Wisdom Poured Out Like Water: Studies on Jewish and Christian Antiquity in Honor of Gabriele Boccaccini 9783110596717, 9783110595888

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Wisdom Poured Out Like Water

Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature Studies

Edited by Friedrich V. Reiterer, Beate Ego, Tobias Nicklas, and Kristin de Troyer

Volume 38

Wisdom Poured Out Like Water Studies on Jewish and Christian Antiquity in Honor of Gabriele Boccaccini Edited by J. Harold Ellens, Isaac W. Oliver, Jason von Ehrenkrook, James Waddell, and Jason M. Zurawski

ISBN 978-3-11-059588-8 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-059671-7 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-059379-2 ISSN 1865-1666 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Boccaccini, Gabriele, 1958- honouree. | Ellens, J. Harold, 1932editor. Title: Wisdom poured out like water : studies on Jewish and Christian antiquity in honor of Gabriele Boccaccini / edited by J. Harold Ellens, Isaac W. Oliver, Jason von Ehrenkrook, James Waddell, Jason M. Zurawski. Description: 1 [edition]. | Boston : De Gruyter, 2018. | Series: Deuterocanonical and cognate literature studies ; Volume 38 | Includes bibliographical references. Identifiers: LCCN 2018023455 (print) | LCCN 2018029549 (ebook) | ISBN 9783110596717 (electronic Portable Document Format (pdf) | ISBN 9783110595888 (print : alk. paper) | ISBN 9783110593792 (e-book epub) | ISBN 9783110596717 (e-book pdf) Subjects: LCSH: Bible--Criticism, interpretation, etc. | Jewish literature. | Hebrew literature. | Apocalyptic literature. | Christian literature, Early. | Ethiopic book of Enoch--Criticism, interpretation, etc. Classification: LCC BS511.3 (ebook) | LCC BS511.3 .W6627 2018 (print) | DDC 229/.9106--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018023455 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2018 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Typesetting: Integra Software Services, Pvt. Ltd. Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck www.degruyter.com

Boccaccini Biography Gabriele Boccaccini was born in Florence, Italy, on March 24, 1958 to Walter Boccaccini, an opera stage director and then general manager of the Maggio Musicale Fiorentino, and Maria Adelaide Ghinozzi, a teacher who graduated in philosophy under Professor Eugenio Garin at the University of Florence. He studied classical studies at the Liceo “Dante Alighieri” in Florence (1971–1976), and enrolled as a student at the University of Florence. After completing his courses, Boccaccini served two years in the civil corps of the Italian Army, married musicologist Aloma Bardi in 1981, and earned his Laurea (1983) in Early Christianity from the University of Florence, Italy, under the mentorship of Ancient Philosophy Professor Francesco Adorno. He then taught three years as a high school professor at the Liceo Linguistico in Florence, before entering the PhD program at the University of Turin to work with Professor Paolo Sacchi. He successfully completed his PhD in Judaic Studies in 1991. In the Winter of 1989 and 1990, Boccaccini was Visiting Scholar at Princeton Theological Seminary under the mentorship of Professor James H. Charlesworth. In the Fall of 1992 he joined the Faculty of the Department of Near Eastern Studies of the University of Michigan, initially as Adjunct Professor in the PhD program directed by Professor Jarl Fossum. He became Assistant Professor in 1999 and was promoted to Associate Professor with tenure in 2002. In 2005 he was promoted to Professor of Second Temple Judaism and Christian Origins in the Department of Near Studies and the Frankel Center for Judaic Studies. In 2001 Boccaccini founded the Enoch Seminar and in 2006 he launched the Enoch Graduate Seminar. He later added the Nangeroni Meetings (2012) and the Enoch Colloquia (2017) to the expanding list of academic conferences organized under the auspices of the Enoch Seminar. These series of international meetings have attracted hundreds of scholars from all around the world in the common pursuit of a deeper understanding of Jewish, Christian, and Islamic origins. Boccaccini has authored and edited numerous articles and books that have contributed enormously to the field of research on Second Temple Judaism and Early Christianity, including Middle Judaism: Jewish Thought, 300 BCE to 200 CE (Fortress Press, 1991), Beyond the Essene Hypothesis: The Parting of the Ways between Qumran and Enochic Judaism (Eerdmans, 1998), and Roots of Rabbinic Judaism: An Intellectual History, from Ezekiel to Daniel (Eerdmans, 1998). His scholarship has been translated into several languages, including German, Portuguese, and Hungarian. In addition to his prolific scholarship, Boccaccini has been recognized for his involvement in and contribution to the Italian-American community. In March https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-201

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 Boccaccini Biography

2012, he became an American citizen, and in 2018 he was awarded the title of “Cavaliere dell’Ordine della Stella d’Italia (Knight of the Order of the Star of Italy)” by Sergio Mattarella, the President of Italy, for his contribution to the “preservation and promotion of national prestige abroad.”

Acknowledgments The editors thank the following persons from De Gruyter who made this publication possible: Albrecht Döhnert, editorial director of Theology and Religion, for guiding us through this project, as well as the editors of the Deuteroncanonical and Cognate Literature series, in particular Tobias Nicklas for his attentive support. We are also grateful for the assistance of Aaron Sanborn-Overby, project editor at De Gruyter in Theology and Religion, for his diligent work in preparing this manuscript for production. Finally, we wish to remember one of the editors for this Festschrift, J. Harold Ellens, who passed away on April 13, 2018, as the manuscript for this book was about to be set in typing. Until his very last days, Ellens remained involved in this project on behalf of his mentor and friend Gabriele Boccaccini with whom he worked for more than 25 years on common scholarly endeavors. Ellens was one of the founding members of the Enoch Seminar, serving as the secretary for the first decade and then as the president of the Michigan Center for Early Christian Studies. He was a prolific scholar who published numerous works in early Judaism and Christianity, the psychology of religion, and theology. Ellens will be missed by his family, friends, colleagues, and all who knew him.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-202

Contents Boccaccini Biography  Acknowledgments  List of Abbreviations 

 V  VII  XV

J. Harold Ellens, Isaac W. Oliver, Jason von Ehrenkrook, James Waddell, and Jason Zurawski Enoch and Beyond: Reflections on the Scholarship of Gabriele Boccaccini   1

Part I: Enoch and the Roots of Apocalyptic 1

2

3

Luca Arcari Giants or Titans? Remarks on the Greek Versions of 1 Enoch 7.2 and 9.9 

 15

Daniel Assefa The Identity of the Son of Man in the Traditional Ethiopian Commentaries of 1 Enoch   24 James R. Davila The 94 Books of Ezra and the Angelic Revelations of John Dee 

 32

4

Lorenzo DiTommaso Echoes of Enoch in Early Modern England: “Enoch Prayer” (London, British Library MS Sloane 3821)   45

5

Kelley Coblentz Bautch Panopolitanus and Its Relationship to Other Greek Witnesses of the Book of the Watchers   72

6

Ida Fröhlich The “Horned Demon” and the Watchers 

7

Helge S. Kvanvig From Prophecy to Apocalyptic 

 100

 89

X 

8

 Contents

Armin Lange The Text of Jeremiah in 1 Enoch 

 121

9

Daniel Olson An Enochic Reading of Genesis 6:1–4 from the Beginning of the Persian Era?   142

10

David W. Suter The Liminality of Enoch the Outsider: Reflections from an Anthropological Perspective upon Being “Taken”   150

11

12

James C. VanderKam Versions of the Angel Story in 1 Enoch 6–11 

 166

Jason M. Zurawski Rethinking the Divide between 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch: Getting to the (Evil) Heart of the Matter   177

Part II: The Dead Sea Scrolls and Beyond 13

Årstein Justnes and Torleif Elgvin A Private Part of Enoch: A Forged Fragment of 1 Enoch 8:4–9:3 

14

Giovanni Ibba Il tema della Conversione in alcune opere qumraniche 

15

Pieter M. Venter An Ideology of Poverty in 4QInstruction 

16

William Loader Sexuality Issues and Conflict Development in Qumran Literature 

 204

 215

Part III: Second Temple Jewish Views and Voices 17

 195

Rodney A. Caruthers II Compositional Education in Philo’s De vita Mosis and Theon’s Progymnasmata   253

 232

Contents 

18

19

20

21

Devorah Dimant Tobit and Ahiqar 

 276

Matthias Henze What’s in a Name? Naming and Renaming in Joseph and Aseneth   292 Luca Mazzinghi Sap 4,10–14 e la figura di Enoch: un rapporto polemico 

 303

Phillip Muñoa The Good Angel That Delivered the Jews: How 2 Maccabees Adapted Daniel 7 and the Angel of the Lord Tradition   315

22

Gerbern S. Oegema The Sabbath: From Torah to Halakah 

 334

23

Andrei A. Orlov Two Powers in Heaven… Manifested 

 351

24

Carlos A. Segovia Mapping Ideologies in Second Temple Judaism 

25

 XI

 365

Benjamin Wright A Character in Search of a Story: The Reception of Ben Sira in Early Medieval Judaism   378

Part IV: From the Same Womb: Jesus and His Jewish Followers 26

Albert I. Baumgarten The Baptism of John in a Second Temple Jewish Context 

27

James H. Charlesworth Was Jesus Influenced by Sports as Paul the Sports Enthusiast? 

28

 399

 415

J. Harold Ellens The Johannine Community and the Fourth Gospel: A Polemic Against Enochian Apocalypticism?   428

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 Contents

29

Gabriella Gelardini The End of History: Common Concepts in 1 Enoch and Mark 

30

Lester L. Grabbe What Did the Author of Acts Know About Pre-70 Judaism? 

 437

 450

31

Mark S. Kinzer Sacrifice, Prayer, and the Holy Spirit: The Tamid Offering in Luke-Acts   463

32

Corrado Martone La figura di Giovanni Battista alla luce della letteratura qumranica: alcune considerazioni   476

33

Eric Noffke Being Children of Abraham: Salvation “By Belonging” in the New Testament   488

34

35

Isaac W. Oliver Are Luke and Acts Anti-Marcionite? 

 499

James Waddell “I Have Been Born Among You”: Jesus, Jews, and Christians in the Second Century   526

Part V: Ways Not Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity 36

Daniel Boyarin The Talmudic Apocalypse: Ḥagigah, Chapter 2 

 541

37

Alberto Camplani John the Baptist According to Marcion’s Gospel and Early Syriac Texts   556

38

Anders Klostergaard Petersen Unveiling the Obvious—Synagogue and Church: Sisters or Different Species?   575

Contents 

39

Jason von Ehrenkrook Christian Paideia and the Politics of Empire in Eunapius’ Vitae Sophistarum   593

List of Contributors 

 605

 XIII

List of Abbreviations AARAS AB ABD AGJU AJBI ANRW

AOTC APAT APOT ASE Aug BBB BBR BCR BETL Bib BJS BR BZ BZAW CBQ CBR CBQMS CC CEJL CRINT CSCO CSEL DJD DSD EDSS EJL EvQ EvT FRLANT GCS Hen HNT

American Academy of Religion Academy Series Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by David Noel Freedman. 6 vols. New York: Doubleday, 1992 Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums Annual of the Japanese Biblical Institute AnBibAnalecta bíblica Aufstieg und Niedergang der romischen Welt: Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung. Part 2, Principat. Edited by Hildegard Temporini and Wolfgang Haase. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1972– Abington Old Testament Commentary Die Apokryphen und pseudepigraphen des Alten Testaments. Translated and edited by Emil Kautzsch. 2 vols. Tubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1900 The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament. Edited by R. H. Charles. 2 vols. Oxford: Clarendon, 1913 Annali di Storia dell’Esegesi Augustinianum Bonner biblische Beiträge Bulletin for Biblical Research Biblioteca di cultura religiosa Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium Biblica Brown Judaic Studies Biblical Research Biblische Zeitschrift Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Catholic Biblical Quarterly Currents in Biblical Research Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series Continental Commentaries Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature Compendia Rerum Iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum Discoveries in the Judaean Desert Dead Sea Discoveries Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Edited by L. H. Schiffman and J. C. VanderKam. Oxford, 2000 Early Judaism and Its Literature Evangelical Quarterly Evangelische Theologie Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten Jahrhunderte Henoch Handbuch zum Neuen Testament

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-203

XVI  HSM HSS HTR HUCA ICC IOS JAOS JBL JE JECS JHebS JHS JJS JJTP JQR JSHRZ JSJ JSJ JSNT JSNT JSOT JSOTSup JSP JSPSup JSQ JSS JTS LCL LSJ LNTS LSTS MGWJ NHS NovT NovTSup NTAbh NTOA NTS NTTSD Or OrChr OTL OTP

 List of Abbreviations

Harvard Semitic Monographs Harvard Semitic Studies Harvard Theological Review Hebrew Union College Annual International Critical Commentary Israel Oriental Society Journal of the American Oriental Society Journal of Biblical Literature The Jewish Encyclopedia. Edited by I. Singer. 12 vols. New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1925 Journal of Early Christian Studies Journal of Hebrew Scriptures Journal of Hellenic Studies Journal of Jewish Studies Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy Jewish Quarterly Review Jüdische Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Zeit Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Period SupJournal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Period: Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the New Testament SupJournal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series 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 Jewish Studies Quarterly Journal of Semitic Studies Journal of Theological Studies Loeb Classical Library Liddell, H. G., R. Scott, H. S. Jones, A Greek–English Lexicon. 9th ed. with revised supplement. Oxford: Clarendon, 1996 Library of New Testament Studies Library of Second Temple Studies Monatsschrift für Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums Nag Hammadi Studies Novum Testamentum Supplements to Novum Testamentum Neutestamentliche Abhandlungen Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus New Testament Studies New Testament Tools, Studies, and Documents Orientalia Oriens Christianus Old Testament Library The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. Edited by J. H. Charlesworth. 2 vols. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1983, 1985

List of Abbreviations 

OtSt ParOr PTS PVTG RB REJ RevQ RHPR RSR RTP SBLDS SBLEJL SBLMS SBLSP SC SemeiaSt SHR SJLA SMSR SNTSMS SPhilo SPhiloA SPhiloM SR SSEJC STDJ SVTP TANZ TBN TDNT

TDOT

TSAJ TU VC VT VTSup WBC WMANT WUNT ZAC ZAW ZNW ZRGG

 XVII

Oudtestamentische Studiën Parole de l‘orient Patristische Texte und Studien Pseudepigrapha Veteris Testamenti Graece Revue biblique Revue des études juives Revue de Qumran Revue d’histoire et de philosophie religieuses Recherches de science religieuse Revue de théologie et de philosophie Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Early Judaism and Its Literature Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers Sources chrétiennes Semeia Studies Studies in the History of Religions (supplement to Numen) Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity Studi e materiali di storia delle religioni Society of New Testament Studies Monograph Series Studia Philonica Studia Philonica Annual Studia Philonica Monograph Series Studies in Religion Studies in Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah Studia in Veteris Testamenti Pseudepigrapha Texte und Arbeiten zum neutestamentlichen Zeitalter Themes in Biblical Narrative Theological Dictionary of the New Testament. Edited by Gerhard Kittel and Gerhard Friedrich. Translated by Geoffrey W. Bromiley. 10 vols. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964–1976 Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament. Edited by G. Johannes Botterweck and Helmer Ringgren. Translated by John T. Willis et al. 8 vols. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974–2006 Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum Texte und Untersuchungen Vigiliae Christianae Vetus Testamentum Supplements to Vetus Testamentum Word Biblical Commentary Series Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift fur Antikes Christentum/Journal of Ancient Christianity Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche Zeitschrift für Religions- und Geistesgeschichte

J. Harold Ellens, Isaac W. Oliver, Jason von Ehrenkrook, James Waddell, and Jason Zurawski

Enoch and Beyond: Reflections on the Scholarship of Gabriele Boccaccini

Enoch’s journey into the heavenly realm resulted in a series of revelations. This book, too, was “revealed” in a somewhat celestial context—the rooftop of the Westin Gaslamp Quarter hotel in San Diego in November 2014. It was a comfortably warm fall evening, and we had just returned to our hotel after a lively Enoch Seminar Reception at the Society of Biblical Literature Annual Meeting. The reception included reports of recent activities under the auspices of the Enoch Seminar—the Seventh Enoch Seminar focused on the influence of Enoch on the Synoptic Gospels at the idyllic Monastero di Camaldoli, Italy (July 2013),1 a Graduate Enoch Seminar on Second Temple Judaism and Christian Origins at Concordia University and McGill University in Montreal (May 2014), a Nangeroni conference in Israel on the Christian transmission of Jewish texts and traditions (June 2014), a second Nangeroni meeting in Rome on Paul as a Second Temple author (June 2014),2 and the recent publication of two books, proceedings from the Sixth Enoch Seminar held in 2011.3 Quite an impressive flurry of intellectual activity! And one name was omnipresent in all of these projects, Gabriele Boccaccini. The seeds for this book were thus planted while reflecting on the impact of Boccaccini’s scholarship in the paradise-like setting of San Diego. We present this collection of chapters in part as a celebration of the 60th birthday of Gabriele Boccaccini, who began his seventh decade on March 24, 2018. But more than a celebration of his life, we hope this Festschrift reflects the affection of his countless colleagues and casts a well-deserved spotlight on one who has devoted over half of his 60 years to the promotion and advancement of scholarship on Jewish and Christian antiquity. The ensuing chapters include contributions by some of the many scholars—to include them all would require multiple volumes!—who have been impacted by or worked closely with

1 Proceedings published in Loren T. Stuckenbruck and Gabriele Boccaccini, eds., Enoch and the Synoptic Gospels: Reminiscences, Allusions, Intertextuality (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2016). 2 Proceedings published in Gabriele Boccaccini and Carlos A. Segovia, eds., Paul the Jew: Rereading the Apostle as a Figure of Second Temple Judaism (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2016). 3 Matthias Henze and Gabriele Boccaccini, eds., 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch: Reconstruction after the Fall (Leiden: Brill, 2013); Gabriele Boccaccini and Jason M. Zurawski, eds., Interpreting 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch (London: T&T Clark, 2014). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-001

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Boccaccini over the last several decades. Their breadth of scope and depth of creative analysis are a fitting tribute to a scholar whose own research and collaborative initiatives have transformed the scholarly landscape. Boccaccini’s scholarship is broad and prolific, the fruit of an Italian education that emphasized careful analysis of ancient sources informed by sophisticated methods of historiography. After studying Classics and Early Christianity at the University of Florence, Boccaccini earned a PhD in Judaic Studies at the University of Turin (1991), where he specialized in Second Temple Judaism under the mentorship of Professor Paolo Sacchi. Even before completing his PhD, Boccaccini exhibited the early traces of a rigorous scholarly agenda that would eventually reach well beyond the Italian peninsula. He published a series of articles in Italian that explored a wide range of Second Temple sources, including Flavius Josephus, Philo of Alexandria, Ben Sira, Daniel, and 1 Enoch, among others.4 In the winter of 1989–1990, while still a graduate student, Boccaccini was a visiting scholar at Princeton Theological Seminary under the mentorship of James H. Charlesworth. It was especially at Princeton that he began to forge important international connections that at first would issue in the natural collaborations between Italian and American scholarship on Second Temple Judaism, and then soon afterward would result in his eventual mission while at the University of Michigan to foster global, collaborative scholarship through the Enoch Seminar. Boccaccini’s early scholarship bespeaks a particular concern with historiographic methodologies and taxonomies, especially the categories scholars deploy as a way both to organize the extant historical data and to synthesize the complex histories of Jews and Christians in the ancient world, including especially chronological categories (i.e., how historians divide and organize periods of history), literary/canonical categories, (i.e., how historians divide and organize primary source materials), and the various nomenclatures used to identify particular social and intellectual phenomena.5 Boccaccini rightly calls attention 4 See especially Gabriele Boccaccini, “Il concetto di memoria in Filone Alessandrino,” Annali dell’Istituto di Filosofia 6 (1984): 1–19; idem, “Il tema della memoria in Giuseppe Flavio,” Henoch 6 (1984): 147–63; idem, “Il tema della memoria nell’ebraismo e nel giudaismo antico,” Henoch 7 (1985): 165–92; idem, “Il valore della verginita in Filone Alessandrino,” in La verginita cristiana, eds. Enzo Bianchi, et al. (Bologna: EDB, 1985), 217–27; idem, “Origine del male, liberta dell’uomo e retribuzione nella Sapienza di Ben Sira,” Henoch 8 (1986): 1–37; idem, “E Daniele un testo apocalittico? Una (ri)definizione del pensiero del Libro di Daniele in rapporto al Libro dei sogni e all’apocalittica,” Henoch 9 (1987): 267–302. 5 See especially Gabriele Boccaccini, “Middle Judaism and Its Contemporary Interpreters: Methodological Foundations for the Study of Judaisms, 300 BCE to 200 CE,” Henoch 15 (1993): 207–34; idem, “History of Judaism: Its Periods in Antiquity,” in Judaism in Late Antiquity 2: Historical

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to the ideological nature of historiography, noting the extent to which taxonomies and terminologies—“fragile creation[s] of [the] human mind”—are inextricably enmeshed in the historian’s own social, political, and religious milieu.6 His first major monograph, Middle Judaism: Jewish Thought, 300 B.C.E. to 200 C.E., published in 1991, takes up these methodological concerns with vigor.7 The chronological scope of this work, for example, targets one conventional periodization and classification of ancient Jewish literature—the so-called intertestamental period. “Intertestamental” as a chronological marker stems from a confessional Christian framework that prioritizes canonical literature—the Old and New Testaments—over the noncanonical, which is marginalized on the basis of the theological claim that these documents occupy inferior spaces between two allegedly revelatory corpora. Boccaccini problematizes this system of classification by including in his analysis of ancient Jewish thought the canonical alongside the noncanonical.8 Recognizing the pluriform nature of Judaism, moreover, Boccaccini presses hard against the rigid distinction between ancient Judaism and early Christianity, arguing instead for a model that locates the earliest Jesus tradition within the context of this ancient Jewish world. Provocatively, and not without significant pushback, Boccaccini will press this notion a bit further than most, suggesting that Christianity even in the contemporary world should be considered as, in some sense, one of a number of surviving Judaisms.9 One central methodological question that animates this book, as evidenced in its title, is the matter of nomenclature: what then should we call this complex Jewish intellectual phenomenon between 300 BCE and 200 CE? Boccaccini rightly rejects the confessional names “intertestamental Judaism” and “late Judaism,” the latter in particular for its pernicious assumption that the Judaism immediately preceding Jesus was corrupted and degenerate. However, he also rejects the label “early Judaism” in part because it potentially reproduces, albeit more subtly, a “confessional paradigm” that excludes Christianity from consideration.10 Boccaccini instead proposes nomenclature that he argues is devoid of ideological Syntheses, ed. Jacob Neusner (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 285–308; idem, “Middle Judaism and Its Contemporary Interpreters (1993–1997): What Makes Any Judaism a Judaism?” Henoch 20 (1998): 349–56. 6 Boccaccini, “History of Judaism,” 285. 7 Gabriele Boccaccini, Middle Judaism: Jewish Thought, 300 B.C.E. to 200 C.E. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991). 8 See especially the following chapters in Middle Judaism: “Daniel and the Dream Visions: The Genre of Apocalyptic and the Apocalyptic Tradition” (ch. 4; pp. 126–60), “James, Paul (and Jesus): Early Christianity and Early Christianities” (ch. 7; pp. 213–28), and “‘Do This in Remembrance of Me’: The Memorial Value of Worship in Middle Judaism” (ch. 8; pp. 229–40). 9 Boccaccini, Middle Judaism, 15–21. 10 Ibid., 22–24.

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value: “Middle Judaism” as a designation for the chronological period in question and “middle Judaisms” to denote “the plurality of ideological movements active in the period (including early Christianity).”11 It must be acknowledged that Boccaccini’s proposed terminology “Middle Judaism” failed to gain currency. His important insights on the plurality of ideological movements and the place of Christianity within Jewish intellectual history, however, remain a lasting impression on scholarship on Jewish and Christian antiquity. Beyond the Essene Hypothesis arguably represents Boccaccini’s most ambitious contribution to the study of ancient Judaism and early Christianity.12 Here Boccaccini builds upon the principles he had laid forth in Middle Judaism, examining the literature of the Second Temple period through what he called “systemic analysis.” This involved an assessment of texts based on their ideas and their regrouping according to criteria used by intellectual historians in the study of competing philosophical traditions. Second Temple Jewish sources, in other words, should be rearranged into groups of texts according to their ideological ties rather than according to confessional criteria that have divided them into meaningless (at least from a historical point of view) categories such as “Pseudepigrapha,” “Apocrypha,” “Old Testament,” “New Testament,” and the like. Only then can one appreciate the diversity of Second Temple Judaism, which was not a monolith representing one single system of thought but a rich tapestry of competing “Judaisms.” Boccaccini’s systemic approach is both diachronic and synchronic: it seeks to trace the development of parallel Judaisms, including early Christianity, their trajectories of thought, as well as the complex synchronic relationships that existed between various groups during the Second Temple period. In his systemic analysis, Boccaccini traces a chain of documents that represent a variety of Judaism he calls “Enochic Judaism,” which influenced the development of Essene theology at Qumran. The constitutive document of Enochic Judaism is 1 (Ethiopic) Enoch, a collection of independent books written by various authors at different times. Boccaccini points out that these books are sufficiently related to each other, through literary connections, allusions, and quotations, which were reassembled over time into a single collection. Boccaccini sees a specific party behind this major literary achievement. This Jewish party was motivated by an apocalyptic idea that held a particular conception of evil. According to the Enochic worldview, evil was “an autonomous reality antecedent

11 Ibid., 24–25. 12 Gabriele Boccaccini, Beyond the Essene Hypothesis: The Parting of the Ways between Qumran and Enochic Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998).

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to humanity’s ability to choose.”13 It stemmed from a contamination preceding history that had affected nature, including humans.14 According to the Book of Watchers (1 En. 1–36), this evil originated from mischievous angels who mingled with human women and introduced forbidden arts to humankind. In other words, the Enochians understood humans to be victims of a supernatural origin of evil. Ever since, the course of history has degenerated into evil, which humans can do nothing to change. This idea is “exactly what makes Enochic Judaism different from any other variety of second temple Judaism.”15 Remarkably, 1 Enoch overlooks the Mosaic Torah and the Sinaitic covenant. Moses is conspicuously absent from the entire Enochic corpus, which prefers Enoch as its central human figure. The only explicit reference to the Mosaic covenant appears in 1 En. 93:6 with a couple of other possible allusions (1 En. 1:4; 99:2). The Animal Apocalypse glosses over entirely the giving of the Torah and the establishment of the Mosaic covenant, even when it recounts the theophany at Sinai, preferring instead to single out the sins of the Israelites (1 En. 89:29–35). A short poem from The Book of the Similitudes (or Parables), one of the latest layers of Enochic Judaism, even denies that Wisdom dwells on earth, which is consistent with the Enochic view that the world is a place of iniquity (1 En. 42:1–3). Boccaccini argues that the poem contains “a direct attack against the sapiential myth of the torah as the earthly embodiment of heavenly wisdom.”16 Boccaccini posits that a divergent priestly movement, which he calls the “Enochians,” expressed the generative ideas of Enochic Judaism in opposition to the ruling priesthood of their time, the “Zadokite priests,” who were the guardians of the Mosaic Torah. The first Enochians “did not recognize the legitimacy of the second temple and maintained that Israel was still living in exile.”17 The dissident Enochians stressed that “the good universe created by God,” held as such by the Zadokites, “had been corrupted by the sin of rebellious angels.”18 The Enochians articulated their polemic against the authority of the Mosaic Torah essentially by ignoring it.19 Eventually, however, the Enochians would integrate the two competing Enochic and Mosaic revelations into one worldview. This happened in 13 Boccaccini, Beyond the Essene Hypothesis, 12. 14 Boccaccini builds on the understanding of Enochic Judaism developed by his Doktorvater, Paolo Sacchi. See Paolo Sacchi, Jewish Apocalyptic and Its History, trans. W. Short, JSPSup 20 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997). 15 Boccaccini, Beyond the Essene Hypothesis, 171. 16 Ibid., 146. 17 Ibid., 185. 18 Ibid. 19 Ibid., 74 (cf. 83): “The Enochians completely ignore the Mosaic torah and the Jerusalem temple….”

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consequence of the turmoil brought by the Maccabean crisis, and is best evidenced by the book of Jubilees, a product of the Essene movement that comes out of and after its Enochic predecessors. These Essenes, therefore, were “Enochians,” or if not Enochians, at least their “twin.”20 Slightly later, there would be a further development and schism within Enochic/Essene Judaism: a group of Essenes, led by the “teacher of righteousness,” would split from mainstream Essenism to form the radicalized sect of Essenes of the Qumran community. Mainstream Essenism would continue to exist in parallel with the Qumran sect and even enjoy a short Nachleben after 70 CE, as witnessed by texts such as the Apocalypse of Abraham and 4 Ezra, which Boccaccini considers later developments of Essene ideology.21 But the long-lasting legacy of Enochic/Essene Judaism would be channeled through Christianity, which initially preserved Enochic and Essene documents (and to a certain extent still does so via Ethiopic Orthodox Christianity), and was influenced by Essene ideas in its conception of “original sin, the primeval war between Michael and the devil, the corruption and degeneration of history, and the apocalypse at the end of time,”22 and as we now know from more recent research building on this prior work of Boccaccini’s on Enochic Judaism, there were also Enochic trajectories of messiah traditions running through the gospels23 and Paul.24 Shortly after the publication of Beyond the Essene Hypothesis came Boccaccini’s Roots of Rabbinic Judaism.25 This book deals with the other side of the coin for Boccaccini’s hypothesis: the Zadokite form of Judaism that was opposed by the Enochians. If the roots of Christianity are to be found in Enochic Judaism via the Essene movement, then Rabbinic Judaism can be traced back to Zadokite Judaism through 20 Ibid., 170. 21 Ibid., 189. Thus, Boccaccini’s proposal builds upon and seeks to improve the weaknesses of the Essene hypothesis as it relates to the identity of the Qumran community: “We are urged to go beyond, to build up a more refined Essene hypothesis, one that first of all clarifies the relationship between Qumran and the larger Essene movement. While the evidence shows overwhelmingly that the Qumran community was an Essene community, the terms ‘Essene’ and ‘Qumran’ have too often been taken as if they were identical and interchangeable, with the result of confusing two overlapping yet distinct historical phenomena” (p. 192). 22 Ibid., 191. 23 J. Harold Ellens, The Son of Man in the Gospel of John, New Testament Monographs 28, Stanley Porter, ed. (Sheffield: Phoenix, 2010). Leslie W. Walck, The Son of Man in the Parables of Enoch and in Matthew, Jewish and Christian Texts in Contexts and Related Studies 9, James H. Charlesworth, ed. (London: T.&T. Clark, 2011). 24 James Waddell, The Messiah: A Comparative Study of the Enochic Son of Man and the Pauline Kyrios, Jewish and Christian Texts in Contexts and Related Studies 10, James H. Charlesworth, ed. (London: T.&T. Clark, 2011). 25 Gabriele Boccaccini, Roots of Rabbinic Judaism: An Intellectual History, from Ezekiel to Daniel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002).

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the mediation of the Pharisaic movement.26 In Roots of Rabbinic Judaism, Boccaccini explores this diachronic development of Zadokite Judaism from the period of the Babylonian exile to the Maccabean period, that is, from Ezekiel to Daniel. The introductory chapter to this work provides an insightful analysis of the modern history of research on the origins and formation of Rabbinic Judaism, with important critiques of the works of Jacob Neusner and E. P. Sanders, among others. Boccaccini especially contests Sanders’ notion of “common Judaism” that obscures the division of Second Temple Judaism into different parties. According to Boccaccini, those members claiming to be from the priestly house of Zadok ruled the Jerusalem temple from the early Second Temple period until the Maccabean revolt. These were “the first editors, keepers, and interpreters of the Torah on which the sages would claim to have had exclusive control since its Mosaic inception.”27 The Zadokites presented the reconstruction of the Jerusalem temple after the Babylonian exile “as the triumphant restoration of the pre-exilic order, or, better, of the Sinaitic order.”28 It was in their interest to make this assertion, as they officiated over the temple in Jerusalem. Thus, Zadokite theology emphasized stability and order centered on the temple sacrificial system as well as personal accountability. The Zadokites were only able to impose their hegemony after overcoming opposition from those who had remained in the land of Israel during the Babylonian exile, namely, the Tobiads of Ammon and the Sanballats of Samaria. The Zadokites also had to outlive the last king of the house of David, Zerubabbel, to consolidate their power. The Zadokite priesthood, however, would be later confronted by Enochic Judaism as well as Sapiential Judaism, which both challenged in their respective ways Zadokite covenantal ideals. The Maccabean revolt, furthermore, had no less an effect on Enochic Judaism as it did on Zadokite Judaism. The book of Daniel within Zadokite Judaism, in this regard, functions like a counterpart to the book of Jubilees that offered a sort of compromise between some of the tenets affirmed by Enochic teachings, namely, the idea that history is condemned to inexorable degeneration, while holding onto the fundamentals of covenant and the legitimacy of the temple system as outlined in the Mosaic Torah. Boccaccini’s views on Enochic Judaism have proven to be highly influential. Many have adopted his thesis to various degrees; others have disagreed.29 Issues 26 Ibid., xvi. 27 Ibid., 203. 28 Ibid., 204. 29 For a sense of the reception of Boccaccini’s views on Enochic Judaism, one may consult the various responses in Gabriele Boccaccini, ed., Enoch and Qumran Origins: New Light on a Forgotten Connection (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005).

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debated usually revolve around the relationship between texts and groups: to what extent can one posit the existence of a “community,” “party,” “school,” or “group” (each term to be defined) behind the production, redaction, and transmission of texts; in this case, the presence of a dissident priestly movement behind texts such as The Book of Watchers or Dream Visions? To what extent did the groups that composed the rich amount of Second Temple texts diverge from one another? Could some of the Second Temple texts have been written in the same circle(s)? Such questions also concern how one interprets the different ideas expressed in said texts, particularly, the status of the Mosaic Torah within the Enochic tradition. The silence of 1 Enoch over the Mosaic Torah has been interpreted in various ways, even in positive terms as something that is allegedly assumed by its authors.30 Regardless of the position one takes on these matters, Boccaccini has raised significant questions as they relate to the diversity of Jewish thought and society during the Second Temple period, questions that continue to animate scholarly discussion to this very day. At the very least, Boccaccini’s research calls for caution against assuming the prevalence of the Mosaic Torah during the Second Temple period. This point alone has important ramifications not only for our understanding of ancient Judaism but also for early Christianity— itself a Judaism—not least for appreciating Paul’s position vis-à-vis the Judaism(s) of his time. If E. P. Sanders’ notion of “common Judaism” places Paul at its fringes, as some strange Jew that departed from the alleged mainstream covenantal nomism of his day, Boccaccini’s more diverse conception of Second Temple Judaism allows one to integrate Paul and other early Christian authors and texts back into their original Jewish matrix in ways that make them seem less marginal, radical, or alienated from the various Jewish expressions of their time.31 Boccaccini’s research has, furthermore, carried the study of 1 Enoch and other marginalized works from the Second Temple period to the forefront and center of research on ancient Judaism and early Christianity. It is no longer possible to assume that these texts existed on the fringes of ancient Judaism. Their impact was not confined to the Qumran sect or the puny letter of Jude. Now the so-called Pseudepigraphic literature enjoys an unprecedented position in 30 See Veronika Bachmann, “The Book of the Watchers (1–36): An Anti-Mosaic, Non-Mosaic, or even Pro-Mosaic Writing?” The Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 11 (2011): 2–23, with respect to The Book of Watchers. 31 One can already see the fruits of Boccaccini’s labor in this regard in his “The Three Paths to Salvation of Paul the Jew,” in Paul the Jew: Rereading the Apostle as a Figure of Second Temple Judaism, eds. Gabriele Boccaccini and Carlos A. Segovia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2016), 1–29.

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scholarly research, thanks not only to Boccaccini’s scholarly investigations but also his tireless endeavors in founding and running the Enoch Seminar. As is apparent from his publishing record, Boccaccini has never been a scholar to shy away from grappling with large, pernicious historical problems or to take risks in the promotion of new ways of thinking and opening up new avenues of dialogue. It is in this light that we must understand the creation of what may well be his most enduring contribution to the field of Second Temple Judaism (and beyond!). Frustrated with conventional large academic conferences, which allowed neither the time nor the atmosphere to support open and sustained scholarly dialogue, Boccaccini set out to develop the sort of forum that would do just that. And in 2001 he would realize this vision when the first Enoch Seminar met in Florence at the Villa Corsi Salviati. Boccaccini’s hope for the Enoch Seminar was—and continues to be—to recover both the integrity and the diversity of the intellectual traditions of the Second Temple period by breaking down the artificial barriers that had long divided its study. The Enoch Seminar would encourage collaboration that transcended conventional, isolating disciplinary boundaries, bringing together scholars of the Hebrew Bible, Second Temple Judaism, New Testament, Classical Studies, Rabbinics, Late Antique Christianity, and most recently, Early Islam. The format for the meeting was reflective of and integral to the Enoch Seminar’s driving philosophy. First and foremost, all papers would be circulated in advance, allowing the vast majority of time to be devoted to intensive and thorough discussion. The nature of the locales and accommodations would further foster the ongoing dialogue. All participants would stay at the same site and eat all meals together, Boccaccini knowing that discussions begun during the day would naturally carry over to dinner and into the evening in a more casual environment. If possible, the site itself should be isolated so as to limit external distractions. Thus, we can understand the regular visits to, for example, the Monastero di Camaldoli, a beautiful eleventh-century monastery isolated in the forested Tuscan hills east of Florence and the very place where the Florentine Platonic Academy often met in the fifteenth century. All together the format and setting were designed to create an atmosphere of intense scholarly collaboration and camaraderie at the heart of Second Temple scholarship. Boccaccini’s vision clearly resonated with many scholars who were eager for such a forum. That first group who met in Florence included James Charlesworth, John Collins, Michael Daise, Yaron Eliav, Martha Himmelfarb, George Nickelsburg, Pierluigi Piovanelli, David Suter, Benjamin Wright, and Adela Yarbro Collins from North America; Andreas Bedenbender, Claudio Gianotto, Florentino García Martínez, Klaus Koch, Michael Knibb, Helge Kvanvig, Paolo Sacchi, Loren Stuckenbruck, and Eibert Tigchelaar from Europe; Devorah Dimant, Esther

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Eshel, Hanan Eshel, Ithamar Gruenwald, and Sylvie Honigman from Israel, many of whom not only regularly continue to participate in Enoch Seminar events, but also have contributed to this book. The biennial Enoch Seminars have now met nine times, in Florence (2001), Venice (2003), Camaldoli (2005, 2007, 2013, 2017), Naples (2009), and Milan (2011, 2015). After taking the helm of the first four Seminars, beginning in 2009 Boccaccini offered other scholars the opportunity to design and chair the meetings, the Fifth Enoch Seminar by Andrei Orlov, the Sixth by Matthias Henze, the Seventh by Loren Stuckenbruck, the Eighth by Daniel Boyarin, Lorenzo DiTommaso, and Elliot Wolfson, and the Ninth by William Schniedewind and Jason Zurawski. An aspect crucial to the Enoch Seminar philosophy and format is that the meetings are restricted to university professors and researchers and participation is only by invitation. The closed nature of the meetings ensures an environment where the participants are free to share works in progress and to collaborate on inchoate ideas. Seeing that doctoral students would also benefit from a similar format, Boccaccini instituted the biennial Enoch Graduate Seminars in 2006, which have met at the University of Michigan (2006), Princeton (2008), Pázmány Péter Catholic University, Budapest (2010), Notre Dame (2012), Concordia University/McGill (2014), the University of Texas at Austin (2016), and the University of Lausanne (2018). Another vital component in the success of the Enoch Seminar is collaboration with the local communities where the meetings are hosted. Often public sessions are organized together with local scholars, religious leaders, or politicians. At the Sixth Enoch Seminar in 2011, a session was held at the Catholic University of Milan on “Fine dei tempi: tra paura e speranze” or “End of Times: Between Fear and Hope,” which featured a panel discussion with Enoch Seminar participants and scholars from the university and an introduction by leaders of the Milan Jewish, Christian, and Muslim communities. Of the over 200 people in attendance was Gabriella Nangeroni, whose interest in the work of the Enoch Seminar led to the establishment of the Alessandro Nangeroni International Endowment, named in honor of her late husband, a scholar and journalist who had a profound interest in both ancient history and contemporary interfaith dialogue. Sra. Nangeroni’s generous donation allowed Boccaccini to create the Nangeroni Meetings. While the Nangeroni Meetings would share the same vision and format of the Enoch Seminars, they were designed to be smaller seminars, for 25–40 participants, allowing for more narrowly focused themes or topics that would not be naturally suited to the Enoch Seminars proper. While the Enoch Seminars would continue to be held every other year, the smaller scale of the

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Nangeroni Meetings meant that they could be held every year or multiple times per year. At the time of writing, eight Nangeroni Meetings have taken place and three more are currently in preparation.32 Under the auspices of the Nangeroni Meetings, another group was formed in 2013, the Early Islamic Studies Seminar: International Scholarship on the Qur’ān and Islamic Origins (EISS), with two Nangeroni Meetings organized so far: “Early Islam: The Sectarian Milieu of Late Antiquity?” chaired by Guillaume Dye in 2015 and “New Perspectives and Contexts in the Study of Islamic Origins,” chaired by Dye and Tommaso Tesei in 2017. A third meeting is planned for the summer of 2019. As if all of this were not enough, Boccaccini continues to grow and expand the Enoch Seminar. For example, he created the appropriately named www.4enoch.org in 2009 as an open-source academic Wikipedia for all things related to Second Temple Judaism, Christian origins, and now early Islam. From a team of international contributors, the site features thousands of encyclopedic entries and abstracts of scholarly works along with works of art and fiction. As a continuously updated bibliography and database, 4 Enoch has served as an invaluable tool for researchers, teachers in the classroom, and students just beginning to explore the field. 4 Enoch’s sister site and the online home of the Enoch Seminar, www. enochseminar.org, now serves not only as a source of information for all things related to the organization and the meetings, but also features regularly published book reviews and forum discussions. Beginning with a meeting in Boston in 2017 just prior to the SBL/AAR annual conference Boccaccini has created yet another new series of conferences, the Enoch Colloquia, short two- or three-day seminars before or after large international meetings. From an experiment with a few dozen scholars in Florence to an academic group with hundreds of members, organizing sometimes four or five international meetings a year and serving thousands more online, Boccaccini’s vision for an open and inclusive environment of scholarly dialogue and collaboration has been fully realized. Not that he will stop trying to improve it and make it accessible to more and more people! Even if he had never written a single published word, Gabriele Boccaccini’s legacy would have been cemented thanks to his gift of the Enoch Seminar.

32 For a description of all of the Nangeroni Meetings, see www.enochseminar.org and www. 4enoch.org.

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This Festschrift, Wisdom Poured Out Like Water, has been edited by five of Gabriele Boccaccini’s former graduate students at the University of Michigan. This labor of love is an expression of the affection and gratitude of only a small sampling of his colleagues who have been impacted by Boccaccini’s life, his scholarship, and his vision for international collaboration on Enoch and beyond.

Part I: Enoch and the Roots of Apocalyptic

Luca Arcari

1 Giants or Titans? Remarks on the Greek Versions of 1 Enoch 7.2 and 9.9 Introduction As is well known, from the sexual union between the Watchers and human women the so-called Giants came into the world. In both 4Q201 (4QEna) 1 III 16–22 // 4Q202 (4QEnb) 1 II 20–25b (= 1 En. 7:3ff.), the texts are somewhat mutilated, and the reconstruction of the Aramaic term for the sons of the Watchers is purely hypothetical, based exclusively on a retroversion from the Greek and the Ethiopic texts. In the Aramaic version reconstructed by Milik, the term by which the sons of the Watchers are identified is gbryn,1 more or less corresponding to the locution γίγας μέγας attested in the Greek texts (according to the Codex Panopolitanus [henceforth, G] and Syncellus’s version transmitted in his Chronographia universalis [henceforth, S]).2 According to Nickelsburg, “Greek mythology appears also to have left its imprint at a number of points of 1 Enoch.” Although none of the examples reported by scholars definitively demonstrates this influence, if considered together, they seem to suggest different forms of “contact with material at home in the Greek world.”3 A very instructive case for this analysis, according to Nickelsburg, is the narrative of 1 En. 6–11. Following (and, simultaneously, countering) suggestions by other scholars, Nickelsburg argues for a problematic dependence on Greek tales about Prometheus:

1 Jozef T. Milik, The Books of Enoch. Aramaic Fragments of Qumrân Cave 4 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1976), 166. A further development in the story of the fallen angels is found in fragments from the Book of Giants hailing from Qumran, where the Aramaic term for the sons of the Watchers is clearly attested: in 4Q530 15–16 is mentioned a dream of ‘Ohyah who speaks “in front of the Giants” (cf. Milik, The Books of Enoch, 230, 304–07). In 4Q531 I 1–8, a kind of summary of the events recounted in 1 En. 6–16, the text emphasizes the idea of contamination mentioning the Giants and the Nephilim as if they were two distinct entities (l. 2: gbryn wnpylyn). On the Book of Giants found at Qumran, see also Loren T. Stuckenbruck, The Book of Giants from Qumran: Texts, Translations, and Commentary, TSAJ 63 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), where some of the restorations proposed by Milik are discussed. 2 For the Greek texts of 1 Enoch, see Matthew Black, Apocalypsis Henochi Graece, PVTG 3 (Leiden: Brill, 1970). 3 George W. E. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1. A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch. Chapters 1–36; 81–108, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001), 62. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-002

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The precise relationship between the Enochic Asael material and the Greek Prometheus myth remains problematic. Is it likely that the Jewish author of the Asael myth read and used mythic material from pagan Greek writings or popular oral versions of this material? Could the Greek material itself reflect Semitic versions no longer available to us? This last option has the weakness of positing a stage in the development of the tradition for which we have no definitive evidence. The first and second options have the advantage of using available evidence. Moreover, the Hebrew Scriptures supply many analogies for the Israelite use and transformation of the common Semitic myth. If one dates the creation of the Asael myth to the fourth century B.C.E., before the reforms that led to the revolt and the persecution by Antiochos, there are no clear reasons why Jews would be reticent to use pagan sources from their Greek environment.4

In an essay published some years ago, I have analyzed the account of the fall of the Watchers contained in 1 En. 8:1, as well as the differences between the versions of this narrative contained in both G and S.5 In observing how S generally tries to “normalize” the tale of the primordial fall in light of the Genesis account, I have also underlined that the insertion of the detail about the women who “corrupt” the angels attested in S may imply that his source belongs to an Enochic tradition, written in Greek, that is different from the one attested in G. In my analysis, such an Enochic tradition certainly dates to a later, but nevertheless ancient period, and it doubtlessly precedes S and the chronographers that it refers to. In the analysis published in 2012, I claim that the Greek materials preserved in both S and G derive from two different social and cultural contexts. Such a position implies that every analysis of the so-called Greek parallels in the Enochic accounts should be evaluated as a result of cultural operations connected to the different phases of transmission of the texts in different languages. Although in many cases a choice from among the different texts can be necessary as a critical operation for the reconstruction of an “original” text of the Enochic account, in other cases their transmissions should be judged as ideologically oriented. This is the point that I wish to stress in this chapter.

Giants or Titans? The tale of the union between the angels and the women, in its different versions, is the symbol of the union of two incompatible realities. This is the origin of a hybrid, the so-called Giant, the symbol of a reality that is contaminated 4 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 193. 5 Luca Arcari, “Are Women the aition for the Evil in the World? George Syncellus’ Version of 1 Enoch 8:1 in Light of Hesiod’s Theogony and Works and Days,” Hen 34 (2012): 5–20.

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and impure.6 The imagery of sexual union between two incompatible realities recalls a state of social chaos which subverts the established order. It is not an accident that—beside the angels teaching the women magic techniques and herbal cures—the Giants eat “all the toil of men until men were unable to sustain them” (1 En. 7:3). A further consequence of the subversion of the order of creation is the fact that Asa’el teaches men “to make swords and daggers, and shields and breastplates,” and shows them the way to manufacture “[…] bracelets and ornaments. Then the art of making up the eyes and beautifying the eyelids, and the most precious and choice stones, and all kinds of colored dyes” (8:1). The protology underlying the account of the angelic fall presented in the Book of Watchers certainly does not represent something unique in the circle of ancient protological traditions. The theme of the influences of Near Eastern traditions in Jewish culture was already dear to the religionsgeschichtliche Schule, as evinced for example, in the work of Hermann Gunkel.7 Starting out from a new research perspective which adopts some of the presuppositions which stand behind the aforementioned religionsgeschichtliche Schule, rethinking and reformulating them, recent scholars have devoted their attention to the traditions hailing from the Mesopotamian and Babylonian worlds.8 Yet, what also undoubtedly emerges at a first glance, in my opinion, is the close similarity between the different Greek versions of the account and some elements that have survived in the Greek theogony.9 This emerges especially from the usage of terminology and phraseology well attested in Greek accounts concerning the origins of the status quo. As others have underlined, in many cases the Greek versions of 1 Enoch have not hesitated to make use of terms drawn from Greek protological narratives,

6 On the ideological scheme of the Book of the Watchers, see Paolo Sacchi, Jewish Apocalyptic and Its History, JSPSup 20 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 72–87; Gabriele Boccaccini, Beyond the Essene Hypothesis: The Parting of the Ways between Qumran and Enochic Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998). On the giants see also Matthew J. Goff, “Monstrous Appetites: Giants, Cannibalism, and Insatiable Eating in Enochic Literature,” JAJ 1 (2010): 19–42. 7 Cf. Hermann Gunkel, Schöpfung und Chaos in Urzeit und Endzeit: eine religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung über Gen 1 und Ap Joh 12 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1895), esp. 63–64 (the figure of Behemot in 1 En. 60:7–9), 286–93. 8 Cf. Helge S. Kvanvig, Primeval History: Babylonian, Biblical, and Enochic, JSJSup 149 (Leiden: Brill, 2011); Siam Bhayro, The Shemihazah and Asael Narrative. Introduction, Text, Translation and Commentary, with Reference to Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical Antecedents‬, AOAT 322 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2005). 9 Cf. the study of T. Francis Glasson, Greek Influence in Jewish Eschatology, With Special Reference to the Apocalypses and Pseudepigraphs (London: SPCK, 1961); and further discussion in Kelley Coblentz Bautch, A Study of the Geography of 1 Enoch 17–19. ‘No One Has Seen What I Have Seen’, JSJSup 81 (Leiden: Brill, 2003).

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perhaps making use of the same techniques of mediation applied in the LXX. The term for Watchers, ‘yryn (4Q201 1 i 310) or ‘yry’ (4Q202 1 ii 311) in Aramaic, becomes in Greek οἱ ἄγγελοι υἱοὶ οὐρανοῦ in G and οἱ ἐγρήγοροι in S.12 Whereas in this case G appears closer to Gen 6:1–4 LXX (where, however, the Watchers are described as οἱ υἱοὶ τοῦ θεοῦ), S employs a term less frequently used in classical Greek,13 which succeeds in rendering more faithfully the sense of ‘yryn, a substantive connected with waking/watching (cf. the Hebrew ‘r and the use of the Aramaic in Dan 4:10, 14, 20, 28). The Greek term seems to reinterpret the idea of the regional gods active in the time of Cronus, i.e., beings who have the functions of true divine shepherds, each of which appears so self-sufficient in providing for the needs of his own group that nothing violent can happen: no devouring of each other, no war, no strife (cf. Plato, Pol. 271d5; 271e1–2). As we have seen, the Giants, according to Milik, are presumably identified with the Aramaic gbryn (cf. 4Q202 1 II 2014), a term that refers to the extraordinary strength with which these beings are endowed. G reports a variation between γίγαντες and τιτᾶνες; S, by contrast, is more uniform in its constant use of γίγαντες: 1 En. 7:2 G: Αἱ δὲ ἐν γαστρὶ λαβοῦσαι ἐτέκοσαν γίγαντας μεγάλους ἐκ πηχῶν τρισχιλίων.15 They conceived and bore great Giants of 3000 cubits. 1 En. 9:9 G: Καὶ αἱ γυναῖκες ἐγέννησαν τιτᾶνας, ὑφ' ὧν ὅλη ἡ γῆ ἐπλήσθη αἵματος καὶ ἀδικίας.16 And the women generated Titans, and the whole earth was filled with blood and iniquity. 1 En. 7:1 S: Καὶ ἔτεκον αὐτοῖς γένη τρία· πρῶτον γίγαντας μεγάλους.17 And they bore for them three races. First, the great Giants. 1 En. 9:9 S: Καὶ νῦν ἰδοὺ αἱ θυγατέρες τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἔτεκον ἐξ αὐτῶν υἱοὺς γίγαντας.18 And now look, the daughters of men bore sons from them, Giants.

Syncellus uses the term γίγας also in his introductory summary of the excerptum from 1 Enoch reported in his work: 10 Milik, The Books of Enoch, 150. 11 Milik, The Books of Enoch, 165. 12 Black, Apocalypsis Henochi Graece, 21. 13 But attested in Hellenistic Greek, see Manetho of Alexandria, frg. 2 (Waddell, LCL), Eustathius of Thessalonica, Comm. Hom. Il. 3.238.10 (van der Valk) and, consequently, also in the Greek of LXX: e.g., see Lam 4:14. 14 Milik, The Books of Enoch, 166. 15 Black, Apocalypsis Henochi Graece, 22. 16 Black, Apocalypsis Henochi Graece, 24. 17 Black, Apocalypsis Henochi Graece, 22. 18 Black, Apocalypsis Henochi Graece, 24.

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Σὴθ ἡγεμόνευσε μετὰ τὸν Ἀδὰμ τῶν τηνικαῦτα ἀνθρώπων. οἱ δὲ ἐκ γένους αὐτοῦ διακόσιοι ἐγρήγοροι τῷ ͵α τῆς κοσμογονίας ἔτει, τεσσαρακοστοῦ ὄντος τοῦ Ἰάρεδ, αὐτοῦ δὲ τοῦ Σὴθ ψοʹ, πλανηθέντες κατέβησαν, καὶ ἔλαβον ἑαυτοῖς γυναῖκας ἐκ τῶν θυγατέρων τῶν ἀνθρώπων, καὶ ἐγέννησαν τοὺς γίγαντας τοὺς ὀνομαστούς, ὥς φησιν ἡ γραφή. (Chron. univ. 11.7–11 [Mosshammer]) After Adam, Seth ruled over the people of that time. In AM 1000, in Jared’s 40th year, the 770th year of Set himself, 200 Watchers of his line went astray and went down and took for themselves wives from the daughters of men, and begot Giants, “men of renown,” as scripture states.19

Among other terms, classical Greek includes precisely the words γίγαντες and τιτᾶνες (or τιτῆνες) to indicate some of the actors of the primordial happenings.20 The first alludes to those beings born from the drops of blood trickling out of the wound of Uranus who had been wounded by Cronus (cf. Theog. 185–186), represented by Hesiod as “powerful and great Giants, splendid in arms, with long spears in their hands” (κρατερὰς μεγάλους τε Γίγαντας, / τεύχεσι λαμπομένους, δολίχ' ἔγχεα χερσὶν ἔχοντας). The second refers, more generally, to ancestral gods, those of the second generation (cf. Theog. 424, Τιτῆσι μέτα προτέροισι θεοῖσιν, 648 [and 668]: Τιτῆνές τε θεοὶ καὶ ὅσοι Κρόνου ἐκγενόμεσθα). Hesiod also provides us with a kind of etymology of the term τιτῆνες/τιτᾶνες. On the basis of its assonance with the verb “to stretch,” the poet specifies that Uranus called his sons “Titans” because, stretching out their arms with arrogance, they committed huge wrongs, for which they had paid the penalty (cf. Theog. 207–210). While, at least in the Theogony, the Giants are a relatively clear and well-defined category, the Titans appear several times in the poem as those who are contrary to the order that Zeus is trying laboriously to establish (cf. Theog. 393, 630–631, 648, 650, 663, 668). Moreover, one of the descendants of the titans is Prometheus, son of Japetus (cf. Theog. 507–512), who was enchained, like the Titans, as a punishment for not having acknowledged the power of Zeus (cf. Theog. 559–560). The Greek version of the Book of Watchers contained in G, therefore, employs the terms γίγαντες and τιτᾶνες without distinction to indicate the sons of the Watchers. This is in contrast with the greater uniformity attested in S. Whereas in Hesiod a distinction between the Giants and the Titans is attested, the alternating

19 Translation is from The Chronography of George Synkellos. A Byzantine Chronicle of Universal History from the Creation, Translated with Introduction and Notes by William Adler, Paul Tuffin (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 15. 20 On the titans see also the analysis by Jan Bremmer, “Greek Fallen Angels: Kronos and the Titans,” in idem, Greek Religion and Culture, the Bible and the Ancient Near East, JSRC 8 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 73–99.

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terminology of G seems to presuppose an association between these groups of divinities, which was well known in the Hellenistic-Roman period in virtue of their belonging to the sphere of cosmogonic divine deeds (cf. Plutarch, Is. Os. 360e721). S, by contrast, is more adherent to the account in Gen 6:1–4 as attested in LXX,22 the influence of which has not failed to leave traces also in the terminological uniformity with which Philo—who is usually prone to employ Greek philosophical and cultic terminology—has treated the protological events of Gen 6:1–4 (cf. Philo, Gig. 58 and his uniformity in using the term γίγαντες).23

Variations as mirrors of specific ideological and social horizons As many scholars have observed in the last decades, G and S are not merely products of scribes and/or authors who engaged in the task of providing word-to-word correspondences from Aramaic and/or previous Enochic traditions. Greek versions preserved in both G and S often show omissions and corruptions, as well as stylistic modifications and cultural adaptations. Hence, tendencies of these

21 It is well known that the term “Titans,” already in the fifth century B.C.E., was also applied to the “Giants” (see the references to the iconography of the Panathenaic peplos in Euripides, Hec. 472 and Iph. taur. 224), and from this overlap a well-consolidated association attested in Hellenistic-Roman period stems, i.e., Γιγαντικὰ καὶ Τιτανικὰ, as it emerges from Plutarch’s De Iside et Osiride. Despite Plutarch’s intention of comparing the Egyptian myths with the Greek ones, setting out a true interpretatio graeca of the Egyptian religion, the association Γιγαντικὰ καὶ Τιτανικὰ indicates that the tradition on which the philosopher leans upon for his analysis coincides with a particular relecture of the ancient Greek theogonies, which he shared, at least in part, with his period. On the myth recounted by Plutarch in De Iside et Osiride, cf. Philippe Borgeaud and Youri Volokhine, “La formation de la légende de Serapis: un approche transculturelle,” AR 2.1 (2000): 37–76. For the association Γιγαντικὰ καὶ Τιτανικὰ, see also Philo of Byblos, FGH 790 F 2, Epicharmus, frg. 135 PCG, Xenocrates, 21 B1 21–22 DK, and Eusebius of Caesarea, Praep. ev. 5.1.9. 22 Cf. Gen 6:4 LXX, where the Greek γίγαντες seems to translate the Hebrew nĕpīlîm. S preserves a portion of 1 Enoch in Greek, not attested in Aramaic or in Ethiopic, in which vaguely identified “sons of the giants” seem to be indicated by the transliterated Hebrew term nĕpīlîm (1 En. 7.2 S = Black, Apocalypsis Henochi Graece, 22, οἱ δὲ γίγαντες † ἐτέκνωσαν Ναφηλείμ καὶ τοῖς Ναφηλεὶμ † ἐγεννήθησαν Ἐλιούδ, “and the giants † begat Nafeleim and to the Nafeleim were † born the Elioud”). 23 Cf. Peder Borgen, Philo of Alexandria: An Exegete for His Time, NovTSup 86 (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 105–12. The term γίγαντες is quite often used in other texts of the LXX: cf. 1 Chr 20:8, Jdt 16:6, Job 26:5, Isa 13:3, 14:9, Bar 3:26, Ezek 32:21, 3 Macc. 2:4.

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testimonies must also be considered in any discussion of textual criticism, as, among others, Larson, Nickelsburg, and Coblentz Bautch seem to do.24 My approach, though, is quite different. The variations attested in the multiform Enochic traditions bring to the fore the varied and multiform nature of the transmission of Enochic material in Greek. If G seems to be a typical product of a late-antique Egyptian private or domestic context,25 S represents an elitist attempt to normalize the tale of the fall of the Watchers through eliminating—or perfecting under a theological profile—the most difficult passages perceived as too invasive. Some examples recalled by Adler appear as indicative: for the passage more or less coinciding with 1 En. 10:7 G, S uses the term ἐγρήγοροι to define the Watchers, a less compromising term than the one used in G, ἄγγελοι.26 For 1 En. 15:9, when the evil spirits that can come out of Giants are described, S gives the following explanation διότι ἀπὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἐγένοντο, which differs from G, διότι ἀπὸ τῶν ἀνωτέρων ἐγένοντο.27 The reading attested in S is liable to be interpreted in naturalistic terms. However, the most prominent example is in 1 En. 7:5,28 where S refers to the three races (Giants, Nephilim, and Elioud) that are derived from the union between the Watchers and the women. While the other evidence reports a more “mythicized” tale, which describes the impiety of the giants and their enormous stature, the fact that S contains some grammatical ambiguities suggests that it may represent an 24 Cf. Erik W. Larson, The Translation of Enoch from Aramaic into Greek (PhD diss., New York University, 1995); idem, “The Relation between the Greek and Aramaic Texts of Enoch,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Fifty Years after Their Discovery. Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress (July 20– 25, 1997), eds. L. Schiffman, E. Tov, and J. C. VanderKam (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2000), 434–44; Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 18–20; Coblentz Bautch, The Geography, 34–40; eadem, “What Becomes of the Angels’ ‘Wives’? A Text-Critical Study of 1 Enoch 19:2,” JBL 125.4 (2006): 766–80; and eadem, “Decoration, Destruction and Debauchery: Reflections on 1 Enoch 8 in Light of 4QEnb,” DSD 15 (2008): 79–95. 25 Some scholars have argued that G was found in the grave of a Coptic monk. Larson favors a fourth- or fifth-century date, especially on the basis of palaeographical comparison. See Larson, “The Relation between the Greek and Aramaic Texts,” 437. Milik, The Books of Enoch, 70 and Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 12, date G at the end of the fifth or sixth century. The widely accepted view is that the Greek version of 1 Enoch is a translation from Aramaic (cf. Larson, “Relation between the Greek and Aramaic Texts of Enoch,” 439). This does not preclude, however, the hypothesis that G may be a copy of a previously translated Greek text (see Nickelsburg, 1 En. 1, 18). The monastic provenance of G is countered by Peter Van Minnen, “The Greek Apocalypse of Peter,” in The Apocalypse of Peter, eds. J. Bremmer, and I. Czachesz, SECA 7 (Leuven: Peeters, 2003), esp. 17–19. An intriguing approach is that carried out by Daniel C. Olson, “From the Alchemist’s Library? Zosimos of Panopolis and Codex Panopolitanus,” Hen 35 (2015): 135–53; the author underlines that glosses in G may plausibly be traced to the alchemist Zosimos of Panopolis or to his students. 26 Cf. Black, Apokalypsis Henochi Graece, 25. 27 Cf. Black, Apokalypsis Henochi Graece, 30. 28 Cf. Black, Apokalypsis Henochi Graece, 22.

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emended or normalized text. Concerning 1 En. 7:2 and 9:9, the variations attested in both Greek versions evoke two different ideological and social horizons: if the alternating interplay (γίγαντες or τιτᾶνες) attested in G can be explained on the basis of the stratified and multifaceted social and religious context of late-antique Egyptian private and/or household environments, the “normalized” version of S (γίγαντες vs. τιτᾶνες), clearly based on the terminology attested in LXX as well as on the differentiation remarked in Hesiod’s protological tale, seems to refer to a book-centered elitist context, i.e., the same Byzantine context in which George assumes the role of synkellos (Syncellus, lit. “cell-mate”) of the Patriarch Tarasius (730–806). The overlapping terminology of G appears strictly connected to the late antique idea that stories about the Giants and the Titans, as well as Greek narratives on the Gods as a whole, are stories about the demons. In his Praeparatio evangelica, Eusebius of Caesarea, starting from some passages contained in Plutarch’s De defectu oraculorum (10, 12, and 16 [414, 416c–417b]), recalls the philosopher’s interpretation of the prophetic and oracular shrines among heathens as the abodes of evil demons: ἔτι δὲ μᾶλλον τοῦτον πιστοῦται τὸν λόγον ὁ Πλούταρχος ἐν οἷς φησι τὰς μυθικὰς ὡς περὶ θεῶν διηγήσεις λόγους εἶναί τινας περὶ δαιμόνων τά τε παρ' Ἕλλησιν ᾀδόμενα γιγαντικά τινα καὶ Τιτανικὰ δαιμονικὰ εἶναι διηγήματα, ὡς καινοτέραν ὑποβάλλειν διάνοιαν. (Eusebius of Caesarea, Praep. ev. 5.4.8.4 [Mras, GCS]) And this argument is still further confirmed by Plutarch, in the passage where he says that the mythical narratives told concerning gods are certain tales about daemons, and the deeds of Giants and Titans celebrated in songs among the Greeks are also stories about daemons, intended to suggest a new phase of thought.

Eusebius also quotes a passage from Plutarch’s De Iside et Osiride (25 [360d]) in which the philosopher interprets the events concerning the Giants and the Titans as sufferings of certain mighty demons whom the Greek theologians and philosophers considered to be stronger than men, and far superior in power to human nature: τὰ γὰρ γιγαντικὰ καὶ Τιτανικὰ παρ' Ἕλλησιν ᾀδόμενα καὶ πολλαί τινες ἄθεσμοι πράξεις καὶ Πυθῶνος ἀντιτάξεις πρὸς Ἀπόλλωνα φυγαί τε Διονύσου καὶ πλάναι Δήμητρος οὐδὲν ἀπολείπουσι τῶν Ὀσιριακῶν καὶ Τυφωνικῶν, ὧν παρὰ πᾶσιν ἀνέδην ἔξεστι μυθολογουμένων ἀκούειν· ὅσα τε μυστικοῖς ἱεροῖς παρακαλυπτόμενα τελεταῖς ἄρρητα διασῴζεται καὶ ἀθέατα, πρὸς τοὺς θεοὺς ὅμοιον ἔχει λόγον. (Praep. ev. 5.5.1.9 [Mras, GCS]) Thus the deeds of the Giants and Titans celebrated in songs among the Greeks, and many unholy practices of Cronus, and the contests of Python with Apollo, and the banishments of Dionysos, and the wanderings of Demeter, fall nothing short of the acts of Osiris and Typhon, which one may hear everywhere, made the subject of licentious fables. Also the things which, being veiled in mystic rites and initiations, are kept secret and out of sight, have a similar relation to the gods.

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In order to explain the normalization based on the Greek narrative of Genesis attested in S, it is possible that such a uniformity aimed at taking sides in the ideological debates inevitably connected with the association between the sons of the Watchers and the τιτᾶνες. In many interpretative traditions concerning the protological Greek tales, the Hesiodic τιτᾶνες were the object of a Euhemeristic interpretation: Thallus, the author of the chronographic work titled Ἱστορίαι, applied a Euhemeristic interpretation to the struggles of Belus, Cronus, and the Titans against Zeus, considering them all to be humans, and this author was consciously cited by Christian authors, most probably on account of their propensity toward Euhemerism.29 In this regard, as noticed by Lactantius,30 Euhemerus’s account of the conflict between the Titans and Cronus, as well as his Titanomachy, was similar to the accounts found in the Sibylline Oracles (3.110–154), where the Sibyl states that Cronus, Titan, and Japetus lived in the tenth generation after the deluge and only after the death of Uranus did the conflict between Cronus and Titan, as well as the first war between humans, grow upon the earth. S starts from a “key lexeme”31 that is attested in the Greek version of Gen 6:1–4 in order to describe one of the various characters in the Enochic drama, the “Nephilim,” the offspring of the angels’ union with women, who possess extraordinary powers and are called Giants, trying to define, in a distinctive way, traits and actions that characterize the Giants and the theme of the moral decline of humanity. This is a very seminal aspect of the tales concerning “fallen” Watchers which eventually develop in characteristic ways in Christian demonology.32

29 FGH II D 835. Latin apologists referred to Thallus when they wished to state that Saturn was a human being: FGH 256 F 4a–c ap. Tertullian, Apol. 10; Lactantius, Div. inst. 1.13.8; Minucius Felix, Oct. 23.9 (= 21.4). In Tertullian, Ad nat. 2.12, he is called “Tacitus” but Peter L. Schmidt, “Zu den Quellen der römischen Mythistorie,” StPatr 19 (1989): 100, n. 3, assumes that “der Name Thallos in der Überlieferung ausgefallen ist.” For a complete assessment on Thallus and Euhemeristic traditions in antiquity, see Marek Winiarczyk, The “Sacred History” of Euhemerus of Messene, Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 312 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2013). 30 Div. inst. 1.14.8. 31 On the “key lexemes” in the narratives about the fallen angels, see Chris Seeman, “The Watchers Traditions and Gen 6:1–4 (MT and LXX),” in The Watchers in Jewish and Christian Traditions, eds. A. Kim Harkins, K. Coblentz Bautch, and J. C. Endres (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2014), 25–38. 32 On this aspect, see Kevin Sullivan, “The Watchers Traditions in 1 Enoch 6–16: The Fall of Angels and the Rise of Daemons,” in The Watchers in Jewish and Christian Traditions, 91–105.

Daniel Assefa

2 The Identity of the Son of Man in the Traditional Ethiopian Commentaries of 1 Enoch Introduction The identification of the “Son of Man”1 with Enoch in 1 En. 71:14 is puzzling.2 Without denying that the rest of the Book of Parables (1 En. 37–71) stands in tension with 1 En. 71:14, some scholars sustain an overarching coherence that culminates in the “apotheosis” of Enoch.3 Other scholars propose, as an explanation for the difficulties, a diachronic approach: 1 En. 37–69 would be the original text of the Book of the Parables to which two chapters were added at a later stage.4 As for the traditional

1  For the various meanings of the expression “Son of Man” in the sacred scriptures, see Sabino Chialà, “The Son of Man: The Evolution of an Expression,” in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man: Revisiting the Book of Parables, ed. Gabriele Boccaccini (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 153–78. The meaning of this expression has been debated especially since the second half of the twentieth century and continues to be contested. See the further works in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man; Geza Vermes, “The Son of Man Debate Revisited,” in Parables of Enoch: A Paradigm Shift, eds. Darrell Bock and James H. Charlesworth, Jewish and Christian Texts 11 (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2013), 3–17. 2  Why is it that Enoch does not recognize the heavenly figure and asks about him if that figure is Enoch himself? Why is it that the heavenly “Son of Man” is pre-existent if he will turn out to be Enoch? 1 En. 71:14 affirms that Enoch is born for righteousness. Now, if the messianic Son of Man is preexistent, does that not imply that he is not born? Nothing was in fact said about the birth of the Son of Man throughout the Book of Parables. Besides, Enoch is not so much presented as an eschatological judge in other sections of 1 Enoch. For a discussion of some of these questions, see Helge Kvanvig, “The Son of Man in the Parables of Enoch,” in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man, 179–215. 1 En. 71:14 has also been conceived as a Jewish insertion in reaction to Christian claims about the identity of the Son of Man, by affirming that Enoch and not Jesus is the Son of Man. See John J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination: An Introduction to Jewish Literature, 2d ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 191. 3  Vanderkam, “Righteous One, Messiah, Chosen One, and Son of Man in 1 Enoch 37–71,” in The Messiah: Developments in Earliest Judaism and Christianity, ed. James H. Charlesworth (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 176–86. 4  See Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination, 190–91. However, Sabino Chialà, Libro delle parable di Enoc (Brescia: Paideia, 1997), 281–85, prefers to take only chapter 71 as a later addition because of its different vocabulary and the incoherence it creates if one considers it as a unit together with chapter 70. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-003

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Ethiopian Commentaries,5 the heavenly messianic figure, on the one hand, and Enoch, on the other, always remain separate. The Christian context may, of course, account for the distinction held by these commentaries. Be that as it may, some questions remain open. How do these commentaries understand the fact that Enoch is called “Son of Man?” How do they explain the expression “Son of Man” in 1 En. 71:14, after having applied it to Christ throughout the whole Book of Parables? Would they propose the same usage as one finds in the book of Ezekiel? Would that also imply that the commentaries deny a transformation of Enoch? If not, is it possible to consider a transformation of Enoch and at the same time keep a distinction between the messiah figure and Enoch? As I deal with these questions, I will show that some traditional Ethiopian commentaries offer an interesting interpretation of 1 En. 71:14.

The Son of Man The “Son of Man,” “that Son of Man,” or “a Son of Man” The debate on the relationship between the messiah Son of Man and Enoch depends partly on the translation of 1 En. 71:14 and, especially, on the grammatical function one gives to the term wə’ətu.6 In fact, the word wə’ətu in Ge’ez may be either a personal pronoun (he), or a demonstrative adjective (this, that), or an indicator of a definite article or a copula. Accordingly, one may read “you are the Son of Man,”7 “you are that Son of Man,”8 or “You are a Son of Man.”9 5  Two manuscripts and a printed version are consulted for this study. The Andemta commentary of D’abbadie (161) (ACd), The Andemta commentary Cerulli 110 (ACc), the printed commentary (ACp). 6  The difficulty of translation could have been solved or avoided had the text been extant in Aramaic or Greek. Among other things, it is not clear whether the three different Ethiopic expressions are accurately translated by the same term “Son of Man.” Both Koch and Kvanvig want to take the question seriously and think that behind these expressions are different Aramaic terms. Kvanvig, “The Son of Man in the Parables of Enoch,” 193–95; Klaus Koch, “Questions regarding the So-Called Son of Man in the Parables of Enoch: A Response to Sabino Chialà and Helge Kvanvig,” in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man, 228–37 (233–37). 7  August Dillmann, Das Buch Henoch. Überstezt und erklärt (Leipzig: Vogel, 1853), 41; Chialà, Libro delle parable di Enoc, 137; François Martin, Le livre d’Hénoch: Documents pour l’étude de la Bible, traduit sur le texte éthiopien (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1906), 161; Erik Konstans Teodor Sjöberg, Der Menschensohn im Äthiopischen Henochbuch (Lund: C. W. K. Gleerup, 1946) 149; Michael A. Knibb, The Ethiopic Book of Enoch (Oxford: Clarendon: 1978), 166. 8  George W. E. Nickelsburg and James C. VanderKam, 1 Enoch 2: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 37–82, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2011), 321, 328. 9  ACp, 154; Daniel C. Olson, “Enoch and the Son of Man in the Epilogue of the Parables,” JSP 18 (1998): 27–38 (36); John J. Collins, “Enoch and the son of Man: a response to Sabino Chialà and

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The Son of Man as Christ According to the traditional Ethiopian commentaries, the messiah Son of Man is Christ, the Son of God, called also “the Son” (wald). The expression “Son of Man,” far from being attributed to a mere human being, is read through the lens of a Christian and Trinitarian perspective. In these cases, the technical term in Amharic wald is in fact used for the Second Person of the Holy Trinity. One example for this is chapter 45, where the day of the last judgment with the throne of glory is reminiscent of Matthew 25. Accordingly, the parable says that God will reveal the “Son” (wald) through authority, in conformity with New Testament eschatology. Similarly, in 1 En. 48: 10, denial of the Lord of Spirits and of the messiah is understood as denial of the Lord and of the Son who is anointed and made king. In 1 En. 46:1, while the Son of Man is understood to refer to Christ, his grace or graciousness compared with the one of holy angels evokes the apostles in the interpretation. From the Son of Man and the holy angels, one moves to Christ and the apostles. In addition, the proximity between the “Head of Days” and the “Son of Man” in 1 En. 46:2 is taken as a sign of the equality of the two figures. In 1 En. 69:26 (cf. 48:3), the name of the Son of Man becomes in traditional Ethiopian commentaries the name of the Son, that is, of Christ. The exaltation of the name becomes the proclamation of Christ, carried out primarily by the apostles.

More Christological interpretations In the traditional Ethiopian commentaries, “Son of Man” is not the only expression that is offered a Christological interpretation. This is also true of other expressions like the “righteous one” or “the chosen one.” Thus, in 1 En. 38:2, the righteous one who is revealed before the righteous is Christ (cf. An Printed, 71).10 In 1 En. 40:5 the “chosen one” is presented as Christ in the printed commentary (ACp 76) or as the “Son” in the sense of the Second Person of the Holy Trinity, in whom the chosen ones would believe (ACd 69).

Helge Kvanvig,” in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man, 216–27 (221ff.). Robert H. Charles, The Book of Enoch or 1 Enoch: Translated from the Editor’s Ethiopic Text and Edited with the Introduction Notes and Indexes of the First Edition Wholly Recast Enlarged and Rewritten Together with a Reprint from the Editor’s Text of the Greek fragments (Oxford: Clarendon. 1912), 145, proposes quite a different translation: “This is the Son of Man.” 10  Nickelsburg, 1 En. 2, 99, explains the righteous one as the agent of God’s intervention, a “heavenly executor.” God sends the righteous one in order to execute righteous judgment.

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In 1 En. 51:3, the “chosen one” is identified with Christ and his sitting on his throne is understood as the glorious manifestation of the “Son” or of Christ. Here the Lord of the Spirits, sometimes translated as the Lord of the Angels, is presented as “God the Father.” In other words, the verse describes the Father giving lordship to the Son or to Christ. The sitting of the “Chosen one” on the throne is also interpreted as the glorious manifestation of the Son (Christ). In 1 En. 51:5, the rising of “the chosen one” for judgment is understood as the rising of the Son or Christ with a probable allusion to the resurrection for we have the same verb as the one used for the resurrection (tanastwālənā from tanasā). Similarly, in 1 En. 53:6, the “Righteous One” or the “Chosen One” is Christ, the elected One who will be revealed. In 1 En. 58:3, the association of the righteous with the sun, on the one hand, and of the chosen with everlasting life, on the other, is given a Christological interpretation. The light enjoyed by the righteous is identified with the light found in Christ (ACp, 109).

The nature of the interpretation How does one explain such identifications with Christ? It must be noted that we are not dealing with patristic typological interpretation. True, there are cases where the Ethiopian commentaries make of Adam, Noah, Isaac, or Ezekiel types of Christ. However, in the case of the Son of Man, we are dealing with literal references to Christ and not with a prefiguration of Christ.

The Transformation of Enoch Enoch’s experience as described in 1 Enoch is in many respects unique. In 1 En. 14:21, Enoch enters the heavenly house of God and even proceeds to a fiery room where no angel could go. God calls him “Righteous and Scribe of Righteousness” (1 En. 15:1). Besides this extraordinary address and “privilege,” God affirms that he assumed the role of angels by interceding, whereas the latter are expected to intercede for human beings (1 En. 15:2). In 1 En. 19:3, Enoch declares that “no one has seen what he has seen.” The special place of Enoch is spelled out in different sections of 1 Enoch. The question now is whether this special place is matched by the special status of the Son of Man in the Book of Parables. If the two figures become identical at the end of the Book of Parables, it implies that Enoch underwent a transformation. The motif of metamorphosis is well displayed in the Animal Apocalypse where a number of characters are changed either provisionally or permanently. Noah

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and Moses, who are described as a white bull and a sheep, are transformed into human beings that symbolize angels. The change happens to Noah before making the ark (1 En. 89:1), while Moses has the similar experience when he builds a tabernacle or a house in the desert (1 En. 89:36). Divine intimacy and mission may explain the transformation. Noah’s action will save the rest of humanity while Moses had to prepare a dwelling place for the presence of God amidst his people. Interestingly enough, two Ethiopian commentaries (ACd and ACp) interpret the address of the archangel who calls Enoch Son of Man exactly like the cases of Noah and Moses.11 Accordingly, to say that Enoch is Son of Man means that Enoch becomes intelligent, knowledgeable, or wise. The case of Cerulli 110 (fol. 52) differs.12 Like the two other Ethiopian commentaries, it does not identify the Son of Man with Enoch. Yet it does not seem to grant any special status to Enoch. It only affirms that Enoch is a human being by mentioning the name of his father. Interpreting the phrase “you are a (the) Son of Man” with “you are the Son of Jared” does not add much information for the reader. It may also be unexpected given the dynamic of the narrative.

Capable of knowing When the text attributes the expression “Son of Man” to the visionary Enoch, the commentary in 1 En. 60 (ACp, 114) associates it with Enoch in as much as he is the son of a human being, a being that can know, that can understand: Bāla A ‘ǝmǝro (who has knowledge). This expression in the Animal Apocalypse, as mentioned above, means that someone is close to God or receives a revelation and a mission from God. However, the Ethiopian commentaries ascribe the “capacity of knowing” not only to Enoch, to Noah, and to Moses but also to the people of Israel when they are faithful, turn to the God of Israel, and follow the right path. This is exemplified by the sheep that have their eyes open (e.g., 1 En. 89: 28; 89:41; 90:6). To have open eyes means to possess knowledge (A‘ǝmǝro) and be close to the righteous elect as well as patriarchs like Enoch, Noah, and Moses. It is good to recall that Enoch’s eyes are open in 1 En. 1:2. When one moves from the Book of Watchers to the Book of Parables, the kings and the mighty are 11  In the Animal Apocalypse, many others besides Noah and Moses are said to become intelligent. One difference stands out, however. In the cases of Noah and Moses, there is no mention of a return to God. In the other cases, there is a shift from blindness to having eyes opened. To become intelligent is thus more like a conversion. 12  Fol. 26–52 in E. Cerulli, “The Text of Enoch with an Amharic Commentary,” in Inventario dei Manuscritti cerulli Etiopici.Cerulli, ed. O. Raineri (Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 2004), 83.

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summoned to open their eyes (1 En. 62:1). In the Epistles, the baby Noah opens his beautiful eyes and fills the entire house with light (1 En. 106:2). In one case, however, opening eyes may have a negative connotation. Concerning Adam and Eve who have their eyes open after having eaten the forbidden fruit, the Ethiopian commentaries associate the “opening of the eyes” with bad wisdom. Overall then, the Ethiopian commentaries seem to appreciate a connection between knowing the divine and seeing. Moreover, this emphasis does not seem to be limited to 1 Enoch. It concerns a larger context, including the Ethiopian commentary of Genesis where to be human in the positive sense is associated with the capacity of knowing. Thus, when God breathed in the nostrils of Adam whom he molded from mud, it is said that Adam became intelligent (Bāla A‘ǝmǝro).13

The Son of Man and Enoch Two Meanings or Two Persons Called “Son of Man”? Although the expression “Son of Man” is used in different ways in the Scriptures, one may not expect for two different usages to appear in a same text like the Book of the Parables unless the immediate context demands it. Together with the question of meaning one should also consider the issue of reference. Would it be possible to understand the appellation of Enoch as son of Man in 1 En. 71:14 as not necessarily implying that Enoch is the heavenly figure who sits on the throne to judge? That the expression can refer to distinct persons within the same text may be shown from 1 En. 60:10 where Enoch is called “Son of Man” and where there is no possibility whatsoever of confusion or identification with the heavenly Son of God: “And he said to me, ‘Son of Man, you here desire to know what is secret.’”

Union and separation Is it possible that we have two separate persons even if Enoch is called “Son of Man”? Could it be that Enoch, through the virtues that he received, becomes like the heavenly messianic figure? Enoch imitates the heavenly Son of Man. This

13  Anonymous, Traditional Ethiopian Commentary on Genesis and Exodus (Addis Ababa: Tensa’e, 2007), 22.

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does not necessarily imply that Enoch loses his identity or is confused with the heavenly Son of Man. In this case, “that Son of Man” may be read metaphorically.

Two different figures Perhaps, Enoch is not identified with Christ not only because of the Christian reading of 1 Enoch but also because of the inner logic of the text and its larger context. For instance, Enoch is not given the role of eschatological judgment in the other sections of 1 Enoch. Neither in the Book of Watchers nor in the Animal Apocalypse does he assume the role of judgment. Even if one supposes that Enoch takes this role when he is called Son of Man in the Book of Parables, this does not remove the incongruence raised in relation to other sections of 1 Enoch. In other words, for the traditional Ethiopian commentaries, Enoch’s appellation as “son of man” implies that, by contemplating the mysteries of heaven, he becomes like Adam, the human being who received the breath of God (Gen 2) or like the characters of the Animal Apocalypse, that is, the patriarchs of the Old Testament, especially Noah and Moses, but also the Israelites who opened their eyes by being faithful to the law of God. According to Ethiopian commentaries and in 1 Enoch itself, Enoch is not understood as an eschatological agent that was preexistent and sits on the throne of glory to judge. Enoch in fact ascends by being lifted up by God, but nowhere is he given the role of a judge. Unlike the Son of Man or the eschatological judge, Enoch is made to learn and discover the other world. On the other hand, it is not clear in the Book of Parables whether the Son of Man needs to learn anything. The Son of Man asks no question whatsoever, neither to angels nor the Lord of Spirits. It is difficult to ignore the obstacles for identifying Enoch with the Heavenly “Son of Man.”14 While Enoch discovers secrets throughout 1 Enoch, the Son of Man reveals secrets (1 En. 46:3). If one admits that the two figures become one at the end of Book of Parables, the declaration made by the angel comes as a surprise or a secret hidden to Enoch until the last moment. The distinction between Enoch and the heavenly Son of Man, mentioned, for instance, in 1 En. 48:2 and 1 En. 46:2–4, is clear. Thus, the dialogue between Enoch and the angel who is requested to explain “who that Son of Man is,” “from where he comes,” and “why he goes with the Head of Days” remains noteworthy, if not strange. 14  Some major obstacles for the identification are discussed by Kvanvig, “The Son of Man in the Parables of Enoch,” 179–215. See the responses to the arguments of Kvanvig in Collins, “Enoch and the Son of Man: A Response to Sabino Chialà and Helge Kvanvig,” 221–27 and Koch, “Questions regarding the So-Called Son of Man in the Parables of Enoch: A Response to Sabino Chilà and Helge Kvanvig,” 233–37.

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Conclusion According to the Ethiopian commentaries of 1 Enoch, the Messiah “Son of Man” is identified with Christ. This identification reflects a Christian reading. Both the Messiah Son of Man and Christ hold a central place in eschatological judgment. On the other hand, we have seen that the Ethiopian commentaries do not identify the Messiah Son of Man with Enoch. They take wə’ətu as a copula and affirm that Enoch is a Son of Man in 1 En. 71:14. He is neither “that” Son of Man described in several places in the Book of Parables nor “the” Son of Man in terms of a unique figure with a special role for eschatological judgment. However, one may also notice some nuances in the interpretation of 1 En. 71:14 within the Ethiopian tradition. For Cerulli 110 (ACc), the angel that addresses Enoch simply tells Enoch that he is Son of Jared. According to the older manuscript D’abbadie 161 (ACd) and the printed commentary (ACp), Enoch undergoes a change. He knows more, he is enlightened, a righteous person, with a good relationship with God, capable of knowing the mysteries of God. A Son of Man is a person that responds properly to its human vocation. In this regard, Enoch is not presented as the only person enjoying this attribute. He is rather like Israel that opens its eyes, Moses who makes the tabernacle, and Noah who builds the Ark in the Animal Apocalypse (1 En. 71:14). Seeing that the Book of Parables has been read in a Christian context, it could be worthwhile to pursue further studies that explore intertextual interpretations from other Ethiopian New Testament commentaries so as to gain a better appreciation of close readings of 1 Enoch in the Ethiopian Christian tradition. D’abbadie 161 (ACd) and the printed commentary (ACp) adopt a holistic approach that integrates the various situations and activities of Enoch and other righteous figures narrated in the different sections of 1 Enoch. The relationship between God and the righteous is also interpreted in the light of this integral outlook, which goes beyond one biblical text.

James R. Davila

3 The 94 Books of Ezra and the Angelic Revelations of John Dee The well-known passage in 4 Ezra 14:19–48 tells us that before his ascent to heaven Ezra asked God for inspiration from the Holy Spirit to rewrite the lost law of God so that people would be able to follow it. God ordered Ezra to set aside 40 days, prepare writing tablets, and recruit five named scribes, and he promised Ezra to enlighten his heart with the lamp of understanding until the writing was finished, after which some of the revelations should be made public and others divulged only to the wise (vv. 19–26). Ezra took the scribes to an isolated field, where a revelatory voice gave him a cup of fiery liquid to drink, after which he was filled with inspiration and spent the next 40 days dictating to the scribes, who took turns transcribing the dictation “in characters which they did not know.” Ninety-four books were thus restored, 24 (evidently the current canon of scripture) for public consumption and the other 70 reserved only for the eyes of the wise (vv. 37–48). The possibility has been raised by some scholars that the visionary narratives of 4 Ezra, while clearly fictional, show awareness of actual ritual praxis associated with visionary experience in Second Temple Judaism.1 Even this passage, replete as it is with miraculous elements, has been explored sympathetically

1 Daniel Merkur, “The Visionary Practices of Jewish Apocalyptists,” The Psychoanalytic Study of Society 14 (1989): 119–48; idem, “Cultivating Visions through Exegetical Meditations” in With Letters of Light: Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls, Early Jewish Apocalypticism, Magic, and Mysticism in Honor of Rachel Elior, eds. Daphna V. Arbel and Andrei A. Orlov, Ekstasis 2 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011), 62–91, esp. 80–87; Michael E. Stone, “Apocalyptic: Vision or Hallucination?” Milla waMilla 14 (1974): 47–56 (reprinted in idem, Selected Studies in Pseudepigrapha and Apocrypha with Special Reference to the Armenian Tradition, SVP 9 [Leiden: Brill, 1991], 419–28); idem, Fourth Ezra, Hermeneia (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress, 1990), 32–33, 118–24; idem, “A Reconsideration of Apocalyptic Visions,” HTR 96 (2003): 168–80; Christopher Rowland, The Open Heaven: A Study of Apocalyptic in Judaism and Early Christianity (London: SPCK, 1982), 214–47, esp. 215–18, 228– 29; James R. Davila, “Ritual in the Jewish Pseudepigrapha,” in Anthropology & Biblical Studies: Avenues of Approach, eds. Louise J. Lawrence and Mario I. Aguilar (Leiderdorp: Deo, 2004), 158–83; idem, “The Hekhalot Literature and the Ancient Jewish Apocalypses,” in Paradise Now: Essays on Early Jewish and Christian Mysticism, ed. April D. DeConick, SBL Symposium Series 11 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2006), 105–25. Note: I am delighted to dedicate this chapter to Professor Gabriele Boccaccini, whose work has contributed so much to the study of Second Temple Judaism and related fields. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-004

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by Michael Stone for signs that some social reality lies behind the fictional narrative. Stone suggests in particular that the function of the scribes in the story “may provide some hint at possible practice of seers of the type of the author of 4 Ezra.”2 Although he does not spell this out, the implication seems to be that there may have been ancient Jewish seers who dictated revelatory books under inspiration while amanuenses wrote the revelations down. A remarkably similar story of the divine revelation of lost sacred books in a mysterious script appears in the detailed accounts of angelic revelations dictated in the late sixteenth century by the “scryer” Edward Kelley (also spelled “Kelly”) and written up by the Renaissance polymath John Dee.3 Kelley, while employed by Dee, dictated a series of supposed revelations by angels over a period of years, many of which were presented as documents revealed to Adam and Enoch, but lost by unfaithful subsequent generations. Dee served as amanuensis and a fair copy of his notes in his own hand survives, running to hundreds of pages. Some of the revealed documents were dictated in a supposedly antediluvian sacred

2 Stone, Fourth Ezra, 428–32, quotation on p. 431. Cf. Rowland, The Open Heaven, 229. 3 Major biographies of John Dee include Charlotte Fell Smith, John Dee: 1527–1608 (London: Constable & Co., 1909); Richard Deacon, John Dee: Scientist, Geographer, Astrologer and Secret Agent to Elizabeth I (London: Frederick Muller, 1968); Peter J. French, John Dee: The World of an Elizabethan Magus (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1972); Benjamin Wooley, The Queen’s Conjurer: The Science and Magic of Dr. John Dee, Adviser to Queen Elizabeth I (Henry Holt and Company, 2001); and Glyn Parry, The Arch-Conjuror of England: John Dee (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011). Dee was an active and ambitious, if overall less than successful, member of the Elizabethan Court, and he made contributions in many areas that are not the concern of this chapter. For surveys of the scholarly literature on Dee with particular reference to his occult studies and experiments, see György E. Szönyi, “John Dee and Early Occult Philosophy,” Aries 2 (2002): 76–87 and Stephen Clucas, “Introduction: Intellectual History and the Identity of John Dee” in John Dee: Interdisciplinary Studies in English Renaissance Thought, ed. Stephen Clucas, International Archives of the History of Ideas 193 (Dordrect, the Netherlands: Springer, 2006), 1–22. Notable monographs on Dee’s “natural philosophy” and its relationship to his occult thought include Nicholas H. Clulee, John Dee’s Natural Philosophy: Between Science and Religion (London: Routledge, 1988); Deborah E. Harkness, John Dee’s Conversations with Angels: Cabala, Alchemy, and the End of Nature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); and György E. Szönyi, John Dee’s Occultism: Magical Exaltation through Powerful Signs (Albany: SUNY, 2004). Dee also kept a private diary, much of which survives in manuscript. It was first published by James Orchard Halliwell in The Private Diary of Dr. John Dee and the Catalogue of his Library of Manuscripts, from the Original Manuscripts in the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford and Trinity College Library, Cambridge (London, 1842). The private diary (along with selections from Dee’s angelic diaries) has been republished by Edward Fenton in The Diaries of John Dee (Oxfordshire: Day Books, 1998). A biography of Edward Kelley has been published by Michael Wilding, “A Biography of Edward Kelly, the English Alchemist and Associate of Dr. John Dee” in Mystical Metal of God: Essays on Alchemy and Renaissance Culture, ed. Stanton J. Linden (New York: AMS Press, 2007), 35–89.

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language, and a special script was also revealed in which the documents were to be written. This paper takes the analysis of 4 Ezra 14 in a new direction by exploring the phenomenological similarities between this chapter and the account of the revelations preserved in Dee’s notes. These similarities are, I believe, not without interest with reference to the possibility that the process described in 4 Ezra reflects knowledge of genuine revelatory ritual praxis in first-century Judaism. My treatment will illustrate both the conceptual and methodological challenges of such comparisons and some of their potential payoffs.4

The Dee–Kelley Revelations In the early 1580s Dee undertook the angelic workings using Kelley as his “scryer,” a mediatory practitioner who purported to receive revelatory visions from angels while gazing into a crystal (in Kelley’s case called the “shewstone,” i.e., “show stone”). He dictated these revelations to Dee, and Dee wrote them down in notebooks, much of whose contents still survives.5 Beginning in late

4 This chapter was presented as a paper in the Esotericism and Mysticism in Antiquity Section at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in November 2012. It was inspired by research done for a paper presented in November 2011 in a joint session of the Early Jewish and Christian Mysticism Section and the Religious Experience in Early Judaism and Early Christianity section at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature. The latter paper, “Praxis and Experience in Ancient Jewish and Christian Mysticism,” can be downloaded as a PDF file at http://www.st-andrews.ac.uk/divinity/media/JRD%20Ritual%20praxis%20paper%20SBL.pdf. In it, I suggested that the study of ancient Jewish and Christian visionary literature might profit from comparison with modern visionary literature and the practitioners of ceremonial magic who have produced it, flagging in particular the potential importance of the Dee-Kelley documents for such comparison. 5 The surviving angelic diaries are preserved in unique manuscripts in Dee’s hand which appear to be fair copies of his original notes. Dee also annotated these copies in later years with his further reflections. The diaries survive within two separate lots of Dee’s manuscripts. The first section of the diaries, dating from December 22, 1581 to May 23, 1583, was found, along with others of Dee’s papers, in London in the 1660s in a secret drawer of a wooden chest that had once belonged to Dee. These were purchased from the owners of the chest by Elias Ashmole, who studied them and later left the manuscripts, along with his own fair copy of the diaries, to the British Museum. This section of the diaries survives substantially complete, but with a few lacunae. Reportedly, the maid of the owner of Dee’s chest used some of the manuscripts found in the chest for baking her pies. The diaries from Ashmole’s lot of manuscripts were eventually published, with introduction and commentary, by Christopher Whitby in John Dee’s Actions with Spirits: 22 December to 23 May 1583, 2 vols. in one (London: Routledge, 1988) (hereafter JDAWS) and in an annotated edition by Joseph H. Peterson in John Dee’s Five Books of Mystery: Original

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1582 Kelley dictated a detailed system of magic whose reception is described chronologically in Dee’s notes and which was later codified in his De Heptarchia Mystica. The system involved a seal inscribed with the names of planetary angels and their subsidiaries, along with ritual paraphernalia including a holy table later inscribed in a newly revealed alphabet; a golden ring of Solomon; and an inscribed “lamina” or breast-piece.6 The new alphabet was revealed in late March 1583. At the same time and extending into early April, a “holy book” was revealed in a secret language or code, presented in 48 pages, each page consisting of a grid of 49 by 49 letters. The book was assigned various titles and is generally referred to today as Liber Loagaeth,7 and it remained untranslated apart from occasional snippets. Various angelic revelations continued through 1583, during which time Dee and Kelley and their families relocated to Krakow, Poland. The next cycle of important revelations commenced in April 1584, with the description of a ritual table to be used in the workings, generally known as “the Round Table of Nalvage” (Nalvage being the name of the angel who produced the plans for the table).8 It was then intimated that a new revelation was commencing, which would involve 49 “Keys” or “Calls,” which, it developed, were a series of 19 incantations, the last of which could be given 30 permutations.9 (The first Call of the 49 was deliberately left unexpressed, thus leaving only the 18 [or 48] Calls actually to be transmitted.) Dee and Kelley were informed firmly that Nalvage’s ability to grant this revelation lasted only until August 1 of that year and that they must complete the process before then.10

Sourcebook of Enochian Magic (Boston, MA/York Beach: Weiser Books, 2003; orig. pub. 1985) (hereafter JDFBM).  The second section of the diaries takes up immediately after the last date of the first section and runs from May 28, 1583 to September 7, 1607. The transmission of the lot of manuscripts which contained it is not very clear, but it may have involved the manuscripts being buried in a field near Dee’s home at Mortlake until they were recovered at an undetermined date by Robert Cotton, who had already purchased Dee’s library and ritual paraphernalia. In any case, this section of the diaries also survives substantially complete for the period of interest for this chapter, although probably not entirely without lacunae. This section of the diaries was published (badly) by Meric Casaubon in A True and Faithful Relation of What Passed for Many Years Between Dr. John Dee and Some Spirits (London, 1659, reprinted many times) (hereafter TFR). For the stories of the recovery and preservation of the two lots of manuscripts, see n. 36. 6 For a detailed discussion of these objects, which are not of immediate interest here, see JDAWS, 116–56. 7 TFR, 19. 8 TFR, 73–76. 9 TFR, 77. 10 TFR, 77, 92, 117, 146.

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Remarkably, these Calls came in an entirely new language, supposedly the lost angelic language spoken by Adam and forgotten after the fall and expulsion from the Garden of Eden.11 The first four Calls were dictated by Nalvage via Kelley in the angelic language letter by letter from a table of letters in the vision, and backward so as to prevent their accidental catastrophic activation. Each Call was then translated into English.12 This method proved so cumbersome that it was abandoned, and six weeks later all but the last of the remaining Calls were dictated by Kelley in the angelic language in normal word order in a single marathon session on May 14.13 English translations of these were only forthcoming on July 5 to 11, while the final Call and its translation were among the last revelations in the series on July 12 to 13.14 The angelic language is unique in the annals of revelatory literature. It has been studied by the linguist Donald C. Laycock, who has shown that its grammar, phonology, and, indirectly, some of its vocabulary are based on English.15 It thus was apparently formulated by a speaker of English, who seems to have created it in the process of the composition of the 19 Calls. The project of inventing the language, composing the texts, and providing coherent translations of them must have been extraordinarily time consuming and must have required a rare creativity and imagination. During the period that the Calls were dictated, other revelations were dispensed as well. These included descriptions of 30 “Ayres,” evidently divisions of the earth into 30 sectors, each subdivided into three (or in the case of the thirtieth, four) subsections, and each overseen by three (or in the last case, four) angels.16 Another vision described four castles or watchtowers inhabited by kings and a hierarchy of courtiers, all these representing four parallel hierarchies of angels.17 Then four square grids of letters were revealed, which, it developed, laid out a hierarchy of the names of the angels of the four watchtowers, while at the same time, using the same letter tables, encoded the already-revealed names of the 11 TFR, 92–93. 12 TFR, 78–111. 13 TFR, 118–38. 14 TFR, 189–209. 15 Donald C. Laycock, The Complete Enochian Dictionary. A Dictionary of the Angelic Language Revealed to Dr. John Dee and Edward Kelley (Boston: Weiser Books, 1994). A more recent related work is by Aaron Leitch: The Angelical Language, volume 1, The Complete History and Mythos of the Tongue of Angels and volume 2, An Encyclopedic Lexicon of the Tongue of Angels (Woodbury: Llewellyn, 2010). The latter publication is aimed at modern practitioners of Enochian ceremonial magic, but Leitch’s lexical work appears to be comprehensive and thorough. 16 TFR, 153–58. 17 TFR, 168–71.

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91 angels of the 30 Ayres. These tables were joined together by a shared borderline that bore the names of still higher angels in the hierarchy.18 It was reported that these tables were first delivered to the biblical patriarch Enoch and were now being restored via Kelley and Dee.19 On July 13, Dee’s 57th birthday, the names of the 30 Ayres were revealed and the system was complete.20 Dee, Kelley, and Nalvage had finished well ahead of schedule. I have recounted the story of these revelations in considerable, perhaps tedious, detail, although I have also somewhat simplified the account of the process. Dee and Kelley were at times beset with “illuding” spirits who gave false revelations that had to be winnowed from the valid ones, and the relationship between the two men was itself at times rocky. But this summary should suffice for the purposes of my analysis.

Comparing 4 Ezra and Dee–Kelley The first step is to lay out a simplistic catalogue of obvious parallels between the narrative of the revelatory recovery of the lost books in 4 Ezra 14 and the recovery of lost antediluvian lore in the Dee–Kelley workings. Having done so, I will next subject them to critical scrutiny. 1) Both revelations involved the restoration of lost holy books: in the case of 4 Ezra, the exoteric and esoteric scriptures destroyed as a result of the Babylonian Exile; in the case of the texts delivered through Kelley, incantations in a lost Adamic language and letter tables encompassing an elaborate, lost system of ritual magic originally revealed to Enoch. 2) Some of the revelations involve similar light- and water-related imagery. God promised to enlighten the heart of Ezra and gave him a fiery drink to inspire him and cause him to retain his memory. At the commencement of the dictation of Liber Loagaeth the angel brought Dee and Kelley water in a vision, described as a special medicine to cure their imperfections and “reviving and recalling all things past present and to come.”21 Thereafter, as the book was dictated, a shaft of light would shine out of the shewstone and enter Kelley’s

18 TFR, 172–81. 19 TFR, 174, 196–97, 210, 229 20 TFR, 209. 21 JDAWS, 2:221–24, 228–29, 232–34, quotation on p. 224; JDFBM, 258–60, 264, 266–67, quotation on p. 260.

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head, giving him temporary inspiration. Soon after the light departed, Kelley could no longer read the book or even remember the session.22 3) In both cases the restored books were associated with a new script: Ezra’s books were written in the new script by scribes who had not yet learned it, whereas the angels revealed Dee’s books by dictation and they were written down in English letters. During the course of the sessions the angels revealed the new script and then demanded that Dee and Kelley learn the letters. It is not clear that they ever did so and the alphabet seems not to have been used much subsequently.23 4) In both cases revelations occurred within a divinely mandated schedule: over 40 days in 4 Ezra; for Dee and Kelley (for the reception of the Liber Loagaeth) a 40-day period of reception commencing in 1583 on March 29 (Good Friday) and concluding on May 8, followed by a 40-day hiatus through June 17, and another 40-day period in which a “perfected” copy of the book in the new script was to be made. The latter deadline does not seem to have been met.24 But in the following year another schedule was announced, this one for the revelation of the Calls, Ayres, and Tablets, beginning on April 10, with a deadline of August 1, the actual completion occurring on July 13. 5) Both revelations involve a seer who dictated whole texts that a scribe wrote down. 6) In both cases the restored books were not only miraculously revealed, they were revealed in special formats unknown to the recipients, requiring another level of miracle. Ezra’s scribes wrote in characters unknown to them, presumably the new square script of the postexilic era. The Calls given to Dee and Kelley were dictated in the first instance in the angelic or Adamic language (the first four backward, letter by letter) and had to be translated into English. It can be said at the outset that not all of the obvious parallels are of significance, that there are notable differences between the accounts even where they are parallel, and that the relationship of some parallels is complex. The revelatory liquid was fiery when drunk by Ezra, but described merely as medicinal water to

22 JDAWS, 2:258, 282–83, 289, 293, 297–98; JDFBM, 286–87, 309, 314, 318, 322. 23 JDAWS, 2:235–43; JDFBM, 269–75. The “holy characters” are mentioned again in TFR, 23. 24 JDAWS, 2:303, 330, 333, 336–37, 378, 381, 390–91; JDFBM, 327, 352, 358, 395, 398, 405; TFR 26–27, 77–78, 196. I tentatively follow the analysis of Leitch, The Angelical Language, 1:59–60, 95–96, although the period between March 29 and May 8 is 40 days, not 48. Cf. Whitby in JDAWS, 1:143–44, 521. (Whitby’s “Book of Enoch” is the same work as the Liber Loagaeth and the “Calls” to which he refers consist of material from that book rather than from the later series of 18 Calls or Keys revealed in 1584.) The chronology is very difficult, but it clearly involved multiple periods of 40 days.

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Kelley and Dee, and the light was in Ezra’s heart but it went into Kelley’s head. The time constraint on the two sets of revelations is differently motivated: 4 Ezra echoes the 40-day period of revelation to Moses on Mount Sinai and the revelations were completed exactly on time. The purpose of the 40-day periods involving the revelation of the Liber Loagaeth is obscure, whereas the subsequent time constraint imposed on Dee and Kelley had to do in some unclear way with limits on the power of the angel Nalvage and their revelations were completed either late or well before the deadline. Ezra had five scribes whereas Kelley had only Dee. Ezra’s scribes also received some level of divine inspiration, whereas Dee did not. Kelley took dictation from named angels, whereas the source of Ezra’s dictation is not made explicit. Ezra’s revelation apparently included the restoration of canonical or at least exoteric scriptures. The new script was a miraculous flourish to the revelation to Ezra, but was revealed earlier to Kelley and was not used in the revelation of the Calls, Ayres, and Tablets. No new language was used for the revelations to Ezra, but the Adamic language provided the miraculous flourish in the Dee–Kelley revelations. But all this said, the differences in detail should not distract us from the fact that a core of substantial parallels remain. One factor that considerably complicates the comparison of 4 Ezra with the Dee–Kelley revelations is that Dee’s notes demonstrate, as we might well expect, that he knew the Latin version of the book of 4 Ezra (2 Esdras) and read it carefully, even referring to the events in chapter 14. In an opening prayer to his first five books of notes, Dee comments that God’s good angels were sent to Esdras and various other biblical worthies.25 The angel Uriel who, perhaps not coincidentally, was a major player in the early Dee–Kelley revelations, commented in Liber Primus, “I lived with Esdras: I lived in him, in the lord, who liveth for ever.”26 The reference is clearly to the revelations brought to Ezra by Uriel in 4 Ezra. In Liber Quintus, in the context of a discussion of the (at the time) lost book of Enoch, Dee inquired what had become of the missing books of Esdras (i.e., the books mentioned in 4 Ezra 14) and was informed that the prophets of the Jews had them.27 In later revelations the angel Uriel refers to Esdras as a “prophet,” directly citing chapters 9 and 6:28 of 4 Ezra.28 The angel Gabriel mentions Esdras in association with Moses, Daniel, and “all the rest of the prophets.”29 Later still, the angel Levanael refers to a revelation concerning the soul in the Book of Esdras.30 25 JDAWS, 1:198, 2:8–9; JDFBM, 58. 26 JDAWS, 2:39; JDFBM, 85. 27 JDAWS, 1:521 (but Ezra wrote 94 books according to 4 Ezra 14, not 204), 2:334; JDFBM, 355. 28 TFR, 59–60. 29 TFR, 116. 30 TFR, 371.

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One may thus reasonably suspect that no small portion of the parallels between the angelic revelations of Kelley and Dee and 4 Ezra 14 were inspired by the two men’s direct knowledge of the ancient book. For example, the angelic special medicine may imitate Ezra’s draught of fiery liquid and the new alphabet revealed to Kelly may have been suggested by the unknown characters used by Ezra’s scribes. At the same time, it would be simplistic to dismiss all of the parallels as insignificant as a result. In the first place, some of the parallels arise naturally out of Dee’s broader and well-documented interests. The idea of a seer who dictates to a scribe is inherent in the informal institution of the “scryer” in Dee’s time. Dee used other scryers before and after Kelley and scryers were a tolerated—if reluctantly—and acknowledged cultural phenomenon of the period.31 Dee also had an antiquarian interest in lost scriptural books. As noted above, he sought after lost books of Ezra and Enoch.32 He also shared the contemporary scientific interest in recovering a putative lost Adamic language.33 Any influence by the text of 4 Ezra on these concerns would have at most reinforced and perhaps focused tendencies already present in Dee’s thought.34 More importantly, some of the most interesting aspects of the parallels remain even if we assume a high degree of influence from 4 Ezra. This brings us to the very difficult question of what actually happened in those sessions in which angels supposedly dictated lost books in an angelic language through Edward Kelley. It is difficult to doubt that Dee transcribed an accurate account of events as he understood them. The diaries are presented as a careful copy of the notes Dee wrote during the sessions over a period of many years, with numerous later reflections annotated in the margins. He reports that he showed the diaries to a small number of people,35 but he made no effort to publish them, and their

31 Harkness, Conversations, 16–26. 32 Cf. Harkness, Conversations, 99–100, 146–48, 192–94. 33 Harkness, Conversations, 80–84, 158–62. 34 For more on the relationship between Dee’s earlier interests and the content of the angelic revelations, see Clulee, Natural Philosophy, 203–23. 35 For example, Dee reports that he disclosed the existence of the angelic revelations to the Holy Roman Emperor Rudolph II, and even relayed to him a strident and politically highly imprudent rebuke from the angels on September 3, 1584 (TFR, 231). The Emperor declined the offer to read the angelic diaries, delegating the task to one Doctor Kurz, who skimmed through them with Dee in a six-hour meeting on September 15 (TFR, 239–40). Dee also tells us that he showed some volumes of the diaries to the Spanish Ambassador, Don Guillén de San Clemente, on September 25 (TFR, 246). For more disclosures of the revelations and the diaries and a discussion of Dee’s audience during the relevant period, see Harkness, Conversations, 51–59.

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survival seems in large part to be due to happenstance.36 We have little choice but to regard the diaries as eyewitness accounts produced at the times of the sessions by an honest and highly intelligent participant, albeit one whose desire to believe in a supernatural interpretation of the events doubtless left him open to some level of misreporting and misinterpretation by wishful thinking. The mental state of Kelley, the actual recipient of the angelic revelations, is a far more complicated problem, and here the best analysis of which I am aware is by James Justin Sledge.37 My reflections on Kelley owe much to his discussion. Kelley gave every indication of himself believing that the revelations he dictated had a supernatural origin, although at times he questioned the veracity of the spirits and encouraged Dee to abandon the project.38 On behalf of the angels he sometimes gave Dee very poor advice, which led to undertakings that put both men, their families, and their allies to considerable inconvenience and even danger. This may indicate his own unquestioning belief in the revelations, but it could also reflect his robust confidence in his own very poor political instincts combined with his making the best of the consequences of the earlier unfortunate undertakings arising from his advice.39 A simple acceptance of Kelley’s and Dee’s understanding of the communications as supernaturally supplied by spirits is metaphysically fraught, difficult to defend in detail (the “angelic” language is clearly a modern construction), and ultimately unfalsifiable. But to regard Kelley as a fraud who created the language, composed a substantial set of literarily sophisticated and intricately thematically interlinked poems in this language, memorized them, and foisted them upon Dee, along with a highly complex system of letter tables of angelic names composed at the same time, to maintain his own position as the household scryer is almost equally difficult. Kelley’s own obvious commitment to

36 The story of the recovery of the first section of the diaries is told by Elias Ashmole in his preface to the (at the time) unpublished manuscript (JDAWS, 2:1–4; JDFBM, 47–49). Casaubon relates the story of Robert Cotton’s recovery of the second section of the diaries, supposedly by digging them up after they had been buried. Casaubon heard this story from Thomas Cotton, Robert’s son, from whom he obtained the manuscript of Dee’s angelic diaries (TFR, Preface [no page numbers], 26–27, 44–45). 37 James Justin Sledge, “Between Loagaeth and Cosening: Towards an Etiology of John Dee’s Spirit Diaries,” Aries 10 (2010): 1–35. 38 See, e.g., JDAWS, 2:339–42; JDFBM, 363–65; TFR, 30–31, 153, 158–59, 386 (margin). 39 For examples and discussion see Parry, Arch-Conjuror, 147–53, 161–62, 165–69, 172, 176, 180–83. The infamous wife-swapping incident is prominent among the ill-advised adventures mandated by the angels. Although Kelley’s relatively successful new career as an alchemist was a larger factor, the incident created a breach that contributed to the eventual parting of the two men. See ibid., 197–200; Wilding, Biography, 49–50; Fenton, Diaries, 223–24, 241 n. 1.

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the authenticity of the revelations, along with the absurd overkill of such a project when much easier faux angelic dispensations were already serving the purpose, speak strongly in favor of his own belief in the revelations he appeared to mediate. In seeking to understand Kelley’s mind-set we may factor in the possibility of some mutually reinforcing combination of mental illness—or at least mental departure from the norm—with altered states of consciousness induced by the rituals he practiced in the sessions. This seems plausible enough, and Sledge has argued for the possibility, but his evidence is very general and it remains to be seen whether a more robust case can be advanced based on our limited sources.40 At this point I cannot improve upon the proposal of Sledge that a “perfect storm” of circumstances led Kelley to compose the angelic language and texts himself, but in a mental state that had ceased to distinguish between his own actions and the supernatural revelation in which he clearly believed.41 Presumably this state involved a combination of enlightened self-interest, a delusory but satisfying sense of self-importance, cognitive dissonance, and genuine belief. The parallels between 4 Ezra 14 and the Dee–Kelley angelic revelations are ultimately of interest because the first comes as a literary account in a fictional narrative whereas the second is in the form of an eyewitness account of events that on some level actually happened. – Ezra sought the divine revelation of lost books of scripture in order to preserve the continuity of his exiled community, a reason that makes sense in the narrative context. In an isolated location over a very short period of time he was inspired to dictate the text of these lost books to scribes chosen for the project. These scribes wrote down the revelations in a new script which they did not know, a process that adds a new layer of miraculousness to the events. – John Dee sought to recover lost scriptures and the Adamic protolanguage both out of antiquarian interest and as part of a process he envisaged for using angelic revelations to repair corruptions in the “Book of Nature” and increase the advancement of scientific knowledge, reasons that made sense in the cultural context of Renaissance England.42 In a project conceived and organized by Dee, his scryer Edward Kelley collaborated with him and in isolated circumstances over a very short period of time Kelley was inspired to dictate powerful lost incantations in the primordial Adamic language

40 Sledge, “Between Loagaeth and Cosening,” 19–28. 41 Ibid., 31–34, quotation on p. 34. 42 Harkness, Conversations, 80–90, 158–72.

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(adding a new layer of miraculousness to the process) as well as other revelations once vouchsafed to the patriarch Enoch and subsequently lost. A new script was also revealed to Kelley somewhat earlier, although Dee, who acted as scribe as well as patron, wrote the revelations in the English alphabet. The shared template is striking, and for our purposes it does not matter greatly whether the earlier narrative exerted some influence on the later events. Nor does the exact explanation of the later events matter greatly. Even if Kelley acted entirely mendaciously and fraudulently, a contingency I consider to be remote, he pulled the fraud off with admirable success. A better understanding is that Dee and Kelley undertook visionary experiments that made sense in their cultural context, with full honesty and goodwill on Dee’s part and a more complex combination of sincere belief, self-deception, and cognitive dissonance on Kelley’s part, producing revelations that may be regarded as genuine in the social construction of their reality.43 What are the implications? The phenomenological parallels between the sixteenth-century Dee–Kelley revelations and the first-century fictional account of revelations given to a largely fictional prophet of an earlier era urge us to look at the fictional account in 4 Ezra in a new light. We have a meticulously documented eyewitness account of a similar revelatory dictation of lost holy books and in this case the eyewitness was the scribe himself. It really happened once. Obviously, I am making no metaphysical claims about the source or validity of the revelations. Rather, the comparison establishes that the cultural context of sixteenth-century England permitted the social construction of a reality that we in the twenty-first century would be tempted to dismiss out of hand as impossible. Again, obviously, there is a vast gulf between the cultural context of sixteenth-century England and first-century Palestinian Judaism, but for my immediate purposes they share more with each other than either shares with us. Both held an untroubled belief in the reality of a host of spirits who could and did communicate important information to chosen human beings who placed themselves in suitable ritual contexts. The Dee–Kelley revelations give us additional reason to take seriously the possibility that 4 Ezra 14 is describing in a fictional context actual methods used by first-century Jewish intermediaries to generate revelatory literature. To put it more forcefully, the Dee–Kelley revelations confront us with well-documented

43 See Peter L. Berger and Thomas Luckman, The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge (New York: Doubleday, 1966) and Peter L. Berger, The Sacred Canopy: Elements of a Sociological Theory of Religion (New York: Doubleday, 1967).

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events that compel us to reevaluate the degree to which the social construction of reality constrains or opens up the range of things that can or cannot happen.

Conclusion I have set out in this analysis to explore the possibility that modern accounts of visionary practitioners and their revelations may be of some service for our understanding of apparently similar accounts of revelations to ancient visionaries. The advantage of bringing modern accounts into the discussion is that they are often far better documented than the ancient ones, allowing us a deeper understanding of the methods, psychology, and larger context behind those revelations. The specific comparison between the Dee–Kelley diaries and pseudo-Ezra’s revelation of the 94 books also illustrates some of the challenges in such comparisons. We must weigh the importance of the possible influence of the earlier text on the later experiences, distinguish between accidental similarities and more substantial ones, and view both accounts in their own cultural contexts and construct our phenomenological parallels with exceeding care. But when all reasonable precautions have been taken, we still find that the Dee–Kelley texts describe actual events, albeit embedded in a social reality very foreign to us, which give us reason to be more sympathetic to the possibility that 4 Ezra presents a fictional account behind which may lie actual practices involving automatic dictation of revelatory writings in an ancient Jewish context.

Lorenzo DiTommaso

4 Echoes of Enoch in Early Modern England: “Enoch Prayer” (London, British Library MS Sloane 3821) I The Long Afterlife of the Figure of Enoch The biblical account of Enoch son of Jared is brief and enigmatic: (18) When Jared had lived one hundred sixty-two years he became the father of Enoch. (19) Jared lived after the birth of Enoch eight hundred years, and had other sons and daughters. (20) Thus all the days of Jared were nine hundred sixty-two years; and he died. (21) When Enoch had lived sixty-five years, he became the father of Methuselah. (22) Enoch walked with God after the birth of Methuselah three hundred years, and had other sons and daughters. (23) Thus all the days of Enoch were three hundred sixty-five years. (24) Enoch walked with God; then he was no more, because God took him. (Gen 5:18–23 NRSV)

The strangeness of Enoch’s story stimulated an interest in the figure that began in the fourth- or third-century BCE and continues to the present day. This interest has expressed itself in a remarkable variety of texts, literary traditions, and art,1 which may be broadly categorized in terms of nine types of material.2 1 The history of the Enoch tradition is surveyed in whole or substantially in part in J. T. Milik, The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumrân Cave 4 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1976), 89–135 (regarding which see the still-trenchant observations of Jonas Greenfield and Michael E. Stone, “The Books of Enoch and the Traditions of Enoch,” Numen 26 [1979]: 89–103); James C. VanderKam, “1 Enoch, Enochic Motifs, and Enoch in Early Christian Literature,” in James C. VanderKam and William Adler, eds., The Jewish Apocalyptic Heritage in Early Christianity, CRINT 3/4 (Assen: Van Gorcum; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996), 33–101; Philip J. Alexander, “From Son of Adam to Second God: Transformations of the Biblical Enoch,” in Michael E. Stone and Theodore A. Bergren, eds., Biblical Figures outside the Bible (Harrisburg: Trinity Press, 1998), 87–122; Michael A. Knibb, “Christian Adoption and Transmission of Jewish Pseudepigrapha: The Case of 1 Enoch,” JSJ 32 (2001): 396–415; Marcel J. H. M. Poorthuis, “Enoch and Melchizedek in Judaism and Christianity: A Study in Intermediaries,” in Saints and Role Models in Judaism and Christianity, eds. Joshua Schwartz and Marcel J. H. M. Poorthuis, JCP 7 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 97–120, György E. Szőnyi, “The Reincarnations of Enoch from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance,” in Angels, Devils: The Supernatural and Its Visual Representation, ed. Gerhard Jaritz, CEU Medievalia 15 (Budapest: CEU Department of Medieval Studies, 2011), 135–51, idem, “Enoch—the Modern Apocalyptic Hero. Contemporary Cultural Representations of the Biblical/Apocrypha Patriarch,” Note: Egil Asprem, Elliot Mason, and Michael E. Stone kindly reviewed early versions of this chapter. Professor Asprem also offered several valuable insights regarding the section on John Dee and Enochian magic. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-005

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Aramaic Enoch writings of the Second Temple era The Aramaic Enoch writings represent the first surviving retellings of the life and deeds of Enoch. The corpus includes the Book of Watchers (1 [Ethiopic] Enoch 1–36), the Similitudes (or Parables) of Enoch (1 Enoch 37–71),3 the Astronomical Book (1 Enoch 72–82),4 the Book of Dream-Visions (1 Enoch 83–90, including the Animal Apocalypse), the Epistle of Enoch (1 Enoch 91–105, including the Apocalypse of Weeks), the Birth of Noah (1 Enoch 106–107), an Enochic Appendix (1 Enoch 108), and the Book of Giants (known from Dead Sea manuscripts and later versions).5 The size, scope, and influence of these Aramaic Enoch writings are unparalleled in the later Enochic literature. Many are composite documents whose contents suggest a long history of composition and redaction. Most are difficult to date precisely. Among the earliest is the Book of the Watchers. It likely attained its present form during the Maccabean Revolt of 168/7–165/4 BCE, although some of its

IKON. Casopis za ikonografske studije / Journal of Iconographic Studies 8 (2015): 157–68, and the sequence of articles on “Enoch (Son of Jared)” by David Moster, Hellen Mardaga, Lorenzo DiTommaso, Christfried Böttrich, Roberto Tottoli, John Kissinger, and Katherine Marsengill in The Encyclopedia of the Bible and Its Reception (Berlin: W. de Gruyer), vol. 7, cols. 947–56. This paper went to press before I had a chance to consult the comprehensive new volume by John C. Reeves and Annette Yoshiko Reed, Enoch from Antiquity to the Middle Ages. Volume 1: Sources From Judaism, Christianity, and Islam (New York: Oxford University Press, 2018). 2 This is not the only way in which the Enoch materials may be categorized. Cf. the helpful seven-fold division of Enochic “functions or characteristics” in early Christian writings proposed by William Adler, “Enoch in Early Christian Literature,” SBLSP 1978 (Missoula: Scholars, 1978), 1:271–75. Milik, Books of Enoch, opts for a broader, three-fold classification: i) the Parables of Enoch and the Enochic writings of the Roman and Byzantine centuries; ii) 2 Enoch and the Enochic writings of the Middle Ages; iii) Enoch in the “Cabbalistic” literature, including the figure’s identification with Metatron. 3 It is well known that nothing of the Parables was found in the Dead Sea caves. For a discussion whether it was composed in Aramaic or (less likely) Hebrew, see George W.E. Nickelsburg and James C. VanderKam, 1 Enoch 2: A Commentary on the Book of Enoch Chapters 37–82, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012), 30–34. 4 4Q208 (c. 200 BCE) may represent an earlier form of the Astronomical Book as it is known from 1 (Ethiopic) Enoch 72–82 and the text preserved in P.Oxy. 2069; on the latter, see Randall D. Chesnutt, “Oxyrhynchus Papyrus 2069 and the Compositional History of 1 Enoch,” JBL 129 (2010): 485–505. 4Q211 may represent another form of the data that is preserved in the Astronomical Book. The precise relationship among all the Enoch astronomical material remains unclear. 5 Loren T. Stuckenbruck, “The Early Traditions Related to 1 Enoch from the Dead Sea Scrolls: An Overview and Assessment,” in The Early Enoch Literature, eds. Gabriele Boccaccini and John J. Collins, JSJSS 121 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 41–63. 2 Enoch (see below) is also a product of the Second Temple period.

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components were composed earlier.6 The most influential of all the Enoch writings, the Book of Watchers, greatly amplified the biblical story of Enoch and gave it its hallmark features. It blended an old tradition that connected Enoch with star-lore,7 which stands behind the Aramaic astronomical books connected to his name, with strikingly original interpretations of the tale about the union of the sons of God with daughters of men (Gen 6:1–4) and of the vivid account of the “fall from heaven” of the prideful king called the “Day Star, son of Dawn” (Isa 14:4b–21). In so doing, the Book of Watchers imparted an apocalyptic horizon to the primitive Enochic tradition, and made the origin of evil in the world its conceptual center of gravity. By the late Second Temple period, the Book of Watchers and most of the other Aramaic Enochic writings had coalesced into a book that is now known as 1 Enoch (CAVT 61).8 It and its component parts reflect a distinctive variety of ancient Jewish thought, which, until a few generations ago, remained largely understudied. More than any other scholar, Gabriele Boccaccini has brought Enochic Judaism9 and its influence in early Judaism and early Christianity to the notice of international scholarly investigation.10

Later allusions to and retellings of the story of the fall of the rebellious angels Later retellings of the story of the rebellion of the angels are legion, to the extent that it became an established trope in Western literature.11 The focus of the narrative shifted twice: the first time in early Christianity, from the origin of evil in the world to the punishment of the angels, and then again, in the early modern period, from the fall of the angels to the character and motivations of Lucifer/Satan, the most sublime expression of which is John Milton’s epic poem, Paradise Lost.

6 The earliest Aramaic manuscripts containing material from the Book of Watchers are 4Q201 (4QEnocha) and 4Q202 (4QEnochb), which date from the first half and the middle of the second century BCE, respectively. On the question of what is actually preserved, see Stuckenbruck, 44–47. 7 The 365 years of Enoch’s life on earth (Gen 5:23) is telling in this regard, reflecting, as it does, the number of complete days in a solar year and a sidereal year. 8 Jean-Claude Haelewyck, Clauis apocryphorum Veteris Testamenti, CSCL 82 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1998) [hereafter: CAVT]. 9 In addition to his many books and articles on the subject, Boccaccini is the founding director of the Enoch Seminar (2001) and has been its guiding light ever since. 10 See his dense and rewarding “Enochic Studies” page on the “4 Enoch” website . 11 Jeffrey B. Russell, The Prince of Darkness: Radical Evil and the Power of Good in History (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988).

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The beautiful tragedy of Milton’s Lucifer, later amplified by Byron and the Romantics,12 now dominates contemporary popular expressions of the figure. Lucifer has become an antihero of sorts,13 whose struggle against institutional authority seems to resonate well with the postmodern mentality.14 The demonic figure of Azazel has undergone a similar literary evolution, the trajectory of which parallels but does not mirror that of Lucifer.

Later narratives recounting all or parts of Enoch’s life and translation to Heaven Stand-alone narratives that detail the life of Enoch are rare. I am aware of only one such text, the Coptic Enoch Apocryphon (CAVT 70), which has received scholarly attention.15 More common are the passages about Enoch’s life and translation to

12 Ruben van Luijk, Children of Lucifer: The Origins of Modern Religious Satanism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016). 13 One illustration of this development is the variety of modern Satanism associated with Anton LaVey, which is atheistic and considers the (nondiabolical) concept of Satan to represent the individual’s struggle against authority; see Asbjorn Dyrendal, James R. Lewis, and Jesper Aa. Petersen, The Invention of Satanism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015). 14 Note the essays and bibliography in Per Faxneld and Jesper Aa. Petersen, eds., The Devil’s Party: Satanism in Modernity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). Lucifer the postmodern antihero finds one of its more interesting articulations in the character of Lucifer Morningstar in the Sandman comics (Vertigo, 1989–1996), written by Neil Gaiman. In it, Lucifer resigns his lordship of Hell to become the owner of a Los Angeles piano bar. A spin-off series, Lucifer (DC Comics and Vertigo, 1999–), written by Mike Carey, focuses on the character’s adventures against the backdrop of the problem of free will in a universe governed by divine oversight. 15 Now Pierpont Morgan Coptic Theological Texts 3. The Apocryphon is more a narrative account with revelatory material than a stand-alone apocalyptic text with a narrative framework. See Walter E. Crum, Theological Texts from Coptic Papyri, Anecdota Oxoniensia, Semitic Series 12 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1913), 3–11; Milik, The Books of Enoch, 100–103; and Birger A. Pearson, “The Pierpont Morgan Fragments of a Coptic Enoch Apocryphon,” in Studies in the Testament of Abraham, ed. George W. E. Nickelsburg (Missoula: Scholars, 1976), 227–83. The Pistis Sophia (London, British Library, Additional 5114) twice mentions “Books of Jeu” that Enoch wrote in the Garden of Eden (2.99 and 3.134), but the Books of Jeu/Yeu that do exist lack this note; cf. Birger A. Pearson, “Enoch in Egypt,” in For a Later Generation. The Transformation of Tradition in Israel, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity, eds. Randal A. Argall et al. (Harrisburg: Trinity Press, 2000), 216–31 at 222. Mario Esposito’s arguments on behalf of a lost “Book of Enoch and Elias” (“An Apocryphal ‘Book of Enoch and Elias’ as a Possible Source of the Navigatio Sancti Brendani,” Celtica 5 [1960]: 192–206, 246–50) have been refuted by David N. Dumville, “Biblical Apocrypha and the Early Irish: A Preliminary Investigation,” Publications of the Royal Irish Academy 73C (1973): 299–338 at 310–11.

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heaven that are embedded in longer compositions, which typically feature expansions of or additions to his story, or allusions to or brief quotations from portions of 1 Enoch (cf. Jude 14–15, re 1 En. 1.9).16 Early retellings of the story of Enoch along these lines include Jubilees 4.16–25, Ps-Philo, LAB 1.15–16, and the Antiquities of Josephus (1.3.4 [§85]), and the New Testament Letter to the Hebrews (11:5). Enoch appears in Sirach’s roster of men of renown (49:14), while Pseudo-Eupolemus claims that Enoch invented astronomy (so Eusebius, Praep. ev. 9.17.8; cf. Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer 8). For Philo, Enoch’s ascension exemplifies the transition from the sensible/visible world to the intelligible/invisible one (QG 1,86), from dead life to immortality (Mut. 38 and Praem. 17).17 Not all the literature about Enoch and his life is positive, however; a discrete tradition in Judaism from the late Second Temple through the rabbinic periods details either a negative response to the exaltation of Enoch or the exaltation of Moses in his stead.18 Later accounts of Enoch’s life include the Cave of Treasures (11–13 passim),19 an Ethiopic sermon on the birth of Enoch (CAVT 72),20 Palaea historica 18 and 20,21 the Encomium on the Four Bodiless Living Creatures,22 and the Liber (or

16 VanderKam, “1 Enoch,” 35–60, offers a useful chronological survey of the early Christian examples. 17 Robert A. Kraft, “Philo (Josephus, Sirach, and the Wisdom of Solomon) on Enoch,” in SBL 1978 Seminar Papers, ed. Paul J. Achtemeier (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1978), 253–57; Ferdinando Luciani, “Le vicende di Enoc nell’interpretazione di Filone Alessandrino,” RivBib 31 (1983): 43–68; and Arie W. Zwiep, The Ascension of the Messiah in Lukan Christology, NovTSup 87 (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 57. 18 Alexander, “Transformations,” 108–10. 19 Alexander Toepel, “The Cave of Treasures,” in Old Testament Pseudepigrapha: More Noncanonical Scriptures. Volume 1, Richard Bauckham et al. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2013), 531–84. Critical edition: Andreas Su-Min Ri, La Caverne des trésors. Les deux recensions syriaques, CSCO 486–87, Scr. Syri 207–08 (Louvain: Peeters, 1987). 20 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, éth. 117 (xv–xvii), fols. 70v–72v. Translation: E. A. Wallis Budge, The Book of the Mysteries of the Heavens and the Earth and Other Works of Bakhayla Mikâ’ēl (Zosîmâs) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1935), 141–44. See also Milik, 258. 21 William Adler, “Palaea Historica (‘The Old Testament History’),” in Old Testament Pseudepigrapha: More Noncanonical Scriptures. Volume 1, eds. Richard Bauckham et al. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2013), 585–672. 22 In 1923, H. Munier published a few fragments of a Coptic manuscript (Cairo Museum 48085) that contained what he speculated might be parts of a “Book of Enoch” (“Mélanges de littérature copte 3: Livre d’Énoch (?),” Annales du service des antiquités de l’Égypte 23 [1923]: 211–28 at 212–15). Cf. Milik, The Books of Enoch, 103–04, and CAVT 71. Birger Pearson has since argued that these fragments hail from a copy of the Encomium on the Four Bodiless Living Creatures that is known from New York, Pierpont Morgan M.612, and attributed to John Chrysostom. See Birger A. Pearson, “Enoch in Egypt,” 223–24, 227–28, and idem, “The Munier Enoch Fragments, Revisited,” in For the Children, Perfect Instruction: Studies in Honor of Hans-Martin Schenke on

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Historia) de Enoch et Elia (CAVT 68) in Godfrey of Viterbo’s Pantheon, which the author claimed to have discovered in manuscript in a monastery of St. Matthew in Brittany.23 Andrei Orlov notes a Slavonic Enochic fragment regarding the two tablets.24 The Armenian tradition is particularly rich with information about Enoch, as Michael E. Stone informs us.25 The Old Irish Saltair na Rann tells how Enoch survived the Flood (!) by flying from wave to wave like a bird.26 Finally, Enoch’s heavenly translation is relatively well represented in Christian art, including late mediaeval picture Bibles. Richard Laurence’s 1821 English translation of Ethiopic Enoch introduced 1 Enoch to scholarship and the public at large.27 The editions and translations of 1 Enoch that followed revitalized interest in the figure of Enoch and the tale of the rebellion of the angels in popular theological interpretation. Among the earliest expressions is the “Book of Moses,” part of Joseph Smith’s “retranslation” of Genesis 1–6,28 which includes two chapters on Enoch’s life and visions (Book of Moses 6:26–7:69).29 Today, Enoch is encountered in theological speculation of all stripes, much of it noninstitutional and nondenominational. The Internet, in particular, is awash in literature and videos of this nature. Such media typically seek to explain the the Occasion of the Berliner Arbeitskreis für koptisch-gnostische Schriften’s Thirtieth Year, HansGebhard Bethge et al., NHMS 54 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 375–83. 23 Milik, The Books of Enoch, 119–20. 24 Andrei Orlov, “Bibliography of the Slavonic Pseudepigrapha and Related Literature,” in From Apocalypticism to Merkabah Mysticism: Studies in the Slavonic Pseudepigrapha, JSJSup 114 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 35. 25 Michael E. Stone, Armenian Apocrypha Relating to Adam and Eve, SVTP 14 (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 152 re CAVT 75–77, although only CAVT 75, on “Enoch’s Virtue,” qualifies as an Enoch apocryphon. See also idem, “Some Texts on Enoch in the Armenian Tradition,” in Gazing on the Deep: Ancient Near Eastern and Other Studies in Honor of Tzvi Abusch, eds. Jeffrey Stackert, Barbara Nevling Porter, and David P. Wright (Bethesda: CDL Press, 2010), 517–30; and Annette Yoshiko Reed, “Enoch in the Armenian Apocrypha,” in The Armenian Apocalyptic Tradition: A Comparative Perspective, eds. Kevork B. Bardakjian and Sergio La Porta, SVTP 25 (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 149–87. 26 John Carey, “The Irish Vision of the Chinese,” Ériu 38 (1987): 72–79 at 78–79. 27 Richard Laurence, The Book of Enoch the Prophet (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1821). Laurence based his work on one of the three manuscripts that the explorer James Bruce brought to England in 1773. 28 This retranslation was “revealed” to Smith in 1830–1831, but only published later as part of the 1878 edition of the Pearl of Great Price. See Robert J. Matthews, “How We Got the Book of Moses” . 29 Smith’s version of Enoch’s life and visions has only a few parallels with the Book of Watchers. Importantly, it does not mention the fall of the rebellious angels or the punishment and fate of the Giants, and it ascribes the origin of sin to Adam.

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“Book of Enoch” (however, construed) or interpret the story of Enoch’s life in the light of present-day events, usually with the intention of revealing a truth (the “real story”) that has been lost, hidden, or suppressed.30 Laurence’s translation of 1 Enoch into English also precipitated an avalanche of interpretations of the figure of Enoch and Enochic themes in secular fiction and popular culture. The long list of literary examples begins in the mid-nineteenth century and runs the gamut from William Morris to Alfred Lord Tennyson to Philip Pullman.31 The figure of Enoch has also successfully transitioned to film (Dogma, dir. Kevin Smith, 1999) and video games (El Shaddai: Ascension of the Metatron, Ignition Entertainment).

Enoch in genealogies listing the descendants of Adam 1 Chronicles contains the first genealogy after the Genesis account that mentions Enoch (at 1:3). Rabbinic and postrabbinic examples are rare but not unknown (cf. Seder Olam). Christian genealogies trace Jesus’s ancestry either from the first couple, Adam and Eve (and thus include Enoch) or from Jesse and his son David32 (and so exclude him). The earliest example of the former is Luke 3 (Enoch mentioned at 3:37). Later genealogies noting Enoch include the Cave of Treasures (11.3 and 52.3–13) and Palaea Historica 17, among others. In Islam, Enoch is identified with the Muslim prophet Idrīs,33 although, as John C. Reeves observes, the Enoch/Idrīs traditions in Islam may be explained without invoking any direct reliance to the early Jewish Enochic writings.34

30 For example, see: “Book of Enoch: REAL STORY of Fallen Angels, Devils & Man” ; “The Book of Enoch and the Church Coverup (excerpted from alienresistance.org)” < www.sherryshriner.com/church-coverup.htm >, and “Secret Knowledge from the Book of Enoch” . 31 See further Kissinger, “Enoch (Son of Jared),” and Szőnyi, “Modern Apocalyptic Hero.” 32 Thus Matt 1:1–17. 33 Yoram Erder, “The Origin of the Name Idrīs in the Qur’ān: A Study of the Influence of Qumran Literature on Early Islam,” JNES 49 (1990): 339–50, and Philip S. Alexander, “Jewish Tradition in Early Islam: The Case of Enoch/Idrīs,” in in Studies in Islamic and Middle Eastern Texts and Traditions in Memory of Norman Calder, eds. G. R. Hawting et al. (Oxford: Oxford University Press on behalf of the University of Manchester, 2000), 11–29. 34 John C. Reeves, “Islamic,” in The Oxford Guide to Early Jewish Texts and Traditions in Christian Transmission, eds. Alexander Kulik et al. (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, forthcoming). Alexander, “Transformations,” 118, suggests that Idrīs is a corruption of the name of the biblical prophet Ezra, via its Greek form “Esdras.”

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Illustrated biblical genealogies, often in the form of “family trees,” appear in late mediaeval manuscripts,35 as well as in early printed books,36 paintings, stained glass, and other forms of Christian art. Again, such genealogies normally begin with Adam or with Jesse/David, the latter type known as the “Tree of Jesse.”37 Such illustrated family trees are occasionally accompanied by full-length or medallion portraits of the biblical figures and/or a brief narrative about each.

Later stand-alone apocalyptic texts attributed to Enoch Stand-alone apocalyptic writings that are attributed to Enoch are relatively uncommon as compared, for instance, to those that are ascribed to Adam, Moses, Daniel, and Ezra. That said, several Enoch apocalyptica exist, or at least once existed. The earliest and certainly best known of this small group of texts is 2 Enoch (CAVT 66), a Jewish apocalypse that was composed at the end of the Second Temple era but now, with the exception of a few Coptic fragments, survives only in mediaeval Slavonic versions.38 Later examples include the Ethiopic Vision of Enoch (CAVT 73)39 and the Armenian Vision of Enoch the Just (CAVT 74),40 plus perhaps as many as three Enoch apocalypses that are apparently

35 I have encountered many dozens of examples of the type, in both codices and rolls (cf. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Arsenal 1234). 36 Szőnyi, “Reincarnations of Enoch,” 140, reproduces the portrait of the patriarch in the Schedelsche Weltchronik (the Nuremburg Chronicle), printed in 1493. 37 Arthur Watson, The Early Iconography of the Tree of Jesse (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1934), and Étienne Madranges, L’arbre de Jessé, de la racine à l’esprit (Paris: Bibliothèque des Introuvables, 2007). 38 For a recent overview of the state of the Slavonic texts and Coptic fragments of 2 Enoch, see the essays in Andrei A. Orlov et al., eds., New Perspectives on 2 Enoch: No Longer Slavonic Only, Studia Judaeoslavica 4 (Leiden: Brill, 2012). 39 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Abbadie 107 (xix), fols. 56v–59r. 40 Milik, The Books of Enoch, 114–15, A. Hultgård, “The Vision of Enoch the Just and Mediaeval Apocalypses,” in Apocryphes arméniens: transmission—traduction—création—iconographie, eds. Valentina Calzolari-Bouvier et al., Publications de l’Institut romand des sciences bibliques (Lausanne: Zèbre, 1999), 147–58, and idem, “Medieval Armenian Apocalypticism in Context,” in The Armenian Apocalyptic Tradition: A Comparative Perspective, eds. Kevork B. Bardakjian and Sergio La Porta, SVTP 25 (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 343–78. Hultgård notes two manuscript copies: Yerevan, Mesrop Mashtots Institute of Ancient Manuscripts (Matenaderan) 1500, and Jerusalem 1861.

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no longer extant: one mentioned in the Cologne Mani Codex,41 another noted by Michael Syrus (CAVT 69),42 and a third reportedly composed by Kyriakos of Segestan.43

Traditions about Enoch’s eschatological activity Two traditions stand out. The first is that of Enoch as the eschatological scribe,44 who records humanity’s wickedness and recounts the deeds of the generations until the day of judgement (Jub. 4:23–24). This tradition seems to have been particularly strong in Coptic Christianity45 and perhaps Ethiopic Christianity as well. The second tradition, more widespread, specifies Enoch and Elijah as the two unnamed witnesses of Revelation 11:3–13, who reappear at the end-time and are killed by the beast, a figure later equated with the Antichrist.46 This expectation almost certainly had its basis in the belief that Enoch and Elijah were the two humans whom Scripture unambiguously records as having been called to Heaven without dying. Although the anticipation of Elijah’s return emerged no later than the second half of the fifth-century BCE (cf. Mal 4:5–6), the date of its pairing with the end-time return of Enoch is unclear.47

41 John C. Reeves, “Jewish Pseudepigrapha in Manichaean Literature: The Influence of the Enochic Library,” in Tracing the Threads: Studies in the Vitality of Jewish Pseudepigrapha, ed. John C. Reeves, SBLEJL 6 (Atlanta: SBL, 1994), 173–203 at 181–84. 42 Chronica XI.22; cf. J.-B. Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, patriarche Jacobite d’Antioche (1166–1199). Éditée pour la première fois et traduite en français I–IV (Paris: E. Leroux, 1899–1924). 43 Milik, The Books of Enoch, 116. 44 On the root of the notion, see 1 En 12.3–4 and 15.1. Cf. Jub. 4.23; 2 En 23.1–4; 40.13; 53.2; 64.5; and 68.2; and the Testament of Abraham (short version) 11. 45 See the examples cited in David Frankfurter, “The Legacy of Jewish Apocalypses in Early Christianity: Regional Trajectories,” in The Jewish Apocalyptic Heritage in Early Christianity, eds. James C. VanderKam and William Adler, CRINT 3/4 (Assen: Van Gorcum/Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996), 129–99 at 187–89. Note also the shorter witness to the Testament of Abraham. 46 The expectation for a pair of eschatological/messianic figures is certainly pre-Christian. It is rooted in the late biblical prophetic books and paralleled in other Second Temple Jewish texts; cf. John J. Collins, The Sceptre and the Star: Messianism in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 79–109. Although Enoch and Elijah were most commonly associated with the two witnesses, they were not the only pair of figure. The major options (and a list of the sources for each) are presented in David A. Aune, Revelation 6–16, WBC 52B (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1998), 598–603. 47 According to VanderKam, “1 Enoch,” 97–100, there was a pre-Christian Jewish expectation for the eschatological return of Enoch and Elijah specifically.

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The eschatological appearance of Enoch and Elijah is found in numerous late antique and early mediaeval Christian texts,48 where it is often bound up in a set of expectations involving the Last Roman Emperor, the advent of the Antichrist, and the last battle with the hordes of God and Magog.49 The theme remained enormously popular in Christian literature throughout the High Middle Ages50 and in Christian art as well.51

Enoch and mystical speculation 1 Enoch 14–16 established a pattern of Enoch’s journey to the divine throne that was later taken up by 2 Enoch. Significantly, 2 Enoch insisted that Enoch had ascended in bodily form and was transformed into an angel. This notion, which braided visionary and mystical elements, paved the way for the development of the Merkavah and Hekhalot writings of mediaeval Judaism, including the macrotext commonly known as 3 Enoch (CAVT 67).52 A central notion here is the identification of the patriarch with the archangel Metatron, God’s holy regent (Tg. Ps.-J. on Gen 5:24; 3 Enoch 1–20, etc.).53 48 Maria M. Witte, Elias und Henoch als Exempel, typologische Figuren und apokalyptische Zeugen: Zur Verbindung von Literatur und Theologie im Mittelalter, Mikrokosmos 22 (Frankfurt a.M., 1987). See also Richard Bauckham, “The Martyrdom of Enoch and Elijah: Jewish or Christian?” JBL 95 (1976): 447–58, and Aune, Revelation, 599–600. The Middle Irish text, Dá brón flatha nime (“Two Sorrows of the Kingdom of Heaven”), probably composed in the eleventh century, tells the story of Enoch and Elijah, who after passing into Heaven await the endtime when they may die. See G. Dottin, “Les deux chagrins du royaume du ciel,” Revue celtique 21 (1900): 349–87, and Maíre Herbert, “The Two Sorrows of the Kingdom of Heaven,” in Irish Biblical Apocrypha: Selected Texts in Translation, eds. Maíre Herbert and Martin McNamara (Edinburgh: Clark, 1989), 19–21. 49 The Bedan hymn occasionally called De Enoch et Haeliae (so MGH, Poetae Latini aevi Carolini, 4.491–95), but better known as Die die iudicii, is exemplary in this respect. 50 Judith Kovacs and Christopher Rowland, Revelation: The Apocalypse of Jesus Christ (Malden: Blackwell, 2004), 126–30. 51 Richard Kenneth Emmerson, Antichrist in the Middle Ages: A Study of Medieval Apocalypticism, Art, and Literature (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1981), 95–101, 136–42, 176–78, and 183–85, and idem, “Nowe Ys Common This Daye: Enoch and Elias, Antichrist, and the Structure of the Chester Cycle,” in “Homo, memento finis”: The Iconography of Just Judgment in Medieval Art and Drama, ed. David M. Bevington (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 1985), 89–120. 52 Milik, The Books of Enoch, 124–32. 53 Peter Schäfer, The Hidden and Manifest God: Some Major Themes in Early Jewish Mysticism, trans. Aubrey Pomerance (Albany: SUNY Press, 1992), 123–38. On Metatron in this function, see Sefer Zerubbabel, etc.

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Enoch, the “Ancient Theology,” and Enochian magic This category is discussed in Part II of this paper.

Academic studies on 1 Enoch and Enochic Judaism Laurence’s 1821 translation of the Ethiopic version of 1 Enoch prompted the publication of critical editions of the text in English, German, and French. These studies initiated the modern scientific investigation of 1 Enoch (and 2 Enoch). The first stage of this history of scholarship culminated in the inclusion of both Enoch texts in the 1900 collection of German translations of the Pseudepigrapha that was edited by Emil Kautzsch, and in the 1912 collection of English translations that was edited by Robert H. Charles.54 As with Pseudepigrapha studies generally, research on the early Enochic texts languished in the decades after 1914. This situation changed in 1976, with the publication of the Dead Sea manuscript copies of the Aramaic Enoch writings in an erudite and highly provocative monograph by Josef T. Milik and Matthew Black.55 Forty years along, research on these writings and their influence on early Judaism and early Christianity remains fresh and vital, in large part due to the many activities of the “Enoch Seminar.”56 In recent years, the scope of this research has broadened to include the influence of ancient Jewish traditions in mediaeval Christian and Islamic texts and contexts.

II Enoch, the “Ancient Theology” and Enochian Magic The “Ancient Theology” refers to the set of revealed Christian truths in supposedly pre-Christian writings such as the Sibylline Oracles, the Pythagorean

54 Emil Kautzsch, ed., Die Apokryphen und Pseudepigraphen des Alten Testaments, 2 vols. (Tübingen: Mohr, 1900), and Robert H. Charles, ed., The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1913). On their place in the “canonical” Pseudepigrapha, see Lorenzo DiTommaso, “‘Old Testament Pseudepigrapha’ as Category and Corpus,” in The Oxford Guide to Early Jewish Texts and Traditions in Christian Transmission, eds. Alexander Kulik et al. (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, forthcoming). 55 Above, footnote 1. 56 

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Carmina aurea, and various Orphica.57 The notion originated with the Church Fathers, who, in detecting references in these pagan writings to Christian truths such as monotheism, creation ex nihilo, and the Holy Trinity, attributed them to a special avenue of divine dispensation outside Scripture that had originated with Moses, Seth, or even Adam. A thousand years later, Renaissance-era hermeticists such as Marsilio Ficino (1433–1499) cited many of the same writings58 to illustrate the harmony between the primordial wisdom of the prisca theologia—now understood more as the result of rational exertion than divine dispensation—and their own Neoplatonic understanding of Christianity.59 Enoch fitted the hermetic form of Christianity well. One reason was the idea of Enoch as the first scientist,60 which emerged as part of the broader revival of learning in the twelfth and thirteen centuries, when Enoch’s name came to be mentioned with approval by thinkers such as Vincent de Beauvais (c. 1190–1264) and Roger Bacon (c. 1219–1292).61 By the Renaissance, Enoch figured most prominently in the hermetic-magical universe,62 where he was typically associated in a triad with Hermes Trismegistus (“Hermes Triplex”) and a third figure, commonly Noah.63 Hermes was considered the reincarnation of Enoch, an expression of the essentially syncretic theory of knowledge on which the worldview of the hermetic authors was based.

57 Daniel Pickering Walker, The Ancient Theology: Studies in Christian Platonism from the Fifteenth to the Eighteenth Century (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1972) and the sources cited there. 58 The Sibylline Oracles, however, continued to be regarded as examples of divine revelation through pagan vehicles rather than expressions of the prisca theologia; see Henk Jan de Jonge “The Sibyls in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries, or Ficino and ‘The Ancient Theology’,” Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance 78 (2016): 7–21. 59 See further, Wouter J. Hanegraaff, Esotericism and the Academy: Rejected Knowledge in Western Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). 60 This association had occurred previously, in the ancient world. See George W. E. Nickelsburg, “‘Enoch’ as Scientist, Sage, and Prophet. Content, Function, and Authorship in 1 Enoch,” Society of Biblical Literature 1999 Seminar Papers, SBLSP 38 (Atlanta: SBL, 1999), 203–30. 61 György Endre Szőnyi, John Dee’s Occultism: Magical Exaltation through Powerful Signs (Albany: SUNY Press, 2004), 145–51. 62 In general, see Frances A. Yates, Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964); Keith Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic: Studies in Popular Beliefs in Sixteenth and Seventeenth-Century England (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1971); and Richard Kieckhefer, Magic in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990). 63 Lynn Thorndike, A History of Magic and Experimental Science in the First Thirteen Centuries of Our Age (New York: Columbia University Press, 1923–58), 2.251, 223, and 234, Yates, Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition, 48, and Szőnyi, John Dee’s Occultism, 140–41.

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Two hermetic texts are attributed to Enoch. Both are in Latin. The earlier text is the Tractatus de quindecim stellis.64 Paolo Lucenti and Vittoria Perrone Campani record eleven whole or partial manuscript copies in their survey of mediaeval hermetic writings.65 The oldest copy dates from the twelfth or thirteenth century,66 but the rest are from the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries. To their list we may add a twelfth copy, which dates from the end of the fifteenth century and is part of the Asahata manuscript that is now preserved in a private collection in Japan.67 The Tractatus is a translation of an Arabic synthesis of the Liber de quindecim stellis, quindecim lapidibus, quindecim hebris et quindecim imaginibus, which is attributed to Hermes and ultimately goes back to a lost Greek original.68 The list of stars and their associated stones and herbs in the Tractatus (as opposed to the list in the Liber) likely informed the exposition of the 15 stars in Book 7, lines 1271–1438, of John Gower’s Confessio Amantis (1390).69 The other hermetic text explicitly attributed to Enoch is the so-called Epistola Enoch. It purports to record Enoch’s vision of the apocalyptic preacher and hermetic alchemist Giovanni Mercurio da Correggio’s dramatic entry into Rome,

64 Incipit: Ego Enoch tanquam unus ex prophetis super res quattuor librum edidit… . Edited in Louis Delatte, Textes latins et vieux français relatifs aux Cyranides, Bibliothèque de la Faculté de Philosophie et Lettres de l’Université de Liège 93 (Liège/Paris: E. Droz, 1942), 276–88. Johannes Trithemius in the bibliographical section of his Antipalus maleficiorum cites the incipit as Ego Enoch tanquam unus ex prophetis et philosophis, propono gratia Messiae, qui post me uenturus est; see Paola Zambelli, “Appendix I: Trithemius’ Bibliography for Necromancers,” in eadem, White Magic, Black Magic in the European Renaissance, Studies in Medieval and Reformation Traditions 125 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 101–12. 65 Paolo Lucenti and Vittoria Perrone Campani, I testi e i codici di Ermete nel Medioevo (Firenze: Polistampa, 2001), 47–48. 66 Erfurt, Universitäts- und Forschungsbibliothek Erfurt/Gotha, Amplonian 4° 381 (xii–xiii), fols. 43r–45v. 67 The Asahata manuscript is part I of the broken-up MS Bute 13; see Patricia Deery Kurtz and Linda Ehrsam Voights, “The Significance of Now-Dispersed Bute 13: A Mixed-Language Scientific Manuscript,” in Päiva Pahta and Andreas H. Junker, Communicating Early English Manuscripts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 38–54. 68 Edited in Delatte, Textes latins, 237–75. Thorndike, “A History of Magic,” 220–21, does not differentiate the Tractatus from the Liber. On both texts in their historical context, see Paolo Lucentini, “L’ermetismo magico nel secolo XIII,” in Sic itur ad astra: Studien zur Geschichte der Mathematik und Naturwissenschaften. Festschrift für den Arabisten Paul Kunitzsch Zum 70. Geburtstag, eds. Menso Folkerts and Richard Lorch (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2000), 409–50. 69 The connection was first noted by H. C. Mainzer, “A Study of the Sources of the Confessio Amantis of John Gower” (PhD diss., Magdalen College, Oxford, 1967), 287–93, who observed that that Gower used the Enochic tractate specifically.

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on Palm Sunday in the year 1484 or 1485.70 It was composed shortly after the event by Lodovico Lazzarelli (1447–1500), poet, philosopher, reputed magician, and the author of the hermetic text Crater Hermetis. While the Epistola Enoch is not usually considered a hermetic tractate in the mode of the Crater or the more famous Corpus Hermeticum (the last three parts of which were translated by Lazzarelli), it nevertheless should be regarded as part of the hermetic collection of the era on the grounds of its author, attribution, subject matter, themes, and purpose. For Ficino, Paracelsus, and many of the other occult thinkers of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, Enoch and Hermes were prime examples of exaltatio, or the technique of “ascension on high.”71 Also attracting their attention to the figure of Enoch was his traditional status as the last human whom God had granted the ability to comprehend the lingua Adamica. This was the language that Adam was thought to have used to converse with God in the Garden of Eden, and later to name the animals and Eve, but which was lost to humanity as a result of either the Flood or the confusion of the tongues at Babel.72 The original tongue, therefore, was of paramount significance to anyone who wished to gain access to what, in the hermetic perspective, was the primal stratum of knowledge. As Deborah Harkness observes, the figure of Enoch thus had much to recommend him to the hermetic philosophers of the age, including the Englishman John Dee.73

70 Editio princeps: Ludovico Lazzarelli, Epistula Enoch de admiranda ac portendenti apparitione noui atque diuini prophetae ad omne humanum genus (Milano: Leonhard Pachel, c. 1490) [= Hain 6593, GW M17357]. Copy in München, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Ink L-77, available at . The most recent critical edition, with facing-page English translation: Wouter J. Hanegraaff and Ruud M. Bouthoorn, Ludovico Lazzarelli (1447–1500): The Hermetic Writings and Related Documents, MRTS 281 (Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2005), 107–49. According to Hanegraaff and Bouthoorn, the sole manuscript copy (Brescia, Biblioteca Quiriniana C.V.20, fols. 59r–61r) is a copy made from the print edition. 71 Szőnyi, “Reincarnations of Enoch,” 142–43, and the sources cited there. Part of the conviction on the part of such thinkers derived from their (imperfect) knowledge of mediaeval Jewish mystical literature and magical writings (Milik, The Books of Enoch, 132–34). 72 Another tradition held that Adam spoke Hebrew (consider the names of Eve at Gen 2:23 and 3:20), and it seems that John Dee first adhered to this position. In the Book of Watchers, Enoch’s ability to understand the discourse of the Watchers is attributed to his special physical capabilities. 73 Deborah Harkness, John Dee’s Conversations with Angels. Cabala, Alchemy, and the End of Nature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 148.

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Dee (1527–1608/9) was the most famous practitioner of ceremonial (or high) magic in the sixteenth century.74 A tutor to Elizabeth I and favorite of the English aristocracy of the era, Dee was one of the last of the polymathic “natural philosophers.” His expertise extended widely, from mathematics to astronomy and talismanic meditation, and from nautical science to geometry and hermetic speculation. Like many of the learned figures of his age, Dee was convinced that all forms of earthly and celestial information were reflections of a universal, transcendent knowledge. Dee devoted the final decades of his life to an attempt to directly access this knowledge through communication with angels by means of the lingua Adamica. This communication was effected by means of a series of human mediums, or “scryers,” most notably Edward Kelley (1555–1597). In sessions with the medium, Dee would pose questions, usually philosophical or eschatological, but occasionally personal in nature. The medium would then peer into an object—typically a crystal ball, or “showstone”—and describe aloud what he had seen (or, more precisely, what he had been shown), which Dee transcribed onto paper. The records of these sessions are known as Dee’s “angel diaries,” and document his mediated conversations with angels, in particular the great angel Ave (or Aue). Many of the diary entries record conversations during the period when Dee and Kelley were visiting dignitaries and conducting their research in Central Europe, including Poland and Bohemia, in the years 1583–1589. Not all the angel diaries survive, having been either destroyed during Dee’s lifetime or lost after his death. But a good portion of them were subsequently recovered, along with some of Dee’s other writings concerning the spirit world.75 These writings were more than enough for a later generation of adepts, particularly Elias Ashmole (1617–1692), to comprehend a coherent system of “Enochian magic.”76 It is worth recalling, though, that Dee himself never used the adjective “Enochian” to describe the technique or the language, but reserved it to identify the books or tablets that he believed had been written by Enoch himself.77

74 I am heavily indebted to Harkness’s book for the information in this and the next few paragraphs. 75 The tale of the recovery of these documents is told in Egil Asprem, Arguing with Angels: Enochian Magic and Modern Occulture (Albany: SUNY Press, 2012), 29–42. 76 “Solomonic magic,” by contrast, is a system that is associated more with spells, grimoires, and an association with demonic figures. On Solomon the magician, see Pablo A. Torijano, Solomon the Esoteric King. From King to Magus, Development of a Tradition, JSJSup 73 (Leiden: Brill, 2002), and idem, “Solomon and Magic,” in The Figure of Solomon in Jewish, Christian and Islamic Tradition: King, Sage and Architect, ed. Joseph Verheyden, TBN 16 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 107–25. 77 Harkness, John Dee’s Conversations with Angels, 158 n. 4.

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Four categories of writings reflect the high points of the Enochian magical tradition from Dee’s time to the present.78 Only the first two categories are relevant to this chapter.79 The first category consists of the original writings on the subject by Dee and a few others, chiefly in the late sixteenth century. This material is principally preserved in six manuscripts:80 – London, British Library [hereafter: BL], Sloane 3188, contains Dee’s angel diaries from 1581 to 1583, in five books plus an appendix, along with related material from later hands. Copied by Elias Ashmole in BL Sloane 3677. – BL, Cotton Appendix XLVI parts I and II [olim BL Additional 5007], contain Dee’s angel diaries from 1583 to 1587, in 13 books, along with a 14th book containing a partial record from 1607 and some related material in another hand. – Oxford, Bodleian Library, Ashmole 1790, contains a fragment of Dee’s angel diary from 1586. Copied in BL Sloane 3645. – BL, Sloane 3191, preserves the Heptarchia mystica as well as abstracts or synopses composed from the angel diaries. Copied by Ashmole in BL Sloane 3678. – BL, Sloane 3189, contains a tractate that the Sloane catalogue identifies as Dee’s “Book of Enoch, transcribed by E. Kelley.” It is in reality Dee and Kelley’s Liber Loagaeth. Copied in BL Sloane 2589, and in part in BL Sloane 78 and Sloane 2599. – BL, Additional 36367, is an anthology of magical texts that includes Dee’s Compendium heptarchia mystica.

78 Useful recent studies on Enochian magic include Harkness, John Dee’s Conversations with Angels; Szőnyi, John Dee’s Occultism; and Asprem, Arguing with Angels. Kocku von Stuckrad, Western Esotericism: A Brief History of Secret Knowledge (London: Equinox, 2005), 62–98, contains an especially helpful overview of esoteric speculation in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. 79 The third category consists of the writings of the practitioners and acolytes of hermetic groups that were active during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, including the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn and the Ordo Templi Orientis. The fourth category consists of the vast amount of material produced since the 1970s, including new and reprinted editions of the early texts in manuscript as well as scholarly books and articles on the subject. 80 Harkness’s book references additional manuscripts either connected to magical research carried out by Dee’s contemporaries or preserving copies of magical books known to Dee. In the latter category, the Book of Soyga is most important. Harkness discovered two manuscript copies of the book: BL, Sloane 8, which belonged to Dee, and Oxford, Bodleian Library, Bodley 908, a later copy.

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In 1659, Meric Casaubon published A True & Faithful Relation of What passed for many Years Between Doctor John Dee … and some Spirits [hereafter: TFR],81 an imperfectly transcribed typeset edition of Dee’s angel diaries in BL Cotton Appendix XLVI.82 This publication sparked a renewed investigation into Enochian magic, which manifested itself in the copying of several of Dee’s writings (noted in the list of manuscripts earlier) and in the composition of a host of new magical treatises deriving mainly from the TFR and written by Ashmole, the mysterious “Dr. Rudd,” and others.83 These derivative treatises constitute the second category of Enochian magical literature. The major manuscripts containing these treatises and related material are BL, Sloane 307, Sloane 3190 (a copy of TFR), Sloane 3624, 3625, 3626, 3627, 3628, and the manuscript discussed later, Sloane 3821,84 as well as Oxford, Bodleian Library, Ashmole 580 (Ashmole’s copy of TFR). Slightly later are the group of texts that are collected in the “Rudd manuscripts”85 of the BL, including Harley 6479, 6480, 6481, 6483, 6484, 6485, 6486, and, most importantly, Harley 6482, which contains an “explication of the seven Tables of Enoch.”86

81 Meric Casaubon, ed., A True & Faithful Relation of What passed for many Yeers between Doctor John Dee (A Mathematician of Great Fame in Q. Eliz. and King James their Reignes) and some Spirits (London: D. Maxwell, 1659). 82 The angel diaries now preserved in Sloane 3188 were published over three centuries later: Christopher Whitby, John Dee’s Actions with Spirits: 22 December 1581–23 May 1583 (New York: Garland, 1988). The story of the dispersal, recovery, and publication of Dee’s spirit writings is told in Asprem, Arguing with Angels, chapter 2. 83 Several of Dee and Kelley’s writings and a few of the later, derivative treatises have been transcribed or edited over the past 40 years, typically by serious magical practitioners rather than professional academics. The TFR has been reprinted twice during the same period (London: Askin, 1974, and New York: Magickal Childe, 1992). The Internet has now become an indispensable vehicle for the presentation and dissemination of this and other Enochian writings. 84 Many of Dee’s writings and later derivative treatises are preserved in Sloane manuscripts. These were gathered by Sir Hans Sloane (1660–1753) and, after his death, bequeathed as a group to the British Museum, becoming the foundation of its famous manuscript collection (since transferred to the British Library). On the character of Sloane’s manuscripts and his interests as a collector, see the anonymous appreciation, “The Sloane Collection of Manuscripts,” The British Museum Quarterly 18 (1953): 6–10. 85 Egil Asprem, “False, Lying Spirits and Angels of Light: Ambiguous Mediation in Dr. Rudd’s Seventeenth-Century Treatise on Angel Magic,” Magic, Ritual, and Witchcraft 3 (2008): 54–80, examines this “Dr. Rudd” and the works attributed to him. 86 A Catalogue of the Harleian Manuscripts in the British Museum, Volume III (London: House of Commons, 1808), 369.

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III “Enoch Prayer” (London, British Library, Sloane 3821, fols. 190v–193r) British Library, Sloane 3821 Sloane 3821 is part of the loose corpus of the “derivative” Enochian magical literature described in the previous section. It is a miscellany of magical and related writings, on paper, that date from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The manuscript is both paginated and foliated; the latter is the more recent. A table of contents on fol. 1r cites items with reference to the pagination. The online BL catalogue record, imperfectly compiled from the cursory references to 3821 in E. J. L. Scott’s 1904 index to the Sloane manuscripts,87 cites items with reference to the foliation. Sloane 3821 contains the following material: – Fols. 1r–188r. A magical treatise, written in a seventeenth-century hand. It is described in the table of contents as “The Practice of the Tables” and in the BL catalogue as “On the invocation of angels.” In fact it is the Table of Watchtowers, one of the aforementioned derivative works, and here probably copied from BL manuscript Sloane 307. Scholarly references differ in their description of this treatise, but I have not studied it well enough to venture additional observations. – Fols. 188v–193r. Short prayers, written in the seventeenth century. One prayer, discussed below, bears the odd title, “Enoch Prayer.” – Fols. 194r–204v. Copies of two letters written by the famous prognostic, Michel de Nostradamus. The first letter is to his son Caesar (original date: March 1, 1555), the other to Henri II king of France (original date: June 27, 1558). – Fols. 205r–225v. A magical treatise, in a seventeenth-century hand. Identified in the BL catalogue as concerning “Egyptian magic,” and in the table of contents as a “Select Treatise as it was first discovered to the Ægyptian Magi and by them practiced in Ancient Times ….”

87 Edward John Long Scott, Index to the Sloane Manuscripts in the British Museum (London: Trustees of the British Museum, 1904).

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Enoch Prayer (fols. 190v–193r) The “Enoch Prayer” is preserved on fols. 190v–193r (= pp. 286–291) of the manuscript.88 It probably was meant as a preliminary prayer for a ceremony invoking the “good” angels in the Tabula bonorum angelorum (BL Sloane 3191).89 This ceremony, if it exists, has not yet been identified. Except its title, the “Enoch Prayer” does not mention the name of Enoch, nor does anything in it connect it with him. Indeed, it is written in the first-person plural. Further investigation, however, demonstrates that the second section of the Prayer is in fact a reworking of one of Dee’s angel diaries that has a strong connection with the biblical patriarch. The “Enoch Prayer” has three sections. They are not distinguished in the text, but reveal themselves in their content and tenor. The first, corresponding to §§1–2 in the transcription below, is a glowing doxology praising God. It emphasizes his role in the creation and maintenance of the order of angels. The second section of the “Enoch Prayer” (§§3–4) is most interesting from a historical perspective. It is a petitionary prayer to God that is self-contained within the “Prayer,” making it a prayer-within-a-prayer. It stresses the inadequacy of the speaker (“we are less than sand”) and entreats God for assistance and guidance (“we will call upon thy name, & in thee will we become mighty; thou shalt light us, & we shall become Seers”). The petitionary prayer of §§3–4 is contextually disjunctive with the first and third sections of the “Enoch Prayer.” It is neither anticipated nor introduced by the doxology of §§1–2, and the shift in tenor between the two sections is abrupt and awkward. And since the third section (§§5–12) is also a petitionary prayer, the prayer here in the second part is unnecessary from the magical-practical perspective. These and other anomalies90 are explained by the fact that the petitionary prayer of §§3–4 is actually a slight reworking of a section from Dee’s angelic diary for Saturday, July 7, 1584. This entry is recorded in BL Cotton Appendix XLVI, fols. 176v + 175v,91 and was later transcribed (with minor errors) by Casaubon in TFR,

88 The manuscript’s table of contents identifies the item as “Enochs Prayer”; whether this was meant as a title or a description is unknown. The BL catalog lists it as “Enoch, the Patriarch: Prayer of.” In the manuscript itself, however, the title of the text is clearly “Enoch Prayer.” 89 I am grateful to Professor Asprem for this insight. 90 For example, the opening statement of §4 of the “Enoch Prayer” does not make sense: “O Lord it cannot be. Our imaginations are great, we are less than sand.” Its author mistakenly wrote “imaginations” for the “imperfection” in the original prayer of Cotton Appendix XLVI (Lord it cannot be: Lord my imperfection is great : Lord I am leʃʃe than sand) [italics added]. 91 The foliation of the manuscript is difficult to correlate with the substance of the text.

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page 196. In its original state, the petitionary prayer is uttered in the first-person singular, which the author of the “Enoch Prayer” had to change to the plural in order to fit its new context. But who is the speaker of this petitionary prayer? In its original form in Dee’s diary, the speaker is Enoch himself, and the prayer is identified explicitly as his by a marginal note, “Enoch his prayer to God.” This note was not reproduced by the author of the “Enoch Prayer” of Sloane 3821. But it must be the source of the Prayer’s titular attribution to Enoch. The “Enoch Prayer” of Sloane 3821 additionally lacks the context of the prayer as Dee recorded it in his diary entry, which he prefaces with an account of the circumstances of its utterance: Ave. [= the great angel Ave, dictating]…… I will tell thee, what the labour of Enoch was for those 50 dayes. Δ. [= Dee] O Lord I thank thee. [Ave.] He made, (as thou haʃt done, thy book) Tables, of Serpaʃan92 and plain ʃtone : as the Angel of the Lord appointed him ; saying, tell me (O Lord) the number of the dayes that I shall labour in. It was answered him 50. Then he groaned within himself, ʃaying, [Lord God the fountain of true wiʃdom …]

In Dee’s diary, therefore, Enoch’s petitionary prayer is not a first-person utterance, but indirect speech, reported by the great angel Ave. The diary also fleshes out the figure of Enoch in a way that the “Enoch Prayer” of Sloane 3821 does not. For example, the diary records how Enoch fashions tablets of stone, a task that occupies him for 50 days. Its purpose is described in a slightly earlier diary entry in Cotton Appendix XLVI, dated Monday, June 25, 1584: The Lord appeared unto Enoch, and was mercifull unto him, opened his eyes, that he might ʃee and judge the earth, which was unknown unto his Parents, by reaʃon of their fall : for the Lord ʃaid, Let us ʃhew unto Enoch, the uʃe of the earth : And lo, Enoch was wiʃe, and full of the ʃpirit of wiʃdom. And he ʃayed unto the Lord, Let there be remembrance of thy mercy, and let thoʃe that love thee taʃte of this after me : O let not thy mercy be forgotten. And the Lord was pleased. And after 50. dayes Enoch had written : and this was the Titles of his books, let thoʃe that fear God, and are worthy read. But behold, the people waxed wicked, and became unrighteous, and the ʃpirit of the Lord was far off, and gone away from there. So that thoʃe that were unworthy began to read. And the Kings of the earth ʃaid thus againʃt the Lord, What is it that we cannot do? Or who is he, that can reʃist us? And the Lord was vexed, and he ʃent in amongst them an hundred and

92 A marginal note in the manuscript indicates that “serpasan” is “a kind of slate stone.”

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fifty Lions, and ʃpirits of wickedneʃʃe, errour, and deceit : and they appeared unto them : For the Lord had put them between thoʃe that are wicked, and his good Angels : And they began to counterfeit the doings of God and his power, for they had power given to them ʃo to do, ʃo that the memory of Enoch waʃhed away : and the ʃpirits of errour began to teach them doctrines : which from time to time unto this age, and unto this day, have ʃpread abroad into all parts of the world, and is the skill and cunning of the wicked. Hereby they ʃpeak with the Devils : not becauʃe they have power over the Devils, but becauʃe they are joined unto them in the league and Diʃcipline of their own Doctrine. For behold, as the knowledge of the myʃtical figures, and the uʃe of the preʃence is the gift of God delivered to Enoch, and by Enoch his requeʃt to the faithfull, that thereby they might have the true uʃe of Gods creatures, of the earth whereon they dwell ; So hath the Devil delivered unto the wicked the ʃigns, and tokens of his error and hatred towards God : whereby they in uʃing them, might conʃent with their fall : and ʃo become partakers with them of their reward, which is eternal damnation. These they call Characters : a lamentable thing. For by theʃe, many Souls have periʃhed. Now hath it pleaʃed God to deliver this Doctrine again out of darkneʃʃe : and to fulfill his promiʃe with thee, for the books of Enoch : To whom he ʃsayeth as he ʃaid unto Enoch. Let thoʃe that are worthy underʃtand this, by thee, that it may be one witneʃʃe of my promiʃe toward thee. (TFR p. 174, italics and vacats removed)

This diary account is clearly influenced by the legend of the rebellious angels as it was transmitted and received down the centuries. We read of the “ʃpirits of wickedneʃʃe, errour, and deceit,” who began to teach “doctrines” and act in a manner “to counterfeit the doings of God and his power.” Thereafter the wicked spirits speak “with the Devils … becauʃe they are joined unto them in the league and Diʃcipline of their own Doctrine.” Several scholars have examined the place of Enoch in Dee’s universe, most notably Harkness,93 who also touches on its protological and eschatological dimensions.94 But a systematic investigation on the subject in all of Dee’s writings is a desideratum, and would represent a valuable contribution to the reception history of the figure of Enoch in early modern Europe. Such a study could be easily extended to the second, derivative category of Enochian magical writings. For example, Egil Asprem reports that the Table of Watchtowers (the first item in Sloane 3821) is prefaced by a brief account of the creation of the world and the fall of Adam,95 and I have noted other sections in this tractate where Enoch’s name

93 Harkness, John Dee’s Conversations with Angels, esp. 144–49. 94 The cosmology recalls the story of the war between the demons and angels and the corruption of mankind by the wicked spirit-prince, here called “Coronzon.” 95 Asprem, Arguing with Angels, 40–41.

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appears in a narrative context.96 This is only one of several treatises that might be examined with profit in this regard. The final part of the “Enoch Prayer” (§§5–12) consists of a second petitionary prayer. It is linked in compositional harmony with the material of §§1–2, but literarily sundered from it by the intrusion of the older, reworked petitionary prayer of §§3–4. The speaker entreats God to permit his angels to dwell with himself (and his group, presumably), to allow them to be seen and heard, so that the angels teach and impart their wisdom. He asks God to guide their tongues and hearts, to give them fortitude, good judgment, and wisdom, with the expectation of life eternal.

Transcription The following transcription of the “Enoch Prayer” of Sloane 3821 maintains the orthography of the original text, including strikeouts and corrections. However, catchwords and hyphenations have been removed, and the few abbreviations expanded silently. Paragraph breaks have been added to aid reading, and enumerated to aid referencing. [fol. 190v] ENOCH PRAYER. 1.

O Almighty, Immortall, Immense, Incomprehensible, & most high God & Lord of Hosts, Jehovah, the only Creator of Heaven & Earth, & all things conteyned therein, who in thy wonderfull & great works of the Creation, hast miraculously pointed out many Hierarchies, of sacred Caeleʃtiall Angells & bleʃsed Intelligences, and placed them in a most admirable order above the fiery Region; and also many other Hierarchies & Orders dignified, Elementall Miniʃtring Spirits, or Angelicall powers of Light, under the same &c :97

96 Notably the invocation of fols. 58r–60r (= pp. 110–15). 97 This part of the Prayer was later recycled as the opening to “A Prayer to Be Said before the Moving, or Calling Forth any of the Celestial Intelligences to Visible Appearance, by the Following Keys or Provocations,” printed in the anonymous handbook, The Familiar Astrologer; An Easy Guide to Fate Destiny, & Foreknowledge, as Well as to the Secret and Wonderful Properties of Nature (London: John Bennett, 1832). It begins, on page 662: “O almighty, immortal, immense, incomprehensible, and most high God, the only creator of heaven and earth, who by thy word alone hast in thy omniscience, among the rest of the marvellous and wonderful works, placed and appointed many hierarchies of sacred celestial angels, from this mighty and unspeakable throne unto the fiery region, as ministering spirits of several names, natures, degrees, order, and offices, residing in those eleven orbs, or spheres, placed one above the other ….”

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and haʃt appointed them all to serve thee, & obey thy commands, in every & each of their severall & respective places, natures, orders & offices; & by thy gracious & divine permiʃsion, to move, descend & visibly appeare unto the Sons of men dwelling on Earth, whensoever they shall Invocate or call them forth, to their conduct, comfort & benefit, 2.

O thou omnipotent & perpetuate full flowing fountaine of eternall lyfe, light, majeʃty, power, glory, goodness, clemency & paternall bounty, & of all wiʃdome & true knowledge, both Caeleʃtiall & Terreʃtriall, descending by certaine Rivolets of mercy, immediately by the holy Ghost, unto more choice & peculiar veʃsels of honour, & by emmanations of divine Grace, mediately by the sacred Caeleʃtiall Angells or bleʃsed Intelligences & other miniʃtring Angells, or spirituall Meʃsagers, [191r] and mediums of Light, not by thee rejected but dignified, both Caeleʃtiall & Elementall, of severall & respective degrees, names, natures, orders & offices, by whose Angelicall Inspirations & inʃtruction, thou doest fatherly and freely, open the secrets of thy owne selfe unto Man, thereby shewing forth, the mistery of true Science & sapience, with its benifits & comforts, to be obteyned & received in mundaine affaires, & temporall Concernes, &c :98 Sloane 3821

3. O most high God & father of heaven, thou knowest the foundation of our fragility, our imperfections, & the darkneʃs & weakness of our inward parts, how can we therefore speake unto them, that speake not after the voice of Man; or worthily call on thy ̭ name them, conʃidering that our imaginacion is variable & fruiteless, & unknowne to our selves : shall the Sands seeme to invite the Mountains, or can the small rivers, entertaine the wonderfull & unknowne waies, can the veʃsells of feare, fragility, or that 98 In margin: Enoch his prayer to God 99 Underlined in MS. 100 TFR: Rivers

Cotton Appendix XLVI, fols. 176v + 175v, re Saturday 7 July 1584 (= TFR p. 196) [176v] Lord98 God the fountain of true wiʃdom, thou that openeʃt the ʃecrets of thy own ʃelf unto man, thou knoweth mine imperfection and my inward darknesʃ : How can I (therefore) ʃpeak unto them, that ʃpeake not after the voice of  man  ; or worthily call on thy name, conʃidering that my imagination is variable and fruitleʃʃe, and unknown to my ʃelf? Shall the ʃands ʃeem to invite99 the Mountains : or can the ʃmall rivers100 entertain the wonderful and unknown waves? [175v] Can the veʃʃell of feare, fragility,

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is of a determinate proportion, lyft up themselves, heave up their hands, or gather the Sun into their Boʃomes?

or that is of a determinate proportion, lift up himʃelf, heave up his hands, or gather the Sun into his boʃom?

4.

O Lord it cannot be. Our imaginations are great, we are less than sand; Lord thy good Angells excell us far, our proportions are not alike, our sences agreeth not, yet notwithʃtanding we are comforted for that we have all one God, all one beginning from thee, that we respect [191v] thee a Creator; therefore will we call upon thy name, & in thee will we become mighty; thou shalt light us, & we  shall become Seers; we will see thy Creatures, & we will magnify thee amongst them; those that come unto thee have the same gate, and through the same gate, deʃcendeth such as thou sendest :

Lord it cannot be : Lord my imperfection is great : Lord I am leʃʃe than sand : Lord thy good Angels and creatures101 excell me far : our proportion is not a like,102 our ʃenʃe agreeth not: Notwithʃtanding I am comforted; for that we have all one God, all one begynning103 from thee, that we reʃpect thee a Creator104: Therefore105 will I106 call uppon107 thy name, and in thee, I will become mighty. Thou shalt light me, and I will become a Seer; I will ʃee thy Creatures, and will magnify thee amongst them. Those that come unto thee have the ʃame gate,108 and through the same gate, deʃcend, ʃuch as thou sendest.

5.

we therefore humbly beseech thee, O Almighty & most mercifull God, graciouʃly to permit thy Caeleʃtiall ministring Angells, & alʃoe the Elementall dignified Powers, or Meʃsagers spirituall of Light, to dwell with us & we with them, to rejoyce with us, that we may magnify thy great & glorious name, & by thy most gracious mercifull & divine permiʃsion, that as thou art their Light & comforteʃt them, soe they in thee wilbe our Light & Comfort.

6.

Lord, they preʃcribe not Lawes unto thee, so it is not meete that we should preʃcribe Lawes unto them. What it pleaʃeth thee to offer, they receive; soe what it pleaʃeth them to offer unto us, will we alsoe thankfully receive.

101 TFR: Creatures 102 TFR: alike 103 TFR: beginning 104 In margin: One Creator of all things. TFR (text and margin): Creatour 105 Underlined in MS. 106 TFR: I will 107 TFR: upon 108 TFR adds here: my heart and soul,

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Behold, Lord, if we shall call upon them in thy Name, be it unto us in mercy as unto thy Servants. 7.

O Lord, is there any thing that meaʃureth the Heavens that is mortall, how therefore can the Heavens enter into mans Imagination, thy Creatures are the glory of thy Countenance, whereby thou glorifiest all things, which glory excelleth, & is far above our understanding.  

8. Behold, O Lord, how shall we [192r] therefore aʃcend into the Heavens? The Aire will not carry us, but reʃiʃteth our Folly, we fall downe, becauʃe we are of the Earth, therefore O thou very light & true comfort, that canʃt and mayest and doest command the Heavens, heare us, & have mercy upon us, & grant our requests, which we humbly make unto thee, & that thou wouldst be graciouʃly pleaʃed (by thy divine permiʃsion) to send all those Caeleʃtiall &  ̭ Elementall dignified Angelicall powers of light, that we shall call upon by Orders, Names & Offices, to appeare viʃibly unto us in this C:S : or G:R : standing heere before us, & that in and through the same, they may transmit their true and reall preʃence in appearance unto the sight of our Eyes, & their voices unto our Eares, that we may plainely see them & audibly heare them speake unto us, & verbally to converse & commune with us, & to informe, inʃtruct, shew forth & teach us all such knowledge & Arcanums in nature, as shalbe required by us, & neceʃsary for us, & to be frendly unto us, & doe for us as for thy servants, both now at this tyme preʃent, & at all other tymes, whenʃoever, & wheresoever we shall move & call them forth, for inʃtruction, relief, comfort & aʃsiʃstance, in whatsoever shalbe necessary for us, &c : 9.

Enlighten therefore our Eyes O heavenly God, & open thou our Eares, that we may see thy spirituall Creatures, & heare them speake unto us, quicken, illuminate & confirme in us, & unto us, our reaʃons discretions, iudgments, underʃtandings, memoreies, & utterances, that we may be true & perfect Seers, Hearers & Witneʃses of such things which mediately by the miniʃtry of thy sacred [192v] Caeleʃtiall Angells & bleʃsed Intelligences, & other elementall dignified Spirits or Meʃsagers spirituall of Light; shalbe manifested declared & shewed forth unto us, both now & at all tymes whenʃoever necessity shall require their favourable & familiar society comunity and assistance, and now O all you sacred Caeleʃtiall Angells & bleʃsed Intelligences Miniʃters and true Lights of understanding, & O you all dignified Elementall Miniʃtring Spirits or Angelicall Powers of Light, governing this earthly fabrick, & the Elements wherein we live, be friendly unto us, & doe for us, as for the Servants of the highest.

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10. And we further humbly beʃeech thee (O ??? God) herewith to guide our tongues Reasons ̭ Sences & Judgments, & give us eloquent utterances, gravity of speech, quickness of understanding, prudence in mannaging, temperance in pursuing, thankefulness in receiving, & grace in using all such Inʃtructions, Inʃtitutions, matters, things or affaires, of what concerne soever, that shall be revealed, shewed forth or given by Angelicall Mineʃtry unto us, that all may be converted O Lord, to thy honor & glory, & to our worldly comforte & benifits. 11. Make us O Lord humble & obedient without contradiction, poore without quariling, chaʃt without corruption, patient without murmering, merry without diʃsolution, sad without dejection, ripe without unpleaʃantnes, fearefull without desperation, true without doublenes of heart, doeing good things without [193r] presumption. Give us O Lord watchfull hearts, that noe envious or evill cogitations may lead us away from thee, give us noble & upright hearts, that noe unworthy affection nor siniʃter intention may draw us downewards, give us invincible hearts, that noe tribulation may overcome us, give us understanding truly to know thee, diligence to seeke thee, wisdome to finde thee, conversation to please thee, perseverence faithfully to expect thee, & aʃsured confidence to imbrace thee, & after this lyfe to live with thee, in thy everlaʃting Kingdome, where there is certaine security, secure Eternity, eternall felicity, & most happy tranquility. 12. O mercifull God, we humbly beseech thee to grant theʃe our humble Supplications & petitions, which we unfainedly make unto thee.  Behold O Lord, be it unto us, as in mercy it pleaʃeth thee, & thy holy miniʃtering Angells; we require nothing but thee & through thee & to thy honor, & glory. Amen.

List of Manuscripts Cited Brescia, Biblioteca Quiriniana C.V.20 Cairo, Coptic Museum 48085 Dead Sea Scrolls 4Q201 4Q202 4Q208–211 Erfurt, Universitäts- und Forschungsbibliothek Erfurt/Gotha

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Amplonian 4° 381 Jerusalem (Library of the Armenian Patriarchate?) 1861 London, British Library Additional 5114 Cotton Appendix XLVI Harley 6479 Harley 6480 Harley 6481 Harley 6482 Harley 6483 Harley 6484 Harley 6485 Harley 6486 Sloane 8 Sloane 307 Sloane 3190 Sloane 3624 Sloane 3625 Sloane 3626 Sloane 3627 Sloane 3628 Sloane 3821 Nara (Private) Asahata manuscript [olim Bute 13, pt. 1] New York, Pierpont Morgan Library Coptic Theological Texts 3 M.612 Oxford, Bodleian Library Ashmole 580 Bodley 908 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France Abbadie 107 Arsenal 1234 éth. 117 Yerevan, Mesrop Mashtots Institute of Ancient Manuscripts (Matenaderan) M 1500

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5 Panopolitanus and Its Relationship to Other Greek Witnesses of the Book of the Watchers I Introduction I am delighted for this opportunity to celebrate Gabriele Boccaccini’s birthday and to express my appreciation both for Gabriele’s scholarship and for his fostering collegiality and collaboration on an international scale. Gabriele has brought together scholars from so many different countries and language families, and has established through the Enoch Seminar an exemplary model for encouraging cross-cultural understanding and cooperation.1 This study of Greek Book of the Watchers, an Enochic text greatly illumined through Professor Boccaccini’s research and publications, concerns the ways Enochic literature also has extended across cultures and language families. As is well known, the Book of the Watchers (found in the anthology of 1 Enoch as chapters 1–36) was a work esteemed by early Christians as well as certain Jewish communities.2 With the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls, scholars have had the opportunity to study the booklet’s history prior to the Common Era. The Greek versions and manuscript traditions provide significant information about the pseudepigraphal work’s development and transmission in Christian contexts as well. In this chapter, we consider especially the textual history of the Greek version of the Book of the Watchers found in the Akhmim Codex, with attention to the context of the manuscript, the previous history of the text and translation, and how this

1 To learn more about this innovative seminar, its inception and goals, see Gabriele Boccaccini, “Introduction: The Contemporary Renaissance of Enoch Studies and the Enoch Seminar,” in The Early Enoch Literature, eds. Gabriele Boccaccini and John J. Collins, JSJSup 121 (Leiden: Brill 2007), vii–x. 2 For significant examination of Enochic literature in early Judaism, see, for example, Gabriele Boccaccini, Beyond the Essene Hypothesis: The Parting of the Ways between Qumran and Enochic Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998); Roots of Rabbinic Judaism: An Intellectual History, from Ezekiel to Daniel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), esp. 89–103, and Enoch and Qumran Origins: New Light on a Forgotten Connection, ed. G. Boccaccini (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 1–14. On Christian interest in Enochic traditions, see James C. VanderKam, “1 Enoch, Enochic Motifs, and Enoch in Early Christian Literature,” in The Jewish Apocalyptic Heritage in Early Christianity, eds. James C. VanderKam and William Adler, CRINT 3: Jewish Traditions in Early Christian Literature 4 (Assen: Van Gorcum; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), 33–101. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-006

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particular text relates to other witnesses. The aim is to shed further light on the use of the Book of the Watchers in a discrete setting and to take stock of what we know of this textual tradition in the first quarter of the twenty-first century.3 The Enochic text from the Akhmim codex, sometimes referred to as Panopolitanus, is distinctive in that it provides our most complete extant form of the Book of the Watchers in Greek. The textual features of this booklet, especially when contrasted with the other sparse witnesses to Greek Book of the Watchers—excerpts from Synkellos, a citation in Jude and possible allusions in a third-century CE Greek manuscript—reveal a good deal about the history of the text in relation to both a Greek readership and Christians. In addition to the provenance of the Akhmim codex, translation techniques and variants associate this manuscript’s tradition of the Greek Book of the Watchers with Egypt and indicate a relative sense of ease with a Hellenistic milieu. Appraisal of the Enochic text from Panopolitanus in light of the evidence provided by Synkellos and other minor witnesses (as well as from the Aramaic and Geʽez [for which a Greek Vorlage is assumed]) does not suggest strikingly divergent recensions. The evidence, always pointing toward lost Vorlagen, however, indicates a vista for the Greek Book of the Watchers that extends well beyond Panopolitanus and Synkellos and hints at some of the current limitations in our research.

II The Akhmim Codex as Context for the Book of the Watchers For this study of the textual history of the Greek Book of the Watchers and Panopolitanus, one must begin with the context in which the manuscript was found: the Akhmim Codex, catalogued as P. Cair. 10759.4 The parchment codex 3 Additional study of the textual history of 1 Enoch may be found in the Textual History of Deuterocanonical Scriptures, a volume belonging to the larger scholarly enterprise, The Textual History of the Bible (Brill). The multivolume work serves as a handbook and dictionary of the textual history of the Jewish Scriptures as both original texts and ancient translations. The aim of the series is to explore “textual matters,” which include exegetical, literary, linguistic, and historical aspects of texts associated with the Jewish Scriptures (e.g., MS evidence, modern editions, and variant literary editions); for translations of texts, which include Greek Enochic booklets, entries also take up translation character and techniques, examples of readings and variants, tendencies in the translation, and the relationship of translations to others. 4 Housed in the Coptic Museum in Cairo at one time, officials later reported the codex missing; there is still some uncertainty of its location. Some think the codex to have been taken to Alexandria, but see also Timothy P. Henderson, The Gospel of Peter and Early Christian Apologetics: Rewriting the

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containing the Book of the Watchers is also referred to as the Gizeh manuscript and Panopolitanus, in light of the location of its discovery—ancient Panopolis— in Egypt. The codex was discovered during a winter excavation in 1886–87 by the Mission archéologique française au Caire led by Eugène Grébaut.5 The excavation did not employ the sort of methodological rigor expected of archaeologists today, and record of the exact location of the find has been lost. What is known is that the codex was found in a grave along with a second manuscript, a mathematical papyrus from late antiquity.6 The burial itself is thought to date from the eighth to twelfth centuries based on the grave’s location in a cemetery in use for over 1,000 years. While it has been customary for scholars to assert that the codex was found in the grave of a Coptic monk, there is nothing that explicitly identifies the person interred, as rightly noted by Peter van Minnen.7 Though the content led to the inference that the codex was placed in a monk’s burial, van Minnen cautions that the grave could belong to any Christian8 owning a codex. He notes, for instance, a fourth-century letter written in Greek (P. Oxy 63.4365) requesting a female recipient to lend a copy of 4 Ezra in exchange for a copy of the Book of Jubilees; such correspondence recalls that Christians of means also possessed books.9

Story of Jesus’ Death, Burial, and Resurrection, WUNT 2/301 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011) 13 n. 22. There are high-resolution images of the manuscript available online at a website maintained by the Centre for the Study of Ancient Documents, Oxford University. 5 See Paul Foster, “The Discovery and Initial Reaction to the So-Called Gospel of Peter,” in Das Evangelium nach Petrus: Text, Kontexte, Intertexte, eds. Thomas J. Kraus and Tobias Nicklas, TU 158 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2007), 9–30, here 12–13; and Peter van Minnen, “The Akhmîm Gospel of Peter,” in Das Evangelium nach Petrus: Text, Kontexte, Intertexte, 53–60, here 53–54. See also Peter van Minnen, “The Greek Apocalypse of Peter,” The Apocalypse of Peter, ed. Jan N. Bremmer (Leuven: Peeters, 2003), 15–39. 6 J. T. Milik with the collaboration of Matthew Black, The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumrân Cave 4 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1976), 70, thinks the manuscript to predate the Arab invasion. The text was published in 1892 in Jules Baillet, Le papyrus mathématique d’Akhmim, Mémoires publiés par les membres de la Mission archéologique française au Caire (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1892–1893). 7 Van Minnen, “The Akhmîm Gospel of Peter,” 54. Thomas J. Kraus, Ad Fontes: Original Manuscripts and Their Significance for Studying Early Christianity (Leiden: Brill, 2007), esp. 196–97. 8 The assumption that the deceased was Christian is based on the use of nomina sacra and depiction of crosses in the codex. 9 Van Minnen, “The Greek Apocalypse of Peter,” 18–19. Within seven years of its discovery, several studies of the texts in the Akhmim Codex were conducted by French, English and German scholars; these include U. Bouriant, J. A. Robinson and M. R. James, H. B. Swete, A. Lods, O. Gebhardt, A. Harnack, and A. Hilgenfeld. Thereafter, the interest in the codex appears to have waned for decades.

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The Akhmim Codex, consisting of 33 sheets of parchment, includes text from the Gospel of Peter, the Apocalypse of Peter, the Book of the Watchers, and the Martyrdom of St. Julian of Anazarbus. There are blank leaves between the works and also ornamentation that includes crosses. The contents of the codex are curious in that they seem incomplete and in the case of the Enochic literature, partially duplicated. The extract from the Gospel of Peter ends mid-sentence. The selection of the Apocalypse of Peter which follows was written in the same hand as the Gospel of Peter but bound in the codex upside down. Next come 1 En. 19:3–21:9 and then 1:1–32:6. An excerpt from the Martyrdom of St. Julian appears inside the front leaf pasted to the rear board of the codex. In light of the incomplete nature of certain selections, there has been a tendency to suggest that the texts were defective or hastily copied for a burial.10 An alternative reading of the evidence by van Minnen is that the scribe sought to copy only excerpts of the Gospel and Apocalypse of Peter purposefully chosen. In advance of copying the texts, the scribe made borders for the writing and anticipated as well blank pages to leave between selections or left space for later illustrations. As per van Minnen’s reading, the scribe ran out of room, however, once the borders were in place and was unable to complete the intended selections for both the Gospel of Peter and Apocalypse of Peter.11 As for the Enochic texts and the Martyrdom of St. Julian, van Minnen suggests these were both “leftovers” from an earlier manuscript, and posits a leaf now missing for the third quire to precede the extant portions of the Book of the Watchers.12 While the hypothesis might not be decisively corroborated, this line of thinking, one highly cognizant of the codex, its design, and production, surely is indispensable to understanding the curious nature of the texts included. Paleographical study and attention to the penmanship offer some clues as well about the writings in the codex. The selections of the Gospel of Peter, which make up the first quire, and Apocalypse of Peter, the second quire, appear written by the same hand. Bouriant, who published the editio princeps of the codex, observed the cursive style of handwriting shared by the Gospel of Peter and Enochic text as well. He remarked, however, that the former featured the more correct orthography.13 The orthography thus distinguishes in part the selections of the Book of the Watchers from the Petrine texts, though the handwriting of the 10 So Matthew Black, Apocalypsis Henochi Graece (Leiden: Brill, 1970), 8. 11 Van Minnen, “The Akhmîm Gospel of Peter,” 55–58. 12 Van Minnen, “The Greek Apocalypse of Peter,” 22. 13 Urbain Bouriant, “Fragments du texte grec du livre d’Enoch et de quelques écrits attribués à Saint-Pierre,” in Mémoires publiés par les membres de la Mission archéologique française au Caire 9 (Paris: E. Leroux, 1892), 137.

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selections from the Book of the Watchers suggests also the work of two scribes. As for the Martyrdom of Julian (the fifth quire), it is written by yet another; the format and layout of pages are comparable to the selections from the Book of the Watchers such that these have been associated with the same scriptorium.14 Assessments of the date of the script range from the fourth (the position of C. Wessely) to the ninth century. G. Cavallo and H. Maehler’s study of late antique Greek bookhands and sharper photographs of the codex, though, point to the works in the codex being copied in the fifth or sixth century.15 What led to the Gospel of Peter, the Apocalypse of Peter, the Book of the Watchers, and the Martyrdom of Julian being assembled together in one codex? T. Kraus and T. Nicklas suggest that the four works are connected by overlapping reports of passion, martyrdom, and apocalyptic themes.16 That the codex was found in a burial is especially appropriate since the texts included concern eschatology; it is not thought, however, that the various writings were copied for the occasion of the burial (as articulated by Black), since the paleography helps situate the texts prior to the burial by several centuries.17 As for the incomplete nature of the writings, another possibility is that some of the quires—with the Book of the Watchers, for example—were “leftovers” and as not uncommon in the late antique world, were bundled along with selections from various texts to create this composite codex.18 The fact that the Book of the Watchers originated in a pre-Christian context, but is here circulating with writings that are clearly Christian, and includes 14 Van Minnen, “The Akhmîm Gospel of Peter,” 56. 15 Guglielmo Cavallo and Herwig Maehler, Greek Bookhands of the Early Byzantine Period A.D. 300–800 (London: Institute of Classical Studies, 1987), 90. Others have suggested similarity to the script used in Codex Washingtonianus (for the Gospels), dated to fourth–fifth centuries. 16 Thomas J. Kraus and Tobias Nicklas, eds., Das Petrusevangelium und die Petrusapokalypse: Die griechischen Fragmente mit deutscher und englischer Übersetzung (Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 2004), 29. 17 See George W. E. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 1–36; 81–108, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), 12 and “Two Enochic Manuscripts: Unstudied Evidence for Egyptian Christianity,” in Of Scribes and Scrolls: Studies on the Hebrew Bible, Intertestamental Judaism and Christian Origins, eds. Harold W. Attridge, John J. Collins, and Thomas H. Tobin, Resources in Religion 5 (Lanham: University Press of America, 1991), 251–60; here 254. Nickelsburg, who emphasizes the shared interest of the Gospel of Peter, Apocalypse of Peter, and the Book of the Watchers in the realm of the dead, wonders whether the codex was deposited in a grave emulating the Egyptian practice of depositing the Book of the Dead in burials. See also van Minnen, “The Greek Apocalypse of Peter,” 16–17; 21–24. 18 Van Minnen, “The Akhmîm Gospel of Peter,” 58. Van Minnen also observes that the codex does not show signs of use and that even the corrections provided seem from the hand of the original scribe.

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nomina sacra reveals much about the text’s readership/audience. That one might date these manuscripts to the fifth or sixth century is of interest in terms of the reception history of Enochic writings. The popularity of Enochic literature is thought to decline among Western Christians in the fourth–fifth centuries. In the East, though, Enochic literature still has some appeal; in fact, Enochic writings (including the Book of the Watchers) are translated from Greek to Geʽez along with other writings associated with the Old Testament for Ethiopian Christians. But, suggests Knibb, it is the entirety of the anthology of 1 Enoch, as we currently know it, which is being transmitted in such circles. And this is of interest to our study of Greek Book of the Watchers because the Akhmim Codex demonstrates that Enochic booklets circulated alone or outside of collections of Enochic works even as the anthology of Enochic writings was emerging. The Akhmim Codex, as well as other Greek Enochic booklets which circulated with various Christian texts in contrast to the corpus of 1 Enoch as is known today, provides late antique codicological evidence as to how the Book of the Watchers was preserved, transmitted, and used among Christians.19

III Two Selections of the Book of the Watchers in a Single Codex One of the enigmas related to the Book of the Watchers in the Akhmim codex is that the text is duplicated in part with no elegant transition between the overlapping texts. The Enochic portion begins mid-sentence with 1 En. 19:3 and concludes again, mid-sentence with 21:9; the selection is typically called Panopolitanus2 (henceforth Pan2). This text is followed immediately by 1 En. 1:1–32:6a, dubbed Panopolitanus1 (Pan1). Why was this incomplete selection from Pan2, 1 En. 19:3– 21:9, repeated in the fuller form of the Book of the Watchers that trails? There are few good explanations for the overlap. Some have theorized that manuscript leaves for Pan2 were lost or that Pan2 served as a practice text. Milik suggested that the scribe inherited an incomplete exemplar but then continued again when a fuller manuscript was available. Or, perhaps as van Minnen suggested, leftover manuscripts were gathered and bundled for the codex. In the first quarter of the twenty-first century, no one explanation has become the consensus.

19 A comparable example may be observed in the fourth-century Chester Beatty Michigan papyrus, which likely included the Epistle of Enoch (of which only 1 En. 97:6–107:3 is extant), Melito’s Homily on the Passion, and an Ezekiel apocryphon.

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Also challenging is that paleography suggests that two scribes were involved in the transcription of the Book of the Watchers, though these do not correlate to the distinct sections of Pan1 and Pan2! One scribe copied 1 En. 19:3–21:9, and then began transcribing 1:1–14:22. Thereafter a second contemporaneous scribe copied up to 1 En. 32:6.20 The selection designated Pan2 provides the conclusion of Enoch’s first otherworldly journey and the start of the second journey. The selection features a list of names and roles associated with the archangels and tours to places where the watchers and stars are incarcerated. Pan1 corresponds to the Book of the Watchers familiar from the full form of the text preserved in Geʽez, with the exception that it ends with chapter 32 instead of the expected chapter 36. Thus Pan1 concludes with the seer observing the Garden of Righteousness with the tree that confers wisdom and the text lacks the chapters that take up Enoch’s further observations associated with the ends of the earth and the concluding blessing of the seer. Both selections from Pan1 and Pan2 feature corrections (especially supralinear corrections) that appear to have been made primarily by the initial scribe.21 Because the Greek texts are similar but not identical, the two have been examined to see whether these are copies from a single manuscript tradition or represent different exemplars. The variations between the two, for the text of Book of the Watchers that overlaps, include differing verb forms, varied expressions that are sometimes synonymous, variations in word order, omission or inclusion of definitive articles or demonstrative pronouns, and a few plusses and minuses.22 The differences are slight enough for one to posit that Pan1 and Pan2 are from the same parent manuscript. That is, the overall textual character of both copies does not seem to reflect different recensions, especially when brought into sharper relief through comparison with the Aramaic, the Greek of Synkellos, and the Ethiopic witnesses of the Book of the Watchers.23 Rather, the differences between Pan1 and Pan2 are best explained by scribal errors; for example, corrections for misspellings and omissions occur already in the texts. Further, plusses and minuses to be found in both copies are best explained according to Erik Larson, as omissions of lines by parablepsis. Additional witnesses of the Book of the

20 Both scribes used uncial script and the orthography is similar to each other, though different from the Gospel of Peter and the Apocalypse of Peter. So Bouriant, “Fragments grecs du livre d’Énoch,” 137. 21 Some of the corrections are to be found at 1 En. 1:6 and 9:1. 22 See Erik W. Larson, “The Translation of Enoch from Aramaic into Greek” (Ph.D. diss., New York University, 1995). 23 Ibid.

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Watchers also demonstrate that Pan1 and Pan2 have omissions especially through homoioteleuton (9:1; 10:16; 12:3–4; 14:3; 15:2; 18:3, 5, 11).24

IV The Nature of Panopolitanus’s Translation Although the codex was preserved in an eighth- to twelfth-century burial, and reflects the work of fourth- to fifth-century scribes, the text itself of the Book of the Watchers reflects a much earlier translation of the work. One question we take up, then, is the original context of the translation and whether it manifests Septuagintal conventions and is pre-Christian. The translation is significant also in that it provides additional contextual clues about the history of the Greek Book of the Watchers. The discovery of Enochic texts among the Dead Sea Scrolls in Aramaic and excerpts from Synkellos assist in examining the Greek translation one finds in Panopolitanus.25 When contrasted with Synkellos and a presumed Aramaic Vorlage,26 slight differences and modifications for stylistic reasons distinguish Panopolitanus. For example, the expressions “sons of men” and “daughters of men” found in the Greek of Synkellos (a Byzantine chronographer) reflect Semitic idioms; in Panopolitanus, though, these same expressions appear as simply “men” and “women.” Panopolitanus modifies the text to make a smoother Greek translation. When the subject is a neuter plural noun (as in 1 En. 15:2 and 16:1), Panopolitanus opts for a singular verb;27 and Panopolitanus eliminates the redundant use of the 24 See ibid. The differences in the overlapping text of Pan1 and Pan2 may be summarized thus: the use of differing verb forms (per Larson, in contrast to Milik, Books of Enoch; see also Luca Arcari and with Marcello Del Verme, “Il Papiro Gizeh: un testimone della tradizione enochica greca e altri testi ad esso collegabili: Status quaestionis e nuove linee di ricerca,” BeO 50 [2008]: 3–80, here 76), varied words or phrases (sometimes synonymous), variation in word order, omission or inclusion of definitive articles or demonstrative pronouns, and finally plusses and minuses. An example of the latter is the additional text in 20:7; Pan2 reads: “Remiel, one of the holy angels whom God put in charge of those who rise.” 25 In Loren T. Stuckenbruck, “Revision of the Aramaic-Greek and Greek-Aramaic Glossaries of The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumran Cave 4 by J. T. Milik,” JJS 41 (1990): 13–49, here 16–17, Stuckenbruck reminds that in any event there is not “one” Greek translation technique and that each booklet and each witness must be examined as the extant Greek reflects a variety of traditions. 26 The Greek translations of Enochic writings also indicate translation from Aramaic; Greek transliterations (for example, φουκα and Μανδοβαρα) attempt to replicate the Aramaic definite article. 27 Erik W. Larson, “The Relation between the Greek and Aramaic Texts of Enoch,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Fifty Years after Their Discovery. Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20–25, 1997, eds. L. Schiffman, E. Tov, J. VanderKam (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2000), 434–44; here 439.

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paratactic kai (6:4; 10:7, 9). Such stylistic differences relate also to other aspects of Panopolitanus that are revealing of the work’s provenance and suggest to some the pre-Christian origin of Panopolitanus’s translation. Moreover, the translation technique behind Panopolitanus recalls Septuagint translations, especially that of the Old Greek of Daniel28 and Tobit;29 the Enochic text’s perceived style shares a wooden manner of translation and shared vocabulary.30 James Barr points to prostagma as one example of shared vocabulary.31 On this basis, some have argued that the translation used by Panopolitanus occurred prior to the Christian era.32

28 See James Barr, “Aramaic-Greek Notes on the Book of Enoch (I-II),” JSS 23–24 (1978): 184–98; 179–92; here 2.180–82, 184–85, 191. While accepting some stylistic similarities, Larson does not think the Book of the Watchers to have been influenced by LXX Genesis. While he thinks the Old Greek of Genesis was influential for Wisdom and Ben Sira, and perhaps influenced the appearance of the Greek word αγγελλοι in Panopolitanus, in terms of the texts he surveys, he considers the Enochic text the least influenced by LXX. See Erik W. Larson, “The LXX and Enoch: Influence and Interpretation in Early Jewish Literature,” in Enoch and Qumran Origins: New Light on a Forgotten Connection, ed. G. Boccaccini (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 84–89; here 89. 29 Barr, “Aramaic-Greek Notes on the Book of Enoch,” 2.188, 191. This observation suggests to Barr that the translation occurred prior to the Christian era. See ibid., 2:191. 30 One indicator is the use of ὁράω (as opposed to later widely used βλέπω) evident especially in texts of the third century BCE and prior; see J. A. L. Lee, A Lexical Study of the Septuagint Version of the Pentateuch (Chico, CA: Society of Biblical Literature, 1983), 132–37. 31 Barr, “Aramaic-Greek Notes on the Book of Enoch,” 2.180–81. 32 In addition to the arguments of Barr, Larson places the Greek translation of Panopolitanus between 150 and 50 BCE because of the quotation and allusion to Greek Enoch in Jude and the papyrus fragments of what may be a Greek translation of Enoch in Qumran Cave 7; see Larson, “The LXX and Enoch,” 87–88. In Natalio Fernandez Marcos, Septuagint in Context, Introduction to the Greek Versions of the Bible (Leiden: Brill 2000) here 14, Marcos takes up translation techniques and Hellenistic prose in the LXX and argues that we need a systematic study of all documents, popular and literary, from the Hellenistic period in order to be able to know how to situate biblical Greek. He observes that the language of the LXX has not been studied in light of all the papyri available and that we know more about popular Greek of the Ptolemaic period than of literary Greek. Marcos would include the use of Greek pseudepigraphal texts for the study of the development of biblical Greek (ibid., 15) and thinks that translations of the LXX occurred when others in antiquity translated cultural accounts and stories into Greek (e.g., Babylonian priest Berossus wrote a history of his people and dedicated it to Antiochus I of Syria and Egyptian priest Manetho compiled a history of Pharaohs). Marcos concludes that between 280 and 260 under royal auspices Easterners are writing their history for a Greek public, telling their own stories as opposed to fables or other lore circulating (ibid., 18 n. 2). There was also a need, though, for Jewish communities in the Diaspora who were not using Hebrew to have a Greek translation. Marcos resists global descriptions for the LXX’s translation and also notes that the Greek of the Pentateuch became influential such that the Greek and Hebrew equivalents there become like a sort of lexicon for later translations (ibid., 24), contributing to Semitisms in New Testament Greek.

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At the same time, Panopolitanus modifies the Enochic text in its translation to adapt the work for a particular milieu and culture. The vocabulary of Panopolitanus reflects familiarity with the learned literature and culture of a Greco-Roman context;33 the Greek here, Luca Arcari observes, is a sort of literary language of a rather homogenous sort from the first century BCE to first century CE.34 Not unrelated are references in Panopolitanus to titans (1 En. 9:9), sirens (1 En. 19:2), and Tartarus (1 En. 20:2), all associated with Greek mythology and used with no apparent unease. This is in contrast to Philo, for example, who in On the Giants denounces a mythological perspective.35 The use of vocabulary so at home in a Greco-Roman milieu locates the Greek translation in an urbane, Hellenized setting much like Alexandria.36 The variant reading of sirens (19:2) can also be explained on the basis of milieu;37 while it is possible that the text originally referred to the demise of the watchers’ wives or a Semitic version of a demon in the text, the variant “sirens” is a logical translation choice in a Greek and Roman context, reflecting both the funerary role of sirens at this time and the mythological overtones where sirens are temptresses.38

33 The Hellenized nature of its translation is apparent through the use of Greek words that are of a literary character and words atypical of the LXX: for example, οἴχομαι (see 1 En. 29:1; 30:1, 3; 32:2). 34 Luca Arcari, “Il vocabolario della conoscenza nel testo greco del Libro dei Vigilanti: per una definizione del Sitz im Leben ella versione greca di 1 Enoc,” Materia Giudaica 8 (2003): 95–104, here 103. 35 See 1 En. 9:9 and 20:2; Larson, “The Relation Between the Greek and Aramaic Texts of Enoch,” 443–44. Already in the last century, Thomas Francis Glasson observed generic as well as thematic affinities to ancient Greece; see his Greek Influence in Jewish Eschatology (London: S.P.C.K., 1961). G. Nickelsburg too affirms that the Book of the Watchers reflects Greek myths and topoi (1 Enoch 1, 62). Even so, scholars have observed in the narrative antipathy for or at least ambivalence toward Hellenism (e.g., 1 En.7–8). See, for example, the study of Anathea Portier-Young, Apocalypse against Empire: Theological Resistance in Early Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011). Larson’s study is important also in that it allows one to note the recensional activity of Panopolitanus’s scribes which reflects a certain level of comfort with Greco-Roman literature and mythology. 36 Barr, “Aramaic-Greek Notes II,” 188 and Larson, “The Relation between the Greek and Aramaic Texts of Enoch,” 440–44. 37 Panopolitanus, 1 En. 19:2: καὶ αἱ γυναῖκες αὐτῶν τῶν παραβάντων ἀγγέλων εἰς σειρῆνας γενήσονται; “And the wives of the transgressing angels will become sirens.” Cf. Ethiopic mss, 1 En. 19:2: wa- ͗anestiyāhomu-ni ͗asḥitomu / ͗asḥiton malā ͗ekt kama salāmāwiyāt yekawwenu ; “And the wives of the angels who led astray (or: and their wives, having led astray the angels) will become (as) peaceful.” 38 Kelley Coblentz Bautch, “What Becomes of the Angels’ ‘Wives’? A Text Critical Study of 1 En. 19:2,” Journal of Biblical Literature 125 (2006): 766–80.

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V Panopolitanus in Light of Other Greek Witnesses of the Book of the Watchers We can learn more about Panopolitanus, the Greek Book of the Watchers, and the influence of scribes and translators by comparing this Enochic text to other witnesses. Thereby one might be able to discern the extent to which the text is faithful to the earlier Aramaic, even while not mistaking this Greek text as an immediate successor of the Aramaic. After Panopolitanus, the next important witness to the Greek Book of the Watchers, in terms of the amount of text that is preserved, are excerpts preserved by George Synkellos, a Byzantine chronographer of the early ninth century.39 Synkellos, an official at the patriarchate of Constantinople,40 includes selections in his chronicle of 1 En. 6:1–9:4; then

39 A synkellos (“cell mate”) was an ecclesiastical official who assists a bishop or metropolitan. While the Chronography is from the ninth century, there are eleventh-century manuscripts extant of the work. A relatively complete codex of the Chronography was published by Joseph Scaliger in 1606; see William Adler and Paul Tuffin, The Chronography of George Synkellos: A  Byzantine Chronicle of Universal History from the Creation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), lxxv. Its manuscript dates to the eleventh century; see ibid., lxxvi. 40 Synkellos’s work served a theological aim in producing a chronography that connected the date of Jesus’ incarnation and resurrection (on March 25) to the same date as the start of creation. He intended to write a history that extended until his own day, we learn, but died before the aim could be realized. The selections Synkellos includes from the Book of the Watchers (6:1–9:4; 8:4–10:14; and 15:8–16:1) concern the rebellion and punishment of the watchers and Enoch’s visit to the heavenly throne room where God communicates to the seer the judgment to be delivered to the watchers. Like many other late antique interpreters (such as Africanus, one of his sources), Synkellos demythologizes the account of the fallen angels; here the Watchers or angels are the Sethites, godly men. Synkellos describes the Enochic text as “apocryphal” and questionable in places. Still, because he knows that some dispute the matter, he cites a series of passages from “the First Book of Enoch concerning the Watchers” (τοῦ ᾱ βιβλίου τοῦ Ἑνώχ and εκ τοῦ πρώτου βιβλίου Ἑνώχ περὶ τῶν ἐγρηγόρων) which he refers to again as “the account of Enoch, the rest of the information about the watchers” (ἐκ τοῦ λογοῦ Ἑνώχ τὰ λοιπὰ περὶ τοῦ ἐγρηγόρων) (§ 24; Adler and Tuffin, Chronography, 32; cf. also § 11 and § 27). An unknown text is also included within Synkellos’s description of materials that are “from the first book of Enoch concerning the watchers.” While contemporary scholars designate the entire anthology in Geʽez “1 Enoch” especially so as to differentiate the collection from 2 Enoch and 3 Enoch, one cannot assume that Synkellos has in mind this same collection of texts. Rather, the designation could well be used to designate the Book of the Watchers. So Larson, “The Translation of Enoch from Aramaic into Greek,” 94–95; though Milik associates this reference with his Enochic Pentateuch, most scholars have dismissed such an idea. Toward thinking about designations like “the first book of Enoch” one should recall that the Book of Parables makes reference in the beginning to it being “a second vision Enoch saw” and also 1 En. 108:1 makes references to other books written by Enoch. So William Adler, Time Immemorial: Archaic History and Its Sources in

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1 En. 8:4–10:14; and 15:8–16:1.41 Thus, one selection, 1 En. 8:4–9:4, occurs twice in Synkellos and differs somewhat.42 Synkellos chronicles history from creation to the time of Diocletian, drawing on numerous sources,43 among which were the Book of the Watchers and the Book of Jubilees. Many of Synkellos’ sources, which are affiliated in some manner with Alexandria, were mediated to him via Syrian

Christian Chronography from Julius Africanus to George Syncellus (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1989), 176, n. 59. 41 There is also here a selection that follows 16:1, which is attributed to Enoch or associated with a context that is yet unknown. See Milik, Books of Enoch, 318–19, for his translation of the passage: And again, concerning the mountain on which they swore and bound themselves by oaths, the one to the other, not to withdraw from it for all eternity: “There will descend on it neither cold, nor snow, nor frost, nor dew, unless they descend on it in malediction, until the day of the Great Judgment. At that time it will be burned and brought low, it will be consumed and melted down, like wax by fire. Thus it will be burned as a result of all its works. And now to you, sons of men, I say that great anger is against you, against your sons, and this anger will not abate against you until the massacre of your sons; your beloved ones will be annihilated, and those who are precious to you will die off all the earth. For all the days of their life from now on will not be more than 120 years. And do not think that they will live any years over and above this…And all this is drawn from the first Book of Enoch on the subject of the Watchers. 42 An initial study of the overlapping text in Synkellos, which does differ in places, can be revealing in terms of how Synkellos used his sources. See Larson, “The Translation of Enoch from Aramaic into Greek,” 103; for a helpful synopsis, see ibid., 104–12. Larson’s comparison of the two renderings of 1 En. 8:4–9:4 reveal 16 differences (approximately 3 per verse) that in nature are not significant enough to suggest different recensions, and are much like the differences between Pan1 and Pan2; ibid., 105. Larson wondered whether the differences in the overlapping texts were to be attributed to differences in versions of the Enochic text inherited from Annianus and Panodorus, though he concludes that the most cautious approach to the variations between each version of 1 En. 8:4–9:4 in Synkellos would be to assume that both versions do derive from the same source, Panodorus. In this case, one could explain the differences by allowing that Synkellos who considered the Enochic work “apocryphal” did not copy the text with as much care as he would have biblical books and that the Greek Book of the Watchers of Synkellos has a long history of transmission with more opportunity for variants to be introduced. 43 He uses citations from Josephus’ Antiquities and works with both Jubilees and Life of Adam; though Synkellos finds errors in their account of the period, he justifies their inclusion in order to satisfy curious readers and to keep them from further error; see Adler and Tuffin, The Chronography of George Synkellos, lviii. A challenge is knowing where Synkellos is giving his perspective or that of his sources (ibid., lix–lx). Additional likely sources for Synkellos include the books associated with the Maccabees and Justus of Tiberias. See Seth Schwartz, “Georgius Syncellus’s Account of Ancient Jewish History,” in Proceedings of the Tenth World Congress of Jewish Studies, Jerusalem, August 16–24, 1989, Division B, vol. 2, The History of the Jewish People (Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies, 1990), 1–8.

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chronographers. By way of example, the works of fifth-century Alexandrian monks Annianus and Panodorus were familiar to Syrian chronographers who in turn made these sources available to Synkellos.44 What can we say of the source of Synkellos, a version of the Greek Book of the Watchers inherited from Panodorus?45 First, when compared to Panopolitanus, it does not seem that there are significant differences between the two, rather the differences appear as merely editorial modifications, rather than as evidence of two recensions.46 As to whether the source of Synkellos follows more closely the Aramaic than Panopolitanus, there is no consensus at present and from my vantage no unequivocal determination possible because of the varied nature of the data. On the one hand, scholars such as R. H. Charles and A. M. Denis have championed the reliability of the Greek Book of the Watchers conveyed by Synkellos; the translation of the chronographer preserves, as noted earlier, Semitic idioms (6:2, 9:6, 10:9, 10:11).47 On the other hand, some like Adolphe Lods, consider the text of Panopolitanus more authentic. These scholars note where Panopolitanus is closer to the Aramaic of Book of the Watchers than Synkellos, for example, the former has mazereous (a calque of mamzerim, “bastards”) where Synkellos has gigantus (“giants”) at 9:9. And, both Siam Bhayro and Arcari have also noted ideological views that have influenced and altered the text of Synkellos.48 Arcari does not dismiss entirely, though, Synkellos, noting that the chronographer does claim to be citing a previous text.49 Yet, how can one distinguish the “contributions” of Synkellos from those of his sources? Regardless of whether Panopolitanus and Synkellos share the same Greek Vorlage, the Greek translations of both suggest an Egyptian context. One recalls

44 Synkellos apparently derives his information concerning Enoch from fifth-century CE chronographers Panodorus and Annianus. Synkellos tends to depend more on Panodorus, but where necessary uses Annianus’s orthodox corrections of the former (Adler lxiv). Moreover, Synkellos is thought to have drawn on Syriac materials he likely acquired during travels through Palestine. 45 Larson concludes that on the whole, Synkellos did not alter his source on a large scale; see Larson, “The Translation of Enoch from Aramaic into Greek,” 112. 46 Ibid., 439. 47 Hanan and Esti Eshel have argued that Synkellos, not Panopolitanus, resembles the recently published XQpapEnoch; XQpapEnoch has come under scrutiny of recent along with other unprovenanced texts and artifacts. 48 See Siam Bhayro, “The Use of Jubilees  in Medieval Chronicles to Supplement Enoch: The Case for the ‘Shorter’ Reading,” Henoch 31 (2009): 10–17 and Luca Arcari, “Are Women the aition for the Evil in the World? George Syncellus’ Version of I Enoch 8:1 in Light of Hesiod’s Theogony and Works and Days,” Henoch 34 (2012): 5–20. 49 In Luca Arcari, “Il papiro gizeh: un testimone della tradizione enochica greca e altri testi ad esso collegabili,” BeO 50 (2008): 3–77; 44.

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that the Akhmim Codex was discovered in Upper Egypt; its translation of the Book of the Watchers betrays Greco-Roman literary conventions and mythology, which would be at home in Hellenized Egypt. Further, Synkellos had access to the Greek Book of the Watchers through the work of two Alexandrian monks, Annianus and Panodorus. Moreover, the Epistle of Barnabas, Clement of Alexandria, and Origen knew well and alluded to Enochic traditions. This has led some to associate the translation of the Book of the Watchers at least from Aramaic to Greek with Egyptian Jews.50 An equally important question is the relationship of either Panopolitanus or Synkellos to the Aramaic witnesses of the Book of the Watchers. Increasingly common—and with good reason since the Book of the Watchers is understood to have been authored outside of the Dead Sea community/ies—are assertions that the Aramaic texts extant at Qumran are not to be equated with the Vorlagen of these two Greek witnesses of the Book of the Watchers.51 Other extant works associated with Enoch or the Book of the Watchers remind us that there may have been other recensions and Greek translations circulating, a fact also suggested by the Ge’ez and Syriac texts of the Book of the Watchers that were likely translated from the Greek).52 One of these witnesses is a citation from the Epistle of Jude and the other, a recently rediscovered Greek papyrus which seems to have some connection to the Book of the Watchers. Well known to New Testament scholars is Jude’s citation of 1 En. 1:9 in Greek, verses 14–15: “See the Lord has come with his tens of thousands of holy ones to execute judgment on all.”53 The citation has led scholars to ask whether Jude’s reading comes from a Greek version of the Book of the Watchers or is a translation made from the Aramaic, without an intervening Greek text. Lewis Donelson and Erik Larson take the former position—that Jude draws on the Greek—and

50 Milik, Books of Enoch, 19; Black in consultation with James C. VanderKam, The Book of Enoch or I Enoch: A New English Edition with Commentary and Textual Notes, SVTP 7 (Leiden: Brill, 1985), 10. 51 Though Larson has argued against different recensions of Enochic texts at Qumran and suggests instead a close kinship between the extant Aramaic and the Greek translations, Michael Knibb and Loren Stuckenbruck have suggested that the differences that exist among the Aramaic and subsequent translations cannot be explained alone by translation practices and scribal errors. Michael Knibb, “The Book of Enoch or Books of Enoch? The Textual Evidence for 1 Enoch,” in The Early Enoch Literature, eds. Gabriele Boccaccini and John J. Collins, JSJSup 121 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 21–30; here 22–24; and Loren Stuckenbruck, “The Early Traditions related to 1 Enoch from the Dead Sea Scrolls: An Overview and Assessment,” in The Early Enoch Literature, 41–63; here 63. 52 This is especially argued by both Nicklesburg and Knibb. 53 Notes also Jude’s claim that Enoch is seventh from Adam, a claim made also in 1 En. 60:8 and 93:3.

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Donelson suggests that we don’t know whether the author gives a loose quote from memory or a precise quotation.54 Edward Mazich55 and Richard Bauckham argue for Jude’s translation of an Aramaic text. Yet in attempting to sort out the background for Jude’s reference to 1 En. 1:9, one should also consider that the Greek of Jude may reflect an exemplar superior to Panopolitanus as well as possible adaptations of the verse to facilitate a Christological reading, a position held also by B. Dehandschutter.56 The second Greek witness we consider is known as Papyrus Geneva (inventory) number 187. The manuscript, the topic of a 2014 thesis by Marie Bagnoud, is now tentatively entitled “A Greek Manuscript with Similarities to the Book of the Watchers.”57 The papyrus probably comes from the Arsinoite nome and its paleographic dating belongs to the beginning of the third century CE.58 The text itself may have been composed between the first century BCE and the first century CE. The work contains the otherworldly journey of an unknown figure, probably guided by angels. The extant text presents a seer who at first sees the whole world from above, then seems to visit Sheol and paradise. Finally, the seer proceeds to the west, where he observes storehouses of natural phenomena, God’s panoply, and a river of fire. It was Bagnoud who first connected the papyrus to the Book of the Watchers and observed that the travel of the seer westward in P.Gen. 187 has similarities with the Book of the Watchers, specifically with 1 En. 17:1–5. Bagnoud also notes how the papyrus differs from the Greek text of Panopolitanus. A shared hapax in the two works (at 1 Enoch 17:3 59) suggests that the Greek forms of the works 54 See Lewis R. Donelson, I & II Peter and Jude, NTL (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2010), 189–91. Donelson deems the quotation to be a combination of Ethiopic and Greek versions. Presumably he is thinking that the text reflects a Vorlage that is like the Greek upon which the Ethiopic depended. 55 Edward Mazich, “‘The Lord Will Come with His Holy Myriads.’ An Investigation of the Linguistic Source of the Citation of 1 Enoch 1,9 in Jude 14b–15,” ZNW 94 (2003): 276–81. 56 Richard Bauckham, “Pseudo-Cyprian, Jude and Enoch. Some Notes on 1 Enoch 1.9,” in Tradition and Re-interpretation in Jewish and Early Christian Literature:  Essays in Honour  of Jurgen C.H. Lebram, eds. J.W. Wesselius et al. (Leiden: Brill, 1986), 114–20. 57 Marie Bagnoud, “Un Voyage dans l’Au-delà : Édition et Commentaire de P.Gen. inv. 187” (Mémoire de Master, Université de Genève—Faculté des Lettres, 2014), subsequently published as “P.Gen. inv. 187: un texte apocalyptique apocryphe inédit,” Museum Helveticum 73 (2016): 129–53. The work is preserved on a half papyrus sheet of a codex that was likely acquired in the late nineteenth century by the Bibliothèque publique et universitaire de Genève. 58 M. Gronewald, “(Review of) Rolf Kussl, Papyrusfragmente griechischer Romane,” Göttingische Gelehrte Anzeigen. Unter Aufsicht der Akademie der Wissenschaften 245 (1993): 187–200. The papyrus was originally catalogued as a novel, though later M. Gronewald observed lexical affinities with the Apocalypse of Paul and Apocalypse of Peter. 59 ἀεροβαθῆ.

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are related and Bagnoud assumes that a version of the Book of the Watchers in Greek translation and of the same family of Panopolitanus inspired the Geneva papyrus. Yet the Papyrus Geneva’s mention of a sword, which also appears in Ethiopic versions of the Book of the Watchers (and presumably the Greek Vorlage behind these) at 17:3, would seem to confirm the presence of this reading at an earlier stage (here the sword, along with the bow and the arrows, belongs to God’s panoply; cf. Ps 7:13-14).60 Overall, while P.Gen. 187 seems to provide indirect testimony of the Book of the Watchers, one must be cautious in drawing text critical inferences from it with regard to the text of the Enochic work. There are many differences between the two. As is the case with 1Q19,61 a Hebrew text, the Geneva Papyrus has some sort of relationship to an Enochic text, but the exact connection is still elusive. We turn briefly now to the Ethiopic witnesses for which most assume a Greek Vorlage of the Book of the Watchers. Our extant Greek manuscripts, including Panopolitanus, are not the Vorlage for the Ethiopic version. In fact, according to Nickelsburg, while Panopolitanus and the Ethiopic Vorlage are likely of the same “archetype,” the extant Greek of Panopolitanus is inferior to the Greek Vorlage of the Ethiopic.62 Moreover, additional Geʽez manuscripts are being identified in Ethiopia and are significant for text critical work on the Book of the Watchers. Until these emerging manuscripts are brought into the discussions of Enochic literature, text critical conclusions remain tentative.

VI Conclusions A study of Panopolitanus with a focus on textual history led us to examine the Book of the Watchers especially in a Christian context, and from there we worked backward from consideration of the Codex Akhmim and duplicate texts to the matters of translation and recensions. We observed how the Book of the Watchers circulated with non-Enochic writings, and implications for thinking about the booklet vis-à-vis the history of the Enochic anthology we know today as 1 Enoch. The Book of the Watchers, originating in a third- or fourth-century BCE Jewish

60 See Marie Bagnoud and Kelley Coblentz Bautch, “5.7.5 An Otherworldly Journey of an Unknown Figure (P.Gen. inv. 187),” in Textual History of the Bible , vol. 2: Deuterocanonical Scriptures, eds. F. Feder, M. Henze, A. Lange (Leiden: Brill, forthcoming 2019). 61 Ariel Feldman and Liora Goldman, Scripture and Interpretation: Qumran Texts that Rework the Bible, BZAW 449 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), esp. 39–41. 62 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 18.

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community, was translated prior to the Common Era and shares conventions with certain writings of the Septuagint. Yet, an arguably more significant takeaway from this study of the textual history of Panopolitanus is the reminder that even our earliest witnesses are not the Aramaic or Greek Vorlagen. And more daunting, allusions of ancient writers to Enochic texts unknown to us (e.g., the citation in Barnabas or what we see in Papyrus Geneva) indicate the for-now unbridgeable gaps in our knowledge. What we can discern, however, is that Enochic literature remained popular in Egypt into the late antique period, the Greek translation of Enochic texts like the Book of the Watchers was widespread and the Greek versions have a strong connection to Egypt.63

63 On Enochic traditions in Egypt, see also Birger A. Pearson, Gnosticism and Christianity in Roman and Coptic Egypt. Studies in Antiquity and Christianity (New York: T&T Clark, 2004).

Ida Fröhlich

6 The “Horned Demon” and the Watchers 11Q11, a strongly fragmentary Qumran text, contains four compositions (Songs 1–4).1 The last one (Song 4) is identical with Psalm 91, showing only minor differences from the Masoretic text, while the rest of the compositions (Songs 1–3) are not found elsewhere. Ps 91 (Song 4) is an apotropaic composition intended to defend its reader from various plagues and physical harms represented by demonic agents.2 Songs 1–3 are exorcistic compositions, written against various demons called rwḥ who are compelled to leave for the netherworld and be closed there.3 The only composition where details concerning the figure of the evil spirit were preserved is Song 3 (11Q11 5.4–6.3) where a horned demon appears. The composition is attributed to David, and, according to its title, is “a charm (lḥš) for the stricken, in YHWH’s name” (11Q11 5.4). The generic term lḥš “charm” clearly refers to the magical function of the song that was used against demonic forces. The song depicts a meeting with a demon who is to be made inoffensive. The question “Who are you?” addressed to the demon is followed by a description of its figure.4 The demon has human traits (face) and animal characteristics (horns): pnyk pny [š]ww wqrnyk qrny ḥl[w]m “For your appearance is [nothing,] and your horns are horns of vision” (11Q11 5:7).5 The fragmentary state of the text does not allow us to form a clear idea of this figure. It seems that the demon is a phantasma, a vision seen during the night, or a nightmare experienced during the night that

1 The four songs are: 11Q11 1 1–4 i.[14] (Song 1); ii.1–V.3 (Song 2); v.4–vi.3 (Song 3); vi.3–14 (Song 4). 2 Early Christian literature offers data for the widespread apotropaic use of Psalm 91 (Psalm 90 in the Septuagint tradition), see Thomas J. Kraus, “Septuaginta-Psalm 90 in apotropäischer Verwendung: Vorüberlegungen für eine kritische Edition und (bisheriges) Datenmaterial,” Biblische Notizen 125 (2005): 39–73; “Psalm 90 der Septuagtinta in apotropäischer Verwendung—erste Anmerkungen und Datenmaterial,” in Proceedings of the 24th International Congress of Papyrology, Helsinki, 1st–7th of August 2004, eds. J. Frösén, T. Purola, and E. Salmenkivi, vol. 1, Commentationes Humanarum Litterarum 122,1 (Helsinki: Societas Scientarum Fennica, 2007), 497–514; “Ein byzantinisches Amulett-Armband im British Museum (London) mit Septuaginta-Psalm 90 und der Huldigung der Magier,” JbAC 48/49 (2005/2006): 114–27 and panels 2–3. 3 On the structures of the songs in 11Q11, see Ida Fröhlich, “Incantations in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Oral Charms in Structural and Comparative Light, eds. T. A. Mikhailova, J. Roper, and A. L. Toporkov (Moscow: Probel, 2011), 22–27. 4 Compare the first phase in Jesus’s exorcism of the demon named Legion in Mark 5:9 and Luke 8:30. 5 Nonhuman beings, if visualized, usually appear in human form in Jewish literature, e.g., Gen 18–19, Tobit 5. Greek sources usually depict evil daimones as visible figures, ghosts (eidōla, psukhai), and apparitions (phasmata, phantasmata). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-007

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was prescribed to be spent awake.6 The demonic illness could either result from the shock caused by seeing such a monstrous figure or from some physical harm caused by its activity.7 Demonic visions are a recurring element also in Jewish amulet texts.8 Further elements associated with the demon are darkness (hwšk) and injustice (῾wl): “you are darkness and not light, [injust]ice and not justice” (ḥwšk ’th wlw’ ’wr [῾w]l wlw’ ṣdqh) (11Q11V 7–8). Darkness is an element regularly connected to demons since they were thought to be dwellers of the netherworld, the country of dust and darkness. Moreover, darkness in Essene thinking has a peculiar sectarian terminological function as it is identified with sins and impurity, and with enemies of the righteous. “Injustice” (῾wl) is clearly associated with ethical sins, a characteristic of the group enemy to the righteous in Qumran thought. Subsequent verses refer to the origin of the demon: [… m]’dm wmzr‛ hqd[wšy] m, “from humans and from the seed of the holy ones” (11Q11 5:6).9 The mention of humans and the seed of the holy ones together recall the tradition of the watchers known from the Enochic collection (1 En. 6–11). According to this narrative, evil came into the world as a result of two hundred heavenly beings called watchers descending to the earth in order to mate with human women and then teaching them witchcraft. The watchers thus became impure, and their activity caused further impurities: their giant offspring, having devoured all that humans could provide for them, then devoured humans, and finally each other. The activities of the watchers and their giant offspring defiled the earth—hence the flood was sent, as both punishment against and purification of the earth.10 A later commentary in the Enochic collection (1 En. 15) explicitly connects the origin of evil spirits to the giants, asserting that they emerged from the dead bodies of the

6 The introductory words of 11Q11 5.5 refer to a nocturnal vision. 7 See Markham J. Geller, “Freud and Mesopotamian magic,” in Mesopotamian magic textual, historical, and interpretative perspectives, ed. I. Tzvi Abusch (Groningen: Styx Publications, 1999), 49–55. 8 For example, Joseph Naveh and Shaul Shaked, Magic Spells and Formulae. Aramaic Incantations of Late Antiquity (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1993), 122–24: “this is the figure of the tormentor (mbklt’) that appears in dreams and takes various forms,” which may be referring to a female night demon. Greek Christian literature calls this a phantasma, probably referring to erotic dreams and visions. 9 The sentence is reconstructed as if it contained the summoning of the demon to leave: [Withdraw from] humanity and from the ho[ly] race! There is no support for this reconstruction of the first word in the lacuna. The readable text refers unambiguously to the tradition of the watchers. 10 S. Bhayro, The Shemihazah and Asael Narrative of 1 Enoch 6–11: Introduction, Text, Translation and Commentary with Reference to Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical Antecedents (Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 2005), 33.

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giants who perished in the flood. The activity of these evil spirits is directed, first of all, against women and children.11 The punishment of the leaders of the watchers relates, again to the realm of the demonic, in an eschatological perspective. ’Asael was bound by the angel Raphael and cast into darkness, where the watchers will stay until “the great day of judgment” (1 En. 10:4–7). Shemihazah and his companions were bound by Michael “for seventy generations” after they were forced to witness their children, the giants, perish in the devastation of the flood (1 En. 10:11–12; cf. 1 En. 10:1–3, 20–22). Thus, evil originating from the watchers is described in the Enochic work in terms of the demonic. The vocabulary of the demonology of the Enochic story reflects the tradition summed up in the Mesopotamian handbook of demonology entitled Utukkū Lemnūtu (“The evil utukku-demons”), a series of incantations against evil demons.12 Based on an old tradition this collection counted as a standard work in the first millennium BCE.13 The Enochic description especially tallies in with parts of the Mesopotamian handbook where the devouring nature of the evil demons—in particular the group called Sibitti (the Seven)—is described.14 They are beings of wind-like nature (5:76; 12:22–27). Although having no wings they can fly (5:72). They come like huge storms, released from heaven (5:8; 16:104–108, 135–145). They know no obstacle (5:11–18); they act like overwhelming storm and roaring lion (7:29–31). They are able to appear either as dwarfs (12:21) or beings of tall stature (1:73), like mountains (12:28) and beings of cosmic measures (4:13; 13:1–2; 13:36–37). They are hostile to humans (5:174; 16:1–22). Grasping humans (6:171–173) they kill them (3:5; 3:28–53; 3:31 3:63; 3:95; 3:118–123; 3:137–146; 6:4). The Seven usually roam in band, devastating plant life, cattle, and sheep (4:17–19; 4:32–39; 4:71), cattle in the pen, sheepfold, and families (6:77–90), the fish of the waters, and birds (12:1–12). They uproot countries (5:101), destroy the land and human society

11 The story of the watchers, or fallen angels, was first treated as a myth of the origin of evil by M. Delcor, “Le mythe de la chute des anges et de l’origine des géants comme explication du mal dans le monde dans l’apocalyptique juive histoire des traditions,” RHR 95 (1976): 3–53. On 1 Enoch and the origin of evil demons, see Archie T. Wright, The Origin of Evil Spirits, 2nd rev. ed., WUNT 2.198 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005); Ida Fröhlich, “Theology and Demonology in Qumran Texts,” Hen 32 (2010): 101–29. 12 M. J. Geller, Evil demons: canonical Utukkū Lemnūtu incantations. Introduction, cuneiform text, and transliteration with a translation and glossary, State Archives of Assyria Cuneiform Texts 5 (Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 2007). 13 The series had involved into a 16-tablet “canonical” composition by the first millennium, see ibid., xii. 14 Ida Fröhlich, “Theology and demonology in Qumran texts”; Henryk Drawnel, “The Mesopotamian background of the Enochic giants and evil spirits,” DSD 21.1 (2014): 14–38.

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(4:37; 4:67–81; 5:127–128; 13:16–25). They grind up humans (3:91), stone (4:7–8), and the land like flour (6:3), “eating flesh, causing blood to flow, (then) drinking from the veins” (5:131–134). As to their origin, they are spawned by Anu (5:152; 16:3) with the netherworld (4:1; 5:2; 5:143), or with the Earth (5:10). In some cases they are said to be the product of the netherworld alone (5:5; 6:39; 7:103; 13:45–57; 13:68–71), and “the poisonous spittle of the gods” (5:7). The picture given by the Utukkū Lemnūtu reflects the general system of beliefs of ancient Mesopotamia. Many of the figures of the catalogue were known also in other Near Eastern cultures.15 Beliefs related to these demons and their characteristics survived in local culture: later Aramaic incantations reflect the same ideas as the Mesopotamian magical texts.16 Similarly to their Mesopotamian “colleagues,” the Enochic giants are harmful beings that bring devastation and death to humans—a general basis for the ancient Near Eastern concept of illness. At the same time, the Enochic writing reflects a good acquaintance with Mesopotamian scholarship summed up in the incantations of Utukkū Lemnūtu. Differently from its model that contains incantations for practical use the Aramaic Enochic tradition gives a theoretical demonology, a theology of the origin of evil in the form of evil spirits. This theory has ethical dimensions. The watchers become impure through their mingling with the human race and the forbidden teachings (witchcraft) given to women. The giants are impure through their origin and bloodshed committed. It can be supposed that the Enochic tradition was shaped by Jewish authors of the Eastern diaspora who aimed to create a religious and cultural identity for exilic groups. Enochic tradition on the origin of evil and demons predated the establishment of the Qumran community. Fragments of Aramaic Enochic writings were found in the library of the Qumran community.17 The earliest manuscripts dated

15 The members of the triad lilu—lilitu—ardat lili, male and female harmful nocturnal demons related to human sexuality, are widely known in Mesopotamia. The demon Lilith (her name is related to that of lilitu) is mentioned, with unknown function in Jer 34:14. 16 Incantations of the Arameans of the Urmia region from the 18th–19th centuries speak of seven evil demons which creep on the cattle, their victims, like snakes, devouring their flesh, and drinking their blood like vampires. Greek magical papyri mention Ereshkigal, the queen of the netherworld, as one who is stuffing dung and gobbling flesh. See Volkert Haas, Magie und Mythen in Babylonien (Vastorf bei Lüneburg: Merlin Verlag, 1986), 220–21. 17 The first edition of the Aramaic fragments of the Enochic literature from Qumran, including the Book of Giants, is Józef T. Milik, The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumrân Cave 4 (London: Clarendon Press, 1976). The fragments of the Book of Giants were edited by Émile Puech, Qumrân Grotte 4 XXI: Textes araméens, première partie: 4Q529-549, DJD XXXI (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2001); Loren T. Stuckenbruck, The Book of Giants from Qumran: Texts, Translation, and Commentary, TSAJ 63 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997).

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from the end of the third century BCE. These manuscripts contained already the tradition on the watchers (1 En. 1–36). It can be supposed that the above tradition was shaped before the end of the third century BCE, long before the establishment of the Qumran settlement and the physical separation of the Qumran community. Aramaic Enochic writings served as a source to the collection known to us as 1 Enoch or the Ethiopic Book of Enoch.18 The Qumran library offers a continuous tradition of the Enochic manuscripts through several centuries, a growing tradition, added to with new elements, thematically built around the tradition of the watchers, which deeply influenced other works written in the Qumran community. The four texts of 11Q11—among them Song 3, the text describing the horned demon—can be set into a calendrical setting. The four songs of 11Q11 are identified with the four Davidic songs that are mentioned at the end of the Great Psalms Scroll 11QPsa = 11Q5 XXVII:10 among the compositions of king David—besides his 3,600 psalm compositions, 446 songs written for the regular days, shabbats, festivals of a 364-day calendar, and four compositions “for charming the demon-possessed with music” (šyr lngn ‛l hpgw‛ym) (11Q5 27:10).19 J. Mayer and B. Nitzan have earlier suggested that the four songs “for charming the demon-possessed with music” were recited on the four liminal days (equinoxes and solstices) of the year.20 Accepting an autumn New Year festival as the beginning of the liturgical year, one can suppose that Song 1 was recited at the autumn equinox, Song 2 at winter solstice, Song 3 at the spring equinox, and Song 4 (identical to Psalm 91) at the summer solstice.21 The Jewish lunisolar calendar considers both equinoxes and full moons at the time of the autumn and spring festivals (New Year and Passover). The ideal calendar of 364 days determines the feasts solely by the days of the solar year; thus, the days of the New year and Passover would overlap with the autumn and spring equinoxes. It is to be supposed that Song 4—identical with Psalm 91—is intended to give protection against demonic plagues of pestilence (deber, qeteb) metaphorized also 18 1 Enoch is fully preserved in an Ethiopic translation. For the text, see Michael A. Knibb, The Ethiopic Book of Enoch. Text and Apparatus: A New Edition in the Light of the Aramaic Dead Sea Fragments, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978). 19 Émile Puech, “Les psaumes davidiques du rituel d’exorcisme (11Q11),” in Sapiential, Liturgical and Poetical Texts from Qumran, eds. Daniel K. Falk, Florentino García Martinez, and Eileen M. Schuller, STDJ 35 (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 160–81. 20 Johann Maier, Die Qumran-Essener. Die Texte vom Toten Meer, vols. 1–3 (München, Basel: Ernst Reinhardt, 1995–1996), 1:341 n. 720; 3:52–54; Bilhah Nitzan, Qumran Prayer and Religious Poetry, STDJ 12 (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 238. 21 See Ida Fröhlich, “Healing with Psalms,” 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, eds. Jeremy Penner, Ken M. Penner, and Cecilia Wassen, STDJ 98 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 197–215.

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as ḥṣ y‛wp ywmm “arrow that flies by day” (Ps 91:5–8), and psychical and physical dangers, at the time of the summer solstice.22 The theme and function of Psalm 91 can be paralleled with the prayers offered at the summer and winter solstices to the Mesopotamian deity Nergal, who was represented by arrows, and was a god of the burning heat of the sun, the netherworld, and pestilence.23 In the Jewish context, it is YHWH alone who is able to keep away plagues from the righteous “…who live in the shelter of the Most High, who abide in the shadow of the Almighty” (Ps 91:1). According to our calendrical reconstruction Song 3 would have been uttered at the spring equinox, identical in the 364-day calendar with Passover. Considering this, it is reasonable to reconsider the reading of the words introducing the incantation. They refer to the time or occasion when the song is to be recited: [qr‛ bk]l ‛t ’l hšm[ym ’šr] ybw’ ’lyk bly[lh “[Invoke at a]ny time to the heav[ens when] it comes to you during the ni[ght]” (11Q11 5.5).24 If we were to read ’l hšm[ym] “to the heav[ens]” as ’l hšm[rym] “at the šimmurim,” we would then be able to place the text into a calendrical context.25 The term šmrym is mentioned in Ex 12:42 as the vigil before the day of the exodus, a fixed nocturnal point in the calendar. Thus the interpretation of the passage would be, “Invoke at any time at the vig[il of Passover when] it comes.”26 Thus, the apparition of the “horned demon” is related to the vigil of Passover. Looking for the figure, it is again the series Utukkū lemnūtu that provides a description of the figure of a horned demon. The long list of the demons bringing disease describes a “horned demon” called gallu (5:124–141). The gallu is mentioned as “a goring ox” (5:127–128). This demon, one of the Seven (sibitti 5:129), is ruthless, a demon who “knows not how to act kindly” (5:130). Its assignment is “eating 22 Namely ’bn “stone,” šḥl “lion,” ptn “adder,” kpyr “young lion,” and tnyn “serpent.” André Caquot, “Sur quelques démons de l’Ancien Testament (Reshep, Qeteb, Deber),” Semitica 6 (1956): 53–56, 58 argues that the names are not simply personifications of diseases, but that they stand for demonic beings. 23 The arrows of the sun were associated with pestilence in several cultures of antiquity, e.g., loimos in Homer is due to the arrows of Apollon Smintheus (god of both sun and pestilence). In Mesopotamia, the arrow symbolized the deities Erra, Ninurta, and Nergal, with the latter described as bearing “bow, arrow, and quiver”—see Egbert von Weiher, Der babylonische Gott Nergal, AOAT 11 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1971), 71. Both Erra and Nergal were associated with pestilence and demons. The biblical metaphor for pestilence is the sword of YHWH’s angel (e.g., 2Sam 24:10–17. 24 There is room in the lacuna for an extra reš. 25 There are no examples of apotropaic prayers addressed generally “to the heavens.” The addressee, i.e., the source of the magical power, is always well defined in this type of prayer—in Jewish tradition, God is the source. A reconstruction of the text as ’l hšm “to the Name” would be too short for the gap. 26 The Hebrew of Samuel, Kings, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel occasionally uses ’l in the sense of ‛l, which allows the interpretation “on, at” in this context.

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flesh, causing blood to flow, (then) drinking from the veins” (5:134). Filled with malevolence, the gallu-s “do not cease consuming blood” (5:137–138). Another part of the same collection (6:1–39) mentions the gallu among the evil utukku together with the evil ghost (6:1–4) and fate-demon (6:11). The gallu “does not listen,” “has no shame,” and “performs sex crudely” (6:5–7). The Bailiff-demon, the evil ghost, and the gallu “who do not sleep” (6:79) attack together domestic animals and human families, fathers and mothers, together with their children: “They strike down the cattle in the pen, they slaughter the sheepfold” (6:81–82); “They seize the one lying in his wife’s room, having taken the son from the nurse-maid lap. They murder the father and children together, and they spear the mother together with children like fish in the water” (6:83–86). It seems that the gallu appears to humans in the figure of a horned demon that causes (sudden) death.27 The biblical Passover tradition is related to the figure of a mšḥyt (“destroyer”), who is told in Exodus to kill the firstborn—the worst of the ten plagues, a divine punishment for the hard-heartedness of the Pharaoh who does not want to allow the people of Moses to leave. The occasion of this attack is Passover night, the evening of the fourteenth day of the month when YHWH “goes through” (psḥ) the land to strike down the Egyptians, but when he sees the blood on the doorframe he will pass over that doorway, and “he will not permit the destroyer (ha-mašḥīt) to enter the house and strike (Ex 12:23). The precise nature of “the destroyer” is not revealed in the text, neither physical characteristics are given.28 The Passover narrative does not predate the Priestly source (P) in Exodus—thus, it may coincide with the Babylonian exile. The other source in Exodus, J, depersonalizes the term mašḥît into an action (lmšḥyt; Ex 12:23). This may lead one to think that the textual development moved from Ex 12:21b–23 to Ex 12:1–14 rather than in the reverse direction. The mšḥyt in the J source is depersonalized, and—according to the late Jewish doctrine of angels—works as a hypostasis of YHWH.29 However, the depersonalized name in Exodus might have been inspired by a popular belief 27 The horned gallu is the negative counterpart of the protective demon kusarikku, the “BullMan” who was characterized in Mesopotamian and Syrian iconography as a doorkeeper to protect the inhabitants from malevolent intruders. It was one of the figures that protected the house. See “Mischwesen” in Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie: Meek - Mythologie, Volume 8, ed. Dietz Otto Edzard (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 225. The name and function of the gallu survived in those of the Gello of Byzantine and Greek folk belief, see Walter Burkert, The Orientalizing Revolution: Near Eastern Influence on Greek Culture in the Early Archaic Age (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1992), 82–87; M. L. West, The East Face of Helicon: West Asiatic Elements in Greek Poetry and Myth (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997), 58–59. 28 A similar name mentioned in Ps 78:49 may refer to a “band of destroying angels.” 29 G. J. Botterweck, H. Ringgren, H.-J. Fabry, eds., Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1973), 12:12.

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of a demonic danger that threatened children at the time of Passover—as it is reflected in some works of the Second Temple period. Ex 12:21b–23 describes the Passover festival as a blood ritual to be performed by the family in order to protect the family in its house during the night of the ritual, thus placing the family in the situation of the exodus night. The protection of the family is then complemented by the destruction of Israel’s enemies.30 In Exodus, Passover is a ywm lzkrwn “memorial day,” commemorating deliverance from the mšḥyt “destroyer,” a festival (hg) to YHWH, and a lasting ordinance (ḥqwt ‘wlm) for the generations to come (Ex 12:14). The scene of Passover is a peak of the book of Jubilees, a rewriting of the narratives of Genesis and Exodus until the giving of the Law on Sinai.31 Composed around the middle of the second century BCE, the book of Jubilees was a highly important work at Qumran, its original Hebrew being represented in several copies in the library. Jubilees reflects the same 364-day calendar system we find in the calendrical texts from Qumran—the Temple Scroll (11QT), 4QMMT, and other texts.32 Jubilees calls the destroyer in the Passover scene Mastema, “the instigator,” who causes animosity. Mastema is the head of a demonic host who provoke spiritual error and improper religious practice—a topic that pervades Qumran literature.33 Passover in Jubilees is a ritualization of an immanent divine law, apropos of a divine rescue from a demonic attack on the firstborn: “when all the powers of Mastema had been let loose to slay all the first-born in the land of Egypt” (Jub 49:2–3). Passover is a ritual that is to be kept in perpetuity as a protection against demonic plagues, annually on the day of its fixed time. Observing Passover thus ensures that “no plague shall come upon them to slay or to smite in that year in which they celebrate the Passover in

30 So Eckart Otto, “pāsaḥ, pesaḥ,” in Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, 12.1–23 (esp. 12). See Rainer Albertz and Rüdiger Schmitt, Family and Household Religion (Winona Lake, IND: Eisenbrauns, 2012), 399, 419–20. 31 The earliest Hebrew fragments of Jubilees from Qumran are dated to around 125 BC, although they must have been preceded by an earlier written tradition. See James C. VanderKam, Textual and Historical Studies on the Book of Jubilees, HSM 14 (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1977), 215–17. The suggested dates for the creation of the book range from the third to the first centuries BCE. The terminus ante quem is set by the Damascus Document (CD 16:3–4), which mentions “the book of the divisions of the times according to their jubilees and their weeks,” and the Qumran fragments of Jubilees. The terminus a quo is set by 1 Enoch, which is very much used in Jubilees. See also John C. Endres, Biblical Interpretation in the Book of Jubilees, CBQMS 18 (Washington, DC: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1987). 32 On the calendars, see Jonathan Ben-Dov, Head of All Years: Astronomy and Calendars at Qumran in Their Ancient Context, STDJ 78 (Leiden: Brill, 2008). 33 The figure is akin with Satan of the book of Job, the bn ’lhym who proposes to God Job’s testing (Job 1:6–12).

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its season in every respect according to His command” (Jub 49:15–16). The New Testament alludes to the idea of the demonic attack against the firstborn on Passover night: “By faith he [Moses] kept the Passover and the sprinkling of blood, so that the destroyer of the firstborn would not touch the firstborn of Israel” (Heb 11:28). Passover has been celebrated since antiquity by a nighttime vigilance. According to the gospel tradition, the last supper, a Passover meal, was followed by singing psalms and vigils,34 although it is not known which psalms were sung. Surprisingly enough, the apotropaic formula related to the horned demon appears in late antique magic bowl texts, and in a medieval Genizah text, all of them written in Aramaic, and intended for practical use.35 The Herodian script of 11Q11 leads one to date the manuscripts to the early decades of the first century CE. The date of composition, however, may be much earlier.36 The bowl texts are from late antiquity (fifth–sixth centuries). The Genizah text from the eleventh century is a full millennium later than the Qumran text. Localities where the texts were written are Qumran (11Q11), Mesopotamia (for the bowl texts), and Egypt (for the Cairo Genizah text). The bowl texts were written for women. One of them, MS 2053/7, was written for Mahdukh daughter of Nevandukh, against various demonic harms. The text contains a series of demon names. The formula is to be read at the end of the bowl text, sandwiched between a double citation of Zech 3:2, where the prophetic text refers to Satan. The formula is preceded by a reference to the events of the first Passover following the Exodus (Num 9). The other bowl text, MS 2053/236, was written for Namanuš daughter of Čihrazad, and contains a picture of a female demon. It is a protection amulet for being saved from various harms and demonic attack, “whether by day or by night.” The apotropaic text was written against various demons, among them dȇvs, saṭan and saṭans, liliths, and “all evil injurers, male and female” (line 2) to move away from “the head, brain, and heart of the client.” The client for whom the text of the Genizah fragment was written is not known. There is no reference either to the Passover—however, some of the motifs of the text reflect those of the Passover tradition. The formula is preceded by incantations related to crying babies. The last part of the text enumerates demons, bad dreams (?), and other causes of sudden fears.

34 Matt 26:17; Mark 14:12; Luke 22:7–8. 35 Gideon Bohak, “From Qumran to Cairo: The Lives and Times of a Jewish Exorcistic Formula (with an Appendix from Shaul Shaked),” Micrologus’ Library 48, SISMEL, Edizioni del Galluzzo (2012): 31–52. 36 James H. Charlesworth, The Dead Sea scrolls: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek texts with English translations. Vol. 4A, Pseudepigraphic and non-Masoretic psalms and prayers (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck; Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1997), 216.

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’šb῾[yt ’tkm] hmnw῾ym hkn[w῾]ym pnyk pny špl qrnk qrn ḥywt ykkh yhwh wyspsk’ ky tmwt ’m tyqrb w’m tyg῾ bmhdwk bt nywndwk. I adjure you who are barred, who are subdued. Your face is the face of a lowly creature, your horn is the horn of animate beings. May God smite you and put an end to you, for you shall die if you come near and if you touch Makhdukh daughter of Newandukh.” (MS 2053/7, lines 9–10). hšb῾ty ’tkm bhkny῾ym hgny῾ym rph. pnyk pny špl qrnk qrn ḥywt ykp’ spsk yhwh yyyy yhwh tmwt ’m tg῾ ’m tqrb bh bnmnwš bt ṭšyhr’zd wkl d’yt lh mn ywm’ dyn wl῾lm brwk ’mn ’mn slh hllwyh. I adjure you by [magic words]. Your face is that of a lowly creature, your horn is the horn of animate beings. [magic words] yhwh yyyy yhwh You will die if you touch, if you come near her, (near) Namanuš daughter of Čihrazad and any other name that she has, from this day and for ever. (MS 2053/236, lines 11–13). wb[’?] ῾l[y]k byn bywm wbyn blylh lk my ’t ’m mzr῾ d’dm ’m mzr῾h dbhmh pnykh pny šybh wqry nwtyk šbwlt …. ’m tbw’w tyg῾ bh b[…]. [ ] and it c[omes] up[o]n you whether by day or by night, and says to you: Who are you, whether from the seed of man or from the seed of cattle? Your face is the face of old age? and your horns(?) are (like) a water-current. You shall come out? [] until [] if you touch her? with? [].” (Cambridge University Library TSK 1.123 page D, lines 8–12)

The bowls give a unanimous picture of the demon as a figure with mixed—human and animal—characteristics: “Your face is the face of a lowly creature, your horn is the horn of animate beings” (Bowl MS 2053/7), and “Your face is that of a lowly creature, your horn is the horn of animate beings” (Bowl MS 2053/236). The Genizah text is not clear: “Your face is the face of old age? and your horns(?) are (like) a water-current” (pnyk pny šybh wqry nwtyk šbwlt) (TSK 1.123 D, line 11). The Genizah text shows certain similarities with 11Q11. It contains the address to the demon: my ’th “Who are you?” (TSK 1.123 D, line 9), and refers to the origin of the demon: “whether from the seed of man or from the seed of cattle.” However, differently from 11Q11 which supposes a mixed heavenly and earthly origin (“offspring of] man and of the seed of the ho[ly one]s”) the Genizah text affirms a mixed human and animal origin. The bowl texts and the Genizah text may reflect a common Jewish belief in a demon with human and animal features, an evil spirit that attacks children and families at the time of Passover, causing sudden death. As G. Bohak remarked, the formula that had been present in the written tradition over a millennium had a very complex transmission history. None of the texts is a direct copy of the other. The formula may have been transmitted through both oral and written channels. It can be supposed that the bowl texts preserved the original form of the incantation related to the Passover, addressed to a horned night demon, and intended to keep it away from humans. It might have been an autochthonous belief of folk

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religion, perhaps even from preexilic times. The formula has never become part of the Passover liturgy, but it did survive as an element of folk religion. It is this devastating spirit that Exodus refers to in a, perhaps deliberately, depersonalized form. It was the Qumran liturgical tradition that adapted the figure to the special aims and tradition of the Qumran community, relating it to the tradition of the watchers, and attributing to it a mixed spiritual and human origin. Folk tradition related to the “horned demon” was “Enochized” at Qumran. The question of the Genizah text about the origin of the demon might reflect an agreement with the Qumran tradition of the origin of the demon. Nevertheless, the answer is assigned in the wording of the question—“whether from the seed of man or from the seed of cattle”—affirming an origin of the demon that differs from the ideas of the Qumran author of the incantation.

Helge S. Kvanvig

7 From Prophecy to Apocalyptic Introduction Gabriele Boccaccini has made considerable contributions to the understanding of Early Judaism both through his scholarly achievements1 and through the foundation and organization of the Enoch Seminar. By emphasizing the importance of the early Enochic writings, he has challenged many established theories from earlier research. This concerns not at least the tendency to interpret the religious beliefs of Early Judaism in continuity with the religious heritage of the Hebrew Bible. This has especially been done by placing Moses and the Torah as the natural point of orientation for interpreting religious attitudes and by drawing a thick line of continuity from the biblical prophets to apocalyptic. Boccaccini has challenged these convictions by giving Enoch and his followers a central role in the formation of Early Judaism. Thus, he has opened up a more diverse picture of this period. In this chapter, we will concentrate on the second of these issues, the alleged continuity between biblical prophecy and apocalyptic; continuity not necessarily in the way that apocalyptic developed smoothly out of prophecy. There may have been disruptions and contradictions along the way; nevertheless, the heritage of the biblical prophets was transformed into apocalyptic.2 1 Cf. above all G. Boccaccini, Beyond the Essene Hypothesis (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998); and idem, Roots of Rabbinic Judaism. An Intellectual History from Ezekiel to Daniel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002). 2 For earlier research, cf. for instance J. M. Schmidt, Die jüdische Apokalyptik. Die Geschichte ihrer Erforschung von den Anfängen bis zu den Textfunden von Qumran (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1969), 166–70, 212–14, 265–77; K. Koch, Ratlos vor der Apokalyptik. Eine Streitschrift über ein vernachlässigtes Gebiet der Bibelwissenschaft und die schädlichen Auswirkungen auf Theologie und Philosophie (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1970), 35–102; idem, “Einleitung,” in Apokalyptik, Wege der Forschung (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1982), 1–29. For more resent research, cf. L. L. Grabbe, “Introduction and Overview,” in Knowing the End from the Beginning. The Prophetic, the Apocalyptic and their Relationships, eds. L. L. Grabbe and R. D. Haak, JSPSup 46 (London: T&T Clark, 2003), 2–43; L. DiTommaso, “Apocalypses and Apocalypticism in Antiquity. Part 2,” CBR 5 (2007): 367–432 (for prophecy and apocalyptic, 367–374; wisdom, mantic, and apocalyptic, 374–81; integrating the traditions, 381–4); F. Förg, Die Ursprünge der alttestamentlichen Apokalyptik, Arbeiten zur Bibel und ihrer Geschichte 45 (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2013), 16–38. For a commented bibliography, cf. D. Brent Sandy and D. M. O’Hare, Prophecy and Apocalyptic. An Annotated Bibliography (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2007), 204–08. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-008

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The research history up the 1970s demonstrates how important the line from prophecy to apocalyptic has been from the beginning when Friedrich Lücke published the first comprehensive representation of apocalyptic literature in 1832.3 There has been a clear tendency to emphasize visionary language and eschatology in relation to genre and content. In relation to chronology, there is most often made a three-step model: early biblical prophets, biblical prophets from the exile and early Second Temple period as a bridge, and Dan 7–12 as the first example of the fully developed apocalyptic. The selection of biblical prophets serving as a bridge may vary, but often mentioned candidates have been Ezekiel, Deutero-Isaiah, Zechariah, Trito-Isaiah, Joel, and Is 24–27. These can either be designated as late prophets or early apocalyptics. There have been objections to this understanding of the origin of apocalyptic. Gustav Hölscher argued already in 1922 for a background of apocalyptic in sapiental traditions.4 He emphasized the speculative aspects of apocalyptic such as astronomy, cosmology, botany and medicine, magic, and demonology, besides the eschatological concerns, as we find it in Enoch. Most known is Gerhard von Rad who claimed that what had been defined as the very core of apocalyptic, history and eschatology, were not rooted in prophecy, but in the understanding of time in the wisdom writings.5 Nevertheless, we do not think we exaggerate the tendency in research up to the 1970s when we claim that apocalyptic as a genre was defined according visions as the primary formal characteristic and eschatology as a characteristic of content, and placed in a chronology stretching from the early biblical prophets to Daniel. 3 F. Lücke, Versuch einer vollständigen Einleitung in die Offenbarung Johannis und in die gesammelte apokalyptische Literatur (Bonn: Weber, 1832). 4 G. Hölscher, Geschichte der israelitischen und jüdischen Religion (Giessen: Töpelmann, 1922), 187–93. 5 G. von Rad, Theologie des Alten Testaments, vol. II: Die Theologie der prophetischen Überlieferungen Israels (München: Kaiser Verlag, 1960), 316–31; idem, Weisheit in Israel (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1970), 337–63. Hans-Peter Müller is another example; he claimed that apocalyptic had its roots in mantic wisdom, H.-P. Müller, “Magisch-mantische Weisheit und die Gestalt Daniels,” UF 1 (1969): 79–94; idem, “Mantische Weisheit und Apokalyptik,” in Congress Volume: Uppsala 1971, VTSup 22 (Leiden: Brill, 1972), 268–93. Von Rad got some followers; cf. for instance, H. C. Lebram, “Apokalyptik/Apokalypsen,” in TRE 3 (1978): 189–250 (196). Most scholars did, however, reject his thesis; cf. J. Schreiner, Alttestamentlich-jüdische Apokalyptik (München: Kösel Verlag, 1969), 175–77; P. von der Osten-Sacken, Die Apokalyptik in ihrem Verhältnis zu Prophetie und Weisheit, Theologische Existenz heute 157 (München: Kaiser Verlag, 1969), 53–63; W. Schmithals, Die Apokalyptik. Einführung und Deutung (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1973), 175–77. For a survey of the research history on this issue, cf. A. Bedenbender, Der Gott der Welt tritt auf den Sinai. Enstehung und Funktionsweise der frühjüdischen Apokalyptik, ANTZ 8 (Berlin: Institut Kirche und Judentum, 2000), 62–87.

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Enoch and the Origin of Apocalyptic Józef T. Milik published the Aramaic fragments to 1 Enoch in 1976.6 This raised new questions both about the chronology and genre of apocalypses. 1 Enoch had always been there in the shadow when early apocalyptic was discussed, but often with paid little attention to it.7 Milik’s dating of the Aramaic manuscripts found at Qumran has not been seriously questioned in later research.8 The oldest two books from which there are manuscripts are the Astronomical Book and the Book of Watchers. The oldest manuscripts are dated to the first half of the second century, one manuscript to the Astronomical Book most likely earlier. The dates of the manuscripts are not the same as the dates of the compositions. There is a general consensus among scholars that these two compositions were pre-Maccabean, that is, written before Dan 7–12.9 Most scholars regard the Apocalypse of Weeks as pre-Maccabean as well, even though its earliest attestation in a manuscript is from the middle of the first century BCE (4Q212).10 The Apocalypse of Animals (1 En. 85–90) is attested in a manuscript from the second half of the second century (4Q207).

6 J. T. Milik, The Books of Enoch. Aramaic Fragments of Qumran Cave 4 (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1976). 7 This is clearly demonstrated in two of the most influential contributions up to the 1970s, O. Plöger, Theokratie und Eschatologie, WMANT 2 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1959); and P. D. Hanson, The Dawn of Apocalyptic (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1975). Otto Plöger does not mention the Enochic writings at all; Paul D. Hanson quotes from them three times. In both contributions, Dan 7–12 is the first example of full developed apocalyptic. This is a bit strange since an early dating of parts of 1 Enoch was not unknown. Robert H. Charles regarded the Apocalypse of Weeks (1 En. 93:1–10; 91:11–17) and large parts of the Book of Watchers (1 En. 6–36) as pre-Maccabean; cf. R. H. Charles, The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament, vol. 2: Pseudepigrapha (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1913), 170. Georg Beer did the same for the Apocalypse of Weeks, cf. G. Beer, “Das Buch Henoch,” in Die Apokryphen und Pseudepigraphen des Alten Testaments. Band 2: Die Pseudepigraphen, ed. E. Kautzsch (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1900), 217–310 (230). 8 Milik, The Books of Enoch, 5–7; L. T. Stuckenbruck, “The Early Traditions Related to 1 Enoch from the Dead Sea Scrolls: An Overview and Assessment,” in The Early Enoch Literature, eds. G. Boccaccini and J. J. Collins, JSJSup 121 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 41–64; idem, 1 Enoch 91–108, CEJL (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007), 5–7; M. E. Stone, Ancient Judaism. New Visions and Views (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), 135; cf. also J. H. Charlesworth, “A Rare Consensus Among Enoch Specialists: The Date of the Earliest Enoch Books,” in The Origins of Enochic Judaism, ed. G. Boccaccini, Henoch 24 (Torino: Silvio Zamorani Editore, 2002), 225–34 (231–33). 9 That is, Dan 7 in its final Maccabean form. 10 Cf. the discussion in Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 60–62.

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The composition is generally seen as early Maccabean at least in its final form.11 This is approximately the same time as Dan 7–12.12 To what extent these Enochic compositions can be regarded as apocalypses is a matter of how the genre is defined. We have not come across anybody who denies the apocalyptic character of the Apocalypse of Weeks and the Apocalypse of Animals. Even though the Book of Watchers is a challenge to many traditional definitions of apocalypses, the book’s clear apocalyptical traits are commonly recognized. The Astronomical Book is a problem of its own, because the Ethiopic and the Aramaic versions are so different. Nevertheless it forms an early stage in a tradition that developed into Enochic apocalyptic. Accordingly, the supposed chronology: early prophets—late prophets/proto apocalyptics—Dan 7–12 is severely challenged. The line is broken by Enochic apocalypses and Enochic proto apocalyptic writings. This also affects the understanding of the genre. The Astronomical Book and the Book of Watchers cover a wide range of topics that have no interest in the prophetic books and Dan 7–12: astronomy, cosmology, demonology, and a wide range of topics connected to magic and divination. The Book of Watchers and the Apocalypse of Weeks are certainly occupied with eschatology, but not with an immediate end as we see it in the prophetic writings and in Dan 7–12. The first response we have found to Milik’s publication of the fragments of 1 Enoch in relation to apocalyptic was presented by Hartmut Stegemann on the Uppsala convention in 1979, and published in 1983. Stegemann concluded that the publication of the fragments seriously changed the traditional understanding that apocalyptic first appeared in the Book of Daniel. The fragments also plainly demonstrated that the origin of apocalyptic had nothing to do with prophecy, or even eschatology, but was constituted by “divine authority” and “heavenly knowledge” as we see it in the Astronomical Book and the Book of Watchers.13 Klaus Koch published his evaluation of the state of research in apocalyptic in 1982. He characterized the knowledge gained from the fragments as not less than an “Umsturz” that demanded a new orientation with unforeseen consequences.14 11 G. W. E. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1. A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001), 360–61. 12 The texts have similarities in the visionary language and the eschatological outlook; there are, however, significant differences both in the attitude to the actual crisis and in theology; cf. J. R. Davila, “The Animal Apocalypse and Daniel,” in Enoch and Qumran Origins, ed. G. Boccaccini (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 35–38. 13 H. Stegemann, “Die Bedeutung der Qumranfunde für die Erforschung der Apokalyptik,” in Apocalypticism in the Mediterranean World and the Near East, ed. D. Hellholm (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1983), 495–530 (502, 507–08, 510). 14 Koch, “Einleitung,” 10–11.

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The subsequent research demonstrates, however, that for many scholars the discovery of the fragments did not have these radical consequences.

Prophecy and Apocalypses About the same time as the Enoch fragments were published, a group of scholars organized by SBL aimed at defining what characterized writings that were commonly designated as apocalypses. The attempt was published in Semeia 14 in 1979, penned and argued by John J. Collins.15 An important impulse to the work came from Klaus Koch who had called for a form-critical definition of apocalypses.16 After having outlined the master paradigm of characteristics in form and content, Collins reaches the following definition: “‘Apocalypse’ is a genre of revelatory literature with a narrative framework, in which a revelation is mediated by an otherworldly being to a human recipient, disclosing a transcendent reality which is both temporal, insofar as it envisages eschatological salvation, and spatial insofar as it involves another, supernatural world.” It is important to note that this is a definition of apocalypse as a literary genre and not a characterization of apocalyptic as a broader phenomenon covering worldviews and social functions. The definition received both supporters and critics. Most importantly, however, it raised the awareness about apocalypse as a genre, both in a discussion concerning whether such a genre really exists and, if so, what defined the constitutive elements. John Barton saw a close relationship between prophetic writings and apocalypses, but he did not develop a model of evolution from pre-exilic prophecy to early apocalyptic. His historical model for the origin of apocalypses is based on a consideration of the authorial process of the prophetic books.17 The heritage of the classical prophets was given a new context in the prophetic books through transformations and additions of anonymous prophecies from later times. The classical prophets were addressing a particular event in their contemporary time. As written prophecies, they address a long period of history extending from their alleged time of prophesizing up to the time of the readers of the prophetic books.

15 J. J. Collins, “Introduction: Toward the Morphology of a Genre,” Semeia 14, Apocalypse: The Morphology of a Genre (1979): 1–20. 16 Koch, Ratlos vor der Apokalyptik, 19–24. 17 J. Barton, Oracles of God: Perceptions of Ancient Prophecy in Israel after the Exile (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1986), 198–210.

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The perception of prophecy changed; the scriptural prophet did not speak about his own time, but about the intervention of God in the time of the reader of the book. Therefore, Barton argues that the word “apocalyptic” as describing a mode of thinking different from this post exilic perception of prophecy should be abandoned. The word “apocalypse” is, however, useful for concrete writings. The writers of the apocalypses were imitating what they believed was prophecy in their own time. Although Barton does not criticize Collins’s definition of apocalypses, the difference is clear. Apocalypses and prophecy are two sides of the same coin in the Second Temple period and cannot be distinguished as two different genres.18 Lester L. Grabbe maintains a close relationship between prophecy and the literature commonly defined as apocalyptic as well, although his conclusions differ from Barton. Grabbe maintains that the traits commonly used to characterize apocalypses are also present in prophecies.19 This does not mean that there are no differences between individual writings labeled prophecies or apocalypses in the same manner as there are differences in prophecies and apocalypses: Amos is different from Daniel as he is different from Nahum; Daniel is different from 1 Enoch. The point is that these differences cannot be used to separate these writings into two mutually exclusive categories: “The solution is to consider apocalyptic/apocalypses a subdivision of prophecy.”20

18 Ronald Hendel has later elaborated Barton’s arguments by adding insight from Ronald E. Clements and Robert Alter; cf. R. Hendel, “Isaiah and the Transition from Prophecy to Apocalyptic,” in Birkat Shalom: Studies in the Bible, Ancient Near Eastern Literature and Postbiblical Judaism Presented to Shalom M. Paul on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, eds. C. Cohen et al. (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2008), 261–79; R. E. Clements, “The Interpretation of Prophecy and the Origin of Apocalyptic,” in Old Testament Prophecy: From Oracles to Canon, ed. R. E. Clements (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 182–88; R. Alter, The Art of Biblical Poetry (New York: Basic Books, 1985), 137–62. Clements argues like Barton that the rise of apocalyptic was only possible because prophecy had come to take on written form. The apocalyptic elaboration and reworking of earlier prophecy in the books of Isaiah, Ezekiel, and the Minor Prophets was a key feature in the origin of apocalyptic. Hendel finds, however, that the distinction between classical prophecy and its apocalyptic interpretation is too sharply drawn. Alter had demonstrated that the poetic language of prophecy transposed historical circumstances to a cosmic scale. According to Hendel this provided a key stimulus for the apocalyptic reading of many prophetic oracles, not at least in Isaiah. The rhetoric of prophetic discourse contained the seed of its apocalyptic reception. 19 Cf. the list in Grabbe, “Introduction and Overview,” 23; L. L. Grabbe, “Prophetic and Apocalyptic: Time for New Definitions - and New Thinking,” in Grabbe and Haak, Knowing the End, 117. 20 Grabbe, “Introduction and Overview,” 22.

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Prophecy is, however, not an isolated phenomenon; it is closely related to mantic wisdom that contains a series of divinatory practices to foresee the future. Both prophecy and divination claim to deliver a divine message in various forms.21 “I would suggest that apocalyptic writing should be seen simply as a species of the broader category of prophetic writing. Prophetic writings, now encompassing apocalyptic writings, would then be a branch of the category which could be called ‘divinatory writing’, ‘mantic writing’, or whatever term we could agree on.”22 Grabbe thus bridges these two categories that often have been seen as alternatives to the background of apocalyptic. Hindy Najman’s primary concern is to demonstrate how prophecy and apocalypse are related both in regard of genre and chronology. The relationship is, however, not of the kind that apocalypse can be subsumed under the category of prophecy; rather apocalypse is the inheritance of prophecy in a new age.23 She maintains the possibility to define prophecy and apocalypse as two different genres, yet demonstrates how apocalypse stores basic features of prophecy in an altered form. The prophetic project continued, but it relied on strategies of inheritance and it was in the context of such strategies that the relationship between prophetic and apocalyptic texts should be seen. There are certainly differences between the aforementioned approaches. They all, however, maintain a close relationship between prophecy and apocalypse: for Barton to the extent that the designation “apocalyptic” for a special form of literature distinct from prophecy should be avoided; for Grabbe to the extent that apocalyptic is subsumed under the rubric of prophecy, which is characterized as a kind of divinatory literature. Najman keeps apocalypse as a special genre, but sees it as an expression of prophecy in a later time. None of these contributions are especially disturbed by the existence of an early Enochic tradition that developed into apocalypses where the closeness to biblical prophecy is rather vague. It may be that it caused a change in the way of argumentation from a model based on a chronological development from classical prophecy to apocalypses to a model more occupied by the similar traits of genre. Collins has discussed and defended the definition from Semeia 14 in several articles. In a direct response to Grabbe, he does not see that Grabbe’s proposal to consider apocalyptic/apocalypse as a subdivision of prophecy solves 21 Ibid., 23–24. 22 Grabbe, “Prophetic and Apocalyptic,” 129. Cf. also idem, “Daniel. Sage, Seer ... and Prophet?,” in Constructs of Prophecy in the Former and Latter Prophets and Other Texts, eds. L. L. Grabbe and M. Nissinen, ANEM 4 (Atlanta: SBL, 2011), 87–94. 23 H. Najman, “The Inheritance of Prophecy in Apocalypse,” in The Oxford Handbook of Apocalyptic Literature, ed. J. J. Collins (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 36–51.

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any problem.24 If apocalypse is a subdivision of prophecy something must characterize it as a subdivision, which is different from prophecy as a more comprehensive category. The same applies to “divination” as an even more embracing classification that should comprise prophecy, apocalyptic, and mantic wisdom. To make a hierarchy of classifications does not solve the problem of what characterizes the parts. The significance of “mantic wisdom” for apocalyptic literature as seen in Daniel and Enoch should not be dismissed. This does not, however, lead to the conclusion that apocalypse is a form of divination. Collins summarizes and comments on the discussion of the Semeia definition in two more recent articles. Here he both defends the definition and clarifies it by placing it in a broader theoretical framework of genre studies.25 The basic problem in defining genres and categories is the difficulty of drawing a clean line between a genre and closely related works. Collins finds here that the most successful attempt to address this problem is the “prototype-theory” developed in cognitive psychology.26 Prototypes of a category like that of a genre have a common core of essential elements and then fade into fuzziness at the edges. The prototype-theory refuses to establish a strict boundary between texts that are members of a genre and those that are not. It distinguishes between texts that are highly typical and those that are less typical. Nevertheless, the first stage in the analysis of any genre is to identify it. Without such a definition of the prototypical core the discussion of genre will be confused. If we transpose Collins’s considerations from a synchronic to a diachronic level, the first prototypes of apocalypses are found in the Enochic Book of Watchers, Apocalypse of Weeks, the Animal Apocalypse, and in Dan 7–12. They all contain the basic features described in the definition of Semeia 14. If we, on the other hand, should try to define what is prototypical in any form of prophecy,27 I would think that nobody would come up with a definition like that of Semeia, even though there are shared elements in prophecies and apocalypses. In spite of these shared elements, there are considerable differences.28 24 J. J. Collins, “Prophecy, Apocalypse and Eschatology: Reflections on the Proposals of Lester Grabbe,” in Grabbe and Haak, Knowing the End, 44–52, (50–51). 25 J. J. Collins, “What is Apocalyptic Literature?,” in Collins, The Oxford Handbook, 1–16; idem, “Introduction: The Genre Apocalypse Reconsidered,” in Apocalypse, Prophecy, and Pseudepigraphy, ed. J. J. Collins (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015), 1–22. 26 idem, “What is Apocalyptic Literature?,” 4–5; “The Genre Apocalypse,” 12–13. 27 For a summary of basic traits of prophecy, cf. Najman, “The Inheritance of Prophecy in Apocalypse,” 36–37. 28 During the period, prophecy would be available for readers/listeners through prophetic books. Ehud Ben Zvi has discussed the prophetic book as a prototype on a theoretical basis similar to that of Collins; cf. E. Ben Zvi, “The Concept of Prophetic Books and Its Historical Setting,”

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If we start with 1 Enoch, there is a difference in how the process of communication is portrayed. Prophecy is based on oral communication. The prophet received a message from the deity, delivered it orally to the addressees, and then it could eventually be written down in order to save it for the future.29 This image of communication has also left its imprint on prophecy when it was produced in written form. Enoch, however, did not communicate orally with the real addressees of the apocalypses. He was a scribe who wrote down his revelations in primeval times (1 En. 12:1; 15:1; 83:2; 33:2) and they were gathered in books meant for future generations (1 En. 2:2–3; 92:1; 93:2, 10). This is the image when the compositions were read as well. In the “biography” of Enoch in Jub. 4:17–26 Enoch is the first of mankind who learnt to write. Four times it is stated that Enoch wrote down compositions (4:17, 18, 19, 22–23).30 According to Jubilees, the writing down of these books started a chain of transmission of primeval books that ended with Levi (45:16).31 Daniel is not placed in primeval times but in the Diaspora when the Jews had to find a way to preserve and strengthen their religious identity. When he received his first vision, it was immediately written down (Dan 7:1). The reason is stated in the second vision; it should be kept secret because it concerned a distant future (8:26). The whole book of Daniel shall be kept secret until the time of the end (12:4); then those who are wise will understand (12:10). The apocalypses of 1 Enoch and Daniel cover a wide range of themes. Nevertheless, two topics are basic for all of them and distinguish them from prophecy: knowledge, hidden and revealed, and patterns of order.32 In prophecy the addressee generally has to obey or accept the divine will, and act accordingly. The same does of course apply to apocalypses but one more important factor is added: the understanding of the divine will is acquired through revealed wisdom. The revelation of wisdom is the presupposition for

in The Production of Prophecy. Constructing Prophecy and Prophets in Yehud, eds. D. V. Edelman and E. Ben Zvi (London: Equinox, 2009), 73–95 (esp. 87 note 3). His description of this prototype differs considerable from Collins’s description of the prototype “apocalypse” (74–78). 29 Cf. M. Nissinen, “Spoken, Written, Quoted, and Invented: Orality and Writtenness in Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy,” in Writings and Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy, eds. E. Ben Zvi and M. H. Floyd, SymS (Atlanta: SBL, 2000), 235–71 (239–42). 30 Possibly referring to the Astronomical Book, the Epistle of Enoch, the Book of Dreams, and the Book of Watchers; cf. J. T. A. G. M. van Ruiten, Primeval History Interpreted. The Rewriting of Genesis 1–11 in the Book of Jubilees, JSJSup 66 (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 165–66. 31 H. S. Kvanvig, Roots of Apocalyptic. The Mesopotamian Background of the Enoch Figure and of the Son of Man, WMANT 61 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1988), 135–37. 32 Cf. for a broader discussion of these topics in apocalyptic literature C. A. Newsom, “The Rhetoric of Jewish Apocalyptic Literature,” in Collins, The Oxford Handbook, 201–17 (209–15).

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right conduct in all the earliest Enochic apocalypses (1 En. 5:1; 93:10; 90:6), and it characterizes the content of the Enochic books (1:2; 82:2–3; 100:6; 104:12–13). Daniel is given wisdom by the angelus interpres (Dan 9:22, 25). This enables him to understand the visions (10:1, 11). At the end time the wise ones will understand and be saved (11:33, 35; 12:3, 10). The heavenly wisdom is inaccessible to ordinary human understanding; therefore, it has to be disclosed through the revelation given in the apocalypses, either in visions, heavenly journeys, teaching by angels, or in access to heavenly books. The patterns of order in cosmos, history, and human life are a crucial part of the wisdom revealed in the apocalypses. The chosen will be wise through the correct understanding of the order of heaven and earth (1 En. 2:1–5:3). Enoch’s journeys give him both insight in the structure of cosmos and the final destiny of both the apostate heavenly beings and humans (17–36). The order of cosmos is connected to fixed numbers: the four winds (18:1–5), the seven mountains (18:6), the twelve gates of heaven (34:1–4), and the seven archangels watching over the earth (20:1–8). This cosmic order is also extended to history as we see it in the scheme of four kingdoms or periods (Dan 2; 7; 8; 1 En. 85:65–90:19) and in the sabbatical structure of history (Dan 9; 1 En. 10:12; 93:1–10; 91;11–17). Patterns of order rule human life as well, forming various kinds of moral dualism: humans are divided into chosen/righteous and sinners (1 En. 5:4–9); the forces of righteousness/truth and deceit struggle for supremacy in the Apocalypse of Weeks;33 and human life is destined by the struggle of transcendent forces in the Watcher Story (1 En. 6–16). There are patterns of order also in prophetic literature. This is not at least notable in the influence Jer 25:11–13, lying behind the 70 year-weeks in Dan 9, had on biblical chronography.34 Nevertheless I do not think that anybody would make patterns of order as we find them in the apocalypses a hallmark of prophecy.

33 Cf. K. Koch, “Sabbatsstruktur der Geschichte. Die sogenannte Zen-Wochen-Apokalypse (1 En. 93:1–10; 91:11–17) und das Ringen um die alttestamentlichen Chronologien im späten Israelitentum,” ZAW 95 (1983): 403–30, now in: Vor der Wende der Zeiten. Beiträge zur apokalyptischen Literatur, eds. Uwe Glessmer and Martin Krause (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag), 1996, 45–76 (66–67); H. S. Kvanvig, “Cosmic Laws and Cosmic Imbalance: Wisdom, Myth and Apocalyptic in Early Enochic Writings,” in Boccaccini and Collins, The Early Enoch Literature, 139–58 (146–47). 34 Cf. C. Berner, Jahre, Jahrewochen und Jubiläen. Heptadische Geschichtskonzeptionen im Antiken Judentum, BZAW 363 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2006), 78–84; Stone, Ancient Judaism, 63–69.

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The Trajectories of 1 Enoch and Daniel There has been a considerable group of scholars for whom the publication of the Enoch fragments made a turning point in the understanding of the origin of apocalyptic. They have not only been occupied with the relationship between prophecy and the apocalypses but followed the trajectories backward in history in the texts of 1 Enoch and Daniel. After the publication of the Enoch fragments, James C. VanderKam was the first to publish a comprehensive study of the background of Enoch in Mesopotamian literature. Concentrating on the figure of Enoch he focused mostly on the seventh antediluvian king in the Sumerian king list, Enmeduranki.35 VanderKam had the advantage to study new Babylonian texts about this king who was taken to the heavenly assembly, taught divination, and then returned to earth to transmit this wisdom to prominent men of renowned cities, founding the bārû guild.36 In addition to Enmeduranki, VanderKam also considered another antediluvian tradition as relevant for Enoch, the tradition of the apkallus, the primeval sages.37 In the list of antediluvian sages as it appears in the incantation series Bīt Mēseri, it is stated that the seventh apkallu, Utuabzu, parallel to the king Enmeduranki, ascended to heaven. Rykle Borger had argued in his re-edition of the text that both Enmeduranki and Utuabzu formed the background for Enoch’s ascension to heaven.38 VanderKam finds it not unlikely that this suggestion is correct.39 VanderKam proceeds examining divination in Israel and finds that various mantic techniques were practiced. This line of research is followed up in a later 35 J. C. VanderKam, Enoch and the Growth of an Apocalyptic Tradition, CBQMS 16 (Washington: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1984), 23–44. The idea that Enmeduranki could be regarded as an antecedent of Enoch was not new; it had already been advanced by Heinrich Zimmern in 1902; cf. H. Zimmern, “Urkönige und Uroffenbarung,” in Die Keilschriften und das Alte Testament 2, ed. E. Schrader (Berlin: Verlag von Reuther und Reichard, 1902–1903), 530–43 (540). 36 Cf. W. G. Lambert, “Enmeduranki and Related Matters,” JCS 21 (1967): 126–38; idem, “The Seed of Kingship,” in Le Palais et la royauté, archéologie et civilisation: Compte rendu, ed. P. Garelli (Paris: Geuthner, 1974), 427–40. The text is later reedited by Lambert, adding new fragments, as “The Qualifications of Babylonian Diviners,” in Festschrift für Rykle Borger zu seinem 65. Geburtstag am 24. Mai 1994, ed. S. M. Maul, Cuneiform Monographs (Groningen: Styx, 1998), 141–58. 37 VanderKam, Enoch and the Growth, 45–51. For a more updated discussion of the list of seven sages, cf. H. S. Kvanvig, Primeval History: Babylonian, Biblical, and Enochic, JSJSup 149 (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 105–117. 38 R. Borger, “Die Beschwörungsserie Bīt Mēseri und die Himmelfahrt Henochs,” JNES 33 (1974): 183–96 (193). 39 VanderKam, Enoch and the Growth, 58.

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article where he finds a considerable overlap between different kinds of diviners and prophets. One should not draw a sharp distinction between mantic wisdom and prophecy.40 The term prophecy should not be limited to a few great literary prophets; Israelite and Judean prophecy was a broader phenomenon that included mantic wisdom. “Prophecy in this wider sense was probably the decisive stimulus in the evolution of apocalyptic thought.”41 We have already seen that Grabbe in two later articles made some of the same observations.42 John J. Collins claims that Enoch is fashioned after Mesopotamian prototypes as well, especially Enmeduranki; the influence of Babylonian divination on the Enochic writings is, however, rather limited.43 There is a similarity between Enoch and Daniel. In each of these cases, the Jewish wise man is in competition with Babylonian counterparts. Some of their presuppositions are accepted but the Jewish wise men also maintain distinctive identity. In the case of Enoch this is implied by the comparison with Enmeduranki. Yet there is a difference between Daniel and Enoch. Daniel is a practitioner of courtly wisdom, concerned with the rise and fall of kingdoms. The earliest Enoch tradition is characterized by pseudoscientific speculation on cosmology and astronomy. Collins carefully notices the shift in worldview when the traditions of 1 Enoch and Daniel were transposed from the Diaspora to Palestine. Therefore, he concludes that Jewish apocalypticism cannot be adequately described as a child of prophecy any more than it can be attributed to Babylonian influence. It was essentially a new creation, designed for the needs of a new age. There is a close resemblance between VanderKam’s and Helge S. Kvanvig’s examinations of the background of the Enoch figure. Kvanvig’s study appeared as a part of his book Roots of Apocalyptic in 1988 but was based on his dissertation from 1984, and thus independent from VanderKam’s.44 Both VanderKam and Kvanvig offer considerable space to the parallels between Enmeduranki and

40 J. C. VanderKam, “The Prophetic-Sapiental Origins of Apocalyptic Thought,” in A Word in Season: Essays in Honour of William McKane, eds. J. D. Martin and P. R. Davies, JSOTSup 42 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1986), 163–76. 41 Ibid. 174. 42 Grabbe, “Introduction and Overview,” 23–24; Grabbe, “Prophetic and Apocalyptic,” 118–24. Cf. also his earlier discussion of divination in L. L. Grabbe, Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages. A Socio-Historical Study of Religious Specialists in Ancient Israel (Valley Forge Trinity Press International, 1995), 119–151. 43 J. J. Collins, “The Place of Apocalypticism in the Religion of Israel,” in Ancient Israelite Religion. Festschrift for Frank M. Cross, eds. P. D. Miller et al. (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987), 539–57. 44 Cf. the comment on VanderKam’s work in Kvanvig, Roots of Apocalyptic, 319–20.

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Enoch.45 There is, however, a difference in that the traditions of the apkallus play a much larger role in Kvanvig’s study, both in the analysis of their Mesopotamian setting and in relation to the traditions about Enoch.46 Kvanvig emphasizes that the apkallus, especially the first of them, Uanadapa, were regarded as composers of antediluvian writings containing mantic lore.47 He is also the first to suggest that there is not only a link between the first and seventh apkallu and Enoch but also a link between the apkallus and the watchers in 1 En. 6–16.48 These three studies presuppose two fundamental settings for the origin of the traditions that developed into apocalyptic: a formative setting in the Babylonian diaspora where the traditions arose out of contact with Babylonian mantic traditions and a transition of these traditions to Judah where they were transformed into apocalypses under the influence of Jewish eschatological orientation.49 Collins considers a three step model for 1 Enoch, which contains the earliest apocalypses: an origin in the diaspora in confrontation with Mesopotamian culture, a subsequent development of an eschatological oriented movement in the cultural crises of the Hellenistic age in Judah, and a new impetus on this movement and its worldview under the Antiochan persecution.50 Even though both the Enochic and Danielic apocalyptic underwent some of the same development, there are clear differences in theology between the two currents.51 The publication of the fragments of 1 Enoch also gave a new impetus to the discussion of the background of the calculations in the Astronomical Book.52 Matthias Albani found in 1994 that the astronomical system in the book was dependent on the canonical astronomical series Enuma Anu Enlil, and a compendium of this series, MUL.APIN.53 This is now confirmed through several publications, 45 Ibid. 184–90, 226–36, 239–42. 46 Ibid. 191–213, 224–39, 260–61, 263–64. 47 Ibid. 209–13. 48 Ibid. 313–15. 49 VanderKam, Enoch and the Growth, 70; Kvanvig, Roots of Apocalyptic, 322–29, 611–13. 50 Collins, “The Place of Apocalypticism,” 547–48. 51 This is clearly demonstrated by Gabriele Boccaccini in Beyond the Essene Hypothesis, 81–86; and Roots of Rabbinic Judaism, 151–202. 52 Cf. for the earlier history, H. Drawnel, The Aramaic Astronomical Book (4Q208-4Q211) from Qumran. Text, Translation, and Commentary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 8–15. 53 M. Albani, Astronomie und Schöpfungsglaube. Untersuchungen zum astronomischen Henochbuch, WMANT 68 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1994), 163–272. This was followed up by several contributions by K. Koch: “Die Anfänge der Apokalyptik in Israel und die Rolle des astronomisches Henochbuches,” in Glessmer and Krause, Vor der Wende, 3–44; “Die Gesetze des gestirnten Himmels als Manifestationen der Herrschaft Gottes über Raum und Zeit,” in Die aramäische Rezeption der hebräischen Bibel. Studien zur Targumik und Apokalyptik, eds. M. Rösel, M. Krause, and U. Glessmer, Gesammelte Aufsätze (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2003),

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among the most important are Henryk Drawnel’s edition and commentary on the book from 2011 and VanderKam’s commentary from 2012.54 According to the text labeled Enmeduranki and the Diviners, the series Enuma Anu Enlil was revealed to the seventh king in antediluvian times. The structure of thought was copied by the Enochic writers: astronomy was revealed to Enoch, the seventh patriarch in antediluvian times. There are, however, problems in how to deal with the Astronomical Book. There are considerable differences between the Ethiopic version and what can be estimated as Aramaic recensions. Therefore, we cannot be sure what the oldest Aramaic version looked like and how it developed into the version found in the Ethiopic translation.55 Enoch is not mentioned in any of the Aramaic fragments. In 4Q209 there are, however, short sentences that suggest a didactic context; cf. 4Q209 26 6: “And now I show to you, my son.”56 At these places the Ethiopic version identifies the father as Enoch and the son as Methusalem (1 En. 76:14; 79:1), while in the Aramaic fragments the father is unidentified. There is, however, external evidence that link Enoch to an astronomical work.57 Since both the astronomical calculations are drawn from a Babylonian system, and Enoch is patterned on Babylonian antecedents, it is quite possible that Enoch was connected to a version of the Astronomical Book in the diaspora. While the Ethiopic version has some apocalyptic traits—astronomy was revealed by the angel Uriel and connected to predictions of history (cf. 1 En. 80–81)—there are no such traits in the known Aramaic fragments. If we use “vision” as one of the most distinctive marks of the genre apocalypse that, to some degree, connects apocalypse to prophecy,58 the diachrony of the

21–42; and “The Astral Laws as the Basis of Time, Universal History, and the Eschatological Turn in the Astronomical Book and the Animal Apocalypse of 1 Enoch,” in Boccaccini and Collins, The Early Enoch Literature, 119–38. 54 Drawnel, The Aramaic Astronomical Book, 53–70; G. W. E. Nickelsburg and J. C. VanderKam, 1 Enoch 2: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch Chapters 37–82, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2012), 373–83. 55 For a discussion of the relationship, cf. Drawnel, The Aramaic Astronomical Book, 28–30; Nickelsburg and VanderKam, 1 Enoch 2, 341–42. 56 Drawnel, The Aramaic Astronomical Book, 35–39. 57 For Pseudo-Eupolemos (mid-second century), cf. Nickelsburg and VanderKam, 1 Enoch 2, 343; Kvanvig, Roots of Apocalyptic, 111–18. For Jub. 4:17–18, 21, cf. Nickelsburg and VanderKam, 1 Enoch 2, 344–45; Drawnel, The Aramaic Astronomical Book, 50. For 1 En. 33–36 and possibly 1 En. 2–5, cf. Nickelsburg and VanderKam, 1 Enoch 2, 391–93; Drawnel, The Aramaic Astronomical Book, 51. 58 Cf. K. Koch, “Vom prophetischen zum apocalyptischen Visionsbericht,” in Hellholm, Apocalypticism, 413–46.

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Enochic writings show an interesting development. The Astronomical Book was originally not connected to Enoch. When it was connected to Enoch, it was a pseudoscientific treatise dressed in a didactic language with no visionary language. First after a long development, possibly still written in Aramaic, revelatory and visionary language was added as we see it in the Ethiopic version. Therefore, the Astronomical Book cannot be classified as the first known apocalyptic work; it rather adopted some apocalyptic traits from other Enochic compositions through its history of transmission.59 The oldest part of the Book of Watchers consists of the Rebel Story in 1 En. 6–11. This is a primeval myth, not connected to Enoch, and with no visionary implications. Enoch is introduced in the prolongation of the story in 1 En. 12–16. Here Enoch’s ascent to heaven is presented in a visionary language closely related to Ezek 1.60 In Enoch’s journeys, 1 En. 17–36, that form the next step in the growth of the Book of Watchers, visionary language is mixed with the language of traveling and instruction. In the final form of the book, the whole discourse of Enoch is based on the vision of the Holy One, although this vision in a narrow sense only relates to 1 En. 12–16. The first historical apocalypse of Enoch is the Apocalypse of Weeks. However, the apocalypse in itself does not contain any visionary language; it is a tableau of world history. The reference to vision comes in the introduction (93:2), closely related to the introduction of the Book of Watchers. The first Enochic apocalypse based on visionary language is the Maccabean Apocalypse of Animals. Here the visionary language is structuring the text. Some of the same observations can be made in the Danielic traditions. The oldest text known relating to these traditions is the Prayer of Nabonidus forming a part of the background of Dan 4.61 Here the Jewish diviner who assisted Nabonidus in his illness is anonymous. The seer is also anonymous in two other court tales that contains visions in a way similar to Daniel, the so-called Aramaic Apocalypse, 4Q246, and the Four Kingdoms apocalypse, 4Q552–553.62 In the Book of Daniel and in Pseudo-Daniel, 4Q243–244, the sage at the foreign court is identified as Daniel. Thus, Daniel has served as a magnet for different traditions

59 Koch, “Die Anfänge der Apokalyptik in Israel,” 30–38. 60 Cf. H. S. Kvanvig, “Henoch und der Menshensohn. Das Verhältnis von Hen 14 zu Dan 7,” ST 38 (1984): 101–33 (104–13); idem, Primeval History, 512–14. 61 Cf. H. S. Kvanvig, “Throne Visions and Monsters. The Encounter Between Danielic and Enochic Traditions,” ZAW 117 (2005): 249–72 (264–68); idem, Primeval History, 438–40. 62 Cf. D. Dimant, “Apocalyptic Texts at Qumran,” in The Community of the Renewed Covenant, eds. E. Ulrich and J. VanderKam, CJA 10 (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994), 175–91 (184–87).

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relating to foreign courts. There is a growth in the visionary language in the Danielic traditions as well. Dan 4 contains a narrative where Nebuchadnezzar tells a dream-vision to Daniel concerning his own fate. In Dan 2 it is not enough that Daniel interprets the dream, he shall also be able himself to record the actual dream-vision. The vision does not only contain the fate of the king, but also the whole world history up to its end. In the second part of the book, Dan 7–12, in its final form dating to the Maccabean period, the narrative framework of the visions is heavily reduced. History is presented in a visionary language up to its end, in a form quite similar to what we find in the Apocalypse of Animals. In both 1 Enoch and Daniel, there is an expansion of the visionary language that culminates with the visions in the Maccabean age. When scholars most often compare visions related in the prophetic books with the visions in the apocalypses, they most often start with the Maccabean visions, and at this point there are similarities between prophetic visions and apocalypses. However, both in the traditions related to Daniel and in the Enochic traditions something happened before that gave these apocalypses a special imprint. More research has recently been done on the background and context of the watchers in the Watcher Story. Kvanvig has compared the teaching of the watchers with the most prominent skills belonging to the entourage of the Neo-Assyrian kings.63 According to Simo Parpola the entourage of scholars, ummânū, who had access to the court of the king, contained the following kinds of scholars and professions: ṭupšarru, “scribe, astronomer/astrologer”; bārû, “haruspex”; āšipu, “exorcist, healer”; asû, “herbalist, physician”; kalû, “chanter.64 Kvanvig finds all of these skills represented in the teaching of the watchers except the kalû.65 In comparison with the professionals at the court in the book of Daniel, there is an overlap in all cases except the asû who is not represented there.66 Drawnel has, however, underscored that in Neo-Babylonian times and onward the professions practicing these skills were reduced to two, the āšipu and the kalû with the āšipu

63 Kvanvig, Primeval History, 453–69. Cf. 1 En. 7:1cd; 8:1–3; 9:6–10. 64 S. Parpola, Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal. Part II: Commentary and Appendices, AOAT 5/2 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1983), xiv-xxi; cf. also D. Brown, Mesopotamian Planetary Astronomy-Astrology, eds. T. Abusch et al., CM 18 (Groningen: Styx, 2000), 33–52; Kvanvig, Primeval History, 142–43. 65 Kvanvig, Primeval History, 463–64. 66 Ibid. 434–36. For the professionals in Daniel, cf. K. van der Toorn, “Scholars at the Oriental Court: The Figure of Daniel Against Its Mesopotamian Background,” in The Book of Daniel. Composition and Reception, eds. J. J. Collins and P. W. Flint, 2 vols., VTSup 133 (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 1.37–54 (1.39); A. Lenzi, “Secrecy, Textual Legitimation, and Intercultural Polemics in the Book of Daniel,” CBQ 71 (2009): 330–48 (334–36).

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as the more prominent of the two.67 He demonstrates that the skills taught by the watchers correspond to the skills practiced by the ashipus in Late Babylonian times.68 Whether the ummanus were thought of as consisting of two or more professions is not the crucial question at this place. The important issue is that their skills are reflected in the teaching of the watchers. The Watcher Story denounces the basic professional insight of Babylonian wisdom. According to Amar Annus and Kvanvig the practice and written mantic lore of the ummanus were closely related to the mythical imaginations about the apkallus.69 In the scholar’s minds the connection to the apkallus formed part of their self-conception of their role and function—their self-validation.70 The imagined connection followed a horizontal and a vertical axis. On the one hand there was an unbroken line of succession from the primeval apkallus to the ummanus both in their scholarly practice and in their written lore, which was dated back to the apkallus.71On the other hand, the ummanus were the earthly images of the apkallus who now were residing in the transcendent realm.72 In comparison with the Watcher Story this implies that not only did Enoch take over the role of the primary sage in antediluvian time, Uanadapa, but he was also placed in opposition to the other apkallus/watchers who represented the Babylonian wisdom as the patrons of the ummanus.73

67 H. Drawnel, “Between Akkadian ṭupšarrūtu and Aramaic ‫ספר‬: Some Notes on the Social Context of the Early Enochic Literature,” RevQ 24 (2010): 373–403 (375–83); idem, The Aramaic Astronomical Book, 53–59; idem, “Professional Skills of Asael (1 En. 8:1) and their Mesopotamian Background,” RB 119 (2012): 518–42. 68 Drawnel, “Between Akkadian ṭupšarrūtu,” 383–394; idem, The Aramaic Astronomical Book, 59–70. 69 A. Annus, “On the Origin of Watchers: A Comparative Study of the Antediluvian Wisdom in Mesopotamia and Jewish Traditions,” JSP 19 (2010): 277–320 (288–91). For a broad presentation of the Mesopotamian material to the apkallus, cf. Kvanvig, Primeval History, 107–58. For a discussion of the relationship to the Watcher Story, cf. 443–69, 523–25. 70 Cf. Brown, Mesopotamian Planetary Astronomy-Astrology, 46. 71 Alan Lenzi has labelled this as “the myth of scribal succession”; cf. A. Lenzi, Secrecy and the Gods: Secret Knowledge in Ancient Mesopotamia and Biblical Israel, SAAS 19 (Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 2008), 107. 72 Cf. Kvanvig, Primeval History, 129–38. 73 Drawnel is critical to the supposed relationship between the apkallus and the watchers; nevertheless he sees a close relationship between the ashipus and the apkallus; cf. H. Drawnel, “Knowledge Transmission in the Context of the Watchers’ Sexual Sin with the Women in 1 Enoch 6–11,” BibAn 2 (2012): 123–51 (134–35). Annus and Kvanvig see the relationship between the ummanus and the apkallus as two sides of the same coin, since the ummanus represent the apkallus on earth and in contemporary time.

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The apkallus were invoked as “watchers,” maṣṣarū, in incantations.74 They were the watchers of human health and safety. The designation has, however, also cosmic implications; it agrees with the role of the apkallus in the list in Bīt Mēseri: Uanna completed the plans of heaven and earth; the apkallus altogether keep in order the plans of heaven and earth (III, 1,12–13).75 In the Neo-Assyrian version of the Adapa Myth Uanadapa is inaugurated as watcher, maṣṣartu, over cosmos forever (Niniveh frg. D rev. 7–14).76 There is an agreement here with the ummanus. By interpreting the signs from the gods the ummanus watched (naṣāru) over the king.77 This has also cosmic implications since the king was responsible for the cosmic order on earth. Often this is symbolized in images depicting the king as a tree of life. In some of these images the tree is nurtured by the apkallus as transcendent forces behind the ummanus.78 We are here close to the scenery in Dan 4, which together with the Watcher Story is the earliest text in Judaism where the watchers appear (Dan 4:10–11 MT; 4:13–14; 4:14 MT; 4:17; 4:20 MT; 4:23). In the dream, the king sees himself as a tree of life and the watchers appear for him as heavenly messengers. The message is not of protection and welfare as should be expected but of dismissal.79 Thus the apkallus as watchers are described in contexts similar to the Watcher Story and Dan 4: they are cosmic guardians, they protect the divine wisdom, and they are responsible for the fate of the king. The earliest Enoch and Daniel traditions may seem distant since Enoch is occupied with astronomy and cosmology and placed in primeval times, while Daniel is concerned with matters at the royal court. Placing the traditions in a Mesopotamian context changes the picture. Both Enoch and Daniel are placed in contexts of Mesopotamian scholarship and mantic wisdom: Enoch in primeval times in relation to the apkallus, and Daniel in contemporary times in relation to their terrestrial counterparts, the ummanus. Drawnel regards the Watcher Story as a satire about the illegitimate knowledge of the ashipus. The communication between scholars and kings ceased with the fall of the Neo-Assyrian Empire, so the story has no political implications.80 According to our knowledge of the sources, however, the ideology of the scholars

74 Cf. Annus, “On the Origin of Watchers,” 314–15; Kvanvig, Primeval History, 132; idem, “The Mesopotamian Background of the Watcher Story,” Henoch 39 (2017), 140. 75 Cf. Kvanvig, Primeval History, 108, 116–17. 76 Ibid. 127–28. 77 Brown, Mesopotamian Planetary Astronomy-Astrology, 46–47; Kvanvig, Primeval History, 145–46. 78 Ibid., 144–45. 79 Ibid. 429–31, 440–41. 80 Drawnel, “Between Akkadian ṭupšarrūtu,” 378–79, 394.

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continued into the Hellenistic period.81The focus on illegitimate knowledge is the same for Annus, but the scope of the story is understood differently. The illegitimacy of the watchers is based on a polemical use of the myth of the apkallus. It is, however, not directed toward Babylonian scholars, but toward the illegitimate Zadokite priesthood in Jerusalem.82 There are other scholars who have argued for a more political or political-cultural concern of the story, especially in relation to what the giants symbolize. They are most often seen as symbols of Hellenistic warrior kings or war-lords.83 One of the reasons why Drawnel does not see any political implications in the Watcher Story seems to be that he thinks that the giants depict demons.84 That the giants display demonic features is clear; this is, however, not the same as to say that they represent noncorporeal demons as such. Rather, they represent rulers who rage like demons in their cruelty.85

81 The dependence of the Babylonian king on his diviners is clearly noted in the Hebrew Bible (Ezek 21:26–27; Is 47:9–13). Even though the “myth of scribal succession” and its importance for the king was a scholarly Neo-Assyrian construct, it did not cease with the downfall of this empire; cf. P.-A. Beaulieu, “Nabonidus the Mad King: A Reconsideration of His Steles from Harran and Babylon,” in Representations of Political Power, eds. M. Heinz and M. H. Feldman (Winona Lake Eerdmans, 2007), 137–66 (107–117); H. S. Kvanvig, “Who were the Advisors of the King? A Comparative Study of Royal Consultants in Mesopotamia and in Israel,” in Sibyls, Scriptures, and Scrolls: John Collins at Seventy, eds. J. Baden, H. Najman, and E. Tigchelaar, JSJSup 175 (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 688–713 (704–05). The scribes wrote lists where they placed apkallus and ummanus besides the kings in order to emphasize their importance for the ruler; cf. A. Lenzi, “The Uruk List of Kings and Sages and Late Mesopotamian Scholarship,” JANER 8 (2008): 137–69 (160–65); Kvanvig, “The Mesopotamian Background,” 141–45. While the Watcher Story is a polemic parody of the Babylonian imperial ideology, this does not mean that the message of doom is restricted to this empire only. Babylon became a cipher for many violent empires; cf. A. O. Bellis, “The Changing Face of Babylon in Prophetic/Apocalyptic Literature: Seventh Century BCE to First Century CE and Beyond,” in Grabbe and Haak, Knowing the End, 65–73. 82 Annus, “On the Origin of Watchers,” 315–16. 83 Cf. G. W. E. Nickelsburg, “Apocalyptic and Myth in 1 Enoch 6–11,” JBL 96 (1977): 383–405 (315–16); R. H. Horsley, Revolt of the Scribes. Resistance and Apocalyptic Origins (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2010), 53–57; A. Portier-Young, “Symbolic Resistance in the Book of the Watchers,” in The Watchers in Jewish and Christian Traditions, eds. A. K. Harkins, K. C. Bautch, and J. C. Endres (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2014), 39–49. 84 H. Drawnel, “Some Notes on the Aramaic Manuscripts from Qumran and Late Mesopotamian Culture,” RevQ 26 (2013): 145–68 (157–59); H. Drawnel, “The Mesopotamian Background of the Enochic Giants and Evil Spirits,” DSD 21 (2014): 14–38; cf. also I. Fröhlich, “Enmeduranki and Gilgamesh: Mesopotamian Figures in Aramaic Enoch Traditions,” in A Teacher for All Generations. Essays in Honor of James C. VanderKam, ed. B. G. Wright, JSJSup 153 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 637–53 (648–53); idem, “Mesopotamian Elements and the Watchers Traditions,” in Harkins, Bautch, and Endres, The Watchers, 11–24 (16–18). 85 Cf. Kvanvig, “The Mesopotamian Background,” 149–54.

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The early Enochic apocalypses are, together with Daniel, often classified as resistance literature. The way the resistance is expressed may vary but one important feature is the creation of a new epistemology, a vision providing an understanding of the world that rides counter to imperial ideology.86 This demands that there must be a link between the wisdom the apocalypses represent and the political reality to which they refer. When Enoch and Daniel are seen in a Mesopotamian context in relation to the apkallus and ummanus, this link becomes clear. The wisdom these sages and scholars represented was a wisdom necessary for the kings in order to rule their empires. Beate Pongratz-Leisten has coined the concept of this wisdom as “Herrschaftswissen.”87 The wisdom refuted by Enoch and Daniel was the wisdom that formed the foundation of the Babylonian imperial ideology. In the Hebrew Bible, prophets were given the same role in relation to the kings as the ummanus at the Assyrian court and in the subsequent Babylonian tradition. Prophets seek the presence of the kings to deliver their oracles; kings could seek the presence of prophets, prophets could be summoned by the king, or the kings could send his messengers to inquire after the prophets. There were given images where kings could be surrounded by hundreds of prophets.88 This is, however, a literary image where the designation of the ecstatic prophet, nāḇîʾ, was transformed into a generic term for all kinds of mediators who were able deliver a message from the gods. In the real history of the monarchical Israel and Judah, there was a great variety both in the designations of these persons and in the techniques they used.89 There were ecstatic prophets, different kinds of visionaries, dreamers, diviners, soothsayers, oracle priests, sorcerers, magicians, and enchanters. Often they are mentioned together and with often overlapping skills.90 Those practicing these different kinds of divination had an important political role. Their skills may be partly different from the skills of the ummanus,

86 Cf. A. E. Portier-Young, Apocalypse Against Empire. Theologies of Resistance in Early Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), 280–312; A. Portier-Young, “Jewish Apocalyptic Literature as Resistance Literature,” in Collins, The Oxford Handbook, 145–62; J. J. Collins, “Apocalypse and Empire,” in Collins, Apocalypse, Prophecy, and Pseudepigraphy, 289–307. 87 B. Pongratz-Leisten, Herrschaftswissen in Mesopotamien, SAAS 10 (Helsinki: the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 1999), 286–319; cf. also C. Jean, “Divination and Oracles at the Neo-Assyrian Palace: The Importance of Signs in Royal Ideology,” in Divination and Interpretation of Signs in the Ancient World, ed. A. Annus (Chicago: The University of Chicago, 2010), 267–75 (271–74). 88 Cf. Kvanvig, “Who were the Advisors,” 715. 89 Cf. D. Edelman, “From Prophets to Prophetic Books: The Fixing of the Divine Word,” in Edelman and Ben Zvi, The Production of Prophecy, 29–54. 90 Cf. Kvanvig, “Who were the Advisors,” 699–701.

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but their importance for the ruler was the same: they served as the advisors of the kings in seeking the will of the gods.91 In the discussion of the relationship between prophecy and apocalyptic, there are accordingly two issues that must be considered. One relates to the origin of the Enoch and Daniel traditions in the Babylonian Diaspora. Another is what kind of prophecy we are dealing with. In the first case, it cannot be passed over that the exiled Judeans’ encounter with Babylonian mythology and practice of mantic wisdom made a formative impression on what developed into early apocalypses. In the second case, we must distinguish between what kind of prophecy the Judeans knew from their home experience in monarchial Israel and Judah, and what kind of prophecy developed as written prophecy. In monarchial Israel and Judah, prophecy was a part of a wide range of divinatory practices that overlapped. We only know “classical prophecy” from the literary image of prophets in documents that became a part of the Hebrew Bible. There may have been differences between divination as it was practiced in Israel and Judah, and the divination the Judeans encountered in Babylonia; nevertheless, it was divination from two different cultures that met each other. Thus the way was open for Judean scribes for a critical dialogue with Babylonian mantic traditions where memories from the scribes’ historical past were included. In this way, one can say that there was an influence from prophecy on the earliest traditions behind the apocalypses, however not prophecy in the later written form but as a part of a wide range of divinatory skills. At a later stage in history there was a new encounter; this time between the early Enoch and Daniel traditions and written prophecy. This encounter gradually influenced the early apocalyptic into the apocalypses as we find them at the beginning of the Maccabean revolt.

91 Ibid. 701–03.

Armin Lange

8 The Text of Jeremiah in 1 Enoch I know Gabriele Boccaccini through the fabulous Enoch seminars for which he is responsible. Gabriele is the rare phenomenon of a gifted scholar and a great human being. What I appreciate most about Gabriele is that scholarly disagreements do not become personal with him. It is in this spirit that I write my small token of appreciation for Gabriele’s scholarship about the text-critical importance of the quotations of and allusions to Jeremiah in the Enochic corpus called 1 Enoch. These employments could be of great significance for the textual history and textual criticism of Jeremiah because some of the books collected in 1 Enoch such as the Book of Watchers and the Astronomical Book are very early, going back to the early third century BCE at least.1 Their early dates bring these two Enochic books very close to the supposed date of the proto-Masoretic Jeremiah-redaction in the early third century BCE.2 Even the Epistle of Enoch and the Book of Dreams are rather early with their dates shortly before3 and during the Maccabean wars.4 They are thus of great interest for the early textual history of Jeremiah. Despite this potential significance, the text-critical study of the employments of Jeremiah in 1 Enoch is fraught with difficulties. The books collected in 1 Enoch were most likely all composed in Aramaic (Aram-1 Enoch)5 1 For the early dates of the Book of Watchers and the Astronomical Book, see e.g. Józef T. Milik in his magisterial The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments Qumrân Cave 4, with collaboration of Matthew Black (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1976), 7–41, 140–41; Henryk Drawnel, The Aramaic Astronomical Book (4Q208–4Q211) from Qumran: Text, Translation, and Commentary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 46–53. 2 For the date of the proto-Masoretic Jeremiah redaction in the third century BCE, see Armin Lange, “7.2.2 Jeremiah: Ancient Hebrew-Aramaic Texts: Masoretic Texts and Ancient Texts Close to MT,” in Textual History of the Bible, vol. 1: The Hebrew Bible, Part 1b: Pentateuch, Former Prophets and Latter Prophets, ed. Armin Lange and Emanuel Tov (Leiden: Brill, 2016), 518–36 and the literature discussed in this article. 3 For a date of the Epistle of Enoch shortly before the Maccabean revolt, see Loren T. Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, CEJL (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007), 215. 4 For the date of the Book of Dreams during the years 165 and 163 BCE, see George W. E. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 1–36; 81–108, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001), 338, 360–61. 5 Most Aramaic Enoch manuscripts from Qumran were published by Milik in The Books of Enoch. Further Enochic manuscripts were published by Loren T. Stuckenbruck, Eibert J.C. Tigchelaar, and Florentino García Martínez in Stephen Pfann et al., Qumran Cave 4 XXVI, DJD 36 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000), 3–171. For Aramaic as the original language of Enochic literature, see https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-009

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but Knibb has calculated that only 196 of the 1,062 verses of Ethiopic 1 Enoch (Eth-1 Enoch) are preserved in Aramaic in the various manuscripts from the Qumran library.6 The Aramaic works collected in 1 Enoch were translated into Greek (Gr-1 Enoch) and from Greek to Ethiopic. Further secondary translations of 1 Enoch were made from the Greek text into Coptic (Cop-1 Enoch) and Syriac (S-1 Enoch). Latin quotations of parts of 1 Enoch occur in the writings of various patristic authors.7 A comparison of the Ethiopic text of the Astronomical Book with the Aramaic fragments from Qumran demonstrates significant textual differences between the two versions.8 Although it remains unclear when these textual changes were inserted into the text of the Astronomical Book, they are so extensive that the two versions can best be described as two redactions of the same book. But the text-critical analysis of the Jeremiah employments in the Ethiopic translation of 1 Enoch is problematic not only because of textual differences between its versions. The Ethiopic text of 1 Enoch is a secondary translation from the Greek text of 1 Enoch. In its earliest form, Eth-1 Enoch was made some time between the fourth and the sixth centuries CE.9 But the earliest extant Ethiopic manuscripts of 1 Enoch are about 1,000 years later than the date of the earliest Ethiopic translation. During these 1,000 years and later, the Ethiopic text of 1 Enoch underwent several recensions and revisions.10 It is quite likely that the employments of Jeremiah in 1 Enoch were not unaffected by the operations of the Ethiopic translators and the later revisers of Ethiopic Enoch. Conclusions about e.g. Milik, Books of Enoch, passim; Michael A. Knibb, The Ethiopic Book of Enoch: A New Edition in the Light of the Aramaic Dead Sea Fragments, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978), 2:6–7; Siegbert Uhlig, Das Äthiopische Henochbuch, JSHRZ 5.6; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1984), 470–91; Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 9. 6 Knibb, Ethiopic Book of Enoch, 2:12 7 Until the second volume of the Textual History of the Bible appears (Textual History of the Bible, vol. 2: The Deuterocanonical Scriptures, ed. M. Henze and F. Feder [Leiden: Brill, in preparation], descriptions of the Aramaic, Greek, Ethiopic, Latin, Coptic, and Syriac texts of 1 Enoch can be found in Matthew Black, ed., Apocalypsis Henochi Graece, PVTG 3 (Leiden: Brill, 1970), 6–16; Milik, Books of Enoch, 70–88; and Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 9–20. Black, Apocalypsis Henochi Graece, is also important because he gives the text of many of the quotations of 1 Enoch in Greek literature (op. cit., 10–16). 8 See Klaus Koch, “Die Anfänge der Apokalyptik in Israel und die Rolle des astronomischen Henochbuchs,” in idem, Vor der Wende der Zeiten: Beiträge zur apokalyptischen Literatur: Gesammelte Aufsätze Band 3 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag 1996), 3–39, esp. 8–15; Drawnel, The Aramaic Astronomical Book, 39–46. 9 Cf. Edward Uhlendorf, Ethopia and the Bible: The Schweich Lectures of the British Academy 1967 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1968); Knibb, Ethiopic Book of Enoch, 2:21–22. 10 Uhlig, Henochbuch, 488–90.

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the original Aramaic text of 1 Enoch or even the text of its Greek translation based on Ethiopic Enoch must therefore remain speculative and are of little text-critical value with regard to the anterior Jeremiah text employed in the Aramaic text of 1 Enoch. Further problematic, the Aramaic authors of the books collected in 1 Enoch needed to translate the Hebrew text of Jeremiah to Aramaic every time they employed it. Mutatis mutandis, what I have said about the Ethiopic text of 1 Enoch applies also to the badly preserved and little researched other secondary translations of 1 Enoch. Not only is Ethiopic Enoch the translation of a Greek translation of an Aramaic original that in turn incorporated the Hebrew text of Jeremiah, the problems multiply when it is seen that Eth-1 Enoch has not only the status of a tertiary translation with regard to its Jeremiah employments, but also that in ancient and late ancient Jewish literature in general quotations of and allusions to the Jewish scriptures were secondarily adjusted to other text forms of their books. In my study on the text of Jeremiah in the book of Ben Sira, I have argued that Ben Sira’s grandson adjusted the proto-Masoretic textual affiliation of his grandfather’s uses of Jeremiah towards the Old Greek text of Jeremiah, although his grandfather used the proto-Masoretic text of that book.11 If Ben Sira’s grandson practiced such a revision of the textual affiliation of Jeremiah quotations, it is quite likely that similar adjustments could have happened in any of the primary and secondary translations of 1 Enoch as well. Furthermore, textual adjustments of biblical quotations also happened in the textual transmission of their posterior texts. It is, for example, well known that in rabbinic literature biblical quotations were adjusted to the text of MT and otherwise abbreviated and expanded.12 The adjustment of at least some of Philo’s biblical quotations toward MT or a Greek recension close to MT in his manuscript tradition is another example for this phenomenon.13 With each translation of 1 Enoch, the possibility of such secondary textual adjustments of the uses of Jeremiah in 1 Enoch increases. 11 Armin Lange, “The Book of Jeremiah in the Hebrew and Greek Texts of Ben Sira,” in Making the Biblical Text: Textual Studies in the Hebrew and the Greek Bible, ed. I. Himbaza, OBO 273 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2015), 118–61. 12 For the textual adjustment of rabbinic Biblical quotations, see e.g. Alexander Samely, Rabbinic Interpretation of Scripture in the Mishnah (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 56. 13 Cf. Peter Katz, Philo’s Bible: The Aberrant Text of Bible Quotations in Some Philonic Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1950); Dominique Barthélemy, “Est-ce Hoshaya Rabba qui censura le ‘Commentaire Allégorique’?” in idem, Études d’histoire du texte de l’Ancien Testament, OBO 21 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978), 140–73 and 390–91; Robert A. Kraft, “Philo’s Bible Revisited: The ‘Aberrant Texts’ and their Quotations of Moses,” in Interpreting Translation: Studies on LXX and Ezekiel in Honour of Johan Lust, ed. F. García Martínez and M. Vervenne, BETL 192 (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2005), 237–53.

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Finally, even the original Aramaic version of the texts collected in 1 Enoch cannot be taken as direct evidence of the text of Jeremiah in the third or second century BCE. As I have argued above, the Aramaic authors of the texts collected in 1 Enoch needed to translate the Hebrew text of Jeremiah into Aramaic before employing it. Such a bilingual situation cautions against putting too much text-critical weight on such minor variants in the Jeremiah quotations and allusions in 1 Enoch as disagreements in grammatical number, gender, voice, and so on. Given the problems indicated above, the employments of Jeremiah in the secondary translations of the literature collected in 1 Enoch are of little use for the textual criticism of the Book of Jeremiah. They will therefore be ignored in this brief study. Below I will engage only with those employments of Jeremiah that are either preserved in Aramaic or Greek because both Aram-1 Enoch and Gr-1 Enoch are Jewish texts of 1 Enoch, which go back to the Second Temple period. To disregard Eth-1 Enoch in this study is even more appropriate as none of the employments of Jeremiah in 1 Enoch include any of the macrovariants between MT-Jer and LXX-Jer (see below). Because all certain quotations of and allusions to Jeremiah in these two textual versions of 1 Enoch are found in the Greek translation but are not preserved in the Aramaic manuscripts from Qumran, a few remarks about the Greek text of 1 Enoch are important.

The Greek Text(s) of 1 Enoch Gr-1 Enoch is preserved in an extensive quotation fragment, an excerpt, and three fragmentary manuscripts all of which include only one of the literary works collected in 1 Enoch.14

14 G.-Wilhelm Nebe, Émile Puech, and Ernest A. Muro suggested to identify several fragments from cave 7 of Qumran as remnants of a Greek copy the Epistle of Enoch (G.-Wilhelm Nebe, “Möglichkeit und Grenze einer Identifikation,” RevQ 13 [1988]: 629–33; Émile Puech, “Notes sur les fragments grecs du manuscript 7Q4 1 = 1 Henoch 103 et 105,” RB 103 [1996]: 592–600; idem, “Sept fragments de la Lettre d’Hénoch (I Hén 100, 103 et 105) dans la grotte 7 de Qumrân (=7QHén gr),” RevQ 19 [1997–1998]: 313–23; Ernest A. Muro, “The Greek Fragments of Enoch from Qumran Cave 7 (7Q4, 7Q8, & 7Q12 = 7QEn gr = Enoch 103:3–4, 7–8),” RevQ 18 [1997]: 307–12). While this identification is probable, so little text is preserved of these fragments that it is not certain; cf. George W. E. Nickelsburg, “The Greek Fragments of 1 Enoch from Qumran Cave 7: An Unproven Identification,” RevQ 21 (2003–04): 631–34; Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 7–8 note 21, 214 with note 388.

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–

–

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Codex Panopolitanus (fifth or sixth century CE) preserves two largely identical copies of the Book of Watchers in Greek. Extant are 1 En. 19:3– 21:9 and 1 En. 1:1–32:6a, respectively. Eth-1 Enoch agrees even in errors with Codex Panopolitanus against Syncellus (see below), but Codex Panopolitanus has unique readings as well. The best explanation for these agreements is that Eth-1 Enoch and Codex Panopolitanus share a textual archetype. The Chronography of George Syncellus (ninth century CE) preserves several quotation fragments of the Greek translation of the Book of Watchers, whose text is superior to the one of Codex Panopolitanus. Syncellus’s Chronography is based on an earlier chronography from the fifth century CE by Pandorus and Annianus from which he also copied his Enochic quotation fragments. The quotation fragments attest to 1 En. 6:1–9:4; 8:4–10:14; 15:8–16:1. The Oxyrynchus Papyrus 2069 (fourth century CE) attests to parts of Astronomical Book and the Book of Dreams. Extant are 1 En. 77:7–78:1; 78:8; 85:10–86:2; 87:1–3. Codex Vaticanus Gr. 1809 includes in its margins an excerpt of the Greek text of 1 En. 89:42–49. The Chester Beatty-Michigan Papyrus (fourth century CE) attests to 1 En. 97:6–107:3. This copy of the Greek text of the Epistle of Enoch is characterized by omissions by way of homoioteleuton but—aside from minor scribal errors— seems otherwise to be a reliable witness to Gr-1 Enoch.

As of today, it remains unclear if Gr-1 Enoch represents one translation of all literary works collected in Eth-1 Enoch or if Gr-1 Enoch is in turn a collection of independent Greek translations of the individual Enochic literary works that were then, at some point in time, compiled into a collection of Greek Enochic texts. The preserved Greek Enoch manuscripts were not copies of the complete corpus of 1 Enoch, but each manuscript contains different parts of 1 Enoch. Milik doubts therefore the existence of a Greek Enochic Pentateuch as late as the beginning of the fifth century CE.15 A comparative study of the translation technique of the Greek translations of the Book of Watchers, the Astronomical Book, the Book of Dreams, and the Epistle of Enoch could provide evidence whether Gr-1 Enoch consists of one or more translations of the corpus of 1 Enoch but remains, to my knowledge, a desideratum.

15 Milik, Books of Enoch, 77.

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The uses of Gr-1 Enoch in early Christian literature (see Letter of Barnabas 16:5 [1 En. 89:56, 60, 66–67]; 16:6 [1 En. 91:13]; Jude 14–15 [1 En. 1:4]) set a terminus ante quem at least for the Greek translations of the Book of Watchers and the Book of Dreams in the first century CE. On the basis of parallels with the Wisdom of Solomon, Nickelsburg argues that the Gr-1 Enoch “is a product of a Jewish translator who worked before the turn of the era.”16 Barr locates the translation in “the same general stage and stratum as the LXX translation of Daniel,”17 but Bauckham allows for speculation whether Codex Panopolitanus would preserve a Christian Greek translation of the Book of Watchers.18

The Employments of Jeremiah in 1 Enoch In our list of biblical quotations and allusions, Matthias Weigold and I identified 11 quotations of or allusions to Jeremiah in 1 Enoch:19 Astronomical Book (1 En. 72–82; 4Q208–211) 1 En. 80:2–3 1 En. 80:7

Jer 5:24–25 Jer 5:23

Book of Dreams (1 En. 83–91) (4Q204 4; 4Q205 2 i–iii; 4Q206 4 i–iii; 4Q207 4; 4Q212 1 i1–ii21) 1 En. 84:3 1 En. 85:6

Jer 32(39):17 Jer 31(38):15 Epistle of Enoch (1 En. 92–108) (4Q204 5 i–ii; 4Q212 1 ii21–v26; 7Q4, 7Q8, 7Q11–14)

1 En. 94:7 1 En. 95:1

Jer 22:13 Jer 8:23

16 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 14. 17 James Barr, “Aramaic-Greek Notes on the Book of Enoch (II),” JSS 24 (1979): 179–92, 191. 18 Richard Bauckham, “A Note on a Problem in the Greek Version of 1 Enoch 1. 9,” in idem, The Jewish World around the New Testament: Collected Essays I, WUNT I/233 (Tübingen:  Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 89–91, 91. 19 Armin Lange and Matthias Weigold, Biblical Quotations and Allusions in Second Temple Jewish Literature, Journal of Ancient Judaism Supplements 5 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011), 276–79.

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1 En. 96:6 1 En. 98:7 1 En. 98:15 1 En. 99:13 1 En. 101:6

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Jer 2:13 Jer 37(44):9 Jer 23:32 Jer 22:13 Jer 5:21–24

In addition to these 11 employments, we list four uncertain uses of Jeremiah:20 1 En. 94:7–9 1 En. 99:15 1 En. 1:9 (4QEnc ar [4Q204]) 1 En. 104:10

Jer 22:17 Jer 22:17 Jer 25:31 (32:17) Jer 29(36):25

For reasons discussed below, I regard the allusions to Jer 22:17 in 1 En. 94:7–9 and 1 En. 99:15 as certain employments as well, against Lange and Weigold. For the employments of Jer 2:13 (1 En. 96:6); 5:23 (1 En. 80:7); 5:24–25 (1 En. 80:2–3); 8:23 (1 En. 95:1); 22:13 (1 En. 94:7); 31(38):15 (1 En. 85:6); 32(39):17 (1 En. 84:3), no Aramaic or Greek texts of 1 Enoch are preserved. These employments will hence not be discussed in this chapter. The same is true for the uncertain use of Jer 22:17 in 1 En. 94:7–9. This approach is all the more appropriate as none of the Enochic employments of Jeremiah attests to the macrovariants between MT-Jer and LXX-Jer. The employments of Jer 5:21–24 (1 En. 101:6); 22:13 (1 En. 99:13); 22:17 (1 En. 99:15); 23:32 (1 En. 98:15); and 37(44):9 (1 En. 98:7) are preserved only in Greek. The same is true for the uncertain employment of Jer 29(36):25 in 1 En. 104:10. Only the possible employment of Jer 25:31 (32:17) in 1 En. 1:9 also survives in the Aramaic original of the Book of Watchers (4QEnc ar [4Q204] 1 i 15–17).

Jeremiah in the Aramaic Texts of 1 Enoch: Jer 25:31 (32:17) in 1 En. 1:9 (4QEnc ar [4Q204] 1 i 15–17)21 ‫ [ויוכח לכול ב]שרא על‬16 ]‫]כדי יאתה עם רבו]את קדישו[הי למעבד דין על כולה ויובד כול רשיעין‬15 ‫ [ועל כול מלין] ֯ר ֯ברבן וקשי̇ ן̇ [די מללו עלוהי‬17 ]‫בד[י רשעהון כולהון די עבדו ומללו לארשעה‬ ̇ ֯‫עו‬ ‫חטין רשיעין‬

20 Ibid., 360–61. 21 Below, textual parallels between Jeremiah and 1 Enoch are highlighted in grey.

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15 [When He comes with] the myriads of His holy ones, [to execute judgment against all; and He will destroy all the wicked, 16 and will convict all the f] lesh, with regard to [all their] works [of wickedness which they have committed in deed and in word, 17 and with regard to all] the proud and hard [words which wicked sinners have spoken against Him]. (4QEnc ar [4Q204] 1 i 15–17)22 ὅτι ἔρχεται σὺν ταῖς μυριάσιν αὐτοῦ καὶ τοῖς ἁγίοις αὐτοῦ, ποιῆσαι κρίσιν κατὰ πάντων, καὶ ἀπολέσει πάντας τοὺς ἀσεβεῖς, καὶ ἐλέγξει πᾶσαν σάρκα περὶ πάντων ἔργων τῆς ἀσεβείας αὐτῶν ὧν ἠσέβησαν καὶ σκληρῶν ὧν ἐλάλησαν λόγων, «καὶ περὶ πάντων ὧν κατελάλησαν» κατ᾽ αὐτοῦ ἁμαρτωλοὶ ἀσεβεῖς.23 15 When He comes with His myriads and His holy ones, to execute judgment against all; and He will destroy all the wicked, 16 and will convict all flesh, with regard to all their works of wickedness which they have sinned, and the hard words which they have spoken “and with regard to everything which wicked sinners have spoken against Him.” (Gr-1 En. 1:9) ‫ל־ּב ָ ׂ֑שר ָה ְר ָׁש ִ ֛עים נְ ָת ָנ֥ם ַל ֶ ֖ח ֶרב‬ ָ ‫ּגֹוים נִ ְׁש ָ ּ֥פט ֖הּוא ְל ָכ‬ ִ֔ ‫ד־ק ֵצ֣ה ָה ָ֔א ֶרץ ִ ּ֣כי ִ ֤ריב ַ ֽליהוָ ֙ה ַּב‬ ְ ‫אֹון ַע‬ ֙ ‫ָ ּ֤בא ָׁש‬ ‫הוה‬ ֽ ָ ְ‫נְ ֻאם־י‬ The clamour will resound to the ends of the earth, for the Lord has and indictment against all nations; he is entering into judgment with all flesh, and the guilty he will put to the sword. (MT-Jer 25:31)24 ἥκει ὄλεθρος 17 ἐπὶ μέρος τῆς γῆς, ὅτι κρίσις τῷ κυρίῳ ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν, κρίνεται αὐτὸς πρὸς πᾶσαν σάρκα, οἱ δὲ ἀσεβεῖς ἐδόθησαν εἰς μάχαιραν, λέγει κύριος.25 and destruction has come 17 on a part of the earth, because the Lord has an indictment against the nations; he is entering judgment with all flesh, and the impious will be given over to a dagger, says the Lord. (LXX-Jer 32:17) In pre-rabbinic Hebrew literature, the words ‫“ שפט‬to judge,” ‫“ כל‬all,” and ‫בשר‬ “flesh” are only combined in Jer 25:31. Both the reconstructed Aramaic and the

22 The translation is guided by Milik, Books of Enoch, 185. 23 All Greek texts of 1 Enoch are quoted according to the edition of Black, Apocalypsis Henochi Graece. 24 All translations of MT-Jeremiah are guided by NRSV. 25 All Greek texts of Jeremiah are quoted according to the edition of Joseph Ziegler, Jeremias, Baruch, Threni, Epistula Jeremiae, SVTG 15, 3rd ed. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006).

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Greek text of 1 En. 1:9 could reflect the same combination. There is thus a strong likelihood that 1 En. 1:9 employs Jer 25:31 to describe the eschatological judgment of God over all flesh.26 If this intertextual relationship is correct, the Book of Watchers would understand Jeremiah’s prophecy against the nations in Jer 25:15–31 as a prediction of the eschatological judgment of the world, the nations of Jer 25:31 representing the wicked ones from 1 En. 1:9. While this interpretation has a high likelihood, 1 En. 1:9 is nevertheless classified as an uncertain allusion to Jer 25:31 in the list of Lange and Weigold,27 because the three words ‫שפט‬, ‫כל‬, and ‫ בשר‬are all very common in ancient Hebrew and any author could have combined them without perusing Jer 25:31. Given the uncertain intertextual relationship between Jer 25:31 and 1 En. 1:9, the text-critical use of this possible allusion to Jeremiah in the Book of Watchers is limited. Furthermore, no textual differences exist between MT-Jer 25:31 and LXX-Jer 32:17. In case of an employment of Jer 25:31 in 1 En. 1:9, the textual differences between these two texts would not go back to a nonaligned text of Jer 25:31 but can easily be explained as adjusting Jer 25:31 to the text flow of 1 En. 1:9. 1 En. 1:9 would have adjusted Jeremiah’s passive voice to an active one and would have deleted the word ‫“ הּוא‬he” as it was not needed in the line of argument of 1 En. 1:9. That 1 En. 1:9 has in the word ‫“ ב[שרא‬the flesh” a determinative, while the ‫ל־ּב ָׂשר‬ ָ ‫“ ְל ָכ‬with all flesh” of MT-Jer 25:31 does not, is again of no text-critical relevance because the Greek text of 1 En. 1:9 reads σάρκα “flesh” without an article as well.

Jeremiah in the Greek Text(s) of 1 Enoch Jer 5:21–24 in 1 En. 101:4, 6 ὁρᾶ]τε τοὺς ναυκλήρους τοὺς πλωιζομένους τὴν θάλασσαν, ὑπὸ τοῦ κ[λύδω] νος καὶ χειμῶνος σεσαλευμένα τὰ πλοῖα αὐτῶν, … 6 οὐχὶ πᾶσα ἡ θάλασσα καὶ [πάντα τὰ] ὕδατα αὐτῆς ἔργον τοῦ ὑψ[ίστου ἐστί,] καὶ αὐτὸς συνεστήσατο τὰ π[έρατα αὐ]τῶν, καὶ συνέδησεν αὐτ[ήν, καὶ περι]έφραξεν αὐτὴν ἄμμῳ; You [look at] the sailors who sa[i]l the sea: their boats are tos[s]e[d] about by the w[ave] and storm … [Are] are not the entire sea and [all] its waters the

26 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 143–44, 149. 27 Lange and Weigold, Biblical Quotations and Allusions, 360.

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work of the Most High, and has he not set [th]eir l[imits]and bound it [and] fenced it [about] with sand?28 (Gr-1 En. 101:4, 6) ‫ק־עֹול֖ם וְ ֣ל ֹא‬ ָ ‫ר־ׂש ְמ ִּתי חֹול֙ ּגְ ֣בּול ַל ָּ֔ים ָח‬ ֤ ַ ‫יראּו נְ ֻאם־יְ הֹוָ ֗ה ִ ֤אם ִמ ָּפנַ ֙י ֣ל ֹא ָת ִ֔חילּו ֲא ֶׁש‬ ֜ ָ ‫א־ת‬ ִ ֹ ‫אֹותי ל‬ ִ֙ ‫ַה‬ ‫יּוכלּו וְ ָה ֥מּו גַ ָּל֖יו וְ ֥ל ֹא יַ ַע ְב ֻ ֽרנְ הּו׃‬ ָ֔ ‫ׁשּו וְ ֣ל ֹא‬ ֙ ‫יַ ַע ְב ֶ ֑רנְ הּו וַ ִּי ְֽתּגָ ֲע‬ Do you not fear me? says the Lord; Do you not tremble before me? I placed the sand as a boundary for the sea, a perpetual barrier that it cannot pass; though the waves toss, they cannot prevail, though they roar, they cannot pass over it. (MT-Jer 5:22) μὴ ἐμὲ οὐ φοβηθήσεσθε; λέγει κύριος, ἢ ἀπὸ προσώπου μου οὐκ εὐλαβηθήσεσθε; τὸν τάξαντα ἄμμον ὅριον τῇ θαλάσσῃ, πρόσταγμα αἰώνιον, καὶ οὐχ ὑπερβήσεται αὐτό, καὶ ταραχθήσεται καὶ οὐ δυνήσεται, καὶ ἠχήσουσιν τὰ κύματα αὐτῆς καὶ οὐχ ὑπερβήσεται αὐτό. Will you not fear me? Says the Lord, or will you not show reverence before me who sets sand as a boundary for the sea? A perpetual ordinance, and it will not transgress it, and it will toss and will not be able, and its waves will roar, and it will not transgress it. (LXX-Jer 5:22) Nickelsburg and Stuckenbruck29 see 1 En. 101:4, 6 as inspired by Jer 5:22. The only verbal parallel between the Greek translation of 1 En. 101:4, 6 and LXX-Jer is the word ἄμμῳ/ἄμμον “sand” for which no textual differences between LXX-Jer and MT-Jer exist. Nickelsburg and Stuckenbruck are correct in pointing to Jer 5:22 as a passage of the scriptures that inspired 1 Enoch 101. As a primary translation, though, the Greek text of 1 Enoch masks its Aramaic source text to an extent that it needs to remain uncertain whether in addition to the word ἄμμῳ/ἄμμον more verbal parallels existed between 1 En. 101:4, 6 and Jer 5:22 in the Aramaic original or not. The employment of Jer 5:22 in 1 En. 101:4, 6 is hence of no text-critical importance. Jer 22:13–19 in 1 En. 99:11–100:6 Nickelsburg argues in his commentary that the discourse of 1 En. 99:11–100:6 “is marked by several significant parallels to 94:6–9; both sections reflect the

28 Translation according to Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 464. 29 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 473, 477–78, 480; Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 477, 480; cf. already Emil Kautzsch, Die Apokryphen und Pseudepigraphen des Alten Testaments, vol. 2: Die Pseudepigraphen (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1900), 306 note b.

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influence of Jer 22:13–19 … it is probably futile to attempt to determine the literary relationships between these two passages and Jeremiah 22. On the one hand, the author of 1 Enoch may be constructing two passages based on Jeremiah, employing the repetition to make his point. On the other hand, he may be employing two different forms of a common tradition that was based in part on the prophetic passage.”30 Although the nature of the relationship between the two passages remains difficult to assess, the parallels between Jer 22:13–19 and 1 En. 94:6–9; 99:11–100:6. to which Nickelsburg points are extensive enough to put an intertextual relationship between the two texts beyond doubt. This remains true, although the individual parallels often do not exceed two parallel words of text (Table 8.1). Table 8.1: Parallels between Jer 22:13–19 and 1 En. 94:6–9; 99:11–100:6 according to Nickelsburg 1 Enoch Woe against those who build Woe with the metaphor of building Day of great judgment Day of bloodshed Doing of iniquity Murder Dishonest riches

Jeremiah

94:7

99:13

22:13

94:6 94:9 94:9 94:9 – 94:7–8

99:12, 14 99:15 100:1–3 99:15 99:15 –

– – (22:19) 22:17 22:17 22:17

Nickelsburg’s observations warrant thus a text-critical investigation of the employments of Jer 22:13–19, which he observes in 1 Enoch, although the individual employments need not point to an intertextual relationship between the two texts on their own. Such a text-critical investigation remains impossible for the employments of Jer 22:13, 17 in 1 Enoch 94 until further Aramaic or Greek Enoch manuscripts are found because these passages are preserved only in the secondary Ethiopic translation. Furthermore, when Nickelsburg speculates about an influence that Jer 22:19 might have exerted on 1 En. 94:9 and 100:1–3, such an influence is not documented by any parallel rhetoric between these three references. Below, I will hence investigate only the uses of Jer 22:17 in 1 En. 99:15 and Jer 23:32 in 1 En. 98:15 text critically.

30 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 497.

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Jer 22:13 in 1 En. 99:13 οὐαὶ οἱ οἰκοδομοῦντες τὰς οἰκοδομὰς αὐτῶν οὐκ ἐκ κόπων ἰδίων, καὶ ἐκ λίθων καὶ ἐκ πλίνθων πᾶσαν οἰκοδομὴν ποιεῖτε [μά]ταιοι οὐκ ἔστιν ὑμῖν χά[ρις]. Woe to those who build their houses not by their own l[a]bour; and from stones and fr[om] bricks [you] m[ake] every house. [Fo]ols, there will not be p[eace] for you.31 (Gr-1 En. 99:13) ‫ן־לֹו׃‬ ֽ ‫הּו יַ ֲע ֣בֹד ִח ָּ֔נם ּופ ֲֹע ֖לֹו ֥ל ֹא יִ ֶּת‬ ֙ ‫ּיֹותיו ְּב ֣ל ֹא ִמ ְׁש ָ ּ֑פט ְּב ֵר ֵ֙ע‬ ֖ ָ ‫א־צ ֶדק וַ ֲע ִל‬ ֶ֔ ֹ ‫יתֹו ְ ּֽבל‬ ֙ ‫֣הֹוי ּב ֶֹנ֤ה ֵב‬ Woe to him who builds his house without righteousness, and his upper rooms without justice; he makes his neighbor work for nothing and does not give him his wages. (MT-Jer 22:13) [‫משפ[ט ברעהו יעבד חנם ופעלו] לא [יתן לו‬ ׄ ‫בלא]צ[דק ועליותיו בל]א‬ ֯ ‫]הוי בנה ביתו‬ [Woe to him who builds his house without] r[ighteousness, and his upper rooms with]out justi[ce; he makes his neighbor work for nothing and does] not [give him his wages]. (4QJera XIV:27–28) ‫ופעלו לא יתן לו‬ ֯ ‫הוי בונ֯ [ה בית]וׄ בלא צדק וע[ליותיו בלא משפט ברעהו] יעבד חנם‬ Woe to him who build[s] his [house] without righteousness, and [his] upp[er rooms without justice;] he makes [his neighbor] work for nothing and does not give him his wages. (4QJerc XII:11–12) Ὦ ὁ οἰκοδομῶν οἰκίαν αὐτοῦ οὐ μετὰ δικαιοσύνης καὶ τὰ ὑπερῷα αὐτοῦ οὐκ ἐν κρίματι, παρὰ τῷ πλησίον αὐτοῦ ἐργᾶται δωρεὰν καὶ τὸν μισθὸν αὐτοῦ οὐ μὴ ἀποδώσει αὐτῷ. Ah, he who builds his house not with righteousness and his upper rooms not with judgment, he will work at his fellows for nothing and he will not pay him his wages. (LXX-Jer 22:13) The combination of the Hebrew words ‫“ הוי‬woe,” ‫“ בנה‬to build,” and ‫“ בית‬house” occurs in prerabbinic Hebrew literature only in Jer 22:13 and it aligns well with the Greek text of 1 En. 99:13. Confirming Nickelsburg’s observations, Stuckenbruck

31 Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 412. Stuckenbruck (op. cit., 416) restores the Greek text differently than Black (Apocalypsis Henochi Graece, 39) who reads οἷϛ instead of Stuckenbruck’s [μά]ταιοι.

The Text of Jeremiah in 1 Enoch 

 133

can therefore emphasize, “The allusion … to Jeremiah 22:13 … is unmistakable.”32 When Nickelsburg wants to see the morphology of the phrases ‫א־צ ֶדק‬ ֶ ֹ ‫“ ְּבל‬without righteousness” and ‫“ ְּבלֹא ִמ ְׁש ָּפט‬without justice” “retained in the words”33 οὐκ ἐκ κόπων ἰδίων “not by their own labour,” there are no textual parallels to justify his claim beyond the possibility of a very liberal paraphrase. In 1 En. 99:13, only the phrase οὐαὶ οἱ οἰκοδομοῦντες τὰς οἰκοδομὰς αὐτῶν “woe to those who build their houses” is thus of text-critical interest. In this allusion, the textual differences between 1 En. 99:13 and Jer 22:13 go back to adjustments of the anterior Jeremiah text to the textual flow of the posterior 1 Enoch text. That Jer 22:13 is phrased in the singular while 1 En. 99:13 employs plural forms goes back to an adjustment of the anterior Jeremiah text to the plural phrasing of the posterior text of the Epistle of Enoch. It is important to note that there are differences in the vocabulary of LXX-Jer 22:13 and Gr-1 En. 99:13: LXX-Jer translates ‫“ הֹוי‬woe” and ‫“ ֵביתֹו‬his house” with Ὦ “ah” and οἰκίαν αὐτοῦ “his house” while Gr-1 En. renders the with οὐαὶ “woe” and τὰς οἰκοδομὰς αὐτῶν “their houses.” These differences in vocabulary between LXX-Jer 22:13 and Gr-1 En. 99:13 indicate that the Greek translation of 1 En. 99:1 was produced without regress to an Old Greek manuscript of Jeremiah. Except for this observation, the allusion to Jer 22:14 in 1 En. 99:13 is of no text-critical interest. Jer 22:17 in 1 En. 99:15 οὐαὶ ὑμῖν οἱ ποιοῦντες τὴν ἀ[νομίαν] καὶ ἐπιβοηθοῦντες τῇ ἀδι[κίᾳ, φονεύ] οντες τὸν πλησίον αὐτῶ[ν ἕως τῆς] ἡμέρας τῆς κρίσεως τῆς [μεγάλης·] Woe to you who practice [law]less[ness] and give help to unri[ghtousness, murder]ing their] neighbor [until the] day of [great] judgment.34 (Gr-1 En. 99:15) ‫רּוצה ַל ֲע ֽׂשֹות׃‬ ֖ ָ ‫ל־ה ְּמ‬ ַ ‫ל־ה ֥עֹ ֶׁשק וְ ַע‬ ָ ‫קי ִל ְׁש ּ֔פֹוְך וְ ַע‬ ֙ ִ ָ‫ם־הּנ‬ ַ ‫ל־ּב ְצ ֶעָ֑ך וְ ַ ֤על ַ ּֽד‬ ִ ‫ם־ע‬ ַ ‫ִ ּ֣כי ֵ ֤אין ֵעינֶ֙ ֙יָך וְ ִל ְּב ָ֔ך ִ ּ֖כי ִא‬ Your eyes and heart though are on nothing but your dishonest gain, for shedding innocent blood, and for practicing oppression and violence. (MT-Jer 22:17) ] [‫[כי אין עיניך ולבך כי אם על בצעך ועל דם ] הנקי [לשפוך ועל העשק ועל המר]ו֯ צה לעשות‬

32 Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 420. Cf. already Kautzsch, Pseudepigraphen, 304 note v; Robert H. Charles, The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament in English: With Introductions and Critical and Explanatory Notes to the Several Books, vol. 2: Pseudepigrapha (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1913), 271; Uhlig, Henochbuch, 728 note 13 b). 33 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 498. 34 Translation according to Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 412.

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[Your eyes and heart though are on nothing but your dishonest gain, 1 for shedding] innocent [blood, and] for practicing[ oppression and violence. (4QJerc XII:17–XIII:1) ἰδοὺ οὔκ εἰσιν οἱ ὀφθαλμοί σου οὐδὲ ἡ καρδία σου ἀλλ᾿ ἢ εἰς τὴν πλεονεξίαν σου καὶ εἰς τὸ αἷμα τὸ ἀθῷον τοῦ ἐκχέειν αὐτὸ καὶ εἰς ἀδίκημα καὶ εἰς φόνον τοῦ ποιεῖν; Behold, are not your eyes and your heart on nothing but your greed and on innocent blood to shed it and on wrongdoing and on committing murder. (LXX-Jer 22:17) The only two words that occur both in 1 En. 99:15 and Jer 22:17 are ‫עׁש ֹק‬ ֶ֥ “oppression” and ‫רּוצה‬ ָ ‫“ ְּמ‬murder.” ‫רּוצה‬ ָ ‫ ְּמ‬is a hapax legomenon that LXX-Jer translates with φόνος “murder,” although modern dictionaries prefer meanings like “extortion” for ‫רּוצה‬ ָ ‫ּמ‬. ְ 35 Against these dictionaries, it points to the accuracy of the LXX-Jer-rendering that 1 En. 99:15 understands the ‫רּוצה‬ ָ ‫ ְּמ‬of Jer 22:17 in a similar way as LXX-Jer does. That 1 En. 99:15 has for the ‫ ע ֶֹׁשק‬of Jer 22:17 not ἀδίκημα “wrongdoing” but ἀδικία “unrighteousness” should not surprise. Even inside the different books of the Septuagint ‫ ע ֶֹׁשק‬can be translated as both ἀδίκημα and ἀδικία.36 The most likely scenario is that the Greek translator of the Epistle of Enoch rendered the allusion to Jer 22:17 in 1 En. 99:15 without regress to LXX-Jer from the Aramaic text of the Epistle of Enoch. He chooses a similar but different Greek translation for the Aramaic equivalent of Hebrew ‫ ע ֶֹׁשק‬in his Aramaic Vorlage. As there are no textual differences between MT-Jer and LXX-Jer in the two words that 1 En. 99:15 employs from Jer 22:17 and as 1 En. 99:15 does not preserve a nonaligned reading either, this allusion to Jeremiah is of no text- critical value. Nevertheless, it points to the fact that the Greek translator of the Epistle of Enoch did not align his translation of the allusion to Jeremiah with any Old Greek manuscript of Jeremiah. Like in 1 En. 99:13, the most likely scenario is that the Greek translator did not recognize the allusion to Jer 22:17 in his Aramaic Vorlage of 1 Enoch and created hence his own rendering.

35 Thus e.g. David J.A. Clines, ed., The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew, vol. 5: ‫נ‬-‫( מ‬Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 484. 36 Cf. Takamitsu Muraoka, A Greek ≈ Hebrew/Aramaic Two-Way Index to the Septuagint (Leuven: Peeters, 2010), 4.

The Text of Jeremiah in 1 Enoch 

 135

Jer 23:32 in 1 En. 98:15 οὐαὶ ὑμῖν οἱ γράφοντες λόγους ψευδεῖς καὶ λόγους πλανήσεως· αὐτοὶ γράφουσιν καὶ πολλοὺς ἀποπλανήσουσιν τοῖς ψεύδεσιν αὐτῶν· Woe to you who write down false words, and words of error they themselves write, and they lead many astray with their lies. (Gr-1 En. 98:15) ‫זּותם וְ ָאנ ֙ ִֹכי‬ ֑ ָ ‫ּוב ַפ ֲח‬ ְ ‫יהם‬ ֖ ֶ ‫ת־ע ִּ֔מי ְּב ִׁש ְק ֵר‬ ַ ‫רּום וַ ּיַ ְת ֣עּו ֶא‬ ֙ ‫הוה ַ ֽוֽיְ ַס ְּפ‬ ֔ ָ ְ‫ֹלמֹות ֶׁ֙ש ֶק ֙ר נְ ֻאם־י‬ ֥ ‫֠ ִהנְ נִ י ַ ֽעל־נִ ְּב ֵ֞אי ֲח‬ ‫הוה׃‬ ֽ ָ ְ‫ם־ה ֶּז֖ה נְ ֻאם־י‬ ַ ‫א־יֹועילּו ָ ֽל ָע‬ ֥ ִ ֹ ‫הֹוע֛יל ֽל‬ ֵ ְ‫יתים ו‬ ִ֗ ִ‫א־ׁש ַל ְח ִּ֜תים וְ ֣ל ֹא ִצּו‬ ְ ֹ ‫ֽל‬ See, I am against those who prophesy dreams of deceit, says the Lord, and who recount them, and who lead astray my people with their lies and their recklessness, when I did not send them or commanded them; so they do not profit this people at all, says the Lord. (MT-Jer 23:32) ἰδοὺ ἐγὼ πρὸς τοὺς προφήτας τοὺς προφητεύοντας ἐνύπνια ψευδῆ καὶ διηγοῦντο αὐτὰ καὶ ἐπλάνησαν τὸν λαόν μου ἐν τοῖς Ψεύδεσιν αὐτῶν καὶ ἐν τοῖς πλάνοις αὐτῶν, καὶ ἐγὼ οὐκ ἀπέστειλα αὐτοὺς καὶ οὐκ ἐνετειλάμην αὐτοῖς, καὶ ὠφέλειαν οὐκ ὠφελήσουσι τὸν λαὸν τοῦτον. Behold, I am against the prophets who were prophesying lying dreams, and they kept telling them, and they led my people astray by their lies and by their errors, and it was not I that sent them, and I did not command them, and they will not profit this people with profit. (LXX-Jer 23:32) The topic of leading astray by way of lies is widespread in the Jewish scriptures. Nevertheless, with a parallel of six Greek and three Hebrew words between Jer 23:32 and 1 En. 98:15, there can be little doubt about the allusion to the former in the latter.37 Besides various adjustments to the argumentative requirements of the list of woes in 1 En. 98:9–99:2, three differences spring to the eye between Jer 23:32 and 1 En. 98:15, which require explanation. 1) The equivalent to ‫“ וַ יְ ַס ְּפרּום‬and they recount them” of Jer 23:32 in 1 En. 98:15 is reproduced as γράφουσιν “they write” instead of the καὶ διηγοῦντο αὐτὰ “and they kept telling them” in LXX-Jer. 2) Gr-1 Enoch uses the word ἀποπλανήσουσιν “they lead astray” for the ‫“ וַ ּיַ ְתעּו‬and they lead astray” of MT-Jer 23:32 instead of the ἐπλάνησαν “they lead astray” in LXXJer. 3) For the ‫ת־ע ִּמי‬ ַ ‫( ֶא‬τὸν λαόν μου) “my people” of Jer 23:32, Gr-1 En. 98:15 reads πολλοὺς “many.”

37 Cf. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 487.

136  1.

2.

3.

 Armin Lange

In the Septuagint, the Greek verb γράφω “to write” is never used to render any stem of the Hebrew verb ‫“ ספר‬to count, recount, tell,” although the noun ‫ ס ֵֺפר‬indicates a “scribe.” LXX-Jer 23 is no exception to this rule as it translates the pi‘el stem of ‫ ספר‬in Jer 23:27, 28 and in Jer 23:32 with forms of the Greek verb διηγέομαι “to set out in detail, describe.” While there can be no question that LXX-Jer renders the sense of Jer 23:32 accurately, it still needs to be explained why Gr-1 En. 98:15 depicts an act of oral communication as a written one when it has γράφουσιν “they write” for the ‫“ וַ יְ ַס ְּפרּום‬and they recount them” of Jer 23:32. The best explanation is that in the second century BCE the Aramaic-speaking author of the Epistle of Enoch misunderstood the meaning of the Hebrew verb ‫ ספר‬and rendered it in his Aramaic allusion to Jer 23:32 with a form of the Aramaic verb ‫“ כתב‬to write.” This mistranslation poses the question as to how well the author of the Epistle of Enoch was able to read Hebrew. An answer to this question would require a more detailed study of all quotations and allusions to Jewish scriptures in the Epistle of Enoch. ‫ כתב‬is translated elsewhere in Gr-1 Enoch with the Greek word γράφω as well.38 Because Gr-1 Enoch attests in 1 En. 98:15 to the same misconception of ‫ ספר‬as its supposed Aramaic Vorlage did, it seems unlikely that Gr-1 Enoch perused an Old Greek manuscript of Jeremiah in translating the allusion to Jer 23:32 in 1 En. 98:15. The translator most likely did not even recognize this allusion. The rendering of the Hebrew verb ‫ העת‬with ἀποπλανάω (both words meaning “to lead astray”) has no precedent in the Septuagint. As the meaning of ἀποπλανάω does not differ from that of the πλανάω “to lead astray,” which LXX-Jer 23:32 uses in its translation, this rendition should not be taken as evidence for a nonaligned reading in the allusion to Jer 23:32 in 1 En. 98:15. It simply illustrates the independence of Gr-1 Enoch from the Old Greek text of Jeremiah in translating its Aramaic Enochic Vorlage. That Gr-1 En. 98:15 reads πολλοὺς “many” for the ‫ת־ע ִּמי‬ ַ ‫( ֶא‬τὸν λαόν μου) “my people” of Jer 23:32 is due to the argumentative logic of its preceding context. 1 En. 98:12, 13, and 14 mention a righteous group that will judge at the end of days the wicked fools of the Enochic list of woes (1 En. 98:9–99:2). 1 En. 98:15 can therefore not argue that the wicked fools are able to lead the whole of God’s people astray. By using πολλοὺς “many” instead of ‫“ ַע ִּמי‬my people,” 1 En. 98:15 points thus to a majority of Israel that are led astray by the wicked fools in its allusion to Jer 23:32.

38 Cf. Milik, Books of Enoch, 381, 398: 1 En. 14:7; 107:1.

The Text of Jeremiah in 1 Enoch 

 137

It can be summarized that the Greek translator of the Epistle of Enoch did not recognize the allusion to Jer 23:32 in 1 En. 98:15 and translated it therefore without regress to an Old Greek text of Jeremiah. Beyond this observation, the allusion to Jer 23:32 in 1 En. 98:15 is of no text-critical interest because neither are there textual differences between MT-Jer and LXX-Jer in the text of this allusion nor does the allusion attest to any nonaligned readings. Jer 37(44):9 in 1 En 98:7 μὴ ὑπολάβητε τῇ ψυχῇ ὑμῶν μηδὲ ὑπολάβητε τῇ καρδίᾳ ὑμῶν ὅτι οὐ γινώσκουσιν οὐδὲ βλέπουσιν οὐδὲ τὰ ἀδικήματα ὑμῶν θεωρεῖτε, οὐδὲ ἀπογράφεται αὐτὰ ἐνώπιον τοῦ ὑψίστου. Do not t[h]ink in your spirit and say not in your heart, that your wrongdoing[g]s are not observed, and (that) they are not recorde[d] before the Most High.39 (Gr-1 En. 98:7) ‫י־ל ֹא יֵ ֵלֽכּו׃‬ ֖ ‫מר ָה ֹ֛לְך יֵ ְל ֥כּו ֵמ ָע ֵל֖ינּו ַה ַּכ ְׂש ִ ּ֑דים ִּכ‬ ֹ ֔ ‫יכ ֙ם ֵלא‬ ֶ ‫ל־ּת ִ ּׁ֤שאּו נַ ְפ ֽׁש ֹ ֵת‬ ַ ‫הוה ַא‬ ֗ ָ ְ‫ּ֣כֹה׀ ָא ַ ֣מר י‬ Thus says the Lord: Do not deceive yourselves, saying, ‘The Chaldeans will surely go away from us’, for they will not go away. (MT-Jer 37:9) ὅτι οὕτως εἶπε κύριος Μὴ ὑπολάβητε ταῖς ψυχαῖς ὑμῶν λέγοντες Ἀποτρέχοντες ἀπελεύσονται ἀφ᾿ ἡμῶν οἱ Χαλδαῖοι, ὅτι οὐ μὴ ἀπέλθωσιν· because thus did the Lord say: Do not suppose in your souls, saying, “In departing the Chaldeans will go away from us.” (LXX-Jer 44:9) 1 En. 98:7 and Jer 37(44):9 have in their Greek texts five words in common equaling three Hebrew words of Jeremiah text. Different from all the other employments of Jeremiah in 1 Enoch discussed above, Gr-1 En. 98:7 is in almost complete textual agreement with LXX-Jer, the only exception being the grammatical number of the words τῇ ψυχῇ “in spirit.” This agreement is all the more striking as MT-Jer 37:9 par LXX-Jer 44:9 is the only reference in the whole Septuagint in which the Hebrew verb ‫“ נשא‬to lift” is rendered with a form of the Greek word ὑπολαμβάνω “to assume.” Not only is this rendering unusual in the Septuagint, the phrase ὑπολαμβάνω ψυχῇ “to assume in spirit” does not occur anywhere else in the Septuagint either. Furthermore, a lemmatic full corpus search of the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae did not result in any other hits for the phrase ὑπολαμβάνω ψυχῇ than LXX-Jer 44:9. This

39 Translation according to Stuckenbruck, 1 Enoch 91–108, 349.

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means that the phrase ὑπολαμβάνω ψυχῇ is unique in ancient Greek literature. The closest parallel is LXX-Dan 2:30: ἃ ὑπέλαβες τῇ καρδίᾳ σου ἐν γνώσει “what you pondered in your heart by knowledge.” The uniqueness of the Greek phrase ὑπολαμβάνω ψυχῇ in Greek Jewish literature is reflected by the uniqueness of the Hebrew phrase ‫“ נשא נפש‬to lift once spirit,” that is, “to assume in spirit,” which is attested nowhere else in the preserved prerabbinic Hebrew literature. All of this cannot be a coincidence but points not only to a conscious employment of MT-Jer 37:9 in Aram-1 En. 98:7 but also to a conscious use of LXX-Jer 44:9 by the Greek translator of 1 En. 98:7. At least for the Greek translation of the Epistle of Enoch, the use of Jer 44:9 in Gr-1 En. 98:7 needs thus be classified as an implicit quotation. Given that ὑπολαμβάνω renders nowhere else in the LXX ‫נשא‬, the most likely explanation is that the Greek translator of the Epistle of Enoch recognized the employment of Jer 37:9 in his Aramaic parent text and consciously adjusted his Greek rendition of this allusion to the text of LXX-Jer. Such conscious adjustments of Jeremiah quotations and/or allusions to LXX-Jer are also known from the Greek translation of the book of Ben Sira.40 Because such textual adjustments of quotations and allusions to their Septuagint translations are attested in other Greek Jewish translations of the Second Temple period, much less can be said about the Aramaic parent text of the Greek translation of the Epistle of Enoch and its relationship to MT-Jer 37:9. It is likely but far from certain that the lost Aramaic text of 1 En. 98:7 also agreed verbally with MT-Jer 37:9. Because my work on the Jeremiah quotations and allusions in the Greek translation of Ben Sira shows, though, that employments of Jeremiah were adjusted in other Jewish Greek translations to the text of the Septuagint, it cannot be excluded that the Aramaic parent text of Gr-1 En. read the text of the implicit quotation of Jer 37(44):9 differently. Given that Gr-1 Enoch contains an implicit citation of LXX-Jer 44:9, it must be asked if the only textual difference between Gr-1 En. 98:7 and LXX-Jer 44:9 was part of its anterior Jeremiah text or if it goes back to an alteration of this anterior Jeremiah text either by Aram-1 En. 98:7 or Gr-1 En. 98:7. For such an adjustment of the anterior Jeremiah text of Gr-1 En. 98:7, one could argue with the singular form τῇ καρδίᾳ in the parallel phrase μηδὲ ὑπολάβητε τῇ καρδίᾳ ὑμῶν “and say not in your heart.” In 1 En. 98:7, though, the plural forms ὑπολάβητε and ὑμῶν require the corresponding plural forms ταῖς ψυχαῖς ὑμῶν “your spirits”—as in LXX-Jer 44:9—and ταῖς καρδίαις ὑμῶν “your hearts” instead of the singular forms τῇ ψυχῇ ὑμῶν “your spirit” and τῇ καρδίᾳ ὑμῶν “your heart.” Given the faulty grammar, it

40 Cf. Lange, “The Book of Jeremiah in the Hebrew and Greek Texts of Ben Sira,” 118–61, passim and 154–55.

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is possible that the anterior LXX-Jer-text of Gr-1 En. 98:7 read the singular τῇ ψυχῇ ὑμῶν instead of the plural ταῖς ψυχαῖς ὑμῶν. Despite the fact that Ziegler’s edition does not note a single witness to the singular τῇ ψυχῇ in the manuscript tradition of LXX-Jer 44:9,41 in this case, the Greek translator of the Epistle of Enoch would have incorporated the unusual singular form τῇ ψυχῇ ὑμῶν from his anterior Jeremiah text and would have adapted the number of the following καρδίᾳ to the singular of the preceding ψυχῇ. The suspicion that the singular form τῇ ψυχῇ ὑμῶν goes back to the anterior Jeremiah text perused by the Greek translator of the Epistle of Enoch finds support in the Peshitta to Jeremiah that reads in Jer 37:9 ‫ܦܫܟܘܢ‬ ̮ ‫“ ܐܠ ܬܣܒܪܘܢ ܒܢ‬do not think in your very being.” All other primary translations of Jeremiah and the Old Latin translation of the LXX read with MT-Jer and LXX-Jer plural forms that carry the meaning “your spirit”: V animas vestras; T ‫פש ְתכֹון‬ ָ ַ‫ ;נ‬VL animis vestris. The Peshitta is a Syriac translation of MT-Jer that was later partly adapted to LXX-Jer to achieve textual improvements.42 That Pesh-Jer reads in agreement with Gr-1 En. 98:7 ‫ܦܫܟܘܢ‬ ̮ ‫“ ܐܠ ܬܣܒܪܘܢ ܒܢ‬do not think in your very being” cannot go back to such a grammatical improvement of Pesh-Jer based on LXX-Jer because the singular form ‫ܦܫܟܘܢ‬ ̮ ‫ ܒܢ‬is grammatically incorrect in the Peshitta as well. This means that the implicit quotation of LXX-Jer 44:9 in 1 En. 98:7 and Pesh-Jer 37:9 shares a common textual ancestor in Jer 37(44):9. Two explanations for this shared textual ancestor are possible. 1. The singular ‫“ נפשכם‬your spirit” goes back to scribal corruption in a part of the textual transmission of proto-MT-Jer 37:9 (accidental erasure of taw and yod). On this corrupted manuscript tradition, both Pesh-Jer and 1 En. 98:7 would depend. When the Greek translator of the Epistle of Enoch adjusted the text of the allusion to Jer 37(44):9 in 1 En. 98:7 to LXX-Jer, he preserved the singular reading τῇ ψυχῇ ὑμῶν “in your spirit” from his Aramaic parent text of the Epistle of Enoch and did not align it with the plural form ταῖς ψυχαῖς ὑμῶν “in your spirits” in his exemplar of LXX-Jer. 2. The singular ‫“ נפשכם‬your spirit” represents an original reading going back to the shared textual ancestor of MT-Jer and LXX-Jer. The current texts of both MT-Jer and LXX-Jer represent grammatical corrections of the incorrect singular forms in their Hebrew and Greek Jeremiah texts. On these corrected versions all other translations of Jer 37(44):9 depend. The more original singular form ‫נפשכם‬ “your spirit” would in this case be preserved only in Pesh-Jer and 1 En. 98:7.

41 Ziegler, Jeremias, 401. 42 See Gillian Greenberg, Translation Technique in the Peshitta to Jeremiah, Monographs of the Peshitta Institute Leiden 13 (Leiden: Brill, 2002).

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The second solution is a less complicated explanation of the evidence, but has in its favor only two textual witnesses of a lesser quality and weight than MT-Jer and LXX-Jer. It becomes plausible only because there are no connections in the textual transmission of Gr-1 En. 98:7 and Pesh-Jer and because the Old Latin translation of LXX-Jer reads the plural form animis (nolite praesumere animis “deceive not your spirits”)43 documenting thus that LXX-Jer read the plural ταῖς ψυχαῖς ὑμῶν “in your spirits” early on in its textual transmission. V and T attest the plural form ‫יכם‬ ֶ ‫“ נַ ְפׁש ֵֹת‬your spirits” in the proto-Masoretic tradition already in late antiquity as well.

The Uncertain Use of Jer 29(36):25 in 1 En. 104:10 Nickelsburg observes a rhetorical parallel to Jer 29:25 in the phrase ‫אַּתה ָׁש ַל ְח ָּת‬ ָ ‫“ ְב ִׁש ְמ ָכה ְס ָפ ִרים‬you sent letters in your name” with the καὶ τὰς γραφὰς ἀναγράφουσιν ἐπὶ τοῖς ὀνόμασιν αὐτῶν “and they (scil. the sinners) w[rit]e down books in their own names” in 1 En. 104:10.44 The rhetorical parallel cannot be disputed but—as Nickelsburg himself points out—it does not go beyond the level of formulaic language. An intertextual dependency of 1 En. 104:10 on Jer 29:25 beyond the shared use of the idiom “to write/send in one’s name” is not evident.45

Conclusions As far as they are preserved, the Greek and Aramaic texts of 1 Enoch employ the book of Jeremiah only five times with any degree of certainty. Only one of these employments represents an implicit quotation (Jer 37[44]:9 in 1 En. 98:7). The five employments are all located in the Epistle of Enoch. They preserve 20 words of Greek Jeremiah text equaling 11 words of Hebrew Jeremiah text.

43 Quoted according to codex Wirceburgensis as published by Ernst Ranke, Par palimpsetorum Wirceburgensium antiquissimae veteris Testamenti versionis Latinae fragmenta (Vienna: Wilhelm Braumüller, 1871), 311. 44 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 534. 45 Cf. Lange and Weigold, Biblical Quotations, 361, who list the parallel under “Uncertain Quotations and Allusions.”

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Greek words Hebrew words Jer 5:22 Jer 22:13 Jer 22:17 Jer 23:32 Jer 37(44):9

1 En. 101:6 1 En. 99:13 1 En. 99:15 1 En. 98:15 1 En. 98:7

1 5 2 7 5

1 3 2 3 3

Almost all disagreements between the Jeremiah employments in the Epistle of Enoch and the text of Jeremiah go back to changes that the posterior text of the Epistle of Enoch applied to its anterior Jeremiah text. Not much can be said about which Jeremiah text the Epistle of Enoch used. As for its Greek translation, it renders most Jeremiah allusions without regress to LXX-Jer. The only exception to this rule is the implicit quotation of Jer 37(44):9 in 1 En. 98:7. With this single exception, the Greek translator of Epistle of Enoch did not recognize the Epistel’s employments of Jeremiah. Only in the case of the implicit quotation of Jer 37(44):9 in 1 En. 98:7 did the Greek translator of the Epistle of Enoch use LXX-Jer to produce his rendering. This implicit quotation preserves a nonaligned variant reading for Jer 37(44):9. It agrees with Pesh-Jer 37:9 in reading the singular τῇ ψυχῇ ὑμῶν “your spirit” against the plural ‫יכם‬ ֶ ‫“ נַ ְפׁש ֵֹת‬your spirits” of MT (cf. LXX, VL, V, and T). This nonaligned variant reading is interesting as it goes most likely back to a shared Hebrew textual ancestor but it does not allow for far reaching conclusions due to the very small amount of evidence it provides. The allusion to Jer 23:32 in 1 En. 98:15 points to a further issue: That in this allusion the Aramaic speaking author of the Epistle of Enoch misunderstood the Hebrew verb ‫“ ספר‬to count, recount, tell” as equaling the Aramaic verb ‫“ כתב‬to write” could indicate his limited knowledge of Hebrew. A comprehensive study of all allusions to and quotations of Hebrew texts in the Epistle of Enoch would be necessary to allow for any definitive conclusions as to how good the Hebrew of the author of the Epistle of Enoch was.

Variant List 1 En. 98:7 τῇ ψυχῇ ὑμῶν with Pesh ‫ܦܫܟܘܢ‬ ̮ ‫ ] ܒܢ‬MT ‫נַ ְפׁש ֵֹת ֶיכם‬, LXX ταῖς ψυχαῖς ὑμῶν, VL animis vestris, V animas vestras, T ‫פש ְתכֹון‬ ָ ַ‫נ‬

Daniel Olson

9 An Enochic Reading of Genesis 6:1–4 from the Beginning of the Persian Era? How old is the oldest Enoch literature? Prior to the discovery of fragments of the Book of the Watchers (1 En. 1–36) and the Astronomy Book (1 En. 72–82) at Qumran, it was generally assumed that the Maccabean crisis provided the terminus a quo for 1 Enoch, as it did for all Jewish apocalyptic writings, but thanks to the Dead Sea Scrolls, it is today widely agreed that those oldest Enoch booklets go back in some form at least to the third century, making them our earliest surviving Jewish apocalypses.1 Beyond this consensus, the question of dating remains vague and open-ended. This chapter is concerned with the famous angel myth that is one of the two foundational stories upon which Enochic Judaism rests (the other one being the elevation and illumination of the patriarch Enoch). I believe that a good case can be made for a terminus ad quem of around 500 BCE for an instance in which the myth is put to use very much as it is found in 1 En. 6, indicating that at least the core of the Book of the Watchers already existed by that time. The oldest versions of the myth are the brief and cryptic account in Gen 6:1–4 and the fuller account in 1 En. 6–16, especially the first few chapters of that section. It has always been obvious to anyone reading 1 En. 6–8 and Gen 6:1–4 side by side that we have here two versions of the same story, the comingling of the “sons of God” with the “daughters of humanity” and the disturbing consequences of this activity. Although it has been suggested occasionally that the Genesis account is a clipped and allusive version of the Enochic,2 most scholars are of the opinion that even the older parts of the Book of the Watchers are younger than Genesis, and it is therefore safer to assume the former is an expansion of the latter. From a purely literary point of view, “expansion” is an accurate description, but in agreeing to call it an expansion I do not wish to imply that the Enochic fallen angel myth is necessarily younger than the shorter Genesis version. That is something we still do not know.

1 See, e.g., James H. Charlesworth, “A Rare Consensus Among Enoch Specialists: The Date of the Earliest Enoch Books,” in The Origins of Enochic Judaism: Proceedings of the First Enoch Seminar, University of Michigan, Sesto Fiorentino, Italy, June 19–23, 2001, ed. Gabriele Boccaccini (Torino: Silvio Zamorani Editore, 2002), 225–34. 2 Most conspicuously by J. T. Milik, The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumran Cave 4 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1976), 30–32. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-010

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Genesis 6 and Genesis 19 Our point of departure is a curious exegetical tradition seen frequently in early Christian and rabbinic literature and which appears already in Jewish writings of the second century BCE: the tendency to pair up the events of Gen 6 with the story of Sodom in Gen 19. Among witnesses to this hermeneutical impulse are these: And he [Abraham] told them the judgment of the giants and the judgments of the Sodomites just as they had been judged on account of their evil. And on account of their fornication and impurity and the corruption among themselves with fornication they died. (Jub 20:5; trans. Wintermute, OTP 2.94) He [God] did not forgive the ancient giants who revolted in their might. He did not spare the neighbors of Lot, whom he loathed on account of their arrogance. (Sir 16:7-8 NRSV) You [God] destroyed those who in the past committed injustice, among whom were even giants who trusted in their strength and boldness, whom you destroyed by bringing on them a boundless flood. You consumed with fire and sulfur the people of Sodom who acted arrogantly, who were notorious for their vices; and you made them an example to those who should come afterward. (3 Macc 2:4-5 NRSV) [D]iscern the Lord who made all things, so that you do not become like Sodom, which departed from the order of nature. Likewise the Watchers departed from nature’s order; the Lord pronounced a curse on them at the Flood. (T. Naph. 3:4b-5; trans. Kee, OTP 1.812) And the angels who did not keep their own position, but left their proper dwelling, he has kept in eternal chains in deepest darkness for the judgment of the great Day. Likewise, Sodom and Gomorrah and the surrounding cities, which, in the same manner as they, indulged in sexual immorality and pursued unnatural lust [literally, “went after strange flesh”], serve as an example by undergoing a punishment of eternal fire. (Jude 6-7 NRSV) For if God did not spare the angels when they sinned, but cast them into hell and committed them to chains of deepest darkness to be kept until the judgment; and if he did not spare the ancient world, even though he saved Noah, a herald of righteousness, with seven others, when he brought a flood on a world of the ungodly; and if by turning the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah to ashes he condemned them to extinction and made them an example of what is coming to the ungodly; and if he rescued Lot, a righteous man greatly distressed by the licentiousness of the lawless... (2 Pet 2:4-7 NRSV) Just as it was in the days of Noah, so too it will be in the days of the Son of Man. They were eating and drinking, and marrying and being given in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, and the flood came and destroyed all of them. Likewise, just as it was in the days of Lot: they eating and drinking, buying and selling, planting and building, but on the day that Lot left Sodom, it rained fire and sulfur from heaven and destroyed all of them. (Luke 17:26-29 NRSV) For you [God] are the...one who brought the great flood on the world, because of the multitude of those who lived godlessly; and who delivered the righteous Noah from the flood

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in an ark, together with eight souls; an end indeed of those who have passed on, but a beginning of those about to be born. (You are) the one who kindled the fearful fire against the five cities of Sodom, and turned a fruitful land into salt because of those living in it, and snatched away pious Lot from the burning. (Apostolic Constitutions 8:12:22; trans. Darnell, OTP 2.693)3 He justly brought on the deluge for the purpose of extinguishing that most infamous race of men then existent, who could not bring forth fruit to God, since the angels that sinned had commingled with them, and [acted as he did] in order that He might put a check upon the sins of these men, but [that at the same time] He might preserve the archetype, the formation of Adam. And it was He who rained fire and brimstone from heaven, in the days of Lot, upon Sodom and Gomorrah. (Irenaeus, Against Heresies 4:36:4; ANF 1:516) R. Nehemiah says: … “[I]t is written: ‘Therefore the wicked shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregations of the righteous’ (Ps 1:5). ‘Therefore the wicked shall not stand in the judgment’—this is the generation of the Flood; ‘nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous’—these are the men of Sodom.” (m. Sanh. 10:3; trans. Danby, The Mishnah [Oxford: OUP, 1933], 397) And it says, “For this is like the days of Noah to me: as I swore that the waters of Noah should no more go over the earth, so I have sworn that I will not be angry with you and will not rebuke you” (Isa 54:9). R. Meir says: “A flood of water will never be, but a flood of fire and brimstone there will be, just as he brought upon the Sodomites. For it is said, ‘Then the Lord rained on Sodom and Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the Lord out of heaven’” (Gen 19:24). (t. Taʿan. 2:13; transl. Neusner, The Tosefta [Peabody: Hendrickson, 2002], 1:628). R. Huna said in R. Joseph’s name: “The generation of the Flood were not blotted out from the world until they composed nuptial songs in honor of pederasty and bestiality.” R. Simlai said: “Wherever you find lust, an epidemic visits the world which slays both good and bad.” R. Azariah and R. Judah b. R. Simon in R. Joshua’s name said: “The Holy One, blessed be He, is long-suffering for everything save immorality. What is the proof? ‘The sons of God4 saw,’ etc. (Gen 6:1), which is followed by, ‘And the Lord said: I will blot out man’” (Gen 6:7). R. Joshua b. Levi said in Bar Padiah’s name: “The whole of the night Lot prayed for mercy for the Sodomites. They [the angels] would have heeded him, but as soon as they [the Sodomites] demanded, Bring them out unto us, that we may know them (Gen 19:5)—for intercourse—they [the angels] said, ‘Hast thou here any besides (v 12)? Hitherto you may have pleaded in their defense, but you are no more permitted to do so.’” (Gen. Rab. 26:5; trans. Freedman and Simon, Midrash Rabbah [London: Soncino, 1939], 1:213-14).

3 This is thought to be adapted from a Hellenistic synagogal prayer (OTP 2.671–675). The quoted excerpt is part of a long list of biblical magnalia dei, but the juxtaposition of Noah and Sodom in the litany is a unique departure from biblical chronology. The prayer continues after the events of Gen 19 with events from Gen 12 and 14. 4 The printed text in the Soncino edition says “men,” but this must be an error.

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The Qumranic Ages of Creation (4Q180) may belong on this list as well. This work is concerned with the ten generations from Noah to Abraham (4Q180 1 5), and in the surviving fragments two episodes appear to receive special attention: the story of the mingling of angels with human women (4Q180 1 7–9) and the story of Lot and Sodom (4Q180 2–4). However, the fragmentary state of the text makes it impossible to judge whether these two stories were the only ones given such emphasis in the complete text. Various reasons can be discerned as to why these exegetes believed it was appropriate to view Gen 6 and Gen 19 in tandem. The stories represent two massive and direct judgments from heaven upon earthly wickedness, the first by water and the second by fire, and for many this apparently made them natural complements (3 Maccabees, Luke, Apostolic Constitutions, Irenaeus, Tosefta Taʿaniyot). Many of these authors identify the specific sin in both cases as rampant sexual immorality (Jubilees, Testament of Naphtali, Jude, Genesis Rabbah). One might be more specific and note the mirror-imaging of two types of sexual assault, since one story involves angels having carnal relations with humans, while in the other humans attempt to have carnal relations with angels. None of the texts elaborates this aspect explicitly, but the occasional emphasis on the unnaturalness of the sexual activity in each case may hint at it (Testament of Naphtali, Jude). On the other hand, some of the older texts see not sexual immorality but rebelliousness and arrogance as the elements that bind the two stories together (Sirach, 3 Maccabees). Interestingly, the oldest texts spotlight the giants—the offspring of the angels and women—in their documentation of antediluvian wickedness (Jubilees, Sirach, 3 Maccabees), but later texts ignore the giants and focus instead on either human or angelic wickedness, with no clear tendency to prefer one over the other. In a similar way, the Enochic Book of the Giants, which may have been regarded as authentic Enochic scripture at Qumran, eventually failed to “make the cut” and was not included in 1 Enoch as it has come down to us.5 Does our collection of texts bear a parallel witness to a waning interest in this part of the story after the second century BCE? Some texts contain nothing distinctly Enochic in their accounts of the antediluvian world and may only have Genesis in view, or perhaps Genesis as understood via other reading traditions, but other texts include details that reflect the 5 Milik, Books of Enoch, 310, also 178–79, argued that the Book of the Giants was included in a scroll (4Q203–204) containing a number of other texts eventually found in 1 Enoch and that it formed part of an Enochic “pentateuch,” but Loren Stuckenbruck, “203. 4QEnoch Giantsa ar (Pls. I–II),” in Qumran Cave 4.XXVI: Cryptic Texts and Miscellanea, Part I, eds. Stephen J. Pfann et al., DJD 36 [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000], 8–41 (9–10), cautions that none of these claims is certain.

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Enochic version of the story. It could be argued that the arrogance and rebelliousness of the giants in Sir 16:7 and 3 Macc 2:4 simply reflect the haughty tone one might arguably detect in the “men of name” (‫ )אנשי השם‬epithet attached to the ‫ גברים‬of Gen 6:4, but it seems to me simpler to attribute these characterizations to the descriptions of the violent and lawless giants in 1 En. 7:3–6.6 The Ages of Creation fragments mention Azazel in connection with the comingling of angels and women (4Q180 1 7–8). The presence of this character in the story is Enochic (1 En. 8:1; 9:6; 10:4–8). Testament of Naphtali 3:5 refers to the fallen angels as “watchers,” the terminology of 1 Enoch but not Genesis, and it also mentions God’s curse upon them, reflecting 1 En. 15:2–16:3. Jude and 2 Peter refer to the binding of the fallen angels, a story element probably taken from 1 En. 10:4–5, 12. What is clear in all of this is that the exegetical impulse to pair up Gen 6 and 19 was durable and flexible, not triggered by any one topic or bound to any one interpretive tradition. Also clear is that even though this quirk was not the exclusive intellectual property of Enochic Judaism, it nevertheless often reflected acquaintance with the Enochic version of the story in Gen 6:1–4.

Judges 19–21 The oldest text we have that brings Gen 6 and 19 together may be Judg 19–21. Chronologically, the story of the outrage at Gibeah and the subsequent civil war that nearly wipes out the tribe of Benjamin seems to precede the events of the rest of the book, and both it and the story of the migration of Dan (chapters 17–18) are generally recognized as appendices to the larger work of Judges.7 It is also notable that chapters 17–18 and 19–21 do not conform at all to the cyclical pattern governing the rest of the book, wherein (1) Israel apostatizes, followed by (2) punishment by subjugation to foreigners, followed in turn by (3) deliverance by a

6 The arrogance of the giants is also mentioned in Wis 14:6. Loren Stuckenbruck, “4QEnoch Giantsa,” 23–24, sees another possible reference to this in 4Q203 7a 7, translating the line, “the giants and the W[atchers]. All [their] com[panions] will lift themselves up [against….” In Bar 3:26–28 the giants are described as foolish. 7 See Cynthia Edenburg, Dismembering the Whole: Composition and Purpose of Judges 19–21, AIL 24 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2016), 2–4. Already in Josephus the stories in chapters 19–21 and chapters 17–18 of Judges are treated as independent units. After a survey of Judg 1:1–2:5, Josephus, Ant. 5:120–317, gives a complete rendering of the outrage at Gibeah and the civil war against Benjamin (= chaps 19–21), followed by an abbreviated version of the migration of the tribe of Dan (= chaps 17–18), before returning to his chronological summary of the book, picking up from Judg 3:7.

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heroic leader. From a literary and thematic point of view as well, the story of Judg 19–21 exhibits a self-contained and symmetrical structure. It begins and ends with the observation that “there was no king in Israel in those days; everyone did as they saw fit” (19:1; 21:25). Within this inclusio we find another, as the lengthy account of civil war among the tribes of Israel (20:1–21:7) begins and ends with a story of rape (19:22–30; 21:13–23). As Barry Webb remarks, “The rape of the daughters of Shiloh is an ironic counterpoint to the rape of the concubine.”8 The whole unit can be viewed as a simple chiasm: “no king”—rape—war—rape—“no king.” A self-contained story of crisis and resolution is placed within a larger framework which implicitly calls that resolution into question morally. It seems that in the violent and lawless days before Israel had a king, not only was this the sort of problem that arose, but this was the sort of crude solution that passed for a fix. Thank God for the monarchy.9 That the sexual assault in Gibeah (Judg 19) is modeled closely on the assault in Sodom (Gen 19) is widely recognized and was already noticed in antiquity.10 Although a few scholars have suggested that Genesis borrows from Judges, or that both stories borrow from a common source, the vast majority hold that Judges is literarily dependent on Genesis.11 There are numerous instances of precise verbal parallels in the stories, and the direction of influence is clearly seen in such things as Late Biblical Hebrew orthographic alterations in Judges.12 In view of (1) the author’s chiastic placement of two sexual assaults, and (2) our awareness of a tendency in later literature to pair up the story of Gen 19 with the events of Gen 6, we would perhaps be justified in looking at the end of the Judg 19–21 unit to see if there are any echoes of Gen 6 in the sexual assault there. As the book draws to a close, we read of the concern among the tribes of Israel that wives be found for the surviving men of the tribe of Benjamin after the bloody civil war (21:7). The problem is complicated by the foolish oath taken by the

8 B. Webb, Judges: An Integrated Reading, JSOTSup 46 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1987), 196. 9 The disputed relationship between the two appendices (chaps 17–18 and chaps 19–21) need not detain us, since it is clear that they represent two self-contained and complete stories, whether or not they both come from the same source. 10 As pointed out by Edenburg, Dismembering, 161 n. 1, citing Josephus, Ant 5:144 and Ps.-Philo (LAB) 45:2–3. 11 For a thorough review of the question and a detailed new study of the relationship between Gen 19 and Judg 19, see Edenburg, Dismembering, 174–195. Her case for the majority view is compelling. 12 Especially striking is the shift from (grammatically correct) feminine third-person plural pronominal endings on independent pronouns and suffixed forms in Gen 19:8 to masculine endings in Judg 19:24, in keeping with a well-known shift in Late Biblical Hebrew, a practice that Judges follows consistently; see Edenburg, Dismembering, 123.

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Israelites not to give any of their daughters to Benjaminites (21:2, 5, 7, 18). Some women not affected by this vow are found in Jabesh Gilead, but not in sufficient numbers (21:10–14). As it happens, however, there is an annual festival in Shiloh, and the remaining, wifeless Benjaminites are told by the other Israelites, “Go and lie in ambush in the vineyards and watch [‫]וראיתם‬. If the daughters of Shiloh [‫ ]בנות שילו‬come out to dance in the dances, then come out of the vineyards and snatch each man his wife from the daughters of Shiloh” (21:20b-21a ESV). This is reminiscent of the story found in Gen 6:1–2, where the sons of God saw [‫ ]ויראו‬the “daughters of humans” [‫ ]בנות האדם‬and took from among them wives for themselves. Reminiscent perhaps, but in comparison with the detailed connections between Judg 19 and Gen 19, where the language is so close that literary dependence seems almost certain, the connection between Judg 21:20–21 and Gen 6:1–2 seems rather weak. But what if we read Judges here not against Genesis but against the Book of the Watchers? In the fuller account of 1 Enoch 6 there are at least two specific elements in the story of the angels’ sin that are not in Genesis but which do find a counterpart in Judges: First, the deliberations leading up to the abduction of the women are fully narrated, and from them we learn that the abduction is regarded by the characters in the story as a criminal act, but an act nevertheless made necessary by the constraints of an exceedingly rash oath (1 En. 6:2–6; cf. Judg 21:18–22).13 Second, the abductors in both stories are exactly 200 in number (1 En. 6:6; cf. Judg 20:47 + 21:12, 14, 20–21). If these additional details are added to the mix, we have a correlation between the abduction stories that approaches in clarity the correlation between Judg 19 and Gen 19. Unless one is prepared to dismiss the additional resemblances as coincidence, the most natural conclusion is that Judg 19–21 supplies a narrative counterpart to the sexual assault in Gen 19 at the beginning of its story and a narrative counterpart to the sexual assault in Gen 6 at the end, except that the latter is based not on Genesis (or Genesis alone) but on a version of the angel myth resembling in several specific ways the expanded account in the Book of the Watchers. It may be granted that the sequence is unusual, with allusion to Sodom first and the angel myth second, but the Testament of Naphtali does it that way too, suggesting that the order of presentation was flexible. I should add here that I don’t anticipate serious dispute over the direction of influence, if influence there be. Mythological echoes can only add further gravitas to the shocking story in Judges, but it is 13 The fact that advance plans are made for mollifying the fathers and brothers of the abducted women and persuading them to drop their suit (‫ )רוב‬against the Benjaminite men is a tacit admission that the action is culpable (Judg 21:22). Brothers assume the right to avenge their sisters in Gen 34:7–31 and 2 Sam 13:20–38.

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hard to see how the angel myth in 1 En. 6–8 would be enhanced by alluding to the concluding events of a civil war in pre-monarchic times, even utilizing story elements not explicitly found in the actual text of Judges (i.e., the exact number of Benjaminite abductors). How old is Judg 19–21? As of this writing (summer, 2016), the most thorough study of these chapters to date is also the most recent. Making use of linguistic, literary-historical, and archaeological evidence, Cynthia Edenburg makes a compelling case that this composition “is firmly anchored in the early Persian period.”14 If Edenburg is correct, and if our analysis of the use of Genesis in Judg 19–21 is correct, it follows that (1) this section of Judges should now be regarded as the oldest known example of a synoptic reading of Gen 6 and 19, and that (2) something like the Enochic expansion of Gen 6:1–4 found in the Book of the Watchers (if not the book itself!) was already available by around 500 BCE at the latest. One of the most significant developments in the study of Second Temple Judaism over the past three or four decades is the recognition of Enochic Judaism as a distinct and important variety of Jewish thought. This change has been the result of the work of a number of fine scholars, but few working in this field have been as unflaggingly energetic and enthusiastic as Gabriele Boccaccini. When it comes to facilitating paradigm shifts, those qualities are perhaps as essential as any others, and it is a pleasure to salute Boccaccini in a volume dedicated to his contributions.

14 Edenburg, Dismembering, 321.

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10 The Liminality of Enoch the Outsider: Reflections from an Anthropological Perspective upon Being “Taken” Enoch walked with God, and he was not, for God took him (Gen 5:24). Before these things, Enoch was taken; and no human being knew where he had been taken, or where he was, or what had happened to him. His works were with the watchers, and with the holy ones were his days (1 En. 12:1–2; trans. Nickelsburg).

Some years ago I argued that the myth of the fallen angels in 1 Enoch and elsewhere is predicated upon the idea of liminality, of crossing cosmic thresholds resulting in the destruction of universal order.1 The Watchers, the Sons of Heaven, descend to earth and take wives to satisfy their desire for women and for offspring when, as immortals, they have no need for either. The giants born to these angel-human marriages run amuck so that the cries of the victims of their violence ascend to the gates of the celestial temple. The Watchers have corrupted the universal order by seeking wives and offspring, thus crossing the threshold between heaven and earth, spirit and flesh, and immortality and mortality. They are sentenced to eternal imprisonment in the depths of the earth. No appeal is possible. The context of the argument was an examination of the use of the fallen angel material in Salman Rushdie’s Satanic Verses, in which Satan, cast out of heaven and wandering the earth, becomes a symbol for the plight of the emigrant betwixt and between the old and the new, unable either to return to the old or fully enter the new. What stimulated my insight regarding the myth as an exercise in liminality was a remark by Marc H. Ellis at a summer theological institute at Saint Martin’s University to the effect that in each generation societies tend to establish thresholds that dare not be crossed, doors that must not be opened, but often opening those doors turns out to be the path to salvation. In 1 Pet 3:19, the spirits to which Jesus preaches in Hades are the fallen angels of 1 Enoch, who are offered salvation, while in a much later generation, William Blake imagines the inversion

1 David W. Suter, “Of the Devil’s Party: The Marriage of Heaven and Hell in Satanic Verses,” South Asian Review 16/13 (Jan. 1992): 63–78. For my initial discussion of the role of the fallen angels in the Book of the Watchers, see idem, “Fallen Angel, Fallen Priest: The Problem of Family Purity in 1 Enoch 6–16,” HUCA 50 (1979): 115–35. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-011

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of the angelic and the demonic in The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, a work that turns out to hold the key to redemption in Rushdie’s Satanic Verses. Subsequent reflection, however, has led me to the conclusion that, in addition to the Watchers, Enoch is a liminal figure and that his liminality holds the key to the evolution of his character. This chapter will use an understanding of liminality derived from the processual anthropologist Victor Turner to argue that the concept is important for understanding both the evolution of the character of Enoch and his symbolic value for the ancient scribes who considered him their hero.

Enoch and Hermes: Crossing Ontological Thresholds The realization that Enoch is a liminal figure was in part stimulated by an article by Richard E. Palmer entitled “The Liminality of Hermes and the Meaning of Hermeneutics.”2 The liminality of Hermes, Palmer argues, is rooted in his role as the messenger of the gods: He is the messenger between Zeus and mortals, also between Zeus and the underworld and between the underworld and mortals. Hermes crosses these ontological thresholds with ease. A notorious thief, according to legend, he crosses the threshold of legality without a qualm. “Marshal of dreams,” he mediates between waking and dreaming, day and night. Wearer of a cap of invisibility, he can become invisible or visible at will. Master of nighttricks, he can cover himself with night. Master of sleep, he can wake the sleeping or put the waking to sleep. Liminality or marginality is his very essence.3

Palmer’s description of the liminality of Hermes suggests in some ways the figure of Enoch in Jewish tradition, although it would be a mistake to push the parallel too far. Enoch is not a thief or a trickster, nor is he a Jewish version of Hermes. However, the emerging story of Enoch suggests that he plays several roles that are similar to the ones played by Hermes. In 1 Enoch 12–16, as the scribe of righteousness, he is engaged as the representative of the fallen Watchers, assembled in Abel Mayim (Abel-beth-maachah). He writes out the petition of the angels and engages in an incubation oracle by reading the petition as he falls asleep by the

2 Richard E. Palmer, Proceedings of the Heraclitean Society: A Quarterly Report on Philosophy and Criticism of the Arts and Sciences [published by the Western Michigan University Department of Philosophy], vol. 5 (1980): 4–11. Accessed online at http://www.mac.edu/faculty/richardpalmer/ liminality.html on 4/19/08. 3 Ibid.

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waters of Dan. The place is here significant since it is the location of the ancient northern Israelite sanctuary at the foot of Mount Hermon, the northern threshold of the land of Israel. This sanctuary was built (along with Bethel) by Jeroboam I in opposition to Jerusalem when he separated from Jerusalem after the death of Solomon, and the sense of opposition between Dan and Jerusalem is maintained throughout the history of the two kingdoms. Thus, it is startling to discover that Dan rather than Jerusalem is the place from which Enoch is taken up into heaven. The waters of Dan represent one of the sources of the river Jordan, located beside the ancient sanctuary, and as such should be understood as a point of access to the underworld, as are the springs at the Cave of Pan at Banias.4 In his dream, Enoch is taken up into the celestial temple where he falls on his face before the throne of God. Before he can present the Watchers’ petition, he hears the deity reject it and pronounce a sentence upon the Watchers. Enoch returns to earth with a sefer or record of the ascent and the sentence, which he communicates to the Watchers. In heaven as a mortal interceding for angels he is in effect as much out of place as are the Watchers seeking wives upon the earth (see 1 En. 15:2). Like Hermes, Enoch is a mediator across ontological thresholds. He functions as a messenger between the Watchers on earth and the throne of God and as such mediates between earth and heaven, flesh and spirit, mortality and immortality. A mortal in heaven, he undertakes a mission appropriate for an angel. He crosses the threshold between earth and heaven using the power of the dream through the practice of a ritual undertaken at the entrance to the underworld. He mediates between waking and sleeping, night and day. As Palmer puts it of Hermes, “Liminality or marginality is his very essence.”5

Victor Turner: Communitas, Anti-structure, and Liminality There is a sense, however, in which Enoch as a liminal figure is unlike Hermes. While the Greek god seems to remain a fairly static figure as the messenger of the gods, the character of Enoch is transformed in the process in a way that is more

4 See my article, “Why Galilee?  Galilean Regionalism in the Interpretation of 1 Enoch 6–16,” Henoch 25.2 (2003): 167–212, for a discussion of the role of Dan and Mount Hermon in the Book of the Watchers. 5 “The Liminality of Hermes.”

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consistent with the anthropologist Victor Turner’s understanding of liminality.6 In developing his concept of liminality, Turner draws upon Arnold van Gennep’s concept of a rite of passage.7 Such a rite defines a process in which a person moves through a transitional stage of life by separating from the old, passing through a liminal stage in which one is betwixt and between, or neither here nor there, and then reintegrating into the society from which one came as a new and transformed person.8 As Turner describes it, the liminal phase is marked by various rituals and trials through which the individuals making the transition pass as equals, outside of the structure of the society from which they came.9 He contrasts the structured society from which they came and to which they return to a state of being in the liminal phase that he calls communitas, a way of being, not side by side and above and below, but with one another in an I-Thou sort of relationship—a way of defining the concept obviously derived from Martin Buber.10 He also characterizes this liminal phase as anti-structure, marked by the absence of the structure of normal society.11 By anti-structure he does not mean to designate a negative force of disintegration but rather the polar opposite of structure, which separates and distinguishes. Anti-structure unifies and conjoins at least on a temporary basis in a dialogical social process. Turner explains anti-structure in this way: In human history, I see a continuous tension between structure and communitas, at all levels of scale and complexity. Structure, or all that which holds people apart, defines their differences, and constrains their actions, is one pole in a charged field, for which the opposite pole is communitas, or anti-structure, the egalitarian “sentiment for humanity” of which David Hume speaks, representing the desire for a total, unmediated relationship between person and person, a relationship which nevertheless does not submerge one in the other but safeguards their uniqueness in the very act of realizing their commonness.12

Turner’s adaptation of van Gennep’s rite of passage is remarkably fruitful. Beyond exploring it in the context of tribal societies, he extends it to a study of pilgrimages in various world religious traditions. On a pilgrimage, one exists with one’s

6 See Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure (New Brunswick: Aldine Transaction, 1969); and idem, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1974). 7 Arnold van Gennep, The Rites of Passage, trans. Monika B. Vizedom and Gabrielle L. Caffee (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1960). 8 Turner, The Ritual Process, 94–97; idem, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors, 196. 9 Turner, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors, 231. 10 Turner, The Ritual Process, 126–27. 11 Turner, The Ritual Process, 50–51; idem, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors, 202. 12 Turner, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors, 174.

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peers outside of the structure of ordinary life. Such a journey represents a quest for a direct experience of the sacred at sacred places along the route, leading to an inner transformation.13

Enoch the Outsider At this juncture in the analysis of Enoch as a liminal figure in light of Turner’s theory we encounter what seems to be a problem. In the story of Enoch the piece of Turner’s rite of passage process that is missing is the third stage of reintegration into the society from which the passage originated. One possible solution to this lack might be suggested by the passages following the testament pattern in 1 Enoch, in which the patriarch returns to his sons to pass along books of revelation, or testaments.14 The way in which Enoch interacts with the society from which he has come is through these books, and perhaps more specifically through the Book of Enoch as it evolves over time. However, Enoch seems to function not as one who returns from a pilgrimage as a transformed person to renew the society from which he came through his participation in it, but more as a permanent outsider living in a continuing state of communitas in association with the angels. As such he would qualify for Turner’s category of outsiderhood, a classification that Turner places on a par with the passengers in a rite of passage in his discussion of forms of liminality.15 An outsider is one who has been set apart from the other members of society, who no longer occupies a status or plays a role in the structure of that society.16 One may become an outsider by choice or compulsion, and the state may be either temporary or permanent. Turner’s list of examples includes “shamans, diviners, mediums, priests, those in monastic seclusion, hippies, hoboes, and gypsies.”17 As one who engages in an incubation oracle, Enoch belongs among the shamans, diviners, and mediums. In Genesis, Enoch lives a mere 365 years in contrast to the much longer lifespans of the other antediluvians. He “walked with God” and “was not,” for “God took him” (Gen 5:24). When we meet Enoch again in the Book of the Watchers (1 En. 1–36), the idea that he has been “taken” is expanded to make him the associate of the Watchers and angels, unexplainably absent from

13 Ibid., 197. 14 See 1 En. 68:1; 81:1–10; 82:1–3; 83:1–2; 85:1–2; 91:1–19; 104:10–13; and 108:1. 15 Turner, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors, 233. 16 Ibid., 233. 17 Ibid., 233.

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the human scene (1 En. 12:1–2). The legend that Enoch was “taken” at an early age has inspired the author of Wis 4:10–14 to provide this portrait of the fate of the righteous who die young: There were some who pleased God and were loved by him, and while living among sinners were taken up. They were caught up so that evil might not change their understanding or guile deceive their souls. For the fascination of wickedness obscures what is good, and roving desire perverts the innocent mind. Being perfected in a short time, they fulfilled long years; for their souls were pleasing to the Lord, therefore he took them quickly from the midst of wickedness. (NRSV)

While the Enoch legend should be seen as offering a variety of interpretations of Enoch’s status as one “taken” by God, the Wisdom of Solomon establishes Enoch as an outsider in Turner’s sense to the normal structure of his society—the world of the wicked as the Wisdom of Solomon puts it. Another ancient example of a legendary outsider would be Utnapishtim from the Gilgamesh Epic, who with his wife has been granted the gift of undying life, and who lives at the ends of the earth apart from the rest of humanity among the gods.18 Utnapishtim and his wife continue to interact with human society—witness Gilgamesh’s journey—but from the margins.19 Likewise, Enoch seems to continue to be available to his offspring from the margins, as we have already noted. In 1 Enoch 106–107 and the Genesis Apocryphon, Methuselah seeks out Enoch at the ends of the world to gain an explanation for the birth of this marvelous child, Noah, to his son Lamech and his son’s wife Bathenosh. Turner offers actual persons from the more recent past, like Gandhi and Saint Francis,20 as examples of outsiders; however, what interests him is obviously the symbolic value of such a life rather than its historicity. Turner’s examples suggest that the liminal state may not be only a transitional phase in anticipation of a return to society but a mode of existence that has meaning in and of itself.21

18 Here see J. T. Milik, Books of Enoch (Oxford: Clarendon, 1976), 33. 19 Some of this paragraph was suggested by my colleague, Ian Werrett, in a discussion of an earlier draft of the chapter. 20 Turner, The Ritual Process, 140–54, 197–98; idem, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors, 243–45, 265. 21 Turner, The Ritual Process, 145–47; idem, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors, 261.

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Communitas with the Angels: The Transformation of Enoch The significance of liminality in the case of Enoch rests in a curious variation on Turner’s concept of communitas. Enoch separates from a normal social structure in the human scene and enters a liminal phase in which he is with the celestial beings (1 En. 12:1–2) rather than being with his peers as in the case of pilgrims on a journey to a sacred shrine or passengers in a rite of passage. Perhaps we may be allowed a certain amount of flexibility here since Turner’s approach to liminality displays a remarkable plasticity in and of itself. Turner himself treats angels as liminal beings, given that they are ornithanthropic creatures—humanoids with birdlike wings—who function as messengers between the divine and human realms.22 Although Turner’s conceptualization of angels may not be characteristic of the Hellenistic period, it becomes apparent, on the other hand, that Enoch, while a mortal among the Watchers, seems to be taking on at least one of the functions of the angelic beings. As we have observed, while in 1 Enoch 9 the archangels intercede with God on behalf of the mortals on earth who are perishing as a consequence of the violence of the giants, the text notes the incongruity—or perhaps we could say the liminality—of Enoch in heaven, a mortal interceding for celestial beings (1 En. 15:2). Interestingly enough, while the text condemns the incursion of the fallen Watchers into human society,23 it accepts Enoch’s entrance into the society of angels and his assumption of one of their functions. There seems to be a sort of communitas uniting Enoch with the celestial beings, making him an outsider24 to normal human society and perhaps the representative of a new humanity in his being with the angels. The situation suggests the assertion in some of the Dead Sea Scrolls that the members of the Qumran yahad are the associates of the angels.25 To use language that Turner uses to describe the consequence of the experience of communitas in a rite of passage, Enoch represents “an approximation, however limited, to a global view of man’s place in the cosmos and his relations with other classes of visible and invisible entities.”26 We are reminded of Ps 8:5, where humanity is said to have been made “a little lower than ’elohim,” which might be translated “God,” but more likely “the divine beings,” or, following the Septuagint, “the angels.”

22 Turner, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors, 253. 23 See 1 En. 15:3–10. 24 Turner, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors, 233. 25 See 1QS 11:7–8; 1QSa 2:3–11; 1QH 11(3):21–22; 14(6):12–13; and 19(11):10–14. 26 Turner, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors, 240.

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The dual meaning of ’elohim (God/divine beings) may offer an explanation as to how Enoch comes to be the associate of the angels throughout the Enochic literature. Genesis 5:22–24 leaves the modern reader with the impression that Enoch represents a personal relationship with God—he “walks with God (ha’elohim)” and is not to be found because “God (’elohim) took him.” The implication would be that the righteous who associate with God can hope to be taken to be with God. However, if ’elohim, with or without the definite article, can just as easily be understood as “divine beings” or “angels” as “God” or “the God,” the implication of the story to the ancient reader could as easily be that Enoch associated with the angels and was removed by them from the human scene. The verb here translated as “to walk” could quite legitimately be read more metaphorically as “to associate.” What this interpretative move gives us is an alternative story line that tells us how Enoch came to be an associate of the angelic beings, a theme that seems to be present throughout the Enochic literature, beginning with 1 Enoch 12. There are thus two possible significances of Enoch’s status as one “taken.” One would focus on his association with the angels, like the stories about his journeys to the ends of the earth in 17–36. The other may rest in a hope for immortality with God in heaven; we noted such a thought in Wis 4:10–14, quoted earlier. We might also compare Gen 5:24, where Enoch is “taken,” with the hope expressed in Ps 49:15 in response to the reality of human wickedness and the inevitability of death: “But God will ransom my soul from the power of Sheol, for he will receive me” (NRSV). The Hebrew verb for take/receive is the same (lqh), suggesting a connection of some sort between the Enoch legend and the psalm. Psalm 49 is one of the psalms of the sons of Korah. Like Enoch, these psalms may originally have a link to Dan and Mount Hermon as the liturgy for the celebration for the festival of Sukkoth at Dan in the north, an observation to which we will return later.27

On the Periphery: A Journey to the Ends of the Earth In the Book of the Watchers, Enoch’s ascent to heaven is followed by a tour of the universe in which he is conducted to the ends of the earth by an angelic guide 27 See Gary A. Rendsburg, Linguistic Evidence for the Northern Origin of Selected Psalms, SBLMS (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), 51–60. I note by-the-way, that quite by chance I was at Dan during Sukkoth in 1997, watching the booths being erected in the parking lot of the kibbutz guest house where I was staying long before the possibility of relating the festival to the story of Enoch came to mind.

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(1 En. 17–36).28 The itinerary no doubt would have been familiar to Gilgamesh29 and is suggestive of Turner’s descriptions of pilgrimages undertaken in Spain and Mexico.30 The pilgrim’s journey, as Chaucer puts it, is “to ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes.”31 Turner describes the peripherality of pilgrimage centers, which do not necessarily coincide with political centers.32 Enoch’s journeys take him around the periphery of the earth. He is shown the inner workings of the universe—the treasuries of the snow, the hail, and the winds, the foundations of the earth, the ends of the earth (1 En. 17:1–18:5). He sees marvelous and remarkable animals (1 En. 33:1). Many of these revelations reflect the things beyond human knowledge and experience with which God challenges Job.33 Enoch goes where no human being has been, where no flesh walks (1 En. 17:6; 19:3). He sees the places of the dead (1 En. 22:1–14), the places of the punishment of fallen stars and fallen angels (1 En. 18:12–16; 21:1–22:10), and a group of seven jeweled mountains that represent the throne of God (1 En. 18:6–9; 24:2–25:7). His itinerary includes what seems to be the city of Jerusalem at the center of the earth (1 En. 26:1–27:5), but for the most part he travels on the margins and is shown what he alone among human beings has seen (1 En. 19:3).34 He is not a pilgrim in Turner’s sense in that his journey is undertaken in the company of angels rather than other human beings (perhaps Dante would provide a more relevant comparison), but his travels are clearly liminal and seem to represent a quest for a direct experience of the sacred.

28 Actually, the passage seems to represent two distinct but similar journeys to be found in chapters 17–19 and 20–36. 29 Note that George Nickelsburg argues that the model for Enoch’s journey is taken from Greek journeys to the underworld rather than from Gilgamesh’s journey. Like the Greek journeys, Enoch’s travels are concerned with the punishment of sinners, rather than a quest for immortality as in the Gilgamesh Epic. However, Nickelsburg does note that the itinerary of Enoch’s journey may owe something to popular geography derived from both Greek and Mesopotamian sources. See 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 1–36; 81–108, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), 280. 30 Turner, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors, 223–28. 31 The Canterbury Tales, General Prologue, 14. 32 Turner, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors, 193–95. 33 See Gerhard von Rad, “Hiob XXXVIII und die altägyptische Weisheit,” in Wisdom in Israel and in the Ancient Near East, eds. M. Noth and D. Winton Thomas, VTSup 3 (Leiden: Brill, 1955), 293–301; and idem, Old Testament Theology, trans. D. M. G. Stalker, 2 Vols. (Edinburg: Oliver and Boyd, 1962–65), 1:425, 2:307. 34 Note 1 En. 19:3, which indicates that he sees the extremities of the universe.

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By the Waters of Dan: The Northern Provenance of the Book of the Watchers Enoch’s marginality is also suggested by his association with Dan, the ancient northern Israelite cultic center, where he sleeps by the waters of Dan, alongside the eventual location of the ancient sanctuary (see 13:7). Following George Nickelsburg,35 I have argued elsewhere that the Book of the Watchers displays specific knowledge of Dan and the upper Jordan valley at the foot of Mount Hermon. The basis for this conclusion is the precision of the geographical references in the Book of the Watchers (to Dan, Mount Hermon, and Abel Mayim) and the absence prior to the end of the second century BCE of evidence for a Jewish (or Israelite) presence in the region.36 The Galilee had been left essentially depopulated by the Assyrians in the eighth century and remained so until the coming of the Maccabees at the beginning of the second century. The association of the Book of the Watchers with this region has several layers of significance, linking Enoch with the northern Israelite past, but also with the pagan environment of Syria and Phoenicia. Following the work of Michael Goulder on the psalms of the sons of Korah37 (supported by Gary Rendsburg38), Dan is an ancient pilgrimage center associated with the festival of Sukkoth and served by the sons of Korah, a priestly family that claimed descent from Moses. Goulder argues that prior to the destruction of northern Israel by the Assyrians the sanctuary at Dan is preeminent among the Israelite sanctuaries (including Jerusalem and Bethel). After the destruction of Dan, the sons of Korah make their way south and are effective over a long period of time in assuming roles, like singers or keepers of the threshold, consistent in some measure with their function and status in the cult at Dan. 35 See George Nickelsburg, “Enoch, Levi, and Peter: Recipients of Revelation in Upper Galilee,” JBL 100 (1981): 575–600; and idem, 1 Enoch 1, 238–47. 36 See my article, “Why Galilee? Galilean Regionalism in the Interpretation of 1 Enoch 6–16,” Henoch 25.2 (2003): 167–212. The consensus among archaeologists at present is that Jewish settlement of the Galilee comes from the south (Jerusalem) and takes place during the course of the second century BCE under the Maccabees. Prior to that, the region is either largely vacant or inhabited by pagans whose ties are to Phoenicia. For a recent wealth of material discussing the issue, see David A. Fiensy and James Riley Strange, eds., Galilee in the Late Second Temple and Mishnaic Periods, 2 Vols. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2014–15). 37 Michael Goulder, The Psalms of the Sons of Korah, JSOTSup 20 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1982). Pieter Venter called my attention to Goulder’s work in relation to the discussion of the northern geographical references in the Book of the Watchers. 38 Gary Rendsburg, Linguistic Evidence. Scott Noegel called my attention to Rendsburg’s work in support of Goulder’s hypothesis.

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The archaeological evidence from Dan indicates that during the third century the sanctuary at Dan is renovated by Ptolemy II possibly as a means of introducing imperial control to an unsettled region on the margins of his empire,39 and that renovation could have provided occasion for remnants of the sons of Korah to return to Dan to provide a priesthood to serve the renovated temple. The great natural beauty of the place provides a draw to Dan that seems likely to survive and transcend ethnic and political change. Given Turner’s observation that several Christian pilgrimage centers in Mexico are located near pre-Columbian ones,40 it is likely that the ancient Israelite sanctuary continued in operation into the Hellenistic period as the archaeological evidence suggests, even though the ethnicity of its pilgrims might have changed.41 Activity at the site thus overlaps the origin of the earliest elements of the Book of Enoch. Turner notes that pilgrimage centers in Mexico “are frequently connected with natural features, such as hills, mountains, caves, wells, and springs.”42 The location of the sanctuary at Dan at the foot of Mount Hermon beside an outpouring of springs fits this description well. If Turner is correct about the peripherality of pilgrimages in relation to political centers, a similar pattern emerges in the Book of the Watchers. Jerusalem is located at the center of the world, while Enoch is associated with the ancient pilgrimage center of Dan, which in the second and third centuries BCE is located on the periphery of the Israelite world in a part of the country that, as we noted, has been left vacant since the Assyrian conquest. The story of Jacob’s dream at Bethel appears to have attracted interest in the early Maccabean era as Bethel sought to advance claims to legitimacy over against Jerusalem, and the story of Enoch’s incubation oracle at Dan presents an interesting parallel of conflicting roles of ancient religious centers in the Hellenistic age.43 Whether renovation of the site at Dan provided occasion for families formerly associated with the sanctuary to renew claims on its behalf is hard to say, but it could at least have provided occasion for some of them to return to the region and reestablish familiarity with its geography. We noted above the mutual links of Enoch and the psalms of the sons of Korah to Dan and Mount Hermon in conjunction with the common language

39 See Avriham Biran, Biblical Dan (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1994). 40 Turner, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors, 223. 41 See Vassilios Tzaferis, “The ‘God Who Is in Dan’ and the Cult of Pan at Banias in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods,” Eretz Israel 23 (1992): 128–35. In my tours of Israel I noted examples of the dual use of sacred space in various places. 42 Turner, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors, 223. 43 See Joshua Schwartz, “Jubilees, Bethel and the Temple of Jacob,” HUCA 56 (1985): 63–85.

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about being “taken” by God in Gen 5:24 and Ps 49:15. Scholars have often noted features like the references to the Jordan or Mount Hermon or descriptions of God’s waves and billows in these psalms that seem more appropriate to the upper Jordan than Mount Zion in the south (see 1 En. 42:6–7).44 While it is speculative to use one word to connect the psalms of Korah to the Book of the Watchers, I do think it possible to argue that we have two examples of a regional literature and perhaps to expand the sample to include the Testament of Naphtali and Tobit, both of which are related to upper Galilee.

Enoch and the Religious Environment of Phoenicia and Syria Other features of the Book of the Watchers suggest the influence of a northern environment. The Watcher story itself has a striking parallel in a story from Tyre, told by Philo of Byblos in his Phoenician History.45 Philo relates a story of four giant Ba’als associated with great mountains, including Mount Hermon, taking wives and begetting offspring. Charles Simon Clermont-Ganneau46 and Edward Lipinski47 argue that the story of the descent of the Watchers in the Book of the Watchers may originally have been set not in the days of Jared, the father of Enoch in Genesis, but in the days of the yarid, a Phoenician festival involving sacrifice to pagan deities to encourage them to “descend.” The yarid is known from the Ugaritic texts in the second millennium BCE to the time of the Rabbis.48 While I do not have space in this chapter to pursue this line of investigation, I suspect that a study of Galilean regionalism in the literature of the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha could prove fruitful. In an extensive study of divination in Syria and Phoenicia, Youssef Hajjar notes the great importance of mantic practice in the region,49 while Frances Flannery-Dailey studies an explosion in the practice of onieromancy in the Hellenistic world that she argues leads to the emergence of ascents to heaven in Jewish 44 See Goulder, The Psalms of the Sons of Korah, 14, 24. 45 See Albert I. Baumgarten, The Phoenician History of Philo of Byblos: A Commentary (Leiden: Brill, 1981). 46 Charles Simon Clermont-Ganneau, “Le Mont Hermon et son dieu d’aprés une inscription inédite,” Recueil d’archéologie orientale 5 (1903): 346–66. 47 Edward Lipinski, “El’s Abode: Mythological Traditions Related to Mount Hermon,” OLP 2 (1971): 13–69. 48 See my article, “Why Galilee?,” 180–81, for a discussion of the yarid. 49 Youssef Hajjar, “Divinités oraculaires et rites divinatoires en Syrie et en Phénicie à l’époque gréco-romaine,” ANRW 18.4 (1990): 2236–320.

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sources like the example in 1 Enoch 14.50 There is evidence for the practice of incubation in the era in the neighborhood of Dan in an inscription at Banias and in the design of a temple to Apollo at Kedesh.51 The “theology” of the Book of the Watchers is also a witness to the northern character of its contents. In this section of 1 Enoch, God is addressed as Hypsistos (1 En. 9:3; 10:1), after the fashion of Ba’al Shamin, the Lord of Heaven in Phoenician religion. Elsewhere (1 En. 9:4; 12:3; 22:14) we find mr’ ‘lm, “Lord of the Earth” or “Lord of Eternity,” another title of Ba’al Shamin.52 Such details are consistent with the association of Yahwism at Dan with aspects of paganism, reaching back in time to the arrival of the tribe of Dan on the scene (see Judg 18:16–21). Following the description of Shimon Dar,53 in the Hellenistic era the area surrounding Mount Hermon is a veritable sacred landscape evidenced by the remains of numerous temples and sanctuaries. The ruins at these sites reinforce Franz Cumont’s description of the age, cited by Javier Teixidor in The Pagan God, as one in which the old Lord of the Earth, Ba’al Shamin, is being elevated to the heights of the cosmos with the sun, moon, and stars as acolytes.54 As Teixidor notes, the Book of the Watchers fits precisely into this scene. His term for this phenomenon, “pagan monotheism,” would seem to present a corresponding movement to the uranology and theology emerging in the Enochic literature.55 Geographical issues thus serve to underline the liminality of Enoch.

The Angelomorphic Evolution of Enoch Liminality may well be the key to the evolution of the figure of Enoch. Not only does Enoch cross thresholds, he relates what is on one side of the threshold to what is on the other. While angels at times seem to separate between the divine

50 Frances Flannery-Dailey, “Dream Incubation and Apocalypticism in Second Temple Judaism: From Literature to Experience?” Paper presented at the 2000 annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature. 51 See Jodi Magness, “Some Observations on the Roman Temple at Kedesh,” IEJ 40 (1990): 173–81. 52 Javier Teixidor, The Pagan God: Popular Religion in the Greco-Roman Near East (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977), 27–28. 53 Shimon Dar, Settlements and Cult Sites on Mount Hermon, Israel: Ituraean Culture in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods (Oxford: Tempvs Reparatvm, 1993). 54 Teixidor, The Pagan God, 29. 55 Ibid., 13–15. See my article, “Why Galilee?,” 189, for a more extensive discussion of traces of a northern provenance in the Book of the Watchers.

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and the human, Enoch appears to make it possible for humanity to enter into a relationship with the transcendent deity. With each successive appearance in the literature, Enoch seems to cross new thresholds in his evolution to an angelomorphic being. The concept of liminality seems to draw together a number of different aspects of the patriarch’s character. Enoch is both the one who ascends to heaven and the one who journeys to the ends of the earth. He is thus the revealer of cosmological, celestial, and eschatological secrets. One can see this liminal process in the Parables or Similitudes of Enoch (1 En. 37–71), which is later than the rest of 1 Enoch and absent from the Enoch manuscripts from Qumran.56 Depending upon how one interprets chapter 71, at the end of the Parables, Enoch becomes not only the mediator of the revelation but its object, the Son of Man. In 2 Enoch 22:8–10, Enoch ascends to heaven, is clothed in garments of glory, anointed with a special oil that gives him a transcendental glow, and is given a place in the angelic choir in the presence of God. His clothing makes him appear like one of the celestial beings, and the glow of the oil is connected with the appearance of the face of God. He is given writing implements, including a technological marvel of a speed-writing pen, and set to recording an account of universal knowledge, obtained from the angelic beings. He learns about creation directly from God, based upon Genesis. The implications seem to be that his knowledge is complete and superior to the angels. He then returns to his children to transmit the account of universal knowledge that he has recorded and then is placed in heaven in the presence of God. His liminality rests in his superiority to the angels, the universality of his knowledge, and the directness of his access to the presence of God. We might label it an epistemological kind of liminality that stresses a distinction between Enoch and the angels and provides a link between the human community and God based upon Enoch’s role as the heavenly scribe.

56 J. T. Milik has used the absence of the Parables of Enoch from the Qumran manuscripts to argue that this section of the Ethiopic version of Enoch is quite late, third-century Christian in fact, composed in Greek in a style comparable to the Sibyllene Oracles. However, I have argued in several places that the work was composed in a Semitic language, likely prior to the destruction of Jerusalem, and belongs to the Hekhaloth tradition in Judaism. See David W. Suter, Tradition and Composition in the Parables of Enoch, SBLDS (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1979); idem, “Weighed in the Balance: The Similitudes of Enoch in Recent Discussion,” Religious Studies Review 7 (1981): 217–21; idem, “Enoch in Sheol: Updating the Dating of the Book of Parables,” in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man: Revisiting the Book of Parables, ed. Gabriele Boccaccini (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 415–43; and idem, “The Third Enoch Seminar (Camaldoli, Italy, June 2–6, 2005) and the Problem of Dating the Parables of Enoch,” Henoch 28.1 (2006): 185–92.

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The passage in 3 Enoch is similar: it deals with tensions between humanity and angels over relation to the transcendence of God. The angels object to the elevation of Enoch, a mere human being (3 En. 4, 6). Through a fiery encounter upon ascending to Heaven, Enoch is transformed into Metatron, the angelic viceroy of Heaven, second alone to God or “the lesser YHWH,” and is placed on a brilliant throne next to the throne of God. In obedience to the divine command, the angels celebrate the arrangement in what almost seems to be the equivalent of worship, until the heretic, Elisha ben Abuya, arrives in heaven and perceives “two powers in heaven (3 En. 16).” Adjustments must be made to prevent the possibility of a dualism. Enoch seems to function as a way of expressing the possibility of humanity coming into relation with a transcendent God, but the issues in this case are ontological rather than epistemological. In 2 Enoch, the patriarch is a scribe who brings humankind into the presence of God through a book recording all that God has done, while in 3 Enoch he becomes a divine being close enough in appearance to the deity to raise the ontological problem of dualism in a monotheistic system of belief. On the other hand, the fate of Enoch as a righteous person in heaven before the throne of God seems to reflect the hope of the righteous after death to dwell in heaven before the throne of God.57 The paradox of Enoch as hope and threat would appear to play out the tension inherent in the liminality of Enoch to its ultimate possible extent.

Enoch: Messenger and Message The liminality of Enoch helps explain the evolution of his character in Jewish literature, from his brief mention in Genesis to his identification as the Son of Man at the conclusion of the Parables. “Son of Man” at its very basic level means “man,” a human being. While the phrase can become embroiled in the discussion of Christology, it also reflects a human dimension of existence. Enoch lives a life on the edge, on the margins of human existence, outside of the boundaries of normal human society. He is the one who is taken, who walks where no flesh walks, who receives knowledge that Job can only imagine, who breaks the bonds of earth and reaches for the heavens. An outsider like Utnapishtim and his wife, he is set apart at the ends of the earth. His visions of the Son of Man in the Parables reflect the human quest for justice in the face of oppression. Note that the Parables links the Elect One/Son of Man to the lives of the “elect ones” on earth 57 P. Alexander, “3 (Hebrew Apocalypse of) Enoch,” in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, ed. J. H. Charlesworth, 2 vols. (Garden City: Doubleday, 1983), 1:225–315, see especially 1:245.

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who have suffered at the hands of the kings and the mighty and who anticipate the judgment of the powerful by the Son of Man.58 Enoch’s revelation as the Son of Man at the end of the Parables reflects the human quest for a fully human life as the associate of the angels. To appropriate Turner’s words, which I noted above, Enoch’s designation as the Son of Man represents “an approximation, however limited, to a global view of man’s place in the cosmos and his relations with other classes of visible and invisible entities.”59 His life as an outsider on the margins makes him not simply the messenger who crosses the threshold between heaven and earth, flesh and spirit, but in some sense the message itself.

58 See John J. Collins, “The Son of Man Who Has Righteousness,” SBLSP 1979, ed. Paul J. Achtemeier (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1979), 2:1–13. 59 Turner, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors, 240, italics mine.

James C. VanderKam

11 Versions of the Angel Story in 1 Enoch 6–11 Modern study of 1 Enoch 6–11 has proceeded in the way Pentateuchal studies have by positing behind the section a set of sources that an editor or a compiler combined into their current form. A common theory has held that the existing text came about when someone combined two stories, one revolving around Shemihazah and his fellow angels and the other around the one angel Asael. On such a view, the situation in these chapters might be compared with the flood sections in Genesis where two sources (J and P) are combined, not by adding one after the other as with the creations stories in Genesis 1 and 2, but by incorporating passages variously from each source into a single narrative. Much work has been devoted to the sources of 1 Enoch 6–11—however many of them the individual scholars have detected—but less attention, it seems, has been paid to the existing text, the result achieved by combining the sources.1 It stands to reason that, if sources were amalgamated to produce chs. 6–11, the person responsible for splicing them together did so for a reason and thought that in some way they were compatible enough to stand together in a composite whole. Evidence of his efforts to blend the sources has survived in the text. In this chapter, I first review briefly what that finished product—the only form of the text that we have—actually says and then turn to some current source divisions in order to test whether they adequately account for the textual evidence. It hardly needs to be said that the Aramaic copies from Qumran, however fragmentary, allow us to have a better grasp of how that text read than was possible before.

The Existing Text 1 Enoch 6 opens by speaking about angels who left their celestial dwelling to become involved on the earth in a new way. Two hundred of them, led by Shemihazah, descended to the earth in the days of Jared after viewing the lovely 1 This, of course, is not true of our honoree who has for years been researching and clarifying the larger teachings of not only this section but also of all the Enoch literature. To mention just an example of his work relevant to this small part of 1 Enoch, note his comments in Middle Judaism: Jewish Thought 300 B.C.E. to 200 C.E. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 77–79. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-012

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daughters of men. They agreed by oath to carry out their dubious resolve to marry women and have children with them. The text names 20 angels who were the leaders of the 200 involved in the scheme (6:6 for the number 200; 6:7 for the names of the 20). They did in fact contract the marriages and became defiled through the women to whom they taught “sorcery and charms” as well as “the cutting of roots and plants” (7:1).2 The children whom the angels’ wives bore were “great giants” who themselves became the ancestors of further generations— the Nephilim and the Eliod (7:2). These super-sized beings soon exhausted the human food supply, after which they turned to killing and eating people. They added to their crime spree by sinning against “the birds and beasts and creeping things and the fish” (7:5). Finally, they ate one another and consumed blood (7:5). As a result, “the earth” pressed charges against them (7:6). At this point the text narrows its focus to treat Asael3 who is named in 6:7 as the 10th in the list of the 20 “chiefs” in the angelic band. His contribution was to teach people “to make4 swords of iron and weapons and shields and breastplates and every instrument of war” (8:1). Far from limiting himself to a martial curriculum, Asael also taught the skills needed for working with gold and silver in order to fashion jewelry as well as how to produce cosmetics and related phenomena (8:1).5 When people put his teachings into effect, they fell into “much godlessness” (8:2).

2 Translations of 1 Enoch are from George Nickelsburg and James VanderKam, 1 Enoch: The Hermeneia Translation (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012). Nickelsburg prepared the translation for the Book of the Watchers, a translation that takes into account all the textual material currently available. 3 His name figures in the Aramaic copies both in their form of the list in 6:7 and in the section devoted to him (8:1–2). In 4QEna ar (4Q201) 1 iii:9 his name is spelled ‫ עסאל‬in the place corresponding to 6:7 (on the reading and the versional evidence, see Michael Langlois, Le premier manuscript du Livre d’Hénoch: Étude épigraphique et philologique des fragments araméens de 4Q201 à Qumran, LD [Paris: Cerf, 2008], 207–8). Also for 6:7, 4QEnc (4Q204) 1 ii:26 employs a śin in the name rather than the samekh of the first copy. At a point corresponding with 1 Enoch 8:1, 4QEnb (4Q202) 1 ii:26 spells the name with śin, though the reading is difficult. See J. T. Milik, The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumran Cave 4 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1976), 150, 167, 188. The Qumran copies thus show that the name of the angel in 8:1 is the same as the one for the angel in the tenth position in 6:7. 4 For the various plays on the meaning of the first element in Asael’s name, see Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 1–36; 81–108, Hermeneia (Minneapolis, Fortress), 194. 5 Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 195–96, thinks that the words he reads at the end of 8:1—“they transgressed and led the holy ones astray”—imply that the angels of chs. 6–7 were seduced by women. For Nickelsburg, the line points to a third version (for the others, see below) of the angel story in which the Watchers were sent to the earth (as in Jub 4:15) and were subsequently misled by women.

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After the section about Asael, the text widens its scope in 8:3 to deal with eight other leaders of the angel troop (their names are those of numbers 1, 11, 9, 4, 8, 2, 15, and 16 in the list in 6:7). Here, as with the Asael section, the focus is on what they disclosed. The foremost leader, Shemihazah, taught “spells and the cutting of roots”—subjects that recall the ones all of the 200 were said to have communicated to the ladies in 7:1. Hermani,6 the second leader listed here and whose name recalls the oath the 200 angels swore in 6:6, seems to have educated them in related areas (“sorcery for the loosing of spells and magic and skill”). The remaining six angels, like Hermani, became pedagogues of subjects related to the meanings of their names, with astronomical or astrological subjects playing the major role.7 Apparently all of these angels are included in the charge that they “began to reveal mysteries to their wives and to their children” (8:3). People died as a consequence, and their cry, like that of ancient Abel, ascended to heaven, the former home of the angels. With a note that heaven was aware of what was transpiring on the earth, the account shifts to heaven and to another set of angels who had not left their proper homes. Four of them from the heavenly sanctuary observed the bloodshed, godlessness, and violence on the earth. As 9:2 puts it, the souls of men (they are called spirits of dead people in 9:10) pleaded their case for divine intervention in view of the destruction they had suffered. When the four angels brought the matter to God, they praised him by declaring that nothing is hidden from him. Thus, God had seen what Asael had done (9:5–6). They charge Asael with teaching iniquity and eternal secrets that people wanted to learn (9:6). It is worthy of note that in 8:3 the members of the larger band of angels are credited with teaching mysteries to their wives and children and in 10:7 God blames the Watchers for having revealed mysteries (see also 16:3). So Asael and the Watchers share the guilt of disclosing mysteries (by figuring in the list in 6:7, Asael is included among the Watchers). The heavenly angels charged Shemihazah with leading his troop of angels into impure marriages with women and for revealing to them sins and “hate-inducing charms” (9:8; for charms, see 7:1). They also mention the murders committed by the giants and how the earth was filled with iniquity. Yet, they add that the earth was made desolate by “the deeds of the teaching of Asael” (10:8); all sin was to be ascribed to him. The unit closes with two sections: a description of the punishments meted out to the giants and to Shemihazah and his angelic colleagues who mated with women (10:9–15), and predictions of far better times that would follow after the earth was cleansed (10:16–11:2).

6 His name is preserved as ‫ חרמני‬in 4QEnc ar (4Q204) 1 ii:26 (Milik, The Books of Enoch, 188). 7 For their teaching areas as divinatory subjects, see Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 199–200.

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Chapters 6–11, therefore, present a somewhat disjointed but hardly contradictory account of a massive infusion of wickedness into the world caused by celestial beings. It is somewhat disjointed or uneven in that there is an overlap in what some of the angels teach, and it is surprising that Asael, who is mentioned only in 6:7, 8:1, and 9:6, is charged with being the chief sinner in 10:8. But the story proceeds in an understandable fashion and offers an important message. As Nickelsburg puts it, “Viewed as a whole, their various strata notwithstanding, chaps. 6–11 find their unity in a mythic genre that recounts primordial history in order to explain present evil, which is seen as the result of angelic rebellion.”8 Several features in the extant form of the chapters stand out. First, the unit clearly focuses on the harmful activities of the angels and the violence committed by their giant sons. Second, the compiler gives a prominent place to the misguided work of both Shemihazah and his colleagues, on the one hand, and of Asael, on the other, as teachers who educated humans in harmful subjects.9 Third, 1 Enoch 6–11 seems less focused on human beings. That is, although it refers to them fairly often—whether to the daughters of men/wives or to humanity more generally—it says very little about any wrong they may have committed and talks more about their suffering because of the angels’ teaching and the giants’ violence. The text does ascribe sin to people (8:1–2; cf. 9:6, 8; 10:7), but the motif hardly takes a central place in 1 Enoch 6–11.10 The roles of the angels and giants were foremost in the compiler’s mind.

Source Hypotheses Scholars have long noted the features of the text that make it difficult to believe 1 Enoch 6–11 is a unified composition. They have attempted to account for the problems by hypothesizing that an editor combined originally independent or at least separate angel stories. For a long time, a dominant theory was that there were two

8 1 Enoch 1, 172. 9 On the theme, see Annette Yoshiko Reed, Fallen Angels and the History of Judaism and Christianity: The Reception of Enochic Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 29–37. 10 Two passages (7:1; 10:8) relate that the angels defiled themselves through women, while 10:11 is more explicit in saying that the angels “were defiled by them [feminine suffix] in their [fem.] uncleanness.” Cf. 10:20, 22. It does not seem, however, that the women are being condemned as impure beings; rather, as Devorah Dimant (“The ‘Fallen Angels’ in the Dead Sea Scrolls and in the Apocryphal and Pseudepigraphic Books Related to Them” [Ph. D. diss., Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1974], 48–51) argues, the passages may indicate that angels approached married women (ones forbidden to them) or menstruating women (see 15:4).

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rather different accounts, one highlighting Shemihazah and the other making Asael the leader, but in more recent times experts have posited a more complex picture.

Two Sources It was not difficult for readers of 1 Enoch 6–11 to infer that there were Shemihazah- and Asael-centered stories because, for the most part, they can easily be separated and their messages are not the same. Hence, early in the history of scholarship on 1 Enoch, commentators regularly wrote about two traditions or ways of thinking associated with the sections about the two leading angels. Bernhard Beer distinguished two Gedankenreihen that he found in the Shemihazah and Asael passages: one had its central point in unfaithful angels’ betrayal of secrets to people who sinned through them and were punished by the flood; the other found its focus in the fall of angels, the activities of their giant children, and the fates of both. He thought that the process of blending the two was made easier by the fact that their shared basis was the misleading of the angels by women. The passages he assigned to each (in the reverse order in which he described them) are as follows: a. 6:2b–8; 7:3–6; 8:4; 9:1–5, 9–11; 10:4–11:2 b. 7:1b; 8:1–3; 9:6–8; 10:1–3. (6:1–2a [an introduction] and 7:1a–2 are common to both versions.)11 Francois Martin had little to say about the subject but did refer to Shemihazah and Asael traditions.12 Charles13 isolated what he termed “a Semjaza cycle of myths” in 6:3–8; 8:1–3; 9:7; 10:11 (10:1–3 belong to a Noah Apocalypse). He did not define a second cycle but wrote after recording the passages from the Shemihazah material: “for in these passages Semjaza is represented as chief and Azazel tenth in command; as also in 692. Elsewhere in Enoch Azazel is chief and Semjaza is not mentioned.”14

11 “Das Buch Henoch,” in APAT 2.225. Comments could be made about problems with his source division, but the relevant point here is only that he separated two accounts. 12 Le Livre d’Hénoch, Documents pour l’Étude de la Bible, Les Apocryphes de l’Ancien Testament (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1906), xxviii (cf. lxxix–lxxx). 13 The Book of Enoch or 1 Enoch (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1912), 13–14 (the quoted phrase is from p. 13 where he indicates that Dillmann was the one who had identified this cycle). His division of the text also has curious features, such as attributing 8:1–2 to a Shemihazah section when Asael is the lead actor in it. 14 The Book of Enoch, 13.

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Three Sources or Layers In 1974 Devorah Dimant examined 1 Enoch 6–11 in great detail and concluded that there were three versions in 1 Enoch 6–11.15 (1) Shemihazah and the angels under his leadership (an interpretation of Genesis 6:1–4): as noted above, they married women, became impure with them, and sired giants from them. The angels and the giants are the sinners, and their punishments (imprisonment in the earth and mutual destruction, respectively) occur before the flood. As a consequence, the story has no connection with the flood. (2) Angels who taught women illicit subjects (magic and the like) and through their teaching caused the women to sin (an interpretation of Genesis 6:1–4). They also became the fathers of demons/evil spirits. The flood was the punishment for the sins people committed on the basis of the angels’ instruction. (3) Asael who taught women illicit subjects (various arts) and in this way led the women into sin. This form of the story interprets Genesis 6:11–12 and is connected with the flood as the punishment for the sins of the women. When the Shemihazah story (#1) that was unrelated to the flood as a punishment was combined with the others in which the flood was the penalty (combining #1 with #2 and later with #3), the form of the story presently in 1 Enoch 6–11 resulted.16 Other scholars have followed the source division Dimant has defended, but, unlike her, they have regarded the units in which the angel group teaches as an editorial layer rather than a separate source (or part of one) on which the editor drew. George Nickelsburg, for example, regards the Shemihazah sections as the fundamental layer in the evolution of 1 Enoch 6–11; later there were “a series of expansions, elaborations, or accretions to the basic myth about Shemihazah.” The first expansion (7:1de; 9:8cd)17 attributes to the angels a role as teachers of their spouses. A second consisted of 8:3 that furnishes a list of subjects taught by 15 “The ‘Fallen Angels,’” 65 (and 72). She does not list in this place the verses in which she finds each of the three, but one can infer at least some of them from a chart she gives on pp. 25–29. Her full study of 1 Enoch 6–11 occupies pp. 23–72. In a later article, “1 Enoch 6–11: A Methodological Perspective,” SBLSP 13 (1978): 323–39 she lists passages (p. 324) but at this point does not distinguish the teaching verses from the rest of the Shemihazah passages. 16 “The ‘Fallen Angels,’” 67. 17 1 Enoch 7:1de are part of the story itself and read: “and to teach them sorcery and to reveal to them the cutting of roots and plants”; 9:8cd, lines from the heavenly angels’ indictment of the Watchers, assert: “And they have revealed to them all sins, and have taught them to make hate-inducing charms.”

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eight of the Watchers, and the third and last expansion took place when the Asael units were interpolated into the text.18 It is important to underscore that by denying the teaching statements to the “original” Shemihazah story, one removes any connection it might have had with the flood. If in the Shemihazah story the angels and giants are the sinners and if before the flood the angels were imprisoned and their sons killed one another, the deluge would have no function in it. The only remaining candidates for destruction in the flood waters were humans. But if humans did wrong only as a result of angelic teaching and such pedagogy was not part of the original Shemihazah myth, the myth had no relation to the flood. So, only the revised version of the myth with the teaching passages added brought the flood into the picture, as did the Asael version in which teaching is an essential element.19

Questioning the Theories of Dimant and Nickelsburg After summarizing different forms of the hypothesis that the teaching motif is secondary in the Shimahazah story, I would like to raise the possibility that it is an integral part of the Shemihazah version and that the story, therefore, was from the beginning tied to the flood. Dimant wrote regarding the Shemihazah story and the version in which the angels (her ##1, 2) teach: If one makes a close examination of the story about the angels who became impure with women in contrast to the story about angels who taught magic to humanity, one sees that the two grow from different soil: an aggadic tradition that talks about angels who sinned through the impurity of women and became fathers of giants maintains that the angels and giants are sinners and that humanity is punished, although they had done no wrong. This is said explicitly. But an aggadic tradition that talks about angels who taught magic and astrology maintains that angels teach humanity subjects that could lead them to sin. The sin

18 1 Enoch 1, 171. 19 Earlier Nickelsburg had maintained that the teaching passages in the Shemihazah account were an intrusion from the Asael story. See his “Apocalyptic and Myth in 1 Enoch 6–11,” JBL 96 (1977): 384–86. Paul Hanson (“Rebellion in Heaven, Azazel, and Euhemeristic Heroes in 1 Enoch 6–11,” JBL 96 ([1977]: 226–32) and R. Barthelmus (Heroentum in Israel und seiner Umwelt, ANANT 65 [Zurich: Theologischer, 1979], 160–66) adopt the same position. While theirs is a different approach, these scholars reach the same result as Nickelsburg does in his commentary when he labels the teaching passages editorial expansions.

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of the angels themselves consists entirely in their revealing such forbidden knowledge. This, then, is an entirely different idea. Here the angels possess an element that leads to sin and through which humanity falls into sin, in other words, a satanic element. Such an element is definitely lacking in the first version of the story. The first story speaks about a group of cardinal sinners; the other story deals with great sinful agents; the difference is between wicked ones and ones who cause wickedness in the world.20

Her statement makes it seem as if the two elements—the angels who descended and became impure with women, on the one hand, and, on the other, teaching of magic by the angels—are incompatible. But are they? Were passages such as 7:1de; 8:3; 9:8cd; 10:7 (the teaching verses) once separate from the Shemihazah story or an integral element in it? Perhaps more importantly, how can one tell? There is no difficulty in distinguishing them from other aspects of the account, but this is not the same as showing they are literarily separate. In treating the question it is important to bring 1 Enoch 6:7—the list of 20 leaders of the angels—into the discussion, though its significance for the sinful angels version has not always been appreciated (all the scholars surveyed above include it in the Shemihazah story). The list itself and its context reveal important features of the account. 1 Enoch 6:7: The verse contains the names of the 20 leaders of the angels who descended. The names have forms that are now better known because parts of the passage are available in three of the Aramaic copies of the Book of the Watchers (4QEna–c).21 The point that should be stressed here is that the names of the angels, 15 of which end with the element –’l, usually compounded with a term for an aspect of nature, express topics with which they were affiliated and in which they presumably could teach, as the next, abbreviated instance of the list (8:3) indicates.22 The angel names themselves embody a germ of the teaching motif.23 20 “The ‘Fallen Angels,’” 53 (translation mine). 21 Only the name of the fifth one has not been preserved at all in the Aramaic copies. For detailed studies of the list, see Milik, The Books of Enoch, 152–56; M. Black, “The Twenty Angel Dekadarchs at 1 Enoch 6:7 and 69:2,” JJS 33 (1982): 227–35; Michael Knibb, The Ethiopic Book of Enoch: A New Edition in the Light of the Aramaic Dead Sea Fragments, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon, 1978), 2:69–74. 22 Dimant (“The ‘Fallen Angels,’” 52–53) has maintained that the list is secondary to the narrative. As she points out, it recurs in 69:2 and partially in 8:3, but this is no reason for excluding it from the Shemihazah story, since 8:3 simply draws names from the one in 6:7, and 69:2 could be a quotation of 6:7. That chs. 7 and 8 end with similar lines need say nothing about whether the contents of ch. 8 are secondary. 23 See David Jackson, Enochic Judaism: Three Defining Paradigm Exemplars (London: Clark, 2004), 141–44. On the wider issue being treated in the present paper, Jackson speaks of three “exemplars” and analyzes them in 1 Enoch and elsewhere. Although he identifies them on the basis of more than 1 Enoch 6–11, on p. 27 he lists them as a Shemihazah exemplar “concerning the

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Several factors indicate that, far from being an addition that can easily be excised by the critic’s knife, the list belongs in the Shemihazah story—or at least that an editor has done a very good job of incorporating it. It is integrated into the account by the fact that 1 Enoch 6:6 says 200 angels descended and 6:7 introduces the list with “These are the names of their chiefs.” Furthermore, each of them, as 6:8 mentions, was a leader of 10 in the 200-member angelic group of 6:6.24 Similar points can be made in connection with the other passages containing the teaching motif. The text of 7:1 (lines given in it [in italics below] refer to teachings) that follows immediately on the list clearly relates to ch. 6 (“These and all the others with them …”) and explicitly continues the Shemihazah version of the angel story: “These and all the others with them took for themselves wives from among them such as they chose. And they began to go in to them, and to defile themselves through them, and to teach them sorcery and charms, and to reveal to them the cutting of roots and plants.” The pronouns in the last two clauses make sense only as following directly on the preceding ones in the verse. 1 Enoch 8:3: After the two verses (8:1–2) that introduce Asael, his teachings (metals for making weapons, jewelry, and precious stones and dyes from which one could produce cosmetics), and the evil they led humankind to commit, the writer provides a list of angel names, all of which occur in 6:7, though there are only eight of them here. The subjects they teach are related to the meanings of their names in all cases except for Shemihazah: Shemihazah taught spells and the cutting of roots. Hermani taught sorcery for the loosing of spells and magic and skill. Baraqel taught the signs of the lightning flashes. Kokabel taught the signs of the stars. Ziqel taught the signs of the shooting stars. Arteqoph taught the signs of the earth. Shamshiel taught the signs of the sun. Sahriel taught the signs of the moon. And they all began to reveal mysteries to their wives and to their children.

The elements in the eight names, all of which figure in 6:7, show that they were not randomly chosen but identify the subjects on which they offer instruction. The last line in the verse again connects the pedagogy with the Shemihazah story. In light of the ways in which the aforementioned passages are firmly embedded in the Shemihazah account, the references in Chapters 9 and 10 also make deviation of the angels who entered into a sexual union with women resulting in the terrifying presence on earth of demons,” an ’Aza’el exemplar, and a “cosmic exemplar concerning the deviations of the angels in charge of the phenomena related to the climate and seasons.…” So he too removes teaching from the Shemihazah pattern but rightly comments about some of the three that they “seem resistant to separation.” 24 Note Nickelsburg’s comment on 6:7–8 (1 Enoch 1, 178): “There is nothing in the present text to indicate that the list is a secondary addition to the story.”

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sense as factors in the story. So, 1 Enoch 9:8, a verse occurring in a Shemihazah context (9:7–11), reads: “They have gone in to the daughters of men of earth, and they have lain with them and have defiled themselves with the women. And they have revealed to them all sins, and have taught them to make hate-inducing charms.” The italicized words carry no telltale signs of their being any less a part of the verse than the earlier ones. The same is the case for 1 Enoch 10:7. The instructions to Raphael (10:4–8) that center on the punishment for Asael also contain a verse devoted to the Watchers (a term used only in the Shemihazah material): “And heal the earth, which the watchers have desolated; and announce the healing of the earth, that the plague may be healed, and all the sons of men may not perish because of the mystery that the watchers told and taught their sons.” The verse connects the Watchers with desolating the earth and teaching— two activities they no doubt had the ability to perform. There appear to be no literary reasons for separating the teaching passages from the story about angels who descended and married women. The only reason for deleting them from an “original” Shemihazah story is that they are supposedly not related to the marriages. Since there is no logical incompatibility between them, it does not seem advisable to assign them to separate origins.25 If so, the Shemihazah tradition could, as the present text indicates, be related to the flood. The people who received the improper teachings and acted on them were sinners whom the devastating waters eliminated. The Watchers, who as angels were immortal, suffered a different fate, and their giant sons perished in a war of mutual destruction, but the third guilty party—people—met their end in the flood. In other words, both versions of the angelic revolt—the Asael and the Shemihazah myths—offer explanations for why God sent the flood. This is entirely what one would expect of a story that, in the ancient texts, consistently stands in proximity to the flood story. The Shemihazah story talks about two sets of humans. One set consists of those who lost their lives because of the violent behavior of the giants. Their spirits, after their bodies perish, lift cries to heaven to redress the situation. The passages

25 Cf. the comments of John Collins, “Methodological Issues in the Study of I Enoch: Reflections on the Articles of P. D. Hanson and G. W. Nickelsburg,” SBLSP 13 (1978): 315–16. He also maintains that as we have no evidence the Shemihazah story ever circulated independently of the Asael account, one cannot discuss the meaning of the Shemihazah story without it. C. Molenberg (“A Study of the Roles of Shemihaza and Asael in 1 Enoch 6–11,” JJS 35 [1984]: 136–46) also argues that the teaching motif is part of the Shemihaza material. Eibert Tigchelaar, likewise, interprets the meaning of the Shemihazah and Asael traditions by taking full account of the teaching material in both (Prophets of Old and the Day of the End: Zechariah, the Book of the Watchers and Apocalyptic, OtSt 35 [Leiden: Brill, 1996], 165–82).

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in question are 7:6; 8:4; 9:2–3, 10; and 10:7. 1 Enoch 7:6 is vague because it says only that “the earth brought accusation against the lawless ones.” Its formulation leaves open the possibility that people still alive are doing the accusing, but the remaining ones make the situation somewhat clearer. According to 8:4, “as men were perishing, the cry went up to heaven.” 9:2–3 present complicated textual problems. The angels of God say to one another in Nickelsburg’s translation: “The earth, devoid (of inhabitants), raises the voice of their cries to the gates of heaven. And now to , the holy ones of heaven, the souls of men make suit, saying, ‘Bring in our judgment to the Most High, and our destruction before the glory of the majesty, before the Lord of all lords in majesty.” That the translation “devoid (of inhabitants)” is justified seems unlikely. Knibb renders as “Let the devastated earth cry out with the sound of their cries.”26 The sequel in vv. 2–3 makes this the more likely interpretation. The sense seems to be that the situation of the humans was like that of Abel whose blood cried out from the earth (Genesis 4:10), so that 9:2–3 parallel 7:6 and 8:4. See also 9:10 where the souls of the slain make complaint to heaven. There is, however, another set of people. Although many met their end because of the giants’ behavior, some remained alive. Noah and his family are examples, but there were others who were guilty of implementing the illicit teachings of the angels. 1 Enoch 10:7 assumes the same. There Raphael receives orders: “And heal the earth, which the watchers have desolated; and announce the healing of the earth, that the plague may be healed, and all the sons of men may not perish because of the mystery that the watchers told and taught their sons.” As a result, there is reason to think 1 Enoch 6–11 contains no version of the angel story unconnected with the flood. Both the accounts, that of Shemihazah and of Asael, included unauthorized angelic instruction that led people into sin and brought on the flood.

26 The Ethiopic Book of Enoch, 2:85 with the n. to 9:2. For Nickelsburg’s discussion of the textual issues, see 1 Enoch 1, 203 (n. b to 9:2).

Jason M. Zurawski

12 Rethinking the Divide between 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch: Getting to the (Evil) Heart of the Matter Introduction The two Jewish apocalypses from the end of the first century CE, 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch, are undoubtedly intimately connected.1 Despite the many similarities shared by these two texts, scholars are typically quick to point out the many differences as well. This is especially true in relation to how the respective authors handled the questions of theodicy and soteriology. While 2 Baruch’s high evaluation of the Mosaic Torah and its effectiveness in bringing about the salvation of the Jewish people offers a ray of hope following the destruction of the temple, 4 Ezra’s evil heart casts a long, dark shadow that extinguishes even a glimmer of that hope.2 But is this really the case? If only Ezra were not so dense, Uriel would have taught him (and us) directly “why the heart is evil.” As Porter noted long ago, “Whence then came the wicked heart? The prophet’s angel guide promises an answer to the question (4:4), but the answer is not easy to find.”3 But even though Uriel does not come right out with the mystery, over the course of the dialogues we can tease this information out of the text. By examining those passages from 4 Ezra which deal with the evil heart (or root, seed, etc.), I hope to show that it need not cast such an ominous cloud over our understanding of how this author dealt with the loss of the second temple. When viewed in the proper light, it appears that the authors of 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch may not have had such vastly different ideas about God’s justice and the salvation of humanity. 1 For a review of the question, see Matthias Henze, Jewish Apocalypticism in Late First Century Israel: Reading ‘Second Baruch’ in Context, TSAJ 142 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 148–59; and idem, “‘4 Ezra’ and ‘2 Baruch’: Literary Composition and Oral Performance in First-Century Apocalyptic Literature,” JBL 131.1 (2012): 181–200. 2 It was the evil heart and its effects that famously led E. P. Sanders to kick 4 Ezra beyond the confines of his covenantal nomism: “In IV Ezra, however, the human inability to avoid sin is considered to lead to damnation. It is this pessimistic view of the human plight which distinguishes the author from the rest of Judaism as it is revealed in the surviving literature”; E. P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism: A Comparison of Patterns of Religion (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1977), 418. 3 F. C. Porter, “The Yeçer Hara: A Study in the Jewish Doctrine of Sin,” in Biblical and Semitic Studies: Critical and Historical Essays By the Members of the Semitic and Biblical Faculty of Yale University (New York: Scribner’s, 1901), 91–156 (147). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-013

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While the characters of Ezra and Baruch do seem remarkably different from one another, this admission need not force us to conclude the same about the authors themselves at the time of their writing. Instead of being diametrically opposed, I would suggest that the two texts reveal a difference not of kind but only of degree. In attempting to get to the (evil) heart of the matter, two questions will occupy us throughout. First, when did Adam get the evil heart, and who gave it to him? And second, what is the purpose of the evil heart? While there has been no shortage of scholarly debates over this first question, the critical follow-up question has often been ignored in the literature. This is unfortunate, for without understanding the purpose of 4 Ezra’s cor malignum we can never hope to grasp this important text and the worldview from which it sprang.

Ezra, Uriel, and the Authorial Voice of 4 Ezra As we begin to examine the understanding of the evil heart in 4 Ezra, it is imperative that we always consider the speaker of each passage, whether Ezra or Uriel. One of the debates that has raged hardest since the very beginning of critical scholarship on 4 Ezra is the relationship between Ezra, Uriel, and the author himself. Or simply, who represents the author’s own voice, Ezra or Uriel (or neither or both)? The sides are well known and there are several excellent summaries of the scholarship on this issue,4 so it is not necessary to discuss them in detail here. What is important to note is that, no matter the position taken, we must admit that the character of Ezra is often wrong. At one extreme end, one could argue with Harnisch that Ezra is not only wrong, but actually a heretic, and that the author’s views are solely those of Uriel.5 At the other end, one could posit, with Michael Stone, that Ezra and Uriel are “Janus faces of the author’s self.”6 The author, just like his Doppelgänger in

4 See Karina Martin Hogan, Theologies in Conflict in 4 Ezra: Wisdom Debate and Apocalyptic Solution, JSJSup 130 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 1–35. 5 W. Harnisch, Verhängnis und Verheißung der Geschichte: Untersuchungen zum Zeit- und Geschichtsverständnis im 4. Buch Esra und in der syr. Baruchapokalypse, FRLANT 97 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1969). Brandenburger modified Harnisch’s argument, still viewing Uriel as the authorial voice but no longer depicting Ezra as a heretic. See E. Brandenburger, Adam und Christus: Exegetisch-religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zu Röm 5:12–21 (1 Kor 15), WMANT 7 (Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag, 1962), 27–36; Die Verborgenheit Gottes im Weltgeschehen: Das literarische und theologische Problem des 4. Esrabuches, AThANT 68 (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1981). 6 Michael E. Stone, Fourth Ezra: A Commentary on the Book of Fourth Ezra, Hermeneia 41 (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 32. See also idem, “A Reconsideration of Apocalyptic Visions,”

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the text, has undergone a profound, and possibly visionary, event in his life which had a dramatic effect on his worldview. The author’s conversion is represented by Ezra’s own in the text. Even with this position, one would have to acknowledge that, though the views of Ezra we see early in the text did represent the author’s at one time, the author at the time of writing is represented by the Ezra we find at the end of the text, a far different character from the Ezra at the start. Therefore, what Ezra says in his dialogues with Uriel is sometimes wrong, that is, directly refuted by a more authoritative figure in the text, a figure such as Uriel, God, or post-conversion Ezra. For this reason, it is crucial that we are always cognizant of the speaker in each individual passage and that we understand what it said within both the context of the passage and the overall ideology presented throughout the text. We cannot blindly use isolated statements from Ezra’s mouth as representative of the author’s own feelings when he sat down to write without examining each statement in order to make sure that it is not refuted elsewhere in the text.

On the Evil Heart Right from the start, we have a passage which tells us a great deal about the author’s concept of the evil heart: 19 Your glory passed through the four gates of fire and earthquake and wind and ice, to give the law to the descendants of Jacob, and your commandment to the posterity of Israel.20 Yet you did not take away their evil heart (cor malignum, ‫ܒܝܫܐ‬ ܼ ‫ )ܠܒܐ‬from them, so that your law might produce fruit in them.21 For (enim, ‫ )ܓܝܪ‬the first Adam, burdened7 with an evil heart,

HTR 96.2 (2003): 167–80; Lorenzo DiTommaso, “Who is the ‘I’ of 4 Ezra?” in Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch: Reconstruction after the fall, eds. Matthias Henze and Gabriele Boccaccini with the collaboration of Jason M. Zurawski, JSJSup 164 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 119–33, who argues that the author is represented by both Ezra and Uriel at different points in his conversion from a Deuteronomic to an apocalyptic worldview. 7 The Latin here is baiulans, “burdened” or “bearing,” while the Syriac has ‫ܠܒܫ‬, ܼ literally “clothed.” In her recent monograph, Losing the Temple and Recovering the Future: An Analysis of 4 Ezra (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), Hindy Najman, appearing to prefer the Syriac, translates the phrase in 3:21 as Adam “clothed himself with an evil heart” (80), and takes this to suggest that the evil heart is “not so much an internal tempter as an external and inauthentic guise, perhaps freely adopted but hard to shed” (82). Even if the Syriac is the more reliable text here, Najman’s interpretation relies too heavily on a very literal reading and does not take into account the common idiomatic usage of the verb, where one can be “clothed in” an illness, an emotion, insanity, jealousy, etc. See, e.g., Hos 9:7; Luke 24:49; or Aphrahat, Dem. 14.291:9. Cf. Michael Sokoloff, A Syriac Lexicon. A Translation from the Latin, Correction,

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transgressed and was overcome, so too all those descended from him.22 And so the weakness (infirmitas; ‫ )ܚܫܐ‬became permanent / remained (facta est permanens, ‫)ܩܘܝ‬, and the law was in the hearts of the people along with the evil root (malignitate radices, ‫ ;)ܥܩܪܐ ܒ ܼܝܫܐ‬but what was good departed, and the evil remained. (4 Ezra 3:19–22)8

This is part of Ezra’s first lament over the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple. He is not questioning God’s justice by claiming that God punished the righteous without cause. He admits that the people have sinned. His problem here is that, in his mind, the people did not have an option because of this evil heart. So, in 3:19 Ezra finishes his praise of God by commending the giving of the Mosaic Torah. But for Ezra God’s giving of the law was pointless because at the same time that God gave the law, the evil heart was not taken away (3:20). A parenthetical statement in 3:21 is meant to clarify the author’s sudden mention of the evil heart, as the postpositive enim, ‫—ܓܝܪ‬both clearly following a causal γάρ—seems to suggest. And in this aside the author tells us a great deal. First, he informs us that Adam had the evil heart before he transgressed God’s command. The evil heart was not the result of the transgression but rather the cause. Later we learn that Adam always had the evil heart: “For a grain of evil seed was sown in Adam’s heart from the beginning (ab initio)” (4:30). This language suggests that the evil seed was sown into Adam’s heart when God formed him from the earth (Gen 2:7).9 We find something very similar from Ben Sira: “It was [God] who created man in the beginning (ab initio, ἐξ ἀρχῆς), and he left him in the power of his own inclination (consilii, διαβουλίου)” (15:14).10 It seems clear that God must be the one who implanted the evil heart into Adam at the time of his creation. As Porter says, “Who else could it be? Yet this is

Expansion, and Update of C. Brockelmann’s Lexicon Syriacum (Winona Lake, IN; Piscataway: Eisenbrauns, Gorgias Press, 2009), 670–72. 8 Translations of 4 Ezra are based on the NRSV, with occasional, and at times significant, modifications based on the Latin and/or Syriac text. 9 Cf. 4 Ezra 3:4–5: “And I said: O sovereign Lord, did you not speak at the beginning (ab initio) when you planted the earth—and that without help—and commanded the dust and it gave you Adam, a lifeless body? Yet he was the creation of your hands, and you breathed into him the breath of life, and he was made alive in your presence.” 10 For discussion as to whether or not Ben Sira is here alluding to a type of primitive yetzer tradition, see Porter, “The Yeçer Hara,” 136–45 (esp. 138–40 for 15:14 in particular), and A. L. Thompson, Responsibility for Evil in the Theodicy of IV Ezra: A Study Illustrating the Significance of Form and Structure for the Meaning of a Book, SBL Dissertation Series 29 (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1977), 51–55 (esp. 52 for 15:14).

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not expressly said.”11 Stone suggests that the author purposefully avoided attributing the “evil inclination” to God.12 While it is true that the author never comes out with a blatant “God created the evil heart,” there is little doubt that his readers would have quickly come to this conclusion. We know of no Jewish author up to this point who transferred superhuman, demonic evil all the way back to the time of creation. Only an author of a text like the Apocryphon of John would go this far, and we must remember that this is Uriel speaking in 4:30, not Harnisch’s gnostic Ezra. There is little reason not to view God as the creator and implanter of the evil seed. Next in the parenthetical aside, we are told about the pattern of sin Adam will set for those after him. Adam had the evil heart, transgressed, and was overcome. So too all those who came after him. His descendants, following the pattern of their progenitor, had the evil heart, transgressed, and were overcome. Their following Adam’s pattern was not a result of Adam’s transgression. They did not inherit the evil heart from Adam and therefore sin because of Adam’s original transgression. For the author of 4 Ezra, the evil heart is inherent not inherited. As Levison has pointed out, “Ezra stresses the relationship between Adam and his descendants as one of correspondence rather than cause.”13 The idea of Adam setting a (poor) example for the rest of humanity to follow is also found in 2 Baruch: “He who lighted took from the light, and there are few who imitated him. But many whom he illuminated took from the darkness of Adam and did not rejoice in the light of the lamp” (2 Bar. 18:1–2; cf. 54:19).14 11 Porter, “The Yeçer Hara,” 149. See also Gabriele Boccaccini, “The Evilness of Human Nature in 1 Enoch, Jubilees, Paul, and 4 Ezra: A Second Temple Jewish Debate,” in Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch, 63–79 (74). 12 4 Ezra, 63–64. Cook points to the fact that the author of 4 Ezra deletes from the Genesis creation account the fact that creation was good as proof of the “author’s apparent ambivalence over who or what is responsible for the presence of evil in the world.” J. E. Cook, “Creation in 4 Ezra: The Biblical Theme in Support of Theodicy,” in Creation in the Biblical Traditions, eds. R. J. Clifford and J. J. Collins, CBQ Monograph Series 24 (Washington, DC: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1992), 129–39 (138). 13 J. R. Levison, Portraits of Adam in Early Judaism: From Sirach to 2 Baruch, JSPSup 1 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1988), 118. Stone, instead, sees in this verse, “a view that with Adam’s sin the evil root became a permanent weakness of humanity”; Stone, Fourth Ezra, 74. According to Myers, “Verse 21 traces the evil heart to Adam who transmitted it to his descendants”; J. M. Myers, I & II Esdras: Introduction, Translation and Commentary, AB 42 (Garden City: Doubleday, 1974), 170. Porter argues against Charles saying, “It is hardly correct to say that, through Adam’s sin, ‘a hereditary tendency to sin was created, and the cor malignum developed’”; Porter, “The Yeçer Hara,” 147. See also Brandenburger, Die Verborgenheit Gottes, 177–78. 14 Translations of 2 Baruch follow A. F. J. Klijn, “2 (Syriac Apocalypse of) Baruch,” in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, ed. J. H. Charlesworth (New York: Doubleday, 1983), 1:615–52.

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In 3:22 the text picks up the thought started in v. 20 prior to Ezra’s parenthetical comments. The typical English translation of 3:22 begins, “Thus the disease became permanent” (NRSV/Stone), giving credence to the idea that the evil heart, or sin, is some kind of genetic epidemic passed on to all of humanity from the first carrier of the contagion.15 But neither the Latin infirmitas nor the Syriac ‫ ܚܫܐ‬need specifically refer to a disease proper. More regularly the terms are used to refer to a general weakness or defect, English terms that do not force us to think of a virus or disease. Based on Ezra’s idea that Adam’s descendants followed his example in transgressing, this infirmitas seems more likely to refer to a type of character defect. Adam’s weakness (in transgressing) remained among his descendants, even up to the time when God gave Israel the law and beyond. Moreover, 3:22b says that, in addition to the evil heart—now the evil root in the heart—the people also have the law in their hearts. First, there need not be any confusion over the idea of the (Mosaic) law existing in the heart of Adam, as if the author were positing either a preexistent Torah or a form of universal, natural law existing prior to the giving of the Torah at Sinai. As previously mentioned, v. 22 takes up the main thrust of Ezra’s argument from v. 20. While crucially important, 3:21 is a parenthetical aside designed to explain the evil heart and this pattern of transgression. Therefore, this law in the hearts of the people seems to be the Mosaic Torah in the hearts of the people of Israel. What is left unsaid by Ezra at this point is the great benefit the people of Israel have precisely because they have the law in their hearts along with the evil root. This should not surprise us. Ezra, at this point in the text, views the law as useless because God did not take away the evil heart. It is precisely here where we must question some of the statements made by Ezra, which do not seem to reflect the author’s own beliefs, at least not at the time of writing. There are three statements that Ezra makes in this passage which are subsequently contradicted by more authoritative voices. In 3:20, Ezra claims that the evil heart does not allow the law to produce fruit in the people of Israel. In 3:21, he alleges that all of Adam’s descendants have followed Adam’s pattern of sin. And in 3:22, Ezra asserts that the law which was in the hearts of the people departed and only the evil root has remained. Ezra’s error at this point in the text centers on the idea that the people are unable to combat the evil heart within them, and so sin is inevitable. Perhaps the author has Ezra here speaking in hyperbole to get 15 This is a common view in the literature. See, e.g., George W. E. Nickelsburg, “A New Testament Reader’s Guide to 2 Baruch: Or a 2 Baruch Reader’s Guide to the New Testament,” in Fourth Ezra and Second Baruch, 271–93 (280), who sees in the idea a significant divergence from the view in 2 Baruch: “According to Ezra the first father has injected a sinful virus into his descendants, while Baruch underscores human responsibility and sees universal death as the consequence of Adam’s sin.”

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his point across, as Stone argues,16 or maybe this Ezra is simply ignorant, as Uriel soon after suggests: “Your understanding has utterly failed regarding this world, and do you think you can comprehend the way of the Most High?” (4:2). There are numerous examples throughout the text which contradict the idea that humanity is unable to do good. Against the idea that the law cannot produce fruit because of the evil heart, Ezra later says, “But though our ancestors received the law, they did not keep it and did not observe the statutes; yet the fruit of the law did not perish—for it could not, because it was yours. Yet those who received it perished, because they did not keep what had been sown in them” (9:32–33). Here we can see a definite progression in Ezra’s understanding. Even though he continues to believe that all of Israel has transgressed the law, he now sees that the law, which God had sown in the hearts of the people, actually does produce fruit. And even though the people have transgressed the law and are rightly punished, the fruit of the law endures. That Ezra is on the right track is proven by the fact that when he comes to this realization, he immediately begins his “conversion” experience, the crucial fourth vision: “‘For we who have received the law and sinned will perish, as well as our hearts that received it; the law, however, does not perish but survives in its glory.’ When I said these things in my heart, I looked around, and on my right I saw a woman” (9:36–38). Not only can the law produce fruit despite the prevalence of sin in the world, humanity also has an additional tool to combat the evil heart: sensus, i.e., sense, intelligence, or mind.17 Early in the text we already see Ezra lamenting the fact that he has sensus and is therefore able to comprehend what is befalling his people: “Then I answered and said, ‘I implore you, my lord, why have I been endowed with a mind (sensus, ‫ )ܡܕܥܐ‬of understanding?’” (4:22) Later Ezra’s lament over his mind reaches epic proportions: “I replied and said, ‘O earth, what have you brought forth, if the mind (sensus, ‫ )ܡܕܥܐ‬is made out of the dust like the other created things? For it would have been better if the dust itself had not been born, so that the mind might not have been made from it. But now the mind grows with us, and therefore we are tormented, because we perish and we know it’” (7:62–64). At this point in the narrative Ezra is still ignorant about a great many things. He rightly understands that humanity does have sensus, but he is mistaken when

16 Stone, 4 Ezra, 74. 17 Perhaps from νοῦς, νόημα, διάνοια, σύνεσις, φρόνησις, or φρήν, all Greek terms commonly translated with sensus. I will try to consistently translate sensus as “mind” in an attempt to maintain the author’s consistent usage. The author does seem to use the term in a uniform manner, despite some perhaps nuanced differences, to mean something to the effect of “the reasoning faculty.” Perhaps “sense” or “intelligence” could be used instead, but the sensus created from the dust in 7:62 seems unlikely to be simply “intelligence” or the like. See ibid., 232.

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he posits the purpose of that sensus. For Ezra, the mind only allows the comprehension of the suffering and torment one receives for transgressing God’s commands. Uriel immediately corrects Ezra and turns his own words against him: “But, now, from your own words understand: for you have said that the mind (sensus) grows with us. For this reason, therefore, shall those who live on earth be tormented, because although having mind (sensum) they yet committed iniquity, and although receiving commandments (mandata, ‫ )ܦܘܩܕܢܐ‬they yet did not keep them, and although having obtained the law they yet dealt unfaithfully with what they received” (7:71–72). With this statement, Uriel refutes not only Ezra’s misguided notion about the purpose of the sensus, but also Ezra’s entirely wrong conception that formed the basis of his lament to begin with—the idea that the evil heart forces humanity into sin. Instead of humanity being completely helpless to the hold of the evil heart, Uriel tells Ezra that God did in fact give everything the people needed to combat the evil heart and to be righteous. He gave them the law and the commandments, and he gave them mind. Yet, despite this, people continued to sin and were justly punished.18 It seems that there are multiple components within the heart (or head), not only the evil root. We saw that God implanted the law into the heart of the people of Israel. Now we learn that God also gave humanity a mind which allows the people to comprehend what they are doing and to make the correct choice. As Burkes has pointed out, “While the community of Israel is central to the author’s worldview, the real battleground lies inside each person’s heart as the solitary individual strains to overcome the evil therein. One is responsible for the outcome, because all humans have the faculty of the mind to help them make use of the law.”19 While I have no desire here to discuss the relationship between 4 Ezra’s cor malignum with the rabbinic concept of the yetzer hara, and I do not believe that we should read the much later idea back into our text, it does appear that our author did envision both evil and good aspects innate within humanity.20 18 Cf. 7:21–22. 19 Shannon Burkes, God, Self, and Death: The Shape of Religious Transformation in the Second Temple Period, JSJSup 79 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 218. 20 Most of the scholarship on 4 Ezra’s evil heart has been devoted to comparing it to the rabbinic concepts of yetzer hara and yetzer hatov. Still one of the best and most sober studies of the issue is Porter’s, who sees a near identical parallel between 4 Ezra and the rabbis; Porter, “The Yeçer Hara: A Study in the Jewish Doctrine of Sin,” 151. For Porter, the law implanted into the heart of Israel acts as the rabbinic yetzer hatov, allowing man to escape the power of the evil heart. Porter is undecided as to whether or not 4 Ezra’s sensus is related (152). Thompson, on the other hand, sees in 4 Ezra’s idea of the evil heart the rabbinic yetzer hara minus any of the positive aspects: “From the standpoint of theodicy, the most notable feature of the evil yetzer tradition in IV Ezra

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Perhaps a more contemporary source to use as a comparison is the Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs: God has given two ways to the sons of men, and two inclinations (δύο διαβούλια), and two kinds of action, and two manners (of action), and two goals. Therefore all things are by twos, one over against the other. For there are two ways of good and evil, and with these are the two inclinations in our chests evaluating them. Therefore if the soul takes pleasure in the good (inclination), all its actions are done in righteousness; and if it will sin, it immediately repents. For, having its thoughts set upon righteousness, and casting away wickedness, it immediately overthrows the evil, and uproots the sin. But if it will incline itself to the evil inclination, all its actions are in wickedness, and it drives away the good, and clings to the evil, and is ruled by Beliar; even though it works what is good, he turns it to evil. For whenever it begins to do good, he forces the issue of the action into evil for him, seeing that the treasure of the inclination is filled with an evil spirit. (T.Ash. 1:3–9)

A similar idea is found in the Testament of Judah: “So understand, my children, that two spirits (δύο πνεύματα) linger within humankind: the spirit of truth and the spirit of error. In the middle is the spirit of the understanding of the mind (τὸ τῆς συνέσεως τοῦ νοός) which inclines as it will” (T. Jud. 20:1–2). In the Testaments, humanity has innate both good and evil aspects and a third facet which allows the individual to decide between the two, psyche in Asher and nous in Judah.21 4 Ezra’s sensus acts similarly, providing the ability to choose between living according to the evil heart or following the good through the law. That humanity has this ability and this freedom to choose which path to follow is an idea reinforced throughout 4 Ezra, usually (at least until the end of the text) by Uriel: “For they also received freedom, but they despised the Most High, and were contemptuous of his law, and forsook his ways” (8:56; cf. 9:11). Just punishment for willing transgression against the given law is also important in 2 Baruch: “Man would not rightly have understood My judgment, unless

is the absence of those features which make the tradition most serviceable as theodicy, namely, the good yetzer as the antithesis of the evil yetzer, and the evil yetzer as performing useful and/or essential functions in life”; Thompson, Responsibility for Evil in the Theodicy of IV Ezra, 338–39. Thompson is adamantly against the idea that 4 Ezra’s sensum acts as the yetzer hatov, arguing against Harnisch who takes the opposite view (Verhängnis, 156f.). Knowles doesn’t directly deal with 4 Ezra’s sensus but does see the law acting as the good yetzer, and it is precisely when Ezra is implanted with the seed of the law that he has his “change of heart”; M. P. Knowles, “Moses, the Law, and the Unity of 4 Ezra,” NT 31.3 (1989): 257–74 (270). See also Ishay Rosen-Zvi, Demonic Desires: Yetzer Hara and the Problem of Evil in Late Antiquity (Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 80. 21 This is in contrast to the idea of the two spirits (‫ )שתי רוחות‬found in 1QS 3:13–4:26, where the spirits themselves hold sway over the human mind or heart.

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he had accepted the law, and I had instructed him in understanding. But now, because he transgressed wittingly … he shall be tormented” (2 Bar. 15:5–6). Of course, the exemplar of an individual who has successfully battled against the evil heart and consistently followed the good is Ezra himself. Despite his own claims that all of humanity is entrenched in sin, Uriel (or God) continually assures him that he is not to count himself among the sinners: “Your voice has surely been heard by the Most High; for the Mighty One has seen your uprightness and has also observed the purity that you have maintained from your youth” (6:32). Towards the end of the text, God tells Ezra that he has been able to refrain from sin precisely because he has followed the (innate) law and the (innate) sensus: “You have forsaken your own ways and have applied yourself to mine, and have searched out my law; for you have devoted your life to wisdom (‫)ܒܚܟܡܬܐ‬, and called mind (sensum) your mother” (13:54–55).22 Ezra’s own actions have refuted his misguided conception of the evil heart. Still, despite the fact that Ezra was wrong about its effects, the evil heart nevertheless exists. This is the primary source of difference (in degree) between 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch. Humanity may not be completely under the evil heart’s thumb, but being righteous with the evil root seems quite difficult: “For an evil heart (cor malum) has grown / exists (increvit, ‫)ܐܝܬܘܗ‬23 in us, which has alienated us from this (his, ‫)ܗܠܝܢ‬,24 and has brought us into corruption and the ways of death, and has shown us the paths of perdition and removed us far from life, and that not merely for a few but for almost all who have been created” (7:48). We see that Ezra has budged a bit. It is no longer all of humanity that has followed Adam’s example, but “almost all.” To see the effect the evil heart has on one’s ability to remain righteous, we need only look at the comparable statement in 2 Baruch: “And if in time many have sinned, yet others not a few have been righteous” (21:11). So, the question still remains: what is the purpose of the evil heart? Why would God want to give something to humanity that makes it so difficult to be righteous?

22 Cf. 2 Bar. 48:24: “And that Law that is among us will help us, and that excellent wisdom which is in us will support us.” 23 Myers prefers to render the text according to the Latin, claiming that “the evil heart in us has been augmented” (I & II Esdras, 235) over the Syriac. But, even the Latin need not necessarily imply actual growth. It could simply point back to the sowing metaphor—the evil heart grows (i.e., is sown) within us. 24 What “this” refers to is difficult to say. The typical understanding that “God” is the antecedent of the pronoun seems unlikely since God is not mentioned anywhere in the near vicinity.

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The Eschatological Program of 4 Ezra and the Purpose of the Evil Heart Uriel’s immediate response to Ezra’s lament over how few are able to remain righteous because of the effects of the evil heart ties the cor malignum directly to the eschatological program of the text: “Listen to me, Ezra, and I will instruct you, and will admonish you yet again. For this reason the Most High has made not one world but two” (7:49–50). We find the connection already in Uriel’s initial response to Ezra’s confusion over the evil heart: “For the evil (malum) about which you ask me has been sown, but the harvest of it has not yet come” (4:28). The purpose of the evil seed is connected to the “fruit of ungodliness (fructum impietatis)” (4:31) which it has produced and will continue to produce: “When heads of grain without number are sown, how great a threshing floor they will fill!” (4:32).25 From this, we see that the purpose of the evil seed or heart was actually to produce ungodliness. But why would God want to produce ungodliness? Instead of answers, Uriel’s initial response only seems to raise more questions. Sufficient answers only come when we understand the eschatological scenario described in the third episode, the entirety of which, most tellingly, God had predetermined prior to the creation of the world. Perhaps in response to the attitude prevalent in so many other apocalyptic texts, the author of 4 Ezra goes out of his way to show that God is and has always been in complete control of the universe. There can be no angelic rebels or demonic powers that altered God’s intended plan for creation. And there can be no original transgression that sets humanity on a path different from the one God intended for it. The situation in which humanity finds itself in this world, while seemingly discordant, is integral to God’s intention for the mortal cosmos. Throughout the text, the author is adamant that God had created all of the eschatological materials—for example, the final judgment and the world to come—prior even to the creation of the mortal world: He said to me, “At the beginning of the circle of the earth, before the portals of the world were in place, and before the assembled winds blew … and before the present years were reckoned and before the imaginations of those who now sin were estranged, and before those who stored up treasures of faith were sealed, then I planned these things, and they were made through me alone and not through another; just as the end shall come through me alone and not through another.” (6:1–6)26

25 Cf. 2 Bar. 70:1–2. 26 Cf. 7:70, “He answered me and said, ‘When the Most High made the world and Adam and all who have come from him, he first prepared the judgment and the things that pertain to the judgment.’”

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Here we vividly see the insistence on the priority of the eschatological materials and the assurance that God alone is responsible for them. There are no intermediary powers to blame for the present state of the cosmos. There are no rebellious forces that forced God’s hand. And there was no original sin that moved God to create these things. God is in total control. In addition, God planned all of these things to take place in a precise timeframe, which was also set prior to creation: “And the archangel Jeremiel answered and said, ‘When the number of those like yourselves is completed; for he has weighed the age in the balance, and measured the times by measure, and numbered the times by number; and he will not move or arouse them until that measure is fulfilled” (4:36–37). And further: “How long the Most High has been patient with those who inhabit the world, and not for their sake, but because of the times that he has foreordained” (7:74).27 The reason God created another world prior to the creation of the mortal world is due to the fact that “[t]he Most High made this world for the sake of many, but the world to come for the sake of only a few” (8:1; cf. 7:48–60). This world was designed as a gateway to the world to come. We find this in Uriel’s response to Ezra’s quandary at the end of Chapter 6. Ezra’s concern there is that he believes that the world (i.e., this world) was created for Israel but Israel does not possess it (6:59). Uriel responds with two parables and an explanation designed to correct a fundamental flaw in Ezra’s thinking. It is not this world that was created for Israel (or the righteous) but the world to come: There is a sea set in a wide expanse so that it is deep and vast, but it has an entrance set in a narrow place, so that it is like a river. If there are those who wish to reach the sea, to look at it or to navigate it, how can they come to the broad part unless they pass through the narrow part? Another example: There is a city built and set on a plain, and it is full of all good things; but the entrance to it is narrow and set in a precipitous place, so that there is fire on the right hand and deep water on the left. There is only one path lying between them, that is, between the fire and the water, so that only one person can walk on the path. If now the city is given to someone as an inheritance, how will the heir receive the inheritance unless by passing through the appointed danger? (7:3–9)

On this point Ezra agrees. Uriel then goes on to explain that the situation is the same for Israel: I said, “That is right, lord.” He said to me, “So also is Israel’s portion. For I made the world [i.e., the world to come] for their sake, and when Adam transgressed my statutes, what was ܿ was judged. And so the entrances of this world were done (quod factum est / ‫)ܗܘ ܡܕܡ ܕܐܬܥܒܕ‬ made narrow and sorrowful and toilsome; they are few and evil, full of dangers and involved

27 Cf. 4:40–43, 50; 11:44.

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in great hardships. But the entrances of the greater world are broad and safe, and yield the fruit of immortality. Therefore unless the living pass through the difficult and futile experiences, they can never receive those things that have been reserved for them. (7:10–14)

While this passage has long been used by scholars as the principle proof text for the idea that Adam’s sin fundamentally altered the state of the universe and God’s original plans for humankind,28 I have tried to demonstrate in a recent paper that the passage actually can be read consistent with the author’s insistence elsewhere that God’s plans had not changed and that the dichotomy between this world and the world to come was foreordained and intentional.29 The passage, following Uriel’s short parables, suggests that this world was designed to function like the narrow river before the wide sea or the dangerous bridge leading to the bounteous city. This world is not the inheritance, but merely the entrance to the world originally created for the righteous, the world to come. Adam’s sin did not affect the rest of humanity after him. His actions led to his own condemnation, not the world’s. He was simply the first to fall victim to a world purposefully designed to be treacherous. We see the author’s argument against some kind of world-altering original sin soon after this, when Ezra, still confused, blames Adam for the present state of the world: I answered and said, “This is my first and last comment: it would have been better if the earth had not produced Adam, or else, when it had produced him, had restrained him from sinning. For what good is it to all that they live in sorrow now and expect punishment after death? O Adam, what have you done? For though it was you who sinned, the fall was not yours alone, but ours also who are your descendants. (7:116–118)

28 See George H. Box, The Ezra-Apocalypse: Being Chapters 3–14 of the Book Commonly Known as 4 Ezra (or II Esdras) (London: Sir Isaac Pitman & Sons, 1912), 98, 101, n. t; Joseph Keulers, Die eschatologische Lehre des vierten Esrabuches, Biblische Studien 20.2–3 (Freiburg: Herder, 1922), 145; Myers, I and II Esdras, 252; Levison, Portraits of Adam in Early Judaism, 121–22; Bruce L. Longenecker, Eschatology and Covenant: A Comparison of 4 Ezra and Romans 1–11, JSNTSup 57 (Sheffield: JSOT, 1991), 78; Burkes, God, Self, and Death, 196–97, 204; Ari Mermelstein, Creation, Covenant, and the Beginnings of Judaism: Reconceiving Historical Time in the Second Temple Period, JSJSup 168 (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 162–65. 29 Jason M. Zurawski, “The Two Worlds and Adam’s Sin: The Problem of 4 Ezra 7:10–14,” in Interpreting 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch: International Studies, eds. G. Boccaccini and J. M. Zurawski, LSTS 87 (London: T&T Clark, 2014), 97–106. I argue that the passage has been misunderstood primarily due to three ambiguities in the text: (1) Which world is Uriel referring to in 7:11, this world or the world to come? (2) What does “quod factum est” refer to in 7:11, i.e., what was judged? (3) What is the preceding cause of the entrances of this world being made narrow, reflected by a causal “and so” at the start of 7:12?

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These six words—O Adam, what have you done?—have come to epitomize the cynicism and pessimism of 4 Ezra and the author’s understanding of the desperate situation after the world’s first transgression.30 The problem, of course, is that the heart wrenching lament comes from a still misguided Ezra. Uriel is quick to respond: This is the significance of the contest (‫ )ܕܐܓܘܐ‬that all who are born on earth shall wage: if they are defeated they shall suffer what you have said, but if they are victorious they shall receive what I have said. For this is the way of which Moses, while he was alive, spoke to the people, saying, “Choose life for yourself, so that you may live!” But they did not believe him or the prophets after him, or even myself who have spoken to them. Therefore, there shall not be grief at their destruction, so much as joy over those to whom salvation is assured. (7:127–131)

Uriel corrects Ezra’s misunderstanding about Adam’s transgression. This world was not altered by it. This world is a contest, a divinely ordained agōn, in which everyone—from Adam on—must compete. Most people will fail as Adam failed, but the few winners who navigate the narrow path will receive their intended reward. The author of 2 Baruch too understood the world as an agōn to be overcome,31 but only after the sin of Adam. Surprisingly, the consequences of Adam’s sin are far more severe in 2 Baruch than in 4 Ezra. While we have seen the author of 4 Ezra go to great lengths to show that God had foreordained the entirety of the eschatological scenario, human mortality and the age of the mortal world was set only after the sin of Adam in 2 Baruch.32 In 4 Ezra, Adam participated in the same contest as all those after him. In 2 Baruch, Adam instituted the contest because of his sin. The purpose of the evil heart in 4 Ezra is to create the conditions for this contest on earth. When Uriel describes for Ezra the rewards and punishments that await the recently departed souls after death, we see the evil heart explicitly connected to this divine contest. The righteous souls will find rest in seven orders, the first of which, “because they have striven with great effort to overcome the evil thought (cogitamentum malum) that was formed with them, so that it might not lead them astray from life into death” (7:92). The evil heart was designed solely for this world. For those souls that were victorious in the contest, part of their reward is the removal or transformation of their evil heart: “The heart of the earth’s

30 Cf. 2 Bar. 48:42. On the selective use of common Adam traditions in 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch, see Henze, Jewish Apocalypticism in Late First Century Israel, 167–70. 31 “For this world is to them a struggle (‫ )ܐܓܘܢܐ‬and an effort with much trouble. And that accordingly which will come, a crown with great glory” (2 Bar. 15:8). 32 2 Bar. 23:4–5; 54:14–15; 56:5–6. See Henze, Jewish Apocalypticism in Late First Century Israel, 213–16.

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inhabitants shall be changed and converted to a different mind (et mutabitur cor inhabitantium et convertetur in sensum33 [‫ ]ܠܡܕܥܐ‬alium)” (6:26).34 In the world to come there will be no longer a contest to wage. The temptation of the evil heart will be gone and humanity will be left with only sensus.35

Ezra versus Baruch? The fact that the characters of Ezra and Baruch are so different from one another has unduly led many to reach the same conclusion about their creators. While Baruch quickly comes to the side of God and begins to admonish the people for their willing transgression, Ezra continues, for much of the text, to fight against his interlocutor. Reading 2 Baruch, it almost seems as though Ezra could be one of the people sitting in the crowd being admonished by Baruch for his misguided ideas.36 Much of Ezra’s stubbornness comes from his erroneous notion that, even though humanity has knowingly transgressed, their evil hearts allowed them no other possibility. But as Ezra progresses through the story he begins to learn that even though God gave humanity the evil heart, God also gave them the tools to fight the evil within, setting up the divine agōn which results in the ultimate reward for the winners: immortality in the world to come. While the answers to Ezra’s deep concern over the suffering of his people may not satisfy the modern reader, that Ezra is convinced by the end is clear: At first our fathers dwelt as aliens in Egypt, and they were delivered from there, and received the law of life, which they did not keep, which you also have transgressed after them. Then land was given to you for a possession in the land of Zion; but you and your fathers committed iniquity and did not keep the ways which the Most High commanded you. And because he is a righteous judge, in due time he took from you what he had given. And now you are

33 Cor and sensus here are clearly parallel—while still evil it is the cor, but once transformed it becomes sensus—giving further credence to the idea that this author saw sensus as the opposite of the evil cor and a means of combating it. 34 Cf. GLAE 13:5, “And there shall not be any more sinners before him, for the evil heart shall be removed from them, and they shall be given a heart that understands the good and worships God alone.” 35 Porter, with respect to (1) God’s implanting in the heart of Israel his law; (2) man’s freedom and ability to escape the power of the evil heart; and (3) the taking away of the evil heart in the coming age, observes: “Now these three lines of escape from the problem of the evil heart are precisely like the rabbinical treatment of the evil yeçer”; Porter, “The Yeçer Hara,” 151. 36 One example would be 2 Bar. 83:5, “And let us not now look at the delights of the gentiles in the present, but let us remember what has been promised to us in the end.”

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here, and your brethren are farther in the interior. If you, then, will rule over your minds (sensui) and discipline your heart (cor, ‫)ܠܒܟܘܢ‬, you shall be kept alive, and after death you shall obtain mercy. (14:29–34)

This speech to the people could very well have come from the mouth of Baruch.37 The people have been rightly punished because they have ignored the law given them. But they still have time to change their fate and to save their immortal souls, if they discipline their minds and hearts in order to overcome and combat the evil root. The Ezra who gives this speech is hardly the same Ezra sending up his lament at the start of the text, and this Ezra would seem to gladly agree with his counterpart Baruch that “Adam is, therefore, not the cause, except only for himself, but each of us has become our own Adam” (2 Bar. 54:19). The difference between 4 Ezra and 2 Baruch is not simply the result of 4 Ezra’s evil heart. The author of 4 Ezra deals openly with the challenges to remaining righteous in the world and attempts a solution to the difficulty of staying faithful to the Mosaic Torah after the destruction of the temple. The author of 2 Baruch agrees with the author of 4 Ezra that more people follow after Adam than after Moses, but he does not take on directly why this is the case. The concept of the evil heart is designed specifically to explain why people transgress. If there were only good in the heart, the individual’s freewill would always align with the good, but experience tells us this is not the case. Evil, for the author of 4 Ezra, was not the result of angelic sin, either that of the watchers or of a proud angel envious of Adam. Evil, too, was not the result of God’s predetermined plan for the fate of the individual. Evil, instead, is one part of a contest God wants waged on earth, so that only the very best will earn the ultimate reward in the world to come.

37 As in, for example, 2 Bar. 32:1, “You, however, if you prepare your hearts (‫ )ܠܒܝܟܘܢ‬to sow in them the fruits of the law, he shall protect you in the time in which the Mighty One shall shake the entire creation.”

Part II: The Dead Sea Scrolls and Beyond

Årstein Justnes and Torleif Elgvin

13 A Private Part of Enoch: A Forged Fragment of 1 Enoch 8:4–9:3 The Schøyen Collection holds three fragments with text from 1 Enoch, bought from William Kando in the spring of 2009: 1 En. 7:1–5 written on parchment; 1 En. 8:4–9:3 on papyrus, and 1 En. 106:19–107:1 on papyrus.1 Classified by the editors as modern forgeries, these fragments were excluded, together with six other fragments, from the publication of Judean Desert texts in the Schøyen Collection.2 The editors came to this conclusion from material and palaeographical observations, also noting the striking similarity between these fragments and modern text editions.3 All three Enoch fragments contain text remarkably close to the reconstructed Aramaic text in Józef T. Milik’s 1976 edition of the Books of Enoch, which was based on Robert H. Charles’ critical Ethiopic edition of 1 Enoch (made on the basis of 23 relatively late manuscripts) as well as Greek manuscripts from the fourth, sixth, and ninth centuries.4 Here we will present one of them, a fragment with text from 1 En. 8:4–9:3, and try to trace its modern history.

1 1 En. 7:1–5 = DSS F.124 (En1); 1 En. 8:4–9:3 = DSS F.125 (En2); 1 En. 106:19–107:1 = DSS F.126 (En3). The acquisition followed requests by Martin Schøyen to William Kando by late February and early March 2009 if he could locate fragments with text from 1 Enoch and specific biblical books. It is a pleasure for us to dedicate this study to Gabriele Boccaccini, the initiator of the Enoch Seminar—where we have enjoyed participating in seminars and conferences. 2 Torleif Elgvin with Kipp Davis and Michael Langlois, eds., Gleanings from the Caves: Dead Sea Scrolls and Artefacts from The Schøyen Collection, LSTS 71 (London: T&T Clark, 2016). 3 See Kipp Davis et al., “Nine Suspicious ‘Dead Sea Scrolls Fragments’ from the 21st Century,” DSD 24 (2017): 189–228. The forged fragments in the Schøyen Collection and four American collections are probably for the most part written on pieces of ancient skin and papyrus. 4 Józef T. Milik with Matthew Black, The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments from Qumran Cave 4 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1976); Robert H. Charles, The Ethiopic Version of the Book of Enoch Edited from Twenty-Three MSS, Together with the Fragmentary Greek and Latin Versions (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1906), see also idem, The Book of Enoch or I Enoch Translated from the Editor’s Ethiopic Text (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1912). At present around 120 Ethiopic manuscripts, from the fifteenth to the twentieth century, are known (oral information from Loren Stuckenbruck). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-014

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History By their own account, Hanan and Esther Eshel were asked in September 2003 to serve as academic advisors for an exhibition entitled “From the Dead Sea Scrolls to the Forbidden Book,” first held in Dallas, Texas.5 This led to the publication of the Enoch fragment in Dead Sea Discoveries in 2005 along with five other fragments.6 The Enoch fragment had already been published in Hebrew a year earlier.7 According to the Eshels they received a photo of the fragment and permission to publish it from the antiquities dealer Bruce Ferrini in March 2004:8 In March 2004 we received for publication a photograph of a fragmentary papyrus preserving five lines of text identifiable as 1 Enoch 8:4–9:3. The verses in question, which are part of the Book of Watchers, describe how the angels heard the cries of people killed as a result of Asa’el’s teaching humans to make weaponry. Though this fragment was undoubtedly found at Qumran, there is no way to identify the cave from which it came.9

5 Esther Eshel and Hanan Eshel, “New Fragments from Qumran: 4QGenf, 4QIsab, 4Q226, 8QGen, and XQpapEnoch,” DSD 12 (2005): 134–57 (134). See also Lee Biondi, From the Dead Sea Scrolls to the Forbidden Book: A History of the Bible (Dallas, TX, 2003). 6 Eshel and Eshel, “New Fragments from Qumran,” 134. In 2007 the Eshels published seven further fragments (six texts): “A Preliminary Report on Seven New Fragments from Qumran,” Meghillot 5–6 (2007): 271–78. Following basically the same approach as in the DSD article two years earlier, they ascribed all the fragments to previously published scrolls: Exod 3:13–15 and 5:9–14 were ascribed to 4QExodc, Deut 19:13–15 to 4QDeutf, Jer 24:6–7 to 4QJerc, two pieces with Ps 11:1–4 to 11QPsc, and a fragment identified with 4QInstruction to 4Q416 (4QInstrb). Some of the new fragments may in fact have been intended to appear as deriving from specific scrolls published in Discoveries in the Judaean Desert (DJD), something that would ease the authentication of a new fragment. Schøyen Nehemiah (Neh 3:14–15) seems to imitate the script of 4QEzra. One of the nonbiblical fragments published by the Eshels in 2005 was probably written with 4Q226 (4QpsJubb) in mind (cf. “New Fragments from Qumran,” 142–43). The Schøyen Exodus fragments (Exod 3:14–15, 5:9–14) may imitate 4QExodc, and Schøyen Deut 6:1–2 (= DSS F.108 [Deut5]) may imitate 4QDeutk1. 7 Esther Eshel and Hanan Eshel, “A New Fragment of the Book of the Watchers from Qumran (XQpapEnoch),” Tarbiz 73 (2004): 171–79 [Hebrew]; V [English Abstract]. 8 Eshel and Eshel, “New Fragments from Qumran,” 146, note 27: “We thank Bruce Ferrini of Bath, Ohio for providing a photograph of this fragment and for granting us permission to publish it.” See also 134–35 n. 3: “We received the first five fragments at Dallas; the sixth fragment (XQpapEnoch) was given to us in March 2004, when the exhibition was in Akron, Ohio.” 9 Eshel and Eshel, “A New Fragment of the Book of the Watchers from Qumran,” V. They also stressed the importance of the new fragment: “The publication of this new fragment of 1 Enoch is important not only as a witness to the existence of another copy in addition to the eleven known Qumran manuscripts of 1 Enoch, but also because of its contribution to the reconstruction of two Cave 4 Aramaic manuscripts. [...] Despite their poor preservation, it is possible to read and reconstruct in the three Aramaic witnesses a similar, if not identical, text. […] If our suggested

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The Eshels worked on the fragment at remarkable speed, and submitted their manuscript to Dead Sea Discoveries early in May 2004.10 The fragment was discussed at the University of Michigan on October 11 by a panel composed of profs. Gabriele Boccaccini, James C. VanderKam, Esther Eshel, and Hanan Eshel, at the SBL Annual Meeting in November 2004 in San Antonio,11 and then at the Third Meeting of the Enoch Seminar (Camaldoli, Italy, June 6–10, 2005). In November 2008, the executive director of the Dead Sea Scrolls Foundation, Weston W. Fields, presented a list to potential buyers (dated November 10, 2008) of sixteen Judean Desert fragments owned by the Kando family. This list included two Enoch fragments subsequently acquired by the Schøyen Collection (1 En. 7:1–5 and 1 En. 8:4–9:3) and the first five fragments bought by Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in 2009.12 The two Enoch fragments arrived in Norway in April or May 2009 together with a third fragment, 1 En. 106:19–107:1.13 In 2007, Esther and Hanan Eshel volunteered to assist Torleif Elgvin in the publication of the Schøyen fragments, in particular working with the biblical and Aramaic fragments. With Elgvin’s permission, Esther Eshel presented the fragments with 1 En. 7:1–5 and 106:19–107:1 at the meeting of the Enoch seminar in Naples mid-June 2009.14 The Eshels inspected the Schøyen fragments in situ in reconstruction of this new fragment is correct, it apparently preserves part of an extensive description of the harm the Watchers inflicted on humanity” (ibid., V). See also Eshel and Eshel, “New Fragments from Qumran,” 156. 10 James R. Davila, “More 1 Enoch from the Qumran Library,” PaleoJudaica.com, 10 October 2004, http://paleojudaica.blogspot.no/2004_10_10_archive.html#109782863646134864. 11 James R. Davila, “News on the New 1 Enoch Fragment,” PaleoJudaica.com, 22 November 2004, http://paleojudaica.blogspot.no/2004_11_21_archive.html#110113490420755899. In his report of the event, Davila mentions rumors about another fragment of the same manuscript. Eshel and Eshel’s 2005 article shows a particular interest in 1 Enoch 106–07, the very chapters represented by the papyrus fragment that surfaced in 2009 (“New Fragments from Qumran,” 150). 12 According to Armour Patterson (Much Clean Paper for Little Dirty Paper: The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Texas Musâwama [Fort Worth: Innovo, 2012], 30), Southwestern representatives compared Kando’s list of fragments with a list in the hands of the Eshels in a meeting in Jerusalem on July 4. The two lists matched perfectly. This was considered “a crucial first step in authenticating the fragments. Weston W. Fields also verified the affirmation of the Pattersons that the Kando family could have genuine fragments and that they were trustworthy.” 13 See further Årstein Justnes and Ludvik A. Kjeldsberg, “The Post-2002 Dead Sea Scrolls Fragments: A Tentative Timeline of  Acquisitions,” Lyingpen.com, 20 December 2016, https://lyingpen.com/2016/12/20/the-post-2002-dead-sea-scrolls-fragments-a-tentative-timeline/ 14 James R. Davila, “2 Enoch: All Your Base Are Belong to Us,” PaleoJudaica.com, 20 June 2009, http://paleojudaica.blogspot.no/2009_06_14_archive.html#1107289780631693722: “Esther Eshel reported on two new Aramaic fragments of 1 Enoch. These are attributed to Qumran (i.e., are taken to be Dead Sea Scrolls), although they were recovered on the antiquities market and are thus unprovenanced. One is a papyrus fragment containing 1 Enoch 106:19–107:1 (from the story

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August 2009. At that time, their primary interest was in identifying the post-2002 Schøyen fragments with scrolls published in Discoveries in the Judaean Desert (DJD).15 After the death of Hanan Eshel in 2010, Esther Eshel wrote draft editions of the three Enoch fragments for the forthcoming “Schøyen volume.” Early in 2014, the editorial team started to suspect that a number of the Schøyen fragments were modern forgeries.16 Subsequently, six fragments were brought to Berlin for advanced physical testing, performed by Ira Rabin at the Bundesanstalt für Materialforschung und -prüfung from March 2015 onward. All six, including 1 En. 7:1–5, the papyrus fragments with 1 En. 106:19–107:1, and Tob 14:3–4 (DSS F.123 [Tob1]), revealed suspicious elements. Because of its fragile state, the fragment with 1 En. 8:4–9:3 was not sent to Berlin. Test results from on-site scanning of this fragment in 2012 were, however, revisited.17

Physical Description The fragment is light brown, measures 5.8 × 4.3 cm, and contains remnants of five lines. Like the two other papyri in the Schøyen Collection (1 En. 106:19–107:1 and Tob 14:3–4) it is written transversa charta (crossing the fibers of the writing surface at a ninety-degree angle),18 a rare phenomenon in early papyrus texts.19 of the birth of Noah). The other is a parchment fragment containing 1 Enoch 7:1–5. Eshel thinks it is part of 4QEnochc ar/4Q204.” 15 See n. 6. 16 Michael Langlois was the first to identify two of the Schøyen fragments as probable forgeries: Neh 3:14–15 (DSS F.122 [Neh1]) and 1 Sam 2:11–14 (DSS F.112 [Sam1]). 17 Davis et al., “Nine Suspicious ‘Dead Sea Scrolls Fragments,’” 218–20. 18 This was first noted by Myriam Krutzsch of Ägyptisches Museum und Papyrussammlung, Berlin. She approximates that maximum 10% of Hellenistic and Early-Roman papyri are written transversa charta. See further Davis et al., “Nine Suspicious ‘Dead Sea Scrolls Fragments,’” 206–7, 220. 19 The same goes for a fragment with Dan 6:22–24 (DSS F.166 [Dan2]) in the Southwestern collection and another with Tob 7:1–3 (“XpapTobit ar”), still property of the Kando family. The Eshels mentioned the latter fragment already in their 2005 publication, stating that a papyrus fragment with Tob 7:1–3 had been acquired by the Schøyen Collection (thus mixing up the seven-line fragment with Tob 14:3–4 with the four-line fragment with Tob 7:1–3) (cf. “New Fragments from Qumran,” 146 n. 29: “It has recently been revealed that there is a seven-line Aramaic papyrus in the Schøyen Collection that preserves portions of Tobit 7:1–3. This fragment also is the first to be published from another copy of Tobit”). This erroneous information may have been picked up from the Schøyen website, which initially (March 2004) identified the picture of the seven-line papyrus as Tob 7:1–3. The two Tobit papyri seem to have been written by the same hand. Presupposing Krutzsch’s 10% approximation, we consider it highly unlikely that four transversa charta scrolls (Daniel, Tobit, 1 Enoch [x 2])—and no other— would surface after 2002.

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No margins are preserved. The line-spacing is 11 mm, and the letter height is fairly large at around 3 mm. There are two layers of fibers, vertically laid on the recto, horizontally on the verso. The fibers are tightly woven. The recto side is smooth and well prepared, while the verso is rougher. The physical features and appearance of the fragment are typical of papyri from Fayum in the Ptolemaic and early-Roman periods.20 2.5–5 mm of the verso layer has fallen off between lines 2 and 3 (widest at the right margin, as seen from the front), leaving a recess in the form of a horizontal band. The damage is also visible on the photographs of the recto. At the end of line 4 there is a small fold in the papyrus, which makes traces of ink visible on the verso. Another fold partly covers the lamed of line 5 and what immediately precedes it. There are four small pieces of tape attached to the verso (at the top, bottom, right, and left edges). The function of the tape is not clear. It is well known that the first team of Dead Sea Scrolls scholars used Scotch tape in order to piece fragments together. In this case one may wonder if the tape simply represents an attempt to imitate the practice of the first team.21 A striking characteristic of the fragment is the dynamic relationship between the top and bottom papyrus leaves. Examination of PTM images (polynominal texture mapping) and digital microscopy of the fragment in June 2015 suggested that there were pen strokes on both the vertical and horizontal leaves. Davis et al. demonstrate how ink belonging to the base of the right downstroke of hê in line 2 can be seen on the underlying layer. Further, portions of some letters in line 4 seem to have been written where the surface is gone or worn. These observations indicate that the fragment was inscribed after suffering deterioration.22

Handwriting In their 2005 article, Eshel and Eshel dated the fragment to “the Hasmonean or the early Herodian era (50–25 BCE).”23 According to Ada Yardeni, the fragment displays a somewhat crudely formed early or middle Hasmonaean book hand 20 We are indebted to Krutzsch for these observations. 21 Cf. the remark of antiquities dealer Lee Biondi: “Some of them still had Scotch tape on the back” (quoted from James R. Davila, “Who Sold Them and How Did They Get Them,” Qumranica. com, 17 March 2005, http://qumranica.blogspot.no/2005/03/who-sold-them-and-how-did-theyget.html). 22 See Davis et al., “Nine Suspicious ‘Dead Sea Scrolls’ Fragments,” 218–20. The article includes photos of the fragment on pp. 217, 219–20. 23 Eshel and Eshel, “New Fragments from Qumran,” 151: “From a paleographic perspective, the new fragment can be dated approximately to the Hasmonean or the early Herodian era (50–25 BCE).”

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from c.100 BCE.24 In our opinion, the writing is a product of a modern hand, an attempt to imitate ancient Hebrew/Aramaic handwriting. The letters vary in size and shape and are adjusted to the shape of the fragment as well as to damage patterns on the surface. For instance, the descender of qoph in line 1 (end) and line 4 (beginning) does not descend below the line. Lamed in ‫דקלה‬ ̊ (line 4) is substantially smaller than the other exemplars on the fragment, and has a notably small hook seemingly adjusted to the damage patterns on the fragment. Further, he and shin in the first word of line 5 (partly preserved) are substantially smaller than the other exemplars on the fragment.

Transcription and Translation [‫] לשמיה אדין אדיק‬ [ ‫]י֗ שמיה על ארעא וחזו‬ ]‫ר[שעה וחמסה די קטיליא‬ ֗ [◦◦‫דקלה וז֗ ע‬ ̊ ‫[קדמיהן‬ ]◦‫]ש[ ]◦ה ◦◦◦◦[ ]ל◦די‬ ֗ 1. 2. 3. 4.

[ 8.4 …] to heaven. 9.1 Then […] looked down […] of heaven upon the earth, and saw […] [… e]vil and violence, which(?) ‹those who were› killed[ 9.2 …] […]to one another that the voice and […]

An Imitation of Milik’s 1976 text of 4QEna (4Q201) 1 iv 6–10 1 Enoch 8:4–9:3 is also found in two Aramaic copies of the Book of Watchers from Cave 4, 4QEna (4Q201) 1 iv (1 En. 8:3–9:3) and 4QEnb (4Q202) 1 iii (1 En. 8:3–9:3). The lines preserved in our fragment are further extant in versions of 1 Enoch preserved in Greek and Ethiopic. The text of our fragment corresponds closely to Milik’s reconstructed text of 4QEna 1 iv 6–10, and the first word in each line aligns with their vertical arrangement in Milik’s transcription (see underlining below):25

24 Private communication with Elgvin, 2012. 25 Milik, Enoch, 157–58.

1 2 3 4 5

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4QEna (4Q201) 1 iv (1 En. 8:3–9:3) ] ‫… וכלהן שריו‬3 ] 4 ] ‫ולק ̊בל ̊מבד ̊ק[צת אנשא] מן ארעא ו̊ ̊ק[לה‬ ̊ ‫]לגלי]ה רזין לנשיהן‬ ] ‫מיכאל [ושריאל ו]רפאל ו֗ ֗ג ֗ב ֗רי֗ [אל‬ ֗ ‫אדין] ֗אדיק‬9.1 ‫סלק ק[דם שמיה‬ ֗ [‫וכל [ארעא‬ ̊ ‫ארע]א‬ ̊ ‫קדש[י שמיה על ארעא וחז]ו֗ דם סגי שפ[יך על‬ ̊ ‫מן‬ ] ‫[ושמעין ארבעתה עללו‬2 ‫ליה‬ ̊ ‫[את]חטי ̊ע‬ ̊ ‫אתמלית ̊ר[שעה ו]חמסה די‬ ] ‫בח[רבות בני ארעא סלקין עד‬ ̊ ‫[עק]תה‬ ֗ ̊‫ד]קלה וז‬ ̊ ‫קדמ[יהן‬ ̊ ‫ואמרו‬ ] ‫ואמרו לקדי]שי ש[מיה כען לכן אנתן קדישי שמיה‬3 ‫תרעי שמי[ה‬ ] ‫די קבלן [נפשת בני אנשא] ו֗ ̊א[מרן‬ [ 3 … And they all began to reveal] secrets to their wives. 4 And because part [of mankind] was perishing from the earth, their cry was going up to [heaven. 9 IThereupon] Micha’el [and Śari’el and] Rapha’el and Gabri’el looked down from the sanctuary [of heaven upon the earth, and saw] much blood spilled [on the earth] and the whole [earth] was filled with wickedness and violence, so that sin was brought upon it. [2And the four (archangels) hearing (it) went in] and said to themselves that the voice and cry, [as the sons of earth perish, reach up to] the gates of heaven. [3And they said to the] holy ones of heaven: [‘Now to you, the holy ones of heaven, the souls of men] are making their suit and saying: […] Copying from modern text editions is seen in a whole range of recent forgeries. The phenomenon is instructively illustrated in recent articles by Christian Askeland.26 Several of the recently appeared “Dead Sea Scrolls” fragments display a line-for-line alignment with text from published editions (Biblia Hebraica, DJD, Milik’s The Books of Enoch) and/or first-time appearances of textual “variants,” suggested as emendations by the Biblia Hebraica editors in absence of any manuscript evidence. Such a line-for-line correspondence is found in the Azuza fragment of Deut 8:2–5 (DSS F.153 [Deut1]),27 the Museum of

26 Christian Askeland, “A Lycopolitan Forgery of John’s Gospel,” NTS 61 (2015): 314–34, esp. his demonstration of seventeen shared line breaks in the Harvard Coptic Gospel of John and Herbert Thompson’s transcription of codex Qau (pp. 325–26). See also “A fake Coptic John and its implications for the ‘Gospel of Jesus’s Wife,’” TynBul 65.1 (2014): 1–10. 27 For recent, but tentative discussions of this fragment’s close relation to 4Q30, see Eibert Tigchelaar, “Post-2002 Dead Sea Scrolls Fishy Fragments—or Forgeries?” Academia, 20 August 2016, https://www.academia.edu/27658971/Post-2002_Dead_Sea_Scrolls_Fishy_Fragments_or_ Forgeries. See also Kipp Davis, “Caves of Dispute: Patterns of Correspondence and Suspicion in the Post-2002 ‘Dead Sea Scrolls’ Fragments,” DSD 24 (2017): 229–70 (256–58).

4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

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the Bible fragments of Num 8:3–5 (DSS F.194 [Num2]) and Neh 2:13–16 (DSS F.201 [Neh2]),28 the unpublished Kando fragment of Tob 7:1–3 as well as the Schøyen fragments of 1 En. 7:1–5, 1 En. 106:19–107:1, Neh 3:14–15 (DSS F.122 [Neh1]), Tob 14:3–4,29 and Exod 3:13–15 (DSS F.103 [Exod3]).30 The most extreme example of copying from a modern edition is found in the fragment with Neh 2:13–16. Here the forger seems to have copied a text-critical mark from Biblia Hebraica (BHK).31 The correspondence between Milik’s edition and the Schøyen fragment of 1 En. 8:4–9:3 goes to minute details: the large distance between the two first words in MS 4612/12, ‫ לשמיה‬and ‫( אדין‬l. 1), corresponds to the open space that Milik left between these two words in his edition of 4QEna in order to accommodate the superscripted chapter and verse reference. The words ]‫ר]שעה וחמסה די קטיליא‬, ֗ “e]vil and violence of ‹those who were› killed” (?) or “e]vil and violence, which ‹those who were› killed” (?) in line 3 are noteworthy. It appears as a modern scribe’s attempt to reproduce Loren Stuckenbruck’s suggested correction of Milik’s text in 4QEna 1 iv 8 (1 En. 9:1), published in DJD 36 in 2000, just a few years before the fragment appeared: “the four angels ‘peered down from among the hol[y] one[s of heaven and saw] much blood being sh[ed upon ]the[ earth, and [the] whole [earth] was filled with e[vil and] violence (‫ )הסמח‬against the ones killed (‫)קטיליא‬.’”32 The appearance of the word ‫ קטיליא‬in 28 Dead Sea Scrolls Fragments in the Museum Collection, eds. Emanuel Tov, Kipp Davis, and Robert Duke, Publications of Museum of the Bible 1 (Leiden: Brill, 2016), 130–39, 200–09, 210–21, 222–36. 29 Both Tobit fragments duplicate text editions line for line (and the Schøyen Tobit also the right column margin) in accordance with 4QTobb (4Q197) 4 iii and 4QTobc (4Q198) frg. 1, see Magen Broshi et al, eds.,Qumran Cave 4.XIV: Parabiblical Texts, Part 2, DJD 19 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1995), 51, 57–58. While the Leon Levy images clearly show that the ink lines of the papyrus copy of Tobit (4Q196) follow the horizontal fibers, the DJD images (DJD 19, plates I–V) give the opposite impression. According to Kipp Davis, this optical illusion is quite common in the older IR images of the Qumran papyri. 30 The modern scribe of Neh 3:14–15 probably copied from Biblia Hebraica (BHK). The arrangement of the text in DSS F.103 (Exod 3:13–15) aligns closely to the text in 4QExodb (4Q13). Specifically, the only way to reconcile the digital reconstruction with the known text is to import a large vacat from 4QExodb (see Davis et al., “Nine Suspicious ‘Dead Sea Scrolls Fragments’”; Davis, “Caves of Dispute”). 31 See Kipp Davis, “Paleographical and Physical Features of the Dead Sea Scrolls in the Museum of the Bible Collection: A Synopsis,” in Dead Sea Scrolls Fragments in the Museum Collection, 19–35 (27): “The editors have transcribed traces on line 3 at the right edge of the fragment as a vav-consecutive […]. But the trace of the first vaw bears a suspicious resemblance to an annotation—a superscripted Greek letter α—that appears in the printed text of Kittel’s third edition of Biblia Hebraica (BHK).” 32 Loren Stuckenbruck, “203. 4QEnochGiantsa ar,” in Qumran Cave 4.XXVI: Cryptic Texts, ed. Stephen J. Pfann; Miscellanea, Part I, ed. Phillip S. Alexander, DJD 36 (Oxford: Clarendon, 2000),

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our fragment is especially striking noting that Stuckenbruck cautioned that his own proposition was “uncertain.”33 Furthermore, he did not restore the Aramaic text of 4QEna 1 iv 8, but only suggested an English translation, with the form ‫קטיליא‬ in a parenthesis, see above. The phrase [‫ר]שעה וחמסה די קטיליא‬ ֗ hardly allows the Eshel’s reproduction of Stuckenbruck’s translation.34

Concluding Remarks The fragment of 1 En. 8:4–9:3 is one of several recently forged Dead Sea Scrolls fragments that have surfaced after 2002 and polluted our dataset. The case of this fragment clearly illustrates how problematic it is to let William Kando serve as a patron of authenticity or a guarantee of a Qumran origin of unprovenanced Hebrew or Aramaic fragments.35 Dealers, middlemen, collectors, and scholars who have brought new fragments into the market or opened them to scholarship now need to disclose all information they have about the origin and odysseys of these fragments.

8–41 (18). Stuckenbruck was preceded by Klaus Beyer, Die aramäischen Texte vom Toten Meer (Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), 237, who already in 1984 suggested to restore and translate 4QEna almost as our modern scribe rendered it: ‫ר[שעה ו]חמסה דקטיליא‬, “Und die ganz [Erde] war erfüllt vom [Frevel und] Unrecht an den Getöteten.” Cf. Émile Puech who (inspired by Stuckenbruck and/or our fragment?) has suggested reading ‫“( די [ל]קטיליא‬qui [avait été faite] aux tués”) in 4QEna 1 iv 8: Émile Puech, “Notes sur le manuscrit araméen 4Q201 = 4QHénocha à propos d’un livre récent,” RevQ 24.4 (2010): 627–49 (643). 33 Stuckenbruck, “203. 4QEnochGiantsa ar,” 18 n. 52. 34 It should further be noted that Michael Langlois in 2008 argued that the two fragments joined together by Milik (on which Milik’s and Stuckenbruck’s readings are based) should in fact be considered as separate fragments that do not preserve the same lines. See Michael Langlois, Le premier manuscrit du Livre d’Hénoch. Étude épigraphique et philologique des fragments araméens de 4Q201 à Qumrân (Paris: Cerf, 2008), 385–87. 35 Cf. comments regarding provenance in a public lecture by Weston W. Fields, at the Lanier Theological Library in 2011: “If the Kando family says ‘This comes from Cave 4,’ that’s about the best that you can do for provenance […] that’s just the way it has been from the beginning.” Online: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9qgLWNRtL5Q

Giovanni Ibba

14 Il tema della Conversione in alcune opere qumraniche Il presente contributo cercherà di fornire esclusivamente il quadro di un aspetto del pensiero teologico sul tema della conversione in alcune opere qumraniche. Tenuto conto che le opere prese in considerazione fanno spesso riferimento alla letteratura biblica, sarà necessario evidenziare come primo passo alcuni contenuti che gli appartengono, e che riguardano l’argomento preso in esame. Anche se i periodi storici in cui si sono formati tali testi, che verranno in seguito indicati come biblici a partire dalla loro collocazione in un canone agli albori del II secolo d.C., dunque diversi e temporalmente lontani da quelli in cui sono stati redatti i rotoli qumranici, i loro contenuti sono stati oggetto di continue discussioni e riflessioni. Si può dire che, per certi versi, parti di molti testi qumranici sono il risultato di veri e propri processi ermeneutici di opere bibliche. Il tema della conversione è un tema fondamentale all’interno della storia del pensiero ebraico, in particolare in quello che deriviamo dalla Bibbia. Presupposto alla conversione è il riconoscimento delle proprie colpe e dell’impossibilità, senza intervento divino, di potersi riabilitare. In effetti, la tematica concernente la conversione scaturisce da una visione antropologica negativa piuttosto netta rispetto alle possibilità dell’uomo di realizzarsi senza l’aiuto di Dio. Già nelle Lamentazioni, ma anche in molti profeti, l’esigenza di conversione risultava essere la richiesta da parte del fedele di poter finalmente aderire a ciò che Dio a pensato per lui; perché ciò avvenga, il fedele dev’essere consapevole del proprio limite, e che senza l’aiuto di Dio non potrà nemmeno convertirsi. Nelle Lamentazioni, che è un testo redatto all’inizio del VI secolo a.C. e che mantiene lo stile letterario del lamento funebre, per una buona parte vengono elencate le colpe di cui si è macchiato il popolo d’Israele, e le conseguenze delle sue azioni. Nella conclusione c’è una invocazione importante (Lam 5,21): « Facci tornare a te, Signore, e noi ritorneremo (hashivenu YHWH ’eleka wenashuva) ». I tempi verbali usati, causativo nella richiesta a Dio, ossia « sii causa del nostro tornare a te e noi torneremo », indiscutibilmente mostrano che in questa invocazione è presente la consapevolezza che solo Dio può dare la possibilità di convertirsi. Nelle Lamentazioni è parimenti evidente che il convertirsi indica un movimento di allontanamento dai peccati. Questo si vede bene anche in Ezechiele (18,21): «Ma se il malvagio si allontana (yashuv mikolhaṭṭo’taw) da tutti i peccati che ha commesso e osserva tutte le mie leggi … egli vivrà». Tuttavia, la consapevolezza del proprio limite nell’adempiere da https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-015

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parte dell’uomo ciò che è giusto, viene evidenziato in modo evidente soprattutto in Geremia (13,23): «può un Etiope cambiare la pelle o un leopardo le sue macchie? Allo stesso modo: potrete fare il bene voi, abituati a fare il male?». A questa consapevolezza dei limiti umani in molti testi biblici e non, si deve aggiungere come l’Israelita sia esortato a non attaccarsi a nulla, ad essere e sentirsi povero, come qualcuno che è totalmente dipendente da Dio. Tale convinzione si sviluppa fino a far coincidere il giusto col povero, e il povero col modello dell’uomo retto. Con tale accezione, la povertà viene presentata in particolare nei libri dei Salmi. In essi c’è l’idea del povero (‘ani, ’ebion) che, nel gridare in propria difesa, perora anche la causa di Dio. Il povero diventa autodesignazione dell’orante.. La condizione di povertà permette di ottenere la salvezza da parte Dio, il quale non dimentica gli ultimi. Nel Salmo 69 (v. 30–35) si legge per esempio: «Io sono povero (‘ani) e sofferente: / la tua salvezza, Dio, mi ponga al sicuro. / Loderò il nome di Dio con un canto, / lo magnificherò con un ringraziamento, / che per il Signore è meglio di un toro, / di un torello con corna e zoccoli. / Vedano (ra’u) i poveri (‘anawim) e si rallegrino; / voi che cercate Dio, fatevi coraggio, / perché il Signore ascolta i miseri (’ebionim) / e non disprezza i suoi che sono prigionieri». Oltre al Salterio, ci sono altri testi che trattano similmente della povertà, come i profetici e i sapienziali. Fra i profeti, si può ricordare Isaia, quando afferma che un giorno gli umili si rallegreranno nel Signore e i più poveri gioiranno nel Santo d’Israele (Is 29,19). Oppure la terza parte di Isaia che dichiara come solo chi confida nel Signore possederà la terra (57,13) ed erediterà il Suo santo monte. Coloro che si fidano sono i poveri, gli umiliati; il Signore vuole ravvivare lo spirito degli umili e rianimare il cuore degli oppressi (Is 57,15). In tale componente religiosa domina il concetto di ‘anawīm, che indica le persone «umili e pie». Giustamente Helmut Merklein affermava che il popolo durante l’esilio costituiva collettivamente il gruppo dei poveri «ai quali Dio ha promesso un rivolgimento della situazione».1 Questo è un possibile inquadramento della questione della conversione: si parte dunque da una visione dell’uomo, definito creatura di Dio (cfr. Gen 1), ma incapace con le proprie forze di aderire ai suoi precetti, e da una visione di Dio, spesso mostrato come pronto a intervenire a favore del fedele nel momento in cui riconosce il proprio limite. Per la conversione, è necessaria la consapevolezza della propria «povertà», la quale diviene l’unica via praticabile e possibile

1  Helmut Merklein, πτωχός, in Dizionario Esegetico del Nuovo Testamento (Brescia: Paideia, 2004), col. 1213 (or. ted. 1992, di cui la prima edizione è del 1980).

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 Giovanni Ibba

affinché essa possa avvenire. Pertanto, la povertà/umiltà non è il risultato della conversione, ma in un certo qual modo il suo presupposto. Heinz-Josef Fabry2 scriveva negli anni Novanta che nei manoscritti qumranici «sul piano morfologico sorprende l’assenza assoluta del verbo šwb all’imperativo, diversamente dall’AT (dove ricorre 80 volte). W. L. Holladay3 invita a riflettere sulla possibilità che a Qumran si sia forse rinunciato all’invito alla conversione, perché i membri della comunità erano già convertiti». Alla luce di questa considerazione, premettiamo intanto che secondo quanto emerge dai manoscritti qumranici, ormai tutti editi, l’imperativo del verbo sembra in effetti carente, per lo meno in quelli settari.4 Ovviamente va considerato che molti di essi sono frammentari e che dunque la certezza assoluta non può essere data. In secondo luogo, come si proverà a spiegare, l’assenza dell’imperativo può avere, d’accordo con Holladay, una motivazione ideologica, ma diversa rispetto a quella che vuole che i membri della comunità non abbiano più bisogno di conversione, come semplice presupposto alla loro entrata nel gruppo. Il tema della conversione a Qumran ha aspetti piuttosto complessi, che si articolano in alcune fasi e non si presentano mai come atti definitivi. Vedremo, per esempio, come nella Regola della Comunità la conversione fa già parte di un disegno che Dio ha preparato e predestinato per alcuni uomini. Inoltre, Fabry nei testi settari di Qumran aveva notato la combinazione di šwb con yaḥad come destinazione (1QS 5,1–7a; CD 19,15–33; 20,13–34; 4QpPs 37,2s.). Sempre secondo lui, nella Regola della Comunità (V 22) il ritorno alla comunità va visto come un segno esterno di una conversione interiore, ovvero come il distacco dal sacerdote malvagio di Gerusalemme, l’allontanamento dall’interpretazione peccaminosa della legge e dall’impurità, accompagnato dalla dedizione all’osservanza radicale della Torah e dell’assoggettamento alla disciplina della comunità. L’interpretazione del Salmo 37 (v. 21–22) trovata in un manoscritto qumranico (4Q1715 III 8–10; cfr. anche II 9) è al riguardo significativa. Il testo biblico commentato è come segue:

2  Grande Lessico dell’Antico Testamento 9:83 (1990). Opera fondata da G. Johannes Botterweck e Helmer Ringgren; poi a cura di Heinz-Josef Fabry e Helmer Ringgren; in collaborazione con George W. Anderson et al.; edizione italiana a cura di Alessandro Catastini e Riccardo Contini; poi a cura di Pier Giorgio Borbone (Brescia: Paideia, 1988–) [tit. orig.: Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament). 3  VT 29 [1979], 368. 4  Nelle copie bibliche, invece, è naturalmente presente (per es. 4Q158 7–8,3). 5  4QPesher Salmia, DJD V, pp. 42–51.

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‫נֹותן׃‬ ֵ ְ‫ לֹוֶ ה ָר ָׁשע וְ לֹא יְ ַׁש ֵּלם וְ ַצ ִּדיק חֹונֵ ן ו‬21 ‫ ִּכי ְמב ָֹר ָכיו יִ ְירׁשּו ָא ֶרץ‬22 21 Il malvagio prende in prestito e non restituisce, ma il giusto ha compassione e dà in dono. 22 Quelli che sono benedetti da Lui avranno in eredità la terra. Nel testo qumranico si ha come segue: [...]...‫ פשרו על עדת האביונים א[שר לה]ם נחלת כול ה‬10 «La sua interpretazione si riferisce alla congregazione dei poveri (‘edat ha’evionim), [poiché loro] è l’eredità di tutta la ---[…] ». È evidente che nella lacuna finale doveva esserci una parola che si riferiva all’oggetto dell’eredità, ossia la terra, come nel Salmo commentato. La parola «povero», come detto, che si attribuisce chi scrive i versi è frequente: esprime in effetti una condizione indispensabile per l’azione misericordiosa di Dio, condizione che si reputa fondamentale anche nella «congregazione» (‘edah), al punto che si assume la parola che la esprime come titolo rappresentativo di se stessa. Dio si muove quando ha davanti a sé un povero (Sal 70,6; cfr. 74,21s.; 109,22.26): ‫וַ ֲאנִ י ָענִ י וְ ֶא ְביֹון‬ ‫ה־ּלי‬ ִ ‫חּוׁש‬ ָ ‫ֹלהים‬ ִ ‫ֱא‬ Ma io sono povero e bisognoso (‘ani we’ebion), Dio, affrettati verso di me. In alcune opere qumraniche troviamo un’elaborazione delle condizioni di povertà mediante le quali ci si può convertire e dunque finalmente aderire ai precetti divini, realizzando così la propria umanità. La condizione del «povero» è quella che permette l’intervento di Dio nella storia, ed è quella che permette anche di aderire alle leggi divine. Con il termine «poveri» in effetti, come detto, sovente si autodefiniscono a Qumran i membri di comunità di fedeli. La dialettica tra il tema della povertà e quello della conversione si trova in molte opere qumraniche, le quali spesso s’ispirano a testi biblici, per esempio ai Salmi, come visto, molto presenti nelle grotte. A prescindere dalle spiegazioni sull’eziologia del male,6 si 6  Cf. Giovanni Ibba, «Annotazioni su alcuni temi enochici a Qumran», in Flores Florentino. Dead Sea Scrolls and Others Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez, eds. Anthony Hilhorst, Émile Puech, and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 122 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 307–17. Cf. anche Ibba, Qumran. Correnti del pensiero giudaico (III a.C.-Id.C.) (Roma: Carocci, 2007), 19–37.

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 Giovanni Ibba

possono qui fare alcune esempi di come fosse fortemente presente la consapevolezza dei propri limiti e di quanto fosse sentita la necessità della mano di Dio per la salvezza dell’uomo. In un Salmo trovato a Qumran, il cui contenuto era in parte conosciuto tramite la versione siriaca (Salmo 1557), si legge (11Q5 XXIV 6–13): ‫ אל תשפטני כחטאתי כי לוא יצדק לפניכה כול חי‬7 ‫ יהוה‬... ‫ הבינני יהוה בתורתכה ואת משפטיכה למדני‬8 ‫ וישמעו רבים מעשיכה ועמים יהדרו את כבודכה‬9 ‫ זכורני ואל תשכחני ואל תביאני בקשות ממני‬10 ‫ חטאת נעורי הרחק ממני ופשעי אל יזכרו לי‬11 ‫ טהרני יהוה מנגע רע ואל יוסף לשוב אלי‬12 ‫ שורשיו ממני ואל ינצו ע[ל]ין בי‬13 ‫ישב‬ ‫ על כן שאלתי מלפניכה שלמה‬14 ‫כבוד אתה יהוה‬ … YHWH 7 non giudicarmi secondo il mio peccato poiché non è giusto davanti a te nessun vivente.8 8 Fammi intendere, YHWH, con la tua Legge e con le tue sentenze insegnami. 9 Molti udirono delle tue opere, (i) popoli onoreranno la tua gloria. 10 Ricordati di me e non dimenticarmi, e non farmi entrare nelle difficoltà che sono in me. 11 (Il) peccato della mia giovinezza rimuovi da me, e (così) le mie ribellioni non saranno ricordate riguardo a me. 12 Purificami, YHWH, dalla piaga del male, e non si aggiunga per tornare a me. Secca 13 le sue radici in me e non fioriscano le (sue) fr[on]de in me. Gloria tu sei YHWH: 14 perciò la mia richiesta davanti a te si è adempiuta. La consapevolezza della propria impossibilità ad essere giusto spinge l’orante a chiedere l’intervento di Dio affinché sia reso capace di seguire le sue leggi. La rivelazione di Dio mostra all’Israelita indiscutibilmente cosa dev’essere ritenuto come bene da ciò che invece è male. Si può vivere senza questa consapevolezza, e l’influsso del male può portare la persona alla morte. La conversione pertanto si svolge in due momenti fondamentali: il riconoscimento della propria debolezza (anche «povertà») e delle proprie colpe; la richiesta a Dio di aiutarlo a non fare

7  Cf. James A. Sanders, DJD IV, pp. 70–76; Jean Magne, «Le Psaume 155», RevQ 9 (1977): 103–11; Florentino García Martínez, Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, Adam S. van der Woude, DJD XXIII, 29–36. 8  Lett.: «ogni vivente».

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più il male. La conversione scaturisce pertanto dalla scoperta della grandezza e della misericordia di Dio. In un altro salmo apocrifo,9 11QSalmia (11QPsa / 11Q5), leggiamo come segue (XIX 9–17): ‫ הייתי בחטאי ועוונותי לשאול מכרוני ותצילני‬10 ‫ למות‬... ‫ כרוב רחמיכה וכרוב צדקותיכה גם אני את‬10‫ יהוה‬11 ‫ שמכה אהבתי ובצלכה חסיתי בזוכרי עוזכה יתקף‬12 ‫ לחטאתי‬11‫ לבי ועל חסדיכה אני נסמכתי סלחה יהוה‬13 ‫ וטהרני מעווני רוח אמונה ודעת חונני אל אתקלה‬14 ‫ בעויה אל תשלט בי שטן ורוח טמאה מכואב ויצר‬15 ‫ שבחי ולכה קויתי‬12‫ רע אל ירשו בעצמי כי אתה יהוה‬16 ... ‫ כול היום‬17 … Per morire, 10 sono stato, a causa del mio peccato, le mie iniquità, allo sheol, mi hanno venduto. Mi liberasti 11, YHWH, per la grandezza del tuo amore compassionevole, per la grandezza delle tue giuste azioni. Anche io 12 il tuo nome ho amato E nella tua ombra mi sono rifugiato. Quando ricordo la tua potenza si rafforza 13 il mio cuore, e sulle tue azioni di grazia io confido. Perdona, YHWH, i miei peccati 14 e purificami dalle mie iniquità. Di un spirito fedele e conoscente fammi dono. Che io non inciampi 15 nella perversità, non mi domini satana, né spirito impuro. Affanno e inclinazione 16 al male non prendano possesso delle mie ossa. Poiché tu, YHWH, sei la mia lode. In te ho sperato 17 tutto il giorno.… Nel salmo sono presenti i due elementi che causano il male: la debolezza umana con la sua inclinazione a ribellarsi a Dio (linee 15–16: «inclinazione al male»); 9  James A. Sanders, The Psalms Scrolls of Qumran Cave 11 (11QPsa), in DJD IV; Florentino García Martínez, Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, Adam S. van der Woude, DJD XXIII, 29–36. 10  Il Tetragramma è scritto in paleo-ebraico. 11  Ibid. 12  Ibid.

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 Giovanni Ibba

il diavolo o lo spirito impuro, che può dominare l’uomo facendo leva sulla sua debolezza. Nelle Hodayot (Inni)13 si legge (col. XII 30–31) che l’uomo è ... ‫ בעוון מרחם ועד שבה באשמת מעל‬... «… nell’iniquità dall’utero e fino alla vecchiaia è nella colpevole infedeltà. …» Il testo continua (XII 31–33) affermando chiaramente che: ‫ ואני ידעתי כי לוא לאנוש צדקה‬... ‫ דרך‬32 ‫ולוא לבן אדם תום‬ ‫לאל עליון כול מעשי צדקה‬ ‫ודרך אנוש לוא תכון‬ ‫כי אם ברוח יצר אל לו‬ ... ‫ להתם דרך לבני אדם‬33 … io mi sono reso conto che la rettitudine non è nell’uomo, e non è del figlio dell’uomo la via integra. 32 Di Dio Altissimo sono le azioni rette, mentre la via dell’uomo non è retta, se non con uno spirito che Dio ha formato per lui 33 per rendere integra la via dei figli dell’uomo … In altro modo, la Regola della Comunità ribadisce sempre lo stesso quadro negativo sull’uomo (XI 9–11): ‫ ואני לאדם רשעה ולסוד בשר עול‬... ‫עוונותיו פשעי חטאתי‬ ‫{ עם נעוות לבבי‬...} ‫ לסוד רמה והולכי חושך‬10 ‫כיא לוא לאדם דרכו‬ ‫ואנוש לוא יכין צעדו‬ ‫כיא לאל המשפט‬ ‫ תום הדרך‬11 ‫ומידו‬

13  Eileen M. Schuller and Carol A. Newsom, The Hodayot (Thanksgiving Psalms). A Study Edition of 1QHa (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2012); Hartmut Stegemann, Eileen M. Schuller, and Carol A. Newsom, Discoveries in the Judaean Desert, vol. XL: «Qumran Cave 1.III: 1QHodayot a: With Incorporation of 4QHodayot a-f and 1QHodayot b» (Oxford: Clarendon, 2008).

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«Io appartengo alla gente malvagia, al consiglio della carne perversa delle mie iniquità, delle mie ribellioni, dei miei peccati […] con le perversioni del mio cuore. 10 Al consiglio dei vermi appartengono coloro che procedono in modo oscuro, perché non appartiene all’uomo la sua via, ed esso non può dirigere il suo passo: di Dio è il giudizio, dalla sua mano 11 la via diritta». L’uomo è nulla senza Dio. L’autore delle Hodayot (XVIII 7–8) così si esprime: ‫ ואני עפר ואפר‬... ‫מה אזום בלוא חפצתה‬ ... ‫ באין רצונכה‬8 ‫ומה אתחשב‬ … sono polvere e cenere: che cosa potrò mai escogitare senza che tu lo desideri? E che cosa potrò mai progettare 8 senza il tuo beneplacito?…. Pertanto la conversione necessariamente non può che derivare dalla constatazione del proprio limite e del fatto che solo l’intervento di Dio può salvare, così come viene mostrato da tutta la storia d’Israele narrata nei testi biblici. Non solo: tale consapevolezza, o «conoscenza (da‘at)» (cfr. 1QS II 2–4), è essa stessa un dono di Dio. Per la conversione è necessaria la constatazione dei propri fallimenti, ma anche la forza di chiedere a Dio di cambiare. Diversamente, da solo l’uomo non potrà riuscirci. Nel Documento di Damasco troviamo quanto segue (CD XIX 9–1014): ... ‫ אלה ימלטו בקץ הפקדה‬10 ‫ והשומרים אותו הם עניי הצאן‬... «… E quelli che gli sono fedeli, sono i poveri del gregge. 10 Questi scamperanno nell’epoca della visita …» L’epoca della visita (ha-pequddah, ‫ )הפקדה‬viene spiegata alle righe 13–14. Tra questi che scamperanno però, prosegue il testo più avanti (riga 16), ci sono quelli che non

14  Cfr. in particolare linee 9 («i poveri del gregge») e 16 (“entrarono nel Patto di conversione”, teshuvah).

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 Giovanni Ibba

riusciranno a rimanere fedeli a Dio mediante l’entrata nel «patto di conversione» (berit teshuvah, ‫)תשובה ברית‬, seguendo la lussuria e la ricchezza, disprezzando il prossimo e agendo con arroganza. Il Documento di Damasco ha quindi precisato quanto già detto in precedenza, ma affermando implicitamente che, nonostante l’entrata del fedele nel patto di conversione è tuttavia possibile non cambiare rispetto alla propria inclinazione al male. Che, anzi, tale patto di conversione in qualche modo può diventare una copertura per fare il male e commettere ingiustizie. In tal senso, l’opera mostra quanto l’autore sia consapevole delle difficoltà, anche da parte dei membri del proprio gruppo di fedeli, a rimanere saldi ai precetti di Dio. Per costoro la fine sarà determinata un giorno dal giudizio (riga 13) che li condannerà alla distruzione mediante Belial (riga 14). Ciò fa supporre che la conversione non può essere mai considerata come definitiva per l’adesione alla legge di Dio, ma solo come un presupposto a un cammino di fede che comporterà molte difficoltà da superare.15 Nello stesso testo si legge anche che (II 4–5) Dio espia coloro che tornano dall’empietà, ossia quelli che si pentono delle proprie colpe. Uno dei motivi fondamentali di questa convinzione risiede nella credenza non solo del proprio limite a rimanere fedeli al patto, come si è visto prima, ma anche della presenza di un male esterno all’uomo che può spingerlo alla ribellione verso Dio. In un frammento, indicato con 4Q510 e chiamato 4QCantici del Saggioa,16 viene evidenziata la credenza del ruolo del diavolo, indicato in vari modi, nel comportamento iniquo dell’uomo, anche per coloro che cercano di aderire alla volontà di Dio. Nel brano pervenutoci, che molto probabilmente aveva una funzione apotropaica, si legge di «spiriti dei bastardi» (ruḥot mamzerim), che è un’espressione che ricorda molto quella che si trova nel Libro dei Vigilanti (1 Enoc 10,9) quando si parla dei Giganti nati dall’unione degli angeli con le donne.17 L’episodio aveva come contesto il momento in cui Dio comanda a Gabriele di andare contro i «bastardi», chiamati così perché figli di una unione illegittima. Nei Cantici del Saggio (4Q510 1 4–6) si legge: ‫ ואני משכיל משמיע הוד תפארתו‬... [‫לפחד ולב[הל‬ ‫ כול רוחי מלאכי חבל‬5

15  Nel vangelo di Matteo (13,24–30), Gesù parla della zizzania che verrà tolta solo nel giorno della mietitura, dove verrà separata dal grano e poi gettata nel fuoco. 16  Maurice Baillet, DJD VII, 215–19; Cf. Bilhah Nitzan, «Hymns from Qumran: 4Q510–4Q511», in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Forty Years of Research, eds. Devorah Dimant and Uriel Rappaport, STDJ 10 (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 53–63. 17  Il termine etiopico è tradotto così («the bastards») anche nell’edizione a cura di George W. E. Nickelsburg e James C. VanderKam, 1 Enoch (Minneapolis: Fortress Press 2012), 29.

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 213

‫ורוחות ממזרים שדאים‬ [...]‫לילית אחים ו‬ ‫ והפוגעים פתע פתאום‬6 ‫לתעות רוח בינה‬ ...‫ולהשם לבבם‬ … E io, Saggio, annuncio la magnificenza del suo splendore per spaventare e terrorizza[re] 5 tutti gli spiriti degli angeli distruttori: spiriti dei bastardi, shedi’m, Lilit, ’eḥim e[…] 6 e tutti coloro che colpiscono improvvisamente per sviare lo spirito d’intelligenza e per rendere attonito il loro cuore…. «Spiriti dei bastardi» (‫ )רוחות ממזרים‬è una sequenza che si può collegare con quanto si legge nel Libro dei Vigilanti (1 Enoc 15,4–12), dove si spiega come dal corpo dei Giganti siano usciti gli spiriti malvagi che stanno sulla terra. Così anche nei Giubilei,18 dove si vede che ciò che rimane dei Giganti (che si possono identificare coi «bastardi» del Libro dei Vigilanti) dopo il castigo è lo spirito. Vengono per questo denominati, per esempio nella preghiera di Noè, come «spiriti malvagi» (Giubilei 10,3). Essi, sempre secondo il Giubilei (cf. 10,8: la preghiera di Mastema), sono fatti per corrompere, funzione attribuita nel Rotolo della Guerra a Belial (13,10–11: «Tu hai fatto Belial per corrompere, egli è l’angelo dell’inimicizia»), se si accetta un determinato modo di tradurre un suo passo. Tale concezione nel Libro dei Vigilanti non compare, per cui può essere vista come un elemento aggiuntivo rispetto al pensiero teologico del primo enochismo. Mastema e i suoi spiriti hanno dunque, in Giubilei, il compito di provare l’uomo, in quanto esso è intrinsecamente cattivo e Dio ha forse bisogno di sapere come si comporta se tentato. Nel frammento di 4Q510 gli «spiriti dei bastardi» sono posti assieme ad altri demoni probabilmente perché tali spiriti hanno ormai acquisito, per chi l’ha composto, una funzione sicuramente equiparabile a quella delle presenze maligne originatesi dalla morte dei Giganti. In 4Q510 si cerca di tenere lontani tali spiriti. 18  R. H. Charles, The Ethiopic Version of the Hebrew Book of Jubilees (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1895); idem, The Book of Jubilees or the Little Genesis (London: Black, 1902; repr. 1972); L. Fusella, «Giubilei», in Apocrifi dell’Antico Testamento, I, ed. P. Sacchi (Torino: UTET, 1989), 213–411. Riguardo alla bibliografia a sui frammenti qumranici dei Giubilei 1Q17–18; 2Q19–20; 3Q5; 4Q176; 4Q216; 4Q218–4Q222; 11Q12, si veda Florentino García Martínez, Testi di Qumran, ed. italiana cura di Corrado Martone (Brescia: Paideia, 1996), 112–13.

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 Giovanni Ibba

L’uomo, che sia un membro del gruppo o meno, ha in sé, secondo la Regola della Comunità, due spiriti, o tendenze: uno è quello che lo spinge a fare il male, uno a fare il bene (III 18–19). Ora, se questo è vero, è anche vero che nulla nella storia dell’uomo può essere cambiato, poiché nella mano di Dio c’è il destino di tutto (III 16–17).19 È Dio che ha cura degli uomini per ogni cosa; è lui che lo ha creato per dominare la terra (III 17–18). Se la conversione è qualcosa che per essere tale è volontaria, allora sembra che nella regola essa non sia prevista. Ma lo scritto riconosce che anche i predestinati ad appartenere alla comunità dei giusti possono smarrirsi (III 21–22) e questo a causa di una forza esterna a loro che viene indicata come «angelo della tenebra» (III 21). Questo spiega il motivo per cui viene prevista la possibilità che alcuni non entrino nella comunità, nonostante abbiano dimostrato buone intenzioni. Costoro saranno maledetti (II 55–III 6), soprattutto perché non avranno avuto la forza di convertire la propria vita (III 1) e perché nella loro conversione ci sono macchie (III 3). Queste persone non possono essere giuste (III 3). Nessuno secondo la Regola della Comunità potrà salvarsi, ossia essere giusto (giustificato), se non entra in questa assemblea (III 6). Di conseguenza, la conversione consiste nell’entrare nella Comunità, la quale ha misteriosamente in sé lo spirito santo, quello cioè che permette una reale espiazione dell’uomo. Con tale espiazione l’adepto avrà rettitudine e umiltà (III 7–8). Per cui, se da una parte Dio ha tutto predestinato, dall’altra sembra che rimanga un margine di scelta per l’uomo, scelta che si esplica in base al lasciarsi o meno tentare dall’angelo della tenebra. L’entrata nella comunità è pertanto l’atto di conversione della propria vita (III 1). Che anche i giusti possano smarrirsi dipende dalla misteriosa volontà di Dio (III 23).

19  Ovviamente da non intendersi come fato. La parola «destino» traduce mšpṭy kwl (“giudizi di tutto”; cfr. Paolo Sacchi, La Regola della Comunità [Brescia: Paideia, 2006], 104 n. 5).

Pieter M. Venter

15 An Ideology of Poverty in 4QInstruction Introduction The idea that the addressee of 4QInstruction1 is poor is “one of the distinctive features”2 of the composition. The mebin3 (pupil, addressee4) is never described in 4QInstruction in terms of wealth. He is always depicted as ‫( מחסור‬poor), indicating that he is “at times unable to meet his basic needs.”5 He experiences material difficulties that he can barely cope with. Neither does 4QInstruction show any interest in the wealthy as a social category. It rather “concentrates on giving advice to the maven [or: mebin] in avoiding destitution.”6 It helps him to avoid sinking deeper into it. In contrast to Proverbs with its elitist stance, 4QInstruction approaches the phenomenon of poverty from below, from the position of poor people. However, it does not idealize poverty as such, making some virtue of it. It rather warns the mebin to dedicate his life to studying, although he may be poor. His poverty does not exempt him from focusing on learning.7

1 4QInstruction is a reconstruction of the Dead Sea manuscripts of 1Q26, 4Q415, 4Q416, 4Q417, 4Q418, 4Q423, and “4Q418* (=4Q418 1, 2, 2b).” Eibert Tigchelaar, 4QInstruction, read at http:// www.academia.edu/499836/4QInstruction/ ‬on July 6, 2015, no date, no page number. In my correspondence with Eibert Tigchelaar on the August 14, 2015, he said that this article was written in 2011 for a publication by Eerdmans, but for several reasons its publication has not been realized yet. It was “published” on Tigchelaar’s page at academia.edu. According to Tigchelaar only 4Q416, 4Q417, and 4Q418 “contain large fragments that preserve substantial sequences of text.” It is sometimes referred to as Sapiential Work A, or Musar LeMevin. Cf. Matthew J. Goff, “Reading Wisdom at Qumran: 4QInstruction and the Hodayot,” DSD 11.3 (2004): 263–88, esp. 263. 2 Matthew J. Goff, 4QInstruction, Wisdom Literature from the Ancient World 2 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2013), 23. 3 John Kampen, Wisdom Literature (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), (Kindle edition) loc. 679. Kampen translates this term as “man of discernment.” It is the hiphil participium of Hebrew byn and literally means “understanding one”; cf. Goff, 4QInstruction, 9. 4 Joshua Ezra Burns, “Practical Wisdom in 4QInstruction,” DSD 11.1 (2004): 12–42. On p. 12 fn. 1, Burns renders this term as “one who understands,” that is, “a perceptive individual.” 5 Goff, 4QInstruction, 10. 6 Leslie J. Hoppe, There Shall Be No Poor Among You: Poverty in the Bible (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2004), 120. 7 Ibid., 120. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-016

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 Pieter M. Venter

The mebin (addressee, learner) is reminded 258 times in 4QInstruction that he is poor.9 It is so often repeated that it nearly becomes a slogan in the work. Wold indicates that the use of this term is mostly found in 4Q416 2 II–III.10 This term refers primarily to the living circumstances of the addressees. However, it becomes clear when reading 4QInstruction that much more is intended than a mere physical state. It is used as an educational tool to teach the learner a way of life based on a theology of poverty. I will explain my viewpoint by first exploring the various aspects of poverty in the world of the addressees. The question of metaphorical meaning will be addressed next. Finally, it will be shown that a theological construction, using poverty as keyword, is presented in 4QInstruction, by applying the traditional wisdom found in Proverbs to an exclusive society gradually influenced by apocalyptic thinking.

A Literal Meaning 4QInstruction primarily refers to real poverty. The composition refers to the situation in Palestine during the late Second Temple period. Most of the people11 lived under agricultural circumstances. Some were subsistence farmers,12 and others low-wage artisans and poor families “facing the risk of debt-slavery.”13 8 This reminder is found in 4Q415 6 2; 4Q416 2 II 20; 4Q416 2 III 2,8,12,19; 4Q418 177 5; 1043 II 2–9; 4Q418 81 15,19; 4Q423 3 2; 4Q423 5 5. Mark D. Matthews, “Riches, Poverty, and the Faithful: Perspectives on Wealth in the Second Temple Period and the Apocalypse of John” (PhD diss., Durham University, 2010), 92, remarks: “Two additional instruction-like manuscripts are also extant, 4Q419 and 4Q424, but do not add anything to the discussion of wealth and poverty in the present study.” Different words are used in 4QInstruction to refer to poverty. These words are ‫( ֶא ְביֹון ָענִ י ָראׁש מחסור‬noun) and ‫( רֹוש‬verb). 9 Kampen, Wisdom Literature (Kindle edition) loc. 679, remarks that the term for poverty is “almost totally absent from the remainder of the Qumran corpus.” 10 Cf. Benjamin G. Wold, “Metaphorical Poverty in ‘Musar leMevin,’” JJS 58.1 (2007): 140–53, 140. 11 Benjamin G. Wright, “The Categories of Rich and Poor in the Qumran Sapiential Literature,” in John J. Collins Gregory E. Sterling, and Ruth Clements, eds., Sapiential Perspectives: Wisdom Literature in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Proceedings of the Sixth International Symposium of the Orion Center, STDJ 51 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 101–23, esp. 110, makes the interesting remark that the instructions in 4QInstruction “are directed toward the maven and his circumstances.” There is not any focus on “poor people generally or care for the poor,” Wright, “The Categories,” 110. 12 Goff, 4QInstruction, 23, refers to 4Q417 2 i 17–20 as the “parade example for this issue.” 13 Samuel L. Adams, “Poverty and Otherness in Second Temple Instructions,” in The “Other” in Second Temple Judaism: Essays in Honor of John J. Collins, eds. Daniel C. Harlow, Matthew Goff, and Karina M. Hogan (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), loc. 2449–7537 (Kindle Edition), loc. 2521. Cf. Goff, 4QInstruction, 23 and 207.

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 217

The “subsistence farmers”14 grew just enough to feed their families and livestock. They were vulnerable to climatic and political circumstances and were sometimes forced to borrow to survive. They only had marginalized socio and political status. Several forms of poverty can be indicated. The mebin could be dirt poor. He has little money and only few possessions. In 4Q416 2 III 1–315 he does not have material support for his needs. This implies “genuine hardship.”16 Other people in 4Q417 2 I 17–1817 were poor but could support themselves. They had “surpluses” in store that enabled them to be self-sufficient. To survive these, surpluses could be used or traded for what was needed.18 In an inconstant agricultural world, these resources could be lost during a time of adversity causing them to become dependent. Another variation is that of borrowing or lending money. In 4Q417 2 I lines 19–2019 the mebin is encouraged to borrow money if he is in need. He has to redeem this as soon as possible to avoid the creditor’s yoke. “4Qinstr taught them to be ethical borrowers.”20 If the mebin is proved to be a dishonest borrower, the creditor can even have him flogged (4Q417 2 25).21 If the mebin is in a position22 to lend money23 to someone else, there are dangerous liabilities. The borrower may not be able to pay back what he lent. Or as an able person, the mebin could have made a loan or deposit on behalf of a friend or relative and now has to pay it back personally. Alternatively, he could have stood surety for another person. 4Q416 2 II 3–724 discourages providing surety.

14 Hoppe, There Shall Be No Poor among You, 8. 15 4Q416 2 III 2–3: “…and what you need you shall not find…” Translation of Goff, 4QInstruction, 92. 16 Goff, 4QInstruction, 95. 17 4Q417 2 I 17–18: “if you lack the food that you need, then [br]ing your surpluses to[gether if] you have a surplus.” Goff, 4QInstruction,185. 18 Cf. Goff, 4QInstruction, 203. Burns, “Practical Wisdom in 4QInstruction,” 12–42, esp. 13. Burns admits that 4QInstruction covers a wide range of matters. He makes the interesting remark that “[i]ts advice on financial transactions, and especially their interactive aspects, however, is starkly incongruous with the milieu of the rest of the document.” 19 4Q417 2 I 18–19: “And if] you lack, borrow, being without mo[ne]y which you lack….” Cf. Goff, 4QInstruction, 185. 20 Goff, 4QInstruction, 73. Cf. also Goff, 4QInstruction, 26 and 208 for the term “ethical borrower.” 21 See ibid., 208–09 for a discussion of the fragmented text in 4Q417 2 I 24–26. 22 Wright, “The Categories of Rich and Poor,” 107. Wright remarks that the mebin belongs to the poor, but “not among the destitute as he deals with financial matters and even can provide financial collateral to others.” 23 Cf. 4Q416 2 II 4–6. 24 4Q416 2 II line 3: “Do not disho[nor the pledge of your neighbor lest you stumble because of it and] with [his] shame you will cover your face.” Cf. Goff, 4QInstruction, 59.

218 

 Pieter M. Venter

Pledging brings about dangerous liability that can be destructive.25 Like Proverbs 22:7, 4QInstruction “harbors deep suspicion regarding surety and borrowing in general.”26 4Q416 2 II lines 6–18 indicate that the creditor could even force the guarantor to repay the borrowed money or work off the money borrowed by serving him as debt slave. However, the author of 4QInstruction not only refers to poverty in a literal sense but also to a theological structure for the mebin’s unique identity,27 as will be argued later.

Metaphorical Poverty Wold28 asks the question why are they insistently reminded “you are poor” if they know pretty well that they are poor? For Goff29 the issue at stake is not whether the mebin is poor or not. It is repeatedly asserted in the texts that he is. The question is rather what is intended by such an assertion? There should be some reason for this repetitive reminder of their circumstances. There are several possibilities proposed by scholars. Some opt for a literal understanding, others for a metaphorical meaning, and, in some cases, both. Wright gets the impression from texts like 4Q416 2 III 15–16, 20 that the mebin is literally on the edge of poverty if not already poor, and that the instructor gives advice on how to avoid the “oppressive results of poverty.”30 Adams states that “these passages seem to refer to economic rather than spiritual poverty.”31 Poverty reflects “the social world of the work.”32 According to Kampen the composition

25 Cf. also 4Q416 2 II 18; 4Q415 8 2; 4Q418 88 II 3; 4Q416 2 III 4–7. 26 Goff, 4QInstruction, 67. 27 Cf. ibid., 64. Burns, “Practical Wisdom in 4QInstruction,” 13–14, is oriented toward realia. He says the advice on finance here turns “from a discussion of lofty eschatological speculation to one of raucous brutality.” It “yanks the reader out of the philosophical medium and throws him squarely in the middle of a Greco-Roman social complex seemingly alien to the tenor of 4QInstruction.” Burns (14) writes, ‘The wisdom of this passage, it seems, is quite practical—too practical, in fact, for a sapiential treatise.” 28 Cf. Wold, “Metaphorical Poverty in ‘Musar leMevin,’” 144. 29 Cf. Goff, 4QInstruction, 25. 30 Wright, “The Categories of Rich and Poor,” 107. 31 Samuel L. Adams, Wisdom in Transition: Act and Consequence in Second Temple Instruction, Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 125 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 240. 32 Wright, “The Categories of Rich and Poor,” 107.

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deals “with very real concerns about debt, a prominent issue for native peoples within Hellenistic empires.”33 It could probably be that the author of 4QInstruction “prefers a way of life characterized by poverty”34 and that “poverty constitutes an ideal value for 4QInstruction.”35 Poverty “represents an ethical ideal.”36 Wold, on the other hand, proposes that poverty is to be understood in the sense of intellectual lack.37 Understanding the reference to nobles in 4QInstruction38 as meaning angels, Wold argues that in comparison to the heavenly host, “humankind is considerably less capable of persevering and is of a lesser stature.”39 Goff proposes that poverty should be seen “as a symbolic description of the addressee’s ordained destiny with the angels.”40 Matthew concludes that “poverty is used in both a literal and metaphorical sense.”41 According to Matthew “a metaphorical reading of poverty in some instances of Mûsār lĕ Mēvîn provides a better explanation.”42 It is clear that there is also a second aspect of poverty in the composition. Although the text deals with historical, political, and economic matters, it also serves as “metaphor for another reality.”43 Wold remarks that “the document intertwines worldly wisdom with apocalyptic teachings aligning apocalyptic ideas with ‘traditional sapiential notions.”44 Mundane advice is combined with apocalyptic eschatology in 4QInstruction.45 Poverty therefore also has a metaphorical meaning46 in 4QInstruction, formulated as an ideology or rather theology of poverty.

33 Kampen, Wisdom literature, loc. 335. 34 Wright, “The Categories of Rich and Poor,” 113. 35 Ibid. 36 Goff, 4QInstruction, 26. 37 Wold, “Metaphorical Poverty in ‘Musar leMevin,’” 149. 38 Cf. 4Q4162 III line 11 (“from poverty he has lifted your head and with the nobles he has set you”). In the fragmentary text of 4Q418 177 5 poverty is linked to angels. 39 Wold, “Metaphorical Poverty in ‘Musar leMevin,’” 149. 40 Matthew J. Goff, “Discerning Trajectories: 4QInstruction and the Sapiential Background of the Sayings of Source Q,” Journal of Biblical Literature 124.4 (2005): 657–73; here 671. 41 Matthews, Riches, Poverty, and the Faithful, 100. 42 Ibid. 43 Hoppe, There Shall Be No Poor among You, 7. 44 Wold, “Metaphorical Poverty in ‘Musar leMevin,’” 140. 45 Cf. Adams, “Poverty and Otherness,” loc. 2521. 46 Cf. Matthew J. Goff, Discerning Wisdom: The Sapiential Literature of the Dead Sea Scrolls, (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 163–66. Cf. Wold, “Metaphorical Poverty in ‘Musar leMevin,’” 153.

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 Pieter M. Venter

Proverbs Sandoval remarks that literature like 4QInstruction and Ben Sira represent some of the wisdom responses to the economic circumstances during the Hellenistic period. They are “deeply influenced by Proverbs and adopt much from Proverbs.”47 4QInstruction continues many of the ideas found in Proverbs but simultaneously interprets them in a context influenced by apocalyptic thinking. Investigation into the composition’s use of the term poverty can be advanced by studying the meaning of poverty and wealth in Proverbs. This will be helpful to draw a theological profile of what is intended in 4QInstruction by “poor.” The contents of Proverbs were used in a high degree by the author of 4QInstruction to develop an additional theological meaning of poverty, expressed by using the term raz nihyeh (the secret to be). In his study of wealth and poverty in the book of Proverbs, Sandoval48 discerns “three distinct subdiscourses” in the book. They are “the wisdom’s virtues discourse,”49 discourse on social justice,50 and the discourse of social observation.51 These discourses sometimes overlap and “stand in a kind of mutually interpreting dialogue with one another.”52 This “wealth and poverty talk”53 is central to Proverbs’ “construction of a moral vision and identity for its hearers.”54 Although the sayings on wealth and poverty “form a complex view,”55 it is complementary and “not as ‘ambiguous’ as it usually is said to be.”56 There is what Fox would call “an underlying system of assumptions about knowledge,”57 a “coherence theory of truth.”58 Whybray, on the other hand, states that “the book of Proverbs presents no single attitude towards wealth and poverty, but a variety of attitudes.”59 This he

47 Timothy J. Sandoval, The Discourse of Wealth and Poverty in Proverbs, BibInt 77 (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 214. 48 Sandoval, The Discourse of Wealth and Poverty in Proverbs, 205. 49 Ibid., 206. 50 Cf. ibid., 115–54. 51 Cf. ibid., 155–204. 52 Ibid., 208. 53 Ibid. 54 Ibid., 211. 55 Ibid., 209. 56 Ibid., 211. 57 Michael V. Fox, “The Epistemology of the Book of Proverbs,” JBL 126.4 (2007): 669–84, see esp. 675. 58 Fox, “The Epistemology of the Book of Proverbs,” 675. 59 Roger N. Whybray, Wealth and Poverty in the Book of Proverbs, JSOTSup 99 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990), 116–17.

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relates to “differences of social class and status.”60 Scheffler wonders whether the question can indeed be asked “if a unitary wisdom perspective on poverty that is the function of the elite’s social position is at all possible?”61 With regard to the attitude toward poverty, Pleins remarks that Proverbs “seems to display an ambivalence in its attitude towards the poor, at times elevating the poor and at times disdaining them.”62 On the one hand, those who fall into poverty because they are lazy and undisciplined are rejected, while to be concerned with the poor and assist them is seen as a virtue. It is generally assumed that wealth comes from living righteously and wisely (cf. Proverbs 24:3–4). Wisdom promises material reward for faithful, industrious people (Prov. 8:18). Although poverty is reflected in Proverbs, it is not idealized there, neither is wealth idealized. They form part of a larger picture. What is conspicuous in Proverbs is that it never addresses the poor but rather the “young men from the upper classes, destined for important roles in Israelite society,”63 the “educated, well-to-do, acquisitive urban society.”64 It deals with “matters that concern them, their problems, how they should act (e.g. in business, political power, and sexual matters) and also how their behavior towards poverty and the poor should or could be.”65 Sandoval ascribes Proverbs’ view on wealth and poverty to “a caste of intellectually elite scribes in ancient Israel and Judah.”66 They reacted to “an environment where the negotiation of the worth of different social goods … was acutely problematic.”67 Although opinions differ on how many voices can be heard regarding wealth and poverty in Proverbs, it is generally agreed that the ethical and social values of Proverbs represent the views of an elite group.68 According to Pleins, “reference to poverty was a useful teaching device.”69 It had a heuristic value, teaching the student “the proper attitude toward wealth and wisdom.”70 It was used in a context “in which the sages grappled with an

60 Ibid., 9. 61 Eben Scheffler, “Poverty in the Book of Proverbs: Looking from Above?” Scriptura 111.3 (2012): 480—496, see esp. 485. 62 J. David Pleins, “Poverty in the Social World of the Wise,” JSOT 37 (1987): 61–78; see esp. 72. 63 Hoppe, There Shall Be No Poor among You, 106. 64 Whybray, Wealth and Poverty in the Book of Proverbs, 114. 65 Scheffler, “Poverty in the Book of Proverbs: Looking from Above?” 480. 66 Sandoval, The Discourse of Wealth and Poverty in Proverbs, 210. 67 Ibid., 211. 68 Cf. Hoppe, There Shall Be No Poor among You, 104. 69 Pleins, “Poverty in the Social World of the Wise,” 72. 70 Ibid.

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implicit but real social script that suggested a good and flourishing life is to be secured in the attainment of one or another lesser good, including especially material prosperity.”71 They emphasized that “intellectual, practical and especially social virtue”72 brings a flourishing life. In Proverbs the poor are not seen as immoral or being a threat to order and stability. They are fellow human beings created by God (Prov. 22:2). God protects them. Those who subject them or treat them with contempt simultaneously insult their creator (Prov. 14:31; 17:5). God is defending the poor “and for that reason one should not mistreat the poor.”73 To have compassion on the poor is an act of kindness done to God (Prov 19:7).74 During the late Second Temple era “a fundamental transformation in the ‘wisdom tradition’”75 occurred. Fiscal mechanisms, rising apocalyptic ideas, financial inequality, and the use of existing wisdom literature interplayed in forming new ideas.76 The “traditional association between virtue and success”77was changed.78 The existing wisdom advice in proverbial literature was linked to “cosmological and eschatological matters.”79 Kampen remarks that the reuse of a central term like poverty “coupled with the direct address of the person in need, is a very surprising development within the wisdom tradition.”80 While keeping to the basic teaching of Proverbs, not only the addressees in 4QInstruction were changed from the elite to the poor but also their identity was extended drastically to become exclusive and apocalyptically oriented. This is done by interlinking poverty with three other terms in 4QInstruction.

71 Sandoval, The Discourse of Wealth and Poverty in Proverbs, 212. 72 Ibid. 73 Pleins, “Poverty in the Social World of the Wise,” 69. 74 Cf. Hoppe, There Shall Be No Poor among You, 107. 75 Adams, “Poverty and Otherness in Second Temple Instructions,” loc. 2449. 76 Cf. ibid., loc. 2449 and 2471. 77 Adams, “Poverty and Otherness in Second Temple Instructions,” loc. 2459. 78 Adams, Wisdom in Transition, 242, thinks that “the harshness of present living eliminates any possibility other than an eschatological framework or the denial of a Tun-ErgehenZusammenhang.” 79 Wright, “The Categories of Rich and Poor,” 106. 80 Kampen, Wisdom literature, loc. 690.

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A Theologic Construction in 4QInstruction Link to Proverbs Traditional wisdom themes are addressed in 4QInstruction.81 It shows a corresponding “pedagogical ethos”82 with traditional sapiential material “by emphasizing the acquisition of wisdom through study and contemplation”83 as found in Proverbs. Like the prologue of Proverbs (1:1–7), it also has a pedagogical setting. It also aims at inculcating a love for learning.84 “[C]ompatible financial advice using common imagery”85 like the danger of surety, repaying debts, and debt slaves occurs in both. Not so much with regard to literary form86 but rather in terms of subject matter, much of 4QInstruction “resonates with the wisdom tradition.”87 The author(s) must have been “exposed to the study of teachings preserved in the book of Proverbs.”88 However, 4QInstruction89 incorporates “material that is alien to biblical wisdom.”90 The author dealt with readers who did not have the same opportunities as the addressed son in Proverbs.91 Teacher and learner had a “different socioeconomic background”92 requiring different answers. What is more, 4QInstruction talks unconventionally “to different addressees, including women.”93 A reassessment of “core assumptions” 94 in wisdom tradition was made by linking “the

81 Cf. John J. Collins, “Wisdom Reconsidered, in Light of the Scrolls,” DSD 4.3 (1997): 265–81; esp. 271. 82 Matthews, Riches, Poverty, and the Faithful, 94. 83 Ibid. 84 Cf. Goff, 4QInstruction, 13. 85 Ibid., 13–14; 24. 86 Cf. Collins, “Wisdom reconsidered, in light of the Scrolls,” 280. 87 Goff, 4QInstruction, 13. 88 Ibid., 14. 89 Tigchelaar, 4QInstruction, remarks that the “idiosyncratic terminology of the text, with neologisms like the ‘mystery of existence,’ or ‘the fleshly spirit,’ may represent an attempt to express new ideas in Hebrew.” Tigchelaar indicates the following “major themes” in 4QInstruction: every creature has been allotted its own position and tasks, study of the mystery, the idea of election, predestination, and the eschatological fate of the chosen and the foolish. 90 Goff, 4QInstruction, 14. 91 Adams, “Poverty and Otherness in Second Temple Instructions,” loc. 2582. 92 Ibid., loc. 2592. 93 Tigchelaar, 4QInstruction. 94 Adams, “Poverty and Otherness in Second Temple Instructions,” loc. 2602.

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cautious ethic of earlier wisdom with a belief in otherworldly retribution.”95 Traditional wisdom was combined with an apocalyptic worldview. The contemporary issue of poverty is reframed in “light of the heavenly and temporal realities in a manner familiar to us from apocalyptic literature.”96 By doing this, the readers were empowered to “cope with more desperate circumstances than their counterparts with more abundant resources.”97 This step in the trajectory of wisdom tradition moved beyond traditional Jewish wisdom by including “the revelation of divine knowledge to an elect group, yet lacks any mediatorial component or heavenly journey.”98

Interrelated Terms The terms “poverty” and “poor” as used in 4QInstruction cannot be read isolated from the other terms appearing in the composition. The interrelatedness of the terms used in this work is indicated by inter alia one of the headings Goff99 uses: “The Addressee’s Poverty, Ethics and His Elect Status.”100 This proves that the term of poverty is related to other notions in 4QInstruction, like elect status. Although several themes can be identified in 4QInstruction, it is rather an interdependency of concepts that is intended here.101 At least three other notions are linked to “poverty” in 4QInstruction: the main theme raz nihyeh, being “elected” and “inheritance.” I propose that a four-corner heuristic model consisting of raz nihyeh— elected–inheritance–poverty, is to be used to evaluate the meaning of poverty in 4QInstruction. This can be called a Motivkonstellation, a combination of different

95 Goff, “Reading Wisdom at Qumran: 4QInstruction and the Hodayot,” 265. 96 Kampen Wisdom Literature, loc. 335. 97 Adams, “Poverty and Otherness in Second Temple Instructions,” loc. 2592. 98 Matthews, Riches, Poverty, and the Faithful, 94. 99 Goff, Discerning Wisdom, 59. 100 Another example is Kampen, Wisdom Literature, loc. 637. Kampen reads the term alef-wawtaw in conjunction with the terms mahsor (poverty) and hafes (requirement). The same is the case with hokmah and alef-waw-taw. 101 Torleif Elgvin, “An Analysis of 4QInstruction” (PhD diss., The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1997). Elgvin identifies the following five main themes in 4QInstruction: 1. “Wisdom and Revelation” (58–96) 2. “Eschatology” (97–122) 3. “The Remnant Community” (123–45) 4. “Creation, Man and Providence” (146–50); “Admonitions for Various Areas of Human Life” (151–59). See also Kampen, Wisdom Literature (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011) Kindle edition, loc. 601. Kampen identifies the following “Key Terms” in 4QInstruction: mystery of existence, inner desire, man of discernment, wisdom, poverty, intention, and walk.

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Raz Nihyeh

Inheritance

4QINSTR.

Elected

Poverty

Figure 15.1: A Motif constellation in 4 QInstruction

terms from different contexts forming a construct with a specific meaning.102 As they are interrelated, each of these terms is to be understood in terms of the other three. A concentration of three of these terms is found in 4Q416 2 III lines 5–19: 5… And also, from any man whom you do not know do not take money, 6 lest it increase your poverty. And if he sets it on your head to death, take responsibility for it, but do not let your spirit be seized 7 by him. And then you will lie in repose with the truth and when you die your memory will bloss[om for eve]r and in the end you will inherit 8 joy. vacat… You are poor, desire nothing except your inheritance. And do not be confused about it lest you move 9 your boundary. And if he restores you to glory, walk in it and through the mystery that is to be study its origins. And then you will know 10 its inheritance. With righteousness you will walk because God will make his cou[nten]ance shine upon all your ways. To the one who glorifies you, give honor. 11 Praise his name always, for from poverty he has lifted your head and with the nobles he has set you. Over an inheritance 12 of glory he has given you dominion. Seek his favor always. vacat You are poor—do not say, “I am poor, so I will n[ot] 13 seek knowledge.” Bring your shoulder under all instruction and in all… purify your heart and with much intelligence 14 your thoughts. Study the mystery that is to be and examine closely all the ways of truth and all the roots of injustice 15 discern. And then you will know what is bitter to a man and what is sweet for a person. Honor your father in your poverty 16 and your mother in your lowly state, for as God is to man so is his father, and as Lord to a person so is his mother, for 17 they are the crucible that conceived you. And as he gave them dominion over you and appointed (them) over the spirit, so serve them. And as 18 he revealed to your ear the mystery that is to be, glorify them, for the sake of your glory and… honor them 19 for the sake of your life and length of your days vacat And you are as poor as…”103

102 Cf. Ulrich Berges, “Die Knechte im Psalter. Ein Beitrag zu seiner Kompositionsgeschichte,” Biblica 81 (2000): 153–78. 103 Goff, 4QInstruction, 92–93. Words printed in bold by author.

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The Raz Nihyeh The term ‫(רז נהיה‬raz nihyeh: “the mystery that is to be”)104 “is the most distinctive term”105 in 4QInstruction. It is found 35 times in the extant manuscripts of 4QInstruction.106 This term gives the composition the quality of a revelatory text, indicative of apocalyptic literature.107 It refers to celestial revelation constituting a “significant departure from Proverbs.”108 Where the focal point in Proverbs is that of “wisdom” or “fear of the Lord,” the term raz nihyeh is the “focal point for the learning process … the key to enlightened existence.”109 The raz nihyeh has “both cosmic and eschatological dimensions, as well as moral practical consequences.”110 The divine creation of the world is presented in 4QInstruction as a mystery (raz nihyeh). This mystery is related “to the primordial past,”111 which is simultaneously connected to the future.112 It represents “a comprehensive plan that orchestrates the flow of history according to God’s will”113 embracing past, present, and future.114 A “tripartite division of time”115 provides the rationale for the teaching in 4QInstruction “in which both present and future receive extensive treatment.”116 The ethics proposed by 4QInstruction is grounded in this comprehensive view of the purpose of creation.117 The term functions in the book as an “overarching pedagogical concept”118 that teaches the

104 Tigchelaar, 4QInstruction: “The concept of the mystery of existence is closely related to another term, namely emet (‘truth’), which comprises both ‘truth’ as an epistemological concept, and ‘just behavior’ as its corollary.” Tigchelaar also writes in 4QInstruction: “Connected to the idea that every creature has a place and task within this God’s plan of things, is the concept of ‘portion’ or ‘inheritance’ (naḥalah) of every living being, which refers to the position or share in life which one has received, and which one should not change.” 105 Goff, 4QInstruction, 9. 106 Cf. ibid., 14. 107 Sean Freyne, “Apocalypticism as the Rejected Other: Wisdom and Apocalypticism in Early Judaism and Early Christianity,” in The “Other” in Second Temple Judaism, 247–61; see esp. 251. 108 Goff, 4QInstruction, 21. 109 Adams, Wisdom in Transition, 245. 110 Daniel J. Harrington, Wisdom Texts from Qumran (London: Taylor & Francis, 2001), 48–49. 111 Goff, Discerning Wisdom, 665. 112 Ibid., 664. 113 Goff, “Reading Wisdom at Qumran: 4QInstruction and the Hodayot,” 266. 114 Cf. Kampen, Wisdom Literature, loc. 637. 115 Goff, Discerning Wisdom, 664. 116 Kampen, Wisdom Literature, loc. 484. 117 Collins, “Wisdom Reconsidered, in Light of the Scrolls,” 272. 118 Adams, Wisdom in Transition, 247.

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mebin (learner or addressee) God’s plan for the creation and enables him to live an eternal life making the correct decisions. In the passage of 4Q416 2 III, lines 5–19 above, the reader is urged to study the mystery that is to be (line 14), bring his shoulder under all instruction (line 13), and examine the ways of truth (line 14). In line 18 the mystery is revealed to him and forces him to honor his parents. The mystery is instrumental in studying the glory God gave him (line 9), to understand his inheritance (lines 9–10), and respect his parents. The learner’s poverty provides no hindrance for studying and understanding the raz nihyeh (lines 12–13). He knows what the mystery is about and thereby how God has ordered the world and what his all-encompassing plan is for his creation. The learner becomes part of “God’s divine plan guiding reality”119 and is assured of glorious eternal life although he is poor at present. It also brings the knowledge needed to discern between right and wrong (line 15). Close association with the raz nihyeh is linked here to inheritance, glory, poverty, knowledge, and ethical conduct regarding father and mother.

The Elected Status of the Mebin Line 11 in 4Q416 2 III above summons the reader to praise God’s name because he has lifted his head from poverty and has set him with the “nobles.” Wold120 and Goff121 understand this as referring to angels. For Goff122 the mebin has “special affinity with the angels.” This view is confirmed by two other passages in 4QInstruction. In the judgement scene in 4Q416 1(especially line 12) a distinction is made between the “fleshly spirit” and the “sons of heaven.” The mebin was to identify with these heavenly beings. While “fleshly spirit”123 refers to the wicked, specifically the nonelect,124 the “sons of heaven” is a “reference to angels.”125 This identification with the angels distinguishes the mebin “from the rest of humankind, those who are not in his elect community.”126 The other instance is 4Q416 2 II that deals with monetary measures. Financial enterprise is set here in direct opposition to spiritual endowment. The mebin is

119 Goff, 4QInstruction, 102. 120 Wold, “Metaphorical Poverty in ‘Musar leMevin.’” 121 Goff, “Discerning Trajectories,” 671–72. 122 Goff, 4QInstruction, 72. 123 Cf. 4Q417 1 I, lines 17–18. 124 Goff, 4QInstruction, 52. 125 Ibid. 126 Ibid., 17.

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urged to pay back any money he may owe. He not only endangers himself by not releasing his debt, but also sells his glory and pledges wealth for his inheritance (cf. line 18). According to Goff127 the parallel terms “glory” and “inheritance” refer to “the elect status of the addressee.” He stands in a privileged position and enjoys an exclusive identity. Although dealing with mundane matters, like family, debt, and farming, a community is addressed here that regards itself as “chosen and therefore privy to the deeper understanding of things, based on their knowledge of the mystery that is to be.”128 The addressee is informed by the raz nihyeh that he is not part of the fleshly spirit, but rather counted among the nobles (angels). He has an elect status and received an eternal inheritance of glory. He will enjoy eternal life among the angels.129 Although he is poor in contemporary terms, he received a form of wealth as part of his elected status. This motivates him to follow “the ethical ideals espoused by the composition.”130

The Mebin’s Inheritance In the passage of 4Q416 2 III above, “inherit” and “inheritance” are used several times. The mebin will inherit joy (lines 7–8), should desire nothing except his inheritance (line 8), and understand and live according to the glory he inherited from God (line 11–12). The word “inheritance,” found more than 30 times131 in 4QInstruction, has both a material as well as a heavenly meaning. The term reflects the dualistic view that God gave an inheritance or allotment to all living things.132 The inheritance of the “fleshly spirit”133 is wickedness (“a state of agony”134), while that of the angels is eternal life. With his “inheritance of glory”135 the mebin shares the allotment of the sons of heaven (angels).136 Separated from the wicked, he has the elected

127 Ibid., 85. 128 Freyne, “Apocalypticism as the Rejected Other,” 249. 129 Cf. 4Q418 81, lines 3–5. 130 Goff, 4QInstruction, 86. 131 Cf. Goff, 4QInstruction, 101–2 for a discussion of this term. 132 Cf. ibid., 102. 133 Cf. 4Q416 1 12. 134 Adams, Wisdom in Transition, 224–25. 135 4Q416 2 III, lines 11 to 12. 136 Cf. 4Q418 81, lines 4 to 5.

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status of the heavenly beings and will receive eternal life after death. Inheritance in this regard means “the glory and holiness allocated to the addressee.”137 In 4Q416 2 III line 9 the person is instructed to study the origins of this glory, this special inheritance. He must study the raz nihyeh, the comprehensive plan of God for his creation. This will help him to understand what his inheritance holds in store for his future. However, to “walk” (line 9) in this glory entails more than future expectation. He probably went astray for a while,138 but has been restored to glory by God (line 9). His ethical conduct is now directed by his elected status, his inheritance, and his final allotment after his death. Although being poor in one of the probable senses indicated earlier, he should now concentrate on his inheritance. He received something “that is superior to monetary wealth.”139 This inheritance will “more than compensate for current struggles.”140 It will give him the ability to keep up his “dignity and sense of wellworth, while in a difficult situation of indebtedness.”141 Despite his poverty he has an elect status, “a form of future heavenly wealth.”142

Poor and Poverty Collins remarks that the premise that the addressee of 4QInstruction is poor is a “distinctive feature of the work.”143 In the passage of 4Q416 2 III above, the learner is reminded repeatedly that he is poor (lines 6, 8144, 11, 12, 15, and 19). According to Tigchelaar, the terms for poverty, “found throughout the composition,”145 are of both “sociological and theological importance.”146 As discussed in the section “A Literal Meaning”, “poverty” has both a material as well as metaphorical sense

137 Goff, 4QInstruction, 101. 138 Cf. ibid., 103. 139 Ibid., 99. 140 Adams, Wisdom in Transition, 229. 141 Goff, 4QInstruction, 99. 142 Matthews, Riches, Poverty, and the Faithful, 102. 143 Collins, “Wisdom Reconsidered, in Light of the Scrolls,” 272. 144 The instruction in 4Q416 II lines 8–9 to observe his mysteries (plural) is interpreted by Goff (4QInstruction, 78) to refer to the “teachings he has received, in a general sense.” The plural of mystery is also used in 4Q417 1 I line 25 and 4Q418 177 line 7a. Goff, 4QInstruction, 170, does not understand the plural as indicating different revelations of the raz nihyeh, but rather as different sessions of teaching of the same mystery. 145 Tigchelaar, 4QInstruction. 146 Ibid.

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in 4QInstruction. As will have become clear by now, the terms for poverty, inheritance, glory, and raz nihyeh are interlinked with each other in 4QInstruction.147 Poverty in 4Q416 2 III line five has material meaning. The mebin is warned against making a loan with a creditor he does not know. It can have catastrophic results that bring about his financial downfall. It is possible that the recipient did not experience material poverty but only needed money during a time of crisis. However, if the transaction goes sour, he may become poor. According to Matthew the warning also has a spiritual aspect. The mebin is warned against “entering into a financial transaction that poses the threat of spiritual danger.”148 A failed financial transaction has the possibility to place the mebin in “spiritual peril.”149 He can not only become financially insolvent, but even lose his inheritance God gave him. In lines 8–11 of 4Q416 2 III the terms poverty, inheritance, glory, and the raz nihyeh are put in close connection to each other. Despite being poor, he knows by his study of the raz nihyeh that he has an inheritance of glory. God made his countenance shine upon the mebin. Being assured of this gift, he can live in righteousness and, without ever yielding to unfavorable circumstances, praise God with joy. Having been released from the fetters of poverty (4Q416 2 III lines 11–12), the mebin enjoys the same allotment as the angels in heaven. His head being lifted and restored to glory, the author uses “inaugurated eschatology”150 to indicate that the learner “has been seated alongside angelic beings who are also seeking the wisdom”151 of the raz nihyeh. God has given him dominion “[o]ver an inheritance of glory.” Goff understands this as “parallel to being lifted from poverty.”152 However, this is not to be interpreted literally. It refers to his elected status and the wealth of his inheritance of becoming a member of the heavenly host. His poverty was not a reason to stop studying the raz nihyeh,153 neither is it a reason not to honor his parents. Knowledge of the raz nihyeh leads to an ethical life containing filial obedience. Poverty does not exempt one from obeying the fifth commandment (functioning intertextually here). Knowing the contents of the raz nihyeh, enjoying an elected status, having an eternal inheritance, urges the mebin to live righteously and respect those who procreated (“the crucible

147 Cf. Wright, “The Categories of Rich and Poor,” 108. 148 Matthews, Riches, Poverty, and the Faithful, 97. 149 Ibid., 95. 150 Matthews, Riches, Poverty, and the Faithful, 96. 151 Ibid. 152 Goff, 4QInstruction, 105. 153 Cf. lines eight to nine above.

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that conceived you”)154 him. Again, “a fusion of practical advice and apocalyptic ideas”155 is found where every-day social guidelines are linked to a theological construct of raz nihyeh—elected status–inheritance–poverty.

Summary The idea that the addressee is poor is a distinctive feature of 4QInstruction. During the Second Temple period, there were different forms of poverty. The 25 times in the composition that the reader is reminded that he is poor indicates that more is intended than mere literal poverty. More than only a metaphorical indication of an ethical ideal of poverty or intellectual lack, the concept of poverty outlines a theology of poverty from below, heavily influenced by apocalyptic thinking. This change can be illustrated by comparing Proverbs’ elitist theology from above, where poverty is a mere phenomenon either to be avoided or endured with sympathy, with 4QInstruction’s call upon its readers to study and apply the secret-to-be to their lives. The reference to poverty is used as an educational tool to teach the learner to explore the secret of God’s rule over creation. According to that comprehensive plan guiding the flow of history, the addressee is elected to eventually share the lot of angels above. He is in need of an eschatological reward and God therefore gives him an eternal inheritance that is superior to any earthly wealth. Although he may be literally poor in one or another form, he is part and parcel of God’s raz nihyeh. He now has to walk (i.e., live) in a distinguished way according to his elected status and his eternal inheritance in all mundane matters.

154  4Q416 2 III lines 17 155 Adams, Wisdom in Transition, 116.

William Loader

16 Sexuality Issues and Conflict Development in Qumran Literature It is a privilege to be able to contribute to a volume that honors the major contribution which Gabriele Boccaccini has made to the understanding of Early Judaism. The early conferences on Enochic literature broadened to an investigation of the diverse forms of Judaism in the centuries before and after the turn of the millennia. The following investigation focuses on just some strands that flow in part from the milieu of the early Enochic tradition, namely the so-called sectarian writings found in the Dead Sea caves and their predecessors and what both reflect of conflict and its development. In it I draw together observations that arose during the course of my investigation of attitudes toward sexuality in the Dead Sea Scrolls as a contribution toward the broader issues of dating and development.1

Relative Dating One of the important and ongoing issues in Qumran-related research is the relative dating of documents, of the compositions themselves, and of events or stages of development of their setting. The discussion is complex, resting on a variety of observations, from paleography, carbon dating, and archaeology, to alleged historical references, proposed sequences of recensions of multiply attested texts, and perceived development of motifs or structures from one document to another. Sometimes this is approached from the perspective of internal evidence of structure and thought. One example of the latter is Eyal Regev’s consideration of structural development between the Community Rule (S) and the Damascus Document (D).2 He constructs a sequence of writing between the two on the basis of examining their penal codes, community organization, and paleological data and concludes that they stem from two different organizations, D being the later one, which “adopted

1 The research is published in William Loader, The Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality: Attitudes towards Sexuality in Sectarian and Related Literature at Qumran (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009). 2 Eyal Regev, “The ‘Yahad’ and the ‘Damascus Covenant’: Structure, Organization, and Relationship,” RevQ 21 (2003): 233–62. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-017

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certain precepts and concepts from S and revised them extensively.”3 He argues that when D refers to sleeping or lying in the assembly and still assumes communal meals, but makes no mention of the central role of the assembly, this suggests use of elements from S, or its sources.4 Accordingly he suggests that former members of the community to which the S belonged had formed their own separate group, whose organizational structure is now reflected in their separate organization, which became the complex structure now reflected in D. One problem with the reconstruction, which he acknowledges, is the presence of multiple copies of D at Qumran where he locates the group governed by S.5 By contrast John Collins, drawing on the analysis of Charlotte Hempel,6 argues that the more complex admission procedures in S indicate that it is the later of the two.7 “A comparison of community structures strongly favors the view that the D rule preserves the older, simpler forms of community structure, while S is more developed.” 8 Similarly he concludes: “The Serek also reflects a more advanced state of alienation from the temple cult than was attested in the Damascus Rule.”9 Collins is also arguing that the issue is not just historical sequence, but that each

3 Ibid., 261–62. 4 Ibid., 260–61. 5 Ibid., 264. 6 Charlotte Hempel, The Laws of the Damascus Document: Sources, Traditions and Redaction, STDJ 29 (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 101, 150–51; Charlotte Hempel, “Community Structures in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Admission, Organization, Disciplinary Procedures,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls after Fifty years, eds. Peter W. Flint and James VanderKam, 2 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 1998–99), 2:67–92. See also Shani Tzoref, “Qumran Communities—Past and Present,” in Keter Shem Tov: Essays on the Dead Sea Scrolls in Memory of Alan Crown, eds. Shani Tzoref and Ian Young, Perspectives on Hebrew Scriptures and its Contexts 20 (Piscataway: Gorgias, 2013), 17–55, 45–47. 7 John J. Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community: The Sectarian Movement of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 54–65; John J. Collins, “Sectarian Communities in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls, eds. Timothy H. Lim and John J. Collins (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 151–72, 152–53. See also Sarianna Metso, “Whom Does the Term YAHAD Identify?” in Biblical Traditions in Transmission: Essays in Honour of Michael A. Knibb, eds. Charlotte Hempel and Judith M. Lieu (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 213–35, on the issues both of identifying groups behind both documents and taking their stages of development into account. 8 Collins, “Sectarian Communities,” 156. 9 Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community, 59. Similarly Philip F. Esler, The First Christians in their Social Worlds: Social-Scientific Approaches to New Testament Interpretation (London: Routledge, 1994), 13; but see the discussion in Jutta Jokiranta, Social Identity and Sectarianism in the Qumran Movement, STDJ 105 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), who questions that the evidence substantiates this claim (74).

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reflects a different kind of community.10 And rather than embrace the Groningen hypothesis of a split within the movement, he argues that “the movement evolved in ways that led to some diversity within its community structures.”11 We find a similar use of apparent development of thought or attitude in the observation of Martin Goodman, who writes: “It may well be possible to find number of different attitudes to the Temple expressed in the sectarian scrolls, and to suggest that these reveal either different stages in the development and changing use of temple ideology and language about the Temple by sectarians or a number of different groups which related to the Temple in different ways.”12 Lawrence Schiffman proposes a development on the basis of conflict, beginning with disagreements over interpretation of laws as reflected in 4QMMT, to the decision to separate, which then led to attempts to find substitutes for temple worship, though, like the rabbis later, the sectarians still studied temple law, to hopes of retaking the temple, modifying its structure, and even of replacing it with a new temple.13 Collins mounts a strong case for seeing the conflict with the Wicked Priest as taking place in the first century BCE: “There is no reason to suppose that the conflict between the Teacher and the wicked priest (or the dispute with the man of the lie) took place at the beginning of the history of the sect.”14 This removes the unnecessary complication of the earlier dominant theory which meant that all the sectarian documents had somehow to be related to these conflicts, whereas, as we shall argue, the origins lie less with personnel conflicts and more with disputes of law.15 10 Collins, “Sectarian Communities,” 155. In Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community, he writes: “The differences between the communities described by the Damascus Rule and the Community Rule cannot be explained by the hypothesis that the teacher broke away from the community described in the Damascus Rule” (50); similarly on p. 65. 11 Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community, 65. 12 Martin Goodman, “Constructing Ancient Judaism from the Scrolls,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls, eds. Timothy H. Lim and John J. Collins (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 81–91 [87]. 13 Lawrence H. Schiffman, Qumran and Jerusalem: Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and the History of Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 81–97. 14 Collins, Beyond the Qumran Community, 120. See also Michael O. Wise, “The Origins and history of the Teacher’s Movement,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls, eds. Timothy H. Lim and John J. Collins (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 92–122, 106–11. 15 Following Hempel, Laws, Jokiranta, Social Identity, writes: “The Damascus Document includes laws from the pre-formative time of the movement, suggesting that the sectarians adopted certain halakic positions, rather than relied on the charismatic teaching of one individual” (188–89). Similarly Florentino Garcia Martinez, “Beyond the Sectarian Divide: The ‘Voice of the Teacher’ as an Authority-Conferring Strategy in Some Qumran Texts,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls: Transmission of Traditions and Production of Texts, eds. Sarianna Metso, Hindy Najman

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Readdressing the Question of Dating Much has been written about the light which sociological theory can shed on the history and nature of the Qumran community. Mostly this focuses on the definition of a sect and its applicability to the phenomena we find in the documents. Jutta Jokiranta provides a helpful review of the issues and approaches.16 Using the model of sectarianism developed by Rodney Stark and William Sims Bainbridge,17 she identifies difference, antagonism, and separation as characterizing the tensions typical of a sect,18 and proceeds to analyze their presence in D and S, on the one hand, and the Pesharim, in particular the Pesher Psalm and Pesher Habakkuk, on the other. In what follows I shall focus on conflict development as reflected in the sectarian documents rather than on the nature of the sectarianism itself.19 In so doing I shall make use of the indeed all too common human experience of observing how conflict about ideas and interpretations between people which remains at the level of disputed argument can deteriorate into acrimonious conflict, where beside arguments one finds ad hominem attacks, typically including name-calling, and that further down in the process the interpersonal or intergroup enmity and disparagement can take center stage, often to the extent that

and Eileen Schuller, STDJ 92 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 227–44. On the current models for identifying the role of the teacher of righteousness, see Jokiranta’s discussion, pp. 194–209. 16 Jokiranta, Social Identity, 17–40; see also Jutta Jokiranta, “Social-Scientific Approaches to the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Rediscovering the Dead Sea Scrolls: An Assessment of Old and New Approaches and Methods, eds. Maxine L. Grossmann (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 246–63; see also Jutta Jokiranta, “Sociological Approaches to Qumran Sectarianism,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Dead Sea Scrolls, eds. Timothy H. Lim and John J. Collins (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 200–31. 17 Rodney Stark and William Sims Bainbridge, The Future of Religion: Secularization, Revival and Cult Formation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), 48–67. 18 Jokiranta, Social Identity, 51–62. 19 John H. Elliott, “The Jewish Messianic Movement: From Faction to Sect,” in Modelling Early Christianity: Social-Scientific Studies of the New Testament in its Context, ed. Philip F. Esler (London: Routledge, 1995), 75–95, discusses the emergence of early Christianity as a sect, noting a development marked by increased social tension, recruitment of people previously excluded from the parent body, the claim to embody Israel’s true identity, replacing the major institutions of the parent body, seeing one’s group as distinct from the parent body and being seen by it and society as distinct, and interaction with people who were outsiders to the parent body (79–80). Jokiranta, Social Identity, applies this to Qumran, but in doing so sees these “as a continuum rather than a shift from one stance to another” (62).

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the original issues in dispute disappear from view.20 This pattern repeats itself at the macro-level of religious division, such as between Protestants and Catholics in history, and in similar sectarian divisions of later centuries. We also see it at a micro-level in human relationships such as in marital disputes which end in acrimonious divorce, or parent–child relations which degenerate into alienation. Conflicts are much more complex than a single pattern can predict or depict, but the shift from disputing arguments to also disparaging the people who promote them to alienation and estrangement is sufficiently recognizable to be a useful tool in approaching the conflicts evident in the documents at Qumran. In the course of my investigating attitudes toward sexuality, many of which occurred in the context of conflict, indeed, to a degree that I had not expected, it occurred to me that the pattern of conflict development outlined above was recognizable in the texts and that this recognition may well have something to contribute to the discussion both of conflict development in the documents and their relative dating. I was struck at first by the significant role which sexually related issues played in the conflict with opponents, very clearly, for instance, in D and 4QMMT, but also at the way conflict with opponents sometimes appeared elsewhere with little or no reference to the issues at all but primarily as disparagement and personal disqualification. Fighting issues had turned into also fighting people and then developed even to the extent that the original issues had disappeared from view or even from memory. Somewhat oversimplified I identified three main phases: (1) primarily disputation of issues in the form of conflict over issues of interpretation; (2) disputation of issues and denigration of people in the form of conflict over issues of interpretation accompanied by denigration, including name-calling of those with differing views; (3) primarily denigration of people in the form of conflict expressed primarily as denigration and name-calling with little or no reference to the issues that first began the conflict. My observations of the different stages of conflict in the Dead Sea Scrolls, especially those understood as sectarian or as pre-sectarian, suggested to me that the Pesharim and S and perhaps some of the Thanksgiving Hymns appear to belong to the third phase, where denigration and disparagement dominate and the

20 Much contemporary discussion of conflict development takes place in the context of studies of conflict resolution, whether international conflict, conflicts within business, or interpersonal conflict such as in marriage. See, for instance, Gregory Tillett and Brendan French, Resolving Conflict, 3rd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 1–17; M. Afzalur Rahim, Managing Conflict in Organizations, 4th ed. (New Brunswick: Transaction, 2011), 1–14 (on previous research on conflict in organizations) and 15–23 (on the nature of conflict); Michael Nicholson, Rationality and the Analysis of International Conflict (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 11–13.

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particular issues, certainly the sexual issues, do not. Jubilees and 4QMMT would belong to the first phase, where the issues are to the fore and are the primary focus. D would reflect the second, transitional phase where both dispute over issues and disparagement occur. The evidence seemed to require some kind of explanation along these lines, not least because dispute over sexual halakah was by no means just a minor matter in the conflict, as my research has shown. I begin by considering first what I have identified as the second, transitional phase.

Phase Two: Disputation of Issues and Denigration of People Let me begin with D.21 It accuses opponents of seeking to shift the boundary: ‫גבול‬ (4Q266/4QDa 1a–b 4; CD I, 16; V, 20; XIX, 16; XX, 20); cf. IV, 12, which reads ‫חוק‬ (“statute”) for ‫“( חיק‬boundary”), perhaps a deliberate word play.22 They declare the Law uncertain (V, 12). The motif of “those who move the boundary” appears already in 4Q266/4QDa 1a–b 4 in relation to “slander against the law” (1 a–b 17); and “delaying festivals” (2 I, 2). As my research has shown the charge of changing or subverting the Law relates to a surprising degree to differences with opponents over interpretation of what constitutes sexual wrongdoing. In the well-known confrontation of the opponents’ halakah in IV, 15 – V, 11 the author speaks of Belial’s nets, giving prominence to the net of sexual wrongdoing,23 itemized here as polygyny, menstrual intercourse (cf. also 4Q274/4QTohorot A 1 I, 5b; 1Q28a/1QSa I, 11), and niece marriages (CD V, 7b–11a; cf. Lev 18:13; see also 4Q270/4QDe 2 II, 16; 4Q251/4QHalakhah A 17). The net of sexual wrongdoing is enmeshed in the other two nets: greed, implicit in polygyny, and

21 See my discussion in Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 91–186. Charlotte Hempel, The Damascus Texts, Companion to the Qumran Scrolls 1 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000) reviews a range of dating proposals and argues that D was composed probably toward the end of the second century BCE (23). Cf. Ben Zion Wacholder, The New Damascus Document: The Midrash on the Eschatological Torah of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Reconstruction, Translation and Commentary, STDJ 56 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), who argues that absence of reference to the events under Antiochus Epiphanes suggests that D was written back in the third century BCE (3), used Jubilees as a source (assuming a much earlier date than is generally accepted) and became a source for the Community Rule and the Pesharim (4). 22 ‫( חיק‬IV, 12); ‫( גבול‬4Q266/4QDa 1a–b 4; CD I, 16; V, 20; XIX, 16; XX, 20). See the discussion in Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 107–08. Cf. also 4Q416/4QInstrb 2 IV, 6, which depicts adultery as an act of a man altering his boundaries (cf. also 2 III, 4). 23 For detailed discussion see Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 107–25.

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defiling the temple through menstrual impurity (4.17–18a). The attack is directed not only against the practices and the interpretations which underlies them but also the people promoting them. So we are at a stage in conflict development where we have moved from disagreement to the point where opponents are being denounced, but still at a stage where the issues of disagreement are articulated. Concern with sexual issues is by no means confined to this passage. It features also in the list of evils attributed to the “princes of Judah,” which must include reference to its opponents, in VIII, 3–9 / XIX, 15–21 and also in VI, 14 – VII, 4, also in association with incest in a broader sense.24 ‫ולא ימעל איש בשאר בשרו‬ “And a man shall not be unfaithful to/act illegally/trespass in relation to his near relative” (VII, 1).25 ‫ ויגשו לזמה‬7 ‫ויתעלמו איש בשאר בשרו‬ “And each man hid himself from/ignored (the status of?) his near relative, 7 but approached debauchery” (VIII, 6b–7a). Sexual wrongdoing receives particular prominence in the remarkable portrayal in CD II, 16–III, 12 of history as a litany of people succumbing to sexual wrongdoing and engaging in wanton pleasure.26 The claim already in 1.19 that the congregation of traitors “chose the fair neck” (‫ )ויבחרו בטוב הצואר‬may well have sexual reference and so already signal sexual wrongdoing as a major cause of dispute (cf. also the term’s likely occurrence in 4Q477/4QRebukes Reported by the Overseer 2 II, 9–10; in the context of sexual wrongdoing).27 Sexual issues are clearly a very significant element in the conflict between the author and his community on the one side and the opponents who hold different views on the other. They are still seen as belonging to Israel, but there 24 On this see Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 125–36. See also 4Q477 8; 4Q387/4QApocJer Cb/ fr. A; 4Q418/4QInstrd/ 101 II, 5: ‫“ לוא ימעל בבשרו‬He shall not do harm to (or act unfaithfully against or inappropriately toward) his own kin”; 4Q383/4QApocrJer A fr., possibly addressing incest between parents and children (as in Pss. Sol. 8:9–11); and on Reuben: 4Q252/4QcommGen A; 4Q458/4QNarrative A. 25 Translations are the author’s unless otherwise indicated. 26 On this see Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 98–106. 27  [‫[ ]אשר הואה וג]ם אוהב טוב[ הצואר‬because he al]so he chooses the fair[ neck (2 II, 9–10); trans. The Dead Sea Scrolls Electronic Library, ed. Emanuel Tov, rev. ed. (Provo: Brigham Young University; Leiden: Brill, 2006). Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 232–33.

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is a serious conflict over halakah.28 D, however, does more than engage in disputed halakah and accuse its opponents of moving the boundaries. It also disparages those who hold contrary views by using a range of derogatory labels, those who “seek smooth things” (‫( )דרשו בחלקות‬I, 18),29 “the congregation of traitors” (I, 12), “the sons of the pit,” the servants of Belial, and much else. Thus the conflict clearly includes halakic debate but has also moved on to include disparagement and denigration. We find this level of conflict primarily in the Admonition section (CD I, 1–VIII, 21; XX, 1b–34; preceded by 4Q266–268/4QDa,b,c; and followed by 4Q270/4QDe; 6Q15/6QD). The section on Laws and Community Regulations (CD XV, 1 – XVI, 20; IX, 1 – XIV, 22, preceded by material in 4Q266–267, 269–271, 273/4QDa,b,d,e,f,h and followed by material in 4Q266, 270/4QDa,e) also deals with many sexually related laws, but these are mostly not signaled as contentious, though many may have been. They may, as has been suggested, derive from older material which the author has incorporated. 30 4Q184/4QWiles of the Wicked Woman also belongs here with D.31 It employs the motif of smooth speaking in describing the woman’s seductive behavior: ‫תחל[י]ק‬ ֯ ‫וקלס‬ “and she mockingly engages in smooth talk” (1 2) ‫ולפתות בחלקות בני איש‬ “and to seduce with smooth words the sons of men” (1 17) The image derives from Proverbs (2:16; cf. also 5:3; 7:5, 21), and connects sexual wrongdoing, which the woman represents, both in a literal and metaphorical

28 The Law section of D also deals with many sexually related laws, but these are mostly not signaled as contentious, though many may have been. So Hempel, Damascus Texts, who writes: “An important difference between the Admonitions and the bulk of the law is the lack of polemics in the Laws” (72). 29 Used in 1QHa X, 15, 32; XII, 10; 4Q163/4QpIsac 23II, 10 and in 4Q169/4QpNah of the Pharisees (3–4 I, 2, 7; II, 2, 4; III, 3, 7). As likely to allude to those emphasizing oral tradition and as deliberate distortion of Pharisaic halakot into halaqot, see James C. VanderKam, “Those Who Look for Smooth Things, Pharisees, and Oral Law,” in Emanuel: Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov, eds. Shalom M. Paul, Robert A. Kraft, Lawrence H. Schiffman, and Weston W. Fields, SVT 94 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 465–77. 30 So Hempel, Laws, who argues that “the communal legislation underwent of process of redaction in order to bring into line with the community behind the Community Rule” (191). 31 Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 326–40.

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 William Loader

sense as in Proverbs,32 to leading some “to alter the statute” (15 1) (‫)להשנות ח[ו]ק‬. Thus, like D, it identifies both halakic conflict and something of its substance, namely sexual wrongdoing. D similarly also employs language derived from the imagery of the seductress in Proverbs. For in D the words ‫“ ועתה בנים שמעו לי‬Now, my children listen to me” (Prov 7:24) provide a framework for D’s warnings about sexual wrongdoing and its depiction of history as persistent sexual failure, repeating the exhortation, ‫“ שמעו ועתה‬Now listen” three times (I, 1; II, 2; II, 14; cf. also V, 7), and in the third bringing the fuller form: ‫“ ועתה בנים שמעו לי‬Now, my children listen to me.”33 We might also include 4Q174/4QFlor and 4Q177/4QCatenaa here, which Annette Steudel has argued belong to the same document.34 Here, too, we find not only generalizing depictions of opponents as agents of Belial, in his traps, leading people astray (4Q174/4QFlor 1 I, 21, 2 8–9; 4Q177/4QCatenaa II, 4; III, 8; IV, 9, 11, 14–16) and as “seekers of smooth things” (4Q177/4QCatenaa 9 4), but possibly also an allusion to intermarriage behind 1–4 2, an apparent allusion to Deut 7:15, whose context relates to intermarriage (Deut 7:2–3).

Phase Three: Primarily Denigration of People We now turn to documents in which, beyond generalizing references to setting the Law aside, there is no longer a focus on issues and the attention falls almost entirely on disparaging the opponents and name-calling and a strong sense of alienation, including persecution.35

32 Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 326–40; see also William Loader, “The Strange Woman in Proverbs, LXX Proverbs and Aseneth” in Septuagint and Reception: Essays Prepared for the Association for the Study of the Septuagint in South Africa, ed. Johann Cook, SVT 127 (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 209–23. 33 The context of Prov 7:24 may well explain the presence of ‫ רבים‬in 2.16b–17 under the influence of Prov 7:26 which reads: ‫“ כי רבים חללים הפילה‬because many she has caused to fall profaned.” 34 Annette Steudel, Der Midrasch zur Eschatologie aus der Qumrangemeinde (4QMidrEschata.b). Materielle Rekonstruktion, Textbestand, Gattung und traditionsgeschichtliche Einordnung des durch 4Q174 (“Florilegium”) und 4Q177 (“Catena A”) repräsentierten Werke aus den Qumranfunden, STDJ 13 (Leiden: Brill, 1994). 35 Jokiranta, Social Identity, notes that amount of similar terminology means “it is therefore justified to see the pesharim and the serakhim related rather than isolated from each other” (114) and the pesharim as “not in contradiction with the basic worldview and the nature of the rulings of the serakhim, even though these genres may address different questions and thus be silent on some issues” (114).

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In the Pesharim, much of the language of conflict found in D as disparagement reappears.36 Those so disparaged are false teachers of the law and reflect the rule of Belial. Unlike in D, however, the Pesharim make scant reference to the issues in dispute, and none to those concerned with sexual wrongdoing which feature so prominently in D.37 The focus is rather on disparagement, including name-calling,38 thus calling into question not particular interpretations of Law, but the legitimacy and integrity of the opponents themselves and what they perpetrated against the community and its leader. Indeed the Pesharim reinforce their stance by finding inspired prophecy as having foretold their situation and implicitly condemned their adversaries. Thus 4Q171/4QpPsa expounds Psalm 37 as referring to the congregation of the poor being delivered “from all the traps of Belial” (‫( )מכול פחי בליעל‬1–10 II, 10–11; cf. CD IV, 15), but makes no reference to disputes over sexuality. The Isaiah Pesher C depicts the fellow Jewish enemies as ‫“ דורשי החלקות‬seekers of smooth things” (4QpIsac/4Q163 23 II, 10). The Nahum Pesher refers to prostitution and sexual immorality but only as imagery to attack false teachers (4Q169/4QpNah 3–4 II, 7–11a), also depicting them as ‫“ דורשי החלקות‬seekers of smooth things” (3–4 II, 4, III, 3, 6–7). Apart from its allusions to violence and greed, Habakkuk Pesher asserts that its community and the Teacher of Righteousness have “not lusted after their eyes in the time of wickedness” ‫( לוא זנו אחר עיניהם בקץ הרשעה‬V, 7b–8a) and depicts the Wicked Priest as someone who did “repulsive acts and defiled the temple of God” ‫ מקדוש אל‬9 ‫( מעשי תועבות ויטמא את‬XII, 8b–9a), possibly indicating these were sexual in nature, though neither need have that connotation. Its primary focus is on greed and acts of violence perpetrated against the community and its leader, and on disparaging the opponents’ status and authority and beside that on the cruel Kittim, who can act as God’s agents but ultimately must themselves be destroyed (I, 11; V, 11–12; VIII, 1, 10, 17; cf. XII, 4–5).39

36 See the discussion in Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 265–69. 37 Jokiranta, Social Identity, notes this when she writes: “Difference is definitely part of the ideology of these pesharim—the in-group follows the Law, and others do not—but there is not much evidence what this means in practice. The only reference is to the plausible calendar controversy in 1QpHab 11:2–8” (115). 38 Jokiranta, Social Identity, notes that the naming applies both positively and negatively: “Much of what the pesharim do is labelling: they give commonly shared labels to the persons and groups that they were involved with” (203). 39 Jokiranta, Social Identity, notes that “the gentiles enemy and the ‘domestic enemy’ were out on the same line, outside, and the insiders were reminded that this message was exactly the one that the traitors were not willing to accept” (174). “Selecting new dimensions for inter-group comparisons is represented in the Pesher Habakkuk when it is no longer a question of breaking

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Thus halakic disputes that apparently led to conflict in the first place have given way in the Pesharim to name-calling and personal attack, with the exception of allusion to differences over calendar (1QpHab XI, 2–8). The Pesharim thus reflect a stage in the conflict where the original issues have disappeared from view and the focus has moved to ad hominem disparagement. They still preserve the concern with their opponents’ turning aside from (their understanding of) the Law, though only in very general terms. This lies behind their use of expressions like “seekers of smooth things” (4Q169/4QpNah 3–4 II, 4; III, 3, 6–7; /4Q177/4QCatenaa 2 12), “traitors of the new covenant” (1QpHab II, 3), “violators of the covenant” (1QpHab II, 6), those who have “rejected the Law” (4Q163/4QpIsac 23 II, 12), given fraudulent teaching (4Q169/4QpNah 3–4 II, 8), the “Man of the Lie” (1QpHab II, 1–2; V, 11) or the “Man of Lies” (4Q171/4QpPsa 1 26), the “Spreader of the Lie” (1QpHab X, 9), and the “Teacher of Lies” (4Q163/4QpIsac 4–6 I, 7). If Collins’s reading is right, another factor determining this focus at this stage of the conflict development will be the particular crisis between the Teacher of Righteousness and the Wicked Priest which many of these texts reflect, where the conflict has moved far beyond halakic dispute. S also reflects a similar stage in the conflict.40 Though it lacks such terms as the “Teacher of Righteousness” and the “seekers of smooth things,” it too reflects serious alienation.41 It speaks of separation from “the congregation of the men of injustice” ‫( העול מעדת אנשי‬V, 1–2, 10; VIII, 13; IX, 17), depicted also as “the men of the pit” ‫( אנשי השחת‬IX, 16; X, 19; cf. IX, 22; CD VI, 14–15), and may also speak of opponents as bending the Law (‫ מטה אנשי‬XI, 1–2). There may be hints of disputes over calendars in V, 11–12 (cf. I, 14), but S’s focus is not on disputes with opponents

God’s covenant and about the details of right halakah but of being faithful to the movement and belonging to the elect ones” (174–75). 40 Cf. Jokiranta, Social Identity, who emphasizes the commonality of D and S (63), emphasizing what she sees as the “similarity of their sociological stance and social identity in their wider settings” (64) and their “widely shared sectarian outlook” (67), while not denying that there are organizational differences (66–68). For the view that D is to be seen as the work of a reforming group not yet a sect in contrast to S, see Schiffman, Qumran and Jerusalem, 357; Philip F. Esler, The First Christians in their Social Worlds: Social-Scientific Approaches to New Testament Interpretation (London: Routledge, 1994), 70–91; earlier Philip R. Davies, “The Judaism(s) of the Damascus Documents,” in The Damascus Document: A Centennial of Discovery. Proceedings of the Third International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 4–8 February, 1998, eds. Joseph M. Baumgarten, Esther G. Chazon and Avital Pinnick, STDJ 34 (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 27–43; idem, “Judaisms in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The Case of the Messiah,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls in their Historical Context, eds. A. Graeme Auld and Timothy H. Lim (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000), 219–32. 41 On the Community Rule see the discussion in Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 188–210.

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about issues, which it indeed forbids (IX, 16; X, 19), but on delegitimizing the opponents themselves. In that sense it belongs more closely with the third phase of conflict. It is perhaps significant that in what is earlier material, the Treatise of the Two Spirits,42 perhaps incorporated at a later stage of redaction into S, we find a reference in a list of the deeds of darkness (IV, 9–11) to “a spirit of sexual wrongdoing” ‫( ברוח זנות‬IV, 10), but again it is not with any emphasis or elaboration such as we find it in CD VI, 14–VII, 4 and VIII, 3–9. It probably alludes to Hos 4:12 where it serves as a metaphor, though appears to be taken literally in this material. Thus S appears to reflect a stage where the conflict has moved on from issues to estrangement, from dispute to disparagement, as in the Pesharim. In these documents, one might still find some traces of the original disputes. Thus while D uses ‫“ זנות עיני‬eyes of sexual immorality” as the starting point for its history depicting repeated sexual wrongdoing (II, 16–III, 12), S uses the same expression to identify the evil from which its members had turned away (I, 6), but it does so as something that belongs in the past, as does Barkhi Nafshi (4Q435/4QBarkhi Nafshib 2 I, 2 = 4Q436/4QBarkhi Nafshic 1 II, 1; cf. also 4Q287/4QBerb 8 13 and possibly the Habakkuk Pesher V, 7b–8a, noted above), not as something about which there is halakic dispute as in D. The evidence from the Thanksgiving Hymns (H) is more complicated.43 They include statements about conflict in the first person, even about persecution, and, probably like the Psalms, came to serve as vehicles for people reflecting on analogous experiences of their own. Some doubtless reflect actual conflict. Within the core material identified as the Teacher’s Hymns (IX – XVII) we also find reference to opponents as “seekers of smooth things” ‫( דורשי החלקות‬1QHa X, 15, 32; similarly XII, 10), as changing God’s law (XII, 10; similarly X, 18),44 altering the deeds of God (XIII, 36),45 declaring laws uncertain (XII, 18), but we hear nothing of what they allegedly changed, the substance of the disputes, such as we find in D or 4QMMT. The exception may perhaps be some allusion to disputes over the calendar (1QHa XII, 12). Instead the hymns are primarily concerned to dispute rival claims to authority and to discredit enemies. The following is typical:

42 Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 189–95. 43 Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 237–54. 44 ‫“ זממו עלי }בי{ בליעל להמיר תורתכה‬they have plotted against me by Belial to change your law” (XII, 10). 45 ‫“ משנים מעשי אל‬have altered the deeds of God” (XIII, 36).

244 

 William Loader

mediators 10 of fraud and seers of deceit. they have plotted against me by Belial to change your law ‫זממו עלי }בי{ בליעל‬ ‫להמיר תורתכה‬ which you engraved on my heart for smooth teachings 11 for your people. (XII, 10, 11a) … so that they may act like fools in their feasts so they will be caught in their nets. But you, O God, abhor every plan of 13 Belial and your counsel remains, and the plan of your heart persists endlessly. But they, hypocrites, plot intrigues of Belial. (DSSSE)46 (XII, 12–13) For they said 18 of the vision of knowledge: “It is not certain!” and of the path of your heart: “It is not that!” (DSSSE) ‫ לחזון דעת לא נכון ולדרך לא היאה‬18 ‫כי אמרו‬ ‫( כי אתה אל תענה להם לשופטם‬XII, 17b–18) It contains language that echoes CD IV, 13–V, 11, D’s confrontation of false halakah using the imagery of the nets of Belial in its charge that the opponents change the Law to allow for sexual wrongdoing and declare its laws uncertain. Yet, when H uses such language, similarly depicting the opponents as Belial’s people caught in traps (X, 29; XI, 26; XII, 12; cf. also XXI, 10; and 4Q171/4QpPsa/ 1–10 II, 10–11), and alleging they say the laws are uncertain, it makes no reference to the matters of substance at the heart of the dispute, let alone to sexual wrongdoing. The same is true in H as a whole, even though it can make rich use of sexual imagery such as in its depiction of two pregnant women in the pangs of childbirth to depict, on the one hand, the suffering of the community, and, on the other, the monstrous birth of a serpent which represents the opponents (XI, 12). We find no trace of the sexual issues behind the dispute. Instead we find denunciation of the opponents as belonging to Belial, often using terms also present in the Pesharim like “seekers of smooth things” which indicate rejection of the opponents as those who have set aside God’s law,47 but no longer making reference as in D to specific halakic disputes, especially those related to sexual wrongdoing. This is also the case in the Community Hymns in H, where we find reference to people changing God’s words (VI, 15).48 What we find in H is thus very different from

46 DSSSE= Florentino García Martínez, and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition, 2 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 1997, 1998). 47 See also “prophets of fraud” (XII, 16); “congregation of deceit” (XV, 34). 48 ‫“ וכול יודעיך לא ישני דבריך‬all who know you do not change your words” (DSSSE) (VI. 15).

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what we find in D and, as we shall see, in 4QMMT, which trace conflict and separation to disputes, not least over sexual halakah. The matter is, however, more complicated than is the case with the Pesharim, because the lack of specific references to matters in dispute may also be accounted for by the poetic genre where one would not expect such detail. Most of the references cited above occur in the Teacher’s Hymns, preserved substantially also in 4Q429/4QHc, but without the Community Hymns that precede the Teacher’s Hymns in 1QH, and so perhaps reflect an earlier form of the collection.49 Even so, it remains feasible to read the Teacher Hymns as reflecting the crisis between the Teacher and the Wicked Priest reflected in the Pesharim. The Pesharim and S and perhaps, at least in part, H appear then to be focused on fighting opponents rather than fighting issues. There appears to be awareness of some halakic dispute but it is generalized (1Q28/1QS XI, 1–2; 1QHa VI, 15; XII, 10), as similarly also in Epistle of Enoch (1 Enoch 98:14–15; 99:2; 104:9–11). Nowhere is this related to issues of sexual wrongdoing, such as featured in D.

Phase One: Primarily Disputation of Issues In Phase Two we find both allusion to specific halakic disputes, especially related to sexual wrongdoing, and disparagement of opponents who hold conflicting views. In Phase Three we find only generalizing references to abandoning the Law with an increased emphasis on disparagement of opponents and of their leader, the Wicked Priest. At an earlier stage, which we are calling Phase One, the focus is primarily halakic, sometimes clearly contentious, sometimes even without indication that the interpretations offered are particularly contentious. This is the case already with the material incorporated in the Law section of D. It is true also of the Temple Scroll. One could also argue that it is true of at least some of the major expositions of the Law in Jubilees, even where religious leaders are under attack, because the focus seems to be not halakic dispute but what the author sees as straightforward disobedience. In Jubilees intermarriage is a major theme50 and in this it stands in succession to concerns expressed already in Ezra and Nehemiah (Ezra 9:1–2; Neh 10:28–30) 49 See the discussion in Eileen Schuller, DJD 29, 75. Some of the early autobiographical hymns, such as those surviving in 4Q429/4QHc (= 1QHa X, 3–19; XII, 5–XIII, 4; XIII, 5–19; XIII, 20–XV, 25; XVI, 4–XVII, 36) may well reflect early stages of the conflict even when they do not identify specific issues. 50 William Loader, Enoch, Levi, and Jubilees on Sexuality: Attitudes towards Sexuality in the Early Enoch Literature, the Aramaic Levi Document, and the Book of Jubilees (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 155–96.

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about intermarriage by both priests and people, building on tradition reaching back to Exodus 34, Deuteronomy 7, and Numbers 25. Was this simply a matter of confronting priests and people with their disobedience of a law beyond dispute or did it imply halakic conflict? The latter seems likely given what appear to be countertrends, such as in the stories of Esther and Ruth.51 There may be hints of such conflict in the author’s reference to struggles “regarding the law and the covenant. For they have forgotten commandment, covenant, festival, month, Sabbath, jubilee, and every verdict” (23:19), if one may assume that the concern is not only with the calendar. Aramaic Levi Document, while primarily concerned with educating priests, seems best understood as forbidding all marriage with Gentiles for both priests and people,52 as did Jubilees. The issue of intermarriage in 4QVisions of Amram reflects the broader prohibition of marrying Canaanites and so extends its focus beyond priestly families. Amram’s love and goodness is shown in his not taking a Canaanite wife, when cut off from Jochabed (4Q543/4QVisions of Amram 4 2–4 = 4Q544 1 7–9 = 4Q547 1–2 III, 6–9a), as though it would have been acceptable for him to do so.53 4QTestament of Qahat, on the other hand, warns against intermarriage both with Gentiles and “half-breeds” (‫)כילאין‬, i.e., children of mixed marriages, probably reflecting the prohibition of mixing of kinds in Lev 19:19 and Deut 22:9. Some suggest that the Book of the Watchers engages in warnings against priests intermarrying with foreigners (as does 4Q513/4QOrdinancesb),54 when it depicts the priestly angels crossing forbidden barriers (1 Enoch 12 – 16), though later readings of the myth did not see it that way. We have argued that it is much more likely to reflect concern with intermarriage by both priests and people on the grounds of the danger which foreign women with their sorceries posed.55 The Apocryphon of Jeremiah C, which seems close to Jubilees, is concerned with both intermarriage and incest (4Q390/4QApocrJer Ce 2 I, 10).56 The situation in the Temple Scroll in relation to intermarriage is somewhat complicated. It cites Exodus 34:14–16 (11Q19/11QTa II, 12–15), but does not use it to

51 On the complex history of different stances on intermarriage see William Loader, The Pseudepigrapha on Sexuality: Attitudes towards Sexuality in Apocalypses, Testament, Legends, Wisdom, and Related Literature (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), 491–92; William Loader, The New Testament on Sexuality (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2012), 18–20. 52 Loader, Enoch, Levi, and Jubilees on Sexuality, 87–112. 53 On 4QVisions of Amram and 4QTestament of Qahat, see Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 323–26. 54 Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 221–23. 55 Loader, Enoch, Levi, and Jubilees on Sexuality, 26–53. 56 Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 281–82.

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address the issue.57 In its exposition in 63.10–15 of the law in Deut 21:10–14 about taking a captive as a wife, it apparently assumes this to be legitimate both for the people and for a priest, though never for a king (LVII, 15–16). A captive wife would usually be a Gentile. In allowing it the Temple Scroll nevertheless tightens the regulation with the significant proviso: “She may not touch your purities for seven years, nor may she eat the peace offering until seven years pass; afterward she may eat” (LXIII, 14b–15).58 Thus while the Temple Scroll probably upholds the prohibition on intermarriage, the captive woman would be an exception. Similarly the Laws in D apparently accepted the taking of a Gentile captive wife as legitimate (4Q270/4QDe IV, 19), if the treatment of Lev 19:20–22 in the scarcely decipherable 4Q270/4QDe 4 12–20 was positive.59 This stands in contrast to 4QMMT which appears to forbid it expressly (C 6–7), citing such a woman as an abomination (Deut 7:6). In contrast to its treatment of incest, menstrual intercourse, and polygyny D does not address the issue of intermarriage as one of halakic dispute, but it does seem to be in part what is meant by sexual wrongdoing in its history of sinfulness in II, 16b–III, 12a. D’s use of “friend of God” (III, 3) in this context may well echo its use in Jubilees where the same term is used of Levi in his punishment of the men of Shechem for sexual wrongdoing (30:20; earlier used of Abraham in 19:9). Psalm 106:31 depicts Phinehas’s actions as slaughtering an Israelite for marrying a foreigner as “reckoned to him as righteousness,” echoing Abraham’s faith (Gen 15:6), and Jubilees uses his action to underline the prohibition of intermarriage.60 Similarly the reference to a generation eating blood in the wilderness (III, 6–7) may relate to the sin of intermarriage depicted in Numbers 25. Intermarriage is also a primary concern in 4QMMT, in B 39–49 in expounding Deut 23:2–4; in B 75–82 about defiling the seed of priests and people by illicit mixing as in Lev 19:19 and Deut 22:9–11; in C 4–32 with possible allusion to the abomination of captive wives, to Solomon’s folly, and to the zeal and faith of Phinehas and Abraham; and by implication in B 8–9 which equates accepting Gentile sacrifices with illicit sex.61 4QMMT reflects a point in the dispute, where conflict is still polite and issues-based, though it has become sufficiently intolerable to warrant separation. D’s concern with incest, in particular in forbidding niece marriages, also has its precursors in earlier material. In the Temple Scroll its prohibition is not presented in a way that suggests that it is contended, though it is clearly taken 57 Ibid., 8–10. 58 Ibid., 30, 42. 59 Ibid., 124, 155–56, 178. 60 See Loader, Enoch, Levi, and Jubilees on Sexuality, 165–76. 61 Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 53–90.

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seriously in its expositions of other laws, such as in its discussion in LXVI, 8b–11 of the seduction of a virgin, based on Deut 22:28–29, read alongside Exod 22:15–16, where it notes that the requirement that the man marry the girl applies only if “she is permitted to him by the Law” (LXVI, 9). The prohibition is treated similarly as uncontentious in the Laws in D despite the earlier warnings in V, 7–11, and the same is probably true of its prohibition in 4Q251/4QHalakha A.62 In Jubilees the author has shaped his narrative to remove as far as possible any suggestion that niece marriage was considered legitimate (e.g., 4:11; 12:9; cf. Gen 11:29; 19:10 ),63 also omitting reference to Amram’s marriage to his aunt, Jochabed (cf. Exod 6:20; Num 26:59), but nowhere makes it a matter of contention or specific concern. Similarly Genesis Apocryphon depicts Noah’s care in appropriately marrying off his grandsons and granddaughters (VI, 6–10; XII, 9–12).64 By contrast, on incest more broadly Jubilees issues vehement warnings, such as in its exposition of the story of Reuben and Bilhah and Judah and Tamar (Jub. 33:9–20; 41:23–26). It is interesting to note that the Levi literature, Aramaic Levi Document, Testament of Qahat, and the Visions of Amram tolerate niece marriage with no qualms at all. Amram’s younger brother marries Miriam, Amram’s daughter and Amram had even married Jochabed his aunt (cf. Lev 18:12). D’s concern with what most see as polygyny in V, 7–11,65 has its precursor in the Temple Scroll, but there the restriction applies only to the king (LVII, 17–18). Otherwise it probably assumed polygyny as legitimate, as would have been reflected in the discussion of the rights of the firstborn (Deut 21:15–17) which would have come at the end of column LXIII and the beginning of column LXIV.66 D’s concerns with sexual intercourse with a woman during menstruation (V, 6–7) have no particular precursor beyond the biblical text itself (Lev 15:24; 18:19; and 20:18), repeated in its Laws (4Q272/4QDg 1II; 4Q266/4QDa 6 II, 1–2), probably because the issue there was not competing halakah but simply nonobservance. D’s concerns with abstention from sexual intercourse in the city (CD XII, 1–2) and on the Sabbath (CD XI, 5; 4Q271/4QDf 5 I, 1–2) are of a different nature and have precursors in the stances taken by the Temple Scroll in expanding the sanctuary to include the holy city (XLV, 11–12) and by Jubilees which prohibits sexual intercourse on the Sabbath (50:8). The documents considered in this section are not to be seen as belonging to a single whole, but they do have significant elements in common. They reflect 62 Ibid., 224–28. 63 Loader, Enoch, Levi, and Jubilees on Sexuality, 156, 245, 247, 250, 255, 274. 64 See Loader, Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, 292. 65 Ibid., 110–19. 66 Ibid., 42–43.

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concern with halakah and the application of the Law. Sometimes that concern is not halakic but confrontational toward the disobedient. This will be the case with laws such as forbidding intercourse with a menstruant and issues of intermarriage. On the other hand it is also clear that even in relation to intermarriage there were differences and certainly in relation to niece marriages. The prohibition of the latter often occurs without any sense that the matter is contentious, but it clearly can be. While much of what we find in the Temple Scroll and Jubilees reflects distinctive lines of interpretation which one would imagine would have been contested, we find little of this reflected in the text, except perhaps Jubilees 23. One might include here also the Laws section of CD which appears to preserve earlier material in a way which does not reflect contention. The situation is different, however, with 4QMMT, where we have something more than challenging disobedience and distinctive halakic development. We have halakic argument, albeit in a mild and relatively respectful tone, but sufficient to strain the relationship and result in distancing or a degree of separation. Halakhic disagreement, which all three documents must have evoked, comes to expression primarily in 4QMMT, but would have inevitably led to conflict development which would turn personal. Stage One in that sense sets the stage for Stage Two where we have moved beyond just disagreement and challenging what was seen as disobedience to direct recrimination and disparagement of those hold alternative views. What is stated uncontentiously in the Temple Scroll or Jubilees, for instance, now clearly has heated up into controversy where disputing halakah goes along with disparagement and demonizing the opponents.

Concluding Assessment The purpose of this study has not been to try to erect a hypothetical structure and impose it on these ancient texts, but to seek to account for what emerges from them when we look at them as evidence of conflict. In particular the investigation of these texts in the context of studying what they might tell us about attitudes toward sexuality in the broadest sense, a matter that was of serious concern for the authors, brought the question to the fore of how best to explain what appeared to be different levels or stages of conflict. We took as our midpoint D which in its Admonition section both addresses halakic issues in dispute and disparages those who dissent. We then looked at those documents, including most of the Pesharim, S, and H, where the focus had moved primarily to denigration of opponents, perhaps evoked in particular by a crisis between the Teacher of Righteousness and the Wicked Priest and the halakic issues which had been

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at the beginning of the conflict had all but disappeared from view, except in very generalizing terms alleging abandonment of the Law. We then moved back to look at documents in which the primary focus was halakic, sometimes clearly a focus of dispute, sometimes not. It made sense then to suggest a sequence which placed the documents evincing halakic dispute as reflecting the early stage of the conflict and to see the others as belonging in a sequence which reflects conflict escalation from disputing issues to denigration people. Accordingly, measured by these considerations, it makes sense to see the Pesharim, S, and perhaps H as representing the disparagement stage, D and probably 4Q174/177 and the Wiles, as reflecting the stage where issues are still in dispute but disparagement is well underway, and Jubilees, 4QMMT, the Temple Scroll, and the Law section of D as written at the stage where conflict was primarily halakic. Such findings, I suggest, may be useful to take into account alongside the many other considerations that play a role in the discussion of relative sequencing. A measure of caution is appropriate in any such undertaking, because we are dealing with sources, many of which are fragmentary. If there is a sequence, such as I propose, then it cannot be constructed as a simple genealogy, as though there is a single line of development, let alone a single author or group of authors, or as though what has survived is all there was or is sufficiently representative. The consistency of terminology, especially the language used in denigration such as “seekers of smooth things,” does, however, suggest substantial continuity. The disappearance of the significantly contentious sexual issues in what on this basis seem to be later texts could, of course, reflect the fact that these are written in contexts where issues such as intermarriage would no longer arise, or it might be an accident of the fragmentary nature of our sources. The difference is, however, more than contextual. It appears to reflect a broader pattern where conflict has moved from dispute to disparagement, from argument to alienation. The same is to be said of explanations that account for the absence of specific references on the grounds of different genre, for in most instances the generalizing and nonspecific depictions of conflict in ad hominem terms usually treat the legal conflict as belonging to the past, thus cohering with the suggestion that these depictions belong later in the story of conflict. At most genre may account for the nonspecificity in the case of the Teacher Hymns in H, but their coherence with both the emphases of the Pesharim and the crisis to which they refer makes that to my mind unlikely. We are left then with what really does look like a typical escalation of a conflict from disagreement to disparagement, which may well therefore shed light on the relative dating of key documents.

Part III: Second Temple Jewish Views and Voices

Rodney A. Caruthers II

17 Compositional Education in Philo’s De vita Mosis and Theon’s Progymnasmata Introduction One of the major questions that arises concerning literature of the Second Temple Period involves the intersection and interaction of Jewish literary thought with its surrounding Hellenistic environment. It is clear that previous Jewish theological concepts were impacted by their neighbors in unique ways and probably vice versa as well. Gabriele Boccaccini raises the issue of textual intersections between Judaic and Greek classical sources in his chapter on “Philo of Alexandria, a Judaism in Philosophical Categories,” where he skillfully addresses the similarities and differences between the concepts of memory and recollection as expounded in Jewish and Hellenistic literary thought—particularly comparing various works of Philo and classical authors such as Plato and Aristotle.1 Boccaccini describes Philo’s status and connection with the two cultural ideas saying, “the Hellenistic Jewish tradition offers, in Philo of Alexandria, its most significant attempt at a synthesis of the Jewish and Hellenistic cultures.”2 Despite Philo’s affinity for using Hellenistic philosophy and allegorical principles, among other things, Boccaccini maintains that he employed these ideas and literary practices mainly in a subordinate manner to his Jewish cultural and scriptural heritage.3 The notion of Philo being an Alexandrian Jew who knew Jewish traditions and Greek ideologies well enough to compose works incorporating both, begs the question of how he was able to do it. More specifically, how was he educated and what did he learn to produce a text? One way to address this issue is by asking the complicated question of what compositional education entailed during Philo’s lifetime.4 This

1 Gabriele Boccaccini, Middle Judaism: Jewish Thought, 300 B.C.E. To 200 C.E (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991), 192. 2 Ibid., 189. 3 Ibid., 189–90. 4 Scholars generally agree that there are not a lot of details available to fully understand Philo’s life or educational background (aside from later testimonies). Philo mentions part of his educational experience in On the Preliminary Studies (74–76). He describes how he learned subjects, such as grammar, writing, reading, poets, history, geometry, and music. Although Philo describes his learning curriculum, he does not include any details about the circumstances surrounding his training, such as location, his instructors, or the duration of his study. Philo could have learned from a private tutor (Paidagogos, Grammarian, or Sophist) at home, at the https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-018

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is a complex and opaque question because of the lack of direct and unambiguous evidence available to clarify the matter. A close reading of a text, however, in conjunction with known compositional instructions could yield insight into how they produced their texts and what they thought about their contents. This discussion will center on how Philo’s De vita Mosis can inform our understanding of Jewish compositional education in the Second Temple Period.5 If we know the process behind how a literary work was composed, then we can extrapolate what an author learned to produce the text.6 This is a way of reverse engineering compositional education, which allows us to view the composition from the author’s perspective, using their categories, terms, and expectations. One way to test this hypothesis is by applying comparative structural and content analysis of Philo’s Mos. with Theon’s Progymnasmata (Preliminary Exercises).7 I argue that Philo’s Mos. follows the compositional instructions for the genre encomion (ἐγκώμιον) that Theon outlines for his students.8 By tracing how

gymnasium, at the synagogue, or a combination of all three. For further discussion about Philo’s educational upbringing see, Samuel Sandmel, Philo of Alexandria: An Introduction, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1979), 5, 15; Peder Borgen, “Philo of Alexandria,” in The Literature of the Jewish People in the Period of the Second Temple and the Talmud, ed. Michael Stone (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984), 254–55; David Scholer, Foreword to The Works of Philo: Complete and Unabridged, trans. C.D. Yonge (Hendrickson Publishers, 1993), ix–x. 5 I use the terms compositional and literary education throughout the discussion. By compositional education I mean specifically how the author learned to arrange the text based on the structure and content. By literary education I mean learning how to read and write (not necessarily creating texts) in general as well as other elements that were associated with grammatical learning. 6 Of course, Cribiore’s excellent detailed work on education in Hellenized Egypt describes the teachings of a grammarian and what types of exercises students engaged in. Raffaella Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001), 185–219. My intention is to show what Philo had to learn based specifically on the construction of De vita Mosis and not the full range of grammatical and compositional education in general. 7 Theon (surnamed Aelius) is described in the tenth-century CE Byzantine encyclopedia called the Suda (reference designation is Θ 206) as a sophist from Alexandria, Egypt, who wrote rhetorical works. There are other ancient writers who have progymnasmata, which discuss compositional elements similar to Theon’s. I have chosen to compare Philo to Theon because the other writers, Hermogenes of Tarsus (second century CE), Aphthonius (fourth century C.E.), and Nicholaus of Myrna (sixth century CE), are relatively later. See Kennedy’s introduction for a very useful discussion on the relationship and transmission of the progymnasmata of these writers in George A. Kennedy, Progymnasmata: Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003), xii. 8 Theon defines encomion as a type of praise or celebration of a character’s life and deeds (Theon, 109.26–28). He says that the word is related to reveling (κῶμος) and the eulogies of the gods at the festivals (παιδιά).

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Philo’s work aligns with these instructions and comments, plausible conclusions can be made regarding the text’s genre, function, and general aspects of compositional education including research methods and locations. The discussion will proceed with a comparative analysis of Philo’s Mos. with the encomion section of Theon’s Progymnasmata and, finally, further considerations regarding compositional education as well as education in general during Philo’s era.9

The Genre of De vita Mosis Philo’s works are difficult to categorize with one precise genre classification, in part because the writings are composed of different elements that make it problematic to assign one label like “Allegory.” Scholars such as Goodenough and Sandmel have used different labels to categorize Philo’s works. Philo’s texts are typically divided between two modern categories: commentaries or exposition of Moses’s laws.10 Commentary usually begins with a biblical reference and includes allegorical exegesis, while exposition forgoes the verse-by-verse approach for narrative, but still may include allegorical interpretations. Philo’s De vita Mosis is often grouped under exposition of law; however, it is also referred to as “Rewritten Bible,” paraphrase, and epideictic.11 Although its similarities 9 Another comparative approach is Michael Martin’s fine work on the use of progymnasmata topic lists, which discusses how they were employed in what he calls bios (biography) by writers such as Philostratus, Josephus, Plutarch, and Luke the Evangelist, as well as in Philo’s De vita Mosis. Martin argues that these topic lists are templates that were used for composing biographies. I agree that they are templates but I think for composing an encomion instead of biography. His approach focuses on multiple authors (whom he calls Theorists) of progymnasmata including Theon, Hermogenes, Aphthonius, and Nicholaus and compares their topic lists to the biographical contents of the four writers he covers. Although Martin draws on multiple authors and progymnasmata, the discussion here focuses only on Philo and Theon’s exercises and attempts to answer questions about Jewish compositional education in the Second Temple Period. Michael W. Martin, “Progymnastic Topic Lists: A Compositional Template for Luke and Other Bioi?,” NTS 54 (2008): 18–41. 10 Erwin Goodenough, “Philo’s Exposition of the Law and His De Vita Mosis,” Harvard Theological Review 26 (1933): 109–125. Samuel Sandmel, Philo of Alexandria: An Introduction (New York: Oxford University Press, 1979), 47. 11 Peder Borgen, “Philo of Alexandria,” in The Literature of the Jewish People in the Period of the Second Temple and the Talmud, ed. Michael Stone (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984), 233–234. Borgen divides Philo’s writings into allegorical interpretations, thematic and philosophical writings, and exposition of the law of Moses. The expositional texts are further divided into creation, historical, and legislative parts. Borgen also suggests that De vita Mosis could be classified as Rewritten Bible because it is similar to Jewish texts, such as Jubilees and the Genesis Apocryphon (234).

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to Greek biography are sometimes mentioned, it is still considered exposition.12 Alexandre evaluates De vita Mosis based on rhetorical techniques.13 Although he mentions its similarities with Greek biographical narrative and historical features, he classifies it as epideictic genre.14 The problem with designating De vita Mosis as exposition, Rewritten Bible, is that the labels are modern evaluations that were unknown in the ancient world. Even epideictic, although a known rhetorical term in the ancient world, is not precise enough as a written genre designation. These labels are helpful for modern readers to classify texts based on similar features, but they do little to assist with how ancient writers classified their writings. Instead—regardless of how helpful our modern genre categories are for discussion—it is more precise to refer to ancient writings by the classifications that their authors (or detractors) used to describe them. Initially, it appears that Philo refers to Mos. with a classification that was known in antiquity as bios, thereby eluding the difficulty of trying to give it a modern category. Philo explicitly states that he, “thought to write the life [of Moses] (τὸν βίον ἀναγράψαι διενοήθην) who according to some is a lawgiver and an interpreter of the law” (Mos. 1.1). However, when searching the ancient literary exercises for a category, such as bios or biography, it is not listed as something that people learned to write.15 This assertion by Philo is our starting point for examining the remainder of the composition in relationship to experience and expectation. When Philo mentions at the outset of his work that he is writing a life of Moses, it immediately presumes that he has received training in writing, but the issue at hand is what did he learn to write and how did he learn it?16 There are a number of (what we refer to as) biographies that existed from the ancient world

12 Borgen and Maren Neihoff mention De vita Mosis’s connections to Greek biography, Borgen, “Philo of Alexandria,” 235; Maren Niehoff, Jewish Exegesis and Homeric Scholarship in Alexandria (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 169–171. Niehoff mentions that she sees Moses’s biography as part of exposition (171, note 9). 13 Manuel Alexandre, Rhetorical Argumentation in Philo of Alexandria (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999), 109–110. Alexandre compares the structure of De vita Mosis to five parts of epideictic narrative: exposition, narration, confirmation, and peroration (110). 14 Ibid., 109–110. 15 It is true that Plutarch and others mention bios as one of their aims, for example, “the writing of parallel lives (περὶ τὴν τῶν βίων τῶν παραλλήλων γραφήν)” (Thes. 1.1). However, Plutarch and Philo’s use of the term can be understood as describing their compositional action but not a categorical label. In other words, Philo can write about the life of Moses as his subject while employing the genre of encomion to praise his life. 16 βίος in this usage means more of “manner of life” or how he lived as opposed to ζωή, which would emphasize more of one’s external substance or property, although it too can refer to one’s existence in general as well as a secondary meaning.

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and some of them have similarities to elements found in Mos. Diogenes Laertius (ca. second century CE) is an example of a writer who produced biographies for famous figures such as Solon, Pythagoras, and Socrates in his Lives of Eminent Philosophers. Although Philo was writing a “life” of Moses, it does not mean that he was writing a “biography” in terms of a specific compositional category.17 The content of Mos., instead, resembles more of what is known about an actual compositional (and oratory) category called encomion (ἐγκώμιον) as described by ancient writers such as Aristotle (384–322 BCE) and Theon (first century CE).18 Instead of comparing ancient encomia for similarities and differences between them, it will prove to be more beneficial to understand the inherent rules for writing an encomion, and whether or not Philo follows some or all of them, as opposed to the compositional rules of writing a personal letter or a tax receipt. Additionally, we can consider what Philo himself says about writing and education within the text to further elucidate what kind of education he received. Lastly, we will consider literary decisions Philo makes that are part of the wider consensus of writers within the Second Temple timeframe to identify other elements of writing that are not included in the exercises but may have been common expectations.

Encomion in Aristotle and Theon From the second century BCE through the first century CE, several compositional categories were known to writers, such as history, epic, satire, and comedy among others. What is peculiar for modern readers is that the boundaries and characteristics of these various categories were not always entirely clear in how they were used or understood by different writers. One author may refer to a literary work as a myth (μῦθος), while another may view the writing as a historical (ἱστορία) text despite their similar structure or contents. Josephus, for example, in his Contra Apionem, accuses the Egyptian historiographer Manetho of using fraudulent sources in his work (1.287). Josephus credits Manetho on the veracity of some of his accounts (especially those that agree with Josephus’s own characterization of the Jews) but at other times he derides him for either telling lies outright or for resorting to “anonymous myths (ἀδεσπότους μύθους).” Whether Josephus is right or wrong in his assessment of Manetho’s sources, the point is that Manetho 17 Our first use of biography (βιογραφία) comes from Damascius the philosopher (ca. fifth or sixth century CE) in his Vita Isidori §8. 18 Aristotle, Rhet. 1.9.33.

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believed his literary sources were credible to support his history, while Josephus considered them as myths. Another example of how fluid the boundaries between literary categories were is found in the Roman rhetor Quintilian (35–90s CE) who explains the various types of narrative (narratio) writings in his Institutio oratoria 2.4.2. Although in modern terms, one might think of a narrative as being one specific kind of writing with distinct characteristics, Quintilian mentions three different types of narrative: myth (fabula), argument (argumentum), and history (historia), which all have their respective elements.19 This literary diversity makes it apparent that authors learned to distinguish between different types of writings. Each category of writing, despite having some overlap in description or content, had its own expectations of what it should entail.20 Several elements can be observed in the structure of Mos., which correlate with writing exercises and authorial comments during the Second Temple era. It is true that looking at writing experiences and expectations diachronically is suspect to anachronism, but this concern can be somewhat alleviated due to the level of consistency over time. Despite the apparent time gap between educators such as Aristotle and Theon (almost three centuries), their descriptions of what an encomion should entail consists of numerous similarities. The authors share considerable agreement regarding the content of an encomion often using closely related words and phrases. A few comparative examples from both authors will suffice to demonstrate the continuity over time in expectations for writing an encomion. Both Aristotle and Theon describe the function of an encomion as praising a figure who has virtuous deeds: Ἔστι δ᾿ ἔπαινος λόγος ἐμφανίζων μέγεθος ἀρετῆς … τὸ δ᾿ ἐγκώμιον τῶν ἔργων ἐστίν (Rhet. 1.9.33)21

19 Quintilian also mentions that poetry is a form of narrative but says that is given to the grammarians, “grammaticis autem poeticas dedimus” (Inst. 2.4.2). 20 For example, Quintilian explains that fabula is found in tragedy and “poetry” (carmen), which do not fully present truth (veritas), while historical narrative presents “the narration of actual events” (est gestae rei expositio) (Inst. 2.4.2 [Russell, LCL]). 21 The standard Greek edition of Theon’s work is Leonhard von Spengel, Rhetores Graeci, Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum Et Romanorum Teubneriana. S.G., 2 vols. (Lipsiae: in aedibus B.G. Teubneri, 1894). The section on Theon’s Progymnasmata is in volume two of his work, pp. 56– 130. The references are according to Spengel’s page and line numbers in the second volume. For an English translation of Spengel’s work that includes detailed introductory information about Theon (and the other authors of the progymnasmata) as well as manuscripts and transmission see George A. Kennedy and Societies American Council of Learned, Progymnasmata Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric, Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric

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Now praise is a discourse showing greatness of virtue … but the encomion is about great works22 Ἐγκώμιόν ἐστι λόγος ἐμφανίζων μέγεθος τῶν κατ’ ἀρετὴν πράξεων (Theon 109.20) Encomion is a discourse showing greatness of actions according to virtue. Both authors also mention a person should be praised for being the only one, the first, or one of a small group that accomplishes a deed: εἰ μόνος ἢ πρῶτος ἢ μετ᾿ ὀλίγων … (Rhet. 1.9.38) If [he is] the only one or first or with a group of others … καὶ εἰ μόνος ἔπραξέ τις ἢ πρῶτος, ἢ ὅτε οὐδείς, ἢ μᾶλλον τῶν ἄλλων, ἢ μετ’ ὀλίγων … (Theon 110.20) [A]nd if he alone did something, or [was] the first, or no one else [did it], or [he did] more than others, or with a few others … Additionally, both Aristotle and Theon describe the benefit of comparing the deeds of a virtuous person to previous famous figures both using a form of ἀντιπαραβάλλω: πρὸς ἄλλους ἀντιπαραβάλλειν (Rhet. 1.9.38) [To] compare [him] to others … ἀντιπαραβάλλοντα ἐκείνων τὰ ἔργα πρὸς τὰ τῶν ἐγκωμιαζομένων … (Theon 111.1–3) [C]omparing their works to the works of those who were praised. Along with these three examples, Aristotle and Theon also share other instructions for composing an encomion, such as the importance of emphasizing a character’s birth and education (Rhet. 9.33; Theon 110.1–5). In both texts the authors use the same terms to refer to the central character’s noble birth (εὐγένεια and εὐγένεια ἀγαθόν) and their education (παιδεία) as external factors of their outstanding fea-

(Atlanta, Ga.: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003). See especially xviii in Kennedy for matching the pages and sections in Spengel’s Greek to Kennedy’s English translation. 22 Translations are my own unless otherwise noted.

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tures. Differences, however, also exist between Aristotle and Theon’s instructions. The most noteworthy difference is that Aristotle’s instructions are primarily for oral presentations, while Theon’s are for those aspiring to a career in public speaking or professional writing (Theon 70.22–28). Indeed, literary and oratory rules were similar because written mediums were also performed or read aloud for the listening audience. This is one reason why Aristotle’s and Theon’s rules for narrative and encomion are so similar despite the passage of time. Aristotle’s rules remained significant enough that the practice of orally delivering an encomion also became the guidelines for writing one.23 The elements that appear to demonstrate compositional education in Mos. include some that are well-known and others that require an explanation from Theon’s preliminary exercises, as well as other ancient authorial comments on writing. The familiar elements that demonstrate compositional education include sections in Philo’s text that ascribe Greek educational features to the figure of Moses (e.g., Mos. 1.23–24). The recognizable elements in Mos. that indicate compositional education for an encomion include: an introduction, a checklist of Moses’s praiseworthy achievements, and descriptions of his character traits. Each of these elements in Philo’s text will be treated respectively. The structure of Mos. aligns (in some cases almost exactly) with the encomion instructions of Aristotle and Theon. An analysis of Mos. in conjunction with their suggestions for writing an encomion demonstrate that the structure and content of the writings are following specific guidelines that were explicated in a manual like Theon’s and, to a lesser degree, Aristotle’s. Theon’s instructional section, labeled ΠΕΡΙ ΕΓΚΩΜΙΟΥ ΚΑΙ ΨΟΓΟΥ (Concerning Praise and Blame), lists a host of details for what an aspiring writer should include in their praise of a figure. As one reads through Philo’s Mos., it is unmistakable that he is following, maybe not Theon’s manual, but the rules that were common for composing an encomion.

Structural Comparison of Mos. with Theon’s Encomion Rules Having considered the genre of Mos., it is reasonable to ask, in what observable ways does the text demonstrate adherence to Theon’s rules for writing an encomion? When Philo took up his reed pen to write on papyrus or parchment, what

23 This can also be seen in the similarities of topics covered between the authors. Aristotle and Theon both provide treatments for enomion, diegesis, prooimion, and ekphrasis with several similarities between their instructions.

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sorts of mental guidelines helped him to arrange the text? Similar to the modern age, trained writers had some idea of the writing conventions for their time and culture. The question here is whether Mos. reflects Theon’s pattern for learning how to compose an encomion. Examining a sectional breakdown of Mos. in comparison with Theon’s handbook will yield the clearest example of whether Philo is following its rules or not. We will follow the rules Theon sets out in their order and then compare them with what is found in Philo’s text. If Philo’s text agrees with Theon’s rules, then one could surmise that Philo was aware of these rules and governed his writing accordingly. Theon’s progymnasmata are divided into sections, each discussing a topic of writing, for example, chreia, myth, and ekphrasis.24 Theon’s section on what should be included in an encomion describes three types of “good things (τὰ ἀγαθὰ)” that should be mentioned about the central figure (Theon 109.30). The first type of good that should be described is what Theon refers to as “external (ἔξωθεν).” External goods refer to the praiseworthiness of the character’s birth (εὐγένεια ἀγαθόν), education (παιδεία), and ancestry (Theon 109.30, 110.1). The second kind of good that Theon suggests mentioning is called the “goods of the body (τὰ [ἀγαθὰ] δὲ περὶ σῶμα),” which refers to the figure’s physical constitution, such as beauty, strength, progymnasmata, Kennedy and American Council of Learned, Progymnasmata Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric, 2. (Theon 109.30, 110.6). The third and final category is what Theon calls “Goods of the Mind (ψυχικὰ δὲ ἀγαθὰ),” which he explains as having good character (ἦθος) as one demonstrates virtuous actions through thought and behavior (Theon 109.30, 110.7). We will now carefully consider each of the three categories that Theon describes and how Philo implements them into his work.

Elements of an Encomion: Prooimion Although Theon begins by explaining what the content of an encomion ought to include, we will begin first with his organizational instructions. Theon instructs his pupils that their written encomion should follow a specific structural order. For Theon, the encomion should proceed first with the introduction (προοίμιον) and then followed by descriptions of the character’s external, bodily, and mental goods: 24 The order of Theon’s sections is debated. Kennedy mentions that his text was edited and rearranged at a later time to conform to other works of progymnasmata, Kennedy and American Council of Learned, Progymnasmata Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric, 2.

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μετὰ τὸ προοίμιον εὐθὺς περὶ εὐγενείας ἐροῦμεν, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν τε ἐκτὸς καὶ περὶ σῶμα ἀγαθῶν … μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα τὰς πράξεις καὶ τὰ κατορθώματα παραληψόμεθα … Immediately after the prooimion we speak about good birth and other external -oods … and after these things we shall take up the actions and the successes … (Theon 111.12–14, 112.1) In Philo’s first book of Moses—which he refers to as the “first composition (προτέρα σύνταξίς)” and not a “book (βιβλίον)”—he follows the exact organizational structure that Theon suggests for his students. Philo begins his work with a prooimion as Theon recommends (Theon 111.12).25 In Philo’s prooimion, he describes his desire to write on the life of Moses to inform those who were unaware of his unsurpassed greatness, and subsequently to fill in this omission by Greek historians (Mos. 1.1–5).26 The prooimion in Mos. 1.1–5 is further evidence of how a text followed wellknown literary patterns. The inclusion of a prooimion at the start of a writing was common not only for an encomion but also for other narrative works, particularly the genre of history (ἱστορία).27 There are copious examples of prooimia in the periods preceding and contemporary with Philo from historiographers such as Thucydides (fifth century BCE), Polybius (200–118 BCE), and down to Dionysius of Halicarnassus (ca. 60–ca. 7 BCE). From as early as Thucydides, historiographers were including prooimia in their writings as a means of introducing their subject matter, rationale for writing, accusing opponents, and even addressing their audiences. Although Theon’s writing exercises do not detail how to write a prooimion, his wording that “Immediately after the prooimion… (μετὰ τὸ προοίμιον εὐθὺς)” (Theon 111.12) suggests that this was a section of a writing (whether an encomion or historical writing) that was common to authors. Therefore, to think 25 The prooimion (Προοιμιον) is the “introduction” to a writing (e.g., epic and history) or speech (e.g., epideictic) that explains the subject matter and prepares the listener for what follows. Aristotle explains the function of the prooimion and how closely it relates to the prologue (προλογος) of tragedy, comedy, and poetry (Rhet. 3.14.1–6). 26 In addition to the setup of the praise for Moses’s life, Philo’s prooimion also addresses, in a scathing manner, the literary shortcomings of these same writers for not using their literary education to praise virtuous men such as Moses; instead, they waste their abilities writing comedies and composing “licentious Sybarian works (συβαριτικὰς ἀσελγείας συνθέντες)” (Mos. 1.3). 27 For a collection of ancient prologues, see Paul Edward Dutton and Justin Lake, Prologues to Ancient and Medieval History: A Reader, Readings in Medieval Civilizations and Cultures Series 17 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2013). Lake refers to the introductions as “prologues,” but several of the works include introductions that use προλογος as well as Προοιμιον as their term for introduction. Lake’s collection includes ancient historiographers, such as Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Thucydides, and Polybius.

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that writers of Philo’s time learned the proper form and content for writing a prooimion, just as they would have for the encomion, is not presumptuous. As already mentioned, Aristotle’s Rhetoric provides us with a clear example of rules and expectations for the content and function of the prooimion in an oral presentation (Rhet. 3.14.1–6), while later historiographers implemented the oral instructions into a written form. A brief comparison of what was included in prooimia across time periods and locations indicates several patterns common to each of them. From a positional standpoint, prooimia occur at the beginning of a speech and written texts. Philo’s work also begins with a prooimion but without calling it as such. Instead, we can infer Philo learned to write a prooimion, as his contemporaries did, due to the continuity in instructional elements. Another aspect of the prooimion, as found in other ancient writers, is the explanation for how the author arrived at their version of the account and how they procured their information. Philo, before the start of his narration, explains how he has used two sources for his research of the life of Moses. His first source, he says, are the “sacred books (βίβλων τῶν ἱερῶν)” and his second source is the “elders of the nation (τοῦ ἔθνους πρεσβυτέρων)” (Mos. 1.4). Of course, relying on books they considered authoritative or consulting contemporary people about events that supposedly transpired centuries ago was not unusual. Historiographers also employed similar tactics to produce their volumes, such as Dionysius of Halicarnassus who said some of his material was from “the things heard by chance (ἐκ τῶν ἐπιτυχόντων ἀκουσμάτων)” (Ant. rom. 1.1.4). Two interesting questions regarding Philo’s research methods are, which sacred books was he referring to and why would he trust or accept what certain elders had to say? Philo’s accounts of Moses’s life make it evident that he possessed alternative traditions about him that were not included in the Masoretic text of the Hebrew Bible.28 What is most intriguing from the combination of these two types of sources is that Philo believes he is giving an “accurate (ἀκριβῶσαι)” account of Moses’s life despite the apparent discrepancies between traditions (Mos. 1.4). Philo’s research method demonstrates a compositional factor that is not included in Theon’s instructions but indicates that Philo is familiar with conventional norms of research. The contents of Mos. 1.1–5 shows that Philo composed a compelling prooimion based on the common conventions and expectations of his era that led his readers into the next sections of his work. These next sections, much like his prooimion, follow the compositional structure suggested by Theon’s encomion instructions.

28 Philo’s parallel accounts of Moses’s birth (cf. Mos. 1.5–29 and Exod 2:1–10) and his encounter at the burning bush (cf. Mos. 1.65–86 and Exod 3:1–12) are two examples of variant oral or written traditions that he learned.

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Elements of an Encomion: External and Bodily Goods The purpose of the prooimion section of Philo’s work is to prepare the reader for the following three main sections (external, bodily, and mental goods) of what Theon suggests will make a good encomion. Theon advises in his exercises that immediately following the prooimion the writer should begin describing the external goods of the main character: μετὰ τὸ προοίμιον εὐθὺς περὶ εὐγενείας ἐροῦμεν, καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν τε ἐκτὸς καὶ περὶ σῶμα ἀγαθῶν … Immediately after the prooimion we speak about good birth and other external things and about bodily good… (Theon 111.12) This is precisely what Philo adheres to in his own writing, even demonstrating he is aware of the division between his prooimion and the next section. Philo indicates he shall begin his writing, after the prooimion, with “what is necessary to begin [with] (ἄρξομαι δ᾽ ἀφ᾽ οὗπερ ἀναγκαῖον ἄρξασθαι)” (Mos. 1.5). The οὗπερ ἀναγκαῖον ἄρξασθαι emphasizes that Philo understands there are specific things that should come in order after the prooimion of an encomion. The “what” Philo refers to are the three elements Theon suggests, namely, external, body, and mental goods. Looking at the structure of Philo’s work, specifically Mos. 1, he does indeed begin with the external good relating to the character of Moses that he has selected. Theon gives specific designations for what should be included in each of the three categories. In the first one, external good, Theon instructs his pupils to describe details about the main figure regarding his birth, ancestry, and education, among other things: ἔστι δὲ τῶν ἔξωθεν πρῶτον μὲν εὐγένεια ἀγαθόν, διττὴ δὲ ἡ μὲν πόλεως καὶ ἔθνους καὶ πολιτείας ἀγαθῆς, ἡ δὲ γονέων καὶ τῶν ἄλλων οἰκείων. ἔπειτα δὲ παιδεία, φιλία, δόξα, ἀρχή, πλοῦτος, εὐτεκνία, εὐθανασία. Now the external good are first, good birth, both the city and nation and good citizenship, and offspring and other inhabitants. Then education, friendship, glory, leadership, wealth, good children, and a good death. (Theon 110.2–6) Philo closely follows a set of directives that are enticingly similar to what was transmitted to Theon. Philo, however, follows the convention of what constitutes an encomion, while Theon’s later instructions reflect what was known from a

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previous time. Philo’s “external good” section mentions several of the main elements included in Theon’s instructions. It is important to note that Philo’s section on external good mixes elements of bodily goods as well; however, this is not a departure from Theon’s instructions. Theon also suggests that the student should incorporate the two elements together, as already mentioned, when he writes that good birth, external good, and bodily good should immediately follow the prooimion (Theon 111.12). After Philo’s prooimion, he describes Moses’s ancestral heritage, birth, and education. Following the example transmitted to Theon, which says that one should describe the good birth of the person being praised, Philo narrates Moses’s birth account, albeit with an alternative rendering than what is found in the traditional Masoretic text (Mos. 1.5–50; cf. Exod 2:1–10). Philo describes Moses as being both well-born (εὐγενῆ), using the adjectival form, whereas Theon uses the noun form (εὐγένεια), and attractive (ἀστεῖον) (Mos. 1.18). Moses is also described as being more handsome (ἀστειοτέραν) than a common man (ἰδιώτην) (Mos. 1.9). Theon also instructs his students to describe in praiseworthy terms the family background and education of the main character. Philo does no less when introducing the reader to Moses’s parents who are described as being among the best people (ἀρίστων) and his direct relation to the first leader (ἀρχηγέτης) of the Judean nation (Mos. 1.7). By mentioning Moses’s connection with the founder (Abraham) of “all the Judean nation (τοῦ σύμπαντος Ἰουδαίων ἔθνους)” this serves as praise for what Theon says is having a good city, nation, and constitution (πόλεως καὶ ἔθνους καὶ πολιτείας ἀγαθῆς) (110.1–5). Although Theon mentions that an encomion should praise the education (παιδεία) of the main character, along with several other aspects, Philo devotes a lengthy section to this single attribute, more than the others, describing in detail just how exceptional Moses was.29 In praising Moses’s educational prowess, Philo describes how he was taught by some of the most learned teachers available, particularly from Egypt and Greece (Mos. 1.21). Moses is praised for how quickly he learns and for surpassing his own instructor’s capacity (ἐν οὐ μακρῷ χρόνῳ τὰς δυνάμεις ὑπερέβαλεν) (Mos. 1.23). For Philo, what appears to be most praiseworthy about Moses’s education is the impressive all-encompassing range

29 Koskenniemi offers a concise treatment of the traditions of Moses’s education before the Mishnah in the works of Ezekiel the Tragedian, Artapanus, Philo, Josephus, Jubilees, and Liber antiquitatum biblicarum. Erkki Koskenniemi, “Moses-a Well-Educated Man: A Look at the Educational Idea in Early Judaism,” JSP 17 (2008): 281–96. Philo gives the lengthiest treatment on Moses’s education focusing on Greek and other Gentile subjects. The works do not all agree in the content or dissemination of education, as Artapanus even reverses the process making Moses the discoverer instead of the receiver of philosophy (Eusebius, Praep. ev. 9.27.4).

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of topics he was supposedly able to master (Mos. 1.23–24).30 Philo’s list of Moses’s educational acumen would have certainly been extraordinary to Philo’s contemporary readers. What is interesting to know is whether or not Philo believed Moses actually learned all of these subjects. Philo concedes that his research is based on literary texts that have some similarities with known biblical writings and testimony from elders he has interviewed. The trustworthiness of his sources for their accuracy, however, is impossible to determine. Philo’s goal of praising Moses’s education is aptly fulfilled by describing Moses as having received training in an exhaustive range of erudite thought.

Elements of an Encomion: Mental Goods Following the sections describing external and bodily goods, Theon next advises his students to progress to the goods of the mind/soul (ψυχικὰ ἀγαθὰ) that are embodied in the main character’s correct morals (σπουδαῖα ἠθικὰ) and result in actions (πράξεις), which are later called virtue (ἀρετήν): “The goods of the soul are correct morals and the actions leading to these… (ψυχικὰ δὲ ἀγαθὰ τὰ σπουδαῖα ἠθικὰ καὶ αἱ τούτοις ἀκολουθοῦσαι πράξεις)” (Theon 110.7–10). The virtuous actions the central figure exhibits are laudable traits such as being prudent (φρόνιμος), courageous (ἀνδρεῖος), pious (ὅσιος), and just (δίκαιος) among others (Theon 110.7–10). Theon suggests his students should arrange this section of the encomion by listing the virtuous action (e.g., courage) followed by the deeds (ἔργα) during the figure’s lifetime that demonstrate the virtue: … μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα τὰς πράξεις καὶ τὰ κατορθώματα παραληψόμεθα οὐκ ἐφεξῆς διηγούμενοι· λέγοντες γὰρ ἄλλα προστίθεμεν κατὰ μίαν ἑκάστην ἀρετήν, ἔπειτα τὰ ἔργα διεξιόντες … …after these things [the external and bodily goods] we shall receive the actions and the successes, not narrating [them] in order, but we shall set up the sayings according to each virtue, then go through the works … (Theon 112.2–5)

30 Philo lists Moses’s educational training as including: Arithmetic (ἀριθμοὺς), geometry (γεωμετρίαν), rhythm (ῥυθμικὴν), harmony (ἁρμονικὴν), theories of meter (μετρικὴν θεωρίαν), all kinds of music through the use of instruments (μουσικὴν τὴν σύμπασαν διά τε χρήσεως ὀργάνων), sayings about the arts (λόγων τῶν ἐν ταῖς τέχναις), Egyptian philosophy of symbols (συμβόλων φιλοσοφίαν), Greek encyclical education (ἐγκύκλιον παιδείαν Ἕλληνες), Assyrian writings (Ἀσσύρια γράμματα), and Chaldean knowledge of the heavens (τὴν τῶν οὐρανίων Χαλδαϊκὴν ἐπιστήμην).

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Philo follows a similar pattern when presenting Moses’s praiseworthy deeds. Although Philo does not name his section “Goods of the Mind,” it is apparent from the structure of the text that he intends to include the type of arrangement Theon instructs for his students. Structurally, Philo has already covered Moses’s birth, education, family background, and physical attributes in the order Theon advises. Philo leads into this next section by centering on Moses’s sublime mind and intellect before launching into a series of narratives that support his claims. Beginning at Mos. 1.25–27, Philo explains how Moses uses his intellect (φρόνησιν) and even has a mind (νοῦς) that is thought to be “human or divine or mixed from both” (ἀνθρώπειος ἢ θεῖος ἢ μικτὸς ἐξ ἀμφοῖν). While the word used for “mind” is different from what Theon uses, it still shows the emphasis on the inward mental capacity to affect the outer actions of the figure. Moses’s mind, according to Philo, has in fact been trained by reason (λογισμὸν) in the “contest of virtue (τοὺς ἀρετῆς ἄθλους)” so that all his actions (πράξεις) would already be praiseworthy (ἐπαινετὰς) (Mos. 1.48). Philo is using the same concepts Theon does regarding the central figure being praised for the connection between their mind and virtuous actions, while also employing similar wording. The similarities continue when considering the virtues both Philo and Theon use. Theon lists being prudent, temperate, courageous, and just as examples of virtues that might be used to describe the central figure (Theon 110.7–10). Philo applies each of the four main virtues Theon uses to Moses—except for courage (ἀνδρεῖος), which he substitutes with “fortitude (καρτερίᾳ).” This close connection of listed virtues between the authors is not a chance occurrence but demonstrates their shared awareness of the virtues discussed by famous philosophers such as Plato and Aristotle.31 Philo, applying his knowledge of the Greek virtues and the structural outline for this section of an encomion, describes Moses’s virtues of temperance, justice, and self-control, and follows them with descriptive narratives that reflect how they were enacted. While Theon instructs his readers that they should list the virtue and then give examples of how that virtue was carried out in the figure’s life, Philo does the same but on a larger scale. Philo mentions Moses’s virtues but his narratives that reflect how he lived them are long and include additional

31 Philo, and later Theon, were aware of the specific virtues that should be applied to central characters. Between Plato and Aristotle, they address wisdom, courage, self-mastery, and justice as virtues that a great person possesses (Plato, Resp. 4.427e, 6.504a; Aristotle, Eth. nic. 3.vi.1, 3.x.1, 4.i.1, 5.i.1). Aristotle even adds generosity (among others) and Theon follows suit by adding it to his list (Eth. nic. 4.i.1; Theon 110.9). Philo lists Moses’s virtues in different places throughout the text but taken together he possesses all four of the main virtues (again substituting fortitude for courage) as well as others (Mos. 1.25, 154).

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compositional elements. Philo’s narratives occasionally venture away from Moses and introduce allegory and expanded versions of traditional biblical accounts. To understand how Philo is using all this mixed material, while still writing an encomion, we should consider the goal of the composition that he gives at the end of the first work. Philo explains that this first work was meant to describe what Moses did according to his “kingly” authority (Mos. 1.334). The virtues that are described (external, bodily, and of the mind), initially and throughout the text, are demonstrated by Moses’s actions in the narratives as he operates as a good ruler. Therefore, all of Mos. 1 is devoted to describing Moses’s external, bodily, and mental goods, but restricts his actions to those related to his kingly authority. This is all still in line with what Theon promotes as an orderly outline of an encomion. The difference is its presentation in two works instead of one. Philo continues his description of Moses’s “goods of the mind” by describing three other actions that reflect his virtue. At the end of his first work, Philo explains that his next composition will discuss all the things Moses did correctly (κατώρθωσε) concerning his deeds as a high priest (ἀρχιερωσύνης) and lawgiver (νομοθετικῆς) (Mos. 1.334). He will later add his role as a preeminent prophet as the third evidence of his virtue. This is exactly what Philo says in the prooimion of his second work. He reiterates the purpose of the first composition and how Moses’s actions were praised: ἡ μὲν προτέρα σύνταξίς ἐστι περὶ γενέσεως τῆς Μωυσέως καὶ τροφῆς, ἔτι δὲ παιδείας καὶ ἀρχῆς, ἣν οὐ μόνον ἀνεπιλήπτως ἀλλὰ καὶ σφόδρα ἐπαινετῶς ἦρξε … The first composition was about the birth of Moses and his upbringing, education, and rule, which was not only blameless, but he ruled in an exceedingly praiseworthy manner … (Mos. 2.1) The continuation of Moses’s virtues in the second work will now focus on his actions as a high priest, lawgiver, and prophet through divine appointment: ἐγένετο γὰρ προνοίᾳ θεοῦ βασιλεύς τε καὶ νομοθέτης καὶ ἀρχιερεὺς καὶ προφήτης καὶ ἐν ἑκάστῳ τὰ πρωτεῖα ἠνέγκατο … For he was by the providence of God, king and lawgiver and high priest and prophet, and he showed the first things in each … (Mos. 2.3) The “first things (τὰ πρωτεῖα)” here refers to the cardinal virtues (wisdom, courage, temperance, and self-control) as taught by Plato and Aristotle. The entire second work of Philo praises Moses by taking each of the three actions and

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showing how he lived them in an exceptional manner. Philo’s arrangement of the section follows what Theon has received, which is to start with the virtuous action followed by descriptions of the deeds that exhibit the virtue. For Philo, Moses’s virtuous actions are the four powers (δυνάμεις) that he operates in as king, lawgiver, high priest, and prophet. Since Philo has already covered Moses’s kingly action in his first work, he now takes the remaining three and follows each with specific deeds from Moses’s life. Here, we will use Philo’s introduction of Moses as a lawgiver as an example of the structure of each of the virtues. The formulaic arrangement Philo follows is to first introduce the virtuous action: “Now first [we shall] mention the things regarding his skill as a lawgiver” (Mos. 2.8). Second, Philo makes an assertion that Moses was the best or the only one that ever operated at such a high level in the capacity as lawgiver: “And that he [was] the best (ἄριστος) of all the lawgivers everywhere, as many as were from the Greeks and Barbarians” (Mos. 2.12). This declaration of Moses as the best lawgiver also agrees with what Theon advises his students. Theon explains that the author should praise the figure for acting at the right time, for being the only one to have done the action, or for being the first to have done it (Theon 110.21–25).32 Third, after Philo has given ample narration to support his case for the virtue of Moses and his skill in operating as a lawgiver, he offers a summary and transition into his next virtuous action: “We have already gone through two parts of the life of Moses concerning his position as king and lawgiver, and now adding the third concerning his priesthood” (Mos. 2.66). This example of Philo’s description of Moses as a virtuous lawgiver is the structural outline he also follows for presenting his actions as a high priest (Mos. 2.66–187) and prophet (Mos. 2.187–291). The prophetic description of Moses is considerably longer because it covers different types of prophecy and narrates Moses’s death, or better, transition from his earthly existence. Philo’s narration of Moses’s death also aligns with Theon’s instructions about a praiseworthy figure’s death. Theon explains that the celebrated figure should have a “good death (εὐθανασία)” along with the other external goods (Theon 110.2–6). Philo accommodates this requirement by expanding well beyond the death of Moses tradition found in Deuteronomy 34:5–6. In the biblical narrative, Moses is denied entry into the Promised Land. He dies and is buried in a valley in the land of Moab according to the mouth of Yahweh, yet his actual burial place remains a mystery. Philo’s narrative of Moses’s death is far more exalted. There is certainly no mention of his 32 Philo’s description of Moses as being the “most pious” ever also agrees with Theon’s inclusion of piety (ὅσιος) on his list of virtues (Theon 110.7–10). Philo also lauds Moses in other parts of this section for being the only person who has embodied all four virtuous powers (Mos. 2.10), for being the most pious (ὁσιώτατον) of anyone who ever lived (Mos. 2.192), and for being the most esteemed (δοκιμώτατος) of the prophets (Mos. 2.187).

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punishment of being denied entry into the Promised Land. This is probably due to another expectation of writing an encomion. Theon explains that none of the failures or faults of the figure should be mentioned because it would be unbecoming of an encomion: “But surely it is not necessary to speak of the slanders (διαβολὰς), for it is a remembrance of the [his] faults (ἁμαρτημάτων), or [things done] secretly or by stealth, [then] we would be making an apology instead of an encomion” (Theon 112.8–11). Philo, instead, focuses on the mysterious aspect of Moses’s death—not knowing where he was buried—by describing his burial and transition from Earth to heaven (Mos. 2.288–291). Moses is characterized as having a good death because he is departing from Earth to go to an estate in heaven (ἀποικίαν ἔμελλεν εἰς οὐρανὸν στέλλεσθαι), he is changing from a life subject to death and becoming immortal (τὸν θνητὸν ἀπολιπὼν βίον ἀπαθανατίζεσθαι), he is buried by immortal powers and not by mortal hands (χερσὶν οὐ θνηταῖς ἀλλ᾽ ἀθανάτοις δυνάμεσιν), and the entire nation (σύμπαν τὸ ἔθνος…ὅλον) mourns for him. For Philo, Moses’s “good death” is essentially an apotheosis since he becomes immortal and ascends into the heavens to live with the gods.

General Compositional Education: Variant Traditions In addition to the compositional exercises Philo learned for composing an encomion for Moses, there were also other lessons that were not as explicitly explained in a writing handbook. Although we can understand the format that Philo employed to compose the encomion, questions remain about how he arrived at the textual content (particularly, variant narrative traditions and nuances such as the use of philosophy, allegory, and etymologies), his motivation for writing, and where compositional education might have taken place. The variant traditions of Moses’s life that Philo uses can be explained in three ways. The first two are found in his prooimion where a description of his research methods includes utilizing “sacred books” and testimony from elders of the nation (Mos. 1.4). Both methods can obviously lead to discrepancies between literary accounts due to the lack of cohesive oral transmission and less stringent rules of producing exact copies of texts. Although we do not know which books Philo used for reference, consulting other books to compose a new text was certainly a long-held practice.33 The research method of interviewing and using testimony 33 Polybius explains how writers composing histories often rely on libraries that have memoirs and other documents readily available for consultation (Polyb. 12.25e.4; 12.27.4–5).

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as source material in a new work was also a lesson authors practiced. Authors, such as Dionysius, attest to the controversial practice of using word of mouth testimony as an accurate source for reporting historical details—depending on one’s perspective.34 A third possibility to explain the variant details of Moses’s life is through the compositional practice known as paraphrase (παράφρασις). Theon encourages his readers (through numerous examples including Homer and Thucydides) to use this practice when retelling past events that have been recorded. He argues that it was a practice that the ancient writers used in the best manner, changing (μεταπλάσσοντες) not only the writings of other authors but also their own (Theon 62.10–24). From Theon’s perspective, changing how something was written can be viewed as an improvement on the text. The compositional practice of paraphrasing then can help explain some of the word differences and expansions found in Philo’s versions of Moses’s life. It should also be noted, however, that during this same period there was not a consensus about changing the details of accounts.35

General Compositional Education: Motivation and Function There were certainly other Jews who lived in Alexandria and had fine educations but did not choose to write an encomion of Moses. What was the impetus for Philo to compose one? We can look again at Philo’s prooimion for insight into why one would take the time to write a praise of an ancient figure’s life. Along with Philo’s comments, we also find that other writers in antiquity shared a similar conviction for creating literature that recalled figures from a distant past. The motivation and reasoning for why a writer chose to take on a laborious task such as composing an encomion or a history is usually found in the 34 Dionysius mentions using word of mouth testimony as a means of accurate source material for his histories (Ant. rom. 1.7.3). He does, however, mention that he condemns other historians for the same practice because of the unreliability of oral details (Ant. rom. 1.1.4). 35 There were claims of falsifying reports and even inventing accounts when it came to writing histories. Josephus even claims in the prooimion of his Jewish Antiquities that he will not add (προσθεὶς) or take away (παραλιπών) from the actual events (A.J. 1.17). The coexistence of approval and disapproval regarding manipulation of texts shows that compositional practices were apparently not uniform. However, understanding positive and negative comments about the practice can help the reader identify yet another process operating in antiquity that may have led to textual variation.

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introduction section of the writing.36 There were three recurring motivations for why authors embarked on their task: to teach the reader some aspect of virtue, to correct erroneous information, or to preserve the memory of an important figure or event. Philo explains that his motivations are twofold: to correct the omission of Moses’s life by Greek historiographers and to preserve his virtuous actions for a wider audience (Mos. 1.1–3).37 Connected to the author’s motivation for writing is the intended function of the text. Both history and encomion focus on events and characters from the past. There was an interest in past actions because one of the common beliefs was that the lives and events of the past could provide insight and lessons for those living in the present and future. This concept goes back even to the time of Aristotle, who emphasized that the things that occurred in the past should be remembered because of their benefit for those living in the future (Rhet. 3.16.11).38 Josephus is similar to Philo in that he uses the scared writings (ἱερῶν γραμμάτων) of the Jewish tradition of his time—which included some form of the writings attributed to Moses—and considered them as history. According to Josephus, the accounts given in these histories are also beneficial for those who want to learn from it.39 These few examples indicate that along with the orthodox preservation and praise of past actions was the function of the text as an exemplar for the audience to learn and imitate. While Philo does not explicitly express this point, the implicit understanding of history during his time shows that this was part of the function of his encomion for Moses.

36 Polybius and Josephus describe the hardships of research and writing history. Polybius mentions that research for writing history can be dangerous and is hard work and expensive (Hist. 12.27.4–7). Josephus explains how writing his history was such a great task that he procrastinated and even needed encouragement from those who wanted to read it to finally complete the work (A.J. 1.7–8). 37 Josephus and Dionysius share similar rationales for composing their histories. Both writers feel compelled to preserve the virtuous actions of prominent figures while also desiring that their reading audience learns from their presentation of history (Josephus, B.J. 1.15, A.J. 1.8, 12; Dionysius, Ant. rom. 1.5.3, 1.6.3–4). 38 Likewise, Polybius also echoes this sentiment explaining how the knowledge of past actions shows the correct way to live (Hist. 1–2). 39 The letter of the Apostle Paul to the church in Rome also reflects the belief that the written records of the past are exemplars for present and future behavior: “For what was written before (προεγράφη) was written for our instruction (διδασκαλίαν), so that through the perseverance and comfort of the scriptures we might have hope.” (Rom 15:4).

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General Compositional Education: Locations Philo’s Mos. provides insight not only into how he learned to write an encomion, but also provides clues as to where Philo received his compositional education. Although Philo does not plainly state where he learned to compose his encomion, he does describe locations where education took place. The question of where Philo received his training is important because it offers explanations as to how he acquired writing skills and literary acumen that included a breath of knowledge ranging from Hebrew narrative traditions to complex interpretations (including etymologies and allegory) and familiarity with philosophical writers and maxims. Did Philo learn each of these subjects at a Jewish location, a Greco-Roman institution, or a combination of both? Philo mentions synagogues, “houses of prayer,” and gymnasiums as all being locations that offered some form of educational activity.40 Philo describes the house of prayer as a place where Jews of his own time gathered on the Sabbath day for all types of learning (Mos. 2.216).41 The questions of how and where Philo learned both Hebrew and Greek traditions may be answered from this description. Philo describes the house (or place) of prayer (προσευκτήρια) as being a “place of instruction” (διδασκαλεῖα) that offered teaching in the main virtues among other subjects related to the divine and mankind (Mos. 2.216). The inclusion of the major Greek virtues is most interesting because they include the ones mentioned by Plato, Aristotle, and Theon: prudence, courage, self-control, justice, and piety (φρονήσεως καὶ ἀνδρείας καὶ σωφροσύνης καὶ δικαιοσύνης εὐσεβείας τε καὶ ὁσιότητος καὶ συμπάσης ἀρετῆς).42 Philo’s description of the Therapeutae reveals further fluidity between groups as they are described as having sacred rooms (οἴκημα ἱερόν) that were

40 Levine provides a detailed discussion on the various names applied to the meeting place of Jews in Jerusalem and the Diaspora in Lee I. Levine, The Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005), 138–39, 238. Levine suggests that the differences between synagogue and “house of prayer” may be due to institutional emphasis. 41 See Levine’s discussion on the various forms of educational activity that took place in the synagogue. Levine notes that study on the Sabbath may have expanded beyond Torah reading into more advances topics but also cautions that these studies and practices may not have been uniform across locations (Ibid., 144–45, 155–57). For additional discussion on educational locations, meeting times, and curriculums available during Philo’s time, see David Carr, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 244–45. 42 The point here is Philo explains that there were several synagogues in and around Alexandria that groups, such as the Essenes, used as places to learn halakhic ideals concerning piety, justice, knowledge, citizenship, and distinguishing good from bad (Legat. 132–134; Prob. 81–83).

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called holy (σεμνεῖον) and monastery (μοναστήριον) where they studied the laws, piety, divine oracles, musical texts, and the mysteries (Contempl. 25). They also met on the Sabbath day as a divided community (between male and female) for Torah instruction (Contempl. 30–34). Their shared interest in literary types and reading practices with other groups, especially Greek education, is also significant. Just as Greek education teaches myths, famous figures, poetry, philosophy, and methods of allegorical interpretation, the Therapeutae apparently shared a similar curriculum. Philo describes how the Therapeutae study and “philosophize” (φιλοσοφοῦσι) through the sacred writings (Contempl. 28). They also have writings of ancient men (συγγράμματα παλαιῶν ἀνδρῶν) that contained ideas for allegory and were used as exemplar texts (Contempl. 29). Along with their study of these texts and methods of interpretation, Philo also explains that they made songs and hymns to God (ποιοῦσιν ᾄσματα καὶ ὕμνους εἰς τὸν θεὸν) possibly demonstrating the practice of composition (Contempl. 29). The Therapeutae then provide another example of a community that practices education that even includes an explanation of how they learned their method of allegory. It would certainly not be unprecedented then to have Jews learning methods of allegory in their own communities. This would help to explain how Philo would know how to construct his symbolic comparison concerning the burning bush if he learned the technique through similar methods (Mos. 1.65–86). Some of the writings of ancient men may have also included Greek authors who practiced allegory and poetry in addition to Jewish ones.43 Unfortunately, because both the writings of ancient men and the sacred writings are unnamed, we can only conjecture about their authors and contents. Still, it shows that some communities employed these practices that were apparently not exclusively studied in Greek educational institutions. Philo also appears to be familiar with the activities of the gymnasium even mentioning its benefit to the body and soul (Spec. 2.229).44 This would make it 43 Certainly, Philo’s knowledge and use of Greek poets throughout his corpus of writings lends itself to his being trained in Greek education. Koskenniemi offers a detailed study of Philo’s use of Greek poets and concludes that he initially learned the words of the poets (Homer, Hesiod, Solon, etc.) during his training at the Alexandrian gymnasium. Erkki Koskenniemi, “Philo and Greek Poets,” JSJ 41 (2010): 301–22. 44 It is undoubted that some Jews participated in Hellenistic educational institutions, such as the gymnasium, and embraced Greek education and culture while others were resistant to its inclusion. Discussions of these various responses of Jews to Hellenistic culture, and particularly education, have been well researched and elucidated by scholars such as Hengel, Lieberman, and Mendelson. See Martin Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in Their Encounter in Palestine During the Early Hellenistic Period (London: SCM Press, 1974), 103–106, 310–14; Saul Lieberman, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine; Studies in the Literary Transmission, Beliefs and

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feasible that Jews of the time could learn compositional education in Jewish settings such as the synagogue/house of prayer, other special locations, as well as in the gymnasium.45

Conclusions Philo’s De vita Mosis serves as an exemplar of how a Jewish author living during the Second Temple Period learned to incorporate Greek education into an otherwise Jewish text. The combination of Philo’s text agreeing with Theon’s exercises and other ancient authors’ comments about literary practices provides insight into what some Jews learned to produce their texts. The reconstruction of Philo’s compositional education helps to provide a framework during a period of Hellenistic influx at a time when social and cultural boundaries were merging. It is certain that Jewish writers made use of Greek culture and education, but this approach allows more clarity into the process of how they gained and applied their knowledge while also retaining their Jewish heritage as Boccaccini asserts. By beginning with the author’s compositional education and writing expectations it helps to explain not only why certain things were written but also the way they were written. In other words, some expressions may have been a matter of compositional norms more than sectarian theology or even political bias. Additional recognition of the nuances of compositional education should lead to improved ways of reading and interpreting the varied Jewish texts that characterize the literary evolution of the era.

Manners of Palestine in the I Century B.C.E.-Iv Century C.E, Texts and Studies of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America V.L8 (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1962), 100–14; Alan Mendelson, Secular Education in Philo of Alexandria, Monographs of the Hebrew Union College 7 (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1982) 81–84. Narrative attestations of the response of Jews to a gymnasium in Jerusalem are recounted in Josephus, Antiquities 12.240–241 and 2 Maccabees 4:7–15. 45 The notion that Jews participated in Greek institutions, such as the gymnasium, is further supported by the so-called “Rescript of Claudius” otherwise known as the Letter of Claudius to the Alexandrians (41 CE) wherein the Emperor restricts the use of the gymnasium from Jews living in Alexandria, Egypt. The letter is found in the Loeb series. Arthur S. Hunt and C. C. Edgar, Select Papyri, Loeb Classical Library [Greek Authors] (London, New York: W. Heinemann, G. P. Putnam’s, 1932), 86-87. The word for “gymnasium” here is γυμνασιαρχικοῖς. The letter indicates that the Jews still have other privileges, but they are not to force their way into the gymnasium.

Devorah Dimant

18 Tobit and Ahiqar The book of Tobit is the only ancient Jewish work that recounts the fortunes, misfortunes, and final triumph of Tobi,1 a member of the Israelite tribe of Naphtali. As such, it presents many questions that still require convincing answers. One of the puzzling features of the book is the introduction of the ancient sage Ahiqar to its plot, an issue that is the concern of this chapter. Usually dated to the third or the beginning of the second century BCE, the book of Tobit forms part of the Christian scriptural canon and came down to us in its entirety in Greek and other ancient daughter translations. The book relates how the pious Tobi was deported to Nineveh when Galilee was conquered by the Assyrian king Tiglath-Pileser III (745–727 BCE), an event that took place in 733–732 BCE. According to the book, our hero rises to prominence in Nineveh as a purveyor for the Assyrian king Shalmaneser V (727–722 BCE). Pursuing his pious acts while also in exile, Tobi provides for “the hungry” and “the naked” (Tob 1:16–17, following Isa 58:7). He refrains from eating gentile food, a mark of piety also characteristic of other righteous Jewish figures living at foreign courts, such as Daniel and Esther.2 Tobi’s particular merit is that of being the only one to do so from among his fellow compatriots (Tob 1:10–11). Tobi pays particular attention to burying the exposed corpses of fellow Jews killed during the reign of the next Assyrian king, Sennacherib (705–681 BCE).3 Such an activity being forbidden by this monarch, Tobi is obliged to perform this act in secret, but is betrayed to Sennacherib. In fear of the death penalty, Tobi is forced to flee and his property is confiscated. In these dire circumstances he is aided by his nephew, Ahiqar, who in turn holds a prominent position in the courts of both Sennacherib and Esarhaddon (681–669 BCE) (Tob 1:21–22). With Ahiqar’s help, Tobi and his family are reestablished in Nineveh. Having been rescued from political perils, Tobi falls ill and is blinded but is again helped by Ahiqar, who cares for him (2:10). At this 1 The name Tobi for the chief protagonist of the book is used throughout the chapter following the short form ‫ טובי‬in the Qumran Aramaic copies of the work. 2 Cf. Dan 1:8–16; LXX Esth 4:17x. Judith likewise is careful not to eat food served in the Assyrian camp (Jdt 12:2). 3 Probably under the influence of 2 Kgs 17:1–6; 18:9–13, the author skips the rule of Sargon II (722–705 BCE), who reigned after Shalmaneser and fathered Sennacherib. Cf. Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Tobit, CEJL; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2003), 116. The same genealogical order is assumed in 1:21. Esarhaddon is also referred to as the heir of Sennacherib in the Aramaic Word of Ahiqar (I, 3–5) from Elephantine. Cf. Bezalel Porten and Ada Yardeni, Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt (Jerusalem: Hebrew University, 1993), 3:26. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-019

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point, Ahiqar undertakes a journey to Elam and disappears from most parts of the plot. The remaining story is devoted to the fortunes of Tobi and his son Tobiah.4 Sent by his father to collect money Tobi had left in Media, Tobiah sets out in the company of the angel Raphael who is disguised as Tobi’s human relative Azariah, but has in fact been assigned to help Tobi, his son and his niece Sarah. Following the instructions of Raphael/Azariah, Tobiah meets Sarah in Ecbatana, rescues her from the demon Asmodeus who had killed her suitors, and marries her. The story concludes with Tobiah and Sarah’s return to Nineveh, the revelation of Raphael’s angelic identity and his discourse, the final address of Tobi to his son, and Tobi’s death and his burial by Tobiah. Ahiqar reappears at the festivities launched at the return of Tobiah (Tob 11:19) and is mentioned again in Tobi’s final address to his son (Tob 14:10).5 Despite the minor role Ahiqar plays in the overall plot, the references to his circumstances and dealings in the key points of the plot of Tobit suggest that they carry a broader significance than the explicitly narrated roles.6 It should first be noted that the brief mention in Tob 14:10 of Ahiqar’s specific fortunes, which are not directly related to the tale of Tobi, implies the author’s familiarity with the details of Ahiqar’s own story, and that he assumed his readers were equally well informed on the subject. Indeed, in contrast to other figures presented by the book of Tobit, who are unknown from other sources and therefore fictitious, Ahiqar is a renowned sage who was famous in antiquity. His wisdom and troubled life are reported in various written narratives in Syriac, Arabic, Armenian, Ethiopic, Greek, and other languages, mostly written during the early centuries

4 Tobiah is represented as ‫ טוביה‬in the Qumran Tobit copies, a common name during the Second Temple era. 5 In 14:15, Sinaiticus gives the name of the king of Media who conquered Nineveh as Ἀχιάχαρος, the form used for the name of Ahiqar elsewhere in this version. However, this must be a corruption for Cyaxares, king of Media, who was responsible for the destruction of Nineveh in 612 BCE, as noted e.g. by Jonas C. Greenfield, “Aḥiqar in the Book of Tobit,” in ‘Al Kanfei Yonah: Collected Studies of Jonas C. Greenfield on Semitic Philology, eds. S. M. Paul, M. E. Stone, and A. Pinnick (Leiden: Brill; Jerusalem: Magnes, 2001 [the article was originally published in 1981]), 1:195–202 (201 n. 16), and Fitzmyer, Tobit, 336–37. 6 The sapiential aspects of the story, such as Tobi’s wisdom sayings to his son (Tob 4:3–19) and their relationship to Ahiqar’s maxims require separate analysis, which is beyond the scope of the present discussion. The relationship between Ahiqar’s sayings and those of Tobi is an indirect one. In fact, Ahiqar’s wisdom, so central to the original Aramaic tale, does not figure in the book of Tobit, apparently because the author wished to focus on the political role and stature of the famous figure.

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CE.7 According to these accounts,8 Ahiqar was the chief counselor to the Assyrian kings Sennacherib and Esarhaddon and was well known for his wisdom. He raised and educated his nephew Nadan by way of a series of wise aphorisms, preparing the youngster to replace him at the court. However, when Nadan came into this high position he calumniated his benefactor and accused him of treason. The wise man was condemned to death but a servant hid him in an underground refuge. Shortly afterward, the king of Egypt challenged the Assyrian monarch with riddles that he was unable to solve. Learning that the famous sage was still alive, the Assyrian king summoned Ahiqar to court and he was reinstated to his former position after solving the Egyptian riddles.9 Finally, he chastised Nadan with a series of wisdom sayings and Nadan was punished by an untimely death. At the early stage of the research into Tobit and its relationship to the Ahiqar tale, the debate revolved around two issues: the origin and original language of the Ahiqar story, and whether the story of Ahiqar is based on Tobit or the reverse.10 The assessment of these issues went through a dramatic change upon the discovery at Elephantine in the beginning of the twentieth century of fragments of the Ahiqar tale and proverbs, all in Aramaic and all dated to the fifth century BCE.11 This significant discovery established that Tobit is based on the Ahiqar story rather than the reverse.12

7 Cf. Frederick C. Conybeare, J. Rendel Harris, and Agnes Smith Lewis, The Story of Aḥiḳar from the Aramaic, Syriac, Arabic, Armenian, Ethiopic, Old Turkish, Greek and Slavonic Versions, 2nd enlarged and corr. ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1913). A synopsis of the main versions of the story is offered by Harris, “The Story of Aḥiḳar,” in APOT, 2:715–84. See also the survey of Max Küchler, Frühjüdische Weisheitstraditionen, OBO 26 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979), 319–413. 8 The following summary traces mainly the Syriac version of the story, which is considered to be the oldest. Cf. François Nau, Histoire et Sagesse d’Aḥiḳar l’Assyrien (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1909), 1–3; J. Rendel Harris, “Introduction,” in Conybeare, Harris, and Smith Lewis, The Story of Aḥiḳar, viii–xi. 9 The section on Egypt is found in the later version of the Ahiqar story but not in the extant Elephantine papyri (see below). Cf. Harris, “Introduction,” xcii–xciii. 10 Cf. the summaries of previous literature by Nau, Histoire et Sagesse d’Aḥiḳar, 15–35; and Harris, “Introduction,” xcv–c. 11 On the tale of Ahiqar and his sayings, see James M. Lindenberger, The Aramaic Proverbs of Ahiqar (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1983), 3–14; Ingo Kottsieper, “Die Geschichte und Sprüche des weisen Achiqar,” TUAT III/2 (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1991), 320–24; Herbert Niehr, Aramäischer Ahiqar, JSHRZ II/2 (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlaghaus, 2007), 1–16; Michael Weigl, Die aramäischen Achikar-Sprüche aus Elephantine und die alttestamentliche Weisheitsliterature, BZAW 399 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010). 12 Cf., for instance, Harries, “Introduction,” xvi; Robert H. Pfeiffer, History of New Testament Times with an Introduction to the Apocrypha (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1949), 268–69.

Tobit and Ahiqar 

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The evidence of the Elephantine papyri is thus linked to the earlier discovery of the fourth-century Greek Codex Sinaiticus in the middle of the nineteenth century. This codex contains a Septuagint (henceforth LXX) version of Tobit that is longer and considerably different from the one known traditionally, represented by the LXX codices Alexandrinus and Vaticanus and most of the Greek cursive manuscripts. Since that discovery, Tobit has been available in two major recensions: the traditional short one (GI), and the long one attested by Sinaiticus (GII) and its affiliated Old Latin version.13 It was soon recognized that a Semitic, apparently Aramaic,14 original underlies the long text, a conclusion fully vindicated by the discovery of the one Hebrew and four Aramaic copies of Tobit among the Qumran Scrolls.15 In fact, the version in the Qumran copies is closest to the long recension,16 which seems to be closely related to the initial composition.17 13 A third Greek version (GIII), partly survived in two Greek cursive manuscripts, 106 and 107 (from 6:9 to 12:22), and the Syro-Hexapla version (from 7:11 to 12:22), is of mixed character, combining features from both the long and short versions. See, however, Stuart Weeks, “Some Neglected Texts of Tobit: The Third Greek Version,” in Studies in the Book of Tobit, ed. M. Bredin, LSTS 55 (London: T&T Clark, 2006), 12–42. 14 Cf., e.g., J. Rendel Harris, “The Double Text of Tobit: Contribution toward a Critical Inquiry,” AmJT 3 (1899): 541–54 (554); Derek C. Simpson, “The Book of Tobit,” APOT 1:174; Charles C. Torrey, The Apocryphal Literature: A Brief Introduction (London: Archon Books, 1963), 86–87. 15 Cf. Joseph Fitzmyer, “196–200. 4QpapTobita ar, 4QTobitb–d ar, and 4QTobite,” in Qumran Cave 4. XIV: Parabiblical Texts, Part 2, M. Broshi et al., DJD XIX (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), 1–276. Copies 4Q196, 4Q197, 4Q198, and 4Q199 are in Aramaic while 4Q200 is in Hebrew. A singly papyrus fragment has been published as coming from 4Q196 by Michaela Hallermayer and Torleif Elgvin, “Schøyen Ms. 5234: Ein neues Tobit-Fragment vom Toten Meer,” RevQ 22 (2006): 451–61. But, it has been later presented as originating from a different fifth Aramaic manuscript. See Stuart Weeks, “Restoring the Greek Tobit,” JSJ 44 (2013): 1–15 (3 n. 6); Andrew B. Perrin, “An Almanac of Tobit Studies: 2000–2014,” CurBR 13 (2014): 107–42 (109); Loren Stuckenbruck and Stuart Weeks, “Tobit,” in The T&T Clark Companion to the Septuagint, ed. J. K. Aitken (London: Bloomsbury, 2015), 237–60 (238). However, this additional fragment, as well as another one in private hands, has been recently claimed to be forgeries. Cf. Kipp Davis et al., “Nine Dubious ‘Dead Sea Scrolls’ from the Twenty First Century,” DSD 24 (2017): 1–40 (18–19, n. 49; 32–33). 16 Cf. Fitzmyer, DJD XIX, 2. Nevertheless, the presence of a Hebrew copy of Tobit at Qumran, 4Q200, suggests a more complex role played by Hebrew and Aramaic in Tobit textual tradition. A Hebrew version of Tobit also survived in a medieval version and in several Cairo Genizah fragments. Two synopses of Tobit’s major textual witnesses have been published recently: Christian J. Wagner, Polyglotte Tobit-Synopse: Griechisch-Lateinisch-Syrisch-Hebräisch-Aramäisch (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003); Stuart Weeks, Simon Gathercole, and Loren Stuckenbruck, The Book of Tobit: Texts from the Principal Ancient and Medieval Traditions, FSBP 3 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004). 17 The GII version is therefore the basis of the present discussion, with references to GI and the Old Latin version when relevant. For the edition, the Greek edition used is that of Robert Hanhart, Tobit, Septuaginta: Vetus Testamentum Graecum VIII/5 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck &

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 Devorah Dimant

The Aramaic Tobit copies from Qumran, the Aramaic Vorlage of the Greek long text, and the Elephantine Ahiqar copies in the same language together suggest that the tales of Ahiqar and Tobit belong to an Aramaic literary milieu.18 The early date of the Ahiqar tradition has been endorsed further by the subsequent find of a Seleucid cuneiform tablet, which lists Ahiqar as the wise scribe of Esarhaddon.19 So Ahiqar may have been a historical figure or a least “was firmly entrenched in Babylonian tradition.”20 The name Ahiqar itself seems to have been in use during the late Babylonian period, as evidenced by a cuneiform tablet from Babylon dated to the beginning of the Achaemenid period (539–530 BCE), in which it is the name of a certain governor in a Babylonian provincial city.21 However, in all these versions, Ahiqar is introduced as a gentile sage, in clear contrast to the picture drawn by Tobit, where he is the Jewish nephew of Tobi (Tob 1:21). This detail, important for the understanding of Tobit, is yet to be explained convincingly. The significant role played by Ahiqar in the Tobit tale emerges not only in the explicit references to Ahiqar but also in the parallel portraits and circumstances of the two figures. Their similarities are as follows: (a) Both Ahiqar and Tobi are wise and righteous; (b) both are active during the reigns of the Assyrian kings Sennacherib and Esarhaddon; (c) both serve in high positions in the Assyrian court, and are ousted and face the death penalty because of calumnies against them; (d) both have young relatives (Tobi’s son, Ahiqar’s nephew) whom they educate through wise sayings; and (e) both have gone through perilous situations and have prevailed.22 However, when inspected in a broader context, these themes reveal many points of contact with the court tale literary genre (cf. below). To this should be Ruprecht, 1983). The translations of GII and GI follow those of Fitzmyer, Tobit (who places them in parallel columns) with occasional alterations. 18 As underlined by Jonas C. Greenfield, “Two Proverbs of Ahiqar,” in ‛Al Kanfei Yonah (the article was originally published in 1990), 1:313–19. 19 Cf. J. van Dijk, “Die Inschriftenfunde,” in XVIII vorläufiger Bericht … Ausgrabungen in Uruk-Warka, Winter 1959/60, ed. H. J. Lenzen, ADOG 7 (Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag, 1962), 43–52. 20 Thus Greenfield, “Two Proverbs of Ahiqar,” 313. François de Blois arrives at a similar conclusion in “The Admonitions of Ādurbād and their Relationship to the Aḥīqar Legend,” JRAS 116 (1984): 41–53 (51 n. 12). 21 See Francis Joannès and André Lemaire, “Trois tablettes cunéiformes à onomastique ouest-sémitique (collection Sh. Moussaïeff) (Pls. I–II),” Transeu 17 (1999): 17–34 (27–29). 22 Michael Weigl notes also the parallelism of the familial situation of the two. Tobi has only a single child, as have the parents of his daughter-in-law Sarah, comparable to the childless Ahiqar who raises his nephew. Cf. Michael Weigl, “Die rettende Macht der Barmherzigkeit: Achikar im Buch Tobit,” BZ 50 (2006): 212–43 (223–24). A detailed analysis of Tobit’s structure is offered by Helmut Engel, “Auf zuverlässigen Wegen und in Gerechtigkeit: Religiöses Ethos in der Diaspora nach dem Buch Tobit,” in Biblische Theologie und gesellschaftlicher Wanel: Für Norbert Lohfink SJ, eds. G. Braulik, W. Groß, and S. McEvenue (Freiburg: Herder, 1993), 83–100 (86–92).

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 281

added the particular feature of the first person autobiographic account, shared by the Ahiqar tale and the first three chapters of Tobit (Tob 1–3:7), noted by some scholars among the features common to both.23 However, this literary technique is used in other Aramaic works from Qumran, indicating a literary mode prevalent in this literature, especially when describing ancient venerable figures.24 In light of the above, Tobit’s references to Ahiqar merit further investigation, especially in light of the Aramaic texts from Qumran.25 Especially important are the references in the first and second chapters of Tobit, since they establish the setting and character of Ahiqar and his place in the story. They are therefore the subject of the present investigation.

Tobit 1:21–22 Ahiqar is first introduced in Tobit in connection with Tobi’s misfortunes under the rule of Sennacherib (Tob 1:21–22). A close analysis of the profile of Ahiqar produced by these verses reveals its manifold sources. Tob 1:21b And his (i.e., Sennacherib’s) son Esarhaddon came to reign after him.26 And he appointed Ahiqar, the son of my brother Anael, over all the accounting of his kingdom and he (i.e., Ahiqar) held control over all the financial administration.27

23 Cf., e.g., Simpson, “The Book of Tobit,” 191; Weigl, “Achikar im Buch Tobit,” 223. 24 See the discussions of Loren T. Stuckenbruck, “Pseudepigraphy and First Person Discourse in the Dead Sea Documents: From the Aramaic Texts to Writings of the Yaḥad,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls and Contemporary Culture: Proceedings of the International Conference Held at the Israel Museum (July 6–8, 2008), STDJ 93 (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 295–326; Andrew B. Perrin, “Capturing the Voices of Pseudepigraphic Personae: On the Form and Function of Incipits in the Aramaic Dead Sea Scrolls,” DSD 20 (2011): 113–25. 25 For previous discussions of these particular issues, see Lothar Rupert, “Zur Funktion der Achikar-Notizen im Buch Tobias,” BZ 20 (1976): 232–37; Armin Schmitt, “Die Achikar-Notiz bei Tobit 1,2b–22 in aramäischer (pap4QToba ar—4Q196) und griechischer Fassung,” in Der Gegenwart Verpflichtet: Studien zur Biblischen Literature des Frühjudentums, ed. C. Wagner, BZAW 292 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2000) 103–23; Greenfield, “Aḥiqar in the Book of Tobit”; Weigl, “Achikar im Buch Tobit.” For a critique of the idea that the references to Ahiqar are later additions, cf. Küchler, Frühjüdische Weisheitstraditionen, 366–68. 26 Cf. n. 3 above. 27 Translating the Greek. Most of the verse is preserved in one of the Qumran Aramaic copies of Tobit, 4Q196 2 5–10. Cf. the editions of Fitzmyer, DJD XIX, 8 and Michaela Hallermayer, Text und Überlieferung des Buches Tobit, DCLS 3 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2008), 35–36. For the translation, see the discussion below.

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 Devorah Dimant

The information about Ahiqar’s position is divided into two periods, under the reign of King Esarhaddon (Tob 1:21b, 22b) and under that of his predecessor Sennacherib (Tob 1:22). The verse relates the change of monarch following Sennacherib’s murder by his sons (Tob 1:22).28 Though the event is historically accurate, the author is apparently relying on the biblical information regarding the incident (2 Kgs 19:27; 2 Chr 32:13–14). The underlying biblical implication suggests that Sennacherib’s violent death came as punishment for his blasphemy against God when campaigning against Judea (2 Kgs 18:32–34; 19:22–23; Isa 37:23). Thus, an analogy is drawn between Sennacherib’s abuse of God in Judea and his persecution of the righteous Tobi in Nineveh. Consequently, according to Tobit, Sennacherib’s demise was a punishment for both. In introducing Ahiqar’s high position in the Assyrian administration, he is also referred to as Tobi’s nephew, the son of Tobi’s brother, Anael,29 an affirmation repeated in the following verse. Accordingly, Ahiqar is, in fact, the cousin of Tobi’s son, Tobiah. Such a familial connection is not unique in the book of Tobit. The angel Raphael presents himself to Tobi as the “son of Ananiah the eldest of your brothers” (5:13), so he too is a cousin of Tobiah. According to Tob 7:3–4, Tobiah is the nephew of Raguel, the father of Tobiah’s intended bride, for Raguel is Tobi’s brother.30 Tob 9:6 (GII) states that Gabael, with whom Tobi deposited a significant sum of money (Tob 1:14), is his cousin. Thus, even in exile, Tobi socializes only with his close relations. According to this picture, Ahiqar belongs precisely to this circle.31 Such a network of relatives implies that Ahiqar was also one of the Israelites deported to Nineveh.32 Although this fact is not mentioned specifically in Tobi’s narrative, it is suggested by Ahiqar’s association with Tobi’s extended family. This type of connection is illustrated by another character in the story, the supposed parent of the disguised Raphael/Azariah. When the angel mentions the name of

28 Cf. the comments of Nadav Na’aman, “Sennacherib’s Sons’ Flight to Urartu,” N.A.B.U. (2006/1): 4–5. 29 Ἁναήλ in Greek, and ‫ ענאל‬in a Qumran Aramaic copy (4Q196 2 8). The Old Latin has here Annanihel as one of Tobi’s ancestors in 1:1, 8. See also the name of Tobi’s brother, Ananiah, the supposed father of the disguised Raphael (5:13). Perhaps the name was patronymic in his family. 30 Thus the Greek version (GII and GI). One of the Qumran Aramaic copies states that Tobi is Raguel’s cousin since, upon seeing Tobiah for the first time, Raguel observes that the youngster is very similar to Tobi “the son of my (i.e., Raguel’s) uncle” (‫ ;בר דדי‬4Q197 4 iii 5). 31 Cf. Devorah Dimant, “The Family of Tobit,” in With Wisdom as a Robe: Qumran and Other Jewish Studies in Honour of Ida Fröhlich, eds. K. D. Dobos and M. Köszeghy (Sheffield: Phoenix, 2009), 157–62. 32 As rightly pointed out by Heinrich Groß, Tobit, Judit, NEchtB, KAT 19 (Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 1987), 8–9.

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 283

his assumed father, Ananiah, Tobi’s brother, Tobi is reminded of Ananiah’s piety when still in the land of Israel (Tob 5:14). So Ahiqar may have had a similar reputation in the land of Israel. Making Ahiqar a member of Tobi’s extended family transforms his story also into a tale about exiled Jews in Assyria and Media. As such, the fortunes of Tobi and Ahiqar in the Assyrian court take up a well-known literary pattern, that of tales about Jewish courtiers in the courts of great foreign monarchs, a pattern exemplified by the biblical stories of Joseph in Genesis, Daniel in the book of Daniel’s Aramaic stories, and Mordechai in Esther.33 The Qumran Scrolls have augmented the number of specimens of this type, adding the Prayer of Nabonidus (4Q242), Jews at the Persian Court (4Q550), and the Four Kingdoms (4Q552, 4Q552a, 4Q553), all in Aramaic. They provide further evidence of the diffusion of court tales in antiquity, especially in the Aramaic literary milieu, and in this way enrich and broaden the Aramaic context of the book of Tobit. As noted, the presentation of Ahiqar’s familial connections appears here as a collateral note but, introduced as it is together with the list of Ahiqar’s important responsibilities in the Assyrian court, it draws a picture of a Jewish courtier in the great monarch’s administration, analogous to that enjoyed by Tobi under Shalmaneser.34 The information about Ahiqar’s position in the Assyrian court falls into two parts: the first concerning Ahiqar’s functions under Esarhaddon, and the second concerning those under Sennacherib. This order, the inverse of the chronological reality, is necessitated by Tobit’s particular narrative sequence. Being the one who rescues Tobi from his plight under Sennacherib, Ahiqar is introduced in the context that enables him to help his relative, namely, the rule of Esarhaddon. Accordingly, the first item of information relates Ahiqar’s functions in the administration of this king, following his ascension after the murder of Sennacherib. Fortunately, this section of Tobit has been preserved in one of the Aramaic copies from Qumran (4Q196 2 5–8). It permits us to compare the Aramaic terminology pertaining to Ahiqar’s position to the parallel wording of the Greek. However, a comparison of the Aramaic with the Greek discloses some ambiguity 33 As noted by numerous commentators. See, for instance, Franz Altheim and Ruth Stiehl Heinrich, Das Aramaïsche Sprache unter den Achaimeniden (Frankfurt a. M.: Klostermann, 1963), 1:193; Lothar Ruppert, “Zur Fonktion der Achikar-Notizen im Buch Tobit,” BZ 20 (1976): 232–37 (234–35); Groß, Tobit, Judit, 8–9; Weigl, “Achikar im Buch Tobit,” passim. 34 On court tale patterns in the story of Ahiqar and Tobit, see Devorah Dimant, “Tobit as Court Tale,” (Hebrew) Meghillot 13 (2017): 159–70. Discussions on court tales often relate to Ahiqar but neglect Tobit. See, for instance, Susan Niditch and Robert Doran, “The Success Story of the Wise Courtier: A Formal Approach,” JBL 96 (1977): 179–93; Tawny L. Holm, Of Courtiers and Kings: The Biblical Daniel Narratives and Ancient Story-Collections (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2013), 78–88.

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 Devorah Dimant

in the Greek translation (both GII and GI). The Aramaic provides two terms for the areas of responsibility held by Ahiqar under Esarhaddon:35 ‫ ש[יזפנו]ת‬and ‫המרכלות‬, in this order. The Greek produces two corresponding abstract nouns, ἐκλογιστία and διοίκησις, respectively.36 The abstract noun ‫ שיזפנות‬is a rare Aramaic word of uncertain meaning. Fitzmyer saw in it an ̓Af‛el from the root ‫יזף‬, “to lend,”37 and rendered it as “credit accounts.”38 He based himself partly on the Greek ἐκλογιστία, parallel to ‫ שיזפנות‬in the Greek version. However, the Greek ἐκλογιστία means “reckoning, accounts,”39 designating a specific domain of the Hellenistic Ptolemaic administration, that of account keeping.40 It would therefore fit better with the second Aramaic term, ‫המרכלות‬, meaning “accounting, accounts.”41 Yet it is the Greek διοίκησις that is the second noun, which is technically parallel to ‫המרכלות‬. But in the Ptolemaic administration terminology, διοίκησις covers a broader sphere, that of “administration, management,” and more specifically

35 The abstract noun ‫ שיזפנות‬is reconstructed plausibly by Fitzmyer, based on Ahiqar’s title ‫שיזפן‬ preserved fully in a later line (4Q196 2 8). Cf. the similar ‫ ש]יזפנות‬restored by Klaus Beyer, Die aramäischen Texte vom Toten Meer (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 2:174. But Michaela Hallermayer observes that the initial shin and final tav may still be seen in the PAM photograph 41.646. Cf. eadem, Texte und Überlieferung des Buches Tobit, DCLS 3 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2008), 35 n. 182. 36 The Old Latin produces different equations. For the first noun, it has omnen curam regni (“the entire administration”) and for the second one it has omnem regionem (“the entire territory”). It apparently merges the two areas of responsibility. Cf. Vincent T. M. Skemp, The Vulgate of Tobit Compared with Other Ancient Witnesses, SBLDS 180 (Atlanta: SBL, 2000), 63–65. 37 Cf. Michael Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic of the Byzantine Period, 3rd revised and expanded ed. (Ramat-Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 2017), 252. 38 Cf. Fitzmyer in DJD XIX, 9–10. 39 Thus Johan Lust, Erik Eynikel, and Katrin Hauspie, Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuaginti, rev. ed. (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2003), 184. See H. G. Liddell and R. Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), 512, Supplement 109. Takamitsu Muraoka, A Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuagint (Louvain: Peeters, 2009), 212 offers “task of inspecting revenue accounts.” The word is unique in the Septuagint but is used in Hellenistic administrative papyri. See the following note. 40 Cf. Ulrich Wilcken, Grundzüge und Chrestomathie der Papyruskunde (Hildesheim: Olms, 1963 [1915]), 1:208; Friedrich Preisigke, Fachwörter des öffentlichen Verwaltungsdienstes Ägyptens (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1915), 72; idem, Wörterbuch der griechischen Papyrusurkunden (Heidelberg: Heidelberg University Publishing, 1924), vol. 1, col. 449. 41 Cf. Jonas C. Greenfield, “*hamarakara > ’amamrkal,” in ‘Al Kanfei Yonah, 1:68–74 (69), originally published in 1970. See Edward M. Cook, Dictionary of Qumran Aramaic (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2015), 65. Cook gives the term ἐκλογιστία as equivalent to ‫המרכלו[ת‬. Cf. below.

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 285

“financial administration.”42 Thus, perhaps διοίκησις should be equated with ‫ שיזפנות‬rather than with ‫המרכלות‬. The Aramaic may therefore be translated as follows: “and he] put Ahiqar … in charge of all the f[inancial administratio]n [of his kingdom …. and he had c]ontrol over [a]ll the accounting of the king.”43 The Greek should be rendered as follows: “And he appointed Ahiqar … over all the accounting of his kingdom and he (i.e., Ahiqar) had control over all the financial administration.”44 Such translations bring out the better sense made by the Aramaic, for it first designates the broader administrative branch and only later the more specific and limited task of the royal accounting. It is difficult to say whether the ambiguity occurred at the level of the original Aramaic or that of the Greek rendering. In any case, the Hellenistic terminology, which served the Greek translators, was at times partly overlapping45 and it was perhaps not easy for a later translator to distinguish between the two terms. The Aramaic version further clarifies some redundancy in the Greek. In the Aramaic, the second ministerial responsibility of Ahiqar is referred to by two words, ‫( המרכלות מלכא‬4 Q196 2 6), but is represented by a single word in the Greek translation. The additional ‫“( מלכא‬king”) indicates that the area in question was related specifically to the king.46 This addition makes clear that the two parts of the depiction speak of different functions. The one referred to first concerns Ahiqar’s authority over the financial administration (or the accounting in the Greek) of the entire kingdom whereas the second one describes his responsibility for the royal accounting (or administration in the Greek). The fact that the Greek version selected different terms for the two offices may reflect some of the original

42 Wilcken, Grundzüge und Chrestomathie, 1:148; Preisigke, Fachwörter, 61; idem, Wörterbuch, 1, col. 387. Cf. Liddell–Scott, Greek-English Lexicon, 432; BDAG (3rd ed.), 250. The hierarchical relationship of the positions is evident from the third century B.C.E. Zenon papyri, according to which Apollonios, being the dioketés of King Ptolemy II Philadelphus, had eklogistés subordinate to him (Cairo-Zenon 59173, 59297). Cf. Claire Préaux, L’Économie royale des Lagides (New York: Arno Press, 1979), 17–18, 290 n. 5. In this capacity, Apollonios was “the manager in the name of the king of the economic life of Egypt,” as stated by Michael Rostovtzeff, A Large Estate in Egypt in the Third Century B.C.: A Study in Economic History, Studia Historica 52 (Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1967), 16. See also Werner Huß, Ägypten in hellenistischer Zeit 332–30 v. Chr. (Munich: C.H. Beck, 2001), 315. 43 ‫ על כל ש[יזפנו]ת [מלכותה ולה הוה ש]לטן על [ כ]ל המרכלות מלכא‬... ‫( והוא ]אשלט לאחיקר‬4Q196 2 5–6). 44 εἶχεν τὴν ἐξουσίαν ἐπὶ πᾶσαν τὴν διοίκησιν. The translation of ‫ שיזפנות‬as “accounting” or related terms (cf. Fitzmyer, DJD XIX, 9; Beyer, Die aramäischen Texte, 174 and Hallermayer, Texte, 37 have “Wirtschaft”) stems from its equation with the ἐκλογιστία of the Greek rendering. 45 Cf. the discussion of the title below. 46 Fitzmyer, Tobit, 100 supplies this word in brackets in the translation of GII.

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 Devorah Dimant

distinction, blurred by the dropping of the word “king.” The result is a somewhat redundant phrase in the Greek, smoothed out by the Old Latin.47 Tob 1:22 Then Ahiqar interceded on my behalf,48 and I came back to Nineveh. For49 Ahiqar had been the chief cup-bearer, keeper of the signet ring, finance minister and accountant under Sennacherib, the king of Assyria. Now Esarhaddon put him in charge as second to himself. Ahiqar was my nephew and of my kinsfolk.

Here, Tobi’s autobiographic narrative relates how Ahiqar interceded on his behalf, permitting him to return to Nineveh. Thus, the release of Tobi from the pending death sentence, his return to Nineveh, and the following restitution of his possessions related later (Tob 2:1), all took place under Esarhaddon’s rule. One would then expect the statement regarding Ahiqar’s interceding to be a fitting conclusion to the account of Ahiqar’s greatness under Esarhaddon. However, the story goes on to state Ahiqar’s position under Sennacherib as an explanation of his stature in his successor’s rule, perhaps due to the author’s concentric structure of the pericope. This addition also consists of two parts: listed first are the four titles Ahiqar held under the previous reign of Sennacherib. It is then reported that Esarhaddon, Sennacherib’s successor, instated Ahiqar as his deputy. At the conclusion of these qualifications, the author again states Ahiqar’s pedigree, namely being Tobi’s nephew,50 forming an inclusio to the short description of Ahiqar. The entire reference to the famous sage is formulated in a concentric structure: the beginning and conclusion note Ahiqar’s familial relationship to Tobi (1:21b; 1:22b), the middle section depicts Ahiqar’s intervention on behalf of Tobi (1:1:22a), and in the parallel references appear the positions held by Ahiqar in the court of

47 The redundancy created in the Greek is reflected well by modern renderings. For instance, this is the translation of Fitzmyer, Tobit, 100: “… he appointed Ahiqar … over all the credit accounts of his kingdom; he had control of all the treasury accounts.” The ambiguity led Littman to identify the two parts: “… he appointed Ahiqar … over all the accounts of his kingdom and he held control over all their (Littman’s addition) administration” (see Robert J. Littman, Tobit: The Book of Tobit in Codex Sinaiticus [Leiden: Brill, 2008], 5). 48 In the Aramaic: ‫( ובעה אחיקר עלי‬4 Q196 2 6). Cf. the discussion of this Aramaic expression in Weigl, “Achikar im Buch Tobit,” 229. 49 Translating the GII explanatory conjunctive γάρ, replaced in GI by the transitional particle δέ. The corresponding word was not preserved in the Aramaic fragment (4Q196 2 7), but Fitzmyer, DJD XIX, 8 restored in the lacuna ‫ארי‬, the Aramaic equivalent of GII. 50 The Aramaic (4Q196 2 9) has ‫ בר אחי‬while the Greek (GII, GI) has ἐξάδελφος. The same Greek term describes Ahiqar in Tob 11:18 (a verse not preserved in the Qumran Tobit copies).

Tobit and Ahiqar 

 287

Esarhaddon (1:21b; 1:22b).51 This construction highlights the status of Ahiqar’s positions under Sennacherib as being subordinate to those he held under Esarhaddon. The functions fulfilled by Ahiqar under the two kings present an interesting set of historical titles and biblical terms. He held four positions in the administration of Sennacherib: the chief cupbearer, the keeper of the signet ring, a finance minister, and a comptroller (following the Aramaic order).52 The first two titles are related to those that appear in biblical accounts. The “chief cupbearer,” ὁ ἀρχιοινοχόος (GII53), is a rendering of the Aramaic ‫ רב שקה‬appearing in the Aramaic copy of Tobit (4Q196 2 7). The title is the epithet of a high official in the Assyrian court, known from Assyrian sources as well as from biblical accounts (2 Kgs 18:17, 26; Isaiah 36–37).54 The translation may echo the epithet “cupbearer” of the official appearing in the Genesis story of Joseph (‫—שר המשקים‬Genesis 4055; compare Neh 2:1). The second title attributed to Ahiqar is “the keeper of the signet ring(s),”56 ‫ רב עזקן‬in the Aramaic and ἐπί τοῦ δακτυλίου in the Greek.57 Apparently this title is taken from the Ahiqar tradition, for, in the Elephantine copy of his tale (I, 3), Ahiqar is given the title ‫“( צ]בית עזקתה זי שנחאריב מלך אתור‬be]arer of the signet ring of Sennacherib king of Assyria”).58 But the title also accords with practices 51 As noted by Paul Deselaers, Das Buch Tobit: Studien zu seiner Entstehung, Komposition und Theologie, OBO 43 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982), 427–28. 52 On the Neo-Assyrian administrative terminology reflected by these terms, see Michael Helzer, “Neo-Assyrian Administrative Terms in Greek in the Book of Tobit,” N.A.B.U. (2006/2): 49–50. 53 GI has οἰνοχόος (“male cupbearer”; cf. Muraoka, Lexicon, 490); cf. LXX Neh 1:11. 54 On this title, see Mordechai Cogan and Hayim Tadmor, II Kings, AB 11 (Garden City: Doubleday, 1998), 230. The authors translate this title as “the chief butler.” For the many functions and responsibilities of this functionary, see Raija Mattila, The King’s Magnates: A Study of the Highest Officials of the Neo-Assyrian Empire (Helsinki: University of Helsinki, 2000), 45–60. 55 This Hebrew title is rendered by the Septuagint to Genesis as ἀρχοινοχόος, which is identical to the title used by GII in Tob 1:22. In other biblical books (2 Kings 18; Isaiah 37), the corresponding Septuagint renders the title ‫ רב שקה‬with a transliteration, Ραψακη (cf. the comment of Schmitt, “Die Achikar-Notiz,” 112). The particular relationship of the GII translator to the LXX Pentateuch is apparent in other cases. See, for instance, the peculiar geographic location in Tob 1:2b, which is identical to LXX Deut 11:30. 56 The plural appears only in the Aramaic. Compare ‫“( בעזקתה די דריוש‬with the signet ring of Darius”) in 4Q550 1 5 where the reference is to books sealed by the signet of Darius. Schmitt, “Die Achikar-Notiz,”113 noted that the addition ‫“( רב‬chief”) in Tobit’s formulation is aimed at stressing the particularly powerful position of Ahiqar. 57 The term δακτύλιος translates the Hebrew noun ‫ טבעת‬in LXX Gen 41:42; LXX Gen 38:18. 58 Cf. Porten and Yardeni, Textbook, 3:26–27. The Egyptian and Iranian background of this ministerial position, and its possible Assyrian origin, is discussed by Jonas C. Greenfield, “Studies in Aramaic Lexicography I,” ‘Al Kanfei Yonah, 1:6–21 (9–14, 18–21).

288 

 Devorah Dimant

related by biblical books. In Gen 41:42, Pharaoh transfers his ring to Joseph when nominating him as his viceroy. Esther (3:12; 8:8, 10) states that edicts issued by the Persian king had to be sealed by his signet ring in order to be effective. For the third and fourth epithets, the Aramaic provides two titles, ‫ המרכל‬followed by ‫שיזפן‬, while the Greek has διοικητής followed by ἐκλογιστής. They parallel the abstract nouns describing the areas of responsibility assigned to Ahiqar in the days of Esarhaddon (Tob 1:21), ‫ שיזפנות‬and ‫המרכלות‬, represented by ἐκλογιστία and διοίκησις, respectively. However, here in 1:22 the order is reversed with ‫המרכל‬ appearing first followed by ‫שיזפן‬, but the matching Greek terms are the same. διοικητής translates ‫ המרכל‬while ἐκλογιστής is parallel to ‫שיזפן‬. However, as is argued for the abstract nouns in 1:21b, also here the titles are rendered imprecisely. For ‫( המרכל‬4 Q196 2 7) signifies “accountant”59 while its Greek counterpart διοικητής means “administrator”60 or “finance minister.”61 Thus, ἐκλογιστής, “accountant,”62 is a better translation of ‫המרכל‬. For the Aramaic, ‫ שיזפן‬the meaning “administrator, minister of finance,”63 assigned to the Greek διοικητής, should be adopted as argued above for the corresponding nouns. Therefore, the pair ‫שיזפן‬/διοικητής appears to designate an administrative responsibility that is broader than the specific occupation designated by the pair ‫המרכל‬/ἐκλογιστής.64

59 One of the Aramaic letters exchanged between Persian officials in Egypt records the plural form and is rendered by “accountants.” Cf. Godfrey R. Driver, Aramaic Documents of the Fifth Century B.C. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965 [1957]), 30. See also Greenfield, “*hamarakara > ’amamrkal”; Cook, Dictionary, 65. 60 Thus Lust et al., Lexicon, 155, following Liddell–Scott, Greek-English Lexicon, 432 “administrator” (in addition to “governor, treasurer”). The term is also used in LXX Dan 3:2 and LXX Ezra 8:36. 61 Thus Muraoka, Lexicon, 171; Cf. Liddell–Scott, Greek-English Lexicon, 432, which records also the meaning “chief financial official” in Egypt. Cf. Wilcken, Grundzüge und Chrestomathie, 1:148; Preisigke, Fachwörter, 61; idem, Wörterbuch, 1, col. 387. Cf. BDAG (3rd ed.), 250. 62 Cf. Wilcken, Grundzüge und Chrestomathie, 1:208; Preisigke, Fachwörter, 72; idem, Wörterbuch, vol. 1, col. 449; Lust et al., Lexicon, 184. Cf. Liddell–Scott, Greek-English Lexicon, 512. Here, Cook, Dictionary, 65 is therefore right in placing this Greek equivalent in brackets at the end of the entry on ‫המרכל‬. 63 Thus Cook, Dictionary, 233. But here Cook is wrong in equating this term with ἐκλογιστής, which on p. 65 he had associated correctly with ‫המרכל‬. 64 Michael O. Wise, “A Note on 4Q196 (pap Tob ara) and Tobit I 22,” VT 43 (1993): 566–70 (570 n. 16) assumes that the rare word ‫“ שיזפן‬may not have been understood by the Greek translator.” This may be the case. However, stating that its Greek counterpart ἐκλογιστής is “uncommon and ill-defined” is amiss. Although it is less frequent than διοικητής, it is well documented in papyri of the period. The fact that it surfaced in a literary text such as the LXX version of Tobit suggests familiarity with the term by contemporary translators. A similar critique of Wise at this point is expressed by Schmitt, “Die Achikar-Notiz,” 122, n. 96.

Tobit and Ahiqar 

 289

In any case, they refer to different offices, although at times the title ἐκλογιστής was carried by the chief accountant as well as by his subordinates.65 The sequence depicted above shows that the positions held by Ahiqar under Sennacherib were carried out by him also in the days of Esarhaddon. But Ahiqar’s final promotion occurred during the days of the latter, who appointed him his viceroy.66 The formulation used by the Greek to describe this specific nomination is ἐκ δευτέρας (GII, GI; “as second [to himself]”), corresponding to the Aramaic ‫( תנין לה‬4Q196 2 8). Both reflect the title ‫משנה למלך‬, bestowed on Mordechai (Esth 10:367), but also known from nonbiblical sources.68 This epithet conjoins other features in Ahiqar’s portrait that evoke Joseph’s eminence at Pharaoh’s court (Gen 41:41–43) and Mordechai’s high position in Xerxes’ court (Esth 7:11; 8:2, 15). Perhaps only this preeminent position permitted Ahiqar to act on Tobi’s behalf. The conclusion of Tobi’s profile of Ahiqar restates that he was Tobi’s nephew and was one of his “kinsfolk.” The Aramaic version produces a detailed pedigree: “Now he was the son of my brother, of my father’s house, and of my family.”69 The depiction proceeds from the closest to the wider familial connection.70 These particulars express the importance of the familial relationship of Ahiqar to Tobi, and thus connect this detail to the importance of familial cohesion and kinship, a central theme in the book of Tobit. As with other features used by the book of Tobit to portray the Assyrian background and geography, the profile of Ahiqar also lacks historical precision. The plethora of titles accorded to Ahiqar is without comparison and is intended to aggrandize Ahiqar’s stature.71 Moreover, the vignette of Ahiqar leaves some 65 Cf. Wilcken, Grundzüge und Chrestomathie, 148. 66 Schmitt, “Die Achikar-Notiz,” 114–15 suggests that this advancement came in the wake of Ahiqar’s particular distinction under Sennacherib. He compares it with the promotions of Joseph and Mordechai in their respective courts, who excelled in their service of the king. 67 The title was also held by Elkanah, who served in the court of Ahaz, king of Judea (2 Chr 28:7). 68 For the Greco-Roman sources, see the survey of H. Volkmann, “Der Zweite nach dem König,” Phil 92 (1938): 285–316. Émile Benveniste has shown the Iranian counterpart of it. See idem, Titres et noms propres en iranien ancien (Paris: Klincksieck, 1966), 51–65. Fitzmyer, Tobit, 124 compares the title with the Akkadian turtānu or tartān, “man in the second place” (cf. 2 Kgs 18:17; Isa 20:1). 69 ‫( ארי בר אחי הוה ומן בית אבי ומן משפחתי‬4Q196 2 8–9). The term used by GII is συγγένεια (cf. Muraoka, Lexicon, 640–41). It may correspond to the Aramaic ‫ומן בית אבי‬, but it has no equivalent for the Aramaic ‫ומן משפחתי‬. The entire detail is absent from GI. 70 As noted by Schmitt, “Die Achikar-Notiz,” 116. 71 In Weigl’s opinion, the titles, especially the last two, are intended to enhance the parallelism between Tobi’s positions and those of Ahiqar as part of the general analogy between them. Cf. idem, “Achikar im Buch Tobit,” 227 n. 32. Compare the relatively modest description of Ahiqar in the Elephantine papyri, Words of Ahiqar, I, 1: ‫“( חכים ומהיר ספר‬a wise and skillful scribe”). Cf. Porten and Yardeni, Textbook, 26.

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 Devorah Dimant

details unexplained. While Ahiqar’s greatness in the court of Esarhaddon accounts for his ability to help Tobi, and his consanguinity with him explains his willingness to do so, both themes are not pertinent to the reign of Sennacherib. Actually, the reader wonders why Ahiqar, being so prominent already in Sennacherib’s administration, did not rescue his uncle earlier, thus preventing Tobi’s flight and the confiscation of his property. Perhaps the information about Ahiqar in Sennacherib’s court derives from the Aramaic narrative tradition regarding Ahiqar, according to which the prominence, demise, and reinstatement of Ahiqar took place during the reigns of both Sennacherib and Esarhaddon,72 even though Ahiqar’s role in Sennacherib’s days is irrelevant to events occurring in Tobit under this king.

Tobit 2:10b (GII, VL + All my relatives grieved for me), and Ahiqar sustained73 me for two years before he went to Elymais.74

The statement comes at the conclusion of the story of Tobi’s blindness. The previous pericope (Tob 2:3–10) relates how Tobi halted his Pentecost festivities to bury the corpse of a fellow Jew discarded in the market, went back home and slept outside the house, but was blinded by bird droppings. Tobi states that he lost his sight for four years. The entire scene echoes the illness of Job, having lost his children and property (Job 1:20; 2:7). The Greek long version of Tobit supplies 72 Cf. the Elephantine Aramaic Words of Ahiqar, col. I (Porten and Yardeni, Textbook, 26). 73 The Greek (GII, GI) employs here the verb τρέφω, whose semantic field covers the meanings “provide food, feed, nourish, sustain physical life”; cf. Lust et al., Lexicon, 619; Muraoka, Lexicon, 686. Some commentators rendered the word in the feeding sense (e.g., Simpson, “The Book of Tobit,” 207). However, the context obviously requires a broader sense. Fitzmyer, Tobit, 127 rendered “cared for,” which may be too general. Others translate “supported” (thus, e.g., Zimmermann, Tobit, 59; Littman, Tobit, 7). The above rendering is adopted to cover both the physical and more general support. Ruppert, “Achikar-Notizen,” 235 sees here another echo of the Joseph story, which depicts him as the provider for his family (Gen 45:11). In this verse, Joseph promises to provide for Jacob in Egypt, using the verb ‫וכלכלתי‬. The LXX translates it by the compound ἐκθρέψω (→ ἐκτρέφω, “nurture”), resembling that used in Tob 2:10. In Gen 47:12; 50:21, the same Hebrew verb is used for the same activity of Joseph. LXX Gen 50:21 employs another compound of the same root, διαθρέψω (→ διατρέφω, “provide food”). In Gen 42:6, Joseph is named “the dispenser (of corn for sale)” (‫ ;המשביר‬cf. HALOT, 1404). Appearing in Prov 11:26, the term ‫ משביר‬is interpreted as referring to Joseph by rabbinic midrashim (cf., e.g., b. Sanh. 92a; Gen. Rab. 91, 5). See further the comments of Ruppert, “Achikar-Notizen,” 235; Weigl, “Achikar im Buch Tobit,” 231–32. 74 Partly preserved by a single word ‫ עי]לם‬in 4Q196 4.

Tobit and Ahiqar 

 291

another detail that reflects Job, namely, that Tobi’s relatives grieved for him. This mirrors the three friends of Job who came “to console and comfort him” (Job 2:12). But the detail also highlights the unique nature of Ahiqar’s support. For while Ahiqar may have been one of the relatives who grieved over Tobi and thus may have evoked Job’s friends, unlike them and other relatives, he extended to Tobi actual help by sustaining him for the long period of two years. Only a trip to Elam, which he was probably required to make in the service of the king, compelled him to curtail his support. This detail and his previous interceding on behalf of Tobi portray the kindness Ahiqar shows to his destitute and ailing uncle. In caring for his relative in this fashion, Ahiqar may have acted according to the general directive of the Torah to support the destitute (e.g., Deut 15:11; cf. Ezek 18:16–17), which perhaps includes also the ailing.75 This pious activity is later associated with Ahiqar’s kindness to his nephew Nadan (Tob 14:10). Such acts are considered deeds of righteousness (cf. Tob 14:10), through which Ahiqar becomes comparable to the righteous Tobi, the theme of righteousness being significant in the book of Tobit.76 Even the activity of nourishing Tobi during his illness is matched by Tobi’s role as a provider for Shalmaneser (1:13). In this way, Ahiqar’s story imparted by Tobit serves as a frame for the entire picture drawn by the book, bestowing on it the antiquity and importance that pertain to the original Ahiqar tale.

75 The obligation to visit ailing persons is combined with that of performing burial in a Tannaitic midrash on Exod 18:20 (cf. Mek. de Rashbi, Jethro 28, 20). Interestingly, the two obligations are practiced by Tobi (burial) and Ahiqar (visiting the ailing). 76 As noted by Weigl, “Achikar im Buch Tobit,” 226–27 n. 31.

Matthias Henze

19 What’s in a Name? Naming and Renaming in Joseph and Aseneth “So, you ask me the name I’m known by, Cyclops? I will tell you. But you must give me a guest-gift as you’ve promised. Nobody—that’s my name. Nobody– so my mother and father call me, all my friends.”1 Homer, The Odyssey, Book 9:364–367

In one of the most memorable scenes in the Homeric epic, Odysseus, the hero of the Odyssey, tells the story of how the Cyclops, a one-eyed giant named Polyphemus, kept him and his comrades captive in his cave. Just as the Cyclops is getting ready to devour them he turns to Odysseus and asks him for his name, “tell me your name now, quickly!” Realizing that by revealing his name he might give away part of his identity and with it put himself and his comrades at risk, Odysseus responds with a witty ruse, “Nobody—that’s my name!”2 Odysseus overcomes the giant, escapes from the cave, and only after he has led his comrades to safety turns around and tells the Cyclops his real name.3 The power of knowing the other’s name is a common trope in Western literature.4 Names are suggestive and revealing, an essential building block for those who seek to construct the identity of the other. Human and divine names are both significant, albeit in different ways. Human names tend to have a particular meaning that conveys an important aspect about the individual in question. Divine names, by contrast, tend to remain obscure and ineffable, shielding rather than disclosing the Divine. Human names can be changed,5 from Abram

1 Thomas W. Allen, Homeri Opera (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1967), and the translation by Robert Fagles, The Odyssey (New York: Penguin Books, 1996), 222–23. 2 See Bernard Knox, “Notes,” 509–10, in Fagles, Odyssey, on the Greek pun used by Odysseus. 3 Upon learning Odysseus’s true name, the Cyclops promptly responds with a curse. As it turns out, Poseidon, the Cyclops’s father, fulfills the curse as the Cyclops had asked: Odysseus will spend years at sea, and all of his comrades will drown; Norman Austin, “Name Magic in the Odyssey,” California Studies in Classical Antiquity 5 (1972): 1–19, esp. 4. 4 A popular example of this is the fairy tale Rumpekstiltskin as told by the Brothers Grimm in their Children’s and Household Tales (1812), in which Rumpekstiltskin sings, “Little does my lady dream, Rumpekstiltskin is my name.” 5 Name changes are frequent in the Hebrew Bible, but not all are equally significant. According to Num 13:16 (note also Deut 32:44), for example, Moses changed the name of Hoshea son of Nun to Joshua, with no further explanation. Jacob Milgrom explains that, since the theophoric element yeho, a shortened form of the tetragrammaton, was unknown prior to the Exodus (Exod https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-020

What’s in a Name? Naming and Renaming in Joseph and Aseneth 

 293

to Abraham, for example, or from Sarai to Sarah,6 and the new name often articulates a promise. The divine name, on the other hand, is unchangeable and remains forever. The Cyclops’s command—“tell me your name, quickly!”—is also found in the Bible. After a brief look at some of the foundational texts on the theological significance of the name in the Hebrew Bible I will turn to two passages, Jacob wrestling at Peniel in Genesis 32 and the angel who visits Samson’s parents in Judges 13. In both episodes the divine interlocutor is asked about his name but refuses to answer and remains anonymous. A similar scene is found at the heart of the romance story of Joseph and Aseneth. Chapter 15 tells of the encounter between Aseneth and the annunciating angel who appears in her chambers. The name change of Aseneth and the anonymity of the angel are both revealing in their own way: Aseneth’s new name expresses the promise she has just been given, and the absence of the angel’s name underscores his mysterious origin and points to his association with the divine.

Naming and Renaming in the Hebrew Bible The power of naming and renaming is recognized as early as in the first couple of chapters in the Bible. A dominant theme in the second creation account in Genesis 2 is the human mastery over the animals. In an astounding move, God gives Adam the power to name all the animals. 19So out of the ground the Lord God formed every animal of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to Adam to see what he would call them; and whatever Adam called every living creature, that was its name. 20Adam gave names to all cattle, and to the birds of the air, and to every animal of the field; but for Adam there was not found a helper as his partner. (Gen 2:19–20)

The power to name God’s creation is God’s authority alone, the sole prerogative of God the Creator. But here God relinquishes this authority and instead asks Adam to do the naming.7 The reader is reminded of the previous chapter, Genesis 1, in 6:2), Joshua, who was born in Egypt, could not have been called Joshua from birth; Jacob Milgrom, Numbers (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 1990), 101. 6 Jon D. Levenson, Inheriting Abraham: The Legacy of the Patriarch in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012), 49–50. 7 According to Genesis Rabbah, Adam also named himself and even God. “Said [God] to him, ‘And what is your name?’ ‘It is fitting that I be called Adam, because I was created from the ground,’ he replied. ‘And what is My name?’ ‘It is fitting for you to be called Adonai (i.e., the Lord), since You are Lord over all Your creatures,’ was the answer. R. Hiyya said: ‘Thus it is

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which God speaks the world into being. By saying what each part of creation is, God calls the world into existence and everything that is in it. The first humans are created last, the apex of creation, in the image of God (Gen 1:27–28). In Genesis 2 Adam does not become a creator himself, but God gives him considerable authority, allowing him to participate in the act of creating by granting him the privilege of naming the animals. In other words, the act of naming is inextricably connected to the power of the Divine, yet here it is granted to Adam as a special privilege. In the context of the creation accounts in Genesis 1 and 2 this privilege may well be interpreted as an expression of what it means for Adam to have been created in the image of God: Adam becomes a participant in creation, a co-creator, as it were, by giving the animals their names.8 The act of naming is the fulfillment of creation. This brief episode about the names of the animals stands in stark contrast to the name of God, as it is introduced in Exodus 3. After being called by God in Exodus 3, Moses now approaches the Divine and asks about God’s name. “God said to Moses, ‘I AM WHO I AM.’ He said further, ‘Thus you shall say to the Israelites, I AM has sent me to you’” (Exod 3:14). With God’s self-revelation to Moses, the biblical narrative reaches a critical moment. Moses asks God about the divine name, albeit indirectly, using a hypothetical case in which the Israelites ask Moses about the name of God—and God replies. Up to this point in the Bible, God had simply been known as “the God of your ancestors,” an epithet widely used in ancient Near Eastern literature.9 But now God reveals that God has a name, a name hitherto unknown to the Israelites (although see Gen 4:26). The divine name is commonly understood by scholars to derive from the verbal stem h-v-h, or h-y-h, meaning “to be.”10 God’s name is a verb, it expresses the quality of absolute Being.11 written, I am the Lord, that is My name (Isa 42:8), which means, That is My name by which Adam called me’” (Gen. Rab. 17:4). 8 The connection between the creation of the first man in God’s image (Gen 1:26) and Adam’s naming the animals is already made in the midrash. “R. Aha said: ‘When the Holy One, blessed be He, came to create Adam, He took counsel with the ministering angels, saying to them, Let us make man’ (Gen 1:26). ‘What will be the nature of this man?’ they inquired. ‘His wisdom will exceed yours,’ He answered. What did the Lord do? He brought the animals, beasts, and birds before them and asked them, ‘What should be the name of this?’ but they did not know; ‘Of this?’ and they did not know. Then He paraded them before Adam and asked him, ‘What is the name of this?’ ‘An ox.’ ‘And of this?’ ‘A camel.’ ‘And of this?’ ‘An ass.’ ‘And of this?’ ‘A horse.’ Thus it is written, And the man gave names to all cattle (Gen 2:20)” (Gen. Rab. 17:4). 9 Nahum M. Sarna, Exodus: The JPS Torah Commentary (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 1991), 17, 19. 10 Frank Moore Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of the Religion of Israel (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1973), 68–69. 11 Nahum M. Sarna, Exploring Exodus: The Origins of Biblical Israel (New York: Schocken Books, 1996), 45.

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Why does Moses ask God about the divine name, when nobody else has done so throughout the book of Genesis? Moses has just been commissioned to lead the Israelites out of Egypt (Exod 3:10). The lengthy dialogue that ensues between Moses and God makes clear that Moses has doubts about his own qualifications and whether he will be perceived as legitimate. By asking about the name of God, Moses is, in effect, asking God for authority—first for authority to stand before the Israelites, and second to lead the negotiations with the Egyptian court. To know the name of God who has called him into office will empower Moses in a way no other individual in the Bible has been empowered before, it will give him the authority to stand before the Israelites and before Pharaoh. Another striking aspect about the passage is the insistence by the biblical author that the name of God is forever. “This is my name forever, and this my title for all generations” (Exod 3:15). There is something unchangeable and eternal about God’s name. Exodus 3 makes clear that God is never to be renamed and that God’s name is forever. In fact, the eternality of the divine name constitutes the name itself, the unchangeability of the name is the name. This is in stark contrast to all human names. The contrast between the human and the divine name is also the subject of the following two episodes in the Hebrew Bible. The first is the story of Jacob who wrestles with a man during the night at the river Jabbok in Genesis 32. Having served his uncle Laban in Haran, Jacob is returning home to face his twin brother Esau, from whom he had previously fled for fear of being killed.12 When Jacob reaches the river, he sends all of his family ahead and stays behind by himself. During the night he is attacked by a mysterious assailant, whom the narrator simply calls “a man” (Gen 32:25). This nocturnal episode is riddled with interpretive difficulties. What is the significance of the location, the river Jabbok, is it simply a river, or does it mark the border of ancient Israel? Who is the nameless adversary, a river demon, a representation of Esau, or an angel? And what prompted the assault? Is this an attempt to keep Jacob from returning home, or is the assault simply an excuse for the name change? The dialogue that gives structure to the episode at the river revolves around the double inquiry about the name of the other. It is the mysterious man who first asks Jacob about his name. Does he not know who Jacob is? Does he need to know Jacob’s name so that he can fulfill his wish and bless him? Or is the question rhetorical, a necessary component of the name change that follows? “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel” (Gen 32:28). With his new name, Jacob is now purged of the less than flattering attributes that came with his former identity.

12 Yair Zakovitch, Jacob: Unexpected Patriarch (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012), 93–114.

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The name Jacob is forever associated with his past, when Jacob tricked his brother and supplanted him. It captures and preserves Jacob’s questionable character, as Esau himself had pointed out (Gen 27:36; cf. Hos 12:4). The renaming comes at an opportune moment for Jacob who is about to face his brother again. The story assumes that the unidentified interlocutor has the authority to change Jacob’s name, a powerful act that suggests a major change, primarily in Jacob’s character, but also of Jacob’s relationship with his past. The new name Israel is a reward for Jacob who was able to prevail (Gen 32:28). It suggests that he is now ready to leave the past behind and meet his brother again (Gen 33:4).13 Now it is Jacob who enquires about the man’s name. “Please tell me your name” (Gen 32:29). But the patriarch is rebuffed. The man refuses to reveal who he is and simply retorts with a rhetorical question, “Why is it that you ask my name?” (Gen 32:29). Suspecting that the anonymous man was none other than a representative of God, Jacob names the place Peniel, “the face of God.” Since Jacob cannot name the man, he can, at least, name the place of their mysterious encounter, just as he did when he set out on his way to his uncle Laban in Haran, when he had his encounter with the angels and named that place Bethel (Gen 28:19). The account of the birth of Samson in Judges 13 is preceded by a similar encounter between an angelic visitor and Samson’s future parents. In contrast to the Jacob story, here the narrator makes sure the reader knows what Manoah and his wife do not know, at least not at first, that the visitor is, in fact, an angel of God (Judg 13:3, 9, 13, 15–18, 20, and 21). The story begins when an angel of the Lord appears to Samson’s unnamed mother to announce that she will bear a son. When she tells her husband Manoah of the encounter, she emphasizes that she never learned the angel’s identity: “he did not tell me his name” (Judg 13:6). Is it her intuition of his angelic status that keeps her from inquiring further about his provenance?14 Her husband, who seems less perceptive, prays that the angel appear again, which he does, only to reiterate the divine promise. Manoah invites the visitor to stay for a meal, much like Gideon had invited his angelic guest for a meal in Judg 6:18, but, again like in the case of Gideon, the angel refuses to eat and instead proposes that the goat be offered to God. Now it is Manoah’s turn to ask about the name of the visitor: “Then Manoah said to the angel of the Lord, ‘What is your name, so that we may honor you when your words come true?’ But the angel of the Lord said to him, ‘Why do you ask my name? It is too wonderful’” (Judg 13:17–18).

13 E.A. Speiser, Genesis (Garden City: Doubleday, 1964 [repr. 2008]), 256. 14 Adele Reinhartz, “Why Ask My Name?” Anonymity and Identity in Biblical Narrative (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 165.

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There is nothing in the text to suggest that the true reason why Manoah is offering to prepare a meal is to test the messenger and find out whether he is, in fact, an angel. Similarly, his inquiry about the visitor’s name need not be interpreted as yet another attempt to gain certainty about the visitor’s identity. Manoah, at least, claims that he is well-intended. He merely wants to remember and honor the messenger of good tidings, once his promise will have come true. Like the man in Genesis 32, the angel replies with a rhetorical question, “Why do you ask my name?” But unlike the man in Genesis 32, he immediately adds the reason why he will not disclose his name: it is too wonderful. By now, Manoah should have probably realized who the visitor was, since “the absence of the name itself signifies a being whose name is not to be divulged because of his connection to the divine.”15 Alas, Manoah only becomes aware of the visitor’s true identity after the angel has ascended in the flame of the altar (Judg 13:21).

Naming and Renaming in Joseph and Aseneth A Jewish novel set in the Egyptian city of Heliopolis, Joseph and Aseneth tells the story of Aseneth, the daughter of Pentephres, one of Pharaoh’s noblemen, who lives an altogether sheltered life.16 One day, as she lays her eyes on Joseph, she immediately falls in love with him, renounces the gods of Egypt, converts to Joseph’s religion, and, in an elaborate ceremony at the end of the book, is married to Joseph. The charming romance is told against the backdrop of the biblical Joseph story in Genesis 37–50. Because of his unique and God-given ability to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams, Joseph is amply rewarded: Pharaoh appoints him second in command, sets him over all of Egypt, and invests him with almost unlimited authority (Gen 41:40–45). Genesis 41:45 is the culmination of the short passage in Genesis 41 that describes Pharaoh’s ample rewards for Joseph. It is also the scriptural basis for Joseph and Aseneth: “Pharaoh gave Joseph the name Zaphenath-paneah; and he gave him Asenath daughter of Potiphera, priest of On, as his wife. And Joseph went out over the land of Egypt” (Gen 41:45). Having promoted Joseph to the highest office and equipped him with everything he needs, Pharaoh has two more rewards to give out: he changes Joseph’s name, and he gives him his wife. Only now is Joseph prepared to go

15 Ibid. 16 Edith M. Humphrey, Joseph and Aseneth (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 28– 38; Manuel Vogel, “Einführung in die Schrift,” in Joseph und Aseneth, ed. Eckart Reinmuth (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 3–31, esp. 13–15.

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“out over the land of Egypt” (Gen 41:45); that is, now he can accomplish his new mission. Joseph’s Egyptian name, Zaphenath-paneah, which means “the god has spoken and he [the bearer of the name] shall live,” conveys the promise of a long and presumably prosperous life.17 It is never used again in the Joseph story. Aseneth’s name means “she belongs to [the goddess] Neith.”18 In the Bible she appears out of nowhere, and all we learn about her is that she is the daughter of a certain Potiphera, high priest of On.19 Joseph is thus married into the elite of the Egyptian nobility. The terseness of the verse and the absence of any further mention of Joseph’s new name, or of Aseneth, for that matter, inspired ancient readers to compose this novel that fills in the obvious gaps and turns their brief encounter into a romance story.20 The middle section of Joseph and Aseneth is taken up by a lengthy description of Aseneth’s conversion (Jos. Asen. 10–17).21 Determined to convert to the God of Israel, Aseneth throws away her Egyptian cult objects, puts on sackcloth, and fasts for seven days, while saying her prayers to the God of Israel. After her confession is completed, an angelic figure appears from heaven (Jos. Asen. 14:4) and addresses her directly.22 2And the man said to her, “Courage, Aseneth, chaste virgin. Behold, I have heard all the words of your confession and your prayer. 3Behold, I have also seen the humiliation and the affliction of the seven days of your want [of food]. Behold, from your tears and these ashes, plenty of mud has formed before your face. 4Courage, Aseneth, chaste virgin. For behold, your name was written in the book of the living in heaven; in the beginning of the book, as the very first of all, your name was written by my finger, and it will not be erased forever.

17 The meaning of Joseph’s Egyptian name was first suggested by Georg Steindorff, “Der Name Josephs Saphenat—Pa’neach. Kapitel 41,45,” Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache 27 (1898): 41ff. 18 Nahum M. Sarna, Understanding Genesis: The Heritage of Biblical Israel (New York: Schocken Books, 1970), 221. 19 In rabbinic literature (b. Sot. 13b), Aseneth’s father Potiphera is identified with Potiphera in Genesis 39, but this seems unlikely; on Genesis 39, see James C. Kugel, In Potiphar’s House: The Interpretive Life of Biblical Texts (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 1990), 13–155. 20 Joseph is not the only Israelite whose name is changed in the Diaspora. Nebuchadnezzar’s palace master gives Daniel and his three companions new names: Belteshazzar, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego (Dan 1:7). Esther’s original name is Hadassah (Esth 2:7). She may have used the name Hadassah in Jewish circles but preferred the name Esther in a predominantly Gentile context; cf. Jon D. Levenson, Esther, OTL (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1997), 58. 21 Randall D. Chesnutt, From Death to Life: Conversion in “Joseph and Aseneth,” JSPSup 16 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 118–48. 22 For a critical edition, see Christoph Burchard, Joseph und Aseneth, PVTG (Leiden: Brill, 2003); the translation is by Christoph Burchard, “Joseph and Aseneth,” in OTP. See also Angela Standhartinger, “Recent Scholarship on Joseph and Aseneth (1988–2013),” Currents in Biblical Research 12 (2014): 353–406.

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5Behold, from today, you will be renewed and formed anew and made alive again, and you will eat blessed bread of life, and drink a blessed cup of immortality, and anoint yourself with blessed ointment of incorruptibility. 6Courage, Aseneth, chaste virgin. Behold, I have given you today to Joseph for a bride, and he himself will be your bridegroom for ever [and] ever. 7And your name shall no longer be called Aseneth, but your name shall be City of Refuge (ἀλλ᾽ ἔσται τὸ ὄνομά σου πόλις καταφυγῆς), because in you many nations will take refuge with the Lord God, the Most High, and under your wings many peoples trusting in the Lord God will be sheltered, and behind your walls will be guarded those who attach themselves to the Most High God in the name of Repentance.” […] 11And when the man had finished speaking these words, Aseneth rejoiced exceedingly with great joy about all these words and fell down at his feet and prostrated herself face down to the ground before him, and said to him, 12“Blessed be the Lord your God the Most High who sent you out to rescue me from the darkness and to bring me up from the foundations of the abyss, and blessed be your name forever (καὶ εὐλογημένον τὸ ὄνομα σου εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα). What is your name, Lord (τί ἐστι τὸ ὄνομά σου κύριε); tell me in order that I may praise and glorify you for ever [and] ever.” And the man said to her, “Why do you seek this, my name, Aseneth? My name is in the heavens in the book of the Most High, written by the finger of God in the beginning of the book before all [the others], because I am chief of the house of the Most High. And all the names written in the book of the Most High are unspeakable (τὰ ὀνόματα τὰ γεγραμμένα ἐν τῇ βίβλῳ τοῦ ὑψίστου ἄρρητά ἐστι), and man is not allowed to pronounce nor hear them in this world, because those names are exceedingly great and wonderful and laudable (ὅτι μεγάλα ἐστι τὰ ὀνόματα ἐκαῖνα καὶ θαυμαστὰ καὶ ἐπαινετὰ σφόδρα).” (Jos. Asen. 15:2b–7, 11–12)

This brief episode of Aseneth’s encounter with the angel consists of two main parts. The first part in vv. 2–7 proceeds in four steps: (a) the angel tells Aseneth that he himself has written her name in “the book of the living in heaven,” where it will remain forever (v. 4); (b) he promises her that she will be renewed and recreated (v. 5); (c) he tells her that she will become Joseph’s bride (v. 6); and (d), at the climax of the scene, he changes her name from Aseneth to “City of Refuge” (πόλις καταφυγῆς), since she will become a shelter for many nations (v.7).23 The second, considerably shorter part of the encounter in vv. 11–12 consists of two parts: (a) Aseneth responds to the angel’s announcements, is overjoyed, and blesses her new-found God (v. 11); and (b) she enquires about the man’s name, so that she can praise him forever (v. 12).

23 Her name change “denotes a change from individual to collective … Aseneth, who sought refuge, will be a city of refuge (15:7 [6]; cf. 13:12).” George W.E. Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature between the Bible and the Mishnah, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2005), 336.

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The first part of the episode in verses 2–7 is reminiscent of the Joseph story, with which it has some obvious similarities. The two main promises in verses 6 and 7, of husband and new name, are a direct reflection of Gen 41:45, where Pharaoh first renames Joseph and then promises him Aseneth as a wife. Both Joseph and Aseneth are renamed. In the book of Genesis, Pharaoh gives Joseph a new name as a reward for having interpreted his dreams. It is taken for granted that Pharaoh has the authority to do so, possibly a hint at Pharaoh’s divine status. With his new name, Joseph is given a new identity and he is now ready to go out into the land to accomplish his mission. The situation is rather similar in Aseneth’s case. She, too, receives her new name from a divine being, the anonymous angel. When Aseneth finally meets Joseph again in chapter 19, she promptly tells him about her encounter with the angel and about her new name (Jos. Asen. 19:5). Aseneth’s new name is also a reward, a reward for her conversion and piety, as the angel stresses right at the beginning (Jos. Asen. 15:2b–3). Finally, her new name signals a shift in her identity, it reconstitutes her as a new person. Whereas Pharaoh in the Bible acculturates Joseph by changing his name and making him the son-in-law of an Egyptian High Priest, Aseneth becomes a follower of the God of Joseph. It is repentance that has allowed Aseneth to be renewed.24 The entire scene is carefully composed. The reader might initially think that its two parts are roughly parallel: both deal with the significance of the name; in both reference is made to a heavenly book, written by the angel (Jos. Asen. 15:4) or by God (Jos. Asen. 15:12); both books are full of names; and each of the two parts revolves around notions of transience and the eternal. But the point of the repetitions in the two parts is precisely to underscore their dissimilarity. The angel has no need to ask Aseneth for her name. In fact, it was the angel himself who recorded Aseneth’s name a long time ago with his own finger in “the book of the living in heaven” (Jos. Asen. 15:4). There it is recorded forever.25 Unlike the angel who knows Aseneth, Aseneth does not know the angel and therefore has to ask who he is. “What is your name, Lord; tell me in order that I may praise and glorify

24 The angel speaks of repentance in personified form as a woman who resides in heaven. “And she herself is guardian of all virgins, and loves you very much, and is beseeching the Most High for you at all times … And Repentance is exceedingly beautiful, a virgin pure and laughing always, and she is gentle and meek” (Jos. Asen. 15:7). 25 The statement that Aseneth’s name will be forever appears to be contradicted by the angel’s promise in Jos. Asen. 15:7 that Aseneth is about to receive a new name. That tension is neither acknowledged nor resolved in the text. One possible explanation is that it is Aseneth’s new name that is already recorded in the heavenly book, even though it has not yet been revealed to Aseneth; see Chesnutt, From Death to Life, 124–25.

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you for ever (and) ever” (Jos Asen. 15:12).26 But, like Jacob and Manoah, Aseneth is rebuffed, as the angel refuses to reveal his name (v. 12).27 When they first met in the previous chapter and Aseneth wondered who it was who called her in her chamber, the angel replied: “I am the chief of the house of the Lord and commander of the whole host of the Most High” (Jos. Asen. 14:8). Now he reiterates a similar epithet to Aseneth, “I am chief of the house of the Most High” (Jos. Asen. 15:12), but he never reveals his name. Aseneth’s question may have been rather innocent and motivated by a sense of joy and thanksgiving. Just as Manoah asked about the visitor’s name, “so that we may honor you when your words come true” (Judg 13:17), so Aseneth wants to know who the angel is, so that she can “praise and glorify you for ever (and) ever” (Jos. Asen. 15:12). The angel’s unambiguous rejection of her request obscures his true identity and at the same time reveals a fundamental truth about the divine name: it remains out of the reach for humans. Like the man in Genesis 32 and the angel in Judges 13, the angel rebuffs Aseneth and responds with a rhetorical question, “Why do you seek this, my name, Aseneth?” (Jos. Asen. 15:12; cf. Gen 32:29; Judg 13:18). And yet, he does not leave it at that. Once again, he mentions a heavenly book, this time “the book of the Most High” (Jos. Asen. 15:12), presumably not the same as “the book of the living” in v. 4. This book contains divine names, including the name of Aseneth’s interlocutor, and it was written by God’s own hand. Just as the angel refuses to tell Manoah his name because it “is too wonderful” (Judg 13:18), so the various attributes the angel enlists to describe the nature of the divine names—“unspeakable,” “exceedingly great,” “wonderful,” and “laudable” (ἄρρητα, μεγάλα, θαυμαστά, ἐπαινετὰ σφόδρα)—all express the essential

26 In Test. Levi 5:5, Levi asks the interpreting angel, “I beg you, Lord, teach me your name, so that I may call on you in the day of tribulation;” and in the rewritten version of Judges 13 in LAB 42:10, Manoah realizes the significance of the angel’s name only in the last verse of the story: “And Manoah said: ‘It is not enough that I have seen him but I even asked his name, not knowing that he was the minister of God’.” See Klaus Berger, Die Auferstehung des Propheten und die Erhöhung des Menschensohnes: Tranditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur Deutung des Geschicks Jesu in frühchristlichen Texten (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1976), 156, 443–44. 27 Ross Kraemer explains that Aseneth’s encounter with the angel follows the general pattern of the encounters between a human and a heavenly being, such as in Judges 6, 13, and Greek Esther, but she glosses over the significance of the name and renaming; Ross Kraemer, When Aseneth Met Joseph: A Late Antique Tale of the Biblical Patriarch and His Egyptian Wife, Reconsidered (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 101–05.

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differences between human and divine names: the divine names are recorded in heaven, but they are not revealed; they remain out of reach and mysterious.28

Conclusion In the middle of the story of Joseph and Aseneth we read of the encounter between Aseneth and the annunciating angel, who appears in her quarters and tells her that her prayers have been heard. Aseneth, the first proselyte who becomes a model for all future proselytes, is richly rewarded for her penitential discipline and receives the divine promise of new life and husband—and she is given a new name. The angel places great emphasis on the significance of Aseneth’s new name, “City of Refuge,” that captures the promise that is hers. When Aseneth, in turn, asks about the angel’s name, she inadvertently crosses a line and, like Jacob and Manoah before her, is rejected. The angel’s anonymity obscures and, at the same time, protects his identity. Yet it is also revealing: divine names are not like human names, they are unchangeable, mysterious, and they are recorded in heaven. To humans they remain “unspeakable.”

28 Harold W. Attridge, “What’s in a Name? Naming the Unnameable in Philo and John,” in Sibyls, Scriptures, and Scrolls: John Collins at Seventy, eds. Joel Baden, Hindy Najman, and Eibert Tigchelaar (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 85–95.

Luca Mazzinghi

20 Sap 4,10–14 e la figura di Enoch: un rapporto polemico Il libro della Sapienza e la letteratura enochica: stato della questione Il libro della Sapienza non è mai stato al centro dell’attenzione degli studiosi della letteratura enochica e delle tradizioni connesse con la figura di Enoch. Libro scritto direttamente in greco, quasi certamente ad Alessandria alla fine del I sec. a.C., quello della Sapienza sembra forse un testo troppo ellenizzato per chi è interessato al giudaismo del Secondo Tempio. Scrive al riguardo G. Boccaccini che «with the Wisdom of Solomon, we see a sapiential text in which the Wisdom and Messianic Paradigms are merged in a noneschatological, non-Enochic context, to emphasize the manifestation of wisdom on earth».1 In realtà, se la Sapienza di Salomone è certamente un’opera anti-enochica, e tuttavia non sacerdotale (non da infatti alcuna particolare importanza né al culto né alla Torah2), non si può tuttavia affermare che essa rifletta un contesto non-escatologico; anzi, l’escatologia è in questo libro un tema assolutamente centrale, e non solo in Sap 1–6.3 L’esistenza di un possibile rapporto tra la Sapienza e il libro di Enoch è stato già da tempo messo in luce, anche se mai studiato in dettaglio. Intendiamo qui fermarci su Sap 4,7–20, un testo nel quale l’autore della Sapienza affronta il tema del giusto che muore prematuramente. Ci troviamo all’interno di Sap 3–4, nel cuore della prima parte del libro (Sap 1–6) ove emerge un evidente interesse escatologico. In Sap 3–4, in quattro quadri antitetici (3,1–12; 3,13–19; 4,1–6; 4,7–20) il nostro saggio contrappone la sorte finale dei giusti a quella dei malvagi. 1 G. Boccaccini, “The Parables of Enoch within Second Temple Jewish Literature,” in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man. Revisiting the Book of Parables, ed. G. Boccaccini (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 275. 2 Cf. L. Mazzinghi, “La memoria della legge nel libro della Sapienza,” in Torah e Kerygma: dinamiche della tradizione nella Bibbia, Atti della XXXVII Settimana Biblica Nazionale, Roma 9–13 settembre 2002, ed. I. Cardellini and E. Manicardi, RicStoBib 1–2 (2004): 153–76. 3 Cf. ad esempio M. V. Blischke, Die Eschatologie in der Sapientia Salomonis, FAT 2.26 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007). Note: Con gratitudine, a Gabriele Boccaccini, amico e collega illustre, fiorentino come me, socio della nostra Associazione Biblica Italiana, che mi ha introdotto nei misteri della letteratura enochica. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-021

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All’interno del quarto dittico, i vv. 10–14 utilizzano un paradigma, quello enochico, che doveva essere estremamente chiaro ai lettori del libro, come quasi ogni commentatore non manca di sottolineare.4 Secondo J. VanderKam il libro della Sapienza si limiterebbe, in 4,10–14, a rileggere il testo di Gen 5,21–24 utilizzato nella versione dei Lxx.5 G.W.E. Nickelsburg sottolineava, tuttavia, una possibile conoscenza della letteratura enochica da parte della Sapienza; l’autore del libro mostrebbe di conoscere, in particolare, 1Hen 62–63 e 1Hen 102–104, un testo, quest’ultimo, che mostra la presenza di un sorprendente modello presente anche in Sap 2–4.6 Nickelsburg conferma così e approfondisce un precedente lavoro di Ch. Larcher, senz’altro uno dei principali commentatori della Sapienza nel XX secolo.7 Secondo Larcher, il libro della Sapienza potrebbe aver conosciuto anche l’Epistola di Enoch (1Hen 92–105).8 Buona parte del testo dell’Epistola è centrato sul tema 4 A partire già da C. L. W. Grimm, Das Buch der Weisheit (Leipzig: Hirzel, 1860), 103; cf. e.g. D. Winston, The Wisdom of Solomon. A new Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 43 (New York: Doubleday, 1979), 139; G. Scarpat, Il libro della Sapienza, vol. 2 (Brescia: Paideia, 1989), 268. 5 Cf. J. C. VanderKam, Enoch: a Man for All Generations (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1995), 130–32. VanderKam cita in realtà una traduzione inglese di Sap 4,10–14 quanto meno strana: «They were some who pleased God…»; il testo di Sapienza parla in realtà al singolare. 6 Cf. G. W. E. Nickelsburg, Resurrection, Immortality and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1972), 70–74, 128–30. Punti di contatto sono per Nickelsburg la presenza di un “dialogo” (Sap 2,1–20 e 1Hen 102,6–11) basato sulla brevità della vita, seguito dall’invito alla gioia e dal tema dell’oppressione del giusto che nessuno aiuta. Segue la confutazione da parte dell’autore (Sap 2,21–24/3,9 e 1Hen 103,1–4), la punizione dei malvagi (Sap 3,10–12 e 1Hen 103,5.8) e una sezione che Nickelsburg chiama “antideuteronomica” (Sap 3,13–4,9 / 1Hen 103,9–15). In conclusione, «both the figure of Enoch and the Enochic traditions are crucial fot the author of Wisdom» (Resurrection, 78). 7 Cf. Ch. Larcher, Etudes sur le livre de la Sagesse (Paris: Gabalda, 1969), 103–12; secondo Larcher, la Sapienza ha certamente conosciuto 1Hen 1–4 e 91–104, anche se resta difficile dire se lo abbia letto nella versione greca. Cf. però lo studio pioneristico di P. Grelot, “L’eschatologie de la Sagesse et les apocalyptiques juives,” in À la Recontre de Dieu, Mémorial Albert Gelin (Le Puy, 1961), 165–78 = cf. idem, De la Mort à la vie eternelle, LD 67 (Paris: Cerf, 1971), 187–99; Grelot avvicina l’escatologia di Sapienza a quella qumranica. Si aggiunga lo studio di J. Schaberg, “Major Midrashic Traditions in Wisdom 1,1–6,25,” JSJ 13 (1982): 75–101; secondo Schaberg, Sap 1–6, pur dipendendo da Dan 7–12 e da Is 52–53, fa un uso massiccio del libro di Enoch. Un buon punto della situazione è in M. Gilbert, “Sagesse de Salomon (ou le Livre de la Sagesse),” DBS XI (Paris: ed. 1986), 95–96. Cf. anche J. J. Collins, Jewish Wisdom in the Hellenistic Age (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997), 183–85; G. W. E. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1. A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch 1–36. 81–108, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), 78–79. 8 Databile con tutta probabilità poco prima della metà del II sec. a.C., comunque in epoca asmonea; cf. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 427–28.

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della rivelazione del “mistero” della ricompensa dei giusti (cf. 1Hen 104,2) e della punizione dei malvagi. Forse il libro della Sapienza poteva conoscere anche l’introduzione al libro di Enoch (1Hen 1–5) ove già si annuncia il giudizio di Dio che comporta la punizione degli empi contrapposta alla gloria dei giusti. Intendiamo qui analizzare più da vicino il testo di Sap 4,10–14 per comprendere quali potrebbero essere state, oltre all’ovvio punto di partenza costituito da Gen 5,21–24, le fonti utilizzate dalla Sapienza. In secondo luogo, sarà necessario approfondire le ragioni e i modi dell’uso della figura di Enoch da parte dell’autore del nostro libro.

Esegesi di Sap 4,10–14 Veniamo dunque al testo di Sap 4,10–14, del quale offriamo una traduzione personale. Ci troviamo, come si è detto, all’interno del quarto dittico di Sap 3–4 e cioè Sap 4,7–20; la prima parte del dittico (il giusto che muore prematuramente) è costituita dai vv. 7–16; la seconda parte (la sorte degli empi), dai vv. 17–209: 10Divenuto gradito a Dio, fu amato e mentre viveva in mezzo ai peccatori, fu trasferito; 11fu rapito, in modo che la cattiveria non ne traviasse la mente e l’inganno ne seducesse l’anima; 12la malìa del vizio oscura ciò che è nobile, e il vortice10 della passione travolge11 un animo senza malizia. 13Giunto in breve alla perfezione, portò a compimento una lunga vita,

9 Cf. M. Gilbert, “The Death of the Just Person in the Prime of Life. Wis 4:7–14b,” in La Sagesse de Salomon / The Wisdom of Solomon, AnBib 189 (Roma: GBP, 2011), 113–15. Gilbert, pur notando le allusioni a Enoch, non ricorda alcun possibile contatto con la letteratura enochica. 10 Con «vortice» traduciamo ῥεμβασμόϛ, un termine che costituisce probabilmente una creazione letteraria del nostro autore e che contiene in sè l’idea di agitazione, di movimento continuo (cf. il Lat: incostantia); cf. G. Scarpat, Il libro della Sapienza, vol. 1 (Brescia: Paideia, 1989), 286. 11 Il significato di μεταλλεύω, qui tradotto con «travolge», è discusso; il termine appare in Sap 16,25 con il senso di “cambiare,” ma in greco indica piuttosto lo «scavare una miniera», l’estrarre dei metalli. Cf. Larcher, Études, 182, che pensa a una conoscenza non perfetta del greco da parte del nostro autore; cf. anche Winston, Wisdom of Solomon, 141–42; J. M. Reese, Hellenistic Influence on the Book of Wisdom and Its Consequences AnBib 41 (Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1970), 29; il nostro autore userebbe il verbo nel senso traslato di «undermine—undergoing a change»; è forse ipotizzabile una confusione con il verbo μεταλλoɩoῠѵ.

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14perché la sua anima era gradita al Signore, per questo essa si affrettò ad andarsene da questo luogo di malvagità, mentre la gente vide, ma non capì, né si preoccupò di riflettere su un fatto simile, 15che grazia e misericordia sono per i suoi eletti e una visita per i suoi santi.

Il v. 10 sottolinea le conseguenze della vita pura condotta dal giovane morto prematuramente, la vita che è stata ricordata al v. 9; la costruzione asindetica di 10a indica il passaggio a una nuova argomentazione, secondo uno stile usuale nella Sapienza. Il giusto diviene (si usa qui il participio γϵѵóμϵѵoς ; il “divenire” presuppone un progresso nella virtù) gradito, evidentemente a Dio ed è da lui amato (ἀγαπάω). Il verbo ϵὐαρϵστϵ´ω si trova con lo stesso significato riferito a Noè in Gen 6,9 e ad Abramo in Gen 17,1, ma soprattutto è riferito a Enoch in Gen 5,22.24. La versione dei Lxx del testo genesiaco utilizza ϵὐαρϵστϵ´ω al posto della locuzione ebraica «camminò con Dio», segno di una tendenza spiritualizzante; il traduttore evita così il rischio che un lettore di lingua greca pensi a un antropomorfismo troppo marcato.12 Sempre in riferimento a Enoch, il verbo ritorna ancora in Sir 44,16; fuori da questi passi, ϵὐαρϵστϵ´ω ricorre nei Lxx solo altre nove volte (Gen 24,40; 39,4; 48,15; Es 21,8; Gdc 10,16; Sal 25,3; 34,14; 55,14; 114,9). Il giusto è poi “trasferito”: μϵτατίθημɩ, usato anch’esso al passivo in riferimento all’azione di Dio, richiama di nuovo la figura di Enoch; il verbo infatti è usato nei Lxx ancora in Gen 5,24, al posto della locuzione ebraica «non fu più»; i Lxx utilizzano un cliché più comune al lettore di lingua greca, relativo alle storie che parlano del transfert di un individuo da un posto all’altro;13 il verbo ritorna in Sir 44,16, ancora a proposito di Enoch (cf. anche il testo Eb 11,5, dove μϵτατίθημɩ ritorna di nuovo assieme a ϵὐαρϵστϵ´ω; si veda anche Clemente Romano, 1Cor 9). L’allusione a Enoch doveva essere perciò più che ovvia per i lettori della Sapienza. Il transfert del giusto, evidentemente portato nella sfera divina, anche se il testo non lo afferma in modo esplicito, è motivato dal fatto che egli vive «in mezzo ai peccatori»; il participio ζω ̂ѵ ha piuttosto valore di contemporaneità e non causale: «mentre viveva» e non «poichè viveva». Anche in questo caso è possibile scorgere la presenza di un topos comune al mondo ellenistico-romano: una 12 Cf. A. Schmitt, “Die Angaben über Henoch Gen 5,21–24 in der LXX,” in Wort, Lied und Gottesspruch: Beiträge zur Septuaginta. FS J. Ziegler, ed. J. Schreiner, Forschung zur Bibel 1 (Würzburg: Echter, 1972), 161–69. 13 Cf. il mito di Ganimede, il coppiere degli dèi rapito sull’aquila di Zeus, cf. F.V.M. Cumont, Recherches sur le symbolisme funéraire des Romains (Paris: Geuthner, 1942), 97–99.

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vita lunga può essere pericolo di peccato per un giovane non ben formato o, al contrario, per un giovane particolarmente buono che potrebbe tuttavia corrompersi con il tempo; si tratta di un motivo consolatorio comune nel caso di morti premature (cf. Seneca, Marc. 22,2; Plutarco, Cons. Ap. 30 = 117D). Il mondo è un luogo triste e pericoloso e può facilmente corrompere i giovani; meglio dunque una morte prima del tempo che il rischio di perdere la propria virtù. Una tale visione, in fondo pessimistica dell’uomo, è qui fatta propria dalla Sapienza, all’interno però della convinzione profondamente biblica relativa all’amore di Dio per l’uomo: il giusto infatti «fu amato» da Dio. La forma passiva ἡρπάγη che apre il v. 11 costituisce un’ulteriore allusione all’agire di Dio che “strappa” il giusto dalla morte; ἀρπάζω riapparirà nel NT con un significato non dissimile (cf. 1Ts 4,17; 2Cor 12,2.4; Ap 12,5). Anche nel mondo greco il verbo è usato per sottolineare una morte improvvisa (cf. Plutarco, Cons. Ap. 30 = Mor. 117c).14 Il giusto viene “strappato” a questo mondo perchè la sua σύѵϵσɩς non venga alterata dal male; con σύѵϵσɩς si indica la facoltà di comprendere, di discernere il bene dal male; cf. 1Re 3,9 a proposito del dono richiesto a Dio da Salomone; cf. Sap 9,5; 13,13. Se con кαкία a si indica il male in genere, con δόλoς si indicano piuttosto l’inganno o la menzogna che possono corrompere l’anima (ψʋχή) del giusto, qui intesa come il soggetto della vita morale dell’uomo. Il verbo ἀπατάω “ingannare,” è probabilmente preso da Gen 3,13 dove è usato in relazione all’inganno del serpente nei confronti della donna. Il v. 12 ci offre le motivazioni che sottostanno ai due versetti precedenti. Ciò che è nobile nell’uomo (τὰ кαλά) viene oscurato (ἀμαʋρόω) dal fascino del male; βασкανία (cf. 4Mac 1,26; 2,15) indica il fascino seducente, con una chiara allusione alla magia, all’incantesimo. Il termine ϕαʋλότηϛ è hapax dei Lxx; per ϕαᵔʋλoϛ cf. Pr 13,6; nel NT ϕαʋλότηϛ è per lo più usato in malam partem e indica ciò che è spregevole, meschino, malvagio (cf. Rm 9,11; 2Cor 5,10); l’intera espressione si può tradurre con qualcosa come «la malìa del vizio»; il fascino, la seduzione della malvagità. Il secondo stico del v. 12 ci ricorda come un animo senza malizia (νoʋ̑ν ἀ´кαкoν) possa venire travolto dal vortice del desiderio: il νoʋ̑ϛ rinvia alla facoltà superiore dell’anima. Il termine ϵ´πɩθʋμία non ha di per sé un senso negativo (cf. Sap 6,17.20), ma lo può assumere, come in questo caso (cf. Sap 16,2). Il desiderio appare come la passione immaginata metaforicamente come un turbine travolgente che prende possesso dell’uomo e lo conduce al male. 14 Cf. A. Schmitt, “Der frühe Tod des Gerechten nach Weish 4,7–19: Ein Psalmenthema im weisheitlicher Fassung,” in Freude an der Weisung des Herrn. Beiträge zur Theologie der Psalmen, FS H. Groß, eds. E. Haag and F.-L. Hossfeld, SBB 13 (Stuttgart: Katholische Bibelwerk, 19872), 325–47 (336 n. 27).

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Dio dunque sa che il giusto, vivendo in mezzo ai peccatori, può corrompersi; la morte diviene così, paradossalmente, un atto di grazia che lo mette al sicuro da una quasi certa corruzione morale. Il testo vuole certamente alludere alla situazione dei Giudei alessandrini, anch’essi viventi «in mezzo ai peccatori», ma il passo acquista, nel suo andamento gnomico, una portata universale che lo rende attuale in ogni tempo. La prima parte del dittico si chiude con il v. 13, menzionando il sorprendente progetto di Dio, svelato agli uomini proprio dalla morte prematura del giusto, un progetto che gli uomini non riescono a comprendere. Il v. 13 ritorna sull’idea con cui si era aperta la riflessione (v. 7); se i figli dei malvagi sono «imperfetti» (3,16; 4,5), il giovane giusto ha raggiunto invece la «perfezione» (4,13; cf. 6,15); egli «ha portato a compimento (᾽ϵπλήρωσϵν) una lunga durata»; ha portato cioè a compimento la propria vita come se fosse realmente diventato molto vecchio. L’uso di τϵλϵɩόω rinvia all’idea greca di perfezione morale, tipica della filosofia greca, sia in Platone che in Aristotele e nello stoicismo e ampiamente ripresa da Filone.15 Chi ha vissuto nella virtù è un uomo τϵ´λϵɩoϛ, “perfetto”; ma occorre ricordare come in Sap 9,6 si afferma che se anche ci fosse un tale uomo “perfetto,” anch’egli avrebbe bisogno della sapienza che viene da Dio. L’ideale di “perfezione” del nostro saggio non coincide dunque con quello di una autorealizzazione, di una vita secondo virtù, conforme alla natura e alla ragione, tipica del mondo stoico; anche l’essere virtuosi, “perfetti,” va visto come un dono del Signore. L’idea che la perfezione possa essere raggiunta in breve tempo, anche in caso di una morte prematura, è tuttavia motivo di consolazione non infrequente.16 I primi due stichi del v. 14 costituiscono una ripresa dei vv. 10–12; l’anima del giusto, gradita a Dio, si affrettò a uscire da un mondo malvagio; il giusto sembra così guardare alla propria morte con gioia, e non con rassegnazione; la morte non è per lui una rovina, ma l’incontro con il Signore; il nostro autore sottintende qui l’intero messaggio di 3,1–9. Nel v. 14 è molto probabile l’influsso del testo isaiano di Is 57,1–2 Lxx: «vedete come il giusto perisce, e nessuno (vi) pone attenzione (кαὶ oʋ᾽ δϵὶϛ ϵ᾽ кδϵ´χϵταɩ τῃ̑ кαρδίᾳ); gli uomini giusti sono tolti di mezzo (αἴρoνταɩ) e nessuno ci bada; il giusto è stato rimosso (ἠ̑ρταɩ) di fronte all’ingiustizia; la sua sepoltura sarà nella pace (ϵν ᾽ ϵ᾽ɩρήνῃ ἡ ταϕὴ αὐτoʋ): egli è stato tolto (ἠ̑ρταɩ) di mezzo». 15 G. Delling, τϵ´λϵɩoϛ, TWNT 8.70–73. 16 Cf. i testi di Seneca citati da Ch. Larcher, Le livre de la Sagesse ou la Sagesse de Salomon, vol. 2 (Paris: Gabalda, 1984), 337: «licet aetas eius inperfecta sit, vita perfecta est» (Ep. 93,7): ma tutta l’epistola 93 è centrata sul fatto che la vita non dipende dalla sua lunghezza, quanto dalla pienezza con cui la si vive: «longa est vita si plena est» (Ep. 93,2), cioè, alla fine, la vita dipende dalle nostre opere, non dal destino (Ep. 93,3); cf. Filone, Praem. 112.

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I contatti verbali e tematici tra questo testo di Isaia e Sap 4,14 (ma anche con l’intero contesto di Sap 3–4) sono notevoli: la morte del giusto tolto da un contesto di malvagità, il suo essere nella pace, la non comprensione di tale morte da parte della gente. Il contesto isaiano è in realtà leggermente diverso: mentre il profeta si lamenta che il giusto perisca tra l’indifferenza dei più, nella Sapienza l’accento è spostato piuttosto sull’incapacità dei “popoli” di comprendere i progetti divini relativi alla salvezza del giusto stesso. Secondo il suo stile, l’autore di Sapienza utilizza con libertà i testi biblici ai quali fa riferimento e li rilegge in un nuovo contesto. P. Beentjies ipotizza che l’intera sezione di Sap 3,1–4,17 costituisca una rilettura di una serie di testi isaiani (Is 54.56.57, in particolare). Il testo di Is 57,1–2 (ma anche Is 57,20) e Sap 4,7–17 si riferiscono entrambi alla morte del giusto, anche se in Is 57 non troviamo un chiaro riferimento all’aldilà. Il testo di Sap 4,7–17 prende spunto dal verbo αἴρoμαɩ che in Is 57,1–2 Lxx ritorna due volte, in forma passiva. Beentjies ritiene così che l’allusione che la Sapienza fa a Enoch serva, posta accanto a queste riletture di Isaia, a supportare e ad accelerare questo nuovo trend di pensiero che emerge in Sap 4,7–17 e che in qualche modo mette in crisi le certezze tradizionali relative a una vita lunga vista come premio per una vita virtuosa.17 Improvvisamente, in 14cd il testo passa a considerare, con uno stacco netto che colpisce il lettore (cf. l’uso dell’anacoluto), l’atteggiamento dei «popoli», intesi qui in senso spregiativo, che non comprendeno «un fatto simile» (τò τoɩoʋ ̑τo), ovvero la morte prematura del giusto, ma proletticamente non comprendono neppure la misericordia divina concessa ai giusti stessi (v. 15). L’espressione θϵ´ντϵϛ ϵ᾽ πὶ τῃ̑ δɩανoίαͺ ha un sapore greco; δɩα´νoɩα (presente soltanto qui nella Sapienza) equivale a “mente” oppure a “coscienza,” nei Lxx quasi un sinonimo di кαρδία. L’uso di δɩα´νoɩα può essere così il modo con il quale la Sapienza sostituisce l’espressione isaiana ϵ᾽ кδϵ´χϵταɩ τῃ̑ кαρδίαͺ; cf. in 14c la sostituzione dell’isaiano кατανoϵɩ ̑ con μὴ νoήσαντϵϛ. «Un fatto simile»: alla luce del v. 15, va inteso come la condotta divina verso gli «eletti» e i «santi»: con  ϵ᾽ кλϵкτoɩϛ̑ si insiste sulla scelta divina; con ὅσɩoɩ si indicano invece i «pii», coloro che sono fedeli al Signore (cf. Sap 6,10; 7,27; 10,15.17; 18,1.5.9). La condotta divina verso i giusti è segnata dalla «grazia» e dalla «misericordia» (χα´ρɩϛ кαὶ ἔλϵoϛ; cf. 3,9), termini che rinviano a due ben noti vocaboli della Bibbia ebraica, ovvero ‫ חסר‬e ‫ךחמים‬, la «bontà-fedeltà» di Dio vista in relazione alla sua alleanza e la sua «compassione-tenerezza» verso l’uomo. Il libro della Sapienza aggiunge il tema della «visita» (᾽ϵπɩσкoπή), metafora della salvezza futura che il Signore garantirà

17 Cf. P.C. Beentjes, “Wisdom of Solomon 3,1–4,19 and the Book of Isaiah,” in Studies in the Book of Isaiah, FS W. A. M. Beuken, eds. J. Van Ruiten and M. Vervenne (Peeters: Leuven, 1997), 413–20 (spec. 418–19).

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ai suoi eletti (cf. 2,20; 3,7.13), senza che sia possibile precisare la natura precisa di questo intervento post mortem di Dio a favore dei giusti. Il v. 15 appare essenziale all’interno dell’argomentazione del dittico perchè serve a esprimere l’atteggiamento divino nei confronti del giusto, positivo e salvifico, ricco di grazia e di misericordia, di fedeltà all’alleanza, che «i popoli» non riescono a comprendere perché estranei alla logica d’amore di questo Dio che garantisce ai suoi eletti una salvezza oltre la morte.

Quali fonti per Sap 4,10–14? Al di là dell’ovvio riferimento a Gen 5,21–24 e al testo di Isaia 57,1–2 sopra ricordato vogliamo adesso esplorare la possibilità che il libro della Sapienza possa aver tenuto presente anche testi del libro di Enoch e, in questo caso, in che rapporto si ponga nei confronti della visione teologica propria di questa letteratura. Occorre subito notare che mentre l’Enoch genesiaco viene “trasferito” quando sembra essere ancora in vita, in Sap 4,7–17 si parla di un giusto morto prematuramente; la figura di Enoch viene dunque evocata, ma non viene esplicitamente citata. Ricordiamo come Ben Sira (cf. Sir 44,16) faccia di Enoch un esempio di conversione, uno ὐπόδϵɩγμα μϵτανoίαϛ18 (cf. anche Filone, Abr. 19), così come la lettera agli Ebrei (Eb 11,5) ne farà più tardi un modello di fede. L’opposizione di Ben Sira alla tradizione enochica sembra evidente.19 Sir 44,16 (cf. Gd 14) presuppone una tradizione relativa a Enoch che vive in mezzo a una generazione malvagia, un’idea che sottosta anche a Sap 4,10b. Già in Gen 5, del resto, la vita abbreviata di Enoch gli consente di non essere spettatore della catastrofe del diluvio, prima della quale, infatti, egli viene rapito. Ma il libro della Sapienza non descrive il giusto morto prematuramente sotto l’ottica della conversione. A meno che non si voglia intendere il testo di Sir 44,16 nel senso che l’intera vita di Enoch diviene un modello che invita chi legge alla conversione; si veda un approccio analogo in Filone, QG I, 79–87.20 Quanto a Filone, in Abr. 17–19 l’Alessandrino legge il “trasferimento” di Enoch di Gen 5,24 Lxx come allegoria del passaggio da una vita peggiore a una migliore. Per Filone, Enoch è una figura eminementente positiva;

18 Cf. D. Lühmann, “Henoch und die Metanoia,” ZNW 66 (1975): 103–16. 19 Cf. R. A. Argall, I Enoch and Sirach: A Comparative Literary and Conceptual Analysis of the Themes of Revelation, Creation and Judgment (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995); B. G. Wright III, “Sirach and 1 Enoch: some further considerations,” Hen. 24 (2002): 179–87. 20 Cf. Lühmann, “Henoch und die Metanoia,” 106–07; VanderKam, Enoch, 104–07.

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in Post. 33–75 Enoch simboleggia ancora il passaggio da ciò che perisce a ciò che non perisce; in Mut. 38, dalla mortalità all’immortalità (cf. anche QG I, 85).21 Ma veniamo adesso al libro di Enoch: fin dal testo di 1Hen 15,1, all’interno del Libro dei Vigilanti, la figura del settimo patriarca è presentata come quella di un giusto: ἀληθɩνòϛ кαὶ γραμματϵὺϛ τη̑ϛ ἀληθϵὶαϛ. La collocazione del giusto che muore prematuramente all’interno di un tempo di malvagità, presente in Sap 4,10–12, trova poi una certa corrispondenza con la situazione descritta in 1Hen 106,13. Enoch afferma che nella generazione di suo padre, Yared, la Parola del Signore, la «alleanza del cielo», è stata trasgredita. Il testo di 1Hen 93,3bc sembra piuttosto dire che Enoch vive in un tempo di giustizia, contraddicendo così 1Hen 106,13; ma 1Hen 93,4–5 sembra confermare l’idea che il patriarca vive in un mondo di ingiustizia ormai diffusa. E tuttavia il libro di Enoch non sembra porre un rapporto così stretto tra il rapimento al cielo di Enoch e la situazione di malvagità nella quale egli vive. L’Epistola di Enoch appare un testo particolarmente significativo per la sua capacità di integrare una prospettiva tipicamente sapienziale con una visione teologica chiaramente apocalittica; il libro della Sapienza ci offre invece un’escatologia sapienziale, ma non legata all’apocalittica e ben distante dal dualismo, dal determinismo e dal pessimismo tipici della tradizione enochica. All’interno del Libro dei Luminari (1Hen 72–82)22 si legge (cf. 1Hen 81,5–10) che Enoch è stato di nuovo rimandato sulla terra per istruire i propri figli per un anno; ma «nel secondo anno ti toglierà [Dio] di mezzo a loro» (1Hen 81,6); il testo riecheggia certamente Gen 5,24, ma l’espressione «di mezzo a loro» rinvia all’ascesa al cielo descritta in 1Hen 70,2–3, all’interno del Libro delle Parabole, e richiama così direttamente il contesto di Sap 4,10; sia 1Hen 81,6 che la Sapienza potrebbero tuttavia dipendere da Is 57,1–2, come fonte comune, e costituirne così una rilettura.23 Nel testo di 1Hen 81,9, benché il passo non sia chiarissimo, l’idea espressa si avvicina di nuovo a quella di Is 57,1–2: «those who do what is right will die because of the actions of people and will be gathered up because of the deeds of the wicked».24 Il testo è molto vago; si riferisce a peccatori che perseguitano i giusti; si afferma che essi muoiono, ma non si dice esplicitamente che essi risorgeranno, quanto piuttosto che verranno radunati. 1Hen 81,9 non giunge sino ad affermare 21 R. A. Kraft, “Philo (Josephus, Sirach and Wisdom of Solomon) on Enoch,” in Society of Biblical Literature 1978 Seminar Papers, ed. P. J. Achtemeier (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1978), 253–57. 22 Databile tra il 160 e il 150 a.C.; cf. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 339–45. 23 Così secondo Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1, 341. 24 Traduzione di G. W. E. Nickelsburg e J. VanderKam, 1 Enoch 2, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012), 544–45.

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che la morte dei giusti sia un atto di grazia, così come avviene invece in Sap 4,7–17, che mostra dunque una nota di forte originalità. Un altro possibile rapporto tra la figura del giusto descritto in Sapienza 4,7–17 e il libro di Enoch si può trovare nella descrizione dell’eletto presente in 1Hen 62–63 che offre molti punti di contatto con l’esaltazione del giusto descritta in Sap 4,17–5,13; si confrontino in particolare 1Hen 62,3.5 e Sap 4,17: i malvagi guarderanno l’eletto glorificato; e ancora, si veda la confessione post-mortem dei malvagi in 1Hen 63,5–10 a confronto con Sap 5,1–13. Ci troviamo qui all’interno del Libro delle Parabole (1Hen 37–71); se ne accettiamo una data di composizione durante il regno di Erode (37–4 a.C.) ci troveremmo di fronte a un testo praticamente contemporaneo della Sapienza.25 Il racconto dell’esaltazione di Enoch in 1Hen 70,1–2 può essere poi accostato a Sap 4,10: i due verbi in forma passiva («fu amato», «fu traferito») richiamano ciò che accade a Enoch secondo il libro delle Parabole: «fu innalzato» (1Hen 70,1.2), «il mio spirito fu sottratto…» (1Hen 71,1): Perhaps more intriguing is the fact that the Wisdom of Solomon both identifies Enoch as the prototypical righteous one who dies prematurely and describes the exaltation of the righteous one employing a tradition that is related to the scene that depicts the exaltation of the Son of Man in 1 Enoch 62–63 …. This may indicate that the author of Wisdom knew the Parables with chap. 71 attached.26

Va osservato al riguardo che in 1Hen 71,15–17 il personaggio di Enoch ha come prima caratteristica la giustizia (cf. 1Hen 71,14.16), un altro tratto che lo avvicina al giusto morto prematuramente di Sap 4. Ci sembra dunque di dover confermare l’ipotesi che l’autore della Sapienza abbia conosciuto la letteratura enochica già esistente, in particolare il Libro dei Vigilanti, il Libro dei Luminari, l’Epistola di Enoch e, forse, anche il Libro delle Parabole o le tradizioni che in esso confluiscono. Molto difficile, come si è detto, è stabilire se la Sapienza abbia conosciuto la versione greca di questi testi. 25 Cf. ibid., 62–63; cf. S. Chialà, Libro delle parabole di Enoch: testo e commento (Brescia: Paideia, 1997), 39–76; J. H. Charlesworth, “Can We Discern the Composition Date of the Parables of Enoch?,” in Boccaccini, ed., Enoch and the Messiah, 467; Charlesworth pensa alla Galilea come luogo di composizione. Nickelsburg e VanderKam affrontano il tema del rapporto tra il Libro delle Parabole e la Sapienza (1 Enoch 2, 61–62), ma considerano quest’ultimo come composto probabilmente durante il regno di Caligola, dunque posteriore alle Parabole. Il libro della Sapienza va piuttosto collocato durante l’impero di Ottaviano, verso la fine del I sec. a.C.: cf. M. Gilbert, “‘Your sovereignity comes from the Lord.’ Wis 6,4,” in La Sagesse de Salomon—The Wisdom of Solomon, Recueil d’études—Collected Essays (Rome: GBP, 2011), 121–40. 26 Nickelsburg e VanderKam, 1 Enoch 2, 318–19. Secondo Chialà, il c. 71 fu in realtà aggiunto durante la metà del I sec. d.C., con intenti polemici (cf. Libro delle Parabole, 281–85).

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Sap 4,10–14 e il libro di Enoch: alcune considerazioni conclusive Il rapporto che il testo di Sap 4,10–14 rivela di avere con la letteratura enochica mostra tuttavia la presenza di una dimensione polemica e di una teologia molto diversa. Il fatto che Enoch non sia ricordato per nome dall’autore della Sapienza non sorprende affatto in un libro nel quale nessun personaggio viene menzionato con il suo nome proprio. Si tratta di una scelta dettata da diversi motivi: il nostro saggio presuppone nei suoi lettori un’ottima memoria biblica; evocando personaggi che non vengono però mai citati l’autore carica ogni personaggio di una prospettiva simbolica e allo stesso tempo di una prospettiva universalista. Inoltre, il protagonista di Sap 4,7–17 è un giudeo anonimo, un giovane giusto defunto, non certo il patriarca Enoch. Ben più significativo è il fatto che Enoch non sia in alcun modo ricordato nella lista degli otto giusti biblici, da Adamo a Mosè, contenuta in Sap 10. Si allude qui con molta chiarezza ad Adamo (10,1–2), a Caino e Abele (10,3), a Noè (10,4), ad Abramo (10,5), ma non ad Enoch. Come già avviene in Gen 5,21–24, il libro della Sapienza evita accuratamente di evocare una figura considerata nel libro di Enoch come depositaria di rivelazioni celesti riguardanti l’origine del male e la salvezza futura.27 Come già Ben Sira, e prima di lui il Qohelet,28 il libro della Sapienza non accoglie le speculazioni apocalittiche proprie della teologia enochica. Il giovane morto prematuramente viene sì trasferito nel mondo divino, ma il suo rapimento è in qualche misura preventivo; egli è portato via dal Signore perchè non si corrompa; dunque, egli avrebbe potuto cadere nel peccato, come ogni altro uomo; non è un essere moralmente esemplare come lo è il patriarca Enoch nel libro omonimo. In Sap 4,7–17 l’accento non cade sul pentimento del giovane, come avviene in Ben Sira a proposito di Enoch (cf. sopra). Le allusioni fatte dalla Sapienza ad Enoch non rivelano poi una lettura di carattere allegorico, come avviene in Filone; con Sapienza 4,10–14 siamo piuttosto nel campo del simbolo. Non c’è traccia, qui, dell’idea che il transfert del giusto nel mondo divino sia una lettura allegorica del transfert dell’anima del giusto.29

27 Cf. A. Bedenbender, “Traces of Enochic Judaism within the Hebrew Bible,” Hen. 24 (2002): 39–48. Sul giudaismo enochico come oppositore del giudaismo sacerdotale (ma anche sull’opposizione sapienziale all’enochismo), cf. G. Boccaccini, I giudaismi del secondo Tempio. Da Ezechiele a Daniele (Brescia: Paideia, 2008), 91–134. 28 Cf. M. A. Knibb, “Enoch Literature and Wisdom Literature,” Hen, 24 (2002): 197–203. 29 Per una lettura allegorica della tradizione enochica in Sap 4 propendeva invece Grimm, Weisheit, 103; cf. anche Larcher, Sagesse, 2.331.

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L’attenzione del nostro saggio, nel descrivere il giusto morto prematuramente servendosi di tratti presi dalla letteratura enochica, cade piuttosto sull’azione di Dio che rende il giusto oggetto della benevolenza divina; i verbi utilizzati in Sap 4,10–14, infatti, sono, come più volte abbiamo ricordato, in forma passiva: fu amato, fu trasferito… e rimandano a una azione gratuita di Dio (cf. 4,15). La fine prematura del giusto diviene così un segno di particolare benevolenza divina e, di tale fine, un personaggio pur celebre come Enoch è soltanto un remoto segno. In questo modo, la Sapienza utilizza in parte una figura celebre della sua epoca che certamente in un simile contesto escatologico non poteva essere del tutto ignorata; ma, allo stesso tempo, mostra di non accettare le speculazioni apocalittiche che gli enochici le avevano creato intorno. Il libro della Sapienza fonda così la propria escatologia non su pretese rivelazioni celesti, ma sulla fede profondamente biblica in una volontà d’amore di Dio per l’uomo. In questo modo, l’anonimo saggio alessandrino offre una lettura “sapienziale” della prospettiva escatologica aperta dall’enochismo, mostrandosi così aperto alle istanze del giudaismo del suo tempo, ma entrando in discussione con la sua stessa tradizione, alla luce dei testi delle Scritture letti nel contesto della cultura ellenistica del suo tempo.

Phillip Muñoa

21 The Good Angel That Delivered the Jews: How 2 Maccabees Adapted Daniel 7 and the Angel of the Lord Tradition 2 Maccabees displays a particular interest in Judas Maccabeus’ battles against Greek rule. In doing so, 2 Maccabees consistently relates the significant role that heavenly appearances, in the form of angels, played in these battles, as Judas often succeeds militarily because of angelic intervention. These interests distinguish 2 Maccabees from 1 Maccabees, where Judas is portrayed as one among several Hasmonean heroes and angels play no direct role in defeating the Greeks.1 Careful examination of Judas’ “angel-assisted” battles reveals an interpretive model that appears to draw from Daniel 7’s “one like a human being” vision that itself owes much to the saving role of the angel of the Lord in Israelite literature.2 While commentators have long related Daniel to 2 Maccabees, as with the persecution of Jews living under Greek rule with the behavior of Daniel 7’s fourth beast,3 none have argued for a narrative strategy in 2 Maccabees whereby the text addresses the role that Daniel 7’s “one like a human being” played in the Maccabean war. However, when 2 Maccabees’s “angel-assisted battles” are read in this light, it discloses its intention to show that the “one like a human being” intervened on behalf of Jews who defended Jerusalem and its temple. The author of 2 Maccabees appears to have drawn from Daniel 7’s prophetic vision and composed what must be called a “prophetic history” with the aim of promoting his belief in an angelic deliverer.

1 Apart from the lone reference to angels in 1 Macc 7:41, where Judas refers to God’s angel that struck down the Assyrians (Isa 37:36; Isa 19:35; 2 Chron 32:21), there are no heavenly appearances and angels play no role in 1 Maccabees. Bezalel Bar-Kochva, Judas Maccabeus: The Jewish Struggle Against the Seleucids (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 63–65, observes that there are no miracles in 1 Maccabees and it teaches that the hidden hand of God is behind the events of the Maccabean war, whereas in 2 Maccabees the deity is revealed to resolve tragic entanglements and prodigies reoccur. 2 All biblical quotations are from the New Oxford Annotated Bible: New Revised Standard Bible with the Apocrypha Fourth Edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). 3 See Jonathan A. Goldstein, “How the Authors of 1 and 2 Maccabees Treated the ‘Messianic Promises’,” in Judaisms and Their Messiahs at Turn of the Christian Era, eds. Jacob Neusner, Williams S Green and Ernest Frerichs (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 85–87. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-022

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2 Maccabees’s focus on divine deliverance and heavenly appearances 2 Maccabees consists of two letters that encourage the observance of Hanukkah and a narrative account that is primarily concerned with Judas Maccabeus’ battles for Jerusalem and its temple against the attacks of Antiochus IV Epiphanes and other Greek enemies.4 While these texts display an unmistakable interest in God’s protection of Jerusalem’s temple, they do so by calling attention to the essential role of heavenly appearances. The first rather brief letter (2 Macc 1:1–9) introduces this subject by noting how God did not forsake the Jews of Jerusalem when they were distressed but heard them when they prayed (2 Macc 1:8). The second longer letter (2 Macc 1:10–2:18), attributed to the people of Jerusalem, Judea, the senate, and Judas Maccabeus, is more specific and emphatic. It states twice, at its beginning (2 Macc 1:11) and at its conclusion (2 Macc 2:17), that God has saved his people and temple, and then ends by expressing the hope that God will soon act again to gather all his people to his temple (2 Macc 2:18). The longer narrative account that follows these letters (2:19–15:39) introduces itself as the story of Judas and his brothers who purified and dedicated the temple after battling the Greeks.5 More importantly, it declares that heavenly appearances were the decisive factor when the Jews delivered the temple. According to its author, “appearances that came from heaven to those who fought bravely” made it possible that “though few in number they seized the whole land and pursued the barbarian hordes and regained possession of the temple” (2 Macc 2:21–22).6 Thus, the narrative account

4 2 Maccabees is a Greek text whose date of composition varies widely, ranging from the second half of the second century BCE to the early first century CE, and often depends on the relation of the two letters and narrative to one another. As for origin, most point to a Diaspora location but precisely where is difficult to say. See Robert Doran, 2 Maccabees: A Critical Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2012), 1–19; Daniel R. Schwartz, 2 Maccabees, CEJL (Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 2008), 3–56; Jonathan A. Goldstein, II Maccabees: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 41A (Garden City: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1983), 3–134; John R. Bartlett, The First and Second Books of the Maccabees (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), 215–19. 5 The source of the narrative is a complicated issue. 2 Maccabees presents itself as a condensed version of the work of Jason of Cyrene (2 Macc 2:23) and commentators offer several theories about this claim as well as the relationship of 1 and 2 Maccabees. See Bar-Kochva, Judas Maccabeus, 182–84. Goldstein, II Maccabees, 1–83, presents an elaborate investigation and argument over these issues. 6 This assertion of heavenly appearances occurs in the author’s preface (2 Macc 2:19–32) that introduces the history (2 Macc 3:1–15:39).

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repeats the message of divine intervention given in the letters then specifies that God’s saving intervention took the form of heavenly appearances. In line with 2 Maccabees’s teaching that heavenly appearances are the mode of divine deliverance, these appearances7 are integral to the character and structure of the 2 Maccabees’s narrative account.8 First, they characterize the narrative as one that aims to demonstrate the meaning and nature of heavenly appearances as they repeatedly occur in episodes when a supernatural being or beings appear to deliver Jews (2 Macc 3:22–40; 10:29–31; 11:6–12), are identified as divine appearances (2 Macc 3:30; cf. 11:13), and are specified as instances in which an angel acts as God’s proxy (2 Macc 11:6; 15:22–23).9 In several accounts, an appearance is either spoken by the narrator or celebrated by the Jews without explicit angelic depictions (2 Macc 12:22; 15:27), while in other passages the Jews acknowledge the importance of these appearances when they pray to the God who saves his people by “manifesting” himself (2 Macc 14:15) and when Judas exhorts his men to remember “when help came from heaven” (2 Macc 15:8).10 The significance of heavenly appearances is also borne out structurally by the way they enclose and divide 2 Maccabees’s narrative and thus argue for their essential, pervasive role in the defense of Jerusalem and the temple. In the first story of deliverance, the grand appearance of a mounted armed warrior, with two young men, defeat Heliodorus (2 Macc 3:22–40), while the narrative concludes with an implicit appearance that reads as a response to Judas Maccabeus’ prayer for an angel. Here the Jews, after celebrating Nicanor’s death, look to heaven and bless “the Lord who had manifested himself, saying, ‘Blessed is he who has kept his own place undefiled’” (2 Macc 15:34). In the middle of the narrative section, Antiochus 7 The noun “appearance” (ἐπιφάνεια) occurs six times (2:21, 3:24, 5:4, 12:22, 14:15, 15:27), the noun “manifest” (ἐπιφάνης) three times (6:23, 14:33, 15:34), the verb “appear” (ἐπιφαίνω) four times (8:30, 12:9, 12:22, 15:3), and the verb “appear” (φαίνω) 13 times (1:33, 3:25, 3:26, 3:33, 5:2, 6:27, 7:22, 10:29, 11:8, 12:9, 12:16, 12:36, 14:20). 8 Commentators note that 2 Maccabees displays an interest in citing heavenly appearances but do not comment on their effect on its narrative. See Doran, 2 Maccabees, 66–67; Schwartz, 2 Maccabees, 173; Goldstein, II Maccabees, 39; Bartlett, The First and Second Books of the Maccabees, 233. 9 Goldstein, II Maccabees, 192, defines appearance as a “tangible event in which a supernatural being or force was perceived to act.” For Bartlett, The First and Second Books of the Maccabees, 239, an angel appears as “God’s proxy.” 10 While commentators regularly discuss the possibility of implicit heavenly appearances in passages like 2 Macc 12:22, 15:27 and elsewhere, e.g., Doran, 2 Maccabees, 66–67; Schwartz, 2 Maccabees, 173, 421–31; Goldstein, II Maccabees, 39; Bartlett, The First and Second Books of the Maccabees, 315, their preponderance and importance in 2 Maccabees has not been fully appreciated. Since the author claims that “five volumes” have been condensed “into a single book” through “the toil of abbreviating” (2 Macc 2:23–26), there is the possibility that accounts of heavenly appearances were shortened and presented as implicit.

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IV Epiphanes is struck down and dies, and the story leaves little doubt that God acted by means of a heavenly intervention, with allusions to the mounted angel who appears twice in the narrative (2 Macc 9:4–5).11 As such, readers can only conclude that heavenly appearances were the indisputable factor in God’s deliverance of the Jews.

2 Maccabees’s Promotion of Angelic Deliverance While commentators regularly identify that heavenly appearances are the means of divine intervention, they have not fully addressed the rather groundbreaking role that angelology plays in 2 Maccabees. When its accounts are more closely scrutinized, three distinctive features come into view of what may be called 2 Maccabees’s promotion of angelic deliverance. First, 2 Maccabees describes how pious Jews like Judas and his followers prayed for divine help when engaging their enemies, and several of their prayers are requests for angelic intervention. These specific requests for angelic help are the first of their kind in Israelite literature and are without parallel in earlier texts. 2 Maccabees prepares for this interest in its first episode when Onias, the priests and other Jews that were devout (2 Macc 3:1, 15–22), ask God to protect the temple when Heliodorus attempted to plunder it (2 Macc 3:22). In response to their prayer, 2 Maccabees describes the appearance of a mounted, armed man, along with two young men, who attack and turn away Heliodorus (2 Macc 3:24–28). This episode dramatically illustrates the notion that God’s saving acts take the form of angelic interventions. Subsequently, this implicit association is made explicit on two later occasions when Judas and his followers, who are also portrayed as pious (2 Macc 5:27; 8:1–4, 36), pray for God’s deliverance. First, Judas and his men ask God “to send a good angel to save Israel” when Lysias threatens them (2 Macc 11:6); then Judas asks God again to “send a good angel” when he prepares for his final battle (2 Macc 15:23). The first request is answered when a mounted, armed man, who calls to mind the man that attacked Heliodorus earlier (2 Macc 3:24–28), appears 11 Several verses in 2 Maccabees 9 allude to the heavenly appearance that nearly killed Heliodorus and imply some type of heavenly involvement: 1) “the judgment of heaven rode with him [Antiochus]” calls to mind the appearance of the mounted rider who attacked Heliodorus and led Judas and his men into battle (2 Macc 9:4; 11:6–12; cf. 3:25), 2) “the all-seeing Lord, the God of Israel struck him… he stopped speaking he was seized in pain” calls to mind that Heliodorus “lay prostate, speechless because of divine intervention” (2 Macc 9:5; cf. 3:29), and 3) “making the power of God manifest to all” alludes to the effect of the heavenly attack on Heliodorus, “the Almighty had appeared” (2 Macc 9:8; cf. 3:28).

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and leads the Jews to victory. After Judas’ second request, 2 Maccabees strongly implies that God sent angelic help again since the account describes how Judas and his men were “greatly gladdened by God’s manifestation” (2 Macc 15:27) and then blessed “the Lord who has manifested himself” (2 Macc 15:34).12 Given the heroic stature of Judas Maccabeus in 2 Maccabees (2 Macc 15:15–16, 30), his request for a “good angel” implicitly sanctions his angelic requests and the divine responses signal the approval of his requests.13 Second, 2 Maccabees immediately asserts that the heavenly appearances were genuine and witnessed by Gentiles and Jews alike. This interest begins emphatically with the first heavenly appearance when the armed, mounted man and his two young men nearly killed Heliodorus (2 Macc 3:27–40). 2 Maccabees says that Heliodorus and his men “recognized clearly the sovereign power of God” (2 Macc 3:28) and “praised the Lord who had acted on behalf of his own place” (2 Macc 3:30). This account then categorically underscores a genuine heavenly appearance when the two young men appear a second time to Heliodorus and now speak to him, ordering him to “report to all people the majestic power of God” (2 Macc 3:34). Heliodorus complies and bears “testimony to all concerning the deeds of the supreme God, which he has seen with his eyes” (2 Macc 3:36; cf. 3:39).14 The motif of genuine heavenly appearances is given broad, temporal support when the people of Jerusalem witness a heavenly appearance that lasted nearly 40 days in 2 Maccabees 5. They see what they hope is a good omen: armed,

12 There may be other requests for the “good angel” that are implicit in nature. In 2 Macc 8:19, Judas cites the same tradition (Hezekiah’s angelic deliverance) that he does later when he requests a “good angel” (2 Macc 15:22–24). Then in 2 Macc 12:36, Judas “called upon the Lord to show himself their ally and leader in battle,” calling to mind the angel that led the Jews as “their heavenly ally” in response to his first request for a “good angel” (2 Macc 11:6–12). This notion of God’s angel leading the Jews into battle may lend particular significance to those passages that state that God led the Jews or Judas implored God to fight on their side (2 Macc 10:1, 16). 13 Hermann Lictenberger, “History-writing and History-telling in First and Second Maccabees,” in Memory in the Bible and Antiquity: The Fifth Durham-Tübingen Research Symposium, eds. Loren T. Stuckenbruck, Stephen C. Barton, and Benjamin G. Wold, WUNT 212 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 105–06, observes how Jews pray before Heliodorus attacks (2 Macc 3), when the heavenly horsemen appear (2 Macc 5:2–4), transitionally in 7:37 before the Judas narrative in 2 Macc 8–15, and therein Judas prays before military engagements. Lictenberger adds that they usually correspond with divine manifestation interests but does not highlight Judas’ prayers for an angel. ‬ 14 In 2 Macc 8:24–36, where another heavenly appearance may be implied (2 Macc 8:24, 27 and 34–35), a defeated Nicanor echoes the testimony of Heliodorus and acknowledges God’s intervention by proclaiming “that the Jews had a defender” (2 Macc 8:36; cf. 3:36–39). 2 Maccabees 10 describes another sighting by an enemy of Israel, namely Timothy, and says that “there appeared to the enemy from heaven five resplendent men on horses and with golden bridles” (2 Macc 10:29).

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mounted figures, similar to that of the Heliodorus account, “charging through the air, in companies fully armed with lances and drawn swords” (2 Macc 5:1–4). In another account, Judas and his men joyfully acknowledge a horseman that appears in response to their prayer for a “good angel” and leads them confidently into battle against the Lysias (2 Macc 11:1–12). In this battle, 2 Maccabees argues that the reality of divine intervention is evident by simply reflecting upon the Jewish victory when it describes Lysias, who did not know that the armed, mounted man leading Judas’ army was an angel, as intelligent enough to realize “that the Hebrews were invincible because the mighty God fought on their side” (2 Macc 11:13).15 In this fashion, 2 Maccabees is unwavering in its insistence that divine intervention lie behind Judas’ victories. Lastly, 2 Maccabees emphasizes that Israelite traditions supported and encouraged Judas Maccabeus and his followers’ belief in angelic deliverance. In several episodes Judas Maccabeus cites the stories of Hezekiah’s angelic deliverance and God’s exodus promise of a protective angel either to encourage his army when they faced their enemies or to plead with God to send an angel to save them. The Hezekiah account (2 Kgs 19:35; Isa 37:36; 2 Chron 32:21) appears to be especially significant since Judas cites it twice, once at the beginning of 2 Maccabees’s Judas narrative, when Judas refers to “the time of Sennacherib when one hundred eighty five thousand perished” to encourage his frightened army (2 Macc 8:16–19), then again at its conclusion, when Judas is frightened and refers to the angel who destroyed Sennacherib’s army before he prays for God’s “good angel” to strike down another army (2 Macc 15:21–23). While Judas’ first Hezekiah citation only alludes to the saving angel that destroyed Sennacherib’s army, Judas also refers to another tradition about Jews defeating a massive Galatian army because of “the help that came to them from heaven” (2 Macc 8:20), thus underscoring his message that God, by means of a heavenly appearance, will help his people defeat another powerful enemy.16 Judas and his men cite God’s exodus promise to fight Israel’s enemies when they are preparing to engage another massive army. After gathering at the temple’s altar, they beg God “to be an enemy to their enemies and an adversary to

15 This argument for some type of heavenly intervention appears to be latent in the account of Antiochus’ death in 2 Macc 9:1–29. 16 Doran, 2 Maccabees, 176, notes the amount of discussion regarding this unattested Galatian battle. These two traditions in 2 Macc 8:19–20 are introduced as “occasions when help came to their ancestors” (2 Macc 8:19) and the narrative implies that a heavenly appearance subsequently took place with statements like “With the Lord as their ally” (2 Macc 8:24; cf. 11:10; 12:36), “thanks to the Lord who had preserved them” (2 Macc 8:27), and “Nicanor… having been humbled with the help of the Lord… proclaimed that the Jews had a Defender” (2 Macc 8:34–36; cf. 3:35–39).

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their adversaries, as the law declares” (2 Macc 10:26). Their prayer for divine protection alludes to the angel that God sent to safeguard his people according to the Torah. In Exodus 23:20, God says to Israel, “I am going to send an angel in front of you, to guard your way and to bring you to the place that I have prepared,” and afterward, in Exodus 23:22, God adds the condition for angelic protection, “if you listen attentively to his voice and do all that I say, then I will be an enemy to your enemies and a foe to your foes” (Exod 23:22).17 In this light, Judas and his men are calling upon God to honor this promise of angelic protection, and the narrative bears this out when angels intervened and “there appeared to the enemy from heaven five resplendent men” who protected Judas and destroyed thousands of the enemy (2 Macc 10:29–31).18 Judas also makes a broad appeal to angelic deliverance traditions found in Israel’s sacred texts. In 2 Maccabees 15:8, as Judas prepares his army for their final battle against Nicanor, he urged his troops “to keep in mind the former times when help had come to them from heaven and so to look for the victory that the Almighty would give them.” His words allude to the heavenly interventions that he and his army had already experienced (2 Macc 10:24–31; 11:6–12) and on this basis he asked them to expect another angel-assisted victory. Judas’ broad appeal to the angelic deliverance traditions in Israel’s sacred texts follows immediately in 2 Maccabees 15:9 when he encourages his men “from the law and the prophets.” His encouragement from “the law and the prophets” reflects a major narrative interest: Judas’ prebattle practice of citing angelic traditions from the law and the prophets, as in 2 Maccabees 10, where he quotes the law to invoke the protection of the exodus angel (2 Macc 10:26 cf. Exod 23:20–22), and in 2 Maccabees 8 and 15, where he refers to the prophets to call to mind the angel’s destruction of Sennacherib’s army and to encourage his men and ask God to send a good angel (2 Macc 8:19; 15:22–23; cf. 2 Kgs 19:35; Isa 37:36). Judas is thus portrayed as one who was familiar with Israel’s angelic deliverer traditions and taught them to others.

17 Both Doran, 2 Maccabees, 217, and Schwartz, 2 Maccabees, 387, note the prayer’s connection to the exodus angel. 18 Judas and his men may have indirectly requested angelic help on the basis of the Joshua’s Jericho narrative when they attack Caspin and refer to God’s overthrow of Jericho (2 Macc 12:15–16). While the Jericho account in Joshua 6 does not refer to an angel, Israelite traditions do identify the agency of the angel of the Lord in the battles for Canaan. Before Israel’s attack on Jericho, Joshua 5 describes Joshua’s encounter with an armed man who commands the Lord’s army and appears to be the angel of the Lord (Jos 5:13–15; cf. Exod 3:1–6, Num 22:22–35), and other traditions add that it was the angel of the Lord who brought Israel from Egypt to Canaan by conquering her foes (Judg 2:1; cf. Exod 33:2). Therefore, it may be argued that Judas and his men were presuming an angel-assisted overthrow of Jericho and were thus calling upon God for angelic help.

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The Formative Influence on 2 Maccabees’s Heavenly Appearances Commentators associate the angelic interests of 2 Maccabees with both Hellenistic and Israelite traditions. Robert Doran argues for the influence of Hellenistic epiphany stories upon the narrative’s genre and the details given in its accounts of heavenly appearances, but also acknowledges and identifies the influence of Israelite traditions as well.19 Regarding the significance of heavenly appearances and their role in the defeat of Israel’s enemies, according to 2 Maccabees stated purpose (2 Macc 2:21), Doran says that the text demonstrates how God will defend the temple against its attackers. He cites Israelite accounts that promise a saving divine manifestation, like that of Zephaniah 2:11 in the LXX, where God promises to manifest himself against Israel’s enemies and destroy them (cf. 2 Kgs 7:23; Gen 35:7; Num 6:25), along with Hellenistic accounts of gods like Apollo, Herakles, and Athena that manifested themselves to save their people and cities from danger.20 Jonathan Goldstein also acknowledges the influence of Hellenistic and Israelite traditions upon the purpose and portrayals of heavenly appearances in 2 Maccabees, but insists on Daniel’s importance and focuses on its angelology.21 Goldstein cites allusions to a number of Daniel interests that demonstrate its importance for grasping the aims of 2 Maccabees, and gives particular emphasis to Daniel 11:45–12:1 and its prediction that Michael the angel will appear and

19 Doran, 2 Maccabees, 6–7, 85–89, identifies 2 Maccabees as a subgenre of Hellenistic history that focused on a city, which was defended by its patron god(s) and whose literary topos (attackers, defenders’ plea for help, divine intervention, repulsed attackers, defenders’ celebration) is also found in biblical literature. Doran’s detection of Hellenistic and Israelite influences on the heavenly appearances is borne out by comments on the mounted heavenly warrior who beats Heliodorus (2 Macc 3:25–26). This figure expresses the Hellenistic notion of gods appearing on horses and the Israelite notion of angels beating God’s enemy. Bar-Kokhba, Judas Maccabeus, 180, n. 92, favors an emphasis on Hellenistic traditions because the angelology of 2 Maccabees contrasts with Jewish angelology during the writer’s era. 20 Doran, 2 Maccabees, 2, 67. M. Z. Simkovich, “Greek Influence on the Composition of 2 Maccabees,” JSJ 42 (2011): 293–310, argues for a diaspora author who had absorbed some Greek culture but felt the need to prioritize Judaism over Hellenism and implore his readers to observe their Jewish festivals. See Georgia Petridou, Divine Epiphany in Greek Literature and Culture (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 107–70, for an examination of Hellenistic manifestations in a time of crisis. 21 Doran, 2 Maccabees, 85, 211, 217–18, refers to Israel’s angel traditions when commenting on the heavenly appearances but not as a foundational interest like Goldstein.

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save God’s people.22 He identifies this passage as an unprecedented prophecy of angelic deliverance and says that it informs episodes where Judas is either encouraging his troops with stories of angelic deliverance (2 Macc 8:19), calling upon God’s promise of an angel protector (2 Macc 10:26), or directly requesting a “good angel” (2 Macc 11:6; cf. 15:23).23 As is generally interpreted, Daniel 11:45 says that a king, usually identified as Antiochus IV Epiphanes, will invade Israel, with Daniel 12:1 immediately announcing the saving intervention of the angel Michael with the words, “At that time Michael, the great prince, the protector of your people, shall arise… at that time your people will be delivered.”24 Goldstein detects an author who wants to identify Judas’ victories as a fulfillment of Daniel’s prophecies—but only to a degree. As the prophecies of Daniel 7–12 taught, and in conjunction with other Israelite predictions of deliverance, the author believed God had acted to save his people and thus interprets Judas’ victories in this light: God had intervened with heavenly appearances as expected, Greek attacks on the temple were defeated, and Jews had regained a measure of sovereignty. However, the author also believes that Daniel’s predictions like the resurrection, the end of Greek rule, and imperial power for the Jews were not fulfilled and presents them as awaiting future fulfillment. According to Goldstein, the author believed in Daniel’s prophecies and wrote so as to defend them from challenges and thus explain them, implicitly arguing that while some were fulfilled in Judas’ exploits, a final and complete deliverance was yet to come.25 While there is good reason for saying that the heavenly appearances of 2 Maccabees are indebted to both Hellenistic and Israelite elements, Goldstein’s effort to relate the angel prophecy of Daniel 12:1 in a fundamental way is encouraged by Michael’s status among Second Temple Jews and the space given to stories of angelic deliverance in 2 Maccabees’s narrative (2 Macc 8:19; 10:26; 15:22). Goldstein’s important observation that Daniel 12:1 is a prophecy of Michael’s role as a deliverer invites serious consideration as a formative influence, as it appears 22 Goldstein, 2 Maccabees, 305–06 argues for a number of Daniel allusions in 2 Maccabees that illustrate its importance to the author, with the most evident being its insistence on the resurrection (2 Macc 7:9; cf. Dan 12:2). Doran, 2 Maccabees, 157, also identifies resurrection as an allusion to Daniel but does not cite Daniel 12:1 as an influence. 23 Goldstein, 2 Maccabees, 330, 393–94, 405. Schwartz, 2 Maccabees, 401, also relates Michael to the angelic interests of 2 Maccabees. 24 See Carol A. Newsom with Brennan W. Reed, Daniel: A Commentary, OTL (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014), 356–59; John J. Collins, Daniel: A Commentary on the Book of Daniel, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), 389–91; John E. Goldingay, Daniel, WBC 30 (Waco: Word Books Publisher, 1989), 305–06. 25 Goldstein summarizes his argument for 2 Maccabees’s use of Daniel in “How the Authors of 1 and 2 Maccabees Treated the ‘Messianic Promises,’” 85–87.

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to have also reverberated among other Jewish writers who speculated on future deliverance, like those of Qumran who foresaw the eschatological appearance of Michael, as well as followers of Jesus like the writer of Revelation (Rev 12:7–9).26 Yet, the relevance of Daniel to 2 Maccabees may be different than what Goldstein envisioned. Identifying Daniel 12:1 and its emphasis on Michael as a formative influence on 2 Maccabees raises an intriguing question: Why is the name Michael absent in 2 Maccabees? Why is an angel never identified by name in any heavenly appearance or when Judas asks for an angel? No angel is ever named nor does Judas request an angel by name but only by the appellation “good angel” (2 Macc 11:6 and 15:23)—a title that is not used of Michael. Jewish communities that value Michael in ways that reflect Daniel 12:1, like the Qumran community, name him. In addition to the absence of Michael, Daniel 12:1 announces Michael’s appearance in a “time of anguish, such as has never occurred since nations first came into existence,” which is much more severe than the suffering described in Daniel 11:45 and suggests a final act of deliverance that affects the people of Israel at large: “at that time your people shall be delivered, everyone who is found written in the book” (Dan 12:1). None of the heavenly appearances in 2 Maccabees occur in such a cataclysmic scenario nor result in such a large-scale deliverance. Therefore, the narrative’s silence concerning Michael and its partial view of deliverance strongly suggests that the author is not using Daniel 12:1 as a formative influence upon its narrative and readers must look elsewhere.27

26 John J. Collins, “Powers in Heaven: God, Gods, And Angels in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Religion in the Dead Sea Scrolls, eds. John J. Collins and Robert A. Kugler (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 17–18, argues that Daniel 12 is the source for Michael’s authority and significance in the War Scroll (1QM 17:6–7). See Darrell D. Hannah, Michael and Christ: Michael Traditions and Angel Christology in Early Christology, WUNT 2/109 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 25–121, for an examination of Michael traditions among Jews. 27 Morton Smith, “Ascent to the Heavens and Deification in 4QMa,” in Archaeology and History in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The New York University Conference in Memory of Yigael Yadin, ed. L. H. Schiffman, JSPSup 8, JSOT/ASOR Monographs 2 (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 187–88, rejected Maurice Baillet’s interpretation of 4Q491 that Michael is the one claiming exaltation, in large part because Michael is not mentioned by name. Since Michael’s intervention in Daniel 12:1 appears to be a final act of deliverance, the author of 2 Maccabees, in keeping with Goldstein’s view that he was committed to reformatting of Daniel’s prophecies by regulating some to his present and the rest to the future, may have understood Michael’s appearance as an end time event that still awaited fulfillment—but this is only speculation.

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Daniel 7 and 2 Maccabees Another Daniel passage that has been overlooked, namely the vision of Daniel 7:9–14, is better suited as the formative influence behind the narrative of 2 Maccabees:28 9As I watched, thrones were set in place, and an Ancient One took his throne, his clothing was white as snow, and the hair of his like pure wool; his throne was fiery flames, and its wheels were burning fire. 10A stream of fire issued and flowed from his presence. A thousand thousands served him, and ten thousand stood attending Him. The court sat in judgment, and the books were opened. 11I watched then because of the noise of the arrogant words that the horn was speaking. And as I watched, the beast was put to death and its body destroyed and given over to be burned with fire. 12As for the rest of the beasts, their dominion was taken away, but their lives were prolonged for a season and a time. 13As I watched in the night visions, I saw one like a human being coming with the clouds of heaven. And he came to the Ancient One and was presented before him. 14To him was given dominion and glory and kingship, that all peoples, nations, and languages should serve him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that shall not pass away and his kingship is one that shall never be destroyed.

Daniel 7:9–14 presents a vision of God’s court as it gathers and exercises divine judgment. The beast with the arrogant horn is put to death while the other beasts, identified earlier (Dan 7:1–6), lose their dominion and are allowed to live a while longer. The vision concludes with God bestowing an all-encompassing dominion upon one with a human appearance. God’s bestowal of dominion suggests that the figure with a human appearance had something to do with the death of the beast—either it had carried out the court’s judgment or would do so in the future. Like Daniel 12:1, Daniel 7:9–14 may be read as a prediction of divine intervention during a time of crisis and persecution, but one that relates more directly to the meaning and activities of the heavenly appearances in 2 Maccabees. This vision has been subject to much debate, however a considerable number of commentators have identified the beast with the horn that is put to death (Dan 7:11), which Daniel associates with Jewish persecution (Dan 7:7–8; 11:20–39), as symbolic of the Seleucid dynasty and Antiochus IV Epiphanes, and the “one like a

28 Doran, Schwartz and Goldstein do not identify or discuss Daniel 7:9–14 as an influence on 2 Maccabees. Goldstein, II Maccabees, 19, 41–43, 63–64, 86–87, 225, 274–75, 280, 294, 326, 345, 348, and 502, does emphasize the influence of Daniel 7–12 but does not refer to the vision in Daniel 7:9–14. Aleksander R. Michalak, Angels as Warriors in Late Second Temple Judaism, WUNT 330 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 192–210, examines the angelic appearances of 2 Maccabees and favors Israelite elements over Hellenistic elements but is silent about the role that Daniel 7:9–14 may have played.

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human being” that God confers power upon (Dan 7:13–14) as a heavenly being or angel.29 With these interpretations in mind, there are grounds for arguing that the narrative focus of 2 Maccabees 3–15 corresponds to this vision’s plot interest. 2 Maccabees narrowly concentrates on a series of successful battles that while effective, fall short of Israel’s complete deliverance from all enemies: God, by means of angelic intervention, defeats the Seleucid dynasty and brings about the death of Antiochus IV Epiphanes, and thus keeps Jerusalem and its temple in Israelite possession, free from foreign interference.30 Daniel’s vision also provides insight into the narrative’s beginning and ending. 2 Maccabees has a strange starting point in that while the narrative says it is the story of Judas and his brothers (2 Macc 2:19), it begins with the story of Heliodorus’ defeat during the priesthood of Onias and Judas is entirely missing from the account. Daniel 7’s role as a guiding influence explains why: Heliodorus is a hostile Seleucid agent who is beaten back by God’s angel and this aligns with Daniel’s vision about the judgment of the Seleucid “beast” by “the one like a human being” (Dan 7:9–14). The conclusion of 2 Maccabees has puzzled commentators because it ends with Judas alive after he fatally defeats Nicanor, leaving the narrative’s announced interest in Judas seemingly incomplete (2 Macc 2:21; 15:25– 36). However, this ending aligns with Daniel 7, which is centered on the judgment of the “Seleucid” beast by means of God’s angel, and the author’s intent is therefore satisfied once the Seleucid dynasty’s final attack on Jerusalem and its temple is fully repulsed by what appears to be another angel-assisted battle (2 Macc 15:27, 34, 37).31 While Judas is important to 2 Maccabees, the narrative, from beginning 29 See Newsom, Daniel, 226–36, Collins, Daniel, 277–311, and Goldingay, Daniel, 146–72, for a review of the interpretive positions regarding the beast and the “one like a human being” in Daniel 7:9–14. The Parables of Enoch (1 Enoch 37–71) illustrate how a later tradition drew from Daniel 7:9–14 and identified the “one like a human being” as a heavenly or angelic being. See Larry W. Hurtado, One God and One Lord, 3rd ed. (London: T&T Clark, 2015), 56. Collins, Daniel, 59, 300, notes the difficulty of explaining the relationship of Daniel 7 to 1 Enoch. For a discussion of Daniel’s priority, see George W. E. Nickelsburg, “Discerning the Structure(s) of the Enochic Book of Parables,” in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man: Revisiting the Book of Enoch, ed. Gabriele Boccaccini (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 23–71; Gabriele Boccaccini, “Finding a Place for the Parables of Enoch within Second Temple Jewish Literature,” in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man: Revisiting the Book of Enoch, ed. Gabriele Boccaccini (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 263–98. 30 Gerben S. Oegema, The Anointed and his People: Messianic Expectations from the Maccabees to Bar Kochba, JSPSup 27 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 70–72, argues for the strongly anti-Seleucid portrayal of the “one like a human being” in Daniel 7:9–14. 31 Doran, 2 Maccabees, 9–10, comments on the different explanations for the conclusion of 2 Maccabees and argues for the cessation of attempts to dismantle Jewish law and the temple service. The temple is important to the narrative, but the role of heavenly appearances in defending the temple against the Seleucid threat more ably addresses the narrative’s characteristics.

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to end, reflects how the interests of Daniel 7:9–14 were fulfilled when God judged the Seleucid Empire for its attacks on Jerusalem and its temple by means of heavenly appearances. Daniel 7’s significance for 2 Maccabees may also be detected in several strategic allusions to its depiction of God’s status and mode of intervention. Daniel’s vision describes God’s standing in an imperial scene, as the enthroned “Ancient One,” who is served by “a thousand thousands” with “ten thousand times ten thousand” attending him (Dan 7:9–10). The vision’s description of God’s manner of involvement is unique in biblical literature in that it pictures God giving unparalleled power to an angel for an act of judgment—either completed or imminent (Dan 7:13–14).32 As such, this vision stands as the ultimate apocalyptic expression of divine reassurance that God will deliver his people. This conception of God is echoed in the battles that enclose 2 Maccabees’s narrative of heavenly appearances. In 2 Maccabees 3:24, the author’s first description of a heavenly appearance, “the Sovereign of Spirits and of all authority caused so great a manifestation,” reflects Daniel 7’s conception of God as one who rules all, including angelic beings.33 The Sovereign’s “so great a manifestation” of a mounted armed warrior with two men on foot that apparently serve him and completely overpower Heliodorus (2 Macc 3:25–34) echoes Daniel 7’s “one like a human being,” who was given power over all. 2 Maccabees 15 closes with Judas Maccabeus, praying for divine assistance against Nicanor, expressing a similar sense of God’s significance as ruling all and delegating an angel of judgment given in 2 Maccabees 3: 32 Newsom, Daniel, 227–28, compares this scene with 4Q530, 1 Enoch 14:18–23, and 1 Enoch 90:20 and notes the difficulty of detecting the path of literary of dependence but says that 4Q530 has a less complex scene and may be a more primitive form of an ancient Near Eastern divine throne motif. 1 Kings 22:19, Isaiah 6, and Ezekiel 1, 3:22–24, 10:1 are the most cited as biblical throne visions that bear a similarity to Daniel 7:9–10. The whole scene (Dan 7:9–14) is usually related to Canaanite myth but as Collins, Daniel, 290, observes, its configuration of the “one like a human being” that appears before God as a subordinate and receives vast authority “has no precedent in the biblical tradition.” 33 Both Doran, 2 Maccabees, 87, and Goldstein, II Maccabees, 212–13 note that the divine title in 2 Maccabees 3:24, “Sovereign of Spirits,” alludes to titles in the Hebrew Bible and LXX. But they also relate it to the title, “Lord of the Spirits,” found 104 times in the Parables of Enoch (1 Enoch 37–71), a text that speculates on Daniel 7. 1 Enoch 46:1–4 clearly alludes to Daniel 7:9–14 when it says that the “Lord of the Spirits,” who has white hair as the “Ancient One” in Daniel 7, chooses the “Son of Man” to bring judgment. Matthew Black, “Two Unusual Nomina Dei in the Second Vision of Enoch,” in The New Testament Age: Essays in Honor of Bo Reicke, ed. W. Wienrich, 2 vols. (Macon: Mercer, 1984), 2:55, traces “Lord of the Spirits” to Isaiah 6:3 because it depicts God in a throne setting with heavenly beings standing before him, but these same elements also correspond to the “Ancient One” in Daniel 7:9, and this title, “Lord of the Spirits,” appears to have been used in adaptations of Daniel 7:9–14 by later writers.

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“So now, O Sovereign of the heavens, send a good angel to spread terror and trembling before us, with the might of your right arm may these blasphemers who come against you be struck down” (2 Macc 15:23–24).34 2 Maccabees then ends with an emphatic message of God’s manifestation and forcefully underscores the end or “death” of the Seleucid threat to Jerusalem by describing the death and grisly mutilation of Nicanor’s corpse that leaves no doubt among Judas and his men about God’s powerful intervention (2 Macc 15:25–37). Both accounts in 2 Maccabees 3 and 15 thus reflect Daniel 7’s image of a supreme ruler that sends devastating angelic might against Israel’s Seleucid enemies.35

The Influence of the Angel of the Lord Traditions 2 Maccabees also seems to have drawn from Israel’s angel of the Lord tradition in its adaptation of Daniel 7:9–14. While this angel tradition is an obvious factor in 2 Maccabees’s outlook since it is cited in several places (2 Macc 8:19; 10:26; 15:22), the angel of the Lord tradition is also important for understanding Daniel 7’s “one like a human being” and adds to what can be known about its formative influence on 2 Maccabees’s heavenly appearances. Several characteristics of Daniel 7’s “one like a human being” suggest that it is another instance of the angel of the Lord tradition. This figure’s nameless human appearance, subordinate position before God, and role as God’s powerful intervening agent against Israel’s enemies (Dan 7:13–14) are the chief characteristics of the angel of the Lord tradition and the vision may be interpreted as a reassuring apocalyptic glimpse into this agent’s

34 Doran, 2 Maccabees, 295, points out the verbal similarity of the title “O Sovereign (δυνάστης) of the heavens” in 2 Maccabees 15:23 with that used in 2 Maccabees 3:24, “the ”Sovereign (δυνάστης) of spirits and of all authority,” and observes how God is called “Sovereign” (δυνάστης) elsewhere in 2 Maccabees (2 Macc 12:15, 28; 15:3, 4, 29). 35 Judas’ vision in 2 Maccabees 15:13–16 provides further support for the use of Daniel 7 in 2 Maccabees. The vision appears to draw upon Daniel 7:9–14, using it as a prototype of divine empowerment for Judas’ own authorization to defend Jerusalem. Its description of Jeremiah recalls the appearance and stature of the “Ancient One” (Jeremiah has “gray hair and dignity” and “marvelous majesty and authority”), and the manner of the “Ancient One” that empowers an agent of judgment (Jeremiah “stretches out his right hand and gives Judas a golden sword”) to strike out against enemies. Commentators note allusions to Israelite passages (Jer 50:35–37; 1 En. 90:19, 34; Exod 15:6), as well as non-Israelite traditions but overlook Daniel 7:9–14 as an influence. See Doran, 2 Maccabees, 293; Goldstein, II Maccabees, 499; Bartlett, The First and Second Books of the Maccabees, 339.

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empowerment and mission.36 Indeed, every heavenly appearance in 2 Maccabees reflects this understanding, as it is always an unnamed heavenly being with a human appearance in the service of God that decisively attacks Israel’s enemy and is cheered by the Jews (2 Macc 3:25–26, 33–34; 10:24; 11:8). Encouragement for associating the angel of the Lord tradition for Daniel’s “one like a human being” is also found in the Additions to Daniel where an angel of the Lord interest is read into Daniel’s accounts when pious Jews are delivered. These materials demonstrate a propensity to either clarify the accounts by identifying the saving angel of a Daniel account as the angel of the Lord (The Prayer of Azariah and the Song of the Three Young Men, 26) or add angel of the Lord deliverance stories to the Daniel tradition (Susanna, Old Greek 44–45 and 60–62; Bel and the Dragon, 33–36)—and they never name the angel of the Lord. According to these materials, the saving angel of the Daniel traditions was associated with the angel of the Lord and this is significant for Daniel 7:9–14 since its human looking figure operates in a similar capacity.37 Although commentators note details among the heavenly appearance of 2 Maccabees that denote both Hellenistic and Israelite influences, these details also significantly reflect the angel of the Lord tradition and warrant greater attention.38 While readers comment on Judas Maccabeus’ citations of the angel of the Lord tradition, too little is said about the influence of this tradition on the heavenly appearances themselves even though Israelite tradition presents this angel as anxious to intercede on Israel’s behalf and attack her enemies (Zech 1:12). Since Daniel 7:9–14 is an implicit prophecy and not a description of a heavenly intervention, the author of 2 Maccabees seems to have drawn from the angel of the Lord tradition to depict the heavenly interventions that occurred. The first heavenly appearance involves an armed, mounted, frightening warrior, and two young men on foot, who after nearly killing Heliodorus, speak and give him an

36 Except for several accounts in Exodus (Exod 3:2; 14:19–20) where the angel of the Lord is in nonhuman form, the Hebrew Bible consistently gives this angel a nameless, even at times incognito, human appearance, and a role as God’s servant and powerful intermediary. For an overview of the angel of the Lord tradition in the Hebrew Bible, see S.A Meier, “Angel of Yahweh,” in Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible, eds. Karel Van Der Toorn, Bob Becking, and Pieter W. Van Der Horst, 2nd ed. (Leiden-Boston-Köln: Brill, 1999), 53–59; Hannah, Michael and Christ, 15–24; Charles A. Gieschen, Angelomorphic Christology: Antecedents and Early Evidence, AGAJ 42 (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 57–69. 37 While an angelic interpretation leads to a debate over whether the nameless angel is Gabriel or Michael (Daniel 8–12), little or nothing is said about the figure’s relationship to the angel of the Lord tradition. See Newsom, Daniel, 234–36; Collins, Daniel, 310; Goldingay, Daniel, 171–72. 38 Michalak’s careful review of the details of the heavenly appearances relates several Israelite details to the angel of the Lord tradition. See Angels as Warriors, 195–204.

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order (2 Macc 3:25–26). In Numbers, the angel of the Lord appeared as a fearsome armed warrior, nearly killed Balaam, then spoke and gave him an order (Num 22:22–35).39 In the second and third heavenly appearances, angelic forces are seen: “troops of cavalry” moving above Jerusalem preparing for battle (2 Macc 5:1–4) and “five resplendent men with golden bridles” that lead the Jews into battle and protect Judas Maccabeus (2 Macc 10:29–31). In Zechariah, the angel of the Lord is in charge of mounted human looking angels that patrol the land in a military fashion, and later orders his angels to care for the high priest Joshua, a favored Israelite (Zech 1:7–11; 3:1–10).40 Daniel 3:28 describes how God sent his angel to protect three pious Jews—an angel that the original audience would have likely identified as the angel of the Lord and which the later addition, The Prayer of Azariah and the Song of the Three Young Men, did.41 The final heavenly appearance, like the first, describes a mounted, armed warrior, but here the angel victoriously leads Judas Maccabeus and his men into battle against a huge army (2 Macc 11:6–12). This deliverance calls to mind how the angel of the Lord acted like a warrior, who “struck down one hundred and eighty-five thousand Assyrians” to save Hezekiah (2 Kgs 19:35; Isa 37:36; 2 Chron 32:21), and like an armed warrior, who as “commander of the army of the Lord,” led Joshua and Israel in their battles for Canaan (Josh 5:13–15; Judg 2:1).42 These allusions give warrant to reading the heavenly appearances in light of the angel of the Lord tradition and support the argument that an angelic interpretation of Daniel 7:9–14, which is informed by the angel of the Lord tradition, shapes the narrative of 2 Maccabees. The Hebrew Bible’s angel of the Lord tradition, in conjunction with the vision of Daniel 7:9–14, also sheds light on Judas Maccabeus’ repeated requests for a “good angel” rather than Michael as one would expect if Daniel 12:1 is the formative influence on 2 Maccabees. Goldstein does not explain the absence of Michael’s name or the absence of any angelic name in general, and commentators

39 Goldstein, II Maccabees, 213, argues that the Hebrew Bible does not tell stories of such manifestations against Israel’s enemies so the story must be Greek. Greek elements undoubtedly influenced the Heliodorus story, but Israelite influence can also be detected. 1 Chronicles 21:14– 27 offers a similar account: the angel of the Lord moves among Israelites as a menacing, armed, warrior of judgment (cf. 2 Sam 24:15–17). 40 Zechariah 1:7–17 implies that these mounted angels are preparing to enact divine judgment upon the nations that have oppressed the Jews. The Additions to Daniel and Tobit describe the protection that the angel of the Lord gives to solitary Israelites (Susanna, Old Greek 44–62; Bel and the Dragon 31–42; Tobit chapters 5–12). 41 Newsom, Daniel, 112, says that the original readers of Daniel 3:28 would have identified the angel as the angel of the Lord. 42 Doran, 2 Maccabees, 217–18, notes the influence of Joshua 5:13–15 on 2 Maccabees 11:6–12 but gives more weight to Hellenistic traditions.

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speculate over the phrase “good angel” (2 Macc 11:6; 15:23). However, it is significant that 2 Maccabees associates “good angel” with the angel of the Lord tradition. This association occurs in 2 Maccabees 15:22–23 when Judas Maccabeus begins his request by saying that God sent his angel in the time of King Hezekiah to destroy Sennacherib’s army then asks God to “send a good angel” to destroy his enemy. Judas, by invoking an angel of the Lord tradition, is implicitly asking for another angelic intervention and his request for a “good angel” may be interpreted as asking for the angel of the Lord—one that maintains the angel’s traditional nameless identity. As commentators observe, the phrase “good angel” also appears in Tobit 5:22 where Tobit reassures his wife concerning their son’s safety with the words, “a good angel will accompany him; his journey will be successful.”43 Tobit is referring to Azariah, his hired hand, but the text’s dramatic irony directs readers to identify “good angel” with Raphael, the angel of the Lord that appeared in the guise of Azariah (Tob 5:4–22; 12:16–22). Tobit’s notion of angelic guidance accurately reflects the angel of the Lord tradition, and Tobit 5:22, along with 2 Maccabees 11:6 and 15:23, demonstrates how “good angel” had become another way of referring to the angel of the Lord among some Second Temple Jewish authors that wrote about angelic deliverance.44 The “one like a human being” in Daniel 7, the angelic deliverance stories in Daniel 1–6, and the Additions to Daniel all align with the “nameless” angel of the Lord tradition. Commentators that opt for an angelic interpretation of Daniel 7:13–14 often identify Michael as the “one like a human being” in light of his role in Daniel 8–12, but some favor Gabriel, and this highlights the ambiguous identity of the “one like a human being.” John Goldingay insists that interpreters must recognize this figure’s lack of identity and not read Daniel 8–12 back into Daniel 7 in their attempt to name this figure.45 While this figure’s lack of identity has certainly mystified readers, encouraged speculation, and made settling on a consensus difficult,46 interpreters of 2 Maccabees will better understand the nameless 43 Commentators cite the “good angel” reference in Tobit 5:22 and note the absence of this phrase elsewhere. See Doran, 2 Maccabees, 217; Schwartz, 2 Maccabees, 401, 506; Goldstein, II Maccabees, 405. 44 Tobit’s willingness to identify the angel of the Lord by name (“Raphael”) reflects the ongoing development of Jewish angelology among Second Temple Jews, just as 2 Maccabees does with its accounts of Judas asking for a “good angel.” 45 Newsom, Daniel, 235–36, and Collins, Daniel, 310, promote Michael but also refer to the possibility of Gabriel, who is also a named angel in Daniel 8–12. Goldingay, Daniel, 172, maintains that the figure’s lack of identification must not be overlooked. 46 See Newsom, Daniel, 18–28; 243–52, for an interpretive overview. On a similar note, the nameless angel of the Lord was subjected to a similar effort as writers speculated over this angel’s identity and named it as Tobit illustrates.

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heavenly appearances if they consider the “one like a human being” in Daniel 7 in light of the angel of the Lord tradition. The nameless trait of the “one like a human being” is not an anomaly but a traditional characteristic. Therefore, when 2 Maccabees says that Judas Maccabeus asks for God’s “good angel,” it is engaging this tradition as it was known in the Hebrew Bible and reiterated in Daniel 7.

2 Maccabees as a Prophetic History Students of 2 Maccabees have asked, how is it history?47 This is a troublesome issue when 2 Maccabees is compared to a text like 1 Maccabees that is considered “historical.” Yet, 2 Maccabees has a degree of compositional transparency and explains its literary method (2 Macc 2:23) and more importantly, its theological argument: heavenly appearances protected Jerusalem and the temple from the Greeks (2 Macc 2:19–21). Readers grasp the historical intention of 2 Maccabees by examining its angelic focus, which turns out to be an apocalyptic-like effort to “disclose” the meaning of Jewish history during a challenging phase of Greek rule. 2 Maccabees imposes prophecy upon historical events, specifically the Seleucid war on Jerusalem and the temple, and demonstrates that the Seleucid defeat was in truth a divine intervention on behalf of pious Jews, who fought and prayed. God had acted as God had in the past, and as God’s prophets had announced.48 The prophetic text in question, Daniel 7:9–14, in association with Israel’s longstanding angel of the Lord tradition, served as the interpretive grid for this “prophetic history.” The author was well versed in angelic deliverance traditions and applied them to reveal the true conqueror of the Seleucids, as well as to encourage Jews to hope and pray, as Judas Maccabeus did, for God’s “good angel.” 2 Maccabees thus stands as part of an emerging literary interest among Second Temple Jews that shared a belief in an angelic deliverer and was inspired by texts like Daniel 7 and the angel of the Lord tradition. In micro- and macro-applications of these traditions, the angel delivers as God’s proxy but was imagined as delivering in diverse ways. Some accounts tell of this angel’s earthly engagements on behalf of a few or many Israelites, acting openly or in secret,

47 Lictenberger, History-writing and History-telling in First and Second Maccabees, 95. 48 This type of history whereby an Israelite perceives God’s presence in Israel’s battles is found in the Law and the Prophets. The ancient hymn in Exodus 15 discloses God’s presence in war by identifying the devastating windstorm that divided the waters and destroyed Pharaoh’s army with the blast of God’s “nostrils” (Exod 15:8–10), as does Joshua 10, when it asserts God’s use of hailstones to stone the Canaanites from heaven (Josh 10:11).

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violently or nonviolently, and with or without subordinate angels. Other accounts address the angel’s exalted standing in heaven as it awaits its moment of decisive intervention, and some go so far as to name the angelic deliverer. Despite these differences, there are two shared convictions: the angel’s beneficiaries are pious Israelites who pray and trust in God, and the angel that serves God and saves them has a human appearance.49

49 Tobit, Daniel, The Additions to Daniel, 2 Maccabees, 1QM 13 and 17, the Parables of Enoch (1 En. 37–71), and 4 Ezra 13 are the texts that exhibit these varied angelic interests. For an examination of Tobit’s adaptation of the angel of the Lord tradition, see Phillip Muñoa, “Raphael the Savior: Tobit’s Adaption of the Angel of the Lord Tradition,” JSP 25.3 (2016): 228–43. Christopher Rowland, The Open Heaven: A Study of Apocalyptic in Judaism and Early Christianity (New York: Crossroads, 1982), 94–113, pointed out the kind of angelic interest in Jewish apocalyptic literature that drew on the angel of the Lord tradition and Daniel 7:9–14, and 2 Maccabees, with its apocalyptic-like history and angel-centered message, ought to be added to this company.

Gerbern S. Oegema

22 The Sabbath: From Torah to Halakah Introduction In this chapter, I plan to describe the development from Torah to halakah or from Written to Oral Torah, by studying one example, namely the way, in which the Sabbath has been perceived and interpreted between the Maccabean Revolt (167–164 BCE) and the first century BCE. In order to do so, I will analyze the pertinent passages in 1 and 2 Maccabees, Jubilees, 1 Enoch, and the Dead Sea Scrolls as well as some other texts that speak about the Sabbath and the halakah connected with it. These writings reflect a growing importance of the Sabbath as a cornerstone of Jewish identity in the second century BCE to the extent that it can even become an identity marker worth dying for (1 Macc 2:38–48; 9:34). In this process, the interpretation of the Torah develops into something that only much later would be connected with the concept or even the term of the Oral Torah. At the beginning, however, we can only detect loose examples of the process. In particular, the Sabbath is used to argue for the authors’ point of view concerning calendar and liturgy (Jub. 1:1–13; 1 En. 39:4–12; 41:8–9), whereas another important aspect in the Sabbath is found in the various interpretations of the prohibition on carrying items on the Sabbath (CD 11:7–9; 4Q251 1–2 4–5; 4Q265 6 4–5). Like Temple worship, dietary laws, and circumcision, the Sabbath thus becomes a focal point for the various emerging groups within Judaism in their efforts to develop different interpretations of the Torah in light of the changes in culture and society. As for the period prior to the Maccabean Revolt, we do not know how strict the Sabbath was kept and how strict the Sabbath laws were respected. Obviously, priestly and pious circles would more strictly adhere to the Sabbath laws, whereas the “Hellenists” as the Maccabees’ main opponents and possibly other Jews as well could have had different views. The little evidence we have for the latter is from the Elephantine ostraca of around 475 BCE (CG 44, CG 205 and Berlin P 11367). Whereas the Sabbath was clearly kept as a weekly day of rest, economic

Note: Paper read at the Group “Sabbath in Text and Tradition” of the Society of Biblical Literature Annual Meeting in Atlanta, November 19–22, 2015. See also Gerbern S. Oegema, “The Sabbath During and After the Maccabean Revolt: An Identity Marker in the Making,” in The Construction of Religious Identities in the Second Temple Period: Festschrift for Jean Duhaime on the Occasion of His 68th Birthday, ed. André Gagné, Alain Gignac, and Gerbern S. Oegema, Biblical Tools and Studies 24 (Leuven: Peeters 2016), 105–18. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-023

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interests may have dominated a too detailed prohibition of any form of labor, the ostraca indicate. Lutz Doering connects this with the behavior of some Jews in Judah criticized by Nehemiah in Nehemiah 13:151: In those days I saw in Judah people treading wine presses on the sabbath, and bringing in heaps of grain and loading them on donkeys; and also wine, grapes, figs, and all kinds of burdens, which they brought into Jerusalem on the sabbath day; and I warned them at that time against selling food.2

In other words, there existed groups within Jewish society during the Persian period and beyond, which did not keep all of the Sabbath laws, especially not if they interfered with their socioeconomic life. This seems to be confirmed by the Aramaic ostraca from Palestine in the first century CE, and in between we can assume a continuation of some sort of this very practice.3 It is also telling that the Bible itself fails to mention that war would stop during the Sabbath. Already when encircling the city of Jericho for seven days, no mention is made of a break or day of rest on the seventh day. For our study all this means that on the one hand we cannot conclude that there was a unified practice of the Shabbat and its laws, as there were at least two different practices: a strict one and a much less strict one. On the other hand, though, the ever-changing socioeconomic and political situations as well as new emerging religious groups are evidences of a growing need to interpret the Torah, which at the same time were being fixated in its literary form.

1 Maccabees 2:38–48; 9:34 When beginning our investigation, we are immediately drawn to the famous text of 1 Macc 2:38–48. Although the whole passage is of interest, what is most relevant for our topic is found in verses 41–42: 41 So they made this decision that day: “Let us fight against anyone who comes to attack us on the sabbath day; let us not all die as our kindred died in their hiding places.”42 Then there united with them a company of Hasideans, mighty warriors of Israel, all who offered themselves willingly for the law.4 1 Lutz Doering, Schabbat. Sabbathalacha und –praxis im antiken Judentum und Urchristentum, TSAJ 78 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 23–42. See also ibid., 383–86 about Aristobulos and Philo. 2 Translation according to the NRSV. 3 See Doering, Schabbat, 396–97. 4 Translation according to the NRSV. 1 Macc 9:34 reads: “Bacchides found this out on the sabbath day, and he with all his army crossed the Jordan.”

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When looking at these verses, the following aspects are relevant, whether explicitly stated or implicitly present: 1. The Maccabees, who themselves were descendants of a priestly family, “made a decision” (ἐβουλεύσαντο): As it concerns the interpretation of the Mosaic Law about the prohibition to carry things or to wage war on the Sabbath, it is clearly a halakhic decision made by priests. The decision (βουλὴ) may very well have the Hebrew equivalent of ‫הלכה‬, a judgment, decision, custom, or rule.5 2. The decision deviates from the written text of the Mosaic Law (see Gen 2:2–3; Exod 20:8–11; Lev 23:2–3, etc.) and its previously dominant interpretation,6 which says not to carry things or wage war on the Sabbath, which is implied in verse 41.7 However, from a specific moment in history (the “that day” or τῇ ἡμέρᾳ ἐκείνῃ during the Maccabean Revolt) it is then explicitly allowed. For this reason one can understand this decision as part of an emerging Oral Torah, whose origin is the (Maccabean) interpreter in his specific historical setting, but which obviously is not yet termed or conceived as such.8 3. The content of “this decision” made on “that day” is to allow the carrying and utilization of weapons and other means by a certain group for a specific purpose, namely self-defense on the Sabbath.

5 The Encyclopedia Britannica defines Halakah as follows: “Halakhah, also spelled Halakha, Halakah, or Halachah (Hebrew: “the Way”), plural Halakhahs, Halakhot, Halakhoth, or Halachot,  in Judaism, the totality of laws and ordinances that have evolved since biblical times to regulate religious observances and the daily life and conduct of the Jewish people. Quite distinct from the Law of the Pentateuch (the first five books of the Bible), Halakhah purports to preserve and represent oral traditions stemming from the revelation on Mount Sinai or evolved on the basis of it. The legalistic nature of Halakhah also sets it apart from those parts of rabbinic, or Talmudic, literature that include history, fables, and ethical teachings (Haggadah). That Halakhah existed from ancient times is confirmed from nonpentateuchal passages of the Bible, where, for example, servitude is mentioned as a legitimate penalty for unpaid debts (2 Kings 4:1).” 6 See John H. Choi, Traditions at Odds: The Reception of the Pentateuch in Biblical and Second Temple Period Literature (New York: T & T Clark, 2010), especially his chapter on “Festivals and Holidays in the Second Temple Period.” 7 Although the practice may have been quite different than the theory. 8 In the case of halakah and any other religious phenomena in antiquity, one has to differentiate between use, conception, and technical term. The existence of halakah, without the concept and the term, may have started as early as the biblical period. The concept may have derived from the Hasmonean period, while the technical term and the whole theoretical framework clearly stem from the rabbinic period.

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4. The rationale for this decision is that if life is in danger, it is allowed to transgress certain Mosaic commandments, namely in order to save life.9 This would later be called piqquah nefesh, but clearly goes back to 1 Macc 2:41–42.10 It is important to realize that 1 Maccabees was written between 134 and 76, so possibly around 100 BCE, and that it was written in commission of the Hasmonean royal house. 1 Macc. 2:41–42 therefore represents a point of view of an author and an administration behind him, who is looking back at the origin and the first decades (175–134 BCE) of the Hasmonean rule.11 This Hasmonean ruling house had seen significant changes in society, not the least because of the split of the Jewish community into three main factions: the Sadducees, the Pharisees, and the Essenes, groups who all turned out to have different opinions about the Sabbath in particular and the Torah in general. Texts from Jubilees and the Dead Sea Scrolls witness these different points of view and changes in society. Our text therefore clearly implies that its author and the ruling house behind it saw the Sabbath as a main identity marker of “all who offered themselves willingly for the law” (1 Macc 1:42), and that if one followed this rule, one would belong to “Judaism,” as the author of 2 Maccabees would say (see, e.g., 2 Macc 2:21 about the Maccabees, who had fought ὑπὲρ τοῦ Ιουδαϊσμοῦ).12 This specific interpretation 9 See below. 10 See Lawrence H. Schiffman, The Halakhah at Qumran, SJLA 16 (Leiden: Brill 1975), 125–28. 11 Ulrike Mittmann-Richert, Einführung zu den historischen und legendarischen Erzählungen, JSHRZ VI.1.1 (Gütersloh 2000), 32: “Programmatisch koppelt es [1. Makk] den weltlichen Herrschaftsanspruch der Makkabäer an das davidische Vorbild und ihre geistlich-priesterliche Führungsrolle an das vorzadokische Urpriestertum des Aaronenkels Pinhas.” See also ibid., 32f. and 39. Thus according to Ulrike Mittmann-Richert, in 1 Maccabees, written between 134 and 76 BCE, especially the zeal for the Torah of the Maccabees and their holy war against the Syrians, but also their restoration of the Davidic kingdom, including a forced circumcision of the conquered nations, are underlined as a very specific meaning of zeal for God and Torah. 2 Maccabees underlines even more God’s acting in history: God’s revelations, the heavenly appearances, and the importance of martyrdom (see 2 Macc 7)—all aspects of the relation between God and the chosen people, in the way they are connected with the zeal for the Lord. 12 The expression “ Ἰουδαϊσμός,” often in connection with “ἀναστροφή,” is best translated in a dynamic equivalent way as “Jewish Way of Life.” Both expressions, “ἀναστροφή” and “ Ἰουδαϊσμός,” are found in a number of Jewish-Hellenistic writings, for example, in 2 Macc 2:21 about the Maccabees, who had fought ὑπὲρ τοῦ Ιουδαϊσμοῦ; 2 Macc 6:1 (cf. 9:24) (ὁ βασιλεὺς γέροντα Ἀθηναῖον ἀναγκάζειν τοὺς Ιουδαίους μεταβαίνειν ἀπὸ τῶν πατρίων νόμων καὶ τοῖς τοῦ θεοῦ νόμοις μὴ πολιτεύεσθαι); 2 Macc 8:1 (about the Maccabees, who stayed faithful to remaining ἐν τῷ Ιουδαϊσμῷ); 2 Macc 14:83 (about Rasi, who was convicted ὑπὲρ τοῦ Ιουδαϊσμοῦ and died the death of a martyr) (cf. 2 Macc 7:19 and 2 Macc 9:13–17); in 4 Macc 4:26 (about the people, who were forced to ἐξόμνυσθαι τὸν Ιουδαϊσμόν); in an inscription in a synagogue in the Macedonian place of Stobi from the third century CE (κατα τον Ιουδαϊσμον), as well on a

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of the Sabbath is therefore part of an approach to the Torah, which was emerging during the time of and under the Hasmonean rule.

Josephus, Ant. 6 §§ 272–277 If one compares the passage in 1 Maccabees with how Josephus reports the same event, and then compares the Maccabean interpretation of the Sabbath laws with those of other contemporary groups, that is, the Sadducees, the Pharisees, and the Essenes, as reflected in the Book of Jubilees, Josephus, the Dead Sea Scrolls, the New Testament as well as in Rabbinic literature,13 we can make some further interesting observations. Josephus reports about the same events as found in 1 Macc 2:38–42 in Ant. 6, 2 (§§ 272–277) as follows: [B]ut when they would not comply with their persuasions, but continued to be of a different mind, they fought against them on the Sabbath day, and they burnt them as they were in the caves, without resistance, and without so much as plugging up the entrances of the caves. And they refused to defend themselves on that day, because they were not willing to break in upon the honor they owed the Sabbath, even in such distresses; for our Law requires that we rest upon that day. There were about a thousand, with their wives and children, who were smothered and died in these caves; but many of those who escaped joined themselves to Mattathias, and appointed him to be their ruler, who taught them to fight, even on the Sabbath day; and told them, that unless they would do so, they would become their own enemies, by observing the Law [so rigorously], while their adversaries would still assault them on this day, and they would not then defend themselves; and that nothing

Jewish tombstone in the Italian Porto, also from the third century CE (on which a woman is praised, who lived for 34 years with her husband καλος ἐν τῷ Ιουδαϊσμω). 1 Macc 2:42 and comparable texts in 1 Maccabees, however, use “νόμος” for “ Ἰουδαϊσμός” (πᾶς ὁ ἑκουσιαζόμενος τῷ νόμῳ). All examples in Yehoshua Amir, “Der Begriff ‘Ioudaïsmos’. Zum Selbstverstandnis des hellenistischen Judentums,” in Studien zum antiken Judentum (Frankfurt/M 1985), 101–13; = ibid., “The Term ‘Ioudaïsmos.’ A Study in Jewish-Hellenistic Self-Identification,” Immanuel 14 (1982): 31–41. 13 Whereas it is only methodologically sound to look into all of these literatures, for the sake of the brevity of the article, we will only focus on texts that shed light on the Sabbath practice before, during, and after the Maccabean revolt. As for a brief discussion of the relevant New Testament and Rabbinic texts, see Gerbern S. Oegema, “Eine Heilung am Sabbat,” in idem, Das Heil ist aus den Juden. Studien zum historischen Jesus und seiner Rezeption im Urchristentum (Hamburg: Kovač, 2001), 41–75, esp. 58–62. See soon also Sarit Kattan Gribetz, “Between Narrative and Polemic: The Sabbath in Genesis Rabbah and the Babylonian Talmud,” in Genesis Rabbah: Text and Contexts, eds. Sarit Kattan Gribetz et al. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016).

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could then hinder but they must all perish without fighting. This speech persuaded them. And this rule continues among us to this day, that if there be a necessity, we may fight on Sabbath days.14

Josephus, who according to his own autobiography was a descendant of the Hasmonean family and a member of the Pharisaic party as well (see his Vita §§1–5), says about Mattathias that he “taught them to fight, even on the Sabbath day,” after which he gave a speech with several arguments, why it was permissible in some (extreme) cases to fight on the Sabbath, and that “this speech persuaded them.” Apart from the fact that Josephus portrays Mattathias as a teacher, who argues and has enough rhetorical skills to convince his followers—thus using a language his Roman audience at the end of the first century is familiar with—he also observes that the rule introduced by Mattathias “continues among us to this day.” The fact that Josephus combines argumentation and ruling concerning the Law of Moses in this one historical person is in line with what we know of the Pharisees, who are first mentioned during the time of the Maccabees as part of the Hasidaioi (the συναγωγὴ Ασιδαίων of 1 Macc 2:42) and later would develop or already had developed a set of rulings (Halakah or Oral Torah) on the basis of rational reasoning as their interpretation of the Written Torah. In comparison with 1 Macc 2:41–42, Josephus then highlights the authority, education, argumentation, the ability to convince, and the continuity of this ruling, and adds to it that the ruling convinced the people and exists until his own days, when he says: Authority:

Mattathias was appointed to be their ruler

Education:

he taught them to fight, even on the Sabbath day

Argumentation:

and told them, that unless they would do so, they would become their own enemies by observing the Law [so rigorously], while their adversaries would still assault them on this day, and they would not then defend themselves; and that nothing could then hinder but they must all perish without fighting.

14 Translation according to William Whiston, The Complete Works of Flavius Josephs (Auburn and Buffalo: John E. Beardsley, 1895).

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Ability to convince:

This speech persuaded them

Continuity:

And this rule continues among us to this day that if there be a necessity, we may fight on Sabbath days

In conclusion, Josephus is a witness of the Maccabean decision about the Sabbath halakah as dominating Jewish Torah interpretation until his own days, that is, is from 167 BCE to 100 CE, connects the origin with the Maccabees and clearly associates it with a Pharisaic-type of reasoning and teaching.15 Hence, we witness Josephus connecting the concept (but not yet the term) of the Oral Torah with the Maccabean interpretation of the Sabbath and of him seeing in this process a direct line between the Hasmonean period and the Pharisees.

The Book of Jubilees We do, for example, know with a higher degree of certainty, how some circles immediately prior to and during the Maccabean Revolt saw the Sabbath as a central Jewish identity marker and the Sabbath halakah as a very strict rule. The Book of Jubilees, written by or in close proximity to priestly circles and directed against Hellenizing Jews, most likely before the Hasidim split into the Pharisees and the Essenes, that is, between 164 and 152 BCE, contains many passages on the various aspects of the Sabbath: God Himself keeps the Sabbath (Jub. 2:18), so do the angels (2:18, 30), and so does Israel (2:21, 31–33). It formulates some of the first Sabbath “halakhoth” (2:29f.; 50:6–13) prohibiting all kinds of work; only the sacrifice in the Temple is exempted from it (50:10f.). The death penalty follows on not keeping the Sabbath laws (50:8, 13). The Sabbath is—together with the Jewish Festivals and the sun-based calendar—one of the most important elements of the character and identity of the group behind the Book of Jubilees. The Sabbath is not only the basis of its calendar with its 364-day year consisting of 52 weeks of seven days, but also the key to its portrayal of history: a one-year week consists of seven years and one jubilee consists of seven-year weeks. As the book was most likely written by priestly circles before the split between the Pharisees and Essenes, was known by the Essenes and preserved in Qumran-Fragments (CD 16, 2–4: 4Q216–217), and had been translated from Hebrew

15 See also Steve Mason, Flavius Josephus on the Pharisees: A Composition-Critical Study (Leiden: Brill 1991). Cf. Gregory E. Sterling, Historiography and Self-Definition: Josephos, LukeActs, and Apologetic Historiography, NovumTSup 64 (Leiden: Brill, 2005).

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into Greek, we may assume familiarity of the book by Essenes, priests, and Hasmoneans; in other words, a wide representation of Jewish society knew of it.16 While Jubilees was written as a relecture of the biblical text about Adam and the creation, Noah and flood, Abraham and Jacob, as well as Moses, and uses names for God that are closest to the Masoretic Text, the book also offers a whole range of interpretations of the halakah, especially concerning the Sabbath (see Jub. 2:17–33 and 50:1–14), which Lutz Doering explains against the following background: Compared with earlier days, by the time of Jubilees there was obviously a need to establish the current halakhic tradition as binding. This may generally be considered as a reaction to “the inroads which Hellenism made into Jewish society and thought” and to threats posed to Israel’s identity by this process.17

In order to better understand this process, it is important to look at several texts in more detail.

Jubilees 1:1–13 Already in the opening passage of the Book of Jubilees, the Sabbath is depicted as the seventh day of the creation, when God revealed to Moses (Jub. 1:3: “And He called to Moses on the seventh day out of the midst of the cloud”) “the earlier and the later history of the division of all the days of the law and of the testimony” (Jub. 1:4). What we then read in the rest of chapter 1 (Jub. 1:5–13) is a kind of Deuteronomistic interpretation of the decades prior to and the years of the Maccabean Revolt, the actions of the Hellenists, the introduction of Syrian religious customs, and the consequences of it through the ideas of Deuteronomistic History and Theology: 5 And He said: “Incline thine heart to every word which I shall speak to thee on this mount, and write them in a book in order that their generations may see how I have not forsaken them for all the evil which they have wrought in transgressing the covenant which I establish between Me and thee for their generations this day on Mount Sinai. 6 And thus it will come to pass when all these things come upon them, that they will recognise that I am more righteous than they in all their judgments and in all their actions, and they will recognise

16 See Gerbern S. Oegema, Unterweisung in erzählender Form, Supplementa, Vol. VI.1, 2 (Güterloh: Gütersloher Verlagshausshaus 2005), 78–96. Translation according to R. H. Charles, The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1913). 17 Lutz Doering, “The Concept of the Sabbath in the Book of Jubilees,” in Studies in the Book of Jubilees, eds. Matthias Albani et al. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), 179–205.

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that I have been truly with them. 7 And do thou write for thyself all these words which I declare unto, thee this day, for I know their rebellion and their stiff neck, before I bring them into the land of which I sware to their fathers, to Abraham and to Isaac and to Jacob, saying: ‘Unto your seed will I give a land flowing with milk and honey.’ 8 And they will eat and be satisfied, and they will turn to strange gods, to (gods) which cannot deliver them from aught of their tribulation: and this witness shall be heard for a witness against them. For they will forget all My commandments, (even) all that I command them, and they will walk after the Gentiles, and after their uncleanness, and after their shame, and will serve their gods, and these will prove unto them an offence and a tribulation and an affliction and a snare. 9 And many will perish and they will be taken captive, and will fall into the hands of the enemy, because they have forsaken My ordinances and My commandments, and the festivals of My covenant, and My sabbaths, and My holy place which I have hallowed for Myself in their midst, and My tabernacle, and My sanctuary, which I have hallowed for Myself in the midst of the land, that I should set my name upon it, and that it should dwell (there). 10 And they will make to themselves high places and groves and graven images, and they will worship, each his own (graven image), so as to go astray, and they will sacrifice their children to demons, and to all the works of the error of their hearts. 11 And I will send witnesses unto them, that I may witness against them, but they will not hear, and will slay the witnesses also, and they will persecute those who seek the law, and they will abrogate and change everything so as to work evil before My eyes. 12 And I will hide My face from them, and I will deliver them into the hand of the Gentiles for captivity, and for a prey, and for devouring, and I will remove them from the midst of the land, and I will scatter them amongst the Gentiles. 13 And they will forget all My law and all My commandments and all My judgments, and will go astray as to new moons, and sabbaths, and festivals, and jubilees, and ordinances.” (Jub. 1:5–13).

Jubilees 2:17–33 Jubilees 2:17–33 presents the Sabbath clearly as an identity marker that distinguishes the people of Israel from any other nation in the world, even more so: Israel has the keeping of the Sabbath in common with both the angels and with God Himself. We read in 2:17ff.: And He gave us a great sign, the Sabbath day, that we should work six days, but keep Sabbath on the seventh day from all work. And all the angels of the presence, and all the angels of sanctification, these two great classes—He hath bidden us to keep the Sabbath with Him in heaven and on earth. And He said unto us: “Behold, I will separate unto Myself a people from among all the peoples, and these shall keep the Sabbath day, and I will sanctify them unto Myself as My people, and will bless them; as I have sanctified the Sabbath day and do sanctify (it) unto Myself, even so will I bless them, and they shall be My people and I will be their God. And I have chosen the seed of Jacob from amongst all that I have seen, and have written him down as My first-born son, and have sanctified him unto Myself for ever and ever; and I will teach them the Sabbath day, that they may keep Sabbath thereon from all work.”

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With this interpretation of a priestly sanctified Sabbath, it is no wonder that the very core of Jewish identity was under attack, when the Syrian army under Antiochus IV Epiphanes decided to fight the Jewish resistance movement on the Sabbath day, as the Syrians obviously knew the Jews were not allowed to carry arms and fight back (see also below). It is therefore understandable that Mattathias, himself from a priestly family in Modi’in, decided to make an exception and fight back on the Sabbath day with no other reason than to preserve the life of the Jewish people and thus allow them to sanctify their Lord and Creator. Hence, a new halakah was born, as reported by 1 Maccabees 2:41 and Josephus. 1 Maccabees 2:38–42, which looks back at a specific halakhic ruling, at the same time confirms the centrality of the Sabbath for Jewish identity.

Jubilees 50:1–14 As for Jubilees 50, the final chapter then says something about the salvation historical dimension of the Sabbath as part of the year-weeks and jubilees that govern mankind’s history since Adam and Eve and about the importance of keeping every single commandment concerning the Sabbath. About the former it is written: And after this law […] I told thee of the jubilee years in the sabbaths of years: but the year thereof have I not told thee till ye enter the land which ye are to possess. And the land also shall keep its sabbaths while they dwell upon it, and they shall know the jubilee year. Wherefore I have ordained for thee the year-weeks and the years and the jubilees: there are forty-nine jubilees from the days of Adam until this day, and one week and two years: and there are yet forty years to come (lit. ‘distant’) for learning the commandments of the Lord, until they pass over into the land of Canaan, crossing the Jordan to the west. And the jubilees shall pass by, until Israel is cleansed from all guilt of fornication, and uncleanness, and pollution, and sin, and error, and dwells with confidence in all the land, and there shall be no more a Satan or any evil one, and the land shall be clean from that time for evermore.

About the latter it is written: And every man […] who fasts or makes war on the Sabbaths: The man who does any of these things on the Sabbath shall die, so that the children of Israel shall observe the Sabbaths according to the commandments regarding the Sabbaths of the land, as it is written in the tablets […].18

From these and other passages we learn that there is a certain connection between keeping the Sabbath and the larger historical framework of God’s plan of salvation 18 Translations according to The Apocrypha by Charles.

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with Israel. The one influences the other in the sense that keeping the Sabbath is in support of God’s plan of salvation, whereas transgressing the commandments connected with the Sabbath, for example by wearing arms and combatting on the Sabbath day, endangers Israel’s outlined course toward its promised blessings. Hence, what is already foreshadowed here is the importance of the Sabbath during the Maccabean Revolt and the far-reaching consequences: the allowance or prohibition of the carrying of weapons on the Sabbath had for early Jewish theology in the decades to come. It cannot be underlined enough that the interpretation of the Torah, that is, the emerging Oral Torah, played a crucial role in this process. The interpretation formulated in Jubilees 50 is just one step away from saying that the keeping or not keeping of the Sabbath could influence the coming of the Messianic Age. That important latter step was more easily achieved by having an apocalyptic mind-set, which is absent in the priestly writing of Jubilees. What is also foreshadowed here is the split between two opposing views and groups concerning the interpretation of the Sabbath laws in general, of which the carrying of weapons on the Sabbath was but one tough important example. The Hasmoneans, Sadducees, and Pharisees would allow it, the book of Jubilees and the Essenes would not, as we have just seen and as becomes clear from the Dead Sea Scrolls (see below).

1 Enoch In 1 Enoch 37–71, esp. in 1 Enoch 39:4–12 (and less in 41:8–9), central Enochic texts belonging to apocalyptic circles from around 105 to 64 BCE, we read about the “dwelling places of the holy and the resting places of the righteous,” who are with God and the angels. However, there is no explicit reference to the Sabbath, although we can assume that like in Jubilees they also kept the Sabbath in heaven. The texts read in translation19:

1 Enoch 39:4–12 4. And there I saw another vision, the dwelling of the holy ones, and the resting places of the righteous. 5. There my eyes saw their dwellings with his righteous angels, And their resting places with the holy ones. And they were petitioning and interceding and were praying for

19 Translation by George W. E. Nickelsburg and James C. VanderKam, 1 Enoch 2. A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch Chapters 37–82, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press 2012), 111–42.

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the sons of men, And righteousness was flowing like water before them, and mercy like dew upon the earth: thus it is among them forever and ever. 6. And in that place, my eyes saw the Chosen One of righteousness and faith, And righteous will be in his days, And the righteous and chosen will be without number before him forever and ever. 7. And I saw his dwelling beneath the wings of the Lord of Spirits. And all the righteous and chosen were mighty before him like the fiery lights. And their mouths were full of blessing, and their lips praised the name of the Lord of Spirits, And righteousness did not fail before him, Nor did the truth fall before them. 8. There I wished to dwell, and my spirit longed for that dwelling. There my lot had been before, For thus it had been established concerning me in the presence of the Lord of Spirits. 9. In those days, I praised and exalted the name of the Lord of Spirits with blessing and praise, for he has established me for blessing and praise according to the good pleasure of the Lord of Spirits. 10. And for a long time, my eyes looked at that place, and I blessed Him and praised Him, saying: “Blessed is He, and may He be blessed from the beginning and forever. 11. In his presence there is no limit. He knew before the age was created what would be forever and for all the generations that will be. 12. Those who sleep not bless you: and they stand in the presence of your glory and they bless and praise and exalt, saying: ‘Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of Spirits: he fills the earth with spirits.’”

The verses 1 Enoch 39:4–12 represent a version of the ancient Jewish prayer Qedusha and combines two scriptural verses, Isaiah 6:3 and Ezekiel 3:12. They are thus part of a liturgical setting, in which Enoch is assumed to be standing in front of the divine Qabod, as has been noted by scholars since G. Dalman and R. H. Charles until today. As the text is not only spatial (Enoch is lifted up into heaven), but also temporal, a second dimension is found in its timeline from the creation until every existing generation, with Enoch himself being situated in a time before the flood. There is also a reference to the end of days, as the flood is often understood as a reference to the eschaton. As for the Sabbath, without it being mentioned explicitly, it was already there during the creation, when the angelic beings praise God in the heavenly abode and Enoch himself approaches God’s Glory. With this implied timeline, we can also assume that the Sabbath was celebrated by the angelic beings, Enoch, and the other righteous ones since the beginning of creation (temporal dimension) and as such belongs to the realm of the heavens (spatial dimension).

1 Enoch 41:8 8. For the sun (makes) many revolutions for a blessing and a curse, and the course of the path of the moon is light to the righteous and darkness to the sinners. In the name of the lord who distinguished between light and darkness, and divided the spirits of humanity, and strengthened the spirits of the righteous in the name of his righteousness.

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The second text is more specific about the sun, moon, and stars, which upon God’s decree (8: “in the name of the Lord, who distinguished between light and darkness”) have set and, ever since, reign over the days of the Sabbath and the other holidays, and who also divides the creation in righteous and sinners (8: “and divided the spirits of humanity”) until the judgment at the end of days (9: “He judges them all”). When looking at both texts, it is suspicious though that 1 Enoch does not explicitly mention the Sabbath during a time that it was both an identity marker for the Jewish people and intensively discussed in terms of its halakhic relevance, although the celebration of the Sabbath since the creation is implied.20 This is best understood against the background of 1 Enoch not mentioning Moses and the Mosaic Torah at all, which is best explained, as stemming from circles that stood in opposition to Mosaic Judaism. But not keeping the Sabbath instead of simply not mentioning it would be unthinkable for Enochic Judaism.21 Thus it is clear that 1 Enoch is very different in this respect than the book of Jubilees. In terms of our topic of the origin and early development of an Oral Torah it means that 1 Enoch did not see the need to develop such an Oral Torah, as it neither distinguished between Written and Oral Torah, nor did it understand the Written Torah to be from Moses. Instead, it firmly believed the Torah was in and from heaven, undivided, and not in need of interpretation by men. In order to learn more about an apocalyptically oriented interpretation of the Sabbath as found in the book of Jubilees, we need to turn our attention to the Dead Sea Scrolls, in particular to the Damascus Document and several other Essene texts dealing with Sabbath halakah, as the Essene writings clearly knew the early parts of 1 Enoch and also utilized them.

Dead Sea Scrolls There are several texts in the Dead Sea Scrolls that formulate rules prohibiting carrying on the Sabbath, all of which are Essene writings, including CD 11:7–9; 4Q251 1–2 4–5, and 4Q265 6 4–5. Other passages highlight other aspects

20 See “Sabbath Worship in the Parables of Enoch (I Enoch 37–71)”, by David B. Kudan, read at the Junior Enoch Conference convened by Prof. Gabriele Boccaccini at the University of Michigan in June 2006. 21 Thus the theories of Paolo Sacchi, The History of the Second Temple Period (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), and Gabriele Boccacini, Middle Judaism: Jewish Thought 300 B.C.E.–200 C.E. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991).

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of Sabbath halakah (CD 10:22; 11:16f.). As a whole, CD 10:14–11:18a and 12:3b–6a (plus the 4QD parallels) treat the halakhic laws in great detail. CD is, according to Doering, the written down—and with biblical verses expanded—version from around 100 BCE of oral traditions that date from around 150 BCE.22 CD 11:7–9 belongs to this writing and therefore represents the crystalized point of view of the Essene community concerning the Sabbath laws in their newly built Qumran settlement from around 100 BCE. This happened almost at the same time that the author of 1 Maccabees wrote his history of the Hasmonean ruling house from Alexander the Great through the Maccabean Revolt until his own days and also reflected on the Sabbath laws. The period from the Maccabean revolt until the end of the first century BCE must therefore have been a time that witnessed huge changes that undoubtedly influenced the development of halakhic interpretations of the Mosaic laws pertaining the Sabbath; in other words, the beginning of Oral Torah. There was, however, no consensus among the various emerging groups as reflected in their writings, 1 and 2 Maccabees, Jubilees, and 1 Enoch. The history told by the author of 1 Maccabees included a report about changes in the Sabbath laws due to a war situation, the first acts of the Maccabees, and the first mentioning of the pious or Hasidim. According to scholars like Hartmut Stegemann, the Hasidim had split around 150 BCE into the Pharisees and the Essenes, with the Essenes leaving Jerusalem and the Temple to start their own community.23 Differences about the Sabbath halakah obviously were part of the reasons for their split.24 CD 11:7–9 writes about the prohibition to carrying things the following: 7 Vacat Let no one carry (anything) from the house inside and from the outside into the house, and if he is in a booth, 8 he shall not carry (anything) out from it 9 and he shall not bring (anything) into it.25

22 Summarized in Doering, Schabbat, 278–79. 23 See Hartmut Stegemann, The Library of Qumran: On the Essenes, Qumran, John the Baptist and Jesus (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998). See also Shaye J. D. Cohen, From the Maccabees to the Mishnah (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1987); George W. E. Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature between the Bible and the Mishnah (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1981; reprint 1987); James C. VanderKam, An Introduction to Early Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001). Cf. Shaye Cohen, The Beginning of Jewishness. Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999). 24 Here we will look neither at the Song of the Sabbath Sacrifice (4Q400–407; 11Q17) nor at the Mishnah’s treatise Shabbat. 25 Translation by Alex Jassen, “Law and Exegesis in the Dead Sea Scrolls. The Sabbath Carrying Prohibition in Comparative Perspective,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls at Sixty, eds. Lawrence H. Schiffman and Shani Tzoref (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 115–56.

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Even though nothing is said about carrying weapons on the Sabbath, it can be deduced from this text that the prohibition against carrying anything on the Sabbath day also includes the prohibition to carry weapons and hence use weapons for combat on the Sabbath. As we furthermore don’t hear anything about a deviation of the prohibition in general, as in 1 Maccabees 2:38–42, but must assume that the Damascus Document and other Essene legal texts on the Sabbath follow biblical Law, unless otherwise specified, and finally because no reports about the Essenes engaged in war exist, we can safely say that CD teaches that the Essenes were not allowed to carry or use weapons on the Sabbath. A final proof is that the Romans were able to destroy the Qumran settlement in 68 CE without meeting any resistance, even during weekdays. Some other Essene texts focus on halakhic questions during the second century and early first century BCE.26 They are 4QHalakha A and B (= 4Q251 and 4Q264a), 4QWays of Righteousness (4Q421), 4QRitual of Purification (4Q512), and other texts. They all represent a later tradition-historical development than CD. And even if there existed many differences with the Sabbath halakah in the Book of Jubilees and CD, both Jubilees and the Dead Sea Scrolls all do share a priestly background and approach: keeping the Sabbath is part of the call to become “holy,” maintaining purity, following the 364-day calendar, and so forth. Some laws in these Essenes texts may be more specific or differentiated, such as those concerning the distance one is allowed to walk on a Sabbath, the prohibition to carry things, the hour on which the Sabbath begins, and so on,27 but in general there is a common ground concerning the Sabbath between the book of Jubilees and the Dead Sea Scrolls.28 26 See also Doering, Schabbat. 27 See further Doering, Schabbat, 278–82. 28 A few words at the end on the Greek and Roman point of views concerning the Sabbath and the carrying of weapons: here too I rely on Doering’s excellent study on the Sabbath and Sabbath practice, and summarize some of his findings. Although the Greek and Roman worlds are mostly silent about the Sabbath, they knew about its existence and importance for Jewish identity through the Jewish Diaspora, as especially Aristobulus, Philo, and Josephus had offered detailed accounts of the Sabbath. Doering summarizes: “Juden haben gegenüber den Behörden ihren Anspruch auf Sabbatbegehung geltend gemacht und Angriffe auf die Sabbatpractice widerstanden…. Neben den grundsätzlichen Privileg, den Sabbat ungestraft und ungehindert zu begehen, wird im einzelnen aufgeführt: als Grund fur die Befreiung vom Militardienst das Verbot Waffen zu tragen und zu marschieren….” [English: “Towards the authorities Jews had expressed their claim to keep the Sabbath and resisted attacks on the practice of the Sabbath…. In addition to the basic right to keep the Sabbath without being punished or obstructed, the right to be freed from military service was in particular argued for on the basis of the prohibition to carry weapons and to march.”] In other words, Jews could not only negotiate with the non-Jewish administrations about their right to keep the Sabbath but also give reasons for it, such as the prohibition to carry weapons on the Sabbath, and expand this to being freed from military service. The Roman knew about this, as did the Greeks and the Syrians.

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Conclusion In conclusion, with the discussed examples we have detected early witnesses of the development of an Oral Torah without the technical term or concept being used. This makes the Oral Torah a complex phenomenon with different and often changing connotations that are crystalized in texts. These texts represent various points of view concerning the relevance of the Written or Mosaic Torah and how this relevance can be “translated” into their ever-changing social, religious, and political settings. As far as these few points of reference are concerned, we do not know how strict the Sabbath was kept and the Sabbath laws were respected prior to the Maccabean Revolt. Some, such as the Maccabees and the people behind the Book of Jubilees, would strictly adhere to the Sabbath laws, and others, such as the Hellenists and possibly other Jews as well, would have held different views. From the Elephantine ostraca and other texts from the Persian period, it is clear that the Sabbath was already kept as a weekly day of rest, on the one hand, but, on the other hand, socioeconomic interests prevented some groups from following too detailed prohibitions from any form of labor. But we do not yet see efforts for a literally expressed interpretation of the Torah. During and after the Maccabean Revolt some groups, however, did see or begin to see the Sabbath laws in need of interpretation and the Sabbath halakah as a very strict rule. The Book of Jubilees, a priestly writing directed against Hellenizing Jews, most likely before the Hasidim split into the Pharisees and the Essenes, that is, before 150 BCE, contains many passages on the various aspects of the Sabbath: God keeps the Sabbath (Jub 2:18), so do the angels, and there is a certain connection between keeping the Sabbath and the larger historical framework of God’s plan of salvation with Israel. The book of 1 Enoch implies all of this as well, but does not employ the idea that there was a need to develop an interpretation of the Written Torah, as it only believed in a heavenly Torah. With these and other texts in mind, we therefore cannot assume that there were a unified interpretation and practice of the Shabbat and its laws prior to the Maccabean Revolt. There was even a split emerging between two opposing views and groups concerning, for example, the question of the use of weapons on the Sabbath on the eve of the Maccabean Revolt. The Hasmoneans, Sadducees, and Pharisees would allow it, and the book of Jubilees and the Essenes would not. As for 1 Maccabees, written between 134 and 76 in commission of the Hasmonean royal house, and especially for 1 Maccabees 2:41–42, we have a book whose author is looking back at the origin and the first decades (175–134 BCE) of the Hasmonean rule: there had seen significant changes in society, not the least because of the split of the Jewish community into three main factions. The Sadducees, the Pharisees, and the Essenes held many different views, including about the

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Sabbath. Josephus later confirms the Maccabean decision about Sabbath halakah as dominating Jewish Torah interpretation until his days, that is, is from 164 BCE to 100 CE, and clearly associates it with Pharisaic teaching. The Essene writings, especially the Damascus Document, however, would adhere to a much stricter interpretation of the Sabbath laws until the destruction of the Qumran settlement in 68 CE, and that included the prohibition of carrying weapons. Hence, they also did not defend themselves when the Romans attacked them during the First Jewish War from 67 to 70 CE. In conclusion, the Sabbath became an important focal point during and after the Maccabean Revolt, but various interpretations and practices on the Sabbath marked important differences between certain groups within Judaism. Having said this, the ongoing interpretation of the Sabbath clearly marked the beginning of a development of the written law into oral law, or of Torah into halakah.

Andrei A. Orlov

23 Two Powers in Heaven… Manifested Introduction In recent decades there has been an increased scholarly interest in rabbinic and Hekhalot testimonies pertaining to the so-called two powers in heaven controversy.1 Scholars often argue about the importance of these rabbinic debates for understanding the origins of early Jewish mysticism or even the roots of early Christology. While previous studies provide many valuable insights about these portentous conceptual developments, they consistently ignore one important aspect found in these accounts, namely, the striking contrast between the theophanic attributes of the first power, represented by God, and the details of the second power’s epiphany, epitomized by Metatron. Yet, it appears that in the aforementioned accounts one can detect a peculiar tension between the two theophanic traditions: one, audial or auricularcentric, applied to the deity, and the other, visionary or ocularcentric, applied to the great angel. Thus, the second power, often represented by Metatron, is depicted with the distinctive attributes of the visionary trend, while God’s presence is portrayed through peculiar aural symbolism, namely, through the conception of the heavenly voice. The purpose of this chapter is to explore more closely these differences in theophanic descriptions found in the two powers in heaven accounts. Before we

1 On the two powers in heaven controversy see D. Boyarin, “Two Powers in Heaven; or, the Making of a Heresy,” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel, eds. H. Najman and J. H. Newman, JSJSup 83 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 331–70; idem, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity, Divinations: Rereading Late Ancient Religions (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004); idem, “Beyond Judaisms: Metatron and the Divine Polymorphy of Ancient Judaism,” JSJ 41 (2010): 323–65; N. Deutsch, Guardians of the Gate. Angelic Vice Regency in Late Antiquity, BSJS 22 (Leiden: Brill, 1999); A. Goshen-Gottstein, “Jewish-Christian Relations and Rabbinic Literature—Shifting Scholarly and Relational Paradigms: The Case of Two Powers,” in Interaction Between Judaism and Christianity in History, Religion, Art, and Literature, eds. M. Poorthuis, J. Schwartz, and J. Turner (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 15–44; P. Schäfer, The Origins of Jewish Mysticism (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009); A. F. Segal, Two Powers in Heaven: Early Rabbinic Reports about Christianity and Gnosticism, SJLA 25 (Leiden: Brill, 1977). Note: It is a great privilege to offer this chapter for a volume honoring Professor Gabriele Boccaccini, a scholar from whom I have learned so much. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-024

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proceed to a close analysis of the rabbinic and Hekhalot specimens related to the two powers in heaven debates, a short introduction into the biblical theophanic traditions is necessary.

Ocular and Aural Paradigms of the Divine Presence In the Hebrew Bible the deity often appears in an anthropomorphic shape. Such anthropomorphic symbolism comes to its most forceful expression in the Israelite priestly ideology, known to us as the Priestly source, wherein God is depicted in “the most tangible corporeal similitudes.”2 Elliot Wolfson remarks that “a critical factor in determining the biblical (and, by extension, subsequent Jewish) attitude toward the visualization of God concerns the question of the morphological resemblance between the human body and the divine.”3 Indeed, in the biblical priestly traditions the deity is understood to have created humanity in his own image (Gen 1:27) and is therefore frequently described as possessing a humanlike form. Scholars observe that the priestly understanding of the corporeal representation of the deity finds its clearest expression in the conception of the “Glory of God” (hwhy dwbk).4 This conception is always expressed in the Priestly tradition in the symbolism grounded in mythological corporeal imagery.5 The visible manifestation of the deity establishes a peculiar “visual” or “ocularcentric” theophanic mode that becomes influential in some biblical and apocalyptic depictions of God. One paradigmatic account of the portrayal of the divine Kavod is found in the first chapter of the book of Ezekiel, where the Kavod is portrayed as enthroned in human form enveloped by fire.6 The Kavod thus becomes an emblematic symbol of the theophanic ideology that postulates visual apprehension of the divine presence. While containing forceful anthropomorphic ideologies, the Hebrew Bible also attests to polemical narratives contesting the corporeal depictions of the deity and offers a different conception of the divine presence. Scholars have long

2 M. Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), 191. 3 E. R. Wolfson, Through a Speculum That Shines: Vision and Imagination in Medieval Jewish Mysticism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994), 20. 4 Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, 200–01. 5 Ibid., 201. 6 Ibid., 201.

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noted a sharp opposition of the book of Deuteronomy and the so-called Deuteronomic school to early anthropomorphic developments.7 The Deuteronomic school is widely thought to have initiated the polemic against the ocularcentric anthropomorphic conceptions of the deity, which were subsequently adopted by the prophets Jeremiah and Deutero-Isaiah.8 Seeking to dislodge ancient anthropomorphism, the book of Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic school promulgated an anticorporeal aural ideology of the divine Name,9 with its conception of the earthly sanctuary as the exclusive dwelling abode of God’s Name.10 In the Deuteronomic ideology, apparitions of the deity are often depicted through nonvisual, aural symbolism of the divine Voice. Tryggve Mettinger asserts that “by way of contrast, the Deuteronomic theology is programmatically abstract: during the Sinai theophany, Israel perceived no form (temuna); she only heard the voice of her God (Deut 4:12, 15). The Deuteronomistic preoccupation with God’s voice and words represents an auditive, non-visual theme.”11 It appears that this polemical stand between aural and ocular modes of apprehension and expression of the divine presence continued to exercise its influence in later rabbinic and Hekhalot accounts, including materials connected with the two powers in heaven controversy, wherein one can detect a peculiar tension between the visual and audial renderings of the “second power” and God. We should now proceed to a close analysis of these polemical developments.

Aher’s Vision of Metatron One of the crucial testimonies pertaining to the two powers in heaven controversy is a passage found in the treatise Hagigah of the Babylonian Talmud, in which a 7 Ian Wilson discerns that scholars usually trace the introduction of such an ideology to particular historical events such as “the centralization of the cult, the loss of the ark from the northern kingdom, or the destruction of the temple.” I. Wilson, Out of the Midst of the Fire: Divine Presence in Deuteronomy, SBLDS 151 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995), 6–7. 8 Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, 198. 9 For the reconstruction of the ideology of the divine Name in Deuteronomy and other biblical materials see S. Richter, The Deuteronomic History and the Name Theology: lesakken semo sam in the Bible and the Ancient Near East, BZAW 318 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2002), 26–39. 10 Tryggve Mettinger observes that, in the Shem theology, “God himself is no longer present in the Temple, but only in heaven. However, he is represented in the Temple by his Name.…” T. N. D. Mettinger, The Dethronement of Sabaoth. Studies in the Shem and Kabod Theologies, ConBOT 18 (Lund: Wallin & Dalholm, 1982), 124. See also Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School, 193. 11 Mettinger, The Dethronement of Sabaoth, 46.

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rabbinic seer, Elisha ben Abuya or Aher, became misled by the appearance of the great angel Metatron. B. Hag. 15a12 unveils the following tradition: Aher mutilated the shoots. Of him Scripture says: Suffer not thy mouth to bring thy flesh into guilt. What does it refer to?—He saw that permission was granted to Metatron to sit and write down the merits of Israel. Said he: It is taught as a tradition that on high there is no sitting and no emulation, and no back, and no weariness. Perhaps,—God forfend!—there are two divinities! [Thereupon] they led Metatron forth, and punished him with sixty fiery lashes, saying to him: Why didst thou not rise before him when thou didst see him? Permission was [then] given to him to strike out the merits of Aher. A Bath Kol went forth and said: Return, ye backsliding children—except Aher. [Thereupon] he said: Since I have been driven forth from yonder world, let me go forth and enjoy this world. So Aher went forth into evil courses.13

Numerous interpretations of this enigmatic passage have been previously offered. But what has been often neglected in these scholarly probes is the striking contrast in theophanic portrayals of the first power and the second power. It appears that in the aforementioned textual unit, appearances of Metatron and God are clearly depicted through two different sets of theophanic details belonging respectfully to the ocular and aural paradigms of the divine presence. Thus, Metatron is depicted with the distinctive features of the emblematic symbol of the ocularcentric trend— the Ezekielian Chariot, while the “true” deity is portrayed through the peculiar aural symbolism, namely, through the conception of the heavenly Voice. First, we should draw our attention to the features of Metatron’s epiphany. The “divine” attribute that clearly puzzles Aher in the Hagigah’s passage is the angel’s sitting, a motif that invokes here the memory of the divine Seat—a pivotal feature of the Ezekielean Chariot.14 Yet, curiously, the vision of Metatron’s sitting in heaven is not corrected by the alternative vision of the “true” Chariot,15 but

12 On various manuscript versions of b. Hag. 15a, see P. Alexander, “3 Enoch and the Talmud,” JSJ 18 (1987): 40–68; C. R. A. Morray-Jones, “Hekhalot Literature and Talmudic Tradition: Alexander’s Three Test Cases,” JSJ 22 (1991): 1–39. 13 I. Epstein, The Babylonian Talmud. Hagiga (London: Soncino, 1935–1952), 15a. 14 Reflecting on Aher’s encounter with Metatron, Daniel Boyarin argues “that it was the combination of sitting, suggesting the enthronement … which leads to the idea of Two Sovereignties.” Boyarin, “Beyond Judaisms,” 350. In the same vein, Daniel Abrams earlier noted that “the heavenly enthronement or ‘sitting’ of Metatron, which was apparently a sign to Elisha that Metatron was himself divine, supports this understanding of Elisha’s heresy.” D. Abrams, “The Boundaries of Divine Ontology,” HTR 87 (1994): 294. 15 The polemical stand against the ocularcentric representation of the deity is also underlined by Aher’s own reaction, namely, his doubt and his postulation about a possibility of the “two authorities in heaven.” In other words, he does not merely succumb to the anthropomorphic replica of the deity in the form of Metatron, but he doubts it.

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instead by an apparition of the divine Voice (lwq tb), which is understood in our passage as the true manifestation of God.16 Scholars also often detect the anthropomorphic overtones of the ocularcentric paradigm in Aher’s statement, according to which “on high there is no sitting and no emulation, and no back, and no weariness.” Thus, reflecting on this tradition, Alan Segal notes that “the rabbis are determined to refute the whole idea of heavenly enthronement by stating that such things as ‘sitting’ and other anthropomorphic activities are unthinkable in heaven.”17 Philip Alexander also points to the anthropomorphic ocularcentric dimension of Aher’s utterance, stating that the list suggests that “God and the angels are without body parts or passions.”18 Furthermore, some scholars also point to possible theophanic connotations in Elisha’s statement by arguing that each element of Aher’s list appears to refer to a verse that describes theophanic attributes of the deity. Thus, Daniel Boyarin suggests that “each of the elements in the list refers to a verse: thus, for standing, we find Num 12:5, where the verse reads: ‘And YHWH came down on a column of cloud and stood in front of the Tent.’ … The crux, ‘back,’ is now neatly solved as well. Referring to the back of God that Moses allegedly saw (Exod 33:23), the text denies the literal existence of that as well.”19 The Aher episode has also survived in the Hekhalot materials. In a Hekhalot version of the Aher story reflected in Merkavah Rabbah (Synopse §672), one finds the already familiar tension between ocularcentric and aural traditions: They said: When Elisha descended into to the chariot, he saw (h)r), with reference to Metatron, that he was given authority for one hour in the day to sit down and to write the merits of Israel. He said: The sages have taught: “On high there is no standing and no sitting, no jealousy and no rivalry, no pride and no humility.” He conceived the thought that perhaps there are two authorities in heaven. At once He brought Metatron outside the curtain and struck him sixty times with blows of fire. And they gave Metatron authority to burn the merits of Elisha. There went out a heavenly voice and it said: Repent, returning sons (Jer 3:22), except for the Other One.20

16 On heavenly Voice conceptions in rabbinic and Hekhalot materials, see D. Halperin, The Merkabah in Rabbinic Literature (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1980), 71, 75, 108–31, 168–69; idem, The Faces of the Chariot: Early Jewish Responses to Ezekiel’s Vision, TSAJ 16 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1988), 14, 34–35, 202–04, 257, 375; Schäfer, The Origins of Jewish Mysticism, 191, 194; J. R. Davila, Hekhalot Literature in Translation: Major Texts of Merkavah Mysticism, SJJTP 20 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 116, 144, 203, 205, 229, 240, 399. 17 Segal, Two Powers in Heaven, 61. 18 Alexander, “3 Enoch and the Talmud,” 60. 19 Boyarin, “Beyond Judaisms,” 347. 20 P. Schäfer, with M. Schlüter and H. G. von Mutius, Synopse zur Hekhaloth-Literatur, TSAJ 2 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1981), 246; Davila, Hekhalot Literature in Translation, 203.

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Another Hekhalot version of Aher’s episode found in 3 Enoch 16:1–5 (Synopse §20), now uttered from Metatron’s mouth, still fashions the same contrast between the corporeal characteristics of the great angel and the auricular depiction of the deity: At first I sat upon a great throne at the door of the seventh palace, and I judged all the denizens of the heights on the authority of the Holy One, blessed be he. I assigned greatness, royalty, rank, sovereignty, glory, praise, diadem, crown, and honor to all the princes of kingdoms, when I sat in the heavenly court. The princes of kingdoms stood beside me, to my right and to my left, by authority of the Holy One, blessed be he. But when Aher came to behold the vision of the chariot and set eyes upon me, he was afraid and trembled before me. His soul was alarmed to the point of leaving him, because of his fear, dread, and terror of me, when he saw me seated upon a throne like a king, with ministering angels standing beside me as servants and all the princes of kingdoms crowned with crowns surrounding me. Then he opened his mouth and said, “There are indeed two powers in heaven!” Immediately a divine voice came out from the presence of the Shekinah and said, “Come back to me, apostate sons—apart from Aher!” Then Anafiel YHWH, the honored, glorified, beloved, wonderful, terrible, and dreadful Prince, came at the command of the Holy One, blessed be he, and struck me with sixty lashes of fire and made me stand to my feet.21

In comparison with the testimonies about Aher’s apostasy found in b. Hag. 15a and Merkavah Rabbah (Synopse §672), 3 Enoch’s account of Metatron’s demotion becomes embellished with additional theophanic symbolism. Unlike in b. Hag. 15a and Synopse §672, where Metatron’s sitting position is explained through his role as the celestial scribe, whose function is to write down the merits of Israel,22 here the great angel is portrayed as the enthroned celestial ruler and arbiter, commissioned to judge “all the denizens of the heights on the authority of the Holy One.” The passage provides further details about Metatron’s celestial court and its entourage in the form of “the princes of kingdoms,” specifically mentioning that “he sat in the heavenly court.” In 3 Enoch, therefore, Aher encounters not merely a scribe who has a seat, but the enthroned vice-regent, surrounded with the stunning retinue of the crowned princes.23 In this respect it is not coincidental that the notorious list that postulates that there is no sitting

21 P. Alexander, “3 (Hebrew Apocalypse of) Enoch,” in: The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, 2 vols., ed. J. H. Charlesworth (New York: Doubleday, 1983–1985), 1.223–315 (268); Schäfer et al., Synopse, 10–11. 22 b. Hag. 15a: “He saw that permission was granted to Metatron to sit and write down the merits of Israel”; Synopse §672: “he was given authority for one hour in the day to sit down and to write the merits of Israel.” 23 Alexander, “3 Enoch and Talmud,” 65; Morray-Jones, “Hekhalot Literature and Talmudic Tradition,” 30.

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in heaven is not mentioned here, since other, more exalted qualities of Metatron clearly take priority over this previously decisive attribute.24 Further, Metatron’s interaction with his “courtiers” in the form of the “princes of kingdoms,” on whom he heaps “greatness, royalty, rank, sovereignty, glory, praise, diadem, crown, and honor,” is reminiscent of God’s actions in relation to the great angel earlier in the story. Metatron, thus, not only acquires the distinctive theophanic qualities himself, he now, like God, is able to impose them on other subjects. Aher’s perception of Metatron also undergoes striking revisions in Sefer Hekhalot’s version of the story. First, the nature of mystical experience as ocular experience is emphasized in 3 Enoch 16 through the phrase “Aher came to behold the vision of the chariot and set eyes upon me (yb wyny( Ntnw hbkrmh tyypcb).” In contrast, both b. Hag. 15a and Merkavah Rabbah (Synopse §672) simply state that he saw (h)r). A second significant detail is Aher’s unusual reaction to Metatron’s epiphany. Metatron reports that Aher “was afraid and trembled before me. His soul was alarmed to the point of leaving him because of his fear, dread, and terror of me.” Both b. Hag. 15a and Merkavah Rabbah do not mention such a dramatic response from the infamous seer. Yet, this reaction enhances the ocularcentric trust of Metatron’s epiphany by linking it to the memory of biblical and pseudepigraphical accounts that attempt to portray seers overwhelmed with fear during their encounters with the divine Form. The seer’s fear, therefore, like in many other Jewish materials, serves here as the mirror of the theophany.25 Furthermore, Metatron’s ocularcentric profile in 3 Enoch is also enhanced through his remarkable apotheosis that occupies 10 chapters of this work.26

24 Yet, the memory of this important attribute has not been forgotten in 3 Enoch, since in the course of demotion Anafiel places Metatron in a standing position: “Then Anafiel YHWH… made me stand to my feet.” Alexander notes that “3 Enoch makes no mention of the teaching that there is ‘no sitting, no rivalry, no neck, and no weariness’ in heaven, but ‘sitting’ in its almost literal sense clearly plays an important part in its version of the story.” Alexander, “3 Enoch and Talmud,” 64. 25 On fear as a human response to theophany see J. C. VanderKam, From Revelation to Canon: Studies in Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Literature (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 343; J. Becker, Gottesfurcht im Alten Testament, AnBib 25 (Rome: St. Martin’s Press, 1965), 22. 26 The conceptual steps of Metatron’s elevation into the rank of the ocularcentric “second power” are truly monumental in 3 Enoch. The story of his exaltation begins in Chapter 6, where Anafiel YHWH removes Enoch from the mid of humankind and transports him to heaven in the fiery chariot. In Chapter 7, Enoch-Metatron is installed near the throne of Glory. In the following Chapter 8, he is endowed with the totality of divine knowledge heaped upon him by the deity himself. Chapter 9 describes the cosmic enlargement of Metatron’s body and

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Similar to the enhancement of the second power’s theophanic profile, the aural and aniconic features of the first power, represented by God, also are boosted. Thus, in 3 Enoch the “true deity” becomes even more aniconic and bodiless than in b. Hag. 15a and Synopse §672, wherein it appears that God himself punishes Metatron with sixty fiery lashes. In 3 Enoch, however, this role is now openly assigned to another angelic power in the form of Anafiel YHWH. One can see that, in comparison with b. Hag. 15a and Merkavah Rabbah, in Sefer Hekhalot the contrast between the visual, corporeal stand of the second power and the aural, aniconic profile of the first power reaches its ultimate form. While scholars often argue that the scene of Metatron’s demotion in 3 Enoch represents a later interpolation of an “orthodox editor,”27 the methodological framework articulated in this study provides new evidence that Metatron’s demotion was not a “reactive” development, but rather an “initiating” endeavor, which in its turn provoked the facilitation of Metatron’s exaltation. The accounts of Metatron’s elevation (Chapters 6–15) and demotion (Chapter 16) are thus additionally interconnected through the already mentioned figure of Anafiel YHWH, who appears in the beginning of Enoch–Metatron’s exaltation in Chapter 6 and then at the end of his demotion in Chapter 16, thus cementing this textual block as a single unit. Such arrangement again reaffirms that the Aher episode does not represent an interpolation but constitutes an integral conceptual part of this Hekhalot macroform. Positioning the Anafiel YHWH, whose lofty designation, like Metatron, includes the Tetragrammaton, in the his acquisition of gigantic wings, the metamorphosis that turns him into a celestial creature. In Chapter 10, the deity makes a throne for his new favorite agent, spreading over his distinguished seat “a coverlet of splendor.” Metatron then is placed by the deity on his seat. Further, in Chapter 11, God reveals to the great angel all the mysteries of the universe, and in Chapter 12 he endows Metatron with a glorious robe and a crown, and names him as the Lesser YHWH. In Chapter 13, Metatron’s crown is decorated with the letters of the Tetragrammaton. In Chapter 14, Metatron is crowned and receives homage from the angelic hosts. In Chapter 15, which immediately precedes Aher’s story, the reader learns about the dramatic metamorphosis of Metatron’s body into the celestial extent. 27 H. Odeberg, 3 Enoch or the Hebrew Book of Enoch (New York: KTAV, 1973), 86; Alexander, “3 Enoch,” 1.268; A. Kuyt, The “Descent” to the Chariot. Towards a Description of the Terminology, Place, Function and Nature of the Yeridah in Hekhalot Literature, TSAJ 45 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995), 338; J. R. Davila, “Of Methodology, Monotheism and Metatron: Introductory Reflections on Divine Mediators and the Origins of the Worship of Jesus,” in The Jewish Roots of Christological Monotheism: Papers from the St. Andrews Conference on the Historical Origins of the Worship of Jesus, eds. C. C. Newman, J. R. Davila, and G. S. Lewis, JSJSup 63 (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 16–17; P. Schäfer, The Jewish Jesus: How Judaism and Christianity Shaped Each Other (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012), 130–31.

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beginning and at the end of Metatron’s story, also provides an important “authorial” guarding framework, which once again underlines the polemical thrust of the composition.28

The Story of the Four Rabbis Who Entered Pardes For the purposes of our study it will be instructive to draw our attention to another cluster of rabbinic and Hekhalot materials that is closely associated with the two powers in heaven controversy, namely, the story about the four rabbis who entered Pardes, since these accounts often constitute the immediate context of Aher’s vision of Metatron. Some scholars argue that the earliest specimen of this story about the four rabbis is attested in Tosefta. T. Hag. 2.3–4 unveils the following tradition: Four entered the garden [Paradise]: Ben Azzai, Ben Zoma, the Other [Elisha], and Aqiba. One gazed (Cych) and perished, one gazed (Cych) and was smitten, one gazed (Cych) and cut down sprouts, and one went up whole and came down whole (Mwl#b hl(). Ben Azzai gazed and perished. Concerning him Scripture says, Precious in the sight of the lord is the death of his saints (Ps 116:15). Ben Zoma gazed and was smitten. Concerning him Scripture says, If you have found honey, eat only enough for you, lest you be sated with it and vomit it (Prov 25:16). Elisha gazed and cut down sprouts. Concerning him Scripture says, let not your mouth lead you into sin (Qoh 5:5). R. Aqiba went up whole and came down whole. Concerning him Scripture says, Draw me after you, let us make haste. The king has brought me into his chambers (Song of Songs 1:4).29

This story again appears to exhibit a polemic against ocularcentric ideology, a tendency that again has consistently escaped the attention of almost all modern exegetes of this passage.30 It portrays four adepts who entered the mysterious 28 Anafiel’s unique mediatorial status as Metatron’s virtual double is hinted at in several Hekhalot passages. On these traditions see J. Dan, “Anafiel, Metatron and the Creator,” Tarbiz 52 (1982): 447–57 [Hebrew]; Deutsch, Guardians of the Gate, 45. 29 J. Neusner, The Tosefta. Translated from the Hebrew with a New Introduction, 2 vols. (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2002), 1.669. 30 Yet, some scholars have previously noticed such a stance against “ocularcentric” traditions. In his analysis of the Story of the Four, Alon Goshen Gottstein notes the polemics against the visionary praxis. He observes that “the editor’s point is basic: visionary activity is a form of uncontrolled pleasure seeking, and whoever tries it is doing something other than studying Torah. The sages who engage in visionary activity therefore contradict their own teaching.” A. Goshen Gottstein, The Sinner and the Amnesiac: The Rabbinic Invention of Elisha ben Abuya and Eleazar Ben Arach (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2000), 56.

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garden. The experience of three adepts, represented, respectively, by Ben Azzai, Ben Zoma, and Elisha ben Abuya (Aher), is portrayed as negative and unfavorable. One of them died, another “was smitten,” and the third became a heretic. It is noteworthy that their praxis in the garden is rendered in distinctively ocularcentric formulae, which involves the term Cych31—all three of them “gazed” or “peered.”32 It appears not to be coincidental that in all three instances, when reference to visionary praxis is made, it repeatedly coincides with negative results: “…one gazed (Cych) and perished, one gazed (Cych) and was smitten, one gazed (Cych) and cut the shoots…” Ben Azzai, Ben Zoma, and Elisha ben Abuya thus belong to the chain of practitioners of the same ocular paradigm, as their approach to the divine presence is repeatedly defined through the formulae of “gazing.” Yet, in the case of the adept who ended his experience positively and favorably (Rabbi Akiba), the visionary praxis of “gazing” is not mentioned, and the corresponding terminology is not applied. A similar contrast between the ocular terminology applied to the first three visionaries and a lack of such terminology in relation to an exemplary adept—R. Akiba—is attested in other versions of the story found in the Palestinian and Babylonian Talmuds,33 Shir ha-Shirim Rabbah, and Hekhalot literature.34 Furthermore, a textual unit that follows immediately the story of the four who went into Pardes in Tosefta also appears to exhibit a polemical attitude against ocularcentric praxis. T. Hag. 2.5 reads: To what is the matter to be compared? To a royal garden, with an upper room built over it [to guard it]. What is [the guard’s] duty? To look, but not to feast his eyes from it. And they further compared the matter to what? To a platoon passing between two paths, one of fire

31 On various occurrences of this term in rabbinic literature see D. Halperin, The Merkabah in Rabbinic Literature (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1980), 93; P. Schäfer, Hekhalot-Studien, TSAJ 19 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1988), 241, n. 50. 32 David Halperin notices that in rabbinic literature Cych “is used for examining an infant; for peering into a pit (to examine a fetus thrown there); for the crowd’s straining to catch a glimpse of the scarlet cloth hung inside the Temple vestibule; for peeping into other people’s windows; for God’s gazing down upon His people’s suffering.” He argues that the closest English equivalent to Cych is “to peer.” Halperin, The Merkabah in Rabbinic Literature, 93. In relation to the Hekhalot tradition, Peter Schäfer observes that “few passages in the Hekhalot literature combine hetzitz with an object that relates to the Merkavah: God’s robe, his beauty, and the vision of the Merkavah.” Schäfer, The Origins of Jewish Mysticism, 198. 33 For comparisons pertaining to the Tosefta and the Talmud accounts, see Halperin, The Merkabah in Rabbinic Literature, 86–87. 34 See y. Hag. 77b; b. Hag. 14b; Shir ha-Shirim Rabbah 1:27; Hekhalot Zutarti (Synopse §338); and Merkavah Rabbah (Synopse §671).

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and one of ice. [If] it turns to this side, it will be smitten by fire, [and if] it turns to that, it will be smitten by ice. Now what should a person do? He should go right down the middle, and not turn either to this side or to that.35

Here again one can see a distinctive polemical stance that attempts to challenge visual praxis. In the parable from t. Hag. 2.5, such an attitude appears to be rendered through the phrase “to look, but not to feast his eyes from it.” Reflecting on this passage, David Halperin notices that the Tosefta’s passage distinguishes between two types of visual praxis: “looking” and “feasting one’s eyes.”36 Although, traditionally, scholars have considered the versions of the Pardes account, reflected in the Tosefta and Talmuds, as the earliest specimens of this tradition, there are researchers37 who argue that such priority should be given instead to the Hekhalot renderings of the Story of the Four, which in their opinion are stratigraphically earlier and can be placed at the latest in the early fourth century CE.38 Hekhalot Zutarti (Synopse §§338–348) and other parallels39 offer the following rendering of the familiar account: 35 Neusner, The Tosefta, 1.669–70. 36 Halperin, The Merkabah in Rabbinic Literature, 93. 37 See C. R. A. Morray-Jones, A Transparent Illusion: The Dangerous Vision of Water in Hekhalot Mysticism: A Source-Critical and Tradition-Historical Inquiry, JSJSup 59 (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 17–19; J. R. Davila, “Review of A Transparent Illusion: The Dangerous Vision of Water in Hekhalot Mysticism: A Source-Critical and Tradition-Historical Inquiry by C. R. A. Morray-Jones,” JBL 121 (2002): 585–88. 38 Analyzing Morray-Jones’s hypothesis about the priority of the Hekhalot evidence, James Davila offers the following reflection: “Morray-Jones begins in the first two chapters by recapitulating the convincing case he has made elsewhere that the recension of the story of the four found in the Hekhalot texts known as the Hekhalot Zutarti (§§338–39) and the Merkavah Rabbah (§§671–73), when cleared of obvious redactional elements from another, third-person version, preserves a first-person account that clearly takes ‘paradise’ to mean the heavenly realm and which predates the versions in the rabbinic ‘mystical collection.’ It follows that we must place this recension at the latest in the early fourth century. This early Hekhalot account did not include the warning about water, although a different version of it, the ‘water vision episode,’ appears elsewhere in the Hekhalot Zutarti (§§407–8), with a parallel version appearing in the Hekhalot Rabbati (§§258–59). In ch. 3 he argues, again convincingly, first that the latter version (in the Hekhalot Rabbati) is a garbled abbreviation of the former (in the Hekhalot Zutarti) and, second, that in manuscript New York 8128 aversion of the water vision episode has been secondarily combined with the story of the four in the Hekhalot Zutarti and the Merkavah Rabbah and that it is this combined passage that is assumed by the Babli, and not the other way around, strongly implying that the Hekhalot traditions are stratigraphically earlier. Indeed, other evidence, especially from the Qumran Hodayot, implies that the concept of hostile waters of chaos associated with the celestial temple may go back to the Second Temple period.” Davila, “Review of A Transparent Illusion,” 585–86. 39 Merkavah Rabbah (Synopse §§671–74).

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R. Akiva said: We were four who entered paradise. One peered in (Cych) and died. One peered in (Cych) and was struck down. One peered in (Cych) and cut the plants. I entered safely and I went forth safely. Why did I enter safely and go forth safely? Not because I was greater than my associates, but my works accomplished for me to establish what the sages taught in their Mishnah, Your works shall bring you near and your works shall make you far away. And these are they who entered paradise: Ben Azzay, Ben Zoma, the Other, and R. Akiva. Ben Azzay peered and died. Concerning him the Scripture says, Worthy in the eyes of YHWH is the death of His pious ones (Ps 116:15). Ben Zoma peered and was struck down. Concerning him the Scripture says, Have you found honey? Eat (only) your fill, lest you become sated and vomit it up (Prov 25:16). Elisha ben Avuyah peered and cut the plants. Concerning him the Scripture says, Do not let your mouth cause your flesh to sin (Qoh 5:5). R. Akiva entered safely and went forth safely. Concerning him the Scripture says, Draw me after you, let us run. The King has brought me into His chambers (Cant 1:4). R. Akiva said: In the hour that I ascended on high, I laid down more markings on the entrances of the firmament than on the entrances of my house. And when I arrived at the curtain, angels of violence went forth to do me violence. The Holy One, blessed be He, said to them: Leave this elder alone, for he is fit to gaze at Me. R. Akiva said: In the hour, that I ascended to the chariot a heavenly voice went forth from beneath the throne of glory, speaking in the Aramaic language. In this language what did it speak? Before YHWH made heaven and earth, He established a vestibule to the firmament, to enter by it and to go out by it. A vestibule is nothing but an entrance. He established the firm names to fashion by means of it the whole world.40

If this variant of the Pardes story, narrated by Rabbi Akiba himself, indeed represents the original version, as Christopher Morray-Jones41 and James Davila argue, 40 Davila, Hekhalot Literature in Translation, 202–04. Schäfer et al., Synopse, 145. 41 Thus, reflecting on the priority of rabbinic and Hekhalot accounts of the story, Christopher Morray-Jones argues that “the Hekhalot sources have preserved a version of the Pardes story—the first-person narrative in Hekhalot Zutarti/Merkavah Rabbah A-C—which is different from and much simpler than that found in the talmudic sources and Canticles Rabbah. A subsequent redactor has expanded this first-person narrative by inserting third-person materials taken from the talmudic tradition in section B, but, when this additional material is discounted, it can be seen that the hekhalot version was originally a statement by or attributed to Aqiba that he and three unnamed individuals went into Pardes, that the other three met with disaster, and that he alone went on up and came out/down safely, despite the opposition of the angels, through the merit of his deeds. … I conclude, therefore, that the version preserved in Hekhalot Zutarti /Merkavah Rabbah A-C represents the original form of the Pardes story and that the redactor of the mystical collection adapted this source to suit his purpose by adding the names of the three ‫חכמים תלמידי‬, thereby turning it into an illustration of m. Hag. 2:1 … Thus, once the priority of the hekhalot version (A and C) has been established, it is clear that the story is concerned with a visionary ascent to the heavenly temple, in the face of fierce opposition on the part of the ‘angels of destruction.’ These angels seem to be the terrifying guardians of the gateways, who are described in other passages of the hekhalot literature and will be encountered again below.” Morray-Jones, A Transparent Illusion, 17–19.

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it is intriguing that in addition to the already familiar depictions of problematic ocular practices of the three infamous practitioners, one also encounters here a curious reference to Rabbi Akiba’s own praxis, which is surrounded with peculiar aural markers. The first important detail in this respect is God’s speech that protects the adept against the hostile angels. The deity speaks to his servants, asking them to leave Rabbi Akiba alone. The most important feature, however, is R. Akiba’s own encounter with the divine presence, which is rendered in a distinctively “aural” way, namely, as the theophany of the heavenly Voice.42 Synopse §348 reports the following: “R. Akiva said: In the hour that I ascended on high I heard a heavenly voice that went forth from beneath the throne of glory and was speaking in the Aramaic language….”43 In contrast to the aforementioned seers, Rabbi Akiba does not “gaze”; rather, he “hears.” Furthermore, the symbolism of the divine Voice that streams from beneath the divine Seat vividly reminds us of Abraham’s encounter with the divine presence in the Apocalypse of Abraham. Like in the Apocalypse of Abraham, despite the fact that the throne is mentioned, the deity’s epiphany is rendered as the Voice. The auricularcentric praxis of R. Akiba44 thus represents here a striking contrast to the aforementioned ocularcentric practices of Ben Zoma, Ben Azzai, and Aher. The aforementioned conceptual developments detected in the Story of the Four are important for our study, since they again point to the fact that the polemical tensions between ocularcentric and aural traditions are not confined solely to the Aher episode, but also affect other materials traditionally assigned to the two powers in heaven controversy.

Conclusion In his evaluation of Alan Segal’s seminal study, “Two Powers in Heaven,” written almost 40 years ago, Daniel Boyarin points out that Segal’s study treated the “two powers heresy” as a phenomenon external to rabbinic Judaism.45 Indeed, Segal viewed the underlying ideology as being foreign to the core of rabbinic

42 On this tradition see Scholem, Jewish Gnosticism, 77–78. 43 Davila, Hekhalot Literature in Translation, 204. 44 Morray-Jones compares Akiba’s aural encounter with Paul’s experience described in 2 Cor 12:1–12, noting that “Aqiba, like Paul, heard words when he ascended to paradise.” C. Morray-Jones, “Paradise Revisited (2 Cor 12:1–12): The Jewish Mystical Background of Paul’s Apostolate Part 2: Paul’s Heavenly Ascent and its Significance,” HTR 86 (1993): 265–92 (280). 45 Boyarin, “Beyond Judaisms,” 324.

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orthodoxy,46 and for him, in Boyarin’s words, the problem was “to discover which of the heretical groups were actually called ‘Two Powers in Heaven’ by the earliest tannaitic sages.”47 Yet, Boyarin argues that this so-called heresy, like in many other instances in Judaism and Christianity, appears to represent not external, but internal development. Boyarin reminds us that “almost always the so-called ‘heresy’ is not a new invader from outside but an integral and usually more ancient version of the religious tradition that is now being displaced by a newer set of conceptions….”48 For Boyarin, the “two powers controversy” thus represents “internal” development, and “it was the Rabbis who invented the ‘heresy’ via a rejection of that which was once (and continued to be) very much within Judaism.”49 Boyarin’s methodological vision is helpful for our study, since it enables us to see an interaction between older and newer paradigms of theophanic symbolism, one connected with the divine Form and the other with the divine Voice. In this respect, the two powers in heaven debate might itself represent one of the stages in the long-lasting interaction between the aural and ocularcentric streams that receives its controversial afterlife in various rabbinic and Hekhalot contexts—a contestation that started many centuries before the story of the four rabbis who entered Pardes circulated in Jewish lore.

46 Segal, Two Powers in Heaven, x. 47 Ibid., 89. 48 Boyarin, “Beyond Judaisms,” 325. 49 Ibid., 326.

Carlos A. Segovia

24 Mapping Ideologies in Second Temple Judaism Paolo Sacchi on “Covenant” and “Promise” as Competing Categories in Early Judaism In his 1976 volume Storia del mondo giudaico,1 whose second edition was published in 1994 under the title Storia del Secondo Tempio,2 and later on in two articles dating from 1982 and 1985,3 Paolo Sacchi coined the terms “Theology of the Covenant” and “Theology of the Promise” as a means to distinguish, in his own words, between “two different, if not opposite, ways of conceiving religion… [that] can be perceived even in the most ancient texts of Jewish literature.”4 According to Sacchi, these “two ways of conceiving religion,” one based upon human freedom of choice between good and evil, and the other one upon the notion that salvation represents a gratuitous gift of God,5 made their way through the Second Temple period leading then, respectively, to the emergence of Zadokite and apocalyptic/Enochic Judaism.6 Yet these two “theologies” must not be regarded, he observes, as “two separate theological systems, but simply [as] two underlying attitudes of the Hebrew soul,”7 and hence as two different theological emphases,

1 Paolo Sacchi, Storia del mondo giudaico (Turin: SEI, 1976). 2 Paolo Sacchi, Storia del Secondo Tempio: Israele tra VI secolo a.C. e I secolo d.C (Turin: SEI, 1994); English translation: The History of the Second Temple Period, 2nd ed. (London: T&T Clark International, 2004), 34–47. 3 Paolo Sacchi, L’apocalittica giudaica e la sua storia, BCR (Brescia: Paideia, 1982), 80–88, 123–30; English translation: Jewish Apocalyptic and Its History, JSPSup 20 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990), 73–80, 107–08. 4 Sacchi, The History of the Second Temple Period, 34. 5 Ibid., 34–36. 6 Sacchi, Jewish Apocalyptic and Its History, 77ff., 106ff. Although he, following Phillip Davies, avoids the plural term “Judaisms,” Sacchi regards apocalypticism, nevertheless, as a distinctive, independent intellectual movement within Second Temple Judaism. See further Sacchi, The History of the Second Temple Period, 15–19, 180; idem, Regola della communità, SB 150 (Brescia: Paideia, 2006), 33–58. On the various scholarly models put forward in the past decades to explain plurality and diversity within Second Temple Judaism, see Gabriele Boccaccini’s excellent discussion in his 2002 monograph, Roots of Rabbinic Judaism: An Intellectual History, from Ezekiel to Daniel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 8–14. 7 Sacchi, The History of the Second Temple Period, 37. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-025

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which only came into open conflict in postexilic times under very especial circumstances—namely, the rise of Zadokite Judaism with its restoration program.8 Whether these two contrasting theologies may be geographically and culturally related to the southern and northern religious traditions of ancient Israel, as Sacchi has repeatedly suggested,9 is beyond my concern here.10 My aim, instead, is to reassess the accuracy of Sacchi’s interpretative categories and to examine to what extent they can help us trace a major region in the ideological map of Second Temple Judaism.

On the Fringe of “Covenantal Nomism”? Reading Sacchi and E. P. Sanders Side by Side I should like to begin, though, by confronting Sacchi’s approach—which is obviously reminiscent of Paul’s distinction between God’s “Law” (νόμος) and God’s “Promise” (ἐπαγγελία)—with Ed Parish Sanders’s definition of “covenantal nomism” as the “common pattern of religion” of Second Temple and early Rabbinic Judaism.11 As is well known, as early as 1973 Sanders radically challenged the extremely misleading assumption—which dates back to Ferdinand Wilhelm Weber’s System der altsynagogalen palästinischen Theologie aus Targum, Midrash und Talmud (1880)—that early Rabbinic Judaism had been, in nuce, a religion of legalistic works-righteousness.12 Likewise, in his critically acclaimed 1977 monograph, Paul and Palestinian Judaism, he argued against all suggestions that in Tannaitic (i.e., early Rabbinic) and Second Temple (i.e., pre-Rabbinic) Jewish literature one is expected to “earn salvation by compiling more good works (‘merits’)… than…

8 Sacchi, Jewish Apocalyptic and Its History, 75–76. On the rise of Zadokite Judaism, see Boccaccini, Roots of Rabbinic Judaism, 43–72; on its opponents, including Enochic Judaism, ibid., 73–112; on the rapprochement between Zadokite and Enochic Judaisms under Hellenistic rule, ibid., 113–52; lastly, on the emergence of a “third way” between Zadokite and Enohic Judaism around the book of Daniel, see ibid. 151–202. 9 Sacchi, Jewish Apocalyptic and Its History, 74ff., 107; idem, The History of the Second Temple Period, 34–36. 10 It should be noted, however, that Sacchi’s proposal draws on both Alan W. Jenks, The Elohist and North Israelite Traditions (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1977), and Robert R. Wilson, Prophecy and Society in Ancient Israel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980). 11 See E. P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism: A comparison of Patterns of Religion (London: SCM; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977), 422–3. 12 E. P. Sanders, “Patterns of religion in Paul and Rabbinic Judaism,” HTR 66 (1973): 455–78.

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transgressions.”13 In fact, Sanders attempted to develop beyond its somewhat narrow textual- and chronological frame an idea originally put forward by Harry A. A. Kennedy on the relationship that is to be observed, within the Hebrew Bible, between God’s mercy and the Torah.14 In addition, he was influenced by Dietrich Rössler’s notion that, in apocalyptic Judaism, “salvation was seen as being given in the election of God, while the requirement of the election was loyalty, not necessarily minute observation of particular laws”;15 yet he applied this very notion, contra Rössler himself, to Rabbinic Judaism, thus identifying a sort of continuity there where the latter had spoken instead of opposition.16 Furthermore, he drew too on Claude Montefiori’s, James Parkes’s and George Foot Moore’s re-evaluation(s) of Rabbinic Judaism.17 In light of Sanders’s insights, Sacchi’s categories might seem a little vague and unsatisfactory at first sight—theologically speaking, that is. First, even if there ever was something like a “Theology of the Covenant”— different as such from a “Theology of the Promise”—in ancient Israel, would it not be reasonable to assume that God’s initiative would have constituted its very foundation? But then—and given, moreover, that it is ultimately only through God’s renewed promise that his covenant can be maintained—how could one still distinguish between two allegedly incompatible, or at the very least disharmonious, theologies? Besides, did not God keep his promise and his covenant regardless of Israel’s sins? Was there anyone for whom the history of Israel did not speak of God’s uninterrupted mercy and faithfulness toward humankind? To put it in Sacchi’s own terms: human guilt had many times aroused “the wrath of the offended divinity,” but had not led to a “definitive catastrophe.” In short, whatever importance might be assigned to human deeds, human faithfulness, and human lawlessness, in the end they do not show to be so decisive. No other was, indeed, the point made by Sanders: (a) if the law existed as such for most Jews, it was simply because (b) there existed, prior to the law, the covenant, which in turn depended upon God’s mercy and renewed promise; it is fair to say, therefore, that God’s covenantal faithfulness toward his chosen people—which, as Jože Krašovec rightly observes, “has the same roots as the unreservedness of God’s commitment to the creation as a whole”18—cannot be dependent on, let alone subordinated

13 Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism, 38. 14 Ibid., 419–20. 15 Ibid., 409. 16 Ibid., 409–10. 17 Ibid., 6, 33–39. 18 Jože Krašovec, Reward, Punishment, and Forgiveness: The Thinking and Beliefs of Ancient Israel in the Light of Greek and Modern Visions, VTSup 78 (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 304.

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to, human faithfulness toward him. Indeed, the fundamental difference that is to be observed between human contract and the divinely given covenant lies in this distinction.19 In final analysis this means that neither God’s behavior is conditioned by human misbehavior nor is his righteousness conditioned by human wickedness,20 though he may at times reply with severity to human trespasses. Secondly, even if there ever was something like a “Theology of the Promise”— different from a “Theology of the Covenant”—in ancient Israel, it needed not be, in rigor, anticovenantal. Even in 1 Enoch, where according to Sanders neither the “covenant” nor the “law” are ever referred to as such,21 and whose “non-Mosaic character,” as George Nickelsburg has written, “reflects a… paradigm… whose concerns and emphases differ from those in the Mosaic Torah,”22 the life-giving link that binds the righteous to God and makes God favorable to them is present, albeit not detailed, in God’s election of, and everlasting promises to, the righteous Noah and his progeny.23 The highly probable priestly origins of the Enochic authors24 makes it likely, moreover, that, prior to being withdrawn from the

19 James D. G. Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 366–67. 20 Ibid., 340–46; Krašovec, Reward, Punishment, and Forgiveness, 295–309. 21 But which, considering its other components (election, promise, obedience, reward, punishment, and mercy), nonetheless remains, according to Sanders, within “covenantal nomism”; see Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism, 346–62, 421, 423–24. 22 George W. E. Nickelsburg, “Enochic Wisdom and Its Relationship to Mosaic Torah,” in The Early Enoch Literature, eds. Gabriele Boccaccini and John J. Collins, JSJSup 121 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 81–94 (92); see also idem, 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 1–36; 81–108, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), 50. 23 Cf. 1 Enoch 10:3; 65:12; 67:1–3; and 93:5, in which similar promises are made to Abraham in virtue of his own righteousness, as well as the references made in 1 Enoch 5:4; 99:2, 10, 15; 108:1–2 to the “law,” the “covenant,” and the “commandments of the Lord.” 24 On which see Michael E. Stone, “The Book of Enoch and Judaism in the Third Century BCE,” CBQ 40 (1978): 479–92; David W. Suter, “Fallen Angel, Fallen Priest: The Problem of Family Purity in 1 Enoch 6–16,” HUCA 50 (1979): 115–35; idem, “Revisiting Fallen Angel, Fallen Priest,” Hen. 24 (2002): 137–42; idem, “Temples and the Temple in the Early Enoch Tradition: Memory, Vision, and Expectation,” in The Early Enoch Literature, eds. Boccaccini and Collins, 195–218; Benjamin G. Wright, “Fear the Lord and Honor the Priest: Ben Sira as Defender of the Jerusalem Priesthood,” in The Book of Ben Sira in Modern Research, ed. Pancratius C. Beentjes, BZAW 255 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1997), 189–222; idem, “Putting the Puzzle Together: Some Suggestions concerning the Social Location of the Wisdom of Ben Sira,” in Conflicted Boundaries on Wisdom and Apocalypticism, eds. Benjamin G. Wright and Lawrence M. Wills, SBLSS 35 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2005), 89–112; idem, “1 Enoch and Ben Sira: Wisdom and Apocalypticism in Relationship,” in The Early Enoch Literature, eds. Boccaccini and Collins, 159–76; Nickelsburg 1 Enoch 1, 67; Boccaccini, Roots of Rabbinic Judaism, 2002: 89–103; idem, “Enochians, Urban Essenes, Qumranites: Three Social Groups, One Intellectual Movement,” in The Early Enoch Literature, eds. Boccaccini and Collins, 301–27; Martha Himmelfarb, “The Book of the Watchers and

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Jerusalem Temple by the Zadokites, they participated regularly in the Temple cult, which was the most important symbol of God’s covenant with Israel throughout the Second Temple period. Yet, as I have pointed out, Sacchi clearly says that these two “theologies” must be considered as “two underlying attitudes of the Hebrew soul,” not as “two separate theological systems.” The fact that they came into confrontation under certain conditions does not mean that they did not interact and coalesce in certain ways, therefore.25 In other words, Sacchi calls our attention to two different theological emphases (“attitudes”) of which there is undeniable textual evidence, despite Sanders’s comprehensive model, both in the literature predating the Second Temple period and in the writings pertaining to the latter. I shall now briefly examine what seem to me to be the two key biblical passages adduced by Sacchi in 1982 as representatives of what he labeled a “Theology of the Promise,” for this category is perhaps the more problematic of the two notions put forward by him—and his 1982 treatment of this issue the most complete one may find in his works.26 The passages in question are Genesis 12:2 and 2 Samuel 7, which Sacchi reads alongside 1 Kings 11:13, 32; 2 Kings 19:34; 20:6; Isaiah 11:1–5 (quoted by Sacchi as Isa 11:1ff.); and Psalm 46:1–5a (erroneously quoted by Sacchi as Ps 46:4–6).

Mapping Diverging Textual Series and Ideological Emphases God’s blessing promise to Abraham in Gen 12:2 is renewed through God’s promises to David and his descendants in 2 Sam 7, argues Sacchi.27 In either case “there is no condition to salvation,” he writes: “A covenant is not given to Abraham which will bring him to salvation if he keeps it, rather there is simply promised a salvation that will depend on a blessing, one which God has already promised to give. The promise is repeated to David.”28 In effect, both Gen 12:2 and 2 Sam 7—which has been rightly labelled as “a key text in any study of

the Priests of Jerusalem,” Hen. 24 (2002): 131–35; idem, “Temple and Priests in the Book of the Watchers, the Animal Apocalypse and the Apocalypse of Weeks,” in The Early Enoch Literature, eds. Boccaccini and Collins, 219–35. 25 Sacchi, The History of the Second Temple Period, 37. 26 See Sacchi, Jewish Apocalyptic and Its History, 73ff. 27 Ibid., 76. 28 Ibid., 76.

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Israel’s messianic thinking”29—show that God’s promise can be granted unconditionally. At a close reading, of course, Gen 12:2 contrasts with Gen 17:1–14, where God demands Abraham that he be blameless (v. 1) and that every male be circumcised (vv. 9–14). Likewise, 2 Sam 7 contrasts with 1 Kgs 8:22–26, where righteousness is signaled as necessary to obtain God’s favor, and 2 Chronicles 6:12–17, where human obeisance to the law is referred to as a sine qua non prerequisite that must be observed in order to ensure the latter. A comparison of the contrasting theological attitudes and, consequently, of the diverging, though overlapping, ideological paradigms lying behind (a) 2 Sam 7; (b) 1 Kgs 8:22–26; and (c) 1 Kgs 2:1–4 and 2 Chron 6:12–17—which I take to represent three different textual series—may be useful at this juncture. (a) In the first case, God unconditionally maintains his promise to those with whom he has established his covenant. To be precise, God’s promise and God’s covenant (according to which humans are expected to worship God and act in righteousness) ought to be implicitly regarded here as the two sides of a single coin. Sacchi observes, however, that God’s promise is, at least in a certain way, broader than his covenant. Thus in 2 Sam 7, where David’s achievements after having been installed as king are at issue, God’s favor is unconditionally granted to the latter through the prophet Nathan (whose prophecy is also reflected in Pss 89:19–37; 132:11–12 and 1 Chron 17:1–15).30 To be sure, David’s righteousness constitutes the tacit counterpart to God’s promises, for it is on behalf of it that God establishes his covenant with him; David’s righteousness is, however, not mentioned in the passage. Besides, vv. 14–16 make it unquestionably clear that even if Solomon does wrong (cf. 1 Chron 17:13–14, where this subordinated statement is missing, as well 1 Kgs 9:1–9; 11:1–25) his kingdom is to last forever. Compared to Ps 89:30– 33, where it is said that if David’s sons forsake the law YHWH will neither betray his faithfulness toward his anointed one nor cancel his covenant with him, and Ps 132:12, where it is affirmed that if the sons of David’s sons keep YHWH’s covenant they will be heirs to David’s throne for ever and ever. 29 Gwilym H. Jones, The Nathan Narratives, JSOTSup 80 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990), 59. 30 On the Nathan prophecy, see Jones, The Nathan Narratives; Tomoo Ishida, History and Writing in Ancient Israel: Studies in Biblical Historiography, SHCANE 16 (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 137–50; Jacques Vermeylen, La loi du plus fort: Histoire de la rédaction des récits davidiques de 1 Samuel 8 à 1 Rois 2, BETL 154 (Leuven: Leuven University Press and Peeters, 2000), 236–54. A new reading of the Davidic Biblical narratives that somehow supports the view held below on the theological, in fact anti-Davidic and anti-messianic, trimmings progressively added within these in the Biblical corpus, will be found in John van Seters, The Biblical Saga of King David (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2009).

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(b) In 1 Kgs 8:22–26, after bringing up the Ark of the Covenant to the Temple just built by him, Solomon addresses God in the presence of the whole assembly of Israel and begs him to keep the promise he made to his father through the prophecy of Nathan, which is then evoked and partly reproduced by Solomon. This time, however, human righteousness is alluded to (in v. 25) as a fundamental condition of God’s covenant with the Davidic dynasty (cf. Ps 132:12). The attitude earlier referred to apropos 2 Sam 7 has shifted here into a more restrictive one; accordingly, the theological paradigm has also been replaced by a different one. (c) In turn, the authors of 1 Kgs 2:1–4 and 2 Chron 6:12–17 introduce a further nuance in this very same narrative, which is quoted more or less verbatim by them. An explicit reference to the divine law is now made, and obeisance to the law is, as earlier suggested, set forth as a (or rather the) prerequisite to obtain God’s favor. Compare with Ps 89:30; 1 Kgs 8:54–61, where Solomon prays God not to forsake Israel so that Israel may conform to his ways; and 2 Chron 7:11–22, where, in response to Solomon’s prayer, God warns him in that, if he turns away and forsakes the divine statutes and commandments set before him, both his house and Israel will be ruined. Note also the difference already indicated between 2 Sam 7:14–16 and 1 Chron 17:13–14. Clearly, the two previous paradigms (a, b) have been substituted here by an extremely restrictive one. God’s unconditional favor is no longer granted; nor is righteousness the sole condition needed to ensure it: the law must now be observed. It seems fair to conclude, therefore, that among the ideological regions of the Second Temple period whose boundaries were debated, mapped, and remapped once and again, the problem of the role to be assigned to God’s initiative and to human deeds in the economy of salvation was a very crucial one. Thus, even if it does not figure among the ten major theological “themes” listed by Sacchi in the fourth part of his History of the Second Temple Period (in which unlike the previous parts historical explanation is subordinated to conceptual analysis) it repeatedly resurfaces in its pages as a distinctive and recurrent topos.31

31 See Sacchi, The History of the Second Temple Period, 34–7, 43–44, 51, 70–72, 89–90, 109–110, 126, 158, 184–85, 201, 228, 234, 305, 423, 446, 489.

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Defining “Promissory Covenantalism,” Plus a Note on Boccaccini’s Notion of “Systemic Analysis” The preceding discussion, and above all the contrast between Sacchi’s and Sanders’s respective approaches, proves which is, his perspicacity notwithstanding, Sacchi’s argumentative flaw—and yet, paradoxically, the ultimate correctness of his thesis! To put it succinctly, the issue is not, pace Sacchi, that God could act either arbitrarily (i.e., beyond or even against any covenantal restrictions) or else constrained by human deeds (i.e., limited by the part played by his partners within his covenant); the issue is how much weight can be assigned to human deeds within the covenantal relationship itself, to which God is himself subjected by means of a free, unconditioned decision. But despite his somewhat overarching emphasis on a theological distinction that seems to be at the most extremely nuanced, therefore, Sacchi is not so mistaken after all. For, pace Sanders, the Nathan prophecy in 2 Sam 7 goes far beyond the limits of any kind of “nomism,” be it covenantal or not. Promissory covenantalism32 would perhaps be more accurate an expression (more accurate than Sanders’s, that is) to label the model there at stake. Now, it must be noted that there are at least two textual loci in which the latter—and hence the notion that salvation is exclusively attained by God’s grace (an idea already suggested in Ps 130:3–4 that can be found again in Psalms of Solomon 3:3–8[3–10] and 9–12[11–15]) reached its climax within Second Temple literature: namely, the ‫ הודיות‬from Qumran and Paul’s letters. Interestingly enough, scholars of both Second Temple Judaism and early Christianity have observed the straightforward ideological connection thus existing, in spite of their obvious differences, between these two corpora.33 And finding this kind of connections is what makes possible, as Gabriele Boccaccini aptly shows in his historically groundbreaking, theoretically thought-provoking, and methodologically very consistent work, the “intellectual” mapping of a given historical period. It is in effect through “systemic analysis… [which] enables us to compare and group documents, regardless of their traditional corpora, … on the basis of their ideological structure,” writes Boccaccini,34 that we can move “[f]rom the [s]tudy 32 Cf. Ronald E. Clements, Abraham and David: Genesis 15 and its Meaning for Israelite Tradition, SBT 5 (London: SCM, 1967), 52ff.; Jones, The Nathan Narratives, 88. 33 See, for example, Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle, 342–43; George W. E. Nickelsburg, Ancient Judaism and Christian Origins: Diversity, Continuity, and Interaction (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 50–51. 34 Gabriele Boccaccini, Beyond the Essence Hypothesis: The Parting of the Ways between Qumran and Enochic Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 8–9.

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of [p]arallels to the [i]dentification of ‘[c]ommunities of texts’”35 with the help of precise historiographic-, sociological-, and meta-literary tools. In other words, Systemic analysis is an interdisciplinary enterprise, aiming at a comprehensive assessment of the ideological relations among ancient sources. By borrowing criteria commonly used in the study of intellectual history… systemic analysis offers reliable methodology both to deconstruct the traditional corpora and reconstruct the original relations among documents. By taking into consideration the complexity of literary, sociological, historical, and ideological factors, it establishes a continuum among groups of related writings, thus identifying a variety of synchronic “chains of documents” or “communities of texts” that correspond to different varieties of ancient Judaism36

whose unity and diversity, on the one hand,37 and corresponding social groups, on the other hand,38 need to be simultaneously explored—as well as such groups’ eventual intersections and/or bifurcations.39 The ‫ הודיות‬from Qumran and Paul’s letters thus form two different strata within a single “chain of documents” in which, whatever their intrinsic differences, the ideological stress is put on what I have labeled—after Ronald Clements and Gwilym Jones—“promissory covenantalism.”

An Ongoing Discussion from 1 Enoch and Qumran to Paul and 4 Ezra Arguably, the plausible compelling character that the latter acquired after the fall of the Jerusalem temple, and perhaps too its controversial use by Paul in the decades prior to the destruction of the Jewish nation by the Romans, may contribute to explain, furthermore, the quite remarkable place given to it in the para-Rabbinical apocalyptic literature from the late first century CE, as evidenced by 4 Ezra. The book’s twofold criticism toward the vindication (voiced by Ezra) and the dismissal (voiced in turn by the angel Uriel) of God’s unconditional mercy as a guarantee for the salvation of his chosen people is most significant in this regard.40 35 Boccaccini, Roots of Rabbinic Judaism, 28. 36 Ibid., 31. 37 See Boccaccini, Roots of Rabbinic Judaism, 32–41. 38 See Boccaccini, “Enochians, Urban Essenes, Qumranites,” 302–08. 39 See Boccaccini, Beyond the Essence Hypothesis, 51–196; idem, Roots of Rabbinic Judaism, 113–201; idem, “Enochians, Urban Essenes, Qumranites,” 308–23. 40 See especially 4 Ezra 6:35–9:26. See further Karina Martin Hogan, Theologies in Conflict in 4 Ezra: Wisdom Debate and Apocalyptic Solution, JSJSup 130 (Leiden: Brill, 2008).

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Ezra’s claim in the dialogues that form the opening section of 4 Ezra—which, as Karina Hogan argues, opts in its concluding section for a third option that undermines the uncertainties brought about by the two aforementioned competing attitudes in so far as, in the author’s view, none of them offers a reliable answer to the question of who shall be saved—gains moreover clarity, in my view, in light of these considerations. Otherwise, one would be forced to infer—as Hogan does in her otherwise excellent study—that the author of 4 Ezra simply wrote for (or rather against, albeit respectfully in either case) the possible heirs to the “covenantal wisdom” expressed in Sirach and Baruch (represented by Ezra in the dialogues) and their virtual opponents, that is, the possible heirs (represented by Uriel) to the “eschatological wisdom” expressed in 4QInstruction, or else for a hypothetical school that could have already merged together those two ideologies in the author’s time;41 and this would mean, then, that the author of 4 Ezra had no contemporary events in perspective when writing apart from the recent fall of the Jerusalem temple (which, no matter how much relevant and dramatic, is somehow too general a reference motif) and the events surrounding either the hypothetical existence of two wisdom schools or that of a single hybrid wisdom school (of which we have no historical record, however) in the time.42 In fact, the development of “promissory covenantalism” at the turn of the era and the parallel emphasis on the need of a salvific mediator of both human and suprahuman nature—which is already hinted at in the Birth of Noah (1 Enoch 106–107), explicitly formulated in the Parables of Enoch (1 Enoch 37–71), and found again in 4 Ezra 7, 11–13—are to be counted amid the factors that may shed light on the rise of “Christianity” (the word is, of course, an anachronism) as an specific type of middle Judaism;43 it might function too as an indirect proof of Paul’s unquestionable Jewishness.44 Whatever his/her other possible concerns, the author of 4 Ezra could hardly, and probably did not, ignore such decisive and

41 Note Hogan’s symptomatic use of conditional clauses regarding the possible context and purpose of 4 Ezra (Hogan, Theologies in Conflict in 4 Ezra, 228). 42 An alternative reading—which would both reinforce and, at least to some extent, in my view, further qualify Hogan’s overall hypothesis—would be to regard Uriel’s arguments in the dialogues, with his emphasis on the idea that only the righteous will be saved, as typically apocalyptic (just as Uriel himself is a typically apocalyptic spokesman!), and Ezra’s claims as those of a covenantal hero deeply concerned with the more merciful aspects of God’s unreservedness toward mankind. Yet this would not contradict my contention that the author of 4 Ezra, whatever else s/he had in mind, did also react to Paul’s theology. 43 Gabriele Boccaccini, Middle Judaism: Jewish Thought, 300 BCE to 200 CE (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 19. 44 See Gabriele Boccaccini and Carlos A. Segovia, eds., Paul the Jew: Rereading the Apostle as a Figure of Second Temple Judaism (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2016).

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well-documented intellectual climate. Nor could s/he have ignored that from 2 Samuel 7 to Sirach and Baruch, and from the Hymns from Qumran to the letters of Paul, a powerful strand of thought of which we do have a good number of textual witnesses (however different in nature they should be considered) had spread and grown inside the Jewish mind. To be sure, the idea that it is only through God’s own justice (and human repentance; cf. Ps 32:5; Pss. Sol. 3:3–8[3–10], 9–12[11–15]) that human sinfulness can be overcome, acquired in the sectarian writings from the Qumran ‫יחד‬ an unprecedented intensity. It is strongly emphasized in 1QS 11:9–15, and 1QH, where God’s righteousness is insistently portrayed as capable of effecting forgiveness regardless of one’s sins. Ben Sira’s earlier claims regarding the aid brought about by the presence of divine wisdom in the accomplishment of the law (Sirach 24) had not gone as far as this. Nor had its concomitant and pervasive concern for God’s mercy. As Hogan observes, “[c]ompared with the earlier wisdom books, Ben Sira is much more concerned with divine mercy and compassion on humankind. The theme of mercy is introduced near the beginning of the book (2:7, 9, 11, 18) and is the main subject of the prayer that concludes the book (chapter 51).”45 It is also of paramount importance in Baruch 1:15–3:8 and 4:5–5:9. Yet in 1QS and 1QH the emphasis is, as will also be in Paul, expressly placed (even more clearly than in Baruch 1–3) on God’s own righteousness. While differing from Paul’s purpose and context, the author of 4 Ezra seems to have some knowledge Paul’s views on this subject. In 4 Ezra 3:1–9:6, for instance, Ezra and Uriel debate on different topics like whether God shall save those who have no store of good works. But their respective attitudes do not only differ: they are explicitly presented by the author as conflicting views representing two opposing theologies.46 Now, although Rom 7:14–25 seems to echo 1QS 11:9–15 and 1QH, 4 Ezra 8:32, 36 seem in turn to echo Rom 4:5 (and partly 5:6, 10)47—for, according to Paul, s/he who is made righteous by her/his faith in God is only made so by God’s righteousness (cf. Rom 3.21–26):

45 Hogan, Theologies in Conflict in 4 Ezra, 96. 46 This was already noted by Wolfgang Harnisch and Egon Brandenburger in the 1960s, Sanders and Collins in the 1980s, and Collins and Longenecker in the 1990s, though their respective arguments and conclusions diverged. See Hogan’s review and her own synthesis in Theologies in Conflict in 4 Ezra, 15–40. 47 Cf. the references there made to the ungodly (for whom Christ died) and God’s enemies (who would be reconciled to him through the death of Christ).

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 Carlos A. Segovia

4 Ezra 8:32: [F]or it is your desire to have mercy on us, sinners who have no just deeds48 to our credit, then indeed you will be called merciful. (REB) 4 Ezra 8:36: Indeed, it is through your mercy shown towards those with no funds of good deeds to their name that your justice and kindness49 will be made known. (REB) Rom 4:5: But if someone without any work to his credit simply puts his faith in him who acquits the wrongdoer, then his faith is indeed ‘counted as righteousness’. (REB)

This does not necessarily mean that the author of 4 Ezra had specifically in mind, when writing, Paul’s letter to the Romans. Yet in my view s/he was—unless we regard Paul’s thought as an isolated phenomenon unable to cause any reflection among his fellow Jews!—well acquainted with Paul’s theology. In other words, even if s/he posed and intended to solve a problem (the problem of who would be saved among God’s people in the difficult times following the destruction of the Jewish nation, which is but a corollary to the more fundamental problem concerning the salvation of Israel as a whole) different from the problem addressed by Paul in his writings (where the problem is rather how shall Gentiles be reconciled to God)50 the author of 4 Ezra likely knew of Paul’s thought, which certainly challenged the views of post-70 mainstream Judaism. What we find in 4 Ezra is on my reading, therefore, a dialogical retextualization of “promissory covenantalism” in order, first, to discuss it and, then, to dismiss it together with the opposite view according to which salvation is granted to, though not self-achieved by, those who have just deeds to their credit. And this on behalf of a somewhat comforting religious ideal that is presented by the author of 4 Ezra as divinely inspired and whose content could perhaps be summarized as follows: In the end and in spite of all that can be said about his salvation plan, we do not know how God proceeds but must nonetheless firmly rely upon him, for he has promised salvation to us.51 If this interpretation proves correct, the

48 So Lat. Φ (Michael E. Stone, Fourth Ezra: A Commentary on the Book of Fourth Ezra, Hermeneia [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990], 270). 49 So Lat. Φ and Arab. 2 (Stone, Fourth Ezra, 270). 50 See John G. Gager, Reinventing Paul (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000); Caroline Johnson Hodge, If Sons, Then Heirs: A Study of Kinship and Ethnicity in the Letters of Paul (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007); Pamela Eisenbaum, Paul Was Not a Christian: The Original Message of a Misunderstood Apostle (New York: HarperCollins, 2009). 51 I side here with Hogan’s interpretation of the purpose aimed by the author of 4 Ezra: “[T]he author apparently did not believe that the problems raised in the dialogues could be resolved through any amount of rational discussion. The author’s solution to the unanswered questions of the dialogues is to be found in the visions and the narrative of Ezra’s transformation in the fourth, fifth and sixth episodes. The apocalyptic visions bring about Ezra’s conversion, or consolation in the ancient sense of the word, by enabling him to put out of his mind the problems that

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author of 4 Ezra’s peculiar views on God’s salvation plan would perhaps provide, in addition, an early (i.e., para-Rabbinic) albeit much more reassuring basis for the very kind of apophatic theodicy that we find in some later Rabbinic texts such as b. Menahot 29b.52

were troubling him in the dialogues. They shift Ezra’s focus from the human predicament, and in particular the current predicament of Israel, to divine sovereignty over history (13:57–58). The ‘solution’ presented by the visions is not an intellectual solution to the problems raised in the dialogues, but an illustration of the power of mythic symbolism to restore faith…. The lesson that the wise can draw from Ezra’s experience is that in order to begin to recover their faith in God’s justice and sovereignty, they must first stop trying to explain the ‘way of the Most High’ through rational arguments…. The author believed that the path to consolation … is through the acceptance of divine revelation, which is only possible for those who recognize the limits of human reason…. Revelation may not come in the form of a direct visionary experience like Ezra’s, but it is available to the wise, the author believed, through apocalyptic literature, represented by the seventy secret books” (Hogan, Theologies in Conflict in 4 Ezra, 228–30). 52 On which see Daniel Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity, DRLAR; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004, 165ff.

Benjamin Wright

25 A Character in Search of a Story: The Reception of Ben Sira in Early Medieval Judaism “[R]ather than texts in search of authors, we sometimes have something like the opposite—characters in search of stories.” Eva Mroczek, The Literary Imagination in Jewish Antiquity1

As most scholars of the Second Temple period know quite well, Joshua ben Sira was a scribe/sage/scholar who lived at the beginning of the second century BCE in Jerusalem. He produced one of the most important wisdom books of the Second Temple period, written in Hebrew, in which he gives advice to young men training for similar careers to his. Since the Hebrew text did not survive intact into modernity, we know his work primarily from the Greek translation made by a translator who calls Ben Sira “my grandfather” (ὁ πάππος μου).2 In a stroke of good fortune, six fragmentary Hebrew manuscripts of the book, designated A–F, came to light in the materials retrieved from the Cairo Genizah.3 Among the Dead Sea Scrolls, two fragments from Qumran Cave 2 (2Q18), the Qumran Cave 11 Psalms scroll (11Q5), and the Masada scroll (Mas Sir) have revealed additional Hebrew text.4 In all, about 70% of the book is extant in Hebrew manuscripts

1 Eva Mroczek, The Literary Imagination in Jewish Antiquity (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016), 16. 2 Two other important daughter versions, the Syriac and Old Latin, also preserve the book, but these have their own difficulties, which still leaves the Greek as the best overall witness to the text. 3 Recently, new fragments of Mss C and D have been identified. See Shulamit Elizur, “Two New Leaves of the Hebrew Version of Ben Sira,” DSD 17 (2010): 13–29; Shulamit Elizur and Michael Rand, “A New Fragment of the Book of Ben Sira,” DSD 18 (2011): 200–05, and new text has been deciphered in Ms A. See Eric D. Reymond, “New Hebrew Text of Ben Sira Chapter 1 in Ms A (T-S 12.863),” RevQ 27/105 (2015): 83–98 and Gerhard Karner, “Ben Sira Ms A Fol. I Recto and Fol. VI Verso (T-S 12.863), Revisited,” RevQ 27/106 (2015): 177–203. For digital photographs of the Hebrew manuscripts, see www.bensira.org. None of the available editions of the Hebrew have incorporated the new material. For a detailed discussion of the current state of the Hebrew manuscripts, see Eric D. Reymond, “4.2 Hebrew [Ecclesiasticus/Ben Sira],” in Textual History of the Hebrew Bible Volume 2, ed. Matthias Henze (Leiden: Brill, forthcoming). 4 For the initial publications of these texts, see M. Baillet, J. T. Milik, and R. de Vaux, eds., “18. Ecclésiastique (Texte Hébreu),” in Les ‘Petites Grottes’ de Qumrân, DJD 3 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1962), 76; James A. Sanders, ed., The Psalms Scroll of Qumran Cave 11 (11QPsa), DJD 4 (Oxford: https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-026

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Yet, between the Dead Sea and Masada manuscripts, the latest of which dates to the first century CE, and the earliest of the Genizah manuscripts, which would be ninth or tenth century, we are left with a period of at least 700–800 years for which we have no Hebrew manuscript tradition of the book extant. The Hebrew text certainly did not disappear during that time. The Syriac translation, for example, was translated perhaps as early as the second century CE, and it was based on a Hebrew text.5 Jerome, in the fourth century, also knew a Hebrew text.6 Moreover, we find a relatively large number of references to Ben Sira, both the figure and the text, in rabbinic literature, and some of the passages cited by the rabbis are also preserved in the extant manuscripts. Jenny Labendz has proposed that Palestinian rabbis knew the text from early on, and only in the fourth century (or later) did Babylonian rabbis become acquainted with it.7 Moreover, the ninth– tenth-century Gaon, Saadia, says that he knows texts of Ben Sira written with vowels and accents, and he cites a number of verses from the book. In this scenario, the Hebrew text must have continued to be transmitted behind the scenes until the medieval manuscripts were deposited in the Genizah, only to be brought to light again at the end of the nineteenth century.8 The rabbinic texts hint at a broader phenomenon, however—what seems to have been a rather widespread knowledge and in some cases popularity of Ben Sira, both figure and text. Tucked away within the enormous number of manuscripts that came from the Genizah, we find other appearances of Ben Sira. First, the Genizah contained a significant number of book lists, three of which mention Ben Sira. Second, Ben Sira is used and adapted in a number of rhyming poems. Third, Solomon Schechter identified a Judeo-Arabic commentary on b. Sanh.

Clarendon, 1965); Yigael Yadin, The Ben Sira Scroll from Masada (Jerusalem: The Israel Exploration Society and The Shrine of the Book, 1965). 5 W. Th. Van Peursen dates the translation to the second century (Language and Interpretation in the Syriac Text of Ben Sira: A Comparative Linguistic and Literary Study, Monographs of the Peshitta Institute Leiden 16 [Leiden: Brill, 2007]). Others date it sometime up to the fourth century; see Patrick W. Skehan and Alexander A. Di Lella, The Wisdom of Ben Sira, AB 39 (New York: Doubleday, 1987), 57. 6 In his preface to Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and the Song of Songs. 7 Jenny R. Labendz, “The Book of Ben Sira in Rabbinic Literature,” AJSR 30 (2006): 347–92. 8 The other major theory is that Karaites came into possession of manuscripts discovered near the Dead Sea as described by Bishop Timothy in the early ninth century, which assumes a long hiatus in the manuscript transmission of the Hebrew text. See Alexander A. Di Lella, The Hebrew Text of Sirach: A Text-Critical and Historical Study (The Hague: Mouton & Co., 1966), chap. 3. These two constructions are not necessarily mutually exclusive.

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100b that refers to the “book” and the “proverbs” of Ben Sira.9 Moreover, in addition, outside the Genizah we have the so-called Alphabet of Ben Sira, which narrates a “biography” of the sage along with both Hebrew and Aramaic proverbs, a few of which resemble proverbs from the book of Ben Sira as we know it from the manuscript tradition. In her recent book, The Literary Imagination in Jewish Antiquity, Eva Mroczek argues that for ancient Jews “linking texts and figures was sometimes less about filling a bibliographic gap than about expanding lore about a popular cultural figure”10—that is, we have characters in search of stories. As part of this argument, which mostly focuses on problems of pseudepigraphic attributions, Mroczek insists that even a known “author,” such as Ben Sira, would have been in the same position in Jewish antiquity. So, as she puts it, “‘Ben Sira’ signifies neither an author nor a book, but an exemplary sagely character, or a looser generic tradition of pedagogical lore.”11 If we take a longer view, one that stretches beyond the Ben Sira of the Second Temple wisdom text, I think that we find the idea of Ben Sira as a character lying behind the various uses to which late antique and medieval Jews put him and his book. Behind the Genizah manuscripts, the rhyming poems, the book lists, the Talmudic commentary, and the Alphabet, lies a character in search of a story, and this character, like others such as David in Jewish antiquity, apparently found more than one story that worked for him.12 In this short chapter, which I view as preliminary to more detailed study, I want to sketch out some of the stories that found Ben Sira a productive character.

Ben Sira’s Name Main characters in stories usually have names. Most scholarship on Ben Sira discusses his name from the perspective of how we might identify the second-century sage, since Ben Sira identifies himself by name in his book (50:27). Ms B from the Genizah differs from the Greek translation in the addition of the name ‫שמעון‬. The Greek of 50:27 records his name as ’Ιησοῦς υἱὸς Σιραχ Ελεαζαρ, whereas Ms B reports the name as ‫שמעון בן ישוע בן אלעזר בן סירא‬. Some scholars account for the 9 Solomon Schechter, “A Further Fragment of Ben Sira. Prefatory Note,” JQR 12 (1900): 456–65, here 460–61. 10 Mroczek, Literary Imagination, 16. 11 Ibid., 16, italics original. 12 Story here refers not to narratives with coherent storylines about Ben Sira (although the Alphabet comes closest to such a story). Rather, by story, I mean that Ben Sira functions as a figure type who fits into a larger social or cultural context that would constitute the “story.”

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addition of ‫ שמעון‬as having been mistakenly introduced from v. 24a, where Ben Sira blesses the High Priest Simon II.13 Yet the medieval evidence suggests that Ms B’s ‫ שמעון‬is not a mistake. Although certainty is elusive, it appears that in early medieval Judaism, the sage was generally known as ‫שמעון בן ישוע בן אלעזר בן סירא‬, and Ms B’s version rather than an anomaly is actually the rule. Certainly the scribe who copied Ms B thought that Ben Sira’s name included ‫שמעון‬. In addition to the author’s name in 50:27, Ms B has a three-line subscription, which includes the name twice. ‫עד הנה דברי שמעון בן ישוע שנקרא בן סירא‬ ‫חכמת שמעון בן ישוע בן אלעזר בן סירא‬ ‫יהי שם ייי מבורך מעתה ועד עולם‬ Until here are the sayings of Shimon son of Yeshua who is called son of Sira. The Wisdom of Shimon son of Yeshua son of Elazar son of Sira. May the name of the Lord be blessed from now until forever. Although the names differ slightly—the first occurrence lacks Elazar and the second has the full name as in 50:27—both instances have ‫שמעון‬. When we look at the other Genizah evidence, we need to turn to the book lists, where the book of Ben Sira is mentioned three times. In two of these, the author’s name is given as ‫שמעון‬.14 In Cambridge T-S Misc 36.150 line 7 we find ‫מוסר שמעון בן ס׳‬, with the last part of the name abbreviated, a clear reference to the book of Ben Sira and the author’s name as ‫שמעון‬. Another book list, Cambridge, T-S 16.19, has in line 9, ‫מוסר שמ‬, with the rest abbreviated. This reference likely refers to the book of Ben Sira, and Nehemya Allony (see below) accepts this as a genuine reference to the book. Finally, Saadia Gaon in the tenth century knows the book of Ben Sira, and he cites several verses from it as well as referring to manuscripts of it in his defense against the Karaites in his Sefer Ha-Galuy. Saadia refers to ‫שמעון בן ישוע בן אלעזר בן סירא‬, although he also knows the name of the book as ‫ספר בן סירא‬. In the passage where he has the name ‫שמעון‬, Saadia is discussing Ben Sira as a person who wrote a book of “instruction” similar to the book of Proverbs. A. A. Harkavy, whose edition of Saadia’s Judeo-Arabic text along with a Hebrew translation still remains the standard, argues, based on evidence from several Syriac manuscripts and the Greek translation, that the appearance of

13 Skehan and Di Lella, Wisdom of Ben Sira, 557. 14 The third reference is to ‫ משלי אבן סירא‬in Judeo-Arabic, which I will discuss in more detail below.

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 Benjamin Wright

‫ שמעון‬in manuscripts of Saadia is “without doubt” (‫ )אין ספק‬a scribal error for ‫ישוע בן שמעון‬.15 Since Harkavy published his translation in 1892, he did not have at hand any of the Genizah materials that I think demonstrate a more widespread acquaintance with the name ‫שמעון‬. M. Z. Segal, who did have access to the Genizah manuscripts, shows the inadequacy of Harkavy’s arguments and makes a convincing case that ‫ שמעון בן ישוע‬is almost certainly correct in Sefer Ha-Galuy.16 This way of naming Ben Sira, then, seems to be consistent in early medieval Judaism, when all of the evidence is taken into account. A “book” was known by the name of Ben Sira, but the person connected with “instruction” (Saadia; T-S Misc 36.150; T-S 16.19), “words” (Genizah Ms B), or “wisdom” (Genizah Ms B) was known widely as shim‘on ben yesh‘ua ben ’el‘azar ben sira’ or some close variant thereof. Where and when the name ‫ שמעון‬became attached to Ben Sira cannot be determined—although its first appearance is in the tenth–twelfth centuries. We can say, however, that by the tenth century and afterward it was understood widely among early medieval Jews as part of the name of the ancient sage who produced a book of wisdom.

Ben Sira—the Rabbinic Sage In order to think about the reception of Ben Sira in the Early Middle Ages, we need to start much earlier with the Palestinian amoraim (200–400 CE). The rabbis in this period knew and cited Ben Sira, but they framed him largely as a rabbi and not as the author of a book. Labendz argues that this method of reference enabled these rabbis to keep Ben Sira from being considered a biblical book, and they thus maintained a separation between orality, which indicated noncanonicity, and writtenness, which indicated canonical status.17 Even when rabbinic literature itself became voluminous, the emphasis remained on its memorization and oral learning as a way to distinguish between the canonical and noncanonical.18 Only in the fourth century does the book of Ben Sira appear in Babylonian 15 See the comments in Harkavy, Sefer Ha-Galuy (St. Petersburg, 1892), 150–52 and the first appendix, p. 200. 16 M. Z. Segal, “rav sa‘adyah ga’on uben sira’,” in Rav Sa‘adia Ga’on (Jerusalem, 1943), 98–118 (99–100). 17 Labendz, “Book of Ben Sira,” 354 18 Ibid., 354–55, relying on the work of Y. Sussmann, “Torah she-ba’al peh: peshutah ke-mashma’ah,” in Mehkerei Talmud 3:1, eds. Y Sussmann and D. Rosenthal (Jerusalem: Magnes, 2005), 209–384.

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sources, first in b. Sanh. 100b with R. Joseph.19 Yet, in Babylonian sources, Ben Sira is always referred to as a book with a formula such as “it is written in the book of Ben Sira.” Perhaps the best example of the Palestinian rabbis treating Ben Sira as a rabbinic sage comes in y. Ḥag. 2:1, 77c. A citation of Sir 3:21–22 is introduced by the phrase ‫ר’ לזר בשמ בר סירה אמר‬. “R. Lazar in the name of Bar Sira said.” This introduction contrasts with a citation of the same passage in the Babylonian Talmud in b. Ḥag. 13a, where it is attributed to ‫ספר בן סירא‬. On more than one occasion the midrash Bereshit Rabba also cites Ben Sira as a rabbinic sage by attributing an oral saying to the person and not a passage to the book. So, for example, 73:12 introduces Sir 13:24 with the formula ‫בר סירא אמר‬, a formula that can also be found in Vayikra Rabba 33:1. Labendz comments about the difference between Palestinian sources (“in the name of Bar Sira” or “Bar Sira said”) and Babylonian ones (“it is written in the book of Ben Sira”): To account for this phenomenon, it is important to establish which introduction is more natural and which is a purposeful change. I believe that because Ben Sira is mentioned as a book (“the Book of Ben Sira”) in the Tosefta [i.e., t. Yadayim 2:13] and again in the Palestinian Talmud (Y. Sanhedrin 10:1 [28a]), and because Ben Sira was not known as a personal character who ever interacted with anyone else, that the most natural way to refer to his citations is the Babylonian form: “It is written in the Book of Ben Sira.” When Palestinian rabbis turned him into a character—a pseudo-rabbi—they were doing so polemically. The point was to safeguard their citations by never granting legitimacy to a book in circulation to which the Christians afforded a high status. Thus, although the Palestinian rabbis never addressed the problem directly, they solved it in subtle ways.20

19 See the discussion in Labendz, “Book of Ben Sira,” 356–63 and the appendix as well as Benjamin G. Wright III, “B. Sanhedrin 100b and Rabbinic Knowledge of Ben Sira,” in Treasures of Wisdom. Studies in Ben Sira and the Book of Wisdom. Festschrift M. Gilbert, eds. N. Calduch-Benages and J. Vermeylen, BETL 143 (Leuven: Peeters, 1999), 41–50. See also, Benjamin G. Wright III, “Some Methodological Considerations of the Rabbis’ Knowledge of Ben Sira,” Presented at the Israelite and Christian Wisdom Section. Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, New Orleans, LA, 1990, where I collate into a single list all the rabbinic citations of Ben Sira I could find from Schechter, Cowley and Neubauer, Box and Oesterley, Smend (1906), and Segal (1958), since no one of these sources lists them all. 20 Labendz, “Book of Ben Sira,” 368. For a different view about rabbinic appraisals of Ben Sira that deemphasizes polemics and argues for a rehabilitation of Ben Sira in the Babylonian Talmud, see Teresa Ann Ellis, “Negotiating the Boundaries of Tradition: The Rehabilitation of the book of Ben Sira (Sirach) in B. Sanhedrin 100B,” in Sacra Scriptura: How “Non-Canonical” Texts Functioned in Early Judaism and Early Christianity, eds. James H. Charlesworth and Lee Martin McDonald with Blake Jurgens, Jewish and Christian Texts in Contexts and Related Studies 20 (London: T&T Clark, 2014), 46–63.

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Even though the motivation making Ben Sira a rabbi might have been polemical— that is, to be certain that the book of Ben Sira was not considered canonical—the result was that for later readers Ben Sira could easily become a rabbi (not a pseudo-rabbi), and subsequent generations of readers might well have thought of him as such without the attendant polemical connotations. For them the character was already part of a story but one told from a different social and cultural location. One text that not only adopted the identification of Ben Sira as a rabbi but ran with it—indeed, portraying him as a Wunderrabbi, to use David Stern’s characterization—is the so-called Alphabet of Ben Sira, which is actually a collection of texts brought together under the name and character of Ben Sira.21 In its current form, the Alphabet has two parts. The first narrates Ben Sira’s unusual and miraculous birth, his encounter as a one-year-old with a teacher whom Ben Sira ends up teaching, and his exploits as a seven-year-old in the court of Nebuchadnezzar, among which are answering questions that the king does not understand and curing the sovereign’s daughter of a bad case of flatulence. The second part consists of a series of Aramaic proverbs on the alphabet accompanied by homiletical material.22 In the manuscript tradition, the first part bears the title Toledot Ben Sira and the second is more properly called the Alphabet, although generally the entire work is referred to as the Alphabet. The works that comprise the Alphabet are usually dated to the eighth–tenth centuries.23 Stern has shown that the Alphabet is a parody and that the Alphabet’s first two rabbinic texts serve as the “victim” texts of the parody.24 The character of Ben Sira plays different roles in the different parts of the text. Here I want to concentrate on Ben Sira’s “education” at the age of one. Ben Sira comes into the world “with teeth and fully developed powers of speech.”25 For one year Ben Sira’s mother makes and sells clothes to support him. “At the

21 David Stern, “The Alphabet of Ben Sira and the Early History of Parody in Jewish Literature,” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel, eds. Hindy Najman and Judith H. Newman, JSJSup 83 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 423–48 (446). 22 For the critical text and the basic textual issues, especially its extreme textual pluriformity, see the authoritative work of Eli Yassif, Sippurei ben Sira Bi-Yemei Ha-Beinayim (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1984). See also Stern, “Alphabet,” 427–28 and Jillian Stinchcomb, “Parody, Pastiche, and Collective Memory in the Alphabet of Ben Sira,” presented to the Philadelphia Seminar on Christian Origins, December 1, 2016 (my thanks to the author for sending me a copy of her paper). 23 Yassif, Sippurei Ben Sira, 19–29. 24 Stern, “Alphabet,” 427, 447. 25 Translations of the Alphabet are taken from Norman Bronznick with David Stern and Mark Jay Mirsky, “The Alphabet of Ben Sira,” in Rabbinic Fantasies: Imaginative Narratives from Classical Hebrew Literature, eds. David Stern and Mark Jay Mirsky (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990), 167–202.

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year’s end, he said to her, ‘Take me to the synagogue.’ She took him to a teacher who had seven daughters. Ben Sira sat next to him and said, ‘My master, teach me Torah.’” The teacher refuses to teach Ben Sira, responding based on m. ’Abot 5:24 that he is too young, since a child must be five years old to study Torah. Ben Sira responds with a quotation of m. ’Abot 2:20, “The day is short, but the work is great” and explains how there are children younger than he in the cemetery. “Who knows,” he asks, “what will be, whether I shall live or die?” This answer angers the teacher who brings a citation of b. Ber. 31b, “Whoever teaches the law in the presence of his teacher is deserving of death.” To this Ben Sira retorts, “You are not my teacher, for so far I have learned nothing from you.” The teacher then begins Ben Sira’s education with a well-known technique of teaching the alphabet by connecting with each letter some proverb that begins with that letter.26 In the course of this training, Ben Sira’s maxims prompt confessions from the teacher about his seven daughters and his longing for a divorce from his “ugly” wife in order to marry a beautiful widow, who is likely a witch. In this exchange, the traditional roles of teacher and student get reversed. At the base of the conversation between the teacher and Ben Sira and the object of its parody lies b. Sanh. 100b, perhaps the locus classicus for Talmudic discussions about the canonicity of Ben Sira. Except for the maxim attached to the letter dalet, all of the maxims that draw a response from the teacher derive from this Talmudic passage. A year-old Ben Sira becomes the rabbinic teacher to the elementary teacher, since he already knows all that he needs to and his responses to each letter derive from the Talmud. We are presented with a scholar’s scholar, and indeed, later in the Alphabet we are told that by the time he was seven “there was not a major or minor subject that he had not studied.” So in a text from the Gaonic period, Ben Sira is portrayed as a rabbinic child prodigy who cites Talmudic passages at the age of one (attributed in b. Sanhedrin to Ben Sira but, of course, without specific reference in the Alphabet) in response to a feckless teacher, who cannot help but confess his problems with the women in his life to this prodigious child. What reasons might account for the character of Ben Sira to find this particular story? Stern suggests two possible explanations. First, Ben Sira’s proffering of these sayings as authoritative maxims to the teacher elicit his pathetic confessions and thus “the narrative registers its ambivalence about their canonical status.”27 Second, the parody on the passage from b. Sanhedrin in the 26 Stern, “Alphabet,” 440. Yassif has shown that only the first eleven maxims in response to the first twelve letters of the alphabet were part of this section of the Alphabet and that the last letters were added by a later redactor (Yassif, Sippurei Ben Sira, 39–44). 27 Stern, “Alphabet,” 444.

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Alphabet takes the classical rabbinic dispute about the status of Ben Sira and reconstructs it as a “low-style lesson—or counter-lesson—in which the student instructs the teacher in the perils of wisdom.”28 This reversal plays on a rabbinic tradition of mocking of teachers of children, which exposes the rabbis’ anxiety about their own status and identity and their “fear of being seen as mere schoolteachers.”29 Of course, a double irony attends this story about Ben Sira. On the one hand, we have the irony inherent in the parody between the Alphabet and b. Sanh. 100b that Stern so ably articulates, but on the other, we can see an irony in the Alphabet making Ben Sira, a marginal character himself, a central figure in helping to allay anxiety on the part of rabbis about their status and identity. The story of Ben Sira teaching his teacher, then, at the same time (re)inscribes the marginality of the book of Ben Sira with respect to discussions of canon while it more fully integrates Ben Sira into the orbit of the rabbinic sages—no polemical rabbi in this text apparently. Perhaps Ben Sira can be so productive for the author(s) of this story precisely because he does not have a rabbinic “history,” that is, he is not portrayed as the student or teacher of any other rabbis. His own “history,” then, can be filled in and used for various purposes, as we see here and elsewhere in the Alphabet.30 Gili Orr offers a similar explanation for the second part of the Alphabet, the Aramaic proverbs. He suggests that the character of Ben Sira was productive because he was both an insider and an outsider: “He belongs nowhere…, yet he is (ambivalently) appreciated, mentioned and quoted in authoritative Rabbinic literature…. It seems that a figure fitting such description is enough of an ‘insider’ to appeal to an educated Jewish audience. At the same time, being not completely accepted or acceptable, he can be expected to express some outrageous, or at least irregular ideas.”31

Ben Sira the Biblical Writer and Figure Although Ben Sira was never accepted into the Jewish canon and the rabbis made it clear that the book was noncanonical, nonetheless we do find hints within the

28 Ibid., 444. 29 Ibid., 445. 30 Labendz, “Book of Ben Sira,” 368, notes this independence of Ben Sira but in a different context. 31 Gili Orr, “The medieval Alpha Beta deBen Sira I (‘Rishona’): A parody on Rabbinic literature or a Midrashic commentary on ancient proverbs?” (Master’s Thesis, University of Amsterdam, 2009), 13–14.

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tradition of ambivalence about Ben Sira’s status.32 Whereas my focus is not on the book of Ben Sira per se, a good deal of the evidence about whether the character of Ben Sira was thought of as a biblical writer comes from both the way that his book was treated and the manner in which two of the medieval Genizah manuscripts were executed. It is something of a scholarly commonplace to note that in some rabbinic texts, Ben Sira is quoted using formulae usually reserved for quoting scripture. Thus, passages from Ben Sira might be introduced using the formulae ‫ כתוב‬or ‫ שנאמר‬in Hebrew or ‫ כתיב‬or ‫ דכתיב‬in Aramaic. So, for example, we find such introductions as ‫( שכן כתוב בספר בן סירא‬b. Ḥag. 13a) or ‫( כתיב בספר בן סירא‬b. B. Bat. 146a). Indeed, Teresa Ellis has argued that the Babylonian rabbis “rehabilitated” Ben Sira, freeing the book somewhat from the constraints placed on it in Palestinian tradition, and she refers approvingly to Sid Leiman’s designation of Ben Sira as an “uninspired canonical book.”33 Yet this rabbinic respect or even veneration for Ben Sira, despite its exclusion from the canon of scripture, also points to some later, and more suggestive, evidence that some Jews into the early medieval period might have thought of Ben Sira as a sacred text—and thus, Ben Sira himself as a writer of a sacred text. I hasten to add that this evidence is not conclusive, but in its cumulative effect, it opens a small gap in the curtain that obscures the reception of Ben Sira and reveals a part of what I think is a larger stage set behind it. The first clue comes in a well-known passage from Saadia Gaon’s Sefer Ha-Galuy, which he wrote between 931 and 934 most likely in Persia.34 In this work, Saadia quotes 26 hemistichs from the Hebrew of Ben Sira whose text most closely resembles that of Ms A from the Cairo Genizah. In one passage he refers to Ben Sira as a book of “instruction” and a book of “proverbs.”35 In the same context, Saadia notes that Ben Sira “composed (‫ )חבר‬a book of instruction similar to the book of Proverbs with chapters (‫ )פרשיותיו‬and verses (‫)פסוקיו‬, and he made it marked (‫ ;מסומן‬with vowels?) and accented (‫)מוטעם‬.”36 Just a bit later in the text, Saadia responds to 32 The issues concerning the non-canonical status of Ben Sira within Judaism have been written about extensively in modern scholarship. See, for example, Sid Z. Leiman, The Canonization of Hebrew Scripture: The Talmudic and Midrashic Evidence (Hamden: Archon Books, 1976), 92–102 and Labendz, “Book of Ben Sira” and the literature cited therein. 33 Ellis, “Negotiating the Boundaries,” 63. 34 On Saadia’s life and work, see Henry Malter, Saadia Gaon: His Life and Works (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1921). 35 Saadia wrote Sefer Ha-Galuy in Arabic and in Hebrew, and it survives in fragments. On the comparison with Proverbs, see Harkavy, Sefer Ha-Galuy, 150–51, where the Hebrew words are ‫ מוסר‬and ‫משלי‬. 36 Harkavy, Sefer Ha-Galuy, 150 ll. 12–13.

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criticisms from Karaites that by writing in Hebrew with vowels and accents, he was raising his own writing to the level of scripture, since vowels and accents were relegated to scriptural texts. He writes: And when these wicked people saw that I had composed a book in Hebrew, divided into verses and provided with vowels and accents, they denounced me with mean slander, and said that this is pretension to prophecy [that is, they accused him of the ambition to imitate the Scriptures]…. But this is only their folly,… for these things [the dividing of a Hebrew book into verses and providing it with vowels and accents] any man can do, as, indeed, Ben Sira did, Ben Iri, the sons of the Hasmonaeans, and the Bene Africa, but none of them pretended to prophecy.37

In this passage, Saadia uses the noun ‫ סימן‬rather than ‫מסומן‬, which he had used previously. In any case, whereas clearly for Saadia, Ben Sira was not scripture (“none of them pretended to prophecy”), we can learn three things from his comments. First, the Hebrew version of Ben Sira was known in rabbinate circles in the tenth century; second, it was written in the manner of biblical texts with chapters, verses, vowels, and accents; and third, some Jews regarded writing in such a way as indicative of a biblical book.38 So even if Saadia did not think that Ben Sira was biblical, it is entirely possible that Jews who wrote the text with vowels and accents might well have. The second clue comes from the Genizah manuscripts of Ben Sira. Two in particular, Mss A and B, for different reasons, offer hints that some Jews held a very high view of Ben Sira, perhaps regarding it as a sacred book. To begin with Ms A, one of its significant features is the sporadic use of vowels and accents. Although not consistently written throughout the text, when they are used, they conform to practices often associated with the copying of biblical texts. So, for example, in 6:22, the vocalization that accompanies the word ‫וחה‬ ָ ‫ נ ְֹכ‬does not fit the consonantal text. Here the scribe regarded the consonantal text highly enough that even though he felt the need to correct it, he did not alter the consonants. He simply added the vocalization, a practice that Jean-Sébastien Rey notes was common in

37 The translation comes from Solomon Schechter, “A Fragment of the Original Text of Ecclesiasticus,” The Expositor 4 (1900): 1–15 (3). The bracketed comments are Schechter’s own editorial remarks that clarify the text. For the original text, see Harkavy, Sefer Ha-Galuy, 162. 38 See the comment by Jean-Sébastien Rey, “Scribal Practices in the Ben Sira Hebrew Manuscript A and Codicological Remarks,” in Texts and Contexts of the Book of Ben Sira/Texte und Kontexte des Sirachbuches, eds. B. M. Zapff, G. Karner, F. Ueberschaer, SBLSCS 66 (Atlanta: SBL, 2017), 99–114.

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Masoretic tradition.39 In Ms A, we also find the use of Masoretic accents, although as Rey observes, the scribe does not always follow the Masoretic rules for their use. Again, use of accents such as are found in Ms A are usually relegated to biblical manuscripts, Targum manuscripts, sometimes in Mishnah manuscripts or other rabbinic texts, and sometimes in piyyutim.40 In addition, 11:25 and 15:14 contain superscript letters that likely represent Babylonian accentuation practices. A mixture of Tiberian and Babylonian accentuation is attested in several biblical manuscripts from the Genizah.41 Finally, in 8.2, the scribe has marked the word ‫ לא‬with a circellus and has noted in the margin the word ‫לו‬. Rather than correct the consonantal text of Ms A, the scribe has treated the text in the manner of the Masoretic ketiv and gere readings.42 For Rey, these scribal features indicate that the scribe of Ms A regarded Ben Sira “as sacred as the biblical text.”43 The situation with Ms B is entirely different, but it, too, shows indications that the scribe(s) who copied this manuscript held its text (and by extension its author) in high regard. Unlike Ms A, which is copied in an informal, semicursive script, Ms B bears all the physical characteristics of a manuscript containing an important text. The text area has been ruled with a ruling board, which demarcates both right and left margins as well as lines from which the letters descend, and the script is a beautiful, formal book hand. Each folio page has 18 lines, and verses end with a sof passuq. The scribe who copied the text did so with care and skill. Scribal annotations are almost never made in the text itself, but rather they appear in the margins. Moreover, the text ends with the three-line subscription that I cited above.44 Thus, the layout and execution of Ms B give evidence of the importance of the text being copied.

39 The example comes from Rey, “Scribal Practices, 103–04.” One also finds vocalizations in CD (B), and we need to at least ask how widespread the use of vocalization was in these medieval manuscripts. I think that the cumulative evidence from Mss A and B makes the case more compelling, however. 40 Rey, “Scribal Practices,” 106. 41 Ibid., 107. He lists Cambridge T.-S. 62.240, 62.243, and 62.259 as examples. 42 See Jean-Sébastien Rey, “Transmission textuelle et sacrilisation: Quelque charactéristiques de la pratique des copistes de ms. A et B du texte hébreu de Ben Sira,” in Littérature et sacré: La tradition en question, ed. V. Litvan, Littérature et Spiritualité (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2016), 163–77. 43 Rey, “Scribal Practices,” 107.; idem, “Transmission textuelle,” 167. 44 Many biblical manuscripts from the same period as Ms B have colophons giving the name of the scribe who copied the manuscript. This is not the case for Ms B. Moreover, since we do not have the beginning of the text in Ms B—it only begins at chap. 10—we do not know how the text was introduced, if it was at all.

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When we look at the text itself, several features distinguish it from Ms A but still mark the respect accorded the book of Ben Sira. In short, the marginal corrections in Ms B tend to be alternative readings rather than corrections, as in Ms A. Moreover, where the corrections in Ms A were made by the scribe who copied the text, at least two, and perhaps three, different scribes have worked on Ms B. The margins of the manuscript between 30:11 and 45:8 are heavily annotated with only sporadic annotations in the earlier and later surviving folios.45 A number of the marginal notations offer alternative versions of entire verses (e.g., 31:6–8, III Verso), and some of these doublets agree more with the Greek translation and some with the Syriac.46 Manuscript B, then, might be called a critical text, not in the modern sense, but in the sense that the scribes who worked on the text made every effort to preserve the various forms of the text and thus its significance. Rey concludes that this attempt to preserve the pluriformity of the text indicates its sacrality for the scribes who copied it: “Un tel procédé témoigne non seulement d’une certain liberté, mais surtout d’un véritable travail critique sur le text qui relativise d’un certain manière sa dimension sacrée. Cette sacralité du texte n’en est pas pour autant absente, mais elle s’exprime différemment. En effet, un indice intéressant de cette sacralité est la volonté du scribe de maintenir ou d’ajouter en marge des leçons qui, en tout vraisemblance, sont fautives.”47 In their own ways, then, these two Genizah manuscripts offer indirect witness to the figure of Ben Sira. Through the ways that the scribes of both manuscripts handled the text and the way that Ms B is physically executed, we see in what high regard the text was held. Rey argues, and I agree, that at least some medieval Jews thought of the Hebrew of Ben Sira as sacred. Who those Jews were, we cannot say with any certainty. Yet, we might speculate, at least a little. Ms B, for example, was copied in a Persian/Iraqi hand. Might Ben Sira have been important for Persian Jews, some of whom had come to Fustat? Does Saadia’s testimony in Sefer Ha-Galuy provide any corroboration, since he likely wrote that work in Persia? Does the Babylonian rabbis’ “rehabilitation” of Ben Sira play a role here? Whatever the case, for some Jews, Ben Sira looks to have been a writer held on par with other biblical writers.

45 Ms B is marked by four marginal glosses in Judeo-Persian, and the vast majority of marginal annotations fall between the first and the fourth of these glosses. On the Persian glosses most recently, see my paper, “The Persian Glosses and the Text of Ms B Revisited,” to appear in Ben Sira Manuscripts after 120 Years, eds. J. K. Aitken, R. Egger-Wenzel, and S. C. Reif, ISDCL Yearbook (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, Forthcoming). 46 On this issue, see Rey, “Transmission textuelle,” 173–75. 47 Ibid., 176.

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One final piece of suggestive evidence comes from the Alphabet of Ben Sira, which begins with a rather bizarre and miraculous story about Ben Sira’s birth. Such births are common for famous figures (cf. Jesus, Noah, Alexander the Great, etc.), and in that sense the character of Ben Sira has found a story, but one that serves as a scene in a larger one. Without citing the entire text, Ben Sira is the son of the prophet Jeremiah, who was forced by Ephraimites to masturbate in a bathhouse. His semen was preserved in bathwater, and when his daughter went to bathe, she conceived and bore Ben Sira. Stern has analyzed the parodic aspects of this story, especially with respect to its “victim” text, Pesiqta Rabbati 26 (among some others as well) in which Jeremiah is among four people whom God created directly (cf. Jer 1:5), but my interest lies in the close relationship, beyond simple paternity, that the text claims for Ben Sira. Stern exposes the ironic parody and the classical midrashic features of the story in the Alphabet, but within that story some remarkable claims get made. In the Alphabet, Jeremiah’s and Ben Sira’s names are numerically equivalent through the technique of gematria. Like Jeremiah’s birth reported in the Alphabet, Ben Sira emerges from the womb already with full capacity of speech (and a full set of teeth!). Shortly after his birth, Ben Sira engages in a conversation with his mother. She begins by discussing his paternity: … “My son,” she said, “it is written, ‘That which has been is that which shall be’ (Eccl. 1:9). But who ever saw a daughter giving birth by her father?” “My mother,” he said, “‘There is nothing new under the sun’ (Eccl. 1:9). For just as Lot was perfectly righteous, so is my father perfectly righteous. For just as a similar occurrence happened to Lot under duress, so too it happened to my father.” “You amaze me,” she said, “How do you know such things?” “Don’t be amazed at what I say. There is nothing new under the sun. Jeremiah my father did the same thing.” … [Here Ben Sira tells a story about Jeremiah speaking from the womb about what his name would be.] “Just as Jeremiah came from the womb with the power of speech. Just as he came forth with the power of prophecy—as it is said, ‘Before you came forth from the womb, I sanctified you; I have appointed you a prophet unto the nations’ (Jer 1:5)—I, too, have emerged from the womb with the power of prophecy. As he left his mother’s belly with his name, so have I; and as he composed a book arranged in alphabetical acrostics, I, too, will compose a book of alphabets. So do not be amazed by my words.” “My son,” his mother said to Ben Sira, “don’t speak, for the evil eye might fix its power over you.” “The evil eye has no power over me. Besides, do not try to talk me out of doing what my father did. To me applies the proverb, ‘The ewe takes after the ewe, and the son follows the deeds of his father.’”48

Whatever parody this text engages in, this section of text makes a strong claim that Ben Sira is like Jeremiah. The only moment in the text that creates some

48 The translation comes from Stern, Rabbinic Fantasies, 170–72.

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ambivalence is Ben Sira’s comparison to Lot. Nowhere in rabbinic literature is Lot called “righteous,”49 and perhaps this reference is intended to make Ben Sira look hyperbolic, calling Lot righteous when the readers of the text know better. Yet, the claim of the text remains: Ben Sira is like Jeremiah both in having the power of prophecy and in writing like him, and Jeremiah’s paternity has conferred these faculties on Ben Sira.50 The standard view of the Alphabet is that the author(s) did not have direct knowledge of the book of Ben Sira. In the passage where the young Ben Sira teaches his “teacher,” the alphabetic proverbs he cites come from b. Sanh. 100b, not from the text of the book, and the repartée with his teacher comprises the writing in alphabets that Ben Sira announces to his mother (although Sirach 51 is an alphabetic acrostic). In this passage, however, Ben Sira claims the same kind of prophetic power that Jeremiah had, and indeed, in a brief time, Ben Sira will be in the court of Nebuchadnezzar acting in a Daniel-like fashion answering what are supposed to be essentially unanswerable questions and doing amazing deeds. This connection might in itself account for the prophetic aspect of Ben Sira’s character here, but I cannot help but be reminded that in the book of Ben Sira, he compares his own teaching to prophecy (cf. 24:33).51 Even so, within the parodic treatment that makes up the Alphabet of Ben Sira, Ben Sira becomes equated with a biblical writer and figure, Jeremiah, and he imitates another, Daniel. In all the cases that I have just presented, the figure of Ben Sira flirts on the margins of being a biblical writer. Here again, as in the case of the rabbinic sage, we see ambivalence about Ben Sira and his book. Despite this ambivalence, I think that we can conclude that there were Jews in the early medieval period who considered Ben Sira with great respect and indeed sanctity, even when he appeared in comedic parody.

49 See ibid., 197 n. 7. 50 Jeremiah himself is something of a character in search of a story. See, for example, Kipp Davis, The Cave 4 Apocryphon of Jeremiah and the Qumran Jeremianic Traditions: Prophetic Persona and the Construction of Community Identity, STDJ 111 (Leiden: Brill, 2014) and Hindy Najman and Konrad Schmidt, eds., Jeremiah’s Scriptures: Production, Reception, Interaction, and Transformation, JSJSup 173 (Leiden: Brill, 2017). 51 On Ben Sira and claims to prophecy, see Benjamin G. Wright III, “Conflicted Boundaries: Ben Sira, Sage and Seer,” in Congress Volume Helsinki 2010, ed. Martti Nissinen, VTSup 148 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 229–53.

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Ben Sira the Wise Teacher One might think that given the nature of the book of Ben Sira that portraying Ben Sira as a wise sage or teacher might be a very common image in early medieval Judaism. If we separate the wise teacher or sage from the rabbinic sage I discussed above—that is, the wise teacher is someone not engaged in rabbinic forms of inquiry and conversation—in actuality, given the bits of evidence that we have, there is much less to go on. Saadia’s comparisons with the biblical book of Proverbs, using the terms ‫ מוסר‬and ‫משלי‬, might point to someone who teaches about wisdom and practical advice on how to live one’s life in addition to showing great respect for the work. The three book lists from the Genizah that mention Ben Sira (Cambridge T-S K3.27; Cambridge T-S Misc 36.150; Cambridge T-S 16.19) comport with Saadia’s characterizations of Ben Sira. In each list, however, since the work is simply referred to as a title without further comment, it is hard to say a lot about how these people thought about Ben Sira, although a few educated speculations are possible.52 T-S K 3.27 refers to the book as ‫ משלי אבן סירא מליח‬in Judeo-Arabic, “The Proverbs of Ben Sira, beautiful (i.e., presumably in good condition).”53 Both T-S Misc 36.150 and T-S 16.19 give the title ‫מוסר‬, and they both use the name ‫שמעון‬, as we saw earlier.54 We might ask if these two titles are meant to identify one book of Ben Sira or different books connected with this writer. Since both lists that refer to the book as ‫ מוסר‬also use ‫ שמעון‬to identify the author and the third does not have ‫ שמעון‬but simply ‫אבן סירא‬, we might understand that two different books are being listed. One text that explicitly makes such a distinction between the book (‫ )ספר‬and the proverbs (‫ )משלי‬of Ben Sira is a fragment of a Talmudic commentary on b. Sanhedrin in Judeo-Arabic from the Genizah.55 In it, the commentator distinguishes

52 On the book lists from the Genizah, see Nehemyah Allony, Ha-Sifriyah Ha-Yehudit Bi-Yeme Ha-Benayim: Reshimot Sefarim Mi-Genizat Kahir, eds. Miriam Frankel and Hagy Ben-Shammai (Jerusalem: Ben Avi Institute and Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2006). 53 Ibid., 54–55, although she erroneously gives the number as K3.25–26. 54 Ibid., 109 and 42. 55 See Schechter, “Further Fragment,” 460–62. The manuscript is T-S A45.16r, although Schechter does not give any accession number for the fragment. According to Simon Hopkins, A miscellany of literary pieces from the Cambridge Genizah collections: a catalogue and selection of texts in the Taylor–Schechter collection, Old Series, Box A45, Cambridge University Library Genizah series 3 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Library, 1978), 54, the fragment is in the hand of Joseph b. Jacob ha-Bavli, who is better known as R. Joseph rosh ha-seder. He lived in the late twelfth century and came from Baghdad to Fustat. (My thanks to Marc Herman, who located the T-S number and who informed me about R. Joseph.) Already in the fourth century, however, Jerome, in his

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between the “book of Ben Sira,” which is forbidden to read, and the “proverbs of Ben Sira” (‫)משלי‬, which have “profitable doctrine” and are permitted to read. Commenting on R. Joseph’s assessment of Ben Sira in b. Sanh. 100b, the commentator writes: “Because they [the books of the heretics?] corrupt faith and lead astray one who has not understanding in the roots of the knowledge of the law. R. Joseph says: ‘Also the book of Ben Sira is joined to the ‫ספרי מינים‬, and it is not permitted to read it, because even if it does not corrupt faith yet it occupies part of the time in its vain stories in which (stories) there is no advantage.’ He says: ‘Behold the ‫ ספר בן סירא‬is different from the ‫משלי בן סירא‬, because in the ‫ משלי בן סירא‬there is profitable doctrine and it is permitted to read them.’”56 Schechter speculates that the forbidden “book of Ben Sira” is the Alphabet, although the text provides no clear evidence for that identification.57 On the other hand, if the titles in the book lists do refer to the same work, which I am presuming at this juncture, they identify the contents in a different way from the subscription of Ms B, which calls Ben Sira …‫ דברי שמעון‬and …‫חכמת שמעון‬. Do these designations that call the book “proverbs” or “instruction” reflect a view of the book’s contents and thus of the author that differs from his “words” or “wisdom”? Or do all these designations mark the book as the product of a wise teacher à la Solomon who was thought to have composed the biblical book of Proverbs? In the light of characterizations of Ben Sira as ‫ משלי‬or ‫ מוסר‬and thus Ben Sira as a teacher of wisdom, I want to turn to the fragmentary Ms C of Ben Sira from the Genizah. Rather than a running text of Ben Sira, this manuscript is an anthology that gathers together passages from Ben Sira on practical matters such as women/wives (a main feature of the surviving material), speech, friendship, and the wise man.58 The material in Ms C seems to have been deliberately selected and (re)ordered in order to create blocks of material that communicate a coherent message. Claudia Camp has argued that the ideas of honor and shame lie at the center of the hermeneutics of this manuscript, and thus, the advice it purveys “can direct reflection to the moral life of the wise on its own terms.”59 Absent the more esoteric material in Ben Sira, we have in Ms C a guide to right living. preface to Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and the Song of Songs, calls Ben Sira “Parables.” Whether that is Jerome’s name for the book or a title he learned from the Hebrew text he knew is unknown. 56 Translation is taken from Schechter, “A Further Fragment,” 461. 57 Ibid., 461. 58 On Ms C, see P. C. Beentjes, “Hermeneutics in the Book of Ben Sira: Some Observations on the Hebrew Ms. C,” EstBib 46 (1988): 45–59 and Claudia V. Camp, “Honor, Shame, and the Hermeneutics of Ben Sira’s MS C,” in Wisdom, You Are My Sister: Studies in Honor of Roland E. Murphy, O.Carm., on the Occasion of His Eightieth Birthday, ed. Michael L. Barré, S.S., CBQMS 29 (Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1997), 157–71. 59 Camp, “Honor, Shame,” 171.

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One might wonder, then, whether any of the designations that we find in Saadia, in the Genizah book lists, or in the Talmudic commentary refer to an anthologized text like Ms C. It does seem, however, that some early medieval Jews thought that practical advice coming from a wise teacher such as Ben Sira would be beneficial for guiding men on the path to right behavior and wisdom.

Ben Sira as Poet This last section will of necessity be short and suggestive, primarily because I am not certain that there is a lot to say at this point in time. I do think, however, that further research on Ben Sira in these texts is long overdue. Among the discoveries from the Cairo Genizah were manuscripts of rhyming poetry, and among them several manuscripts show enough similarity to passages from Ben Sira to think that material from the book was adapted to suit the needs of these poems.60 The composers of these poems also adapt biblical writers, such as Job, however, and thus, it might be that the use of Ben Sira could indicate other potential views of him, for instance, as a biblical writer or his book as a sacred text. At this stage, I can only suggest that by adapting Ben Sira to these contexts, he might have been viewed as a poet who wrote the kind of poetry found in these Genizah manuscripts.

Conclusions Ben Sira was a figure without a real history; his book, a text without a clear location. Ambivalence toward the man and his book has surfaced several times in my discussions above. As a character looking for a story, Ben Sira’s lack of history offered the possibility for medieval Jews to place him in “stories” that located (or relocated) him in several different contexts within Jewish history and medieval Jewish life and thought, and we might be able to suggest more than the ones I have outlined in this chapter.61 If we were only to look at the manuscript tradition 60 On these poems, see Jefim Schirmann, Shirim ḥadashim min ha-genizah (Jerusalem: ha-Aḳademyah ha-leʼumit ha-Yiśreʼelit le-madaʻim, 1965). 61 Ben Sira, the misogynist, comes to mind. Ben Sira’s lack of history has also prompted modern scholars to find stories that he might fit, even though they exceed what we can know. See, for example, P. McKechnie, “The Career of Joshua Ben Sira,” JTS 51 (2000): 1–26 and Mroczek’s critical remarks in Literary Imagination, 99–100.

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of the book, as so many scholars of Second Temple Judaism, myself included, have done, we might wonder what happened to Ben Sira from the early centuries CE—at least from the fourth century when Jerome says he knew a Hebrew text of the book and the Palestinian amoraim were citing it with a fair degree of accuracy—to the tenth–twelfth centuries, the time when the Hebrew manuscripts from the Genizah are usually dated. Yet, if we take into consideration the other ways that we encounter Ben Sira, we can see that he was very much “alive” during these centuries and that this character had found stories that made him and his book productive in a variety of settings for early medieval Jewry. This brief chapter also has highlighted for me that those of us who work on Second Temple Judaism cannot afford to stay isolated in our own period. Ben Sira offers an example that might be multiplied for other figures and texts from our period that have had long afterlives in Judaism. Investigating those afterlives will enable us to make fuller sense of our own period of interest. After all, for many of the texts and some of the figures that we locate in the Second Temple period, we have scant evidence from that period, whether it be the Hebrew of Ben Sira or the person of Jeremiah or works such as Jubilees or 1 Enoch, whose most complete versions come in their Ethiopic translations. Mroczek’s study focused on Ancient Judaism, but as I hope to have shown in this chapter, that work can be extended much farther out, providing us a much fuller picture of these characters and their stories.62

62 Such investigations will of necessity require interdisciplinary work with scholars who are experts in those later periods, but this kind of interdisciplinary collaboration, in my experience, is also a two-way street. The beneficial nature of this interdisciplinary work was reinforced for me at a recent Cambridge University conference on the Ben Sira manuscripts, “Discovering, Deciphering, and Dissenting: Ben Sira’s Hebrew Text, 1896–2016,” where a number of the ideas in this chapter were generated.

Part IV: From the Same Womb: Jesus and His Jewish Followers

Albert I. Baumgarten

26 The Baptism of John in a Second Temple Jewish Context The receptivity of most people for that which is wholly new (if anything is) is small… The originality of a prophet lies commonly in his ability to fuse into a white heat combustible material which is there, to express and to appear to meet the half-formed prayers of some at least of his contemporaries. Arthur D. Nock1

The Problem John, the son of the priest Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth, born in their old age after many years of being childless (Luke 1), was dubbed the Baptist for the simplest and most obvious reason: offering baptism was his characteristic and specific personal activity. Beyond that conclusion, almost all else concerning John and his baptism are surrounded by enigma and cacophony, both in the ancient sources and in modern scholarship.2 Thus, Mark 1:4–5 described John’s activity as having four aspects: (1) baptism (2) of repentance, (3) intended to forgive sins, adding that the people baptized (4) confessed their sins as part of the process. The other Synoptics modified the Markan foundation, each in their own way. Luke 3:4 repeated the Markan formula (1–3), “baptism of repentance for forgiveness of sins,” but did

1 Arthur D. Nock, Conversion: The Old and New in Religion from Alexander the Great to Augustine of Hippo (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1933), 9. 2 These circumstances led Reumann to conclude that “we cannot throw real light on him (John the Baptist).” See John H. P. Reumann, “The Quest for the Historical Baptist,” in Understanding the Sacred Text: Essays in Honor of Morton S. Enslin, ed. J. Reumann (Valley Forge: Judson, 1972), 181–99 (quote on p. 187). Note: This chapter is offered in tribute to Gabriele Boccaccini, my colleague and friend. Throughout his career, in his teaching, and wider activity in the context of The Enoch Seminar that he founded, Boccaccini has provided an outstanding example, encouraging all of us to place all the sources that might be relevant in the context of Second Temple Jewish literature, belief, and experience. In this chapter, I have tried to take Boccaccini’s lesson and example to heart in the case of the baptism of John the Baptist. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-027

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not mention confession of sins as part of the process (4). Matthew separated out the elements of Mark’s formula differently, but omitted one. Those baptized (1) by John in the Jordan confessed their sins (4), Matt 3:6, and this was baptism with water for repentance (2) Matt 3:11; see also Acts 13:24 and 19:4. However, forgiveness of sins (3) in Matthew was reserved for Jesus (Matt 26:28).3 The notion that forgiveness of sins might have been available before Jesus, as a result of the baptism of John, was unacceptable to Matthew. Leaving Matthew aside for the moment, in sum, at the very least, Mark and Luke agreed that John’s baptism effected forgiveness of sins. It is therefore significant that Josephus differed from Mark and Luke and explicitly indicated that John’s message was that people “must not employ it (baptism) to gain pardon for whatever sin they had committed” (Ant. 18.117). As noted by Carl H. Kraeling,4 one is entitled to wonder whether Josephus, writing in Rome several generations after the life and death of John, a generation or so after Mark, and perhaps contemporary with Luke, was aware of how the baptism of John was understood among some followers of John and Jesus (as we know it from Mark and Luke) and was deliberately contradicting the way John’s baptism was grasped among them.5 Not surprisingly, in light of these circumstances, with the most important sources contradicting

3 An additional reason that Matthew did not mention that John’s baptism forgave sins was suggested by Willoughby C. Allen, An Exegetical and Critical Commentary on the Gospel According to St. Matthew, 3rd ed., ICC (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1922 [1993 repr.]), 23. Jesus was baptized by John and if that baptism forgave sins then there was room to wonder, as was suggested by the Gospel of Nazoreans, fg. 2, what sin Jesus might have committed for which he needed forgiveness. Compare however Ulrich Luz, Matthew 1–7: A Commentary, trans. J. E. Crouch, Hermenia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 136, who argued that separating repentance from forgiveness of sins in Matt 3:6 was an unjustified distinction: “repentance” in the verse was sufficient to suggest “forgiveness of sins.” See also John P. Meier, “John the Baptist in Matthew’s Gospel,” JBL 99 (1980): 383–405. Meier’s thesis about the role of the Baptist in Matthew in this chapter stressed the parallels between John and Jesus, the assimilation of one to the other, at the same time that John’s subordination was always hammered home. Not surprisingly, given these two apparently contradictory objectives attributed to Matthew, Meier wrote that “Matthew’s presentation of the Baptist is, of the four gospels, perhaps the most puzzling and difficult to understand” (386). As Meier concluded, because of Matthew’s high Christology the Baptist could be included as part of the scheme of salvation, in parallel with Jesus, without threatening the Church; yet, nevertheless, Matthew included various traditional statements that expressed John’s subordination to Jesus (404). 4 Carl H. Kraeling, John the Baptist (New York: Scribner’s, 1951), 120. 5 If this suggestion is accepted one must then wonder why Josephus objected to the idea that John’s baptism forgave sins. While this question is impossible to answer with certainty perhaps it was because he believed that only God could forgive sins, as discussed in footnote 7.

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each other, the baptism of John has proven enigmatic, difficult to explain and comprehend.6

John’s Baptism in the Synoptic Gospels Let us begin again at the beginning, with the earliest source, Mark 1:4–5 and with his formula, that John’s baptism was one of repentance intended to forgive sins (eis aphesin hamartiōn; stressing the significance of eis), or which culminated in sins being forgiven, adding that the people baptized confessed their sins as part of the process. Just what sort of baptism would effect repentance and result in sins being forgiven? How could John’s baptism be understood as achieving these outcomes? It was wide open to the objection expressed in Mark 2:7, “Who but God alone can forgive sins?”7 Joel Marcus, following H. Thyen,8 correctly noted that with its compressed technical vocabulary and lack of articles, “baptism of repentance for forgiveness of sins,” looks like a set formula, perhaps going back to Baptist circles (more on this below).9 Now, all this is well and good, but it still leaves open the question of what this set formula meant and how John’s baptism achieved either repentance or forgiveness of sins,10 much less both simultaneously, as a hendiadys. Marcus suggested looking at Zach 12:10–13:1 where water imagery, repentance, confession, 6 The contrast between Josephus and the gospels was overlooked by many commentators. It was, however, noted prominently by W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison Jr., An Exegetical and Critical Commentary on the Gospel According to St. Matthew, 3 vols., ICC (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991), 1:300. 7 For God as forgiving sins through repentance as a common view, see the Prayer of Manasseh 7, where repentance for sinners was a divine promise that would culminate in redemption. In context, in Mark, when the objection was raised against Jesus as to how could he forgive sins, if that prerogative was reserved for God, it had less force, as Jesus was the “Son of Man.” But how would John have responded if challenged about his “baptism of repentance for forgiveness of sins?” H. Thyen, “ΒΑΠΤΙΣΜΑ ΜΕΤΑΝΟΙΑΣ ΕΙΣ ΑΦΕΣΙΝ ΑΜΑΡΤΙΩΝ,” in The Future of our Religious Past: Essays in Honour of Rudolf Bultmann, ed. James L. Robinson (New York: Harper & Row, 1971), 163, suggested that expiation of sins was a priestly prerogative and John was supposedly of Aaronic descent and that the forgiveness he extended through baptism was connected with the priestly messiah of the end of days, known from T. Levi 18, in whose time “all sin will vanish.” 8 Ibid., 132–33. 9 Joel Marcus, Mark 1–8: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 27 (New York: Doubleday, 2000), 55. 10 According to Martin Dibelius, Die urchristliche Überlieferung von Johannes dem Täufer, FRLANT 15 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1911), 58, 77, the original formula in Mark asserted that John’s baptism achieved repentance. Forgiveness of sins was added later.

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and forgiveness of sins were all associated with each other.11 However, there is no specific immersion in Zach 12:10–13:1 that accomplishes repentance, confession, and forgiveness of sins. Immersion in the Bible and in Second Temple literature was usually connected with removing impurity. From that perspective, Josephus was perfectly on target when he insisted that John’s baptism was a consecration of the body (eph hagneiai tou sōmatos,), the soul having already been cleansed by right behavior (kai tēs psuxēs dikaiosunēi proekkekatharmenēs (Ant. 18.117). The most Marcus could offer to solve the puzzle of John’s “baptism of repentance for forgiveness of sins” was to suggest that perhaps all these perplexing and paradoxical outcomes will be fully achieved at the eschaton.12 Adela Yarbro Collins devoted an extended excursus to the baptism of John, as reported in Mark 1:1–4.13 She began by noting that immersion in the Bible usually removed ritual impurity, and that while ritual impurity and sin were normally separate categories, they may sometimes overlap, as in the case of the leper (more accurately, the person suffering from scale disease), who, when he was cured, must immerse twice to remove the impurity associated with his disease (Lev 14:8–9) and then offer an asham to expiate the sacrilege caused by his disease (Lev 14:12). Collins pointed to Ezekiel 36:25–28 (rather than Zachariah, as did Marcus). She noted that these verses speak of “sprinkling with clean water” that will cleanse you from your uncleanness. The prophet promised a new heart and a new spirit, which will cause you to walk in my (God’s) statutes and to be careful in observing my ordinances. Yet, here too, the supposed Biblical precedents only approximated very roughly what was claimed for John’s baptism of repentance for forgiveness of sins. Collins then turned to the Qumran evidence, which has accumulated since 1947 and to the role of immersions in the life of that community. She indicated that “the similarities between the baptism of John and the ritual immersions at Qumran are indeed striking,” but after careful comparison one must concede that “the differences between the immersions at Qumran and that associated with John are equally striking.” For example, “the community at Qumran was exclusive, whereas John acted as a charismatic prophet in a public setting.” Qumran immersion was a daily event, while John’s baptism was a “singular event for each participant.”14 In the end, like Marcus above, Collins must appeal to the transformations expected at the eschaton, already dawning, to explain the effects of 11 Marcus, Mark 1–8, 155. 12 Ibid., 156. 13 Adela Yarbro Collins, Mark: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 138–40. 14 For a similar discussion of the similarities and differences between John’s baptism and the Qumran immersions, see Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:299.

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John’s baptism.15 It did not make any more sense to her in “ordinary” terms than it did to Marcus. John’s baptism remained perplexing and paradoxical and would remain so until the end of days. Appeals to the eschaton and the transformations it will bring, which will resolve serious paradoxes, whether the grand finale is conceived as near or far, are a sign of scholarly despair, of an inability to resolve matters in ordinary terms.16 No less a sign of despair was the explanation of John’s baptism offered by Ernst Lohmeyer. He analyzed the circumstances as follows, wondering how repentance as described in the gospels could possibly be a prelude to baptism, because, at best, repentance might plausibly be a result of baptism. However, according to Lohmeyer, John’s baptism was different: it was a rebuttal of all the usual methods of purification and forgiveness, because in it repentance and baptism were bound up together. It was not a case of a person deciding to repent and then being baptized, but John’s baptism effected repentance through divine action/revelation in some obscure way. God granted forgiveness/repentance through John’s baptism, where a miracle of forgiveness took place. This was a divine gift, a forgiveness of sins that was the divine prerogative (above 401), and the way God raised new children of Abraham.17 Lohmeyer’s case is hardly helped by comments he made on John’s baptism elsewhere in his monograph. He argued that God himself was the real baptizer, not John, who was nothing more than the intermediary between God and the person baptized. Accordingly, Lohmeyer maintained that questions of the meaning and origin of John’s baptism and of the role of the parties involved became less crucial. John’s actions were analogous to sacrifice, where an individual brought a sacrifice, priests and others offered the sacrifice, but the purpose was accomplished by God.18 To be unkind, considering Lohmeyer’s different attempts to explain John’s baptism, appeal to a miracle, and/or to a divine gift is no less an admission of defeat in scholarly efforts to understand John’s baptism than pointing to the 15 Collins, Mark, 140–41. 16 Compare the Rabbinic traditions that Elijah, when he returns at the end of days, will resolve hitherto unresolvable legal issues, but not change the rules of the game (m. ʿEd. 8:7). In too much theological writing, the changes expected at the eschaton become the excuse for sloppy thinking and justification of problematic and implausible conclusions. The changes that may take place at the eschaton, according to some scenarios of the end of days, cannot serve as the intellectual or theological deus ex machina to resolve otherwise insoluble questions. Cf. my appeal to the eschatological side of John’s message below, couched in terms that would have been easily comprehensible in terms of “Common Judaism.” 17 Ernst Lohmeyer, Das Urchristentum 1. Buch, Johannes der Täufer (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1932), 103. 18 Ibid., 75–76.

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eschaton. Furthermore, if John’s actions were really a miracle, his role in performing that miracle was far from inconsequential. Why then argue that the role of the parties became less crucial? Perhaps only because that role remained paradoxical and inexplicable!? Two other scholars who have devoted considerable attention to attempts to understand John and his baptism are Robert Webb and Joan Taylor. Webb considered John’s baptism from six different complementary perspectives. It was at one and the same time a ritual (a) of repentance baptism; (b) a mediation of divine forgiveness; (c) a purification from uncleanness; (d) a foreshadowing of an expected eschatological figure; (e) an initiatory rite into the true Israel; (f) a critique of the Temple.19 However, this is too much of a good thing. One wonders how contemporary Jews were able to hear six possible meanings simultaneously without being totally confused.20 This dilemma should have been particularly acute for the prostitutes and tax collectors, at the lower end of the socioreligious ladder, who were especially enthused by John’s message, according to Matt 21:32 and elsewhere in the gospels. Taylor, at the end of 51 pages of analysis, was confident that she offered an explanation of John’s baptism that was perfectly at home in the world of Second Temple Judaism.21 She argued that John’s baptism was not removal of ritual impurity,22 neither was proselyte baptism a useful parallel to John’s baptism,23 nor was it a symbolic initiation in preparation for the end, because there is no record elsewhere of a ritual in preparation for the eschaton.24 She found this explanation anachronistic, because it saw John’s baptism too much in light of later Christian baptism, in which baptism prepared a person to receive the “Holy Spirit,” as in the account of Apollos at Ephesus, in Acts 18.

19 Robert L. Webb, “John the Baptist and his Relationship to Jesus,” in Studying the Historical Jesus: Evaluations of the State of Current Research, eds. Bruce Chilton and Craig A. Evans (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 187–97. See also Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:299, who explained John’s baptism in terms of multiple solutions that were distinctive, on the whole. 20 This exceeds even the ability of God and His audience at Mount Sinai, where, according to the Rabbinic tradition, God spoke and presumably the people heard and understood two versions of the Sabbath commandment simultaneously. See Mekilta Rabbi Yishmael (H-R) 229, Sifre D (Finkelstein) 266, and subsequent sources that discuss a number of examples where apparently contradictory commandments were given simultaneously. 21 Joan E. Taylor, The Immerser: John the Baptist within Second Temple Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 49–100. 22 Ibid., 50–51, 64. 23 Ibid., 69. 24 Ibid., 70. But cf. the discussion below.

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Nor did Taylor conclude that the immersions at Qumran would help explain John’s baptism. In part, she reached this conclusion because she had earlier argued against the idea that John had some sort of Qumran/Essene past. Her John never had a close connection with the Essenes.25 Taylor preferred to take her lead from Josephus, who explained that John’s baptism purified the body, after the soul had been purified by righteousness. Prior to this baptism, John’s devotees had been repentant, but unclean. Now a new idea needed to be proclaimed, as in Mark 1:4: repentance, followed by baptism would make one righteous and therefore one would not be judged unfavorably at the eschaton.26 For John, other immersions had been ineffective, as they were not necessarily preceded by repentance. His “new” baptism would purify the body, since it followed repentance and the purification of the soul. That is, the crucial transformation had already taken place, accomplished by repentance, which resulted in forgiveness of sins, after which the already “righteoused” person was baptized, which then cleansed his/her body.27 In the end, John’s baptism was not an initiatory rite. Bodily purity that resulted from “his” immersion was crucial because the end was so near and one wanted to be acceptable to God at the critical moment. To summarize, according to Taylor, John’s baptism prepared newly righteous people for the Lord and it was effective only after one had achieved righteousness by repentance.28 According to Taylor, this was the meaning of “immersion of repentance for forgiveness of sins” in Mark 1:4 and parallels. Against Taylor, one must note that despite its ingenuity her explanation turns the meaning of the formula in Mark inside out. For Mark, John’s baptism of repentance resulted in forgiveness of sins (eis aphesin hamartiōn), it “assured” the recipient of forgiveness of sins,29 while Taylor argued that first righteousness was achieved by repentance, and then one was baptized by John. For Taylor, baptism was subsequent to forgiveness of sins, performed for other reasons, to achieve other objectives, and not its result or cause. This may agree with Josephus, but it cannot stand as an explanation of the enigmatic formula in Mark. Josephus 25 Ibid., 77. See Thyen, “ΒΑΠΤΙΣΜΑ,” 151, who also dismissed the possible Qumran connections of John as “romantic constructions… just as untenable as the view that he was the ancestor of the Mandeans.” 26 Taylor, The Immerser, 86. 27 Ibid., 96. 28 Ibid., 93–94. For repentance preceding baptism, which then sealed the repentance and reminded the baptized person of his/her new obligations, see also Alfred Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary According to the Gospel of St. Luke, ICC 28 (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1914), 86. Alternatively, Ezra P. Gould, An Exegetical and Critical Commentary on the Gospel of St. Mark, ICC (Edinburgh: T& T Clark, 1896), 7, suggested that baptism was related to repentance as the outward act through which the inward change of repentance found expression. 29 Plummer, Luke, 86.

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and the gospels differed in their portraits of John and that difference must be respected. One cannot turn the words of Josephus into the key for understanding Mark. A pastiche of Josephus and Mark cannot do as an interpretation of Mark.

Back to Mark It would seem that the inquiry into the portrait of the Baptist and his immersions, according to Mark, has hit a dead end. None of the explanations of the formula—“baptism of repentance for forgiveness of sins”—based on the sample of scholarly attempts discussed above is even satisfactory, much less convincing. We are left with an enigma. The best scholars can do is suggest that the relationship between forgiveness of sins and John’s baptism was “uncertain.” However, some further analysis is possible and one can even make a reasonable guess at resolving the enigma. The place to start is recognition that a simple act of immersion that (somehow) brought both repentance and forgiveness of sins, in any of the different ways suggested by the scholars discussed earlier, as some sort of eschatological penitential sacrament, was a ritual of immense power in the hands of a person endowed with a degree of holiness and divine might far above normal levels, which enabled him to accomplish this special task with which he was entrusted. It was certainly no accident that the gospels reported that many came to be baptized by John (“and they flocked to him from the whole Judean countryside and the city of Jerusalem,” Mark 1:5), especially those at the lower end of the socioreligious order, as discussed earlier. Who would not want to benefit from a baptism that promised repentance and forgiveness of sins in terms that were either eschatological or miraculous, perhaps both simultaneously? Who would not want to take advantage of the “once in a lifetime,” maybe even just “once in world history,” opportunity that only someone as holy and mighty as John could offer? As Thyen noted, in John’s proclamation of his baptism, “there is no room here for any further messianic figure for either a political messiah or the apocalyptic Son of Man.”30 In this light, it is more than just interesting to consider the significance of what was said in Mark 1. Mark 1:1 opened by stating that this was the beginning of the glad tidings of Jesus Christ. From the outset, the Baptist’s activity was framed in the context of his announcing a greater one to come, of being a forerunner of Jesus.31 Then, Mark 1:7–8 has John declaring: “After me comes one who is mightier than I.

30 Thyen, “ΒΑΠΤΙΣΜΑ,” 135–36. 31 See Gould, Mark, 1, who saw in this framing of the role of the Baptist as the forerunner the “key” to this section of Mark’s gospel.

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I am not fit to unfasten his shoes. I have baptized you with water; he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” Just what baptism with the Holy Spirit may mean has been the subject of much discussion in the scholarly literature, and scholars have been most concerned with who might have been the future figure of greater power to whom John was pointing. But whatever Mark 1:7–8 means, by explicitly announcing that a greater one than he was to come, with yet an apparently more powerful ritual of baptism, John was taking himself and his ritual down a notch immediately after their having been presented in what may be the highest possible terms in Mark. One must therefore inevitably ask: why did Mark begin by presenting John and his baptism as the beginning of the good news of Jesus (Mark 1:1), the herald prophesied by Isaiah, the voice crying in the wilderness “prepare a way for the Lord,” offering the very special powerful and effective “baptism of repentance for forgiveness of sins,” and then immediately demote him? With whom was Mark engaging in presenting John and his baptism that way? When confronted with this sort of question, as I have suggested elsewhere,32 and as argued by Thyen, the most probable suspects are the disciples of John. They were the ones who soon after his death touted his baptism, who praised its special power to effect both repentance and forgiveness of sins, as problematic and enigmatic as this formula might be.33 In response to this, Mark, as he and the gospels authors regularly did, made John concede that he was not the final stage in the scenario of salvation, that his baptism was not the ultimate ritual of redemption, that he was not the all-powerful godly man, and all this (for the gospel authors) pointing to Jesus as the final stop in the quest for worldwide salvation.34 Thyen suggested going a step further. He asked: what was John’s understanding of his own mission and how, if at all, did it contrast with the way his later

32 Albert I. Baumgarten, “An Ancient Debate of Disciples,” in Perceiving the Other in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity, eds. Michal Bar-Asher Siegal and Matthew Theissen (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. 2017), 1–18. 33 Thyen, “ΒΑΠΤΙΣΜΑ,” 143. Note Luke 1:77, which likely was based on Baptist sources and then adopted for Jesus, where baptism was not mentioned, but John was “predicted” as someone who “would lead His people to salvation through knowledge of him in the forgiveness of sins.” 34 Thyen, “ΒΑΠΤΙΣΜΑ,” 143. Compare Acts 19:4, where Paul, addressing followers of John, characterized John’s baptism as a “baptism of repentance,” without mentioning “for the forgiveness of sins,” but insisted that John’s activity was all in anticipation of a greater one to come. Mark was not alone in this intention to demote John. As Meier, “John the Baptist in Matthew,” 384, stressed, “to be blunt, most often the interpretation (of the Baptist in the gospels) aims at neutralizing the Baptist’s independence to make him safe for Christianity.” See also ibid., 389, where Meier indicated that immediately after presenting John as a preacher of repentance, parallel to Jesus (Matt 3:2), Isa 40:3 was cited in Matt 3:3 as a way of insisting that John was “simply the preparer of the Lord’s way.” Furthermore, ibid., 390, in Matt 3:11–12 Matthew “hammered home the message of John’s subordination to Jesus.”

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disciples took it?35 Perhaps John himself presented his baptism in simpler and less enigmatic terms,36 and the problematic formula “baptism of repentance for forgiveness of sins” was the creation of his disciples, after John’s death, who “institutionalized his baptism” in order to make John into a messianic figure and thus raise the stature of their master and his ritual even higher: it proved for John’s disciples just how special, powerful, and super-human John was.37 As for John himself, what might these simpler and less enigmatic terms have been? Thyen conceded that the nature of the sources was such that it was as difficult to answer such questions about John with certainty as it was to questions concerning the historical Jesus.38 Nevertheless, Thyen proposed that John understood his baptism as consistent with “his mythical expectation of the imminent end”—nothing less, but also nothing more.39 Mark then inherited the complex and enigmatic theological formula from the disciples of John, but as argued earlier, Mark knew well how to deal with its intentions and implications, so Mark diminished John and his baptism on the spot in Mark 1:7–8. To return to Josephus, perhaps he had better information that allowed him to respond in his own way to the claims reported by the gospels concerning John’s baptism. As noted above, Josephus related that John himself proclaimed that his baptism should not be used to achieve forgiveness of sins; effectively, forgiveness of sins was not its purpose or function. The implications of the discussion just concluded for utilizing Mark as a source for understanding the historical meaning of John’s baptism are not encouraging. We face an enigmatic one-line summary of the purpose of that baptism, which may have been nothing more than a reflection of the highest place in the scenario of salvation assigned to John by his followers, “theologizing” his mission far beyond what John himself might have done. These later disciples offered their formulaic summary of John’s work in their belief that due to his exalted stature John was capable of offering a ritual action that defied all of the usual sorts of ritual activities and offered consequences that would have been otherwise incomprehensible and unthinkable. How John himself understood his calling and work is far from certain. Mark and those gospel authors who followed him in their portrait of John, Luke in particular, can be put to the side as a result of this discussion. An interpretation of John’s baptism will have to be based on other sources.

35 Ibid., 154. 36 The simplicity of John’s message was rightly stressed by Charles Scobie, John the Baptist: A New Quest of the Historical John (London: SCM Press, 1964), 210–11. This was its source of strength. 37 See Thyen, “ΒΑΠΤΙΣΜΑ,” 144. 38 Ibid., 162. 39 Ibid., 145.

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Immersion for Consecration And now Josephus.40 His explanation of John’s baptism in Ant. 18.117 has already been quoted in part.41 John wanted Jews to lead righteous lives, to practice justice

40 John P. Meier, “John the Baptist in Josephus: Philology and Exegesis,” JBL 111 (1992): 225–37 analyzed Josephus in detail from a philological perspective and then translated the Josephus passage as follows: 116. But to some of the Jews it seemed that the army of Herod was destroyed by God-indeed, God quite justly punishing [Herod] to avenge what he had done to John, who was surnamed the Baptist. 117. For Herod killed him, although he was a good man and [simply] bade the Jews to join in baptism, PROVIDED THAT they were cultivating virtue and practicing justice toward one another and piety toward God. FOR [ONLY] THUS, in John’s opinion, would the baptism [he administered] indeed be acceptable [to God], namely, IF they used it to obtain not pardon for some sins but rather the cleansing of their bodies, INASMUCH AS [it was taken for granted that] their souls had already been purified by justice. 118. And when THE OTHERS [namely, ordinary Jews] gathered together [around John] -for their excitement reached fever pitch as they listened to [his] words-Herod began to FEAR that John’s powerful ability to persuade PEOPLE might lead to some sort of revolt, for they seemed likely to do whatever he counseled. So [Herod] decided to do away with John by a PREEMPTIVE STRIKE, before he sparked a revolt. Herod considered this a much better [course of action] than to wait until the situation changed and [then] to regret [his delay] when he was engulfed by a crisis. 119. And so, because of Herod’s suspicion, John was sent in chains to Machaerus, the mountain fortress previously mentioned; there he was killed. But the Jews were of the opinion that the army was destroyed to avenge John, God wishing to inflict harm on Herod (ibid., 233). On the basis of this translation Meier argued that there were two distinct groups of those inspired by John—a small coterie of devotees, who underwent baptism, and a large circle of more “ordinary folk” who listened to his sermons (ibid., 234). But this distinction—divorcing baptism from the public aspect—obligates Meier to conclude that we have no notion of the content of the sermons. We can imagine that they were eschatological, based on the information from the New Testament, but that is about all. If so, why did they scare Herod Antipas? Meier concluded that we should follow the New Testament in identifying John’s audience with the soldiers and tax collectors (Luke 3:10–14). Herod did not care if some fringe elite followed John, but if tax collectors and soldiers were moved by his sermons, this was a danger to his regime that Herod felt obliged to eliminate by pre-emptive strike, executing John (ibid., 237). I find this overly complicated. If John’s baptism was only directed to a small coterie why did he became known as the Baptist? Perhaps only some of those who heard John’s sermons elected baptism and even fewer became his devoted followers; nevertheless, Meier’s divorce between the public career and the call to baptism is arbitrary and obscures more than it reveals. See further below, at footnote 47. 41 As opposed to almost all scholars who see Josephus’s testimony concerning John as authentically Josephan and as valuable historical evidence, see Clare K. Rothschild, “Echo of a Whisper, The Uncertain Authenticity of Josephus’ Witness to John the Baptist,” in Ablution, Initiation and Baptism, Waschungen, Initiation und Taufe, eds. D. Hellholm et al., BZNW 176/1, 3 vols. (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011), 1:255–83. Rothschild, in an excess of hypercriticism, argued that the evidence for

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toward their fellows and piety toward God, and so doing to join in baptism. In his view, this was a necessary preliminary if baptism was to be acceptable to God. They must not employ it to gain pardon for whatever sins they committed, but as a consecration (hagneiai) of the body implying that the soul was already thoroughly cleansed by righteous behavior. Josephus’s John was quite conventional, insisting on correct behavior in fulfilling the law as a condition of baptism, which was explicitly not for forgiveness of sins, but for the consecration of the body, once the soul was already pure as a result of proper behavior, which should mean that all “ordinary” impurities had already been removed by the usual means prescribed. Whatever might have been special about John’s baptism was hidden here. It was presented as a consecration, but why one needed this consecration was unstated and hard to determine, given the previous insistence on correct living based on piety toward God. Finally, the dichotomy between soul and body appears to be a Hellenistic style attempt to present John’s baptism in a light that would make it comprehensible and attractive to Josephus’s non-Jewish audience but as a result of which the practice is less clear in Jewish terms. Despite these liabilities, Josephus’s remarks pointed in the right direction. There was one circumstance in the ordinary experience of Jews in which one was already thoroughly cleansed by righteous behavior, yet one additional consecration of the body was necessary. Furthermore, these circumstances involved no complex theological cogitations of the sort discussed above that required a doctorate in theology to comprehend. They would have been at the heart of “Common Judaism,” and an aspect of ordinary Jewish life, familiar even to the lowest rungs of society, who supposedly formed the base of John’s supporters. I refer to the rites that accompanied a pilgrimage to the Temple in Jerusalem. First, any existing impurities were removed, with a special focus on those that required the intervention of a priestly specialist in the Temple such as corpse impurity and could not be dealt with at home on a “do-it-yourself” basis. Philo, who described the various ways diaspora Jews dealt with corpse uncleanness on their own, Spec. 3.205–206, added that “even the fully cleaned,” presumably by the diaspora rituals he described, may not enter the Temple before undergoing the third and seventh day, alluding to the purification with the ashes of the red heifer, as prescribed in Numbers 19.42 the authenticity of the Josephus passage had equal evidence and flaws, so that a clear decision was impossible. At most, one could only propose hypotheses for heuristic purposes and one must abandon all claim to probability (285). 42 Cf. Acts 21:18–26. Although this passage in Acts is sometime cited as evidence that pilgrims were purified with the ashes of the red heifer over seven days before they entered the Temple

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But even that did not suffice. Rabbinic sources, confirmed by Jubilees stated that priests, even when clean, required an extra washing before entering the Temple for service: None may enter the Temple Court for [an act of the Temple-] service, even though he is clean, until he has immersed himself. On this day [Yom Kippur] the High Priest five times immerses himself and ten times he sanctifies [his hands and feet]. (m. Yoma 3:3) He that was minded to clean the Altar of Ashes rose up early and immersed himself before the officer came … The officer came and knocked [on the door] where they were, and they opened to him. He said, ‘Let him that has immersed himself come and cast lots’ (m. Tamid 1:2)

I am well aware of the danger of using Rabbinic sources, separated by more than a century from the destruction of the Temple, as evidence for what was common practice in the Temple. However, in this case, matters are more complicated. Some scholars argue that evidence from m. Yoma and m. Tamid just cited come from among the oldest strata of Rabbinic literature. Moreover, the testimony of these Rabbinic texts is supported by a work of unimpeachable Second Temple provenance: And at all the appointed times be pure in your body and wash yourself with water before you go to make an offering upon the altar. And wash your hands and feet before you approach the altar. And when you have completed making the offering, wash your hands and feet again. (Jubilees. 21:16)

These texts, as noted, all applied to serving priests. However, although the point is disputed (see Regev43 vs. Adler44), the numerous miqvaot around the Temple Mount may have been intended for ordinary Jews who visited the Temple

(e.g. Shmuel Safrai, Pilgrimage at the Time of the Second Temple [Tel Aviv: Am Hassefer, 1965], 123 [Hebrew]; Eyal Regev, “The Ritual Baths Near the Temple Mount and Extra-Purification before Entering the Temple Courts,” IEJ 55 [2005]: 199, n. 17), it is a problematic basis for this conclusion. Paul paid for the expensive ritual of purification of four men under vow (Num 6:1–21), an act of explicit piety, as demanded of him by the elders of the Jerusalem community led by James, to prove his fealty to the law. Paul then “went through the ritual of purification with them,” but this phrase may mean nothing more than that Paul accompanied them, as he well deserved to, since he was footing the bill. 43 Regev, “Ritual Baths,” 194–204. 44 Yonatan Adler, “The Ritual Baths Near the Temple Mount and Extra-Purification before Entering the Temple Courts: A Reply to Eyal Regev,” IEJ 56 (2006): 209–15. But see further the next note for Adler’s new evaluation of the evidence, reducing the distance between his interpretation and Regev’s.

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to prepare themselves for encountering the holy, since according to t. Neg. 8:9 (Freimann, 2.218), “all who entered the Priestly court through the Nicanor gates immersed in the chamber of the skin-diseased.”45 In a word, Jews of the Second Temple period were familiar with what I would call ‫טבילה לקדושה‬, the extra immersion for consecration, undertaken by someone already pure of all the usual sources of impurity, before encountering the holy in the Temple.46 John’s baptism, I propose, was ‫ טבילה לקדושה‬modeled on the preparation for meeting the divine presence in the Temple. In John’s case, the encounter for which one was preparing was even more momentous. In accordance with the eschatological aspect of John’s activity so prominent in the New Testament, John’s baptism prepared for encountering God on the greatest, most glorious, and most awesome day of the Final Judgment.47 All this should have been readily understood and dearly sought by all levels of Second Temple Jews. It explains why John was so popular and why Herod Antipas feared his influence and had him executed as a preemptive strike. I suggest that this is what Josephus meant when he wrote that John’s baptism was a “consecration (hagneiai) of the body,” implying that the soul was already thoroughly cleansed by righteous behavior. I remind the reader that according to Josephus, as noted above (410), those whom 45 See further Regev, “Ritual Baths,” 197. Unfortunately, Regev misunderstood m. Yoma 3:3, cited above, concerning serving priests, as applying to lay people, and noted it as further proof that lay people immersed before entering the Temple Court. For what it is worth, despite its relative late date, see y. Yoma 3.3.40a, which does support Regev’s assertions. Yonatan Adler, “Between Priestly Cult and Common Culture,” JAJ 7 (2016): 228–48 now agrees that there is one group of ritual baths which should in fact be understood as directly associated with the purity demands of the Temple: the public miqwa’ot found on the Temple Mount itself, as well as those discovered adjacent to the gates leading to the Temple Mount enclosure. These baths were apparently used by pilgrims prior to entering into the Temple sancta (239–40). They were needed because “some (many?) may have been scrupulous to immerse in any event prior to approaching the hallowed courts, as in fact one later rabbinic source mandated” (240). 46 This conclusion is supported by comparative analysis. See Louis Dumont, Homo Hierarchicus (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980), 59, commenting on an Indian example: “In conformity with a very ancient model, the necessity for a transition is felt if access to the sacred is to be obtained.” 47 As Josephus regularly did not stress any aspect of ancient Jewish life that had eschatological overtones, I feel comfortable adding the eschatological element to John’s baptism as described by Josephus to help complete the picture. See the classic essay by Arnaldo D. Momigliano, “What Flavius Josephus Did Not See,” Essays on Ancient and Modern Judaism, trans. M. Masella-Gayley (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 71–78. In addition, as remarked by Étienne Nodet, “Jésus et Jean Baptiste chez Josèphe,” Revue Biblique 92 (1985): 327, Josephus also downplayed or eliminated all rituals of purification. It is therefore not surprising that so much that is crucial to connect the pieces of his account of John is missing.

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John invited to join in baptism were to lead righteous lives and their souls were already cleansed by righteous behavior, which should mean that all “ordinary” impurities had already been treated by the usual means prescribed. Nevertheless, this consecration of the body was necessary for (John’s) baptism to be acceptable to God because it was in preparation for the greatest and most glorious day, soon to dawn on the world.48

John’s Political Agenda Did John mean his baptism to found a community of those prepared for the eschaton with a political agenda for them to fulfill? Is this a reasonable inference from Josephus’s remark that John “invited Jews to join in baptism” (baptismōi synienai; Ant. 18.117)?49 This would seem the logical next step of baptism infused with eschatological significance. Belief in the dawning of the end of the world usually inspires action, as proof of one’s commitment to the glorious finale soon to arrive. That action may vary: it may be more or less rational, demand a higher or lower level of risk taking, but belief in the impending eschaton that does not inspire some sort of action is unlikely, seems implausible and incomplete.50 That John had a political agenda is also a reasonable inference from Herod Antipas’s fears of John’s growing power, which he perceived as a threat. 51 The suggestion that John had practical political intentions has been offered by a number of scholars,52 but this possible conclusion has a number of objections to overcome. For example, Josephus did not mention John in the same 48 Compare the explanation I have just proposed with the possibility rejected by Taylor, above, footnote 24. There was a ritual in preparation for the encounter with the holy familiar to ordinary Jews on which John’s baptism could be based. 49 Maurice Goguel, Au Seuil de l’Évangile: Jean Baptiste (Paris: Payot, 1928), 19; Webb, “John the Baptist,” 196. 50 Albert I. Baumgarten, “Four Stages in the Life of a Millennial Movement,” in War in Heaven/ Heaven on Earth: Theories of the Apocalyptic, eds. S. O’Leary and G. McGhee (London: Equinox, 2005), 61–75. 51 Matthew’s explanation of the relationship between Antipas and John may not have been that far from Josephus’s. According to Matt 14:5 it was Herod Antipas who was angered by John’s criticism of his marriage to Herodias, and Antipas would have liked to put John to death, but he “feared the crowd” in whose eyes John was a prophet, and only did so after the birthday celebration and his promise to his daughter. Even Mark 6:19–20 has some overlap with Josephus. Herodias was blamed there as angry at John’s criticism of the marriage, while Herod knew John to be “a just and holy man.” 52 See above, footnote 49.

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manner as he discussed Theudas (Ant. 20.97–98; Acts 5:36) or the Egyptian (Ant. 20. 169–172; Acts 21:38), who both had explicit political programs that they tried to put into practice (but failed). Was this an indication that unlike Theudas and the Egyptian John did not have a political program to propose? 53 In addition, while the gospels were explicit that John had disciples, we have little information about a particular way of life prescribed by John for his followers: that they fasted and prayed hardly made them unusual.54 Nor were the instructions John supposedly gave the soldiers and tax collectors who sought his instruction on how they should live (Luke 3:10–14) anything but banal.55 We have no information about any ‫מעשי התורה‬, a specific set of ways for fulfilling the commandments, of the sort we now know better from Qumran, attributed to John. There is no evidence that John’s disciples were required to follow his special diet, unless one sees the criticism voiced against Jesus that he was a glutton and a drunkard, unlike John (Matt 11:19//Luke 7:34) was meant to reflect the expectation that if Jesus were a “true” follower of John he would also adhere to John’s diet, or at least not be a glutton and drunkard. In sum, the conclusion that John had no political agenda only makes best sense if one sees John as a mere forerunner of a greater one to come, who brought baptism and then finished his task on earth, ceding his place at the head of the scenario of salvation to Jesus.56 However, turning back to the gospels, John was no self-deprecating nonentity. He could be brash and outspoken, to the point where he could not have been so politically naïve as to be unaware of the possible dire consequences of his challenge to the ruling powers. Was it really a wise move to dispute the legitimacy of the marriage of Antipas and Herodias, Mark 6:14–28 and parallels? But that was what John supposedly did. Is it reasonable to conclude that someone who challenged the legitimacy of the ruler’s marriage had no political agenda? In the end, in sum, I think it likely that John had some sort of political agenda, even if the details of those plans remain virtually completely unknown. 53 Meier, “John the Baptist in Josephus,” 235–36. 54 The “Lord’s Prayer” (Matt 6:9–13//Luke 11:1–4, 5–10), especially as reported by Luke, may have originated among John’s disciples. Much depends on how one understands kathōs in Luke 11:1. No matter how one takes kathōs, it is notable that any connection with John is missing in Matthew. Whether Johannine or not, I hope to treat the Lord’s Prayer in ancient Jewish context, especially in comparison and contrast with the maxim of Antigonus of Socho (m. Avot 1), in a future paper. 55 Lohmeyer, Johannes der Täufer, 110. 56 According to Jean Daniélou, John willingly fell into obscurity, but for John “the fact of falling into obscurity was nothing compared to the joy in his soul as he beheld the fulfillment of the mystery.” See Jean Daniélou, The Work of John the Baptist, trans. J. A. Horn (Baltimore: Helicon Press, 1966), 113.

James H. Charlesworth

27 Was Jesus Influenced by Sports as Paul the Sports Enthusiast? No biblical scholar seems to have published anything significant on how the historical Jesus may have been influenced by sports. Yet it is becoming obvious that he may have known and been influenced by athletics and the sports arenas built just before his ministry in ancient Palestine. Obviously, the power of the early kerygmata (proclamations about Jesus in ancient Palestine after 30 CE) would not preserve data that we need to construct a hypothesis. Why should Jesus be exempted from such scrutiny when many acknowledge that Paul was a sport enthusiast, as is widely known (see below)?

The Importance of a New Focus for Jesus Research The purpose of this chapter is to open a potentially new area for Historical Jesus Research—Jesus and athletics. Sports as a general topic of interest is, of course, well attested, as evident in the many sensationally successful and influential movies: e.g., Rocky (1976), Chariots of Fire (1981), Hoosiers (1986), Field of Dreams (1989), Million Dollar Baby (2004), and McFarland (2015). A recent spate of popular books about exceptional athletes likewise underscores the potential relevance of this area of research: e.g., Laura Hillenbrand, Unbroken (2010); Roland Lazenby, Michael Jordan: The Life; and Daniel James Brown, The Boys in the Boat (2014).1 Note George Yeoman Pocock’s insight as narrated in The Boys in the Boat: “Men as fit as you, when your everyday strength is gone, can draw on a mysterious reservoir

1 Laura Hillenbrand, Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption (New York: Random House, 2010); Roland Lazenby, Michael Jordan: The Life (New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2014); and Daniel James Brown, The Boys in the Boat: Nine Americans and Their Epic Quest for Gold at the 1936 Berlin Olympics (New York: Penguin Books, 2014). Note: I am pleased to present this chapter in honor of Gabriele Boccaccini. After completing his PhD under Professor Paolo Sacchi in Turin, he spent two postdoctoral years with me in Princeton. From our first meeting it was clear to me that he was a fanatical sports enthusiast and had played football in Italy. I imagine many of the following thoughts will surprise and please Gabriele. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-028

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of power far greater. Then it is that you can reach for the stars. That is the way champions are made.”2 All of us have seen athletes perform as if they had wings.3 Interest in “The Theology of Sport” is highlighted by many organizations, including the American Academy of Religion section on Religion, Sport and Play, the Centre of Sport, Spirituality and Religion in Gloucestershire, the Mirenda Center for Sport, Spirituality and Character Development in Neumann University (USA), the Centre for the Study of Sport and Spirituality in York St John University, and the Center for Sport and Peace at the University of Tennessee. Several recent books likewise bear witness to this growing area of study.4 All who have radios, televisions, or cell phones know the pervasive influence sport has now in the United States, England, Italy, German, Iran, Russia, Israel, and many other countries. As many as 50 million youths play organized sports in the United States. The NBA finals, Baseball’s World Series, and Mondial (World Cup Football [= Soccer] Finals) monopolize attention, conversations, and evenings. In the United States, the Super Bowl reveals how a sporting event can become a cultural and media event that spans days and regularly attracts over 160 million viewers. As just intimated, sports figures rise among the ranks to become some of America’s most recognized celebrities, receiving salaries and endorsements well over 50 times that of the President. No one needs to be lost when sociologists judge that sport is the new church with rituals, demigods, and prizes and rings that are deemed eternally valuable. Two years ago, I contemplated launching a new initiative: The Theology of Sports. It has two foci: 1) athletics and the biblical world and 2) public acknowledgment of God’s power by athletes today in light of their experience of spiritual powers within competition that allow them to surpass obvious limitations (as with Robert “Bob” Beamon). I also accepted the invitation to be a founding

2 Brown, Boys in the Boat, 343. 3 Those who read about these sports icons may well contemplate these questions: Would not Louis Zamperini have broken the four-minute mile, since he nearly did so in the sand after his horrible ordeal? How many titles could “Michael” have won if he had not left the NBA to pursue his childhood dream of baseball? How could Joe Rantz soar so high after being so low, seeing his family disappear in a rear window? 4 Marcia W. Mount Shoop, Touchdowns for Jesus and other Signs of the Apocalypse: Lifting the Veil on Big Time Sports (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2014); Rebecca T. Alpert, Religion and Sports: An Introduction and Case Studies (New York: Columbia University Press, 2015); Annie Blazer, Playing for God: Evangelical Women and the Unintended Consequences of Sports Ministry (New York: New York University Press, 2015); Patrick Kelly, SJ, ed., Youth Sport and Spirituality: Catholic Perspectives (Notre Dame: Notre Dame Press, 2015); Nick J. Watson and Andrew Parker, eds., Sports and Christianity: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives, Routledge Research in Sport, Culture and Society (New York: Routledge, 2013).

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member and serve on the editorial board of the International Journal of Sports and Christianity. This chapter thus seeks to extend these early ruminations on the theology of sports to research on the Historical Jesus.

A Systematic Review of Sports Literature The importance of this general area of study is highlighted by many recent publications,5 but most notable among them is Nick J. Watson’s and Andrew Parker’s Sport and the Christian Religion: A Systematic Review of Literature.6 This volume covers most areas affected by sports culture in America. Included is the importance of play in light of biblical thought, the issues of humility and need versus pride and competition, the role of prayer within competition,7 and Christian acknowledgment of being in need of salvation versus the appeal to be strong in sports. The range of topics includes gender and disability in sports. Watson and Parker also make clear that biblical morality emphasizes the imago dei and sports is one of the best ways to learn about oneself, companionship, leadership, endurance, and team work. They also argue that sport must not lead to idolatrous worship of a human. The appropriate edifice for worship is not the sports arena but the Church, Synagogue, and Mosque. The small book has an extensive bibliography (about a third of the book) and draws attention to 1,050 references.8 A recent and helpful compendium is Donald Deardorff’s and John White’s edited book: The Image of God in the Human Body:

5 See, for example, Shirl James Hoffman, “Sports Fanatics: How Christians Have Succumbed to the Sports Culture—and what Might be Done About It,” Christianity Today (January 29, 2010). 6 Nick J. Watson and Andrew Parker, Sport and the Christian Religion: A Systematic Review of Literature. (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2014). This is an attractive little book with a picture of Usain Bolt, a Roman Catholic, praying on the cover. 7 I applaud the authors’ argument that prayer before a sports contest should ask for strength and ways to honor an opponent and that competition must be not only with a strict adherence to all rules but also with a “love” of your opponent. When I previously counseled gifted athletes at Duke University I found it quite difficult to communicate these concepts successfully. The student-athletes often felt that the Christian faith did not condone defeating an opponent. I tried to stress that if you “defeat” those in an athletic contest you should thank them for bringing out the best in you and confess: “Fortunately, today I was a little better than you, thanks to your skills.” 8 As with most bibliographies, there are errors that may hinder one in finding the book. For example, Kelly, S.J., ed. Youth Sport and Spirituality (see fn. 5 above) should be Kelly, Patrick, ed. Victor C. Pfitzner’s book is listed as Paul and the Agon Motif: Traditional Athletic in the Pauline Literature (p. 200). The correct title, however, is Paul and the Agon Motif: Traditional Athletic Imagery in the Pauline Literature.

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Figure 27.1: The pre-79 amphitheater at Pompeii. [photography by J. H. Charlesworth, by permission].

Essays on Christianity and Sports.9 In their bibliography, Watson and Parker cite many books about Jews, Judaism, and sport in the Middle East. The most helpful book I have found on Jews and athletics, however, is overlooked: Harold Arthur Harris’s Greek Athletics and the Jews.10 Harris makes a valid and often overlooked point: If the early Jews, like Jesus, were uninterested in athletics, as too many scholars imagine or presuppose, then how do we explain the need for hippodromes and amphitheaters—akin to the famed amphitheater in Pompeii (Figure 27.1)—in ancient Palestine? Since Harris’s time, archaeologists have exposed a hippodrome in pre-70 CE Caesarea Maritima, and many historians accept Josephus’s claim that one existed in Jerusalem. A beautiful strigil has just been found off the coast of Caesarea Maritima and inscribed inside is the name of the artist who made it (personal examination and in private hands). Additional evidence of athletic contests in first-century Jerusalem may be the two Roman bronze strigils I obtained from a licensed antiquities dealer in the Old City. They were probably used by gladiators to wipe off oil and grime. 9 Donald Deardorff and John White, eds., The Image of God in the Human Body: Essays on Christianity and Sports (Lewiston: Edwin Mellon Press, 2008). 10 Harold Arthur Harris’s Greek Athletics and the Jews (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1976).

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Paul and Athletic Contests As is well attested in the secondary literature, Paul was clearly interested in athletics and may have even competed in sports. Note, for example, these two passages that are clearly based on athletic contests: 1. Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but (only) one receives the prize? So run that you may win. (1 Cor 9:24) 2. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. Well, I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air; but I discipline my body and subdue it, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified. (1 Cor 9:25–27, with influence from RSV) In assessing the language and imagery of these two excerpts, we should recall that Paul is writing to an audience in Corinth, the city that hosted the Isthmian Games. I agree with the scholars who conclude that Paul enjoyed athletic contests. Indeed, his own words even suggest that he may have been an athlete. In the later Pauline tradition, followers of Paul also used athletic imagery: see especially 2 Timothy 2:5 and 4:7. Reflections on Paul’s indebtedness to athletics are further enriched by Victor C. Pfitzner’s Paul and the Agon Motif.11 Paul’s influence from sports is also attested in numerous publications.12

11 Victor C. Pfitzner, Paul and the Agon Motif: Traditional Athletic Imagery in the Pauline Literature (Leiden: Brill, 1967). 12 Oscar Broneer, “The Apostle Paul and the Isthmian Games,” BA 25 (1962): 2–31; Pfitzner, Paul and the Agon Motif; Oscar Broneer, “Paul and the Pagan Cults of Isthumia,” HTR 64 (1971): 169–71; Carl E. DeVries, “Paul’s ‘Cutting’ Remarks About a Race: Galatians 5:1–12,” in Current Issues in Biblical and Patristic Interpretation: Studies in Honor of Merrill C. Tenney Presented by His Former Students, ed. G. F. Hawthorne (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1975), 115–20; Paul Brooks Duff, “Metaphor, Motif, and Meaning: The Rhetorical Strategy behind the Image ‘Led in Triumph’ in 2 Corinthians 2:14,” CBQ 53 (1991): 79–92; Roman Garrison, “Paul’s Use of the Athletic Metaphor in 1 Corinthians 9,” SR 22 (1993): 209–17; Walter Henderson Jr., “The Athletic Imagery of Paul,” Theological Educator 56 (1997): 30–37; Michael E. Gudorf, “The Use of PALH in Ephesians 6:12,” JBL 117 (1998): 331–35; Paula Fredriksen, “Paul at the Races,” BR 18 (2002): 12, 42; Mika Kajava, “When Did the Isthmian Games Return to the Isthmus? (Rereading ‘Corinth’ 8.3.153),” CP 97 (2002): 2; Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, St. Paul’s Corinth: Texts and Archaeology (Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 2002); Edgar Krentz, “Paul, Games, and the Military,” in Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A Handbook, ed J. Paul Sampley (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2003), 344–83; Jerry M. Hullinger, “The Historical Background of Paul’s Athletic Allusions,” BSac 161 (2004): 343–59; Philip F. Esler, “Paul and the Agon: Understanding Pauline Motif in Its Cultural and Visual Context, in Picturing the New Testament: Studies in Ancient Visual Images, eds. Annette Weissenrieder, Friederike Wendt, and Petra von Gemünden (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 356–84; Robert Paul Seesengood, “Hybridity and

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Could Jesus also Have Known About Athletic Contests? A few publications have broached the issue of Jesus and sports.13 Scholars will note immediately that these publications are more shaped by images of “Christ” than the historical Jesus, even if some of his teachings shape the works. I know of only two publications that include reflections on the historical Jesus and sports, and neither seems grounded in historiography, sociology, or archaeology of first-century Galilee and Judea: Frank Deford’s 1976 article “Endorsing Jesus” in Sports Illustrated and John Eldredge’s Beautiful Outlaw: Experiencing the Playful, Disruptive, Extravagant Personality of Jesus.14 There is thus a clear

the Rhetoric of Endurance: Reading Paul’s Athletic Metaphors in a Context of Postcolonial Self-Construction,” The Bible and Critical Theory 1 (2005): 1–14; idem, “Contending for the Faith in Paul’s Absence: Combat Sports and Gladiators in the Disputed Pauline Epistles,” LTQ 41 (2006): 87–118; James R. Harrison, “Paul and the Athletic ideal in Antiquity: A Case Study In Wrestling With Word and Image,” in Paul’s World, ed. Stanley E. Porter (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 81–110; Kent Yinger, “Paul and Asceticism in 1 Corinthians 9:27a,” Journal of Religion and Society 10 (2008): 101–21; K. O’Gorman, “Saint Paul and Pope John Paul II on Sport,” in Saving Sport: Sport, Society and Spirituality, ed. K. O’Gorman (Dublin: The Columba Press, 2010), 14–28; E. Constantini and K. Lixey, Sport and Paul: A Course For Champions (London: John Paul Sport Foundation, 2011); John White, “John Paul II’s Interpretation of 1 Corinthians 9:24–27: A Paradigm for a Christian Ethic of Sport,” Studies in Christian Ethics 25 (2012): 73–88; Victor C. Pfitzner, “Was St Paul a Sports Enthusiast? Reality and Rhetoric in Pauline Athletic Metaphors,” in Sports and Christianity: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives, eds. Andrew Parker and Nick J. Watson (London: Routledge, 2012), 89–111. 13 Shirl James Hoffman, “The Sanctification of Sport: Can the Mind of Christ Coexist with the Killer Instinct?” Christianity Today (April 1986): 17–21; Becky Beal, “The Promise Keepers’ Use of Sport in Defining ‘Christlike’ Masculinity,” Journal of Sport and Social Issues 21 (1997): 274–84; William J. Baker, If Christ Came to the Olympics, New College Lectures (Sydney: University of New South Wales Press, 2000); R. Laurence Moore, Touchdown Jesus: The Mixing of Sacred and Secular in American History (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003); Gregory Erickson, “‘Jesus is Standing at Home Plate’: Baseball and American Christianity,” in Religion and Popular Culture: Rescripting the Sacred, eds. Richard W. Santana and Gregory Erickson (Jefferson: McFarland, 2008); Peter M. Hopsicker, “Miracles in Sport: Finding the ‘Ears to Hear’ and the ‘Eyes to See,’” Sport, Ethics and Philosophy 3 (2009): 75–93; James Penrice, Living the Eucharist Through Sports: A Guide for Catholic Athletes, Coaches, and Fans (New York: Alba House, 2009); Joshua I. Newman, “Full-Throttle Jesus: Toward a Critical Pedagogy of Stockcar Racing in Theocratic America,” The Review of Education, Pedagogy, and Cultural Studies 32 (2010): 263–94; Chad Gibbs, Love thy Rival: What Sports’ Greatest Rivalries Teach us About Loving Our Enemies (Clearwater: Blue Moon Books, 2012). 14 Frank Deford, “Endorsing Jesus,” Sports Illustrated (April 26, 1976): 54–69; John Eldredge, Beautiful Outlaw: Experiencing the Playful, Disruptive, Extravagant Personality of Jesus (New York: FaithWords, 2011).

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need for scholars to turn their attention to the historical Jesus and athletics. But this research must be informed by the latest discoveries in archaeology that shed light on sports (broadly defined) in ancient Palestine during the time of Jesus.

Jesus and Athletics How and in what ways, if at all, was Jesus interested in athletics? Did Jesus not know anything about athletic contents that were heralded in his time? There is ample evidence Jesus was gifted physically. If Jesus was in the wilderness with wild beasts for 40 days, as Mark 1:12–13 reports, Jesus must have been gifted as an athlete. What had Jesus been doing for the first 26 years of his life? The Gospels certainly do not portray a bookish—or perhaps better, scrollish—Jesus who sat in a synagogue reading texts. Rather, they indicate that Jesus was physically active (although there is no indication that he was trained specifically as an athlete). Note the following selected observations. The Gospels portray Jesus as a gifted fisherman, even though his remarkable fishing exploits are infused with theological presuppositions and affirmations. His constant arguments with the Judean leaders and scribes portray a man of energy and strength. He ascended the steep climb from Jericho to Jerusalem, leaving the disciples behind (a fact that scholars interpret only Christologically; cf. Mark 10:32). Jesus moved “throughout all Galilee” (Mark 1:39; 6:6) and may have traveled through Tyre to Damascus and back to the Sea of Galilee (Mark 7:24–31). He also rode into Jerusalem (Mark 11:1–11). Had he been trained to ride a horse? The so-called Temple Tantrum scene, in which an angry Jesus overturned the tables of the money changers in the temple complex, perhaps suggests a man with significant strength (Mark 11:15–16). He faced the painful hours before his death with the endurance of a well-trained athlete (Mark 14:50–15:37). If Jesus spent months in Jerusalem, as John clarifies and Mark may imply, then he would have known athletic contests (such as Paul probably witnessed). Josephus reports that Herod the Great funded the Olympic Games in 12 BCE, the 192nd Olympiad, and his subsequent endowment allowed the Greeks to hail him not only as “president” (ἁγωνοθέτης) but also as “perpetual president” of the Olympic Games. Just before Jesus’s birth, Herod introduced athletic contests in Jerusalem and Caesarea Maritima and built hippodromes, stadiums, and amphi-

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theaters in both places (Figure 27.2).15 Observe Josephus’s remarks in his Antiquities of the Jews: On this account it was that Herod revolted from the laws of his country, and corrupted their ancient constitution, by the introduction of foreign practices, which constitution yet ought to have been preserved inviolable; by which means we became guilty of great wickedness afterward, while those religious observances which used to lead the multitude to piety were now neglected; for, in the first place, he appointed solemn games to be celebrated every fifth year, in honor of Caesar, and built a theater at Jerusalem, as also a very great amphitheater in the plain. (Ant 15.267–268; trans. William Whiston; italics mine)

Thus, the Olympics and athletic contests cannot be deemed unknown in Palestine during Jesus’s time. How could Jesus be considered both wise and itinerant and at the same time ignorant of the powerful influence of athletic contests? If Jesus’s physical abilities are dismissed because he was a “spiritual athlete,” does that not also drown historical thought in Doceticism and hide him within a sociology of charismatic crowd adulation? Jesus certainly knew the athletic images in the Bible, though such metaphors antedate athletic contests as the Greeks and Romans knew them. Note the following passage from Isaiah 40:29–31 that was surely known to Jesus and may have shaped his thought: ‫אֹונ֖ים ָע ְצ ָ ֥מה יַ ְר ֶ ּֽבה׃‬ ִ ‫ּול ֵ ֥אין‬ ְ ‫נ ֵ ֹ֥תן ַלּיָ ֵ ֖עף ּ֑כֹ ַח‬ ‫חּורים ָּכ ׁ֥שֹול יִ ָּכ ֵ ֽׁשלּו׃‬ ֖ ִ ‫ּוב‬ ַ ‫וְ יִ ֲֽע ֥פּו נְ ָע ִ ֖רים וְ יִ ָג֑עּו‬ ‫יעפּו׃‬ ֽ ָ ִ‫ּוצּו וְ ֣ל ֹא יִ ֔ ָיגעּו יֵ ְל ֖כּו וְ ֥ל ֹא י‬ ֙ ‫קֹוי֤ יְ הוָ ֙ה יַ ֲח ִ ֣ליפּו ֔כֹ ַח יַ ֲעל֥ ּו ֵ ֖א ֶבר ַּכּנְ ָׁש ִ ֑רים יָ ֨ר‬ ֵ ְ‫ו‬ He gives strength to the weary, And to him who lacks might he increases power. Though youths grow weary and tired, And vigorous young men stumble badly, Yet those who wait for the LORD will gain new strength. They will mount up with wings like eagles. They will run and not get tired. They will walk and not become weary. (my arrangement)

15 The stadium in the plane near Jerusalem has not been found; most likely it was composed of wood. See the comments attributed to Joseph Patrich in Ilan Ben Zion, “How Herod the Tyrant Saved the Olympics,” The Times of Israel (February 7, 2014): http://www.timesofisrael.com/howherod-the-tyrant-saved-the-olympics/. Recall, Pompey’s problems with being the first to build a theater of stone in Rome. Pompey succeeded by cleverly placing the image of a goddess at the entrance, indicating his edifice might be a temple.

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Figure 27.2: Model showing temple and theater in Jerusalem of Jesus’s time. [Courtesy of Israel Museum; image by J. H. Charlesworth].

Jesus likely would have known the many theaters in Galilee in which Greek plays were featured. What sporting events did he know about and were there any athletic contests in Migdal or Tiberias? They would not need to be as elaborate as in Jerusalem and Caesarea Maritima to have shaped Jesus’s mind (Figure 27.3). However we answer these questions, three initial points must be emphasized. First, Jesus was likely athletic but not necessarily an athlete. He would certainly have been offended by any one running in the nude.16 And in gymnasia Jews were often embarrassed by their circumcision and sought to remove the marks of circumcision. Recall, for example, that Paul and others knew about epispasm, the procedure of reversing the effects of male circumcision (1 Cor 7:18).17 The images 16 The English word “gymnasium” derives from the Greek gymnasion, which signifies a public place where one, especially athletes, exercised. The noun derives from gymnazein, “to exercise,” and from gymnos, “naked,” since one trained naked. 17 See especially the following: Robert Hall, “Epispasm and the Dating of Ancient Jewish Writings,” JSP 2 (1988): 71–86; idem, “Epispasm—Circumcision in Reverse,” BR 18 (1992): 52–57; Martin Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism, trans. John Bowden; 2 vols. (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1974), 1:74; 2:51–52 (and bibliography); Victor A. Tcherikover, Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1959), 311, 313.

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Figure 27.3: Herod’s hippodrome in Caesarea Maritima. [image by J. H. Charlesworth].

and statutes in gymnasia, while demonstrating that Greeks and Romans admired well-developed bodies (Figures 27.4 and 27.5), were nevertheless idolatrous for devout Jews like Jesus, even though the latter Rabbis dismissed the charge of idolatry when frequenting the Roman baths, since they did not look at the idolatrous image and it could not look at them.18 Second, Jesus employed in his teaching many images from his experience, most notably from farming and fishing. As far as we know, however, Jesus—unlike Paul—never used similes or metaphors from athletic contests. Third, Jesus’s teachings have implications for participation in athletic competitions. For him, winning at all cost was unthinkable and destroying another was unimaginable, but drive, cooperation, teamwork (as in the Twelve), and gratefulness to the Creator for physical prowess were imperative. With these three points clarified, we should stress that no gymnasia are known where Jesus grew up—Nazareth—or where he centered his itinerancy, 18 See James H. Charlesworth, “Jewish Interest in Astrology During the Hellenistic and Roman Period,” ANRW (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1987), 2.20.2: 926–56, VI Plates.

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Figure 27.4: Aphrodite from Caesarea Maritima. [Charlesworth Collection].

Figure 27.5: Hercules: mirroring a well-developed athlete. [Naples Archaeological Museum; by permission. Image by J. H. Charlesworth].

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in Capernaum and the northwest shores of the Sea of Galilee. Gymnasia are the places where non-Jews socialized; synagogues are the social centers for Jews, especially Jesus, who was heralded as speaking in the synagogues throughout Galilee (e.g., Mark 1:38). Scholars should now explore a new question: How and in what ways, if at all, was Jesus influenced by the world of sport in his day? Should we imagine that, like Paul, Jesus was a sports enthusiast? Understandably, many will jettison these questions as unimportant. Others, missing the fleshly human Jesus of John 1:14, will offer the unsophisticated comment that Jesus cannot have known sports because he is the exalted Christ. They thus lose sight of the life of the “truly human Jesus.” These questions are ones that not only historians but also theologians should ask. Are not the learned inquisitive with new questions?

The Contemporary Need for This New Dimension of Jesus Research The historical merits for examining Jesus and sports should be fairly obvious— this line of investigation could potentially shed new light on the place of Jesus within the Roman world that he inhabited. But it is also worth pointing out some possible contemporary implications of this research, implications that may indeed be somewhat useful within theological contexts. Would not a focus on Jesus’s life, and the athleticism so obvious in Judea and Galilee during his time, help contemporary individuals who are spiritually sensitive? Do some Christians idolize athletes and a self-proclaimed “King” (i.e., Lebron James)? Are too many athletes treated as demigods like Hercules (Figure 27.5)? Perhaps this new dimension of Jesus research will help facilitate a deeper reflection on spirituality and sports, underscoring the extent to which these two facets of the human experience are not antithetical to but compatible with the notion of humans created imago dei. Walking on water and flying—what may a human achieve? Michael Jordan’s provocative question is certainly worth pondering: “I wish I could show you a film of a dunk I had in Milwaukee. It’s in slow motion, and it looks like I’m taking off, like somebody put wings on me. I get chills when I see it. I think, when does ‘jump’ become ‘flying’? I don’t have the answer yet.”19 Perhaps we do not

19 Lazenby, Michael Jordan, 304.

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need the answer; perhaps it is sufficient simply to live in the moment. Maybe the transcendent power of sport allows the gifted athlete to experience occasionally—or perhaps rarely, or maybe even only once—a moment of flight, as if, to borrow the words of the Prophet Isaiah, being lifted up “with wings as eagles.”

J. Harold Ellens

28 The Johannine Community and the Fourth Gospel: A Polemic Against Enochian Apocalypticism? The fourth gospel stands in remarkable contrast to the Jewish worldview of its time. Therefore, it tells a surprisingly different story from the first three (synoptic) gospels. The gospel of John neither assumes nor promotes the kind of apocalypticism that generally prevailed in the Judaism of Palestine and that is reflected in the first three gospels. It reflects a completely different view of Jesus’s nature and purpose. The gospel of John has no parousia or second coming, no judgment day, no final cataclysm, no extermination of the wicked, no fiery purge of evil, no exclusivist assembling of the righteous, and no end of history. The wicked and all wickedness are eliminated by universal forgiveness. In John, Jesus is not the eschatological judge of the world but the savior of the world (3:13–18, 5:27–47). The only sense in which the gospel of John may be considered apocalyptic is in the fact that it assumes a transcendent world from which the Logos descended to infest the man, Jesus (1:1–14), and to which the Logos returns as the glorified divine Christ.1 On the other hand, Matthew, Mark, and Luke know a Jesus who is a human being and remains a man. He is born and begins his work on earth. That work is the proclamation of the reign of God that he thinks it is his duty and calling to establish. The building of God’s kingdom is largely a failure in Jesus’s lifetime. Only after Easter and the resurrection appearances does the community of his followers get any traction. Jesus himself developed an urgent sense of being personally persecuted and ended in the ignominious death on the cross. He seemed to accept this destiny as inevitable. Afterward he appeared in what Paul refers to as his transcendent form, his glorified body, indicating that he took up his life as a heavenly man and appeared to his disciples as such. In the synoptic gospels he foretold that he would return in a short time as the judge of the world. This second coming would be heralded by his appearance on the clouds of heaven, commanding the angelic host, and initiating a cataclysmic end to history as we know it. As the judge he would exterminate the wicked and all wickedness and gather all the righteous into God’s kingdom. In that act God’s earthly reign, which he had failed to bring about in his lifetime, would finally be established in the world.

1 J. Harold Ellens, The Son of Man in John (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2010). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-029

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Exposition In all the gospels the primary character is Jesus as the Son of Man. In John’s gospel the trajectory of the Son of Man is first a descent from heaven as the Logos, then an earthly sojourn, and then an ascent back to heaven where he belongs eternally. In the other three gospels the trajectory is quite different. It begins with an earthly sojourn of 30 years, then an ascent into heaven after a brief time of ministry, and finally a return to earth as the judge of the world. The Son of Man was Jesus’s name for himself. It was the only designation he used for himself and only he is reported to have used it. That name or title had a long history with a rich meaning in Jewish tradition, for at least 500 years before Jesus was born. Some scholars think that the tradition starts in Psalm 2, 8, and 110, which would make the tradition at least 1,000 years old in Jesus’s time. God addressed Ezekiel 93 times as son of man in calling him to his task as a prophet, since his role as priest was nullified by the Babylonian destruction of the holy temple, the holy city, and the holy land. In that case, son of man meant “mortal,” or perhaps, in contrast to God, “mere mortal.”2 In Daniel 7, Son of Man is the designation given to a human being who is presented to God and is given heavenly status, together with power and authority (exousia) to establish God’s reign on earth. His power and authority are then assigned to his field forces, the people of the holy ones of the Most High. These forces operate on earth and are commissioned to destroy kingdoms and empires of evil and bring in the kingdom of God. The Son of Man retains his heavenly status as he commands his earthly operation.

Enoch as the Son of Man The apocalyptic nature of the Jewish worldview of Jesus’s time is best illustrated by the tradition of the Son of Man in 1 Enoch 37–71. In that ancient book, Enoch is, quite obviously, the key figure. He is a human who is caught up into heaven and given the grand tour, somewhat less elaborate than Dante’s circumambulation, but nonetheless a tour of heaven in which he visits the abode of the deceased righteous and unrighteous. During this trip he is enthroned as God’s appointed, made the commander of the angelic host, and designated as the Son of Man. His task is to review the host of humans and prepare for a descent into the world as

2 Ibid.

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the eschatological judge. He is appointed to eliminate the wicked and all wickedness and gather the righteous under the divine reign. This cataclysmic vision of the nature of history as a cosmic war between God and all the forces of evil was the shape of the apocalyptic worldview of Judaism at the time of Christ. The battleground of this war was the whole run of human history and the disposition of every human heart. The destiny of humans was to be on God’s side of the cosmic battle, or suffer cataclysmic extermination at the last judgment, when history was to end. A dismal struggle, indeed! The synoptic gospels paint a picture very much like that of 1 Enoch. In all three synoptics the trajectory of the Son of Man is identical with that of Enoch as Son of Man. A man is called of God to a labor on earth, then he is caught up into heaven, and finally he is to return as eschatological judge at the cataclysmic end of history. There are some differences in the two sets of the story. In the synoptics, the Son of Man has a brief, three-year labor on earth in which his calling is to heal afflictions and forgive sins. However, the character and trajectory of the story is the same as that of Enoch. Mark, the first to write the story, copied by Matthew and Luke, simply took the story of 1 Enoch, which was afloat everywhere in Judaism at the time. He pulled out the character of Enoch and plugged Jesus in and so had a Son of Man, already preset in Jewish thought of the time. Consequently, Matthew, Mark, and Luke are essentially Enochian in worldview, though renamed to tell the Jesus story in familiar terms.

The Uniqueness of John’s Gospel John’s gospel is wholly different. Indeed, the fourth gospel is a polemic against the story as it is told by the other three. It is intended specifically as a counterforce to the synoptics and an aggressive denigration of the Enoch story. This is particularly demonstrated by Jesus’s reported monologues in John 3 and 5. In John 3:13–18 Jesus extends his address to Nicodemus to tell him some of the secrets of heaven. “No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man” (13). The context makes clear that Jesus’s use of the title, Son of Man, is a reference to himself. This declaration makes certain that Enoch, who according to the common Jewish apocalypticism of the day had ascended into heaven (1 Enoch 37–71), was definitively ruled out as the real Son of Man, the revealer of divine truth. That meant that the Enoch story as it was presented in the synoptic gospels, with Jesus substituted for Enoch as the Son of Man, could not be true. The Son of Man of the synoptics, like Enoch in his story, had never descended from heaven and was, therefore, ruled out as the

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authentic Son of Man. John’s gospel intends to make clear that the only correct way to tell the Jesus story was as John’s gospel tells it and not as the synoptics have conjured it reflecting 1 Enoch. This has special significance when Jesus comments on the content of his mission, just two chapters later. In 5:30–47 we have a monologue in which he addresses the question that was apparently on everyone’s mind in that apocalyptic age. It is about whether he intends to be the eschatological judge. There we note that Jesus is really interested to get across to his audience that the heavenly mysteries he is about to reveal are the sentiments and messages of his heavenly father. Then he declares that the father has given him, the Son of Man, the normal power and authority (exousia) that belong to the Son of Man, namely, to be the eschatological judge. However, he and the father are of one mind in the fact that he is not going to be the judge of the world but the savior of the world.3 The monologue in John 5 is most interesting. Jesus says plainly that he will not exercise his prerogatives of judge or prosecutor. His presence reveals a judgment. It is the exposure of all to the criterion of faith in the Son of Man that confronts all humans. It determines by their response how they wreak judgment or bring salvation upon themselves. The character, nature, and behavior of the Son of Man are a statement of what God wants. However, “do not think that I will accuse you before my father” (45). The entire fourth gospel is about Jesus as the savior of the world (3:16–17). It stands on the Pauline foundation of universal salvation: forgiveness for everyone, for everything, for evermore. Thus, it stands against the previous three gospels in rejecting the apocalyptic dualism that they reflect, in which the objective is the extermination of the wicked and the corralling of the righteous into the divine triumphalist kingdom at the eschatological judgment day. In the gospel of John the wicked and all wickedness will be eliminated by universal forgiveness.

The Johannine Community Scholars generally assume that the gospel of John derives from the Johannine community that existed in Ephesus toward the end of the first century. What was it about that community that gave this wholly different shape to the fourth gospel than that which characterized the other three? What prompted this gospel to reject the apocalyptic perspective that is so essential to the synoptics? Why was

3 Ibid.

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the last of the gospels to be written a gospel designed to tell the story of Jesus so intentionally different? What prompted this counterforce to the Enochic narrative reflected in the first three gospels that set the Christian movement on an alternative trajectory? Surely, there was some new sense of faith and hope, some difference in outlook and way of life, afoot in the Johannine community, that had not prevailed in the Jesus movement in its earlier stages, except perhaps in Paul’s letters to the Romans (ch 8) and Ephesians (ch 2). What did the Johannine community know about Jesus that formed the unique Son of Man of its gospel? It seems to have had some special knowledge about Jesus that gave it this perspective. Perhaps it was some more mature digestion of his story that developed over the 60 or so years that had elapsed since Jesus’s departure. Clearly the essence of the fourth gospel stands over against all the other Second Temple Judaism Son of Man traditions, especially that of the synoptic gospels. Attridge believes that the community had taken Jesus’s monologue in John 14 more seriously than the James church of Jerusalem and the Hellenistic church of Palestine. Thus, the Johannine community and John’s gospel were more intimately acquainted with the presence of the Holy Spirit in the church. He further suggests that this community, in its early stages, persisted in honoring many of the Jewish temple rituals, and strongly emphasized the spiritual meaning underlying those symbolic acts.4 When the community left Jerusalem around 70 CE, the temple was destroyed, and its ritual and spiritual operation may have been somewhat modified. While the main group of that James church went to Pella in the Decapolis, some may well have moved to Asia Minor. It is there that we encounter them in the Johannine community of the fourth gospel. Others seem to have moved on to Odessa. The groups in Pella and Odessa seem to have been absorbed into the Syrian Church with which they shared a surprisingly low christology.5 It is evident, however, that the gospel of John has the highest christology of all the New Testament scriptures, save for Paul in Philippians 2:5–11 and Colossians 1:15–20. This suggests that the Johannine community did not have its roots in the Palestinian church, nor in its later iteration in the Syrian church. Apparently, it had a separate root and ground, as well as a long reflective odyssey in spiritual development, which had more of a Pauline perspective. We know that much is made in the Acts of the Apostles and in Paul’s epistles of the establishment of 4 Harold W. Attridge, “Johannine Christianity,” in Cambridge History of Christianity: Volume 1, Origins to Constantine, ed. Margaret M. Mitchell and Frances M. Young (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 125–43. 5 Rick Rogers, Theophilus of Antioch (Lexington: Lexington Books, 2000).

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the Pauline churches in Asia Minor, particularly in Ephesus. Legendary reports suggest that the Apostle John moved to Ephesus together with Mary, Jesus’s mother, sometime after the crucifixion of Jesus. At the time of the crucifixion Jesus is said to have assigned to Mary and John a mutual responsibility for each other. Whether there was a Johannine community in Ephesus, whether it experienced any influence of the Apostle John, and whether such influence shaped its unique world view are perhaps some of the relevant questions. Attridge thinks they set themselves up in strong contrast to the Jewish world view of their day, rejecting much of the apocalypticism which reigned at the time. The community held to an intense worshipful esteem of Jesus, seeing him as the savior of the world, as the fourth gospel asserts. Their life in the Holy Spirit gave them a strong sense of devotion to each other as well as to the Lord. It is discernable from the Johannine literary corpus that the community was originally composed of both Christian Jews and Gentiles. At some critical point in the community’s life a division was incited by the defection of Jewish members (1 John 2:19). This may have coincided with the official action of the Jewish Rabbis forbidding Christian Jews from participation in the Jewish community’s life, and casting messianic Jews out of the synagogues. Ultimately Johannine perspectives and its high christology became the orthodox posture of the official and authoritative Christian church. It also apparently compelled many Jewish Christians to return to the synagogue, when the Rabbis threatened to excommunicate them from Jewish communities. J. Louis Martyn has presented an important analysis of this matter.6 Martyn contended that the gospel derives from the Johannine community at the time at which it was engaged in this dispute with the synagogue. Martyn believes that the gospel of John must be read in terms of the tension between Judaism and established Jewish Christianity. Certainly, the gospel seems to express some antipathy toward some Jews who “were with us but not of us,” speaking rather harshly of them. Furthermore, there seems to be substantial evidence within the gospel that the Johannine community had gained a large percentage of gentiles, as well, by the end of the century and thus by the time that the gospel was composed or given its final redaction. Most Johannine scholars agree that the term Jewish Christianity correctly describes the distinctive trajectory of thought manifest in the fourth gospel as well as in the slightly later Jewish document known as the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions. J. Danielou thinks that Jewish Christianity is best defined as having

6 J. Louis Martyn, History and Theology in the Fourth Gospel, second edition (Nashville: Abingdon, 1979).

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an orthodox Christian message that is formulated in the language and idiom of pre-Christian Judaism.7 He observes that those Jewish cultural metaphors, images, and expressions continued to be prominent in Christian communities even after the rise to predominance of the gentile presence in them. James Dunn holds, first, that Jewish Christianity, such as Ebionitism and the Recognitions, was characterized by adherence to Old Testament law (Torah), and second, that this form of early Christianity had a higher view of James than of Paul. Dunn feels that the faith expressions of those types of unconventional Jewish Christianity are similar to those of the earliest believers in the Jerusalem Church of James.8 I would want to file a footnote regarding the devaluation of Paul. My view is that the author of the gospel of John was aware of Paul and was sold on his essential ideology. The universalism of the gospel and the concept of radical, unconditional, and universal grace in the fourth gospel rings too clearly with a distinctive Pauline tone (Rom 8). Moreover, there seems to be a strong affinity between the christology of Paul’s Kyrios theology and John’s Son of Man theology. In the face of the very different theology of conditional grace of the synoptics, neither of Dunn’s points seems strongly evident or intensely persuasive. Moreover, while there is some significant appreciation of the Torah in Ebionitism and in the second century low Syrian christology of Bishop Theophilus of Antioch, for example, that marks a boundary between John’s gospel and those forms of Jewish Christianity. How, therefore, do we characterize the gospel sources at Ephesus, and locate John’s gospel in the flow of the Johannine community’s faith perspective? In much of the literature regarding the relationship between the gospel of John and the Johannine community a fundamental misconceptualization is evident. Scholars tend to refer to the key terms, Son of God and Son of Man, as applied to Jesus in an un-Johannine manner, as did the early church writings within a half century of the close of the gospel. In John’s gospel Son of Man refers exclusively to the Logos which descends from heaven in John 1:1–14. He is the light that lights every human, revealing all the heavenly mysteries, particularly that of unconditional grace as in John 3. He is the divine presence in the world. Contrary to that, Son of God refers to a righteous man, as was common in Judaism and in the world at that time. The confusion arises from a misreading of Jesus’s discussion with Nicodemus in John 3. In verses 11–12 Jesus declares that 7 Jean Danielou, The Theology of Jewish Christianity: A History of Early Christian Doctrine before the Council of Nicea, Vol. 1 (London: Darton, Longman, and Todd, 1964). 8 James D. G. Dunn, Unity and Diversity in the New Testament. An Inquiry into the Character of Earliest Christianity, 2nd ed. (London: SCM, 1990).

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he speaks of the heavenly mysteries as a result of having experienced them. In verses 13–14 he makes clear that he is the only one who can claim the identity of Son of Man as the revealer of the divine mysteries. In verses 16–17 one of those heavenly mysteries is that God sent the Son of Man into the world not to condemn the world but to save it. The Son of Man is obviously the Son who is referred to in both verses 16 and 17 (“God so loved the world that he sent his unique Son ... God sent not his son ... to condemn ... but that the world... might be saved”). However, it is universally and incorrectly assumed that the reference is to the Son of God. That is Patristic and Nicene but not biblical. The Son of Man is the savior of the world. Otherwise verse 17 would be unnecessary because in Jewish tradition the Son of Man is the eschatological judge, but in John 5:27–47 Jesus makes clear that he will not exercise his exousia as judge and prosecutor but as savior, just as is made clear in John 3. The notion that it is the Son of God who saves the world is a reflection of the erroneous theological interpretation of this verse in the church of the second to the fourth century. The early church’s theologians understood Son of Man to refer to Jesus’s human nature, and Son of God to refer to his divine nature. This error became official orthodox theology in the creeds of Nicaea. Moreover, John 3 carries the argument forward as clarification. In verse 18 Jesus says that those who believe in that Son of Man are saved and those who do not believe in the name of the unique (monogeneis) Son of God are in trouble. But what is the name of the unique Son of God? If we correctly read the text and follow its line of reasoning from verse 11 on, the answer is that the NAME of the unique Son of God is SON OF MAN. Alexander the Great and Simon Magus were called sons of God. There are many sons of God, as Paul says. According to Paul, we are all sons of God, but Son of Man is the unique Son of God. He is the revealer of the heavenly mysteries, as is made clear in John 1:9. There he is “The true light, that enlightens everyone.” That is why John 3:19 has Jesus declaring that the judgment implied in verse 18 regarding those who do not believe in the name, Son of Man, is that light has come into the world (1:9), and those who do not believe in the name of the Son of Man choose darkness rather than light. That is, God does not judge them; they judge themselves. Apparently, one of the reasons for the writing of the gospel of John was that, in the Recognitions and in Ebionitism, the error about the meaning of the name, Son of Man, was already evident. That is why the early church theologians picked up on that error and perpetuated it. Moreover, John’s gospel also corrects the narrative as it is presented in the synoptic gospels as indicated earlier. There Jesus is a man who ministers on earth until he becomes the heavenly man, but never divine. John’s gospel is a reaction to both the low christology of that part of the

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Johannine community that was isolated from the Ephesus community quite early, and held to be heretical (Ebionitism and Recognitions, and the like), as well as a reaction to the Enochic-flavored synoptics. The christology of John’s gospel is more like the exalted Christ of Philippians 2:5–11 and Colossians 1:15–20. That indicates an intentional and bold differentiation of John’s gospel, and its Ephesus community, from other forms of Jewish Christianity within the wider Johannine community. This likely included a conscious distancing from more segments of that wider community than just the members at Ephesus who returned to the synagogue. The Rabbis threw down the gauntlet. They excommunicated from the Jewish community those who took Jesus as the Jewish Messiah. It is not surprising that some returned to their ethnic familial roots. Moreover, John’s gospel does not suggest or imply that it intends to hold a high regard of the Torah, as did the general run of the wider Johannine community. So, the fourth gospel is not a testimony to the nature and the faith of Jewish Christianity. It is a vigorous witness against the essential elements of the wider Jewish Christianity, namely, its Jewish apocalypticism, its low christology, and its failure to realize the true nature of the Son of Man, the unique revealer of the divine mysteries and savior of the world. In so far as John’s gospel represents a Johannine community in Ephesus in the late first century or early second century, the gospel and the community stand at a great distance from Judaism and reflect intense feeling regarding the fact and possibility of Jewish Christians returning to the Jewish community and the synagogue. “They were with us, but they were not really of us!”

Gabriella Gelardini

29 The End of History: Common Concepts in 1 Enoch and Mark The End as Cataclysm and as Final Judgment: Apocalyptic Eschatology as Resistance Literature In Gershom Scholem’s path-breaking essay on the messianic idea in Judaism,1 we find a fundamental classification: this idea, he proposes, “is in its origins and by its nature […] a theory of catastrophe. This theory stresses the revolutionary, cataclysmic element in the transition from every historical present to the Messianic future.”2 Scholem adds, in fact in regard to what he deems to be the apocalyptic version of the messianic idea, that because “of the catastrophic nature of redemption as a decisive characteristic of every such apocalypticism […], apocalyptic thinking always contains the elements of dread and consolation intertwined.”3 The messianic idea contains not only the expectation of a harsh final account of mankind, the judgment of the perpetrators of evil, but also the hope of deliverance and redemption for the pious, righteous, and elected. According to Scholem, what proved decisive for this apocalyptic version was that the “national antithesis between Israel and the heathens is broadened into a cosmic antithesis in which the realms of the holy and of sin, of purity and impurity, of life and death, of light and darkness, God and the anti-divine powers, stand opposed.”4 The broad discourse on terminological problems raised by the words “apocalyptic-apocalypse-apocalypticism” is well known. Since these terms are scholarly categories of ascription to certain textual phenomena, they are implicit in such a debate. Taking up the modern discussions on this matter, I follow the differentiation between “apocalypse” as a genre of a special kind of revelatory literature and “apocalyptic eschatology” as a denotation of textual motifs belonging to various genres and which reflect eschatological concepts within such literary documents.5 The term apocalyptic(ism) has been interpreted in a broad or narrow

1 Gershom Scholem, “Toward an Understanding of the Messianic Idea in Judaism,” in The Messianic Idea in Judaism and other Essays on Jewish Spirituality (New York: Schocken, 1971), 1–36. 2 Ibid., 7. 3 Ibid., 10. 4 Ibid., 6. 5 The well-known working definition of John J. Collins reads: “‘Apocalypse’ is a genre of revelatory literature with a narrative framework, in which a revelation is mediated by an otherworldly https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-030

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sense. Although Scholem offers a broad interpretation, Hartmut Stegemann’s interpretation is narrower, in that he applies the term exclusively to a literary genre (“ausschließlich ein literarisches Phänomen“).6 Michael Wolter prefers an even more restricted definition.7 John J. Collins and Adela Yarbro Collins, however, propose a concept that seems both more pragmatic and more appropriate to the various sources. It takes up and includes Scholem’s observations, namely, that apocalyptic discourses are related to perceptions of crisis-ridden situations connected with general admonitions and motivations, and which encourage hope and offer consolation.8 Fundamental to such a concept is that there is a hidden plan, a “mystery” or secret, according to which God guides universal history and his elected to redemption. Last but not least, however, such discourses not only reflect cultural and political changes or even situations of oppression, catastrophe, and persecution, but often react—directly or indirectly—to them.9 Not always, but sometimes they could therefore be attributed to the broader field of intellectual resistance,10 not at last against Greek and Roman empires,11 and

being to a human recipient, disclosing a transcendent reality which is both temporal, insofar as it envisages eschatological salvation, and spatial, insofar it involves another, supernatural world” (John J. Collins, “Introduction: Towards the Morphology of a Genre,” in Apocalypse: The Morphology of a Genre, ed. John J. Collins, Semeia 14 [Chico: Scholars Press, 1979], 9; see also Adela Yarbro Collins, Cosmology and Eschatology in Jewish and Christian Apocalypticism, JSJSup 50 [Leiden: Brill, 1996], 7). 6 See Hartmut Stegemann, “Die Bedeutung der Qumranfunde für die Erforschung der Apokalyptik,” in Apocalypticism in the Mediterranean World and the Near East: Proceedings of the International Colloquium on Apokalypticism Uppsala, August 12–17, 1979, ed. David Hellholm, 2nd enlarged ed. (Tübingen: Mohr, 1989), 498. 7 See Michael Wolter, “Apokalyptik als Redeform im Neuen Testament,” NTS 51.2 (2005): 171–91. 8 See John J. Collins, Daniel: With an Introduction to Apocalyptic Literature, FOTL 20, repr. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989), 22. 9 See, for instance, Heinz-Josef Fabry, “Die frühjüdische Apokalyptik als Reaktion auf Fremdherrschaft: Zur Funktion von 4Q246,” in Antikes Judentum und Frühes Christentum: Festschrift für Hartmut Stegemann, eds. Bernd Kollmann, Wolfgang Reinbold, and Annette Steudel, BZNW 97 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 84–98; Ekkehard W. Stegemann, “Apocalittica e storia universale nella tematica dell’imperium nell’antichità,” Protestantesimo 65.3–4 (2011): 277–97; in German: “Apokalyptik und Universalgeschichte im antiken Herrschaftsdiskurs,” in Der Römerbrief: Brennpunkte der Rezeption, eds. Christina Tuor and Peter Wick (Zurich: TVZ, 2012), 221–41. 10 A thorough analysis of apocalyptic resistance-theology in Early Judaism has been provided by Anathea E. Portier-Young, Apocalypse against Empire: Theologies of Resistance in Early Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011). 11 See Harald Fuchs, Der geistige Widerstand gegen Rom in der antiken Welt, 2nd ed. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1964); a comprehensive recent analysis was published by Eric Noffke, Cristo contro Cesare: Come gli ebrei e i christiani del I secolo risposero alla sfida dell’imperialismo romano, Piccola biblioteca teologica 71 (Torino: Claudiana, 2006).

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to “reaction-literature,” which respond to catastrophes.12 But it is important to understand that this literature of Early Judaism was not an expression of Jewish resistance against Hellenism or Roman culture per se, not a clash of civilizations, but it aims against oppressive measures which were restricting identity-strategies and practices.13

The End as Last Translatio Imperii: Universal History and its Roman and Jewish Adaptations In “The Origins of Universal History,”14 Arnaldo Momigliano has probably complemented Scholem’s theory of religious history or philosophy; given that Momigliano is an historian of classical antiquity, his achievement would seem hardly accidental. Thus, he compares apocalyptic traditions in Judaism, especially in the book of Daniel, to concepts of universal history in Greek and Roman historiography. He suggests establishing a relationship between the notion of the succession of four empires (or eras or generations) in Greek and Roman texts to Daniel’s interpretation of Nebuchadnezzar’s dream in Daniel 2 and its parallel in Daniel 7. He assumes that their defeat by a fifth universal dominion, which is the indestructible and everlasting Kingdom of God, is a specifically Jewish, that is, an apocalyptic version of Greek universal history. Momigliano supposes that the Book of Daniel has been influenced not least by Herodotus.15 Paul Niskanen meticulously elaborated this proposal in a fine monograph.16 Although Momigliano observes that most universal histories are noncritical eulogies of Rome and its pretended establishment of a universal peace and order as an “imperium sine fine” (Vergil), a dominion without end, not all Roman historians shared these idealizations of and propaganda for Rome. “Four provincials—two from the West 12 See Alan L. Mintz, Óurban: Responses to Catastrope in Hebrew Literature (New York: Columbia University Press, 1984). 13 See, for instance, Anathea E. Portier-Young’s reading of the Book of Daniel, Apocalypse against Empire, 223–79. 14 Arnaldo Momigliano, “The Origins of Universal History,” in On Pagans, Jews and Christians, ed. idem (Middletown: Wesleyan University Press, 1987), 31–57; German: “Die Ursprünge der Universalgeschichte,” in Die Alte Welt, vol. 1 of Ausgewählte Schriften zur Geschichte und Geschichtsschreibung, ed. Wilfried Nippel (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1998), 111. 15 In contrast Jan N. Bremmer recently claimed that Vergil “might have known 1 Enoch” (Jan N. Bremmer, “Vergil and Jewish Literature,” Vergilius 59 [2013]: 157–64). 16 See Paul Niskanen, The Human and the Divine in History: Herodotus and the Book of Daniel, JSOT 396 (London: T&T Clark, 2004).

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(Diodorus and Trogus) and two from the East (Nicolaus and Timagenes)—[…] tried to offer some resistance to a view of world history which was an implicit, and even explicit, glorification of Rome.”17 But such critical undertones, although quite similarly uttered elsewhere in Roman literature (especially after Augustus), differ considerably, according to Momigliano, from such propagandistic historiography. He also notes that doubts about an already present Golden Age, however, were overtrumped by Jewish apocalyptic texts. The perspective of universal history applied, for instance, in the Book of Daniel, at the time of Greek imperial dominions, introduces a radical shift in the frame. All (four) empires were considered sheer worldly kingdoms, which will ultimately all be destroyed and replaced by “an eternal Jewish Kingdom of God.”18 According to Daniel, that very divine dominion will violently replace those four earthly empires and is characterized as indestructible and eternal. Therefore, Momigliano states: “The religious interpretation, the apocalyptic finale, is […] the specific Jewish contribution to the reading of the situation.”19 According to him, the specifically Jewish version of the succession of dominions or eras, the translatio imperii sive saeculorum, which lies at the heart of Roman universal histories especially in the Augustan era, is used to stress the redemptive and judging intervention of God in the (near) future. But since the fall of the Greek empires was followed by the rise of Roman world domination, which also failed to deliver—not only from a Jewish perspective, but in particular from it—on the promise of deliverance from evil, the idea of establishing a future kingdom of God had to be “updated.” This took place by way of an interpretive aggiornamento in post-Enochic and post-Danielic apocalyptic literature in documents of Jewish origin, including also those stemming from the Jesus movement. The latter interpreted its Jewish heritage with its “apocalyptic” key of the “finale” through the lens of “Christian” hermeneutics. However, both Jewish and “Christian” apocalyptic eschatology shared a sense of deference toward the “end,” the “apocalyptic finale.” As Klaus Koch has shown, it is not untypical in relation to the reception of Daniel’s adoption of the succession of empires that especially apocalyptic texts have modified or altered the identification of the fourth worldly universal dominion either to a fifth one or by identifying the Danielic fourth one with the world empire of Rome (see, for instance, Sib. Or. 4.102–104; 4 Ezra 12.11–12; see also Josephus, Ant. 10.276).20

17 Momigliano, “The Origins of Universal History,” 45. 18 Ibid., 48. 19 Ibid., 49–50 (italics mine). 20 See Klaus Koch, Daniel: Kapitel 1,1–4,34, BKAT XXII/1 (Neukirchen: Neukirchener, 2005), 208–13.

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The End Within History: Roman Post-Eschatology? Quite possibly, Momigliano has underestimated the eschatological or even apocalyptic traits in Greek and Roman documents. In his contribution to The Encyclopedia of Apocalypticism, Hubert Cancik does not shy away from speaking of the “eschatology and apocalypticism of the Greeks and Romans in classical antiquity.”21 He further remarks that these are “collective term(s),” namely, “for the ideas that Greeks and Romans developed concerning the death and life to come of individuals, the world, people, and states” and (especially with regard to the term “apocalypticism”) for the genre of “secret or revelatory literature.”22 Arguably, the adequateness of these terms and their application can be debated once more. What most certainly cannot be dismissed, however, is the fact that particularly in Vergil we find the idea of a “finale” of world history. Already in the Fourth Eclogue, Vergil speaks about the fulfillment of the Cumean Sibyl prophecy in regard to the advent of the last era and the Golden Age: Ultima Cumaei venit iam carminis aetas. And in the Aeneid 1.278–279, Jupiter teaches the mother of Aeneas, Venus, a prophecy concerning the succession of empires and the emergence of the Romans and their rise to a universal “dominion without end,” which has “neither bounds nor periods.” For Cancik, “this promise indeed reflects the end of history” and “this view of history is not uneschatological, but post-echatological,” even “realized apocalypticism,” since according to Vergil the prophecy of the venturum saeculum, the epoch to come, is already fulfilled with Augustus.23 Although Vergil’s view of the end is a view of the end within history, it nevertheless includes notions of a theory of catastrophe. It was the paradigmatic nemesis of Troy, “the destruction of a city, a dynasty, a people,”24 and pious Aeneas’s deliverance from this demise as the starting point of the story of success that came to a triumphant end with Rome’s universal empire and its “dominion without end.” Dahlheim writes in his biography of Augustus that Vergil has “combined the demise of Troy with the rise of Rome” (“den Untergang Trojas mit dem Aufstieg Roms verknüpft”).25 Famous, however, is Scipio’s mourning at Carthage’s bursting into flames according to Polybius’s History of Rome:

21 Hubert Cancik, “The End of the World, of History, and of the Individual in Greek and Roman Antiquity,” in The Origins of Apocalypticism in Judaism and Christianity, vol. 1 of The Encyclopedia of Apocalypticism, ed. John J. Collins (New York: Continuum, 2000), 85–125 [84]. 22 Ibid., 87. 23 Ibid., 119. 24 Ibid., 103. 25 Werner Dahlheim, Augustus: Aufrührer, Herrscher, Heiland: Eine Biographie (Munich: Beck, 2010), 267.

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221 Scipio, when he looked upon the city as it was utterly perishing and in the last throes of its complete destruction, is said to have shed tears and wept openly for his enemies. 2 After being wrapped in thought for long, and realizing that all cities, nations, and authorities must, like men, meet their doom; that this happened to Ilium, once a prosperous city, to the empires of Assyria, Media, and Persia, the greatest of their time, and to Macedonia itself, the brilliance of which was so recent, either deliberately or the verses escaping him, he said: A day will come when sacred Troy shall perish, And Priam and his people shall be slain. 3 And when Polybius speaking with freedom to him, for he was his teacher, asked him what he meant by the words, they say that without any attempt at concealment he named his own country, for which he feared when he reflected on the fate of all things human. Polybius actually heard him and recalls it in his history. (Polybius, Hist. 38.22.1–3 [Paton, LCL])

It is obvious that Scipio Africanus, the great Roman general, is not only quite certain that his and Rome’s victory and ascension to a world power will last forever. Quite the contrary, as emerges from the aforementioned passage. All empires in succession from Assyria to Macedonia have been destroyed in the course of history. So eventually one day this destruction will be the destiny of Scipio’s Rome, too. Carthage’s demise, which brings into perspective Rome’s rise to universal dominion, fills the eyes of Polybios’s Roman general with tears. Given the idea of translatio imperii as an idea of a cyclic and eternal reiteration of the rise and fall of empires, Vergil’s concept of Rome as an “imperium sine fine,” a “dominion without end,” seems to be a strikingly “post-apocalyptic” exception. However, as Karl Galinsky argues, Vergil’s Fourth Eclogue and his Aeneid may have been “an evocative expression of the yearning (!) for peace and tranquility after decades of civil wars (with no complete assurance as yet that they will come to an end).”26 At least the Fourth Eclogue does not lack a “patently utopian nature.”27 And Vergil’s enthusiasm for the return of the aurea aetas, and of the Golden Age “actually taking place,”28 is indeed remarkable. But Galinsky minimizes such a “post-eschatological” interpretation by observing that Vergil does not exclude the possibility of ongoing warfare to protect the “pacification” of the world by Roman armies and reckons with ongoing labor to produce a basis for civilizing it. According to Galinsky Vergil’s Golden Age is work in progress so to speak. And that includes “that the Golden age comes to connote a social order rather than a paradisiac state of indolence.”29

26 See Karl Galinsky, Augustan Culture: An Interpretive Introduction (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996), 91. 27 Ibid. 28 Ibid., 93. 29 Ibid.

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The End of History and Final Judgment: The New Testament and Jewish Apocalyptic Eschatology Compared to Jewish apocalyptic eschatology since the books of Enoch and Daniel, however, Vergil’s concept of an everlasting universal Roman dominion is only seen as an exception insofar as it presupposes that this “eternal Rome” has already been established, or better, launched. Not by chance did this view make Vergil the pagan messianic prophet of Christ and of the advent of the kingdom of God in Christian reception. By contrast, Jewish apocalypticism is, as is well known, characterized programmatically by the expectation of a future end of history connected with a transition characterized by crises, even cosmic ones, and a Last Judgment. Given that such a perspective is, of course, not missing from the New Testament’s apocalyptic eschatology, one could speak—albeit in a somewhat simplification—of a kind of a coalescent Roman-Jewish eschatology in the New Testament. But there is a universal-historical perspective of revolving empires and eras (translatio imperii et saeculorum) in Jewish apocalypticism, not only in the Book of Daniel, but also in the “books of dreams” of 1 En. 83–90. Nor should we forget the calendaric and astronomical (1 En. 72–80) speculations, nor indeed the allusions to a Golden Age (1 En. 10.18–22). Jewish apocalyptic eschatology, however, is determined by the dualistic concept of aeons and the crisis-ridden transition from the first to the last. The last great judgment, which marks the end of the old aeon and the change to the new one, is combined in particular in 1 Enoch with cosmic catastrophes (1 En. 70.6) and horrible wars and atrocities even within the realm of families (see, for instance, 1 En. 10.9, 12). But this is also part and parcel of the apocalyptic discourse of Jesus in Mark 13 and its synoptic parallels. Universal history is extended into a history of the cosmos. This idea of a catastrophic cataclysm going hand in hand with the transition to a new world has to a certain degree its counterpart in the Stoic notion of a “purification through fire” (ekpyrosis), which annihilates evil. And even in Vergil’s Aeneid there is an astral prospect, although only for the lineage of the Julian house (Aen. 6.790–791: “Here is Caesar, and all the offspring of Iulus destined to live under the pole of heaven.”). The programmatic revolutionary transformation, which is expected in 1 Enoch in the realm of the stars (1 En. 70.6), is connected with a “new creation […] which will last forever” (1 En. 72.1). But there are, of course, equivalent ideas in Roman and Greek literature, especially in regard to depictions of the Golden Age.30

30 See Galinsky, Augustan Culture, 90–121.

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The End as a Final War: Mark’s “Counter-Imperial” Eschatology in Recourse to 1 Enoch The genre of the Gospel of Mark differs considerably from that of 1 Enoch. It is not an “apocalypse,” but—and here I follow recent research—a kind of Bios or Vita.31 This classification, however, is still underdetermined, since there are biographies in antiquity of rulers or of philosophers. Some scholars prefer to attribute the Gospel of Mark to the vitae of philosophers, some to the vitae of rulers.32 Especially in the context of a “counter-imperial” exegesis of Mark, as I would call a recent stream of research on the Markan Gospel along the lines of an already established direction in Pauline exegesis based on postcolonial studies,33 the latter attribution is preferred. According to Martin Ebner, the gospel even “adapts” the genre of biographies of Roman emperors (“Das MkEv adaptiert die Form der

31 See, for instance, Hubert Frankemölle, Evangelium—Begriff und Gattung: Ein Forschungsbericht, 2nd revised and enlarged ed., SBB 15 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1994); Detlev Dormeyer, Evangelium als literarische und theologische Gattung, EdF 263 (Darmstadt: WBG, 1989); idem, Das Markusevangelium als Idealbiographie von Jesus Christus, dem Nazarener, SBB 43, 2nd revised and enlarged ed. (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2002); Dirk Frickenschmidt, Evangelium als Biographie: Die vier Evangelien im Rahmen antiker Erzählkunst, Texte und Arbeiten zum neutestamentlichen Zeitalter 22 (Tübingen: Francke, 1997); Richard A. Burridge with a foreword by Graham Stanton, What Are the Gospels? A Comparison with Graeco-Roman Biography, The Biblical Resource Series, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004); Wolfgang Stegemann, Jesus und seine Zeit, Biblische Enzyklopädie 10 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2010), 383–91; on the Greek-Roman genre see Holger Sonnabend, Geschichte der antiken Biographie: Von Isokrates bis zur Historia Augusta (Stuttgart: Metzler 2002). 32 See Charles H. Talbert, “Biographies of Philosophers and Rulers as Instruments of Religious Propaganda in Mediterranean Antiquity,” in Principat, vol. 2/16:2 of Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt; ed. Wolfgang Haase (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1978), 1619–51. 33 See Christian Strecker, “Taktiken der Aneignung: Politische Implikationen der paulinischen Botschaft im Kontext der römischen imperialen Wirklichkeit,” in Neues Testament und politische Theorie: Interdisziplinäre Beiträge zur Zukunft des Politischen, ed. Eckart Reinmuth, ReligionsKulturen 9 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2011), 114–61; Neil Elliott, The Arrogance of Nations: Reading Romans in the Shadow of Empire, Paul in Critical Contexts (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2008); Davina C. Lopez, Apostle to the Conquered: Reimagining Paul’s Mission, Paul in Critical Contexts (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2008); Magnus Zetterholm, Approaches to Paul: A Student’s Guide to Recent Scholarship (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009), 200–24; Ekkehard W. Stegemann, “Coexistence and Transformation: Reading the Politics of Identity in Romans in an Imperial Context,” in Reading Paul in Context: Explorations in Identity Formation: Essays in Honour of William S. Campbell, eds. Kathy Ehrensperger and J. Brian Tucker, LNTS 428 (London: T&T Clark, 2010), 3–23.

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propagandistischen Kaiservita auf Jesus von Nazareth.”).34 It is debatable whether the term εὐαγγέλιον, which opens the gospel narrative (Mark 1:1), has a literary connotation. But the significant role that it plays within Roman imperial propaganda may steer the reader to understand the gospel and its protagonist from a ruler-perspective.35 The empire-critical or counter-imperial reading of Mark has recently attracted the attention of a lot of scholars. In my Christus militans: Studien zur politisch-militärischen Semantik im Markusevangelium vor dem Hintergrund des ersten jüdisch-römischen Krieges, I give a comprehensive overview of this research orientation.36 While sharing its views, I stress the often-neglected military and warlike connotations in Mark. Given this certainly arguable way of reading Mark as a “counter-gospel” and as a kind of “reaction-literature” concerned with the disastrous first Jewish-Roman war, whether or not it has already come to an end, I suggest that we understand Mark’s obvious interaction with Jewish apocalyptic eschatology as part of a strategy for plausibly depicting the proclamation of the rising of the kingdom of God and of Jesus as God’s mandate (Son of God, Son of Man, Messiah) for it. Even if the ascension of the Flavian dynasty belongs to the “hidden transcript” of the gospel, as is often argued (based on “parallelizations and contrastations”),37 the apocalyptic eschatology helps to reveal that the apparent defeat of Jesus, his crucifixion by the Roman governor, and the persecution of his followers and crisis-ridden events belong to the “mystery” of God’s plan for his kingdom (Mark 4:11) and to the necessities in the course of its establishment (see the use of δεῖ in Mark 8:31; 13:7,10,14). It is therefore no coincidence that Mark uses the terms “δεῖ.” For Adela Yarbro Collins, “its usage here recalls Daniel’s speech to Nebuchadnezzar,”38 in which he speaks about “a God in heaven revealing mysteries […]” and “what must take place in the time of the last days” (Dan 2:28aLXX: ἀλλ᾽ ἔστι θεὸς ἐν οὐρανῷ ἀνακαλύπτων μυστήρια, […] ἅ δεῖ γενέσθαι ἐπ᾽ ἐσχάτων τῶν ἡμερῶν). In other words, it is not only the apocalyptic “theory of catastrophe,” along with the admonitions and offers of consolation of the Jewish apocalyptic eschatology, which helps Mark to insert the explicit events of Jesus’s story into 34 Martin Ebner, “Das Markusevangelium,” in Einleitung in das Neue Testament, eds. Martin Ebner and Stefan Schreiber, Studienbücher Theologie 6 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2008), 121; see also Burridge, What are the Gospels?, 110–11, 234–35. 35 See Ebner, “Das Markusevangelium,” 116–19. 36 Gabriella Gelardini, Christus militans: Studien zur politisch-militärischen Semantik im Markusevangelium vor dem Hintergrund des ersten jüdisch-römischen Krieges, NovTSup 165 (Leiden: Brill, 2016). 37 Ebner, “Das Markusevangelium,” 170–72; idem, Das Markusevangelium: Neu übersetzt und kommentiert, 2nd ed. (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2009), 14–16. 38 Adela Yarbro Collins, Mark: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007), 403.

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his narrative and to place the implicit events at which he hints as already experienced by the encoded reader into a revelatory context. Beyond these techniques, he uses among others terms and motifs of apocalyptic eschatologies. Collins, for instance, takes up the so-called Messiasgeheimnis in her commentary on Mark 8:31 and states that “(t)he command to keep silent about Jesus’ identity as the Son of Man is at least analogous to, if not dependent on the portrayal of ‘that Son of Man’ in the Similitudes of Enoch (1 En. 37–71)” and “the most distinctive characteristics of the Son of Man” there, namely “his hiddenness.”39 Although there is “a difference between the Similitudes and Mark” in regard to the heavenly and earthly existence of the Son of Man, “one factor in the secrecy of Jesus’ messiahship may be the idea that the Son of Man is revealed to the elect in a secret and anticipatory way.”40 I have already mentioned Mark 4:11 and its usage of μυστήριον. The singular is remarkable, not only compared to the plural form in Dan 2:28, but also to the synoptic parallels. This agreement against Mark is, as is well-known, attributed to the category of the minor agreements and has sparked a flood of different explanations. For Goulder, it is of course a reason to be satisfied with his theory, namely, that there was no such thing as “Q” and that Luke depends not only on Mark but at the same time on Matthew. But I do not want to meddle in this complicated discussion. Unsurprisingly, we find a mixture of singular and plural forms, not only elsewhere in Jewish apocalyptic texts, but especially in 1 Enoch. The Greek version of 1 En. 104.12 is remarkable, however, because like in Mark 4:11 the singular form “μυστήριον” is linked to a form of “δίδωμι”: Καὶ ἔλεγεν αὐτοῖς: ὑμῖν τὸ μυστήριον δέδοται τῆς βασιλείας τοῦ θεοῦ: ἐκείνοις δὲ τοῖς ἔξω ἐν παραβολαῖς τὰ πάντα γίνεται, And he said to them, “To you has been given the secret of the kingdom of God, but for those outside, everything comes in parables;” (Mark 4:11 NRSV) Καὶ πάλιν ἐγὼ γινώσκω μυστήριον δεύτερον, ὅτι δικαίοις καὶ ὁσίοις καὶ φρονίμοις δοθήσονται αἱ βίβλοι μου εἰς χαρὰν ἀληθείας, “And again, I know a second mystery, that to the righteous and holy and wise my books will be given, to the joy of truth.” (1 En. 104.12 Evans)

In 1 Enoch, the “second mystery” will be given by his books to the righteous, the pious, and the wise, or rather to those who have prudence. This implies a group that does not belong to the addressees of the mystery. In Mark, the mystery of the 39 Ibid., 402. 40 Ibid.

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kingdom of God has already been given to the disciples (perf. pass.), while for those who are explicitly called outsiders everything happens in parables. Mark obviously construes the inside-outside dualism in his composition. In Mark 4:1–2, a large crowd gathered to hear Jesus and he teaches them many things in parables. And in Mark 4:10–12, Jesus speaks to the Twelve when they were alone and explains his Parable of the Sower. This situation of teaching in parables outside and explaining everything privately to his own disciples is mentioned again in Mark 4:33–34. The explanation of the Parable of the Sower in Mark 4:13–20 is remarkable, since Jesus predicts, quasi in the role of his own angelus interpres in prophesies ex eventu, the future destiny of “his word,” of his gospel, and of his followers. The partial allusion to Isa 6:9–10 “links the concealment of the mystery of the kingdom of God with the ‘blindness’ and ‘deafness’ of the outsiders,”41 thus probably reiterating a stereotype. It would be worth considering whether the Parable of the Self-growing Seed (Mark 4:26–29) and of the Mustard Seed (Mark 4:30–32) are allusions to the agricultural aspect of Golden-Age traditions. In any event, αὐτομάτη catches our attention: this term is connected with the phrase ἡ γῆ καρποφορεῖ in Mark 4:28 (“spontaneously the earth bears fruit”) and with the demonstrative faineance of the sower (he “sleeps and wakes up night and day,” while “the seed sprouts and grows high”), since for instance Ovid in his description of the Golden Age stresses that “without coercion, without laws, [it] spontaneously (sponte sua) nurtured the good and the true” (Metam. 1.89–90). Equally, the huge rising up of the mustard seed perhaps recalls the paradisiacal opulence. I have already mentioned Enoch’s allusion to the Golden Age earlier. I want to conclude this analysis with some brief remarks on Mark 13 and the Son of Man in regard to the political-military connotation evident there. As observed, the interaction between notions of apocalypses and apocalyptic eschatologies of persecutions, wars, horrible atrocities among siblings, a cosmic cataclysm, and so on, are obvious. Especially this section supports the aforementioned counterimperial reading of Mark. The intertextual relation of this Markan apocalyptic discourse to the Book of Daniel42 and 1 Enoch are already abundantly documented. Considering these matters and the reception of 1 Enoch in particular, Collins’s commentary, among others, has made a comprehensive and meaningful contribution to our understanding. Importantly, she has stressed that 41 Ibid., 249. 42 See, for instance, David S. Du Toit. “Die Danielrezeption in Markus 13,” in Die Geschichte der Daniel-Auslegung in Judentum, Christentum und Islam: Studien zur Kommentierung des Danielbuches in Literatur und Kunst, eds. Katharina Bracht and David S. Du Toit, BZAW 371 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007), 55–77.

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“(t)he designation of the faithful as ‘the elect’ […] occurs only in this chapter of Mark,”43 which recalls the usage of the term in 1 En. 1–5 and elsewhere (see, e.g., 1 En. 93.1–10). The famous and commented passage Mark 13:24–27 combines receptions of apocalyptic typology and of intertextual allusions in abundance. What attracts my attention is that the catastrophic cosmic scenario that marks the beginning of the last judgment is accompanied by the theophanic parousia of the Son of Man “coming in clouds with great power (μετὰ δυνάμεως πολλῆς) and glory” and that he then “will send the angels and he will gather the elect from the for winds, from the end of the earth to end of the sky.” Does this mean that especially because of the gathering of the elect, emphasis is placed on “the salvation rather than the judgment of sinners”?44 Perhaps. But what also strikes me is the parallel in Matthew. There the sending of the angels takes place μετὰ σάλπιγγος μεγάλης (Matt 24:31: “with a loud trumpet call”), which hints at the tradition of the holy war (see, for instance, 1QM 61–9; 19.3–9; or Rev 12).45 Matthew seems to understand Mark 13:24–27 in the context of the last war. The angels belong to the heavenly army. Of course, the trumpet does not exist in Mark. But neither are warlike undertones absent. The term δύναμις could allude to the army,46 even together with “glory.” And ἐπισυνάγω could mean the gathering of the elect as a kind of recruitment for the war. Mark 13:24–27 may also recall Jesus’s prophecy in Mark 9:1, which forecasts for “some of those who are standing here” that “they will not taste death until they see that the kingdom of God has come in power” ([…] ἕως ἂν ἴδωσιν τὴν βασιλείαν τοῦ θεοῦ ἐληλυθυῖαν ἐν δυνάμει). Since Jesus has already prophesized in the preceding verse (Mark 8:38) the coming of the Son of Man “in the glory of his father with the holy angels” ([…] ὅταν ἔλθῃ ἐν τῇ δόξῃ τοῦ πατρὸς αὐτοῦ μετὰ τῶν ἀγγέλων τῶν ἁγίων), it seems obvious that Mark 13:26–27 not only combines the epithets glory and power but depicts the coming of the Son of Man as the coming of the kingdom of God (see also Mark 14:62). This is certainly not by accident an allusion to the scenario in Dan 7:13–14LXX where the Son of Man is seen as “coming with clouds of heaven” and given the universal everlasting authority or dominion, glory, and kingdom of God ([…] καὶ ἐδόθη αὐτῷ ἐξουσία, καὶ πάντα τὰ ἔθνη τῆς γῆς κατὰ γένη καὶ πᾶσα δόξα αὐτῷ λατρεύουσα: καὶ ἡ ἐξουσία αὐτοῦ ἐξουσία αἰώνιος, ἥτις οὐ μὴ ἀρθῇ, καὶ ἡ βασιλεία αὐτοὐ, ἥτις 43 Collins, Mark, 611. 44 Ibid., 614. 45 For a broader analysis see Johann Maier, Kriegsrecht und Friedensordnung in jüdischer Tradition, Theologie und Frieden 14 (Kohlhammer: Stuttgart, 2000), 28–59. 46 See, for instance, Josephus’s War 2.332, 419, which uses this term frequently for “army, troops or forces” alongside στρατιά.

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οὐ μὴ φθαρῇ). What we notice, however, is that for Mark Jesus had already been given the authority or dominion (ἐξουσία) of the Son of Man on earth at least concerning the divine privilege to forgive sins (Mark 2:10; see 1:22 in regard to Jesus’s teaching). The term ἐξουσία in Mark probably takes up the Roman concept of the absolute imperium or potestas, which according to Augustus’s Res Gestae was given to him (as princeps) by the Senate. The Greek version combines the terms ἐξουσία and δίδωμι (see Res Gestae 3.6).47 And of course all of Augustus’s successors claimed the same authority, not least Vespasian and his dynastic successors. Martin Ebner has recently called attention to this Roman constitutional law as a legitimation of the absolute power and dominion of the emperors in the context of the use of ἐξουσία in Mark. He rightly points to the fact that “the real basis for this tremendous abundance of authority of command is the military power which leans on the loyalty of the Roman legions.”48 Are the angels accompanying the Son of Man’s theophanic coming and their gathering of the elect in Mark 13 his legions?

47 Augustus, Res gestae divi Augusti = Meine Taten: Nach dem Monumentum ancyranum, Apolloniense und Antiochenum: Lateinisch-griechisch-deutsch, trans. and ed. Ekkehard Weber, Tusculum Studienausgaben (Düsseldorf: Artemis & Winkler, 2004), 14. 48 My translation. The original reads: “Reale Basis dieser ungeheuren Befehlsfülle ist die militärische Macht, die sich auf die Loyalität der römischen Legionen stützt, […].” (Martin Ebner, “Die Rede von der ‘Vollmacht’ Jesu im MkEv—und die realpolitischen Implikationen,“ ZNT 31 [2013]: 21–30, esp. 23).

Lester L. Grabbe

30 What Did the Author of Acts Know About Pre-70 Judaism? The precise historical value of the Acts of the Apostles is still very much debated.1 Most of the discussion has understandably centered on the question of the history of the early church, though there has been a good deal of general comment about historical writing in antiquity and the specific aims of the author of Acts.2 Yet in all the literature on the subject, it is difficult to find anything that focuses on the author’s knowledge of the Judaism contemporary with the emerging church in Palestine. The purpose of this chapter is to attempt to determine the parameters of the writer’s knowledge of pre-70 Judaism. My concern is not necessarily that of the NT scholar, which might be to ask about Acts’ knowledge of the early church, but that of the historian of Judaism: to what extent can Acts be used as a source for pre-70 Judaism and Jewish history alongside such obvious sources as Josephus and Philo? To answer this question, I shall consider a number of examples. They are not the only ones that could be cited, but some of these are among the most important ones to consider. One methodological problem must be discussed: the use of Josephus. It is often pointed out—usually by conservatives—that Josephus may be mistaken and should not always be preferred to Luke and Acts. Certainly it is true that Josephus has various lacks as a historian and should be treated critically—I have been at the forefront in pointing this out.3 One can find many examples in which his account

1 For a useful summary of the major positions, see A. J. Mattill, Jr., “The Value of Acts as a Source for the Study of Paul,” in Perspectives on Luke-Acts, ed. Charles H. Talbert (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, l978), 76–98, as well as the recent commentaries listed in the next footnote. 2 Summarized in recent commentaries: C. K. Barrett, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, ICC, 2 vols, (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1994–98); Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 31 (New York: Doubleday, 1998); Richard I. Pervo, Acts: A Commentary (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009). 3 See my comments on Josephus as a source in Judaism from Cyrus to Hadrian: Vol. I: Persian and Greek Periods; Vol. II: Roman Period (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1992; British edition in one volume London: SCM, 1994), 4–13 and throughout; Judaic Religion in the Second Temple Period: Belief and Practice from the Exile to Yavneh (London and New York: Routledge, 2000), 92–94 and throughout; A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period 1: Yehud: A History of the Persian Province of Judah, LSTS 47 (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 129–30; A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period 2: The Coming of the Greeks: The Early Hellenistic Period (335–175 BCE), LSTS 68 (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2008), 68–75, and the forthcoming volumes 3 and 4. One of the best illustrations of the issue in detail is still https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-031

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is suspect because of personal bias, poor sources, tendency toward Jewish apologetic, or the accidental errors to which all humans are subject. All these must be kept in mind and considered when using Josephus. Nevertheless, when there is a conflict between him and Luke-Acts, and no clear reason for an error on Josephus’ part is present, he must be given precedence. Otherwise, the comparison loses all relevance and becomes simply an exercise in apologetics. The study is of no value unless it allows that the NT writings can be falsified.4

Examples from Luke and Acts The Sadducees The Sadducees are mentioned at several points (Acts 4:1; 5:17; 23:6–8). They have suffered from bad press throughout history, for all we know of them has generally come from unsympathetic or even down-right hostile sources. The study by Jean Le Moyne, still the main comprehensive treatment, has gathered together the little information we have and given it a proper critical treatment.5 Comparison with Acts is problematic in that this writing is used as a potential source for the sect. But taking only such other sources as we have, the picture of the Sadducees in Acts is by and large in agreement with what can be gleaned by critical study from Josephus and rabbinic literature: 1. The Sadducees are most often associated with the priesthood in some way or the other. Josephus specifically tells us that the high priest Ananus was a Sadducee (Ant. 20.9.1 §199). More important is the name “Boethusians” as a synonym for Sadducee in rabbinic literature, a name generally associated with the high priestly family Boethus from which a number of high priests came during the Herodian period to 70 CE. On the other hand, there Shaye J. D. Cohen, Josephus in Galilee and Rome: His Vita and Development as a Historian, CSCT 8 (Leiden: Brill, 1979). 4 Martin Hengel has recently given a robust argument for treating Acts with greater respect as a historical source in Acts and the History of Earliest Christianity (London: SCM, 1979). Although reviewers have not generally thought that he has always proved his point, it must be clear that Hengel is still a critical scholar. The same cannot be said of treatments such those of I. Howard Marshall, Luke as Theologian and Historian (Exeter: Paternoster, 1970); The Gospel of Luke, NIGTC (Exeter: Paternoster, 1978), and Colin J. Hemer, “Luke the Historian,” BJRL 60 (1977–78): 28–51; The Book of Acts in the Setting of Hellenistic History, WUNT 49 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989). These are not scholarly arguments but exercises in apologetics. 5 Jean Le Moyne, Les sadducéens, Études bibliques (Paris: J. Gabalda, 1972).

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is no indication that the Sadducees were thought to be coextensive with the priests or even the chief priests, which again seems to agree with Josephus. Acts appears to be saying that the individuals who made up the high priest’s retinue tended to be Sadducean. The Sadducean denial of the resurrection is found also in Mark 12:18. Josephus’ statement (Ant. 18.1.4 §16) that they believe the soul perishes with the body is not quite the same thing but might suggest a similar interpretation.6 More problematic is the view that Sadducees denied the existence of angels and spirits, since these are found in the Pentateuch. David Daube argued that it was a reference specifically to a “spiritual” state between death and resurrection, but Benedict T. Viviano and Justin Taylor suggested the sense was captured by translating, “no resurrection, either as an angel or a spirit.”7 Thus, whether there is a basic Sadducean belief attested here or only a misunderstanding is debatable. The Sadducees were the dominant element within the Sanhedrin. Even in the late 50s when the Pharisees are often thought to be becoming dominant in the Sanhedrin,8 the Sadducees are still able to have their way in keeping Paul from being released, according to Acts 23:6–10.

The High Priests On the negative side, there are several statements in Acts that do not appear to accord with the facts. The first is 4:6 that calls Annas “high priest.” Granted that as an ex-high priest he would have retained the title (cf. Josephus, War 2.12.6 §243; 4.3.7 §151; 4.4.3 §238; 4.3.9 §160; Life 38 §193), the context makes it clear that he is assumed to be the actual high priest rather than Caiaphas who in fact was the high priest at this time (Ant. 18.2.2 §35; 18.4.3 §95). As Lake and Cadbury comment, “Annas was not at this time official high priest, but it is hard to interpret this passage except as meaning that he was.”9 6 Ibid., 167–75. 7 David Daube, “On Acts 23: Sadducees and Angels,” JBL 109 (1990): 493–97; Benedict T. Viviano and Justin Taylor, “Sadducees, Angels, and Resurrection (Acts 28:8–9),” JBL 111 (1992): 496–98, followed by Fitzmyer, Acts of the Apostles, 714 and 719. 8 This statement may be true but is often based on late rabbinic passages and is thus suspect. The Megillat Taanit does record a “festival,” which has been interpreted as celebrating the ascendency of the Pharisees over the Sanhedrin, but whether this is the correct interpretation and even when this event is to be dated is unclear. On the Megillat Ta’anit in general, see below; on this particular point, see Hans Lichtenstein, “Die Fastenrolle: Eine Untersuchung zur jüdisch-hellenistischen Geschichte,” HUCA 8–9 (1931–32): 257–351, specifically pp. 297–98. 9 Kirsopp Lake and Henry J. Cadbury, Beginnings of Christianity (London: Macmillan, l933) 4:41.

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A second problem occurs in 9:1–2 in which Paul obtains letters from the high priest allowing him to arrest Christians in Damascus and bring them back to Jerusalem. Not only was Damascus outside the official jurisdiction of the Jerusalem Sanhedrin (cf. next section) but it was also under the rule of Aretus king of Arabia.10 While letters from the high priest might have carried some sort of moral authority to the Jewish community in Damascus, the idea that Paul could freely enter a foreign city, blithely arrest some of its inhabitants, and calmly return with them to Jerusalem is incredible.

The Sanhedrin and the Power of Capital Sentencing Some scholars have recently doubted the existence of the Sanhedrin; however, I have argued that it did exist but that the concept is perhaps more slippery than sometimes realized.11 The picture given in Acts (5:17–40; 7:11–8:58; 26:10–11) is that the Sanhedrin had the right to pass the death sentence. This brings up one of the most hotly disputed points with regard to the Sanhedrin: whether under Roman rule it had the power of capital punishment. Important scholarly names have been arrayed on both sides of the question.12 Although a number of scholars continue to argue that the Sanhedrin could try and execute,13 the present trend is to question that body’s capital powers if not to downright deny them.14 The arguments can be summarized as follows: 1. Although the Romans usually allowed the continuation of local customs and administration in new provinces, the power of capital punishment was 10 See 2 Cor 11:32; cf. E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, revised and enlarged, eds. Geza Vermes, et al.; 3 vols. in 4 (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1973–86), 2:127–30. 11 Lester L. Grabbe, “Sanhedrin, Sanhedriyyot, or Mere Invention?” JSJ 39 (2008): 1–19. 12 For a summary to 1977, see Schürer, History of the Jewish People, 2:218–23; also JeanPierre Lemonon, Pilate et le gouvernement de la Judée: textes et monuments, Études Bibliques (Paris: J. Gabalda, 1981), 74–97. 13 E. Mary Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule, 2nd ed. (Leiden: Brill, 1984), 149–50; Paul Winter, On the Trial of Jesus, 2nd ed., SJ 1 (Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 1974), 110–30; Shemuel Safrai, “Jewish Self-government,” in The Jewish People in the First Century, eds. Shemuel Safrai and Menahem Stern, CRINT 1/1 (Assen: Van Gorcum; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974), 1:397–99. 14 Schürer, History of the Jewish People, 2:218–23; David R. Catchpole, The Trial of Jesus: A Study in the Gospels and Jewish Historiography from 1770 to the Present Day, SPB 22 ( Leiden: Brill, 1971), 236–54; Ernst Bammel, “Die Blutgerichtsbarkeit in der römischen Provinz Judäa vor dem ersten jüdischen Aufstand,” JJS 25 (1974): 35–49; Lemonon, Pilate, 74–94; A. N. Sherwin-White, Roman Society and Roman Law in the New Testament, Sarum Lectures, 1960–61 ( Oxford: Clarendon, 1963), 35–43; “The Trial of Jesus,” Historicity and Chronology in the New Testament, Theological Collections 6 (London: SPCK, 1965), 97–116.

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jealously reserved in the hands of the Roman governor. A good example of this is found in the decrees of Augustus in 6 BCE regarding the situation in Cyrene. Although the governor could use carefully selected juries in capital cases, he could pass sentence on his sole prerogative.15 Coponius, the first governor appointed over Judea after it became a province (6 CE), was specifically said to “have from Caesar the power to execute” (mechri tou kteinein labon para Kaisaros exousian—Josephus, War 2.8.1 §117). An important passage in Josephus (Ant. 20.9.1 §§199–203) reads as follows in its essential part: Ananus [the high priest] thought that he had a favourable opportunity because Festus was dead and Albinus was still on the way. And so he convened the judges of the Sanhedrin and brought before them a man named James, the brother of Jesus who was called Christ, and certain others. He accused them of having transgressed the law and delivered them up to be stoned. Those of the inhabitants of the city who were considered the most fair-minded… secretly sent to King Agrippa urging him, for Ananus had not even been correct in his first steps, to order him to desist from any further such actions. Certain of them even went to meet Albinus, who was on his way from Alexandria, and informed him that Ananus had no authority to convene the Sanhedrin without his consent. [Translation from LCL edition]

4.

This implies one of the two possibilities: (a) The Sanhedrin could not even meet without Roman consent. While possible, this seems an extreme interpretation. (b) More likely is the understanding that the Sanhedrin could not meet to try capital crimes unless the Roman governor authorized it.16 Josephus does not suggest this was anything new. Therefore, even if that was no single consistent policy under Roman rule, the implication is that at least during 44–66 CE the Sanhedrin had to have Roman consent to try and carry out capital punishment. The inscription over the gate of the Jerusalem temple forbade non-Jews to enter on pain of death: “No foreigner may go inside the enclosure around the temple or the forecourt; whoever is caught (doing so) will be the cause of his own death which will follow.”17 This might suggest that the power to try and

15 The key instruction reads: “With regard to any disputes that may arise among Greeks in the province of Cyrenaica, excepting capital cases—in these the provincial governor must himself act and judge or appoint a panel of jurors” (David C. Braund, Augustus to Nero: A Sourcebook on Roman History 31 BC–AD 68 [London: Croom Helm, 1985], 180). 16 Catchpole, The Trial of Jesus, 241–44. 17 Greek text in Frey, CIJ l400; Elias J. Bickerman, “The Warning Inscriptions of Herod’s Temple,” JQR 37 (l946–47): 387–405, especially p. 388. This inscription is also referred to by Josephus (War 6.2.4 §§124–128; Ant. 15.11.5 §417) and Philo (Gaium 2l2).

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execute for such an offense was within Jewish jurisdiction. However, the wording more likely suggests a warning not of legal liabilities but of practical consequences, that is, lynching by a mob of loyal Jews outraged at such a desecration.18 But even if it envisages a legal trial of the offender, it is obviously meant as an exception to the normal processes of law since it would include Roman citizens over whom local judges normally had no power. That this is an exception is indicated by Titus’ alleged statement, as quoted in War 6.2.4 §124: “And did we not permit you to put to death any who passed it, even were he a Roman?” (LCL translation). The special exemption in this case simply confirms that capital punishment was not normally allowed by the native subjects. Several rabbinic passages speak of a period of 40 years before the destruction of Jerusalem when the Sanhedrin had no power of capital punishment (y. Sanh. 1:1, 18a; 7:2, 24b; cf. b. Sanh. 41a; b. Avod. Zar. 8b). Although this might be genuine historical memory, there are reasons to discount these passages on either side of the argument: (a) the figure of 40 years is such a stereotypical one that it becomes very suspect; (b) any references to the Sanhedrin in rabbinic literature are doubtful for the pre-70 period19; (c) the power to execute was kept in the hands of kings Herod and Archelaus during their reigns; the Romans would most likely have taken it over in 6 CE when Judea became a province, not about 30 CE as the rabbinic passages imply. Thus, consistency requires us to avoid using rabbinic material one way or the other in the argument. A passage of the Megillat Ta’anit reads as follows: “On the 22nd day (of Elul) they began again to execute the wicked.”20 This writing is an early Aramaic work generally dated to the first century CE and thus potentially a useful historical document. The problem is that the particulars of historical event on which the festival is based are not usually discussed in the original text. An accompanying Hebrew commentary gives these, but it is generally considered a post-Talmudic or even medieval composition and of very questionable historical worth. On the other hand, the wording of the particular passage in question here strongly suggests the events in 66 CE when the Romans were first routed. If so, it is reasonable to interpret the second part of the quotation as a resumption of capital trials by the native tribunal. Despite the reasonableness of these arguments, however, they still remain conjectural and provide at most a supplementary argument.

18 Bickerman, “The Warning Inscriptions of Herod’s Temple,” 394–98. 19 Cf. Grabbe, “Sanhedrin, Sanhedriyyot, or Mere Invention?” 20 For text, German translation, and commentary, see Lichtenstein, “Die Fastenrolle,” quoted passage from p. 336.

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7.

A NT text often cited to prove that the Sanhedrin was not competent to condemn to death is John 18:3l: “Pilate said, ‘Take him away and try him by your own law.’ The Jews answered, ‘We are not allowed to put any man to death.’” The problem with attempting to prove anything from this statement is that it comes from the latest of the gospels and has no parallel in the Synoptics. Did the Fourth Evangelist have an actual tradition or was he simply interpreting from the general tradition as he so often does? The major positive argument is that the Passion tradition in general seems to be in harmony with the view that the Jews needed Roman approval; that is, the synoptic accounts seem to presuppose what John states explicitly. 8. A number of sources suggest that individuals could be tried and convicted of capital crimes; however, if we exclude rabbinic literature, the examples are all from the NT. Apart from John 7:53–8:11, these center around the persecution of Christians (Acts 5:33–40; 7:54–58). This entails two problems: The first is whether examples in the Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles are based on contemporary evidence or are not simply unreliable Christian tradition with decades of development and embellishment behind them. The second point builds on this uncertainty in asking to what extent such stories of Christian persecution and martyrdom can be trusted at all, especially for the early period of church history. Granted the later persecutions against the Christians, is it likely that the Jews, Greeks, and/or the Romans engaged in continual persecution against and assault on the Christians in the very early years as suggested? Can we really believe that in its first weeks of existence, the church had its leaders hauled before the Sanhedrin and commanded not to teach (Acts 4:1–21), even barely escaping the death penalty (Acts 5:33–40)? Or that members of the Sanhedrin participated in mob action against the Christian preacher Stephen (Acts 7:54–58)? It is difficult to take these accounts at face value. When such dubious examples are eliminated, however, what evidence exists is in favor of the Romans denying capital punishment to the Sanhedrin, certainly not without its express permission. The picture in Acts seems to be one in which the Sanhedrin could try capital cases and execute the punishment, which seems to be incorrect in the light of present understanding.

Acts 5:34–39: Gamaliel the Pharisee Recent study of rabbinic literature has made it abundantly clear that one cannot collect scattered anecdotes from early and late sources and then read them off as

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if they constituted a biography.21 Therefore, many of the statements about Gamaliel I found in NT monographs and commentaries are dependent on methodologically unreliable secondary studies and need reassessment. Of the major “rabbis” before 70, there is little evidence in the early stratum of tradition that they were public figures. Teachers such as Hillel and Shammai may have been important within Pharisaic circles and may even have had influence on a wider public outside such circles; however, there is no indication that they held public office or exercised religious or civic authority in general. The exception to this is Gamliel I, generally identified with the Gamaliel of Acts. The earliest layer of traditions about him according to Jacob Neusner’s investigations indicate that he exercised some sort of official authority in society. The legal agenda of the Gamaliel-tradition conforms to that of a public official, rather than of a sectarian authority within Pharisaism. I therefore take it for granted that Gamaliel was both a Sanhedrin member, as Acts alleges, and leader within the Pharisaic sect, as the rabbinic traditions hold.22 But before we assume that Acts is fully in accord with what is known of Jewish society at the time, the details of Gamaliel’s speech must be looked at. He mentions Theudas and Judas the Galilean. Both are known from Josephus. Judas indeed arose at the time of the Census, that is, when Judea was made into a province in 6 CE (War 2.8.1 §§117–18; Ant. 18.1.1 §§4–10). But Judas’ movement did not die after his execution by the Romans; rather it continued on as the “Fourth Philosophy.” Theudas is also mentioned by Josephus (Ant. 20.5.1 §§97–98), but the latter puts him after Judas in the governorship of Fadus (c. 44–46 CE), also a good number of years after the alleged speech of Gamaliel. Here one must give precedence to the account of Josephus, for reasons noted at the beginning of the chapter.

Acts 12:1–4, 18–23: Agrippa I Acts mentions two events relating to Agrippa I: his persecution of the Christians (12:1–4, 18–19) and his death (12:20–23). Since Josephus says nothing about the first, Acts is our only source. On the one hand, such an action is not impossible, and Christian tradition would probably have remembered it; on the other hand, there are reasons for being suspicious. No explanation is given for the 21 See especially Jacob Neusner, Development of a Legend: Studies on the Traditions Concerning Yohanan ben Zakkai, SPB 16 (Leiden: Brill, 1970); Rabbinic Traditions about the Pharisees Before 70, 3 vols. (Leiden: Brill, l971). 22 Neusner, Rabbinic Traditions about the Pharisees, 1:376.

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execution of James, while the only reason for Peter’s arrest is that it “pleased the Jews” (12:3). Such flimsy pretexts fit well with Christian propaganda but do not accord well with the motives and actions of kings. It looks too much like a scene inspired by general antipathy toward the name Herod,23 which serves as a vehicle for introducing the recitation of a miracle story. The story of Agrippa’s death has features very similar to that of Josephus (Ant. l9.8.2 §§343–50) and, despite some differences, seems to arise from a similar source. Both are anecdotal as shown by the details (the owl in Josephus; the worms in Acts), suggesting that neither is taken directly from an eye witness account. A final point concerns the use of the name “Herod” here. The individual involved is often referred to in scholarship as “Herod Agrippa,” but this seems to be derived simply from the usage in Acts. His name was most likely Marcus Julius Agrippa, the same as his son Agrippa II24 and did not contain the name Herod, even though he was obviously part of the Herodian family. Why, contrary to all inscriptional and other evidence, did Acts use the name “Herod”? Was it carelessness? Or was it possibly ignorance? Luke-Acts seems to have differentiated between the four “Herods,” which are mentioned (Luke 1:5; 3:1; 9:7; 23:6–12; Acts 12; 13:1), but the author assimilates them.25

Acts 24:24–26:32: Felix, Festus, Agrippa II, Berenice At first sight, this section of Acts looks impressive. We find two governors of Judea put in the right sequence and fitted into a context with the Jewish king and his sister in a matter-of-fact way, which suggests considerable knowledge of the historical period. But when looked at more closely, only the following hard data emerge: 1. Felix was married to the Jewish woman Driscilla (Acts 24:24). 2. He was succeeded by Festus (Acts 25:1). 3. Agrippa is called king (Acts 25:13, 24; 26:2, etc.) and associated with Berenice. 4. Agrippa visited Festus soon after he took office. Although there is no confirmation in our sources, it is inherently credible. It has been suggested that Agrippa fell out with Felix (over his sister Driscilla’s marriage to him) and did 23 Jack T. Sanders, The Jews in Luke-Acts (London: SCM, 1987), 20–22. 24 Edmund Groag and Arthur Stein, Propographia imperii romani, Saec. I.II.III (Berlin: de Gruyter, l952), 4:130–32; Wilhelm Dittenberger, Orientis graeci inscriptiones selectae (Leipzig: l903; repr. Hildesheim: Olms, 1960), 1:638–39. 25 Sanders, Jews in Luke-Acts, 21.

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not visit Jerusalem during the latter’s administration (Josephus, Ant. 20.7.2 §§141–143). On the other hand, he was there on some occasions during Festus’ time of office (Ant. 20.8.11 §§189–196). Thus, a visit to establish good relations with the new governor would be precisely what one would expect. These do not amount to very much information, and when considered further, more striking is what is not mentioned. Berenice is not said to be Agrippa’s sister, though this might be a natural omission by an author who assumed his readers were aware of this. But more important is the failure to refer to Berenice as “queen.” The importance of her title is shown by its frequent use in the surviving literary and epigraphic sources.26 Although the writer of Acts might have omitted it in passages such as Acts 25:23 where Agrippa’s title is also absent, the passages of direct address are different: to omit an address to “Queen Berenice” along with “King Agrippa” when addressing the group would be a most serious breach of protocol (Acts 25:24; cf. 25:25; 26:2, etc.). The writer is clearly inventing speech that shows his ignorance of the political reality at the time. When this is considered alongside the serious error of having soldiers march 40 miles overnight in rough terrain (23:31)27 or the idea that a mere military tribune could command the Sanhedrin to meet (22:30), his apparent knowledge of this period appears in a different light. It would not be surprising for someone writing in the 80s or 90s or even the early second century CE to know the few bits of data noted earlier, especially if there were written sources. But the surface impression fades quickly when one probes more deeply into what a writer with precise knowledge of Jewish history at this time should have known.

Luke 2:l–3: The Census of Quirinius So far, I have confined my study to Acts; however, since it is practically a universal opinion that the same individual wrote the Gospel of Luke, I have chosen a telling example from there: Luke 2:1–3. This is probably one of the clearest examples of how Luke has obtained information of a rather scholastic nature and used

26 See inscription 428 in Dittenberger, Inscriptiones, 638–39, where she is called “great queen.” Also Josephus, Life 24 §119; Tacitus, Hist. 2.2.1; 2.81.2; Suetonius, Titus 7.1; Quintillian 4.1.19. 27 Although there were horsemen, there were also foot soldiers (Acts 23:23, 31); a night journey this quick would not have been possible (cf. Pervo, Acts, 586). There is also the fact that such an escort force would have denuded the Jerusalem garrison by half its strength or more (23:23)—not something any commander would have countenanced (Barrett, Acts of the Apostles, 2:1077–78; Pervo, Acts, 583).

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it to give the appearance of professionalism to his narrative, yet his statements show that he is drawing on sources or tradition at a time long after the actual events and has completely misunderstood the data.28 It would be tedious to go through the scholarship on the question that is easily accessible,29 so only a brief summary will be given here. l. Quirinius is known from Josephus and other sources to have been procurator of Syrian in 6 CE. The Tivoli inscription was once interpreted to suggest that he had been legate in Syria twice, but that is now considered a mistake.30 2. No census would have been conducted under Herod since he was directly responsible to Rome. We know in fact that client kings did not pay tribute to Rome. It would have been an unprecedented interference in his internal affairs and certainly a clear undermining of his authority for the Romans to have conducted a census while he was on the throne, since the only purpose of such a census would be to collect taxes directly. 3. A census was the normal action when a kingdom was made into a province, so the “census under Quirinius” as described by Josephus is precisely what a historian would have expected to find when Judea became a Roman province in 6 CE. 4. Luke also appears to be mistaken in talking about a universal census and about suggesting that one had to return to one’s home city for such. Censuses were conducted at different times as needed in different parts of the empire. For example, by the Augustan age Italy was free of taxation and was not subject to census, so the whole of the empire could not have been polled in any case. Further, one’s property was assessed at the area of residence, not the area of birth. Since the purpose of the census was for taxation, the logical place to determine property was where one lived, not where one was born if that was at a distance.

28 The attempt of Marshall (Gospel of Luke, 97–104) to support Luke’s statement is ingenious but unconvincing. Indeed, his very ingenuity demonstrates the apologetic nature of his treatment, for only one determined to defend Luke at all costs would come up with such contorted arguments. 29 Grabbe, Judaism from Cyrus to Hadrian, 383–86; Schürer, 1:399–427; Smallwood, The Jews Under Roman Rule, 568–71; Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel according to Luke I–XI, AB 28 (Garden City: Doubleday, 1981), 399–405. 30 Ronald Syme, “The Titulus Tiburtinus,” Akten des VI. Internationalen Kongresses für Griechische und Lateinische Epigraphik, Vestigia 17 (Munich: Beck, 1973), 585–601.

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Conclusions The results of our investigation show a mixed picture. On the one hand, there are indications that Luke possessed authentic material about pre-70 Judaism and Jewish history, sometimes in a rather startling way: (l) Gamaliel as a public official. (2) The beliefs and social setting of the Sadducees. (3) The death of Agrippa I. (4) The sequence of the procurators Felix and Festus, and Felix’ marriage to Druscilla. (5) Some information about Agrippa II and Berenice. On the other hand, his errors are also sometimes of a striking nature: (l) Confusion about the census under Quirinius. (2) Confusion about the high priest at the time of the crucifixion and shortly afterward. (3) Misdating and misinformation about individuals known from Josephus (e.g., Theudas). (4) The competence of the Sanhedrin to execute capital punishment. (5) The authority of the high priest to give permission for arrests in a foreign kingdom. (6) Agrippa I’s name. (7) The assumption that a military tribune could command the Sanhedrin to meet. (8) Ignorance of the distance between Jerusalem and Antipatris and/or how fast soldiers could march. (9) Ignorance about Queen Berenice’s title. There are other examples of statements that, while neither confirmed nor falsified, still seem very suspect. A number of these relate to the alleged persecutions of the early church. How are we to explain this difference in quality of data? There is probably no simple explanation. In some cases, especially with regard to the early church specifically, Luke is probably relying on oral tradition and testimony. Yet it also seems likely that some of Luke’s information was derived from written sources. Some of it is strikingly like that in Josephus (e.g., Agrippa I’s death), though in other cases I believe that Josephus is ruled out as a source (e. g., Thaddeus; the census in the time of Quirinius). The impression that Luke has tried to give verisimilitude to his account by adding information from written sources about the Jews seems to be borne out by examples such as this (though in my opinion he was not using Josephus but another source).

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The conclusion about Acts as a historical source must be a nuanced one. In some cases, he gives unique information that must be taken seriously yet must be examined carefully. His information in Acts 4–5 about the high priesthood and the proceedings of the Sanhedrin corresponds broadly with information known from other sources. While some of the details seem to be mistaken (e.g., the implication that the Sanhedrin is competent to pass capital sentences), the general picture is probably basically reliable and can be used cautiously in historical reconstruction. Because of blatant errors, however, one must always use his information carefully and critically. Fortunately, there is usually some sort of cross check that can be applied. Thus, the Acts of the Apostles can take its place alongside other sources of first-century Judaism, but it can hardly be considered one of the most important or one of the most reliable. It is with great pleasure that I dedicate this chapter to Gabriele Boccaccini, whom I have known and worked with for many years. Long may he continue to lead the Enoch Seminar!

Mark S. Kinzer

31 Sacrifice, Prayer, and the Holy Spirit: The Tamid Offering in Luke-Acts The story of the apostolic community’s reception of the Holy Spirit at the pilgrim feast of Pentecost (Acts 2) plays a pivotal role in the narrative and thematic structure of the Book of Acts. Just as Luke’s gospel highlights the activity of the Holy Spirit as the principle underlying Jesus’ preaching and healing (e.g., Luke 4:1, 14, 18), so Acts stresses the work of the Spirit in the Jesus-community (e.g., Acts 4:8; 5:3, 9; 6:3). Jesus begins his public mission following the descent of the Spirit at his baptism (Luke 3:22), and the mission of his disciples is inaugurated in the same manner. Moreover, the story of Peter and Cornelius replicates among gentiles the corporate experience of Pentecost, with Peter himself noting the correspondence between the two events (Acts 10:37; 11:15–16). Finally, the pilgrim feast of Pentecost receives attention again in the closing chapters of the book when Paul makes his last journey to Jerusalem to celebrate the holiday, only to be arrested (Acts 20:16; 24:11, 17). Just as the Gospel of Luke is framed by two celebrations of Passover (Luke 2:41–42; 22:7–8), so the Acts of the Apostles is framed by two Pentecost holidays; and just as Jesus is arrested at the second Passover, so Paul is taken at the second Pentecost. Alert readers have long recognized these narrative links. Less noticed, however, is the way these related texts are anticipated and interpreted by the opening story of Luke’s gospel, namely, Gabriel’s announcement to the priest Zechariah of the imminent conception and birth of the Messiah’s forerunner (Luke 1:5–23). Gabriel appears to Zechariah while the priest is offering incense as part of the daily temple sacrifice known as the tamid (i.e., the sacrifice offered “continually” or “regularly”). In this chapter, I will argue that this introductory narrative is constructed in a manner that anticipates the stories of Pentecost and of Cornelius. The first-century author establishes this linkage in order to identify the tamid offering as the biblical and institutional context in which these two later stories are to be interpreted. In doing so, he displays an interest in the enduring significance of this temple rite that resembles what will appear in the following centuries in the synagogues and study-halls of the Jewish world.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-032

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The Tamid in Second Temple Judaism and Beyond The institution of the tamid is described in Exodus 29: 38 Now this is what you shall offer on the altar: two lambs a year old regularly [tamid] each day.  39  One lamb you shall offer in the morning, and the other lamb you shall offer in the evening …42 It shall be a regular burnt offering [‘olat tamid] throughout your generations at the entrance of the tent of meeting before the Lord, where I will meet with you, to speak to you there.  43  I will meet with the Israelites there, and it shall be sanctified by my glory;44  I will consecrate the tent of meeting and the altar; Aaron also and his sons I will consecrate, to serve me as priests.  45  I will dwell among the Israelites, and I will be their God.  46  And they shall know that I am the Lord their God, who brought them out of the land of Egypt that I might dwell among them; I am the Lord their God. (Exodus 29:38–39, 42–46 [NRSV]; see also Numbers 28:1–8)

Verses 42–46 indicate the purpose of the tamid: it is offered so that “I may dwell among them” (vs. 46). The tamid elicits and secures the reality that is paramount to the priestly tradition—the presence of God dwelling in the midst of the people of God. As Jonathan Klawans asserts, “Not only does the daily offering attract the divine presence but also its proper performance serves to maintain that presence among the community.”1 The next verses deal with the construction of the altar of incense (Exodus 30:1–6) and the institution of the daily offering of incense which is to accompany the regular sacrifice of the lambs: 7  Aaron shall offer fragrant incense on it; every morning when he dresses the lamps he shall offer it, 8 and when Aaron sets up the lamps in the evening, he shall offer it, a regular incense offering [ketoret tamid] before the  Lord  throughout your generations. (Exodus 30:7–8 [NRSV])

The three main components of the tamid liturgy have all now been introduced: (1) the lambs sacrificed on the altar of burnt offering; (2) the incense offered on the altar of incense; and (3) the lamps which are tended by the priests morning and evening. C. T. R. Hayward argues that Second Temple Jews of diverse religious viewpoints recognized the centrality of the tamid.2 He cites Hecataeus, Sirach (in both its Hebrew and Greek editions), and Philo of Alexandria, but gives most attention

1 Jonathan Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple: Symbolism and Supersessionism in the Study of Ancient Judaism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 70. 2 C. T. R. Hayward, The Jewish Temple: A Non-Biblical Sourcebook (New York: Routledge, 1996).

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to the Book of Jubilees.3 For Jubilees, the tamid originates not with Moses but with Adam. In the era before the flood, the tamid consisted exclusively of the offering of incense.4 The presentation of blood as part of the tamid commences with Noah, and his sacrifice after the flood—occurring at the beginning of the third month— attracts the divine presence and evokes a divine covenant. It is as a memorial of that decisive event that the angel directs Moses to make a covenant with Israel in the same month (Jubilees 6:11), and to observe the feast of Pentecost as an annual renewal of the covenant (Jubilees 6:17). In the same context, the angel proclaims the liturgy of the tamid to be an eternal institution: And there is no limit of days for this law because it is forever. They shall keep it for their generations so that they might make supplication on your behalf with blood before the altar on every day. And at the hour of daybreak and evening they will seek atonement on their own behalf continually before the LORD so that they might guard it and not be rooted out….5 (Jubilees 6:14)

Hayward summarizes well the significance of the tamid for the author of Jubilees: Quite striking and remarkable is the way in which Jubilees links Noah’s sacrifice, and thus the covenant ritual performed by Moses, to the Tamid, the “continual” daily offering in the Temple.…When the morning and evening Tamid is sacrificed, therefore, the writer of Jubilees expects his readers to recall, first, Noah’s sacrifice on leaving the ark and its biblical consequences; second, the covenant which Noah made not to eat blood; third, the covenant renewed with blood by Moses on Mount Sinai; fourth, the Feast of Weeks [i.e., Pentecost] on which this covenant was ratified; and fifth, the forgiveness which the Tamid itself implores from God.6

This particular theological interpretation of the tamid fits within the distinctive worldview of the Book of Jubilees, and should not be read into other texts of the period without warrant from the texts themselves. However, Hayward stands on firm ground in presenting Jubilees as illustrative of the widespread reverence for this daily temple rite. This high regard for the tamid is further demonstrated by the detailed attention it receives in the Mishnah. An entire tractate of seven chapters is devoted to this subject. It contains a thorough description of the procedure followed by the

3 Ibid., 20, 23 (Hecataeus); 42, 50 (Hebrew Sirach); 79–80 (Greek Sirach); 118–33 (Philo of Alexandria); and 87–90; 93–97; 107 (Book of Jubilees). 4 Ibid., 90, 93. 5 Translation by Orval S. Wintermute in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, Volume 2, ed. James H. Charlesworth (New York: Doubleday & Company, 1985). 6 Hayward, The Jewish Temple, 95.

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priests in the offering of the morning tamid. While the dating of rabbinic materials is now rightly judged to be a precarious enterprise, earlier generations of historians considered this tractate among the oldest in the Mishnah.7 Some of its contents, such as the selection by lot of the priest who was to offer the morning incense (m. Tamid 5:2), are confirmed by other sources (Luke 1:9). One of the most intriguing features of this tractate is its description of a prayer-service conducted by the priests in the midst of their sacrificial duties. After slaughtering the lamb and placing its pieces on the ramp that ascends to the altar, and before the offering of incense, the priests leave the temple court and gather in a room within the temple precincts (Tamid 4:3). They there recite the 10 commandments, the three paragraphs of the Shema, and three blessings (Tamid 5:1). Thus, according to this Mishnah tractate, the tamid service was always accompanied by prayer.8 According to 1 Kings 8:30, King Solomon asks that prayer directed to the Jerusalem temple be answered from heaven. Daniel 6:10 depicts the book’s protagonist as praying toward Jerusalem three times a day, and Daniel 9:21 reveals that one of those occasions was the “time of the evening [i.e., afternoon] sacrifice [minchat ‘erev].” These texts imply that some Jews in the Second Temple period who lived outside the land of Israel observed the practice of praying towards the holy city at the time of the tamid offering. In rabbinic law established after 70 CE, these prayers—known as the Tefillah (“petitionary prayer”), the Amidah (“standing [prayer]”), or (on weekdays) the Shemoneh Esreh (“eighteen [blessings]”)—were standardized and treated as a legal requirement rather than a voluntary practice of piety. In its standardized form, the Tefillah includes two of the prayers recited by the priests as part of their daily tamid liturgy (Tamid 5:1). According to a saying of Rabbi Joshua ben Levi cited in the Babylonian Talmud, the sages instituted the Tefillah to correspond to the daily tamid offerings (b. Berakhot 26b).9 The statutory prayer was not intended as a posttemple replacement for the tamid; instead, “the rabbis clung to the temple ritual that they could still perform—prayer—and emphasized its overall importance even when compared to the sacrificial ritual that they could no longer perform, but still wished to.”10

7 Louis Ginzberg, “Tamid: The Oldest Tractate of the Mishnah,” Journal of Jewish Lore and Philology 1 (1919): 33–44; 2 (1919): 197–209; 3.4 (1919): 265–95. 8 See also the description of the tamid liturgy in Sirach 50:19 (Greek): “And the people besought the Lord Most High / in prayer before the Merciful One / Until the order of the Lord was completed / And they had perfectly finished His Service”; see Hayward, The Jewish Temple, 74. 9 For a more detailed treatment of the connection between prayer and the tamid service, see Mark S. Kinzer, Searching Her Own Mystery: Nostra Aetate, the Jewish People, and the Identity of the Church (Eugene: Cascade, 2015), 129–37. 10 Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple, 209.

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Therefore, whether considering the Second Temple period about which Luke writes, or the post-70 setting in which he composes his two volumes, we find that the tamid service enjoys enormous prestige and occupies the attention of many devout Jews. It is associated with prayer and constitutes a sacrificial invocation of the divine presence, and in some circles it has a particular connection to the holiday of Pentecost and the renewal of the covenant.

The Tamid in Luke’s Opening Chapter The Gospel of Luke begins with the selection by lot of the priest Zechariah to enter the holy place and present Israel’s offering of incense as part of the tamid service (Luke 1:8–9). Does Luke refer here to the morning or afternoon tamid?11 Joseph Fitzmyer and I. Howard Marshall argue that Luke sets this scene at the afternoon/evening tamid.12 Their conclusion rests on parallels between Luke 1:8ff. and the angelic revelation of Daniel 9, which takes place at the time of the afternoon sacrifice. The parallels are indeed noteworthy. Like Daniel, Zechariah prays at the time of the tamid (Luke 1:13; Dan 9:17–20); like Daniel, Zechariah’s prayer is followed by a visitation from the angel Gabriel (Luke 1:11, 19; Dan 9:12); like Daniel, Zechariah receives from Gabriel a promise of Israel’s restoration (Luke 1:16–17; Dan 9:24). The post-70 reader of Luke also perceives another parallel that Zechariah could not have discerned: in both Daniel 9 and Luke 1, the promise of Jerusalem’s redemption will be realized only after the city endures another tragic destruction (Luke 21:24; Dan 9:26–27). These substantive parallels support the contention that Luke draws upon Daniel 9 in his crafting of the opening scene of his gospel. However, we should also note the differences between the two narratives. Unlike Zechariah, Daniel has no priestly pedigree or role (Dan 1:6). Unlike Zechariah, Daniel prays from a distant land rather than in the holy city, and, even if Daniel had been in Jerusalem rather than in eastern exile, he would have been unable to pray in the temple, for it was in ruins. Thus, while Daniel can pray at the time of the evening sacrifice (Dan 9:21), no such sacrifice was actually offered at that time; he prays at the hour when the sacrifice would have 11 The Torah states that the second tamid offering of the day should be presented “between the evenings” (beyn ha’arbaim; Exod 29:39; Num 28:4, 8). Modern translators usually render this phrase as “at twilight.” However, in the late Second Temple period the sacrifice was presented in the late afternoon, at the ninth hour (i.e., around 3:00 pm). The Passover sacrifice was also to be slaughtered beyn ha’arbaim (Exod 12:6), and Josephus, Jewish War, 6.9.3, informs us that this occurred from the 9th to the 11th hours (i.e., from around 3:00 to 5:00 pm). 12 Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel Accord to Luke I–IX (Garden City: Doubleday, 1981), 324; I. Howard Marshall, Commentary on Luke (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1978), 54.

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been offered, if the temple had not been destroyed. These significant differences raise the question whether we have a sufficient basis for importing a detail from the Daniel 9 narrative (i.e., its afternoon setting) into a Lukan narrative.13 I would argue that Luke expects knowledgeable readers to assume a morning setting for Luke 1:8–22. There are three reasons for holding such a proposition. First, the morning tamid enjoyed greater prominence than the afternoon service. Illustrating this fact, the Mishnah tractate devoted to the tamid offering focuses exclusively on the morning tamid. If no explicit time designation is provided in a narrative that refers to the tamid, we are therefore justified in assuming a morning setting.14 Second, this assumption is confirmed by the other Lukan texts that refer or allude to the tamid, for they all deal with the afternoon sacrifice and are explicit in their temporal designation (Acts 3:1; 10:2–4; 10:30). If Luke 1:8–22 also has an afternoon setting, we would expect Luke similarly to mention the fact. Third, a morning setting for this story fits its position at the beginning of Luke’s narrative, and also fits the final words of the Song of Zechariah: “the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace” (Luke 1:28b–29). While Zechariah speaks these words nine months later at the circumcision of his son, he had been unable to speak since his encounter with Gabriel, and the blessing that breaks his silence represents the response he should have given immediately to the angelic promise (Luke 1:68). The morning tamid began with the break of dawn (m. Tamid 3:2), and it thus provides the appropriate setting for the beginning of Luke’s two volumes and the announcement of the “light” that will shine in the midst of the darkness. That Luke draws upon Daniel 9—which begins with a lengthy prayer offered by the sage and seer (vv. 4–19)—suggests that Zechariah’s prayer at the altar of incense deserves special attention. We only learn of this prayer indirectly through the initial words of Gabriel: “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard” (Luke 1:13). However, the reader was already informed of the corporate prayer being offered in connection with the tamid: “Now at the time of the 13 In an important article focusing on the tamid in Luke and Acts, Dennis Hamm agrees with the conclusion of Fitzmyer and Marshall concerning the timing of Zechariah’s offering, but on different grounds. Noting that Luke’s narrative appears to assume that the priestly blessing would follow immediately after Zechariah’s ritual action at the altar of incense, Hamm erroneously asserts (on the basis of the Mishnah) that this sequence was unique to the afternoon tamid. However, the relevant Mishnah tractate actually states that this ritual sequence occurs also in the morning tamid (m. Tamid 6:3; 7:1–2). See Dennis Hamm, S.J. “The Tamid Service in Luke-Acts: The Cultic Background behind Luke’s Theology of Worship (Luke 1:5–25; 18:9–14; 24:50–53; Acts 3:1; 10:3, 30),” CBQ 65.2 (2003): 221. 14 Alfred Edersheim reaches this conclusion with the same reasoning. See Alfred Edersheim, The Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah, Volume I (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1971; original edition 1883), 133 fn. 1.

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incense-offering, the whole assembly of the people was praying outside” (Luke 1:10). This direct reference to the prayer of the people prepares us for the indirect mention of Zechariah’s petition. What was Zechariah requesting from God? At first one might think that he prays for a son, since he and his wife are childless (Luke 1:7), and his prayer is answered by the bestowal of this gift. However, if that had been the content of Zechariah’s prayer, it seems strange that he would doubt an angelic communication granting his request. While the gift of a child to aged parents would be a wondrous sign, Zechariah would not pray for it if he did not think it possible, and such a sign would not exceed the wonder of an angelic visitation. More likely, Luke hints that Zechariah’s prayer in the holy place has the same content as the prayer of those Jews in the outer court (Luke 1:10), whose concern for Israel’s redemption would echo Daniel’s petition (Daniel 9:4–19). Daniel’s prayer became the model for how Jews would pray in coming centuries for the future redemption. According to Luke, God’s definitive answer to Daniel’s prayer will come to pass with the conception and birth of this child, and even more with the conception and birth of another child whose way will be prepared by Zechariah’s offspring (Luke 1:17). That this is the content of the prayer of both Zechariah and the people at the tamid offering of Luke 1 is further supported by the author’s description of the prophetess Anna who “never left the temple but worshiped there with fasting and prayer night and day [latreuousa nukta kai hemeran]” (Luke 2:37). Upon seeing the child Jesus, Anna gives praise to God and speaks about him to others in the temple who, like her, “were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem” (Luke 2:38). That is what she prays for “night and day.” The author underlines the significance of this verse by echoing its language near the end of the two-volumes, as Paul offers his defense before King Agrippa: “And now I stand here on trial on account of my hope in the promise made to our ancestors, a promise that our twelve tribes hope to attain, as they earnestly worship day and night [nukta kai hemeran latreuon]” (Acts 26:6–7). Furthermore, the phrase “day and night” may allude to Solomon’s prayer at the dedication of the temple: Regard your servant’s prayer and his plea, O Lord my God, heeding the cry and the prayer that your servant prays to you today;  that your eyes may be open day and night [hemeras kai nuktos] toward this house, the place of which you said, “My name shall be there,” that you may heed the prayer that your servant prays toward this place day and night [hemeras kai nuktos].15 Hear the plea of your servant and of your people Israel when they pray toward this place; O hear in heaven your dwelling place; heed and forgive. (1 Kings 8:28–30)

15 The repetition of the phrase “day and night” in verse 29 is found in the Septuagint, but not in the Masoretic text.

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Israel directs its prayer towards Jerusalem, and also offers it for Jerusalem. That it does so “day and night” underlines the continual and regular character of its worship, which is also the significance of the tamid (i.e., “continual” or “regular”) service. The prayer of Zechariah and the people will be answered through the work of two figures whose conception is announced by the angel Gabriel. The first—a son to be born to Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth—will be distinguished by a special divine gift: “he will be great in the sight of the Lord … even before his birth he will be filled with the Holy Spirit” (Luke 1:15). While still in the womb John is moved by the Spirit when his mother is visited by Mary, the mother of the unborn child whose way John is destined to prepare (Luke 1:41, 44). Luke tells us that at that moment Elizabeth was “filled with the Holy Spirit” (Luke 1:41), for her womb contains one who is already “filled with the Holy Spirit” (Luke 1:15). When, as an adult, John describes the mission of the one whose way he prepares, he says that the coming one “will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (Luke 3:16). Thus, the incense offering of Zechariah and his prayer, along with the prayers of devout Jews in Jerusalem and around the world, receive a divine response in the birth of a child filled with the Holy Spirit, and in the birth of another child who will become the agent who bestows the Holy Spirit on faithful Israel. Just as the tamid sacrifice—and its accompanying prayer—served to attract and maintain the divine presence for Israel in its daily life, so the tamid liturgy recounted in Luke 1 announces the imminent eschatological descent of the Holy Spirit in the midst of Israel.

Luke 1 as Paradigm The tamid/prayer/Spirit nexus of Luke 1 provides us with a framework for interpreting the two linked narratives of Acts in which Jewish and gentile disciples are “baptized with the Holy Spirit” (Acts 1:5). After the ascension of Jesus on the Mount of Olives (Acts 1:6–11), the 11 apostles returned to the city (Acts 1:12) and “went to the room upstairs where they were staying” (Acts 1:13). Their chief occupation was prayer: “All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer [proskarterountes homo-thumadon te proseuche]” (Acts 1:14). This prepares the reader for the opening verses of the next chapter: “When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together [homou] in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting” (Acts 2:1–2). The reader naturally assumes that the “one place” of Acts 2:1 and the “house” of Acts 2:2 are equivalent to the “room upstairs” of Acts 1:13, and that the apostolic

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community have been engaged in the same activity in that place that had been mentioned previously (Acts 1:13), namely, the activity of prayer. This narrative focuses on the realization of the promise made first by John (Luke 3:16), and then reiterated by the resurrected Jesus: “John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit” (Acts 1:5). Just as Jesus himself prayed when baptized in water by John, and was then filled with the Holy Spirit (Luke 3:21–22; 4:1, 14), so his disciples follow the pattern established by their master. The prayer/Spirit linkage is here most prominent, but a likely allusion to the tamid is also noteworthy. In an apparently incidental detail, Luke indicates the time at which the Spirit was given: it was the third hour, or approximately 9:00 am (Acts 2:15). According to rabbinic texts, the morning tamid commenced at daybreak with the slaughtering of the burnt-offering, but the sacrificial rites would take hours to complete. The service would normally conclude no later than the fourth hour (i.e., 10:00 or 11:00 am; m. Eduyyot 6:1; b. Berakhot 26b–27a). Since the morning incense-offering was presented before both the priestly benediction and the placement of the burnt-offering on the altar of sacrifice, it would take place approximately at the third hour (i.e., 9:00 am).16 This means that the apostolic community received the Holy Spirit at approximately the same time as the priests offered incense in the temple, and thus also at the hour when Zechariah had entered the holy place and received the promise of redemption from the angel Gabriel. While the evidence is too limited for any confident assertions, it is possible that Luke also draws upon traditions concerning the meaning of Pentecost that are found in the Book of Jubilees. As seen above, Jubilees views Pentecost as a memorial not only of Sinai but also of the covenant with Noah. As such, the holiday recalls the sacrifice offered by Noah that evoked the divine promise, and the tamid liturgy that continued the patriarch’s liturgical practice. While the tamid liturgy remains implicit in Acts 2, it rises to the surface in the opening verse of the next chapter: “One day Peter and John were going up to the temple at the hour of prayer, at three o’clock in the afternoon” (Acts 3:1). Luke refers to the time of the afternoon tamid as “the hour of prayer.” In this way the author underlines the inseparable connection between the priestly rites and the people’s prayer. At the same time, Luke portrays the apostles as sharing in the widespread Jewish devotion to the institution of the tamid, and thereby increases the likelihood that the previous chapter should be read in light of the same institution.

16 Alfred Edersheim, The Temple: Its Ministry and Services (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1994; original edition 1889), 107–8.

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The later narrative in which gentiles are “baptized with the Spirit” makes the tamid/prayer/Spirit nexus unmistakably evident. Introducing the god-fearing centurion, Cornelius, the author informs us that “he gave alms generously to the [Jewish] people and prayed constantly [dia pantos] to God” (Acts 10:2). The Greek phrase translated here as “constantly” is used by the Septuagint to render the Hebrew word tamid (e.g., LXX Lev 24:2, 8), especially when the latter term refers to Israel’s twice-daily burnt-offering (e.g., LXX Num 28:10, 15, 23, 24, etc.). It thus refers not to the prayerful orientation to life that Cornelius demonstrated every moment of every day, but to his adoption of the Jewish custom of praying twice daily at the time when the burnt-offering was presented by the priests at the temple in Jerusalem. It is while adhering to this custom of prayer at the time of the afternoon tamid that Cornelius receives an angelic visitation much like that of Zechariah (Acts 10:3–4; 30–31). The angel tells him that his prayers and alms “have ascended as a memorial before God” (Acts 10:4). The terminology employed by the angel (“ascended,” “memorial”) derives from the sacrificial system, and suggests that the prayer of Cornelius (like that of Zechariah) has been mingled with the incense of the Jerusalem temple and received with favor in the heavenly sanctuary. For Zechariah (in Luke 1) and for the apostolic community (in Acts 2), the acceptance of prayer and sacrifice results in a direct divine intervention by the Spirit. In the case of Cornelius, however, the situation differs, since he is not part of the people of Israel. The angel therefore commands him to send for Peter, who will be the human agent (representing the people of Israel) through whom the saving message will be proclaimed and the Spirit bestowed. While the gift of the Spirit in this case has been humanly mediated, and thus a temporal hiatus divides the prayer/sacrifice from the giving of the Spirit, the causal nexus is clear: the prayer of a righteous person, accompanying Israel’s sacrifice, leads to the bestowal of the Holy Spirit. When Peter enters the home of Cornelius and proclaims to the gentile household the message of Jesus, “the Holy Spirit fell upon all who heard the word” (Acts 10:44), and the presence of the Spirit becomes manifest among them in a manner resembling the events recounted in Acts 2 (Acts 10:46). The author emphasizes the fact that, like the angelic visitation to Cornelius four days earlier, this occurs at the hour of the afternoon tamid (Acts 10:30). The repetition of the Pentecost experience in a gentile context astounds Peter’s Jewish companions, who evidently thought that the Spirit could only be given to Jews (Acts 10:45). Peter’s response is telling: “Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?” (Acts 10:47; emphasis added). In other words, Peter compares the experience of Cornelius and his household to the experience of the apostolic community on the day of Pentecost. This comparison is

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reiterated in even more explicit form when Peter defends in Jerusalem his visit to Cornelius and the baptizing of the gentile household: And as I began to speak, the Holy Spirit fell upon them just as it had upon us at the beginning. And I remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said, “John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.” If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?’ (Acts 11:15–17)

Here Peter refers back not only to the day of Pentecost, but also to the words of Jesus and John the Baptist. In this way a linkage is established in the text between the Cornelius episode, the reception of the Spirit at Pentecost, and the figure of John the Baptist (and thus also to the angelic announcement of John’s conception and birth in Luke 1). Given this linkage, we are justified in seeing the tamid/ prayer/Spirit constellation as a paradigm anticipated in the Lukan infancy narrative and played out in the history of the early Jesus-community. At this point we can better appreciate the significance of establishing the timing of the tamid in Luke 1. If Luke intends us to understand Zechariah’s incense-offering as an element of the morning tamid, then this episode directly foreshadows the narrative of Pentecost, which also occurs at the time of the morning sacrifice. On the other hand, a contrast is drawn between these two events and the Cornelius incident, which occurs during the afternoon tamid. This pattern reflects a feature of the narratives that we have already commented upon: the divine action following the prayer/sacrifice is direct and temporally immediate in the cases of Zechariah and the apostolic community, whereas it is indirect (i.e., humanly mediated) and temporally delayed in the case of Cornelius. This likely expresses Luke’s view of the Jew-gentile distinction, which shapes the contours of “salvation history.” God works first and in a direct way with faithful Israel, and then works through these Jews to bring “light” to the gentiles. For Luke, the two daily tamid offerings correspond to the renewal of Israel accomplished at Pentecost (i.e., at the dawn of the messianic age) and to the calling of the gentiles through renewed Israel (i.e., in the afternoon of the messianic age). At the same time, Luke does not so spiritualize the meaning of these Jewish customs as to rob them of their enduring institutional value. After receiving the Spirit on Pentecost, the apostolic community cultivated a pattern of daily life in which “they spent much time together in the temple [proskarterountes homothumadon en to hiero]” (Acts 2:46), echoing the description of their life of prayer in the upper room before Pentecost (proskarterountes homothumadon te proseuche; Acts 1:14). They gather for prayer in the temple, and they do so not only as a matter of practical convenience (i.e., because the temple was the only site that could accommodate such a large group), but also as a matter of principle. Furthermore,

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they do not pray simply on their own, but also as part of the wider people of Israel. As noted earlier, Peter and John ascend the temple mount at the time of the afternoon tamid, in order to join their prayer to the offerings and prayers of all Israel (Acts 3:1). We may assume that the author intends this to be taken as typical of the apostolic community, whose devotion to the tamid liturgy equals that of other Jewish groups of the same period.

Conclusion At least four assertions follow from these exegetical reflections. First, commentators should view the Lukan infancy-narrative as thematically integral to both Lukan volumes. These chapters introduce images and ideas that will recur not only in the Gospel but also in the Book of Acts, and readers can only interpret the latter texts adequately if they take full account of the way they are anticipated in the former.17 Second, the temple plays an especially important role in Luke-Acts. While the author apparently writes after its destruction, he nevertheless considers the temple rites to be of tremendous significance. In this, the two-volumes resemble other Jewish writings of the same period.18 Third, the author of Luke-Acts likely assumes that disciples of Jesus—Jewish and gentile alike—are adhering to a twice-daily pattern of prayer based on the tamid liturgy. Like the prayer of Daniel, the prayer of Zechariah, and the prayer later codified within the rabbinic movement, these daily petitions would have focused on the restoration of Israel and the definitive establishment of God’s reign in the world. As an anticipation of those eschatological events, these prayers also would invoke the presence and power of the Holy Spirit. While the author of LukeActs sees a prophetic meaning in the twofold tamid that points to the twofold character (i.e., Jew and gentile) of the expanded people of God, this prophetic interpretation is given in order to buttress an institutionalized pattern of prayer rather than to supplant it. Luke-Acts thus adopts an approach to the temple rites that has much in common with what is emerging in his day in the synagogues and study-halls of the Jewish world.

17 I develop this point more fully in an upcoming volume titled Jerusalem Crucified, Jerusalem Risen to be published in 2018 by Cascade. 18 This topic will likewise be treated in detail in the forthcoming volume mentioned in the previous footnote. I will there also offer exegesis of Stephen’s speech in Acts 7, which many interpreters view as critical of the temple.

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Fourth and finally, these reflections all underline the benefit of reading the New Testament writings as thoroughly Jewish texts. My teacher, Gabriele Boccaccini, to whom this book is dedicated, has modeled this way of reading the New Testament throughout his immensely fruitful career of scholarship and teaching, and his example continues to inspire my own labors. May he live to 120, and may his work bear a rich harvest in the years beyond.

Corrado Martone

32 La figura di Giovanni Battista alla luce della letteratura qumranica: alcune considerazioni Introduzione Il tema del rapporto tra la letteratura di Qumran e gli scritti e, più in generale, le origini cristiane è stato a lungo ed è ancora oggi un tema di grandissimo interesse, cui Gabriele Boccaccini ha dato nel corso degli anni un contributo fondamentale, sia con i suoi studi sia con i molti seminari da lui organizzati sull’argomento.1 Uno dei motivi dell’interesse che questo tema ha suscitato sono, inutile negarlo, le molte illazioni fatte su testi qumranici che, per vari motivi e in particolare per la nuova luce che getterebbero sulle origini cristiane, sarebbero stati sottratti alla comunità scientifica e tenuti nascosti.2 Altrettante illazioni sono state fatte nel corso degli anni su presunti rapporti tra la comunità di Qumran e figure di spicco del cristianesimo delle origini, quali lo stesso Gesù e Paolo di Tarso.3 A questa sorte non è sfuggito il personaggio di cui ci occupiamo qui, ancorché, come è evidente, egli non sia mai stato cristiano, e cioè Giovanni Battista. Per dare fin da subito l’idea di come tali illazioni possano portare a ipotesi assolutamente insostenibili non sarà inutile fare riferimento alla ipotesi proposta da Barbara Thiering negli anni ’90:4 secondo questa autrice il misterioso

1  Si veda da ultimo Loren T. Stuckenbruck and Gabriele Boccaccini, eds., Enoch and the Synoptic Gospels: Reminiscences, Allusions, Intertextuality, EJL 44 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2016). 2  Al riguardo basterà citare il volume Robert H. Eisenman and Michael O. Wise, The Dead Sea Scrolls Uncovered: The First Complete Translation and Interpretation of 50 key Documents Withheld for Over 35 Years (New York: Penguin Books, 1993); cf. l’ottimo e documentato review article di Florentino García Martínez, “Notas al margen de The Dead Sea Scrolls Uncovered,” RevQ 61 (1993): 123–50, che definisce il libro scientificamente mediocre. 3  Si veda ad es. Robert H. Eisenman, James the Brother of Jesus.The Key to Unlocking the Secrets of Early Christianity and the Dead Sea Scrolls (New York: Penguin Books, 1997), secondo cui Giacomo sarebbe il Maestro di Giustizia e Paolo il Sacerdote Empio, Eisenman ha riproposto questa tesi in molti libri che non è necessario ricordare qui. 4  Cf. Barbara Thiering, Jesus and the Riddle of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Unlocking the Secrets of His Life Story (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1992). Per una valutazione del volume si veda https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-033

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personaggio che nei testi di Qumran è definito il “Maestro di Giustizia” (‫מורה‬ ‫ )הצדק‬e che si configura come il fondatore e leader della comunità sarebbe proprio il Battista. Secondo la Thiering, insomma, non ci sarebbero stati solo dei non meglio definiti rapporti tra la comunità di Qumran e il Battista, ma la comunità di Qumran sarebbe stata dal Battista fondata e guidata. Non paga di questa rivelazione, la Thiering si spinge oltre. Come è noto, un altro personaggio è menzionato nei testi di Qumran esclusivamente con un soprannome, ed è l’acerrimo nemico del Maestro di Giustizia, il cosiddetto Sacerdote Empio. Ebbene, chi sarebbe il Sacerdote Empio, secondo la teoria di Barbara Thiering? Si tratterebbe addirittura di Gesù di Nazareth. Sulla base di queste due identificazioni per lo meno discutibili, la Thiering ricostruisce in maniera diciamo così “romanzesca” la vita di Gesù, il quale sarebbe nato nei pressi di Qumran e sarebbe stato accolto nella comunità, da colui che, come abbiamo visto, ne era il leader, cioè il Battista. Col Battista, in seguito, Gesù sarebbe entrato in conflitto: ed ecco perché i testi qumranici lo considererebbero il Sacerdote Empio (‫ )חכוהן הרשע‬o l’Uomo di Menzogna (‫)איש הכזב‬.5 Va detto che, nonostante il libro si presenti come un saggio storico, siamo più dalle parti del romanzo di quart’ordine: basterà citare il fatto che, per una tale ricostruzione, la Thiering è costretta a non tenere in alcun conto la datazione paleografica e al Carbonio 14 dei manoscritti di Qumran, in base alla quale sappiamo che la stragrande maggioranza del corpus qumranico risale agli ultimi due secoli avanti l’èra volgare.6

Otto Betz and Rainer Riesner, Jesus Qumran und der Vatikan. Klarstellungen (Giessen: Brunnen-Verlag, 1993), in particolare pp. 121–38. 5  Per concludere rapidamente l’esposizione di questa teoria e non lasciare il lettore con la curiosità su come finisce la storia mette conto ancora dire che vediamo, nel libro della Thiering, Gesù morire in tarda età—dopo essere sopravvissuto alla crocefissione grazie alle arti magiche apprese presso la comunità di Qumran—a Roma sposato in seconde nozze con Lidia, la venditrice di porpora citata negli Atti degli Apostoli (At 16:40). 6  Per la datazione paleografica dei manoscritti di Qumran, restano fondamentali i seguenti studi: Solomon A. Birnbaum, The Hebrew Scripts (Leiden: Brill, 1971); Nahman Avigad, “The Palaeography of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Documents,” in Aspects of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. Chaim Rabin and Yigael Yadin; Scripta Hierosolimitana 4 (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1958), 56–87; Frank Moore Cross, “The Development of the Jewish Scripts,” in The Bible and the Ancient Near East: Essays in Honor of William Foxwell Albright, ed. G. Ernest Wright (Garden City: Doubleday, 1965), 170–264. Per una serrata critica della metodologia di Cross, si veda tuttavia, Rick Van de Water, “Reconsidering Palaeographic and Radiocarbon Dating of the Dead Sea Srolls,” RevQ 75 (2000): 423–39. Per quanto riguarda datazioni basate sul Carbonio 14 e la cosiddetta Accelerator Mass Spectrometry, cf. Georges Bonani et al., “Radiocarbon Dating of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Atiqot 20 (1991): 27–32.

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Le analogie tra il Battista e l’esperienza Qumranica Ciò non toglie che, aldilà di ricostruzioni romanzesche e non scientifiche (ancorché redditizie: il libro della Thiering è stato purtoppo un best seller negli Stati Uniti e in Germania), analogie tra la figura e l’insegnamento del Battista e la teologia qumranica esistono e vanno valutate con attenzione,7 tenendo comunque sempre ben presente il dato di fatto che Giovanni Battista (come del resto nessun altro personaggio del Nuovo Testamento) non è mai nominato in alcun testo proveniente dalle grotte di Qumran.8 Un primo elemento che viene di solito menzionato è il soggiorno nel deserto, di cui si legge in Lc 1:80: Il fanciullo intanto cresceva e si fortificava nello spirito. Visse in regioni deserte, fino al giorno in cui doveva manifestarsi ad Israele.

E poco più avanti (Lc 3:2): In quel tempo la parola di Dio fu rivolta a Giovanni, figlio di Zaccaria, nel deserto.

È ben noto che la comunità di Qumran, per motivi sui cui ancora gli studiosi dibattono, a un certo punto si ritirò nel deserto:9 di qui la possibilità, almeno in linea teorica, che il soggiorno nel deserto del Battista sia avvenuto in seno alla comunità di Qumran. Come si vede, siamo per adesso abbastanza nel vago; le analogie però iniziano a farsi più interessanti se andiamo a leggere l’appoggio

7  Cf. ad es. Hartmut Stegemann, Die Essener, Qumran, Johannes der Täufer und Jesus: Ein Sachbuch (Freiburg im Breisgau: Verlag Herder, 1993); Émile Puech, “Jean Baptiste était-il essénien?,” MdB 89 (1994): 7–11; Joan Taylor, “John the Baptist and the Essenes,” JJS 47 (1996): 256–85; Ead., The Immerser: John the Baptist within Second Temple Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997); Stanley E. Porter, “Was John the Baptist a Member of the Qumran Community? Once More,” in Christian Origins and Hellenistic Judaism: Social and Literary Contexts for the New Testament, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Andrew W. Pitts, TENT 10 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 283–313. 8  Si veda il classico Herbert Braun, Qumran und das Neue Testament, 2 vols. (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1966) e l’ancora valido status quaestionis di Romano Penna, “La traduzione completa dei manoscritti di Qumran,” Lateranum 63 (1997): 135–44; più di recente cf. George J. Brooke, “New Perspectives on the Significance of the Scrolls for the New Testament and Early Christian Literature,” DSD 23 (2016): 267–79. 9  La bibliografia sulle origini della comunità di Qumran è sconfinata: basterà in questa sede ricordare lo status quaestionis di James C. VanderKam, The Dead Sea Scrolls Today, rev. ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010).

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scritturistico in base al quale i vangeli spiegano il ritiro del Battista nel deserto: leggiamo Mc 1:3, ma la testimonianza torna in tutti e quattro i vangeli: Egli allora percorse tutta la regione del Giordano, predicando un battesimo di penitenza per il perdono dei peccati. 4 Si realizzava così ciò che è scritto nel libro degli oracoli del profeta Isaia: Ecco, una voce risuona nel deserto: Preparate la strada per il Signore, spianate i suoi sentieri! 5 Le valli siano riempite, le montagne e le colline siano abbassate; le vie tortuose siano raddrizzate, i luoghi impervi appianati. 6 Ogni uomo vedrà la salvezza di Dio.

Il riferimento è ovviamente a Is 40:3–4: Una voce grida: «Nel deserto preparate la via del Signore! Raddrizzate nella steppa la strada per il nostro Dio. 4 Ogni valle sia colmata e ogni montagna e collina siano abbassate, il terreno accidentato diventi piano e quello scosceso una valle.

Ebbene, nella Regola della Comunità, uno dei testi fondamentali della comunità di Qumran,10 leggiamo un passo riguardante il ritiro della comunità nel deserto: (1QS 8:12–16): E quando questi esistano /come comunità/ in Israele 13 /secondo queste disposizioni/ si separeranno dall’interno della residenza degli uomini di iniquità per andare nel deserto ed aprire lì la strada di Lui. 14 Come è scritto: “Nel deserto preparate la strada di ****, fate un dritto sentiero nella steppa per il nostro Dio.” 15 Questo è lo studio della legge, che ordinò per mezzo di Mosè, per operare secondo tutto ciò che è stato rivelato da età in età, 16 e che rivelarono i profeti per mezzo del suo santo spirito.11

Vediamo dunque che la comunità, una volta formatasi, dovrà separarsi da un mondo considerato empio e ritirarsi nel deserto per aprire la strada al Signore, e l’appoggio scritturistico che viene usato per giustificare una tale scelta è il medesimo che le fonti attribuiscono al Battista, cioè il passo di Isaia 40:3.12 Però, a fronte di questa innegabile analogia, notiamo subito un’importante differenza. Mentre per Giovanni il ritiro nel deserto funge da preparazione alla sua missione per la comunità di Qumran, il versetto isaiano “Nel deserto preparate la strada 10  Cf. da ultimo Alison Schofield, From Qumran to the Yaḥad: A New Paradigm of Textual Development for The Community Rule, STDJ 177 (Leiden: Brill, 2008). 11  Questa e le seguenti citazioni dai testi di Qumran sono tratte da Florentino García Martínez— Corrado Martone, Testi di Qumran (Brescia: Paideia, 1996). 12  Cf. Alison Schofield, “The Wilderness Motif in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Israel in the Wilderness: Interpretations of the Biblical Traditions in Jewish and Christian Narratives, ed. Kenneth E. Pomykala; Themes in Biblical Narrative 10 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 37–53; Annette Steudel, “Die Rezeption autoritativer Texte in Qumran,” in Qumran und der biblische Kanon, ed. Michael Becker and Jörg Frey, BThSt 92 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2009), 89–100; Timothy Lim, “Qumran Scholarship and the Study of the Old Testament in the New Testament,” JSNT 38 (2015): 68–80.

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di YHWH” significa, come è esplicitamente affermato, “studiare la Legge” cioè, aggiungiamo, interpretare la Legge nel modo in cui è stata rivelata direttamente da Dio al Maestro di Giustizia. Val la pena di ricordare che la corretta interpretazione—che significa poi l’interpretazione data dalla comunità—della parola di Dio resta al centro della teologia della comunità, il pesher di Abacuc13 (8:1–5) si esprime in questi termini: 1 E disse Dio /ad/ Abacuc che scrivesse ciò che doveva succedere 2 alla generazione ultima, ma la fine dell’epoca non gliela fece conoscere. 3 Vacat. E quando dice: (Ab 2:2): “Perché / corra/ chi lo legge.” 4 La sua interpretazione si riferisce al Maestro di Giustizia, a cui ha fatto conoscere Dio 5 tutti i misteri delle parole dei suoi servi i profeti.

Da questo passo si evince che l’interpretazione della parola profetica operata del Maestro di Giustizia, va oltre la comprensione che i profeti stessi ebbero di ciò che dicevano, perché Dio non rivelò ad Abacuc la fine dell’epoca, ma solo il Maestro di Giustizia “correrà” (cioè leggerà agevolmente) nelle parole profetiche, dal momento che Dio gli ha rivelato i misteri in esse contenuti.14 Abbiamo parlato del tema del battesimo, e anche in quest’ambito si sono volute scorgere analogie tra la figura del Battista e la comunità di Qumran.15 Nella già citata Regola della Comunità troviamo un rito di immersione inteso come mezzo di purificazione dei peccati (5:13–14): Non entri nelle acque per partecipare del puro cibo degli uomini santi, poiché non si sono purificati, 14 a meno che non si convertano dalla loro malvagità. Poiché è impuro tra i trasgressori della sua parola.

13  Sul pesher di Abacuc e più in generale sui pesharim qumranici si veda Maurya P. Horgan, Pesharim: Qumran Interpretations of Biblical Books (Washington: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1979). Le implicanze storiche di questo testo sono state di recente ristudiate da James H. Charlesworth, The Pesharim and Qumran History: Chaos or Consensus? (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002). 14  Su questo passo cf. Corrado Martone, “Textual Fluidity as a Means of Sectarian Identity: Some Examples from the Qumran Literature,” in The Hebrew Bible in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. Nóra Dávid et al., FRLANT 239 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011), 117–26. 15  Cf. James H. Charlesworth, “John the Baptizer and Qumran Barriers in Light of the Rule of the Community,” in The Provo International Conference on the Dead Sea Scrolls: Technological Innovations, New Texts, and Reformulated Issues, ed. Donald W. Parry and Eugene C. Ulrich (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 353–75; Joseph A. Fitzmyer, ed., The Dead Sea Scrolls and Christian Origins (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000). Più in generale sui riti battesimali si veda David Hellholm et al., eds., Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism. Waschungen, Initiation und Taufe. Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity. Spätantike, Frühes Judentum und Frühes Christentum, 3 vols.; BZNW 176 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011).

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e ancora in 1QS 3:3–5: Nella fonte dei perfetti 4 non sarà annoverato. Non diverrà pio grazie alle espiazioni, né sarà purificato dalle acque lustrali, né sarà santificato dai mari 5 o fiumi, né sarà purificato da tutta l’acqua delle abluzioni. Impuro, Impuro sarà tutti i giorni che rifiuta i precetti di 6 Dio, senza venire istruito dalla comunità del suo consiglio.

Se a questi dati testuali aggiungiamo il dato archeologico delle miqwaot per i bagni rituali rinvenute a Qumran,16 è facile scorgere alcune analogie tra il battesimo praticato da Giovanni e i riti descritti nei testi che abbiamo letto. Ma siamo certi che tali analogie siano poi così strette? Quello che sicuramente vediamo è un interesse, da parte sia della comunità di Qumran sia del Battista, per la purità rituale nonché il collegamento tra il rito d’acqua e l’espiazione dei peccati. Bisogna poi fare alcune osservazioni: i riti qumranici descritti non hanno alcun carattere di unicità, cioè non espiano il peccato una volta per tutte, ma devono anzi essere ripetuti ciclicamente. A questo proposito chi vuole vedere un’analogia tra il Battista e la comunità di Qumran fa notare che neppure del battesimo somministrato da Giovanni è esplicitamente detto che dovesse essere unico. Citiamo a questo proposito il ragionamento di Joseph A. Fitzmyer:17 Such Essene washings were not unique, initiatory or not-to-be-repeated (as Christian baptism eventually came to be described), but neither was John’s baptism. He apparently would administer his baptism for the forgiveness of sins to any Jew who would come to him, and as often as one would come.

In questo caso è arduo prendere una decisione netta: ci limiteremo a rilevare come il battesimo di Giovanni fosse amministrato nell’orizzonte del giudizio finale18 e quindi, verisimilmente, dovesse avere valore di unicità, in attesa, almeno, del 16  Sull’archeologia qumranica resta fondamentale il lavoro di Roland De Vaux, Archaeology and the Dead Sea Scrolls (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1973); si veda più di recente Jodi Magness, The Archaeology of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003); Jean-Baptiste Humbert, Alain Chambon, and Jolanta Młynarczyk, eds., Khirbet Qumrân et Aïn Feshkha: Fouilles du P. Roland de Vaux IIIA. L’archéologie de Qumrân. Reconsidération de l interprétation. Les installations périphériques de Khirbet Qumrân, NTOA: Series Archaeologica 5a (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016). Sui bagni rituali, particolare si veda Jürgen K. Zangenberg, “Pure Stone: Archaeological Evidence for Jewish Purity Practices in Late Second Temple Judaism (Miqwaot and Stone Vessels),” in Purity and the Forming of Religious Traditions in the Ancient Mediterranean World and Ancient Judaism, ed. Christian Frevel and Christophe Nihan, DHR 3 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 537–72. 17  Cf. Fitzmyer, The Dead Sea Scrolls and Christian Origins, 20. 18  Si veda Lc 3:7: “Alle folle che accorrevano da lui per farsi battezzare, egli diceva: ‘Razza di vipere, chi vi ha insegnato a sfuggire all’ira ormai vicina?’”.

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battesimo in “spirito santo e fuoco” (Lc 3:16), laddove il rito qumranico attiene più alla purità rituale di derivazione sacerdotale: non sarà inutile ricordare che il lavaggio con acqua è comune a tutti i riti di purità della legislazione biblica, tranne in specifici casi espressamente menzionati.19 Altre differenze sono più evidenti: Giovanni battezzava tutti, quello che per comodità potremmo chiamare battesimo qumranico era riservato ai membri a pieno titolo della comunità. Di battesimo per chi è esterno alla comunità a Qumran neppure si parla, tanto il concetto è estraneo alla mentalità della comunità; ma anche i nuovi membri non potevano partecipare, era necessario superare un periodo di prova di un anno, come leggiamo nella Regola della Comunità (3:16–20): Se è incorporato nel consiglio della comunità, non tocchi il cibo puro 17 dei Molti mentre lo esaminano sul suo spirito e sulle sue opere fino a che completi un intero anno; e neppure partecipi dei beni dei Molti. 18 Quando abbia completato un anno all’interno della comunità, saranno interrogati i Molti riguardi alle sue affermazioni, circa la sua intelligenza e le sue opere relativamente alla legge. E se si decide 19 di incorporarlo nelle fondamenta della comunità da parte dei sacerdoti e della maggioranza degli uomini del patto allora i suoi beni e le sue proprietà saranno incorporati nelle mani dello 20 Ispettore sulle proprietà dei Molti.

Ed è solo a questo punto che potrà prendere parte al rito più sopra descritto. Ancora: il “battesimo” qumranico non è legato a un luogo specifico: si teneva, almeno in base ai dati archeologici, nelle miqwaot presenti nel sito, il battesimo di Giovanni avveniva nelle acque del Giordano, luogo simbolo dell’ingresso degli israeliti nella Terra Promessa (cf. Mc 1:5: “Andavano da lui tutti gli abitanti della regione della Giudea e di Gerusalemme e si facevano battezzare da lui nel fiume Giordano, mentre confessavano i loro peccati”).

Le differenze tra il Battista e l’esperienza Qumranica E qui ci fermiamo per quanto riguarda le analogie, che, come si è visto, sono analogie abbastanza problematiche, per passare ad alcune a nostro parere incontestabili differenze.

19  Cf. ad es. Pierpaolo Bertalotto, “Immersion and Expiation: Water and Spirit from Qumran to John the Baptist,” Hen 27 (2005): 163–81.

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È evidente che alcune abitudini che le fonti antiche riportano sul Battista non sarebbero state ben accette a Qumran.20 Mc 1:6 è un testo ben noto: Giovanni aveva un vestito di peli di cammello, una cintura di cuoio intorno ai fianchi e si nutriva di locuste e miele selvatico.

Per quanto riguarda l’abbigliamento, che il Battista riprende da una consolidata tradizione profetica, la giurisprudenza qumranica, molto legata alla tradizione sacerdotale, è chiarissima, le vesti innanzi tutto devono essere sempre asperse di acqua e di incenso, come leggiamo nella legislazione sabbatica del Documento di Damasco21 (CD 11:3–4): Nessuno si metta vesti sporche o che stanno nel magazzino a meno che non 4 siano state lavate con acqua o asperse d’incenso.

E la Regola della Guerra22 ci dice poi come dovranno abbigliarsi i sacerdoti qumranici in vista della guerra escatologica tra i Figli delle Tenebre e i Figli della Luce, si veda 1QM 7:9–11: E quando dispongono le linee di combattimento contro il nemico, una di fronte all’altra, usciranno dalla porta centrale fino allo spazio tra le linee, sette 10 sacerdoti dei figli di Aronne, vestìti con abiti di lino bianco, tunica e calzoni di lino, e si cingeranno con una cintura di lino intrecciato, viola, 11 purpurea e cremisi, con disegni variopinti, un’opera d’arte, e sulla testa (porteranno) turbanti. Questi sono vestìti da guerra, non li introdurranno nel santuario.

Quello descritto nella Regola della Guerra è certamente un abbigliamento molto lontano dal semplice vestito di peli di cammello del Battista. In quanto al cibo di cui secondo la tradizione si nutriva il Battista, siamo in realtà sul confine tra cibo puro e cibo impuro:23 le “locuste” di cui parlano i testi 20  Per quanto segue si veda anche il fondamentale studio di Edmondo Lupieri, “Halakah qumranica e halakah battistica di Giovanni: due mondi a confronto,” RStB 9 (1997): 69–98. 21  Sul Documento di Damasco si veda Ben Zion Wacholder, The New Damascus Document: the Midrash on the Eschatological Torah of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Reconstruction, Translation and Commentary (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2007). 22  Sulla Regola della Guerra, cf. da ultimo Brian Schultz, Conquering the World: The War Scroll (1QM) Reconsidered, STDJ 76 (Leiden: Brill, 2009). 23  Cf. James A. Kelhoffer, “Did John the Baptist Eat like a Former Essene? Locust-eating in the Ancient Near East and at Qumran,” DSD 11 (2004): 293–314; Giovanni Ibba, “John the Baptist and the Purity Laws of Leviticus 11–16,” Hen (2006): 79–89. È interessante segnalare che CD 12:14– 15, in un passo non facile, impone che “tutte le locuste, secondo il loro genere, saranno messe nel fuoco o in acqua 15 quando sono ancora vive, poiché questa è la norma delle loro specie”.

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sono dette in greco akrides, che è il termine con cui i LXX traducono il ‫ חרגול‬di Lv 11:22: Soltanto questi mangerete fra tutti gli insetti alati che camminano su quattro zampe: quelli che hanno due zampe sopra i piedi per saltare sopra la terra; 22 fra di essi potrete mangiare: ogni specie di locuste, ogni specie di cavallette, ogni specie di grilli e ogni specie di acridi.

Altrove i LXX usano il termine per tradurre un’altra specie tra quelle consentite da Lv 11:22, e cioè ‫הברא‬. Il Battista resta sul confine tra puro e impuro in questo caso dal momento che la tradizione giudaica più tarda, proprio a causa della difficoltà di individuare con precisione questi animali si risolse a considerare impuro, e quindi non commestibile, ogni sorta di insetto.24 Di questo abbiamo una possibile traccia già nella legislazione biblica, Dt 14:19 prescrive infatti sinteticamente “Considererete immondi gli insetti alati: non ne mangerete.” Questa norma ci consente di fare anche alcune osservazioni sul miele, altro nutrimento del Battista: il miele, dalla tradizione giudaica più tarda, è considerato alimento lecito, ma non senza qualche specificazione. È infatti prodotto da un animale impuro: abbiamo visto più sopra la norma secondo cui gli insetti alati sono impuri e un’importante norma rabbinica ci dice che ciò che è prodotto dall’impuro è anch’esso impuro:25 la legislazione talmudica dovette quindi sforzarsi di trovare una soluzione a questo problema per far sì che il miele potesse essere considerato un alimento lecito.26 Senza addentrarci troppo in questa problematica, va sottolineato il fatto che la halakah qumranica si è rivelata molto più rigorosa

Il  termine usato qui è ‫בגח‬, termine che i LXX traducono con ophiomakes in Lv 11:22 e con akris in Nm 13:33; Is 40:22; 2Cr 7:13; Qoh 12:5, cfr. anche 11QT 48:3: si veda l’approfondita discussione della questione in Isaac W. Oliver, Torah Praxis after 70 CE: Reading Matthew and Luke-Acts as Jewish Texts, WUNT 2/355 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 292, n. 171. In genere, è bene essere cauti a inserire in un contesto antico passi del Documento di Damasco non attestati nei manoscritti qumranici ma solo in quelli medievali, come è appunto il caso qui esaminato. 24  Si veda il commento di Rashi a Lv 11:22, che conclude sconsolatamente, e realisticamente, che “noi non siamo più in grado di distinguere tra questi animali” (‫)ובזה אין אנו יודעים להבדיל ביניהם‬. 25  Cf. m. Bek. 1:2. Per una discussione della distinzione tra miele selvatico e lavorato nella dieta del Battista si veda Oliver, Torah Praxis, pp. 249–50 n. 31 dove si mette in rilievo come la preoccupazione del Battista potesse essere più quella di usare cibi non lavorati, per una questione di purità, si vedano anche le osservazioni di Paolo Sacchi, The History of the Second Temple Period (trans. Thomas Kirk; JSOTS 285; Torino: Sei, 1994; repr., Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 362: “[e]ating these things meant avoiding as much as possible contact with men and the things touched by men; man’s hand is always impure because of his sin. John’s path toward God was one of absolute purity”. In ogni caso, è probabile che la legislazione qumranica sarebbe stata ancora più rigorosa al riguardo, cfr. infra. 26  Cf. b. Bek. 7b.

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della successiva giurisprudenza rabbinica, ed è quindi lecito pensare, anche se non abbiamo testimonianze dirette sui casi in esame da parte qumranica, che in tali casi dubbi, la scelta qumranica sia stata quella più rigorosa. Sul rigore della halakah qumranica rispetto non solo a quella più tarda, ma anche a quella corrente, mette conto citare un esempio che lascia pochi dubbi anche in casi in cui manchi una attestazione diretta. Una sezione delle leggi del Documento di Damasco è dedicata al Sabato, cf. CD 11:14–17: Nessuno profani il sabato per ricchezza o guadagno, di sabato. 16 Vacat. E ogni uomo vivo che cade in un luogo di acqua o in un luogo < >, 17 nessuno lo tiri su con una scala, una corda o un utensile.

Vediamo in questo passo, che la comunità di Qumran intendeva in modo così rigido il comando del riposo sabbatico da proibire persino l’aiuto a un essere vivente in difficoltà, ciò che era già inteso in maniera, diciamo così, elastica al tempo di Gesù, come sappiamo da Mt 12:11: Qual è fra voi quell’uomo che, avendo una sola pecora, se questa cade in un burrone di sabato, non l’afferra e la tira su?

Nella prassi corrente, dunque, era lecito salvare anche un animale e neppure si poneva il problema di salvare un essere umano.27 È quindi lecito pensare che la scelta di nutrirsi del prodotto di animali impuri come le api non sarebbe stata molto ben vista a Qumran e, a maggior ragione, fosse proibita la scelta di nutrirsi di insetti che già una parte almeno della stessa legislazione biblica tendeva a proibire. Il gruppo qumranico inoltre, considerava se stesso un gruppo di sacerdoti. Le testimonianze sulla preminenza sacerdotale all’interno del gruppo sono molte e inequivoche.28 Leggiamo ad esempio in 1QS 5:20–22:29 27  Su questa problematica cf. Corrado Martone, “La Regola di Damasco, una regola qumranica sui generis,” Hen 17 (1995): 103–15; Charlotte Hempel, “Emerging Communal Life and Ideology in the S Tradition,” in Defining Identities: We, You, and the Other in the Dead Sea Scrolls Proceedings of the Fifth Meeting of the IOQS in Groningen, ed. Florentino García Martínez and Mladen Popović, STDJ 70 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 43–61; Alex Jassen, “Law and Exegesis in the Dead Sea Scrolls: The Sabbath Carrying Prohibition in Comparative Perspective,” in The Dead Sea Scrolls at 60. Scholarly Contributions of New York University Faculty and Alumni, ed. Lawrence H. Schiffman and Shani Tzoref, STDJ 89 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 115–56. 28  Sull’argomento si veda più recentemente Corrado Martone, “Beyond Beyond the Essene Hypothesis? Some Observations on the Qumran Zadokite Priesthood,” Hen 25 (2003): 267–75. 29  Cfr. anche 1QS 9:7–8: “Solo i figli di Aronne avranno autorità in materia di giudizio e di beni, e la loro parola determinerà la sorte di tutta la disposizione degli uomini della comunità 8 e dei

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E quando uno entra nel patto per operare secondo tutti questi precetti unendosi alla congregazione di santità, esamineranno 21 il suo spirito in comune, (distinguendo) fra uno e il suo vicino riguardo alla sua intelligenza e alle sue opere nella legge sotto l’autorità dei figli di Aronne, i quali si offrono volontari nella comunità per stabilire 22 il suo patto e per osservare tutti i precetti che ordinò di compiere.

Dal momento che è ben noto che ai sacerdoti è richiesto un grado di purità maggiore rispetto ai laici, pare sensato e più economico supporre che la comunità di Qumran, di cui abbiamo rilevato il carattere squisitamente sacerdotale, avrebbe sicuramente rifiutato gli atteggiamenti del Battista.30

Osservazioni conclusive Per essere sostenibile, l’ipotesi di un rapporto tra Giovanni Battista e la comunità di Qumran dovrebbe offrire analogie tra le due esperienze che siano di maggior peso rispetto alle eventuali differenze: ci pare di avere messo in luce come le pretese analogie che sono da più parti state messe innanzi nel corso degli anni, lungi dall’essere più forti delle innegabili differenze, sono a stento definibili come analogie. D’altro canto, come pure è stato fatto, dar conto delle analogie e differenze sostenendo che il Battista avrebbe fatto parte della comunità di Qumran significa semplicemente, come ha ben rilevato H. Lichtenberger, costruire un’ipotesi su di un’altra ipotesi ed è quindi per lo meno dubbio da un punto di vista metodologico.31

beni degli uomini di santità che procedono in perfezione,, e 1Q28a (1QSa) 1:13–17: “A venticinque anni verrà a occupare il suo posto tra i “fondamenti” della Congregazione 13 santa per svolgere il servizio della Congregazione. A trent’anni, poi, inizierà ad arbitrare dispute 14 e processi e prenderà posto fra i capi migliaia di Israele, i capi centinaia, i capi cinquantina, 15 [i capi] decina, i giudici e gli ufficiali delle loro tribù con tutte le loro famiglie, [secondo la deci]sione dei figli di 16 [A]ronne, i sacerdoti, i di tutti i capi dei clan della Congregazione, secondo la sorte che gli è toccata di occupare il suo posto nei servizi, 17 [per usci]re e entrare di fronte alla Congregazione.” 30  Al di là dell’attendibilità storica del racconto è interessante segnalare che, secondo Luca, il Battista era di stirpe sacerdotale, essendo suo padre Zaccaria “un sacerdote … della classe di Abìa” (Lc 1:5): ciò non toglie, in ogni caso, che gli atteggiamenti e i comportamenti del Nostro erano distanti dalle regole del sacerdozio. 31  Cf. Hermann Lichtenberger, “Johannes der Täufer und die Texte von Qumran,” in Mogilany 1989: Papers on the Dead Sea Scrolls Offered in Memory of Jean Carmignac, ed. Zdzisław Kapera (Cracow: Enigma, 1993), 139–52 (150).

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Pare invece molto più corretto considerare le (poche e deboli) analogie come risultato di un comune retroterra culturale condiviso dalla comunità di Qumran e dal Battista, sviluppato poi, nelle due esperienze, in maniera affatto e radicalmente differente. Per concludere con le parole di un grande studioso di Qumran, “che lo si voglia o no, una spiegazione semplice rende sempre miglior giustizia ai testi e alla loro storia.”32

32  Cf. Émile Puech, “Le grand prêtre Simon (III) fils d’Onias III, le Maître de Justice,” in Antikes Judentum und frühes Christentum: Festschrift für Hartmut Stegemann zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Bernd Kollmann, Reinbold Wolfgang, and Annette Steudel (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1999), 137–58 (158).

Eric Noffke

33 Being Children of Abraham: Salvation “By Belonging” in the New Testament 1 In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, 2 “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” 3 This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.’” 4 Now John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey. 5 Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan, 6 and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. 7 But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for baptism, he said to them, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? 8 Bear fruit worthy of repentance. 9 Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. 10 Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”1 (Matthew 3:1–10)

A careful reading of the John the Baptist narrative surfaces an important question: to whom is John speaking? Surely not to the Sadducees. They would have laughed at the idea of the coming kingdom and all that the concept entailed. The Pharisees? They knew very well that not all children of Abraham were going to be saved. Their spiritual request was much more demanding than just showing a birth certificate—even more so with the Essenes, not to mention the Zealots. So why is John attacking the presumption of being children of Abraham as if somebody actually believed that this was sufficient for salvation? Was there really such an idea in middle Judaism? Perhaps in Sanders’s “common Judaism,” but unfortunately there are not enough evidence to be certain.2 If it is the historical John the Baptist who is speaking, then we should inquire more seriously about Abraham in contemporary Jewish literature, because it looks like we are missing something in this picture. If Matthew is instead putting into John’s mouth the concerns of the first generation of Christians, then we should examine whether there are indeed traces of such a belief in the New Testament.

1 All biblical quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version. 2 E. P. Sanders, Il giudaismo. Fede e prassi (63 a. C. -66 d. C.) (Morcelliana: Brescia, 1999). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-034

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Abraham in Middle Jewish Literature Assuming first that in Matthew 3 we have John’s actual words, what did it mean to be children of Abraham in his time? Where does the name of Abraham appear in contemporary Jewish literature? References to the patriarch are numerous, but become scarce in connection with salvation and related issues, while in the New Testament the link between Abraham and salvation is much more prevalent.3 There are, perhaps surprisingly, few references to Abraham in the Dead Sea Scrolls, apart from those concentrated in the rewritten biblical stories. The main texts in which the figure of Abraham appears are the Genesis Apocryphon, the Commentary on Genesis, and the fragments of Jubilees. These recast the biblical story with significant additions, most of which function to clarify obscure or embarrassing details in the Genesis narrative. Here we get the picture of a founding hero, full of virtues and almost free of vices, whose faith is so strong that he literally moves mountains. His faith is generally tied to the observance of Torah, even though Torah had yet to be revealed on Sinai. He has thaumaturgic powers and is renowned for his remarkable wisdom. The biblical picture here becomes more and more idealized. In the Qumran corpus we also find several fragments of lost books that refer to the Abraham stories (e.g., 4Q176a I.10), some of them insisting on peculiar elements like the fact that Abraham taught the right wood to be used in sacrifices (see also TLevi 9:12). In 4Q378 fr.22 and 4Q388a fr.1, there is a reference to a covenant with Abraham, but it is not related to salvation. Among the main works found at Qumran, only the Damascus Document is relevant to the question at hand. CD III.2ff. asserts the patriarch’s faithfulness to God even when surrounded by pagans, recalling that God had made an everlasting covenant with him and his sons (“they… were written up as friends of God and as members of the covenant forever,” lines 3–4).4 CD XII.10-11 is also interesting in this regard: the text here states that no slave belonging to a Jew can be sold, because he/she has now entered into Abraham’s covenant. In CD XVI.5ff. it is said that Mastema will not touch someone who decides to live according to the law of Moses, entering into the covenant with Israel, just as Abraham did when he circumcised himself (“This is why Abraham circumcised himself on the days of his knowledge”). Most of the other references insist on Abraham as the founder and foundation of Israel. 3 It should be noted that “salvation” had a broad semantic range for Jews during this time. For those whose faith was strongly oriented to life after death, it meant an eschatological salvation; for others, however, it was first of all salvation from the many misfortunes that could happen on a daily basis. 4 All quotation from the Dead Sea Scrolls are from F. Garcia Martinez and E. J. C. Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls. Study Edition, 2 vols. (Leiden: Brill; London: Köln, 2000).

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 Eric Noffke

Josephus, fully in accordance with the other middle Jewish texts, tells Abraham’s story with some new details, but in Ant. 4.4 he makes an interesting and potentially relevant statement. In the days of the wilderness wandering, those Jews who unsuccessfully tried to conquer the Canaan without Moses were in fact condemned by God: they thought that as children of Abraham God would be with them, but they were wrong. In Ant. 11.169 Josephus asserts that because of Abraham’s justice, God does not deprive Israel of his benevolence; nevertheless Ant. 5.113 clearly states that the sinner is expelled from among the children of Abraham, underscoring the link between election and obedience to Torah. Apart from these references, Josephus elsewhere identifies Abraham as the founder of Israel. We find a similar statement, wherein the covenant between God and Abraham is defined as “eternal,” in 4 Ezra 3:13ff.: “You chose for yourself one of them, whose name was Abraham, and you loved him and to him only you revealed the end of times, secretly by night. You made with him an everlasting covenant, and promised him that you would never forsake his descendants….”5 The rest of the vision will make clear that this lineage is no guarantee of salvation, which can only be attained by the strict observance of Torah. 4 Macc. 6:16ff. likewise affirms the connection between Abrahamic lineage and Torah fidelity when Eleazar, one of the Jewish martyrs killed by Antiocus IV, states that, being of Abrahamic descent, he cannot defile the law. By contrast, and somewhat uniquely, the connection with the law is absent in Pss. Sol. 9:8ff., where God is petitioned not to forget his everlasting covenant with Abraham and his descendants, when the people repent of their sins (see also Pss. Sol. 18:3): And now you are God and we are the people whom you have loved; look and be compassionate, O God of Israel, for we are yours [...] For you chose the descendants of Abraham above all nations, and you put your name upon us, O Lord, and it will not cease forever. You made a covenant with our ancestors concerning us, and we hope in you when we turn our souls toward you.6

We should remember, though, that in this collection of Psalms Moses’s law and its observance is a pivotal theological issue.

5 Translation from J.H. Charlesworth, ed., The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, vol. 1 (New York and Auckland: Doubleday, 1983). 6 Translation from J.H. Charlesworth, ed., The Old Testament Pseudoepigrapha, vol. 2 (New York and Auckland: Doubleday, 1983).

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To broaden our inquiry, in middle Jewish literature Abraham is also portrayed as a visionary. In 2 Bar. 4:4, Abraham sees the heavenly Jerusalem when he walks through the divided animals (a vision that was accorded to Adam and Moses as well). In 4 Ezra 3:13ff. Abraham sees a vision of the eschaton. In the second part of the Apocalypse of Abraham and in the Testament of Abraham Abraham likewise undergoes extensive visionary experiences. Abraham is also thought to play a role, albeit a passive one, in the eschatological times. In T. Jud. 25:1 Abraham, who is presented as a teacher of the law and the commandments, will be among the first to be resurrected (see also T. Benj. 10:6 and 10:3–4). In the version of the text found in the Cairo Genizah, Abraham promulgates laws about the priesthood. In a later apocalypse, the one attributed to Zephaniah (11:4), Abraham is told to intercede and pray for those suffering in the afterlife, together with the righteous. If the light of this data from contemporary Jewish literature, it is clear that the words uttered by John the Baptist in the opening quotation seem mostly awkward and out of context. It is also possible that the passage we read above from Josephus (Ant. 4.4) can be a hidden reference to the Zealots, convinced that God would never abandon the children of Abraham in their struggle for freedom from the Romans. In this context, what is particularly strange in John the Baptist’s words is the extent to which he connects the issue of belonging, of identity, and the issue of salvation. The former is quite common in ancient Jewish traditions of Abraham as founder of Israel;7 the latter, however, is conspicuously absent. Indeed, when salvation became an issue in the texts analyzed above, it was linked with the keeping of Moses’s law. So why in the gospel of Matthew is John making this connection?

Abraham in the New Testament We must now approach the second possibility, namely, that these words are instead expressing a particular concern of early Christians. Here the literature of the New Testament, wherein Abraham plays a very interesting role, particularly

7 The criterion of Abraham’s lineage can also define belonging to Israel in the New Testament as well; see, for example, Luke 13:15–16: “But the Lord answered him and said, ‘You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?” See also Luke 1:72–75 and Acts 3:24–26, where there is a reference to the covenant made by God with Abraham.

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when viewed against the backdrop of contemporary Jewish literature, constitutes a vitally important source. We have already seen the first important reference to Abraham: John the Baptist’s preaching in Matthew and in the parallel text of Luke 3:7–9. We will return to this passage at the conclusion. What is important to stress now is the specificity of the New Testament writings, namely, that in most of the occurrences the figure of Abraham is connected to the idea of salvation. In the gospel of John 8:31–42 we find the first example: 31 Then Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; 32 and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” 33 They answered him, “We are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, ‘You will be made free’?” 34 Jesus answered them, “Very truly, I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. 35 The slave does not have a permanent place in the household; the son has a place there forever. 36 So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed. 37 I know that you are descendants of Abraham; yet you look for an opportunity to kill me, because there is no place in you for my word. 38 I declare what I have seen in the Father’s presence; as for you, you should do what you have heard from the Father.” 39 They answered him, “Abraham is our father.” Jesus said to them, “If you were Abraham’s children, you would be doing what Abraham did, 40 but now you are trying to kill me, a man who has told you the truth that I heard from God. This is not what Abraham did. 41 You are indeed doing what your father does.” They said to him, “We are not illegitimate children; we have one father, God himself.” 42 Jesus said to them, “If God were your Father, you would love me, for I came from God and now I am here. I did not come on my own, but he sent me.”

In contrast with Matthew’s, here Jesus provokes his audience by questioning their place to Abraham’s lineage. The reason is because their actions, particularly their rejection of Jesus as the one sent from the Father, depart from Abraham’s example. When did Abraham confess this kind of faith? In John 8:52–59, Jesus points to Abraham’s vision of the heavens, in which he rejoices at the sight of the Son of Man. This passage in John, in fact, recalls the many Jewish texts, discussed earlier, that portray Abraham as the recipient of an eschatological vision: 52 The Jews said to him, “Now we know that you have a demon. Abraham died, and so did the prophets; yet you say, ‘Whoever keeps my word will never taste death.’ 53 Are you greater than our father Abraham, who died? The prophets also died. Who do you claim to be?” 54 Jesus answered, “If I glorify myself, my glory is nothing. It is my Father who glorifies me, he of whom you say, ‘He is our God,’ 55 though you do not know him. But I know him; if I would say that I do not know him, I would be a liar like you. But I do know him and I keep his word. 56 Your ancestor Abraham rejoiced that he would see my day; he saw it and was glad.” 57 Then the Jews said to him, “You are not yet fifty years old, and have you seen Abraham?” 58 Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, before Abraham was, I am.” 59 So they picked up stones to throw at him, but Jesus hid himself and went out of the temple.

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The reference here is not to Abraham’s lawful deeds, but to his vision that brought him to faith. It’s curious that here Jesus’ opponents seem to deny the well-attested Jewish traditions about a visionary Abraham. In other texts, Abraham is clearly associated with the idea of (a promise of) salvation and of the Kingdom. Take, for example, Matthew 8:11–12 (see also Luke 13:28): “I tell you, many will come from east and west and will eat with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven, while the heirs of the kingdom will be thrown into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” Likewise in Luke 1:54: “He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.” Another well-known Abrahamic tradition is the story of the rich man and Lazarus, wherein Abraham welcomes the poor man in the afterlife, a figurative portrayal of the idea that “being in Abraham” is equivalent to eternal salvation (Luke 16:19–31): 19 “There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. 20 And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, 21 who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. 22 The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. 23 In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. 24 He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.’ 25 But Abraham said, ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. 26 Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’ 27 He said, ‘Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house—28 for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’ 29 Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ 30 He said, ‘No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.’ 31 He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”

Interestingly, here Luke’s parable recalls the Jewish traditions, discussed earlier, that link Abraham with obedience to the Mosaic law. Another Lukan text includes an interesting, and potentially relevant, statement. At the conclusion of the Zacchaeus story, Jesus remarks: “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham” (Luke 19:9). Because of his faith Zacchaeus, a tax collector, repented of his sins and was readmitted to God’s people, and because of this readmission into Abraham’s lineage he is declared “saved.”

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It is striking to see so many references to Abraham (73!) in such a small collection of writings, at least when compared to the rest of middle Jewish literature. These references not only clearly reflect but also reshape the Jewish tradition examined earlier. This demonstrates on one hand the extent to which early Christianity was an integral part of Middle Judaism; on the other hand, however, the New Testament traditions point to something new by forging a connection between the concepts of salvation and of belonging/identity. This is indeed very typical in the Pauline corpus, wherein we can begin to approach an answer to our initial question. To this we now turn. Two of Paul’s most famous references to Abraham—found in Romans and Galatians—are of particular significance to the present analysis. In both contexts the reference to Abraham functions to explain the fact that in Christ even Gentiles can become members of God’s people. Thus in Romans 4:1–25 we read: 1 What then are we to say was gained by Abraham, our ancestor according to the flesh? 2 For if Abraham was justified by works, he has something to boast about, but not before God. 3 For what does the scripture say? “Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness.” 4 Now to one who works, wages are not reckoned as a gift but as something due. 5 But to one who without works trusts him who justifies the ungodly, such faith is reckoned as righteousness. 6 So also David speaks of the blessedness of those to whom God reckons righteousness apart from works: 7 “Blessed are those whose iniquities are forgiven, and whose sins are covered; 8 blessed is the one against whom the Lord will not reckon sin.” 9 Is this blessedness, then, pronounced only on the circumcised, or also on the uncircumcised? We say, “Faith was reckoned to Abraham as righteousness.” 10 How then was it reckoned to him? Was it before or after he had been circumcised? It was not after, but before he was circumcised. 11 He received the sign of circumcision as a seal of the righteousness that he had by faith while he was still uncircumcised. The purpose was to make him the ancestor of all who believe without being circumcised and who thus have righteousness reckoned to them, 12 and likewise the ancestor of the circumcised who are not only circumcised but who also follow the example of the faith that our ancestor Abraham had before he was circumcised. 13 For the promise that he would inherit the world did not come to Abraham or to his descendants through the law but through the righteousness of faith. 14 If it is the adherents of the law who are to be the heirs, faith is null and the promise is void. 15 For the law brings wrath; but where there is no law, neither is there violation. 16 For this reason it depends on faith, in order that the promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his descendants, not only to the adherents of the law but also to those who share the faith of Abraham (for he is the father of all of us, 17 as it is written, “I have made you the father of many nations”)— in the presence of the God in whom he believed, who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist. 18 Hoping against hope, he believed that he would become “the father of many nations,” according to what was said, “So numerous shall your descendants be.” 19 He did not weaken in faith when he considered his own body, which was already as good as dead (for he was about a hundred years old), or when he considered the barrenness of Sarah’s womb. 20 No distrust made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, 21 being fully convinced that

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God was able to do what he had promised. 22 Therefore his faith “was reckoned to him as righteousness.” 23 Now the words, “it was reckoned to him,” were written not for his sake alone, 24 but for ours also. It will be reckoned to us who believe in him who raised Jesus our Lord from the dead, 25 who was handed over to death for our trespasses and was raised for our justification.

This concept is even clearer in Chapters 9–11, especially Romans 9:6–8: 6 It is not as though the word of God had failed. For not all Israelites truly belong to Israel, 7 and not all of Abraham’s children are his true descendants; but “It is through Isaac that descendants shall be named for you.” 8 This means that it is not the children of the flesh who are the children of God, but the children of the promise are counted as descendants.

The portrayal of Abraham in Galatians 3:6–18 likewise functions to address the concern of Gentile inclusion: 6 Just as Abraham “believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness,” 7 so, you see, those who believe are the descendants of Abraham. 8 And the scripture, foreseeing that God would justify the Gentiles by faith, declared the gospel beforehand to Abraham, saying, “All the Gentiles shall be blessed in you.” 9 For this reason, those who believe are blessed with Abraham who believed. 10 For all who rely on the works of the law are under a curse; for it is written, “Cursed is everyone who does not observe and obey all the things written in the book of the law.” 11 Now it is evident that no one is justified before God by the law; for “The one who is righteous will live by faith.” 12 But the law does not rest on faith; on the contrary, “Whoever does the works of the law will live by them.” 13 Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, “Cursed is everyone who hangs on a tree”—14 in order that in Christ Jesus the blessing of Abraham might come to the Gentiles, so that we might receive the promise of the Spirit through faith. 15 Brothers and sisters, I give an example from daily life: once a person’s will has been ratified, no one adds to it or annuls it. 16 Now the promises were made to Abraham and to his offspring; it does not say, “And to offsprings,” as of many; but it says, “And to your offspring,” that is, to one person, who is Christ. 17 My point is this: the law, which came four hundred thirty years later, does not annul a covenant previously ratified by God, so as to nullify the promise. 18 For if the inheritance comes from the law, it no longer comes from the promise; but God granted it to Abraham through the promise.

Paul clearly asserts two points here: 1) The promise made to Abraham, including the promise of salvation to his descendants, is eternal. The eternality of the Abrahamic promise is a common idea in contemporary Jewish thought. However, the innovation here is the union between salvation and of belonging. 2) On the question of who belongs, or can potentially belong, Christ is the solution—those who believe in God’s redemptive action revealed in Jesus the Christ.

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 Eric Noffke

Now as noted earlier, the issue of belonging, that is, the question of who constitutes “true Israel,” was in fact a significant point of concern in Middle Judaism, but inclusion was mainly conceptualized in connection with Torah fidelity: just as Abraham was faithful to the law, so also his descendants. Being the children of Abraham was the presupposition, the starting point: if one belonged to Abraham’s lineage, one could hope for a form of salvation. Paul, however, rejects the necessity of Moses’s law as a criterion for inclusion in the body of the Israelites for those Gentile followers of Jesus. Indeed, his reflections on Christology and charismatic experiences—for example, that Gentiles received the gift of the Spirit— push in quite the opposite direction. So why are Gentiles saved? Because they believe in Jesus Christ. Who in Israel is the hero of the faith?—Abraham. On whom was God’s people founded?—Abraham. Thus, Paul draws the conclusion: belonging to the people of God is the key to salvation, and through faith Gentiles can in fact be included in the lineage of Abraham. For Paul, the issues of salvation and belonging necessarily had to overlap in Abraham. James’s reaction to Paul further demonstrates this point. It is interesting to note that James too, when examined within the context of Middle Judaism, develops some traditional elements in a new reading of Abraham: the issue of faith and works in Abraham functions as a crucial element in his response to Paul’s theology: 21 Was not our ancestor Abraham justified by works when he offered his son Isaac on the altar? 22 You see that faith was active along with his works, and faith was brought to completion by the works. 23 Thus the scripture was fulfilled that says, “Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness,” and he was called the friend of God. 24 You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone. (James 2:21–24)

We can see here how Middle Jewish traditions have contributed significantly to one of the most contentious debates in early Christianity. To this we can add another reflection. Inasmuch as my conclusions are correct, they can help us to reconcile a division in the modern study of Pauline theology. The so-called New Perspective on Paul has resulted in a general rethinking of the issue of the center of Pauline theology: no longer is justification of the sinner thought to be Paul’s primary concern. As important as this concept is, it is not the center of Paul’s theology. Several scholars have tried to redefine this theological core, but without gaining a large enough consensus, as was also the case for the “mystical” approach of Schweitzer, passing via Sanders, Beker, and Wright, among others. What many of these new interpretations have in common, though, is that they focus on the language of “participation” used by Paul (e.g., being in Christ, the body of Christ…). As an example, we can refer to N. T. Wright, according

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to whom the doctrine of justification by faith is actually not a matter of soteriology but of ecclesiology.8 Now the point I would like to stress in relation to our discussion of Abraham is that for Paul the ecclesiological problem is an integral part of soteriology: if you were not part of the chosen people, you could not be saved. This indeed helps to illuminate the message of John the Baptist cited at the beginning of this chapter: it is up to God to decide who is included in, and excluded from, the covenant. To be born an Israelite according to the flesh is not enough, because in Jesus God has set new standards for the coming judgment, namely the recognition of the Messiah in the person of the resurrected Jesus. Including this message at the beginning of both the gospels of Matthew and Luke functions as a kind of provocation to contemporary Jewish theology. One can imagine most of the listeners initially nodding in agreement, only to be surprised by the statement that it was not faithfulness to the law that could determine the real descendants of Abraham: only Jesus, the Christ, is the door to access to the true Israel. The concept of Abraham’s lineage was thus redefined in Jesus Christ. This is why Paul and later Christians refer so frequently to Abraham, because he was commonly considered to be the foundation of God’s people, the bearer of the promise and covenant. The Genesis account of Abraham itself included many aspects—universalism, faith, covenant, and so on—that proved quite useful in the propagation of the Christian message. For many early Christians, these Abrahamic concepts explained very well what was happening in Gentile conversions. In this context, Christianity’s main problem became the issue of identity: to what world did Gentiles belong when they were baptized? The issue of belonging to the people of God became central, which explains why Abraham plays such a pivotal role in early Christian discourse: there was an urgent need to redefine the criteria of this belonging. According to the Genesis narrative, especially as understood in early Christian interpretations, Abraham was a paradigm not of fidelity to Moses’s law but of faith. He was thus the perfect example to refer to, without renouncing the Israelite tradition, for a new definition of God’s people. Returning to our initial question, I think John the Baptist’s words are better contextualized within the later debate about the conversion of Gentiles to Christ. In other words, Matthew’s account of his message does not really fit very well within the context of the historical John the Baptist. The fact that this message is better contextualized in the debate among Christians and Jews in the second half of the first century is evident in John’s gospel as well, wherein the Jews defend themselves against Jesus’s accusers by claiming their position among

8 Tom Wright, Che cosa ha veramente detto Paolo (Torino: Claudiana, 1991), 141.

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the children of Abraham. Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho demonstrates that this debate, initiated by Paul and the earliest Christians, would persist for quite some time (Dial. 140). Is the true Israel the one according to the flesh or the one according to faith in Christ?

Isaac W. Oliver

34 Are Luke and Acts Anti-Marcionite? Scholars have debated endlessly about the dates of Luke and Acts. While some posit that both texts were written before 70 CE, most situate the two works sometime after the First Jewish Revolt in the last third of the first century.1 Others argue for an even later dating, sometime in the second century CE. Indeed, a secondcentury date for Acts has enjoyed recent support by some prominent scholars who pin Luke and Acts upon a Marcionite frame. They maintain that Luke redacted both texts to combat the rise of Marcionism. I take it for granted that Luke and Acts were written sometime after 70 CE. The numerous allusions to Jerusalem’s downfall in the gospel of Luke, some attested only in the third gospel (e.g., Luke 21:24), as well as the prominent place granted to the temple in the Lukan narrative, strongly suggest that Luke-Acts was written after and in response to this traumatic event. Luke, like so many Jews from his time, mourned the destruction of Jerusalem (Luke 13:34; 19:41; 23:27–31). Luke deeply reflects on Israel’s destiny in light of the tragic aftermath of the First Jewish Revolt yet betrays no knowledge of the events that transpired during the Second Jewish Revolt. Given Luke’s lamentation over the destruction of Jerusalem and his anticipation of its restoration (Luke 21:24; 22:30; Acts 1:6–8; 3:21), I suspect, therefore, that Luke-Acts was written sometime after 70 but before 132 CE, the beginning of the Bar Kokhba Revolt when the final Jewish attempt to deliver Jerusalem from Roman occupation ultimately failed. With this timeframe in mind, I would like to assess some of the recent proposals dating Luke-Acts in the second century. Such an examination requires considering how Luke may have drawn from Paul’s letters and legacy in order to clarify the relationship between the Jesus movement and its own Jewish heritage as well as “mainstream” Judaism. Appreciating Luke’s interaction 1 For a pre-70 dating of Luke and Acts, see in particular Alexander Mittelstaedt, Lukas als Historiker: Zur Datierung des lukanischen Doppelwerkes, TANZ 43 (Tübingen: Francke Verlag, 2006). Note: I wish here to express my immense gratitude to my Doktorvater Gabriele Boccaccini. I hope this chapter honors his intellectual genius and earnest endeavors to promote the academic study of Second Temple Judaism in its own right as well as its sister branches. Far more than a Doktorvater, Boccaccini has been a role model. His gracious consideration of the diverse opinions of his colleagues, his awareness of the social ramifications of the academic study of religion, and deliberate engagement with representatives of various communities (Jewish, Christian, Muslim, etc.) both in North America and Europe, particularly in Italy, have inspired and guided me. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-035

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with Paul’s own Jewishness in this regard will allow for a critical appraisal of scholarly expositions of Luke-Acts that view Luke’s construction of Paul mainly through the prism of Marcionism. Whatever one makes of this possible Marcionite setting, it should not detract from appreciating the concerted effort in both Luke and Acts to define the early Jesus movement vis-à-vis Judaism.2 The positive perception of Paul’s Jewishness in Acts suggests that issues related to Torah observance, particularly how it may have applied differently to Jews and non-Jews, respectively, continued to be debated after 70 CE and even into the early second century.

The Second-Century Dating of Acts The Pauline Epistles and the Reception of Paul’s Jewishness in Acts Richard Pervo recently argued quite thoroughly for a second-century dating of Acts.3 The external evidence works in Pervo’s favor, as no clear attestation of Acts precedes Irenaeus.4 But Pervo undergirds his argument primarily on internal grounds. He maintains that Acts drew from a collection of Pauline letters that probably circulated only by the end of the first century. This collection included

2 I should add that I speak of “Luke” out of convenience and convention to refer to the final redactor of the gospel now bearing his name as well as the book of Acts without assuming that Luke actually wrote these two works. The conventional understanding on the unity of Luke-Acts has recently been questioned by Patricia Walters, The Assumed Authorial Unity of Luke and Acts: A Reassessment of the Evidence, SNTSMS 145 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009). Space does not allow for a proper appreciation of Walters’s work, but, to the best of my knowledge, no one has of yet refuted her careful analysis of the literary seams linking discrete pericopes in Luke and Acts. Walters’s stylistic assessment of the literary seams suggests different authorship. In my opinion, her work merits greater attention and should encourage further exploration of other passages in Luke and Acts (e.g., the “we passages”) using the same kind of methodology. Nevertheless, the thematic and theological parallels between Luke and Acts are still significant enough, in my opinion, to justify hyphenating Luke-Acts and to view it as a unity at some redactional level. Nevertheless, we may have to admit a greater complexity to this unity, as we shall see. 3 Richard I. Pervo, Dating Acts: Between the Evangelists and the Apologists (Santa Rosa: Polebridge Press, 2006). 4 Ibid., 15. The phrase in Polycarp, λύσας τὰς ὠδῖνας τοῦ ᾅδου (Pol. Phil. 1:2), is attested in Acts 2:24, but this datum is too scant to establish dependency with any strong confidence.

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the undisputed letters of Paul as well as the Deutero-Pauline Epistles. Though Acts never depicts Paul as a letter writer, Pervo notes that some of Paul’s writings would have proven especially congenial to Luke’s literary enterprise including his treatment of Paul’s Jewishness and the contested issue of Torah observance among Jewish followers of Jesus. 1 Corinthians, with its emphasis on transcending internal factions (1 Cor 1:11–17), would indeed have suited the intention in Acts to convey a sense of harmony reigning among the likes of Peter, Paul, and James over the question of Torah observance. This spirit of concord sharply contrasts with the tensions on this matter one senses even from a casual reading of Galatians, particularly the clash in Antioch between Paul and Peter reported in Galatians 2. Many indeed have argued that Acts 15 retells the Antioch crisis in a more conciliatory tone (cf. Gal 2:14 with the more appeasing remarks on Peter in 1 Cor 3:22 and 9:5). Instead of opposing Paul against Peter, Barnabas, or even James,5 Acts stages a conflict between Paul and Barnabas with some mere “individuals from Judea” (Acts 15:1–2). Paul and Barnabas, moreover, win complete support from Peter and James—the head of the ekklesia in Jerusalem—in their opposition against these elliptic instigators of Judea who wish to impose circumcision upon Gentiles. In fact, Paul’s words in Gal 2:14–16, which were presumably addressed to Peter, if one views Gal 2:14–16 as a literary unit, may have been significantly reworked in Acts 15:7–10, 28 and 13:38–39 in order to signal harmonious agreement between Peter and Paul. In Gal 2:14, Paul accuses Peter of hypocrisy, claiming that he cannot “demand” (ἀναγκάζεις) Gentiles to become Jews, since he himself is no longer living in a Jewish way. While Paul shares with Peter a certain Jewish prejudice against non-Jews (Gal 2:15: “we are Jews by nature and not Gentile sinners”), he nevertheless reminds his Jewish comrade that no human can be justified through the deeds of the Torah: “we have put our trust (ἐπιστεύσαμεν) in Christ Jesus, in order that we may be justified (δικαιωθῶμεν) out of Christ’s faithfulness and not out of the deeds of the Law” (Gal 2:16). According to this passage, Jew and Gentile alike stand in need of Christ’s faithfulness to acquire a proper standing before God. Paul reminds Peter that they have both come to recognize this fact, knowing well that no human flesh can be justified through works of the Law. The “we” in Gal 2:16 should be understood as a “Jewish-Christian we,” inclusive of Paul and Peter who are both Jews by birth. To paraphrase Paul, he states that “we as Jews, that is, you and I, Peter, have put our trust in what Christ has done for

5 I assume “those of James” in Gal 2:12 were legitimate representatives of James. They were in any case impressive enough to convince Peter to cease fellowshipping with Gentile followers of Jesus.

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us, something no human could accomplish through the observance of the Torah.” Presumably this mutual understanding, at least in Paul’s estimation, lay at the core of the “gospel of uncircumcision” and the “gospel of circumcision,” entrusted to Paul and Peter, respectively (Gal 2:7). No Jew (or Gentile) could ever find justification in God’s eyes through the observance of the Torah. It may be that the writer of Acts, aware of Gal 2:16, has Peter make a concession about the Jewish people in order to affirm Gentile inclusion. In Acts 15:10–11, Peter advises the Jewish followers gathered in Jerusalem in response to the Antioch crisis not to impose a “yoke” upon Gentile believers, which they themselves as Jews have been unable to bear. The wording, admittedly, not to mention the content, is far from identical to Gal 2:16, which denies any person the ability to be justified through the works of the Torah, Jew or Greek. In Acts, Peter does not discuss so much the inability of the Jews to acquire a particular status as much as he acknowledges (in a rather typical Jewish manner one might add) the shortcomings of the Jewish people who have historically failed to fulfill the covenantal obligations outlined in the Torah.6 If the Jewish people as a whole cannot appeal to their own righteousness, as they have repeatedly strayed from the Torah in the past, Gentile followers of Jesus should not be sent down the same path of failure. Instead, the Jerusalem Council prescribes for Gentiles the precepts of the Apostolic Decree. Nothing more should be “imposed” (Acts 15:28: ἐπάναγκες) upon them (cf. ἀναγκάζεις in Gal 2:14). In Acts, Paul too echoes the statement in Gal 2:16 when he preaches before a Jewish synagogue in Antiochus of Pisidia: “let it be known to you, fellow (Jewish) brothers, that through this one (i.e., Jesus) release from sins is proclaimed to you from all the things you were not able to be justified in the Law of Moses (ἐν νόμῳ Μωϋσέως δικαιωθῆναι). Whoever puts trust (πιστεύων) in this one will be justified (δικαιοῦται)” (13:38–39). Here, many commentators for various reasons have blamed the author of Acts for failing to comprehend Paul’s

6 Pervo, Dating Acts, 59, commenting on Acts 15:10, states: “This is an essentially gentile view of the Torah as an impossible burden that could not be fulfilled.” Note, however, the Jewish imagery depicting the Torah as a “yoke” that is to be borne daily in the rabbinic phrase ‫ עול מצוה‬/‫עול תורה‬ (m. Avot 3:5; m. Ber. 2:2, etc.). Recognizing that Israel has failed to live up to its covenantal duties is quite common in early Jewish literature. It explains Israel’s exile, particularly in times of acute crisis. Thus, Daniel 9, which was written in response to exile, repeatedly stresses that Israel as a whole has “sinned, done wrong, rebelled, turning from your commandments and statutes” (v. 6), emphasizing how all Israel has bypassed the Torah (v. 11). Because of its repeated shortcomings, Israel cannot point to its own righteousness to request deliverance: “it is not on our righteousness that we cast our supplications before you but rather on your great mercies” (v. 18). Whenever destruction or exile arise, this theme prevails. Thus 2 Baruch—a Jewish work contemporaneous with Luke-Acts and written in response to the destruction of the temple—regrets that many Jews “have cast away the yoke of the Law” (41:3).

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teaching on “justification by faith.” Among other things, Acts may imply that Jesus only supplements the Law: Jesus provides forgiveness to the Jewish people only for those things they failed to uphold in the Torah; he does not release them entirely from the Law.7 Regardless, the Paul of Acts, like the Paul of Galatians, is underscoring limitations that apply to Jews, using similar vocabulary (πιστεύω, δικαιόω).8 Perhaps the preceding discussion only illustrates how Acts may have understood Paul’s teachings independent of whether Luke read Galatians in light of 1 Corinthians. Elsewhere, I have argued that the Jewish portrait of Paul in Acts—a Jew who obeys the Torah, a Pharisee who remains a Pharisee, and an Israelite who hopes for Israel’s salvation—aligns well with Paul’s rather positive appraisal of Judaism and the Jewish people inscribed in his letter to the Romans.9 Pervo discusses other passages that may intimate reliance upon Romans. For example, Acts’ narration about the spread of the gospel across the Roman empire may have been patterned according to Paul’s motto in Romans: “to the Jew first and then to the Greek” (Rom 1:16; 2:9–10). Throughout Acts, the good news about the messiah’s forthcoming reign is proclaimed first to the Jewish people, then to non-Jews. This pattern is attested already at the beginning of Acts, during the Jewish gathering for Pentecost in Jerusalem (ch. 2), and one chapter later, when Peter iterates before a Jewish audience that God raised Jesus to be a blessing first of all to the Jewish people (3:26). Paul himself repeats this assertion in Acts (13:46), and consistently proclaims the good news first to his Jewish comrades throughout his tour of the Mediterranean world.10 Obviously, this pattern differs with Paul’s preferred designation in his own letters as 7 See Philipp Vielhauer, “On the ‘Paulinism’ of Acts,” in Paul and the Heritage of Israel: Paul’s Claim upon Israel’s Legacy in Luke and Acts in Light of the Pauline Epistles. Volume Two of Luke the Interpreter of Israel, eds. David P. Moessner, Daniel Marguerat, Mikeal C. Parsons, and Michael Wolter, LNTS 452 (London: T&T Clark, 2012), 3–17 (10–11). The article was first published in German as “Zum ‘Paulinismus’ der Apostelgeschichte,” EvT 10 (1950–1951): 1–15. Cf. Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Luke the Theologian: Aspects of His Teaching (New York: Paulist Press, 1989), 187: “The gospel that Paul is preaching is understood once again as a supplement to the law.” Other passages in Acts may further imply that certain individuals can acquire righteousness. Pervo, Dating Acts, 236–37, deems that the statement in Acts 10:35, “but in every nation, the one who fears him and works righteousness is acceptable to him,” could not be less Pauline. 8 Pervo, Dating Acts, 59, further notes that the construction ἐν νόμῳ, where the preposition ἐν is presumably instrumental, is found in association with the verb δικαιόω (“justify”) in the New Testament only in Acts 13:38–39, Gal 3:11, and 5:4. 9 Isaac W. Oliver, “The ‘Historical Paul’ and the Paul of Acts: Which Is More Jewish?” in Paul the Jew: A Conversation between Pauline and Second Temple Scholars, eds. Gabriele Boccaccini and Carlos A. Segovia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2016), 51–71. 10 Pervo, Dating Acts, 104–5.

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the “apostle to the Gentiles.” Yet we must reckon with Luke’s reception of Paul without assuming strict objectivity from his part. Recalling Gal 2:7, 14–16, the author of Acts may have inferred that many of the teachings contained in Paul’s letters also concerned Jews even if they were formally addressed to Gentiles. Assuming that the “gospel of the circumcision” and the “gospel of uncircumcision” shared a common core, it would not require too much imagination to envisage Paul as an apostle to Jew and Gentile alike. Dependency on the letter to the Romans could also be arguably found in the gospel of Luke. A notable example concerns Paul’s reference to the “times of the Gentiles” in Romans. As he reaches the apex of his discussion on the salvation of Israel, Paul states that the Jewish people will not be saved “until the fullness of the Gentiles has entered” (Rom 11:25: ἄχρι οὗ τὸ πλήρωμα τῶν ἐθνῶν εἰσέλθη) whereupon “a deliverer will come out of Zion, he will remove ungodliness from Jacob,” citing Isa 59:20. The gospel must first be accepted by a sufficient number of Gentiles. Then all of Israel will be saved when its savior, presumably Jesus as the returning Christ, will march into Jerusalem, having delivered Israel once and for all. Interestingly enough, Luke contains a peculiar formulation unattested in any other gospel that resembles the phrase ἄχρι οὗ τὸ πλήρωμα τῶν ἐθνῶν εἰσέλθη in Rom 11:25. In Luke 21:24, Jesus prophesies that Jerusalem will be surrounded by armies (an allusion to the First Jewish Revolt) and “trampled by the Gentiles, until the times of the Gentiles are fulfilled” (ἄχρι οὗ πληρωθῶσιν καιροὶ ἐθνῶν). The terminological overlap (ἄχρι οὗ as well as πλήρωμα τῶν ἐθνῶν εἰσέλθη / πληρωθῶσιν καιροὶ ἐθνῶν) used mutually in contexts that address the fate of Jerusalem and the Jewish people suggest Lukan dependency on Romans. This intertextual relationship may also render explicit what is only implied in Luke 21:24: the restoration of Jerusalem and, by extension, the Jewish people will follow once the times of the Gentiles are fulfilled, a period that for Luke stretches beyond 70 CE. Luke, like Paul, holds on to the hope for Israel’s restoration.11 Galatians, Romans, and 1 Corinthians belong, admittedly, to the undisputed letters of Paul, reliance on which would not necessarily imply a late dating for Acts. Yet Pervo contends that Acts evinces reliance on the disputed letters as well as 2 Corinthians in its composite form whose patches were probably only knit into one cloth toward the end of the first century.12 Noteworthy is the shared 11 I develop this argument further in Oliver, “The ‘Historical Paul’ and the Paul of Acts,” 63–69. I therefore differ with Pervo, Dating Acts, 105, who notes the interesting terminological similarities between Luke 21:24 and Rom 11:25 but assumes that Acts has given upon entirely on the salvation of the Jewish people as a whole. 12 Pervo, Dating Acts, 60–62.

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vocabulary in 2 Cor 11:32–33 and Acts 9:23–25, which both report Paul’s escape from Damascus: διὰ τοῦ τείχους (“through the wall”) as well as χαλάσαντες ἐν / ἐν + ἐχαλάσθην (“let down in [a basket]”) are attested in Acts 9:23–25 and 2 Cor 11:32–33. What is more, some of the differences between the two reports can be accounted for on redactional grounds, particularly the reference in Acts to the plot by “the Jews” of Damascus to apprehend Paul, an element conspicuously missing from 2 Cor 11:32–33.13 Acts, as it is known, frequently casts “the Jews” as opponents of the Jesus movement.14 Unfortunately for Pervo’s thesis, Acts shows little evidence of reliance on other parts of 2 Corinthians. Pervo points to 2 Cor 2:4 and Acts 20:19 but the meager convergence of one term (δακρύων: “tears”) is hardly suggestive, and the possibility remains, as Pervo himself acknowledges, that Luke consulted the portion of 2 Corinthians containing only chs. 10–13.15 Pervo also does not identify any point of contact between Acts and 2 Thessalonians, an issue he leaves unaddressed. As for the parallels he notes between Acts and Colossians and Ephesians, many of them overlap with terms found in Paul’s undisputed letters.16 Some of them are, nevertheless, suggestive. For example, before Clement of Alexandria and Origen, the formulation “the power of darkness” (ἡ ἐξουσία τοῦ σκότους) appears only in Luke 22:53, Acts 26:18, and Colossians 1:13, although it is attested in Hebrew in the Dead Sea Scrolls.17 Interestingly, μετὰ πάσης ταπεινοφροσύνης (“with all humility”) appears only in Acts 20:19 and Eph 4:2. Yet we should not forget that the authorship of Colossians and Ephesians is disputed. Too much cannot be established upon these documents for the purposes of dating.18 What about the Pastorals and Acts? Do they bear a direct literary relationship? Pervo maintains that the Pastorals and Acts share a common set of vocabulary and ideas that fit better with works such as 1 Clement or the Martyrdom of Polycarp, texts belonging to the so-called Apostolic Fathers.19

13 But cf. 2 Cor 11:24, 26. 14 Nevertheless, the writer Acts often distinguishes various Jews, including those opposed and those in favor of the Jesus movement, Pharisees, Sadducees, and Jewish followers of Jesus. 15 Pervo, Dating Acts, 62. 16 For example, the reference to God’s impartiality in Acts 10:34 is attested in Col 3:25 and Eph 6:9 as well as in Rom 2:11 and Gal 2:6. Acts 20:19 overlaps not only with Eph 4:1–2 and 6:7 but also with Rom 12:11 and 2 Cor 2:4. 17 1QH-a XX:6; 4Q427 (4QH-a) 8 ii:12 as ‫ממשלת חושך‬. 18 Ben White, Remembering Paul: Ancient and Modern Contests over the Image of the Apostle (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 65, reminds us that the notion of seven undisputed Pauline epistles, what has now virtually become academic orthodoxy, originates from a particular kind of Protestant reading of Paul from the nineteenth century. 19 Pervo, Dating Acts, 17.

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Pervo highlights some important intersections between Luke-Acts and the Pastorals, most notably, in my opinion, on the question of widowhood. According to 1 Tim 5:5, 9, a true widow (χήρα) waits upon God, raising “petitions” (δεήσεσιν) “night and day” (νυκτὸς καὶ ἡμέρας). She must be at least 60 years of age and married only once. Statements about widows appear in Acts 6:1–6, 9:36–43, and Luke 2:36–37. The latter passage, which depicts Anna the prophetess who prayed in the temple, is significant. Anna is a widow (χήρα) 84 years of age—and therefore well above the minimum age required to qualify as a true widow according to 1 Tim 5:9. Anna also fasts and offers “petitions” (δεήσεσιν), worshiping both “night and day” (νύκτα καὶ ἡμέραν) in the temple of Jerusalem. Last but not least, she was only ever married to one man before becoming a widow (2:36). Whoever wrote 1 Timothy would have applauded Anna’s celibacy. She meets virtually every requirement for widowhood outlined in 1 Timothy 5.20 It is tempting, in this instance, to conclude with Pervo that the “perspective of Acts derives from an era in which widows were an organized, quasi-official group.”21 Alas, some of the other evidence Pervo culls from to draw Acts within the realms of the Pastorals and the Apostolic Fathers proves mixed. For example, Acts does not testify to the kind of church organization espoused by Ignatius of Antioch who posited that only one leader supported by deacons and presbyters oversee Christians in each city. Pervo speculates that Luke held certain reservations regarding the ecclesiological model propounded by Ignatius. 22 Similarly, on the idealization of marriage and family life seen in the Pastorals, Pervo proposes that “Luke sharply dissents from the post-Pauline world of Early Catholicism.”23 If this is true, Luke has expressed his reservations rather timidly. It is just as likely that he knew nothing about these kinds of ecclesial and marital structures.24 Even

20 1 Tim 5:9, however, states that one should enroll as a widow only 60 years or older. Luke 2:36 states that Anna was married for seven years after her “virginity” (parthenias), meaning that she was married at an early age and remained a widow for many years before she reached 60. Her portrait is apparently meant to commend marriage to only one man. 21 Pervo, Dating Acts, 220. The Jewish portrait of Anna, nevertheless, should not be overlooked. In particular, she resembles Judith who remained a widow until the age of 105, firmly devoted to the Torah and fasting (Jud 8:1–8; 16:23). Furthermore, if the 84 years refer to the length of Anna’s widowhood rather than her age, her lifespan would approximate Judith’s. See Raymond E. Brown, The Birth of the Messiah: A Commentary on the Infancy Narratives in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke (New York: Doubleday, 1993), 466–68. 22 Pervo, Dating Acts, 213. 23 Ibid., 216. 24 Regarding issues related to spiritual gifts and baptism, Pervo, Dating Acts, 214, maintains that Luke evinces a certain degree of opposition to developments emerging within “early

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less convincing is Pervo’s assumption that Acts follows a principle set up in Titus 1:15 and 1 Tim 4:4 that allegedly abolishes all distinctions between Jews and Gentiles and any grounds for keeping the Torah.25 Such a position would run against what is assumed in the Apostolic Decree and throughout Acts: Jews continue to follow all of the Torah while Gentiles only follow some of its requirements.

Josephus and Luke We may finally consider the possible literary relationship posited by Pervo between Acts and the writings of Josephus, including his later work, Antiquities, which was finished in the year 93.26 Here, Pervo admits that Lukan dependency on Josephus differs from the type of literary relationship reflected in the Synoptic Problem, as Luke did not imitate the style of Josephus nor simply import passages with little modification.27 A number of passages, nonetheless, may hint at some kind of employment of Josephus’s texts for historical references and other data, including among others: the census at the time of Quirinius (Luke 2:1–7; Acts 5:37; War 2.117–18; Ant. 18.15); the political disturbances caused by Theudas and Judas (Acts 5:36–37; Ant. 20.97–102) as well as the “Egyptian” (Acts 21:37–38; War 2.261–263; Ant. 20.169–171); the usage of the term hairesis to differentiate various Jewish factions (Acts 5:5, 17; 24:5, 14; 28:22); the depiction of Pharisees as “strict” or “accurate” (e.g., Acts 22:3; 26:5; Ant. 20:199–201); references to members of the Herodian family (Herodias, Bernice, Drusilla, etc.); and the portrait of John the Baptist as a “Hellenistic moralist” (Luke 3:10–14; Ant. 18.117).28 Looking more carefully at some of these parallels, one notes that both Josephus and Luke view the census under Quirinius as a watershed moment and connect it with Judas the Galilean. Of all the rebels that could have caused uprisings in Judea, Luke lists three that are mentioned in Josephus’s writings: Judas the Galilean, Theudas, and the Egyptian. As Steve Mason notes: “If Luke did not know Josephus, we are faced with an astonishing number of coincidences.”29 It

Catholicism.” Here too, Pervo draws the card of soft-spoken opposition where reservation is not clearly demonstrable. 25 Pervo, Dating Acts, 248–49. 26 Pervo builds on Steve Mason, Josephus and the New Testament, 2nd ed. (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2003; 1st ed. 1992). 27 Pervo, Dating Acts, 151. 28 Ibid., 149–99. 29 Mason, Josephus and the New Testament, 282.

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would seem that either Luke knew of Josephus’s writings or had access to sources resembling his accounts. On the other hand, perplexing discrepancies in these same materials complicate the hypothesis that Luke simply drew from Josephus’s writings. According to Josephus, Judas led an uprising during the census under Quirinius in 6 CE (War 2.117–118; Ant. 18.1–5). Later during the governorship of Cuspius Fadus (44–46 CE), Theudas caused a similar commotion, as he promised to split the Jordan River and lead his followers into freedom. Strangely enough, in Acts 5:36–37, Gamaliel claims that Judas arose after Theudas. Pervo tries to solve this problem and other discrepancies by suggesting that Luke misread or loosely reused his Josephan sources. He notes that Josephus juxtaposes the rebellions of Theudas and Judas in close proximity in Ant. 20.97–102, first briefly reporting Theudas’s failed coup and then mentioning the execution of Judas’s two sons, James and Simon. The author of Acts would have overlooked the fact that Josephus was describing the death of Judas’s sons, which happened after Theudas’s rebellion, rather than Judas’s own clash with the political powers of his time.30 This explanation is not altogether satisfying, since in the same sentence where Josephus mentions Judas’s two sons, “James and Simon whom [Tiberius Julius] Alexander ordered to crucify,” he explicitly recalls “Judas of Galilee who caused the people to revolt against the Romans when Quirinius performed the census of Judea” (Ant. 20.102). Perhaps Mason’s conjecture that Luke did (or could) not carefully consult Josephus’s writings might better account for what would otherwise constitute a very careless read on Luke’s part, 31 even if we must admit that Luke’s account defies human imagination in other ways, not least his claim that the census required all those living under Roman rule to return to their hometowns. We must reckon therefore with a writer who used his sources critically, as exemplified by Luke’s reception of Paul, and deliberately modified them, if indeed Luke knew Josephus’s writings, to suit his literary aims. Still, the accumulated evidence produced by Pervo points to a post-70 setting for Luke-Acts, probably later than earlier in the last quarter of the first century. The two Jewish revolts in Judea bracket Luke-Acts, providing a historical framework for assessing Luke’s perspective on Judaism, the Jesus movement, and the Roman Empire. Indeed, Pervo stresses that Acts was written in the midst of political turmoil at a time when Roman antipathy toward Jews was widespread. In this tense environment, Vespasian and his sons took advantage of their suppression of the first Jewish Revolt to establish their new Flavian dynasty, magnifying the

30 Pervo, Dating Acts, 158–59: “The error can thus be explored by presuming that the author of Acts overlooked ‘the sons of’ and wrote, or remembered only ‘Judas.’” 31 Mason, Josephus and the New Testament, 208.

Are Luke and Acts Anti-Marcionite? 

 509

scope of the war and constructing Judaism as a dangerous threat to the very existence of the Roman Empire. Luke, according to Pervo, would have capitalized on this kind of Roman resentment by turning the Jews into the primary villains of his story. Working under a scheme of the “partings of the ways” that some would now call into question, Pervo surmises that from the crises sparked by the Jewish Revolt arose two “religions”: Judaism and Christianity in the making. Luke-Acts would stem from this time, rather than a preliminary phase, when the separation between Judaism and Christianity had materialized.32 I would argue that this generalization would correspond better to the state of early Jewish-Christian affairs reigning after the Bar Kokhba Revolt (some would argue even later), once the ranks of Christianity included members who were predominantly of non-Jewish descent and quite triumphant in asserting their identity over against Judaism and the Jews—now banished by Hadrian from even entering Jerusalem. Justin Martyr, a Christian of non-Jewish origin, exemplifies this type of Gentile Christian assertiveness vis-à-vis Judaism even while limitedly tolerating Jewish followers of Jesus who wish to remain loyal to their traditions (Dial. 47). But now the tables have been turned: although Acts discusses whether Gentile Christians must undergo circumcision, Justin Martyr questions the need for Jewish followers of Jesus to continue observing the Mosaic Torah. As a Gentile Christian, Justin Martyr will only “allow” Jewish followers of Jesus to retain their practices if they do not enforce them on Gentiles. And while Acts approaches the issue of Torah observance from a Jewish standpoint—Jews such as Paul, Peter, and James deliberate on the status of Gentiles and whether they have to live like them—now a Gentile Christian like Justin Martyr wonders whether fellowship with Torah observant Jewish Christians should be even tolerated. According to Justin, many Christians from his time would not even grant such coexistence, demanding Jews to forsake their distinctive customs altogether. I see no reason to doubt Justin’s testimony. Interdiction of Torah observance will become the rule of law for virtually all Jewish converts to Christianity until modern times when certain Hebrew Christians and Messianic Jews will opt again to retain their Jewish identity not least through Torah observance. I do not wish to downplay Luke’s ambivalence toward other Jews of his time who denied Jesus’s messianic credentials. But Lukan polemics need to be historically contextualized. They are, in any case, counterweighted by Luke’s many positive pronouncements concerning Judaism. I already alluded to Luke’s Jewish depiction of Paul. In addition, we should note the prominent position Jerusalem and its temple occupy in the narrative of Luke-Acts—quite a feature for a work

32 Pervo, Dating Acts, 11.

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completed after 70 CE in the midst of Jewish confrontations with Rome. From the beginning of Luke to the end of Acts, significant events occur in Jerusalem including Jesus’s dedication during his infancy as God’s appointed servant (Luke 2:22–52), his crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension to heaven (Luke 9:31, 51; 24:51–52; Acts 1:9–11), the proclamation of the good news from Zion to the four corners of the earth (Acts 1:8), the outpouring of the sacred spirit (Acts 2), and the promulgation of the Apostolic Decree. These key events show that Jerusalem enjoys a sacred status in Luke’s eschatological and geographical schemes. Luke’s depiction of Jerusalem rather than Rome as the navel of the world calls into question the unqualified contention that Luke participates for political gain in a kind of Roman vilification against Jews. In some ways, Luke’s account contests the worldview cherished by Romans of his day who heralded Rome as the center of the oikoumenē. Against Flavian propaganda and the reality on the ground that would seem to confirm Rome’s claims to world supremacy, Luke’s narrative insinuates that things are the other way around: Jerusalem is overcoming Rome, thanks to the power of the gospel propagated by Jewish sentinels sent from Jerusalem who infiltrate the Roman Empire, proclaiming the reign of a Davidic messiah born in David’s hometown (see Luke 1–2), crucified, though not eliminated, since he has risen and re-established the “fallen booth of David,” that is, the Davidic dynasty (Acts 15:16), and will one day return to rule over Israel and the entire earth presumably from the city where all meaningful eschatological events always take place in Luke-Acts—Zion.33 In fact, as we reach the end of Acts, this rather subversive message has pierced the heart of Rome, the Roman capital, when a very Pharisaic-like Jew named Paul declares before a Jewish delegation of Rome that he is “bound in chains for the hope of Israel” (Acts 28:20). The ending of Acts does not signal the end of any hope for Jerusalem’s restoration: it looks back to Jerusalem even as the proclamation of God’s kingdom overtakes Rome. I am aware that my interpretation of Luke-Acts contrasts with the more classic understanding that would see in Luke-Acts a permanent relegation of the Jewish people to the margins of salvation history with the advent of Christianity. According

33 In making such a bold statement, by no means do I wish for my work to be co-opted by Christians or Jews to defend, on theological grounds, current Zionist political endeavors. Here, I approach Luke’s perspective on Jerusalem and Rome as a historian who is attentive to the long, tortuous history of Jewish-Christian relations. I seek to provide a corrective to a longstanding Christian denial of Israel’s specificity. We cannot forget that Luke wrote almost two millennia ago about the restoration of Israel in the context of the Roman Empire. His text cannot be ripped out of that context to treat the incredibly complex reality that is the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, which involves separate historical, social, and political developments completely foreign to Luke.

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to this line of understanding, in Luke’s eyes, any meaningful history for the Jewish people, any hope for Israel’s restoration, would have collapsed along with the temple in 70 CE. In many Christian circles, then and now, this transfer becomes a cause for celebration. We already see Justin Martyr exploiting the failure of the two Jewish Revolts in Judea to promote Christian supersessionism.34 And while Luke— like many Jews living after 70 CE—mourned the destruction of the temple (Luke 19:41), Christians such as Eusebius rejoiced over Jerusalem’s demise, seeing in this event a confirmation of God’s permanent rejection of the Jewish people.35 Many modern studies on Luke-Acts converge in different ways with these patristic assessments.36 Alas, in many cases, Jewish sources are overlooked. Little attempt is made to appreciate how Luke’s views on the temple’s destruction, Torah observance, or Jewish-Gentile relations might fit or compare with other post-70 Jewish currents. This is unfortunate, given the diverse body of Jewish texts from around the second century CE try to make sense of the destruction of Jerusalem and its ramifications for Judaism, not least the writings of Josephus, Jewish apocalyptic texts such as 2 Baruch, 4 Ezra, and the Apocalypse of Abraham, or “rewritten” scriptures such as the Liber antiquitatum biblicarum, or, finally, the Tannaitic strata of early rabbinic literature. Here I am but amplifying Anthony Saldarini’s call, which was originally applied to the gospel of Matthew, itself a post-70 Jewish text, to study Luke-Acts “along with other Jewish post-destruction literature, such as the apocalyptic works 2 Baruch, 4 Ezra and Apocalypse of Abraham, early strata of the Mishnah, and Josephus.” Saldarini adds that “[a]ll this Jewish literature”—and here we may add Luke-Acts—“tries to envision Judaism in new circumstances, reorganize its central symbols, determine the precise will of God, and propose a course of action for the faithful community.”37 To conclude this section, a late first-century or early second-century dating does not necessitate setting Luke-Acts outside a Jewish framework. It is precisely around this time that we see other Jewish texts deal with similar issues treated 34 See Isaac W. Oliver, “Jewish Followers of Jesus and the Bar Kokhba Revolt: Re-examining the Christian Sources,” in The Psychological Dynamics of Revolution: Religious Revolts, vol. 1 of Winning Revolutions: The Psychology of Successful Revolts for Freedom, Fairness, and Rights, ed. J. Harold Ellens (Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO Praeger, 2014), 109–27. 35 See Eusebius, Theophania, IV, 20. 36 This is the case with N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, Christian Origins and the Question of God 2 (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), who claims that the destruction of the temple of Jerusalem signaled the vindication of God’s true people, a redefined Israel that replaces the Jewish people punished for their “idolatrous nationalism” (pp. 331; 362–65). 37 Anthony J. Saldarini, “The Gospel of Matthew and Jewish-Christian Conflict in Galilee,” in The Galilee in Late Antiquity, ed. L. Levine (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1992), 23–38 [24].

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in Luke-Acts. 2 Baruch and 4 Ezra are often dated around the year 100, and Josephus writes his Antiquities and Against Apion at the same period. In the context of Lukan studies, these works should not simply be culled for historical data or “background” information. It is worthwhile comparing their theological and literary aims with those of Luke-Acts. A lot of work remains to be done in this regard.38

Luke-Acts and the Marcionite Debate A second-century dating for Acts has led some to consider whether it was written to combat Marcion, who may have been active as early as the first quarter of the second century.39 Joseph Tyson, who accepts Pervo’s arguments for the late dating of Acts and builds on the work of John Knox, argues “that the struggle of the church with Marion and Marcionite Christianity provides the most likely context of the writing of Acts” (emphasis added).40 Likewise, Tyson states that “the challenge of Marcion was one ingredient in the context of the composition of Acts, indeed the primary one.”41 These are no small claims.42 It should be noted right away that an early dating for Marcion’s activity is crucial for Tyson’s thesis. Otherwise, Acts would have to be dated closer to or even after the mid-second century CE, the time when Marcion is supposed to have been active in Rome (ca. 138–144 CE). Dating Acts so late, however, is problematic for reasons discussed in the previous section, and even if Marcion spread his word beforehand in Asia Minor, one would have

38 Mason, Josephus and the New Testament, 283–91, has done some interesting work in this regard, concluding that both Josephus and Luke write histories from the margins of the Hellenistic world. Just as Josephus seeks to defend Judaism in the aftermath of 70 CE by portraying it as a virtuous philosophy, Luke casts Christianity as the noblest form of Judaism. 39 Joseph B. Tyson, Marcion and Luke-Acts: A Defining Struggle (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2006) relies on R. Joseph Hoffman, Marcion: On the Restitution of Christianity: An Essay on the Development of Radical Paulinist Theology in the Second Century, AARAS 46 (Chico: Scholars Press, 1984), for positing Marcion’s activity as early as 110–120 CE. According to Jason David BeDuhn, The First New Testament: Marcion’s Scriptural Canon (Salem: Polebridge, 2013), 323 n. 15, Hoffman’s dating has not gained wide acceptance. 40 Tyson, Marcion and Luke-Acts, 23. Cf. John Knox, Marcion and the New Testament: An Essay in the Early History of the Canon (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1942). 41 Tyson, Marcion and Luke-Acts, 50. 42 They are seasoned with greater caution at one point, when Tyson, Marcion and Luke-Acts, 51, suggests that the Marcionite challenge formed a “major” (rather than the “primary”) aspect of the context within which Acts was written or that Acts was composed “at least in part” in reaction to Marcion.

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to suppose that he became influential enough rather quickly to warrant a Lukan response in writing. But any Marcionite thesis depends on its success in demonstrating on internal grounds that Acts was written to counter Marcionite aims. Tyson is persuaded that many of the distinctive features and themes in Acts can be read against a Marcionite backdrop. Thus, the emphasis in Acts on ecclesiastical harmony can be understood as an attempt to redress a split between Paul and the Jewish apostles of Jerusalem that Marcion would have exploited. Similarly, the emphasis in Acts on the fidelity to Jewish customs would have targeted Marcion’s opposition between Law and Gospel.43 Luke’s report of Paul’s circumcision of Timothy would have particularly irritated Marcion, as his Paul rejected the God of creation and would certainly not engage in such a Jewish act inscribed on the very flesh of the human being.44 The same kind of anti-Marcionite motivation would stand behind the numerous passages from the Jewish scriptures that are related in Acts to Jesus’s messiahship: “What better way to counter the Marcionite claims than to have the apostle they revered make repeated attempts to convince Jews that Jesus is the fulfillment of the biblical prophets and that belief in Jesus is harmonious with Jewish theology?”45 Space does not allow us to rehearse other examples, but Tyson concludes that the writer of Acts has produced “an engaging narrative that responds, almost point by point, to the Marcionite challenge.”46 Tyson also sets the final redaction of the gospel of Luke within a Marcionite setting. He views Marcion’s gospel, also called the Evangelion, as stemming from a proto-Lukan gospel that the writer of canonical Luke would have also adopted sometime in the early second century. Two, if not three different versions of the third gospel, therefore, circulated in the second century.47 The proto-Lukan gospel presumably began at Luke 3:1, which certainly looks like the opening to a gospel text when one considers how Mark begins his gospel. Luke 3:1 would have also opened Marcion’s gospel. The first two chapters of canonical Luke, which narrate Jesus’s birth, are secondary and were added by Luke.48 They show linguistic and thematic differences with the rest of Luke-Acts. The treatment of Judaism and the Jews is incredibly positive in these two chapters, highlighting the human birth of Jesus, his Jewish heritage, and commitment to his own people. They were

43 Tyson, Marcion and Luke-Acts, 60. 44 Ibid., 74–75. 45 Ibid., 69. 46 Ibid., 76. 47 Ibid., 79. 48 Ibid., 92.

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included out of a motivation to challenge Marcionite Christianity.49 Whoever added these first two chapters may have also redacted other parts of proto-Luke, including Luke 24 with its emphasis on Jesus’s fulfillment of Jewish prophecies. Tyson, therefore, conceives of the unity of Luke and Acts differently than the more conventional understanding that might view Luke and Acts as two volumes authored by the same writer. For Tyson, the core of Luke—Chapters 3–23—was penned prior to Marcion and by someone other than the author of Acts. Marcion is to be credited for instigating the production of Luke-Acts in its canonical form. Some scholars now include Marcion’s gospel in their treatment of the Synoptic Problem.50 Accepting Markan priority, Matthias Klinghardt views Marcion’s gospel as a re-edited version of Mark. Luke’s gospel stems from Marcion’s gospel, which also influenced the shape of the gospel of Matthew. Luke also consulted Matthew when redacting his gospel. This proposal seeks, among other things, to solve the infamous problem with the “minor agreements” between Matthew and Luke against Mark, perhaps the greatest challenge to the existence of Q, itself a hypothetical document, by ascribing their mutual dependence on Marcion’s gospel. Although Klinghardt does not think that the Evangelion and canonical Luke both derive from a proto-Lukan text, he agrees with Tyson and Knox that Luke is anti-Marcionite.51 In his recent book, Marcion and the Dating of the Synoptic Gospels, Markus Vinzent takes Marcionite influence on the formation of the gospels to unprecedented levels.52 Marcion’s gospel did not simply precede the gospel of Luke. It is the mother of all gospels! Marcion was the inventor of the gospel genre, the first to compose a narrative interwoven with Jesus sayings and other materials. In Vinzent’s estimation, there is “no indication that Marcion had simply picked up an already existing text,” be it a proto-Lukan gospel or a Markan text.53 Vinzent even traces the incremental steps leading to this unprecedented publication. First, Marcion intended that his gospel be used only among his pupils. Nevertheless, a rough draft of Marcion’s gospel somehow leaked to the public. This 49 Ibid., 100. 50 Matthias Klinghardt, “Markion vs. Lukas: Pladoyer fur die Wiederaufnahme eines alten Falles,” NTS 52 (2006): 484–513; idem, “The Marcionite Gospel and the Synoptic Gospel: A New Suggestion,” NovT 50 (2008): 1–27; idem, “‘Gesetz’ bei Markion und Lukas,” in Das Gesetz im frühen Judentum und im Neuen Testament: Festschrift für Christoph zum 75. Geburtstag, eds. Dieter Sänger and Matthias Konradt, NTOA 57 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006), 99–128. 51 Klinghardt, “Markion vs. Lukas,” 508. 52 Markus Vinzent, Marcion and the Dating of the Synoptic Gospels, Studia Patristica Supplement 2 (Leuven: Peeters, 2014). The book builds on his equally provocative study: Markus Vinzent, Christ’s Resurrection in Early Christianity and the Making of the New Testament (Farnham, England: Ashgate, 2011). 53 Vinzent, Marcion and the Dating of the Synoptic Gospels, 106.

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occurred before Marcion had time to edit his gospel to his liking. And once this unauthorized version circulated, it was copied and “Judaized” by the authors of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John who all harmonized the gospel with the Law and the Prophets. In response to the plagiarizing of his work, Marcion officially published his own gospel, the Antitheses, and the Apostolikon (Marcion’s collection and edition of Pauline epistles). This official publication marked the birth of Marcion’s “New Testament,”54 which also possibly stimulated the composition of the Acts of the Apostles.55 What are we to make of these recent claims that come at a time when studies on Marcion are very much in vogue?56 First, there is no warrant not to consider Marcion’s gospel in any examination of the Synoptic Problem. Little trust can be placed in the claims of Tertullian and Epiphanius that Marcion “mutilated” Luke’s gospel—a charge that Marcion and his followers could simply throw back at their opponents claiming they had altered Marcion’s gospel. Given the fluidity of all gospel texts during the first two centuries, it should surely not surprise anyone to discover some textual emendations in Marcion’s gospel.57 But the

54 Ibid., 97–100. Judith M. Lieu, Marcion and the Making of a Heretic: God and Scripture in the Second Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 186, notes the anachronism in speaking of a “New Testament” during Marcion’s time, as Marcion’s adversaries did not “credit Marcion with holding his ‘Gospel’ and ‘Apostolikon’ together in the way that they themselves were doing with their authoritative counterparts, as a single ‘New Testament.’ This contrasts with modern discussion, which often has concentrated on whether Marcion initiated the idea of a ‘New Testament,’ namely the combination of new authoritative writings of different genres into a single, separate, corpus; that he did so has routinely been seen as the converse of his supposed ‘rejection of the Old Testament.’ However such models are too precise and introduce fixed concepts that are anachronistic both for Marcion and for his opponents. The initial charges against him were that he denigrated the creator or the one ‘spoken about in the Law and the prophets’; the defense by his opponents of the essential harmony between ‘Old Covenant’ and ‘New Covenant,’ and their complaint that Marcion sought to establish a division between these, go hand in hand. Hence, the model and the language are theirs, especially as increasingly these ‘covenants’ come to be conceptualised as documents.” 55 Vinzent, Marcion and the Dating of the Synoptic Gospels, 73, 100, 186, 281–82. 56 It should be noted that various readings of Luke in light of Marcion were proposed in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries by the likes of Johann Salomo Semler, F. C. Albert Schwelger, Albrecht Ritschl, and F. C. Baur. Useful surveys on the history of research can be found in BeDuhn, The First New Testament, 78–92 and Dieter T. Roth, The Text of Marcion’s Gospel, NTTSD 49 (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 7–45. 57 Luke 16:17 “one tittle of my words” (rather than “one tittle of the law”) would have certainly proved more congenial to Marcionite theology. The same would be true for Luke 23:2, which in Marcion’s gospel probably included the phrase, “destroying the Law and the Prophets,” missing from most, but not all, witnesses of Luke. The wording of Luke 16:17 in Marcion’s gospel is far from certain. See Roth, The Text of Marcion’s Gospel, 359–40, while the phrase in Luke 23:2 can-

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available evidence does not suggest that Marcion radically altered the gospel at his disposal according to his liking. Quite to the contrary, recent studies, which caution against the usage of ideological criteria for reconstructing Marcion’s gospel, stress that Marcion’s gospel contained numerous “Judaic” passages that were not omitted even if they did not align neatly with Marcionite theology. For example, Marcion’s gospel apparently had Jesus implicitly affirm Torah observance in his exchange with the lawyer on the question of obtaining eternal life (Luke 10:28).58 Like the gospel of Luke, the Evangelion also presented Jesus defending his approach to the Sabbath in a Jewish manner without forthrightly denying its observance.59 Marcion, then, like his “proto-orthodox” contenders, encountered gospel traditions that presented opportunities and challenges for promoting various theological agendas. Likewise, too much cannot be built upon Marcion’s own pronouncements on the formation of the Gospels—pronouncements that are only partially retrievable from reports preserved by Marcion’s adversaries. While Marcion and his followers could accuse other Christians of distorting his gospel, these accusations, like the patristic ones, must be assessed with the same degree of caution. Tertullian casts the controversy as an either–or situation, claiming that only his or Marcion’s gospel can be authentic (Marc. 4.4.1). But this is a false premise set up on rhetorical grounds for apologetical purposes. In any case, as BeDuhn points out, when Tertullian alludes to Marcion’s insinuation that others adulterated his gospel, he

not be confidently ascribed to Marcionite redaction, as it is also attested in certain witnesses to Luke. 58 Following the reconstruction of Roth, The Text of Marcion’s Gospel, 421, who aims as best possible to reconstruct the exact wording of Marcion’s gospel, and BeDuhn, The First New Testament, 75, who only seeks to recover its basic contents. 59 According to Roth, The Text of Marcion’s Gospel, 425, Marcion’s gospel very likely included Luke 13:16, “this daughter of Abraham… whom Satan has bound” (cf. BeDuhn, The First New Testament, 76). Likewise, Marcion’s text also contained a comparison to David used to defend Jesus’s approach to the Sabbath (Luke 6:3). See Roth, The Text of Marcion’s Gospel, 414. Cf. BeDuhn, The First New Testament, 75–76. It is intriguing whether Marcion’s text reported that David entered the sanctuary of Nob on the Sabbath, as suggested by Tertullian, Marc. 4.12.5. If this is the case, it would constitute the first (Jewish) reference, attested in later rabbinic texts (b. Menah. 95b; Yalqut § 130 on 1 Sam 21:5), that David fled from Saul on the Sabbath. BeDuhn accepts Tertullian’s testimony (pp. 135–36). Roth, without mentioning the Jewish sources, is confident that Marcion’s gospel contained no reference to the Sabbath in Luke 6:3, ascribing its intrusion instead to Tertullian’s oversight or tendentiousness (p. 195). Credit then would have to go to Tertullian for being the first we know to note that a Sabbath setting for the Nob incident would have strengthened Jesus’s halakhic argument. For a discussion on Jesus’s Jewish approach to the Sabbath in Luke 6:3 and 13:16, see Isaac W. Oliver, Torah Praxis after 70 CE: Reading Matthew and Luke-Acts as Jewish Texts, WUNT 355 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 102–5, 132–38.

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may not have had in mind a written text at all. The term “gospel” continued to refer to a religious message in the second century rather than a written text, and Marcion’s own attempt to codify the gospel in written form may have originated precisely from a concern to stabilize gospel traditions circulating during his time.60 Ideally, solutions to the Synoptic Problem should be grounded on textual evidence and best account for the complex literary relationships between the Synoptics. Alas, the recovery of the exact wording of the complete, original text of the Evangelion will forever elude us unless some extraordinary finding will unearth new texts. No original copy of Marcion’s gospel survives history. And even after diligent care and effort, the only retrievable passages stem not from the original gospel of Marcion but from Marcionite editions of the Evangelion that Tertullian and Epiphanius possessed, texts that Marcion’s followers may have further redacted.61 The circulation of multiple versions of Marcion’s gospel, therefore, must be reckoned with. Interestingly, the versions of the Evangelion attested in Tertullian and Epiphanius contain passages that show signs of harmonization with Mark and especially Matthew. Tertullian and Epiphanius’s copies of the Evangelion vary, furthermore, in their harmonization with Mark and Matthew. BeDuhn takes this variation to mean that Marcion did not produce a single original edition of the Evangelion with one set of harmonizations. Rather, he adopted a gospel text existing in multiple copies that included various signs of harmonization persisting in their transmission up until the release of the first edition of the Evangelion.62 Those who posit that Luke’s gospel derives from Marcion’s gospel must consider the evidence of harmonization, as Luke occasionally displays more original readings where the Evangelion seems secondary. Vinzent provides a preliminary textual comparison of the Synoptics and the Evangelion. He claims: very often where Marcion is missing, our three Synoptics are at variance, either entirely, or almost entirely as in the birth stories, but as soon as we know of verses which are attested for in Marcion, the Synoptics not only start getting closer, but they are often literally

60 BeDuhn, The First New Testament, 33, 68. 61 This matter is acknowledged by Roth, The Text of Marcion’s Gospel, 78–79, n. 78. 62 BeDuhn, The First New Testament, 90. Consideration, however, must be given to Tertullian’s and Epiphanius’s citation habits. As noted by Judith M. Lieu, “Marcion and the Synoptic Problem,” in New Studies in the Synoptic Problem: Oxford Conference, April 2008: Essays in Honour of Christopher M. Tuckett, eds. Christopher M. Tuckett, et al., BETL 239 (Leuven: Peeters, 2011), 731–51 [737], there was a tendency in patristic citation for the text of Matthew to influence quotations of Luke and Mark. Cf. Roth, The Text of Marcion’s Gospel, 283–85.

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identical—following Marcion word by word, sometimes only with minimal, theological corrections.63

This rule of thumb does not work consistently, though, as Vinzent himself admits. For example, greater textual correspondence exists between Luke and the Evangelion in Luke 3:1 where one would have expected the Synoptics to align closer with one another. Vinzent downplays this datum by claiming that “we cannot make much of the immediate opening.”64 He notes instead that right after the opening, all three Synoptics quote identically Exod 23:20 and Mal 3:1, as does Marcion’s gospel, according to Vinzent’s reconstruction. Initially, this observation would seem to confirm Vinzent’s proposition that the Synoptics converge when the same material is present in the Evangelion. Yet the Synoptics also all quote Isa 40:3, which are unattested in Marcion’s gospel. Here Vinzent acknowledges that a literary relation where Marcion serves as the source is out of the question. Nevertheless, he contends that following the quotation of Isa 40:3 “our three Synoptics continue with an extraordinary mixture of parallels and differences, and this remains true until we hit the next text of Marcion, namely that Jesus ‘began teaching in the synagogue.’”65 Yet Mark 1:21 and Luke 4:31 agree with one another that Jesus visited the synagogue of Capernaum on the Sabbath, against Marcion (following Vinzent’s own reconstruction of the Evangelion on p. 266).66 For the time being, Synoptic dependency on Marcion awaits demonstration.67 Could at least the Acts of the Apostles have been drafted to combat Marcionism? Perhaps a drop of anti-Marcionism can be extracted from Acts 16:7, a verse claiming that the spirit hindered Paul from preaching in Bithynia. Acts provides no reason for the spirit’s opposition to Paul’s movement into this area. Interestingly, Marcion is thought to have originated from this area. He was apparently from the city of Sinope in Pontus, which had been annexed with Bithynia by the 63 Vinzent, Marcion and the Dating of the Gospels, 263. 64 Ibid., 272. 65 Ibid., 272. 66 The sequence of events in the Evangelion differs, furthermore, from canonical Luke. According to the Evangelion, Jesus’s visit to Nazareth (4:16–30) presumably followed his stay in Capernaum (4:31–35). See Roth, The Test of Marcion’s Gospel, 186–87, 412–13. 67 Michael Wolter, Das Lukasevangelium, HNT 5 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 3 and more recently Roth, The Text of Marcion’s Gospel, 163–64, 437–38 have pointed out that the formulation, ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ εὐαγγελίζεται, which is attested only in Luke and Acts, most likely appeared in Marcion’s gospel in 4:43 and 16:16. Were other Lukan phrases to be found in the Evangelion, Marcionite precedence would be seriously undermined, although the identification of distinctively Lukan formulations hinges on the assumption of the redactional unity of LukeActs. In light of Walters (see footnote 2), BeDuhn, and Tyson’s works, Lukan unity might require some reconsideration that takes into account a more complex development for Luke and Acts.

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Romans. Tyson speculates that Acts intends here to deny any connection between Paul and Marcion by insinuating that a Pauline mission never reached Marcion’s homeland.68 His case for viewing the first two chapters of Luke as secondary additions, perhaps included by the writer of Acts, also seems strong. As noted earlier, Luke 3:1 certainly does read like an opening to a gospel. Yet the first two chapters of Luke affirm Jewish hopes for restoration and contain no tangible allusions to Marcionism. Herein lies the major weakness in any attempt at reading Acts (or Luke) historically against a Marcionite backdrop. Besides reckoning with the tentative dating of Acts to the second century, which is far from certain, one wonders how it would be possible solely from an internal reading of Acts to infer that there once existed Christians who believed that a demiurge allegedly spoken of in the Jewish scriptures created this world, that these same Christians evaluated their worldly existence negatively and thought that the creator god was altogether envious, severe, and cruel, while maintaining, on the other hand, that a hitherto unknown god, who was essentially good, had sent Christ in order to snatch human souls away from the shackles of their earthly prison.69 Detections of anti-Marcionism in Luke-Acts seem obvious only after one learns about the existence of the Marcionite phenomenon from external sources.70 Pan-Marcionite readings of Luke-Acts, like second-century datings of LukeActs, also risk missing the greater points that are explicitly raised in Acts, not least issues concerning Jewish-Christian relations and Torah observance. With respect to Acts 21:21, Tyson infers that the author of Acts may have been trying to refute Marcionite Christians who claimed that Paul did not observe the Torah.71 Perhaps this was the case, although we can imagine Acts responding to other “radical Paulinists” who made similar claims. In any case, Acts 21:18–26 notes

68 Tyson, Marcion and Luke-Acts, 77. But cf. Acts 2:9 (Jews from Pontus and Asia heard the good news on Pentecost); 18:2 (Aquila, a follower of Jesus, was a native of Pontus). Bithynia is also distinguished from Pontus in 1 Pet 1:1. 69 Cf. BeDuhn, The First New Testament, 86–87: “Since other pseudonymous writings of the period, while avoiding anachronistically naming Marcion, direct more or less transparent attacks upon him, why would a mid-second-century redaction of Luke not similarly offer prophetic criticism of future heretics who will deny that God is the creator or that Christ had a physical resurrection? It is true that adding more quotes from the Old Testament, and certain elements of the resurrection narrative, may subtly work in this direction, but subtlety was not a hallmark of most second-century Christian literature.” 70 Cf. Lieu, Marcion and the Making of a Heretic, 430: “As has been indicated already, that Acts was composed as a companion to Luke, itself perhaps extended, in opposition to Marcion lacks any certain proof; any polemic is remarkably muted and requires considerable eisegesis to detect it, although Irenaeus and his successors swiftly found its benefits for their own polemics.” 71 Tyson, Marcion and Luke-Acts, 75.

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that Jewish rather than Gentile followers of Jesus questioned Paul’s faithfulness to Judaism. These Jewish disciples of Jesus, all zealous for the Law according to Acts, heard that Paul allegedly taught Jews throughout the Diaspora to forsake their ancestral customs. These incriminations are, furthermore, uttered by Jacob (also known as James), the brother of Jesus—the head of the Jewish ekklesia in Jerusalem and Torah observant Jewish disciple of Jesus par excellence. Similarly, when Paul entered the temple of Jerusalem accompanied by Jewish followers of Jesus to demonstrate his fidelity to Judaism, Acts specifies that Jews, this time from Asia Minor, accused him of desecrating its holy precincts (21:27). If anything, these neglected passages, of significant import,72 show how the writer of Acts was not only concerned about the perceptions on Paul held by Jews and Jewish followers of Jesus but was also sensitive to their concern to preserve a distinctive Jewish lifestyle. If one can pierce through the world narrated in Acts 21:18–26 to the social world of the narrator, there one might see Jews and Jewish followers of Jesus living after 70 CE still exerting a certain influence on the Jesus movement sufficient enough to impress the writer of Acts to rehabilitate Paul in response to their concerns. This proposal, I would add, fits better within a paradigm that maintains ongoing exchanges after 70 CE between followers of Jesus and other Jews, a continued reflection on the Jewish heritage of the ekklesia, and a sizeable presence of Jesus followers committed to their Jewish identity. I take Luke-Acts, besides Matthew and other documents penned after 70 CE, as evidence supporting my proposal. While the mission to the Gentiles is a theme that is hinted at in Luke and appears in Acts, its importance has perhaps been exaggerated at the cost of appreciating the equally, if not more prominent, Lukan interest in the ultimate destiny of the Jewish people. A rising tide of scholars has signaled various Jewish aspects of Luke-Acts that have hereto been neglected, suggesting that Luke-Acts not only addressed a Gentile audience but also took into consideration Jewish concerns.73 In a forthcoming work, Kinzer notes that out of the 22 speeches in the Acts of the Apostles, 16 are directed primarily to Jewish audiences, be they

72 See David Rudolph, “Luke’s Portrait of Paul in Acts 21:17–26,” in The Early Reception of Paul the Second Temple Jew, eds. Isaac W. Oliver and Gabriele Boccaccini (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, forthcoming). 73 See Kinzer’s piece in this book as well as Oliver, Torah Praxis after 70 CE; Matthew Thiessen, Contesting Conversion: Genealogy, Circumcision, and Identity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011); Jocelyn McWhirter, Rejected Prophets: Jesus and His Witnesses in Luke-Acts (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2014). Ray Pickett, “Luke and Empire: An Introduction,” in Luke-Acts and Empire: Essays in Honor of Robert L. Brawley, eds. David Rhoads, David Esterline, Jae Won Lee, Princeton Theological Monograph Series 151 (Eugene: Pickwick, 2011), 1–22.

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outside or within the ekklesia. Only five speeches are directed to Gentile audiences, and even then, only two of them actually involve proclamations of the gospel message to Gentiles (14:15–17; 17:22–31). This figure is surprising, as Kinzer notes, “given the traditional assumption that Acts has as its main concern the ekklesia’s transition from being a Jewish to a Gentile entity with a mission to Gentiles and not to Jews.”74 The traditional assumption Kinzer alludes to professes that Jewish followers of Jesus played an inconsequential role in shaping the Jesus movement in the generations after Peter, Paul, and James, and that Luke-Acts retains no hope for the salvation of the Jewish people. Yet other writings penned after 70 CE besides Luke-Acts, such as the gospel of Matthew or even later the Dialogue with Trypho (discussed earlier), complicate these assumptions. Many followers of Jesus continued to flesh out their relationship to Judaism and mainstream Jewry, some affirming the Jewish affiliation of the Jesus movement while looking forward to the day when other Jews would join their ranks and all Israel would be saved. Followers of Jesus who were committed to Jewish ancestral traditions remained a vibrant force in the period between the two major Jewish revolts. To conclude our discussion on the relationship between Luke-Acts and Marcion, we may wonder whether Luke and Marcion were active in different social settings. Marcion may have originated from a community that was predominantly non-Jewish with only loose connections to Judaism. 75 It is almost impossible to produce any specific details on Luke’s background, but his interest in the salvation of Israel and remarkable acquaintance with the Jewish tradition suggest a certain kind of interaction within a milieu that included Jews or at least took Jewish concerns seriously into consideration. It was primarily Luke’s interaction with Judaism and other Jews, not the threat of Marcionism, that led him to affirm Jewish hopes and aspirations.76

74 Mark S. Kinzer, Jerusalem Crucified, Jerusalem Risen: The Resurrected Messiah, the Jewish People, and the Land of Promise (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2018), 131. 75 Cf. BeDuhn, The First New Testament, 6. Vinzent, “Marcion the Jew,” argues that Marcion was Jewish, based on his hermeneutical approach to the Jewish scriptures, but, as Judith Lieu notes, this gives too much credit to Tertullian’s polemical strategies, which seek to create an unholy alliance between Marcion and the Jews for rhetorical effect. 76 BeDuhn, The First New Testament, 91–92, may be right, therefore, in viewing the gospel of Luke and the Evangelion as alternative versions of a more primitive gospel that were adapted for primarily Jewish and primarily Gentile readers, respectively. At the very least, Luke anticipated a mixed audience composed of Jewish and Gentile Christian readers in writing Luke-Acts.

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A Short Epilogue on Jewish-Christian Relations: Would Christianity Have Been Less Anti-Jewish Had Marcion Prevailed? Some have wondered what the world would have looked like had Marcionism rather than Orthodoxy prevailed over the Christian world. More particularly, how would it have impacted Jewish-Christian relations?77 One possibility Bart Ehrman envisages is heightened hostilities, since Marcion apparently hated all things Jewish. Just as likely, though, in Ehrman’s opinion is a scenario where Marcionite Christians would have simply ignored Jews rather than persecute them. They would not have perceived Judaism as a threat, given Marcion’s antithetical opposition between his Gospel and the Jewish faith. In simple words, Christianity would have nothing in common with Judaism and there would therefore be no need to engage or refute it.78 Tyson nuances Marcion’s attitude toward Judaism. In his opinion, Marcion cannot be simply tagged as anti-Jewish. He considered the Jewish scriptures to be divinely inspired, albeit by a lesser god, and did not question their historical or prophetic accuracy, agreeing with the Jews that they predicted the coming of a messiah other than Jesus. Marcion, therefore, shared with the Jews a literal understanding of the Jewish scriptures. He may have pitied them because they were under the power of the demiurge, although it is impossible to know whether this attitude would have translated into anti-Jewish resentment. In the end, Tyson agrees with Ehrman that “benign neglect” of Judaism fits better with Marcionite principles.79 Without a travel machine and altering the course of history, it is of course impossible to determine what kind of outcome would have ensued in Jewish-Christian relations should Marcionism have won the day. We can, however, look back to a period in modern history when Marcionite affections re-emerged, and consider their impact on Jewish-Christian relations. The life of Franz Rosenzweig presents an interesting case of one Jew’s initial attraction to and eventual

77 On an anecdotal note, I am surprised at how many undergraduate students in my Hebrew Bible and New Testament courses contrast the God of the “Old Testament,” deemed to be overly harsh and just, with the God of the New Testament, whom they equate with love, acceptance, and peace. Knowing nothing about Marcion (and, apparently, the numerous passages in the New Testament welcoming divine wrath and eternal torment), they almost conceive of two gods separated by the Old and New Testaments. 78 Bart D. Ehrman, Lost Christianities: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 111. 79 Tyson, Marcion and Luke-Acts, 126–27.

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refutation of Marcion in the context of modern Jewish-Christian relations. In an intriguing work that takes into account new evidence on the life of the Jewish thinker, Benjamin Pollock claims that Rosenzweig was drawn to a Marcionite worldview before he eventually made the lifelong commitment to remain a Jew. Rosenzweig did not convert, as is commonly believed, from a position of contemporary academic relativism to a position of “faith” after that formative nightconversation he held with Eugen Rosenstock and his cousins Hans and Rudolf Ehrenberg on July 7, 1913 (the “Leipziger Nachtgespräch”). Rather, Pollock argues that Rosenzweig entered that conversation already in a position of faith. But the faith Rosenzweig held at that point was expressly “Marcionite.”80 Interestingly enough, Pollock points out that “Marcion’s vision of a Christian canon that could stand free of the Old Testament had gained renewed traction in Rosenzweig’s day, and precisely among some of those whom Rosenzweig associated with Marcion’s theology.”81 Friedrich Schleiermacher, the father of modern liberal theology, had already questioned the canonical status of the Old Testament, citing Marcion’s decision to discard the Jewish scriptures as an exemplary precedent.82 But no one did more to uncover and promote the legacy of Marcion than one of Rosenzweig’s contemporaries, Adolf von Harnack, whose work has influenced scholarly studies on Marcion up to this day. Harnack did not hide his admiration for Marcion, the only Christian in his eyes who truly grasped the implications of Paul’s gospel. Like Schleiermacher, Harnack also called for the removal of the Old Testament from the Christian Bible. In his opus magnum on Marcion, he states: [T]he rejection of the Old Testament in the second century was a mistake which the great church rightly avoided; to maintain it in the sixteenth century was a fate which the Reformation was not yet able to escape; but still to preserve it in Protestantism as a canonical

80 Benjamin Pollock. Franz Rosenzweig’s Conversions: World Denial and World Redemption (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2014), 3. 81 Ibid., 111. 82 See Paul Capetz, “Friedrich Schleiermacher on the Old Testament,” HTR 102. 3 (2009): 297–325 [300], for a nuanced perspective on Schleiermacher’s views on the Old Testament and Judaism. He argues that Schleiermacher, like Marcion, understood that the Jewish scriptures did not foretell the arrival of Christianity. Schleiermacher, however, was simply acknowledging the initial findings of historical criticism which appreciated the meaning of the Hebrew scriptures in their original settings and thereby unveiled the forced Christological applications of Old Testament passages to the person of Jesus. However, in a certain way, Schleiermacher, like Marcion, exaggerated the differences between Judaism and Christianity, admitting only an external historical link between the two.

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document since the nineteenth century is the consequence of a religious and ecclesiastical crippling.83

Unsurprisingly, Harnack did not hold a very favorable view of Judaism, which he believed had been rightly superseded by Christianity, although his prejudice toward Judaism and Jews paled in comparison to the racist anti-Semitism of Houston Stewart Chamberlain, another fan of Marcion.84 After his return to the Jewish fold, Pollock shows how Rosenzweig consciously defined his vision of Judaism in opposition to Marcionism. The God of revelation is also the God of creation, contrary to Marcion who would split God into two. Judaism and Christianity find themselves on a path that anticipates and requires the redemption of this world. Jews and Christians, therefore, cannot escape or negate but must engage this world. Indeed, for Rosenzweig, Christianity always risks succumbing to the Marcionite enticement that promises withdrawal from this earth to an otherworldly portal, insisting that salvation has already come while forgetting that the actual world still stands in need of redemption. Hence the need for Jews to remain Jews so that they can remind their follow Christians of their redemptive duties. No wonder then that Rosenzweig denounces in The Star of Redemption “the disguised enemies of Christianity, from the Gnostics to the present day, who wanted to take from it its ‘Old Testament,’”85 and expresses gratitude in a letter to his mother that the early church rejected Marcion’s narrow canon and his world-denying theology.86 Judaism and Marcionism are two irreconcilable opposites, the former anticipates the redemption of this world, and the other abandons it altogether.87 In Judaism, Rosenzweig found reconciliation with a world in which he initially felt estranged and even tempted to forsake.

83 Adolf von Harnack, Marcion and the Gospel of the Alien God, trans. John E. Steely and Lyle D. Bierma (Eugene: Wipft and Stock, 1990); trans. of Marcion: Das Evangelium von fremden Gott. Eine Monographie zur Geschichte der Grundlegung der katholischen Kirche (Leipzig: J.C. Henrichs, 1924). 84 On these two and their views on Jews and Judaism, see Wolfram Kinzig, Harnack, Marcion und das Judentum. Nebst einer Kommentierten Edition des Briefwechsels Adolf von Harnacks mit Houston Stewart Chamberlain, Arbeiten zu Kirchenund Theologiegeschichte 13 (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2004). 85 Franz Rosenzweig, The Star of Redemption, trans. Barbara E. Galli (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2005), 437; trans. of Der Stern der Erlösung (Kauffmann: Frankfurt am Main, 1921). Cited by Pollock, Franz Rosenzweig’s Conversions, 112. 86 Pollock, Franz Rosenzweig’s Conversions, 111. 87 Ironically as Pollock, Franz Rosenzweig’s Conversions, 122, points out Rosenzweig did conceive of Judaism as otherworldly, having abandoned the earthly political stage after the year 70. However, Pollock notes the critical difference for Rosenzweig between Judaism and Marcionism on this point: “Rosenzweig’s Jew may deny the worldly, and she may set her sights on a life of

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The preceding reflection on the momentary rise of Marcionism in the early twentieth century was not meant to demonstrate that Marcionism could be more or less anti-Jewish than Christianity. Although the Church’s refusal to reject the Jewish scriptures has historically provoked unfortunate controversy between Jews and Christians, it has nonetheless provided a common bond enabling the two to reflect on their shared heritage and missions in a way that Marcionism can never offer. At a time when the current climate threatens global existence, it is hoped that Jews and Christians, indeed all humans, will not choose to escape or deny the world but engage and repair it before it is too late.

intimacy with God beyond the world—just like the Marcionist. But the beyond toward which Rosenzweig’s Jew directs her sights represents the future of the world. As such, the redemption that Judaism anticipates is not the ‘stiff Überworld’ Rosenzweig attributes to the Gnostic, but rather precisely a ‘demand on the world’ that it realize the future that the Jewish people anticipates.”

James Waddell

35 “I Have Been Born Among You”: Jesus, Jews, and Christians in the Second Century Recent analysis has attempted to locate the Infancy Gospel of Thomas (IGT) in a context of developing Christian thought about Jesus’ childhood, and has suggested that the author(s) imitated a popular children’s stories genre of late antiquity. The function of this genre, when applied to the infancy of Jesus, is to embellish the status of Jesus in terms of his power, wisdom, and authority. What appears to be an earlier strand of tradition in IGT, however, suggests an ideological stance that is much less complimentary of Jesus and raises a number of questions about its original context and purpose. Research on IGT provides us with a variety of ways of reading this document. Reidar Aasgaard has argued that IGT fits the popular childhood stories genre in antiquity and late antiquity.1 The problem, as Aasgaard admits, is that very little research has been done on childhood stories in this period, and his argument that IGT was written for children in rural village contexts, while plausible, is not entirely convincing. Ronald Hock has suggested that the author(s) of IGT possibly imitated the infancy aspects of biographies of important figures in antiquity. Hock argues that these biographies dealt with the character of ancient figures, “and that character was assumed to have been fixed from birth.”2 Hock also argues that comparing

1 Reidar Aasgaard, The Childhood of Jesus: Decoding the Apocryphal Infancy Gospel of Thomas (Havertown: James Clarke & Co., 2014). 2 Ronald F. Hock, The Infancy Gospels of James and Thomas (Santa Rosa: Polebridge, 1995), 96–97. Hock writes: “Although biographies of individuals, which were decisively shaped by the prescriptions of rhetorical handbooks, dealt with ancestry, birth, childhood, and adulthood, they were not about changes and developments in their subjects’ fortunes and personalities, but about their character, and that character was assumed to have been fixed from birth. Consequently, anecdotes about birth and childhood were expected to anticipate the qualities and virtues that characterized adult life …. The Infancy Gospel of Thomas conforms to the patterns Wiedemann has identified for the portrayal of childhood in biographies, and in fact he mentions the infancy gospels of Jesus in passing.” Note: It is with a profound sense of affection that I offer this analysis of a small intersection of intellectual discourse on Christology between Judaism and early Christianity to my friend and mentor Gabriele Boccaccini, cum gratia mea. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-036

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IGT with these biographies illuminates the purpose of IGT. The difficulty with comparing IGT with these biographies is that they typically dealt with the static character of the individual, while IGT requires the reader to expect a development of Jesus’ character, from petulant child to compassionate miracle-working Savior. Hock interacts with the work of Thomas Wiedemann who argued that the features of ancestry, birth, childhood, and adulthood consistently “appear in biographies of emperors and others throughout the imperial period.”3 Where I disagree with Hock is in his assertion that “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas conforms to the patterns Wiedemann has identified for the portrayal of childhood in biographies.”4 Hock must qualify his assertion for it to work, that Jesus’ “divine power is clearly, if not always correctly, displayed.” The dull edge of this qualification deserves more direct and careful attention in terms of the internal evidence for making sense of the original purpose of IGT. Tony Burke has argued that IGT is to be read in the literary context of other Roman works that idealize the childhoods of important Roman figures.5 Burke has also argued that “The original author appears intent on demonstrating that Jesus is a being of power, wisdom and authority, and that these attributes must be recognized and respected—by both those who encounter Jesus in the stories and, presumably, the gospel’s readers. It is not Jesus who needs to change, but those around him.”6 Stephen Davis writes that IGT is to be read in the evolving contexts of transforming cultural memories.7 While Burke and Davis have made substantial contributions to our understanding of IGT, in particular Burke’s work on the transmission of the traditions, these works for the most part still read IGT as an idealization of the infant Jesus. More recently, J.R.C. Cousland has argued that IGT must be read in its Greco-Roman literary context, in order to best understand the impetuous character of the infant Jesus. Because ancient, popular stories of personified pagan deities tell of unruly infants as well as adults, this would have resonated closely with the 3 Thomas Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989). 4 Ronald Hock, The Infancy Gospels, 97: “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas conforms to the patterns Wiedemann has identified for the portrayal of childhood in biographies …. [the ancient reader] would expect to read stories that anticipate the qualities of Jesus as an adult …. And whether Jesus is playing or helping out his divine power is clearly, if not always correctly, displayed: clay sparrows come alive … seeds produce miraculous harvests … and falls, accidents, snakebites, and sickness … are all subject to Jesus’ restorative divine power.” 5 Tony Burke, De infantia Iesu evangelium Thomae: graece (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010). 6 Tony Burke, “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas” in Paul Foster, ed., The Non-Canonical Gospels (London: T&T Clark, 2008), 126–38; here 131. 7 Stephen J. Davis, Christ Child: Cultural Memories of a Young Jesus (New Haven: Yale UP, 2014).

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kinds of communities Cousland imagines as having access to the infancy traditions of IGT.8 I find Cousland’s argument to have an element of plausibility, which I will return to later. I would argue that IGT should be read in an entirely different light. The way in which Jesus is presented in this document is indeed less than complimentary to his character. Jesus is breaking Jewish law on several counts. He violates Sabbath. He is disrespectful to his father Joseph and to three unlucky teachers whom Joseph places in authority over him. In short, Jesus has anger management issues. And he randomly and sometimes cruelly commits murder. Without question, the IGT Jesus is not a very nice person. In various episodes of IGT, Jesus exhibits a petulant and rather arrogant disposition. It is because of this that I am reluctant to view the purpose of IGT as an embellishment of Jesus’ character simply because he is given to perform miracles as a child. Something else must be the reason for its composition. I would suggest that IGT, at least in its earliest social and religious context, was written as a satiric response to the emergence of proto-orthodox infancy traditions in the late first and early second centuries CE.9 If the earliest IGT tradition was written for such a satiric purpose, who would have written it? Previous scholarship has indicated that IGT says little about Jewish life and customs and therefore must have been written by someone who was not Jewish (Hock, 91). The evidence suggests, however, that the author(s) of the earliest strand of the IGT tradition could have been from a Jewish or a Jewish-Christian community, who did not accept the elevated, divine status of Jesus as it was presented in the proto-orthodox infancy-narrative traditions.10

8 J.R.C. Cousland, Holy Terror: Jesus in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, LNTS, Chris Keith editor (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2018), here esp. 33–42. 9 The classic work on the emergence of infancy traditions in the canonical gospels is Raymond E. Brown, The Birth of the Messiah: A Commentary on the Infancy Narratives in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, Anchor Bible Reference Library (New York: Doubleday, 1999). For alternative views see Jane Schaberg, The Illegitimacy of Jesus: A Feminist Theological Interpretation of the Infancy Narratives (New York: Crossroad, 1990) and Andrew T. Lincoln, Born of a Virgin? Reconceiving Jesus in the Bible, Tradition, and Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2013). 10 See, e.g., Frédéric Amsler, “Les Paidika Iesou, un nouveau témoin de la rencontre entre judaïsme et christianisme à Antioch au IVe siècle?’ in Claire Clivaz, Andreas Dettwiler, Luc Devillers, Enrico Norelli with Benjamin Bertho, eds., Infancy Gospels. Stories and Identities, WUNT 199 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 452–58, who suggests that IGT was composed as a Jewish polemic against early Christian views of Jesus. See also Kristi Upson-Saia, “Holy Child or Holy Terror? Understanding Jesus’ Anger in the Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” Church History 82 (2013): 1–39, although Upson-Saia sees IGT as a “Christian” work, rather than a Jewish work.

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Petri Luomanen lays out detailed criteria for identifying whether a document may be classified as having originated from a Jewish-Christian sect.11 And I must add that he does not include IGT in his analysis. Luomanen (11–12) argues that the first two criteria are to be “considered as the most clear evidence of Jewishness.” 1) “Are characteristically Jewish practices such as (Jewish) circumcision, the Sabbath and purity laws observed?” On this count the Sabbath is directly an issue in IGT, and based on evidence in the Mishnah presented below I would argue that ritual purification is also an issue. 2) “Are characteristically Jewish ideas such as Yahweh as the only God, the temple as Yahweh’s abode, or the Torah, maintained?” I would argue that this is also an issue, since there are both direct and implied Christological challenges in IGT. 3) “What is the pedigree of the group/person? Jewish or not?” On this point, the identification of the author as a Jew, Thomas the Israelite, at least may indicate the possibility of a Jewish context for the composition of IGT.12 4) “What is the role of Jesus in the worship and ideology of the community? Is Jesus considered as a Jewish prophet or is he more a divine being, worshipped as Kyrios (‘Lord’), an equal to God?” Here the author of IGT, as I intend to demonstrate, actually mocks the ideology that presents Jesus as a miracle-working divine being. 5) “Is baptism in the name of Jesus (or the triune God) an entrance rite to the community?” The incident of the purified pools in IGT, I would suggest, are actually a polemical lampoon of Christian baptism. 6) “To what extent are these or other issues important for inter- or intra-group relations? What roles do they play in defining the borders and identity of the group in question?” With regard to Luomanen’s final criteria, which to some extent drives at combining the analysis of the above five criteria, the evidence positively indicates a Jewish context for IGT.13 Based on Luomanen’s most important criteria 1, and 2, but also criteria 4, 5, and 6, we can confidently identify what I would call an earlier strand of IGT as a Jewish or a Jewish-Christian work that was intended to be a critical, satiric 11 Petri Luomanen, Recovering Jewish-Christian Sects and Gospels, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae, Texts and Studies of Early Christian Life and Language 110 (Leiden: Brill, 2012). 12 Tony Burke argues that the first chapter, where this identification is made, is a later addition to the tradition. Cf. “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” 130. 13 Virtually all current studies on IGT locate the document in a Greco-Roman Gentile context, and all but dismiss the Jewish characteristics of the document.

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response to late first- and early second- century proto-orthodox Christological developments via infancy narratives.14 Embedded within this earlier strand are more targeted polemics aimed at a failure of Sabbath observance, orthodox baptism, and certain Christological assertions that would make Jesus to be a divine child or to have an angelic nature. Identification of an earlier strand of the tradition is bolstered by conflicting portrayals of the infant Jesus’ character. Ze’ev Weisman provides us with an interesting discussion of biblical satire.15 There is a long tradition of mockery, sarcasm, and satire in the Bible and in Second Temple period literature. Satire appears in Jewish literature as criticism in the form of mockery, sarcasm, caricature, and extreme distortion of an opponent’s person or ideological position—the tower of Babel story, Jeroboam’s golden “calves” at Bethel and Dan, Jonah and the big fish, mockery and sarcasm in the prophets. This provides us with a broader context for recognizing satire in Jewish documents from the first and second centuries CE and on into late antiquity. Before looking with some detail at the contents of IGT, it would be helpful to discuss briefly what others have said about the diversity of traditions that make up the document. Hock points out that IGT is made up of a series of independent traditions, and that there is not a cohesive narrative thread. Hock argues (85) that IGT is comprised of “not a lengthy and coherent narrative but a collection of largely self-contained stories that are only loosely held together by a series of indications of Jesus’ age,” at five years, six years, eight years, nine years, and finally when Jesus is twelve years old. Hock writes (92) … “the narratives themselves, being so loosely attached to the whole, were subject to quite remarkable reworking, as a comparison of the various MSS displays considerable paraphrasing, expansion, condensation, even deletion of some stories and the addition of new ones.” Tony Burke provides a concise yet detailed presentation of the manuscript traditions.16 The problem with arguing Ur-text on the basis of manuscript traditions of IGT is that these manuscripts are centuries older than what is

14 Matthew 1–2 and Luke 1–2 (late first and early second century CE); Infancy Gospel (Protoevangelium) of James (early second century CE); and 2 Enoch 71–72 on the miraculous birth of Melchizedek, which is not proto-orthodox, but contributes to the literary context of infancy narratives in the late first century CE. 15 Ze’ev Weisman, Political Satire in the Bible, Society of Biblical Literature, SemeiaSt (SBL, 1998). 16 Tony Burke, “The Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” 126–32.

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understood to be the milieu for the document’s original composition.17 With this in mind it makes sense to run through and summarize the contents of IGT.18 Ch 1 … The introduction informs the reader that Thomas the Israelite writes to his brothers from the nations to make known the extraordinary childhood deeds of Jesus. So the author is explicitly given a Jewish identity. Previous scholarship has indicated that IGT says little about Jewish life and customs and therefore must have been written by someone who was not Jewish (Hock, 91). The evidence suggests, however, that the author of IGT could have been someone from a Jewish or a Jewish-Christian community, who did not accept the elevated, divine status of Jesus as it was being presented in the proto-orthodox infancy-narrative traditions at that time, and who disputed the spiritualization of ritual practices developing in the early church. Ch 2 … Jesus makes pools of water in the mud and he purifies the water. Jesus then made twelve sparrows out of soft clay … doing all of this on the Sabbath … “and many other boys were playing with him.” The inference is that the Sabbath-breaking Jesus was a bad influence on his playmates. A ‘Jew’ saw what Jesus was doing and told his father, Joseph, that he was violating the Sabbath. Joseph confronts Jesus … “why are you doing what is not permitted on the Sabbath?” Jesus then clapped his hands and the birds flew away, destroying the evidence of his law-breaking behavior. Ch 3 … The son of Annas the scholar took a stick and drained Jesus’ nicely purified pools. Jesus cursed him, causing him to wither and die. Ch 4 … While strolling through the village a boy ran by and bumped into Jesus accidentally. Jesus became angry and cursed him. And the boy fell down dead. Chs 5–8 … Zacchaeus teaches Jesus the alphabet. Jesus asserts that he is the Lord of the Jewish people and claims, “I am present with you and have been born among you.” Jesus ends up teaching Zacchaeus (6.23) about the Alpha, but he talks gibberish. What Jesus says is completely unintelligible. Chs 9–13 … In this section, which I consider to be a later addition, there is a series of incidents that are intended to present Jesus in a positive light, portraying the Jewish members of the community as though they were completely dumbfounded by his miraculous abilities and instantly ready to worship him. There is essentially nothing negative regarding Jesus’ character here, which suggests that this might be a later development of the IGT tradition. There is also a 17 Ibid., 132–34, identifies second-century Syrian Antioch as the most likely original milieu for IGT. Also M. David Litwa, IESUS DEUS: The Early Christian Depiction of Jesus as a Mediterranean God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2014), 2 n.1. J.R.C. Cousland, Holy Terror, also argues that second-century CE Syrian Antioch is a likely possibility. 18 Here I follow the Greek text used by Reidar Aasgaard in The Childhood of Jesus.

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simplistic portrayal of Jews in relation to Jesus, which may reflect a later context where Christians, having misunderstood the original satiric edge of the IGT traditions, naïvely portray Jesus as a miracle-working divine child irresistible to any Jew hearing this story who would immediately convert to Christianity. Chs 14–15 … There are two more incidents in which Joseph allows teachers to attempt to teach Jesus. Jesus kills the first teacher and the second teacher is completely enamored with Jesus’ facility with the law. Because of the second teacher’s admiration for Jesus, Jesus heals the first teacher. Chs 16–18 … Jesus performs three healing miracles that are portrayed in an entirely positive light. No bullying and no arrogance, just straight miraculous healing that results in the people of his village marveling at his abilities and speculating that he must be from heaven. Like chapters 9–13 these episodes appear to be later additions and do not fit the motif of an out-of-control infant. Ch 19 … The final chapter of IGT contains the Lukan tradition of the twelveyear-old Jesus in the temple with the addition that the scholars and the Pharisees in the temple congratulate Mary for having a child with such extraordinary glory, virtue, and wisdom. Like chapters 9–13 and chapters 16–18, the final chapter appears to have been added at a time when the out-of-control infant Jesus in the earlier strand of the IGT tradition has lost its satiric edge and is now read positively, in a way that elevates the status of the infant Jesus, probably in a later social context of anti-Jewish sentiment in the early church of the second century. I have already suggested, on the basis of recognizing an earlier IGT tradition and a later development of the IGT tradition, that because these two trajectories of IGT are so different, they must have been written for different purposes. The later strand of the tradition simply seeks to embellish the divine, miracle-working status of the infant Jesus. The earlier tradition, however, does not fit that trajectory. And this is where my reading of IGT is different from pretty much every other reading. The earlier strand of the IGT tradition presents a petulant, anger-management-deprived infant, one who abuses the powers he was born with. He breaks the Sabbath. He disrespects his father Joseph and his teachers. He commits murder. He disregards purity halakhah, and makes himself out to be, or at least implies himself to be, the divine son of God. In short, he is breaking commandments all over the place. Because of IGTs portrayal of Jesus’ callous disregard for the commandments, and not just the ones concerning Sabbath and purity, but especially the prohibition against murder, I am reluctant to view the purpose of IGT as an embellishment of Jesus’ character, simply because he is given to perform miracles as a child. Something else must be the reason for its composition. Cousland writes:

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Why would Christian detractors bother to represent Jesus as a child in order to denigrate him? Celsus, an early pagan critic of Christianity, attacks the adult Jesus directly (Origen, Cels. 2.76). Wouldn’t others have done likewise? Why would they need to invent oblique and dubious stories about Jesus’s infancy to condemn him? Children were popularly regarded as imperfect and irrational beings by nature, so it would have been no great victory to denigrate a child.19

I would suggest that IGT, at least in its earliest social and religious context, was written as a critical, satiric response to the developments of proto-orthodox Christology via infancy narratives in the late first and early second century CE. It is the very nature of satire “to invent oblique and dubious stories” to target the claims of one’s ideological adversary. The purity issues obliquely addressed in IGT give us tangible clues. Thomas Kazen provides a discussion of purity issues that arise in the canonical gospels.20 It is Kazen’s discussion of what the early church did with purity issues that most interests me here, because it has some bearing on the argument I am making about IGT. According to Kazen, Jesus was not indifferent to purity halakhah, and that what the early church did was to spiritualize and moralize halakhah, and Christians eventually developed the idea that Jesus did too. Kazen writes that: Within a few decades, an increasing part (although still not a majority) of the Christian movement was developing standpoints which were far from normal Jewish practice. Not only were purity practices neglected, but forbidden meat was gradually accepted and even circumcision and sabbath-keeping were successively abandoned. The list of practices finally set aside amounts to more or less every important identity marker of Judaism, except monotheism itself. (Kazen, 347)

This is precisely the kind of development that would have invited serious tensions between non-Jewish Christians and Jewish Christians, as well as Jewish communities who did not follow Jesus but remained in some sort of contact with early Christian communities. Kazen argues that the early Christians who leaned in this direction undoubtedly took Jesus as an authority for this development, even though Jesus himself practiced purity halakhah. “Jesus’ attitude to the cult and the halakhah

19 J.R.C. Cousland, Holy Terror, 31. Celsus did in fact attack the proto-orthodox claim of Jesus’ divinity by attacking the tradition of the virgin birth of Jesus. I am arguing that IGT attacked the proto-orthodox claim of Jesus’ divinity from a different angle, i.e., in the immediate context of emergent proto-orthodox infancy narrative traditions. 20 Thomas Kazen, Jesus and Purity Halakhah: Was Jesus Indifferent to Impurity? (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2010).

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was not one of outright spiritualization, especially not if spiritualization is understood as a metaphorical use of ritual language” (Kazen, 348). According to Kazen, “… as the Christian movement encountered various cultural environments and social strata …” the development from the practice of ritual purity to spiritualization created new fellowships and social networks, involving mutual obligation between people of various backgrounds. Although these new social structures were held together by certain common beliefs, they were seriously threatened by conflicting paradigms, and at times broken apart by some insisting on strict purity practices… The end result looked very different from Jesus’ behavior. (Kazen, 348–349)

If we have a context for the composition of the earlier strand of IGT tradition that would embrace a characterization of the infant Jesus in an unfavorable light— breaking Sabbath, impuning purification halakhah, disrespecting his father Joseph, and committing murder—then it makes sense to entertain the possibility that what we have in the early IGT tradition is a Jewish or a Jewish-Christian polemical attempt to discredit late first and early second century CE claims about the divinity and the miracle-working nature of Jesus, criticizing a trajectory that also had exchanged halakhic practice for metaphorical, spiritualized meaning. Up to now I have mostly assumed that there is a satiric edge in an earlier strand of tradition of IGT and I have not yet fully explained why I see it there. Take just a few of the incidents in what I consider to be the earlier strand of IGT as examples. The incident of chapter 2 has the “Jew” confronting Joseph and then Joseph confronting Jesus about doing what is not permitted on the Sabbath by making the pools and bringing the clay birds to life. This, it seems to me, reflects the kind of tension that existed between church and synagogue, a tension that eventually became a more explicit expression of anti-Judaism in late antiquity, as we have, for example, in Ignatius of Antioch, the Epistle of Barnabas, Justin Martyr, and Origen. The pools purified out of mud, I would suggest, are satiric jabs at Christian baptism. In the confrontation involving the pools of water Jesus had formed pools, in the plural, which suggests that the pools were small. The Mishnah’s Tractate Mikvaoth gives us a number of detailed prescriptions regarding the purity of water collected for use in immersion pools. The first confrontation with Jesus over the 12 birds he made from soft clay hint at the material from which he formed his pools. The Mishnah distinguishes various kinds of clay for making immersion pools. Road clay was prohibited. According to Tractate Mikvaoth, “… in such mud none may immerse himself, nor

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may he immerse himself while it is on his skin” (m.Mik. 9.2).21 Road clay was prohibited because it was one of the materials identified as forming a barrier between the water and a person’s skin, preventing purification. Another of the Mishnaic legal requirements for purification pools was that they be large enough for a person to be fully immersed. It does not appear to be a legal requirement as much as it is a matter of certainty of one’s purification. “More excellent is the water of a rain-pond before the rain-stream has stopped” (m.Mik. 1.6). “More excellent is a pool of water containing forty seahs; for in them men may immerse themselves and immerse other things” (m.Mik. 1.7). “… if there were two pools, the one holding forty seahs but not the other; and he immersed himself in one of them but he does not know in which of them he immersed himself, his condition of doubt is deemed unclean” (m.Mik. 2.1). The account in IGT has Jesus make pools that would have been hardly large enough for immersion. (They were drained with the drag of a willow twig.) According to Tractate Mikvaoth, “If an immersion pool was measured and found lacking, any acts requiring cleanness that had theretofore been done following immersion therein, are deemed to have been done in uncleanness, whether [the condition of doubt arising thereby concerned] a private domain or the public domain” (m.Mik. 2.2). According to Jewish halakhah, the size of the pools mattered. The location of the pools mattered as well. Jesus made his pools at the ford of a rushing stream; in other words, he was playing at a shallow place where people in the community regularly crossed the flowing stream. According to the Mishnah: The water in ponds, the water in cisterns, the water in ditches, the water in caverns, rainponds after the rain-stream has stopped, and pools holding less than forty seahs are alike in this, that while the rain continues all are deemed clean, but after the rain has stopped they that lie near to a city or pathway are deemed unclean, and they that lie far off are deemed clean unless a multitude of men have passed by. (m.Mik. 1.4)

The application to IGT is that Jesus was making pools from running water near a place where the people in the community crossed the stream. People used these kinds of pools, located in the vicinity of public access, to relieve themselves, although at m.Mik. 8.1 it indicates it is because people also did their laundry there. So they were considered useless for purification. And in ancient practice urine and laundry have a long history together.22 21 All Mishnah references are to Herbert Danby, The Mishnah (Oxford: Oxford U.P., 1933). 22 For public use of Roman fullonica, see, e.g., Yaron Eliav, “The Material World of Babylonia as Seen from Roman Palestine,” in The Archaeology and Material Culture of the Babylonian Talmud, ed. Markham J. Geller, IJS Studies in Judaica 16 (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 153–85; here 173, which provides a number of primary source citations from classical antiquity.

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The pools purified out of mud, as I have suggested already, are a satiric jab at Christian baptism. And the incident of the son of Annas draining Jesus’ miraculously purified pools could very easily be a parody of the kind of social conflict over ritual purification that would have most certainly existed in the late first and early second centuries between synagogue and church.23 And this is only about the pools and not to say anything really about Jesus killing the son of Annas the scholar. According to the episode in IGT, Jesus killed him. This is not the kind of miraculous act that would normally redound to one’s character, even if one is living in the increasingly anti-Jewish environment of the second-century church.24 There really is a lot more to IGT, and what I would call the earlier strand of IGT tradition. Jesus teaching gibberish about the Alpha could very likely be a Jewish lampoon of Christian ignorance or Christian pseudo-intellectualism with regard to the scriptures, or even possibly a localized expression of Christians dabbling in Roman magic. While it gives the appearance of an esoteric teaching, it is in fact nonsensical. Zachhaeus’ response at the end of this episode in chapter 7 is illuminating: “What great thing he is—god or angel or whatever else I might call him—I do not know” (IGT 7.11; see also 17.4). Zachhaeus’ agnosticism mocks the Christological assertions of the early church that Jesus was divine. It also mocks angelomorphic Christological constructs from this same period.25 What I have analyzed to this point indicates the ideological intersections between the details of some of the episodes in IGT, Sabbath observance, Jewish purity halakhah, and Christological disagreements from the late first and early second centuries CE. The question is, what to make of it. 23 Stephen Davis, Christ Child, 130–39, has an interesting discussion of possible ways IGT reflects ideological intersections of Jewish and Christian communities in a section titled “Signs of Christian-Jewish Tension in the Paidika.” Davis (130) writes: “The contents of the Paidika give hints that at least some of the stories may have taken shape in the midst of early sibling tensions between ancient Christians and their Jewish neighbors.” Although Davis (131) also claims that “in the Paidika, the signs of such tensions are more muted.” Davis’ discussion suggests Christian criticism of Jews in IGT. I am arguing that the criticism runs in the direction from Jews to Christians. 24 Ibid., 151–60, provides an interesting discussion of Christian-Jewish scribal polemic in Late Antiquity and how this is reflected in the development of the IGT manuscript traditions. Kristi Upson-Saia’s research confirms that the behavioral issue of anger would not have been an acceptable character for a child or anyone else in the ancient world; see “Holy Child or Holy Terror?” Which indicates a substantial critique of J.R.C. Cousland’s thesis in Holy Terror. 25 See Jarl Fossum, The Image of the Invisible God: Essays on the Influence of Jewish Mysticism on Early Christology, NTOA 30 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1995). Charles A. Gieschen, Angelomorphic Christology: Antecedents and Early Evidence, AGJU 42 (Leiden: Brill, 1998). Kevin P. Sullivan, Wrestling with Angels: A Study of the Relationship between Angels and Humans in Ancient Jewish Literature and the New Testament, AGJU 55 (Leiden: Brill, 2004).

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According to my analysis I see two basic layers of tradition in IGT—an earlier layer that presents a petulant, out-of-control infant Jesus, and a later redaction (or better, series of redactions) that presents a more amenable, compassionate infant Jesus who is focused not on his own desires but on the needs of those around him. Without these two layers of tradition, we are left to rationalize away a very uncomfortable dissonance between these two very different presentations of the infant Jesus in this document. Hock (86) writes: “The story at times recalls incidents and language from the canonical stories, but what is most noticeable is a strikingly different Jesus from the one in the canonical portraits—a vindictive, arrogant, unruly child ‘who,’ as J.K. Elliott puts it, ‘seldom acts in a Christian way.’” Or as Aasgaard (105) writes: “Jesus appears as violent, and to a degree that cannot easily be justified from the offenses made toward him.” Aasgaard then rationalizes: “We should note, however, that Jesus’ violence is defensive; he is always first provoked and does not use his strength to infringe upon the integrity or position of others.” When the infant Jesus is angrily and vindictively slaying his playmates and teachers, it is impossible to see how these acts do not “infringe upon the integrity or position of others” as Aasgaard inexplicably claims. The recognition of at least two different layers of tradition, one that is an earlier satiric critique of the proto-orthodox Jesus, and one that is later and an embellishment of the character of Jesus, allows us to make sense of the different ways Jesus is presented in IGT. I would even suggest that the later layer of tradition was developed at a time when the earlier social and religious context of tension between synagogue and church had been forgotten, and the satire of the earlier strand of the tradition was largely (if not completely) lost and therefore reinterpreted in a positive light. We have examples of later, altered understandings of satire in our present-day culture. When I hear Bruce Springsteen’s song “Born in the USA” I imagine in my mind drill teams twirling flags on high school football fields at halftime, celebrating American patriotism. Even Ronald Reagan mistakenly saw Springsteen’s popular hit as a shining example of American patriotism, when in fact the song is a satiric social criticism of American war politics of the 1970s and 1980s. Mel Brooks’ film Blazing Saddles is an outrageously funny (and stingingly vulgar) satire targeting the bigotry and social disease of racism prevalent in American culture of the 1970s (and sadly still today). If you have watched reruns of Blazing Saddles recently, you will have noticed that the censor police have sanitized the film to the point where the biting satiric vulgarities have been scoured from the screen. So it is possible that once the original social and religious context is lost, the satiric meaning of a text also can be lost, and for a narrative then to be recast to fit later cultural norms and beliefs.

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Aasgaard suggests that family and household gatherings best fit the original setting for IGT, in which these stories served to entertain and inform the listener about the character of Jesus. I am proposing a different setting, one in which there was a developing tension between Jewish communities and early Christian communities, a location such as gave rise to the anti-Jewish Gospel of Peter, for example, or the Epistle of Barnabas. It could even possibly reflect a context where so-called Jewish-Christians who lived within early Christian communities or had their own communities alongside non-Jewish Christian communities, at the end of the first and the beginning of the second centuries CE. You will notice that the addressees of IGT are πᾶσι τοῖς ἐξ ἐθνῶν ἀδελφοῖς. This can be translated “to all the brothers from the Gentiles,” or “to all the Gentile brothers,” as Aasgaard translates or as Hock renders it: “to all my non-Jewish brothers and sisters.” The author intended to make the distinction. And if this is a non-Jewish Christian author who intended to embellish the status of Jesus, then IGT must be read in a straightforward, essentially literal way and the distasteful need for harmonizing the inconsistencies remains. But if this is a Jewish or Jewish-Christian author who was responding to the emerging Christological traditions of infancy narratives at the end of the first century and beginning of the second century CE, then the earlier layer of IGT may very well be read as a satiric response to these emerging traditions. The reality may be even a bit more complicated than this, which is why I find Cousland’s argument partly plausible. For the Jewish author of the early IGT tradition to include the more rogue elements of the mythical treatments of Greco-Roman deities as also characteristic of the infant Jesus, this is not only to write with contextual sensitivity for its Gentile Christian readers as Cousland suggests,26 but it is also to further poke the satiric finger in the eye of those who would elevate Jesus to the status of divinity by making a “divine” Jesus out to be no better than a pagan god.27 What all of this points to is that this particular reading of IGT suggests a time and a sociological context when Jews and Christians were engaging with one another over the identity of Jesus. For Christians Christology was developing in the direction of identifying Jesus as the divine son of God, and for Jews this was not a tenable proposition. In its earlier iteration, IGT appears to have been a direct contribution to this lively and no doubt very difficult discussion.

26 J.R.C. Cousland, Holy Terror, 33. 27 I differ with Cousland, who argues that the petulance of the infant Jesus in IGT may be excused on the basis of the principle that all childhood petulance must be excused.

Part V: Ways Not Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity

Daniel Boyarin

36 The Talmudic Apocalypse: Ḥagigah, Chapter 2 Annette Reed, with her accustomed perspicacity, has recently written of Sefer Hahekhalot [3 Enoch]: It is even possible that the textual formation of this work may have been marked by varied and multiple contacts with earlier Enochic traditions in different forms and channels. Just as its form seems to remain fluid, so this fluidity may too have enabled different types of contact and continuity with the Book of the Watchers and other earlier Enochic texts and traditions— as perhaps accruing in the course of its movement through different locales. Some parallels simply seem to reflect the widespread diffusion of ideas from the Book of the Watchers across the Mediterranean and the Near, while others seem to point to the vibrant afterlives of Second Temple Jewish traditions about Enoch, angels, and demons especially in “magical” and other transcredal contexts in Sasanian Babylonia; still others hint at more direct literary connections, perhaps even including the “back-borrowing” of some of the extracted materials from 1 Enoch preserved by Byzantine Christian chronographers. (Reed 2001; 2005)1

In this chapter, I wish to pick up on Reed’s posited, “more direct literary connections.” The Talmud, I will argue, proffers key evidence for this factor, providing a sort of missing link between Second Temple texts and the Hekhalot. I am, I must emphasize, not returning in any way to models that project secret lines of unbroken and intact transmission. Rather, what I intend here is to make a case precisely for the broken, fraught, and contested transmission and reception, a kind of bricolage. 1 Annette Yoshiko Reed, “Categorization, Collection, and the Construction of Continuity: 1 Enoch and 3 Enoch in and beyond ‘Apocalypticism’ and ‘Mysticism’” (unpublished paper, 2016).

Note: This chapter has been first presented under the auspices of Prof. Florentina Geller at the Topoi, Center for Excellence, at the Freie Universität Berlin in the Spring of 2016 and then as the second of the Kent Shaffer lectures at Yale University Divinity School in the same season. I am very grateful for the comments and support on both occasions and especially for Prof. Geller’s enormous help, especially but not only with the Slavonic text. I would like to acknowledge here as well the impact that the Enoch Seminar has had on me in the germination of these ideas from their very beginning and until their present fruition (whether fragrant or fetid, I will leave other noses to judge), despite my hesitation to accept the notion of an Enochic Judaism. It is only fitting that this piece see its first light of day in a volume honoring Prof. Gabriele Boccaccini who both advanced the cause of Enochic Judaism and allowed others full liberty to dissent from it under his auspices. May you live long and prosper, Gabriele. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110596717-037

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At the same time, I am claiming that one vital element in the bricolage is a constituent of ancient Jewish tradition. In other words, while, on the one hand, I would certainly and definitely not associate myself with a scholarly tradition which posits “Merkaba mysticism” in the Second Temple literature and then goes so far as to use the later literature to reconstruct it, I also reject a view that allows for the transmission of these themes only among “Christians” with their eventual appearance in the Hekhalot literature as a product of external influence. Notions of Jesus or Paul as “Merkava mystics” have always seemed risible and grossly ahistorical to me. Nonetheless, I continue to maintain that there are traceable developments of ideas within the very open tradition (not an esoteric one but a contested one; certainly not a sectarian Enochic Judaism!2) that continue to indicate—to my mind— historical connections as well, namely the ontological transformation of Enoch into divine being and his ultimate historical transformation into Metatron, without which, as Peter Schäfer saw, neither the Hekhalot text nor the Bavli in Ḥagigah are explicable. In this sense, it is equally a mistake to refer to rabbinic influence on 3 Enoch as it would be to deny possible intimacy with Christian traditions. In this chapter, I hope then to show that major and very specific themes characteristic of apocalypses were alive in the worlds of the Rabbis who formed the Talmud.

The Talmudic Apocalypse I will focus on the import of a text in rabbinic literature that has been much investigated but not fully exploited in this inquiry in the past. I refer to the talmudic sugya, especially in the Bavli, on the first Mishna of the second chapter of Tractate Ḥagigah. This passage and especially its earlier parallels and sources have been dubbed in the past, “the mystical collection.” For the purposes of the present inquiry, I will name it, especially in the version to be found in the Bavli, as the talmudic apocalypse, seeing as it contains at least two of the elements that characterize apocalyptic literature of the Second Temple, namely cosmological/meteorological information 2 Pace Hermann, I have never argued that Metatron is a “remnant of a pre-Christian Enochic Judaism as opposed to a Mosaic halakhic Judaism.” See Klaus Hermann, “Jewish Mysticism in Byzantium: The Transformation of Merkavah Mysticism in 3 Enoch,” in Hekhalot Literature in Context: Between Byzantium and Babylonia, eds. Ra’anan Boustan, Martha Himmelfarb, and Peter Schäfer, TSAJ 153 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013),  85–116 (106). It boggles the mind to understand whence Hermann determined that this position—almost the direct contradictory of my own—was ever advanced as mine. Let me emphasize, however, that aside from this oddity in Hermann’s writing, I have learned much from it.

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and theosophy, together. It is important and interesting to note that prior delving into these questions, namely the survival of apocalyptic themes/literatures/ideas from Second Temple times into the early Byzantine era has for the most part focused on the so-called Merkava mystical texts, the theosophical elements. Much less attention has been paid to an equally important element, namely the cosmological speculation rife in the apocalypses and prominent in the Talmud as well.

The Mishna My main witness for this claim is a piece of evidence that has been hiding in plain sight. Although to the best of my knowledge, this witness has been ignored by and large by scholars asking this question,3 I have subsequently seen—very happily—that a great scholar of an earlier generation from the nonacademic wing of talmudic scholarship already adumbrated the point.4 This very famous passage from the Mishnah is in Tractate Hagigah chapter 2:1: ‫ אלא אם כן‬,‫ ולא במעשה בראשית בשניים; ולא במרכבה ביחיד‬,‫א אין דורשין בעריות בשלושה‬,‫ב‬ ,‫ רתוי לו כאילו לא בא לעולם–מה למעלן‬,‫ וכל המסתכל בארבעה דברים‬.‫היה חכם ומבין מדעתו‬ .‫ רתוי לו כאילו לא בא לעולם‬,‫ וכל שלא חס על כבוד קונו‬.‫ מה לאחור‬,‫ מה לפנים‬,‫מה למטן‬ Although the text of this Mishnah is contested in some details, it is essentially translatable as: One does not expound forbidden sex among three, and the Work of Creation between two, and the Work of the Chariot with one unless he is a sage who understands by himself [alternative reading from some mss. “a sage who understood by himself”]. One who looks at four things, it would have been a mercy for him [alternative reading, some mss. “it would have been fitting for him”] had he not come into the world. Anyone who is not careful for the honor of his maker, it would have been a mercy for him [alternative reading, some mss. “it would have been fitting for him”] had he not come into the world.

It has been clear since the beginning of the Wissenschaft des Judentums, if not even higher than that, that the Mishnah here is polemicizing against someone 3 Not atypically, Klaus Hermann, who, in a very important discussion, does cite and discuss this Mishna, focuses on the Merkaba aspects and not the Maʿase Bereshit, which is my interest in this chapter. Hermann, “Jewish Mysticism in Byzantium,” 99–101. 4 R. Todros Abulafia, see Maharsha ad loc and Saul Lieberman, Order Moʿed, vol. 3 of Tosefta Ki-Fshuta: A Comprehensive Commentary on the Tosefta (New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1962), 1286.

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or other(s) specific. The general scholarly opinion (until fairly recently)—with only some antithetical voices crying in the wilderness—has been that these are anti-gnostic declarations.5 Now there is little doubt that the Palestinian talmudic material and Genesis Rabbah are suffused with anti-gnostic rhetoric. As the Jerusalem Bible scholar, Samuel Loewenstam summed up the matter in 1960, writing, “This Mishna, in which one feels its recoil from esoteric literature, is one of the most well known among Jews, and well known as well is its embedding in astonishing and startling discussions in the Talmuds, whose mythological character in general and gnostic character in particular stands out to the investigator’s eye.”6 Menachem Kahana, in a much more recent publication, explained the very existence of the extended discussion of Genesis 1 in Bereshit Rabbah as a product of the desire to counter those readers of Genesis, formerly known as gnostics,7 who distinguished between a good God and a bad demiurge. There is much to commend such an approach, even to prove it.8 Loewenstam suggests the point that I will defend (albeit with an important variation) to the effect that the way that the late antique (both Talmuds and Bereshit Rabbah) interpret the Mishnah needs to be separated from the most compelling historical interpretation of the Mishna itself.9 As Loewenstam writes, 5 See Hanokh Albeck, commentary, Hanokh Yalon, pointing, Shishah Sidre Mishnah (Yerushalayim: Mosad Bialik; Tel-Aviv: Devir, 1952–59), 510–11, who not only cites earlier views to that effect but supports and extends them, arguing that even the prohibition on the public interpretation of sexual matters has to do with the “gnostics” who attack the Patriarchs of Genesis for their apparent sexual derelictions. See discussion of these tendencies in Hermann, “Jewish Mysticism in Byzantium,” 103 as well as Hermann’s dissent from them. 6 Shmuel I. Loewenstam, “What is Above; What is Below; What is Before; What is After: On an Alleged Gnostic Element in Mishna Hagiga,” in Yehezkel Kaufmann Jubilee Volume, ed. Menahem Haran (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1960–61), 112–21 (112). All translations from Hebrew and Aramaic in this essay are mine. 7 Michael Allen Williams, Rethinking “Gnosticism”: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996); Karen L. King, Making Heresy: Gnosticism in Twentieth Century Historiography (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2003). 8 See Menachem Kahana, “Towards the Arrangement of the Pericope ‘In the Beginning Created’ in Midrash Bereshit Rabba,” in Higayon le-Yonah: Hebetim Hadashim Be-Heker Sifrut Ha-Midrash, Ha-Agadah, Veha-Piyut: Kovets Mehkarim Li-Khevodo Shel Profesor Yonah Frenkel Be-Mil’ot lo 75 Shanim, eds. Yehoshu‘a Levinson, Ya‘akov Elboim, and Galit Hasan-Rokem (Yerushalayim: Hotsa’at sefarim ‘a. sh. Y.L. Magnes, ha-Universitah ha-‘Ivrit, 2006), 348–76 (373–76) [in Hebrew]. 9 Loewenstam, “What is Above,” 117. See also now: “We cannot therefore assume that the concerns of the third and fourth-century Amoraim represent the original meaning and purpose of the ban, and research of its origins inevitably necessitates a separate inquiry into the earliest sources at our disposal.” Yair Furstenberg, “The Rabbinic Ban on ‘Ma’aseh Bereshit’: Sources, Contexts and Concerns,” in Jewish and Christian Cosmogony in Late Antiquity, eds. Lance Jenott

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and I concur: “It follows that the Mishna is critical of mystical-philosophical speculations. There is no basis, however, for connecting these meditations [that the Mishnah rejects] to the gnostic doctrine.… The formula underwent a process of updating in the light of gnosis.”10 Once we have separated the Mishna from its later anti-gnostic interpretations as in the Palestinian Amoraic texts, we are free to look for other possible contexts in which it originally functioned. While Loewenstam wishes to connect the Mishnah’s formulation with that of the Bible and an Akkadian letter, I prefer rather to connect it directly with a source much closer to home, to wit Sefer Ben Sira which is cited in the Bavli itself as a justification for the Mishnah’s ruling (Hagigah 13a).11 In Ben Sira 3:21–23, we read: .‫ּומ ֻכ ֶסה ִמ ְּמָך אַל ַּת ְחקֹור‬ ְ ,‫יט) ְּפ ָלאֹות ִמ ְּמָך אַל ִּת ְדרֹוׁש‬ .‫ וְ ֵאין ְלָך ֵע ֶסק ְּבנִ ְס ָּתרֹות‬,‫ית ִה ְתּבֹונֵ ן‬ ָ ‫הּור ֵׁש‬ ְ ‫כ) ַּב ֶּמה ֶׁש‬ .‫ית‬ ָ ‫ ִּכי ַרב ִמ ְּמָך ָה ְר ֵא‬,‫יֹותר ִמ ְּמָך אַל ַּת ֵּמר‬ ֵ ‫כא) ְּב‬ Do not expound (or investigate) that which is too wondrous for you, and that which is hidden from you, do not research. Contemplate only that which is permitted to you, and you have no business with hidden things. Do not meddle in that which is beyond you, for you have been shown matters that are too great for you. The Talmud saw clearly the connection between this passage and the Mishnah. Now even though I have argued elsewhere12 (in the wake of others) that it is a mistake to see Ben Sira as coming from circles entirely other to the ones that produced Enoch, it is certainly critical—inter alia, precisely in this passage—of apocalyptic knowledge, just as the Talmud saw, thus suggesting quite strongly that the Mishnah’s context is condemnation of apocalyptic knowledge as well. The single most important recent advance in this question is from the pen of Annette Yoshiko Reed. Reed’s aim is to use the Mishnah as a means for

and Sarit Kattan Gribetz, TSAJ 155 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 39–63 (39). From my point of view, what this means is that one cannot draw conclusions from the way that Bereshit Rabbah understood matters to the ways that the Babylonian Talmud understands them, the latter being my current target. 10 Loewenstam, “What is Above,” 131. 11 Loewenstam mentions this connection but then moves off it very quickly without taking it up at all. Ibid., 120. I observe now that I am preceded on this point by Furstenberg, “The Rabbinic Ban,” 45–48. 12 In the Kent Shaffer lectures at Yale Divinity School which I was privileged to deliver in March 2016. This chapter is derived from one of those lectures.

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discovering why all apocalypses other than Daniel were excluded from the canon and then (allegedly) lost to non-Christian Jews. Although I disagree with her conclusion (of the total loss of all apocalypses other than Daniel to Jews), her premise is incontrovertible: For us, it suffices to note that, while the mishnah seeks only to limit the public exposition of Maʿaseh Bereshit and ha-Merkavah, it mounts an outright condemnation of speculation into “what is above, what is below, what is before, what is after.” This four-part phrase aptly describes the complex of concerns that we find explored in apocalypses: an interest in the cosmos, from the heights of heaven to the very ends of the earth (above, below), and an interest in the meaning of history, stretched along the entire access of historical time (before, after)…. As with Ben Sira centuries earlier, this ruling seems to respond to individuals or groups engaged in such speculations, and it is plausible that those Jews who composed and transmitted apocalypses should be counted among its targets.13

Not against “gnostics,” then, the Mishnah is an anti-apocalyptic jeremiad similar in thought and even language to that of Ben Sira. This, in itself, then, is an important argument for the vitality of apocalypse at the time of the promulgation of this Mishnah; just as “no smoking” signs in classrooms once meant that people smoked there. Reed’s general comparison of motifs can be strengthened significantly via a quotation from the Parables of Enoch, the second section of 1 Enoch: And the other angel who went with me and showed me what is hidden told what is first and last in the heaven in the height, and beneath the earth in the abyss, and at the ends of heaven and on the foundation of heaven [1 Enoch 60:11].14

Would it be going too far to suggest that this text enables us to decode the Mishnah’s four directions and also provides us with the context of the Mishnah’s polemic itself? It is exactly the revelation of things hidden by heavenly beings to which the Mishnah objects, and the list in the Apocalypse of what the seer has been shown corresponds exactly to the list of things forbidden to see in the Mishnah.15 One does not have to imagine that the Enoch text was known to the Tannaim but only that practices of apocalyptic speculation and at least general ideas about their

13 Annette Yoshiko Reed, Fallen Angels and the History of Judaism and Christianity: The Reception of Enochic Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 141. 14 My student Shmaryahu Brownstein reminded me of the significance of this passage. 15 Cf. Alon Goshen Gottstein, “Is Ma’aseh Bereshit Part of Ancient Jewish Mysticism?” The Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy 4 (1995): 185–201, who takes an entirely different line of interpretation. While I don’t think that his view is excluded, I, obviously, prefer the one that I proffer.

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content were known to them as something they (at least sometimes) resisted.16 If the Tannaitic literature cannot be used, and it cannot, to reconstruct Merkaba speculation among the early Rabbis, it can be used, I suggest, to demonstrate that apocalyptic ideas were alive and well in the environment of the Tannaim, alive and kicking enough to require serious attempts at suppression.17 I would offer that the Mishnah’s primary objection to such kinds of knowledge was the implicit claim of authority that they made independent of and perhaps in competition 16 See also the important Pierluigi Piovanelli, “‘A Testimony for the Kings and Mighty Who Possess the Earth’: The Thirst for Justice and Peace in the Parables of Enoch,” in Enoch and the Messiah Son of Man: Revisiting the Book of Parables, ed. Gabriele Boccaccini (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 363–79, who demonstrated the non-sectarian nature of The Parables of Enoch. For the earliest and least developed instantiation of my hypothesis based on this which I am elaborating here in its fullest (and final and hopefully most nuanced) form, see Daniel Boyarin, “The Parables of Enoch and the Foundation of the Rabbinic Sect: An Hypothesis,” in The Words of a Wise Mouth Are Gracious. Divre Pi-Hakam Hen. Festschrift for Günter Stemberger on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, ed. Mauro Perani, SJ 32 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2005), 1–22. Considering that I wrote there already, “I wish to offer here a very preliminary sketch of an hypothesis that although it is (intentionally) hidden within rabbinic texts, there is, nonetheless, evidence there to suggest that rabbinic Judaism grows out of a Judaism deeply informed by the sort of religiosity that is manifest in the Parables” (56), I find it doubly puzzling that Hermann has glossed my putative views as he does (see above here n. 2), and even harder to understand why Schäfer in the same volume as Hermann in 2013 has described me as holding “His [Metatron’s] appearance in 3 Enoch in particular has led some scholars to establish an unbroken connection between the three Books of Enoch and to argue for an early Jewish Metatron tradition that helped shape the Christian notion of Jesus as the second and younger God next to his divine Father.” Peter Schäfer, “Metatron in Babylonia,” in Hekhalot Literature in Context: Between Byzantium and Babylonia, eds. Ra’anan Boustan, Martha Himmelfarb, and Peter Schäfer, TSAJ 153 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 29–39 (29). Although in this latest version of my argument, I will nuance considerably (having read the marvelous scholarship of Schäfer’s students, Boustan, Hermann, and Reed), the claim that there is direct continuity between the Second Temple 1 and 2 Enoch and Sefer Hahekhalot (sogennante 3 Enoch), I assert categorically that I have never imagined or intimated that Metatron came before Jesus on the scene of history, rather that there was a parallel relation between the development of the Gospels out of the Son of Man traditions in Daniel and the early Enoch books, on the one hand, and the development of the eventual Metatron traditions as they developed in later rabbinic literature out of the ancient Son of Man traditions, on the other, i.e., that Christology and Metatronology shared a common ultimate source in Second Temple literature—quite a different matter from claiming that either one is the source of the other. Polemic is, it seems, borne sometimes of misunderstanding and (I assume) inadvertent misrepresentation of the presumed rival (and I will not absolve myself of this sin easily either). 17 This point would lead to a partial amendment of Reed’s claim that there is no attempt at suppression of Enoch traditions in rabbinic literature. See Annette Yoshiko Reed, “From Asael and Šemihazah to Uzzah, Azzah, and Azael: 3 Enoch 5 (§§7–8),” JSQ 8 (2001): 105–36 (130), although, to be sure, Reed is explicitly limiting herself to knowledge of the text of the Book of the Watchers, while I am insisting on the persistence of traditions.

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with the Rabbis’ Oral Torah, the exclusive possession of the rabbinic community and authority structure.18 If this argument bears weight, it shows strongly that apocalyptic speculation, and perhaps even apocalyptic texts, were known to Palestinian Jews in the first three centuries of the Christian era. In what follows, I wish to explore in some detail the enormous implications that a counter-apocalyptic reading of the Mishnah bears for our larger questions of the history and emergence of early medieval Jewish visionary traditions (and their doctrines!) and their Christian congeners. In particular I will look closely at the Babylonian talmudic sugya on this Mishnah which is, it turns out, an absolutely key text that has been much disregarded until now (on all sides of the debate about apocalypse and Hekhalot).

The Bavli on Ma’seh Bereshit The first observation that I wish to make here in general is that the sugya of the Talmud seems strongly to identify the study of Ma’seh Bereshit with cosmological information of various types.19 This becomes clear from the very organization of the talmudic passage: Not in “Maʿase Bereshit” in two. From whence these words? As it is taught by our Rabbis [i.e., a tannaitic source]: “When you ask about the first days”—one may ask but two may not ask. We might suppose that a person may ask about before the creation of the world— it comes to teach us “from the day on which G-d created Adam on the Earth.” We might suppose that a person may not ask about the six days of Creation—it comes to teach us “about the first days that were before you.” We might suppose that one may ask about what is above, what is below, what is before and what is after—it comes to teach “from one end of the heaven to the other end of heaven,” You ask about from one end of heaven to the other end of heaven, and you do not ask about what is above, what is below, what is before and what is after! [b. Hagigah 11b]20

18 See also Philip S. Alexander, “3 (Hebrew Apocalypse of) Enoch,” in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, eds. James H. Charlesworth (Garden City: Doubleday, 1985), 234. 19 On this point, cf. Goshen Gottstein, “Is Ma’aseh Bereshit Part of Ancient Jewish Mysticism?”. 20 ‫תלמוד בבלי מסכת חגיגה דף יא עמוד ב‬ .‫ ואין שנים שואלין‬,‫ יחיד שואל‬- ‫ כי שאל נא לימים ראשנים‬:‫לא במעשה בראשית בשנים מנא הני מילי? דתנו רבנן‬ ‫ יכול לא ישאל אדם‬.‫ תלמוד לומר למן היום אשר ברא אלהים אדם על הארץ‬- ‫יכול ישאל אדם קודם שנברא העולם‬ ‫ מה לפנים‬,‫ יכול ישאל אדם מה למעלה ומה למטה‬.‫ תלמוד לומר לימים ראשנים אשר היו לפניך‬- ‫מששת ימי בראשית‬ ‫ ואין‬,‫ מלמקצה השמים ועד קצה השמים אתה שואל‬- ‫ תלמוד לומר ולמקצה השמים ועד קצה השמים‬- ‫ומה לאחור‬ .‫ מה לפנים מה לאחור‬,‫אתה שואל מה למעלה מה למטה‬

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We learn several things from this passage in the Bavli.21 First, that according to the Bavli, at any rate, there is continuity between the clause of the Mishnah that forbids the study of Maʿaseh Bereshit in a group larger than two and the clause that delimits what may be investigated; indeed according to the Bavli both of these points derive from the same baraita (extra-mishnaic tannaitic tradition).22 Second, it is quite clear from this use of the baraita in the Bavli that there is no distinction between droš and šeʾol, and, it seems histakkel as well (in this context), again whatever distinctions we may find in other rabbinic literary traditions. Up to this point, at any rate, the Talmud seems to be interpreting and supporting the Mishnah’s restrictions. In the very next line, however, the Bavli goes off on quite a different direction: Now that he derives it from “From one end of the heavens to the other,” why do we need, “From the day on which Adam was created on earth”?—[He needs it] for the view of Rabbi Elʿazar, as Rabbi Elʿazar said: The primeval Adam was from the earth to the heaven, as it says, “From the day on which Adam was created on earth and to the end of heaven.” And once he sinned, the Holy Blessed One placed his hands upon him and made him small, as it says, “After and before you formed me and you placed your hand upon me.” Rav Yehuda said that Rav had said: Primeval Adam was from one end of the world to the other, for it says: “… which Adam was created on earth and to the end of heaven and unto the end of heaven.” And once he sinned, the Holy Blessed One placed his hands upon him and made him small, as it says, “After and before you formed me and you placed your hand upon me.” If that’s the case, the verses contradict each other! This one and that one are the same measure.23

A fair amount of glossing will be necessary here. First of all, the Bavli clearly understands by “what is before and what is after,” a temporal distinction, not a spatial one. This has been recognized many times, beginning from the eleventh-century

21 For useful surveys of the difference between the Bavli’s versions of this material and that of the various Palestinian collections, see David J. Halperin, The Merkabah in Rabbinic Literature, American Oriental Series 62 (New Haven: American Oriental Society, 1980) and Berakhyahu Lifschitz, “We Investigate ‘Maʿase Bereshit’,” Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Thought 3.4 (1982): 513– 24, [in Hebrew]. 22 I emphasize here “according to the Bavli,” since Palestinian citations of the baraita do not include the first clause. In any case, it is the Babylonian traditions that I am investigating here. 23 ‫תלמוד בבלי מסכת חגיגה דף יב עמוד א‬ ‫ כדרבי‬- ?‫ למן היום אשר ברא אלהים אדם על הארץ למה לי‬,‫השתא דנפקא ליה מלמקצה השמים ועד קצה השמים‬ ‫ וכיון‬,‫ שנאמר למן היום אשר ברא אלהים אדם על הארץ‬,‫ אדם הראשון מן הארץ עד לרקיע‬:‫ דאמר רבי אלעזר‬.‫אלעזר‬ ‫ אמר רב יהודה אמר‬.‫ שנאמר אחור וקדם צרתני ותשת עלי כפכה‬,‫ הניח הקדוש ברוך הוא ידיו עליו ומיעטו‬- ‫שסרח‬ ‫ שנאמר למן היום אשר ברא אלהים אדם על הארץ ולמקצה השמים‬,‫ מסוף העולם ועד סופו היה‬- ‫ אדם הראשון‬:‫רב‬ ‫ אי הכי קשו קראי‬- .‫ שנאמר ותשת עלי כפכה‬,‫ הניח הקדוש ברוך הוא ידו עליו ומיעטו‬- ‫ כיון שסרח‬.‫ועד קצה השמים‬ .‫ אידי ואידי חד שיעורא הוא‬- !‫אהדדי‬

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commentators the Tosafot in northern France and the Rhineland. It is only thus that it can claim that the author of the baraita has learnt the restriction on investigation of that which is before creation from the verse that says, “what is before and what is after,” which is perfectly ambiguous in Hebrew between a spatial and a temporal reading, “before and after” being completely readable as “in front of and behind.” This renders the two parts of the verse, “from the day etc.” and “from one end to the other end” as apparently redundant, as it suggests that we can learn from either of them the injunction against the study of that which is before creation. Then the solution that the Bavli offers to this apparent redundancy involves two highly esoteric interpretations of the verse itself: one that reads “created the Primeval Man on the earth and to the end of heaven,” cutting the verse at that point (in good midrashic fashion), while the other reads “created the Primeval Man from one end of the heaven to the other end of heaven.” At this point, there seems now to be a contradiction between these two possible readings of the verse that leads to a contradiction “in fact,” viz. How tall was the Primeval Adam, from the earth to the heaven or from one end of heaven to the other? And the Talmud answers that these two measures are the same, the heavens being a kind of half sphere over the flat earth. For our purposes, at any rate, the most significant matter to observe here is that effectively the Bavli has performed a switch from explaining the Mishnah’s ruling to itself practicing interpreting or inquiring into “Maʿase Bereshit”! In other words, the restriction against dealing with such matters to some kind of private or near-private instruction has been completely breached and we are in the very midst of this matter from here on down. Thus, this is “Maʿase Bereshit,” the investigation of the work of creation, that is, cosmology, far beyond what we could learn from the verses of Genesis themselves, and it goes on from here.

The Seven Heavens In my view, however, the most revealing moment comes a page or so later when the third-century Palestinian Amora, Rabbi Shimon bar Lakish, otherwise known as Resh Lakish shares with us the following cosmological exposition: Rav Yehuda said: there are two heavens, for it says: “Indeed to H’ your god are the heavens and the heavens of the heavens.” Resh Lakish said there are seven, and these are they: Curtain, Firmament, Grinders, Lofty, Dwelling, Foundation, Clouds. Curtain does nothing but enters in the morning and comes out in the evening, and thus renews every day the “work of creation,” as it says “He spreads out the Heaven like gossamer and stretches it like a tent for dwelling.” Firmament where the sun and the moon and the stars and the signs of the Zodiac are fixed, as it says “And God placed them in the firmament of

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heaven.” Grinders in which millstones stand and grind Manna for the righteous, as it says, “And he commanded grinders above and the doors of heaven opened, and rained down Manna on them to eat etc.” Lofty in which Jerusalem and the Temple and the altar are built, and Michael, the great Prince stands and sacrifices on it a sacrifice, as it says, “I have indeed built a Lofty House for you, a foundation for your eternal dwelling.” And how do we know that it is called “heaven,” for it is written: “Look down from the heaven and see from the Loftiness of your holiness and splendor.” Dwelling in which there are bands of serving angels who say song at night and are quiet during the day, in honor of Israel, as it says: “During the day God will command his grace and at night, there is song with him.” And how do we know that it is called “heaven,” for it says, “Look from your holy dwelling, from the heaven.” Foundation in which there are the treasuries of snow and of hail, and the store-place for bad dew, and the store-place for gentle dew, and the chamber for storm and hurricane, and the cave of steam, with its doors of fire, for it say, “God will open for you his good treasury.”…. Clouds in which justice, law, and equity, the storehouses of life and the storehouses of peace and the storehouses of blessing, and the souls of the saints, and the spirits and souls who will be created in the future, and the dew that the Holy Blessed One will [use] to resurrect the dead…. This is where the wheels and the fire-angels and the holy living beings, and the serving angels, and the glorious throne, and the King, the living God, the exalted, dwells on them in clouds, for it says: “Make way for the Rider on the Clouds, his name is Y-ah, and how do we know it is called heaven? We learn it from a gezera Shava: “riding” “riding”: Here it is written “Make way for the Rider on the Clouds, his name is Y-ah,” and there it is written, “The Rider on the Heavens is there to aid you.” And darkness and cloud and fog surround him, as it says: “He will make darkness his hiding place around him, his tabernacle is the darkness of water, the thick clouds of the heaven.”24

24 ‫תלמוד בבלי מסכת חגיגה דף יב עמוד ב‬ ,‫ וילון‬:‫ ואלו הן‬,‫ שבעה‬:‫ ריש לקיש אמר‬.‫ הן לה' אלהיך השמים ושמי השמים‬:‫ שנאמר‬,‫ שני רקיעים הן‬:‫אמר רבי יהודה‬ ‫ ומחדש בכל יום‬,‫ אלא נכנס שחרית ויוצא ערבית‬,‫ אינו משמש כלום‬- ‫ וילון‬.‫ ערבות‬,‫ מכון‬,‫ מעון‬,‫ זבול‬,‫ שחקים‬,‫רקיע‬ ,‫ שבו חמה ולבנה כוכבים ומזלות קבועין‬- ‫ רקיע‬.‫ שנאמר הנוטה כדק שמים וימתחם כאהל לשבת‬,‫מעשה בראשית‬ ‫ שנאמר ויצו שחקים‬,‫ שבו רחיים עומדות וטוחנות מן לצדיקים‬- ‫ שחקים‬.‫שנאמר ויתן אתם אלהים ברקיע השמים‬ ‫ ומיכאל השר‬,‫ ומזבח בנוי‬,‫ שבו ירושלים ובית המקדש‬- ‫ זבול‬.'‫ממעל ודלתי שמים פתח וימטר עליהם מן לאכל וגו‬ ‫ דכתיב‬- ‫ ומנלן דאיקרי שמים‬.‫ שנאמר בנה בניתי בית זבל לך מכון לשבתך עולמים‬,‫הגדול עומד ומקריב עליו קרבן‬ ,‫ שאומרות שירה בלילה וחשות ביום‬,‫ שבו כיתות של מלאכי השרת‬- ‫ מעון‬.‫הבט משמים וראה מזבל קדשך ותפארתך‬ ‫ שנאמר השקיפה‬- ‫ ומנלן דאיקרי שמים‬. . .‫ שנאמר יומם יצוה ה' חסדו ובלילה שירה עמי‬,‫מפני כבודן של ישראל‬ ‫ וחדרה של‬,‫ ועליית אגלים‬,‫ ועליית טללים רעים‬,‫ שבו אוצרות שלג ואוצרות ברד‬- ‫ מכון‬.‫ממעון קדשך מן השמים‬ ‫ הני ברקיעא איתנהו? הני‬.‫ שנאמר יפתח ה' לך את אוצרו הטוב‬,‫ ודלתותיהן אש‬,‫ ומערה של קיטור‬,[‫סופה ]וסער‬ ‫ אמר‬.‫ הללו את ה' מן הארץ תנינים וכל תהמות אש וברד שלג וקיטור רוח סערה עשה דברו‬:‫בארעא איתנהו! דכתיב‬ ‫ רבונו של עולם לא אל חפץ רשע אתה לא‬:‫ אמר לפניו‬.‫ והורידן לארץ‬,‫ דוד ביקש עליהם רחמים‬:‫רב יהודה אמר רב‬ ‫ דכתיב ואתה תשמע השמים מכון‬- ‫ ומנלן דאיקרי שמים‬.‫ לא יגור במגורך רע‬- '‫ צדיק אתה ה‬,‫יגרך) במגרך( רע‬ ‫ ורוחות ונשמות‬,‫ ונשמתן של צדיקים‬,‫ גנזי חיים וגנזי שלום וגנזי ברכה‬,‫ משפט וצדקה‬,‫ שבו צדק‬- ‫ ערבות‬.‫שבתך‬ ,‫ דכתיב צדק ומשפט מכון כסאך‬- ‫ צדק ומשפט‬.‫ וטל שעתיד הקדוש ברוך הוא להחיות בו מתים‬,‫שעתיד להיבראות‬ ,‫ דכתיב ויקרא לו ה' שלום‬- ‫ וגנזי שלום‬,‫ דכתיב כי עמך מקור חיים‬- ‫ גנזי חיים‬,‫ דכתיב וילבש צדקה כשרין‬- ‫צדקה‬ '‫ דכתיב והיתה נפש אדני צרורה בצרור החיים את ה‬- ‫ נשמתן של צדיקים‬,'‫ דכתיב ישא ברכה מאת ה‬- ‫וגנזי ברכה‬ ‫ וטל שעתיד הקדוש ברוך‬.‫ דכתיב כי רוח מלפני יעטוף ונשמות אני עשיתי‬- ‫ רוחות ונשמות שעתיד להיבראות‬,‫אלהיך‬ ,‫ שם אופנים ושרפים וחיות הקדש‬.‫ דכתיב גשם נדבות תניף אלהים נחלתך ונלאה אתה כוננתה‬- ‫הוא להחיות בו מתים‬ ‫ ומנלן‬,‫ שנאמר סלו לרכב בערבות ביה שמו‬,‫ מלך אל חי רם ונשא שוכן עליהם בערבות‬,‫ וכסא הכבוד‬,‫ומלאכי השרת‬

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Scholars have been looking for apocalypses in the Hekhalot literature25 and ignoring the clear apocalyptic affinities of our text in the Bavli. First of all, the information about seven heavens that we find in the Bavli here is closely related to the ascent through seven Palaces that we find in Enoch.26 Second, we find close and precise affinities in detail between the Resh Lakish text and parallels in the 1 and 2 Enoch.27 One striking example will suffice for the nonce. In the Parables of Enoch, we find the following passage: 41.1 And after this, I saw all the secrets of Heaven, and how the Kingdom is divided, and how the deeds of men are weighed in the Balance. 41.2 There I saw the Dwelling of the Chosen, and the Resting Places of the Holy; and my eyes saw there all the sinners who deny the name of the Lord of Spirits being driven from there. And they dragged them off, and they were not able to remain, because of the punishment that went out from the Lord of Spirits. 41.3 And there my eyes saw the secrets of the flashes of lightning and of the thunder. And the secrets of the winds, how they are distributed in order to blow over the earth, and the secrets of the clouds, and of the dew; and there I saw from where they go out, in that place. And how, from there, the dust of the earth is saturated. 41.4 And there I saw closed storehouses from which the winds are distributed, and the storehouse of the hail, and the storehouse of the mist, and the storehouse of the clouds; and its cloud remained over the earth, from the beginning of the world. 41.5 And I saw the Chambers of the Sun and the Moon, where they go out, and where they return. And their glorious return; and how one is more honoured than the other is. And their magnificent course, and how they do not leave their course, neither adding nor subtracting from their course. And how they keep faith in one another, observing their oath. 41.6 And the Sun goes out first, and completes its journey at the command of the Lord of Spirits—and his Name endures forever and ever. 41.7 And after this is the hidden, and visible, path of the Moon, and it travels the course of its journey, in that place, by day and by night. One stands opposite the other, in front of the Lord of Spirits, and they give thanks, and sing praise, and do not rest, because their thanksgiving is like rest to them.28

Closer parallels to the enumeration of the heavens can also be found elsewhere in the Enoch literature—for instance, a very similar descriptions of the seven heavens ‫ וחשך וענן וערפל‬.‫ כתיב הכא סלו לרכב בערבות וכתיב התם רכב שמים בעזרך‬:‫ אתיא רכיבה רכיבה‬- ‫דאיקרי שמים‬ .‫ שנאמר ישת חשך סתרו סביבותיו סכתו חשכת מים עבי שחקים‬,‫מקיפין אותו‬ 25 See, e.g., discussion in Hermann, “Jewish Mysticism in Byzantium,” 94. 26 See ibid., 91. 27 The Resh Lakish list is paralleled in classical rabbinic literature in Leviticus Rabbah 29:11. See Alexander, “3 Enoch,” 239. This tradition reappears in the Qur’an in the Prophet’s night journey, that is, another apocalypse!, and associated literature. 28 I have chosen to cite here the version of Michael Knibb found on the web at http://www. scriptural-truth.com/stuff/BookOfEnoch.pdf, for convenience’s sake and also because Nickelsburg and VanderKam have made some (very plausible) alterations in the order of the text, while Knibb gives the original text.

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in 2 Enoch as well as the Ascension of Isaiah—but already from this text we see some impressive and important details, notably the intense attention to the details of meteorological phenomena as secrets of the heavens.29 Especially convincing is the image of the weather kept in storehouses, or treasuries, one of the most striking features of the talmudic text we have just seen.30 The upshot of this is that at least according to the Bavli it seems most plausible to understand Maʿaseh Bereshit as the cosmological side of apocalyptic knowledge and the Merkava as the theosophical aspect of apocalypse.31 The combination of cosmology and meteorology and then the combination of that with theosophy that we find in both the apocalypses and in the Talmud suggests strongly a continuity of tradition from the Second Temple apocalyptic to the sugya of the Babylonian Talmud, a continuity that is sufficient to explain how ideas and mythic materials from the former texts survived exoterically within non-Christian Jewish circles until their full-blown reemergence in Hebrew/Aramaic literature toward the end of late antiquity. This reemergence might very well have been stimulated by developments within the spirituality of the encompassing Christian world and even part and parcel of those developments. As Hermann has remarked, “Indeed, a distinctive feature of 3 Enoch is its engagement with the cosmological and angelological conceptions of the older merkavah tradition, albeit in an apocalyptic mode. The literary material used to construct its cosmology and angelology is far closer to rabbinic literature than to any putative Gnostic speculative tradition regarding the aeons.”32 But the very concatenation of cosmological and angelological matters in the Talmud draws the talmudic text to the ancient apocalypses as well and thus provides the missing link between them, hidden, as it were, in plain sight. To be sure, the Talmud is almost too careful not to ascribe this information to angelic revelation, but as Martha Himmelfarb has done well to remind us: These references to ascent remind us that the descriptions of the heavenly liturgy and the divine throne and the lists of angelic names presuppose ascent, even when it is not described. Instructions for invoking angels to descend to reveal the secrets of the Torah play

29 For a brilliant discussion of the seven heavens in the Ascension of Isaiah, see now Menachem Kister, “Metatron, God, and the ‘Two Powers’: The Dynamics of Tradition, Exegesis, and Polemic,” Tarbiz 82 (2013): 45–46 [in Hebrew]. 30 As I have been reminded by Shlomo Naeh, the proximate source for this idea is Job 38:22, but notwithstanding this important point, it remains clear that given the entire context of this usage (quite different from its usage in the Bible; there the storehouses are for eschatological punishment, here for weather), the connection between Enoch and the Talmud remains strong (as Naeh himself proposed). 31 Pace Goshen Gottstein, “Is Ma’aseh Bereshit Part of Ancient Jewish Mysticism?” 196. 32 Hermann, “Jewish Mysticism in Byzantium,” 97.

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an important part in the hekhalot texts, but all explicit attributions of descriptions of the contents of the heavens and especially the heavenly liturgy are to human beings who ascend.33

It seems hardly too presumptuous, then, to suggest, at least, that at one stage in its transmission Resh Lakish’s description of the seven heavens and their contents was accompanied by an account of how that knowledge had been gained. The most impressive parallel that I have found, however, is from the text known as 2 Enoch. Preserved only in Old Church Slavonic (with perhaps some Coptic fragments extant), this text is apparently from the first century AD and from Palestine. In it we read of Enoch’s journey through the seven heavens: 3 |The ascension of Enoch to the first heaven. 1 And it came about, when I had spoken to my sons, the men called me. And they took me up onto their wings, and carried me up to the first heaven. And they 2 put me down there. 4 1 They led before my face the elders, the rulers of the stellar orders… . And they showed me there the treasuries of the snow and the cold, 2 terrible angels are guarding the treasuries. -And they showed me there those guarding the treasuries; {and they showed me there the treasuries} of the clouds, from which they go in and come out. 1 And they showed me the treasuries of the dew, like olive oil. Angels were guarding their treasuries; and their appearance was like every earthly flower. 7 1 And those men took me up to the second heaven. And they set me down on the second heaven. And they showed me 2 prisoners under guard, in measureless judgment. And there I saw the condemned angels, weeping. And I said to the men who were with me, 3 “Why are they tormented?” The men answered me, ‘They are evil rebels against the L O R D , who did not listen to the voice of the L O R D , but they consulted their own will’ …. They brought me up to the third heaven. And they placed me in the midst of Paradise. And that place has an appearance of pleasantness that has never been seen. 2 Every tree was in full flower. Every fruit was ripe, every food was in yield profusely; every fragrance was pleasant. And the four rivers were flowing past with gentle movement, with every kind of garden producing every kind of good 3 food. And the tree of life is in that place, under which the L O R D takes a rest; when the L O R D takes a walk in Paradise. … 11 1 And (|the men|) lifted me up from there (|and they carried me up|) to the 4th heaven. And they showed me there all the movements (|and displacements!), and 2 all the rays