Torah in Early Jewish Imaginations 9783161626647, 9783161626654, 3161626648

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Forschungen zum Alten Testament Edited by

Corinna Körting (Hamburg) ∙ Konrad Schmid (Zürich) Mark S. Smith (Princeton) ∙ Andrew Teeter (Harvard)

171

Torah in Early Jewish Imaginations Edited by

Ariel Feldman and Timothy J. Sandoval

Mohr Siebeck

Ariel Feldman is Rosalyn and Manny Rosenthal Professor of Jewish Studies at the Brite Divinity School at Texas Christian University. Timothy J. Sandoval is Associate Professor of Hebrew Bible at the Brite Divinity School at Texas Christian University. orcid.org/0000-0002-3675-2461

ISBN 978-3-16-162664-7 / eISBN 978-3-16-162665-4 DOI 10.1628/978-3-16-162665-4 ISSN 0940-4155 / eISSN 2568-8359 (Forschungen zum Alten Testament) The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available at https://dnb.de. ©  2023 Mohr Siebeck Tübingen, Germany.  www.mohrsiebeck.com 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 and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was typeset by Martin Fischer in Tübingen using Minion typeface, printed on nonaging paper by Gulde Druck in Tübingen, and bound by Buchbinderei Spinner in Ottersweier. Printed in Germany.

Preface The studies in Torah in Early Jewish Imaginations are revisions and expansions of essays delivered at the “Torah in Early Jewish and Christian Imaginations” conference held at Brite Divinity School at Texas Christian University in May 2022. We are grateful not only to colleagues who participated in this event and who contributed to this volume, but also to others who made both the conference and the volume possible. Funds from the Cristol Endowment for Jewish Studies at Brite Divinity School and Texas Christian University provided support for the conference. The conference itself, however, would have seen no success without the invaluable logistical assistance of many, especially Ms. Reina Rodriguez. We are, finally, especially grateful to Andrew Teeter and his esteemed colleagues on the editorial board of Forschungen zum Alten Testament  – Corinna Körting, Konrad Schmid, and Mark S. Smith – for receiving the volume into their prestigious series, while Elena Müller, Markus Kirchner, and Betina Burkhart at Mohr Siebeck helpfully and professionally guided the project along. The Editors Brite Divinity School, January 2023

Table of Contents Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . V Abbreviations Including Frequently Cited Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IX Ariel Feldman and Timothy J. Sandoval Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Richard J. Bautch The Pentateuchal Redaction: An Exercise in Scribal Imagination . . . . . . . . . 9 Steven D. Fraade “Bringing the Messiah(s) through Law”: Reflections from the Hebrew Bible, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and Some Successors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Carol A. Newsom Access to Knowledge and Resistance to Genesis 2–3 in Mid-Second Temple Texts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Daniel A. Machiela An Ancestral Pattern for Diaspora Life in the Aramaic Literature from Qumran . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57 Ariel Feldman The Song of the Sea in the Writings of Early Judaism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 Joseph McDonald Exodus as Chosen Trauma, Exodus as Chosen Glory: Group Identity Formation among Ancient Israelites, Jews of the Hellenistic Diaspora, and Modern Ethiopian Jews . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91 Jonathan Kaplan Leviticus and the Rewriting of the Torah in 1QWords of Moses (1Q22) . . . . 111 Jeremy L. Williams The Rhetorical Use of Blasphemy for Criminalization from Leviticus 24:10–23 to Acts 6:8–7:60 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125

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Timothy J. Sandoval Satirical Elements in Tobit? Tobit’s Torah Ethics in GII versus GI . . . . . . . . 147 Judith H. Newman Trickery as Virtue? Reworking the Torah’s Trickster in the Book of Judith 171 Kelley Coblentz Bautch The Law and the Prophet: Reading 1 Maccabees in the Days of John Hyrcanus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183 List of Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205 Index of Ancient Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207 Index of Modern Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216 Index of Subjects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219

Abbreviations Including Frequently Cited Sources AB Anchor Bible ABS Archaeology and Biblical Studies AIL Ancient Israel and Its Literature AT Altes Testament Bib Biblica BIOSC Bulletin of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies BIS Biblical Interpretation Series BJSUCSD Biblical and Judaic Studies from the University of California, San Diego BTB Biblical Theology Bulletin BZAR Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechts­ geschichte BZAW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly CEJL Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature CRINT Compendia Rerum Iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum CurBR Currents in Biblical Research CurBS Currents in Research: Biblical Studies DCLS Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature Studies DJD 1 Dominique Barthélemy and Józef T. Milik, Qumran Cave 1. DJD 1. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1955. DJD 7 Maurice Baillet, Qumrân Grotte 4.3 (4Q482-4Q520). DJD 7. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982. DJD 9 Patrick W. Skehan et al., Qumran Cave 4.IV: Palaeo-Hebrew and Greek Biblical Manuscripts. DJD 9. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992. DJD 12 Eugene Ulrich et al., Qumran Cave 4.V II: Genesis to Numbers. DJD 12. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994. DJD 13 Harold Attridge et al., Qumran Cave 4.V III: Parabiblical Texts, Part 1. DJD 13. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994. DJD 29 Esther Chazon et al., Qumran Cave 4.XX: Poetical and Liturgical Texts, Part 2. DJD 29. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999. DJD 31 Émile Puech, Qumran Cave 4.XXVII: Textes arameens, première partie: 4Q529-549. DJD 31. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2001. DJD 40 Carol Newsom, Hartmut Stegemann, and Eileen Schuller, Qumran Cave 1.3: 1QHodayota, with Incorporation of 4QHodayota-f and 1QHodayotb. DJD 40. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2009. DSD Dead Sea Discoveries DSSR The Dead Sea Scrolls Reader. Edited by Emanuel Tov and Donald Parry. Second Edition. 2 vols. Leiden: Brill, 2014. ECC Eerdmans Critical Commentary ECRW Early Christianity in the Roman World

X EJL FAT FRLANT HeBAI HeyJ HTR JAL JAJSup JBL JHS JJS JNES JQR JSem JSJ JSJSup JSNT JSOT JSOTSup JSP JSPSup JSS JTS LCL LHB/OTS NAB NETS NIB NRSV NRSVue NTS OBO RevQ RB SBL SFSHJ STDJ StPB SVTP SymS TBN TynBul

Abbreviations Including Frequently Cited Sources

Early Judaism and its Literature Forschungen zum Alten Testament Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel Heythrop Journal Harvard Theological Review Jewish Apocryphal Literature Journal of Ancient Judaism Supplements Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Hebrew Scriptures Journal of Jewish Studies Journal of Near Eastern Studies Jewish Quarterly Review Journal of Semitics Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Periods Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Periods Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Supplement Series Journal of Semitic Studies Journal of Theological Studies Loeb Classical Library Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies New American Bible A New English Translation of the Septuagint. Edited by Albert ­Pietersma and Benjamin G. Wright. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by Leander E. Keck. 12 vols. Nashville: Abingdon, 1994–2004. New Revised Standard Version New Revised Standard Version updated edition New Testament Studies Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis Revue de Qumrân Rivista Biblica Society of Biblical Literature South Florida Studies in the History of Judaism Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah Studia Post-Biblica Studia in Veteris Testamenti Pseudepigrapha Symposium Series, SBL Themes in Biblical Narrative Tyndale Bulletin

Abbreviations Including Frequently Cited Sources

VT VTSup WLAW WUNT ZAW ZThK

Vetus Testamentum Vetus Testamentum Supplement Wisdom Literature from the Ancient World Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche

XI

Introduction Ariel Feldman and Timothy J. Sandoval Torah remains a topic of keen interest among scholars of the Bible and Second Temple Judaism.1 A broad consensus sees the Persian period as the moment when the Pentateuch  – those Five Books of Moses that will later become the Torah of the Bible of Jews and Christians – reached something like its final form. That was also the period this Torah increasingly came to be revered. But when (whether in the Persian, Ptolemaic, or Hasmonean period) the Books of Moses ceased merely to be an “iconic” collection of laws that were of keen interest to small groups of Judean literati and instead attained the status of a prescriptive law code for a broad segment of the Judean population – one that was also robustly interpreted by exegetical experts both in the Land and in diaspora – is debated.2 Whatever the case, especially the Hellenistic age witnessed the emergence of an undeniable textual pluriformity of not only the books of the Pentateuch but of other newly composed works related to the Torah, often called re-written Bible (e. g., Jubilees). To this diversity of Pentateuchal and related works, one can also mention distinct recensions of (what will become) biblical prophetic and wisdom works, as well as novel compositions related to those genres (e. g., Baruch; Letter of Jeremiah; Ben Sira/Sirach), newly composed philosophical treatises (e. g., the works of Philo), novellas (e. g., Judith, Tobit), and halachic works (e. g., 4QMMT) – all of which in different fashions often treat or invoke one or another conception of torah. Such a context means that the word torah (and its typical Greek translation nomos), which would come to signify especially the Five Books of Moses, was in the context of Second Temple literature robustly multivalent, deployed in di-

1  See, for example, William M. Schniedewind et al., ed., Torah: Functions, Meanings, and Diverse Manifestations in Early Judaism and Christianity, EJL 56 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2021). 2 See, for example, Michael LeFebvre, Collections, Codes, and Torah: The Re-Characterization of Israel’s Written Law, LHB/OTS 451 (New York: T&T Clark, 2006); Yonatan Adler, The Origins of Judaism: An Archaeological-Historical Reappraisal (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2022). On the “iconic” status of the Pentateuch prior to the middle of the second century bce, and the “halakic turn” in interpretation of Torah after this point, see John J. Collins, The Invention of Judaism: Torah and Jewish Identity from Deuteronomy to Paul (Oakland: University of California Press, 2017), viii, 60.

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verse contexts, in relation to different texts and discourses, and toward a range of rhetorical ends.3 The following studies – organized here roughly according to the (admittedly later) canonical order(s) of the texts with which each writer is centrally concerned  – contribute to the ongoing scholarly discussion of torah in Second Temple Jewish texts in various and sundry ways. They employ a diverse range of methodologies to offer innovative studies of a range of early Jewish literature – including texts from the Hebrew Bible, the so-called Apocrypha, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and the Septuagint – that is concerned in different ways with torah and texts of torah. An essay by Richard J. Bautch, “The Pentateuchal Redaction: An Exercise in Scribal Imagination,” opens the volume. Bautch offers a helpful primer on, and critical evaluation of the Pentateuchal Redaction developed by, among others, Eckart Otto. Bautch sketches the theory’s main arguments, its most important scholarly advocates, and the best evidence that its proponents have provided for their claims regarding a fourth century bce redaction of the Pentateuch by (probably) Aaronide priestly scribes whose editorial work constituted efforts to negotiate and fend off rival priestly/scribal claims to authority. He suggests that debates regarding Mosaic authority at this time created an environment of heightened “scribal creativity and imagination” and that those responsible for the Pentateuchal Redaction (or some similar process) strove to harness Mosaic authority for themselves, limiting it to their redaction of the Pentateuch. To the extent that the first five books of the Bible came firmly to rest on Mosaic authority, Bautch judges the work of those who carried out the Pentateuchal Redaction to be a success. However, he is quick to add that it “failed as a hermeneutic of restriction.” For Bautch, “multiple witnesses from antiquity attest the rewriting of Torah and even the creation of new genres to express these legal and narrative traditions.” In his essay “‘Bringing the Messiah(s) through Law’: Reflections from the Hebrew Bible, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and Some Successors,” Steven D. Fraade next posits the question as to whether a juxtaposition of narrative (including history and eschatology) and legal materials in the sectarian Damascus Document may suggest a view according to which a faithful observance of the Torah regulations could hasten the arrival of the Messiah(s), a belief found in medieval Jewish sources. To answer this question, Fraade first affirms the complementing nature of the ancient Jewish law and Jewish spirituality and eschatology, a view opposing centuries of supersessionist Christian theological speculations that assume a bifurcation of Judaism into nomistic pietism and eschatological spirit3  On this robust textual pluriformity in Early Judaism (especially in the Dead Sea Scrolls) see, for example, Molly Zahn, Genres of Rewriting in Second Temple Judaism: Scribal Composition and Transmission (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020).

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ualism. He then examines several passages, primarily from the sectarian Dead Sea Scrolls, that indicate a communal life characterized by “legal pietism,” on the one hand, and a strong sense of time as being divinely predetermined, on the other. The divine timetable, however, Fraade suggests is not disclosed to the faithful. The sources rather deal with “how and why,” rather than “when.” Hence, Fraade posits that the sectarian community can hardly hasten the arrival of the Messiah by observing the Law. Rather, it is “preparing for the Messiah through Law,” an “activist-quietist pose” adopted also in the later rabbinic texts. Noting that allusions to Genesis 2–3 in Second Temple texts are essentially non-existent prior to the late third century bce, in an essay entitled “Access to Knowledge and Resistance to Genesis 2–3 in Mid-Second Temple Texts,” Carol A. Newsom contends that the knowledge prohibition in the early chapters of Genesis was not one shared by other Second Temple works. Passages from texts like Enoch and Jubilees, on the one hand, indicate that the primal prohibition of access to knowledge in Genesis could be judged to be “problematic or not of great interest.” On the other hand, other Second Temple texts reckon the Garden of Eden, “not as the place where knowledge is prohibited, but as the place where divine knowledge is uniquely accessible.” In the end, it may be that Genesis 2–3 itself was “subverting an established tradition” of access to knowledge “to produce a dour account of the origin of the unreliable human moral capacity that results in a moral chaos that even the flood could not eradicate.” In “An Ancestral Pattern for Diaspora Life in the Aramaic Literature from Qumran,” Daniel A. Machiela next considers the torah or testamentary and wisdom instruction of Levi in the Aramaic Levi Document, Qahat in the Testament of Qahat, and of Abram in Genesis Apocryphon. For Machiela, these three works deploy a similar wisdom and instructional rhetoric by which they imaginatively develop figures from the Pentateuch “in a way that reflects an interest in their encounters with foreign places and peoples.” Along with the title characters of other Second Temple works – Daniel and Tobit – the three figures Machiela studies help to “build for readers an idealized pattern for life in exile and diaspora.” The contribution by Ariel Feldman explores the literary afterlife of ​“ The Song of the Sea in the Writings of Early Judaism,” particularly in the Dead Sea Scrolls. His overview of the evidence begins with the Exodus scrolls from Qumran and then proceeds to the various uses of Exodus 15 in non-biblical Second Temple texts. In the medieval Masoretic codices, the Song of the Sea is laid out in a fashion reminiscent of a brickwork. It is well-known that a similar layout is present already in one of the 4QReworked Pentateuch scrolls from Qumran, 4Q365. Feldman proposes that this scribal tradition (with some variation) is found also in two other Exodus scrolls from Qumran, 4Q14 and 4Q15. The same scroll 4Q365 famously features an extended Song of Miriam. Unlike other early Jewish texts envisioning Miriam (and other women) singing along with Moses, this text provides Miriam with her own song. Feldman revisits the

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current editions of this text and draws attention to a previously unnoticed inclusio. Scrutinizing the many uses of Exod 15:1–21 in Early Jewish writings, Feldman also highlights the Philonic corpus. Philo often returns to the imagery of the conquered horse and rider from Exod 15:1 and 21, reading it allegorically as a victory over one’s passions and vices. The divine victory of Exodus 15 is taken up not only by Philo, but also by several other texts describing divine judgments, both of the past (flood) and the future (eschaton). One passage from the Song of the Sea that keeps resurfacing in Early Jewish writings is Exod 15:17. It is evoked in a variety of contexts and applied to various entities, from Solomon’s Temple, to the Second Temple, to the eschatological Temple that will be built by God himself, and even to the cosmos or Logos. In an essay entitled “Exodus as Chosen Trauma, Exodus as Chosen Glory: Group Identity Formation among Ancient Israelites, Jews of the Hellenistic Diaspora, and Modern Ethiopian Jews,” Joseph McDonald explores reflections of the Exodus story in three sources – Isaiah, 3 Maccabees, and oral and written histories of Ethiopic Jewry. He does so through the lens of Vamik Volkan’s work on “chosen trauma” and “chosen glory.” In the book of Isaiah McDonald focuses on Isa 10:24–27a, 11:11–16, 19:19–25, 42:10–16, and 43:16–21, where, with the exception of 19:19–25 that recasts Egypt as an oppressed nation rather than an oppressor, the application of this lens helps explain “collapses in time, identification of old enemies and new and … rhetorical reinforcement of group boundaries.” In his discussion of 3 Maccabees McDonald explores various evocations of the exodus in this book, paying particular attention to the prayers of Simon and Eleazar, both of which feature historical summaries. Here too the lens of ​“chosen trauma” explains how “these characters call upon the programmatic analogue of the exodus” to interpret “present plights and opportunities in the light of the former traumas and triumphs,” on the one hand, and to assert Jewish difference from gentiles, on the other. McDonald concludes his study with a glance at the modern “exodus” of some 20,000 Ethiopic Jews between 1977 and 1985. Here, too, he identifies ways in which this group’s embrace of the biblical exodus story as their chosen trauma and glory reinforced their Jewish identity. The contribution of Jonathan Kaplan, “Leviticus and the Rewriting of the Torah in 1QWords of Moses (1Q22),” explores the ways the composition dubbed Words of Moses recasts select pericopae from the Torah, focusing on this scroll’s treatment of the book of Leviticus. Noting the prominence of the rewritten Leviticus material in the extant remains of the scroll, Kaplan argues that the scroll is better described as a rewriting of Deuteronomy and Leviticus, rather than of Deuteronomy alone. Taking a close look at the Leviticus material in 1Q22, Kaplan ventures a hypothesis according to which this scroll deals not only with the laws of the Sabbatical Year from Leviticus 25, but also with those pertaining to the Jubilee year as laid out in the same chapter. Kaplan supports this claim by pointing out certain thematic links in the extant text of 1Q22 to other ma-

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terials found in Leviticus 26, such as a mention of the atonement for the land. He also notes a tradition attested to in contemporary and later Jewish sources suggesting that Jubilee laws were revealed as the first commandments given to Moses at Sinai. An indirect support for this hypothesis comes from the fact that 1Q22 presents Moses’s rehearsing the laws to Israel in Deuteronomy as modeled on the Sinai revelation. In “The Rhetorical Use of Blasphemy for Criminalization from Leviticus 24:10–23 to Acts 6:8 – 7:60,” Jeremy L. Williams explores the brief narrative in the H strand of Leviticus regarding the blasphemy of a person with an Egyptian father and Israelite mother. Williams attends especially to how the Leviticus text is rhetorically constructed and how subsequent Second Temple works construe blasphemy and appropriate responses to this act. In particular, Williams highlights how the mixed ethnic identity and actions of the blasphemer of Leviticus 24 signal that he is not simply a communal insider but a dangerous outsider and boundary crosser whose blasphemous words consequently constitute a significant threat to the integrity of the Israelite community, a threat that must be eliminated by the sentence of death. What is more, following the arguments of Mark Leuchter, Williams intimates that the identity of the blasphemer’s mother – Shelomith – hints that the Leviticus text also subtly indicts Solomon for blasphemous actions. Even if Solomon is not said to utter or invoke the name of the deity wrongly, through his temple building Solomon may have been imagined by some to have illegitimately and arrogantly manipulated sacred authority to his own benefit. As Williams shows, a range of subsequent texts including Mishnah and other Second Temple texts and authors (Mark, Philo) respond in different ways to various aspects of the Leviticus 24 passage  – including its marriage of ​“arrogance and Egyptian otherness.” Williams, however, is most interested in how the early Christian book of Acts reckons with Leviticus 24. He makes clear that in Acts 6 and 7 in particular, the charge of blasphemy levelled against Stephen is related to Lev 24:10–24 as well as the way other works (e. g., Mark and Philo) have reckoned with that foundational text. Like the blasphemer of the H text, in the eyes of the Jerusalem court that condemns him to death, Stephen is a dangerous insider and outsider to the Jewish community, while his speech itself invokes negative portrayals of Egypt. Noting that scholars differ as to whether, or to what extent, the book of Tobit should be understood in comic and ironic fashion, Timothy J. Sandoval in an essay entitled “Satirical Elements in Tobit? Tobit’s Torah Ethics in GII versus GI” considers the matter in light of the significant textual pluriformity of the Tobit tradition and via the literary category of satire, and irony (a key element of satiric discourse). Rather than understanding satire and irony in terms of the possible intentions of authors, which inevitably produces disputes regarding whether any particular textual feature should be understood as satirically or ironically intended or not, Sandoval follows the work of literary theorist Linda Hutcheon

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who contends that satire and irony are in fact questions best theorized in terms of discursive communities that read texts. These communities share certain social, literary, and moral presuppositions that lead them to understand particular textual features satirically or ironically. Other discursive communities, with different presuppositions, however, will not reckon the same features in the same ways. For Sandoval, the literary characteristics of GII mean it is the kind of text that some (not all) discursive communities that are attuned to satire and irony will interpret satirically and in full ironic fashion. By contrast, GI is the sort of text that most reading communities will read straight. Although GII can well be reckoned as offering a satiric critique of Tobit and his Torah/torah piety or way of life, it is no mere poking fun at a self-righteous Tobit character. Its satiric critique instead raises questions about the nature of proper or authentic Jewish identity in diaspora. Should we live like Tobit, or in another way? GII’s satiric critique, in fact, stands in dialogue with GI’s “straight” presentation of Tobit and his piety as a model for appropriate Jewish existence among the nations. However, for Sandoval, because to hear irony or satire in a work like GII means also hearing or understanding its possible straightforward meaning, the dialogue between the perspectives of GII and GI can actually already be discerned in the longer, likely more “original” satiric-ironic work of GII itself. Rather than inviting readers to adopt only the satiric critique of Tobit, GII – like much “serious-comical” satire from ancient times on – invites readers to consider critically the matter at hand. In this case the question: “what constitutes proper Jewish identity in the Hellenistic diaspora?” Readers have long recognized that the Book of Judith contains a kaleidoscopic range of influences from scriptural tradition. In “Trickery as Virtue? Reworking the Torah’s Trickster in the Book of Judith,” Judith H. Newman explores what appears to be an overlooked influence: the representation of the heroine as a trickster figure. The books included in what came to be known as the Tanakh have no lack of trickster figures. Newman names Jacob, Laban, Rachel, and Tamar. These are not simply individuals, but rather “eponymous ancestors of Israel.” So too is Judith, as seems to be suggested by her very name Yehudit. Unlike the aforementioned figures, however, Judith acts as a trickster on behalf of her “marginal and vulnerable people,” rather than to rectify “her own marginal status as a widow.” Following on Claudia Camp’s analysis of the combined image of Lady Wisdom and the Strange Woman in the book of Proverbs as a trickster, Newman argues that Judith should be described as a “wise Trickster,” performing this role “in speech – both deceptive and true – and through embodied action.” Indeed, there is a notable tension in how Judith is depicted in the book. She is pious: she prays, observes dietary laws, and is chaste. And most importantly for Newman Judith is also called “wise,” both by her own people and the Assyrians. Indeed, she speaks as a wise woman to her fellow Israelites and to her God in her prayers. At the same time, however, Judith’s behaviour, or, better tactics, are

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easily associated with the Foreign Woman of Proverbs and the activities of tricksters: beautification, deceiving speech, and seduction. The sapiential aspect of Judith seems to have received little attention in the scholarship on this book, and Newman’s essay highlighting the influence of Proverbs’ “feminine imagery” on it invites further consideration of this topic. In the volume’s final essay, “The Law and the Prophet: Reading 1 Maccabees in the Days of John Hyrcanus,” Kelley Coblentz Bautch explores the roles and identity of the unnamed prophet of 1 Maccabees. In this contribution Coblentz Bautch first considers how the prophet’s authority is “construed vis-à-vis torah” and subsequently “who is intended by this enigmatic prophetic figure.” As Coblentz Bautch explains, the presence of the prophet in 1 Maccabees is significant not merely because it attests to the ongoing “viability of prophecy in early Judaism.” The prophet is important, too, as the book provides glimpses of the role such a figure might have been imagined to play in adjudicating different matters related to, and in light of, torah. For example, a future prophet is imagined as one who will provide guidance on the matter of what to do with defiled altar stones in 1 Maccabees 4. Likewise, in light of Simon and his descendants’ holding multiple roles, the prophet might decide “the permissibility of unifying in one individual the powers of the royal leader and the high priest” (1 Maccabees 14). As Coblentz Bautch explains, the identity of this prophet, however, is elusive. Does 1 Maccabees imagine simply the continuation of prophecy and the ongoing emergence of prophets? Or, is the prophet it envisions “an ideal, future leader,” who like Moses (Deut 18:15) or Elijah “would serve as arbiter of difficult matters?” Although some believe the prophet of 1 Maccabees to be a future, eschatological prophet, Coblentz Bautch does not find such a view compelling. Instead, she argues for reading 1 Maccabees against the backdrop of John Hyrcanus’s activities and to see him as the prophet of 1 Maccabees.

The Pentateuchal Redaction An Exercise in Scribal Imagination* Richard J. Bautch In the study of ‫ תורה‬broadly construed,1 a critical turn has been the critique of the Documentary Theory, or four-source hypothesis, which exerted an outsized influence on scholarship in the 19th and 20th centuries. At its zenith, the foursource hypothesis of the Pentateuch was a vortex that subsumed materials from the first five biblical books and reconstituted them in terms of sources, not only J, E, P and D, but additional strands such as H and even L, the so-called Laienquelle or “lay source” of Otto Eissfeldt.2 By the close of the 20th century, however, consensus around the documentary model of the Pentateuch had unraveled. Scholars questioned the sources, and under new light the evidence for several of them, especially E and J, proved less than compelling and often dubious. As the traditional documentary models of the Pentateuch proved less serviceable, * I am grateful to colleagues at “(The) Torah in Early Jewish and Christian Imaginations” conference at Brite Divinity School in May, 2022 whose comments and suggestions have helped me to sharpen the analysis of the Pentateuchal Redaction offered in this contribution. 1 The concept of ‫ תורה‬changed over time, and the shifts can be indicated orthographically. Tôrâ refers to revealed religious teaching with its roots in monarchic Israel. During the Second Temple period, this form of tôrâ as teaching appears in Haggai, who refers to tôrâ as an instruction regarding a certain sacrificial rite (Hag 2:11). Similarly, Zechariah refers to tôrâ as a form of prophetic revelation (Zech 7:12). These sources suggest that at the time of their writing tôrâ was still piecemeal teaching and not yet viewed as a deposit of extraordinary instruction. A change is visible in the literary materials associated with Ezra and Nehemiah, which by the 4th century refer to torah as a revealed legal tradition associated with Moses and Sinai (Ezra 6:18; 7:26; 10:3; Neh 8:1, 8, 18; 10:35). Erroneously, standard textbooks routinely taught that expressions such as “the book of the law of Moses” in Neh 8:8 refer to the Pentateuch in its final form, the completed collection of five books. A similarly misguided view that Ezra brought the Pentateuch back from Babylon still circulates today in some circles. The torah read publicly in Nehemiah 8, however, is in the process of composition; the major legal traditions of ancient Israel are still being redacted into a single collection. It is with the next stage, that of Pentateuchal formation, that the referent changes from torah to Torah. In this chapter I use tôrâ, torah, and Torah respectively to indicate early, middle and late stages of textualization in the Second Temple period. 2  Otto Eissfeldt, Hexateuch-Synopse: die Erzählung der fünf Bücher Mose und des Buches Josua mit dem Anfang des Richterbuches. In ihre vier Quellen zerlegt und in deutscher Übersetzung dargeboten samt einer in Einleitung und Anmerkungen gegebenen Begründung (Leipzig: Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung, 1922), 6–84.

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the D source along with the Priestly writers (P) became the focus of scholars’ attention, with several opting for a more modest two-source hypothesis featuring P and D.3 The point is that intellectual humility and a healthy suspicion of elaborate models now carry the day in Pentateuchal studies. The critique of the Documentary Theory has had a sobering and salutary effect, and literary paradigms are more strictly based on evidence than in the past. Against the contemporary landscape, however, there is an outlier. In the third decade of the 21st century, a new model of Pentateuchal formation has emerged not as some vestige of the early source-critical theories but as an integral part of the arguments being advanced today. The model is the Pentateuchal Redaction, which is defined as the process whereby what we know as the first five biblical books became a unit whose authority was linked exclusively to the figure of Moses through a series of textual innovations.4 The most significant innovation was the addition of Deuteronomy 34, the so-called obituary of Moses. One of the architects of the Pentateuchal Redaction, Eckart Otto, holds that the Pentateuchal Redaction transformed the association between the torah and Moses in order that the written torah could assume a higher degree of Mosaic authority and perform Moses’s function of mediating the divine will.5 Thus, the theory of the Pentateuchal Redaction has implications for how scholars of the Second Temple period understand texts and textualization, how they view authority and modalities of revelation, and how they construe the fixing or limiting of writing related to religion. In addition to Otto, one finds the Pentateuchal Redaction operative directly or indirectly in the work of Reinhard Achenbach,6 Rainer Albertz,7 Raik Heckl,8  Rainer Albertz, Pentateuchstudien, ed. Jakob Wöhrle, FAT 117 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018), 21–22; see also Reinhard G. Kratz, “The Pentateuch in Current Research: Consensus and Debate,” in The Pentateuch, ed. Thomas B. Dozeman, Konrad Schmid, and Baruch Schwartz, FAT 78 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 31–61, esp. 34. 4  A fixture in German scholarship, the Pentateuchal Redaction is sometimes abbreviated as PentRed, as in Reinhard Achenbach, Die Vollendung der Tora: Studien zur Redaktionsgeschichte des Numeribuches im Kontext von Hexateuch und Pentateuch, BZAR 3 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2003), 54, 388; and most recently, Jordan Davis, The End of the Book of Numbers: On Pentateuchal Models and Compositional Issues, Archaeology and Bible 6 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2022), 25. 5 See Eckart Otto, “Deuteronomy as the Legal Completion and Prophetic Finale of the Pentateuch,” in Paradigm Change in Pentateuchal Research, ed. Matthias Armgardt, Benjamin Kilchör, and Markus Zehnder, BZAR 22 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2019), 179–88, esp. 182–83. 6  Achenbach, Die Vollendung der Tora, 635–38; idem, “Theocratic Reworking in the Pentateuch: Proto-Chronistic Features in the Late Priestly Layers of Numbers and Their Reception in Chronicles,” in Chronicles and the Priestly Literature of the Hebrew Bible, ed. Jaeyoung Jeon and Louis C. Jonker, BZAW 528 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2021), 53–78. 7  Rainer Albertz, “A Pentateuchal Redaction in the Book of Numbers? The Late Priestly Layers of Num 25–36,” ZAW 125 (2013): 220–33; idem, Pentateuchstudien, 471–85. 8 Raik Heckl, “The Aaronic Blessing (Numbers 6): Its Intention and Place in the Concept of the Pentateuch,” in On Dating Biblical Texts to the Persian Period: Discerning Criteria and 3

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Joachim Krause,9 Benedetta Rossi,10 and Konrad Schmid,11 to name but a few. These scholars are concentrated in Europe and specifically Germany, but versions of the Pentateuchal Redaction surface beyond the continent as well, for example in Mark Brett’s book Locations of God: Political Theology in the Hebrew Bible.12 In full disclosure, I engage the Pentateuchal Redaction in my analysis of the covenant of Levi and elsewhere.13 I have a vested interest in this discussion, and my thinking is often aligned with the Pentateuchal Redaction, although never uncritically so. The Pentateuchal Redaction is, at this point, something of a paradox. On the one hand, a significant number of scholars employ it as a model of Pentateuchal formation or as a sub-model within a larger construct.14 On the other hand, there is little to no reflection on the model itself. The model is up for discussion at neither the macro nor micro levels; we await, for example, an analysis of Deuteronomy 34 that would put the notion of a Pentateuchal Redaction to a real test. Furthermore, the presuppositions of the model are rarely subject to scrutiny or debate. How strong is the evidence that a school of Aaronide priests revised the work of the Priestly scribe to produce the Pentateuch as we now have it?15 It is as if this scholarly theory were hiding in plain sight, which is disconcerting in light of what we’ve learned from the fall of the Documentary Hypothesis. In a worst-case scenario, the Pentateuchal Redaction is the projection of 21st century scholars working in the shadow of Wellhausen. The present study, therefore, offers an overview of the Pentateuchal Redaction that delineates it while subjecting it to analysis. To begin, a section on methodology establishes four salient angles for approaching the material in Establishing Epochs, ed. Richard J. Bautch and Mark Laskowski, FAT II/101 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019), 119–38; idem, Mose und Aaron als Beamte des Gottes Israels: Die Enstehung des biblischen Konzepts der Leviten (Leiden: Brill, 2022).  9  Joachim Krause, “Post mortem Mosi: Conceptualizing Leadership in the Book of Joshua,” in Debating Authority, Concepts of Leadership in the Pentateuch and the Former Prophets, ed. Katharina Pyschny and Sarah Schulz, BZAW 507 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2018), 193–205. 10  Benedetta Rossi, “Conflicting Patterns of Revelation. Jer 31:33–34 and its Challenge to the Post-Mosaic Revelation Program,” Bib 98 (2017): 202–25; idem, “Reshaping Jeremiah: Scribal Strategies and the Prophet like Moses,” JSOT 44 (2020): 579–93. 11  Konrad Schmid, “The Late Persian Formation of the Torah: Observations on Deuteronomy 34,” in Judah and the Judeans in the Fourth Century b.c.e., ed. Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knoppers, and Rainer Albertz (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2007), 237–51. 12  Mark G. Brett, Locations of God: Political Theology in the Hebrew Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), 101–102. 13  Richard J. Bautch, “Priestly Polemics in the Covenant of Levi,” in Covenant: Studies in the Concepts of Berit, Diatheke, and Testamentum, ed. Christian A. Eberhart and Wolfgang Kraus, WUNT 506 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2023), 89–107. 14  See nn 5–12. 15  Achenbach, “Theocratic Reworking,” 59; Heckl, “The Aaronic Blessing,” 136; see also James Findley, “The Priestly Ideology of the Septuagint Translator of Numbers 16–17,” JSOT 30 (2006): 421–29.

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question. Subsequently, I examine the model of the Pentateuchal Redaction from each of the four angles: textualization, authorization, delimitation, and the socioreligious dimensions of the text. In the concluding analysis, I pose critical questions vis-a-vis the Pentateuchal Redaction and its place in Torah studies today.

1. Methodology: Textualization, Scripturalization, Delimitation, Politicization Among scholars, there is consensus that schools of scribes had been engaging in processes of textualization in Yehud since the return from exile, beginning late in the 6th century.16 Certain of these groups worked with legal traditions intertwined with narrative material. While the evidence indicates that such processes continued over subsequent centuries and eventually yielded what we know as the Pentateuch, the trajectory itself is complex and even opaque at points. Therefore, methodologies to study Pentateuchal formation cannot be one-dimensional and focus only on texts or on the social groups responsible for them. The methodology must articulate a range of qualitatively different questions in concert with one another. William Schniedewind has recently suggested that an analysis of torah should have three dimensions: first, textualization, understood as creating texts from preexisting traditions and associating these texts with tôrâ; second, scripturalization, or the association of religious authority with texts and traditions; and third, canonization, which he defines as the fixing and limiting of torah as a text.17 Schniedewind’s approach captures three of the more important facets of torah: textualization, scripturalization, and canonization. Moreover, he shows that the three connect together not so much sequentially but rather in a circular set of relationships where they are overlapping and interdependent. For example, in the Pentateuchal Redaction, textualization and scripturalization often occur simultaneously. Schniedewind notes that each process had “fits and spurts, ebbs and flows” and cannot be viewed as a singular event.18 Indeed it is likely that different scribal groups in the Second Temple period had different

16 David M. Carr, “Criteria and Periodization in Dating Biblical Texts to Parts of the Persian Period,” in On Dating Biblical Texts to the Persian Period: Discerning Criteria and Establishing Epochs, ed. Richard J. Bautch and Mark Laskowski, FAT II/101 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019), 11–18, esp. 15. 17 William M. Schniedewind, “Diversity and Development of tôrâ in the Hebrew Bible,” in Torah: Functions, Meanings and Diverse Manifestations in Early Judaism and Christianity, ed. William M. Schniedewind, Jason M. Zurawski, and Gabriele Boccaccini, EJL 56 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2021), 17–36, esp. 17. For an approach similar to that of Schniedewind see James W. Watts, “The Three Dimensions of Scriptures,” Postscripts 2 (2006): 135–59; reproduced in James W. Watts, ed., Iconic Books and Texts (London: Equinox, 2013), 8–30. 18  Schniedewind, “Diversity and Development,” 21.

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views about the seminal issues of tôrâ, which militates against a uniform understanding of these questions across all groups. In this study of the Pentateuchal Redaction, I adopt Schniedewind’s tripartite methodology, with modifications. The second category, focused on textual authority, is serviceable but falls short in terms of the socioreligious context, which is vast. I therefore include an additional category to take up social realia beyond authority, such as politics, economics and territorial disputes; this additional category is designated “politicization.” The third category, concerning the fixing and limiting of torah as a text, is highly relevant, yet to refer to this as canonization is potentially confusing; the formal, ecclesial canons of biblical books do not appear for several centuries. Instead of canonization, I use “delimitation” here to refer to the fixing and limiting of torah as a text vis-à-vis other texts. Put differently, “delimitation” refers to the process whereby “torah” becomes “Torah.”19

2. Textualization and the Pentateuchal Redaction Central to the theory of the Pentateuchal Redaction is that the Pentateuch had emerged by the late 4th century bce in more or less its present form. Much of the Pentateuch’s contents, however, predate the 4th century, and some scholars posit a postexilic Hexateuch in which the legal traditions of D and P were combined through processes of reconciliation and harmonization. David Carr writes of a “P  / non-P Hexateuch” to indicate this precursor to the Pentateuch containing narrative as well as legal materials.20 Therefore, in the theory of the Pentateuchal Redaction what is decisive for textualization is not the bulk of earlier, received legislation, but the redactional inserts that bind the various materials together in a new way. The Pentateuchal Redaction is, in Konrad Schmid’s words, a series of redactions “that show an awareness of a literary horizon that comprises the entire Pentateuch.”21 He therefore highlights “passages in the Pentateuch that can be connected to the final composition of the Torah in terms of binding together the Torah complex from Genesis to Deuteronomy in a way that can be conceived literarily and theologically.”22 As an example, he cites Deut 34:7, which  See n 1. M. Carr, The Formation of the Hebrew Bible: A New Reconstruction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 219. See also Eckart Otto, Das Deuteronomium im Pentateuch und Hexateuch: Studien zur Literaturgeschichte von Pentateuch und Hexateuch im Lichte des Deuteronomiumrahmens, FAT 30 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 26–62; Ernst Axel Knauf, Josua, AT 6 (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 2008), 16; Stephen Germany, “The Hexateuch Hypothesis: A History of Research and Current Approaches,” CurBR 16 (2018): 131–56. 21  Schmid, “Late Persian Formation,” 240. 22  Ibid. 19

20 David

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reads: “Moses was 120 years old when he died; his sight was unimpaired and his vigor had not abated.” Schmid links the notice of Moses’s death in Deut 34:7 to Gen 6:3, which defines a human lifetime as 120 years. For Schmid, the connection forms an inclusio joining the end of the Pentateuch to its beginning. In both Genesis and Deuteronomy death comes as “the divinely ordained limitation of the human life-span,” caused by fate and not by personal or collective guilt.23 Schmid further notes that the theology expressed in Moses’s obituary (34:1– 12) is distinctive – an effect of the Pentateuchal Redaction – and certainly different from other traditions found in Deuteronomy and P.24 Deuteronomy links Moses’s death to the collective guilt of the people (Deut 1:36; 3:26), while P assumes that Moses defied YHWH by twice striking the rock in the desert (Num 20:12) and paid for the misdeed with his life. In certain literary contexts, such as the postexilic Hexateuch that scholars posit, scribes might have harmonized D and P, or perhaps juxtaposed them.25 The absence of D and P traditions in Deut 34:7 suggests that this literary context is different from that of earlier ones and aligns rather with the Pentateuchal Redaction. While the inclusio formed by Genesis and Deuteronomy is the parade example of textualization, there are other links underscoring how the contents of Genesis through Deuteronomy form a collection, the so-called Pentateuchal Redaction. First, Deut 34:4 contains a promise of land, specifically, land that YHWH swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob with the words “to your descendants I will give it.” The same language appears verbatim in Gen 50:24; Exod 32:12; 33:1; and Num 32:11 to suggest a leitmotiv unifying these texts as a collection that culminates in Deut 34:4. Schmid notes that the leitmotiv is spread evenly and attested once in the “books” we now deem Pentateuchal; “and if one adds the thematically related passage in Lev 26:42, this theologoumenon turns out to be the only one present in all five books.”26 He adds that the leitmotiv is subsequently missing in Joshua–2 Kings. Second, scholars have pointed to Deut 34:9b as a redactional insertion. The verse, which reads “And the sons of Israel listened to him (Joshua) and did as YHWH commanded Moses,” aligns with the solemn pledge of the people in Exod 24:7, at the end of the Sinai covenant: “All that YHWH has said, we will do, and we will listen.” Regarding this solemn commitment, Jean-Pierre Sonnet observes, “It is only at the end of Deuteronomy that the narrator author Ibid., 249.

23

24 Ibid.

25 Consider, in a similar vein, the case of 2 Chr 35:1, which describes the roasting of the Passover lamb with fire as well as a boiling of the offerings in pots, caldrons, and pans. It is noteworthy that the lamb is both roasted over fire “according to the ordinance” and boiled before serving. The P source stipulates roasting (Exod 12:8–9), while the D source calls for boiling the lamb (Deut 16:7). In Chronicles, the redundant process of preparation indicates that the Chronicler knew both the D and P legal traditions and sought to harmonize the two. 26  Schmid, “Late Persian Formation,” 242.

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itatively records the fulfillment of the people’s pledge … a macro-plot thus spans … the books centered on Moses’ prophetic mediation.”27 A third example of textualization that is cited in Deuteronomy 34 is the famous passage on Moses as a prophet unlike all other prophets, presumably because YHWH knew Moses “face to face” (34:10). The two interacting “face to face” is reported as well in Exod 24:10; 33:11; Num 12:8; 14:14. As the same thematic intention recurs in all the verses, they serve as traces of the Pentateuchal Redaction. Clearly, the redactional joins are concentrated in Deuteronomy 34, although scribes are said to have clustered them elsewhere as well, especially in the book of Numbers. The examples from Numbers presume that Aaronide priests were responsible for the Pentateuchal Redaction and leveraged what we now have as Numbers to burnish their reputation. I will return to the issue of Aaronide authorship in the next section, on authorization. Regarding textualization, Raik Heckl has argued that the Pentateuchal Redaction involved the incorporation of explicitly priestly texts such as the Aaronide blessing (Num 6:24–27) in order to claim that Aaron and his sons receive from YHWH an authority commensurate with that conferred upon Moses. Thus, the Aaronide blessing, in the words of Heckl, comes to support “a view of successive composition of the priestly books of the Pentateuch in their finished form.”28 Reinhard Achenbach similarly understands Aaronides to have carried out the Pentateuchal Redaction emphasizing both Moses and their eponymous ancestor, with Numbers the vehicle for enhancing Aaronide prestige: Whereas the earlier Hexateuch Composition had been open to the idea of a continous [sic] prophetic Torah in addition to the canonised Mosaic Law of the Covenant Code and Deuteronomy (cf. Deut 18:15–22), [in the 4th century] the priestly scribes who filled up the Pentateuch with priestly Torah drew a line between prophetic scribal revelation and Moses’s Torah revelation. They stressed Aaron’s central position as the keeper of the kehunnah and relegated the other Levitical clans to the role of clerus minor (Num 16:8–10). The narrative of Num 16* seems to be part of the new structure focusing on the Holiness Code given to the narrative strand of Genesis to Deuteronomy, so it seems apropriate [sic] to identify this group of scribes with the Pentateuch Composition [Pentateuchal Redaction].29

Achenbach here draws attention to Num 16:8–10 as pro-Aaronide hype from the hands of the Pentateuchal redactors, and he adds Num 12:6–8; 16:19–24 to the list of such texts.30 He also indicates the likely tension between Aaronides 27  Jean-Pierre Sonnet, “The Dynamic of Closure in the Pentateuch,” in The Formation of the Pentateuch: Bridging the Academic Cultures of Israel, Europe, and North America, ed. Jan C. Gertz et al., FAT 111 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 1121–34, esp. 1128. 28  Heckl, “The Aaronic Blessing,” 136. 29  Achenbach, “Theocratic Reworking in the Pentateuch,” 59. 30  The listing of pro-Aaronide texts in Numbers includes Num 16:1–35 (see Jaeyoung Jeon, “The Zadokites in the Wilderness: The Rebellion of Korach (Num 16) and the Zadokite Redaction,” ZAW 127 [2015]: 381–411, esp. 405–406) and Num 18:1–24 (see Thomas Römer,

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and other stakeholders of torah during the 4th century. In win-lose fashion, Achenbach theorizes, a prophetic scribal revelation was marginalized through the process of Pentateuchal formation. Such developments anticipate the next discussion, of scripturalization, or the association of religious authority with texts and traditions.

3. Scripturalization and the Pentateuchal Redactions It is well worth noting that Schmid questions whether a Pentateuchal redactor can be identified in the text, and he cautions against finding such a figure solely on the basis of having decided to search for one (circular reasoning).31 More than ever, modest claims based squarely on evidence are in order, and one must be cautious when aligning texts with groups designated Aaronide or Levite.32 But at some point one asks, Who are the religious authorities driving processes such as the Pentateuchal Redaction? Exploring the world behind the text (without overreaching the evidence) can be illuminating, especially around questions of scripturalization. For Schmid, displaying Moses’s deeds as comparable to those of YHWH (Deut 34:10–12)33 is a “theologizing of Moses”; as such, these verses confer authoritative status on the torah with which Moses is intimately associated: “‘Moses’ is placed in close connection to God so that the Torah can lay claim to equivalent authority.”34 Related to the authority of the Pentateuch is the thorny issue of its interpretation. To the question of who may interpret the Pentateuch, the key again is said to be Moses. Otto postulates that the legacy of Moses’s scribal interpretation of the torah linked to Sinai gives rise at this time to “the hermeneutical theory of Deuteronomy.”35 The hermeneutical theory of Deuteronomy is built upon the tradition that at Sinai Moses did not simply interpret the torah, he mediated it as well. For Otto, with Moses’s death “the role of mediator of divine revelation was assumed by the written Torah itself.… Moses had to die so that the transcribed Torah “The Relationship between Moses and Aaron and the Question of the Composition of the Pentateuch,” in The Social Groups behind the Pentateuch, ed. Jaeyoung Jeon, AIL 44 [Atlanta: SBL Press, 2021], 55–72, esp. 63). 31  Schmid, “Late Persian Formation,” 240. 32  On the putative conflict between Aaronides and Levites as the immediate background to the Pentateuchal Redaction see Raik Heckl, Mose und Aaron als Beamte des Gottes Israels: Die Enstehung des biblischen Konzepts der Leviten (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2022), 155–68, 180–82. 33 In celebrating Moses for his mighty deeds and terrifying displays of power, Deut 34:10– 12 implies that Moses is YHWH-like; his feats require him to be sinless, and beyond human failings. 34 Schmid, “Late Persian Formation,” 247. 35  Otto, “Deuteronomy as the Legal Completion,” 182.

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could assume Moses’ function of mediating the divine will to the generations of addressees of the Torah in the Promised Land.”36 Such is the hermeneutic of the scribes responsible for the Pentateuchal Redaction: they would hold that the torah understood as Genesis through Deuteronomy has been both selfmediating and self-interpreting since the passing of Moses. In this fiction, Moses is no sorcerer’s apprentice, and the Pentateuch is not his broom over which he has cast a magical spell so that it might do the work of mediation originally tasked to Moses. Rather, the hermeneutic is the scribes’ own veiled claim to textual authority over and against other interpreters of the torah. Increasingly, there is a consensus forming that a cohort of Aaronide priests had the leading role in designing the Pentateuch.37 In the words of James Watts, “The Priestly traditions of the Pentateuch show God giving the priesthood to Aaron and his sons as a permanent grant … the significance of these divine grants is the fact that [Aaronide] priests receive the only grants of centralized leadership authority in the Pentateuch.”38 Watts adds, “It is not hard to see how the influence of Aaronide priests established the Torah’s authority, and how the Torah legitimated the validity of the Aaronide dynasties.” With executive authority at issue, the Pentateuchal Redaction likely provoked challenges. Recall Achenbach’s picture of a rival, prophetic school; certain scribes working in the Jeremiah traditions appear to have formed an opposition to the Pentateuchal Redaction. In “Jeremia und die Tora. Ein nachexilischer Diskurs,” Otto juxtaposes the commissioning of Aaron, who is an eloquent speaker because Moses puts words in his mouth (Exod 4:14–17), with Jer 1:7–9, where YHWH puts words in the mouth of Jeremiah.39 For Benedetta Rossi, the new covenant initiative in Jeremiah (Jer 31:31–34) is another locus of opposition to the Pentateuchal Redaction; the Jeremiah text challenges the pattern of revelation established in Deuteronomy (34:10) through the figure of Moses, whose status as arch-prophet (Deut 34:10) precludes other programs of Torah interpretation.40 Within the prophetic book of Malachi, the Covenant of Levi (Mal 2:4– 9) can be understood as a defining element in the opposition to the Pentateuchal Redaction; the Covenant of Levi is closely linked to the rejection of the Aaronide blessing (Num 6:24–27), a mainstay of the Pentateuchal Redaction.41 What is at stake in all these passages from the prophets is authority over the modalities  Ibid.  See nn 15, 28. 38  James W. Watts, “Scripturalization and the Aaronide Dynasties,” JHS 13 (2013): 1–15, esp. 3, 5. On the related question of an Aaronide textual hegemony expressed especially in the book of Numbers, see n 15 and Esias E. Meyer, “Ritual Innovation in Numbers 18?” Scriptura 116 (2017): 143–47, esp. 142. 39  Eckart Otto, “Jeremia und die Tora. Ein nachexilischer Diskurs,” in idem, Die Tora: Studien zum Pentateuch – Gesammelte Aufsӓtze, BZAR 9 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2009), 515–60. 40 Rossi, “Conflicting Patterns of Revelation,” 202–225; idem, “Reshaping Jeremiah,” 579–93. 41  See Bautch, “Priestly Polemics in the Covenant of Levi,” 101. 36 37

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of divine revelation. Such attempts to develop a rival hermeneutic grounded in prophetic writings were apparently not successful in the long run. Aaronide scribes held in check approaches to torah other than their own and neutralized opposition to the Pentateuchal Redaction.

4. Delimitation and the Pentateuchal Redaction The prospects of tension between Jeremiah tradents and Aaronide priests points to the issue of delimitation, or fixing and limiting of tôrâ as a text vis-à-vis other texts. In the context of this study, I am agnostic on the question of a Hexateuch; for the sake of argument, however, one could claim that the Pentateuchal Redaction eclipsed the book of Joshua, which would serve as the telos of a Hexateuch. In other words, the redactional insertion of Deuteronomy 34 establishes the Pentateuch at the expense of the Hexateuch. To be sure, Joshua and the narrative of conquering the land are not excised or otherwise removed from the rolls of authoritative texts.42 Rather, it’s that the Pentateuchal Redaction recasts Joshua in the terms developed for Moses in the recording of his death. Like Moses, Joshua and subsequent leaders derive authority uniquely from the Torah (Josh 1:7–8; 17a). As Joachim Krause explains, Joshua’s authority hinges on that of Moses … Moses’ authority, in turn, does not exist on its own terms either. It is due to his role as mediator of the will of Yhwh, ascribed to him in a most systematic fashion by the Deuteronomistic redaction which put the original Deuteronomy into the form of a monologue by Moses. Yet, this authority to mediate the will of Yhwh for Israel and her leaders does remain an exclusive prerogative of Moses. It is not transmitted to anyone, including Joshua.43

For Krause, Mosaic authority was not indigenous to the “original” Deuteronomy and was the effect of a systematic redaction, although not necessarily the Pentateuchal Redaction. Krause bases the authority of Moses on his mediation of the Torah, a function that Moses can delegate to his successors beginning with Joshua. Joshua neither mediates nor interprets the Torah left by Moses, although he is told to consult it and indeed to study it sedulously “like a biblical scholar.”44 Thus, the Joshua model that Krause develops involves the leader in the application of Torah teaching, whereas the Pentateuchal Redaction stipulates a hermeneutic whereby the mediatorial and interpretive functions rest exclusively with the Torah itself. 42  Moreover, several studies on Numbers 25–36 attribute these chapters to a redactor who sought to compensate for the loss of Joshua when the Hexateuch was reduced to the Pentateuch. See Albertz, “A Pentateuchal Redaction,” 230. The recent work of Davis problematizes this approach and focuses on the conflation of Priestly and non-Priestly elements in the various redactions evident in Numbers 25–36. See his End of the Book of Numbers, 268–70. 43  Krause, “Post mortem Mosi,” 198–99. 44  Ibid.

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This difference aside, the Joshua model is consistent with and extends from the Pentateuchal Redaction. As a result, Israel’s achievements portrayed in Joshua would be an epilogue to Deuteronomy 34 and the material preceding it.

5. Politicization and the Pentateuchal Redaction Scholars of the Persian period are still emerging from an intense but relatively brief engagement with Peter Frei’s theory that the Achaemenid king and his administration were actively involved in the codification of local laws for provinces within their empire, such as Yehud and Samaria.45 The version of torah referenced in the book of Ezra, it was said, is an example of the Persians authorizing local law codes. While Frei’s theory did not hold up, it led to subsequent studies of Achaemenid polity in the provinces that have helpfully begun to establish what royal involvement by “the Great King” did and did not include.46 Biblical scholars in the past two decades have focused as much on Achaemenid sanctioned temples in the provinces, where sacrifices and tithes/taxation were crucial, as they have on the authorization of local legal codes. Frei’s original question remains, however, and one would be remiss today not to ask how a Pentateuchal Redaction would be negotiated in a larger political context where the Judean scribes are colonized elites with a complex relationship to the empire, be it Persian or Greek. Mark Brett writes: While Frei’s particular theory has been largely rejected, a number of scholars have affirmed that the peculiar compromises embodied in the Pentateuch might in some way be the result of Persian political pressure. These compromise theories are not dependent on the exegesis of particular Persian documents but proceed more on the basis of inference to suggest that the political challenges of the time provide the best explanation for an archiving of competing traditions and, hence, for the complexities and contradictions within the Pentateuch as we have it.47

Brett’s observation, while germane for an understanding of the Persian context, is rather vague. Further study of the compromises he references could focus on geography in the Pentateuch and the relationship between the land and its neighbors. Importance is attached to foreign origins and foreign trav45  Peter Frei, “Zentralgewalt und Lokalautonomie im Achämenidenreich,” in Reichsidee und Reichsorganisation im Perserreich, ed. Peter Frei and Klaus Koch, 2nd ed., OBO 55 (Fribourg: Presses Universitaires, 1996), 8–131; idem, “Persian Imperial Authorization: A Summary,” in Persia and Torah: The Theory of Persian Imperial Authorization, ed. James W. Watts, SymS 17 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2001), 5–40. 46 See for example Lisbeth S. Fried, The Priest and the Great King: Temple-Palace Relations in the Persian Empire, BJSUCSD 10 (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2004), 156–233; Jason M. Silverman, Persian Royal-Judean Elite Engagements in the Early Teispid and Achaemenid Empire: The King’s Acolytes, LHB/OTS 690 (London: T&T Clark, 2020), 216–46. 47  Brett, Locations of God, 111–12.

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el, as witnessed by Abraham coming from Ur, and then from Haran (Gen 12:4– 5). Abraham subsequently travels to Egypt and the land of the Philistines (Gen 12:10–20). Similarly, Jacob lives a portion of his life abroad in Haran (Genesis 29–31), and late in the patriarch’s life he spends seventeen years in Egypt, where he eventually dies (Gen 47:28). More examples could be adduced to suggest that “these wanderings anticipate a diaspora … [and show] an awareness that there are parts of ‘Israel’ not in ‘the land of Israel.’”48 The Pentateuch’s sense of geography is not simply global, but predicated on a geopolitical compatibility and complementarity that reaches across all lands. Where might such a view have originated? Persian ideology includes the concept of an empire comprising individual nations with their respective identities; harmony reigns over these nations as each enjoys its place in the larger Persian context. Applying this concept, Jakob Whörle has studied the figure of Esau in the Pentateuch, where Esau recognizes his brother Jacob’s exclusive right to the land of Israel and retreats into separate territories where he and his line are established as a people unto itself, Edom (Gen 36:8).49 Whörle concludes that Esau’s emergence as a separate nation is a Pentateuchal development consistent with the Persian ideology of an empire that embraces and affirms its disparate parts, geographically.50 To expand on this critical insight, one could say that the harmonizing of textual traditions, geographic and otherwise, that has resulted in the Pentateuch is to some degree an effect of Persian politics. Studies such as Whörle’s point the way forward, although much work is yet to be done. An important question would be whether the Aaronide politics associated with the Pentateuchal Redaction align with the Persian views elaborated here, or whether in fact the more open, balanced and “democratic” approach ascribed to the Persian polity resonates better with the so-called opposition to the Pentateuchal Redaction, typified by those tradents of Jeremiah calling for the Torah to be “open access.”

6. An Assessment of the Pentateuchal Redaction In concluding, I turn from delineating the Pentateuchal Redaction to assessing this hypothetical construct. First, the Pentateuchal Redaction attempts to provide a diachronic solution to some visible discrepancies in the Pentateuchal texts. An  Diana V. Edelman et al., Opening the Books of Moses (Sheffield: Equinox, 2012), 125. Whörle, “Abraham amidst the Nations: The Priestly Concept of Covenant and the Persian Imperial Ideology,” in Covenant in the Persian Period: From Genesis to Chronicles, ed. Richard J. Bautch and Gary N. Knoppers (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2015), 23–40, esp. 31. 50  Ibid., 34. See also Konrad Schmid, “Textual, Historical, Sociological, and Ideological Cornerstones of the Formation of the Pentateuch,” in The Social Groups behind the Pentateuch, ed. Jaeyoung Jeon, AIL 44 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2021), 29–44, esp. 42–44. 48

49 Jakob

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example of these discrepancies is the well-known contradiction between Deut 18:15 and Deut 34:10. In the latter verse, certain scribes exalt Moses by claiming that he stands above all subsequent prophets (Deut 34:10), even though Deut 18:15 speaks of God in the future raising up a prophet like Moses to whom the people will listen. The two statements are contradictory. Similarly, Deut 34:7 indicates that Moses died at 120 with his vision and vitality fully intact, yet Deut 31:2 suggests otherwise, as Moses says, “I am now one hundred twenty years old. I am no longer able to get about, and YHWH has told me, ‘You shall not cross over this Jordan.’” The theory that in the fourth century Aaronides redacted the Pentateuch to the dismay of Levite scribes is difficult to reconcile with the positive portrayal of Levites in the book of Deuteronomy,51 especially in Deuteronomy 31 where Moses delivers the written torah to “the priests, the sons of Levi” (Deut 31:9). That the recipients are the same group that carry the ark of the covenant (31:9b) means they are Levites proper and not generic priests with the levitical lineage common to all priests. The issue of counterdata extends beyond Deuteronomy. The book of Numbers is said to be the anthem of the Aaronides as mediators of God’s revelation, over and against the Levites. Numbers 11, however, tells of God extending the spirit of prophecy that God originally bestowed on Moses to seventy elders in a democratization of the right to speak God’s word.52 The seventy prophesy, by God’s design. When an issue arises about Eldad and Medad prophesying without proper authorization, Moses rebukes those who would exclude the pair: “Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, and that the Lord would put his spirit on them!” (Num 11:29). The inclusive narrative in Numbers 11 is hardly consistent with the viewpoint of the Pentateuchal Redaction, which holds that Torah is the proprietary domain of Aaronide scribes who accentuate the mediatorial role of Moses to enhance their own prestige. In the past, a solution to the problem could be found by positing redactional levels that disaggregate such counter-data and attribute them to different hands writing at different times. It is plausible that the verses in question from Numbers 11 as well as Deuteronomy 18 and 31 predate the Pentateuchal Redaction and were simply not removed by those responsible for Deuteronomy 34. The question then becomes – why not? There is perhaps more work to be done along the lines of 51  Risto Nurmela observes that Deuteronomy contains many references to Levites but no sacerdotal hierarchy in which they might be subordinated to another priestly class; he concludes that the Levites appearing throughout Deuteronomy are “bearers of the full priestly office.” See Risto Nurmela, The Levites: Their Emergence as a Second-Class Priesthood, SFSHJ 193 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 162. See also Mark Leuchter on the prominence of the “Levitical scribal tradition” in Deuteronomy in his The Levites and the Boundaries of Israelite Identity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 217. 52  See Ndikho Mtshiselwa, “The Formation of Wilderness Narratives in the Book of Numbers,” in The Social Groups behind the Pentateuch, ed. Jaeyoung Jeon, AIL 44 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2021), 237–70, esp. 245.

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Deuteronomy holding contrasting viewpoints in tension; Bernard Levinson observes that Deuteronomy “intentionally preserves conflicting perspectives on a full range of key issues central to Israelite religion.”53 A bridge is needed between data for which the Pentateuchal Redaction cannot account and constructs of Deuteronomy as “an interplay of perspectives, which reflects an ongoing ancient debate about fundamental religious assumptions.”54 Second, if tradents of Jeremiah and Malachi were impacted by the formation of the Pentateuch in the 4th century, it raises larger questions of prophecy in the Second Temple period. While outdated scholarly views saw this epoch as the sunset of prophecy in ancient Israel, that appears not to be the case. What was the role of prophecy, and how were prophetic writings curated at this time? Did such activity extend to the extant legal traditions, with a thin veil between what we call the law and the prophets? Certain studies of the Pentateuchal Redaction posit reactionary Levites whose interests are expressed in portions of Jeremiah and Malachi.55 The picture of these Levites, who are more than foils, could be developed more fully in light of what we know about contemporary, 4th-century scribal activity that conjoins prophetic writing with legal traditions, especially priestly legal traditions. First and Second Chronicles is a clear example of someone reiterating the D, P, and H traditions in the course of their narrative while maintaining strong interest in the authority of the prophets, many of whom are no longer extant. In the words of Gary Knoppers, Chronicles understands itself to be in the genre of prophecy as it adopts and harmonizes legal precedents from the sources that we can now identify in the Pentateuch.56 Taking a more oppositional approach, Jason Silverman has explored the “secular scribes” said to be responsible for redactions of Isaiah and Zechariah 1–8 in the Second Temple period; Silverman distinguishes these writers from the priestly scribes to whom such writing is often attached.57 Silverman’s point is that the texts “evince a wider range of Judean elites than are sometimes considered to be important.” To bring it back the Pentateuchal Redaction, a thorough consideration of the stakeholders should look beyond the Aaronides to other priestly and non-priestly groups, especially those involved with prophetic writing.

53 Bernard M. Levinson, “Introduction to Deuteronomy,” in Engaging Torah: Modern Perspectives on the Hebrew Bible, ed. Walter Homolka and Aaron Panken (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 2018), 61–76, esp. 73–74. 54  Ibid., 74. 55  Otto, “Jeremia und die Tora”; Rossi, “Reshaping Jeremiah”; Bautch, “Priestly Polemics.” 56 Gary N. Knoppers, “Democratizing Revelation? Prophets, Seers and Visionaries in Chronicles,” in Prophecy and the Prophets in Ancient Israel, ed. John Day, LHB/OT (New York: T&T Clark, 2010), 391–409; idem, Prophets, Priests and Promises: Essays on the Deuteronomistic History, Chronicles and Ezra-Nehemiah, ed. Christl M. Maier and Hugh G. M. Williamson, VTSup 186 (Leiden: Brill, 2021), esp. 137–97. 57  Silverman, Persian Royal-Judean Elite Engagements, 250.

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In the final analysis, the Pentateuchal Redaction can be judged a viable explanatory construct. However, as a project of priestly scribes, perhaps the Aaronides, it both failed and succeeded. On the one hand, it succeeded in that the Pentateuch that we have today, the collection of five books (not six) that rests on Mosaic authority, is (by all indications) the result of a process of textualization, scripturalization, and delimitation. If the process in question was not the Pentateuchal Redaction, it was likely a version of it, with Moses as the preeminent textual authority over Israel’s deposit of revelation. In her work on the figure of Moses, Hindy Najman has developed the concepts of ​“ discourse tied to a founder” and specifically “Mosaic discourse,” which is defined by a range of conventionalized features.58 Participating in Mosaic discourse, Najman rightly notes, is not simply about authority. Tradents actively engage the Mosaic tradition in order to extend it, update it, and valorize it.59 On the other hand, the Pentateuchal Redaction failed as a hermeneutic of restriction. If Aaronides, or some other group, sought in the 4th or 3rd century to preclude the further interpretation and fresh application of the Torah, their efforts fell short. Multiple witnesses from antiquity attest the rewriting of Torah and even the creation of new genres to express these legal and narrative traditions. On the reuse of Torah, Molly Zahn’s book Genres of Rewriting in Second Temple Judaism: Scribal Composition and Transmission makes several important points. Zahn describes how works like Jubilees and the Torah Scroll “appear as Torah-like compositions because of their extended reuse of Torah” in the 2nd century bce and later.60 To make her point, Zahn contrasts the varieties of rewriting in the Second Temple period with a more prevalent model of freezing the central texts within a given culture and imposing standardization upon them.61 She notes that the standardization model succeeded in Mesopotamia and elsewhere in the region; it did not succeed in Judea. The Pentateuchal Redaction failed as a hermeneutic of restriction. It would not be until the Mishnah that ancient Israel would effectively contextualize the Torah with a unifying rabbinic hermeneutic that was not in competition with others. In the words of Michael Satlow, “‘Torah’ for the rabbis thus became a concept as well as a text, including all God’s past and continuing revelation.… The Oral Torah [Mishnah] is a conceptual mechanism for allowing the divine to act in a changing world; it guides one’s understanding of the un58  Hindy Najman, “Torah of Moses: Pseudonymous Attributions in Second Temple Writings,” in The Interpretation of Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity: Studies in Language and Tradition, ed. Craig A. Evans, JSPSup 33 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 202–16; eadem, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism, JSJSup 77 (Leiden: Brill, 2003). 59  See Molly M. Zahn, Genres of Rewriting in Second Temple Judaism: Scribal Composition and Transmission (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2021), 203. 60  Ibid., 172. 61  Ibid., 218.

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changing text [emphasis added].”62 Such a self-interpreting text was the goal of the Pentateuchal Redaction, but it fell short of its aim and stands rather as an exercise in scribal imagination.

62  Michael Satlow, Creating Judaism: History, Tradition, Practice (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006), 123.

“Bringing the Messiah(s) Through Law” Reflections from the Hebrew Bible, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and Some Successors Steven D. Fraade What is generally referred to today as the Damascus Document has a long history, during which it was called by different names, since like virtually all manuscripts of the Dead Sea Scrolls, it bears no original over-arching title for its text, titles having been bestowed upon it by its modern scholars. Those names mainly derive either from the favored Zadokite branch of the Aaronite priestly dynasty, Zadok having been the High Priest in Solomon’s temple, with the community understanding itself or its leaders as incorporating or having descending from that High Priesthood; or from the prominence of ​“Damascus” or the “land of Damascus” in the scroll, that is, from internal markers in the absence of an external title page.1 Scholars have divided over whether Damascus refers literally to the Syrian city by that name, or by extension to Babylonia, or figuratively to the Qumran community or its place of sojourn.2 The community would appear to experience itself as privileged by virtue of its deep connections to both markers, in a sense, priestly (Zadok) and prophetic (Damascus). However, both of these terms/characterizations appear in the Admonition, but never in the Laws, which are now (since the publication of the 4QD fragments) seen as constituting the core and possibly the majority of the Damascus Document. In fact, two major translations of and commentaries to the Damascus 1  For the basis of the Zadokite designation (e. g., Solomon Schechter, Documents of Jewish Sectaries: Volume 1: Fragments of a Zadokite Work [Cambridge: The University Press, 1910]; Chaim Rabin, The Zadokite Documents [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1954]); see CD 3:21b–4:1; 4:3–4; 5:5; 4Q266 (4QDa) 5 i 16. For the recurring importance of Damascus, see CD 6:5, 19; 7:15, 19; 8:21; 19:34; 20:12; 4Q266 (4QDa) 3 iii 20; where it appears to be a place of exilic dwelling and covenant entry or renewal. 2 See Murphy-O’Connor (with reference to his earlier publications) for the more literal understanding and Knibb, for the more figurative and prophetic understanding, based on Amos 5:27: ‫“( והגליתי אתכם מהלאה לדמשק אמר יהוה‬therefore I will take you into exile beyond Damascus says the Lord,” NRSV ), with the latter understanding now being dominant. Jerome MurphyO’Connor, “Damascus,” in The Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman and James C. VanderKam (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 1:65–66; Michael A. Knibb, “Exile in the Damascus Document,” JSOT 25 (1983): 99–117.

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Document omit entirely the core section of the Laws from consideration.3 For this reason, some have favored for titles either “The Exact Nature of the Laws” (‫ )פרוש המשפטים‬or “The Final Interpretation (or Instruction) of the Torah” (‫)מדרש התורה האחרון‬, both of which appear in the final lines of the Damascus Document according to the 4QD legal fragments.4 It might be noted that in Israeli scholarship, the Damascus Document is most commonly referred to as the “book/scroll of the Damascus Covenant” )‫ )מגילת ברית דמשק‬highlighting a twofold theme that runs throughout the document, that of a divinely renewed covenant with an exiled righteous remnant who “enter” it in “the land of Damascus.”5 All of these terms have messianically infused resonances. As already suggested, none of these common designations gives adequate attention to the legal core of the Damascus Document, or to the extent to which the enveloping Admonitions are interwoven with sectarian law and legal selfunderstanding. In fact, the Damascus Document, as I have argued previously, is unusual (but not unique; viz. 4QMMT) for its combining and intersecting of legal and narrative (the latter including historical and eschatological) modes of discourse, much after the pattern of the biblical book of Deuteronomy, with its substantial legal core and encompassing didactic narrations of sacred history, eschatological expectations, and moral/ritual admonitions. This hybrid character becomes a hallmark of early rabbinic literature, with its deep and dynamic intersecting of law and narrative, or hălākâ and ʾaggādâ.6 Ancient Jewish law (and Jewish law overall) can no longer be viewed as representing a branch of Judaism distinct from its spirituality and eschatology, but rather their generative complement. It was once thought, especially by supersessionist Protestant theologians and biblical critics, that a split occurred early 3  Michael A. Knibb, The Qumran Community, Cambridge Commentaries on Writings of the Jewish and Christian World, 200 bc to ad 200 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987); Philip R. Davies, The Damascus Covenant: An Interpretation of the “Damascus Document,” JSOTSup 25 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1983). 4  For the former, see CD 14:18b; 4Q266 (4QDa) 1 a–b 1 (restored); 4Q266 (4Qa) 11 18; 4Q269 (4QDd) 16 16–17; 4Q270 (4QDe) 7 ii 12. For the latter, see 4Q266 (4QDa) 11 20–21; 4Q269 (4QDd) 16 19; 4Q270 (4QDe) 7 ii 15; 4Q266 (4QDa) 5 i 16–17. See Steven D. Fraade, “Ancient Jewish Law and Narrative in Comparative Perspective: The Damascus Document and the Mishnah,” Diné Israel: Studies in Halakhah and Jewish Law 24 (2007): 65–99 (68–69); idem, “Law, History, and Narrative in the Damascus Document,” Meghillot 5–6 (2007): *35-*55 (36–37; Hebrew). 5  See CD 6:19; 8:21; 19:34. 6  On “nomos and narrative” in biblical and early rabbinic legal discourse, see the seminal article by Robert Cover, “Nomos and Narrative: Forward to the Supreme Court 1982 Term,” Harvard Law Review 97 (1983): 4–68; and Steven D. Fraade, “Nomos and Narrative Before Nomos and Narrative,” Yale Journal of Law and the Humanities 17 (2005): 81–96; idem, “The Vital Intersection of Halakha and Aggada,” in The Literature of the Rabbis, ed. Christine Hayes, CRINT (Leiden: Brill, 2022), 463–71. On the Damascus Document (and the Mishnah) more specifically, see idem, “Ancient Jewish Law and Narrative”; idem, “Law, History, and Narrative.” For their rhetorical interpenetration in 4QMMT, see idem, “Rhetoric and Hermeneutics in Miqṣat Maʿaśe Ha-Torah (4QMMT): The Case of the Blessings and Curses,” DSD 10 (2003): 150–61.

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in the evolutionary history of Israelite religion and early Judaism so that nomistic pietism and eschatological spiritualism (e. g., the showdown “Amos versus Amaziah” of Amos 7:7–17) represented sharply divergent and incompatible paths, later (retrojectively) assigned to Pharisaic-rabbinic Judaism on the one hand and early Christianity on the other, respectively. This has had similarly insidious effects as in Matthew Arnold’s binary bifurcation of ​“Hellenism and Hebraism,”7 as has the dichotomy between the Old Testament God of wrath and punishment versus the New Testament God of love and forgiveness. Thus, the old (inferior) nomism is teleologically superseded by the new (superior) messianism and its spiritualism. With the discovery and publication of the Damascus Document, and now more abundantly with that of the 4QD fragments (as with other legal texts such as the Temple Scroll and 4QMMT), we now see the full scale and scope of its laws, which go hand in hand with its narrative and eschatological framework and rhetoric. In short, the stereotypical legal/spiritual (nomistic/messianic) bifurcation finds no place at Qumran, and especially not in the Damascus Document, unless scholars have interpolated it therein. That is, there is nothing incompatible about them, even as they are dialectically charged, from their very beginnings, to their continually intertwined histories, to the present, and therefrom to their very ends. Stated differently, if nomos and narrative (including history and messianism in the latter) are deeply intertwined, from covenantal beginning to eschatological consummation, it would be understandable to assume that the proper practice and study of the laws might interdependently advance, whether incrementally or suddenly, sacred history toward its expected messianic fulfillment. To borrow an expression, from Robert Cover, coined for an entirely different Jewish millenarian context (1538 Safed), the purpose of the Damascus Document, both practically and didactically, might be thought of as “Bringing the Messiah Through Law.”8 The Qumran sectarians, it might be imagined, could hasten the “end of days”9 through their cleaving to (and study of ) the divinely appointed path of ​“true” law and spirit, on the inner plane of history, while they awaited (and perhaps nudged along) the necessary redemptive transformations on the outer plane. 7  See Olender for the dark nineteenth century history; as well as, most recently, Kaye and Klawans for its lasting and perverting legacy. Maurice Olender, The Languages of Paradise: Race, Religion, and Philology in the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1992); Alexander Kaye, The Invention of Jewish Theocracy: The Struggle for Legal Authority in Modern Israel (New York: Oxford University Press, 2020), 55–56; Jonathan Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple: Symbolism and Supersessionism in the Study of Ancient Judaism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). 8  Robert Cover, “Bringing the Messiah Through Law: A Case Study,” in Religion, Morality, and the Law, ed. J. Roland Pennock and John W. Chapman, Nomos 30 (New York: New York University Press, 1988), 201-17. 9  For the expression, see CD 3:4; 4:4; 6:11; Annette Steudel, “‫ אחרית הימים‬in the Texts from Qumran,” RevQ 16 (1993): 225–46.

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While many of the laws of the Damascus Document are intended to apply, ideally at least, to Israel as a whole (e. g., Sabbath laws), others are specific to the internal organization of the community (e. g., its self-governance), the latter of which it shares broadly with the Community Rule. These rules, of both types, were not just recited or studied, but, in the main where possible, practiced in the structuring of the community and the behavior of its members (e. g., the rules and practices of intra-communal reproofs, for which we have documentary evidence in 4Q477). A central figure in ensuring that the community practiced what it preached was the Overseer, who, I have argued, might have been a Levite.10 Herein we see the tension (evidenced in all monarchic and theocratic polities) between heredity (or royalty) and expertise.11 Similarly, the community as a whole might be the covenantal tool of God’s redemptive plan for all of Israel, even as specific roles are assigned to officers whose authority derives from their inherited, priestly or Levitical, pedigrees, which in turn may be compromised if they lack the necessary aptitude or expertise. As Strugnell characterized this tension relatively early in scrolls scholarship, “Theologically the order may have been a priesthood of all believers, but the texts clearly show that in ritual and purity the legitimate priesthood had prerogatives” (emphasis added).12 Yet those prerogatives were not without conditions, as we can see from the section “Disqualification of Priests.”13 Nevertheless, the dialectical tension between an egalitarian ethos and an aristocracy of knowledge runs throughout. Significantly, the Damascus Document, in the 4QD fragments thought to provide its epilogue, is unique among the scrolls in suggesting that one of the main performative contexts in which it would have been recited and studied is the communal gathering during the festival of the “third month,” that is, Shavuʿot.14 This allows us to imagine how it would have rhetorically resonated at an annual event of covenant renewal, that involved the blessing (confirmation and advancement) and cursing (demotion and expulsion) of its members, and the

10  See, in particular, CD 9:2–8a; CD 9:16b–10:3; 4Q266 (4QDa) 7 i 2–5; all with notes, commentary, and suggestions for further reading in Steven D. Fraade, Damascus Document, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2021); as well as idem, “Shifting from Priestly to Non-Priestly Legal Authority: A Comparison of the Damascus Document and the Midrash Sifra,” DSD 6 (1999): 109–25. 11  See more broadly, Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, “Mutatio morum: The Idea of a Cultural Revolution,” in The Roman Cultural Revolution, ed. Thomas Habinek and Alessandro Schiesaro (Cambridge: Cambrige University Press, 1997), 3–22, who terms the onset of this tension a “cultural revolution” with respect to the Roman imperial context more broadly. 12  John Strugnell, “Flavius Josephus and the Essenes: Antiquities XVIII.18–22,” JBL 77 (1958): 106–15 (111). 13  4Q266 (4QDa) 5 ii 1–16 (// 4Q267 [4QDb] 5 iii 1–8; 4Q273 [4QDh] 2 1–2; 4 i 5–11); see Fraade, Damascus Document, 135–37. 14 4Q266 (4QDa) 11 16–17, and parallels.

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initiation of new recruits. This is as much of a historical (and social) datum as the purported “dating” of the movement’s origins in the opening lines of CD.15 No less interesting or important than locating the Damascus Document in time is the question of its own temporal perspective.16 The community appears to view itself as living in an extended temporal present, a “time-between,” that has its beginnings in the Urzeit of the “first ones”17 and its consummation in the imminent Endzeit of the “end of days,” a partial foretaste of which could already be experienced in the life of the community in exile while awaiting their imminent return. The “first ones” could be the biblical patriarchs who are, as it were, the covenantal “founders” (after whom came the “joiners” of the subsequent and present communities). Alternatively, the “first ones” in some contexts could be understood to be the founders of the community itself, including the inspired Teacher of Righteousness, who is claimed to have been a revealer of laws, both “first” and “last,” to the community.18 Perhaps a rhetorical conflation of the two (that is, biblical and sectarian “first ones”) is the result of such ambiguity. In that “time-between” of communal formation, maintenance, and vindication, utmost importance was given to the reciting, studying, and performing the cumulative laws that had accrued through revelatory teaching and study within the community alone within Israel, staying the course, as it were, until the eschaton, and the advent of an eschatological “one who will teach righteousness in the end of days” (CD 6:11): ‫יורה צדק באחרית הימים‬. Let us look at a few brief but important passages from the Dead Sea Scrolls, beginning with CD 12:22–13:2, from the section of Laws, which demonstrate the central place of law in the “time-between”: ‫> וזה סרך מושב‬vacat ויודע‬vacat< ‫ ויקם להם מורה צדק להדריכם בדרך לבו‬11 ‫ לדורות אחרונים את אשר עשה בדור אחרון בעדת בוגדים‬12 ‫ הם סרי דרך היא העת אשר היה כתוב עליה כפרה סורירה‬13 ‫ כן סרר ישראל בעמוד איש הלצון אשר הטיף לישראל‬14 ‫ מימי כזב ויתעם בתוהו לא דרך להשח גבהות עולם ולסור‬15 ‫ מנתיבות צדק ולסיע גבול אשר גבלו ראשנים בנחלתם למען‬16 ‫ הדבק בהם את אלות בריתו להסגירם לחרב נקמת נקם‬17 ‫ ברית‬18  8  9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

And they discerned their iniquity and knew that they were guilty people, and like blind people and like those who grope for a way for twenty years. And God discerned their deeds, for with a full heart they sought him, and he raised for them a Teacher of Righteousness, to guide them in the way of his [= God’s] heart. And he [=God] made known to the last generations what he would do in the last generation to the congregation of traitors. They are the ones who turn from the way. This is the time about which it was written, “As a wayward cow, so did Israel stray” (Hos 4:16), when the Scoffer arose, who sprinkled upon Israel waters of falsehood, and led them astray in a wasteland without a way, bringing down the eternal heights and departing from the paths of righteousness and moving the border which the first ones established in their inheritance, so as to cause the curses of his covenant to cling to them, delivering them to the avenging sword of the vengeance of the covenant.

While much could be and has been commented on this passage (and its wider textual context), here I will only mention aspects relevant to our discussion. In lines 10–13 the Teacher of Righteousness reveals to the righteous (and presumably to them alone) what would be the final retribution against the “congregation of traitors,” who have “turned from the (sectarian) way” of true practice, as scripturally and prophetically foretold here in Hos 4:16. The precise time (“the last generation”), just as the nature of their punishment (“the curses of the covenant” and “the avenging sword of vengeance”), has been pre-set and we are told what to expect will happen to the followers of the Scoffer. The present is suspended between covenantal origins and covenantal retribution, but heavily leaning toward the latter. When exactly will it happen? It is enough to know that it has 27  On secret societies and their mysteries in ancient Judaism and beyond, see now Michael E. Stone, Secret Groups in Ancient Judaism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2018).

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33

already begun, or will do so momentarily. The true way and the false way are preparing, if not prepared, for their cosmic duel to the end. For the chosen few, there is no doubt as to who will be (if not already) justified: the followers of the Teacher of Righteousness and not those of the Scoffer. What is revealed here is not when but how and why. Speaking of the Teacher of Righteousness, the following passage commenting on Hab 2:2 portrays him as interpreting the words of the prophet Habakkuk in divinely revealed eschatological terms:28 ‫ וידבר אל אל חבקוק לכתוב את הבאות על‬1 ‫ הדור האחרון ואת גמר הקץ לוא הודעו‬2 ‫     ואשר אמר למען ירוץ הקורא בו‬ 3 ‫ פשרו על מורה הצדק אשר הודיעו אל את‬4 .‫ כול רזי דברי עבדיו הנבאים‬5 1 And God spoke to Habakkuk [telling him] to write down the things 2 that will come upon the last generation, but how the period would end (‫ )גמר חקץ‬he did not make known to him (emphasis added). 3 And concerning what it says, “So that the one who reads it will run” (Hab 2:2b). 4 Its interpretation concerns the Teacher of Righteousness, to whom God made known 5 all of the mysteries of the words of his servants, the prophets.

The deeper meanings of Habakkuk’s prophesies were not revealed to the prophet himself. Their consummation was for a future time (the “last generation”), that being the time of the Teacher of Righteousness. To him the mysteries of the prophets were divinely revealed, and, presumably, contained in the Pesher Habakkuk, as in the other prophetic pesharim. This cross-cultured literary phenomenon has been referred to as “the ignorant messenger.”29 However, there is a deep ambiguity in the expression ‫גמר הקץ‬, translated here as “how the period [of wickedness] would end,” that is, the nature of the rewards and punishments to be received by the righteous and the wicked respectively in the final judgment. Vermes, however, translates it as, “when time [= the current period of wickedness] would come to an end,” that is, disclosing when the eschaton would arrive, thereby responding to the incessant question, “How much longer must we wait?”30 Since knowledge of ‫גמר הקץ‬, according to the pesher, was denied to Habakkuk, presumably it, with either possible meaning, was revealed to the Teacher of Righteousness. However, which was it, the nature of the end, or the timing of its arrival, or both? In any case, was the Teacher able to disclose it to his  1QpHab 7:1–5. Steven D. Fraade, “4 Ezra and 2 Baruch with the (Dis-) Advantage of Rabbinic Hindsight,” in Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch: Reconstruction after the Fall, ed. Matthias Henze and Gabrielle Boccaccini, JSJSup164 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 363–78 (374–76); as well as b. Menaḥot 29b, for R. Akiba knowing more than was disclosed to Moses in his day. 30  Geza Vermes, The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English (London: Penguin, 2004), 512. 28

29 See

34

Steven D. Fraade

followers before his death, or only posthumously?31 We shall turn in conclusion to the question of the community’s temporal eschatological anticipation (and perhaps its attendant impatience), in light of repeated deferral of its fulfillment. The Pesher Habakkuk commentary continues by emphasizing that the final period (‫ )קץ האחרון‬will take longer than expected, even as predicted by the prophets (7:7–8: ‫יֶתר על כול אשר דברו הנביאים‬ ֶ ְ‫)ו‬, since, ultimately, “the mysteries of God are awesome” (7:8: ‫פלה‬ ִ ‫)כיא רזי אל ְל ַה‬. This tension is most acutely expressed in Pesher Habakkuk’s comment to Hab 2:3b:32 ‫אם יתמהמה חכה לו כיא בו יבוא ולוא‬ ‫יאחר פשרו על אנשי האמת‬ ‫עושי התורה אשר לוא ירפו ידיהם מעבודת‬ ‫האמת בהמשך עליהם הקץ האחרון כי‬ ‫כול קיצי אל יבואו לתכונם כאשר חקק‬ ‫להם ברזי ערמתו‬  9 10 11 12 13 14

9 1 0 11 12 13 14

“Even if it tarries, wait for it still, for it will surely come, without delay” (Hos 2:3b): Its interpretation concerns the men of truth, who perform the Torah (commands), whose hands do not grow slack in the service of the truth, when the last period is prolonged for them, for all of God’s periods will come according to their fixed order, as he decreed for them in the mysteries of his prudence.

The passage seems to be self-contradictory. For the pious who are steadfastly awaiting and preparing for the eschatological end of days, its delay might be frustrating and challenging to faith. The pesherist responds that the seeming delay is itself part of the inscrutable divine plan, according to which it will surely come as if on time, therefore, “without delay.” In other words, it will come on time, but not as humanly expected or calculated. It will come in “its own (= God’s) sweet time.” Its coming remains a certainty according to a divine plan, even as it may (seem to) take longer than hoped/expected to arrive. In the timebetween, the “men of truth” (‫ )אנשי האמת‬and the “doers of the Torah (laws)” (‫ )עושי התורה‬must stay the course of legal pietism, for their reward is imminent, albeit delayed.33 No matter what their virtuous acts, they cannot advance the arrival of the Messiah(s) through their human deeds. At most, they can ensure 31 Timothy H. Lim, The Earliest Commentary on the Prophecy of Habakkuk, The Oxford Commentary on the Dead Sea Scrolls (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020), 94, translates, “but the period to come He did not make known to him,” retaining the ambiguity of the Hebrew and thereby avoiding my question. He does not comment on this wording. Nor does Horgan, who translates, “but the fulfillment of the period he did not make known to him.” Maurya P. Horgan, “Habakkuk Pesher (1QpHab),” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translations: Vol 6B: Pesharim, Other Commentaries, and Related Documents, ed. James H. Charlesworth et al. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 157–85 (173). 32  1QpHab 7:9–14. 33  For other occurrences of these terms, see trans. Horgan, “Habakkuk Pesher (1QpHab),” 173 n 68, 69.

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35

their portion of the eschatological rewards, while anticipating the punishment of the rival scoffers. Even the Teacher of Righteousness, it would appear, with all his divinely bestowed prophetic insights, does not know when the awaited end will begin (if it has not already). For the century or two that the Qumran community was in existence, the “end” was permanently imminent yet repeatedly deferred, with these texts, with their emphasis on an inscrutable divine plan, serving as performative coping mechanisms. Presumably there were allied or rival groups for whom the anticipation and deferral was even longer. Having concluded this brief tour of Dead Sea Scroll texts, it is clear that Cover’s title, with which we began, cannot be mine or the Damascus Document’s. Rather, with all due respect, I suggest a revised title: not “bringing,” but “Preparing for the Messiah through Law,” still emphasizing human (sectarian) agency in setting the messianic table, as it were, albeit of a different, interior, but no less activist, sort. Later rabbinic texts adopt a similarly activist-quietist pose with regard to messianic expectations, perhaps against the backdrop of the tremendous losses of three failed rebellions against oppressive Roman rule, which were at least partly spurred by imminent messianic hopes.34 Here’s a single sample with a three-fold rabbinic interpretation from the Babylonian Talmud (b. Ketubot 111a), the context being various views of whether Jews should seek to live in the Land of Israel, where piety can be better observed, or remain in Babylonia until God, as it were, gives the messianic signal to return:35 ‫ לנכרים‬37‫ ושלא יגלו הסוד‬,‫ את הקץ‬36‫ ושלא ירחקו‬,‫שלא יגלו את הקץ‬ that they (= the prophets) not reveal the end, that they not defer the end, and that they not reveal the secret to gentiles.

The “end” here refers to the pre-ordained end of history as we know it and the advent of the messianic “world to come.” To not “reveal” it is not to uncover signs or predictions of its arrival, through scriptural interpretation, and thereby to heighten hopeful expectations. To not “defer” it, on the other hand, is to not discourage hope in its eventual arrival. The prescribed way is somewhere in the middle, the “golden mean,” as it were, of messianically deferred expectation. In any case, knowledge of the end, however much constrained, is not to be shared with non-Jews, possibly referring to Christians of one variety or another, who 34  However, the similarity with the quietist message of 1QpHab 7:9–14, treated above, should give pause to too strong of a determinist historiography. 35  A previous set of three adjurations are more explicitly political (and anti-Roman): that Israel not return en masse to the Land of Israel, that Israel not rebel against the nations (who rule over them, i. e., Rome), and that the idolaters not oppress Israel too much. 36  Some manuscripts have ‫שלא ידחקו‬, which is a scribal variant that does not affect the meaning. 37  Some manuscripts have ‫סוד העיבור‬, “the secret of the intercalation.”

36

Steven D. Fraade

also anticipate the advent (or second advent) of the end of historical time and circumstances. The key to a better understanding of this saying is in its evoking of three scriptural “admonitions” or “oaths” from the Song of Songs that more or less say the same thing and therefore must constitute three separate signifiers and signifieds, lest Scripture be thought to speak in redundancies. As stated by Song 2:7 (and echoed by Song 3:5 and 8:4):38 ‫השבעתי אתכם בנות ירושלם‬ ‫בצבאות או באילות השדה‬ ‫את־האהבה עד שתחפץ‬ ַ ‫אם־תעירו ואם־תעוררו‬ I adjure you, O maidens of Jerusalem, By gazelles or by hinds of the field: Do not wake or rouse Love until it please! (NJPS)

Clearly, the rabbinic interpretations take the Song of Songs as an allegorical love song between God and Israel (as have Christians between God or Jesus and the Church). Both emotionally and theologically, premature love is not the love worth waiting for. It, like redemptive history, will arrive when it (or God) is ready. Until such time, it is better not to get prematurely aroused (metaphorically speaking, of course) in messianic love. Better to ride the covenantal law to its deferred messianic fulfillment than to expect that end to supersede the law, deeply intertwined as they are as paired nomism and messianism. I will consummate my own comments with a quote from Walter Benjamin, one of the great but tragic historians and prophets of the past century, writing on the “concept of history” and Jewish messianism in particular. It is remarkably resonant with the ancient texts of both the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Babylonian Talmud that we have encountered:39 He [the historian] grasps the constellation into which his own era has entered, along with a very specific earlier one. Thus, he establishes a conception of the present as “now-time” shot through with messianic time. We know that the Jews were prohibited from inquiring into the future: the Torah and the prayers instructed them in remembrance. This disenchanted the future, which holds sway over all those who turn to soothsayers for enlightenment. This does not imply, however, that for the Jews the future became homogeneous, empty time. For every second was the small gateway in time through which the messiah might enter.

Benjamin expresses a disenchantment with the future in favor of the small messianic gateways in (present-day) time that have persisted for over two millennia. Contrary to the mystical activists of 1538 Safed, our ancient texts have no  See also Song 5:8 and Jer 27:21–22.  Walter Benjamin, “On the Concept of History,” in Selected Writings: Volume 4: 1938–1940, trans. Harry Zohn, ed. Howard Eiland and Michael W. Jennings (Cambridge: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2006), 389–400 (397; written February-May 1940). 38 39

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37

expectations or illusions of ​“ bringing the Messiah(s) through law,” but, more modestly (by comparison) of preparing (and repairing) themselves and their world for the fully un-discoverable appointed time of still hoped-for redemption.

Access to Knowledge and Resistance to Genesis 2–3 in Mid-Second Temple Texts Carol A . Newsom Scholars have often remarked on the fact that Genesis 2–3 leaves no trace on other biblical texts. The earliest allusion to it is in 1 Enoch 24–32, which likely dates from the late third century bce. Perhaps this situation is not too surprising if, as a majority of scholars now think, the story in Genesis 2–3 is likely a relatively late composition, probably Persian period.1 There are, however, traces of other traditions about the creation of humans, the primal human, and the garden of God in Ezekiel, Job, and elsewhere that are apparently independent of and perhaps prior to the narrative in Genesis 2–3. What is more surprising, however, is that when we do get a significant number of texts that refer to the literary narrative of Genesis 2–3, probably in the mid to late second century bce, many of these texts contradict one of its fundamental premises. These interpretations frequently assume that the first humans were granted access to knowledge and wisdom in the garden. But Genesis 2–3 has, as its central claim, the premise that God established the first people in a paradisiacal orchard-garden, with the one restriction being that they were not to partake of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. In Genesis, this prohibition and its subsequent violation are the basis of the plot. The aim of this story, as I read it, is to create a wry, somewhat ironic, etiological origin story for the peculiar being that is the human. The early part of the narrative establishes two categories of beings, animals (including the humans) and divine beings (ʾelohim). Divine beings live forever and have the ability to “know good and evil,” which appears to be a term 1  Some scholars still defend an early monarchic date for this material. See David M. Carr, The Formation of the Hebrew Bible: A New Reconstruction (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 456–69; Ziony Zevit, What Really Happened in the Garden of Eden? (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013), 38, 46. The prevailing consensus, however, appears to favor an early Second Temple date. See, e. g., Eckart Otto, “Die Paradieserzählung Genesis 2–3: Eine nachpriesterschriftliche Lehrerzählung in ihrem religionshistorischen Kontext,” in “Jedes Ding hat seine Zeit”: Studien zur israelitischen und altorientalischen Weisheit (FS D. Michel), ed. Anja A. Diese et al., BZAW 241 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1996), 173–89; Jean Louis Ska, “Genesis 2–3: Some Fundamental Questions,” in Beyond Eden: The Biblical Story of Paradise (Genesis 2–3) and Its Reception History, ed. Konrad Schmid and Christoph Riedweg, FAT II 34 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 1–27; Mark S. Smith, The Genesis of Good and Evil: The Fall(out) and Original Sin in the Bible (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2019), 45–48.

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for mature, deliberative judgment, that is, a superior rationality.2 Animals do not live forever and do not have the capacity to know good and evil. When Eve and Adam eat from the fruit of the tree of knowledge, they confuse the categories. They have become “like ʾelohim” in having access to this power, which appears to be that of discriminating judgment. In this respect they are no longer like the other animals, a change in status that is signaled by their awareness of their nakedness and their improvising of clothing. No animals have a sense of shame about their genitalia and no animals make and wear clothes. So the humans are no longer like the other animals. At this point the humans must be expelled from the garden so that they do not have access to the other element that distinguishes divine beings, everlasting life. Thus Genesis 2–3 provides a clever story about how humans became humans and why there are three main classes of beings in the world – animals, humans, and divine beings.3 This particular story is not necessarily to be taken as a compendium of prior origin traditions, however. It may well be innovating on those earlier traditions to make a quite distinctive argument. A debate also exists as to whether Genesis 2–3 was originally an independent narrative or was composed as part of a larger non-P strand in the Primeval History. Read as an independent story, the consequences of humans having acquired a piece of godlike cognitive equipment remain unexplored. But read as the opening episode in a series that culminates in the judgment of the flood, because “the whole inclination of the thoughts of [the human] mind was only evil all the time,” then it appears that the cognitive faculty that humans have obtained is one that they are not equipped to handle, resulting in disastrous moral judgment.4 According to the non-P source this situation is not corrected by the flood and the elimination of all but one human family, as Gen 8:21 reiterates the judgment on the poor functioning of the human mind. How did this narrative relate to earlier or parallel traditions? Although evidence is lacking to determine the answer with certainty, it is possible to examine other traditions to see where agreements and differences appear. The evidence for earlier traditions is, of course, fragmentary and complicated by the difficulty in judging the dates of many texts vis-à-vis Genesis 2–3. First, it is clear that the creation of the human body from clay or dust is part of a widespread ancient Near Eastern idea and is associated with the body’s mortality.5 Even in Gen 3:19 2  Carol A. Newsom, The Spirit within Me: Self and Agency in Ancient Israel and Second Temple Judaism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011), 119. See, e. g., Deut 1:39; 2 Sam 19:36; and especially 1 Kgs 3:9. An alternative interpretation of ​“ knowing good and evil” that understands it as a merismus, denoting comprehensive knowledge seems to be present in some Second Temple speculations about Adamic glory, but it does not fit the logic of the narrative in Genesis 2–3. 3  Newsom, The Spirit within Me, 116–26. 4 Translations are my own unless otherwise noted. 5  The Egyptian potter god Khnum is often depicted making both gods and humans on his

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human mortality is not presented as punishment for violation of the prohibition but rather as the natural consequence of being created from dust (“until you return to the ground, for from it you were taken. For dust you are, and to dust you shall return”). Job 1:21 (returning to the womb of the earth) and 4:19 (bodies as “houses of clay whose foundation is in the dust”) make the same assumption. That the body is animated by breath from God is also well attested in other Hebrew Bible texts (e. g., Ps 104:29–30; Job 27:3; 33:4). Second, the setting of the first human in Eden, the garden of God, resembles the traditions used by Ezekiel in chapter 28.6 Ezekiel 31 also associates Eden, the garden of God, with beautiful trees watered by rivers that are fed by the deep. The magnificent tree described there provides a dwelling place for birds, animals, and all the nations. It is not explicitly called a “tree of life,” and there is no association with eternal life, but the imagery fits the generous abundance and flourishing associated with the tree of life in Proverbs. Similarly, in Ezekiel 47 the fructifying waters that arise from the Temple and the fruit trees with leaves for healing that are nourished by these waters give further evidence of assumptions regarding the holy mountain of God and its association with life-giving water and trees. Within the biblical texts the association of the first human as a gardener in Eden appears to be unique to Genesis 2–3. Mesopotamian kings, however, were sometimes given the sovereignty-title nukaribbu (“gardener,” generally of date palms). Persian kings, imitating Assyrian models, built elaborate paradise gardens with irrigation canals, diverse trees, and exotic animals and represented themselves as gardener-caretakers, manifesting their sovereign power.7 Adam’s tasks of ​“working and keeping” the garden of Eden may thus be a representation of him in royal terms, much as Genesis 1 alludes to royal traditions by depicting the humans as “in the image and likeness of God” and assigning them dominion. All of these elements seem to be common tradition. Concerning other elements of the story (e. g., the creation of animals and of sexual difference), no good parallels exist in the other garden-creation traditions, though the Priestly Genesis 1 includes these matters in its different account. Where Genesis 2–3 appears to deviate from other traditions is in the forbidding of access to godlike knowledge. Ezek 28:12b uses a similar mythic scene as potter’s wheel. The tradition of making humans from clay and water or clay and divine blood appears in the Sumerian and Akkadian compositions, such as Enki and Ninmah, Atrahasis, the Enuma Elish, and Creation of the King. The Akkadian expression, karāṣu ṭidda (“to pinch off clay”) is used both for the action of making figurines for purposes of witchcraft and also used for the ways in which the gods create humankind; cf. Job 33:6. 6 Whether the traditions about a garden on the mountain of God are originally distinct from Eden traditions, the two share many motifs and often are combined with each other in biblical literature. 7  Michaela Bauks, “Sacred Trees in the Garden of Eden and Their Ancient Near Eastern Precursors,” JAJ 3 (2012): 267–301 (295); Pierre Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire, trans. Peter T. Daniels (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2002), 201–202.

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an analogy for the king of Tyre, referring to him as the inhabitant of the garden who is “seal of perfection, full of wisdom and flawless in beauty.” Eliphaz in Job 15:7–8 mocks Job: “Are you the first man (‘ādām) born? Were you brought forth before the hills? Have you listened in on the council of God? Do you have sole possession of wisdom?” Eliphaz’s description assumes special access to God and suggests that the nature of wisdom is not merely discriminating judgment but privileged or restricted knowledge. Scholars have often noted that while there are several references to a tree of life in the Hebrew Bible and typologically possible parallels in ancient Near Eastern art and iconography, there is no parallel for a tree of knowledge. The closest one can come is the reference in Prov 3:18 in which wisdom itself is described as “a tree of life to those who grasp her.” Perhaps the author of Genesis 2–3 was innovating in developing the motif of a tree of knowledge, possibly by splitting off one of the qualities associated with the tree of life for the sake of the narrative agenda.8 But why should it be off limits? The allusion to the primal human’s knowledge in Job seems positive. In Ezekiel the picture is more complex. The mashal in Ezek 28:12–19 allegorizes Tyre in the character of the primal human and refers to exceptional wisdom as part of his privileged status.9 The sin that results in expulsion is described as wrongdoing and lawlessness associated with Tyre’s role as a trading power. In the earlier oracle against Tyre in 28:2–10, Tyre’s wisdom is also mentioned and is directly associated with developing trade, amassing riches, and becoming arrogant. Notably, this arrogance is described as considering “your mind like the mind of a god” (vv. 2, 6). Taken together, the assertions about the king of Tyre share with Genesis 2–3 the themes of knowledge and confusion of status between the human and the divine. But the problem is not the knowledge itself but the arrogance. The common mythic tradition shared by Ezekiel 28 and Genesis 2–3 seems to be that of the primal humans’ transgressing the distinction between the divine and the human in a manner somehow related to the possession of knowledge and mental capacities. They differ, however, as to whether a primal godlike knowledge was accessible but became the source of transgressive pride or whether it was off limits and only obtained through transgression of a divine command. Although the narrative in Genesis 2–3 eventually became 8  Michaela Bauks, “Erkenntnis und Leben in Gen 2–3: Zum Wandel eines ursprünglich weisheitlich geprägten Lebensbegriffs,” ZAW 127 (2015): 20–42 (23–24). Other things besides wisdom are also associated with the tree of life, including the fruit of the righteous (Prov 11:30), fulfilled desire (13:12), and a gentle tongue (15:4), however, so there does not appear to be a unique association between the tree of life and knowledge. 9  The MT of v. 14 is problematic. Repointing of ‫ ַאת‬to ‫ ִאת‬and deleting the waw from ‫ונתתיך‬ allows one to read “with a cherub … I placed you,” similar to the reading in the LXX. Some scholars retain the MT and construe the narrative to be about a cherub. See Moshe Greenberg, Ezekiel 21–37, AB 22A (New York: Doubleday, 1997), 583.

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the more influential of the two, in the interpretations from the Middle Second Temple period (roughly mid-third to mid-first centuries bce) one sees a pattern in which interpreters minimize, recast, or resist the prohibition on knowledge of good and evil from Genesis 2–3 and often reflect the continuing power of the idea that the primal humans had access to extraordinary knowledge by virtue of their location in Eden. Although the idea of restored access to Eden becomes a staple of the eschatological imagination, the imagery of Eden is also repeatedly used in pedagogical contexts that promise present access to such primordial understanding. In short, the central claim of the dour narrative in Genesis 2–3 was not very popular, even as the text itself became more influential.

1. 1 Enoch First Enoch 24–32 preserves the earliest reference to Genesis 2–3, probably dating to the late third century bce. As Uriel guides Enoch around the cosmos, he shows him the mountain of God where the tree of life is located and where God will sit enthroned on the day of judgment. Only then will the chosen righteous be allowed access to the tree and eat its fruit (1 Enoch 24–25). Subsequently, in a different but similarly described location in the distant east, Enoch is shown the Paradise of Righteousness, where there are also exceptionally tall and beautiful trees, including the “tree of wisdom, whose fruit the holy ones eat and learn great wisdom” (32:3).10 Echoing Eve’s words, Enoch says “how beautiful is the tree and how pleasing in appearance” (v. 5). Gabriel then identifies it as “the tree of wisdom from which your father of old and your mother of old, who were before you, ate and learned wisdom” (v. 6a).11 Here, too, the implication is that the fruit makes the humans like ʾelōhîm, here understood as angelic “holy ones.” The designation of the knowledge as “wisdom” rather than “good and evil,” however, indicates that 1 Enoch understands the tree to convey the kind of transcendent knowledge like that which the angels teach to Enoch, similar to the exceptional wisdom assumed in the tradition of the primal human in Ezekiel 28 and Job 15.12 Verse 6b, however, also connects Adam and Eve’s eating from the tree with their expulsion from the garden, “And their eyes were opened, and they knew that they 10 Translations from Enoch are from George W. E. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary of the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 1–36; 81–108 (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001). 11 See Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 322, for a discussion of the text of v. 3, where there is a debate as to whether the Greek text should be read as hagioi (“holy ones”) or hagiou (“holy”). The first reading produces the claim that the “holy ones eat the fruit.” The second reading would be rendered “of whose holy fruit they [unspecified] eat.” See also Randall Argall, 1 Enoch and Sirach: A Comparative Literary and Conceptual Analysis of the Themes of Revelation, Creation and Judgment (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995), 33. 12  Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 328.

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were naked, and they were driven from the garden.” As John Collins observes, in 1 Enoch the prohibition not to eat from the tree is at most implied, and there is no suggestion that this wisdom itself was anything but good and valuable.13 It certainly does not result in persisting human malfunction or lead to the flood, for which 1 Enoch provides a wholly different explanation. To the extent that knowledge is problematic in 1 Enoch, it is only the “stolen mystery” that the watchers learn and transmit to humans (8:1–3; 16:3) that proves disastrous. First Enoch does not presume that humans should be prohibited from transcendent knowledge but cares deeply about the way in which it is transmitted. The divine knowledge taught to Enoch by the holy ones and passed on by him to his descendants is the divinely sanctioned means of transmission to the righteous.

2. Jubilees Although Jubilees gives considerable attention to the Eden episode, its interest is not in human access to restriction from knowledge itself but rather in the origin of the awareness of nakedness. According to Jubilees, Adam and Eve were created outside of the garden, only subsequently being brought to Eden after the requisite periods of purification (Jub. 3:3–14). In the Garden, Adam is given instruction by the angels in how to work and guard the garden. Jubilees does not narrate God’s forbidding access to the tree of knowledge, though it assumes the prohibition. It introduces the critical episode with the statement that “while he [Adam] was working (it) he was naked but did not realize (it) nor was he ashamed” (v. 16).14 When Eve offers him the fruit, “He ate (it), his eyes were opened, and he saw that he was naked” (v. 21). Both Eve (v. 21) and Adam (v. 22) take fig leaves to make aprons to cover their “shame.” The human couple and all the animals are sent out from Eden, and the Angel of the Presence explains, “But of all the animals and cattle he permitted Adam alone to cover his shame. For this reason it has been commanded in the tablets regarding those who know the judgment of the law that they cover their shame and not uncover themselves as the nations uncover themselves.” As in 1 Enoch, Jubilees finds the transmission of divine knowledge to humans to be part of God’s intention, though it, too, distinguishes between appropriate and inappropriate channels of transmission. Not only do the Watchers initially come to earth to teach approved knowledge to humans but Enoch is also the one who learns cosmic knowledge from the angels and who is granted residency 13 John J. Collins, “Before the Fall: The Earliest Interpretations of Adam and Eve,” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel, ed. Hindy Najman et al. (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 293–308 (305). 14 Translation according to James C. VanderKam, Jubilees I: A Commentary on the Book of Jubilees, Chapters 1–21 (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2018).

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in Eden (Jub. 4:15, 21–23). Kainan, by contrast, discovers astronomical and astrological inscriptions left by the Watchers, presumably after their corruption, and sins because of it (8:3–4). Yet angels give Noah medicinal knowledge to use against the evil spirits who are plaguing his descendants (10:13–14).

3. Ben Sira Even though 1 Enoch and Jubilees are clearly familiar with the text of Genesis 2–3 and its prohibition on eating from the tree of knowledge, they appear to be relatively uninterested in exploring the implications of the primal humans’ access to knowledge. Ben Sira on the other hand interprets the narrative in a way that directly eliminates the prohibition. His discussion in Sir 17:1–7 is the earliest to use the interpretive strategy of synthesizing Genesis 1 and 2–3 in order to contest the idea that God wished to prevent humans from access to knowledge of good and evil. (1) The Lord created human beings from the earth, and makes them return to earth again. (2) A limited number of days he gave them, but granted them authority over everything on earth. (3) He endowed them with strength like his own, and made them in his image. (4) He put fear of them in all flesh, and gave them dominion over beasts and birds. (6) Discernment, tongues, and eyes, ears, and a mind for thinking he gave them. (7) With knowledge and understanding he filled them; good and evil he showed them. (Trans. NAB Revised Edition)

Gen 2:7; 3:19 Gen 3:19 Gen 1:26, 28 Gen 1:26 Gen 9:2 Gen 1:26, 28

contra Gen 2:17

As it has often been pointed out, Ben Sira’s commitment to a Deuteronomic understanding of covenant presumes the capacity for moral discrimination.15 Therefore the prohibition on such knowledge or the acquisition of it through transgression is incomprehensible to him. He avoids the issue by not mentioning Eden and the trees at all, though that imagery figures prominently in Sirach 24. But is his recasting of the tradition simply a tour de force or is there an exegetical basis behind it? Ben Sira describes two modes of divine communication of knowledge. In v. 7b God “showed (ὑπέδειξεν) them good and evil,” suggesting a pedagogical action. But in 7a the text says that “with knowledge and understanding he filled (ἐνέπλησεν) them.” The Hebrew is not extant for this verse, but the Hebrew verb is presumably ‫מלא‬. In Ex 28:3 God says of Bezalel, “I have 15  See, e. g., Shane Berg, “Ben Sira, the Genesis Creation Accounts, and the Knowledge of God’s Will,” JBL 132 (2013): 139–157; Collins, “Before the Fall,” 296–301.

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filled him [‫ ]מלאתיו‬with the spirit of wisdom,” and in 31:3 “I have filled him with a divine spirit [‫]רוח אלהים‬, with wisdom and understanding and knowledge in every craft.” In the Hebrew Bible this expression is used for those endowed with particular gifts (cf. Deut 34:9; Mic 3:8; Dan 4:5; 5:11) and not associated with creation traditions. In contrast, the divine breath, the “breath of life” (‫)נשמת חיים‬ in Gen 2:7 simply animates the dust that forms the first human, as it does for all creatures in Ps 104:29. The overlap in semantic range of ‫ נשמה‬and ‫רוח‬, however, permitted the interpretation that the breath of God did fill Adam with knowledge and wisdom. This assumption appears to be attested already in Elihu’s speech in Job 32:8 (“But truly it is the spirit [‫ ]רוח‬in mortals, the breath of Shaddai [‫נשמת‬ ‫]שדי‬, that gives them understanding”). The earliest explicit interpretation of Genesis 2 in this fashion is in 4QWords of the Luminaries, a text roughly contemporary with Ben Sira.

4. Texts from Qumran 4.1 4QWords of the Luminaries The week-long liturgical cycle of 4QWords of the Luminaries (4Q504–506) includes historical remembrances beginning with creation on the first day of the cycle and gradually proceeding to the post-exilic era, with the Sabbath liturgy devoted to universal praise.16 Typically, the liturgies for Sunday through Friday contain a supplication or petition, often related to divine support for the people’s desire for obedience. Thus, one might expect the treatment of Adam to focus on the act of disobedience described in Genesis 2–3. The narration, however, frames the events in a distinctive manner (4Q504 col. 1). (4) […] you fashioned [Adam,] our [fa]ther, in the likeness of [your] glory; (5) [the breath of life] you [br]eathed into his nostrils, [and filled him] with understanding and knowledge. […] (6) […] Y[ou] set him to rule [over the gar]den of Eden that you had planted […] (7) […] and to walk about in a glorious land […] (8) […] he guarded it. You enjoined him not to turn as[ide …] (9) […] flesh is he, and to dust h[e …] (10) […] his […] vacat And you know […] (DSSR, adapted)

Gen 1:26–27; 2:7; Ezek 1:28 Gen 2:7 cf. Sir 17:6–7 Gen 2:15 + 1:26, 28 cf. Ezek 28:14 Gen 2:15 Gen 3:19; 6:3 cf. Ps 103:14

16  Esther Chazon, “4QDibHam: Liturgy or Literature,” RevQ 15 (1992): 447–55; idem, “Prayers from Qumran and Their Historical Implications,” DSD 1 (1994): 265–84.

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In this retelling of the creation of humankind, the phrase “in the likeness of [your] glory” is the guiding idea. As Baillet suggested, the phrase “in our image, according to our likeness (‫ ”)דמות‬of Gen 1:26 is interpreted in light of Ezek 1:28 (“this was the appearance of the likeness [‫ ]דמות‬of the glory of the Lord”).17 Here the breathing of God’s breath into the nostrils of Adam is associated not simply with animating the body, as in Genesis 2, but explicitly with “understanding and knowledge.” A kinglike “rule” (‫ ;משל‬cf. ‫ רדה‬in Gen 1:26) is substituted for the gardening verbs of Genesis 2 (cf. Ps 8:7, though “keep, guard” [‫ ]שמר‬occurs in l. 8), suggesting a blending of traditions from Genesis 1 and 2. A commandment of some sort is given, but it does not seem to be a commandment not to eat from the tree of knowledge, as in Genesis, since Adam has explicitly been given understanding and knowledge. The commandment appears to be a more general moral one, if the restoration of ‫ סור‬is correct. That some violation occurs in this account is clear, for the final line of the fragment makes allusion to the conditions before the flood (“[to fill the] earth [with wro]ngdoing and to she[d innocent blood …],” l. 14). If eating from the tree is not the violation, how is the moral failure accounted for? Line 9 preserves the words “flesh he is, and to dust h[e ….” This is not a threat of death for violation of a command, as in Gen 2:17, but an indicative statement concerning the physical constitution of humans (cf. Gen 3:19b; 6:3). Possibly the reference to physicality might be associated with intrinsic human moral as well as bodily weakness, as may be suggested in Ps 103:14 (“for he knows how we are formed [‫ ;]יצרנו‬he is mindful that we are dust”; NJPS). Although human materiality is not generally associated with moral incapacity in the Hebrew Bible, this idea is present in Job 4:19; 25:6; and possibly in Ps 90:3–12. In the Hodayot it becomes a major motif and is explicitly related to Genesis 2–3.18 This may have been the way in which Ps 103:14 was interpreted in some circles, particularly in light of the developing association of the human ‫ יצר‬of Gen 6:5 and 8:21 with inherent moral defect.19 Although 4QWords of the Luminaries articulated the moral failure that occurred in the garden, it appears to dissociate it from the acquisition of understanding and knowledge.

17  Maurice Baillet, Qumrân Grotte 4.III (4Q482–4Q520), DJD 7 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982), 163. References to the “glory of Adam” occur in numerous Second Temple texts, so it is likely that the author of 4QWords of the Luminaries is alluding to an established interpretive tradition. Among Qumran sectarian texts see CD 4:20; 1QS 4:23; 1QHa 4:27. The association of glory with Adam may be attested already in Ps 8:4–9, which alludes to the creation traditions of Genesis 1. Later Jewish traditions derive the glory of Adam through interpretation of the term ‫ צלם‬in Gen 1:26 rather than ‫דמות‬. 18  For discussion see Newsom, The Spirit within Me, 131–32, 147–58. 19  The most comprehensive recent study is Ishay Rosen Zvi, Demonic Desires: Yetzer Hara and the Problem of Evil in Antiquity (Philadelphia: Univ. of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 44–64.

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4.2 4QParaphrase of Genesis and Exodus Although many of the texts from Qumran that engage Genesis 2–3 are frustratingly fragmentary, only one seems to explicitly include the prohibition on eating from the tree. This is 4Q422 (4QParaphrase of Genesis and Exodus). The relevant lines are as follows (col. 1): (6) [… the heavens and all] their hosts he made by [his] word [ (7) [… whic]h he had done. And [his] holy spirit [ (8) […] living [creat]ures and the creeping things [ (9) [… sowing see]d he set him in charge to eat the fru[it (10) […] that he shoul[d n]ot eat from the tree of know[ledge of good and evil (11) […] he imposed upon him, but they forgot [ (12) […].[…] bywṣr rʿ/bw yṣr rʿ and to deed[s of wickedness (trans. Feldman, adapted)20

This text reflects the common interpretive approach of synthesizing the traditions of Genesis 1 and 2–3. Lines 6–8 summarize Genesis 1. Lines 9 and following seem to combine the reference to the human diet in Gen 1:29 with the garden tradition and the permission to eat the fruit in Gen 2:16. The reference to “set him in charge” is a paraphrase of Gen 1:26, 28 (with the common substitution of ‫ משל‬for ‫ )רדה‬that replaces the command to “work and tend” the garden. The prohibition on eating from the tree of knowledge is explicit. Line 11 seems also to refer to the prohibition and its violation, though the transgression is associated with “forgetting.” Most curious is the phrase in l. 12 that, as Feldman observes, could be read either as ‫ביוצר רע‬,̇ “with evil inclination” or, ‫בו יצר רע‬,̇ “in him was the evil inclination.”21 Although the development of the idea of the evil inclination is derived from the introduction to the flood story in Gen 6:5, its appearance here suggests that it is used here in relation to Adam’s transgression. If so, it might suggest that the disobedience was related to an intrinsic defect, similar to Adam’s “evil heart” in 4 Ezra 3:21 (“For the first Adam, burdened with an evil heart, transgressed and was overcome, as were also all who were descended from him”; NRSV ). As Karina Hogan has observed, the expression “‘evil heart’ (cor malignum) is probably a translation of ‫יצר הרע‬, since there was no set translation of this term into Greek (which underlies all of the extant versions) and in rabbinic texts the term yṣr is used almost interchangeably with lbb, ‘heart.’”22 The use of the verb ‫ וייצר‬in Gen 2:7 provides a link for the idea that Adam was created

20  Ariel Feldman, “4Q422 (Paraphrase of Genesis and Exodus),” in Ariel Feldman and Liora Goldman, Scripture and Interpretation: Qumran Texts That Rewrite the Bible, ed. Devorah Dimant, BZAW 449 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 83–129 (88). 21  Feldman, Scripture and Interpretation, 87, 90–91; Torlief Elgvin, “The Genesis Section of 4Q422,” DSD 1 (1994): 180–96 (187). 22  Karina Martin Hogan, Theologies in Conflict in 4 Ezra: Wisdom Debate and Apocalyptic Solution, JSJSup 130 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 114.

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with a problematic ‫יצר‬.23 Although the broken context of 4QParaphrase makes interpretation tentative, what seems to be the focus of the author of the paraphrase is the fact of the transgression rather than the access to knowledge itself. 4.3 The Two Spirits Treatise The use of Gen 1:26–28 to recast Genesis 2–3 is also a feature of the Two Spirits Treatise. The heading of that document describes it as a teaching on “the genealogy [‫ ]תולדות‬of all humankind [‫ ”]כל בני איש‬which is perhaps an interpretive gloss on Gen 5:1 (“This is the document of the genealogy of ‫אדם‬. When God created ‫אדם‬, he made him in the likeness of God.”) Following the reference to God’s predestining all things, the teaching begins with the statement: “He created humankind [‫ ]אנוש‬to rule all the world” (1QS 3:17), an allusion to Gen 1:26– 28, which are the verses that contain the references to “image and likeness.” But the Two Spirits treatise does not mention “image and likeness” here. Instead the reference to the creation of humankind is followed by the introduction of the two spirits and their function (“[God] has assigned two spirits for him in which to walk until the appointed time of his visitation.”). They are characterized in binary terms as “light and darkness,” “truth and perversity,” and their roles in relation to the children of truth, as well as their psychological and dispositional manifestations, are provided. The eschatological visitation is described in 4:18– 26 when God puts an end to perversity and purifies the elect. The purpose of the purification is “so that the upright may understand the knowledge of the Most High and so that the perfect of way may have insight into the wisdom of the sons of heaven” (l. 22). Note the centrality of knowledge such as divine beings have. The line continues, “to them shall all the glory of Adam belong,” which presumes the same interpretation of ​“ likeness” (‫ )דמות‬as “glory” (‫ )כבוד‬found in the Words of the Luminaries. Thus it appears that the process of creating humankind in the image and likeness of God, though it begins with creation, is not completed until the eschaton. The final lines recapitulate the process, making it clear that, prior to the visitation, the two spirits “struggle in the hearts of men” (4:23). What is their purpose? “He has given them as an inheritance to the sons of men so that they may know good [and evil]” (4:26), apparently as a kind of divine pedagogy. Far from being prohibited, knowledge of good and evil is part of the predestined plan of God for humanity. In the Two Spirits Treatise, however, it does not come from a tree but from God’s own assigning of the two spirits to humankind. Since Genesis 2–3 asserts that knowing good and evil is what makes persons “like God” or “like gods,” so the elect’s experience with these two spirits appears to be part of their formation. “According to a person’s inheritance in truth and 23  Ben Sira, too, associates the ‫ יצר‬with Adam’s creation (‫ויתנהו ביד יצרו‬, 15:14c), though the context makes clear that he considers Adam’s ‫ יצר‬to be morally neutral.

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righteousness, so he hates perversity; and according to his share in the lot of perversity … so he loathes truth” (4:24–25), just as God is said to love the one spirit and loathe the other (3:26–4:1). The experience of the upright in knowing and loving the good and knowing and loathing evil prepares them for the eschatological transformation that completes the act of creation of humankind in the image and likeness of God and that provides access to heavenly wisdom. The texts examined so far are in various ways engaged in exegetical interpretation of Genesis 2–3. Although they are evidence for the growing significance of this text, they demonstrate that the theme of the primal prohibition of access to knowledge was judged to be problematic or not of great interest. It is eliminated in Ben Sira, 4QWords of the Luminaries, and the Two Spirits Treatise, treated as relatively insignificant in 1 Enoch, refocused to reflect a different concern of the author in Jubilees, and refocused to put the emphasis on the fact of transgression rather than on the thing prohibited in 4QParaphrase of Genesis and Exodus. Another set of texts, however, that focus on the imagery of the Garden of Eden demonstrate the persistent power of the association of the Garden, not as the place where knowledge is prohibited, but as the place where divine knowledge is uniquely accessible.

5. The Image of the Garden in the Pedagogical Tradition The texts in the pedagogical tradition differ from the ones previously considered in that they are not primarily exegetical but rather use garden traditions of Eden and the mountain of God to establish a fundamental metaphorical claim that the teacher or student can access wisdom from God in a way analogous to the access enjoyed by the primal human. Even though they make clear allusions to Genesis 2–3, their orientation with respect to knowledge is closer to the traditions reflected in Ezekiel 28 and Job 15:7–8.24 5.1 Ben Sira Sirach 24 combines Wisdom’s poem of self-praise (vv. 1–23) with Ben Sira’s commentary on it (vv. 25–33). Wisdom begins by describing her divine origins “from the mouth of the Most High” and her search through the cosmos for a resting place, which she finds in Jacob and in the sanctuary in Zion. The first developed garden imagery occurs in vv. 12–17, where Wisdom describes herself as a tree, comparing her height and beauty to a variety of tall trees and blooming plants. Her fragrance is described in terms of mostly plant-derived scents (cinnamon, 24  The most extensive and perceptive analysis of these texts is Matthew Goff, “Gardens of Knowledge: Teachers in Ben Sira, 4QInstruction, and the Hodayot,” in Pedagogy in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity, ed. Emma Wasserman (Atlanta: SBL Press 2017), 171–193.

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cane, myrrh, galbanum, onycha, and mastic) that are “like the odor of incense in the holy tent” (cf. Exod 30:23–28), evoking the intersection of garden and temple imagery that is a common trope in the ancient Near East.25 Wisdom’s specific invitation to come “and be filled with my fruits” (v. 19) inverts the prohibition in Genesis 2–3 on eating from the tree of knowledge and exclusion from the tree of life. The likely secondary division of wisdom-the-tree-of-life (cf. Prov 3:18) in Genesis is ignored here as wisdom offers both knowledge and abundant life. That the Edenic tradition is specifically the referent and not simply garden imagery in general is confirmed by the reference to the five rivers that are also associated with Wisdom and Torah, four of which are the ones that rise and flow out from Eden, according to Gen 2:10–14.26 Ben Sira’s addition of the Jordan serves to include the land of Israel in the sacred geography. Although Ben Sira’s reference to “the first human” and “the last” who will never finish comprehending wisdom is a merismus, it underscores his conviction that Eden is not the place in which humans are excluded from wisdom but rather where they have immediate access to it. The river imagery facilitates another critical aspect of his rhetoric, as it allows him to identify himself metaphorically as a canal flowing from this river of wisdom (v. 30) and so to incorporate his own pedagogical role into the tradition of primordial wisdom. Now he waters his own plants (i. e., students) in his own garden. As Matthew Goff observes, this is not a return to Eden, as in some eschatological traditions. “One does not need to enter Eden. Rather one needs access to the water that flows from it.”27 The metaphorical connection depends, however, on the assumption that Eden is the origin of access to wisdom. 5.2 4QInstruction In contrast to Ben Sira, who remains largely within the tradition of prudential wisdom, 4QInstruction combines such advice with more speculative and even esoteric wisdom.28 The opening of the composition is partially preserved (4Q416 25  See, e. g., Bauks, “Sacred Trees,” 280–281; Izak Cornelius, “The Garden in the Iconography of the Ancient Near East: A Study of Selected Material from Egypt,” JSem 1 (1989): 204–28 (212, 226). 26  It is textually uncertain whether v. 27 reflects the identification of the Gihon with the Nile, as is implied in Gen 2:13, or whether Ben Sira adds “the Nile” so as to allow the Gihon to be identified as the Gihon in Jerusalem where Solomon was anointed (1 Kgs 1:33, 38, 45). See the discussion in Patrick W. Skehan and Alexander A. Di Lella, The Wisdom of Ben Sira, AB 39 (New York: Doubleday, 1987), 336–37. 27 Goff, “Gardens of Knowledge,” 176. 28 The most important studies on this difficult text include Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, To Increase Learning for the Understanding Ones: Reading and Reconstructing the Fragmentary Early Jewish Sapiential Text 4QInstruction, STDJ 44 (Leiden: Brill, 2001); Jean-Sébastien Rey, 4QInstruction: Sagesse et eschatologie, STDJ 81 (Leiden: Brill, 2008); Matthew J. Goff, 4QInstruction, WLAW 2 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2013); Benjamin Wold, 4QInstruction: Divisions and Hierarchies, STDJ 123 (Leiden: Brill, 2018).

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1 and parallels) and frames the instructions in a description of the orderly organization of the cosmos, including its regulation and temporal order, highlighting the eschatological judgment that God will conduct to punish wickedness and acknowledge the “children of his truth.” One of the central concepts of the work is the ‫רז נהיה‬, “the mystery of existence,” which appears to designate the comprehensive ordering of all that exists, encompassing past, present, and future. Although some of the instruction contained in the work seems to pertain to actual economic and family relationships, at times these instructions appear to have a metaphorical or symbolic significance, designating moral and spiritual qualities and dispositions. A repeated admonition, however, has to do with the necessity of disciplined study and attention. For example, concerning one’s inheritance, “walk in it and through the mystery that is to be study its origins” (4Q416 2 iii 9); “meditate upon the mystery that is to be and study (it) constantly. And then you will know truth and iniquity” (4Q417 1 i 6 + 4Q418 43–45 i 4); “these things seek constantly and understand [al]l their consequences” (4Q417 1 i 12); “and you, understanding son, gaze upon the mystery that is to be” (4Q417 1 i 18); “but you, chosen ones of truth, who pursue [understanding,] see[k wisdom and] wat[ch] over all knowledge” (4Q418 69 ii + 60 10). The angels are a model for such diligence: “the angels of holiness … pursue after all the roots of understanding and are vigilant over [knowledge]” (4Q418 55 9).29 In a most remarkable section in 4Q423 1 1–4 this diligence is described in terms of the tending of an Edenic garden. (1) And every fruit of the produce and every delightful tree, desirable for making one wise. Is it not a de[lightful and desirable] garden […] (2) […] for [making] one v[er]y wise? He has given you authority over it to till it and keep it. A [lush] gar[den …] (3) [… but the earth] will make thorn and thistle sprout for you and its strength will not yield to you […] (4) […] when you are disloyal.

The echoing of words from Gen 2:9 (desirable, ‫ )נחמד‬and 3:6 (desirable for making wise, ‫ )נחמד להשכיל‬makes it clear that the garden is Eden and that the phrase “has given you authority over it to till it and keep it” (‫המשילכה לעבדו‬ ‫ )ולשמרו‬in l. 2 reflects not only the language of Gen 2:15 but the adaptation of the motif of dominion, noted in other texts above. Thus the “understanding one” who is addressed in the text is a metaphorical Adam. The thorn and thistle (‫קוץ‬ ‫)וד ֯רדר‬ ֯ allude to Gen 3:18, except that they do not describe life after expulsion from the garden but the result of the addressee’s neglect of his task of tilling and keeping. In contrast to Genesis 2–3, which features a single “tree of knowledge” that is prohibited, in this rendering all of the trees are associated with “making wise.” Although as a metaphorical appropriation of the Genesis narrative the author has considerable freedom to alter the use of various details, the entire All translations follow Goff, 4QInstruction.

29 

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comparison does not make sense unless there was a strong tradition that associated Eden with access to knowledge rather than prohibition from knowledge. 5.3 1QHodayota 16:5–27 This text preserves the first part of the final composition in the collection of Teacher psalms. The imagery is more eclectic than that featured in the garden passages in Ben Sira and 4QInstruction, though it incorporates clear allusions to Genesis 2–3. The overarching trope is that of an irrigated garden in the midst of a dry land where many tall trees of different species grow. It is specifically referred to as “a glorious Eden” (1QHa 16:21). Allusions to Isa 41:19; 60:13, 21; and 61:3 are, as Julie Hughes notes, “based upon Isaiah’s use of Eden imagery for his vision of restoration for the exiles,” which is made explicit in Isa 51:3, “For the Lord will comfort Zion; he will comfort all her waste places, and will make her wilderness like Eden, her desert like the garden of the Lord.”30 Also critical to the development of the imagery are allusions to Ezekiel 31, which itself merges Eden and forests of Lebanon traditions. In Ezekiel 31, the tropes are adapted to serve as a judgment oracle, using the beautiful and exceedingly tall tree as a symbol of royal arrogance that will be punished. In the hodayah two types of trees are distinguished. The speaker’s community is represented as “trees of life at a secret spring” and are said to be “hidden in the midst of all the trees of the water,” which represent Jews outside of the speaker’s community (1QHa 16:6–7).31 The tall and more physically imposing “trees of the water” are further contrasted with the “shoot” (cf. Isa 60:21) that “sprouts into an eternal planting” (1QHa 16:6). It alone sends out its roots to the “living waters,” the watercourse of the “eternal source” (1QHa 16:8, 9, 11; cf. Jer 17:8). That this Eden is a place of access to divine knowledge is suggested in the phrase ‫מעין רז‬, which can be translated “secret spring” or “spring of mystery.”32 Although many of the allusions are to what one may call extended Eden imagery in Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel, there is an unmistakable reference to Gen 3:24 in ll. 12–14: And you, [O G]od, have hedged in its fruit by means of the mystery of strong warriors and spirits of holiness, and the whirling flame of fire, so that no [stran]ger might [come] to the fountain of life, nor with the eternal trees drink the waters of holiness, nor bear its fruit with the plantation of heaven.

Whereas the warrior cherubim in Gen 3:24 prevent the banished couple from entering Eden, here they protect the garden from intrusion by outsiders. The theme 30 Julie A. Hughes, Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot, STDJ 59 (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 152. Her analysis of the composition is the most thorough to date. 31  Hughes, Scriptural Allusions, 152, n 75, notes Pss. Sol. 14:3, “The garden of the Lord, the trees of life are his holy ones. Their planting is rooted for ever.” 32  Goff, “Gardens of Knowledge,” 185.

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of access to knowledge is also present as the speaker identifies his teaching with the spring of living water: “And you, O my God, have put in my mouth (words) like early rain for all […], and a spring of living water that does not fail” (l. 17).33 This metaphorical identification recalls Ben Sira’s similar reference to himself as “a stream from a river” and his intention to “water my plants” (Sir 24:30–31). The hodayah more explicitly represents the speaker as the gardener on whose efforts the flourishing of the garden depends: When I stretch out a hand to hoe its furrows, its roots strike into the flinty rock and […] their rootstock in the earth, and at the time of heat it retains strength. If I withdraw (my) hand, it becomes like a juniper [in the wilderness,] and its rootstock like nettles in salty ground. (In) its furrows thorn and thistle grow up into a bramble thicket and a weed patch …. (1QHa 16:23–26).

Like Adam, the speaker must work and tend the garden. And, similar to the account in 4QInstruction, thorn and thistle are not features of life outside the garden but the result of neglect of the garden.34

6. Conclusions The claim made in Genesis 2–3 that God prohibited the first humans from access to divine knowledge by forbidding them from eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil appears to be an isolated element in the early traditions of the primal paradise garden. It runs counter to the elements of the Eden and primal human tradition preserved in Ezekiel and Job in which access to special knowledge is presumed to be a feature of this tradition. Although the command not to eat from the tree of knowledge is recognized in three early allusions to Genesis 2–3 in 1 Enoch 32, Jubilees 3, and 4Q422 (4QParaphrase of Genesis and Exodus), other texts that make explicit allusion to the creation account in Genesis 2–3, such as Ben Sira 17 and 4Q504 (4QWords of the Luminaries), contradict its claim that the primal human was excluded from such knowledge. The Two Spirits Treatise (1QS 3:13–4:26) creatively melds the tradition of creation in the image and likeness of God with acquiring the knowledge of good and evil that makes one “like God” into its metaphysical account of God’s predestined plan for the elect. Thus, even among those early 33 The allusion is to Hos 6:3 and/or Joel 2:23. As Hughes, Scriptural Allusions, 156–57, observes, “the words are used of rain metaphorically in the first reference and literally in the second. Their common context is that of eschatological blessing. The verb can also mean ‘to teach’ (cf. Isa 30:20; Job 36:22; Prov 5:13) and so leads to rain being used metaphorically here for teaching.” Moreover, Joel 2:23 is thought to be the source of the sobriquet “the Teacher of Righteousness.” 34 Goff, “Gardens of Knowledge,” 184, n 50, has suggested that “the author(s) of the Hodayot may have been familiar with 4QInstruction,” though the evidence in this case is not decisive.

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texts that show a knowledge of Genesis 2–3, there is resistance to its claim. In pedagogical compositions that deal more allusively with the garden motif (e. g., Ben Sira 24, 4QInstruction, 1QHodayota 16), the assumption that Eden is a place where divine knowledge is accessible is taken for granted. Thus it is likely that the author of Genesis 2–3 himself was subverting an established tradition to produce a dour account of the origin of the unreliable human moral capacity that results in a moral chaos that even the flood could not eradicate (Gen 6:5; 8:21). Later interpretation of Genesis 2–3 in Jewish and Christian tradition becomes far more complex, but these early texts underscore how controversial its claim initially proved to be.

An Ancestral Pattern for Diaspora Life in the Aramaic Literature from Qumran Daniel A . Machiela 1. Introduction: Literature for the Exile It has long been recognized that some Jewish narratives set during the exilic period had the goal of addressing acute questions about how to live as a minority, under foreign rule amidst other peoples with different gods, beliefs, and customs. W. Lee Humphreys’ view that the tales of Daniel and Esther hold forth a “lifestyle for the Diaspora” has been cited often, though many others have expressed related ideas, such as Beate Ego’s recent description of Tobit and LXX Esther as “Torah in the Diaspora” and Devorah Dimant’s similar characterization of Tobit as a “Torah for Exile.”1 Humphreys stressed the fundamentally embracing, accommodationist attitude of Daniel and Esther, though his fairly one-sided description has drawn disapproval (especially with relation to Daniel) from scholars such as Daniel Smith-Christopher and David Valeta, who instead focus on how these texts resist, critique, and ridicule foreign empires and their cultures.2 As Carol Newsom and others have noted, both are true.3 A text like Daniel is negotiating a fraught situation, in which a significant level of accommodation is necessary and even tacitly endorsed, but within limits and tempered by a healthy dose of skepticism towards the motivations and practices of the prevailing foreign culture. As Humphreys recognized, an accommodationist position is anticipated in earlier writings of the Hebrew Bible, such as Jeremiah’s letter to the Babylonian exiles encouraging them to “seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile” (Jer 29:7) and Second Isaiah’s imagery of Israel as “a light to the nations” (see Isa 49:6, 51:4, 1 W. Lee Humphreys, “A Life-Style for Diaspora: A Study of the Tales of Esther and Daniel,” JBL 92 (1973): 211–23; Beate Ego, “The Torah in the Diaspora: The LXX Esther and Tobit as Test-Cases,” in The Early Reception of the Torah, ed. Kristin de Troyer et al., DCLS 39 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2020), 71–80; Devorah Dimant, “Tobit and the ‘Torah for Exile’ in Light of the Qumran Texts,” ZTK 119 (2022): 2–30. 2  For bibliography see the recent survey of Amy C. Merrill Willis, “A Reversal of Fortunes: Daniel among the Scholars,” CurBR 16 (2018): 107–30 (112–14). 3  Carol Newsom, Daniel: A Commentary, OTL (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2014), 15–18.

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cf. 55:5). While this is not a major facet of the prophetic message in the Hebrew Bible, it does envision a positive role for Israel among the nations, a role developed in important ways by a number of the Aramaic works found at Qumran. The authors of these works repeatedly present readers with two related, temporal frames. The first is the fictive present of the characters in the stories, who often adopt accommodationist positions that nevertheless embody wisdom, discernment, and righteousness, and so draw hard boundaries around certain (occasionally lampooned) gentile practices and attitudes, resisting them to the point of death if necessary. This temporal frame is relativized, however, by a much wider one, usually conveyed through apocalyptic dream-visions, in which it becomes clear that the present situation would eventually dissolve into a glorious future for Israel when the tables will be turned and accommodation will no longer be necessary. We see this very clearly in the Aramaic chapters of Daniel, where the related, bracketing chapters 2 and 7 set the wider temporal frame, inset with stories portraying a complicated mix of accommodation and resistance. Something similar happens in Tobit, which begins with a reflection on the accommodating yet resistant diaspora existence of Tobit, Anna, and Ahiqar, but culminates in the final two chapters with a stirring image of Israel’s eschatological restoration. Daniel and Tobit offer examples of how to live in the messiness of exile, but with a gaze toward the eschatological horizon on which the proper divine order is restored. But are the concerns of living in exile restricted to narratives focused on the period of Israel in exile like Daniel and Tobit? Already in the 19th century Ludwig Rosenthal explored the clear literary connections between Esther, Daniel, and the Joseph story of Genesis, in which Joseph similarly serves as a quintessentially wise official in the foreign king’s court, earning praise, promotion, and reward.4 For some, these connections and themes strongly suggest that the Joseph story is a literary product of the exilic period, even if others maintain a more traditional date in the monarchic period.5 In any case, the literary similarities of these stories point us to a fundamental likeness between the periods before and after Israel’s monarchy. At both times Israel (or Israel’s ancestors) lived without political 4  Ludwig A. Rosenthal, “Die Josephgeschichte mit den Büchern Ester und Daniel verglichern,” ZAW 15 (1895): 278–85. For additional bibliography on the topic see Humphreys, “Life-Style,” 216 n 17; Michael Segal, “From Joseph to Daniel: The Literary Development of the Narrative in Daniel 2,” VT 59 (2009): 123–49. 5  An exilic-period date was initially argued by Arndt Meinhold (“Die Gattung der Josefsgeschichte und des Esterbuches: Disasporanovelle I,” ZAW 87 [1975]: 306–24; idem, “Die Gattung der Josefsgeschichte und des Esterbuches: Disasporanovelle II,” ZAW 88 [1976]: 72–93), and has been accepted by scholars who generally date the composition of the Pentateuch to the exilic period. The more traditional dating to sometime during the monarchic period is maintained, e. g., by Erhard Blum and Kristin Weingart, “The Joseph Story: Diaspora Novella or North-Israelite Narrative?” ZAW 129 (2017): 501–21; Jan Joosten, “The Linguistic Dating of the Joseph Story,” HeBAI 8 (2019): 24–43.

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autonomy as a minority among foreign nations and peoples – something true both inside and outside of the promised or lost homeland – and as such they needed to navigate between engagement with the prevailing foreign culture and fidelity to ancestral beliefs and customs. In this article, I will look at three Aramaic works that develop the pre-monarchic side of this division, much as Daniel and Tobit do for the post-monarchic side: They are: 1) the Aramaic Levi Document, 2) the Testament of Qahat, and 3) the Genesis Apocryphon. Each of these works imaginatively develops characters known from the books of Genesis and Exodus in a way that reflects an interest in their encounters with foreign places and peoples, and so helps to build for readers an idealized pattern for life in exile and diaspora.

2. The Aramaic Levi Document The Aramaic Levi Document  – or what Henryk Drawnel prefers to call the Visions of Levi – is a stand-alone narrative work that expands creatively on the few references to Levi in the Pentateuch and elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible.6 Most scholars working on the text consider it to have been composed in the third century bce by a priestly group concerned, among other things, with establishing the divinely-ordained status of the Levitical priesthood. Like the large majority of Qumran Aramaic works, a significant portion of Aramaic Levi is written in the first-person voices of Levi and other central characters, such as Isaac. Levi reports the Shechem episode in a way that re-interprets the Genesis version, tells of a dream-vision in which God bestows the priesthood on him, receives a large block of sacrificial and other teaching from his grandfather Isaac, and talks in detail about his own marriage and those of his children. The passage most important for my purposes is a wisdom discourse that Levi gives to his children, which apparently fell at or near the end of the work. He delivers the speech on the occasion of his brother Joseph’s death, holding up Joseph as especially worthy of emulation:7 Observe, my children, my brother Joseph [who] taught scribal knowledge, and insight, {and} wisdom to (those of ) honor, and to (those of ) greatness, and to kings. [… and ] do not be lax in the study of wisdom, [and do n]ot lea[ve her paths]. A man who studies wisdom, all [h]is days are l[ong] and hi[s reputa]tion grows great. Any la[nd] and country to which he might go, he has a brother and a friend therein. He is not lik[e a] foreigner [in 6 On Drawnel’s preferred title, see Henryk Drawnel, “The Literary Characteristics of the Visions of Levi (So-Called Aramaic Levi Document),” JAJ 1 (2010): 303–19. 7  All translations of the Document are my own, based on the edition and numbering of Jonas C. Greenfield, Michael E. Stone, and Esther Eshel, The Aramaic Levi Document: Edition, Translation, Commentary, SVTP 19 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), in consultation with that of Henryk Drawnel, An Aramaic Wisdom Text from Qumran, JSJSup 86 (Leiden: Brill, 2004).

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it], and he is not like one who is mixed in it, since all of them will accord him honor because of it, [si]nce they wish to learn from his wisdom. His friends are many, and his wellwishers are numerous. And they will set him on a seat of honor in order to hear his words of wisdom. (13:6–10)

As noted by Greenfield, Stone, and Eshel, significant parts of the discourse are poetically structured into parallelistic phrases, often using repeating triplets of related terms.8 We see one such triplet at the beginning of this quotation – scribal knowledge, insight, and wisdom – a combination found at least two other times in the poem; it was obviously an important set of terms for whoever composed this text.9 Joseph is portrayed first and foremost as a teacher of wisdom, not to Israel but to foreigners, and especially to powerful foreigners. The benefits of adopting his model are made explicit: one will do exceptionally well living in exile. The wise man, we are told, will live a long life, gain renown, and find a friendly reception wherever he goes. The rhetorical posture of the passage invites readers and listeners to put themselves in the position of Levi’s children, to follow Joseph’s example by living according to the norms of wisdom and by learning – or perhaps more realistically, for the audience, revering – the scribal traditions of writing, reading, and education. Importantly, readers also learn that interactions with foreigners are something to be welcomed, and can lead to benefits for all parties involved.

3. The Testament of Qahat Since the early publications of Józef Milik on the Testament of Qahat and Visions of Amram in the 1970s, scholars have recognized a close literary connection between these two works and the Aramaic Levi Document. All three are in the first-person voices of figures from Genesis and Exodus, bridging the priestly genealogy from Levi to Aaron and displaying a number of shared interests, themes, and idioms. They are written in a virtually identical dialect and style of Aramaic, permitting for some variety in orthography that is best attributed to the process of copying and transmission. In fact, the material features (e. g., size, preparation, and condition of the skin) and scribal practices (e. g., spacing, script type, and orthography) of the single copy of the Testament of Qahat, 4Q542, are so similar to those of one of the Visions of Amram scrolls, 4Q547, that they may plausibly be considered as belonging to the same manuscript.10 If these three – or perhaps  8 Greenfield,

Stone, and Eshel, The Aramaic Levi Document, 202–3.  As noted, e. g., in Greenfield, Stone, and Eshel, The Aramaic Levi Document, 202. 10  In a recent article, I argued that this is indeed the case, and that what we call the Testament of Qahat may have been a section of the Visions of Amram in which Qahat takes center stage, much like Isaac does for a long section in the Aramaic Levi Document. Daniel Machiela, “Is  9

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two – works were not composed by the same person or small group of people, which I think is highly likely, then they must have emerged from a fairly closeknit social circle. What is preserved of the Testament of Qahat in 4Q542 records a first-person address to Qahat’s son Amram and Amram’s children, in which Qahat offers advice for righteous living. As the title of the work suggests, the tone and content of the address is strongly reminiscent of deathbed testaments like those preserved in the later Greek Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, even though we are missing the beginning of Qahat’s speech and so cannot be sure whether its fictive setting was his impending death. We can be sure, however, that Qahat hits several of the notes struck by Levi in his wisdom discourse. One such note concerns potential interactions with foreigners and their reception of Israelites, which in the Testament of Qahat is connected with the sustained motif of ​“ inheritance” (‫)ירותת‬.11 And now, my children, guard carefully the inheritance entrusted to you, and which your ancestors gave to you. Do not give up your inheritance for foreigners or your heritage for those who are mixed, so that you become low and foolish in their eyes. They will despise you, for they will be strangers to you and authorities over you. Therefore, hold on to the command of Jacob your father; hold fast to the judgements of Abraham, and to the charitable deeds of Levi and of me. Be holy and pure from all intermixing, holding on to truth and walking in honesty, not with a double heart but rather with a pure heart, and with a good and true spirit. So you will ascribe to me a good name in your midst, and joy to Levi, and gladness to Jacob, and happiness to Isaac, and praise to Abraham, because you have kept and passed on the inheritance that your ancestors left to you … (4Q542 1 i 4–12)

As with Levi, the historical backdrop of Qahat’s speech is Egypt, where the Israelites had been living as foreigners in exile for a generation. Qahat is clearly concerned to instruct his children and grandchildren on how they should handle their ancestral inheritance while living in this setting. An especially striking lexical correlation encourages us to consider Levi’s and Qahat’s speeches in light of one another, and nicely illustrates the literary connection already mentioned. As we have seen, Levi tells his children that those who study and practice wisdom like Joseph did will find acceptance and esteem among their foreign neighbors, “Any la[nd] and country to which he might go, he has a brother and a friend therein. He is not lik[e a] foreigner (‫[ )נכרי‬in it], and he is not like one who is mixed (‫ )כילאי‬in it, since all of them will accord him honor because of it, [si]nce they wish to learn from his wisdom.” The word for “foreigner” is the expected ‫נכרי‬, but the word that I translate “one who is mixed,” ‫כילא[י‬, is more surthe Testament of Qahat Part of the Visions of Amram? Material and Literary Considerations of 4Q542 and 4Q547,” JSJ 52 (2021): 27–38. 11 The English translation is my own, based on the edition of 4Q542 by Émile Puech in DJD 31:257–82.

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prising.12 Greenfield, Stone, and Eshel struggled to translate the word, choosing “scoundr[el]” based on the Biblical Hebrew hapax legomenon ‫ ִכ ַילי‬in Isa 32:5.13 However, Edward Cook, followed by Caquot and Drawnel, is surely correct in identifying the word with the technical legal term ‫כ ְל ַאיִ ם‬,ִ found three times in Leviticus and once in Deuteronomy to describe something of a mixed nature that is forbidden.14 In the Pentateuch, ‫ ִכ ְל ַאיִם‬describes the mixing of different animals in breeding, textiles in garments, and crops in fields or vineyards. In the Aramaic Levi Document, we find the novel application of this term to mixing between different peoples, something that Levi clearly assumes to be negative. This matches the strong emphasis on endogamous marriage found elsewhere in the Document, and anticipates the later use of ‫ ִכ ְל ַאיִ ם‬in the same sense by the author of 4QMMT (4Q396 1–2). Importantly, it also parallels Qahat’s use of the same pair of terms in his statement, “Do not give up your inheritance for foreigners (‫)נכראין‬ or your heritage for those who are mixed (‫)כילאין‬.” The very unusual application by Levi and Qahat of the Hebrew Pentateuchal term ‫ ִכ ְל ַאיִ ם‬to the mixture of different people groups or nations, in both cases paired with ‫נכרי‬, strongly supports the idea of a shared social setting for the composition of these two works. While this may be true, on an initial reading it seems that Levi and Qahat take opposing points of view on interacting with foreigners: Levi advises that teaching scribal knowledge, insight, and wisdom to foreigners is a good thing, which will result in Israel not being treated like foreigners and those of mixed birth. Qahat, on the other hand, issues a stern warning not to give away the ancestral inheritance to foreigners and those of mixed birth, which will lead to Israel’s belittlement among the nations. Well, which is it? Teach, or do not teach? Share, or do not share? I would submit that close attention to the vocabulary of the two passages reveals that Levi and Qahat are, in fact, talking about two sides of the same coin. There are good grounds to assume that the three interweaving branches of knowledge listed by Levi are parts of the ancestral inheritance addressed by Qahat, as discussed below when I turn to the Genesis Apocryphon. It would not seem, then, that the two men are simply speaking on unrelated topics. The main distinction between the two passages is what is being done 12  I adopt here the orthography of the Qumran manuscript 4Q213 (4QLevia), though the part of the text with this word (spelled ‫ )כילי‬is preserved only in the Cairo Geniza Cambridge e manuscript. As we will see below, the Testament of Qahat gives a solid rationale for assuming the word was also present in the Qumran copies of the Aramaic Levi Document. 13 Greenfield, Stone, and Eshel, The Aramaic Levi Document, 211. In this opinion they followed Emile Puech, “Le Testament de Qahat en araméen de la grotte 4 (4QTQahat),” RevQ 15 (1992): 23–54 (39). 14 Edward M. Cook, “Remarks on the Testament of Kohath from Qumran Cave 4,” JJS 44 (1993): 205–19; André Caquot, “Grandeur et pureté du sacerdoce: Remarques sur le Testament de Qahat (4Q542),” in Solving Riddles and Untying Knots: Biblical, Epigraphic, and Semitic Studies in Honor of Jonas C. Greenfield, ed. Ziony Zevit et al. (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns,1995), 39–44 (41); Drawnel, Aramaic Wisdom Text, 338.

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with the inheritance: In the Aramaic Levi Document, Joseph was teaching – ‫מאלפא‬ – the Egyptians aspects of Israel’s accrued intellectual heritage, while in the Testament of Qahat the verb is instead ‫נתן‬, “to give.” The phrase ‫ואל תתנו‬ ‫ ירותתכון לנכראין ואחסנותכון לכילאין‬is typically translated with the following sense: “Do not give your inheritance to foreigners, or your heritage to those who are mixed.” However, ‫ נתן‬with the preposition lamed can also carry the connotation of giving something up or exchanging something, in which case the lamed should be translated “for,” a usage attested already in Official Aramaic and still present in the rabbinic targums. In my opinion, this use of ‫ נתן‬makes better sense of Qahat’s point in the broader rhetoric of his speech; he is not warning against allowing foreigners access to Israel’s enviable source of wisdom, but rather not to let foreigners and those of mixed race entice Israel into giving up or turning its back on that wisdom. This understanding of Qahat’s instruction is reinforced a few lines later, when he says, “be se[t a]part and pure of all[ intermi]xing, grabbing hold of the truth and walking in uprightness and not doubleheartedness, but rather with a pure heart and a true spirit” (4Q542 1 i 8–10). The point is to be singularly focused on protecting, adhering to, and passing along the inheritance down the genealogical line, something that is perfectly compatible with Levi’s admiration of Joseph as a teacher of the nations. Levi recommends Israel’s inheritance as a source of wisdom that stands to benefit both Israel and the foreigners among whom they might live. Qahat, turning the equation around, warns against letting those other nations draw Israel away from its inheritance. Read together, we see the two speeches striving to strike a balance between an openness to foreigners on the one hand (Levi), and a firm fidelity to the ancestral inheritance on the other (Qahat).

4. The Genesis Apocryphon My third and last passage comes from the Genesis Apocryphon (1Q20), and is the one most often discussed in scholarship on the Qumran literature. Somewhere in the mostly lost column 18 of our single, Cave 1 copy of this text, Noah hands the baton of first-person narration over to Abram, who tells his own story until an unexpected transition to the third-person voice in column 21. Most of columns 19–20 contain a significantly expanded rewriting of Abram, Sarai, and Lot’s descent into Egypt, which we find in characteristically sparse outline in Genesis 12. It is worth taking a moment to appreciate the magnitude of the expansion, and to wonder why the author of the Apocryphon gave so much space to this story. A glance at Jubilees – which otherwise has many links to the Apocryphon, and in my opinion was composed after it – helps with this assessment. Jubilees takes the better part of two chapters (more than 40 verses) to recount the period from Abram’s birth to the Egypt story, focusing especially on Abram’s election by

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God and the multiple, remarkable reasons for it. By contrast, a mere five verses (Jub. 13:11–15) are spent on the trip to Egypt. It is notably shorter even than the account in Genesis and one gets the distinct impression that whoever wrote Jubilees hustled past the story as quickly as possible. In the Genesis Apocryphon, this situation is essentially reversed. We are missing the part of the text telling about Abram’s birth and life up to the Egypt story, but a very large vacat at 18:24 indicates with a high level of plausibility that the Abram story began after it, at 18:25. Only seventeen lines later (19:6), we are tracking with Gen 12:8, where Abram, Sarai, and Lot are journeying south through Canaan. By 19:10, these three characters are entering Egypt. Compared with these 20 or so lines spent on Abram’s early life in the Genesis Apocryphon, 58 lines are spent on the Egypt story. A number of details in the Apocryphon’s expanded account are brought over from the very similar episode at Gerar in Genesis 20, such as the king’s illness, the dream indicating that Abram should pray for the king’s healing, the prayer itself, and the king’s subsequent restoration. The ineffectiveness of the Egyptian magicians and healers in comparison with Abram, along with the gifts heaped by the king on both Abram and Sarai, resemble the stories of Joseph and Moses in the Egyptian court, and Daniel in those of the Babylonian and Persian kings. In short, this Genesis Apocryphon’s story is turned much more obviously into a court tale. Most salient for the topic at hand is a unique addition in the Apocryphon that, in my opinion, reveals some of why the author was so interested in this story. It also suggests a literary connection with the Aramaic Levi Document and, by association, with the Testament of Qahat. After five years of living peacefully in Egypt, with Sarai having successfully avoided any foreign man seeing her, Abram is visited by an important delegation of three top officials sent by the Pharaoh. In Genesis, the way in which the Pharaoh learns about Sarai is left completely opaque, and from an exegetical perspective this visit in the Genesis Apocryphon makes clear the premise for Pharaoh’s actions. But it also does more, serving as an important site of interaction between Abram and the Egyptians. The beginning of the encounter reads as follows:15 … [ and there came] to me three men from the nobles of Egypt … by Pharaoh Zoan because of my words and because of my wisdom, and they were giving m[e many gifts … And] they [reques]ted for themselves scribal knowledge, and wisdom, and truth, so I read before them the book of the words of Enoch […] … And they did not want to arise until I would expound clearly for them the book of the words of Enoch … (19:24–26) 15  The English translation is my own, based on my published edition of the text in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek texts with English Translations: Volume 8: The Genesis Apocryphon and Related Texts, ed. James H. Charlesworth (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 2018).

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The reason for the visit is made explicit: The pharaoh ordered it, in Abram’s words, ‫על מלי ועל חכמתי‬, “because of my words and because of my wisdom.” How the Pharaoh caught wind of Abram’s wisdom was either not specified or (more likely) is no longer preserved, but in either case the reader may assume that Abram had public interactions with the Egyptians in which he displayed so much wisdom and knowledge as to get the attention of Pharaoh. Here it is worth noting that Abram’s language bears a striking resemblance to Levi’s claim that foreigners will seek out a wise Israelite like Joseph, ‫למשמע מילי חכמתה‬, “to hear his words of wisdom” (13:10). The similarity continues when we read what, specifically, Pharaoh’s officials hoped to learn from Abram: ‫ספרא וחכמתא וקושטא‬, “scribal knowledge, and wisdom, and truth.” Two elements of this list are also found in Levi’s triplet ‫ספר ומוסר וחכמה‬, “scribal knowledge, and insight, and wisdom,” the things a wise Israelite will teach to the nations. These verbal clues draw attention to Abram’s recasting as someone who earns goodwill and renown in a foreign land for teaching the nations wisdom – significantly, in this case, Enochic wisdom. Like Joseph, Levi, and Qahat, Abram has been subtly molded into paradigmatic expression of wisdom and righteousness in the diaspora.

5. Conclusion: The Diaspora Lives of Israel’s Early Ancestors My goal in this short contribution has been to highlight how a few Aramaic works found at Qumran re-cast Israel’s pre-monarchic ancestors as examples of living successfully among foreigners, as embodying an idealized “lifestyle for the diaspora,” a “torah in the diaspora,” a “torah for exile.” It was Eibert Tigchelaar who first put his finger on a curious trait of the Aramaic collection of works at Qumran. With remarkably few exceptions, they fall into one of two groups: “(1) texts related or ascribed to pre-Mosaic figures, … or (2) narratives that have an Eastern Diaspora setting.”16 Tigchelaar characterized the first group temporally and the second geographically, though he did note the absence of works focused on the period of Moses through the Hebrew prophets. He offered no explanation for this division, and of course we must take seriously the partial representation of what once existed of the Qumran library. Still, given the obvious interest of so many Aramaic works in stories of exile and diaspora it is worth considering whether this interest contributed in a fundamental way to the overall shape of the Aramaic corpus. The pre-monarchic and post-monarchic periods share the basic feature of Israel – or Israel’s ancestors – living in exile and diaspora, among foreign nations and without political autonomy, while at the same time looking 16  Eibert Tigchelaar, “The Imaginal Context and the Visionary of the Aramaic New Jerusalem,” in Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez, ed. Anthony Hilhorst et al., JSJSup 122 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 256–70 (261).

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ahead to a time when they would be politically autonomous and secure in the land promised to them by God. Both historical periods allowed the authors of our literature to craft narratives in which venerable figures survived, and even thrived, in exile while being faithful to God and ancestral customs. Picking up the loose threads of earlier prophetic texts like Jer 29:1–7 and parts of Second Isaiah (e. g., Isa 49:6, 51:4–5, and 55:5), life in exile could even be viewed as a boon for both Israel and the foreign nations among whom Israel lived, providing a positive spin on Israel’s role in Diaspora while they awaited the inevitable redemption stressed in the apocalyptic visions found so often in this literature.17 Whether reading the Testament of Qahat, Tobit, or Daniel, we see that the key to all of this working was an unwavering fidelity to ancestral righteousness and wisdom, to what Qahat calls his children’s “inheritance.” In the Genesis Apocryphon, the wellspring of this inheritance was the teaching of Enoch, while in Tobit it also encompassed the Torah of Moses. For readers of this literature in the Hellenistic period, Israel’s inheritance included these two bodies of knowledge – wisdom and Torah – and others besides. In the Aramaic narrative literature at Qumran, these bodies of revelation were didactically applied to situations of exile and diaspora through past figures who navigated these situations with success. This was no less true of Abram, Sarai, Levi, and Qahat than it was of Tobit, Anna, and Daniel.

17  For a complementary approach to the Diaspora in Ezra-Nehemiah, see Gary N. Knoppers, “The Construction of Judean Diasporic Identity in Ezra-Nehemiah,” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 15 (2015): 1–29.

The Song of the Sea in the Writings of Early Judaism Ariel Feldman This contribution explores transmission and interpretation of a famous Torah text – Exod 15:1–21 – in the literature of Early Judaism. The first nineteen verses of this pericope contain a song by “Moses and the sons of Israel,” also known as the Song of the Sea. The remaining two verses depict “Miriam the prophetess” leading the dancing women and singing a song that echoes the opening words of Moses’s song. The passage, especially the Song of the Sea, has drawn a significant scholarly attention.1 Much has been done to shed light on its date,2 milieu,3 unity,4 poetics,5 literary growth,6 and relation to Miriam’s song.7 Scholars have also explored the rich reception history of this pericope, from inner-biblical allusions, to the writings of the Church Fathers, to the Rabbinic midrash and the Aramaic Targummim.8 This essay, too, contributes to the study of the literary 1 See

William H. C. Propp, Exodus 1–18, AB (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999), 471– 549. 2  Contrast the views of Martin L. Brenner, The Song of the Sea: Ex 15:1–21, BZAW 195 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1991), 5–11, and Brian D. Russell, The Song of the Sea: The Date and Significance of Exodus 15:1–21 (New York: Peter Lang, 2007), 55–74. See also Mark Leuchter, “Eisodus as Exodus: The Song of the Sea (Exod 15) Reconsidered,” Bib 92 (2011): 321–46. 3 Brenner, The Song of the Sea, 19–21; Russell, The Song of the Sea, 131–48. 4 Thomas Dozeman, “The Song of the Sea and Salvation History,” in On the Way to Nineveh, ed. Stephen L. Cook and S. C. Winter (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999), 94–113. 5 Mark S. Smith, “The Poetics of Exodus 15 and Its Position in the Book,” in Imagery and Imagination in Biblical Literature, ed. Lawrence Boadt and Mark S. Smith (Washington: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 2001), 23–34. 6  John D. W. Watts, “The Song of the Sea: Ex. XV,” VT 7 (1957): 371–80; Anja Klein, “Hymn and History in Exod 15: Observations on the Relationship between Temple Theology and Exodus Narrative in the Song of the Sea,” ZAW 124 (2012): 516–27. 7  Frank M. Cross and David Noel Freedman, “The Song of Miriam,” JNES 14 (1955): 237–50; J. Gerald Janzen, “Song of Moses, Song of Miriam: Who Is Seconding Whom?,” CBQ 54 (1992): 211–20; David N. Freedman, “Moses and Miriam: The Song of the Sea (Exodus 15:1–18, 21),” in Realia Dei, ed. Prescott H. Williams and Theodore Hiebert (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999), 67–83. 8 On the inner-biblical allusions to Exod 15:1–21 see Brenner, The Song of the Sea, 54–75; Russell, The Song of the Sea, 97–111; Ian Douglas Wilson, “The Song of the Sea and Isaiah: Exodus 15 in Post-Monarchic Prophetic Discourse,” in Thinking of Water in the Early Second Temple Period, ed. Ehud Ben-Zvi and Christoph Levin, BZAW 461 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 123–48. On Jewish and Christian readings of Exod 15:1–21 see, among others, Louis Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 2003), 1:562–65;

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afterlife of Exod 15:1–21. Unlike earlier scholarship, however, I focus on the evidence found in Early Jewish writings, especially in the Dead Sea Scrolls. To accomplish this task, this contribution first takes a closer look at the early textual witnesses of Exodus 15. Thus, it explores the differences and similarities between the layout(s) of the Song of the Sea in the copies of Exodus from Qumran and the later Torah scrolls and Masoretic codices. It also revisits the text and literary features of the Song of Miriam in the scroll 4Q365. Next, I proceed to analyze Second Temple texts that use Exod 15:1–21. Surveying a wide variety of sources, I pay particular attention to the exegetical traditions elucidating the setting of Moses’s and Miriam’s singing (vv. 1 and 21), the nature of a sanctuary that God will establish by his own hands (v. 17), and the various uses of the Song of the Sea in the depictions of the divine judgment, past and future.

1. Exodus 15:1–21 in the Exodus Manuscripts from Qumran The Dead Sea Scrolls (DSS) brought to light several manuscripts of Exodus containing Exod 15:1–21. To set their contribution in context, a few words should be said about the three main textual witnesses of Exod 15:1–21 that have been available to scholars prior to the Qumran discoveries: the Masoretic Text (MT), the Samaritan Pentateuch (SamP), and the Septuagint (LXX). In the early witnesses of the MT Exod 15:1–21, the medieval Torah scrolls (e. g., the 7th-8th century ce Ashkar-Gilson Scroll9) and Masoretic codices, such as the Leningrad Codex, the layout of the Song of the Sea differs from that of the preceding and ensuing text. It is divided into stichs (or colae) separated by intervals.10 Rabbis compare this layout to a brickwork: “a half (or a small) brick over a whole brick and a whole brick over a half (or a small) brick.”11 The witnesses

Judah Goldin, The Song at the Sea: Being a Commentary on a Commentary in Two Parts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1971); Étan Levine, “Neofiti 1: A Study of Exodus 15,” Biblica 54 (1973): 301–30; James L. Kugel, Traditions of the Bible: A Guide to the Bible as It Was at the Start of the Common Era (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998), 545–98; Graham I. Davies, “Some Christian Uses and Interpretations of the Song of Moses (Exodus 15:1–18),” in Vergegenwärtigung des Alten Testaments: Beiträge zur biblischen Hermeneutik: Festschrift für Rudolf Smend zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. Christoph Bultmann et al. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002), 179–95.  9 Edna Engel and Mordechai Mishor, “An Ancient Scroll of the Book of Exodus: The Reunion of Two Separate Fragments,” The Israel Museum Studies in Archaeology 7 (2015): 24–61. 10 Rabbinic texts indicate that this was also the custom for Deuteronomy 32 (Song of Moses), Judg 5:2–30 (Song of Deborah), Josh 12:9–24 (the list of the kings of Canaan), and Esth 9:6–9 (the list of the sons of Haman). See Mordechai Breuer, The Aleppo Codex and the Accepted Text of the Bible (Jerusalem: Mosad HaRav Kook, 1976), 149–89 (Hebrew). 11  See James Kugel, The Idea of Biblical Poetry: Parallelism and Its History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981), 121–23.

The Song of the Sea in the Writings of Early Judaism

69

differ, however, in the way they treat the “non-poetic” vv. 1 and 19 – some include them in the stichographic arrangement,12 whereas others do not.13 When compared to the MT, the text of Exodus 15:1–21 as found in the SamP features multiple variant readings. Many, if not most, of them are of orthographic and morphological nature. Of the other variants, one might mention v. 3, where instead of the MT’s ‫“( יהוה איש מלחמה‬The Lord is a man of war,” RSV ), the SamP reads ‫“( יהוה גיבור במלחמה‬The Lord is a mighty one at war”), avoiding an anthropomorphic description of the deity.14 A similar motivation may underlie the LXX rendering of this clause: κύριος συντρίβων πολέμους (“the Lord, when he shatters wars” [NETS]).15 Indeed, the Septuagintal version of Exod 15:1–21 contains several variant readings vis-à-vis the MT and SamP.16 Whether they represent a different Hebrew Vorlage or come from the hand of the translator is often difficult to ascertain.17 Some of the LXX readings seem to solve difficulties inherent in the Hebrew text(s). For instance, the wording of v. 1 (MT) leaves it somewhat unclear whether the Song of the Sea is sung by Moses alone (cf. ‫ ישיר‬and ‫ אשירה‬with ‫)ויאמרו‬.18 Similarly, in v. 21, the reader wonders whether the verb ‫ ותען‬indicates that Miriam is the only one singing or, given her call ‫שירו ליהוה‬, other women join in. The LXX “smooths out” these difficulties. In v. 1 it renders ‫ אשירה‬as ἄισωμεν, “let us sing” (NETS), whereas in v. 21, for the Hebrew ‫ ותען‬it offers  This is the case, for instance, in Ashkar-Gilson fragment. See Paul Sanders, “The AshkarGilson Manuscript: Remnant of a Proto-Masoretic Model Scroll of the Torah,” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 14 (2014): 1–25 (5). On the term stichography see Shem Miller, Dead Sea Media: Orality, Textuality, and Memory in the Scrolls from the Judean Desert, STDJ 129 (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 119–20. 13  There appear to be three “basic layouts” of v. 19 in the Masoretic manuscripts: (1) two lines with two parts in each, (2) two lines with two parts and three parts, and (3) two or three lines of prose. See Jordan S. Penkower, “A Sheet of Parchment from a 10th or 11th Century Torah Scroll: Determining Its Type among Four Traditions (Oriental, Sefardi, Ashkenazi, Yemenite),” Textus 21 (2002): 235–64 (261). 14  See Moshe Bar-Asher, “The Clause ‘The Lord Is a Man of War’ (‫ )ה׳ ִאיׁש ִמ ְל ָח ָמה‬and Its Reflexes throughout the Generations,” in The Reconfiguration of Hebrew in the Hellenistic Period, ed. Jan Joosten et al., STDJ 124 (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 1–15. 15  See Larry Perkins, “‘The Lord Is a Warrior’ – ‘The Lord Who Shatters Wars’: Exodus 15:3 and Judith 9:7; 16:2,” BIOSC 40 (2007): 121–38; Eberhard Bons, “‘The Lord Is the One Who Crushes Wars’: A Fresh Look at the Septuagint Translation of Exod 15:3,” in Die Septuaginta– Geschichte, Wirkung, Relevanz, ed. Martin Meiser et al., WUNT 405 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018), 158–67. 16 See Deborah Levine Gera, “Translating Hebrew Poetry into Greek Poetry: The Case of Exodus 15,” BIOSC 40 (2007): 107–20; Daniel M. Gurtner, Exodus: A Commentary on the Greek Text of Codex Vaticanus, Septuagint Commentary Series (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 341–46. 17 On the LXX Exodus see Alison Salvesen, “Exodus,” in T&T Clark Companion to the Septuagint, ed. James K. Aitken (London: T&T Clark, 2015), 29–42 (esp. 30). 18  Instead of the MT’s ‫אשירה‬, SamP has a pl. imperative ‫אשירו‬, “praise.” See Abraham Tal and Moshe Florentin, The Penateuch: The Samaritan Version and the Masoretic Version (Tel-Aviv: Tel Aviv University Press, 2010), 672 (Hebrew). 12

70

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ἐξῆρχεν, “[and Mariam] took their lead” (NETS), a verb that is used elsewhere for a leading of a chorus.19 With the discovery of the DSS, three early manuscripts of the book of Exodus containing Exod 15:1–21 came to light.20 The first one, 4Q14 (4QExodc), preserves Exod 15:9–21 (frags. 32 ii, 34, 33 ii):21 ֯‫] אריק ח[רבי תורישמו יד]י‬9                       [ 35 11               [ ‫ מ[י כמכה נאדר בקד]ש‬ ׄ 22‫[ו]ה‬ ֯ ‫באליׄ ם י֯ ֯ה‬ ׄ ‫]כמוך‬ ‫מי‬ ֯ 36 ‫בעז]ך אל‬ ׄ ‫אל[ת נהלת‬ ֯ ‫]ג‬ ‫זו‬ ׄ 23[‫בחסדך[ ע]ם‬ ֯ ‫נ֯ חית‬13] ‫תבלעםו אר[ץ‬ ׄ ‫]מי֯ [ ]יׄ מנך‬ ֯ 12     [ 37 25] [◦][‫ ו֯ ֯ל‬24  ‫אדו]ם‬ 15 ֯ ‫נב]הלו אל[ופי‬ ֯ ‫ [    עמי]ם וירגזו [חי]ל אחז יושבי ֯פ[לשת אז‬ ׄ 38 16 ‫[ע]ד[ נמג]ו֯ [ כל יוש]בי כנען‬ ‫[ ]בגדול‬ ׄ ‫ופחד‬ ֯ ‫תפל[ עלי]הם אימה‬ ׄ ֯ ‫]מ[ו]אב יאחזםו ׄר‬ ‫[לי‬ ֯ ֯‫ [א]י‬39 ]‫זרוע[ך ידמו‬ ֯ ] ‫נחלת[ך‬ ׄ ‫תביאם ותטעם בהר‬17 ‫יעבר עם [ז]ו֯ קנית‬ ֯ ‫ כאבן עד יעבר עמך יהוה עד‬40 ] ‫וב ֯פ[רשיו‬ ׄ ‫ב]רכבו‬ ֯ ‫כי בא סוס ֯פ[רעה‬19 ‫לך עולם ועד‬ ׄ ‫יהוה יׄ ׄמ‬18 ‫ יהוה מקדש יהוה כוננו ידך‬41 ][‫ותק[ח] מרים‬20  ‫ביבשה בתוך הים‬ ֯ ‫ עליהם את מי֯ הים ובני ישראל הלכו‬42 ] ‫ותען להם מרים שירו לי[הוה‬21 ‫ותצ ֯אנ֯ ֯ה ֯כוׄ ל הנשים אחריה בתפים ובמחלת‬ ׄ ‫ בידה‬43 Bottom margin

Two aspects of this text are notable. First, it yields two unique variant readings, both of which are poorly preserved. In v. 12 (line 37), where the MT reads ‫נטית‬ 26 Moreover, in line 38 ‫ימינך‬, this scroll has ‫]מי֯ [ ]יׄ מנך‬, ֯ perhaps ‫]י̇ מנך‬ ‫]הרי]מו֯ [ת‬. ֯ there are illegible traces of several letters, ] [◦][‫ו֯ ֯ל‬, indicating an otherwise unattested longer wording of v. 15. Second, the scribe placed multiple intervals throughout the text of Moses’s song. Though relatively short, they correspond to the longer intervals found in the medieval Torah scrolls and Masoretic codices.27 19  As noted by Ross Shepard Kraemer, Unreliable Witnesses: Religion, Gender, and History in the Greco-Roman Mediterranean (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 87–88. 20  Drew Longacre, “A Contextualized Approach to the Hebrew Dead Sea Scrolls Containing Exodus” (PhD diss., University of Birmingham, 2014), 108n5, tentatively identifies remnants of Exod 15:1–2 in 4Q11 (4QpaleoGenesis-Exodusl) 48 (Skehan et al., DJD 9:50). He, however, refrains from offering his reading of the fragment. 21  The text below follows that of Judith E. Sanderson, DJD 12:97–125 (117–18), with a few corrections. 22  The DJD edition has here ‫[יהו]ה‬. ֯ The new image, B-295437 (available at the Leon Levy Dead Sea Scrolls Digital Library [LLDSSDL]), contains traces of two vertical strokes, presumably a yod and a he. 23  The DJD edition reads ‫[ע]ם‬. ֯ Given the distance between the final kaph in ‫ בחסדך‬and the tiny trace of ink visible on the images, a reading ]‫ ֯ע[ם‬is more plausible. 24  The DJD edition has the entire word as a reconstruction. The new image, B-295437 (LLDSSDL), features a vertical stroke which, given its distance from the preceding word, could be a final mem. 25  Sanderson notes the existence of traces of several letters here (DJD 12:119), but does not represent them in her transcription of the text. On the new image B-295437 one can probably see a vav and a lamed. 26  Judith Sanderson, DJD 12:118, notes that Tg.O ad loc. reads ‫ארימת ימינך‬, and so does the Peshitta. 27 The interval in line 42, after ‫( עליהם את מי֯ הים‬v. 19) corresponds to those MT manuscripts treating v. 19 as a poetry, not a prose. See note 14.

The Song of the Sea in the Writings of Early Judaism

71

Admittedly, there are also several places where the MT has blank spaces, whereas this scroll does not.28 Still, instead of classifying 4Q14 as lacking stichographic arrangement of the Song of the Sea,29 it seems more appropriate to posit here a different inflection of a shared scribal tradition of including intervals in the Song of the Sea.30 The single fragment of the second Exodus scroll, 4Q15 (4QExodd), features Exod 13:15–16 which is immediately followed by Exod 15:1.31 This sequence is difficult to explain, unless one assumes that this is an excerpted biblical text. Other such texts from Qumran incorporating Exod 13:1–16 include multiple tefillin and mezuzot.32 This suggests that, like Exodus 13:1–16, Exodus 15 (or most likely the Song of the Sea alone) was viewed as a scriptural text copied for devotional and/or liturgical purposes.33 According to its editor, the scribe who penned of 4Q15 did not arrange Moses’s song stichographically.34 While she does not provide her reconstruction of the text, I presume that it might have looked as follows:35 ]‫לשל ׄחנו ויהרג יהוה כל[ בכור בארץ מצרים מבכור אדם ועד בכור בהמה על כן‬ ׄ ‫פר ֯עה‬ ֯ ‫]הקשה‬ ‫ [כי‬ ֯ 1 ]‫ [א]נ֯ כי זבח ל[יה]וׄ ה כל פטר רחם הזכרים[ וכל בכור בני אפדה והיה לאות על ידכה‬2 ]‫ [ול]טטפות בין עיניך כי בחזק ֯יד[ הוציאנו יהוה ממצרים‬ ׄ 3 36 ]‫[מ]שה ובני ישראל[ את השירה הזאת ליהוה ויאמרו לאמר אשירה ליהוה‬ ׄ ‫]ישיר‬ ‫ [אז‬4 ]                   ‫]סוס ו֯ ׄר ׄכ ׄבוׄ [ רמה בים‬ ‫גאה‬ ׄ ‫ [כי גאה‬5

In this reconstruction, line 4 containing Exod 15:1 is of equal length with line 2 (67 and 68 letter-spaces respectively). This leaves no room for any intervals in Exod 15:1. However, line 1 is longer than line 2 – 78 letter-spaces. Assuming that 28  These include: line 39, after ‫( כנען‬v. 15); line 40, after ‫( כאבן‬v. 16) and after ‫( קנית‬v. 16); line 41, between ‫ יהוה‬and ‫( מקדש‬v. 17) and between ‫ ידך‬and ‫( יהוה‬vv. 17–18). 29  Sanderson, DJD 12:118, observes the presence of the intervals, yet argues that the song was not written stichographically; so also Emanuel Tov, Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert, STDJ 54 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 164; Emanuel Tov, “The Background of the Stichometric Arrangements of Poetry in the Judean Desert Scrolls,” in Prayer and Poetry in the Dead Sea, ed. Jeremy Penner et al., STDJ 98 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 409–20 (413). 30 Miller, Dead Sea Media, 122, 126–28, notes the blank spaces this scroll shares with 4Q365, yet does not count it in the same category as the latter scroll, which in his view displays a “running stichography.” Still, he suggests that both scrolls reflect a “common foundation.” 31 Sanderson DJD, 12:127–30. 32  See Ariel Feldman, Tefillin and Mezuzot from Qumran: New Readings and Interpretations, BZAW 538 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2022), 32–61. 33  See further Feldman, Tefillin and Mezuzot from Qumran, 49 (and bibliography cited there). Cf. a rabbinic tradition (b. Rosh HaShanah 31a) according to which the Song of the Sea was recited in the Temple on the Sabbath after the afternoon Tamid sacrifice. See Nahum Sarna, Exodus, The JPS Torah Commentary (Philadelphia: JPS, 2003), 76. 34 Sanderson, DJD 12:128. She is followed by Tov, Scribal Practices, 164. 35  Sanderson, DJD 12:128. 36  Sanderson, DJD 12:128, notes the presence of a trace of a letter in line 5 under the first yod of ‫ישיר‬. However, the older images do not offer a clear evidence for it, and it is certainly not supported by the new images.

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this scribe gradually shortened his lines to signal a conclusion of a pericope, one could restore line 4 as of equal length with line 1.37 This would allow an arrangement of Exod 15:1 to match the stichographic layout of the later scrolls and codices: ]‫לשל ׄחנו ויהרג יהוה כל[ בכור בארץ מצרים מבכור אדם ועד בכור בהמה על כן‬ ׄ ‫פר ֯עה‬ ֯ ‫]הקשה‬ ‫ [כי‬ ֯ ]‫ [א]נ֯ כי זבח ל[יה]וׄ ה כל פטר רחם הזכרים[ וכל בכור בני אפדה והיה לאות על ידכה‬ ]‫ [ול]טטפות בין עיניך כי בחזק ֯יד[ הוציאנו יהוה ממצרים‬ ׄ ]‫[מ]שה ובני ישראל[ את השירה הזאת ליהוה ויאמרו לאמר   אשירה ליהוה כי גאה‬ ׄ ‫]ישיר‬ ‫ [אז‬ ] ‫    ]סוס ו֯ ׄר ׄכ ׄבוׄ [ רמה בים‬ ׄ ‫ [גאה‬

1 2 3 4 5

The third scroll containing Exod 15:1–21, 4Q365 (4QRPc), has garnered much attention due to its many deviations from other ancient witnesses of the Pentateuch.38 One of its fragments, frag. 6b, preserves some of Exod 15:16–20:39 ‫עד י֯ [עבור‬ ֯ 16 1 ‫לשבת ֯כ[ה‬ ׄ ‫בהר נחלתכה   מכון‬17 2 [‫כי בא‬19   ‫יהוה ימלוך עולם ועד‬18 3 [   ‫ [יה]ו֯ ה עליהמה את מימי הים‬4 20 ‫ [והמי]ם ׄל ֯ה[מה חומה מ]י֯ מינם ומשמאולם‬ [‫ותקח‬ ֯ ֯ 5 ‫ו]תצינה[ כו]ל ׄהנ֯ ׄשי֯ ֯ם ֯א ֯ח ֯ריׄ ׄה ב[תופים‬ ׄ       [ 6

Two aspects of this text immediately come to the fore. First, v. 19 appears to be longer than in the other known witnesses of Exodus 15, introducing a phrase ‫[והמי]ם ̇ל ֯ה[מה חומה מ]י֯ מינם ומשמאולם‬ ֯ (“[and the water]s [forming a wall for] the[m on their ri]ght and on their left”) borrowed from Exod 14:22, 29. Thus, the description of Israel’s crossing in v. 19 is “harmonized” with the parallel accounts in chapter 14. Second, the relatively large intervals in lines 2–5 largely agree with those found in the later Torah scrolls and Masoretic codices, with two exceptions. There is an otherwise unattested interval after ‫( עליהמה‬v. 19) in line 4. Also, in many later texts v. 19 is followed by a blank line, whereas this scroll has a short interval only.40 The scroll 4Q365 also famously features an otherwise unattested text which is widely viewed as an extended Song of Miriam (frag. 6a ii+6c 1–7).41 If correct, unlike many early Jewish texts envisioning Miriam singing the same song as Moses  On such gradual shortening of the lines in 1QPhyl see Feldman, Tefillin and Mezuzot, 66.  See Molly Zahn, “Reworked Pentateuch,” in T&T Clark Encyclopedia of Second Temple Judaism, ed. Daniel Gurtner and Loren T. Stuckenbruck (London: T&T Clark, 2019), 1:461–64 (and the earlier bibliography cited there). 39 I have refrained here from restoring vv. 16–19. For an attempt at reconstruction see Emanuel Tov and Sidnie White (Crawford), DJD 13:268. 40 See n 13. 41 On the somewhat longer wording of the Song of Miriam in the Aramaic Targummim see Hanna Tervanotko, “‘The Hope of the Enemy Has Perished’: The Figure of Miriam in the Qumran Library,” in From Qumran to Aleppo, ed. Armin Lange et al., FRLANT 230 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009), 168–73; eadem, Denying Her Voice: The Figure of Miriam in Ancient Jewish Literature, JAJSup 23 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016), 154–59. 37 38

The Song of the Sea in the Writings of Early Judaism

73

(see below), this scroll presents her as singing a song of her own. Interestingly, the latter relies on Moses’s song for wording.42 In the following transcription the verbal parallels between the two are set in italics:43 ‫בנ̇ ות ̇ע[מי‬ 44[‫גאות‬ ‫ וזמרת יה‬45‫עש]ה ֯ע[זי‬ ֯ ֯ ‫כי‬ 46‫שיא ֯א[ותות‬ ̇ ̇‫גדול ̇א ֯ת ֯ה ֯עו‬ ̇ ‫ונש[כח זכרו‬ ̇ ‫תקות שונה‬ ̇ ‫אבד ֯ה‬ ֯ 47 [‫אדירים שו֯ נ̇ ̇ה‬ ̇ ‫אבדו במים‬ ‫נתתה[ לאבותינו‬ ֯ ‫ב]רית‬ ֯ ‫ו̇ רוממנה למרומם[ כי‬ [    vacat    ‫ [עו]שה ̇גאות‬ ̇ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

daughters[ of my] pe[ople for he has [do]ne glorious things. Yah is my ]s[trength and might You are great, performing s[igns The enemy’s hope perished and[ his memory] is for[gotten perished in the mighty waters enemy[ and you shall exalt to the heights[ for] you gave[ a cove]nant[ to our fathers [the one do]ing glorious things. vacat [

 As was noted already by Tov and White (Crawford), DJD 13:270–71. include ]‫( ֯ע[זי וזמרת יה‬v. 2: ‫)עזי וזמרת יה‬, ]‫( ֯עו̇ ̇שיא ֯א[ותות‬v. 11: ‫)עשה פלא‬, ‫במים אדירים‬ (v. 10: ‫)במים אדירים‬, and ‫( ו̇ רוממנה‬v. 2: ‫)וארממנהו‬. This transcription is based on the readings culled from the DJD edition prepared by Emanuel Tov and Sidnie White (Crawford) and the subsequent improvements suggested by myself and Elisha Qimron. Tov and White (Crawford), DJD 13:269–70; Ariel Feldman, “The Song of Miriam (4Q365 6a Ii + 6c 1–7) Revisited,” JBL 132 (2013): 905–11; Elisha Qimron, The Dead Sea Scrolls: The Hebrew Writings, Between Bible and Mishnah (Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi, 2014), 3:115 (Hebrew); Elisha Qimron, The Hebrew Writings from Qumran: A Composite Edition (Tel-Aviv: published electronically, 2020), 3:117 (Hebrew). 44  In line 2, against my earlier reading ‫[ גא]ה‬ ֯ ‫ כי גאו֯ ֯ה‬and Qimron’s recent cautious ‫גאו◦[ גא]ה‬ ֯ ‫כי‬, I suggest to read the first word with Tov and White (Crawford) as ‫[גאות‬. ֯ The shape of the fourth letter as visible on the new image B-366552 appears to be consistent with the right leg and roof of a tav. 45  Tov and White (Crawford) read here ]‫[ל ֯ע‬. ֯ The lamed, however, does not seem to be present on the images. 46  The very last letter in line 3, read by Qimron as a tav, is, according to the new images, an aleph. This is the reading proposed by Tov and White (Crawford). The suggested reconstruction relies on Exod 4:30 and Num 14:11. One could also consider restoring ]‫גדול ̇א ֯ת ֯ה ֯עו̇ ̇שיא ֯א[רץ בכחך‬ ̇ with Jer 10:12; 51:15. For the entire formulation cf. Ps 86:10. 47 In my 2013 study (“The Song of Miriam”), I have suggested ‫ש[ונ]י֯ ֯כ ֯ה‬. However, there seems to be insufficient space for the reconstructed vav and nun. Moreover, the penultimate letter is more likely to be a medial nun, than a medial kaph. The trace of an ink that I read as a kaph’s roof seems to belong to the following letter. Qimron reads here [‫ש ֯אנ̇ ̇ה‬. ̇ His reading is difficult too, as the trace that he takes to be a left stroke of an aleph does not match the way alephs are inscribed in this scroll. Their left strokes tend to curve to the right at the bottom, which is clearly not the case here. The reading proposed by the editors, [‫שו֯ נ֯ ֯ה‬, appears to be the most plausible one. The same form of ‫שנ״א‬, spelled phonetically, is used in line 4. For the use of this language with reference to the story of Exodus see Ps 106:10. Alternatively, one could also read here [‫( שי֯ נ̇ ̇ה‬cf. the first tall yod in the preceding ‫)אדירים‬, a phonetic spelling of the reading that Qimron proposed, [‫ש ֯אנ̇ ̇ה‬, ̇ a fem. pl. imperative of ‫נש״א‬: the quiescent aleph was dropped (cf. ‫[ לשת עלה‬1QHa 18:27]; ‫[ תשה עון‬4Q417 2 i 23]) and a yod was used for the sound ‘e.’ Finally, one should not discard the possibility that the fragment has here [ ֯‫שו֯ נ̇ י֯ ו‬, a phonetic spelling of ‫“( שונאיו‬his foes”). 42

43 These

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In line 2, I read and restore: ]‫[ עש]ה ֯ע[זי וזמרת יה‬ ֯ ‫גאות‬ ֯ ‫כי‬.48 The collocation ‫עש״ה‬ ‫ גאות‬occurs once again in line 7, serving as a refrain or perhaps an inclusio. One might compare here the phrase ‫ כי גאה גאה‬found in Exodus 15 twice – in vv. 1 and 21 – and which Philo (see below) views as a refrain. The construction ‫עש״ה‬ ‫ גאות‬points to Isa 12:5: ‫“( זמרו יהוה כי גאות עשה‬hymn the Lord, for He has done gloriously”). This allusion to Isaiah 12 is hardly accidental. Earlier on, Isa 12:2 evokes a language that is strikingly similar to Exod 15:2: ‫“( כי עזי וזמרת יה יהוה‬for Yah the Lord is my strength and might”).49 The verbal links to Moses’s song and strategically placed allusions to Isaiah 12 indicate a carefully crafted literary composition.50

2. Exod 15:1–21 in Early Jewish Writings51 The uses of Exod 15:1–21 in the literature of Early Judaism are many and diverse. In what follows, I adopt Devorah Dimant’s method of classification dividing the uses of biblical texts into two broad categories: expositional and compositional.52 When the Scripture is used expositionally, markers of exegesis are usually present. Compositional uses, on the other hand, do not formally delineate between elements borrowed from the Scripture and the adopting text. They include implicit quotations and allusions, references to biblical figures and events, literary models, and rewriting. 2.1 Expositional Uses 2.1.1 Philo The many writings of Philo yield multiple instances of an expositional use of Exod 15:1–21.53 These are allegorical readings of selected verses.54 Thus, he repeatedly addresses the description of God’s victory over the horse and the rider  See n 47.  Note also the use of the phrase ‫ כי גדול‬in Isa 12:6 and in line 3. On the relationships between Isaiah 12 and Exodus 15 see, for instance. the work of Brenner and Russell cited in n 8. 50  The remains of Miriam’s Song in 4Q365 do not have the same layout as the Song of the Sea. It is unclear why Tov, “Stichometric Arrangement,” 411, 417, suggests otherwise . 51  The following survey of various uses of Exod 15:1–21 does not claim to be comprehensive. 52 Devorah Dimant, “Use and Interpretation of Mikra in the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha,” in Miqra, ed. Martin J. Mulder (Assen: van Gorcum, 1990), 379–419. 53 Unless noted otherwise, the English translation of Philo follows that of Francis H. Colson and George H. Whitaker in the LCL series. 54  On Exod 15:1–21 in Philo’s writings, see, especially, Jutta Leonhardt, Jewish Worship in Philo of Alexandria (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 164–67; Kraemer, Unreliable Witnesses, 57–116; Joan E. Taylor, Jewish Women Philosophers of First-Century Alexandria: Philo’s “Therapeutae” Reconsidered (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 322–34; eadem, Philo of Alexandria: On the Contemplative Life: Introduction, Translation and Commentary (Leiden: Brill, 2020), 334–45. 48 49

The Song of the Sea in the Writings of Early Judaism

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in Exod 15:1 and 21.55 For instance, in his On Agriculture Philo elucidates the difference between a horseman and a rider (67–123). For him, passions and vices are horses, while the intellect is both a reinsman and a rider (73): “When he (the intellect) proceeds with understanding, he is a reinsman, but when he does so with foolishness, he is a rider” (73).56 Accordingly, the triumph at the Red Sea is a victory over “passions” (pleasure, desire, fear, and grief ), “vices” (foolishness, unrestrained behavior, injustice, and cowardice), and the “rider”  – the “passion-loving intellect.”57 Elsewhere Philo observes that “this is practically the chief point of the whole Song, to which all else is subsidiary.”58 After the victory, says Philo, the “excellences” or virtues fighting “on behalf of God-loving souls” form two choirs. That of men is led by Moses, the intellect who has conquered all passions and vices. Miriam, a “purified sense-perception,” leads the female choir. The choirs are “instruments” of the intellect and sense-perception giving thanks to God.59 Under this veneer of an allegorical exegesis, one can discern Philo’s “plain” interpretation of the setting of Exod 15:1–21.60 Reading Exod 15:1 along with vv. 20–21, he envisions two choirs, male and female, led by Moses and Miriam respectively. The song of Moses and the song of Miriam are one and the same song. It is sung “harmoniously,” “voice and counter-voice,” with vv. 1 and 21 as its “marvelous refrain.” Another passage from Exod 15:1–21 that Philo reads allegorically is vv. 17–18. He deals with it in detail in On Planting, a work exploring the biblical image of God as a cultivator.61 Philo understands Exod 15:17 as Moses’s prayer to God “to plant” his people in the paradise of virtues, “the very place from which the earthly intellect Adam had been exiled” (46). Then, he makes three points. First, Philo explains that the mountain of God’s inheritance is no other but his “greatest plant” – the cosmos. To “be planted in this place” one should live “a life that shows moderation” (43).62 Second, he suggests that the rest of the passage is to be understood to mean that God the creator requires nothing (50–51).63 Third, 55  Allegorical Interpretation 2.102; On Drunkenness 111; On Dreams 2.268–269; On Agri­ culture 79–83. 56  See Albert Geljon and David T. Runia, Philo of Alexandria: On Cultivation: Introduction, Translation and Commentary (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 173–78. 57  Geljon and Runia, On Cultivation, 111, 177. 58  Allegorical Interpretation 2.102. 59  See further Leonhardt, Jewish Worship in Philo of Alexandria, 159. 60  See discussion in Geljon and Runia, On Cultivation, 173–78. 61  For a detailed discussion see Albert Geljon and David T. Runia, Philo of Alexandria: On Planting: Introduction, Translation, and Commentary (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 158–74. 62 Philo addresses Exod 15:17 also in On Preliminary Studies, a work expounding on Gen 16:1–6. He evokes this passage to demonstrate that the mind must be “planted.” Philo interprets this phrase to describe the blessed state of the “mind that truly loves God” and has a full control of passions (56–57). 63  Geljon and Runia, On Planting, 53.

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Philo explains that “inheritance” here stands for God’s special possessions – “the sacred band of souls” who have a “vision of the sharpest kind” (58), a reference to his oft-cited understanding of the name “Israel” as those who see God. There is yet another allegorical interpretation of Exod 15:17–18 that Philo offers in On Planting (52–53). On this reading, the “mountain of your inheritance,” “ready inheritance,” “house,” and “holy precinct” denote “a lofty and heavenly logos.” Moses’s prayer is a request that God will “bring us in like children just beginning to learn through the doctrines and principles of wisdom and … not leave us ungrounded.” God’s allotment stands for the “good,” while the reference to his eternal rule is a request for God to be “king of the suppliant soul for an infinite age.” 2.1.2 Dead Sea Scrolls With the discovery of the DSS, a previously unknown text featuring an expositional use of Exod 15:1–21 came to light. Known under several titles, such as 4QFlorilegium, Midrash Shemuel, Eschatological Midrash, and 4QEscha­ to­logical Commentary A, the fragmentary scroll 4Q174 quotes and expounds on Deuteronomy 33, 2 Sam 7:10–14, Ps 1:1, and Ps 2:1–2.64 The expositions are of an actualizing or pesher-type kind. Hence is its classification as a thematic pesher. As 4Q174 comments on 2 Sam 7:10–11a, it interprets the divine promise to David in v. 11b – “the Lord, will establish a house for you” – as referring to an eschatological Temple. To support the notion that the Temple of the end of the days will be established by God himself, it evokes Exod 15:17–18, introducing it with the formula “as it is written in the book of [Moses].”65 It may be that yet another thematic pesher from Qumran, 11Q13 (11QMel­ chi­ze­dek), employs Exod 15:1–21. Its best-preserved column (frags. 1 and 4) reads Torah legislation on the remission of debts from Lev 25:13 and Deut 15:2 as referring to the future forgiveness of sins. The preceding column has not survived. However, the intercolumnar margin preserves an interlinear addition that reminds of Exod 15:1: ]‫]“( [שיר מושה כיא‬song of Moses for[”).66 As I have suggested elsewhere, there are several thematical affinities between 11Q13 and Ex64 See George J. Brooke, “From Florilegium or Midrash to Commentary: The Problem of Re-naming an Adopted Manuscript,” in The Mermaid and the Partridge, ed. George J. Brooke and Jasper Høgenhaven, STDJ 96 (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2011), 129–50. For an overview of scholarship on 4Q174 see Jonathan G. Campbell, The Exegetical Texts (London: T&T Clark, 2004), 33–44. 65 As George J. Brooke, Exegesis at Qumran: 4QFlorilegium in Its Jewish Context (Sheffield: JSOT, 1985), 134, observes, the association between 2 Sam 7:10–11 and Exod 15:17 is facilitated by the two passages’ use of the verb ‫נט’’ע‬, “to plant.” 66  The word ]‫ שיר‬is followed here by what appears to be a sigma sign used elsewhere in the DSS at the end of an interlinear addition. See Ariel Feldman, “Moses’s Song in 11QMelchizedek?,” RevQ 30 (2018): 79–84 (81–82).

The Song of the Sea in the Writings of Early Judaism

77

odus 15.67 If this scroll indeed expounds on the Song of the Sea, its preoccupation with the eschaton suggests that, as 4QFlorilegium, it reads Moses’s song with an eye on the last days. 2.2 Between Expositional and Compositional Uses In her attempt to delineate between expositional and compositional uses of Scripture, Dimant notes examples of formally introduced biblical quotations, as in an expositional use, which, however, lack formal exegesis, like in a compositional use.68 One case in point is a quotation from Exod 15:17 in the so-called Second Epistle in 2 Maccabees (1:29). Describing the dedication of the Second Temple in the times of Nehemiah, which serves here as the prototype for the newly-instituted festival of Hanukkah, 2 Maccabees features a prayer by the High Priest (?) Jonathan (1:24–29).69 It concludes citing Exod 15:17: “Plant your people in Your holy Place, as Moses said.” The LXX rendering of Exod 15:17 reserves the language of holiness for the “holy precinct” prepared by God himself. 2 Maccabees, however, seems to read the passage telescopically, identifying the “mountain of your inheritance” and his “prepared dwelling place” with the “holy precinct.” Though no exposition is offered, Dimant observes that in such cases it is often implied by an actualization in a new context.70 Indeed, 2 Maccabees applies v. 17 to the return from the Babylonian exile, and perhaps, by extension, to the future (for the Epistle’s perspective) ingathering of the exiles. Indeed, the Second Epistle concludes with an expression of hope for a speedy gathering of all Israel dispersed in the “lands under the heavens” in the newly-purified “His holy Place” (2 Macc 2:18).71 2.3 Compositional Uses 2.3.1 Implicit Quotations and Allusions Early Jewish texts abound with implicit quotations and allusions to Exod 15:1– 21.72 To facilitate their discussion, I group them here according to the context in which they occur. Poetry and liturgy. Most of the implicit quotations and allusions to Exod 15:1–21 in our literature seem to be found in poetical and liturgical texts. Two  Feldman, “Moses’s Song,” 84.  Dimant, “Use and Interpretation,” 383. 69  Jonathan A. Goldstein, II Maccabees, AB (Garden City: Doubleday, 1983), 155. For the identity of Jonathan see ibid., 178–79. 70  Dimant, “Use and Interpretation,” 383. 71  Goldstein, II Maccabees, 157. 72  Implicit quotations and allusions are notoriously difficult to differentiate. Therefore, I am treating them here together. 67 68

78

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examples of such a use come from the book of Judith.73 First, Judith’s prayer in chapter 9 quotes LXX Exod 15:3 (vv. 7–8):74 And now the Assyrians have grown into a huge army, exalted in their horses and riders … but they have not recognized that you are the Lord who crushes wars. The Lord is your name!75

Given other “resonances” with Exod 15:1–21, such as the reference to “horses and riders” (v. 7), Lawrence Wills argues “that the author in this chapter, if not in the whole, plays on the Song of the Sea.”76 His suggestion that Moses’s song is significant for the book as a whole finds further support in Judith’s song of thanksgiving in chapter 16 citing the same passage, Exod 15:3 (v. 2):77 For the Lord is a God who crushes war. For into his camp, in the midst of the people, he has snatched me from the hands of my persecutors.78

Another prayer, this time that of Solomon in Wisdom of Solomon 9:8 seems to allude to the Song of the Sea: You have given command to build a temple on your holy mountain, and an altar in the city of your habitation, a copy of the holy tent that you prepared from the beginning.

William Horbury suggests that this passage hearkens back to the LXX rendering of Exod 15:17: “in your prepared dwelling place that you made, O Lord, a holy precinct, O Lord, that your hands prepared” (NETS).79 If correct, Wisdom reads this verse to indicate, in line with the notion of Platonic “archetypes,” that the earthly temple built by Solomon was merely a copy of the heavenly one made by God “from the beginning,” a sentiment attested to in several writings of the period.80  On the use of Exodus in Judith see Agnethe Siquans, Beate Kowalski, and Susan Docherty, “Reception of Exodus in the Book of Judith,” in The Reception of Exodus Motifs in Jewish and Christian Literature, Themes in Biblical Narrative (Leiden: Brill, 2021), 56–73. 74  Judith H. Newman, Praying by the Book: The Scripturalization of Prayer in Second Temple Judaism, Early Judaism and Its Literature 14 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999), 117–54. 75  Lawrence M. Wills, Judith: A Commentary on the Book of Judith (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2019), 276, 287. See further Barbara Schmitz, “Kyrios Syntribōn Polemus ‘The Lord Who Crushes Wars’ (Exod 15:3 LXX): The Formative Importance of the Song of the Sea (Exod 15:1–18 LXX) for the Book of Judith,” Journal of Septuagint and Cognate Studies 47 (2014): 5–16 (8–16). 76  Wills, Judith, 287. 77 See also Patrick Skehan, “The Hand of Judith,” CBQ 25 (1963): 94–110; Toni Craven, Artistry and Faith in the Book of Judith (Chico: SBL Press, 1983), 111. Others, however, are not convinced. Thus Anne E. Gardner, “The Song of Praise in Judith 16:2–17 (LXX 16:1–17),” HeyJ 29 (1988): 413–22, argues that Deborah’s song “yields more fruitful results for the background to Judith” (419). 78  Wills, Judith, 374. 79 William Horbury, “Land, Sanctuary and Worship,” in Early Christian Thought in Its Jewish Context, ed. John Barclay and John Sweet (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 207–24 (210). 80 See David Winston, The Wisdom of Solomon: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB (Garden City: Doubleday, 1979), 203–4. 73

The Song of the Sea in the Writings of Early Judaism

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The Dead Sea Scrolls furnish further poetic and liturgical texts alluding to Exod 15:1–21. I have already noted the verbal affinities between the Song of the Sea and the extended Song of Miriam in 4Q365. There are also the Thanksgiving Hymns (Hodayot). One such passage is 1QHa 16:5–17:36, a lengthy hodaya depicting a garden in which the speaker is appointed as a gardener. There are two kinds of trees in this garden, the trees of life and the trees by the water, representing righteous and sinners.81 The trees of life are nourished by “a secret spring” of ​“ living water” “hidden in the midst of all the trees by the water” (16:6–7). Then “a shoot” is “made to sprout into an eternal planting” (line 7).82 It is, however, outgrown and concealed by the trees by the water “without being much regarded and without being recognized” (line 12). This section of the hodaya concludes with the description of the speaker as “things [wa]shed up by rivers in flood (‫)נהרות שוטפים‬, for they cast up their mud upon me” (lines 15–16).83 Its second section, however, presents the gardener in a rather different light:84 16 But You, O my God, have put in my mouth (words) like early rain for all [  ] and a spring of living water which does not fail. When the 17 heavens (‫שמים‬ ֯ ‫)ה‬ ֯ open they do not cease but become a flowing river pouring (‫לנחל‬ ‫ )שוטף‬o[ver all the trees of ] waters, and to the limitless seas [  ] 18 Quickly (‫ )פיתאום‬the hidden things bubble forth in secret [  ] and they become waters of con[tention for every tree,] 19 green and dry (‫לח ו֯ י֯ בש‬ ֯ ]‫)[לכול עץ‬, the deeps of the sea (‫ )ו֯ מצולה‬for every living thing, and the tr[ees  ]like lead in mighty water[s (]‫)]כעופרת במים אדירי֯ [ם‬ ֯ [ 20 in flames of fire they wither. But the plantation of fruit trees [  ] eternal [so]urce becomes a glorious Eden and [an everlasting] splen[dour].

As others before them, Hartmout Stegemann and Eileen Schuller, responsible for the Hebrew text underlying the foregoing English translation, read lines 18– 19 alluding to Exod 15:10 (‫ )צללו כעופרת במים אדירים‬as a description of a judg-

81 For a detailed discussion of this hodaya’s use of the biblical texts see Julie Hughes, Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 135–83. 82  On the imagery of ​“eternal planting” see James R. Davila, “The ‘Hodayot’ Hymnist and the Four Who Entered Paradise,” RevQ 17 (1996): 457–78 (465–68). 83  This hodaya has received several interpretations. Angela Kim Harkins, for instance, argues that it can be read as a description of a heavenly ascent, a report of ​“thirdspace experiences that were generated from the practice of performative reading and reenactment.” Matthew Goff, however, proposes that the garden “represents the pedagogical space in which students learn from teachers who possess exceptional knowledge.” Angela Kim Harkins, Reading with an I to the Heavens: Looking at the Qumran Hodayot through the Lens of Visionary Traditions (Boston: De Gruyter, 2018), 225, 217–18; Matthew Goff, “Gardens of Knowledge: Teachers in Ben Sira, 4QInstruction and the Hodayot,” in Pedagogy in Early Judaism and Early Christianity, ed. Karina Martin Hogan et al. (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2017), 171–94 (185, 188). 84  Translation by Carol A. Newsom in DJD 40:216.

80

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ment.85 However, in a recent re-edition of the text, Elisha Qimron interprets it differently:86 16 But You, O my God, have put in my mouth (words) like early rain for all s[eeking it] and a spring of living water which will not fail to open. 17 The bare places (‫שפים‬ ̇ ‫)ה‬ ̇ will not depart but will become a flowing river w[ith all the bodies of ] water and limitless seas. [For in me] 18 the simple ones (‫ )פותאים‬will rejoice hidden in secret [  ] and they become waters of [irrigation for every tree,] 19 green and dry, and a deep sea for every living thing. And the tr[ees of water will sink in it like] lead in mighty waters[  ] 20 in flames of fire they will wither. But the plantation of fruit trees [  ] eternal [so]urce becomes a glorious Eden and [an everlasting] splen[dour].

On this reading, lines 18–19a describe the beneficial influence of the waters, i. e., speaker’s teaching, on the garden. Admittedly, this passage abounds with textual challenges. For instance, in line 17, neither Stegemann-Schuller’s ‫שמים‬ ֯ ‫ ֯ה‬nor Qimron’s ‫שפים‬ ̇ ‫ ̇ה‬is paleographically 87 sound. In line 18, both ‫“( פיתאום‬quickly”) and ‫“( פותאים‬the simple ones”) are graphically possible. Much, therefore, depends on how one interprets biblical allusions in these lines. Thus, against Qimron’s reading, biblical uses of the phrase ‫( נחל שוטף‬line 17) are predominantly of judgment (see Jer 47:2). This is also the case with the locutions ‫לח ו֯ י֯ בש‬ ֯ ]‫[לכול עץ‬, borrowed from Ezek 21:3 (lines 18–19) depicting a destruction, and ‫( מצולה‬line 19) possibly echoing the punishment of the Egyptians in Exod 15:5. The latter is an intriguing possibility given the following allusion to Exod 15:10. Michael Douglas sees in this passage a reflection of the “measure for measure” principle: just as the wicked ones in lines 15–16 cast up mud on the speaker, so they are now punished by water.88 If this interpretation is correct, one intriguing aspect of this hodaya is the juxtaposition of a punishment by water and by fire.89 85  See, for instance, Jacob Licht, The Thanksgiving Scroll (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1957), 136 (Hebrew). Julie Hughes is somewhat more hesitant as to the meaning of these lines due to the lacuna. Still, she too suggests a “contrasting picture of judgement.” See Hughes, Scriptural Allusions and Exegesis in the Hodayot, 157. 86  Qimron, Dead Sea Scrolls, 1:82; Qimron, Hebrew Writings from Qumran, 82. English translation is based on that of Newsom in DJD 40:216. 87 According to the image SHR 4246, both medial mem and medial pe are highly improbable, as there is no trace of a base stroke on the leather. The most obvious reading would be ‫השרים‬ ֯ or ‫השדים‬. ֯ Licht preferred the latter and suggested that it denotes liquids or irrigation ditches/ channels. He derived it from the Aramaic ‫שדא‬/‫ אשד‬meaning “pouring out.” Licht, The Thanksgiving Scroll, 136. 88  Michael C. Douglas, “Power and Praise in the Hodayot: A Literary Critical Study of 1QH 9:1–18:14” (PhD diss., University of Chicago, 1998), 160. 89 There are other passages in Hodayot juxtaposing water and fire, e. g., 1QHa 14:20–21. Jonathan Ben-Dov argues that all of these echo an extra-biblical pagan motif of a destruction by water/flood and fire inherited by Hodayot from the Aramaic apocalyptic literature. Jonathan Ben-Dov, “Flooding in the Lebanon Forest: Relics of Levantine Mythology in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Meghillot 14 (2018): 189–204 (199; Hebrew).

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Further examples of allusions to Exod 15:1–21 in Hodayot include several passages echoing Exod 15:11: ‫“( מי כמוכה באלם יהוה‬Who is like you among the gods, O Lord?”). This is the case with a short hodaya in 1QHa 15:29–36 dealing with one of the recurrent topics in this work – God’s revelation of his mysteries to lowly human beings.90 Whereas in Exodus 15 this exclamation highlights God’s power, here it seems to foreground his mercy. Another instance of an allusion to Exod 15:11 is found in the so-called Self-Glorification Hymn.91 There, the anonymous speaker famously asks: ‫“( ֯מי֯ כמוני ֯באלים‬who is like me among gods/angels”; 4Q431 [4QHe] 1:4)? Since the phrase ‫כמך‬/‫ מי כמכה‬is not unique to the Song of the Sea (cf. Pss 35:10; 71:19), it is not always entirely clear whether a given text alludes to Exod 15:11.92 One of the more certain cases outside of Hodayot is the prayer offered on the day of the battle in the War Scroll (1QM 13:13–14): ‫מיא‬ ‫“( כמוכה בכוח אל ישראל‬Who is like You in strength, O God of Israel”).93 Several other poetic and liturgical texts from Qumran allude to Exod 15:1–21. Thus, in a fragmentary text 4Q392, the description of Pharaoh’s punishment points to Exod 15:5: “[He made him si]nk as a ston[e] into the depths (‫במצו̇ לת‬ ]‫אב[ן‬ ̇ ‫)כמו‬.” ̇ 94 Finally, a fragmentary psalm from the caves of Wadi Murabbaʻat, Mur6 1:7, praises Zion alluding, it seems, to Exod 15:17: ]for God established [his] sanc[tuary] (]‫מק[דשו‬ ֯ ‫)]כיא כוננ אל‬. ̇ 95 Apocalypse. An implicit quotation/allusion to the Song of the Sea can also be discerned in the description of the future judgment of the “kings of the earth and the strong ones who possess the land” in the Parables of Enoch. 1 Enoch 48:8– 9 evokes Exod 15:7 (“consumes them like straw”) and 10 (“sank like lead in the majestic waters”):96  Newsom, DJD 40:214. texts in which this hymn is found indicate two versions thereof (1QHa 26; 4Q427 7 i; 4Q431 1 [=4Q471b]; 4Q491 11a). An allusion to Exod 15:11 appears in the version preserved in 4Q427 (4QHa) 7i:8 and 4Q431 (4QHe) 1:4. Several scholars suggested that a shorter version of the hymn in 4Q491 11a could have been expanded in the other attestations of this text. See, for instance, Devorah Dimant, “A Synoptic Comparison of Parallel Sections in 4Q427 7, 4Q491 11 and 4Q471B,” JQR 85 (1994): 157–61 (153–54). 92  One curious example is Rev 13:4: “who is like the beast …?” On this passage see Rita Müller-Fieberg, “Song of Moses, Song of the Lamb: The Reception of Exodus in the Revelation of John,” in The Reception of Exodus Motifs in Jewish and Christian Literature, ed. Beate Kowalski and Susan Docherty, Themes in Biblical Narrative (Brill, 2021), 334–48 (341). 93 Yigael Yadin, The Scroll of the War of the Sons of Light against the Sons of Darkness (Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1955), 338 (Hebrew). 94 This is the recent reading by Qimron of 4Q392 2 (DJD) which he places along with frags. 5 and 12 (Qimron, Hebrew Writings from Qumran, 3:157). Though 4Q392 was initially published as a self-standing text, it is possible that that this scroll and 4Q393, featuring a confession, are one and the same literary work. Thus already Daniel Falk in DJD 29:23–24; and with more certainty Qimron, ibid., 3:157. 95  Ariel Feldman, “An Overlooked Psalm Addressing Zion from Wadi Murabbaʿat,” JBL 138 (2019): 365–76. 96 George W. E. Nickelsburg and James C. VanderKam, 1 Enoch 2: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 37–82 (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2011), 166, 175. 90

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For on the day of their tribulation and distress they will not save themselves; and into the hand of my chosen ones I shall throw them. As straw in the fire and as lead in the water, thus they will burn before the face of the holy, and they will sink before the face of the righteous; and no trace of them will be found.

The juxtaposition of a punishment by water and fire here reminds of the aforementioned hodaya in 1QHa 16–17. Rewritings. Several Rewritten Bible texts allude to Exod 15:1–21. Thus, in Jubilees 1, rewriting the biblical account of the Sinai revelation, God discloses to Moses Israel’s future apostacy. Their subsequent return to God “from among the nations” leads to the following promise: “I will plant them97 as a righteous plant … I will build my temple among them and will live with them” (vv. 15–17).98 The imagery of planting the repentant nation along with that of the divinely-built Temple seems to hearken back to Exod 15:17. Also, in Philo’s On the Life of Moses 2.252, one of his so-called apologetic works, Moses encourages Israel cornered at the Red Sea not to despair. He foretells their enemies’ immediate destruction alluding to Exod 15:10: “They sink like lead into the depths.” Admonitions. A paraenetic text 4QAdmonition on the Flood (4Q370) alludes to Exod 15:10 as it describes the waters of the Genesis Flood (1:3–4):99 [And] all foundations of the ear[th] [q]uaked. [And wat]ers broke forth from the depths. All the windows of the heavens were opened, and all the depth[s] were overflowed [with] mighty waters (‫)מ]מים אדרים‬.100

In what follows, the scroll states that even ‫הג[בור]ים‬, “the str[ong one]s” – a reference to the gigantic progeny of the union between the “sons of God” and the “daughters of man” (Gen 6:1–4) – had not escaped the Flood. Associating the two stories – Flood and Exodus – the text seems to suggest that only “mighty waters” akin to those of the Red Sea could have destroyed these giants (cf. 3 Macc 2:4).101

 97  An emendation of the Ethiopic text. See James C. VanderKam, Jubilees: A Commentary on the Book of Jubilees, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2018), 1:135, 155.  98  VanderKam, Jubilees, 1:131.  99  This text has been preserved in two copies, one was found in the fourth cave of Qumran (4Q370 [4QAdmonFlood]), while the other emerged from the texts unearthed at Masada (MasAdmonFlood [olim MasapocrGen]). See Eibert Tigchelaar, “Identification of the So-Called ‘Genesis Apocryphon’ from Masada (MAS 1M, MASAPOCRGEN or MASADMONFLOOD),” RevQ 26 (2014): 439–46. 100 It is possible that the replacement of the expression ‫ תהום רבה‬of Gen 7:11 with ‫תהמות‬, “depths,” attested to twice in this reworked version of this verse is also influenced by the language of the Song of the Sea (Exod 15:5, 8). See Ariel Feldman, “The Reworking of the Biblical Flood Story in 4Q370,” Henoch 29 (2007): 31–50; Ariel Feldman and Liora Goldman, Scripture and Interpretation, ed. Devorah Dimant, BZAW (Boston: De Gruyter, 2014), 43–72. 101  For another DSS text linking the two stories see 4Q422 as discussed in Feldman, Scripture and Interpretation, 83–129.

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2.3.2 References to Figures and Events Philo makes several references to Moses’s song. Thus, in On Drunkenness 77–79 he evokes Pharaoh’s refusal to obey God’s commands. Of those who behave in a like manner he says: “And therefore Moses sings of their destruction; how they fell through their own allies and were swallowed up by the heavy sea of their own imaginations.” In On Sobriety 13, Philo speaks of the triumph over Egypt, which often stands in his writings for passions.102 It is about the victory over “this Egypt” that Moses “sings his hymn of triumph to God when he sees its fighters and its leaders sunk in the sea and sent to perdition.” Finally, in On the Confusion of Tongues he makes another reference to the Israelites’ singing (33–36), as he describes a sage’s victory over “those who hate virtue and love the passions.” Such singing is “just and fit,” as he, the sage, “set[s] in order his holy choir to sing the anthem of victory, and sweet is the melody of that song.” 2.3.3 Historical Summaries Wisdom of Solomon 10–11 provides a summary of the biblical history, from Adam to Exodus, highlighting the role of wisdom in human affairs.103 In Wis 10:19, it is said to have led the Israelites “through deep waters” and to have “drowned their enemies.” The righteous then “sang hymns, O Lord, to your holy name, and praised with one accord your defending hand” (v. 20).104 A prayer by the High Priest Simon in 3 Macc 2:1–20 evokes the drowning of Pharaoh’s forces in “the depths of the sea” (βάθει θαλάσσης; cf. εἰς βυθóν, LXX Exod 15:5) and the Israelites’ praise of the Almighty (vv. 6–8). The DSS yield another historical resume alluding to Exod 15:1–21. It is found in a prayer embedded in the War Scroll, 1QM 11:9–10. This prayer lists several events in which God granted victory to Israel and then petitions God: “You will do to them as you did to Pharaoh and the officers of his chariots (‫ )וכשלישי מרכבותיו‬in the Red Se[a],” most likely a reference to Exod 15:4.105 2.3.4 Literary Models Earlier on I mentioned two instances in which Moses’s song might have served as a literary model for other texts: the extended Song of Miriam in 4Q365 and Judith’s prayer (Judith 9). Another possible example of using the Song of the  On the Posterity of Cain 155–57; On the Migration of Abraham 151, 154.  On historical summaries in Second Temple literature see Atar Livneh, Studies on Jewish and Christian Historical Summaries from the Hellenistic and Early Roman Periods (Leuven: Peeters, 2019). 104  On the story of Exodus in Wisdom see Maurice Gilbert, Beate Kowalski, and Susan Docherty, “Exodus in Wisdom of Solomon,” in The Reception of Exodus Motifs in Jewish and Christian Literature, Themes in Biblical Narrative (Leiden: Brill, 2021), 74–95. 105  Yadin, Scroll of the War, 324 (Hebrew). 102 103

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Sea as a literary model seems to be found in Rev 15:3–4 introducing the “Song of Moses, the servant of God and the song of the Lamb.”106 While the wording of the song exhibits no verbal dependence on Exod 15:1–21, its setting (vv. 1–3a) emulates that of the Song of the Sea.107 Verse 1 mentions “seven plagues,” reminiscent of the Egyptian Plagues, while vv. 2–3a depict the victorious ones standing by “a sea of glass mixed with fire.” A different kind of use of Exod 15:1–21 as a model, one for “a liturgical reenactment,” appears in Philo’s On the Contemplative Life.108 His account of the gatherings of Therapeutae concludes with a sacred all-night event.109 The participants form two choirs, one of men and another of women, and choose a leader for each of the two (84). After they have sung and danced, the two choirs join “and become one choir from both, a copy of the one of old established by the Red Sea, on account of the astonishing acts there” (85). Philo then retells the events of the crossing and proceeds to describe the Israelites’ singing (87–88): After seeing and experiencing this, which was a work surpassing word, thought or hope, both men and women alike, filled with inspiration, becoming one choir, sang the hymns of thanksgiving to the Saviour God, Moses the prophet leading the men and Miriam the prophetess leading the women. On this, above all, the choir of the ministers (Theapeutae), male and female, is modeled. With re-echoing and antiphonal melodies, the treble of the women mingling with the deep voice of the men, the choir produces harmonious concord, and it is really musical. Lovely are the thoughts, lovely are the words, dignified are the choristers, and the purpose of the thoughts and the words and the choristers is piety.

Three features of this account are notable. First, unlike in Philo’s other treatments of this episode, Israel here sings as one choir, rather than two, albeit  See Müller-Fieberg, “Song of Moses, Song of the Lamb.”  The song is a pastiche of lexica borrowed from Ps 111:2; 139:14; Amos 4:13; Ps 145:17; Deut 32:4; Jer 10:7; Ps 86:9; Mal 1:11; Ps 98:2. See Wilfrid J. Harrington, Revelation, Sacra Pagina 16 (Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 1993), 159; HaYoung Son, Praising God beside the Sea: An Intertextual Study of Revelation 15 and Exodus 15 (Eugene: Wipf and Stock, 2017). Still, Moyise and Bauckham point to Exodus 15 as a dominant influence here. Steve Moyise, “Singing the Song of Moses and the Lamb: John’s Dialogical Use of Scripture,” Andrews University Seminary Studies 42 (2004): 347–60 (358–59); Bauckham, The Climax of Prophecy, 296–306. 108  For the term “liturgical re-enactment” see Peder Borgen, “The Crossing of the Red Sea as Interpreted by Philo: Biblical Event – Liturgical Model – Cultural Application,” in Common Life in the Early Church, ed. Julian V. Hills et al. (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1998), 77–90 (79). Kraemer argues that another example of such a re-enactment is found in Philo’s Against Flaccus, in a passage describing the reaction of the Alexandrian Jewry to the news about Flaccus’s arrest (121–22). There, the Jews go to the beach where they cry out with one accord. Pieter van der Horst, however, explains the passage in light of the written and archaeological evidence placing Jewish places of worship near bodies of water. Kraemer, Unreliable Witnesses, 107–8; Pieter Willem van der Horst, Philo’s Flaccus: The First Pogrom, Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series 2 (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2003), 76, 203. 109  Taylor, On the Contemplative Life, 267. The English translation here follows that of Taylor, ibid. 106 107

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with a clear differentiation between the female and male voices directed by two choirmasters, Moses and Miriam.110 Second, the singers at the Red Sea are said to be “filled with inspiration,” a detail absent from Exodus 15. Imitating them, Therapeutae, too, experience a trance-like condition that Philo describes as a “beautiful drunkenness” (89, 89).111 Third, there is nothing in the text to suggest that Therapeutae, whose vigil continues until dawn, sing the Song of the Sea.112 In his description, Philo appears to be more interested in the musical aspect of their singing than in the content of their “lovely” words. Yet another text seems to envision a “liturgical re-enactment” of the Israelites’ singing in Exod 15:1–21. In 3 Maccabees 6, following the miraculous deliverance of the Jews from the hands of the king Ptolemy IV Philopator, the rejoicing Jews are said to take up “the ancestral song, praising the deliverer of Israel, wonder-working God” (v. 32). The passage goes on to report that they have also “organized choral groups as a sign of peaceful joy” (v. 35 refers to a chorus in singular).113 Admittedly, the “ancestral song” they are singing is not mentioned explicitly.114 Still the reference to God as a “deliverer” (τὸν Ἰσραὴλ σωτῆρα; cf. LXX Exod 15:2: ἐγένετό μοι εἰς σωτηρίαν) and a “worker of wonders” (τερατοποιóν; cf. LXX Exod 15:11: ποιῶν τέρατα), along with the “choral group(s)” (χορούς/χορόν [vv. 32, 35]; cf. Exod 15:20: μετὰ τυμπάνων καὶ χορῶν), suggests Exod 15:1–21. When this passage is considered along with Philo’s detailed descriptions of the mechanics of the Israelites’ singing and the re-enactment thereof by the Therapeutae, it is difficult to avoid an impression that all these texts attest to a contemporary practice of a communal singing of the Song of the Sea. 2.3.5 References to Exegetical Traditions Another category of compositional uses pertinent to this study encompasses those cases where sources allude to exegetical traditions that have developed around Exod 15:1–21 without necessarily quoting or alluding to the biblical passages that gave rise to these traditions. Several examples of such use are found in the Wisdom of Solomon’s succinct description of the crossing of the Red Sea and the subsequent singing (10:18–21).115 Thus, Wis 10:20 says that the delivered 110 See further Kraemer, Unreliable Witnesses, 96, 105–106. For a suggestion that Exod 15:1–21 underlies Philo’s entire account of their dancing and singing see ibid., 108–109. 111  I borrow the term “trance-like condition” from Taylor, On the Contemplative Life, 334. 112  The Israelites, too, are said to be singing “hymns,” in plural (εὐχαριστηρίου ὕμνους). Philo uses similar language (εὐχαριστικοὺς ὕμνους) in his treatment of the same episode in On the Life of Moses 1:180 (see below). 113  N. Clayton Croy, 3 Maccabees, Septuagint Commentary Series (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 29. I owe the reference to 3 Maccabees to Dr. Joseph McDonald, whose contribution is included in this volume. 114  Croy, 3 Maccabees, 107, observes that it “could be any hymn of praise, such as Ps 136.” 115 See Kugel, Traditions of the Bible, 593–95; Peter Enns, “A Retelling of the Song at the Sea in Wis 10,20–21,” Bib 76 (1995): 1–24.

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Israel “praised with one accord your defending hand.” As I have already noted, the account of singing in the Exod 15:1 features both singular and plural verbs, not to mention the somewhat ambiguous relations between Moses and Miriam’s singing. “Singing with one accord” could be an attempt to solve these seeming inconsistencies.116 Also, Wis 10:21 says that “wisdom opened the mouths of those who were mute.” This curious wording reflects, according to Peter Enns, a solution to an exegetical problem posed by Exod 14:14 where the Israelites are commanded to keep quiet when God battles for them.117 The same passage in Wisdom 10 goes on to say that “(wisdom) made the tongues of infants speak clearly.” A similar tradition, attested to in Aramaic Targummim and rabbinic writings, reads Exod 15:2, “The God of my father, and I will exalt Him,” as the words of the infants who were present during the crossing through the Red Sea. This is their response, as they recognized God who saved them from Pharaoh’s decree to kill all the male infants of the Hebrews.118 Another example of a reference to an exegetical tradition linked to Exod 15:1– 21 comes from the aforementioned description of ​“a sea of glass mixed with fire” in Rev 15:2. “A sea of glass” may point to the description of the “frozen” (MT: ‫ )קפאו‬or “congealed” (LXX: ἐπάγη) waters of the Red Sea in the Exod 15:8. The mention of the fire, however, is more difficult to explain. Mitchell Reddish, for instance, surmises that it points to either “the fire through which the Martyrs passed” or to their blood.119 Gregory Beale, however, seems to be more on target suggesting that fire indicates judgment. He alludes to the later rabbinic texts that envision the waters of the Red Sea congealing (Mekilta) with fire being present in their midst (Avot deRabbi Nathan).120 The destruction by fire is not explicitly mentioned in Exodus 14–15. After all, in the story, Pharaoh and his hordes are punished by water. Still, one could deduce that the Egyptians were also punished by fire from Ps 77:17–19, a passage that is easily construed as a description of the crossing of the Red Sea. It mentions (along with water, thunder, and earthquake) a “lightning” that “lit up the world” (cf. also Exod 14:24). However, as we have seen earlier on, the Song of the Sea itself already contains a comparison of the divine fury to fire consuming straw (Exod 15:7). This is the passage employed by 1 Enoch to depict the punishment of sinners. Hence, it is not unlikely that the

 Enns, “Retelling,” 4–10.  Enns, “Retelling,” 14. 118  Enns, “Retelling,” 17–24. 119  Mitchell G. Reddish, Revelation: Smyth & Helwys Bible Commentary (Macon: Smyth & Helwys, 2001), 291. 120  Gregory K. Beale, The Book of Revelation: A Commentary on the Greek Text (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 789–92. See Mekilta BeShalach, 4 (ed. Horovitz-Rabin, 101) to Exod 14:16; Avot deRabbi Nathan 37 (A) (ed. Schecther, 97). 116 117

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motif of heavenly fire during Exodus, which is present in several early Jewish texts, might have emerged from a close reading of the Song of the Sea.121 2.3.6 Rewriting Several early Jewish texts rewrite the events of the crossing of the Red Sea. Some of them treat, albeit briefly, Exod 15:1–21. Thus, Philo in his aforementioned biography of Moses reworks this episode twice. First, in On the Life of Moses 1.180 he envisions Israelites setting up two choirs, one of men and one of women, singing hymns of thanksgiving to God, as Moses and his sister preside over the choirs. In 2.255–257, he offers a more detailed description. Here, Moses himself divides the people in two choirs and appoints Miriam as the leader of the female choir so: that the two in concert might sing hymns to the Father and Creator in tuneful response, with a blending both of temperaments and melody – temperaments eager to render to each other like for like; melody produced by the concord of treble and bass; for the voices of men are bass and the women’s treble, and when they are blended in due proportion the resulting melody is of the fullest and sweetest harmony.122

The two choirs sing one and the same song: All these myriads were persuaded by Moses to sing with hearts in accord the same song, telling of those mighty and marvelous works which I have recorded just above. And the prophet, rejoicing at this, seeing the people also overjoyed, and himself no longer able to contain his delight, led off the song, and his hearers massed in two choirs sang with him the story of these same deeds.

Just as Philo in these two passages shows little interest in the song’s contents, so does Josephus in his Jewish Antiquities.123 He mentions Moses’s song (not the singing!) but refrains from dealing with it in any detail (Ant. 2.346): They, having escaped from danger and, moreover, having seen their enemies punished as no others among men previously have been retained within memory, they spent the entire night in songs and amusements; and Moyses composed a song to God in hexameter rhythm containing praise and also gratitude for His favor.124

121  Artapanus (Eusebius, Praep. Ev. 9.27:1–37 [37]); Ezekiel the Tragedian, Exagoge, 234–35; Josephus, Ant. 2.343; TN and TPs.-J. to Exod 14:24. See further Kugel, Traditions of the Bible, 581–82, 604–5. 122  Kraemer, Unreliable Witnesses, 98, notes that it is somewhat unclear whether Philo’s description refers to the singing of the Song of the Sea. 123  Feldman notes that he also omits Deborah’s song. Flavius Josephus, Judean Antiquities 1–4, trans. Louis H. Feldman (Boston: Brill, 2004), 230. 124  Feldman, Judean Antiquities 1–4, 229–30.

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One must note that the LXX version of the Song of the Sea does not match this description: it is not written in hexameters, the classical Greek meter utilized by Homer.125

3. Final Observations In this contribution I sought to map the ways in which Early Jewish writings in general and the Dead Sea Scrolls in particular employ Exod 15:1–21. While it seems impossible to reduce the wealth of material presented above to a few general conclusions, several final observations emerge. First, this study nuances our understanding of the scribal practices involved in transmitting Exod 15:1–21 around the turn of the Era. Not just one copy of Exodus from Qumran – the often noted 4Q365 – but two or perhaps even three manuscripts of Exodus feature stichometric arrangements of the Song of the Sea. There is a degree of variation in size and pattern of the blanks in the two relatively well-preserved scrolls 4Q14 and 4Q365, and yet both patterns display a notable affinity with the layout attested to in the late antique and medieval Torah scrolls and Masoretic codices. Also, the third Exodus scroll – 4Q15, evidently an excerpted text – indicates that by this time Moses’s song had already begun its literary “journey” as an independent textual unit which was copied outside of its immediate context. Moreover, a new look at what is arguably the most remarkable contribution of the Qumran copies of Exodus to the study of Exodus 15 – the extended Song of Miriam in 4Q365 – highlights the artistic aspect of this text. Incorporating lexica from Moses’s song, it is a carefully crafted new creation featuring what might be a previously unnoticed refrain or inclusio. Intriguingly, 4Q365 is the only text in our corpus that understood Miriam’s singing in Exod 15:21 as offering a song of her own, rather than joining in that of Moses. Second, this study brought to the fore a complex web of uses, expositional and compositional, of Exod 15:1–21 in the writings of Early Judaism. Amidst all of these, the Philonic corpus has pride of place. In his many treatments of this pericope, Philo offers an allegorical reading of several passages from Moses’s song – especially v. 1 (and v. 21) understood by him as a triumph over passions – as well as multiple expositions, allegorical and non-allegorical, of the setting of Exod 15:1–21. While the details vary, he seems to envision two choirs, male and female, singing one and the same song under the leadership of Moses and Miriam respectively.

125  Elsewhere, Josephus also describes Moses’s farewell song, Ha’azinu, as written in hexameters (Ant. 4.303). Feldman, Judean Antiquities 1–4, 229–30. Presumably, these claims aimed at impressing his Greek-speaking readers.

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While for Philo Moses’s song is chiefly one of an internal victory over passions, other texts often evoke the events described in Exod 15:1–21 as a paradigm of the divine judgment. The judgment could have been one from the distant past, such as the Flood in 4Q370, or an eschatological one, as in Parables of Enoch, Revelation, and possibly Hodayot. The latter three use the language of the Song of the Sea to paint a vivid image of the future punishment by water and fire, a recurring motif that might have (at least partially) emerged from the reading of Exod 15:7. Philo and several other writings surveyed here engage Exod 15:17, a passage that proved to be significant for various contemporary Temple theologies and ideologies.126 The foregoing discussion suggests that it was evoked with reference to (a) Solomon’s Temple as being a copy of a heavenly prototype, (b) the Second Temple (2 Maccabees; Mur6), (c) the eschatological Temple that will be built by God himself (4Q174; Jubilees), and (d) the cosmos or Logos (Philo). All in all, this study suggests a colorful tapestry of uses of Exod 15:1–21 in early Jewish writings. Several of its threads extend further on into rabbinic literature and the writings of the Church Fathers, leaving an ample room for further exploration.

126  For the history of Christian (and Jewish) readings of Exod 15:17, see Kevin Chen, Eschatological Sanctuary in Exodus 15:17 and Related Texts, Studies in Biblical Literature 154 (New York: Peter Lang, 2012), 5–29.

Exodus as Chosen Trauma, Exodus as Chosen Glory Group Identity Formation among Ancient Israelites, Jews of the Hellenistic Diaspora, and Modern Ethiopian Jews Joseph McDonald 1. Introduction Undeserved suffering and improbable triumph animate the Torah’s story of the exodus, an event that was and is central to Israelite and Jewish self-understanding and identity. As the traditional Passover Haggadah urges, “In every generation each person must see themselves as having come out of Egypt.… It was not only our ancestors that the Holy One … redeemed, but us too.” This contribution pulls these threads together, reading the enslavement and oppression of Egypt as a “chosen trauma,” defined by psychiatrist Vamık Volkan as a “collective memory of a calamity that once befell a group’s ancestors” that is invoked to shape the group’s identity. Such a process, fueled by “the transgenerational transmission of injured selves,” leads group members to evaluate contemporary trials, enemies, and suffering in the light of the circumstances of the ancestral trauma. Since suffering is not the final word in the exodus, however, the eventual deliverance of the Israelites from Egypt may also be interpreted as a “chosen glory,” another engine of group identity making identified by Volkan.1 After treating these concepts a bit more fully, I trace the reception of the exodus in select passages in Isaiah, in 3 Maccabees, and in the testimony of Ethiopian Jews who immigrated to Israel in the 1970s and 1980s, evaluating the explanatory power of Volkan’s ideas in each context. Some of my findings are equivocal, but in a significant number of cases the chosen trauma and glory of the exodus event are meaningful levers of the production and maintenance of group identity, in both straightforward and ambiguous, even ironic ways.

1  Vamık Volkan, Bloodlines: From Ethnic Pride to Ethnic Terrorism (Boulder: Westview Press, 1997), 48, 81–82.

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2. Chosen Trauma, Chosen Glory “Chosen trauma,” most fully discussed by Volkan in his 1997 book Bloodlines, refers not to elective traumatization but to a shared “mental representation” of an ancestral trauma that is transmitted down the generations of a large social group. Such a representation is just that: “feelings, perceptions, fantasies, and interpretations” of events whose historical kernel is not of primary importance.2 The adoption of a chosen trauma serves to bond the members of a group in moments of crisis, effecting what Volkan calls a “time collapse,” an emotional merging of past and present events and adversaries.3 The Battle of Kosovo in 1389, for example, preceded the absorption of Serbia into the Ottoman Empire by several generations, but nonetheless became shorthand for Serbian subjugation and victimhood.4 When Archduke Franz Ferdinand entered Sarajevo on the anniversary of the battle in 1914, his assassination registered as a blow against the historic “oppressor” of the Serbs, now the Austro-Hungarians instead of the Ottoman Turks.5 By the late twentieth century, Bosnian Muslims had taken the place of the Ottomans in this social imaginary, and atrocities committed against them were sometimes conceived as apt payback for old imperial crimes: the military conscription and forced conversion to Islam of Orthodox youth justified the systematic rapes and murders of the Serbian program of ethnic cleansing in the 1990s.6 The reinforcement of group identity keyed by acceptance of a chosen trauma may be a mostly unconscious process, but rhetoric plays an essential role: the mental representation must be conveyed by verbal, symbolic, literary or other artistic means if it is to be appropriated anew. Sociologist Jeffrey Alexander also underlines the crucial function of rhetoric in the generation of collective trauma, which is a “socially mediated attribution” that depends on claims and performative speech and acts made by “agents of the trauma process.”7 In 1989, Slobodan Milošević stirred nationalist sentiment and ethnic cohesion by touring Serbian towns with the physical remains of Prince Lazar, the Serbian leader who died at the Battle of Kosovo, and commemorated the battle’s 600th anniversary on the field where it was fought, under a giant monument bearing the call of Lazar to all Serbs to join in the fight against the Turks. The message of Milošević’s  Volkan, Bloodlines, 45.  Volkan, Bloodlines, 32, 35; Vamık Volkan, “Transgenerational Transmissions and Chosen Traumas: An Aspect of Large-Group Identity,” Group Analysis 34 (2001): 79–97 (88–89). Compare “Stone-Cold Killer,” Economist, December 11, 2021, 30, where Chief Marilynn Malerba of the Mohegan Tribe is characterized as speaking of a conflict in 1637 “as though the battle happened just a few years ago.” 4 Volkan, Bloodlines, 50–51, 61–62. 5  Volkan, Bloodlines, 66. 6 Volkan, Bloodlines, 73–78. 7  Jeffrey C. Alexander, Trauma: A Social Theory (Cambridge: Polity, 2012), 13, 15–17. 2 3

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speech there encapsulates the time collapse of this chosen trauma: “never again,” he said, “would Islam subjugate the Serbs.”8 A converse concept, “chosen glory,” is used by Volkan to describe the recall, production, and promotion of past occasions of triumph over a group’s enemies as an interpretive key to contemporary events. The victory of the armies of Rus’ over the Mongols in 1380 at Kulikovo, for instance, provided a historical type for the Soviet Russian defense of Europe against the Nazis.9 For Jews, Volkan mentions the Maccabean revolt and restoration of the temple.10 The element of time collapse is also operative in chosen glories, as seen in the passage from the Haggadah quoted above.11 Volkan says that the invocation of chosen glories, themselves often as “heavily mythologized” as chosen traumas, generates “less complex” effects than that of chosen traumas, bolstering a group’s self-regard in a more straightforward way. As with chosen traumas, however, a primary function of the appropriation and application of chosen glories is the cultivation of group definition and cohesion.12 Moreover, events argued and sold as chosen traumas, and those promoted as chosen glories, are often two sides of the same complex of social experience. The Maccabean triumph is only possible because of the extraordinary suffering and trauma that prompted Judah and others to take up arms; in the same way, the stunning success of the exodus event can only be fully grasped against the slavery and attempted genocide that precede and prompt it.

3. Isaiah Volkan’s work on chosen trauma has been employed by biblical scholars to illuminate the intergenerational transmission of traumatic events in postexilic literature, the prophets, and the Psalter.13 When using this lens to consider the  Volkan, Bloodlines, 67–69; see also Volkan, “Transgenerational Transmissions,” 93.  Volkan, Bloodlines, 143–44; compare the cynical use of the latter conflict in Vladimir Putin’s justification for invading Ukraine in February 2022. 10  Volkan, Bloodlines, 81. 11  Compare the Roman Catholic Exsultet, proclaimed during the Easter Vigil: “This is the night // when once you led our forebears, Israel’s children, // from slavery in Egypt // and made them pass dry-shod through the Red Sea.” 12  Volkan, Bloodlines, 81–82. 13  Mark G. Brett, “Intergenerational Trauma: Children of the Exile,” in Locations of God: Political Theology in the Hebrew Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), 75–85; Daniel L. Smith-Christopher, “Trauma and the Old Testament: Some Problems and Prospects,” in Trauma and Traumatization in Individual and Collective Dimensions: Insights from Biblical Studies and Beyond, ed. Eve-Marie Becker, Jan Dochhorn, and Else Kragelund Holt, Studia Aarhusiana Neotestamentica 2 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014), 223–43 (234–38); Chwi-Woon Kim, “Psalms of Communal Lament as a Relic of Transgenerational Trauma,” JBL 140 (2021): 531–56; Caralie Cooke, “Controlling the Narrative: The Babylonian Exile as Chosen Trauma,” in In the Shadow of Empire: Israel and Judah in the Long Sixth Century bce, ed. Pamela  8  9

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reception of the exodus story, a “paradigm” that displays a “deep embeddedness as a fundamental structure of the biblical historical imagination,” as Michael Fishbane says, I can only focus on a sliver of material in this space.14 Though other pentateuchal texts (especially Deuteronomy), significant texts in the former prophets, the Psalter, and other oracles in the latter prophets all take up motifs related to the exodus, I train my remarks here first on a few important references in First Isaiah, and then briefly consider the theme’s use in Isaiah 40– 66. While I acknowledge that these texts are products of processes of redaction and rewriting, I am occupied with their rhetorical force in their final forms. Isaiah 10:24–27a draws on the exodus event to effect a rhetorical time collapse and equation of enemies old and new: Therefore thus says the Lord God of hosts: O my people, who live in Zion, do not be afraid of the Assyrians when they beat you with a rod and lift up their staff against you as the Egyptians did. For in a very little while my indignation will come to an end, and my anger will be directed to their destruction. The Lord of hosts will wield a whip against them, as when he struck Midian at the rock of Oreb; his staff will be over the sea, and he will lift it as he did in Egypt. On that day his burden will be removed from your shoulder, and his yoke will be destroyed from your neck. (NRSV )

The prophet urges an identification of the violence of the Assyrians with that of the Egyptians in order to predict the destruction of the contemporary oppressor, deftly deploying the evocative ‫מטה‬, “staff,” to describe both oppression and delivery (10:24, 26; compare Exodus 4 and following of Moses’s staff, and especially 14:16 at the Reed Sea). In this context the breaking of the imperial “yoke” (‫עֺל‬, Isa 10:27) likewise points to Egypt and the freeing, communitydefining action of God’s rescue there, as also expressed in Lev 26:12–13: “you shall be my people. I am the Lord your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, to be their slaves no more; I have broken the bars of your yoke” (NRSV ).15 Woven into these images is a reference to another Israelite victory amid imposBarmash and Mark W. Hamilton, ABS 30 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2021), 61–76. See also L. Juliana M. Claassens, Writing and Reading to Survive: Biblical and Contemporary Trauma Narratives in Conversation (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2020), 102, who mentions Volkan in connection with the reception of the narrative of the rape of Dinah in Genesis 34. 14  Michael Fishbane, Text and Texture: Close Readings of Selected Biblical Texts (New York: Schocken Books, 1979), 140. Scott M. Langston, Exodus Through the Centuries, Blackwell Bible Commentaries Through the Centuries (Malden: Blackwell, 2006), surveys the reception of the book of Exodus in biblical texts and many other contexts; see also Beate Kowalski and Susan E. Docherty, eds., The Reception of Exodus Motifs in Jewish and Christian Literature: “Let My People Go!”, TBN 30 (Leiden: Brill, 2022); and Agnethe Siquans, Der gerettete Retter: Exodus 1–2 in patristischer und rabbinischer Interpretation, Ioudaioi 12 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2021). 15  See also the evocation of Egypt in Rehoboam’s “yoke” of forced labor in 1 Kings 12 and its parallel in 2 Chronicles 10; the “whip” (‫ )ׁשוט‬of Isa 10:26 likewise aligns these three passages. I do not claim verbal dependence here, or elsewhere in this section on Isaiah, but merely observe composers or redactors drawing on the same well of cultural imagery.

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sible odds, when 300 Israelites defeat uncountable numbers of Midianites and Amalekites (Isa 10:26; compare Judges 7). Importantly the promised divine deliverance is not only figuratively from the same enemy, but literally for the same people, defined starkly against their adversary. There is no mention of ancestors, or an “exodus group” whose story was adopted by others; only “you,” “my people.” Isaiah 11:11–16 is soaked in exodus imagery deployed to describe contemporaneous or future redemptions of the prophet’s people from various lands: On that day the Lord will extend his hand yet a second time to recover the remnant that is left of his people, from Assyria, from Egypt, from Pathros, from Ethiopia, from Elam, from Shinar, from Hamath, and from the coastlands of the sea. He will raise a signal for the nations, and will assemble the outcasts of Israel, and gather the dispersed of Judah from the four corners of the earth. The jealousy of Ephraim shall depart, the hostility of Judah shall be cut off; Ephraim shall not be jealous of Judah, and Judah shall not be hostile towards Ephraim. But they shall swoop down on the backs of the Philistines in the west, together they shall plunder the people of the east. They shall put forth their hand against Edom and Moab, and the Ammonites shall obey them. And the Lord will utterly destroy the tongue of the sea of Egypt; and will wave his hand over the River with his scorching wind; and will split it into seven channels, and make a way to cross on foot; so there shall be a highway from Assyria for the remnant that is left of his people, as there was for Israel when they came up from the land of Egypt. (NRSV )

The exodus event is implicit from the prediction of the prophet’s Lord “again (‫[ )יסף‬employing] his hand, a second time (‫)ׁשנית‬, to get the rest of his people who remain, from Assyria, from Egypt” and other lands, not only in its reference to a repeat event, but also in the use of ‫יד‬, “hand,” and ‫קנה‬, “get,” both key terms in the exodus narrative.16 The plain equation of the Reed Sea crossing with a divine action to split the Euphrates only concretizes these allusions (vv. 15–16). But what is most interesting is the prophet’s rhetorical use of this paradigm. This forecast new or “second exodus” is nothing short of a re-forging of a people, not only assembled from various dispersions but also reunited across internal divides, a “renewal of national origins” that joins Israel and Judah in common cause.17 Tellingly, this rapprochement draws the people back “together” (‫ )יחדו‬to defeat historical national enemies: Philistia, Edom, Moab, Ammon (vv. 13–14) – 16  For ‫יד‬, see Exod 3:19–20; 6:1; 7:4–5; 9:3, 15; 13:3, 9, 14; 14:31; for ‫קנה‬, see the climactic reference in the Song of the Sea in Exod 15:16: Jimmy J. M. Roberts, First Isaiah: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2015), 185. 17  Fishbane, Text and Texture, 127–28; compare Jer 16:14–15, which, however, lacks any note of reconciliation between Israel and Judah, or mention of triumph against common ancestral enemies. Benedetta Rossi, “Basis for a Relaunch or Epic Failure? Contrasting Receptions of Exodus in the Prophets,” in The Reception of Exodus Motifs in Jewish and Christian Literature: “Let My People Go!”, ed. Beate Kowalski and Susan E. Docherty, TBN 30 (Leiden: Brill, 2022), 96– 114 (100–102), reads the allusions to creation and divine victory over cosmic foes in Isa 11:15–16 as laying the ground for a “relaunch of history,” a characterization that seems equally apt for the renewed political and military alignment of Israel and Judah described in vv. 13–14.

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a near-echo of the list of peoples driven to panic by Yhwh’s actions in the Song of the Sea (Exod 15:14–15, naming Philistia, Edom, Moab, and Canaan). The chosen glory of the exodus, necessarily preceded by the traumas of displacement and division, is used both to signal the coming end of analogous contemporary socio-political situations and to point to the reinforcement and repair of the people’s social boundaries, over and against others. But – not long after a pronouncement of judgment against Egypt that includes a prediction of its subjugation to what seems to be a foreign ruler (Isa 19:4), the prophet again uses exodus imagery in speech about social boundaries, this time turning the theme flatly inside-out (Isa 19:19–25): On that day there will be an altar to the Lord in the center of the land of Egypt, and a pillar to the Lord at its border. It will be a sign and a witness to the Lord of hosts in the land of Egypt; when they cry to the Lord because of oppressors, he will send them a savior, and will defend and deliver them. The Lord will make himself known to the Egyptians; and the Egyptians will know the Lord on that day, and will worship with sacrifice and burnt offering, and they will make vows to the Lord and perform them. The Lord will strike Egypt, striking and healing; they will return to the Lord, and he will listen to their supplications and heal them. On that day there will be a highway from Egypt to Assyria, and the Assyrian will come into Egypt, and the Egyptian into Assyria, and the Egyptians will worship with the Assyrians. On that day Israel will be the third with Egypt and Assyria, a blessing in the midst of the earth, whom the Lord of hosts has blessed, saying, “Blessed be Egypt my people, and Assyria the work of my hands, and Israel my heritage.” (NRSV )

While there is no explicit reference to the sea crossing (but note the “highway,” ‫מסלה‬, 19:23, connecting this passage to 11:15–16; compare 40:3), Fishbane marks the flurry of strong verbal parallels to the book of Exodus.18 Strikingly, in Isa 19:20 the Egyptians are to cry out to Yhwh for relief from their oppressors (‫לחץ‬, compare Exod 3:9 [2x], 22:20, 23:9; Deut 26:7, all referring to Egyptians’ oppression of Israelites), prompting Yhwh to send a savior to deliver them (‫נצל‬, compare Exod 3:8, especially in close context with v. 9, and elsewhere in the exodus narrative); and while the status of Israel as Yhwh’s people was firmly underlined in the passages discussed above (10:24; 11:11, 16; and compare the designations in the opening oracles of both First and Second Isaiah, 1:3 and 40:1), here Israel’s archetypal enemies, the Egyptians, are themselves ultimately ‫עמי‬, “my people,” in the words of Yhwh (19:25; compare Exod 3:7, 10, etc.). The exodus served rhetorically to collapse old enemies and new in Isaiah 10, and provided a paradigm for the renewal of Israel’s internal identity in Isaiah 11; but here the prophet wields the same myth to smudge borders, predict resolution of outside hostilities, and destabilize the notion of cultural identity as defined over and against the other (compare Amos 9:7). It may be a testament to the socially centripetal strength of chosen traumas and glories that Isa 19:25 is rendered in  Fishbane, Text and Texture, 128–30.

18

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the Old Greek as “my people who are in Egypt and among the Assyrians,” partly recasting the verse as concerned with diaspora, and thus in parallel with 11:11.19 However, this is only an imperfect gloss over a passage that still depicts Egypt as a kind of embryonic Israel. Similar tensions mark Second Isaiah’s uses of the exodus paradigm. Susanne Talarbadon cites Isa 43:1–9 in the course of arguing that “the concept of Second Exodus is deeply intertwined with gentiles” in Second Isaiah, resulting in dissonance between the prophet’s “theological universalism” and an insistence on Yhwh’s special relationship with Israel.20 However, the subsequent oracle of Isa 43:16–21 builds on preceding notes of Israel as unique, made and chosen by Yhwh (vv. 1, 4, 7, 10, 15), and expands on other exodus motifs in the near context (vv. 2–3, 5–6, 8) to found a prediction of present and future divine care for Israel on the chosen glory of the nation’s deliverance from Egypt: Thus says the Lord, who makes a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters, who brings out chariot and horse, army and warrior; they lie down, they cannot rise, they are extinguished, quenched like a wick: Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. The wild animals will honor me, the jackals and the ostriches; for I give water in the wilderness, rivers in the desert, to give drink to my chosen people, the people whom I formed for myself so that they might declare my praise. (NSRV )

This “new thing” (‫חדׁשה‬, v. 19) that Yhwh will do is curiously anchored in old things: the way Yhwh made in the sea (‫בים דרך‬, v. 16) draws a blueprint for the way Yhwh will make in the wilderness (‫במדבר דרך‬, v. 19; compare 51:9–11), and the flame of Babylon, whose fall forms the backdrop for this oracle, is snuffed out in an act of Yhwh, just as that of Egypt was.21 Moreover, the counterpoint and confirmation of this association of contemporary and ancient enemies is Yhwh’s identity-reinforcing language of ​“my chosen people,” who will be cared for, just as in the sequel to the sea crossing, by provision of water in the desert (vv. 19–21; compare Exod 15:22–25, 27; 17:1–7; Isa 41:17–18; 48:20–21; 49:10).22 A clearer example of the connection between exodus and gentiles might be found in Isa 42:5–16, where the prophet invokes Yhwh as the creator of the earth and all human beings before citing the status of Yhwh’s “covenant people” as a “light of nations” (vv. 5–7). These notes, swinging between the universal and the  ὁ λαός μου ὁ ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ καὶ ὁ ἐν Ἀσσυρίοις. 1QIsaa 16:3 agrees with MT here. Talarbadon, “The Paradigm of a Second Exodus in Jewish Tradition,” in Exodus: Border Crossings in Jewish, Christian and Islamic Texts and Images, ed. Annette Hoffman, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam – Tension, Transmission, Transformation 11 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2021), 183–98 (183–86). Talarbadon also cites Isa 2:2–4 here, which features gentiles making an exodus of sorts, or at least a pilgrimage, to Zion (185–86; compare Mic 4:1–3). 21  Klaus Baltzer, Deutero-Isaiah: A Commentary on Isaiah 40–55, trans. Margaret Kohl, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2001), 172–73. 22  Baltzer, Deutero-Isaiah, 174. 19

20 Susanne

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particular, are followed by several allusions to the exodus event, including a song sung in praise of Yhwh, a reference to Yhwh as a “warrior” (‫)איׁש מלחמות‬, a prediction of waters dried up by divine action, and an assurance of divine guidance for those on the way (vv. 10–16; compare Exod 13:7–15:21):23 Sing to the Lord a new song, his praise from the end of the earth! Let the sea roar and all that fills it, the coastlands and their inhabitants. Let the desert and its towns lift up their voice, the villages that Kedar inhabits; let the inhabitants of Sela sing for joy, let them shout from the tops of the mountains. Let them give glory to the Lord, and declare his praise in the coastlands. The Lord goes forth like a soldier, like a warrior he stirs up his fury; he cries out, he shouts aloud, he shows himself mighty against his foes. For a long time I have held my peace, I have kept still and restrained myself; now I will cry out like a woman in labor, I will gasp and pant. I will lay waste mountains and hills, and dry up all their herbage; I will turn the rivers into islands, and dry up the pools. I will lead the blind by a road they do not know, by paths they have not known I will guide them. I will turn the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground. These are the things I will do, and I will not forsake them. (NRSV )

The radical expansion of the choir here, from Moses and Miriam and the people of Israel to far-flung gentiles and even constituents of nature, is especially striking. Here, indeed, it seems that the prophet’s use of the second exodus motif to describe the return from exile is founded on the uncertain ground of what Talarbadon calls the “inner aporia” that opens when a particularist myth is pressed into the service of a universalist theology.24 In this initial investigation, then, reading Isaiah’s deployments of the exodus from the perspective of chosen trauma and glory returns uneven results. For Isa 10:24–27a and 11:11–16, this framework shows heuristic power, explaining collapses in time, identification of old enemies and new, and above all rhetorical reinforcement of group boundaries. To my reading, Isa 43:16–21 is also amenable to this analysis. But Isa 42:10–16 uses exodus imagery to broaden borders, while Isa 19:19–25 inverts the paradigm in a startling way, casting the archetypal oppressor, Egypt, as an oppressed nation to be redeemed by Israel’s God.

23 Shalom M. Paul, Isaiah 40–66: Translation and Commentary, ECC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2012), 191–97; compare 45–46. 24 Talarbadon, “Paradigm of a Second Exodus,” 186. Other references to the exodus in Second Isaiah include 40:2–3, 10; 44:26–28; 50:2; 51:9–11; 52:2–12; 63:7–14 (see Roberts, First Isaiah, 189; Paul, Isaiah 40–66, 45–46). To these prospects for future work may be added especially Jeremiah’s ironic usage of the exodus motif: “For Jeremiah, discontinuity with the traditions of Exodus is necessary to open up the possibility of a new beginning” (Rossi, “Basis for a Relaunch or Epic Failure?”, 98, 105–11). Much of this pertains to the giving of the law, however.

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4. Third Maccabees Third Maccabees, an Alexandrian “historical romance” from perhaps the midfirst century bce, repeatedly employs the Torah’s exodus motif in the service of community definition.25 This engaging narrative traces the unsuccessful attempts of Egyptian king Ptolemy IV Philopator to destroy the Jews in and around Alexandria. After defeating Antiochus III in the Battle of Raphia, a historical event in 217 bce, Ptolemy is said to take a victory tour that includes a visit to Jerusalem, where he tries to enter the Holy of Holies. Foiled by prayers, the king is stricken and returns to Egypt – where, in revenge, he lays plans to enslave the local Jews as a precursor to genocide. These schemes, which include the weaponization of a herd of drugged and drunken elephants, are thwarted by God, again partly in response to prayers, and Ptolemy has a change of heart and lets the Jews go. In thanksgiving, the Jews institute a festival, funded by the Egyptians, at which they sing an ancestral song of deliverance.26 As even this sketch shows, a web of creative connections links 3 Maccabees and the book of Exodus. Philopator’s insolence and divine rebuke: Simon’s prayer. At the climax of the episode where Ptolemy is determined to enter the sanctuary in Jerusalem, the high priest Simon offers a prayer that echoes historical resumes such as Pss 105 and 106 (2:1–20).27 But the prayer is also woven closely into its narrative context, citing precedents in which God exercised judgment over the insolent: giants and others in the flood; the inhabitants of Sodom; and then the Pharaoh of the exodus (vv. 6–8): You made known your mighty power by inflicting many and varied punishments on the audacious Pharaoh who had enslaved your holy people Israel. And when he pursued them with chariots and a mass of troops, you overwhelmed him in the depths of the sea, but carried through safely those who had put their confidence in you, the Ruler over the whole creation. And when they had seen works of your hands, they praised you, the Almighty. (NRSV ) 25  “Historical romance” is the characterization of N. Clayton Croy, 3 Maccabees, Septuagint Commentary Series (Leiden: Brill, 2006), xv; Sara Raup Johnson, Historical Fictions and Hellenistic Jewish Identity: Third Maccabees in Its Cultural Context (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), 50, 53, rejects the term “romance” as “wholly misguided,” even “nonsense”; 3 Maccabees is rather an “aetiological legend” that provides a backstory for the festival instituted later in the book. Most commentators situate 3 Maccabees in the late Hellenistic or very early Roman period in Alexandria, though dates as late as mid-first century ce have been proposed (Croy, 3 Maccabees, xiii; Johnson, Historical Fictions, 141; Moses Hadas, The Third and Fourth Books of Maccabees, JAL [New York: Harper & Brothers, 1953], 3, 10, 21). For other Second Temple works that draw on the exodus, see Langston, Exodus Through the Centuries, 128–29, and several chapters in Kowalski and Docherty, Reception of Exodus Motifs. 26  Compare the episode in Ag. Ap. 2.53–55, featuring both a (later) Ptolemy’s foiled effort to exterminate the Alexandrian Jews by means of drunken elephants and a feast instituted in thanksgiving. 27  Hadas, Maccabees, 36. Compare the episode in 2 Maccabees 3, where Heliodorus is prevented from plundering the temple by divine intervention, partly prompted by prayers.

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The arrogant Egyptian king may have enslaved Israel, but his punishment only emphasized the divide between the Egyptians and the Israelites and revealed the divine election of the latter.28 All at once, these references reach back to the exodus, make an argument illuminating the contemporaneous situation in the story world, and foreshadow events to come in the narrative of 3 Maccabees (2:28; 5:13, 35; 6:32). Just a bit later, while invoking God’s creative power and the centrality of the temple to the divine economy, Simon prays (2:12): And because oftentimes when our fathers were oppressed you helped them in their humiliation, and rescued them from great evils … (NRSV )

While summary in scope, this verse features a thicket of verbal ties to the exodus event, mentioning ancestral oppression (θλίβω; compare Exod 3:9; 22:21; 23:9; Lev 19:33, etc.), humiliation (ταπείνωσις; compare Deut 26:7, and the verb in Exod 1:12; Deut 26:6), and rescue (ῥύομαι; in Exod 6:6; 12:27; and 14:30 of the action of Yhwh; compare the noun in 3 Macc 7:23). But as N. Clayton Croy remarks, while “Pharaoh provides the perfect precedent for Ptolemy” in this prayer, “‘frequent’ (πλεονάκις) oppression encompasses more than just enslavement in Egypt. It may also refer to the cycle of oppression and deliverance in the book of Judges, the Babylonian exile, or other episodes of subjugation in Israel’s history.”29 This is an apt connection of these “historical” traumas, each of which builds on the last in the people’s historical and political imaginary, a process which is in turn an illustration of the resumptive power of chosen traumas and glories. What follows the high priest’s prayer is a supernatural judgment (κρίσις; compare Exod 6:6) on the insolent ruler, who is shaken “like a reed by the wind” (3 Macc 2:21–24); but this is only a temporary setback and he is not moved to repentance but issues more threats. The attempted annihilation of the Jews: Eleazar’s prayer. The final storyline follows immediately, as Ptolemy decrees, apparently as a result of his humiliation in Jerusalem (compare 5:43), that Alexandrian Jews are to be registered, branded with the ivy leaf of Dionysus, and reduced to “slave status,” a plain nod to the precipitating circumstances of the exodus (2:28–30).30 Any Jew who protests is to be put to death; but any willing to become an initiate in the mysteries of the god is supposedly to be granted the same political rights (ἰσοπολίτης) as those enjoyed by Alexandrian citizens (2:30; compare 3:21, 23). Resistance to these measures 28 θρασύς, arrogant, is not used of Pharaoh in LXX Exodus, but Simon employs it to describe Ptolemy in 3 Macc 2:14; Ptolemy is also the subject of the verbal form in 1:26. καταδουλόω, to enslave, is used of Pharaoh in Exod 1:14, of Egyptians in 6:5 – and of Joseph in Gen 47.21; compare 3 Macc 2:28. 29 Croy, 3 Maccabees, 52, 54. 30  The adjective is here οἰκετικός, hapax in the LXX, but the noun οἰκέτης is used of the Israelites’ servitude in Egypt in Exod 5:15–16, and frequently in references to the exodus in Deuteronomy: “remember that you were a slave in Egypt,” 5:15; see 6:21; 15:15; 16:12; 24:18, 22; compare Lev 25:42, 55. See also Croy, 3 Maccabees, 57–59.

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drives Ptolemy to expand his program to include Jews from outside the city. In a letter, the king defines the Jews as enemies, and claiming he fears “rebellion” (ταραχή) directs the surrounding people to gather all, women and children too, with harsh treatment and bound, for slaughter (3:24–25; compare 3:1). As Croy comments, “fear of a Jewish rebellion and the call for pre-emptive action are an echo of Israel’s first experience with an Egyptian king.”31 So too is the king’s attempt to draw the population at large into complicity with his purge. Those who shelter Jews are to be tortured and killed along with their families, and their housing destroyed; but those who inform on Jews will receive rewards and the property of the denounced (3:27–29). These events, fictional in an immediate sense, eerily presage events in Europe millennia later, as well as the experiences of Ethiopian Jews at their own exodus, discussed below. But what is most relevant to this investigation is the rhetorical use of these allusive elements. The composer sells an interpretation of ancestral trauma as illustrative of ​“current” or recent events, and the historicity of either side of this equation is immaterial to his appeal to his contemporaries – whatever their precise context. Other evocations of the exodus are threaded through the rest of the narrative. The king’s registrars are confounded by the “uncountable number” of Jews (4:17), such that “the paper factory and the writing pens which they used had given out,” as Moses Hadas translates (4:20); compare the extraordinary population growth of the subjugated Israelites in Exod 1:7, 9–10, 12, 20; 5:5.32 Later, when the king puts his intoxicated elephant scheme into action, he is thwarted in part by manipulation of his psyche by God. This is in fits and starts, and in the broader context is reminiscent of the divinely directed oscillation of Pharaoh’s intentions in Exodus (Exod 4:21; 7:1–3; 10:16–20, 24–27; 14:1–8, etc.). A raging Ptolemy has his elephant master prepare the beasts to trample the Jews, who have been gathered into the hippodrome, but their prayers go up and God makes the king sleep; he becomes incensed again and orders the elephants readied a second time, but the Jews pray once more and God makes the king forget all about his plans; he is a third time filled with madness and resolves the same (3 Macc 5:1–47). At the third attempt, the Jews see the dust raised by the approach of the drunken elephants and call on God a final time, now distilled into the prayer of a local priest, Eleazar, who begins (6:2–4): King of great power, Almighty God Most High, governing all creation with mercy, look upon the descendants of Abraham, O Father, upon the children of the sainted Jacob, a people of your consecrated portion who are perishing as foreigners in a foreign land. Pharaoh with his abundance of chariots, the former ruler of this Egypt, exalted with lawless insolence and boastful tongue, you destroyed together with his arrogant army by drowning them in the sea, manifesting the light of your mercy on the nation of Israel. (NRSV ) 31 Croy,

3 Maccabees, 70.  Hadas, Maccabees, 58. Croy, 3 Maccabees, 80, mentions the promises to Abraham here.

32

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The ancient Egyptian sojourn is arguably in view from the reference to Abraham’s descendants (σπέρμα), recalling the Lord’s prediction in Gen 15:13 that these will be “strangers in a land not their own,” a connection only reinforced by the reference to the children of Jacob, a people who despite being the Lord’s own (compare Exod 3:7, 10, 12 [LXX]) are “foreigners dying unjustly in a foreign land.”33 Plain mention of the exodus event follows, linking the mythic enemy Pharaoh and the contemporary foe, Ptolemy, the “former” and narratively current “ruler of this Egypt” (τὸν πρὶν Αἰγύπτου ταύτης δυνάστην, 3 Macc 6:4). The mention of the destruction of Pharaoh’s chariots and troops in the sea evokes not only the exodus narrative, but also the prayer of Simon before the temple earlier in this story (2:7); the declaration of Pharaoh’s “insolence” (θράσος), meanwhile, recalls both that prayer and other references to Philopator’s character (2:2, 21, 26; and compare 6:20). Eleazar’s citation of the exodus also emphasizes the distinction between Jews and gentiles.34 Though his God may be the one who “governs all creation with compassion” (τὴν πᾶσαν διακυβερνῶν ἐν οἰκτιρμοῖς κτίσιν), Israel is the “sanctified part” (μερίδος ἡγιασμένης) of that creation and the only witness of the “light” of God’s “mercy” (φέγγος … ἐλέους) in this historical rehearsal: God drowns Pharaoh and his soldiers (6:2–4). Similar community-defining notes (especially vv. 9, 13) continue after mention of other corporate and personal historical deliverances – from Sennacherib, the flames and beasts of Babylon, and Jonah’s sea monster – and Eleazar concludes his plea with further in-group/outgroup demarcation and a slightly cleaned-up quotation of LXX Lev 26:44, thus bookending his prayer with references to the exodus (3 Macc 6:15): Let it be shown to all the Gentiles that you are with us, O Lord, and have not turned your face from us; but just as you have said, “Not even when they were in the land of their enemies did I neglect them,” so accomplish it, O Lord. (NRSV )

Continuing a pattern of outcry and response that recalls passages such as Exod 2:23–25, 3:6–8, and 6:4–8, the petitions of priest and people are once again answered by divine intervention, this time by means of angels, and the king is again stricken with forgetfulness. The elephants turn on their own army. Ptolemy wonders aloud who is responsible for these injustices and countermands all his orders (3 Macc 6:16–29). Finally, before returning to their homes the Jews are supplied with wines and food for a seven-day festival (6:30; compare v. 40), at which they sing “the song of their ancestors, praising God, their Savior and worker of wonders” (v. 32, NRSV; compare v. 35). This feast, funded by the public purse, may evoke the plundering of the Egyptians predicted in Genesis 15 and detailed in Exod 3:21–22 and 12:35– 33  ἐν ξένῃ γῇ ξένον ἀδίκως ἀπολλύμενον, 3 Macc 6:3; the adverb has been dropped in the RSV and NRSV. 34  Compare Croy, 3 Maccabees, 99.

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36.35 In any case, an ancestral song of praise to God the “wonder-worker” (τὸν … τερατοποιόν) patently conjures the Song of the Sea and the God of the exodus, who “does wonders,” ποιῶν τέρατα (Exod 15:11; compare 4:21; 7:3, 9; 11:9–10).36 The last verse of the book, meanwhile, features a narratorial invocation of God as ὁ ῥύστης, the deliverer; in the broader context of 3 Maccabees this recalls the deployment of the cognate verb in Exod 6:6, 12:27, and especially in the summary of the sea crossing in 14:30. From the perspective of chosen trauma and chosen glory, it is telling that the clearest and most significant direct invocations of the exodus in 3 Maccabees – in Simon’s prayer before the temple, and in Eleazar’s prayer in the hippodrome – are rhetorical in an intra-narrative, story-world sense. While naturally addressed to the deity, these prayers are proclaimed publicly for the benefit of surrounding human auditors. Simon performs his petition after kneeling right in front of the temple and stretching out his hands (2:1), and Eleazar actually asks other elders to cease their own prayers so that his can be heard (6:1).37 In moments of existential crisis, these characters call upon the programmatic analogue of the exodus, as well as other historical-mythical types, to urge their story world contemporaries to collapse time and interpret their present plights and opportunities in the light of former traumas and triumphs. Of course, these rehearsals also contribute to further rhetorical refractions of the exodus in their impact on readers.38 None of this is to say that 3 Maccabees is merely a reworking of the exodus legend; just to mention one conspicuous difference, there is “no hero,” no Moses 35  See also 3 Macc 7:18, where the Jews are said to be living off of the king’s supplies as they depart for their homes. In Alexandrinus, the only uncial witness to 3 Maccabees, the book’s penultimate verse (7:22) speaks of the Jews receiving their confiscated property back “with great tribute” or “tax” (μετὰ φόρου μεγίστου), that is, with value added to what they had left behind (Croy, 3 Maccabees, 119); however, all other manuscripts read φόβου, “fear.” See Robert Hanhart, Maccabaeorum liber III, Vetus Testamentum Graecum Auctoritate Academiae Scientiarum Gottengensis editum 9.3 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1980), 70. 36 Croy, 3 Maccabees, 107. 37 Third Maccabees 2:1 is missing in some important manuscripts, but the tale makes little sense without a transition here. To these two key moments of public rhetoric may be added the festal song praising the wonder-working God (6:32). 38 Few enough, unfortunately, in the case of 3 Maccabees, which curiously has had almost no detectable literary afterlife (Croy, 3 Maccabees, xx). Speaking of the prayer in Dan 9 (which has its own reference to the exodus, v. 15) and other contemporary literary prayers, Angela Kim Harkins, “The Function of Prayers of Ritual Mourning in the Second Temple Period,” in Functions of Psalms and Prayers in the Late Second Temple Period, ed. Mika S. Pajunen and Jeremy Penner, BZAW 486 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017), 80–101 (90), argues that these had the capacity to generate “imaginative emotional memory making” in their readers, allowing “communities to access foundational events from the past with the intensity of first-hand experience” and so help such events “maintain their adaptive relevance in new circumstances.” This kind of rhetorically-induced time collapse resonates strongly with the operation of chosen traumas in Volkan’s scheme. I thank Kelley Coblentz Bautch for pointing me to Harkins’s work.

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in this story.39 And what is important for my concerns here is not only the function of individual mentions of and allusions to the exodus, but the relative prominence of such references in a book whose fundamental posture emphasizes the “unique status of Israel.”40 Croy insists that the exceptional quality of God’s people is “axiomatic” to the composer of 3 Maccabees, whose core theology is almost “parochial”: God is for the Jews, and gentiles are mostly “disparaged.”41 Other commentators also underline the narrative’s “particularism” and accentuation of the differences between Jews and gentiles to the point of ​“ binary contrast.”42 The rhetorical deployments of the chosen trauma and glory of the exodus event help buttress this strong assertion of Jewish difference. This stance may be contrasted with the portrayal of ​“mutual respect” between Jews and gentiles in Letter of Aristeas, a work with significant parallels to 3 Maccabees that also draws on an “exodus paradigm” to a degree in its excursus on freeing Jewish slaves (Let. Aris. 12–27, 33–37) and, more broadly, in the matter of lawgiving.43 Third Maccabees does tug on significant threads of the exodus fabric, rippling its pattern in places. As Sara Raup Johnson notes, this Alexandrian tale does not end in the Jews’ departure from Egypt, but with a kind of divinely-directed reconciliation with Ptolemy, Pharaoh’s analogue.44 Others point out the story’s repeated 39  H. Anderson, “3 Maccabees,” in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, ed. James H. Charlesworth (Garden City: Doubleday, 1985), 2:509–29 (515). 40 Croy, 3 Maccabees, xviii. 41  While there are some “Greeks” who are sympathetic to the suffering of the Jews (3:8– 10), they are powerless to help and play no significant role in the narrative. Apostate Jews who acculturate and compromise their religious observance in response to the king’s edicts, meanwhile, are worthy only of death (2:31–33, 7:10–15; see Croy, 3 Maccabees, xviii, xix; John M. G.  Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora: From Alexander to Trajan (323 bce–117 CE) [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996], 196–97). 42  Anderson, “3 Maccabees,” 514; George W. E. Nickelsburg, “Stories of Biblical and Early Post-Biblical Times,” in Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period: Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha, Qumran Sectarian Writings, Philo, Josephus, ed. Michael E. Stone, CRINT 2.2 (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1984), 33–87 (82); Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 197. For a dissenting view, see Johnson, Historical Fictions, who contends that such an oppositional reading “fundamentally misconstrues” 3 Maccabees, and that “harmonious coexistence” between Greeks and diaspora Jews is “represented as the norm” from which the king’s genocidal persecution deviates (146; compare 123–24, 153, 157). Noah Hacham, “Hidden and Public Transcript: Jews and Non-Jews in 3 Maccabees,” in Israel in Egypt: The Land of Egypt as Concept and Reality for Jews in Antiquity and the Early Medieval Period, ed. Alison Salvesen, Sarah Pearce, and Miriam Frenkel, Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 110 (Leiden: Brill, 2020), 178–95 addresses this debate using the work of James C. Scott, arguing that a hidden transcript in 3 Maccabees depicts “mutual hostility” underneath the existentially necessary maintenance of ​“utter loyalty to the authorities” (193). 43 Moses Hadas, Aristeas to Philocrates (Letter of Aristeas), JAL (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1951), 36–37, 61–65; Benjamin G. Wright III, The Letter of Aristeas, CEJL (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2015), 126–27; Sylvie Honigman, The Septuagint and Homeric Scholarship in Alexandria: A Study in the Narrative of the Letter of Aristeas (London: Routledge, 2003), 53–59; Nickelsburg, “Stories,” 82–83. 44  Johnson, Historical Fictions, 181.

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mentions of the Jews’ “loyalty” to the regime.45 Yet to my reading this only sets off the innocence of the Jews against the unreasoning and unpredictable hostility of their gentile neighbors. As John Barclay summarizes, 3 Maccabees ends in “an enforced truce, not a genuine harmony of races.”46 Fittingly, this narrative mines the exodus story to explain oppression and deliver hope as part of a message of election, not assimilation.

5. A Modern Migration of Ethiopian Jews to Israel This volume focuses on Torah in early Jewish and Christian thought. But the notion of time collapse is integral to Volkan’s constructs of chosen trauma and chosen glory, and I would like to underline and augment my readings of ancient texts by considering a remarkable episode that transpired within my own lifetime.47 Between 1977 and 1985, about 20,000 Ethiopian Jews set out to journey to Israel, leaving their homes in haste, making their way through inhospitable terrain on foot, and languishing in camps along the way. Fully 4000 of these human beings died in the attempt, and others were waylaid and never made it. Those who did succeed often found that their welcome did not match their dreams of reunion with their people. Gadi BenEzer’s captivating oral history of this “secret, illegal and highly traumatic exodus,” based on interviews with 45 young Ethiopian Jews who completed the journey, shows the continuing power of the exodus myth as an identity-forging chosen trauma and chosen glory.48 As with the examples of Isaiah and 3 Maccabees millennia before, however, the adoption of the exodus as explanatory narrative in this modern context is not without its tensions and ironies. The story of the migration of these Ethiopian Jews is a historical tangle that cannot be described fully here, and I do not suggest that the tales of the book of Exodus were the primary motivation for undertaking a life-threatening journey in the twentieth century. But the biblical exodus from Egypt, as BenEzer details, was manifestly a key lens through which the migrants focused their experi45  Anderson, “3 Maccabees,” 512; this is another tie to Letter of Aristeas (515–16). See also Hacham, “Hidden and Public Transcript,” 191–94, for a convincing explanation of these assertions of loyalty. 46 Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 196; compare Hadas, Aristeas, 37. 47 Volkan, “Transgenerational Transmissions,” 89–90, 93. 48 Gadi BenEzer, The Ethiopian Jewish Exodus: Narratives of the Migration Journey to Israel 1977–1985, Routledge Studies in Memory and Narrative 9 (London: Routledge, 2002), 1, 58– 59. For a useful digest of this work see Gadi BenEzer, “Young Ethiopian Jews’ Journey to Israel (1977–1985): Meaning and Coping,” in Israel as Center Stage: A Setting for Social and Religious Enactments, ed. A. Paul Hare and Gideon M. Kressel (Westport: Bergin & Garvey, 2001), 115– 38. For other examples of the exodus invoked in struggles for liberation in African contexts, see Langston, Exodus Through the Centuries, 151–52.

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ences: “exactly the same,” in the words of one.49 The influence of this paradigm on Ethiopian Jews, moreover, stretches back at least to 1862, when a certain Abba Mahari led thousands north towards the Red Sea, aiming for Jerusalem. In a scene whose pathos is hard to overstate, a dwindling number of migrants reached a large river, where Abba Mahari stretched out his staff and waited, unanswered, for God to part the waters. But survivors of this “failed exodus” layered their experiences into a trans-generational dream of immigrating to the promised land, one that seemed finally within reach after 1975, when the Israeli government confirmed the (Sephardic) Chief Rabbi’s decision to recognize the Ethiopian Jews as Jews, and thus eligible to make aliyah under the Law of Return.50 This shifting international climate met grim and repressive conditions in Ethiopia, where a “very strong feeling of non-belonging and estrangement” prevailed among a “despised” Jewish minority who were nonetheless forbidden by law to emigrate; attempts to cross the border risked punishment and threats of imprisonment and death.51 In a chilling real-world reprise of the plot of 3 Maccabees, as well as an echo of events in Europe a generation earlier, neighbors who informed on escaping Jews in certain areas were promised the Jews’ property and belongings, along with a “prize.”52 For those who survived the flight from Ethiopia, the hunger and bandits of the road, and the disease and lawlessness of the Sudanese refugee camps in which many were interned for more than a year, the experience was a crucible of Jewish identity formation in which their hyphenated Ethiopian identity was burned away. In shared belief in God’s guidance, observance of Sabbath and kashrut, and provision of aid to one another amidst outside animosity, these migrants found three “major dimensions of meaning,” as reported by BenEzer: “Jewish identity, suffering, and bravery/inner strength.”53 But the one binding theme of these dimensions, the “core symbol” mentioned over and over, was the Israelite exodus from Egypt. Just as the biblical tale is a “story of becoming” a people, so these formerly Ethiopian Jews conceived themselves as undergoing a “process of selection and purification” while literally “on their way to becoming Israelis,” confirmed in this identity by their suffering along the path taken by their ancestors.54 Here, then, is a seemingly pure example of the exodus as a chosen trauma and glory capable of collapsing time and reinforcing group identity, propagated by reflection and dialogue among those who experienced it and later relayed it to 49 BenEzer,

Ethiopian Jewish Exodus, 151. Ethiopian Jewish Exodus, 32, 63–64. 51 BenEzer, Ethiopian Jewish Exodus, 33, 64–65, 68–69, 161. 52  BenEzer, Ethiopian Jewish Exodus, 69. 53 BenEzer, Ethiopian Jewish Exodus, 73–86, 151. 54  BenEzer, Ethiopian Jewish Exodus, 151–53. 50 BenEzer,

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BenEzer. One young man, a survivor of the journey, relates his words to recent arrivals from Ethiopia during the reading of the Haggadah, quoted at the outset of this essay, at Passover: “I don’t have to explain to you what it means to go out of Egypt.”55 And yet the sequel to the endurance and celebration of such an exodus from oppression involved persistent skepticism over the authenticity of the migrants’ Jewishness, and a rejection and inversion of the personal qualities that they credited for their survival. While the Ethiopian Jews saw their arrival in the promised land as hard evidence of their bravery, resourcefulness, and ability to endure suffering, some Israelis viewed them as a helpless and dependent group saved by Israeli generosity. And though their very presence in the land depended on the earlier decree acknowledging their status as Jews, the Chief Rabbinate now insisted the migrants undertake an additional “symbolic conversion” to Judaism. Many refused this as an insult, only adding to doubts over their Jewish identity.56 The new arrivals had hoped to be brought to “completion” in Israel, as a “drop of water back to the sea.”57 In a situation of some irony, however, the migrants’ adoption of a chosen trauma and glory also central to the self-conception of many Israelis actually hardened the divide between the two groups. In this way, at least at the time of BenEzer’s study, the Ethiopian Jews’ “journey to Israel” is “still continuing.”58 But BenEzer also observes the group story of the trek itself developing into a meaning-making myth, a “potent force in everyday life” that in its retelling reaffirms the survivors’ strength and cohesive identity. And while this myth exerts inward pressure, forming the migrants as a group and in some cases gaining narrative precedence over the stories of individuals, it also has significant outward rhetorical strength. In the efforts of Ethiopian Jews to gain acceptance, “what could be more powerful than the experience of reliving the ‘Exodus of the Israelites’ to convey the idea that they share the same ancestors as the presentday Israelis?”59 In exceptional cases serious personal traumas endured on the journey even seem to combine with the imagery of the chosen trauma of the exodus in productive outward advocacy. One woman who nearly died of despair in Sudan channels, consciously or not, one of the symbolic bookends of the biblical exodus, the bones of Joseph, in her encouragement of other trauma survivors: “Look! I am the one who was brought to Israel to be buried! And I am alive! Do not lose hope!”60

55 BenEzer,

Ethiopian Jewish Exodus, 151; emphasis original. Ethiopian Jewish Exodus, 189. 57 BenEzer, Ethiopian Jewish Exodus, 60, 70, 152, 179. 58  BenEzer, Ethiopian Jewish Exodus, 192. 59 BenEzer, Ethiopian Jewish Exodus, 193–96. 60  BenEzer, Ethiopian Jewish Exodus, 164–65; Gen 50:24–26; Exod 13:19; Josh 24:32. 56 BenEzer,

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6. Conclusion This exploratory reading of the reception of the exodus event through the work of Volkan on chosen trauma and chosen glory demonstrates the explanatory power of these ideas in settings as divergent as late Hellenistic Egypt and twentiethcentury Ethiopia. Third Maccabees is permeated by exodus motifs and draws on the legend explicitly at significant moments in the plot as part of a broader rhetoric of election and difference. The Ethiopian Jews use the same tale to make a disputed claim to election and identity with what they view as their separated people; their exodus redux is now core to their group self-understanding, perhaps ironically emphasizing their difference with other, more established Israelis. Both of these contexts underline what Fishbane calls the “simultaneous capacity of the exodus paradigm to elicit memory and expectation, recollection and anticipation.”61 But Fishbane is speaking of this capacity in the Tanakh, and in this survey that is precisely where application of Volkan’s concepts return the most equivocal results. Within its necessarily small sample size, this investigation considers prophetic texts that seem tailor-made for analysis through the paradigm of chosen trauma and glory, such as Isa 11:11–16, where a forecast new exodus reunites a fractured nation and prefigures victories over traditional foes. Yet Isa 42:10–16 uses exodus imagery to draw the very meaning of ​“ in-group” into question, while 19:19–25 upends the tradition, adducing an inverted exodus as evidence of election of the archetypal enemy. Volkan explains that chosen traumas wax and wane in social power, lying “dormant” for long periods but primed for “reactivation” in “stressful and anxiety-inducing circumstances.”62 Perhaps it could be argued that the deployments of the exodus in, say, Isaiah 19, are upside-down because they stem from such a dormant period; the event in this case is merely a cultural touchstone to be riffed on, not a chosen trauma. But Isaiah 19 is making an important claim about identity – just not in-group identity. Moreover, it is difficult to conceive of the end of the exile as anything but a stressful and anxiety-producing time, and the invocations of the exodus in Second Isaiah call on a particularist myth of election partly to express universalism, if, significantly, always on the terms of the prophet’s God. In any case, the concepts of chosen trauma and chosen glory are not meant to explain complex social phenomena in a reductive way.63 These ideas can describe meaningful engines of social motivation, but they are neither necessary nor entirely sufficient social and historical causes. When applied in a manner that is “heuristic and interpretative, not nomic,” as Philip Esler advocates for  Fishbane, Text and Texture, 140.  Volkan, “Transgenerational Transmissions,” 88–89, 92. 63  Volkan, “Transgenerational Transmissions,” 95. 61 62

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employments of social identity theory more broadly, Volkan’s work can reveal important facets of the reception and reuse of traditions, such as the exodus, that center on ancestral traumas and triumphs.64

 Philip Esler, 2 Corinthians: A Social Identity Commentary (London: T&T Clark, 2022), 21.

64

Leviticus and the Rewriting of the Torah in 1QWords of Moses (1Q22)* Jonathan Kaplan As is well known in scholarship, the five books of the Torah achieved increasingly widespread authoritative status during the Second Temple period. One indication of the prominence of these books is the large number of works from this period that rewrite a selection of one or more books of the Pentateuch. Diverse “genres of rewriting,” as Molly Zahn helpfully describes them, were employed during this period to rewrite the five books of the Torah, including various modes of revision and reuse.1 In discussions of rewriting, substantial attention has rightfully been paid to longer and more complete works that rewrite portions of the Torah, such as the book of Jubilees and the Temple Scroll, as Zahn herself does.2 Another work that rewrites portions of the Pentateuch is Words of Moses. Two copies of Words of Moses were found among the Dead Sea Scrolls: 1Q22 (or 1QDM, the fullest witness of the work, with only four increasingly fragmentary columns) and a small fragment from a different copy found in Cave 4.3 Words * I benefited greatly from the remarks and feedback I have received on an earlier version of this contribution from the participants in the Torah in Early Jewish and Christian Imaginations conference held at Brite Divinity School on May 24–25, 2022. In addition, Tony Keddie and Tyler Moser read drafts of this essay and provided many helpful comments and corrections. All remaining deficiencies are my own. 1  Molly M. Zahn, Genres of Rewriting in Second Temple Period Judaism: Scribal Composition and Transmission (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2020). For an earlier discussion of rewriting, see, for instance, Sidnie White Crawford, Rewriting Scripture in Second Temple Times (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 2–4. The category of ​“Rewritten Bible” was originally proposed by Geza Vermes in Scripture and Tradition in Judaism, StPB 4 (Leiden: Brill, 1961). 2   E. g., Crawford, Rewriting Scripture in Second Temple Times, 84–104; Steven D. Fraade, “The Temple Scroll as Rewritten Bible: When Genres Bend,” in Hā-’îsh Mōsheh: Studies in Scriptural Interpretation in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature in Honor of Moshe J. Bernstein, ed. Binyamin Goldstein, Michael Segal, and George J. Brooke, STDJ 122 (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 136–54; and Zahn, Genres of Rewriting, esp. 19–22, 24–27, 100–20, 186–93. 3 1Q22 was first published by Józef T. Milik in Qumran Cave 1, ed. Dominique Barthélemy and Józef T. Milik, DJD 1 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1955), 91–97. More recent editions of this manuscript can be found in Elisha Qimron, The Dead Sea Scrolls: Hebrew Writings: Volume Two (Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi, 2013), 104–6 (Hebrew); and Ariel Feldman, “1Q22 (Words of Moses),” in Ariel Feldman and Liora Goldman, Rewritten Scripture: Law and Liturgy, ed. Devorah Dimant, BZAW 449 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 225–61. As Milik notes (92), the title of this document is a hypothetical, scholarly construct. On the Cave 4 fragment (PAM 43.686 frg.

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of Moses has received limited attention despite being among the first Dead Sea Scrolls to be published in the first volume of the Discoveries in the Judaean Desert (DJD) series. The absence of scholarly discussion of Words of Moses, both in general and specifically in discussions of rewriting, is likely because of 1Q22’s fragmentary state. Words of Moses is part of a broader “constellation of discourse” associated with Moses in literature from the Second Temple period.4 Because of the use of language from Deuteronomy 1, 31, and 32 in the opening of 1Q22, Words of Moses has primarily been categorized as a rewriting of Deuteronomy.5 Such a characterization is in part true, but the actual nature of the document’s rewriting of earlier scriptural texts is substantially more complex, as Ariel Feldman’s important literary analysis of Words of Moses shows.6 While Deuteronomy does play a central role in framing the opening columns of 1Q22, it is perhaps because those columns are the best-preserved sections of the work that the discussion of the work’s source material has focused on Deuteronomy. In fact, as has been observed, Leviticus and Numbers provide the source material for the remainder of the surviving portions of the work in columns 3 and 4, wherein the legislation for the sabbatical year, the Day of Atonement, and likely for the jubilee are discussed. There has not yet, however, been a substantial and focused analysis of the 30), see Eibert Tigchelaar, “A Cave 4 Fragment of Divre Mosheh [4QDM] and the Text of 1Q22 1:7–10 and Jubilees 1:9, 14,” DSD 12 (2005): 303–12. This fragment was originally identified as a part of 4Q396. See Tigchelaar (303 n 1) for more details on the fragment’s publication history and paleography. 4 On the category “constellation of discourse,” see Hindy Najman, “The Idea of Biblical Genre: From Discourse to Constellation,” in Prayer and Poetry in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature: Essays in Honor of Eileen Schuller on the Occasion of Her 65th Birthday, ed. Jeremy Penner, Ken M. Penner, and Cecilia Wassen, STDJ 98 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 307– 21. Words of Moses is rightly regarded as an independent composition; pace John Strugnell (“Moses-Pseudepigrapha at Qumran: 4Q375, 4Q376, and Similar Works,” in Archaeology and History in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The New York University Conference in Memory of Yigael Yadin, ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman, JSPSup 8 [Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990], 221–56, esp. 233, 246) who proposed it was the pseudepigraphic framework of a longer Moses Apocryphon that includes 4Q375. On this point, see also Feldman, “1Q22,” 261. 5  Daniel K. Falk, “Texts of Moses,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman and James C. VanderKam (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 1:577–81 (578); and Shlomit Kendi-Harel, “Yom Hakippurim: Day, Year, of Eschatological Jubilee?,” in Social History of the Jews in Antiquity: Studies in Dialogue with Albert Baumgarten, ed. Michal Bar-Asher Siegal and Jonathan Ben-Dov, TSAJ 185 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2021), 317–39 (321). Moshe J. Bernstein (“Pseudepigraphy in the Qumran Scrolls: Categories and Functions,” in Pseudepigraphic Perspectives: The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls, Proceedings of the International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 12–14 January, 1997, STDJ 31, ed. Esther G. Chazon, Michael E. Stone, and Avital Pinnick [Leiden: Brill, 1999], 1–26 [20]) also briefly discusses 1Q22 but mentions its sources as coming from the Pentateuch rather than Deuteronomy specifically. 6  Ariel Feldman, “Moses’ Farewell Address according to 1QWords of Moses (1Q22),” JSP 23 (2014): 201–14.

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role of Leviticus in shaping the document, perhaps because of the fragmentary state of these columns. In this essay, I address this lacuna by reexamining the document as a whole from the horizon of the role that Leviticus and its priestly material might have played in the writer’s imagination. I argue that the interest of Words of Moses in rewriting the sabbatical and jubilee legislation is not simply to address calendrical matters of concern to its author but rather is part of a more comprehensive rewriting of the opening of Deuteronomy which privileges the sabbatical and jubilee legislation detailed in Leviticus 25 as the first commandments disclosed to Moses at Sinai. Through its rewriting Words of Moses harmonizes these laws with commandments concerning debt release detailed in Deuteronomy 15 and highlights the consequences for failing to obey these commandments for the people and land of Israel.

1. Words of Moses Column One and the Rewriting of Deuteronomy and Leviticus Words of Moses begins by rewriting the farewell address of Moses from Deuteronomy. Ariel Feldman has detailed the ways in which the first column of Words of Moses reuses and revises language from Deuteronomy 1 and 31– 32, along with language from other descriptions of divine revelation in the Pentateuch, to rewrite this address. Feldman notes the following features of this rewriting: 1. As in the book of Deuteronomy, the divine revelation to Moses occurs on the first day of the eleventh month of the fortieth year since the people of Israel’s departure from Egypt (1Q22 1:1–2; Deut 1:3). In contrast to Deuteronomy, Words of Moses introduces its narrative not as Moses’s address to Israel but rather as God’s directives to Moses regarding the instruction that he will give to Israel (1Q22 1:1–11). As Feldman observes, this instruction fills in the back story of Deuteronomy.7 2. In imitation of the book of Deuteronomy, the narrative opens with a divine injunction for Moses to address the entire congregation of Israel.8 3. According to Milik’s original reconstruction, the setting for the divine revelation to Moses is Mt. Nebo at the end of Israel’s sojourn in the wilderness following the exodus (1Q22 1:2).9 Feldman classes Milik’s proposal as “plausible.”10 Notably, Deuteronomy does not specify the locus of divine reve Feldman, “Moses’ Farewell Address,” 203.  Feldman, “Moses’ Farewell Address,” 203.  9  Milik, DJD 1:92. This reconstruction is also found in Qimron’s edition (Dead Sea Scrolls, 104). 10  Feldman, “Moses’ Farewell Address,” 203.  7  8

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lation as Mt. Nebo but rather locates Moses’s address as occurring “on the other side of the Jordan” (Deut 1:1). Milik’s proposal is consistent with a larger trend found throughout column one of Words of Moses of employing language from the closing chapters of Deuteronomy, in this case Deut 34:6, as well as other revelatory passages in the Pentateuch, to rewrite Moses’s farewell address. 4. Feldman rightly argues that the primary inspiration and source of language for the rewriting in Words of Moses is the Sinaitic revelation as described in Exodus and Deuteronomy. He notes that the placement of Moses’s speech to the officials in the reconstruction of 1Q22 before his address to the entire nation, while seemingly based on Deut 31:21, follows the sequence of events depicted in Exod 19:7 rather than Deut 1:5.11 5. In its introductory section, Words of Moses follows the structural pattern of Deuteronomy by issuing prophetic warnings about Israel’s future abandonment of the covenant (ln. 5). This admonition mimics the Deuteronomic admonition in Deut 31:16–21 and focuses its list of Israel’s transgressions on calendrical issues.12 As Feldman’s analysis demonstrates, Words of Moses employs Deuteronomy as a primary frame for its rewriting of Pentateuchal materials. The substantial role of Deuteronomy in this rewriting should not, however, distract from the important role of other Pentateuchal texts, particularly Leviticus, in shaping the presentation of Moses’s farewell address in Words of Moses. While language drawn from Deuteronomy is pervasive in the opening column of Words of Moses, there is language here that evokes Leviticus as well. The first phrase of the first column, as it is reconstructed in Milik’s edition, nearly duplicates the opening phrase of Leviticus (‫ויקרא אל משה‬, “and he called to Moses”). Milik proposes a full reconstruction of the verb: ‫[ויקרא] על ֗מו֯ ֗ש ֯ה‬. Qimron’s reconstruction of the first word of the phrase ([ ‫ )]ויקר‬does not include the aleph at the end of the initial word, presumably because of space considerations.13 Qimron’s reconstruction should also be understood as employing a different root (‫קר׳׳ה‬, “to meet, encounter”) than Milik’s (‫קר׳׳א‬, “to call, proclaim”) and should be translated “And he met Moses.” Feldman rejects Milik’s and Qimron’s proposals and offers a different reconstruction for the first word of 1Q22 ([ ‫ויצו‬ ]) because of the space considerations also identified by Qimron and because of the use of the root ‫ צו׳׳ה‬in Deut 1:3, another verse from which  Feldman, “Moses’ Farewell Address,” 205–6.

11

12 Feldman, “Moses’ Farewell Address,” 206. On the calendrical focus of Words of Moses, see

Tigchelaar, “Cave 4 Fragment.” 13  Qimron, Dead Sea Scrolls, 104. Notably, the Masoretic tradition writes the aleph in the first word of Lev 1:1 with a smaller letter form. There is no evidence to support such a reconstruction here in 1Q22 or the use of minuscule letters according to this practice anywhere among the Dead Sea Scrolls.

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language in this section of 1Q22 is drawn.14 Milik’s original proposal is also contingent upon his assumption of confusion between ‫ אל‬and ‫ על‬in 1Q22.15 Feldman rejects this argument and considers Milik’s proposal less appropriate because “in biblical Hebrew ‫ קרא על‬usually means ‘to cry against, proclaim’.”16 While there are a number of instances in which ‫ קרא על‬has this meaning (1 Kgs 13:2; Jonah 1:2), there is at least one example in ancient Israelite literature where ‫ על‬is used to simply mark a direct object (Isa 34:14).17 Milik’s proposal, though he does not make this observation, receives strong internal support from the appearance of the verb ‫ ויקרא‬at the start of the next section of 1Q22 when Moses summons Eleazar and Joshua, the successors to Aaron and Moses as high priest and leader of the people (1Q22 1:11–12).18 Though this verb is followed by a lamed preposition, the use of this verbal form in this location could be understood as a leitmotif that helps to tie this expansion of Deut 1:1–3 together by connecting it to the opening of the book of Leviticus. Furthermore, an evocation of Leviticus in both places in column one makes sense given the amplification of the theme of priestly instruction throughout 1Q22 in concert with the Deuteronomic emphasis on instruction to all Israel. The book of Leviticus is also evoked in column 1 to connect covenant fidelity with proper observance of calendrical matters. Lines 8–9 read, ‫ויש[כחו חוק ומועד‬ ֗ ‫]מצוך היום‬ ‫]וברית [וכול המצו]ות אשר אנו[כי‬ ‫וחו]דש ושבת[ ויובל‬, “and they will for[get statute, festival, new] moon, sabbath, jubilee, covenant, and [all the command]ments that I [am] commanding you today.”19 As Feldman rightly observes, this section of Words of Moses from which these lines come echoes and revises  Feldman, “1Q22,” 227, 230.  Milik, DJD 1:92. Leviticus 1:1 also reads ‫ אל‬instead of ‫על‬. Milik observes further that the confusion of ‫ על‬and ‫ אל‬is well attested in the Bible and at Qumran. On this confusion in ancient Hebrew with particular focus on Samuel-Kings, see, for example, Paul Edgar, “4QSama, the MT, and Old Aramaic: Clarifying the Alternation of ‫ אל‬and ‫ על‬in Samuel-Kings,” presented at the Textual Criticism of Samuel-Kings Section, Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, San Diego, CA, November 23, 2019. See also Edward Yechezkel Kutscher, The Language and Linguistic Background of the Isaiah Scroll (1QIsa), STDJ 6 (Leiden: Brill, 1974), 404–5; and Elisha Qimron, “A Grammar of the Hebrew Language of the Dead Sea Scrolls” (PhD diss., The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1976), 88 (Hebrew). 16  Feldman, “1Q22,” 230. 17  Milik (DJD 1:92) points to Isa 34:14 as evidence for his proposal. Francis Brown, Samuel R. Driver, and Charles A. Briggs, A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament with an Appendix Containing the Biblical Aramaic (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952), 895, suggests the ‫ על‬in Isa 34:14 is an instance of confusing ‫ על‬and ‫אל‬. Notably, 1QIsaa reads ‫ אל‬here instead of the MT’s reading of ‫על‬. 18 The break between these two sections is clearly indicated on the scroll by a significant gap in 1Q22 1:11. 19  Note this reconstruction of lines 8–9 is from Qimron’s edition (Dead Sea Scrolls, 104). Qimron’s work in this section builds on the earlier and important identification by Tigchelaar (“A Cave 4 Fragment,” 304–306) of a fragment from Cave 4 that overlaps in part this section of 1Q22 and includes ‫ויובל‬. Feldman’s reconstruction (“1Q22,” 227) of this line is similar to Qimron’s edition. ‫ ויובל‬is missing from Milik’s original reconstruction. 14 15

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language from Deut 31:16–21. However, these verses lack explicit mention of the calendrically defined observances of festival, new moon, sabbath, and jubilee. A similar sequence of calendrical transgressions is found in Jub. 1:14: “beginning(s) of the month, Sabbath, festival, jubilee, and covenant.”20 This and other lists of calendrical violations use the term “sabbath” in reference only to the sabbath day (see also 1 Chr 23:31; Hos 2:11; 1 Macc 10:34; and CD 3:14–15). It is reasonable to conclude, however, that the use of ​“sabbath” here in Words of Moses also includes sabbatical years. This proposal is supported by the term’s juxtaposition with “jubilee” in 1Q22 1:8 and by the observation that sabbatical years, rather than sabbath days, are the primary focus of the legislative section of the document beginning in column three. Importantly, sabbatical years stand at the pinnacle of covenantal transgressions in Leviticus 26 (see vv. 34–35, 43). While the specific sequence of ​“ festival, new moon, sabbath, and jubilee” is not found in this chapter of Leviticus, these verses in Leviticus may also be part of the inspiration for the location of calendrical matters at the heart of the covenantal curses in this part of column one of Words of Moses. The covenantal warning in Words of Moses then returns to language that is drawn from Deuteronomy 28: “All the curse[s] will come upon them, and they will overtake them un[til] they are caused to perish and until they are des[troy]ed. And they will know [that] a just judgment has been [done] with them” (1Q22 1:10–11). Thus, in these lines in Words of Moses, we see a reuse and rewriting of language from Deuteronomy that is inspired by Leviticus 26. When this point is observed, it is clear that Deuteronomy 1 and 31 provide the primary frame of language for the opening sections of Word of Moses with support from Exodus’s portrayal of the Sinai theophany, as Feldman has observed. Yet, the beginning and end of Leviticus also play an important, though secondary, role in the opening column of this rewriting of the Torah.

2. Rewriting the Sabbatical and Jubilee Legislation in Words of Moses As has long been noted, the legislative section of Words of Moses also builds upon both Leviticus and Deuteronomy. In the extant portions of column three, the work focuses principally on disclosing the requirements for proper observance of the sabbatical laws. In this column Words of Moses harmonizes the shemiṭṭah laws in Deut 15:1–11 with the sabbatical regulations in Lev 25:1–7. The highly fragmentary beginning of column three reads, following Feldman’s edition (3:1–6): 20  On this point, see Tigchelaar, “A Cave 4 Fragment,” 306–8; and Feldman, “1Q22,” 228. Translation is from James C. VanderKam, Jubilees 1: A Commentary on the Book of Jubilees Chapter 1–21, ed. Sidnie White Crawford (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2018), 131.

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‫שבת[ הארץ     ]◦◦[ והיתה שבת הארץ לכם] לאכלה ל[ך לבהמתך‬ ֗ ‫ [   ] את‬ 1 ]‫ולחית] הש[דה‬ ‫לו]א יז֯ [רע וכרמו לוא‬ ֯ ‫עמ]כה אשר ֗ב[ארץ      שדהו‬ ֯ ‫ [בארצך ואשר יו]תר ֗ל[אביוני‬2 ]‫]יזמור אי[ש‬ ‫לו]א[ יקצרו ולוא י]אסוף ל[ו       ושמרתה א]ת ֗כו֯ [ל דברי‬ ֯ ‫ [את ספיח קצירו‬3 ]‫[ הא]ל[ה‬ ֯ ‫ה]ברי֗ ֗ת‬ ֗ ‫ [לעשות אותם וה]י֯ ה כי [תשמור] לעשות [את כול המצוה הזואת ] ושמטתה [ידך בש]נ֗ ה‬4 ]‫הזוא[ת‬ ֗ ‫◦[      ב]ל יש[ה איש בר]עהו כי‬ ֯ ‫ [כול בעל משה ידו א]שר[ ישה ] איש‬5 ‫אלוהיכ]ם‬ ֗ ‫]ל[א]ל[והי‬ ‫שמטה‬ ֯ ‫ [קרא‬6 1 [    ] the sabbath [of the land     ]..[ and the sabbath of the land will be for you to eat for [you, your domesticated quadrupeds, and the wild ]animals 2 [in your land and that which re]mains will be for the [poor of your pe]ople who are in [the land    his field he will ]not s[ow and his vineyard he will not] prune. 3 Each per[son the aftergrowth of his harvest he will not] re[ap, and he will not ]gather for him[self     and you shall observe] al[l these words of the cove]nant 4 [to do them, and wh]en [you observe] to do [all of this commandment] you shall release[ your hand in] th[is y]ear. 5 [Every creditor w]ho[ lends      ] a person .[    a person should no]t cl[aim from] his [neigh]bor, for 6 [a remission] of [G]o[d] you]r [God has been proclaimed.]21

As has been noted since Milik’s edition of 1Q22, this section draws upon both the legislation of Lev 25:1–7 and Deut 15:1–3.22 While much of this section is fragmentary, there is enough extant text to conclude reliably that language from these two passages is present in this column. For instance, the word “sabbath” appears securely in line one in a context similar to Lev 25:6–7. Likewise, a verbal form of the root for shemiṭṭah appears on line 4 and has been reconstructed in line 6.23 In this section, Words of Moses thus fuses together the concept of a seventh-year fallowing of the land from Leviticus 25 with a septennial cycle of debt release from Deuteronomy 15. Thus, Words of Moses represents a clear example of the harmonization of the sabbatical year legislation of Leviticus 25 with the shemiṭṭah year legislation of Deuteronomy 15. Similar examples of this approach to these two Pentateuchal passages can be found in the Melchizedek Document (11Q13), other Second Temple examples (LXX, Josephus’s Ant. 3.282–283), and in 21  The Hebrew text come from Feldman, “1Q22,” 240. The translation is mine. Feldman’s reconstruction (“1Q22,” 240) is the least speculative for these six lines, which is why I have chosen to employ it here. Milik (DJD 1:94) offers the fullest reconstruction of these lines. Qimron’s version (Dead Sea Scrolls, 106) is similar to Milik’s for lines 1–3 but is more circumspect in lines 4–6. Jean Carmignac (“Quelques détails de lecture dans la ‘Règle de la Congrégation’, le ‘Recueil des Bénédictions’ et les ‘Dires de Moïse’,” RevQ 4 [1963]: 83–96 [94–95]) offers an alternate reconstruction of lines 2–4, which does not account fully for the material considerations of the fragments for column three. 22  Milik, DJD 1:95. See also Qimron, Dead Sea Scrolls, 106; and Feldman, “1Q22,” 242–45. 23  ‫ ושמטתה‬in line 4 and [‫ ]קרא שמטה‬in line 6.

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later rabbinic literature (e. g., Sifra Behar); it may also be assumed in other Dead Sea Scrolls (e. g., 1QS 10:6–8; 4Q319). Though Deuteronomy contributes much of the language and structure for the introductory columns of Words of Moses, what has been underappreciated in scholarly discussion of this section so far is that Lev 25:1–7 provides the frame for this section of Words of Moses with language from Lev 25:5–6 supplying the majority of the language for 1Q22 3:1–3. This observation suggests that we should temper our appraisal of Words of Moses as simply a rewriting of Deuteronomy and come to understand it as a more complex example of rewriting. Based on the extant material, I argue that it is more accurate to understand this work as a rewriting of Deuteronomy and Leviticus along with other Pentateuchal passages. Deuteronomy provides the setting for the work, particularly in its introductory columns where it is rewritten in conversation with material from Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers, while Leviticus 25 provides the frame for the legal code that follows. The role of Leviticus 25 in framing the remaining portions of the legal code comes more clearly to the fore on closer examination of the remaining extant portions of Words of Moses. In the second half of column three and into column four, in the portion of the legal code that is still extant, Words of Moses seems to end its harmonization of Deuteronomy 15 and Leviticus 25 and shifts to a discussion of the Day of Atonement and its rituals. Though this section is the most fragmentary of the document, enough survives to support the conclusion that this part of the document details the rituals associated with the Day of Atonement. For instance, the tenth day of a given month is mentioned at least two times in column 3 (lines 10–11).24 Though the month is not specified, the only holiday in the Israelite liturgical calendar that occurs on the tenth of a month is the Day of Atonement. Additionally, the Hebrew verbal root for atonement (‫)כפ׳׳ר‬ appears twice in surviving parts of the manuscript (3:11; 4:3) and has been convincingly reconstructed in other parts of these two columns based on parallels to Leviticus 16, 23, and Numbers 29, the two chapters that legislate the rituals for the Day of Atonement.25 As John Bergsma observes, the juxtaposition of the sabbatical year and the Day of Atonement in the first part of column three seems odd, since they are not juxtaposed in any other part of the Covenant, Holiness, or Deuteronomic Codes.26 Given this point, it seems likely that the inclusion of 24 See the editions of Milik (DJD 1:94), Qimron (Dead Sea Scrolls, 106), and Feldman (“1Q22,” 240) for discussion of the textual evidence and proposed reconstructions. 25 Strugnell (“Moses-Pseudepigrapha at Qumran,” 233) points to parallels between 1Q22 3–4 and 4Q375 because both texts similarly draw upon language from Leviticus 16 in their descriptions of atonement rituals. See also John P. Scullion, “A Traditio-Historical Study of the Day of Atonement” (PhD diss., Catholic University of America Press, 1990), 98. 26  John Sietze Bergsma, The Jubilee from Leviticus to Qumran: A History of Interpretation, VTSup 115 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 257.

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these rituals at this point in Words of Moses indicates that columns three and four appear to be following the sequence of legislation in Leviticus 25. The first part of Leviticus 25 addresses practices for the sabbatical year before turning in verse 8 to the jubilee legislation. Leviticus 25:9 specifies the announcement of the jubilee year on the Day of Atonement. The manuscript of Words of Moses is too fragmentary, however, to comment with certainty on how the legislation in this section regarding the Day of Atonement connects to the earlier material on the sabbatical year beyond this observation about the legislation following the sequence of legislation in Leviticus 25.27 Though one should be cautious regarding whether Words of Moses continues to discuss elements of the jubilee legislation, I want to point to three additional pieces of evidence that I believe support the proposal that Words of Moses continued beyond its treatment of Yom Kippur to discuss more of the jubilee legislation. First, 1Q22 1:8 (= 4QDM, PAM 43.686 frag. 30), as I discussed earlier, names the jubilee as one of the calendrical transgressions with which Israel should be concerned, immediately after it mentions “sabbath,” which I suggest entails both the sabbath day and the sabbatical year. Given that the sabbatical year is the primary topic of column three, it is reasonable to understand this sequence of calendrical transgressions in column one as a precis of the specific legislation to be discussed in the remainder of Words of Moses. Second, Words of Moses is the only Second Temple source that adds a procedure for atoning for the land.28 As Feldman notes, the notion of the land requiring atonement is found in both Pentateuchal (Num 35:33; Deut 32:43) and Second Temple sources (1QapGen 10:13; Jub. 6:2; 1QS 8:6; 9:4–5; 1QSa 1:3; and 4Q265 7 9).29 The Pentateuchal texts detailing the rituals for the Day of Atonement, however, include no such ritual for the practice of atoning for the land (Leviticus 16, 23; Numbers 29). Land is, however, a central theme of Leviticus 25. After the mention of Yom Kippur in Lev 25:9, verse 10 shifts to focus on the content of the announcement, i. e., liberty to all the inhabitants of the land. The statutes throughout the chapter address various conditions in which the usufruct of the land is leased by those occupying tribal allotments and under which the land is redeemed or released 27  For further discussion of the implications of the legislation concerning the Day of Atonement in columns three and four of Words of Moses, see Feldman, “Moses’ Farwell Address,” 209–12. 28  See the discussion in Feldman, “Moses’ Farewell Address,” 212; and Scullion, “A TraditioHistorical Study,” 99. 29 On these passages, see Jacob Licht, The Rule Scroll: A Scroll from the Wilderness of Judaea; 1QS, 1QSa, 1QSb; Text, Introduction and Commentary (Jerusalem: The Bialik Institute, 1965), 172–73 (Hebrew); Paul Garnet, Salvation and Atonement in the Qumran Scrolls, WUNT 2/3 (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1977), 66, 85–86; E. P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism: A Comparison of Patterns of Religion (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1977), 302–3. On 4Q265, see Aharon Shemesh, “4Q265 and the Status of the Book of Jubilees among the Yachad,” Zion 73 (2008): 5–20 (Hebrew).

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from these leases. It is not unreasonable to hypothesize that the writer of Words of Moses, when harmonizing the rituals for the Day of Atonement with the jubilee legislation, could have seen atonement for the land as a necessary precursor to the practice of the jubilee, particularly given that the jubilee year is announced on the Day of Atonement.30 This proposal is further supported by the fact that the land is described as being desolate and forsaken in the next chapter of Leviticus because of Israel’s failure to properly observe the sabbatical cycle and by extension the jubilee (Lev 26:34, 43; cf. Lev 25:25–30). Finally, as Feldman has observed, the opening of Words of Moses rewrites Deuteronomy 1 and 31 by drawing upon language from the Sinai theophany.31 Importantly, the jubilee legislation makes up a substantial part of Leviticus 25– 26, which is framed by an inclusio that locates the disclosure of this revelation at Mt. Sinai (25:1; 26:46). I suggest that given the association of the jubilee legislation with Sinai in these chapters of the Holiness Code, the author of Words of Moses employed the topical flow of Leviticus 25 as the narrative frame for columns 3 and 4. It is reasonable to conclude then that column 4 and any subsequent, though no longer extant, columns of Words of Moses continued to follow the arrangement of topics in Leviticus 25.32 The association of the jubilee legislation with Sinai is also made in the book of Jubilees. Jubilees 50:2 states, “On Mount Sinai I told you about the Sabbaths of the Land and the years of jubilees in the Sabbaths of the years.”33 Tigchelaar argues further “that 1Q22 depends on Jubilees, or stems from the same circles.”34 While I am not claiming the literary dependence of Words of Moses on the book of Jubilees, it is important to this discussion that Jub. 50:2 locates the disclosure of the sabbatical year and jubilee legislation at Sinai prior to the revelation of the Ten Commandments.35 We also know from the Mekilta of Rabbi Ishmael, a later tannaitic source, that this tradition, while not attested widely, was indeed circulating in antiquity. The Mekilta records a tradition associated with Rabbi Ishmael that Moses read the laws of Leviticus 25–26 to the assembled Israelites on the day preceding the giving of the Ten Commandments and connects this tradition to Exod 19:11, a 30  Pace Scullion, “A Traditio-Historical Study,” 99. Note Kendi-Harel (“Yom Hakippurim,” 323) similarly dissents from Scullion’s analysis. 31  See my discussion earlier as well as Feldman, “Moses’ Farewell Address,” 203. 32 I further conjecture that given the structure of Leviticus 25–26 and the use of material from the end of Deuteronomy already in columns 1 and 2 of Words of Moses, that the work may have included some form of rewriting of Leviticus 26 harmonized with material from Deuteronomy 28–31 in later columns that did not survive. But there is no evidence with which to substantiate this speculation. 33  James C. VanderKam, Jubilees 2: A Commentary on the Book of Jubilees Chapter 22–50, ed. Sidnie White Crawford (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2018), 1192. 34  Tigchelaar, “A Cave 4 Fragment,” 307. 35  For a discussion of this passage in the book of Jubilees, see Jonathan Kaplan, “The Chronography of Daniel 9 and Jubilees in the Shadow of the Seleucid Era,” JAJ 10 (2019): 116– 35 (129–30).

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verse which enjoins Israel to make preparations for the revelation to be given on the third day at Sinai.36 Thus, if the author of Words of Moses employed the Sinai theophany to rewrite the opening of Deuteronomy, it is conceivable that the structure of the legal statutes presented in the work would cohere with other ancient understandings of what was disclosed at Sinai and the order of its disclosure. The inclusion of the jubilee legislation at the start of the legal code of Words of Moses then makes sense given the work’s self-presentation, in imitation of Deuteronomy, as a recapitulation of Sinaitic revelation (1Q22 1:4).37 While it is ultimately unanswerable if Words of Moses ever rewrites more than the shemiṭṭah and Yom Kippur legislation in its legal code, the extant materials do raise doubts about whether the work considered “the enumeration of calendrical items,” as Tigchelaar observed, to be “programmatic for the composition.”38 Words of Moses is certainly of a different character than 4Q319, a work that also mentions the sabbatical year and is concerned with calendrical matters. In terms of genre, Words of Moses sits somewhere between Jubilees 50 and rewritten legal works such as the Temple Scroll. Like the Temple Scroll, Words of Moses places a premium on the proper understanding and observance of divine commandments, and, like Jubilees, Words of Moses locates its legal exposition within a narrative frame. As in Jubilees, the sabbatical year and the jubilee have pride of place in its code because they are the first of the commandments disclosed to Moses at Sinai. When viewed in this light, Words of Moses’s harmonizing of the shemiṭṭah, sabbatical, and possibly the jubilee legislation should not be understood as spiritualizing these laws so that they no longer carried legal significance.39 It is clear that 1Q22, as Feldman notes, “seems to link the forgiveness of sins to the obedience to the shemiṭṭah laws, particularly, to the remission of debts.”40 In particular, 1Q22 3:7 describes the divine blessing that will result when Israel fulfills the commandment to release other Israelite debtors of their obligations 36  See Mekilta Baḥodesh 3. H. S. Horovitz and Israel A. Rabin, eds., Mechilta d’Rabbi Ismael cum variis lectionibus et adnotanionibus, 2nd ed. (Frankfurt: J. Kauffmann, 1931; repr., Jerusalem: Shalem, 1997), 211. 37  Scrolls at Qumran varied in column height from 4 (4Q444) to 60+ (4QPsr) lines. The height of the columns with small writing blocks (4–14 lines) does not disclose anything about the length of the scrolls or the nature of their contents. Other scrolls with 12 lines per column, such as 1Q22, include 4QDeutn (4Q41), 4QMMTf (4Q399), 4QHc (4Q429), 4QpNah (4Q169), and 4QEnGiantsc ar (4Q536). Given the diversity of these texts as well as their length, it is reasonable to conclude that 1Q22 originally extended beyond its fourth column. On the heights of writing blocks in scrolls, see Emanuel Tov, Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert, STDJ 54 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 82–99. 38  Tigchelaar, “A Cave 4 Fragment,” 310. On this point, see also, Bergsma, Jubilee from Leviticus to Qumran, 255–57; Kendi-Harel, “Yom Hakippurim,” 323. 39  Pace Bergsma, Jubilee from Leviticus to Qumran, 255–57; Kendi-Harel, “Yom Hakippurim,” 323. 40 Feldman, “Moses’ Farewell Address,” 209.

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in the seventh year: “and God will bless you and atone for your sins” (‫[יברכך‬ 41 The enactment of debt release is tied here to the ]‫)אלו]הי֯ ֯ם[ ויכפר] את עוו֗ נ֯ [ותיך‬. ֯ sabbatical year, and thus these distinct practices from two different Pentateuchal codes are viewed as part and parcel of the same economic system. Words of Moses is not metaphorizing or spiritualizing these practices. Rather, the work understands appropriate obedience to these commandments as resulting in the release of divine blessing of which forgiveness of sins is an integral part. The innovation here is not in a spiritualization of debt release but rather in making explicit the consequences for failure to follow the commandments concerning debt release in Deuteronomy 15. By harmonizing the debt release commandments of Deuteronomy 15 with the sabbatical years detailed in Leviticus 25, Words of Moses implies that failure to obey the commandments in Deuteronomy 15 leads to disastrous consequences for the people and land of Israel, just as Leviticus 26 describes for failing to keep the sabbatical year.

3. Conclusion In this essay, I have attempted to shift the horizon from which we view the strategies of rewriting in Words of Moses. Instead of looking at this composition simply as a rewriting of the opening of Deuteronomy that focuses on articulating the author’s views concerning calendrical matters, I have focused on the ways in which the writer of Words of Moses may have been inspired by the book of Leviticus. Many of these instances are speculative and are based on partial or complete reconstructions. These include the opening verb of the composition as well as the legislation for the Day of Atonement at the end of the extant document. Nevertheless, there is enough extant material in the document for me to propose that Words of Moses rewrites more than just the sabbatical year legislation in Lev 25:1–7. Rather, I contend that Words of Moses originally engaged substantially more of Leviticus 25, though this material is no longer extant, as part of its strategy to rewrite the opening of Deuteronomy in imitation of the Sinaitic revelation. The inclusion of the sabbatical and likely the jubilee legislation was encouraged, I propose, by a tradition attested in both Jubilees and the Mekilta of Rabbi Ishmael that located the disclosure of sabbatical and jubilee legislation at Sinai prior to the revelation of the Ten Commandments. Because of its more focused engagement with this section of Leviticus 25–26, the understanding of the consequences of failing to obey these commandments in Words of Moses not only draws language from Deuteronomy 31 but also is perhaps inspired by Leviticus 26 and its connection of exile and the devastation of the land for failing to enact the sabbatical year. This passage may also have sparked the  Textual reconstruction is from Feldman, “1Q22,” 240.

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innovation in Words of Moses of the ritual to atone for the land on the Day of Atonement. Thus, when viewed from the horizon of Leviticus, Words of Moses can be understood as more than a work that rewrites Deuteronomy or as simply evoking the sabbatical and jubilee legislation in order to address calendrical matters of concern to its author. Rather, Words of Moses engages in a more comprehensive rewriting of the Torah that privileges both Deuteronomy and Leviticus. In engaging in this rewriting of the Torah, Words of Moses presents its own authoritative reuse of these earlier legal materials and seeks to engender renewed fidelity to its idealistic vision for Jewish society that is rooted in the proper observance of the sabbatical year and the jubilee. In light of these suggestions regarding the place of Leviticus in the work alongside Deuteronomy and other books of the Pentateuch, Words of Moses thus witnesses to the prominence of the Torah in the Second Temple period and is another example of the sort of authoritative “rewriting” of scripture in the Second Temple period to which scholarship has given increasingly greater attention.

The Rhetorical Use of Blasphemy for Criminalization from Leviticus 24:10–23 to Acts 6:8–7:60 Jeremy L. Williams We is the backstory of myth. We is sitting horse and crazy bull. We is brown paper bags and gurgled belches. We is hooded ghosts and holy shadows roaming Mississippi goddamned. We is downbeats and syncopation’s cousin. We is mouths washed out with the blood of the lamb. Alison C. Rollins, Why Is We Americans Not God bless America, God damn America. That’s in the Bible, for killing innocent people. God damn America for treating her citizens as less than human. God damn America for as long as she acts like she is God and she is supreme. Rev. Dr. Jeremiah Wright, “Confusing God and Government” (April 13, 2003)

According to French historian Alain Cabantous, “blasphemy founded Christianity.”1 Anthropologist and cultural theorist Talal Asad unpacks Cabantous’s statement by noting how Jesus’s claim to divine nature was condemned as blasphemy and that blasphemy led to his death, which was followed by resurrection.2 How one feels about Cabantous’s statement is unimportant for this essay, but what is insightful is how he notes the subjectivity of blasphemy. In a book entitled, Is Critique Secular? three scholars, of whom Asad is one, ask questions that I find useful for orienting this essay. Wendy Brown frames the essays in the volume and notes that Judith Butler, another contributor, in her essay “challenges … Western representations of blasphemy, injury, and freedom by underscoring the fact that 1 Talal Asad et al., Is Critique Secular?: Blasphemy, Injury, and Free Speech (Berkeley: The Townsend Center for the Humanities University of California, 2009), 33, quoting Alain Cabantous, Blasphemy: Impious Speech in the West from the Seventeenth to the Nineteenth Century, trans. Eric Rauth (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002), 5. 2  Talal Asad, “Free Speech, Blasphemy, and Secular Criticism,” in Is Critique Secular?: Blasphemy, Injury, and Free Speech, ed. Talal Asad et al. (Berkeley: The Townsend Center for the Humanities University of California, 2009), 20–63 (33).

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there is always a normative framework constraining and regulating the semantic fields in which such terms operate.”3 Brown also asks this insightful question: “Do prohibitions and protections relating to speech tell us something about the idea of ‘the human’ defined by them?”4 Their questions can be applied to the incipit quotations of this essay. In the first quotation above, Rollins recapitulates Nina Simone’s passionate psalm, “Mississippi Goddamn,” which critiques the United States and highlights how Southern states mistreated people of African descent. Simone uses a colloquial curse, not for profanity but as an indictment of the current political establishment. This may not register to many as blasphemy, unless one considers this a violation of the commandment to not use God’s name in vain. However, a very similar sentiment voiced by Rev. Dr. Jeremiah Wright registered differently across the American landscape. Rev. Wright is the former leader of the Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago and was pastor of then U. S. Senator and presidential hopeful, Barack Obama. Wright’s words were viewed as blasphemous.5 It is not clear whether they were viewed as such because they used the Name of God or because they violated what Brown called the “normative framework” that God should be invoked to bless the United States despite its injustices. The Wright example and the blurred boundaries between speech against a people’s shared identity and speech against those people’s god illustrates why the questions that Is Critique Secular? offers are important questions with which to think. Although Is Critique Secular? examines contemporary discourses on blasphemy, the authors invite students of antiquity to ask questions about blasphemy in ancient contexts. In that spirit, this essay is less interested in defining what blasphemy is and is more interested in examining how it functions rhetorically to criminalize, especially within imagined judicial scenarios. Also, of interest is 3  Wendy Brown, “Introduction,” in Is Critique Secular?: Blasphemy, Injury, and Free Speech, ed. Talal Asad et al. (Berkeley: The Townsend Center for the Humanities University of California, 2009), 7–19 (18). 4 Brown, “Introduction,” 27. As Judith Butler notes, along this line of inquiry, Talal Asad “effectively poses the question, why is it that aggression in the name of God shocks secular liberal sensibilities, whereas the act of killing in the name of the secular nation, or of democracy, does not?” See Judith Butler, “The Sensibility of Critique: Response to Asad and Mahmood,” in Is Critique Secular?: Blasphemy, Injury, and Free Speech; ed Talal Asad et al. (Berkeley: The Townsend Center for the Humanities University of California, 2009), 101–136 (107). 5 The clip that contained this excerpt from Rev. Wright’s message became a story that dominated the news cycle. An example of such media can be found here: https://www.nbcnews.com/ id/wbna23745283 (accessed 05/17/2023). The significance of the moment led to condemnatory speeches against Wright by Obama. Over a decade later, Michelle Obama in her memoir Becoming negatively portrayed Wright in her narration of the moment. New Testament scholar Obery Hendricks, Jr., addresses what Obama gets wrong about Wright in this article, “What Michelle Obama’s Becoming misses about Jeremiah Wright,” found at https://sojo.net/articles/ what-michelle-obamas-becoming-misses-about-jeremiah-wright (accessed 05/17/2023).

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how the use of blasphemy in those scenarios can teach us about the societies, their understandings of justice, and their idea of ​“the human.”6 I take up blasphemy here as a site to explore how such an examination of blasphemy can contribute to biblical studies, and even more importantly as a way to examine and critique our world. The essay will proceed by first presenting my analytical framework for examining structures and stories used for rhetorical criminalization. This approach exposes the criminalizing function of blasphemy in Acts 6:8–7:60 through comparing it to how its sources and contemporaries wielded the term. This analysis will present both convergence and divergence between the way multiple texts – Acts, Mark, Leviticus, Philo, and even the Mishnah – deploy the rhetoric of blasphemy. I will explore how the charge of blasphemy, which could be traced to Lev 24:10–23, signals how the misuse of the Name presented a criminal violation against the entire community that had to be rectified through capital punishment. In the narrative introduced in that Leviticus passage, the charge of blasphemy could also be read as a critique of Solomon’s Temple and court. Then, turning to another source of Acts, Gospel of Mark, I will show how imagined courts were endued with lethal power to preserve community identity against the charge of blasphemy. The Mishnah’s strict definition of blasphemy helps to illustrate the connections between the charge, identity maintenance, and imperial limitations. Mark’s definition of blasphemy is broader and resonates with Philo’s use of the term. Philo’s use illustrates how blasphemy was deployed in the following ways: to portray those who arrogate divine authority to themselves, to depict those who misunderstand the proper order of the world, and to disparage people as ethno-political others. My analysis of this text will provide a foundation for how the charge of blasphemy functions both against Stephen and for Stephen in Acts 6:8–7:60. In Acts, the charge of blasphemy is raised both in support and in critique of the Temple. It refers to more than the misuse of the Name. It aligns with humans and their institutions eliding the transcendent with the temporal, which is the peak crime. It is the type of crime that renders one as outside of the community (though formerly in it), because their activity and life defile the community by their very presence. The term exposes “normative frameworks” evoked in Acts.

6  For more on the idea of the “human” see Sylvia Wynter, “Unsettling the Coloniality of Being/Power/Truth/Freedom: Towards the Human, after Man, Its Overrepresentation  – an Argument,” The New Centennial Review 3 (2003): 257–337.

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1. Acts 6:8–7:60 and the Analysis for Rhetorical Criminalization In Acts 6:8–15, Stephen’s opponents in Jerusalem stir up people to suggest and accuse Stephen of blasphemy. They say that he speaks blasphemous words (ῥήματα βλάσφημα) against Moses and against the Temple. Stephen, full of grace and power, did great wonders and signs among the people. Then some of those who belonged to the synagogue of the Freedpeople (as it was called), Cyrenians, Alexandrians, and others of those from Cilicia and Asia, stood up and argued with Stephen. But they could not withstand the wisdom and the spirit with which he spoke. Then they secretly instigated some men to say, “We have heard him speak blasphemous words (ῥήματα βλάσφημα) against Moses and God.” They stirred up the people as well as the elders and the scribes; then they suddenly confronted him, seized him, and brought him before the court (συνέδριον). They set up false witnesses who said, “This man never stops saying things against this holy place and the Torah, for we have heard him say that this Jesus of Nazareth will destroy this place and will change the customs (ἔθη) that Moses handed on to us.” And all who sat in the court looked intently at him, and they saw that his face was like the face of an angel.7

The historical validity of the scene in Acts is certainly questionable. That need not distract us, because Acts as a popular narrative is not primarily interested in presenting a straightforward historical narrative as a modern person would understand history.8 As a popular narrative, Acts has no qualms bending the facts to suit its rhetorical strategy especially in monologues like Stephen’s speech in Acts 7, which comes after the scene presented above.9 When I discuss rhetorical strategy in Acts and the other ancient texts under examination in this essay, I draw from feminist rhetorical criticism, in which Shelly Matthews has helpfully defined rhetoric as public, political discourses that attempt to persuade their audiences to accept their narratives as authoritative. To speak of rhetoric in terms of power and persuasion is to adopt the basic premise that historical narratives do not reflect a given reality, but rather attempt to create it.10 Tending to rhetoric like that found in Acts 6:8–15, the larger pericope, and in other ancient texts requires analyzing how they appeal to and participate in what  7  Unless otherwise noted translations of biblical texts are taken from NRSVue and modified by me.  8  See Richard Pervo, Profit with Delight: The Literary Genre of the Acts of the Apostles (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987).  9  For a detailed discussion on how Acts uses the narrative to forward its rhetorical agenda see Clare Rothschild, Luke–Acts and the Rhetoric of History: An Investigation of Early Christian Historiography (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004) and Martin Dibelius, Studies in the Acts of the Apostles, ed. Heinrich Greeven, trans. Mary Ling and Paul Schubert (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1956). 10  Shelly Matthews, First Converts: Rich Pagan Women and the Rhetoric of Mission in Early Judaism and Christianity, Contraversions: Jews and Other Differences (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2001), 5.

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Roman legal scholar Jill Harries has termed social discourse.11 Harries contrasts social discourses against legal discourses, which portray how laws are written and how they reflect the interests of society, especially of the elite. Social discourses, on the other hand, are less interested in what the laws actually said or at least what we can glean from our scant archives. Instead, social discourses tend to how people, especially those on the lower rungs of society, creatively perceive the law and judicial processes. The type of social discourse that this essay focuses on is criminalizing discourse that views blasphemy as delinquency. Michel Foucault’s discussion of delinquency and illegalities is especially useful for analyzing criminalizing discourses. He defines delinquency as “a division of illegality for the illicit circuits of profit and power of the dominant class.”12 Foucault argues that delinquency is less about one who commits crimes and is more about the institutions of a given society, most notably the institutions that govern criminal justice.13 Both crime and the criminal function as objects in the economy of power and within this economy crime takes shape through “the reorganization of the power to punish: codification, definition of offences, the fixing of a scale of penalties, rules of procedure, definition of the role of magistrates.”14 This power extends over all criminals whether actual or potential and “seeks to control delinquency by a calculated economy of punishments.”15 In this way, criminal discourse produces the criminalized, and institutions construct criminals while claiming to deter crime. For this project, I add critical race theory (CRT) as a complement to feminist-rhetorical critical approaches to texts. Although I recognize that modern notions of race are in some ways anachronistic to ancient depictions of ethnic difference, I find CRT a useful analytical framework for engaging ancient rhetoric. I have modified it and its hallmark features to function with feminist rhetorical criticism to produce a robust tool for engaging ancient legal discourses and social discourses with judicial scenarios. This tool I call the Analysis for Rhetorical Criminalization or the ARC.16 The ARC has two broad critical commitments: 1) an analysis of structures and 2) an analysis of stories. The analysis of structures involves the CRT notion of structural determinism, which notes that institutions especially those that are assigned to administer judgements are by their very nature restricted in terms 11  Jill Harries, Law and Crime in the Roman World (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 4. 12  Michel Foucault, “Illegalities and Delinquency,” in idem, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, trans. Alan Sheridan (New York: Pantheon, 1977), 280. 13  Foucault, Discipline and Punish, 101. 14 Foucault, Discipline and Punish, 101. 15  Foucault, Discipline and Punish, 101. 16  This framework is developed in my forthcoming manuscript, Criminalization in Acts of the Apostles: Race, Rhetoric, and the Prosecution of a Christian Movement (New York: Cambridge University Press, forthcoming) which is a substantial revision to my Harvard dissertation.

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of the types of justice that they can produce.17 The analysis of structures also aligns with the CRT hallmark described as interest convergence and material determinism, which argues that the shape and structure of laws and their implementation fundamentally serve the interest of those in power, and the types of justice available are those that benefit those with the power to control, manipulate, and even avoid the law and its implications.18 Analyzing the structures that recognized blasphemy as a crime provokes an interrogation of those judicial systems and institutions. In Leviticus, Mishnah, Gospel of Mark, and Acts the charge of blasphemy cannot be fully understood without examining who or what is empowered (legally or otherwise) to make decisions about other humans. By paying attention to the distribution of power, one can also trace what motivates those who are empowered and the extent of their power. The second broad critical commitment of the ARC is the analysis of stories. Critically analyzing myths and stories aligns with the CRT hallmark that notes that stories and narratives are used to reify or resist power structures.19 Stories, especially dominant stories, should be approached with a hermeneutic of suspicion.20 This suspicion becomes even more important in legal scenarios like that of Stephen, Jesus, and the blasphemer in Leviticus. These scenes literally concern issues of life and death. Stories are intimately connected with how narratives, societies, and judicial systems classify humans and determine which humans deserve justice. Said better, within judicial scenarios there are different versions of justice that different humans can receive. Most notably, in antiquity, high status people received different punishments than low status people for the same crimes.21 This was not seen as unjust but constitutive of the legal process. Analyzing stories will bring attention to how narratives containing blasphemy in Leviticus, Mark, Philo, and Acts legitimated and resisted the authority of those in power and the subjugation of those without. Tending to how humans are hierarchized via stories that employ race, ethnicity, and genealogy will provide a prism through which to view the blasphemer of mixed heritage in Leviticus, the marriage of Egyptianness and blasphemy in Philo’s work, and the ethnopolitically inflected charge against Stephen in Acts. 17  Richard Delgado and Jean Stefancic, Critical Race Theory: An Introduction (New York: New York University Press, 2012), 31. 18  Delgado and Stefancic, Critical Race Theory, 19–24 19 Delgado and Stefancic, Critical Race Theory, 24–5. I use “critical use of stories” to replace the term “revisionist history” in CRT. In CRT revisionist history refers to taking seriously the stories told by minoritized people in order to hear their voices in spite of the overcompensating, deafening triumphal narratives of the hegemony. 20  For the development of this concept in feminist biblical interpretation see Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins (New York: The Crossroad Publishing Company, 1994), 3–40. 21  For more on the dual penalty system see Peter Garnsey, Social Status and Legal Privilege in the Roman Empire (Oxford: Clarendon, 1970), 171.

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2. Leviticus 24:10–23 and Anti-Solomon Traditions around Blasphemy The most obvious antecedent for the charge of blasphemy in Acts 6:8–7:60 is in the Torah in Lev 24:10–23.22 Lev 24:10–23 is the only narrative in what has been called the Holiness Code, which spans Leviticus 17–26.23 As a text that prescribes the death penalty for a crime, it will be useful to engage the analysis of structures from the ARC discussed above. As a narrative, it will be instructive to apply an analysis of stories. Leviticus 24:10–23 is complicated for a number of reasons. First, the text is a strange insertion of narrative with fascinating characters within much denser legal code. Second, God renders a lethal sentence through Moses to be enacted by the community. Third, this passage could be read as a critique against Solomon’s Temple that renders Solomon a blasphemer. Tending to how Solomon could have been considered a blasphemer provides insight into how “normative frameworks” are activated with charges like blasphemy. On one hand, this passage is an idiosyncratic, seemingly out of place addition to this section of the Torah.24 On the other hand, if we take Jacob Milgrom’s argument seriously, this passage narratively depicts a larger theme of H’s preoccupation with the ‫ גר‬or foreigner.25 At the center of this passage is a man whose father is Egyptian. A man whose mother was an Israelite and whose father was an Egyptian came out among the Israelites, and the Israelite woman’s son and a certain Israelite began fighting in the camp. The Israelite woman’s son blasphemed (‫ )נקב‬the Name and cursed (‫)קלל‬. And they brought him to Moses – now his mother’s name was Shelomith the Debrite of the tribe of Dan – and they put him in custody, until the decision of the Lord should be made clear to them. The Lord spoke to Moses, saying, “Take the one who cursed (‫ )קלל‬outside the camp, and let all who were within hearing lay their hands on his head, and let the whole congregation stone him. And speak to the Israelites, saying: Anyone who curses (‫ )קלל‬God shall incur guilt. One who blasphemes (‫ )נקב‬the name of the Lord shall be put to death; the whole congregation shall stone the blasphemer (‫)נקב‬. Foreigners as well as the nativeborn, when they blaspheme (‫ )נקב‬the Name, shall be put to death. (Lev 24:10–16) 22  Other places in the Hebrew Bible suggest that speaking negatively about God is prohibited, but it is here and in Exod 22:28 that ‫ קלל‬means to not revile God. 23  Wil Gafney also notes that this passage contains the only named woman in Leviticus see Wilda C. Gafney, Womanist Midrash: A Reintroduction to the Women of the Torah and the Throne (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2017), 123. 24 Leuchter, however, notes that this passage is similar to other Holiness school narratives set in the wilderness period (Num 9:1–14; 15:32–36; 27:1–11). Mark Leuchter, “The Ambiguous Details in the Blasphemer Narrative: Sources and Redaction in Leviticus 24:10–23,” JBL 130 (2011): 431–50, esp. 432. 25  Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 3B (New York: Doubleday, 2001), 2131–32. Also see, Jonathan Vroom, “Recasting Mišpātîm: Legal Innovation in Leviticus 24:10–23,” JBL 131 (2012): 27–44 (32–33).

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To further illustrate the foreign status of the man, the text suggests that he comes out amongst the people of Israel, but he fights against an Israelite in the camp. The passage describes the son as blaspheming or naming (‫ )נקב‬the Name and cursing (‫)קלל‬.26 The blasphemer who names or curses God, per the logic of the Torah, receives a reasonable punishment from the community for rejecting the covenant – stoning.27 This invites the analysis of structures from the ARC discussed above. The punishment for ‫( נקב‬naming or violating) or ‫( קלל‬cursing)28 or blasphemy signals a criminal process that viewed this activity as so dangerous to the community that the violator must be expelled and exterminated from it. The violator in focus in Lev 24:10–16 is a person who inhabits the border between Israelite and foreigner who might blaspheme. The whole congregation participates in the execution. The explanation of this punishment in Lev 24:15–16 extends the punishment beyond the border and indicts both the foreigner and the nativeborn. The foreigner is a border crosser or trespasser and they are indicted for violating by their blaspheming their invitation into the community similar to the blasphemer of mixed ancestry who comes into the camp. The native-born is also a border crosser or trespasser but in the opposite direction. This person likewise destabilizes communal identity by blaspheming. The native-born is thus indicted and led outside of the camp to be stoned also like the blasphemer of mixed ancestry. In all three instances, a human is considered as less valuable than other humans in the community and certainly less valuable than the community because their blasphemy threatens the existence, indeed the very “life” of the community itself, as will become clearer below. Consequently, as verse 22 states, there is one fate for both the foreigner and native-born blasphemer, stoning. Since unchecked blasphemy is reckoned as destroying the life of the community, the punishment of stoning is deemed as particularly reasonable. Consequently, Lev 24:17–21 directly follows the blasphemy episode and links blasphemy to other lex talionis. Anyone who kills a human being shall be put to death. Anyone who kills an animal shall make restitution for it, life for life. Anyone who maims another shall suffer the same injury 26  Gafney notes that “The verb n-q-v, vayyiqqov here, means ‘to pierce,’ that is, ‘to violate,’ and also ‘to designate,’ that is, ‘to name’” (Womanist Midrash, 125). Also see Rodney R. Hutton, “The Case of the Blasphemer Revisited (Lev. XXIV 10–23),” VT 49 (1999): 532–41. In the Septuagintal rendering of Lev 24:11, the verbs ‫ קלל‬and ‫ נקב‬are not rendered by a cognate of βλασφημία. Instead, the passage describes the actions as naming (ἐπονομάσας) the Name and cursing (κατηράσατο). Lev 24:11 LXX: καὶ ἐπονομάσας ὁ υἱὸς τῆς γυναικὸς τῆς ᾿Ισραηλίτιδος τὸ ὄνομα κατηράσατο. καὶ ἤγαγον αὐτὸν πρὸς Μωυσῆν· καὶ τὸ ὄνομα τῆς μητρὸς αὐτοῦ Σαλωμεὶθ θυγάτηρ Δαβρεὶ ἐκ τῆς φυλῆς Δάν. See Collins, “The Charge of Blasphemy,” 385–86. 27  Leuchter, “The Ambiguous Details,” 446. 28  The term ‫ קלל‬deserves a special note, because it is not used throughout H to describe one misusing the Name, which leads scholars to understand this as evidence that the term goes back to an earlier time. See Leuchter, “The Ambiguous Details,” 442.

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in return: fracture for fracture, eye for eye, tooth for tooth; the injury inflicted is the injury to be suffered. One who kills an animal shall make restitution for it, but one who kills a human being shall be put to death.

These references in the Holiness Code signal to the Covenant Code or mišpāṭîm, which in some ways served to forge Israel’s communal identity. Vroom writes: Given the similarity between the mišpāṭîm and Mesopotamian law, there is good reason to suggest that it was a national document composed to promote Israel’s communal identity.… it was a defining piece of literature distinctly crafted to promote group identity among the Israelite community, and their national identity was closely tied to it.29

The national identity components of the Lev 24:10–16 passage are most pronounced through the description of the blasphemer’s opponent as presumably a full and authentic Israelite, while describing the blasphemer as the son of an Israelite woman and an Egyptian father – one with only ambiguous and contestable Israelite identity.30 In light of Shaye Cohen’s argument that Jewish communities, especially prior to the Talmud, primarily relied on patrilineal descent to determine ethnicity, many have disregarded the important place of the mother, Shelomith, in the rhetoric of the passage.31 It seems clear that this passage in fact affirms patrilineal descent. But at the same time, it finds it important to nuance the son’s character and leave his ethnicity ambiguous by not only sharing that his mother is an Israelite but by naming her (Shelomith), her city (Dibri) and their tribe (Dan).32 This suggests that the man’s Israelite heritage is significant at least for the purposes of this narrative, a social discourse within a legal discourse. To analyze the social discourse of Lev 24:10–16, we turn to the ARC’s analysis of stories. Similar to our discussion about Acts above, the historicity of the Leviticus account of the blasphemer of mixed heritage is unimportant; however, the naming of the blasphemer’s mother, Shelomith could be significant. As a narrative feature that is seemingly an otherwise superfluous detail, the naming of Shelomith allows for speculation. As a social discourse, it is not necessary to track the veracity of Shelomith’s existence, but her presence in the narrative opens up pathways for considering how people legitimated and resisted the authority of 29  Vroom, “Recasting Mišpātîm,” 35–36, esp. n 24. Also see, David Goodblatt, Elements of Ancient Jewish Nationalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 1–27. Goodblatt unpacks the utility of the term “national” even though it is problematic and modern. 30  Wil Gafney writes, “A consensual sexual relationship between an Israelite woman and non-Israelite man is so problematic in and for the text that it is nearly unimaginable. Even consensual relationships between Israelite men and foreign women are fraught in the canon.… The possibility that Shelomith chose an Egyptian partner would have been scandalous and salacious at best, especially given the enslavement of the Israelites to the Egyptians” (Womanist Midrash, 123–24). 31  Shaye Cohen, “The Origins of the Matrilineal Principle in Rabbinic Law,” AJS Review 10 (1985): 19–53, and idem, The Beginnings of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties, Hellenistic Culture and Society 31 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999). 32  Leuchter, “The Ambiguous Details,” 439, argues that Dibri is a place and not name.

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those in power. Leuchter offers one option: Shelomith’s presence links this passage to a critique against Solomon’s Temple. By reading her name as “Shelomith the Debrite [woman],” he builds the argument that this narrative could refer to “a Judahite queen mother who hailed from a region where the locals were known as ‘Dibrites’.”33 Leuchter offers Bathsheba as the epitome of queen mothers whose father’s family could have identified themselves or been identified as Dibri.34 Connecting Shelomith to Bathsheba brings into relief how her name plays on Solomon’s own name (‫שלמה‬/Solomon versus ‫שלמית‬/Shelomith) and the queen mother title which appears in the archaic stratum of Song of Songs in 7:1.35 These pieces of evidence lead Leuchter to conclude that a pre-H tradition behind this narrative in Lev 24:10–23 challenges the cultic role of the queen mother and the legitimacy of Solomon’s court where it came into existence. The name of the blasphemer’s mother is “a key to identifying her son: the blasphemer is none other than Solomon.”36 One of Solomon’s tragic flaws for those in that pre-H tradition Leuchter imagines is his allegiance to Egypt. Such allegiance presents a particular problem for people who imagined themselves as free from bondage in Egypt and Egyptian imperial tyranny of Bronze Age Canaan.37 By marrying into the Egyptian royal family (1 Kgs 3:1), Solomon literally became “a familial and political ‘son’ of the pharaoh.”38 Some considered his relationship with Egypt as an offense to the social and religious sensibilities that distinguished Israel from its Egyptiandominated past. These sensibilities were challenged significantly during Solomon’s reign, and this confrontation was remembered down to the late seventh century, which saw an anti-Solomon polemic surface in Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic redaction of Kings. A similar critique underlies the blasphemer narrative, which directs its ire against the royal cult of Jerusalem by impugning its genuine founder.39

33  Leuchter, “The Ambiguous Details,” 439, esp. n 35. Leuchter notes that the use of the root ‫ דבר‬in Josh 10:3 is applied to a foreign ruler. He argues that it is “more fruitful to consider the phrase as a title rather than as an indication of descent from a named individual. This construct is common both in the Hebrew Bible and in epigraphic evidence. Judges 21:21, for instance, applies the construct to a geographic location in reference to the young women of Shiloh.” 34  Leuchter, “The Ambiguous Details,” 439. Leuchter also notes how Leigh Trevaskis invites interpreters to engage grammatically the woman’s name beyond nominalizing the terms in “The Purpose of Leviticus 24 within its Literary Context,” VT 59 (2009): 295–312. She presents “peace, the daughter of my word” as a viable translation for the description of Shelomith. Although even she recognizes that such a reading is tenuous, her approach encourages interpreters to tend to the wider semantic range of meanings in the terms. Starting with the term Dibri which is taken from the consonantal root ‫( דבר‬translated often and by Trevaskis here as “word”). Also, Bathsheba’s father is from Lo-Debar, and people from Lo-Debar could be considered Dibri. 35  Leuchter, “The Ambiguous Details,” 439. 36 Leuchter, “The Ambiguous Details,” 440. 37  On top of scholastic perspectives that Israelites were allergic to Egyptian imperialism, the Torah itself rehearses separation from Egypt via the exodus, see Deut 15:12–18; 24:17–18. 38  Leuchter, “The Ambiguous Details,” 441. 39  Leuchter, “The Ambiguous Details,” 446.

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Such sensibilities saw Solomon’s building of the Temple and his language of building it for God as the ultimate act of misusing the Name.40 Although literarily the blasphemer of Lev 24 is a mixed ancestry boarder crosser, blasphemy for the audience Leuchter envisions is a political charge that is not as much about dangerous outsiders or foreigners pronouncing the Name and attacking the community from without, but it is about dangerous insiders who attack the community from within – a different type of border crossing. As we said earlier, Lev 24 is concerned with the blaspheming of both foreigner and native-born in the community. Blasphemy impacts community identity and stability, which makes it inherently political. The charge of blasphemy, as we have just seen, is also political. Analyzing structures offers insight into how the punishment of stoning for blasphemy illustrates the significance of transgressing borders and the communal impact of blasphemy. An analysis of stories demonstrates that criminalizing discourse directed toward a blasphemer of mixed heritage in Leviticus could also potentially be used as a critique against Solomon. These analyses work to expose how the same discourse of criminalization could be deployed multi-directionally toward the low status foreigner and toward the imperial elite. Charging one with blasphemy presumes that the one making the charge actually understands how the Name should be used (or not) and that they can properly determine when one has trespassed. This observation provides context for another source for the charge against Stephen in Acts: Mark.

3. Blasphemy in the Imagined Courts and Death Sentences of Mark and Mishnah Another source for Stephen’s trial before the sunedrion or court in Luke-Acts is the Gospel of Mark.41 Some features of Mark’s trial of Jesus do not appear in Luke, but instead make their way into the account of Stephen’s trial. One example of this is the charge of blasphemy raised before the court in Mark 14:55–64. Now the chief priests and the whole court were looking for testimony against Jesus to put him to death, but they found none. For many gave false testimony against him, and their testimony did not agree. Some stood up and gave false testimony against him, saying, “We heard him say, ‘I will destroy this temple that is made with hands, and in three days I will build another, not made with hands’.” But even on this point their testimony did not agree. 40 Leuchter, “The Ambiguous Details,” 445 states “Calls of blasphemy against Solomon and charges against him of misusing the divine name would be a natural by-product, and this must have been a widely held bias, given the stoning of Adoram – the old chief of Solomon’s corvée – after the Shechemite assembly (1 Kgs 12:18).” 41  While my translation of sunedrion or beth din as “court” is expansive, it is not as exhaustive as Neusner’s proposal that the term should be translated as “nothing less than ‘government’.” Jacob Neusner, Rabbinic Political Theology (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), 60.

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Then the high priest stood up before them and asked Jesus, “Have you no answer? What is it that they testify against you?” But he was silent and did not answer. Again, the high priest asked him, “Are you the Messiah, the Son of the Blessed One?” Jesus said, “I am; and ‘you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of the Power’ and ‘coming with the clouds of heaven’.” Then the high priest tore his clothes and said, “Why do we still need witnesses? You have heard his blasphemy (βλασφημίας)! What is your decision?” All of them condemned him as deserving death.

An analysis of Mark’s story benefits from Adela Collins’s observation that the charge of blasphemy is ironic in Mark’s narrative.42 Although in both Mark and Acts the charge of blasphemy raised against the protagonist is unfounded to the implied audience, the texts present the accusers as the ones who misunderstand and are guilty of blasphemy. In this way, blasphemy as a problem is not what is under debate, but what constitutes blasphemy is. Glimpses of what Mark’s inscribed audience would consider as blasphemy can be found in the charges raised against Jesus by false witnesses in Mark 14:53–65. Following Collins’s logic, the false witnesses’ charges suggest that the implied audience would have considered such a statement as a chargeable offense if it had been articulated by Jesus and if it were meant literally. The high priest’s interaction with Jesus is even more conclusive regarding what Mark’s narrative and implied audience considered blasphemy. The high priest declares that Jesus’s confession of divine sonship and his elision of himself with the messianic, apocalyptic Son of Man provides the evidence that Jesus has spoken blasphemy and needs to be convicted. The court agrees and Mark 14:64 states that “they all judged him to be deserving of death.” Mark’s story of blasphemy demonstrates divergence with the narrative discussed above in Leviticus, and in other significant ways it presents convergence. One important place of divergence is the fact that Jesus in Mark does not pronounce the Name or use it for a curse. The explicit use of the Name, which is one of the major issues for Leviticus is not present in this passage. This has led to much spilled ink attempting to discern how such a charge could have applied.43 The Mishnah is not helpful in elucidating the matter, because it defines blasphemy even more narrowly than the Torah. It suggests that blasphemy and its attendant death penalty only apply to a member of the community who uses the 42 Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Charge of Blasphemy in Mark 14.64,” JSNT 26 (2004): 379– 401(379). 43  A review of some of this discussion can be found in Darrell L. Bock, Blasphemy and Exaltation in Judaism and the Final Examination of Jesus: A Philological-Historical Study of the Key Jewish Themes Impacting Mark 14:61–64, WUNT II 106 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 5–29.

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Name to curse the Name.44 It has also been argued that the Mishnah functions as an apologetic response to the gospel accounts like Mark.45 Although Mark’s emphasis is not on naming the Name, it does still demonstrate convergence with Leviticus’s and Mishnah’s depictions of judicial bodies with lethal power. This convergence comes to light through analyzing structures. The sunedrion or beth din did not have the power to execute a lethal sentence.46 Whether the community as described in Leviticus actually had that power or if it was only imagined is also worthwhile to consider. In any case, the Roman Empire, imperial and gubernatorial authorities monopolized the death penalty.47 Mark generates this narrative to imagine an institution with structural authority that could use the charge of blasphemy to declare one as deserving of death and that could leverage the Roman judicial apparatus to execute the blasphemer. This is not dissimilar from the community that Moses organizes in the Name of God to execute the one who misuses the Name. The Mishnah similarly depicts a judicial body that deals with the charge of blasphemy. In the Mishnah, the Rabbis authorized themselves by imagining that judicial courts of the past had lethal power.48 Berkowitz astutely posits that the Rabbis who wrote the Mishnah were a marginalized group that had to write themselves as figures of authority; to do so, they had to use the rhetoric of dominating groups to make themselves legible.49 Using a postcolonial concept of mimicry, she suggests that the Rabbis recapitulate hegemonic approaches to power, im44  I will discuss this concept and m. Sanhedrin 7:4 and 7:5 in more detail in the section on the Mishnah below. 45  Israel Abrahams, “The Tannaitic Tradition and the Trial Narratives,” in Studies in Pharisaism and the Gospels (New York: Ktav, 1917–24), 2:129–37, esp. 137. 46  For how difficult it is to actually historically reconstruct the sunedrion see Lester Grabbe, “Sanhedrin, Sanhedriyyot, or Mere Invention,” JSS 39 (2008): 1–19. For some efforts to resolve the conflict between the Gospels and the Mishnah in their representations of Jewish criminal law see Herbert Danby, “The Bearing of the Rabbinical Criminal Code on the Jewish Trial Narratives in the Gospels,” JTS 21 (1919): 51–76; George A. Barton, “On the Trial of Jesus Before the Sanhedrin,” JBL 41 (1930): 205–11; Solomon Zeitlin, “The Political Synedrion and the Religious Sanhedrin,” JQR 36 (1946): 109–40; idem, “Synedrion in Greek Literature, the Gospels and the Institution of the Sanhedrin,” JQR 37 (1946): 189–98; idem, “The Trial of Jesus,” JQR 53 (1962): 77–88. 47  Cédric Brélaz, “Maintaining Order and Exercising Justice in the Roman Provinces of Asia Minor,” in The Province Strikes Back: Imperial Dynamics in the Eastern Mediterranean, ed. Björn Forsén and Giovanni Salmeri (Helsinki: Suomen Ateenan–instituutin säätiö, 2008), 45–64, esp. 51. Also see Peter Garnsey, Social Status and Legal Privilege in the Roman Empire (Oxford: Clarendon, 1970) and Detlef Liebs, Summoned to the Roman Courts: Famous Trials from Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012). Also note that Λιβερτίνων are mentioned in Acts 6:9, which could indicate that Acts intends to portray Stephen as free or at least as a freedperson, which would signal that he did not deserve this treatment. 48  Beth A. Berkowitz, Execution and Invention: The Death Penalty in Early Rabbinic and Christian Cultures (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006). 49  Beth Berkowitz, Execution and Invention, 6–7.

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itating Roman imperial practices in order to authorize themselves.50 This type of mimicry for the Rabbis includes appealing to Roman notions of power through violence, particularly capital punishment, to legitimize their authority. Capital punishment sits at the intersection of supreme state-power and the valuation of human lives. Whom a court determines is worthy of death exposes how societies measure crimes and the declining value of the humanity of those who commit those crimes. Mishnah Sanhedrin 7:4 and 5 discusses blasphemy and its punishment of stoning. 7:4 A. These are [the felons] who are put to death by stoning: … D. and (1) he who blasphemes …. 7:5 A.  He who blasphemes [M. 7:4D1] [Lev. 24:10] is liable only when he will have fully pronounced the divine Name. B. Said R. Joshua b. Qorha, “On every day of a trial they examine the witnesses with a substituted name, [such as], ‘May Yose smite Yose’.” C. “[Once] the trial is over, they would not put him to death [on the basis of evidence given] with the euphemism, but they put out everyone and ask the most important witnesses, saying to him, ‘Say, what exactly did you hear [in detail]?’ D. “And he says what he heard. E. “And the judges stand on their feet and tear their clothing, and never sew them back up. F. “And the second witness says, ‘Also I [heard] what he heard.’ G. “And the third witness says, ‘Also I [heard] what he heard’.”51

The Mishnah here harkens back to the episode in Lev 24:10–23. The Rabbis saw blasphemy as the peak crime and did not seek to temper the punishment for this violation. Instead, they sought to limit the applicability of the law that determined if an action was a violation, which in turn prevented the necessity of issuing the death penalty.52 However, they did reserve power to condemn or crim50  Berkowitz is not alone in this. Also see Yair Furstenburg, “The Shared Dimensions of Jewish and Christian Communal Identities,” in Jewish and Christian Communal Identities in the Roman World, ed. Yair Furstenburg (Boston: Brill, 2016), 1–24. Orit Malka also observes the Rabbis employed Roman logics, when she notes that those who were forbidden by the Mishnah to testify more closely aligns with Roman understandings of the concept of infamia. See her “Disqualified Witnesses between Tannaitic Halakha and Roman Law: The Archeology of a Legal Institution,” Law and History Review 37 (2019): 903–36. Another contemporary conversation around the influence of Roman logics on Rabbinical law is Orit Malka and Yakir Paz, “Ab hostibus captus et a latronibus captibus: The Impact of the Roman Model of Citizenship on Rabbinic Law,” JQR 109 (2019): 141–72. 51 Jacob Neusner, The Mishnah: A New Translation (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988), 596–97. 52 See Berkowitz, Execution and Invention, 26–63. The late nineteenth-century rabbinic scholar Samuel Mendelsohn, whose text is a site from which subsequent scholars must depart (The Criminal Jurisprudence of the Jews), asserted that the rabbis were against the death penalty, which is why they made the charges for blasphemy so narrow. Berkowitz challenges that position and others like it. She argues that readings of m. Makkot 1:10 that suggest that the rabbis were against the death penalty do not fully capture the discursive strategy of the rabbis, because a

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inalize persons for blasphemy. They viewed such people as dangers to the entire community who needed to be removed so that the community could be preserved. Robert Alter interprets Lev 24:10–23 similarly to the Mishnah. He notes that blasphemy demanded such a drastic response because blasphemy is an “act of lèse-majesté aimed at God, who is the very rationale for the existence of the community.” It [blasphemy] “is understood to be a threat to the community itself, and so all are to be involved in the execution.”53 Mark also imagines a court that craves the power to criminalize βλασφημία. Mark’s use of the term βλασφημία is not limited to misusing the Name; it includes improperly arrogating divine authority to oneself.54 Remembering the anti-Solomonic polemical reading of Leviticus sheds light on a potential critique in Mark against the Temple as the place built by a human king (Herod), empowered by imperial imaginations to contain the Name of God. This is not to suggest that this polemic is the only one available to Israelite and Jewish interpreters of the Torah.55 Nor am I suggesting that the Temple only represented imperial authority and was not a place where pious Jewish people practiced their religion. Rather, I am suggesting that baked within the charge of blasphemy are concerns about the Name of God and place and power, concerns that courts real or imagined had to address. In Mark, the court acts decisively against Jesus under the high priest’s presidency, because it considers him to be acting improperly arrogant. Jesus answers “I am” (ἐγώ εἰμι) to the high priest’s question of whether or not he is the Messiah the Son of the Blessed.56 In this way, Jesus could seem to assume a position where he placed himself above God, the Temple, and the community it represented, and he needed to be brought down to size. As a son of the Blessed One and especially as a son of David, like Solomon, he could be seen as challenging God’s transcendence. However, the irony that Collins highlights is that for the implied audience, it is those who charge Jesus who have misunderstood him. It is those who have placed the Temple and its institutions above the Transcendent One (whom the implied audience believes Jesus represents) who

full reading includes Rabbi Shimon ben Gamaliel’s comment that abolishing the death penalty would increase murders. 53  Robert Alter, The Hebrew Bible: Volume 1: The Books of Moses (New York: Norton & Company, 2019), 436. 54 Mark’s use of βλασφημία even differs from that of the Septuagint where the term is not used in a technical way. 55 We know that Leviticus already works to temper this critique by awkwardly placing it in the holiness code and sanitizing it as much as possible. 56  Collins, “The Charge of Blasphemy,” 398–99, concludes that Jesus’s response need not be a reference that implies divinity in line with Exod 3:14, but she also notes that some like Raymond E. Brown have noted it as such; see, “Appendix IV: Egō Eimi – ‘I am’,” in idem, The Gospel according to John i–xii, AB 29 (Garden City: Doubleday, 1966), 533–38.

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are the true heirs of Solomon the blasphemer. They are the criminals that should be penalized by their own judicial structure.

4. Philo and Blasphemy as Impious Arrogance A careful examination of Jesus’s and Stephen’s words does not indicate that their crime is a misuse of the Name by pronouncing it, but their words could be understood as wrongly ascribing divine power to themselves, which Philo of Alexandria identifies as blasphemy. Philo’s work provides the perspective of a firstcentury diasporic Jewish person under the Roman Empire, and his work is useful for contextualizing Mark and subsequently Luke-Acts. Applying an analysis of stories to Philo’s On the Embassy to Gaius and Life of Moses, will expose how he uses βλασφημία technically as does Mark and Acts. In On the Embassy to Gaius, Philo narrates how the emperor Gaius unjustly treated the delegation of Jews from Alexandria who have appealed to Gaius against other, non-Jewish Alexandrians. Gaius was offended that the delegation did not sacrifice to him as a deity. Philo describes the experience as “torture, the racking of the whole soul through the blasphemies (βλασφημιῶν) against God.”57 Gaius had positioned himself on equal status as the God of Israel, and this Philo’s Jewish community rejected. Also, in this document, Philo disparages his Alexandrian opponents by referring to them as having Egyptian godlessness (Αἰγυπτιακῆς ἀθεότητος).58 He weds arrogance and Egyptian otherness together in his understanding of blasphemy. The marriage between arrogance and Egyptian otherness appears clearly in Philo’s On the Life of Moses, where he discusses the Leviticus passage, especially verse 15 and reifies the notion that the very pronunciation of the Name is worthy of death.59 Philo addresses the Leviticus passage in detail and focuses on the mixed ethnicity of the blasphemer and refines his focus on the blasphemer’s Egyptianness. Across his work, Philo disparages Egyptians and regards them as immoral, impious, insatiable, and ignorant.60 Part of what animates his animosity is the proximity of Alexandria to Egypt. Literally Alexandria is in Egypt, but Roman authors describe it as ad Aegyptia or next to Egypt.61 The blasphemer’s Egyptian heritage in Leviticus 24 could have also triggered for Philo a concern 57  Philo, On the Embassy to Gaius 368 (here and elsewhere the English translation of Philo follows that of Francis H. Colson and George H. Whitaker in the LCL series). 58  Philo, On the Embassy to Gaius 163. 59 Philo, On the Life of Moses 2.193–204. 60  Ibid. Also see Philo, On the Embassy to Gaius 162–64 and Against Flaccus 78. 61  Getzel M. Cohen addresses this in the chapter entitled “Alexandreia ad Aegyptum,” in The Hellenistic Settlements in Syria, the Red Sea Basin, and North Africa (Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2006), 355–81.

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with mixed relationships between Jewish Alexandrians and non-Jewish people. One of the challenges that proximity to non-Jews presented for Jewish Alexandrians was the potential for some to defect from their Jewish way of life and commitment to the God of Israel. Revering the Name of God epitomized for Philo a proper ordering of society. He suggests regarding blasphemy that “refusal to reverence God implies refusal to honor parents and country and benefactors.”62 Blasphemy, for Philo, then is about more than just pronouncing the Name, but it is about community maintenance, so much so that a violator who considered themselves more important than the community should be executed by the community.63 He describes the blasphemer as disregarding the national, hereditary, ancestral customs (πατρίων ἐθῶν) that he learned from his mother.64 Philo suggests that the blaspheming criminal set at naught the ancestral customs (πατρίων ἐθῶν) of his mother and turned aside, as we are told, to the impiety of Egypt and embraced the atheism of that people. For the Egyptians almost alone among the nations have set up earth as a power to challenge heaven.65

Considering how Philo interprets the crime of blasphemy as one person arrogantly harming the community hearkens back to how earlier we discussed how the mišpāṭîm evoked in Leviticus work to construct a national identity that needed to be preserved. This criminalizing rhetorical use of βλασφημία is also at play in the stories and structures represented in Mark and Luke-Acts.

5. Reading Criminalization in Acts 6:8–7:60 Now I turn to how the transformation of blasphemy from the Torah can contribute to a reading of blasphemy as criminalizing rhetoric in Acts 6:8–7:60. Acts presents a social discourse of criminalization in which the charges of blasphemy function rhetorically both on the level of Stephen’s opponents within the text and at the level of the text of Acts itself. At the level of the text, one of Acts’ rhetorical agendas includes countering real or imagined antagonism against the earliest Jesus followers that included charges of blasphemy.66 Within the text, the  Philo, On the Life of Moses 2.198.  Philo, On the Life of Moses 2.202. 64  Eric Barreto, Ethnic Negotiations: The Function of Race and Ethnicity in Acts 16, WUNT II 294 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010) has persuasively argued that ἔθη was a component of ancient ethnic reasoning. The pairing of terms here further provides evidence for his conclusion. 65  Philo, On the Life of Moses 2.193. 66  The earliest uses of the term “Christian” is generally derogatory, especially when used by Roman officials to characterize the movement. See Josephus, Ant. 18.64; Tacitus, Annals 15.44; 62 63

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charge of blasphemy gets raised in response to Stephen’s opponents’ inability to successfully challenge him, and Stephen ultimately raises the charge against his accusers and the court itself. An analysis of structures in the passage highlights several features of the judicial structure before whom Stephen is tried as blasphemer. Across Luke-Acts, this court is composed of Pharisees and Sadducees, the party of which the high priest is a part (Luke 23:1–5; Acts 4:1–21; 5:17–42; 22:1–23:9). It has the power (or at least is imagined to have the power) over issues of blasphemy that Acts connects to speaking against God, the Temple, and the Torah. They can censure speech and flog offenders, and they can condemn to death although they cannot execute a lethal sentence even for the charge of blasphemy, as seen in their appeal to Pilate to execute Jesus (Mark 15:1; Luke 23:1–2). Acts’ court appears to be unhinged. Most significant for Acts, the court has been complicit in the legal prosecution of Jesus the Just One (δίκαιος) and continues to prosecute (διώκω) his followers.67 Stephen’s speech demonstrates such. He says in Acts 7:51–58 “You stiff-necked people, uncircumcised in heart and ears, you are forever opposing the Holy Spirit, just as your ancestors used to do. Which of the prophets did your ancestors not prosecute (ἐδίωξαν)? They killed those who foretold the coming of the Just One (δικαίου), and now you have become his betrayers and murderers. You are the ones who received the Torah as ordained by angels, and yet you have not kept it.” When they heard these things, they became enraged and ground their teeth at Stephen … Then they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him …

Through Stephen’s speech, we see that Acts does not consider the court a legitimate judicial system because of its biases against the narratives’ protagonists.68 This is evidenced in the legal procedure devolving into a lynching of Stephen.69 For Acts, the judicial system is quite confined and Stephen’s speech demonstrates that both it and the people who look to it to make decisions about justice are misPliny, Letters 10.96–97. Richard I. Pervo, Acts: A Commentary Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2009), 295. See also Edwin A. Judge, “Judaism and the Rise of Christianity: A Roman Perspective,” TynBul 45 (1994): 355–68; Henry J. Cadbury (“Names for Christians and Christianity in Acts,” in The Beginnings of Christianity, Part 1: The Acts of the Apostles, ed. F. J. Foakes Jackson et al. [London: Macmillan, 1933], 383–85) suggests that the New Testament uses of ​ “Christian” are not necessarily negative but a nickname. Also note Elias J. Bickerman, “The Name of Christians,” HTR 42 (1949): 109–24. 67 I translate the term διώκω in 7:52 as “prosecute” rather than “persecute” to capture the semantic range of the term and to depict that this is the portrayal of a legal scenario and not merely a scene of religious fanaticism. 68  Matthews notes that for Acts “the Jewish juridical process is so base that it cannot but result in riotous behavior” (Perfect Martyr, 76). 69  Pervo, Acts, 193–194, uses this language of lynching, but James H. Cone, The Cross and the Lynching Tree (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2011), 26, also draws important parallels between ancient public executions and lynchings.

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guided and law-breakers themselves. Stephen’s speech leads to teeth grinding frustration. Acts presents the accusers as criminalizing Stephen and desiring to punish him with death. The judicial process in Acts is quite different than the one prescribed in Lev 24:10–23 where there is no trial for the blasphemer. The judicial apparatus imagined in Leviticus wields a much broader authority than the court in Acts, especially in terms of blasphemy. In both episodes, people also carry the accused blasphemer outside of the camp. However, for Acts those who carry Stephen away are not following the command of God; they are in direct opposition to it. For the court in Acts, Stephen’s statements against the Temple have crossed over the line into blasphemy. Todd Penner has noted that Stephen’s speech is radically-temple critical.70 Stephen argues in Acts 7:47–50 that it was Solomon who built a house for [God]. Yet the Most High (ὕψιστος) does not dwell in houses made with human hands; as the prophet says, “Heaven is my throne,   and the earth is my footstool. What kind of house will you build for me, says the Owner,   or what is the place of my rest? Did not my hand make all these things?”

Matthews helpfully notes that it is at this point in the narrative that Stephen shifts from first person plural to second person plural.71 Stephen uses the story of the people of Israel against those who identify with that story.72 He supports his argument by invoking Isaiah 66 and its seeming rejection of a human-made home for the God of Israel. Such criticism is not necessarily blasphemy, because critique of institutions is imbedded in Deuteronomistic and prophetic chastisement. Such criticism ultimately sought for the institutions to operate as they should without corruption.73 In this light, Stephen’s criticism could be read as aligning with a tradition that read Lev 24:10–16 as critique against Solomon’s Temple. Nonetheless the court, which aligned with the Temple and bore certain similarities to Solomon’s court, resists this critique and considers Stephen’s message blasphemous. Now through an analysis of stories, we can examine how the opponents of Stephen in Acts 6:8–7:60 craft a narrative that portrays Stephen as blasphemous to the people and how Stephen’s opponents solicit legal witnesses to do 70  Todd Penner, In Praise of Christian Origins: Stephen and the Hellenists in Lukan Apologetic Historiography (New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 308–18. 71  For an in-depth discussion of this and how it leads to anti-Jewish readings of Acts see Shelly Matthews, Perfect Martyr: The Stoning of Stephen and the Construction of Christian Identity (Oxford: New York, 2010), 55–78. 72  Michal Beth Dinkler, “The Narrative Rhetoric of Speech and Silence in Acts of the Apostles,” NTS 67 (2021): 1–21. 73  Matthews, Perfect Martyr, 71.

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the same. Charges about speaking against the Name, the Torah, and the Temple are the type of charges that Acts and Acts’ source Mark imagine would stir up a crowd to mobilize against the person accused of such. The truth of the charges is insignificant and unverifiable from the narrative, because it is not clear what the content of Stephen’s message was before the charges were raised in Acts 6. What is clear is that Mark’s charge raised against Jesus (that he claimed that he would destroy the Temple) is reformatted to similar effect  – to disparage the protagonists before people who prioritize the Temple. Also, similar to the scene in Mark, false witnesses are employed to raise the charges. In the Acts scene, Stephen’s opponents up the ante from Mark’s charges raised against Jesus. They claim that Jesus of Nazareth whom Stephen followed wanted to change the customs or ἔθη that Moses handed to them. Similar to Philo and Mark, βλασφημία for Acts means more than the pronouncing the Name. Furthermore, such an indictment from Stephen’s opponents implicitly compared Jesus and by extension his student Stephen to Antiochus IV Epiphanes, one of the great enemies of the Jewish people and himself a desecrator of the Temple who in 1 Macc 1:41– 50 sends a letter instructing the people under his dominion “to forget their law and change their practices.”74 They craft a narrative to portray Stephen and Jesus as deplorable, criminal, blasphemers. The presence of the term ἔθη in the Acts passage also suggests that the charge of blasphemy is linked to ethno-political invective. Eric Barreto has persuasively argued that ἔθη in Acts does more than describe religious practices; it also marks ancient ethnic reasoning and ethno-political rhetoric.75 The ἔθη of a group of people was part of what distinguished them from other groups. Recall Philo’s depiction of blasphemers forsaking their ancestral customs (πατρίων ἐθῶν) discussed above. Whether or not the charge raised is true, the charge itself suggests that Jesus was a Jerusalem-outsider from Nazareth; and more importantly, he and his student Stephen were socio-politically different from and inferior to their accusers. Furthermore, the text ethnically marks those who raise charges against Stephen with multiple markers. They are Jewish and also from Cyrene, Alexandria, Cilicia, or Asia Minor, and they are identified as members of a synagogue of Freedpeople (Λιβερτίνων), which carried its own socio-political assemblages (Acts 6:9). Acts 6 begins with a dissension between Jewish members of the Jesusfollowing movement who are described as being of the Greeks (Ἑλληνιστῶν) or the Hebrews (Ἑβραίους; Acts 6:1). The charge of blasphemy gets levied within this environment of competing identities, and it gets used to mark Stephen as not fully Jewish and a dangerous outsider. 74 ὥστε ἐπιλαθέσθαι τοῦ νόμου καὶ ἀλλάξαι πάντα τὰ δικαιώματα. Also see Pervo, Acts, 170.

75  Barreto, Ethnic Negotiations. See n 66 above. For the term “ethno-political rhetoric” see Gay Byron, Symbolic Blackness and Ethnic Difference in Early Christian Literature (New York: Routledge, 2002), 2, and Denise K. Buell, Why This New Race: Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity (New York: Columbia University Press, 2005).

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As we consider ethno-political invective, I must at least mention the function of Egypt and Egyptian identity in Acts’ and other interpretations of Lev 24:10– 23 as we saw in Philo’s Life of Moses. The presence of Egypt in most of the discussions of blasphemy provides glimpses into how stories about Egyptians and others were used to criminalize. Stephen’s opponents rhetorically criminalize him changing Moses’s ἔθη, and he in his critical speech uses Egypt prominently to criminalize them and charge them with betraying Moses’s ἔθη (Acts 7:34–44). Stephen uses Egypt as the other against which the people of Israel are contrasted, which is similar to Leviticus’s blasphemer of mixed Egyptian and Israelite heritage. It also resonates with Philo’s work. Also, as we saw, certain readings of Leviticus – like Leuchter’s – connected the blasphemer with Egyptian imperialism that sources behind Leviticus and the Holiness Code resented and rejected. Egypt is the place of bondage, tyranny, wonton desire, and allurement for Israelites. Acts’ Stephen directly contrasts Israel against Egypt and its ways and practices. They keep Egypt in place as negative and then portray the people of Israel who received the Torah from angels but refuse to keep it as even more deplorable. Stephen, in his speech in Acts 7, raises charges against his opponents and the Jerusalem Temple establishment. His apologia strategically rehearses aspects of Israelite history and makes a crucial turn as he discusses how the king (βασιλεὺς) of Egypt dealt craftily with “our race (γένος)” and how the people of Israel resisted Moses when he came to liberate them from Pharaoh and Egypt (Acts 7:18–22). Even as Moses leads them through the wilderness they resist him, prefer Egypt, and embrace idolatry (Acts 7:23–43). Acts’ narrative and Stephen’s speech lean into the disparagement of Egypt in order to criminalize and negatively portray their Jewish opponents. Stephen’s accusers criminalize him with the rhetoric of blasphemy, and Acts in turn criminalizes Stephen’s accusers, the court, and those who agree with them.

6. Conclusion From our analysis of Acts, its sources and contemporaries, we have gathered that blasphemy as a problem is not what is under debate, but how blasphemy is wielded is central. The charge of blasphemy is about who belongs in the community and who should be excluded. It is socially constructed through stories and structures to depict normative frameworks by criminalizing those who do not maintain values that others in the community see as essential. By examining structures and stories, I analyzed rhetorical criminalization in Acts 6:8–7:60 along with its sources and contemporaneous texts. I demonstrated that the charge of blasphemy, traced to Lev 24:10–23, signals how execution was justified for criminal border crossing that threatened the identity or existence

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of the entire community. Violations like misusing the Name and by extension the arrogant appropriation of the divine for Solomon’s imperial grandeur were unacceptable. The imagined courts in Mishnah and Gospel of Mark wielded the crime of blasphemy for self-authorization and community maintenance. Mark, also, similar to Philo used βλασφημία to portray the arrogant and the unfaithful. Philo also used βλασφημία to denigrate the ethno-political other. These texts provided texture for Acts’ use of blasphemy and how the charge was multidirectionally deployed both in support and in critique of the Temple. Stephen was charged with blasphemy, but he ultimately charged his accusers with blasphemy and claimed that they were the true criminals who arrogantly limited God’s name. The stakes of the crime were high, so much so that it ended with his informal public execution. The varied uses of blasphemy and their interpretations of Lev 24:10–23 should compel contemporary readers to examine what types of speech and activities have been criminalized. Perhaps we can do this by taking the position of the community that would have resisted the claim that Stephen was a blasphemous criminal although the judicial system had declared him as such. Or perhaps we can follow Gafney’s lead and align with Shelomith, the blasphemer’s mother in Leviticus. She writes that Women of color can identify with the experience of being engaged solely in terms of one’s sexuality, relationships, and/or progeny. Shelomith is the mother of a child who was accused – rightly or wrongly – of a crime, imprisoned, and executed. And Shelomith is the mother of a child whose ethnic identity has significant social implications.76

Such an analysis allows Gafney to connect this ancient narrative to “the overrepresentation of black and brown women and men in the criminal justice system of the United States [which] rests on the incarceration of the innocent and the guilty alike.”77 Our analysis of Lev 24:10–23 and its reception should lead us to note that those claiming to protect a nation’s institutions and gods could very well be the ones exploiting them for their own interests and prosecuting their opponents in the process. Those in power who claim to determine who God damns and condemns may very well not be the magnet of blessings they claim to be. In the case of Mark’s Jesus and Acts’ Stephen, the condemned are not those whom God damns. Rather, it is courts that hoard justice for themselves and those who limit God’s presence to imperial opulence. The profanity of blasphemy is not merely about God, but it is about people and how they use God to serve their collective identity and justify who they exclude from that identity. To label one as profane, vulgar, blasphemer, criminal is to activate the values of the labeler. It is especially dangerous to label a human in such a way when judicial systems use such labels to justify the death of humans. God damn such systems.  Gafney, Womanist Midrash, 127.  Gafney, Womanist Midrash, 128.

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Satirical Elements in Tobit? Tobit’s Torah Ethics in GII versus GI* Timothy J. Sandoval 1. Introduction In 2003 J. R. C. Cousland contended that recent study of the Book of Tobit has seen an “effusion of criticism” that insists “the work is intentionally and unabashedly comic.” He names specifically the contributions of Erich Gruen, Carey Moore, Lawrence Wills, and especially David McCracken as evidence for a “new critical orthodoxy” that underscores the ironic-comical elements of Tobit. Indeed, as Cousland notes, for McCracken Tobit is “a comic narrator, who although pious, embodies the ludicrous through his limited perspective.”1 To Cousland’s list of commentators who read Tobit as a robustly comic work might now be added Katherine Southwood, who believes Tobit deploys “comic moments and comic characterization” in order to critique “a type of Yahwism characterized by inward-looking piety, religious and ethnic endogamy, and simplistic notions of retribution.”2 For Cousland, however, interpretations like McCracken’s (and Southwood’s) represent mis-readings of the book. Although he concedes that the story is not “a work of unremittingly high seriousness” and that some modern readers might identify elements of Tobit as “risible and * I am grateful to the Louisville Institute whose awarding of a Sabbatical Grant for Researchers facilitated the completion of this essay. 1  J. R. C. Cousland, “Tobit: A Comedy in Error?,” CBQ 65 (2003): 535–53 (535–37). Cf. Erich S. Gruen, Diaspora: Jews Amidst Greeks and Romans (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2002); Carey A. Moore, Tobit: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 40A (New York: Doubleday, 1996); Lawrence M. Wills, The Jewish Novel in the Ancient World (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995), 82; David McCracken, “Narration and Comedy in the Book of Tobit,” JBL 114 (1995): 401–18. Cousland cites further the significant work of, among others, George W. E. Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature between the Bible and the Mishnah: A Historical and Literary Introduction (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981); Anathea Portier-Young, “Alleviation of Suffering in the Book of Tobit: Comedy, Community, and Happy Endings,” CBQ 63 (2001): 35–54. 2  Katherine Southwood, “Comical Moments and Comical Characterisations in Tobit: The Undermining of Self-Righteous Piety, Simplistic Retribution, and Limited Yahwism,” JSOT 46 (2022): 443–59.

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comical,” he believes the book discloses “a highly serious concern with the affairs of Israel.” Consequently, he poses a key question in the debate: “Is the book of Tobit deliberately funny?” Ancient readers, Cousland contends, would not have heard the text in a full ironic-comic manner.3 Of course, those who highlight comic-ironic elements of Tobit recognize, too, that the text may also be striving to negotiate serious issues facing Jews in the Hellenistic age. Gruen, for example, specifically notes that the humorous portions of Tobit “do not undermine more serious messages delivered in the prayers, the ethical pronouncements, and the overcoming of adversity by the characters,” while Portier-Young believes Tobit – a book of comedy and happy endings – could have helped readers cope with situations of suffering.4 And for Southland, “the comedy in Tobit seeks” to “ridicule the extremes of endogamy and piety,” which though “necessary for diaspora survival” can “become destructive” “when taken to the extreme.”5 Still, although Cousland may have overstated the divide between interpreters who emphasize comic and ironic humorous elements at work in Tobit and those commentators who read the book as straight, serious, pious, religious literature, the tendencies in interpretation that he identified seem real enough. I want to intervene in the debate Cousland identified regarding whether and to what extent it is warranted to understand the book of Tobit as a comic work that contains significant ironic humor by relating the question to the spectacular textual pluriformity of the work, and by considering its possible ironic and humorous elements in light of theoretical insights in the study of satire and irony, using as test cases some of the book’s “T/torah” teaching – both that which stands in clear relation to the Books of Moses (Torah) and that which resonates more fully with wisdom (or testamental) instruction (torah).6 Indeed, the full intro3  Cousland, “Comedy?,” 552–53. Other modern, critical interpreters of Tobit likewise emphasize the serious, pious aspects of the book. Cf. Fitzmyer, Tobit, 31–33; José Vílchez Líndez, Tobías y Judit, Nueva Biblia Española, Narraciones III (Estella [Navarra]: Editorial Verbo Divino, 2000), 37. 4 Gruen, Diaspora, 155; Portier-Young, “Alleviation of Suffering,” 51. 5 Southwood, “Comical Moments,” 455. 6 On the textual pluriformity of the work see The Book of Tobit: Texts from the Principal Ancient and Medieval Traditions, ed. Stuart Weeks et al. (New York: De Gruyter, 2004); Loren Stuckenbruck and Stuart Weeks, “Tobit,” in The T&T Clark Companion to the Septuagint (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015), 237–60; Joseph Fitzmyer, Tobit, CEJL (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2003), 3–17. Significant studies of Torah in Tobit that consider texts I am unable to treat here include: Devorah Dimant, “Tobit and the ‘Torah for Exile’ in Light of the Qumran Texts,” ZTK 119 (2022): 2–30; Lutz Doering, “Torah and Halakah in the Hellenistic Period,” in Torah: Functions, Meanings, and Diverse Manifestations in Early Judaism and Christianity, ed. William M. Schniedewind et al. (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2021), 249–92; Beate Ego, “The Torah in the Diaspora: The LXX Esther and Tobit as Test-Cases,” in The Early Reception of Torah, ed. Kristin de Troyer et al., DCLS 39 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2020), 71–80; Joseph A. Weaks, “Fearing the Lord God: The Reception of Deuteronomic and Deuteronomistic Tropes in Tobit,” ibid., 81–92; Frances M. Macatangay, “The Wisdom Discourse of Tobit as Instruction in Torah,” Bib-

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duction into this debate of the literary-critical concepts of satire and especially irony – a regular and key element of satirical discourse – can shed a good bit of light on the impasse in interpretation that Cousland identifies.7 In particular, it can account for the fact that some readers – whether ancient or modern – might hear and emphasize certain elements of the Tobit tale in comic and ironic-satiric terms while other readers reject or downplay such interpretations. Consequently, this essay suggests that two different tellings of the Tobit story, the GII and GI versions – already abstractions that artificially constrain a broader textual pluriformity that characterizes the Tobit tradition – are the sorts of texts that it is easy to imagine distinct communities of interpreters understanding (and perhaps producing) in distinct ways. The longer GII version, represented primarily by Sinaiticus (S), contains elements that members of certain interpretive communities might reasonably hear as satiric and ironically humorous, even as these satiric elements contribute to a rhetorical purpose that is hardly frivolous. It (or its Semitic Vorlage) was perhaps even intentionally composed to be a satiric work. By contrast, the shorter GI text, almost certainly a revision of a longer GII (S-like) text, offers fewer textual resources for robust satiric and ironic interpretation. It is thus easily read (and was perhaps produced) by a community of interpreters as a “straight” text.8 GI, that is, lends itself to conventional, largely non-satiric or critically comic interpretation. It thereby affirms certain pious practices and moral orientations that are constructed in terms of the traditional torah of wisdom, or testamentary instruction, and the statutes, ordinances, and narratives, or Torah, of the Pentateuch. The sort of piety and T/torah ethics Tobit embodies – e. g., almsgiving, festival observance, burial of dead, endogamy, and so forth – that GI unproblematically promotes can also be identified in other Second Temple texts; it thus can easily be reckoned as central to one important conception of Jewish identity in a Hellenistic diasporic context.9 GII, however, via its presentation of the religious lische Notizen 167 (2015): 99–111; cf. John J. Collins, “Torah as Narrative and Wisdom,” in idem, The Invention of Judaism: Torah and Jewish Identity from Deuteronomy to Paul (Oakland: University of California Press, 2017), 80–96. 7  Unsurprisingly, some have recognized, at least incidentally, satire in Tobit (Southwood, “Comical Moments,” 445, 452) while others have not. Portier-Young (“Alleviation of Suffering,” 52), for instance, hears much humor in Tobit, but concludes “The book contains no element of political or cultural satire (to my eye) ....” 8  The original language of Tobit was Semitic, probably Aramaic. The text likely emerged in either the Eastern Diaspora (where the tale itself is set), Alexandria (the home of the most significant Hellenistic diasporic Jewish community), or perhaps in or close to Judea. See Fitzmyer, Tobit, 18–27, 50–54; cf. Devorah Dimant, “Tobit and the Aramaic Qumran Texts,” in eadem, From Enoch to Tobit: Collected Studies in Ancient Jewish Literature, FAT 114 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017), 173–91. 9  Among Second Temple texts outside of Tobit that develop biblical injunctions of kindness to the poor, almsgiving is most obviously a concern of somewhat later works like Sirach (e. g., 3:30; 7:10; 12:3; 29:8–13; 35:4). As Dimant and others remind, Hebrew ‫ צדקה‬only slowly comes

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and moral character of the literary character Tobit, may for some readers provoke the question of the adequacy for life in the Greek diaspora of aspects of the way of life that Tobit embodies and which GI more straightforwardly valorizes.10 That is, although in GII Tobit is not merely or grossly lampooned, his character can still be said to be satirically scrutinized. When read in doublevoiced satiric fashion, the vision of piety and ethics GII offers is in important ways distinct from, and offered as an alternative to, the sorts of identity markers that a straight reading of a text like GI insists are essential identity markers for Jews in diaspora.

2. Satire and Irony 2.1 Satire Satire is regularly considered “a vigorous, sharply pointed, and at times, embarrassingly or cruelly effective rhetorical device or genre.”11 Confident in its own virtue, satire  – a “clearly and explicitly didactic and moralizing” discourse  – censures vice and folly, regularly delivering incisive ridicule on the target of the satire.12 In the words of one 18th century voice, satirists work “to unmasque Characters, to disrobe counterfeit Virtue and attack common Opinions and Pre-possessions.”13 Although the acerbic nature of much satire has long been underscored, these days scholars reckon satire less as straightforward moral censure and mockery, and more, as Dustin Griffen has explained, as a rhetoric of questioning and provto denote almsgiving. According to Dimant, even Greek ἐλεημοσύνη in Tobit does not always mean almsgiving, but sometimes simply “mercy.” Still, cf. 4Q 200 2 6, 9 and see Dimant, “Tobit and the ‘Torah for Exile’,” 16, esp. n 52; cf. further the OG of Dan 4:24, as well, of course, later New Testament writers (e. g., Matt 6:1–4; 25:31–46; etc.) and the rabbis. Note too T. Job 44 (cf. 53) and 2 En. 9, 50, 51 (if this text is to be dated to the Second Temple period), which seem also to reveal an early Jewish concern with alms. See further Gregg E. Gardner, “Care for the Poor and the Origins of Charity in Early Rabbinic Literature,” in Wealth and Poverty in Jewish Tradition, ed. Leonard Greenspoon (West Lafayette: Purdue University Press, 2015), 13–32 and Gary A. Anderson, Charity: The Place of the Poor in the Biblical Tradition (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013). Genesis Apocryphon (6:8–9; 12:9–12) promotes an endogamy similar to Tobit. Dimant (“Tobit and the ‘Torah for Exile’,” 18, 22) calls dietary restrictions “a mark of Jewish piety” in “Second Temple times” and insists “the obligation to bury the unattended corpse of a fellow Jew” was a “major religious obligation” in the Second Temple period. 10  My understanding of Tobit is thus consonant with that of the likes of McCracken (“Narration and Comedy”) and Southwood (“Comical Moments”); it is, however, distinct from their interpretations in many particulars. 11  Encyclopedia of Satirical Literature, ed. Mary Ellen Snodgrass (Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 1996), 405. 12  Dustin Griffen, Satire: A Critical Reintroduction (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1994), 25, 36. 13 Noted by Griffen, Satire, 52–64.

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ocation.14 Although satire certainly will often “treat with some irony any spokesman who holds firmly to any narrow moral position,” it does not merely target self-righteous characters or positions.15 It also sets out to “attack the reader’s complacency,” to “disorient or unsettle” the one who takes up the satiric text; it strives to “challenge received opinion” and to provoke a reader to abandon any easy faith in any kind of received “wisdom.”16 Satirical discourse, that is, “lends itself to open-ended inquiry rather than to steady progress toward a conclusion.”17 By deploying irony, parody, hyperbole, incongruity and often explicitly humorous elements, satire, in other words, strives less “to present a moral” than to “set a moral problem – a problem that is not neatly resolved.”18 From ancient times forward satire’s seriocomic nature, has meant that its practitioners have sought “to explore a moral issue rather than settle it.”19 2.2 Irony If irony, parody, hyperbole, and humor are regularly central strategies of satiric discourse, irony is the key category. Irony, however, is, as Wayne Booth has said, a “large slippery object.”20 Booth himself is most interested in what he calls “stable irony” where speakers or writers offer ironic statements that are covert, but intentional. Authors expect at least certain readers to recognize their opaque and intended ironies behind the plain sense meaning of their utterances. Ironic texts will thus contain certain signals or cues (left by an intending author) that invite or spur on an interpreter to read ironically. Linda Hutcheon, to whose own work on irony we will shortly turn, has summarized the sorts of prompts Booth believes are regularly present in ironic texts: (1) straightforward hints or warnings presented in the authorial voice (titles, epigraphs, direct statements); (2) violations of shared knowledge (deliberate errors of fact, judgment); (3) contradictions within the work (“internal cancellations”); (4) clashes of style; (5) conflicts of belief (between our own and that which we might suspect the author of holding).21

In the sort of account of irony Booth presents, however, it is precisely because an author’s ironic intentions are covert that there can emerge debate – like what we have seen in Tobit studies – about whether particular features of a text are in fact intentional signs of irony, or are better read straight. 14 Griffen,

Satire, 39–64.  Griffen, Satire, 41–47. 16 Griffen, Satire, 52–64. Italics added. 17 Griffen, Satire, 41. 18 Griffen, Satire, 4, 98. 19  Griffen, Satire, 42. 20  Wayne C. Booth, A Rhetoric of Irony (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974), xi. 21  Hutcheon, Irony’s Edge, 151; Cf. Booth, Rhetoric, 53–76. 15

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2.3 Irony and Discursive Communities An intentionalist account of irony like Booth’s, however, is not the only one available. Hutcheon, for example, insists irony is not in the first place a question of authors, intentions, and decoding, but a problem of ​“ discourse” and “discursive communities.” The condition for the possibility of irony happening is a set of readers who already exist in the same, or a sufficiently similar, discursive community and who consequently share certain expectations – literary, social, moral, and so forth.22 As Hutcheon explains, “the existence of a discursive community can activate [for readers] a variety of markers [in a text] that function in different ways.” Certain textual features, or aspects of a communicative moment, that is, might provoke some readers from particular discursive communities to quite “naturally” identify an irony (or satiric humor) in an utterance and believe (rightly or wrongly) it was intended. Hutcheon’s mention of the importance of ​“textual markers” for a reader’s ability to discern irony in a work may sound similar to Booth’s account of ironic cues or signals that authors leave in their works for others to discover. But her focus on the role of discursive communities in an interpreter’s discernment of irony is distinct from Booth’s contention that authors intentionally leave ironic signals in their texts. The point is not that authors never have intentions – including ironic and satiric ones – when they write. They normally do. It is simply that it is typically quite difficult for interpreters to be sure they have correctly discovered what these intentions were. When a written text places a remark in quotation marks, for example, or when an oral utterance is accompanied by a wink, what is meant by such strategies of communication can often never be definitively decided. Regardless of the author’s or winker’s intentions, however, one discourse community may infer irony in the communication and another may not.23 This is because the graphic markers “ and ”, like the rapid closing and opening of a single eye, do not mean the same thing always and everywhere; they do not carry stable, universal meanings that intending authors can unproblematically transmit to interpreters. Rather the meanings they do carry at any particular moment are deeply contextual and dependent on the shared understandings of a discursive community receiving and interpreting the author’s/speaker’s message. Yet if belonging to an already existing discursive community is prerequisite for a reader’s hearing irony in the first place, then by the same token membership in a different discursive community may make it improbable or difficult for another reader to acknowledge irony in the very same text. As Hutcheon says, “textual markers,” or that which cues readers to construct ironic meanings, can “vary from community to community.” “In certain contexts some incongruities 22 Hutcheon,

Irony’s Edge, esp. 89–115.  Hutcheon, Irony’s Edge, 21.

23

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or seemingly inappropriate details,” which some discursive communities may regard, say, as simply “signaling deception or error,” will be heard by other discursive communities “as marking ironies to be inferred.” Such “signals,” however, “must probably be socially agreed upon.”24 For Hutcheon, then, when irony happens, it happens not merely through a kind of substitutionary mechanism whereby a straight reading of a text is essentially elided in favor of some covert intended meaning. Rather, hearing unspoken/unwritten ironic meaning also requires hearing fully the literal, straightforward spoken/written meaning.25 Hutcheon thus likens the happening of irony (or not) to the perceptions of those who consider the now famous duck-rabbit image deployed by Wittgenstein in his Philosophical Investigations.26 Some who view the image, see only the rabbit, some see only the duck. Others can sometimes see the duck and sometimes see the rabbit. But no one can see the duck and the rabbit at the same time. The best one can hope for is to oscillate between the two.27 For Hutcheon, however, “when it comes to the ducks and rabbits of ironic meaning, our minds almost can” see both at the same time. “We can and do oscillate very rapidly between the said and the unsaid.” Drawing on a further metaphor from musicology, hearing irony, she suggests, is like “triple voicing” where “two notes played together produce a third note which is at once both notes and neither.” For Hutcheon, unless we hear both the straight spoken meaning of an utterance and its unspoken meaning, “we are not interpreting the utterance as ironic at all.”28 What is indispensable, then, for understanding the (possible) ironic or satiric nature of various versions of Tobit is precisely the ability to imagine the existence of different discursive communities whose members, in one case, share(d) significant social, moral, and literary sensibilities with each other, but hold/held fewer perspectives in common with those belonging to other discursive communities. Consequently, the possible motives for GI’s revision of GII – or more precisely the different possible readerly inferences regarding the storyteller’s motives – should be fully explored. Typically, GI’s version of Tobit is thought to emerge from the revisers’ literary concerns to produce a clearer and more concise version of GII’s story; the two versions thus can be said to “illustrate ‘the difference between a Semitic storyteller and wisdom compiler on the one hand [GII], and the literary redactor of the Hellenistic age on the other [GI]’”29 However, in light of the above theoretical remarks about satire, irony, 24 Hutcheon,

Irony’s Edge, 21  Hutcheon, Irony’s Edge, 59. 26 Hutcheon, Irony’s Edge, 59. 27  Hutcheon, Irony’s Edge, 59–60. 28  Hutcheon, Irony’s Edge, 60; italics original. 29 Moore, Tobit, 58, quoting an uncited 1971 work of Patrick W. Skehan; cf. Irene Nowell, “The Book of Tobit: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections,” NIB III, 975–1071. 25

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and discursive communities, it is also possible to imagine readers ascribing to the storyteller other motives for the sorts of changes to the tale introduced by GI, just as it is possible to imagine a range of motives for GII’s longer presentation of the Tobit tale. On the one hand, a discursive community that read (and early on preserved) a long version of Tobit (like GII) – and perhaps produced it (or translated its Semitic Vorlage) – may well have regarded the picture of Tobit in that “full” work to invite an understanding of Tobit as a kind of caricature of piety. On the other hand, GI’s “downsizing” of GII, can be thought to invite a more straightforward reading of the tale by a community of readers (or text producers) who themselves did not regard, or perhaps did not want others to reckon, Tobit’s character and T/torah piety in GII in any sort of satiric fashion.

3. Tobit’s T/torah Piety 3.1 Tob 1:3–9 Tobit’s T/torah piety is initially revealed in Tobit 1:3–9. Verses 3–6a are roughly equivalent in GII and GI. Via a first-person discourse (extending to 3:6), Tobit himself first focuses attention on his own virtue: “I, Tobith, walked in the ways of truth and in righteous acts all the days of my life, and I performed many acts of charity for my kindred and my people” (GII; 1:3).30 However, the following verses 6b–9 are much longer in GII than in GI. This longer text, which includes Tobit’s strong confidence in his own virtue (v. 3), subsequently might well be reckoned as hyperbolic, thereby contributing to a possible satiric reading of the entire passage. By contrast, though GI recounts the substance of GII, that work removes much in GII’s descriptions of Tobit. Consequently, it lends itself to a straight reading of Tobit’s initial sketch of his character. The hyperbolic and satiric nature of GII in Tob 1:6b–9 can, for example, be noticed in Tobit’s account of his practice of sacrificing and presenting tithes in Jerusalem prior to his being exiled to Nineveh. The lines in GII’s Greek text are not only long, they are complex and entail some syntactic difficulties.31 By contrast, GI offers a streamlined, and more organized account of especially Tobit’s tithing practices. All of Tobit’s claims in both GII and GI regarding his distribution of gifts can easily be collocated with demands articulated in Pentateuchal passages (e. g., Exod 22:29–30; 23:14–17; cf. Exod 34:22–23; Lev 27:30– 32; Deut 16:16). Devorah Dimant has also suggested that Tobit’s practices reflect the authentic Halachic deliberation of some Jews in the Hellenistic epoch, such as 30  Unless otherwise noted, the Greek texts consulted are from Weeks et al., The Book of Tobit and translations of Tobit are from NETS. 31  See Fitzmyer, Tobit, 107–12.

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the Qumran community.32 Here, however, I want to focus simply on the literary character of the two texts which may indicate the one, GII, as more susceptible to satiric reading than the other, GI. First, in v. 6 of both GII and GI, though with slightly different language, Tobit emphasizes that he “alone” of all his kindred and among the tribe of Naphtali refused to offer sacrifices outside of Jerusalem, thereby clearly adhering to the demand of the Torah of Deuteronomy (Deut 12:1–28).33 Unlike others, Tobit would keep the pilgrimage feasts as it is written “in an everlasting ordinance.”34 Subsequently, GII’s 1:6 deploys a further rhetoric that also could well be called hyperbolic, especially when compared with the more laconic text of GI. Probably thinking of Lev 27:30–32 and Deut 18:4, GII has Tobit claim to have taken “the first fruits and the first products and the tithes of the cattle and the first shearings of the sheep” to Jerusalem whither he would “hurry off ” to present them, in v. 7a, to the priests. By contrast, in GI’s v. 6 Tobit hands over to the priests only “the first fruits and the tithes of the produce and the first shearings”; the line also removes any mention of the haste or eagerness to travel to Jerusalem of which GII speaks. By the end of Tobit’s first allusions to Torah in Tob 1:6, then, GII’s full description of sacrificial gifts, and especially Tobit’s claim that he would “hurry off ” to Jerusalem, already starts to paint a picture of Tobit in that work as one who understood himself to be quite scrupulous and zealous in his keeping of Torah. This pattern continues in subsequent verses. In GI’s v. 7, for example, pious Tobit speaks only and staidly of handing over to the Levites a “tenth of all the produce.” That text subsequently refers in clear and succinct fashion to both a second tithe that Tobit spent in Jerusalem – probably an allusion to the sacrificial meal of one who lived some distance from Jerusalem (Deut 14:24–26) – and a third tithe given to those “to whom it was my duty” – probably “the resident aliens, the orphans, and the widows” of Deut 14:28–29.35 By contrast, GII, does not explicitly and neatly distinguish a second and third tithe, but in a somewhat anxious style piles up terms that delineate Tobit’s offerings. To the Levites in GII Tobit gave “a tenth of the grain and the wine and olive oil and pomegranates and the figs, and the rest of the fruits.” His second tithe, he tells us further, and more ambiguously than GI, was “in silver for six years,” and was spent in Jerusalem  Dimant, “Tobit and the Aramaic Qumran Texts,” 189–91.

32

33 Even a straight reader of the Tobit tradition like Fitzmyer (Tobit, 107) recognizes the hyper-

bole of Tobit’s claim to “alone” have worshipped in Jerusalem. For Fitzmyer, however, Tobit’s words do not serve a satiric-critical end, but rather “hyperbolically stress the loneliness and isolation that he experienced in his fidelity to such ancient regulations.” 34  Later, in Tob 5:14, Tobit emends his claim that only he observed the pilgrimage festivals. This change in Tobit’s “story” leads some modern ironic-critical readers of the book (e. g., McCracken, “Narration and Comedy,” 48) to question the honesty of the Tobit character. 35  So Fitzmyer, Tobit, 109.

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annually. These gifts, Tobit explicitly adds in GII, were given in the third year to the “orphans and the widows and the guests who had attached themselves to the sons of Israel” – i. e., those whom GI does not name but more modestly suggests it was Tobit’s “duty” to supply with his third tithe. Finally, GII also notes, again with some hyperbole, that all Tobit’s tithing was done “according to the decree that had been decreed concerning them in the law of Moses” – words absent in GI – and “according to the commands of Deborah …” who however is also mentioned in GI. The last activity Tobit mentions in the story of his life prior to being exiled to Nineveh (cf. 1:2; 10) is his marriage to Hanna, “one of our own family” (v. 9). Tobit and Hanna’s endogamous marriage is consonant with Deut 7:3’s prohibition against Israelite intermarriage with certain, though not all, non-Israelite peoples. The mere mention of it here, by itself, however, hardly invites a satiriccritical interpretation. Still, as Fitzmyer says, this act “again reveals his [Tobit’s] loyalty to ancestral traditions, as he followed the endogamy or consanguineous marriage of the patriarchs (Gen 24:7, 37–38; 28:1–9; 29:19), which in time was understood as intratribal marriage (Num 36:3–9; Jdt 8:2).”36 The book’s much discussed promotion of endogamy, however, becomes clearer later in Tobit’s initial testamentary instruction to his son Tobias (Tob 4:12–13). Here, again, appropriate endogamy entails the quite strict conception of marrying, not merely within Israel, but within one’s own tribe (v. 12). Anything else constitutes “prostitution” (πορνείας) or “immorality” (NRSV ). Related to Tobit’s concern with strict endogamy is his interest in establishing appropriate genealogies. In 5:11–14 he interrogates the angel Raphael/Azarias as to his family and tribe, which Tobit finally judges to be “noble and good” (v. 14). Again, readers of GII at least, may take these features of the story, as further textual clues that validate an emerging satirical-critical view of Tobit as one who may be too concerned with such matters.37 Indeed, the angel himself (ironically?) asks (rebukes?) Tobit: “Why, do you need a tribe?” (5:12). By the end of Tob 1:9, most, if not all readers, of Tobit will see in these opening lines of the book the “duck” of Tobit’s piety and moral uprightness. Some discursive communities, however, may also start to reckon the verbosity of GII, not merely as poor literary or translation style, but as hyperbole (and perhaps irony and incongruity) and thereby already catch (or construct) a glimpse of a satiric “rabbit” in the presentation of Tobit’s character – as one who may press descriptions of his own righteousness and Torah piety a bit too hard.

 Fitzmyer, Tobit, 112.  This is so even if Tobit’s preoccupations are easily understandable for a person in exile who recognizes in close kin and ethnic ties a realm of security that also provides a coherent identity for diasporic existence. 36 37

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3.2 Tob 1:10–13 Subsequent to Tobit’s account of his religious practices in the land, we read next in Tob 1 of his conduct in exile in Nineveh. In vv. 10–11 Tobit recounts the fact that he did not eat the foods of the nations, a practice again easily collocated to Pentateuchal Torah texts (Leviticus 11; Deuteronomy 14). Although GII and GI are quite similar at this point, important differences in detail gesture to different characterizations of Tobit in the two works. In vv. 10–11 of both GI and GII, for instance, Tobit highlights his own scrupulous attention to dietary regulations in comparison to the practices of other Israelites. However, in GII, Tobit’s distinctiveness is presented in slightly sharper terms since GI eliminates a redundancy in GII. While GI only mentions τῶν ἄρτων τῶν ἐθνῶν once, in GII’s v. 11 Tobit speaks twice of the “food” or “bread of the nations” of which other Israelites partook but which he claims to have uniquely avoided. GII’s terminological repetition rhetorically underscores what to readers from certain discursive communities may appear more and more like Tobit’s grandiose account of his own exemplary Torah piety. The distinct descriptions of Tobit’s character in GII and GI continues in Tob 1:12–13. In both versions of the story we read that Tobit became the Assyrian emperor’s (Enemessaros’s; i. e., Shalmaneser’s) purchasing agent. The two accounts, however, narrate Tobit’s attainment of this position in relation to his dietary practices somewhat differently. In GII, the rhetoric and syntax of vv. 11–13 intimates that Tobit specifically relates his act of being mindful of the divine to the consequence of God facilitating his position in the Assyrian royal apparatus. In a Greek that mimics Semitic sentence structure, he says: “I kept myself from eating the bread of the nations. And when (καὶ ὅτε) I was mindful of God with my whole soul, [then; kai] the Most high gave me favor and good standing with Enemessaros.” Consequently, GII might be heard by some discursive communities as presenting Tobit as one who holds a strong (and perhaps exaggerated) belief in a strict (and perhaps simplistic) notion of moral retribution where obedience to T/torah is externally motivated by promises of rewards or threats of punishment. Indeed, some contemporary readers of Tobit have suggested the book (understood as GII) is to a large extent concerned to criticize precisely such a view.38 Unlike GII, however, Tobit’s keeping of Torah in GI’s 1:11–13 appears motivated internally by his good character and not predicated on some promise of external reward. In deploying the subordinating conjunction καθότι, Tobit claims to have kept himself from the food of the Gentiles “because I was mindful of God with my whole soul.” Then, with a rhetoric that also resonates with Semitic syn38  Cf. Southwood, “Comical Moments”; Micah D. Kiel, The “Whole Truth”: Rethinking Retribution in the Book of Tobit (London: T&T Clark, 2012).

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tax (parataxis), v. 13 recounts a temporally subsequent event – the high standing God gives him with the Assyrian overlord: “Then [kai] the Most high gave me favor and good standing with Enemessaros.” Certainly, one might infer that in GI, as in GII, Tobit is reckoned (and regards himself ) as rewarded for his Torah piety with his high position. Yet GI’s revision of GII at this point seems to resist understanding Tobit here as one who regards his high position as in some sense, and certainly not in simplistic fashion, a reward for piety. As a figure who seems to suffer unjustly, Tobit has of course often been related to Job.39 And the book of Job, recall, was concerned at least in part to explore the question of the possibility of disinterested piety – whether Job feared God “for nothing” (Job 1:9). However, unlike Job, who patiently and piously received good and evil from the hand of God (in the Joban prose prologue at least; Job 1:21; 2:10), Tobit’s words in GII’s 1:11–13 may subtly suggest to at least some readers that Tobit may in fact be one whose piety is problematically quite interested. GI’s changes to a longer Tobit tale at 1:11–13, by contrast, revise the textual features of GII that might contribute to such a (critical) portrait of Tobit’s religious character. Tobit’s piety in GI is appropriately uninterested. 3.3 Tob 4:1–20 Tobit’s account of his own piety in exile continues in Tob 1:16 – 2:6. He again tells of his own acts of charity (1:16): almsgiving and burial of the dead (1:17) – the one clearly related to the Pentateuch’s Torah (e. g., Deut 14:28–9; 15:7–11; 26:12– 15), the other easily derived from texts throughout Tanakh, such as Ps 116:15, and many others that allude to the undesirability of no burial (e. g., Deut 28:26; 1 Kgs 14:11).40 Tobit also recounts his keeping of the Pentateuch’s Feast of Weeks in these lines (cf. Ex 34:22; Deut 16:10). There are subtle differences between GII’s and GI’s tellings of these matters that arguably might contribute to different constructions of Tobit’s character in each text.41 However, the narrator’s account of the wisdom or testamentary instruction Tobit offers Tobias in Tobit 4 lends itself to more explicit views of Tobit’s T/torah observance that can contribute to some readers’ construction of GII’s satirical critique of Tobit, and to GI’s more modest production of a genuinely pious figure.

39 E. g.,

Portier-Young, “Alleviation of Suffering.” Qoh 6:3, a text roughly contemporaneous to Tobit, and the rabbinic tradition of mēt miṣwāh preserved in b. Megillah 3b. Cf. Dimant, “Tobit and the ‘Torah for Exile’,” 22. 41 These include Tobit’s claim that his good works are performed on behalf of his own people or kin, a strong inward moral orientation that is slightly stronger in GII than in GI (1:3, 16; cf. v. 10); GII’s presentation of Tobit with a rhetoric (“father”; “Here I am”; 2:3) that evokes the righteous Abraham (Gen 22:7), which is absent in GI; Tobit’s concern not merely that Tobias find a poor Israelite to share his festal meal who is “mindful of the Lord” (GI), but a poor person who is “mindful with his whole heart” (GII). 40 Cf.

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After Tob 2:9–10’s account of Tobit’s blinding (a major motif in the book to which we will return), Tobit prays to die (3:6). Subsequently, in Tobit 4 and apparently anticipating his death, Tobit decides to offer Tobias what appears to be his final (testamentary) words of instruction, including revealing to him the fact that he has left a significant amount of money on deposit in a distant land.42 With some minor differences between GII and GI, after Tobit in 4:3–4 exhorts Tobias to bury him and to honor his mother, in v. 5 he instructs Tobias to remember the Torah or divine commandments – τὰς ἐντολὰς αὐτοῦ. Subsequently, however, the instruction Tobit offers in 4:6–19 resonates less with Torah’s teachings and more with traditional wisdom. At this point in the story, however, the “long” text of GII as represented by S is actually much shorter than GI. Hence most commentators speak of a significant lacuna in S’s version of GII that runs from the middle of 4:6 to the middle of 4:19. This lacuna probably should be restored on the basis of the Old Latin, and especially MS 319, which I here follow.43 The ironies at Tob 4:6–19 in both GII (MS 319) and GI are quite obvious regardless of whether readers understand them to contribute substantively to a larger satiric tone (GII) or to the straight construction of a pious Tobit (GI).44 Much of the instruction Tobit offers, and presumably believes he himself to have followed in his own life, does not seem to correspond to his own conduct or what he has experienced. In v. 6, for example, Tobit reminds Tobias not to “tread paths of unrighteousness because those who practice truth will prosper in their works.” Similarly, in vv. 8–10 Tobit exhorts Tobias to give alms from what you have, whether your possessions be “little” or “much” because “almsgiving protects from death and does not allow you to go into darkness” (v. 10). Then, in v. 13, while warning Tobias not to be “too arrogant” and so refuse to take a wife from his own people, Tobit states that: In arrogance there is destruction and much instability. And in worthlessness is diminution and great poverty.

Even on a straight or non-satiric reading of Tobit’s instruction, it is clearly ironic that righteous and once wealthy Tobit has lost his sight, prayed for death, and fallen into poverty (4:21) But for readers from a discursive community who have, little by little, been discerning a satirical critique of Tobit in GII, these and other features of Tobit’s teachings can more fully call into question his character. For example, Tobit’s exhortation in v. 8 to give alms “if you have much” might be 42  Between Tobit’s prayer and his testamentary instruction the text includes an account of Sarah’s troubles and prayer in 3:7–15. 43  I adopt the text and translation of MS 319 published by Robert J. Littman, Tobit: The Book of Tobit in Codex Sinaiticus, Septuagint Commentary Series (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 12–13. 44  The translation of GI lines is not provided in this section as the GI text at this point is regularly similar to MS319.

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heard as indicting Tobit himself, who apparently has not given alms from the abundant possessions he left on deposit in Media. For readers who already have knowledge of the Tobit story, verse 14’s instruction to “let not the pay of a man among you be delayed overnight” might also evoke the fact that Raphael/Azarias, whom Tobit contracted to accompany Tobias on his journey to retrieve Tobit’s silver, apparently does not receive his promised daily wage (5:15) in twenty-fourhour intervals. Instead, he is compensated only at the end of the journey (12:1). Finally, Tobit’s advice at the end of v. 19 that Tobias should ask the Lord God to prosper his ways since “every nation does not have a good counsel” may for some readers ironically raise the question of the utility and validity of Tobit’s own traditional Judean testamentary instruction and Torah obedience. If Tobit’s instruction to Tobias in Tobit 4 is regarded as true in a straightforward literal way, there is obviously little chance that Tobit himself, who has not been successful, but has fallen into the darkness of blindness and now has become poor, can be reckoned as one who keeps to the truth and who sufficiently or appropriately gave alms. Indeed, as v. 13 hints, it is more likely that his own articulation of his pious practices and acts of compassion was a concealment of a less desirable aspect of his moral disposition, one characterized by pride or arrogance, something which his wife Hanna in 2:14 likely already hinted was the case when she inquired of blind, frustrated Tobit, “now where are your acts of charity? Where are your righteous deeds? See, these things are known about you!”45 Although Hanna’s words are conceivably an exhortation to Tobit to live into his true, good character despite his current struggles, she may also be calling into question his moral disposition the way some readers may have already started to. Indeed, her utterance is easily reckoned as an indictment that his piety was (and was known to be) largely disingenuous. Like Fitzmyer, many commentators hear her words as a charge (even if unjustified) of hypocrisy.46 If certain readers of GII (MS 319), especially in light of other features of the text, might understand the ironies of Tobit’s instruction in Tobit 4 as contributing to a comical and satiric critique of that character, most readers of GI  – in light of the characteristics of that text – would not.47 Instead, the ironies of Tobit’s testament might well be interpreted not as critique of Tobit’s character, but simply in light of the unfortunate experiences he has faced. They would function to support a picture of Tobit who admirably remains pious and faithful in exile/diaspora even when his righteousness is obviously not (yet or always) appropriately rewarded. 45 The account of Hanna’s work, the gift she received, and Tobit’s rebuke of her (3:11–14) are similar in GII and GI. 46  Fitzmyer, Tobit, 141. 47  Nor would other readers of GII, if they belonged to discursive communities highly predisposed to read that work in straight terms.

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4. Tobit’s Blindness and Restoration of Sight Tobit’s account of his own T/torah piety early in the book and his wisdom or testamentary instruction in Tobit 4 is paralleled in the latter part of the book by Raphael’s brief instruction to Tobit and Tobias in Tobit 12, and by Tobit’s own second effort at testamentary counsel in Tobit 14. The differences between Tobit’s concerns early in the book and Raphael’s and Tobit’s focus later are significant (see below). However, they come into full relief only when understood against that most important of motifs in Tobit, his blindness and restoration of sight. This motif, like much of what we have seen so far in the tale, is recounted in fuller and more subtle ways in GII than they are in GI. The differences between the two tales suggest further how features of GII reveal it to be the sort of text some discursive communities might well have read in full ironic-humorous or satiric fashion, while GI is the sort of work that most discursive communities would read straight. In both GI’s and GII’s Tob 2:10, for example, Tobit, while sleeping outside near a wall, is struck in/on the eyes with bird feces. White films subsequently develop on Tobit’s eyes, his vision is impaired, and he seeks the assistance of physicians. However, the line in GII is again significantly longer than in GI. In GI’s version, the implication, of course, is that Tobit’s sight has been severely diminished. The text, however, does not specifically indicate that Tobit was blinded. It notes only that white films covered his eyes and has Tobit say, “the physicians” “did not help me.” In GII, however, the rhetoric of blindness is overt. As in GI the physicians are unable to cure Tobit. But more than this, the medicines they offer result in Tobit’s explicit blindness. The more the physicians “anointed me with medicines,” Tobit says, “so much the more were my eyes blinded.” And this happened until “I became completely blind,” with Tobit finally adding, “I was powerless with my eyes for four years.” Significant differences between GII’s and GI’s handling of Tobit’s blindness are discernable elsewhere in the book too. In 3:17, for instance, Raphael is dispatched to heal Tobit (and Sarah; cf. Tob 3:7–16). But whereas GI speaks only of Raphael being sent to “scale away the white films of Tobit,” GII notes more fully that Raphael’s healing was to be carried out “by removing the white films from his eyes so that he might see with his eyes the light of God.” In Tob 5:10 the language of blindness is also more prominent in GII than in GI. After Tobit had directed his son to find a traveling companion to journey with him to recover the money Tobit had left on deposit, Tobias brings a certain Azarias (the angel Raphael in disguise) to meet Tobit. In GI the narrator succinctly says, “Then he [Tobias] called him [Raphael/Azarias], and he [Raphael/Azarias] went in and they [Tobit and Raphael/Azarias] greeted each other.” In GII, however, after the angel’s salutation – “Many joyful greetings to you” – the ostensibly virtuous Tobit in embittered fashion responds with the words,

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What is there for me still to be joyful about? Now I am a man with no power in my eyes, and I do not see the light of heaven, but I lie in darkness like the dead who no longer look at the light. Living, I am among the dead. I hear the voice of people, but I do not see them.

GI’s abridgment of the rhetoric of sight and blindness in GII is also significant in 7:7. In GI, “hearing that Tobit had lost his eyes,” Tobit’s kinsman Ragouel “grieved and wept,” as did Edna his wife and Sara his daughter. In the parallel scene in GII, however, Ragouel deploys the explicit rhetoric of blindness and with arguably hyperbolic language states the obvious irony that emerges when Tobit’s lack of sight is collocated with a clear moral rhetoric. For Ragouel, it is the “most miserable of calamities that a righteous man who also gives alms” – aspects of Tobit’s character that recall he himself was not shy about publicizing – “has become blind.” Although Ragouel’s words may be expressing a simple irony – that a “good” person sees misfortune – he, like Tobit in 1:12 (cf. above), seems more fully to presume the usual workings of a retributive moral scheme where good and bad people are appropriately rewarded with good and bad circumstances. Finally, Tobit 11 also thematizes blindness and sight in ways that are distinct in GII and GI. In vv. 7–8, for instance, GI has Raphael confidently state: “I know Tobias that your father will open his eyes” and that “he will see you [Tobias].” GII initially has Raphael utter the same sort of statement of assurance: “I know that his eyes will be opened.” But in this version, Tobit will also “look up and see the light.” Likewise, in GI’s v. 17, after all those who saw Tobit were amazed that he could see, “Tobit acknowledged before them that God had been merciful to him.” In GII, however, Tobit acknowledges not only that God had been merciful; the text also states forthrightly that God “had opened his eyes.” 4.1 A Question of Blind Motives All these differences between GII and GI that have to do with Tobit’s blindness and restoration of sight can, of course, be chalked up to GI’s literary sensibilities and concern to produce a less redundant and stylistically superior version of the Tobit story. However, given the prominence of the blindness-sight motif in GII, it is especially important to inquire further into possible motives that readers might ascribe to the storytellers for including that rhetoric, as well as for GI’s extensive revision of GII’s blindness-sight motif. What does the long text with its full and explicit rhetoric of blindness, sometimes directly associated with Tobit’s moral and religious character, accomplish? And what does the elimination of all that language rhetorically accomplish in GI? In the Bible the expression “to see the light,” which the book of Tobit also deploys (11:8; cf. 5:10) typically means “to live,” while to “go into darkness” can be a figure for death (e. g., Eccl 6:4; Isa 47:5). Tobit himself associates his own blindness with death in 5:10, and earlier prays for death because of his loss of sight (and the alienation he associates with that event; 3:1). In the Greek tradition,

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blindness and seeing, light and darkness were also not unknown metaphors for life and death.48 Images of light and seeing, blindness and darkness in the Bible, however, can also be deployed as metaphors for the attainment – or lack – of knowledge and moral-religious understanding. Inability to see, in other words, is a not an unknown trope in the biblical tradition for moral-epistemological failure (Isa 43:8; 56:10; 59:10)49 while sight or the opening of eyes can signal the acquisition of knowledge or new perception, perhaps most famously in Gen 3: 5–7 (cf. Isa 6:9– 10; 42:18) while the beginning of 1 Enoch (1:2) likewise notes that when Enoch came to understand the message the angels offered him, his “eyes were open and he saw.” Of course, Tobit’s blindness can be taken, as it sometimes is, as a figure of the difficulties and dangers of Jewish exilic or diasporic existence, and his restoration of sight as affirmation of divine providence in those contexts. The sort of pious practices and identity markers to which Tobit holds will ultimately serve the wellbeing of Judean diasporans. Even for one like pious Tobit, trials and difficulties, though mysterious, are inevitable; restoration for those like him, however, even if delayed, can be counted on. This sort of interpretation of the trope of blindness and sight in Tobit – as figures for difficult diasporic existence, and subsequent restoration – are typically applied to GII, the text that most commentators read because it is reckoned to be closest to an “original” Tobit story. However, such interpretive judgments perhaps more aptly apply to the short text of GI. In that work, the blindnesssight motif is clear. However, it is only reservedly introduced when compared to its robust presentation in GII. By contrast, in GII, because the motif is so fully deployed, it inevitably will evoke for some readers a full-range of possible figurative meanings regarding the lack and acquisition of knowledge or insight noted earlier. Reckoning the blindness-sight motif in GII as a figure for Tobit’s initially obscured or inadequate moral-theological understanding, and subsequently the new insight he eventually attains, has much to commend it; and some commentators understand the motif in precisely this way. Micah Keil, for example, insists that the “whole truth” of the book is that the sort of retributive (Deuteronomic) theology alluded to above, to which Tobit once clung, needs revision.50 However, the new (in)sight that once blind Tobit attains in GII need not be narrowly associated only with the revision of some Deuteronomic scheme 48  See the evidence discussed by Chad Harstock in Sight and Blindness in Luke-Acts: The Use of Physical Features in Characterization, BIS 94 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 60–81. 49  So too in the Greek literary tradition, though there blindness sometimes enables a kind of second sight or prophetic insight too (e. g., Oedipus); cf. Harstock, Sight and Blindness, e. g., 79–81. 50  Kiel, The “Whole Truth.”

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of retribution. In light of especially the plethora of other satirical or ironically critical features of GII already discussed, Tobit’s restoration of sight more broadly raises the question of what practices and beliefs  – including Deuteronomic retribution theology – might be thought to constitute authentic Jewish identity in diasporic Hellenistic contexts. Indeed, up until the point his sight is restored in Tobit 11, Tobit in GII might easily be read by certain satirically aware discursive communities as the sort of person whose understanding of what counts for an authentic or appropriate way of life may be too traditional and constrained, overly confident, and somewhat disingenuously lived out. The restoration of his sight can be reckoned as a figure for his new perceptions about virtue, piety, and the nature of T/torah observance. In other words, in GII the full rhetoric of blindness and sight helps satirically figure Tobit, hardly as a complete buffoon, but as one whose story can provoke readers to consider their own ways of life.

5. Raphael’s Teaching and Tobit’s (Second) Testamentary Instruction Yet if Tobit in GII is presented in such a way that certain discursive communities of readers will unsurprisingly regard his character as satirically presented and his blindness as a symbol for his limited understanding of what constitutes authentic or acceptable T/torah piety and Jewish identity in diaspora, what is the new insight he attains, which the restoration of his sight figures? Raphael’s wisdom discourse and Tobit’s second testamentary instruction in Tobit 12 and 14 offer some clues. The fact that Raphael’s instruction is situated near the end of the book and comes from a heavenly being, while Tobit’s instruction is offered in the book’s very last chapter, and only after that character has his vision restored and has heard the angel’s instruction, suggests that the messages of both Raphael’s and Tobit’s discourses are literarily privileged. Indeed, Tobit, with his new (in)sight, quite literally gets the book’s final instructional word. 5.1 Tob 12:6–10 GII’s and GI’s account of Raphael’s instruction in 12:6–10 are very similar. The rhetoric of the “good” is prominent in both versions and both texts also emphasize the important practices of blessing, acknowledgement, and praise of the divine (v. 6). In vv. 7–9 Raphael’s instruction to “do good” further entails prayer, almsgiving, and righteousness. When read in the broader context of GII’s story of Tobit, however, certain readers of that work attuned to irony and satire may again hear in aspects of Raphael’s teaching an indictment of Tobit’s previous existence (similar to what was the case with Tobit’s first testament). When Raphael says “Do what is good

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and evil will not overtake you” (v. 7), the irony of the statement in relation to “righteous” Tobit’s suffering is obvious (cf. 4:6). When the angel continues in v. 8 by proclaiming that “Prayer is good with truth, but almsgiving with righteousness is more than wealth with injustice,”51 some readers will now recognize that despite his earlier first-person claims about almsgiving (Tob 1:16; cf. 1:3), Tobit in fact did not make gifts from all of his riches – namely, the money he had deposited in Media. Obviously, if that money was inaccessible to Tobit (as the narrative suggests it was, at least for a time; cf. 2:15), a (straight) reader of GII would likely not be much concerned with the matter. Yet GII (like GI) also has Raphael insist that “It is better to give alms rather than to store up gold” (v. 8). Tobit, of course, did not literally store up gold, but he did reserve ten talents of silver (1:14)! Subsequently, when Raphael in v. 9 proclaims further that almsgiving “delivers from death” and enables one to “enjoy life,” readers attuned to satiric meanings may hear in his words still further critique of Tobit. The social and economic struggles that Tobit’s blindness precipitated quite clearly meant that his enjoyment of life was so minimal that he himself prayed for his own literal death. His earlier (claim to) almsgiving, it turns out, was ironically not sufficient to deliver Tobit from blindness and the accompanying social death he experienced. Finally, when in v. 10 Raphael insists that “those who commit sin and injustice are enemies of their own self,” readers from certain discursive communities may presume his words invite a critical evaluation of the Tobit character of the book’s earlier chapters. Of course, for readers from other discursive communities, especially when engaging the Tobit tale in a work like GI, the above sorts of ironies are easily missed or, more likely, reckoned as straightforward instruction that underscore the rightness of Tobit’s character. The principal irony in a straight reading of Raphael’s instruction in GI is, once again, the one Ragouel earlier identified (7:7) – the fact that righteous Tobit has inexplicitly experienced so much misfortune. Besides the ironies in Raphael’s instruction, which may or may not contribute to readers’ satiric-critical picture of Tobit’s way of life, one might also call attention to the rather general nature of the angel’s teaching and to what might be regarded as a somewhat larger area of moral concern in the practices he recommends, especially when compared to the full range of Tobit’s deeds revealed earlier in the book. Absent in Raphael’s words, for example, is not only mention of pilgrimage practices and temple tithing, which would be impossible in exile; missing also is explicit concern for festival observance (cf. 2:1), 51  In v. 8 S reads “prayer is good with truth,” while GI reads what becomes a more standard pairing: “prayer is good with fasting” subsequently producing a line that is somewhat distinct from that of GII.

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dietary and burial practices (e. g., 1:10–11, 16), and endogamous marriage (cf. 1:9; 4:13), all of which Tobit valued in diaspora. Absent too in Raphael’s speech is any indication that one’s good deeds should be limited to one’s own kindred or race, something that was likewise implicitly characteristic of Tobit’s first-person narration of his way of life in especially Tob 1.52 Even the form of the angel’s instruction contributes to the passage’s minimalist and universalizing piety and ethic. It is not only brief, it is proverbial, a mode of discourse that tends to express general truths or warrants for conduct. 5.2 Tobit 14 Tobit’s final testament in Tobit 14 is longer and more complex than Raphael’s instruction, largely due to an extensive eschatological rhetoric (especially in GII), which is absent in the angel’s discourse. Still, like Raphael’s teaching, Tobit’s final testamentary torah to Tobias and Tobias’s sons can also be characterized as offering a minimalist and universalizing piety and ethic, even as it points to the re-establishment of the particular Jerusalem temple (v. 5). In GII’s Tob 14:8–9, for example, explicit mention is made of the importance of an ethic of righteousness and almsgiving (δικαιοσύνην καὶ ἐλεημοσύνην) as well as mindfulness and blessing of the divine. As in Raphael’s instruction, however, what is again absent is mention of practices that construct a more particularistic Jewish identity – i. e., Tobit’s earlier concerns with festival observance, endogamy, and dietary and burial practices.53 Tobit at this point likewise makes no suggestion that one’s good deeds should be directed to one’s own kin and tribe, as were his earlier good deeds. At this point in GI, by contrast, Tobit forthrightly exhorts Tobias to “keep the law and the ordinances” – an obvious reference to Torah – “so that it will go well with you,” a motivational clause that evokes the retributive rhetoric of Deuteronomic Torah (e. g., Deut 12:28). This is so even as for GI keeping the law and ordinances in Tob 14:9 also explicitly entails practicing mercy and justice (φιλελεήμων καὶ δίκαιος), a more universalizing religiousmoral rhetoric cognate to GII’s “righteousness and almsgiving” (δικαιοσύνην καὶ ἐλεημοσύνην). The different ways GII and GI deploy eschatological rhetoric in Tob 14 also evidences GII’s stronger universalizing ethic when compared with GI’s more traditional and particular Jewish concerns. In v. 6 of both GII and GI Tobit imagines “all the nations” “turning” or “returning” (ἐπιστρέψουσιν) to the divine and forsaking idols, and fearing God; intriguingly, the term deployed to speak of the nations’ eschatological “(re)turning” to the divine – ἐπιστρέψουσιν – is the same as that which is used to describe Israel’s eschatological return to the  1:3, 16–17. the motif of burial of one’s kin is not absent, its presence in Tob 14: 1, 11–12 is subdued in comparison with Tobit’s earlier activities. 52

53 Though

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land in v. 5. In GII’s vv. 5–9, however, the terminology deployed for the divine is persistently the general term θεός (nine times). Such rhetoric in a Hellenistic diaspora context is easily understood as a reference to a universal divine figure, the only truly existing deity. Of course, GII’s Tobit also identifies this deity as the God of Israel, since the larger passage also speaks clearly of the land of Israel, Samaria, and Jerusalem where the house of this God, once destroyed, is to be rebuilt (v. 5). By contrast, in GI Israel’s particular deity is more forthrightly invoked. Three of the six explicit mentions of the deity in 14:5–9 in that work speak of the “Lord God” (κύριον τὸν θεὸν) or “the Lord” (τὸν κύριον) while v. 7 further places θεός in parallel with κύριος.54 One further distinction between GII and GI in Tobit 14 reveals subtle differences in each work’s understanding of proper piety and ethics in relation to T/torah observance. In vv. 5–9, GI deploys the language of truth twice. In v. 6 Tobit notes that “Then,” in the eschaton, “all the nations will turn back truly (ἀληθινῶς) to fear the Lord God ….” And in v. 7, deploying a prepositional phrase adverbially, he says “all who love the Lord God in truth (ἐν ἀληθείᾳ) and righteousness will rejoice, showing mercy to our kindred.” By contrast, GII uses the rhetoric of truth five times in the same range of verses and in every case a form of ἀλήθεια is deployed adverbially. The significance of this phenomenon here at the end of the book is hinted at by the fact that although ἀλήθεια is not particularly rare in the rest of GII (appearing some eleven times), outside of Tobit 14 an adverbial form, or prepositional phrase used adverbially, is found only in 3:5 and in 8:7. Tobit’s adverbial expressions in GII’s Tobit 14 function to exhort Tobias and his sons, as well as subsequent readers of the text, to truly, genuinely, or authentically follow Tobit’s general or universalizing piety and morality, key features of which – acknowledgement of the divine, as well as the practice of righteousness and almsgiving  – though derivable from, and consonant with Israel’s Torah, are articulated without specific allusion to that Torah or direct naming of the particular deity who gave it. Conversely, although in GI’s Tob 14:5–9 a concern with authentically – truly – acknowledging, blessing, and fearing the divine and living mercifully and justly remains (vv. 6–7), this generalizing ethic is both less prominent and largely – though not only – characterizes the eschatological conduct of the nations and their interaction with Israel. “Then all the nations will turn back truly to fear the Lord God, and they will bury their idols; and all the nations will bless the Lord,” says 14:6 and the first clause of v. 7. Subsequently, the line continues by noting that “his people [Israel] will acknowledge God, and the Lord will exalt his people.” Verse 7, however, returns to speak of the eschatological work of the

54  GII’s Tobit 14, deploys “Lord God” only in a somewhat different context, in the final line of the book.

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nations when Tobit says: “And all who love the Lord God in truth and righteousness will rejoice, showing mercy to our kindred.” GI’s Tob 14:5–9 thus appears to construct primarily an ethnic-religious distinction between, on the one hand, Israel with its Torah – its laws and ordinances – that entail merciful and just living (v. 9), and on the other hand, the nations who in turning to the “Lord God” “in truth and righteousness” will show “mercy to our kindred.” (v. 7). Although in GI the nations enjoy an eschatological transformation – truly turning to and fearing the Lord God, and abandoning idols – the focus remains on Israel’s eschatological restoration and well-being, to which the Gentiles contribute. In GII, however, the distinctions the text ultimately draws in relation to humans seems different than that of GI. Although ethnic particularities hardly disappear  – GII still distinguishes between Israel and the nations  – that text arguably eschatologically sorts people more fundamentally in ethical-religious terms. The key text comes at the end of v. 7: “And those who love God in truth will rejoice, but those who commit sin and injustice will vanish from all the earth.” The central exegetical question revolves around the referent of ​“And those who love God in truth” (οἱ ἀγαπῶντες τὸν θεὸν ἐπ̓ ἀληθείας). Does it refer specifically to those in Israel who love God in truth, or to Jews and Gentiles who all love God in truth? Coming as the words do on the heels of a clear reference to the “sons of Israel,” it may be that the reference is to an ethically distinct group within ethnic Israel. Yet there is also good reason to reckon “those who love God in truth” as referring to both Jews and Gentiles whose lives meet a certain ethical threshold. First, as we have already seen, other features of the GII passage move in a universalizing religious-ethical direction. Second, as we just saw, GI’s appropriation of GII at this point seems to understand “all those who love the Lord God in truth and righteousness” to refer not to Israelites or Jews, but to just Gentiles whom the Israelite/Jewish Tobit says will show “mercy to our kindred.” Third, in GII, Israel’s and the nations’ eschatological commitments to God are constructed in analogous terms. On the one hand, in GII’s 14:6 the nations who turn to God and abandon their idols, “truly (ἀληθινῶς) fear God” and bless the deity “in righteousness.” On the other hand, in v. 7 “The sons of Israel who are saved in those days” are similarly “mindful of God in truth (ἐν ἀληθείᾳ).” In the end, Gentiles will bless the God of the ages, while the Israelites/Jews “who are saved in those days” will enjoy a robust eschatological existence: “They will go into Ierousalem and live forever in the land of Abraam with security, and it will be given over to them.” However, one exegetical objection to understanding “all those who love God in truth” near the end of GII’s v. 7 as referring to the ethically excellent among both Jews and Gentiles, and not more narrowly to a sub-group of Israel, is the fact that those who do not reach this moral threshold – “those who commit sin

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and injustice” – “will vanish from all the earth” (end of v. 7). The term for earth here is γῆ, just as it is in v. 5’s allusion to the “land of Israel” (γῆν τοῦ Ισραηλ) and in v. 7’s earlier “land of Abraam” (γῇ Αβρααμ). The vanishing of ​“those who commit sin and injustice” “from all the earth” may thus refer not to all of the ethically culpable in the world (both Jews and Gentiles), but explicitly to the unjust and sinful of Israel who will be denied eschatological existence in ’eretz Israel. Still, the precise rhetoric of the end of v. 7 – i. e., that the unjust and sinners will vanish from “all the earth” (πάσης τῆς γῆς) and not merely “the land” (or the land of Abraam, Israel) – likely points to a wider purview. Indeed, earlier in the passage (v. 6) “all the nations” who “turn back and truly fear God” come from the “whole world” (ὅλῃ τῇ γῇ), a phrase absent in GI but cognate to v. 7’s “all the earth” (πάσης τῆς γῆς). In Tobit 14:5–9 GII thus arguably distinguishes between those Israelites and Gentiles who worship and live “in truth” (vv. 6–7) and who “practice righteousness and almsgiving” (vv. 8–9) from all others (Israelites and Gentiles) who commit sin and injustice (v. 7), as Malka Simkovich has similarly suggested.55 This aspect of the GII text, along with Tobit’s expressions elsewhere in the GII passage, functions to offer a forceful exhortation to Tobias, his sons, and subsequent readers of Tobit’s (second) testament, to truly, genuinely, or authentically follow the broad and universalizing instruction Tobit offers, which is valid for both Jews and non-Jews. And all this, one might think also constitutes, at least in part, the fruit of Tobit’s restored vision or new perception.

6. Conclusion The differences between GII and GI’s accounts of Tobit’s way of life before his blindness, the rhetoric of this blindness (and its removal) throughout the book, as well as the nature of the instruction the text introduces after Tobit’s sight is restored indicates that GII’s vision of appropriate piety and ethics is imagined in not completely different, but significantly distinct terms than in GI. For readers, and perhaps the producers, of a work like GII, who may be inclined to hear in that text a satiric-humorous critique of pious Tobit, the essence of a pious, moral existence that Jews might live in Hellenistic diaspora contexts primarily entails genuine acknowledgement and praise of the divine, as well as sincere practices of just dealings and almsgiving. Such a way of life can of course be reckoned as the fruit of following either the sort of wisdom instruction (torah) the book of Tobit (and other texts) preserves, or the Torah itself – or both Torah and torah. Still, for GII the mode of existence which that work promotes is linked most fully to 55  Malka Z. Simkovitch, The Making of Jewish Universalism: From Exile to Alexandria (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2017), 70–73.

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torah. In the discourses of Raphael and Tobit at the end of the book, the ethic the text promotes is not robustly reckoned as adherence to the ordinances of Torah or as motivated explicitly by covenant promises, as is the way of life GI highlights (14:9). In GI, the sort of wisdom instruction Raphael and Tobit offer is, of course, hardly illegitimate. But for this work a – or perhaps the most – reliable fashion to live an appropriate and genuinely pious and moral life as a Jew in diaspora – including performing righteous and merciful acts like almsgiving – is via obedience to the law and ordinances of Israel’s Lord – i. e., via full embrace of the way of life of an exemplary character like Tobit. In the end, then, the Tobit tradition’s two visions of what constitutes appropriate or authentic Jewish piety and morality in Hellenistic diaspora contexts, as articulated by GII and GI, can be said to be in conversation with one another. But actually, what I have been suggesting, is that these two perspectives already stand in dialogue within the single, earlier GII tradition – at least when and if that work is understood by readers in particular discursive communities in full double-voiced fashion  – where both the straight “duck” of Tobit’s traditional T/torah informed pious way of life (so clearly and explicitly articulated by GI’s revised work) and the critical, ironic-humorous and satiric “rabbit” of critique of those norms, can be heard “at the same time.” However, as theorists of satire might suggest, readers from discursive communities that in fact hear satiric double voicing in GII are invited not to privilege the religious-moral perspective of either the straight or the satiric voice in that work. Instead, they are beckoned to themselves join the dialogue and consider further the religious-moral problem the story sets: What constitutes/constituted appropriate and authentic Jewish identity in diaspora?

Trickery as Virtue? Reworking the Torah’s Trickster in the Book of Judith Judith H. Newman The Canadian author Margaret Atwood, well-known for her dystopian novel The Handmaid’s Tale, relates the following anecdote about relations between the sexes:1 When she asked a male friend why men feel threatened by women, he answered, “They are afraid women will laugh at them.” She then asked a group of women the same question about men; their response: “We’re afraid of being killed.”2 Atwood’s sardonic account of the relationship between the sexes speaks not only to the social and political realities of patriarchal, androcentric cultures; it also highlights a central theme in the book of Judith, the second century Hellenistic Jewish work that recounts the fictive story of an Assyrian invasion of Judea right after the return from Exile. At stake in the book of Judith is not simply the fate of the people but the intertwined fate of the Temple in Jerusalem and the preservation of its sanctity and purity. As for the plot: “Nebuchadnezzar” the “Assyro-Babylonian” king, wants the entire world to serve and worship him. The drama then relates not just to existential survival, but who will be the Lord of Israel: Nebuchadnezzar or Israel’s God. In contrast to the contemporary women Atwood mentions, Judith evinces no fear whatsoever at the male threat. Instead, Judith’s resolve and stalwart courage in the face of the fearsome Assyrian warriors propels her to an act of murder. Her main antagonist, on the other hand, the Assyrian general Holofernes, does indeed worry that she will laugh at him. He fears she will laugh if he does not try to seduce her, beautiful as she is. We know who had the last laugh in that case. The engaging book of Judith is arguably best known for its decapitation scene, with the bloody head of Holofernes seared in the mind’s eye of those who read it. Rather than that climax, however, I want to focus on Judith’s means to that end through both body language and speech. It has often been noted that Judith lies, not only physically with Holofernes, but verbally, in order to her achieve her aim. 1  The novel has also been adapted as a motion picture and a television series for the streaming service Hulu. 2 As quoted in an article by Mary Dickson, “A Woman’s Worst Nightmare.” http://www.pbs. org/kued/nosafeplace/articles/nightmare.html (accessed 05/10/2023).

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Both actions have been a concern for some readers who want to see puritanical behavior in the heroes of their books of scripture. In the case of her deceptive words, the conception of lying not only may be infused with anachronistic moral assumptions connected to speech, but also ignores the dynamics of the cultural phenomenon of dissembling that animates the book of Judith. In fact, she can be read as a wise trickster. In honor-shame cultures, being tricked – as was Holofernes by Judith  – would reflect shame.3 Judith’s behavior, however, is in keeping with the mandates of certain Judean values in the Hellenistic era, especially group-loyalty and the preservation of sanctity/purity. Consequently, Judith can be seen through the discursive lens of two female figures drawn from Israel’s wisdom tradition: the Wise Woman and the Foreign Woman, aka, the Seductress.

1. The Trickster Figure in Folklore and Bible Let us begin with the figure of the trickster, first conceived and discussed in the study of folklore and anthropology. The trickster is found in many cultures. From the Ogo-Yurugu trickster twins of the West African Dogon myth, to the Coyote figure in Native cultures of North America, to the Tar Baby found in the Brer Rabbit tales of African American slaves to early stories of Robin Hood, the trickster appears around the globe and through the ages. In antiquity, Prometheus, Hermes, and Hera of Greek mythology have also been understood as tricksters. The trickster does not have a single profile, but in fact has a range of shapes from sucker/evil fool, to exemplary trickster and hero.4 Animals, too, can appear as the trickster. The chief characteristic of the trickster, nonetheless, is to be one who deceives, who crafts a ruse or “trick” which plays a central role in the unfolding action between and among characters. Trickster stories are meant to be amusing and are laced with humor as the escapades unfold. The trickster thus engages in comical mischief. But tricksters are also truth-tellers, at least through the results of their actions. Not only do they deceive on an interpersonal level, but they can also play a role in revealing the problems at work in the larger social order. Ever since Hermann Gunkel pioneered the comparative use of folklore to study the stories of Genesis, there have been scholars who have been attentive to 3 Lawrence M. Wills, Judith, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2019), 59. For a longer treatment of this issue, see David A. DeSilva, “Judith the Heroine? Lies, Seduction, and Murder in Cultural Perspective,” BTB 36 (2006): 55–61. 4  There is a considerable literature on the trickster figure in anthropology. For the figure in American Indian lore see Paul Radin, The Trickster (New York: Philosophical Library, 1956). On Jacob, see also Victor H. Matthews, “Jacob the Trickster and Heir of the Covenant: A Literary Interpretation,” Perspectives in Religious Studies 12 (1985): 185–196.

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folklore and its relevance for the social dimensions reflected in biblical narrative.5 Susan Niditch drew more attention to the trickster phenomenon in the literature of ancient Israel in her seminal and influential monograph. The trickster is a subtype of the underdog. She has observed that Israel throughout its history has a “peculiar self-image as the underdog and the trickster”6 A sequence of trickster stories wends its way through the book of Genesis. Jacob plays the trickster in his duplicitous behavior in assuming Esau’s role. Through the theft of the firstborn’s birthright and blessing, his status is elevated. Laban will then trick the trickster Jacob by marrying off his first-born daughter rather than the desired daughter. Rachel plays the trickster in the episode of the escape from Laban. Tamar, too, plays the trickster as prostitute in exposing the hypocrisies of her father-in-law Judah. The trickster characters in Genesis are of course not simply meant to be an individual who is playing the role of trickster in their society. There is a corporate dimension of identification involved because the tricksters are also the eponymous ancestors of Israel. In that regard, we can see some anticipation of the figure of Judith as a possible trickster. She not only plays a central role in the narrative, but her name Yehudit betrays her larger significance as an ideal embodiment of the nation, a nation that often understood itself as an underdog among its alpha-dog neighbors.

2. The “Wise Trickster” through Action and Speech in Judith 10–14 A number of scholars have identified Judith as a trickster, usually in brief passing in connection with the trickster stories of Genesis.7 Lawrence Wills, for example, has pointed to the book’s oft-noted literary qualities of irony, humor, and lying as aspects of the trickster role.8 Yet there has been no extended evaluation of the way in which Judith plays the trickster role in light of her refiguration of other scriptural figures. I would argue that the liminal Judith is a wise trickster who subverts narrative expectations through her duplicitous actions and speech. Her ruse is directed at the Assyrians. 5  Although well known for his Genesis commentary, his work on the folktale offers particular insights in this regard; Hermann Gunkel, Das Märchen im Alten Testament (Tübingen: Mohr, 1917). 6  Susan Niditch, Underdogs and Tricksters: A Prelude to Biblical Folklore (New York: Harper & Row, 1987), xv. 7  Lawrence Wills provides the most discussion to date at various points in his commentary. 8  Wills also points to the sense of invulnerability Judith projects throughout the story as indicative of her role as a trickster figure in strong contrast to the vulnerable Esther and Susanna. Lawrence M. Wills, The Jewish Novel in the Ancient World, Myth and Poetics (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995), 156–57.

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In order to address how this trickery is manifest in the book of Judith, we need to consider the point Niditch makes about the role of the trickster in the deep structure of the narrative. The trickster story typically follows a trajectory within which she observes five steps: the hero begins with a low status; this leads the hero to initiate a trick/deception to improve that status. Third, the success of the deception leads to a heightened status for the hero; fourth, the deception is revealed; and finally, the uncovering of the deception leads to the hero returning to his/her initial status.9 We can see this trajectory at work in the tale of Judith, except with a significant difference. She is never working fully as an independent “entrepreneurial” trickster, but it is always clear that she is a trickster for her people. Her trickery is not for the rectification of her own marginal status as a widow, but the trickster role aims to raise the status of her marginal and vulnerable people. In her marginal role as widow, she in a sense personifies the vulnerability of a people newly returned to their land after exile. But how does she do this? Through both speech and actions. Benjamin Wright and Suzanne Edwards evaluate the representations of women’s bodies in the book of Judith, the Genesis Apocryphon, and the wisdom works, 4Q184 (The Wiles of the Wicked Woman) and Ben Sira.10 They probe how these works represent reading (and writing) women’s bodies as a contested process. A range of multiple and unknowable interpretive possibilities are embedded in these works. In their words: The female characters whose bodies become interpretive cruxes at the heart of the literary work are not simply texts that must be interpreted, ciphers onto which readers project their own desires. Instead, embodied women and those who would understand them negotiate a range of interpretive possibilities.11

They see competing schemes at work in the second half of the book of Judith, contrasting Judith’s body as a sexual object with the reader’s understanding of Judith’s pious submission to God. To clarify, they understand “readers” to include characters inside the world of the narrative, like Holofernes, who “reads” the actions and hears the speech of Judith, as well as “readers” like the audience outside the world of the text. For the book’s audience, however, Judith’s body language says one thing, and her speech says another. Moreover, at the end of the book, the final song of praise gives credit to Judith’s beautiful face for defeating the enemy. This stands  Niditch, Underdogs, 44–49. G. Wright and Suzanne M. Edwards, “‘She Undid Him with the Beauty of Her Face’ (Jdt 16:6): Reading Women’s Bodies in Early Jewish Literature,” in Religion and the Female Body in Ancient Judaism and Its Environments, ed. Géza G. Xeravits, DCLS 28 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2015), 73–108. 11  Wright and Edwards, “She Undid Him,” 77.  9

10 Benjamin

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in tension, as Wright and Edwards point out, with Judith’s long prayer in the middle of the book, that stresses her hand and her deceptive rhetorical skills in conquering the enemy. In addition to this destabilizing tension, they also identify two modes of reading of Judith’s body: “[O]ne associated with the Jews of Bethulia and the other with the Assyrian camp, drive the well-known ambiguities of Judith’s deft rhetoric.”12 I want to build on this last observation, to argue that this “interpretive instability” that they see between the perceptions of Holofernes and the Assyrians, and the Judeans, can actually be understood not only as unstable interpretive possibilities, but as coherent constructions, by reading Judith through another lens, as trickster. To read Judith in this way, we first need to turn to the earlier Israelite wisdom tradition. Claudia Camp made a cogent contribution to scholarship on the trickster by arguing that both the personified Wisdom and the Strange Woman of Proverbs combined represent a trickster figure in a paradoxical unity of representation. Camp identifies fives categories for analyzing the figures in their relationship to each other: “the trickster’s basic duality; … the trickster’s embrace of both order and disorder, … the importance of language and the interconnection of wise and deceitful language, … the problem of theodicy and the attempt to understand human evil, and … the liminal status of the trickster.”13 Camp’s work is relevant to Judith because we can also discern both a personified Wisdom figure and the Foreign/Strange Woman in her trickery. While in their article, Wright and Edwards distinguish “Wisdom literature” (Ben Sira and 4Q184) as distinct from Judith, I would suggest that in fact Judith participates more closely in the wisdom tradition than they might have noticed. In fact, some of the contradictions they rightly observe in the book of Judith, are manifestations of what I call a “wise Trickster” figure. She performs this role in speech – both deceptive and true – and through embodied action.

3. Judith the Seductive Trickster in Action A closer look at the narrative of Judith can support this claim. As is well known, the first half of the book contains the description of the war-faring Assyrians and Nebuchadnezzar’s plans to subdue the whole world, including Judea. Judith does not appear in the narrative until the eighth of its sixteen chapters. The second half of the book itself has a narrative frame that relate to Judith’s interaction with the Israelites; the first half of the frame appears in the face of the Assyrian  Wright and Edwards, “She Undid Him,” 79.  Claudia V. Camp, “Wise and Strange: An Analysis of Female Imagery in Proverbs in Light of Trickster Mythology,” in Semeia 42: Reasoning with the Foxes: Female Wit in a World of Male Power, ed. Johanna W. H. Bos and J. Cheryl Exum (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1988), 14–36 (14). 12 13

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threat, and the second half after the Assyrians have been vanquished. Within this framing of ​“ insider” scenes among the Israelites of the second half of the book, appears her interaction with the foreign invaders in chapters 10–14. Her role as trickster is decisive in four different scenes as she confronts the enemy forces. The first scene appears as Judith prepares herself for enemy encounter. She had just finished a long prayer, an address to God (Jdt 9:2–4). She offers the prayer in her home, a private sphere and the place in which wise women are normally contained. She then prepares to enter the public square where Strange women can disrupt the action. In this scene, she gets ready to confront the enemy by beautifying herself. She takes off her widow’s wear, bathes, brushes her hair, puts on ointment, “sandals on her feet, anklets, bracelets, rings, earrings, and all her other ornaments” (Jdt 10:4). She thus becomes transformed into the body of a trickster. Though this isn’t her father’s trickster. If for Jacob, donning the skin of a goat allows him to play the trickster to his father Isaac, Judith uses a much more refined tactic. She does not smell of freshly slain game like a would-be Esau, but of the perfumed air of the harem, like the Foreign Woman of Proverbs (cf. Prov 7:16–17). While the fragrance of her perfume is intended to appeal to the sense of smell, it is the male gaze she wants to invite, and indeed, vision dominates this scene. As she leaves the seclusion of her widow’s house in her “virginal” town of Bethulia, she meets the elders who are astounded and transfixed by her transformed appearance. As she leaves the gate, “the men of the town watch her until she has gone down the mountain and passed through the valley, where they lost sight of her” (Jdt 10:10).14 In scene two, Judith the trickster uses both eye and ear to deceive the Assyrian patrol she meets. She claims to be fleeing her people who are about to be destroyed. She will tell the truth to their commander Holofernes in order to show them the way to rout her compatriots. The men not only hear her words, but are entranced by her face as incomparably beautiful. Taken to Holofernes, they continue to marvel at her beautiful face. The would-be spy appears before Holofernes. Whereas she had prostrated in prayer to her God at her home, here she prostrates in obedient submission before Holofernes. Her body language is thus one of worship, another trickster-like move because the reader knows this is designed to flatter him. After being reassured by Holofernes that she will be well-treated, Judith then reinforces her embodied performance of trickery with duplicitous words: Accept the words of your slave, and let your servant speak in your presence. I will say nothing false to my lord this night. If you follow out the words of your servant, God will accomplish something through you, and my lord will not fail to achieve his purposes. (Jdt 11:5–6) 14  Here and elsewhere in this contribution the English translation of Judith follows Deborah Levine Gera, “Judith,” in The Jewish Annotated Apocrypha, ed. Jonathan Klawans and Lawrence M. Wills (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020), 177–202.

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The dramatic irony of her words, not only here, but throughout her speech, has long been noted.15 Her words also reflect a heightened rhetorical style, akin to the parallel lines of biblical poetry.16 But she is speaking out of both sides of her mouth. Her tongue is a two-edged sword. While the fool Holofernes hears himself referred to when she speaks to him as “my lord,” the audience of the tale recognizes that Judith surely means to address her own God and lord. Her long speech continues as she provides an account of the vulnerabilities of her people. She tells him they will surely sin by eating the Temple tithes of food, and their God will punish them on that account. She lays out her plan to help them but on her own terms, because she must eat her own food and pray to her God nightly outside the camp. In response, Holofernes and crew marvel at her wisdom (“No other woman from one end of the earth to the other looks so beautiful or speaks with such understanding [ἐν … συνέσει λόγων]”; Jdt 11:21). Holofernes again affirms not only her beauty but her wisdom for which he will reward her with a place in the harem of Nebuchadnezzar’s palace. This affirmation of Judith’s wisdom is again saturated with irony. The wisdom they hear is actually the deception she is telling them, though in fact it will bear fruit like the tree of wisdom. Like a true sage she knows when and how to speak. To fools, one must answer their folly on the sage’s own terms. Her trickery continues in a third scene, in the denouement of the dramatic action, but first comes the casting couch. Holofernes sends the eunuch Bagoas to invite Judith to attend a private banquet because in Holofernes words: “… it would be a disgrace if we let such a woman go without having intercourse with her. If we do not seduce her, she will laugh at us.” (Jdt 12:12) Judith’s answer is seemingly compliant: “Who am I to refuse my lord? Whatever pleases him I will do at once, and it will be a joy to me until the day of my death” (Jdt 12:14). Here again, we learn the ironic words of a pious woman who will ultimately resist the foreign mortal lord she deceives, while serving the transcendent Lord she worships in truth. With that pledge in place, the “Strange Woman” then goes to Holofernes, enters his tent that night, and the would-be seduction fails to take place. Holofernes, sodden with wine, is decapitated by his own sword. In a wry twist, Judith’s servant puts his head in the bag for kosher food, and they flee home in escape from the Assyrians. Up to this point, we have seen the narrative steps outlined by Niditch: Judith begins with low status in a population at risk of being subjugated and colonized. She conceives of a trick to change this status. The success of the deception is now about to be revealed: She returns to her people, pulls out the head, and recounts her story: “The Lord has struck him down by the hand of a woman” (Jdt 13:15). 15  For a survey of the ironic aspects of Judith see Carey A. Moore, Judith: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 40 (Garden City: Doubleday, 1985), 78–85. 16  Wills, Judith, 319.

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At the same time, she makes clear her purity and honor: “He committed no sin with me, to defile and shame me” (Jdt 13:16). As a result, the people bow down, but not to worship Holofernes, let alone Nebuchadnezzar, but focus allegiance on their God. The ultimate resolution of this trickster’s status occurs once the Assyrian troops discover the headless body of their general, and flee in the face of the Israelite army. There are two restorations of status at the end of the book. There is the restoration of the Israelites to their former state of freedom from foreign oppression which they celebrate. Meanwhile, the wise trickster Judith, who enacted the ruse on their behalf, resumes her place as pious if marginal widow albeit one who ultimately dies with a great name. The trickster Judith ultimately loses the status she has gained through her heightened and exposed public role in combatting the Assyrians. So, in the end the status quo of the traditional patriarchal social structure of the Israelites is ultimately preserved, as Amy-Jill Levine pointed out, and Judith qua female remains domesticated.17

4. Judith A Wise and Virtuous Trickster We have just reviewed how the duplicity of the trickster has unfolded within the narrative. Judith enacts a performance of the Strange Woman who is both a sexual threat and sexual enticement. The irony here is that the Israelite man is not being tempted by a non-Israelite woman or prostitute, but Judith the Israelite woman, has enticed a Strange man. It remains to be demonstrated how this is a wise trickster. The first point to be made is quick because on one level, it is straightforward: she is referred to as “wise” at two points in the narrative, both by her fellow Israelites (Jdt 8:29) and by the Assyrian troops when she speaks to them to deceive them (Jdt 11:20–21 cf. 11:8). The second point requires discussion of the context of those references and thus necessitates some additional engagement with the book of Proverbs. Claudia Camp’s feminist reading of the Woman Wisdom and the Strange Woman as representing a trickster is a deconstructive way of reading the text of Proverbs and its dualisms. In other words, the discourse of Proverbs contrasts abstract absolutes: wisdom against folly, life against death, straight-speech vs. crooked, or good and evil. She points to a tension between such dualisms and the character of lived experience. In fact, while the Wise Woman and the Foreign Woman both inhabit separate spheres, they both share the experience of living in a female body. 17  Amy-Jill Levine, “Sacrifice and Salvation: Otherness and Domestication in the Book of Judith,” in Athalya Brenner, ed., A Feminist Companion to Esther-Judith-Susanna, A Feminist Companion to the Bible 7 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 208–33.

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As she states, “In their embodiment, Woman Wisdom and the Strange Woman are one, a fact that the sages’ evaluations of them only partially mitigate.”18 I think the poetics of Proverbs pose a problem for her argument, however, because the speech and identities of the two women remain separate throughout the work. They both inhabit women’s bodies, but they do not speak out of the same mouth. I think the narrative role of Judith, however, offers both an affirmation and in some sense a corrective on Camp’s treatment of the female imagery of Proverbs. While Woman Wisdom and the Strange Woman remain distinct figures in Proverbs, in Judith, she displays the “Two Faces of Eve” in one. Camp’s point about the paradoxical tension between abstracted dualisms and life-as-lived in a woman’s body is nonetheless well taken. Life does not always work out so neatly; nor are dichotomies in lived reality absolute. She, as a feminist, identifies a tension in made-by-males expectations of female gender and male mores enshrined in Proverbs as they contrast with lived experience in a frequently messy and sometimes morally ambiguous world. It is also the case that since Camp’s work, feminist criticism has been challenged through queer theory. The heteronormative dualism of male and female does not comport readily with the lived experience of queer people. In her recent book, for example, Caryn Tamber-Rosenau takes her cues from Judith Butler that gender is a socially constructed phenomenon.19 She argues that rather than assume that Judith was behaving “like a male” in her assertive public role as many scholars have averred, Judith disrupts and destabilizes the gender binary of male/female, queering it through an over-the-top parody of female sexual predation. But to return to the narrative of Judith: The messiness of life presented in the case of Judith, is life during wartime, a situation never mentioned in Proverbs but an all-too-real threat in antiquity. And desperate times call for duplicitous measures. But Judith’s role as Strange Woman vis-à-vis the Assyrians in the narrative is framed by another character role that is un-ironic and free of double-edged language. She speaks as a “wise woman” in “straight speech” both to her fellow Israelites within the narrative and in her prayers to the readers outside the world of the text. At this point, it is important to recall the observation made by Wright and Edwards about the disjuncture between the seductive and deceptive words that Judith speaks to the Assyrians and the speech made to her fellow Judeans. Her voice as Woman Wisdom appears in the speech she gives to the elders of her town when they are ready to surrender to the Assyrians if God does not rescue them 18 Claudia Camp, Ben Sira and the Men Who Handle Books (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2013), 29. 19  Caryn Tamber-Rosenau, Women in Drag: Gender and Performance in the Hebrew Bible and Early Jewish Literature (Piscataway: Gorgias Press, 2018). For her treatment of Judith’s “feminine performance,” see 131–96. Judith Butler, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (New York: Routledge, 1990).

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within five days. She tells them not to put God to the test or bind his purposes. She warns them what is at stake if they submit: the desecration of the sanctuary, not to mention the pillaging of their towns and enslavement to a foreign overlord. It is they who are being tested by God because as she says “the Lord scourges those who are close to him in order to admonish them.” (8:27b) Within the larger honor/shame framework of the ancient Mediterranean, her straight speech affirms two chief Judean values: a commitment of loyalty to the kin-group; and a commitment to maintain the purity and sanctity of the temple. The commitment to maintain these values in regard to in-group solidarity and temple purity is reiterated in the long prayer she offers in her home. After she finishes her speech to the elders of Bethulia, Uzziah says: “Today is not the first time your wisdom (σοφία) has been shown, but from the beginning of your life all the people have recognized your understanding (σύνεσίν)” (Jdt 8:29) Just as the Assyrians had recognized her σοφία and σύνεσίς, the same terms are used here, but they relate to her honest speech to insiders. In sum, her role as a wise trickster appears through her articulation of wise “honest” speech that is addressed to those who pose no threat to her, and to God whom she will credit for help. It also appears in her articulation of equally “wise,” if dissembling, speech of a trickster to those who have evil intent to do harm. Thus, the speech takes into account the audience to whom one is communicating with the implicit caution: do not cast your pearls before swine.

5. Conclusion To conclude: to be sure, the female imagery of Proverbs and the tricksters of Genesis are not the only intertextual influences on the book of Judith. Knowledgeable readers have long noticed that Judith is a rich tapestry thoroughly woven with scriptural threads. Both in terms of shaping characters and scenes, in thematic elements, and in the shapes of passages themselves we can see modelling after scripture. There are deliberate allusions with clues planted in the narrative that secure the identification of intertextual links. Perhaps the strongest scriptural influence is that of Jael and Deborah.20 Sidnie White Crawford has provided the most detailed account of the structural and conceptual similarities between Judges 4–5 and Judith. There is the struggle between a foreign power and Israel. Not one, but two strong women play a role in liberating their people through a combination of means that culminates in a beheading in the tent of 20  Colleen Conway, Sex and Slaughter in the Text of Jael: A Cultural History of a Biblical Story (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016), 28; Sidnie White Crawford, “In the Steps of Jael and Deborah: Judith as Heroine,” in “No One Spoke Ill of Her”: Essays on Judith, ed. James C. VanderKam, EJL 2 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992), 5–16.

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the enemy. Rachel, Tamar, and David participate in this intertextual conversation as well. Deborah Gera has also illuminated the influence of classical Greek literature on the book of Judith in terms of themes and plot, also noting similarities to figures created by Herodotus, Ctesisas, and Xenophon.21 She finds however, that there are no identifiable literary allusions to the wording of these Greek authors. In the end, she states: “Despite the presence of post-biblical and Greek elements, in Judith, the overwhelming influence on the composition is that of the Bible.”22 I have also just argued for the more subtle influence of the Wisdom figures of the Foreign Woman and Woman Wisdom on the two faces presented by Judith in this work, but also in body language and speech. Although the rise of the sage and the development of wisdom literature in early Judaism have drawn considerable attention, the role of wisdom in relation to Judith has surprisingly escaped much notice. The identification of Judith as wise trickster, as a retrieval and reconfiguration of feminine imagery from Proverbs, is just one reading of many possible from this rich multi-layered work that invites wisdom-seekers into its ongoing interpretive engagement.

21 Deborah

Levine Gera, Judith, CEJL (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 77–78.  Gera, Judith, 56.

22

The Law and the Prophet Reading 1 Maccabees in the Days of John Hyrcanus* Kelley Coblentz Bautch This contribution concerns how torah-conscious 1 Maccabees (for example, 1 Macc 2:26–27, 48, 50, 64, 67–68; 14:29) situates the figure of the authorizing prophet within law. One finds discussion of sanctuary and of priestly and political leadership in 1 Macc 4:46 and 14:41 respectively, and both contexts convey deep respect for the law (νόμος). Yet, it is an unnamed prophetic figure who ultimately occupies a critical position in overseeing situations rooted in torah. In the first instance, the prophet alone is to determine what the community will do with the Temple’s profaned altar stones (1 Macc 4:46). And, in the second instance, Simon is to serve as leader and high priest until a trustworthy prophet arises (1 Macc 14:41). Thus, we inquire: how is the prophet’s authority construed vis-àvis torah? We also consider who is intended by this enigmatic prophetic figure of 1 Maccabees. We explore whether the book means to imply a prophet like Moses from Deut 18:15–22, an eschatological prophet, or John Hyrcanus, who was himself remembered as a prophetic figure.

1. The Many Facets of Torah We begin by taking stock of how 1 Maccabees regards law. While the earliest extant form of 1 Maccabees in Greek uses νόμος, it is widely held that the Greek is a translation of the original Hebrew1 and that νόμος in 1 Maccabees renders ‫תורה‬. The latter, we might translate as “instruction” or “teaching.” Despite a pro* I wish to thank the participants of ​“(The) Torah in Early Jewish and Christian Imaginations” conference held at Brite Divinity School in May of 2022 for helpful feedback on an earlier draft of this contribution and for substantive conversation during the meeting. This work has also benefited from discussion with participants of the Australian Catholic University Biblical and Early Christian Studies Global Seminar, and I am appreciative to Kylie Crabbe for her careful reading of and engagement with this work. 1  See, for example, Félix-Marie Abel, Les Livres des Maccabées (Paris: Gabalda, 1949), iv, and Daniel Schwartz, 1 Maccabees: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 41B (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2022), 8, 36–38.

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saic translation, it is important to note that torah was understood variously in the second temple period. For example, Hindy Najman observes: … The term (torah) had a rich set of connotations in early Judaism. Torah could signify traditions as well as texts, and its meanings ranged from the particular to the universal. On the one hand, Torah could signify the Mosaic Torah, a particular tradition embodied in specific texts, especially the Pentateuch. But it could also refer to authoritative interpretations of biblical law and narrative … Additional authoritative texts – both legal and narrative – continued to be written throughout the Second Temple period, before the Hebrew Bible was canonized and these texts too may be called Torah …2

In light of an expansive sense of torah in the second temple period, one should not be overly confident that one can definitively establish what the authors and translators of 1 Maccabees had in mind by ‫ תורה‬or νόμος. While the lexeme in this context can refer to the collection of teachings or instructions considered authoritative by the author, torah here need not be understood narrowly as legal texts now embedded in the Pentateuch.3 Though Ben Sira’s reference to “the Law and the prophets” typically signals two discrete sections of authoritative texts (Sir 1:1, 8–9),4 this contribution engages torah as traditions not limited to anthologies; in so doing, we aim to do justice to the polyvalence of the term. At the same time, as demonstrated by Dongbin Choi and Daniel Schwarz, 1 Maccabees drew upon expressions from texts of the Hebrew Bible, and even the Greek translation of the book consciously evoked the style of Septuagintal texts.5 Hence, the literary and rhetorical nature of 1 Maccabees engages authoritative texts, but these are not to be equated simply with the book’s understanding of torah. Our approach will be to disentangle torah from texts, in a manner comparable to that of Francis Borchardt.6 Toward a systematic approach, Borchardt examines in a thoroughgoing study of 2014 the representation of νόμος or ‫ תורה‬through the lens of the law’s role within a hierarchy of religious values: whether νόμος is conceived as the state law of Judea, whether νόμος constitutes Israel’s way of life, and whether adherence to νόμος determines the characterization of humans 2  Hindy Najman, “Torah and Tradition,” in Eerdmans Dictionary of Early Judaism, ed. John J. Collins and Daniel Harlow (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 1316–17 (1316). 3 Francis Borchardt approaches the subject in a comparable manner. Using νόμος, torah, and law interchangeably in his monograph, he notes: “Though each of these terms has several possible meanings, we use this terminology to refer to the prospective ancestral (or perceived as such) commands, stories and instructions passed down (or perceived to be passed down) through the generations in oral or written form, which may or may not carry some degree of authority among a self-defined group of adherents either confined to, or tracing their origins from, the area of the southern Levant.” See his The Torah in 1Maccabees: A Literary Critical Approach to the Text (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 3. 4  But see Dongbin Choi, The Use and Function of Scripture in 1 Maccabees (London: T&T Clark, 2021), 58–60. 5  Cf. Schwartz, 1 Maccabees, 40, and Choi, The Use and Function of Scripture, 37–42. 6  Borchardt, The Torah in 1Maccabees, 190.

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within the book’s narrative. In like manner, this contribution focuses on νόμος as conveying ‫תורה‬, and as a category understood in this ancient context as distinctive. For instance, in contrast to terms like δικαίωµα, πρόσταγµα, and νόµιµα, “… (νόμος) seems to be used almost systematically to refer only to the Judean law, whether designating the scroll of the torah, a particular piece of legislation, or even a more vaguely defined large facet of the Judean religion.”7 That is, torah has a particular status within 1 Maccabees.

2. Torah in 1 Maccabees Torah is most certainly a principal fixture in 1 Maccabees. The book appeals frequently to the law, with the leading family of protagonists consistently expressing their zeal for νόμος. References to law saturate the first two chapters of 1 Maccabees, providing especially the basis for the drama chronicled in the book.8 The initial references to law point toward the animating challenge: transgressors of the law (cf. 1 Macc. 1:10, 34) made covenants with Gentiles and supported the citadel. Further, Antiochus IV meant with his edict for people to abandon the law (1:49). Scrolls of law were burned and people observing law were put to death (1:56–57). The next cluster of references concern the defenders of the law. Mattathias proclaims that he and his family won’t forsake the law (2:21), and moreover, that they have great zeal for the law (2:26–27). Mattathias also exhorts others to keep the law (2:50, 53, 58, 64). The people are rallied to fight for their lives and for their laws (ἡμεῖς δὲ πολεμοῦμεν περὶ τῶν ψυχῶν ἡμῶν καὶ τῶν νομίμων ἡμῶν [3:21]). It is for the laws and the temple that Simon proclaims his family has fought (13:3). Lysias is presented in 1 Maccabees as declaring that the people of Judea should be granted freedom to “live according to their own laws” because “it was on account of their laws,” which had been abolished, that the people had become upset (6:59). Laws are acknowledged as having the most ancient establishment (3:29) and are presented as sacred and authoritative for the community. While the Maccabees are presented as zealous for the law, following their ancestor Phineas, there is a contrast with fellow Judeans who are lawless (1 Macc 1:11; 7  See Borchardt, The Torah in 1Maccabees, 10. In this citation, Borchardt paraphrases the position of Bernard Renaud (“La loi et les lois dans les Livres des Maccabées,” RB 68 [1961]: 39–52 [39]). 8 References to the law in 1 Maccabees includes: 1 Macc 1:11, 49, 52, 56, 57 (five occurrences in chapter 1); 2:21, 26, 27, 42, 48, 50, 58, 64, 67, 68 (ten occurrences in chapter 2); 3:48, 56 (two occurrences in chapter 3); 4:42, 47, 53 (three occurrences in chapter 4); 10:14 (one occurrence in chapter 10); 13:48 (one occurrence in chapter 13); 14:14, 29 (two occurrence in chapter 14); and 15:21 (one occurrence in chapter 15). 2 Maccabees, by way of comparison, features twelve references to “law.”

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2:44; 3:5–6; 7:5; 9:23, 58, 69; 14:14). Sorting out who is intended by this category is not simple, however. To illustrate, Borchardt points out that expressions like “lawless” and “lawlessness” do not pertain “to a specific position related to ‘law’” but instead are synonyms for “evil” or “wickedness.”9 Presumably, perceived opponents of the Maccabees are to be associated with the category of lawlessness, though that response hardly satiates twenty-first century readers hoping to uncover second century bce halakhic disputes.10 Extended examination of torah has also been useful for diachronic studies of 1 Maccabees. Borchardt’s literary critical study, with attention to different sources comprising the book, identifies four key strata;11 it is, in part, the distinctive approaches to torah that reveal for Borchardt sources contributing to 1 Maccabees.12 Nils Martola and David Williams have also addressed and  9 See

“Wicked, Lawlessness, III: Judaism,” in Encyclopedia of the Bible and Its Reception, ed. Hans-Josef Klauck et al. (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017), 15:1045–49 (1049). Schwartz, 1 Maccabees, 40, observes a similar challenge to sorting out who is intended by the “lawless” in 1 Maccabees because the Septuagintal model utilized by the translators “frequently uses anomoi and paranomoi of wicked people in general.” For an attempt to define further the opponents, see Jonathan Goldstein, I Maccabees: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 41 (Garden City: Doubleday, 1976), 64–89. 10 See also Benedikt Eckhardt, “The Hasmoneans and their Rivals in Seleucid and PostSeleucid Judea,” JSJ 47 (2016): 55–70, who explores the unnamed opponents as political (not religious) rivals making comparable alliances with Seleucids. 11  The first stratum Borchardt identifies is the Grundschrift, which he describes as covering much of the book (The Torah in 1Maccabees, 232). Borchardt places this work during the reign of Simon’s dynasty (he dates the Grundschrift to 132–128 bce; ibid., 173–74) and understands the pro-Hasmonean and anti-Gentile source’s focus to be on the capture and liberation of Jerusalem and the temple (ibid., 232). The second source, which he dubs the Documentarian, Borchardt associates with the reign of John Hyrcanus. This work reflects various documents – “royal decrees, Roman statements of friendship, Spartan recognitions of brotherhood” (ibid., 233; also 181–84) – likely found in the temple archives (8:1–32; 10:3–9, 25–46; 12:1–23; 13:41–42; 14:1–3, 16–49; 15:1–41; 16:1–24). This stratum recognizes the needs of an emerging nation to reflect its autonomy and status. The third stratum Borchardt associates with the reign of Alexander Jannaeus and designates it the “Opponents” because this distinctive perspective (found in 1:11–15, 43, 52, 62–63; 2:42–44; 6:18b, 21–27; 7:5–7, 9b, 12, 13–14, 16d–17, 20a-b, 21–25; 9:1, 23–24, 54–61, 69, 73; 10:14, 61, 64; 11:21, 25) indicts internal rivals, instead of Gentiles, for problems among the people (ibid., 174–81; 233). Borchardt attributes this third layer to Hasmonean loyalists. The fourth contribution to 1 Maccabees, Borchardt (ibid., 184–85; 233) designates “H” (for the Hasmonean “legends”) because it consists of honorific sections and praise of the Maccabees, both individually and as a family (2:23–26; 3:3–9; 5:18–19, 55–62; 6:42–46; 9:34–42; 13:25–30; 14:4– 15). Borchardt is not committed to a particular period for these selections; he thinks the tributes could have come from a source and could have been added at any time (ibid., 234). 12 In distinguishing the sources, Borchardt (The Torah in 1Maccabees, 43) shares: “The criteria we will use to determine the unity of the text will be those traditionally associated with literary-critical studies. Doublets, parallels, differences in rhetoric and style, abrupt changes in form, content, competing traditions, and irregularities in vocabulary will all be used as major clues to a given phrase or passage’s composite nature. Though, to be sure no single one of these clues can dictate a passage’s lack of coherence with the larger context, a combination of a number of the criteria can strongly suggest that a given portion of text is written by a different

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championed distinguishable sources and identifiable strata in 1 Maccabees.13 Most recently, Daniel Schwartz’s close reading of the book has also convincingly illumined distinctive sources that have contributed to 1 Maccabees.14 Despite attention to diachronic elements found in 1 Maccabees, Schwartz – in contrast to Borchardt – does not ultimately approach the book and its key themes as distinctive strata. Rather, he is pessimistic about our abilities to discern multiple sources with a high degree of confidence, especially after the work has passed through the hands of translators.15 Schwartz dates the book to around 110 bce, a historical context that is defensible by multiple measures, while Borchardt’s posited strata extend even past the reign of Alexander Jannaeus (d. 76 bce), a dating that has other supporters as well.16 The present study assumes that the pivotal selections that concern nomos and the prophet, were composed during the time of John Hyrcanus and that that historical context also illumines these references. While Schwartz characterizes the work as pro-Simonide, I would go farther and suggest that 1 Maccabees serves especially the ascendancy of John Hyrcanus, whose claims to the priesthood and leadership, depend on extending the heroic stories of Judas to Simon, his father.

hand than those around it. In every case priority will be given to logical and sound arguments for unity, where they exist.” 13  Nils Martola, Capture and Liberation: A Study in the Composition of the First Book of Maccabees (Åbo: Åbo Akademi, 1984); David Williams, The Structure of 1 Maccabees, CBQMS (Washington: Catholic Biblical Association, 1999). 14 Schwartz, 1 Maccabees, 9–22. The sources Schwartz most confidently acknowledges are official documents, noted by others, which strike him as authentic (taking into consideration, of course, their having passed through two rounds of translation from Greek to Hebrew and to Greek again) and, though more speculative, a distinctive source reflected in 1 Macc 1–9, likely a Judasvita (1 Maccabees, 14). Schwartz also concedes that chapters 1–4 are distinct from chapters 5–9, both in terms of themes (the active nature and presence of the Divine) and linguistic evidence, but he does not ultimately pursue the implications (1 Maccabees, 16). 15  Schwartz, 1 Maccabees, 9 and 40. 16  Schwartz, 1 Maccabees, 7–8. Not only does the epilogue point us to the days of John Hyrcanus, but as Schwartz notes (1 Maccabees: A New Translation, 8), given 1 Maccabees’ statements against donning royal paraphernalia like diadems (8:14; cf. 1:9), it would seem odd for such a sentiment to have been composed following the actions of Aristobulus I, who proclaims himself king. Moreover, statements that hint at some distance from events purported to be of the author’s own time (as in 13:30, which addresses the monumental tomb complex constructed by Simon that exists “to the present day”) also help make the case. Another significant datum is the reference in 16:23 to John Hyrcanus’s rebuilding of the city walls, necessitated by Antiochus VII Euergetes’s (Sidetes) destruction of them in 129 bce. According to Josephus, when Hyrcanus rejects one of the terms of Antiochus VII – to place a garrison in Jerusalem – the latter insists that city walls (perceived as defensive fortifications) be dismantled (Ant. 13.247). See Duncan MacRae, “Roman Hegemony and the Hasmoneans: Constructions of Empire” in Middle Maccabees, ed. Andrea M. Berlin and Paul J. Kosmin (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2021), 331– 45 (332).

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3. Prophecy in Early Judaism Readers of 1 Maccabees grasp immediately the prominent role played by the book’s first family  – Mattathias, Judas, Jonathan, and Simon are highlighted – and as we have reviewed, nomos or torah is pervasive as well. Interesting, then, are a few, potent references in 1 Macc 4:46 and 14:41 to an enigmatic prophet (προφήτης), who has authority in spheres of tradition and cult, to whom the community should defer, and upon whom the actors in the narrative wait. The prophet is not defined further in these literary contexts, though there is recollection of earlier prophets (see 9:27).17 Examination of these scenes and how they present an authorizing prophet within the realm of νόμος in 1 Maccabees benefits from a brief, initial contextualization of prophecy and prophets within early Judaism. Two points must be made about prophecy and prophets in the Second Temple period. The first is that prophecy is a construct, both ancient and contemporary, and its identification and assessment depend on paradigms and preferred delineations.18 Studying prophecy in ancient Judaism alongside contemporaneous, cross-cultural traditions may assist one in avoiding anachronisms  – potential pitfalls of investigating the category only or primarily through the prism of texts later deemed sacred. If understood as communication with the transcendent or the Divine, in an intermediary role, prophecy would extend beyond genre conventions, would involve (perceived) religious experience, could incorporate ritual practices, would involve sociological standing, and could be variously named.19 17 1 Macc 9:27 (“And there was a great affliction in Israel such as had not been since the day that a prophet was not seen [could also be translated as “was known” or “appeared”] among them”; NETS) is thought to allude to postexilic prophets like Haggai, Zechariah and Malachi. See Daniel Harrington, First and Second Maccabees (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2012), 57; Borchardt, The Torah in 1Maccabees, 207. With Borchardt, I do not think the verse communicates that prophecy or prophets are obsolete, though it may suggest a temporary cessation. For Goldstein (I Maccabees, 48), the reference is a veiled repudiation of Daniel and other “false” prophets – here Goldstein is thinking of apocalypticists who had made promises of deliverance which had not come to pass, and which had not acknowledged sufficiently the role of the Maccabees. 18  Martti Nissinen, Ancient Prophecy: Near Eastern, Biblical, and Greek Perspectives (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 3–6. 19  Consider the following definition or clarification of prophecy from Nissinen (Ancient Prophecy, vii): “First, the word “prophecy” refers to the category of noninductive kind of divination that can be found in different parts of ancient Eastern Mediterranean. It is always based on the notion of divine–human communication; however, it is organized differently in different historically contingent divinatory systems. Secondly, ancient prophetic performances are unreachable, and knowledge of them is available only through secondary interpretation in written sources which yield only a partial view of the historical phenomenon. Thirdly, prophecy is socio-religious agency, serving the purposes of human communities and their religious and political structures and authorities. Prophets are a class of diviners with patterned public behavior recognizable to the communities witnessing their performances.”

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Second, there is the strong tendency among scholars of ancient Judaism to relate the category and role of prophet to expressions of prophecy manifested in prophetic literature associated with the Hebrew Bible.20 The latter is, of course, a curated collection from a later period, and moreover, the collection provides only a limited vantage on the traditions of prophecy in ancient Israel, a reality that pertains to investigations of continuities and innovations in religious praxis.21 Also pertinent to the medium and adding a layer of complexity to study of the phenomenon is the fact that, though perhaps once tied to individual religious experiences, prophecies of ancient Israel have been preserved finally in literary contexts, the purview of scribes.22 Prophecy in the Second Temple period is typically assessed by the extent to which it resembles prophetic traditions associated with preexilic Israel (as preserved within biblical books). While examining continuities and dissimilarities with preexilic prophecy can provide valuable insights, there are additional prisms through which to examine prophecy in this time as well. As scholars have demonstrated and in contrast to the adage, prophecy did not cease in “postexilic” Judaism.23 In fact, it endured into the Common Era, though undergoing changes.24 Jews of the Second Temple and late ancient periods, for instance, considered the Divine to communicate with humanity through the Spirit of God, the 20  The dearth of evidence from ancient Israel, outside of texts preserved within the Hebrew Bible, leads to the over-dependence on the latter. 21  See Nissinen, Ancient Prophecy, 43–51. At the same time, one would not want to efface significant differences with the result of deriving facile comparisons and parallels. Nissinen avoids such shortcomings through attention to historical, literary, and cultural matrixes and by carefully setting out the goals of the project. 22 Nissinen, Ancient Prophecy, 52–54; also 145–50. 23 See Rebecca Gray, Prophetic Figures in Late Second Temple Jewish Palestine: The Evidence from Josephus (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), 7. Regarding the idea that “prophecy ceased” in the postexilic period, “The text most frequently cited as evidence for such a view is Tosefta Sotah 13.2: ‘From the death of Haggai, Zechariah and Malachi, the latter prophets, the Holy Spirit ceased from Israel. But in spite of that it was allowed them to hear messages from God by a Bath Qol [lit. ‘daughter of a voice’]’.” Josephus’s Ag. Ap. 1.41 and Ant. 3.218 are also marshalled as evidence for the belief in the cessation of prophecy but Josephus himself writes about contemporaries associated with prophecy. See Gray, Prophetic Figures, 8. As Gray observes (ibid., 35), this was not a doctrine held by Josephus. Instead, it was a “vague nostalgia that idealized the past as a time … when the truly great prophets had lived.” Though these ancient forebearers were considered superior, it did not preclude the possibility or existence of later prophetic figures. 24  David Aune, Prophecy in Early Christianity and the Ancient Mediterranean World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1983), 103–52. See also Alex P. Jassen, Mediating the Divine: Prophecy and Revelation in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Second Temple Judaism, STDJ 68 (Leiden: Brill, 2007); idem “Prophecy after ‘The Prophets’: The Dead Sea Scrolls and the History of Prophecy in Judaism,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls in Context: Integrating the Dead Sea Scrolls in the Study of Ancient Texts, Languages, and Cultures, ed. Armin Lange et al., VT 140 (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 2:577–93, esp. 580, 592–93, who notes the differences that exist between preexilic prophets (for example, certain classical prophetic terminology) and Second Temple views of humandivine communication (as is extant among the Dead Sea Scrolls) that were equivalent to pro-

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Holy Spirit or the bat qol (the heavenly voice).25 Apocalyptic literature mediated “revelatory speech” and relayed celestial dispatches through narrated dreams and visions.26 Another important form of prophetic communication occurred through revelatory or inspired exegesis.27 Additionally, there are recollections – principally from Josephus – of persons associated with prophetic gifts, especially in association with predicting the future.28 At the same time, scholars have proposed a variety of categories related to prophetic roles in the Second Temple period that include: eschatological prophets,29 clerical prophets,30 sapiential prophets,31 and sign prophets.32 Thus, references in 1 Maccabees to a prophet need not be considered anomalous for the time. Especially relevant to the presentation of the figure in 1 Maccabees are prophets with juridical roles, clerical prophets, and eschatological prophets. The Second Temple portrait of the prophet with a juridical role33 is distinguished from the preexilic prophet in that the latter typically exhorts others to follow Mosaic laws.34 In contrast, there is a greater propensity for the second temple prophet to institute new laws or to reinterpret laws (see, for example, 1QS 1:1– 3; 4Q390 2 i 4–5), by means of the Holy Spirit (1QS 8:15–16).35 There is also a tendency in the Second Temple period to present priests as mediators, instructors, messengers, and adjudicators of torah – hence the designation clerical prophets (see, for example, CD 7:18; 4Q174 1 i 11).36 The last of these forms of prophecy – the eschatological prophet – is also the most opaque as the extant phetic activity. For a different approach, see L. Stephen Cook, On the Question of the “Cessation of Prophecy” in Ancient Judaism (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011). 25  Aune, Prophecy in Early Christianity, 104. 26  See Gray, Prophetic Figures in Late Second Temple, 27–31, and Aune, Prophecy in Early Christianity, 104–10. 27  See Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 197–278; 349–68, and Aune, Prophecy in Early Christianity, 106, 118. 28  Gray, Prophetic Figures in Late Second Temple, 23–24. As she observes (ibid., 80–111), predictive prophecy, as a skill one could cultivate (cf. Ant. 13.311; see also J. W. 2.159), dream interpretation, and esoteric knowledge were associated with the Essenes and named figures like Judas the Essene (J. W. 1.78–80; Ant. 13.311–13), Menahem (Ant. 15.373–79), and Simon the Essene (J. W. 2.112–13; Ant. 17.345–48). Gray (ibid., 145–63) also surveys historical figures – Jesus son of Ananias, Onias, Pollion, and Samaias – who evoke in some manner attributes associated with prophets. 29  Aune, Prophecy in Early Christianity, 107, 121–38, and Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 133–55. 30  Aune, Prophecy in Early Christianity, 107, 138–44. 31  Aune, Prophecy in Early Christianity, 107, 144–52. 32  Gray, Prophetic Figures in Late Second Temple, 23–24; 112–44. 33  Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 37–40. 34  Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 39–40. 35  Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 40. 36  See, for example, Deut 17:8–9; Mal 2:7; Ezra 7:10; Hag 2:10–13; and Hecateus of Abdera, On the Egyptians, as preserved by Diodorus, Library of History 40.3, 5–6. James C. VanderKam, From Joshua to Caiaphas: High Priests after the Exile (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004), 119–21. On the potentiality for fusion of priestly and prophetic roles see also Philo, On the Special Laws 4.36.

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sources provide limited information. An eschatological prophet might be associated, in some singular fashion, with reconciling families and forestalling the judgment of God (like Elijah in Mal 3:23–24 [4:5–6]), with the last generation (‫)דור אחרון‬, or with ushering in a new age, perhaps along with another or other messianic figures (see 1QS 9:11; John 1:21, 25).

4. The Prophet and Torah in 1 Maccabees With this background in mind, we turn to 1 Maccabees’ presentation of the prophet. 1 Maccabees 4 is well known as this selection features Judas, his brothers, and his army, after success on the battlefield, purifying and rededicating the Temple. Judas and company ascend to Mount Zion and find the sanctuary a mess, with the altar desecrated (1 Macc 4:38). Judas appointed blameless priests dedicated to the law to purify the space; they do so by dismantling the altar which had been defiled and they decide to store the stones of the altar on the Temple mount until a prophet would come to instruct them.37 The dilemma faced by the priests, according to Jonathan Goldstein, was that an altar used for idolatry was to be destroyed (or smashed) while the altar of God could not be treated in this manner (cf. Deut 12:2–4). Hence, placing the defiled stones of the altar out of the way but within the temple so that they would not be used for sacrifice resolves the conundrum.38 We linger, though, on the fact that 1 Maccabees suggests that a prophet of a later time would instruct the community on this cultic matter. The passing reference to the prophet in 1 Maccabees 4 has been approached variously by scholars. On the one hand, the reference has been understood as an affirmation of the viability of prophecy in early Judaism. Borchardt, for example, argues that the scene reveals the theological views of the ancient author, which he associates with the earliest stratum of 1 Maccabees. The account makes known that for its author, prophets would return (otherwise there would be no need to store the stones). Further, it discloses that prophecy could be instructive on subjects on which the law was unclear or silent.39 37  Prophets are associated with temple construction and renovations elsewhere in 1 Maccabees. In Chapter 9:54, Alcimus ordered the tearing down of a wall of the inner court, designated explicitly as “the work of the prophets” ( Ἄλκιμος καθαιρεῖν τὸ τεῖχος τῆς αὐλῆς τῶν ἁγίων τῆς ἐσωτέρας καὶ καθεῖλεν τὰ ἔργα τῶν προφητῶν καὶ ἐνήρξατο τοῦ καθαιρεῖν). As a result, Alcimus is stricken, and his plans halted. The prophets in question (1 Macc 9:54) are thought to be Haggai and Zechariah, who championed the building of the Second Temple. As to what was at stake with the removal of the wall see VanderKam, From Joshua to Caiaphas, 230 and n 318. 38 See Goldstein, I Maccabees, 285, and Robert Doran, “1 Maccabees and 2 Maccabees,” The Jerome Biblical Commentary for the Twenty-First Century, ed. John J. Collins et al. (London: T&T Clark, 2022), 570–602 (583). 39  Borchardt (The Torah in 1Maccabees, 206) expresses the sentiment more pointedly. He writes that though “this need not be an endorsement of prophecy over the law,” the episode as

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On the other hand, the prophet of 1 Maccabees 4 has been understood as an ideal, future leader to be examined alongside of other comparable figures in early Judaism. This is the perspective of Robert Doran who understands the prophetic figure of 1 Maccabees 4 as part of an idealized and hoped for “fully functioning community of priests, kings, and prophets as at the time of David.”40 Doran also calls attention to the Qumran community’s anticipated future prophet (cf. 1QS 9:10–11), a topic addressed below.41 For others, the future prophet is not just any potential prophet. Alex Jassen, following Wolf Wirgin,42 considers the mysterious figure of 1 Maccabees 4 as an eschatological prophet, who would serve as an arbiter of difficult matters.43 Wirgin argues that the eschatological prophet is to be understood as Elijah (from Mal 4:5 and rabbinic literature) in which the prophet serves as a reconciling figure. Regardless of the lens through which one views the prophet of 1 Macc 4:41, it is clear that the prophet has an authoritative role in resolving a cultic situation tied to nomos or torah. The theme of an elusive prophet continues in chapter 14. In his installation, Simon is said to serve as leader and high priest (ἡγούμενον αὐτῶν καὶ ἀρχιερέα) until a προφήτην πιστὸν (a faithful, dependable, or trustworthy prophet) arises (1 Macc 14:41). Chapter 14 highlights Simon and his accomplishments, with a poem praising him (14:4–15) and then the chapter recounts a public proclamation that the people – in gratitude to Simon and his sons – inscribe on bronze tablets and affix to pillars on Mount Zion. Having been selected by the people and priests as their leader and high priest (14:35, 41) and confirmed as high priest by King Demetrius who also recognizes him as a royal Friend (14:38–39), Simon takes on the additional roles of military leader and ethnarch (στρατηγὸς καὶ ἐθνάρχης) (14:47); he is also to be obeyed by all (14:43). Given the extensive tribute and leadership scope, it is surprising to read that Simon’s positions as leader and high priest are to endure (εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα44) until a trustnarrated in 1 Maccabees 4 suggests that “prophecy was still the preferred method for finding divine will because it could clearly instruct them on subjects about which the law is unclear or silent.” 40  Doran, “1 Maccabees,” 583. 41  Doran, “1 Maccabees,” 583. 42  Wolf Wirgin, “Simon Maccabaeus and Prophetes Pistos,” PEQ 103 (1971): 35–41 43  Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 133, observes: “The Qumran corpus attests to the general belief that the eschatological age will usher in a new phase of prophetic history.” The Rule of the Community (1QS 9:11), 4QTestimonia (4Q175), and 11QMelchizedek (11Q13) are of special interest to Jassen. He also considers possible non-sectarian allusions in 4Q521 (4QMessianic Apocalypse) and 4Q558 (4QpapVisionb ar) 54 ii 4 in association with an eschatological prophet (ibid., 142–48). 44  The phrase εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα can convey an extended period of time, perpetuity, or eternality. See Abel, Les Livres des Maccabées, 260, and Joseph Sievers, The Hasmoneans and Their Supporters: From Mattathias to the Death of John Hyrcanus I (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), 127. Abel notes that the expression (once in Hebrew, but then translated into Greek) could convey the epigraphic expression “for life.” The expression has also been understood to refer to Has-

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worthy prophet appears. The prophet would seemingly trump the ethnarch and high priest upon his arrival.45 How is νόμος or ‫ תורה‬in 1 Maccabees 14 related to the prophet? Responses to this scene range from theories on historical compromises related to Maccabee/ Hasmonean leadership to ancient perspectives on charismatic rivals in early Judaism. Related to the former, Jassen argues that Simon’s appointment as both leader and high priest was not considered optimal by those who were not followers of Simon – that there was opposition to Hasmoneans serving in both roles simultaneously. Thus, maintains Jassen, 1 Maccabees 14 distinguishes between people who are likely supporters of the ethnarch (v. 35) and those who had to be persuaded (v. 41).46 This scenario, some argue, is behind the provisio, a statement of compromise, in 1 Maccabees, permitting Simon and descendants to hold multiple roles, just until the appearance of a prophet.47 The anticipated prophet, then, would be called upon to “adjudicate on the permissibility of unifying in one individual the powers of the royal leader and high priest.”48 Such a task, for Jassen, belongs to the eschatological prophet.

monean dynastic claims on the high priesthood. With regard to the expression, cf. also 1 Macc 2:57 (Δαυιδ ἐν τῷ ἐλέει αὐτοῦ ἐκληρονόμησεν θρόνον βασιλείας εἰς αἰῶνας). As has been noted by Kenneth Pomykala, in light of 1 Maccabees’ proclivity to champion the Maccabee family as legitimate leaders for Israel, it is curious that an everlasting Davidic dynasty would be heralded here. For this reason, Pomykala (The Davidic Dynasty Tradition in Early Judaism: Its History and Significance for Messianism, EJL 7 ([Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995], 155) reads εἰς αἰῶνας here as a long period of time “during which Davidic monarchs ruled.” On the other hand, Arie van der Kooij argues for a relationship between 1 Macc 14:41 and LXX Ps 109:4 (“The Septuagint of Psalms and the First Book of Maccabees,” in The Old Greek Psalter. Studies in Honour of Albert Pietersma, ed. Robert J. V. Hiebert et al., JSOT Sup 332 [Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001], 229–47). The “priest forever, according to the order of Melchizedek” of LXX Ps 109:4 offers an ideological paradigm for a priest-king, a useful model for the Maccabees as well. 45 One should also note the ambiguous nature of the Greek for 1 Macc 14:41–42 (… ἕως τοῦ ἀναστῆναι προφήτην πιστὸν καὶ τοῦ εἶναι ἐπ᾽ αὐτῶν στρατηγόν …) which could convey that Simon would be the leader and high priest until a faithful prophet would arise who would be commander (στρατηγόν) over the people. My appreciation to Geoffrey Jenkins for sharing this observation. The verse is also problematic from other vantages. Goldstein (I Maccabees, 507) notes that ὅτι, which appears in almost all Greek manuscripts, complicates the syntax of the sentence. Moreover, the tense of the verb is off and suggests a past appointment of Simon (as opposed to a declaration of what was being determined). 46 Mediating the Divine, 151. 47  See Sievers, The Hasmoneans and Their Supporters, 126–27, and Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 151. See also Kenneth Atkinson (A History of the Hasmonean State: Josephus and Beyond [London: T&T Clark Bloomsbury, 2016], 36–37, nn 58-59), who understands the future prophet to serve as an arbiter of the high priesthood. This prophet could replace Simon or appoint someone else. The concession, according to Atkinson, was to tamp down opposition to either Simon serving as high priest due to his lineage or to holding both roles. 48  Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 154, and Howard M. Teeple, The Mosaic Eschatological Prophet (Philadelphia: Society of Biblical Literature, 1957), 24.

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In contrast, Borchardt takes a more pessimistic view of nomos in 1 Maccabees 14. He argues that the law is not involved in “this central piece of decisionmaking.” Instead, lacking trustworthy prophets, “(t)he priests and the Judeans decide themselves” about their leader.49 While the reading of Matthias Henze does not speak directly to 1 Macc 14:41’s relationship to nomos, it offers an important perspective on the figure of the prophet.50 Henze understands the provision in 1 Macc 14:41 as a Hasmonean challenge to pneumatic figures who might contest their authority. In this interpretation, the Hasmoneans do not understand prophecy to have ceased; rather with such a statement – that Simon should serve as leader and high priest until a trustworthy prophet arises – they are attempting to protect themselves against rivals. They are intimating (along the lines of 1 Kings 22) that just as there are trustworthy prophets, there are also false prophets (cf. 1 Kings 22; Jeremiah 28). The emphasis here is on the prophet’s quality. Supporting Henze’s view is that 1 Maccabees explicitly begins the pericope with attestations of Simon’s trustworthiness or fidelity (πίστιν), rhetorically juxtaposing the protagonist with any unnamed prophet the narrative wishes to paint as bogus (14:35).51 In addition to 1 Macc 9:54 (discussed in n 39), there is another passage in 1 Maccabees that alludes to prophets that we touch on briefly. After the death of Judas, 1 Maccabees 9 describes a difficult time in which there was a famine with people flocking to the lawless (ἄνομοι) and to evildoers (ἀδικίαν). Bacchides put renegades (ἀσεβεῖς ἄνδρας) in charge who sought after and punished the friends of Judas. Before introducing Jonathan as Judas’s replacement, the narrator states: “And there was a great affliction in Israel such as had not been since the day that a prophet was not seen among them” (1 Macc 9:27). While some have argued that this statement refers to the cessation of prophets or of prophecy, that reading is unlikely given the expectation expressed in 1 Maccabees 4 that a prophet would offer guidance on the matter of the defiled altar stones. Instead, the statement could be read as comparable to Ps 74:9 (“we have seen no signs for us, there is no prophet anymore”); or the statement could be meant to undermine any rival or potential anti-establishment prophet (so Henze).

49 Borchardt,

The Torah in 1Maccabees, 208. Henze, “Invoking the Prophets in Zechariah and Ben Sira,” in Prophets, Prophecy, and Prophetic Texts in Second Temple Judaism, ed. Michael Floyd and Robert D. Haak (New York: T&T Clark, 2006), 120–34 (121). 51 καὶ ἐν ἔτει τρίτῳ καὶ πεντηκοστῷ καὶ ἑκατοστῷ τῷ μηνὶ τῷ δευτέρῳ ἐπέταξεν Ἄλκιμος καθαιρεῖν τὸ τεῖχος τῆς αὐλῆς τῶν ἁγίων τῆς ἐσωτέρας καὶ καθεῖλεν τὰ ἔργα τῶν προφητῶν καὶ ἐνήρξατο τοῦ καθαιρεῖν. (“And in the one hundred and fifty-third year, in the second month, Alcimus gave the command to tear down the wall of the inner court of the holy places, and he tore down the works of the prophets. And he began to tear it down”; NETS). 50 Matthias

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5. Identifying the Authorizing Prophet in Terms of Ideal or Eschatological Prophets We return to the matter of how the prophet’s authority is construed vis-à-vis torah. Without clarification, 1 Maccabees’ prophet has a relationship to the cult (see also 9:54 and n 39 above) and enjoys authority in Israel, and this is so for a book quite invested in nomos. Who then is the prophet of 1 Macc 4:46 and 14:41 and whence their authority? Though in introducing these passages we have considered in brief some suggestions, we explore more deeply possibilities that help to elucidate the relationship of the prophet and the law in 1 Maccabees. One of the options that is regularly mentioned is that the prophet of 1 Maccabees is an anticipated prophet along the lines of Moses. Deut 18:15–22 provides the basis for the idea that God would send to Israel at some future time a prophet like Moses as the latter states: “The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among your own people; you shall heed such a prophet” (Deut 18:15 [NRSV ]; see also Deut 18:18).52 The interpretation of this selection from Deut 18:15–22 in the Second Temple period is far from certain. As John C. Poirier notes: “Just how this Prophet was to be ‘like’ Moses is not clear. Would he be a second Moses, or would he actually be Moses himself ? Although the wording of Deuteronomy seems to preclude a second coming of Moses, enthusiasts apparently foisted such a hope upon these verses.”53 Already within the Hebrew scriptures certain prophets  – e. g. Elijah and Jeremiah – bear resemblance to Moses, and in the Second Temple period “all later prophets are viewed as operating in the image of Moses, the paradigmatic prophet identified in Deut 18:18.”54 Moreover, as demonstrated by Hindy Najman, Mosaic discourse flourished in the Second Temple period, extending the legacy of Israel’s greatest prophet to new historical contexts.55 These numerous receptions of Moses ensure that the contours of a Moses-like figure (per Deuteronomy 18) in early Jewish tradition are varied; some apparently associated the figure with an eschatological prophet (see below), though that particular interpretation is not required by Deuteronomy 18.56 Limited extant sources do not allow one to provide a definitive sketch of the prophet in the tradition of Moses or inspired by Deut 18:15–22, but the

 ‫נביא מקרבך מאחיך כמני יקים לך יהוה אלהיך אליו תשמעון‬.  John C. Poirier, “The Endtime Return of Elijah and Moses at Qumran,” DSD 10 (2003): 221–42, esp. 237. 54 Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 173; cf. also John Lübbe, “A Reinterpretation of 4Q Testimonia,” RevQ 12 (1986): 187–97 (191). 55  See the important work of Hindy Najman, Seconding Sinai: The Development of Mosaic Discourse in Second Temple Judaism, JSJ Sup 77 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), esp. 1–17. 56  See, for example, Poirier, “The Endtime Return,” 236–41. 52 53

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figure appears to have been associated with juridical supervision,57 and in some traditions with working miracles or performing signs.58 With regard to juridical responsibilities, Jassen calls attention to two different literary presentations of prophets among the Dead Sea Scrolls that he ties to the eschatological era (we take up the topic further below);59 one of these explicitly pertains to Deut 18:15– 22. 4QTestimonia (4Q175) includes a citation of Deut 18:18–19, along with other biblical texts that have messianic import. Alongside the prophetic figure of the Rule of the Community (1QS 9:11), Jassen observes a developing tradition in which a future prophet with juridical responsibilities precedes messianic figures and appears immediately before the onset of the eschaton.60 Is the prophet of 1 Maccabees presented as a Moses-like figure whom God would send in a future age? In as much as the prophet of 1 Maccabees has an authorizing position vis-à-vis the law, Moses’s association with torah, which includes instructions related to cultic matters, as well as his stature, make him a fitting precursor for the former’s prophetic figure. Were that the intention of the author, however, it is curious that 1 Maccabees does not explicitly mention Moses among the great spiritual forefathers of ancient Israel who are recalled. The ancestors enumerated in Mattathias’s testament (1 Macc 2:51–64) include Abraham, Joseph, Phineas, Joshua, Caleb, David, Elijah, Hananiah, Azariah, M ­ ishael, and Daniel; they are associated with fortitude in times of trial, adherence to commandments, zeal, and blamelessness. Even in a context where it would be appropriate to mention Moses, he is excluded. In 1 Macc 4:8–9, Judas encourages the men with him to remember God’s providential care of the Israelites who were saved in the Red Sea, when pursued by Pharaoh;61 but Moses as a leader for the people is not named or indicated in any way.62

57 Jassen,

Mediating the Divine, 157–75.  Lutz Doering explored this possibility in a presentation given at the Orion Symposium, March 2022. An extension of Deuteronomy 18’s tradition may be found in Acts 3:22–23; 7:37. 59  Interestingly, Jassen understands the “juridical eschatological prophet” inferred from the Rule of the Community (1QS 9:11) and 4QTestimonia (4Q175) to “facilitate the abandonment” of earlier communal directives given to the sectaries prior to the Teacher of Righteous (cf. 1QS 9:10; CD 20:31–32) “in favor of law intended for the end of days.” See Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 170, 174. 60  Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 174–75. 61  καὶ εἶπεν Ιουδας τοῖς ἀνδράσιν τοῖς μετ᾽ αὐτοῦ μὴ φοβεῖσθε τὸ πλῆθος αὐτῶν καὶ τὸ ὅρμημα αὐτῶν μὴ δειλωθῆτε μνήσθητε ὡς ἐσώθησαν οἱ πατέρες ἡμῶν ἐν θαλάσσῃ ἐρυθρᾷ ὅτε ἐδίωκεν αὐτοὺς Φαραω ἐν δυνάμει (“And Ioudas said to the men who were with him, ‘Do not fear their multitude, and do not be cowardly at their charge. Remember how our fathers were saved in the Red Sea when Pharao was pursuing them in force’”; NETS). 62  Perhaps parallel in the same chapter is the prayer of Judas (1 Macc 4:30), which recalls another moment of divine deliverance: how God crushed the attack of the mighty through David. The potential parallel makes the absence of Moses especially curious. Compare the historical surveys of Sir 44:1–50:24; Acts 7:2–53 in which Moses figures prominently. 58

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As noted above, it was common in the Second Temple period to “think with” figures of the past and to rework traditions associated with notable persons from ancient Israel, deploying the traditions in new contexts.63 If such a motivation were at work in 1 Maccabees, the allusions to (or parallels with) Moses are very muted. In contrast, Phineas (Num 25:7–13; 1 Macc 2:54; see also 1 Macc 2:26) not only represents the generation of the Sinai wilderness tradition in Mattathias’s historical recital but is overtly linked to the Maccabee family as an ancestor with the covenant of everlasting priesthood (see also Sir 45:24–25 and 50:24). That is, discourse of Moses as exemplar is not directly signaled in this work to demonstrate a grounding in or continuation of that tradition nor does it seem that prior traditions of Moses are extended by recasting them into the context of the second century bce.64 Phineas, instead, is more conspicuous in 1 Maccabees. The figure in 1 Macc 4:46 and 14:41 has also been compared to endtime prophetic figures in the Second Temple period. Apocalyptic-oriented communities expected prophecy to flourish at the end of the age.65 Further, different sorts of prophetic figures appear in association with a new age. For example, 1QS 9:10–11 suggests that one iteration of the Qumran community anticipated the arrival of a certain prophet along with the messiahs of Aaron and Israel (pointing toward priestly and secular divinely appointed leaders).66 The fact that the community is to follow directives until the arrival of the prophet, along with the messiahs, and thereupon presumably to heed new instructions, suggests a radical break in time. Another such eschatological figure is Elijah. Elijah’s heavenly ascent in a fiery chariot while alive (2 Kgs 2:11), Malachi’s announcement of the return of Elijah before the terrible day of the Lord (which seems to forestall judgment; Mal 3:23–24 [4:5–6]), and the development of Elijah traditions in the Second Temple period (see, for example, Sir 48:4–12; 4Q558; Liv. Pro. 21:1; Mark 9:2–13) contributed to this perception of Elijah’s eventual return.67 Though the traditions are scattered, Poirier has also pointed to traditions of Elijah within second temple and late antique Judaism that present the prophet as a priest. In these representations, Elijah is comparable to Phineas (Num 25:7–13), an eschatological high priest of

63  See Najman, Seconding Sinai; eadem, Losing the Temple and Recovering the Future: An Analysis of 4 Ezra (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 15–25. 64  One may observe such an extension in 2 Maccabees, which showcases Jeremiah in chapters 2 and 15. In this literary context, Jeremiah might be said to serve as the work’s authorizing prophet, who instructs on matters of the law and cult (2 Macc 2:1–12) and appears as a redivivus in a seemingly fraught moment involving Judas going into battle (2 Macc 15:14–16). There are additional pseudepigraphal traditions about Jeremiah in the second temple period (for example, Liv. Pro. 2:1; Coptic Jeremiah Apocryphon), as there are of other figures of ancient Israel. 65  Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 133. Cf. Joel 2:28–29 and Acts 2:14–21. 66  See Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 166–71. An anticipated prophet is also referenced in John 1:21, 25. 67  See also Jassen, Mediating the Divine, 137–44.

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the heavenly sanctuary, and a law giver.68 These various laminations, especially of Elijah in association with Phineas, as priest and as assessor of torah, suggest Elijah, in the guise of an eschatological prophet as a candidate for the prophet in 1 Maccabees 4 and 14. Much more can be said about Second Temple lore pertaining to Moses, the anticipated prophet of Deut 18:15–22, eschatological prophets, and Elijah redivivus, though a thoroughgoing study of these would go beyond the parameters of the current work. In terms of identifying the prophetic figure in 1 Maccabees it is important to note that the book does not present the prophet within an eschatological context69 and further, the book resists an eschatological horizon.70 1 Maccabees looks to a future (and it is most concerned with the near future and the historical actors of its own day) in which Simonides – and specifically John Hyrcanus and his descendants – decisively oversee secular and religious spheres of influence.71 A prophet like Moses or a prophet with the zeal of Elijah would fit nicely into the historiographical agenda of 1 Maccabees, so long as the figure points back to the leading family.72

6. Identifying the Authorizing Prophet: John Hyrcanus With that in mind, another lens through which to view the tradition of the prophet is that of the lore promulgated about John Hyrcanus, during whose governance 1 Maccabees was likely composed or completed. That is, in an act of vaticinium ex eventu, the anticipated but unnamed prophet was Hyrcanus himself and the references in 1 Maccabees, a complex but ultimately dynastic-serving com68 Poirier,

“The Endtime Return of Elijah and Moses at Qumran,” 227–36.  Jassen (Mediating the Divine, 154) also acknowledges that “The prophet in 1 Maccabees is not identified as a participant in the unfolding drama of the end of the days.” Other than deciding a complex legal issue, there is not a clear eschatological thrust to this role in 1 Maccabees. 70  Cook, Question, 71. Yonder Moynihan Gillihan argues that the Hasmoneans were not apocalyptic but drew upon certain apocalyptic ideas, which were incorporated into 1 Maccabees, to win over Jews who were. Gillihan, “Apocalyptic Elements in Hasmonean Propaganda: Civic Ideology and the Struggle for Political Legitimation,” in The Seleucid and Hasmonean Periods and the Apocalyptic Worldview, ed. Lester Grabbe et al. (London: Bloomsburg T&T Clark, 2016), 213–23. He suggests that the references to the prophet in 1 Maccabees are messianic – a feature commonly associated with apocalypticism – and defines 1 Macc 14:41’s prophet as “He That Cometh” (220). While there were traditions associated with eschatological prophets, these were varied and do not attest to a singular tradition. Moreover, as we have discussed there were various individuals associated with prophetic skills in Second Temple Judaism not explicitly associated with messianism. On 1 Maccabees and the work’s relative neglect of messianism see also John R. Bartlett, 1 Maccabees (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1998), 30–31. 71  See also Schwartz, 1 Maccabees, 4. 72  See also Benedikt Eckhardt, “Reading the Middle Maccabees,” in The Middle Maccabees: Archaeology, History, and the Rise of the Hasmonean Kingdom, ed. Andrea M. Berlin and Paul J. Kosmin (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2021), 349–62 (360). 69

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position, supported his agenda and standing, as opponents criticized his legitimacy as a high priest.73 Not only did traditions circulate about Hyrcanus having prophetic gifts, but further, he was remembered as an active arbitrator in cultic matters, though his validity in that role may have been challenged.74 Additionally, the dating of 1 Maccabees and the narrative itself allow for such a reading of this figure.75 Significantly, Hyrcanus was himself remembered as a prophetic figure.76 Josephus relates incidents of Hyrcanus’s prophesying (13.282–83; 299–300, 322) – examples that involve foreknowledge of his children, visions of the divine, and heavenly voices.77 But, these traditions were not limited to Josephus and his 73  According to Josephus in J. W. 1:67, because of the successes of Hyrcanus and his sons, people grew envious and led a rebellion (στάσις). The rebellion involved many and led to an open war; but in the end, the rebels were defeated (πολλοὶ κατ᾽ αὐτῶν συνελθόντες οὐκ ἠρέμουν μέχρι καὶ πρὸς φανερὸν πόλεμον ἐκριπισθέντες ἡττῶνται, “large numbers of whom held meetings to oppose them and continued to agitate, until the smouldering flames burst out in open war and the rebels were defeated”; LCL). Josephus does not provide additional details about the revolt, though he does address a falling out between John Hyrcanus and Pharisees and the enmity which ensued (see Ant. 13.290–96). These instances, as well as at least one likely allusive critique from the Dead Sea Scrolls (4QTestimonia [= 4Q175]; cf. Hanan Eshel, Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008], 63–90, and below), convey some indication of the opposition John Hyrcanus experienced as high priest and ethnarch and provide a rationale for a dynastic narrative that would offer good press. 74  Cook, Question, 72, objects to this reading because the dynastic claims in 1 Maccabees 14 already provide for John’s high priesthood and role as ethnarch. A possible scenario to consider is whether there were other family members, perhaps Simonides (for example, children of John’s deceased brothers), who could challenge John from assuming the role. Sibling pretenders for the high priesthood are observed even before the Maccabees’ high priesthood and sibling rivalries for the position continue among John’s descendants. 75 Kenneth Atkinson views the reference to the prophet in 1 Maccabees as stemming from and reflecting the time of Simon (“John Hyrcanus as a Prophetic Messiah in 4QTestimonia [4Q175],” Qumran Chronicle 24 [2016]: 9–27 [13–14]). For Atkinson, such allusions were useful for Simon in safeguarding his own descendants’ positions. Such a reading assumes the historicity of the account in 1 Maccabees 14 (or at least its composition in the time of Simon) and does not regard the book (or this selection) as the product of a later period; this view is contrary to the present reading, which understands the references to the prophet to originate in the time of Hyrcanus. 76 On John as prophet see also Vasile Babota, The Institution of the Hasmonean High Priesthood, JSJSup 165 (Leiden: Brill 2014), 256–58. 77  For example, Ant. 13.300: “For God was with him [Hyrcanus] and enabled him to know the future and to foretell this in particular, that, as to his two oldest sons, he foretold that they would not long continue in the government of public affairs.” Though Josephus does not explicitly call John as prophet (προφήτης), he does refer to him having the gift of prophecy (προφητεία; J. W. 1.68; Ant. 13.299). On Josephus’s stance on prophets and prophecy, see above. Since Josephus considered many people, including himself, to have prophet-like abilities (see, for example, Gray, Prophetic Figures in Late Second Temple, 35–79), one might query whether Josephus’s depiction of John as a prophetic figure is diminished by this propensity. As has been noted, however, Josephus’s presentation of John Hyrcanus is distinctive in that the praise he uses for him (Ant. 13.299–300; cf. J. W. 1.68–69) is unparalleled in his extant writing (see, for example, Gray, ibid., 16–23, 25–26) and because he appears to indicate that priestly divination is last attested with John Hyrcanus (Ant. 3.218). On the matter, Gray ob-

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sources.78 Echoes of comparable traditions that did not likely depend upon Josephus are found in rabbinic literature as well.79 Further, Josephus appears to suggest that divination associated with the high priesthood ended with John Hyrcanus; the priestly breastplate, which Josephus presents as an oracle, would provide divine communication until only around the time following John Hyrcanus (Ant. 3.163, 166, 217–218) because of transgressions of the law, likely by Hyrcanus’s descendants.80 How then would one read 1 Macc 4:46? Or, 14:41? By this reading, Hycanus, by virtue of his prophetic nature, would be qualified to make determinations about complex legal issue, or would be in the position to continue to lead as high priest, ethnarch, and strategos; that is, if there had been debate during the governance of his uncles or father, Hyrcanus could advertise that Judea now had a trustworthy prophet available to guide and assist. Additionally significant is that Hyrcanus was remembered within rabbinic traditions as actively involved in determining cultic and halakhic matters. Hyrcanus is, in fact, recalled as one who made judgments on nomos.81 Hyrcanus gave instructions on and regulated tithing in the temple (m. Ma῾aser Sheni 5:15), prohibited a liturgical custom that seemed to veer into polytheism (t. Soṭah 13:10; y. Soṭah 9:11, 24b; b. Soṭah 48a) and intervened in butchering practices for sacrifice (b. Soṭah 48a).82 That is, Hyrcanus, high priest and prophet, did take on a juridical role, issuing pronouncements on nomos, especially in terms of cultic matters. Equally compelling is the narrative itself. 1 Macc 14:41 presents Simon serving as high priest until a trustworthy prophet arises and that quite literally is what happens in the narrative. Simon serves as high priest until his untimely death

serves: “… (Josephus) says of John Hyrcanus that ‘so closely was he in touch with the Deity, that he was never ignorant of the future’ (J. W. 1.69). Josephus is not willing to say these sorts of things about Jews in his own generation, nor does he attribute to any of them the kind of longrange predictions that he admires so in the ancient prophets” (Gray, ibid., 34). See also Clemens Thoma, “John Hyrcanus I as Seen by Josephus and Other Early Jewish Sources,” in Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Period: Essays in Memory of Morton Smith, ed. Fausto Parente and Joseph Sievers (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 127–40 (128). 78  On the sources of Josephus, see Thoma, “John Hyrcanus I,” 131. 79  See especially t. Soṭah 13:5; y. Soṭah 9:13, 24b; b. Soṭah 33a; Canticles Rabbah 5; and Vered Noam, Shifting Images of the Hasmoneans (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 59–75. Noam does not understand stories of the Hasmoneans preserved within rabbinic literature to have derived from Josephus but rather views both as having drawn on comparable folklore (Shifting Images of the Hasmoneans, 2). See also Thoma, “John Hyrcanus I,” 128, and VanderKam, From Joshua to Caiaphas, 297–301. 80  See also Gray, Prophetic Figures in Late Second Temple, 20, and Thoma, “John Hyrcanus I,” 130. 81  VanderKam, From Joshua to Caiaphas, 311. VanderKam refers to these as “cultic innovations.” 82 VanderKam, From Joshua to Caiaphas, 309–11, and Thoma, “John Hyrcanus I,” 130. See also m. Yadayim 4:6.

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and he is succeeded by his son, John Hyrcanus.83 By default Hyrcanus would be the prophet. Moreover, 1 Macc 16:23–24 directs readers toward Hyrcanus’s own time in leadership and the chronicle of his high priesthood. 1 Maccabees concludes with only a summary statement concerning John Hyrcanus. The explicit reference to the βιβλίῳ ἡμερῶν ἀρχιερωσύνης αὐτοῦ (16:24) guides readers to seek out the next volume to learn all about the “acts of John and his wars and the brave deeds that he did, and the building of the walls that he completed, and his achievements” (16:23 [NRSV ]). If the first of a two-volume work, 1 Maccabees sets the stage, connecting the Simonides with the first generation of the Maccabees, cementing the position and prestige of Simon’s descendants. It also lays the foundation for a high priest and ethnarch who would actively play a role in nomos. Of course, John Hyrcanus did many things as high priest and ethnarch, but his chronicle, just like 1 Maccabees, would be a highly curated document. Viewed from another vantage, if one returns to challenges allegedly posed to the Maccabees about the multiple roles that they held, roles for which they lacked bonafides,84 might Hyrcanus’s claim to prophetic gifts allow an association with the prophet like Moses from Deut 18:15 that could not as easily be disputed by opponents? This dynastic founder could adopt a designation or role that would be unproblematic from the vantage of lineage or of torah. Or, alternatively, perhaps allusive references to prophets would naturally point to Hyrcanus in his own time and simply serve to augment his role as leader, high priest and prophet. That is, after all, how Josephus (Ant. 13.299) sums up the life of Hyrcanus. He writes: “(Hyrcanus) was esteemed by God, worthy of three of the greatest privileges: the government of his nation, the dignity of the high priesthood, and prophecy.”85 Also lending credence to the view that John Hyrcanus is the prophet of 1 Maccabees are texts from Qumran that seemingly allude to the Hasmonean in this manner. 4QTestimonia (4Q175), it has been argued by Hanan Eshel,86 Katell Berthelot,87 and others, was a polemical composition that intended to cast aspersion on John’s leadership and legacy. By means of carefully selected texts (Deut 18:18; Num 24:17; Exod 32:25–29), John’s various claims to authority (as 83 My

appreciation goes to Kylie Crabbe for this insight.  See, for example, Gregg Gardner, “Jewish Leadership and Hellenistic Civic Benefaction in the Second Century b.c.e.,” JBL 126 (2007): 327–43 (341, n 65 and n 66). 85 … τριῶν τῶν μεγίστων ἄξιος ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ κριθείς ἀρχῆς τοῦ ἔθνους καὶ τῆς ἀρχιερατικῆς τιμῆς καὶ προφητείας. 86 For example, Hanan Eshel, Dead Sea Scrolls and the Hasmonean State (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 63–90. 87  Katell Berthelot, “4QTestimonia as a Polemic against the Prophetic Claims of John Hyrcanus,” in Prophecy after the Prophets? The Contribution of the Dead Sea Scrolls to the Understanding of Biblical and Extra-Biblical Prophecy, eds. Kristin de Troyer and Armin Lange (Leuven: Peeters, 2009), 99–116. 84

202

Kelley Coblentz Bautch

prophet, leader, and priest) are intimated in the text. But, 4Q175 then turns to allusions that ultimately present the figure in a negative light, by means of a curse from Joshua, in which an impious person rebuilds a city (Josh 6:26) and by associating the figure with false prophets (Hos 9:8; with plausible reconstruction pointing to Jeremiah 23).88 This reading of 4Q175 – that the work indicates and means to indict John Hyrcanus and his legacy – is quite plausible. By means of 4Q175 one could see how opponents of Hyrcanus and his offspring could counter the propagandistic portrayal of the high priest.89

7. Conclusion In sum, identifying the authorizing prophet with John Hyrcanus permits one to make sense of 1 Maccabees on its own terms: as a composition that looks to cement a family’s status in second century Judea. The association of the prophet with an eschatological figure is not as compelling, for 1 Maccabees does not take up the eschatological themes so well attested in other Second Temple compositions.90 Rather 1 Maccabees paints a picture of heroic leaders and sets the reader up rhetorically for a context where a descendant of Simon will lead the people with zeal for the law, while continuing as high priest and ethnarch. Mattathias’s grandson, John Hyrcanus, brings to the table the (alleged) gift of  Berthelot, “4QTestimonia as a Polemic,” 108–111.  4Q379 and 4Q339 may also indicate antipathy toward John Hyrcanus and his sons. 4Q379 appears to be related to 4Q175 in some manner; on the relationship of 4Q379 and 4Q175 see Ariel Feldman, The Rewritten Joshua Scrolls from Qumran: Texts, Translations, and Commentary, BZAW 438 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2013), 101–3; 121–127. Feldman proposes a cautious approach to these texts since much remains unclear about the relationships of the texts to one another. Similarly, he underscores prudently that the intent of the author of 4Q175 is unclear (126). 4Q339 features a list of false prophets and some have reconstructed the last line as containing a reference to John Hyrcanus. See Armin Lange, “‘The False Prophets Who Arose against Our God’ (4Q339 1),” in Aramaica Qumranica: Proceedings of the Conference on the Aramaic Texts from Qumran in Aix-En-Provence 30 June-2 July 2008, ed. Katell Berthelot and Daniel Stökl Ben Ezra (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 205–18, esp. 212–16, who agrees with this reconstruction. 90 By way of contrast, consider the rich angelology and afterlife traditions of 2 Maccabees, neither of which are represented in 1 Maccabees. There were also contemporaries of John (for example, Judas the Essene [Ant. 13.311–313]) who were thought to have the gift of foretelling the future (Ant. 13:311: Ιούδαν τινά Ἐσσηνὸν μὲν τὸ γένος οὐδέποτε δ᾽ ἐν οἷς προεῖπεν διαψευσάμενον τἀληθές οὗτος γὰρ ἰδὼν τὸν Ἀντίγονον παριόντα τὸ ἱερὸν ἀνεβόησεν ἐν τοῖς ἑταίροις αὐτοῦ καὶ γνωρίμοις οἳ διδασκαλίας ἕνεκα τοῦ προλέγειν τὰ μέλλοντα παρέμενον, “a certain Judas of the Essene group, who had never been known to speak falsely in his prophecies, but when he saw Antigonus passing by the temple, cried out to his companions and disciples, who were together with him for the purpose of receiving instruction in foretelling the future”; LCL). In the last instance, Judas is accompanied by disciples who wished to learn from him the art of prediction. The example demonstrates that prophetic gifts were cultivated and that eschatological prophets were not the only prophetic figures to inhabit the religious imagination of the Second Temple period. 88 89

The Law and the Prophet

203

prophecy, perhaps to trump any possible detractor or contender for religious authority in his own conflicted context. When 1 Maccabees (including 4:46 and 14:41) is read as a composition that in its extant form reflects the priorities and concerns of John Hyrcanus (or even of his offspring) and that provenance, it is no longer the case that one must understand the references to a prophet as limiting Maccabee leadership, as inherited tradition that John later manipulates, or as coincidentally anticipating John’s reputation as prophetic. Instead, 1 Maccabees and its authorizing prophet reflect the high priest, ethnarch and prophet who commissioned the book.

List of Contributors Richard J. Bautch, Professor of Humanities and Executive Director of the Holy Cross Institute, St. Edward’s University Kelley Coblentz Bautch, Professor of Religious and Theological Studies, St. Edward’s University Ariel Feldman, Rosalyn and Manny Rosenthal Professor of Jewish Studies, Brite Divinity School at Texas Christian University Steven D. Fraade, Mark Taper Professor Emeritus of Religious Studies and the History of Judaism, Yale University Jonathan Kaplan, Associate Professor of Hebrew Bible and Early Judaism in the Department of Middle Eastern Studies and Director of the Schusterman Center for Jewish Studies, The University of Texas at Austin Daniel A. Machiela, Associate Professor of Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity, Department of Theology, University of Notre Dame Joseph McDonald, Affiliate Faculty, Brite Divinity School and Texas Christian University Judith H. Newman, Professor of Hebrew Bible and Early Judaism, Emmanuel College of Victoria University in the University of Toronto Carol A. Newsom, Charles Howard Candler Professor Emerita of Old Testament, Candler School of Theology, Emory University Timothy J. Sandoval, Associate Professor of Hebrew Bible, Brite Divinity School at Texas Christian University Jeremy L. Williams, Assistant Professor of New Testament, Brite Divinity School at Texas Christian University

Index of Ancient Sources Hebrew Bible Genesis 1:26–28 45–49 1:29 48 2–3 39–55 2:3 42 2:7 45–46, 48 2:9 52 2:10 51 2:13 51 2:15 46, 52 2:16 48 2:17 45, 47 3:5 163 3:18 52 3:19 40, 45–46 3:24 53 5:1 49 6:1 82 6:3 14, 47 6:5 47–48, 55 7:11 82 8:1 47 8:21 40 9:2 45 12:4–5 20 12:8 64 12:10–20 20 15:13 102 16:1 75 22:7 158 24:7 156 25:26 30 36:8 20 47:28 20 50:24 14, 107 Exodus 1:7 101 1:12 100

1:14 100 2:23 102 3:7 96, 102 3:8 96 3:9 96, 100 3:14 139 3:19 95 3:21 102 4:14–17 17 4:21 101 4:30 73 5:15 100 6:6 100, 103 12:8 14 13:1 71 13:7–15:21 98 13:15 71 13:19 107 14:14 86 14:16 86 14:22 72 14:24 86–87 15:1–21 67–89 15:2 74, 85–86 15:3 69, 78 15:5 80–83 15:7 81, 86, 89 15:8 86 15:9 70 15:10 79, 80, 82 15:11 81, 85, 103 15:14 96 15:16 72, 95 15:17 4, 75–78, 81–82, 89 15:20 85 15:21 88 15:22 97 18:25 29 19:7 114

208 19:11 120 22:28 131 22:29–30 154 24:7 14 24:10 15 30:23 51 32:12 14 32:25–29 201 34:22–23 154 Leviticus 1:1 114 19:33 100 24:10–23 125–46 24:11 132 24:15 132 24:17 132 25:1–7 116–18, 122 25:5–6 118 25:6–7 117 25:9 119 25:13 76 25:25 120 25:42 100 26:12–13 94 26:34 120 26:42 14 26:44 102 27:30–32 154–55 Numbers 6:24–27 15, 17 9:1 131 11:29 21 12:6–8 15 12:8 15 14:11 73 16:1 15 16:8 15 16:19–24 15 18:1 15 20:12 14 24:17 201 25:7–13 197 25:36 10 32:11 14 35:33 119 36:3–9 156

Index of Ancient Sources

Deuteronomy 1:1 114 1:1–3 115 1:3 113–14 1:15 29 1:36 14 1:39 40 3:26 14 7:3 156 12:1–28 155 12:2–4 191 12:28 166 14:24–26 155 14:28–29 155–58 15:1–3 116–17 15:2 76 15:12 134 16:7 14 16:10 158 16:16 154 17:8 190 18:4 155 18:15 21, 195 18:15–22 183, 195–96, 198, 201 18:18–19 196, 201 26:6 100 26:7 96, 100 28:26 158 31:2 21 31:9 21 31:16–21 114, 116 31:21 114 32:4 84 32:43 119 33:1 14 34:4 14 34:6 114 34:7 13–14, 21 34:9 46 34:10 15, 17, 21 34:10–12 16 Joshua 1:7–8 18 1:17 18 6:26 202 10:3 134

Index of Ancient Sources

12:9 68 24:32 107 Judges 5:2 68 2 Samuel 7:10–14 76 19:36 40 1 Kings 1:33 51 3:1 134 3:9 40 12:18 135 13:2 115 14:11 158 2 Kings 2:11 197 Isaiah 2:2 97 6:9 163 10:24–27 94, 98 10:26 94, 95 10:27 94 11:11–16 95, 108 11:15 95 12:2 74 12:5 74 12:6 74 19:4 96 19:19–25 96, 98 19:20 96 19:25 96 30:20 54 34:14 115 41:17 97 41:19 53 42:5–16 97 42:10–16 98, 108 43:1–9 97 43:8 163 43:16–21 97, 98 47:5 162 49:6 57, 66 51:3 53

51:4 57, 66 55:5 58, 66 60:21 53 Jeremiah 1:7–9 17 10:7 84 10:12 73 16:14 95 17:8 53 27:21 36 29:1–7 66 29:7 57 31:31–34 17 31:33 11 47:2 80 Ezekiel 1:28 46, 47 21:3 80 28:2–10 42 28:12–19 42 28:14 46 Hosea 2:11 116 4:16 32 6:3 54 9:8 202 Joel 2:23 54 2:28–29 197 Amos 4:13 84 5:27 25 7:7–17 27 9:7 96 Habakkuk 2:2 33 2:10–13 190 2:11 9 Zechariah 7:12 9

209

210 Malachi 1:11 84 2:4–9 17 2:7 190 3:23–24 191, 197 4:5 192 Psalms 1:1 76 2:1–2 76 8:4 47 8:7 47 74:9 194 77:17–19 86 86:9 84 86:10 73 90:3 47 98:2 84 103:14 46, 47 104:29–30 41, 46 106:10 73 109:4 193 111:2 84 116:15 158 145:17 84 Job 1:9 158 1:21 41, 158 4:19 47 15:7–8 42, 50 25:6 47 27:3 41 32:8 46 33:4 41 33:6 41 36:22 54

Index of Ancient Sources

Proverbs 3:18 42, 51 5:13 54 7:16 176 11:30 42 Song of Songs 2:7 36 3:5 36 5:8 36 8:4 36 Ecclesiastes 6:4 162 Daniel 4:5 46 4:24 150 5:11 46 Ezra 3:21 48 6:18 9 7:10 190 Nehemiah 8:1 9 8:8 9 1 Chronicles 23:31 116 2 Chronicles 35:1 14

Jewish Apocrypha 1 Maccabees 1:41–50 144 2:51–64 196 2:54 197 4:8–9 196 4:30 196

4:38 191 4:46 183–203 9:27 188 9:54 194 10:34 116

Index of Ancient Sources

14:41 183–203 16:23–24 201 2 Maccabees 1:24–29 77 2:1–12 197 2:18 77 15:14–16 197 3 Maccabees 2:1–30 82–83, 99–100 4:17 101 4:20 101 5:1–47 101 6:2–4 101 6:15 102 6:16–29 102 6:32, 35 85 Judith 7:16–17 176 8:2 156 8:27 180 8:29 178, 180 9:2–4 176 9:7–8 78 10:4 176 10:10 176 10–14 173–75 11:5–6 176 11:20–21 178 11:21 177 12:12 177 13:15 177 13:16 178 Tobit 1:3–9 154

1:6 155 1:9 156 1:10–13 157–58 1:12 157 1:16 158, 165 2:9–10 159 2:10 161 3:7–16 161 4:1–20 158–60 4:6–19 159 4:12–13 156 5:10 161 5:11–14 156 5:14 155 12:6–10 164–66 14 166–69 14:1 166 14:5–9 167–69 14:8–9 166 14:9 166 Sirach 1:1, 8–9 184 17:1–7 45 17:6 46 24 45, 50, 51 24:30 54 31:3 46 44:1–50 196 45:24–25 197 48:4–12 197 50:24 197 Wisdom of Solomon 9:8 78 10:19 83 10:20–21 86

Jewish Pseudepigrapha 1 Enoch 1:2 163 8:1–3 44 16:3 44 24:25 43

24–32 39, 43–44 32:3, 5, 6 43 48:8–9 81

211

212

Index of Ancient Sources

Letter of Aristeas 12–27, 33–37 104

Jubilees 1:14 116 3:3–14 44 4:15, 21–23 45 6:2 119 8:3–4 45 10:13–14 45 13:11–15 64 50:2 120

Aramaic Levi Document 13:6–10 59–60 Lives of the Prophets 2:1 197 21:1 197

Dead Sea Scrolls Damascus Document (CD; Geniza) 1:4 29 1:8–18 32 2:15 30 3:4 27 3:14–15 116 3:21–4:1 25 4:3–4 25 4:6 29 4:9 30 4:20 47 5:5 25 6:5 25 6:11 29 6:19 25, 26 7:15, 19 25 7:18 190 8:21 25 9:2 28 12:19 30 12:22–13:2 29 14:18–19 30 14:19 30 19:34 25 20:12 25 20:31 196 Cave 1 1QIsaa

97, 115

Thanksgiving Scroll (1QHa) 4:27 47 14:20 80 15:29–36 81

16:5–27 53–54 16:5–17:36 79 16:16–20 79–80 16:6-7-9, 11 53 16:17 82 16:21 53 16:23 54 18:27 73 Pesher Habakkuk (1QpHab) 7:1–5 33 7:9–14 34, 35 Community Rule (1QS) 1:1–3 190 3:13 54 3:17–26 49 4:23 47, 49 4:24–25 50 4:26 47 8:6 119 8:15–16 190 9:10 192, 196–97 9:11 30, 191–92, 196 10:6–8 118 Genesis Apocryphon (1Q20) 10:13 119 19:24–26 64 1QWords of Moses (1Q22) 1:1–11 113 1:4 121 1:7 112

Index of Ancient Sources

1:8 116, 119 1:10–11 116 1:11–12 115 3:1–3 118 3 111–23 3:4 118 3:7 121 War Scroll (1QM; 1Q33) 11:9–10 83 13:13–14 81 Cave 4 4Q14 (4QExodc) 70 4Q15 (4QExodd) 71 4Q169 121 4Q174 76, 89, 190 4Q175 192, 196, 199, 201–202 4Q184 174, 175 4Q213 62 4Q265 119 4Q265 119 4Q266 25, 26, 28, 30 4Q267 28 4Q269 26 4Q270 26 4Q273 28 4Q319 118, 121 4Q339 202 4Q365 3, 68, 71–74, 79, 83, 88 4Q370 82, 89 4Q375 112, 118

4Q376 112 4Q379 202 4Q390 190 4Q392 81 4Q393 81 4Q396 62, 112 4Q399 121 4Q416 51, 52 4Q417 52, 73 4Q418 52 4Q418 52 4Q422 48–49, 54, 82 4Q423 52 4Q427 81 4Q429 121 4Q431 81 4Q444 121 4Q477 28 4Q482 47 4Q491 81 4Q504 46, 54 4Q520 47 4Q521 192 4Q536 121 4Q542 63 4Q547 60, 61 4Q558 192, 197 Cave 11 11Q13 (11QMelchizedek) 76, 117, 192

Other Sites from the Judean Desert Mur6 1:7

81

Hellenistic Jewish Writers Josephus Jewish War 1:67–69 199–200 1.78–80 190

2.112–13 190 2.159 190 Jewish Antiquities 2.343 87

213

214

Index of Ancient Sources

2.346 87 3.163, 166,  217–218 200 3.218 199 3.282–283 117 13.282–83,   299–300, 322 199 13.299 201 13:311–313 190 15.373–79 190 17.345–48 190 Against Apion 2.53–55 99

On Drunkenness 77–79 83 111 75 On Planting 46–58

75–76

On Preliminary Studies 56–57 75 On Sobriety 13 83 On the Confusion of Tongues 33–36 83

Philo

On the Contemplative Life 84–89 84

Against Flaccus 78 140

On the Embassy to Gaius 162–64, 368 140

Allegorical Interpretation 2.102 75

On the Life of Moses 1.180 87 2.193–204 140–41 2.252 82 2.255–257 87

On Agriculture 67–123 75 79–83 75 On Dreams 2.268–269 75

Ezekiel the Tragedian Exagoge 234–35 87

New Testament Mark 9:2–13 197 15:1 142 14:55–65 135–36 Luke 23:1–5 142 John 1:21, 25

191

Acts 2:14–21 197

4:1–21 142 5:17–42 142 6:1, 9 144 6:8–7:60 125–46 7:18–22 145 7:34–44 145 7:47–50 143 7:51–58 142 22:1–23:9 142 Revelation 15:3–4 84–85

215

Index of Ancient Sources

Rabbinic Writings Mishnah m. Sanhedrin 7:4, 5 m. Ma῾aser Sheni 5:15

138 200

Tosefta t. Soṭah 13:5, 10

200

Midrashic Collections Canticles Rabbah 5

200

Babylonian Talmud b. Ketubot 111a b. Soṭah 33a, 48a

35 200

Jerusalem Talmud y. Soṭah 9:11, 24b y. Soṭah 9:13, 24b

200 200

Greco-Roman Literature Diodorus

Pliny

Library of History 40.3, 5–6 190

Letters 10.96–97 142

Hecateus of Abdera On the Egyptians 190

Index of Modern Authors Abel, Felix-Marie ​​183, 192 Achenbach, Reinhard ​​10–11, 15, 16 Aitken, James K. ​​69 Asad, Talal ​​125, 126 Baillet, Maurice ​​47 Bar-Asher Siegal, Michal ​​112 Barclay, John ​​78, 104–105 Barreto, Eric ​​141, 144 Bauckham, Richard ​​84 Bautch, Richard J. ​2, 11–12, 20, 22 BenEzer, Gadi ​​105, 106–107 Benjamin, Walter ​​36 Ben-Zvi, Ehud ​67 Bergsma, John Sietze ​​118, 121 Berkowitz, Beth A. ​​137–38 Bernstein, Moshe J. ​​112 Berthelot, Katell ​​201–202 Blum, Erhard ​​58 Brett, Mark G. ​​11, 19, 93 Brown, Wendy ​​126 Bock, Darrell L. ​​136 Caquot, Andre ​​62 Carmignac, Jean ​​117 Carr, David M. ​​12–13, 39 Chapman, John W. ​​27 Chapman, Jonathan ​​31 Charlesworth, James ​​34, 64 Chazon, Esther ​​46, 112 Coblentz Bautch, Kelley ​​7, 103, 183–84, 186, 188, 190, 192, 194, 196, 198, 200, 202 Cohen, Shaye ​​133 Cohen, Getzel M. ​​140 Collins, John J. ​​30, 44–45, 132, 149, 184, 191 Cook, Edward M. ​​62 Cook, Stephen L. ​​67, 190, 198–99 Cooke, Caralie ​​93

Cousland, J.  R.  C. ​​147–49 Crabbe, Lester ​​183, 201 Croy, N. Clayton ​​85, 99, 100–104 Delgado, Richard ​​130 De Troyer, Kristen ​​57, 148, 201 Dimant, Devorah ​​48, 57, 74, 77, 81–82, 111, 148–50, 154–55, 158 Doering, Lutz ​​148, 196 Doran, Robert ​​191–92 Drawnel, Henryk ​​59, 62 Edelman, Diana V. ​​20 Edwards, Suzanne M. ​​174–75, 179 Eshel, Esther ​​59, 60, 62 Eshel, Hanan ​​199, 201 Esler, Philip ​​108, 109 Exum, Cheryl ​​175 Feldman, Ariel ​​1–4, 6, 48, 67, 71–73, 76, 77, 81, 82, 87, 88, 111–22, 202 Fishbane, Michael ​​94–96, 108 Fitzmyer, Joseph ​​148–49, 154–56, 160 Floyd, Michael ​​194 Fraade, Steven D. ​​2–3, 25–26, 28–31, 33, 111 Frei, Peter ​​19 Furstenburg, Yair ​​138 Gafney, Wil ​​131–33, 146 Geljon, Albert ​​75 Goldstein, Jonathan ​​77, 111, 186, 188, 191, 193 Goodblatt, David ​​30, 133 Grabbe, Lester ​​137, 198 Gray, Rebecca ​​189, 190, 199–200 Greenspoon, Leonard ​​150 Griffen, Dustin ​​150–51 Gunkel, Hermann ​​172–73 Gurtner, Daniel M. ​​69, 72

Index of Modern Authors

Haak, Robert D. ​​194 Habinek, Thomas ​​28 Hadas, Moses ​​99, 101, 104–105 Harstock, Chad ​​163 Heckl, Raik ​​10, 11, 15–16 Henze, Mattias ​​33, 194 Hilhorst, Anthony ​​65 Hogan, Karina Martin ​​48, 79 Homolka, Walter ​​22 Horbury, William ​​78 Horovitz, H.  S. ​​86, 121 Hughes, Julie ​​53–54, 79, 80 Humphreys, W. Lee ​​57, 58 Hutcheon, Linda ​​5, 151–53 Jackson, F.  J.  Foakes ​​142 Jassen, Alex ​​189–190, 192–93, 195–98 Jennings, Michael W. ​​36 Jeon, Jaeyoung ​​10, 15–16, 20–21 Johnson, Raup ​​99, 104 Joosten, Jan ​​58, 69 Kaplan, Jonathan ​​4, 111, 120 Keddie, Tony ​​111 Klauck, Hans-Josef ​​186 Klawans, Jonathan ​​27, 176 Knoppers, Gary N. ​​11, 20, 22, 66 Kosmin, Paul J. ​​187, 198 Kowalski, Beate ​​78, 83, 94–95, 99 Kraemer, Ross Shepard ​​70, 74, 84–85, 87 Krause, Joachim ​​11, 18 Kressel, Gideon M. ​​105 Lange, Armin ​​72, 189, 201–202 Leuchter, Mark ​​5, 21, 67, 131–35 Levinson, Bernard M. ​​22 Machiela, Daniel ​​3, 57, 60 Maier, Christl M. ​​22 Matthews, Shelly ​​128, 142–43, 172 McCracken, David ​​147, 150, 155 McDonald, Joseph ​​4, 85, 91 Meiser, Martin ​​69 Milik, Józef ​​60, 111, 113–15, 117–18 Najman, Hindy ​​23, 44, 112, 184, 195, 197 Newman, Judith H. ​​6–7, 78, Newman, Julius ​​31

217

Newsom, Carol A. ​​3, 40, 47, 57, 79, 81 Nickelsburg, George W. E. ​​43, 81, 104, 147 Niditch, Susan ​173–74, 177 Nissinen, Martii ​​188–89 Noam, Vered ​​200 Nurmela, Risto ​​21 Obama, Michelle ​​126 Olender, Maurice ​​27 Otto, Eckhart ​​2, 10, 13, 16–17, 22, 39 Pajunen, Mika S. ​​103 Panken, Aaron ​22 Parente, Fausto ​​200 Paul, Shalom M. ​​98 Paz, Yakir ​​138 Penkower, Jordan S. ​​69 Penner, Jeremy ​​71, 103, 112 Penner, Ken ​​112 Penner, Todd ​​143 Pennock, J.  Roland ​​27 Perkins, Larry ​​69 Persico, Tomer ​​31 Pinnick, Avital ​​112 Poirier, John C. ​​195, 197–98 Pomykala, Kenneth ​​193 Portier-Young, Anathea ​​147–49; 158 Puech Émile ​​61, 62 Qimron, Elisha ​​73, 80–81, 111, 114–15, 117–18 Radin, Paul ​​172 Renaud, Bernard ​​185 Roberts, Jimmy J. M. ​95, 98 Rollins, Alison C. ​​125–26 Römer, Thomas ​​15 Rosen Zvi, Ishay ​​47 Rosenthal, Ludwig A. ​​58 Rossi, Benedetta ​​11, 17, 22, 95, 98 Russell, Brian D. ​​67, 74 Salmeri, Giovianni ​​137 Sanders, Paul ​​69 Sanderson, Judith E. ​​70–71 Sandoval, Timothy J. ​​5–6 Sarna, Nahum ​​71

218

Index of Ancient Sources

Schiesaro, Alessandro ​​28 Schiffman, Lawrence H. ​​25, 112 Schecter, Solomon ​​25 Schmid, Konrad ​​10–11, 13–14, 16, 20, 39 Schniedewind, William M. ​​1, 12, 148 Schubert, Paul ​​128 Schuller, Eileen ​​79, 112 Schwartz, Baruch ​​10 Schwartz, Daniel ​​183–84, 186–87, 198 Scott, James C. ​​104 Sievers, Joseph ​​192–93, 200 Silverman, Jason M. ​​19, 22 Simkovich, Malka Z. ​​169 Skehan, Patrick W. ​​51, 70, 78, 153 Smith, Mark S. ​​39, 67 Smith-Christopher ​​57, 93 Snodgrass, Mary Ellen ​​150 Son, HaYoung ​84 Sonnet, Jean-Pierre ​​14–15 Southwood ​​147–150, 157 Stegemann, Harmout ​​79, 80 Stone, Michael E. ​​32, 59–60, 62, 104, 112 Strugnell, John ​​28, 112, 118 Stuckenbruck, Loren ​​72, 148 Sweet, Johne ​​78 Tal, Abraham ​​69 Talarbadon, Susanne ​​97–98 Tamber-Rosenau, Caryn ​​179 Tigchelaar, Eibert J. C. ​51, 65, 82, 112, 114–16, 120–21

Tov, Emmanuel ​​71–74, 121 Trevaskis, Leigh ​​134 Van der Horst, Pieter ​​84 Vanderkam, James C. ​​25, 44, 81–82, 112, 116, 120, 180, 190–91, 200 Vermes, Geza ​33, 111 Volkan, Vamik ​​91–94, 105, 108 Vroom, Jonathan ​​131, 133 Wasserman, Emma ​​50 Weeks, Stuart ​​148, 154, 158 Whitaker, George H. ​​74, 140 White Crawford, Sidnie ​​72–73, 111, 116, 120, 161, 180 Williams, Prescott H. ​67 Williams, Jeremy ​​5 Williams, David ​​186–87 Wills, Lawrence M. ​​78, 147, 172–73, 176–77 Wirgin, Wolf ​​192 Wright, Benjamin G. ​​104, 174–75, 179 Wright, Jeremiah ​​125–26 Wynter, Sylvia ​​127 Yadin, Yigael ​​81, 83 Yarbro Collins, Adela ​​136, 139 Zahn, Molly M. ​​2, 23, 72, 111 Zeitlin, Solomon ​​137 Zevit, Ziony ​​39, 62

Index of Subjects Aaron ​11, 15–17, 22, 29, 30, 60, 115, 197 – Aaronic ​10–11, 15 – Aaronide(s) ​2, 11, 15–18, 20–23 – Aaronite ​25 Abraam ​168–69 – Abraham ​14, 20, 61, 83, 101, 158, 196 – Abram ​3, 63–66 Accusers ​136, 142–46 Achaemenid ​19 Adam ​40, 43–44, 46–49, 52, 54, 75, 83 Admonition(s) ​25–26, 36, 52, 82, 114 Africa ​140 – African ​105, 126, 172 Afterlife ​3, 68, 103, 202 Agency ​35, 40, 188 Akiba ​33 Akkadian ​41 Alcimus ​191, 194 Aleppo ​68, 72 Alexander Jannaeus ​186–87 Alexandria ​74–75, 84, 99, 140, 149, 169 – Alexandrian(s) ​84, 99–100, 104, 128, 140–41 Allegorical (Interpretation) ​4, 36, 42, 74–76, 88 Allusion(s) ​3, 39, 41–42, 47, 49–50, 52– 55, 67, 74, 77–83, 85–86, 95, 98, 101, 104, 155, 158, 163, 167, 169, 180–81, 188, 192, 194, 197, 199, 201–02 Almighty ​83, 99, 101 Almsgiving ​149–50, 158–60, 162, 164–67, 169–70 Altar ​7, 78, 96, 183, 191, 194 Amalekites ​95 Ambiguity(ies) ​29–30, 33–34, 86, 91, 131–35, 155, 175, 179, 193 Ammon(ites) ​95 Amos ​25, 27, 84, 96 Ancestor(s) ​6, 15, 58, 61, 65, 91, 95, 102, 107, 142, 173, 197

– Ancestral ​3, 57, 59, 61–63, 65–66, 85, 91–92, 95, 99–101, 103, 109, 141, 144, 156, 184 – Ancestry(ies) ​30, 132, 135 Angel(s) ​43, 44, 45, 52, 81, 102, 128, 142, 145, 156, 161, 163, 165, 202 Animal(s) ​39, 40, 41, 44, 62, 97, 117,132– 33, 172 Anomoi ​186 Antigonus ​202 Antiochus (III, IV, VII) ​99, 144, 185, 187 Apocalyptic ​30–31, 48, 58, 66, 80, 136, 188, 190, 197–98 Apocrypha ​2, 74, 104, 112, 176 Apostles ​128–29, 142 Aramaic ​3, 34, 57–67, 72, 80, 86, 115, 149, 155, 202 Archaeology ​1, 10, 68, 84, 112, 138, 198 Aristeas ​104–05 Aristobulus ​187 Army(ies) ​78, 93, 97, 101–02, 178, 191 Arrogance ​5, 42, 53, 100–01, 139–41, 146, 159–60 Artapanus ​87 Ascent (heavenly) ​79, 197 Asia, Asia Minor ​128, 137, 144 Assyria ​95–96 – Assyrian(s) ​6, 41, 78, 94, 96–97, 157– 58, 171, 173, 175–80 Atonement ​5, 112, 118–20, 122–123 Audience ​60, 135–36, 139, 174, 177, 180 Authenticity ​6, 107, 133, 154, 164, 167, 169–70, 187 Authoritative (Texts, Interpretation) ​16, 18, 111, 123, 128, 184–85, 192 Authority(ies) ​2, 5, 7, 10–13, 15–18, 22– 23, 27–28, 30, 45, 52, 61, 104, 127, 130, 133, 137–39, 143, 183–84, 188, 194–95, 201, 203 – Authorization ​12, 15, 19, 21, 146 – Authorizing ​183, 188, 195–198, 202–03

220

Index of Subjects

Babylon ​9, 97, 102 – Babylonia ​25, 35 – Babylonian ​35–36, 57, 64, 77, 93, 100, 171 Bacchides ​194 Bagoas ​177 Bathsheba ​134 Beauty ​41–43, 50, 53, 85, 171, 174, 176– 77 Behavior ​28, 31, 75, 83, 142, 172–73, 188 Belief(s) ​2, 57, 59, 106, 151, 157, 164, 189, 192 Black, Blackness ​144, 146 Blasphemer(s) ​5, 130–35, 137, 140–46 – Blasphemy ​5, 125–33, 135–46 Blessing ​10–11, 15, 17, 26, 28, 30–31, 54, 75, 96, 121–22, 125–27, 136, 139, 146, 164, 166–68, 173 Blindness ​32, 98, 159–65, 169 Blood ​41, 47, 86, 125, 171 Body(ies) ​40, 41, 47, 66, 80, 84, 137, 171, 174–76, 178–79, 181 Bondage ​134, 145 Boundaries ​4–5, 21, 58, 96, 98, 126, 133 Cain ​83 Cairo ​62 Calendrical ​31, 113–16, 118–19, 121, 122–23 Caricature ​154 Category(ies) ​5, 13, 39–40, 71, 74, 85, 111–12, 151, 175, 185–86, 188–90 Character(s) ​1, 3–4, 6, 26, 42, 57–59, 64, 102–03, 112, 121, 131, 133, 148, 150–51, 154, 157–60, 162, 164–65, 170, 172–74, 178–80 – Characterization ​25, 95, 99, 147, 157, 163, 166, 172, 184 Chariot(s) ​83, 97, 99, 101–02, 197 Charitable ​61 – Charity ​61, 150, 154, 158, 160 Cherub(im) ​42, 53 Children ​49, 52, 59–61, 76, 93, 101–02, 146, 199 Choir(s) ​70, 75, 83–85, 87–88, 98 Chosen ​4, 33, 43, 52, 82, 91–93, 95–101, 103–09

Citizens ​100, 125 – Citizenship ​138 City ​25, 57, 77–78, 101, 104, 133, 139, 142, 177, 186–87, 202 Civic ​198, 201 Coastlands ​95, 98 Code(s) (Legal) ​1, 15, 19, 118, 120–22, 129, 131, 133, 137, 139, 145 Coloniality ​127 – Colonized ​19, 177 Comedy ​5, 147–50, 155, 157, 160, 172 Commands ​14, 34, 42, 44, 47–48, 54, 61, 78, 83, 86, 113, 115, 121, 143, 156, 184, 194 – Commander ​176, 193 – Commandments ​5, 47, 113, 117, 120– 22, 126, 159 Community(ies) ​3, 5–6, 25, 26, 28–30, 35, 53, 85, 93–94, 99, 102, 127, 131–33, 135–41, 145–47, 149, 152–57, 159–61, 164–65, 170, 183, 185, 188, 191–92, 196–97 Congregation ​32, 113, 131, 132 Coptic ​197 Cosmic ​33, 44, 95 – Cosmos ​4, 43, 50, 52, 75, 89 Council ​42 Counsel ​160, 161 Courage ​171 Court(s) ​5, 26, 58, 64, 127–28, 134, 135– 139, 142–43, 145–46, 191, 194 Covenant ​11, 14–15, 17, 20–21, 25–32, 36, 45, 97, 114–16, 118, 132–33, 170, 172, 185, 197 Creation ​2, 23, 39–41, 43–50, 54, 88, 95, 99, 101–02 – Creator (Divine) ​75, 87, 97 Crime ​92, 127, 129–31, 138, 140–41, 146 – Criminal(s) ​127, 129, 132, 137–38, 140–41, 144–46 – Criminalization ​5, 125–29, 135, 141, 145 Cult ​134, 188, 195, 197 – Cultic ​134, 191–92, 196, 199–200 Cultural ​28, 84, 94, 96, 99, 108, 125, 149, 172, 180, 188–89 – Culture(s) ​15, 23, 57, 59, 75, 133, 137, 171–72, 189

Index of Subjects

Curse(s) ​26, 28, 31–32, 116, 126, 131–32, 136–37, 202 Cyrus ​41 Daughter ​134, 162, 173, 189 David ​12, 13, 30, 39, 57, 67, 75–76, 78, 133, 139, 147, 172, 181, 186–87, 189, 192–93, 196 Death ​5, 9–11, 14, 16–18, 20–22, 34, 39, 47, 58–59, 61, 69, 92, 100, 102, 104–07, 125, 130–33, 135–40, 142–43, 146, 159, 162–63, 165, 177–78, 185, 189, 192, 194, 200 Debt ​76, 113, 117, 121–22 Defile ​7, 127, 178, 191, 194 Deity ​5, 69, 103, 140, 167, 168, 200 Delinquency ​129 Deliverance ​32, 85–86, 91, 94–97, 99, 100, 105, 165, 188, 196 Destruction ​80, 82–83, 86, 94–95, 99, 102, 128, 132, 135, 144, 159, 167, 176, 187, 191 Deuteronomic ​31, 45, 114–15, 118, 148, 163–64, 166 – Deuteronomistic ​18, 22, 134, 143, 148 Dialect ​27–28, 60 Dialogue ​6, 84, 106, 112, 170 Diarchy ​30 Diaspora ​1, 3–4, 6, 20, 57–59, 61, 63, 65– 66, 91, 97, 104–05, 140, 147–50, 156, 160, 163–64, 166–67, 169–70 Dibri ​133–34 Didactic ​26–27, 66, 150 Dietary ​6, 48, 150, 157, 166 Dinah ​94 Disciples ​202 Discipline ​52, 129 Disclosure (of Revelation) ​3, 33, 82, 113, 116, 120–22 Discourse ​2, 5, 23, 26, 59–61, 67, 112, 126, 128–29, 133, 135, 141, 148–52, 154, 164, 166, 170, 178, 195, 197 Disobedience ​46, 48 Disposition (Moral), 49, 52, 160 Divination ​188, 199, 200 Divine ​3–4, 9–10, 14, 16–18, 23, 26–27, 30–31, 33–35, 39–42, 44–46, 49–50, 53– 55, 58–59, 68, 76, 82, 86, 89, 95, 97–102,

221

104, 111, 113, 121–22, 125, 127, 135–36, 138–40, 146, 157, 159, 163–64, 166–67, 169, 183, 187–90, 192–93, 195–200 Diviners ​188 Doctrine ​76, 189 Dominating ​137 Dominion ​41, 45, 52, 144 Drunkenness ​75, 83, 85, 99, 101 Dynastic ​193, 198–99, 201 – Dynasty ​25, 186, 193 Early Christian ​5, 27, 50, 78, 80, 104, 128, 144, 183, 189–90 Early Jewish ​2–4, 9, 51, 65, 68, 72, 74, 77, 87–89, 105, 111, 150, 174, 179, 183, 195, 200 Early Judaism ​1–3, 7, 12, 23, 27, 67, 74, 78–79, 88, 128, 148, 181, 184, 188, 191–93 Earth ​41, 44–45, 47, 52, 54, 75, 78, 81, 95–98, 141, 143, 168–69, 177 Eat(ing) ​40, 43–45, 47–48, 51, 54, 117, 157, 177 Echoes ​43, 52, 67, 80–81, 84, 99, 115, 200 Economics ​13, 52, 122, 165 – Economy ​100, 129 Eden ​3, 39, 41, 43–46, 50–55, 79–80 Edict ​185 Edom ​20, 95, 96 Egypt ​4, 5, 20, 51, 61, 63–64, 83, 91, 93– 102, 104–08, 113, 134, 140–41, 145 – Egyptian(s) ​5, 40, 63–65, 80, 84, 86, 94, 96, 99–102, 131, 133–34, 140–41, 145, 190 – Egyptianness ​130, 140 Elders ​21, 103, 128, 176, 179–80 Eleazar ​4, 101–03, 115 Election ​63, 100, 105, 108 Elephants ​99, 101–02 Elijah ​7, 191–92, 195–98 Eliphaz ​42 Elisha ​73, 80, 111, 115 Elite(s) ​19, 22, 129, 135 Embodiment ​6, 58, 65, 147, 149, 150, 173–76, 179 Embodying ​65 Empire ​19, 20, 41, 57, 92–93, 130, 137, 140, 187

222

Index of Subjects

Endogamy ​62, 147–50, 156, 166 Endtime ​195, 197–98 – Endzeit ​29 Enemies ​4, 72–73, 82–83, 87, 91, 93–98, 101–02, 108, 144, 165, 174–76, 181 Enki ​41 Enoch ​3, 39, 43–44, 45, 50, 54, 64, 66, 81, 86, 89, 149, 163 Enslavement ​91, 99–100, 133, 180 Ephraim ​95 Esau ​20, 30, 176 Eschatological ​2, 4, 7, 26–27, 29, 33–35, 43, 49–52, 54, 58, 76, 89, 112, 166–69, 183, 190–93, 195–98, 202 – Eschatology ​2, 26, 30 – Eschaton ​4, 29, 33, 49, 77, 167, 196 Esoteric ​51, 190 Essene(s) ​28, 190, 202 Esther ​57–58, 112, 148, 173, 178 Eternal ​32, 41, 53, 76, 79–80 Ethics ​5, 147–49, 150, 166–70 Ethiopia ​95, 106–08 – Ethiopian ​4, 91, 101, 105–08 – Ethiopic ​4, 82 Ethnarch ​192–93, 199, 200–03 Ethnic ​5, 91–92, 141, 144, 146–47, 156, 168 – Ethnicity ​130, 133, 140–41 – Ethnocentrism ​31 Ethos ​28 Eunuch ​177 Euphrates ​95 Eve ​40, 44, 93, 179 Evil ​39–40, 43, 45, 47–50, 54, 100, 158, 165, 172, 175, 178, 180, 186, 194 Exegesis ​19, 53, 74–80, 190 – Exegetical ​1, 50, 64, 68, 76, 85–86, 168 Exemplar ​197 – Exemplary (Character) ​157, 170, 172 Exhortation ​159, 160, 169 – Exhorts ​159, 166, 185, 190 Exile ​3, 12, 25–26, 29–30, 46, 53, 57–61, 65–66, 75, 77, 93, 98, 100, 108, 122, 148, 150, 154, 156–58, 160, 163, 165, 169, 171, 174, 189–90 Existence ​6, 35, 52, 58, 70, 132–34, 139, 145, 152–53, 156, 163–64, 167–69, 189

Expectations (Messianic, Literary) ​26–27, 34–35, 37, 108, 152, 173, 179, 194, 197 Family ​40, 52, 134, 156, 185–86, 188, 191, 193, 197–99 Father(s) ​5, 43, 61, 67, 73, 86–87, 89, 100–01, 131, 133–34, 158, 162, 173, 176, 187, 196, 200 Fear ​45, 75, 101, 103, 148, 158, 166–69, 171, 196 Feast(s) ​99, 102, 155, 158 Female (Choir) ​75, 84–85, 87–88 Female, Feminine (Imagery) ​7, 172, 174– 75, 178–81 Feminist ​128–30, 178–79 Festal ​103, 158 Festival ​28, 77, 99, 102, 115–16, 165–66 Figurative (Meaning, Language) ​25, 95, 158, 162–64, 167, Fire ​14, 53, 79–80, 82, 84, 86–87, 89 Flame(s) ​53, 79–80, 97, 102, 199 Flee(ing) ​176–78 Flesh ​45–47 Flood ​3, 4, 40, 44, 47–48, 55, 79–80, 82, 89, 99 Flourishing ​41, 54. 195, 197 Foes ​73, 95, 98, 108 Folklore ​172–73, 200 Folly ​150, 177, 178 Food ​102, 157, 177 Fool ​172, 177 – Foolish ​61, 75 Forefathers ​196 Foreign ​3, 7, 19, 57–59, 61, 64–66, 96, 101–02, 132–34, 172, 175–78, 180–81 – Foreigner(s) ​59–63, 65, 101–02, 131– 32, 135 Forever ​39, 40, 142, 168, 193 Forgiveness ​27, 76, 121–22 Foucault ​129 Freedom ​52, 125, 127, 178, 185 Freedpeople ​128, 144 Friend(s) ​59–61, 171, 192, 194 Gabriel ​43 Gaius ​140 Garden ​3, 39–44, 47–48, 50–55, 77–80, 104, 139, 177, 186

Index of Subjects

Gender ​70, 179 Genealogical ​63 – Genealogy ​49, 130 Generation(s) ​17, 32–33, 61, 69, 91–92, 106, 184, 191, 197, 200–01 Genocide ​93, 99, 104 Genre(s) ​1–2, 22–23, 111–12, 121, 128, 150, 188 Gentile(s) ​4, 35, 58, 97, 98, 102, 104–05, 157, 168–69, 185–86 Geography ​19–20, 51, 134 Giants ​82, 99 Gideon ​105 Gifts ​46, 64, 154–56, 165, 190, 199, 201– 02 Gihon ​51 Glorious ​46, 53, 58, 73, 79, 80 – Glory ​4, 40, 46–47, 49, 91–101, 103–09 God ​4, 6, 11, 16–17, 19, 21, 27, 31–36, 39–43, 45–46, 49–50, 52, 54, 59, 64, 66, 68, 75–87, 89, 93–94, 98–104, 106, 108, 117, 122, 125–26, 128, 131–32, 135, 137, 139–43, 146, 148, 157–58, 160–62, 166– 69, 171, 174, 176–80, 189, 191, 195–96, 199, 201–02 – Godlike ​40–42 – Gods ​40–41, 49, 57, 81, 146 Gospel(s) ​127, 130, 135, 137, 139, 146 Governance ​28, 30, 101, 129, 198, 200 – Government ​30, 106, 125, 135, 199, 201 Greek(s) ​1, 19, 34, 43, 48, 61, 64, 69, 86, 88, 97, 104, 137, 144, 147, 150, 154, 157, 162–63, 172, 181, 183–84, 187–88, 192–93 Guidance (Divine, Prophetic) ​7, 23, 32, 43, 98, 106, 194, 200 Guilt ​14, 131 – Guilty ​32, 136, 146 Haggadah ​91, 93, 107 Hagioi(ou) ​43 Halakah ​1, 26, 138, 148, 154, 186, 200 Hanna ​156, 160 Hapax ​62, 100 Harmonization ​13–14, 20, 22, 72, 116–18, 120–22 Hasmonean(s) ​1, 186–87, 192–94, 198– 99, 200–01

223

Healing ​41, 64, 96, 161 Hear ​6, 60, 65, 130, 138, 149, 153, 160, 162, 164–65, 169–70, 174, 176–77, 189 – Heard ​103, 128, 135–36, 138, 142, 148, 153, 157, 160, 164, 170 – Hearers ​87 – Hearing ​6, 131, 152–53, 162 Hearken ​78, 82, 141 Heart ​32, 48–49, 61, 63, 87, 99, 142, 158 Heavenly ​50, 76, 78–79, 87, 89, 164, 190, 197–99 – Heavens ​48, 77, 79, 82 Hecateus ​190 Hegemony ​17, 130, 137, 187 Heliodorus ​99 Hellenistic ​1, 4, 66, 69, 83, 91, 99, 108, 133, 140, 148–49, 153–54, 164, 167, 169–72, 201 – Hellenists ​143 Heritage ​61–63, 96, 130, 133, 135, 140 Hermeneutic(s) ​2, 16–18, 23, 26, 31, 130 Hero ​103, 172, 174 – Heroic ​187, 202 – Heroine ​6, 172, 180 Heteronormative ​179 Hexateuch ​9–10, 13–15, 18 Hierarchy ​21, 130, 184 Historian ​36, 125 – Histories ​4, 27 – Historiography ​35, 128, 143, 198 – History ​13, 24, 26–27, 29, 31, 35–36, 39, 41, 67–68, 70, 83, 89, 95, 100, 105, 112, 118, 128, 130, 138, 145, 173, 180, 189, 190, 192–93, 198, 200 Hodayah ​53–54, 79–82 Holiness ​15, 52, 53, 77, 118, 120, 131, 133, 139, 145 Holofernes ​171–72, 174–78 Holy ​29–30, 41, 43–44, 48, 51, 53, 61, 76–78, 82–83, 91, 99, 125, 128, 142, 189–190, 194 Honesty ​61, 155, 180 Honor ​44, 59, 60–61, 97, 141, 159, 172, 178, 180 – Honorific ​186 Hope ​34–35, 37, 65, 72–73, 77, 84, 105, 107, 126, 153, 186, 192, 195 Horse(s) ​4, 74–75, 78, 97, 125

224

Index of Subjects

Horseman ​75 Hosts (Heavenly) ​48, 94, 96 House(s) ​41, 76, 101, 143, 167, 176 Human(s) ​3, 14, 16, 30–31, 34–35, 39–51, 54–55, 81, 83, 97, 103, 105, 125–27, 130, 132–33, 138–39, 143, 146, 168, 175, 184, 188–89 Humiliation ​100 Humility ​10 Humor ​148–49, 151–52, 172–73 – Humorous ​148–49, 161, 169–70 Hymn(s) ​67, 74, 79, 81, 83–85, 87 – Hymnist ​79 Hyperbole ​151, 154–56, 162 Hyrcanus ​7, 183, 186–87, 192, 198–203 Iconic ​1, 12 Iconography ​42, 51 Identity ​1, 4–7, 20–21, 66, 77, 91–92, 96– 97, 99, 105–09, 126, 127, 132–33, 135, 138, 141, 143–46, 149–50, 156, 163–64, 166, 170, 179 Ideology ​11, 20, 193, 198 Idolaters ​35 Idolatry ​145, 191 Illegality ​105, 129 Image(s) ​6, 41, 45, 47, 49–50, 54, 58, 70–73, 75, 80, 89, 94, 97, 153, 163, 173, 195, 200 – Imagery ​4, 7, 41, 43, 45, 50–51, 53, 57, 67, 79, 82, 94–96, 98, 107–08, 175, 179–81 Imagination ​2, 9, 24, 43, 65, 67, 83, 94, 111, 113, 139, 183, 202 – Imaginatively ​3, 59 Imitation (of Deuteronomy) ​113, 121–22 Immigration, 91, 106 Imperial ​19, 20, 28, 92, 134–35, 137–39, 146 Impiety ​141 – Impious ​125, 140, 202 Imprisonment ​106 Ingathering (of Exiles) ​77 Inheritance ​32, 49, 52, 61–63, 66, 75–77 Inhospitable ​105 Iniquity ​32, 52 Injury ​91, 125, 126, 132, 133 Injustice ​75, 102, 165, 168, 169

Innocence ​105 – Innocent ​47, 125, 146 Insight(s) ​35, 49, 59–60, 62, 65, 163, 164 Insolence ​99, 101–02 Inspiration ​29, 84, 85, 114, 190 Institutions ​31, 127, 129, 130, 137–139, 143, 146, 199 Instructing ​144 – Instruction ​3, 9, 26, 36, 44, 52, 61, 63, 113, 115, 148–49, 156, 158–61, 164–66, 169–70, 183–84, 191–92, 196–97, 200, 202 Intellect ​75 – Intellectual ​10, 63 Intention ​5, 7, 22, 28, 101, 147, 149, 151– 53, 176, 183, 186, 196, 201 Intermarriage ​156 Intertextual ​84, 180, 181 Ioudaioi ​94 Irony ​5–6, 39, 91, 98, 105, 107–08, 136, 139, 147–53, 155–56, 159–62, 164–65, 173, 177–79 Isaac ​14, 30, 59, 60, 61, 176 Ishmael (Rabbi) ​120, 122 Islam ​92–93, 97 Jael ​180 Jannaeus (Alexander) ​186–187 Jealousy ​95 Jerusalem ​5, 31, 36, 51, 65, 68, 73, 80–81, 99–100, 106, 111, 115, 119, 121, 128, 134, 144–45, 154–55, 166–67, 171, 186–87 Jesus ​36, 128, 130, 135–37, 139, 141–42, 144, 146, 190 Jonathan (Maccabeus) ​4, 77, 176, 188, 194 Joseph ​58–61, 63–65, 100, 107, 192, 196, 200 Josephus ​28, 87–88, 104, 141, 187, 189– 90, 193, 199–201 Journey ​64, 88, 105, 107, 160–61 Joy ​61, 80, 85, 87, 98, 161–62, 167–68, 177 Jubilee ​4, 5, 112–13, 115–16, 118–23 Judaean ​112 Judah ​11, 68, 93, 95, 173 – Judahite ​134

Index of Subjects

Judas ​187, 188, 190–91, 194, 196–97, 202 Judea ​23, 149, 171, 175, 184–86, 200, 202 – Judean(s) ​1, 11, 19, 22, 66, 69, 71, 87, 88, 121, 160, 163, 172, 175, 179–80, 185. 194 Judgment(s) ​4, 40, 42–44, 52–53, 61, 68, 80–81, 86, 89, 96, 99–100, 116, 129, 136–38, 163, 191, 197, 200 – Judicial ​31, 126, 129–30, 137, 140, 142– 43, 146 – Juridical ​142, 190, 196, 200 – Jurisprudence ​138 Justice ​127, 129–30, 137, 142, 146, 166, 184 – Justification ​93 – Justified ​33, 92, 145–46 Kill ​86, 101, 125–26, 132–22, 142, 171, Kin(dred) ​154–56, 158, 162, 166–68, 180 Kindness ​149 King ​19, 41–42, 64, 76, 85, 99–102, 139, 145, 171, 187, 192–93 – Kingdom ​31, 198 – Kinglike ​47 Knowledge ​3, 31, 33, 35, 39–55, 59–60, 62, 64–66, 79, 163, 188, 190 Labor ​94, 98 Lacuna ​80, 113, 159 Lament ​93 Land ​1, 5, 14, 17–20, 25–26, 31, 35, 46, 51, 53, 65–66, 78, 81, 94–96, 101–02, 104, 106–07, 113, 117, 119–20, 122–23, 157, 159, 167–69, 174 Law ​1–7, 9, 15, 19, 22, 25–31, 33–37, 44, 98, 106, 111, 113, 116, 120–21, 129–30, 133, 137–38, 143–44, 156, 166, 168, 170, 173, 183–87, 189, 190–203 – Lawless ​42, 101, 106, 185–86, 194 Leader(s) ​7, 18, 25, 30, 83–84, 87, 92, 115, 126, 183, 192–94, 196, 201, 202 – Leadership ​11, 17, 88, 183, 185, 187, 192, 193, 198, 201, 203 Lebanon ​53, 80 Legal ​2–3, 9–10, 12–14, 16, 19, 22–23, 26–28, 30–31, 34, 62, 118, 121, 123, 129–31, 133, 137–38, 142–43, 184, 198, 200

225

Legend(s) ​67, 99, 103, 108, 186 Legislation ​13, 76, 112–13, 116–17, 119– 23 Levi ​3, 11, 17, 21, 59–66 – Levite ​16, 21–22, 28, 155 – Levitical ​15, 21, 28, 59 Light ​49, 57, 81, 97, 98, 101, 102, 153, 161, 162, 163, Literal language ​25, 54, 95, 106, 130, 134, 136, 140, 153, 160, 164–65, 200 Literarily ​13, 164 Liturgical ​46, 71, 77, 79, 81, 84, 85, 118, 188, 200 – Liturgy ​46, 77, 111 Logos ​4, 76, 89 Lord ​21, 25, 45, 47, 53, 69, 74, 76, 78, 81, 83, 94–98, 102, 131, 148, 158, 160, 167– 68, 170–71, 176–77, 180, 195, 197 Loyalty ​104–05, 156, 172, 180 Luminaries ​46–47, 49–50, 54 LXX (See Septuagint) Lying ​108, 172–73 Lynching ​142 Lysias ​185 Male ​75, 84–86, 88, 171, 175–76, 179 Manuscript(s) ​35, 60, 62, 68–70, 76, 88, 103, 118–19, 129, 193 Marriage ​5, 59, 62, 130, 140, 156, 166 – Marrying ​134, 156, 173 Masada ​82 Masoretic ​3, 68, 69, 70, 72, 88, 114 Matrilineal ​133 Mattathias ​185, 188, 192 Medieval ​2, 3, 68, 70, 88, 104, 148 Mediterranean ​70, 104, 105, 137, 180, 188–89 Melchizedek ​117, 193 Memory ​69, 73, 87, 91, 103, 105, 108, 112, 130, 200 Mercy ​81, 101, 102, 150, 162, 166–68, 170 Mesopotamia ​23, 41, 133 Messiah ​2, 3, 25, 27, 29–31, 33–37, 136, 139, 197, 199 – Messianic ​26–27, 30, 31, 35–36, 136, 191, 193, 196, 198 Metaphor ​122, 153, 163 Metaphorical ​36, 50–52, 54

226

Index of Subjects

Method(ology) ​2, 11–13, 74, 192 Mezuzot ​71–72 Midrash ​28, 30, 67, 76, 131–33, 146 Migrants ​105–07 – Migration ​83, 105 Military ​92, 95, 192 Millenarian ​27 – Millennia ​36, 101, 105 Mimicry ​114, 137–38, 157 Minority ​57, 59, 106 Miracles ​85, 196 Miriam ​3, 67–69, 72–73, 75, 79, 83–85, 87–88, 98, 104 Mishnah ​5, 23, 26, 30, 73, 127, 130, 135– 39, 146–47 Mixed ​5, 60–63, 84, 86, 130, 132–33, 135, 140–41, 145 Monarchic ​9, 28, 30, 39, 58–59, 65, 67 – Monarchs ​193 Money ​159, 161, 165 Moral ​3, 6, 26, 40, 45, 47, 52, 55, 149–53, 156–58, 160, 162–63, 165–66, 168–70, 172 – Morality ​27, 167, 170 – Morally ​49, 179 Mordechai ​68 Mores ​179 Mortality ​40–41 Moses ​1, 3–5, 7, 9–11, 14–18, 20–21, 23, 33, 64–69, 72, 75–77, 81–88, 98–99, 101, 103–04, 111–23, 128, 131, 137, 139–41, 144–45, 148, 156, 183, 195–98, 201 – Mosaic ​2, 10, 11, 15, 18, 23, 65, 184, 190, 193, 195 Mother ​5, 43, 131, 133–34, 141, 146, 159 Motif(s) ​41–42, 47, 52, 55, 61, 78, 80– 81, 83, 87, 89, 94–95, 97–99, 108, 159, 161–63, 166 Motives ​57, 69, 105, 108, 130, 153, 154, 157, 162, 166, 170, 197 Mount ​31, 120, 191–92 – Mountain(s) ​41, 43, 50, 75–78, 98, 176 Murder ​92, 139, 171–72 Muslims ​92 Mysteries ​32–34, 44, 52–53, 81, 100 Mystical ​31, 36

Myth ​96, 98, 105, 107–08, 125, 130, 172– 73 – Mythic ​41–42, 102 – Mythology ​80, 172, 175 Nakedness ​40, 44 Naphtali ​155 Narration ​26, 44, 46, 63, 126, 140, 147– 48, 155, 157, 166, 190, 192 – Narrative ​2, 5, 12–13, 15, 18, 21–23, 26–27, 39–40, 42–43, 45, 52, 57–59, 65– 67, 78, 81, 83, 93–96, 99–105, 107, 113, 120–21, 127–28, 130–31, 133–34, 136– 37, 142–46, 149, 165, 173–75, 177–80, 184, 185, 188, 194, 199, 200 – Narrator ​14, 147, 161, 194 Nation(s) ​4, 6, 20, 30, 35, 41, 44, 57–59, 62–63, 65–66, 82, 92, 95, 97–98, 101, 108, 114, 126, 133, 141, 157, 160, 166– 69, 173, 186, 201 Nature ​2, 6, 26, 30–33, 42, 62, 68–69, 98, 112, 121, 125, 129, 150–51, 153–54, 164–65, 169, 184, 186–87, 193, 200 Nazareth ​128, 144 Nebo (Mt.) ​113–14 Nebuchadnezzar ​171, 178 Neighbors ​19, 61, 105–06, 173 Night ​84, 87, 93, 176–77 Nineveh ​67, 154, 156–57 Noah ​45, 63 Nomism ​2, 27, 31, 36 – Nomos ​1, 26–27, 187–88, 192, 194–95, 200–01 Normative ​126–27, 131, 145 – Norms ​60, 170 Novel ​1, 62, 147, 171, 173 – Novella ​1, 58 Obedience ​46, 83, 95, 113, 121–22, 157, 160, 176, 192 Observance(s) ​2, 104, 106, 115–16, 121, 123, 149, 158, 164–67 Offerings ​14, 96, 155 Official(s) ​58, 64–65, 114, 141 Offspring ​202–03 Opponents ​128, 133, 140–46, 186, 199, 201–02

Index of Subjects

Oppression ​4, 35, 91, 96, 98, 100, 105, 107 Oracle(s) ​42, 53, 94, 96–97, 200 Ordinances ​149, 166, 168, 170 Orthography ​60, 62, 69 Otherness ​5, 140, 178 Ottoman ​92 Outsider ​5, 53, 135, 144 Parables (of Enoch) ​81, 89 Paradigm(s) ​10, 65, 89, 94–98, 104, 106, 108, 188, 193, 195 Paradise ​27, 39, 41, 43, 54, 75, 79 Parallels ​28, 40–42, 52, 60, 62, 68, 72–73, 81, 94, 96–97, 104, 118, 142, 161–62, 167, 177, 186, 189, 196–97 Paraphrases ​48, 185 Parchment ​69 Parody ​151, 179 Passions ​4, 75, 83, 88–89 Passover ​14, 91, 107 Pastiche ​84 Paths ​27, 32, 59, 98, 133, 159 Patriarchal ​171, 178 Patriarchs ​29, 61, 156 Paul ​1, 64, 69, 98, 105, 115, 119, 128, 149, 172, 187, 198 Peace ​57, 64, 85, 98, 134 Pedagogy ​43, 45, 49–51, 55,, 79 Penalty ​130–31, 136–40 Pentateuch ​1–3, 9–24, 58–59, 62, 68, 72, 94, 111–14, 117–19, 122–23, 149, 157, 184 Performance ​6, 73, 103, 154, 158, 170, 175, 196, 176, 178–79, 188 Performative ​28, 35, 79, 92 Persia(n) ​1, 10–14, 16, 19, 20, 22, 39, 41, 64 Perversity ​49, 50 Petition ​46, 83, 102–03 Pharaoh ​64–65, 83, 86, 99–102, 134, 145, 196 Pharisees ​142, 199 Philistines ​20, 95 Philopator (Ptolemy IV ) ​85, 99 Phineas ​185, 196–98 Pietism ​2, 3, 27, 30, 34

227

– Piety ​6, 31, 34–35, 84, 139, 147–50, 154–61, 164, 166–67, 169–70, 174, 177–78 Pilate ​142 Pilgrimage ​97, 155, 165 Plant(ing) ​46, 50–54, 75–77, 82 – Plantation ​53, 79, 80 Plot ​15, 39, 106, 108, 171, 181 Plundering ​95, 99, 102 Pluriformity ​1, 2, 5, 148, 149 Poetics ​67, 173, 179 – Poetry ​50, 60, 68–71, 77, 79, 81, 112, 177, 192 Polemic(s) ​11, 17, 22, 134, 139, 201–02 Political ​11, 19, 35, 58, 65–66, 93, 95–96, 100, 126–28, 130, 134–35, 137, 144–46, 149, 171, 183, 186, 188, 198 – Politicization ​12–13, 19 – Politics ​13, 20 – Polity ​19–20, 92 Polytheism ​200 Poor ​40, 117, 149–50, 156, 158, 160 Postcolonial ​137 Postexilic ​13–14, 93, 188–89 Postmessianic ​31 Poverty ​150, 159 Power ​7, 16, 31, 40–43, 50, 80–81, 91, 98– 101, 105, 108, 127–30, 134, 136–42, 146, 162, 175, 180, 193 – Powerless ​104, 161 Practice(s) ​24, 27–28, 30–32, 57, 58, 60– 61, 71, 79, 85, 88, 114, 119–22, 138–39, 144–45, 149, 151, 154, 157, 159–60, 163–66, 169, 188, 200 Praise ​46, 50, 58, 61, 69, 78, 80–81, 83–87, 97–99, 102–03, 143, 164, 169, 174, 186, 192, 199 Prayer ​4, 6, 31, 36, 46, 64, 71, 75–78, 81, 83, 99–103, 112, 148, 159, 162, 164–65, 175–77, 179–80, 196 Predestining ​49, 54 Prediction ​34–35, 95–97, 102, 190, 200, 202 Preexilic ​189, 190 Prestige ​15, 21, 201 Pride ​42, 88, 91, 121, 160 Priest(s) ​7, 11, 15, 17–19, 21–22, 25, 28, 30, 77, 83, 99, 101–02, 115,

228

Index of Subjects

135–36, 142, 155, 183, 190–94, 197–203 – Priesthood ​17, 21, 25, 28, 59, 187, 193, 197, 199–201 – Priestly ​2, 10–11, 15, 17–18, 20–23, 25, 28, 30, 41, 59–60, 113, 115, 183, 190, 197, 199–200 Primeval ​40 Primordial ​43, 51 Profit ​128–29 Progeny ​82, 146 Prohibition ​3, 36, 39, 41, 43–44, 45, 48– 54, 126, 131, 200 Promise(s) ​14, 17, 22, 30, 43, 59, 66, 76, 82, 95, 101, 106–07, 157, 160, 170, 188 Prophecy ​7, 21, 22, 33–34, 84, 188–92, 194, 197, 199, 201–03 – Prophet ​7, 11, 15, 17, 21, 30, 33, 84, 87, 94, 96–97, 143, 183, 185, 187–203 – Prophetess ​67, 84 – Prophetic ​1, 7, 9–10, 15–18, 22, 25, 32–33, 35, 58, 66–67, 108, 114, 143, 163, 183, 188–90, 192, 194, 196–203 – Prophets ​7, 11, 15, 17, 21–22, 30, 33, 35–36, 65, 84, 87, 93–97, 142–43, 183– 85, 187–203 Prose ​69–70, 158 Prosecution ​129, 142, 146 Prosperity ​57, 159–60 Prostitute ​173, 178 Providence ​163, 196 Pseudepigrapha ​74, 104, 112, 118, 197 Ptolemy ​85, 99–102, 104 Punish ​52, 129, 143, 177 – Punishment ​27, 31–33, 35, 41, 53, 80– 82, 86–87, 89, 99–100, 106, 129–30, 132, 135, 138, 157, 194 Pure ​61, 63 – Purification ​44, 49, 106 – Purity ​27–28, 44, 49, 61, 63, 106, 171– 72, 178, 180, 191 Queer(ing) ​179 Qumran ​3, 25–27, 30, 35, 46–48, 57–59, 61–63, 65–66, 68, 71–73, 76, 79–82, 88, 104, 111–12, 115, 118–19, 121, 148–49, 155, 192, 195, 197–99, 201–02

Rabbinic ​3, 23, 26–27, 30–31, 33, 35–36, 48, 63, 67–68, 71, 86, 89, 118, 133, 135, 137–38, 150, 158, 192, 200 Race ​27, 63, 129–30, 141, 144–45, 166 Rachel ​6, 173, 181 Ragouel ​162, 165 Rape ​92, 94 Raphael ​156, 160–62, 164–65, 170 Rebecca ​189 Rebellion ​15, 35, 101, 199 Rebuke(s) ​21, 99, 156, 160 Reception ​10, 39, 57, 60–61, 67, 78, 81, 83, 91, 94–95, 99, 108–09, 146, 148, 186, 195 Reconciliation ​13, 95, 191–92 Reconfiguration ​69, 181 Reconstruction ​13, 33, 39, 51, 70–73, 113–15, 117–18, 122, 130, 202 Redaction ​2, 9–24, 94, 131, 134, 153 – Redactional ​13–15, 18, 21 – Redactions ​13, 16, 18, 22 – Redactor(s) ​15–16, 18, 94, 153 – Redactors ​15, 94 Redemption ​27–28, 30–31, 36–37, 66, 91, 95, 98, 119 Refiguration ​173 Religion ​10, 22, 27, 70, 119, 139, 174, 185 – Religious ​9, 12, 16, 22, 31, 104–05, 134, 137, 142, 144, 147–50, 157–58, 162–63, 166, 168, 170, 172, 184, 186, 188–89, 198, 202–03 Remission ​76, 117, 121 Remnant ​26, 69–70, 95 Repentance ​82, 100 Resistance ​3, 39, 55, 57–58, 100, 130, 133, 143, 145–46, 158, 177, 198 Restitution ​132–33 Restoration (of Status, Sight) ​31, 43, 53, 58, 64, 93, 161–64, 168, 178 Restoration (Texts) ​26, 72–74, 159 Retribution ​31–32, 147, 157, 162, 164 Return – From Exile ​12, 29, 35, 77, 98, 166, 171, 174 – To God ​82, 96, 166 – Of the Messiah ​31 – To Dust ​41, 45 – To Eden ​51

Index of Subjects

– Of Prophets, Elijah ​191, 197 – To Homes ​102, 177 – Law of ​106 – Hero to initial status ​174 Revealer (of Laws) ​29 Revelation ​5, 9–11, 15–18, 21–23, 31–33, 35, 43, 66, 81–82, 84, 86, 100, 113–14, 120–22, 189–90 Rewriting ​2, 4, 23, 48, 63, 74, 82, 87, 94, 111–23, 202 Rhetoric ​3, 26–27, 31, 51, 63, 92, 103, 108, 127–29, 133, 137, 141, 143–45, 150–51, 155, 157–58, 161,-62, 164, 166–67, 169, 175, 186 – Rhetorical ​2, 4–5, 26, 28–29, 60, 94–96, 98, 101, 103–04, 107, 125–29, 141, 145, 149–50, 157, 162, 175, 177, 184, 194, 202 Rich ​67, 128, 180–81, 184, 202 Riddles ​62 Ridicule ​57, 148, 150 Righteous ​6, 26, 30–33, 42–44, 61, 79, 82–83, 147, 151, 154, 158–60, 162, 165, 168–70, 196 – Righteousness ​29, 32–33, 35, 43, 50, 54, 58, 65–66, 156, 160, 164, 166–68 Ritual ​9, 17, 26, 28, 29, 103, 118–20, 123, 188 Rivalry ​2, 17–18, 35, 186, 193–94, 199 River(s) ​41, 51, 54, 79–80, 95, 97–98, 106 Road ​98, 106 Roman ​28, 35, 70, 83, 93, 99, 129–30, 137–38, 140–42, 186–87, 200 – Rome ​30, 35 Royal ​7, 19, 22, 41, 53, 134, 157, 186–87, 192–93 Rule(s) ​28–29, 35, 46–49, 57, 76, 119, 129, 192, 196 – Ruler ​96, 99–102, 134 Sabbath ​28, 46, 71, 106, 115–17, 119–20 – Sabbatical ​4, 112–13, 116–23, 147 Sacred ​5, 26–27, 41, 51, 76, 84, 185, 188 Sacrifice ​9, 19, 27, 31, 59, 71, 96, 140, 154–55, 178, 191, 200 Sage(s) ​59, 81, 83, 85, 118, 134, 143, 177, 179, 181

229

Salvation ​67, 82, 86, 107, 119, 168, 178, 196 Samaritan Pentateuch ​68–69 Sanctity ​171–72, 180 Sanctuary ​50, 68, 78, 89, 99, 180, 183, 191, 198 Sanhedrin ​137, 138 Sapiential ​7, 51, 190 Sara(h) ​11, 159, 161 – Sarai ​63, 64, 66 Satire ​5–6, 148–61, 163–67, 169–70 Savior ​84, 96, 102 Scribal ​2–3, 9, 11–12, 15–16, 21–24, 35, 59–60, 62, 64–65, 71, 88, 111, 121 – Scribe(s) ​2, 11–12, 14–15, 17–19, 21– 23, 70–72, 83, 108, 128, 141, 189 Script(s) ​25, 60, 111 Scriptural ​6, 35–36, 53–54, 71, 80, 111– 12, 173, 180 – Scripturalization ​12, 16–17, 23, 78 – Scripture ​12, 23, 36, 48, 66, 69, 74, 77, 82, 84, 111, 123, 172, 180, 184, 195 Scrolls (Dead Sea) ​2–3, 25, 29–31, 33–34, 36, 64–65, 68–70, 73, 76, 79–80, 88, 111–15, 117–18, 185, 189, 196, 199, 201 Scrupulous ​155, 157 Sea (Song of ) ​3–4, 67–69, 71, 74, 77–79, 81–82, 84–89, 95–96, 103 Sea (Red) ​75, 82, 84–87, 106, 140, 196 Secret ​31–32, 35, 53, 79–80, 105, 128 Sectarian(s) ​2–3, 25–27, 29–32, 35, 47, 104, 192, 196 Security ​156, 168 Seduction ​7, 171–72, 175, 177, 179 Seleucid ​120, 186, 198 Semitic ​62, 149, 153–54, 157 Septuagint ​2, 11, 42, 57, 68–69, 77–78, 83, 85–86, 88, 99–100, 102, 104, 117, 132, 139, 148, 159, 184, 186, 193 Seriocomic ​151 Servant ​84, 176–77 Servitude ​100 Sex ​41, 133, 171, 174, 178–80 Shame ​40, 44, 172, 178, 180 Shechem ​59 – Shechemite ​135 Shelomith ​5, 131, 133–34, 146

230

Index of Subjects

Sight ​11, 14, 159, 161–64, 169, 176 Sign(s) ​35–36, 76, 85, 96, 128, 151, 190, 194, 196 Simonides ​198–99, 201 Sin ​39, 42, 45, 76, 121–22, 165, 168–69, 177–78 Sinai ​5, 9, 14, 16, 23, 82, 113, 116, 120–22, 195, 197 – Sinaitic ​114, 121–22 Singing ​3, 67–69, 72–73, 83–88, 98–99, 102 Sinners ​79, 86, 169 Skepticism ​57, 107 Slaughter ​101, 180 Slave(s) ​93–94, 100, 104, 172, 176 Sojourn ​25, 102, 113 Solomon ​5, 25, 51, 78, 83, 131, 134–35, 137, 139–40, 143 Spiritualizing ​121–22 Status ​1, 16–17, 40, 42, 59, 96–97, 100, 104, 107, 111, 119, 130, 132, 135, 137, 140, 173–75, 177–78, 185–86, 202 Statutes ​119, 121, 149 Stephen ​5, 127–28, 130, 135, 137, 142–46 Stichography ​69, 71–72, 74, 88 Storyteller ​153, 154, 162 Strange Woman ​6, 175–79 Subjugation ​92–93, 96, 100–01, 130, 177 Submission ​174, 176, 180 Sudan(ese) ​106–07 Suffering ​31, 91, 93, 104, 106–07, 132–33, 147–49, 158, 165 Sunedrion ​135, 137 Supersessionism ​2, 27 Survivors ​106–07 Sword ​32, 177 Symbols ​27, 31, 52- 53, 92, 106–07, 144, 164 Synagogue ​128, 144 Syrian ​25

– Teaching ​9, 18, 29, 43–44, 49, 54, 59, 62–63, 65–66, 80, 127, 148, 159, 164– 66, 183–84 Tefillin ​71–72 Testamentary Instruction ​3, 149, 156, 158–61, 164, 166 Theocratic ​10–11, 15, 28 Theodicy ​175 Theophany (Sinai) ​116, 120–21 Therapeutae ​74, 84–85 Threat(s) ​5, 47, 100, 106, 132, 139, 145, 157, 171, 176–80 Throne ​131, 143 Tithe(s) ​19, 154–56, 165, 177, 200 Tobias ​156, 158–62, 166–67, 169 Tongue(s) ​42, 45, 83, 86, 95, 101, 177 Transformation ​10, 27, 50, 97, 141, 176 Transgenerational ​91–93, 105, 108 Transgression ​42, 45, 48, 49, 114, 116, 119, 135, 200 Trauma ​4, 91–95, 96–101, 103–09 Tree(s) (of Knowledge, Life) ​39–45, 47– 54, 79–80, 177 Trial(s) ​91, 135, 137–38, 143, 163, 196 Tribute ​103, 127, 141, 165, 186, 192 Trickery ​6–7, 171–77, 179, 181 – Trickster ​6, 171–76, 178, 180–81 Triumph ​75, 83, 88, 91, 93, 95, 130 Troops ​99, 102, 178 Trope ​51, 53, 148, 163 Trustworthy ​183, 192, 194, 200 Truth ​31, 34, 49, 50, 52, 61, 63–65, 127, 144, 154, 157, 159–60, 163, 165–69, 172, 176–77

Talmud ​35–36, 133 Tanakh ​6, 108, 158 Tannaitic ​120, 137–38 Targummim ​67, 72, 86 Teacher(s) ​29–30, 32–33, 35, 50, 53, 54, 60, 63, 79, 196

Values ​145, 146, 172, 180, 184 Vice ​4, 61, 75, 150 Victory ​4, 74–75, 83–84, 89, 93–95, 99, 108 Violation(s) ​39, 41, 47–48, 116, 126, 132, 138, 141, 146, 151

Underdogs ​173–74 Unlawfulness ​31 Unrighteousness ​159 Uprightness ​49–50, 63, 156 Uzziah ​180

Index of Subjects

Violence ​94, 138 Virtue ​6, 25, 43, 75, 83, 150, 154, 164, 171, 173, 175, 177, 179, 181, 200 – Virtuous ​34, 161, 178 Vision(s) ​21–22, 31, 53, 58–61, 65–66, 69, 76, 123, 150, 161, 164, 169–70, 176, 190, 199 Voice ​59–60, 63, 72, 75, 84–85, 87, 98, 130, 150–51, 162, 170, 179, 189–90, 199 Vulnerability ​6, 173–74, 177 War ​29, 69, 78, 81, 83, 175, 199, 201 – Warrior ​53, 69, 97–98, 171 Watchers ​44–45 Water ​32, 41, 51, 53–54, 67, 72–73, 79–84, 86, 89, 97–98, 106–07 Wealth ​150, 159, 165 Wicked ​31, 33, 52, 80, 174, 186 – Wickedness ​29–31, 33, 48, 186 Widow(s) ​6, 155–56, 174, 178 Wife ​159, 160, 162 Wilderness ​15, 21, 29, 53, 54, 97, 119, 131, 145, 197 Wine ​102, 155, 177

231

Wisdom ​3, 6, 39, 42–44, 46, 48–52, 58–66, 76, 78, 83, 85–86, 128, 148–49, 151, 153, 158–59, 161, 164, 169–70, 172–81 Witness(es) ​2, 20, 23, 68, 70, 72, 74, 84, 85, 87, 96, 102–03, 111, 123, 128, 136, 138, 143, 144, 188 Womanist ​131–33, 146 Womb ​41 Women ​3, 67, 69, 74, 84, 87, 101, 128, 131, 133–34, 146, 171, 174, 176, 179, 180 Wonder(s) ​63, 69, 85, 102–03, 128 Worship ​31, 74–75, 78, 84, 96, 155, 169, 171, 176–78 Yahwism ​147 Yehud ​12, 19 Yehudit ​6, 173 Yhwh ​14–18, 21, 96–98, 100 Zadok(ite) ​15, 25 Zeal ​155, 185, 196, 198, 202 Zion ​50, 53, 81, 94, 97, 119, 191–92 Zoan (Pharaoh) ​64