Purity, Holiness, and Identity in Judaism and Christianity: Essays in Memory of Susan Haber 3161525477, 9783161525476

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Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Herausgeber / Editor Jörg Frey (Zürich) Mitherausgeber / Associate Editors Markus Bockmuehl (Oxford) James A. Kelhoffer (Uppsala) Hans-Josef Klauck (Chicago, IL) Tobias Nicklas (Regensburg)

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Purity, Holiness, and Identity in Judaism and Christianity Essays in Memory of Susan Haber

Edited by

Carl S. Ehrlich, Anders Runesson and Eileen Schuller

Mohr Siebeck

Carl S. Ehrlich: born 1956; 1991 PhD, Harvard University; since 1996 Professor of Hebrew Bible in the Department of Humanities at York University, Canada. Anders Runesson: born 1968; 2001 PhD, 2002 Docent, Lund University; since 2003 Professor of Early Christianity and Early Judaism in the Department of Religious Studies, McMaster University, Canada. Eileen Schuller: born 1946; 1984 PhD, Harvard University; since 1990 Professor of Early Judaism in the Department of Religious Studies, McMaster University, Canada.

e-ISBN PDF 978-3-16-152548-3 ISBN 978-3-16-152547-6 ISSN 0512-1604 (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament)

Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data is available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de.

© 2013 by Mohr Siebeck, Tübingen, Germany. www.mohr.de This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations, microfilms and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was typeset by Martin Fischer in Tübingen, printed by Gulde-Druck in Tübingen on non-aging paper and bound by Buchbinderei Spinner in Ottersweier. Printed in Germany.

Preface This book is the result of the joint efforts of friends of the late Susan Haber, a brilliant scholar in the making, whose untimely death has left a void for all who seek better to understand ancient Judaism in its many and diverse forms, including the early Jesus movement. Both as an undergraduate student at York University and as a graduate student at McMaster University Susan’s research interests had a focus on purity issues, but she worked with and published studies on a wide variety of writings, from the Hebrew Bible to Second Temple and New Testament texts. Susan’s field of specialization became the Dead Sea Scrolls, but her dynamic thinking, her boundless desire for knowledge and her impressive learning consistently led her also to take note of and engage the wider picture, in which various religio-cultural aspects of ancient Judaism were allowed to interpret each other. In this way, she was a model not only for her fellow students but also for scholars working within these fields. Most of her essays – both previously published and unpublished – have been collected and published by the Society of Biblical Literature under the title “They Shall Purify Themselves”: Essays on Purity in Early Judaism (2008). In the present volume we would like to honor Susan’s memory by focusing on and continuing to work along the research trajectories that she had outlined for herself as she planned how she could best contribute to the study of ancient Judaism. After a biography and appreciation of Susan Haber authored by one of her rabbis, David Seed, the essays in this volume, following a basic chronological outline, fall into three groups based on Susan’s interests. In Part I, Baruch Schwartz, Eric Grossman, and Ehud Ben Zvi deal with issues of purity and cult in the Hebrew Bible. While Schwartz considers the list of festivals in Leviticus 23 as an expression of a uniquely priestly worldview, Grossman turns our attention to the popular perceptions of the cult – including the various purposes and motivations behind pilgrimages to Jerusalem – beyond the priestly worldview and concomitant legislation. Ehud Ben Zvi concludes Part I with an analysis of purity concerns as they surface in the narrative world of the Book of Chronicles, an unlikely but important candidate for the study of purity concerns in the Late Persian/ Early Hellenistic period. Part II addresses issues of purity, holiness, and identity from the secondcentury B.C.E to the third-century C. E. in places varying from Qum-

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ran to Carthage. A range of texts and topics are covered. Cecilia Wassen’s comparative study of purity and community in the Dead Sea Scrolls and in Paul’s letters sheds new light on how intertwined the identities of the early Christ-believers and other Jews were in the first century, and how the Jerusalem Temple played a vital role as respective groups gave expression to their (eschatological) worldviews. Stephen Westerholm explores Paul’s thought as it relates to holiness before and after his vision of the risen Christ. Referring to the themes of holy scripture, holy law, the holy people of God, and the holy Spirit, Westerholm claims significant continuity and change in Paul’s life as a Pharisee and Christ-believer. Adele Reinhartz then addresses the issue of the historical Jesus and the Gospels’ description of the Temple cleansing in relation to his arrest and execution. Reinhartz critiques the common view among scholars that the cleansing of the Temple was the direct cause behind his arrest and points to the fact that none of the Gospel narratives links the Temple cleansing to the priestly plot against his life. From the historical Jesus, Thomas Kazen proceeds to the earliest preserved narrative about Jesus: the Gospel of Mark. In dialogue with Susan’s analysis, Kazen focuses on Mark’s interpretation of Jesus and purity, discussing specifically the pericope of the so-called hemorrhaging woman (Mark 5:25–34) and how it may shed light on the issue of ritual hand washing before meals (Mark 7:1–23). Anders Runesson’s study understands the Gospel of Matthew as a Jewish text that explains Jesus’ eschatological vision of apocalyptic disaster, a final judgment, and the coming kingdom of heaven as a consequence of the underlying conviction that the Jerusalem Temple had been defiled by a corrupt leadership. Focusing on a text contemporaneous with the Gospel of Matthew, Steve Mason considers the theme of purity in Josephus’ Judean War. In the course of his discussion, he deals with purity issues in relation to the Jewish uprising of 66–70 C. E. and the destruction of the Temple. Mason suggests that “War’s pollution/purification language provides a crucible for testing approaches to cultural interaction in the Roman world.” While Josephus shares the discourse he communicates within with his international peers, this former general never abandons his distinctly Judean identity. The two final contributions of Part II move beyond Judaism. Philip Harland’s study of the first-century autobiographical letter attributed to Thessalos explores how the holy was perceived outside Judaism, and so adds to our understanding of the role of purity when the divine was encountered in Greco-Roman culture. In this way, aspects of the sacred in first-century Jewish life and thought are placed in a larger context that may shed light on common as well as divergent phenomena in these cultural settings. Similarly, Lily Vuong’s essay, which concludes Part II, focuses on questions related to identity outside Judaism, as she investigates how early non-Jewish Christian

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identities were formed through the influence of social and economic factors on martyrdom. The narrative of Perpetua and Felicitas, a Christian matron and her Christian slave, reveals that Christian as well as non-Christian audiences would have “viewed, valued, and treated matrons and slaves unequally, regardless of their Christian affiliation.” However, Susan’s interests in purity and identity issues came to an end neither at the gates of academic institutions nor in antiquity. She was very much engaged in questions that have contemporary relevance, not in least Jewish–Christian interaction and dialogue. The third part of the volume, while maintaining a focus on purity and holiness, thus brings us from the Middle Ages up to our own time. Beginning with texts from the Hebrew Bible and exploring their reception in rabbinic writings and mediaeval commentators, Martin Lockshin explores the concept of holiness and whether some items considered holy under certain circumstances may – contrary to the construction of the relationship between pure and impure – transfer holiness to regular objects. While biblical texts convey a world-view in which holiness can be contagious, later halakhic Judaism rejects this view, a fact that may shed light on the rabbinic thought-world and how it was constructed. Yedida Eisenstat’s contribution addresses issues of sanctification and shame against the background of priestly theology in Hayyim Nahman Bialik’s 1903 poem In the City of Slaughter, thus highlighting a Jewish response to the Kishinev pogrom of the same year in the Russian Empire. Concluding the volume, Eileen Schuller takes as point of departure Susan’s interest in contemporary Jewish–Christian encounters and dialogue and analyzes how biblical texts about purity have been incorporated and used in Christian lectionaries. The importance of this topic for Jewish–Christian relations, which Susan recognized, can hardly be overstated, since the choices and combinations of texts to be read in weekly services will affect how sermons are prepared and, thus, what church-attending Christians will be taught about how purity and holiness are understood in Judaism. It is our hope that this volume in honor of Susan Haber will serve as encouragement and inspiration for scholars and students not only to continue to explore the topics dealt with here, which are critical for our understanding of Judaism as well as Christianity and their interrelated histories, but also to engage the wider issues that surface as academic disciplinary boundaries are transcended. If our joint efforts may stimulate such crossdisciplinary study, so characteristic of Susan’s approach to academia, this book will have fulfilled its purpose. Finally, we would like to extend our thanks to Dr. Henning Ziebritzki at Mohr Siebeck for his continuous support as this book came into being, and to the editor of WUNT, Professor Dr. Jörg Frey, for accepting the volume

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in this series. It is also our pleasure to acknowledge the help of two people without whom this book would not have been published. First is Dr. Jeremy Penner, a McMaster University alumnus whose graduate studies in the department partly overlapped with Susan’s; Jeremy did much of the preliminary formatting of this volume. And last, but not least, is Susan’s husband, Dr. Stephen Haber, who has supported this project from its inception and provided us with the photograph of his late wife that introduces this collection of essays in Susan’s memory. Hamilton and Toronto, November 2012

Carl Ehrlich, Anders Runesson, and Eileen Schuller

Table of Contents Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . V David C. Seed A Brief Biography and Appreciation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Part I

Ancient Israel Baruch J. Schwartz Miqra’ Qodesh and the Structure of Leviticus 23 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Eric Grossman Everyman’s Judgment Cometh from the LORD: Popular Perception of the Primary Purpose of the Cult . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Ehud Ben Zvi Purity Matters in the Book of Chronicles: A Kind of Prolegomenon   37 Part II

Classical Antiquity Cecilia Wassen Do You Have to Be Pure in a Metaphorical Temple? Sanctuary Metaphors and Construction of Sacred Space in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Paul’s Letters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55 Stephen Westerholm Is Nothing Sacred? Holiness in the Writings of Paul . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 Adele Reinhartz The Temple Cleansing and the Death of Jesus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100

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Thomas Kazen Jesus and the Zavah: Implications for Interpreting Mark . . . . . . . . . . . 112 Anders Runesson Purity, Holiness, and the Kingdom of Heaven in Matthew’s Narrative World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144 Steve Mason Pollution and Purification in Josephus’s Judean War . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 181 Philip A. Harland “The days seemed like years”: Thessalos Prepares to Encounter the God Asklepios . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 208 Lily Vuong The Impact of Social and Economic Status on the Experience of Martyrdom: A Case Study of Perpetua and Felicitas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224 Part III

The Mediaeval and Modern Periods Martin I. Lockshin Is Holiness Contagious? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253 Yedida Eisenstat Sanctification and Shame: Bialik’s In the City of Slaughter in Light of Leviticus and Ezekiel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 263 Eileen Schuller Biblical Texts about Purity in Contemporary Christian Lectionaries

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List of Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 301 Indices . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1. Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2. Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3. Subjects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4. Foreign Words and Phrases . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

303 303 307 309 312

Susan Haber A Brief Biography and Appreciation

David C. Seed My God, the soul with which You endowed me is pure. You created it, You formed it. You breathed it into me and You preserve it within me. A time will come when You will reclaim it from me; but You will return it to me in the life to come. Introduction to the Morning Service (taken from b. Ber. 60b)

When I think of Susan Haber, the story of Rabbi Akiva immediately comes to mind. According to tradition, Akiva was a commoner, not from rabbinic lineage, nor was he learned in any way. As a matter of fact, it is told that he was opposed to the rabbis and did not look favorably upon them (b. Pesa . 49b). Yet, he decided for some reason to place himself at their feet and study under them beginning at the age of forty. Fortunately, he was blessed with a wife who encouraged his studies. After a period of study lasting thirteen years, he himself became a renowned teacher. His modest beginnings belie the impact he had on so many within Jewish tradition, teaching us that knowledge and learning are not the purview of a particular class, lineage or ancestry. This is also Susan’s story, the story of a woman born of middle-class parents, Lou and Goldie Gula, on August 7, 1957 in Toronto. Her family belonged to Adath Israel Congregation, where she attended its afternoon religious school. The Gula family kept a kosher home, and Susan had a traditional Jewish upbringing, not uncommon for members of the Jewish community at that time. Susan graduated from the University of Toronto with a B. Sc. in 1978. Since her father was an optician, she followed in his footsteps and received an ophthalmic dispensing certificate and worked with him for about five years. It was during that time that she met her future husband, Stephen Haber, whose family was also from Toronto. Although he was study-

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ing podiatry in San Francisco at the time, their relationship flourished in spite of the distance. After a three-year engagement, they were married on May 24, 1981. While working for her father, Susan became a certified contact lens fitter, achieving such competence that she began teaching this skill at several local colleges. Her burgeoning expertise allowed her to work for other doctors, and she received many compliments on both her skills and her exemplary care for her patients. Yet, even while the vision of others was her major professional concern, she was developing an inner perception that expressed itself in other ways. Susan noted that the beliefs of some Jews who professed to be ‘observant’ did not always seem to be reflected in their actions. Troubled by this incongruity and being the voracious reader she was, she wanted to learn more about Judaism, its history and origins, to delve into this and other questions: What was the essence of Judaism? How did it begin? What expectations did Judaism have for the individual? But, she eventually realized that without further guidance and knowledge, she would not be able to answer these challenging questions that piqued her interest. Being the perfectionist that she was, there was no shortcut for Susan. The only way to satisfy her interests was to return to school. Now that her children (Gillian born in 1984, Joshua in 1986, and Jeremy in 1990) were older, and with Stephen’s encouragement, she became a student once more, this time at York University in her native Toronto, where she began slowly to explore Judaism’s roots. She graduated summa cum laude in 2000 with an Honour’s B. A. in Religious Studies. It was during this time that Susan’s Jewish interests turned to scriptural studies and that she published her first scholarly article on “God, Israel and Covenant: Unity in the Book of Deuteronomy.”1 Her passion for Jewish scholarship only intensified over the years, as she continued her studies at McMaster University in Hamilton, earning her M. A. in Religious Studies in 2004. It was during this latter year that she was awarded the Canadian Society of Biblical Studies’ prestigious Jeremias Prize, in recognition of her essay “From Priestly Torah to Christ Cultus: The Re-Vision of Covenant and Cult in Hebrews.”2 However, Susan was not focused exclusively on her academic studies. She so loved Stephen and their children, and there was nothing she would not do for any of them, teaching each of them to cook, assisting them with school work, and helping them realize the potential she knew each of them had. Shabbat and holidays were always a time to gather at the table she so 1  Haber, “God,” 132–41. The paper on which the article was based was originally written for a class taught by C. S. Ehrlich. 2 Haber, “Priestly,” 143–58.

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lovingly prepared. Six summers were spent at the family camp program held at Camp Ramah in Canada. She also gave generously to her synagogue community, now armed with her new knowledge. She became a member of the Board of Governors of Adath Israel Congregation and chaired its Adult Education Committee, while also serving as a shomeret (female attendant) at the local mikveh (ritual bath). Susan could usually be found at synagogue every Shabbat morning, the only woman to wear a tallit (prayer shawl) at her Conservative synagogue, which enabled her to express her growing commitment not only to the academic dimension of Judaism but to its spiritual side as well. Given the religiously conservative nature of Canadian Jewry at the time, her actions exemplified her willingness to demonstrate publicly her renewed Jewish identity.3 She also had the opportunity to travel to Israel on four separate occasions over the years. Her ability to integrate her newfound vision for herself with her roles as mother, wife, and friend was a testament not only to her flexibility but also to her resolve in integrating these important values into the life she had created for herself. After completing her Master’s degree, Susan began work on her Ph.D., pursuing the area of interest she had begun to carve out for herself: purity in the Second Temple period, with concentrations on Early Christianity and on the relationship of women to purity. The wide-ranging nature of the topics to which she dedicated herself during that time is impressive, given the place from which she had begun her studies just a few years earlier; for example, “Going Up to Jerusalem: Purity, Pilgrimage and the Historical Jesus,” “Living and Dying for the Law: The Mother-Martyrs of 2 Maccabees,” and “A Woman’s Touch: Feminist Encounters with the Hemorrhaging Woman in Mark 5.24–34,” to name but a few.4 Her doctoral studies were supported by a fellowship from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, one of the most prestigious accolades available to Canadian graduate students, and by the Harry Lyman Hooker Senior Fellowship, McMaster University’s highest award for incoming doctoral students in the Social Sciences and Humanities. To gain a more complete impression of Susan’s academic accomplishments, one must look through her posthumous volume “They Shall Purify Themselves”: Essays on Purity in Early Judaism, which was edited with care and dedication by Adele Reinhartz, one of the faculty members with whom she worked most closely over the years at McMaster. Others who were instrumental in nurturing Susan’s studies at McMaster included Eileen Schuller, who supervised her master’s and doctoral work, and Anders 3 See

Robinson, “Canadian;” Waller, “Community.”  All three articles are published in “Purify.” The first is also published in Harland, Travel; the second was first published in the online journal Women in Judaism; and the third in the Journal for the Study of the New Testament. 4

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Runesson. However, without her professors at York University, who encouraged and guided her initial interest in Jewish and specifically textual studies, these accomplishments would never have taken place. Susan made a deep and lasting impression on them all as well as on her fellow students, to whom she gave freely of her time. Here was another Rabbi Akiva in their midst, a woman who started to study Jewish texts at approximately the same age as did he, one who showed an insatiable desire to learn and to absorb from her teachers and her fellow students. However, in distinction to Rabbi Akiva, she did so as a woman, following a path that had been carved out by others before her but which she now made her own not only for herself, but for the other women who would follow her example afterward. It is fascinating to note how her gender became such an integral part of her being and grew more important over the years. One may see it in the subject matter of many of her writings and in her participation as the student representative to the Committee on the Status of Women of the Society for Biblical Literature. These various activities, in addition to those outside of the academic sphere, showed how she could express her Judaism in new and exciting ways. Susan felt energized and reinvigorated through her studies, as one could sense clearly whenever one spoke with her. One could hear the enthusiasm in her voice whenever she discussed her courses and studies; it was if she had been reborn in her new scholarly existence. It was challenging at times because of the many responsibilities she had to her family; yet, she lived her life with a sense of dedication and devotion to both her family and her studies. She was fortunate to have had a supportive family and many friends, teachers, and fellow students, who gave her the encouragement to pursue her academic career, in which she was making great strides on both a professional and personal level. To look at and to read the body of work that Susan produced over a period of but a few years makes her untimely passing all the more tragic. While she had not yet begun formal work on her dissertation, one can discern in her collected works the depth of scholarship that she had already attained. In early 2006 Susan underwent various medical tests to determine the source of the physical problems she had been experiencing. Shortly after Passover of that year, the results came back that she had pancreatic cancer. There were many visits to doctors, trying to see if there might be some course of treatment that could be of help. Both Susan and Stephen were determined to fight this by whatever means possible. They researched what treatments were available and spoke with many experts about possible options. Nonetheless, hospital stays became more frequent over the coming weeks; unfortunately, a lung infection prevented her from ever starting a proposed course of chemotherapy. But, there was one thing that never

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changed during this time: her ability to face the future with her characteristic love of life. She and Stephen celebrated their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary with family and close friends at a small gathering in their home. She made sure, through the smile on her face and the conversations she held with everyone present, that we were there to celebrate her love for Stephen and the joy she felt in sharing it with others. She expressed that same love for her three children, trying to ensure that they knew that her bonds with them would not end with her passing but would continue forever. In the back of her mind, Susan did not want to leave her children without a mother and to have them relive what she herself had endured with the loss of her own mother at age fifteen. When she spoke with them, it was with this thought in mind. As their mother, she had enough confidence in them to share those important feelings with them. It was difficult for her to give up the studying and learning that had accompanied her over those last few years, but her teachers did not let her illness break the relationship and bonds they had built with her. Each one was there to stand by her in full understanding of her decision to interrupt the pursuit of her doctorate because of her health. As well, her friends never left her side or that of her family. The love that Susan had shared with so many during her short life was present in the many kindnesses that so many extended to her and her family during this difficult period. She understood, more than ever, just how blessed she was in her life, with a wonderful marriage, three loving children, a wide circle of family and friends, and  – of course – the opportunity to study and enhance her life not only intellectually but spiritually as well. Susan passed away on July 3, 2006, a few weeks shy of her forty-ninth birthday and just seven weeks after she was first diagnosed with cancer. What was it that led Susan to her eventual study of purity in early Judaism? It began with a simple question but developed into a pursuit that gave new meaning and purpose to her life. Why did some profess a commitment to Judaism without a similar devotion to it in deed? In seeking the answer this question, she understood that there was no simple solution. However, by investigating the subject of purity in ancient Judaism, she could perhaps begin to uncover how and why her ancestors gravitated to this ancient practice. Was it to better themselves spiritually? To attain a more elevated life in their devotion to God? Did their dedication to the laws of purity make them better Jews? Perhaps in learning from them, she thought that modern-day Jews might come closer to God, bridging the divide between religious law and personal devotion. In her introduction to Susan’s collected works, Adele Reinhartz suggests that “purity is one issue that brings us face to face with the chronological and cultural distance between Judaism of antiquity and our modern sensi-

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bilities … In the ancient world, however, the concepts of purity and impurity were frequently used to define the conditions that regulated access to the divine. Throughout the ancient Near East, Egypt, Mesopotamia as well as in classical Greece and Rome, acts that were defined as sinful and states defined as impure were obstacles to worship.”5 Did Susan’s studies bring her closer to the answer she was seeking? Unfortunately, we will never know, since her life was cut short before she would have had the opportunity to explore more fully the relationship between the purity rites of ancient times and our own distance from the divine. Nevertheless, in her brief life, purity was her constant companion, for she brought a purity of soul and spirit that enriched not only an important academic field but the lives of so many who were touched by her. In Song of Songs Rabbah 7:10 we read, “Rabbi Yochanan said, ‘When a scholar passes away, his lips continue to move in the grave.’ How do we know? As it says in Song of Songs (7:9), ‘moving gently do the lips of those that are asleep.’” Even in death, Susan’s words and deeds will continue to speak to many for generations to come, and we are the better for it.

Bibliography Haber, S. “From Priestly Torah to Christ Cultus: The Re-vision of Covenant and Cult in Hebrews.” Pages 143–158 in “They Shall Purify Themselves”: Essays on Purity in Early Judaism. Edited by Adele Reinhartz. Early Judaism and Its Literature 24. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008. –. “God, Israel and Covenant: Unity in the Book of Deuteronomy.” European Judaism 32 (1999): 132–141. –. “Going Up to Jerusalem: Purity, Pilgrimage and the Historical Jesus.” Pages 49–67 in Travel and Religion in Antiquity. Edited by P. A. Harland. Studies in Christianity and Judaism 21. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2011. –. “Living and Dying for the Law: The Mother-Martyrs of 2 Maccabees.” Women in Judaism: A Multidisciplinary Journal 4 (2006): http://jps.library.utoronto.ca/ index.php/wjudaism/article/view/247 –. “They Shall Purify Themselves”: Essays on Purity in Early Judaism. Edited by A. Reinhartz. Early Judaism and Its Literature 24. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008. –. “A Woman’s Touch: Feminist Encounters with the Hemorrhaging Woman in Mark 5:24–34.” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 26 (2003): 171–192. Harland, P. A., ed. Travel and Religion in Antiquity. Studies in Christianity and Judaism 21. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2011. Reinhartz, A. “Introduction.” Pages 1–6 in “They Shall Purify Themselves”: Essays on Purity in Early Judaism. Edited by A. Reinhartz. Early Judaism and Its Literature 24. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008. 5 Reinhartz,

“Introduction,” 1.

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Robinson, I., “Canadian Jewry Today: Portrait of a Community in the Process of Change,” Changing Jewish Communities (Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs) 12 (2006) http://www.jcpa.org/cjc/cjc-robinson-06.htm (June 10, 2012). Waller, H. W., “A Community Transformed: The National Picture.” In From Immigration to Integration: The Canadian Jewish Experience: A Millennium Edition. Edited by R. Klein & F. Dimant. Institute for International Affairs, B’nai Brith Canada, 2001. http://www.bnaibrith.ca/institute/millennium/millennium10.html (June 10, 2012).

Part I

Ancient Israel

Miqra’ Qodesh and the Structure of Leviticus 23 Baruch J. Schwartz Susan Haber ‫לז״נ‬

Almost all studies of Leviticus 23,1 including those appearing in critical commentaries on Leviticus, as indeed almost all studies of what have come to be called “the festival calendars” in the Torah,2 are comparative studies of the festivals in ancient Israel as they appear in the several Torah sources, their commonalities, and especially the differences between them, which are understood to be indications of the festivals’ evolutionary development.3 This is no surprise. Systematic critical study of the Pentateuchal law codes may actually be said to have begun way back in 1835 with J. F. L. George’s Die älteren Jüdischen Feste,4 and the centrality of this topic in the work of Julius Wellhausen5 and of his followers, detractors, disciples, and opponents is undeniable.6 Moreover, it would probably be no exaggeration to say that biblical religion itself begins with the annual festivals, if by biblical religion – in the tangible, practical sense – we mean the performance of routine worship of Yhwh perceived as a commanded, positive obligation devolving on the people of Israel. We have only to recall that in J, the oldest of the Pentateuchal documents, the three annual pilgrimage festivals constitute virtually the whole of the law (on the assumption that underlying the present form of Exod 34:17–26 there is indeed an authentic J law-code),7 and that in 1 See recently Nihan, “Festival Calendars”; for earlier studies see the literature cited and the references given in the notes below. 2  Exod 23:14–19; 34:18–26; Lev 23:1–44; Num 28:1–30:1; Deut 16:1–17. 3 Among the recent critical commentaries, see Noth, Leviticus, 163–76; Elliger, Leviticus, 302–24; Wenham, Leviticus, 297–307; Levine, Leviticus, 154–63, 261–68; Hartley, Leviticus, 363–94; Gerstenberger, Leviticus, 334–54; Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1947–2080. 4  George, Jüdischen Feste; on this book’s decisive influence, see Rogerson, Old Testament, 63–68; Gesundheit, Festival Legislation, 6; idem, Three Times, 1. 5  Wellhausen, Prolegomena, 83–120. 6 For Kaufmann’s now classical critique of the Wellausenian reconstruction, see Kaufmann, Toledot, esp. 1:119–26; see also idem, Religion, esp. 178–80. Recent works on the festivals include Wagenaar, Origin; Weyde, Appointed Festivals; Goldstein and Cooper, “Development;” idem, “Festivals;” idem, “Exodus;” Berlejung, “Heilige Zeiten; Gesundheit, Three Times.” 7  Classical four-source theory views the Minor Book of the Covenant (Exod 34:11–26),

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J’s reconstruction of the events, these – and these alone – are, therefore, the terms of Yhwh’s covenant with Israel. The scholarly study of the festival calendar texts is devoted primarily to the historical study of the festivals themselves, that is, to the attempt to reconstruct their observance as an evolving historical phenomenon and social reality. For this purpose, the texts must be studied in a manner we might call “vertical.” Each of the festival calendars must be considered independent of its literary context, i.e., the document in which it is found, and each bit of textual evidence must be mined for the information it provides for the topic under examination, compared and contrasted with every other bit of evidence, and placed somewhere along the historical continuum. The “horizontal” study of these texts, within their respective separate, authentic literary contexts and as peculiar expressions of something unique and distinctive, has been much less of a scholarly priority. The festivals in the Priestly laws, as a topic worthy of study in its own right, have been hit particularly hard, first because of the displeasure, or at least the sense of alienation, that Priestly writings and Priestly ideas occasionally arouse in students and scholars, and second, because Priestly festivals themselves are seen as a two-stage evolution, with the exclusively cultic festivals of P only hovering in the background, ultimately to be dispensed with and replaced by the festivals of H, in which the Temple rituals are augmented by popular and agricultural observances and the laity is given a share in the celebration.8 My aim in this essay is to study P first of all as literature and not as evidence, and to study it in isolation, sympathetically and on its own terms. I want to attempt to understand the text of Leviticus 23 as a literary expression of the unique Priestly conception of the so-called festivals, and to elucidate how this conception functions as an integral part of the Priestly worldview. For these purposes I shall ignore the non-Priestly sources entirely, except if a point of contrast needs to be made. which is situated within a readily identifiable J narrative (33:1–5, 12–23; 34:2–3, 4a1β, 5a2–27) and, thus, presumably to be assigned to J, as the earliest of the law corpora in the Pentateuch; see Haran, “S per ha-B rît.” Critics have debated this; for the view that this law corpora is a later, redactional passage, see, most recently, Gesundheit, “Festival Calendars,” 14–64; idem, “Intertextualität”; idem, Three Times, 12–43. Hoffman, accepting Gesundheit’s thesis regarding Exodus 34, advances the suggestion that J actually contained no law-code at all, inculcating its distinctive normative teachings through its narratives; see Hoffman, “Uniqueness.” It is possible, however, that the text of Exod 34:11–26 is a reworked form of an authentic, albeit brief, J law-code, the actual provisions of which were essentially those preserved in the rewritten version. 8 For the theoretical, theological, and textual arguments underlying this now widely accepted view of the development of the festivals in the Priestly strata, see Knohl, Sanctuary, 1–45; for the most recent critique of this approach, see Nihan, “Festival Calendars.” See also Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, esp. 2054–56; Milgrom, however, expresses some uncertainty about characterizing H’s festival legislation as containing popular, folk elements.

Miqra’ Qodesh and the Structure of Leviticus 23

13

In this discussion I also ignore the differences between P and H. Of course it goes without saying that Leviticus 23 is part of H, and the theory that an earlier pre-H version of the text can be unearthed here by carving away everything but the skeletal outline of dates, labor prohibitions, and the repeated command to sacrifice a communal offering on each of the occasions enumerated9 is indeed enticing. Yet it remains speculative, and in any case, as I have argued previously, I do not see the differences between P and H as expressions of a major chasm between the two, nor do I view H as a polemical revolution in Priestly theology or as a popular and progressive movement in Priestly practice. Rather, I see H’s rewriting of the Priestly Code, including its festival legislation, as the natural outgrowth and extension of what is implicit, often explicit, in early P.10 I thus prefer to speak of Leviticus 23 as an expression of the Priestly festival legislation, and of the image of the festivals that emerges from it as the Priestly image of these distinguished occasions. Since the best way to arrive at Priestly ideas is by exercising precision with regard to Priestly terminology, I will organize the following remarks around some of the important terms and concepts that inform the laws found in Leviticus 23: 1. The chapter begins with the twice-repeated statement that “these” are Yhwh’s ‫( מֹועֲדִ ים‬vss. 2 and 4); it closes by repeating this phrase twice more (vss. 37 and 44). In none of the Torah sources but P are the festivals called ‫מֹועֲדִ ים‬, nor do the other sources employ anything equivalent or even similar to this term. Translators and exegetes agree that the word ‫ מֹועֵד‬means “times,” or appointed, or designated, times; on contextual grounds, there can be no taking issue with this rendering, and P’s usage of the word elsewhere seems to confirm it as well. In the Priestly creation myth, Yhwh assigns to the sun, the moon, and the stars the function of serving as ‫ אֹותֹות‬and ‫מֹועֲדִ ים‬ – “indicators and” (or “of”)11 “fixed times, and of days and of years” (Gen 1:14).12 Yet, the same word appears numerous times, in P as well as in other strata of biblical literature, in the sense of “meeting” or “meeting 9

 As emerges from the analysis offered by Knohl (Sanctuary, 1–45) of each of the chapter’s pericopes respectively. 10 See Schwartz, Holiness, esp. 24–33, 241–49. 11  This according to some scholars, who view the conjuctive w w in the phrase ‫לְאֹתֹת‬ ‫ ּולְמֹועֲדִ ים‬in Gen 1:14 either as superfluous (thus according to the Karaite interpretation, cited and vigorously rejected by Abraham ibn Ezra; see his Introduction to Genesis in Torat ayyim, Genesis, I, 6), as a scribal error (thus according to many critics, beginning with Olshausen in 1870, cited in Skinner, Genesis, 26), or simply as explicative (thus Speiser, Genesis, 6). 12  For other instances in P, see Gen 17:21; 21:2; Num 9:2, 3, 7, 13; 10:10; 15:3; 28:2; 29:39. Among the many occurrences of this usage of the word outside of P are, for instance, Gen 18:14; Deut 16:6; 2 Sam 20:5; Jer 8:7; Ps 102:14.

14

Baruch J. Schwartz

place.”13 This occurs most often in the frequently recurring ‫אֹהֶל מֹועֵד‬,14 and the explicit use of the verb ‫ נֹועַד‬in P in this context15 makes the meaning of ‫ מֹועֵד‬in this phrase unambiguous.16 The precise etymological and semantic relationship between the two usages of ‫מֹועֵד‬, “meeting” and “time,” which even occur in one and the same literary source, is somewhat elusive. The loose semantic connection between the two does not provide an adequate explanation; simply to say that, in order to have a meeting, one needs to set a time does not account for using the same word for the meeting itself and for the meeting-time. Even adducing the English word “date,” which moved from being a term for the meeting-time to a colloquial term for the meeting itself, while tempting, appears on further examination to be a case of false analogy: the semantic development is backward, since the presumed primary meaning of ‫ מֹועֵד‬is the meeting, not the time. One possible solution is that the two usages are homographs: identical words derived from two related but distinct roots. When appearing in the sense of meeting or meeting-place, ‫ מֹועֵד‬would be derived from ‫“ ועד‬meet;”17 whereas, when appearing in the sense of “fixed time,” it would reflect the semantically different and etymologically distinct (though related) ‫יעד‬ “designate.”18 The drawback of this solution is that it leaves us with both usages of the identical word employed by the same Priestly writers in close proximity to each other with nothing but context to enable the reader to differentiate between them. However, even this is not wholly unknown in Priestly literature.19 13 In non-Priestly texts this is infrequent; see Num 16:2; Isa 14:13; Job 30:23; Lam 2:6 and n. 16 below; for the Priestly occurrences, see the next note. 14  There are well over a hundred occurrences in P; see Exod 27:21; 28:23; Lev 1:1; 3:2; Num 1:1; 2:2 etc. 15 Exod 25:22; 29:42, 43; 30:6, 36; Num 10:3, 4; 17:19; for the sense “assemble, congregate,” see Num 14:35; 16:11; 27:3. See below, n. 17. 16 The ‫ אֹהֶל מֹועֵד‬appears in the Torah outside of P as well, in four E passages: Exod 33:7; Num 11:16; 12:4; Deut 31:14. On the distinctive non-Priestly conception of the ‫אֹהֶל מֹועֵד‬ reflected in these passages, see Haran, Temples, 260–75. 17 See the passages mentioned above in n. 15 and Josh 11:5; Ps 48:5; Job 2:11; Amos 3:3. 18 See Exod 21:8; Jer 47:7 (where ‫ יָעַד‬parallels ‫)צִּוָה‬, and esp. 2 Sam 20:5. For a discussion of the problematics involved in verbs I-yod and I-w w, see Blau, Tôrat ha-Hege, 260–62. Nominal forms analagous to ‫ מֹועֵד‬occur both with roots originally I-yod (e.g. ‫ )מֹוקֵׁש‬and with those originally I-w w (e.g. ‫)מֹוקֵד‬. My thanks to Naphtali S. Meshel for his assistance on this point. 19 For instance, the verb ‫ ּכִּפֶר‬in P has been shown to be both a denominative formation from the noun ‫“ ּכֹפֶר‬payment,” meaning “serve as ransom,” and a verb cognate to Akk. kuppuru and meaning “wipe away, purge” (usually impurity). These too are etymologically unrelated homographs, yet both appear throughout P, with the sense to be determined in each case from context; see Schwartz, “Prohibitions,” 52–4.

Miqra’ Qodesh and the Structure of Leviticus 23

15

Another explanation might be that instead of thinking of durations of time, that is, observances that are a certain number of days long (one or seven, in P’s calendar), we should be thinking of points along a time-line – what are today called “dates.” Perhaps, these are also “meeting-points,” encountered as one moves along the time-line – around a circle perhaps – and re-encountered each year as the time-line or time-circle repeats itself. If this is correct, then the ‫ מֹועֲדִ ים‬are points-in-time, moments of onset, met as the year progresses from month to month. Perhaps then, this is the key to this widespread use of the word, an essentially calendrical usage, in keeping with the biblical view of time expressed here and elsewhere. 2. The distinctive feature of the festivals in this chapter (and elsewhere in P)20 is that they are designated as ‫ ִמקְָראֵי קֹדֶ ׁש‬.21 To understand this phrase, one must realize that in the Priestly conception the whole of reality is divided into two categories: ‫ קֹדֶ ׁש‬and ‫חֹול‬, the holy and the common, that which belongs to the particular realm of the deity and everything else, which is in the realm of the everyday, the mundane. Whatever is in the category of ‫ חֹול‬is permitted for unrestricted, normal human use. The ‫ קֳדָ ׁשִים‬or sancta, however, are Yhwh’s exclusively, and all unauthorized human contact with or use of them is severely prohibited.22 In this conception, reality is thought of as being composed of five dimensions: persons, objects, space, words, and time. Desecrating the sacred, which is to be avoided at all costs, consists of violating the restrictions imposed on what belongs to the deity by making mundane use of it. Just as the mundane use of a sacred object desecrates it, the mundane use of sacred time, time belonging to Yhwh, desecrates it. Since the time when one does all of one’s productive activity is by definition non-sacred time, a day on which all such activity ceases must be a sacred time, time that belongs to Yhwh himself, time not to be used by humans. Thus, each of the days designated as a ‫קֹדֶ ׁש‬, a sanctum, is a day on which no labor is to be done. Accordingly, the term ‫ ִמקְָרא קֹדֶ ׁש‬is followed, indeed glossed, by the words “You shall do no work” (vss. 3, 7, 8, 21, 25, 28, 35, 36).23 20

 Exod 12:16; Num 28:18, 25, 26; 29:1, 7, 12. be precise, specifically singled out days among them are so designated. The pilgrimages of ma ôt and sukkôt are each of seven days’ duration, but only the first and final days of ma ôt, and only the first day and additional eighth day of sukkôt are designated as ‫ִמקְָראֵי‬ ‫ ;קֹדֶ ׁש‬this distinction, too, is unique to P. D’s regulation that after having observed a one-day pilgrimage in order to offer the pesa sacrifice and having then returned home (Deut 16:1–7), there to eat ma ôt for the next six days, one is to refrain from labor on the seventh (v. 8), is in some measure analogous but by no means identical, the provision being confined to this festival alone, and the concept of the sacred being entirely absent. 22  Schwartz, Holiness, 250–58; compare Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1978–79. 23 For a discussion of this phrase and its two variations (‫תעֲשֹּו‬ ַ ‫ ּכ ָל־ ְמלָאכ ָה ֹלא‬and ‫ּכ ָל־ ְמלֶאכ ֶת‬ ‫)עֲבֹדָ ה ֹלא ַתעֲשֹּו‬, see Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1977–78. 21 To

16

Baruch J. Schwartz

A fuller appreciation of the notion that the basic definition of sacred time as time that belongs exclusively to the deity is gained by the fact that the festivals are spoken of in this chapter (and elsewhere in P) not merely as ‫ ;מֹועֲדִ ים‬rather, they are said to be the ‫ מֹועֲדִ ים‬of Yhwh. They are Yhwh’s fixed times. The repeated use of the construct (vss. 2, 4, 37, 44) and the use of the possessive ‫“ מֹועֲדָ י‬My fixed times” (v. 2) serve to confirm what is meant by “sacred” in Priestly thought. The cluster of terms and phrases as well as the conceptual world they express are all entirely unique to P.  Only in P are the festival days times of cessation from work, from engaging in daily activity, for only in P are they sacred. Now, in P nothing can be a ‫ קֹדֶ ׁש‬simply by definition. In order to be in the category of the ‫קֳדָ ׁשִים‬, the group of sacred entities, the person, place, or thing must undergo an active consecration; something must be done to it to transform it into a ‫קֹדֶ ׁש‬, something expressed by the factitive form of the verb, the piel ‫קִּדֵ ׁש‬. The tabernacle and the priests are transformed into Y ­ hwh’s own palace servants by application of the anointing oil and associated acts. Offerings are transformed into Yhwh’s food by being presented and coming in contact with the sacred space. The Israelite people as a whole are transformed into Yhwh’s sacred people – according to H – by performing the commandments.24 Sanctity must be imparted by an act or process of consecration for the transformation from non-sacred to sacred to take place. How does time become sacred, become Yhwh’s own time, which humans may not violate? The word ‫ ִמקְָרא‬in the phrase ‫ ִמקְָרא קֹדֶ ׁש‬provides the answer: by pronouncement. This is the sense of the verb ‫ קָָרא‬that appears four times alongside it in the chapter (vss. 2, 4, 21, 37), with ‫ ִמקְָרא‬thus construed as its cognate accusative.25 The idea that time is consecrated by being declared holy may readily be confirmed by P’s etiological legend about the sabbath (Gen 2:1–3), according to which the seventh day was transformed into a ‫קֹדֶ ׁש‬ by being so designated by Yhwh at creation.26 It is confirmed by logic as well; given that every sanctum needs somehow to be made into such, how else could this be accomplished with time other than by declaring the time to be Yhwh’s own minutes and hours, off-limits to humans? On first glance one might surmise that these calendrically recurring times, like the weekly sabbath in P’s narrative, were pronounced sacred once and for all by Yhwh himself – the former at creation, the latter at Sinai – as recounted in this chapter. If so, certain annual dates were simply decreed, once upon a time, by Yhwh to Moses and this is how they became sacred  See Schwartz, Holiness, 260–63; idem, “Israel’s Holiness.” ‫( חֹדֶ ׁש וְׁשַּבָת קְֹרא ִמקְָרא‬Isa 1:13). 26 See Schwartz, “Sabbath,” 11–13. 24

25 Compare

Miqra’ Qodesh and the Structure of Leviticus 23

17

times for ever after. But the verb ‫“ ִּתקְְראּו‬You shall proclaim” in vss. 2, 4, 21 and 37 is conclusive evidence to the contrary. Evidently, some sort of annual pronouncement of each one is mandated. This, then, is the clue to the term ‫ ִמקְָרא קֹדֶ ׁש‬. It is not a “holy convocation,”27 which conveys the idea of assembly. No assembly is commanded and none is thought to take place on these occasions; such a notion would seem to be the farthest thing from the mind of the Priestly writer, and in any case cannot be expressed in the Hebrew verb ‫קרא‬.28 Nor are ‫ ִמקְָראֵי קֹדֶ ׁש‬to be explained as “sacred proclamations,”29 since the proclamations would not be sacred at all; it is the ‫מֹועֲדִ ים‬, the times themselves, that become sacred, and they achieve this status as a result of being proclaimed. Rather, ‫ִמקְָרא קֹדֶ ׁש‬ must mean something that has become a sanctum by virtue of proclamation, i.e., a thing pronounced, and thereby rendered, sacred. According to v. 3, pronouncement is to be made for all of the sacred occasions ‫“ ּבְמֹועֲדָ ם‬each in its own time,” as each of the specified dates is encountered. How is this envisaged? One thinks of the ceremonial consecration of the New Moon instituted by the Rabbis, performed by the high court in order to formalize, and thereby to ensure uniform recognition of, the onset of each new month, which concluded with the verbal pronouncement sanctifying the occasion,30 but this may be literalizing exegesis more typical of legal midrash than of biblical literature.31 And while there is perhaps some biblical evidence for such oral proclamations – one thinks of ‫קַּדְ ׁשּו־צֹום קְִראּו‬ ‫“ עֲצָָרה‬Consecrate a fast; proclaim a solemn occasion” in Joel 1:1432 – Priestly law displays no familiarity with any such mechanism. On the contrary, in P the heavenly bodies were created for the purpose that Israel – eventually, when it came into existence – would be able accurately to identify Yhwh’s times and to mark them accordingly.33 Accordingly, our chapter concludes 27 For

this widespread rendering, see Ramban on v. 2 (Torat

ayyim, Leviticus, 224),

KJV, RSV et al. It has been embraced by many critical commentators; see for example El-

liger (Leviticus, 313), Hartley (Leviticus, 371 and passim) and even Levine (Leviticus, 154) despite the fact that the NJPS translation, on which Levine’s commentary is based, rejects this in favor of “sacred occasions.” 28  In both Priestly and non-Priestly texts, the verbal forms of the root ‫ קהל‬are used for this purpose; see, e.g., Lev 8:3; Num 1:18; 8:9, 10:7; Deut 4:10; 31:12, 28. 29 Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1957; see also 1958–59 for further discussion of the exegetical history of the use the phrase. 30 m. Roš Haš. 2:7. 31 See b. Roš Haš. 24a, where the Court’s proclamation itself (!‫מקֻּדָ ׁש‬ ְ ) is derived through literalizing the interpretation of the verb ‫ ; ִּתקְְראּו‬the stipulation that all present must repeat the proclamation is adduced from repointing the word ‫ אֹתָם‬as if it were ‫ ַאּתֶם‬, and the need to repeat the word twice (!‫ ) ְמקֻּדָ ׁש ְמקֻּדָ ׁש‬is held to be implicit in the use of the plural ‫ ִמקְָראֵי‬in the term ‫ ִמקְָראֵי קֹדֶ ׁש‬. 32 See Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 1957. 33 See Gen 1:14–15 and n. 11 above. Of course, P admits that the heavenly bodies also

18

Baruch J. Schwartz

with the notice that Yhwh’s times were indeed announced to the Israelites (v. 44), thus leaving the annual implementation in their hands. What type of annual pronouncement is contemplated? It would seem that v. 37 provides the answer: ‫) ֵאּלֶה מֹועֲדֵ י ה׳ ֲאׁשֶר־ ִּתקְְראּו אֹתָם ִמקְָראֵי קֹדֶ ׁש‬a( :‫) לְ ַהקְִריב ִאּׁשֶה לַה׳ עֹלָה ּו ִמנְחָה זֶבַח ּונ ְ ָסכִים ּדְ בַר־יֹום ּבְיֹומֹו‬b(

To grasp the syntactical relationship between the two parts of the verse, it needs to be realized that the infinitive construct with prefixed lamed (‫)לְ ַהקְִריב‬ in cases such as this is epexegetical.34 The word ‫ לְ ַהקְִריב‬here thus means “by offering,”35 and the phrase as a whole states that the way in which the ‫ִמקְָראֵי‬ ‫ קֹדֶ ׁש‬are to be proclaimed, as it were, is by offering the prescribed offerings to Yhwh on each one of them at its own time.36 3. The phrase ‫ לְ ַהקְִריב ִאּׁשֶה לַה׳‬in the summary verse (v. 37) echoes the repeated command that occurs in each of the paragraphs of the chapter and constitutes the only performative act prescribed for each one of the ‫ִמקְָראֵי‬ ‫( קֹדֶ ׁש‬vss. 8, 18, 25, 27, 36 [2x]; see also v. 13). As is now known, the word ‫ ִאּׁשֶה‬is not derived from ‫“ אֵׁש‬fire” but from a root ‫אש״ש‬/ ‫ או״ש‬meaning “gift” and is known from Ugaritic as well as from Hebrew proper names such as ‫ יהואש‬and ‫יאשיהו‬. The word is not used to refer to the purification and reparation offerings, as these are not gifts but rituals of expiation, but it is used consistently to denote burnt offerings, cereal offerings, and sacrifices of well-being – as illustrated in our verse: ‫ִאּׁשֶה לַה׳ עֹלָה ּו ִמנְחָה זֶבַח ּונ ְ ָסכ ִים ּדְ בַר־יֹום‬ ‫ּבְיֹומֹו‬.37 The importance of the use of the term ‫ ִאּׁשֶה‬, best translated “foodgift,” is thus that the priest, the Temple food-server, sees and experiences the festival day approximately the same as he does every other day, as a day on which Yhwh receives his daily tribute in the form of food-like offerings, with one crucial difference: these are the days on which he receives more. Days, it would seem, are identified in Priestly thought by what is offered by Israel to Yhwh on them. On festival days, the daily food-offering is a more sumptuous, more extravagant repast. This is stated even more bluntly in P’s have the task of providing light, but light was created independently (Gen 1:3) and could exist without them. 34 See GKC §114o. 35  Compare ‫( וְׁשָמְרּו בְנ ֵי־יִשְָֹראֵל אֶת־ ַהּׁשַּבָת לַעֲשֹ�ֹות אֶת־ ַהּׁשַּבָת‬Exod 31:16), which means that the Israelites are to keep the Sabbath “by doing it,” i.e., by observing a full cessation of activity. 36 Contrast NJPS, where 37a is rendered “… the set times of Yhwh that you shall celebrate as sacred occasions” (italics added), followed by the gerund form “bringing offerings” etc. In addition to transforming “proclaim” into “celebrate as,” for which there is no textual warrant, this rendering gives the mistaken impression that the making of offerings is an accompanying act, i.e., that these days are somehow to be “celebrated,” and in addition to this, offerings are to be brought. 37 Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 161–62; see also Schwartz, Leviticus, 208.

Miqra’ Qodesh and the Structure of Leviticus 23

19

other festival calendar, appearing in Numbers 28–29, the caption of which reads “Command the Israelites and say to them: Be punctilious in presenting to me the offerings of food due to me as food-gifts of pleasing odor to me at stated times” (Num 28:2), and which then goes on to catalogue the specifics of each day’s required food-gifts: the more modest ones to be offered daily and the more elaborate ones offered on the Sabbath, New Moon, and each of the festival days. 4. There is one crucial term that is not used to characterize Yhwh’s designated sacred times: the word ‫חַג‬. The word ‫ חַג‬does not mean festival, celebration, or feast. The only meaning of the noun ‫חַג‬, and of the verbal root ‫ חגג‬in all of its appearances, is “pilgrimage.”38 Appearing regularly in the non-Priestly festival legislation,39 this word expresses the obligation to pay a visit to Yhwh in his abode, that is, to appear and worship at a location where he is believed to reside – as expressed most explicitly in the accompanying phrase ‫( לְִראֹות אֶת־פְנ ֵי ה׳‬in its original form): “to see Yhwh’s face.”40 This is what was referred to above as the only performative requirement of Israel’s religion in J; it is certainly the central feature of the festivals in E (Exod 23:14–19) as well. In D, of course, the practicalities of complying with this obligation, when Yhwh is deemed to reside at a single location, became the entire focus of the festival legislation (Deut 16:1–17), and this was certainly the case in historical and sociological fact as well. In contrast, P’s calendar of distinguished dates is most definitely not organized around the idea that Israelites must visit Yhwh a few times a year. There are seven sacred times, but only two of them are also days on which pilgrimages take place: the ‫ חַג‬of ma ôt (v. 6) and that of sukkôt (v. 34). The other five are decidedly not pilgrimages; the term ‫ חַג‬does not appear and the presence of the populace is neither required nor envisaged. In two of these five, the pilgrimage is even conspicuously absent: the day on which the bikk rîm-loaves are brought as part of the day’s ‫( ִאּׁשֶה‬vss. 15–21) is not a pilgrimage day, even though it corresponds to the wheat-harvesting pilgrimage in all of the other sources; 41 the final sacred day in the calendar (v. 36b) is also not a pilgrimage, even though it comes immediately at the conclusion of a seven-day pilgrimage of which it is somewhat a part. Furthermore, when the pilgrimage command does appear, it is mentioned somewhat more Temples, 289–90. 23:14, 15, 16, 17; 34:18, 22, 25; Deut 16: 10, 13, 14, 15, 16; 31:10. 40  Exod 23:15, 17; 34:20, 24; Deut 16:16 (2x); 31:11. On the Masoretic vocalization ‫י ֵָראֶה‬, ‫“ לֵָראֹות‬be seen,” see the critical commentaries. 41 P elsewhere refers to this day as š bû ôt (Num 28:26), and it corresponds to the nonPriestly pilgrimage of q îr (Exod 23:16) or š bû ôt (Exod 34:22; Deut 16:10,16). Yet, it is most decidedly not a pilgrimage occasion in P; it is observed as ‫ ִמקְָרא קֹדֶ ׁש‬by the priests in the Temple, and by the populace at home; the word ‫ חַג‬is entirely absent. 38 Haran, 39 Exod

20

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matter-of-factly and less as the command that the legislator wishes to issue. It is as though he were saying: here is the list of Yhwh’s dates, two of which are also pilgrimages. Not viewing them essentially as pilgrimages, gatherings or celebrations, then, the Priestly legislator has his own unique vision of these special occasions. In his mind, they are days that belong to Yhwh and are marked as such by two features. One is a prohibition, i.e., refraining from all labor, which is the logical way – indeed, the only conceivable way – to avoid desecrating Yhwh’s time, and this is required of all, priests and laypersons alike, whether on pilgrimage, as is necessary on two of the seven occasions, or at home, as is expected on all of the other occasions. The second, which is the defining, performative aspect of all of the sacred days, the aspect that makes them what they are in the Priestly mind and that serves to mark them as such, has nothing whatsoever to do with the laity or its celebration, participation, jubilation, or commemoration, whether present or not. These are days on which the priests are to offer a special ‫ ִאּׁשֶה‬to Yhwh, thereby augmenting his daily food-gift intake. The Priestly legislation, then, does not speak of three popular and joyous pilgrimages rooted in the agricultural life of the countryside with all their attendant celebrations, merely adding to them two specifically Templecentered observances, the day of “remembrance by noise-making” (vss. 23–25) and “the day of cleansing the Temple” (vss. 26–32).42 Rather, the Priestly legislators imagine all of these days, including the two which, it acknowledges, also involve a pilgrimage, as entirely Temple-centered in their observance – their connection to the agricultural cycle notwithstanding. It views the priests’ performance of elaborate ‫ ִאּׁשֶה‬-rituals as their essential feature, and deems the only role played by the lay person to be a negative one: to take care not to profane these sacred times. Realizing that the literary structure of our chapter is organized as a calendar of sacred dates on which a cessation from labor is to be observed and on which Yhwh is worshipped – by his priests, in his abode – in a manner exceeding the daily routine may help us to arrive at some conclusion regarding two famous structural or compositional issues with which critics have concerned themselves. The first regards v. 3, in which the Sabbath is commanded, and v. 4 in which the caption of v. 2 is repeated. Critics generally regard these as a secondary interpolation in the chapter. This is held to be evident not only from the repeated caption, which seems to indicate that the inclusion of the weekly Sabbath among the “sacred times” was not an original part of the chapter, but also from v. 38, which states that the aforementioned proclaimed sacred 42 For

these designations, see Schwartz, Leviticus, 265.

Miqra’ Qodesh and the Structure of Leviticus 23

21

times are “in addition to Yhwh’s Sabbaths” – and this, it is thought, cannot have been written by an author for whom the Sabbaths were included among the ‫מֹועֲדִ ים‬. And indeed, according to the basic conception of the chapter, and of P in general, the Sabbath is neither a ‫ מֹועֵד‬nor a ‫ ִמקְָרא קֹדֶ ׁש‬, as its regular recurrence has nothing to do with annually encountered points on a time-line, and its sanctity is not pronounced at each onset. On the strength of these considerations it would certainly appear that the scribe who introduced the Sabbath here, presenting it as though it were one of the proclaimed sanctums (v. 3: ‫)ּובַּיֹום ַהּׁשְבִיעִי ׁשַּבַת ׁשַּבָתֹון ִמקְָרא־קֹדֶ ׁש‬, did so secondarily and artificially. And yet, the possibility remains that the passage is original and that the resumptive repetition of v. 4 is authorial and authentic. It may be that the Priestly author – the Holiness legislator, in this case – wished only to make mention, at the outset of his presentation of Yhwh’s annual sacred times, of the fact that in addition to them the weekly Sabbath – with which Moses and the Israelites are already familiar, as it was already commanded43 – is also a sanctum44 (notice that he does not claim that the Sabbath is a ‫)מֹועֵד‬. Having adduced the relevant paradigm (v. 3), he goes on to reiterate his caption (v. 4), then to enumerate the calendrically determined sacred times (vss. 5–36). As he approaches the conclusion, he reminds the listener (v. 38) that the calendrically determined sacred times are to be observed in addition to the already-commanded weekly Sabbaths.45 The second compositional issue arises from vss. 37–38, which seem to create the impression of closure. Critics routinely take this caption as a certain indication that the chapter originally ended here,46 but our understanding of the distinctive Priestly view of the ‫ מֹועֲדִ ים‬and ‫ ִמקְָראֵי קֹדֶ ׁש‬might 43 Exod

31:12–17; 35:2–3; see Schwartz, “Sabbath,” 10–13; Stackert, “Strata,” 1–20.  Though, to be sure, not a proclaimed sanctum – thus making the word ‫ ִמקְָרא‬in v. 3 somewhat suspect; compare Exod 31:14; 35:2. 45 If this suggestion is correct, then my remarks elsewhere (Schwartz, Leviticus, 263, 266) are in need of correction. 46 See the second of the seven questions posed by Don Isaac Abrabanel in his introduction to Lev 23:33–43: “Why did Scripture state ‘These are Yhwh’s appointed times,’ etc. and ‘in addition to Yhwh’s sabbaths’ (vss. 37–38) in the middle of the sukkôt command, as if this were the conclusion of the command – which is not the case, since it goes on to command further ‘Mark, on the fifteenth day of the seventh month’ etc. and the verses that remain (vss. 39–43), all of which should have come before ‘These are Yhwh’s appointed times’?” (Abrabanel, Leviticus, 145), and compare, for instance, Noth, Leviticus, 175; Knohl, Sanctuary, 36–40; Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2036; Hartley, Leviticus, 372; Noordtzij, Leviticus, 241; Nihan, “Festival Calendars,” 187–88, who, along with almost all critics, view the passage as secondary. See Nihan’s detailed discussion of vss. 39–43 (“Festival Calendars,” 186–95, esp. 188 n. 26) for references to previous scholarship, including the views of early critics (George, Wellhausen, Kuenen, et al.) who assigned these verses, along with vss. 9–22, to an earlier stage of the chapter’s composition – in what became in the classical view H, which was believed at the time to be an ancient stratum incorporated in, and redacted by, P. 44

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actually enable us to rehabilitate the purportedly added verses.47 Verses 37–38 state explicitly that, with the mention of the ‫ עֲצֶֶרת‬prescribed in v. 36b, the enumeration of annual occasions on which augmented gifts of food are to be offered to Yhwh is concluded. This is in fact the case: the following verses, prescribing the dwelling in sukkôt and the use of the four types of branches, do not fit under this rubric, as they do not reflect the notion of sacred times and how their sanctity is made manifest. Just like the half-verse prescribing the seven days of eating ma ôt (v. 6b), and even more like the verse prohibiting eating any of the new grain crop until the omer has been offered (v. 14) and the verse reminding the Israelite to leave gleanings for the poor when he harvests his grain (v. 22), these verses too are probably an original part of the chapter. However, whereas in each of the other cases, the author had no option as to where to situate these additional provisions, as each one pertains to a ‫ מֹועֵד‬occurring along the calendric continuum, the prescriptions contained in vss. 39–43 pertain to the last of the ‫ מֹועֲדִ ים‬to be mentioned. The author thus had the option of making them an appendix, which he exercised quite deliberately, expressing thereby that these observances, while commanded as part of the legislation communicated in this chapter, are outside of the rubric of ‫ מֹועֲדֵ י ה׳‬and ‫ ִמקְָראֵי קֹדֶ ׁש‬, the treatment of which concluded with vss. 37–38. I do not think that the Priestly image of the special occasions represents a stage in the evolution of the festivals, anymore than P’s image of the Sabbath represents a stage in the development of the Sabbath or P’s image of the tabernacle represents a stage in the evolution of the cult or P’s prohibition of sacred slaughter of livestock represents a stage in the development of Israel’s dietary laws. Rather, it represents a point of view: it tells us how Israel’s special occasions, the social and historical image of which we can reconstruct by consulting all of the texts and all of our other sources as well, appeared to the eyes of Priestly author; how he conceived of them and what they meant to him. In practice, they were what they were. In Priestly thought, they were Yhwh’s proclaimed sacred times.48

47 Either vss. 39–43, if v. 44 is taken as the original concluding notice and, thus, the original sequel to vss. 37–38; or, alternatively, vss. 39–44 in their entirety. 48  Sincere thanks to Ariel Seri-Levi for his expert assistance in the preparation of this essay for publication. It is also a privilege to acknowledge the Israel Science Foundation for its continued generous support of my study of the Torah sources.

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Bibliography Abrabanel, Don Isaac. P r š ‘al ha-tôrâ. 3 vols. Jerusalem: Arbel, 5724. Berlejung, A. “Heilige Zeiten: Ein Forschungsbericht.” Jahrbuch für Biblische Theologie 18 (2003): 3–61. Blau, Y. Tôrat haHege w ha- ûrôt šel L šôn ha-Miqr ’. Jerusalem: Academy of the Hebrew Language, 2010. Elliger, K. Leviticus. Handbuch zum Alten Testament 4. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1966. George, J. F. L. Die älteren Jüdischen Feste, mit einer Kritik der Gezetzgebung des Pentateuch. Berlin: E. H. Schroeder, 1835. Gerstenberger, E. S. Leviticus: A Commentary. Old Testament Library. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996. Gesundheit, S. (Bar-On). “The Festival Calendars in Exodus XXIII 14–19 and XXXIV 18–26.” Vetus Testamentum 48 (1998): 161–95. Gesundheit, S. “Intertextualität und literarhistorische Analyse der Festkalender in Exodus und im Deuteronomium.” Pages 190–220 in Festtraditionen in Israel und im Alten Orient. Edited by E. Blum and R. Lux. Veröffentlichungen der Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft für Theologie 28. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2006. –. Festival Legislation in the Torah. Ph.D. diss., The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1999. [in Hebrew] –. Three Times a Year. Forschungen zum Alten Testament 82. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011. Goldstein, B. R. and A. M. Cooper. “Exodus and Matsot in History and Tradition.” Maarav 8 (1992): 15–37. –. “The Development of the Priestly Calendars (I): The Daily Sacrifice and the Sabbath.” Hebrew Union College Annual 74 (2003): 1–20. –. “The Festivals of Israel and Judah and the Literary History of the Pentateuch.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 110 (1990): 19–31. Haran, M. “S per ha-B rît.” Pages 1087–1091 in vol. 5 of Encyclopaedia Biblica. 9 vols. Jerusalem: Bialik, 1950–1988. [in Hebrew] –. Temples and Temple-Service in Ancient Israel. Oxford: Clarendon, 1978. Repr. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1985. Hartley, J. E. Leviticus. Word Bible Commentary 4. Dallas, Tex.: Word Books, 1992. Hoffman, S. “The Uniqueness of J in Law and Narrative.” Master’s Thesis. The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2007. [in Hebrew] Katzenellenbogen, M. L., ed. Torat ayyim. 7 vols. Jerusalem: Mossad Harav Kook, 1986–1993. Kaufmann, Y. The Religion of Israel, From its Beginnings to the Babylonian Exile. Translated and abridged by M. Greenberg. Chicago: University of Chicago, 1960. –. Toledot ha-Emunah ha-Yisreelit. 8 vols. Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1937–1958. [in Hebrew] Knohl, I. The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995. Levine, B. A. Leviticus. JPS Torah Commentary. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989. Milgrom, J. Leviticus 1–16. Anchor Bible 3/A. New York: Doubleday, 1991.

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–. Leviticus 23–27. Anchor Bible 3/B. New York: Doubleday, 2001. Nihan, C. “Israel’s Festival Calendars in Leviticus 23, Numbers 28–29 and the Formation of ‘Priestly’ Literature.” Pages 177–231 in The Books of Leviticus and Numbers. Edited by T. Römer. Leuven: Peeters, 2008. Noordtzij, A. Leviticus. Bible Student’s Commentary. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1982. Noth, M. Leviticus. Old Testament Library. London: SCM, 1965. Rogerson, J. W. Old Testament Criticism in the Nineteenth Century: England and Germany. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985. Schwartz, B. J. “Israel’s Holiness: The Torah Traditions.” Pages 47–59 in Purity and Holiness: The Heritage of Leviticus. Edited by M. Poorthuis and J. Schwartz. Leiden: Brill, 2000. –. “The Prohibitions Concerning the ‘Eating’ of Blood in Leviticus 17.” Pages 34–66 in Priesthood and Cult in Ancient Israel. Edited by G. Anderson and S. M. Olyan. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series 125. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991. –. “The Sabbath in the Torah Sources.” Paper presented at The Society of Biblical Literature Annual Meeting, San Diego, California, Nov 19, 2007. Available on line at http://www.biblicallaw.net/2007/schwartz.pdf, 1–14. –. Leviticus. In The Jewish Study Bible. Edited by A. Berlin and M. Z. Brettler. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004. –. The Holiness Legislation: Studies in the Priestly Code. Jerusalem: Magnes, 1999. [in Hebrew] Skinner, J. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Genesis. 2 vols. ICC. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1910. Speiser, E. A. Genesis. Anchor Bible 1. Garden City: Doubleday, 1964. Stackert, J. “Compositional Strata in the Priestly Sabbath: Exodus 31:12–17 and 35:1–3.” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 11 (2011): 1–20 (http://www.arts.ualberta. ca/JHS/Articles/article_162.pdf). Wagenaar, J. A. Origin and Transformation of the Ancient Israelite Festival Calendar. Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechtsgeschichte 6. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2005. Wellhausen, J. Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel. Translated by J. S. Black and A. Menzies. Edinburgh: Adam & Charles Black 1885. Repr. New York: Meridian, 1957. Wenham, G. J. The Book of Leviticus. New International Commentary on the Old Testament. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1979. Weyde, K. W. The Appointed Festivals of YHWH: The Festival Calendar in Leviticus 23 and the Sukkot Festival in Other Biblical Texts. Forschungen zum Alten Testament II/4. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005.

Everyman’s Judgment Cometh from the LORD Popular Perception of the Primary Purpose of the Cult1

Eric Grossman The priority given by priestly legal texts to the minutia of the sacrificial system gives the impression that offerings, libations, and associated sacerdotal services were viewed as the primary functions of the cult in biblical times. This outlook is most obvious in the priestly sections of the Pentateuch where the sanctuary is envisioned as God’s home on earth, with all acts performed therein being, directly or indirectly, for the satisfaction of His wants and needs. The chief duty of the Israelites, clergy and laity alike, was the maintenance of the purity and holiness of God’s earthly abode.2 It must be considered, however, that this view of the sanctuary reflects the ideology of particular authors, schools, and legislators and not necessarily the notion of the general populace at which these texts were aimed. Indeed, the fact that biblical writers legislated their worldview often indicates the need they felt to promulgate perspectives that were not universally or even generally held.3 Thus, while all of the biblical law codes prescribe regular pilgrimages for the primary purpose of acknowledging God’s sovereignty 1  I dedicate this essay in memory of our friend and colleague Susan Haber, with whom I spent many Yom Kippur afternoons ruminating on the significance of the sanctuary. This article is based on the paper I delivered during the memorial session dedicated to Susan Haber at the 40th Annual Conference of the Association of Jewish Studies, December 23, 2008, Grand Hyatt Washington, Washington, DC. I would like to thank Profs. Marc Brettler and David Wright of Brandeis University, and Prof. Baruch Schwartz of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem for their help and feedback on this project, and their unending support and guidance. 2 Haran, Temples, 17 and Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 43. While Haran and Milgrom focus on the dissimilitude between the biblical cult and its pagan antecedents, the two are congruent in regarding the Temple/ Tabernacle as God’s terrestrial habitation, and its maintenance as constituting divine service. 3  The degree to which biblical literature in general is representative of ancient Israelite culture is unknown. While descriptive and narrative texts are historically unreliable, legal texts pose additional difficulties. To wit, it is unclear the degree to which these legal corpora are reflective of biblical practice, are attempting to reform contemporary standards, or are idealized theoretical laws that were never intended for practical implementation at all. The attempt here will be to acknowledge the existence of competing perspectives of biblical sacrificial and pilgrimage practice rather than to determine the historical veracity of either view.

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(offering sacrificial gifts and celebrating feasts in His honor4), evidence suggests that the festal and obligatory role of the sanctuary was not its foremost function in the eyes of the hoi polloi. While pilgrims certainly did embark on journeys to the sanctuary in order to discharge their religious obligations, it is a clerical fantasy that these voyages were motivated solely by piety.5 Depending on the distance to the shrine, the trip would likely have been expensive, lengthy, unpleasant, and dangerous.6 Evidence suggests that for the common Israelite, the motivation to incur such hardships was driven more often by selfish rather than pious impulses. While a sanctuary visit would likely include the presentation of a sacrifice, this point of court protocol should not be mistaken as the incentive for the visit. By analogy to contemporary etiquette, we can note that just because it is customary for guests to arrive with a hostess gift, it does not mean that the reason for the call is in order to deliver it. Likewise, while Scripture stipulates the requirements of presenting devotional offerings upon arrival at the sanctuary, the tribute is merely a prerequisite for, not the purpose of, the pilgrimage.7 Given the hardships of undertaking a trek to the shrine, it is not surprising that we find that the primary motives for visitation were matters of self-interest. Often the pilgrim arrived with gifts to petition God for wealth, health, or children.8 So too the pilgrimage to a prophet. In 2 Kgs 4:23, the Shunammite woman makes her visit to Elisha to lodge a grievance and exact a promise (though her husband appears to aver that a pilgrimage should take place in conjunction with a religious custom or obligation). Priestly sources do not hide the reality that a journey to the cultus was frequently driven by even the base human desire of partaking in a meal of flesh.9 But the predominant reason for pilgrims to visit the sanctuary has been mostly overlooked by contemporary scholarship, namely, to appear at God’s courthouse in order to settle disputes. The temples and altars of ancient Israel served as

4

 E.g. Exod 23:14–18 (E), 34:23–26 (J?), Leviticus 23 (P), Deut 15:16–17 (D). very terminology of seeking sanctuary points to the altar as a place of refuge where the motive of the asylum seeker is transparently secular and self interested. See 1 Kgs 1:50–1, 2:28, and below on Exod 21:14. 6 The dangers of travel in the ancient world were notorious (hence the importance of at least a minimum bodyguard, e.g. Gen 18:2). See Gen 28:20, 42:38, Josh 9:13, Judg 19:11ff, 2 Kings 4, esp. vv. 8–10, 23, John 4:5–6, 2 Cor 11:26–27, m. Ber. 4:4 7 Exod 23:15 / / Deut 16:16; Exod 34:20. 8 Cf. 1 Sam 1:1–17. Even a regular pilgrimage, such as was observed by Elkanah in 1 Samuel 1, while ostensibly for the purpose of worship and sacrifice (v. 3), was seen as an opportunity for entreaty and petition for the benefit of the pilgrim (vv. 10–11). 9 Exod 17:1–6, c.f. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 214 and passim. 5 The

Everyman’s Judgment Cometh from the LORD

27

courts of law, and for the general populace the main task of the shrine was as a house of justice at which they could seek redress.10 The mechanics of how a case would be settled at the cult center differ depending on the circumstances. In certain cases an oath would be taken, and the solemnity of swearing before the altar of the LORD was sufficient to settle a dispute or vindicate an indicted party.11 Other cases required a ritual ordeal.12 Matters could also be resolved by oracular means, through lots or the priestly breastplate of judgment, the khoshen hammishpat/ ’urim v’thummim.13 Since this latter device could only be consulted in the sanctuary, recourse to its powers of judgment would necessitate a visitation.14 Other methods of ascertaining divine justice may be lost to us, and might have involved a sacrificial ritual upon the altar itself.15 Irrespective of the precise protocol and devices by which the court operated, for the average Israelite the sanctuary’s prime importance was its role in the legal system. Since, as explained above, a divergence of perception existed between priestly and popular circles, we find evidence of the legal function of the sanctuary primarily in non-priestly texts – legal, narrative, prophetic, and poetic. Turning first to non-priestly legal texts, we see the role of the altar-shrine as portrayed in the Covenant Code (Exod 20:23–23:19). The sanctuary and/ or the altar are mentioned at several points in the Covenant Code, and in nearly all of these cases the function of the cult relates to some issue of Deuteronomic School, 233. below 1 Kgs 8:31 and 2 Chr 6:22. Cf. Matt 23:18–20. 12  Num 5:11:31, esp. vv. 15, 25 f.; Frymer-Kensky, “Sotah,” 11–26. The zikkaron offering here is an anomaly, but see next note. Cf. Milgrom, Numbers, 38 f., 348. Interestingly, Milgrom is troubled by the fact that the sacrifice that accompanies the ordeal “… is inconsistent with prescribed usage since elsewhere a remembrance offering is always for the benefit of the offerer …” Just so: each sacrifice cited is precisely for the benefit of the offerer, to mete out justice on his or her behalf in a court of law. 13  Though the precise nature and mechanism of the ’urim v’thummim remain a scholarly crux, both their necessary proximity to the altar (Exod 28:30b, Num 27:21a) and their judicial function (khoshen hammishpat) are clear. The name(s) of the device itself contains vocabulary associated with judgment, thummim from t-m-m indicates innocence (Ps 7:9, grouped with d-y-n, sh-f-t, ts-d-q), and ’urim indicts with a curse (‘-r-r). This latter judicial usage of ‘-r-r may stand behind me hammarim ham’ararim in Num 5:15. See Propp, Exodus 19–40, 442. Milgrom draws another interesting connection between the ’urim v’thummim and the sotah ordeal in the zikkaron offering. See Milgrom, Numbers, 39 and previous note. 14 Implied by Exod 28:30, “… before the LORD at all times.” See Tigay, “Exodus,” 173. Note the presence of the root sh-f-t, “judgment,” to describe the priestly oracular instrument. The judgment of Achan also took place before the ark of YHWH (Josh 7:6). 15 It is tempting to conjecture that the enigmatic zivkhe tsedeq (Deut 33:19, Ps 4:6, 51:21) are somehow connected with a lost justice ritual. Sacrificial offerings may have been required for the other instances mentioned above, such as the oath before the altar. See Japhet, Chronicles, 594. 10 Weinfeld, 11 See

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civil law or matter of justice, not to (sacrificial) ritual. The Covenant Code contains no fewer than five such cases: The first is a slave who foregoes his right to manumission and is subsequently taken to the sanctuary in order to confirm his new legal status (Exod 21:6).16 The second case is of a person who commits manslaughter and is given legal asylum at the altar, and the third case is when a murderer who seeks altar asylum is to be denied this privilege (Exod 21:12–14).17 The fourth and fifth instances are both cases of possible theft of either goods and money or an animal where no witnesses were present. The text divides these into two cases, and in both an oath is taken at the sanctuary to absolve the parties of legal responsibility (Exod 22:6–8, 10).18 All of these instances from the Covenant Code imagine the altar or sanctuary as a location where justice may be sought out and found, and where parties come for decision before the LORD. The altar is, in fact, the topic of the preamble to the Covenant Code (Exod 20:18–22) that serves as the prolegomenon to the laws of the code themselves. The reason for the prologue’s focus on the altar is specifically to anticipate the altar’s judicial use in the Covenant Code, since the altar will serve as the tangible symbol of 16  With Sarna, Exodus, 120 and Weinfeld, Deuteronomic School, 233, the verse must be referring to some form of local sanctuary. Contra Noth, Exodus, 178 and, more recently, Van der Toorn, Teraphim, 203–22, invoking the presence of household idols as the sanctioned locus or medium for biblical ritual is incongruous with the anti-iconic polemic and legislation in the Pentateuch in general, and that which brackets the Covenant Code in E (Exod 20:3–3, 32:4–8). While apologetic in approach (but cf. KJV, NKJV, NIV to Exod 21:6), the rabbinic tradition of translating ’elohim as judges in Exod 21:6, 22:7–8 is correct intuitively: the purpose of approaching the Divine is judicial in nature, and equivalent to coming before a human tribunal. See, for example, Onkelos, Rashi, Rashbam ad. loc., and in particular ibn Ezra’s (shorter commentary) imagining of a full judicial Sitz im Leben in the city gate. 17 The cult-site (maqom) of v. 13 stands in parallel to the altar of v. 14, c.f. 1 Kgs 1:50–53. As noted already in early rabbinic literature and medieval commentaries (Mek. Nez. 3, Mak. 12a, Rashi, ibn Ezra (shorter commentary), the asylum law of Exodus 21 is incompatible with the prohibition of profane contact with the altar in Exod 29:37. While clearly a characteristic discrepancy between E and P, the contradiction speaks directly to the conflicting perception of the role of the altar in Priestly and non-Priestly circles. For P, the function of the altar is exclusively divine, and the use of the altar for profane purpose is a capital offense (Propp, Exodus, 470). It is the very definition of a sacrilege in P to utilize any sanctum for a secular purpose; as God’s possessions, sancta are for His use alone. In P the altar serves as God’s table, and He dines alone. The altar’s function as an instrument of sanctuary in E is anathema to both the spirit and the letter of the Priestly legislation. That our case involves a human fleeing for his life is immaterial  – when it comes to non-sacral usage of sancta, the regulation of P is absolute, even the highest motive is no justification (c.f. Lev 10:1–3). Ehrlich may indeed be correct that the priestly legislation in Exod 29 is intended precisely to combat the practice of obtaining asylum by grasping the altar’s horns (Propp, Exodus, 470–71). Whether polemical or not, the divergent views in priestly and popular circles as to the function and purpose of the altar could not be more acute than in the case of asylum. 18  The oath may well have been accompanied by some manner of ritual, sacrifice, or ordeal as suggested by de Vaux, Ancient Israel, 157–58.

Everyman’s Judgment Cometh from the LORD

29

the Presence of God when He need be approached in the judicial matters outlined in the code. The connection between biblical and Ancient Near Eastern law codes has long been recognized, and recent studies suggest an even stronger, genetic connection between the Covenant Code (Exod 20:23–23:19) and the code of Hammurabi.19 Crowning Hammurabi’s stele is the well-known illustration of Hammurabi, the self-styled just king, prostrated before Shamash, the god of justice. This imposing image sets the stage for Hammurabi’s laws themselves, investing in those decrees the sanction of that pagan god. The parallel between the Covenant Code and Hammurabi’s laws suggests that the prologue to the Covenant Code is nothing short of a textual substitute for the picture depicted atop the Code of Hammurabi. Since biblical theology does not allow for images of the Divine, it is God’s altar that serves as the representation of the God of Israel and His judicial authority. Because the Decalogue prohibited physical representations of the LORD (Exod 20:3–4), the Israelites were granted permission to erect altars as earthly edifices before which they could present themselves in order to be granted a divine audience. Since in Mesopotamian practice oaths and testimony were given before idols, it was necessary for the Covenant Code to begin by explaining how such functions were to be performed in light of the biblical prohibition of idolatry.20 We now turn to evidence from narrative texts, which provide us with the clearest window into the daily lives of the Israelites. As opposed to proscriptive texts, these stories (found especially in the former prophets) afford us a glimpse into the popular religion of the Bible. A cautious reading of these narratives further substantiates the claim that the altar or sanctuary functioned as a locus of justice in the eyes of the people. When Samuel makes his rounds as circuit-court judge in 1 Samuel 7, the places at which he administers justice are all known sanctuaries: Gilgal, Bethel, and Mizpah.21 The text also reports that Samuel judged Israel at his home at Ramah where he built an altar to the LORD. Though the erection of the Ramah altar is attributed to Samuel, there is no doubt a connection between the cult sites at Bethel and Ramah and the judicial activities of Deborah, who judged somewhere between the two.22 More than just well-known meeting places, cult  Wright, Inventing, 3–16. Presence, 195–211. 21 For the sanctuary at Gilgal see, for example, Hos 4:15; 9:15; 12:12, Amos 4:4, 1 Sam 11:15 (in the last, note the mention of both sacrifice and the presence of YHWH). For Bethel see Amos 5:5. For Mizpah see Judg 21:8 and 1 Sam 7:5–6. 22 Judg 4:5. The fact that Deborah predates Samuel and the account of his building activities is of little concern since the account of 1 Samuel 7 is clearly etiological and of no account historically. Even were the story accurate, Samuel’s altar was likely constructed at an established cult site known as a place of divine presence. See next note. 19

20 Tigay,

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sites would likely have been selected because of their association with divine oracle, which we have indicated as an important element in the administration of justice.23 Additionally, since a legal case could require recourse to an oath before God, convenience dictates that the sanctuary would serve as a logical site for hearings (Mizpah is mentioned specifically in Judg 21:5 as the site of an oath “… before YHWH”). The visit of Jethro to the Israelite camp in Exodus 18 provides another narrative connection between court and cult. The chapter provides an extensive description of how the author imagines that Moses carried out his magisterial duties for the Israelites, hearing their cases and bringing them before God, the supreme judge. The Israelites are described as coming lidrosh ’elohim, to seek God for adjudication. Significantly, this pericope contains an account of Jethro’s sacrifices, indicating that Moses’ court operated in proximity to an altar. The existence of the altar in this chapter has been a troubling point especially for classical commentators,24 but its presence can be accounted for in the judicial context of the passage. Moses’ water ritual following the golden calf apostasy (Exod 32:20) also bears the marks of an ordeal designed to dispense justice by separating the innocent from the guilty.25 Significantly, this ordeal too takes place in the vicinity of an altar (see above on Exodus 18), consistent with the other instantiations of an altar as a locus of justice. The altar of Exodus 32, built by Aaron in v. 5, appears licit for the service of YHWH and therefore legitimate for carrying out Israelite justice; unlike the calf and the sacrifices themselves, the altar is not singled out for censure in vv. 7–8, and is presumably the source of the fire used in the ritual.26 Solomon’s invocation at the inauguration of the Jerusalem Temple (1 Kings 8) provides multiple indications of the judicial nature of the sanctuary and its altar. In outlining its usage, the passage provides seven hypothetical occasions that would prompt a pilgrim to seek the Almighty at its precincts. All seven cases mentioned in Solomon’s prayer involve some act or petition for the benefit of the visitor, and, remarkably, none involves sacrifice. Rather, pride of place is given again to the judicial role of the sanctuary; the first cited occasion for pilgrimage mentioned in the prayer is to settle disputes among Israelites that require an oath at the Temple’s altar. 23  See Levinson, Hermeneutics, 111–13. All three sites are connected with divine oracle: Bethel is associated with the dream of Jacob (Genesis 28), Mizpah is an auspicious place for contact with YHWH (1 Sam 7:5), Gilgal is proximate with the terebinths of Moreh (Deut 11:30), the place of the theophany to Abraham (Gen 12:6). Gilgal was also associated with prophetic oracle (2 Kgs 2:1, 4:38). 24 See, for example, the discussion in Nachmanides ad. loc. 25  Observed already by early and medieval Jewish sources, Abod. Zar. 44a; cf. Tg. Ps.-J., Rashi, Rashbam, Ibn Ezra, Ramban ad. loc. 26 Note the definite article in ba’esh in v. 20a, but cf. hammayim in v. 20b.

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All of the instances listed in the pericope contain the theme of judgment, and in each, the worshipper is assured that the Lord will hear his or her case, and act justly.27 Solomon’s prayer in 1 Kings 8 demonstrates both the centrality and the ubiquity of the judicial function of the sanctuary in that the Deuteronomistic writer / editor was compelled to rework the altar judiciary into his theological framework.28 As with a vast number of institutions and rites, the judicial function of the sanctuary needed to be reevaluated in light of the centralization of the cult during the Deuteronomic revolution.29 In this discourse, Deuteronomistic name theology creates the theological scaffolding on which the Temple as courthouse is constructed. Specifically, since according to Dtr, God Himself resides only in heaven but part of Him – His name – dwells on earth, in the Temple, there is a natural conduit created between God’s upper abode and the terrestrial house that bears His name. While the expected flow of this pipeline is downwards, carrying God’s providence from his celestial habitation to the earthly Temple, once established, the channel can work in either direction, and has the capability of carrying human petitions to the Deity.30 This metaphysical path explains the theology behind the Temple as a court of justice: it is the place where legal cases may be brought in order to be delivered directly to the Supreme Judge, and the vehicle by which God can, in return, transmit His verdicts back to earth. 31 Turning to the books of the latter prophets, we see here, too, that the visions of the classical prophets include the idea of the Jerusalem Temple as a divine courthouse. This conception is prominent in the opening verses of Isaiah 2, and its parallel in Micah 4. The now proverbial prediction augurs that

27 Cogan, 1 Kings, 292. Interestingly, the significance of the centrality of the judicial function of the Temple in 1 Kings 8 is completely glossed over by Cogan. 28 While questions remain as to the exact redactional pedigree of 1 Kgs 8:12–61, the Dtr character of at least vv. 14–53 is well recognized. See Brettler, Interpretation, 17–35. 29  This has been studied in detail both by Weinfeld and Levinson in terms of the introduction of the secular judiciary; however, neither investigates the theological revision of the mechanism of altar justice itself, which was clearly never fully usurped by Dtr’s new system of local magistrates. Ironically, the effect may have been just the opposite, in that the removal of local altar justice sites elevated the Jerusalem Temple to the status of supreme court. See Weinfeld, Deuteronomy 233–43, Levinson, Hermeneutics 117–43. 30  This is likely a primary factor in Dtr’s repurposing of the Temple as place of prayer. See Brettler, Interpretation, 24 and 26, and Richter, Name Theology, 9. 31 I owe this insight to Prof. Israel Knohl. While this theoretical envisioning of how the Temple functioned as the divine courthouse is unique to Dtr, antecedents exist throughout the Hebrew Bible and the ANE for cult sites that serve as bidirectional access points to heaven. Cf. Gen 28:11–19 and Eliade, Sacred, 36–42.

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In the days to come, the mount of the LORD’s house shall stand firm above the mountains. The many peoples shall go and say: “Come, let us go up to the mount of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob” … Thus He will judge between nations and arbitrate for the many peoples …32

According to this prognostication, in the future the Jerusalem Temple will serve as a court of law. The reason it will do so, we can now conclude, is because that was always its primary role in the eyes of the people, and it is simply returning to its erstwhile mission. The prophet here is reflecting the popular perception of the judicial office of the Temple. The utopian element in the prophecy is not that the Temple will have a legal function but rather that in this capacity it will serve not only Israel, but all nations. Instead of settling disputes by going to war, nations will bring their complaints to an international tribunal. The infallible and impartial God of Israel will dispense perfect justice from his Sanctuary on Mount Zion, rendering tools of war obsolete. A similar idea is found in the prophecy of Jer 31:23 in which he refers to the future Temple Mount as God’s “habitation of justice.” Thus, as Israelite pilgrims once trekked to the Jerusalem Temple’s court in a quest for divine justice, the prophets envision a future where all nations will seek the legal counsel of the God of Israel in Zion. Shifting to the Psalter we discover several passages that describe the experience of Israelite pilgrims as they approached the sanctuary. Commonly referred to as entrance or portal liturgy, Psalms 15, 24, 92, 100, 102, and 118 give the modern reader a look at the experience of biblical Israelites as they sought admission to God’s sanctuary. The language and structure of these texts reflect the interrogation that took place when pilgrims approached the sentry in order to seek admission to the Temple.33 These psalms describe a conversational give-and-take before the candidate is to be admitted, but do not indicate the purpose for which the visitor arrived. While it would be reasonable to assume that admittance was requested in order to present offerings, none of these psalms makes any mention of sacrifice. Instead, the focus of the conversation is on the righteousness of petitioner (e.g. Ps 24:5). Now the aim of the dialogue contained in the entrance liturgy may simply have been to establish the general moral character of the person approaching the divine precinct. But more likely there exists a direct relationship between the content of the cross-examination and the act to be performed by the would-be entrant. It is therefore noteworthy that the entrance litur2:2–4/ / Mic 4:1–3. See Schwartz, Torah, 18–24. Introducing, 119. Psalms 15 and 24:3–6 are accepted with greatest certainty as entrance liturgy, while various degrees of doubt surround the other passages. While there are no extant narrative or legal texts that explicitly describe or prescribe the procedure of entrance to the sanctuary precincts, these two texts constitute a poetic representation of the ceremony. 32 Isa

33 Seybold,

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gies speak of doing what is true and right in the heart (Ps 15:2), not harming one’s fellow man with his speech (Ps 15:3), and swearing the truth, even to one’s own detriment (Ps 15:4, 24:4). This list of qualifications is tangential to a pilgrim who has come to offer an animal, but imperative for one who has arrived for adjudication and will be required to take an oath in the process. For him, the requirement of moral character is key since it speaks to the very purpose for which he has arrived, namely, to clear his name of any implication of wrongdoing. He has come to protest his honesty, and that is precisely what is asked of him upon arrival at the sanctuary. Several commentaries on the entrance liturgy have noted the inconsistency between the content of the inquiry, which is exclusively ethical, and the act to be performed, which is ostensibly ritual.34 If the purpose of the entrance psalms was to probe the pilgrim before a propitiatory offering, it is surprising that the topic of sacrifice is never mentioned. The inquisitor’s questions center exclusively on the fitness of the human escort, and not at all on the sacrificial victim. If the purpose of the visit were for the bringing of offerings, it would be reasonable to inquire about the nature of the offering itself to determine if it fulfills the requirements of age, sex, species, absence of blemish, tithe, etc. The inquisition found in the entrance liturgy points to a pilgrim who has arrived for justice at the courthouse, not sacrifice at the altar. 35 Linguistic evidence in the entrance liturgy further points to the conclusion that these psalms address one who has come to the Temple to seek justice. Both Psalm 15 and 24 make reference to an oath, which we have seen repeatedly was a central element of the trial at the sanctuary. Furthermore, Ps 24:6 labels those who enter the sacred precinct as the mvakshe panekha and the dor dorshav. The mvakshe [YHWH] are people who await oracular judgment as in Isa 51:1, and the dor dorshav recall the dorshe ’elohim, those who sought divine justice through Moses in Exodus 18.36 34  Weiser, Psalms, 168. Weiser observes (correctly) that it is “remarkable” that the entrance liturgy lists moral requirements, but does not mention sacrifice or purity. Cf. Mays, Psalms, 85. 35  Cf. Terrien, Psalms, 74 who suggests that Psalm 24 (along with Psalm 1) may be “… perhaps even the sacerdotal verdict for the falsely accused” and Mays, Psalms, 173, who cites the suggestion that Psalm 15 was “… a liturgy of entrance for those who sought juridical asylum.” 36 Though Isaiah 51 speaks of an entire nation awaiting judgment on their enemies, the language and the imagery of the chapter are the same as in Isaiah 2, both imagining a court of law. Note mishpat in Isa 51:4 does indeed mean judgment, as does its parallel torah, contra McKenzie, Second Isaiah, 123. See Schwartz, Torah, 18–24, esp. 17. It appears that the familiar experience of seeking God for oracular judgment has been generalized here as a metaphor or literary model for the entire Israelite people who are seeking judgment against their enemies. The usage here is clearly figurative since there was no oracular access to the divine during the time of Second Isaiah.

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The motif of divine justice that is prominent in the entrance liturgy is also an important, though overlooked, element in the group of psalms known as the kingship psalms. While concerned primarily with God’s role as monarch, these doxologies connect God’s kingship to His Temple, and His justice.37 To cite but a few examples, Ps 99:4 describes God as a “Mighty King who loves justice … who worked righteous judgment in Jacob.” Further on in the psalm Aaron, Moses, and Samuel all appear in the role of judges seeking divine counsel, with the ability to obtain oracular judgment. The image evokes Moses as magistrate taking cases to God (see above, Exodus 18) and portrays Samuel in his role as judge. The psalm then cites God’s khok and ‘edut, the divine law that His human agents execute. So too Psalm 97 opens with a declaration of the LORD’s kingship in v. 1, then moves to the justice motif in v. 2. The concluding verses of the poem are dedicated to God’s judgments, his hatred of evildoers, and his defense of the upright. The intervening verses speak of God’s universal justice, a theme which also appears in Psalm 96 and which we have seen in the prophesies of Isaiah and Micah. What are we to make of the predominance of the theme of justice in the kingship psalms, especially in conjunction with references to the Temple? We have here, perhaps, a key to the elusive Sitz im Leben of the kingship psalms, namely, that these liturgies celebrate the visit of the pilgrim who has arrived at the sanctuary for his day in court. Also evident is the close connection between justice, cult, and kingship, consistent with the magisterial duties of the monarch during the first commonwealth.38 When the biblical Israelites imagined their God, the image upon which they drew was that of their mortal king who served also as their judge. God judging in His Temple is an idealized representation of the human king judging in his palace. Since the roles of Israel’s divine and early kings aligned so closely, Jerusalem must have been regarded as the ultimate tribunal: there sat both the Supreme Judge and His human counterpart. While YHWH sat in judgment in His Temple court, steps away was the royal throne of judgment from which Solomon and his descendents, the kings of Israel dispensed their rulings.39 37 The idiom, “seek [the face of] God (mvakshe YHWH/’elohim) that we have determined to represent a judicial visit to the sanctuary, is parallel to the expression, “seek [the face of] the king,” and likely draws upon it. The analogous terminology further strengthens the notion that a visit to the king was a visit to a court of law, as is the case in 2 Sam 15:2–6. 38 Brettler, God is King, 44–45. The king as judge applies to Israelite kings present (1 Sam 15:2; 2 Sam 12:1–6; 1 Kgs 3:16–28) and future (Isa 16:5), and to non-Israelite kings as well (Amos 2:3; Ps 2:10). Nonetheless, the portrayal of king as judge may have been more of an ideal than reality in ancient Israel; the actual role of the king within the Israelite justice system cannot be determined at present. See Brettler, God is King 110–13. 39 Compare 1 Kgs 7:7 and 8:31–2. For the relationship between the two institutions in meting out justice see Levinson, Hermeneutics, 138–43.

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Psalm 122, itself a pilgrim song, portrays a visit to Jerusalem as a journey to these two loci of judgment, and may be the most vivid memory we have in the Bible of the proposed justice pilgrimage.40 One of the paradoxes of modern biblical scholarship is that, on the one hand, a great chasm stands between us and the ancient world, allowing us scant access to the thoughts, feelings, hopes and fears that were experienced by our ancestors. At the same time, it is the assumption of some experiential commonality with the peoples of the Bible that allows us to understand these texts at all. In this way, the importance of the altar and sanctuary as a court of justice is difficult to understand for we who live in a society governed by stable laws enforced by a strong judiciary. And yet for the citizen of ancient times, whose world was rife with instability and injustice, what could be more significant than the thought of God in his Temple, administering perfect and eternal justice?41 At the same time, let us not ignore the bonds we share with our ancestors. The real reasons why we attend synagogue or church today are still very different from our motivations as imagined by the clergy. Priests, rabbis, and ministers have, it appears, a timeless wish that we show up to their houses of worship purely for the selfless service of the Divine. The people, however, have always had something different in mind.

Bibliography Brettler, M. God is King: Understanding an Israelite Metaphor. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1989. 40 Ps 122:1–5. The two seats of justice – divine and human – are likely represented in this psalm by the plural kissot in v. 5a. The standard reading of kissot l’mishpat as an annotation of kissot l’vet david in the next colon ignores the logical and linguistic anomaly of the plural form of the noun, as there was never more than one throne of the House of David. The term kisse as the monarch’s or prince’s throne (literally or metonymically) is attested exclusively in the singular throughout scripture, except when the text is referencing two distinct realms (Isa 14:9, Ezek 26:16). It is with this latter sense that the noun is construed in the plural in v. 5a: the colon is speaking of two thrones, the divine throne (implicit in the previous colon, as the place where God’s name “sits”) and the throne of David that appears in the next colon. This analysis suggests that kissot in v. 5b was originally singular, with the plural arising from the influence of kissot in the first half of the verse. The plural form in 5b that appears in our texts represents either an unintentional dittography from 5a or a deliberate attempt to explain the plural kissot in the first colon, since the implicit nature of one of the kissot as God’s throne may have caused confusion. Note too the term ‘edut that appears both here and in the YHWH as King Psalm 92 in connection with divine law and judgment. For an analysis of the divine and human judgment themes in Psalm 122 see Kraus, Psalms, 434. 41  See Wright, Inventing, 288, for Hamurrabi’s importance in administering justice: “LH depict[s] Hammurabi as one called and charged by the gods with the task of promoting the welfare of the people, mainly through pursuing justice and formulating law.”

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–. “Interpretation and Prayer: Notes on the Composition of 1 Kings 8.15–53.” Pages 17–35 in Minhah le-Nahum: Biblical and Other Studies Presented to Nahum M. Sarna in Honor of his 70 Birthday. Edited by M. Brettler and M. Fishbane. Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993. Cogan, M. I Kings. Anchor Bible 10. New York: Doubleday, 2000. Eliade, M. The Sacred and the Profane. San Diego: Harcourt, 1959. Frymer-Kensky, T. “The Strange Case of the Suspected Sotah (Numbers V 11–31).” Vetus Testamentum 34 (1984): 11–26. Haran, M. Temples and Temple Service in Ancient Israel. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1985. Japhet, S. I & II Chronicles. Old Testament Library. London: SCM, 1993. Kraus, H.-J. Psalms 60–150: A Commentary. Translated by Hilton C. Oswald. Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1989. Levinson, B. M. Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation. New York: Oxford University Press, 1997. Mays, J. L. Psalms. Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching. Louisville: John Knox, 1994. McKenzie, J. J. Second Isaiah. Anchor Bible 20. New York: Doubleday, 1968. Milgrom, J. Leviticus 1–16. Anchor Bible 3. New York: Doubleday, 1991. –. Numbers. JPS Torah Commentary. Philadelphia: JPS, 1990. Noth, M. Exodus. Old Testament Library. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1962. Propp, W. H. C. Exodus 19–40. Anchor Bible 2a. New York: Doubleday, 2006. Richter, S. L. The Deuteronomistic History and the Name Theology. Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 318. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002. Sarna, N. M. Exodus. JPS Torah Commentary. Philadelphia: JPS, 1990. Schwartz, B. J. “Torah From Zion: Isaiah’s Temple Vision (Isaiah 2:1–4).” Pages 11–26 in Sanctity of Time and Space in Tradition and Modernity. Edited by A. Houtman, M. J. H. M. Poorthuis, and J. Schwartz. Leiden: Brill, 1998. Seybold, K. Introducing the Psalms. Translated by R. Graeme Dunphy. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1990. Terrien, S. The Psalms: Strophic Structure and Theological Commentary. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003. Tigay, J. H. “Exodus.” In The Jewish Study Bible. Edited by A. Berlin and M. Zvi Brettler. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004. –. “The Presence of God and the Coherence of Exodus 20:22–26.” Pages 195–211 in Sefer Moshe: The Moshe Weinfeld Jubilee Volume. Edited by C. Cohen, A. Hurvitz, and S. M. Paul. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2004. Toorn, K. van der. “The Nature of the Biblical Teraphim in the Light of the Cuneiform Evidence.” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 52 (1990): 203–222. Vaux, R de. Ancient Israel. London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1961. Weinfeld, M. Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns,1992. Weiser, A. The Psalms, A Commentary. Old Testament Library Series. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1962. Wright, D. Inventing God’s Law. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009.

Purity Matters in the Book of Chronicles A Kind of Prolegomenon

Ehud Ben Zvi I. Introduction The intended and primary (re)readerships1 of the Book of Chronicles were asked to imagine and re-imagine and to gaze time and again at places and events, as they read and reread the book. The question I am raising is what role, if any, did concepts of purity and impurity, along with the logic of polarities and boundaries associated with and framed around these concepts and the theological world that underpins them, play in this imaginary world? The primary readers were “virtual” observers and, to the point they identified themselves with figures of the past, became “virtual” participants in past events and spaces, but due to their “virtual” character were themselves not (legally) bound by concerns about their own purity. However, the characters in the stories these readers read, reread and mentally relived were (one is to suppose) bound by them. Yet, what did the primary and intended (re)readers of Chronicles observe when they looked at these characters, whose lives they were re-living, and at events and spaces of their own (constructed) past? How did this “virtual” experience affect these (re) readers in connection with matters of purity and impurity? Or more generally, how salient were purity and the mental range of concepts and images that it evoked in the world these readers imagined as they were reading Chronicles and mentally visiting the (imaginary) multiple sites of memory

1  From time to time “(re)reader” and related words such as “(re)readership” are used in this chapter. The point is to emphasize that neither the intended nor the primary readers of Chronicles approached or “consumed” their book as a “first read,” but through the process of “rereading,” which differs in many ways from “first reading.” I have discussed these matters elsewhere at some length. For a study on the concept of “rereading” in general, see, among others, Calinescu, Rereading. For the sake of brevity and to facilitate the reading of this chapter, at other points, I will simply write “reader” and the like. But no distinction is to be made. The primary readers of the Chronicles were all (re)readers.

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that it evoked,2 and particularly those deeply involved with spaces marked as holy, (e.g., the monarchic period Temple)? A full discussion of these matters and all the associated texts in Chronicles requires a monograph-length discussion. Some general considerations, however, can be addressed within the genre and space limitations of a single chapter.

2. On the One Hand … An argument can be made that the answer to the questions concluding the previous section seems to be simple enough, a kind of three words expression: “very little, indeed.” Arguments in support of this approach are not hard to find. To begin with, there are no references in Chronicles, for instance, to issues associated with menstrual bleeding, nocturnal emissions, or dietary rules in private settings (contrast with Leviticus 11, 12, 15).3 To be sure, one may claim that this is due to the fact that Chronicles does not deal for the most part with private spaces, but public spaces and particularly the Temple. It is thus not by chance that the only reference to a case of ‫“ צַָרעַת‬a skin disease” in Chronicles (cf. and contrast with the lengthy treatment of the matter in Leviticus 13–14) appears in a narrative associated with the Temple (2 Chr 26:19–21). But even in the sole report about someone with ‫( צַָרעַת‬within a mentally revisited story of past events that ranges from Adam to Cyrus) the particular stress advanced in Chronicles is not really on purity matters, but on the didactic lesson that the readers

2  I am using the term “site of memory” to refer to any constructed space, place, event, figure, text or the like – whether it exists “materially” or only in the mind of members of a social group – whose presence in the relevant cultural milieu evokes or was meant to evoke core images or aspects of images of the past held by the particular social group that lives in that cultural milieu. Most of these sites act as ciphers to be activated within a particular social discourse, and as places to be visited and revisited, even if only mentally, as part of a self-supportive mechanism of socialization and social reproduction. The concept of “site of memory” goes back to the work of P. Nora. Nora stated his definition of “site of memory” when he wrote: “If the expression lieu de mémoire must have an official definition, it should be this: a lieu de mémoire is any significant entity, whether material or non-material in nature, which by dint of human will or the work of time has become a symbolic element of the memorial heritage of any community” (Nora, “mémoire,” xvii). The concept of “site of memory” I am advancing is more inclusive than Nora’s own use of the term (See his “General Introduction,” 1–20, esp. pp. 14–19. This essay appears also, with a slightly different English translation as Nora, “Memory and History,” 7–24), but more attuned to the needs of historians who attempt to reconstruct the intellectual discourse of ancient Near Eastern societies, including ancient Israel. On these matters, see my “Forgetting.” 3 On Leviticus 13–14, see below.

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were asked to learn from the account, namely, (a) and in a narrow sense, that Uzziah’s disease (which was a “fact” already known to the readers, cf. 2 Kgs 15:5) was due to his failings (cf. Num 12:8–10), and (b) in a general sense, about the terrible dangers of pride (2 Chr 16:16; cf. 2 Chr 32:25).4 Chronicles stands thus in a line of interpretation of the event – which was part of the core-facts about the past that were agreed among Yehudite and later Judean literati from the Hellenistic / Roman period – similar to the one advanced by Josephus in Ant. 9.222–227 (esp. 222–23). Both use a narrative set in “the place of holiness” and include a story about a king to illustrate a general point about proper human behavior,5 namely the danger associated with pride. Although the latter may lead to wrong cultic actions in the Temple, as the example shows, the wrongdoing to which pride may lead was not and could not have been construed as confined spatially to the Temple or to kingly figures. One may say in fact that both Chronicles and Josephus “democratize” the story and weaken its original strong connection with the Temple and matters of purity, as they underscore the more “universal” moral lesson they wish to emphasize. Be that as it may, there is no doubt that Chronicles placed much emphasis on the Temple and above all on proper cult and sacrifices. Particularly important for the present purposes, the intended and primary (re)readers of Chronicles were asked numerous times to visit the main sites of holiness in Israel’s mental map: the Temple and the holy altar that the readers were to imagine through their (re)readings. They virtually gazed at the sacrificial altar, and by means of such “virtual” experiences were vicariously present at numerous cultic events. With S. Japhet, one may say that “[f]or the Chronicler, what went on inside the Temple was of crucial importance to Israel’s history.”6 “What went on inside” was, no doubt, sacrifices. It is not only that temples were, by definition, places of sacrifice, but David Janzen is, at least partially right, when he states that “it is the altar, the place of sacrifices that is the whole point of having a temple in Chronicles.”7 Although one may add the role of the Temple as the place in which prayers are made, as befits the place in which the deity’s “eyes” and “heart” are (see 2 Chr 7:12 and its continuation in vv 13–16), there is no doubt that sacrifices played a

4 Cf.

also 2 Chr 12:21. Beentjes, Tradition, 79–90 (esp. 88–90). On the Chronicles’ version of the account of Uzziah’s disease, see, among others, Beentjes, Tradition, 79–90; Begg, Josephus’ Story, 281–84, 293–96; Williamson, Chronicles, 338–40; Japhet, Chronicles, 884–88; Schniedewind, “King and Priest,” 71–78 (esp. 77); and cf. also earlier treatments such as Zeron, “Anmassung,” 65–68; Morgenstern, “Amos,” 1–53. 6 See Japhet, Ideology, 225. 7 See Janzen, Social, 227. 5 Cf.

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central role in the monarchic period Temple that the primary (re)readers of Chronicles imagined and kept visiting as they read and reread the book.8 Given the central role of sacrifices as sites of memory for these readers and given that it is relatively safe to assume that these (re)readers were aware of the priestly texts (i.e., H and P) of the Hebrew Bible, since there are clear allusions to them in Chronicles,9 it is particularly pertinent to ask the question whether or not issues of purity and impurity and the inner logic associated with their bi-polar construction of agents and objects took a central stand in the images that the (re)readers evoked and re-lived in their mind as they read Chronicles. In other words, what was the relative weight given among these (re)readers to purity and impurity concerns, to their inner / generative logic and the boundaries that they create. This question can be helpfully framed in terms of “mindshare.” To illustrate this point with a contemporary example: Although the majority of web-searchers today use a “qwerty” keyboard when they search the net, and although they are all aware – at least at some level – of that fact, when they imagine others, or even themselves, as searching the net for whatever item the searcher may fancy, their imagination would rarely focus on the concept of a “qwerty” keyboard and the logic behind its arrangement. Instead a much larger “share” of their imaginative mind would be “taken” by and relate to common images, stereotypes and concepts associated with the contents of the net in contemporary culture. The images and concepts evoked by a reference to someone searching the net in our culture have much more to do with graphic images, musical sounds, texts, shopping, and even with commercial products such as Google, Internet Explorer, or Firefox than anything associated with the “qwerty” keyboard.10 When the primary readers of Chronicles imagined themselves as watching the Temple cult as it were, was a large share of their mind focused on matters of purity and impurity, their formal  8 Of course, some aspects and rituals of this imagined monarchic period resemble those of the time of the authorship and primary readership of Chronicles – see my, “Revisiting,” 238–50; but not everything in that mentally mapped Temple was, had to be, or even could be identical with that of the late Persian (or early Hellenistic) Temple in Jerusalem. Note, for instance, the role of the king. In addition, there are considerations about ideological constructions associated with the “gap of the exile” and utopian elements that may have played a role in Chronicles. These matters cannot be addressed here and do not necessarily have a direct impact on the issues discussed in the present paper.  9 For studies on this matter, see, for instance, Rendtorff, “Chronicles,” 259–66; Milgrom, “Hezekiah’s Sacrifices,” 159–61. These texts were most likely considered “authoritative” for Chronicles and its intended and primary readerships, but the question is what exactly did “authoritative” mean to them. Cf. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation, passim. On these matters, see also the essays in Ben Zvi and Edelman (eds.), What was Authoritative. 10  To illustrate, “I have googled him /her” is a common expression, but “I have qwertied him/her” is certainly not, even if the web-searcher most likely “qwertied” the relevant name during the search.

Purity Matters in the Book of Chronicles

41

and generative logic and the theological worldview underpinning them, or on other matters (e.g., song, joy, prayer, obedience, the role of the Levites)? The text does not seem to call the attention of the reader to the language of purity and impurity and the polarities it creates. Even when such language appears, it is restricted to a very few accounts. In fact, a simple search shows that words from the roots ‫“ טהר‬pure” and ‫“ טמא‬impure” do not appear often in Chronicles, and significantly, are absent from the cult foundational accounts in 1 Chronicles 1611 and 2 Chronicles 5–7. Even a cursory reading of Chronicles suggests that the main images and the range of issues that came into and occupied the imagination of the intended and primary (re)readers of Chronicles had far more to do with joy, praise and thanksgiving than purity matters.12 In addition, the main didactic association that the Chronicler hammers home to his intended and primary (re)readers is that proper sacrifice involves obedience to YHWH’s laws. This, of course, includes matters of purity and impurity, but is certainly not restricted to them. Moreover, in the main case in which matters of ritual purity are saliently raised in Chronicles, namely in the account of Hezekiah’s Passover – it is not coincidence that about half of the occurrences of words from the roots ‫ טהר‬and ‫ טמא‬occur in this account – the Chronicler seems to suggest that personal devotion, “setting one’s heart,” outweighs – although does not eliminate – matters of bodily purity. This position is clearly expressed in the following statement: Although the passage [2 Chr 30:18–20] describes an event and does not present theoretical issues, it nevertheless reveals the Chronicler’s scale of values quite clearly. Hezekiah prays for God’s forgiveness of those who prepared their hearts, although not their bodies, for the eating of the paschal lamb. “Setting one’s heart” is deliberately presented in contradistinction to the “sanctuary’s rules of cleanness.” God’s acceptance of the prayer shows that although the proper execution of ritual acts (in this case, purification) may be important, preparing oneself spiritually is more important still.13

11 1 Chronicles 16 reports the first sacrifice before the altar in Jerusalem, the city of David, once God’s Ark has arrived. It is a foundational cultic description in this book and determines the regular sacrificial system (including the role of the sons of Zakok, see esp. 16:40). For words from the root ‫טהר‬, see 2 Chr 29:15, 16, 18; 30:18; 34:3, 5, 8; for words from the root ‫טמא‬, see 2 Chr 23:19; 36:14. 12 For a recent study of sacrifice in Chronicles, see Janzen, Social, 209–42. For study on the element of song and joy in Chronicles’ liturgy, see Kleining, Lord’s Song. Note the great emphasis on joy and song in, for instance, 1 Chr 15:16; 2 Chr 23:18; 29:25–30; 30:21–22, 26, and on this matter see, among others, Endres, “Spiritual Vision,” 1–21; idem, “Joyful Worship,” 155–88; Japhet, Ideology, 253–54; idem, Chronicles, 302; 835–36; 928 and 953. 13  See Japhet, Ideology, 252; cf. and partially contrast with her later, Chronicles, 952–53. For positions similar to those expressed in Japhet’s citation, see, among others, Endres, “Theology,” 165–88 (esp. 185–86); Graham, “Setting,” 124–41.

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Within such a worldview, ritual purity is clearly not obviated – most societies have some concept of ritual purity and demand that it be sustained in ritual performance – but it is considered secondary to other issues, such as obedience and “inner purity.” There is no doubt that the portrayed image of impure Israelites eating the Passover explicitly contradicts the understanding of purity requirements and obligations that the authorship and readership of Chronicles shared. In fact, the matter is openly and unequivocally acknowledged in 2 Chr 30:19b.14 According to the priestly texts and the world of knowledge that Chronicles assumes its readership to posses, a person cannot eat the Passover (or other sacrificial meals) while in his / her impurity15 and ritually impure individuals could not become ritually pure just because they had good intentions or due to someone else’s prayer on their behalf.16 But if so, then Chronicles can be seen as compromising the very boundaries created by the dyad of purity-impurity and, above all, undermining the generative grammar that governs the creation of these boundaries, since its categorical logic is now re-configured as essentially contingent. Moreover, the intended readers of this account in Chronicles could not but notice that in the very same pericope, the appointed times for the festival for all Israel are also re-conceptualized as temporally contingent and thus disrupting temporal boundaries separating sacred time from non-sacred and undermining the ideological grammar that governs these boundaries. Thus, the actions of Hezekiah contradicted Pentateuchal legislation not only regarding who can eat the Passover, but concerning the ritual calendar as well.17 Finally, even the language that the Chronicler places in the mouth of Hezekiah, especially ‫ יְכַּפֵר‬in 2 Chr 30:18, is “incompatible with any priestly theology,”18 and the latter was in ancient Israel the very backbone of the purity / impurity paradigm. Given all these considerations, it is not surprising that studies on Chronicles and matters of purity / impurity have not been as popular as studies on many other areas of Chronicles. Conversely, scholars whose main interest 14 Josephus omits references to this action and any other “irregular” action of Hezekiah. See Begg, Josephus’ Story, 356 n. 96. 15 Cf. Lev 7:20–21 (cf. Num 9:7; Lev 22:3–9). 16 Cf. and contrast Chronicles with, for instance, Lev 22:4–9. 17  As Chavel has recently demonstrated, and as others have noted before, Hezekiah’s actions are substantially different from the case in Num 9:6–13. The latter deals with individual cases and does not involve a deferral of the celebration for all Israel; in fact, Hezekiah’s action contradicts the explicit regulation for any Israelite who is “ritually pure” at the time of the Passover (see v. 13; as Milgrom [Numbers, 70] noted, “[t]he paschal sacrifice is the only holiday observance whose willful neglect is punishable by the divine penalty of karet”). See Chavel, “Second Passover,” 1–24 and bibliography there. For a different position, see Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation, 154–59; 248–49; and cf. Milgrom, Numbers, 70. 18 Rendtorff, “Chronicles,” 265.

Purity Matters in the Book of Chronicles

43

is the study of purity / impurity paradigms rarely focus their efforts on Chronicles.19 After all, Chronicles, although not denying the importance of these matters – it is difficult to imagine that a book claiming that ritual purity and impurity do not matter could have been written, never mind, accepted as authoritative within the discourse of ancient Yehud – does not draw particular attention to them in general, while at the same time and in clear contradistinction, Chronicles saliently draws much attention to other topics.20 Of course, Chronicles is not alone in not drawing particular attention to matters of purity and impurity even in settings that explicitly and saliently involve sacred spaces as the example of Psalm 15 clearly shows. When matters of ritual purity and impurity finally come to the fore in a very limited number of accounts, the text seems to deemphasize them or subvert some aspect of the ideological logic that underpins them. In fact, it seems that the authorial voice resonating through Chronicles had no grasp at all of the ideological or theological foundations of the system of purity/ impurity. Certainly, the intended readers of the book were never asked to adopt any of the theological worldviews that, according to scholars, may have been shaped by and reflected in ritual purity texts. This appears to be the case whether it was it a worldview in which, for instance, (a) death is eschewed, life chosen, and a sense of imitatio dei is embodied in ritual purity regulations, or (b) one in which ritual purity concerns and texts serve to set up a symbolic system that channels and allows an ongoing imagination of a (utopian) sanctuary that exists only in the minds of those who imagine it, or (c) any other proposed theological function associated with the ritual purity system.21 To be sure, the authorial voice and the intended and primary readership acknowledged social taboos – even if they would have not used these terms. Any social being is aware of them. But both the authorship and the 19 A search of articles in RAMBI with Chronicles and purity or impurity in its title renders none; a search for the two under the category of “keywords anywhere” reveals only one article, Beentjes, “‘They saw’,” 61–72, which in a revised form appears in Beentjes, Tradition, 79–90. 20 E.g., obedience to YHWH and YHWH’s will and ordinances, the centrality of the Temple in Jerusalem, joy in worship, etc. 21 The scholar most often associated with the first position is Milgrom. See, for instance, his “Rationale,” 103–109. The main proponent of the second position is H. Liss. See, for instance, her “Ritual Purity,” 329–54. There are many other proposals. See, for instance, Nihan, Priestly Torah. The point here is that Chronicles does not seem to grasp at any of these theological positions, nor, for that matter, understand important “magical” aspects that might be associated with ritual performance, purity and even calendar. Likewise, there is no clear indication in Chronicles that its readership was supposed to know or understand any of the (common proposals for) general systemic ideological underpinnings of sacrifice in the priestly literature that was authoritative at the time of Chronicles. For a survey of these proposals, see Janzen, “Priestly Sacrifice,” 38–52. A discussion of these matters is well beyond the scope of this paper.

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intended and primary readerships of Chronicles seem to have completely failed to understand the large theological worldviews and ideological roles of the ritual purity system advocated in priestly and holiness texts.

3. On the Other Hand … There is much to be said for the approach mentioned above, but a number of considerations must also be taken into account. To begin with a general, but important, observation: It is certainly true that the gaze of the abovementioned virtual travelers does not rest, at least in the main, on matters of ritual purity and impurity. But Chronicles also communicates its literary genre and certain expectations to its intended and primary (re)readers. It is a historiographical work. Just like Samuel or Kings, it does not ask its readers to visit the worlds evoked by priestly or holiness texts, or by a book such as Leviticus. Chronicles never presents itself as a priestly ritual document – utopian or not – and so it creates no expectation among its intended and primary (re)readers for the inclusion of massive references to these matters in its text. To be sure, Chronicles conveys a sense that there is a point to visiting sites of memory in which matters of ritual purity and impurity are not prominent, but this does not necessarily mean that it conveys a sense that these matters are not important. Similarly, Chronicles does not present itself as a meta-priestly text. There was no reason for the intended or primary readers to expect lessons about ideological underpinning worldviews, expressing themselves through and generating considerations of ritual purity or sacrifices that are not even clearly stated in, for instance, Leviticus or Numbers. The observations made in section II about instances that stand in clear tension with some Pentateuchal texts concerning purity and impurity and / or the “generative grammar” behind them are obviously correct. But one may note that similar tensions occur between some texts in Chronicles and Pentateuchal or other authoritative texts, which have nothing to do with purity. Moreover, the same holds true, even if the scope of these texts is narrowed to those explicitly including “legal material.”22 To be sure, in many of these instances, “tension” is a somewhat misleading term, since Chronicles is likely faithful to its own reading of the legal texts. In addition, 22  The issues mentioned in this paragraph are expanded and elaborated in my “One Size.” See also, from various perspectives, Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation, passim; Shaver, Torah, esp. pp. 87–121; Schniedewind, “Chronicler,” 158–80; Williamson, Studies, 232–39; Knoppers, “Hierodules,” 49–72; Ben Zvi, “Revisiting,” 238–50; the very important consideration of the key term ‫ עבודה‬in Milgrom, Studies, 18–46 (esp. p. 18, n. 226); Willi, “Kakkatuv,” 43–61.

Purity Matters in the Book of Chronicles

45

at times Chronicles, just as later exegetical literature, resorted to an implied principle of the temporal validity of the Pentateuchal laws.23 In any case, we must keep in mind that, according to Chronicles, the Temple is to be governed simultaneously by both YHWH’s laws as given to Moses and the instructions given to David.24 Moreover, emphasis on historical contingency and the uniquely particular character of certain reported events set in the past of the community is a common and anticipated feature of historiographic texts. Readers of the latter expect, to some extent, to visit sites of memory that may contain some particularities. This is unlike the situation of readers of legal texts who may expect to learn about general rules that stand above or “whitewash” the well-known contingencies of particular “historical” events. Thus, the expectation that Chronicles would ask its intended and primary readers to interact with “its” sites of memory by reading this book in the same way in which one would expect the intended and primary readerships of books such as Leviticus or Numbers to interact with “their” sites in connection with purity / impurity and related matters is not fully warranted. In addition, one must keep in mind that Chronicles tends to balance contrasting positions. Such a tendency precludes any easy extrapolation from the message of particular literary units (or sections thereof) to the position communicated by the book as a whole.25 Turning to some examples, the relative paucity of occurrences of terms from the roots ‫ טהר‬and ‫ טמא‬is balanced in Chronicles by the frequent occurrences of words from the root ‫“ קדש‬holy / separate.”26 Chronicles certainly communicates to its readership that “holiness,” “holy things” and “holy spaces” are important and its intended and primary readers often encounter them in the world they visit and imagine when they read Chronicles. Although “purity” and “holiness” are not the same, both serve to develop similar (and related) semiotic systems of logical boundaries based on binary oppositions. Needless to say, there is also the ubiquitous and basic notion, implicit or explicit, that “holy matters” should not come into contact with “impurity,” be it “ritual” or “ethical” impurity – on this matter see below – 23 See

the preceding note.  See De Vries, “Moses,” 619–39. The symbiosis of these two sources and, in practical terms, the position that both complement and cohere with each other are central issues for Chronicles. The most obvious examples of this position are in 1 Chr 28:11–19, with its explicit conclusion in v. 19, and 2 Chr 23:18, but see also 2 Chr 8:14. 25 I discussed and provided numerous examples of this feature in Ben Zvi, History. 26 E.g., 1 Chr 6:34; 9:29; 15:12,14; 16:10, 29, 35; 18:11; 22:19; 23:13, 28, 32; 24:5, 26:20, 26, 27; 28:12; 29:3, 6; 2 Chr 2:3; 3:8,10; 4:22; 5:1, 5,7,11; 7:7, 16, 20; 8:11; 15:18; 20:21; 23:6; 24:7; 26:18; 29:5, 7, 15, 17, 19, 33, 34; 30:3, 8, 15, 17, 18–19, 19, 24, 27; 31:6, 12, 14, 18; 35:3, 5, 6, 13; 36:14. 24

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and that purity is required from Israel in order to maintain the holiness of its sanctuary, which in turn acts to maintain YHWH’s presence and protection. It is worth noting that, at times, in particular contexts Chronicles substantially expands on “holy matters” and boundaries in comparison to Samuel or Kings. This goes well beyond simple additions here or there27 as the case of Pharaoh’s house demonstrates. Whereas 1 Kgs 9:24 states ‫אְַך ּבַת־‬ ‫“( ּפְַרעֹה עָלְתָה ֵמעִיר ּדָ וִד אֶל־ּבֵיתָּה ֲאׁשֶר ּבָנ ָה־לָּה אָז ּבָנ ָה אֶת־ ַהּמִּלֹוא‬as soon as Pharaoh’s daughter went up from the city of David to her own house that Solomon had built for her; then he built the Millo”) and then moves to the “three times a year Solomon used to offer up burnt offerings and sacrifices of well-being on the altar that he built for the LORD, offering incense before the LORD. So he completed the house” (v 25; NRSV), Chronicles asks its intended and primary readerships to deal with a text (2 Chr 8:11) that reads: ‫וְאֶת־ּבַת־ּפְַרעֹה ֶהעֱלָה ׁשְֹלמֹה ֵמעִיר ּדָ וִיד לַּבַי ִת ֲאׁשֶר ּבָנ ָה־לָּה ּכ ִי ָאמַר ֹלא־ ֵתׁשֵב ִאּׁשָה לִי ּבְבֵית ּדָ וִיד ֶמלְֶך־‬ ‫יִׂשְָראֵל ּכ ִי־קֹדֶ ׁש ֵהּמָה ֲאׁשֶר־ּבָאָה ֲאלֵיהֶם אֲרֹון י ְהוָה‬ “Solomon brought Pharaoh’s daughter from the city of David to the house that he had built for her, for he said, a wife of mine shall not live in the house [LXX, “city”] of David, the King of Israel, for the places to which the ark of the LORD has come are holy” (Chronicles moves then directly to the report of Solomon’s sacrifices, without any reference to the Millo; see 2 Chr 8:12.28)

The text here certainly deals with a space marked by holiness, namely “the house of David,” which in this case likely refers to the city of David, as this is the place to which the ark was brought, and “house” can be used in an expanded sense (see LXX).29 But if so, then David is stating that no wife of his can live in “the house.” Since the issue at stake is not a particular wife, or the foreign character of Pharaoh’s daughter, nor can one assume that the “problem” is in David, this text at the very least suggests to the readers that women in general (or “married women” at least) cannot dwell in any place in which the ark has come (see 1 Chronicles 15–16), and therefore not in Jerusalem (cf. 11Q19 [=11QTemplea ] 45:7–10, CD 12:1–2).30 To be sure, there are multiple texts in Chronicles that indicate that women could and did live in Jerusalem (and even see 2 Chr 22:11–12). But, as mentioned 27 E.g.,

1 Chr 22:17–19.  There are some significant differences between 1 Kgs 9:25 and 2 Chr 8:12, but they are not directly relevant to the point I wish to advance here. 29 For an even more expanded concept of “house,” see Hos 8:1; 9:15; Jer 12:7; and Zech 9:8, in which at least one of the meanings of the concept ‫“ ּבֵית י ְהוָה‬the house of YHWH” (there referred to as ‫ )בֵיתִי‬is “YHWH’s land.” 30 Cf. Japhet, Rivers, 268–88. It is worth mentioning that there are other cases of a potential relation between Chronicles and the Temple Scroll. For instance, 1 Chronicles 28 has been suggested as a starting point for the Temple law in the Temple Scroll (see Swanson, Temple Scroll, 225–26). This matter is, of course, beyond the scope of this essay. 28

Purity Matters in the Book of Chronicles

47

before, tension between logically contradictory statements or implications is a common feature of Chronicles that contributes much to its communicative message.31 The cases of Pharaoh’s daughter and Jehoshabeath (2 Chr 22:11–12) create an intricate web of images about women and the Temple that together, along with other texts in Chronicles,32 reflects and communicates the discourse about gender in Chronicles as a whole. Although in a very different way, the pericopes about Uzziah and Hezekiah also convey a sense of balance on the matter of purity. On the one hand, Chronicles de-emphasizes the issue (see above). On the other hand, Chronicles obviously reinforces the worldview that only “the priests, the descendants of Aaron, who are consecrated to make offering (2 Chr 26:18; NRSV),” can do so and that YHWH not only punished a hubristic king, but also stood for and guarded the holiness of the sanctuary by pre-empting the impurity associated with the offering by the impure offerer, and turning the latter into a “walking-advertisement” of his own impurity. It is worth noting that this text clearly characterized and asked readers to imagine a very large number of priests and their leadership as standing with YHWH in defense of the holiness of the Temple and its sacrifices. This position is consistent with the emphasis in Chronicles on priests and levites as a kind of barrier and intermediary between the holiness associated with YHWH, his sanctuary and sancta, and (the rest of) the people (e.g., 2 Chr 23:6; 30:15b–16).33 It is in this light that it is worth stressing that the heterogeneous character of Judah conveyed by the genealogies34 is not paralleled by a heterogeneous character of Levi (see 1 Chronicles 6).35 This difference between “political” and “ritual” leadership is likely to reflect an essential difference concerning the potential ritual purity of the two groups, which leads us again, to the image of Uzziah. Within this construct, genealogical purity is a necessary (but obviously not sufficient) condition for the priests’ and levites’ ritual purity and is relevant only to them. Within this approach, for anyone in Israel who is not a priest or levite, “genealogical purity” is a non-applicable principle.36 All the considerations about the account of Hezekiah’s actions in 2 Chr 30:17–19 advanced in section II are valid, but so is the observation that the Ben Zvi, History, passim.  Including, among others, 1 Chr 7:24; 2 Chr 35:25. See also Ben Zvi, History, 174–94. 33 See Willi, “Israel’s Holiness,” 165*–76*. 34 See Knoppers, “Intermarriage,” 15–30; idem, ‘“Great’,” available at http://www. jhsonline.org. 35 My student Sonya Kostamo made this observation in a seminar discussing the articles mentioned in the preceding note. Note also that 1 Chr 6:12-13 (most ET 6:27–28) turns Samuel into a Levite, because Chronicles and its intended and primary readerships construed and remembered him as a priest. Contrast with 1 Samuel 1. 36 See also Hayes, Gentile, 19–44. 31 See 32

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text implies and communicates concerns about ritual impurity, and that readers who visited this site of memory could not but be reminded (and see through their own eyes, as it were) that ritually impure people – even if they set their heart to God – could not and should not be allowed to slaughter the Passover. They are also reminded that eating the Passover in a state of ritual impurity is not according to the divinely ordained rules concerning the purity of the sanctuary. It is because of this that the king had to pray – not to make the ritually impure pure – but so YHWH will not punish them, because they were liable to severe punishment on grounds of intentional defilement of the Passover sacrifice. YHWH acceded this time to the prayer, but it is not stated that this would always be the case. The question of why so many people could not purify themselves before the postponed festival is not explicitly addressed in the book. Keeping in mind that Chronicles has used literary proximity to convey temporal proximity elsewhere37 and given the temporal clause in 2 Chr 30:13, the text suggested to the intended and primary readers of the book that a possible reason was contact with improper and polluting cultic items. If this is so, then the readers could not avoid the conclusion that an action that was strongly praised by Chronicles – by themselves as readers – and which is clearly in accordance with YHWH’s will and regulations, causes ritual impurity. Ritual impurity in this case stands in contrast with a different kind of purity dyad, namely “moral” purity – “moral” impurity. As for the latter, Klawans has stressed the importance of moral impurity in biblical discourse/ s and that the ways in which its functions are similar and dissimilar to ritual impurity.38 Given the didactic character of Chronicles, it is obvious that it serves to socialize its readers against various ways of “moral” defilement both by explicit stories and implicit lessons to be learned from its accounts (e.g, 1 Chr 10:13; 2 Chr 7:19–22; 13:11; 36:13–14).39 Future studies on purity and impurity in Chronicles should address this aspect as well. But, I would like to conclude this section which, by necessity, can only be a “prolegomenon” – or more precisely, a section within a “prolegomenon”  – with the observation that when Chronicles asked its intended and primary readers to understand not only the destruction of Jerusalem but also and above all the exile, it evoked among them Lev 26:34–35, 43 (see 2 Chr 36:21) and the general argument of Lev 26:14–44. By Kalimi, Reshaping, 18–34.  See Klawans, Impurity, 3–42. 39 It is worth mentioning in this respect the position advanced by W. Johnstone that Chronicles is a “midrash” on a theme of Leviticus (“guilt and atonement,” see Lev 5:14–26). See Johnstone, “Leviticus,” 243–55; idem, “Guilt,” 113–38; and cf. idem, Chronicles. Leaving aside the question of whether the term “midrash” is appropriate in this case, an approach sympathetic to Johnstone would be useful to deal with “moral” impurity in Chronicles. 37 See 38

Purity Matters in the Book of Chronicles

49

doing so, it directly associated the exile with “moral” impurity: It was the pollution created by sinful human activity that turned the land (temporarily) uninhabitable. Of course, Chronicles asked its intended and primary readers to follow a reading of Lev 26:34–35, which was strongly informed by Jer 25:11–12; 29:10. It was such a blended, integrative reading of both texts – which as such could not have been available to the intended or primary readers of either book separately40 – that served as the basis for hope, since purification was certain to come. Significantly, this purification and the related hope was presented as dependent on YHWH’s will (Jer 25:11–12; 29:10 and Lev 26:45) rather than on any particular human ritual of purification or even conditioned in terms of Israel’s (moral) purity.41 Of course, as was typical of Chronicles, such an image was balanced by all the texts detailing the ritual purifications of the Temple and particularly those associated with its reopening (2 Chronicles 29–31), which typologically related to its re-establishment in the Persian period.42

4. Instead of a Conclusion Whereas matters of purity and impurity rarely enter contemporary discussions about Chronicles,43 the present discussion has drawn attention to the importance of these and related concepts within the world created and evoked by Chronicles. In addition, as any prolegomenon, this essay has explored some potential paths for future research on the matter. As usual in Chronicles, different positions and approaches on these matters appear in the book, inform each other, and together convey the position of the book as a whole on these matters, which is neither exceptionally different from nor by any means identical with that advanced in other textual sources accepted as authoritative in the late Persian period. In fact, Chronicles becomes another text to participate in a dense web of readings, each informing and being informed by the other within the world of knowledge (including the literary repertoire) and discourse that characterized the literati of Jerusalem by the time of the composition and social “consumption” of the Book of Chronicles in the late Persian (or early Hellenistic) period.  Cf. Knoppers, “Hierodules,” 68–72, and Ben Zvi, History, 150–52. but also contrast with 2 Chr 30:18. 42 Of course, as it does so, it places the historical case of the latter – well-known to the readers of the book – in contradistinction with the (now) “utopian” image of the days of Hezekiah that the readers of the book continuously revisit as they read it, without ever turning the “second” Temple of its days dystopian or impure. 43  On an anecdotal level, I still remember some of the “interesting” facial, first responses I encountered when I mentioned to colleagues that I am planning to write or writing an essay on Chronicles, Purity and Impurity. 40

41 Cf.

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Bibliography Beentjes, P. C. “‘They Saw That His Forehead Was Leprous’ (2 Chr 26:20): The Chronicler’s Narrative on Uzziah’s Leprosy.” Pages 61–72 in Purity and Holiness: The Heritage of Leviticus. Edited by M. J. H. M. Poorthuis and J. Schwartz. Leiden: Brill, 2000. –. Tradition and Transformation in the Book of Chronicles. Studia semitica neerlandica 52. Leiden: Brill, 2008. Begg, C. Josephus’ Story of the Later Monarchy: (AJ 9,1–10,185). Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium 145. Leuven: Peeters, 2000. Ben Zvi, E. History, Literature and Theology in the Book of Chronicles. London: Equinox, 2006. –. “One Size does not Fit All. Observations on the Different Ways that Chronicles Dealt with the Authoritative Literature of its Time.” Pages 13–35 in What Was Authoritative for Chronicles?. Edited by E. Ben Zvi and D. V. Edelman. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011. –. “Revisiting ‘Boiling in Fire’ in 2 Chron. 35.13 and Related Passover Questions: Text, Exegetical Needs, Concerns, and General Implications.” Pages 238–250 in Biblical Interpretation in Judaism and Christianity. Edited by I. Kalimi and P. J. Haas. Library of Hebrew Bible / Old Testament Studies 439. London: T. & T. Clark, 2006. –. “The Study of Forgetting and the Forgotten in Ancient Israelite Discourse/s: Observations and Test Cases.” Pages 155–174 in Cultural Memory in Biblical Exegesis. Edited by P. Carstens, T. Hasselbach, and N. P. Lemche. Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures and its Contexts 17. Piscataway, NJ: Georgias Press, 2012. Ben Zvi, E. and D. V. Edelman (eds). What Was Authoritative for Chronicles?. W ­ inona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011. Calinescu, M. Rereading. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 1993. Chavel, S. “The Second Passover, Pilgrimage, and the Centralized Cult.” Harvard Theological Review 102 (2009): 1–24. De Vries, S. J. “Moses and David as Cult Founders in Chronicles.” Journal of Biblical Literature 107 (1988): 619–639. Endres, J. C. “Joyful Worship in Second Temple Judaism.” Pages 155–188 in Passion, Vitality, and Foment: The Dynamics of Second Temple Judaism. Edited by L. M. Luker. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press, 2001. –. “The Spiritual Vision of Chronicles: Wholehearted, Joy-filled Worship of God.” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 69 (2007): 1–21. –. “Theology of Worship in Chronicles.” Pages 165–188 in The Chronicler as Theologian: Essays in Honor of Ralph W. Klein. Edited by M. P. Graham, S. L. McKenzie, and G. N. Knoppers. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series 371. London: T & T Clark, 2003. Fishbane, M. Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel. Oxford: Clarendon, 1986. Graham, M. P. “Setting the Heart to Seek God: Worship in 2 Chronicles 30.1–31.1.” Pages 124–141 in Worship and the Hebrew Bible: Essays in Honour of John T. Willis. Edited by M. P. Graham, R. R. Marrs, and S. L. McKenzie. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series 284. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999.

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Hayes, C. E. Gentile Impurities and Jewish Identities: Intermarriage and Conversion from the Bible to the Talmud. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Janzen, D. “Priestly Sacrifice in the Hebrew Bible: A Summary of Recent Scholarship and a Narrative Reading.” Religion Compass 2 (2008): 38–52. –. The Social Meanings of Sacrifice in the Hebrew Bible. Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 344. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004. Japhet, S. I and II Chronicles. Old Testament Library. Louisville, KY: Westminster/ John Knox, 1993. –. The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and its Place in Biblical Thought. Beiträge zur Erforschung des Alten Testaments und des antiken Judentum 9. 2d Revised Edition. Frankfurt am Main: P. Lang, 1997. –. From the Rivers of Babylon to the Highlands of Judah: Collected Studies on the Restoration Period. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006. Johnstone, W. 1 and 2 Chronicles: Volume 2, 2 Chronicles 10–36: Guilt and Atonement. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series 227. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997. –. “Guilt and Atonement: The Theme of 1 and 2 Chronicles.” Pages 113–138 in A Word in Season: Essays in Honour of William McKane. Edited by J. D. Martin and P. R. Davies. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series 42. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1986. –. “The Use of Leviticus in Chronicles.” Pages 243–255 in Reading Leviticus: A Conversation with Mary Douglas. Edited by J. F. A. Sawyer. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series 227. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996. Kalimi, I. The Reshaping Of Ancient Israelite History In Chronicles. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005. Klawans, J. Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Kleining, J. W. The Lord’s Song: The Basis, Function, and Significance of Choral Music in Chronicles. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series 156. Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993. Knoppers, G. N. ‘“Great Among His Brothers,’ But Who is He? Social Complexity and Ethnic Diversity in the Genealogy of Judah.” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 3/6 (2000), available at http://www.jhsonline.org. –. “Hierodules, Priests, Or Janitors? The Levites In Chronicles and the History of the Israelite Priesthood.” Journal of Biblical Literature 118 (1999): 49–72. –. “Intermarriage, Social Complexity and Ethnic Diversity in the Genealogy of Judah.” Journal of Biblical Literature 120 (2001): 15–30. Liss, H. “Ritual Purity and the Construction of Identity: The Literary Function of the Laws of Purity in the Book of Leviticus.” Pages 329–354 in The Books of Leviticus and Numbers. Edited by T. Römer. Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium 215. Leuven: Peeters, 2008. Milgrom, J. “Hezekiah’s Sacrifices at the Dedication Services of the Purified Temple (2 Chr 29:21–24).” Pages 159–161 in Biblical and Related Studies Presented to Samuel Iwry. Edited by A. Kort and S. Morschauser. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996. –. Numbers. Jewish Publication Societies Torah Commentary. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1990.

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–. “Rationale for Cultic Law: The Case of Impurity.” Semeia 45 (1989): 103–109. –. Studies in Cultic Theology and Terminology. Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity 36. Leiden: Brill, 1983. Morgenstern, J. “Amos Studies II: The Sin of Uzziah, the Festival of Jeroboam and the Date of Amos.” Hebrew Union College Annual 12–13 (1937–1938): 1–53. Nihan, C. From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch: A Study in the Composition of the Book of Leviticus. Forschungen zum Alten Testament 25. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007. Nora, P. “Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire.” Representations 26 (1989): 7– 24. –. “From Lieux de mémoire to Realms of Memory.” Pages xv–xxiv in Realms of Memory. Volume 1: Conflicts and Divisions. Edited by P. Nora. New York: Columbia University Press, 1996. –. “General Introduction: Between Memory and History.” Pages 1–20 in Realms of Memory. Volume 1: Conflicts and Divisions. Edited by P. Nora. New York: Columbia University Press, 1996. Rendtorff, R. “Chronicles and the Priestly Torah.” Pages 259–266 in Texts, Temples, and Traditions: A Tribute to Menahem Haran. Edited by M. V. Fox, V. A. Hurowitz, A. Hurvitz, M. L. Klein, B. J. Schwartz, and N. Shupak. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996. Schniedewind, W. M. “The Chronicler as an Interpreter of Scripture.” Pages 158–180 in The Chronicles as a Theologian: Essays in Honor of Ralph W. Klein. Edited by M. P. Graham, S. L. McKenzie, and G. N. Knoppers. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series 371. London: T&T Clark International, 2003. –. “King and Priest in the Book of Chronicles and the Duality of Qumran Messianism.” Journal of Jewish Studies 45 (1994): 71–78. Shaver, J. R. Torah and the Chronicler’s History Work. Brown Judaic Studies 196. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989. Swanson, D. D. The Temple Scroll and the Bible: The Methodology of 11QT. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 14. Leiden: Brill, 1995. Willi, T. “Israel’s Holiness: Some Observations on the ‘Clerical Nature’ of 1 Chronicles 6.” Pages 165*–176* in Shai le-Sara Japhet. Studies in the Bible, its Exegesis and its Language. Edited by M. Bar-Asher, D. Rom-Shiloni, E. Tov, and N. Wazana. Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 2007. –. “Kakkatuv. Die Tora zwischen Mündlichkeit und Schriftlichkeit.” Pages 43–61 in Die philosophische Aktualität der jüdischen Tradition. Edited by W. Stegmaier. Suhrkamp Taschenbuch Wissenschaft 1499. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 2000. Williamson, H. G. M. 1–2 Chronicles. New Century Bible Commentary. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982. –. Studies in Persian Period History and Historiography. Forschungen zum Alten Testament 38. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004. Zeron, A. “Die Anmassung des Königs Usia im Lichte von Jesajas Berufung: zu 2 Chr 26, 16–22 und Jes 6,1 ff.” Theologische Zeitschrift 33 (1977): 65–68.

Part II

Classical Antiquity

Do You Have to Be Pure in a Metaphorical Temple? Sanctuary Metaphors and Construction of Sacred Space in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Paul’s Letters1

Cecilia Wassen 1. Introduction The Temple appears as a metaphor for the community both in the Dead Sea Scrolls and in Paul’s writings. Whereas the Temple is the dominant metaphor for the self-image of the Qumran movement, it is one of many metaphors used by Paul to describe the community of Christ believers. The prevalence of this image in the Dead Sea Scrolls sheds light on its meaning in Paul’s letters. This is, therefore, one of the many connecting points between the Scrolls and the New Testament that scholars have highlighted and studied in depth.2 My analysis will contribute to these studies by exploring the relationship between the Temple imagery and the construction of sacred space in the Qumran and Pauline communities. The idea of the community as a Temple is related to another metaphor, namely that of a garden, or a ‘planting,’ a connection which is rarely noted.3 Hence, some passages that liken the community as a sacred garden will also be part of my analysis. In light of metaphor theories, I will analyze various elements of the Temple and garden symbolism and discuss how the Qumran and Pauline communities attempted to implement the ideals expressed through the metaphors in their construction of communal, sacred space, or ‘sanctuary space.’4 I will address two primary questions: First, what do the metaphors of the community as a Temple and a garden mean in the Qumran texts and in Paul’s writings? And, second, how may the inherent ideals of the metaphors have been im1  My article is dedicated to Susan Haber, who was a very good friend of mine. In addition to a mutual connection to McMaster University, where we both at different periods did doctoral work, we shared an interest in Jewish purity laws. How I wish we could have continued our rich discussions! 2 See in particular Gärtner, Temple; Newton, Concept. 3 See Elgvin, “Temple,” 238–41. 4  The expression was coined by Økland, Women.

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plemented on a practical level? In particular, I will focus on the problems that arise from having a pure sanctuary as a model for communal life where impurity would inevitably occur, and discuss various strategies these communities used to circumvent these problems. As Susan Haber points out in her article “Metaphor and Meaning in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” distinguishing between symbolic and literal meanings of cultic terminology and purity language is essential when interpreting the Qumran texts.5 This approach is no less important when it comes to Paul’s terminology. Should we take his language of purity as metaphorical or conventional without any practical implications, or is he also concerned about purity in a literal sense? Given that several texts in the Scrolls deal extensively with the topic of the community as a Temple, as well as with the topic of the purity of the community, my analysis will naturally focus more on the Scrolls than on Paul’s writings, in which the combination of these topics is less prevalent. I will limit my investigation to the sectarian documents of the Scrolls, and focus on the undisputed Pauline letters, chiefly 1 and 2 Corinthians and Philippians. The first part of my analysis will center on the clusters of metaphors related to the interrelated metaphors of Temple and garden in the Dead Sea Scrolls. I will then discuss the function of these metaphors in the community in relation to its purity praxis. This forms the background for a discussion of the relationship between metaphor and praxis in Paul’s letters. The two sets of texts illustrate similar practical strategies regarding the construction of sacred space within their respective communities. To my knowledge, this connecting point between Paul and the Qumran movement has not been highlighted before.

2. Community as a Temple in the Dead Sea Scrolls He has joined their assembly to the Sons of Heaven (‫ )בני שמים‬to be a Council of the Community, a foundation of the building of holiness, and an eternal plantation throughout all ages to come. (1QS 11:5–8)

As virtually all commentators have noted, the Temple is the dominant metaphor for the construction of the sectarian identity of the Dead Sea Scrolls, the metaphor by which the Qumran movement organized its communal life. In other words, the metaphor functioned as the primary model that influenced actual communal life. Early in Scrolls scholarship, Matthew Black (1961) argued that “They [the Essenes] compensated for the loss of 5 Haber,

“Metaphor,” 93–124.

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57

a Temple of their own with a developed system of baptismal washings and a sacred meal.” Highlighting the use of the temple imagery in the New Testament, he concluded that “The community seems responsible for the growth of the conception which was to play an important part in the New Testament, namely, that of the community itself as a spiritual temple.”6 Lawrence Schiffman states the case with greater certitude, “The sect saw itself as constituting a sanctuary through its dedication to a life of holiness and purity.”7 According to Robert Kugler, “The community did arrogate to itself priestly roles, requirements, practices, as if to become a temple community in the desert.”8 Furthermore, Devorah Dimant contends that “The communal framework partly replaced and supplemented the regular service performed in the contemporary temple, until a new, pure temple would be installed by divine initiative in the Eschatological Era.”9 We may also note Jodi Magness, who maintains that “The sectarians viewed themselves as a substitute temple,” arguing that their communal meals functioned as a substitute to participating in the temple cult in Jerusalem.10 I will highlight some important aspects of the function of the metaphor and discuss how these elements were translated into actual practice, particularly concerning purity. First, however, I will analyze the metaphor. For my study I have adopted Peter Macky’s definition of a metaphor: “that figurative way of speaking (and meaning) in which a subject is spoken of in terms of a symbol, which is related to it by analogy.” A symbol, in turn, is “a reality that stands for and gives insight into some other reality because of the analogy between the two.”11 Metaphor theorists call these two associated domains (the symbol and the object to which it applies) by different names. In George Lakoff and Mark Johnson’s terminology, which I employ, the temple is the ‘source domain,’ the vehicle used to convey a statement about the nature of the community, which in turn is ‘the target domain.’12 In order to understand the function of the sanctuary metaphor it is crucial to investigate which aspects of the metaphor the discourse emphasizes. Metaphors always highlight some aspects of the source domain while suppressing or hiding others. As an example, a metaphor like “John is a predator” does not mean that John actually eats people (hidden aspect), but rather that he is aggressive and puts his own interests over that of others.13 Further Black, Scrolls, 42. “Purity,” 385.  8 Kugler, “Rewriting,” 91.  9  Dimant, “Men,” 97. Dimant highlights that the earthly temple-community functioned in analogy with the priestly angels in the heavenly temple. 10 Magness, Archaeology, 119. 11  Macky, Centrality, 56. 12 Lakoff and Johnson, Metaphors. See also Lakoff and Turner, More, 38–39. 13 For many examples in everyday speech, see Lakoff and Johnson, Metaphors.  6

 7 Schiffman,

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more, it is important to examine the meaning and function of the metaphor case by case, since the same metaphor can be used to make different points about the target domain in various contexts. Finally, we should be aware of the limitations in the study of metaphors since translating metaphors into literal connotations always involves a certain ‘loss in cognitive content’ and original rhetorical force.14 The metaphor of the sanctuary as applied to the community appears most prominently in the Community Rule, 1QS, especially in 5:5–7; 8:4–11; 9:3–6;15 11:6–9, and is also developed in 4QFlorilegium (4Q174 1–2 i 6).16 In 1QS the community is presented as a “house of Holiness” ‫( בית קודש‬1QS 8:5, 9:6; 11:8); a “house of perfection” ‫( בית תמים‬8:9); a “most holy dwelling for Aaron” ‫( מעון קודש קודשים לאהרון‬8:8–9); 4QFlor (1–2 i 6), on the other hand, refers to “the sanctuary of Adam,” ‫מקדש אדם‬. Although the metaphor of sanctuary is spelled out explicitly in only a few documents, it becomes a root metaphor from which a system of metaphors emerges that includes subsidiary or related metaphors such as that of a garden, as we will see below.17 A temple in Greco-Roman and Jewish societies basically meant a dwelling place for a god. Although the Jerusalem Temple lacked statues symbolizing the presence of the gods, it too was widely seen as a place where God, in a real sense, dwelt. For instance, Exod 25:8 illustrates this conviction in connection with the tabernacle:18 “And have them make me [Yahweh] a sanctuary, so that I may dwell among them” (cf. 29:44–46).19 Similarly, in the Black, Studies, 31–34, 45–47.  The position of 8:1–9:26 in 1QS is debated. Leaney (Rule) considered the section as a core segment and called it a “Manifesto,” a program for the community stemming from the founding of the community; (similarly, Murphy-O’Connor, “La genèse,” 528–49). Stegemann (Library, 111–12) considered it a later addition. See the discussion by Metso, Serekh, 12–14. Pointing to the absence of 1QS 8:15–9:11 in 4QSe, Metso argues that this passage was not part of the earliest version of the document, but was added later. Regardless of when the passage was added, in this study I will consider the document 1QS as a whole. 16 The reference to ‘sure house’ in CD 3:19 (from 1 Sam 2:35) concerns a priestly house, a righteous Zadokite priesthood, that God will ‘build’ in the future, rather than a Temple building. The use of 1 Sam 2:35 and the subsequent quote from Ezek 44:15 point to such an understanding; see Kampen, “Significance,” 193. My analysis of the Temple and garden symbolism will be limited to 1QS, 1QHa, and 4QFlorilegium. 17  For this expression, see Eidevall, Grapes, 37. 18 All Bible translations are from the NRSV. 19 According to biblical tradition, God is present in the tabernacle in an almost physical sense: e.g., Exod 25:22: “There I will meet with you, and from above the mercy seat, from between the two cherubim that are on the ark of the covenant, I will deliver to you all the commands for the Israelites;” cf. Exod 25:8; Lev 1:1–17. Deuteronomy shifts the focus to the presence of God’s name (Deut 12:5, 11; 14:23). Ezekiel conceptualizes the divine presence in terms of glory, describing how God’s glory departs from the Temple and finally returns (Ezek 8:4; 10:18–19; 43:4–5). Prominent among rabbinic traditions is the idea that God’s 14 See 15

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59

Temple Scroll God sanctifies “the city of the temple” by settling his name in it.20 It was not the specific physical structure but the presence of the divine that made a sanctuary holy.21 Accordingly, in the Scrolls it is the quality of holiness associated with a temple that is particularly emphasized in the use of the temple metaphor as we will see below.22 1QS frequently makes use of temple imagery in connection with the community. 1QS 5:5–6 reads, “They shall lay a foundation of truth for Israel, for the community of an eternal covenant. They shall atone for all those who would devote themselves for a sanctuary in Aaron ‫ לקודש באהרון‬and a house of truth in Israel ‫ולבית האמת בישראל‬, and for those who join them for a community.”23 Whereas “the sanctuary in Aaron” alludes to the priestly inner sanctuary, “the house of truth in Israel” invokes the image of the entire sacred enclosure that makes up the Jerusalem Temple. The distinction between lay and priestly domains points to the common division between priests and lay members in the Qumran community.24 The spatial categories of ‘house’ and ’sanctuary’ are applied to the community of men, but these are subdued in this analogy, which emphasizes instead the atoning function of the cult as well as the qualities of the Temple as a holy place and a locus of revelation. These aspects then apply to the community and are further elaborated in columns 8, 9, and 11. The entirety of 1QS 8:4–10 deals with the motif of the community as a sanctuary. 1QS 8:4–10 reads: 4

When these become in Israel – 5 the council of the community being established in truth – an eternal plant, a house of holiness for Israel, a most holy assembly 6 for Aaron, (with) eternal truth for judgment, chosen (by) divine pleasure to atone for the land and to repay 7 the wicked their reward. It shall be the tested wall, the costly cornerstone. 8 Its foundations shall neither be shaken nor dislodged from their place. (They shall be) a most holy dwelling 9 for Aaron, ‫מעון קודש קודשים לאהרון‬, with all-encompassing knowledge of the covenant of judgment, offering up a sweet odor. (They Shekhinah (presence) dwells in the Temple, although it is not tied to one place but is also present with the people of Israel (m. Avot 3:2; Gen. Rab. 1:18). For a general discussion of this topic, see Palmer, “Exodus,” 11–34. 20  11QT 45:11–12; 47:10–11. God is also said to dwell among the people in connection with Temple laws (e.g., 11QT 46:11–12; 47:17–18). 21 Harrington (“Holiness,” 131) explains that in contrast to purity, which is “a state of being,” holiness is “an active force which comes from God.” 22 That holiness is a quality of the members and the community expressed also outside of the context of the sanctuary metaphor, e.g., “holy congregation” (1QS 5:20; 1QSa 1:9, 13), “holy Council” (1QS 2:25; 1QHa 15:13; 1QM 3:4; CD 20:25; 1QSa 2:9), “men of perfect holiness” (CD 20:2–7; 1QS 8:20), and “men of holiness” (1QS 5:13, 18; 8:17, 23; 9:8). Harrington (“Holiness,” 127) provides a list of passages that refer to the community as holy and concludes: “Thus the Qumran community regarded itself as, first of all, holy.” 23 Citations of 1QS are based on Qimron and Charlesworth, “Rule.” 24 See, e.g., 1QS 2:19–22; 5:2–3, 9, 20–22; 8:1; cf. CD 14:3–6.

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shall be) a house of perfection and truth in Israel 10 to uphold the covenant of eternal statutes. They will become an acceptable (sacrifice)25 in order to atone for the land and to determine the judgment of wickedness; and there will be no more iniquity.

This passage again demonstrates how the community used the holiness and sanctity associated with the Temple and applied it to their community. Echoing 1QS 5:5–6 the community is described  – twice in this case  – as consisting of Aaron and Israel. Although the wording indicates a higher level of holiness for the priesthood than for the laity, holiness is the primary quality that characterizes both groups. The text includes the terms ‘house’ and ’dwelling,’ which are common expressions for the Temple in biblical terminology. The metaphor of a temple as a physical building is strengthened by additional building terms such as ‘wall,’ ‘cornerstone,’ and ‘foundations’ that allude to Isa 28:16. In addition to expressing qualities of value and stability, the allusion to Isaiah points to God as the builder and, consequently, to the founding of the community as being the work of God.26 The discourse moves seamlessly from a council, i.e., a group of people (lines 5–6), to the metaphor of a temple building (“a house of holiness”). These are presented as parallels that demonstrate the close association between the community and the Temple. While holiness is the key quality that the metaphor of a temple evokes, other features related to the Temple are highlighted as well. The discourse employs explicit cultic terminology in the expression “offering a sweet odor” (line 9), which is linked to knowledge of the covenant and observance of its laws.27 The expression “a house of perfection and truth” (8: 9) further associates perfect living based on truth with the Temple.28 Like the Temple sacrificial service, the community mediates atonement (1QS 8:6; 8:10; cf. 1QS 5:6) through its perfect obedience to God’s laws.29 The novel association between atonement and the judgment of the wicked (8:6–7, 10) reveals an underlying eschatological framework.30 Whereas the cultic terminology in 8:9 is used figuratively, the outcome in the form of atonement should be understood literally since atonement hardly is a symbol for anything else. This understanding is strengthened by 1QS 9:3–6, which further develops the atoning function of the community. 1QS 9:3–6 reads: of parts of line 10 by Newsom, Self, 158.  Noted by Newsom, Self, 156–57. A similar point is made in D and 4QFlor where the verb ‘build,’ ‫בנה‬, is used: “he (God) has built for them a sure house” (CD 3:19); “he commanded to build a sanctuary of Adam for himself” (4QFlor 1–2 i 6). 27  See, e.g., 2 Chr 36:15; Ps 26:8; Deut 26:15; see also the discussion by Newsom, Self, 156–58. 28 This association may draw on Isa 28:17, which stresses the necessity of justice and righteousness as fundamental for the temple service. 29 See also 4Q265 frg. 7 9–10. 30 Haber labels this view “eschatological expiation” (“Metaphor,” 113). 25 Translation 26

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61

3 When, according to all these norms, these (men) become in Israel a foundation of the Holy Spirit in eternal truth, 4 they shall atone for iniquitous guilt and for sinful unfaithfulness, so that (God’s) favor for the land (is obtained) without the flesh of burnt-offerings and without the fat of sacrifices. The proper offerings of 5 the lips in compliance with the decree will be like the pleasant aroma of justice31 and the perfect of the Way (are as) a pleasing freewill offering. At that time the men of the Community shall separate themselves 6 (as) a House of Holiness for Aaron, for the Community of the most Holy Ones, and a house of the Community for Israel; (these are) the ones who walk perfectly.

The text makes plain that there is no need for actual physical sacrifices. The community’s ability to atone stems from its perfect observance of the laws made possible by its exclusive possession of true knowledge of the covenantal laws revealed through the Spirit (9:3). There is, therefore, no need to doubt the reality of the belief that the works of the community mediate atonement, a service traditionally provided by the Temple cult as 9:4 also states.32 Here the analogy is less subtle, as the discourse explicitly refutes the necessity of the sacrificial service and then compares the ‘offering of the lips’ (e.g, prayer, praise, and righteous living) with offerings. At the same time, the metaphor of sacrifice that brings about atonement is very rich, allowing for multiple applications. In 1QS 9:4 it is the perfect living of the community that is likened to offerings, whereas in 1QS 8:10 the members themselves, through their perfect living, become an acceptable offering (cf. 3:11). It should also be noted that in 5:6 the object of the atonement is the community members, “all those who devote themselves …,” whereas in 8:6, 10, the community effects atonement for the land.33 Despite these subtle differences, it is quite clear that the community’s understanding that perfect observance of the laws has an atoning function should be taken quite literally. Given that the Jerusalem Temple is portrayed as defiled in sectarian literature, there is clearly a polemical edge behind picturing the community in temple imagery.34 The positive characteristics associated with a temple, in particular its being the dwelling place for God, now define the community, rather than participation in the cult of the actual Temple. Hence, the source this translation, see García Martínez, Dead Sea Scrolls. (“Metaphor,” 113) makes the important observation that, although the community appears as the subject of ‫ כפר‬four times (1QS 5:6; 8:6, 10; 9:4), God is always the one who grants expiation. This can be compared to biblical laws where the priest is often the subject of ‫ כפר‬in a cultic context. 33  Haber, “Metaphor,” 111. 34 There are many clear indications that the Qumran movement considered the priesthood corrupt and the Temple defiled; see, e.g., CD 4:17–18; 5:6–11; 6:11–13; 1QpHab cols. 8 and 12. The halakhah of the Qumran sect concerning purity and temple practices, as well as the calendar, differed significantly from those observed at the Temple, which would naturally lead to a separation from the Jerusalem Temple. See, e.g., Schiffman, “Community,” 267–84. 31 For

32 Haber

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domain inspiring the comparison is not the actual Temple, but the temple as it should be, the ideal temple. The aspects of the Temple that the community appropriates concern the relationship between God and Israel: By constituting a holy place, the community is the dwelling place of God’s presence; through perfectly observing the laws, the community has restored the relationship between God and Israel, mediating atonement for the land.35

2.1. A Garden Sanctuary The second, main metaphor of the community is that of a planting, or a garden, which is associated with the sanctuary in Qumran thought. This association stems from a more general idea that imagines a mythical, divine garden as Yahweh’s dwelling place (Genesis 2–3; cf. Isa 51:3), which is kept as a separate place untouched by human defilement.36 Howard Wallace explains that the Garden of Eden in Genesis is patterned on ancient mythology primarily as a dwelling place of God rather than a place of human habitation.37 In biblical traditions the subject-matters of God’s garden and his Temple merge at times, particularly in the description of the life-giving water flowing from the Temple by Ezekiel (47:1–12), followed by Zechariah (14:8) and Joel (3:16–18). In Ezekiel’s vision, this water will even provide life for the Dead Sea (47:8). The imagery of abundant water and lush vegetation is part of an eschatological scenario. Isa 60:13 also associates beautiful trees with the sanctuary (in Jerusalem).38 Deuterocanonical literature continues combining temple and garden motifs. In 1 Enoch 24–26, the holy mountain (the future place of the sanctuary) is described as a garden with an abundance of flowing water (26:2) and trees, including the Tree of Life (24:1–6). In these visions, the heavenly mountain with God’s throne is linked to the Temple in Jerusalem, which is also the scene of God’s judgment.39 Jubilees presents the Garden of Eden as a primordial sanctuary: “and he (Noah) knew that the Garden of Eden was the 35 Newsom (Self, 157) explains that the metaphor of the temple particularly emphasizes its “mediatorial functions.” Regev (“Abominated,” 270) explains that if God is no longer present in the Jerusalem Temple, the sacrifices there cannot affect atonement. 36 See, e.g., T. Levi 18:1–14. See Elgvin, “Temple;” Callender, Adam, 50–54; Stordalen, Echoes, 111–38, 307–10, 372–7, 409–54, 466. 37  He writes: “Many of the motifs of Eden are also those of the divine dwelling described in Mesopotamian and Canaanite myth. These include the unmediated presence of the deity, the council of the heavenly beings, the issuing of divine decrees, the source of subterranean life-giving waters which supply the whole earth, abundant fertility, and trees of supernatural qualities and great beauty.” See Wallace, “Eden,” 2:281–83. 38 This is noted by Hughes, Scriptural, 168. 39  See the commentary by Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch, 312–19. In a similar vein 4Q500 (4QpapBened) links the planting and the Temple. In Jubilees, the Garden of Eden is called “holy” and “most holy” (Jub. 3:12; 8:19) and is “the dwelling of God” (8:19).

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holy of holies and the dwelling of the Lord” (Jub. 8:19). The understanding of the garden as a prototypical sanctuary comes to the fore in the retelling of the creation of Adam and “his wife,” which applies the purity laws of the Temple to the Garden of Eden. Accordingly, the time of the entrance into the garden differs for the man and the woman (40 days for Adam and 80 days for “his wife”), which in turn explains the different length of impurity of the mother after childbirth depending on the sex of a child (Jubilees 3; Leviticus 12).40 This etiology is reiterated in the sectarian document 4Q265 (4QMiscellaneous Rules) 11–17.41 One would think that the garden metaphor would be particularly appropriate at Qumran since the garden made for an ideal sacred space without an altar. In light of the close association between temple and garden, it is not surprising to find the two images woven together.42 1QS 8:5 presents the metaphors of planting and temple as synonyms: “an eternal planting, ‫למטעת‬ ‫עולם‬, a house of holiness for Israel, a holy of holies for Aaron.”43 Of course, the image of planting evokes ideas that appear contrary to building: It is organic and alive, and thus adds another dimension to the building imagery. The metaphor of planting for the community of Israel appears in biblical traditions (e.g., Isa 61:3; 61:21), and seems to have been easily appropriated by the sectarian community.44 1QS 11:5–9 offers further reflections on the community as a sanctuary, drawing on both the garden and temple motifs. In 1QS 11:8 the two images merge completely: “(their) assembly is a House of Holiness for the eternal planting.” The passage elaborates on the traditional water imagery and its life-giving qualities in connection with the garden. Accordingly, the community partakes of ‘a fountain of righteousness’ (lines 5, 6), ‘a well of strength’ (line 6), and ‘a spring of glory’ (line 7) (cf. 1QHa 16).45 These divine gifts are hidden from ‘the sons of Adam’ (line 6), which highlights the connection to the primordial garden from which the rest of humankind was excluded. The implication is that the sectarian community alone partakes of these qualities, because it alone is chosen by God. The idea of election is 40

 See the discussion by Baumgarten, “Purification,” 3–10. frg. 7, 14 reads, “for the Garden of Eden is sacred and every young shoot which is in its midst is a consecrated thing.” 42  On this theme, see Elgvin, “Temple,” 239–42. 43 Plant imagery in relation to the community appears in 1QS, CD, 1QHa, 4Q418 and 4Q423; see Swarup, Self-Understanding. For the specific use of the phrase “eternal planting” in the sectarian literature, see Tiller, “‘Eternal Planting’,” 312. 44 References to how God “will plant”/ “has planted” (‫ )נטע‬the community of Israelites on the specific place (‫ )מקום‬in 2 Sam 7:10 and Exod 15:17–18 may also have influenced the construction of the metaphor; see Brooke, “Miqdash,” 292. 45 The references to Adam (“sons of Adam” l. 6, “wicked Adam” l. 9) give clues to the reader that the garden of Eden/Temple is the underlying metaphor. 41 4Q265

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explicitly stated in line 7: “Those whom God has chosen, he has set as an eternal possession” (1QS 11:7). ‘Glory’ in the context of the garden (line 7; cf.1QHa 4:27), points to the original glory of Adam that humanity lost but would regain in the eschatological era, including immortality and an original glorious, angel-like status.46 This idea is expressed in 1QS 4:22–23: “all the glory of Adam shall be theirs without deceit.”47 Just as the Garden of Eden constituted God’s dwelling place, a sacred place in the midst of an imperfect world, the community is the special place, a sanctuary where the divine and human spheres can meet. In the community, men and angels are joined together, as suggested by the phrase “with the sons of heaven he has joined together their assembly to the council of the community” (1QS 11:8). The ‘glory of Adam,’ now available to the members of the community, and the communion with angels belong to the eschatological blessings that the community already could enjoy. The community as a sanctuary, then, clearly carries overtones of an eschatological reality. 1QHa 16:5–41 also uses the imagery of planting and the Garden of Eden to describe the community, including references to ‘the eternal planting’ ‫( למטעת עולם‬16:7), ‘Eden’ (16:21), and ‘trees of life’ (16:5–6). The introduction places the speaker in a garden, the place of God’s glory (1QHa 16:4–5; cf. Isa 60:13): “I g[ive thanks to you, O Lord, for] you set me by a fountain which goes in a dry land, a spring of water in a desolate land, a well-watered garden [ ] a planting of juniper and pine together with cypress for your glory.” Julie Hughes points out that the quotation from Isa 60:13 connects beautiful trees with the Jerusalem sanctuary and directs the reader to understand the garden metaphor in light of traditions of the Temple.48 In rich symbolic language with images of abundant water associated with God’s words, the hymn paints a picture of the community as a lush garden teeming with life (‘source of life’), which is a place of revelation.49 With the appropriation 46  Several Second Temple Jewish documents testify to the belief that Adam was created in a perfect glorious state, even semi-divine or angelic, which humanity lost in the fall. The liturgical text “The Words of the Heavenly Lights” (4Q504) 1:4 reads “You fashioned [Adam] our [fa]ther in the image of Your glory.” The expression “the image of Your glory” recalls Ezekiel’s visions of God’s glory, the visible manifestation of God (Ezek 1:28, 70) and emphasizes the glorious state of Adam. According to 2 En. 30:8–11 (1st cent. C. E.), Adam was an angel. 47 The same expression appears in CD 3:20 “those who hold fast to it (‘a sure house’) are to have eternal life and all the glory of Adam.” The ‘sure house’ refers to the priesthood (see fn 16 above). 48 Hughes (Scriptural, 148–59) analyzes the combination of the motifs of community, sanctuary, and garden. 49  There is a well established tradition of the sanctuary as a place where God communicates clearly with humans, such as in the story about the Garden of Eden (Genesis 2–3) and the tradition concerning “the tent of meeting” (e.g., Exod 33:7–11; Num 7:89; cf. 1 Samuel 3).

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of these aspects of the metaphor, the community asserts that it is not only sacred space but also a locus of revelation. In this hymn, the separation between the community and outsiders is stressed; the garden is guarded by warrior angels (16:12; cf. Gen 3:24), it is ‘hidden’ (16:7) and only accessible by those into whom “God has put his words.” A distinction is also made between insiders and outsiders through the metaphor of trees that draws on Jer 17:5–8.50 The discourse contrasts those trees that stretch out their roots to the watercourse (16:8), “the living water,” i.e., the sect, with those trees that do not, likely outsiders in general.51 The image of many trees by the riverbank also recalls Ezek 47:7–12, in which the streams from the sanctuary bring life to the desert.52 Furthermore, the garden metaphor emphasizes an eschatological dimension according to the underlying notion of an Urzeit / Endzeit correspondence.53 The eschatological dimension comes across most clearly, perhaps, in the references to “the shoot”/“the holy shoot” (16:7, 11) that develops into a planting. The allusion to Isa 60:21 makes clear that the community is the remnant, the righteous people who already experience some of the eschatological blessings. Hence, both the metaphors of the community as a planting and as a temple express an eschatological reality in which the community and the heavenly spheres meet. 4QFlor 1–2 i 6 refers to the ‘sanctuary of Adam.’ There are different interpretations of the term, such as ‘man-made sanctuary,’ ‘sanctuary amongst men,’ but here I am following George Brooke’s reading, ‘sanctuary of Adam,’ as a reference to the community as a temple, which is also the Garden of Eden.54 Here as well, the righteous living of sectarians is compared to the offering of sacrifices: “He commanded that a sanctuary of Adam be built for himself, that there they may send up, like smoke of incense, the works of the law” (4QFlor 1–2 i 6–7). In spite of the lack of a sacrificial altar in the Garden of Eden, imagery from the sacrificial cult dominates the metaphor ‘sanctuary of Adam,’ illustrating the blending of the two images of temple and garden. Clearly, there are many connotations of the garden metaphors: 50 This poem contrasts those who trust in humans, who are likened to a shrub in the desert, and those who trust in the Lord, who are like “a tree planted by water sending out its roots by the stream” (Jer 17:8). 51 Elgvin instead proposes that a particular group, the Jerusalem priests, is the target in lines 9–10 (Elgvin, “Temple,” 240 ). The metaphor of the righteous people likened to trees is also found in Pss. Sol. 14:3b–5. Also 1 En. 92:3–10 uses the metaphor: “the elect shall be chosen as witnesses to righteousness, from the eternal plant of righteousness;” see Swarup, Self-Understanding, 72–73. 52 Hughes, Scriptural, 170. 53 Brooke, “Miqdash,” 289. Cf. the expression “an eternal sanctuary” in 4Q511 frg. 35 2–4, which refers to the future restored sanctuary of Eden; see Baumgarten, “Purification,” 9; Swarup, Self-Understanding, 29. 54 So also Baumgarten, “Purification,” 9–10.

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Overall, the garden imagery characterizes the community as a sacred space, where God provides revelation and where God’s law is perfectly observed.55

2.2. Reflections on the Temple and Garden Metaphors Taken together, the metaphors of the community as both a temple building and a garden sanctuary present the community as a sacred place on the most fundamental level. This quality in turn stems from God’s presence; in other words, God presence alone sanctifies and makes a place holy. All other attributes expressed through these metaphors, such as the community being the locus of revelation, separation, and atonement, depend on this fundamental concept. As a sanctuary, a holy place, the metaphor expresses two spatial dimensions: a vertical and a horizontal.56 Along a vertical axis, the community is a place where God dwells, where angels and humans can meet, as the author of 1QS 11:8 explicitly claims. In light of the angelic liturgies from Qumran, the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice and Berakota (4Q286), which envision a joint worship between angels and humans, statements about some kind of a communion, perhaps a mystical unity, between angels and humans should be taken quite literally. Also along the vertical axis, many metaphors associated with the root-metaphor express the belief that God provides revelation and eschatological blessings for the community. Philip Davies captures this notion well: “It is a group present on earth but quite apart from all others on the earth, belonging to the sphere of ‘heaven’.”57 Furthermore, the sect through its perfect living and prayers effects atonement for its members and the land. Whereas the concept of atonement for its members expresses a vertical relationship, the latter aspect of atonement for the land reflects more of a horizontal, outward motion. Hence, the sanctuary metaphor also includes a horizontal axis; this axis primarily concerns how the community relates to others, a relation dominated by a notion of separation. If one moves from metaphor to implementation, one would not be far off to interpret some of the boundary marking characteristic of the sect, such as very stringent purity laws and laws limiting interaction with outsiders, as inspired by the sense of separateness. Of course, a praxis that enforces separation also influences the community’s concept of itself as a 55 The combination of the motifs of sanctuary and garden also appears in the small fragment 4Q500 1, which uses imagery from the parable of the vineyard in Isaiah 5; see Brooke, “4Q500,” 268–94. In addition, 4Q421 (4QWays of Righteousnessa) 11 and 12 juxtaposes motifs concerning Eden with those of the Temple; see Brooke, “Miqdash,” 295–96. 56 For the concept of vertical and horizontal space, see Davies, “Space,” 81–98. Davies argues, correctly I believe, that the vertical dimension is much more pronounced than the horizontal one. 57 Davies, “Space,” 95.

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sanctuary; thus the two have an interrelated relationship, whereby they influenced each other. It is noteworthy that the temple metaphor is used in a novel way to emphasize characteristics that traditionally were not necessarily associated with the sanctuary, such as election and judgment.58 Before we discuss the function of the metaphor in the sectarian community, we need to consider the ideology of purity within the sectarian writings.

2.3. Metaphor, Purity and Holiness The metaphors related to a Temple and a garden primarily express the belief that the community is holy. As we have seen, it is because of this quality that all the other aspects of these sanctuary metaphors appropriated by the community are possible. Holiness is a quality that is derived from the presence of God and is in absolute opposition to impurity.59 The two cannot exist in the same location simultaneously. Scholars detect two kinds of impurity in Qumran writings: One is ordinary ritual impurity, caused by menstruation, sexual intercourse, childbirth, etc. This type is transmittable, part of everyday life, and removed by purification through immersion in water and waiting a certain period of time (Leviticus 11–15; Numbers 19). The other type of impurity is caused by sin, appropriately labeled “moral impurity” by Jonathan Klawans.60 This is also impurity in a real sense, although it is not transmitted between people. In biblical tradition, there are three types of grave sins that cause defilement of the land and by extension threaten to defile the sanctuary: sexual sins (incest, sexual intercourse between men, sexual intercourse with a menstruating woman; cf. Lev 18:24–30), murder (Num 35:33–34), and idolatry (Lev 19:31; 20:1–3; Jer 2:23). There is no in58 Traditionally, the Temple area was a place for all ritually pure Israelite men and women to gather, even Gentiles. But the metaphor of exclusion and separation is appropriate for a community that imposed much more stringent rules of entrance into the Temple. For instance, the Temple Scroll prohibits the blind from entering (11QT 45:12–14) and imposes a three-day period of purification after seminal emission and sexual intercourse, which is more than the one day that Leviticus imposes (11QT 45:7–12; cf. Lev 15:16–18). 4QFlorilegium (4Q174) lists Gentiles and proselytes amongst those banned from entering the Temple: an Ammonite, a Moabite, a mamzer, an alien, and a proselyte (4QFlor 1–2, i 3–5). The fragmentary text of 4QMMT B 39–41 contains a similar list (the Ammonite[?], the Moabite, the mamzer, the eunuch). See Dimant, “4QFlorilegium,” 165–89. 59  Harrington explains the concepts of holiness and purity well (“Holiness,” 129): Purity “is a state of being. It refers to absence of impurity.” She considers holiness “an active force which comes from God.” Furthermore, “only God is inherently holy. Other persons and items can partake of God’s inherent holiness only by extension and by divine designation. They can never be inherently holy, but they can mirror the divine holiness in various ways. They imitate his otherness and separation from impurity, they strive for his perfection as far as possible, they exhibit the divine goodness (i.e., true justice and mercy), and they partake of divine power.” 60 Klawans, “Impurity,” 1–16.

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stant means of purification for these crimes: Only punishment will purge the land; the land will “vomit out” not only those who commit these sexual sins but will exile the people (Lev 18:28); the sinners will be cut off from their people, i.e., killed (Lev 18:29). According to Klawans, in the Hebrew Bible the person who has committed a grave sin is not seen as ritually impure, but morally impure. The biblical laws do not conflate the two categories. But in Qumran writings, the most telling evidence that these categories have to some extent been conflated is that these sinners cannot be “purified by atonement, nor be cleansed by waters of purification” (1QS 3:3–5; cf. 5:13–14).61 Furthermore, atonement and judgment go hand-in-hand, because severe moral impurity can be alleviated only through the destruction of “wickedness” (1QS 8:10).62 Unintentional sin could be cleansed and atoned for, as Michael Newton explains, through prayers and perfect living (1QS 5:6; 8:10; 9:4–5).63 But, deliberate transgressions presented a great threat of impurity and those committing them had to be expelled (1QS 8:21–24). Importantly, all sins, not only those in Leviticus 18, are considered defiling.64 Therefore, in order to avoid moral impurity, it was crucial that the sectarian members live in a perfect way, which is emphasized throughout 1QS and comes to the fore in epithets expressing righteous living, such as in 1QS 9:5 ‘the perfect of the way’ and 1QS 9:6 ‘the ones who walk perfectly’ (cf. 1QSa 1:28). 61  Klawans claims, “For the Qumran sectarians, there is not merely an association between ritual and moral impurity, there is a nearly complete identification of ritual and moral impurity” (“Impurity,” 8). For example he points to penitential formulas in 4Q512 (Ritual of Purification), part of a ritual of purification, which shows that ritual impurity was associated with sin. See Klawans, Impurity, 75–91. In contrast, Hannah Harrington (“Nature,” 616), claims that the ritually impure were not considered sinners, with the exception of lepers, which is in accordance with biblical ideology. She also points out that “hidden or unconfessed sin would hinder a person’s prayer for purification, making purifying rituals ineffective.” In my view, the connection between sin and impurity is very clear in one way, i.e., sinners are defiled. Contra Klawans, I maintain that there is very little evidence for a connection the other way around, from impurity to sin; thus, ritually impure people are not necessarily seen as sinners (although 4QToh A [4Q274] 1 1–4 indicates that lepers may be an exception; such a perspective may also appear in the “Catalogue of Transgressors” in D, which includes the zav [4Q270 2 ii 12], but the text is fragmentary). For the biblical background to the perspective that links impurity with sin, see Kazen (Jesus, 200–22) who points to leprosy in the case of Miriam (Numbers 12), to the required “sin-offering” ( attat) in some cases after purification of bodily impurities (e.g., Lev 12:8; 14:20), and to the metaphorical use of impurity in relation to sin. He argues that the Qumran community was not an exception in linking impurity and sin, but claims, “We rather must make room for ideas of some sort of interaction or link between sin and bodily impurity both in popular belief and among Essenes as well as among Pharisees” (219). 62  Newsom, Self, 158. 63 Newton, Concept, 43. 64 Klawans, Impurity, 75.

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3. Function of Metaphor Many commentators argue that the Qumran community considered itself the true temple and as such a substitute for the Jerusalem Temple, which it considered to be defiled.65 This may push the significance of the metaphor too far. As Carol Newsom explains, “metaphor does not permit the collapsing of the two things compared.”66 Using metaphors provides a semblance between two domains, not an equation.67 Instead, there is always a tension between the source domain and the target domain in thought and language, since they do not quite correspond to each other.68 Hence, the community is not the temple; but, as we have seen, certain aspects of the nature and function of the Temple are transferred to the community and appropriated. Rather than replacing the Temple cult, one may perhaps more appropriately speak of the community as mirroring or mimicking aspects of the Temple service.69 As a dominant root metaphor, the Temple metaphor shaped the way the community lived; the community practiced aspects from the temple service in its communal life: It was organized with priestly leadership (“Sons of Zadok,” CD 4:1, 3; 1QS 5: 2, 9) and with a distinction between priests and lay members; the priests performed priestly functions in the community;70 the communal prayer and praise likely took place simultaneously with that in the Jerusalem Temple;71 its festival calendar was believed to correspond 65 A rejection of the Temple cult may be implied in 1QS 9:3–5; but, CD takes participation in the cult for granted (9:13–14; 11:17–21; 16:13). For the view that the sect replaced the Temple, see, e.g., Schiffman, “Community,” 272–74. Similarly, Gärtner argues that the Qumran community in a sense embodied the Temple (Temple, 18). Newton writes, “The membership at Qumran, both lay and priestly, now represented the temple. It appears that in particular they saw themselves, in their expiatory role, as constituting the two innermost and holy areas of the temple: the Holy Place and the Holy of Holies” (Concept, 49). Elisha Qimron argues that the community at Qumran considered itself “a substitute for the Temple” (“Celibacy,” 291). Dimant claims that the community aspired to recreate “‘the congregation of priests’ officiating in the holy enclosure of the Tabernacle or the Temple-city” (“4QFlorilegium,” 165–89). In contrast, John Kampen argues that no spiritualisation of the Temple took place; instead, the community prepared itself for the eschatological temple (“Significance,” 185– 97). Harrington disputes the idea that the community saw itself as a substitute for the Temple and applied the purity rules of the Temple to that of the community. Instead, the community was living according to the purity laws of the ordinary city in the Temple Scroll (Impurity, 51–57). Pointing to the figurative language of the temple metaphor, Haber (“Metaphor,” 93–124) also disputes the idea that the sect superseded the Temple. 66 Newsom, Self, 157. 67 Eidevall, Grapes, 20. 68  Feder Kittay, Metaphor, 183. 69 Kugler (“Rewriting,” 91) explains the self perception of the community very well: “all this does point to a community intent on mirroring in its day-to-day existence the essential characteristics of the cultic and priestly life.” 70 See García Martínez, “Priestly,” 303–19. 71 Kugler, “Rewriting Rubrics,” 91.

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to the heavenly temple-service; and its writings display a great concern for purity. The image of a sanctuary (in the guise of a temple or a garden) functioned as a lens, through which the target domain, the community, saw itself: From this angle, the community was made up of men of perfection; it was a holy community, pure from both ritual and moral purity, and through their service  – through prayers and obedience  – the land was atoned for, and judgment (would be) executed. According to such viewpoint, the whole community was elevated to a priestly status as they effected atonement through their praise and righteous works and enjoyed communion with the angels.72 This image was something for which to strive, a goal and a hope. At the same time, the perfection implied in these metaphors, including holiness and purity, was hard to maintain in the community in its daily operations. From the perspective of day-to-day life, impurity was always part of the community. Everybody would be ritually impure at some times, it was part of life, but moral impurity posed a continuous threat. For example, penal codes in 1QS, D, and 4Q265 testify to the presence of sinners in the community, and 4QTohorotA prescribes laws for when different kinds of ritually impure people come in contact with each other. In other words, the image of the community as a sanctuary juxtaposed to that of day-to-day reality made for a cognitive dissonance; the two pictures would have been impossible to harmonize completely in this era. The interim solution to this problem was to apply purity rules concerning access to the Jerusalem Temple to some of the communal activities. This is evident in the regulations concerning the “pure meal” in 1QS and concerning access to the council in1QSa and D. These regulations do not explicitly refer to the Temple as a metaphor, but they assume the root metaphor by applying laws concerning the Temple and its priesthood to the members of the community. Just as only the ritually pure could gain entrance into the Jerusalem Temple, novices had to be pure before entering the Qumran community as full members. Only after a year were new members allowed to partake of the ‘pure food’ according to 1QS 6:16–17, presumably when they themselves were considered pure.73 The penalty for various sins was exclusion from the pure food. Whereas this penalty, likely combined with the reduction in food, was in part punitive, it was foremost a way to limit morally impure people from defiling the pure meal. Members bathed before meals (1QS 5:13), removing any minor impurities they might have had. The community 72 The same perspective emerges in the angelic liturgies. Elgvin (“Temple,” 242) points out that “the non-priestly member is transformed into attaining some kind of priestly status, experienced in particular during the liturgical performance of Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice and 4QBerakot.” 73 Schiffman, Eschatological, 13.

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members thereby imitated the Temple priests, who ate pure food in a state of purity.74 Thus they all appropriated and lived according to this aspect of the sanctuary metaphor pertaining to the purity of the priestly staff. Here we may recall Josephus’ description of the Essenes: After these things, they are dismissed by the curators to the various crafts that they have each come to know, and after they have worked strenuously until the fifth hour they are again assembled in one area, where they belt on linen covers and wash their bodies in frigid water. After this purification they gather in a private hall, into which none of those who hold different views may enter: now pure themselves, they approach the dining room as if it were some [kind of] sanctuary (τέμενος). (J. W. 2.129).75

The regulations in 1QSa and D go further in their exclusion of members when it comes to the council meeting76 (1QSa 2:4–9; 4Q266 8 i 6b–9 “into the midst of the congregation”) by prohibiting any ‘blemished’ people, such as the blind and deaf, from entering.77 Although the Rule of the Congregation concerns the end of days (1QSa 1:1) we can accept Schiffman’s assessment that its regulations mirror the actual life of a particular community.78 According to both documents, the reason for the exclusion of the ‘blemished’ was the presence of angels, as 1QSa 2:8–9 reads: “for holy angels are in their council.”79 Evidently, the presence of angels and the exclusion of the blemished recall the traditional belief that God somehow was present in the Jerusalem Temple and thereby sanctified that space. Whereas the impure were ordinarily prohibited from entering the Temple, the exclusion of blemished people applied only to the priests serving in the Temple according to Lev 21:17–23.80 The lists of people excluded in D and in 1QSa extend the 74

 Archaeology can shed further light on the sacred status of the meals at Qumran. Magness (“Communal,” 81–112) argues that the jars containing animal bones that were buried in the ground surrounding the Qumran settlement are evidence of sacral meals that the inhabitants ate in a manner similar to that of the priests in the Temple. She states that “[t]hey treated the animals consumed in these meals in a manner analogous to the Temple sacrifices, although they were not technically sacrifices” (95; referring to a suggestion by Armin Lange). 75  Translation by Mason, Flavius. 76 1QSa use different terms for the gathering: “council of the community” (1QSa 1:27); “council of the community in Israel” (1QSa 2:2); “holy Council” (2:9), “an assembly of God” (2:4). According to 1QSa 2:4, a ritually defiled person is prohibited from entering “the assembly of these” (‫)בקהל אלה‬. “Council” ‫ עצה‬carries a wide range of connotations, from the entire community (1QS 1:9–10; 7:7–8; 8:11) to a special group (1QS 8:5–7). The summary statement in 4Q266 8 i 8b–9a specifies from what the blemished people are excluded and for what reason: “none of these shall come [into] the midst of the congregation for holy angels [are in their midst],” ]‫א[ל יבו] איש [מ]אלה אל תוך העדה כי מלאכ[י] הקוד[ש בתוכם‬. 1QSa uses similar expressions in 1QSa II 5 (‫בתוך העדה‬, “in the midst of congregation”) and II 8 )‫[ב]תוך עדת א[נ]ושי השם‬, “in the midst of the congregation of the m[e]n of renown”) to explain what the exclusion concerns. 77 Also 1QM 7:3–4 contains a similar list of excluded categories for the war camp. 78  Schiffman, Eschatological, 9. 79 So also 1QM 7:6. 80 Although 11QT 45:12–14 also excludes the blind from the Temple.

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categories beyond those described in Leviticus.81 For example, D excludes an ‘an errant man,’ or sinner, presumably because of moral impurity.82 So, here as well, the community appropriated and implemented Temple laws concerning the priests to its own meetings.83 Again, the member thereby concretized, or lived according to, aspects of the Temple cult, taking on the status of a priest serving in a holy temple. It is noteworthy that from the lens of the root-metaphor of the Temple the priestly status applied to all members of the community.84 Elsewhere, from perspective of ordinary, communal life, there is always a clear distinction between priests and lay people (e.g., 1QS 2:19–23; CD 14:3–6; 1QSa 1:2; 2:2–3). Biblical laws that prohibit blemished animals to be sacrificed (Lev 22:17– 25) also contribute to the metaphor;85 like sacrificial animals, members of the council may not be blemished. Again, multiple, contradictory images are blended together, evoking associative links between the members, both the officiating priests and the actual offerings. The ritually impure and the blind, deaf, and mentally challenged were not excluded from the community; they could, for example, voice their opinions to the council by speaking to someone in private (1QSa 2:9–10).86 But their continued presence must have threatened and challenged the appropriateness of the temple metaphor pertaining to the community. Therefore, by excluding these from the council meetings, the significant aspects of the metaphor, purity and holiness, could still be realized when the morally 81 With the exception of ‫( פסח‬lame), different terms are used for the physical defects in 4Q266 8 i 6–9 compared to Lev 21:17–23, but three of the four categories mentioned in D are still part of the list in Leviticus 21 (blindness, limp, lameness). While both 1QSa and D include ‫“( חרש‬deaf”) in their lists, 1QSa also lists ‫“( אלם‬dumb”). These categories are not mentioned in Leviticus 21. For a detailed discussion of the variations of physical deformities and the philology of the terms, see Schiffman, Eschatological, 37–52. 82 The list in D can be divided into the following categories: mentally challenged (“demented fool” ‫אויל ומשוגע‬, “simple-minded” ‫)פתי‬, transgressors (“errant person,” ‫)ושוגה‬, physically impaired (blind, limping, lame, deaf), and young persons (“youth,” ‫)נער זעטוט‬. 83 According to Magness, the distinction between different levels of purity (from pure to impure) may be reflected in the arrangement of space at Qumran. Thus, the dining area was kept pure. She argues that the arrangement was inspired by the conceptualization of the holy city (“Communal,” 107–12). 84 A similar perspective emerges in CD 4:2–3, where Ezekiel’s reference to priestly segments, the priests, the Levites, and the sons of Zadok (Ezek 44:15), are applied to the entire sect. 85 Schiffman, “Community,” 273. 86  1QSa 2:9b–10: “And if [one of] these (who has a blemish) [has some]thing to say to the holy council, [they shall] question [him] in private, but the man [shall no]t enter into the midst of [the congregation] for he is afflicted” (‫)ואל תוך [העדה לו]א יבוא האיש כיא מנוגע‬. Furthermore, according to 1QSa 1:19–22, a person who is ‫“ פיתי‬simple-minded” is prohibited from taking certain responsibilities in the community, but “he shall perform his service according to his ability.”

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and ritually pure, as well as the physically perfect members, were able to enjoy the presence of the divine, represented by the angels.87 The members thereby created sacred space in their midst, a special place in time, when heaven and earth could meet. The presence of angels demonstrates that the eschatological reality, for which the community prepared itself, was in a sense already present in the community. The angelic presence at communal worship is also a connecting point to Paul’s writings, as we will see below.

4. Paul and Sanctuary Metaphors For we are the temple of the living God; as God said: “I will live in them and walk among them, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people (2 Cor 6:16)

Sanctuary is not the most prominent metaphor that Paul uses in relation to the Christ-believers. Nevertheless, temple and related cultic terminology are important metaphors in parts of his writings, particularly in the Corinthian correspondence. The key passages that will be the focus of the present study are 1 Cor 3:16–17; 6:19, and 2 Cor 6:16, which all mention ὁ ναός. In 1 Corinthians 3, Paul rebukes his readers about the splits that have occurred within the community. In this context, he explicitly refers to the community as “God’s temple,” ναὸς θεοῦ. 1 Cor 3:16–17 reads: Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy that person. For God’s temple is holy (ἅγιός), and you are that temple.

In the section preceding this, Paul elaborates on two images: a field or “planting” (θεοῦ γεώργιον; 1 Cor 3:5–9) and a building (θεοῦ οἰκοδομή; 1 Cor 3:9–15), which he applies to the community.88 In v. 9, which serves as a transition between the two metaphors, Paul explains that “you are God’s field, God’s building.” This statement recalls 1QS 8:5: “the council of the community … an eternal plant, a house of holiness for Israel, a most holy assembly for Aaron.” Given the association between the Temple and the garden (or planting) in Jewish literature, as discussed above, it is quite clear that the metaphor of a field in 1 Cor 3:5–9 also alludes to a sacred planting, a sanctuary.89 Countering the factionalism in the community, whereby different camps claim different leaders, especially Paul and Apollos (e.g., “I belong 87 Other texts also refer to a communion between angels and humans: 1QS 9:7–8; 1QHa 11:21–22; 14:16. 88  As Albert Hogeterp points out, οἰκοδομή is a common term in LXX and the works of Josephus for the Jerusalem Temple (Paul, 318–19). 89 See Hogeterp (Paul, 318), who refers to 1QS 8:5 and CD 3:19.

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to Paul” 1 Cor 1:12; 3:4), Paul uses the image of a field, arguing that Paul and Apollos have each contributed to the establishment of the Corinthian community (Paul has planted; Apollos has watered), while the community is primarily God’s work. The subsequent metaphor of the temple building (“God’s building,” θεοῦ οἰκοδομή; 1 Cor 3:9), also stresses the growth of the community. Paul emphasizes that the building is built over time by different people, using different materials: Paul is the master builder who has laid the foundation (1 Cor 3:10), and Christ is the foundation (3:11). The aspects of the temple-metaphor that come across most clearly in the pericope concern, first, the unity of the temple as one building and, second, its holiness as a place where God dwells, here represented by God’s spirit.90 The underlying eschatological framework paramount for Paul is evident in the reference to the upcoming judgment, “when the work of each builder will become visible, for the Day will disclose it” (3:13–14). Rather than ἱερόν (the common term for large temples with walls and courtyards), Paul consciously chooses ναός, the term used with reference to the inner sanctuary or Holy of Holies in particular by LXX and Josephus, in order to highlight the sacredness of the Temple.91 In 1 Cor 6:19, Paul again uses ναός, but here with reference to the individual believer, warning him that fornication is a sin against the body, which is sacred because it is a dwelling place of the Holy Spirit: “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own.” Commentators debate whether or not the application of the temple to the body of an individual should be connected to the corporal use of the metaphor. Commonly, commentators give priority to the communal image and interpret the individual application in light of the community as a temple; it has been suggested that the individual as a temple should be understood as a part of the temple.92 We should not necessarily harmonize the metaphors, since these can be used in contradictory as well as supplementary ways. Paul is not describing the body of the individual as a brick of the temple but as a temple. Yet, the metaphors of the temple are inter-related through the notion that the Spirit is present in the community (where it ‘dwells,’ οἰκεῖ) as well as in the individual, who as a temple is a receptacle of the Holy Spirit. In this sense, 90  As Margaret Mitchell explains, unity was the key concern for Paul rather than the refutation of the claims by different factions (Paul, 263–64). The one Temple was historically a natural unifying factor for the Jewish people. Hogeterp notes similarities in ideas with Philo, who also describes the “one mind” of the Jews going on pilgrimage to the Jerusalem Temple (Paul, 324; Philo, Spec. Laws 1.70). Økland (Women, 166) points to the imperial cult that “presupposed that a sanctuary and its rituals could create unity and integration.” 91  Newton, Concept, 54. 92 See Bonnington, “New,” 158–59. For a general discussion of this topic, see Gärtner, Temple, 140–42.

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the individual body can also be compared to a temple. Both are holy and can be polluted by sin. Therefore, sexual sins harm not only the individual but threaten the purity of the community as a whole.93 In 2 Cor 6:14–7:1, the temple metaphor appears within a discourse that is reminiscent of the dualistic terminology found in the treatise on the two spirits in 1QS 3:13–4:26. Light is contrasted with darkness, Christ with Beliar, believer with unbeliever, and the temple of God with idols.94 At the center of the discourse stands the metaphor of the community as the temple of God. The sacred nature of the temple as God’s dwelling place is particularly highlighted and is the reason for the call to ‘separate’ from the unbelievers, and to ‘touch nothing unclean.’ 2 Cor 6:16 reads: What agreement has the temple of God with idols? For we are the temple of the living God (ἡμεῖς γὰρ ναὸς θεοῦ ἐσμεν ζῶντος); as God said, “I will live in them and walk among them, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.”

Although commentators suspect that the pericope may be a separate composition that has been inserted into the letter by Paul or someone else, the ideas correspond fairly well with Paul’s views elsewhere. In fact, when comparing this passage with 1 Cor 3:16–17, the same concerns about separation, purity, and holiness stand out.95 The contrast between the temple of God and idols (εἴδωλα) is not dissimilar to Paul’s stern words in 1 Cor 10:21, “You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons (ποτήριον δαιμονίων). You cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons.”96 Parallel to the Qumran writings, the temple serves as a root metaphor from which several related images emerge. In 1 Cor 9:13–14, Paul compares his service to that of a priest officiating at the altar, in other words, doing sacred work.97 Elsewhere Paul compares himself with an officiating priest (Rom 15:16; cf. Phil 4:17–18), the Gentile believers with the sacrificial offerings (cf. Rom 12:1–2; “first fruits” Rom 16:5; 1 Cor 16:15), and himself 93  For an in-depth discussion of the defilement through sexual transgressions, see Newton, Concept, 57; Bonnington emphasizes that ethical impurity is the concern here (“New”), but he never clearly defines what he means by the term. 94  The section appears slightly out of place, since the tone changes and 2 Cor 7:2 could well be the continuation of 6:13. According to Schüssler Fiorenza (Memory, 194–96) the verses may be pre-Pauline, but not anti-Pauline. 95  Økland (Women, 157) puts it succinctly: “By using the same image (naos) on the same entity (ekkl sia) for all practical purposes the verses are so much in tune with 1 Cor 3:16–17 that they form part of the same discourse as the passage, even if some nuances may be different.” 96 Pointed out by Økland (Women, 157). 97 In this context Paul refers to the Temple by the term ἱερόν, perhaps because he refers to the institution (Newton, Concept, 54). The frame of reference is not the most sacred area, but rather the whole Temple precinct, where those who are employed in the Temple (9:13) may be.

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with a libation offering (Phil 2:17).98 Whereas Paul invokes the image of constructing the temple building extensively in 1 Cor 3:9–15, he refers to the same image in subtle ways in 1 Corinthians 14 (vv. 3, 4, 5, 12, 17).99 The angle is slightly different in 1 Corinthians 14, given that the continuous process of constructing the ekkl sia is the focus here. These examples serve to show the importance of the root metaphor temple and the rich nature of the metaphor and its variegated applications, as is also the case in the Qumran literature. By using the cultic terminology of the temple, Paul emphasizes the aspect of holiness and God’s presence in the community through his spirit. This presence is not metaphorical: The presence of the divine is real, a perspective that is especially evident in Paul’s demand that women cover their heads “because of the angels” (1 Cor 11:10); in other words, the angels were literally understood to be present among the worshiping community, as they also were in the Qumran community.100 It is the reality of God’s presence, and the holiness that stems from it, that makes purity in the community such a great concern for Paul.

4.1 The Language of Purity in Paul’s Letters Paul frequently employs purity language in his letters that is often taken as figurative speech. Nevertheless, Klawans disagrees with such an approach, arguing that Paul is actually talking about purity in a literal sense but not ritual purity per se.101 It is noteworthy that it is with regard to morality in particular that Paul uses the language of impurity. For example, in Rom 6:19 he seems to equate impurity and sin: “for just as you once presented your members as slaves to impurity (ἀκαθαρσία) and to greater and greater iniquity, so now present your members as slaves to righteousness and sanc-

 98 For a study on Paul’s expressions in light of cultic language in LXX, see Newton, Concept, 60–75.  99 Økland, Women, 155. 100 The question is whether Paul is claiming that God’s presence has now been transferred from the physical Temple to that of the community of believers. By particularly focusing on Paul’s terminology of “dwelling” οἰκέω and ἐνοικέω, Newton (Concept, 55–56) argues that God’s spirit now effectively lives among the believers rather than in the Jerusalem Temple. But, in comparison to 1QHa 16, for example, there does not appear to be an underlying critique of the Jerusalem Temple and its priests in the Corinthian correspondence. Instead, the critique is against Paul’s opponents, and against the division in the ekkl sia. Therefore, the metaphor does not say much about the Jerusalem Temple, only about the Corinthian community; so also, e.g., Böttrich, “Ihr seid,” 411–23. 101 In agreement with E. P.  Sanders, Klawans (Impurity, 150–57) points out that ritual impurity law does not appear to be of importance to Paul. Other aspects of the law are a concern, i.e., the Sabbath (special days), food regulations, and circumcision. Paul does not, however, address the issue of ritual impurity.

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tification” (Rom 6:19; cf. 1:24).102 It is within the context of fornication in 1 Thess 4:1–8 that Paul asserts, “For God did not call us to impurity but in holiness” (4:7). Similarly, Paul combines impurity and sexual immorality in 2 Cor 12:21, worrying that many may not have “repented of the impurity, sexual immorality, and licentiousness” when he will return. It appears then, as Klawans argues, that moral impurity rather than ritual purity is a concern for Paul. Given the common link between severe sin and impurity (“moral impurity”) in Jewish thought, as evidenced in the Scrolls, it is a mistake to take this language as metaphorical. Grave sins are morally defiling and, hence, literally impure; therefore, Christ-believers are not to associate with sexually immoral persons (1 Cor 5:9; 2 Cor 12:21).103 In this context it is worth mentioning Christine Hayes’ study on the impurity of the Gentiles, in which she asserts that Gentiles were in general considered outside of the system of ritual laws and ritual impurity did not, therefore, apply to them.104 Moral impurity, however, did affect them.105 It is concerning moral impurity that Paul is writing. So, in this case he seems to adhere to traditional Jewish legal teaching on the topic of moral impurity. In his book The Concept of Purity at Qumran and in the Letters of Paul, Newton demonstrates that the cultic language of purity permeates Paul’s letters. There is an associative link between describing the community as a ναός and describing Christ as the cover of the Ark of the Covenant (kapp ret, in Greek ἱλαστήριον) as Paul does in Rom 3:25: “Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a sacrifice of atonement (ἱλαστήριον) by his blood, to be received by faith.” In P, kapp ret is a symbol of the expiation of sins in connection with the ritual on the ‘day of atonement’ (Lev 16:1–34, especially vv. 14–16). Although kapp ret has a broader connotation as the place of God’s presence (Lev 16:2) and revelation (Exod 25:22), Paul is here using the term figuratively for the place where a ’t blood was sprinkled to purge the Temple from defilement. In this metaphor, Christ is both the place of offering and the offering (the blood). The metaphorical level is obvious; Christ is not literally the cover of the ark. But, the atoning effect of his death is a reality for Paul. Importantly, the expiatory function of kapp ret is particularly associated with the removal of moral impurity (“Thus he shall purge the Shrine of the uncleanesses [‫ ]מטמאת‬and transgression of the Israelites, whatalso the list of vices in Gal 5:19–21; Klawans, Impurity, 151–52. Impurity, 153. 104  Hayes, Gentile, 9–67. 105 According to Klawans, the Qumran sectarians did not share this perspective. By conflating ritual and moral impurity, they considered the Gentiles morally impure and, by extension, ritually impure as well (Klawans, Impurity, 79–82). Contra Klawans, Hayes (Gentile, 6, 45–67) argues convincingly that the Scrolls do not associate the Gentiles with ritual impurity, but rather with genealogical impurity. 102 See

103 Klawans,

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ever their sins”; Lev 16:16 [NJPS]). Hence, Christ’s sacrificial death provides atonement for sins as well as purification from the impurity stemming from transgressions, i.e., moral impurity. Again, we see how Paul draws on the underlying root metaphor of the community as a sanctuary to explain the efficacy of Christ’s death. Just as the atoning rituals by the High Priest on Yom Kippur purify the Temple so that God’s presence can dwell there, so through Christ’s purifying death God’s Spirit can dwell in the Christbelieving community. The Christ-believers take part in Christ’s sacrifice and become purified of all their sins at their entrance ritual into the community, baptism, which both affects atonement and purification. Paul expresses the purifying function of baptism very clearly in 1 Cor 6:9–11: Do you not know that wrongdoers (ἄδικοι) will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived! Fornicators, idolaters, adulterers, male prostitutes, sodomites, thieves, the greedy, drunkards, revilers, robbers – none of these will inherit the kingdom of God. And this is what some of you used to be. But you were washed (ἀπελούσασθε), you were sanctified (ἡγιάσθητε), you were justified (ἐδικαιώθητε) in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.

Paul’s use of purification terminology assumes the sanctuary metaphor; similar to temple worshippers who have to purify themselves before entering before the sacred enclosure, Christ-believers have to be purified before entering the community, made sacred through God’s presence.106 Thus, the believers, purified through baptism, must now preserve their purity by living righteously, in order that God’s presence may remain within the community (e.g., Phil 2:14–16; “without blemish”). It has not been widely recognized in what context Paul uses cultic terminology. Jorunn Økland demonstrates in her study Women in Their Place: Paul and the Corinthian Discourse of Gender and Sanctuary Space that Paul uses sanctuary-related terminology, including purity regulations, particularly when he speaks of the ritual gatherings of the Christ-followers, i.e., when he creates ‘sanctuary space,’ the ekkl sia space.107 In her words, Paul reconstructs the ekkl sia as a separate space of representation within the walls of the house. Time, people, and rituals, not material space, constitute the boundaries around this space that is called the temple of God or similar. Within this space there is a particular pattern of action in a particular place for everything following a cosmic order – but all this has to be spelled out by Paul since there are no walls or other material texts indicating it.108

106 This same perspective seems to underlie 2 Cor 7:1. Whereas LXX prefers the verb λούω for washing of impurities, both Josephus and Philo frequently uses ἀπολούω in connection with rituals of purification; see Newson, Concept, 82–83. 107 Økland, Women, 131–67. 108 Økland, “Architextualization.”

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Accordingly, Paul distinguishes clearly between ekkl sia space, a constructed sanctuary space, and the social, communal space of the household, the oikia. The two are separate entities for Paul. In Økland’s view, Paul makes this distinction particularly, but not exclusively, in 1 Corinthians 11–14. Furthermore, the metaphors of a sanctuary in 1 Cor 3:16–17 and 2 Cor 6:16 apply to the ekkl sia space in particular, ‘the ritual community.’109 Although Økland stresses that Paul is drawing on broader sanctuary concepts in using purity language in the context of the ekkl sia, she does not elaborate on whether Paul is using ritual language in a literal sense or not. Based on Klawan’s research, I would argue that Paul is very much worried about the defilement of the ekkl sia in a literal sense, namely the impurity stemming from sin. This aspect should also be taken into consideration in Paul’s creation of sanctuary space. Impurity is a concern particularly with reference to the ritually constructed space of the congregation. Therefore, a grave sinner, such as the man living with his father’s wife, should be excluded from the community (1 Cor 5:5, 13). Økland explains that the aim of the prohibition is to expiate “polluting agents in the ekkl sia.”110 The same aim is apparent in the strict rules concerning the celebration of the Lord’s Supper; in 1 Cor 10:14–22 Paul effectively prohibits idolatry, which is in fact partaking of the drink and food of demons.111 In 1 Cor 5: 9–13, Christ-believers are not to associate with a sexually immoral person “who bears the name of brother” (1 Cor 5:9; 2 Cor 12:21) or eat with him (1 Cor 5:11); Paul explains that one cannot avoid immoral non-believers entirely, since, in his words, “you would then need to go out of the world” (5:10). Instead, it is the immoral Christ-believers who are dangerous, because, one may assume, they can potentially defile the sanctuary space of the ekkl sia; or, as Paul puts it, “a little yeast leavens the whole batch of dough” (1 Cor 5:6). It is the defiling quality of sexual immorality that is of concern here. Commenting on 1 Cor 5:1–13, Klawans states that “Paul’s point would appear to be that the integrity – the moral purity – of the community can be threatened by the continued presence of grave sinners.”112 It therefore  See Økland, Women, 152–61. Women, 133. 111 Impurity may well be part of Paul’s concern here, since, in addition to causing disease and other problems, demons have a polluting quality. The close link between demons and impurity is made explicit in the common term “unclean spirit,” πνεύμα ἀκαθάρτον, in the New Testament. The same expression, ‫רוח טמאה‬, occurs several times in the Scrolls (see e.g., 11QPsa 19:5; 4Q444 1–4 i+5 8; a variation is ‫רוח נדה‬, “spirit of impurity” in 1QS 4:22). For the common interface between demonology and impurity in the Gospel stories, see Klutz, Exorcism, 125–37. For ideas connected to demons in the Dead Sea Scrolls, see Wassen, “Angels,” 115–29. 112 Klawans (Impurity, 153) explains that Lev 18:29 commands the exclusion of grave sinners from the community. 109

110 Økland,

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appears that Paul excludes immoral persons out of fear that they may defile the ekkl sia, in particular in their ritual gatherings, because the presence of impurity profanes the sacred space.

4.2 Conclusion Inspired by his belief in the Jerusalem sanctuary as the special dwellingplace of God, Paul invites his readers to understand their community as a sanctuary where the Holy Spirit dwells. The metaphor is a powerful rhetorical device to explain that the Holy Spirit is present amongst them. With this reality comes a serious requirement on the part of the Christ-believers: They have to be pure. Although there are instances where Paul’s use of purity language is largely metaphorical, as we have seen (as in Christ as the kipporet), he also uses purity language in the literal sense. Paul is operating here within the basic Jewish system of purity laws by assuming that the presence of the divine depends on the purity of the space, which in turn depends on the purity of the people present. Only in a pure place can God sanctify a place and people. Thus, the Christ-believers through their baptisms, having benefited from Jesus’ sacrifice of atonement and purification, have become pure once and for all. Nevertheless, their pure status can be ruined by serious sin that has a defiling quality, which would, hence, threaten the very identity of the ekkl sia as a spirit-filled community. Therefore, Paul excludes grave sinners from the ekkl sia not only because they threaten the community as a whole, but also because they threaten the sanctuary space per se, where the Spirit makes itself known through blessing the Christ-believers with various spiritual gifts (1 Corinthians 11–13).

5. Final Reflections There are many similarities between Paul’s construction of the sacred space of the ekkl sia and that of the Qumran sectarians, although the different genres of the documents make any detailed comparison difficult. Like Paul, the authors of the sectarian literature are inspired primarily by the Jerusalem Temple, and secondarily by the garden sanctuary, to view their community as a holy sanctuary. In both cases, the sanctuary metaphors underlie the requirements of purification at the entrance into each community, a period of probation combined with an increasing level of purity through ablutions at Qumran, and baptism in the Pauline congregations. Furthermore, the metaphors related to sanctuary in Paul’s writings and in the Dead Sea Scrolls serve to encourage listeners and readers in the respective communities to live a life of purity and righteousness. As we have seen, the Qumran

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writers draw on a broad range of associations in connection with the sanctuary and make use of far more aspects to define their community than does Paul, such as being a place of revelation and perfect observance of the law. Nevertheless, Paul elaborates on additional aspects from the sanctuary that are not apparent in the Scrolls, in particular the unifying symbol of the one Temple and the process of constructing a building and cultivating a field. Importantly, both sets of writings appropriate the notion of the presence of the divine – in the form of the Holy Spirit, holy angels, or God – as the key aspect that characterizes their respective communities. Furthermore, both sets of writings promote purity in all facets of their members’ lives and claim that atonement and purification are available to all insiders. At the same time, as we have seen, impurity lurks as a major threat to the ideal of holiness that the sanctuary metaphors express. In spite of all the precautions evident in the detailed regulations in the sectarian literature constructed to avoid all kinds of impurities (ritual and moral), impurity – as I have argued – was still an unavoidable factor in communal life. Not only does impurity threaten the appropriateness of the sanctuary metaphors, which play such a large role in the identification of the community, but it also threatens the very presence of God in the community. The solution to the problem was to create a special place in time, i.e., sacred space, that was absolutely pure and, through the presence of the divine, holy. This strategy includes excluding all impure elements, all sinners and impure people. Paul’s language, similarly, invokes the sanctuary metaphor in a very serious manner. Here as well, holiness is the key aspect that he applies to the community, which stems from the presence of the Holy Spirit or God. His exhortations about purity should be taken as a matter of fact rather than as a figure of speech. Since the divine presence is real, impurity, in the form of defiling sin, is a major concern for Paul in line with traditional Jewish theology. In the Corinthian correspondence, Paul expresses a heightened concern for purity and sanctity, particularly in connection with the ritual gatherings of the community. Here I see a similar tendency in Paul’s writings as in the Qumran scrolls. The connection between ritual space and purity is evident in both sets of writings in that there is a strategy to exclude the impure elements from the pure ritual gatherings in both communities. Nevertheless, this strategy is more explicit in the Qumran writings than in Paul’s letters, in the clear regulations to exclude the impure from the common meal, “the pure meal” and the special gatherings (1QS, D, 1QSa). Paul does not point to preordained specific rules when he directs the readers to action. Instead, it is the situations that force Paul to set the rules. Still, the issue of impurity is a serious one, as Paul’s tone is both passionate and forceful when he calls for separation from demons (1 Cor 10:14–22) and sexual sinners (1 Cor 5:9–11).

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So far I have highlighted similarities, but I should also point to some obvious differences. Both sets of writings share an interest in the purity of individuals, but the types of pollution differ. The Qumran writings promote purity, both ritual and moral (without distinguishing strictly between these), and through detailed regulations guide the sectarians to avoid both to the largest extent possible. Since Paul is mainly writing to Gentiles, ritual impurity is obviously not his concern. But Paul, similar to the Qumran writers, also encourages his audience to always strive (inside or outside the ekkl sia) for moral purity through living righteously. Nevertheless, it is mainly through severe sins, particularly through those of a sexual nature, that the purity of the person is threatened. Another obvious difference is the means of purification. Given the different views on traditional, ritual impurity, the praxis of purification differs radically. The Qumran sectarians would frequently have to purify themselves through immersion in miqvaot, whereas the Christ-believers became pure through the one-time ritual of baptism. In both cases, however, purity was maintained through righteous living. Thus, by using the metaphors of sanctuary the Qumran authors and Paul communicated to their readers a deeper reality about God’s presence (through his Spirit, or angels) in their midst. As a holy community, the members were encouraged to live the life of holiness and perfection that the presence of the divine demanded. The rules of exclusion in the Qumran scrolls and Paul’s stern words about grave sinners were part of a strategy designed to preserve the holiness of the community. Overall, these commands were ways to create a sanctuary space for the community, a special place in time, where the divine and human spheres could meet. Thereby the participants in these ritual gatherings also tasted a flavor of the eschatological era for which they were preparing themselves.

Bibliography Baumgarten, J. “Purification after Childbirth and the Sacred Garden in 4Q265 and Jubilees.” Pages 3–10 in New Qumran Texts and Studies: Proceedings of the First Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies, Paris 1992. Edited by G. Brooke and F. García Martínez. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 15. Leiden: Brill, 1994. Black, M. The Scrolls and Christian Origins: Studies in the Jewish Background of the New Testament. Brown Judaic Studies 48. London: Nelsen, 1961. Repr. Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1983. –. Studies in Language and Philosophies. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1962. Bonnington, M. “New Temples in Corinth: Paul’s Use of Temple Imagery in the Ethics of the Corinthian Correspondence.” Pages 152–159 in Heaven on Earth: The

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Temple in Biblical Theology. Edited by D. Alexander and S. Gathercole. Carlisle, UK: Paternoster, 2004. Böttrich, C. “Ihr seid der Tempel Gottes: Tempelmetaphorik und Gemeinde bei Paulus.” Pages 411–423 in Gemeinde ohne Tempel: zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum. Edited by B. Ego. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 118. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999. Brooke, G. “4Q500 1 and the Use of Scripture in the Parable of the Vineyard.” Dead Sea Discoveries 2 (1995): 268–294. –. “Miqdash Adam, Eden, and the Qumran Community.” Pages 285–301 in Gemeinde ohne Tempel: zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum. Edited by B. Ego. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 118. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999. Callender Jr., E. Adam in Myth and History: Ancient Israelite Perspectives on the Primal Human Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2000. Davies, P. “Space and Sects in the Qumran Scrolls.” Pages 81–98 in ‘Imagining’ Biblical Worlds: Studies in Spatial, Social and Historical Constructs in Honor of James W. Flanagan. Edited by D. M. Gunn and P. M. McNutt. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series 359. London: Sheffield, 2002. Dimant, D. “4QFlorilegium and the Idea of the Community as Temple.” Pages 165– 189 in Hellenica et Judaica: Hommage à Valentin Nikiprowetzky. Edited by A. Caquot et al. Leuven: Peeters, 1986. –. “Men as Angels: The Self-Image of the Qumran Community.” Pages 96– 103 in Religion and Politics in the Ancient Near East. Edited by A. Berlin. Studies and Texts in Jewish History and Culture. Bethesda, MD: University Press of Maryland, 1996. Eidevall, G. Grapes in the Desert: Metaphors, Models, and Themes in Hosea 4–14. Coniectanea Biblica: Old Testament Series 43. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 1996. Elgvin, T. “Temple Mysticism and the Temple of Men.” Pages 227–242 in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Texts and Context. Edited by C. Hempel. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 90. Leiden: Brill, 2010. Feder Kittay, E. Metaphor: Its Cognitive Force and Linguistic Structure. Oxford: Clarendon, 1987. García Martínez, F. The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition. 2 vols. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997. –. “Priestly Functions in a Community without Temple.” Pages 303–319 in Gemeinde ohne Tempel: zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum. Edited by B. Ego. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 118. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999. Gärtner, B. The Temple and the Community in Qumran and the New Testament: A Comparative Study in the Temple Symbolism of the Qumran texts and the New Testament. Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series 1. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965. Haber, S. “Metaphor and Meaning in the Dead Sea Scrolls.” Pages 93–124 in “They Shall Purify Themselves”: Essays on Purity in Early Judaism. Edited by A. Rein-

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hartz. Early Judaism and Its Literature 24. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008. Harrington, H. “Holiness and Law in the Dead Sea Scrolls.” Dead Sea Discoveries 8 (2001): 124–135. –. The Impurity Systems of Qumran and the Rabbis: Biblical Foundation. Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series 143. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993. –. “The Nature of Impurity at Qumran.” Pages 610–616 in The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years after their Discovery. Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20–25, 1997. Edited by L. H. Schiffman, E. Tov, and J. C. VanderKam. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society in cooperation with the Shrine of the Book, Israel Museum, 2000. Hayes, C. E. Gentile Impurities and Jewish Identities: Intermarriage and Conversion from the Bible to the Talmud. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002. Hogeterp, A. Paul and God’s Temple: A Historical Interpretation of Cultic Imagery in the Corinthian Correspondence. Biblical Tools and Studies 2. Leuven: Peeters, 2006. Hughes, J. Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 59. Leiden: Brill, 2006. Kampen, J. “The Significance of the Temple in the Manuscripts of the Damascus Document.” Pages 185–197 in The Dead Sea Scrolls at Fifty: Proceedings of the 1997 Society of Biblical Literature Qumran Section Meetings. Edited by R. A. Kugler and E. Schuller. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999. Kazen, T. Jesus and Purity Halakhah: Was Jesus Indifferent to Impurity. Coniectanea Biblica: New Testament Series 38. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2002. Klawans, J. “The Impurity of Immorality in Ancient Judaism.” Journal of Jewish Studies 48 (1997): 1–16. –. Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. Klutz, T. The Exorcism Stories in Luke-Acts: A Socio-Stylistic Reading. Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series 129. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Kugler, R. “Rewriting Rubrics: Sacrifice and the Religion of Qumran.” Pages 90–112 in Religion in the Dead Sea Scrolls. Edited by J. J. Collins and R. A. Kugler. Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000. Lakoff, G. and M. Johnson. Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1980. Lakoff, G. and Mark Turner. More than Cool Reason: A Field Guide to Poetic Metaphor. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1989. Leaney, A. R. C. The Rule of Qumran Its Meaning: Introduction, Translation and Commentary. London: S. C. M. Press, 1966. Macky, P. W. The Centrality of Metaphors to Biblical Thought: A Method for Interpreting the Bible. Studies in the Bible and Early Christianity 19. Lewiston, NY: The Edwin Mellen Press, 1990. Magness, J. The Archaeology of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002. –. “Communal Meals and Sacred Space at Qumran.” Pages 81–112 in Debating Qumran: Collected Essays on Its Archaeology. Interdisciplinary Studies in Ancient Culture and Religion 4. Leuven: Peeters, 2004.

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Mason, S. Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Volume 1B: Judean War 2. Edited by S. Mason. Leiden: Brill, 2008. Metso, S. The Serekh Texts. Companion to the Qumran Scrolls 9. Library of Second Temple Studies 62. London: T & T Clark, 2007. Mitchell, M. Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation: An Exegetical Investigation of the Language and Composition of 1 Corinthians. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1992. Murphy-O’Connor, J. “La genèse littéraire de la Règle de la Communité.” Revue biblique 76 (1969): 528–549. Newsom, C. The Self as Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at Qumran. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 52. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2004. Newton, M. The Concept of Purity at Qumran and in the Letters of Paul. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985. Nickelsburg, G. W. E. 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 1–36; 81–108. Hermeneia. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001. Økland, J. “Architextualization: Early Jewish and Christian Ritual / Sanctuary Space.” Paper presented at a Workshop on Ritual in Early Judaism and Early Christianity, Texts and Practices, University of Helsinki, 26–29 August, 2009 (organized by the Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies and the Network for the Study of Early Christianity in Its Greco-Roman Context). –. Women in Their Place: Paul and the Corinthian Discourse of Gender and Sanctuary Space. Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series 269. London: T & T Clark, 2004. Palmer, J. “Exodus and the Biblical Theology of the Tabernacle.” Pages 11–34 in Heaven on Earth: The Temple in Biblical Theology. Edited by D. Alexander and S. Gathercole. Waynesboro, GA: Paternoster, 2004. Qimron, E. “Celibacy in the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Two Kinds of Sectarians.” Pages 287–294 in The Madrid Qumran Congress: Proceedings of the International Congress on the Dead Sea Scrolls, Madrid 18–21 March 1991. Edited by J. Trebolle Barrera and L. Vegas Montaner. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 11. Leiden: Brill, 1992. Qimron, E. and J. H. Charlesworth. “Rule of the Community (1QS; cf. 4QS MSS A-J, 5Q11).” Pages 1–51 in Rule of the Community and Related Documents. Volume 1: The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations. Edited by J. H. Charlesworth. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994. Regev, E. “Abominated Temple and a Holy Community: The Formation of the Notions of Purity and Impurity in Qumran.” Dead Sea Discoveries 10 (2003): 243–278. Schiffman, L. “Community Without a Temple: The Qumran Community’s Withdrawal from the Jerusalem Temple.” Pages 267–284 in Gemeinde ohne Tempel: zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum. Edited by B. Ego. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 118. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999. –. The Eschatological Community of the Dead Sea Scrolls: A Study of the Rule of the Congregation. Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series 38. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989.

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–. “Purity and Perfection: Exclusion from the Council of the Community.” Pages 373–389 in Biblical Archaeology Today: Proceedings of the International Congress on Biblical Archaeology, Jerusalem 1984. Edited by J. Amitai. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, in cooperation with the American Schools of Oriental Research, 1985. Schüssler Fiorenza, E. In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins. New York: Crossroad, 1985. Stegemann, H. The Library of Qumran: On the Essenes, Qumran, John the Baptist, and Jesus. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998. Stordalen, T. Echoes of Eden: Genesis 2–3 and Symbolism of the Eden Garden in Biblical Hebrew Literature. Leuven: Peeters, 2000. Swarup, P. The Self-Understanding of the Dead Sea Scrolls Community: An Eternal Planting, A House of Holiness. New York: T & T Clark, 2006. Tiller, P. “The ‘Eternal Planting’ in the Dead Sea Scrolls.” Dead Sea Discoveries 4 (1997): 312–335. Wallace, H. “Eden, Garden of.” Pages 281–283 in vol. 2 of The Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by D. N. Freedman. 6 vols. New York: Doubleday, 1992. Wassen, C. “What Do Angels Have against the Blind and the Deaf? Rules of Exclusion in the Dead Sea Scrolls.” Pages 115–129 in Common Judaism: Explorations in Second-Temple Judaism. Edited by W. McCready and A. Reinhartz. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2008.

Is Nothing Sacred? Holiness in the Writings of Paul

Stephen Westerholm Much changed, yet much remained the same when Paul, the zealous Pharisee,1 became a follower and apostle of Jesus. An examination of Paul’s use of terminology related to holiness provides ample illustration both of the discontinuity  – in some areas, the radical discontinuity  – and, at the same time, of fundamental areas of continuity2 in Paul’s life and thinking before and after the time when (to use Paul’s words) “God … was pleased to reveal his Son to me.”3 Unless both aspects are kept in mind, the apostle will inevitably be misunderstood.

1. Holy Scripture Paul4 was never more traditional than when he referred to the Jewish scriptures as “holy” (Rom 1:2; cf. 2 Tim 3:15); and he acknowledged the same scriptures (“the law and the prophets” [Rom 3:21]) as sacred after he became a follower of Jesus Christ as before.5 They are holy because their words 1 At this point of the story the Acts of the Apostles refers to him as Saul (8:1; 9:1, etc.). As a result, the name Saul is sometimes used of his pre-Damascus days, Paul of his life thereafter. Given, however, that the two are merely alternative names, I use that by which he is more commonly known throughout this paper. 2  For a broader discussion (covering the entire New Testament), see Barton, “Dislocating.” 3 Gal 1:15–16. (Biblical quotations in this paper are taken from the New Revised Standard Version.) Speaking elsewhere of the same event, Paul claimed to be the “last” of many to whom the risen Jesus appeared (1 Cor 15:3–8; cf. 9:1). According to Acts, the encounter took place on the road to Damascus, a claim that finds somewhat ambiguous support in Gal 1:17. It will be convenient to allow “Damascus” to stand as an abbreviated designation for the event, and to speak of Paul’s “pre-” and “post-Damascus” days. 4 Since all the letters ascribed to Paul in the New Testament stand in some relation to the historical apostle, I cite, in what follows, even the disputed letters as additional support for points being made. But my argument is based on the undisputed epistles. 5 I am not assuming that Paul, at any point in his life, could have provided a precise list of which books were part of “Scripture.” My point is only that his views of the matter were not altered by “Damascus.”

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were spoken by God (cf. Rom 3:2; 9:25; 2 Cor 6:1–2, 16–18), and they remain a vehicle through which God speaks to his people (Rom 4:23–24; 15:4; 1 Cor 9:8–10; 10:11). Thus, already in the notion of Holy Scripture, it is implicit that God, who, as holy, is divinely “other” than all things created, nonetheless communicates with his human creatures, addressing them through his (holy) word(s). It follows that, for readers – like Paul – sensitive to the sacredness of Scripture, its word is authoritative, the last word in matters of dispute (e.g., Gal 3:6–13). Nor is the influence of the divine scriptures on Paul limited to those passages in his writings in which he cites or alludes to particular texts. Raised as he was to know and obey the scriptures, his vocabulary and entire thought-world have been decisively shaped by this training.6 Here, if anywhere, we may speak of an area of absolutely fundamental continuity. To be sure, not all Jews in Paul’s day read the same scriptures the same way. For many, the commandments of the Mosaic Torah represented the true center of Scripture, with the prophets and writings serving to confirm and illustrate their significance.7 This – to judge from his devotion to the law (Phil 3:5–6; cf. Gal 1:13–14) – was likely the case for Paul himself in his pre-Damascus days. The commands of Torah remained crucial for the sectarians at Qumran; but Scripture was also thought to contain mysterious references to their own day and to decisive events in the history of their own community.8 This approach to Scripture bears a closer resemblance to the way Paul read Scripture as a follower of Jesus Christ (see, e.g., Rom 15:3; Gal 3:16). Some scholars of Second Temple Judaism believe that there were Jews of the period for whom the centrality of divine revelation at Sinai was displaced by revelations purportedly given to Enoch.9 It follows that Paul did not become un-Jewish when, after Damascus, he read the same scriptures very differently than before. Nonetheless, the discontinuity must be acknowledged: Once God had “reveal[ed] his Son to [Paul],” it was inevitable that the apostle would see the death and resurrection of Jesus the Messiah as the climax of God’s dealings with Israel – and that he would find a different focus in the scriptures relating the history of those dealings. Thus, when Paul speaks of “the holy scriptures” in Rom 1:2, it is to invoke their testimony to “the gospel of God … concerning [God’s] Son,” a gospel which God “promised beforehand through the prophets in the holy scriptures” (Rom 1:2–3; cf. Gal 3:8). When, later in the same epistle, he refers to “the law and the prophets,” it is to note that they attest to “the righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ” (Rom 3:21–22). The Theology, 15–16, 170.  For this view in rabbinic literature, see Moore, Judaism, 1:239–40. 8 See Dimant, “Qumran,” 503–14. 9 See, e.g., Boccaccini, Middle, 79, 133; Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch, 50–56. 6 Dunn, 7

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observation that Paul’s reading of the Jewish scriptures is an area in which both continuity and discontinuity are evident is too obvious to require laboring, too important to pass over without mention. One further example must suffice. When Paul refers to Christ as “our paschal [or ‘Passover’] lamb” (1 Cor 5:7), we see both how decisive categories of his thought are drawn from the scriptures he learned from his childhood and how different is the perspective from which he now reads them.

2. The Holy Law If a superficial look would suggest that Scripture marked an unambiguous area of continuity between Paul’s pre‑ and post-Damascus days, a similarly superficial look might propose that the Mosaic law represented an area of radical discontinuity: Are there not – the point would be made – texts in which Paul flatly consigns the law’s validity to the past? Here too, however, the issue is not simple, nor the question of continuity or discontinuity straightforward. After all, no one for whom the Jewish scriptures were sacred and authoritative could dismiss the Mosaic law without further ado. Paul certainly does not. “The law,” Paul writes to the Romans, “is holy, and the commandment is holy and just and good” (Rom 7:12). Implicit in the mention of a holy law is the conviction that God, who, as holy, is divinely “other” than all things created, is nonetheless concerned that his people do what is right, good, and conducive to life; the giving of Torah’s “holy and just and good” commandments is the result, spelling out the path to life (10:5; cf. 7:10). In other passages, too, Paul stresses both the divine origin of Torah’s commands and their nature as inherently good. He writes to the Corinthians of the divine glory that accompanied the giving of the Sinaitic law and covenant (2 Cor 3:7–11). Believing that non-Jews as well as Jews are required by God to do what is “good,” Paul finds the content of the universally required good in the moral demands of Mosaic law: Jews, informed by these commandments, are in a position to instruct non-Jews of their mutual obligations (Rom 2:17–22). Though Paul (as we shall see) does not think believers in Christ are “under the law,” he still insists that the righteous behavior they are bound to exhibit is in no conflict with the demands of Moses (Gal 5:22–23), but in fact “fulfills” them (Rom 8:4; 13:8–10; Gal 5:14).10 At every point Paul proceeds on the understanding that the Mosaic law was divinely given and sacred. Yet, the place of the Mosaic law in the divine scheme of things required rethinking if Jesus was indeed God’s Messiah, and his death and resurrection 10 Cf.

Westerholm, Perspectives, 433–39.

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the focus of God’s redemptive activity. On the one hand, the Mosaic law and covenant prescribed obedience to its commands as Israel’s path to righteousness and the enjoyment of life in God’s favor (Paul cites Lev 18:5 to this effect [Rom 10:5; Gal 3:12], though many other texts would have served his purpose equally well); on the other hand, it seemed clear to Paul that, had righteousness and blessing actually been attainable under the Mosaic economy, there would have been no need for the Messiah to die (Gal 2:21; cf. 3:21). Predictably, Paul finds the resolution to this apparent dilemma by drawing on another theme in the Jewish scriptures: the universal sinfulness of humankind, reflected in Israel’s own history of unfaithfulness to God’s law. If humanity’s whole “mindset” is such that “it does not submit to God’s law – indeed it cannot, and those who are in the flesh cannot please God” (Rom 8:7–8), then the sacredness of the law is by no means impugned by the claim that, in practice, Torah does not provide the path to the life it promises. Quite simply, Torah’s terms have not been met.11 Such is Paul’s argument in Romans 7: While the demands of the law are holy, the practical effect of imposing them upon rebellious human beings has been to accent their rebelliousness and (so the argument of Galatians 3) subject them to the condemnation and curse pronounced by the law against transgressors.12 Hence in the same passage in which Paul speaks of the divine glory that accompanied the giving of the Mosaic covenant, he sums up its “ministry” as one of “condemnation” (i.e., of transgressors) and “death” (2 Cor 3:7–11). In Romans, Paul cites a chain of texts from the Jewish scriptures to demonstrate the universality of human sin and culpability before God (Rom 3:10–18). Then, at the conclusion of the very section in which he sums up the terms of life under the Mosaic law in the words “The doers of the law … will be justified” (2:13), Paul adds: “‘No human being will be 11 Paul’s radical assessment of universal human rebelliousness and sin is hardly a product of a purportedly pessimistic disposition or (pre-Damascus) environment; rather, it appears a natural conclusion to draw from the conviction that the Messiah’s death was required for humanity’s redemption. After speaking of Paul’s view of sin as “stern,” Marguerite Shuster adds: “The heart of Paul’s thought is Jesus Christ, become incarnate to deal with sin (Rom 8:3), crucified and risen for the salvation of humankind; and no conception of sin that does not require so radical a remedy can be sufficient” (Shuster, “Sin and the Fall,” 546). Cf. also Westerholm, “‘Pessimism’,” 71–98. 12  Gal 3:10 is sometimes read as though Paul thought a single transgression in an otherwise perfect life was sufficient to evoke Torah’s curse on transgressors; the question is then asked why Paul disregards Torah’s provisions for atonement. But Paul’s argument in Rom 1:18–3:20; 5:12–8:8 makes it clear that he believed all human beings (“in the flesh”) are incorrigible sinners; and no Jew of his day would have denied his claim that such people are condemned by the Mosaic covenant. In this regard, the radical change that takes place in Paul’s post-Damascus thinking pertains rather to his assessment of human sinfulness than to his understanding of the requirements of the Mosaic covenant. Cf. Winninge, Sinners, 264, 306–7; and, on Gal 3:10, Westerholm, Perspectives, 375 n. 66.

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justified in [God’s] sight’ by deeds prescribed by the law, for through the law comes the knowledge of sin” (3:20, paraphrasing Ps 143:2). Nothing now hinders the proclamation of the “gospel of God” (Rom 1:1) and of its path to righteousness “apart from law … through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe” (3:21–22). Paul is thus able to grant the sacredness of the Mosaic law at the same time as he limits its effect to highlighting human “imprisonment” under sin13 – a necessary prelude to the redemption offered in Christ – and the period of its validity to the era from Moses until Christ (Gal 3:17–25). Believers in Christ are now no longer “under” the law (Rom 6:14–15; 1 Cor 9:20; cf. Gal 3:23–25; 4:4–5; 5:18), and Paul must find other ways to articulate their moral obligations than by simply repeating commands from Torah, even where the overlap is most obvious (e.g., 1 Cor 6:12–20; 10:14–22). Given (as noted earlier) that Paul believes the “good” required of all human beings is spelled out in the moral demands of Torah, what this in effect means is that Paul expects the content of Torah’s “moral” demands14 to be evident in Christian behavior; but he tends to articulate that obligation in different terms and to arrive at it on different grounds. As for Torah’s “ritual” commands, they simply fall by the wayside.15 In Romans 14, Paul is prepared to 13 The view that the law was the means by which God administered the affairs of humanity “under sin” led Paul to make a statement that may well mark his most radical departure from pre-Damascus thinking: to the Galatians he writes that he had to “die” to the law if he was to “live” for God (2:19; cf. Rom 7:6, where the point is universalized). 14  Paul himself does not distinguish between Torah’s “moral” and “ritual” demands, nor use this vocabulary. It is thus easy to sympathize with Thomas Kazen’s desire to avoid imposing such terminology on the texts (Jesus, 207); unfortunately, workable alternatives are difficult to find (cf. Lockett, “Review”). Some convenient terminology is needed to distinguish between, on the one hand, the commandment to love one’s neighbor and the prohibitions of murder, adultery, stealing, and coveting – each of which Paul affirms (cf. Rom 13:8–10)  – and, on the other hand, dietary laws, purity regulations, and the like, which are treated very differently. For our limited purposes here, the traditional language of “moral” and “ritual” must serve. For further discussion of the issue and its relation to literal and metaphorical language of purity, see Haber “Purify,” 94–106. 15 Like other early Christians (e.g., Heb 10:1; cf. Haber “Purify,” 149), Paul presumably believed that ritual aspects of Torah served to foreshadow (and thus, in effect, to provide an interpretive framework for understanding) aspects of the redemption and new life made possible through Christ. This is clearly the case in particular instances (e.g., Rom 3:25; 1 Cor 5:7; Col 2:16–17), though Paul never addresses the issue in a general way. Since Albert Schweitzer (Mysticism, 192–96), it has sometimes been argued, on the basis of 1 Cor 7:17–20, that Paul believed that Jewish Christians should continue to observe the ritual demands of Torah: to alter their way of life (and thus the “status quo”) would attribute importance to what is really indifferent. But though the indifference of circumcision is indeed explicit in 1 Cor 7:19 (as in Gal 5:6; 6:15), nothing is said more broadly about observance of Jewish ritual law: That is not under discussion here. (See Horrell, “‘No Longer’,” 337–39.) And what Paul writes elsewhere would seem to rule out Schweitzer’s interpretation. Even in addressing churches that contained significant numbers of Jewish believers, Paul makes

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allow believers in Christ who still choose to observe them the freedom to do so; but he undermines any abiding rationale for doing so when he makes Sabbath observance and dietary laws purely a matter of personal conviction: “Some judge one day to be better than another, while others judge all days to be alike. Let all be fully convinced in their own minds. … I know and am persuaded in the Lord Jesus that nothing is unclean in itself; but it is unclean for anyone who thinks it unclean” (Rom 14:5, 14).16 For the majority of even Jewish believers in Christ, the future did not lie in Torah observance. So the radical discontinuity of the apostle Paul’s understanding of the Mosaic law must be allowed; but it must be qualified by an acknowledgement that, even as an apostle, Paul necessarily found a place in God’s plan for the sacred laws of Torah: in this (he would say, its proper) sense, he “uphold[s] the law” (Rom 3:31).

3. The Holy People of God It follows that for Paul the apostle, the community of the people of God is marked, not by its adherence to the regulations of Mosaic law but by faith in Jesus Christ; and, as Paul explicitly notes, the latter but not the former criterion means that terms of admission to the people of God are equally accessible to Jews and non-Jews alike (Rom 3:28–30). At times Paul designates general statements about freedom from the law that (i) do not allow a continuing obligation to its statutes (How can people continue to be obligated to a law from which they have been “discharged” [Rom 7:6], to which they have “died” [Rom 7:4, 6; cf. Gal 2:19], which they are no longer “under” [Rom 6:14–15; cf. Gal 5:18]?) and that (ii) never distinguish between the obligations of Jewish and Gentile believers. Paul himself (a Jewish believer in Christ!) writes in 1 Cor 9:20–21 that he lived “outside the law” when among Gentiles, though – for strategic, missionary purposes – he “became as a Jew” when among Jews. (Barrett, First, 211 observes that Paul could only “become as a Jew” if he had otherwise ceased to live as one.) That Paul expected Jewish Christians not to observe Jewish dietary laws at the common meals of Christians is noted by Sanders, Paul, 177–79 and Holmberg, “Jewish,” 397–425. And Romans 14 shows clearly that Paul thought it appropriate for believers with a “strong” conscience to treat all days the same and to eat any food they liked; whether or not they are Jews is not a factor in the discussion. The same is true of 1 Cor 10:23–11:1, where ethnicity plays no part in a discussion of what food believers may eat. At times Gal 5:3 has been cited as support for the claim that all who are circumcised (including Jewish believers) are bound to observe the laws of Torah (e.g., Tomson, Paul, 67–68). That Paul thinks circumcision marks entry into the obligations of the Sinaitic law and covenant is clear. But he is not speaking here of Jewish believers in Christ who, though once so obligated, have (to repeat!) “died” to the law, been “discharged” (or “set free” [Gal 5:1]) from the law, are no longer “under the law,” etc. His point is simply that Gentile believers wondering whether they should become circumcised must know what circumcision entails: They would be subjecting themselves to obligations from which believers in Christ have otherwise been set free (cf. 4:21–5:1). 16 See Barclay, “‘Do We’.”

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such people simply as “those who believe” (or “believers”)  – no further definition is required (1 Cor 1:21; Gal 3:22; 1 Thess 1:7; 2:10, etc.). Yet this area of radical discontinuity is somewhat concealed (or counterbalanced) by Paul’s adoption of a term from the Jewish scriptures as his most frequent designation of the (new) people of God: They are “the holy ones” (οἱ ἅγιοι; in English translations, usually “the saints”; so, e.g., Rom 8:27; 12:13; 16:2, 15; cf. Exod 19:6; Lev 19:2; Num 16:3; Deut 7:6; Dan 7:18, 21–22). Implicit in the notion of a holy people is the conviction that God, who, as holy, is divinely “other” than all that he has created, nonetheless acts to bring human beings into relationship with himself, imparting to them something of his holiness.17 In the assurance that those to whom he writes have been so touched by God (cf. 1 Thess 1:4–7; 2:13), Paul addresses the “saints” who find themselves in Rome, or Corinth, or Philippi (Rom 1:7; 1 Cor 1:2; 2 Cor 1:1; Phil 1:1). As “saints” (or “holy ones”), they have been “sanctified” (or “made holy”), a process that necessarily entails the removal of every defilement; so, Paul speaks of the initial “sanctification” of believers, made possible by the atoning self-sacrifice of Jesus Christ (cf. 1 Cor 1:2, 30; Eph 5:25–27), probably associated with Christian baptism,18 effected through the divine Spirit (Rom 15:16; 2 Thess 2:13). The “defilements” from which they were cleansed when “sanctified” were, for Paul, exclusively moral.19 Moreover, just as the “holy” people of God are summoned in the scriptures to live “holy” lives (e.g., Lev 11:44; 19:2), so growth in holiness is the will of God for, and the essential goal of, believers in Christ in the Pauline communities. But again, for Paul, such holiness is exclusively a moral, not a ritual, matter (Rom 6:1–23; 2 Cor 7:1; 1 Thess 4:3–8; 5:23); and it is enabled by the gift of the divine Spirit (cf. Rom 7:6; Gal 5:22–23; 1 Thess 4:7–8). Though in Paul’s normal usage “the saints” (or “holy ones”) are the same as “the believers,” three exceptions should be noted: i. In 1 Cor 7:14, Paul speaks specifically of the unbelieving spouse of a believer in Christ as “made holy” (or “sanctified”), and of their children as “holy.” In this context, Paul is addressing the question whether believers married to unbelievers should divorce their spouses. Paul’s counsel is that, as long as the unbelieving partner is willing to continue the relationship, the believer should take no action: “It is to peace that God has called you” (7:15). Since the usage of holiness terminology here departs so markedly 17 Webster, Holiness, 52 quotes America’s most famous theologian: “‘[I]t is fit’, says Jonathan Edwards, that ‘as there is an infinite fountain of holiness, moral excellence and beauty, so it should flow out in communicated holiness’.” 18 An allusion to baptism is frequently seen in the reference to “washing” in 1 Cor 6:11. 19  Note, e.g., 1 Cor 6:9–11, where the representative list of evils from which, “in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God,” believers have been “washed,” “sanctified,” and “justified” is exclusively moral. Cf. also Gal 5:19–21.

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from Paul’s norm, we may suppose that the formulation is ad hoc, perhaps in response to a query whether or not the believing partner and any children of the mixed relationship are “defiled” because the other partner lacks faith.20 Paul, in denying this possibility, claims that the influence goes in the other direction: Something of the believer’s holiness is imparted to the unbelieving spouse and children.21 Clearly in this text degrees of holiness are envisaged, since as long as the unbelieving spouse remains without faith, he or she – though in some sense “made holy” – is still only a potential candidate for salvation (so 7:16). Though not (yet?) “sanctified … in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God” (cf. 6:11), the partner of a believer (Paul implies) can hardly remain untouched by the proximity of the divine presence (see the discussion below of believers in Christ as God’s “temple”) and grace. ii. Though, in Paul’s normal usage, all believers in Christ – Jews and nonJews alike – are “the saints,” in a few Pauline texts the designation is applied in a more limited way to a specific community, that of Jewish believers in Jerusalem (Rom 15:25–26, 31; 1 Cor 16:1; 2 Cor 8:4; 9:1, 12). In each of these cases, Paul is discussing the funds collected from his (largely non-Jewish) churches for the benefit of the impoverished “saints” in Jerusalem. “That Paul can refer to the Jerusalem church so consistently simply as ‘the saints’ clearly implies that the Jerusalem church held a central place among all the churches, particularly in the continuity it provided between the ‘saints’ of Israel in the past and the ‘saints’ of the diaspora churches.”22 iii. That Paul adapts holiness terminology used in the Scripture of Israel and applies it to believers in Christ might suggest that he sees the latter community supplanting or superseding the former. In Romans 11, however, Paul emphatically repudiates the suggestion that God has “rejected his people” (i.e., Israel). The suggestion of rejection finds initial plausibility in the realization that the majority of Jews in Paul’s day have not believed in “the gospel of God” (cf. Rom 1:1). Paul’s own fervent desire and prayer for his compatriots is that they will nonetheless come to faith and “be saved” (10:1; cf. 9:1–5; 11:13–14). But he also sees a precedent in history for the present state of Israel: In the apostasy that marked the days of Elijah, God’s continuing commitment to his people was marked by the existence of a remnant who had not “bowed the knee to Baal” (11:2–4). Similarly, in his own day, Paul claims that Jews who believe in Christ represent the “remnant” whose very existence demonstrates God’s continued faithfulness to Israel (11:1–6). 20 2 Cor 6:14–7:1 might itself suggest this possibility, and might indeed seem to recommend the dissolution of mixed marriages. 21 Cf. Barrett, First, 164–65; Fee, First, 299–302; Thiselton, First, 528–30. 22 Dunn, Theology, 708.

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Ultimately, Paul believes that Israel as a whole will abandon its unbelief23 and be saved (11:26; cf. v. 23). He deems such an outcome inevitable, given Israel’s divine election: “for the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable” (11:29). Paul uses the language of holiness in 11:16 to make the crucial point: “If the part of the dough offered as first fruits is holy, then the whole batch is holy; and if the root is holy, then the branches also are holy.” That all Israel has a part in God’s redemptive history follows (Paul claims) from the beginnings God has made with the “first fruits” of the dough (the language is taken from LXX Num 15:18–21), or (to use another metaphor) with the “root” of the tree. Scholars debate whether the language of “first fruits” and “root” refers to the patriarchs of Israel (to whom God promised that their descendents would be his people [Gen 17:7]) or to the current “remnant” of Jewish believers in Christ (whose existence proves God’s continued dealings with his people).24 What is important for our purposes is not affected by this ambiguity – and marks yet another instance of continuity in the midst of discontinuity in Paul’s thinking: Through faith in Christ (herein lies the discontinuity), Paul believes that the people of Israel will one day experience the redemption promised in sacred Scripture.

4. The Holy Spirit Very frequently, Paul uses the adjective “holy” with the noun “spirit.” Since human beings themselves have a “spirit,” the addition of the adjective proves a convenient way to indicate that the divine Spirit, the “Holy Spirit,” is intended.25 The terminology has, of course, ample precedent in the Jewish scriptures (e.g., Isa 63:10; Ps 51:13 [ET 51:11]), as does the notion that, on the day God redeems his people, God’s Spirit will enable them to live as they ought (so Ezek 36:27; cf. Rom 7:6; 8:4; Gal 5:16–25, etc.). This is not the place for an extended study of Paul’s understanding of the Spirit;26 one significant feature, however, is worth noting. Like other early Christians, 23

 For this as an essential stage in the divine scheme as Paul envisages it, see Donaldson, “Jewish;” Longenecker, “Israel’s God;” Sanders, Paul, 171–79, 192–96. 24 See Barrett, Epistle, 200–1; Cranfield, Critical, 563–65; Fitzmyer, Romans, 613–14. 25  Note how “Spirit of God” and “Holy Spirit” are parallel in 1 Cor 12:3. “The Holy Spirit of God” in Eph 4: 30 takes no chances on ambiguity. Ambiguity remains, however, in 2 Cor 6:6, since here the “holy spirit” (so a literal rendering) may be that of the apostles (as in NRSV “holiness of spirit”). Similarly, Paul enjoins members of various Christian communities to greet each other with a “holy kiss” (Rom 16:16; 1 Cor 16:20; 2 Cor 13:12; 1 Thess 5:26): The adjective serves to distinguish the appropriate embrace from those which – as even an apostle is aware – cannot be so designated. 26 For a magisterial study of the subject, see Fee, God’s Empowering Presence.

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Paul believed that the day of God’s redemption had already been inaugurated by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, but that it would not be complete until Christ appeared again in glory (cf. Rom 5:8–11; 8:22–25; 13:11). Thus, though an outpouring of God’s Spirit upon his people was associated in Scripture with God’s redemption of his people (cf. also Joel 3:1–2 [ET 2:28–29]), for Paul the gift of the Spirit marks only the “first fruits” of believers’ redemption (Rom 8:23; cf. 2 Cor 1:22; Eph 1:13–14); i.e., it represents only a “first installment” of the promised blessings, though one that carries with it the assurance of gifts to come.

5. Metaphorical Usages Is nothing sacred for Paul? It appears not.27 The distinction (familiar from the Jewish scriptures; e.g., Lev 10:10; Ezek 22:26) between the holy and the profane (or “common”) does not appear in his writings; and given his setting-aside of the ritual aspects of Mosaic law, the omission cannot be dismissed as accidental. On the other hand, a number of significant passages in his writings show once again how his language and thinking continued to be shaped even by this aspect of the sacred text.28 The existence of a priesthood in Israel was, of course, closely tied to distinctions between sacred and profane: Priests were specially consecrated to serve in the sacred space of God’s sanctuary, to officiate in the offering of sacrifices, to eat designated portions of what was offered to God (cf. 1 Cor 9:13), and to offer instruction in the difference between sacred and profane, clean and unclean. Only metaphorical traces of this language appear in what Paul writes about the communities of believers in Christ; but they are not without interest. The Pauline communities had no designated priests; we find references instead to “bishops [or “overseers”] and deacons” (Phil 1:1; cf. Rom 16:1), or “those who labor among you, and have charge of you in the Lord and admonish you” (1 Thess 5:12; cf. Gal 6:6). But, Paul borrows language associated with priesthood when he speaks of “the grace given me by God to be a minister of Christ Jesus to the Gentiles in the priestly service of the gospel 27 As there is nothing inherently “unclean”; cf. Rom 14:14, 20; 1 Cor 10:25–26; 1 Tim 4:3–5. 28  Cf. Klawans, Impurity, 156: “Jesus prioritized the maintenance of moral purity over the maintenance of ritual purity. Paul would appear to have taken the next step: In addition to focusing on moral impurity, he does not articulate any interest in issues relating to ritual impurity. So with Paul we see a break with the past, in his rejection of the need to maintain ritual purity, but we still see some degree of continuity in his lasting interest in the notion of moral defilement …”

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of God, so that the offering of the Gentiles may be acceptable, sanctified by the Holy Spirit” (Rom 15:15–16). Here Paul’s proclamation of the gospel to non-Jews, as the means by which they become members of God’s (“holy”) people, is compared to the work of a priest in bringing a consecrated (and “acceptable”) “offering” to God. The metaphor is pushed a step further in Phil 2:17, where the faith of the Philippian believers in Christ is referred to as a “sacrifice” and “offering” to God, but where Paul – aware that his service of the gospel may soon lead to his execution (cf. Phil 1:19–24) – speaks of the possibility that he himself will be “poured out as a libation over” such a sacrifice. In Rom 12:1, Paul calls on the believers in Christ who live in Rome to “present [their] bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God,” and, in so doing, to carry out their “spiritual worship.” Here the language of sacrifice is used metaphorically for the devotion of believers’ lives and efforts to God’s service. In referring to such a “sacrifice” as “spiritual worship,” Paul may well be suggesting that it represents a “spiritualized” form of the more literal kinds of sacrifice known from Scripture and the Temple cult.29 Most famously, Paul speaks of believers as themselves the “temple,” or dwelling-place, of God. When he uses this language in 1 Cor 3:16–17 (cf. v. 9; also Eph 2:19–22), he is thinking of the community of believers: Those who undermine the unity of the church need to know that they are attacking the very dwelling-place of God, a wrong that God will not leave unpunished. In 1 Cor 6:19, the body of the individual believer is identified as “a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, which you have from God.” Again, the terminology is introduced as the basis for Pauline exhortation: A body that is the temple of God must not be defiled by sexual immorality. Comparisons are commonly drawn between these latter passages and texts from the Dead Sea Scrolls in which the sectarian community is spoken of as God’s temple.30 Certainly, there is enough similarity to remind ourselves that Paul is not un-Jewish when he gives language rooted in the Temple cult a radically different application. Here, as throughout this paper, we see that Paul, the apostle of Jesus Christ, retains a fundamental conviction that he held already as a zealous Pharisee: The holy God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob is committed to creating a people to share in his holiness and, thereby, a people in whose midst he may live. Paul’s understanding of the way in which God achieves this purpose underwent a radical transformation, and the sacred scriptures themselves were subjected to a radical  Cf. Sanday and Headlam, Critical, 353. Note also Phil 4:18. these passages are to be understood metaphorically, not as indicating a literal replacement of the Jerusalem Temple, is argued by Haber, “Purify,” 106–24. 29

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reinterpretation, once Paul was convinced that Jesus was indeed God’s Messiah, and that his death and resurrection were the means by which God would redeem his people and, ultimately, all creation. But the basic hope remained the same; and even the language and concepts employed in Paul’s reconstruction of the divine agenda were shaped by the sacred scriptures he learned from his youth.31

Bibliography Barclay, J. M. G. “‘Do We Undermine the Law?’ A Study of Romans 14.1–15.6.” Pages 287–308 in Paul and the Mosaic Law. Edited by J. D. G. Dunn. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996. Barrett, C. K. The First Epistle to the Corinthians. 2d ed. London: Adam & Charles Black, 1971. –. The Epistle to the Romans. 2d ed. London: A & C Black, 1991. Barton, S. C. “Dislocating and Relocating Holiness: A New Testament Study.” Pages 193–213 in Holiness Past and Present. Edited by S. C. Barton. London: T & T Clark, 2003. Boccaccini, G. Middle Judaism: Jewish Thought, 300 BCE to 200 CE. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991. –. Roots of Rabbinic Judaism: An Intellectual History, from Ezekiel to Daniel. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002. Cranfield, C. E. B. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans. 2 vols. Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1979. Dimant, D. “Qumran Sectarian Literature.” Pages 483–550 in Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period. Edited by M. E. Stone. Compendia Rerum Iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum. Section Two. Assen: Van Gorcum, 1984. Donaldson, T. L. “Jewish Christianity, Israel’s Stumbling and the Sonderweg Reading of Paul.” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 29 (2006): 27–54. Dunn, J. D. G. The Theology of Paul the Apostle. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998. Fee, G. D. The First Epistle to the Corinthians. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987. –. God’s Empowering Presence: The Holy Spirit in the Letters of Paul. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1994. Fitzmyer, J. A. Romans. The Anchor Bible 33. New York: Doubleday, 1993. Haber, S. “They Shall Purify Themselves”: Essays on Purity in Early Judaism. Edited by A. Reinhartz. Early Judaism and Its Literature 24. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008.

31 Whether or not we can say that Paul, as an apostle, remained within “Judaism” is, to my mind, largely a matter of definition. If the term “Judaism” is defined as embracing any community that sees itself as faithful to the scriptures of Israel, and as heirs to promises contained in those scriptures, then the term certainly applies to Paul and the communities he founded. (Cf. Boccaccini, Roots, 35.) Paul himself, however, appears to restrict the term “Judaism” to life under the Sinaitic law and covenant and to see his own life “in Judaism” as belonging to the past (Gal 1:13).

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Holmberg, B. “Jewish Versus Christian Identity in the Early Church?” Revue biblique 105 (1993): 397–425. Horrell, D. G. “‘No Longer Jew or Greek’: Paul’s Corporate Christology and the Construction of Christian Community.” Pages 321–344 in Christology, Controversy and Community: New Testament Essays in Honour of David R. Catchpole. Edited by D. G. Horrell and C. M. Tuckett. Leiden: Brill, 2000. Kazen, T. Jesus and Purity Halakhah: Was Jesus Indifferent to Impurity? Coniectanea Biblica: New Testament Series 38. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2002. Klawans, J. Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Lockett, D. R. Review of Thomas Kazen’s Jesus and Purity Halakhah: Was Jesus Indifferent to Impurity? Review of Biblical Literature 9 (2004) [http://www. bookreviews.org/pdf/4050_3914.pdf]. Longenecker, B. “On Israel’s God and God’s Israel: Assessing Supersessionism in Paul.” Journal of Theological Studies 58 (2007): 26–44. Moore, G. F. Judaism in the First Centuries of the Christian Era: The Age of the Tannaim. 2 vols. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1927. Nickelsburg, G. W. E. 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 1–36; 81–108. Hermeneia. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001. Sanday, W. and A. C. Headlam. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans. 5th ed. Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1902. Sanders, E. P. Paul, the Law, and the Jewish People. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983. Schweitzer, A. The Mysticism of Paul the Apostle. London: A & C Black, 1931. Shuster, M. “Christian Theology: Sin and the Fall.” Pages 546–560 in The Blackwell Companion to Paul. Edited by S. Westerholm. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011. Thiselton, A. C. The First Epistle to the Corinthians: A Commentary on the Greek Text. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000. Tomson, P. J. Paul and the Jewish Law: Halakha in the Letters of the Apostle to the Gentiles. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990. Webster, J. Holiness. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003. Westerholm, S. Perspectives Old and New on Paul: The “Lutheran” Paul and His Critics. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004. –. “Paul’s Anthropological ‘Pessimism’ in its Jewish Context.” Pages 71–98 in Divine and Human Agency in Paul and His Cultural Environment. Edited by J. M. G. Barclay and S. J. Gathercole. London: T & T Clark, 2006. Winninge, M. Sinners and the Righteous: A Comparative Study of the Psalms of Solomon and Paul’s Letters. Coniectanea Biblica: New Testament Series 26. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 1995.

The Temple Cleansing and the Death of Jesus* Adele Reinhartz The Gospel accounts of Jesus’ Passion unanimously present Caiaphas the high priest as a major, perhaps even the major, force behind the plot that resulted in Jesus’ condemnation and crucifixion. In Matthew, “the chief priests and the elders of the people gathered in the palace of the high priest, who was called Caiaphas, and they conspired to arrest Jesus by stealth and kill him” (Matt 26:3–6). Mark and Luke likewise describe a plot by the chief priests and scribes, and, later, portray the high priest as presiding over a meeting of the council at which Jesus is pronounced guilty of blasphemy and handed over to the Roman authorities for trial and sentencing.1 In John, Caiaphas upbraids the council for their failure to understand “that it is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed” (John 11:50). Most investigations into the historical circumstances of Jesus’ death link the high priest’s plot against Jesus to a concern for the Temple, the temple cult, and his own role in Judean religion and society. John Meier argues that Jesus was “a charismatic wonderworker in conflict with priests very much concerned about preserving the central institutions of their religion and their smooth operation.”2 More specifically, the general consensus is that it was Jesus’ dramatic “cleansing” of the Temple that led the high priest and the other Jewish leaders to act against Jesus. As E. P. Sanders notes, the high priest perceived Jesus as dangerous because his behavior in the Temple as well as many of his pronouncements had the potential to spark discontent and rioting against Rome.3 Michael Grant declares that “the manner of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, and above all his Cleansing of the Temple, had imperatively invited Jewish retaliation.”4 * An earlier version of this essay was previously published in Adele Reinhartz, Caiaphas the High Priest (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2011) 24–51. It is published here with permission of University of South Carolina Press. 1 Mark 14:63; Luke 22:71; cf. Matt 26:65. John describes an interrogation before Caiaphas’ father-in-law Annas, a former high priest, after which Jesus is brought to Caiaphas and from there to Pilate (John 18:13, 24, 28). 2 Meier, Marginal, 347; Fredriksen, Jesus, 207–14. 3 Sanders, Historical, 272–73. 4  Grant, Jesus, 153.

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This reconstruction of events is certainly plausible and can be supported on both literary and historical grounds. All four Gospels describe the anger of the chief priests and other authorities in the aftermath of Jesus’ Temple act; in the Synoptics, the Temple scene is the last major act of Jesus’ mission preceding Jesus’ final meal and the events of the Passion. On a historical level, external sources, from the Hebrew Bible through Josephus, document the close connection between the Jerusalem Temple and the high priest. While the role of the high priest changed over time, it retained its focus on the Temple and its sacrifices. The high priest oversaw the functioning of the sacrificial cult, particularly at the time of the three pilgrimage festivals of Tabernacles, Passover and Weeks, and he had the privilege and responsibility of being the sole individual to enter the inner sanctum, the Holy of Holies, which he did once a year on the Day of Atonement.5 For this reason it is certainly possible that a disruption of the normal practices at the time of the festivals would have been taken seriously by the high priest, and, perhaps, it would even have been seen as a threat to his authority. The only problem with positing the Temple cleansing as the impetus for the high priest’s Passion plot is that the Gospel writers themselves do not make this connection. The Gospels do know of the role of the high priest and the other priests vis-à-vis the Temple; furthermore, it could be argued that any criticism of activities taking place in the Temple or its vicinity is implicitly a criticism of the high priest, who presumably would have been responsible for allowing such activities to take place. Nevertheless, it is noteworthy that at no point do the Gospel writers explicitly connect the dots between Jesus, the Temple, the high priest, and the Passion, despite the fact that throughout the Passion narrative the Gospels are hardly reticent about laying moral responsibility for Jesus’ death upon the chief priests and other members of the Jewish leadership (Mark 15:11; Matt 27:20; Luke 23:13; John 19:15). In what follows, I will survey the evidence, and then consider its implications for our understanding of the events leading up to the Passion.

1. The Primary Sources Josephus establishes that Joseph ben Caiaphas, the son-in-law of Annas, was high priest from the time of Gratus (18 C. E.; cf. Ant. 18.35) through the entire period of Pilate’s tenure, which began in 26 C. E., up until the arrival of Vitellius, who replaced Pontius Pilate as the Roman governor of Judea (36 5 For an excellent study of the high priesthood in the second temple period, see VanderKam, Joshua.

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C. E.; cf. Ant. 18.95).6 Regrettably, he does not describe Caiaphas’ activities during this lengthy period, and aside from the controversial Testimonium Flavianum, whose authenticity is highly contested, Josephus does not refer to Jesus at all, let alone describe the events leading to his death.7 6 See VanderKam, Joshua, 423, for a discussion of the date of Caiaphas’ removal from office. For detailed discussing of Caiaphas, see Reinhartz, Caiaphas. 7 Josephus describes two episodes in considerable detail. The first was Pilate’s introduction into Jerusalem of busts of the emperor on military standards (Ant. 18: 55–62; cf. J. W. 169–74), an act which was met by a show of passive resistance so massive that Pilate backed down in astonishment: “Now Pilate, the procurator of Judea, when he brought his army from Caesarea and removed it to winter quarters in Jerusalem, took a bold step in subversion of the Jewish practices, by introducing into the city the busts of the emperor that were attached to the military standards, for our law forbids the making of images … Pilate was the first to bring the images into Jerusalem and set them up, doing it without the knowledge of the people, for he entered at night. But when the people discovered it, they went in a throng to Caesarea and for many days entreated him to take away the images. He refused to yield, since to do so would be an outrage to the emperor; however, since they did not cease entreating him, on the sixth day he secretly armed and placed his troops in position, while he himself came to the speaker’s stand … surrounded them with his soldiers and threatened to punish them at one with death if they did not put an end to their tumult and return to their own places. But they, casting themselves prostrate and baring their throats, declared that they had gladly welcomed death rather than make bold to transgress the wise provisions of the laws. Pilate, astonished at the strength of their devotion to the laws, straightway removed the images from Jerusalem and brought them back to Caesarea.” (Quotations from Josephus’s writings are taken from Josephus, The Loeb Classical Library, ed. H. St J. Thackeray (London, New York: Heinemann, Putnam, 1926). The second was Pilate’s use of treasury funds to finance the construction of an aqueduct; many Jews died in the resulting tumult (J. W. 2:175–77): “On a later occasion he provoked a fresh uproar by expending upon the construction of an aqueduct the sacred treasure known as Corbonas … Indignant at this proceeding, the populace formed a ring round the tribunal of Pilate, then on a visit to Jerusalem, and besieged him with angry clamor. He, foreseeing the tumult, had interspersed among the crowd a troop of his soldiers, armed but disguised in civilian dress, with orders not to use their swords, but to beat any rioters with cudgels. He now from his tribunal gave the agreed signal. Large numbers of the Jews perished, some from the blows which they received, others trodden to death by their companions in the ensuing flight. Cowed by the fate of the victims, the multitude was reduced to silence.” The omission of any reference to the high priest is curious, given that these events certainly took place during Caiaphas’ tenure as high priest, and pertain directly to the Temple. Another potentially pertinent passage is the so-called Testimonium Flavianum, in Ant. 18.63: “About this time there lived Jesus, a wise man, if indeed one ought to call him a man. For he was one who wrought surprising feats and was a teacher of such people as accept the truth gladly. He won over many Jews and many of the Greeks. He was the Messiah. When Pilate, upon hearing him accused by men of the highest standing amongst us, had condemned him to be crucified, those who had in the first place come to love him did not give up their affection for him. On the third day he appeared to them restored to life, for the prophets of God had prophesied these and countless other marvelous things about him. And the tribe of the Christians, so called after him, has still to this day not disappeared.”

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1.1. Caiaphas in the New Testament In the New Testament, Caiaphas is mentioned by name a total of 9 times (Matt 26:3, 57; Luke 3:2; John 11:49; 18:13, 14, 24, 28; Acts 4:6). The high priest’s name is conspicuously absent from Mark; Luke is similarly silent as to the name of the one who presides over the council that condemns Jesus, though Caiaphas is mentioned in Luke 3:2, in the context of a passage that serves to situate the activity of John the Baptist in a chronological context: In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.

Caiaphas does, however, figure explicitly in the Gospels of Matthew and John. In Matt 26:3–4, “the chief priests and the elders of the people gathered in the palace of the high priest, who was called Caiaphas, and they conspired to arrest Jesus by stealth and kill him.” After his arrest, Jesus is brought to the house of the high priest Caiaphas, where the scribes and elders had gathered. Caiaphas presides over a meeting that hears the testimony of false witnesses and that climaxes with Jesus’ self-declaration: “From now on you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power and coming on the clouds of heaven” (Matt 26:64). Hearing these words, “the high priest tore his clothes and said, ‘He has blasphemed! Why do we still need witnesses? You have now heard his blasphemy. What is your verdict?’ They answered, ‘He deserves death’” (Matt 26:65–66). In John, Jesus is interrogated not by Caiaphas but by his father-in-law Annas (John 18:1–9).8 Afterwards, “Annas sent him bound to Caiaphas the high priest” (18:24) and, in the morning, Jesus is brought to Pilate’s headquarters. Although it does not ascribe to Caiaphas a major role in Jesus’ interrogation, the Fourth Gospel does provide the most explicit rationale for Caiaphas’ plot against Jesus. In the aftermath of Lazarus’ miraculous revivification, the chief priests and Pharisees fear Jesus’ rapidly-growing popularity. “If we let him go on like this,” they worry, “everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come and destroy both our holy place and our nation” (11:48). But one of them, Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, said to them, “You know nothing at all! You do not understand that it is better for you to have one man die The authenticity of this passage, however, has long been disputed. See Fredriksen, Jesus, 249; Bond, Caiaphas, 60–62; Mason, Josephus, 225–36. 8  One of the puzzling features of the Johannine account of the Passion is the prominence of Annas and his designation as “High Priest” alongside Caiaphas. For brief discussion of this issue, see Brown, Gospel, 2:820–21.

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for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed.” He did not say this on his own, but being high priest that year he prophesied that Jesus was about to die for the nation, and not for the nation only, but to gather into one the dispersed children of God. So from that day on they planned to put him to death. (John 11:49–53)

The accounts of both Matthew and John contain references to the Temple. Neither, however, describes the high priest as having a particularly strong concern for the Temple or his own Temple-related authority. In Matthew, Caiaphas presides over the Council that hears the false testimony that Jesus said, “I am able to destroy the Temple of God and to build it in three days” (Matt 26:61). This testimony conveys the notion that Jesus is a threat to the Temple and, therefore, may imply that he is also a threat to the high priest’s authority. In response, the high priest stands up, and demands an answer from Jesus: “Have you no answer? What is it that they testify against you?” (26:62). But when the high priest puts Jesus under oath, the issue is not Jesus’ putative threat to the Temple but his self-identification as the Messiah, the Son of God. It is Jesus’ response to this question, not his response – or lack thereof – to the Temple accusation – that causes Caiaphas to rend his clothes and ask the Council to give its verdict. A similar shift in focus away from the Temple occurs in the Fourth Gospel. Unlike Matthew, John does not explicitly depict Caiaphas as the one who presides over the Council; he is merely described as “one of them” (John 11:49). But his authority is clear. Interesting here are the subtle differences in the nature and purview of Jesus’ perceived threat as the discussion proceeds. In John 11:47–48, the chief priests and the Pharisees are concerned about Jesus’ signs, especially his resurrection of Lazarus. If Jesus goes unchecked, they fear, “everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come and destroy both our holy place and our nation” (11:48). Caiaphas’ response, however, omits all reference to the holy place – the Temple.9 Rather, he expresses concern for the nation as a whole: “You do not understand that it is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed” (11:50). The narrator’s explanation initially repeats Caiaphas’ reported speech, which he describes as prophecy: “He did not say this on his own, but being high priest that year he prophesied that Jesus was about to die for the nation” (John 11:51). The narrator, however, also adds a new element: “and not for the nation only, but to gather into one the dispersed children of God” (11:52). If the holy place was included in the concerns of some Council members, it is ignored both by the narrator and by the high priest himself. The same tendency to overlook Caiaphas’ connection to the Temple is apparent in Acts. According to Acts 4:1–15, Peter and John were arrested by the priests, the captain of the Temple, and the Sadducees, after healing a 9 Brown,

Gospel, 1:439.

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man from illness in the name of the resurrected Jesus. The next day, Annas, Caiaphas, and others of the high-priestly family interrogated the prisoners, but when they “saw the man who had been cured standing beside them, they had nothing to say in opposition. So they ordered them to leave the council while they discussed the matter with one another” (Acts 4:14–15). Here too, however, the high priest is not specifically concerned about the Temple and the sacrificial activities that take place therein.

1.2. The High Priest in the Gospels and Acts Neither does a strong concern for the Temple arise in the passages that refer to the high priest without mentioning him by name. Some of these references occur in the Marcan and Lukan parallels to Matthew’s trial scene; they do not add any information whatsoever with regard to Caiaphas and the Temple.10 One passage that does connect the Temple and the high priest is Acts 5:16–6:1, in which the high priest – presumably Caiaphas though this is not certain – and others arrested the apostles who were curing the sick and those tormented by evil spirits, and put them in public prison. Mysteriously, these prisoners were later released in the night by an angel of the Lord (5:19). The discovery of their escape from prison caused great consternation among the captain of the Temple and the chief priests (5:24) that only increased when they learned that the men whom they had imprisoned were at this very moment in the Temple and teaching the people (5:25). Here too, however, the high priest’s concern has little to do with the Temple as such. Rather, it is focused on the apostles’ teaching activity. According to Acts 5:27–28, “The high priest questioned them, saying, ‘We gave you strict orders not to teach in this name, yet here you have filled Jerusalem with your teaching and you are determined to bring this man’s blood on us.’” The Pharisee Gamaliel intervened on the apostles’ behalf, and the story concludes in triumph: “And every day in the Temple and at home they did not cease to teach and proclaim Jesus as the Messiah” (5:42). According to Acts 6:7–7:2, Stephen faced a similar interrogation at the hands of the high priest. Here it is the “synagogue of the Freedmen” that seeks false witnesses, who oblige them by testifying: “This man never stops saying things against this holy place and the law; for we have heard him say that this Jesus of Nazareth will destroy this place and will change the customs that Moses handed on to us” (6:13–14). Again, however, the high priest does not react specifically to the accusations against the Temple but rather 10  Mark 14:43–15:1 and Luke 22:66–71. Helen Bond suggests that Mark knows that Caiaphas was high priest but chooses to refer to him only by his title in an attempt to broaden Jewish responsibility for Jesus’ death. Bond, Caiaphas, 103–8.

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asks in a general way: “Are these things so?” (7:1). Later on in Acts (9:1–2), Paul asks the high priest to write letters to the synagogues in Damascus authorizing Paul to arrest any men or women who belong to the Way and bring them to Jerusalem. This request implies that the high priest was regularly involved in disciplinary actions against Jesus’ followers, though it is likely that Caiaphas was not the high priest in question. This point is borne out by Josephus’s account of the high priest Ananus’s killing of James, the brother of Jesus (AJ 20.199–203).

1.3. The Temple in the Gospels and Acts The Temple is mentioned eighty-six times in the Gospels and Acts. In addition to describing the setting of many of Jesus’ activities, these passages establish a very strong association between Jesus and the Temple. In Matt 4:5 (//Luke 4:9), the devil tests Jesus by taking him to the holy city and placing him on the pinnacle of the Temple. Jesus performs many of his miraculous healings in the Temple area (e.g., Matt 21:14, John 5:14) and spends considerable time walking in the Temple area (e.g. Mark 11:27) and teaching there (Mark 12:35; John 7:14; 10:23). According to the Gospels, Jesus both had a special interest in the Temple and asserted some degree of spiritual authority over it. In Mark 13:1 (//Matt 24:1), Jesus’ disciples point the buildings out to him and exclaim: “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” The tearing of the Temple curtain at the moment of his death implies the same (cf. Mark 15:37–38). Yet, there is nothing in the Gospel narratives to suggest that Jesus’ sense of authority with regard to the Temple was a primary cause of the high priest’s animosity towards him. Jesus himself points out during his arrest: “Have you come out with swords and clubs to arrest me as though I were a bandit? Day after day I sat in the Temple teaching, and you did not arrest me” (Matt 26:55; Mark 14:49; Luke 22:53; cf. John 18:20).

1.4. The “Cleansing” of the Temple The lack of emphasis in the Gospels and Acts on the relationship between the high priest and the Temple is in itself not significant for determining the role of Jesus’ Temple cleansing in the process that led to his death. The question is whether the passages that describe the Temple cleansing share or diverge from this pattern. The cleansing scene appears in each of the Gospels; all four versions have the same general narrative structure: Jesus enters the Temple, drives out the merchants, and quotes a verse from Scripture. To discern whether or how this event precipitated the Passion plot, however, it is necessary to look closely at each account, with particular focus on the response of the Jews or the Jewish authorities to the episode.

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In the Synoptic Gospels, the cleansing scene takes place in the period immediately preceding the Passover. While it is not the last act that Jesus does before his final dinner, it is by far the most dramatic. Mark’s version of the story is as follows: Then they came to Jerusalem. And he entered the Temple and began to drive out those who were selling and those who were buying in the Temple, and he overturned the tables of the money changers and the seats of those who sold doves; and he would not allow anyone to carry anything through the Temple. He was teaching and saying, “Is it not written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations’ [Isa 56:7]? But you have made it ‘a den of robbers’ [Jer 7:11].” And when the chief priests and the scribes heard it, they kept looking for a way to kill him; for they were afraid of him, because the whole crowd was spellbound by his teaching. (Mark 11:15–18)

Implicit in Jesus’ actions here is his right to enter the Temple and render judgment on the types of activities that are permitted there. He is not protesting the authority of the priests, the preparations for the feast or even the sacrificial cult as such, but rather the presence of money changers and merchants, and the activity of carrying in the Temple area. His quotations from scripture seem to protest the presence of commerce in the Temple area, but also suggest that the central activity in the Temple is prayer.11 Most important, for our purposes, is the comment that the chief priests and scribes sought to kill him when they heard “it.” It is not clear here whether the “it” refers to the action in the Temple, his teachings, or both. The second part of verse 18, however, suggests that the Jewish authorities’ plan was not based on a threat to the Temple but was due to their fear of Jesus on account of the spell that his teaching cast on the crowd.12 Luke’s version is similar to Mark’s: Then he entered the Temple and began to drive out those who were selling things there; and he said, “It is written, ‘My house shall be a house of prayer’; but you have made it a den of robbers.” Every day he was teaching in the Temple. The chief priests, the scribes, and the leaders of the people kept looking for a way to kill him; but they did not find anything they could do, for all the people were spellbound by what they heard. (Luke 19:45–48)

The difference between Luke’s and Mark’s versions is small but important. Whereas Mark portrays the prophetic quotations as the content of Jesus’ teaching, Luke stresses that Jesus’ teaching was a regular occurrence in the Temple. His version therefore provides a more explicit rationale for the leaders’ desire to kill Jesus; in contrast to Mark, who attributes the leaders’ 11 The Gospels and Acts refer frequently to the Temple, and the activities that they depict going on there, by people other than Jesus, are not sacrifices but praying (Luke 2:37; 18:10), fasting (Luke 2:37), and teaching (Luke 2:46). 12 Chilton speculates that it may have been Caiaphas who was behind the installation of the vendors in the Temple. Chilton, “Caiaphas.”

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anger to the spell cast over the crowd, Luke sees the crowd’s fascination as a deterrent to the leaders’ ability to act on their wishes to kill Jesus. In neither case, however, is this desire to kill Jesus traced back to the cleansing of the Temple as such. Matthew’s version, too, is similar to that of Mark; his additional details, however, imply a different rationale for the Jewish leaders’ response: Then Jesus entered the Temple and drove out all who were selling and buying in the Temple, and he overturned the tables of the money changers and the seats of those who sold doves. He said to them, “It is written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer’; but you are making it a den of robbers.” The blind and the lame came to him in the Temple, and he cured them. But when the chief priests and the scribes saw the amazing things that he did, and heard the children crying out in the Temple, “Hosanna to the Son of David,” they became angry and said to him, “Do you hear what these are saying?” Jesus said to them, “Yes; have you never read, ‘Out of the mouths of infants and nursing babies you have prepared praise for yourself’? [Psalm 8:2]” (Matt 21:12–16)

The act of Temple cleansing and its scriptural prooftext are followed here by Jesus’ healing of the blind and lame in the Temple area. This detail, however, suggests a broad antecedent for the authorities’ response. The “amazing things” that Jesus did include not only the Temple cleansing and the teaching but also, and more immediately, the healing of the blind and lame as well as the triumphant outcry of the children. For this reason, the authorities’ anger seems not to be aimed specifically at the cleansing but at this entire series of events. By the end of the passage, however, the focus is specifically on the children’s outcry. This is the subject of the Jewish authorities’ outraged question to Jesus, and of the scriptural quotation with which he responds. By the conclusion of the passage, all focus is on the children’s acclamation; Jesus’ Temple act has receded in importance. John’s account appears early in Jesus’ mission, not at the end, and while it corresponds to the same general outline noted earlier, it differs from the Synoptic account in many of its details: The Passover of the Jews was near, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. In the Temple he found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and the money changers seated at their tables. Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the Temple, both the sheep and the cattle. He also poured out the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. He told those who were selling the doves, “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!” His disciples remembered that it was written, “Zeal for your house will consume me [Ps 69:9; cf. Zech 14:21; Mal 3:1].” The Jews then said to him, “What sign can you show us for doing this?” Jesus answered them, “Destroy this Temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” The Jews then said, “This Temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?” But he was speaking of the temple of his body. After he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed the scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken. (John 2:13–22)

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The Johannine version of this event is much more detailed than its Synoptic parallels, in that it describes precisely what Jesus did in chasing out the undesirable elements from the Temple area. These details have the effect of drawing the reader’s attention to the act itself. In John, Jesus’ words are not a quotation from Scripture but his own outcry. Like the verses quoted in the Synoptics, Jesus’ outcry provides the reason for his act and labels commercial activity as inappropriate to the Temple area. Even more, however, it states unequivocally Jesus’ authoritative and exclusive claim to the Temple area. It is his father’s house, and therefore, in some sense, his own as well. The passage then describes the responses of two sets of witnesses. The first are the disciples, who recall a scriptural verse that perfectly sums up Jesus’ behavior as one of zeal for his father’s house. The second are “the Jews,” possibly the authorities, but they are not described more specifically in terms of their roles or functions. The narrator does not note any intention on their part to arrest or kill Jesus, though their question is somewhat confrontational: “What sign can you show us for doing this?” Here finally there seems to be some direct engagement with the act of cleansing as such. Jesus’ response, however, shifts the topic from his own actions to the fate of the Temple as such. “Destroy this Temple and in three days I will raise it up.” Whereas we might see his behavior as a portent of the Temple’s future destruction, his bold words dare his interlocutors to destroy the Temple and predict that he, not they, will see to its rebuilding, and in a miraculously short period of time at that. The Jews’ response leaves the notion of destruction behind, expressing incredulity at Jesus’ prediction: “Will you raise it up in three days?” Here the narrator comes to our rescue, explaining that the real topic under discussion is not the Temple of Jerusalem but the temple of Jesus’ body, a point that the disciples would understand only in aftermath of Jesus’ resurrection. Although the cleansing scene takes place at the outset of Jesus’ ministry according to John’s Gospel, its conclusion foreshadows the Passion narrative and its exultant resolution. Even so, the Temple cleansing is not positioned as the impetus for the Passion story; indeed, neither the high priest nor any high priestly authorities are singled out as being present at the scene or among those who interrogated Jesus afterwards. Rather, for John, it is Jesus’ resurrection of the dead and specifically of the rotting Lazarus of Bethany that prompts the Council to meet and Caiaphas to declare that “it is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed” (John 11:50). On the basis of this survey of passages about Caiaphas, the high priest, and the Temple, as well as the four accounts of the Temple cleansing scenes, it is clear that the Gospels do not either implicitly or explicitly present the cleansing scene as the provocation for the plot that ends in Jesus’ death. As

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portrayed in the Gospels, the high priest Caiaphas and other authorities among the Jews are indeed disturbed by Jesus, but their anger and distrust do not stem from any threat to their authority. Rather, they are focused on his popularity with the crowds, and the principal behaviors which led to that popularity: teaching and healing.

2. Implications for Historical Jesus Research The fact that none of the Gospels link Jesus’ cleansing of the Temple directly with the priestly plot against his life may lead us to conclude that those historical Jesus scholars who see the Temple act as the catalyst for the Passion are simply wrong. This conclusion would be warranted, however, only on the assumption that the Gospel writers, like historians of our own day, attempted to present both a plausible and factual account of the events of Jesus’ life and death. While one may view at least some aspects of the Gospel narratives as plausible and historical, few historians would claim that they are plausible and historical in every respect. Indeed, most attempts to reconstruct the life of the historical Jesus make a point of describing the challenges of using the Gospels as historical sources. The present analysis suggests that the Gospels must indeed be used with caution, not only because they may reflect differing traditions, a process of oral transmission, and specific theological and rhetorical purposes, but because they seem uninterested, uninformed, or both, on the precise question under consideration, namely, the event which sparked the process by which Jesus meet his death. The Gospels all know three things. They know that Jesus engaged in some dramatic behavior in the area of the Temple, perhaps during the Passover pilgrimage festival (though which year is uncertain).13 Second, they know that Jesus came into conflict with Jewish authorities. Third, they know that Jesus was crucified. The Gospels connect the second and third points, positing that the process that led to Jesus’ crucifixion was due to a conflict with Jewish authorities. But they do not connect the first point to that process. The Synoptics remain entirely silent on which event specifically provoked the high priest and his associates. Perhaps it was Jesus’ teaching, his healing, or the fascination that he held for the children or the Jewish crowds more generally. John, on the other hand, does provide an answer: It was the resurrection of Lazarus that prompted the concern of the Jewish authorities for Roman reprisal, which in turn led to Caiaphas’s pronouncement that one 13  According to the Synoptics, the “cleansing” occurred on the Passover during which Jesus was crucified. According to John, the event occurred during the first recorded Passover of Jesus’ ministry, two years prior to Jesus’ crucifixion.

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man should die for the sake of the nation. This is not to say, however, that John’s narrative is any more historical than that of the Synoptics. For John, the raising of Lazarus is the most spectacular of Jesus’ signs; the dramatic nature of Jesus’ miracles increases from chapter 2 to 11 in tandem with the Jews’ hostility towards him. Lazarus’ resurrection foreshadows Jesus’ own, and hence from both a narrative and theological perspective is the appropriate point at which a formal plot against Jesus should be announced. One may speculate that the Fourth Evangelist recognized the gap in the Synoptic account, or, more cautiously, in the narrative tradition that finds expression in the Synoptics, and, therefore, took pains to supply a catalyst for the Jewish plot against Jesus.14 Given these considerations, it must be granted that historians are not only justified but also mandated to use their imaginations to create a plausible hypothesis based on the available sources. The hypothesis that the cleansing scene provoked the plan to kill Jesus at the Passover fits that criterion, though it is not the only one that does so. Yet, one would also plead for the exercise of scholarly humility that acknowledges the limitations of our sources and, therefore, of our own historical reconstructions as well.

Bibliography Bond, H. K. Caiaphas: Friend of Rome and Judge of Jesus? Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2004. Brown, R. E. The Gospel According to John. 2 vols. The Anchor Bible 29–29a. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1966. Chilton, B. “Caiaphas.” Pages 803–806 in vol. 1 of The Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by D. N. Freedman. 6 vols. New York: Doubleday, 1992. Fredriksen, P. Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews: A Jewish Life and the Emergence of Christianity. 1st ed. New York: Knopf, 1999. Grant, M. Jesus: An Historian’s Review of the Gospels. New York: Scribner, 1977. Mason, S. Josephus and the New Testament. 2d ed. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2003. Meier, J. P. A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus. Volume 1: The Roots of the Problem and the Person. The Anchor Bible Reference Library. New York: Doubleday, 1991. Reinhartz, Adele. Caiaphas the High Priest. Columbia, S.C.: University of South Carolina Press, 2011. Sanders, E. P. The Historical Figure of Jesus. London: Penguin, 1993. Smith, D. M. John among the Gospels. 2d ed. Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 2001. VanderKam, J. C. From Joshua to Caiaphas: High Priests after the Exile. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004. 14 Whether John knew one or more of the Synoptic Gospels continues to be a muchdebated point in Johannine scholarship. For a discussion, see Smith, John.

Jesus and the Zavah Implications for Interpreting Mark

Thomas Kazen 1. Introduction In her 2003 Journal for the Study of the New Testament article “A Woman’s Touch,”1 Susan Haber steers between the Scylla and Charybdis of two feminist interpretations of Mark’s narrative of the so-called hemorrhaging woman. One, represented by Marla Selvidge, recognizes the purity issue in the story, but implausibly interprets the narrative as intent on the abrogation of oppressive purity legislation. The other, represented by Mary D’Angelo, interprets the narrative within the framework of Mark’s Christological understanding of Jesus’ miracles, but dismisses the purity issue as irrelevant to the story. Haber’s convincing analysis shows that both interpretations disregard crucial aspects of the narrative, and that neither resolves the narrative tension in the text: that between undeniable allusions to the woman’s impurity – not least by expressions borrowed from the LXX text of Leviticus2 – and the Markan rhetorical and Christological emphasis on faith and healing. In Haber’s reading of the narrative “it is the health of the woman and not her impurity that is the primary issue of concern.”3 Impurity is, however, by definition an essential but secondary component in the story. Other scholars, too, have discussed faith and / or healing as the primary concern of the Markan narrative.4 The role and place of the secondary component – impurity – is, however, a moot question. While attempting an  Haber, “Woman’s Touch.” Now reprinted in Haber, “Purify,” 125–41. For the sake of convenience, the latter version is used below for references to page numbers. The present article was written in 2008 and only marginal update since then has been possible. 2  I.e., ῥύσις αἵματος (Mark 5:25; Lev 15:19, 25), which is not an ordinary Greek expression for vaginal bleeding, and the frequent use of ἅπτεσθαι both in Mark 5 and Leviticus 15. cf. the expression ἡ πηγή τοῦ αἵματος (Mark 5:29), which comes from Lev 12:7 (see also Lev 20:18). 3  Haber, “Purify,” 136. 4 Cf. Kahl, “Jairus”; Kazen, Jesus, 130–33, cf. 172; Wainwright, Women, 112–23. Wainwright (p. 98) points out that “the language of teaching and healing intertwine within or between stories throughout [Mark’s] gospel (1.21, 22; 2.13; 5.35; 6.2, 6; 8.3; 9.38; 10.35).” 1

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answer, Haber’s article, in fact, like all good scholarly work, raises a number of further questions. In the present chapter I would like to identify a few of these and venture their consequences. The way we interpret the narrative of Jesus and the zavah affects our overall reading of Mark and our understanding of Mark’s view on impurity in general. This will be demonstrated by asking some similar questions of the Markan hand-washing story and employing some similar strategies for interpretation. The present article thus has a double goal. I wish to continue a dialogue regarding Jesus and the zavah in Mark 5 that regrettably cannot have two full voices.5 In addition, I wish to address the interpretation of the handwashing incident in Mark 7 with the help of insights from the previous zavah narrative. Both tasks are carried out in three consecutive steps. First, I would like to address the historical question raised by Haber about halakhic interpretations in the Second Temple period and their consequences for the status of female dischargers. In the corresponding section dealing with the hand-washing incident, it will become clear that questions concerning halakhic interpretations and their consequences are crucial for our interpretation of other Markan passages dealing with purity, too. Second, I wish to comment on some literary issues of Markan language in the zavah narrative that Haber discusses in her article. When we assume things about the Markan audience from the language involved, we take a risky shortcut, unless we also consider diachronic aspects of the textual tradition, i.e., Markan tradition history. In the corresponding discussion about the hand-washing narrative, we will find that similar considerations regarding language and audience are crucial in the current debate about the dating of Mark, particularly in the light of halakhic traditions. Third, I will attempt to deal with the effect of Mark’s Christological agenda on his portrait of Jesus. This point to a large extent intersects with the previous one, but has significance for our interpretation of Jesus’ attitude and motives and our understanding of how such things can or cannot be traced at various levels in the development of the Jesus tradition. This last concern is not one that Haber addresses here, but belongs to my own interests. Here, too, an analysis of Mark’s Christology and Jesus’ motives in chapter 5 may have implications for how we separate Christology from historical motives in Mark 7, and thus it affects our interpretation of Jesus’ purity conflicts in general.

5 Haber’s article “Woman’s Touch” was written before she came in contact with my work, and similarly, I published my Jesus, in which I discuss this narrative, before Haber’s article went into print. Subsequently, however, Haber initiated a fruitful conversation around these matters, which was regrettably and suddenly cut short.

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My indebtedness to the three subheadings in Haber’s article for my own points should be acknowledged. The present text, however, must be understood both as a continued conversation and as a contribution with its own agenda.

2. The zavah Narrative 2.1. Historical considerations regarding the zavah The status of the zavah at the end of the Second Temple period is a contested issue.6 In the legislation of Leviticus 15 all dischargers are envisaged as staying within settlements. While this is not stated explicitly, it is implied by the fact that contact leading to defilement is assumed; hence, not only are provisions for the purification of dischargers described but also for the purification of those who have contacted these impurity bearers. The legislation of Leviticus 15 deals with both the zav and the zavah, as well as with the menstruant and the semen emitter. Only for zavim and zavot is a seven-day purification period prescribed after the cessation of symptoms; during biblical and early rabbinic times menstruants counted their seven days from the onset of menstruation, not from its end, as later became practice.7 The semen emitter’s period of impurity is only one day, just like that of people contracting a secondary impurity by contacting one of the primary impurity bearers. Although the Qumran Temple Scroll extends this period to three days,8 the semen emitter is nevertheless not subject to a seven-day purification period according to any known Jewish movement. When compared to zavim and zavot, we have to think of the semen emitter and the menstruant as subject to a lesser or an intermediate type of impurity. In their case we could in fact think of the discharge as such as the primary contaminant.9 In addition, Leviticus 12 provides rules for the yoledet (post-partum woman), which in part seem to depend on, or presuppose, the legislation 6 Cf. Cohen, “Menstruants”; Sanders, Jewish; idem, Judaism; Fonrobert, “Woman”; Maccoby, Ritual; Baumgarten, “D. Tohorot”; Kazen, Jesus; Haber, “Woman’s Touch”; Wassen, “Jesus.” 7 The beginning of this development can be seen in b. Nid. 66a. Eventually, the menstruant was equated with the zavah gedolah, although this was not self-evident in Talmudic times. Cf. Meacham (leBeit Yoreh), “Abbreviated,” 29–32; idem, “Appendix,” 255–56. 8 11QTa 45:7–8. The extension is probably based on Exod 19:10–15 and modeled on ideas of the war camp. Due to the utopian and non-sectarian nature of the Temple Scroll we cannot conclude that semen emitters actually were considered impure for three days at Qumran, although this might be possible. Cf. Harrington, Impurity, 91–4; Werrett, Ritual, 156–59. 9 Cf. Samaritan interpretations. See Bóid, Principles, 236–38, 335.

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of Leviticus 15.10 While the second stage of the purification period of the yoledet is much longer than that of any discharger, it has little to do with the cessation of “symptoms.” The first stage is not dependent on the length of bleeding, either, but consists of seven days, counted from the birth of the child and modeled on the menstruant, although it is doubled in the case of a girl. The state of the yoledet is, like that of the menstruant, a regular and recurring situation. For a number of reasons, then, zavim and zavot stand out in their character as “irregular” dischargers. In contrast to the legislation in Leviticus, assuming dischargers within settlements, the strict tradition of Num 5:2–3 requires the expulsion of all “chronic” impurity bearers: “lepers,” zavim, and the corpse-impure. The menstruant and the yoledet are not mentioned and most probably are not thought to be included in the list. The strict tradition thus singles out “irregular” dischargers and treats them just like Leviticus 13 treats “lepers”: they are to be expelled (Lev 13:46). Hence, nothing is said in Leviticus 13 of contamination by touch or purification from contact with a “leper.” Such rules were later deduced from the rules of “leprous” houses in Leviticus 14.11 The corpse-impure are never dealt with in Leviticus (except for brief instructions concerning priests; Lev 21:1–4); the general legislation concerning corpse impurity is found in Numbers 19, and from this passage we cannot say for sure whether they are envisaged within or outside of the “camp.” Only a short sentence (Num 19:22) states that their touch defiles items and people with an impurity that lasts until the evening. Nothing like the elaborate details of the discharge laws is to be found in the biblical texts. Regardless of how we try to structure the biblical purity legislation, discrepancies abound. I have elsewhere discussed discrepancies within the laws on discharges,12 as well as discrepancies between various sets of purity laws, with regard to which categories were envisaged within or outside of settlements according to various pieces of textual evidence, and the possible rationale behind various views.13 The full argument cannot be rehearsed here. Some details are, however, particularly relevant for the present issue: the historical status of the zavah. It is often asserted that the discharge laws of Leviticus 15 are to be read systemically and that the laws of female dischargers are modeled on those of the zav. This is true to a large extent and particularly valid for the purification of the zavah by washing her clothes and bathing. Although this is never explicitly said, it is probably to be assumed from the rules for the 10 This is clear from the way in which the first period is described as compared to the second (Lev 12:2, 5). 11  Cf. m. Neg. 12–13; Maccoby, Ritual, 141–48; Kazen, Jesus, 112–16. 12 Kazen, “Explaining.” Also in Issues, 41–61. 13 Kazen, Issues, 91–135.

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zav.14 No difference is acknowledged in rabbinic interpretation, but the immersion of all dischargers is taken for granted.15 Other differences with regard to contamination by contact may have been intended in the text but are nevertheless read systemically and harmonized towards the end of the Second Temple period; touching and being touched were apparently seen as equally contaminating.16 Does a basic systemic shaping of the text then suggest a complete harmonization of every detail? I do not believe so. While some assume that the exception to the rule of contamination by touch, that a zav contaminates other people unless his hands are washed, would have been equally valid for the zavah,17 we have no evidence of such an understanding or practice. Although the text of Leviticus is to some extent shaped with systemic considerations in mind, these rules are not of a piece. Some of the underlying differences between the rules for the zav and the zavah might for example be explained by the fact that the male discharge is not as visible as female blood. Others could be due to different social roles of men and women respectively. While most rules were read and interpreted systemically, some details and discrepancies could also be exploited in ways that cannot be anticipated by moderns.18 We thus cannot presuppose that discharging women at the end of the Second Temple period could mitigate their impure status by washing their hands, too. Although hand-washing before meals became a means to lessen secondary impurities in this period, this proves nothing concerning the use of hand-washing for female discharging impurity bearers.19 Turning to discrepancies between rules for various types of impurity bearers, what interests us here is neither their differing backgrounds or origins, nor the order or number of varying rites of purification, but the actual practice of inclusion, isolation, or expulsion of certain categories and not of others at the end of the Second Temple period. 14 This requirement is spelled out only for the zav (Lev 15:13) but not for the zavah (15:28). Cf. Milgrom, Leviticus, 923–24, 934–35. 15 m. Nid. 4.3; m. Miqw. 8.1, 5. 16 M. Zabim 5.1, 6; 4QTohorota. 17  This is assumed by Haber, too. Cf. “Purify,” 128. 18 Two examples: in m. Nid. 8.1–3, R. Aqiba appeals to the word “blood” (not stain) in Lev 15:19 for disregarding bloodstain from a zavah; in b. Ker. 8b, the occasional use of “man” in Leviticus 13 is taken to mean that certain rules are not applicable to women but they are only included when the text talks of “the leper.” 19 The scant evidence we have talks only of hand-washing for the zav. Cf. the fragmentary text of 4Q277. The hand of a female discharger (4Q272 1 II, 8: … ‫שב[עת‬ ‫דם‬ ‫הזבה‬ – ׂ a menstruant or possibly a zavah during her seven day purification period) is probably mentioned in 4Q272 1 II, 17, but in the singular (‫)ידה‬. This does not suggest the washing of hands as in the case of the zav but, if one may be allowed to speculate, possibly has to do with washing off the first (niddah) blood as part of a first day purification procedure. See further below, and Kazen, “4Q274,” or Issues, 41–61.

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The exclusion of “lepers” from towns and settlements is a fairly clear issue. It is demanded both by Leviticus 13–14 and Numbers 5, and the practice is attested by numerous texts: in addition to Gospel evidence we can mention a number of Qumran texts as well as Josephus.20 Although rabbinic texts provide a leniency by applying the expulsion rule to walled cities only,21 this limitation cannot automatically be claimed for first-century practice. The call of the “leper” (“unclean, unclean”) is confirmed in a number of texts, with the intent that no contact whatsoever was being considered;22 even the purifying “leper,” after having been readmitted to the settlement, must keep a certain distance from anything pure during the seven-day purification period, according to some traditions.23 Biblical law demands that the purifying “leper” should not enter his house during this process. There are no signs of any mitigating practices with regard to this before the fall of the Temple.24 In spite of the clear tradition in Numbers 5 and the uncertainty regarding what is assumed in Numbers 19, the corpse-impure are, on the other hand, envisaged within ordinary cities, even by the very strict and somewhat utopian Temple Scroll.25 The Temple Scroll expressly associates this with a command for a first-day ablution, which is an apparent innovation when compared to biblical legislation.26 The common practice of an extra first-day ablution in Second Temple Judaism to mitigate corpse impurity has been much discussed and is evidenced in a number of texts belonging to a diversity of contexts. It is suggested by other Qumran texts, too. Philo reflects it, and it is presupposed in Josephus as well as in the Gospel of John. Tobit assumes it, and it may be implied already in Ezekiel.27 Various traditions 20 Mark 1:40–45; Luke 17:11–19; Josephus, Ag. Ap. 1.281; Ant. 3.264; 4QMMT B64–72; 4Q274 1 I, 1–4; 11QTa 46:16–18; 48:14–17. 21 m. Kel. 1.7. A walled city then became defined as one surrounded by walls from the time of Joshua, m. Arak. 9.6. A development towards an even greater leniency (restrictions only applicable during the Jubilee) is suggested by b. Arak. 29a. 22 Lev 13:45; 4Q274 1 I, 3–4; b. Sotah 32b; b. Shabb. 67a; b. B. Kamma 92b; b. Hull. 78a; Nid. 66a; b. M. Qat. 5a. Many of the Talmudic references apply Lev 13:45 secondarily to other issues. 23 Lev 14:8–9; 4QMMT B64–72; 4Q274 1 I, 1–2. 24 The rabbis later interpreted the command to stay outside of one’s tent leniently, as referring to sexual intercourse. See b. Ker. 8b; b. M. Katan 15b. 25 Although envisaged outside of the Temple city (11QTa 45:17) the corpse-impure are not mentioned among those quarantined outside of ordinary cities (48:13–17). Similarly, Philo thinks of the corpse-impure staying out of sacred areas (Spec. Laws 1.261; 3.205–206), while Josephus suggest that they were somehow isolated within Jerusalem during their purificatory period (Ant. 3.261). 26  For further discussion and references, see Kazen, Jesus, 185–89; Issues, 97–106. 27 1QM 14:2–3; 4Q414; 4Q514; Philo, Spec. Laws 1.261; 3.205–206; Josephus, Ant. 3.261; War 6.290; John 11:55; Tobit 2:5, 9; Ezek 44:25–26.

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differ as to how far such a first day ablution goes; the Mishnah even envisages the corpse-impure in the court of gentiles,28 but here we may suspect a more lenient view than those dominating towards the end of the Second Temple period. The strict Temple Scroll assigns a special place outside of the Temple city for such people.29 In spite of conflicting views, all sources agree on the presence of the corpse-impure within ordinary cities or settlements, and this must be explained by the common practice of an extra first-day water rite, which lessened the virulence of the impurity involved, although without shortening its duration. Josephus, however, seems to suggest that the corpse-impure did not stay in their houses during their seven-day purification period.30 This is implied in Tobit, too, and somehow corresponds to the explicit command regarding the “leper.” The trickiest issue when reconstructing first-century practice is the status of various types of dischargers. According to the strict tradition, they should be excluded from settlements. According to the most probable reading, the Temple Scroll demands a similar treatment of dischargers as it does of “lepers,” even for the ordinary city and including menstruants and postpartum women.31 This is the most extreme among the positions that we find represented in contemporary texts, and could only – if at all – have been practiced among minor groups in places where such a stance was embraced by a majority. As for general practice we have to look for other evidence. With regard to Jerusalem, Josephus seems to make a distinction between “chronic” dischargers (zavim and zavot) on the one hand and menstruants (presumably including parturients) on the other. The former are supposed to be expelled, while some sort of isolation or quarantine is envisaged for the latter.32 Later, the Mishnah bars any discharger from the Temple mount, but Kel. 1.8  11QTa 45:17. For discussion and further references, see Kazen, Issues, 97–8. The utopian character of the Temple Scroll and the extent of the Temple city (‫ )עיר מקדש‬are points under discussion. Schiffman, following Levine, suggests that it refers to the Temple proper, while Milgrom follows Yadin in understanding it to include the entire city. White Crawford (Temple, 49) in a compromise suggests that the Temple city “is not envisioned by the author/ redactor of the Temple Scroll as having permanent residents, but as a place of temporary residents.” The whole city would thus be looked upon as a Temple area for visiting pilgrims and cultic personnel, with God as the only permanent resident. 30 Ant. 3.261. 31  11QTa 48:14–17 may possibly be read as if dischargers were supposed to be secluded within settlements, rather than expelled like “lepers.” The most natural reading, however, is that they were supposed to stay outside, since the purpose is to prevent them from “defiling in their midst” (‫)אשר לוא יטםאו בתוכמ‬. 32 “[Moses] expelled (ἀπήλασε) from the city both those who were sick with lepra and those with genital discharges; also the women whom the natural flux came over, he set aside (μετέστησε) until the seventh day, after which he allowed [them] to live in their place (ἐνδημεῖν) as already pure. Similarly also for those attending a dead [person], after so many days [he allowed them] legitimately to live in their place (ἐνδημεῖν).” Ant. 3.261. 28 m. 29

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nothing is said of the Temple city.33 Conflicting definitions of how to define the Temple and the Temple city may be at work and confuse our attempts to compare various views.34 When asking for actual first century practice, however, I would rather draw details from Josephus’ descriptions than from later mishnaic hierarchies of holiness and purity, in spite of the fact that Josephus at times may be idealizing. Assuming a middle way between the most strict and most lenient views, we would expect a differentiation between “chronic” dischargers and menstruants / parturients. We may thus suggest that while some (the most strict) thought that no dischargers should be allowed within Jerusalem, menstruants (and parturients) were accepted with varying expectations of seclusion or isolation attached to their presence. As for the ordinary city we unfortunately have too little evidence to do anything but proceed down the treacherous road of deduction. Josephus’ rules for Jerusalem are similar to the strict stance of the Temple Scroll regarding the ordinary city. Moving holiness one step further back, we would expect a less strict ruling than that of the Temple Scroll to have accepted most dischargers within ordinary cities, although subject to certain restrictions. As we have noted, “lepers” were allowed into settlements after an initial purification, including bathing, at the beginning of their seven-day purification period. Likewise, the corpse-impure were not expelled thanks to an initial ablution. In both cases, however, there are indications that they were not supposed to stay inside their homes. It is quite possible that menstruants similarly employed a first-day water rite, washing off the first menstrual niddah blood, similar to what is described in Samaritan halakhah. This is indicated by 4Q274 1 7–8a and fits with evidence from a number of other texts of sprinkling or bathing being used for early purification not only from “leprosy” and corpse-impurity, but from other impurities, too.35 As for the zav, we have already mentioned the biblical provision of lessening his contamination potency by hand-washing. We have also noted the lack of evidence for this provision being extended to the zavah. While it is reasonable to think of an initial ablution for zavim and zavot after the cessation of symptoms, analogous to that of menstruants, hand-washing for a zav during his indefinite period of full impurity seems to be an exception allowing for temporary and limited contact only. There is no evidence that this should have affected his general status, whether excluded, isolated, or restricted, but it must at least have facilitated some types of social interacKel. 1.8. White Crawford, Temple, 42–9, and note 29 above. Cf. the ten degrees of holiness in m. Kel. 1.6–9. 35 For further evidence, see Kazen, “4Q274”; cf. Milgrom, “4QTohoraa,” 67; Baumgarten, “Use,” 481–85 (= “Tohorot,” in DJD 35, 83–7). 33 m.

34 See

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tion. Without the possibility of taking recourse to this provision, the zavah would have been the most vulnerable and serious case of all the dischargers. This is indicated in the list of impurities in m. Kelim 1.4, where she is mentioned towards the end, next to the “leper,” the bone, and the corpse. The status of the zavah towards the end of the Second Temple period is thus to be understood as more severe than that of other dischargers, close to that of a “leper.” She was certainly subject to restrictions, in many instances probably in some sense isolated,36 and in certain locations where strict interpretations were favored perhaps even excluded – although I think this would have been exceptional. Unlike the zav and the menstruant, she could probably not take recourse to a mitigating water rite to lessen her contamination potency even temporarily.

2.2. Markan Language and Markan Audience The language of the Markan narrative of the zavah has been extensively discussed. Haber comments on a number of literary characteristics in the text. We have already mentioned the Greek language borrowed from the LXX, which renders every suggestion that purity legislation is not alluded to highly implausible.37 Just like Haber, “I concur with the majority of scholars who assume … that the description of the woman is intended to allude to Lev 15 and the laws concerning purity.”38 She observes, however, that the primary concern in the text is healing and notes that this creates a tension in the text between the woman who needs healing by touch and the healer who is implicitly defiled by the same touch. This tension is supposed to be felt by the audience, i.e., those listening to the Markan narrrative, and the audience is assumed to be familiar with the purity laws. At this point, however, we must ask ourselves at which level we envisage this tension and whether the allusions just mentioned originate from the same level. Haber is certainly right that the abrogation of purity laws is not a concern of the Markan narrative and that this is a difference when compared to Mark 7.39 Mark’s focus in the zavah narrative is on healing. But which people constitute the “audience”? Is the tension really apparent for the audience of Mark’s narrative? If so, why does he not bring it out in any way? In the narrative of the “leper” (Mark 1:40–45) purity language is similarly used, but here the purity issue is explicit, even including instructions for purification and references to the Law of Moses. The additional instruction 36 The evidence for and arguments against a special place of seclusion for impure women cannot be discussed here. Cf. Kazen, Jesus, 160, especially n. 371. 37  See above, n. 2. 38 Haber, “Purify,” 132–33. 39 Haber, “Purify,” 136.

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about bringing the sacrifice “for your purification which Moses stipulated” (προσένεγκε περὶ τοῦ καθαρισμοῦ σου ἅ προσέταξεν Μωϋσῆς) would not be necessary for an audience that was able to grasp the details of Jewish purity law without assistance. Since, however, the purity issue is unavoidably constitutive for this narrative  – an understanding of “lepers” as impure would have been common knowledge, and purification is used synonymously with healing – this is the sort of information that an author would need to provide for a not-too-well-informed audience, mainly consisting of gentiles with little understanding of the legal details of Jewish law. Similarly, in the hand-washing narrative in Mark 7, the author explains legal details for the sake of his audience. He has hardly begun his story before he interrupts himself to explain the expression “with unclean hands” (κοιναῖς χερσίν) by “unwashed.” Then he inserts a lengthy explanation about Pharisaic and Jewish or Judean purificatory water rites before eating (7:2–4), as if his audience would be more or less unaware of these. Later in the narrative the author finds it necessary to explain qorban (7:11). In the narrative of the zavah, nothing like this is present. While it is safe to say that allusions to Leviticus 15 exist in the Greek text, why are we to suppose that they would be apparent to Markan readership, or to Mark’s audience that elsewhere needs to be informed about Jewish practices and Jewish laws? A plausible explanation may be found by considering the zavah narrative a pre-Markan tradition, incorporated by Mark. This would explain why a number of traits and details are clearly present while not exploited by the author. Furthermore, the tradition must have reached Mark in written form and in Greek. There are good arguments for assuming this. It has long been observed that the language of this narrative is somewhat exceptional; participles abound in a way that is unusual for Mark.40 While it might be argued that this could be due to Mark’s formation of a sandwich construction, the language of the middle sections of other Markan sandwiches do not support this idea. Mark’s composition technique alone cannot satisfactorily explain the Greek of the zavah narrative. The different character of this narrative as compared to the surrounding narrative of Jairus’ daughter strongly suggests that the sandwich construction is not pre-Markan but a Markan trait. This judgment is further strengthened by the frequency of such constructions in Mark. Had Mark received this narrative as an oral tradition in Aramaic, we would neither have expected this Greek nor these allusions to purity legislation that seem redundant and risk blurring Mark’s focus. 40 Cf. Taylor, Gospel, 289. Taylor points out that in 5:25–27 we find a rare example in Mark of a longer Greek sentence construction, with several subordinated participles. In addition to this, the intercalation uses the past tense in contrast to the Jairus narrative, which is mainly in the present tense except for the transition passages. Cf. Theissen, Miracle, 180–82.

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This would mean that the purity issue, including the allusions to Leviticus 15 (LXX), belonged to and was grasped by an earlier audience to a Greek pre-Markan tradition, but not necessarily by the Markan audience. While a pre-Markan audience would have been able to relate the narrative of the “leper” with the narrative of the zavah – although we do not know whether they would have had access to both in close proximity to each other – a Markan audience would rather have understood other points, relating to faith and healing, just as Haber suggests. Mark in facts sandwiches two narratives that both have implicit purity issues, but only for the purpose of letting the faith of the since-twelve-years sick woman spill over onto the father of the twelve-year-old daughter, all within a Christological framework. The question of what happened to the purity of Jesus when touched by the zavah is thus to be seen as a hypothetical pre-Markan question, which is not further discussed or answered on the Markan level. While the pre-Markan tradition can be used as a small piece of evidence for tracing the behavior of the historical Jesus, it says little about Mark and his audience. The tension between purity and healing may have been present in Mark’s mind, but he does not expect his audience to become occupied with it. When he wishes them to consider purity issues, he tells them – and then usually for the explicit purpose of bringing out theological and Christological points, as we will further see below. We may even question whether he explicitly wishes his audience to consider such issues, or whether it is rather the details of his tradition that force him to provide necessary explanations for a relatively uninformed audience.

2.3. Mark’s Christology and Jesus’ Motives On the Markan level, the narrative of the zavah has a focus on faith and healing, which is particularly brought out through the sandwich construction, relating it to the story of Jairus’ daughter. As Haber puts it: “The purpose of such interpolation in the Markan narrative is always interpretive, enabling the framing story to be understood against the background of the inside narrative and vice versa.”41 Many scholars have noted a number of similarities and contrasts between the two intertwined narratives.42 Most of these should be taken as resulting from Markan redaction. While there is no reason to repeat all of them here, we will comment on the implicit purity issue, which is also found in the Jairus story, since the dead child would transmit corpse-impurity to anyone entering the house. This is not commented on by Mark, who portrays Jesus “Purify,” 137. Kazen, Jesus, 130–31; Haber, “Purify,” 137–38.

41 Haber, 42 Cf.

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and his disciples as entering together with the parents. In Luke’s version one might even get the impression that the mourners are inside. Matthew, however, has carefully redacted the story so that only Jesus goes in after having dismissed the mourners. At the risk of over-interpretation, I would suggest that Matthew is sensitive to the purity issue in a way that Mark is not. While Mark must be aware of the potential question concerning corpse-impurity, it is of no concern to him, since his audience would not raise it and his own focus is elsewhere. While the two narratives in the sandwich construction are brought together by Mark, this is not because of the purity issue, which can be found in both of them, but because of the motif of faith. The purity issue would have been relevant at a pre-Markan stage, but then the two narratives would most likely not have been intertwined in this way. The most important motif holding the two stories together on the Markan level is thus the focus on faith. The faith of the zavah (Mark 5:34: ἡ πίστις σου σέσωκέν σε) informs the Jairus story and spills over onto Jairus, who is admonished not to fear but to believe (5:36). “The message is clear: as the faith of the hemorrhaging woman made her well, so, too, will Jairus’s faith bring about his daughter’s restoration to life.”43 Haber points to Mark’s emphasis on Jesus’ miraculous power, which points to his divine power.44 The Christological intent of the combined narrative can be spelled out further. A number of parallels to the Elijah-Elisha tradition indicate a prophetic Christology in the pre-Markan tradition.45 Mark, however, goes further, making the zavah an example of a kind of saving faith – a faith which is introduced already in 1:15, results in forgiveness for the paralytic (2:5), and not only saves the zavah but also leads to the resurrection of Jairus’ daughter (5:34, 36). Its absence prevents miracles in Jesus’ hometown (6:6), but faith saves the possessed boy in spite of his father’s unbelief (9:24) and gives sight to Bartimaeus (10:52). The zavah becomes not only an example for Jairus, but also a corrective to the women at the resurrection. The latter fear (16:8: ἐϕοβοῦντο γάρ) in spite of the exhortation not to (16:6: μὴ ἐκθαμβεῖσθε). The Markan audience already knows, however, that courage and faith bring salvation and resurrection, and they readily see that the behavior of the women at the grave is not an appropriate response. The zavah provides a pattern for their own faith, confirming the identity and power of Jesus for anyone believing in his resurrection. Mark’s focus is thus on faith and Christology, and the narrative of Jesus and the zavah is part of his wider rhetorical scheme, as Haber also points out. “Purify,” 138. “Purify,” 138–39. 45  I.e., Jesus lives in the desert, is served by wild animals (Mark 1:13), and raises a dead child (5:21–24, 35–43). Like Elisha he raises a child, heals a “leper” (1:40–45), and performs a bread miracle (6:30–44). See Kazen, Jesus, 172–74; idem, “Tidiga,” 58–60. 43 Haber, 44 Haber,

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This is important to remember when Mark’s portrait of Jesus is discussed, in particular Mark’s portrait of Jesus’ attitude in legal matters. One fairly common approach refers to Jesus’ special authority in order to explain his relative freedom from, or liberal interpretation of, certain laws or halakhic traditions. Such ideas, however, bring with them implicit – if not explicit – Christological claims. While these claims fit Mark’s theological agenda, they do not necessarily represent the attitudes or motives of the historical Jesus. It is important to note the level at which such ideas can be evidenced. The question of authority may be an important clue, but if this is the case, where did such authority reside? Mark’s understanding is not necessarily valid for pre-Markan tradition and certainly not for the historical Jesus. Similar considerations apply to suggestions that Jesus advocated compassion before cult, an attitude with deep roots in Israel’s prophetic heritage, but also liberally exploited in early Christian polemical discourse against Jewish critics and adversaries. Such an attitude can be read out of the texts, but does it represent more than secondary interpretations? The idea that Jesus defended the plain meaning of Scripture against later halakhic developments is likewise theologically loaded. While in some cases it is found on the surface of the text, it may result from early Christian redactional activity, at a time when negligence of halakhic observance was defended with references to the teaching of Jesus. An analysis of Markan rhetorical strategy and Christological agenda, the question of Markan audience, and the level of historical development of purity halakhah all have wider implications for interpreting Mark and reconstructing historical issues behind the Markan text. From the zavah narrative we will thus turn to Mark 7 and the handwashing incident.

3. The Hand-washing Narrative 3.1. Hand-washing at the End of the Second Temple Era The growth and development of purity halakhah during the Second Temple period  – one of Haber’s main interests  – cannot be adequately discussed today without considering the numerous archaeological findings of miqvaot and stone vessels.46 While there is no room to deal with these in detail here, they testify to wide-spread and frequent practices of purification by water and the use of preventive measures to avoid contamination, even by minor impurities, of food and drink. It seems that the “expansion of ritual washing to new uses not known in the Hebrew Bible”47 was a general expansionist 46 Cf.

Haber, “Purify,” 161–206. Washing, 189.

47 Lawrence,

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phenomenon during this period and a number of scholars see this as part of the development of ideas of graded impurity and graded purifications.48 This heightened concern for purity resulted in practical solutions, mitigating or lessening the contamination potential of a number of impurity bearers (including the corpse-impure and the menstruant but probably not the zavah) by new and early ablutions. However, it also resulted in similar solutions for handling certain secondary impurities.49 The category of tevul yom must be seen in this light; it made early purification by immersion possible for those contaminated with a one-day impurity.50 The extension of a second-degree impurity to chullin (ordinary food), the idea of liquid being more susceptible to impurity than other substances, thus “reverting” to a first-degree impurity, and the increasing practice to keep full purity at ordinary meals, were conspicuous developments that demanded practical solutions. Hand-washing before meals was one of the most important.51 Following Jacob Neusner, many interpreters have understood such handwashing as an emulation of priestly practice. Even E. P. Sanders, who opposes this view, comes very close to it by admitting that Pharisees made minor symbolic gestures towards living like priests.52 This, however, is an anachronistic interpretive description and not a current rationale at the end of the Second Temple period. The practices in question can be satisfactorily explained as resulting from a general ambition for as high a degree of purity as possible, which was promoted by expansionist interests and which won increasing acceptance among the people at large.53 It has often been questioned whether hands were considered separately unclean at the time of Jesus. Roger Booth, after having provided a possible historical and legal context for hand-washing at the time of Jesus, nevertheless ends up with conclusions similar to those of Sanders: such a practice before the eating of chullin would have been of no use unless people practiced regular immersions, which we cannot assume since that would have been too unpractical.54 Since then, however, a number of studies have made it 48 Cf. Milgrom, “Studies”; Leviticus 1–16, 969–76, 991–1000; Baumgarten, “Purification”; idem, “Use”; Eshel, “4QRitual”; Regev, “Pure,” 177–81. 49  Kazen, Issues, 113–23. 50 Instead of waiting for sunset. Cf. Baumgarten, “Pharisaic-Sadducean,” 157–70; Sanders, Jewish, 36–37; Schiffman, “Pharisaic”; Kazen, Jesus, 75–81; Crossley, Date, 197–200. This is not to say that the full rabbinic concept of tevul yom had evolved by the time of the Second Temple, but some of its crucial presuppositions must have been present. See further Kazen, Scripture, chapter 3 (forthcoming). 51  Kazen, Jesus, 67–85; Issues, 119–23. 52 Sanders, Jewish Law, 192. 53 My stance is to a large extent supported by Furstenberg, “Defilement.” Furstenberg points out that Neusner’s interpretation rests on the midrash in Sifre Numbers 116 on Num 17:8, which should be dated to the time of R. Judah the Patriarch (p. 191, especially n. 38). 54 Booth, Jesus, 185–87.

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very likely that an increasing number of Jews, especially in Judea, were following such customs already at the time of Jesus.55 While some would claim that a formal ruling, declaring hands as separately unclean, only belongs to a period of heightened tension and conflict before the Jewish War, this does not mean that the idea or the actual practice was late.56 One type of stone vessel found has been thought to have served for hand-washing.57 Although this particular identification is disputed today,58 an early understanding of the defiling force of liquids is attested already in several Qumran texts, and together with a general understanding of stone as less susceptible to impurity, this would suggest a role for stone vessels in maintaining purity. The combined evidence of archaeology, Qumran texts, the Mishnah, and Mark indicate that hand-washing before common meals was advocated by expansionist groups at the end of the Second Temple period and practiced already at the time of Jesus, although certainly not by all Jews, as Mark would have it. What distinguished expansionists from ordinary people, however, was not necessarily observance as compared to non-observance, but the former’s consistency and strict interpretation.59 Today such views are argued by an increasing number of scholars. The development of (extra) water rites for early purification or the lessening of contamination potency is a crucial piece of evidence in reconstructing the state of purity halakhah around the turn of the era. It is important for assessing the status of various impurity bearers and, thus, for interpreting certain gospel narratives such as the story of Jesus and the zavah. This is

 Tomson, “Zavim”; Deines, Jüdische; Regev, “Pure”; Poirier, “Purity”; Crossley, Date, 183–205. 56 Traditionally, a decree on the separate impurity of hands has been associated with the so-called 18 decrees, a Zealot synod in 66/67 C. E., and a tumultuous meeting in the upper room of Hananiah /Hanina. Booth has suggested a dating to 51 C. E. (Booth, Jesus, 162–73), but his reconstruction is too speculative for my taste. I am more convinced by Peter Tomson’s reasoning that regardless of whether or not the ten items of m. Zav. 5.12 (which include a statement on the impurity of hands) were formulated at some tumultuous gathering close to the war, the core of the saying in m. Zav. 5.12, including the separate impurity of hands, did not belong to the 18 decrees. It rather belongs to the oldest layer of the Mishnah and was formulated by R. Joshua. Before that it must have been practiced for some time at least in the Pharisaic tradition. For further references, see Tomson, “Zavim.” Cf. Furstenberg, who finds the reconstruction of the Babylonian Talmud unreliable and asserts that the hand-washing custom belonged to pre-70 Pharisaic halakhah (“Defilement,” 183–84, especially n. 19). 57 I.e., “cream pitchers” that are claimed to contain approximately the amount stipulated by the Mishnah for hand-washing purposes. Cf. Magen, “Jerusalem”; Deines, Jüdische, 245–46. 58 It is disputed that these vessels had a uniform volume corresponding to the mishnaic requirement for hand-washing, as once supposed. See Reed, “Stone Vessels,” 387–9; Miller, “Observations,” 416; cf. Idem, “Stepped Pools.” 59 Cf. Kazen, Jesus, 86–87, 269–72. 55

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true for interpreting the Markan hand-washing narrative (Mark 7), too, although here the issues are different, focusing on secondary impurities.

3.2. Whose Audience is Reflected in Mark 7? Although the hand-washing referred to in Mark 7 should be understood as early first-century practice, this says little about the Markan narrative. Recently, James Crossley has argued for an early dating of Mark’s Gospel, based primarily on the antiquity of halakhic practices reflected in a number of Markan narratives. Three of these are discussed in detail: the cornfield incident, the Streitgespräch over divorce, and the hand-washing incident; the latter receives a chapter of its own.60 While I find many of Crossley’s halakhic analyses convincing, I cannot accept his conclusions for an early dating of Mark. The problems involved in the hand-washing narrative are similar to those we encounter in the Markan story of Jesus and the zavah, i.e., separating levels in the text, identifying audiences, and drawing conclusions about the concerns of the author. Crossley agrees that the gospel of Mark is “edited in light of gentile ignorance of Jewish purity laws,” but he stresses that the underlying assumptions “only make sense in a Jewish context.”61 He furthermore points out that Mark’s editorial comments in 7:3–4 display a good understanding of purity law, and suggests that this betrays an interest on the part of Mark for the expansion of purity halakhah, all of which can help us understand Mark’s motives.62 At first sight, it may seem that Crossley differentiates between Mark and the traditions that are being used. By a strange twist of argument, however, Crossley claims that Mark writes before any conflict regarding the keeping of biblical purity laws emerged in the early Christian movement. Mark’s wish would not have been to question purity law in general, only the expansion of biblical law or, more precisely, the idea that secondary impurities could contaminate food through contact via hands and liquid. Since, according to Crossley, Mark consistently portrays Jesus as faithful to biblical law, his editorial comment in 7:19 should be taken to mean that all foods that the Torah permits for consumption are clean and, therefore, hand-washing is unnecessary.63 Mark’s point would simply be that one could eat food with unwashed hands, but it has nothing to do with what foods Jews would eat or not; it thus has basically the same intent as Jesus’ saying in 7:15. Date, especially 159–205.  Crossley, Date, 200. 62 Crossley, Date, 200. 63 Crossley, Date, 192. 60 Crossley, 61

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According to Crossley, the reason why Matthew changes Mark is that food laws have now become a source of conflict, no longer being observed by all Christians, and Mark’s editorial comment in 7:19 may now be misunderstood to justify such behavior. Matthew thus changes Mark’s comment to “but to eat with unwashed hands does not defile the human being” (Matt 15:20), which would actually be what Mark originally meant, and by making Jesus talk of “the mouth” in the key saying, he restricts the possible meaning of Mark 7:15 to the issue of hand-washing before eating.64 Crossley’s arguments for an early dating of Mark before any dissension concerning food or purity laws would have surfaced have several flaws. Here we can only discuss the problem of the audience. If Mark’s primary audience is gentile, and in addition to that a type of gentile audience that would need to be informed in detail of current halakhic practices among Palestinian or Judean Jews, why would Mark go to such pains in order to convince them that hand-washing is unnecessary, especially when nothing is at stake, i.e., when they seem unaware of the practice? I agree with Crossley that there are assumptions in this text that belong to a Jewish context and that the traditions may be very early. I think, however, that Crossley at times confuses Mark with his source and Mark’s audience with an earlier one. Contrary to the narrative of Jesus and the zavah, the hand-washing incident is told in a way that brings out the purity issue. Mark’s redactional comments (7:3–4, 19) are necessary because his audience would otherwise understand neither the details and purposes of hand-washing, nor the relevance of this story for their own quite different problems. Furthermore, the two answers ascribed to Jesus (7:6–8, 9–13), before he actually addresses the subject matter of the accusation, have the same point of Jesus criticizing his opponents for replacing the commandment or word of God with human paradosis (7:8, 9, 13). The former (7:6–8) consists of a quotation from Isaiah 29, a passage frequently used by early Christians.65 While a prophetic critical stance is in line with the historical Jesus, this quotation of Isaiah in a version closer to the LXX than to the MT is likely to represent the work of Mark, or at least a pre-Markan tradition in Greek. The qorban section (7:9–13) that follows is juxtaposed to the Isaianic citation with little redactional effort; it begins with a new introductory formula (καὶ ἔλεγεν αὐτοῖς). It could represent a separate tradition going back to the historical Jesus, and it clearly places the commandment of God against human tradition. From an editorial point of view, however, this makes it a very suitable parallel to the Date, 200–202, 208.  Cf. Westerholm, Jesus, 76. Westerholm mentions Rom 9:20; 11:8; 1 Cor 1:19; Col 2:22. Note also how “this people” (οὗτος ὁ λαός) is used as accusation against Jews in general. The Isaianic passage was easily understood as predictive of the Jewish people. 64 Crossley, 65

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hand-washing story, since the latter lacks this opposition once the Isaianic reply is removed. We could thus easily think of both of these answers as separate pieces of early polemics, inserted into a likewise pre-Markan handwashing tradition by the author. This does not mean that Mark must have created the material, but through his redaction he achieved a clear opposition between divine command and human practice. It should be noted that in the qorban section, too, Mark finds it necessary to translate the meaning of qorban for the sake of his ignorant audience. Matthew apparently finds such explanations unnecessary in the qorban section as well as in the primary hand-washing story. However, he reverses the order of the qorban section and the quotation from Isaiah, reworking the material into a counter-question by Jesus and integrating the two with the hand-washing incident into a coherent narrative. This says something about Matthew’s intended audience: they are supposed to be familiar with Jewish halakhah and enjoy the support of Jesus as a responsible teacher of law for their own practice of not observing hand-washing before meals. It is tempting to think of Matthew’s version as more original, since it fits a Jewish audience better.66 There is clear evidence, however, of this being the result of subsequent redaction. In addition to the integration just mentioned, we must note the introduction of “mouth,” which is clearly secondary.67 While it is possible to interpret Mark 7:15 more broadly, Matthew talks of that which enters and exits through the mouth (Matt 15:11). In the following explanation, the focus is on the heart, and the issues are moral. Matthew, however, retains the focus on the mouth in addition to the heart, which causes a redundant formulation in v. 18: τὰ δὲ ἐκπορευόμενα ἐκ τοῦ στόματος ἐκ τῆς καρδίας ἐξέρχεται. The list that follows is complemented with one more spoken sin (ψευδομαρτυρίαι) in addition to the Markan “blasphemy,” which would otherwise have been the only one associated with the mouth. Although it is entirely possible that in some instances Matthew had access to oral traditions complementing Mark, in this case his text is nevertheless secondary in comparison to that of Mark. It seems to me that Matthew is trying to achieve what Crossley suggests for Mark: he wants to convince his audience that hand-washing before meals is unnecessary. It may also be that he is reacting to Mark and, assuming that his audience used Mark or knew a Markan version of this narrative, Matthew might be implying that taking this story as an argument for neglecting laws concerning food or purity would be a misinterpretation. I cannot see, 66 Cf. Dunn, Jesus, 42–44, 51. Dunn’s argument concerns the original form of Mark 7:15, not the entire narrative. Although I originally (2002) accepted that argument in Jesus, 66–67, I have changed my opinion in the corrected reprint edition 2010. 67 This is one reason why I consider Svartvik’s interpretation of the Markan saying as focused on “evil speech” quite unlikely; cf. Svartvik, Mark, 375–411.

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however, why this should place the Markan audience in the late thirties or early forties, as Crossley would have it. If no conflicts regarding legal issues were yet on the table, are we then to assume that Mark’s gentile audience followed every “biblical” command regarding Sabbath, food, and purity? Why would Mark then bring up the hand-washing issue? It only makes sense if his audience was pressed to accept this practice. But could they then have been so ignorant about this halakhic custom that Mark had to explain it to them? The point that hand-washing before meals is unnecessary would have been relevant to Jesus’ original audience, and even more so to pre-Markan audiences at a time when the idea of an opposition between human tradition and divine command was being developed. But the redacted text of Mark has to explain two halakhic practices to an unknowing gentile audience in order to convey a slightly different point from that in preexisting Jesus traditions, which, if left unexplained, would remain puzzling: that inner purity is more important than outer (Mark 7:15). Although I think that the historical Jesus expressed something similar, Mark would not need to teach his gentile audience this by elaborate explanations of foreign practices, unless he had a further purpose. That purpose is revealed in the “in-house” section (Mark 7:17–23), which is Mark’s typical way of expounding the meaning and contemporary relevance of the Jesus tradition for his present audience.68 This passage suggests that his audience is aware of outer and inner impurity, although they were perhaps ignorant of the halakhic details previously explained, and that Mark invites them to re-contextualize the Jesus tradition and apply it to their own situation, meaning that food impurity is now irrelevant. This interpretation is supported by the subsequent narrative of the Syro-Phoenician woman, suggesting that the present inclusion of gentiles – their purity – was foreboded already during Jesus’ ministry, too. It is not necessary to suppose that the Markan audience was discussing whether to eat pork or not; the issues at stake could have been other food‑ and purity-related conflicts that had to do with commensality between Jewish and gentile Christ-believers.69 But we must suppose some issue related to eating as the context of the audience for which the hand-washing narrative is shaped in its Markan form, and this issue is not identical with the historical hand-washing issue behind the original tradition, since that issue has to be explained for the Markan audience. The Markan context is one in which the Jesus tradition is being re-contextualized and reapplied for a later gentile 68 Mark 7:17 uses εἰς οἶκον. See Mark 2:1; 3:20; 9:28, and the similar ἐν τῇ οἰκίᾳ in 9:33 and 10:10; cf. Hooker, Gospel, 180, 225, 227, 236. 69 Such as the conflict in Antioch referred to by Paul (Gal 2:11–14) or discussions about sacrificial meat (cf. 1 Corinthians 8; Romans 14).

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audience, which had experienced conflicts and dissensions concerning issues of food, most probably with Jewish Christ-believers. In spite of the differences in intent between the hand-washing and the zavah narratives, it is reasonable to assume an earlier stage for some of the traditions in Mark 7, too, and that these would have been previously shaped in Greek with the opposition between human paradosis and divine command as the main point. Such arguments are most viable in contexts in which a general adherence to the details of Scripture is being presupposed and the issues at stake revolve around differences in interpretation and the question concerning which of them are truest to scriptural intent. Mark’s focus is, however, elsewhere; moral matters are given priority over purity concerns and sweeping generalizations are being made. Trying to disentangle the motives in the background is hazardous but will be attempted next.

Jesus’ Motives in Purity Conflicts Unless Mark felt bound to relate every Jesus tradition available for the mere sake of it, we must suppose that he used and shaped the hand-washing tradition with a view to its relevance for his intended audience – an audience of predominantly gentile Christ-believers that needed explanations for halakhic details. The polemics, accusing “this people,” i.e., Jews in general, of giving priority to human traditions over divine commands, thus repeatedly exhibiting lip-service rather than an inner disposition (καὶ παρόμοια τοιαῦτα πολλὰ ποιεῖτε), generalizes the behavior of those whom we may envisage as opponents of the Markan audience. By implication, Mark tells his audience that they of course do or should do the opposite: give priority to divine commands by focusing on inner purity. Except for the example of honoring one’s parents, the contents of the divine word are typically not identified, but can be understood negatively as the opposite of the list of vices (7:21–22) that characterizes the “others.” This does not tell the Markan audience how to discriminate between Scripture and Scriptural interpretation, i.e., halakhah or paradosis. It is true that the rabbis distinguish between scriptural law and tradition.70 This distinction was, however, not easy to make, since tradition sometimes depends on interpretation, attempting to spell out what is ambiguous or implicit in the law.71 Scholarly opinions Sanders, Jewish, 97–130.  This subject is worthy of an article of its own and cannot be further discussed here. Cf. Hedner-Zetterholm, “Kontinuitet”; Jaffee, Torah, 84–99; Berger, Rabbinic, 16–25. The rabbinic concept of an oral Torah probably arose among the Pharisees at the end of the Second Temple period, but its prominence seems to be late, when it played a role in promulgating the Babylonian Talmud and supporting central rabbinic authority. The idea that opposing groups like Sadducees or Samaritans (and later Karaites) were literalists who did not ac70 Cf. 71

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differ as to how early a clear awareness of the difference between written text and its interpretation developed.72 There are no indications that Mark expects his audience to have developed a skilled competency in this regard. They are simply assured that they do nothing wrong in not adhering to Jewish details they do not fully understand, and that their behavior is more pious than that of their opponents. On the one hand, the opposition between divine law and human tradition must be ascribed to the redactor, since it permeates the whole section (7:1–13) and unites the diverse material. On the other hand, Mark uses this opposition for general rhetorical purposes, without much concretion, giving it no role whatseoever in the exposition from v. 15 and onwards. This may tempt us to look for its origin prior to Mark. Does it possibly capture the historical conflict between Jesus and the Pharisees? In a recent article, Friedrich Avemarie argues that Jesus would have regarded the washing of hands not as divine law but as paradosis, a scribal innovation, since the widespread practice was fairly recent. While the idea of unclean food contaminating the eater is found in rabbinic law and may well go back to the Second Temple period, it is not of biblical origin. Furthermore, Avemarie claims that neither Scripture nor “rabbinic teaching … credit[s] the impurity of hands with sufficient intensity as to impart itself on foodstuff.”73 Jesus would thus have claimed that hands never contaminate ordinary food and that contaminated food in any case never contaminates a person; only things coming out of the mouth defile (v. 15). Avemarie takes Jesus’ answer in an absolute rather than a relative sense,74 claiming that here Jesus upholds Scripture against halakhah.75 cept any halakhic interpretations is over-simplified – at times others could accuse rabbinic interpretations of being literalist, too – but they did not accept what they understood as Pharisaic or rabbinic novelties without a basis in their own traditions (cf. Josephus, Ant. 13:295–298). See Bóid, “Samaritan,” 624–49; idem, “L’Antiquité,” 101–15. Bóid regards the washing of hands together with the other items mentioned in Mark 7:2–4 as belonging to the seven Rabbinic commandments that were added as new mitsvot, not to interpret the Torah but in order to assert Rabbinic (or Pharisaic) authority to actually institute new practices on the same level as the Torah (“L’Antiquité,” 104–6 and personal communication). The seven rabbinic mitsvot are summarized in Maimonides’ Book of Commandments (washing hands before bread, eruv, blessing before food, sabbath candles, Purim, Hanukkah, and hallel on certain occasions), but certainly have a long prehistory. I find it difficult, however, to see this concept confirmed at the end of the Second Temple period. In any case the Markan discussion makes an analogy with the qorban tradition, which is not among the seven. At the time of Jesus I would rather understand the washing of hands before chullin as an expansionist halakhic practice that was questioned as to its legitimacy and antiquity. 72 Berger, Rabbinic, 5, 159, n. 15, referring to Alon, Gilat, Neusner, Jaffee and Kraemer. 73 Avemarie, “Jesus.” 74  In spite of conceding that a relative sense is consistent with Markan Greek, cf. Mark 9:37. 75 In v. 19 Mark goes one step further, shifting the focus from eater to food and denying

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Many exegetes consider the saying in Mark 7:15 (οὐδέν ἐστιν ἔξωθεν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου εἰσπορευόμενον εἰς αὐτὸν ὃ δύναται κοινῶσαι αὐτόν, ἀλλὰ τὰ ἐκ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἐκπορευόμενά ἐστιν τὰ κοινοῦντα τὸν ἄνθρωπον) as originating with the historical Jesus, but then assuming a relative reading, i.e., taking the οὐ … ἀλλά construction as reflecting a Semitic dialectic negation, meaning “not so much as” or “rather.”76 The meaning would correspond to Israelite prophetic criticism (cf. Hos 6:6), which was meant to emphasize the priority of humanitarian concerns, not the abrogation of the cult. Jesus would thus have meant that inner (im)purity takes priority over outer. In the past, the main problem with taking Mark 7:15 as originating with Jesus was seen in its lack of Wirkungsgeschichte; subsequent conflicts in regard to food laws in the early Church would be difficult to understand if a clear saying of Jesus to this effect were to have been known. Such views, however, presuppose an absolute reading from an anti-Torah perspective. A relative reading greatly diminishes the problem, as the saying originally would not have been understood as questioning food or purity laws, only relativizing them. The lack of Wirkungsgeschichte can, however, also be explained by an absolute reading, restricting the issue to hand-washing. Although Crossley speaks of not taking the saying “literally,” he comes close to Avemarie in similarly restricting its scope to defilement through handwashing, thus understanding it to criticize halakhic tradition.77 Restricting the scope of Mark 7:15 to the issue of hand-washing is, however, not without problems. It is this general statement concerning that which goes in and out, which gives occasion to the “in-house” explanation (vv. 17–23) that represents Markan present-day application, as suggested above. This elaboration on inner (im)purity for the benefit of the Markan audience is based on a non-literal understanding of the saying in v. 15; what comes out of a person is taken in an ethical sense. If, however, the saying in 7:15 is to be taken in a restricted sense, we would expect this to be valid not only for its first half but also for the second. If οὐδέν ἐστιν ἔξωθεν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου εἰσπορευόμενον εἰς αὐτὸν ὃ δύναται κοινῶσαι αὐτόν is taken absolutely and literally, i.e., meaning that no contagion, no impurity, can enter the human person through the intake of common food (since contamination via hands is unscriptural and thus invalid), then what does the following ἀλλὰ τὰ ἐκ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἐκπορευόμενά ἐστιν τὰ κοινοῦντα τὸν ἄνθρωπον mean? One possibility is that it refers to bodily impurities. Avemarie suggests this, but immediately retreats: genital discharge does come from within and the impurity of food altogether, i.e., denying scriptural law. This is not, however, part of Jesus’ argument. 76 E.g. Westerholm, Jesus, 83; Booth, Jesus, 69–71. 77 Crossley, Date, 193.

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is a biblical source of impurity, but this reasoning does not fit with other sources.78 But perhaps it does, after all? Corpse impurity was understood as some kind of death “ooze,” a quasi-physical miasma, coming out of dead bodies, with the ability to, among other things, fill enclosed spaces. “Leprosy,” i.e., the skin diseases subsumed under the heading tsara‘at, seems to have involved scales and cracking of the skin. Jesus’ saying would then have expressed the view that bodily substances (death “ooze,” genital discharges, and “leprosy-stuff” breaching the body envelope) transmit impurity, while food does not. Alternatively, with a relative reading, the saying could have categorized these impure “substances” as more aggressive impurity transmitters than food. The idea is interesting, because it would represent one more stance regarding the transmission of impurity, in addition to the various non-compatible ideas of impurity transmission found in the Mishnah.79 And it could claim scriptural support. In a recent article, Yair Furstenberg has suggested a somewhat similar interpretation. Taking hand-washing before eating as an originally GrecoRoman custom, adopted by the Pharisees and integrated into the purity system, Furstenberg argues that the rabbinic system, originating in the Second Temple period, reverses the direction of contamination. Instead of people and vessels contaminating food and liquids as in the biblical system, we find food and liquids contaminating people and vessels. Jesus would then have reacted against these innovations, favoring a view of humans as the source of impurity rather than its target.80 While these suggestions should be seriously considered, I find it unlikely that the impurity of human beings and their contaminating power should have been the focus of the historical Jesus, explaining his motives for defending his disciples’ neglect to wash their hands. Narrative traditions elsewhere do not suggest that Jesus took a strict view on defilement from the main “fathers of impurity.” Moreover, subsequent early Christian development would not make sense had the historical Jesus taken a clear stance, emphasizing the human body as the primary source of impurity and transmitter of bodily contact-contagion. A “moral” interpretation fits a “continuity perspective” much better.81 While the Markan exposition is located εἰς οἶκον, and thus represents early Christian elaboration, the impetus for a moral 78 Avemarie,

“Jesus.” connection; R. Joshua: interposition of liquid; R. Aqiba: hands unclean in the first degree; standard view: hands unclean only in the second degree; categorizing according to the concepts of “unclean” and “unfit.” See m. Yad. 3.1–2; m. ehar. 2.2–7; cf. m. ag. 2.5–7; m. ’Ohal. 1.1–3. 80  Furstenberg, “Defilement,” 192–98. 81 For a definition of a continuity or continuum perspective, see Holmén, “Introduction,” 1–13. 79 R. Eliezer:

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interpretation is likely to have come from the Jesus tradition, as Mark 7:15 suggests.82 Moreover, the separation of biblical law from halakhah is difficult. The idea of separate hand impurity seems to be derived from scriptural rules concerning the zav and hand-washing (Lev 15:11–12). As we have already mentioned, the idea of hand-washing before meals may be seen as a counterpart of this provision with regard to secondary impurities. The idea of unclean foods contaminating the eater has some scriptural support, too. According to Leviticus 11, various types of “swarmers” are considered disgusting and may not be eaten, but the dead bodies of “ground swarmers” are also said to contaminate by contact, rendering not only clothes and utensils unclean, but also liquids and foodstuff (Lev 11:29–38). The implicit supposition is that unclean food that has somehow come into contact with dead “ground swarmers” should be discarded. When Lev 11:45 warns against making oneself disgusting and unclean through these ground swarmers, a systemic reading would understand this to include a prohibition against eating such food, since it would make the eater unclean.83 As purity rules were harmonized, this rule seems to have been applied to all sorts of ritual impurities, to the effect that they contaminated foodstuffs by contact and that such food made the eater unclean. This logical argument may be seen in m. ehar. 2, in which R. Eliezer argues from an idea of connection, and it would easily have been understood as scriptural law. The attempt to read Mark 7:15 as intent on the body as a source of impurity should, however, not be too readily dismissed. Some such view could be seen as part of an ongoing inner-Jewish discussion. It is possible to think of the saying behind Mark 7:15 as a kind of slogan, an argument against “expansionists” like the Pharisees and the Essenes, by “non-expansionists,” perhaps Sadducees or people representing an old-fashioned Galilean type of piety, who did not accept recent “innovations.” This does not necessarily mean that some accepted human traditions in addition to biblical law, while others did not.84 Interpretive activity, i.e., halakhic development, was necessary for anyone attempting to apply ancient law within the bounds of changing historical circumstances. This did not prevent one group from accusing another of transgressing the Torah, when the issues at stake de-

82 Furstenberg does acknowledge that “the force of Jesus’ statement lies in its ability simultaneously to rise to a moral level” (“Defilement,” 197–98). 83 Most of these examples are mentioned by other interpreters, too, but with differing interpretations. See, for example, Furstenberg, “Defilement,” 195; Crossley, Date, 193–97; Sanders, Jewish, 199–205, 228–36. For a discussion of Leviticus 11, see Kazen, “Dirt,” 55–57; Emotions, 72–80. 84 Cf. n. 71 above.

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pended on differing hermeneutics, as some contemporary texts suggest.85 Jesus would then have used a current argument against the requirement of hand-washing that was neither his own nor unknown to his opponents, but at the same time he gave it his own slant.86 The reason for taking Jesus’ saying in a wider sense is that the paradigm of “inner” and “outer” fits with other parts of the Jesus tradition, which is evident when we look at Q.87 In Q 11:44 Jesus complains that the Pharisees are like unmarked graves. The point in the Lukan version is not, as in Matthew, that they are whitewashed (hypocrites), but that they are unmarked and thus their impurity is invisible.88 The saying could be taken to indicate that Jesus acknowledged corpse impurity and worked with a basic purity paradigm, like any Jew in the Second Temple period, but it says nothing about what significance he attributed to it. In its context, however, the saying is associated with a discussion about inside and outside, emphasizing the relative priority of inside over against the outside. A similar interpretation is reasonable for the cup saying (Q 11:39–41), which reads in Luke’s version: “Now you Pharisees, you purify the outside (τὸ ἔξωθεν) of the cup and the plate, but your inside (τὸ δὲ ἔσωθεν) is full of greed and evil. Fools, did not he who made the outside also make the inside? Rather give the contents (τὰ ἐνόντα) as alms, and lo, all is clean to you.” For this last sentence, Matthew instead has “Blind Pharisee, purify first the inside (τὸ ἐντὸς) of the cup, so that also its outside (τὸ ἐκτὸς) may become pure.” A number of scholars have related this saying to the rabbinic tradition about the schools of Hillel and Shammai concerning the order of handwashing and blessing the cup at a meal.89 This tradition, like Mark 7, presupposes the separate impurity of hands, based on the assumptions mentioned above. The saying is given a moral interpretation with the point that the inside is just as important, or even more important, than the outside. The bottom line is thus the relative priority of social and ethical issues over against purity concerns. The subsequent saying on tithing (Q 11:42), concluding that “you should have done this without neglecting the other,” also suggests a relative interpretation. In the Lukan version, this priority of the inside is motivated by concern for the poor, and almsgiving seems to have a purificatory effect (Luke 11:41). This may be read as a focus on the restoration of Pss. Sol. 2:3, 8:11–13; CD-A 4 –5; 4QMMT B 49–72. suggestion is admittedly speculative and in need of support from an extended discussion about contemporary halakhic development, in order to be further pursued, which is not possible here. 87 For a fuller discussion than the one provided below, see Kazen, Jesus, 223–28. 88  For a number of reasons Matthew must be seen as responsible for more redactional changes than Luke. Kazen, Jesus, 223–28. 89 m. Ber. 8.2–3; cf. t. Ber. 6 (5):2–3. 85 Cf.

86 This

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the people and as a concern for the marginalized that is made difficult by expansionist interpretations, which in the case of purity would have affected social fellowship and food supply. Against such an interpretation, Jesus is portrayed as giving priority to moral issues for social reasons. While the narrative context of the Lukan version is provided by Luke (11:37–38),90 it conspicuously places traditional sayings about inside and outside in a setting that concerns ritual purification, in which Jesus’ practice of purification is questioned by a Pharisee, just as his disciples’ behavior is questioned in Mark 7. Outside the canon, we find P.Oxy. 840 similarly locating a discussion of inside and outside, interpreted in moral terms, in a setting where the purificatory practices of Jesus and his disciples are questioned by a representative of the expansionist interpretation.91 An insideoutside discourse is thus clearly associated with ritual purification in the Jesus tradition outside of Mark, too.

4. Conclusions By juxtaposing the zavah narrative in Mark 5 to the hand-washing story in Mark 7, we have attempted to interpret their historical purity issues, define their audiences, and disentangle Mark’s agenda from that of earlier traditions and the motives of the historical Jesus. Examining the historical status of genital dischargers at the end of the Second Temple period, we have suggested that the zavah was the most vulnerable category, close to the “leper” in a hierarchy of impurities. Unlike many other impurity bearers, she seems not to have had access to any extra water-rite for mitigating or lessening contagion by contact, such as the first-day ablution for the corpse-impure, or hand-washing for the zav. Although the origin is uncertain, hand-washing for secondary impurities may be seen as an extension of this type of practice for primary impurity bearers – a possibility of early purification not prescribed in the Torah but having some possible biblical precedents. Looking at the Markan text and language, we have emphasized the importance of distinguishing between various levels and possible audiences. In the zavah narrative, there is an undeniable purity issue in the Greek text, which is not made explicit or exploited by Mark. His focus is, as Haber has shown, on Jesus’ divine healing power and the saving faith of the woman. The purity the Lukan syntax and style; Kazen, Jesus, 227. case can be made for some degree of historical memory behind this tradition; see Kazen, Jesus, 256–60. For a recent full-length study of P. Oxy. 840, judging it an early second century Jewish-Christian text using memories of canonical stories but not earlier sources, see Kruger, Gospel. 90 Cf. 91 A

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issue, however, was of little relevance to Mark’s audience, although Mark himself was probably fully aware of it. The tension between purity and healing in the zavah narrative would thus not have been readily visible for a Markan audience, but more so at a pre-Markan stage. The hand-washing narrative in Mark 7 must be read with similar discrimination. The antiquity of the practice of hand-washing cannot be used for an early dating of Mark, but the ignorance in halakhic matters of the obviously gentile Markan audience shows that some of the arguments contained in the redacted traditions rather belong to a pre-Markan level. Halakhic detail in Mark 7 speaks only for the antiquity of pre-Markan traditions. It is unreasonable to think that Mark would have used the hand-washing narrative to instruct a gentile audience, otherwise ignorant in halakhic matters, that the practice of handwashing – which they did not understand – was unnecessary, and at a time before conflicts concerning food or purity laws would have emerged. Rather, the narrative is shaped to address an issue related to eating, different from the historical issue of hand-washing, which was relevant to a later audience. Asking for the motives of a historical person is by necessity a speculative enterprise. However, it may be a useful exercise for distinguishing possible motives of the historical Jesus from those of the Markan author or of the early Christ-believers who were bearers of pre-Markan traditions. Mark’s motives are at least in part Christological and soteriological. In the zavah narrative there is a focus on the saving faith of the woman and on Jesus as God’s eschatological messenger with divine healing powers. Similarly, the hand-washing story, in Mark’s view, emphasizes Jesus’ superiority over other Jewish teachers and his authority to interpret the divine word, taking it beyond previous limitations, eventually breaking out of – or at least expanding – ethnic limitations. The question of Scripture versus tradition was certainly a live issue towards the end of the Second Temple period. Although Mark makes use of this opposition in his narrative framework for general purposes, the validity of biblical commands over against recent innovations or interpretations does not seem to be his prime concern in the hand-washing story, since it plays no role in the subsequent interpretation. It only serves as a rhetorical tool. Mark’s categories are blunt, and the fine points would not have been comprehensible for his gentile audience, except for a general assurance that they were in fact following the divine word in spite of not accommodating themselves to a Jewish lifestyle. At an earlier stage of tradition, however, Scripture against halakhah could have been a main focus. Just as the purity issue in the story of Jesus and the zavah would have been obvious to Greekspeaking Jewish readers at a pre-Markan level, the finer points in the traditions behind Mark 7 regarding halakhic interpretation and conflicts between Scripture and tradition would have been of relevance to a pre-Markan audi-

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ence. To claim the priority of Scripture over tradition would have been of prime importance in pre-Markan traditions, assuring early Christ-believers of Jewish heritage that their non-observance on a number of halakhic issues was justified by the example of their master in accordance with the Jesus tradition. The priority of Scripture over against halakhah also continued to be of utmost importance in later Matthean communities, in which conflicts with emerging rabbinic Judaism were accentuated. As for Jesus’ own motives, we may doubt that the Scripture versus tradition issue was the most important. It certainly belonged within the context of competing groups with opposing interpretations, and accusations of neglecting the Torah in favor of one’s own ideas could always be of good value in a debate. We might even think of Jesus using a Sadducean or Galilean argument: “let’s not accept this new extension of defilement from the outside – ritual impurity primarily goes the other way, it comes out of the body.”92 Jesus would then, however, have given this a wider application. And as elsewhere, his motives would probably have been tied to his eschatological kingdom vision and the priority given to marginalized and vulnerable social categories. Inclusion of the periphery is a marked characteristic of Jesus’ project of restoration. The tendency to portray Jesus as giving priority to the poor and liminal dominates the Jesus tradition to such an extent that it is difficult to dismiss. In the zavah narrative, concern for one of the most vulnerable among the impurity bearers must be considered a plausible explanation on a historical level. Jesus’ attitude to purity issues could profitably be understood as expressing the relative priority of social action in favor of the poor and needy in view of the eschatological restoration of the people, which provided a framework for his activity. The hand-washing incident could be read into such a context, too. Jesus would then represent the rural and the poor, who could not afford discarding foodstuffs or compromising social fellowship because of expanded interpretations of purity rules. Although we have suggested that the question of Jesus’ authority belongs to Markan or pre-Markan Christology, it may in part go back to Jesus.93 Historically, however, it is reasonable to posit that Jesus regarded his authority as eschatological rather than personal, i.e., as inherent in his kingdom vision rather than in his own person. It thus had to do with the relative priority of inside versus outside, of periphery versus center, and of common people versus establishment. These are, however, suggestions that go beyond the scope of the present essay and need further corroboration.94 92 Cf.

Furstenberg’s interpretation in “Defilement.”  Mark repeatedly describes Jesus as one with ἐξουσία (Mark 1:22, 27; 2:10; 11:28, 29, 33; cf. his authorization of the disciples in 3:15 and 6:6). 94 I am pursuing these issues further in Scripture (forthcoming). 93

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Bibliography Avemarie, F. “Jesus and Halakhic Purity.” Pages 255–280 in The New Testament and Rabbinic Literature. Edited by P. Tomson, D. Pollefeyt, F. García Martínez, and R. Bieringer. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 136. Leiden: Brill, 2010. Baumgarten, J. M. “The Pharisaic-Sadducean Controversies about Purity and the Qumran Texts.” Journal of Jewish Studies 31 (1980): 157–170. –. “The Purification Rituals in DJD 7.” Pages 199–209 in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Forty Years of Research. Edited by D. Dimant and U. Rappaport. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 10. Leiden: Brill, 1992. –. “Tohorot.” Pages 79–122 in Qumran Cave 4, XXV: Halakhic Texts. Edited by J. M. Baumgarten et. al. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 35. Oxford: Clarendon, 1999. –. “The Use of ‫ מי נידה‬for General Purification.” Pages 481–485 in The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years after Their Discovery: Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20–25, 1997. Edited by L. H. Schiffman, E. Tov, and J. C. VanderKam. Jerusalem: The Shrine of the Book, Israel Museum, 2000. Berger, M. S. Rabbinic Authority. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998. Bóid, I. Ruairidh M. “L’Antiquité des Racines du Karaïsme.” Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Genootshap: Ex Oriente Lux 34 (1997): 101–115. –. Principles of Samaritan Halachah. Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity 38. Leiden: Brill, 1989. –. “The Samaritan Halachah.” Pages 624–649 in The Samaritans. Edited by A. D. Crown. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989. Booth, R. P. Jesus and the Laws of Purity: Tradition History and Legal History in Mark 7. Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series 13. Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1986. Cohen, Shaye J. D. “Menstruants and the Sacred in Judaism and Christianity.” Pages 273–299 in Woman’s History and Ancient History. Edited by S. B. Pomeroy. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina, 1991. Crossley, J. G. The Date of Mark’s Gospel: Insights from the Law in Earliest Christianity. Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series 266. London: T & T Clark, 2004. Deines, R. Jüdische Steingefässe und pharisäische Frömmigkeit: Ein archäologisch‑historischer Beitrag zum Verständnis von Joh 2,6 und der jüdischen Reinheitshalacha zur Zeit Jesu. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 2/52. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993. Dunn, J. D. G. Jesus, Paul and the Law: Studies in Mark and Galatians. London: SPCK,1990. Eshel, E. “4QRitual of Purification A.” Pages 135–153 in Qumran Cave 4, XXV: Halakhic Texts. Edited by J. M. Baumgarten et al. Discoveries in the Judaean Desert 35. Oxford: Clarendon, 1999. Fonrobert, C. E. “The Woman with a Blood Flow (Mark 5.24–34) Revisited: Menstrual Laws and Jewish Culture in Christian Feminist Hermeneutics.” Pages 121– 140 in Early Christian Interpretation of the Scriptures of Israel: Investigations and Proposals. Edited by C. A. Evans and J. A. Sanders. Journal for the Study of the

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New Testament: Supplement Series 48. Studies in Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity 5. Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1997. Furstenberg, Y. “Defilement Penetrating the Body: A New Understanding of Contamination in Mark 7.15.” New Testament Studies 54 (2008): 176–200. Haber, S. “They Shall Purify Themselves”: Essays on Purity in Early Judaism. Edited by A. Reinhartz. Early Judaism and Its Literature 24. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008. –. “A Woman’s Touch: Feminist Encounters with the Hemorrhaging Woman in Mark 5.24–34.” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 26 (2003): 171–192. Harrington, H. K. The Impurity Systems of Qumran and the Rabbis: Biblical Foundations. Society of Biblical Literature Series 143. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993. Hedner-Zetterholm, K. “Kontinuitet och förändring i judendomen: Den muntliga Torahs roll.” Svensk exegetisk årsbok 71 (2006): 209–230. Hooker, M. D. The Gospel according to Saint Mark. Black’s New Testament Commentaries 2. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1993. Holmén, T. “An Introduction to the Continuum Approach.” Pages 1–16 in Jesus from Judaism to Christianity: Continuum Approaches to the Historical Jesus. Edited by T. Holmén. Library of New Testament Studies 352. London: T & T Clark, 2007. Jaffee, M. S. Torah in the Mouth: Writing and Oral Tradition in Palestinian Judaism, 200 BCE–400 CE. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001. Kahl, B. “Jairus und die verlorenen Töchter Israels: Sozioliterarische Überlegungen zum Problem der Grenzüberschreitung in Mk 5, 21–43.” Pages 61–78 in Von der Wurzel getragen: Christlich-feministische Exegese in Auseinandersetzung mit Antijudaismus. Edited by L. Schottroff and M.-T. Wacker. Biblical Interpretation Series 17. Leiden: Brill, 1996. Kazen, T. “4Q274 Fragment 1 Revisited – or Who Touched Whom? Further Evidence for Ideas of Graded Impurity and Graded Purifications.” Dead Sea Discoveries 17 (2010): 53–87. –. “Dirt and Disgust: Body and Morality in Biblical Purity Laws.” Pages 43–64 in Perspectives on Purity and Purification in the Bible. Edited by B. J. Schwartz, D. Wright, J. Stackert, and N. S. Meshel. The Library of Hebrew Bible /Old Testament Studies 474. New York: T & T Clark, 2008. –. “Explaining Discrepancies in the Purity Laws about Discharges.” Revue biblique 114 (2007): 348–371. –. Issues of Impurity in Early Judaism. Coniectanea Biblica: New Testament Series 45. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2010. –. Jesus and Purity Halakhah: Was Jesus Indifferent to Impurity? Coniectanea Biblica: New Testament Series 38. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 2002. Now in corrected reprint edition. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2010. –. Scripture, Interpretation, or Authority? Motives and Arguments in Jesus’ Halakhic Conflicts. Forthcoming. –. “Tidiga Jesusbilder: Om erfarenheten bakom och framför kristologin.” Svensk Teologisk Kvartalskrift 81 (2005): 49–66. Kruger, M. J. The Gospel of the Savior: An Analysis of P. Oxy. 840 and Its Place in the Gospel Traditions of Early Christianity. Texts and Editions for New Testament Study 1. Leiden: Brill, 2005.

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Lawrence, J. D. Washing in Water: Trajectories of Ritual Bathing in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Literature. Society of Biblical Literature Academia Biblica 23. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2006. Maccoby, H. Ritual and Morality: The Ritual Purity System and its Place in Judaism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Magen, Y. “Jerusalem as a Center of the Stone Vessel Industry during the Second Temple Period.” Pages 244–257 in Ancient Jerusalem Revealed. Edited by H. Geva. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1994. Meacham, T. (leBeit Yoreh). “An Abbreviated History of the Development of the Jewish Menstrual Laws.” Pages 23–39 in Women and Water: Menstruation in Jewish Life and Law. Edited by R. R. Wasserfall. Hanover, NH: Brandeis University Press, 1999. –. “Appendix.” Pages 255–260 in Women and Water: Menstruation in Jewish Life and Law. Edited by R. R. Wasserfall. Hanover, NH: Brandeis University Press, 1999. Milgrom, J. “4QTohoraa: An Unpublished Qumran Text on Purities.” Pages 59–68 in Time to Prepare the Way in the Wilderness. Edited by D. Dimant and L. Schiffman. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 16. Leiden: Brill, 1995. –. Leviticus, 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. Anchor Bible 3. Garden City: Doubleday, 1991. –. “Studies in the Temple Scroll.” Journal of Biblical Literature 97 (1978): 512–518. Miller, S. S. “Some Observations on Stone Vessel Finds and Ritual Purity in Light of Talmudic Sources.” Pages 402–419 in Zeichen aus Text und Stein: Studien auf dem Weg zu einer Archäologie des Neuen Testaments. Edited by S. Alkier and J. Zangenberg. TANZ 42. Tübingen and Basel: Francke Verlag, 2003. –. “Stepped Pools, Stone Vessels, and other Identity Markers of Complex Common Judaism.” Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Periods 41 (2010): 214–243. Poirier, J. C. “Purity Beyond the Temple in the Second Temple Era.” Journal of Biblical Literature 122 (2003): 247–265. Reed, J. L. “Stone Vessels and Gospel Texts: Purity and Socio-Economics in John 2.” Pages 381–401 in Zeichen aus Text und Stein: Studien auf dem Weg zu einer Archäologie des Neuen Testaments. Edited by S. Alkier and J. Zangenberg. TANZ 42. Tübingen and Basel: Francke Verlag, 2003. Regev, E. “Pure Individualism: The Idea of Non-Priestly Purity in Ancient Judaism.” Journal for the Study of Judaism 31 (2000): 176–202. Sanders, E. P. Jewish Law from Jesus to the Mishnah: Five Studies. London: SCM, 1990. –. Judaism: Practice and Belief 63 BCE – 66 CE. London: SCM, 1992. Schiffman, L. H. “Pharisaic and Sadducean Halakhah in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls: The Case of Tevul Yom. Dead Sea Discoveries 1 (1994): 285–299. Svartvik, J. Mark and Mission: Mk 7:1–23 in Its Narrative and Historical Contexts. Coniectanea Biblica: New Testament Series 32. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 2000. Taylor, V. The Gospel According to St. Mark: The Greek Text with Introduction, Notes and Indexes. 2d ed. London: Macmillan, 1982. Theissen, G. The Miracle Stories of the Early Christian Tradition. Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1983.

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Tomson, P. “Zavim 5:12 – Reflections on Dating Mishnaic Halakha.” Pages 53–69 in History and Form: Dutch Studies in the Mishnah. Papers Read at the Workshop “Mishnah”. Edited by A. Kuyt and N. A. van Uchelen. Amsterdam: J. Palache Instituut, 1988. Wainwright, E. M. Women Healing/Healing Women: The Genderization of Healing in Early Christianity. London: Equinox, 2006. Wassen, C. “Jesus and the Hemorrhaging Woman in Mark 5:24–34: Insights from Purity Laws from the Dead Sea Scrolls.” Pages 641–660 in Scripture in Transition: Essays on Septuagint, Hebrew Bible, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honour of Raija Sollamo. Edited by A. Voitila and J. Jokiranta. Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 126. Leiden: Brill, 2008. Werrett, I. C. Ritual Purity and the Dead Sea Scrolls. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 72. Leiden: Brill, 2007. Westerholm, S. Jesus and Scribal Authority. Coniectanea Biblica: New Testament Series 10. Lund: CWK Gleerup, 1978. White Crawford, S. The Temple Scroll and Related Texts. Companion to the Qumran Scrolls 2. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000.

Purity, Holiness, and the Kingdom of Heaven in Matthew’s Narrative World Anders Runesson ‫מִי–יַעֲלֶה בְהַר–יְהוָה וּמִי–יָקוּם בִּמְקוֹם קָדְשׁוֹ׃‬ Ps 24:3

1. Introduction: Beyond the Familiar “Who shall ascend the hill of the LORD? And who shall stand in his holy place?” These words from Psalm 24 capture the timeless question of how the divine may be approached, how humans can reach beyond the profane towards that which is holy, towards that which perfects a person, a people, the world.1 This is also the key question that inspired much of Susan Haber’s scholarship on ancient Judaism, which she defined, appropriately, to include Jesus and the earliest phases of the movement from which one offshoot developed into what later became known as Christianity; the title of her book, “They Shall Purify Themselves,” edited posthumously by Adele Reinhartz, illustrates this well.2 While it has been common among both Christian and Jewish scholars, not least terminologically, to treat ancient Judaism and Christianity as if they were separate religions from the very beginning,3 mirroring in some way the modern academic distinction 1  Psalm 15 expounds the same theme. As for Psalm 24, the question of holiness and human worthiness in relation to the divine is introduced with a universalizing statement about God as the creator and owner of creation in its entirety. 2  Haber, “Purify.” The work includes essays on, e.g., the historical Jesus, the Gospel of Mark, and Hebrews. 3 On Christian writers on Judaism, see, e.g., the pioneering work by Moore, “Christian Writers,” 197–254. Cf. Part One of the now classic study by Sanders, Paul. While most scholar agree with the critique leveled against the confessional biases in earlier scholarship on these and related issues, the fact remains that many researchers still approach Second Temple Judaism as if the historical Jesus and the earliest traditions about him were not part of that religious culture. Somewhat strangely, Rabbinic Judaism, which developed after the fall of the Jerusalem Temple in 70 CE and did not become mainstream Judaism until Late Antiquity, is often understood, implicitly or explicitly, as more of an expression of Second

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between different disciplines (as well as contemporary religious identities), Susan, with whom I had the privilege to work for a few years when she studied at McMaster,4 belonged among those thinkers who emphasized that history needs to be approached, first and foremost, as something ‘other,’ as something distinct from our own modern cultures, religions, and everyday lives. She would have agreed, I believe, that history begins with profound defamiliarization and acceptance of confusion, and slowly takes form as a result of radical listening. It is my view that once the texts of the New Testament are read not against the background of first-century Judaism but as expressions of it,5 the workings of their patterns of thought and practice emerge as religio-cultural phenomena making ancient sense beyond the artificial and sometimes less than helpful boundaries of academic disciplines. If we, then, proceed from this basic starting point and approach a first-century text from the eastern Mediterranean such as the Gospel of Matthew, asking the questions about holiness and purity that occupied so much of Susan’s research, in which way does the text ‘respond’? Entering Matthew’s narrative world, how do people move around in it? Why do they do and say the things they do? As Walter Burkert and others have repeatedly noted, in order to understand ancient ‘religion,’6 and the ancient world more generally, it is of key importance to focus on ritual and ritual patterns.7 Behind such patterns of ritual lie certain ideas about how the world and the cosmos function and how gods and humans should interact; a worldview in which certain notions, as they come into contact with socio-political and other realities in everyday life, activate specific ritual beTemple Judaism than the Jesus movement. Consciously or unconsciously, such approaches to the ancient sources seem more guided by the later reception of the material – and possibly also by modern identity concerns – than by the patterns of thought and practice evident in first-century texts as well as in the archaeological material. 4 I remember with fondness the graduate seminars on the ancient synagogue, the historical Jesus, and the Gospel of John that she took with me. Her work in those seminars, as well as the theories she developed beyond those settings and discussed with me as a member of her supervisory committee, were of exceptional quality. The energy, vitality, and integrity that characterized her as a person, her professional approach to academia, and her kind and friendly demeanor was an inspiration and an example to everyone around her. It is with gratitude that I dedicate the present study to her memory, hoping that it will to some degree continue the research trajectory that she had begun to outline for herself but which was cut short by her untimely death. 5 Cf. Ruzer, Mapping, who takes a similar overall approach. 6  The concept of ‘religion,’ as this term is commonly used in the West today, did not develop until Late Antiquity; its use in contexts earlier than this period is thus problematic. For discussion, see Runesson, “Inventing,” 62–4, and n. 13. 7  Burkert, Greek Religion. Recently, DeMaris, New Testament, has emphasized the importance of applying such a perspective to the study of the New Testament texts; for his own approach, see especially pages 1–10.

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havior in particular life-situations depending on the religio-cultural setting.8 This does not mean that theology / ideology or worldview would be more important when the scholar aims to understand ritual, but rather that ritual should be analyzed as intertwined with worldview in such a way that ritual behavior will reveal something about the worldview in the culture in which specific rituals are performed, and vice versa; that a worldview reveals some of the dynamic aspects of ritual behavior. In other words, it is reasonable to assume that if what we are looking for is a reconstruction of what may be called the theology of a specific ancient text, we need to pay attention to both thought patterns and patterns of ritual as expressed in that text in order to avoid an anachronistic distinction between thought and practice. Turning to Matthew’s Gospel and its implicit and explicit claims about how the world works, we shall focus in this essay on aspects of purity and impurity and attempt to reconstruct how Matthew’s text solves the crisis which it is clearly addressing, and, more specifically, how sin plays a role in the enfolding drama around the main character, Jesus. The central question to be asked is this: Does Matthew’s Jesus pay attention to issues of purity / impurity or does he operate as if such concerns are misguided, as if the Jewish purity system has been abolished with the coming of the Messianic age? In order to answer this question, we shall proceed in the following way. First, we need to ask the basic question whether, in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus and / or the narrator’s voice make the distinction common in the ancient Mediterranean world and elsewhere between holy and profane space. The answer to this question will have implications for how we interpret the characters in the narrative as they act and react. Second, then, we need to address the problem of how Matthew’s Jesus approaches ritual and moral impurity, an issue closely related to the problem of sacred and profane space, as well as to concepts of sin. 8  This does not mean, of course, that all people would have elaborate views on exactly what a ritual implied theologically or ideologically. In ritual analysis, it is helpful to distinguish between at least four levels with regard to what rituals are and how people relate to them. These are: the level of ideology (which relates to the meaning ascribed to the performance of rituals); the level of use (which looks at how rituals are used by people, regardless of any ideological content ascribed to them); the level of structure (analyzes how status and relationships are implicitly formed in and by ritual contexts); the level of performance (refers to the concrete ways in which a ritual is executed). For discussion, see Runesson, Origins, 42–55. In addition, phenomena that trigger the performance of specific rituals may be used to classify, generally and with some overlap, ritual behavior. Modéus, Sacrifice, 33–56, suggests the following six types of main causae: causae of the cycle of nature; life-cycle causae; constitutive causae; restitutive causae, causae of crisis; causae of initiation (see also Runesson, Origins, 47–51). It is such causae, rather than, e.g., specific ideological concerns, that ‘interact’ within a larger worldview in diverse cultures to produce specific ritual performances at specific points in time.

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In a third step, we shall look closer at the relationship between purity concerns and Matthew’s understanding of Jewish law more generally, as well as of the related concepts of forgiveness and atonement, all of which are core issues for the understanding of the text and the role of the Messiah it proclaims. Matthew’s narrative is, in fact, quite clear about the purpose of the Messiah, as early on in the story “an angel of the Lord” appears to Joseph in a dream instructing him as follows regarding the child to be born: “you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins” (Matt 1:21). The rest of the narrative can, arguably, be said to expand on how this was done, and why. It seems important, then, to ask what ‘sin’ (hamartia) means in this text, and how this concept relates to ritual and moral impurity, if at all, and to other concepts, such as defilement of the land and the Jerusalem temple. As Eyal Regev has recently argued, “[t]here is no doubt that this phenomenon [i.e., moral impurity] underlies the moral exhortations and admonitions in early Christian texts, and perhaps other features of Christian theology itself.”9 How does such a claim correspond to Matthew’s narrative? Finally, then, we may ask how all of this, holiness – purity – sin, relate to Jesus’ central message of the eschatological kingdom of heaven in Matthew’s Gospel, the goal of his mission. Is purity required for entry into the kingdom?

2. Between Heaven and Earth: Distinguishing Between Holy and Profane Approaching the Gospel of Matthew with these questions in mind, our historical reading of Matthew’s text should take as point of departure firstcentury Jewish understandings of law, as it relates to purity and holiness. First, as Haber has emphasized, we need to consider, on the one hand, the distinction between holy and profane, and, on the other, the distinction between pure and impure.10 While the pure could relate to both holy and profane, the holy must never come in contact with the impure. Second, regarding purity itself, we need to keep in mind that purity concerns were related to both ritual and moral purity, and that moral impurity could, with potentially catastrophic consequences, defile the land as well as render the temple impure.11 It should be noted, then, that such interrelated concerns  9  Regev, “Moral Impurity,” 383–411, 391–92. See also the discussion in Klawans, Impurity, especially chapter six (136–57) on ritual and moral impurity in the New Testament. 10 Haber, “Purify,” 165; Haber refers to Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16. 11  This is so both in the Hebrew Bible and in many Second Temple Jewish texts, although the exact interpretation of the concepts and the consequences of impurity could vary. For discussion of this issue, see Klawans, Impurity; idem, Purity. Cf. Regev, “Moral Impurity,”

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about moral and ritual purity problematizes the common understanding that ethical instruction can be understood independently from purity discourses. Nor should it be assumed that a focus on moral purity would lead to a rejection of ritual purity concerns.12 While ritual and moral purity are different in nature – ritual purity has nothing to do with sin, while grave sins may result in moral impurity – the core concern is still about impurity and its effect on people, temple, and land. If we apply these two general phenomena through which law was interpreted and practiced in first-century Judaism as a filter through which we read Matthew’s Gospel, we have anchored our reading of Matthew within a first-century setting and may be able to discern more clearly Matthew’s point of view – negatively or positively – with regard to purity aspects of the law in light of the presence of the Messiah in Israel and worldwide.13 In the following we shall seek to understand how Matthew approaches the concept of holy space. Does Matthew divide the world into holy and profane, as did other Jews, or does he reject as invalid such distinctions? If a distinction is maintained, what exactly is understood to be holy and how does Matthew relate to such phenomena?

2.1. Jerusalem: The City and the Temple Beginning with the larger context in which the text was produced, in the ancient Mediterranean world space was perceived as basically divided between holy and profane. Entering a temple meant accessing an area which was seen as qualitatively different from the space in which everyday life was played out; certain rules applied and many of the ordinary human every-day life activities were not to take place beyond the marked boundaries of that space, the boundaries usually indicated by water basins for ritual purification located at the entrances.14 In addition to temple space, some cities were regarded as holy, and a whole island, such as Delos, could be dedicated to 383–84. Note, also, how Josephus considers the Temple to have been profaned and made ritually impure through the murders committed there in the 60s; see the contribution by Steve Mason in this volume: “Pollution and Purification in Josephus’s Judean War.” 12 Contra, e.g., Borg, Conflict, as discussed by Regev, “Moral Impurity,” 384–85, and Fredriksen, “Did Jesus?” 23–25. On problems in New Testament scholarship more generally on this issue, see also Klawans, Impurity, 136–38. 13 Matthew’s narrative is completely focused on Israel, the people, and the land. The story ends, however, with a command that the entire world should be taken on by the disciples, and, therefore, we should assume that what has been said about Israel in terms of law and kingdom must apply also to the rest of the world (Matt 28:18–20). For discussion of Matthew’s Gospel and the land of Israel, see Runesson, “Giving Birth,” 301–27. 14  On Greek temples see, e.g., Burkert, Greek Religion, esp. 84–95. For a comprehensive presentation and discussion of the architectural elements of Greek temples, see Spawforth, Greek Temples.

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the gods; such places were purified accordingly. Although in the case of Delos special rules for human life and conduct applied,15 the holiness attributed to cities was not of the same nature as that of the temples, since in temples purity was of utmost concern and no human being can be ritually pure at all times. In Judaism, the Jerusalem Temple was the most holy site, the house of the God of Israel, and just as we find a gradual increase of sanctity within the temple, progressing from the Court of the Gentiles toward the Holy of Holies,16 we find a gradual increase of holiness as the Temple city, Jerusalem, is approached.17 The land itself in its entirety was, and is, also regarded as holy.18 The question is, then, if we find a similar concept of holiness in Matthew’s Gospel, and if so, what exactly it is that this narrative sets apart as holy. In terms of physical structures and areas, the narrative voice of Matthew’s Gospel describes Jerusalem as a holy city in Matt 4:5 and 27:53, and there is no indication that the city changes status as the narrative progresses. The reason for this attributed holiness is implied in Matt 5:35, where Jesus is reported to have said that Jerusalem is “the city of the great king,” the king being the God which Matthew elsewhere identifies, through the voice of the crowds who had witnessed Jesus’ healings, as “the God of Israel” (Matt 15:31). There can be no doubt that, for Matthew, Jerusalem is a holy city, because in this city dwells the God of Israel. This fact, in turn, leads us to consider the status of the Jerusalem Temple. If the city of Jerusalem is regarded as holy, it follows that the Temple’s status, as in other forms of Judaism, is still more elevated.19 Indeed, any approach or theory that would claim sanctity for the city but not for the Temple would present us with multiple problems that would be very difficult to solve. Reading through Matthew’s narrative, in the fifth discourse,20 which deals with eschatological matters, the author lets Jesus refer to the Book of Dan15

 For example, childbirth and death were prohibited on the island. increase in the level of holiness is connected to the different status of the people who could be close to the holy of holies: The outer court, the Court of the Gentiles, allowed the presence of non-Jews, the Court of Women allowed Jewish women and men, the Court of the Israelites allowed only Jewish men, the Court of the Priests only (male) members of the priestly family; the holy of holies was accessed only once a year, and only by the High Priest. 17 On the Jerusalem Temple, see Busink, Tempel. For Jerusalem as a holy city, see, e.g., Neh 11:1, 18; Isa 52:1; Jer 31:23; Dan 9:24; Tob 13:9; 1 Macc 2:7; 2 Macc 3:1; 3 Macc 6:5. In later Jewish tradition, Hebron, Safed, and Tiberias have also become regarded as holy cities, although not on the same level of sanctity as Jerusalem. 18 See, e.g., Zech 2:16 [12]; Wis 12:3; 2 Macc 1:7. 19  On the Temple in Matthew’s Gospel, see Gurtner, “Matthew’s Theology,” 128–53. 20 Matthew 24–25. For a recent discussion of Matthew’s structure, see Runesson, “Matthew, Gospel According to,” 59–78 especially 64–73. 16 This

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iel21 as he predicts that the desecration of the temple will trigger apocalyptic disaster: So when you see the desolating sacrilege standing in the holy place [en top hagi 22], as was spoken of by the prophet Daniel (let the reader understand), then those in Judea must flee to the mountains; the one on the housetop must not go down to take what is in the house; the one in the field must not turn back to get a coat. Woe to those who are pregnant and to those who are nursing infants in those days! Pray that your flight may not be in winter or on a sabbath. For at that time there will be great suffering, such as has not been from the beginning of the world until now, no, and never will be. And if those days had not been cut short, no one would be saved; but for the sake of the elect those days will be cut short. (Matt 24:15–22)

It is interesting to note that, for Matthew’s Jesus, the end of the world as we know it is related to the desecration of the holy Temple in Jerusalem, not to Jesus’s death. While Jesus’ death is intertwined theologically with the destruction of the Temple,23 it is the latter that signals the end for all to see. The distinction between the Temple and Jesus is also seen in the fact that the blame for the destruction of the Temple is laid squarely at the feet of the “scribes and the Pharisees,”24 whereas the blame for the death of Jesus is related primarily to the Temple authorities.25 In any case, Matthew’s view of the Temple as holy space (which, by implication, can be defiled) is confirmed in Matt 23:16–22, where the Temple and the altar are referred to as sacred, the space itself being God’s dwelling: 21 See

Dan 9:26–27; 11:30–31; 12:10–12. Cf. 1 Macc 1:51–57; 2 Macc 6:1–9. the less explicit expression in Mark 13:14: “But when you see the desolating sacrilege set up where it ought not to be.” 23 Cf. Matt 22:7; 23:37–24:2; 27:50–51. 24 The destruction of the Temple in Matt 23:37–24:2 is clearly linked to the severe critique of the “scribes and Pharisees” of Matt 23:1–36. 25 The Pharisees disappear in the passion narrative, in which “the chief priests and the elders of the people” take the leading role as Jesus is handed over to the non-Jewish authorities to be executed (Matt 26:3). This is probably due to Matthew’s conservative approach to his sources for the passion narrative. However, one may note that the dual blame laid on Pharisees (for the destruction of the Temple) and chief priests (for Jesus’ death) is brought together in Matt 21:45, which concludes the parable of the wicked tenants. In Matthew’s version of the parable, it seems clear that the vineyard refers to Jerusalem, whose crops the tenants (the Pharisees and the chief priests) refuse to hand over to God (the landowner). The landowner sends servants (the prophets), whom the tenants beat up and kill (cf. Matt 23:30–31, 35); as the landowner’s son is sent, the tenants drag him out of the vineyard (Jerusalem) and kill him. The kingdom of God (Israel in its ideal state) shall thus be taken from the chief priests and the elders (Matt 21:41, 43), as well as the Pharisees (Matt 21:45), and given to another group (the [Jewish] followers of Jesus; Matt 19:28 reveals that the new leadership group envisioned is comprised of Jesus’ closest disciples, the twelve), which will produce the right fruit (a people obedient to the law; cf. 5:17–20, 48) for the landowner (cf. Matt 3:8, 10; 7:15–20; 12:33; 13:23). The parable thus represents a condensed outline of the Jesus event as understood by Matthew. 22 Cf.

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“Woe to you, blind guides, who say, ‘Whoever swears by the sanctuary [naos] is bound by nothing, but whoever swears by the gold of the sanctuary is bound by the oath.’ You blind fools! For which is greater, the gold or the sanctuary that has made the gold sacred [hagioz ]? And you say, ‘Whoever swears by the altar [thysiast rion] is bound by nothing, but whoever swears by the gift that is on the altar is bound by the oath.’ How blind you are! For which is greater, the gift or the altar that makes the gift sacred? So whoever swears by the altar, swears by it and by everything on it; and whoever swears by the sanctuary, swears by it and by the one who dwells [katoike ] in it; and whoever swears by heaven, swears by the throne of God and by the one who is seated upon it. (Matt 23:16–22)

We may note here the explicit statement that it is the sanctity of the altar that is said to make the sacrificial gift sacred (Matt 23:19). The gift belongs, in and of itself and regardless of the intentions of the giver, to the profane sphere (although it has to be, as noted above, pure). It is when the pure sacrificial gift comes in (objective) contact with the holy that its status is transformed and becomes acceptable to the God of Israel.26 It seems clear, then, that Matthew’s Jesus understands the Temple as sacred space, and that the holiness of this space needs to be taken more, not less, seriously than the author accuses the “scribes and Pharisees” of doing. What we see is a critique of attitudes and rulings deemed too lenient in relationship to the holy. As elsewhere in Matthew, the problem is not that “scribes and Pharisees” keep the law, or keep it too strictly; they simply do not keep it rigorously enough. For Matthew, lawlessness (anomia) is the real problem.27 In fact, reading Matt 23:16–22 together with Matt 5:33–37, 26 Cf. Exod 29:37: “[T]he altar shall be most holy; whatever touches the altar shall become holy.” For discussion, see Nolland, Matthew, 935–36, who also refers to m. Zeb. 9:1, where it is stated that ”[t]he altar makes holy whatsoever is prescribed as its due” (transl. by Danby). On the Mishnah and the laws of holiness, see Neusner, History. 27  Matt 5:20; 7:23; 13:41; 23:28; 24:12. In Matthew, the law (nomos) refers to the law of Moses (Matt 5:17–18; 7:12; 11:13; 12:5; 22:36, 40; 23:23; cf. 15:3; 19:17–18). The meaning of lawlessness (anomia) is thus dependent on such an understanding of law and should be seen as the antithesis of keeping Moses’ law. The apocalyptic setting for some of the references to anomia, or this concept’s relationship to the concept of sin (cf. 1 John 3:4), do not mitigate against this interpretation of the terms as they are used in the cultural world of Matthew’s narrative. Cf. Did. 16:3–4. The point in the text is not that Matthew would have been attacking “antinomian Christians” (cf. Davison, “Anomia,” 617–33). Rather, the key, in my opinion, lies in Matthew’s critique of ‘Pharisees and scribes’ and the claim that they do not keep the law of Moses. In Matt 7:23, any (Jewish; cf. Matt 10:5–6) follower of Jesus (Matt 7:21–22) who does not follow Matthew’s strict interpretation of the law, with its emphasis on doing justice, mercy and faith (Matt 23:23), will be the target of the same judgment as the “scribes and the Pharisees” whose type of righteousness will not be enough for the kingdom (Matt 5:20). In the same way, Matthew’s Jesus attacks the “false prophets” of the movement in 7:15 by using the same kind of rhetorical distinction between the ‘inside’ and the ‘outside’ of a person as he does against the “scribes and Pharisees” elsewhere in the Gospel, most strongly in 23:25–28. In other words, Matthew’s text seems here to critique Jews who confess Jesus but act like Pharisees who do not. As I have argued elsewhere regarding the setting in

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where the swearing of oaths is prohibited altogether, indicates that the hermeneutical principle governing Matthean law discourse is the importance of righteousness when dealing with things holy; God’s name must be sanctified (hagioz ; Matt 6:9), and the Temple must not be defiled (Matt 5:23–34). Despite the sometimes supposed contradiction between Matthew 5, where swearing is prohibited, and Matthew 23, where swearing is assumed, the two passages argue from the same perspective, namely that swearing is intertwined with the holy, and therefore that care is to be taken.28 In fact, the ruling of Matt 5:33–37 may be read as a logical continuation of the argument in Matthew 23, constructing a “fence around the law.”29 These rulings on behavior related to the Temple are clearly meant to be understood as descriptive of Jesus’ convictions and normative. Indeed, the Temple cult itself is so important and delicate a matter in this narrative that anyone who is about to offer a sacrifice needs not only to approach the altar in a state of ritual purity,30 but also to account for the purity of his or her conduct (moral purity), before presenting the sacrificial animal for slaughter: So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift. Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are on the way to court with him, or your accuser may hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you will be thrown into prison. Truly I tell you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny. (Matt 5:23–26)

As seen from this quote, purification in relation to sacrifices consists of prior reconciliation (dialassomai) with anyone with whom an individual which the Gospel was produced by a group of Pharisees leaving the larger Pharisaic movement after 70 C. E., on sociological grounds the most likely scenario would be to assume that some members of the Matthean group chose to remain within the association of the Pharisees when those who produced the Gospel left (see Runesson, “Re-Thinking,” 95–132, especially 126–127, and n. 108; idem, “Building,” 397–408). If this is correct, it is quite likely that the rhetoric against Christ-believing ‘false prophets’ and ‘lawbreakers’ is directed against these Pharisaic followers of Jesus. The same interpretation applies to Matt 5:19 too, and those who are said to break even the least of the commandments and teach others to do the same. In Matthew, the Pharisees are those who break the law of God (e.g., Matt 15:3–9; 23:23, 28); it seems likely, then, that Pharisaic Christ-believers would be targeted as this topic comes up in relation to believers in Jesus, in an attempt to convince them to join the ‘separatists’ who are now establishing their own independent association (cf. Matthew 18, where rules for such an association are laid out). 28 Cf. Deut 23:22 (23): “But if you refrain from vowing, you will not incur guilt.” 29 For this hermeneutical strategy, cf. m. Pirqe ’Avoth 1:1. 30  Ritual purity would have been required of anyone who wanted to enter sacred space in antiquity, and must be seen here as understood even if not explicitly mentioned. See further discussion in section 3 below.

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may have had a dispute (v. 24), the logic behind the ruling being that any relationship between human beings is also simultaneously affecting the relationship between humans and the God of Israel in space considered holy.31 Reconciliation is all the more important since Jesus has just equated anger with murder (Matt 5:21–22); bloodshed, together with sexual sins, idolatry, and deceit, is one of the severe sins that morally defile a person resulting in an impure status unacceptable for anyone’s presence in the Temple.32 We shall return to the discussion of moral and ritual impurity below. What is important to note here is that requirements relating to the Temple in Jerusalem concern purity, which in turn confirms that Matthew’s Jesus considers the Temple to be holy space. In Matthew’s narrative, then, Jerusalem is the city of God and thus holy, and the Temple is the abode of God and therefore sacred. While holiness is ascribed to other phenomena in Matthew, such as God’s name (Matt 6:9), the Spirit (e.g., Matt 1:18; 12:32), and certain individuals from the past (Matt 27:52), the notion of physical space as holy carries specific importance, since it assists us in locating Matthew’s narrative firmly within a specific ritual worldview, namely the Jewish ritual world centered on the Temple and Jerusalem.33 31  This theo-logic is also applied to God’s Messiah and his followers, so that anyone who has acted mercifully towards a follower of Jesus is counted as righteous, since deeds of mercy done to a follower are perceived as if they were done to Jesus himself, the future cosmic judge (Matt 10:40–42 [Jews]; 25:31–426 [non-Jews]). The necessity of correlation between ‘inner’ attitude and ‘outward’ behavior is similar to the ruling on repentance in relation to forgiveness in m. Yoma 8:9, and mirrors the distinction between moral and ritual purity to be discussed below. For discussion of ritual and moral impurity in rabbinic literature, see Klawans, Impurity, 118–35. 32 Regev, “Moral Impurity,” 383; On this issue, see also Fredriksen, “Did Jesus?” 18–25, 42–47. 33 Cf. Gurtner, “Matthew’s Theology,” 130, who concludes that, “the first evangelist has a remarkably consistent and positive portrayal of the Temple. No negative word is uttered by either the evangelist or his Jesus about the Temple itself.” One text that is sometimes noted as relativizing Matthew’s view on the Temple is Matt 12:6, where the Matthean Jesus states that, “something greater than the Temple [hieron] is here,” referring to the events associated with himself, especially the mercy characteristic of the approaching eschatological kingdom. (Note the use of the neuter here, which speaks against any direct reference to Jesus as that which is greater than the Temple; however, that which happens around Jesus is inextricably interwoven with the person of Jesus, making too sharp a distinction between the events and Jesus difficult.) The argument of 12:1–8, which is a dispute over the definition of work in relation to the Sabbath, is structured such that the Temple is said to be more important than the Sabbath, and the eschatological events around Jesus more important than the Temple; thus, that which happens around Jesus is more important than the Sabbath. In addition to confirming the validity of the Sabbath, although as subordinated under Temple and eschatological mercy, such a statement about the Temple establishes the importance of the Temple for Matthew, since its mention here is meant to indicate the exceptional importance of the Messiah and the eschatological events happening around him. For discussion, see Gurtner, “Temple,” 134–35; Nolland, Matthew, 484–85; cf. Saldarini, Christian–Jewish Community, 126.

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2.2. The Synagogue Does Matthew speak of other types of space as holy, such as synagogues, and if so, what requirements would be associated with such space? Interestingly, the answer seems to be in the negative. There is only one area and place in Matthew that is associated with the holy: the city of Jerusalem and the Temple within its walls. Synagogues are not talked about in such terms, and events related to synagogues are not described as qualitatively different in terms of space than events taking place in the open air. One passage, Matt 6:5–6, does mention individual prayer in such an institution; this, however, does not turn the building into sacred space. On the contrary, as the context makes clear, synagogue space is public space, in which a person may be seen by other people, just as much as a street corner is open for all to observe what others are doing (v. 5). This, in fact, constitutes a problem for Matthew since prayer is communication with the holy (Matt 6:9–13), and approaching the holy requires attention to purity of some sort.34 Just as sacred space will be defiled by anger /bloodshed (Matt 5:21–22), prayer will be offensive to God if done in order to acquire recognition and respect among fellow humans. The space issue here, then, is not about its holiness but about the fact that it easily lends itself to inappropriate human attitudes relating to vanity and arrogance. The solution to the problem is to pray alone in private space when prayer is performed beyond public meetings; when in public space, humility and a complete focus on the divine is the only way to prepare a person for communication with the God of Israel.35 Purity, moral and / or ritual, is, then, not associated with synagogues more than with the land in general. This overall picture is in agreement with current research on ancient synagogues, which has confirmed that, while several synagogues outside the land, especially in Egypt, are described in the sources as sacred space, and we have one source speaking of an association synagogue in the land as holy space, there is no evidence to support such a notion for public synagogues located in the land itself.36 This does not mean, 34 See

discussion below on moral impurity.  Cf. Luke 18:10–14, where the public setting is the Temple. 36 For primary sources, see Runesson, Binder, and Olsson, Ancient Synagogue. The only synagogue whose space is claimed to be holy is the association synagogue of the Essenes, as described by Philo (Prob. 81). This synagogue was, however, not public but for members only, and, as such, gave expression to this specific group’s way of understanding themselves and doing Judaism. There is, though, one interesting exception with regard to synagogues in the land: the synagogue building in Caesarea Maritima mentioned by Josephus (J. W. 2.289). This synagogue is said to have been “desecrated” (miain ) when a non-Jew performed a sacrifice of birds just in front of its entrance. This seems to imply that the building was seen by Josephus as sacred. The manner in which the story is told, however, may have been Josephus’ way of using the synagogue institution in his rhetoric aimed at a Roman audience, which would understand the whole episode to have been as atrocious as if it were about the desecra35

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though, that, for Matthew’s Jesus, purity was not a concern outside the Temple and Jerusalem, which in turn may indicate that the land had special status in the author’s mind.

2.3. The Land It is likely that Matthew regarded the land as a whole not only as Israel’s (i.e., belonging to the people of Israel), which is stated in Matt 2:20, 21, but also as, on some level, holy. To be sure, this is not mentioned explicitly in the narrative. Special status of the land may be inferred, however, from descriptions of how Jesus is working throughout the narrative to purge the land of unclean spirits (Matt 12:43–45; cf. Zech 13:2), demons (Matt 8:16; 9:32–33; 10:6–8; 17:18), and unclean animals (Matt 8:30–32); such phenomena should not come into contact with the holy.37 It would seem that such concerns would fit well with the general situation in the land in the first century, as it can be reconstructed from, e.g., the existence of miqvaot (ritual baths) and the pervasive use of stone vessels in Judea as well as in Galilee and the Golan; such stone vessels were considered resistant to ritual impurity.38 These baths tion of one of their own temples. In any case, Caesarea Maritima was a non-Jewish city, in which the Jewish population was allowed to construct a synagogue for specific purposes and gatherings, notably not including local city administration, which was otherwise part of the activities of public synagogues in the land. This means that the Caesarea Maritima synagogue should be understood as more related to Diaspora synagogues, and thus to how such synagogues were seen as Jewish associations (collegia). By contrast, the majority of synagogues mentioned in Matthew’s Gospel are described as public municipal institutions, with the possible exception of Matt 12:9, which may refer to a Pharisaic association. For discussion of the dual nature of the first-century evidence for synagogues (the public – association distinction), see Runesson, Origins, especially chapter 3. Levine, Ancient Synagogue, understands ancient synagogues as public institutions not associated with the notion of sacred space. The issue of the sanctity of the synagogue in the land and in the Diaspora is discussed by Haber in dialogue with the work of Sanders in “Purify,” 161–79, see especially 175–78. 37 Cf. Klawans, Impurity, 88, who notes that in Qumran, the sectarians had developed “a conception of defilement that is not unlike that of Zoroastrianism: What is evil is impure, what is impure is demonic, and foreigners are impure.” Cf. Poirier, “Purity,” 258. It seems as if in Matthew, too, the demonic is associated with impurity and its elimination is a form of purification, a cleansing of the land. Regarding the notion of land as holy more generally, cf. the (different) special requirements associated with the island of Delos as discussed above. 38 On stone vessels and the fact that such have been unearthed in all parts of the land, see Magen, “Ancient Israel’s,” 46–52, who concludes from this evidence that “Jews of all social and economic levels were deeply concerned with ritual purity in this period” (48). Stone vessels began to appear in the second half of the first century B. C. E., and disappear almost completely after the destruction of the Temple in 70 C. E. See also the comprehensive study by Deines, Jüdische; Furstenberg, “Defilement,” 198–199. On miqvaot, which began to appear in the second century B. C. E. in areas in Judea controlled by the Hasmoneans, see, e.g., Lawrence, Washing. Lawrence surveys not only the literary evidence but also the archaeological remains; note especially the helpful categorization and description of the baths in Appendix C, pages 251–68, which builds on the work of Ronny Reich. As in the case of

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and stone vessels indicate that Jews at this time desired to be ritually pure in settings beyond the Temple in Jerusalem and not only when they visited the Temple, despite the fact that the Torah is only concerned with the purity of the Temple; to be in a state of impurity is not judged to be a breach of law until such a person attempts to enter the Temple. (In the Hebrew Bible, ritual impurity is not considered to be a sin.39) In the first century, however, it seems clear that ritual purity practices had become widespread and were performed in daily life settings by people not travelling to Jerusalem and the Temple.40 This may or may not be directly related to concerns about the status of the land, since such status would be affected by the position of the people living there; such a relationship between people and land could also be thought of as indirectly connected to the temple cult. With regard to the position of the people, as John Poirier has argued, “purity is connected to holiness, which is enjoined upon all of Israel”; this, however, does not exclude concerns for the land as holy.41 Further, what is usually spoken of as ethical demands in Matthew, e.g., in the Sermon on the Mount, should rather be understood within the context of concerns about moral impurity. It is difficult to determine whether, for Matthew, concerns about moral impurity and the defilement that would follow are primarily related to the temple or the land as such. A distinction between the Temple and the land may, in the end, be misleading, however, since the Temple and the land were ideologically intertwined, so that defilement of the Temple led to the exile of the people from the land; the purity of the land is required on some level, and the Temple offers the means necessary to keep its status acceptable to the God of Israel.42 It seems as if, for Matthew’s Jesus, whose main message is the imminent arrival of the kingdom of heaven, the land as well as the people need to be prepared for the transformation that is about to happen, when divine rule will be implemented. Since the holy must not come into contact with the impure (if disaster and destruction is to be avoided) this leads us to consider the question the stone vessels, after the fall of the Temple in 70 C. E. the number of miqvaot decreases drastically; the few that remain after this time are located mostly in Galilee. On miqvaot and stone vessels, see also now the discussion by Miller, “Stepped Pools.” 39 In Qumran, the sectarians expanded and merged the concepts of ritual and moral impurity, so that, on the one hand, members of the community who were ritually impure had to atone, and, on the other, sinners had to purify themselves. See Klawans, Impurity, 90. 40 For discussion of purity concerns beyond the Temple, see Haber, “Purify,” 194–199; Poirier, “Purity,” 247–265. Cf. Repschinski, “Purity,” 380, who states that “purity issues were not restricted to temple worship, but became increasingly important in Diaspora settings.” As for the land, the Qumran texts are of special interest in this regard. 41  Poirier, “Purity,” 254; cf. 253. See further discussion below. 42 Defilement resulting from moral impurity could contaminate the Temple from a distance according to some Jewish sources; see Regev, “Moral Impurity,” 388, n. 18.

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of ritual and moral impurity more specifically, and the implications of these concepts for our understanding of Matthew’s version of the Gospel story.

3. Ritual and Moral Impurity: Active Categories or Rejected Matters of the Past? In any sacred space, Jewish or non-Jewish, certain behavior would be required. To achieve a state of ritual purity would be necessary for anyone entering a temple. Different cultures would have distinctive ways of understanding what makes a person impure, and would provide different types of purification rituals to remove impurity. It is hardly possible to speak of space as sacred without at the same time implicitly acknowledge that individuals entering such space must have gone through certain rituals of purification. As Haber has convincingly argued, the historical Jesus, in all likelihood, purified himself ritually before entering the Temple.43 She correctly insists that the “burden of proof must remain on those who would argue that Jesus departed from the common practice of his fellow Jews.”44 The question is, then, whether Matthew’s portrait of Jesus would be consistent with such a reconstruction of the historical Jesus. Would a reader of / listener to Matthew’s Gospel in the late first century, after the fall of the Temple, have understood this portrait of Jesus as concerned with purity issues, ritual and / or moral, or would they have drawn the conclusion that this Jesus disregarded as unimportant – or even abolished – purity practices? In the following, it will be argued that Matthew operates fully within a Jewish interpretive paradigm in which both ritual and especially moral purity concerns are active and affect how the story is being told.

3.1. Ritual Purity Regarding ritual impurity, we have already noted that Matthew’s narrative describes the Temple as holy space, and that, by implication, ritual purity concerns would have to be assumed to be a vital part of the worldview within which this text logically works, even if specific rituals are not mentioned explicitly. While such considerations in and of themselves would, arguably, be enough to settle the case, there is more evidence indicating that ritual purity is a live issue for the author, as he describes both Jesus and the assumptions of Jesus’ audience, friend and foe alike.

43 Haber, 44 Haber,

“Purify,” 181–206. “Purify,” 206.

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In Matt 8:1–4, Matthew recounts a story in which Jesus heals a leper, an act which places him in the prophetic tradition of healing.45 As he has done so, Jesus, keeping to the instructions in the Jewish law commanding the Israelites to follow the priests’ teaching on leprosy and purity rituals (Deut 24:8–9), orders the man: “[S]how yourself to the priest, and offer the gift [d ron, i.e., sacrifice] that Moses commanded, as a testimony46 to them.” This passage shows unambiguously that the author of Matthew understood Jesus to be concerned with ritual purity laws (not just the law in general47), to recognize the authority and role of the priests in cases involving this disease as described in the Torah,48 and to tell people he healed to follow the law, just as he had previously insisted in the Sermon on the Mount.49 Since this is described in Matthew as Jesus’ approach to laws on ritual purity, we will have to assume that as the twelve disciples are sent out to accomplish the things that Jesus had begun and would continue to do, the same attention to ritual purity would apply to them and the people they healed as the story progresses.50 The eradication of impurity associated with leprosy through healing and priestly rituals in the temple is accompanied by exorcisms: “Jesus summoned his twelve disciples and gave them authority over unclean spirits (exosian pneumat n akathart n), to cast them out” 45 Cf.,

e.g., Numbers 12; 2 Kings 5; 20.  The mention of a testimony (martyrion) to the priests is not to be understood as a weakening of the importance of ritual purification or as a judgment on Israel, as has been common in church history. Rather, the testimony is about Jesus’ status as a prophet, healing the people from their illnesses. The prophetic power of healing thus backs up the teaching of the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5–7), which is eschatological in orientation; both healing and teaching reveal who Jesus is. This is what the priests are urged, through the ‘real-life proof’ of his healings, to understand. Luz, Matthew, 6, is thus only partially correct when he suggests that the main function of this comment is to ensure the reader that Jesus, as Israel’s Messiah, keeps the Torah. 47  Contra Luz, Matthew, 2.6, who understands the meaning of the passage to refer to the law more generally, comparing it to Matt 5:17–19. However, while the latter passage is indeed a programmatic statement on the validity of the Jewish law in its entirety for any Jew, including the followers of Jesus, Matt 8:4 gives an example which insists on the validity of the ritual purity laws specifically. 48 On leprosy, see Lev 13–14. 49  Note especially Matt 5:17–20, but also the insistence on actually doing what was required, Matt 7:21–23. For a discussion of Jesus’ visit to the house of a certain Simon the Leper just before Passover, see Neusner, Idea, 60–62. Neusner concludes that the name refers to this person being an ex-leper, not that he would still be suffering from leprosy. 50 The disciples are told to go to the “lost sheep of the House of Israel” and “proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse (kathariz ) the lepers, cast out demons” (Matt 10:6–8). The “cleansing” of the lepers must be understood to refer to priestly rituals rather than the healings, as indicated by how Matthew presents the process in 8:4. In 10:8, the expression captures the result, or goal, of the healings performed by the disciples: due to their work, the lepers will become ritually pure. See also Matt 11:5. 46

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(Matt 10:1). In 10:4, these “unclean spirits” are identified as “demons” (daimonion).51 In other words, as Jesus and his chosen representatives of the twelve tribes worked to initiate the kingdom the author of Matthew’s Gospel describes the removal of impurity as a central component of what was involved in this process. Now, if the author was concerned with the ritual purity of individuals suffering from leprosy (as well as with the removal of unclean spirits), it follows that ritual impurity contracted from other sources would also be a concern for Matthew. The issue of food has been discussed extensively in the literature,52 and need not be revisited here; it is clear that Matt 15:1–20 is not intended to abrogate the food laws. Rather, what we see here is an example of Matthew’s rhetoric, also evident elsewhere,53 which blames the Pharisees for breaking God’s law (v. 3) in favor of other rules.54 This pericope is designed to clarify the relationship between ritual and moral purity: Matthew’s Jesus states clearly here what is both implicit and explicit elsewhere, namely that ritual impurity is less important, or urgent, than moral impurity.55 This should not be understood, as we have seen, as if ritual impurity may be neglected. The logic is rather that the grave sins which generate moral impurity render the person unclean in such a way that it requires atoning sacrifices; if atonement is not achieved, the Temple and land would be defiled and apocalyptic disaster would follow.56 The hermeneutics of Matt 23:23 seem to be valid here: people need to focus on the weightier matters of the law without neglecting the other commandments. We shall return to this in the next section. The above examples show how ritual purity issues are relevant as Matthew describes Jesus’ healings and legal disputes with other Jews. In addition to this type of evidence, we also see from the rhetoric Jesus is described as engaging in when debating with his opponents that ritual purity is a live issue for the author. This is particularly evident in Matthew 23. The Matthean Jesus, who is, in accordance with Jewish law, wearing tzitzit (kraspedon) and 51 Cf.

above, n. 37.

Matthew, 2. 516–540, and literature there. Cf. Booth, Jesus.  Cf. Matt 5:20. 54 As Furstenberg, “Defilement,” 176–200, has argued, it seems likely that the Pharisaic ritual of hand washing before meals debated by Jesus had its origin in Graeco-Roman practice, not in priestly purity laws. Such an understanding of the historical Jesus, as reacting against innovations which he deemed did not have any support in the Torah fits well with Matthew’s description of him accusing his adversaries of breaking God’s law more generally, including rules regarding honoring mother and father in relation to gifts for the Temple (15:3–9). 55 See discussion in the following section. 56  On similar patterns of though in other Jewish movements, see Klawans, Impurity; note especially the discussion on pages 47–48 of the apocalyptic disasters mentioned in Jubilees to follow as a result of the moral impurity that had defiled land and temple. 52 See, e.g., Davies and Allison, 53

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tefillin (phylakt rion),57 and is protecting the law of tithing,58 compares the way the “scribes and Pharisees” keep the law with a metaphor based on laws on ritually unclean animals, gnats and camels: “You blind guides! You strain out a gnat but swallow a camel!” (Matt 23:24).59 The sting of the metaphor is missed if the impurity of such animals is not part of a worldview that is shared by the Matthean Jesus and his audience. The accusation against the Pharisees is that they have become impure by ignoring the weightier commandments; these weightier laws have previously been identified as justice, mercy, and, faith (krisis, eleos, pistis; 23:23). The reference to camels here thus functions to emphasize the fact that breaking (aphi mi) these fundamental laws puts them in a state of (moral) impurity, which is far worse than any form of ritual impurity, and, indeed, makes useless any ritual purity they may have achieved through other means. Having stated that the practices of the “scribes and Pharisees” will lead them – and anyone else following their practice (Matt 23:360) – to contract impurity, Matthew’s Jesus goes on to claim that his opponents are, in fact, in a state of impurity. This is done through reference to the ritual impurity of food vessels and dead bodies, which are, metaphorically, said to describe these individuals (Matt 23:25–27). Again, we see that a shared worldview in which impurity constitutes the main obstacle for approaching the holy is utilized rhetorically to drive home the point that moral impurity overrides any form of ritual purity that people can achieve; regardless of any efforts to achieve a state of ritual purity, the opponents of Jesus are said to be impure. In other words, what Matthew’s Jesus is saying is that his opponents have contracted impurity from breaking the law just as much as anyone would have done who has touched a corpse or who has not cleaned the cups and 57  Num 15:37–41; Deut 22:12; cf. Zech 8:23. Jesus’ tzitzit are mentioned in Matt 9:20 and 14:36. While Jesus’ tefillin (phylacteries) are not explicitly mentioned by Matthew they have to be part of Matthew’s portrait of the messiah on the basis that the rhetoric of Matt 23:5 is aimed at the size of these ethno-religiously important markers, not the phenomenon itself, and we know that he followed one of the laws mentioned (wearing tzitzit). 58 E.g., Num 18:21–32; Deut 14:22–29. Tithing of dill and cumin is not part of the requirements in the Torah, but is required in rabbinic halakhah; these herbs are mentioned in m. Maas. 4:5 and m. Dem 2:1, respectively. Mint is not mentioned in other Jewish sources; see Nolland, Matthew, 937–38. In Matt 23:23 Jesus states clearly that it is necessary to follow both the weighty and the less weighty matters of the law, as he also insisted on in Matt 5:19. For the author, probably writing in Galilee, tithing, which applied to the produce of the land of Israel only, and not the Diaspora, was one of the less weighty matters that still needed attention in accordance with the interpretation of the law of Moses current in the day, probably among the Pharisees. 59 Lev 11:4 (camels), and 11:41–43 (gnats and similar creatures); note the summarizing statement in Lev 11:44–45 giving the reason behind the laws: the people of Israel should not defile themselves by eating impure foods, but must be holy as the God of Israel is holy. 60 For an interpretation of Matt 23:2–3, see Powell, “Do and Keep,” 419–35.

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plates from which they are eating and drinking. The force of the rhetoric lies precisely in the fact that the audience of the Gospel is expected to take for granted that corpses are ritually unclean and will impart impurity on those who touch them, and that cups and plates need to be cleaned in order not to confer impurity to those who use them; while there are rituals to purify a person from such ritual impurity, the moral impurity stemming from sin needs atonement. The sins mentioned by Matthew’s Jesus so far in chapter 23 that produce impurity are lack of justice, mercy, and faith (23:23), as well as greed, selfindulgence (23:25), hypocrisy and, more generally, lawlessness (anomia; 23:28). To this is now added bloodshed, one of the worst sources of (moral) impurity in the bible and in Second Temple Jewish literature. Matthew formulates this accusation against “scribes and Pharisees” through a transferal of the guilt of “those who murdered the prophets” to apply to them (23:29– 31, 35–36). Again, Matthew accentuates the theme of impurity through a reference to “scribes and Pharisees” as “snakes” and “brood of vipers” (23:33), that is, as ritually unclean creatures that are a source of impurity to the Jewish people.61 As with other unclean animals mentioned in Leviticus 11, snakes will defile the people of Israel. Therefore, in Matthew’s story, Israel needs to avoid these teachers in order to be holy as God is holy.62 Using this image of a ritually unclean animal to describe Jesus’ opponents is very close to claiming that they are inherently impure and that nothing good can come from them or their practices (cf. Matt 12:23, 34; 16:12). In sum, we see in Matthew’s narrative world explicit references to Jesus as being concerned with ritual purity. More often, however, Matthew’s Jesus refers to ritual purity in order to draw attention to the more important and more devastating effects of moral impurity. As in Jubilees, while ritual impurity is certainly a reality, moral impurity seems to be the main concern of this text.63

3.2. Moral Purity The discussion above, especially on Matthew 23, has shown that the author of Matthew thinks of Jesus’ view on various kinds of sins in terms of 61 Cf.

Lev 11:42. 11:42: “For I am the LORD your God; sanctify yourselves therefore, and be holy, for I am holy.” Unclean snakes are, however, considered clever in Matthew. When used as a metaphor in relation to the disciples of Jesus, that image is balanced with a metaphor of innocence: “doves” (10:16). Elsewhere, Matthew lets John the Baptist call Pharisees and Sadducees vipers. For Gentiles, Matthew has reserved other metaphors of (unclean) animals: swine and dogs (Matt 7:6; 15:26–27). 63 Klawans, Impurity, 46–48; see also his discussion of the Dead Sea scrolls, 49–56, 67–91. 62 Lev

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impurity. In other words, the assumption seems to be that sin produces impurity. Such reasoning identifies the real problem, as the kingdom is being established, to be defilement; removing impurity is key when the eschaton is approaching. Within such a worldview we should, consequently, expect Jesus’ fundamental task to be focused on removing the source of impurity, sin, and, by doing so, setting in motion the merger between heaven and earth. This is, in fact, precisely what we see as Matthew sets the scene for his entire narrative in chapter 1. After the author has presented a genealogy stating who Jesus is (son of David and the Messiah64), he moves on to affirm what this Messiah’s task is. Jesus’ very name, as we noted in the beginning of this study, is an indication of what he will be accomplishing; Joseph is told in a dream that Jesus “will save his people from their sins” (Matt 1:21). In addition, Jesus’ second (explanatory) name is given through a quote from Isa 7:14 as Immanuel, “God with us” (Matt 1:23). The interpretive effect of those two names combined can be seen as a condensed form of the Gospel story:65 The Messiah will remove the sins of the people and he will be representing God’s will, even presence (through the spirit; Matt 12:28), in their midst as he does so. The latter requires the former, since sin produces impurity and impurity is an obstacle to any human – divine relationship; the holy must not come into contact with the impure. The people of Israel must be holy, as God is holy.66 Or as Matt 5:48 formulates it: “Be perfect (teleios), therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”67 This, then, seems to be Mat64 Matt 65 On

1:1; cf. 9:27; 12:23; 15:22; 20:30–31; 21:9, 15. the birth narrative as a “miniature” of the Gospel story as a whole, see Brown,

Birth, 7. 66 The holiness of the people is stressed in relation to purity and food in Lev 11:44–45. In Lev 19:2ff, the holiness of the people is related to the lack of various forms of idolatry and witchcraft, deceit, theft, lying, false swearing, injustices done to the poor and the laborer, unjust judgment, slander, hate of neighbor, lack of respect for the old, lack of love for immigrants, cheating when doing business. See also Lev 20:7–8 (the statutes of God will sanctify Israel; cf. Num 15:40); 20:26 (food laws will keep the people holy); 21:5–8 (priests must be holy). 67 Cf. Deut 18:13 (LXX), where teleios is also used. The NRSV translation captures the sense in Matthew too: “You must remain completely loyal to the LORD your God” (cf. Matt 22:37). Teleios is connected with the keeping of God’s law and commandments in 1 Kgs 8:61, and some kings are said to have been completely loyal, or true, to God, the author using this term (David, 1 Kgs 14:4; Asa, 1 Kgs 15:14). In the same sense, Noah is portrayed as “perfect” (teleios) in Gen 6:9 and Sir 44:17. To be completely loyal is thus related to following the law without wavering, which in turn has implications for the status of the people as holy, just as God is holy (cf. n. 66 above). Consequently, the use of teleios in Matt 5:48 should not be understood as asking the impossible; Wis 9:6 sheds some light on the ultimate dependency of the “perfect” on the wisdom of God: “for even one who is perfect (teleios) among human beings will be regarded as nothing without the wisdom that comes from you.” For Matthew, there is only one teacher who can instruct the people in the law, namely the Messiah, who has been identified as “God with us” (Matt 23:10; 1:23).

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thew’s overall message as he tells his story with the aim of contributing to these developments. As I have argued elsewhere, the kingdom of heaven is, in this text, what we might call a political and geographical reality, as well as a religious world.68 Klawans and others have shown that in many of the texts from the Second Temple period, as well as in the Hebrew Bible, sin, defined as departure from God’s law, results in the defilement of the land, and, ultimately, the exile of the people.69 As we have noted above, the Book of Jubilees envisions more than exile as a result of moral impurity, which cannot be removed through ritual purification; apocalyptic disaster and the annihilation of the unrighteous will follow if the land and the temple are defiled by sin.70 If Matthew’s Gospel, which is a product of roughly the same time period and culture, is identifying sin as resulting in impurity, we should expect a focus on keeping the law in order to extinguish the source of impurity. If the law is not taught correctly the people will not be able to attain the righteousness required for entry into the kingdom.71 We should also expect the question of forgiveness and atonement to be a central aspect of the story, as such concepts are related to the idea of the eradication of guilt, and thus to the purification, or holiness, of the people, the land, and the Temple. We shall return to the wider issue of law and atonement in relation to purity issues in the next section. Here, we shall focus on the fact that Matthew’s story explicitly claims that Jesus understood sin to be defiling. In Matt 15:18–20, our author states that certain sins, of which some have previously been discussed as examples of violations of the law,72 result in defilement (moral impurity) of the individual: But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this is what defiles. For out of the heart come evil intentions [dialogismos], murder, adultery, sexual im-

“Giving Birth,” 301–27. See also Willitts, Messianic.  Klawans, Impurity; Regev, “Moral Impurity.” In the Hebrew Bible, we may note texts such as Lev 20:22 (“You shall keep all my statutes and all my ordinances, and observe them, so that the land to which I bring you to settle in may not vomit you out”). Cf. Deut 23:14 (LXX 23:15), the latter stating that the camp (in the wilderness) has to be holy (LXX: hagios) if God is to be present in their midst and save them from their enemies. 70 Klawans, Impurity, 48. See Halpern-Amaru, Rewriting, 25–54, especially 48–54, for discussion of the relative place of the land in an eschatological setting aiming ultimately at the restoration of the primeval human condition. 71 Matt 5:20. On the failure of other leaders to teach the people the law, see Matt 15:3, 7–9, 13–14; 16:6, 11–12; 23:3, 8, 15, 35–36. One may note in Matt 16:12, where the teachings of the “Pharisees and Sadducees” are said to be yeast, that yeast stands in a negative relationship to Passover, and thus to the liberation which Jesus associated with his own life and death (cf. 26:1–2, 17–19, 26–29); yeast prevents liberation and ownership of the land, while correct teaching and sacrifice open the way to the kingdom. 72 See the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5). 68 Runesson, 69

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morality [porneia], theft, false witness, slander [blasph mia]. These are what defile a person.

These sources of moral impurity are played out against Pharisaic teachings on the ritual washing of hands before meals, i.e., an innovative practice which is rejected by the Matthean Jesus.73 In addition to the author’s rejection of ritual hand washing before meals, we find in this pericope a statement regarding the relative weight of ritual and moral impurity, where the Matthean Jesus claims that food cannot defile a person as much as sin.74 As we shall see below, this is a recurring theme in Matthew’s understanding of the law: while obeying ritual law is necessary, it is meaningless if the weightier matters of the law, i.e., its moral aspects, are ignored. In Matt 19:18–19 we find a short list of commandments meant to protect the people from the defilement following from some of the sins mentioned in 15:19: “You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; Honor your father and mother; also, You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Since there is an overlap between the commandments listed here and those of Matt 15:19, we may safely assume that the author regarded the sins which occur only in 19:18–19 to be defiling too. Thus, hermeneutically, while only some sins are mentioned explicitly as defiling, all violations of the moral aspects of the law are most likely understood as defiling a person, since such sins are, ultimately, coming from the heart (15:18–19).75 While, contrary to several texts from Qumran, Matthew’s Jesus distinguishes between ritual and moral impurity, the author, in ways similar to the Qumran material, claims that all kinds of sins will lead to impurity.76 73 Matt 5:20: “to eat with unwashed hands does not defile.” Cf. the discussion by Furstenberg, “Defilement,” 198–99, who argues that hand washing is not part of the priestly purity system, neither is it an expansion of it (cf. n. 54 above). For discussion of Pharisaic hand washing, see also Neusner, Idea, 61–71; Harrington, Impurity, 267–81. See also Matt 15:3, 6, 9. For Matthew, it is simply a rejection of a Pharisaic custom, and the rhetorical strategy is to refer to what most likely all agreed on were defiling acts, thus moving the discussion from ritual impurity, which can be removed by purification rituals, to moral purity, which requires atonement. 74  Matt 15:11. For this interpretation, see Davies and Allison, Matthew 2.526–31, and literature there. 75 If this would not have been the case, one would have expected an explicit distinction between sins that defile and sins that do not at some point in the narrative. Such distinctions are, however, lacking in Matthew. For the importance of the pureness of the heart (which cannot be seen by anyone but God, but which is revealed to others through attitudes and deeds) in relation to God, see Matt 5:8; 5:28; 6:21; 12:34–35; 13:15; 15:8, 18–19; 18:35. Cf. 22:37 and 11:29. Jub. 1:21 displays a similar emphasis on a pure heart (“Create a pure heart and a holy spirit for them. And do not let them be ensnared by their sin henceforth and forever.”). Cf. Halpern-Amaru, Rewriting, 51, who notes that the pureness of the heart (and fidelity to the covenant) is an eschatological marker for the author of Jubilees. 76 On Qumran, see Klawans, Impurity, 67–91. See also Werrett, Ritual Purity, who offers,

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This more general perspective on all violations of the moral aspects of the law as causing a person to become impure seems to be confirmed by the last commandment mentioned in Matt 19:19: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Since this commandment is listed among other commandments, some of which overlap with those explicitly noted in 15:19 to be defiling, one may assume that anything done to a person’s neighbor which is not an expression of love will result in defilement. This is all the more interesting since this commandment is elsewhere, together with the commandment to love God above everything else, identified by the author as the most important commandment in the law of Moses (Matt 22:34–40). In other words, love for God and neighbor must be the hermeneutical hub around which all interpretation and application of the law moves. Thus, reading these passages together as illuminating one another and the story as a whole, we have at the very center of the Matthean understanding of law a connection to moral purity issues. Law observance in Matthew aims, consequently, at eradicating moral impurity and, through the resulting purity and holiness that is required of the people of God (cf. Matt 5:48), open up for participation in the kingdom of heaven, which is about to recreate the world.77 This insistence on love, and the path to purity that lies within it and establishes the possibility of a relationship between the people of God and God, identifies Matthew’s main concern throughout the narrative. Love and mercy is a required part of the law, without which it cannot be fulfilled (cf. Matt 5:43–47; 9:13; 12:27; 19:19; see also 7:12). Love is, thus, law, and lack of law results in lack of love (24:12). Keeping ‘minor’ commandments, among which the ritual commandments are found, is still important (23:23), but, as noted, such law obedience is meaningless if the weightier matters of the law are ignored (23:24).78 Sin is much more in Matthew than simply disobedience to God; the real problem is impurity and the aim is purity as Jesus sets the kingdom in motion. Sin, which is birthed in a person’s heart, produces that which stands in the way of purity and brings death and disaster.79 Refirst, an extensive independent treatment of relevant individual documents, and in a concluding discussion, relates the significant discrepancies found between the texts to a chronological schema. Note also the helpful tables in Appendices A–D on the correspondences between the purity rulings of the Hebrew Bible and the Damascus Document, the Temple Scroll, 4QMMT and other documents from Cave 4, 307–10. 77  For the eschatological event as the rebirth of the world, see Matt 19:28 (paliggenesia). Cf. Jubilees and the return to an Edenic state of things as the eschatological goal. 78 Cf. n. 59 above; purity is the underlying concern even when moral issues are discussed: the camel, as well as the gnat, is a ritually unclean animal according to Jewish law. Thus, sources of ritual impurity, agreed on by all, are used to illustrate the effects of the neglect of the weightier matters of the law. 79  Cf. James 1:14–15: “But one is tempted by one’s own desire, being lured and enticed by it; then, when that desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin, and that sin, when it is fully grown, gives birth to death.”

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moving sin, beginning at its place of origin (the heart), leads to purity and holiness, interpreted as perfect loyalty to God (Matt 5:48).80 The moral impurity of a person is serious not only on the individual level, but also on a larger scale. The ruling on anger (and, by implication, bloodshed) in Matt 5:21–22 shows that moral impurity is thought to pollute the temple cult. Sins, as in several of the Qumran texts, render the sinner ritually defiling.81 That this Matthean passage is concerned with purity, and therefore with the protection of the holiness of the Temple, is shown by the fact that Matthew elsewhere states that bloodshed causes a person to become impure.82 The ruling on reconciliation before sacrifice (Matt 5:23–26) is presented as the practical application of the law on anger / bloodshed in 5:21–22. Reconciliation will resolve the cause of impurity, it seems, and make a person’s status acceptable for presence in the Temple.83 It is interesting to note that later on in the narrative bloodshed is, as in the writings of Josephus, related to the fall of the Temple (23:29–24:2).84 Moral impurity defiles the cult, and, if not eliminated, will result in the destruction of the Temple. Having seen that moral and ritual concerns in Matthew converge on the issue of purity, which itself is the matrix within which all discussion of law is formed, it would be misleading to distinguish between ritual and ethical issues in this text, as is often done in the literature on ethics and the New Testament, and claim that ethical aspects of the law are emphasized at the expense of ritual concerns or concerns with purity.85 As Boris Repschinski has argued, to distinguish between pure and impure is to be holy as God is holy.86 For Matthew, purity is a real concern, and moral impurity is more than an active category in the narrative; it is the underlying concept that may 80

 See n. 67 above. Impurity, 90. 82 Matt 15:19. 83  No rituals are mentioned as required after reconciliation has been achieved before a person may approach the altar. 84 Josephus,  J.W. 6.127, 300, where God leaves the temple before its destruction; cf. below, n. 109. See also the contribution by Mason in this volume, “Pollution and Purification in Josephus’s Judean War.” Later, the rabbis combined bloodshed and hatred as they explained the destruction of the first and the second temple respectively; see b. Yoma 9b. This passage makes explicit that “baseless hatred” (sin’at inam) is equaled to the worst of sins: bloodshed, sexual immorality, and idolatry. 85 For example, while Meeks’ study on the Origins of Christian Morality is of great import for anyone interested in the early developments of Christian morality, it lacks any discussion of the concerns about purity and impurity that were at the center of the first-century Jewish worldview in which both Jesus and his earliest followers were socialized. As Regev, “Moral Impurity,” 391–92, has alerted us to, a deeper understanding of Christian morality, and theology more generally, requires us to look closer at the Jewish concept of moral impurity. 86 Repschinski, “Purity,” 379–95, 380. 81 Klawans,

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explain the eschatological purpose of the Messiah. There is a constant emphasis in this narrative on the root of good and evil in peoples’ hearts,87 and the consequences of sin and impurity. As noted above it could be expected that such matters should, within a Jewish worldview, lead to an emphasis on law and a concern for forgiveness and atonement, issues to which we now turn.

4. Law, Forgiveness, and Atonement In the following, we shall discuss two of the most dominant aspects of Matthew’s story, law and forgiveness, before we conclude with some reflections on the eschatological setting of the events recounted in the text. Beginning with the Jewish law, we have already noted the programmatic statements in Matthew with regard to its validity. The key passage is Matt 5:17–20, a perspective which is reinforced later in the narrative.88 Beyond such general statements, some aspects of the law and its interpretation considered especially important are mentioned in the text. These examples of how to obey the law highlight what the author thought were critical issues in light of what he judged to be accurate representations of Jesus’ position on the matter. As we take a closer look at these specific laws and practices, it becomes clear that, as we have seen above, while laws relating to ritual purity are among those both explicitly confirmed and alluded to, the main concern of this narrative is moral impurity. In order to better understand how this fits into the larger context of the narrative, it is of some value to give a summarizing overview of what this text is saying about doing Judaism the right way. Specific practices and commandments confirmed by Jesus are mentioned as they become relevant for the progression of the story. These include almsgiving (6:3–4); individual prayer (using a fixed format, Matt 6:5–13); fasting (6:16–18; cf. 9:14–15); the Sabbath (12:1–1489; 24:20); dietary laws (15:1–20); laws on purification of individuals healed from leprosy (8:4); wearing tzitzit and, most likely, tefillin90 (9:20; 14:36; 23:5); tithing (23:23); impurity related to food vessels and corpses (implied in 23:25–26);91 festi87

 Cf. n. 75 above. e.g., 13:41–43; 19:17, which relate the keeping of the commandments to life in the kingdom; cf. 7:12, 21. 89  Cf. n. 33 above. See also Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2.304–22. 90 See n. 57 above. 91 In addition, the fact that Jesus never enters the house of a non-Jew in the story may be an indication of the purity concerns that are more explicitly elaborated on elsewhere in the text. See, e.g., Matt 8:5–13. Note also that while Mark 7:24 states that Jesus entered a house in the area of Tyros, Matthew’s version of this passage deletes this detail, and adds the explicit 88 See,

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vals (Passover, 26:2, 17–35); laws regulating or related to the sacrificial cult, including the temple tax (5:23–24; 12:3–5; 17:24–27; 23:16–22); oaths and vows (5:33–37; 15:3–6; 23:16–22).92 Other laws mentioned and discussed concern adultery (5:27–30), divorce (5:31–32; 19:3–9), bloodshed (5:21–22;93 cf. 27:6), retribution (5:38–42), honoring father and mother (15:4; 19:19); greed (19:21–24).94 In addition, jealously (phthonos) is mentioned in association with the chief priests and the elders as they hand Jesus over to Pilate (Matt 27:18). While not previously explicitly listed as a sin, such emotions are clearly viewed as forbidden and, by implication, defiling.95 In light of the seriousness with which the law generally and some commandments more specifically are brought up and discussed in the Gospel, it is very likely that circumcision was also part of the ritual worldview which produced the perspective on law otherwise explicitly noted in the text. We may also note that public reading of Torah in synagogues is taken for granted, and that Jesus is said to do much of his teaching in synagogues (Matt 4:23; 9:35; 13:54). Such teaching was, judging from the Sermon on the Mount and other passages in Matthew,96 understood to be focused on interpreting the law for the people.97 The problem in Matthew is the lack of law obedience, lawlessness statement that Jesus had only come to save “the lost sheep of the people of Israel”: 15:21, 24. Matthew’s Jesus also instructs his disciples’ not to engage with non-Jews in their mission to prepare for the kingdom (10:5–6), although this is later, after Jesus has been given authority over the entire world, reversed (28:18–20). 92 Cf. n. 28 above. 93 The point of Matthew’s argument is not to abolish the law’s prohibition of murder, but to widen the application of this law to cover also the related feelings of anger as well as insults (cf. 24:10). The same hermeneutics of building a fence around the law apply to other commandments as well, such as the prohibition of adultery (5:27–30), and, even more sharply, vows (5:33–37), retribution (5:38–42), and love of neighbor (5:43–47). 94 That this passage is a comment on greed as a sin preventing a person from entering the kingdom may be inferred from the fact that Matthew notes specifically that the young man decides not to follow Jesus when he is asked to leave all his riches to the poor (cf. Matt 23:25). Thus, despite the many commandments he has fulfilled, the man violates the law requiring radical love for the neighbor; full loyalty to God (teleios; see discussion of Matt 5:48 above, n. 67) is, therefore, lacking. 95 Cf. Mark 7:22, which lists avarice (pleonexia) and envy (ofthalmos) as sins that defile a person. The related concept of coveting is, of course, prohibited in the Decalogue (Exod 10:17, LXX epithyme ; cf. Rom 13:9). Cf. Luz, Matthew, 3. 497, who identifies envy as “the worst of all evils,” referring to Wis 2:24; T. Sim. 3–4; Philo, Spec. leg. 3:3. In Matt 27:18, however, the main point might be to combine the accusation of the leaders breaking the law with an allusion to the fate of biblical heroes, such as Daniel, along the lines of traditions appearing in 3 Macc 6:7 (“Daniel, who through envious slanders was thrown down into the ground to lions as food for wild animals, you brought up to the light unharmed”; cf. 3 Macc 6:8; Matt 12:39–40), or Joseph (cf. Acts 7:9: “The patriarchs, jealous of Joseph, sold him into Egypt; but God was with him”). 96 See, e.g., summarizing statements such as Matt 4:23; 9:35. Cf. Matt 7:29. 97  For further discussion of Matthew and the law, see especially Saldarini, ChristianJewish Community, 124–64.

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(anomia), which is confirmed by the fact that such behavior excludes both Jesus’ followers (Matt 7:23) and those who opposed the movement from the eschatological kingdom (Matt 13:41; 23:28; cf. 24:12).98 Those who lack the law altogether, the Gentiles, are regarded more generally, perhaps even generically, as sinners (Matt 26:45).99 Sin is, then, defined as violation of the law, and righteousness is defined as the opposite. The eschatological divine judgment is based on whether or not a person’s deeds align with the law’s requirements (Matt 7:21; 16:27). To prevent the impurity that results from violation of the law, correct teaching of the law is necessary.100 As in the Torah, however, the removal of moral impurity requires forgiveness and sacrifice. The question is how Matthew presents Jesus’ approach to these phenomena; is forgiveness dependent on the temple cult, which we have argued is understood as valid while Jesus’ is proclaiming and performing his message, or does he set up a new process, new mechanics, for the forgiveness of sins?101 First, it should be noted that, regardless of the mechanism used to bring about forgiveness (temple or extra-temple), the aim is to purify the people from the defilement resulting from sin. The basic worldview is thus the same for the Matthean Jesus as for many other forms of Judaism at this time. Having said that, there is a tension in the narrative between Jesus’ forgiveness of sins and the function of the Temple in Jerusalem, a tension that is solved, as  98 See

also discussion in n. 27 above.  Cf. Gal 2:15 and n. 62 above. For the identification in Matt 26:45 of “sinners” as Gentiles, see discussion in Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3.501. The context merges the Jewish leaders, who, in Matthew, are portrayed as breaking the law, into the same category as the Gentiles, who do not have the law (for this hermeneutic, applied to Jesus’ own followers when they stray from his teaching, cf. Matt 18:17). It is to both of these groups Jesus is being handed over, first by one of Jesus’ disciples (Judas) to the chief priests and the elders, and then by these leaders to the Gentiles (cf. Matt 17:22–23). That Gentiles as a group are portrayed as sinners is seen in several passages: everything they do – when addressed as a group – is contrary to proper behavior; Matt 5:47; 6:7, 32; 18:17; 20:25–26. On grave sin defined as imitating Gentiles, cf. Halpern-Amaru, Rewriting, 49; Klawans, Impurity, 47–48. This does not mean, however, that Gentiles in Matthew’s Gospel would automatically be excluded from the kingdom. They too, just as the Jewish people, have a choice. See discussion in Runesson, “Judging Gentiles,” 133–51. In Matthew, Jesus’ aim before his resurrection is to address sinners within the Jewish people (9:12–13; 11:19); after the resurrection and as a result of the now universal power and authority given to Jesus, this aim is, somewhat logically, expanded to address the (sinful) nations (Matt 28:18–20). As indicated by the individual exceptions mentioned previous to chapter 28 (non-Jews who realize the power set in motion as the eschatological process is begun), many non-Jews will respond positively (Matt 2:1–18; 8:5–13; 15:21–28). 100 Without such teaching, the Matthean Jesus regards the people to be lost: Matt 7:29; 9:36; 16:12; 15:14; 23:15–22. 101  For ancient concepts of forgiveness, as opposed to modern ideas, see Konstan, Before Forgiveness, especially the discussion of the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament on pages 91–124. See also now Griswold and Konstan, eds., Forgiveness.  99

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we shall see, only when the progression of events in the narrative as a whole are taken into consideration and made part of the equation. Second, we need to distinguish between forgiveness between humans and between humans and God on the one hand, and the removal of defilement on the other. Forgiveness between human beings is defined as the cancelation of debt (opheil mata; Matt 6:12). This process is mirrored in the human – divine relationship, which is dependent on the effectiveness of inter-human forgiveness; God will not cancel a person’s debts if that person is not cancelling what others owe him or her (Matt 6:14–15; 18:23–35). The process of divine forgiveness is thus inextricably interwoven with the human ability, and willingness, to forgive. This structure of forgiveness as cancelling debt works well within the system of the sacrificial cult in the temple, and is independent of Jesus as far as the effectiveness of the cult itself is concerned; only when humans reconcile will God respond to sacrificial gifts (Matt 5:23–24). This means, by implication, that humans can, potentially, bind others in their debt, since debt can be removed only by the victim. Since this would make impossible the removal of the impurities that follow from sin, the Matthean Jesus orders his followers to always forgive, without limitation (Matt 18:21–22).102 Forgiveness must be willingly given, but the offender must accept responsibility and thus acknowledge the need for forgiveness (Matt 18:15). If the offender refuses to acknowledge the need to be forgiven (and thus refuses to deal with his or her impure status), after a number of steps have been taken but have failed to make clear to the perpetrator the nature of the offence, the community of Jesus’ followers must exclude him or her (Matt 18:15–17). Such a procedure will ensure that the defilement caused by the sin is removed from the community (and relocated to a general category of sinners: Gentiles and tax collectors; 18:17).103 The Matthean Jesus tells his followers that they have the right to bind such a person in his or her (impure) status through exclusion (which implies absence of forgiveness and thus retained debt), as well as the right (or perhaps better: obligation; cf. Matthew 21–22), should the offender recognize his or her offence, to free him or her from debt (Matt 18:18). In the narrative, all of this function well within the sacrificial system of the Jerusalem temple; after reconciliation, a person is able to offer sacrifice the requirement of limitless forgiveness, see Nolland, Matthew, 753–55.  It may be noted that this concern about the purity of the community may be related to the presence of Jesus in the midst of the group (Matt 18:20). It is interesting here to compare Matthean concern with the purity of the community with similar concerns in the Qumran community and in Paul: see Cecilia Wassen’s contribution to this volume, “Do You have to Be Pure in a Metaphorical Temple? Sanctuary Metaphors and Construction of Sacred Space in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Paul’s Letters.” 102 On 103

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without defiling the altar (Matt 5:23–24). However, the Matthean Jesus also adds an aspect to the process of forgiveness, which is centered on himself and which goes beyond the system described so far, albeit still existing within the horizon of the sacrificial cult in Jerusalem. In Matt 9:1–8, Jesus heals a paralyzed man in Capernaum by forgiving him his sins (hamartia).104 There is no description of what the man’s sins had been, nor any mention of who the offended party was. Since there is a very distinct focus in Matthew on sins that relate to inter-human interaction (with consequences for the human – divine relationship), we may assume that a first-century reader would have understood the man’s condition as resulting from his wrongdoings to others.105 The logic of the system of forgiveness presented elsewhere in Matthew would rule that in order for the paralyzed man’s sins to be forgiven, the victim(s) of his sins must cancel his debts. We are not told whether they have refused, and thus bound him in his sins (and, by implication, in his [moral] impurity), or whether the paralytic has refused to acknowledge his debt. The point of the story, though, is beyond such details; the passage describes a situation in which the pattern of forgiveness is broken in that Jesus, who was not involved in the man’s previous history, steps in and extends the forgiveness that unbinds him from his ‘spiritual’ condition, an act which has physical ramifications. By cancelling the debts that the man owes, Jesus overrides the role of the victim(s) and establishes a direct link to the forgiveness of God, which in turn results in the charge of some scribes present that this behavior amounts to “blasphemy” (blasph mia).106 The man is now free to bring his sacrificial gifts to God in the temple, without defiling the altar (cf. Matt 5:23–24). The passage thus reveals Jesus’ authority as he sets the kingdom in motion (Matt 9:6); just as purity is accomplished through exorcisms,107 the forgiveness of sins removes defilement. So far we have seen two ways in which Jesus’ function as the Messiah, i.e., to “save his people from their sins” (Matt 1:21), is played out. This is done, first, through instructing the people in the law, including commanding them to allow for limitless forgiveness, as well as giving a strategy for expulsion of followers who do not acknowledge their debt, and thus their 104 This

is the only passage in Matthew’s Gospel where Jesus explicitly forgives sins.  There is no mention here of the man being born paralyzed (cf. John 9:1–12). In addition, we may note that there is only one sin mentioned in Matthew which relates directly to God: sin against the holy spirit (Matt 12:31–33). This sin is, however, said to be unforgivable, which makes it irrelevant for the current context. 106 It should be noted that Matthew has removed the comment of the scribes in Mark that only God can forgive sins (Mark 2:7). Matthew also adds to the response of the crowds the summarizing comment that “they glorified God, who had given such authority [exousia] to human beings” (Matt 9:8). 107 Matt 8:28–34; 10:1, 8; 15:22; cf. Matt 12:43–45. Cf. n. 37 above. 105

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(moral) impurity. Second, Jesus himself overrides the victims’ role as he brings about the reconciliation required for the perpetrator to be unbound and restored. While these strategies indicate Jesus’ extraordinary authority and foreshadow the interpretation of his death as atoning for sins, they do not contradict the temple cult but function within its purity logic. As the story progresses, however, this changes and Jesus offers himself in place of the (defiled) temple cult in order to bring the atonement which cannot otherwise be achieved without the temple cult. The Matthean Jesus predicts that the Jerusalem Temple will be destroyed, and the cause of this destruction is the defilement brought about by the grave sins of certain leading scribes and Pharisees, who are held responsible even for bloodshed committed in the temple in Israel’s past (Matt 23:29–24:2). For Matthew, like Ezekiel before him,108 the temple cannot be destroyed as long as God dwells there.109 In Matt 23:38, addressing Jerusalem and referring to the temple, Jesus declares: “See, your house is left to you, desolate.” Then, having said this, Jesus leaves the temple, predicts that it will be destroyed (Matt 24:1–2), and walks to the Mount of Olives east of the city (Matt 24:3) where God’s presence had previously lodged after having left the first temple before its destruction (Ezek 11:23). This way of preparing the reader for Jesus’ death opens up for an understanding of Jesus’ status as one of extraordinary closeness to the God of Israel.110 However, while such a reading is certainly plausible, it seems clear that for Matthew, God God-self actually leaves the temple at the moment of Jesus’ death, which is the most likely interpretation of the torn veil in Matt 26:51. In any case, Matthew’s story leaves little doubt that the temple as well as Jerusalem,111 will be destroyed, and that God leaves the temple before this happens. Since according to Matthew the temple is desolate (er mos; 23:38) already when Jesus dies, there will be no means of atonement for the people. Therefore, to save his people from their sins – and the moral impurity that results from sin – and thus initiate the kingdom process, Jesus is said to offer 108 Ezek

10–11. also Josephus, who shares the same view: J. W. 6.124–128; 300 (cf. 300–309). Cf. Ant. 20.165–167; J. W. 2.254–257. See also Mendels, Rise, 301–302. Guilt for the destruction of the Temple is always sought, in the Hebrew Bible, Josephus, as well as in rabbinic literature and the New Testament Gospels, within the Jewish people, since if someone else, such as the Romans, would be accused, their god(s), by implication, would have to be judged stronger than the God of Israel. By blaming the Jewish leadership (the Gospels), or Jewish ‘bandits’ (Josephus), the Romans are transformed into a tool in the hand of the God of Israel as he punishes his people. This strengthens the view that the Gospels were written by Jews from an inner-Jewish perspective, even if they were meant to be read also by a non-Jewish audience. 110  Cf. Repchinski, “Purity,” 383, who makes this claim; see also idem, “Re-Imagining,” 37–49. 111 Cf. Matt 22:7. 109 See

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his own body as a sacrifice, taking the place of the defiled, empty, and soon to be destroyed temple (Matt 26:26–29); his blood is “poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins [eis aphesin hamarti n]” (v. 38). This function of his death is already suggested in Matt 20:28, where the life of “the Son of Man” is said to be given as “a ransom for many.” Jesus’ death thus leads to the removal of the impurity that results from sin and offers a way for the people to be holy and perfect (Matt 5:48) without the temple cult.112 Contrary to common Christian theology, the Temple is not destroyed because of Jesus’ death; the logic goes in the opposite direction in Matthew: Jesus has to die precisely because the Temple will be destroyed.113 In other words, while the temple cult was still intact and functioning in the narrative until chapter 23/24, after God has left his abode as a consequence of its defilement, caused by the sins of the leaders, the Temple can no longer fulfill its purpose. In the same way, whereas forgiveness was related to the temple cult until Jesus’ death, eschatological atonement was achieved apart from the Temple. Since the Jewish law is still to be taught after Jesus’ resurrection (Matt 28:19–20), it would have to be assumed that the teaching on forgiveness, which was previously positioned in relation to the temple cult, is now centered on Jesus’ atoning sacrifice for the sins of the many, and thus on the ritualized meal in his remembrance.114 Apocalyptic catastrophe will still come (Matt 24), as will the final judgment after people 112 It is of some interest to note that Matthew, contrary to the author of Luke–Acts, moves Jesus’ followers, and Jesus himself, from Jerusalem to Galilee after the resurrection, from where the worldwide mission is to be launched. It seems, then, that for this author, just like for the Qumran community, regardless of whether the historical Temple had yet been destroyed, Jerusalem was not the place to stay for Jesus’ followers during the period between Jesus’ death and the coming of the eschatological Son of Man, who will execute the final judgment (cf. also Matt 24:16). 113  Since, as we have mentioned above, the “scribes and Pharisees” are blamed by Matthew for being the cause of the destruction of the Temple, Jesus’ death has become necessary because of them. This may explain the consistently negative portrayal of the Pharisees in Matthew’s narrative, which is not mirrored in the other Gospels. One may also note, of course, that Jesus’ death in this story is for the people of Israel in its entirety, and thus also opens up for the inclusion in the kingdom of these same groups who are accused of causing the crisis in the first place (cf. Matt 13:52). 114 On the meal as related to temple cult, cf. Neusner, Idea, 70, who argues that the Pharisees, by insisting on purity beyond the Temple when they ate ordinary food, would have regarded their tables as related to the temple altar in more than a metaphorical way. (Cf. b. Ber. 55a, attributed to two third-century rabbis, i.e., the saying is said to originate in the period after the Temple was lost: “As long as the temple stood, the altar atoned for Israel, but now a man’s table atones for him.”) For the pre-70 Pharisees, then, these additional sacred meal settings did not replace the Temple, but added to it, so to speak. For Matthew, the meal in Jesus’ remembrance is explicitly said to represent Jesus’ body and blood, i.e., it is construed as a sacrificial meal, and this is done to compensate for the loss of the (defiled and soon to be destroyed) Temple in a way similar to how the Qumran community replaced the (defiled) Temple with their own community.

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from among all the nations have been informed that the end is approaching (24:14; 25:31–46); those who endure in love during this period of suffering will be saved (24:12–13).

5. Conclusion: Purity, Sin, and the Kingdom of Heaven Summarizing our findings, it seems clear that we find in the Gospel of Matthew the same basic approach to reality as is present in the ancient Mediterranean world more generally and in other forms of Judaism more specifically, namely that certain space is dedicated to the divine and is therefore defined as holy, as opposed to ordinary space, which we call profane. Once this has been established it follows by necessity that certain rules and laws would need to be in place in order to distinguish and administer the holy as qualitatively different from the profane; if Matthew is to be understood as taking a different approach, which ignores such regulations, the burden of proof would be on those who believe this to be the case. On the contrary, however, I have argued here that there is substantial evidence in the text that the narrative takes very seriously the distinction between holy and profane, as well as the purity regulations that follow. While that which is pure can relate to space both holy and profane, the impure must never come into contact with the holy. The purity regulations that protect the holy can be divided into two related categories: ritual and moral purity, the latter being the overall concern of the Matthean Jesus, but not to the exclusion of the former. Just as in some texts from Qumran, sin in the Gospel of Matthew renders the sinner ritually impure. Indeed, the impurity generated by sin seems to be at the core of the narrative, the very reason for the arrival of the Messiah at the end of time. The good news (euangelion) as proclaimed by this author is that Jesus, whose task is defined to be to “save his people from their sins” (Matt 1:21), offers himself as an atoning sacrifice to eliminate the impurity that had defiled the temple and, at the end of the narrative, ultimately caused it to be abandoned by God. In other words, the crisis perceived by the Matthean Jesus is the defilement of the cult, blamed on the “Scribes and Pharisees” (Matt 23:1–24:2) but not on the Jewish people as a whole (i.e., the crowds are exempted from guilt, since they had been led astray; e.g., Matt 21:1–16, 46; 9:36).115 The defilement of the holy Temple leads to God abandoning his abode. This 115  The temple aristocracy, the chief priests and the elders, are primarily blamed for Jesus’ death, which is presented as unrelated to the “scribes and Pharisees.” The two groups of leaders are, however, accused together in Matt 21:33–45.

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abandoning of the Temple by the divine happens in two steps: first, God’s agent, the Messiah, leaves the Temple and proclaims it desolate (er mos; Matt 23:38–24:2); second, God God-self departs from the Holy of Holies at the moment Jesus dies (Matt 27:51). As in Ezekiel (10–11), and Josephus (J.W. 6.127, 300), the Temple cannot be destroyed as long as God is present; any prediction of the destruction of the Temple has, therefore, to involve the idea that God departs before it happens.116 This chain of events leaves the people without access to the cult and, consequently, inaugurates a time of extreme apocalyptic suffering (Matt 24:21). It is as a solution to this imminent117 crisis that the author presents Jesus as offering himself as a sacrifice in order to save his people (Matt 1:21; 20:28; 26:28).118 Jesus’ death is said to atone the sins of “many.” It is through the removal of the source of (moral) impurity, sin, that impurity can ultimately be eliminated. The ritual reenactment of the sacrifice (Matt 26:26–29) constructs a metaphorical ‘space’ in which God can be accessed throughout the duration of the apocalyptic disasters (cf. 18:20). At the end of these sufferings, the “Son of Man” will execute a final judgment (Matt 25:31–46), which will precede the full establishment of the eschatological kingdom of heaven. 116  As mentioned above (n. 43), Haber, correctly in my opinion, argued that the historical Jesus was concerned with purity issues. This conclusion is supported by a forthcoming study by Morten Hørning Jensen (“Purity and Politics in Herod Antipas’s Galilee”). Such conclusions have implications for how we understand Jesus’ relationship to the Temple, its possible defilement, and predicted destruction. Matthew’s Gospel seems to maintain the perspective of the historical Jesus with regard to purity issues, which makes it likely that it may also have preserved authentic traditions about Jesus’ view of other issues connected to and logically following from purity concerns, such as the possible defilement of the Temple, and therefore, by necessity, its future destruction. If the historical Jesus did in fact predict the fall of the Temple – something that should not be viewed as particularly strange considering the religiopolitical situation (cf. similar predictions recorded by Josephus and elsewhere) – this would have implied the claim that God would have left the Temple before it would happen. This in turn brings up the question of Jesus’ view of his own role in the eschatological process, including the meaning of his death as a sacrifice, in lieu of the temple cult, that would liberate his people. It may well be that Matthew captures in this regard something of the historical Jesus’ self-awareness. Recent developments in Jesus research focusing on religio-cultural context and archaeology may thus lead to a better understanding not only of Jesus but also of Matthew’s (as well as other Gospels’) role(s) as transmitter(s) of Jesus traditions. It seems to me that the bias of Mark’s Gospel, which results from, among other things, the fact that he is obviously – contrary to the historical Jesus and Matthew – addressing his message to non-Jews, should lead us to question not the priority of Mark as a literary document (it is most likely our oldest Gospel), but the priority that this text has enjoyed in historical Jesus scholarship for more than a century. 117  Matt 10:23; 24:34. 118  Jesus’ death at Passover triggers motifs related to liberation from slavery, but the language of sacrifice and atonement indicates a cultic temple focus. It seems as if, in Matthew, imagery related to both Passover and Yom Kippur merge as Jesus’ death is narrativized. On various interpretations of the Day of Atonement, see Stökl Ben Ezra, Impact. See also now Hieke and Nicklas, Day.

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Thus, the merging of heaven and earth (i.e., the kingdom), an Edenic state in which the divine is always both present and accessible, requires purity. Within the cultic worldview represented in the Gospel, the Jewish law is valid both before and after the defilement of the Temple (the idea of defilement is in and of itself dependent on the validity of the law). What changes as the world is about to be reborn is the mechanism through which atonement is achieved. Once the kingdom process is complete, judgment has been carried out and the world has been renewed (re-created), i.e., once “all is accomplished” (Matt 5:18), the law will not be needed, just as it was not in existence when the world was once created. What leads us to this conclusion is the use of language, in an eschatological setting, referring specifically to the current world’s rebirth as well as to the creation of the world itself in prehistoric times (Matt 19:28; 25:34). The eschatological kingdom of heaven thus recreates the state of things once present in Eden, which, in God’s eyes, was something “very good” (Gen 1:31).119 For the Matthean Jesus, then, the law was added as a means to protect the people from impurity and enable them to relate to God; once the world has been reborn, impurity will no longer be an issue; humans will be holy as God is holy in a state mirroring the Garden of Eden.120 The fact that the end is like the beginning also explains why Matthew’s Jesus suddenly, at the end of the Gospel, addresses issues relating not only to Jews but also to the non-Jewish world; until now, the narrative has been focused on the Jewish people only, with a few non-Jews representing marginal characters drawn centripetally to the Messiah. In Matt 28:18–20, Matthew’s Jesus instructs his followers to make disciples of all the nations, teaching them what he had taught them, i.e., how to correctly follow the Jewish law. Also, non-Jews need to go through a purification ritual: baptism.121 In other 119 Cf. the priority of Genesis over Moses as the Matthean Jesus interprets the law: Matt 19:3–8. It is the beginning that is authoritative, since this is what is being recreated in the eschaton. 120 The law for Matthew thus, in a sense, seems to fill a function similar to how Paul understood its meaning in Gal 3:19–25, as a “pedagogue” (paidag gos) awaiting the eschaton; the law loses its meaning once the world has been renewed. The difference between Matthew and Paul seems to be that Paul, contrary to Matthew, understands eschatology to be realized in the sense that the “disciplinarian” function of the law is a matter of the past; faith (pistis), for Paul, opens up for the purity of the age to come already now, through the work of the Spirit (cf. Rom 8:22 where Paul’s view on the eschatological events defined as the rebirth of the world surfaces). It should be noted, though, that Paul is here writing to non-Jewish Christ-believers; elsewhere he still upholds the distinction between those circumcised and those who are not, and the former should uphold the law until the end (cf. 1 Cor 7:18; Gal 5:3). 121  It is of some interest to note that neither Jesus nor his disciples baptize Jews in Matthew’s story. The only baptism of Jews mentioned by Matthew is that of John the Baptizer, a baptism which is said to be different from what Jesus is accomplishing (Matt 3:11), although

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words, since the eschaton means the rebirth of the world, even non-Jews need to be cleansed from impurity in order to be part of the world to come. In the end, it seems Psalm 24 and the question of who may approach the holy mountain of God, which we referred to in the beginning, summarizes well the underlying concerns of Matthew’s Gospel. This psalm, as also Psalm 15, elaborates on moral purity, but ritual purity is assumed as a given. It may be appropriate, then, to end this essay honoring Susan’s life and work with a few more words from this psalm. May her memory be for a blessing. The earth is the LORD’S and all that is in it, the world, and those who live in it; for he has founded it on the seas, and established it on the rivers. Who shall ascend the hill of the LORD? And who shall stand in his holy place? Those who have clean hands and pure hearts, who do not lift up their souls to what is false, and do not swear deceitfully. They will receive blessing from the LORD, and vindication from the God of their salvation. Such is the company of those who seek him, who seek the face of the God of Jacob. Selah (Ps 24:1–6)

Bibliography Booth, R. P. Jesus and the Laws of Purity: Tradition History and Legal History in Mark 7. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1986. Borg, M. J. Conflict, Holiness and Politics in the Teaching of Jesus. New York: Edwin Mellen, 1984. Brown, R. E. The Birth of the Messiah: A Commentary on the Infancy Narratives in Matthew and Luke. 2d ed. New York: Doubleday, 1993. Burkert, W. Greek Religion. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1985. Busink, Th. A. Der Tempel von Jerusalem von Salomo bis Herodes: Eine archäologisch-historische Studie unter Berücksichtigung des westsemitischen Tempelbaus. 2 vols. Leiden: Brill, 1980. Davies, W. D. and Dale C. Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew. 3 vols. London: T & T Clark, 1988–1997.

Jesus himself receives John’s baptism (3:13–17). While it may be argued that baptism of Jews is implied in the story, since Jesus himself was baptized, Jesus’ work is related to the holy spirit in the same way as John’s is related to water and repentance (3:11). It seems as if the general status of non-Jews as sinners (see discussion above, nn. 99, 62) triggers the necessity of them being baptized in water before being incorporated into the people of God and taught Jewish law in the form Jesus presented it.

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Davison, J. E. “Anomia and the Question of an antinomian Polemic in Matthew.” Journal of Biblical Literature 104 (1985): 617–633. Deines, R. Jüdische Steingefäße und pharisäische Frömmigkeit: Ein archäologischhistorischer Beitrag zum Verständnis von Joh 2,6 und der jüdischen Reiheitshalacha zur Zeit Jesu. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993. DeMaris, R. The New Testament in its Ritual World. London: Routledge, 2008. Fredriksen, P. “Did Jesus Oppose the Purity Laws?” Bible Review 11 (1995): 18–25, 42–47. Furstenberg, Y. “Defilement Penetrating the Body: A New Understanding of Contamination in Mark 7:15.” New Testament Studies 54 (2008): 176–200. Griswold, C. L., and D. Konstan, eds. Ancient Forgiveness: Classical, Judaic, and Christian. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Gurtner, D. M. “Matthew’s Theology of the Temple and the ‘Parting of the Ways’.” Pages 128–153 in Built upon the Rock: Studies in the Gospel of Matthew. Edited by D. M. Gurtner and J. Nolland. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008. Haber, S. “They Shall Purify Themselves”: Essays on Purity in Early Judaism. Edited by A. Reinhartz. Early Judaism and Its Literature 24. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008. Halpern-Amaru, B. Rewriting the Bible: Land and Covenant in Post-Biblical Jewish Literature. Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1994. Harrington, H. K. The Impurity Systems of Qumran and the Rabbis: Biblical Foundations. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993. Hayes, C. E. Gentile Impurities and Jewish Identities: Intermarriage and Conversion from the Bible to the Talmud. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Hieke, T., and T. Nicklas, eds. The Day of Atonement: Its Interpretations in Early Jewish and Christian Traditions. Leiden: Brill, 2012. Jensen, M. H. “Purity and Politics in Herod Antipas’s Galilee: The Case for Religious Motivation.” Journal for the Study of the Historical Jesus (forthcoming 2013). Klawans, J. Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. –. Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple: Symbolism and Supersessionism in the Study of Ancient Judaism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. Konstan, D. Before Forgiveness: The Origin of a Moral Idea. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Lawrence, J. D. Washing in Water: Trajectories of Ritual Bathing in the Hebrew Bible and in Second Temple Literature. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2006. Levine, L. I. The Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years. 2d ed. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005. Luz, U. Matthew: A Commentary. 2 vols. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001. Magen, Y. “Ancient Israel’s Stone Age: Purity in Second Temple Times.” Biblical Archaeological Review 24 (1998): 46–52. Meeks, W. A. The Origins of Christian Morality: The First Two Centuries. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993. Mendels, D. The Rise and Fall of Jewish Nationalism: Jewish and Christian Ethnicity in Ancient Palestine. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997. Milgrom, J. Leviticus 1–16. Anchor Bible 3. New York: Doubleday, 1991. Miller, S. S. “Stepped Pools, Stone Vessels, and Other Identity Markers of ‘Complex Common Judaism’.” Journal for the Study of Judaism 41 (2010): 214–243.

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Modéus, M. Sacrifice and Symbol: Biblical Šel mîm in a Ritual Perspective. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 2005. Moore, G. F. “Christian Writers on Judaism.” Harvard Theology Review 14 (1921): 197–254. Neusner, J. A History of the Mishnaic Law of Holy Things. Part 6: The Mishnaic System of Sacrifice and Sanctuary. Leiden: Brill, 1980. –. The Idea of Purity in Ancient Judaism. Leiden: Brill, 1973. Nolland, J. The Gospel of Matthew. A Commentary on the Greek Text. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005. Poirier, J. C. “Purity Beyond the Temple in the Second Temple Era.” Journal of Biblical Literature 122 (2003): 247–265. Powell, M. A. “Do and Keep What Moses Says (Matthew 23:2–7).” Journal of Biblical Literature 114 (1995): 419–435. Regev, E. “Moral Impurity and the Temple in Early Christianity in Light of Ancient Greek Practice and Qumranic Ideology.” Harvard Theological Review 97 (2004): 383–411. Repchinski, B. “Re-Imagining the Presence of God: The Temple and the Messiah in the Gospel of Matthew.” Australian Biblical Review 54 (2006): 37–49. –. “Purity in Matthew, James, and the Didache.” Pages 379–395 in Matthew, James, and Didache: Three Related Documents in Their Jewish and Christian Settings. Edited by H. van de Sandt and J. K. Zangenberg. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008. Runesson, A. “Building Matthean Communities: The Politics of Textualization.” Pages 379–408 in Mark and Matthew. Comparative Readings I: Understanding the Earliest Gospels in their First-Century Settings. Edited by E.-M. Becker and A. Runesson. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011. –. “Giving Birth to Jesus in the Late First Century: Matthew as Midwife in the Context of Colonization.” Pages 301–327 in Infancy Gospels: Stories and Identities. Edited by C. Clivaz, A. Dettwiler, L. Devilliers, and E. Norelli. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011. –. “Inventing Christian Identity: Paul, Ignatius, and Theodosius I.” Pages 59–92 in Exploring Early Christian Identity. Edited by B. Holmberg. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008. –. “Judging Gentiles in the Gospel of Matthew: Between ‘Othering’ and Inclusion.” Pages 133–151 in Matthew’s Gospel and Early Christianity: Studies in Memory of Professor Graham Stanton. Edited by J. Willitts and D. M. Gurtner. London: T & T Clark, 2011. –. “Matthew, Gospel According to.” Pages 59–78 in vol. 2 of The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Books of the Bible. Edited by M. D. Coogan. 2 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. –. “Re-Thinking Early Jewish–Christian Relations: Matthean Community History as Pharisaic Intragroup Conflict.” Journal of Biblical Literature 127 (2008): 95– 132. –. The Origins of the Synagogue: A Socio-Historical Study. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 2001. Runesson, A., D. D. Binder, and B. Olsson. The Ancient Synagogue From its Origins to 200 CE: A Source Book. Leiden: Brill, 2008.

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Ruzer, S. Mapping the New Testament: Early Christian Writings as a Witness for Jewish Biblical Exegesis. Jewish and Christian Perspectives 13. Leiden: Brill, 2007. Saldarini, A. Matthew’s Christian Jewish Community. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1994. Sanders, E. P. Paul and Palestinian Judaism: A Comparison of Patterns of Religion. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1977. Spawforth, T. The Complete Greek Temples. London: Thames & Hudson, 2006. Stökl Ben Ezra, D. The Impact of Yom Kippur on Early Christianity. The Day of Atonement from the Second Temple to the Fifth Century. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 163. Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 2003. Werrett, C. Ritual Purity and the Dead Sea Scrolls. Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 72. Leiden: Brill, 2007. Willitts, Joel. Matthew’s Messianic Shepherd-King: In Search of ‘The Lost Sheep of the House of Israel.’ Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007.

Pollution and Purification in Josephus’s Judean War1 Steve Mason This essay is my belated effort to develop a conversation begun with Susan Haber in May 2001. Then an M. A. student at McMaster University, Susan was participating in an intensive, international graduate seminar at York University on Josephus in his Roman context.2 Meeting six days a week, following a term of preparatory reading and electronic discussion, we examined Flavian Rome to see where a Josephus might fit in, and we scrutinized Josephus for clues about connections with his Roman environment. When the issues of purity and pollution arose, Susan – not one easily co-opted for someone else’s agenda – inclined to see closer parallels between our priestly writer and the Bible’s Priestly Source. She had been intently reading Jacob Milgrom’s fundamental work on Levitical purity3 and developing a deep interest in the subject. Our fleeting exchanges reflected among other things a larger problem in the study of Josephus, namely: Where is his meaning to be found? When we seek to interpret Josephus, what exactly are we trying to interpret, and what criteria come into play? Are we interested primarily in his formative influences, inspirations, and sources, in whatever was going on in his mind as he wrote, or in his efforts at communication with certain intended audiences? (And who were those audiences?) Here I cannot write the possibly desirable book on purity and pollution in Josephus. Nor can I even position this paper as a response to existing

the work is traditionally called The Jewish War(s). I prefer this form. First, Josephus wrote about one war (in 66 to 74 CE). Second, most Jews/ Judaeans were not involved, but only those in Judea. Third, when translating ancient texts I prefer to translate Greek Ioudaios, Latin Iudaeus, and Hebrew Yehudi as “Judaean” because these words were part of a broad ethnographical category, and their counterparts were terms that we translate as Syrian, Egyptian, Samarian, Idumaean, and so on. 2 The seminar, co-chaired by James Rives, John Barclay, and myself, was timed to coincide with a gathering of Josephus specialists and Roman historians at York University for a threeday conference. Much of that conference’s content, streamlined and supplemented with new papers, has been published as Edmondson, Mason, and Rives, eds., Josephus. 3 See especially Milgrom Leviticus 1–16, Leviticus 17–22, Leviticus 23–27. Milgrom, Leviticus, now provides a comprehensive and accessible overview. 1 Although

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studies of the subject, for to my knowledge there are none.4 Josephus has not usually been considered an appropriate subject for compositional and thematic analysis,5 though that venerable prejudice is gradually weakening. Nor yet does the brief compass of such an essay allow for grand theorizing, at least with adequate justification, about purity and pollution in the Greek, Roman, Near Eastern, and biblical worlds, against which one might test Josephus’s language. All that I can attempt here is a foray: a preliminary effort at sketching the contours and functions of Josephus’s language concerning pollution and purification in his most famous work, the Judean War. My proposition is that War’s pollution/purification language provides a crucible for testing approaches to cultural interaction in the Roman world. This thematic thread is interwoven with several others, all part of the repertoire available to cultured Greco-Roman elites around the eastern Mediterranean. Further, this thematic interplay is so deeply ingrained in War’s narrative that we cannot explain it as a mere finishing touch, supplied by Josephus or some literary collaborators: it cannot be a “Hellenization” of some underlying Judean core, for it is the core itself. We must reckon therefore with the fact that Josephus actually thought in these common categories. Given that he began writing War immediately after his arrival in Rome,6 if not before, that observation has obvious implications for the question of his prior education in Jerusalem. We begin with an effort to contextualize the pollution-purification theme in War’s narrative, then move to an inventory of key terms, their frequency and distribution. Finally, we shall focus on a telling case study.

1. Pollution and Purification in the Judean War: Literary Context Josephus lived from the year of Gaius Caligula’s accession (37 C. E.) to the end of the first century, perhaps into the early years of the second. After 4

 This is not to deny that there are relevant observations in the detailed studies of Josephus’ biblical paraphrase or in older treatments of his “religion.” But, such comments are incidental to the purposes of those studies, not based on the study of whole narratives. 5  In a 1972 lecture, W. C. van Unnik astutely observed and asked: “Josephus ist und wird immer wieder benutzt und zitiert. … Und doch lässt sich fragen, ob der vielzitierte Historiker auch wirklich gekannt wird. Ist er nicht viel mehr Lieferant von Daten als verantwortungsvoller Autor? Hat man seine Schriften wirklich gelesen, exegesiert und in richtiger Weise ausgeschöpft?” (Josephus, 18). At the end of the following decade Per Bilde was still unable to find much research on Josephus’s works as narratives (Josephus, 71, 92, 118). 6  This is the implication of Ag. Ap. 1.49–50, in which Josephus describes his writing process. At any rate, Josephus claims to have presented the finished work to Vespasian, who died in 79 C. E., as well as to his son Titus (Ag. Ap. 1.50; cf. Life 361).

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understandably failing to defend Galilee against the Roman onslaught that answered the Judean revolt, surrendering to the generals Vespasian and Titus in July 67 C. E., and later moving with Titus to Rome (71 C. E.) after the fall of Jerusalem, Josephus began writing his account of the war in seven volumes, which was substantially published by 79 C. E. This would be followed in 93/94 C. E. by his twenty-volume history of Judean law and culture from Creation (the Judean Antiquities), an appendix to that work on his own life and character (the Life), and finally a two-volume essay of uncertain date in defense of Judean antiquity and the national character (Against Apion). Instead of looking for a single governing thesis of Josephus’s War, as though it were an essay,7 I propose that our theme of pollution and purification is best investigated as part of a dynamic narrative with many twists, turns, and layers. That narrative certainly generates a coherent world of discourse through an array of interwoven thematic clusters. After being introduced in the prologue (J. W. 1.1–30), they appear in ever new forms throughout the whole work. Although different readers would no doubt arrange these themes in different groups or hierarchies, and all of them intersect and overlap, for the sake of convenience I would posit four discernible clusters: concerning the Judean character, polis governance and its challenges, the tragedy faced by the Judeans, and the sacrificial cult based in the now-destroyed Temple. In War’s opening sentence, the first point Josephus makes is that he wants to counter the predictably pro-Roman and anti-Judean accounts of the recent conflict already circulating in the world capital (1.1–3). He characterizes these as either “flatteries [of the Romans] or fictions [lying about the Judeans]” (1.6), which “vilify and denigrate [or bully and humiliate] the Judean side” (1.7). The most fundamental themes of the work, then, concern the true character of the Judean people. In keeping with the military context and also general assumptions about character in the Roman world, Josephus will demonstrate Judean virtue by illustrating the nation’s manliness, courage, determination or steadfastness, and ultimately contempt for death. Such language is consistently emphasized from the opening scenes of stunning Hasmonean victory, Judean imperviousness to Pompey’s invasion, the quasi-heroic figure of Herod (in this work; contrast Antiquities), and the manly Essenes, and on through the heart of the work with its repeated 7 Scholarly tradition has predisposed us to look for such a singular purpose: most often in Flavian propaganda, latterly in the wish to deflect war guilt from Josephus’s elite class. I find both proposals untenable in substance and also methodologically wrong-headed, in seeking to reduce historical narrative to such a narrow aim. (We do not do this with other ancient historians.)

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claims about the storied legions’ difficulty in coping with Judean courage, all the way to the last holdouts at Masada (7.252–53, 280–406).8 The sicarii lead us naturally to a second thematic cluster: widely discussed issues connected with a statesman’s management of polis affairs. Like men of his class from Polybius (mid-second century B. C. E.) – one of his principal models9 – to his contemporaries Dio and Plutarch, Josephus has thought deeply about the best course of action for states living under Roman hegemony. His narrative is populated by such stock, usually anonymous groups as the “principal, first, or powerful” men (οἱ πρῶτοι, δυνατοί) – aristocrats bred and cultivated for leadership; over against them a de-humanized lumpen “rabble” (τὸ πλῆθος), sometimes more respectfully “the populace” or “people” (ὁ δῆμος, λαός), who are not so much menacing as potentially dangerous because of their herd-like susceptibility to demagogues and trouble-makers. Josephus most often calls these last “revolutionaries,” “bandits,” and “bandit chiefs” or “tyrants” – all terms of political abuse for those considered hostile to the political order, whether their behavior amounts to actual banditry (as it may) or not. The masses are in need of proper aristocratic leadership, if they are not to fall prey to these ever-present “deceivers and enchanters” (ἀπατεῶνες, γόητες). Important catalysts in many trouble-spots are “hot-headed youths.” Though often belonging to the elite class, in Josephus’s (as Polybius’s) analysis they lack experience and therefore still act from reckless impulse rather than rational assessment. Central to this political cluster is the root contrast between concord and civil strife (ὁμόνοια, στάσις), introduced as a Leitmotif in J. W. 1.10. Other charged terms are those related to freedom, autonomy, and slavery, and their true meanings. We might even say that Josephus constructs War as a meditation on the meaning of political freedom under Rome. It is an object lesson in what every statesman contemplated and feared. Like the fall of Corinth to Rome in 146 B. C. E., the fall of Jerusalem is a story of provocations and perceived humiliations met by impulsive reactions and reckless decisions – unrestrained by saner counsels – that proved disastrous. Also basic to this cluster are the many related phrases evoking ancestral law and custom, the traditional order. The impossibility of rigidly demarcating these thematic groups is illustrated by Josephus’s language concerning fortune, fate, and free will. Polybius famously claimed that he, like other historians of his time, wrote his “practical [or political] history” to illustrate the vicissitudes of fortune, 8 One consequence of requiring a single thesis from Josephus has been a debate concerning whether the sicarii of Masada appear as heroes or villains. But this is a false choice in Josephus’s narrative. They exemplify both Judean manliness and political disaster, as do many other figures in his works. See also the discussion of Simon, a Judaean of Scythopolis, below. 9 Cf. Eckstein, “Josephus;” Shahar, Josephus, 130–73.

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which is constantly changing things, to help the statesman deal with the winds of fortune in his own circumstances (1.1.2, 2.8, 35.6–10). Beginning in War’s prologue, Josephus likewise speaks often of reversals, upheavals, or undoings (μεταβολαί) of fortune or circumstances (τύχης, πραγμάτων). Fortune (τύχη) appears 83 times in War. As in Polybius (1.4.4–5), it is she who has given Rome her current power (J. W. 2.360, 373, 387; 5.367), and the statesman must find a way to deal constructively with this supreme fact. Fate, or what is fated (εἱμαρμένη), is different in tone and register, but like fortune it is inscrutable to the human actor and must be dealt with somehow. Such terms plainly straddle the boundary between the political vocabulary we have just considered and our third cluster: tragic themes. In the midst of the prologue’s opening sketch of Judean civil strife, fomented by tyrants and their bandit hordes (1.10), Josephus introduces the potent language of tragic suffering and resulting emotion: misfortune, calamity, pity, compassion, wailing, and lamentation (1.10–12). Although he rhetorically apologizes for departing from the “law of history” by expressing his emotions (1.11; similarly 5.20), in the sequel he will unashamedly exploit such emotive language. Polybius had famously criticized Phylarchus for indulging tragic themes in historical writing (2.56–63): Being keen to elicit pity in his readers and to generate sympathy by his words, he weaves tapestries of women and disheveled hair and the slipping out of breasts; to these he adds the tears and lamentations of both men and women being led off [to slavery] – all together with children and aged parents. He does this throughout his whole history, always trying to place the horrors in each situation before our eyes. Forget about the fact that his chosen procedure is unworthy and womanly; let us consider how far it is proper or useful for history. It is certainly not the business of a writer to use history to thrill his readers with such wondrous tales; nor should he, like the tragic playwrights, pursue words assumed to have been spoken or work out all the implications of incidental matters; he should make a complete record based on the truth of what happened and what was said, no matter how ordinary.

Although a sharp distinction between poetry and history had become commonplace in Josephus’s time,10 in practice Hellenistic and Roman historiography blended more or less completely with other branches of literature, as all were grounded in the same rhetorical training and composed largely by (and for) the same groups of elite men. Josephus allows the audience to envision only men’s chests uncovered in mourning (J. W. 2.322), but otherwise he fully indulges the very things that his model Polybius had excoriated. Weeping women and children abound 10 Aristotle, Poet. 1459a; Cicero, Fam. 5.12; Brut. 292–93; Plutarch, Per. 28; Lucian, Hist. conscr. 1–2, 16, 22–23.

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in War, most notably in the tragic Masada narrative.11 In War 1 King Herod already appears in tragic terms,12 a strong and proud man undone by domestic intrigue and changes of fortune beyond his control.13 In that narrative we even find δρᾶμα (“stage action”) and its compounds (1.471, 530, 543). War’s story as a whole is proffered as one of tragic reversal, especially in Jerusalem’s fall from the highest felicity to the extremity of catastrophe (πρὸς ἔσχατον συμφορῶν), so that the misfortunes (τὰ ἀτυχήματα) of the Judeans exceed those of all others in history (1.11–12). Josephus has constant recourse to the language of calamity, pity and fear, dirge, lament, mourning, crying out in despair, and so forth. And since his Roman audience knows well the outcome of the story, even the names of its chief culprits (exhibited in the Roman triumph of 71 C. E.), just as they knew the stories underlying tragic plays, War is heavy with tragic irony: its bold characters pursue their actions in complete ignorance of what is now obvious to Josephus’s audience. Even incidental words can evoke tragic associations in a literate audience. The Greek word τὸ πτῶμα ordinarily means a “fall, collapse, or catastrophe,” and in that sense it is common in literature. But the secondary and specific sense – of a fallen person, that is a corpse – is much less frequent, appearing most memorably in the poetry of the tragedians, especially Euripides.14 Josephus uses this word 14 times, 13 of these in War and 11 of these in the descriptions of brutal civil conflict in Books 5–6. In all cases, except an early one involving Herod (J. W. 1.594, possibly influenced by his source) and at 6.30, he uses the word as one of several for “corpse.” At 6.217 he will exploit both meanings of the word in a sobering word-play (see Part 3 below). Again, the verb μυδάω is not found often before Josephus. It appears mostly in mundane references to eyelids or gums or rainstorms “creating dampness.”15 But Sophocles had used it to speak vividly of the “oozing” of Polyneices’ corpse in the guard’s report (Ant. 410; cf. the variant at 1278). Medical and other writers occasionally also employed this sense. Josephus has the verb only three times, all concentrated in J. W. 3–5 (3.530; 4.383; 5.519) and always in connection with oozing corpses. The tragic intention and resonance are unmistakable. Finally, just as it was impossible to draw a clear line between polis-related and tragic themes in War, so also the tragic themes just considered overlap 11 Cf. J. W. 1.97; 2.192, 198, 307, 395, 400, 475; 3.113, 261; 4.71, 79; 6.351, 384; 7.228, 321, 362, 380, 382, 385, 386, 391, 393. 12  Eusebius in the fourth century already made the comparison (Hist. eccl. 1.8.4: “darker than any tragic stage production”). 13 1.204, 354–56, 386–93, esp. 429–32, 556. 14  Aeschylus, Suppl. 662, 797; Prom. 919; Euripides, Orest. 1197 [var.]; Heracl. 77; Herc. fur. 1228; El. 575, 686; Phoen. 1482, 1697; Tro. 467; Sophocles, Ant. 1046. 15 Theophrastus, Phys. 12; Polybius 6.25.7; Dioscorides Pedanius, Mat. med. 1.7.4, 24.1.

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extensively with our fourth cluster: cult and purity. Classical tragedy was very much bound up with notions of pollution  – incurred through such violations of order as filial murder, sex (especially illicit kinds), failure to bury corpses, and even cannibalism – , its inexorable effects, and the need for its identification and removal through purification.16 Sophocles’ Oedipus tyrannus famously opens (1–102) with the people of Thebes asking the god about the cause of their plague. Creon reports from Pythian Apollo that a pollution (μίασμα), which has become parasitic on the land, must be driven out (97–99). When Oedipus asks about the manner of purification (καθαρμός), Creon replies (100–103) that it must involve banishment or “the atonement of carnage for carnage, since it is blood [guilt] that holds the city in a storm” (ἢ φόνῳ φόνον πάλιν λύοντας, ὡς τόδ’ αἷμα χειμάζον πόλιν). This political and tragic matrix of pollution, the presence of which requires atonement and purification if the polis is to return to life, provides the most relevant background to Josephus’s use of pollution / purification motifs in War. The clearest difference is that in the case of Jerusalem there was – as everyone knew in the Roman world  – no need to seek the advice of the Delphic oracle: for the Judeans the locus of the divine, the axis mundi, was in the heart of the same polis in which the indescribable pollution occurred; and it was this very sanctuary that had been defiled by bloody civil strife. In the same prologue to War in which he adumbrates the work’s character, polis, and tragic themes, Josephus also emphasizes the sanctity of Jerusalem’s Temple. Although Titus allegedly tried in vain to save the renowned shrine, it was condemned to purging fire by the murderous behavior of the tyrants in their civil war (1.10, 25–28). The very first story in the narrative concerns the Hasmonean Judas’s brave victory against Antiochus IV, which illustrates the manliness-character theme, to be sure, but at the same time focuses on the replacement of the polluted temple vessels and the building of a new, pure altar for expiatory sacrifices (1.39).17 Sedition and bloodshed in the Temple become significant themes early in Book 2, long before (in real time) the build-up to war in 66 C. E. Josephus  Cf. Parker, Miasma, 308–21. Note the specific language of pollution and defilement in: Aeschylus, Prom. 868; Eum. 169, 177, 195, 281, 378, 445, 600, 607, 695, 840, 872; Cho. 650, 859, 944, 967, 1017, 1028; Ag. 209, 637, 1420, 1645, 1669; Suppl. 366, 473, 619, 995; Sept. 344, 682; Euripides, Cycl. 373, 677; Alc. 22; Med. 266, 1149, 1183, 1268, 1346, 1371, 1393; Heracl. 71, 264, 558; Hipp. 25, 35, 317, 946, 1379; Andr. 335, 615; Hec. 24, 1173; El. 87, 322, 683, 1179, 1294, 1350; Herc. fur. 1155, 1219, 1232–33, 1324; Tro. 282, 881; Iph. taur. 383, 946, 1047, 1168, 1178, 1211, 1224, 1226, 1229; Ion 1118; Hel. 1000; Phoen. 816, 1050, 1052, 1760; Orest. 517, 524, 1563, 1584, 1624; Bacch. 1384; Iph. aul. 1364, 1595; Sophocles, El. 275, 492, 603; Oed. tyr. 97, 138, 241, 313, 353, 1012; Ant. 172, 421, 746, 774, 1042, 1044; Trach. 987, 1009; Oed. col. 1374. 17 Paradoxically, such purification of sanctuaries after the departure of foreign invaders was also a Greek practice (cf. Parker, Miasma, 23). 16

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inaugurates here the programmatic theme of temple festivals as the loci of violence, such that those who come from far and wide, and in a state of purity, to make animal sacrifice at the central shrine end up becoming sacrificial victims themselves (2.10–13 with 30, 197, 402). The case of Passover is especially potent, because it allows Josephus to manipulate his bedrock themes of freedom and slavery: Pesa is the ultimate celebration of liberation (from Egyptian slavery, as he explains at 4.402; 6.428). Yet, in their determination to assert freedom from an ostensible slavery to Rome (2.118, 349, 365), the rebel leaders establish themselves as tyrants in the city, thus making their fellow-citizens slaves to, and sacrificial victims of, their own selfish ambition and attendant violence (2.209, 264, 443; 4.177–78, 394).18 It is thus a world in which, as Thucydides had observed of a city facing stasis (3.82.3–6), the normal meanings of words are inverted. Josephus’s assumption of a close connection among the themes of civil conflict, shedding the blood of fellow citizens, especially in sacred spaces, native tyrants, a violated freedom of the people, and resulting pollution and divine anger would have been thoroughly familiar to his Roman audience. Among the Romans no less than among the Greeks, civil war was often spoken of as the ultimate political disease.19 In 63 B. C. E., after decades of civil strife in Rome, Cicero had exploited all of these themes together in his defense of senatorial prerogative and blistering attack on the tribune of the people T. Labienus – for prosecuting someone who had, with the Senate’s support, had a demagogue killed for the good of the Republic (Rab. 10–13, esp. 11). Similarly, Josephus’s younger contemporary, Tacitus, sounds very much like our author as he describes the violence during the Roman civil war after Nero’s death (June 68), when Vitellius’s partisans attacked the temple of Iuppiter Optimus Maximus on the sacred Capitoline Hill (Hist. 3.72): Since the city’s foundation this was the most deplorable and disgraceful event that had happened to the republic of the Roman people; facing no foreign enemy, and with the gods propitious if only our behavior permitted, the seat of Iuppiter Optimus Maximus, founded by our ancestors with auspices as pledge of imperium – the seat that neither Porsenna, when the city was surrendered, nor the Gauls, when it was captured, had been able to violate – was destroyed by the madness of our own principes. Once before the Capitol had been burned during civil war. …

The closeness of the Judean and Roman conceptual worlds is emphasized by Josephus himself. In recounting the story of Claudius’s accession in 41 C. E., he pictures the scene in which the princeps-designate has the support of the Praetorian Guard, whereas the Senate refuses to budge in its insist Colautti, Passover, 115–30. Keitel “Principate:” esp. 320 and n. 32, citing Plato, Soph. 228a; Sallust, Bell. Cat. 36.5; Hist. 2.77m; Tacitus, Ann. 1.43.4; Hist. 1.26.1. 18

19 See

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ence on either recovering its former aristocracy or choosing an optimus of its own (2.205); the senatores would not countenance a “voluntary slavery” – a concept Josephus develops in relation to the Judean civil war (2.209). As things come to a head, Josephus has Claudius remark (2.210): It was necessary that an area for the fight be pre-approved outside the city, for it would not be holy for the sanctuaries of their native land to be polluted by internecine slaughter on account of their [the Senate’s] bad counsel (οὐ γὰρ ὅσιον διὰ τὴν αὐτῶν κακοβουλίαν ὁμοφύλῳ φόνῳ μιαίνεσθαι τὰ τεμένη τῆς πατρίδος).

In War the tight interrelationship among themes of civil strife, intramural bloodshed, pollution of the holy shrine, destruction of (especially aristocratic) freedom, and need for atoning purification of the sacred site is developed with increasing intensity as the narrative proceeds through Books 4 and 5 and the stasis in Jerusalem reaches its peak. Lacking the space to explore these remarkable passages, I simply quote two of them without commentary as eloquent illustrations of the thematic interweaving under discussion: For their most eminent men, including Gorion son of Yosep and Symeon son of Gamaliel, kept prodding them … to punish immediately the destroyers of liberty and to purge the sanctuary of the murder-polluted men (καθᾶραι τῶν μιαιφόνων τὸ ἅγιον). … He [Ananus the high priest] said, “It would have been better indeed for me to have died before watching the house of God being filled with such gross abominations (τοσούτοις ἄγεσι καταγέμοντα) and these inviolable and hallowed spaces being crowded by the feet of murder-polluted men (ποσὶ μιαιφόνων στενοχωρουμένας).” (4.159, 163) [As a result of the civil war]: Those who had hurried from the ends of the earth to this renowned sacred site themselves fell before their sacrifices (πρὸ τῶν θυμάτων ἔπεσον αὐτοὶ) and honored an altar universally revered by Greeks and barbarians with a libation from their own slaughter (βωμὸν κατέσπεισαν ἰδίῳ φόνῳ). Foreign bodies kneaded themselves together with the local dead, commoners also with priests, and the blood from corpses of all provenance flowed into pools in the divine precincts (παντοδαπῶν αἷμα πτωμάτων ἐν τοῖς θείοις περιβόλοις ἐλιμνάζετο). Most miserable city, what have you suffered comparable to this from the Romans, who came in purging with fire your own internal defilements (οἵ σου τὰ ἐμφύλια μύση πυρὶ καθαροῦντες εἰσῆλθον)? For neither were you still God’s place, nor could you even endure after becoming a grave for indigenous bodies and making the shrine a cemetery of civil war. (5.17–19)

2. The Language of Pollution in Josephus’s War: Inventory and Synthesis The most conspicuous word-group connected with pollution, and the one most familiar from classical literature, comprises μίασμα with its compounds and cognates (μιαίνω, μιαρός, μιαιφονέω, μιαιφόνος). Absent from the tragically restrained Thucydides, and nearly so from Herodotus, Xenophon, and

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Polybius,20 these words become much more common in the HellenisticRoman historians Diodorus Siculus and Dionysius of Halicarnassus (21 occurrences each), who were increasingly open to tragic themes. But they occur some 36 times in the seven volumes of War – a disproportionately high share of the 78 occurrences in Josephus all told, and an index to the importance of the semantic field in his war monograph. The adjective μιαιφόνος is particularly interesting for its tragic associations. Meaning “polluted by murder /bloodshed,” it is attested hundreds of times in late-antique literature – not least of the Jews in connection with Jesus21  – but sparsely before Josephus’s time. Among earlier writers, the tragedian Euripides is such a heavy user that the term may be considered characteristically Euripidean,22 and he is the most likely inspiration for Josephus’s tragedy-laden use of the adjective at 4.159, 163 (cited above).23 After the initial temple pollution caused by Antiochus IV Epiphanes (1.39), examples of pollution in the tragic account of Herod’s life (note especially 1.635, on Oedipal parricide as “pollution”), metaphorical uses in connection with the Essenes (2.132, 149), and the statement of Claudius quoted above, by the middle of Book 2 Josephus establishes the main ingredients of this pollution, caused by civil strife and bloodshed, for the situation in Jerusalem and the remainder of his work (2.424): Whereas for them [forces of King Agrippa II, fighting for Jerusalem’s chief priests] it was a contest to take control of the temple, in particular, and drive out those who were polluting the shrine (καὶ τοὺς μιαίνοντας τὸν ναὸν ἐξελάσαι), for Eleazar and the insurgents with him [it was a contest] to take also the Upper City in addition to what they already held. And so for seven days there was vast slaughter on both sides.

From this point onward, references to pollution come with increasing frequency and weight. For example, when the rebels in Jerusalem soon slaughter the surrendering Roman garrison, Josephus observes (2.454–55): 20  Except for a metaphorical case in Polybius, none of these “greats” uses the noun μίασμα. Herodotus occasionally has the adjectives μιαρός and μιαιφόνος in unremarkable contexts (2.47; 5.92α, ζ). Xenophon uses them slightly more often (see n. 21 below). Polybius has only one, metaphorical, use of the verb μιαίνω: when the despised Callicrates and his group entered the baths, others would stay out so as not to become polluted “as it were” by sharing the same water. He likewise uses the noun metaphorically to speak about the absence of domestic discord under the Numidian king Massanissa (36.16.6). 21 E.g., Hippolytus, Fr. Prov. 1; Eusebius, Theoph. frag. 11.36; Sol. pasch. 24.705; Gregory of Nyssa, Inscr. Ps. 5.101; Enc. Steph. 16; Cat. magn. 29; Basil of Seleucia, Pass. dom. 28.1057; Procopius, Comm. Isa. 2472. 22 Euripides, Hipp. 1379; Troi. 881; Hec. 24; Andr. 335; Or. 524, 1563; Med. 266, 1346; El. 322, 492, 1173; Phoen. 1760. Otherwise: Homer, Il. 5.31, 455, 844; 21.402; Aeschylus, Eum. 607; Prom. vinc. 868; Herodotus 5.92α, ζ; Xenophon, Hell. 4.4.6; Cyr. 8.7.18; Hier. 4.4; Aristotle, Rhet. 1386b; Eth. nic. 1177b; Diodorus 22.2.3; 23.1.4; 34/35.3.1. 23 Josephus uses the adjective also at Ant. 7.207, the cognate verb at 13.318.

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For the Judeans it seemed a prologue to capture. Having perceived on the one hand that the causes of the war were already irremediable, and on the other that the city had been defiled with such a great pollution, as a result of which it was plausible to expect some other-worldly wrath (τὴν δὲ πόλιν τηλικούτῳ μιάσματι πεφυρμένην, ἐξ οὗ δαιμόνιόν τι μήνιμα προσδοκᾶν εἰκὸς ἦν), even if not the vengeance from the Romans, they began a public mourning. …

Just a few sentences later comes an equally tragic scene involving pollution. Simon, a Judean living in Scythopolis, had joined his fellow-Judeans in that Decapolis center to repel an attack by Judeans from elsewhere. Once the defense had proven successful, however, the gentile Scythopolitans faithlessly turned on their Judean minority and began to murder them. Before running through his family and himself, Simon gives a recognition speech in which he observes (2.472–73): I am suffering what is worthy for what I have done on your side, Scythopolitans, [along with all] who have proven our goodwill towards you by such a great slaughter of blood-relations (τοσούτῳ φόνῳ συγγενῶν). So then …, let us die as bound under a curse (θνήσκωμεν ὡς ἐναγεῖς), by our own hands, for it is not fitting [for us to die] by those of the enemy. This should be at the same time a worthy penalty in view of my pollution (καὶ ποινὴ τοῦ μιάσματος ἀξία) and praise for manly courage (πρὸς ἀνδρείαν ἔπαινος), in order that none of my adversaries might boast about having butchered me, or brag at my having fallen.

Here Josephus combines the pollution and fellow-murder themes with the first set we considered above, concerning manly virtue. Foreshadowing the final mass suicide at Masada (7.320–401), this episode also offers a way past the scholarly impasse over the heroic or criminal nature of the sicarii in that desert fortress. Like Simon here, they serve different thematic purposes at the same time: he is plainly “guilty” of shedding his compatriots’ blood, at least after the fact and even if his motives were understandable; at the same time he can boast of an act of manly courage in his final moments. The same combination of themes in tension runs throughout Josephus’s works. Note especially his treatment of King Saul in Antiquities24: although the king seriously violated divine commands and could only face condign punishment (6.141–55, 259–68, 327–39), Josephus nevertheless celebrates his manly courage in facing this known punishment (6.343–50). Our author does not draw his characters in crayon. Book 3, set in Galilee and following Josephus’s defensive campaign there, brings respite from the heavy atmosphere of growing pollution and imminent punishment. Nevertheless, Josephus manages to remind us of the theme when, in the cave at Iotapata, he persuades the man left with him at the end of the death lottery that, in spite of the original agreement, they 24

 Cf. also Feldman, “Saul.”

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should both surrender to the Romans – so as not “to pollute his right hand with compatriot slaughter” (μήτε … μιᾶναι τὴν δεξιὰν ὁμοφύλῳ φόνῳ, 3.391). Books 4–6 return to the pollution theme with a vengeance, as the scene returns to Jerusalem and the Temple – with eight, five, and seven significant passages, respectively. The first passage in Book 4 resets the tone for the sequel. After describing the rebel leaders’ murder of eminent citizens and general creation of upheaval, Josephus remarks (4.150): “Having glutted themselves with their injustices toward men, they transferred their insolence to the Deity and with polluted feet entered the sanctuary (ἐπὶ τὸ θεῖον μετήνεγκαν τὴν ὕβριν καὶ μεμιασμένοις τοῖς ποσὶ παρῄεσαν εἰς τὸ ἅγιον).” Shortly after this come the passages I quoted in the previous section linking themes of civil strife, murder, and pollution (4.159, 163). In a string of passages (4.201, 215, 242) we then see the Zealots – mostly from outside the city – staining the sacred pavement and polluting the hallowed spaces with their blood; the chief priest Ananus anxious “that the temple not be polluted, and that no compatriot fall inside it”; and the chief priest Iesous complaining to Idumeans outside the gate that “scum” from elsewhere have arrived: “bandits polluting even that inviolable pavement in their excess of impiety.” Later Josephus will add that the Galilean Zealots under John of Gischala were the worst: robbing, carousing, cross-dressing, and murdering, they effectively created a brothel in the holy city, “which they polluted completely with their foul deeds” (2.562). The middle of Book 4 is also the middle of War as a whole. As often with tragedies, the central panel serves as a kind of fulcrum, towards which the action builds and from which it takes a decisive turn; though this fulcrum is not the same as the dramatic climax, which comes in Book 6 with the burning of the Temple. This pivotal story in War concerns the murder, by the Zealots and their temporary Idumean allies, of the chief priests, who have been managing the popular unrest and incipient revolt until this point; after Ananus and Iesous are removed, the city will rapidly descend into full and bestial civil war (4.356–65) led by the tyrants Eleazar, John, and Simon (e.g. 5.1–20). Josephus’s moving encomium on the chief priests draws together succinctly the themes we are tracking (4.323): “But I suppose that God, having condemned the city to destruction, since it had become polluted, and wanting to purge the sacred spaces with fire (ὁ θεὸς ὡς μεμιασμένης τῆς πόλεως ἀπώλειαν καὶ πυρὶ βουλόμενος ἐκκαθαρθῆναι τὰ ἅγια), had to cut off those who clung to them and loved them.” In a final retrospective on the culprits of the war, Josephus will recall of the Idumeans that “those most polluted of men, after slaughtering the chief priests (οἱ μιαρώτατοι τοὺς ἀρχιερέας) so that no particle of piety toward God might endure, eviscerated whatever was left of the political system” (7.267).

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In Book 5, named incidents involving pollution are ever more tightly bound with the extreme stasis that has overtaken the city. In the opening lines we learn of the new situation in the temple, where Eleazar’s men use the inner court of the temple as their fortress against John’s men in the large outer court (5.7–9): “And so there were continual raids and volleys of projectiles, and the Temple was being polluted with carnage” (5.10). Shortly after this comes the graphic summary from which I have quoted above, with pooled blood and corpses defiling the sacred places (5.17–20). The centrality of the pollution theme is again evident from its importance in the speech that Josephus gives his own character outside Jerusalem’s walls. After opening with the observation that the Romans, who have no stake in the temple, revere it more than these native rebels (5.363), followed by some political reflections, Josephus turns to the paradox that the rebels look to God as their ally while they are polluting his sanctuary – and indeed him (5.377, again at 380).25 He later elaborates the point, asserting that those who occupy holy places ought to worry only about conciliating the god of the place, and leaving it to him to defeat any enemies. They, by contrast, have engaged secretly in theft, treachery, and adultery, openly in plunder and murder, “and the Temple has become the receptacle of all these things; this divine site, which even Romans revered from afar, has been polluted by native hands …” (5.402). A final reference concerns the “polluted gain” extracted from the bodies of Judean deserters by Syrian forces fighting with the Romans (5.560). Book 6 continues in the same vein. Titus, reportedly alarmed at hearing that the daily (tamid) sacrifice had been forced to stop, calls on John (via Josephus) to leave the city with as many as he chose for a fair fight, but “he should not longer pollute the sanctuary and offend against the god” (6.95). After again mocking John for claiming God as ally when he has polluted the sanctuary (6.99), Josephus continues thematically: “God himself, with the Romans, is effecting a purging of it with fire, and is wiping out the city that is filled with such great pollutions” (τὴν τοσούτων μιασμάτων γέμουσαν πόλιν ἀναρπάζει, 6.110). Shortly thereafter, upon observing again the mutually destructive bloodshed in the city and Judean attacks on deserters from the Temple (6.121–22), Titus denounces the rebels within as “most polluted” (6.124). And again, “I call my ancestral gods as witnesses, along with any who used to watch over this place – for I don’t suppose there is one now – and I call as witnesses my army, the Judeans with me, and you yourselves, that it is not I who compel you to pollute these [precincts]” (ὡς οὐκ ἐγὼ ταῦθ᾿ ὑμᾶς ἀναγκάζω μιαίνειν, 6.127). Later again, Titus verbally attacks the 25 The language of polluting gods (with θεός as direct object of the verb) seems attested before Josephus only in the tragedians Euripides (Heracl. 264) and Sophocles (Ant. 1044).

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rebel leaders, who have purportedly spurned his offer of either safe egress or battle on other grounds,26 as “most polluted” (6.347).27 In Book 7 Josephus uses the same superlative adjective (μιαρώτατοι) twice: once as he describes the Idumaean murder of the chief priests (7.267, as above), and once on the lips of Eleazar son of Ya‘ir at Masada as he decries the “murder most foul” of the Judeans in Damascus (7.368). If μίασμα and cognates provide the most general language for “pollution” in tragedy, as in Josephus’s War, we must also consider a word-group used by important Greek authors who avoid μίασμα altogether, namely: ἄγος and cognates. Arguably a derivative of ἅγιος (holy, sacred),28 this noun has the sense of a curse-generating offence (or the curse itself) involving the violation of a cosmic contract: especially in the breaking of oaths, violation of sanctuary or the protection of emissaries, or simply making the wrong choice among difficult options but resulting in the killing of kin. One need not to be a deliberate law-breaker to become ἐναγής, the cognate adjective (subject to a curse); having angered a divine being, however, one is effectively on death row – under the terrible curse of impending punishment from a deity or daemon. The Aeginetans were under such a curse for the leaders’ brutality toward their own people after an uprising (Herodotus 6.91; cf. 6.56), whereas the Alcmaeonids were considered to have inherited, through no fault of their own, the famous curse of their ancestor Megacles  – for having killed suppliants in a temple of Athena (Herodotus 1.61; 5.70–72).29 In War Josephus uses these ominous terms only twice, both times in passages we have already considered, in tight connection with the language of pollution based on blood-guilt. First, Ananus the former high priest wishes he had died before witnessing such curse-inducing abominations (2.163). Second, poor Simon of Scythopolis declares himself and his family “bound 26 Needless to say, such an offer was a non-starter from a tactical perspective. Guerrilla forces could never face Roman legions on open ground but, between planned raids and ambushes, had to resort to inaccessible redoubts – natural or man-made. The Temple compound was the strongest fortress in the Jerusalem area. It is inconceivable that the Romans would have permitted the rebels to find a secure site elsewhere in which to defend themselves. 27  There are two other uses of this word-group in Book 6. At 6.48 Titus is speaking to his soldiers about the afterlife, and he notes that only those who die courageously by the sword are welcomed into the purest ether, whereas those who die from disease, even if they are free of stain or pollution (perhaps meaning that they have not engaged in warfare?), descend to Hades. At 6.426 Josephus notes that those afflicted with leprosy, gonorrhea, or other pollutions are not admitted to the Passover sacrifice. 28  Parker, Miasma, 6. 29 Cf. Thucydides 1.126.1–135.1, 139.1; 2.13.1, where he both elaborates on the story and presents it as the basis of a Spartan pretext for war with Athens: the Spartans demand that the Athenians “drive out” the curse (or they will move towards conflict); the Athenians in return demand that the Spartans drive out the curse of Taenarus (also connected with the murder of suppliants), which Thucydides also explains.

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under a curse,” because he chose to side with foreigners in his city and fight against attacking compatriots (2.472). It is striking that, in limiting War’s use of ἄγος words to two and embedding them in μίασμα contexts, Josephus has opted for the discourse of tragedy over that of his principal historiographical models, who otherwise inform so much of his work. Likewise laden with tragic associations is another term: τὸ μύσος, an atrocity or heinous crime against the cosmic order, producing serious pollution or defilement – or the defilement itself. Not found in Homer, Herodotus, Thucydides, and Xenophon, or in Plato or Polybius,30 it only begins to have much of a presence in Hellenistic historiography (Diodorus 6 times, Dionysius once; it also appears in 2 Macc 6:25). Even Plutarch’s large and diverse corpus has it only twice in the extant sections; the second-century Appian will use the word ten times. The important background of the term is clearly in classical tragedy: Aeschylus has seven occurrences (all in the last two works of the Oresteia trilogy), Sophocles two, and Euripides six.31 With sixteen examples of μύσος, ten of these in War, Josephus again qualifies as a heavy user. The distribution in War is noteworthy in that fully seven of the ten cases come in Book 1, before the work’s main action, in connection with the Hasmoneans and Herod (1.81, 445, 503, 525, 530, 630, 638). Although this distribution might seem to encourage a source explanation, that is rendered implausible by the sparse attestation of the term elsewhere, the range across probably different sources even in Book 1, the three remaining examples – in programmatic passages near the work’s climax (5.19; 6.212, 217), and the several examples in Josephus’s later writings (Ant. 2.21; 13.314; 14.309; 16.381; 18.43; Life 152). Rather, we should conclude that Josephus himself uses this term to help establish War’s tragic atmosphere in its opening and longest book. (There we even see a provocateur described as “stage-producer [δραματουργός]32 of this heinous crime,” 1.530). The word usually applies to such outrages as fratricide (1.81), parricide (the other references in Book 1), or the murder of asylum-seekers (Life 152). In the climactic passages of War it will refer to the killing of compatriots and infanticide (5.19; 6.212, 217) – a case to which we shall return. Inasmuch as pollution involves “contamination, mixing, defilement,” its opposite (and possible cure) is purity or purification. In Greek literature, one common way of designating something polluted is to call it not Aristotle’s remarkable corpus attests it once (Frag. var. 8.44.487).  Sophocles, Choe. 650, 967; Eum. 195, 378, 445, 840, 872; Sophocles, Oed. tyr. 138 and a fragment (Radt 269a**); Euripides, Andr. 335; Herc. fur. 1155, 1219; Iph. taur. 1168, 1229; and a fragment (Nauck 847). 32  This word may be Josephus’s innovation. It is otherwise unattested in literature before Christian texts from the late second century C. E. I have not searched non-literary databases for it. 30 Even 31

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pure.33 Thus the word-group καθαίρω, καθαρεύω, καθαρίζω, καθαρμός, καθαρός, καθάρσιος, κάθαρσις, καθαρῶς, etc. also deserves attention. It appears thirtyfour times in War, but in a much broader range of physical (cleansing) and metaphorical senses, and Josephus does not typically negate it to indicate impurity. Where the sense has to do with purification from pollution, it usually appears alongside the terms we have already considered.34 Only when he breaks the narrative to digress on the practices of Essenes (2.129, 138, 161) or the Temple service (5.227; 6.425–26) does Josephus speak of the ordinary purifications and pollutions that recall purity prescriptions in Leviticus – there having to do with bodily fluids, scale disease, corpse impurity, ritual washings, and atoning sacrifices – as distinct from the tragic burden of pollution and curse that increasingly dominates War’s narrative. Even Josephus’s description of the Essene practice of covering up while defecating so as not to offend “the rays of the God,” and washing themselves afterward “as though they have become polluted”  – “though the secretion of excrement is certainly a natural function” (2.148–49) – recalls Creon’s admonition to Oedipus (Sophocles, Oed. tyr. 1423–28) not to expose his unveiled, polluted head to “our Lord the Sun.”35 This, too, is not simply the world of Leviticus. One might also use the negative form of ὅσιος (“holy”) words to indicate pollution or impurity, but Josephus does not do this thematically in War. The eight occurrences of the privative form in War36 (ἀνόσιος, etc.) have to do generally with “unholy” conditions, things, persons, animals, or gain. Only when used in passages already laden with pollution language (e.g., 4.171, 260  – the chief priests Ananus and Iesous, respectively, describing the rebel leaders) do these forms pick up the environmental contagion. Of the two occurrences of ὅσιος with separate negation (οὐ), the only one that concerns pollution is the remarkable passage given to the emperor-designate Claudius, cited above, as he seeks to spare the holy places in Rome from the pollution of civil bloodshed (2.210).

 Parker, Miasma, 12. J. W. 1.39 (similarly 1.153); 4.159; 5.19. J. W. 1.114, 621; 2.7, 254, 258 may have to do with (the opposite of) pollution, but if so that connotation is secondary. 35  Cf. Parker, Miasma, 293–94, 315–17 for other examples of pollution offending the sun (and other elements). 36 J. W. 1.361; 2.141, 399; 4.171, 260, 326; 6.399; 7.379. 33

34 So

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3. Case Study: Cannibalism as Ultimate Pollution in Besieged Jerusalem We have observed the concentration of pollution language, and Titus’s increasing concern about it, in the opening part of J. W. 6 (6.95–127). A critically important episode, a turning point with respect to both Roman and divine action to cleanse the city, is Josephus’s famous account of the noblewoman Maria and her killing and eating of her infant. After Antiquities’ passage on Jesus, this was apparently the passage most often cited by Christian authors, who mainly used it to illustrate the putative depravity of the Jews before their punishment (for having killed Jesus). For our purposes, the story is important because it shows Josephus, at a critical juncture in the narrative, moving from clearly political, Thucydidean-Polybian themes of civil war (στάσις) and its attendant ills to the tragic themes of infanticide, heinous pollution, and a now decisive, impending doom – and back again. In War’s prologue, where Josephus offers a prospectus of what will come in Books 5 and 6, he remarks: “But I discriminate among the sufferings and calamities of the populace: how much they were afflicted by the war, how much by the civil strife, and how much by the famine before they were taken captive” (1.27). This turns out to be programmatic language, repeated for example by the general Niger as he is dying at the hands of the rebel leaders: he calls down famine and plague on top of the existing war and civil strife (4.361–62). At 6.193–200 Josephus describes the extreme measures taken by the “tyrants” to find food in Jerusalem’s famine (caused by the rebels themselves, in destroying grain supplies), and driving their victims to eat anything. This leads him to the worst case of all. He introduces Maria, a wealthy woman from Transjordan, who had taken refuge in Jerusalem (6.202–205): Whereas the tyrants had ransacked the rest of her possessions, which she had packed up and brought with her from Peraea, the armed thugs would grab whatever was left of her valuables and any food she had thoughtfully preserved, when they burst in on a daily basis. So a fearsome indignation possessed the little woman, and by constantly abusing and cursing the plunderers, she kept trying to provoke their anger against her. Yet, since no one would, either in rage or out of pity, actually do away with her, and she grew tired of finding bread for other people – in any case it was now impossible to find food anywhere – and the famine worked its way through her inner organs and bone marrow, and still more than the famine her anger was ablaze, she took the combined counsel of rage and necessity and proceeded [to an act] contrary to nature.

Josephus’s typical restraint as an author is evident here. Although he is about to describe a terrible atrocity, which he will greatly lament, he does not (as later Christian authors would do) pour abuse on the woman. To the contrary, he makes her plight itself the object of sympathy. So far, the story

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is about the great political themes connected with civil strife that dominate War, and he continues these now as the woman addresses her poor infant and proceeds to the act (6.205–208): Now, she had an infant who was breast-feeding. She took him and said, ‘Miserable baby, given this war and famine and civil strife (πολέμῳ καὶ λιμῷ καὶ στάσει), what should I preserve you for? [Life] among the Romans would mean slavery, should we survive until they come, but famine is precluding even slavery, and the insurgents (οἱ στασιασταὶ) are harsher than both. So come: be food to me (γενοῦ μοι τροφὴ), to the insurgents an avenging fury (τοῖς στασιασταῖς ἐρινὺς), and to the living a story (τῷ βίῳ μῦθος) – the only thing missing from the calamities of the Judeans.’ After saying this, she kills her son. Thereupon she roasts him and devours one half. The rest she concealed and guarded.

Conveniently, this woman (like Josephus and Titus to follow) tends to speak in matching triplets. She not only evokes the ur-triad of ills from the prologue, but then elaborates its three elements in a compact exegesis: the war would produce slavery, except that the second term, famine, will preclude that, and anyway the agents of στάσις (third term) control everything. This reflection calls forth another triplet: if you become my food (countering famine), you can also become an avenging fury against the insurgents (countering stasis), and eventually a story for the living about the depth of Judean calamity (something to salvage from this war). And of course the author of the woman’s speech, Josephus, is the very one now putting this mythos into broad circulation for the world, after the war. With this move from famine to infanticide and the Thyestian consumption of one’s child, as well as the Oresteian “avenging fury” (ἐρινὺς) – the word appears only here in Josephus – taking vengeance, it should be noted, not on the cannibal but on the tyrants, we have clearly entered the tragic theatre.37 Anticipating his role as avenging fury, the dead child has an immediately devastating impact on the στάσις–men (2.209–212): Presently the insurgents appeared and, when they caught the smell of the illicit sacrifice, threatened that if she did not show them what she had prepared, they would cut her throat on the spot. But she had kept a good portion for them, she said – and disclosed the remainder of the child. Horror and stupefaction seized them immediately, and they froze at the sight. But she said, ‘This is my own natural child, my own issue. Eat, for I have feasted! Don’t be softer than a woman … ! But if you are all pious and repulsed by my sacrifice, … leave the rest to me as well!’ At this they went out, trembling – cowards in this one instance only, though indeed scarcely conceding even this food to the mother.

Here is a correlative tragic reversal of extraordinary force. The confident bandits know that the woman has cooked something and demand a share by 37 For a fuller analysis of Maria as a composite of Medea and Agave, see Chapman “Spectacle,” e.g., 95.

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accustomed physical coercion. But in one harrowing instant of recognition, everything changes, and those who have been boldly bursting into apartments now flee, weak and trembling. At the same time, the poor woman, heretofore their helpless victim, rises on the strength of her “sacrifice” to a moment of absolute, commanding power. Josephus almost spoils his own drama by complicating it with the reflection of the final clause (above), but he wisely leaves it there. Continuing the sense of tragic doom, he remarks (6.212): Immediately the entire city was filled up with [or resounded with] the abomination (τοῦ μύσους), and each person, placing before his eyes this case of suffering as if it had been dared by himself, shuddered (καὶ πρὸ ὀμμάτων ἕκαστος τὸ πάθος λαμβάνων ὡσπερ αὐτῷ τολμηθὲν ἔφριττε).

As we saw in Polybius’s criticism of Phylarchus, this immediate visualization of deep suffering was the hallmark of a tragic style. Josephus’s ominous designation of Maria’s action as a μύσος, which Titus will soon reprise (6.217), only intensifies the tragic tone. It may involve a word-play with the sound-alike μῦθος (“story,” 6.207 above). Certainly a word-play with the near homonym μῖσος that soon follows (6.214) is suggested by proximity: this heinous act of pollution (μύσος) calls forth hatred (μῖσος).38 What comes next returns us to the main narrative and propels it forward, reuniting the tragic episode of Maria with War’s grand political themes. After the Judeans who hear the story are shocked into wishing for immediate death (2.213), Titus and the Romans outside the walls also learn of it. Both Titus and our narrator tend to speak in triplets, like Maria, which helps the audience follow some important themes (2.214–16): This instance of suffering (τὸ πάθος) was quickly reported to the Romans. Some of them (a) did not believe it, while (b) others were moved to pity (οἱ δὲ ᾤκτειρον), but (c) for most it had the effect of increasing their hatred (μῖσος) of the nation. Caesar [Titus] absolved himself also of this before God, declaring that he had offered the Judeans peace and self-government, as well as amnesty for everything they had committed: ‘whereas they are choosing (i) civil strife in place of harmony (ἀντὶ μὲν ὁμονοίας στάσιν), (ii) war in place of peace (ἀντὶ δὲ εἰρήνης πόλεμον), and (iii) famine instead of plenty and prosperity (πρὸ κόρου δὲ καὶ εὐθηνίας λιμὸν). And with their own hands they set fire to the sacred precinct that was being carefully preserved by us. They deserve such food!’

Titus thus recalls Josephus’s programmatic triad, already expounded by Maria to the infant. But whereas Maria, inside the walls, could find in the dismal trinity only ultimate slavery, an unlikely best case, Titus expresses bafflement that the Judeans as a nation (epitomized by Maria) have chosen these three ills instead of the triad of boons magnanimously offered by the 38 This

triple word-play was identified by Chapman, “Spectacle,” 96–97.

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Romans. Between these two realities lies a fixed chasm, which Josephus does not attempt to bridge: he lets both sit there, tragically. Titus concludes now in highly charged language (6.217): Certainly it fell to him to bury this abomination of child-eating (τὸ τῆς τεκνοφαγίας μύσος) with the collapse (or corpse? τὸ πτῶμα) of their homeland itself, and a city must not be allowed to remain in the civilized world (ἐπὶ τῆς οἰκουμένης), for the Sun to look upon, in which mothers are nourished thus.

The added verbal plays require further attention. First, πτῶμα seems to be a pun, as I have already suggested. Whereas the word most often means “fall, collapse,” War strikingly uses it in the tragic sense of “corpse.” But both meanings work equally well here, and both seem to be required at the same time: Titus is saying that he will bury the abomination in the fall or rubble of Jerusalem; he is also saying that he will bury this monstrous murder, with poetic justice, under the entire city’s corpse. Given War’s normal usage and the availability of unambiguous language for “fall, collapse, rubble,” a word-play seems unavoidable. Second, Titus’s use of μύσος helpfully reinforces what has just been said by Josephus as narrator – and continues the forward momentum to the expected punishment of such an “abomination.” Third, Titus’s language here reinforces the μύσος / μῦθος word-play that had only seemed plausible before. Word-play becomes especially resonant now with the appearance of τεκνοφαγία (child-eating). In all Greek literature this abstract noun is first attested here, in Josephus. It is not likely his own coinage, however, because from the second century C. E. it will appear with cognates – rarely, but consistently39 – to refer to the original τεκνοφάγος, the Titan Kronos, who swallowed his children by Rheia in order to thwart a prophecy that one of them would overthrow him (Hesiod, Theog. 452–62). After five of her children go this way, Rheia gives her brother-husband something else to consume while she goes away to bear Zeus, who will indeed fulfill the prophecy (Theog. 463–91).40 The Kronos tale clearly belongs to the world of μῦθοι. Interesting in this regard is Lucian, the next writer after Josephus to use τεκνοφαγία, in his work on pantomime, in which dancers enacted the great myths (Salt. 80). Lucian criticizes a certain pantomime dancer for confusing the myth being danced: the story is supposed to be about Kronos, but the dim-witted dancer confuses this τεκνοφαγία with the very different mythos of Thyestes’ tragic eating of his children unawares, and so begins acting out that story. Atreus and Thyestes were sons of Pelops and Hippodameia, cursed because they had conspired to murder their favored older step-brother Chry39  Lucian, Salt. 80; Theophilus, Autol. 1.9; 3.3; Ps-Justin, Or. gent. 38c [Morel]; Gregory of Nyssa, Virg. 3.10; Ps-Nonnus, Schol. myth. 4.89. 40 Cf. Gantz, Early, 41.

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sippus. They found themselves exiled in Mycenae and vying for the kingship there. Thyestes seduced his sister-in-law Aerope and used her to assist him in his bid. Cuckolded brother Atreus had his revenge by inviting Thyestes to a sacrificial banquet in which he served his brother the man’s own sons. An enraged Thyestes cursed Atreus’s descendants (Aeschylus, Ag. 1191–93, 1219–22, 1583–1611). This archetypal myth was extensively exploited by the tragedians, also in a number of now lost works,41 and so it would inevitably come to mind in any Greek writing evoking tragic themes connected with the eating of one’s own children. For all these resonances, the fit between such classical models and Maria’s situation is by no means precise, especially since Josephus makes her such a sympathetic character. Two other models must be operative at some level, and it seems that Josephus has crafted a story that unites them all. First, the Hebrew Bible predicts that eating their own children, under siege by enemy forces, will be the penalty paid by Israel for failing to observe the commandments. In the covenant curses of Deuteronomy (28:15, 49–53): And it will happen, if you will not listen to the Lord your God, to keep and observe all His commandments … the Lord will bring against you a far-off nation, from the end of the earth … They will besiege you within your gates, until your high and fortified walls come down … and you will eat the fruit of your own body, the flesh of your sons and daughters, whom the Lord your God has given you, as a result of the siege and the distress with which your enemies will distress you.

The potential curse on those who transgress the covenant is reiterated several times in writings associated with Jeremiah and Ezekiel at the time of the Babylonian Exile: “I shall make them eat the flesh of their own sons and daughters” (Jer 19:9); “Should women eat their offspring, the children they have cared for? Should the priest and prophet be killed in the sanctuary of the Lord?” (Lam 2:20) – a particularly significant conjunction of images for Josephus’s War; “The hands of compassionate women have boiled their own children, who became their food in the destruction of the daughter of my people” (Lam 4:10); and “I shall do to you what I have never done before and will never do again because of your abominations. Therefore, fathers will eat their children in your midst, and children will eat their fathers” (Ezek 5:9–10). The Bible also offers a story of siege-related cannibalism in 2 Kgs 6:26–31. As Samaria is under siege from King ben-Haddad of Aram, a woman complains to Joram, king of Israel, about a pact she had made with another woman to eat their sons; although this woman had offered hers in good faith, the other woman had reneged. Joram tore his clothes in horror at the story. 41 Cf.

Gantz, Early, 546–47.

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It seems antecedently probable that our author, a priest from Jerusalem, had such passages in mind as he told the story of Maria, although he clearly infuses this episode with the language of tragedy. Chapman has alertly observed that Philo, the prolific Judean writer in Alexandria who died perhaps when Josephus was about 13, specifically mentions Thyestes’ macabre feast in his elucidation of Deuteronomy’s curses: “the Thyestian business is child’s play when compared to those extremes of calamity, which the times will produce in abundance” (Praem. 134).42 It is entirely plausible that the other major Greek-speaking Judean author of the first century, Josephus, made the same association  – in his mind. Still, it is not necessary for his audience in Rome to have understood anything about the covenant of Deuteronomy in order for them to have found Maria’s story full of meaning. Alongside the Greek-tragic language, also in the Roman world cannibalism during times of siege was a familiar if repulsive scenario. The first-century satirist Petronius conveniently provides examples.43 He has one of his characters, the nouveau riche, Greek-named but Latinerudite poetaster Eumolpus, promise his hangers-on, who are eager for him to expire, that he will leave them his millions if only they will eat him when he dies. When they recoil at the suggestion he makes fun of their reserve (Sat. 141.17): Why, if you want examples to strengthen your resolve: when the Saguntines were hard pressed by Hannibal they ate human flesh – and they were expecting no inheritance! In the extremity of famine the Petelians did the same thing – and they derived nothing from this ‘banquet’ except that they didn’t starve. And when Numantia was taken by Scipio, mothers were found who were clutching the half-eaten bodies of their own children to their chests (quae liberorum suorum tenerent semesa in sinu corpora).

We need not detain ourselves in speculating about the sources of these otherwise lost episodes of cannibalism.44 For our purposes it is enough to 42

 Chapman “Spectacle,” 72. A. Scheiber was the first to connect this passage with Josephus, in his “Zu den antiken,” 267–72. I owe the reference to Chapman, “Spectacle,” 56 n. 186. She elaborates on pp. 93–94. 44 Hannibal’s eight-month siege and capture of Spanish Saguntum in 219 B. C. E., though related only briefly by Polybius (3.17), was identified by him as the casus belli for the Second Punic War, 218–201 B. C. E. (3.20–21). Although his crisp account of the siege does not mention this tragic scene, and it does not appear in Livy’s elaborated account either (21.6–20), it is not implausible. Spanish Numantia’s capitulation to Scipio Aemilianus in 133 B. C. E., also after an eight-month siege, marked the end of seven decades of successful Iberian resistance to Roman attack and was a major event in Roman history. Coming after the completion of Polybius’s Histories, it was the subject of a lost monograph by the historian, who was Scipio’s long-time friend. Since the Oxyrhynchus summary of Livy for this period (Bks. 57, 59) refers to the Numantines’ extreme hunger, the scene described by Petronius would not be surprising. Petelia (in Bruttium, Italy’s south-eastern extremity) fell to Rome with the rest 43 Apparently

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recognize that if Petronius could use them in such an offhand way, they – or stories much like them – must have been familiar enough in Josephus’s Rome.45 This brings us to a conclusion with broader implications for Josephus’s understanding of “pollution.” In the case of Maria’s cannibalism, there is a clear background in Judean classical texts, which threaten the ultimate horror of child-eating for violation of the covenant. Part of this matches Josephus’s story, but the feel and context are different. The ethos and language are much closer – obviously, to an ancient reader – to the world of Greek tragedy. But Athenian tragedy did not model this kind of child-eating, under famine and siege (siege warfare not yet being standard practice on the Greek mainland), in which the perpetrator is such a sympathetic figure. The Roman world provides something of a synthesis and countless examples of the dire hunger that faced Rome’s enemies under siege – after all, the basic aim of siege warfare – whether or not cannibalism resulted. In other words, this particular case of cannibalism takes place in a familiar context. Josephus’s Roman audiences would have been quite familiar with Greek tragic themes, which remained basic to bilingual elite education in the capital and were still being staged – whether as tragedy or in the popular pantomime.46

4. Conclusions and Corollaries It seems, then, that the story of Maria in War, a signal case of pollution that must be removed by purging, may be a useful model for thinking about Josephus’s larger views of pollution and purity. On the one hand, War’s fundamental concern with purity in relation to the sanctuary in Jerusalem, and the absolute conviction that God will remove all pollution and polluters from it, is wholly biblical. On the other hand, War does not read as either midrash or mishnah to biblical purity prescriptions. It is in a different world from, for example, the sectarian scrolls from Qumran or rabbinic halakhah. The intricately woven narrative, although Josephus consistently emphasizes his Judean perspective, is also thoroughly Greek in its basic narrative strucof the region in ca. 272 B. C. E., and Bruttium briefly allied with Hannibal after the Roman defeat at Cannae (216), but little is now known of its captures or capitulations. After Cannae the defeated Roman consul Varro, according to Livy (23.5.12–13), cited as an example of Carthaginian brutality their readiness to eat other men. 45 That Eumolpus reaches for such distant parallels  – all under extreme conditions of siege and famine, as he stresses – for the prospect of friends eating his own body, and that he does not introduce them as new information, suggest that Petronius assumes the episodes to be familiar. 46 Fantham, Roman, 140–52.

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tures, assumptions, values, and language. And it is a Greek narrative oriented first of all toward an elite, bilingual and bi-cultural, Roman audience. Greek literary  – especially tragic  – features of Josephus’s works have been observed for a long time. But the scholar whose fundamental studies dominated the field for most of the twentieth century, Henry St. John Thackeray, was confident that they “are probably attributable rather to the assistant than to the historian”.47 Thackeray’s view was understandable in the 1920s, when assumptions about the cultural isolation of Josephus’s Jerusalem prevailed, and it was common to look for a Jewish kernel or core in his works that was overlaid with a Hellenizing veneer, preferably by another hand. We have seen, however, that the theme of tragic pollution and its consequences for the polis issues from the most central thematic core of Josephus’s narrative, and so cannot easily be ascribed to such a secondary overlay. If all the thematic clusters described were removed, what would remain? At any rate, these tendencies had been fully anticipated in the preceding centuries by the Judean writers Artapanus and Ezekiel “the writer of Judean tragedies” (cited by Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 1.23; Eusebius, Praep. ev. 9.18 23, 27, 28). The theme of pollution and purification seems, therefore, to illustrate the complexity involved in trying to isolate strains of cultural influence. Milgrom spells out what he considers the distinctive features of Israel’s Priestly theology, over against (chiefly Near-Eastern) “paganism.” Whereas in a world of countless divine beings, Israel’s neighbors could only establish their god in his shrine, feed him, and protect him from other daemonic beings, in Priestly theology the one God faces no such threats; but he can be driven out of his sanctuary by human beings – those whose pollution threatens the purity of that sanctuary. Levitical impurity was a human and not a daemonic condition: harmless in itself, it had to be dealt with sooner rather than later, because its continuation increased the likelihood of violating the Temple’s purity. It was an exclusively sanctum-related concept. Most important was to keep from the sanctuary – the ultimate symbol of Israel’s life – phenomena portending death: semen and blood, scale disease, and the impurity of corpse contact.48 Susan must have been correct: aspects of this system are no doubt basic to Josephus’s presentation of pollution and purity in War. We have seen that his concern is much more with bloodshed that pollutes the sanctuary, and metonymically the Deity, than it is with any individual’s contracting of impurity. Such pollution will culminate in the withdrawal of the Deity from his sacred house (6.300; cf. 6.127). In his later Antiquities, indeed, our Josephus, xvii. Leviticus, 8–13.

47 Thackeray, 48 Milgrom,

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priestly author will summarize the sources of Levitical impurity (3.261–64), even helpfully linking “leprosy” with the appearance of death (3.264). We have also noted clear biblical precedents for the ultimate pollution of cannibalism during the Roman siege of Jerusalem. Yet the dominant ethos of pollution language in War – a Greek narrative after all – is profoundly Greek, not least in the story of Maria’s cannibalism: it is all tied up with civil strife (stasis) in the polis, and with tragic themes and language. Pollution itself, at least under the μίασμα word group, is not a strikingly biblical concept: the Old Greek (commonly Septuagint) translation of the Bible Greek Bible nearly avoids it.49 And even in its close collection with cultic themes, War’s pollution language closely matches Greek models and parallels. In his comprehensive study of Greek μίασμα, Robert Parker develops the concept of purification as the “science of division,”50 stressing the centrality of separating the profane from divine sanctuaries: “Without purification there is no access to the sacred.”51 This is so even though purity is not a hallmark of the gods themselves; it is more a matter of respect for their awesome power.52 Parker devotes respective chapters to causes of pollution, featuring birth and death, sex, bloodshed, sacrilege, and disease  – especially in the context of temple sanctity, the “violation of divine rights.”53 He stresses the communal nature of pollution and its punishments, notably the range of maladies represented by “plague” (λοιμός), which is closely associated with civil strife and military failure.54 He discusses the purification of the city (polis)  – most often by forms of human scape-goating and sacrifice  – and concludes with an exploration of the centrality of pollution in Greek tragedy. Josephus’s handling of pollution and purification in his War teaches us about ancient cultural interaction, because it does not seem possible to declare his usage simply Judean or simply Greek, or yet to isolate “pure” strands within it. His work makes good sense as an effort to communicate with a highly literate Greek-educated audience in the world capital. He writes with the shared learning of the eastern-Mediterranean elite; his assumed categories, characters, and lexical choices draw from the shared  LXX Lev 7:18 uses it exclusively for the case of the “abomination” (Heb. piggul) created by eating sacrificial meat still on the third day. Jer 39:4 and Ezek 33:31 use the word in general, non-ritual ways: Jeremiah concerning foreign rituals in the sanctuary; Ezekiel of the heart’s abominations. Judith has the word several times (Judith 9:2, 4; 13:16; see also 1 Macc 13:50; 2 Macc 4:19; 9.13). The NT also largely neglects the word group: it is not in Paul or the Synoptics (cf. John 18:28 and the mainly metaphorical uses in Titus 1:15; Heb 12:15; 2 Pet 2:10, 20; Jude 8). 50 Cf. Douglas, Purity, 48–50. 51 Parker, Miasma, 19. 52  Parker, Miasma, 20. 53 Parker, Miasma, 276–77. 54 Parker, Miasma, 257. 49

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discourse of Greek statesmen under Roman rule. We have access to resources not available to War’s Roman audience (biblical law and Josephus’s paraphrase of it in Antiquities), which enable us to discern some formative influences that are not visible in War. Although these informed his presentation of divine outrage at the pollution of the unique Temple of the one God, Greek and Roman audiences knew very well about this distinctive feature of Judean culture; it would not have caused them problems of understanding. While sacrificing nothing of his Judean identity, Josephus speaks the shared language of his international peers. His education, chiefly in Jerusalem, must have taught him to think this way. I close with a proposal for getting past the ingrained Greek-Judean question in scholarship. I wonder whether this is not one of many ways in which we unrealistically hold the ancients to criteria different from those that we apply to ourselves and our own times. For us it is a common experience that we blend, in an endless variety of ways, ideas and concepts that seem helpful to us, without regard for their origin. We in the West integrate ideas from Hindu, Taoist, Buddhist, Stoic, and Native American cultures, along with our European, Christian, Jewish, and American traditions, not because of their source but because they seem valid, appealing, and useful to us. On another level, it is well known that many founders of nation-states, from peoples formerly under colonial rule, had undertaken higher education in western countries;55 many others received a western education in the colony itself. But, if those leaders were able to absorb and integrate bracing ideas and (English) language concerning self-determination and freedom, and apply it to their own situations, they did so because it was right and true, not because it was English or American. We do not spend our time today trying to figure out – a hopeless task – which of our ideas come from which pure source. Even so with Josephus: if he received a solid education in Greek, and integrated into his thought world concepts and categories that enabled him to think about his own culture more clearly, those concepts and categories were no longer simply Greek. Josephus pointedly distances himself from “the Greeks” whenever the opportunity arises;56 he does not understand himself as Greek, though writing in Greek and fully exploiting what seem to us Greek categories. This need not be pretense or self-delusion, however, any more than it is for the many English-speaking and western-educated people of our world to continue understanding themselves, perhaps even more so after Western education, as committed to their native cultures and traditions. 55  Famous cases include Jawaharlal Nehru, Mohandas Gandhi, Muhammad al-Jinnah, and Robert Mugabe. 56 E.g., J. W. 1.13–16; Ant. 1.121; 20.263; Life 40; Ag. Ap. 1.6.

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Bibliography Bilde, P. Flavius Josephus between Jerusalem and Rome: His Life, His Works and Their Importance. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1988. Chapman, H. H. “Spectacle and Theater in Josephus’s Bellum Judaicum.” Ph.D. diss., Stanford University, 1998. Colautti, F. M. Passover in the Works of Josephus. Journal for the Study of Judaism: Supplement Series 75. Leiden: Brill, 2002. Douglas, M. Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1966. Repr., London: Routledge, 2002. Eckstein, A. M. “Josephus and Polybius: A Reconsideration.” Classical Antiquity 9 (1990): 175–208. –. Moral Vision in the Histories of Polybius. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995. Edmondson, J., S. Mason, and J. Rives, eds. Flavius Josephus and Flavian Rome. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. Fantham, E. Roman Literary Culture: From Cicero to Apuleius. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996. Feldman, L. H. “Josephus’ Portrait of Saul,” Hebrew Union College Annual 53 (1982): 45–99. Reprinted, pp. 214–244 in Saul in Story and Tradition. Edited by C. S. Ehrlich and M. C. White. Forschungen zum Alten Testament 47. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006. Gantz, T. Early Greek Myth: A Guide to Literary and Artistic Sources. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993. Josephus. Translated by H. St. J. Thackeray et al. 10 vols. LCL. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1926–1965. Keitel, E. “Principate and Civil War in the Annals of Tacitus.” American Journal of Philology 105 (1984): 306–325. Milgrom, J. Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. Anchor Bible 3. New York: Doubleday, 1991. –. Leviticus 17–22: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. Anchor Bible 3a. New York: Doubleday, 2000. –. Leviticus 23–27: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. Anchor Bible 3b. New York: Doubleday, 2001. –. Leviticus: A Book of Ritual and Ethics. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004. Parker, R. Miasma: Pollution and Purification in Early Greek Religion. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983. Repr., 2001. Scheiber, A. “Zu den antiken Zusammenhängen der Aggada,” Acta antiqua academia scientiarum Hungaricae 13 (1965): 267–272. Shahar, Y. Josephus Geographicus: The Classical Context of Geography in Josephus. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004. Unnik, W. C. van. Flavius Josephus als historischer Schriftsteller. Heidelberg: Lambert Schneider, 1978.

“The days seemed like years” Thessalos Prepares to Encounter the God Asklepios1

Philip A. Harland 1. Introduction The first-century autobiographical letter attributed to Thessalos, which served as a preface for an astrological guidebook on medical materials, provides an important glimpse into ancient expectations regarding journeys in pursuit of wisdom and the role of purity in encountering the gods.2 The full work, which often goes by the title Thessalos the Philosopher on the Virtue of Herbs (Thessalus philosophus de virtutibus herborum), was only rediscovered and published by Charles Graux in 1878. The opening letter (hereafter Thessalos) relates the story of Thessalos’ early life and education in Asia Minor. There Thessalos demonstrates extraordinary abilities that lead him to pursue a medical education in Alexandria in Egypt. Towards the end of his education as a physician, Thessalos discovers an ancient book by King Nechepso, which promises twenty-four medical cures according to the signs of the Zodiac. Thessalos believes that the treatments will work and spreads word of the amazing cures to both his family in Asia and his colleagues in Alexandria, only to discover that he cannot make the prescriptions work. This leads him to thoughts of suicide. Thessalos then wanders through Egypt in search of a solution, consulting holy men or priests. He only finds a solution after he meets a specific Egyptian priest at Diospolis (Thebes), who reluctantly prepares Thessalos to communicate with a god. After he attains purity, the story culminates in 1 An

early version of this paper was discussed at the Seminar on Culture and Religion in Antiquity at the University of Toronto in 2008. I would like to thank the respondent, Arthur Droge, and other participants for their comments. My wife, Cheryl, provided further feedback for revisions. For further discussion of the journey motif specifically, see my article “Journeys,” which explores Thessalos’ material from another angle. The translation in the appendix here is drawn from that article. 2 Charles Graux published the Greek Byzantine manuscript of 1474 known as Codex Matritensis Bibl. nat. 4631. A fourteenth century Latin translation of the Greek (Codex Montepessulanus Fac. mé. 227, f. 31–35) was later discovered and published in 1912. For further discussion see the critical edition of the texts by Friedrich, Thessalos.

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Thessalos meeting Asklepios “face to face.” Thessalos receives from this god of healing secret knowledge concerning sympathies between movements of the stars and medicinal plants, knowledge that will bring effective cures. This tale of the adventures of Thessalos has not been widely studied by scholars of Greco-Roman culture, and it is not readily available in English translation (see my translation in the appendix).3 Along with other books on healing materials, Thessalos’ work as a whole has been studied by those interested in the history of medicine or pharmacology, but the preface of Thessalos has not been the focus here.4 Thessalos’ story is noted by some scholars of Greco-Roman religion or “magic,” as when A. D. Nock cites Thessalos as an instance of “religious curiosity.”5 Furthermore, those with an interest in the Hermetic or astrological literature, including Franz Cumont, A.-J. Festugière, and Garth Fowden, deal with Thessalos’ herbal in the process.6 Festugière also feels that he could use Thessalos’ vision as an instance of mystical experience or “personal religion” in antiquity.7 In recent decades, other scholars have employed the work in seeking to support specific theories regarding supposed cultural or religious developments in the Hellenistic and Roman periods. On the one hand, Jonathan Z. Smith (1978) approaches the story of Thessalos as confirmation that there was a major shift from the communally-centered sanctuary to the individually-focused holy man in antiquity. Smith attempts to push back several centuries (to the second century B. C. E.) what Peter Brown identifies as the “rise of the holy man” in late antiquity (fourth-fifth centuries C. E.).8 Sharing in common some facets of Festugière’s view, Smith claims that this early shift was accompanied by a clear decline in sanctuaries, including traditional Egyptian temples and their priesthoods. In Thessalos, he suggests, we are seeing a “realistic portrait of the city in Late Antiquity,” a “shadow of its former glory.”9 Smith then claims to find in Thessalos’ story inversions of typical motifs that undermine traditional forms of religious thought and life. Moreover, Smith’s attempt to plug Thessalos into a broader and, in my view, problematic theory regarding the decline of traditional ways and the rise of individualism does not do justice to the story of Thessalos on its own terms.10  3 To

my knowledge, the only English translation of the letter is the translation offered by Bob Brier (Magic, 258–60). Festugière (“L’expérience”) offers a French translation.  4 See Scarborough, “Pharmacology,” and the works cited there.  5 Nock, Conversion, 108–109. Cf. Moyer, “Initiation,” “Thessalos.”  6  Cumont, “Écrits hermétiques,” “Thessali medici,” L’Égypte; Festugière, La révélation; Fowden, Egyptian, 161–65.  7 Festugière, “L’expérience”; cf. Festugière, Religion.  8  Brown, “Rise.”  9 Smith, “Temple,” 178; italics mine. 10 See my critique of such theories of decline in Harland, Associations, 89–114.

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A second scholar who has recently employed Thessalos’ letter, Robert K. Ritner (1995), quite actively critiques Smith’s use of the writing. In particular, Ritner brings in the evidence of Thessalos to further bolster a thesis of continuity (rather than decline) in the practice of Egyptian forms of ritual in and beyond the first century C. E. Here Ritner deconstructs common scholarly views regarding the decline of Egyptian customs. Although I am largely convinced that the decline of Egyptian sanctuaries and ritual has been overstated in the past, Ritner’s use of the Thessalos evidence as a window into specifically Egyptian rituals and contexts seems to miss the stereotypical or fictional features of the story. Ritner, like Smith at times, seems to take certain aspects of Thessalos’ Egyptian experience at face value, as though the tale reflects actual activities or real conditions in Egypt.11 Thus, for instance, Ritner argues that the priests’ hesitancy in allowing Thessalos access to their magical knowledge is motivated by a fear of Roman imperial legislation. In this view, Thessalos’ story actually “epitomizes” the “Egyptian reaction to the Roman prohibition” of magic.12 More likely, in my view, is that the priests’ hesitancy in the story reflects common idealized portraits of Egyptian priests who, for concerns of purity, exclusivity, and other matters, did “not associate with anyone who stood wholly outside their religion” (as stated by Chaeremon).13 I will show that in many respects there is more the image of the exotic or foreign than the actual Egyptian in this story. Regarding the hesitancy of the priests in relation to Thessalos’ requests, Smith instead argues that this is indicative of the decline of Egyptian rites: The priests simply do not believe in the efficacy of traditional ritual or “magic” anymore and, therefore, turn down Thessalos’ request for instruction.14 Despite such opposing arguments, both Smith and Ritner agree that certain elements in Thessalos’ adventures can be used as accurate reflections of cultic life in Roman Egypt. Scholarly choices about what is fiction and what is reality in Thessalos seem to be determined by the overarching theories these scholars seek to support. Although stated strongly, Strabo seems more on track regarding the fictional tendencies of journey stories when he 11 For a more extreme case of taking Thessalos’ story at face value, see Jack Lindsay’s (Origins, 203–207) discussion of alchemy where he attempts to extract considerable historical information from the letter. 12 Ritner, “Practice,” 3356–57. 13 Translation by van der Horst, “Way,” 65. Ian Moyer similarly rejects both Smith’s decline of Egyptian rites view and Ritner’s imperial legislation view, stating that “there is little reason to suppose that Egyptian priests would have feared prosecution on a day-today basis for carrying on traditional religious practices” (Moyer, “Initiation,” 227). Moyer’s subsequent article of 2004 (“Thessalos”) changes direction and attempts to reconcile the views of Smith and Ritner. 14 Smith, “Temple,” 178–79.

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states that “every man who narrates his wandering is an imposter” (Geography 1.2.23).15 Silvia Montiglio’s recent work on the theme of wandering shows this intimate connection between travel tales, ancient ethnography, and fiction.16 Here I argue that we should understand the journeys of Thessalos within the context of typical patterns in, and expectations regarding, “autobiographical” stories among the elites. The tale provides less information about the actual experiences of the character Thessalos or Egyptian conditions and more about widespread notions among upper-class Greeks (and Romans) regarding journeys to foreign lands in pursuit of superior knowledge. It also provides insights into how the literary elites imagined encounters with holy men and gods, including the important role of purification.

2. The Journey Pattern in Context As I explore more extensively in another article (Harland 2011), stories about one’s journeys in search of knowledge, including “magical” wisdom, were widespread within literature with biographical interests. Several common recurring motifs or elements in the pattern, which are also clearly evident in the story of Thessalos, include the protagonist: seeking out answers to life’s problems as a boy, youth, or young adult; failing to find answers from various teachers in various places; experiencing thoughts of despair or suicide; traveling to a foreign land or place in the East (e.g. Egypt, Babylon, Palestine) for education, or gaining access to such foreign wisdom in some other way; meeting a foreign holy or wise man; encountering some reluctance on the part of the holy man; slowly gaining the confidence of the holy man; and, gaining knowledge of the holy man’s secrets that provide access to wisdom or powers from the gods, sometimes involving significant preparations or purifications for the experience. These patterns should caution us against taking information from Thessalos’ story as though it reflected actual conditions on the ground, whether this information be cast in terms of decline (Smith) or continuity (Ritner) in Egyptian temples and priestly activities.17 These autobiographical types heavily shape the story of Thessalos 15 Cf. Plutarch, On Talkativeness, 514b; Lucian, Stories, throughout. Silvia Montiglio (Wandering, 252) drew my attention to this passage in her discussion of wandering in ancient novels. 16 Montiglio, Wandering, 251–61. 17 This also problematizes attempts to read the story as representing the actual experience of a particular, non-fictional person, such as Thessalos of Tralles. On Thessalos of Tralles, a physician associated with the “Methodists” (along with Asklepiades), see Edelstein, “Methodists;” Riddle, “Medicine;” Pigeaud, “L’introduction.”

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in a way that serves to legitimize the astrological and medical “knowledge” that is presented throughout the remainder of his work. Here I outline a few examples of this story-pattern to provide context for Thessalos’ tale. Motifs regarding travel in pursuit of divine knowledge were common enough for Lucian to incorporate them regularly into his satires, with quite humorous effect. In the satirical Lover-of-Lies (Philopseudes), the character Tychiades recounts the autobiographical claims of a certain philosopher, named Eucrates (Philopseudes, 33–39 [LCL]; ca. 160s C. E.). Eucrates catalogues all the amazing things he experienced in his educational journeys: “When I was living in Egypt during my youth (my father had sent me traveling for the purpose of completing my education), I took it into my head to sail up to Koptos and go from there to the statue of Memnon” (Philopseudes 33). Eucrates then relates his encounter with a “holy man” (ἄνδρα ἱερόν) and scribe (γραμματεύς) who had been learning “magic” (μαγεύειν παιδευόμενος) from the goddess Isis for twenty-three years in a temple at Memphis (Philopseudes 34). Eucrates sought an education from him and his description is reminiscent of Thessalos’ time with his holy man: “by degrees, through my friendly behaviour, I became his companion and associate, so that he shared all his secret knowledge with me” (Philopseudes 34; see Thess. 13–16). As with Thessalos’ story, many other narratives of travel in pursuit of wisdom put even more stress on the youth’s initial failures to attain sufficient answers to intelligent questions. In Lucian’s tale of Menippus, for instance, Menippus explains that he traveled to consult the shadow of Teiresias on Menippus’ life-long dilemma regarding what mode of life was best. So, “I resolved to go to the men whom they call philosophers and put myself into their hands, begging them to deal with me as they would, and to show me a plain, solid path in life” (Menippus 4 [LCL]). This only exacerbates Menippus’ struggle to find his answers in life. As a result, Menippus begins to wonder whether an “ordinary man’s way of living is as good as gold,” which, ironically, is what he will find out later – at the end of his journeys – anyway. Disappointed in his expectation (ἐλπίς), Menippus is even worse off and more uncomfortable than before. This is when Menippus, like characters such as Thessalos, travels far to seek the help of a foreign wise man, in this case a Babylonian wise man and “magician” (magos) named Mithrobarzanes. After some reluctance on the wise man’s part, Menippus convinces the “magician” to prepare him for a journey to the underworld to find the answer to his life-long questions regarding the meaning of life. As in Thessalos’ preparations to meet Asklepios, there is an importance placed on purifications to encounter other-worldly (under-worldly) figures in order to find answers to long-held questions. The wise man prepares him by providing regular bathings, a special diet, and a final ritual of purifica-

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tion: “taking me to the Tigris river at midnight he purged me, cleansed me, and consecrated me (ἐκάθηρέν τέ με καὶ ἀπέμαξε καὶ περιήγνισεν) with torches and squills and many other things, murmuring his incantation as he did so” (Menippus 7). Ultimately, in Hades, Menippus gains answers from the deceased Teiresias, who is reluctant to reveal things. True to the satirical context here, and unlike the divine revelations received by the likes of Thessalos, the answer is less than profound: “The life of the common sort is best … laughing a great deal and taking nothing seriously” (Menippus 21). The focus on exotic, foreign wisdom that is integrated into such stories is attested in other materials relating to those pursuing wisdom. Philostratus’ model philosopher, Apollonius of Tyana, is perhaps the best known example. Less noticed is Cleombrotus of Sparta in Plutarch’s discourse On the Obsolescence of Oracles. Plutarch portrays Cleombrotus as a philosopher and “holy man” who “made many excursions in Egypt and about the land of the Cave-dwellers, and had sailed beyond the Persian Gulf” (410a [LCL]). Once again, there is an emphasis on what these wanderings to foreign lands bring in terms of answers to long-held questions. In particular, the story goes that, when Cleombrotus was near the Persian Gulf, he sought out a famous man with prophetic abilities and great “learning and knowledge of history” (421b). Cleombrotus then gains answers concerning the gods and key cosmological debates among Greek philosophers since Plato (421a–c). In this connection, I disagree with Smith’s claim that Thessalos inverts the normal expectations regarding the importance of gaining knowledge from foreign lands. I see no evidence in Thessalos itself that Thebes (or Egypt) is viewed by that author as “a shadow of its former glory, with a handful of religious specialists inhabiting a few ruined temples,” let alone a “necropolis” as Smith asserts.18 Although Lucian was my starting point, these patterns are by no means limited to his writings, then. For instance, there are indications that some Greek-speaking followers of Jesus, such as Justin Martyr (Dialogue, chapters 1–8) and the author of the Pseudo-Clementine writings, likewise adopted and adapted widespread notions about how one goes about finding the truth, and I discuss these more fully in my other article (Harland 2011). Furthermore, the basic story of Harpocration preserved in the Cyranides, which in some form likely goes back to the second century C. E., shows that Thessalos’ work is not the only medical guidebook to incorporate such patterns in a travel narrative.19 Here Harpocration, the ostensible author, 18 Smith,

“Temple.” The Cyranides, see Waegman, Amulet; Fowden, Egyptian, 87–91. Dioscorides’ Medical Materials (first century C. E.) lacks the claims to divine origins that we find in both Thessalos and the Cyranides yet still stresses the knowledge that Dioscorides gained through travel. See Scarborough and Nutton, “Preface.” 19 On

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relates his journeys to Seleucia in Babylonia, where he finds an “old man skilled in foreign learning.”20 This man shows Harpocration “everything,” including a temple and certain pillars with strange letters written upon them. As the wise old man explains to Harpocration, one of the pillars has an inscription that outlines divine healing secrets concerning sympathies between the twenty-four letters of the alphabet, on the one hand, and stones, fish, herbs, and birds, on the other. Harpocration then publishes this knowledge from the gods in his book. While this somewhat secret foreign inscription is seen as the answer to Harpocration’s quest for divine knowledge, Thessalos seemingly finds only disappointment from his re-discovered book by the legendary King Nechepso. This despite the fact that Nechepso, along with the wise man Petosiris, was renowned for his great wisdom, particularly astrological knowledge.21 Smith suggests that this element of Thessalos’ story is another reversal of common expectations, and he goes so far as to suggest that the pattern of finding hidden books of wisdom is “radically altered.”22 It is true that, ultimately, Thessalos does not find Nechepso’s cures fully effective. However, the story itself stresses how this apparent failure of foreign wisdom leads Thessalos in the right direction.23 The Nechepso material is just a further stage in Thessalos’ move to true knowledge, and the god Asklepios himself defends rather than condemns the wisdom of Nechepso in the end: “King Nechepso, a man of most sound mind and all honourable forms of excellence, did not obtain from an utterance of the gods what you are seeking to learn. Since he had a good natural ability, he observed the sympathy of stones and plants with the stars, but he did not know the correct times and places one must pick the plants.” Despite the differences in details, Thessalos’ autobiographical story is in many respects typical, rather than inversionary as Smith claims. It offers very little in terms of information about particular persons or places, let alone the question of whether Egyptian temples, priests, and ritual power (or “magic”) were thriving (Ritner) or in severe decline (Smith). Instead, it provides one specific variation on how upper-class Greeks told stories of education, foreign wisdom, and access to knowledge from holy men and the gods. 20 See the critical edition by Kaimakis, Kyraniden. To my knowledge, the only English translation of the preface is: Anonymous, Magick. 21  Sayings attributed to Nechepso and Petosiris (probably from the second century B. C. E.) survive in fragmentary form as cited by authors such as Vettius Valens (see Riess, “Nechepsonis;” Kroll, “Nechepso;” Fraser, Ptolemaic, 1.436–38). 22  Smith, “Temple,” 177. 23 Cf. Fowden, Egyptian, 164: The herbal’s “tendency is to complete Nechepso rather than to supersede, far less refute him.”

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3. Preparation and Purity in Context So far I have concentrated on contextualizing the supposed journeys of Thessalos. These travels end in sanctuaries of the ancient city of Diosopolis (Thebes) where Thessalos finds his holy man and prepares to meet the god. It is there that Thessalos gains a positive answer to his ongoing questions about “whether any magical power (τῆς μαγικῆς ἐνεργείας) saves a person from illness” (Thess. 13). Purification plays an important role in Thessalos’ final steps towards divine wisdom, so it is important to provide some background for Thessalos’ portrayal of his time in the Egyptian sanctuaries among priests, as well as the process involved in meeting the god Asklepios. Once again, the narrative is an idealized one that provides a window into the worldview of an upper-class Greek author. The general portrait of the Egyptian priest in Thessalos’ narrative fits well within the standard type of the wise or holy men found within many other journeys that I have already outlined, whether that holy man was in Egypt, Babylonia, Judea, or elsewhere. Yet in some respects, it seems that common Greek ethnographic traditions and portrayals of Egyptian priesthoods, temples, and rituals specifically are at work to some degree in Thessalos. From some Greek and Roman perspectives, Egyptian priests were commonly associated with knowledge in “magic,” astrology, and related disciplines..24 The use of the term “magic” in Thessalos’ letter suggests an outsider’s perspective, rather than familiarity with actual Egyptian ritual activity as Ritner proposes. This fits more with understanding the letter as a whole in terms of discourses of ethnography, of how to describe things Egyptian in Greek terms. Within this context of the Greek fondness for things Egyptian, Thebes specifically was a focal point of attention: “Thebes distilled the country’s very essence and focused the religious traditions for which the whole of Upper Egypt was renowned.”25 Thebes was especially viewed as the source of ancient Egyptian rituals with “magical” power.26 Thessalos’ narrative presents us with a picture of the priests at Thebes, who are known for their scholarly activity, ascribing to “various teachings.” The priest whom he befriends is an expert in “perceiving divine visions in the activity of a dish of water,” lekanomancy. The general picture of Egyptian priests’ activities here is reminiscent of other contemporary and idealized portraits, the most important of which is a passage by the Egyptian sacred-scribe (hierogrammateus) and Stoic philosopher Chaeremon, preserved by Porphyry (De Abstinentia 4.6–8; see van der Horst 1982).  Cf. Fowden, Egyptian, 166–68; Frankfurter, Religion, 219–20. Egyptian, 168. 26 See Fowden, Egyptian, 168–76; Ritner, “Practice,” 3335–36. 24

25 Fowden,

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Although Chaeremon is an Egyptian himself, he is a thoroughly Hellenized and Romanized author who here presents his own customs in an idealized manner typical of descriptions of foreign yet admirable peoples.27 Writing for his Greek audience in the first century, Chaeremon presents Egyptian temples as a “place to philosophize” and engage in a life of scholarly pursuits, including astrology and other disciplines “They divided the night for the observation of the heavenly bodies, sometimes for ritual; and the day for worship of the gods … They spend the rest of the time with arithmetical and geometrical speculations, always trying to search out something and to make discoveries, in general, always busy about science.”28 These priests were “always in contact with divine knowledge” (ch. 6). Chaeremon also stresses the importance of purification among these scholarly priests, which brings us to Thessalos’ portrayal of his preparations to see the god. Central to the overall story of Thessalos is his preparation and purification in order to receive his vision of the god, which brings the knowledge he was seeking all along. After gaining the friendship of one of the high-priests of Diospolis, Thessalos invites him to a secluded sacred forest. There he begs the priest, declaring that “it was necessary for me to converse with a god or else – if I failed to meet this desire – I was about to commit suicide” (17). This is the point at which the high-priest directs Thessalos to “keep … pure for three days.” For Thessalos, who had long been searching for the answers to his questions, “the days seemed like years” (20). After attaining the state of purity, the high-priest brings Thessalos to a pure room or building (oikos), most likely within the temple area.29 Contrary to Smith’s assertion, there is no indication that this special room is independent of the high-priest’s regular context in the sanctuary. Smith’s claim is among the supposed “inversions,” which are then used to support his argument that temples were being replaced by something else, namely the mobile holy man removed from the sanctuary.30 Instead, the story of Thessalos gives the impression that the high-priests, including this specific priest, were closely tied to the sanctuary at Diospolis. The high-priest then asks Thessalos whether he wants to speak with the soul of a dead person or with a god. Thessalos’ response – that he would like to speak directly to the god on his own – is not well-received. Yet, the priest obliges despite his hesitancy. Then Thessalos is brought into the room and seated opposite the throne where the god will appear. 27  Cf. Philo’s Contemplative Life. See van der Horst, “Way,” 62–63 on Festugière, La révélation, 19–44. 28 Ch. 8; trans. van der Horst, “Way.” 29  See Frankfurter, Religion, 167–69, where he discusses a similar use of chambers in the cult of Isis and Serapis at Kysis. Cf. Ritner, “Practice,” 3357. 30 Cf. Smith, “Temple,” 180–89.

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Ritner places Thessalos’ request for a direct encounter with the god and the description of the throne in this passage within the context of the traditional Egyptian “reaching god” (ph-ntr) ritual, which is described in the Demotic manuals regarding direct revelations from a god, using bowls, lamps, or dreams.31 Ritner also proposes that Asklepios is to be taken here as the equivalent of the Egyptian god Imhotep (= Imouthes), as in some other inscriptional and papyrological cases.32 Whether or not the Greek author of the story was to any extent familiar with the details of Egyptian understandings of the god or ritual is questionable, however. When Asklepios finally appears to Thessalos, the author describes the inexpressible and “incredible nature of the spectacle,” as he first sees the god. Asklepios recognizes the special status of Thessalos: “When your successes become known, men will worship you as a god” (Thess. 25). Asklepios states his willingness to answer anything that Thessalos wishes to ask. Thessalos’ question is quite simple: Why did the cures outlined by Nechepso in the book fail? Asklepios’ answer stresses that, although Nechepso had a good natural ability and recognized the “sympathy of stones and plants with the stars,” he did not gain this knowledge directly from the gods. The divine secret that is revealed to Thessalos pertains to the times when the plants must be picked in order to access power. This power is described as the “divine spirit” that “pervades throughout all substance and most of all throughout those places where the influences of the stars are produced upon the cosmic foundation” (Thess. 28). The remainder of Asklepios’ revelation, which Thessalos documents using the pen and paper he snuck into the room, becomes the basis for the rest of Thessalos’ astrological-medical work. The final stages of Thessalos’ adventure here, with the preparation and vision, can once again be understood within the context of Greek notions of meeting gods and engaging in foreign or Egyptian rites. Several of the journeying figures discussed in the previous section found answers to their questions from holy figures, who had special access to the wisdom of the gods. The notion that one’s travels could end in meeting a god is also attested in Apuleius’ well-known, humorous play on these motifs (The Golden Ass). As is well known, Apuleius’ novel is based on an earlier Greek story and reflects some themes also found in other Greek novels, including the use of travel to move the plot forward. Like other figures I have discussed, Apuleius’ character, Lucius, spends a good time wandering in search of the solution to life’s problems, primarily the problem of being an ass. Ulti31 E.g.,

PLeiden I 384 3, 4, 7–10, 14; PLouvre E 3229; Ritner, “Practice,” 3346–47, 3357. “Practice,” 3357; cf. POxy XI 1381. On bowl divination, see PGM IV 154–285.

32 Ritner,

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mately, his wanderings end in meeting the goddess and in salvation from his dilemma, including the promise of success within his profession, in this case as a lawyer. Isis appears to the ass, Lucius, and provides orders to follow that involve a particular priest, “in whom lay my hope of salvation” from the cruel enemy, Fortune. Lucius then follows the orders and is transformed into his former self. With guidance from the goddess, he seeks initiation into at least three forms of mysteries for the Egyptian gods. The preparations to join the order of devotees are also an important component in the story: Lucius, like Thessalos, expresses the difficulties in meeting the requirements of purity, here chastity and abstaining from forbidden foods for ten days. As with the character Lucius, purification has an important place in Thessalos’ preparation to meet the god. Yet the letter of Thessalos reveals little about what a Greek author such as this imagined would be involved in purifications in the context of an Egyptian sanctuary. Chaeremon’s idealizing account once again provides some insights into how Egyptian concerns of purity were presented to, or imagined by, Greeks or Romans in the first century. In fact, issues of purification occupy much of Chaeremon’s description of the Egyptian priesthood for his Greek-speaking audience. Chaeremon notes that certain Egyptian priests had specific requirements that may have differed from others. Nonetheless, all priests are presented as maintaining purity in order to be near the gods. He suggests that it was customary to have specific “rooms” allotted for purification and fasting (ch. 6), reminiscent of the room in which Thessalos achieves his vision of the god. Furthermore, there is a stress on the avoidance of contact with the impurity of outsiders. Those approaching the priests needed to attain some level of abstinence and purity as well. There are two main components to purity in this model – abstinence from certain foods and abstinence from sexual intercourse – both of which were likely in mind when Thessalos’ story was composed: The periods of purification and fasting were clear from all animal-food. As to the duration (of these periods), whenever they were to perform something pertaining to the sacred rites, one (?) spent a number of days in preparation, some forty-two, others more, others less, but never less than seven days, and during this time they abstained from all animal food, from all vegetables, and pulse, but above all from sexual intercourse with women … They washed themselves three times a day with cold water, viz. when they rose from bed, before lunch, and before going to sleep.33

Thessalos’ three days of preparation pale in comparison with the ideal numbers mentioned by Chaeremon. Still, this description provides some idea of what a Greek would have imagined taking place in a far-off land at the end of a long journey in pursuit of wisdom from the gods. 33 Ch.

7; trans. by van der Horst, “Way,” 68.

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Appendix English Translation of the Letter from Thessalos’ Preface to Thessalos the Philosopher on the Virtue of Herbs This translation of Thessalos’ letter largely follows manuscript “T” (as published by Friedrich 1968), which is Codex Matritensis Bibl. Nat. 4631, a Byzantine manuscript in Madrid first published by Graux (in 1878). Throughout there is a parallel Latin text, “M” (Codex Montepessulanus Fac. med. 227, a 14th century translation). From line 25 on there is an additional parallel Greek text (= “BH”) that addresses Hermes Trismegistes rather than Thessalos. The main differences in the versions of the prologue include: Thessalos is identified as the author of the letter in “M”; Harpokration is identified as author at the beginning of “T,” but the name Thessalos is preserved in garbled form further on in the story, suggesting Thessalos is the original attribution. Germanicus Claudius is the addressee in “M”; Caesar Augustus is the addressee in “T.” (1) Thessalos (or: Harpocration in manuscript “T”) to Caesar Augustus (or: Germanicus Claudius in “M”), greetings. While numerous people have attempted to transmit many incredible things in their life, august Caesar, none has been able to bring such plans to completion because of the darkness which is imposed on his thoughts by destiny. Of all those who have lived since eternity, I alone seem to have done anything incredible and known to a precious few. (2) For attempting the deeds, the very deeds which surpass the limits of human nature, I brought them to completion with many trials and dangers. (3) For as I was being trained in grammatical knowledge in the regions of Asia, I was also being distinguished from all the better students there until I enjoyed the benefits of knowledge. (4) After sailing to highly regarded Alexandria with plenty of silver, I was systematically studying with the most accomplished scholars. I was being commended by everyone on account of my love of hard work and my intelligence. (5) I was also continuously studying the teachings of dialectic physicians, for I passionately desired this knowledge in an extraordinary way. (6) When it was the right time to return home – for I had already achieved medical advancement according to custom  – I went around the libraries seeking out the necessary medical materials. When I found a certain book of Nechepso dealing with twenty-four medical treatments of the whole body and of every condition according to the signs of the Zodiac through both stones and plants, I was astounded by the incredible nature of its promised cures. Yet it was, as it seemed, an empty delusion of royal foolish-

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ness. (7) For despite the fact that I had prepared the solar medicine that had astounded me and the remaining prescriptions in all the medical treatments of conditions, I failed to affect a cure. (8) Supposing that this failure was worse than death, I was being consumed by anguish. Indeed, having very rashly believed in the writing of Nechepso, I had also written to my parents concerning the effectiveness (activity) of the prescriptions as if I had already attempted them, and I was promising to return. (9) It was not possible, therefore, to remain in Alexandria because of the hysterics of my colleagues – in a peculiar manner, good intentions are resented. (10) I was not willing to return home since I had accomplished very little of what I had promised. Now I wandered around Egypt, driven by a sting in my soul and seeking to deliver on some aspect of my rash promise or, if that did not happen, to commit suicide. (11) Now my soul was constantly anticipating that I would converse with the gods. Continually stretching out my hands towards the sky, I was praying to the gods to grant me something by a vision in a dream or by a divine spirit so that I could proudly return as a happy person to Alexandria and to my homeland. (12) Arriving, then, in Diospolis – I mean the most ancient city of Egypt which also has many temples – I was residing there, for there were scholarly high-priests and elders ascribing to various teachings there. (13) Now as time advanced and my friendship with them increased, I was inquiring whether any magical power saves a person from illness. I observed the majority protesting strongly against my rashness concerning such an expectation. (14) Nonetheless, one man, who could be trusted because of his patient manner and the measure of his age, did not throw away the friendship. Now this man professed to have the ability to perceive divine visions in the activity of a dish of water. (15) So I invited him to walk with me in the most solitary place in the city, revealing nothing about what I wanted him to do. (16) Departing, therefore, into some sacred woods where we were surrounded by the deepest silence, I suddenly fell down crying and was clinging to the feet of the high-priest. (17) As he was struck with amazement at the unexpected nature of what he saw and was inquiring why I was doing this, I declared that the power of my soul was in his hands, for it was necessary for me to converse with a god or else – if I failed to meet this desire – I was about to commit suicide. (18) As he raised me up from the ground and comforted me with the most gentle words, he gladly promised to do these things and commanded me to keep myself pure for three days. (19) After my soul had been soothed by the promises of the high-priest, I was kissing his right hand and expressing thanks as my tears flowed like a gushing spring. For, naturally, unexpected joy brings forth more tears than grief does. (20) Once we returned from the woods, we were attaining the state of purity. The days

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seemed like years to me because of the expectation. (21) Now at the dawn of the third day, I went to the priest and greeted him humbly. Now, he had prepared a pure room and the other things that were necessary for the visitation. According to the foresight of my soul and without the priest’s knowledge, I brought a papyrus roll and black ink in order to write down what was said, if necessary. (22) The high-priest asked me whether I would want to converse with the soul of some dead person or with a god. I said, ‘Asklepios’, and that it would be the perfection of his favor if he would turn it over to me to converse with the god alone. (23) However, as his facial expressions showed, he did not promise me this gladly. Now when he had shut me in the room and commanded me to sit opposite the throne upon which the god was about to sit, he led me through the god’s secret names and he shut the door as he left. (24) Once I sat down, I was being released from body and soul by the incredible nature of the spectacle. For neither the facial features of Asklepios nor the beauty of the surrounding decoration can be expressed clearly in human speech. Then, reaching out his right hand, Asklepios began to say: (25) “Oh blessed Thessalos, attaining honor in the presence of the god. As time passes, when your successes become known, men will worship you as a god. Ask freely, then, about what you want and I will readily grant you everything.” (26) I scarcely heard anything, for I had been struck with amazement and overwhelmed by seeing the form of the god. Nevertheless, I was inquiring why I had failed when trying the prescriptions of Nechepso. To this the god said: (27) “King Nechepso, a man of most sound mind and all honorable forms of excellence, did not obtain from an utterance of the gods what you are seeking to learn. Since he had a good natural ability, he observed the sympathy of stones and plants with the stars, but he did not know the correct times and places one must pick the plants. (28) For the produce of every season grows and withers under the influence of the stars. That divine spirit, which is most refined, pervades throughout all substance and most of all throughout those places where the influences of the stars are produced upon the cosmic foundation.”

Bibliography Anonymous. The Magick of Kirani, King of Persia, and of Harpocration Containing the Magical and Medicinal Vertues of Stones, Herbes, Fishes, Beasts, and Birds. London, 1685. Apuleius. Metamorphoses. Translated by J. A. Hanson. 2 vols. LCL. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989. Betz, H. D., ed. The Greek Magical Papyri in Translation Including the Demotic Spells. 2d edition. Translated by H. D. Betz. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992.

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Boudreaux, P. Catalogus codicum astrologorum graecorum. Brussels: Mauritii Lamertin, 1912. Brier, B. Ancient Egyptian Magic. New York: William Morrow and Company, 1980. Brown, P. “The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity.” Journal of Roman Studies 61 (1971): 80–101. Cumont, F. “Écrits hermétiques: II. Le médecin Thessalus et les plantes astrales d’Hermes Trismégiste.” Revue de Philologie 42 (1918): 85–108. –. L’Égypte des astrologues. Brussels: La Fondation Égyptologique, 1937. –. “Notes sur quelques manuscrits grecs des bibliothèques de Rome. I.” Mélanges d’archéologie et d’histoire 26 (1906): 351–364. –. “Thessali medici de virtutibus herbarum Claudium vel Neronem.” Pages 253–262 in Catalogus codicum astrologorum graecorum. Brussels: Aedibus Mauritii Lamertin, 1921. Diller, H. “Thessalos.” Pages 163–182 in vol. 6A of Realencyklopädie für protestantische Theologie und Kirche. Edited by J. J. Herzog. 24 vols. Hamburg, 1936. Edelstein, L. “The Methodists.” Pages 173–191 in Ancient Medicine: Selected Papers of Ludwig Edelstein. Edited by O. Temkin and C. L. Temkin. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1967. Reprint, 1987. Festugière, A.-J. “L’expérience religieuse du médicin Thessalos.” Pages 141–180 in Hermétisme et mystique païenne. Paris: Aubier-Montaigne, 1967. –. Personal Religion among the Greeks. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1954. Reprint, 1960. –. La Révélation d’Hermès Trismégiste, I: L’astrologie et les Sciences Occultes. Paris: J. Gabalda, 1944. Fowden, G. The Egyptian Hermes: A Historical Approach to the Late Pagan Mind. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986. –. “The Pagan Holy Man in Late Antique Society.” Journal of Hellenic Studies 102 (1982): 33–59. Fox, R. L. Pagans and Christians. New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 1986. Frankfurter, D. Religion in Roman Egypt: Assimilation and Resistance. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998. Fraser, P. M. Ptolemaic Alexandria. Oxford: Clarendon, 1972. Friedrich, H.-V., ed. Thessalos von Tralles: griechisch und lateinisch. Beiträge zur klassischen Philologie 28. Meisenheim am Glan: Verlag Anton Hain, 1968. Graux, C. “Lettre inédite d’Harpocration a un empereur, publiée d’après un manuscrit de la Biblioteca nacional de Madrid.” Revue de Philologie 2 (1878): 65–77. Gundel, W. Neue astrologische Texte des Hermes Trismegistos: Funde und Forschungen auf dem Gebiet der antiken Astronomie und Astrologie. Abhandlungen der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-historische Abteilung 12. Munich: Verlag der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1936. Gunther, R. T., ed. The Greek Herbal of Dioscorides Illustrated by a Byzantine A. D. 512, Englished by John Goodyer A. D. 1655, Edited and First Printed A. D. 1933. London: Hafner Publishing Company, 1934. Reprint, 1968. Harland, P. A. Associations, Synagogues, and Congregations: Claiming a Place in Ancient Mediterranean Society. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003. –. “Journeys in Pursuit of Divine Wisdom: Stories of Thessalos and Other Seekers.” Pages 123–140 in Travel and Religion in Antiquity. Edited by P. A. Harland. Stud-

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ies in Christianity and Judaism 21. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2011. Horst, P. W. van der. “The Way of Life of the Egyptian Priests According to Chaeremon.” Pages 61–71 in Studies in the History of Religions. Edited by M. Heerma van Voss, E. J. Sharpe, and R. J. Z. Werblowsky. Studies in Egyptian Religion 43. Leiden: Brill, 1982. Irmscher, J., and G. Strecker. “The Pseudo-Clementines.” Pages 483–541 in New Testament Apocrypha. Edited by E. Hennecke, W. Schneelmelcher, and R. M. Wilson. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1992. Kaimakis, D. Die Kyraniden. Beiträge zur klassischen Philologie 76. Meisenheim am Glan: Verlag Anton Hain, 1976. Kroll, W. “Nechepso.” Pages 2160–2167 in vol. 16.2 of Realencyklopädie für protestantische Theologie und Kirche. Edited by J. J. Herzog. 24 vols. Hamburg, 1935. Lindsay, J. The Origins of Alchemy in Graeco-Roman Egypt. London: Trinity Press, 1970. Montiglio, S. Wandering in Ancient Greek Culture. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2005. Moyer, I. “The Initiation of the Magician: Transition and Power in Graeco-Egyptian Ritual.” Pages 219–238 in Initiation in Ancient Greek Rituals and Narratives: New Critical Perspectives. Edited by D. B. Dodd and C. A. Faraone. London: Routledge, 2003. –. “Thessalos of Tralles and Cultural Exchange.” Pages 39–56 in Prayer, Magic, and the Stars in the Ancient and Late Antique World. Edited by S. Noegel, J. Walker, and B. Wheeler. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2004. Nock, A. D. Conversion: The Old and New in Religion from Alexander the Great to Augustine of Hippo. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1933. Pigeaud, J. “L’introduction du Méthodisme à Rome.” ANRW  37.1:566–599. Part 2, Principat 37.1. Edited by H. Temporini and W. Hasse. New York: de Gruyter, 1993. Riddle, J. M. “High Medicine and Low Medicine in the Roman Empire.” ANRW  37.1:102–120. Part 2, Principat 37.1. Edited by H. Temporini and W. Hasse. New York: de Gruyter, 1993. Riess, E., ed. “Nechepsonis et Petosiridis: fragmenta magica.” Philologus Supplementband 6.1 (1891): 325–394. Ritner, R. K. “Egyptian Magical Practice under the Roman Empire: The Demotic Spells and Their Religious Context.” ANRW  18.5:3333–3379. Part 2, Principat18.5. Edited by H. Temporini and W. Hasse. New York: de Gruyter, 1995. Scarborough, J. “The Pharmacology of Sacred Plants, Herbs, and Roots.” Pages 138–174 in Magika Hiera: Ancient Greek Magic and Religion. Edited by C. A. Faraone and D. Obbink. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991. Scarborough, J., and V. Nutton. “The Preface of Dioscorides’ Materia Medica: Introduction, Translation, and Commentary.” Transactions and Studies of the College of Physicians of Philadelphia 4 (1982): 187–227. Smith, J. Z. “The Temple and the Magician.” Pages 172–189 in In Map Is Not Territory: Studies in the History of Religions. Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity 23. Leiden: Brill, 1978. Waegman, M. Amulet and Alphabet: Magical Amulets in the First Book of Cyranides. Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben, 1987.

The Impact of Social and Economic Status on the Experience of Martyrdom A Case Study of Perpetua and Felicitas1

Lily Vuong 1. Introduction In an address to the Roman governor in North Africa in the third century, the patristic writer Tertullian describes “… so many thousands, of such a multitude of men and women, persons of every sex and every age and every rank” (… tantis milibus hominum, tot uiris ac feminis, omnis sexus, omnis aetatis, omnis dignitatis)2 eagerly awaiting their chance to experience martyrdom. Encouraged by Tertullian to “not then ask to die on bridal beds, or in miscarriages, or from gentle fevers; rather, seek to die a martyr that he may be glorified who suffered for you,” (Nolite in lectulis nec in aborsibus et febribus mollibus optare exire, sed in martyriis, uti glorificetur qui est passus pro uobis),3 it is no wonder many Christians understood martyrdom as an expression of ultimate faith and devotion to God and, thus, as an act that should be embraced, not feared. Indeed, many Christians were persuaded that martyrdom offered the promise of an eternal reward to all martyrs regardless of their position in society and that, in such a world, the social structures of ancient Rome could be transcended; as in death, “there is neither Jew nor Greek; there is neither slave nor free; there is no ‘male and female’; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (Gal 3:28).4 1 My interest in early Christian martyrdoms began early in my studies, but was never given my full attention, resurfacing only sporadically throughout my years as a graduate student. It was Susan Haber who encouraged me to return to this subject and I am thankful for the coffee and tea breaks we shared discussing Jewish and Christian ideas about martyrdom, purity, and identity, our work and role in the academy, but, most importantly, our friendship. 2 The English translation is cited from Tertullian, Ad Scapulam 5.2 (ANF). The Latin is cited from Tertullian, Ad Scapulam (CCSL, 1132). 3  Tertullian, De Fuga 4.9. The English translation is cited from Sider, Christian, 147. The Latin is cited from De Fuga (CCSL, 1147). 4 On martyrdom as an equal practice among genders, see Frend, “Bladina”; repr. “Bladina,” 95. See Glancy’s study on Christian slaves, especially her discussion of Paul’s use of

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The Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas (hereafter Passio)5 from Carthage, North Africa, illustrates this willingness and even eagerness to die for one’s faith. However, whether Perpetua’s and Felicitas’ martyrdoms actually succeeded in transcending the social structures of their society is questionable. Ekkehard and Wolfgang Stegemann have rightly noted that societies in the ancient Mediterranean world were significantly shaped and developed by two criteria: social strata and gender.6 The fact that these two women from different social strata were martyred side-by-side along with their male counterparts suggests the possibility of equality,7 but there are several hints in the text that suggest this may not have been the case. As a rich literary text that purports to be a first-hand martyrdom account,8 the Passio has been extensively studied and interpreted by scholars from a variety of perspectives. While some have focused on situating the text historically within its early third-century North African context,9 others have explored additional defining features including its authorship,10 literary genre and style,11 visionary imagery,12 and even narrative framework (Perpetua’s self-narration is redacted by at least two other hands).13 In recent years, the text has gained popularity among scholars interested in feminist and gender studies because of its significance as the earliest Christian text allegedly written by a woman depicting not only her own martyrdom, but the martyrdom of her female slave.14 Through this feminist hermeneutical lens, such slavery terminology in Gal 3:28, which she argues is only a cover-up, since he goes on to reinscribe the very markers that distinguish the boundaries between slave and free; Glancy, Slavery, 34–38.  5 There are a number of critical and reliable translations and editions including: van Beek, Passio (1936); Bastiaensen and Chiarini, “Passio,” 107–47; Rader, “Martyrdom,” 19–32; Dronke, Women; Robinson, Passion. I have decided to cite the Latin and English from Musurillo’s translation. See Musurillo, Acts, 106–31.  6  Stegemann and Stegemann, Jesus, 361–377, esp. 361. See also Ortner and Whitehead, Sexual, 25.  7 Lefkowitz suggests that Perpetua’s appeal to convert to Christianity is based on the religion’s promise of a more egalitarian community (“Motivations,” 418).  8 See n. 10 below on the authorship of the Passio.  9 E.g., Freudenberger, “Probleme”; Pizzolato, “Note”; Pettersen, “Perpetua”; Rives, “Piety.” 10 E.g., Heffernan, “Philology”; Bowersock, Martyrdom, 34; Kraemer and Lander, “Perpetua.” 11  E.g., Halporn, “Literary History”; and Kraemer and Lander, “Perpetua.” See also Castelli, Martyrdom, 85–92, on the Passio as autobiography and self-writing. 12 I do not provide a discussion of Perpetua’s visions in any length. For excellent studies on the meaning and purpose of visions in this narrative, see, e.g., Castelli, “Visions”; Meslin, “Vases”; Orbán, “Afterlife.” 13 Against scholarly consensus, Braun (“Nouvelle Observations”) suggests Tertullian as the identity of the anonymous redactor in the Passio in her study of the narrative framework. 14 E.g., Castelli, “Visions,” 1–20; idem, “Mary”; Maitland, Martyrdom; Kraemer and Lander, “Perpetua”; Rader, “Perpetua”; Tilley, “Passion”; Rossi, “Passion”; Lyman, “Per-

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scholars have read and understood Perpetua’s diary as an important account of women’s experiences of martyrdom in general and have suggested that what is unique about Perpetua’s and Felicitas’ situation is that the women were martyred alongside their male counterparts under equal conditions. While some have rightly pointed out that the equal inclusion of women in the act of early Christian martyrdoms is in itself noteworthy, I suggest that scholarship often overlooks the fact that, while these two women may have been martyred together, they were members of radically different social classes and, consequently, would have experienced martyrdom quite differently. In this paper, I would like to take a different approach to understanding their experience of martyrdom, one that employs a socioeconomic lens and a prosopographical approach in order to gain insight into Perpetua’s and Felicitas’ extraordinary act. Essential to this interpretation is contextualizing the hints in the text that suggest that the two women were treated differently, and this will be accomplished by examining the social and historical status of women in the Roman Empire in the first centuries of the Common Era. I will examine how Perpetua and Felicitas would have been regarded socially, legally, and politically in Roman society, not only compared to the men in their community, but also compared to each other as a Roman matron and a Roman slave subject to Roman law, respectively. While I recognize that my arguments and conclusions about Perpetua’s and Felicitas’ experience with martyrdom are based more on extrapolation than certainties, it should be remembered, as James B. Rives writes, that “uncertainty about specific points does not necessarily preclude certainty about general patterns.”15 In this way, our evidence for the general trends of the statuses, roles, and duties of Roman matrons and slaves can provide valuable insight into the historical time period of the early third century and, more specifically, into Perpetua’s and Felicitas’ experiences of martyrdom.

2. A Brief Overview of the Passio The Passio, dating from the early third century, is mainly an account of a young Roman matron’s experience of martyrdom.16 The text informs us that Vibia Perpetua was married and nursing an infant son at the time of petua”; Perkins, Suffering; Lefkowitz, “Motivations”; Miles, Carnal; Clark, “Bodies”; Irwin, “Gender”; and Nolan, Cry, esp. 32–45. 15 Rives, “Piety,” 3. 16 Scholarly consensus places the date of the martyrdoms during Septimius Severus’ reign. See Barnes, “Pre-Decian;” Frend, “Bladina,” 87; Dronke, Women, 1; Amat, Passion, 20–21; LeClereq, “Perpétue;” and van Beek, Passio, 3. Kraemer and Lander provide a discussion of the difficulties surrounding the dating of this text (“Perpetua,” 1051).

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her sentencing and that her family, especially her father, cared a great deal for her, as is evidenced by his frequent visits during her imprisonment. In 203 CE, Perpetua and four companions were arrested, tried, sentenced, imprisoned, and executed in the arena by Hilarianus, the local governor, for their identification as Christians and for refusing to offer sacrifices to the Roman gods.17 Among her companions was her female slave, Felicitas, for whom the Passio is also named. While Perpetua, Felicitas, and the other martyrs were by no means the first to die for their faith, the account of their experience was exceptional in that large sections of the text were purportedly written in Perpetua’s own hand while she was imprisoned. In the form of a diary,18 Perpetua kept an account of her last days, thus offering a window through which to view, understand, and remember her experience of martyrdom. Along with providing information about her role as a Roman mother and daughter and her identity as a Christian, her abilities as a visionary are also revealed when she describes four prophetic dreams, which she prays for and is granted. The diary of Perpetua also contains more than one voice: Saturus, a leading figure in the community, allegedly records his dreams19 in the diary, 17 Whether the cause for their arrest was for deliberately disobeying Septimius Severus’ edict that forbade conversion to either Judaism or Christianity is hotly debated in scholarship. Proponents of the theory that there existed a general law that was transgressed include, for instance, Heffernan, “Philology,” 317; Salisbury, Perpetua’s Passion, 82; Frend, Martyrdom, 238–42; Shaw, “Passion,” 10; Sordi, Christians; and Keresztes, Imperial Rome, esp. 111–20, to name a few. Scholars who have rejected this theory have based their arguments on the capricious nature of the evidence: namely, the statement in Scriptor(es) Historia Augusta (Vita Septimii Severi, 17.1) which states that Severus prohibited conversion to Christianity coupled with Eusebius’ assertion that there was a persecution around 202 CE (Historia Ecclesiae, 6.1.1) have been determined to be unreliable and suspect. Rives rejects the idea that there was a general persecution at this time resulting from an imperial edict, and suggests instead that Hilarianus’ severe punishment of Perpetua and her companions had more to do with opinions about religion and his view that Christianity was an illicit cult that threatened the power structure of Rome (“Piety,”10, 18–19). In support of Rives’ view, Kraemer and Lander suggest that Perpetua’s arrest was more likely the result of episodic persecution of Christians rather than the direct result of Severus’ edict that categorized Christianity with Judaism (conversion to Judaism was prohibited), since the arrest occurs without context or explanation and conveys a sense of randomness – no mass arrests or widespread executions are mentioned( “Perpetua,” 1052). See also, Ste. Croix, Christian Persecution, 105–52. 18  Heffernan (“Philology,” 320–24) has questioned the genre of diary for the prison narrative based on grammar and literary forms for diaries, and suggests instead that Perpetua’s account is better categorized as hypomnemata or commentarius or a “self-conscious journal in-time, a genre that includes a variety of non-rhetorical writings (e.g., memoir, note, diary, etc.).” 19 Halporn (“Literary History,” 226) distinguishes the embedded narrative of Perpetua and Saturus from the anonymous narrator. Shaw (“Passion,” 21) also provides a table outlining the structure of the Passio, demarcating the three voices. On the differences between Saturus’ dream and Perpetua’s vision, see Musurillo, Acts, 119–23. Salisbury (Perpetua’s

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and the voice of an anonymous narrator (and, thus, a possible redactor)20 can also be deciphered. This anonymous narrator’s voice both introduces and concludes the text; after Perpetua’s final vision and Saturus’ dream, her journal finds its way into the hands of the trusted, yet anonymous, narrator, who completes the diary by allegedly offering an eyewitness account of Perpetua’s death along with a detailed description of the experiences of the other martyrs first arrested with her. For instance, in the martyrs’ imprisonment section we find more information about the Passio’s other protagonist, Perpetua’s slave, Felicitas. Pregnant when she entered the prison, we are told that she and her companions prayed for the child to be born early so that Felicitas could celebrate her martyrdom with her companions. Mocked by the guard because of the pains of her premature labour, Felicitas’ reply is that she is suffering now by herself, but in martyrdom “another will be inside me who will suffer for me, just as I have been suffering for him” (alius erit in me qui patietur pro me, quia et ego pro illo passura sum) (15.6). Felicitas’ reaction towards her death sentence thus appears joyous, despite the fact that she has literally left one bloodbath in order to appear in another. Much like her mistress, she is depicted as welcoming death in the name of God with open arms. On the birthday of the emperor’s son, the narrator describes Perpetua entering the arena and celebrates her as “the beloved of God, as a wife of Christ” (matrona Christi, ut Dei delicata) (18.2). In the arena, Perpetua’s and Felicitas’ delicate bodies are naked and the signs of their motherhood (“milk still dripping from her breasts”; stillantibus mammis) (20.2) are exposed in the arena, but the crowd’s reaction of horror forces the Roman authorities to dress them in unbelted tunics. Once the execution commences, both women are tossed by a mad heifer, which was considered a proper match for their sex21 (sexui earum etiam de bestia aemulatus) (20.1). Noteworthy is the narrator’s description of Perpetua’s initial response to the mad heifer’s blow: she fastens up her hair and pulls down her ripped tunic to cover her thighs. In her ecstatic state, the narrator presents Perpetua as being more concerned about her modest matronly appearance than her own life. In the end, moreover, Perpetua seems to be depicted as having more Passion, 112–115) notes that Saturus’ dream seems to function as didactical literature for the community. See also n. 10 above on the question of authorship. 20 Several scholars have entertained the idea of Tertullian as the possible identity of the anonymous narrator, including Braun, “Nouvelle Observations”. See also, Pettersen, “Perpetua,” 139; and Barnes, Tertullian, 79. Note that scholarly consensus does not attribute the authorship of the narrative framework to Tertullian. 21 In respect to an execution by beasts, ancient Romans and Carthaginians believed that, if prisoners were matched up with a wild animal of the same sex, the attack of the wild animal would prove their guilt because “one of their kind” had destroyed them. See Shaw’s discussion of the symbolic meaning of the use of a heifer in Perpetua’s execution (“Passion,” 7).

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gladiatorial competence than her male executioner, since he is only able to cut her throat with her guidance after he first misses his mark and strikes her on the bone by mistake: “It was as though so great a woman, feared as she was by the unclean spirit, could not be dispatched unless she herself were willing” (fortasse tanta femina aliter non potuisset occidi, quae ab inmundo spiritu timebatur, nisi ipsa uoluisset) (21.10). The Passio concludes with a speech by the anonymous narrator, similar in language and style to that found in the introduction.

3. Perpetua: The Martyrdom of a Roman Matron 3.1. Background on Roman Matrons From the outset and through the voice of our first narrator /redactor, we discover that Perpetua was “a newly married woman (matronaliter nupta) of good family and upbringing (honeste nata, liberaliter instituta)… and had an infant son at the breast” (et filium infantem ad ubera) (2.1–2). In this vein, we will proceed by exploring Perpetua’s various roles of daughter, wife, and mother. Joyce E. Salisbury argues that her family name, Vibius, suggests that the family had been Roman citizens for many generations and that her father was likely of some high rank in the municipal province; thus, he and his children by extension must have been influential in the community.22 As the pater familias in Roman society, the father was responsible for the guardianship and protection of all family members, which extended to all those in his household including slaves and freed-people.23 The guardianship of all family members involved matters of marriage and inheritance, which affected the head of the house directly, since his children’s actions would reflect poorly or positively on him. Father and daughter relationships in upper-class families were especially important in Roman culture, because, more than any other member of his family, a father’s daughter could form important social and political ties as well as gain great honour for her fam Salisbury, Perpetua’s Passion, 5; Frend, “Bladina,” 169–70. Shaw points to a town west of Carthage called Thuburbo Minus as Perpetua’s hometown. On the family background of the Vibii household and their status in antiquity, see Shaw, “Passion,” 10–11. 23  Pomeroy, Goddesses, 150. Glancy (Slavery, 17) writes that the average age of manumission for male slaves during the Roman period was around thirty, but that female slaves were more likely to be manumitted only after menopause (i.e., in their late forties), an age most women did not reach. In the event that women were granted manumission, it was likely that even with their new status as free, they remained in the household in which they served. On the obligation of a slave to his owner even after manumission is granted, see Harrill, “Ignatius”. Harrill notes that slaves were not absolved of their responsibilities to their owners and often stayed with their masters in order to fulfill their duties as a payment for the manumission. 22

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ily by being known as a virtuous and upstanding woman.24 This important father-daughter bond is only further fortified by the fact that fathers in particular were responsible for the education of their daughters, since the education of sons was commonly handled by paid tutors. As Sarah Pomeroy notes, the education of upper-class women was especially valued among the elite, because it was precisely these educated women who would have to participate actively in the intellectual life of their male family members.25 There is no reason to doubt that Perpetua’s relationship with her father was any less typical and that she benefitted well from such an education; that Perpetua was able to write down her experiences in the language and style of a well-educated writer, a privilege granted her because of her upper-class status, indeed supports this claim.26 Additionally, a woman’s education also contributed to determining suitable marriages that would continue to strengthen the family. The principles of Roman legality mandated that all women must be under the custody of a male guardian especially when they needed to perform important legal transactions such as accepting inheritances and providing testimonies.27 The responsibility for Perpetua’s guardianship would have fallen to her father as the pater familias, but upon marriage may have transferred to her husband, given that the first narrator reports she was married. Perpetua’s marriage has been highly discussed in scholarship, especially because her husband is notably absent from her diary.28 Even during the proceedings and trial, where mention of her husband would be most suitable, we are given no signs or details of his whereabouts. While it is difficult to determine why Perpetua excludes any references to her husband, what is determinable is that her father probably still served as her primary male guardian. Pomeroy argues that the powers (manus) of pater familias outranked the powers of a husband and that even in marriage a father had the highest authority, unless one of two marriage ceremonies (confarreatio or coemptio) were conducted 24  Hallett’s extensive study on the relationship between fathers and daughters in upperclass families offers a good exploration of the various roles and expectations of Roman daughters (Fathers, esp. 76–109, 141–42). 25  Pomeroy, Goddesses, 170–71; Kraemer and Lander, “Perpetua,” 1058–59; Kraemer, “Women’s Authorship”; Snyder, Woman; Hallett, Fathers; and Harris, Literacy. 26 Shaw (“Passion,” 12, 15) suggests that Perpetua was likely literate in both Greek and Latin. 27 Pomeroy, Goddesses, 150–51. See also Hallett, Fathers, 111 and idem, “Women.” 28 Dronke (Women, 282–83) offers a succinct summary of the arguments put forth for the absence of any references to Perpetua’s husband. Some of these reasons included the possibility that he was a cowardly Christian who may have been willing to compromise his identity and sacrifice to the Roman authorities or that he was not physically present in Carthage or had passed away before Perpetua was arrested. Others suggest that the idealized ascetic stereotype of women saints left no room for husbands or that hagiographic clichés required the rejection of the entire family.

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in order to transfer legally a daughter from her father to her husband.29 Since the only male guardian who appears in Perpetua’s diary is her father, it is reasonable to speculate that no formal marriage ceremonies were conducted which would have transfered primary guardianship legally to her husband. Noteworthy is the reference to Perpetua’s role as a mother in the narrator’s initial introduction. Motherhood was an ideal role for upper-class women, especially for one who had attained the status of matrona, as Perpetua’s marriage seems to so indicate (matronaliter nupta).30 Rome’s manpower shortage and goals of maintaining, if not increasing, its population placed childbearing women in a particularly fortunate and desirable position in society.31 As the mother of a male child, Perpetua served Rome as a doubly valuable citizen, since her son would be able to pass on the traditions of Rome both as a potential pater familias and as a soldier. Along with Perpetua’s roles as daughter, wife, and mother, her status as a Roman matron more generally would have necessitated her involvement in popular cults. While Romans often participated in cults as a way to request divine help, many of these cults were designed to uphold specific ideals concerning proper female conduct and to preserve Rome’s carefully organized hierarchy. This hierarchy is evident in cults that were opened exclusively to noble and respectable women and cults that were specifically for slaves and members of the lower-class. For instance, membership in the cult of Mater Matuta was limited to Roman matrons and women who had only been married once (univirae);32 one of the rites of this cult involved the ritual practice of physically abusing a slave woman.33 Before her conversion to Christianity, it is very likely that Perpetua had participated in a number of cults suited to her position in life. In other words, she may have participated in cults specifically for virgins as a child (e.g., Fortuna Virginalis; patroness of young girls) and cults that were for fertility when she entered 29 The transfer of complete power (manus) from a father to a husband could be acquired in three ways: the formal marriage ceremonies of confarreatio and coemptio, or by the usus, the continuous cohabitation between a husband and wife for the duration of a year. Since participating in a manus marriage involved the priority of one’s husband’s family over one’s own family (e.g., a woman’s husband’s cult, religion, and ancestors would take precedence over her own family’s cult, religion, and ancestors), it was seldom practiced, especially among the elite. Pomeroy, Goddesses, 152. See also Hallet, “Women”; D’Ambra, Roman Women, 46; and Kraemer, Her Share, 63–65. 30 D’Ambra, Roman Women, 46–50; 84–88; Amat, Passion, 193; and Kraemer and Lander, “Perpetua,” 1059. 31  Pomeroy, Goddesses, 164–170. 32 Tertullian, De Monogamia, 17. 33 Plutarch, Quaestiones Romanae et Graecae, 267D; Kraemer, Her Share, 61–67; and Fantham et al., Women, 230–234 (on Goddesses and Women’s Cults), 234–37 (on Vestal Virgins and special civic cults); Glancy, Slavery, 23. Salisbury (Perpetua’s Passion, 13) also discusses the possible cults in which Perpetua may have participated.

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into marriage and became a mother (e.g., Fortuna Primigenia of Praeneste; patroness of childbirth).34 The world in which Perpetua lived was defined by Rome’s structured cults, which in turn reinforced the social order. As a Roman matron in Roman society, Perpetua would have undoubtedly been exposed to such social structures and ways of thinking, and this would have contributed significantly to her experience of martyrdom.

3.2. The Arrest of Perpetua Hilarianus35 was the local governor at the time and was responsible for the prosecution of those who practiced and identified themselves with the Christian religion. While the reasons for Perpetua’s and her fellow Christians’ arrests cannot be determined definitively, what is known, however, is that their execution date fell on the same day as the birthday of Geta, Septimius Severus’ son.36 Salisbury suggests that Hilarianus’ actions may have been prompted by his personal agenda to gain favour in Septimius Severus’ eyes by offering elaborate games for the celebration. According to the narrator’s account, “a number of young catechumens were arrested, Revocatus and his fellow slave Felicitas, Saturninus and Secundulus, and with them Vibia Perpetua …” (Apprehensi sunt adolescentes catechumeni, Reuocatus et Felicitas, conserua eius, Saturninus et Secundulus. Inter hos et Vibia Perpetua …) (2.1). Why Perpetua’s household or Perpetua herself, a Roman matron, would have been chosen as an example is unknown, but the description of the arrest seems to indicate that the household slaves, who were also catechumens, were arrested first and that Perpetua’s arrest followed.37 Arresting Christian slaves who were deemed expendable in Roman society is one thing, but arresting noble family members with political and economic power and influence is another. If Hilarianus wanted to please Septimius Severus, Christian slaves would have made ideal contenders for the arena, but involving members of the upper-class would have been offensive and even dangerous. Most noteworthy is the fact that Perpetua’s brother, also identified as a catechumen, was not arrested at this time. Later we learn that her brother was able to visit Perpetua in prison without harassment or risk of also being imprisoned, as were the deacons, Tertius and Pomponius.38  Kraemer, Her Share, 58. the likelihood that this particular Hilarianus is the same Publius Aelius Hilarianus, the Roman governor who dedicated two altars in Spain and was known for his severe views on religion and proper and improper cults, see Rives, “Piety.” 36 Salisbury, Perpetua’s Passion, 82; Shaw, “Passion,” 4; cf. n. 8 above on Kraemer’s and Lander’s concerns surrounding the dating. 37  Salisbury, Perpetua’s Passion, 82–83. 38 Cf. Kramer and Lander (Perpetua, 1059), who argue that it is impossible to determine which of Perpetua’s brothers was a Christian and whether or not he was in prison with her. 34

35 On

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While Perpetua left no account explaining why among her noble family she alone was arrested at this time, it can be reasonably assumed that she voluntarily requested her own arrest.39 One can speculate that while her household slaves were being arrested, Perpetua made the decision that it was also her turn to take part in this practice of dying for God, since her diary makes clear her convictions and identity as a Christian: While we were still under arrest my father out of love for me was trying to persuade me and shake my resolution. “Father,” said I, “do you see this vase here, for example, or water pot or whatever?” “Yes, I do,” said he. And I told him: “Could it be called by any other name than what it is?” And he said: “No.” “Well, so too I cannot be called anything other then what I am, a Christian.” At this my father was so angered by the word “Christian” that he moved towards me as though he would pluck my eyes out. But he left it at that and departed, vanquished along with his diabolical arguments. Cum adhuc, inquit, cum prosecutoribus essemus et me pater uerbis euertere cupiret et deicere pro sua affectione perseueraret: Pater, inquam, uides uerbi gratia uas hoc iacens, urceolum siue aliud? et dixit: Video. et ego dixi ei: Numquid alio nomine uocari potest quam quod est? et ait: Non. sic et ego aliud me dicere non possum nisi quod sum, Christiana. tunc pater motus hoc uerbo mittit se in me ut oculos mihi erueret, sed uexauit tantum et profectus est uictus cum argumentis diaboli (3.1–3).

In their study of martyrdoms, A. J. Droge and James D. Tabor argue that martyrdoms among both Christians and Jews in antiquity were caused less by the act of being sought out than by the voluntary acts of the martyrs themselves.40 This situation seems to be the case for Perpetua’s experience of martyrdom. In support of interpreting Perpetua’s arrest as voluntary, the text also tells us that Saturus, one of the martyrs executed with Perpetua’s group, was not initially arrested with them. Upon hearing that his friends had been arrested, he voluntarily stepped forward in order to join them in prison and to await their executions together. As a leading figure of Perpetua’s community, Saturus’ act of voluntary martyrdom served as a sign to his people: voluntary martyrdom is not only acceptable but an encouraged form of worship.41 In other words, it is likely that Perpetua’s arrest, the first stage of her martyrdom, was one over which she had complete control: her choice, her voice, her action. Note, though, that no Vibii son is listed among those arrested and that the brother who tells her to ask for visions does so in order that her fate, not their fate, be determined, thus suggesting that he was not in prison with her. 39 Kraemer and Lander, “Perpetua,” 1064 n. 13. 40 Droge and Tabor, Noble Death, 156. 41  On martyrdom as an encouraged form of worship as well as on responses to the persecution and why Christians were persecuted, see Bowersock, Martyrdom, 23–57; Frend, Martyrdom, 79–103; Gaddis, Crime, 29–67; Ste. Croix, Christian Persecution, 105–52.

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3.3. Perpetua’s Imprisonment After her arrest, Perpetua recounts her experiences of being moved from house arrest to prison. Comparing her prison to a hot and stifling dark hole, Perpetua describes being terrified and tortured with worry for her child. Fortunately for her, two deacons bribe the prison guards to move her to a better part of the prison. Perpetua describes her incarceration in her own words: Tertius and Pomponius, those blessed deacons who tried to take care of us, bribed the soldiers to allow us to go to a better part of the prison to refresh ourselves for a few hours. tunc Tertius et Pomponius, benedicti diaconi qui nobis ministrabant, constituerunt praemio uti paucis horis emissi in meliorem locum carceris refrigeraremus (3.7).

Salisbury writes that it was not uncommon for prisoners or their family and friends to bribe guards to receive better treatment; given Perpetua’s social status and, thus, financial situation, she would not have had any difficulty raising the necessary funds, if the situation demanded it.42 Perpetua’s circumstances appear to be even more special in that she was allowed to have visitors, a privilege likely granted because of her status and wealth. Perpetua describes her conversation with her mother and brother, who also seem to have little difficulty gaining permission to visit and speak with her. Out of worry, Perpetua decides to leave her child in the care of her mother and brother, but, after several days of trial, is again given consent to have her baby stay with her in prison. Given that motherhood and execution were considered incompatible in Roman society,43 normally precluding the presence of a baby in prison, Perpetua must have been given preferential treatment in order to receive such unusual privileges. Nevertheless, with the return of her child, Perpetua reports the immediate recovery of her health and describes her prison cell no longer as a dungeon, but rather a palace. In preferring her prison cell to any other earthy locale, Perpetua thus creates an ideal setting in order to prepare for martyrdom. Described by her brother as “greatly privileged” (in magna dignatione), Perpetua speaks to the Lord in order to ask for visions and receives them.

3.4. The Trial: The Attempt to Persuade Perpetua to Reconsider After receiving her first vision, Perpetua reports the arrival of her father, who has traveled from the city, “worn with worry” (consumptus taedio), 42 Salisbury, 43 Salisbury,

Perpetua’s Passion, 86. Perpetua’s Passion, 115; Pomeroy, Goddesses, 193.

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in order to change her mind. The conversation between Perpetua and her father is fascinating and is worth citing in full: “Daughter,” … he said, “have pity on my grey head – have pity on me your father, if I deserve to be called your father, if I have favoured you above all your brothers, if I have raised you to reach this prime of life. Do not abandon me to be the reproach of men. Think of your brothers, think of your mother and your aunt, think of your child, who will not be able to live once you are gone. Give up your pride! You will destroy all of us! None of us will ever be able to speak freely again if anything happens to you.” This was the way my father spoke out of love for me, kissing my hands, and throwing himself down before me. With tears in his eyes he no longer addressed me as his daughter but as a woman. Miserere, filia, canis meis; miserere patri, si dignus sum a te pater uocari; si his te manibus ad hunc florem aetatis prouexi, si te praeposui omnibus fratribus tuis: ne me dederis in dedecus hominum. aspice fratres tuos, aspice matrem tuam et materteram, aspice filium tuum qui post te uiuere non poterit. depone animos; ne uniuersos nos extermines. nemo enim nostrum libere loquetur, si tu aliquid fueris passa. haec dicebat quasi pater pro sua pietate basians mihi manus et se ad pedes meos iactans et lacrimans me iam non filiam nominabat sed dominam (5.2–5).

As mentioned earlier, father-daughter relationships were especially important among the Roman elite precisely because daughters could serve as a public extension of their fathers’ worth in society. A daughter’s public image, whether respectable or disreputable, directly reflected the status of her father. Perpetua’s public display of disobedience to her father’s will and intentional dismissal of her filial obligations would not have been acceptable behaviour for the daughter of a Roman nobleman.44 Even more stunning, the confrontation is presented as a reversal of roles and, thus, as an exchange of power between father and daughter.45 As the pater familias, the approved conduct for Roman fathers included paternal protection, affection, and attention, but it certainly did not include desperation, begging, or frantic behaviour.46 In her study of the importance and role of daughters in various Roman families and society, Judith Hallett examines common expectations Roman fathers had of their daughters by contrasting Cicero’s relationship with his Fathers, 133–136.  Cf. Harrill questions the hierarchical reversal implied in martyrdom and argues that while early Christian martyrdoms may contest the ideology of the Greco-Roman family in the case of gender, it is not entirely true for the case of slavery; Harrill, Slaves, 145–64; idem, “Enemy.” 46 While Perpetua’s father officially held the position as head of the household, his weak bodily physiognomics recalls the ancient slave body, and thus the opposite of the GrecoRoman view on what signifies “manhood.” Interestingly, Perpetua’s strong physical presence both at the trial and in the arena reflects the qualities associated with a strong leader. See Harrill, “Invective,” esp. 193–201; idem, Slaves, 35–58. 44 Hallett, 45

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daughter Tullia to Pliny the Younger’s sentiments for his friend Fundanus’ daughter.47 Hallett notes that, while Roman fathers differed from person to person as much as their emotional demands towards their daughters varied, expressions of affection from fathers to daughters and from daughters to fathers was expected behaviour. Despite the uniqueness of every fatherdaughter bond, common to all elite Roman fathers was the demand that their daughters act in accordance with their wishes. Expectations of proper behaviour for Roman daughters of their fathers involved unquestionable deference and personal allegiance.48 When Perpetua’s father attempts to persuade her by appealing to her obligations toward her family, community, and society, as well as to their own special relationship, he is presented as no longer in control of his own state of mind, let alone of his own family; his wishes as the pater familias, which should have commanded loyalty, have been ignored by her.49 In contradistinction, in an attempt to comfort her father, Perpetua’s calm and controlled response that “it will all happen in the prisoner’s dock as God wills …” (Hoc fiet in illa catasta quod Deus uoluerit …”) (5.6) reveals her as commander of the confrontation, master of her own martyrdom, and domina (the feminine form of dominus, “lord” or “master”), and thus, not simply as an insolent and ill-behaved daughter (filia), as many Romans would have perceived her.50 Perpetua’s strong will is once again challenged, when she and her companions are hurried off to a hearing. In the prisoner’s dock, Perpetua describes the others as simply having “admitted their guilt” (interrogati ceteri confessi sunt) (6.2), but when it is her turn to be questioned, the situation becomes much more complex and dramatic. Perpetua’s father and her newly-born child appear among the huge crowd gathered to witness the event. Motivated still by his desire to assert his paternal prerogative to control the event and to convince Perpetua that her decision is a grave mistake, Perpetua’s father does not attempt another verbal confrontation, but rather tries to prevent her from appearing before the governor by physically dragging her away from the steps leading up to the prisoner’s dock.51 After Perpetua refuses to consider his plea, he uses her newborn child as leverage in order to convince her to reconsider: “perform the sacrifice – have pity on your baby” 47  Ad Atticum 12.1, a letter written by Cicero, describes his love and devotion to his adult daughter in infantile terms. Cf. Pliny’s Epistles 5.16, which describes his friend Fundanus’ teenage daughter as having both “matronly dignity” (gravitas) and the “wisdom of an old woman” (anilis prudentia); Hallett, Fathers, 133. 48 Hallett, Fathers, 99. 49 Lyman, “Perpetua,” 27–28. Hallett (Fathers, 343) quotes from Plautus’ Stichus: “daughters can never care for their father too much.” 50 Kraemer and Lander, “Perpetua,” 1060; Lyman, “Perpetua,” 29; Shaw, “Passion,” 6–7. 51 See n. 46 above on the physiognomics of Perpetua’s father.

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(Supplica, miserere infanti) (6.2).52 Most interesting is Hilarianus’ reaction to the scenario. As the instigator of Perpetua’s sentencing, Hilarianus does not respond in a manner aligned with his rank and role in the situation. Caught up with the dramatics of Perpetua’s devastated father, Hilarianus, too, tries to persuade Perpetua to understand the importance of her position as a Roman daughter and matron: “Have pity on your father’s grey head; have pity on your infant son. Offer the sacrifice for the welfare of the emperor” (Parce, inquit, canis patris tui, parce infantiae pueri. fac sacrum pro salute imperatorum) (6.3). When she remains adamant in her refusal to offer sacrifices because of her identification as a Christian, Perpetua and her companions are sentenced to the beasts. Hilarianus’ effort to convince Perpetua to sacrifice for the welfare of the Roman emperor, an effort to save her life, is striking especially when it is compared to the silence faced by Perpetua’s companions when they are questioned. Hilarianus urges pity for her father and newborn infant in an attempt to move her to reconsider. The appeal to her role as a Roman daughter and mother may be connected to her status as an upper-class woman. As discussed above, the bond between fathers and daughters in Roman society was commonly very close. Roman texts often attest to the affection between fathers and daughters, and Perpetua’s father’s response to the situation supports this type of relationship. Even as the pater familias, Perpetua’s father does not come to convince the slaves of his household to reconsider (for whom he was also responsible);53 Perpetua alone is worth his time and efforts, even at the risk of being beaten. For Hilarianus, Perpetua as a Roman matron of Carthage is simply worth more than her fellow slaves and, thus, worth attempting to save. If maintaining the social structures of Rome was a priority for Hilarianus, a male child of a Roman matron may have also moved Hilarianus to plead with Perpetua. Since Rome’s power and authority was only as strong as its strength in numbers, Perpetua, as a mother to an elite Roman son and a woman of childbearing years, represents a potentially valuable citizen if kept alive, but a waste if executed.54 Perhaps Hilarianus has these socio-economic factors in mind when he tries to convince Perpetua to leave her faith. 52  As noted above, Perpetua’s father’s response would not have been well received by a Roman audience (Hallett, Fathers, 134 and Salisbury, Perpetua’s Passion, 89). 53 Pomeroy, Goddess, 191. 54  According to a law attributed to Romulus, all male children were required to be raised, but only the first-born female. Parents who had other female children could either raise or sell their children into slavery, thus reinforcing the commonly held view that boys were more valued in Roman society than girls. What influence this law had on how Perpetua’s and Felicitas’ children were viewed is unknown, but on the possibilities, see Pomeroy, Goddesses, 164.

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4. Felicitas: The Martyrdom of a Roman Female Slave 4.1. Background on Roman Slaves Although identified as a slave, the conserva of Revocatus,55 Felicitas remarkably is remembered as one of the protagonists alongside Perpetua in the Passio.56 As the Roman household (familia) included not only blood relatives but also slaves, Felicitas would have been dependent upon and under the authority of Perpetua’s father as well as any of his kinsmen, whether male or female. Pomeroy argues that several aspects of a slave’s life in the Roman Empire could be reasonably determined (despite the fact that our ancient material and scholarly interest has been concerned more with the activities of the elite). For instance, it was not uncommon that Roman lower classes were often exploited and responsible mainly for domestic housework.57 This limitation in opportunity for social movement was especially true of female slaves, since many lacked any training beyond the skills found in keeping up a traditional home and as such served as spinners, weavers, cooks, and cleaners. Slaves who were new mothers could also serve the household as wet-nurses, child-nurses, or midwives.58 The precise service Felicitas served for the Vibius household is unknown, but being of childbearing years and an expectant mother, it is possible she functioned as a wet-nurse for her mistress or even as a midwife, if she had such training.59 Whether Felicitas fulfilled the role of kitchen-helper or clothes-maker for the home, in addition to her possible role as wet-nurse or midwife, is unknown, but as legal property of the head of the household, she, along with the other household slaves, but especially her female and pubescent male co-workers,60 would have been almost always employable for sexual purposes. While only some women may have functioned primarily as sexual servants to their masters, all female slaves in the home were obligated to fulfill the sexual needs of the 55 In a fifth century homily attributed falsely to Augustine, Felicitas and not Saturus, is described as ascending the ladder to heaven with Perpetua in her vision. Kraemer and Lander, “Perpetua,” 1060–61, note that neither Augustine or pseudo-Augustine makes mention of Felicitas’ status as a slave, and that, besides the initial introduction to her identity as a slave, there is no further evidence to suggest she was a slave. 56  Kraemer and Lander (“Perpetua,” 1051) note that while the co-martyrs Saturus and Revocatus are sometimes added to the title of the Passio, Felicitas’ name is always found alongside Perpetua’s, reinforcing her role as co-protagonist in the narrative. 57  Pomeroy, Goddesses, 191. 58 Pomeroy, Goddesses, 191–193. 59 Glancy, Slavery, 17–18. 60  Like their female counterparts, beautiful slave boys whose bodies had not yet gone through the changes of adolescence were also commonly desired and under the sexual control of their masters (Glancy, Slavery, 9, 23 and Bradley, Slaves, 118).

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head of the household.61 There is no cause to suggest Felicitas would have been exempt from this common Roman practice.62 Unlike Perpetua, who had probably received a good education at the hands of her father, Felicitas would have likely received little to no education, because women of her status were not given such rights. In addition, it would have been impractical for the master of the house to spend time on the education of a slave, since she could neither offer advice in the intellectual life of male family members nor forge social ties through marriage, since slaves were prohibited from participating in formal marriages according to Roman law. That the account of Felicitas’ martyrdom is significantly shorter than Perpetua’s and is not written by her, but rather by the hands of a literate narrator, suggests that she, unlike Perpetua, was likely uneducated and could not read or write. Similar to the marriages of upper-class women, members of the lowerclass could also gain some standing through informal marriage arrangements (since formal Roman marriages were restricted to the upper-class alone), but the status one could achieve was, of course, limited, because unions between different classes was prohibited.63 While cohabitation (contubernium) between two slaves was understood as a valid marriage only to the slaves themselves and had no legal validity, relative upward mobility was still possible through the children produced through such a union, since they would increase the master’s property and promote his status, thus benefitting the entire household.64 Since marrying a slave outside of one’s familia or a person of free status with the permission of the head of the family could result in a lost profit for a household (i.e., children produced in such a union would belong legally to the mother, if she were a free woman, or to the woman’s owner, if she were a slave), marriages among slaves occurred more often within their own household.65 As Felicitas is described as Revocatus’ fellow slave (conserva), and both belonged to the Vibius household, their relationship, if it indeed denotes marriage as Amat has argued,66 would likely have followed this common marriage trend to form life-long unions with other slaves from one’s own household. 61 Pomeroy, Goddesses, 192; Glancy, Slavery, 21–24. For more recent studies on slavery in Christianity, see Harrill, “Paul,” 582; idem, “Domestic Enemy,” 235. 62  Although Felicitas’ owner was not a Christian, it is worthwhile to note that just as the Christian concept of slavery in antiquity accepted the right of slaveholders to beat their slaves, the sexual use of slaves would have been understood as a part of the normal order of the world, which supported the institution of slavery. See Glancy, “Slavery and the Rise,” 456–81. 63 Pomeroy, Goddesses, 193; Glancy, Slavery, 21–22. 64  Glancy, Slavery, 18. 65 Pomeroy, Goddesses, 193. 66 Amat, Passion, 193.

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Also significant for understanding Felicitas’ experience of martyrdom is her description by the narrator as pregnant. Much like Perpetua, Felicitas’ potential role as a mother would have been important for women of her status, since childbearing was considered one of the very few ways movement upward from one’s station could be achieved.67 Although Felicitas’ offspring would not have been as highly valued as Perpetua’s child (male children were preferred over female; higher-class children were more valued than lower-class), as a mother she would have doubtless promoted her master’s household as well as her position in the familia, since her child would have been the property of her master. As Glancy notes, the social and symbolic meanings of childbirth and lactation were quite different for free and slave women, despite the common bodily experience, since a female slave’s reproductive abilities made her a more valuable property in the eyes of her master, even if she was but a lowly slave.68 While it may be difficult to determine precisely Felicitas’ duties or worth in her family household, it is important to remember that Roman slavery functioned as an institution that involved the imposition of one person’s power over another and was assumed to be legitimate, proper, and morally right according to Roman jurists, Stoic philosophers, and even Christians. As the historical sociologist, Orlando Patterson, and others have rightly argued, Roman slavery involved not only a focus on absolute ownership and the treatment of human beings and their offspring as property or “chattel,” but, more importantly, the concept of power. Thus, slavery is defined as “social death,” since it was concerned less with the institution of property law than it was with the process of total domination, and, as J. Albert Harrill accurately describes it, “an absolute kind of mastery that denies the slave access to autonomous relations outside the master’s sphere of influence – in effect, reducing the slave to an alienated outsider, socially ‘dead’ to the free population.”69 As a participant in the institution of Roman slavery, it is likely Felicitas would have been viewed in similar terms at least by her Roman practicing pater familias, regardless of her Christian affiliations. As Glancy convincingly argues, little evidence can be adduced to distinguish the behaviour of ordinary Christian slave owners, which included brutal corporal punishment and sexual use of slaves, from that of other Jewish,

Goddesses, 197–98; Glancy, Slavery, 17.  In support of the value placed on female slaves who were capable of bearing children, Glancy (Slavery, 17) notes that in his manual on agriculture, a certain Columella wrote that his female slaves who bore many children were rewarded. Specifically, Columella relates that he lightened the workload of women who bore three sons and considered manumitting her if she gave birth to a fourth. 69 Harrill, “Paul,” 576–78. 67 Pomeroy, 68

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Greek or Roman slaveholders, even if God did not distinguish between “slave and free.”70

4.2. The Arrest of Felicitas A number of historical and literary hints suggest that Perpetua’s arrest was the result of her own volition, since among those arrested from the Vibius household she alone was of noble birth. However, when Felicitas was arrested along with her companions as a result of Hilarianus’ orders, her position as a slave catechumen likely made her a target.71 Given the social structures of Rome and the value assigned to the social elite over the lowerclass, Felicitas’ arrest would have been ideal, if the reason for this particular round-up was to honour the emperor’s son’s birthday. If Felicitas was indeed marked out to be executed, her initial experience of martyrdom would have been drastically different from that of her mistress, since no choice was offered to her on account of her status as a slave. It is one thing to be the victim of a government initiated round-up, but it is quite another thing to join in solidary with one’s comrades to stand up for one’s convictions.

4.3. Felicitas’ Imprisonment Salisbury describes the prison cells of Roman Carthage as dark, crowded, and “simply crude holding areas.”72 Reflecting on such an experience, Perpetua reports being terrified in the harsh conditions of her imprisonment, but relieved shortly after when bribes are made on her behalf by her fellow Christian deacons for better treatment. Whether Felicitas was privy to similar benefits is unclear. Working from a wide range of sources (e.g., bills of sale, legal codes, literary works, etc.), Glancy contends that slaves and slaveholders played a more significant role in the emergence and development of early Christianity than has been previously acknowledged and that while the notion of Christian slavery has been considered oxymoronic, our evidence seems to indicate otherwise.73 In accordance with the idea of the compatibility of being both a slaveholder and a Christian, Harrill has argued “Slavery and the Rise,” 462; See also, idem, Slavery, 39–57.  Salisbury, Perpetua’s Passion, 82. 72 Salisbury, Perpetua’s Passion, 85. 73 In her discussion of the rhetoric of slavery in early Christianity, Glancy examines a bronze collar from the fourth or fifth century with an inscription indicating that the wearer of this collar was the property of a certain archdeacon named Felix. She notes that this certain Felix seems to exhibited no awareness of a contradiction between his role as a Christian leader and his participation as a slave owner, since the collar, clearly used to humiliate and restrain another human being, also bears an engraved cross. Glancy also cites Paul’s letter to the Christian slave-owner, Philemon, in order to reinforce the practice of slavery as a com70 Glancy, 71

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that conversion to Christianity often did not involve a changed understanding of slavery and that Christian slave owners continued to employ the Roman ideology of auctoritas.74 Moreover, references to the practice of slavery among Christians emphasize not only the legality, but also the necessity of the institution.75 If the norm was for Christian slaves to be equally vulnerable to physical abuse, control, and ill-treatment as their non-Christian counterparts, as our sources seem to suggest, then it is safe to assume that Felicitas was treated just as poorly as non-Christians slaves. Any assertion that Felicitas received better treatment would have been the exception in Christian circles, not the norm. In line with the common practice to exploit and mistreat slaves, especially in a prison setting, the narrator recounts an unpleasant confrontation Felicitas had with a taunting prison guard. Arrested while she was eight months pregnant, Felicitas’ greatest concern was the postponement of her martyrdom, since Roman law forbade the execution of pregnant women, whether or not she was found guilty of the accused charges. Since Romans held strong to the belief that execution and maternity were simply incompatible, she and her comrades had prayed for an early delivery.76 During this delivery, where Felicitas is described as having a difficult birth and as having “suffered a good deal in her labour” (in partu laborans doleret) (15.5), she is mocked by the cell guard: “You suffer so much now – what will you do when you are tossed to the beasts? Little did you think of them when you refused to sacrifice?” (Quae sic modo doles, quid facies obiecta bestiis, quas contempsisti cum sacrificare noluisti?) (15.5). The taunting guard at the prison raises important questions concerning the different attitudes held for women of different social class. Would the guard have mocked Perpetua if mon and pivotal practice in early Christian circles (Slavery, 9 on Felix; 34–38 on Paul’s letter to the Galatians and slavery rhetoric). 74 Harrill describes auctoritas as a distinctly Roman form of domination, “which recognizes the subjectivity of subordinates and see that true authority consists not just in obeying individual commands, but in the subordinate’s compliance to the personal power of the master, even anticipating the master’s will.” In his study on Tertullian and slavery, he argues that Tertullian’s roles as both a Christian and a slave owner are not only compatible identities, but are encouraged by the Christian analogy of Christ being the Lord and master of his followers (“Metaphor,” 385–390; idem, “Paul,” 585). 75  In his study of three passages concerning slaves in the Pauline congregation (1 Cor 7:20–24; Philemon; and Gal 3:28 with its parallel in 1 Cor 12:13), Harrill (“Paul,” 584–89) argues that Paul neither attacked nor defended slavery as a social institution, but rather understood slavery as a given fact of ancient life. He suggests that while Paul may have supported the rejection of slavery as an ideal, he did not in practical daily practice. See also Harrill’s study of the use of slaves by Christians (e.g., Athenagoras, Justin, and Tertullian) to defend Christian ritual practices in his examination of slave autopsy in early Christian apology (“Domestic,” 241–46). 76 Salisbury, Perpetua’s Passion, 115.

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she, instead of Felicitas, were giving birth to a child? If the legal rights for a Roman matron and a Roman slave differed drastically, and if torturing a slave woman was commonplace punishment, insulting Felicitas during childbirth would be accepted, if not encouraged. However, this treatment would probably be extremely rare towards a woman of noble blood for fear of producing even more scandal than her martyrdom already caused. We will, of course, never know the true details of the events that occurred for each martyr, but the significantly different value placed on these two women in Roman society should encourage reconsideration of the interpretation of their martyrdoms as equivalent experiences. Also significant about Felicitas’ experience in prison is Perpetua’s lack of knowledge of the events.77 In reaction to Felicitas’ condition and the possibility that she would be excluded from participating in martyrdom with her fellow companions, the narrator writes that “her comrades in martyrdom were also saddened; for they were afraid that they would have to leave behind so fine a companion to travel alone on the same road to hope” (sed et conmartyres grauiter contristabantur ne tam bonam sociam quasi comitem solam in uia eiusdem spei relinquerent) (15.3). The details of Felicitas’ delivery are dramatic and her experience with the guard memorable. Given an event so extraordinary and exciting, it is most surprising that Perpetua provides no description of Felicitas’ experience, nor even an awareness of any of Felicitas’ activities, especially when Perpetua’s diary covers the same time period. Unlike the case of Perpetua, who is able to provide a first-hand account of her experiences via her own pen, the events surrounding Felicitas’ imprisonment are passed on to us only through the written records provided by the anonymous narrator at the end of the Passio. Are Perpetua’s exclusions of any mention of Felicitas the result of a focus on her own personal experiences or did she simply not know of her fellow Christian’s experience? As mentioned above, the prisons of Roman Carthage were often overcrowded and congested, so it was likely difficult for Perpetua to be utterly unaware of Felicitas’ dealings, unless, of course, Felicitas was placed in a different holding cell. Since prisons in Roman Carthage were makeshift affairs, commonly with more than one holding area for prisoners (i.e., one for the wealthy and the other for slaves),78 it is questionable whether Perpetua and Felicitas shared the same quarters. Interestingly, Saturus’ experience leading up to martyrdom is the only other description supposedly written by the hand of the martyr in question in Perpetua’s diary. As the leader of Perpetua’s Christian community, and therefore of high status, Saturus would have been placed with Perpetua, 77 Shaw,

“Passion,” 25–26. Perpetua’s Passion, 85–86.

78 Salisbury,

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if there were indeed separate cells, thus offering a logical explanation as to why his entries are included in her diary.

4.4 The Trial: When questioned, the others simply “admitted their guilt.” The trial of Perpetua and Felicitas is recounted only in Perpetua’s voice. In contrast to the detailed and powerful confrontation Perpetua has with her father and Hilarianus, the trial of Felicitas is very brief and clumped together with those of the rest of the prisoners. Perpetua writes that when questioned, the others simply “admitted their guilt” (interrogati ceteri confessi sunt) (6.2). As the pater familias, Perpetua’s father’s silence at Felicitas’ trial ironically speaks volumes to his valuation of Felicitas; while included as part of the household, she is his slave and property, and not his daughter.79 Her lowly worth is doubly reinforced by Hilarianus’ parallel response of silence at her questioning. Compared to his great effort to convince Perpetua to sacrifice to the Roman gods, therefore attempting to save her life, Hilarianus’ acceptance of Felicitas’ identification as a Christian is striking and raises the question why he does not also try to convince Felicitas and her fellow companions to sacrifice to the Roman gods. As mentioned above, Hilarianus appeals to Perpetua’s concern for both her father and her newborn infant to convince her to reconsider. A similar plea to have pity for one’s father would not be effective for Felicitas, since she was tied only to her pater familias by law and not by blood. Additionally, since most slaves were children of slaves whose owners could buy and sell them as they pleased, it was not uncommon for slaves to lose contact with their own blood relatives.80 Whether or not this was the case for Felicitas is difficult to determine, but since there is no mention of any of Felicitas’ other family members, Felicitas must have stood alone. Yet, since Felicitas is even newer to motherhood than Perpetua (transitioning immediately from childbirth to martyrdom), it would seem fitting that Hilarianus would attempt to persuade Felicitas by an appeal similar to that advanced to Perpetua regarding pity for her child. Hilarianus’ silence and inaction suggests that he, in accordance with the social structures of Roman law and society, simply valued Felicitas less than Perpetua. Even Felicitas’ role as a mother, 79  Note that if Perpetua’s father, as Felicitas’ pater familias, would not stand as her male companion during her trial, it is doubtful that Felicitas would have received the same special treatment offered to her mistress while in prison. Since bribing requires one to have money in exchange for certain benefits and was achieved by the prisoner’s family and friends, Felicitas, a slave who had no identifiable family members besides her owner, would have had a much more difficult time finding someone to bribe the jailers on her behalf. The task would have been exponentially more difficult if Felicitas was indeed placed in a cell specifically for slaves. 80 Pomeroy, Goddesses, 193–94.

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albeit the mother of a female slave-child,81 was not enough to convince Hilarianus that her life was worth saving.

5. Conclusion As Kraemer and Lander argue in their examination of the Perpetua traditions, the account of the arrest, last days, and martyrdom is aptly titled Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis.82 While the martyrdoms of the other co-martyrs are sometimes added to the title, Perpetua’s and Felicitas’ martyrdoms are known exclusively together and as such share, at least in the title, the role of co-protagonists, despite the fact that the former is significantly more discussed than the latter in both our ancient sources and scholarly writings. The coupling of these two women is not without warrant. Perpetua and Felicitas share overwhelming similarities: both were women who were charged with the same offence, tried by the same proconsul, and sentenced to the same fate. Indeed their similar experiences with pregnancy, childbirth, and lactation deepen their linkage. But, however much their external circumstances suggest a similarity, their experiences of martyrdom were significantly different because of their socio-economic status as Roman matron and slave. In the case of Perpetua, the concern of her father and Hilarianus reveal both a familial and a public /political interest in the welfare of a Roman daughter. Whether in prison or the arena, Perpetua is given visitation rights and special privileges and suffers a violent end caused most likely by her own freewill. In the case of Felicitas, little regard for her life is indicated either by her family household or by the Roman public. Whether Felicitas received any special treatment during her imprisonment is questionable, but her arrest suggests that she was targeted; and the verbal violence she suffered at the hands of her prison guard surely was not initiated by her own will. While my conclusions about the details of the two women’s experiences of martyrdom as being significantly different are based more on extrapolation than certainty, they reveal the general pattern that Roman audiences (Christian and non-Christian alike) viewed, valued, and treated matrons and slaves unequally, regardless of their Christian affiliation. This study also highlights the importance of historical and prosopographical studies to martyrdom literature and the value placed on the Passio not only as a theological text about the making of saints, but also as a text about two individual women and their experiences of martyrdom.

Goddesses, 197–98. and Lander, “Perpetua,” 1051.

81 Pomeroy, 82 Kraemer

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Robinson, J. A. The Passion of S. Perpetua. Texts and Studies 1.2. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1891. Repr., Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 2004. Rossi, M. “The Passion of Perpetua, Everywoman of Late Antiquity.” Pages 53–86 in Pagan and Christian Anxiety: A Response to E. R. Dodds. Edited by R. C. Smith and J. Lounibos. Lanham, MD: University Press of America 1984. Salisbury, J. E. Perpetua’s Passion: The Death and Memory of a Young Roman Woman. New York: Routledge, 1997. Shaw, B. D. “The Passion of Perpetua.” Past and Present 139 (1993): 3–45. Sider, R. D., ed. Christian and Pagan in the Roman Empire: The Witness of Tertullian. Selections from the Fathers of the Church 2. Washington: The Catholic University of America Press, 2001. Snyder, J. M. The Woman and the Lyre: Women Writers in Classical Greece and Rome. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1989. Sordi, M. The Christians and the Roman Empire. Translated by A. Bedini. Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 1986. Ste. Croix, G. E. Mde. Christian Persecution, Martyrdom, and Orthodoxy. Edited by M. Whitby and J. Streeter. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. Stegemann, E. W. and W. Stegemann. The Jesus Movement: A Social History of Its First Century. Translated by O. C. Dean, Jr. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999. Stendahl, K. “Biblical Theology, Contemporary.” Pages 418–432 in The Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by G. A. Buttrick. 4 vols. Nashville: Abingdon, 1962. The Ante-Nicene Fathers. Edited by A. Roberts and J. Donaldson. 1885–1887. 10 vols. Repr. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1994. Tilley, M. “The Passion of Perpetua and Felicity.” Pages 829–858 in Searching the Scriptures, Volume 2: A Feminist Commentary. Edited by E. Schüssler Fiorenza. New York: Crossroad, 1994. van Beek, C. J. M. J. Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis. Latine et Graece. Edited by B. Geyer and J. Zellinger. Florilegium Patristicum 43. Bonn: Peter Hanstein, 1938. –, ed. and trans. Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis. Nijmegen: Dekker & Van De Vegt, 1936.

Part III

The Mediaeval and Modern Periods

Is Holiness Contagious?1 Martin I. Lockshin According to biblical and rabbinic Judaism, impurity is contagious. If item x is impure, and it comes in contact (under the correct circumstances) with item y, then item y becomes impure.2 Logically speaking, the contagion could work in the opposite direction. Theoretically, when something impure comes into contact with something pure, the purity could be transferred from the pure item to the impure one. But that is not how it works in the Bible and the Talmud. But what about holiness? What happens when a regular item that is not holy comes into contact with an item that is holy? Does such contact effect any change in the non-holy item (or, for that matter, in the holy item)? Does holiness transfer to an unholy item, just as impurity does? We will examine the relevant biblical verses, and trace the reactions of subsequent generations of rabbis and commentators to these verses.3

1. Contagious Holiness and Ezekiel From Ezek 46:20, for example, it seems that holiness is potentially contagious and that steps have to be taken to prevent such contagion: 1  The research for this paper was funded by a generous grant from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. I am very grateful for their support. An earlier version of this paper was read at the Association for Jewish Studies Conference in Washington DC, in December 2008. I am grateful to the many people who offered helpful criticisms of my paper, especially to Professor Baruch Schwartz. This paper is dedicated to the memory of Susan Haber. It was my pleasure first to teach her and advise her and then to learn from her writings. She was a woman of great intelligence and great skill, who studied purity but who also understood, as the ancient rabbis did, that purity is achieved through effort and she lived her life that way. With just a minor change of wording we can say of her what the second-century rabbi, Rabbi Yishmael, said (b. Abod. Zar. 27b) about one of his colleagues who had died an untimely death: “Ashrayikh Susan, she-yatsat nishmatekh betahorah – Blessed are you, Susan, who left this world working on issues of purity.” 2 See Num 19:22 and many other verses. 3 Unless otherwise noted, the edition of the medieval commentators used is Miqraot Gedolot Torat Hayyim.

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He said to me, “This is the place where the priests shall boil the guilt offerings and the sin offerings and where they shall bake the meal offerings, so as not to take them into the outer court and make the people consecrated.”4

In other words, the common people would become holy from contact with the holy sacrifices, and this is not a desirable outcome. Other verses in Ezekiel (e.g., 42:14 and 44:19) seem to support such an understanding. Based on these verses and others, many scholars have concluded that “biblical prohibitions mandate against physical contact with the holy by those not qualified. Such contact is improper and even dangerous, due to the contagious effect …”5 As far as I can tell, there is hardly any discussion of the Ezekiel verses in classical rabbinic literature. But medieval Jewish exegetes do struggle with them. David Kimhi’s explanation is typical. He says that Ezek 46:20 means that if the holy offerings were taken out to the public area where the people were that might create the erroneous impression that the common people were holy. Kimhi understands the phrase ‫ לקדש את העם‬as meaning “to erroneously create the impression that the people are as holy as the priests.” He explains Ezek 44:19 (‫ )ולא יקדשו את העם בבגדיהם‬in the same way: If priests were to come in contact with commoners while the priests were wearing their special clothes, it might seem that the commoners were also as holy as the priests. Rashi also tries to avoid saying that Ezekiel understood holiness as transferable. According to Rashi, Ezekiel’s concern in 44:19 was not that holiness would transfer to the unholy, but that impurity would transfer to the holy item, presumably seeing the word ‫ יקדשו‬as a euphemism. Still, there is no smooth way of getting the words ‫ ולא יקדשו את העם‬to say that impurity would transfer to a holy item, even if ‫ יקדשו‬is a euphemism. But Rashi’s understanding of the rules of holiness and impurity forced him into this awkward reading.

2. Contagious Holiness and Four Verses in the Torah This same exegetical difficulty arises in four different verses in the Torah (Exod 29:37; 30:29; Lev 6:11 and 6:20, all of them, according to the critics, from P) which seem to suggest that “holiness is contagious.”6 The four verses respectively say: “whatever touches the altar shall become conse4

 New Jewish Publication Society translation (henceforth NJPS). “Holy,” 117–32. The quotation is found on page 119 there. See also the literature cited there in note 2. 6  Sarna, Exodus, ad Exod 29:33. 5 Friedman,

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crated,” “whatever touches them [the furnishings of the Tabernacle] shall be consecrated,” “anything that touches these [meal offerings] shall become holy,” and “anything that touches its flesh [the flesh of the sin offering] shall become holy.” I have used the NJPS translation here, but alternatively the verses might mean that whoever (not whatever) or anyone (not anything) that touches these items becomes holy. While much discussed in classical rabbinic literature, these Torah verses are never interpreted as meaning that someone or something can become holy by touching holy things. The earliest midrash halakhah texts say that the first two verses (Exod 29:37 and 30:29) are dealing with an issue of timing. Certain items become holy by being placed on the altar or in a Temple utensil. These verses teach us that the items become holy at the very moment they come in contact with the altar or the utensil.7 But, as Rashi puts it, “any item that does not belong there, does not become consecrated”8 by contact with the holy altar or a holy utensil.9 This explanation works for the two verses in Exodus (29:37 and 30:29) in which the Bible describes an item coming in contact with a holy place. For the two verses in Leviticus (6:11 and 6:20), a different explanation is required. There the Bible suggests that a holy food – a meal offering or a sin offering – transfers holiness to something (or to someone?) that touches it. But rabbinic tradition refuses to see the idea of contagious holiness even there; it changes the meaning of the word “touch” in these two verses to a reference to ‫בליעה‬ – the “swallowing” or “absorbing” of some of the material of the holy item into the non-holy item.10 “Swallowing,” in the halakhic system, cannot be the result of simple contact or touch; cooking items together would be one of the ways that one item might swallow or absorb something from a second item. In such a situation, the mixture – i.e., the non-holy item into which some of the holy item has penetrated – must be treated with the solemnity and the restrictions that would apply to the  7  See Sifra Tzav 1: Rabbi Yose the Galilean says: When the text says “Anything that touches the altar becomes holy,” I might conclude that this refers both to items that belong on the altar and items that do not. For that reason the text says ‘sheep.’ Just as sheep belong on the altar [so also the verse refers to other items that belong on the altar,] but not items that do not belong on the altar … When the verse says, ‘Anything that touches the altar becomes holy,’ it teaches us that the altar transfers holiness to items that are worthy of becoming holy. And how do we know that [Temple] vessels [that are holy] transfer holiness [only] to those items that are worthy to become holy? In order to teach us that principle, the verse says …” (my translation).  8  Rashi ad Exod 30:29.  9 In addition to the text cited above in note 7, see also m. Zeba . 9:1 and 9:7; b. Zeba . 83a and 86a. 10  See especially Sifra Tzav 3: ,‫ יכול אעפ״י שלא בלע תלמוד לומר בבשרה‬,‫כל אשר יגע בבשרה יקדש‬ ‫עד שיבלע‬. This midrash halakhah is quoted often in the Talmud; see, e.g., b. Pesa . 45a and b. Naz. 37b.

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consecrated food of the sacrifice. Some of the halakhic principles of the rabbinic category of “admixtures” (‫ )תערובות‬are thus connected to or derived from our verses in Leviticus. In any case, as Shamma Friedman puts it, “Rather than an electricity-like quality that is conducted through all matter by contact, holiness is limited to the very substance of the original sacrifice, and transfers to another object only if that object absorbs some of the fluid of the sin offering!”11

3. Rashbam’s Explanation of the Torah Verses During the Middle Ages, a number of traditional Jewish exegetes attempted to recapture the original meaning of the biblical text and were willing, at times, to interpret legal passages from the Torah against the direction of standard rabbinic exegesis. Perhaps the most daring of such exegetes was Samuel ben Meir (Rashbam; 12th century Northern France).12 In the case of the four Torah verses that appear to describe contagious holiness, Rashbam adopts an interesting middle position. As was sometimes his custom, he broke with the midrashic tradition of exegesis. But, he still did not suggest that these verses meant that holiness was contagious and that an item that touched either the altar or the meat of a sin offering became holy. Instead, he wrote that the word ‫ יקדש‬in these four verses does not refer to the result of touching sancta (as all rabbinic exegetes and most moderns assume), but describes the preparation that a person has to do before touching the altar or the sacrificial food. Such a person ‫יקדש‬ – should purify himself or herself before touching the holy item.13 What attracted Rashbam to this interpretation? My answer is speculative, but based on my understanding of his general exegetical methodology.14 First of all, I assume that Rashbam was troubled by the inconsistency of the standard rabbinic exegesis. The classical rabbis explain the identical phrase – kol ha-nogea‘ beX yiqdash – in one way in Exodus and in another way in Leviticus. He may have also felt that each of those individual expla11 Friedman,

“Holy,” 122 (emphasis in the original). my “Tradition,” 173–86. See also more recently the introduction to my Peirush, esp. 16–18. 13 The interpretation can be found before his days, e.g. in Tg. Ps.-J. ad loc., and also in the LXX and the Vulgate. Rashbam repeats this explanation four times in his Torah commentary: ad Exod 29:37; 30:29; Lev 6:11 and 11:8. After Rashbam, Joseph Bekhor Shor offered this explanation (which he labeled ‫פשוטו‬, the plain or contextual meaning) as the first of three possible explanations of the text. (Bekhor Shor comments on this phrase only the first time it appears in the Torah, ad Exod 29:37.) 14 See, e.g., the introductory essay on Rashbam’s exegetical methodology in my Peirush, pp. i–xxxv. 12 See

Is Holiness Contagious?

257

nations was too far from the simple meaning of the words. Why did he then choose the “preparation” explanation?

3.1. Touitou on Rashbam Elazar Touitou has two interesting suggestions about this issue. He notes that Rashbam15 connects his interpretation of the phrase kol ha-nogea‘ beX yiqdash to a different exegetical problem, the one posed by Lev 11:8. In that verse, the phrase “Do not touch their carcasses” (‫ )ובנבלתם לא תגעו‬seems to say that it is forbidden to touch an animal’s carcass – but halakhah is clear that such touching is permitted. Rashbam says that Lev 11:8 means that a person who is intending to have contact with sancta in the near future may not touch a carcass. Rashbam bases this interpretation on the principle that, he claims, derives from the phrase kol ha-nogea‘ beX yiqdash – i.e., the principle that people should prepare for contact with holy items by purifying themselves beforehand. Touitou argues that Rashbam’s explanation of Lev 11:8 is unique,16 and he implies that the innovative explanation of the four instances in the Torah of kol ha-nogea‘ beX yiqdash was necessary for Rashbam to establish his innovative explanation of Lev 11:8. But I would argue that Rashbam’s explanation of Lev 11:8 is hardly unique; it is simply a reformulation of the standard rabbinic understanding of that verse. The Talmud and then later Rashi say that the injunction against touching a carcass is not to be understood as a general restriction, but applies specifically on a pilgrimage holiday17 – in other words, at the time that the average Israelite is encouraged and required to come in contact with sancta. Such an Israelite about to make a pilgrimage should not touch a carcass. Rashbam’s explanation of Lev 11:8 – “‘Do not touch their carcasses’ at a time when you have to touch a holy item or eat holy food” – is then an ever-so-slightly expanded version of the traditional understanding. (Not just when you are going to Jerusalem for a pilgrimage festival, but whenever you have reason to think that you are likely to have contact with sancta.) An innovative understanding of kol ha-nogea‘ beX yiqdash was not required for the sake of solving the problem of Lev 11:8, as the rabbis managed to solve the problem of that verse – essentially the same way that Rashbam did – without having recourse to Rashbam’s novel understanding of kol ha‑ nogea‘ beX yiqdash. Touitou’s second suggestion is that Rashbam offered that explanation of kol ha-nogea‘ beX yiqdash “apparently also because it was appropriate for to Lev 11:8. Cf. Lockshin, Peirush, p. 354.  Touitou, Exegesis, 183: “this last explanation is different from anything that is found in rabbinic literature.” 17 Sifra Shemini 2, b. Roš Haš. 16b, and Rashi ad Lev 11:6. 15 Commentary 16

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teshuvat ha-minim,”18 i.e. for anti-Christian polemical purposes. But it is not clear to me (nor does Touitou explain) in what way Rashbam’s interpretation of kol ha-nogea‘ beX yiqdash is better suited for polemics than the standard rabbinic interpretation of the phrase.

3.2. The “Preparation” Explanation as Peshat Of course it cannot be ruled out that the reason that Rashbam explained the phrase kol ha-nogea‘ beX yiqdash the way he explained it was because he thought that that was what the phrase meant. One modern critical scholar, Baruch Levine,19 has argued for Rashbam’s explanation of the phrase, namely that it means that people must purify themselves before touching holy things. He explains that a close reading of Lev 6:11 supports this understanding. The first half of the verse – ‫כל זכר בכהנים יאכלנה‬ – is clearly meant to restrict the list of people who would be allowed to eat the sin offering. Then, Levine argues, the end of the verse – ‫כל אשר יגע בהם יקדש‬ – further restricts the people who are allowed to eat it. Those who eat not only have to be male Aaronide priests, they have to be male Aaronide priests who have gone through a preparatory purification ceremony. Jacob Milgrom, however, roundly rejects this reading. Milgrom points out that the phrase kol ha-nogea‘ beX yiqdash is so similar to the common phrase in Leviticus kol ha-nogea‘ beX yi ma’20 that it makes no sense to interpret them differently. If the latter phrase means that touching something impure leads to a transfer of impurity, then the former phrase, Milgrom claims, must mean that touching something holy leads to a transfer of holiness.21

3.3. “Contagious Holiness” and “Preparation” Explanations Contrasted As noted, virtually no traditional Jewish exegete follows the “contagious holiness” interpretation for the phrase kol ha-nogea beX yiqdash. One of the best left-handed compliments in the history of Jewish Bible exegesis is found in David Zvi Hoffmann’s commentary on Lev 6:11, where he says that Rashbam’s comment on this verse is the best explanation from among all the explanations that reject Jewish tradition.22 In other words, Rashbam is willing, as he often is, to ignore the thrust of rabbinic exegesis and go his  Touitou, Exegesis, 183. Leviticus, ad loc. 20 Lev 11:24, 26, 27 and 31; 15:10, 19 and 27. 21  Milgrom, Leviticus, esp. 444–56. 22 “Dies ist noch die vernünftigste aller antitraditionellen Erklärungen,” in Hoffmann, Buch, 238. 18

19 Levine,

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259

own way. Hoffmann is not enamored of this, but he considers Rashbam’s approach better than that of the critics who see the idea of contagious holiness in the verse.

4. Haggai and Contagious Holiness Did Rashbam stay away from the explanation of contagious holiness simply because his heterodoxy had reached its limits? Perhaps. But it is also possible that he was motivated by a desire to interpret the Torah in such a way as not to contradict another biblical text relating to the question of the contagion of holiness: Hag 2:12–13. In the book of Haggai, a conversation takes place between the prophet and a group of priests. The simplest translation23 of this conversation seems to be: 12

“If a man is carrying holy flesh (‫ )בשר קודש‬in a fold of his garment, and with that fold touches bread, stew, wine, oil or any other food, will the latter become holy (‫”?)היקדש‬ In reply the priests said, “No.” 13Haggai went on, “If someone defiled by a corpse touches any of them, will it be defiled (‫ ”?)היטמא‬And the priests responded, “Yes.”

Following the plain meaning, Haggai is saying unambiguously that impurity is contagious but that holiness is not. This is also standard halakhah. It is therefore understandable that rabbinic exegetes including Rashbam do not want to explain Leviticus and / or Ezekiel in a way that contradicts both halakhah and the book of Haggai.

5. Abraham ibn Ezra and Contagious Holiness Curiously there is one classical exegete, Abraham ibn Ezra, who does contradict tradition on this issue. In his commentaries to Exodus, Leviticus, and Haggai,24 he says that contact with sancta does transfer holiness.25 While ibn Ezra is untroubled or perhaps unaware that this explanation flies in the face of rabbinic tradition, he does realize that there is an apparent contradiction between Haggai and Leviticus. This he solves creatively by suggesting26 that the first question that Haggai posed to the priests was tricky. Had he asked whether sacrificial meat itself transfers holiness to another object, 23

 A slight reworking of the NJPS translation. Ezra’s commentary to Ezekiel is lost. 25 Longer commentary to Exod 29:37. See also his commentaries to Lev 6:11 and 20, and to Hag 2:12. Cf. Friedman, “Holy,” p. 121, note 2, who writes that ibn Ezra “approaches communicable holiness.” 26 Commentary to Haggai 2:12. 24 Ibn

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they naturally and correctly would have answered in the affirmative. But he was checking to see whether the priests knew the rule that if the holy meat were in a container and the container – but not the meat – touched another item, then holiness would not be transferred since there was no direct contact with the sancta. (Among moderns, Michael Fishbane also explains the Haggai text in this way.27) Thus ibn Ezra resolves the internal biblical contradiction: all the texts agree, he says, that holiness is contagious. The only problem remaining is the inconsistency of ibn Ezra’s explanation with rabbinic understandings. It is, however, difficult to figure out when ibn Ezra is willing to buck tradition; on questions related to peshat versus rabbinic tradition, often he is more conservative than his older Northern French contemporary, Rashbam.28 But since scholars also disagree about the extent of ibn Ezra’s knowledge of rabbinic texts, it is hard to know when he is knowingly opposing tradition.

6. Haggai in Classical Rabbinic Exegesis In rabbinic literature, exegesis of the Haggai passage is unusual, too. The Babylonian Talmud assumes (non-intuitively) that the ‫ בשר קודש‬mentioned in the first question posed by the prophet is not a holy item but actually a defiled item (presumably based on seeing the word ‫ קודש‬as a euphemism, as we saw at the beginning of this paper in Rashi).29 As for the prophet’s question in verse 12, ‫היקדש‬, the Talmud says that it means the same as the question in verse 13, ‫היטמא‬. In other words, according to the Talmud, Haggai was quizzing the priests to see if they were experts in the rules of defilement. Verse 12 asks, “Would meat of x level of impurity impart defilement to an article that it touched?,” while vs. 13 asks, “Would a person of y level of impurity (where y is greater than x) impart defilement to an article that he or she touched?” The Talmud30 records a dispute between two thirdcentury rabbis about whether the priests failed or passed the test that they were given: ‫ לא אישתבש כהני‬:‫ ושמואל אמר‬,‫ אישתבש כהני‬:‫רב אמר‬ – “Rav says that the priests made a mistake; Samuel says that they did not.” As ibn Ezra points out in his commentary to Haggai,31 this interpretation is very difficult for, as he puts it: ‫והפך יקדש יטמא‬. ‫ יקדש‬ibn Ezra writes, is an antonym of ‫יטמא‬, not a synonym. And he adds, ‫ואם יקדש יטמא למה ישנה כי זה‬  See his Biblical, 296–98. my “Tradition” cited above note 12. See also more recently my “Lonely,” 291–300. 29 Such an understanding of the verb q-d-sh appears once also in Rashbam’s Torah commentary, ad Deut 22:9. Cf. Lockshin, Peirush, pp. 495–96. 30 b. Pesa . 16b–17a. 31 Commentary to Haggai 2:12. 27

28 See

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‫הכתוב אחר זה‬ – if the words really were synonyms, why would the text not use the same verb in both questions, which appear side by side, in order to make it clear that the same problem is being posed in each verse?32 For the Talmudic rabbis it seems that the principle that holiness is not contagious was so obvious that they could not even imagine that Haggai or any other prophet would have bothered to pose the question.33 So they turned two simple questions, which seemed to them too obvious, into two fairly complicated questions. In other words, after Haggai chapter 2 enunciated and, some might say, initiated the principle that holiness is not contagious, the principle became so central in Judaism that, by the time the rabbis commented on it, they felt that it did not even have to be discussed or proved.

7. Why No Contagious Holiness But perhaps rabbinic loyalty to the principle of non-contagious holiness is based on a deeper theological consideration. In their exegesis of the book of Haggai, Carol L. Myers and Eric M. Myers have argued: Although defilement is contagious (the answer to the second question [of Haggai: ML] being affirmative), holiness in contrast is not (the answer to the first question being negative). Sanctity is much more difficult to acquire and must be generated by direct involvement or behavior. Each individual becomes responsible for adherence to standards that lead towards holiness. This lesson greatly influenced the development of classical Judaism in which adherence to the halakhah, standards or law, became the only vehicle for achieving … holiness.34

In other words, in halakhic Judaism the idea that holiness might be spread merely through contact was unthinkable. Texts that seemed to suggest that it was (or even texts that implied that the question was worth asking) required re-interpretation. Even a peshat-oriented exegete like Rashbam, who frequently allowed himself to ignore the historical flow of traditional Jewish exegesis, was unwilling to support a reading that went against an undisputed and central Jewish value like this, that holiness does not come upon a person without effort. And even ibn Ezra, who suggests that holiness is contagious, in the end finds a way to come around to an ideological position that approximates the rabbinic worldview. For him, holiness may 32  Friedman (“Holy,” 126 n. 5) refers to this comment as “Ibn Ezra’s anti-talmudic polemic.” 33 So also Friedman, “Holy,” 125, “demonstrating how far the rabbis had distanced themselves from this biblical concept,” and 126–27, “The extended talmudic discussion … shows how completely this belief and its legal implications had disappeared from rabbinic thought.” 34 Meyers and Meyers, Haggai, 56.

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be contagious, but the message of the Haggai passage is that impurity is much more contagious than holiness is.35 When confronted with rabbinic texts that offer convoluted explanations of biblical verses, it makes sense to ask whether ideology may have led to those explanations. At times, as in the case of contagious holiness, examination of the exegesis may lead to a deeper understanding of the rabbinic worldview and theology.

Bibliography Fishbane, M. Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988. Friedman, S. “The Holy Scriptures Defile the Hands.” Pages 117–132 in Minhah le‑Nahum: Biblical and Other Studies Presented to Nahum M. Sarna in Honour of his 70th Birthday. Edited by M. Brettler and M. Fishbane. Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993. Hoffmann, D. Das Buch Leviticus: Übersetzt und erklärt. 2 vols. Berlin: M. Poppelauer, 1905–1906. Levine, B. A. Leviticus. The JPS Torah Commentary. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989. Lockshin, M. I. “Lonely Man of Peshat.” Jewish Quarterly Review 99 (2009): 291– 300. –. Peirush ha-Rashbam al ha-Torah. 2 vols. Jerusalem: Choreb Press, 2009. –. “Tradition or Context: Two Exegetes Struggle with Peshat.” Pages 173–186 in From Ancient Judaism to Modern Israel: Intellect in Quest of Understanding. Essays in Honour of Marvin V. Fox. Edited by J. Neusner, E. Frerichs, and N. Sarna. 4 vols. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989. Meyers, C. L. and E. M. Meyers. Haggai, Zechariah 1–8. Anchor Bible 25B. New York: Doubleday, 1987. Milgrom, J. Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. Anchor Bible 20. New York: Doubleday, 1991. Miqraot Gedolot Torat Hayyim, 7 volumes (Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 1986). Sarna, N. M. Exodus. The JPS Torah Commentary. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1991. Touitou, E. Exegesis in Perpetual Motion. Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 2003.

35 In his commentary to Hag 2:14: “It is now clear that the power of any holy item to transfer holiness to an item that is not holy by touch through some intermediary is not like [i.e. is not as strong as] the power of a person who is impure through contact with a dead body to transfer impurity.”

Sanctification and Shame Bialik’s In the City of Slaughter in Light of Leviticus and Ezekiel1

Yedida Eisenstat In the wake of the Kishinev pogrom of Easter 1903, Simon Dubnow, the head of the Jewish Historical Society in Odessa, sent Hayyim Nahman Bialik to Kishinev to collect documentary evidence, photographs, and testimonials of the tragedy. His instructions were to create a historical “picture” based on the evidence and testimonies. After weeks of collecting such materials, he instead composed the epic poem In the City of Slaughter (hereafter: Slaughter) rather than a document for the historical record.2 Of the many literary responses to the Kishinev pogrom, Slaughter is the most well known. The other poems written in response to the pogrom were more traditional laments intended to evoke sorrow and pity, including Bialik’s own earlier poetic composition ‘Al Hashe itah. In contrast, Slaughter was a “radical and paradigm-shattering document” in that it lashed out and raged against the victims, wrote Mintz.3 In the Ukraine, the poem was read in nationalist and socialist circles as a cry to self-defense, and in the Jewish Labor movement in Palestine and throughout Europe, the poem played an important role “in the construction of the exilic Jew, and in fixing a conception of national honor.”4 Generations of critics have read and reread Slaughter and analyzed the techniques Bialik used in composing this masterpiece. As a Hebrew poet of the early twentieth century, he of course employed biblical allusion, intertextual invocation, and biblical language. The task of the interpreter is to identify these allusions and intertexts, and to determine their significance. Critics have noted the prophetic tone and the relationship between Bialik’s Slaughter and the book of Ezekiel. Lahover, Miron, Mintz, and Shavit all discuss the prophetic form of the poem in their analyses and note a rela1 I would like to thank my mentors and teachers for encouraging me to write this essay, reading its many drafts, and for their comments and insights. Thank you: Barbara Mann, Sara R. Horowitz, Ryan Dulkin, Robert Harris, Burton Visotzky, and Carl S. Ehrlich. 2 Lahover, “Poetry,” 9–10. 3 Mintz, “Kishinev,” 3. 4  Ibid., 5–6.

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tionship with Ezekiel and the Bible more generally. However, there are echoes of Ezekiel in Slaughter that have not yet been noted or fully mined for meaning. In the following discussion, I will attempt further to demonstrate the ways in which Bialik echoed, parodied, and inverted the notion of Qiddush Hashem, the sanctification of God’s name, which the rabbis developed from the book of Leviticus, as well as how he used the book of Ezekiel, the earliest text of Jewish exile and the prophetic record of a priest, as the larger framework for his literary witnessing of the pogrom.5 I will illuminate the deeper meaning and understanding of some elements of the poem and its underlying structure by reading it in light of a number of priestly theological notions and, especially, the book of Ezekiel.

1. Sanctification and Martyrdom – Inverted As described by Menakhem Perry, Slaughter is one of Bialik’s “inverted” poems.6 When the reader begins the poem, s/ he expects it to be a lamentation about the tremendous violence and destruction perpetrated against the community of Kishinev, a testimony to its sacrifice and martyrdom. The narrator instructs the listener to: (lines 1–5 in the Hebrew; lines 1–7 in the English translation)7: Arise and go now to the city of slaughter; Into its courtyards wend thy way; There with thine own hand touch, and with the eyes of thine head, Behold on tree, on stone, on fence, on mural clay, The spattered blood and dried brains of the dead. Proceed then hence to the ruins, the split walls reach, Where wider grows the hollow, and greater grows the breach; 5 For more about the development of the notion of sanctification of God’s name as martyrdom, see Cohen, Sanctifying, 1–30. 6 These poems are identified by five criteria: 1. The sequel or end of the inverted poem cancels out the meaning the reader has attached to the first part of the poem. 2. The implications of the new interpretation are diametrically opposed to those of the former. 3. The inverted poem actively leads the reader astray, and the devices employed for misleading the reader can be pointed out. 4. On the other hand, the poet subtly hints at the real subject of the inverted poem from the very beginning. 5. The inversion that takes place organizes the composition of the whole poem, and is not to be regarded as merely a local technique. See Perry, Structures, 261. 7 Unless otherwise noted, the English translation offered is that of A. M. Klein as per Bialik, Slaughter.

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,‫החצרות‬-‫קום לך לך אל עיר ההרגה ובאת אל‬ ‫הגדרות‬-‫ובעיניך תראה ובידך תמשש על‬ ‫גבי טיח הכתלים‬-‫ועל העצים ועל האבנים ועל‬ .‫החללים‬-‫מח הנקשה של‬-‫את הדם הקרוש ואת‬ ‫הפרצים‬-‫החרבות ופסחת על‬-‫ובאת משם אל‬ As the poem continues, the reader realizes that this poem is most certainly not a lament but rather an expression of wrath against the victims of the pogrom. Bialik moves his readers from their first impression of the poem to realizing the poem’s real intent by “forcefully neutralizing this influential primacy-impact and vigorously inverting it.”8 The following will show how Bialik does this by inverting the poem’s attitude toward the idea and terms of Jewish martyrdom, Qiddush Hashem, in light of its biblical origins. In doing so, he mocks and questions the very notion of martyrdom – in his modern times. The notion and terminology of Jewish martyrdom develop out of the biblical trope of sanctifying God’s name by keeping his commandments.9 Leviticus 22:31–32 says, “You shall faithfully observe My commandments: I am the Lord. You shall not profane My holy name, that I may be sanctified in the midst of the Israelite people – I the Lord who sanctify you.”10 Israel sanctifies the name of God by observing his commandments, and therefore, the converse is true as well. When Israel does not keep God’s commandments, his reputation is desecrated and his name profaned; thus the juxtaposition of the verses. By means of rabbinic interpretation, Lev 22:32 became the source of the commandment to “sanctify God’s name” by giving up one’s life under only very specific extenuating circumstances.11 The prominent medieval Jewish Bible commentator, Rashi, asked, “What did the Torah mean [by the phrase] ‘that I may be sanctified’?” To which he answers, “To give one’s self [as a martyr] and sanctify My Name.”12 This is one representation of the tradition by which Jewish martyrs are called “holy ones,” qedoshim in Hebrew.  Perry, Structures, 260. note that throughout this essay “God” will be capitalized when referring to the biblical and religious deity. Lower case “god” will be used to refer to the god of Bialik’s poem, essentially a literary and cultural construct based of course on the religious deity but nonetheless a different character. It should also here be noted that (lower-case) masculine pronouns will be used to refer to both God and god since these figures were conceived of as essentially male. When pronouns referring to God or god are capitalized in translations, they remain so. 10 The biblical translations are, unless otherwise noted, those of the NJPS Tanakh. 11  B. Sanh. 74a–b. Cf. also Maimonides, Hilchot Yesodei Hatorah 5:1–3. 12 Rashi is here quoting the Torat Kohanim 9:34. Torat Kohanim also known as Sifra is the tannaitic midrash on the book of Leviticus.  8

 9 Please

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Bialik first uses the term qedoshim, ‫“ קדושים‬holy ones,” to refer to martyrs in line 35: “The spirits of the martyrs are these souls gathered together at long last” (lines 43–44 in the English). This initial usage seems not to be ironic. It seems even to express some reverence for those whom “the hatchet found” (line 37 in the Hebrew; line 46 in the English). Upon first reading, these poor souls are simply terrified victims. “Their silence whimpers, and it is their eyes which cry, Wherefore, O Lord, and why?” (line 41 in the Hebrew; lines 50–51 in the English). The next usage of the term refers to the qedoshot ‫קדושות‬, the women physically struggling under the weight of their rapists, while their husbands, bridegrooms, and brothers hide in dark corners (line 71 in the Hebrew; line 93 in the English). It is in this scene that the poem introduces the rhetoric of blame and frustration by describing the Jewish men cowering hidden in the dark, praying that the attackers not find them (lines 60–77 in the Hebrew; lines 90–104 in the English). The poem asks implicitly: why weren’t they trying to protect their wives, brides and sisters? The poem presents the Jewish men of Kishinev not as victims but rather as cowards.13 The poet prophet is directed to go to “their lairs,” where the Jews hid (lines 86–92 in the Hebrew; lines 114–120 in the English): Come now, and I will bring thee to their lairs, the privies, jakes and pigpens where the heirs Of Hasmoneans lay, with trembling knees, Concealed and cowering, – the sons of the Maccabees! The seed of “saints,” the scions of the lions! Who, crammed by scores in all the sanctuaries of their shame, So sanctified My Name!14

:‫כל המחבואים‬-‫ועתה לך והבאתיך אל‬ .‫ מכלאות חזירים ושאר מקומות צואים‬,‫בתי מחראות‬ ‫וראית בעיניך איפה היו מתחבאים‬ ,‫המכבים‬-‫אחיך בני עמך ובני בניהם של‬ ."‫ניני האריות שב"אב הרחמים" וזרע ה"קדושים‬ ,‫עשרים נפש בחור אחד ושלשים שלשים‬ …‫ויגדלו כבודי בעולם ויקדשו שמי ברבים‬ Here, the divine voice of the poem reminds the reader of the true Jewish warriors and martyrs of old, the Maccabees, who fought valiantly against 13  Based on the evidence and testimony that Bialik himself collected, it is clear that there were efforts towards Jewish self-defense and organization. For a discussion of why Bialik nevertheless chose to write this less than historically accurate poem, see Gluzman, “Pogrom.” 14 Please note that I have added the quotation marks around “saints” to reflect the Hebrew original, “‫קדושים‬,” which has the term in quotation marks.

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their Greek oppressors. He then contrasts their behavior with that of these “saints,” these “holy ones,” thereby desecrating the divine Name in their cowering shame. The last line is biting. Through the sarcasm of “So sanctified My Name,” Bialik shames these so-called qedoshim for their cowardice, for their willingness to be slaughtered. They are an embarrassment to God. Bialik delegitimizes their status as martyrs, making them mere lowly victims. The term qedoshim ‫ קדושים‬has other biblical implications that are worthy of consideration as well. The biblical term for a category of sanctified animal sacrifices is qodashim, which is verbally related to qedoshim.15 Jewish martyrs, those who sanctify God’s name in their deaths, are also considered to be “sacrifices.” Bialik wants the reader to consider the term in light of its connotations of sacrifice, which he indicates by employing the specific Hebrew verb sh ‫“ שח"ט‬to slaughter.” In the priestly tradition, this is the particular verb used to connote the ritual slaughter of sacrifices.16 Just as Bialik’s usage of qedoshim changes as the poem progresses, so too does his usage of the Hebrew verb “to slaughter” ‫שח"ט‬. The first occurrence of the verb is towards the beginning of the poem (lines 21–22 in the Hebrew; lines 25–26 in the English): For God called up the butcher and the spring together, – The slaughterer slaughtered, the blossom burst, and it was sunny weather.17

:‫יחד‬-‫קרא אדני לאביב ולטבח גם‬-‫כי‬ .‫ השטה פרחה והשוחט שחט‬,‫השמש זרחה‬ This is still in the early part of the poem, in which it still seems to be a lament over the destruction. So, too, is the usage in line 48: “A tale of slaughtered men (‫ שחוטים‬she u im) who were hung from the rafters.”18 This resonates emotionally because human beings are not supposed to be “slaughtered” as sacrifices. The next usages are in line 64, referring to “the slaughter” as 15 Cf.

Lev 2:3, 10; 6:10, 18, 22; 21:22; and Num 5:9. There are many more examples. Ex 29:11; 34:25; Lev 1:5, 11; 4:24; 9:8; and Num 19:3. Koehler and Baumgartner, Lexicon, 1458–1459. Clements, shht, 563–566, Also Botterweck, Ringren and Fabry, Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, vol. XIV, 563–565. “The uniform nature of such use shows that the Israelite priestly regulations understood sh.h.t as a technical term referring to the quick (and humane?) killing of an animal through slitting the throat; the animal’s body and blood were then used in ritual acts.” In P-texts, when this verb is used in reference to human beings, it is still in ritual contexts of sacrifice. In non-priestly texts, this verb may be used to refer to the killing of people. 17 Note that I have changed the English translation somewhat in this quotation. Klein’s translation does not reflect the differences in the connotations of the two Hebrew verbs, ‫שח"ט‬, with its connotations of ritual slaughter, and ‫טב"ח‬, connoting profane slaughter or “slaying.” 18 This is my own translation of Hebrew line 48. Klein’s translation is in line 61. 16 Cf.

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the time span before, during, and after which Jewish women were raped. By referring to the pogrom as “the slaughter,” Bialik maintains the term’s expected lachrymose sense. In the middle section of the poem, the notion of martyrs as ritually slaughtered sacrifices is completely inverted by the use of new terms that reflect profane slaughter, mere murderous killing. This section begins with the divine voice telling the poet-prophet to leave the city and go to the cemetery, to the graves of the qedoshim (line 140 in the Hebrew; line 178 in the English translation). The divine speaker says to the prophet (Hebrew lines 146–155; my own translation): Here are my slain calves. Here they lie, all of them – And if there is recompense for their death – say, in what shall it be paid? Forgive Me, wretched of the earth, your God is poor like you, He is poor in your lives, all the more so in your deaths. Tomorrow when you come for your reward and knock on My door – I will open for you, Come and see: I have fallen from My riches! I grieve for you, my children. My heart. My heart over you: Your dead – dead in vain. And I and you We do not know why, nor for whom nor why. And there is no reason for your deaths, just as there is no reason for your lives.19

–  ‫ הנה הם שוכבים כלם‬,‫הנה עגלי הטבחה‬ ?‫ במה ישלם‬,‫– אמר‬  ‫ואם יש שלומים למותם‬ ,‫ אלהיכם עני כמותכם‬,‫ עלובי עולם‬,‫סלחו לי‬ ,‫עני הוא בחייכם וקל וחמר במותכם‬ –  ‫דלתי‬-‫שכרכם ודפקתם על‬-‫כי תבאו מחר על‬ !‫ ירדתי מנכסי‬:‫ באו וראו‬,‫אפתחה לכם‬ :‫ ולבי לבי עליכם‬,‫ בני‬,‫וצר לי עליכם‬ ‫אתם‬-‫אני וגם‬-‫ וגם‬,‫– חללי חינם‬  ‫חלליכם‬ ,‫מה מתם‬-‫מי ועל‬-‫ידענו למה מתם ועל‬-‫לא‬ .‫ואין טעם למותכם כמו אין טעם לחייכם‬ Bialik’s usage of qedoshim in telling the poet-prophet to go stand over the graves of the dead is revealed as ironic a few lines later. They are not holy sacrifices, rather merely “slain calves,” ‫עגלי הטבחה‬, slain profanely – not ritually slaughtered. In the following lines, the dead are no longer venerable martyrs. They are merely dead. They thought they were martyring themselves and that there would be a reward for their ultimate expression of piety. Alas, their god is poor and cannot pay it. They died in vain, to no end, to no purpose – just as they lived their lives. In Ezekiel 20, God tells Ezekiel to speak to the elders of Israel and recount their history to them. According to this version of Israel’s past, they 19 Klein’s

translation is in lines 187–196.

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repeatedly disobey God’s explicit instructions, and God desires to blot them out. However, in “acting for the sake of His name,” his reputation, God refrains so that his name is not “profaned” among the nations.20 This is the same God, who seeks to destroy Israel after the sin of the golden calf and that of the spies. In both cases, Moses appeals to him not to destroy the people because were he to do so, his name would be profaned in Egypt and among the other nations.21 This is the God that Bialik had in mind while composing Slaughter. The pogrom victims who the reader originally thought were qedoshim, “holy ones,” are called allalim ‫( חללים‬Hebrew lines 153 and 159; lines 194 and 200 in the English). The impact and meaning of this term can only be understood in light of its absolute opposition to the Hebrew root ‫קד"ש‬, “holy” and sanctified – the root of qedoshim, martyrs. The Hebrew root that allal is derived from, ‫חֹל"ל‬, means to desecrate or to make profane. It does not connote neutrality but rather the extreme opposite of holiness and sanctity. In Lev 22:32, God not only charges Israel with sanctifying his name but also commands them, “You shall not profane My holy name,” using this very verb. The allalim of the poem are merely profane dead. Their deaths are not sanctifications. Their profane deaths are the opposite of holy. Bialik’s inversion of the notion of martyrdom is now complete. He presents the martyrs, the “sanctifiers of God’s name,” rather as its desecrators and profaners. The many gruesome images of the raped and the dead in the first half of the poem are now understood to be sources of shame, not scenes of tragedy.

2. Raging Prophets in Their Own Times The poem’s first line, the command to the poet-prophet to “Arise and go now to the city of Slaughter,” ‫קום לך לך‬, is the first indication that the poem employs biblical and prophetic language. This language echoes God’s first instructions both to Jonah to go prophesy over Nineveh and to Abraham to leave his home and then later to go bind his “only” son (Jonah 1:2; 3:1; and Gen 12:1; 22:2). As the directives continue, it becomes clear to the reader that God himself is the intended speaker, which gives the poem its prophetic tone.22 20

 Cf. Ezek 20: 8–9, 13–14, and a variation in vss. 21–22. Exod 32:12 and Num 14:13–17. 22 It is worth noting that, although the poem is prophetic in tone, unlike biblical prophetic works, the prophet of Slaughter never confirms that he did as he was told. Rather, because the god of the poem gives further directives, the reader assumes that the poet-prophet did as he was told. 21 Cf.

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Dan Miron points out that Bialik’s choice of the prophetic mode, by speaking in God’s voice as it were, raises the poem to a pseudo-theological level.23 However, the more specific choice to echo the book of Ezekiel throughout the poem is very telling. Ezekiel was the prophet of the exile, sent to Babylonia with the first wave of exiles in 597 B. C. E., eleven years prior to the destruction of the First Temple in Jerusalem. As “prophet of the exile,” he struggled to provide a theology to his displaced community that would allow for the idea of God’s continued presence among them outside of their land.24 Indeed, his initial prophetic vision of the divine chariot on the banks of the river Chebar is exactly that, a vision of God in exile with his people (cf. Ezek 1:1). Like Ezekiel, Bialik the “national poet” wrote a “prophetic” text about the Jewish experience in exile. However, this was an ironic choice. Even in exile, Ezekiel’s God is obsessed with his power and his reputation, which is clear from the refrain throughout the biblical book, “And they [Israel] will know that I am the Lord.”25 This is the same prideful ideology as is expressed in Lev 22:32 when God says, “You shall not profane My holy name, that I may be sanctified in the midst of the Israelite people.” Whereas the god-speaker of Slaughter is as wretched and poor as his battered people, he is neither sanctified among them nor by them. “Forgive, ye shamed of the earth, yours is a pauper-Lord!” (Hebrew line 148; 189 in the English). Fischel Lahover explains that Bialik’s choice to echo Ezekiel is a choice to identify with “the anger and rage in the heart of the poet [Ezekiel], rage without mercy. And more than Bialik pours out [anger] against the wicked enemy, he directs his anger against the nation that the enemy is raging against,” i.e., Israel herself.26 The allusions to Ezekiel enhance what Michael Gluzman calls Slaughter’s “rhetoric of wrath.”27 Ezekiel the prophet rails against the people on behalf of their proud God, upbraiding them for their religious violations. Bialik shames his people for their cowardice. The shocking effect of each of these works is in their damning of the Jews. The levels of their fury are comparable, even if the motivations for their respective rages are significantly different. The allusions and intertexts between Slaughter and Ezekiel further establish the close relationship between these two texts and make clear that Bialik structured Slaughter with Ezekiel in mind while commenting on contemporary events. For example, Ezekiel is the only biblical book in which the Mode, 89. Ehrlich, “Anti-Judäismus.” 25  Ezek 5:13, 6:10, 13, 14, 7:4 and many more. A search showed 79 occurrences in Ezekiel. 26 Lahover, “Poetry,” 12. 27 Gluzman, “Pogrom,” 47. 23 Miron, 24 See

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prophet is addressed as “Son of Man.”28 In Bialik’s poem, the divine speaker addresses the poet-prophet as “Son of Man” five times (in Hebrew lines 97, 128, 163, 195, and 267). Bialik’s vocative usage of “Son of Man” in the poem is intended as an arrow directing the reader to notice other meaningful similarities and differences in relation to Ezekiel. Further, the god of the poem does not allow his prophet any satisfying emotional reaction to the trauma of witnessing such violence. Similarly, Ezekiel is instructed upon the death of his wife, “You shall not lament or weep or let your tears flow” (Ezek 24:15–16). The prophetic mode allows for the flexibility between the imagined and the real, which Lahover calls “two extremes of the human experience that never join each other.”29 The repeated emphasis throughout the poem on seeing creates the effect of the hazy prophetic vision, a special blurring of the lines between the real and the imagined. The poem’s divine speaker commissions the poet-prophet to “See with your eyes” (Hebrew line 2) and to “see” again and again (in Hebrew lines 34, 43, 63, 88, 171, 186, 214 and 248). Charged by the Odessa Historical Society with documenting the real pogrom for posterity, Bialik consciously chose to present the images of the tragedy within a genre reserved for the imagined, another ironic choice.

3. The Silent Tourist Witness As mentioned above, the task of the poet-prophet in Slaughter is to actively “see” over and over again, as he is led around the grounds of post-pogrom Kishinev. This combination of sights and seeing also occurs in Ezekiel’s lesser-known vision of divine abandonment, especially in chapter 8. Ezekiel 8 is the visionary account of the prophet’s being led from site to site inside the Temple. At each site, God tells him to “see,” effectively to bear witness to the abominations taking place in God’s house. “Come and see the awful abominations they are doing here” (Ezek 8:3–6, 7–13, 14–15 and 16–17). As Daniel Block explains this phenomenon: With respect to genre, while the narration of a vision obviously continues, the account takes on a quasi-legal flavor, with the prophet himself playing a quasi-legal role as a witness to the proceedings that God has brought against His people. The relationship between 8:5–18 and 9:1–11 corresponds to the link between formal indictment and announcement of the sentence in prophetic oracles of judgment.30

28 For just a few examples, see Ezek 2:1, 6, and 8. A computer search for the term showed that this form of address is used 93 times in Ezekiel. 29 Lahover, “Poetry,” 12. 30 Block, Ezekiel, 303.

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At each of these sites, the tour guide, God himself, says to his prophet, “Do you see?”31 The proud and furious God of Ezekiel takes his prophetwitness around to see the evidence of the offenses of his people, bowing and sacrificing to other gods in his Temple! The theology of punishment in Ezekiel is such that God is just and cannot punish Israel without first warning them. In Ezekiel’s commissioning, God explains that he knows that the Israelites are “a rebellious breed.” Nevertheless, he must send a prophet to deliver his message. As long as the prophet warns them of the consequences of their continued bad behavior, it does not matter “Whether they listen or not,” their punishment is duly forewarned (Ezek 2:5). This theology is also found in the “watcher” prophecies of Ezekiel 3, 33 and 37, in which God explains that he has also made Ezekiel a “watcher,” a guard on duty to warn the people of a coming attack. In the vision of Ezekiel 9, the attacker is none other than God himself. If only the people would listen to the watcher and defend themselves against the impending doom by repenting! If the watcher fails to perform his duty, then the guilt for the resulting destruction would be his own. However, if he fulfills his task of delivering the message and the people fail to defend themselves by changing their wicked ways, then the people are responsible for their own doom. Thereby, Ezekiel’s prophetic role is double: he acts as God’s messenger, but in delivering God’s warnings, he is also the witness to the message’s delivery  – God’s witness. Miron explains that from the moment of its birth in the late eighteenth century, the “new Hebrew poetry” also conceived of its role as that of a “watchman unto the house of Israel,” mimicking the role of the prophet as presented specifically in the book of Ezekiel. This poetic genre of the Jewish intelligentsia sought to address the contemporary concerns of the Jewish people, both as individuals and as a group. Miron observes that it intended to be “the modern equivalent of biblical prophecy, which, never pretending to serve as a conduit for God’s direct word, nevertheless had the authority to act as the people’s guide.”32 And within this genre of new Hebrew prophetic poetry, it was Bialik who became known as the modern national prophet. Like Ezekiel, Bialik was the watchman unto Israel.33 The similarities between Ezekiel 8 and the structure of Slaughter are purposeful and meaningful. In Ezekiel 8, God leads the prophet-witness to see the abominations the people are committing in the Temple for which 31  At this point I should note that Batsheva Ben-Amos also uses the metaphor of the “tour-guide” and “tourist” in her discussion of Slaughter. However, she argues that Bialik draws the tour structure of the poem from Tolstoy’s Sevastopol in December, whereas I argue that Bialik was echoing Ezekiel 8. Ben-Amos, “Tourist,” 363. 32 Miron, Mode, 4–5, and 15. 33 Miron, Mode, 22.

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they will be punished, according to Ezekiel. The structure of Slaughter is the same. God-the-divine-tour-guide leads his witness from site to site, not to witness abominations but rather to witness the horrific destruction and cowardice of the people. At each of the Temple sites in Ezekiel 8, God says to his witness, “Do you see?” (Ezekiel 8:6, 12, 15, 17). In Slaughter, the divine speaker repeatedly instructs the poet-prophet-witness with the imperative to “see” (Hebrew lines 2, 34, 43, 63, 88, 171, 186, 214, and 248). Uzi Shavit rightly observes that in Slaughter, the scenes exhibited to the witness become progressively more and more awful as the tour continues.34 So too in Ezekiel. After each of the first three of the four sites, God adds, “You shall see yet even greater abominations!” (Ezek 8:6, 13, and 15). Eventually, the worst is displayed, twenty-five men in the holiest area of the Temple, bowing eastward toward the sun, with their backs to God’s Temple (Ezek 8:16).35 Shavit writes that, in the poem, each site is “worse than the one before, especially with regard to the shame and lowliness [of the people]. Each description further emphasizes the wretchedness, degeneration and loss of self pride and humanity of the murdered, like mice, bugs and dogs.”36 According to Ezekiel, God cannot punish without both just cause and having warned the guilty parties to change their sinful ways. Therefore, any ensuing punishment is needless and preventable. If only the people would repent, then God wouldn’t have to punish them. In Ezekiel, the witnessing is both to the crime and to the warning. The punishment, even if carried out by the Babylonians, still emanates from omnipotent God. In Bialik’s poem Slaughter, the witnessing is to the aftermath of the needless, illogical, and unjustifiable violence of the pogrom. Unlike in Ezekiel, the god of Slaughter is not the source of the destruction. The god of the poem is impotent, “Brief-weary and forespent … Wishes to weep, but weeping does not come; Would roar; is dumb … Over the shadows of the martyr’d dead, Its tears in dimness and in silence shed” (lines 122–127 in the Hebrew; lines 158–164 in the English). At the same time, like Ezekiel, Bialik believed that the violence was preventable, at least to some extent. It is for this reason that he blames the victims of the pogrom for their own victimhood and suffering, and he rages against them. If only they had tried to fight, they either would have lived or at least died less shameful deaths.37 34 Shavit,

“Model,” 168. Succah 5:4 describes that in the time of the Second Temple during the celebration of the water drawing, two priests would proclaim upon reaching the East Gate of the Temple, “Our forefathers who were in this place had their backs to the sanctuary of the Lord and their faces to the east, and they were bowing to the sun. But us – our eyes are to the Lord!” The mishnaic reference here is to Ezek 8:16. 36 Shavit, “Model,” 168. 37 Cf. Slaughter, Hebrew lines 35–40 and 86–90. 35 Mishnah

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In their acts of witnessing, neither prophet-witness is allowed to express an emotional response to what he saw, as noted above. The divine instructors of both texts demand the suspension of all emotion from their respective prophets. In Ezekiel, upon his initial commissioning as prophet, and thereby as witness, God tells him, “And I will make your tongue cleave to your palate, and you shall be dumb … But when I speak with you, I will open your mouth, and you shall say to them, ‘Thus says the Lord God!’” (Ezek 3:26–27). Only after the Temple was destroyed would Ezekiel’s mouth be opened, that he could speak freely. “On that day, your mouth shall be opened to the fugitive, and you shall speak and no longer be dumb” (Ezek 24:26–27). In Ezekiel 9, during the intervening period of “muteness,” the elders of Judah sit before him, and he has the visions of his tour of the Temple and that of Jerusalem’s destruction. In chapter 8, the tour of abominations, there is no indication that Ezekiel is disturbed by what he sees. It is implicit that he is in ideological agreement with his divine guide, whose outrage is evident by his repeated angry refrain, “You shall see even greater abominations!” (Ezek 8:6, 13, and 15). The coming punishment of destruction is the ultimate demonstration of God’s ire. However, Ezekiel is overwhelmed by the vision of the “men in charge of the city [Jerusalem], each bearing his weapons of destruction,” instructed to go through the city, showing no pity or compassion, to kill the elderly, the youth, the women, and the children, sparing only those who have been marked. When he can no longer bear it, the silenced prophet nevertheless cries out, “Are you going to annihilate all that is left of Israel?” (Ezek 9:1–8). Throughout Slaughter, the poet-prophet is ordered by his guide to suppress his emotions. The prophet is told, “Stifle the wrath that mounts within thy throat. Bury these things accursed. Within the depth of thy heart, before thy heart will burst” (lines 56–57 in the Hebrew; lines 72–74 in the English). When the poet-prophet is directed to go to the cemetery, he is told to expect the following (lines 141–145 in the Hebrew, lines 180–186 in the English): Such silence will take hold of thee, thy heart will fail With pain and shame, yet I Will let not a tear fall from thine eye. Though thou wilt long to bellow like the driven ox That bellows, and before the altar balks, I will make hard thy heart, yea, I Will not permit a sigh.

:‫ונצבת על עפרם התחוח והשלטתי עליך דממה‬ –  ‫ולבבך ימק בך מעצר כאב וכלמה‬ ,‫תהיה דמעה‬-‫עיניך ולא‬-‫ועצרתי את‬ –  ‫עת לגעות היא כשור עקוד על המערכה‬-‫וידעת כי‬ .‫תבא אנחה‬-‫לבבך ולא‬-‫והקשחתי את‬

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Shavit points out that in both Ezekiel and Slaughter, it is God who disables the prophet’s ability to shed tears. 38 In Slaughter, it is god who “will not let a tear fall from thine eye.” He does not even allow Ezekiel to cry or mourn over his own wife’s death: “But you shall not lament or weep or let your tears flow. Moan softly; observe no mourning for the dead” (Ezek 24:16). Like smiling and laughing, crying is among the most basic non-verbal expressions of human emotion. In both texts, the divine figure asserts his power over the prophet by prohibiting him from having any emotional release, thereby recognizing his agent as only a commissioned prophetic officer and not as a human being with emotions. Bialik’s choice to use Ezekiel’s Temple tour vision in particular and the book of Ezekiel more generally as the model for Slaughter with respect to the witness-prophet’s silence establishes an expectation in the poem that eventually the poet-prophet will be allowed his emotional release, as in either Ezekiel’s outburst in 9:8, “Are you going to annihilate all that is left of Israel?” or when God finally “unmutes” him when the Temple is destroyed in 33:22. However, rather than consoling the people with visions of restoration and resurrection as in Ezekiel, thereby providing hope to a devastated Israel after their destruction, the poet-prophet of Slaughter is bid to bear his “cup of affliction” and commanded “to the desert, flee!” (lines 269–272 in the Hebrew; lines 351–355 in the English) Take thou thy soul, rend it into many a shred! With impotent rage, thy heart deform! Thy tear upon the barren boulders shed! And send thy bitter cry into the storm!

‫נפשך לעשרה קרעים‬-‫וקרעת שם את‬ ,‫אונים‬-‫לבבך תתן מאכל לחרון אין‬-‫ואת‬ ‫ודמעתך הגדולה הורד שם על קדקד הסלעים‬ .‫– ותאבד בסערה‬  ‫ושאגתך המרה שלח‬ Whereas Ezekiel is ultimately unburdened among his people, finally vindicated in his prophecies of doom and allowed to provide comfort, Bialik’s prophet may only release his emotions in the most barren of places, away from the people in absolute solitude. Only there can Bialik’s witness “cry into the storm,” where he will neither be heard nor emotionally satisfied. Bialik highlights the despair of the poem by disappointing the expectations of any kind of hopeful message or meaningful emotional release for the prophet. When the poet-prophet is finally bid to flee to the desert, it seems he might explode with emotion.

38 Shavit,

“Model,”170.

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Ironically, neither silent tourist witness actually reports his testimony as such back in his own context. God makes Ezekiel a witness to the abominations performed in the Temple in order to be vindicated in destroying Jerusalem. However, Bialik’s own witnessing, as charged by the Odessa Historical Society, was to the aftermath of a real pogrom, and while that is the general testimony of the poem, Bialik’s poet-prophet is explicitly referred to as “My witness,” ‫עדי‬. His witnessing is not to the destruction wrought by the pogrom but rather to the impotence and shame of Bialik’s feminized divine figure, the Shekhinah (Hebrew line 163; line 204 in the English). This feminized god is presented in contrast to the more masculine all-powerful biblical God. Bialik’s divine figure charges the prophet, “Or liefer keep thy silence, bear witness in My name to the hour of My sorrow, the moment of my shame.” (lines 163–164 in the Hebrew; lines 204–205 in the English). The Shekhinah herself was hiding in shame throughout the violence! And she wants the witness to remain silent so as not to testify to her weakness. Yet another irony in both of these texts is that the testimony of the witness, who himself is to be silent, is nevertheless recorded for posterity, for the later written record and its readers. Their testimony is ultimately given. Ezekiel’s vision is recorded in his book of prophecy, which was later included in the Hebrew Bible, and Bialik’s Slaughter is itself the very document he produced as the record of the pogrom! Bialik never completed the draft of the historical, non-poetic volume that he had been commissioned to produce.

4. Divine Abandonment Bialik calls upon yet another element of Ezekiel 8–11, the notion of divine abandonment, that God has left his people. In Slaughter, the narrator states that “their God has utterly forsaken every one,” ‫( ואלוהיהם עזבם‬line 234 in the Hebrew; lines 301–302 in the English). The vision in Ezekiel of God’s presence, the kavod Adonay, departing from its home in the Temple in Jerusalem is the primary concern of Ezekiel 8–11. Undoubtedly, this vision would have been especially disturbing to a former Temple priest, now a prophet of the exile. In 8:4, Ezekiel identifies the kavod Adonay as the same kavod that he had seen in the valley in his initial vision of 1:28. In kavod theology, God’s indwelling among the nation of Israel is a manifestation of the health of the deity’s relationship with the people. In Exod 29:45, God says, “I will abide among the Israelites, and I will be their God.” Earlier, in Exod 25:8, he tells Israel, “And let them make Me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them.” God’s presence first comes to dwell among the people upon completion of the Tabernacle in Exodus 40:34

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and then again upon completion of the Temple in 1 Kgs 8:10–11. Ezekiel’s vision of the kavod leaving its dwelling place in the Temple certainly bodes ill. Ezekiel 10 is the visionary account of the departure of the kavod from the Temple, the consequence of the abominations witnessed in chapter 8. Thus, God was justified in leaving his people and Temple. God’s presence first leaves the inner sanctum and fills the courtyard, then eventually mounts its winged, multi-faced, many-eyed chariot and departs. In the ancient Near East, a deity’s absence left its home, that is its temple, open to destruction. Block explains that the vision of the destruction of the heavenly Jerusalem per God’s own instruction and under his supervision in chapter 9, followed by the departure of God’s kavod in chapter 10, represents the Israelite equivalent of this psychologically devastating ancient Near Eastern motif.39 The absence of the deity left its patron city open to destruction; conversely the god’s presence guaranteed the city’s safety. Block continues that the promise of divine protection is at the very heart of the covenantal relationship.40 The irony of the situation in Ezekiel is that the people believe that God has left them before he really has. In 8:12, at the second site on the tour, the divine tour guide explains that the Israelite elders think they are justified in doing what they do “in the dark … saying, ‘The Lord does not see us. God has left the land.’” A similar idea is expressed in 9:9, where God explains to Ezekiel that the land has become full of bloodguilt because the people of Jerusalem say, “God has left the land. The Lord does not see.” According to priestly theology, God’s presence can only tolerate a certain amount of “pollution” in the Temple. Such pollution is caused by violation of the commandments.41 The consequences of violating the commandments are that God “will scatter you among the nations” and “will unsheathe the sword against you. Your land shall become a desolation and your cities a ruin” (Lev 26:33). According to Ezekiel, the sins and abominations of the people resulted in an intolerable accumulation of sin pollution in the Temple. The assumption of the people of Jerusalem that God had already left the land was in error. God was still there. He did see, and that was ultimately why he had to leave. This motif of divine abandonment, using the very specific Hebrew verb ‘azav, ‫עז"ב‬, with God as the subject, is unique in the Bible to these chapters of Ezekiel (cf. Ezek 8:12 and 9:9) and is clearly echoed ironically in line 234 of Slaughter (lines 301–302 in the English). There, the poet-prophet is in the synagogue watching the survivors of the pogrom listen to their preacher’s empty words. The omniscient narrator tells the poet-prophet, “their God  Block, Ezekiel, 34. Ezekiel, 293. 41 For more on this concept, see Milgrom, Leviticus, 42. 39

40 Block,

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has utterly forsaken every one,” using the same unique verb and subject as in Ezekiel: ve’lohehem ‘azavam. Block explains that, in Ezekiel, the Israelites mistakenly assumed God’s abandonment prematurely and turned to other gods in the hopes of security and protection.42 In Bialik’s inversion, the survivors of the pogrom in Slaughter stubbornly remain faithful to their impotent god. In Bialik’s poem, the god has really left, and yet the deserted people are foolish and remain faithful. Ezek 11:15 reports that the Jerusalemites who were not exiled in 597 believe that they are safe and that those who were taken into exile are the ones being punished. In truth, the opposite is the case. Ezekiel corrects their mistaken assumption and tells them, as God’s spokesman, that it is the exiles who will be brought back. More than that, he tells them that God “will be for them a diminished sanctity (‫ )מקדש מעט‬in the lands in which they come.” (Ezek 11:16) This “diminished sanctity” is the impotent “pauper god” of the poem (line 148 in the Hebrew; line 189 in the English).

5. God is Shamed by the Survivors After the section in the middle of the poem in which the poet makes explicit that the martyrs were too willing to die to no end, the poem turns away from the dead and toward the survivors. The divine guide tells the prophet, “Turn, then, thy gaze from the dead, and I will lead thee from the graveyard to thy living brothers” (lines 174–175 in the Hebrew; lines 218–219 in the English). At this point in the poem, it is already clear that the actions of the Jews reflect shamefully on their God, and Bialik goes on to highlight this. It is not only the dead who shame the god of the poem. It is also those who live on after them. It is the husbands, fathers and brothers who cowered in the corners praying for God to spare them (cf. line 77 in the Hebrew; line 104 in the English). When the violence ends, rather than expressing anger or despair over the violence, destruction and rape of their wives, “They crawled forth from their holes, they fled to the house of the Lord. They offered thanks to Him, the sweet benedictory word” (lines 81–82 in the Hebrew; lines 108–109 in the English). Bialik mocks this piety as well. According to Lev 21:7, a priest “shall not marry a woman defiled by harlotry, nor shall they marry one divorced from her husband.” Slaughter narrates that among the men cowering in the corners were a few priests who immediately ran to the “House of God.” After thanking God for sparing their lives, they immediately asked the rabbi for a halakhic decision as to whether they were permitted to have sexual relations with their defiled 42 Block,

Ezekiel, 36.

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279

wives. Rather than providing the answer, Bialik suggests that the legal decision is unimportant. He concludes the section by noting, “The matter ends, and nothing more. And all is as it was before” (lines 83–85 in the Hebrew; lines 110–114 in the English). As the poem continues, the divine tour-guide takes the poet-prophet from the cemetery to the house of prayer, where “those who lived through the slaying” are congregated (line 175 and my own translation). There, the poet-prophet will witness the pathetic despairing cries of a people so lost that their hearts are a “dreary waste, where even vengeance can revive no growth” (Hebrew line 182; lines 227–228 in the English translation). The god of the poem wonders why the survivors of the pogrom feign piety in their suffering and despair, mouthing empty prayers. He wonders why they bother to supplicate. Bialik claims that not only are their prayers empty, but that the people are so pathetic that even after all their centuries of suffering, they still do not express any anger toward God! (lines 191–194 in the Hebrew; lines 243–250 in the English): Wherefore their cries imploring, their supplication din? Speak to them, bid them rage! Let them against me raise the outraged hand, – Let them demand! Demand the retribution for the shamed Of all the centuries and every age! Let fists be flung like stone Against the heavens and the heavenly Throne!

!‫– דבר אליהם וירעמו‬  ?‫ולמה זה יתחננו אלי‬ ,‫נא אגרף כנגדי ויתבעו את עלבונם‬-‫ירימו‬ ,‫סופם‬-‫הדורות מראשם ועד‬-‫עלבון כל‬-‫את‬ .‫ויפוצצו השמים וכסאי באגרופם‬ According to Bialik, the god of the poem desires that his people indict him and demand recompense for the experience of the generations! Alas, the people are too accustomed to saying words and confessing their sins by rote and without heart to break out of this pattern and raise their angry fists toward God. Bialik indicts these Jews for trusting too much in God even to attempt to help themselves! Why do they put so much faith in a god who cannot protect them? The indictment continues (lines 239–242 in the Hebrew; lines 307–314 in the English translation): For since they have met pain with resignation And have made peace with shame, What shall avail thy consolation? They are too wretched to evoke thy scorn. They are too lost thy pity to evoke

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So let them go, then, men to sorrow born, Mournful and slinking, crushed beneath their yoke. ?‫בצע כי תנחמם‬-‫ ומה‬,‫וישלימו עם חיי בשתם‬ ;‫עלובים הם מקצף עליהם ואובדים הם מרחמם‬ ,‫– הנה יצאו הכוכבים‬  ‫הנח להם וילכו‬ ‫ואבלים וחפויי ראש ובבשת גנבים‬

They are so wretched that the god of the poem tells his prophet not to even bother consoling them. “So let them go, then, men of sorrow born.”

6. Will These Bones Live? After the Temple is destroyed (Ezekiel 33), the tone of the book changes. The later chapters prophesy Israel’s ultimate triumph and the rebuilding of the Temple. Ezekiel’s visions are no longer of doom and gloom but rather of hope and restoration. The vision in chapter 37 of the valley of the dry bones, over which Ezekiel prophecies, is among these later prophecies. When Ezekiel sees the bones, God says to him, “Will these bones live again?” And in Ezekiel, the answer is a decided: yes! Upon Ezekiel’s prophesying the divine word over the bones, they join together and begin to grow sinews, flesh, and skin. Eventually, they even breathe and come to life. And He said to me, “O, Son of Man, these bones are the whole House of Israel. Behold they say, ‘Our bones are dried, and our hope is lost. We are doomed.’ Therefore prophesy and say over them, ‘Thus said the Lord God, “Behold I will open your graves and raise you from your graves, My people.” (Ezekiel 37:11–12)

However, in order for bones to be joined in a final resurrection, there must be bones to rejoin. In Ezekiel, the prophet gives hope to his people, God’s people. In Slaughter, there is only wretchedness and despair. Toward the end of the poem, the guide tells his prophet what he will see when he leaves the city the next morning. When he gets to the road, the prophet will see the survivors of the pogrom exploiting their suffering and misery by selling the bones of their murdered loved ones to “conjure up the pity of the nations” (line 265 in the Hebrew; line 342 in the English). In Slaughter, the pogrom survivors sell the bones of their murdered loved ones. Shavit notes the ironic inversion of Ezekiel’s dry bones.43 The bones that are a symbol of hope in Ezekiel are now a symbol of just how wretched and depraved the Jews have become.

43 Shavit,

“Model,” 171–172.

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7. Conclusion In the above discussion I demonstrated not only the relationship between Slaughter and both priestly theology and especially the book of Ezekiel but also that elements of the poem are better understood in light of these biblical texts. Even on the surface level, Slaughter is a powerful poem, but it is so much more powerful in light of God’s concern with his reputation. The symbolism of the survivors’ selling the bones of the victims is sufficiently awful in and of itself. It is even more powerful with Ezekiel’s vision of the dry bones in mind, highlighting Bialik’s inversion of this most powerful and hopeful messianic vision. The very structure of the poem, that of the tour guide taking the poet-prophet from site to site to see and witness the events, establishes the expectation that Bialik’s witness would eventually provide some consolation to his contemporary Jewish exiles. Bialik provides no such comfort. Rather than writing a traditional lamentation or a historic record of the Kishinev pogrom, Bialik, the Jewish “national poet” par excellence, chose to rage against his own people and blame them for their own victimhood – in both biblical priestly and prophetic terms. Miron explains that “Without God the authority of the poet-prophet was enhanced, in a way, for as the source of prophecy, he superseded God. Yet it was a tragic authority, since the diminished God reflected a diminished people.”44 Bialik the modern poet-prophet raged against his diminished people on account of how lowly they had become in their exile.

Bibliography Ben-Amos, B. “A Tourist in ‘Ir ha-Haregah (A Tourist in the City of Slaughter) – Kishinev 1903.” Jewish Quarterly Review 96 (2006): 359–384. Bialik, H. N. (Trans. A. M. Klein). “In the City of Slaughter.” Prooftexts 25/1–2 (2005): 8–29. Block, D. I. The Book of Ezekiel: Chapters 1–24. New International Commentary on the Old Testament. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997. Clements, R.E. “shht.” Pages 563–566 in Vol. XIV, Botterweck, G. Johannes, and Helmer Ringgren. Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament. Edited by Botterweck, G. Johannes, and Helmer Ringgren. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974. Ehrlich, C. S. “‘Anti-Judäismus’ in der hebräischen Bibel. Der Fall: Ezekiel.” Vetus Testamentum 46 (1996): 169–178. Gluzman, M. “Pogrom and Gender: On Bialik’s Unheimlich.” Prooftexts 25 (2005): 39–59. 44 Miron,

Mode, 186.

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Köhler, Ludwig, Walter Baumgartner, M. E. J. Richardson, and Johann Jakob Stamm. The Hebrew & Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament. Study ed. Leiden: Brill, 2001. Lahover, F. “‘In the City of Slaughter’: Poetry and Reality.” Pages 9–22 in In the Gates of Kishinev. Edited by U. Shavit and Z. Shamir. Tel Aviv: University of Tel Aviv, 1994 (Hebrew). Milgrom, Jacob. Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation With Introduction and Commentary. The Anchor Bible 3. New York: Doubleday, 1991. Mintz, A. “Kishinev and the Twentieth Century: Introduction.” Prooftexts 25 (2005): 1–7. Miron, D. The Prophetic Mode in Modern Hebrew Poetry. Milford, Conn.: Toby Press, 2010. Perry, M. “Thematic Structures in Bialik’s Poetry: The Inverted Poem and Related Kinds.” Hasifrut 2 (1969): 40–82 (Hebrew); English abstract pp. 261–259. Shavit, U. “The Model of Intertextual Parody as a Key for the ‘In the City of Slaughter,’” Pages 160–73 in In the Gates of Kishinev. Edited by U. Shavit and Z. Shamir. Tel Aviv: University of Tel Aviv, 1994 (Hebrew).

Biblical Texts about Purity in Contemporary Christian Lectionaries Eileen Schuller One of the last books that Susan Haber reviewed before her untimely death was Preaching the Gospels without Blaming the Jews: A Lectionary Commentary by Ronald J. Allen and Clark M. Williamson.1 Susan’s decision to take up this particular book reflected her growing interest in Jewish-Christian relationships and in the multiple venues and experiences of JewishChristian dialogue in the contemporary Canadian scene. Given that I share these same interests and am member of the Canadian Christian-Jewish Consultation (CCJC), Susan and I had some brief but intense conversations on this topic and had begun to explore ideas about collaborative projects for the future. My choice of topic for this article is intended to honor and to highlight Susan’s Jewish-Christian interests, which extended beyond the academic realm and, not surprisingly, quickly turned to questions of the understandings of purity in our two religious traditions. I will begin with her reflections on one specific attempt by two prominent Christian scholars to move “the concern for relations between Jews and Christians in the postHolocaust era directly into the sermon-preparation process,”2 and then I will explore the specific issue of how the lectionary (a list of fixed scripture readings for each Sunday) influences and shapes what many Christians come to know about Jewish purity regulations and practice. Preaching the Gospels without Blaming the Jews: A Lectionary Commentary offers a short commentary (usually of about two pages) on the Gospel readings for each Sunday of the three-year cycle in the Revised Common Lectionary.3 What distinguishes this lectionary commentary from 1  Reviewed in Review of Biblical Literature 2005; http://www.bookreviews.org/ pdf/4308_4288.pdf. 2  Haber, “Review,” 1; adapted from Allen and Williamson’s statement of their purpose, Preaching, xv. 3 For information on the history and formation of the Revised Common Lectionary that Allen and Williamson used for their book, see the essay by H. T. Allen in Revised Common Lectionary, 7–27. This lectionary was prepared by the Consultation on Common Texts (CCT) as an adaptation for Protestant churches of the Roman Lectionary that had been compiled by the Roman Catholic Church after the Second Vatican Council and issued in

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the many others in circulation is that Allen and Williamson undertake to “highlight the Jewish context of the lections, while reflecting critically on the anti-Judaism that coexists in the very same readings” and to emphasize how preachers can encourage their congregations to move beyond contentious themes to develop “a greater sense of kinship and shared mission with Judaism.”4 In her review, Haber summarizes the four-point methodology that Allen and Williamson lay out in their “Introduction”: (1) to articulate possible anti-Jewish ways of misreading the text that give negative images of Jews and Judaism and to explain them in the context of the first-century; (2) to highlight Jewish and biblical themes, resonances and echoes, especially those that may not be immediately apparent to the Christian reader; (3) to explore the implications of Roman domination and occupation and Israel’s longing for the coming of a messiah to deliver them from oppression; and (4) to pay attention to the relationship between Jesus and various Jewish groups, especially the Pharisees, alerting the reader to how the polarizing and vindictive rhetoric of first-century sectarian groups finds its way into the Gospels. Haber speaks favorably of how Allen and Williamson treat difficult passages such as Matt 27:25 “his blood be on us and on our children” (Palm Sunday, Year A), noting how they are able to “move beyond the standard interpretation …. transforming a long-held blame of the Jews into a message of Jesus’ forgiveness;”5 she also speaks with approval of the “somewhat different but equally effective approach” to the treatment of the Pharisees in the pericope of the healing of a blind man in John 9:1–41 (Fourth Sunday of Lent, Year A). But when it comes to issues of purity (perhaps not surprisingly given her expertise in this topic), Haber is nuanced in her evaluation of the book and quite critical of certain aspects.6 On the one hand, she welcomes the fact that the “Introduction” (pp. xxii–xxiii) devotes considerable space to the topic of purity and recognizes that it was a real concern for Jews of Jesus’s 1969. For a brief introduction to the Roman Lectionary and further bibliography, see Bonneau, Sunday Lectionary. The differences between the two lectionaries, Roman Lectionary (RL) and Revised Common Lectionary (RCL), are mainly in the readings chosen from the Old Testament during the Ordinary Sundays, the use or non-use of the Apocrypha, and the names given to certain Sundays in the church year. In this paper, the Sundays will be designated according to the Roman Lectionary, with the nomenclature of the Revised Common Lectionary given in square brackets where there might be confusion. The Sunday lectionary is a three-year cycle, with the years designated according to the Gospel that is read consecutively throughout much of the year: Year A: Matthew; Year B: Mark; Year C: Luke (the Gospel of John is read on certain Sundays over all three years). 4 Haber, “Review,” 1, adapted from Allen and Williamson, Preaching, xiii. 5 Haber, “Review,” 3, referring to Allen and Williamson, Preaching, 36. 6  Other reviewers of Allen and Williamson’s book, such as J. D. Lawrence and D. Good, raise some of the same issues, both positive and negative, as Haber does, but do not highlight purity.

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day and a matter of dispute between various groups – and this in contrast to the frequent Christian tendency to downplay or ignore references (direct or indirect) to purity concerns in the Gospels. Allen and Williamson admit that there is much dispute today among New Testament scholars about the nature of these laws and their implications and effect. Concisely and succinctly, they introduce their readers to some of the main issues and certain of the key players in the scholarly discussion, in particular, Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan, who set up a dichotomy of “the politics of compassion” versus “the politics of purity,” and E. P. Sanders, who downplays any socially divisive effect of segregation or isolation arising from the purity regulations and emphasizes that “wash and wait” was most often all that was required before entrance to the Temple.7 In addition, Allen and Williamson are careful to explain that “purity or impurity had nothing to do with sin or morality; it was a strictly ritual category.”8 However, when it comes to Allen and Williamson’s commentary on specific lectionary readings, Haber signals three passages for critique. The first is the reading from John 2:1–12 about the wedding feast of Cana nd Sunday in Ordinary Time [2nd Sunday after Epiphany], Year C) that (2 includes the verse: “Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification.”9 Allen and Williamson point out that the focus on stone vessels is related directly to issues of ritual purity (since stone does not absorb impurity); and the archaeological evidence that a large number of stone vessels were being used in Galilee and Judea in the first century indicates that purity regulations were taken seriously, even outside of the Jerusalem and the Temple. They then go on to say, “Purity or identity practices were a way for the Jews to defy Roman rule and keep alive the witness of faith.”10 Although her comment on this point is brief, Haber is concerned

 7  Borg, Meeting Jesus, 52; Crossan, Jesus, 25; Sanders, Judaism, 171. The scholarly bibliography on purity in the Hebrew Bible, Second Temple Judaism and Early Christianity is, of course, extensive; Allen and Williamson seem to have given particular attention to authors (particularly Borg and Crossan) whose views are likely to be known by Christian preachers from their books and public lectures.  8 Allen and Williamson, Preaching, xxii. Today, almost ten years later, I wonder if Allen and Williamson would set up the distinction in quite this way; recent studies such as Klawans, Impurity and Sin, have lead to more nuance in the discussion of ritual versus moral categories.  9  Translations are according to the New Revised Standard Version (NRSV). This is the translation (with adaptations) that is prescribed for the scripture readings in Canada in the Roman Catholic Church; in the Catholic Church in the United States, the translation most often used is the New American Bible (NAB). In Protestant churches, the translation read is a matter of choice, often the NRSV or the New International Version (NIV). 10 Allen and Williamson, Preaching, 180.

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lest the richness and theological significance of the purity system is being “minimized” (her word) by reduction to the level of “identity practices.”11 Secondly, Haber comments on Matt 3:13–17 (Baptism of the Lord, Year A), for which Allen and Williamson give some background information on ritual purification and washing in the Jewish world as the context for the pericope about John the Baptist. Haber calls attention to their problematic use of Christian terminology in the description of the Jewish miqvaot (“in the ritual baths, people baptized themselves”12) and to the impression that is given that ritual purification was limited only to the Temple and Qumran, “an assessment that has been effectively contradicted by both literary and archaeological evidence.”13 The third passage, and the one Haber discusses at greatest length, is Allen and Williamson’s treatment of the story of the hemorrhaging woman in Mark 5:21–43 (13th Sunday [Proper 8th], Year B). In her own article on this text some years earlier, Haber had argued that in Mark’s presentation the primary focus of this miracle story was on the healing of the woman, rather than on purity issues per se;14 yet, contrary to certain other scholars,15 Haber allowed that the impurity that results from the woman’s medical condition is an integral part of the narrative, even if critique or abrogation of the purity laws is not the point of the story. Thus, the fact that Allen and Williamson treat this pericope within the framework of purity regulations is not what she finds problematic, but rather two issues related to their terminology and assumptions about first century Jewish practice. Haber is concerned that Allen and Williamson’s language of “unrelieved menstruation”16 to describe the condition of the woman with the hemorrhage of twelve years blurs important distinctions between the laws concerning the zavah (Lev 15:25–30, that is, a woman with an abnormal genital discharge) and those pertaining to normal menstruation (Lev 15:19–24). But “more troublesome” according to Haber, is that Allen and Williamson assume that because of the woman’s problem “the community isolated her”17; indeed they use the language of quarantine, arguing that the woman would have been isolated in order to avoid the spread of communicable diseases carried by her blood. Haber dismisses the latter supposition of motivation as “entirely speculative,”18 and emphasizes that we really have very little information about how Jew11 Haber,

Review, 4. and Williamson, Preaching, 12. 13  Haber, “Review,” 4. 14 Haber, “Woman’s Touch,” especially 171–73. 15 For example, D’Angelo, “Gender,” 83–109. 16  Allen and Williamson, Preaching, 134. 17 Allen and Williamson, 134. 18 Haber, “Review,” 4. 12 Allen

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ish communities in the first century C. E. interpreted the contradictory scriptural texts (Lev 15:11 that places the zav / zavah within the camp and able to touch others, versus Num 5:1–4 that demands separation outside of the camp). Although Haber acknowledges that Allen and Williamson are motivated by compassion and hygienic concerns in introducing the alleged explanation of a quarantine, yet, as she concludes, “their analysis perpetuates a common anti-Jewish misinterpretation of the narrative: that the Jewish community isolated the woman, while the Markan community was challenged to welcome her and others like her.”19 Haber’s overall evaluation of Allen and Williamson’s work is positive, and in her conclusion she is generous in acknowledging that this lectionary commentary “is a substantial contribution.”20 Yet, it is notable that in this influential monograph, written by prominent Christian scholars who have long been leaders in dialogue and in the education of the clergy regarding sensitivity to Jewish-Christian issues within the context of homiletics,21 it is around the issue of purity that some of their comments prove to be less than accurate or helpful. In the post-World War II, post-Vatican II era, much of the attention both in Jewish-Christian relations in general and specifically within the context of Christian preaching has focused on a rather small core of “problem” New Testament texts. In official church documents and statements and in popular homiletic aids, certain blatantly difficult passages such as Matt 27:25 “his blood be on us and on our children,” the woes against the Pharisees in Matthew 23, the language of “the Jews” in John’s Gospel, John 8:44a “your father the devil” are regularly taken up for discussion.22 When it comes to Gospel passages that deal with purity issues much less time and space has been devoted to worrying about whether and how they are understood and received by Christian congregations on a Sunday morning.23

19 Haber,

“Review,” 5.  Haber, “Review,” 5. 21 Williamson and Allen’s 1989 monograph, Interpreting Difficult Texts, was one of the first full-length treatments of anti-Judaism in Christian preaching; see also their popular essay by the same title in the 1996 edited volume, Removing, published jointly by Continuum and the American Interfaith Institute. A sequel, Preaching the Letters, in 2006 focused on preaching the Epistle readings in the Sunday lectionary. 22  In terms of Roman Catholic documents, most influential has been the statement of the Commission on Religious Relations with the Jews, Notes on the Correct Way to Present the Jews and Judaism in Preaching and Catechesis of the Roman Catholic Church, 1985, and the subsequent response in the United States by the National Conference of Catholic Bishops, God’s Mercy Endures Forever: Guidelines on the Presentation of Jews and Judaism in Catholic Preaching, 1988. 23  For example, Harrington (Synoptic Gospels, 1) sets out “to approach in a positive and constructive way those Synoptic Gospel texts that seem most troublesome in relationships between Jews and Christians today.” He chooses fifteen passages from each of the Synoptic 20

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Recently in an essay in The Jewish Annotated New Testament, Amy-Jill Levine argues that, in spite of numerous church documents over the past five decades on how to present Jews and Judaism, there is still a real problem of “false and notorious stereotypes” about the Jewish context in which Jesus lived. She compiles a list of ten anti-Jewish misconceptions and errors that still appear in some Christian preaching and teaching.24 First on the list is the contrast of Jewish “law” with Christian “grace.” Second is the claim that Jews follow the law in order to earn God’s favor or achieve a place in heaven by their own merits. In third place is “the view that the purity laws were both burdensome and unjust.” Furthermore, it is often a misunderstanding of purity regulations that leads, at least in part, to the fourth misconception, “the view that early Judaism was … misogynistic,” and to the sixth, that Judaism routinely marginalized women, children, the poor and the sick, relegating them to the category of “sinners” and “outcasts.” In addition, Levine notes how a misunderstanding of what is required in the biblical system of purity can adversely affect even the interpretation of passages where purity concerns are not the issue. She gives as an example the explanation offered by many commentators that the priest and the Levite in the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:30–37) “bypass a wounded traveler because they are commanded by Jewish law to avoid touching a corpse”25 – though the parable does not give this rationale and the priest is going from, not to, the Temple. But if we accept that Jewish purity laws are perceived negatively and as unjust or burdensome by many Christians in churches today, it is worth asking about the source/ s of this problematic conception (though our attempts to answer the question can only be speculative and impressionistic). What do most Christians know about Jewish purity laws and from where do they get their information? The percentage of congregants who have undertaken formal academic study of the Bible, or even informal, devotionaltype, Bible study is often small, and those who have taken a course or done a Bible study on a book like Leviticus will be even less. Certainly some Christians have Jewish friends, neighbors, relatives, and co-workers and, thus, learn through day-by-day contact about certain regulations, especially concerning food and death; in fact, from such informal contact, Christians are often very surprised to discover either that not all Jews follow literally Gospels; of the forty-five passages treated, he includes only one where purity issues are central (the reading from Mark 7 on the 22nd Sunday [Proper 17th], Year B). 24 Levine, “Common Errors,” 501–4. For her earlier list of seven misperceptions, overstatements or slanders, with the fourth being “the conclusion that Jews were obsessed with keeping themselves pure” while Jesus “broke through purity-based barriers,” see Levine, The Misunderstood Jew, 124–25. 25 Levine, “Common Errors,” 502.

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every detail of the levitical laws or that some contemporary Jews really do make purity regulations a part of daily life. In fact, however, many Christians do not have first-hand acquaintance with a Jewish person, especially if they live in a part of the world (Asia, Africa) or even in certain areas of Canada or the United States where the Jewish population is very small. In reality, much of what Christians do know about Jewish purity regulations and practices comes from the Scripture that they hear read in church on Sundays.26 In a time and culture when personal daily Bible reading, small-group Bible studies, and general biblical literacy cannot be assumed, the Sunday service is often the only real avenue of exposure to the Bible. Speaking more theologically from within the Catholic tradition, Michael Peppard puts it this way: “The Sunday Liturgy of the Word is the primary encounter with the Bible for Catholics. The Word of God is carried not through the leather binding of the printed text but through the liturgical binding of the sign of the cross.”27 Of course, this scriptural word is mediated through preaching, and so what is said – or not said – in the sermon / homily will powerfully affect how the biblical texts are heard and remembered. But to discover and analyze how the legal regulations and narrative passages that involve purity issues are presented in sermons on a given Sunday in a parish church is quite another study that would require a completely different, much more fieldwork-based, approach.28 My question in this essay is much more limited: in churches that use a lectionary, what are the biblical texts that speak of purity that are actually read in the context of Sunday worship and from which the preacher begins sermon preparation?29 It is not easily ascertained what a person in the pew will “hear” in a biblical reading, and so drawing up a list of passages relevant to purity concerns 26  In a Roman Catholic, Anglican/Episcopalian, Lutheran church, the Scripture readings on a given Sunday will be fixed according to what is set in the lectionary that the church is using, and thus it is possible to know precisely what passages are heard over the threeyear cycle of readings. In the free church tradition, where a lectionary may or may not be followed (or followed only on occasion), the individual preacher or worship committee makes the decision about what Scripture is read, and the type of analysis done in this paper is virtually impossible. 27 Peppard, “Do We Share?,” 91. 28 There is, of course, a wide variety of homiletic resources available for preachers, many of them online, that could be examined to ascertain how purity issues are treated, but these are still one step away from knowing what is actually said on Sunday. Published homilies, whether online or in print, give more immediate access to what has been said in church – but how representative is that which finds its way into a published form! 29 There is also a lectionary for daily reading, on a two-year cycle, used for the weekday Masses in the Roman Catholic Church. This includes, of course, more passages about purity, especially from the Old Testament and the Epistles, but these are heard/ read by a relatively small number of people. In 2005, the Consultation on Common Texts published a somewhat different arrangement for daily use, Revised Common Lectionary Daily Readings.

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is necessarily partially subjective.30 There is good reason to assume that passages from the Gospels will have the most impact: a section from a Gospel is read every Sunday (even when there are only two readings); and in many churches the proclamation of the Gospel is done with a certain solemnity (e.g., preceded by or surrounded with a musical acclamation, sometimes the use of incense, a procession, and / or standing for the reading). Not surprisingly, the Gospel passage is most often the text chosen for preaching.31 Texts that deal specifically with purity laws and Jesus’s stance on purity are relatively infrequent in the Gospels and, hence, also numerically few in the lectionary.32 Yet, over the course of the three-year lectionary cycle all of the major aspects of the purity system appear in the Gospel readings, that is, purity in relationship to lepers, corpses, genital discharge, and contact with Gentiles;33 in addition, there are a few passages involving dietary regulations that, although technically not part of the levitical purity system, do also use clean / unclean language (see the discussion of Acts 10 below). In the two Gospel pericopes in which Jesus cures lepers, Mark 1:40–45 (6th Sunday Ordinary Time [6th Sunday after Epiphany], Year B) and Luke 17:11–19 (28th Ordinary Time [Proper 23rd], Year C), purity concerns are unmistakable. The emphasis is more pronounced in the Markan text with its four-fold repetition (“you can make me clean … be made clean … he was made clean … offer for your cleansing”) and the explicit observation that Jesus “stretched out his hand and touched him;” it is less pronounced in the story of the ten lepers, where the two-fold “they were made clean … were not ten made clean?” is subordinate to the overall Lukan emphasis on 30

 As noted above, a passage that is not explicitly concerned with purity, like the parable of the Good Samaritan, may nevertheless be extremely important in shaping popular conceptions. Passages that speak about “unclean spirits” perhaps could be included in this survey, even though they are usually treated separately from studies of the levitical purity system, e.g., the cure of the man with an unclear spirit (Mark 1:21–28, 4th Sunday in Ordinary Time [4th Sunday after Epiphany], Year B); the sending out of the twelve with authority over unclean spirits (Mark 6:7, 15th Sunday in Ordinary Time [Proper 10], Year B); the healing of the Gerasene demoniac (Mark 5:1–20, Matt 8:28–34, Luke 8:26–39) is not included in the Sunday lectionary. 31  For an anecdotal observation, based on years of experience in preaching in Canadian churches, about the tendency to focus on the Gospel to the neglect of the Old Testament, see the comments of Hamilton, Acceptable Year, 9–10. 32  Cf. the conclusion of Meier, Marginal Jew, 405, “apart from the Markan pericope 7:1–23, one can find in the Four Gospels only passing references – at best – to Jesus’s stance on ritual purity.” Over the three-year lectionary cycle, most pericopes of the four Gospels are read, although multiple attestations are usually only read once. On the omission of certain passages, see Schuller, “Criteria,” 392–93, and the detailed online charts and figures compiled by Felix Just, The Catholic Lectionary Website, http://catholicresources.org/ Lectionary / index.html. 33 Exactly if, and how, the purity system was applicable to Gentiles is complex and debated; see Hayes, Gentile Impurities, who argues that Gentiles were outside the purity system.

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giving / not giving thanks. In the Roman Lectionary, the Markan passage is paired with a reading from Lev 13:1–2, 45–46, the regulations about “a leprous disease” (NRSV translation), including the cry “unclean, unclean.” This is the most stark, in fact the only, instance in the lectionary where the first reading presents the levitical regulations and the Gospel reading is a narrative that deals with the same issue.34 The problematic nature of this pairing “almost certainly leaves a listener with a ‘Nice, Good Jesus’ and ‘Mean, Bad Jews’ message.”35 In the Revised Common Lectionary, a quite different dynamic is established, since the Markan story is paired with the narrative of the curing of another leper, Naaman the Syrian from 2 Kgs 5:1–14.36 In the lectionary, there are only a few other references to lepers – that “the lepers are cleansed” is one of the eschatological signs for John’s disciples (Matt 11:5, 3rd Sunday of Advent, Year A) and Jesus dines in the house of Simon the leper in Mark 14:3 (Palm Sunday, Year B). There are a number of Gospel stories that involve death, contact with a corpse and, hence, corpse impurity. Mark 5:41 (13th Sunday Ordinary Time [Proper 8th], Year B) explicitly notes that Jesus touches (“he took her by the hand”) the daughter of the synagogue leader who has died,37 and he touches the pallet of the dead son of the widow of Nain in Luke 7:11–17 (10th Sunday of Ordinary Time [Proper 5th], Year C), Jesus goes to the tomb of Lazarus in John 11:1–45 (5th Sunday of Lent, Year A), and of course the story of the burial of Jesus and the women going to the tomb is part of the Good Friday / Easter Sunday readings every year. Yet, in none of these is there explicit discussion of, or a concern about, either incurring or avoiding corpse impurity; Christian hearers would only think of corpse impurity if they had some knowledge of law and customs beyond what is voiced in 34  Indeed, this is one of only two times that Leviticus is read; the second passage is from Leviticus 19 “you shall love your neighbor as yourself” (7th Sunday Ordinary Time [8th Sunday after Epiphany], Year A). 35  For a recent and pointed critique, see Peppard, “Booby Traps,” from where the quotation is taken, also his article “Share?,” 101; for a similar critique, see Stookey, “Marcion,” 257–58. 36  In the Roman Lectionary, a shorter version of the account of Naaman is read in conjunction with the Lukan story of the ten lepers, but the verses selected (vss. 14–17) focus solely on giving thanks, and do not even mention that Naaman is a leper. 37  Corpse contact would be even clearer and more upfront in the mind of the hearer if it were the Matthean version of the story (Matt 9:18–26) that was read. In Mark, there is a certain ambiguity about whether the child has died; Jairus says, “my little daughter is at the point of death”; the people say, “your daughter is dead”; Jesus says, “the child is not dead but sleeping.” In Matthew, there is no doubt from the very beginning of the pericope, when the leader of the synagogue says bluntly, “my daughter has just died.” It is most unlikely that any sensitivity to issues of purity concern were even “on the radar” for the compilers of the lectionary, when the decisions were made to include a story as told in one Gospel rather than in another – but these decisions often have subtle effects on what is heard about purity.

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these texts. The one Gospel passage that directly associates impurity with corpses, the comparison of the scribes and Pharisees to tombs that are “full of dead men’s bones and all kinds of filth” (Matt 23:27; “and everything unclean” in the NIV translation), is not read in the lectionary, nor are any of the legal regulations in Leviticus concerning corpse impurity. The story of the woman “with a flow of blood” in Mark 5:25–34 (13th Sunday Ordinary Time, [Proper 8th], Year B38) is the Gospel passage in connection with which the levitical regulations concerning impurity associated with genital discharges as well as their specific interpretations by the Dead Sea Scrolls community, Josephus and the rabbis, are most often discussed by scholars as the background to understanding the New Testament.39 Yet the Gospel itself (especially in the English translation40) is not explicit about the nature of the hemorrhages that the woman has suffered for twelve years, and the text ends with Jesus’ generic words describing her affliction: “be healed of your disease” (Mark 5:34). The first reading for this Sunday does not consist of the passages from Leviticus about genital discharges, but of quite unrelated selections, from the Wisdom of Solomon in the Roman Lectionary and from 2 Samuel in the Revised Common Lectionary.41 Whether the “average person” hears this Markan pericope and focuses on the purity / impurity of the woman and whether she should be appearing in public or not and touching or not touching Jesus or his cloak, will be dependent on one’s familiarity with levitical regulations, perhaps on certain assumptions that brought to the text,42 and above all, on whether the preaching introduces and focuses on these issues. The lectionary reading of Luke 2:22–40 (Holy Family [First Sunday after Christmas], Year B) offers the most explicit description in the Gospels of 38  In the Roman Lectionary, there is an option for a shorter reading on this Sunday (Mark 4:21–24, 35–43) that omits entirely the section on the hemorrhaging woman. In some parishes, the normative practice is to adopt the shorter option, whenever such is available, for reasons of time and expediency. 39 Note the first sentence of Wassen’s article, “Hemorrhaging Woman,” 641, “Numerous studies examine the story of Jesus and the hemorrhaging woman in Mark 5:25–34 (Matt 9:20–22; Luke 8:42b–48) in light of purity laws concerning the woman with an abnormal bleeding described in Lev 15:25–30,” and the extensive bibliography cited there, including Susan Haber’s article “Woman’s Touch.” Note also Haber’s discussion of Allen and Williamson’s treatment of this passage, as discussed earlier in this essay, p. 286–87. 40 Commentators are divided about whether the Greek in Mark 5:25 is intentionally drawing upon the Septuagint formulation of Lev. 19:19, 25; 20:18. 41  That is, the reading from 2 Sam 6:1–15 is part of the semi-continuous reading of the books of 1 and 2 Samuel and 1 Kings 1–2 over fourteen Sundays in Year B. 42 Levine, “Discharging Responsibility,” 384, points out that that the text does not “provide firm or even necessary indication that the flow is uterine or vaginal,” and thus asks, “Does one begin with the potentially sexist presupposition that women’s bodies are necessarily represented as sexual bodies and so … the bleeding must be vaginal …?”

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the fulfillment of purity regulations, specifically of the laws concerning a mother after childbirth (Lev 12:1–8). The listener hears how Mary and Joseph come to the Temple at “the time of their purification according to the law of Moses,” and how “they offered a sacrifice according to what is stated in the law of the Lord, ‘a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons.’” Also, “they brought the child Jesus up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord (as it is written in the law of the Lord)” followed by the quotation from Ex 13:2: “every firstborn male shall be designated as holy to the Lord.” Although vss. 23 and 24 of the pericope (which contain the actual text of the regulations) can be omitted in the shorter form of the reading in the Roman Lectionary,43 the longer reading clearly presents the hearer with a rich interweaving of purity regulations and the temple-centered, praise-filled piety that permeates these first chapters of Luke. The one Gospel passage that is almost entirely and unmistakably focused on purity regulations and the contrast between their interpretation by the Pharisees and by Jesus and his followers is the reading of Mark 7:1–8, 14–15, 21–23 (22nd Sunday of Ordinary Time [Proper 17th], Year B). Both the Roman Lectionary and the Revised Common Lectionary pick thirteen verses out of the first twenty-three in the chapter,44 omitting completely the section about the dedication / qorban (vss. 9–13), presumably for reasons both of length and of difficulty; also to be noted is the decision to omit the categorical statement of vs. 19 “Thus he [Jesus] declared all food clean.” Even in its abbreviated form, the passage is “complex and technical,”45 not only in the logic of its argumentation but especially given that it is to be heard orally (in verse 6, it takes an excellent lector to make clear what exactly was the critique voiced by the prophet Isaiah and what is attributed to Jesus). The choice to read the Markan rather than the Matthean version (Matt 15:1–20) allows for the inclusion of Mark’s own didactic explanation of what he thought a Gentile audience needed to know about handwashing, washing food, and “the many other traditions that they observe” of washing cups, pots, and bronze kettles (Mark 7:3–4). In the Roman Lectionary,46 this pericope is paired not with a text from Leviticus (the traditions of washing are largely a post-levitical development), nor with a prophetic critique or 43 On

the general practice of omitting verses in order to shorten more lengthy readings, see Schuller, “Criteria,” 388–89. 44 This is one of the very few places where the Revised Common Lectionary follows the practice of the Roman Lectionary and makes a selection of verses rather than reading consecutively. 45 Harrington, Synoptic Gospels, 109. 46 In the Revised Common Lectionary, on many Sundays in Ordinary time, the first reading is semi-continuous, and completely independent of the Gospel reading. On the Sunday when Mark 7 is read, there is the last of a long series of readings from the historical books of 1–2 Samuel, concluding with a reading from 1 Kings 2.

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call for the proper interior disposition (such as Isaiah 29 which is quoted in vss. 6–7) but with Deut 4:1–2, 6–8. Whatever was the original intent of the lectionary formulators in making this pairing, it is difficult to know what aspect of Deuteronomy the Christian hearer will relate to the Gospel (the admonition not to add or take away anything from the law? or the praise of this wise and discerning nation that has statutes and ordinances given by God?). Finally, there are a few passages heard in the lectionary that speak to the impurity that comes from contact with non-Jews and with Samaritans. In the reading of the Passion according to John on Good Friday, it is observed that “they took Jesus from Caiaphas to Pilate’s headquarters … they themselves did not enter the headquarters so as to avoid ritual defilement” (John 18:28). Of course, within the context of the whole passion narrative on Good Friday, this purity reference is only passing and hardly likely to receive anyone’s attention. More significant and more likely to be remembered is the encounter between Jesus and the Samaritan woman in John 4 (3rd Sunday of Lent, Year A); although the language of purity is not explicit, it is explained that “Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans” (v. 9), and this can be heard as a concern with maintaining separation for the sake of purity. This brief survey reveals that the majority of the Gospel passages that deal with purity concerns are included in the lectionary;47 certainly there is no deliberate exclusion of such passages per se as unimportant or problematic. Yet there are some notable omissions. Not read is John 11:55 “many [of the Jews] went up from the country to Jerusalem before the Passover to purify themselves,” followed by the statement in 12:1 “six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany.” These verses reflect the observance of the sevenday ritual of corpse purification before a major festival, and their omission means that the Christian reader does not hear one of the small reminders in the Gospels that Jesus and his disciples were aware of and observed the purity requirements.48 The second passage that is omitted is the vitriolic critique of the Pharisees in the Matthean “woes”; this includes the charge of hypocritical external observance of purity (“you clean the outside of the cup and of the plate, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence”

47 Where there are multiple attestations of the same story, only one version is included, but this is standard practice in the lectionary. 48 For a discussion of the fact that Jesus taught in the Temple before the seven-days of purification would be fulfilled, see Haber’s proposal that full purification was not required for entrance to the outer court (“Going up to Jerusalem,” especially pp. 204–5). Other solutions are also possible, e.g., that there were purification stations on the way to Jerusalem; see Schwartz, “Review.”

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Matt 23:25–26/ / Luke 11:39–41) and, as mentioned above, the reference to “graves filled with all kinds of filth/uncleanness” (Matt 23:27//Luke 11:44). When we turn to the first lectionary reading, which is most often from the Old Testament,49 there are very few places where purity issues are a major concern. Purity belongs to the realm of the priest and Temple (e.g., the book of Leviticus), and the readings are usually taken from narrative or prophetic texts. As noted above, the only legal-type purity passage is the reading of Lev 13:1–2, 45–46 in the Roman Lectionary (13th Sunday Ordinary Time, Year B).50 With regard to food regulations, on the 32nd Sunday, Year C, the Roman Lectionary reads 2 Macc 7:1–2, 9–14, the story of the martyrdom of seven brothers for their refusal to “partake of unlawful swine’s flesh;” the complementary Gospel reading from Luke 20:27, 34–38 indicates, however, that the passage was chosen not because of a concern about kosher dietary laws but because of the brothers’ hope in the resurrection. There are certainly places in the Old Testament where the language of impurity, washing, and cleansing is used metaphorically in talking of sinfulness in general, but what is perhaps the harshest figurative usage, Ezek 36:17b (“their conduct in my sight was like the uncleanness of a woman in her menstrual period”), is deliberately omitted in the Roman Lectionary for the Easter Vigil (which reads Ezek 36:16–17a, 18–2851).Since the Acts of the Apostles provide the lections for the first reading in the Sundays after Easter, it might be expected that there would be various passages that reveal how purity and conflicts about purity and dietary regulations were lived out in the early Church; one thinks immediately of a narrative like that of Acts 10, in which Peter treats his observance of food regulations as a matter of pride, not a burden to be disregarded (“I have never eaten anything that is profane or unclean” Acts 10:14), until he receives a special revelation. However, the selection of verses from Acts 10 that is read on the 6th Sunday after Easter, Year B (vss.10:25–26, 34–35, 44–48) manages to avoid completely the issue of profane and clean foods.52 On the 6th Sunday after Easter, Year C, the reading of the decision of the Council of Jerusalem (Acts 15:1–2, 22–29) includes the provision to abstain from what is strangled, but it is doubtful whether many Christian congregants make the connection with the regulations for proper slaughter 49 With

the exception of the post-Easter season, when the first reading is from the Acts of the Apostles. 50 As noted above, this is replaced in the Revised Common Lectionary with a narrative passage from 1 Kings 17. The notes from the Consultation on Common Texts say explicitly, “The prophetic quality of the 1 Kings passage seems preferable in this instance to the legal concerns of Leviticus 13.” 51 This is one of the few places where the Revised Common Lectionary opts to shorten the entire reading, choosing only Ezek 36:24–28. 52 The passage is treated somewhat differently in the Revised Common Lectionary, since 10:34–43 is read on Easter Sunday and 10:44–48 on the 6th Sunday after Easter.

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in Lev. 17:3, 19:26 and Deut 12:16, 23–27. Other passages from Acts that indicate ongoing controversy about the observance of purity practice in the early Church (e.g., Acts 21:26, Paul purifying himself on coming to Jerusalem) are not included in the lectionary. There are, of course, many passages in the Pauline epistles that deal with ongoing disputes about what food is allowed in light of concerns both for purity and for idol worship. Some are used in the lectionary, most notably 1 Cor 10:23–33 on the 6th Sunday Ordinary Time, Year B in the Roman Lectionary (though not in the Revised Common Lectionary53), but others do not appear (e.g., Rom 14:13–23; Gal 2:11–14). The language of purity / impurity comes mainly in exhortatory and parenetic contexts, e.g., “so that in the day of Christ you may be pure” (Phil 1:10; 2nd Sunday of Advent, Year C), or in the linkage of sexual immortality (porneia) and impurity in Gal 5:19 (Pentecost B in the Roman Lectionary [Proper 8, Year C]). On coming to the end of this survey, a few brief observations can be made. After drawing together this material, it is surprising to realize just how much information about Jewish purity regulations and practices the “average person in the pew” is exposed to just by hearing the Sunday lectionary readings over three years. Obviously, a mechanical counting up of references is far too simplistic to evaluate impact (for example, given the dramatic and emotional force of the whole of the Passion reading on Palm Sunday [Year B] it is very doubtful anyone is going to pay much attention to the fact that Jesus dined with Simon the Leper!). But the material is there. The major texts are certainly from the Gospels, with surprisingly few from the Old Testament and from the Epistles. Yet the Gospel readings do not stand in isolation, and, especially in the Roman Lectionary (where there is more often an intentional pairing between the Old Testament and the Gospel reading), the combination of readings can, and often does, shift the focus of attention for the hearer away from purity concerns. Thus, when the congregation first hears a reading from the Wisdom of Solomon, “God did not make death, and he does not delight in the death of the living” (13th Sunday Ordinary Time, Year B), they may well be drawn to focus on the death of Jairus’s daughter rather than on the purity / impurity of the hemorrhaging woman. The problematic pairing of Leviticus 13 and Jesus’ cure of the leper has already been noted, but such blatant juxtapositioning of what are likely to be heard as positive and negative presentations of purity are rare. A contrast between the “politics of compassion” and the “politics of purity” is not demanded or even supported by the lectionary choices; where 53  The omission is not a rejection of this particular passage, but part of a broader rearrangement of the selections from 1 Corinthians and their assignment to the Sundays in the post-Epiphany series.

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it is introduced, it is at the level of preaching that such formulations and contrasts are articulated.54 But if Levine is right, and many Christians continue to perceive Jewish purity regulations negatively as “both burdensome and unjust,”55 then it is fitting, even necessary, to ask if there are changes that could be made in the scripture passages read in the lectionary in order to avoid stereotypes and misconceptions and promote a more accurate and empathetic understanding. Would a different choice of lections make it less likely that preachers would be tempted to draw unsubstantiated, derogatory or simply false conclusions and parallels? In addition to removing the negative, are there passages that should be read that would supply the broader theological framework to understand the depth and richness of Old Testament concepts of purity and holiness? On the academic level, the attention paid to purity in Second Temple Judaism over the last decades has been immense and has yielded new insights – as well as new questions – in so many areas including the evaluation of the archaeological evidence, moral versus ritual purity, women and purity regulations, and purity as defining sectarian and ethnic boundaries.56 In many venues in both Protestant and Catholic circles today, there is an openness to, even a demand for, an ongoing reevaluation and refinement of the specific scripture passages chosen in the lectionary currently in use.57 If and when such a project is undertaken – ideally as an ecumenical endeavor – there will be many diverse concerns and voices brought to the table, and even from the perspective of Jewish-Christian relations there will be multiple claims for attention. But hopefully, issues connected to purity will be part of the agenda for consideration, and current academic studies combined with a keen awareness of pastoral realities will shape the discussion about how scriptural passages concerning purity/ impurity are presented in the Sunday lectionary. 54 On the construction of false oppositions, see Fredriksen, “Compassion” 55–66, especially p. 63. 55 Levine, “Common Errors,” 502. 56 The bibliography is immense, and here is not the place even to attempt a summary. Many references will be found in the article of Kazen in this volume; for resources up to 2005, the bibliographic studies of Haber remain an excellent resource (“Ritual and Moral Purity,” 9–73). 57  It is significant that the 16th proposition of the Synod of Bishops on the Word of God in 2008 recommended “that an examination be carried out of the Roman Lectionary to see if the current selection and ordering of the readings is truly adequate to the mission of the church in this historical moment. In particular, the bond between the Old Testament and the pericopes of the gospels should be reconsidered, so that they do not imply an overly restrictive reading of the Old Testament or an exclusion of certain important passages. The revision of the lectionary could be carried out in dialogue with those ecumenical partners who use this common lectionary.” Unfortunately this recommendation became somewhat muted in the final document of Pope Benedict XVI, Verbum Domini, section 57.

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Bibliography Allen, R. J., and C. M. Williamson. Preaching the Gospels without Blaming the Jews: A Lectionary Commentary. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2004. –. Preaching the Letters with Dismissing the Law: A Lectionary Commentary. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2006. Bonneau, N. The Sunday Lectionary: Ritual Word, Paschal Shape. Collegeville: Liturgical, 1998. Borg, M. Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1994. Consultation on Common Texts. The Revised Common Lectionary. Nashville: Abingdon, 1992. –. Revised Common Lectionary Daily Readings. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005. Crossan, J. D. Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1994. D’Angelo, M. R. “Gender and Power in the Gospel of Mark: The Daughter of Jairus and the Woman with the Flow of Blood.” Pages 83–109 in Miracles in Jewish and Christian Antiquity. Edited by J. Cavadini. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1999. Fredriksen, P. “Compassion is to Purity as Fish is to Bicycle and Other Reflections on Constructions of ‘Judaism’ in Current Work on the Historical Jesus.” Pages 55–66 in Apocalypticism, Anti-Semitism and the Historical Jesus: Subtexts in Criticism. Edited by J. S. Kloppenborg with J. W. Marshall. Library of New Testament Studies 275. London: T & T Clark International, 2005. Good, D. Review of Preaching the Gospels without Blaming the Jews: A Lectionary Commentary by R. J. Allen and C. M. Williamson. Anglican Theological Review 90 (2008): 372–377. Haber, S. “A Woman’s Touch: Feminist Encounters with the Hemorrhaging Woman in Mark 5:24–34.” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 26 (2003): 171–192; repr. “They Shall Purify Themselves”: Essays on Purity in Early Judaism. Edited by A. Reinhartz. Early Judaism and Its Literature 24. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008. –. “Going Up to Jerusalem: Purity, Pilgrimage, and the Historical Jesus.” Pages 49–68 in Travel and Religion in Antiquity. Edited by P. A. Harland. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2011; repr. “They Shall Purify Themselves”: Essays on Purity in Early Judaism. Edited by A. Reinhartz. Early Judaism and its Literature 24. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008. –. “Ritual and Moral Purity and Impurity in the Hebrew Bible; Ritual and Moral Purity and Impurity in Second Temple Judaism; Ritual and Moral Purity and Impurity in the Dead Sea Scrolls.” Pages 9–74 in “They Shall Purify Themselves”: Essays on Purity in Early Judaism. Edited by A. Reinhartz. Early Judaism and its Literature 24. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008. –. Review of R. J. Allen and C. M. Williamson, Preaching the Gospels without Blaming the Jews: A Lectionary Commentary. Review of Biblical Literature 11 (2005); http://www.bookreviews.org/pdf/4308_4288.pdf. Hamilton, K. A. The Acceptable Year of the Lord: Preaching the Old Testament with Faith, Finesse and Fervour. Ottawa: Novalis, 2008.

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Hayes, C. Gentile Impurities and Jewish Identities: Intermarriage and Conversion from the Bible to the Talmud. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002. Harrington, D. J. The Synoptic Gospels Set Free: Preaching without Anti-Judaism. Stimulus Book. New York: Paulist, 2009. Just, F. The Catholic Lectionary Website. http://catholicresources.org/Lectionary/ index.html Kee, H. C., and I. J. Borowsky, eds. Removing Anti-Judaism from the Pulpit. Philadelphia and New York: Continuum and American Interfaith Institute, 1996. Klawans, J. Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Lawrence, J. D. Review of R. J. Allen and C. M. Williamson, Preaching the Gospels without Blaming the Jews: A Lectionary Commentary. Review of Biblical Literature 11 2005; http://www.bookreviews.org/pdf/4308_4389.pdf Levine, A.-J. “Discharging Responsibility: Matthean Jesus, Biblical Law, and Hemorrhaging Woman.” Pages 379–397 in Treasures New and Old: Recent Contributions to Matthean Studies. Edited by D. R. Bauer and M. A. Powell. Society of Biblical Literature Symposium Series 1. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996. –. “Bearing False Witness: Common Errors Made About Early Judaism.” Pages 501–504 in The Jewish Annotated New Testament. Edited by A.-J. Levine and M. Z. Brettler. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. –. The Misunderstood Jew: The Church and the Scandal of the Jewish Jesus. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2006. Levine, A.-J., and M. Z. Brettler, eds. The Jewish Annotated New Testament. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. Meier, J. P. A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus, Volume IV: Law and Love. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009. Peppard, M. “Booby Traps in the Lectionary; or Expelling the Ghost of Marcion.” Commonweal Magazine, online Feb. 14, 2012. http://www.commonwealmagazine. org/blog –. “Do We Share A Book? The Sunday Lectionary and Jewish-Christian Relations.” Studies in Christian-Jewish Relations 1 (2005–2006): 90–102. http://escholarship. bc.edu/scjr/volI/issI/art9 Sanders, E. P. Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 B. C. E.-66 C. E. Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1992. Schuller, E. “Some Criteria for the Choice of Scripture Texts in the Roman Lectionary.” Pages 385–404 in Shaping English Liturgy: Studies in Honor of Archbishop Denis Hurley. Edited by P. C. Finn and J. M. Schellman. Washington, D. C.: The Pastoral Press, 1990. Schwartz, J. Review of S. Haber, “They Shall Purify Themselves”: Essays on Purity in Early Judaism. Edited by A. Reinhartz. Review of Biblical Literature 4 (2009). http://www.bookreviews.org/pdf/6736_7303.pdf Stookey, L. H. “Marcion, Typology, and Lectionary Preaching.” Worship 66 (1992): 251–262. Wassen, C. “Jesus and the Hemorrhaging Woman in Mark 5:24–34: Insights from Purity Laws from the Dead Sea Scrolls.” Pages 641–660 in Scripture in Tradition: Essays on Septuagint, Hebrew Bible, and the Dead Sea Scrolls in Honour of Raija

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Sollamo. Edited by A. Voitila and J. Jokiranta. Journal for the Study of Judaism: Supplements Series 126. Leiden: Brill: 2008. Williamson, C. M. and R. J. Allen. Interpreting Difficult Texts: Anti-Judaism and Christian Preaching. Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1989.

List of Contributors Ehud Ben Zvi is Professor in the Department of History and Classics, University of Alberta, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. Carl S. Ehrlich is Professor of Hebrew Bible in the Department of Humanities, York University, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Yedida Eisenstadt is a Ph.D. candidate in Biblical Interpretation at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, New York City, USA. Eric Grossman is Head of the Frankel Jewish Academy, West Bloomfield, Michigan, USA. Philip Harland is Associate Professor of New Testament (Early Christianity) in the Department of Humanities, York University, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Thomas Kazen is Professor in Biblical Theology at the Stockholm School of Theology, Stockholm, Sweden. Martin I. Lockshin is Professor of Jewish Studies in the Department of Humanities and of Hebrew in the Department of Languages, Literatures and Linguistics, York University, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Steve Mason holds the Kirby Laing Chair of New Testament Exegesis at University of Aberdeen, Aberdeen, Scotland. Adele Reinhartz is Professor in the Department of Classics and Religious Studies, University of Ottawa, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. Anders Runesson is Associate Professor of New Testament (Early Christianity) and Early Judaism, McMaster University, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada. Eileen Schuller is Professor of Early Judaism, McMaster University, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada. Baruch J. Schwartz is the A. M. Shlansky Senior Lecturer in Biblical History at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Jerusalem, Israel. David Seed is Associate Rabbi of Adath Israel Congregation, Toronto, Ontario, Canada.

302

List of Contributors

Lily Vuong is Assistant Professor of Philosophy and Religious Studies at Valdosta State University, Valdosta, Georgia, USA. Cecilia Wassen is Senior Lecturer in Old and New Testament Exegesis, Department of Theology, Uppsala University, Uppsala, Sweden. Stephen Westerholm is Professor of New Testament (Early Christianity), McMaster University, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada.

Indices* 1. Sources Hebrew Bible (Old Testament) Genesis 1:31 176 2–3 62 12:1; 22:2 269 Exodus 13:2 293 18 30 20:23–23:19 27–29 23:14–19 19 24:17–26 11 29:37 254–256 30:29 254–256 32 30 40:34 277 Leviticus 6:11 254–256, 258 6:20 254–256 10:10 96 11 135 11:8 257 11–15 38, 67 12 114–115 12:1–8 293 13(–14) 117, 296 13:1–2, 45–46 291, 295 15 114–115, 121–122 15:11–12 135, 287 15:19–24/25–30 286 16:1–34 77 17:3 296

18:5 90 18:24–30 67 18:28–29 68 19:26 296 19:31 67 22:17–25 72 22:(31–)32 265, 269 20:1–3 67 23 11–24 26:14–44 48–49, 277 Numbers 5 117 5:1–4 287 5:2–3 115 15:18–21 (LXX) 95 19 67 28:2 19 35:33–34 67 Deuteronomy 4:1–2, 6–8 294 12:16, 23–27 296 24:8–9 158 28:15, 49–53 201 1 Samuel 7 29 1 Kings 8 31 8:10–11 277 9:24 46

* Prepared by Carl S. Ehrlich. References are to the body of the text and not to the footnotes.

304

Indices

2 Kings 4:23 26 5:1–14 291 6:26–31 201 Isaiah 2 31–32 7:14 162 28:16 60 29 294 60:13 62, 64 Jeremiah 17:5–8 65 19:9 201 Ezekiel 2:5 272 3, 33, 37 272 3:26–27 274 5:9–10 201 8(–11) 271–278 9:(1–)8 274–275 10–11 175 20 268–269 24:15–16 271 24:26–27 274 33 280 33:22 275 36:16–28 295 37:11–12 280 44:19 254 46:20 253–254 47:7–12 65 Joel 1:14 17 Jonah 1:2; 3:1

269

Micah 4 31–32 Haggai 2:12–13 259–262 Psalms 15

33, 43, 177

24 33, 177 24:3 144 24:5 32 96 34 99:4 34 122 35 Song of Songs 7:9 6 Lamentations 2:20 201 4:10 201 1 Chronicles 16 41 2 Chronicles 5–7 41 7:12–16 39 8:11 46 22:11–12 47 26:18 47 26:19–21 38 29–31 49 30:17/18–19 42, 47

Dead Sea Scrolls 1QS 2:19–23 72 3:3–5 68 3:13–4:26 75 4:22–23 64 5:5–7 58, 59, 60, 61, 68 5:2, 9 69 5:13–14 68, 70 6:16–17 70 8:4–11 58, 59–60, 61, 63, 68, 73 8:21–24 68 9:3–6 58, 60–61, 68 11:5–9 56, 58, 63, 64, 66 1QSa 1:1, 2 71, 72 1:28 68

1. Sources

2:2–3 72 2:4–10 71, 72 1QHa 4:27 64 16:4–41 63, 64 4QFlorilegium   1–2 i 6 (4Q174) 58, 65 4QMiscellaneous Rules (4Q265) 63, 70 4QTohorotA   (4Q274)

70, 119

D

70–72

CD 4:1, 3 69 12:1–2 46 14:3–6 72 Temple Scroll   (11Q19) 45:7–10

59, 117–119 46, 114

Apocrypha 2 Maccabees 6:25 195 7:1–2, 9–14 295

Pseudepigrapha Jubilees 3 63 8:19 63 1 Enoch 24–26 62

305

New Testament Matthew 1:23 162 3:13–17 286 4:5 (/Luke 4:9) 106 5 151–154 5:17–20 167 5:23–24 170–171 5:35 149 5:48 162 6:9 152 6:9–13 154 8:1–4 158 9:1–8 171 10:1–4 158–159 15:1–20 159, 293 15:18–20 163–164 15:31 149 18:15–22 170 19:18–19 164–165 21:12–16 108 22:34–40 165 23 152, 159–161, 287 23:16–22 150–152 23:25–26 295 23:27 292 23:38 172 24 173–174 24:15–22 150 25:31–46 175 26:3–6 100, 103 26:61 104 26:64–66 103 27:25 284, 287 28:(18)19–20 173, 176 Mark 1:40–45 120, 290–291 5 113, 137 5:21–43 286 5:25–34 292 5:41 291 7 113, 121, 127–131, 137–138, 293 7:15 133, 135 11:15–18 107 13:1 (/Matt 24:1) 106

306 Luke 2:22–40 292 3:2 103 7:11–17 291 10:30–37 288 11:39–41 295 17:11–19 290–291 19:45–48 107 20:27, 34–38 295 John 2:1–12 285–286 2:13–22 108–109 4 294 8:44a 287 9:1–41 284 11:1–45 291 11:48 103 11:49–53 103–104 11:50 100, 109 11:55 294 18 103 18:28 294 Acts of the Apostles 4:1–15 104–105 5:16–6:1 105 6:7–7:2 105–106 10 295 15:1–2, 22–29 295 Romans 1:2–3 88 2:17–22 89 3:10–18 90 3:21 87 3:31 92 6:19 76 7 90 11 94–95 12:1 97 14 91–92 15:15–16 97 1 Corinthians 3:5–9/9–15 73–74, 76 3:16–17 73, 75, 97 5:7 89

Indices

6:9–11 78 7:14–16 93–94 9:13 96 10:21 75 10:23–33 296 11–13 80 11:10 76 14 76 2 Corinthians 3:7–11 89–90 6:14–7:1 75 Galatians 3 90 3:6–13 88 3:17–25 91 3:28 224 5:19 296 5:22–23 89 Philippians 1:10 296 2:14–16 78 2:17 97

Rabbinic Literature m. ehar. 2 135 m. Kelim 1.4 120 b. Ber. 60b 1 b. Pesa 49b 1 Song Rab. 7:10 6

Philo Praem. 134

202

Josephus Ant. 9.222–227 39 18.95 101

307

2. Authors

J.W. 1.1–30 183–185 2.129 71 2.214–216 199 2.322 185 2.424 190 2.454–455 190–191 2.472–473 191 4–6 192–194 4.159, 163 189 5.17–19 189 6.127 175 6.202–205 197 6.300 175 7 194

Lucian Menippus 212–213 Salt. 80 200 P. Oxy. 840

137

Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas 224–245 3.1–3 233 3.7 234 5.2–5 235 Petronius Sat. 141.17

202

Plutarch On the Obsolescence of Oracles 213

Other Ancient Sources Apuleius The Golden Ass 217–218 Cicero Rab. 10–13

188

Clement of Alexandria Strom. 1.23

204

Polybius 1.1.2, 2.8, 35.6–10 185 1.4.4–6 185 2.56–63 185 Porphyry De Abstinentia 4.6–8

215

Sophocles Oedipus tyrannus 187 Oed. Tyr. 1423–1428 196

Eucrates Philopseudes 33–39 212

Strabo Geography 1.2.23

210–211

Eusebius Praep. ev. 9.18 23, 27, 28

204

Tacitus Hist. 3.72

188

Herodotus 1.61; 5.70–72

194

Hesiod Theog. 452–491

200

Justin Martyr Dialogue 1–8

213

Tertullian Ad Scapulam 5.2 224 De Fuga 4.9 224 Thessalos the Philosopher   on the Virtue of Herbs,  Preface

2. Authors Allen, Ronald J.  283–286 Avemarie, Friedrich  132 Block, Daniel  271–272, 277–278 Booth, Roger  125

Borg, Marcus  285 Brooke, George  65 Brown, Peter  209 Burkert, Walter  145

219–221

308 Chapman, H. H.  202 Crossan, John Dominic  285 Crossley, James  127–129, 133 D’Angelo, Mary  112 Davies, Philip  66 Dimant, Devorah  57 Droge, A. J.  233 Festugière, A.-J.  209 Fishbane, Michael  260 Friedman, Shamma  256 Furstenberg, Yair  134 George, J. F. L.  11 Glancy, J. A.  240–241 Gluzman, Michael  270 Grant, Michael  100 Graux, Charles  208 Haber, Susan  1–6, 56, 112–113, 120, 122–123, 137, 144–145, 147, 157, 181, 204, 283–287 – family of  1–2 – studies of  2–5 Hallet, Judith  235–236 Hayes, Christine  77 Hoffmann, David Zvi  258–259 Hughes, Julie  64

Indices

Meyers, Carol L.  261 Meyers, Eric M.  261 Milgrom, Jacob  258 Mintz, Alan  263 Miron, Dan  263, 270, 272 Neusner, Jacob  125 Newsom, Carol  69 Newton, Michael  68, 77 Nock, A. D.  209 Økland, Jorunn  78–79 Parker, Robert  205 Patterson, Orlando  240 Peppard, Michael  289 Perry, Menakhem  264 Poirier, John  156 Pomeroy, Sarah  230 Regev, Eyal  147 Reinhartz, Adele  3, 5, 144 Repschinski, Boris  166 Ritner, Robert K.  210, 215, 217 Rives, James B.  226 Runesson, Anders  3–4

Klawans, Jonathan  48, 67–68, 77, 79, 163 Kugler, Robert  57

Salisbury, Joyce E.  229, 241 Sanders, E. P.  100, 125, 285 Schiffman, Lawrence  57 Schuller, Eileen  3 Selvidge, Marla  112 Shavit, Uzi  263, 273, 275, 280 Smith, Jonathan Z.  209–210 Stegemann, Ekkehard  225 Stegemann, Wolfgang  225

Lahover, Fischel  263, 270–271 Levine, Amy-Jill  288, 297 Levine, Baruch  258

Tabor, James D  233 Thackeray, Henry St. John  204 Touitou, Elazar  257–258

Macky, Peter  57 Magness, Jodi  57 Meier, John  100

Wallace, Howard  62 Wellhausen, Julius  11 Williamson, Clark M.  283–286

Janzen, David  39 Japhet, Sara  39

3. Subjects

309

3. Subjects Aaron  59–61, 63 Abraham ibn Ezra  259–261 Adam  38, 58, 63–65 Akiva, Rabbi  1, 4 Alexandria  202, 208, 219–220 Ananus  106, 189, 192, 194, 196 Angels  66, 73, 76, 81–82 Annas  101, 103, 105 Antiochus IV Epiphanes  187, 190 Apollos 73–74 Artapanus 204 Asklepios 208–221 Atonement 167–174 Atonement, Day of (Yom Kippur)  77–78, 101

Demon(s)  75, 79, 81, 155, 159 Diodorus Siculus  190, 195 Dionysius of Halicarnassus  190, 195 Dubnow, Simon  263

Babylonian Exile  201, 270 Baptism  78, 80, 93, 176, 286 Bialik, Hayyim Nahman  263–281 – City of Slaughter 262–281

Felicitas 224–245 – arrest of  241 – imprisonment of  241–244 – trial of  244–245 Festival(s) 15–22 Festival calendars  11–22 Forgiveness 167–174

Caiaphas, Joseph ben  100, 103–105, 294 Caligula, Gaius  182 Cannibalism  187, 197–203, 205 Capernaum 171 Carthage  225, 237, 241, 243 Chaeremon  210, 215–216, 218 Christ  77–80 (see also Jesus), 87–89, 91–97, 224, 228, 296 Christology  113, 122–123, 137–139 Chronicles, Book of  37–49 Cicero  188, 235–236 Claudius  188–190, 196 Code of Hammurabi  29 Commandment(s)  16, 88–89, 159–160, 164–165, 167–168, 201, 265, 277 Corinth  93, 184 Covenant Code  27–29 Creon  187, 196 D (Deuteronomistic source/editor)  19, 31 Daniel, Book of  149–150 David, King  45–46, 162 Deborah 29 Delos 148–149

Easter  263, 291, 295 Eden, Garden of  62–66, 176 Eliezer, R(abbi)  135 Elisha  26, 123 Essenes  56, 71, 135, 183, 190, 196 Euripides  186, 190, 195 Ezekiel  62, 172, 201, 270–278 Ezekiel, Book of  117, 253–254, 263–264 Ezekiel (the Tragedian)  204

Galilee  103, 155, 183, 191, 285 Gamaliel 105 Gentiles  77, 82, 96–97, 121, 130, 169–170, 290 – Court of  118, 149 God  25–26, 29–35, 41, 48, 58–67, 73–78, 80–82, 87–98, 103–104, 128, 138, 149–156, 161–166, 170–177, 189, 192–193, 203–204, 206, 224, 228, 233, 236, 241, 264–265, 267, 269–280, 288–289, 294, 296 Golan 155 Good Samaritan, Parable of  288 Gospels  100–101, 103, 105–107, 109–111, 284, 287, 290–294 – Synoptic (in relationship to John)  101, 107–111 H (Holiness code/source)  12–13, 40 Harpocration  213–214, 219 Herod, King  183, 185–186, 190, 195 Hezekiah, King  41–42, 47

310

Indices

Hilarianus  227, 232, 237, 241, 244–245 Hillel and Shammai, Schools of  136 Holiness 253–262 Holy of Holies  63, 74, 101, 149, 175 Holy Spirit  61, 74, 80–81, 95–97 Idolatry  29, 67, 79, 153 Impurity  37, 40–49, 125–126, 146, 157–167, 253, 262 – moral  48–49, 67–68, 70, 72, 77–78, 81, 146–148, 156–175 (passim) – ritual  48, 67, 77, 82, 139, 153, 155–161 Immanuel 162 Iotapata 191 Isaiah, Book of  34 Israelites  18–19, 21, 25, 29–30, 32, 34, 42, 77, 158, 272, 276, 278 J (Yahwistic source)  11–12 Jairus’ daughter  121–123 James (brother of Jesus)  106 Jehoshabeath 47 Jerusalem  34–35, 46, 48–49, 57, 94, 100, 105–108, 118–119, 148–149, 153–156, 172, 184, 197–203, 274, 285 Jerusalem Temple  see Temple Jesus (Christ)  77–78, 80, 87–89, 91–94, 96–98, 100–139, 144, 146–147, 149–158, 162, 170–172, 176, 190, 290–294, 296 – death (and resurrection of)  98, 100–111, 150, 172–173 Jethro 30 Jewish-Christian dialogue  283 Jews  2, 5, 88–89, 92, 94, 106, 108–111, 126, 128, 131, 148, 156–157, 159, 176, 190, 233, 266, 270, 279, 284–285, 287–289, 291, 294 – depravity of  197, 280 John, Gospel of  117 John of Gischala  192 John the Baptist  103, 286 Joram, King  201 Joseph (father of Jesus)  147 Josephus  39, 71, 74, 101–102, 106, 117–119, 166, 181–206, 292 (see also Judean War)

Jubilees, Book of  62–63, 161, 163 Judea  101, 126, 215 Judean War (Josephus) 181–206 Kimhi, Rabbi David  254 Kishinev Pogrom  262–281 (passim) Law 167–176 Law, Mosaic  89–92, 96, 120, 165 Lazarus  103–104, 109–111, 291 Lectionaries, Christian  283–297 Leper, Lepers  115,  117–122, 137, 158, 290–291, 296 Leprosy  119, 134, 158–159, 167, 205 Leviticus, Book of  44–45, 72, 112, 115–116, 196, 256, 258–259, 264, 288, 292–292, 295 Lord’s Supper  79 Lucian  200, 212–213 LXX  see Septuagint Maccabees 266 Maria (a noblewoman)  197–203 Marriage  229–232, 239 Martyrdom  224–245, 262–281 Masada  184, 186, 191 Ma ot  19, 22 Matthew, Gospel of  144–177 Medicine, history of  209, 220 Menstruation  67, 114, 286 Messiah  89–90, 104, 147–148, 162, 167, 171, 174–176, 284 Metaphor  55–82, 95–97, 160 Micah, Book of  34 Mishnah  118–119, 126, 134, 203 Moses  16, 21, 30, 33–34, 45, 89, 91, 105, 120–121, 158, 269 Murder  28, 67, 153, 163–164, 187, 189–195, 200, 268, 280 Nechepso 208–221 Nero 188 Noah 62 Oath  27–30, 33, 104, 151–152, 168, 194 Oedipus  187, 196

3. Subjects

P (Priestly code/source)  13–22, 26, 40, 77, 181, 254 Passion  100–101, 106, 109–110, 294, 296 Passover  41–42, 48, 89, 101, 107–108, 110–111, 168, 188, 294 – sacrifice 48 Paul  55–82, 87–98, 106, 297 Perpetua, Vibia  224–245 – arrest of  232–233 – imprisonment of  234 – trial of  234–237 Pesa   see Passover Peter  104, 295 Pharisees  103–104, 125, 132, 134–136, 150–152, 172, 284, 287, 292–294 – and scribes  150–151, 159–161, 174 Philo  117, 202 Pilgrimage  11, 19–20, 25–26, 30, 35, 101, 110, 257 Pollution  49, 82, 181–206, 277 Polybius  184–185, 190, 195, 199 Pompey 183 Pontius Pilate  101, 103, 294 Psalms 32–34 Psalter  see Psalms Purification  18, 41, 49, 67–68, 71, 78, 80–82, 114–121, 124–126, 148, 152, 157, 163, 167, 176, 181–206, 215–218, 258, 293–294 – ritual of  49, 137, 285–286 Purity 126–127, 137–139, 146–148, 284–285, 288–289 —  Moral  48–49, 70, 79, 82, 147–148, 152, 157, 159, 161–167, 174, 177 —  Ritual  41–44, 47, 76–77, 148, 152, 156–161, 167, 177, 285, 297 – in Chronicles  37–49 Q 136 Qumran community  59, 69–73, 76 Qumran texts  55–56, 117, 126, 164–166 Rashbam (Rabbi Samuel ben Meir) ​ 256–261 Rashi (Rabbi Solomon ben Isaac)  254– 255, 257, 260, 265

311

Rome  6, 93, 97, 100, 181–185, 188, 196, 202–203, 224, 231–232, 237, 241 Sabbath  16, 19–22, 66, 92, 130, 150, 167 Sacrifice(s)  13, 18, 26, 30, 32–33, 39–48, 60–61, 65–66, 75, 77–78, 80, 93, 96–97, 101, 121, 152, 158–159, 166, 169–170, 173–175, 187–189, 193, 196, 198–199, 205, 227, 236–237, 244, 254, 256, 264, 267–268, 293 Sadducees  104, 135 Saints  93–94, 245, 266–267 Samaria 201 Samuel (the Prophet)  29, 34 Sancta  15, 47, 256–257, 259–260 Saturus  227–228, 233, 243 Saul, King  191 Septimius Severus  232 Septuagint  46, 120, 205 Sermon on the Mount  156, 158, 168 Shavuot  see Weeks, Feast of Simon of Scythopolis  191, 194–195 Simon the Leper  291, 296 Sin(s)  67, 70, 77–78, 82, 147–148, 159, 161–166, 169, 171–175, 277, 279 – sexual  67–68, 75, 153 Slaves  76, 188, 237 – Roman  226, 229, 231–233, 238–245 Solomon  30–31, 34, 46 Solomonic Temple  see Temple, First Son of Man  103, 173, 175, 271, 280 Sophocles  186–187, 195 Stephen (Saint)  105 Sukkot  19–22 (see also Tabernacles) Synagogue  105–106, 154–155, 168, 277 Tabernacles, Feast of (Sukkot)  101 Tacitus 188 Temple of Jerusalem  39–40, 59, 80–81, 106–110, 149–156, 169, 172, 187, 192–193, 285 – as metaphor  55–82 – cleansing of  100–111 – defiled 61 – in Dead Sea Scrolls  56–68 Temple, First  30–32, 270, 280 Temple, Second

312

Indices

– Period  116, 124, 132 Tertullian 224 Testimonium Flavianum 102 Thessalos 208–221 Thucydides  188–189, 195 Titus  183, 187, 193, 197–200 Tobit, Book of  117–118 Torah  11, 13, 88–92, 127, 135, 137, 139, 156, 158, 169, 254–257, 259, 265 – reading of  168 Tree of Life  62, 64

Vespasian 183 Vessels  160, 167, 187 – stone  124, 126,134, 155–156, 285 Vitellius  101, 188

Uzziah 47 – disease of  39

Zadok, Sons of  69 Zealots 192

Weeks, Feast of  101 Yhwh (Yahweh)  11–13, 15–22, 30, 41, 45–49, 58, 62 – sitting in judgment  34 Yom Kippur  see Atonement, Day of

4. Foreign Words and Phrases Greek αγιος / αγιοι  93, 194 hagioz  152 ακαθαρσια 76 hamartia 171 anomia  151, 168–169 ανδρα ιερον 212 blasph mia 171 γραμματευς 212 daimonion 159 dialassomai 152 d ron 158 δραμα 186 δραματουργος 195 ειμαρμενη 185 eleos 160 ελπις 212 ekkl sia  78–80, 82 εναγης 194 er mos  172, 175 euangelion 174 Θεου γεωργιον 73 Θεου οικοδομη 73–74 καθαρμος 187 kraspedon 159 krisis 160 λοιμος 205 μεταβολαι 185

μιαιφονος 190 μιασμα  187, 189, 194–195, 205 μισος 199 μυδαω 186 μυσος  195, 199–200 μυθος 199–200 ναος (θεου) 73–74 οσιος 196

opheil mata 170 paradosis 131–132 pistis 160 porneia 296 ποτηριον δαιμονιων 75 πτωμα  186, 200 στασις 197–198 τεκνοφαγια 200 teleios 162 τυχη 185 phthonos 168 phylakt rion 160 ψευδομαρτυριαι 129

Hebrew ‫ אהל מועד‬14 ‫ אותות‬13 ‫ אשה‬18–20 ‫ בית קודש‬58

4. Foreign Words and Phrases

‫ בליעה‬255 ‫ בשר קודש‬260 halakhah  119, 124, 127, 129, 132 zav / zavah  112–139, 286–287 ‫ חג‬19 a ’t 77 ullin 125 ‫ חללים‬269 tevul yom 125 ‫  טהר‬41, 45 ‫  טמא‬41, 45, 77 ‫ יטמא‬259–260 ‫ יכפר‬42 yoledet 114–115 ‫  יקדש‬256, 260 ‫ יקדשו‬254 kavod (Adonay) 276–277 kol ha-nogea‘ beX yiqdash 256–259 kapp ret 77 lidrosh ’elohim 30 ‫ להקריב‬18 ‫ למטעת עולם‬63–64 ‫מועדים‬/‫ מועד‬13–17 ‫ מקדש מעט‬278 miqvaot  82, 155 ‫ מקראי קדש‬15 niddah 119 ‫ עגלי הטבחה‬268 ‫ עז"ב‬277–278 ‘Al Hashehitah 263 peshat  258, 261 tzitzit  159, 167 ‫( צרעת‬tsara‘at)  38–39, 134 ‫ קדש‬/‫  קודש‬45, 260 Qiddush Hashem 264 ‫ קדושים‬/‫( קדושות‬qedoshim/­ qedoshot) 265–269

313

‫ קום לך לך‬269 qorban  128–129, 293 ‫שח"ט‬/‫( שחוטים‬she utim) 267 ‫ תערובות‬256 tefillin  160, 167

Latin auctoritas 242 coemptio 230 confarreatio 230 conserva 238–239 consumptus taedio 234 contubernium 239 domina 236 familia 238–240 filia 236 Fortuna Primigenia 232 Fortuna Virginalis 231 honeste nata 229 imitatio dei 43 magna dignatione 234 manus 230 Mater Matuta 231 matrona (Christi)  228, 231 matronaliter nupta  229, 231 miserere infanti 237 pater familias  229–231, 235–236, 240, 244 sicarii 184 stillantibus mammis 228 supplica 237 univirae 231