah is similar to the Davidic messiah, but he is in other ways quite distinct. For example, the servant is described as the root from the stump of Jesse, recalling Isaiah 11. On the other hand, messiah is a "king of beauty" in 33:17, but "unsightly" in 52:14. Heskett sees the final form of the book of Isaiah as exploiting the functional ambiguity" of the Servant Songs, just as later Jewish and Christian interpreters have

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used this ambiguity in applying the text to Simon Bar Kosiba or Jesus (p.224). Lastly, Heskett examines Isa 61:1-3 as the only explicitly messianic text in the scroll of Isaiah (Chapter 5). Like the other texts in surveyed in Isaiah, 61:1-3 is ambiguous, resulting in a wide range of suggestions identifying the speaker. Once again Heskett sifts through a wide range of literature and provides a helpful rubric for analyzing the secondary literature on this passage. While the pre-biblical form of this text may not have been intentionally messianic, there are enough warrants in the text for later interpreters to read it as messianic, as did early Christians and possibly the Qumran community. 11QMel may allude to Isaiah 61 as a messianic text, but this evidence is not clear (p. 251). In both cases, later interpreters exploit the ambiguity of the text and interpret the text as messianic. But Isaiah 61:1-3 is different from the other texts surveyed by Heskett. While there is no mention of David or a royal figure, the activity of the speaker cannot be said to be fulfilled by a human figure, as with the Cyrus text (p. 263.) The speaker is announcing salvation in such a way that goes beyond any human king ever did (no human king declared a year of Jubilee, for example). The text even goes beyond the end of the Babylonian exile, since the context includes the transformation of not only Jerusalem and Zion, but the whole world (p. 261). Since the setting is disconnected from historical events the text must therefore be understood as eschatological. In his concluding chapter, Heskett returns to his thesis that the final form the book of Isaiah represents the earliest interpretation of pre-biblical traditions. He believes that historical critical methods have been distracted from the meaning of Isaiah by searching for specific Sitz im Leben for prebiblical traditions. When scholars see the book as the word of three historically consecutive authors, they miss the fact that the final form of the book of Isaiah has edited all three alleged authors to the point that it is impossible to assign a given text to a historical circumstance. It is only when one views the book from the perspective of the final, canonical form that one is able to read Isaiah as a whole as prophecy. In the final analysis, Heskett is not at all interested in how Isaiah was formed, only the theology of the final scriptural of the book. Heskett then seeks to draw several implications of his thesis for another large body of scripture that appears to have undergone a post-exilic redaction, the Psalms. This section is only a sketch of the issues involved when compared to his detailed examination of Isaiah. Heskett succeeds in

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making his case that it is only when the interpreter reads the Psalms as a post-exilic edited book that messianism in the Psalms is a possibility. Since twentieth century scholarship has been preoccupied with identifying the original Sitz im Leben of each psalm it has missed overall theological themes in the final form of the Psalter. This over-emphasis on pre-biblical form is perhaps a more pronounced problem for the study of Psalms than for Isaiah, but the resulting theological myopia is the same. Because this section is a suggestion for further study, it suffers from brevity. A number of studies on the final form Psalms are missing, such as Gerald Wilson’s The Editing of the Psalter (Scholars, 1985) or the more recent study by David Mitchell, The Message of the Psalter: An Eschatological Programme In the Book of Psalms (Sheffield, 1997). Both studies have much to contribute to Heskett’s suggestion that the final form of the Psalms ought to be the focus of study. This study is an extremely valuable contribution to the study of Isaiah. Heskett is to be commended for mastery of the massive secondary literature on these passages as well as his sensitivity to both historic Jewish and Christian interpretations. What is more, this study is an important reminder that historical-critical methods can sometimes obscure the meaning of the scriptural form of the text.

Robert Wright, THE PSALMS OF SOLOMON: A CRITICAL EDITION OF THE GREEK TEXT (Jewish and Christian Texts in Contexts and Related Studies, 1; London/New York: T & T Clark, 2007). Pp. xi + 224. Hardcover, US$125.00. ISBN 978-0-567-02643-4. Reviewed by Kenneth Atkinson University of Northern Iowa Cedar Falls, IA 50614-0501 Robert Wright's book is the only complete critical edition of the Greek text of the first century B.C.E. Jewish hymnbook known as the Psalms of Solomon. It also contains an English translation adjacent to the Greek that seeks to convey the meaning of the original, with occasional literal or explanatory

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readings in the footnotes. The book also includes a history of each Greek manuscript, a discussion of all scholarship on the Greek text and Syriac translation, and a biography of all published critical editions and studies on the Psalms of Solomon. The Psalms of Solomon is a collection of eighteen poems that contain an eyewitness account of the Roman General Pompey's 63 B.C.E. destruction of Jerusalem (Pss. Sol. 2, 8). At some point in antiquity, the poems became associated with Solomon, likely on the basis of the reference to the "Son of David" in Pss. Sol. 17:21. The composition is important for understanding Jewish and Christian theology. It contains a pre-Christian reference to resurrection (Pss. Sol. 3:12) and what is widely considered the locus classicus for a belief in a Davidic messiah (Psalms of Solomon 17). The work is a particularly important text for understanding the Dead Sea Scrolls. Psalms of Solomon 8, for example, recounts Jewish religious disputes similar to those described in such works as 4QMMT. The Davidic messiah of Psalms of Solomon 17, moreover, is almost identical to the Davidic messiah in several Qumran texts (4Q504; 1Q28b; 4Q252 4Q174; 4Q161; 4Q285; cf. 4Q246). The Psalms of Solomon was written in Hebrew, but only survives in Greek manuscripts that date from the tenth to the sixteenth centuries C.E. It was later translated into Syriac, and appended to the Christian hymnbook known as the Odes of Solomon. The composition was quite popular in antiquity and is listed in the catalog of the fifth century C.E Codex Alexandrinus and numerous canon lists in several languages to the 13th century. The Greek text of the Psalms of Solomon is sometimes difficult to read. Several passages suggest that the translator was not fully conversant with the Hebrew language (e.g., Pss. Sol. 2:13; 4:6, 12; 12:2-3). The Greek translator at times appears to have improperly vocalized the original unvocalized Hebrew text (e.g., Pss. Sol. 2:25, 26), or closely adhered to Hebrew syntax, which occasionally results in an awkward or confusing style that is difficult to translate (e.g., Pss. Sol. 3:7-8a; 17:b-9). Because there is nearly a millennium between the Psalms of Solomon's composition and the dates of the extant manuscripts, Wright recognizes that it is impossible to reconstruct the "Greek translational autograph." Instead, he adopts a cautious approach to text critical matters and seeks to produce an intermediary state of the text that best explains the extant manuscripts. He even includes a few readings that are lexically impossible, but which explain the origin of the manuscript readings (for an example, see his notes to Pss.

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Sol. 8:6, 11; 15:5). Overall, Wright's Greek text is very similar to the widely used edition of Alfred Rahlfs (Septuaginta id est Vetus Testamentum graece iuxta LXX interpretes [Stuggart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1935] 2. pp. 471-89), but includes three manuscripts discovered subsequent to its publication. Wright also includes new readings from MS 629 (Codex Casantensis), whose leaves are nearly unreadable. At Wright's request, The Center for the Preservation of Ancient Religious Texts at Brigham Yong University, Provo, Utah, successfully used "Multi-Spectral Imaging" to uncover 80-90% of this text. Wright's critical edition includes occasional readings from the Syriac manuscripts, often accompanied by English translations. With the exception of Joseph Trafton’s The Syriac Version of the Psalms of Solomon: A Critical Evaluation (SBLSCS, no. 11 [Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1985]), this version has been neglected as a potential source of textual and historical information. Because the Syriac contains several Greek loan words and differs from the Greek in only sixty-two (approximately 10%) of the Psalms of Solomon’s verses, most scholars consider it a “daughter” translation. Nevertheless, because the Syriac text is often close to Manuscript 253 (Vat. Graeci 336), which preserves the earliest form of the Psalms of Solomon’s Greek text (see further Robert Hann, The Manuscript History of the Psalms of Solomon [SBLSCS, no. 13; Chico: Scholars Press, 1982]), it is possible that it may in some instances preserve the Old Greek more accurately than any of the Greek manuscripts. One such example is found in Psalms of Solomon 2:1, which Wright translates as follows: “When the sinner contemptuously used his battering ram to smash down the fortified walls, you did not interfere.” The Syriac reads: “In his arrogance the lawless one cast down strong walls on the feast day, and you did not restrain him” (Syriac MS 10hl reads “feast days”). If the Syriac in this instance is based on a Greek exemplar, it may furnish valuable historical information concerning the exact date of Pompey’s siege. Wright has performed a valuable service by making these readings available alongside the Greek text. During the final stage of production, Wright traveled to all the libraries, museums, and monasteries housing the Greek and Syriac manuscripts to check his readings. In the process, he either filmed or obtained new digital color photographs of all 350 leaves of the Greek and Syriac manuscripts. In the process, he discovered, with the assistance of Sabastian P. Brock of Oxford University, that the short passage in British Museum Syriac MS “S” (Add. MS 17134) is not, as previously held, part of the textual history of the

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Psalms of Solomon, but an intertextual note by Jacob of Odessa that was likely written from memory. For a modest fee, purchasers of Wright’s critical edition can obtain a CD containing color photographs of all the Psalms of Solomon’s Greek and Syriac manuscripts for research and teaching purposes. This combination of a printed critical Greek text, English translation, and CD makes Wright’s book an essential purchase for any scholar or student interested in textual criticism, pseudepigrapha, or the history and literature of the Second Temple Period.

James L. Kugel, THE LADDER OF JACOB: ANCIENT INTERPRETATIONS OF THE BIBLICAL STORY OF JACOB AND HIS CHILDREN (Princeton/Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2006). Pp. xiii + 278. Cloth, US$24.95. ISBN 0-691-12122-2. Reviewed by Dan Clanton Englewood, CO The stories in the book of Genesis have long fascinated readers, nonreligious and religious alike. However, as James L. Kugel notes in the introduction to these erudite studies, the purpose of Genesis in the Torah has not always been clear (p. 1). That is, Kugel argues, the laws and instructions in the remaining books of the Torah seem to validate their inclusion, but Genesis contains almost exclusively narrative material. Kugel presses the question even further and asks why stories about Jacob would have been included, given that he and his family exhibit, shall we say, less than upright behavior. To answer these questions, Kugel engages various strands of biblical interpretations in the Second Temple Period to discern the way(s) in which Bible readers engaged, exegeted, and enjoyed various texts dealing with Jacob. Kugel first adumbrates his method and approach on pp. 3-7.[1] He first discusses the four main assumptions of ancient Bible interpreters, viz., (1) the Torah is a relevant book; (2) the Bible speaks cryptically; (3) the Bible is a coherent, perfect book; and (4) the Bible is from God. Based on these

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presuppositions, ancient readers examined specific biblical verses or even words to discern their practical meaning or connection to other scriptural texts. As such, Kugel claims, “ancient biblical interpretation traveled in little packets called exegetical motifs,” which he defines as “an explanation of the meaning of a biblical verse, especially a potentially problematic one, or even of a phrase or a word within that verse” (p. 5). Exegetical motifs resulting from interpretations of stories focusing on Jacob and his family are the focus of this book. These motifs can exist as variants; rivals; narrative expansions; or midrashic doublets, and a single text can even contain more than one exegetical motif that explains or interprets a specific textual problem, a phenomenon Kugel terms “overkill.” After his introductory chapter (pp. 1-8), Kugel examines select exegetical motifs surrounding the episode of Jacob’s ladder in Gen 28 in Chapter Two (pp. 9-35), including a brief pseudepigraphal writing titled the Ladder of Jacob. Chapter Three (pp. 36-80) focuses on the puzzling aspects of Genesis 34, in which we find the rape of Dinah and the revenge plotted by her brothers Simeon and Levi. A single verse, viz., Genesis 35:22, is the focus on Chapter Four (pp. 81-114). This verse contains the tantalizingly brief mention of Reuben lying with Bilhah, Jacob’s concubine. Chapter Five (pp. 115-68) examines ancient answers to the question of why the Levites had been selected as the singular priestly tribe, answers which focus on the life and actions of the tribe’s eponymous ancestor. In Chapter Six (pp. 169-85), Kugel discusses how scriptural readers of the Second Temple Period viewed the encounter between Judah and Tamar in Genesis 38. Finally, Chapter Seven (pp. 186-221) interprets a notoriously difficult text from Qumran (4Q369) as a prayer dealing with Jacob/Israel, and is followed by a brief conclusion to the entire book (pp. 218-21). Generally speaking, this book is aimed at an intermediate audience due to its sophisticated treatment of texts and well-documented endnotes (pp. 22362). Given that audience, though, this book should enjoy a wide readership. Space constraints do not permit me to provide a detailed summary of Kugel’s masterful survey of the numerous texts he engages. Instead, I will only mention the argument of his first chapter. Here, Kugel analyzes Gen 28:10-22, Jacob’s dream of a ladder ascending to the heavens. Ancient readers of this passage agreed that Jacob here experienced some sort of message from God, but why a ladder? Why angels? These messengers then posited several explanations, such as the answer found in Gen. Rab. 68:12

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that the angels going up and down were guarding Jacob, and it was simply time for a shift-change. Other readers argued that the angels were coming and going to catch a glimpse of the righteous Jacob as a sort of angelic visitation, or pilgrimage. Still others argued that Jacob’s dream was a symbolic foreshadowing of his people’s future. That is, much like the king’s dream in Daniel 2, Jacob sees symbolic rungs on the ladder that represent future kingdoms that will oppress his descendents. Kugel then examines “a short biblical pseudepigraphon called the Ladder of Jacob” which combines two of the exegetical motifs he discusses (p. 24). In so doing, and in the conclusion to this chapter, Kugel notes that by observing the chronological and thematic developments in scriptural interpretations, we are more likely to understand both the nature of ancient Bible reading as well as later texts that render potentially confusing readings. That is, if we can establish the history of exegetical motifs, the history of the way(s) in which a given text has been interpreted, then we will be in a better position to assess how later texts engage the same target text(s). In spite of this brief summary, I am tempted to say that no synopsis can do justice to the intertextual connections Kugel draws in tracing the history of these exegetical motifs. Like Michel Foucault’s archaeological method, in which the analyst seeks to examine the “archive,” i.e., “the mass of things spoken in a culture, presented, valorized, re-used, repeated and transformed,” Kugel’s examination of various exegetical motifs allows us to chart the very development of biblical meanings, many of which ordinary believers may take for granted.[2] In other words, by demonstrating the way(s) in which ancient interpreters thought about and interpreted scripture, Kugel is able to illustrate not only the continuing value of Torah to religious readers, but also the ability of those interpreters to shape its meaning in various texts and contexts over time.[3] Having said this, I noticed two main critical issues in the books that, if addressed, would increase its usefulness. The most apparent of these is Kugel’s lack of comment on the issues raised by the numerous female characters he discuses, including Dinah, Bilhah, and especially Tamar. Granted, he is surveying ancient male readers, but given the vast amount of feminist criticism on these characters, it would have behooved Kugel to at least acknowledge feminist concerns. If nothing else, the work of feminist scholars could place the attention paid to these characters by the exegetes examined by Kugel in their patriarchal and ideological context. Another potential issue is the lack of any socio-historical context for the

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interpretations he surveys. Since in his conclusion he specifically states, “What is particularly striking about the motifs examined here, beyond their creative reworking of biblical material, is the extent to which they may be seen to have built on one another,” it would seem to aid his claim if he could establish some sort of geographic proximity or socio-cultural overlap between the readers he examines. Even with these concerns, I can certainly recommend Kugel’s book as yet another masterpiece of the history of interpretation. It should serve as a guide for others attempting to do so, as well as a wonderful sourcebook for those working on Genesis. [1] Much of this approach is discussed in more detail in Kugel’s other works, most notably his The Bible As It Was (Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press, 1999), 1-36. See also his important “Nine Theses,” in In Potiphar’s House: The Interpretive Life of Biblical Texts (2nd ed.; Cambridge/London: Harvard University Press, 1994), 247-70. [2] “The Birth of a World,” in Foucault Live: Collected Interviews, 1961-1984 (ed. Sylvère Lotringer; trans. L. Hochroth and J. Johnston; New York: Semiotext(e), 1996), 66. See also Lois McNay, Foucault: A Critical Introduction (New York: Continuum, 1994), 66: “The archive of a given period is composed of the totality of discursive formations or ensemble of statements which constitute a field of knowledge.” [3] Kugel’s most recent book is a comparison between traditional Jewish and modern historical-critical biblical interpretation, and I recommend it for its breadth, as well as its provocative thesis. See How To Read the Bible: A Guide to Scripture, Then and Now (New York: Free Press, 2007).

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George W. E. Nickelsburg, RESURRECTION, IMMORTALITY, AND ETERNAL LIFE IN INTERTESTAMENTAL JUDAISM AND EARLY CHRISTIANITY (Harvard Theological Studies, 56; Expanded Edition; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006). Pp. xxi + 366. Paper, US $27.95. ISBN 0-674-02378-1. Reviewed by Dan Clanton Englewood, CO As a collector of classical and jazz recordings, I am always a bit wary when an important recording is re-released. Usually, the “new” version is only a slight improvement on the original, e.g., a new track or maybe a new essay in the liner notes. Most of the time, new editions of classic works simply do not surpass the original. In the field of biblical studies, we usually do not have to broach this problem. Most of our “classics” have gracefully gone out of print, or now exist only as summaries in reference works. This being the case, it is both a curiosity and a cause for celebration that this seminal work is not only back in print, but has been generously augmented with three recent studies that carry the author’s analysis forward into early Christian literature. The work is divided into two main parts. Part One (pp. 19-223) consists of Nickelsburg’s 1972 Harvard dissertation with minor revisions (listed on p. 2). Part Two (pp. 227-314) is composed of three related studies published subsequent to the original dissertation, all of which build upon it. In Part One, Nickelsburg uses both form and tradition-history criticism to examine texts from the Second Temple Period that speak of/to resurrection. In our age of methodological suspicion, it is enlightening to see such a profitable application of these approaches. In Chapters 1-3, Nickelsburg focuses on texts whose views stem from settings of religious persecution, beginning in Chapter One (pp. 23-66) with apocalyptic texts like Daniel 12. The understanding of resurrection in Dan 12:1-3 uses and adapts older texts like Isaiah 26-27 to describe a judgment scene in which a

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“twofold resurrection” takes place (p. 33). The resurrection here will be a bodily one, but it is not a general one; rather it is a specific resurrection for “those particular people whose unjust treatment in this life presents a problem for the writer” (p. 37). As such, this understanding of resurrection was not formulated in a theological void, but was based on a real crisis experienced by the community that produced and transmitted Daniel. Chapter One also examines texts related to Daniel in this regard, such as T. Mos. 10; Jub. 23; and T. Jud. 25. Along with Daniel, these texts are “independent witnesses to a tradition that is older than and fuller than any of the texts in which it is has been preserved” (p. 55). Chapter Two (pp. 67-118) focuses similarly on a setting of persecution, but in the case of the community that composed the Wisdom of Solomon (especially Chapters 1-6 therein), the solution to this real problem was not a judgment and a subsequent bodily, specific resurrection. Rather—building on other “wisdom” stories like the Joseph novella; Esther; Daniel 3 and 6; and Susanna—here the righteous who has suffered will be exalted “into the ranks of ‘the sons of God,’ the angelic attendants in the court of the heavenly king” (p. 81). Nickelsburg argues that this scheme has been influenced by the Servant Songs in Isaiah 40-55, especially 52-53, which has also influenced 1 Enoch 62-63. In fact, Nickelsburg views Wisdom 1-6 and 1 Enoch 62-63 as “two occurrences of a single traditional interpretation and rewriting of the servant poem” (p. 99) which involve a “scene of the postmortem exaltation of the persecuted ones and the (impending) judgment of their persecutors” (p. 107). Nickelsburg continues his examination of texts with their origin in religious persecution in Chapter Three (pp. 119-40). Here, through an analysis of 2 Maccabees 7, we see texts that posit a future, bodily resurrection as a vindication of suffering for the righteous. Like Daniel, the judgment and resurrection are not universal, but specific to the situation that occasioned them within the experience of the writer’s community (p. 122). Interestingly, Nickelsburg connects 2 Maccabees 6-7 with “the same Isaianic exaltation tradition witnessed to in Wisdom and 1 Enoch” (p. 132). Since he finds no evidence for “literary interdependence,” Nickelsburg posits that all three of these texts represent independent attestations to a common interpretation of the final Servant Song in Isaiah 52-53. Switching his focus to the oppression of the righteous poor, in Chapter Four (141-62) Nickelsburg examines 1 Enoch 94-104.[1] In these chapters, we do not see a punishment of the righteous simply because of their piety;

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rather, the author is disconsolate that the pious within his community have not been properly rewarded during their lives. As a result, in texts like 103:3-4 we hear that “the righteous will receive what they did not have in life: joy, honor, and goodness in the place of misery and suffering” (p. 148). There is a resurrection in these chapters, but it is not a bodily one, and again, it is an event that is specific to the experience of the author’s community, not a general resurrection. In contrast to this finding, in his fifth chapter (pp. 163-78), Nickelsburg tackles a cornucopia of texts that discuss resurrection, but that do not do so in contexts related to persecution, oppression, or injustice. Like the texts discussed in previous chapters, these also place resurrection in the context of a judgment, but all of these texts do so in a broader setting. That is, in Psalms of Solomon and 1 Enoch 22, “all of the righteous will receive eternal life,” not just the righteous in the author’s own community (p. 177). Furthermore, a majority of the texts he discusses here, including 4 Ezra 7; Sib. Or. 4; and T. Benj. 10 “posit a universal resurrection and judgment” (p. 177). Chapter Six (pp. 179-209) examines select Qumran material, particularly the Hodayot literature and the Community Rule (1QS). In the former, Nickelsburg finds an author who speaks of his own personal experience of having been saved from persecution, and as such he finds no evidence for discourse about resurrection. Concomitantly, there is an emphasis on present exaltation, i.e., by dint of joining the community the author is already exalted into the company of angels (pp. 190 and 193). In his discussion of 1QS, though, Nickelsburg argues for the presence of Two Ways theology, which is so generalized that resurrection is not mentioned. As Nickelsburg notes, documents that employ this theology simply state that the righteous will live and prosper; they rarely offer anything more specific (p. 204). In his conclusion to Part One, Nickelsburg notes that beliefs centering on resurrection in the Second Temple Period usually stem from three main forms, viz., (1) The Story of the Righteous Man and the Isaianic Exaltation Tradition; (2) The Judgment Scene; and (3) Two Ways Theology. He also claims that over time the historic specificity of resurrection and judgment we have seen in texts like Daniel 12; 2 Maccabees 7; and 1 Enoch 94-104 gives way to a more general scheme of reward and punishment for everyone, which will usually include a bodily resurrection. In Chapter Seven (pp. 227-47) the author carries his analysis of discourse dealing with resurrection in the Second Temple Period into the

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thought of the various Jesus movements. He argues for the use of the “paradigm of the persecuted and vindicated righteous one” in the earliest level of creeds and hymns about the resurrected Jesus (p. 228). Vindication of Jesus here is usually understood as his exaltation (p. 229). As time passes, Jesus’ resurrection is variously viewed as non-corporeal and almost angelic to a near exclusive focus on his exaltation and possible function as Son of Man. In all these texts, Nickelsburg notes, we see an engagement of the main interpretations of Isaiah 52-53 he outlines in Part One (pp. 24546). As such, the groups that posited a resurrection for Jesus were within the spectrum of Jewish cogitation on resurrection during this period, but were also distinct due to the overriding hermeneutical importance placed on the significance and exegetical determinacy of Jesus’ resurrection. Chapter Eight (p. 249-79) discusses a possible genre for the passion narrative in Mark. Nickelsburg posits a “generic model” based on the stories like those he discusses in Chapters Two and Three, i.e., “stories characterized by a common theme: the rescue and vindication of a persecuted innocent person or persons” (p. 252). As to the function of this passion narrative, Nickelsburg contends that Mark connects the destruction of the Temple with Jesus’ death and resurrection, noting “that the death and resurrection of Jesus mean the end of the old order and the Messiah’s building of a new, spiritual temple—the church, in which God’s ancient promises to the nations will be fulfilled” (p. 272). In his final chapter (pp. 281-314), Nickelsburg provides a very useful and thorough survey of the use and understanding of the term “Son of Man” in texts from the Tanakh, Second Temple Period, and New Testament. Initially, the term was used as a generic designation for “mortal” or “human being.” Eventually though, probably beginning with its usage in Daniel 7, the term takes on more eschatological and judicial connotations. This is the usage of the term that prevails in New Testament texts, except that therein one finds a “consistent ascription of judicial functions to the exalted Jesus” (p. 312). As such, these writers applied a general term to a specific figure within their community in light of their own interpretation of Torah and historical experiences. In sum, Part One of this book is simply one of the most important monographs on the subject. Perhaps its greatest contribution is to demonstrate the variety and vitality of Jewish thought on this subject in the Second Temple Period. As Nickelsburg notes in his Appendix (pp. 21923), critiquing Oscar Cullmann’s 1955 essay on resurrection and the

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immortality of the soul in Intertestamental Judaism, during this period “there was no single Jewish orthodoxy on the time, mode, and place of resurrection, immortality, and eternal life” (p. 222). As such, Nickelsburg helped to alter the perceptions of scholars, especially New Testament scholars, of Judaism in the time of Jesus. Subsequently, scholars were forced to reevaluate their understandings of Jesus’ own Judaism so as to make him a product of his time, and not anomalous. However, Nickelsburg’s work is not above criticism, as he himself so humbly notes in an enlightening section titled “Some Reflections on What I Wrote” (pp. 5-13) in which he raises important critiques of his own work. One criticism that he does not raise is his treatment of Paul on 231-35, which stems from an “Old Perspective” view of the apostle.[2] Given Nickelsburg’s interest in and seminal contributions to seeing the continuity between Judaism and Christianity, I found this approach a tad confusing. Had Nickelsburg treated Paul as a Jewish writer addressing a Gentile audience, I believe he would have strengthened his argument, given that Paul then could have served as an example of how Jewish ideas on resurrection and vindication were altered to fit into the ideology of the Jesus movements. Another issue is the collapsing of the distance between what is written in Mark’s Gospel and the actual events of Jesus’ life in Chapter Eight. That is, at times Nickelsburg does not adequately distinguish between the events narrated in Mark and the real history of Jesus. Granted, the latter is only recoverable using evidence like Mark, but we have come far enough in scholarship that we ought to maintain a healthy skepticism about a given writer’s rhetoric when reconstructing history based upon it. To be sure, the conclusions in this book have been augmented by decades of research (especially on Qumran).[3] However, Nickelsburg himself admits on p. 14: “even with clear methodology and its careful execution, our work will not be the last word—which should be a cause for celebration about the future of our discipline.” Even so, Nickelsburg’s thoroughgoing examination of these texts remains, in my opinion, the starting point for questions surrounding resurrection in the Second Temple Period. It should serve as a model for scholars today in terms of how we approach biblical and especially non-canonical materials in a responsible and detailed fashion.

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[1] As he notes, this chapter served to pique his interest in 1 Enoch so much that he eventually published his massive commentary, 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 1-36; 81-108 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001). [2] Two accessible, and decidedly “New Perspective” approaches to Paul can be found in E. P. Sanders, Paul (Oxford & New York: Oxford University Press, 1991); and John G. Gager, Reinventing Paul (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000). [3] Since this work was originally published, Nickelsburg himself has published what I consider to be two standard works in this field, viz., his Ancient Judaism and Christian Origins: Diversity, Continuity, and Transformation (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003), and Jewish Literature between the Bible and the Mishnah (2nd ed. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2005).

Keith Bodner, DAVID OBSERVED: A KING IN THE EYES OF HIS COURT (Hebrew Bible Monographs 5; Sheffield: Phoenix Press, 2005). Pp. xii + 198. Cloth, £50.00, US$85.00, Є75,00. ISBN 1-905048-23-8. Reviewed by Ellen White University of St. Michael’s College With his usual flare for style and pervasive sense of humour, Bodner examines the life of David in his new book, David Observed: A King in the Eyes of His Court. Yet, the work is not really about David at all. Bodner flips the textual character roles and gives the starring role to the supporting characters, thus relegating David to the role of supporting actor; this plan is laid out in the brief introduction. Bodner claims that students are his target audience, but he does not mention the context in which he expects the book to be utilized; he leaves this to the reader’s imagination. In Chapter Two, “Eliab and the Deuteronomist,” Bodner considers David’s older brother Eliab as a Bakhtinian “double-voiced” character and explores the significance of this in foreshadowing the later actions of David. The next chapter deals with 1 Samuel 21-22. Here, Bodner expands on

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Reis’ theory that Ahimelech, the priest, is not truly duped by David into deceiving Doeg but is actually a co-conspirator. Bodner returns to Bakhtinian analysis in his next chapter and explores the theory that 2 Samuel 3 uses the technique of “pseudo-objective motivation,” the idea that the narrator takes on the voice of the crowd rather than being an objective know-it-all. The prophet Nathan is the focus of the next chapter. Bodner takes the three Nathan episodes together in order to present a holistic picture of this character. Chapter Six then focuses on text critical issues in 2 Sam 11:1, particularly the potential confusion between messengers and kings; however, his claim that this latent ambiguity foreshadows intentional ambiguity to come seems coincidental at best. Similarly, chapter Seven focuses on 2 Sam 11:3, and explores the text-critical issues that are present in relation to 4QSama. The next two chapters focus on Joab. In Chapter Eight, Bodner explores the character of Joab as a reader response critic of David. The next chapter focuses on the textual variants between the MT and the LXX in 2 Sam 11:22-25; however, the analysis here is designed to be comparative rather than competitive. The interesting relationship between Bathsheba and Ahithopel is explored in the next chapter as a possible explanation for why Ahithopel joins Absalom’s rebellion. In Chapter Eleven Bodner adds to the list of parallels between Genesis and the Deuteronomistic History by drawing parallels between Solomon’s rise and Jacob’s blessing in Genesis 27, with passivity being the key element of the rising character. His final chapter focuses on the oaths that involve Solomon, using Austin’s speech-act theory. According to Bodner, these oaths play a large role in the ultimate characterization of Solomon and the narrative transition between the Davidic and Solomonic reigns. Each chapter is quite different in content and style and could be read as separate pieces (many of them have appeared in previous publications) but these diverse pieces are held together by the common theme of examining David through the cast of supporting characters. This allows the reader to approach the text as a complete book to be read from cover to cover or to approach it as a useful compilation that can be read for the content desired. It also leads to an interesting feature of this book. Because each chapter could be a stand-alone unit and the work is not meant to be an overview of the entire text of the Davidic reign, it could be criticized for its piecemeal approach to the text. Therefore, if one is looking for a course textbook, this

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is not the answer. However, this weakness also leads to its greatest strength. Several of the individual passages are examined in various chapters but from different methodologies or perspectives; this allows readers to get a sense of the dynamics of the texts and the diversity involved in interpretation. This is particularly true with his approach to variant readings. Because he shows little interest in establishing a “more authentic” text, Bodner focuses on the differences in interpretation each reading would produce. This unique approach to text-criticism (if such a label is even appropriate) is one of the more innovative concepts in the book. Also, because of the numerous theories being proposed or expanded on for the first time, this work is most appropriate for scholars already familiar with the text and hoping to engage with it in order to further their own research. This does not mean that is cannot be used by the student audience that Bodner envisions. It is well written and most of the terminology is at least minimally defined, but it would be most beneficial to advanced students who already had some experience of these texts in particular and hermeneutics in general.

Luke Emehiele Ijezie, THE INTERPRETATION OF THE HEBREW WORD ‫( עם‬PEOPLE) IN SAMUEL-KINGS (European University Studies, Series XXIII Theology, 830; Bern: Peter Lang, 2007). Pp. 341. Paper, US$67.95. ISBN 978-3-03911-139-8. Reviewed by Garrett Galvin Catholic University of America The Interpretation of the Hebrew Word ‫( עם‬People) in Samuel-Kings is based on Luke Ijezie’s 2005 doctoral dissertation at the Pontifical Gregorian University, Rome, under the direction of Stephen Pisano, S.J. Ijezie studies the semantic range of the word in three parts consisting of seven chapters. The three parts focus on kin relations, political relations, and religious relation. The book adheres to the historical-critical method with an emphasis on the literary-critical dimension of this method. The 28-page bibliography attests to a thorough literary review of the major works in

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German, French, Italian, and English. The book includes important and helpful discussions of key Hebrew terms such as “tribe,” “man,” “city,” “leader,” etc. Ijizie best illustrates the need for this book in his conclusion, where he notes that previous scholars limited ‫ עם‬to kinship or military terminology. Ijezie offers us a broader semantic range: “one can speak of the ‫ עם‬of a clan, the ‫ עם‬of a tribe, the ‫ עם‬of a city or territory, the ‫ עם‬of a state, the ‫עם‬ of a leader, the ‫ עם‬of a religious institution, the ‫ עם‬of a Deity, etc.” (p. 293). Although Ijezie never quite says it, some sense of kinship underlies all these meanings of ‫עם‬. His research accentuates one of his concluding statements that the deity functions as the ‫ עם‬of the individual or group in a sense complementing ideas of kin. Part I consists of two chapters on clan and tribe respectively. An introduction precedes it that consists of a good and helpful summation of recent scholarship on the lexical meaning of ‫עם‬, semantics, and methodology. Ijezie distinguished between ‫( משׁפחה‬clan) and ‫אב בית‬ (family). He distinguishes himself from Van der Toorn’s view of ‫ עם‬and ‫ משׁפחה‬as coterminous and Albertz’s more fluid position on ‫עם‬. He makes an important distinction: “While ‫ משׁפחה‬expresses the whole kinship group as a natural fact, ‫ עם‬expresses the organizational dimension of the kinship group. This is why the components of ‫ עם‬are usually the functional male members of the kin group, while the components of ‫ משׁפחה‬consist of every member irrespective of age, gender or rank” (p. 59). In his chapter on tribe, Ijezie prefers de Gues’s work, which stresses the transition from city to state rather than tribe to state. He consistently shows the difficulty of understanding tribe, whereas ‫( עיר‬city) “concretizes and embodies the tribe” (p. 83). One problem is that Ijezie shows the tension between the work of scholars such as Von Rad and Ahlström, but does not take a definitive position. This becomes difficult in the discussion of the origins of Israel and various other dating issues. He states that “varying currents of scholarship are converging on the view that early Israel emerged as a common ethnic identity that gradually developed among the ancient inhabitants of the highland villages of Canaan.” (p. 99) Yet he later stresses that the “motif of liberation from Egypt brings into focus Israel’s original identity as a people liberated from secular leadership to theocratic leadership” (p. 253). Nonetheless, these two chapters offer a nice synthesis

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of current scholarship with an important new understanding of clan, tribe, and city. Part II has chapters on political structures, body of participants in warfare, and body of participants in governance. He focuses on city again in order to show how the importance of inheritance expresses symbolically one’s full membership in ‫עם‬. Ijezie demonstrates that ‫ עם‬has a closer relationship with city than nation or kingdom until we examine religious relation. ‫ עם‬still connotes army in many instances in Samuel-Kings, but the term appears fluid as it comes to mean a professional band of warriors often employed by the king. In the war between David and Saul, only David’s group is referred to as ‫עם‬. It loses some of its kinship and fraternal meaning here as its base component is ‫ אישׁ‬rather than ‫אח‬. In the final chapter of this part, he makes the point about ‫עם‬: “it is Absalom’s cause which gives the Israelites the common identity as ‫ עם‬for the first time within the Davidic monarchy” (p. 195). This identity fluctuates until it ceases to refer to Israelites and starts to be used by Judahites alone in 2 Kings 11. His discussion of the Succession Narrative has important implications as he finds it disjointed in a manner that supports Noth over Cross in terms of no Josianic redaction. My major concern with this part is his understanding of ‫ עם‬within the story of Rehoboam in 1 Kings 12. Is the ‫ עם‬of 1 Kgs 12:5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 12, 13, 15 really an assembly in the sense of a body of participants in governance? Does Ijezie appreciate the genre of this story? Is the story about an assembly or the foolishness of Rehoboam? The ‫ עם‬here appear to be a group of elders and a group of peers rather than an assembly dedicated to governance. The third and shortest part concerns religious relations. These two chapters involve the community of YHWH’s subjects and YHWH’s ‫ עם‬and the monarchy. These two chapters show how Dtr tries to find a balance between “the divine legitimacy of the king with his popular legitimacy” (p. 272). Deut 17:15 displays the Deuteronomic position that influences Samuel-Kings. This position subverts the ANE model of kingship as the king is both a ‫( נגיד‬caretaker) of YHWH’s flock and a kinsman of the people of YHWH. The Dtr king no longer possesses his own ‫ ;עם‬rather he becomes YHWH’s elected guardian. Kinship returns to the conversation as YHWH takes the role here as paternal uncle in much the same way as operated in traditional models of clan. This third part demonstrates well how Dtr influences notions of kinship in Samuel-Kings. Unlike the other parts, Ijezie does not examine the historical reality of Dtr’s ideas. The

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theology here makes sense, but one wonders if kings were actually relegated to such a diminished role. I found Ijezie’s book insightful and exegetically both rigorous and consistent. It comprises a solid contribution to the field.

Melody D. Knowles, CENTRALITY PRACTICED: JERUSALEM IN THE RELIGIOUS PRACTICE OF YEHUD AND THE DIASPORA IN THE PERSIAN PERIOD (SBL Archaeology and Biblical Studies, 16; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2006). Pp. vii + 181. Paper, US$24.95. ISBN 158983-175-6. Reviewed by Jeremiah Cataldo Seton Hall University According to Melody Knowles, Centrality Practiced looks at the “physical expressions of the Yahwists of the Persian period to see how the centrality of Jerusalem was practiced” (p. 3). The chapters of the work more or less tackle this focus from a variety of perspectives. Chapter 1, “Centrality and Religious Practice,” explores in introductory fashion centrality as it relates to religious practice. Chapter 2, “The Centralities of Yahwistic Animal Sacrifice,” compares biblical references addressing the permitted areas for animal sacrifice. Chapter 3, “Centrality and the Religious Use of Incense and Figurines,” analyzes the use of incense and figurines as a substitute or supplement to animal sacrifice in ‘non-centralized’ locations. Chapter 4, “Jerusalem as a Pilgrimage Center in Persian Period,” traces out references to pilgrimage in the Persian-period biblical texts. Chapter 5, “Centrality through Economics,” argues that the regular sending of “taxes and/or tithes” to Jerusalem reflects a “posture of obligation” to the city. The final chapter, “The Palimpsest of Jerusalem’s Centrality,” is an exercise in theoretical comparison of the centrality of Jerusalem to a palimpsest. There are several points of issue upon which Knowles’ argument rests. She assumes that the centrality of the Jerusalem temple was a “real theological conviction of its adherents” (p. 4). These adherents appear to be

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the golah community and the Yahwists in diaspora. For instance, “These communal expressions of centrality, as far as they can be discerned in the extant sources, give expression and help to construct adherence to the God who (once again) dwells in Jerusalem” (p. 17). It is a very Ezekielian sentiment (cf. Ezek 43:1-5). Confining the heartbeat of Yehud to a specific grouping of people reflects her argument that the centrality of Jerusalem was maintained by substituting the ‘geography of habitation’ with the ‘geography of religious practice’ (cf. p. 8). By restricting centrality to practice, the author separates from any relevant geographical-spatial discussion those parties whose practices diverged from, varied on, or rejected the practices she argues supported centrality. Such practices are quickly passed over by way of stating that the textual record shows a decreasing trend in non-central practices (p. 15). In other words, the ‘people of the land,’ for important example, do not appear to be a significant matter of consideration. Yet she also observes that the archaeological record does not support the emerging centrality of animal sacrifice in the biblical texts (pp. 52-53). For the biblical authors this produced a need to promote the authority of Jerusalem over “rival shrines.” This need, Knowles states, became an important focus in texts such as Chronicles and even Ezra. According to the biblical authors, sacrifice to Yahweh could commence because Yahweh had returned with the previously exiled. This explains to an extent why the Passover attains such a place of prominence within Ezra (cf. 6:16-22)— Yahweh ‘passed over’ and separated the chosen seed from the ‘pollutions of the land.’ Competition between places of worship and sacrifice, Knowles concludes, suggests only a “partially realized” centralizing tendency. Archaeological evidence such as incense burners from Tel en-Nasbeh, Gezer, and Lachish point to the use of incense as acts of non-sacrificial worship by Yahwists unable to travel to Jerusalem (cf. p. 75). In addition, she argues that the promise by Yedanyah and his associates in Elephantine not to offer burnt offerings reflects a desire to observe the centrality of the Jerusalem temple. Two points of consideration may be offered here. The first is that there is no clear indication in the biblical texts or otherwise that the high priest in Jerusalem held jurisdiction over the community in Elephantine. The petition for aid (AP 30/31)—which is generally the source used to argue Jerusalem priestly authority—was sent to a number of individuals: Bagohi, governor of Yehud; Yehohanan the high priest and his colleagues; Ostanes, brother of Anani; and to the Judean nobles (cf. AP

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30/31[:19-22]). Yedanyah and his associates look for aid from parties outside the jurisdiction of their immediate political authorities. The petition itself does not specify the nature of the relationship that these had with the Yahwists in Elephantine. Secondly, it may be more likely that Yedanyah and his colleagues promised to halt animal sacrifices so that they would not offend ‘our lord’ who may either have been the local governor or Arshama the satrap (cf. AP 33)—either one of which had immediate jurisdiction over the area. If that is the case, then the decision to halt sacrifices was a politically motivated one. Knowles states that the prophets and the historical narratives present two different perspectives on pilgrimage, namely future orientation or contemporary practice (p. 103). This together with scant archaeological remains from Jerusalem suggests to her two possible outcomes, otherwise two models of interpretation: the texts reflect either wishful thinking or reality (cf. p. 102). “In both of these interpretations, Jerusalem still has claims for being the geographic center of the Yahwistic religion of this period, although its visitors are greater or lesser in number depending on the chosen model” (p. 103). Her argument that tithe and tax demonstrate the centrality of Jerusalem is stronger than others. Yet given the chapter’s focus on economics, her emphasis on religious tithe to the almost detriment of imperial taxes, and likewise any strong political or economic foundation, threatens the strength of her argument here (cf. pp. 119-120). Certainly the Jerusalem temple was important for the economy, but mostly to the extent that it was a center of distribution and exchange within an imperial economic system uncontrolled by the golah community. Joachim Schaper’s work on the ‘king’s chest’ and the role of the imperial official connected to it, which gets brief mention (pp. 107, 118), provides documentation for an imperial practice of using temples as tax collection agencies. Given that the social-political administration of Yehud was maintained by the imperial government through its appointees, an argument for economic centrality would have been greatly supported by clearly showing an imperial precedent. That centrality in Jerusalem can be compared to a palimpsest is an argument not well articulated. It is not clear what exactly about the idea of centrality is being compared: the discussed practices that led to centrality, those practices as reflections of an already determined centrality, or centrality as an expression of a collective identity. It also seems to raise more questions than it answers. For instance, “Like a palimpsest, centrality

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was reworked through time, but it was also enacted in different ways by different communities and individuals at the same time. According to the extant textual and artifactual evidence, the practice of centrality was neither entirely univocal nor consistent” (p. 128). Overall, the work tended to move too quickly through its discussions of the evidence. For instance, the section on tithes in Trito-Isaiah is approximately four sentences (p. 108). Sections also tended to list relevant biblical references without much sustained discussion. Given Knowles’ own findings that centrality was not always realized, sustained discussion on how the ‘practice’ of centrality conflicted with the social-religious reality—one that included the people of the land—in Yehud would have been helpful. While this work is an interesting study, and even at times a helpful review, it does not break any new ground. What it does that is of credit is call attention to, consciously and unconsciously, the need for continued discussion regarding the interrelationship of the social, economic, political, and religious realities of Yehud.

Giovanni Garbini, MYTH AND HISTORY IN THE BIBLE (Journal for the Old Testament, Supplement Series 362; London/New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003). Pp. viii + 150. Paper, US$49.95. ISBN 0-567-04014-3. Reviewed by David Bergen University of Calgary Garbini’s short volume is an exercise in reading the Hebrew Bible for its form rather than its content, thereby rendering its historiography an effect rather than the cause of late Second Temple Judaism (cf. Daniel Boyarin “Justin Martyr Invents Judaism,” Church History 70 [2001] 427-61). While this approach is typical of biblical scholarship, Garbini’s perspective on the biblical form is atypical: the Bible is historical in composition alone—all that lies within is myth (p. vii). To reconstruct the mythmaking process in/behind the Bible, Garbini analyzes an impressive range of texts within and outside the canon. Contrary to conventional redactional understandings, Garbini posits a late (second century BCE) author within a

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priestly milieu who, imitating the Hellenistic genre of historiography, was responsible for altering the texts at his disposal to create a grand narrative cast within a distinctive ideological frame. Each of Garbini’s ten chapters works the inverted effect-cause formula. A post-exilic hierocratic group in Jerusalem projected a set of mythical origins for Israel, its biology linked to Abraham, its religion to Moses, and its nationhood to Joshua, with each legendary effect underwritten by an anti-Egyptian signature (Chapter 1). This same hierocratic regime used the Hebrew tradition of Cain “the blacksmith” to justify theologically its murderous rise to power (Chapter 2). Whereas the book of Amos and the Damascus Document of Qumran situated Abraham in Damascus, the Genesis “effect” performed a damnatio memoriae reflective of second century sectarian debates over the origin of Abraham (Chapter 3). The negative portrayal of Reuben in the legendary material of the eponymous sons of Jacob was a revisionist effect that transferred the negative portrayals of Judah onto Reuben to ameliorate the latter's rightful claim of primogeniture, granting Judah—at the time of writing, a small state fortunate to have survived the vicissitudes of history—theological and ideological primacy over the tribes of Israel (Chapter 4). The association between Moses and the Law was the effective creation of the anti-Egyptian priestly class in Jerusalem who severed ancient connections between the prophet and Egypt and in the process, formulated an ideology that devalued not only the position of the monarchy but also the counter-claims of the Samaritan group (Chapter 5). Devaluation of kingship continues in Garbini’s investigation of King David: the image of David as a mythical warrior, so successful in incarnating the liberation hopes of the beleaguered state of second century Judah, was deemed threatening to the Judean priesthood, who consequently curtailed the hero-figure with an anointing at the hand of a prophet and a forging of a covenant between people and deity, not between king and deity as was the ANE norm (Chapter 6). The popular Exodus story of the golden calf was an effect of the political debate between Levites and priests of the Hellenistic period, one which ever-since has skewed readings of the calf in Bethel. The “sin” of Bethel was not idolatry as is commonly assumed, but rather the subversive political intent of the elevation of the agricultural icon, symbolic of a covenant between god and king, directed against the insecure Jerusalem centre (Chapter 7). The figure of Ezra, a mythical literary effect unknown to Ben Sira and never mentioned in Nehemiah, was birthed in the post-monarchic context of second-century Jerusalem when, during the rise

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of sectarian Judaism, a shift from priestly to rabbinic powers occurred (Chapter 8). The myth of a Davidic messiah destined to fight a victorious cosmic battle against mythical opponents became, in the hand of Christian mythmakers, a figure who must descend powerless into the Netherworld in an act of supreme immolation (Chapter 9). And finally, anomalous characterizations of the divine in the Bible, in particular the Genesis version of the Jacob/Jabbok story with the patriarch triumphing over the irascible Yahweh, lead Garbini to posit a shift in Jerusalem from a Law-andProphets religion to a demythologized religion based on moral conduct, individual conscience, and rational skepticism (Chapter 10). While Garbini’s (effect-cause) formula is readily apparent in each chapter, his work is anything but formulaic. Once the reader has accommodated to Garbini’s perspective on myth and history, his discussion never fails to intrigue, his philology to impress, nor his conclusions to provoke. Clearly, we have here the work of a seasoned scholar who has ruminated long and read wide. At times the discussion is dense, even obscure; students might find this book challenging, made more so by the omission of English translation for Hebrew passages (translations are provided for Latin or Greek texts however). Yet, patient working through the arguments and texts yields exegetical insight, even pleasure as Garbini juxtaposes Ezra with Enoch, Abraham with the Qumranites, Cain with Jesus. In reflecting meta-critically on Garbini’s work, this reviewer wonders whether scholars bent on mythicizing the biblical text are not themselves participants in a program as ideological as the biblical writer’s, namely the generation of ancient effects whose cause is more readily located in the present (twenty-first century academia) rather than the past (first century BCE Jerusalem). For as Garbini notes, “if one is dealing with a remote past, history-including the sacred one—is always easier to write” (p. 71).

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James W. Watts, RITUAL AND RHETORIC IN LEVITICUS: FROM SACRIFICE TO SCRIPTURE (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). Pp. xviii + 257. Hardback, US$85.00. ISBN 978-0-521-87193-8. Reviewed by Bernon P. Lee Grace College and Seminary Winona Lake, Indiana In this volume, James Watts analyzes the rituals of Leviticus seeking to understand the rhetorical intent of these texts: who was trying to persuade whom of what? Beyond an introduction to the scope of the task (Chapter 1), the chapters of the first portion of the book (2 through 6) analyze specific texts in Leviticus. The remaining chapters (7 through 9) turn to define the impact of the rhetorical design of these texts upon the functions of the priesthood, the sacrificial cult and scripture. In defining his task (Chapter One), Watts reviews the work of various scholars (mostly that of Jacob Milgrom and Mary Douglas), and concludes that no coherent description of the symbolic value and the meaning of the rituals in Leviticus is sustainable due to the sparsity of explanatory data within these texts. The essential weakness in these studies, according to Watts, is the failure to recognize that the search for the meaning in a text about a ritual is distinct from the quest for the meaning in a performance of that same ritual. For Watts, the rhetorical tendencies of the texts reveal a concern for buttressing the authenticity and prestige of the sacrificial cult, its priestly guardians and functionaries, and the authority of the scriptures that safeguard the prestige of the institution and its personnel. Detailed explanation for the rituals is beyond the scope of the texts. The following chapters up through Chapter Six provide data from texts supporting the aforementioned claims. The recurrence of stock phrases and clauses such as “a fire-offering of soothing scent for YHWH” and “the priest will make atonement for them and they will be forgiven” in Leviticus 1-7 promote a sense of the effectiveness of such procedures (Chapter Two).

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Also, a sustained second-person address of the reader renders prominent the immediacy of such prescriptions for orthodox practice. Chapter Three argues that the priority of the ‘burnt offering’ in the order of the presentation of rituals throughout Leviticus 1-7 elevates the selfless quality of Israelite sacrifice. The promotion of this ideal ameliorates the portrayal of the sacrificial cult, and ensures (perhaps by diverting attention from) provision for priests through cultic prebends derived from other offerings. The increasing frequency of terms derived from ‫ חטא‬and ‫ אשׁם‬in Leviticus 4-5, the argument of Chapter Four, expresses the urgent need for remedy through sacrificial offering. Once again, the efficacy of the sacrificial cult that stems from correct practice and the facilitation of the appropriate personnel is at the forefront. A survey of the semantic range in the verb ‫( כפר‬in Chapter Six), from the provision of compensation to purification, reveals a similar rhetorical purpose behind the use of that term. The impact of Leviticus 8-10, according to Watts in Chapter Five, is the conviction that the inaugural sacrifices are performed in accordance with custom (‫)כמשׁפט‬. In contrast, Nadab and Abihu’s actions (Lev 10:1-3) are an aberration. The mysterious nature of Aaron’s departure from established procedure in Lev 10:16-20, and Moses’ satisfaction with his explanation, only serves to underscore Aaron’s authority (and by extension, that of the Aaronide priesthood) in the interpretation of cultic procedure. A second part to the book, Chapter Seven through Chapter Nine, turns to consider the larger literary setting and the historical location for the rhetorical import of the ritual texts. Chapter Seven’s survey of early Jewish and Christian writings, as well as many from later periods, finds a general lack of recognition of the strong support for the Aaronide priesthood in the ritual texts of Leviticus. Other texts (Elephantine papyri, Ben Sira, etc.), however, suggest that a thriving community under priestly leadership in the Second Temple period was the object and location for the rhetorical agenda of Leviticus. A similarly displaced focus infects the understanding of the sacrificial offerings of Leviticus in biblical and extra-biblical material (from late antiquity to the modern period). Chapter Eight reveals, in these interpretations, an inappropriate reliance upon stories about ‘sacrifice’ which fail to attend to the rhetorical thrusts of the ritual texts themselves. Chapter Nine brings an end to the volume with the suggestion that the zealous defense of priestly authority and procedure forms the primary argument leading to an authoritative status for the Pentateuch; the authority

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of other legal content is a secondary development, a consequence, of this initial thrust. The attention this study brings to the rhetorical design of ritual texts in Leviticus complements the wealth of material of an historical and comparative nature available to biblical scholars. Its concise and focused approach (defining the overt communicative content of the text) allows readers to hear the unadulterated message of Leviticus, prior to its inclusion within the chorus of interpretation for ritual within the Hebrew Bible. Commendable is the ability of Watts to incorporate ambiguities within the texts into his descriptions of their design. Much attention, for example, has fallen on defining the exact nature of Aaron’s explanation for the departure from cultic procedure in Lev 10:16-20. Watts, however, finds a simple but triumphant expression of approval for Aaron as interpreter of ritual in these verses. The obscurity of the rationale of Aaron’s explanation serves to underscore his ability to make sense of the complexities of the sacrificial cult. The greater the degree of confusion for the reader regarding the details of the explanation, the greater becomes the admiration for Aaron and, by extension, the priesthood. The point of the passage is not an explanation for the exception to established practice, but rather that Aaron did explain the anomaly to the satisfaction of Moses. This reading fits well with the exhortation to adhere to established procedure, including recognition for the authority of selected agents and officials, the precise import of Leviticus 8-10. The methods Watts brings to the discussion over ritual in the Pentateuch will prove an enduring contribution for years to come.

Calum Carmichael, ILLUMINATING LEVITICUS: A STUDY OF ITS LAWS AND INSTITUTIONS IN THE LIGHT OF BIBLICAL NARRATIVES (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006). Pp. x + 212. Cloth, US$55.00. ISBN 0-8018-8500-0. Reviewed by William Gilders Emory University

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In this new work, Calum Carmichael continues the project of most of his previous books, seeking to demonstrate that biblical law collections were composed in reflection on Israel’s national narratives. Here he deals with Leviticus 10-17 and 21-25, having treated Leviticus 18-20 in an earlier study, Law, Legend, and Incest in the Bible: Leviticus 18-20 (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1997). As the title indicates, Carmichael’s goal is to shed light on the meaning of various laws in Leviticus. According to Carmichael, the entirety of Israel’s national narrative, from Genesis to 2 Kings, existed in more-or-less its present form, prior to the composition of the legal materials that now appear at various points in the Pentateuch. Reflection on this narrative by the scribe who composed the legal materials that make up most of Leviticus (whom Carmichael regularly refers to as “the lawgiver”) determined the contents and organization of the laws. The laws of Leviticus are fictive constructions, exercises in producing laws, stimulated by engagement with narratives and their key themes. As rhetorical exercises, they are not connected with practical legal concerns. Like many of the reviewers of Carmichael’s earlier works, my main questions and concerns relate to issues of hermeneutics. While some reviewers of his previous works have suggested that Carmichael is attempting to revive the allegorical approach to the interpretation of the Hebrew Bible, in my judgment his approach is more correctly related to classic rabbinic midrash in its creative intertextuality, the meaninggenerating juxtapositions of texts such that the new intertextual product is more than the sum of its parts (to use Daniel Boyarin’s language). Like the Sages, Carmichael takes rough patches in the textual texture as clues to authorial intention to say something more significant than the obvious, literal sense of the text might suggest. The perceived irregularities invite a search for an intertextual solution. Carmichael searches for means of linking texts, identifying shared themes and especially common language. His basic approach depends heavily on applying a form of gezera shava (linking texts through common vocabulary) to juxtapose laws with narratives. For example, Carmichael links the ritual instructions for the “Day of Atonement” in Leviticus 16 with the stories of Joseph and his brothers (Genesis 37, 39-50) by noting that a goat figures in both texts, that both texts involve concern with sin, repentance, and reconciliation, and that both texts share the noun ‫( פשע‬Lev 16:16, 21 and Gen 50:17).

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Were Carmichael explicit about attempting such a midrashic exercise in a modern and non-rabbinic context, one might be more willing to appreciate and even celebrate these creative intertextual products. However, since Carmichael in fact asserts that he has uncovered the original ancient Israelite authorial intention, one must wonder about his historical claims. Has Carmichael effectively demonstrated that a biblical “lawgiver” created the legal materials as they now appear in Leviticus in direct engagement with biblical narratives? Are the intertextual relationships Carmichael identifies really a product of deliberate authorial activity, or are they a function of one modern reader’s creativity? The Rabbis presented their own intertextual activity as the actualization of Divine Intentionality, and claimed special authority for discerning such intentionality. Carmichael’s own authority claims are more modest, but for that reason more inviting of critique. Scholars have long understood that a later reader’s ability to form intertextual links is not evidence that such links were known or intended by the author. Carmichael, in my judgment, makes historical claims without having reliable criteria for testing them. Moreover, many of Carmichael’s textual linkages appear quite forced. For example, he argues that the laws on skin diseases in Leviticus 13-14 were composed in relation to the account of the Ark afflicting the Philistines with “tumors” (1 Sam 5:9; ‫)עפלים‬. He asserts that these “tumors” can be equated with a skin disease on the basis of Deut 28:27 (the only other place where the noun occurs), ignoring the strong evidence that the term is correctly understood either as “hemorrhoids” (see, e.g., the NJPS Tanakh) or as the swellings of bubonic plague, neither of which properly fall within the framework of biblical ‫צרעת‬. Most problematically, he fails to explain why the term ‫ עפלים‬fails to appear within the lengthy and highly technical treatment of skin diseases and analogous infections of clothing and houses in Levitical 13-14. To paraphrase a classic statement about Rabbi Akiva’s halakhic midrashim, Carmichael has established mounds and mounds of meaning on very small textual linkages. Indeed, in this respect, all of the standard criticisms of midrashic activity, and of gezera shava as a hermeneutical method, come fully into play. As the school of Rabbi Ishmael argued in its controversy with the school of Rabbi Akiva, gezera shava is a method of linking texts that allows for almost limitless association, with no means of control. Carmichael is an Akivan in his approach! Moreover, a modern Ibn Ezra or Rashbam would note that Carmichael has blurred an important

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distinction between derash and peshat, and ends up presenting his midrashic readings as if they are the plain sense of the text. A comparison with the work of Gershon Hepner (see, for example, “The Separation Between Abram and Lot Reflects the Deuteronomic Law Prohibiting Ammonites and Moabites,” ZAW 117 [2005]: 36-52) indicates how easy it is to construct intertextual patterns once one has abandoned any notion of methodological controls to such textual juxtaposition. Hepner, however, advances a thesis that is the polar opposite of Carmichael’s, arguing that narratives were composed on the basis of legal codes, to illustrate their application and meaning. Why should one accept Carmichael’s theory of the intertextual relationship over Hepner’s? Why must we assume that the narratives came prior to the laws? A further difficulty with Carmichael’s approach is the lack of crosscultural evidence for his basic claim that legal compositions reflect narratives. Other legal collections in the ancient Near East, such as the Code of Hammurapi, give evidence of being deliberate, rhetorical constructions. But where is the evidence that they were constructed through reflection on narratives? If the biblical “lawgiver” did indeed compose laws as reflections on narratives, should we not expect to find some similar phenomenon in ancient Israel’s cultural world? Carmichael is certainly correct to urge that biblical law be read for its rhetorical power, and to caution against assuming that laws inevitably address immediate practical concerns, points that have also been made quite cogently by James Watts. However, Carmichael’s extreme insistence that all biblical law depends on pre-existing narrative seems destined to win few adherents, depending as it does on problematic hermeneutical assumptions.

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Michael Malessa, UNTERSUCHUNGEN ZUR VERBALEN VALENZ IM BIBLISCHEN HEBRÄISCH (Studia Semitica Neerlandica, 49; Assen: van Gorcum, 2006). Pp. xiv + 250. Cloth €85,00. ISBN 90-232-4240-8. Reviewed by Richard Benton University of Wisconsin-Madison Michael Malessa’s book represents the published form of his 2003 dissertation under the direction of Prof. T. Muraoka. This book addresses the problem of varying uses of prepositions in Biblical Hebrew. Malessa finds solutions in the areas of syntax, semantics, and historical linguistics. Chapter one lays out Malessa’s linguistic model. First, he asserts a model of the sentence where the verb is central, and all the complements lie on the same level. This model is distinct from the most popular syntactic models among linguists, where the subject stands outside the verb phrase, and the complements and adjuncts of the verb stand inside the verb phrase. Second, Malessa explains valence theory, which includes “quantitative” valence (“number of complements”), “qualitative” valence (“form of the complements”), and “selectional” valence (“semantic characteristics and semantic rolls of the complements”) (pp. 7-8). In chapter Two Malessa looks at two ways that the direct object (E2) is expressed, that is, with or without the object marker, ‫’ את‬et. His data mainly come from among eleven common verbs in the prose corpus of Genesis-2 Kings. The first experiment shows that nouns that are human, animate, and concrete occur with the marker more often than without it. These types of nouns commonly correlate with subjects, so the marker occurs in instances where the reader is most likely to interpret the noun as a subject. In the second experiment, Malessa demonstrates that the marker occurs more often the farther away from the beginning of the sentence the noun appears. Later biblical books, however, demonstrate a slightly reduced usage of the direct object marker (p. 60). He concludes that the object marker is used to disambiguate the E2 from the subject.

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Chapter Three addresses the alternation of a nominal E2 and an object of a phrase with the preposition -‫ ב‬b-. Aktionsart (mainly referring to situation aspect) and object affectedness frame his discussion (p. 68). Malessa finds that the nominal direct object corresponds to telic actions, and more fully affected direct objects. In contrast, a prepositional phrase with -‫ ב‬b- corresponds to durative actions, and less fully affected objects. Chapter Four demonstrates how sentential complements can be integrated into the valence of a verb to varying degrees. Syntactically, a sentential complement is “deeply” integrated if the sentence refers to the E2 and/or if the conjunction is subordinating (such as ‫ כי‬kî) (p. 140). Sense verbs, such as “see” and “hear,” generally demonstrate deep integration of sentential elements (p. 144). Chapter Five looks at infinitival complements, comparing those preceded by the preposition -‫ ל‬l- with those with no preposition. Arguing against Jenni and Burggraaf, who claim that the presence or absence of the preposition in these contexts is semantically motivated,[1] Malessa shows that semantic correlations are not consistent. Nevertheless, he notes the importance of historical development, for in later Biblical Hebrew the infinitive appears consistently with the preposition. Chapter Six focuses on the transitivity of speech verbs (verba dicendi) especially the preposition with which the addressee is formally marked.[2] Malessa explains the distribution of -‫ ל‬l- and ‫’ אל‬el with the verb ‫’אמר‬mr. Syntactically, -‫ ל‬l- is most often used when the addressee comes between the verb and the speaker, and ‫’ אל‬el when the speaker is not mentioned or is mentioned before the verb. Semantically, the former is used more often with a third person pronoun, and the latter, with proper nouns. With the verb ‫ דבר‬dbr, an addressee marked with ‫’ אל‬el implies that the speech act focuses more on the content, but an addressee marked with ‫’ את‬et emphasizes the action. With the verb ‫ קרא‬qr’, the alternation between bare noun phrases and nouns marked with various prepositions depends on the location of the addressee and whether motion is intended. These all represent important studies that further our knowledge of Biblical Hebrew. The disconnected nature of the studies in this work, however, and the lack of a decisive conclusion represent its weakest points. The final observations of Chapter Seven do not offer a clear way forward. Some phenomena arise from syntax, others from semantics, and still others from language change and idiolect without clear relationships to each other. While Malessa presents insightful observations on preposition use, a

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more synthetic model to explain the broad variations would have helped this book. Nevertheless, Malessa’s approach to transitivity fits well into the current linguistic paradigm. Hopper and Thompson presented multiple facets of transitivity expressed by the world’s languages, such as action vs. non-action, telic vs. atelic, and high vs. low potential for agency, where the first in each of the oppositions correlates with high transitivity.[3] Malessa’s results often correlate with Hopper and Thompson’s model, and Malessa refers to the latter a few times. More explicit analysis in light of this view of transitivity, e.g., in his discussion of affectedness of subject and situation aspect, could strengthen Malessa’s analysis. [1] Ernst Jenni, “Vollverb und Hilfsverb mit Infinitiv-Ergänzung im Hebräischen,” Zeitschfirft für Althebräistik 11 (1998), 50-67; Maarten Burggraaf, “Een onderzoek naar functie en gebruik van de infinitives constructus voorafgegaan door de prepositie l in het Klassike Hebreeuws” (Ph.D. diss., Leiden, 1989). [2] Malessa challenges the view of Ernst Jenni expressed in “Einleitung formeller und familiärer Rede im Alten Testament durch 'mr 'l- und 'mr l-,” in Vielseitigkeit des Alten Testaments: Festschrift für Georg Sauer zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. James Alfred Loader and Hans Volker Kieweler, Wiener Alttestamentliche Studien, vol. 1 (Frankfurt a. M.: Peter Lang, 1999), 17-33. [3] P. Hopper and S. Thompson, “Transitivity in Grammar and Discourse,” Language 56 (1980): 251-300.

Mark Gray, RHETORIC AND SOCIAL JUSTICE IN ISAIAH (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies, 432; New York/London: T & T Clark, 2006). Pp. x + 306. Hardcover, US$120.00. ISBN 567-02761-9. Reviewed by Michael Duggan St. Mary’s University College Calgary, Alberta

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YHWH in Isaiah is not the same deity as the God of the Ecumenical Councils of the fourth and fifth centuries CE or of the reformers in the 16th century CE. Gray does not make this claim in such stark terms, but he infers as much as his study provides a through-going protest against the prescriptive commentaries, which read the text through the lens of Calvinist theology. His is more a work of biblical theology than of exegesis. It is informed by variety of influences, including Gray’s involvement in education, pastoral care in social justice in Africa, his reading of Jacques Derrida and postmodern thinkers, his exposure to post-colonial commentators in both Africa and the world of the north, and his deliberations over a theology of mission within the context of religious pluralism in the contemporary world. Gray’s examination consists of six parts: (1) an introduction to rhetorical criticism; (2) a description of the links between Isa 1:16-17 and Isaiah 58, the Isaian cries for social justice; (3) an exposition of social justice in Isa 58:6-10; (4) a listing of God’s punishments of the poor as contradiction to justice in Isaiah; (5) an inquiry into the legitimacy of Isaiah’s call to trust YHWH; and (6) a conclusion, which emphasizes the human commitment to justice, even in the absence of God’s reliability as a participant in the cause. Gray views the book of Isaiah as a narrative whole. Nevertheless, he begins his rhetorical examination with a review of commentaries, which acknowledge the distinctions between First, Second and Third Isaiah (Isaiah 1-39; 40-55; and 56-66). Gray draws upon the findings of redactional critics who highlight thematic similarities between Isaiah 1 and 58, including the desolating circumstances of the people, YHWH’s criticism of ritual observance by people who practice treachery, and YHWH’s call for social justice as the expression of authentic worship. He proposes that these two texts, which are the rallying cry for an end to oppression and rights for the poor, constitute the ends of an arc spanning the complete book of Isaiah. However, Gray points out that, between Isaiah 1 and 58, the book contains a variety of disturbing contrasts to the presentation of YHWH as the defender of the poor and the advocate of justice. He examines in detail texts that give lie to the thesis that God is innocent of his people’s blood. Isa 9:16 (Eng. v.17) reports YHWH’s retributive attack on Israel’s young people, widows and orphans, neglecting to distinguish them from the powerful who had turned from covenant loyalty. This action is consistent with his determination to destroy Jerusalem in order to make it a righteous

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city (1:24-26). (This may resonate with the American military officer’s rationale for the 1969 Mai Lai massacre: “It became necessary to destroy the village in order to save it.”) Even texts that speak of YHWH’s condemnation of Judah’s leaders for their injustice do not demonstrate his innocence, in view of his punishing the whole people for the wrongdoings of the princes (5:13-15 cf. 3:13-15). YHWH extends his destructive intent to the world by voicing a determination to ravage the earth (24:17-20). Toward the end of the book, YHWH takes on the profile of a warrior bent on destroying all his adversaries on account of their lack of justice (59:15b19). The reader must now ask, “What kind of justice is possible if God uses violence and practices genocide in order to bring about righteousness?” Gray is passionate about the question because he is a minister, a person of faith, whose life-blood is the biblical Word of God. Perhaps for this reason, he protests against exegetes and biblical theologians, specialists in Isaiah, who attempt to excuse the violence of YHWH. He suggests these professionals are modern incarnations of Job’s friends, who attempt to defend the suffering of the destitute by declaring that somehow they deserve their plight (cf. Job 2:11). Gray rejects every attempt to use a doctrine of innate human corruption to justify YHWH’s retributive violence against Israel and Judah. Gray proposes that, by situating YHWH’s clarion demands for social justice at the beginning and end, the authors of the final version Isaiah, were suggesting how to live in a world in which even God may not be seen as a reliable source of justice. In such eras when human suffering bespeaks divine indifference or hostility, every person must practice justice, live in solidarity with the oppressed, share what they have with the destitute and count the most marginalized person as a member of one’s own family. This is the divine work that God calls forth from within human beings. Rhetoric and Social Justice in Isaiah validates any suspicion that perhaps the God of the Bible is not a trustworthy partner for the faithful who labor in the cause of justice and human rights. Nevertheless, it is not cynical. In fact, it calls for fearless and honest exegetical work, which validates doubt and protest against predetermined readings. Gray testifies to the precept that honest scholarly examination of the Bible will contribute to justice in the world by challenging religious institutions and animating them to labor on behalf of all marginalized people. This book is an appropriate resource for missionary institutes, seminaries and undergraduate programs in biblical studies.

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Gray could have enhanced his study by providing an outline of Isaiah according to themes of justice, ethnicity, retribution, and community, which are the foci of his attention. He provides insightful and sometimes provocative comments on contemporary issues of human rights, including American foreign policy, the Israeli-Palestinian tensions, and political dramas in post-colonial Africa.

Russell E. Gmirkin, BEROSSUS AND GENESIS, MANETHO AND EXODUS: HELLENISTIC HISTORIES AND THE DATE OF THE PENTATEUCH (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies, 433; Copenhagen International Series, 15; New York/London: T & T Clark, 2006). Pp. xii + 332. Cloth US$135.00. ISBN 0-567-02592-6. Reviewed by Joyce Rilett Wood Toronto This book has a bold thesis and detailed argumentation: The Pentateuch was written in the third century BCE (circa 273-272) by the same Jewish scholars who translated the Hebrew text into Greek (pp. 1-4). The primary literary evidence for this late dating comes from two Hellenistic historians, Berossus and Manetho, whom Gmirkin identifies as major figures of influence in the production of the Pentateuch. Accordingly, Genesis 1-11 is entirely dependent on Berossus’ Babyloniaca, thus on a single late source, and not directly on early Mesopotamian sources (pp. 89-139). The simplicity of this model is stressed (p. 136), since in lieu of multiple independent sources of different ages influencing Genesis, Berossus drew on the same Mesopotamian texts for his history and made them available in Greek to a wide readership, including Jewish scholars in Alexandria (pp. 91, 136-39). The Church fathers suggested dependence of Berossus on Genesis 1-11, but Hellenistic scholars (e.g. Schnabel, Burstein) think that a number of references are not what Berossus wrote himself but later interpolations by Jewish writers to make a reading conform to Genesis (pp. 96-97). For this reason most references are deleted from modern translations of his text

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(Burstein, The Babyloniaca of Berossus, 1978, p. 14, note 11). Gmirkin, however, talks about “strong parallels” between Berossus and Genesis, arguing that Genesis 1-11 borrowed from Berossus (p. 91). Berossus wrote Babyloniaca to instruct Greco-Macedonian rulers about Babylon and its cultural history (Burstein, pp. 5-6, 13). Not surprisingly, no one before Gmirkin has ever supposed that Berossus is the direct source for the authors of Genesis 1-11, especially since the hypothesis implies that learned Jews of the third century BCE chose an inferior literary work on Babylonian history, written in poor Greek (Burstein, p. 9), as the foundation for the introduction of their national history. Gmirkin rightly stresses the indebtedness of Genesis 1-11 to Mesopotamian sources (p. 135), but he is unable to show that Berossus has “better parallels” to Genesis “than the older cuneiform sources” (p. 136). If some parallel exists between Genesis 1-2 and Enuma Elish that does not appear in Berossus, Gmirkin asserts that it was likely present in the longer original version of Babyloniaca, thus resorting to argumentum e silentio to make his case (pp. 93, 94-95). The parallels between Genesis 1-2 and Berossus that are absent in Enuma Elish (the darkness of the primeval waters; the creation of animals) can be explained without the dependency of Genesis on Berossus (pp. 93-94, 96-100). Gmirkin contends that “the description of the primordial universe as darkness and water in Genesis did not derive directly from Enuma Elish, but was strikingly similar to the expansion of Enuma Elish seen only in Berossus” (p. 100). But if Berossus was able to deduce from Enuma Elish that Tiamat the primeval sea was darkness, then the writer of Gen 1:2 would have been able to make the same inference. Gmirkin supposes that Berossus exclusively based his story of creation on Enuma Elish (pp. 92, 96), thereby excluding the option that both Berossus and Genesis knew about the creation of animals from some Babylonian text other than Enuma Elish (Heidel, Babylonian Genesis, 1963, pp. 64, 117-18). For Gmirkin “the creation sequence in Enuma Elish” is “not exact enough to show direct dependency” of Genesis 1-2 on the Babylonian Creation Story (p. 92). Reversal of sequence, however, is one way ancient authors marked their reliance on literary sources (e.g., the order of stars, moon and sun in Enuma Elish is reversed in Genesis). Gmirkin makes the incredible claim that Berossus’s Oannes is “the prototype for the wise serpent of Gen 3” (p. 107). Gen 3:1 does not say that the serpent is “the wisest of all animals” (p. 106), but the serpent is “more cunning (‫ )ערום‬than any other creature”. Other than human speech, there is no resemblance between the

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snake of Genesis and the half-fish-half-human monster of Berossus (pp. 106-107). Gmirkin mentions the snake in the Epic of Gilgamesh who stole and ate the plant of life that would keep Gilgamesh eternally youthful (p. 104; ANET, 96). Parallels with the Garden story are acknowledged (p. 105), but Gmirkin seems unaware that the snake in the Gilgamesh Epic is the obvious source for the snake of Genesis who dupes the Man and Woman into eating fruit from the prohibited tree, thus preventing them from living forever. Gmirkin legitimately questions the scholarly hypothesis that Manetho’s History of Egypt depended on the biblical Exodus story for his account of the invasion by foreigners into Egypt and their eventual expulsion. Thus, he underlines the importance of distinguishing statements of Manetho from those of Josephus who identified the Hyksos with the Jews on the basis of the similarities between the Israelites of the Exodus story and the Hyksos of Manetho (pp. 81-82). What Gmirkin also needs to acknowledge is the great difficulty scholars have in identifying “genuine Manetho” in the excerpts cited by Josephus (F9-12 = Gmirkin, pp. 171-87, 192-214). How then can Gmirkin so confidently assert that the Exodus story is dependent on Manetho (pp. 182, 188) when his text, subject to ongoing polemic during the Hellenistic Age, was altered and embellished by pro- and antiJewish editors and chronographers? (Verbrugghe and Wickersham, Berossos and Manetho, pp. 115-20). How can Gmirkin be certain that Manetho mentioned Moses but also argue that Manetho knew nothing about Jewish traditions? (p. 188). Manetho “may or may not have mentioned the Jews and the exodus,” but “if he did, we cannot be certain as to his point of view” (Verbrugghe/Wickersham, p. 116). Even if it is true that Manetho did not have the Exodus story in mind (p. 182), it does not logically follow that the biblical story is modelled on Manetho’s account. At best this claim is only “possible”, as Gmirkin himself concedes (p. 188), but not probable unless it can be rigorously demonstrated. Gmirkin does not consider the possibility that Babylonian and Canaanite literary sources lie behind the Exodus story. Instead of identifying the Legend of Sargon as the literary model for the story of Moses’ birth (ANET, 119), Gmirkin interprets this subplot as a polemical response to Manetho: “It was not the Hyksos foreigners (Israelites) who tried to exterminate the Egyptians, but the Egyptians who tried to exterminate the Israelites” (p. 178). Gmirkin identifies striking parallels between the Exodus story of the Israelites and Manetho’s story of the Hyksos. Both Hyksos and Israelites

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were foreigners in Egypt, described as shepherds, expelled by the Egyptians and settled in Jerusalem (pp. 173, 175, 188). There are similarities in the storyline, but Gmirkin does not show there is detailed referencing in the Exodus story to Manetho’s account. That both accounts record a “blast of God on Egypt” (p. 188) is a general observation but not a specific quotation from Manetho that attests to literary dependence on him. Gmirkin analyzes common themes (expulsion, conquest, slavery) between Manetho and Exodus, but not the biblical text itself. His claim for the late dating of the Pentateuch is based on a small amount of text. Even Gmirkin accepts something of the Documentary hypothesis in proposing that diverse Pentateuchal sources, JEDP, were written by Jewish scholars in Alexandria (p. 3). In sum, Gmirkin’s book adds to our knowledge of the third century BCE but does little to increase our understanding of the Bible. Yet this volume is an intriguing read because it challenges us at every turn to think about source-critical questions and to ask about the direction of literary dependence.

Stefanie U. Gulde, DER TOD ALS HERRSCHER IN UGARIT UND ISRAEL (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 2. Reihe, 22; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007). Pp. xiv + 283. Paper, € 54.00. ISBN 978-3-16-1492143. Reviewed by Mark W. Hamilton Abilene Christian University Ancient Near Eastern views of death and life after death have elicited significant work recently, including two volumes by Jon Levenson, several collections of essays, and the present study, originally a dissertation directed by Herbert Niehr at Tübingen. Given the unavoidable and often tragic dimensions of death and humans’ attachment to hope of something beyond it, this interest should not be surprising. Moreover, careful attention to our ancestors’ thoughts on the subject may offer us forgotten insights. Thus Gulde’s work, which balances careful analysis of relevant ancient texts with

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an awareness of larger literary issues, does contribute to important reflections. By focusing on both Ugarit and Israel, she identifies a distinctively Syro-Palestinian, “westsemitisch” figure of a god M-w-t without strong parallels in the “official” cults of Egypt and Mesopotamia or their texts. In those cultures, death is a “metaphorisches Gestalt” and “ein personifiziertes Abstraktum,” not an integral part of the official religion (p. 240). Such a figure also appears in the West, with discrete images of death appearing across the entire Near East over many centuries, indicating not so much cultural borrowing as a widespread, region-wide approach to a universal fact of human existence. The themes of death’s greed, robbery, and monstrosity were widespread. As Gulde also argues, the biblical material develops an ever more abstract view of death. Early references to death appear mostly in laments, but the postexilic move to monolatry or even “rein monotheistischen Religion” (pp. 244-45) made it necessary to resolve the place of death in the overall plans of Yhwh, thus creating significant problems (and opportunities) for theodicy. Indeed, for all these religious systems, death presents a significant intellectual and emotional challenge, and all the ways of resolving it acknowledge that “der Tod dem Menschen unfaßbar bleibt” (p. 247). Gulde works out these themes in a series of moves. In Chapter A (pp. 1-62; the unit numbering is odd but ultimately undistracting), she considers the figure of death as a ruler, noting first that the images of death are not always fearsome, but show a greater complexity owing to human beings’ ambivalent attitudes toward death, the diversity and metaphors available for death, and the complexity of the act of figuration itself. On the last point, she discusses the problems associated with the use of mythological language in the Bible (and so-called demythologization; pp. 38-46), and the ways in which myth as a way of describing reality shapes the portrayal of individual characters and the use of metaphors within a given myth. Here Gulde, in my view, asks many of the right methodological questions, although, as she notes, we are still in the beginning stages of finding answers. Her discussion can perhaps help us avoid dead ends and false trails. Her survey of recent literature on the subject (e.g., by Korpel, Geyer, or Wyatt) points out that the Ugaritic material would make us look for a divine figure of death in Israel, but the variety of mythic treatments of major aspects of human existence across cultures must give us pause.

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The core of the book appears in Section B (pp. 63-238), which examines first ancient Near Eastern evidence and then the Bible. The material she studies from Israel’s Umwelt includes the story of Ani from Egypt (which contrasts life, creation, and Atum with chaos, death, and Apophis), the Gilgamesh Epic (especially X.6.13-15) and its (unsurprising) placement of the discussion of death in the context of lament, and most significantly, the treatment of Motu in Ugaritic texts (KTU 1.4.VIII.1-30; 1.82; and especially 1.23). Her treatment of the Ugaritic texts is most extensive and stimulating because she argues that Motu is not a figure of chaos, but an integral part of the cosmos (p. 115), thus forcing us to reconsider the facile contrasts of conventional wisdom. She concludes that Motu, “verkörpert als Figur in der Lebenswelt der Menschen abstrakte Erfahrungen mit lebensmindernden Faktoren mitsamt ihren dynamischen Aspekten” (p. 121), though he is a deity of some popularity under such avatars (my word, not hers) as Rašpu. However, it is worth noting that Motu does not receive cultic observances as such at Ugarit, as far as we can tell. (Regrettably, Smith’s new edition of KTU 1.23 appeared too late to influence Gulde’s work, though her excellent bibliography does include it.) Nor is it clear, at least to me, that Ugaritic presentations of Motu are all of a piece. Why see him as one figure, even in a single city, rather than several? A similar point goes for Gulde’s too cursory treatment of the Akkadian material, in which mūtu sometimes seems an impersonal force or reality seizing human beings and sometimes an all too personal demon (for a convenient list, see CAD 10/2: 317-18; some cases seem debatable, particularly in Gilgamesh). The ancient Near Eastern evidence may be even more complex than Gulde allows for, even though she has pushed us away from previous, less nuanced readings. Her work, along with others, signals a disintegration of older consensuses. In any case, these ancient Near Eastern texts do use some of the same images of death (as raptor, monster, glutton) that also figure in the Israelite tradition. In her treatment of the latter (pp. 126-238), Gulde identifies four figurations of death: glutton (Numbers 16; Isa 9:19; Hab 2:5; Pss 73:9; 106:17; 124); robber (Jer 9:16-21); shepherd (Ps 49:15); and covenant-maker (Isa 28:15, 18). Although her treatment sometimes loses focus by becoming generalized commentary, a fault of innumerable dissertations, she does manage to stay on target well enough to shed light on numerous texts. Her comparison of biblical texts to the Icelandic saga Ragnarök, which also knows a ravenous god of death, is illuminating (p. 144), as is her subtle

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analysis of Isaiah 25, where Death is a ruler who loses to the supreme deity, Yhwh, or of Psalm 49, in which shepherd imagery offers “ein neutrales Bild” (p. 210). She shows considerable sophistication in recognizing that the biblical texts see death as both a part of the cosmic structure and a threat to it: “Tod und Underwelt sind Orte der Gottferne. Die beiden Figuren kennen dies Weisheit als Element des göttlichen Bereichs ‘nur vom Hörensagen’” (p. 149). By refusing to see the biblical portrayal of death as univocal, Gulde offers us a beginning place for further analysis. She shows, I think, that the textual traditions of Israel drew on ancient Near Eastern resources but went their own way, particularly as they sought to coordinate views of death with reflections on the nature of the one deity and Yhwh’s omnicompetent ruler. Less clear is the appropriateness of the term “Herrscher” as the master metaphor for the figurations of death in these texts. True, images of shepherds have regal dimensions in many ancient texts, and a being with whom one can make a covenant (Isa 28:15, 18) must be either divine or regal or both. But “Death” is an odd sort of ruler, one whose subjects do nothing, feel nothing, offer nothing. Unlike all other rulers, Death interacts with no hierarchy, receives no ritual or ideological justification for his rule, and in short attracts only those most alienated from any sane social order. On the other hand, perhaps this is the point. Death’s rule is an unpleasant one, though interwoven with the cosmos itself. For helping us understand that, Gulde deserves our thanks. We hope to hear from her again.

Gerald A. Klingbeil, BRIDGING THE GAP: RITUAL AND RITUAL TEXTS IN THE BIBLE (Bulletin for Biblical Research Supplements, 1; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007). Pp. xiv + 304. Hardcover, US$39.50. ISBN 9781-57506-801-5. Reviewed by Michael Allen Daise College of William and Mary

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Gerald Klingbeil is Dean of the Theological Seminary and Professor of Hebrew Bible and Ancient Near Eastern Studies at Adventist International Institute of Advanced Studies, Philippines. Since completing his dissertation in 1995 on the ordination rituals in Leviticus 8 and Emar 369, he has sought an introduction to ritual and the Bible that could serve at once as an introductory textbook for undergraduate and graduate students and as an interface with the broader field of ritual studies. Having found no success in his search, he has written this work to meet that need (p. 1). He publishes it as the inaugurating volume of Eisenbraun’s new series, Bulletin for Biblical Research Supplements. After a brief introductory chapter, in which he considers the value of his own professional life for his work on ritual, Klingbeil develops his ideas in ten subsequent chapters. In Chapters 2-5 he selectively treats key terms for (Chapter 2), prior research in (Chapters 3-4) and the history of interpretation on (Chapter 5) ritual. In Chapter 2 he defines and traces the interplay of cult, ritual, (sub)rite and symbol vis-à-vis the cultural and religious universes in which they function. In Chapter 3 he reviews social scientific approaches to ritual in three chronological phases: 1870-1960, in which he gives attention to key figures in the myth and ritual (Frazer), social-function-of-religion (Durkheim), psychoanalytical (Freud) and phenomenology of religion (de la Saussaye, Otto, van der Leeuw, Eliade, Smith, Waardenburg) schools; 1960-1980, in which he considers the contributions of Lévi-Strauss, Douglas, Leach, Tambiah and especially Turner; and recent decades, wherein he includes Bourdieu, Bell and Rappaport. In Chapter 4 Klingbeil reviews major contributors to the study of ritual in the Bible over the past twenty-five years (along with several factors that have facilitated their interest), then poses “some additional challenges that need to be considered before one gets into the ‘nitty-gritty’ of actual ritual interpretation” (p. 52): that biblical ritual is brokered through texts, for instance; that the dating of those texts is ineluctably open to debate; that biblical texts are typically reductive in their descriptions and prescriptions. And in Chapter 5 Klingbeil traces some of the ways in which “biblical ritual” (particularly, ritual in the Hebrew Bible/LXX) has been interpreted—and at points ways in which ritual, itself, was conceived— through several periods of history: the Hebrew prophets, “Intertestamental Judaism” [sic], the first seven centuries of Christianity, Medieval Christianity, Protestant Reformation Christianity, the Enlightenment and the Modern

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and Post-Modern Age, concentrating here on contemporary Evangelicalism. Klingbeil then presents his own approach to engaging biblical ritual in Chapters 6-9. He adopts a linguistic metaphor as his framework for conceiving ritual dynamics (p. 127): the smallest units of a ritual make up its morphology; the interaction of those units, its syntax; the sum of those units and their interaction yields that ritual’s semantics; and the cultural, historical and religious context in which it is performed furnishes its pragmatics, by which Klingbeil means “the overall function of the ritual in the religious system.” Klingbeil takes Chapters 6-8 to outline his conception of ritual morphology; and Chapter 9 to do the same with his conception of ritual pragmatics. It seems he regards ritual syntax and semantics to emerge naturally from ritual morphology (pp. 131-33), and so to need little or no treatment in and of themselves. With regard to morphology, Klingbeil breaks ritual down into nine items and discusses each in turn as a first step “when attempting a comprehensive interpretation of any ritual” (p. 127): (1) Required Situation and Context, (2) Structure, (3) Form, Order and Sequence, (4) Ritual Space, (5) Ritual Time, (6) Ritual Objects, (7) Ritual Actions, (8) Ritual Participants and Roles and (9) Ritual Sound and Language. As for ritual pragmatics, after briefly refuting several methods of defining ritual’s communicative function (espoused by Frank Gorman, Ronald Grimes and Catharine Bell), Klingbeil outlines instead a classification of ten “dimensions” of ritual, condensed from thirteen dimensions suggested by Jan Platvoet: (1) Interactive: “Ritual as Social Facilitator,” (2) Collective: “Ritual as Community Builder,” (3) Traditionalizing Innovation: Ritual as “Creating Something New without Discarding the Old,” (4) Communicative: Ritual “Transmitting Messages,” (5) Symbolic: Ritual and “The Power of Symbols,” (6) Multimedia: Ritual as “Total Communication,” (7) Performance: Ritual as “Customary Rules, Play-Acting and Conventions,” (8) Esthetic: Ritual as “Ordering One’s World Neatly,” (9) Strategic: Ritual as “Determining Power Structures” and (10) Integrative: Ritual “Creating Community.” In Chapter 10, Klingbeil follows his main discussion by considering the implications of ritual studies for wider areas of biblical and theological research; e.g., biblical and systematic theology, ethics and spirituality, liturgical renewal, missions. And, in his final chapter, “Ritual Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow, or: Some Type of a Conclusion for a Christian Theology,” he closes with a brief meditation on the value of ritual studies for contemporary life: they are a path to self knowledge, a medium for

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communication, a conduit to the ancient world and a (yet underappreciated?) asset for the 21st century church. Klingbeil concludes the book with an appendix, in which he lists all Pentateuchal ritual texts “as a pilot project for a more complete list covering all of the Hebrew Bible as well as the NT” (p. 4). He then offers a bibliography and indices for Authors, Scripture and Other Ancient Sources. Twenty-one figures and one table illustrate his discussion at various points throughout. Klingbeil’s sheer investment in biblical and ritual studies ensures his work will be valuable for exegetes interested in this subfield. He focused his doctoral work on this issue; in the decade or so since, he has read, reflected and written more widely on it; his bibliography is, alone, worth the price of the book; and, along with that bibliography, he employs both scholarly integrity and exegetical erudition in introducing these new bedfellows to a wider readership. His effort impresses less than it might have, however, due to his two aims, which operate at cross purposes and thereby breed as much confusion as they do clarity. His intention to write at once an introductory textbook for undergraduate and graduate students and an interdisciplinary monograph for theological scholars is a tightrope hard to walk; and it’s not long before his attempt at the former (his Forschungsberichte on ritual in social scientific, biblical and historicaltheological studies, Chapters 3-5) is eclipsed by his efforts toward the latter (his own conception of how biblical ritual should be broached, Chapters 69). An index to this negation is the role played in Klingbeil’s discussion by Ithamar Gruenwald’s Rituals and Ritual Theory in Ancient Israel—by Klingbeil’s own admission an “important landmark in this field” (p. 47) published in 2003 (Brill). Gruenwald’s pivotal assumption in that work is that a ritual’s theory is embedded in itself and not, therefore, to be fundamentally found in symbols later attached to it. As the subject of an introduction to this subfield, such a premise might be expected to be given several pages of discussion on how it might further be applied and on what the benefits and liabilities might be of doing so. But, while Klingbeil does recount and raise some doubts about it (pp. 17-18, 47-48; cf. p. 14)—and while he does interact with Gruenwald on more minor matters throughout the work (pp. 1, 56, 178-79, 207, 209, 237)—he quickly leaves Gruenwald’s idea behind in favor of his own (arguably opposing) theory that “the actions that constitute a ritual do not have inherent meanings” (p. 55), which then governs the rest of the volume. By more or less circumventing Gruenwald’s premise for his own, Klingbeil fails to “introduce” this

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important voice in the field to students who ought to know more about it; and by simply recounting that premise without extensive argument against it, he fails to “establish” a basis for his own theory to the contrary. Such patchwork does not disqualify Klingbeil’s book from being a starting point for further work on ritual and biblical studies. It does, however, suggest that it will fulfill that role more as a catalyst to further thinking than as a template for it.

Brian D. Russell, THE SONG OF THE SEA: THE DATE OF COMPOSITION AND INFLUENCE OF EXODUS 15:1-21 (Studies in Biblical Literature 101; New York: Peter Lang, 2007). Pp. xii + 215. Cloth US$68.95. ISBN 978-0-8204-8809-7. Reviewed by Shawn W. Flynn University of Toronto This monograph is a revision of Russell’s doctoral thesis conducted at Union Theological Seminary under S. Dean McBride, Jr. By considering a wide range of possibilities and methods, Russell argues that Exod 15:1-21, which he designates as the Song of the Sea, is a unified early (1150 BCE) poem. Chapter 2 consists of commentary with notes and translation. Chapter 3 considers the unity of the poem, the structure, rhetorical and theological function of the Song, the Song of Miriam (Exod 15:19-21), and the Song of the Sea’s relationship to the Baal cycle. Chapter 4 argues for the Song as a key narrative shift in Exodus while chapter 5 reinforces former linguistic arguments for an early date. Then chapters 6-9 focus on Exod 15:1-18 to advance dating beyond linguistic arguments. They consider historical allusions (arguing for Sinai as the mountain in the Song), inner-biblical use of the Song (using a relative chronology from texts the Song influenced to triangulate a date for the Song), the Psalms of Asaph’s reliance on the Song as a dating method, and finally its function as narrative in the HB. The strongest point of this study is that an early date can be demonstrated from a wide variety of methods and questions.

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Despite this contribution, arguments for the unity of the Song are at times strained. Russell argues convincingly that the Song of Miriam (Exod 15:19-21) and the Song of Moses (Exod 15:1-18) are to be read together in their canonical form (pp. 17, 24, 32-39). But in Chapters 6-9, even though Russell’s introduction clearly claims a 12th century date for all of Exod 15:121 he only uses the Song of Moses (Exod 15:1-18) to establish a date of 1150 BCE (pp. 111, 130, 148), assuming the same date for the Song of Miriam without subjecting it to the same analysis that Ex 15:1-18 receives. Beyond the brief suggestion that the Song of Miriam is early because it is like other victory dances (pp. 79-80), Russell must offer more reasons why the Song of Miriam is as early as the Song of Moses if they are not both assessed in Chapters 6-9. Likewise, Russell’s use of the Baal Cycle to respond to tensions between what are commonly held to be earlier and later sections of the Song (vv.1-12, 18 and vv.13-17) need refinement; after Baal defeats Yam, the cycle shifts to temple building before final victory and kingship. For Russell this is similar to shifts between YHWH’s war with the enemies and YHWH’s kingship (Exod 15:1-12, 18) interrupted by references to the effects of this victory on Israel (Exod 15:13-17). Since, for Russell the Baal cycle is a unified poem with shifts in content, a similar process proves the unity of the Song of the Sea (p. 21). First, some assumptions of shared narrative progression are problematic. Russell claims that Baal’s victory, like YHWH’s, is not realized until his house is built. This is questionable since Baal is claimed king as soon as Yamm dies (KTU 1.2 IV 34-35). Second, Russell does not admit that the order of the tablets of the Cycle is a scholarly construct, nor offers why he supports a particular reconstruction. Admitting more of a compositional history within Exod 15:1-18 and between the Songs of Moses and Miriam need not take away from Russell’s well-argued later chapters. Since supporters of an early date have accepted some type of compositional history, one often questions the need for maintaining a unified composition. Another area for improvement is Russell’s examination of YHWH’s character. Russell superimposes an understanding of YHWH on the Song that likely does not fit into his 12th century context. Russell claims YHWH is omnipotent because he is the divine warrior (p. 50). If the Song’s relation to the Baal Cycle is any indication, YHWH could be a warrior deity who, while unique among the gods (Exod 15:11 // KTU 1.2 I 23-25), need not be considered higher than El. Continuing to argue for YHWH’s

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incomparability, Russell claims YHWH is concerned with Egypt and Israel while Baal does not have any relation to human history (p. 40). This ignores that the rising of the storm god would have great significance for an ancient society. Russell needs to bring his understanding of a 12th century YHWH in conversation with texts like LXX Deut 32:8-9 and more recent scholarship on early Yahwhism and Israelite religion. Such considerations could even help reinforce an early date. Envisioning a more developed YHWH in a 12th century context continues when Russell sees YHWH as a creator deity in the Song of the Sea. This five-line suggestion requires further development and Russell could have used a detailed study by McCarthy to support his idea of a creator deity in the Song. [Dennis McCarthy, “Creation Motifs in Ancient Hebrew Poetry” in Creation in the Old Testament (ed. Bernhard W. Anderson; Issues in Religion and Theology 6; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984), 7489]. Other important bibliographical elements are absent. While Sinai is identified as the mountain of the Song, an alternative like Shiloh is given too brief consideration and does not consult significant contributions such as Donald G. Schley, Shiloh: A Biblical City in History and Tradition (JSOTSupp 63; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989) or Tryvegge Mettinger, “YHWH Sabaoth, the Heavenly King on the Earthly Throne” in Studies In the Period of David and Solomon and Other Essays (ed. T. Ishida; Eisenbrauns: Indiana, 1982) 109-38. Despite the above, Russell’s work is useful in expanding Song of the Sea study beyond a single methodological position and providing more arguments for an early date of Exod 15:1-18. While there are some problems in seeking breadth rather than more detailed analysis, Russell shows that a broader study can yield results.

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Oren Tal, THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF HELLENISTIC PALESTINE: BETWEEN TRADITION AND RENEWAL (Jerusalem: The Bialik Institute, 2006). Pp. xxiii + 392 (Hebrew). Cloth, US $ 56.00. ISBN 965-342-919-1. Reviewed by Gunnar Lehmann Ben-Gurion University There are only a few comprehensive studies currently available that summarize the archaeology of the Hellenistic period in Israel/Palestine. R. Arav, Hellenistic Palestine: Settlement Patterns and City Planning, 337 - 31 B.C.E. (British Archaeological Reports, International Series 485; Oxford: Archaeopress, 1989) covers part of the material culture of the period and H. P. Kuhnen, Palästina in griechisch-römischer Zeit (Handbuch der Archäologie, Vorderasien 2.2; München: Beck, 1990) deals with the Hellenistic through Byzantine periods. Oren Tal’s new book, The Archaeology of Hellenistic Palestine, makes available an updated study in Hebrew that is dedicated to the archaeology of the Hellenistic period only. Tal aimed not only at a presentation and a comprehensive collection of data, but also at an integration of the various studies and aspects of Hellenistic material culture within a framework of “social archaeology,” thus stressing the social, economic and political factors that shaped the (material) culture of the Hellenistic period in Palestine. The publication is divided into an introduction, 10 chapters discussing various aspects of the material culture, and a summary. In his introduction Tal gives an overview of the history of archaeological research of the Hellenistic period in Palestine, followed by an evaluation of historical texts relevant for the period as well as a summary of previous studies dedicated to the epigraphic and numismatic evidence. Tal then gives a short outline of the historical development of the period and concludes the introduction with a brief review of the administrative structure of the land, the roads and communication routes and the ethnic groups that are identifiable in Palestine during the Hellenistic times.

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The first chapter analyzing the Hellenistic material culture of Palestine examines the urban architecture. The focus of the chapter is on public structures such as fortifications, water supply, administrative structures, sanctuaries and palaces, and large residences. The chapter concludes with a study of the city plan and urban domestic houses. The second chapter discusses rural architecture. The emphasis is not on farmhouses, village plans or other structures of the rural community, but rather on estates of wealthy landowners. This is correctly justified by the lack of village excavations. The material is organized according to regions in Palestine. The chapter also includes an overview of agricultural installations such as oil and wine presses, columbaria and pottery kilns. The third chapter focuses on military architecture such as forts, towers in a non-urban context and fortresses. The relevant sites are discussed according to their regions. The fourth chapter deals with interior architectural decoration such as pillars, columns bases and capitals. Chapter 5 continues with a discussion of the interior decorations such as mosaics and stucco. The settlement patterns and an analysis of the urban system is the subject of Chapter 6. Tal concentrates on the evidence from the coastal plain. He provides detailed lists of all known settlements, including small villages. Although his analysis does not include detailed evidence for other regions in Palestine, the settlement of areas such as Samaria or Judah is included in the discussion of the chapter. Chapter 7 discusses the Hellenistic burial customs in Palestine. The burials and some of their finds are presented and a typology distinguishes the different types of graves and tombs. The objects of daily use are studied in Chapter 8; Tal discusses ceramics, glass, stone objects, and artifacts in faience, metal and bone. The epigraphic evidence of Hellenistic Palestine is presented in Chapter 9, which includes the numismatic evidence, weights, seals, ostraca and papyri. The discussion of Hellenistic material culture is concluded in a chapter on weapons (Chapter Ten). In his summary, Tal sets out to discuss the notion of “Hellenism,” referring to a variety of past and present approaches in the research. Summarizing the discussion of his previous chapters, Tal asks for continuity and breaks with the past during the Hellenistic period, trying to identify innovations that took place during the period. The author comes to the conclusion that when comparing the Achaemenid and the Hellenistic periods, there is no essential distinction in the architecture of the urban

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centers, the villages or the military realm. The society that shaped these social spaces emerged in its social, economic and political structure already during the Achaemenid period. Tal emphasizes a number of technological innovations during the Hellenistic period in agriculture and crafts. Both ancient Near Eastern and Greek influences seem to have been driving forces in this technological progress. During the Hellenistic period Greek culture was visible and formative in kingship, Greek language and writing, social elites and military dominance, expressed in architectural decoration, ceramics, coinage and crafts. But the traditional local cultures remained an important substratum in the Levant, visible in specific architectural traditions, artifacts and burial customs. Tal argues convincingly from the archaeological evidence of the Hellenistic period for a continuation of traditions from the Achaemenid period. One may claim that his book is weak in non-archaeological issues such as the evaluation of historical sources or epigraphy. But that was not the main purpose of this volume and Tal has well mastered his main intrinsic task: his book is certainly the most important comprehensive survey of the material culture of the Hellenistic period in Palestine available today. The book deserves an English translation to make it available to a larger circle of readers.

John L. Thompson, READING THE BIBLE WITH THE DEAD: WHAT YOU CAN LEARN FROM THE HISTORY OF EXEGESIS THAT YOU CAN'T LEARN FROM EXEGESIS ALONE (Grand Rapids/Cambridge: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 2007). Pp. xi + 324. Paper, US$20.00, £10.99. ISBN 978-0-8026-07533. Reviewed by Amanda W. Benckhuysen University of Dubuque Theological Seminary If this book was simply a compendium of precritical readings on various biblical texts, Thompson's work would be a valuable resource for biblical

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scholars and pastors alike. In Reading the Bible with the Dead, however, Thompson offers his readers much more than this. Surveying patristic, medieval, and Reformation responses to some of the most challenging and offensive parts of Scripture, Thompson invites his readers to reflect on biblical "texts of terror" in the company of the great cloud of witnesses who have braved this treacherous territory before. The result is that Thompson's work offers not only insight into the history of biblical interpretation, but a corrective to the dearth of theological reflection on these often marginalized texts of Scripture. Thompson's goal is to offer biblical scholars and pastors "a digest of the history of the interpretation of some passages and issues that ought to be of great interest to readers and hearers today, and for which the history of interpretation can offer not merely novel perspectives, but also insights and arguments likely to encourage and surprise" (p. 8). He accomplishes this in nine chapters devoted to some of the thorniest texts and issues for modern readers, including the sacrifice of Jephthah's daughter, the Levite's concubine, the marriage of Gomer and Hosea, and biblical comments on gender. Each chapter begins with a brief discussion of the text from a modern perspective, delineating those aspects of the text that trouble modern readers. Careful not to expect that precritical interpreters read the Bible with modern concerns in mind, Thompson instead asks how past interpreters responded to particular texts that raise questions for readers today. At times, precritical interpreters come across as hopelessly patriarchal and even misogynistic. For example, in a chapter that examines stories of sex and violence, Thompson notes that some interpreters, while not excusing the male perpetrators, tended to blame the victim. Dinah's misplaced curiosity led her to wander from the safety of her home, eventuating in her rape by Shechem. The rape and death of the Levite's wife was her punishment for violating God's law of marriage (Judg 19:2). Bathsheba should have been more discreet in her bathing. And Tamar could have stopped Amnon from raping her simply by crying out. On these occasions, Thompson admits that a negative lesson must be drawn from these precritical readings about how exegesis can be skewed by personal presuppositions. Such examples can be useful, he argues, for instilling in modern readers a sense of humility about the task of interpretation. Thompson's survey also reveals, however, some surprising interpretations of these difficult biblical texts where precritical readers

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voiced questions and concerns similar to those of modern readers. For instance, Martin Luther wonders why, if Jonathan was released from his father's vows unharmed, Jephthah's daughter was sacrificed. Chrysostom ponders the inhumanity and stinginess of Abraham in sending Hagar and Ishmael away with such scanty provisions. And many commentators struggled over the logic of Paul's argument in 1 Tim 2:11-15. Throughout the book, the reader discovers that precritical interpreters didn't shy away from raising moral concerns about a biblical narrative or from questioning the logic of a Pauline argument. Presupposing the authoritative character of these texts, precritical interpreters wrestled long and hard with them, seeking, like Jacob, a blessing from them. It is this quality that sets precritical engagement with "texts of terror" apart from modern approaches, which tend to ignore uncomfortable texts or read them against the grain. While not always offering moral and exegetical solutions palatable to readers today, precritical interpreters model what it means to engage these texts as Scripture. Furthermore, in their wrestling, they illustrate that modern responses to Scripture are not new, that some biblical texts are inherently troubling and have always been so. Each chapter closes with a list of positive and negative hermeneutical lessons to be drawn from the survey, concretizing for the reader what is to be learned from these interpreters. Thompson also includes a glossary and a guide to precritical writings at the end of the book as a way of encouraging readers to continue studying precritical interpretations of Scripture. These resources are immensely helpful and add significant value to the Thompson's work. There is much praise to be offered for this book and one can only hope that more "digests" like this will be published in the near future. Reading the work of past interpreters is beneficial not just in learning about the past, but in gaining greater insight into our own presuppositions, limitations, and imaginative possibilities in the area of biblical interpretation. Having said that, there is one critique to be given. At times, Thompson seems to bite off more than can be reasonably addressed in one chapter. For instance, in his discussion of 1 Corinthians 11 and the matter of women's head covering, Thompson extends his focus to include interpretations of 1 Corinthians 14 and the issue of women prophesying as well as Gen 1:27 and what it means for women to image God. While 1 Corinthians 11 certainly incorporates these issues, by combining them into one chapter Thompson has compromised his ability to address them with the depth

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they deserve. The result is that the reader is left with only a superficial indication of how precritical interpreters understood women's roles in the church or the nature of men and women. In any case, the best discussions tend to focus on particular stories and texts rather than issues. Having said that, this book should be on the shelf of all those claiming to be students of Scripture as an aid and encouragement in studying biblical "texts of terror." Furthermore, for all who are beginners in studying the history of biblical interpretation, this book will serve as a great introduction. This reviewer highly recommends Reading the Bible with the Dead.

Bruce K. Waltke, A COMMENTARY ON MICAH (Grand Rapids/Cambridge: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 2007). Pp. xviii + 490. Hardcover, US $32.00, £18.99. ISBN 0-8028-4933-4. Reviewed by Carolyn J. Sharp Yale Divinity School The genre of biblical commentary is a politically powerful tool for promoting and subverting ideologies about texts and the act of reading. Every commentator frames certain questions as viable and then seeks to offer persuasive responses to those questions through close study of the text. The commentator may also dismiss or ignore questions that are inconvenient for the interpretive endeavor. This learned and lucidly written commentary by Bruce Waltke not only illumines the Book of Micah, it makes for an interesting study in hermeneutical politics. The evangelical cast of the commentary is nowhere overtly named, so readers unfamiliar with Waltke's theological context may not understand why his book does not engage questions of Deuteronomistic editing, liberation-theological interpretation, postcolonial study of Micah, or nuanced literary readings that take seriously the book's development over time. Literary-structural matters receive brief attention. Waltke quite reasonably identifies three cycles in Micah, each comprising oracles of doom followed by promise material (1:2-2:13, 3:1-5:14, and 6:1-7:20), and notes that the disparate oracles have been artfully linked by catchwords and

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"logical connectives" (pp. 13-15). Waltke's engagement with methodological issues consists chiefly of a sustained argument against the historical-critical rationalism that assumes biblical prophecy to reflect vaticinia ex eventu (pp. 813 and passim). He concedes the presence of redaction here and there in Micah, but attributes the editorial work to Micah himself (e.g., p. 13). Waltke's exegesis does not tend to embrace the possibility of polyvalence, irony, or ambiguity as artistic devices in Micah. For example, he counters the suggestion that Micah's representation of the worshipper's questions in 6:6-7 might be ironic, citing with apparent approval a scholar who hears there a breathless earnestness (pp. 370-71). Conservative Christian theologizing is present in virtually every section of the book. Waltke affirms the New Testament's supersession of the Old Testament (p. 43), identifies the prophetic spirit animating Micah with the "Spirit of Christ" (pp. 155, 175), reads the reference in 4:1 to an eschatological future as pointing to "the advent of Jesus Christ and of Pentecost" (p. 208), interprets the Exodus allusion in 6:4 through the lens of Pauline theology (p. 385), and so on. Waltke's intelligent exegesis combines a light and unsystematic attention to rhetorical features (anacrusis, metonymy, anaphora) with a wealth of grammatical and syntactical information that will be beneficial for students. On every page one finds evidence of Waltke's immense learning, and his gift for graceful written expression makes the commentary a pleasure to read. Waltke does a beautiful job of illuminating the theological power of Micah's prophecy. Few readers will remain unmoved as they work through his passionate exposition of the prophet's theology. Waltke suggests that for the ancient audience and for contemporary readers as well, nothing less than the spiritual survival of God's people is at stake. Notable but harmless is Waltke's tendency to wax hyperbolic in his elucidation of Micah's message and in his critique of contemporary society. We are told that the speaker in 6:6-7 speaks from a "desperately wicked heart" and a "depraved frame of reference," "betrays his total darkness about divine grace," and "falls into the black apostasy of the licentious pagan cult" (pp. 387-89). Reform-minded evangelicals will be gratified to hear that the "evangelical church today" is guilty of imbibing "greedily the spiritually lethal message of wealth and prosperity" (p. 130); those committed to intercultural dialogue may be less pleased to learn that "the United Nations building in New York City is a long shadow of the Tower of Babel" (p. 211). The dispassionate analytical posture of David J. A. Clines's meta-

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commentator is nowhere in evidence here. But to put the matter in a positive light, no reader of this commentary will fail to grasp the urgency of the ancient prophetic witness. That is surely an important accomplishment in its own right. Waltke clearly has read widely in the literature on Micah, but he does acknowledge that his research is not as up-to-date as he would have liked (p. xiii). Only six works listed in the bibliography are from 1990 or later (not counting English translations of works from earlier decades), and three of those are not actually referenced in the commentary proper. The contributions of Francis Andersen and David Noel Freedman, Marvin Sweeney, William McKane, and Ehud Ben Zvi are not engaged here. Thus this commentary is not the best choice for readers seeking guidance in contemporary scholarship on Micah. But readers of every hermeneutical stripe will appreciate the author's impressive erudition, his deep reverence for the text as Scripture, and his stirring exposition. As regards the book's pedagogical usefulness, theological students unquestionably will find much here to deepen and enrich their study of Micah.

N. Wyatt, WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE, AND OTHER PAPERS ON UGARITIAN THOUGHT (Gorgias Ugaritic Studies, 1; Piscataway NJ: Gorgias Press, 2007). Pp. xv + 230. Hardcover, US$90.00. ISBN: 978-1-59333-716-2. Reviewed by Mark S. Smith New York University This is the third volume of collected essays produced by this prolific scholar of Ugaritic and biblical studies. (There is a fourth in the works, entitled, The Archaeology of Myth. Papers on Old Testament Traditions.) This particular volume is focused on information about religion in Ugaritic literary texts. Among a number of contributions in this volume, Wyatt is to be credited for taking polytheism seriously. This is often lacking in biblical studies and it is salutary to see Wyatt’s efforts in this direction put before the field in the

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context of a book. Hopefully, this effort will receive the recognition that it deserves. The organization of the volume is chronological, in the order of the publication of the essays from 1992 to 2007. The advantage of this approach is that it shows some progression in the author’s thought. On the other hand, it yields a volume that begins with three short technical papers (essays #1-3), followed by three broader treatments of religion and epic (essays #4-6), followed then by two more technical studies (essays #7-8). Furthermore, the two specific studies (essays #1 and #3) that relate to the text KTU 1.23 are separated in this arrangement, which are in turn separated from the discussion of 1.23 on pp. 110-11. It might have been more user-friendly to have the general treatments of essays 4-6 begin the volume in order to provide a context for the more specific, opening studies into context. The first essay is a technical study of šdmt in KTU 1.23.10, which Wyatt takes to mean “shoot.” The etymology offered is said to be “dm, meaning that part of the plant which produces (causes to grow? A Š-stem formation?) the juice.” This proposal is offered without supporting evidence, although the congruence with the related biblical šdmt term is explored. The second essay treats the titles of the god, Baal. This survey is serviceable, and most of the results are fairly well known in Ugaritic studies. Some conclusions have been disputed (e.g., hmlt as a divine title). For a substantial treatment of divine titles, readers may consult the new, detailed study by Aicha Rahmouni, Divine Titles and Epithets in the Ugaritic Alphabetic Texts (trans. J. N. Ford; HdO I/93; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2008). The third essay addresses KTU 1.23.8-11. In particular, the picture of pruning of the figure of the figure named as Mt-w-Šr in these lines is for Wyatt an allusion to hieros gamos or sacred marriage. Most scholars have taken the figure to be the god Mot (Death), whose name is spelled the same as the initial element of this binomial form. The view that Wyatt promotes here is contingent on accepting his ideas about sacred marriage and on his identification of the figure not as Mot, but as El. However, the evidence for sacred marriage at Ugaritic is weak at best, and between the similarity of the names and the destructive character of the figure described in this passage, the god of Death seems a better candidate for this context. The fourth essay deals with what Wyatt calls “Structure and Dynamic in a West Semitic Pantheon.” This is arguably the most engaging and

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important essay in the volume, in particular for its effort to understand polytheism. It also offers speculations that are considered “possible.” For example, Wyatt (p. 61 n. 32) connects the name of Yahweh, the form yw in KYU 1.1 IV 14, and the old Vedic sky-god Dyaus and Greek Zeus and Germanic Tiw (also Tyr). This particular instance combines a number of links. Wyatt does not address the issue of evidence for linking Yahweh and yw, or what other scholars have said about this matter. The further connection with the Indo-European evidence is given the same level of argumentation and evidence. This is fine for readers familiar with the evidence and the issues, but this not the case for readers not conversant with the issues. Another problem that readers may have with this essay is its psychology of religious origins. Wyatt speculates about the origins of religious imagery in terms of the psychological development of “infantile consciousness” (p. 60). This sort of notion needs to be worked out in considerable depth and discussion, but what we have here is a general discussion. This approach has a long modern history (one of its most eloquent expressions was Erich Neumann’s Origins and History of Consciousnsess, which applied the theory of his teacher, Carl Jung, to “primitive societies”). This would all be well worth a long hard look accompanied by a critical discussion. Despite such caveats, the survey of the Ugaritic evidence for groupings of deities and deity-lists is serviceable. The fifth essay involves an overview of religion at Ugarit. Like the fourth piece, this one provides a broad and rich survey of religious thought and expression. Topics include cosmology, directional orientation, the nature of the pantheon, and the character of individual deities. Wyatt’s commentary indicates a serious consideration of ancient polytheistic divinity. At times, the discussion veers into speculation lacking in evidence (e.g., the androgynous character of El on p. 99). Overall, though, the discussion gives food for thought. The sixth essay discusses the question of epic in Ugaritic literature. He claims that the literary texts of Baal, Kirta and Aqhat are not myths but mythic, “since each moves in a world peopled either exclusively by gods …or has gods and men interacting in a matter-of-fact fashion” (p. 144). It is not clear why the adjective, ”mythic,” fits but the noun, “myth,” does not, and Wyatt does not say why. He also regards all three as “epic,” “based on a minimalist view of epic as heroic and ideological narrative, generally poetic in form, which seeks to promote the identity, values and concerns of a culture, and perhaps specifically of the ruling classes within a

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community” (p. 144) For many critics, epic also has a connotation of length (as in an “epic story”), as reflected in some of the epics that Wyatt discusses here (such as the Iliad and the Odyssey), but this aspect of epic is not raised. The discussion then moves to a survey of the three narratives and closes with a discussion of the scribe Ilimilku. Wyatt favors a rather considerable role for this scribe in shaping these three texts as we now have them, and he suggests a royal wedding as the occasion for the composition of the middle two tablets of the Baal Cycle. This string of assumptions is interesting. The seventh essay treats a curse from KTU 1.2 IV 7-19 paralleled by 1.16 VI 55-58. Wyatt sees in this curse involving the god Horon a “quasicultic and ideological dimension” (p. 158) in the curse formulary in these two contexts. He ties these expressions to the smiting ritual of kings, as found in Egyptian contexts. He also associates the Egyptian god Horus with Horon, which leads to a discussion of Horus in Egyptian material. With this background about Horus, Wyatt returns to the Ugaritic curse formula and reads it in light of the Egyptian material that he surveys. The series of posited linkages exceeds the evidence, yet such an expansive exploration is valuable for broadening the horizons of the field. The eighth and final essay is the essay that gives the better part of the title to the volume. It comes from a beautiful passage of the Baal Cycle, and it expresses many rich resonances, including an oracular one. This is quite right, and it has been broached by other scholars. See, for example, S. O’Bryhim, “A New Interpretation of Hesiod, ‘Theogony’ 35,” Hermes 124 (1996) 131-39. Wyatt treats the blessing in Kirta (1.15 II 16 – III 16) as an “oracle narrative.” It has been generally regarded as a blessing, and its treatment as oracular material is offered as a given. The volume closes with a considerable bibliography and an index of subjects. It is easy to be critical of the volume for its speculations, in many instances involving the backgrounds of texts. At the same time, the volume is informed by considerable learning. Without getting locked into large reconstructions that lack for evidence, the field will need to continue to be open to such possibilities as new evidence appears. For his serious consideration of the living realities behind the Ugaritic texts, the field is in Wyatt’s debt. For serious students who can handle the Ugaritic evidence, this book is worth reading.

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Elizabeth Boase, THE FULFILMENT OF DOOM? THE DIALOGIC INTERACTION BETWEEN THE BOOK OF LAMENTATIONS AND THE PRE-EXILIC/EARLY PROPHETIC LITERATURE (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies, 437; New York/London: T 7 t Clark, 2006). Pp. x + 268. Hardcover, US$145.00. ISBN 0-567-02672-8. Reviewed by Dianne Bergant, CSA Catholic Theological Union in Chicago A 1954 monograph by Norman Gottwald entitled Studies in the Book of Lamentations inspired Boase to delve more deeply into one of its conclusions, namely, that Lamentations has a definite prophetic orientation. With the present study Boase seeks to explore the relationship between Lamentations and the eighth- to the sixth-century prophetic literature. This exploration then leads her to examine how her findings influence the theology of the biblical book itself. The interpretive framework within which she works is drawn from the theories of the Russian literary theorist Mikhail Bakhtin. Boase agrees with Bakhtin’s claim that all texts are dialogic, polyphonic, and contain a double-voiced discourse. These concepts are the interpretive lenses through which she reads Lamentations. Before launching out into her interpretation of Lamentation, Boase summarizes the way scholars like Carol Newsom, Charles Miller, and Patricia Tull apply Bakhtin’s concepts to biblical studies. While Newsom applies them to the Book of Job, Tull and Miller work with various passages from Lamentations. In this study, Boase builds on the insights gleaned by these scholars. She maintains that the dialogic interaction within the text of Lamentations appears in two directions. First, we can see that motifs and concepts from the prophets have been brought into the message of Lamentations. Secondly, the polyphonic character of the book can be seen in the fact that it contains various theological viewpoints which have

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retained their distinct positions without being forced into a monologic point of view. Boase then shows how these various viewpoints enter into a dialogic relationship with each other. In the actual examination of the book, Boase examines three prominent prophetic motifs: the personification of the city of Jerusalem as female; the Day of Yahweh; and the themes of sin and judgment. She devotes a chapter to each of these themes. After a careful and detailed analysis of passages from Isaiah 1-39, Micah, Jeremiah, and Zephaniah, Boase concludes that such personification is employed as a literary device in only certain discrete units of the texts, and these texts are mainly judgment texts. There, the city (singular) normally stands for the populace (plural). Similar literary traits are found in Lamentations. However, where the prophetic use is usually found in warnings or announcements of impending doom, in Lamentations it is found in statements regarding the tragedy that has already befallen the city. The prophetic usage underscores the sinfulness of the city, while in Lamentations the use elicits sympathy for the stricken city. The Day of Yahweh as a time of judgment is found in Amos, Isaiah 139, Jeremiah, Zephaniah, and Ezekiel. In a comparable critical examination of passages from these prophetic writers, Boase shows the development in the description of that theme found in the writings of these prophets. She points out the increase of military imagery, the emphasis on the wrath of God, and mention of cosmic involvement found there. As with the case of the theme of the personification of the city, Lamentations does not merely appropriate the respective theme. Boase highlights distinctions as well as affinities. Causes of this day of wrath are developed in the prophetic books, while Lamentations concentrates on the impact of that day on both individuals and the community. Furthermore, because the destruction of the city was a historical reality for the people, reference to cosmic involvement is absent in those passages. Such differences significantly reinterpret the meaning of the Day of Yahweh. Boase’s examination of sin and judgment in relevant prophetic literature shows that divine judgment is the consequence of sin by both the individual and the nation. Furthermore, it is exercised over both Israel and the nations. In those passages in Lamentations where reference to sin and judgment is made, Boase uncovers definite differences. Chief among them is an emphasis on Jerusalem’s sin as the cause of its suffering. Furthermore, in Lamentations there is a lack of specificity regarding the city’s sin.

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In these three chapters, which constitute the bulk of Boase’s study, her literary analysis of the respective texts is very precise. However, in those chapters she does not relate her findings to the three characteristics of Bakhtin. It is in the fifth chapter that she returns to them. Her careful analysis enables her to point easily to evidence of the polyphonic (manyvoices) character of Lamentations and how they interact with each other. It is there that she further demonstrates how the three themes of personification of the city, the Day of Yahweh, and sin and judgment are woven together in the text, another aspect of the book’s polyphonic character. Boase’s work has challenged the view claiming that a similarity of themes and motifs indicates the present of identical theology. Her intertextual analyses has shown how, in some places, Lamentations questions the meaning of these themes and motifs as found in the prophetic material. Where the prophetic message is usually one of condemnation and warning, that of Lamentations is often one of compassion and sympathy. Thus, the prophetic message is not only interpreted, at times it is actually subverted. Boase’s study has opened Lamentations in new ways and in doing so has demonstrated the usefulness of new methodological approaches.

Lee Martin McDonald, THE BIBLICAL CANON: ITS ORIGINS, TRANSMISSION, AND AUTHORITY (Updated and Revised 3rd ed.; Hendrickson Publishers, 2007). Pp. xli + 546. Paper, US$29.95. ISBN 978-1-56563-925-6. Reviewed by Alex Jassen University of Minnesota The Biblical Canon is the third revised version of McDonald's earlier work: The Formation of the Christian Biblical Canon (1st ed., Abingdon, 1988; 2nd ed. Hendrickson, 1995). Notwithstanding the change in title, the primary focus of this work remains the origins and canonical development of the Christian Bible (with particular emphasis on the New Testament). This

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study is ambitious in its scope and voluminous in the range of material treated. The book is divided into three sections. In part one, McDonald introduces the basic questions he seeks to raise in this study regarding scripture and canon. Part two is devoted to a thorough examination of these questions as they apply to the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament, while part three applies a similar approach to the New Testament. A series of six appendices contain a wealth of helpful primary data (e.g., ancient canon lists). McDonald opens this study with what he calls "some tough questions about the Bible" (pp. 1-12). By this locution, he refers to a basic set of questions focused on the larger issue of how the Bible became the Bible that we know. How was this literature produced and why (and how) did it become part of an authoritative collection of sacred writings? Why do the lists of books differ among different religious traditions? Moreover, McDonald asks an additional set of questions rarely explicitly articulated in canon studies: which parts of the Bible are more representative of the "earliest strands of Christian faith" (p. 7)? What is the appropriate canonical text for current Christian worship and study (p. 8)? In framing his study in this way, McDonald intends this work as a rigorous academic study of the biblical canon with implications for contemporary Christians. In the second and third chapters, McDonald seeks to define the critical terms "scripture" and "canon" and outline their origins and use in the various biblical worlds (i.e., ancient Israel, early Judaism, and early Christianity). Building upon earlier studies, McDonald asserts that a particular writing was regarded as scripture when it "was acknowledged by a religious community to be divinely inspired and authoritative" (p. 23). In this sense, writings become scripture before the emergence of any single collection of Scripture. Moreover, this designation is locally determined. Indeed, throughout this study, McDonald repeatedly observes the wide variance that prevailed in early Christian communities regarding which books (for both the Old and New Testaments) were regarded as scripture. Perhaps the most innovative part of this study is McDonald's discussion of the origins of the idea of a canon in early Judaism and Christianity and the meaning of the term for the study of the formation of the Bible. He argues that the Greco-Roman context provides the best setting for the ancient Jewish and Christian turn to canonization. In particular, the Alexandrian grammarians' delineation of precise models for grammar and literary style provides the context for the similar enterprise of

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identifying writings that serve as practical and theological guidelines for Jews and Christians (see especially pp. 44, 46). McDonald then seeks to resolve one of the thorniest issues in contemporary canon studies: what does canon mean and when is the term appropriate when discussing biblical literature? He adopts Gerald Sheppard's notion of "canon 1" and "canon 2." The former term refers to the emergence of written or oral traditions that were regarded as authoritative pronouncements from God. The latter term refers specifically to the standardization of a precisely defined collection of authoritative books. McDonald sees "canon 1" as by far the more prevalent phenomenon in early Judaism and Christianity. The remainder of the book contains McDonald's careful assessment of the origins of the scriptural writings and their movement from "canon 1" to "canon 2." McDonald's survey of the ancient data and the modern scholarly discussion is encyclopedic in its scope and meticulous in its attention to detail. For the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament, he treats the following general issues: origin of the tripartite canon, the question of the Alexandrian canon, shape of the canon in the 1st century C.E., the Septuagint, the Qumran biblical manuscripts, the Samaritan Pentateuch, evidence for the 22 and 24 book canon in early Judaism, rabbinic discussions of canon, and the scriptures of Jesus and early Christianity. For the New Testament, the following topics are addressed: the emergence of the written New Testament traditions, development of the idea of a New Testament canon and its stabilization, influence of heretics, importance of scribal and text-critical issues, citations of New Testament writings in the church fathers, and the question of what criteria early communities employed when identifying writings as scripture. The book does suffer from some deficiencies, however. In a work of such length, one would like to see more economy of words and explanations. Too often, McDonald retraces his steps and returns to discuss previously treated material. For example, his discussion of 2 Macc 2:13-15 contains three references to Sid Leiman's theory regarding Judah Maccabee's role in collecting the Hagiographa—even citing the exact same passage from Leiman twice (pp. 85-87). In addition, some sections seem to have escaped updating and thus reflect the state of scholarship at the time of the earlier editions. For example, the discussion of the possible evidence for the tripartite canon in 4QMMT (pp. 90-93) contains no reference to recent scholarship on this question (indeed all the bibliography on this text is extremely outdated). Finally, McDonald sometimes offers questionable

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assertions with little or no explanation. Some are peripheral to the main arguments: For example, Christians were excluded from the synagogue because they did not support the Bar Kokhba revolt (p. 103), synagogues arose in the time of Josiah’s reform (p. 114 n. 1), or the existence of pesher interpretation in Marcion (p. 329). Elsewhere, however, such oversights have greater implications. For example, McDonald argues that the incompatibility of Mosaic law with the core message of the New Testament explains the minimal citations of the Pentateuch in the New Testament (as opposed to Isaiah and Psalms). Yet, in the very list of citations provided, three Pentateuchal books follow Isaiah and Psalms as most often cited (p. 244). Notwithstanding these reservations, this work is an invaluable resource for all students and scholars interested in the emergence of the biblical canon.

William Foxwell Albright, ARCHAEOLOGY AND THE RELIGION OF ISRAEL (New introduction by Theodore J. Lewis; Old Testament Library; Louisville/London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2006). Pp. xlix + 247. Paper, US$39.95. ISBN 0-664-22742-2. Reviewed by Carl S. Ehrlich York University It is a truism to claim that W. F. Albright was the most influential twentieth-century scholar of the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament in North America. This claim would be valid simply on the basis of his vast scholarly output of well over one thousand items of bibliographic merit. In addition, he trained a whole generation of exceptional disciples, who in turn went forth and educated many of the most significant members of the subsequent generation of scholars. But it was not only in the field of Hebrew biblical studies that Albright left his mark. If anyone could claim to do so, he modestly referred to himself as an “orientalist,” not in Edward Said’s sense, but in the sense of a scholar who was able to make contributions to seemingly all fields of study dealing with the ancient Near

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East (or “Orient”), in addition to classical studies and many of the other fields subsumed under the western humanistic fields of inquiry. Albright thus exhibited a breadth and depth of learning that few aspired to in his day and none can hope to emulate in the modern age, when the explosion of knowledge has made it difficult, if not impossible, to keep up with the state of the field in one’s own area of expertise, let alone in others. Unfortunately, for most students nowadays the name of Albright conjures up some worn books to be found on dusty library shelves or miscellaneous references to ancient journals buried deep in footnotes. Hence, this reissue of one of Albright’s most accessible grand syntheses is to be welcomed, as it allows and encourages a new generation to delve into the mind of one of the seminal thinkers in the field. And yet, this book is to be approached with caution on two fronts: First, nothing ages as gracelessly as scholarship, particularly that which is based on archaeological discovery, whose conclusions are prone to be changed and overturned at any instant with the next shovelful of dirt removed from a site. In spite of Albright’s frequently expressed conviction that his proposals withstood the tests of time, many of his conclusions appear today to be reflective of an older and more naive era. Second, Albright’s language is oftentimes cringe-inducing for the (post)modern reader, who is generally less inclined than Albright to render value judgements in a scholarly context (e.g., Albright speaks of sexual “perversion” in regard to homosexuality [p. 18], referring to superstition he uses the terms “moronic and uneducated” [p. 28], much of modern art is dismissed as a descent to “primitive savagery or pathological abnormality” [p. 34], those with whom he disagrees are “scholars of second rank” [p. 60], Canaanite religion provided a “crude polytheistic background” to the “far superior” Israelite religion “both conceptually and ethically” [p. 94], etc.). In spite of Albright’s avowed adherence to scientific methodology, he was nonetheless a religious conservative whose interpretations of non-Israelite cultures reflected his personal theological stance. Nowhere is this more blatant than in the title of another one of his works to which he regularly refers in the work under consideration: From the Stone Age to Christianity, which implies a teleological progression in the human experience from the nadir of “primitivism” to the zenith of Christian revelation. This reissue of Archaeology and the Religion of Israel is a composite work, whose Redaktionsgeschichte may be uncovered using tools similar to the archaeological and philological ones so beloved of Albright. The book was

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originally published in 1942. During Albright’s lifetime, it was republished another four times. The current edition includes – what I presume to be – a photomechanical reproduction of the original, to which is appended Albright’s list of “Addenda and Corrigenda to the [third] 1953 Edition” (pp. 223-30). Introducing the volume is his “Preface to the 1968 Edition” (pp. vii-xii), in which he briefly adds to and updates his material on a chapter by chapter basis. In the light of the forty years that have passed since that time, Albright’s claim that “surprisingly little of its [i.e., the book’s previous editions] content is antiquated” (p. vii) has clearly been superseded by the explosion of archaeological and textual research over the last four decades. Rounding out the book’s opening section is an excellent and welldocumented new “Introduction to the Westminster John Knox Press Edition” (pp. xii-xlix), in which Theodore J. Lewis, himself an intellectual grandchild of Albright’s, places the work of Albright in a broader scholarly context, discusses and critiques a number of Albright’s scholarly theories, and presents a reasoned argument why one should still engage the writings of this seminal – yet seemingly outdated – thinker. Albright’s Archaeology and the Religion of Israel itself is divided into five chapters. The first is devoted to “Archaeology and the Ancient Near Eastern Mind” (pp. 1-35), in which the author presents his theories on the development of the human mind and culture from its primitive and savage state to the unparalleled perfection of Israelite thought and religion. In spite of his oftentimes painful value judgements, what emerges is Albright’s vast learning and ability to synthesize materials from an enormous array of cultures and times, while engaging what were at the time the latest anthropological theories. The second chapter, on “The Archaeological Background of Old Testament Religion” (pp. 36-67), provides a survey of the major texts and material remains available to Albright in his reconstruction of Israel’s religious heritage. As a philologist and an archaeologist, both types of evidence play central roles in his work. Indeed, he castigates those whose command of the one or the other (or both!) is insufficient yet who dare to venture into the scholarly discussion poorly armed. His criticism of archaeologists for interpreting as cultic any object whose function they do not understand is as relevant today as it was in his time (p. 43). The chapter on “Archaeology and the Religion of the Canaanites” (pp. 68-94) focuses on his interpretation of the texts from Ugarit and the writings of Sanchuniathon (Sanchunyaton) as transmitted by Philo of

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Byblos. Experiencing as he did the discovery of Ugarit and the decipherment of its language, Albright was one of the first to understand the significance of the finds and attempt to analyze them and determine their application to the history of biblical religion and culture. It is in this area that his work remains freshest. The opposite may be claimed in regard to his chapter on “Archaeology and the Religion of Early Israel” (pp. 95-129). While admiring his amazing ability to synthesize seemingly disparate pieces of information, one is struck by how far the field has moved away from Albright’s basic presumptions regarding the development of ancient Israel’s religion. While there are certainly some mainstream scholars today who would ascribe to the figure of (a) Moses the introduction of the worship of YHWH into the Israelite community, the dominant tendency in modern scholarship is to view the emergence of Israelite monotheism as the product of a long and gradual development in Israel’s theology, culminating by about the mid-sixth century BCE. According to Albright’s reconstruction, Moses introduced monotheism to Israel already in the thirteenth century, and his depiction of Israel’s religion bases itself on this assumption. One wonders how Albright, who claimed “that only hypercritical pseudo-rationalism can reject its essential historicity” (p. 96), would react to the current state of the field. Albright’s final chapter on “Archaeology and the Religion of Later Israel” (pp. 130-75), which refers to the time as of Solomon, continues his presentation based to a great extent on what appears for modern eyes to be a non-critical understanding of the development of the biblical text and traditions. Thus he claims that the biblical account of Solomon’s reign and its glories are reflected in the archaeological record, a claim that would certainly be disputed by a large plurality if not a majority of modern scholars. The state of the religion against which the prophets later railed is attributed by Albright to a “paganizing movement” that acted against the “Mosaic monotheism” that he identified in the architectural plan of Solomon’s temple (p. 155). It is significant that in spite of his conservative attitude toward the witness of the biblical text in matters such as the attribution of monotheistic Yahwism to Moses (cf. pp. 175, 177), the historicity of the Conquest or of the glories of the Davidic and Solomonic empire, Albright was able to depart from the biblical text when its presentation conflicted with his own, such as in the case of “the copper serpent which tradition attributed to Moses” (p. 164), since that would call

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into question his fundamental presumption regarding the pristine nature of Mosaic faith. While his conclusion that “orthodox Yahwism remained the same from Moses to Ezra” (p. 175) would find few adherents outside of orthodox or fundamentalist circles today, it is not so much the conclusions that Albright reaches that make his work so valuable even for the modern reader, but the questions he poses and his wide-ranging and circuitous route to advancing his theories that still have much to offer the reader who–in the words of Lewis in his introduction–“cannot fully understand many aspects of ancient Near Eastern (especially biblical) studies without an appreciation of how they were shaped by Albright and in many ways still evidence his imprint” (p. xlviii).

Dianne Bergant, ISRAEL’S STORY: PART ONE (Collegeville, Liturgical Press, 2006). Pp. viii + 99. Paper, US$9.95. ISBN 0-8146-3046-4; Israel’s Story: Part Two (Collegeville, Liturgical Press, 2007). Pp. 118. Paper, US$9.95. ISBN 978-0-8146-3047-1. Reviewed by John Kaltner Rhodes College In these two slim volumes Dianne Bergant offers a general introduction and orientation to the literature of the Hebrew Bible. Each book has six chapters that follow, more or less, the canonical order of the text. At the outset of the first volume she acknowledges the challenges that confront any author who attempts to write an introduction to a collection of writings as complex and diverse as the Hebrew Bible. “An introduction to the Bible…provides as much information as the writer thinks is necessary for the readers to become acquainted with the characters found in the biblical accounts. It gives some historical information about these people, from whom and from where they came, and it recounts some of the events in which they themselves were engaged.” (vol. 1, p. v) In other words, the task entails making choices about what to include and what to leave out, what to highlight and what to downplay. These are critical decisions on the author’s part that have a direct bearing on the

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success or failure of a given work. Judging the merits of a particular introduction to the Hebrew Bible is an enterprise that must take into account, in addition to the accuracy of the information it contains, such criteria as the author’s aim or focus, the book’s length, and its intended audience. It would be unfair to compare a work like the present twovolume one that is about 200 pages in length to another that is twice as long, and then criticize it because it doesn’t “measure up.” Rather, it must be evaluated and judged on its own terms. From that perspective, Bergant’s work does measure up. It does not attempt to be exhaustive or comprehensive in its scope, but what it does contain is well-informed and clearly presented. In places she tends to rely too much on summary and paraphrase, which is a common flaw of works of this genre, but elsewhere Bergant’s analysis of important themes and essential information is incisive and succinct. For example, her discussions of the Egyptian background of the Moses story and the ancient Near Eastern context of the prophetic books give the reader a clear sense of why it is so important to be familiar with the world behind a text. In places, she offers insightful interpretations that put two texts in conversation with each other. To cite two instances, both her use of the Enuma Elish story to shed light on the Exodus tradition and her reference to the Jacob/Esau birth in connection with Ruth 4 open up new ways of thinking about these biblical stories. For some of the themes or texts Bergant chooses to treat additional information could have been included to give a more complete picture. Nothing is mentioned about the hardening of the heart motif in Exodus. The discussion of the Philistines is rather superficial and sparse. The sections on the individual judges are too brief and lacking in detail. Only one-half page is given to the book of Jonah. There is no consideration of Christian interpretations of certain texts like the Servant Songs and the Immanuel oracle in Isaiah. While her primary purpose is not to become entangled in scholarly debates and disagreements, Bergant’s readers would be better served if she were to acknowledge alternative theories at times. For example, she asserts the existence of the Elohist source in the Pentateuch but does not explain that this is one of the most contested aspects of the Documentary Hypothesis in the scholarly community. There are a few errors in the books. Moses’ son’s name is Gershom, not Gershon (vol. 1, p. 20). The locations of Philistine and Edom are inaccurately stated, with the former being identified as “east of Canaan” and

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the latter “west of the Negev desert” (vol. 1, p. 23). The statement that the religion of Israel was aniconic (vol. 1, p. 50) is too sweeping a generalization that is not supported by textual and archaeological evidence. Elsewhere, Bergant gives the impression that Ben Sira was the author of Proverbs and the Wisdom of Solomon (vol. 2, p. 68). Among the strongest sections of the books are those on Hellenization (vol. 2, Chapter 4) and the Second Temple Period (vol. 2, Chapter 6), which both provide good historical background. In the first, the book of Daniel is treated within the context of themes like immortality and messianic expectations, while the second examines various Jewish groups that highlight the diversity of Judaism during this period. The decision to treat matters of orality, the written text, and the canon in Chapter 5 of the second volume is a curious one since these are important issues the reader needs to have a grasp of from the very beginning. Why not include them early in the first volume? Related to this is the packaging of the work in two small volumes when combining them into one seems to be the more logical and useful way to go. The second volume concludes with a helpful glossary and a very fine timeline that lists international powers, the kings of Judah and Israel, when the prophets lived, and the approximate dates when the biblical material was written and compiled. Bergant has made a unique contribution to the ever-growing corpus of books that attempt to present an overview of the biblical material. Her two volumes will be a welcome resource for study groups and similar environments. These works can serve as useful primers that may be supplemented by other books for those seeking to delve more deeply into the Hebrew Bible and scholarship related to it.

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David M. Carr, WRITING ON THE TABLET OF THE HEART: ORIGINS OF SCRIPTURE AND LITERATURE (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). Pp. xiv + 330. Hardcover, CAN$113.95, US$65.00. ISBN 0-19-517297-3. Reviewed by Wesley Hu China Evangelical Seminary The study of the Scripture has only slowly expanded to seeing it as a product and process of enculturation. What were the origins of the Scripture? What were its function and use? These are the main questions Carr sets out to investigate in this book. Chapter one lays the foundation for the study. The Parry-Lord school of thought held that oral traditions are thoroughly segregated from literary ones and that the compositional techniques are contradictory and mutually exclusive. But Carr builds on a stream of scholarship that argues written texts are intensely oral and oral texts are deeply affected by written culture. To understand fully the relationship between oral and written compositions, a look at education, especially its curriculum, is essential because, it is maintained, texts were used and produced mainly for the purpose of shaping the young minds. In the next five chapters in Part I, Carr studies early examples of textuality and education in ancient Near East. In ancient Mesopotamia, where the earliest and best-documented textual system is found, a complex way of writing dictated that education was limited to a select group (p. 20). These future intellectual elites proceeded from the rudiments of Sumerian language and values through memorizing and copying a group of texts to a broadening range of texts that required and enhanced autonomy and mastery. In all stages, memorization plays a prominent role because written works were but the tip of a largely oral iceberg. When a scribe reached a high level of mastery of the tradition, he could then use this memorized compositional lexicon to create new works (p. 36).

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The Egyptian education also involved copying, memorization, and recitation of the core curriculum. Similarly, the written text was but an aid to memory and oral performance. In Egypt, however, textual storage and production was predominantly linked with temples. Although no advanced school texts were found in Greece, artistic depictions of education and textual use were widespread. From textual witnesses, however rare they were, and from images, Carr concludes that writing in ancient Greece was linked from an early point to the tradition of recitation of poetry, serving as a secondary support for readers who already knew the poetry well (p. 98). Its main curriculum was the great Greek poets of the past, especially Homer. The goal of education, in addition to intimate knowledge of poetic classics as well as certain ethical principles, was the induction of a student into an elite male culture. In this way, Greek education was different from the counterparts in Mesopotamia and Egypt. The aim was not to train a textually expert scribal elite, but to form an aristocratic elite of Greek citizens. In a book subtitled “Origins of Scripture and Literature,” paying attention to ancient Israel is only natural. The main thesis is that biblical texts joined the stream of long usage when they were used to educate and enculturate young elites (p. 112). Although epigraphic evidence is scant, its content and distribution attest to the literacy of the royal administration and the use of extended oral-written educational texts (p. 166). Successive generations of master Israelite scribes revised and augmented the curriculum by building on templates provided by earlier texts. Education during the Hellenistic period was more complex. The six chapters in Part II are devoted to the interrelationship between textuality and education in the eastern Hellenistic world. It appears that the Greek training was an enterprise centered on individual teachers, and a school often consisted of little more than the teacher, an agreed meeting place, and any associated upper-level students functioning as assistants (p. 178). Elementary education concerned basic literacy, higher-level grammatical education was only available to a few, and an even smaller number of students could go on to the third stage to be trained in rhetoric. Another distinct feature of the Greek education was that the gymnasium served as a more decisive marker of membership in the upper society. It was here that the students were socialized into the Greek way of life. Hence, education and textuality were part of a broader clash of cultures. The production and transmission of texts could be understood only when the appropriation and

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resistance of foreign influence by an indigenous culture are taken into consideration. Carr provides three illustrations. Chapter 8 describes Jewish education during this period, which was centered in the temple and focused on priests. Qumran, which provides the most important evidence relevant to the topic, is the subject of Chapter 9. Chapter 10 then tracks the development of education beyond the Temple, when synagogues became the platforms. Before his concluding reflections (Chapters 12 & 13), Carr argues that the Jewish Bible originated in the second century B.C.E. as a purportedly pre-Hellenistic deposit of sacred Hebrew texts, a deposit initially standing opposed to and distinguished from the corpus of Greek educational texts (p. 253). Bible scholars cannot afford to be ignorant of Carr’s argument presented here. It puts these texts back into a historical, cultural and social matrix that explains the origins and functions of the Scripture. In fact, Carr’s book should be handy to all students of biblical studies. Information about the origins of Scripture and literature that had to be gleaned through numerous journals and books is now available in a single volume.

Tiberius Rata, THE COVENANT MOTIF IN JEREMIAH’S BOOK OF COMFORT: TEXTUAL AND INTERTEXTUAL STUDIES OF JEREMIAH 30-33 (Studies in Biblical Literature, 105; New York: Peter Lang, 2007). Pp. xi + 177. Harcover, US$64.95. ISBN 978-0-8204-9508-8. Reviewed by Bob Becking Utrecht, Netherlands In this dissertation–defended at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, Deerfield–Rata defends the following positions: * The “new covenant” in Jeremiah 31 needs to be interpreted as in continuation of the earlier Abrahamic and Mosaic covenants; * The “new covenant” in Jeremiah 31 has the character of a promise that was partially fulfilled in the death and resurrection of Jesus and awaits complete fulfillment in the eschaton;

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* The “writing on the heart of the Law” should be construed as an act of the Holy Spirit. This somewhat traditional view is argued with an exegetical and theological discourse. In his methodological remarks, he states that he is applying the thematic-progression theory of Daneš that implies that in a given text most themes are followed by a “rheme” or continuing sub-theme. In text-critical matters he prefers the MT version of Jeremiah over and against the LXX. He opts for a grammatical and stylistic analysis of the textual units. As for hermeneutics, he vehemently states that “[t]he biblical text and its meaning are not to be separated from God, the author of the text” (p. 10), leaving unclear what exactly he means by “separate” and “author.” Having said that, Rata turns to the history of interpretation of the idea “covenant.” He starts with the Church Fathers, moves then to the Reformers, and from them to present day thinkers—among the latter, he quotes only exegetes of Jeremiah. It would have been interesting to see how the concept of “covenant” is perceived in modern dogmatics. But Rata seems to be unaware of the (mainly German) discussion on the interpretation of the Hebrew noun ‫ ברית‬from the 1960s on. Furthermore, it is a pity that he jumps in one giant leap from the Reformers to the liberal exegetes. Remarks on the federal-theology of Cocceius would have enriched his overview. The main part of Rata’s book consists of his interpretation of three textual units: Jer 31:27-40; 32:36-44 and 33:14-26. He follows the same strategy for each text: translation, syntactical analysis, semantic analysis, practical analysis leading to a proposal of the theme-rheme structure in the passage, and theological analysis. The syntactical analysis contains the kind of details normally present in an undergraduate paper, with the same amount of mistakes and errors. The semantic analysis is generally interesting to read. Rata makes some fine observations, but one misses discussions with, and arguments against positions that differ from Rata’s view. The pragmatic analysis is a good example of blurring exegetical categories. When it comes to the saying about the children’s blunt teeth, Rata is not very clear as to what he means by “personal responsibility” over against “individuality.” This weakness affects the analysis of the internalization of the law in the New Covenant section: Is it stressing individuality or personal responsibility? Thus, on p. 46, Rata makes a strange remark: “Maybe it was that the younger generation thought it improper that they suffer for the sins of the previous generation.” In my

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view he is missing the point. I think that Jeremiah wants to indicate that the younger generation can no longer hide behind the conduct of the previous generation or use their forefather’s failures as an excuse for their own conduct. I agree with Rata that Jer 31:31-34 are crucial to the Book of Consolation, as well as with his view that 31:35-37 are fundamental for a concept of the trustworthiness of God grounded in creation (why did he not quote Helga Weippert here?). I, however, disagree with his interpretation that the human heart—on which the law will be written—is a more permanent surface than breakable stone tablets, erasable scrolls or flammable parchment. In biblical anthropology, human are not seen as immortal; to the contrary, they are construed as vulnerable. The pragmatic analysis of Jer 31:27-40 contains a curious and assumedly unintended error: “The people are rebuked for now knowing the LORD (Hos 4:1-2).” Moreover, in the theological analysis, the Christian Vorverständniss seems to play a greater role than the more strict exegetical arguments that have been brought to the fore by scholars who link the section on the New Covenant primarily or exclusively to the early post-exilic period. In my criticism I have concentrated on Rata’s discussion of Jer 31:27-40, but I could have made comparable remarks on the other textual units. Rata opens his fifth chapter (Jeremiah 31 in the New Testament) with the following phrase: “To understand the theology of the new covenant and what it means, one must look at both the Old and the New Testament.” This clear and direct statement points at the conceptual problem in Rata’s work. He is reformulating the position to be proven as the method to follow for proving the position itself, which is a circular argument. This said, the chapter under consideration contains, nevertheless, various good observations on the interpretation of the relevant passages in the New Testament. I would have liked to engage Rata on a discussion on whether it is better to approach these texts within an hermeneutical framework centered on the concept of "appropriation" rather than on “fulfillment," as Rata and others before him did. Certainly, it is the New Testament writers who reread the ancient texts as if they were written for their contemporary circumstances. However, a serious engagement with his position would exceed the limits of this review. Rata has not convinced me, mainly since he is in fact only repeating traditional arguments. Moreover, he fails to argue with alternative positions in contemporary research. In fact, many recent voices on the topic are

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absent even from his bibliography (e.g., Becking; Bozak; Levin; Weippert). Unfortunately, his book is also disfigured by a variety of misprints and typos.

John Van Seters, THE EDITED BIBLE: THE CURIOUS HISTORY OF THE “EDITOR” IN BIBLICAL CRITICISM (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2006). Pp. xvi + 428. Hardcover, US$44.50. ISBN 978-1-57506-112-2. Reviewed by Yehoshua Gitay Free State University South Africa The Edited Bible is a massive book both in quantity and quality. The author brings us back to the basic principles of the philological-literary and historical foundations of Biblical criticism. His goal is to examine fundamental notions that are taken by scholars as axiomatic and are instrumental in the realm of Biblical studies. The fundamental issue of this book is the critical matter of editorial or redaction criticism. Since the days of Julius Wellhausen scholars maintain that the Pentateuch is actually a composition of three or even four edited works that were put together by final editors as one book and that its origins might be reconstructed due to a careful philological-literary analysis. In contrast, Van Seters argues that the notion of “editors” is actually a scholarly invention and not more. Van Seters’ methodology is a comparative study that is based on the study of the "classical world." In this regard, he provides detailed studies of scholars in Classics in order to draw proper conclusions regarding biblical scholarship. Van Seters’ review of classical literature indicates to him that the role of the editor or the redactor is confined to matters of textual criticism, and the poets or authors took responsibility for their own work, so there is no such a notion of an editor but rather of an author. Actually, Van Seters regards the entire scholarship concerning editors and redactors in the realm of Biblical studies as a mistake, due to the early influence of Classics scholarship. Van Seters claims that the model of

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editors was rejected in the twentieth century and since then the study of the Classics regards the model of editors as a useless anachronism. The problem with biblical criticism is that it imitated earlier Classics scholarship but ignored this newer development in the Classics. In brief, Van Seters insists that there are authors—not editors—who take full literary responsibility for the biblical compositions moving from the oral sporadic fragments into written works of their own. They are the biblical authors. No doubt, Van Seters has engaged Biblical scholarship in an important debate regarding the methodological essence of the profession. How did this happened? How did biblical scholars not notice that the core of their scholarship was faulty? Van Seters argues that this central model has controlled scholarship; scholars have been enslaved to the paradigm. Scholars working outside these paradigm would have excluded themselves from the mainstream and would have been dismissed. There is much in favor of this explanation. In spite of a fresh interest in theories of literature which could have altered the paradigm of editors, many Biblical scholars read in a fragmented way theories of literature and establish literary axioms that are quite artificial in the eyes of well trained literary scholars. As a result, the methodology criticized by Van Seters remains not only alive but energetic. The conservative guild of scholarship dominates the field. There is merit in Van Seters’ claim that biblical works are literary compositions produced by authors and not compilers. This is a significant argument that might turn critical biblical scholarship upside down. However, I am skeptical if Van Seters will succeed in his ambitious task. The point revolves around his methodology. For the crucial argument that the biblical works are actually literary products of authors one cannot rely on the scholarship of the "classical world" and maintain that it has changed its direction. Van Seters relies on secondary sources but not on a detailed literary-stylistic analysis. He explains that he is not a classical scholar but this is a poor excuse. He does not present the internal debate in the study of "classical literature." Actually, it might happen that Classicists of the twentieth century became tired of the analytical-archaeological survey of their own 19th century scholarship and found more attractive subjects of scholarship which pay attention to the work as a whole. The model of authors rather than compilers in Biblical studies provides a careful paradigm of literary criticism that asks one fundamental question: What is a literary work? How is it designed? How is it represented? These

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are difficult questions that are not treated with the necessary depth by Biblical scholars. To sum up, this is a coherent book expressed in a clear and loud voice, which opens the door for a review of Biblical critical scholarship. This is an ambitious work which should be read and studied.

William S. Morrow, PROTEST AGAINST GOD: THE ECLIPSE OF A BIBLICAL TRADITION (Hebrew Bible Monographs, 4; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2006). Pp. xii + 250. Hardcover, £50/US$85.00/ €75.00. ISBN 1905048-20-3. Reviewed by William Irwin University of St. Michael’s College The eclipse of the Bible’s lament tradition and its characteristic feature, the protest against God, has drawn the attention of researchers into biblical prayer for more than half a century now. Their interest has been inspired not only by academic curiosity but also by a sense of loss and so by the desire to recover for the believing and worshiping community something of value in their relationship with God. William Morrow’s fine book examines in detail how and why the tradition was eclipsed, but beyond that, why biblical scholars have become so intent on finding a place for it in contemporary worship. On the first point he writes of his study: “It will show that, when protest against God was permitted as a part of the worshiping experience of Israel, the lament tradition was strong. But as theological constructs shifted and became increasingly uncomfortable with protest against God, the argumentative prayer tradition was eclipsed by other forms of supplication” (p. 3). Those shifts he places in the “Axial Age” when prophetic promotion of belief in the transcendence of the one God was coupled with denunciation of sin and announcement of suffering as its punishment. Protest in prayer against suffering as unwarranted began to take second place to confession of sin and justification of God’s actions–if God did it,

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he had a very good reason–and finally was eclipsed in both individual and community laments. The careful and thorough history of lament that leads to these conclusions stretches from the oldest biblical laments to the latest and beyond, into the prayers of the Second Temple and New Testament periods. After reviewing the history of biblical lament in contemporary scholarship and clarifying the terms of analysis, Morrow devotes chapters to informal lament, protest against God in psalms of individual and community lament, exilic critique of protest against God, protest against God in the Axial Age, community complaint in Second Temple literature, and prayers for individuals in extra-biblical Second Temple literature. The final chapter reflects on the why of the eclipse of protest prayer and the contemporary concern to recover it. A bibliography and indexes of Scripture and ancient literature and of authors are appended. Although all the parts of the argument are necessary to its coherence, its heart is the discussion of the exilic critique of protest against God and the shifts that take place in the Axial Age. Taking as its prologue the discussion of the psalms of protest against national defeat after Jerusalem and its Temple had been destroyed, the argument concentrates on Lamentations, Isaiah 40-55, and the Deuteronomistic History and the contribution of each in reshaping lament and its relation to protest. Morrow borrows from Karl Jaspers the epithet “Axial” to describe the age between 800 and 200 BCE, with its center about 500 when revolutionary social, religious and intellectual changes took place simultaneously in ancient Israel, Greece, Iran, India and China. The book of Job reflects the shifts affecting lament and protest in Israel. Interpreted as a whole it illustrates that protest, if not culpable, is at the very least based on ignorance when directed against a God so far above human comprehension. After that time, although the possibility of protest against God in national defeat still exists in extreme circumstances, it is no longer permitted in the liturgical use of individual laments. Morrow does not agree with Claus Westermann that lament takes on an entirely separate existence from prayer in this period, but for all practical purposes it is eclipsed in that context. New Testament prayer simply reflects this inner Jewish development with its emphasis on redemptive suffering, sin and its forgiveness and resignation to the will of God.

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The final chapter addresses the question of contemporary interest in recapturing protest against God for the believing community and attributes it to the reaction to the onset of the post-Axial Age and the shaking up of settled strategies for coping with evil that depend upon the notion of a transcendent God and an overarching providence. There is a completeness and broad perspective to Morrow’s work that ties together many different strands of a difficult and complex subject. His scholarly neutrality is impressive. Where the interest of other scholars becomes “pastoral” in its desire to restore to the lament its earlier protest element, he subjects even this pastoral concern to scrutiny and interpretation. Such neutrality has its drawbacks, however, since it requires that explanations be couched in either psychological or sociological terms, de rigueur nowadays. Morrow favors the psychological. Guilt is treated as pathology and protest as therapy. Both are reasonable if a trifle thin, particularly the cross-cultural analogy of the sorrowful woman’s grief in Lamentations to that of abused children and battered women. It reminded me of Gerhard von Rad’s remark now many years ago about the History of Religion school’s biblical theology: “Because Old Testament theology took as its task the construction of a history of piety and of the contents of consciousness, and because, above all, it thereby kept to that which has its growth from nature and history, it dismissed what the Old Testament itself had to say, and, leaving this aside, chose its own subject of interest for itself” (Old Testament Theology, vol. I, trans. D. M. G. Stalker, New York: Harper & Row, 1962, 114). Yet despite these restrictions laid on Morrow by the academy, he has produced an excellent study that sheds considerable light not only on the history of lament but also on the tendencies of contemporary scholarship. Whether recovering protest against God will turn out to be a pastoral plus today must wait upon a more positive reevaluation of the changes that eclipsed it from perspectives that go beyond the psychological and sociological.

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Victor H. Matthews, STUDYING THE ANCIENT ISRAELITES: A GUIDE TO SOURCES AND METHODS (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2007). Pp. 232. Paper, US$21.99. ISBN 978-0-8010-3197-7. Reviewed by Bruce Power William and Catherine Booth College Winnipeg When modern readers first approach the Old Testament they are confronted with social and cultural situations they do not understand, alien political and economic structures, and notations of geographical places and people groups with which they are unfamiliar. All of this information is communicated in a literature using conventions and contexts which are often quite unlike those familiar from modern literature. While many will simply read the text and substitute their own culture where possible and ignore much that is not understood, the discerning reader will immediately see the problem in such an approach. But where do they turn? A concise volume that would effectively introduce students to these issues and the further resources available to examine them has been a desideratum of many teachers. In Studying the Ancient Israelites: A Guide to Sources and Methods, Victor Matthews has created just such a primer. The author has devoted much of his writing and editing energies to the creation of resources to facilitate students’ understanding of the “world” in which the biblical text was written. This volume intends to assist “students, laypeople, and their instructors” (p. 9) by facilitating their navigation through the variety of approaches to the biblical text utilized in contemporary scholarship. But beyond that, Matthews understood the need to introduce readers to the broader contextual world of the text and so aimed at what he terms a “hybrid focusing on the biblical and ancient Near Eastern sources and anthropological, geographical, historical, literary, and sociological methods that will make the study of the ancient Israelites more complete” (p. 7). His

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introductory handbook assumes no prior knowledge of biblical studies, yet introduces and summarizes a broad spectrum of information and approaches to guide the novice reader in the correct direction while providing more advanced students with a sound comprehensive review of methods and approaches to the task of interpretation. In approaching this task Matthews works to demonstrate the manner in which historical geography, archaeology, literary approaches and the social sciences contribute to our understanding of the world of the ancient Israelites. A final chapter considers history and historiography. The variety of approaches to these areas of scholarship, including debates and disagreements, are concisely outlined, and Matthews can be commended for charting a balanced, informative, and readable course through the material. For example, when he discusses the use of archaeology in the reconstruction of the biblical world, he is careful to point out what archaeology can and cannot be expected to do. In this way, one of the perennial questions raised of biblical interpreters, the relationship between archaeology and the Bible, and the question of archaeology’s ability to “prove the Bible,” is refocused by Matthews’ descriptive summation of the methods and approaches of the discipline. In part, this is accomplished by a discussion of the steps taken in a typical archaeological campaign, a summary which broadens the reader’s understanding of the limited area of any site which can actually be excavated, the difficulties in interpreting cultural remains, and the need to use artefact and text to construct the past. Beginning with the land, in a chapter titled “Historical Geography,” Matthews describes numerous important assumptions biblical authors make of readers. While their ancient audience would have a sense of the distance between sites mentioned, travel times, topography and climate, these are assumed in the text rather than described. Similarly, textual allusions to economic, social and cultural situations which help to shape the meaning of the text stand at a great distance from the modern reader. The more the reader understands the assumptions made by the writer, the less likelihood there is that the text will be seriously misunderstood. Matthews’ discussion of the contribution of the social sciences to the study of the Bible introduces a broad spectrum of background ideas to the reader, providing clear guidance that is especially helpful to the novice reader. As the modern interpreter is also distanced from the literary and intellectual climate of the ancient Near East, an introduction to both the literature and its conventions is necessary for a nuanced and accurate

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understanding of the biblical text. To facilitate understanding, a variety of approaches to reading the text have developed which collectively provide important insights to understanding the Bible. As most scholars do not utilize a single literary approach to the Bible, Matthew’s introduction outlines and describes the various forms of interpretive approaches in what he terms “the scholar’s toolbox.” In addition to the maps, charts, photos, and line drawings used to illustrate the text, numerous boxes that address particular topics are liberally sprinkled throughout the volume. The shaded text boxes serve two primary functions: to describe and/or summarize a variety of topics, and to reinforce materials discussed elsewhere. The section on archaeology may again be used to illustrate. Boxes titled “Archaeology and Interpretation,” “Before You Dig,” “Developing a Ceramic Chronology,” “Ceramic Typology,” “Houses in the Biblical Narrative,” “Work Space in the Biblical Narrative,” “Monumental Structures in the Biblical Narrative,” and “Reading Tomb and Text” are distributed throughout the chapter which concludes with two helpful summations: “Opportunities Raised by Archaeology,” and “Limitations of Archaeology.” Two indices, “subject” and “ancient writings” facilitate use, as well as a bibliography. It was unclear to me why two of the chapters concluded with smaller bibliographies while other chapters did not, but this is a minor matter in what is an extremely helpful and affordable volume. This readable work would serve well as supplementary reading for an introductory course in Old Testament, Ancient Israel or hermeneutics. Equally helpful is its usefulness to recommend as a resource to those serious non-professional readers of the biblical text who are seeking informed and helpful guidance in their reading of the text as a resource for personal faith.

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Victor H. Matthews, 101 QUESTIONS & ANSWERS ON THE PROPHETS OF ISRAEL (New York/Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 2007). Pp. xi + 160. Paper, US$14.95. ISBN 978-0-8091-4478-5. Reviewed by Todd Hibbard University of Tennessee at Chattanooga Matthews’ concise introductory volume on ancient Israelite prophets and prophecy appears as part of the 101 Questions and Answers series from Paulist Press. Readers of Matthews’ earlier Social World of the Hebrew Prophets will be familiar with much of the content here. The present volume comprises eleven chapters that use Israelite history as the organizing framework. Chapters include: Introductory Questions (including a section on prophets in the Pentateuch); Early Monarchy Period; Late Monarchy Period (covering Amos and Hosea); Isaiah; Micah; Minor Prophets of the Seventh Century; Jeremiah; Ezekiel; Postexilic Prophets—Sixth Century BCE; Postexilic Prophets—Fifth Century to Third Century BCE; and Final Thoughts. Within each chapter, Matthews poses anywhere from two to sixteen questions. The issues Matthews handles in the book are, for the most part, the kinds of basic introductory questions one might expect to be dealt with in undergraduate courses or Bible study groups: “Why do some people refer to three different Isaiahs?” or “Why do written prophets suddenly appear in the mid-eighth century?” The answers to each question are restricted to one paragraph (which can occasionally make for a very lengthy paragraph; e.g. pp. 71-73). His responses are informative and helpful, especially for new readers of these biblical books. He orients readers to this biblical material by offering standard, non-idiosyncratic, readings of the relevant texts. For Matthews, the prophets are primarily defined in relationship to the covenant. As in Matthews’ other writing on prophecy, he gives close attention to the social world of the prophets. For example, he speaks to Micah’s “rural perspective” and Isaiah’s priestly influences. To take another example, in

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addressing why Josiah consults Huldah after the discovery of the famous scroll, Matthews highlights her connections with the royal bureaucracy and the impact of that connection on the scene. His eye for elucidating the social world within which the prophets operate makes this an especially useful volume. Matthews also does a nice job of situating the prophets against the larger ancient Near Eastern historical backdrop. Although he does not have space to cross-reference other ANE texts at great length, he does refer to them when possible. In particular, he includes a chart containing a nice comparison of Second Isaiah and the Cyrus Cylinder (p. 123). The brevity of his answers is both the book’s strength and weakness. It forces Matthews to be succinct, but it also limits discussion in some cases. The constraints of the format allow almost no mention of scholarly debates about various critical issues. This is not his goal, of course, but it would have been nice to see Matthews acknowledge to the reader that such debates exist. As readers of Matthews’ other books on prophets and prophecy will know, he generally takes a maximalist historical view. This is true throughout the present volume, but is expressed most clearly in the chart covering ancient Israel’s history found on pp. 13-16, which begins with an ancestral period dated ca. 1850-1500 BCE. One suspects Matthews’ maximalist historical perspective would be the issue with which most scholars would quibble, but given that they are not the book’s target audience, this will probably prove to be a moot point to most readers of the book. The book’s format is very reader-friendly. In addition to the questionand-answer format, the book contains six charts and four gray boxes in which Matthews’ handles special topics. The book concludes with a rather extensive bibliography that beginning students will find helpful. All of these features enhance the book’s pedagogical value. I noted the following misspellings in the book: p. 26, prophecies for prophesies; p. 32, truth for true; p. 40, prophets for prophet’s; pp. 91, 115 (2x), prophecy for prophesy; p. 150, you for your. In short, I whole-heartedly recommend this book to lay Bible study groups. Additionally, it might be used as a helpful supplementary text in undergraduate courses on Israelite prophets, or even in a general introduction to the Hebrew Bible course.

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Walter Brueggemann, LIKE FIRE IN THE BONES: LISTENING FOR THE PROPHETIC WORD IN JEREMIAH (Ed. Patrick D. Miller; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006). Pp. xvi + 255. Hardcover, US $35.00, CAN $42.00. ISBN 0-8006-3561-2. Reviewed by Briana Lee Knox College Toronto This book is a collection of Walter Brueggemann’s famous articles on the book of Jeremiah. This volume is indicative of his great capacity as a theologian, whose aim is to present a way to read Jeremiah as a prophetic word meant for us today. Therefore, it does not come as a surprise that in general he takes a synchronic approach to the book of Jeremiah and a very critical stance against contemporary scholarship for its failure to offer a comprehensive theological reading of Jeremiah for today’s readership. Brueggemann has criticized the major commentaries written by Holladay, Carroll and McKane: Holladay’s work is limited in many ways due to his focus on the historical Jeremiah and his exclusively historical-literary approach to the book. Carroll’s work deals only with the ideology of the redactors in relation to the process of the formation of the book of Jeremiah. McKane’s work is too academic to make any theological interpretation of the book available for its readership. One may choose not to follow Brueggemann’s theological approach to Jeremiah, but his argument is worth considering since it has generated a good amount of dialogue among scholars during the past few decades. The ongoing dialogue between Brueggemann and Carroll in particular is well known indeed. Against the alleged ‘unreadability’ of the book and the function of the redactors’ ideology in the formation of the book of Jeremiah, which are the major arguments made by Carroll, Brueggemann has asserted that Jeremiah is readable and must be made accessible to today’s readers, and that modern scholarship must pay due attention to the theological claims of the book. Brueggemann’s emphasis on theological interpretation is

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manifest in his treatment of the seemingly disharmonious statement in Jer 4:27, “I will not make a full end,” which is embedded in the so-called earlier and authentic Jeremianic message of doom. Here he notes that these two contradicting voices of ‘end’ and ‘not end’ provide greater rhetorical power: “Such a text as these invites living with unresolve that may, in this case, be a God-given, God-enacted unresolve” (p. 93). Those who read this volume can easily see that Brueggemann works with his conviction that a prophetic word is never a human word with an ideological claim but the word of God with a theological claim. Although Brueggemann’s approach to Jeremiah is very theocentric, this does not mean that he completely disregards historical-literary questions. He often brings the historical and the theological readings together in his interpretation. For example, he does not deny the pro-Babylonian golah perspective in Jeremiah, which modern scholarship attributes to the redactor’s ideology. For Brueggemann, however, this perspective is part of the theological claim that God chooses the marginal in exile over the established in the land. In other words, what Brueggemann objects to is not the presence of a redactional ideology per se but the reduction of theology into mere ideology: “our intention here is to push beyond historical-literary issues to theology proper (p. 118).” Those who are familiar with Brueggemann’s works on Jeremiah would find this volume very typical of him. There remain some questions, however. Does Brueggemann believe that the redactors’ ideology in Jeremiah is to be regarded as non-prophetic and non-theological? Does he assume that the redactors did not have a prophetic mind in shaping the life and ministry of Jeremiah? Does he want to argue that the redactional ideology merely represents the voice of the status quo? According to Brueggemann, prophetic ministry is about offering an alternative interpretation of the contemporary reality or a powerful vision for the future. Is this not, however, the task of the redactors in some respects? Even Carroll himself does not consider ideology as the last word in the book of Jeremiah and does not assume that the redactors’ ideology is completely devoid of theology. Brueggemann’s argument would have been more powerful if his emphasis on the theological interpretation of Jeremiah had been more receptive and complementary to the ideologiekritik of the book of Jeremiah. It is certain, however, that this volume has a great value of its own to the degree that it serves as a good corrective to modern

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scholarship that tends to lose interest in hearing and interpreting Jeremiah theologically for today’s readership.

Joseph Blenkinsopp, OPENING THE SEALED BOOK: INTERPRETATIONS OF THE BOOK OF ISAIAH IN LATE ANTIQUITY (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006). Pp. xx + 315. Paper, US$25.00. ISBN 0-8028-4021-3. Reviewed by Judith H. Newman Toronto School of Theology/University of Toronto While it has long been recognized that Isaiah along with the Psalms were the most frequently quoted books of the Hebrew Bible in the Qumran sectarian library as well as in the New Testament, no one has provided conclusive reasons for their heightened profile in both collections of literature. Joseph Blenkinsopp’s book on the early reception of Isaiah argues unequivocally that “the book of Isaiah is an essential and irreplaceable factor in the legitimizing, grounding, and shaping of dissident movements in late Second Temple Judaism” (p. xv). The book is in some ways itself a “remnant” of unfinished business after Blenkinsopp finished his excellent three-volume commentary on Isaiah for the Anchor Bible series, yet a remnant ripened with mature reflection on the significance of Isaiah’s compositional history and its Nachleben for understanding the social realities of late antique Palestine. He treats Isaiah from the formation of the book to its reception in the Qumran literature and in the writings of the early Jesus movement during the Greco-Roman era. He isolates three aspects of Isaiah that served to make the Isaianic persona a particularly powerful one. The first is Isaiah’s concern with justice and righteousness, the prophet as a spokesman for the marginalized in society. The second prism of Isaiah is as apocalyptic seer whose vision extends far beyond eighth century Jerusalem. The third is the prophet as “man of God” that is, as a prophetic figure working in society who heals, counsels, chides, performs sign acts, and the like.

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Chapter 1 treats the formation of the book of Isaiah. Blenkinsopp understands Isa 29:11-12 as a key to the book, regarding those verses as referring to Isa 8:16, read and interpreted from an apocalyptic perspective. He also regards the reinterpretation of Isaiah 29 as marking the shift from oral to written prophecy and from prophetic to apocalyptic eschatology. In Chapter 2, Blenkinsopp argues that a heightened interest in the persona of the prophet as distinct from the prophet’s oracular sayings developed in the exilic period. Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic History redefine prophecy in the exile in light of a theological interpretation of that experience away from (failed) prophetic oracles and toward a construction of the prophetic persona, a trajectory that would ultimately result in hagiographical treatments of the prophets in such works as Ben Sira, The Lives of the Prophets, and The Martyrdom of Isaiah. Isaiah 1-39 lies at the beginning of this trajectory by offering two distinct profiles of Isaiah, the first in the earlier oracular material and in the supplemental exilic and postexilic biographical material. Chapter 3 lies at the heart of the book in arguing that Jewish sectarianism emerged in Palestine during the Persian period immediately following the Babylonian exile. He sees the separatist, sect-like perspective of the golah group of Ezra-Nehemiah (exemplified in Ezra 9-10) in some way connected with the disenfranchised perspective of the group associated with Isaiah 56-66. He suggests, less cogently from this reader’s perspective, that these share sociological features of later sectarian developments at Qumran and in Christianity. Left unexplained, other than through the happenstance of fortuitous archaeological discoveries such as Qumran, are the absence of similar separatist movements in the diaspora. Chapter 4 provides an examination of the use of Isaiah at Qumran, considering in particular the Isaiah pesharim, the Damascus Document, and 4Q Melchizedek. The fifth chapter explores Isaiah in the New Testament, with a focus on Matthew. Chapters 6 and 7 are more thematic in approach. Chapter 6 examines Isaianic titles that are used in Qumran and early Christianity: “the many,” “the way,” “servants of the Lord,” “the penitents,” “the righteous,” “the elect,” and “the devout.” Chapter 7 explores the symbolic power of the Exile for these early Jewish groups. The final chapter of the book reviews resonances of Isaianic Servant language and imagery in early Jewish literature. One feature of Isaiah that has a surprisingly low profile in his book is the unconditional Zion covenant theology of the Davidic kingship and the

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Jerusalem temple that Isaiah affirms, if in transformed shape, through all its sixty-six chapters. More might have been said for example, about the use of Isaianic discourse, particularly Isaiah’s prophetic call, in the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice for the way in which liturgy shaped the self-understanding of the community’s prophetic leadership. While Blenkinsopp treats these issues briefly noting the use of Isaiah in the anthological pesher 4Q175 Florilegium, it seems that reinterpretation of the community as temple was itself a way of extending the promise of the Davidic covenant. Blenkinsopp’s work is rich with historical and exegetical insights yielding a ripe harvest from a gifted scholar who has long cultivated and pruned the vineyard. Not all the chapters cohere with the larger argument of the book as tightly as they might, a result, no doubt, of including some material that was published elsewhere. That stated, this brief review can only hint at the wealth of erudite observations and insights contained in this book which will prove informative to a wide range of scholars of early Judaism and Christianity.

Francisco Javier del Barco del Barco, CATÁLOGO DE MANUSCRITOS HEBREOS DE LA COMUNIDAD DE MADRID (3 vols., Literatura hispano-hebrea 5, 7 and 8; Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, Instituto de Filología, 200306). Paperback. Reviewed by Colette Sirat Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes Sorbonne, Paris The three volumes under discussion are: Volume 1: Manuscritos bíblicos, comentarios bíblicos de autor y obras gramaticales en las bibliotecas de El Escorial, Universidad Complutense de Madrid y Palacio Real; estudios introductorios a cargo de Maria Teresa Ortega-Monasterio, Maria Josefa de Azcárraga Servert and Luis

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Vegas Montaner (Madrid: CSIC, 2003). Pp. 271 + CD. ISBN (13) 9788400081447; € 29.42. Volume 2: Manuscritos hebreos en la Biblioteca Nacional, Archivo Histórico Nacional y Museo Lázaro Galdiano ; manuscritos bíblicos y obras gramaticales en la Real Academia de la Historia; estudios introductorios a cargo de Maria Teresa Ortega Monasterio, Maria Josefa de Azcárraga Servert y Luis Vegas Montaner (Madrid: CSIC, 2004). Pp. 272 pp. + CD. ISBN (13) 9788400082291. € 31.19. Volume 3: Manuscritos hebreos excepto bíblicos, comentarios bíblicos y obras gramaticales en las bibliotecas de El Escorial, Universidad Complutense de Madrid y Real Academia de la Historia, con la colaboración de Arturo Prats Oliván; estudios introductorios a cargo de Maria Teresa Ortega Monasterio, Maria Josefa de Azcárraga Servert y Luis Vegas Montaner (Madrid: CSIC, 2006). Pp. 324 pp. + CD. ISBN (13) 9788400084233 € 33.65. These three excellent volumes provide for the first time a clear view of the extant Hebrew manuscripts in the various libraries of Madrid. They present both a general 0verview of all the relevant collections and a detailed description of each of the 199 manuscripts. Not all the manuscripts preserved in the Madrid libraries were written in Spain, whether before or after the expulsion of the Jews in 1492. But many and particularly among the biblical manuscripts were written in Spain. The provenance of the other manuscripts is as diverse as their texts themselves. These were acquired and brought to Spain in later times. The very existence, number and importance of these Hebrew manuscripts further undermine the simplistic idea that any interest in Jewish culture died in Spain following the expulsion of the Jewish in 1492. Already during the 16th century biblical studies were taught at the Universidad Complutense (Madrid) and prospered under the vigorous efforts of Alfonso de Zamora. These studies were coupled with the ambitious project of the edition of a Polyglot Bible presided by Cardinal F. J. de Cisneros. The first of these three volumes deals with the mss. of the Bible, its Aramaic paraphrases, its grammars, dictionaries and commentaries. It includes an introductory study on the history of the libraries by M. T. Ortega-Monasterio. She demonstrates that the manuscript collection of the Palacio Real started in the second half of the 18th Century, like many other Hebrew manuscript collections in European libraries, and that it shows the

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same diversity of texts and provenance. This said, it includes a magnificent 16 volume Hebrew Bible, produced in Toledo in 1487 (Cat. n. 3, p. 116). The collection of the Universidad Complutense of Madrid, on the other hand, came from the historical collection of the University of Alcalá de Henares. The latter collection grew out of the interest for learning the sacred texts and their meanings in the different languages for apologetic purposes and for use in controversies. Most of the manuscripts in this collection are Bibles that originated from Toledo. As for the library at the Monasterio Real del Escorial, the thrust of its founder, B. Arias Montano, was essentially humanist, although religion was certainly at the center of his worldview. Bibles are numerous in this collection. The second introductory essay in this volume was written by M. J. de Azcárraga Servert. It shows the particularities of the Hebrew tradition about the Bible in these mss. This introduction is completed by a similar introduction on Rabbinical Texts printed in volume III, pp. 57-69. The volume includes F. J. del Barco del Barco’ descriptions of each and everyone of the 63 manuscripts. He points to their codicological features, e.g., size, writing material, quires, signatures, ruling, disposition of the page and ornamentation, binding and decoration. The presence of particular settings for a number of passages, the kind of vowels, the massora and the tradition which is used for them are all of particular interest in the case of biblical manuscripts. This codicological portrait is the most significant part of the work. The author’s detailed and careful observations display his excellent knowledge of the traditions governing the copying of the Hebrew Bible. This section represents the heart of the catalogue. It is well-written and a pleasure to read. The historical part of the description is as complete and erudite as the first part and gives annotations revealing the history of the manuscripts as well as a complete bibliography. Volume II is also dedicated to the Bible, its Aramaic paraphrases, its grammars, dictionaries and commentaries. In her introductory study, M. T. Ortega-Monasterio provides a history of the Hebrew manuscripts in three more libraries in Madrid: the Biblioteca Nacional, the library of the Real Academia de la Historia, the library of the Lazáro Galdiano Museum and that of the Archivo Histórico Nacional. The introductory study by M. J. de Azcárraga Servert explains to the reader that not all “Hebrew manuscripts” are in Hebrew. Indeed, the Hebrew script was used by Jews to write other languages embracing both Semitic tongues like Aramaic and Arabic and

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non-Semitic ones such as Greek and Latin, French, Spanish, and even Chinese. Dictionaries of course are only partially in Hebrew characters.[1] There are few of them, mostly post medieval. The 67 manuscripts described here (65-122) include Bibles, Targum, commentaries, Talmud and religious laws, grammar and dictionaries, ethics and philosophy, sciences, liturgy, poetry and miscellanies. Volume III provides descriptions of the non-biblical Hebrew manuscripts in the libraries of El Escorial, la Universidad Complutense of Madrid, the Real Academia of History and all Hebrew manuscripts in the Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas. The first introductory study, by M. T. Ortega-Monasterio, draws a general picture of the manuscripts in Hebrew script and of the texts that they include. She provides not only a very good introduction to these catalogues but to the entire field of Hebrew literature and Hebrew manuscript studies. The author remarks (p. 32) that that particular attention was given to scrolls. This is an important decision, since in all the other catalogues, and especially in that of the Institute of Microfilm Manuscripts in Jerusalem, the Torah scrolls are not described. In fact, even their existence is not acknowledged, and, in consequence, an entire field of studies and a vast source of biblical variants are simply ignored. The collections described in these volumes served and grew around a particular project: The Complutense Polyglot Bible. They were created and grew under the leadership of a few individuals: Alfonso de Zamora (1474?1520?), Benito Arias Montano (1527-1598), and Cardinal Zelada (17171801). Older collections from convents and libraries were eventually included in the collections discussed here. As in the other volumes, F. J. del Barco del Barco provides good and comprehensive descriptions of the manuscripts, which in these volume number 76 manuscripts. During my (admittedly, cursory) reading of these three volumes (199 manuscript descriptions), I noticed only one mistake, and it can be easily corrected. The commentary on the Song of Songs in no 47 is not by Samuel Ibn Tibbon, but by his son Moses Ibn Tibbon. There may be also a few mistakes in Hebrew citations. Every one of the three volumes has two indexes of names, in Spanish and in Hebrew. Each one is enriched by the reproduction of the drawings of the watermarks of the papers with their identification in Briquet’s Dictionary and is illustrated by a generous number of color reproductions of double pages of manuscripts (28 in vol. I; 27 in vol. II; 26 in vol. III).

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I would like to conclude this review with a reference to two features that are not found in any other catalogue of Hebrew manuscripts I am aware of. First, in vol. I, pp. 77-93 and vol. III, pp. 71- 85, L. Vegas Montaner describes and gives examples of the database which was built alongside with the writing of the descriptions. Although not all the details can be entered in these databases, this is a good demonstration of the usefulness of modern electronic systems. Second, every volume contains a CD that contains an electronic version of the complete paper edition, including the reproductions. One can copy them into one’s computer and use it when working in all the other libraries or at home. This CD is a very helpful addition to an already excellent volume, in both content and visual formatting. [1] For this reason our new series of catalogues is called "Manuscrits en caractères hébreux conservés dans les bibliothèques de France" (Brepols eds.). Volume III in this series (forthcoming in 2009) describes the first part of the biblical manuscripts in the Bibliothèque Nationale de France. These manuscripts are being catalogued by the author of the three books reviewed here, F. Javier del Barco del Barco.

Paul M. Joyce, EZEKIEL: A COMMENTARY (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies, 482; New York/London: T & T Clark, 2007). Pp. xi + 307. Hardcover, US$140.00. ISBN 978-0-567-02685-9. Reviewed by Marvin A. Sweeney Claremont School of Theology and Claremont Graduate University Joyce’s commentary on the book of Ezekiel was originally commissioned for the regrettably defunct New Century Bible Commentary Series. Joyce’s volume continues the scope and format of that series, although publication in the Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Series (formerly JSOTSup) at $140.00 per copy will undoubtedly hamper the wide distribution of this very useful volume. Hopefully, T and T Clark (Continuum) will be able to release an inexpensive paperback edition in the not too distant future.

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In keeping with the goals of the New Century Bible series, Joyce offers a commentary that focuses especially on the theological interpretation of the book grounded in historical research and literary sensitivity. Despite the compact format of the series, Joyce manages to pack in a great deal of informative analysis on both the book of Ezekiel and modern scholarship on the book. Text criticism, although not lacking, appears far less frequently in the commentary. Joyce emphasizes that historical context is an important factor in the interpretation of biblical text even when the interpreter must account for the contemporary contexts of both the author of the commentary and its readers. He therefore emphasizes the sixth century BCE as the historical setting and Babylonia as the political and cultural setting for reading and interpreting the book of Ezekiel. Joyce is fully aware that the book of Ezekiel is the product of redaction, even in the eyes of the Talmudic Rabbis, who note that Ezekiel is the product of “the men of the great assembly” (b B. Bat. 14b-15a), and Rashi, who notes that Ezekiel did not write his own book because he lived outside of the land of Israel. Joyce’s discussion of the unity, authorship, and redaction of the book of Ezekiel emphasizes seven criteria, viz., distinctions between poetry and prose, textual witnesses to the book, the use of priestly case law and language, deuteronomistic affinities, grammar and motif, and theological content. In general, he attempts to stake out a middle ground between the work of Zimmerli, who posited a lengthy and complicated process of traditiohistorical growth for the book, and Greenberg, who was far more reluctant to identify the work of later writers. Although the work includes secondary material (e.g., Ezekiel 38-39; elements of Ezekiel 40-48, and elsewhere), he attributes the bulk of the work to the sixth century prophet Ezekiel. He recognizes glosses based on the analysis of the MT and at times the LXX, although he rejects Wever’s earlier reconstruction as over-confident and correctly refutes Lust’s contention, based on Chester-Beatty-Scheide Papyrus 967, that the Greek text points to the compositional history of the book. Joyce’s discussion of theological themes correctly notes that Ezekiel is written as a form of crisis literature insofar as it addresses the theological questions prompted by the destruction of Jerusalem and the Babylonian Exile. He recognizes that Ezekiel’s means of answering these questions is to posit that Israel itself is fully responsible for the fate that has befallen the nation, but he does not always follow through in the commentary in

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recognizing that this is Ezekiel’s perspective rather than an established fact (see, for example, his comments on Ezek 8:7 that Jaazniah ben Shaphan has gone astray rather than recognizing that Jaazniah was a member of a family that fully supported Jeremiah). Insofar as Ezekiel posits a radical theocentrism, Joyce denies the possibility that repentance will avert the disaster in Ezekiel’s theology, and he maintains that the divine will and not repentance will see to the restoration of Israel and the Temple once the punishment is complete. He correctly stresses Ezekiel’s emphasis on generational rather than individual responsibility (e.g., Ezekiel 18). Joyce’s thematic emphases unfortunately carry on into his analysis of the literary structure of the book insofar as he posits that the book comprises a number of sub-units based on largely thematic concerns, including Ezekiel 1-3 on Ezekiel’s prophetic call; Ezekiel 4-24 concerning YHWH’s judgment; Ezekiel 25-32 concerning foreign nations; Ezekiel 33, which he identifies as the turning point of the book; Ezekiel 34-37 on the hope for restoration; Ezekiel 38-39 concerning Gog of Magog; and Ezekiel 40-48 concerning the new Temple. Such a view pushes aside the role of the chronological markers that introduce the various sub-units of the book (and intrude in the sub-units that he defines) in a sequence that extends from Ezekiel’s thirtieth to his fiftieth year, the normal span of service for a Temple priest. Although Joyce recognizes that Ezekiel was a priest before he was a prophet, he does not push the implications of this identity far enough in interpreting features of the book. An important illustration is his decision to read the thirtieth year in Ezek 1:1 as a reference to the thirtieth year of exile when he (based on Howie) posits that the work was composed. But clear evidence for this contention is lacking, so that it is inferred primarily on the basis of brief indications of redaction (e.g., Ezek 1:2-3) and the problematic reference to the twenty-seventh year in Ezek 29:17 that so many scholars attribute to an updating of an earlier reference to Nebuchadnezzar’s delayed conquest of Tyre. Not only does the thirtieth year provide a foundation for the chronological structure of the book, it points to Ezekiel’s birth in 622 B.C.E., when Josiah began his program of national and Temple restoration, which ultimately informs Ezekiel’s own views of the purging and restoration of Israel and the Temple throughout the book. Other indications of Ezekiel’s priestly identity and their importance for interpreting the book are often lacking, such as the role of the Ark of the Covenant and Holy of Holies for interpreting Ezekiel’s inaugural vision of the glory of YHWH in Ezekiel 1; the role of Temple and

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community purging on Yom Kippur for the vision of the destruction of Jerusalem in Ezekiel 8-11; Ezekiel’s reenactment of the Exodus to symbolize exile in Ezekiel 12; the priestly significance of his role as watchman in Ezekiel 3 and 33; the decision not to mourn for his wife in Ezekiel 24; the priestly conceptualization of the impurity of death in Ezekiel 37 and 38-39 and the role of the latter in preparing for the following vision of the restored Temple; and the role of the restored Temple at the center of a restored creation as well as Israel in Ezekiel 40-48, and others. Ezekiel’s priestly identity informs his prophetic oracles, symbolic acts, and worldview throughout the book. Joyce’s welcome treatment of Ezekiel in tradition provides extensive discussion of the role of Ezekiel in Judaism, Christianity, and even contemporary culture. He emphasizes the foundational role of the book in the development of the Merkavah tradition and correctly opines that apocalyptic and Merkavah literature may be related. Despite the questions raised here, this is a very welcome and useful commentary that will well serve its readers, especially students, if they are able to afford it.

Benno Jacob, THE FIRST BOOK OF THE BIBLE: GENESIS, AUGMENTED EDITION (Abridged, Edited and Translated by Ernest I. Jacob and Walter Jacob; Jersey City: KTAV Publishing House, 2007). Pp. xxii + 358. Hardcover, US$49.50. ISBN 978-0-88125-960-5 Reviewed by John Van Seters Waterloo, Ontario This is a reprint of the 1974 edition of the same book, augmented only by a short three-page introduction to the 2007 edition. The original German commentary was published by Benno Jacob in Berlin, 1934, with a reprint by Ktav in 1974, and this abridged English translation is only about onethird the size of the original. The editors, son and grandson, decided to omit much of the critical and detailed scholarly discussion of the original to

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make it more appropriate for a lay audience, but this makes it much less helpful for the academic study of the Bible, for which one must still resort to the German edition. Jacob’s basic approach is to accept the MT as the received text, and to view it as the work of a creative editor using old sources, which have been brought together into a harmonious whole. Jacob rejects the Documentary Hypothesis of critical scholarship and in his original full edition argues against it throughout the commentary and in a one hundred page appendix, but this discussion has been almost entirely eliminated in the abridged version, with only the occasional dismissive comment about this critical approach. Thus we are given a holistic interpretation reflecting a single and consistent theological viewpoint, which is completely consonant with the long tradition of Jewish orthodoxy. As if to demonstrate this continuity of tradition, Jacob makes frequent citation from early rabbinic and medieval midrash and commentaries. Such a style of exegesis, especially in this abbreviated form, is quite suitable within the context of Bible instruction in the synagogue. This should not be surprising because Jacob did not have an academic appointment but was for most of his professional life a rabbi in the synagogues of Göttingen and Dortmund. In his holistic method of interpretation and his rejection of “higher criticism” Jacob stands in the tradition of a number of Jewish scholars, such as U. Cassuto and Y. Kaufmann who wrote strong polemics against the Documentary Hypothesis and championed the holistic approach, and they still have many supporters both in the Jewish and Israeli scholarly community. Of course Jacob recognizes that Genesis is not history or science in the modern sense but is revelation accommodated to the perspective and limitations of the ancient writer. In the unabridged version of the commentary Jacob gives extensive demonstration of his erudition in the broader field of ancient comparative literature, and Near Eastern texts in particular as they were known in his day. However, they are used primarily as a foil to demonstrate the superiority of the biblical literature over the religions of the surrounding pagan culture. There is no room for notions of religious development, such as are reflected in Wellhausen, with the result that all texts are made to conform to the same orthodoxy and he can cite proof-texts from elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible to support his understanding of any given text.

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Jacob’s method of exegesis may be illustrated by a few examples. Thus in the case of the text in Gen 6:1-4, which deals with sexual intercourse between the “sons of God” and mortal women, Jacob renders the problematic phrase “sons of God” as the “divine ones” and explains that they “were like God in their own eyes, and yet of a very earthly humanity” (p. 45). This leads him to suggest that the origin of the giants has nothing to do with the divinity of the “sons of God” but with the women who are described as “strong” rather than “beautiful.” Furthermore, the age limit of 120 years that is imposed by the deity on the offspring of such a union reminds Jacob of the fact that Moses, “a man of God,” lived until 120 years old, so that he becomes one of these “divine ones,” and the same applies to Elijah another “man of God,” although his age is never specifically given. The whole discussion of this unit becomes a complex interconnection of biblical texts, a fanciful intertextuality that is typical of the rabbinic tradition of midrash. Jacob uses this same method to overcome problems raised by the Documentary Hypothesis and its division of sources. Thus, in the flood story one source suggests that there were only two of all the animals whereas the other source makes a distinction between seven pairs of the clean animals and birds and one pair of the rest. Jacob gets around this problem by arguing that the order regarding the seven pairs of clean animals was in addition to the order about the one pair of all animals. This he proves by suggesting that Noah sacrificed all seven pairs of the clean animals after he left the ark, although the text does not explicitly say so. Why was this necessary? He points to the statement in the story of Job, in which Job offers atonement sacrifices for each of his seven sons (1:5) and since there were seven members of Noah’s family on board the ark (his wife, three sons and their wives), he needed all seven pairs of animals for his sacrifice. The intertextual connection is quite ingenious, but it is just a typical case of special pleading. At times Jacob’s ideological reading is quite pronounced. When he is commenting on Abraham’s migration from Mesopotamia and arrival at Shechem in the land of Canaan, he treats Abraham as a “colonist” (see the German original) and speaks of the altar that Abraham builds as his claim to the land: “In a manner he hoists the flag of his God over the land of Canaan” (p. 88). The Canaanites are merely an aboriginal population, which are to be displaced. Since Abraham is presented as the “example for future people of Israel,” it is not hard to see the message here for early Zionism.

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What I believe is important about this abridged version of Jacob’s Genesis commentary is not its contribution to critical scholarship, but its possible use as an easy access to the thought and exegetical style of one of the major figures from the early 20th century who shaped modern Jewish biblical scholarship. This is particularly the case in its strong emphasis on the continuity of the biblical tradition with rabbinic and medieval exegesis, and its use of midrashic exegesis in the form of biblical intertextuality.

Ehud Ben Zvi, HISTORY, LITERATURE AND THEOLOGY IN THE BOOK OF CHRONICLES (Bible World; London: Equinox, 2006). Pp. xi + 316. Paper, US $26.95. ISBN 978-1-84553-071-6. Reviewed by Steven L. McKenzie Rhodes College Memphis, TN This volume consists of ten previously published essays, two “new” essays published here for the first time, and an introductory chapter. The previously published essays appeared in a variety of venues over a fifteenyear period from 1988 - 2003. The essays are presented here not in chronological order but according to topic, in four sections: Introductory Essays (chs. 1-2), Chronicles and the Rereading and Writing of a Didactic, Socializing History (chs. 3-7), Chronicles and Theology as Communicated and Recreated through the Rereading of a Historiographical, Literary Writing (chs. 8-12), and Chronicles and Literature: Literary Characterizations that Convey Theological Worldviews and Shape Stories about the Past (ch. 13). The Introduction surveys the essays in the volume and explains that cumulatively they lead “to a new understanding of the Book of Chronicles … and of the way in which the book serves to reshape the social memory of its intended and primary rereaderships, in accordance with its own multiple viewpoints and the knowledge of the past held by its community.” B. Z. uses the term “rereader(ship)” to stress that Chronicles was “mainly

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reread, time and again.” The second chapter brings forward and summarizes certain positions elaborated in the book. Above all it emphasizes the need to distinguish between messages conveyed by a particular episode in the book and those conveyed by the book as a whole. The third chapter, one of the “new” essays, argues from tensions within Chronicles and between it and other books that the implied author of Chronicles and its ancient readers understood it as a didactic work drawing on a general image of the past “but not necessarily a detailed, mimetic and fully historically reliable picture of events and circumstances of the past.” Chapter four focuses on the material in Chronicles that was borrowed unchanged from sources. B. Z. proposes that there was a set of “core facts” accepted without change or contradiction and sometimes assumed by the Chronicler (= implied author) and that lack of reference to or highlighting of certain events or periods is best explained in terms of the book’s design rather than as dismissal or devaluation. Chapter five contends that building reports in Chronicles depend more on literary and ideological interests—in particular the effort to build a contrast between Judah and Israel—than on written records. The sixth chapter analyzes Chronicles’ presentation of the secession of Israel as coming from YHWH and the implications of this message for Persian-period Yehudite literati, who represented the book’s primary readership. The final chapter in this section examines the construction of time in Chronicles, suggesting that it is multifaceted and affected by cultic and theological concerns. The third section begins with a chapter (8) that articulates one of B. Z.’s main concerns—the contention that the “doctrine of immediate retribution,” while upheld by certain episodes in Chronicles, is contradicted by others, and in the context of the entire book is complicated as a principle of divine action and cannot be used to predict the future. The ninth chapter, co-authored by A. Labahn, discusses references to women in the genealogies in 1 Chronicles 1–9 in an effort to show that common social boundaries were sometimes transgressed in the past with positive results. Chapter ten, the other “new” essay in the book, treats Chronicles’ ideology regarding peripheral Israel, i.e., the North. While part of Israel, they are removed from its main historical narrative. The people of Yehud are to teach peripheral Israel maintenance of the legitimate Jerusalem temple and its cult, but they are required not to annex Israel or end its exile. The eleventh chapter investigates the account of the reign of Ahaz (2 Chron 28) in depth as a paradigm of the Chronicler’s thought and draws numerous

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detailed implications from the investigation. Chapter twelve surveys the use of Chronicles in late Second Temple period literature, concluding that evidence of its authoritativeness is lacking and that the Dtr History was preferred as a source for the image of the monarchic period. The final chapter, a section to itself, takes up the topic of speeches ascribed to foreign monarchs in Chronicles, specifically, those of Huram, the Queen of Sheba, Sennacherib, Pharaoh Neco, and Cyrus. Not necessarily evil or opposed to YHWH’s will (four of the five speak as though they were pious Israelites), their speeches reinforce the rhetorical appeal of the relevant texts. This book is testimony to the fact that Ehud Ben Zvi’s has been an important voice in the study of Chronicles for at least the last two decades. It is handy to have his essays collected in a single volume. Unfortunately, it is difficult for the reader to get a clear sense of the evolution of his thought because the essays are not laid out in chronological order. Moreover, the groupings of the essays seem artificial and not representative of the real content or thrust of the individual pieces. The presentation here also suffers from an inordinate number of typos and infelicities in phrasing. This is especially true of the Introduction (ch. 1) and of Hebrew quotes. For instance, the summary given for chapter 8 (p. 12) is really for chapter 6, and “sheds light on” should be read for “shades light in” (p. 15). As for the content of the essays, different readers will no doubt be particularly appreciative of different insights and chapters. As a rereader of B. Z.’s work, I found the chapters on women in the genealogies (ch. 9) and Ahaz (ch. 11) to be especially enjoyable and nicely done. As hinted in the quotations above, there are points at which B. Z.’s phrasing can be dense and his meaning not readily apparent. Nevertheless, his insights more than repay careful (re)reading. One of its greatest values is the caution to which B.Z. urges us in regard to established theses about Chronicles and the way in which he challenges us to question such theses or at least to be more precise about them—as in the case of the “doctrine of immediate retribution.” At the same time, one might raise questions about B. Z.’s own assumptions here: What do we really know about the Yehudite (re)readers of Chronicles and how they approached it? Would they or the (implied) author of the book, especially as elites, have considered the death of the 70,000 because of David’s sin counter to the idea of individual responsibility or would they have been able to incorporate such tensions within the doctrine in the same way that they apparently incorporated

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tensions regarding historical data? We look forward to further essays on Chronicles from Ben Zvi, whose incisive mind has no doubt anticipated such questions.

James L. Kugel, PRAYERS THAT CITE SCRIPTURE (Harvard University Center for Jewish Studies; Cambridge/London: Harvard University Press, 2006). Pp. 119. Cloth, US$27.50. ISBN: 0674-01971-7 Reviewed by Andrea K. Di Giovanni University of St. Michael's College In this collection, James Kugel presents six essays that examine the use and function of Scripture in prayer. The essays in this collection are arranged in chronological order according to topic and represent a cross-section of the history of Jewish prayer life. The collection is clearly centered on Jewish prayer, and Kugel is conscious that this focus neglects the Christian prayer tradition (p. 4 n. 9). However, this seems to be not so much a lacuna as it is a suggestion for future research. It would be fascinating, for example, to compare how Jewish and Christian prayer traditions employed the same biblical texts and to what end. Judith Newman opens the collection with an overview of the phenomenon in its earliest form. In "The Scripturalization of Prayer in Exilic and Second Temple Judaism" (pp. 7-24), Newman examines four representative prayers: 1 Kgs 8:23-53; Neh 9:5-37; Jdt 9:2-14; and 3 Macc 2:2-20. While the latter three prayers date from the post-exilic period, Newman takes 1 Kgs 8:23-53 as an example from the exilic period that witnesses to an early stage of scripturalization by combining Priestly and Deuteronomic traditions of the relationship of the people vis-à-vis God (pp. 10-11). Newman's analysis of the remaining prayers demonstrates how scripturalization functions hermeneutically (Neh 9:5-37), typologically (Jdt 9:2-14), and exegetically (3 Macc 2:2-20), all the while providing glimpses into the theological concerns of the texts' intended audiences. In "Scripture and Prayer in the 'Words of the Luminaries' " (pp. 25-41), Esther Chazon examines the “modes of composition” employed in the

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creation of the “Words of the Luminaries” in order to address what biblical texts were reused, how they were deployed (quotation, allusion, or free use), and to what end (pp. 26-27). She identifies four modes of composition: modeling, florilegium, pastiche, and free composition, focusing on the prayers for Thursday and Friday to illuminate each method (p. 28). Chazon concludes that, despite the range of modes employed, the “Words of the Luminaries” is the product of a single author who creatively used a variety of methods to generate a cohesive, yet mosaic, liturgical work (p. 41). In “The Role of Biblical Verses in Prayer According to the Rabbinic Tradition” (pp. 43-59), Shlomo Naeh highlights the fact that the use of Scripture in prayer was a point of tension in early rabbinic circles. Through his discussions of the berakhot mentioned in the Tosefta (pp. 44-49), the use of Isa 45:7 in the yotser ’or (pp. 49-53), and an analysis of the Talmudic injunction not to recite a blessing that is comprised of an unadulterated biblical text (y. Ber. 1:4 and y. Ta‘anit 2:3) (p. 59), Naeh demonstrates the extreme sensitivity the rabbis exhibited concerning the difference between written and recited prayer, and between liturgical and non-liturgical texts. He concludes that, for the rabbis, Scripture could not be manipulated into prayer, but rather that both genres had to remain distinct. Moving to later rabbinic texts, Robert Brody investigates the “Liturgical Uses of the Book of Psalms in the Geonic Period” (pp. 61-81). Like Naeh, Brody also draws attention to the tension present in rabbinic circles concerning the correct use of Scripture in prayer, which centered on whether or not it was appropriate to generate one’s own prayers or whether only the Psalms could provide the words suitable for addressing God (p. 72). Brody examines the eighteenth chapter of the Palestinian Massekhet Soferim (Tractate of Scribes) and concludes, contra Ezra Fleischer, that it is an authentic, though highly edited, witness to the use of the Psalms in the liturgies of the period – a conclusion that opens the door for more detailed investigation and comparison with other liturgies, including sectarian and Christian traditions. Shulamit Elizur looks at the use of Scripture in liturgical poetry (piyyut) in “The Use of Biblical Verses in Hebrew Liturgical Poetry” (pp. 83-100). She identifies three techniques employed by the poets: biblical verses that accompany a poem, verses ornamenting a poem, and verses imbedded within the poem. Focusing on ornamental verses, Elizur demonstrates how classical and medieval poets played with and manipulated Scripture to such an extent that, in some cases, the original meaning of the Scripture became

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absorbed into the construction of the poem. The tension between the proponents of this kind of manipulation of Scripture and those who felt Scripture should remain unadulterated is not a central concern of the essay, but, read in tandem with Naeh’s and Brody’s contributions, the reader can ably surmise this fact. Joseph Yahalom also looks at poetry in “From the Material to the Spiritual: Scriptural Allusions and their Development in Judeo-Arabic Liturgical Poetry” (pp. 101-119), and demonstrates the extreme skill with which liturgical poets drew from Scripture. He charts the development of this tradition from the wake of the Arab conquest, (p. 102) to the European poets of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries – whose manipulation of scriptural language became so adept and so particular to the Hebrew language that the cleverness of their art became isolating (p. 118). In sum, Kugel presents a diverse and fascinating collection. Despite its brevity, the volume would have benefited greatly from an index of Scripture passages, as well as a general bibliography. However, every essay in this collection suggests multiple directions for future study, and this is the real strength of the compilation as whole.

Mark J. Boda, Daniel K. Falk, and Rodney A. Werline, eds. SEEKING THE FAVOR OF GOD. VOLUME 1: THE ORIGINS OF PENITENTIAL PRAYER IN SECOND TEMPLE JUDAISM (SBL Early Judaism and its Literature, 21; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2006). Pp. xvii + 249. Paper, US$35.95. ISBN 1-58983-2612. Reviewed by Andrea K. Di Giovanni University of St. Michael’s College This collection comprises twelve essays originally delivered at the first consultation on penitential prayer held at the Society of Biblical Literature’s meeting in November 2003. Rodney Werline opens the collection with a definition of penitential prayer (“Defining Penitential Prayer, pp. xiii-xvii),

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wisely emphasizing that this definition is “a starting point, not the final word” (p. xvii). Engaged as a senior scholar, Samuel Balentine offers a review of literature and suggests possibilities for future avenues of research. In “‘I was Ready to be Sought Out by Those Who Did Not Ask’” (pp. 1-20), he suggests that more attention be given to tradio-historical analysis versus strict form criticism (p. 16), as well as to the theological impact of penitential prayer, especially as it relates to the genre of lament (pp. 16-17). He also feels that further investigation is needed into the relationship between priestly and prophetic conceptualizations of the function of penitence with respect to lament (pp. 18-19). Finally, Balentine believes the Book of Job has much to offer the study of penitential prayer, especially with respect to its relationship with priestly material (p. 19-20). These thought-provoking suggestions are taken up to various degrees by the contributors to the volume. Mark Boda’s, “Confession as Theological Expression: Ideological Origins of Penitential Prayer” (pp. 21-50), provides a thorough analysis of how specific theologies inform the earliest penitential prayers of Ezra 9; Neh 1; 9; Dan 9; and Ps 106. Boda gives detailed attention to the intersection of strands of Priestly and Deuteronomic theologies in penitential prayer (pp. 27-34), which then inform his exploration of the theology of sin (pp. 34-39), the theology of God (pp. 39-43), the theology of people (pp. 43-45), and the theology of scripture (pp. 46-49) in penitential prayer. In “Socio-Ideological Setting or Settings for Penitential Prayers?” (pp. 5168), Dalit Rom-Shiloni explores the relationship between penitential prayers and communal laments and proposes that penitential prayers are the orthodox alternative that develop in opposition to communal laments (p. 52-53, 67). Rom-Shiloni perhaps places too much confidence in the strict categories of lament versus penitence, and orthodox versus non-orthodox. However, it is a very provocative suggestion, and one with which subsequent research will have to engage. In “The Speech Act of Confession: Priestly Performative Utterance in Leviticus 16 and Ezra 9-10” (pp. 69-82), Jay C. Hogewood creatively uses speech-act theory to explore how the act of confession, mediated by the term ‫התודה‬, is in itself cleansing (p. 73), and how, in the case of Ezra 9-10, it effects permanent change (p. 82). It would be fascinating to apply

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Hogewood’s approach to other elements of Ezra 9-10, such as the term ‫בדל‬. In “Lament Regained in Trito-Isaiah’s Penitential Prayer” (pp. 83-99), Richard Bautch challenges the notion that penitential prayer succeeded lament completely. He proposes that lament influences Isa 63:7-64:11 in such a manner that suggests that penitential prayer does not completely subsume lament. Rather, lament actively informs the structure and content of Isa 63:7-64:11. Bautch’s proposal is important, and it would be illuminating to locate a similar trend in other Second Temple texts. In “The Affirmation of Divine Righteousness in Early Penitential Prayers: A Sign of Judaism’s Entry into the Axial Age” (pp. 101-117), William Morrow suggests that the shift from lament to penitential prayer indicates the development of new insights into God’s transcendence that ushered Israel into the Axial Age (p. 106). For Morrow, the Book of Job stands as a witness to this shift (pp. 108-113). Morrow’s categories of lament and penitence are perhaps rather rigid; however, he does a great service by placing the genesis of penitential prayer into conversation with broader social developments. Katherine Hayes draws upon Aristotelian dramatic categories in “When None Repents, Earth Laments: The Chorus of Lament in Jeremiah and Joel” (pp. 119-143). She demonstrates how the mourning of the earth in Jeremiah 12 and Joel 1-2 functions like a tragic chorus (p. 132) by shepherding the audience into the desired communal response of acknowledgement of wrongdoing. This is an important device to recognize as older scriptural material is reapplied during the development of penitential prayer in the Second Temple Period. Judith Gärtner’s contribution, “. . .Why Do You Let Us Stray From Your Paths. . . (Isa 63:17): The Concept of Guilt in the Communal Lament Isa 63:7-64:11” (pp. 145-163), is an important essay that demonstrates that Isa 63:7-64:11 is not an anomalous appendage, but rather a vital passage that develops key Isaianic themes and theologies and influences the entire book (p. 146). By demonstrating intra-textual fluidity, Gärtner challenges overly rigid categorizations of lament and penitence. In “Ezra 9:6-15: A Penitential Prayer within its Literary Setting” (pp. 165-180), Michael Duggan offers a thorough synchronic analysis of Ezra’s prayer while demonstrating how intimately it relates to Ezra-Nehemiah as a whole through links in vocabulary and theological emphasis. This extremely

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detailed essay will challenge those scholars who insist that Ezra-Nehemiah is not a single work. In “Form Criticism in Transition: Penitential Prayer and Lament, Sitz im Leben and Form” (pp. 181-192), Boda calls into question the usefulness of form criticism with its emphasis on Sitz im Leben, since the danger is that categories become too rigid. He suggests that a more nuanced approach might regard the developments of prayer in Second Temple literature to be on a “continuum” (p. 187), and would explore shifts in what he calls Ausblick aufs Leben (outlook/perspective on life) (p. 189). Samuel Balentine summarizes the collection in a brief “Afterword” (pp. 193-204). Since the relationship between lament and penitence surfaces as a central concern of the volume, Balentine’s opinion that future work should consider both together should be taken seriously (p. 198). Balentine concludes with three intriguing avenues for consideration in the continued study of penitential prayer: the problem of theodicy, continued research into the contribution of the Book of Job, and the theology of scripture (p. 202-204). Since Balentine and Boda both offer reviews of literature (pp. 2-10 and 21-27), and suggestions for future trajectories (pp. 187-192 and 202-204), it might have been helpful to have streamlined these into a co-authored piece. However, the format of the consultation is to be borne in mind, and there is no doubt that this first volume of Seeking the Favor of God is an indispensible resource for any researcher interested in Jewish prayer during the Second Temple Period.

Sariana Metso, THE SEREK TEXTS (Companion to the Qumran Scrolls, 9; Library of Second Temple Texts, 62; London/New York: T & T Clark, 2007). Pp. xiii + 86. Hardcover, US$110.00. ISBN 978-0-567-04092-3. Reviewed by Jean Duhaime Théologie et sciences des religions, Université de Montréal In this ‘Companion to the Qumran Scrolls’, Sarianna Metso, an expert on the textual development of the Community Rule (Hebrew Serek) now

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teaching at the University of Toronto, introduces the reader to the various manuscripts of this Rule and summarizes the scholarly discussion on the central topics related to them. Her book is divided into seven chapters. The short introduction (Chap. 1) begins with an account of the discovery and publication of the scrolls of the Rule, and then provides a physical description of twelve of them in numerical sequence (1QS Sa Sb; 4Q255264 Sa-j; 5Q11; 11Q29 Fragment related to Serekh ha-Yahad); Metso also records the quotes of the Rule in a few additional documents and points to related texts. Chap. 2, “Genre and Contents” discusses the structural units of 1QS (I.1-15 Introduction; I.16–III.12 Liturgy for the Renewal of the Covenant; etc.) and considers for each of them the most significant differences found in parallel texts, mainly those from Cave 4. On the basis of this comparison, it can be demonstrated, for instance, that the so-called ‘Manifesto’ found in 1QS VIII.1–IX.26 consisted once only of an introduction (1QS VIII.1-15a) and of instructions for the wise leader (1QS IX.12-26), as in 4QSe where these sections follow one another directly (4QSe III.1-6a.6b–IV.6); the two parts of the code of discipline (1QS VIII.16b-IX.2), and the duplicate of the introduction (1QS IX.3-11) found between them are most likely secondary additions. Since the discovery of the first copy of the Community Rule in Cave 1 (1QS), several hypotheses have been made about the redactional history of this text. In Chap. 3, Metso briefly recalls the most significant before and after the public release of the evidence from Cave 4. Her own comprehensive study of the question has led her to suggest that an early version of the Rule prompted two lines of tradition, witnessed respectively by 4QSe and 4QSb,d. The early version began with material parallel to 1QS V and was addressed to the maskil (as does 4QSd); it ended possibly with a calendric text (as does 4QSe) rather than with the psalm found in 1QS X– XI. 1QS is a combination of both lines of tradition which also includes the insertion of cols. I–IV and of scriptural quotations and additions (as shown by 4QSb,d). This text was subsequently revised by a scribal corrector who left his mark particularly in cols. VII–VIII. The title of Chap. 4, "Commentary on key passages" is somewhat confusing, since these are gathered around common themes. The introductory passages of cols. I, V, and VIII provide information about the general principles of community life such as the adherence to and the study of the Law of Moses, the separation from outsiders, the observance of a

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specific calendar, etc. The first columns of 1QS also include an elaborate description of a covenant ceremony (I.16–III.12), parts of which are also preserved or echoed in other manuscripts, and the well-known Treatise on the Two Spirits (III.13–IV.26) with its strong dualism. Passages of 1QS related to the admission of new members, the judicial sessions of the community, its penal codes and its leadership are also studied, with special attention to their variants and, when relevant, reference to their similarities with the descriptions of the Essenes by Philo, Pliny, and Josephus. Metso begins her study of the relationship between the Community Rule and the Bible (Chap. 5) by demonstrating that the three biblical citations found in 1QS (V.13b-16a; V.16b-19a and VIII.12b-16a) are secondary additions to an earlier form of the Rule. She then analyzes similarities and differences between the Community Rule and the New Testament. When they quote Isaiah 40.3, both the Community Rule (VIII.14) and the four evangelists (Mt. 3.3; Mk 1.3; Lk 3.4-6; Jn 1.23) disregarded its historical context, detached it from its original meaning and adapted its wording to fit their own needs. Many New Testament concepts and theological ideas, such as the Pauline belief on justification by divine grace, are also found in the Rule. Other parallel features, sometimes with significant distinctions, include literary forms (lists of virtues and vices), community structure and practices (division into twelve, sharing of goods, ritual immersions, etc.) and messianic expectations. In Chap. 6, Metso extends her exploration to seven texts related to the Community Rule: the Rule of the Congregation (1QSa), the Rule of the Blessings (1QSb), Miscellaneous Rules (4Q265), Rebukes Reported by the Overseer (4Q477), Communal Ceremony (4Q275); Four Lots (4Q279), and Rule (5Q13). The contents of these documents, their relationship with 1QS, and their particular significance are exposed separately; each one is provided with its own bibliographic information. In the concluding chapter, Metso assesses the function and significance of the Rule texts in the Essene community. Rules and regulations, which stand at the core of these manuscripts, were most likely derived through oral decision-making and based on practical exigencies. Scriptural justifications were added later, perhaps when one or another practice was challenged. This suggests that “the community treated the laws of the Torah and community regulations as equally authoritative” (p. 67). In their written forms, the Rules would not have been intended as “lawbook” or “rulebook” in the modern sense, but rather “as a recording of different

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judicial decisions and a report of oral traditions” (p. 68). This would account for the presence of contradictory regulations in a compilation like the Community Rule. The several copies of the Rule suggest, according to Metso, that “it never existed as a single legitimate and up-to-date version of the Community Rule that supplemented all other versions” (p. 69). This book perfectly suits the need for an introduction to 1QS, other manuscripts of the Community Rule, and related texts. It provides basic information, competently reviews early and current scholarship, and offers a fresh view of nature, growth, and function of these documents based on all relevant evidences. It is clearly written and accessible to everyone interested in the field of Qumran studies. Extensive bibliographic data and indexes of references and authors complete this work which will stand as an essential reference on the Rule texts for several years.

Theodore A. Perry, GOD’S TWILIGHT ZONE: WISDOM IN THE HEBREW BIBLE (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 2008). Pp. xxi+200. Paper, US$19.95. ISBN 978-1-59856-227-9. Reviewed by Timothy Senapatiratne, Bethel Seminary and University Theodore A. Perry’s most recent book offers an interesting mix of historical and rabbinic exegesis, unconventional readings, brilliant suggestions, and prose that often requires multiple readings in order to be understood. Perry defines the “twilight zone” as those biblical passages which are ambiguous oracles, signs, dreams or riddles (xi). Furthermore, Perry reminds the reader that there are, in fact, two twilights – one in the evening and one in the morning – and that both “express the dynamism, the changing fortunes of human existence, perpetually shifting from happiness to misery; ignorance to clarity” (xi). Throughout the book Perry advocates readings of the biblical texts that are in the “middle” of these human experiences so that the ambiguity and dynamism of the text is highlighted. Simple and straightforward interpretations are dismissed.

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The book is composed of nine essays, each one dealing with a different wisdom text or biblical story in the Hebrew Bible. Perry has grouped the first three essays under the subtitle “Creating and Maintaining a Righteous World.” These three essays define biblical righteousness (in the Hebrew Bible), Joseph’s righteousness, and Pharaoh’s lack of righteousness and are intermittently frustrating and fascinating. For example, Perry’s first and second chapters weave in and out of a fascinatingly, although not always convincing, close reading of the singular and plural word dream in the Joseph story. However, in the same chapters he unconvincingly argues that the Tamar and Judah episode found in the middle of the Joseph story teaches the biblical reader that Judah’s qualification for leadership is demonstrated by his acknowledgement of Tamar’s superior righteousness in spite of his impregnating and condemning her to death (16). The next four chapters, creating the second part of Perry’s book entitled “Interpreting in the Twilight Zone,” are by far the best of the book and perhaps worth reading before the first three chapters. Thematically they also seem to have the closest connection to Perry’s definition of the “twilight zone.” In these chapters Perry examines, with great insight, four notoriously difficult texts. Perry discusses Samson’s riddles in the book of Judges, the proverbial questions about Saul being among the prophets in Samuel, the story of Solomon’s wise decision about splitting the baby in Kings and the prologue to the book of Psalms in Psalm 1. In each of these chapters Perry offers insightful interpretations that may best be considered as alternate readings to these texts. Those looking for traditional historicalcritical exegesis will most likely be disappointed, but those interested in experimental readings will likely find that these essays have much to offer. For example, Perry argues that the tradition which described Saul as being among the prophets was not describing Saul’s kingly leadership qualities but rather his “base identity [which] arises when these [kingly manifestations] are stripped away, when Saul, in the nakedness of his trances [as a prophet], recovers his original self” (90). In similar fashion, Perry argues that the story about Solomon’s attempt to reveal a baby’s mother by threatening to cut it in half does not actually demonstrate Solomon’s wisdom, but rather demonstrates the mother’s. The last part of Perry’s book, entitled “The Rebirth of Vulnerability and Wonder,” tackles two wisdom texts: Qohelet 12 and Proverbs 30. Conscientiously suggesting a different path from conventional allegorical readings of Qoh 12, Perry argues for a literal reading of the last chapter of

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Qohelet. He argues that reading the text literally prepares one for the inevitability of death contrary to the allegorical readings that Perry believes encourage the dread of death. Throughout the book Perry’s strength is his close textual readings that highlight possible interpretations that are unique and interesting in their own right. Perry’s incorporation of Jewish sources is also refreshing and helpful. Perry’s motif of the “Twilight Zone” is at times strained and seems unnecessarily difficult. It might have been better if Perry had let each essay stand on its own rather than for him to artificially connect them with this motif. Further, at times Perry’s main point for his chapters was difficult to ascertain. Of course, this may have been by design to enhance his motif of the “twilight zone.” Overall, this book is worth reading for those interested in alternate ways of interpreting some repeatedly discussed texts in the Hebrew Bible. Those looking for new historical insights or thorough treatments of these texts will not find them here, but those looking for new insights, perhaps during the twilight of the day, will find Perry’s book entertaining and worthy of some consideration.

Korpel, Marjo C. A.; Oesch, Josef M. (eds.), UNIT DELIMITATION IN BIBLICAL HEBREW AND NORTHWEST SEMITIC LITERATURE (Pericope. Scripture as Written and Read in Antiquity 4; Assen: Koninklijke Van Gorcum, 2003). Pp. VIII + 232. Hardback. US$87.00. ISBN-10 9023239784 ISBN-13 9789023239789. Reviewed by Matthias Hopf Augustana Theologische Hochschule Neuendettelsau Germany Method in Unit Delimitation incorporates eight papers from various meetings of the “Pericope” research group—published as the Volume 6 in the eponymous series (now by Brill, not by Van Gorcum as before). The main goal of the “Pericope”group is to analyze, evaluate and, if necessary, revise the division of textual units in primarily the biblical books, with some

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emphasis on the Old Testament. Generally speaking, the means to that end are inquiries in the diverse traditions of delimiting textual units throughout history; however, the methodologies in face vary widely—point that becomes apparent in the present volume in the wide range of features concerning scribal characteristics as well as the traditional background of the manuscripts treated. In their contribution “Paragraphing in a Tibero-Palestinian Manuscript of the Prophets and Writings” J. C. de Moor and M. C. A. Korpel focus on the “study codex” B.N. hébreu 80 (BN) from the collection of the National Library of France.” This manuscript likely dates to the 13th or 14th century and contains features of both the Ben Naftali/Palestinian and the Ben Asher/Tiberian family. After describing the manuscript the authors address the textual layout by accurately listing (and later explaining the origin of) the pluses and minuses in paragraphing (Petuhah / Setumah) of BN compared to the Leningrad Codex (LC). As a sample, the paragraphing in Isaiah is cross-referenced to other medieval Hebrew manuscripts in great detail. Through this large amount of statistical data the authors are able to demonstrate that BN has often preserved an older delimitation of the Masoretic mainstream paragraphing tradition. However, the essay might have benefited from more interpretation instead of just plain presentation (something undertaken e.g. by S.A. Nitsche in Jesaja 24–27: ein dramatischer Text [Stuttgart: Kohlhammer 2006]). In the end their observations lead the authors to the conclusion that it is vital for biblical scholarship to delimit textual units not only on the basis of LC alone, but instead to consider a broader basis of data about paragraphing and spacing in manuscripts. They therefore suggest that critical editions should include such data much like textual critical data is included. K. De Troyer analyzes two substantially older manuscripts, MS 2648 and MS 2649 in her article “The Leviticus and Joshua Codex from the Schøyen Collection: A Closer Look at the Text Divisions.” These papyri were originally part of a second–third century CE codex and display some similarities to the Chester Beatty papyri. Yet unlike those, the present manuscripts show no signs of text division, whether paragraphing or spacing. On the basis of E. Tov’s distinction in Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert (StTDJ, 54; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2004), De Troyer thus ascribes Mss 2648 and 2649 to the third and final historical stage in the tradition of text division in which

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no large sense divisions are indicated even though the present manuscripts lack the typical the paragraphoi or ektheses found in this stage. In the sole New Testament contribution of the volume, “The Influence of Unit Delimitation on Reading and Use of Greek Manuscripts,” S. E. Porter discusses a fifth century lectionary, emphasizing specific features related to performance in worship services. He accordingly concentrates on the delimitation of the given pericopes from all four gospels and its consequences for reading it aloud. Porter analyzes the internal and external division as well as the explanatory framework (especially at the beginning) of the passages. He is thereby able to discern two additional levels of internal division beyond the primary separation in pericopes These levels consist of a variety of highlighting and partitioning characteristics (from punctuation to paragraphing), but the distinction between secondary and tertiary divisions is based only on the quantity of separating features. Furthermore, Porter argues convincingly for the “merit in utilizing the lectionaries much more thoroughly in textual criticism” (55) as these early editions do not present the text according to the later lectionary cycle but in a comparatively reliable and independent manner. In “The Accents: Hierarchy and Meaning,” E. J. Revell concentrates on the dividing accents, the ‫מפסיקים‬, and their semantic usage within the structure of the verses. He describes his task as explaining “how the accents guide the interpretation of the text” (65). Quoting a number of examples from all over the Tanakh, he convincingly argues that disjunctive accents— which Revell classifies in major (silluq, atnah, zaqef, segolta, šalšelet and, likewise, capitals in manuscripts) and minor disjunctives (the rest)—can bring new and elucidating insights to exegesis as their hermeneutical function is not to be confused with the European syntactical punctuation. Rather, it represents an interpretational framework with a value of its own beyond syntax and the textual plain sense of the verses, sometimes even in contrast to them. Specifically, by analyzing the various disjunctives—in their hierarchy, their number, their correlation to each other and to the pausal forms as well—one can discover the nuances of the Masoretic exegesis and at times even establish a deeper understanding of a verse. Admittedly, the portrayal of the accentuation system in its hierarchy and meaning and their correlation to the pausal forms is not always as compelling as desired; Revell himself concedes that the principles of the latter are not yet understood fully and even that “a rigid consistency [in the accentuation] is not to be expected” (70). In any case, the numerous

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illuminative examples provide ample evidence that one can gain fundamental insights by deliberating on the Masoretic accentuation— particularly in respect to its origin: the chanting of the verses which establishes in its melody and mode of presentation a semantic of its own. In his contribution “Graphic Devices Used by the Editors of Ancient and Medieval Manuscripts to Mark Verse-Lines in Classical Hebrew Poetry” S. Tatu outlines the development in the practices of arranging the layout and the usage of markers and graphemes in poetic texts. Tatu surveys the larger sections of poetry as Ps, Cant, and Lam, and also lyrical passages embedded in prose (e.g. the ‘Song of the Sea’ Exod 15:1b–19, for other cf. p. 93) throughout an extraordinarily wide scope of manuscripts. He concludes that the earliest textual witnesses set off poetic texts from prose graphically almost only in the lyrical books—and even then it occurs seldomly. Before the Masoretes standardized the arrangement of lyrical poetical texts (though still not too consistent and without perceivable logic), only the Greek transmission tradition came to regularly mark poetry. This essay contains a huge amount of data describing various manuscripts, which makes it very informative and impressive, though this fact renders reading a sometimes tiring exercise. Concentrating on fewer manuscripts and elucidating the arguments with tables and/or figures might have been more profitable. In a somewhat more historic account, J. H. A. van Banning, SJ presents his “Reflections upon the Chapter Divisions of Stephan Langton.” Instead of deliberating on particular textual features, he discusses the historic process of partitioning of Tanakh in chapters which is—according to his description—in many ways entwined with the issuing of the ‘Exemplar Parisiensis.’ This edition of the Bible from “around the year 1224” (146), which long served as the standard scholar-edition at the newly founded Sorbonne, already displays Langton’s chapter division. Van Banning proposes that this partitioning, which had in fact been introduced by Langton less then two decades earlier, became popular through this edition and through the important commentary of Hugh of St. Cher, which is based on this edition. The author explains the given variations between the Paris exemplar, the named commentary, and Langton’s list by differences in the chapter lists used. He surmises that various chapter lists were circulating at that time, probably representing different stages in an editing process on behalf of Langton, and thus showing a certain development in the

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partitioning. How and by whom the final issue of the chapter division came into being, van Banning does not answer. Presumably in response to calls for a stronger emphasis on hermeneutical aspects (cf. review of Pericope volume 4, http://www.arts.ualberta.ca/JHS/reviews/review163.htm), W. G. E. Watson was asked to write “Unit Delimitation in the Old Testament: An Appraisal.” By and large, his assessment of Delimitation Criticism is mainly positive, if somewhat cautious. He commends the impulse Delimitation Criticism has given to biblical research—that markers of any manuscript, accents and the like (paragraphing and other layout features he does not mention) should be taken into consideration in biblical interpretation. He also honours the effort undertaken to collect and analyze relevant data. Nonetheless, he puts his finger on some weaknesses of this enterprise: the “inconsistency in the Delimitation Criticism approach” (167) for example, or that “there are no overall conclusions for markers in ancient texts” (168). Thus he concludes “that there is still a great deal of work to do” and that “many of the conclusions reached so far are provisional.” Something he considers to be quite understandable given the ‘youthfulness’ of the approach. In the second part Watson applies delimitation critical methods (as he understands them) to Cant 1:15–17, concentrating on the usage of the accents in order to demonstrate that “data from manuscripts and codices cannot be ignored” (175) and that Delimitation Criticism “is not only valid and justified but also indispensable” (175). The last contribution of the volume (Diverging Traditions: Jeremiah 27–29 (M, S, V) / 34–36 (G): A Proposal for a New Text Edition) by R. de Hoop functions as a call for a multilingual edition of the four main Old Testament groups of witnesses (MT, LXX, Vulgata, and Peshitta) containing important data on variants in paragraphing and marking from various manuscripts. The author weighs various arguments and options for this edition, concluding that at first the project should be confined to a printed edition and that MT should be used as the leading reference manuscript in the role of a “primus inter pares” in respect to text order, etc. On the last pages of the volume a sample of the aspired edition is presented (on http://www.pericope.net the whole sample is to be published in a downloadable file). This represents a very desirable project, even though some points should be reconsidered, e.g. the proposed neglect of textual critical data on grounds of workload arguments as well as some details in the critical apparatus (for example at the moment there is a doubled system

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of marking omissions, via apparatus and via underlining, of which the latter seems confusing in respect to four other textual witnesses). And finally the limitation to a printed edition is questionable: the only argument in its favour being the alleged custom and preference of researchers to use paper editions, something that is changing as supported by the electronic format of this review. But, on the whole, one is inclined to wonder why a project like that has not been undertaken earlier. Altogether, Method in Unit Delimitation represents another very interesting volume in the Pericope series. Nonetheless I agree with G. Martin (http://www.arts.ualberta.ca/JHS/reviews/review163.htm) that more emphasis should be placed on hermeneutics, and also with W. Hu (http://www.arts.ualberta.ca/JHS/reviews/review249.htm) that still more thought should be given to the textual basis for the research—probably taking some sorts of measures for standardization. Additionally one wonders why exactly the present title was chosen: none of the contributions deliberates on the methodology of Delimitation Criticism and none of the articles seem specifically to justify this label by their content or approach. This absence is further heightened by the difficulty encountered when searching for the consistent exegetical tool proposed by the Pericope board. The methodological approaches are too diverse, ranging from more or less text critical deliberations on paragraphing in antique manuscripts to aspects of syntax or accentuation to rather hermeneutical questions. However, this is understandable given the youthfulness of the field. In spite of and sometimes even because of this diversity, the contributions in this volume present many important if not punctually remarkable insights that advance the understanding of biblical texts in their historical setting.

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Thomas Krüger, Manfred Oeming, Konrad Schmid, and Christoph Uehlinger (eds), DAS BUCH HIOB UND SEINE INTERPRETATIONEN. BEITRÄGE ZUM HIOBSYMPOSIUM AUF DEM MONTE VERITÀ VOM 14.-19AUGUST 2005 (AthANT, 88; Zürich: TVZ, 2007). Pp. 522. Cloth. ISBN 3-290-174077. ISBN-13 978-3-290-17407-1. Reviewed by Philippe Guillaume British Academy Fellow, University of Sheffield United Kingdom This tome is a substantial collection of 25 essays presented in 2005 at a symposium at the international conference centre of ETH Zurich in Monte Verità (Switzerland), 520 pages from some of the foremost Job specialists. Nine contributions in English cover 170 pages. The remaining chapters are in German, some 50 pages or more, a reflection of the cycles of speeches of the book of Job where each friend tries to outdo the others. Part I (Historische Kontexte des hebraïschen und des griechichen Hiobbuchs) has six articles placing Job in the context of ancient literature. Katherine Dell’s, "Job: Sceptics, Philosophers and Tragedians" is a sequel to her The Book of Job as Sceptical Literature. She argues that the differences between Job and pre-Hellenistic philosophic schools do not support interdependence. At most, there is "a spirit of scepticism and a presentation of Job’s situation as tragic insofar as the Jewish religious framework of this sceptical author would allow" (19). "The Book of Job as a Trial: a Perspective from a Comparison to Some Relevant Ancient Near Eastern Texts" by Yair Hoffman compares Job with Ludlul bēl nēmeqi, the Babylonian Theodicy, the Eloquent Peasant, and the Negative Confession by way of the trial motif (21–31). By employing the trial as a structural device, the book of Job challenges traditional wisdom literature. Contrary to the opinion expressed by the wise man of the Biblical book of Proverbs, Job is targeted by God because (not despite) he is wise, industrious, God-fearing and righteous. Job’s

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righteousness and utter misery challenge the conventions of traditional wisdom literature (wise = industrious = righteous = God-fearing = rich) and of psalm literature (righteous = poor = God-fearing = sufferer). Hoffman adds a third level with a challenge of the covenantal paradigm. Markus Witte’s, "The Greek Book of Job" is a very useful presentation of the Septuagint of Job. It is followed by ‘Hiob und Ipuwer’ by Annette Schellenberg (55–79), who focuses her comparison mainly on the Egyptian Admonitions. Then, Edward Greenstein, "Features of Language in the Poetry of Job," demonstrates that the language particularities of the book result from poetic virtuosity rather than from the use of a language different from Biblical Hebrew. Closing the first section, Christoph Uehlinger’s monumental "Das Hiob-Buch im Kontext der altorientalischen Literaturund Religionsgeschichte" (97–163) offers a comprehensive attempt to place Job at the end of a broad diachronic spectrum beginning with the Instructions of Ur-Ninurta through the Juste souffrant, Ludlul bēl nēmeqi, and the Babylonian Theodicy. Part II, Das Hiobbuch in biblisch-literaturgeschichtlichem Kontext, focuses on inner-biblical relationships. Jürgen van Oorschot, "Die Entstehung des Hiobbuches" (165–84) reviews the genesis of Job and discuses current trends in research, in particular a renewed interest in the prose frame, and offers a reconstruction of the development of the frame through several redactions. Detlef Jericke, "»Wüste« (midbār) im Hiobbuch" (185–96) studies the desert theme in Job 38:16; 24:5 and 1:19 and considers Job as a figure of the Judean Diaspora. Leo Perdue, "Creation in the Dialogues between Job and his Opponents" (197–216) reads Job as a response to the devastation of Judah, revealing the ideological base of its kingship and priesthood as false. In so doing, Perdue supplies provocative translations of Job’s two answers to the divine speeches: Since I am despised (by you), how shall I answer you? I place my hand on my mouth. (Job 40:3) I reject you and I feel sorry for dust and ashes (= human beings). (Job 42:6)

Neither arrogant nor blasphemous, the defiant Job continues his protest against the unjust God and is sorry for humanity that has to suffer under God’s callous oppression (215). The subsequent articles tackle the same problem. Thomas Krüger, "Did Job Repent?" (217–29) also challenges the notion that Job repented, while Joachim Vette, "Hiobs Fluch als

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thematische Klammer" (231–40) presents Job’s self-curse in chapter 3 and its revocation in 42.6 as an inner frame binding chapters 3 and 38—42.6 together. Analysing Job’s references to the Torah, the Prophets and the Psalms, Konrad Schmid, ‘Innerbiblische Schriftdiskussion im Hiobbuch’ (241–61), sees Job as a kind of dialectic theology criticizing "Biblical" notions while upholding their authority. Andreas Kunz-Lübcke, "Hiob prozessiert mit Gott – und obsiegt – vorerst," interprets Job 31 on the model of Egyptian negative confessions. Job’s 42 confessions correspond to the 42 confessions in Book of the Dead chapter 125. The article is illustrated with Egyptian scenes. In "Eliphaz: One among the Prophets or Ironist Spokesman?", Willem Beuken rehabilitates Eliphaz’s first speech (Job 4–5) as a genuine, non-ironic, response to Job’s complaint in the previous chapter, taking seriously God’s sovereignty and the meaningfulness of an ethical life. Gabrielle Oberhänsli-Widmer, "Hiobtraditionen im Judentum" opens Part III, which is devoted to the reception of the book of Job. Following this first article, which discusses Jewish traditions up to Job’s come-back in modern secular Judaism, Jens Herzer covers the New Testament reception in "Jakobus, Paulus und Hiob: die Intertextualität der Weisheit". Then, Choon-Leong Seow, "Job’s Wife with Due Respect," recovers a minority view which dissented from the Church Fathers’ antifeminist readings of Job’s wife. Illustrated with a black and white plate and five full page colour reproductions of paintings, this article reveals the existence of a lively chain of transmission in addition to the known Patristic tradition. Carol Newsom, "Dramaturgy and the Book of Job" (375–93), follows the ups and downs of the notion that Job was influenced by Greek tragedy across the centuries. Johannes Anderegg, "Hiob und Goethes Faust" (395–409) and A. Bodenheimer, ‘Heines Hiob,’ close the survey with the rendering of Job by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and by Heinrich Heine. Under the heading Das Hiobthema als Sachproblem in Theologie, Religionswissenschaft, Philosophie und Psychologie, Part IV begins with a discussion of the relevance of Job in pastoral counselling by Manfried Oeming and Wolfgang Drechsel: "Das Buch Hiob – ein Lehrstück der Seelsorge?" The next contribution by Daria Pelozzi-Olgiati, "Leben und Tod, Unterwelt und Welt" (441–54) focuses on Job 3 and how Job copes with contingence. Rüdiger Bittner, "Hiob und Gerechtigkeit" brings out clearly how the divine display of power evades the problem of divine guilt. The boss is always right: "Ich bin der Herr, und ob ich gerecht bin, ist deshalb egal" (460). This

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conclusion should be brought to bear upon a question raised by Hoffman: "Should God’s response be considered a divine accusation against Job, or rather a defendant’s speech by the accused judge?" (23) Does it support Hoffman’s qualification of God’s answer as ambivalent? Interaction with Schmid’s demonstration that Job 42:8 applies the Deuteronomistic arsenal to God (251) would produce some interesting results. If YHWH rather than Job’s friends (as it is too often claimed and translated) almost commits a grievous folly against Job’s friends (after the one committed again Job), the book of Job is far more daring than its interpreters in stating plainly and coherently Job’s innocence and God’s guilt. Christian Frevel’s "Schöpfungsglaube und Menchenwürde im Hiobbuch" (467–97) is a detailed ethical application. It addresses the oft raised question of the books purpose, which may emancipate readers from the much later claim that Job is about theodicy. Isn’t Job more concerned with the justification of lament and denunciation of God despite his height and supremacy? (471). This topic may make it one of the most siginificant contributions for future discussions. Frevel’s footnotes discussing Job’s “repentance” (471 n. 14; 496 n. 69) could have benefited from interaction with Krüger’s and with Uehlinger’s articles on theodicy. The volume contains a final contribution by Brigitte Boothe, "Die Narrative Organisation der Hiob-Erzählung des Alten Testaments und die verdeckte Loyalitätsprobe" (499–513). The volume closes with a cursory index of cited passages which does not account for the footnotes, although in some articles the footnotes cover half the page. Given the encyclopaedic nature of several articles and the sheer amount of material in the volume, readers will lament the cruel absence of their best friend, the subject index that retrieves the pearls of scholarship from Leviathan’s jaws. Ideally, the authors would have integrated relevant points from the other contributions into the final drafts of their articles. As in many conference proceedings, they did not do so and the problem appears from the first contribution on. Dell writes that the rightness and wrongness of the different perspectives expressed in Job are left open and that Job’s repentance spoils his "having spoken 'what is right' in that because he has already capitulated in the light of God’s presence" (7). At this point (footnote 25), Dell thanks Ed Greenstein for challenging the supposition that Jonah "repents" and Dell refers to alternative translations in Driver and Gray’s commentary (published 1921!) although 200 pages later Perdue and

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Krüger present (both in English!) a thorough refutation of this point. I regret Krüger’s mitigation of his crucial demonstration of the absence of repentance ("Job 42:1–6 can still be read as a statement of repentance but not in the sense of what his friends expected" p. 226), but his conclusion has major consequences on Dell’s argument. Instead of the fuzzy “academic” non-committal claim that the text is open-ended, the recognition that Job’s staunch refusal to admit guilt would make the book of Job less Pyrrhonian and more Promethean. If he does not repent, Job, like Prometheus, does not submit in any way and this becomes a key factor of tragedy which Job does not "fail to fulfill" (13). Since the dark side of God revealed by his display of power provides no answer to Job’s profound questioning, Job comes close to identifying God as unpredictable like the dark forces of fate found in tragedy (15). Hence, the claim that the repentance spoils the tragedy (16, quote from G. Steiner, "Tragedy, Remorse and Justice", The Listener 102 [1979], 508–11), does not hold if Job does not repent, or if, as Jung argued in Answer to Job, Job’s repentance is tongue in cheek. The link with tragedy is strengthened. Yet, the ultimate argument against labelling Job as a tragedy is, I suggest, that the book does offer a practical solution to its readers. Job’s intercession (Job 42:7–9) is presented as effectively protecting his friends from foolish divine wrath. By extension, readers are invited to place themselves under Job’s intercession (see Ezekiel 14) to avoid the collateral damages of God’s daily encounter of Leviathan. Hence Hoffman’s claim (30) that the sombre conclusion of Job offers no solution since God is unable to provide sufficient answers to Job’s accusations should be reconsidered. That Job does nor repent and needs not do so since he is granted a clear vindication of his innocence must have major pastoral consequences which one seeks in vain in the final part. Inasmuch as this review bewails the fact that the proceedings reflect too closely the “dialogue” between Job and his friends and display too little engagement of the ideas of the other participants (did they spend a week together in silence?), these criticisms are miniscule in comparison with the value of a volume which makes the reader look forward to the integration of its very important insights into forthcoming works on Job. This is a landmark volume that opens a new era in Joban scholarship. Ploughing through these 500 pages is worth the effort. The editors and Theologischer Verlag Zürich are to be congratulated for producing such a volume a mere two years after the symposium.

INDEX 101 Questions & Answers on the Prophets of Israel (MATTHEWS), 640 A Commentary on Micah (WALTKE), 609 A Primer on Ugaritic Language, Culture, and Literature (SCHNIEDEWIND And HUNT), 522 A Reassessment of Asherah, with further Considerations of the Goddess (WIGGINS), 515 ALBRIGHT, WILLIAM FOXWELL, 620 APÓSTOLO, SILVIO SERGIO SCATOLINI, 231 Archaeology and the Religion of Israel (ALBRIGHT), 620 ASSIS, ELIE, 377 Atkinson, Kenneth, 557 AVIOZ, MICHAEL, 367 Azize, Joseph, 515 BASSER, HERB, 265 Batto, Bernard F., 533 Becking, Bob, 629 BEN ZVI, EHUD, 656 Benckhuysen, Amanda W., 606 Benton, Richard, 586 Bergant, Dianne, 615, 624 Bergen, David, 577 BERGMAN, NAVA, 511 Berossus and Genesis, Manetho and Exodus Hellenistic Histories and the

Date of the Pentateuch (GMIRKIN), 591 BEYOND PURITY AND DANGER MARY DOUGLAS AND THE HEBREW BIBLE, 167 BLENKINSOPP, JOSEPH, 644 BOASE, ELIZABETH, 615 Bodner, Keith, 545, 569 Bosworth, David A., 541 Bridging the Gap Ritual and Ritual Texts in the Bible (KLINGBEIL), 597 BRUEGGEMANN, WALTER, 642 CARMICHAEL, CALUM, 582 CARR, DAVID M., 627 Cataldo, Jeremiah, 574 Catálogo de manuscritos hebreos de la Comunidad de Madrid (DEL BARCO), 646 Centrality Practiced Jerusalem in the Religious Practice of Yehud and the Diaspora in the Persian Period (KNOWLES), 574 CHARACTERIZING ESTHER FROM THE OUTSET THE CONTRIBUTION OF THE STORY IN ESTHER 2: 1–20, 283 Clanton, Dan, 560, 564 COOK, JOHN A., 53 Daise, Michael Allen, 597 Das Buch Hiob und seine Interpretationen. Beiträge zum Hiob-Symposium auf

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dem Monte Verità vom 14.-19August 2003, 675 David Observed A King in the Eyes of His Court (BODNER), 569 DECIPHERING A DEFINITION THE SYNTAGMATIC STRUCTURAL ANALYSIS OF RITUAL IN THE HEBREW BIBLE, 221 DEL BARCO DEL BARCO, FRANCISCO JAVIER, 646 Der Tod als Herrscher in Ugarit und Israel (GULDE), 594 Di Giovanni, Andrea K., 659, 661 DID RASHI NOTICE A JANUS PARALLELISM, 265 DOBBS-ALLSOPP, F. W., 389 Duggan, Michael, 588 Duhaime, Jean, 664 Ehrlich, Carl S., 620 ELISHA AND THE MIRACULOUS JUG OF OIL (2 KGS 41-7), 71 Engaging the Bible in a Gendered World An Introduction to Feminist Biblical Interpretation in Honor of Katharine Doob Sakenfeld, 551 Ezekiel A Commentary (JOYCE) , 650 Flynn, Shawn W., 601 Galvin, Garrett, 571 GANOR, SAAR, 429 GARBINI, GIOVANNI, 577 GARFINKEL, YOSEF, 429 Gilders, William, 582 Gitay, Yehoshua, 632 GMIRKIN, RUSSELL E., 591 God’s Twilight Zone Wisdom in the Hebrew Bible (Perry), 667 GRAY, MARK, 588 Green, Barbara, 527 Guillaume, Philippe, 675 GULDE, STEFANIE U., 594

Halton, Charles, 522 Hamilton, Mark W., 594 HENDEL, RONALD, 167, 171 HESKETT, RANDALL, 553 Hibbard, Todd, 640 History, Literature and Theology in the Book of Chronicles (BEN ZVI), 656 Holmstedt, Robert D., 511 Hopf, Matthias, 669 How to Read the Bible History, Prophecy, Literature—Why Modern Readers Need to Know the Difference and What It Means for Faith Today (MCKENZIE), 520 Hu, Wesley, 627 HUNT, JOEL H., 522 IJEZIE, LUKE EMEHIELE, 571 Illuminating Leviticus A Study of Its Laws and Institutions in the Light of Biblical Narratives (CARMICHAEL), 582 IMAGINING EZEKIEL, 231 IN SEARCH OF THE ANCIENT NAME OF KHIRBET QEIYAFA, 421 Irwin, Brian P., 520 Irwin, William, 634 Israel’s Story Part One (BERGANT), 624 JACOB, BENNO, 653 JACOBS, JONATHAN, 283 Jassen, Alex, 617 JOYCE, PAUL M., 650 Kaltner, John, 624 KHIRBET QEIYAFA SHA’ARAYIM, 429 KLETTER, RAZ, 29 KLINE, MOSHE, 297 KLINGBEIL, GERALD A., 597 KNOWLES, MELODY D., 574 KUGEL, JAMES L., 560, 659

INDEX KUSATU (Kleine Untersuchungen zur Sprache des Alten Testaments und seiner Umwelt), 507 LATE BIBLICAL HEBREW AND THE QUMRAN PESHER HABAKKUK, 461 Lee, Bernon P., 580 Lee, Briana, 642 Lehmann, Gunnar, 604 Lemos, T. M., 530 Lenzi, Alan, 548 LETTERS OF KINGS ABOUT VOTIVE OFFERINGS, THE GOD OF ISRAEL AND THE ARAMAIC DOCUMENT IN EZRA 4: 8–6, 18,

439

LEVENSON, JON D., 548 Like Fire in the Bones Listening for the Prophetic Word in Jeremiah (BRUEGGEMANN), 642 Long, Phillip J., 553 MALESSA, MICHAEL, 586 Martin, Gary, 507 MARX, ALFRED, 183 MARY DOUGLAS AND ANTHROPOLOGICAL MODERNISM, 171 MARY DOUGLAS’S HOLINESS/ WHOLENESS PARADIGM ITS POTENTIAL FOR INSIGHT AND ITS LIMITATIONS, 197 MATTHEWS, VICTOR H., 637, 640 MCDONALD, LEE MARTIN, 617 MCKENZIE, STEVEN L., 520, 656 Messianism Within the Scriptural Scroll of Isaiah (HESKETT), 553 METSO, SARIANA, 664 MIDDLEMAS, JILL, 539 MORROW, WILLIAM S., 634

683 MOSES OUTSIDE THE TORAH AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF A DIASPORA IDENTITY, 269 Myth and History in the Bible (GARBINI), 577 NA'AMAN, NADAV, 421, 455 Newman, Judith H., 644 NICKELSBURG, GEORGE W. E., 564 Nowell, Irene, 551 OLYAN, SAUL M., 167, 197 Opening the Sealed Book Interpretations of the Book of Isaiah in Late Antiquity (BLENKINSOPP), 644 ORNAN, TALLAY, 533 PERRY, THEODORE A., 667 Phinney, D. Nathan, 536 PINKER, ARON, 141 Power, Bruce, 637 Prayers that Cite Scripture (KUGEL), 659 Priestly Rites and Prophetic Rage PostExilic Prophetic Critique of the Priesthood (TIEMEYER), 530 Protest against God: The Eclipse of a Biblical Tradition (MORROW), 634 PSALM 133: A (CLOSE) READING, 389 RATA, TIBERIUS, 629 Reading the Bible with the Dead What You Can Learn from the History of Exegesis That You Can't Learn from Exegesis Alone (THOMPSON), 606 Resurrection and the Restoration of Israel The Ultimate Victory of the God of Life (LEVENSON), 548 Resurrection, Immortality, and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism and Early Christianity (NICKELSBURG), 564 REZETKO, ROBERT, 545

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Rhetoric and Social Justice in Isaiah (GRAY), 588 Rilett Wood, Joyce, 591 Ristau, Ken, 539 Ritual and Rhetoric in Leviticus From Sacrifice to Scripture (WATTS), 580 ROBSON, JAMES, 536 RÖMER, THOMAS, 269, 527 RUSSELL, BRIAN D., 601 Sacred Conjectures The Context and Legacy of Robert Lowth and Jean Atruc, 541 SAUL AS A JUST JUDGE IN JOSEPHUS’ ANTIQUITIES OF THE JEWS, 367 SCHMITT, RÜDIGER, 207 SCHNIEDEWIND, WILLIAM M., 522 Seeking the Favor of God. Volume 1: The Origins of Penitential Prayer in Second Temple Judaism, 661 Senapatiratne, Timothy, 667 SHAARAIM – THE GATEWAY TO THE KINGDOM OF JUDAH, 455 Sharp, Carolyn J., 609 SHEMESH, YAEL, 71, 93 Sirat, Colette, 646 SMITH, MARK S., 525, 611 Source and Revision in the Narratives of David’s Transfer of the Ark Text, Language, and Story in 2 Samuel 6 and 1 Chronicles 13, 15-16 (REZETKO), 545 STEIN, RABBI DAVID E. S., 1 STEINMANN, ANDREW E., 439 Studying the Ancient Israelites: A Guide to Sources and Methods (MATTHEWS), 637 Sweeney, Marvin A., 650 TAL, OREN, 604 The Archaeology of Hellenistic Palestine:

Between Tradition and Renewal (TAL), 604 The Biblical Canon: Its Origins, Transmission, and Authority (MCDONALD), 617 The Cambridge Biblical Hebrew Workbook: Introductory Level (BERGMAN), 511 The Covenant Motif in Jeremiah’s Book of Comfort: Textual and Intertextual Studies of Jeremiah 30-33 (RATA), 629 THE DOINGS OF THE WICKED IN QOHELET 8: 10, 141 The Edited Bible: The Curious History of the "Editor" in Biblical criticism (VAN SETERS), 632 “THE EDITOR WAS NODDING" A READING OF LEVITICUS 19 IN MEMORY OF MARY DOUGLAS, 297 THE ELISHA STORIES AS SAINTS’ LEGENDS, 93 The First Book of the Bible, Genesis, Augmented Edition (JACOB), 653 THE FRIENDS OF ANTIQUITIES (IN HEB.‫ ) נאמני עתיקות‬THE STORY OF AN ISRAELI VOLUNTEER GROUP AND COMPARATIVE REMARKS, 29 The Fulfilment of Doom? The Dialogic Interaction between the Book of Lamentations and the PreExilic/Early Prophetic Literature (BOASE), 615 The Interpretation of the Hebrew Word ‫( עם‬People) in Samuel-Kings (IJEZIE), 571 The Ladder of Jacob: Ancient

INDEX Interpretations of the Biblical Story of Jacob and His Children (KUGEL), 560 THE NOUN ‫’( ִאישׁ‬îš) IN BIBLICAL HEBREW: A TERM OF AFFILIATION, 1 THE PROBLEM OF MAGIC AND MONOTHEISM IN THE BOOK OF LEVITICUS, 207 The Psalms of Solomon: A Critical of the Greek Text (WRIGHT), 557 THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THE SACRIFICIAL LAWS AND THE OTHER LAWS IN LEVITICUS 19, 183 The Rituals and Myths of the Feast of the Goodly Gods of KTU/CAT 1.23: Royal Constructions of Opposition, Intersection, Integration, and Domination (SMITH), 525 The Serek Texts (METSO), 664 The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction (RÖMER), 527 The Song of the Sea: The Date of Composition and Influence of Exodus 15: 1-21(RUSSELL), 601 THE TEMPLE IN THE BOOK OF HAGGAI, 377 The Triumph of the Symbol: Pictorial

685 Representation of Deities in Mesopotamia and the Biblical Image Ban (ORNAN), 533 The Troubles of Templeless Judah (MIDDLEMAS), 539 THE VAV-PREFIXED VERB FORMS IN ELEMENTARY HEBREW GRAMMAR, 53 THOMPSON, JOHN L., 606 TIEMEYER, LENA-SOFIA, 530 Unit Delimitation in Biblical Hebrew and Northwest Semitic Literature, 669 Untersuchungen zur verbalen Valenz im biblischen Hebräisch (MALESSA), 586 VAN SETERS, JOHN, 632, 653 WALTKE, BRUCE K., 609 WATTS, JAMES W., 580 White, Ellen, 569 WIGGINS, STEVE A., 515, 525 Word and Spirit in Ezekiel (ROBSON), 536 Word of Tree and Whisper of Stone, and Other Papers on Ugaritian Thought (WYATT), 611 WRIGHT, DAVID P., 221 WRIGHT, ROBERT, 557 Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (CARR), 627 WYATT, N., 611 YOUNG, IAN, 461