Writing and Re-Writing History by Destruction: Proceedings of the Annual Minerva Center Riab Conference, Leipzig, 2018. Research on Israel and Aram in ... (Orientalische Religionen in Der Antike, 45) 9783161612480, 9783161612497, 3161612485

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Orientalische Religionen in der Antike Ägypten, Israel, Alter Orient

Oriental Religions in Antiquity Egypt, Israel, Ancient Near East

(ORA) Herausgegeben von / Edited by Angelika Berlejung (Leipzig) Nils P. Heeßel (Marburg) Joachim Friedrich Quack (Heidelberg) Beirat / Advisory Board Uri Gabbay (Jerusalem) Michael Blömer (Aarhus) Christopher Rollston (Washington, D.C.) Rita Lucarelli (Berkeley)

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Writing and Re-Writing History by Destruction Proceedings of the Annual Minerva Center RIAB Conference, Leipzig, 2018 Research on Israel and Aram in Biblical Times III Edited by Angelika Berlejung, Aren M. Maeir, and Takayoshi M. Oshima

Mohr Siebeck

Angelika Berlejung is a professor for Old Testament Studies at the University of Leipzig in Germany, and professor extraordinaire for Ancient Near Eastern Studies at the University of Stellenbosch in South Africa. Aren M. Maeir is a professor of Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Archaeology at the Institute of Archaeology, the Martin (Szusz) Department of Land of Israel Studies and Archaeology, Bar-Ilan University. Takayoshi M. Oshima is a researcher at the Institute for Old Testament Studies, the Faculty of Theology, of the University of Leipzig, Germany.

ISBN 978-3-16-161248-0 / eISBN 978-3-16-161249-7 DOI 10.1628/978-3-16-161249-7 ISSN 1869-0513 / eISSN 2568-7492 (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike) The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2022 Mohr Siebeck Tübingen, Germany. www.mohrsiebeck.com This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was printed on non-aging paper by Gulde Druck in Tübingen, and bound by Buchbinderei Spinner in Ottersweier. Printed in Germany.

Table of Contents ANGELIKA BERLEJUNG and AREN MAEIR Introduction ...................................................................................................................... 1

I. Re-Writing History by Destruction: The Archaeology of Ancient Israel and Judah AMIHAI MAZAR Destruction Events: Their Identification, Causes, and Aftermath Some Test Cases ......................................................................................................... 7 ASSAF KLEIMAN Living on the Ruins: The Case of Stratum XII/XI at Hazor ...................................... 27 IGOR KREIMERMAN Sennacherib, Nebuchadnezzar II, and the Residents of Lachish: An Examination of Decision-Making from Conquest to Destruction ....................................................... 39 OMER SERGI Rewriting History Through Destruction: The Case of Tel Reḥov and the Hebrew Bible ................................................................................................ 61

II. Reflections on Destruction and Loss in Prophetic, Poetic, and Post-Biblical Literature BOB BECKING Echoes in Time: The Perception of Jehoiachin’s Amnesty in Past and Present (2 Kings 25:27–30)..................................................................................................... 81 DAVID G. GARBER The Trace of Inter-Generational Trauma in the Composition History of Ezekiel ...... 94 FRIEDHELM HARTENSTEIN The End of Judah and the Persistence of Cosmic Order: Understanding History in the Light of Creation in Psalms and Prophetic Books ......................................... 105 YIGAL LEVIN Persian-Period Jerusalem in the Shadow of Destruction ......................................... 122

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HILLEL MALI From Ritual to the Story of Ritual: The Influence of the Destruction of the Temple on Ritual Writing of the First Century CE ....................................... 141

III. Circumnavigating History: Isaiah’s Response to the Temple Destruction J. TODD HIBBARD Does Isaiah Implicate the Temple in His Pronouncements of Judgment Against Jerusalem? ............................................................................................................... 159 LENA-SOFIA TIEMEYER Continuity of Worship: The Portrayal of the Temple and Its Cult in Isaiah 40–55 . 169 CLEMENS SCHNEIDER Destruction and Desert Transformation in Isaiah 43:14–21 .................................... 189 NATHAN MACDONALD The Terminology of the Cult in Isaiah 56–66 .......................................................... 201 JUDITH GÄRTNER “The Dwelling Place of Your Holiness” (Isa 63:15): On the Meaning of Temple Theology in Trito-Isaiah .......................................................................................... 213

IV. Re-Writing History by Destruction in Assyria NATALIE N. MAY The Destruction of the Assyrian Capitals ................................................................ 231 HANSPETER SCHAUDIG “Uprooting”: A Visual Element of Assyrian Imperialistic Propaganda ................... 258

V. Re-Writing History by Destruction of Heritage WITOLD WITAKOWSKI The Arameans/Syriacs During the First Three Centuries of the Muslim Rule ........ 277 TESSA HOFMANN The Treatment of Christian Denominations in the Republic of Turkey ................... 305 Index of Quoted Ancient Texts ............................................................................... 323 Index of Personal Names ......................................................................................... 326

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Index of Geographical Names ................................................................................. 328 Subject Index ........................................................................................................... 331 Index of Discussed Terms and Expressions ............................................................ 337

Introduction Angelika Berlejung and Aren M. Maeir Destructions often write and rewrite history. This is true of “natural disasters” as well as “man-made” catastrophes. But they do not merely destroy existing things and kill people; they also change spaces and times. This can happen so thoroughly that past cultures and their traditions are simply erased from time and space, as if they had never existed. However, particularly in the case of man-made destructions, there is also the method of deliberately destroying in order to eliminate from memory precisely that of which one should no longer know anything about. This can be targeted at one’s own culture and nature, but also at those of others. The spectrum of human destructiveness exceeds that of other creatures’ many times over, and it includes a broad range of acts of violence against human beings, their cultures, identities, their fellow creatures, and their environment. Terms like genocide, defined as “acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group” (9.12.1948 UN Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide), politicide, democide, mass murder, massacre, terror, or holocaust (on these terms and their definitions see R.J. Rummel; http://www.hawaii.edu/powerkills/DBG.CHAP2.HTM) try to grasp and systematize different forms of “death by government.” Even if the phenomenon is more ancient, the modern term ecocide (Arthur Galston 1970), referring to the massive destruction of nature, is co-related as far as the ecological destruction of their natural livelihoods leads to the extermination of ethnic groups (as has happened and is still ongoing, for example, to several indigenous peoples in the Brazilian rainforest). Thus, ecocide can result in genocide; however, ecocide and even ethnic suicide can also occur without the influence of foreign peoples or powers when a population fails to recognize long-term ecological trends or its own contribution to the destruction of their own livelihood and ecology. Ecocide can also result in ethnocide when the ecological destruction of a people’s cultural landscape leads to the forced abandonment of its cultural autonomy. The somewhat less murderous ethnocide or cultural genocide is the deliberate attempt to destroy the cultural identity of a particular ethnic group without, however, killing its members physically, as would be the case with genocide or democide. This is achieved by banning and/or destroying the respective language, culture, religion, economic system, livelihood, way of life (e.g., forced settlement instead of a nomadic way of life), or form of rule of the corresponding ethnic group. Repositories of traditions, knowledge, and literature have been targeted throughout history in order to eliminate or change a culture’s memory, identity, and history. Since antiquity, book burning (e.g., Acta 19:19) and all kinds of text destruction and icono-

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clasm (i.e., the destruction of images or monuments of relevance for the religious, cultural, or political identity and collective memory) are possible attempts to revise one’s own but also other people’s past. The attempts at complete or even pointedly targeted destruction can, therefore, correct and revise history or rewrite it entirely. The authority to act and the sovereignty of interpretation of past and present events by no means lies only with the destroyer and victor, a de facto government and its rhetoric of superiority. The destroyed and defeated can also integrate the destruction into their own history and its interpretation into their identity construction and memory, making appropriate selections and corrections. For example, the loss of political independence can be dramatized or trivialized by both the victors and the defeated: still, in any case, it affects the social construction of identity and collective memory. The external and internal perspectives can be very different, but they can also converge. Contradictory interpretations are preserved only if they are handed down in some way. The purposes of a revised interpretation of the past can be very different as well. For example, one can mention the aims to get access to and to redistribute landscapes and resources, to achieve a political, economic, or religious aim, by transferring warguilt, demonizing an enemy, providing an illusion of victory or divine master plan, establishing networks and connections or de-establishing existing ones, re-projecting constructs of shared origins, shared traditions, or unbridgeable differences. Sometimes, the purpose of a revision of the past is to legitimize innovations, to change the collective memory and identity, and to shift actual social constructions of realities and solidarities according to special intentions in the present. A re-written history mirrors and serves ideological, religious, political, and economic purposes in the present. And destructions can be used purposefully for this purpose, but even if they were not purposefully made (as e.g., an earthquake or collateral damages of marching-through armies), they could be interpreted and functionalized accordingly by the survivors. These very complex, multi-faceted, and multi-layered interrelationships were the subject of the Annual Conference of the Minerva Center for the Relations Between Israel and Aram in Biblical Times (RIAB; www.aramisrael.org) held in Leipzig on May 14–17, 2018. Writing and Re-Writing History by Destruction – with certain stress on the latter – was the topic of the meeting of an international group of scholars whose work is oriented on the area of Syria-Palestine-Mesopotamia, in the past and present. The idea was to study the topic from a multi perspective and interdisciplinary approach: Archaeological studies, Ancient Near Eastern studies, and biblical studies focused on the destructions of ancient sites in Israel and Judah, mainly committed during the first millennium BCE, by the Assyrian, Egyptian, and Babylonian armies. The concrete dimensions of these destructions as tangible in the archaeological records and settlement history – as well as later resettlements – were illuminated in the archaeological section of the conference. The perspective of the defeated Israelites, Jerusalemites, and Judeans, who had to handle the loss and destruction of their political independency, economic resources, and cultic centers, are set down in great detail in the biblical writings of the Old Testament and in post-biblical literature, indicating that the destructions of the past were a culture and identity generator of the first rank. The connection

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between past destructions and their interpretation in the present, by writing and rewriting history, is especially evident in the prophetic writings, which not only intended to support actual discourses of their respective present, but also to offer possible models for the future, including aspects of anthropology, theology, cult, ritual, theodicy, education, ethics, morality, social, and religious organization, even discussing a possible future of the Davidic dynasty – all oscillating between trauma and hopes. Examples of re-writing history by destruction in Assyria demonstrated that the NeoAssyrian Empire used destructions as an intentional and structural method, with practical use and symbolical meaning, for constructing an overarching international empire according to their strategic intentions and imperial ideology. The longue durée of this kind of re-designing the past in order to design the present according to actual interests are highlighted in the research on the destruction of cultural heritage and persecutions in modern times until today. It is interesting to note that the change of governments and their “official” religion does not necessarily result in destruction, revisionist activities, or immediate persecution of the conquered populations and their culture. The Arab Muslim conquest of areas which had been Aramaic speaking and/or Christian for centuries shows that there were several phases of convivency of the different languages, religions, and cultures, which only developed after some centuries and social changes into anti-sentiments and persecution. That governmental attempts to counteract their own destabilization and failure can become very dangerous and lifethreatening for ethnic, linguistic, and religious minorities and their cultural heritage can be observed during the last decade of Ottoman rule over Anatolia and Mesopotamia, and the current Turkish policy, that still intentionally destroys, neglects, or delays urgent repair and conservation works on the architectural, sacral, and secular heritage of the annihilated or expulsed Christians, who are still wiped out of the country’s history and landscape. Our collective memory is filled with images, experiences, emotions, stories, and memories of all kinds of past and actual destructions and their consequences. The world community even became the witness to the destruction of our shared world cultural heritage in Syria by ISIS (Baalbeck, Palmyra) and the Turkish army (Ain Dara). Even if these atrocities against the World Heritage Sites could not be prevented, the memory of the history for which they stand should not fade. With this conference and this volume we wanted to lay the groundwork for future research on the policy of destructions, their intentions and their intended and sometimes even not intended side effects. In our conference and in this volume, we do not propose an in-depth study of the topic, but we hope to have contributed to the study of the phenomenon of writing and re-writing history by destruction, a strategy and phenomenon which apparently belongs to the human condition, and which already has a very long history, still has an impact on our present, and regretfully, will presumably have a future, as long as humankind exists.

I. Re-Writing History by Destruction The Archaeology of Ancient Israel and Judah

Destruction Events Their Identification, Causes, and Aftermath – Some Test Cases Amihai Mazar Very few general studies concerning destructions in the southern Levant have been published.1 The following is a quotation from a paper authored by the late Sharon Zuckerman: Destructions are highly visible in the archaeological record – they “freeze” a site at one moment of its existence, and create a window into the dynamic past. The collapsed buildings, the broken vessels and objects on the floors, the layers of ashes and burnt wooden beams all bear witness to the dramatic end of a settlement … This is the “disaster movie” scenario, jokingly invoked as every archaeologist’s most desirable find. But treating destruction as a single isolable event in the history of a site is misleading. Destruction and abandonment phases identified at a site should be placed within two larger frameworks: that of the site’s temporal development on the one hand, and that of the wider social, political, cultural and ideological context on the other. This idea forms the basis of abandonment studies, which aim to study sites’ destruction and abandonment as complex social phenomena … Given the ubiquity and prevalence of destruction layers in ancient Near Eastern tell sites, it is surprising that a systematic treatment of this phenomenon is largely neglected and that there is no conceptual paradigm for dealing with it.2

Zuckerman goes on to analyze the process of destruction of three Late Bronze cities, Lachish, Megiddo, and in particular Hazor, using terminology used in Aegean and Meso-American archaeology such as “crisis architecture” and “termination rituals.” Yet such fatal destructions like that of Hazor is only one of several types or grades of destruction that can be defined in the archaeological record. Israel Finkelstein defined three grades of destruction phenomena at Megiddo and other sites and Igor Kreimerman suggested an alternative typology of destructions for the Late Bronze Age.3 Other studies were devoted to specific severe destruction events, like David Ussishkin’s study of the conquest of Lachish by Sennacherib, Aren Maeir’s study of the siege system and destruction at Gath, and Assaf Kleiman’s analysis of destruction events that may be related to Hazael.4 Defining the cause of destruction is not an easy task, and in many cases, different explanations are proffered to account for a single destruction event. The sacking of a city by enemies is often taken as the default explanation for a destruction layer, although it is not an obvious explanation, since not all conquests ended in destruction and

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ZUCKERMAN 2007; FINKELSTEIN 2009; KREIMERMAN 2016; IDEM 2017b. ZUCKERMAN 2007, 3. 3 FINKELSTEIN 2009; KREIMERMAN 2016; IDEM 2017b. 4 USSISHKIN 1982; MAEIR 2012, 25–49; IDEM 2016; NAMDAR et al. 2011; KLEIMAN 2016. 2

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not every destruction means a conquest.5 It was noted by several scholars that a city could be captured without being physically destroyed or perhaps suffered only from partial destruction. It was also pointed out that destructions could be caused by social upheaval in urban societies, due to either extreme socio-economic exploitation of the population or drought, famine, and plagues, which could lead to riots and collapse of the traditional governmental structure and annihilation of symbols of power such as palaces, temples, or administrative structures. Such factors have been elicited to account for various destruction events worldwide, examples from the Mediterranean region include the end of the Mycenaean palatial system or the destruction of Hazor at the end of the Late Bronze Age. Archaeology can do no more than hint at causes for destruction events, and they can hardly be confirmed with any certainty. In the following, I will briefly discuss several questions and issues related to destructions in the archaeology of the southern Levant, based on my own experience in the excavation of four mounds – Tell Qasile, Tel Batash, Tel Beth Shean, and Tel Reḥov – with occasional references to other sites as well.

I. Total vs Local Destructions In a large-scale excavation with several excavation areas spread throughout the site, it is easy to identify a major severe destruction event. Such an event would, in many cases, include thick layers of destruction debris, including burnt mudbricks or stone collapse, often accompanied by severe conflagration, mainly inside buildings, with lesser signs of fire in streets and piazzas. Often the destruction was abrupt, and we find numerous artifacts on floors or in the fallen debris. In cases of total destruction, such evidence would be identified in almost each of the excavation areas. Examples from my own excavations are the destructions at Tel Beth Shean ca. 1140–1130 BCE, Tell Qasile, Stratum X ca. 1000 BCE, Tel Reḥov, Stratum IV ca. 830 BCE, Beth Shean ca. 732 BCE, and at Tel Batash in 605 BCE. Such total destructions have been attested in a good number of cases and, in the Iron Age and later periods, they can often be correlated with historical events. Clear examples are the destructions of Jerusalem in 586 BCE and in 70 CE. In both cases, destruction layers were located in almost every excavation area in the city. Notwithstanding extreme cases such as these, in many cases the definition of destruction is much less clear: ash layers or restorable pottery on a floor accompanied by stone fall or brick debris are often defined by archaeologists as a “destruction layer,” but as already noted by others, such phenomena, when appearing only on a local scale, are insufficient to designate a total or even a partial destruction of a site. In archaeological publications we may often find mentioning of destructions which are insecure, but nevertheless are cited in subsidiary literature as a secure identification and sometimes lead to misleading historical conclusions. In addition, in excavations with limited exposure, in which a specific period is known from only a single excavation area, 5

KREIMERMAN 2016, 236–37.

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it remains unknown whether a destruction in this particular area represents the fate of the entire site. I will present three examples of this problem. At Tel Batash, Late Bronze Age remains were excavated mainly in Area B, a 300 m2 large area, and to a lesser extent in Area A, a narrow step trench along the slope of the mound. In Area B, a sequence of five destruction layers, accompanied by clear evidence of fire and conflagration, was found, starting with Stratum X of the sixteenth–fifteenth centuries and ending with Stratum VIB of the thirteenth century.6 The three intermediate strata (IX–VII), dating from the fifteenth–fourteenth centuries BCE, ended in particularly severe destructions. This is a rare case of such intensity of destruction events in a time period of some 300 to 400 years. Can we deduce from the findings in Area B that the entire town was destroyed five times during the Late Bronze Age? Or might this series of frequent destructions have been restricted to Area B, caused perhaps by local events such as casual fire, which did not affect the rest of the town? We cannot be sure unless another significant area from this period is excavated sometime in the future. A second example is the case of Tel Reḥov.7 During the first seasons of excavation we revealed tremendous destruction of Stratum V of the Iron Age IIA in a 10×10 m area in the south-eastern part of Area C. Radiocarbon dates pinpointed the destruction to the last quarter of the tenth century BCE, and we suggested identifying this destruction with the one caused by Shoshenq I who mentions Reḥob in his list discussed below.8 Only when we expanded the excavation areas during subsequent excavation seasons, we realized that this destruction layer, albeit severe, is a local feature and that in most of the excavated areas the transition from Stratum V to Stratum IV was a peaceful one. I will return to this particular destruction later in this article.9 A third example is taken from Megiddo, where Israel Finkelstein, Eran Arie, and Mario Martin defined a destruction event in Area H phase H-11, which is in-between the two well-known destructions of Stratum VIIA in the mid twelfth century BCE and the tremendous destruction of Stratum VIA ca. 1000 BCE, detected in every excavation area.10 The excavators admitted that the Phase H-11 destruction cannot be observed in any other excavation area at Megiddo, but nevertheless suggested that this destruction had also brought an end to the nearby Canaanite palace of Stratum VIIA, and therefore suggested to lower the destruction date of the palace to the Iron Age IB (late twelfth and early eleventh centuries BCE), instead of the Iron IA (or LB III according to their terminology), around the mid-twelfth century BCE. This argument is not convincing. It seems that the destruction of Stratum H-11 was a local feature in a domestic area that happened to occur earlier in the duration of Stratum VI, yet its correlation to the destruction of the palace remains unproved. These are just examples of what were probably local destructions that did not impact the entire city or settlement. We should take note of such events, which were 6

MAZAR 1997; IDEM 2006b; MAZAR/PANITZ-COHEN 2019. For Tel Reḥov, see also O. Sergi’s contribution in this volume pp. 61–78. 8 BRUINS/VAN DER PLICHT/MAZAR 2003. 9 MAZAR 2016, 106; IDEM 2020, 123–24; MAZAR/PANITZ-COHEN 2020, Vol. II, 186. 10 FINKELSTEIN/ARIE/MARTIN/PIASETZKY 2017. 7

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probably local, cannot be related to historical circumstances and in most cases were followed by rehabilitation of the destroyed section of the settlement and did not interrupt the continuity of the local material culture. Tel Batash (biblical Timnah) also provides an example of partial vs total destruction. I refer to the destruction of Stratum III, which we attributed to Sennacherib’s campaign in 701 BCE. The town is mentioned in Sennacherib’s annals, and the excavation has shown that indeed it was partially destroyed during the 701 BCE events; yet the evidence of destruction was uncovered only in certain buildings, while most of the other structures, such as the city wall and gate, the street system and some of the dwellings survived, with some changes, in the subsequent Stratum II of the seventh century. This is very different from the consequences of Sennacherib’s campaign elsewhere in Judah, such as at Lachish, Beth Shemesh, Tell Beit Mirsim, Tel ʿEton, Tel Halif, and Beer Sheba which were completely annihilated by Sennacherib, and most of them remained unsettled during all or most of the seventh century BCE, except Lachish and Beth Shemesh which were resettled perhaps after an occupation gap; at Beth Shemesh outside the mound proper.11

II. Causes of Destructions: Earthquakes vs Human Hand Earthquakes are another explanation often provided for destruction. Obvious examples are mostly identified in later periods such as the destruction of Scythopolis/Beth Shean and some other cities by the severe earthquake in 749 CE. In Bronze and Iron Age contexts, however, the identification of earthquakes is more difficult. At Megiddo, six possible earthquakes were suggested between the late fourth millennium and the seventh century BCE.12 The evidence consists of tilted walls, cracks in walls, and heavy destructions. However, as the authors of the article published in 2006 admit, such interpretations are fraught with difficulties. For example, in the case of Megiddo VIA, the heavy destruction and human skeletons uncovered in the southern part of the city led the University of Chicago excavators, to suggest in 1939 that the city had been destroyed by a severe earthquake, and his explanation was accepted by Aaron Kempinksi, Marco, Agnon and Finkelstein, and Cline,13 while others like Ussishkin, Harrison, and Finkelstein who (changed his opinion), suggested a military conquest as the cause of this same destruction.14 This is an example of how uncertain such explanations can be. The destruction of Megiddo VIA is one in a chain of destructions that occurred more or less at the same time in large parts of the Land of Israel: these include Tel Masos in the northern Negev; Khirbet Qeiyafa in the Shephelah; Tell Qasile 11

For recent studies of the Shephelah in the Iron Age see the collection of essays in LIP273–83. For Tel I. Kreimerman’s contribution in this volume, pp. 39–60 below. 12 MARCO/AGNON/FINKELSTEIN/USSISHKIN 2006. 13 Ibid.; Cline (2011) who discuss the subject in detail and cites previous literature. 14 HARRISON 2004, 108; FINKELSTEIN 2013a, 34; USSISHKIN 2018, 309–11. SCHITZ/MAEIR (eds.) 2017; for Tel Batash, see MAZAR/PANITZ-COHEN 2001, ʿEton see KATZ/FAUST 2012. For Sennacherib’s destruction of Lachish, see

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Stratum X; Yoqneʿam, Stratum XVII; Tel Keisan, Stratum IX; Tel Rechesh(?); Tel Hadar; Tel Kinrot; and perhaps Tell Abu el-Kharaz (although such destruction was not detected at Tel Beth Shean and Tel Reḥov). Is it possible that all these sites were destroyed due to a major earthquake that affected large parts of the region? Kempinski hinted at this possibility in 1989, yet it cannot be proven, and one cannot be sure if all these destructions at the end of the Iron Age I occurred simultaneously.15 Like other sites along the Syro-African fault line, Tel Reḥov was threatened by earthquakes and tectonic changes more than other parts of the country. Evidence of damage by earthquakes was observed in two cases. Stratum VI of the tenth century was found as if the houses had been abandoned, with no heavy fire or evidence of violent destruction, and the floors were almost completely devoid of finds. Cracks in the walls and some shift between parts of the same wall suggest that the city had suffered some damage from an earthquake of a magnitude that had not been sufficient to cause total destruction. It seems that houses were deliberately evacuated and large parts of the city were rebuilt. In the subsequent Stratum V the new buildings were built of mudbricks on top of a foundation of narrow wooden beams. These were often placed perpendicular to the wall, continuing below the floor of the adjacent room. I suggested that this unprecedented device was intended to provide the walls flexibility in the event of an earthquake, and thus minimizing damage. Such an invention could have been a response to the earthquake threat, experienced in the previous stratum VI.16 Interestingly, during a visit of the excavation by construction engineering experts from the Technion, Haifa, we were informed that a similar idea is used today in the construction of nuclear reactors, where steel rolls are located below the foundations of concrete walls, providing them with the necessary flexibility in an earthquake event.17 The local destruction identified at Tel Reḥov Stratum V just in the apiary area and its surroundings (mentioned above) may also have been caused by an earthquake, as suggested by Erez Ben Yosef who conducted a geomorphological and paleo-magnetic study of nearby mudbrick walls.18 This is evidenced by the double tilting of a wall, which later, in Stratum IV, was rebuilt with new horizontal brick courses. As mentioned above, this destruction was a localized one, and there is no evidence of earthquake damage in other parts of the city of Stratum V.

III. Abandonment Apart from violent destructions, we should also take into account abandonment of settlement sites with no signs of conflagration, followed by a significant occupation hiatus. Various environmental, biological, and human factors could cause abandonment such as drought, famine, plagues, as well as social and political upheavals 15 KEMPINSKI 1989, 89–90. The dating of the end of the Iron Age I was a subject of continuous debates during the last two decades. See my summary and references in MAZAR 2020, 84–85. 16 MAZAR 2020, 87–88. 17 I thank Prof. Y. Yankelevsky for this insight and information. 18 BEN-YOSEF/RON (in press).

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against highly hierarchic societies. A prominent example is the abandonment of the Early Bronze Age III urban system at the end of this period. One of the abandoned sites is Tel Beth Shean where we excavated a series of EB III strata and found no evidence for violent destruction either during or at the end of this period.19 Greenberg describes the end of the EB II period as a gradual process which lasted during the 25th century BCE, but even according to him several of the fortified cities continued to survive until the end of the period. None of them shows evidence for violent destruction.20 It appears that warfare was not the cause of these destructions, neither were environmental factors such as climatic changes or drought for which there is no evidence in this time. The causes for this exceptional abandonment were either social upheaval due to socio-economic reasons or a plague that would have decimated the population and led to deliberate abandonment of the urban centers.

IV. How Often Do Destruction Layers Occur in the History of a Single City or Settlement? From a longue durèe perspective, destruction events are rare occurrences. Often, settlement in stratified tells continued for centuries without suffering from a major or severe destruction, even though the city was occasionally rebuilt, as evidenced by complex stratigraphic sequences and architectural changes. Examples from my own excavations come from Tel Beth Shean and Tel Reḥov. At Beth Shean, we detected a severe destruction by fire in the Early Bronze Age IB, close to the end of the fourth millennium BCE, followed by rebuilding of the town in the final phase of EB IB. No other destruction layer was found through the EB III period or in the time period of circa 400 years of the Middle and Late Bronze I–IIB occupation of the site, while the period between the mid-fourteenth century and the mid-twelfth century saw two and an additional partial destruction events: a severe one in the fourteenth century (Level IX in the University Museum excavations, local Stratum R-1a in the Hebrew University excavations); a partial destruction in the late thirteenth century (Level VII local N-4); and a severe destruction in the second half of the twelfth century (Level Lower VI, Local Stratum S-3). All three are probably related to the weakness and ultimately the termination of the Egyptian regime in Canaan. It may be assumed that all three occurred due to local attacks on the Egyptian garrison town in times of weakness (the end of the Amarna age, turmoils during the end of the 19th Dynasty and the end of the Egyptian presence in Canaan during the 20 th Dynasty). The four centuries between the mid-twelfth to the mid-eighth centuries witnessed three destructions, at least two of which can be correlated with events known from the historical sources: end of Local Stratum S-1, perhaps due to Aramean attacks in the se-

19 20

MAZAR 2012, 24–27. For a recent treatment and earlier literature, see GREENBERG 2019, 125–28; 136–37.

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cond half of the ninth century BCE; end of Stratum P-7: the Assyrian conquest in 732 BCE.21 The large city at Tel Reḥov was founded in the fifteenth century and survived until the eighth century BCE. During this long time range of circa 750 years, the city suffered only two major violent destruction events: one thought to be wreaked by the Arameans during the second half of the ninth century (end of Stratum IV) and a second by the Assyrians in the eighth century BCE (end of Stratum VIII).22 It is interesting to compare Tel Batash in the Late Bronze Age to nearby Gezer, which served as the center of the Canaanite city-state to which Tel Batash most probably belonged. Gezer did not suffer from any significant destruction during the Late Bronze Age, while at Tel Tel Batash five destructions took place in Area B during 300 years in this period (see above). It thus appears that a small town like Tel Batash was more vulnerable to attacks than Gezer, the center of the city-state, which probably had much more durability. Similar situations are evident at other sites as well. Hazor, the largest Canaanite city in the southern Levant, did not undergo a major violent destruction event throughout five strata, lasting circa 500 years, until its final deterioration and destruction during the thirteenth century BCE.23 At Megiddo, no major destruction is known in the course of a 600-year period in the second millennium, until the disturbances and destruction of Strata VIIb and VIIA of the late thirteenth and the twelfth centuries BCE. In the four hundred years between the twelfth and eighth centuries, Megiddo suffered four destruction events, on average one per century, recalling Beth Shean.24 At Lachish, the city’s occupation history of circa 600 years in the second millennium witnessed three destruction events: 1) at the end of the MB II, ca. 1550; 2) at the end of the thirteenth, century, and 3) in the second half of the twelfth century. In the course of 400 years of occupation in the Iron Age II, Lachish suffered two destruction events: those of 701 BCE and of 586 BCE attributed to Sennacherib and Nebuchadnezzar.25 Jerusalem did not suffer any major destruction events throughout the approximately 500 years of its Iron Age history until the Babylonian destruction of 586 BCE. These are just a few examples of the durability and continuity of settlement and the relative rarity of destruction events in major cities. Such long duration of cities and other settlements for several hundreds of years with no major destruction enabled cultural continuity and gradual change. To this I should add that the end of major archaeological periods is not necessarily accompanied by violent destructions. In addition to the end of the EB III mentioned above, this holds true for the MB–LB transition too, except in a few cases. No evidence for destructions in this transitional period was encountered in major sites like 21

MAZAR 2006a, 29–37; IDEM 2009, 15–27. MAZAR 2016, 107–12; IDEM 2020, 126–29. 23 For general summaries of Hazor in the Second Millennium BCE, see YADIN 1972, 27–109; 121–28; BEN-TOR 2016, 45–117. 24 FINKELSTEIN 2009. 25 For summary account of Lachish in the Iron Age, see USSISHKIN 2014, 203–369. See also I. Kreimerman’s contribution in this volume, pp. 39–60 below. 22

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Hazor or Megiddo as well as in my excavations at Tel Batash and Tel Beth Shean. In contrast, the end of the Late Bronze is accompanied by destructions, though they are not ascertained everywhere and they are spread over a considerable time period; for example almost 100 years separate the end of Canaanite Hazor from that of Lachish.

V. Responses to Threats – Can They be Observed? Archaeology rarely gives us the opportunity to discern human response to impending dangers of conquest or other destructions. The following examples, gleaned from my own excavations, are all uncertain and speculative to some extent.26 At Tel Reḥov, an 8 m wide city wall was built on the slope of the upper mound in Stratum IIIA, of the mid-eighth century BCE. The wall was constructed of mudbricks without stone foundations, perhaps reflecting hasty construction, being a response to an immediate threat. We assume that its construction was a coordinated effort to withstand the Assyrian battering rams, a major threat at the time.27 Its width recalls the “wide wall” in the Western Hill of Jerusalem, perhaps constructed for the same purpose later during the late eighth century. The contents of buildings that suffer an abrupt destruction are commonly believed to be a reflection of household activities in these homes prior to their final destruction. This assumption has become a cornerstone of “household archaeology” analyses.28 However, we should take into consideration abnormal behavior on the eve of destruction due to the emergency situation. At Tel Batash, Tel Beth Shean, Tel Reḥov, and several other sites, such as Tel Miqne/Ekron, the number of pottery vessels uncovered in the destruction layers of households in the Iron Age was exceptionally large – much more than one would expect in a nuclear family residence. It may be suggested that these outstanding numbers reflect an abnormal concentration of population in those houses on the eve of destruction. It may be surmised that people from rural settlements found refuge inside the walled towns, or that members of extended family decided to live together in time of danger and emergency. Similarly, in the storehouses near the gate of Tel Beer Sheba, Stratum II, hundreds of domestic pottery vessels and other artifacts, such as cooking pots, serving vessels, and grinding stones, were found in the destruction layer dated to ca. 700 BCE. Since these finds run counter to the interpretation of these structures as storage facilities, it may be suggested that these finds reflect an emergency situation on the eve of destruction, such as refugees from the countryside seeking refuge in the fortified city.29 Therefore the assumption that assemblages of finds in houses destroyed in abrupt destruction reflect regular households should be 26

Cf. I. Kreimerman’s contribution in this volume, pp. 39–60. MAZAR 2020, 128–29 with reference to detailed descriptions. 28 On household archaeology see papers in YASUR-LANDAU/EBELING/MAZOW (eds.) 2011; PARKER/FOSTER 2012. 29 In the final report, Herzog presents all the details but suggests that the objects found in the tripartite buildings were used in the normal function of these buildings. See HERZOG/AVITZ-SINGER 2016, 203–204. This is less plausible, in my view. 27

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taken with caution, and emergencies situations reflected by such assemblages should be taken into account.

VI. Evidence of Plunder and Slaughter Evidence of plunder and deliberate damage following conquest and prior to destruction by fire can rarely be identified. The following are two examples from my excavations, although neither is certain. At Tell Qasile, Stratum X, the temple, like the rest of the town, was put to the torch. One of the cult objects found on the floor next to the raised podium in the temple, below a thick destruction layer, is a flat model shrine showing two images of goddesses inside an architectural frame. These figures had been deliberately chiseled and removed from this object prior to the destruction. Another find was a unique jar with five openings at its top and paintings of trees on its walls, uncovered broken, half of it inside the temple near the raised platform, and the other half in the courtyard outside the temple. These two objects may be taken as evidence of the deliberate desecration of cult objects and perhaps of the looting of the temple before it was burnt down.30 Another rare case is that of Building CF at Tel Reḥov, one of the most interesting buildings in the well-planned quarter in Area C. The finds from this house indicate that this was the home of an upper-class family, perhaps of a high official or a merchant. The inscription lšq[y?] nmš, (“belonging to the cupbearer of Nimshi”) from this house perhaps betrays the title and name of the owner. The western wing of this house contained a row of four small chambers leading one into the other; with the innermost chamber containing a unique large and heavy pottery box, which could be closed with a heavy lid. Loop handles enabled the lid to be tied. We found the lid lying upsidedown next to the box, in the heavily burnt destruction layer of Stratum IV, which we attribute to Hazael. It seems that prior to the fire someone opened the box, which could be a treasury “safe,” and hastily removed its contents. Was this the owner himself, in an effort to save his treasures, or was it done by the conquerors, who were looting this building? Although this is something we will never know, this find clearly illustrates a dramatic moment of conquest and destruction.31 How should we explain human remains found in destruction layers? Igor Kreimerman, who addressed this issue, assembled 17 examples of such cases from 15 sites, from the Middle Bronze to Iron Age.32 He demonstrated that skeletons were found in only 11% of destruction layers that he examined, that the number of skeletons is small (he counted 43 to 53 skeletons from all the 15 sites) and concluded that in most cases either the inhabitants or the conquerors took care to bury the corpses following destruction, due to religious beliefs or hygienic reasons. In my own excavations the following cases should be noted.

30

MAZAR 1980, 82–83; 105–106. MAZAR 2020, 93. 32 KREIMERMAN 2017a. 31

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At Tel Batash, we detected two human skeleton in the destruction layer of Building 31, defined as a “patrician house” of Stratum VII, from the fourteenth century BCE. One skeleton was on the floor of the building, in the main pillared hall. The second, of a 20–25 years old male, was found in an upside-down position in the destruction debris of a second floor, above the main entrance to the building.33 Four fragmentary human skeletons were found in the destruction layer of Stratum III, attributed to the capture of the town by Sennacherib in 701 BCE. Two were in a storehouse containing many lmlk type storage jars (Area D, Building 737). A second, of a child about two years old, was located on a street pavement. Two skeletons came from Area H: an about 30-years-old female and a child.34 In all these cases it was hard to tell whether these persons were merely trapped during a destruction or were killed deliberately during an enemy attack, and in all of them there was no indication of intentional burial. It should be noted that all four were found in the Assyrian destruction of Stratum III, and none were found in the heavy destruction layer of Stratum II, attributed to the Babylonian conquests. Similarly, no skeletal remains are reported from other destruction layers cases by the Babylonian conquests such as Tel Miqne, ancient Ekron, and Ashkelon, except one skeleton of a woman found at Ashkelon.35 At Tel Beth Shean two fragmentary skeletons were found in Middle Bronze layers (Local Stratum R-4a or 4b) – a child and an adult. The former was not buried, the second appears to have been thrown into a pit. There is no evidence for a violent destruction of this stratum, and thus the circumstances of these death cases remain elusive.36 Two additional human skeletons were found in the destruction debris of the last but one phase of the Egyptian garrison town (Stratum S-4).37 At Tel Reḥov a single skeleton was found in the ninth-century destruction layer of Stratum IV, in what appeared to be an open space, with no sign of burial.38 Two human skeletons were in the destruction layer of Stratum IIIA in Area A, attributed to the Assyrian conquest in 732 BCE. One of them, lacking the skull, was located in the corner of a room, in an unnatural position, as if violently thrown or fallen. The other, probably a female, was found in a flexed position above a heap of loom weights. We have interpreted these finds as evidence of the slaughter of people in their homes during the Assyrian conquest.39 These examples, though being few, show that people were killed, some perhaps deliberately slaughtered and remain unburied during destruction events, particularly so in destructions caused by Assyrian conquests.

33

MAZAR 1997, 65; ARENSBURG 2006, 313–14. MAZAR 1997, 147–49; 190; ARENSBURG 2006, 313–14. 35 References in KREIMERMAN 2017a, 18. 36 MAZAR/MULLINS 2007, 55; 81. 37 PANITZ-COHEN/MAZAR 2009, 17; 103; 126–27. 38 MAZAR 2020, 46 with references to additional details. 39 Ibid., 129. For the case of Lachish Cave 2000 see discussion in USSISHKIN 2014: 318–22; KREIMERMAN 2017a, 21, note 53 with earlier literature. 34

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VII. The Aftermath of Destruction What are the consequences of a violent destruction? Can we identify abandonment and occupation gaps or attempts to rehabilitate settlements? The most extreme result of a violent destruction is a total abandonment of a site or long occupation hiatus. Examples are the destruction of Canaanite Hazor and Lachish, some of the Assyrian destructions in northern Israel and in Judah and the Babylonian conquests of Philistia and Judah. In the four sites presented here as test cases we see that at Beth Shean and Tel Reḥov, the Assyrian violent destruction of 732 BCE was followed by a short post-destruction occupation phase, detected in the form of squatters. Burials with Assyrian pottery at Tel Reḥov perhaps hint to the existence of an Assyrian fort or administrative center of some sort on the summit of the mound, perhaps similar to the one recovered at Hazor. Yet the cities did not recover from this conquest. At Tel Batash (Timnah), the violent Babylonian destruction of Stratum II in 605/4 BCE was followed by a long occupation break, and this was also the fate of the nearby major Philistine city Ekron as well as of Ashkelon further south, all of them probably destroyed in the same campaign. Yet, in good number of other cases, severe destructions were followed by attempts to rehabilitate and revive the settlement. At Tel Batash, after each of the first four Late Bronze destructions in Area B, the area was soon rebuilt and the local material culture continued undisturbed. During the Assyrian capture of the town in 701 BCE, Timnah (Tel Batash), unlike most Judean towns, was partially damaged, but soon revived, retaining and renovating the previous city wall, gate, and street layout. The town continued to survive during the seventh century BCE until the Babylonian conquest (see above). At Tel Beth Shean, an EB IB outstanding building was heavily destroyed by fire ca. 3100 BCE, and soon rebuilt, still in the EB IB, though according to a somewhat different plan but with no change in the local material culture. At Beth Shean again, following the destruction of the Egyptian stronghold of Lower Level VI in the twelfth century BCE, the city was rebuilt in the subsequent Iron Age IB (Level Upper VI, Local Stratum S-2; the eleventh century BCE), retaining the urban plan of the previous city. The northern and southern temples appear to have been built in this period on top of the previous New Kingdom temples, with the New Kingdom Egyptian monuments in secondary use, perhaps as a tribute to the glory of the town in earlier generations.40 At Tell Qasile, following the heavy destruction of Stratum X ca. 1000 BCE (Iron IB), the town was partly rebuilt according to the same general plan (Strata IX–VIII, early Iron IIA), but it became smaller and less densely built, and it obviously lost much of its population. The destroyed temple of Stratum X most probably retained its outline, but remained as a ruin during the Iron Age IIA. At Tel Reḥov, the heavy destruction by fire of Stratum IV, attributed to Hazael in the ninth century, was followed by abandonment of the Lower City and the shrinking

40

MAZAR 2009, 27–30; IDEM 2012, 16–17.

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of the city to less than half its former area, while the upper mound was rehabilitated and fortified during the late ninth and eighth centuries BCE. The variety of cases described here, and many additional examples that could be brought from other sites, show that there is no general rule to human response to conquests and destructions. The situation may range from total destruction followed by a long occupation gap, through squatters, partial restoration accompanied by a period of decline, or quick revival and restoration. Ultimately, this depends upon historical circumstances, which differ from one case to another.

VIII. Destruction Layers Correlating with Historical Events The correlation between destruction events revealed in archaeology with historical events known from the written sources is a thorny issue. For example, the conquest of Canaan by Thutmosis III, a major event in the history of the country, is not documented by destruction layers except possibly a few questionable ones, and it remains doubtful whether Canaanite cities were destroyed or merely captured during this campaign.41 Destruction layers dated later in the Late Bronze Age could have resulted from local attacks on the town undocumented in historical sources; similarly, the destructions of Beth Shean in the fourteenth and late thirteen centuries BCE could be caused by attacks initiated by Canaanites against the Egyptian regime, similar to the ones documented in the Seti I stele from this site. Destructions ca. 1200 BCE were commonly related to the so-called “crisis years,” a time of temporary climatic difficulties and supposed attacks by Sea Peoples and Israelites on local Canaanite cities. Yet the evidence for such attacks is limited: the number of destroyed Canaanite cities is not very large; there are chronological gaps between the known destructions at different sites (i.e. Hazor in the thirteenth century BCE and Lachish in the second half of the twelfth century BCE); several Canaanite cities suffered destruction in the late thirteenth or first half of the twelfth century but soon were rebuilt (e.g. Megiddo), and others did not suffer such destruction and just continued to be rebuilt during the Iron Age I, with some changes in the material culture (i.e. Gezer and Tel Reḥov). There is no evidence for severe destructions caused by “Sea Peoples” or by Israelite conquests.42 Rather than destructions, we can see that many Iron IB sites enjoyed prosperity and urban revival, among them all four sites emphasized in this paper: Beth Shean, Tel Reḥov, Tell Qasile, and Tel Batash. Several destructions around 1000 BCE or perhaps slightly later, in particular those of Tell Qasile X and Megiddo VI, were attributed in the past to conquests by King David.43 The tendency during the last generation of scholarship to diminish David as an historical figure of any significance led many to abandon this explanation. Yet, 41

WEINSTEIN 1980, 10–12 with inconclusive results. An exception is the attribution of the destruction of Hazor to Israelite tribes by Y. Yadin and A. Ben-Tor (2016, 118–26), while S. Zuckerman, provided an alternative explanation, as mentioned earlier. 43 B. MAZAR 1951, 23; A. MAZAR 1980, 47; HARRISON 2004, 108. 42

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even Israel Finkelstein, a champion of this approach, claimed in recent studies that Megiddo VIA was destroyed due to “raids on the valley’s strongholds by groups from the central highlands… either …individual bands or the attempts of an early highlands-Israelite territorial entity to expand into areas of the northern valleys bordering on it.”44 What could this “territorial entity” be ca. 1000 BCE? The only candidates are the regimes of Saul or David, yet these are known only from the biblical texts. An alternative explanation for this wave of destructions would be a severe earthquake which destroyed Megiddo and several other sites, as mentioned above in this article. Shoshenq I’s (biblical Shishak) raid to Canaan somewhere between 930–915 BCE, documented in his topographical list at Karnak, provides another possible “culprit” to whom to attribute destruction layers. Among the destruction attributed to him in past years are Gezer, Tirzah (although the identification of both in the list is debated), Tel Reḥov, Beth Shean, Megiddo, and Taʿanach. Archaeologists were so confident in these identifications that they used them as a benchmark for determining Iron Age chronology and sub-periodization. Many of these identifications, however, are now questioned. Nadav Naʾaman has suggested that Shoshenq did not actually destroy any of the places mentioned in his list, but instead, took control of them for a while, in an effort to restore Egyptian hegemony, and shortly afterwards returned to Egypt.45 If he is correct, the list only proves that place names mentioned in it indeed existed at the time of the raid. If, on the other hand, Shoshenq did destroy the places mentioned in his list, or at least part of them, we should be able to identify destruction layers resulting from this raid, and this would be crucial for comparative stratigraphy and chronology of the Iron Age. Since both Beth Shean and Reḥob are mentioned in the list, it was a challenge to ask which stratum in each of these sites was contemporary with Shoshenq raid, and whether there is evidence for destruction which could have been caused by this raid? In the final publication of Beth Shean, I suggested that it was either local Stratum S-1b or S-1a that was contemporary with this event.46 Stratum S-1b is known from a small excavated area, and includes no evidence for violent destruction. Stratum S-1a included massive public buildings that were destroyed by heavy fire. However, in light of ceramic parallels to nearby Tel Reḥov, I now tend to date Stratum S-1a to the ninth century BCE and its destruction to the Aramean wars that brought an end to Tel Reḥov IV as well. This would leave Beth Shean with no clear destruction layer that could be dated to the time of Shoshenq. As to Tel Reḥov, I mentioned above our earlier attribution of the destruction of Stratum V to Shoshenq I.47 However, as discussed above, later excavation seasons have shown that this heavy destruction was a local feature limited to the area of the apiary and its surroundings, and that other parts of the city of Stratum V were not destroyed, but rather continued with some changes into the following Stratum IV. Furthermore, it was suggested that the apiary area of Stratum V was destroyed due to an earthquake. As suggested above, the previous Stratum VI was abandoned due to an 44

FINKELSTEIN 2013b, 34. NAʾAMAN 1998; FINKELSTEIN 2013b, 41–48; USSISHKIN 2018, 272–76. 46 MAZAR 2006a: 32. 47 BRUINS/VAN DER PLICHT/MAZAR 2003. 45

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earlier earthquake which caused damage to the city. If this is correct, we are left with no destruction level that can be attributed to Shoshenq. It, thus, may be concluded that the mentioning of both Beth Shean and Tel Reḥov in Shoshenq’s topographic list means only that he passed through these cities or overtook them on his way from the Central Jordan Valley towards the Jezreel Valley. Based on the 14C dates from Stratum VI Tel Reḥov and some of those from Stratum V it appears that the raid may be correlated with the late years of Stratum VI or the beginning of Stratum V.48 Similar questions have been raised regarding other places mentioned in the list. I will mention only the case of Megiddo, which in addition to being mentioned in Shoshenq’s list, the excavation yielded fragments of a huge commemorative stele of this pharaoh. Which stratum at Megiddo was encountered by Shoshenq? The conservative view attributed to him the “palaces city” of Stratum VA-IVB. In 1996, Finkelstein claimed, as part of his Low Chronology system, that Shoshenq caused the severe destruction of Stratum VIA, the last Canaanite city at Megiddo.49 Since then, however, 14 C dates revealed that Stratum VIA was destroyed much earlier, around 1000 BCE; Finkelstein and his team now believe that Shoshenq encountered the meager settlement of Stratum VB.50 But would Shoshenq have erected such a huge stele in a poor town like Stratum VB? Perhaps a more likely solution would be the one suggested by Ussishkin in 2000 (which he later retracted): that at least part of the palace city called IVB-VA had already been established during the tenth century and that this was the city captured by Shoshenq and continued to survive into the ninth century BCE.51 All in all, the evidence from Reḥov and Megiddo seems to show that, as Naʾaman suggested, it is impossible to attribute destruction layers to Shoshenq. The next candidate as the party responsible for severe destructions is Hazael king of Damascus. The biblical narrative commemorates his brutal attacks on Israel, his destruction of Gath, and threat he posed to Jerusalem during the last third of the ninth century BCE. At Tel Reḥov, I attribute the violent and brutal destruction by fire of Stratum IV to Hazael. I claimed that he had deliberately chosen to destroy this city, because it was the home city of the Nimshi family, of which Jehu, the founder of the new dynasty in northern Israel, was a member. My suggestion was based upon the appearance of the name Nimshi on three jar inscriptions from Reḥov and its vicinity.52 The other clear example of destructions by Hazael is, of course, the violent end met by Tell es-Safi/Gath, the largest city in the southern Levant during that time. In both Reḥov and Gath the results of the conquests were catastrophic. Both shrunk in size and lost much of their power following this destruction. Assaf Kleiman suggested to attribute to Hazael a series of additional destructions, although mostly less severe, in

48

MAZAR 2020, 119–21; 123–24. Details in MAZAR/PANITZ COHEN 2020, Chapters 12, 48 and 54. FINKELSTEIN 1996, 183. 50 ARIE 2013, 755; USSISHKIN 2018, 331–32. The 14C dates from Stratum VIA were discussed in several publications. See summary in FINKELSTEIN 2013b, 33–34; MAZAR 2020, 84–85. 51 USSISHKIN apud FINKELSTEIN/USSISHKIN 2000, 600. Yet his arguments related to the seal of Jeroboam cannot be accepted. 52 MAZAR 2016, 107–12; IDEM 2020, 126–27. 49

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Israel, Philistia, and Judah.53 While this, indeed, might have been the case, I have a feeling that Hazael has become in recent years the “default” culprit on whom to pin destructions. I doubt if disturbances – particularly in southern Judah and the northern Negev – can be related to Hazael, just as I am skeptic about the attribution of building operations at Dan and Hazor to this king. The violent destructions of Tel Reḥov and Tell es-Safi/Gath, seem to be the safest to be attributed to his time. While many of the previous cases raised debates, when it comes to the Assyrian and Babylonian conquests in the years 732, 722, 701, 605/4, and 586 BCE we are on much safer ground. Destruction layers attributed to these events are well identified and documented in both textual sources and the archaeological record, as mentioned in the previous section concerning the four sites that stand at the focus of this article.

IX. Concluding Remarks Destruction events undoubtedly had an enormous impact on human societies and their collective memory. In the Hebrew Bible, collective memories pertaining to destructions are numerous, such as those relating to the destruction of Shiloh in the book of Jeremiah, Sennacherib’s destruction of Judah in the book of Michah, and the fall of Jerusalem commemorated in the book of Lamentations, as well as in prophecies. Written records from the ancient Near East, such as lamentations and other documents, recall such traumatic events. Archaeologists can reveal only the physical aspects of destructions. I have tried to provide a brief sketch of the wide range of phenomena related to destructions with examples mostly from four sites that I have excavated. Much more research relating to this subject should be conducted in the future.

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– (2009): Destructions: Megiddo as a Case Study, in: D. SCHLOEN (ed.), Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager, Winona Lake, IN, 113–26. – (2013a): Archaeological and Historical Conclusions, in: I. FINKELSTEIN/D.USSISHKIN/E.CLINE, (eds.), Megiddo V, The 2004–2008 Seasons, (Institute of Archaeology Monograph Series 31), Winona Lake, IN, 1329–40. – (2013b): The Forgotten Kingdom, Atlanta. FINKELSTEIN, I./E. ARIE/M.A.S. MARTIN/E. PIASETZKY (2017): New Evidence on the Late Bronze/ Iron I Transition at Megiddo: Implications for End of Egyptian Rule in Canaan and Appearance of Philistine Pottery, Egypt and the Levant 27, 261–80. FINKELSTEIN, I./D. USSISHKIN (2000): Archaeological and Historical Conclusions, in: I. FINKELSTEIN/D. USSISHKIN, D./B. HALPERN (eds.), Megiddo III, The 1992–1996 Seasons, (Institute of Archaeology Monograph Series 18), Tel Aviv, 576–605. GREENBERG, R. (2019): The Archaeology of the Bronze Age Levant: From Urban Origins to the Demise of City-States, 3700–1000 B.C.E., Cambridge. HARRISON, T. (2004): Megiddo 3: Final Report on the Stratum VI Excavations, (The Oriental Institute Publications 127), Chicago, IL. HERZOG, Z./L. SINGER-AVITZ (2016): Beer Sheba III, (Tel Aviv University Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology Monographs Series 33), Winona Lake, IN. KATZ, H./A. FAUST (2012): The Assyrian Destruction at Tel ͑Ton, Israel Exploration Journal 62, 22– 53. KEMPINSKI, A. (1989): Megiddo: A City State and Royal Centre in North Israel, Munich. KLEIMAN, A. (2016): The Damascene Subjugation of the Southern Levant as a Gradual Process (ca. 842–800 B.C.E), in: O. SERGI/M. OEMING /I.J. DE-HULSTER (eds.), In Search of Aram and Israel: Politics, Culture and Identity, Tübingen, 57–76. KREIMERMAN, I. (2016): Siege Warfare, Conflict and Destruction: How are They Related?, in: S. GANOR/I.KREIMERMAN/K.STREIT/M. MUMCUOGLU (eds.), From Shaʿar Hagolan to Shaaram: Essays in Honor of Prof. Yosef Garfinkel, Jerusalem, 229–45. – (2017a): Skeletons in Bronze and Iron Age Destruction Contexts in the Southern Levant: What Do They Mean?, West and East II, 13–30. – (2017b): A Typology for Destruction Layers: The Late Bronze Age Southern Levant as a Case Study, in: T. CUNNINGHAM/J. DRIESSEN (eds.), Crisis to Collapse: The Archaeology of Social Breakdown, (Aegis 11), Louvain-la-Neuve, 173–203. LIPSCHITZ, O./A.M. MAEIR (eds.) (2017): The Shephelah During the Iron Age, Recent Archaeological Studies, Winona Lake, IN. MARCO, S./A. AGNON/I. FINKELESTEIN/D. USSISHKIN (2006): Megiddo Earthquakes, in: I. FINKELSTEIN/ D. USSISHKIN/B. HALPERN (eds.), Megiddo IV, The 1998–2002 Seasons, (Institute of Archaeology Monograph Series 24), Tel Aviv, 568–75. MAEIR, A.M. (2012): Chapter 1: The Tell es-Safi/Gath Archaeological Project 1996–2010: Introduction, Overview and Synopsis of Results, in: A.M. MAEIR (ed.), Tell es-Safi/Gath I: Report on the 1996–2005 Seasons, (Ägypten und Altes Testament 69), Wiesbaden, 1–88. – (2016): The Aramean Involvement in the Southern Levant: Case Studies for Identifying the Archaeological Evidence, in: O. SERGI/M. OEMING/I. J. DE-HULSTER (eds.), In Search of Aram and Israel: Politics, Culture and Identity, Tübingen, 79–88. – (2017): Philistine Gath After 20 Years: Regional Perspectives on the Iron Age at Tell eṣṢafi/Gath, in: O. LIPSCHITZ/A.M. MAEIR (eds.), The Shephelah During the Iron Age, Recent Archaeological Studies, Winona Lake, IN, 133–54. MAISLER (MAZAR), B. (1951): The Stratification of Tell Abu Hawam on the Bay of Acre, BASOR 124, 21–25. MAZAR, A. (1980): Excavations at Tell Qasile, Part One, The Philistine Sanctuary: Architecture and Cult Objects, (Qedem Monographs Series 12), Jerusalem.

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– (1997): Timnah (Tel Batash) I: Stratigraphy and Architecture, (Qedem Monographs Series 37), Jerusalem. – (2006a): Excavations at Tel Beth-Shean 1989–1996, Vol. I: From the Late Bronze Age IIB to the Medieval Period, Jerusalem. – (2006b): Concluding Remarks, in: N. PANITZ-COHEN/A. MAZAR (eds.), Timnah (Tel Batash) III: The Finds from the Second Millennium B.C.E., (Qedem Monographs Series 45), Jerusalem, 323– 30. – (2009): Introduction and Overview, in: N. PANITZ-COHEN/A. MAZAR (eds.), Excavations at Tel Beth-Shean 1989–1996, Vol. III: The 13th–11th Century B.C.E. Strata in Areas N and S, Jerusalem, 1–32. – (ed.) (2012): Excavations at Tel Beth-Shean 1989–1996, Vol. IV: The 4th and 3rd Millennia B.C.E., Jerusalem. – (2016): Culture, Identity and Politics Relating to Tel Reḥov in the 10th–9th Centuries B.C.E., in: O. SERGI/M. OEMING/I.J. DE-HULSTER (eds.), In Search for Aram and Israel: Politics, Culture and Identity, Tübingen, 89–120. – (2020): Tel Reḥov Excavations: Overview and Synthesis, in: A. MAZAR/N. PANITZ-COHEN (eds.), Excavations at Tel Reḥov, 1997–2012, Vol. I, (Qedem Monographs Series 59), Jerusalem, 69–140. MAZAR. A./R.A. MULLINS (eds.) (2007): Excavations at Tel Beth-Shean 1989–1996, Vol. II: The Middle and Late Bronze Age Strata, Jerusalem. MAZAR, A./N. PANITZ-COHEN (2001): Timnah (Tel Batash) II: The Finds from the First Millennium B.C.E., (Qedem Monographs Series 42), Jerusalem. – (2019): Tel Batash in the Late Bronze Age – A Retrospect, in: A.MAEIR/I. SHAI/C. MCKINNY (eds.), The Canaanite Was Then in the Land (Gen. 12: 6): Selected Studies on the Late Bronze and Early Iron Ages of Southern Canaan, Berlin, 86–121. – (2020): Excavations at Tel Reḥov, 1997–2012, Vols. I–V, (Qedem Monographs Series 59–63), Jerusalem. NAʾAMAN, N. (1998): Shishak’s Campaign to Palestine as Reflected by the Epigraphic, Biblical, and Archaeological Evidence, Zion 63, 247–76 [Hebrew]. NAMDAR, D./A. ZUKERMAN/A.M. MAEIR/J.C. KATZ/D. CABANES/C. TRUEMAN/R. SHAHACKGROSS,/S. WEINER (2011): The 9th Century BCE Destruction Layer at Tell es-Safi/Gath, Israel: Integrating Macro- and Microarchaeology, Journal of Archaeological Science 38 (12), 3471–82. PANITZ-COHEN, N./A. MAZAR (eds.) (2009): Excavations at Tel Beth-Shean 1989–1996, Vol. III: The 13th–11th Century B.C.E. Strata in Areas N and S, Jerusalem. PARKER, B./C. FOSTER (eds.) (2012): Household Archaeology: New Perspectives from the Near East and Beyond, Winona Lake, IN. USSISHKIN, D. (1982): The Conquest of Lachish by Sennacherib, Tel Aviv. – (2014): Biblical Lachish: A Tale of Construction, Destruction, Excavation and Restoration, Jerusalem. – (2018): Megiddo-Armageddon: The Story of the Canaanite and Israelite City, Jerusalem. YADIN, Y. (1972): Hazor: The Head of All these Kingdoms (Joshua 11:10), London. WEINSTEIN, J.M. (1980): The Egyptian Empire in Palestine: A Reassessment, BASOR 238, 1–28. YASUR-LANDAU, A./J.R. EBELING/ L.B. MAZOW (eds.) (2011): Household Archaeology in Ancient Israel and Beyond, Leiden. ZUCKERMAN, S. (2007): Anatomy of a Destruction: “Crisis Architecture,” Termination Rituals and the Fall of Canaanite Hazor, Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 21, 3–32.

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Figure 1: Tel Batash, destruction layer in Area B, Stratum VII, mid-14th century BCE. © A. Mazar.

Figure 2a: Tell Qasile, destruction of a storeroom in House 225, Stratum X, ca. 1000 BCE. © A. Mazar.

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Figure 2b: Tell Qasile, destruction of a storeroom in House 225, Stratum X, ca. 1000 BCE. © A. Mazar.

Figure 3: Tel Reḥov, section in destruction layer of Stratum V above the Apiary, sealed by floor surface and occupation debris of Stratum IV. © A. Mazar.

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Figure 4: Tel Reḥov, destruction layer of Stratum IV and vessels in situ. © A. Mazar.

Figure 5: Tel Reḥov, destruction layer of Stratum IV, Building CP. © A. Mazar.

Living on the Ruins The Case of Stratum XII/XI at Hazor Assaf Kleiman Destructions are the “bread and butter” of archaeological research. Such events create sealed contexts with material culture in situ, which allow a high-precision study of the ancient remains. In the last decades, many publications have been dedicated to the study of destructions: their identification, formation, and, of course, historical background.1 However, in contrast to the great interest shown in the traumatic events themselves and their historical causes, fewer studies have focused on the resettlement process of the ruined sites, a process that frequently involved radical changes in townplanning, material culture, and even cult practices.2 Evidently, new or returning inhabitants of such sites had to make many practical and ideological decisions concerning the ruins of the old city, including which remains should be eradicated and erased from history, and which should be preserved and commemorated. In this contribution, I re-examine the archaeological remains of the Iron I village unearthed at Hazor (Stratum XII/XI) in order to demonstrate the diverse approaches of the local population to the ruins of the Late Bronze Age city. Its large exposure, clear stratigraphic position between two well-known cultural horizons, and the abundance of published evidence, set it as an ideal case-study for shedding new light on this issue.3

I. The Destruction of “Canaanite” Hazor The destruction of Stratum XIII, which represents the last Late Bronze Age settlement at Hazor, was among the most significant events that occurred at the end of the Bronze Age in the southern Levant,4 and the obvious prelude for the settlement of Stratum XII/XI of the Iron I. Over the years, two main issues related to this event have been 1 For recent publications relating to the destruction process of Late Bronze and Iron Ages settlements across the Levant, see FINKELSTEIN 2009; FORGET/SHAHACK-GROSS 2016; KREIMERMAN/SHAHACK-GROSS 2019; MILLEK 2020. 2 See, e.g., the transformation of Megiddo between the Iron I and Iron IIA, ARIE 2011. 3 For the final publications of the Late Bronze and Iron Age remains unearthed during the renewed excavations at Hazor, see BEN-TOR/BEN-AMI/SANDHAUS 2012; BEN-TOR et al. 2017. Note that while the old reports divided the Iron I remains into two separated strata, scholars now agree that there is actually no justification for such a stratigraphic division. See FINKELSTEIN 2000, 233–35; BEN-AMI 2001, 167; BEN-TOR/BEN-AMI/SANDHAUS 2012, 1. 4 MAZAR 2014, 349–50.

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debated: the date of the destruction and its historical background. Most of the scholars date the destruction of the city to the thirteenth century BCE. Ben-Tor, for instance, emphasized the exposure of a fragment of an Egyptian offering table with the name of a high-ranking officer of Ramesses II, which was dated to ca. 1240–1230 BCE, in the ruins.5 Assuming that the destruction occurred a short while after the arrival of this artifact to Hazor, he dated the event to the second half of the thirteenth century BCE. Beck and Kochavi, in contrast, suggested an earlier date in that century, relying on the assumption that the ceramic assemblages that originated from the destruction of Hazor are earlier than those found in the destruction of Tel Aphek. The latter event was dated to ca. 1230 BCE based on the exposure of a letter sent from Ugarit at the site.6 However, the main problem with both suggestions is that they assume that datable objects discovered in the destruction layers provide the latest possible date for the events, whereas they supply, in fact, only a terminus post quem. In other words, the destruction of “Canaanite Hazor” and Tel Aphek could have happened many years after the arrival of such objects to these sites, closer to the end of the thirteenth century or even to the early days of the twelfth century BCE.7 More enigmatic is the historical background of the destruction of Hazor. Based on the biblical evidence (Jos 11:10–13), Yadin argued that the Israelite tribes were responsible for the burning of the city.8 Other scholars proposed additional candidates, including the Egyptians, the Sea Peoples, rival city-states, or the local population itself.9 To date, none of these suggestions have gained consensus. The only details that are agreed upon are that Hazor was destroyed sometime in the thirteenth century BCE (or a bit later), that the agent of destruction was human, and that there were no substantial attempts at rebuilding the city after the event or other immediate significant activity over the ruins.10

5 BEN-TOR 2016, 116–17. Note, however, that in Zuckerman’s (2003, 259–95) view the reading and date of the Egyptian offering table is uncertain. 6 BECK/KOCHAVI 1986. Cf. ZUCKERMAN 2003, 259–95. 7 Bechar’s study of the pottery of Stratum XIII at Hazor may actually support a late thirteenth or early twelfth century BCE date for the destruction (BECHAR 2017, 242). In her work, she shows that the ceramic assemblages from this stratum should be equated with Strata VIIB and VIIA at Megiddo. As the latter strata were recently radiocarbon-dated between the late thirteenth and second half of the twelfth centuries BCE (FINKELSTEIN et al. 2017, 274–75), setting the destruction of Hazor to the early twelfth century BCE is quite probable. For another view on the destruction of the city, see SCHÄFER-LICHTENBERGER 2001 attributing the event to Ramesses II; see though NAʾAMAN 2011, 338. 8 YADIN 1972, 106–109. 9 For reviews of the historical background for the destruction of Hazor, see FINKELSTEIN 1988, 100–101, 295–314; IDEM 2005; BEN-TOR/RUBIATO 1999; BEN-TOR 2016, 118–26; SCHÄFERLICHTENBERGER 2001; ZUCKERMAN 2003; IDEM 2007; NAʾAMAN 2011; BEN-TOR 2016, 125–26; BENZ 2019; MILLEK 2020, 157–59 and earlier references therein. 10 For some possible post-destruction activity in the lower settlement, see FINKELSTEIN 2005.

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II. Stratum XII/XI: Overview and Reassessment II.A. Previous Studies Numerous scholars have tried to clarify the remains of Stratum XII/XI: from the origin and the ethnicity of its residents, to the range of activities conducted in it. Yadin, for example, identified the local inhabitants of this village with the Israelites who destroyed the Late Bronze Age city-state and then settled over the ruins. Built on the results of the renewed excavations, Ben-Tor and Ben-Ami rejected Yadin’s connection between the destruction and the resettlement of the site, but still argued that the population of the village did not originate from the local milieu.11 Finkelstein, in contrast, argued that the settlement in question was founded by the descendants of the Late Bronze Age population of the Hula Valley who survived the upheavals of the thirteenth century BCE.12 A different trajectory for the interpretation of the remains of Stratum XII/XI was taken by Zuckerman, who highlighted the distinct position of the two cult places associated with this stratum, their building materials and inventory. In her view, these features may represent “ruin cults” conducted in the vicinity of Building 7050 (a ceremonial palace or a temple) either by local groups who maintained Bronze Age religious practices, or by newcomers who were impressed by the ruins.13 The most important contribution of Zuckerman’s study, however, was the recognition that the ruins of the Late Bronze Age city did not vanish after the destruction, but rather, remained visible, and played an active and important role in the life of the inhabitants of the Iron I village.14 II.B. Chronology Despite long-term research on Hazor, it still remains unclear how long the site lay unsettled after the destruction. Yadin dated Strata XII and XI to the twelfth and eleventh centuries BCE, as he assumed that the site was settled immediately after the event by the same population who destroyed the city.15 Ben-Tor and Ben-Ami, in contrast, proposed that the site was abandoned for a lengthy period of time, until the eleventh century BCE (following the “conventional chronology”).16 A similar conclusion was also reached by Finkelstein, although he had some reservations regarding the relative date of this stratum.17

11

BEN-AMI 2001; BEN-TOR 2016, 118–31. See also GEVA 1984. Note, however, that Ben-Tor still sees the Israelites as a possible candidate for the destruction agent of the city. 12 FINKELSTEIN 1988, 98–101; IDEM 2000; IDEM 2005, 348. 13 ZUCKERMAN 2011. Cf. BEN-AMI 2001, 169. According to BECHAR 2018, following the destruction of the city-state, the ancestral cult at the site transformed into a cult dedicated to the ruins. 14 ZUCKERMAN 2011. For other studies relating to this subject, see PRENT 2007; GREENBERG 2016. 15 YADIN 1972. 16 BEN-AMI 2001, 165; BEN-TOR/BEN-AMI/SANDHAUS 2012, 1–2; BEN-TOR 2016, 126–31. 17 FINKELSTEIN 1988, 98–101; IDEM 2000.

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Several recent publications of stratified Iron I ceramic assemblages from northeastern Israel allow a reassessment of the date of Stratum XII/XI (e.g., Tel Dan, Megiddo, Tel Kinneret, and Tel Hadar).18 According to the published data, it is clear that the following vessel forms, which are characteristic to the ceramic horizon of the late Iron I (eleventh and early tenth centuries BCE), do not appear at all in the pottery repertoire of Stratum XII/XI: biconical cooking jugs, storage jars with an elongated body and carinated shoulder, “jars-jugs,” and Phoenician Bichrome Ware.19 Moreover, years of excavations failed to expose any sign for Aegean-style Bichrome Ware (i.e. “Philistine Bichrome Ware”) at the site.20 The lack of this ware is especially intriguing, since evidence for it was found at several nearby sites (e.g., Tel Dan, Tel Abel Beth Maacah, and Tel Kinneret).21 In fact, Hazor is probably the only site to the west of the Jordan Valley that has been extensively excavated and yielded no examples of this ware. In this light, it can be concluded that settlement and abandonment of Stratum XII/XI at Hazor occurred earlier than strata that are conventionally attributed to the ceramic horizon of the late Iron I, such as Stratum IVB at Tel Dan, Stratum VI–V at Tel Kinneret, and Stratum VIA at Megiddo (see summary in Table 1). Apparently, the village existed for only a short time, and was already abandoned at the very beginning of the Iron I, probably around the late twelfth century BCE. All of this means that less than a century separated the destruction and the resettlement of the site, and that most of the ruins of Late Bronze Age city-state must have visible during this period.22 Table 1: The stratigraphic sequence of Hazor in Late Bronze IIB and Iron I Stratum XIII Gap XII/XI Gap

Ceramic Phase Late Bronze IIB Late Bronze III Early Iron I Late Iron I

Absolute Dates 13th century BCE 12th century BCE Late 12th century BCE 11th century and first half of 10th century BCE

18 E.g., ILAN 1999 (Tel Dan); TYNJÄ 2017 (Tel Kinneret); KLEIMAN 2019 (Tel Hadar). See also the publication of the Iron I levels from Area H at Megiddo in ARIE 2013. 19 For ceramic comparanda, see ILAN 1999, Types CJ1 and CJ2; ARIE 2013, 500, Type CJ1; TYNJÄ 2017, 197–98, Type CP04; KLEIMAN 2019, 110–11, Type CJ1 (biconical cooking jugs); ARIE 2013, 519–20, Type SJ3; TYNJÄ 2017, 219–21, Type SJ02A; KLEIMAN 2019, 123, Type SJ3 (storage jars with an elongated body and carinated shoulder); ARIE 2013, 520, Type SJ4; KLEIMAN 2019, 122–21, Type SJ2 (“jar-jugs”); ILAN 1999, part of Type GJ, e.g., pls. 8, 5, 7; 11, 2; 13, 2; 17, 8; ARIE 2013, 503–504, Type J5; TYNJÄ 2017, 236–38, part of Type JG04, e.g., Object No. 9079/1; KLEIMAN 2019, 115–16, Type JG5 (Phoenician Bichrome Ware). 20 Contra DOTHAN 1982, 90. 21 ILAN 1999, 93–95; pls. 7, 3; 48, 3; 59, 1; 7–8; PANITZ-COHEN/MULLINS 2016, 159; TYNJÄ 2017, 153–54; 184; 232–33; 263. 22 An early date for Stratum XII/XI is possibly supported by a single short-lived radiocarbon sample (1320–1120 BCE [2σ], see SHARON et al. 2007, Tables 7–8), which originated from a Stratum XII/XI pit (Locus 8254). While the result allows the dating of this stratum to the twelfth century BCE, the association of the sample with Stratum XIII cannot be excluded.

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II.C. Architecture Following the destruction of the Late Bronze Age city, radical changes occurred in its town-planning. The lower settlement of Hazor, which was continuously inhabited throughout the Middle and Late Bronze Ages, was abandoned and never resettled,23 and on the upper mound, the scanty remains of a village were uncovered (Table 2).24 Table 2: Summary of architectural remains in Strata XIII and XII/XI at Hazor Stratum XIII XII/XI

Area A Building 7050 and nearby structures Structure remains, pits, small cult place

Area B

Area AB

Area L

Citadel/a city wall (?)

Wall segments

Wall segments

Structure remains, pits, sanctuary (?)

Wall segments, pits

Wall segments

Iron I remains were found at five locations on the upper mound (Areas A, B, AB, L, and M). In Area A, dozens of pits, ovens, and some architecture were discovered.25 Of note are three structures: Building 3857, an unnamed structure in Squares U–B/9–12, and an open-air cult place, which was built in front of the ruins of Building 7050 (the ceremonial palace/temple).26 The meager remains found in this area makes their interpretation somewhat difficult. However, the general orientation of the exposed walls is similar to the architecture of the Late Bronze Age city; this is another indication for the relatively short period of time elapsed between the destruction of the city and its resettlement. In Area B, located in the western sector of the site, the excavations uncovered more scanty structures and pits (Figure 1). Some of these were cut by the casemate wall of Strata X–IX (dated to the Iron IIA). The most important feature in this area was a structure with cult-related and scavenged objects (Building 3283 and see more below).27 Here, too, some of the wall segments followed the Late Bronze Age architecture.28 Soundings carried out below the western casemate wall near the water system (Area L) resulted in two layers of superimposed floors, several wall segments, and installations that were dated to the Iron I.29 While the limited exposure of Stratum XII/XI in this area constrains its characterization, it clearly shows the settlement spread over most of the western part of the upper mound. Excavations in other parts of the city (e.g., Area AB) revealed additional remains sandwiched between the remains of Strata

23 Possible short-term post-destruction activity may be identified only in Areas H, K, and P, FINKELSTEIN 2005. For other hints, see also YADIN 1972, 200; IDEM et al. 1989, 297. 24 YADIN 1972, 131–32; BEN-AMI 2001, 2013; BEN-AMI/BEN-TOR 2012; BEN-TOR 2016, 126–31. 25 YADIN et al. 1961, Plan VII; BEN-AMI/BEN-TOR 2012, Plan 1.1. 26 BEN-AMI 2006, 123–25; BEN-AMI/BEN-TOR 2012, 8–13; BECHAR 2018, 35. 27 BEN-TOR 1989, 80–82; FINKELSTEIN 2000, 232–233; BEN-AMI 2006, 125–27. 28 YADIN et al. 1989, 75. 29 GARFINKEL 1997, 218–23; FINKELSTEIN 2000, 233.

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X and XIII, but their contribution to the discussion is minimal due to their limited exposure.30

III. Ruins, Cult Places, and Pits Following the renewed excavations of Hazor, it was observed that the ruins of Building 7050 remained visible and untouched for several decades after the destruction (dubbed “mound of ruins” by the excavators).31 Scholars have argued that this situation should be explained as the result of a prohibition, superstition, or even admiration of the ruins by the residents of the site throughout the Iron Age.32 Additional support for these suggestions comes from the exposure of a small basalt maṣṣebah that was erected in the vicinity of the destroyed monumental structure and seems to signify a conscious appropriation of the ruins by the residents of the site (“ruin cults”). While the “mound of ruins” remained mostly intact, it would be an error to ignore the fact that most of the area of the site was actually damaged by more than one hundred pits (the so-called “settlement pits”), which constituted one of the most characteristic features of Stratum XII/XI.33 Ben-Ami, who assembled and discussed the archaeological data concerning these pits, reached the following conclusions: 1) The shape of the pits was usually round or oval (circa 1 m in diameter); 2) Some of the pits were bell-shaped (i.e. their bottom was wider than their upper part) and an average depth of circa 1 m; 3) None of the pits were stone-lined; 4) Some of the pits were filled with an ashy dark sediment and/or field stones; 5) Only sherds were discovered within them.34 Most of the scholars usually interpret these pits against the background of the subsistence economy of the local inhabitants.35 According to this view, stone-lined pits were used for bulk storage while the simple ones, like those found at Hazor, were used for storage of goods in ceramic containers (e.g., storage jars or pithoi).36 Ilan even hypothesizes that the private gathering of agricultural products may reflect the regional

30

BEN-TOR 1989, 130–31; FINKELSTEIN 2000, 233; BEN-TOR/ZUCKERMAN/BECHAR 2016. In the eastern part of the tell (Area G), the earliest Iron Age finds are from Stratum VIII, BEN-TOR 1989, 173. 31 BEN-TOR/BEN-AMI/SANDHAUS 2012, 2; SANDHAUS 2013, 110–11. 32 ZUCKERMAN 2011. See also NAʾAMAN 2016, 140, n. 18. Similar phenomena were observed also in other sites in the southern Levant. For instance, following the destruction of Stratum VIA at Megiddo, its ruins remained visible for many years. In some places, piles of burnt debris from the destruction of the Iron I city were observed next to Iron IIB structures, which were built 150–200 years after the event, KLEIMAN/DUNSETH forthcoming. Another example comes from Tel Aphek, where the inhabitants of the Iron I village refrained from building over the ruins of the Egyptian estate, GADOT 2009, 88. 33 YADIN et al. 1989, Plan XVIII; BEN-AMI/BEN-TOR 2012, Plan 1.1. 34 BEN-AMI 2001, 153–56; BEN-AMI/BEN-TOR 2012, 18–20; BEN-AMI 2013, 101. Some of the pits reached a depth of ca. 2 m, e.g., Pits Nos. 3323 and 3349 in BEN-TOR et al. 1989, 79. 35 For various summaries of the different proposals regarding the function of the “Settlement Pits,” see, e.g., FINKELSTEIN 1988, 264–269; ILAN 1999, 114; 2008; WRATHALL 2018, 42–50. 36 E.g., Pits Nos. 4015 and 4026 in Iron IIA Aphek, GADOT 2009, 100, Table 6.1.

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insecurity and complicated relations with a central authority at that time. 37 Other scholars, in particular those who studied the pits uncovered at Hazor, opposed the interpretation of the pits as evidence for the local subsistence economy and suggested that they were used exclusively for disposal of refuse, or even for the intentional deposition of residues of feasting activities.38 However, none of these proposals really clarifies the random distribution of the pits at Hazor, their frequency, the lack of complete vessels, or organic material within them, or the exceptional depth of some of the pits. While Zuckerman’s interpretation of these pits as the result of feasting activity is intriguing,39 it still does not explain the exceptional quantity of pits at the site, or the lack of any distinctive finds within them. Based on the evident awareness of the locals to the ruins of the Late Bronze Age city-state, as indicated by the preservation of the “mound of ruins” and the erection of a maṣṣebah in its vicinity, it seems possible to suggest that the pits found at Hazor are, in fact, evidence for ancient looting of the Late Bronze Age remains by the locals.40 Such an interpretation agrees with all of Ben-Ami’s observations (irregular patterns, depth, lack of distinctive finds, etc.) and explains the distinctive characteristics of the pits at the site. It must be emphasized, however, that this proposal corresponds to the distinct characteristics of the evidence at Hazor, and not necessarily to the pits exposed at other sites in the southern Levant (e.g., ʿIzbet Sartah), where stone-lined pits were abundant.41 Support for the suggested scenario comes from what seems to be a collection of scavenged artifacts found in Building 3283 in Area B, which included both utilitarian (e.g., metal scarps) and sacred (e.g., bronze figurine) items (Figure 2). Aside from the figurine and the metal scraps, which were discussed at length in the past,42 it is also quite probable that one of the chalices found in this context was looted from the ruins, due to its similarity to a chalice found in the “southern temple” of Strata XVII– XV.43 It is not easy to sketch the background for the looting of the ruins, but it seems reasonable to conjecture that it was motivated by economic and/or ideological factors.44 37

ILAN 1999, 146–47; IDEM 2008, 95–97; KLEIMAN forthcoming. BEN-AMI 2001; BEN-AMI/BEN-TOR 2012, 18–20; ZUCKERMAN 2011, 390. 39 ZUCKERMAN 2011, 390. 40 Despite its important role in site-formation processes (SCHIFFER 1987, 106–114; CAMERON 1993, 5), in most cases, ancient looting is treated as an activity that undermines a sufficient understanding of “more important” remains. This is demonstrated, for instance, by the extensive use of terms like “disturbance” for the description of activity which damaged older remains, GREENBERG 2016, 338. Indeed, not much work has been devoted for the study of this phenomenon in antiquity, but recent remote sensing studies of illegally excavated archaeological sites revealed the variety of sizes and depths of looting holes (TAPETE/CIGNA 2013, 3), as well as their extensive distribution across the site. For satellite images of looted Bronze and Iron Ages sites in the Levant, see CASANA/PANAHIPOUR 2014. 41 FINKELSTEIN 1988, 264–65. 42 For the metal items from the Area B cache, see NEGBI 1989, 359–62 with earlier references. 43 Compare YADIN et al. 1961, pl. CCIV and BECHAR 2017, Fig. 7.6, 1. 44 See, e.g., Hermann’s proposal that some of the orthostates integrated into the southern gate of Zincirli Höyük (Samʿal) were taken from a nearby older site (Pancarlı Höyük) as a symbolic act, HERMANN 2017. 38

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Elsewhere, it has been suggested that the resettlement of Hazor in the Iron I was no more than a fleeting episode in the history of the Hula Valley, and that its population were locals who had failed to find their place within the new political and social order of the Iron I, and therefore wished to revive the Hazor of the Late Bronze Age.45 The accumulating evidence for the interest of locals in the ruins of the Late Bronze Age city, as suggested by the cult places built in Areas A and B,46 and the intensive looting activity represented by more than one hundred pits dug across the hill, strengthen this notion.

IV. Conclusion Settling in a destroyed city was a challenging process that forced the new inhabitants (returnees, newcomers, or a combination of both) into a close interaction with the remnants of their predecessors. In the case of Hazor, the resettlement process of the site commenced less than a century after the destruction of the Late Bronze Age citystate and involved two seemingly contrasting trends. On the one hand, the locals evidently refrained from clearing or tearing down the remnants of the monumental structure on the upper mound, avoided building above it and even constructed a cult place in its vicinity. On the other hand, it is also clear that the excavation of numerous pits across the upper mound considerably damaged the old remains; this was interpreted here as evidence for the looting of the remains of “Canaanite” Hazor. One possible explanation for these conflicting trends is to assume that the locals made a conscious differentiation between ruins that should be commemorated, and those that could be used as valuable economic and symbolic resources, a phenomenon that was observed elsewhere in the Eastern Mediterranean.47

Bibliography ARIE, E. (2011): In the Land of the Valley: Settlement, Social and Cultural Processes in the Jezreel Valley from the End of the Late Bronze Age to the Formation of the Monarchy, (PhD diss., Tel Aviv University). – (2013): The Late Bronze III and Iron I Pottery: Levels K-6, M-6, M-5, M-4 and H-9, in: I. FINKELSTEIN/D. USSISHKIN/E.H. CLINE (eds.), Megiddo V: The 2004–2008 Seasons, (SMNIA 31), Tel Aviv, 475–667. BECHAR, S. (2017): The Middle and Late Bronze Age Pottery, in: A. BEN-TOR et al. (eds.), Hazor VII: The 1990–2012 Excavations: The Bronze Age, Jerusalem, 199–467. 45

For details, see KLEIMAN forthcoming. Already BEN-AMI 2006; ZUCKERMAN 2011; BEN-TOR/BEN-AMI/SANDHAUS 2012, 2. 47 Prent (2007, 86), for instance, described the situation in Iron Age Crete as follows: 46

Early Iron Age Cretans do not appear to have suffered from any vague, indiscriminate feelings of awe or respect towards ancient monuments. Outside the immediate areas of the sanctuaries, the reuse of Bronze Age structures for habitation and other profane purposes, and their destruction by the dismantling of walls and quarrying of ashlar blocks, is well attested.

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– (2018): Take a Stone and Set It Up as a Maṣṣēbā: The Tradition of Standing Stones at Hazor, ZDPV 134, 28–45. BEN-AMI, D. (2001): The Iron Age I at Tel Hazor in Light of the Renewed Excavations, IEJ 51, 148– 70. – (2006): Early Iron Age Cult Places: New Evidence from Tel Hazor, TA 33, 121–33. – (2013): Hazor at the Beginning of the Iron Age, NEA 76, 101–104. BEN-AMI, D./A. BEN-TOR (2012): The Iron Age I (Stratum “XII/XI”): Stratigraphy and Pottery, in: A. BEN-TOR/D. BEN-AMI/D. SANDHAUS (eds.), Hazor VI: The 1990–2009 Excavations: The Iron Age, Jerusalem, 7–51. BEN-TOR, A. (2016): Hazor: Canaanite Metropolis, Israelite City, Jerusalem. BEN-TOR, A./M.–T. RUBIATO (1999): Did the Israelites Destroy the Canaanite City? BAR 25, 22–29. BEN-TOR, A./S. ZUCKERMAN (2007): Hazor at the End of the Late Bronze Age: Back to Basics, BASOR 350, 1–6. BEN-TOR, A./S. ZUCKERMAN/S. BECHAR (2015): Tel Hazor – 2014, Hadashot Arkheologiyot 127, (online publication). BEN-TOR, A./D. BEN-AMI/D. SANDHAUS (2012): Hazor VI: The 1990–2009 Excavations: The Iron Age, Jerusalem. BEN-TOR, A. et al. (2017): Hazor VII: The 1990–2012 Excavations: The Late Bronze Age, Jerusalem. BENZ, B.C. (2019): The Destruction of Hazor: Israelite History and the Construction of History in Israel, JSOT 44, 262–78. BECK, P./M. KOCHAVI (1986): A Dated Assemblage of the Late 13th Century B.C.E. from the Egyptian Residency at Aphek, TA 12, 29–42. CAMERON, C.M. (1993): Abandonment and Archaeological Interpretation, in: C.M. CAMERON/ S.A. TOMKA (eds.), Abandonment of Settlements and Regions: Ethnoarchaeological and Archaeological Approaches, Cambridge, 3–7. CASANA, J./M. PANAHIPOUR (2014): Satellite-Based Monitoring of Looting and Damage to Archaeological Sites in Syria, Journal of Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology and Heritage Studies 2, 128–51. DOTHAN, T. (1982): The Philistines and Their Material Culture, Jerusalem. FINKELSTEIN, I. (1988): The Archaeology of the Israelite Settlement, Jerusalem. – (2000): Hazor XII–XI with an Addendum on Ben-Tor’s Dating of Hazor X–VII, TA 27, 231–47. – (2005): Hazor at the End of the Late Bronze Age, UF 37, 341–49. – (2009): Destructions: Megiddo as a Case Study, in: J.D. SCHLOEN (ed.), Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager, Winona Lake, IN, 113–26. FINKELSTEIN, I. et al. (2017): New Evidence on the Late Bronze-Iron I Transition at Megiddo: Implications for the End of the Egyptian Rule and the Appearance of Philistine Pottery, Egypt and the Levant 27, 261–80. FORGET, M.C.L./R. SHAHACK-GROSS (2016): How Long Does It Take to Burn Down an Ancient Near Eastern City?: The Study of Experimentally Heated Mud-Bricks, Antiquity 90, 1213–25. GADOT, Y. (2009): Late Bronze Age (Strata X14–X12), in: Y. GADOT/E. YADIN (eds.), AphekAntipatris II: The Remains on the Acropolis: The Moshe Kochavi and Pirhiya Beck Excavations, (SMNIA 27), Tel Aviv, 41–71. GADOT, Y./A. YASUR-LANDAU (2006): Beyond Finds: Reconstructing Life in the Courtyard Building of Level K-4, in: I. FINKELSTEIN/D. USSISHKIN/B. HALPERN (eds.), Megiddo IV: The 1998–2002 Seasons, (SMNIA 24), Tel Aviv, 583–600. GARFINKEL, Y. (1997): Area L, in: A. BEN-TOR/R. BONFIL (eds.), Hazor V: An Account of the Fifth Season of Excavations, 1968, Jerusalem, 177–294. GEVA, S. (1984): The Settlement Pattern of Hazor Stratum XII, ErIsr 17, 158–61. GREENBERG, R. (2016): The Afterlife of Tells, in: I. THUESEN (ed.), Proceedings of the 2nd International Congress on the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East, 22–26 May 2000, Copenhagen, Vol. 1, Bologna, 337–43.

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HERMANN, V.R. (2017): Appropriation and Emulation in the Earliest Sculptures from Zinçirli (Iron Age Samʾal), AJA 121, 237–74. ILAN, D. (1999): Northeastern Israel in the Iron Age I: Cultural, Socioeconomic and Political Perspectives, (PhD diss., Tel Aviv University). – (2008): The Socioeconomic Implications of Grain Storage in Early Iron Age Canaan: The Case of Tel Dan, in: A. FANTALKIN/A. YASUR-LANDAU (eds.), Bene Israel: Studies in the Archaeology of Israel and the Levant During the Bronze and Iron Ages in Honour of Israel Finkelstein, (CHANE 31), Leiden/Boston, 87–104. KLEIMAN, A. (2019): The Archaeology of Borderlands Between Israel and Aram in the Iron I–IIA (ca. 1150–750 BCE), (PhD diss., Tel Aviv University). – (forthcoming): Beyond Hazor: Urban Durability, Political Instability and Collective Memory in the Northern Jordan Valley at the Turn of the Second Millennium BCE, in: I. KOCH/O. LIPSCHITS/O. SERGI (eds.), From Nomadism to Monarchy? The Archaeology of the Settlement Period – 30 Years Later, Winona Lake, IN. KLEIMAN, A./Z.C. DUNSETH (forthcoming): Area W: Sounding in the Northeastern Sector of the Mound, in: I. FINKELSTEIN/M.A.S. MARTIN (eds.), Megiddo VI: The 2010–2014 Seasons, (SMNIA), Tel Aviv. KREIMERMAN, I./R. SHAHACK-GROSS (2019): Understanding Conflagration of One-Story Mud-brick Structures: An Experimental Approach, Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences 11, 2911– 28. MAZAR, A. (2014): Archaeology and the Bible: Reflections on Historical Memory in the Deuteronomistic History, in: C.M. MAIER (ed.), Congress Volume Munich 2013, Leiden/Boston, 347–369. MILLEK, J.M. (2020): Exchange, Destruction, and a Transitioning Society, (Ressourcenkulturen 9). Tübingen. NAʾAMAN, N. (2011): Hazor in the Fourteenth–Thirteenth Centuries BCE in the Light of Historical and Archaeological Research, ErIsr 30, 333–41 [Hebrew]. – (2016): Memories of Canaan in the Old Testament, UF 47, 129–46. NEGBI, O. (1989): The Metal Figurines, in: A. BEN-TOR (ed.), Hazor III–IV, Text: An Account of the Third and Fourth Seasons of Excavations, 1957–1958, Jerusalem, 348–62. PANITZ-COHEN, N./R.A. MULLINS (2016): Aram-Maacah? Aramaeans and Israelites on the Border: Excavations at Tell Abil al-Qameḥ (Abel Beth Maacah) in Northern Israel, in: O. SERGI/M. OEMING/I. DE HULSTER (eds.), In Search of Aram and Israel: Politics, Culture and Identity, (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 20), Tübingen, 139–67. PRENT, M. (2003): Glories of the Past in the Past: Ritual Activities at Palatial Ruins in Early Iron Age Crete, in: R.M. VAN DYKE/S.E. ALCOCK (eds.), Archaeologies of Memory, Malden, 81–103. SANDHAUS, D. (2013): Hazor in the Ninth and Eighth Centuries B.C.E., NEA 76, 110–17. SCHIFFER, M.B. (1987): Formation Processes of the Archaeological Record, Albuquerque. SCHÄFER-LICHTENBERGER, C. (2001): Hazor – A City State Between the Major Powers, SJOT 15, 104–22. SHARON, I. et al. (2007): Report on the First Stage of the Iron Age Dating Project in Israel: Supporting a Low Chronology, Radiocarbon 49, 1–46. TAPETE, D./F. CIGNA (2019): Detection of Archaeological Looting from Space: Methods, Achievements and Challenges, Remote Sensing 11, 1–43. TYNJÄ, T. (2017): From the Field to the Publication: The Retrieval and Presentation of Pottery – A Case Study from Early Iron Age Tel Kinrot, Israel, (PhD diss., University of Helsinki). WRATHALL, A. (2018): ‘A Pit’s Perspective’: An Early Iron Age IIB Pottery Assemblage from Tel Azekah: Typology, Chronology, and Context, (MA thesis, Tel Aviv University). YADIN, Y. (1972): Hazor: The Head of All Those Kingdoms, London. YADIN, Y. et al. (1961): Hazor III–IV: An Account of the Third and Fourth Seasons of Excavations, 1957–1958 (Plates), Jerusalem.

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(1989): Hazor III–IV: An Account of the Third and Fourth Seasons of Excavation, 1957–1958 (Text), Jerusalem 1989. ZUCKERMAN, S. (2003): The Kingdom of Hazor in the Late Bronze Age: Chronological and Regional Aspects of the Material Culture of Hazor and Its Settlement, (PhD diss., the Hebrew University of Jerusalem). – (2007): Anatomy of a Destruction: Crisis Architecture, Termination Rituals and the Fall of Canaanite Hazor, Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 20, 3–32. – (2011): Ruin Cults at Iron Age I Hazor, in: I. FINKELSTEIN/N. NAʾAMAN (eds.), The Fire Signals of Lachish Studies in the Archaeology and History of Israel in the Late Bronze Age, Iron Age and Persian Period in Honor of David Ussishkin, Winona Lake, IN, 387–94.

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Figure 1: An Iron I pit in Area B at Hazor. Adapted from YADIN et al. 1961, pl. XXVI, 1.

Figure 2: A selection of the scavenged artifacts found in Building 3283 in Area B at Hazor. Adapted from YADIN et al. 1961, pls. CCIV, 1, 3; CCV, 1–2.

Sennacherib, Nebuchadnezzar II, and the Residents of Lachish An Examination of Decision-Making from Conquest to Destruction Igor Kreimerman* Destruction layers play a prominent role in historical reconstructions, as it is assumed that they are the results of major events such as military campaigns, natural disasters, or social unrest. Consequently, scholars often attempt to correlate destruction layers, especially clusters of such layers, with known or surmised historical events.1 Debates over the cause of specific or clustered destructions have developed over the years, particularly regarding periods for which we have fragmentary historical sources. Scholars have primarily attributed destruction layers to military campaigns. The geographical distribution of such layers has been used to establish the extent of operations, their outcome (whether sites were abandoned, reconstructed, or showed significant changes in material culture), and their political implications. Furthermore, findings have been used to establish chronological horizons. However, in-depth studies of warfare-induced destruction layers are rare and are usually conducted from a strictly military perspective2 or with respect to formation processes.3 This political and military emphasis has caused scholars to consider the period between the aggressor’s arrival at the city gates and the city’s destruction as a simple and inevitable process; this process began with military confrontation and ended in destruction as the attacker emerged victorious. The social dynamics within the city, established by written sources,4 were overlooked. Thus, it was assumed that all military destruction layers should share similar characteristics. Studies that approached destruction methodologically highlighted the presence of long-range weapons and skeletons with signs of trauma as evidence of warfare, and their absence as indication that * I would like to thank Aren M. Maeir, Angelika Berlejung, and Omer Sergi for organizing the RIAB conference in Leipzig and for inviting me to participate. The study was supported by the Mandel School for Advanced Studies in the Humanities at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and partially by the Minerva Stiftung. Note that this essay follows the abbreviations of the Society of Biblical Literature Handbook of Style 2nd edition (Atlana, GA, 2014). 1 ALBRIGHT 1935; BLAKELY/HARDIN 2002; CLINE 2014; DEVER 1992; IDEM 2007; FANTALKIN/FINKELSTEIN 2006; FIACCAVENTO 2014; MAEIR 2004; MASSAFRA 2014; B. MAZAR 1957; A. MAZAR 2014; NUR/CLINE 2000; SCHAEFFER 1948; USSISHKIN 1977; WEINSTEIN 1981. 2 ARAV 2014; GOTTLIEB 2016; USSISHKIN 1982. 3 NAMDAR et al. 2011; WEINER/BOARETTO 2018. This is not to say that studies do not examine the other aspects and outcomes of war – social and environmental. These studies do exist, e.g. MAEIR et al. 2006; BURKE 2011; BERLEJUNG 2012; NADALI/VIDAL 2014. Yet, they do not discuss archaeologically the destruction layers themselves. 4 BECKMAN 1995; EPHʿAL 2013; NADALI 2014; ZACCAGNINI 1995.

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the destruction was not caused by warfare. Some referred to Lachish III as the “classical” military destruction layer that should serve as a reference point for identifying conflict archaeologically.5 This study aims to challenge these assumptions by examining conquest and destruction not as a fast and inevitable process but as a sequence of conscious decisions taken by the aggressors and defenders at various stages – while preparing for battle, during the battle itself, in the time between conquest and destruction, and during and after destruction. This is accomplished by comparing the destruction processes of Levels III and II at Lachish and identifying the decisions made by the residents and conquerors (the Assyrians or Babylonians). Later, these decisions are examined against relevant historical contexts to offer a new understanding of the processes that a site experiences in warfare. There are several methodological advantages in choosing Levels III and II. First, the site’s historical context is well documented: Level III was conquered as part of Sennacherib’s campaign to Judah in 701 BCE, while Level II was destroyed by Nebuchadnezzar II in a campaign that brought about the fall of the kingdom of Judah. Second, Levels III and II were extensively excavated, thus allowing a comprehensive view of the processes that the site experienced. Third, both levels were excavated by the same archaeologists, and all excavations were held to relatively high archaeological standards. This enables uniform comparisons and eliminates the possibility that disparities are the result of varying excavation or reporting methods.

I. Preparations for Battle Since warfare was widespread in the Iron Age Levant, most cities implemented routine preparations for battle including fortifications, the production and storage of weapons, and the existence of an established military hierarchy and protocols for the transmission of messages (i.e. fire signals, messengers). When a threat turned from general to specific, especially if a strong imperial army was on its way, additional ad hoc preparations were made. This is mentioned in the Hebrew Bible;6 the preparations included Hezekiah bracing for Sennacherib’s campaign by constructing defensive walls in Jerusalem,7 the Siloam Tunnel, the lmlk jars,8 and fortifications around the kingdom.9 The extent of these preparations are, however, often debated.10 On the contrary, no similar action by Zedekiah in his rebellion against the Babylonians has been documented.11

5

CLINE 2011, 65–66; IDEM 2014, 120–21; FIACCAVENTO 2014, 222; MARCO 2008, 153; MILLEK 2017, 115–16; ZUCKERMAN 2007, 25. 6 Isaiah 22: 9–11; 2 Chronicles 32: 2–8. On the nature of the sources and their reliability, see KALIMI 2014 with references to earlier work. 7 ARIEL/DE GROOT 2000; GEVA 2003, 198. 8 For both, see GRABBE 2003 with references. 9 KEIMER 2011 with references. 10 For a survey of different views regarding Hezekiah’s preparations, see GRABBE 2003. Later works that disagree with the traditional view: NAʾAMAN 2007; REICH/SHUKRON 2008; IDEM 2011;

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While it may be difficult to archaeologically distinguish ad hoc from routine war preparations, there are some key indicators for improvised measures taken before battle. Driessen coined the term crisis architecture to refer to specific and sudden shortterm architectural changes that occur as a response to social crises.12 He suggested three correlates for identifying crisis architecture: 1) decrease of energy input in production and maintenance; 2) change of original function; and 3) change of original plan.13 These can be identified in the use of cheaper or scavenged buildings materials for construction, partial abandonment of buildings, disrepair, inner partitioning of halls, restriction of access, and placement of domestic installations in corridors along the main axis of movement or in previously public spaces.14 Warchitecture, following Driessen’s definition, is a specific type of crisis architecture that refers to ad hoc adaptations made to fulfill a defensive need while preparing for battle. Such modifications included blocking roads and gates, hasty construction of fortifications, reinforcements at certain points, and a distinctive use of inferior materials in fortifications.15 At Lachish III, there is evidence of warchitecture along the road leading to the gate, as it was blocked by three thin walls made of mudbricks and stones. The walls were built on the Level III floor, thus representing a late addition.16 A postern providing access from the gate’s courtyard to the tell’s slope and the drainage channel were blocked; it is likely that this was done to make it more difficult to infiltrate the city.17 As the road blockage prevented access to the city, the postern was no longer used, and the water flow that the drainage could handle was significantly reduced.18 It is clear that these changes were done ad hoc and only a short time before the city was attacked by the Assyrians. Additionally, the Assyrians built a siege ramp in the south-western corner of the site, which demonstrates that preparations for battle were conducted by both sides.19 A counter ramp, which is another example of warchitecture, was built within the city to prevent the Assyrians from breaching the wall, and consequently, covered some residential structures.20 Last, the concentration of dozens of arrowheads SHIMRON/FRUMKIN 2011; SNEH et al. 2010. See also a debate regarding the lmlk stamps: LIPSCHITS et al. 2010; NAʾAMAN 2016; USSISHKIN 2011. 11 It was suggested that the rosette stamp seal impressions were introduced as part of preparations for a Babylonian attack in the time of Jehoiakim in the late seventh century BCE and continued to be used until the fall of Judah (CAHILL 1995, 247–48), while Ussishkin (2004a, 109–11) suggested that they were introduced shortly before 586/587 as part of the preparations for the Babylonian campaign. However, these views were challenged, and it seems more probable that these impressions were used for a relatively prolonged period and were not necessarily related to specific preparations for war. See KLETTER 1999, 34–38; KOCH/LIPSCHITS 2013. 12 DRIESSEN 1995, 66. 13 Ibid., 67. 14 Ibid., 67–76. 15 Ibid., 67–68. 16 USSISHKIN 2004c, 553–54. 17 Ibid., 584–85. 18 The drainage still allowed the flow of liquid, but stones were strategically placed to prevent sneaking into the city, ibid., 585. 19 EPHʿAL 1984; USSISHKIN 2004e. 20 USSISHKIN 2004e, 723–32.

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in relatively small rooms is another indicator.21 It is likely that arrows were stockpiled there to be used during battle either as a matter of routine, or more likely, in anticipation of the Assyrian attack.22 In contrast, Lachish II does not reveal any similarities that might indicate ad hoc preparations. When they anticipated attack of Nebuchadnezzar’s army, it seems that they chose not to take expedient defensive measures: the road and drainage channel were not blocked, and, in Area GW (the outer gate), openings were left between the outer gate structure and the city wall.23 Furthermore, there was no sign of reinforcements to the fortifications, and no large concentrations of stored weapons were found.24 The differences between the two campaigns are striking, as the Judeans in both cases knew that a strong army was to attack. Therefore, the mandatory question is why did the residents of Lachish III choose to make adjustments while those of Lachish II choose not to?

II. Before and During Battle Evidence of battle is clearly seen in the presence of long-range weapons, such as arrowheads and sling stones, scattered in the destruction debris.25 This does not account for cases when large quantities of weapons were found concentrated in small rooms, as these might be evidence of weapon storage.26 In Lachish III, over 1,000 arrowheads were spread out in the destruction debris.27 When the locations of the arrowheads were plotted, it seemed that the Assyrians had attacked from two points. The first was the siege ramp, and the second was the city gate. Eventually, the city’s defenses were breached and fighting occurred within the city.28 Further evidence of battle included dozens of sling stones,29 large perforated stones, and an iron chain that could have been used to damage the Assyrian siege machinery.30 These archaeological observations are in line with the depiction of the battle in the Lachish relief, where archers and slingers are seen aiming their weapons toward

21

GOTTLIEB 2004, 1951–63. These arrowheads should be distinguished from those found spread in the destruction debris (see below), as the latter were shot in battle. 23 TUFNELL 1953, 95–98; USSISHKIN 2004c, 591–94, Fig. 11.82. 24 For small clusters see below. 25 DRIESSEN 1999; GOTTLIEB 2004; IDEM 2016; KREIMERMAN 2016; VENCL 1984; WILEMAN 2009. 26 GOTTLIEB 2004; IDEM 2016. 27 GOTTLIEB 2004; USSISHKIN 1982. 28 GOTTLIEB 2004. 29 SASS/USSISHKIN 2004. 30 USSISHKIN 2004e, 734–36. 22

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the city (Figure 1) and soldiers and siege machinery are ascending along the ramparts (Figure 2).31 As for Lachish II, evidence of the battle itself is meager. Scythian arrowheads, known from the destruction layer of Jerusalem in 587/586 BCE,32 were not found in Level II contexts.33 Moreover, iron arrowheads did not seem to indicate a battle either. Typologically, arrowheads found in Level II contexts were indistinguishable from those attributed to Level III.34 In Ussishkin’s excavations, which were stratigraphically the most reliable,35 only one iron arrowhead was found; it was located in a structure by the inner gate.36 In Aharoni’s excavations, four arrowheads were attributed to Level II.37 Three were uncovered in a small room interpreted as a storeroom and packed with numerous finds, including many metal objects;38 another was found in an adjacent room.39 From the British excavations, arrowheads were found only in two clean contexts.40 In a residential structure that was built over the collapse of the Palace Fort, five iron arrowheads were found.41 Furthermore, 13 additional arrowheads were found in a layer outside a Level II structure. The arrowheads were fused together, suggesting that they were probably stored before the destruction, rather than used in battle.42 Therefore, in total, 23 arrowheads came from clean Level II contexts, and there is convincing evidence that at least 16 of them were stored rather than shot. Thus, we are left with seven arrowheads that could have been shot in battle. However, this evidence does not fully support a battle scenario, as hundreds of arrows are expected to be shot in a short period during combat.43 Furthermore, only one of those came from the gate area – the location where an attack was most likely to occur.

31

While the relief illustrates battle tactics common to the period, they are not necessarily accurate depictions of the specific events. See JACOBY 1991; UEHLINGER 2003; contra USSISHKIN 1982. 32 SHILOH 1984, 19, Pl. 33; VEJIL/MAZAR 2015; ZITRONBLAT/GEVA 2003. 33 All three specimens were found in Level I or unstratified contexts. See AHARONI 1975, pl. 36:15; GOTTLIEB 2004, 1909; TUFNELL 1953, pls. 60:53–54. 34 In other words, there was no specific type of arrowhead that was unique to Level II. 35 Data from the Fourth Expedition to Lachish (GARFINKEL et al. 2013) are not discussed here, as this study is still ongoing. 36 USSISHKIN 2004d, 678. Other arrowheads were found in fills (thus originating from earlier levels) and in mixed contexts. 37 AHARONI 1975, pl. 36: 11–13. 38 Ibid., 13, 19, pl. 36: 11–13. 39 Ibid., pl. 36: 14. 40 Additional arrowheads from problematic contexts include 13 arrowheads that were reported from a room dated to Level II and built against the palace fort. However, the floor of the room was not well preserved and the assemblage includes finds with characteristics of Level III, TUFNELL 1953, 117. Although 75 iron arrowheads are mentioned in the courtyard of the outer gate, this area was excavated by the British together with the above lying fills of Level I, ibid., 128–29. Thus, some of the material was brought from elsewhere. Notably, in no other rooms in the outer gate of Level II (such as the ostraca room) or in the area close to the entrance of the city were any arrowheads found except for the one mentioned above. 41 Ibid., 111. 42 Ibid., 120. 43 AVERY 1986; MILLER/MCEWEN/BERGMAN 1986; WILEMAN 2009: 11–17; KREIMERMAN 2016.

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The best explanation for the variations is that Lachish III was conquered in battle, while Lachish II conceded. The capitulation of Lachish II seems logical from military and economic perspectives. It was a well-known practice to negotiate before laying a siege or mounting an attack to save time, lives, and economic resources. If negotiations did not work, then laying a siege could convince the residents to surrender, possibly by creating turmoil in the city and bringing a coup against the leader. In other words, siege battle was not the only way to conquer a city and not necessarily the most popular method.44 However, this once again raises a question regarding decision-making of the residents on the eve of battle. The residents of Lachish III decided to fight against the Assyrians; they maintained their plan despite witnessing the Assyrian siege ramp being laid and even after the city defenses were breached. The residents of Lachish II decided not to face the Babylonians in battle. Perhaps they withstood a short siege, but at the end, they capitulated. How did they arrive at these different decisions?

III. Post-Conquest and Prior to Destruction Evidence reveals that some time passed between when Lachish (III and II) was conquered and when it was destroyed. Lachish II surrendered; hence, there was probably an arrangement with the Babylonians that allowed the residents to leave the city safely within a given amount of time.45 Since a large battle took place at Lachish III, there is no doubt that there were many casualties on both sides. If Lachish III had been destroyed immediately after the conquest, we would expect to find corpses concealed by thick destruction debris. Yet, no skeletons were found in the destruction debris. That is to say that the bodies were most probably removed from the city after it was conquered but prior to setting the city on fire.46 It is quite possible that the remains of approximately 1,500 individuals found in caves at the slope of the site represent these casualties.47 Thus, it is apparent that Lachish III was not destroyed immediately after conquest. The complete removal of corpses must have taken at least several hours and required an investment of effort. It should be stressed that the removal of corpses from conquered sites was a common practice48 but not mandatory, as we know of examples of warfare-induced destruction layers that contained skeletons.49 The most reasonable explanation for this endeavor include hygiene necessary to allow time – probably sev44

BRYCE 2010, 80–83; EPHʿAL 2013; SIDDAL 2019; YADIN 1963. See below. 46 KREIMERMAN 2017b, 21. 47 RISDON 1939; USSISHKIN 1982, 56–58. However, this attribution has not been proven due to difficulties in dating the burials. For other explanations of the burials, see EPHʿAL 2013, 32–33; ZIMHONI 1997, 160–64. This issue is not relevant to the remainder of the current discussion as Lachish III was evidently cleared of corpses, even if they were not placed in these caves. 48 KREIMERMAN 2017b. 49 AVIAM 2002; FAERMAN et al. 2018; MAZAR 1999, 32; MUSCARELLA 1989; PICKWORTH 2005; STRONACH 1997. 45

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eral days – to thoroughly loot the city, to use the food stored in the storehouses, and to prepare the population for deportation.50 Indeed, from literary evidence, we know that some time passed between the conquest and destruction. For instance, Jerusalem was destroyed about a month following the Babylonian conquest in 587/586 BCE.51 Mari was destroyed only two years after Hammurabi’s conquest.52 In Mari, the time between conquest and destruction was at least partially used for the looting of goods. The palace was emptied of most of its contents, especially valuable objects.53 Furthermore, the archive was ransacked and only some of the documents, probably those that Hammurabi’s men did not find important, were left in the palace.54 The importance of looting is clearly emphasized in the long and detailed lists of booty found in various texts,55 explicit remarks such as the one by Shalmaneser III who bragged that he looted the possessions of an Urartian palace for nine days,56 and iconographic representations of loot taken, including in the Lachish relief in Sennacherib’s palace (Figure 3).57 Both Lachish III and II show a very rich pottery assemblage in addition to many other objects in the destruction debris. However, considering destruction occurred post-conquest, were some objects taken by the residents before they left or looted by soldiers? Regrettably, all the models for studying assemblages of finds are based on ethnographic and ethno-archaeological observations from peaceful times or in the face of natural disasters.58 There are no models for studying abandonment and looting in the context of warfare. Standard models, generally speaking, suggest that in cases other than seasonal or cultic abandonment,59 the more de facto refuse60 uncovered in a building, the more sudden the abandonment.61 Metal objects are especially instructive due to the value of the raw material itself; thus, even scraps were highly prized. The pottery assemblage, however, is a more complicated matter. It is important to examine whether a plethora of shapes was represented or the vessels uncovered were mostly

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KREIMERMAN 2017b. 2 Kings 25: 1–10; Jeremiah 52: 4–14. 52 RUTZ/MICHALOWSKI 2016. Note that the idea that Mari suffered two destructions by Hammurabi (PARROT 1938, 15) is now obsolete (MARGUERON 2004, 520–21). 53 MARGUERON 2004, 518–22. 54 CHARPIN 1995. 55 ELGAVISH 2002; TRIMM 2017, 316–46; YOUNGER 1990. 56 RIMA 3, 17:50. 57 BARNETT et al. 1998, pl. 332. 58 CAMERON/TOMKA 1993; DEAL 1985; NELSON/SCHACHNER 2002; PLUNKET/URUÑUELA 2003; STEVENSON 1982. 59 LAMOTTA/SCHIFFER 1999, 23–25; MONTGOMERY 1993. 60 Schiffer (1987, 89) defines de facto refuse as “tools, facilities, structures and other cultural materials that, although still usable (or reusable), are left behind when the activity area is abandoned.” 61 SCHIFFER 1987; STEVENSON 1982. It should be noted, however, that other factors also affect the amount of de facto refuse, such as the distance from the location to which the population moved and whether the population intended to return. 51

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large and heavy – with the caveat that the function of the excavated buildings is also a factor in the types of vessels represented. In both Lachish III and II, numerous pottery vessels were found in the destruction debris. Since the assemblage was not limited to large and heavy vessels, there is no clear-cut evidence to suggest if and what vessels were taken; this is particularly true because the structures’ original contents are unknown.62 Significantly fewer metal objects were found in Levels III and II than in tombs. As such, only 66 metal objects in Level III and 16 objects in Level II were found from all excavation areas.63 Bracelets, metal earrings, mirrors, and other personal objects were almost completely absent from the tell. Because such precious metal objects were found in the tombs of Level III, it seems that they were taken by the conquering army or the city’s occupants prior to departure. Despite these minor differences between the assemblages of Levels III and II, it is apparent that the abandonment of the city was rather quick, and the residents could not return to the site multiple times to retrieve objects. For Lachish III, this is understandable; due to the resistance of the residents, they could take a few objects, and then, the city was destroyed. It is surprising that Lachish II, who surrendered, received roughly the same treatment.

IV. During and Post Destruction Both Levels III and II had a very similar fate. Prior to its abandonment,64 Lachish III was burned completely, with evidence of destruction by fire being found in all excavated areas.65 Level II also displayed signs of fire in all excavated areas.66 The site was then abandoned for over a century until Level I was constructed. 62 An exception is the Northern Annexed Building of Level III, north to Podium A, that was almost empty, TUFNELL 1953, 116. Although difficult to prove, it was postulated that the lack of finds was related to its function, which was possibly a stable, USSISHKIN 2004f, 831–34. Thus, once again, this evidence is ambiguous. 63 The object found in Levels III and II on the tell listed by Tufnell (1953), Aharoni (1975), and Ussishkin (SASS 2004) were counted. Only objects that were securely attributed to Level III or Level II were included. As arrowheads, armour scales, or the so-called “bronze-flowers” (SASS 2004, 2035– 36) could have been left in the debris as a result of battle, they were not included in the count. Since objects identified as knives were also problematic, they were counted separately: twenty knives came from Level III and four from Level II. 64 The north-western chamber of the city gate was the only place where an intermediate phase between Levels III and II, representing squatters’ activity, was detected, USSISHKIN 2004d, 652, figs. 12:39–40. The pottery of this intermediate phase was very similar to that of Level III; therefore, it is probable that this intermediate phase was short-lived. The length of the abandonment is debated: while some scholars argued that Level II was already constructed in the early seventh century BCE, probably in the time of Manasseh, BARKAY 2011; TUFNELL 1953, 55–56. Others suggested that only during the rule of Josiah in the late seventh century BCE was the city reconstructed, NAʾAMAN 1991; USSISHKIN 2004a, 91; LEHMANN 2012. In any case, there was an occupation gap of at least several years. 65 AHARONI 1975; BARKAY/USSISHKIN 2004, 447–57; GANOR/KREIMERMAN 2019; KLINGBEIL et al. 2019; TUFNELL 1953; USSISHKIN 1982; IDEM 2004b, 516–19; IDEM 2004c; IDEM 2004d; IDEM 2004e, 637–52; IDEM 2004f.

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It is worth noting that since some time had passed between the conquest of Lachish III and its destruction, and Lachish II surrendered with no battle, the fire, in both cases, was a premeditated decision and not a direct result of battle or an act of rage. The decision to burn down a city and force its abandonment is far from trivial. A city could be a revenue-generating mechanism; by capturing a city, the conqueror can gain control of these revenues through taxes. However, if the conqueror decides to bring about the abandonment of the city, then the economic revenues from the conquered lands would be lower. Furthermore, there are instances where cities were destroyed and reconstructed.67 Lachish is very well positioned, as it is close to fertile fields and a main road. Consequently, if there were a possibility to do so, the city would have been reconstructed – either by the former residents, people from nearby settlements or deportees brought from afar. Therefore, not only the mere act of burning but also the forced abandonment of the inhabitants and the prevention of future reconstruction (at least for some time) must be explained. An important distinction is the circumstances in which these decisions were made in the cases of Levels III and II at Lachish. In the case of Level III, the city showed an intense resistance to the Assyrians. Only when the city was totally subjugated could the Assyrians decide the fate of the city based on their future political and military goals. However, in the case of Level II, the decision was not one-sided. Since the people of Lachish II surrendered, their own fate and that of the city was determined through negotiations. In other words, the people of Lachish II had to agree to leave the city. Table 1: A comparative summary of the evidence of destruction in Levels III and II at Lachish

Warchitecture Evidence of battle

66

Lachish III Blockage of the road, siege ramp, counter siege ramp Hundreds of arrowheads and sling stones, huge perforated stones

Lachish II No preparations Few arrowheads from clean contexts – probably no battle

Skeletons

– (maybe in nearby caves)

–

Abandonment mode

Rapid

Rapid

Fire

Entire site

Entire site

Squatters activity

In one of the gate chambers

–

Occupation gap

At least a few decades

Over a century

AHARONI 1975, 13; BARKAY/USSISHKIN 2004c, 588–96; IDEM 2004d, 654–60. 67 KREIMERMAN 2017a.

2004, 458–60;

TUFNELL

1953;

USSISHKIN

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V. Discussion Destruction in the context of warfare is a complex and multi-faceted process. Although Levels III and II at Lachish were destroyed as part of inter-state, or more accurately empire-state, conflict, they tell two varied and complex stories (see Table 1 above). It is now time to put these stories in a slightly broader context. Sennacherib’s campaign in 701 BCE found Judah in its political and economic prime.68 In the early years of Sennacherib, after Sargon II’s death on the battlefield in 705 BCE, several kingdoms across the Assyrian Empire rebelled.69 Therefore, the Assyrians were lacking one of the most valuable resources of war, that is, time. They could not afford to spend a large amount of time on the campaign of a relatively insignificant kingdom in the southwest of their Empire while other rebellions occurred.70 Hezekiah prepared politically for the possibility of an Assyrian campaign by striking alliances with Babylon, Egypt, and the neighboring kingdoms,71 as well as from a military perspective.72 The Judeans were ready to exhaust the Assyrian army; they likely assumed that if they could resist long enough, the Assyrians would have no other option but to retreat. Furthermore, the natural tactical advantage of the defending party over the attacking party encouraged the Lachishites to resist the Assyrians and not negotiate.73 The Assyrians’ lack of time encouraged them to attack swiftly rather than execute a prolonged siege with negotiations. Resistance did not pay off for the people of Lachish, and eventually, the Assyrians breached the city’s defenses and conquered the city. The campaign of Nebuchadnezzar II in 588–587/586 BCE occurred under different circumstances. The backdrop of the rebellion was a struggle between Babylon and Egypt.74 Babylonia might have experienced some years of weakness, evident by an Elamite rebellion and a revolt in Babylonia proper.75 Judah, in the early sixth century BCE, was a densely settled kingdom in its core area; however, it is possible that in its final years, it lost some of its border territories in the south and the west and experienced a period of weakness.76 We do not know in which stage of the campaign Lachish was conquered and if it was besieged. From Jeremiah 34:7, we learn that Lachish and ʿAzekah were the last fortified cities to withstand the Babylonians. Moreover, Ostracon 4 from Lachish indicates that ʿAzekah fell before Lachish.77 Clearly,

68

BROSHI/FINKELSTEIN 1992; LEHMANN 2012: 291–92; FAUST 2018. BRINKMAN 1973; GALLAGHER 1999, 263–64; MAYER 2003, 173. 70 SIDDAL 2019, 42. 71 FALES 2013; GALLAGHER 1999, 270–72; MAYER 2003; NAʾAMAN 1994, 244. 72 GRABBE 2003; KEIMER 2011; and see above Section I. 73 The possibility that the residents of Lachish anticipated assistance either from either Judean or Egyptian force in battle cannot be ruled out. 74 EPHʿAL 2003; KAHN 2018; LIPSCHITS 2005, 62–72; MALAMAT 1975. 75 LIPSCHITS 2005, 62–63; MALAMAT 1975, 136. 76 For additional suggestions see KLETTER 2003; KOCH/LIPSCHITS 2013; for a survey of the various views regarding the Negev area and the date of the destruction of its settlements, see THAREANI 2014. 77 TORCZYNER 1938, 85. See criticism of this idea in BEGIN 2002. 69

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the reasons for the capitulation of Lachish II can only be speculated. Nevertheless, it seems that two main factors affected the residents’ decision: 1. Military considerations: Judah had been defeated by the Babylonians several years earlier, and some of the elite – including craftsmen and trained soldiers who are crucial while preparing for and during war – were in exile.78 Despite attempts to form a coalition against the Babylonians, eventually Judah faced them with limited assistance from Egypt.79 Furthermore, as seen from the prolonged siege on Jerusalem, which was either 18 or 30 months and was longer than a typical campaign,80 the Babylonians had time on their side. Finally, no major reinforcements were detected in Level II. The residents of the site knew that even when Lachish was well prepared in 701 BCE, it still could not withstand an attack. 2. Social and theological aspects: It seems that even the society in Jerusalem debated the correct act in the siege, and some – including Jeremiah – pushed for capitulation.81 Some people indeed surrendered to the Babylonians when they had the chance.82 Nonetheless, because Jerusalem was saved from Sennacherib in 701 BCE, and again in 597/596 BCE, the idea that Jerusalem will never fall was likely prevalent in society and was used as an argument against surrendering – as is well echoed in the book of Jeremiah.83 However, there could not have been a similar perception of Lachish, as this city fell to the Assyrians in 701 BCE and failed to achieve such a prominent religious status as Jerusalem. The amount of time that passed from the moment the Babylonians arrived at the gates of Lachish until the surrender is unknown. It seems likely that since Lachish did not properly prepare for battle, the city never intended to fight and immediately began negotiating its capitulation. Despite the variation in events, from the point of defeat (or surrender), the fate of both cities was very similar. In both cases, Lachish was probably looted, the residents were given little time to prepare to leave, and then the city was set on fire. Therefore, one may ask what was the advantage in surrendering? First, the city did not experience battle and suffered no casualties. Second, in many warfare accounts, the population of a conquered rebellious city is subjected to various atrocities;84 the residents of Lachish II likely avoided this. One question remains: Why was Lachish II not spared? Historical sources from the second- and first-millennia BCE Near East present a wide variety of cases in which 78

2 Kings 24: 15–16; Jeremiah 29: 2; LIPSCHITS 2005, 56–64; MALAMAT 1975. MALAMAT 1968, 151. 80 EPHʿAL 2003, 183. 81 MALAMAT 1975, 137–38. 82 JEREMIAH 32: 12; 38: 19; LIPSCHITS 2005, 74–77. 83 LIPSCHITS 2005, 70–72. However, this was not a collective view in Jerusalem, as demonstrated by the prophecies of Jeremiah and the fact that when the siege was temporarily lifted due to Egyptian intervention, people left the city. Others probably surrendered to the Babylonians during the siege, see Jeremiah 32: 12; 38: 19; LIPSCHITS 2005, 74–77. 84 BELIBTREU 2002; TRIMM 2017, 346–67, 379–92. 79

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cities surrendered and were not harmed,85 where they resisted and yet were spared,86 and when cities did not resist but were still destroyed.87 This variability, while not always explicitly stated, occurs because war was waged mainly to achieve political goals.88 Destruction, therefore, should be seen primarily in this scope 89 as an action serving the political goals of the conqueror. The conqueror, evidently, wanted the site to remain in ruins and not reconstructed as a major city. Thus, to understand why the Assyrians and Babylonians wanted to see Lachish abandoned, we must examine the political goals of these campaigns. Regrettably, a detailed discussion of the exact goals of Sennacherib and Nebuchadnezzar II in destroying some of the cities in Judah is beyond the scope of this study, as it will require examining the geographical distribution of these destruction layers and the extent of destruction in each city.

VI. Conclusions As seen in Lachish III and II, destruction layers – in this case, of military nature – offer insight into the residents’ and conquerors’ sequence of decisions. These decisions were influenced by the specific historical circumstances, the residents’ belief in their ability to withstand a siege or a battle, social and ideological aspects, and the goals of the conqueror. Therefore, an examination of destruction layers allows researchers to extend beyond the standard chronological, military, and political discussions to a more nuanced view of conquest by focusing on the population of each city and its experience, deliberations, and decisions in war. It seems especially promising to use a similar approach to examine several destruction layers of the same military campaign; in this way, the different stories of war and conquest can be uncovered. The examination of Levels III and II at Lachish also provides several more general conclusions on the archaeology of warfare: 1. While both levels were destroyed as part of military campaigns, neither of them contained trapped skeletons with signs of trauma. Many studies use evidence found in destruction layers to determine the cause of destruction. Following the observations from Lachish, the absence of skeletons in destruction debris should not rule out conflict as a possible cause of destruction. 2. Numerous arrowheads (and other remains of battle) were found in Lachish III, but only a few arrowheads were found in Lachish II. This is likely because Lachish II surrendered without going to battle. As noted in Section II, a siege battle is only 85

E.g. COS 2.16: 86; RINAP 1, 47: 26–28; RINAP 3/1, 4: 32–38; KITCHEN 2008, 111.22:66. CHARPIN/ZIEGLER 2003, 242–45; GÜTERBOCK 1956, 92–93. 87 RIMA 3: A.0.102.2; HOUWINK TEN CATE 1979, 164. Note also that the deal offered by Rabshakeh to the residents of Jerusalem (2 Kings 18: 31–32) included their deportation despite their surrender. 88 TRIMM 2017, 35–65. 89 KREIMERMAN 2016; IDEM 2020. 86

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one option for subduing a city as part of conflict, other methods include negotiations, using trickery and treachery, or laying a prolonged siege in order to convince the residents to surrender. Consequently, the presence of numerous arrowheads in the destruction debris may be used to infer that a destruction layer, with a priori unknown cause, was created through conflict; however, their absence should not rule out conflict as the cause of destruction. 3. To generalize the above two conclusions, there is no “typical” type of destruction that is unique to conflict.90 Destruction in the context of warfare can take different forms. 4. In the context of warfare, destruction was not a mere punishment for the city’s disobedience but was intended to achieve political goals. Therefore, there is no reason to assume that a city conquered through warfare must have been destroyed or that a city that capitulated was spared. This was clearly demonstrated in Levels III and II at Lachish: the former resisted while the latter surrendered, and yet, both were destroyed and the population was forced to abandon the regions.

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– (2017a): A Typology for Destruction Layers: The Late Bronze Age Southern Levant as a Case Study, in: T.F. CUNNINGHAM/J. DRIESSEN (eds.), Crisis to Collapse: The Archaeology of Social Breakdown, (Aegis 11), Louvain-la-Neuve, 173–203. – (2017b): Skeletons in Bronze and Iron Age Destruction Contexts in the Southern Levant: What do They Mean?, West & East 2, 13–30. – (2020): Why Were Cities Destroyed in Times of War? A View from the Southern Levant in the Third and Second Millennia BCE, in: K. RUFFING/K. DROß-KRÜPE/S. FINK/R. ROLLINGER (eds.), Societies at War, (Melammu Symposia 10), Vienna, 345–83. LAMOTTA, M.V./M.B. SCHIFFER (1999): Formation Process of House Floor Assemblages, in: P.M. ALLISON (ed.), The Archaeology of Household Activities, New York, NY, 19–29. LEHMANN, G. (2012): Survival and Reconstruction of Judah in the Time of Menasseh, in: A. BERLEJUNG (ed.), Disaster and Relief Management, (FAT 81), Tübingen, 289–309. LIPSCHITS, O. (2005): The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem: Judah Under Babylonian Rule, Winona Lake, IN. LIPSCHITS, O./O. SERGI/I. KOCH (2010): Royal Judahite Jar Handles: Reconsidering the Chronology of the lmlk Stamp Impressions, TA 37, 3–32. MAEIR, A. (2004): The Historical Background and Dating of Amos VI 2: An Archaeological Perspective from Tell eṣ-Ṣâfī/Gath, VT 54, 319–34. MAEIR, A. M./O. ACKERMANN/H.J. BRUINS (2006): The Ecological Consequences of a Siege: A Marginal Note on Deuteronomy 20:19–20, in: S. GITIN/J.E. WRIGHT/J.P. DESSEL (eds.), Confronting the Past: Archaeological and Historical Essays on Ancient Israel in Honor of William G. Dever, Winona Lake, IN, 239–43. MALAMAT, A. (1968): The Last Kings of Judah and the Fall of Jerusalem: An HistoricalChronological Study, IEJ 18, 137–56. – (1975): The Twilight of Judah: The Egyptian-Babylonian Maelstorm, in: J.A. EMERTON (ed.), Congress Volume Edinburgh 1974, (Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 28), Leiden, 123–43. MARCO, S. (2008): Recognition of Earthquake-Related Damage in Archaeological Sites: Examples from the Dead Sea Fault Zone, Tectonophysics 453, 148–56. MARGUERON, J.-C. (2004): Mari, Métropole de l’Euphrate au IIIe et au début du IIe millénaire av. J.C., Paris. MASSAFRA, A. (2014): The End of the Middle Bronze Age in Southern Levant: Was Sharuhen the Only City Conquered by Ahmose?, in: L. NIGRO (ed.), Overcoming Catastrophes: Essays on Disastrous Agent Characterization and Resilence Strategies in Pre-Classical Southern Levant, (ROSAPAT 11), Rome, 185–203. MAYER, W. (2003): Sennacherib’s Campaign of 701 BCE: The Assyrian View, in: L.L. GRABBE (ed.), Like a Bird in a Cage: The Invasion of Sennacherib in 701 BCE, (JSOTSup 363), New York, NY, 168–200. MAZAR, A. (1999): The 1997–1998 Excavations at Tel Reḥov: Preliminary Report, IEJ 49, 1–42. – (2014): Archaeology and the Bible: Reflections on Historical Memory in the Deuteronomistic History, in: C.M. MAIER (ed.), Congress Volume Munich, 2013, (VTSup 163), 347–69. MAZAR, B. (1957): Pharaoh Shishak’s Campaign to the Land of Israel, in: P.A.H. BOER (ed.), Volume du Congrès International pour l’étude de l’Ancien Testament, Strasbourg 1956, (VTSup 4), 57–66. MILLEK, J.M. (2017): Sea Peoples, Philistines, and the Destruction of Cities: A Critical Examination of Destruction Layers ‘Caused’ by the ‘Sea Peoples’, in: P.M. FISCHER/T. BÜRGE (eds.), ‘Sea Peoples’ Up-to-Date: New Research on Transformations in the Eastern Mediterranean in the 13th–11th Centuries BCE, Vienna, 113–40. MILLER, R./E. MCEWEN/C. BERGMAN (1986): Experimental Approaches to Ancient Near Eastern Archery, World Archaeology 18, 178–95. MONTGOMERY, B.K. (1993): Ceramic Analysis as a Tool for Discovering Processes of Pueblo Abandonment, in: C.M. CAMERON/S.A. TOMKA (eds.), Abandonment of Settlements and Regions: Ethnoarchaeological and Archaeological Approaches, Cambridge, 157–64.

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MUSCARELLA, O.W. (1989): Warfare at Hasanlu in the Late 9th Century B.C., Expedition 31, 24–36. NAʾAMAN, N. (1991): The Kingdom of Judah Under Josiah, TA 18, 3–71. – (1994): Hezekiah and the Kings of Assyria, TA 21, 235–54. – (2007): When and How Did Jerusalem Become a Great City? The Rise of Jerusalem as Judah’s Premier City in the Eighth–Seventh Centuries B.C.E., BASOR 347, 21–56. – (2016): The lmlk Seal Impressions Reconsidered, TA 43, 111–25. NADALI, D. (2014): The Impact of War on Civilians in the Neo-Assyrian Period, in: D. NADALI/J. VIDAL (eds.), The Other Face of the Battle: The Impact of War on Civilians in the Ancient Near East, (AOAT 413), Münster, 101–11. NADALI D./J. VIDAL (eds.) (2014): The Other Face of the Battle: The Impact of War on Civilians in the Ancient Near East, (AOAT 413), Münster. NAMDAR, D./A. ZUKERMAN/A.M. MAEIR/J.C. KATZ/D. CABANES/C. TRUEMAN/R. SHAHACKGROSS/S. WEINER (2011): The 9th Century BCE Destruction Layer at Tell es-Safi/Gath, Israel: Integrating Macro- and Micro-Archaeology, Journal of Archaeological Science 38.12, 3471–82. NELSON, M.C./G. SCHACHNER (2002): Understanding Abandonment in the North American Southwest, Journal of Archaeological Research 19, 167–206. NUR, A./E.H. CLINE (2000): Poseidon’s Horses: Plate Tectonics and Earthquake Storms in the Late Bronze Age Aegean and Eastern Mediterranean, Journal of Archaeological Science 27, 43–63. PARROT, A. (1938): Les fouilles de Mari, quatrième campagne (hiver 1936–37), Syria 19, 1–29. PICKWORTH, D. (2005): Excavations at Nineveh: The Halzi gate, Iraq 67, 295–316. PLUNKET, P./G. URUÑUELA (2003): From Episodic to Permanent Abandonment: Responses to Volcanic Hazards at Tetimpa, Puebla, Mexico, in: T. INOMATA/R.W. WEBB (eds.), The Archaeology of Settlement Abandonment in Middle America, Salt Lake City, UT, 13–27. REICH, R./E. SHUKRON (2008): The Date of City-Wall 501 in Jerusalem, TA 35, 114–22. – (2011): The Date of the Siloam Tunnel Reconsidered, TA 38, 147–57. RIMA 3 = A.K. GRAYSON (1987): Assyrian Rulers of the Third and Second Millennia BC (To 1115 BC), (RIMA 3), Toronto. RINAP 1 = H. TADMOR/S. YAMADA (2011): The Royal Inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser III (744–722 BC), and Shalmaneser V (726–722 BC), Kings of Assyria, (RINAP 1), Winona Lake, IN. RINAP 3/1 = K. GRAYSON/J. NOVOTNY (2012): The Royal Inscriptions of Sennacherib, King of Assyria (704–681 BC), Part 1, (RINAP 3/1), Winona Lake, IN. RISDON, D.L. (1939): A Study of the Cranial and Other Human Remains from Palestine Excavated at Tell Duweir (Lachish) by the Wellcome-Marston Archaeological Research Expedition, Biometrica 36, 1–166. RUTZ, M./P. MICHALOWSKI (2016): The Flooding of Ešnunna, the Fall of Mari: Hammurabi’s Deeds in Babylonian Literature and History, JCS 68, 15–43. SASS, B. (2004): Vessels, Tools, Personal Objects, Figurative Art and Varia, in: D. USSISHKIN (ed.), The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), (SMNIA 22), Tel Aviv, 1450– 524. SASS, B./D. USSISHKIN (2004): Spears, Armour Scales and Slingstones, in: D. USSISHKIN (ed.), The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), (SMNIA 22), Tel Aviv, 1970–82. SCHAEFFER, C.F.-A. (1948): Stratigraphie comparée et chronologie de l’Asie occidentale (IIIe et IIe millénaires), Oxford. SCHIFFER, M.B. (1987): Formation Processes of the Archaeological Record, Albuquerque, NM. SHILOH, Y. (1984): Excavations at the City of David I: 1978–1982, Interim Report of the First Five Seasons, (Qedem 19), Jerusalem. SHIMRON, A.E./A. FRUMKIN (2011): The Why, How, and When of the Siloam Tunnel Reevaluated: A Reply to Sneh, Weinberger, and Shalev, BASOR 364, 53–60. SIDDAL, L.R. (2019): The Nature of Siege Warfare in the Neo-Assyrian Period, in: J. ARMSTRONG/M. TRUNDLE (eds.), Brill’s Companion to Sieges in the Ancient Mediterranean, (Brill’s Companions in Classical Studies 3), Leiden, 35–52.

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SNEH, A./R. WEINBERGER/E. SHALEV (2010): The Why, How, and When of the Siloam Tunnel Reevaluated, BASOR 359, 57–65. STEVENSON, M.G. (1982): Toward an Understanding of Site Abandonment Behavior: Evidence from Historic Mining Camps in the Southwest Yukon, Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 1, 237– 65. STRONACH, D. (1997): Notes on the Fall of Nineveh, in: S. PARPOLA/R.S. WHITING (eds.), Assyria 1995: Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki, 307–24. THAREANI, Y. (2014): The Self-Destruction of Diversity: A Tale of the Last Days in Judah’s Negev Towns, Antiguo Oriente 12, 185–224. TORCZYNER, H. (1938): Lachish I: The Lachish Letters, London. TRIMM, C. (2017): Fighting for the King and the Gods: A Survey of Warfare in the Ancient Near East, (RBS 88), Atlanta, GA. TUFNELL, O. (1953): Lachish III (Tell Ed-Duweir): The Iron Age, London. UEHLINGER, C. (2003): Clio in a World of Pictures – Another Look at the Lachish Reliefs from Sennacherib’s Southwest Palace at Nineveh, in: L. GRABBE (ed.), Like a Bird in a Cage: The Invasion of Sennacherib in 701 BCE, (JSOTSup 363), New York, NY, 221–305. USSISHKIN, D. (1977): The Destruction of Lachish by Sennacherib and the Dating of the Royal Judean Storage Jars, TA 4, 28–60. – (1982): The Conquest of Lachish by Sennacherib, Tel Aviv. – (2004a): A Synopsis of the Stratigraphical, Chronological and Historical Issues, in: D. USSISHKIN (ed.), The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), (SMNIA 22), Tel Aviv, 50–119. – (2004b): The City Gate Complex: A Synopsis of the Stratigraphy and Architecture, in: D. USSISHKIN (ed.), The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), (SMNIA 22), Tel Aviv, 504–24. – (2004c): Area GW: The Outer City-Gate, in: D. USSISHKIN (ed.), The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), (SMNIA 22), Tel Aviv, 535–623. – (2004d): Area GE: The Inner City-Gate, in: D. USSISHKIN (ed.), The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), (SMNIA 22), Tel Aviv, 624–89. – (2004e): Area R and the Assyrian siege, in: D. USSISHKIN (ed.), The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), (SMNIA 22), Tel Aviv, 695–764. – (2004f): Area PAL.: The Judean Palace-Fort, in: D. USSISHKIN (ed.), The Renewed Archaeological Excavations at Lachish (1973–1994), (SMNIA 22), Tel Aviv, 768–870. – (2011): The Dating of the lmlk Storage Jars and Its Implications: Rejoinder to Lipschits, Sergi and Koch, TA 38, 220–40. VEJIL, V./E. MAZAR (2015): Arrowheads, in: E. MAZAR, The Summit of the City of David Excavations 2005–2008, Final Reports, Vol. I: Area G, Jerusalem, 469–85. VENCL, S. (1984): War and Warfare in Archaeology, Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 3, 116–32. WEINER, S./E. BOARETTO (2018): Microarchaeology at Tell eṣ-Ṣâfi/Gath, Area A, NEA 81, 24–27. WEINSTEIN, J.M. (1981): The Egyptian Empire in Palestine: A Reassessment, BASOR 241, 1–28. WILEMAN, J. (2009): War and Rumors of War: The Evidential Base for Recognition of Warfare in Prehistory, (BARIS 1984), Oxford. YADIN, Y. (1963): The Art of Warfare in Biblical Lands: In the Light of Archaeological Study, Jerusalem. YOUNGER, K.L.J. (1990): Ancient Conquest Accounts: A Study in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical History Writing, (JSOTSup 98), Sheffield. ZACCAGNINI, C. (1995): War and Famine at Emar, Orientalia 64, 92–109. ZIMHONI, O. (1997): Studies in the Iron Age Pottery of Israel: Typological, Archaeological, and Chronological Aspects, (Occasional Publications 2), Tel Aviv.

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ZITRONBLAT, A./H. GEVA (2003): Metal Artifacts, in: H. GEVA (ed.), Jewish Quarter Excavations in the Old City of Jerusalem, Conducted by Nahman Avigad, 1969–1982, II : The Finds from Areas A, W and X-2, Final Report, Jerusalem, 353–63. ZUCKERMAN, S. (2007): Anatomy of a Destruction: Crisis Architecture, Termination Rituals and the Fall of Canaanite Hazor, Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 20, 3–32.

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Figure 1: Assyrian archers and slingers at Lachish (the Lachish Relief). Photo by Zunkir.91

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https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/User:Zunkir, adapted by the author, CC BY-SA 4.0 license.

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Figure 2: The attack on the city of Lachish (the Lachish Relief). Photo by Zunkir.92

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Figure 3: Assyrian soldiers bringing spoil out of the city (top) and Judeans deported from Lachish (the Lachish Relief). Photo by Zunkir.93

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Rewriting History Through Destruction The Case of Tel Reḥov and the Hebrew Bible Omer Sergi* Tel Reḥov is located in the heart of the Beth-shean Valley, which is a part of the Great Rift Valley crossing the Levant from north to south. Situated 5 km south of Tel Bethshean between the Gilboa Ridge and the Jordan River, Tel Reḥov was located on a crossroad, connecting the main north-south route traversing the Jordan Valley with the east-west route crossing from the Beth-shean Valley to the Jezreel Valley. No wonder, therefore, that, throughout its existence, Tel Reḥov was one of the wealthiest urban centers in Canaan. Eleven seasons of excavations (1997–2012) directed by Amihai Mazar on behalf of the Institute of Archaeology of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem demonstrated a continuous urban presence in Tel Reḥov throughout the LB I–late Iron IIA (15th–9th centuries BCE).1 Founded in the LB I with no Middle Bronze Age precursor, the city spanned an area of circa 10 hectares, stretching on both the upper and lower mounds, making it one of the largest Late Bronze Age cities in the southern Levant. Eight major strata, many with several sub-phases, were dated to the LB–Iron I continuum, the transition between each of these strata exhibited no dramatic events.2 The same may be said about the transition from the Iron I to the Iron IIA: no dramatic destruction occurred, and the town seems to have gradually developed.3 Such continuity of a large, dense urban center throughout the LB I–Iron IIA is extremely rare. Tel Reḥov (Strata VI–IV) reached its zenith during the Iron IIA: the dense stratigraphic sequence attributed to this period yielded the richest collection of material finds ever to have been recovered from these centuries in northern Israel and one of the largest in the entire Levant. These material remains attest to a high degree of urban planning, long distance trade, extensive cultic activity, and some level of literate administrative operation.4 The enduring and thriving urban center at Tel Reḥov came to * I would like to thank Prof. Amihai Mazar for discussing with me on many different occasions various aspects of the excavations in Tel Reḥov. Abbreviations follow the Society of Biblical Literature Handbook of Style (2nd ed., Atlanta, 2014). 1 For a well-informed discussion of Tel Reḥov excavations, the finds and the overall historical context, see: MAZAR 2016a; IDEM 2016b. See also Mazar’s contribution in this volume pp. 7–26 above. 2 MAZAR/DAVIDOVICH 2019. 3 MAZAR 2016a, 94–95; IDEM 2016b, 15–18. 4 For general discussion and finds see MAZAR et al. 2005; MAZAR 2016a; IDEM 2016b. For industrial apiculture in Tel Reḥov, see MAZAR/PANITZ-COHEN 2007; BLOCH et al. 2010. For textile indus-

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its end sometime during the second half of the ninth century BCE in a severe destruction, most commonly attributed to Hazael, king of Aram Damascus.5 The site was consequently abandoned for a few decades. Tel Reḥov (Stratum III) was restored in the Iron IIB (eighth century BCE), but the town shrank to half of its size, and only the upper mound continued to be occupied, where a relatively modest fortified settlement, consisting of domestic habitation, was built.6 The once thriving town which had covered the entire mound never returned, and gone were the prosperous days of the past. Noteworthy is the fact that the Iron IIB is characterized by the recovery of many of the urban centers in the northern valleys, in what is often seen as the zenith of the kingdom of Israel under the rule of the last two Nimshide monarchs, Joash and Jeroboam II.7 The fact that the most prominent urban center in the Beth-shean Valley, Tel Reḥov, was only poorly restored is puzzling when considering the extensive building activity that took place throughout Israel during that period. What makes this problem even more intriguing is the fact that epigraphic finds from late Iron IIA Tel Reḥov and the nearby Tel ʿAmal imply that the Nimshi family – who ruled Israel for almost 100 years and whose last monarchs brought the kingdom to its zenith – originated (or at least owned lands) in the Beth-shean Valley and probably even had a residence in Tel Reḥov.8 As expected from its prosperity, Tel Reḥov is mentioned in various Egyptian and Akkadian texts from the Late Bronze Age, including the el-Amarna Correspondence.9 Yet, it is not mentioned even once in the Hebrew Bible. This is at odds with the archaeology, as Tel Reḥov reached its zenith in the late Iron IIA, the period during which the Omride kings of Israel, from their seat in Samaria, located only 35 km south-west of Tel Reḥov, ruled vast territories in the southern Levant. Arguing, as some scholars have, that Tel Reḥov was not Israelite (meaning that it was not under Omride rule) does not explain the reason why the town is not referred to in the Hebrew Bible. After all, many other supposedly non-“Israelite” towns in the region of Tel Reḥov (like Beth-shean) are mentioned in the Hebrew Bible, and often more than once. Indeed, the scant literary works that are thought to have originated in the Iron Age kingdom of Israel (and even these are sometimes fiercely debated), were probably composed and redacted in Samaria (the Israelite capital) and/or Bethel (an Israelite royal sanctuary), which may explain why the prosperous urban centers of the northern

try in Tel Reḥov, see MAZAR 2019. For glyptic finds, see KEEL/MAZAR 2009 and for cult, see MAZAR 2015. For epigraphic finds, see AḤITUV/MAZAR 2014. For long distance trade, see MAZAR/KOUROU 2019. 5 MAZAR 2016a, 109–12; KLEIMAN 2016. See also A. Mazar’s contribution in this volume pp. 7– 26 above. 6 MAZAR 1999; IDEM 2016a, 107; IDEM 2016b, 57–59; MAZAR/AḤITUV 2011. 7 E.g., FINKELSTEIN 2013, 119–40. 8 The name Nimshi is inscribed on potsherds dated to the late tenth and early ninth centuries BCE that were found at Tel ʿAmal and Tel Reḥov, and see also NAʾAMAN 2008, 214; AḤITUV/MAZAR 2014; MAZAR 2015, 41–42. 9 MAZAR/DAVIDOVICH 2019, 166–67; GOREN/FINKELSTEIN /NAʾAMAN 2004, 248–50.

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valleys play only a minor role in biblical literature.10 Moreover, these literary works (excluding, maybe, the Song of Deborah in Judges 5) are not dated prior to the eighth century BCE,11 a period when Tel Reḥov was only a small town, which could hardly offer any reminder of its glorious tenth–ninth centuries BCE past. On a certain level, this could provide the ultimate explanation to the problem at hand – the (alleged) insignificance of Tel Reḥov in the Iron IIB may explain why it was not mentioned in literary works composed in Samaria or Bethel at the same time. However, such an explanation seems to be partial, and while solving the literary problem, it raises an archaeological one: How to explain the decline of a prosperous town like Tel Reḥov in the period when Israel reached its zenith as a territorial polity, especially as this achievement is attributed to the dynasty that probably originated in Tel Reḥov? The question thus remains, how could it be that an urban center, like Tel Reḥov, which enjoyed longstanding and endurable prosperity in early monarchic Israel, and was probably related directly to one of the most successful Israelite dynasties, did not leave any mark in Israelite historical memory? In the following, I will argue that social, political, and cultural changes that characterized the Nimshide rule in the eighth century – as can be traced in the Iron IIB material remains but probably also in biblical literature – provide an optional explanation, even if only partial and admittedly speculative, to this intriguing riddle. However, before doing that, I would like to briefly review the role of Tel Reḥov in the early monarchic period, during the late Iron IIA, as the background for evaluating its decline in the Iron IIB.

I. Tel Reḥov in the Iron IIA and the Formation of Israel Tel Reḥov was the only urban center in the northern valleys that survived the Iron I/IIA transition (first half of the tenth century BCE), and continued to flourish in the early Iron IIA (ca. 980/950–900 BCE), while the adjacent Samaria Hills and Jezreel Valley remained devoid of any urban or political center.12 The recovery of the urban system begun in the very early phases of the late Iron IIA (ca. 900 BCE) with Megiddo Q5 in the Jezreel Valley, Hazor X in the Hulah Valley and with the emergence of Tirzah VIIb in north-east Samaria13 – the latter rapidly developed from a poor settlement (Stratum VIIa) to a rich urban center (Stratum VIIb).14 According to 1 Kings 15: 33, 16: 8–9, 16–18 Tirzah, was the (first?) capital of the kingdom of Israel established by Baasha from the “House of Issachar” (1 Kings 15:27), who ruled before the Omrides, 10 Urban centers in the northern valleys (like, Yoqneʿam, Tel Dothan, Taʿanach, Beth-shean, Megiddo, Hazor, or Dor on the Carmel Coast) are hardly mentioned in the Hebrew Bible (less than ten times, exceptional are Megiddo and Hazor, which are mentioned 11 and 12 times respectively), especially when compared to urban centers in the highlands (like Shechem, Shiloh, Bethel, and Samaria), but also when compared to urban centers in the Judean Lowlands (like Ekron, Gath, or Lachish). 11 See below. 12 For the settlement oscillations in the Samaria Hills and the northern Valleys during the LB–Iron IIA, see SERGI 2019, 209–19 with further literature. 13 FINKELSTEIN/KLEIMAN 2019. 14 KLEIMAN 2018.

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and hence Finkelstein and Kleiman have recently argued that the urban recovery in north-east Samaria and the northern Valleys should be identified with the kingdom of Israel in the days of Baasha.15 The identification of these sites with the pre-Omride polity of Baasha is based on the fact that they exhibit monumental architecture and the early consumption of Cypriot Black on Red ware,16 trends that will only intensify in the successive late Iron IIA occupational levels, which are associated with the Omrides (Megiddo Q4/V, Tel Reḥov IV, Hazor IX). This observation makes Finkelstein and Kleiman’s reconstruction very persuasive as it demonstrates that the well (archaeologically) identified Omride polity was based on an already existing socio-political structure,17 which encompassed northern Samaria and the northern valleys and was related by trade to Phoenicia. From a strict archaeological point of view, the entire urban system which Finkelstein and Kleiman attribute to the polity of Baasha (Tirzah VIIb, Megiddo Q5, Hazor X) evolved in the early phases of the late Iron IIA around the already existing urban center in Tel Reḥov V. Since Tel Reḥov and Tirzah are situated less than one day walk from each other, at the two ends of a road connecting the Samaria Hills with the Bethshean Valley, it is only reasonable to assume that the rulers of Tirzah were, in one way or another, related to the rulers of Tel Reḥov. Moreover, viewed from that perspective, the emergence of urban prosperity in Tirzah looks more like an expansion, or an offshoot, of the long enduring urban prosperity in Tel Reḥov. Tirzah was destroyed, however, shortly after its emergence as a ruling center, and power balance shifted again, when a lavish palatial compound was built on the Samaria hilltop on what had previously been an agricultural estate with no former urban or monumental traditions.18 The erection of the palace in Samaria is exclusively identified with the Omride dynasty (1 Kings 16:24), and it was accompanied by further urban development in the northern valleys: new palaces were erected in Megiddo V/Q4 and a royal compound was established in Jezreel, which like Samaria was previously an agricultural estate that had no former urban/monumental tradition.19 These building projects were based on the urban system that had been established previously, in the days of Baasha. Now, however, they were manifesting the power and wealth of the newly established dynasty – the Omrides. So far, no building activity that could be associated with the Omrides was detected in the Beth-shean Valley, where Tel Reḥov maintained its status and role as the seat of local ruling elite. In spite of that, attempts to argue that Tel Reḥov and the Beth-shean Valley were not integrated into the Omride polity,20 are difficult to accept.21 If the Omrides ruled the Jezreel Valley west of the Beth-shean Valley, and fought in the 15

FINKELSTEIN/KLEIMAN 2019. Cf. KLEIMAN et al. 2019. 17 For the archaeology of the Omride polity, see FINKELSTEIN 2013, 85–103, and further below. 18 For the stratigraphy of Samaria see FRANKLIN 2004; SERGI/GADOT 2017, 105–106, and further below. 19 For the building activity associated with the Omrides, see NIEMANN 2006; FINKELSTEIN 2013, 83–105; SERGI/GADOT 2017. 20 E.g., FINKELSTEIN 2016; ARIE 2017. 21 MAZAR 2016a, 115–16; KLEIMAN 2017, 366–69. 16

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Gilead east of it (2 Kings 8:28–29; 9:14–15), it is hard to imagine that the territory in between was ruled by some local elites who were hostile/not-loyal to the Omrides. Considering the fragmented nature of the Levantine polities,22 this is probably a classic case of “palace-clan” relations:23 even if Tel Reḥov was in a way self-governed, as may be suggested from its long durability since the LB I, it is more likely that its rulers came to accept the Omrides from Samaria. Eventually, Tel Reḥov was the only enduring political entity in the northern valleys and thus it had to be incorporated first in the polity centered on Tirzah and later in the one centered on Samaria. This is enough to attest for some sort of patronage relations between the urban elite in Tel Reḥov and the highland seats in Tirzah and Samaria.24 That Tel Reḥov played a prominent role in the political formation characterizing the region in the Iron IIA is clear from the fact that Tel Reḥov endured and maintained its material wealth in a period of social and political upheavals. This, in turn, made it a stable and strong component in the socio-political network on which early monarchic Israel was eventually established. In light of this, it may even be argued that the patronage relationship established between ruling elites in northern Samaria and in the Beth-shean Valley were central to the formation and maintenance of political hegemony in these regions, as I have already tried to show elsewhere.25 This pattern is mirrored by the available textual sources, which indicate that the backbone of early monarchic Israel was based on the alliance between ruling families from the Samaria Hills and ruling families that originated in (or were for the very least related to) the eastern Jezreel/Beth-shean Valleys. Thus, the Omrides, who probably originated in Samaria,26 were first leading the army of Baasha “from the House of Issachar” (1 Kings 16: 16–18), whose tribal allotment is located in the eastern Jezreel Valley (Joshua 19:17–22).27 Later, after assuming the throne, the Omrides were allied with the Nimshides who probably originated in the Beth-sehan Valley and now served as leaders of the Omride army (2 Kings 9:1–14). Under these circumstances, it may well have been that Baasha and the Nimshides were actually affiliated with the same family/clan, as already suggested by Naʾaman.28 When seen in this perspective, the rule of the Omrides from Samaria seems to have been only a short episode in a long-lasting rule of families who originated in the eastern Jezreel/Beth-shean Valleys (House of Issachar, the Nimshides).

22

E.g., SCHLOEN 2001; ROUTLEDGE 2004; for Israel, see SERGI 2019. Cf. NIEMANN 2008. 24 For patronage relations as a structural element in Levantine territorial polities, see PFOH 2009, 115–43; IDEM 2016, with further literature. 25 SERGI 2019. 26 SERGI/GADOT 2017, 109 27 The term “house” combined with PN (in this case, a clan’s name) mostly stands in the Hebrew Bible for a ruling dynasty, whose household represents a monarchic polity (e.g., House of David, House of Ahab), and see LEONARD-FLECKMAN 2016. This is the only occurrence of the term house coupled with the tribal name Issachar, and Baasha is the only king whose kinship identity (or, tribal affiliation) is designated as “House.” 28 NAʾAMAN 2008; IDEM 2016. 23

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So it becomes clear that both material and textual remains highlight the crucial role played by the valleys’ urban system and local clans in the formation of the kingdom of Israel: Whether it is the enduring role of Tel Reḥov within the emerging urban systems and highlands seats around it; or whether the epigraphic and the biblical sources implying the alliance of the Omrides with Baasha/the Nimshides – either way, all the available data points to the fact that the relations between ruling elites in northern Samaria and ruling elites in the eastern valleys provided the platform on which the early Israelite monarchy was established. This conclusion underscores the significance of the Beth-shean Valley and especially Tel Reḥov for the formation of early monarchic Israel, which is too often thought to originate exclusively in the highlands.29

II. Tel Reḥov and the Zenith of Israel in the Iron IIB The end of the urban prosperity in the northern valleys (ca. 840–820 BCE) is often attributed to the onslaught of Hazael, king of Aram-Damascus, on the Kingdom of Israel (2 Kings 10: 32–33; 13:3–8, 22–24).30 Also in its violent end, Tel Reḥov stands out when compared with its contemporaries: While it seems that most of the valley sites (Megiddo V, Jezreel, Hazor IX) were rapidly abandoned in the second half of the ninth century BCE,31 sites in the Beth-shean Valley (Beth-shean S-1b, Tel ʿAmal IV, and Tel el-Hammeh), the most prominent of which was Tel Reḥov IV, were destroyed by fire.32 Tel Reḥov, specifically, suffered a severe destruction, as the entire town was put to the torch, and its destruction layer was met in almost every excavated area.33 This fact may hint at the prominence of Tel Reḥov within the Israelite urban system. If indeed Megiddo, Jezreel, and Hazor were abandoned only after the destruction of Tel Reḥov,34 one can argue that Tel Reḥov was the key to the Israelite rule over the northern valleys. In addition, one should not rule out the possibility, already suggested by Mazar, that the unparalleled destruction of Tel Reḥov IV was related to its direct connection with the Nimshide family,35 who ruled Israel at the time of the Damascene attack. The Jezreel and the Beth-shean Valleys remained relatively uninhabited throughout the last decades of the ninth century BCE,36 while the rule of the first Nimshide monarchs, Jehu and his son Joahaz, seems to have been restricted to the Samaria Hills alone. It was only in the Iron IIB, that the urban centers in the northern valleys were restored (Megiddo IVA, Yoqneʿam XII, Taʿanach V, Tel Reḥov III), a building activi-

29

E.g. FINKELSTEIN 2011. NIEHR 2011; FINKELSTEIN 2013, 119–27; SERGI 2017a. 31 KLEIMAN 2016, 61–62; 65–69; SHOCHAT/GILBOA 2019. 32 KLEIMAN 2016, 62; 65–69. 33 MAZAR 2016a, 107–12. 34 KLEIMAN 2016, 69–71. 35 MAZAR 2016a, 110. 36 But not the Huleh Valley, which flourished under Hazael’s dominancy, and see SERGI/KLEIMAN 2018. 30

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ty identified with the reestablishment of Israelite political hegemony in these regions, under the reign of the last Nimshide kings – Joash and Jeroboam II.37 Yet, and as is clear from the fate of Tel Reḥov, the reestablishment of Israelite rule in the Jezreel/Beth-shean Valleys did not follow the previous patterns, which had structured the urban system in these regions since the Late Bronze Age. A brief look at the patterns of urban/rural development in Iron IIB Israel will contextualize and explain the contemporaneous decline of Tel Reḥov. To begin with, the rural hinterland in the northern and northeastern margins of the Jezreel Valley that flourished throughout the LB II–Iron IIA was abandoned following Hazael’s campaigns, and was not restored in the Iron IIB with the restoration of Megiddo and Tel Reḥov.38 A similar fate characterizes the rural hinterland of the Bethshean Valley (Tel ʿAmal and Tell el-Hammeh) that yielded no remains dated to the Iron IIB.39 This marks a significant change with severe economic implications, as the valleys’ rural hinterland, which throughout the LB II–Iron IIA supported a prosperous urban system (and in the LB II–III also supported the Egyptian royal economy),40 ceased to exist. The sharp decline of the rural hinterland in the northern valleys may explain the changes observed in the urban layouts of the Iron IIB valley sites: as mentioned above, in the Beth-shean Valley, both Tel Reḥov and Tel Beth-shean shrunk in size in the transition from the late Iron IIA to the Iron IIB. In Megiddo IVA, most of the city’s area was allocated to public features, such as the newly built city-wall, the watersystem, the governor’s residency in Building 338, and the two dominant stable complexes that were built instead of the former two Omride palaces.41 Megiddo IVA functioned, accordingly, as a breeding and training center for chariot and cavalry horses, which were probably traded between Egypt and the northern Levant/Assyria. The maintenance of such a sophisticated and specialized “horse industry” required a largescale apparatus involving many participants in different roles (e.g., the growing of food and grass needed to provide the horses, the specialized training for military purposes, and the buying/selling of horses in international markets).42 There should be little doubt that such an economic endeavor was a royal initiative, and here lies the great change in the history of Megiddo: since the Early Bronze Age, Megiddo was a palatial center, the seat of the rulers of the Jezreel Valley, but in the Iron IIB, for the

37

FINKELSTEIN 2013, 129–38. The northeastern margins of the Jezreel Valley were mostly inhabited by small (up to 5 hectare) rural settlements, some of which were excavated and these include Ḥorvat Tevet, Tel Shunem (COVELLO-PARAN/ARIE 2016), Tel ʿAfula (ARIE 2011, 303–10), and Tel Qishyon (ibid., 311–13), the latter provided only tombs. To these one may add the nearby sites in the northern margins of the valley, ʿEin el-Hilu (ibid., 244–55) and Tel Shaddud (ibid., 261–72). The latter only provides tombs. 39 For Tel el-Hammeh, see CAHILL 2006; for Tel ʿAmal, see LEVY/EDELSTEIN 1972; FEIG 2013. 40 For Egyptian royal economy in the Jezreel Valley, see NAʾAMAN 1981; IDEM 1988. 41 For Megiddo IVA, see recently, KLEIMAN/KAPLAN/FINKELSTEIN 2016; for the Megiddo IVA stables, see CANTRELL 2006; for their construction instead of the former Omride palaces, see SERGI /GADOT 2017, 106–108. 42 CANTRELL/FINKELSTEIN 2006; CANTRELL 2011, 87–113; FINKELSTEIN 2013, 133–35. 38

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first time in its history, it was rebuilt as a royal commercial center under the direct rule of the Nimshides kings from Samaria. In marked contrast to the Iron IIA building activity in the Jezreel Valley, which was characterized by the erection of lavishly built palatial compounds meant to physically impose the Omride rule (whether installed within an existing town like in Megiddo, or built anew on barren hills like in Jezreel),43 the Iron IIB building activity, which lacks a distinctive palatial architecture, implies that the Nimshides did not really need palaces in order to impose their rule on the Jezreel or the Beth-shean Valleys. This, in turn, indicates that by the Iron IIB, the Jezreel Valley, and for that matter, probably also the Beth-shean Valley, were well-integrated within an Israelite royal patronage network. In other words, if during the early monarchic period the Jezreel and the Beth-shean Valleys were ruled through a complex network of patronage relations between ruling families, by the Iron IIB these regions came under the more centralized rule of the Nimshides from Samaria. The eradication of their rural hinterland may have been one reason for that structural change. The lowland origin of the Nimshides might have been another one. Besides Megiddo IVA, extensive building activity that may be associated with the Nimshide rule is identified mainly in the Samaria Hills, in Bethel and Samaria. In Samaria, the original Omride palace, which was erected on an elevated rock cut scrap, was surrounded in the early eighth century BCE with an artificial platform and further buildings, reducing its former splendour and visibility.44 Yet, unlike the fate of Megiddo, Samaria maintained its status as the center of a polity, and in fact, it even exhibits the only palatial compound that may be attributed to the Nimshides.45 The extensive building activity in Samaria reflects the need to impose the Nimshide rule on the highlands, similar to the way the Omrides imposed their rule on the lowlands. What is more important for the sake of our discussion is the fact that the Nimshides still established their seat in the royal capital, which was exclusively identified with their predecessors, the Omrides, rather than in their homeland – the Beth-shean Valley. This is probably also the context in which we should see the extensive activity in southern Samaria, in Bethel. Bethel is situated on the southern border of the Samaria Hills, just above the Benjamin plateau some 20 km north of Jerusalem. It was inhabited in the LB II–Iron I, but declined and was only sparsely settled in the Iron IIA,46 a period during which many neighboring sites on the Ephraim/Benjamin border (Kh. Raddāna, Kh. edDawwāra, and et-Tell) were also abandoned.47 Only in the Iron IIB did Bethel again experience intensive habitation and rose in size and power side by side with the reset-

43

SERGI/GADOT 2017. Ibid., 105–107; 110–11. For other opinions regarding the stratigraphy of Samaria, see USSISHKIN 2006; FINKELSTEIN 2011b, in spite of that, see FRANKLIN 2006; NIEMANN 2011. 45 Perhaps also Dan, Stratum III, can be identified with the Nimshide rule, and see below. 46 FINKELSTEIN/SINGER-AVITZ 2009. 47 Maybe in tandem with the contemporaneous rise of Jerusalem as a highland stronghold, and see SERGI 2017b. Cf. FINKELSTEIN 2007. 44

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tlement of the entire region. It was not before that period, the first half of the eighth century BCE, that a royal Israelite sanctuary could have been installed in Bethel. 48 The book of Kings attributes the erection of royal sanctuaries at Dan and Bethel to Jeroboam I (1 Kings 12:26–30). The problem is that Dan was only sparsely settled in the Iron IIA (as was Bethel), while intensive habitation and monumental architecture in Dan are dated to the Iron IIB.49 The erection of the royal Israelite sanctuaries in Dan and Bethel should be, therefore, attributed to Jeroboam II,50 in what seems to be an overall re-organization towards a more centralized cult.51 Nowhere is this more explicit than in Tel Reḥov: there should be little doubt that Iron IIA Tel Reḥov was an important cultic center. The excavation on the lower mound yielded evidence for an open-air sanctuary, an additional building with cultic orientation, evidence of cultic activity related to the apiaries, and numerous cultic objects (pottery altars, decorated shrine models, clay figurines, cult stands, amulets, and more).52 It should be noted that no site in northern Israel can match the large quantity of cultic objects found just in the excavated areas of the lower mound of Iron IIA Tel Reḥov. This should come as no surprise considering the long continuity of Tel Reḥov as a prominent urban center and considering its significant and leading role in the formation of early monarchic Israel. What may be considered as a surprise is the fact that nothing of that rich and diverse cultic activity was restored with the rebuilding of the town under Nimshide rule in the Iron IIB (Stratum III). Cult centralization fits well in the overall context of political and territorial triumph,53 which characterizes the reign of Jeroboam II (cf. 2 Kings 14: 23–29). It is also coherent with what seems to be a more centralized rule of the Nimshides in the Iron IIB. The urban layouts and settlement patterns demonstrate that the Nimshide rulers, unlike the Omrides before them, were less dependent on political alliances with local elites and more on a direct rule over the valleys (Megiddo IVA and probably also Reḥov III). When coupled with the manifestation of royal power and ideology through centralized royal sanctuaries erected on the northern (Dan) and southern (Bethel) borders of the kingdom and probably also in the capital (cf. Hosea 8:5; 10:5–6; 13:2b), it becomes clear that the highlands were at the focus of Nimshide royal strategy – where they built their palaces and royal sanctuaries. Tel Reḥov, the former hometown of the

48 For the debate regarding the status of Bethel throughout the Iron Age–Persian Period, note also the opinion of LIPSCHITS 2017. For the subject at hand, the main question is when a royal Israelite sanctuary could be installed in Bethel (and not whether it was occupied in the Iron IIA or whether it included a sanctuary, which probably it always had). The meager Iron IIA finds at the site does not support any reconstruction of Bethel as a royal Israelite sanctuary any time before the Iron IIB (and cf. contemporaneous Dan, below). 49 ARIE 2008. Even if Dan was more than sparsely settled in the late Iron IIA, as recently argued by THAREANI 2019, it is clear that it was not a royal Israelite sanctuary before the Iron IIB, as ibid., 193 admits. 50 BERLEJUNG 2009; RÖMER 2017. 51 NAʾAMAN 2002; FINKELSTEIN 2013, 138–39. 52 For details and discussion, see MAZAR 2015. 53 Cf. NAʾAMAN 2006.

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Nimshides and significant cultic center for itself, had, apparently, no role in the new socio-political order structured by the last Nimshide monarchs.

III. Royal Strategy and Israelite Kinship Identity in the Eighth Century The new socio-political order established under the rule of the last Nimshide monarchs resulted also in an extensive literary production, which often characterizes the consolidation of monarchic power. Scholars attribute much of what seems to be an Israelite material in the Hebrew Bible – like the pre-Priestly Jacob Story, the core story of the Exodus, the pre-Deuteronomistic book of Judges, and some of the royal accounts in Kings – to the reign of Jeroboam II, or more generally to eighth-century BCE Israel.54 The pre-Priestly Jacob Story (Genesis 25B, 27–35*) is often seen as an Israelite origin myth, which defines the kinship identity of the Israelites, and their place in the world.55 Many scholars agree that it is a relatively unified and coherent narrative,56 composed – based on some older traditions, which, admittedly could not be accurately reconstructed – in the early eighth century BCE.57 Scholars (or at least those who argue for the eighth-century Israelite origin of the story) identify its oldest core in the Jacob-Laban narrative (Genesis 29–31), while the two episodes framing it, which tell about Jacob’s encounter with his god – first in Bethel (Genesis 28:10–22) and then in Penuel (Genesis 32:23–33), are mostly seen as a later additions from the hand of the eighth-century redactor of the pre-Priestly story.58 Dating the Bethel tradition to the first half of the eighth century BCE may find some support in the fact that only in this period Bethel experienced prosperity, probably in tandem with its institutionalization as an Israelite royal sanctuary. If so, the addition of the Bethel tradition to an older Jacob narrative may reflect the reorganization and centralization of royal cult under Jeroboam II.59

54

For the pre-Priestly Jacob Story see BLUM 2012a and further below; for the core story of the Exodus, see CARR 2012; BLUM 2012b; for the pre-Deuteronomistic book of Judges see GROß 2009, and further below; for the Israelite material in Kings see ROBKER 2012. 55 DE PURY 2006; BLUM 2012a; SERGI 2018; for the Israelite kinship identity see also IDEM 2019, 219–27. 56 BLUM 1984, 7–151, esp. 149–51 and many followed: e.g., CARR 1996, 256–64; IDEM 2011, 472‒75; ALBERTZ 2003, 251–52, 256; FLEMING 2012, 72–74; FINKELSTEIN/RÖMER 2014. 57 In the past, it was more common to date it within the early monarchic period (see, e.g., FOKKELMAN 1975, 238–41; BLUM 1984, 167–86). For the eighth century dating of the story, see BLUM 2012a, 207–10; DEPURY 2006, 51–59; FLEMING 2012, 72–85; FINKELSTEIN/RÖMER 2014, 319–32. In spite of some doubts regarding the monarchic origin of the pre-Priestly Jacob Story (e.g., WAHL 1997; BECKER 2009; NAʾAMAN 2014), most scholars maintain its origin in late monarchic Israel, even if they assume further reworking in later periods, e.g. WÖHRLE 2018, and see further in FINKELSTEIN/RÖMER 2014, 321–22. 58 E.g., BLUM 1984, 167–75; IDEM 2012a, 197–207; DIETRICH 2001; KRATZ 2005, 265–66; FINKELSTEIN/RÖMER 2014, 321–30. 59 FINKELSTEIN/RÖMER 2014, 325–27.

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The narrative about the birth of Jacob’s sons (Genesis 29:31–30:24), which is mostly thought to be a relatively unified narrative, is part and parcel of the pre-Priestly Jacob story, and as such it deals with social hierarchy within the Israelite kinship community.60 It unfolds a complex play on the rank of the mothers and the birth order of the sons, while its narrative suspense culminates in the pregnancy of Jacob’s most beloved wife, Rachel.61 The birth narrative decisively argues that Joseph, the son of Rachel, who represents the highland clans (Ephraim and Manasseh), is the most beloved (and hence, important) son of Jacob/Israel (together with his brother Benjamin, another highland clan).62 When considered in light of Jacob’s itinerary between the Gilead and the Samaria Hills, where he established sanctuaries along his journey,63 it may be argued that as an Israelite origin myth, the pre-Priestly Jacob story aims to define the nature of Israelite kinship identity and the primacy of the of the Josephite highland clans within its hierarchy. Interestingly, a similar picture arises from what is usually reconstructed as the preDeuteronomistic version of the book of Judges. This presumed document (sometimes referred to as “the Book of Saviors”) consisted of the core stories in Judg 3–9/11–12 that were edited together within a whole “Israelite” perspective during the eighth century BCE, maybe under the reign of Jeroboam II, but they may be dated even later in the eighth century.64 The first hero, Ehud, comes from Benjamin (Judg 3:15); the second, Deborah, from the region of Ephraim (Judg 4:5); Gideon is from Manasseh (through the Abieserite Clan, Judg 6:11 and cf. Josh 17:2; 1 Chron 17:14–18) and lastly, Jiphtach is a Gileadite (Judg 11:1). The pre-Deuteronomistic book of Judges creates, accordingly, the notion as if all the heroic leaders of pre-monarchic Israel originated in the highland clans – the Benjaminite and the Josephite clans.65 If, indeed, all these texts originated in eighth-century BCE Israel, they may attest that it was under the Nimshide rule that the primacy of the highland clans (Manasseh, Ephriam, Benjamin) over other Israelite clans was first formulated, marking the Samaria Hills as the core territory of the Israelites. This seems to be coherent with the overall centralization of politics and cults under the Nimshide rule, as reflected also by the extensive building activity in Samaria and Bethel during the same period. However, this was certainly not always the case, and there is enough evidence to argue that the primacy of the highland clans was a Nimshide construct from the eighth century BCE, which did not prevail beforehand. The archaeological discussion above highlighted the centrality of Tel Reḥov and the Beth-shean Valley for the formation of early monarchic Israel in the Iron IIA; epigraphic finds relate one of the most prominent Israelite families throughout the monarchic period – the Nimshides – to the Beth-shean Valley;

60

BLUM 1984, 106–107; FLEMING 2012, 74–81; WEINGART 2014, 235–44. WEINGART 2019, 28–29. 62 FLEMING 2012, 74–81; WEINGART 2014, 242–44; IDEM 2019. 63 SERGI 2018. 64 E.g., RICHTER 1965, esp. 319–43; GUILLAUME 2004, esp. 6–74; GROΒ 2009, 82–85; SCHERER 2005, esp. 413–42. For the history of research, see ibid., 1–18. 65 See also RICHTER 1965, 330–33; SCHERER 2005, 414; CARR 2011, 479–80; SERGI 2018. 61

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and lastly, even the book of Kings commemorates the leading role of a valley clan, the House of Issachar, in early monarchic Israel (1 Kings 15: 27). The significance of the lowland clans for Israelite kinship construction is aptly demonstrated by the Song of Deborah in Judges 5, which is probably older than the eighth-century BCE Israelite literature discussed above. The literary unity of this text, probably one of the most studied texts in the Hebrew Bible, is strongly contested. Some scholars reconstruct several stages of composition, sometimes stretched over hundreds of years, but there is absolutely no consensus regarding these stages, their extent, content or date.66 I would agree, therefore, with Groβ and many others that the Song of Deborah in Judges 5 is, to a large extent, a literary unified text, composed in pre-eighth-century BCE Israel.67 Still, even scholars who identify several literary stages in the Song of Deborah, agree that its old core commemorates a decisive battle which took place in the heart of the Jezreel Valley,68 and ended with a great and unexpected Israelite victory.69 The Song of Deborah praises the Israelite clans who joined forces in the battle, but also criticize those who failed to participate and did not respond to YHWH’s call for arms (Judges 5: 14–18).70 The register of clans in Judges 5 represents an early formulation of Israelite kinship construct, which pre-dates the Jacob Story and probably most of the other tribal lists in the Hebrew Bible.71 For the sake of our discussion, noteworthy is the fact that the Song of Deborah does not necessarily argue for the supremacy of the highland clans. The list of tribes/clans who joined forces in the battle opens with Ephraim and Benjamin, located in south Samaria; continues with Machir – a clan that in other texts relates to Manasseh and was located in Transjordan/northSamaria; and ends with Issachar and Zebulun, both are clans that at least partially were located in the valleys (cf. Josh 19: 10–23). According to this list, Issachar and Zebulun played a leading role in the commemorated battle: First, the location of the battle, near Sarid,72 identified with Tel Shaddud on the northern edges of the Jezreel Valley, is situated on the eastern border of the Zebulunite’s territory and adjacent to the western territory of the Issacharites (cf. Joshua 19: 10). Second, among the clans who joined the battle, only Zebulun is mentioned for his bravery (Judges 5:18). Finally, third, the Zebulunites and the Issacharites are mentioned for their leading role in the battle.73 Hence, it could hardly be coincidental that also 1 Kings 15:27 commemorates the

66

For history of research, see PFEIFFER 2005, 19–31; MAYFIELD 2009. GROß 2009, 337–41; FLEMING 2012, 64–69; BLUM 2020. 68 For the location of the battle and the historical-geography interpretation of Judges 5, see, NAʾAMAN 1990. 69 E.g., PFEIFFER 2005. 70 For a recent and persuasive analysis of this matter, see WRIGHT 2011a; IDEM 2011b. 71 The song mentions ten tribes, among them Gilead and Machir, which do not appear as tribes in the usual twelve-tribe system. The southern tribes Judah and Simeon are missing; so are Manasseh and Gad, see FLEMING 2012, 64–66; WEINGART 2019; BLUM forthcoming, with further literature. 72 NAʾAMAN 1990. 73 For Issachar the text mentions “the rulers” (‫)שרי‬, and note (!) the relation between Issachar and Deborah (Judges 5: 16); for Zebulun the text mentions tribal leaders (‫)משכים בשבט סופר‬. 67

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significance of an Issacharite leader (Baasha from the House of Issachar) for the formation of monarchic Israel. It is therefore evident that in earlier, pre-Nimshide formulation of Israelite kinship construct, the lowland clans (Issachar and Zebulun) were also regarded as prominent, side by side with the highland clans (Ephraim, Benjamin), if not even leading them. In fact, in her song Deborah is given no tribal identity, and if any – she is mentioned side by side with Issachar (Judges 5: 16). It is only in the prose narrative (Judges 4:5), which must be dated later than the song regardless of the exact relationship between them, that an Ephratite identity was assigned to Deborah. Thus, (re)locating her in Southern Samaria, and in line with the overall scheme of the pre-Deuteronomistic book of Judges to present the highland clans as the leaders of all Israel. The emphasize on the primacy of the highland clans and the delineation of the core Israelite territory in the Samaria Hills should be seen in light of the Nimshide monarchy and the reorganization of cult and politics under their rule. It is much harder to ponder, however, the reasons behind this shift to the highlands. It may well have been that the eradication of the rural hinterland in the eastern Jezreel/Beth-shean Valleys by the hand of Hazael, completely changed the social structure of the region, and maybe even brought the annihilation of some of the lowland clans, especially in the region of Beth-shean. Moreover, the first Nimshide monarchs, Jehu and Joahaz, reigned in the shadow of the Damascene hegemony, and their rule was restricted to the Samaria Hills alone. One may also argue that in this context the Nimshides adopted the highland identity of the Omride family, whose throne they usurped, as may be deduced from the fact that they adopted the Omride capital in Samaria. Either way, it seems that, by the eighth century BCE, the Samaria Hills were designated as the core Israelite territory, where the leading Israelite clans resided and the eponym ancestor of the Israelites established his sanctuaries. Such a perception of Israelite kinship identity left no room for Tel Reḥov, and I would therefore like to suggest that the absence of this site from Israelite literature, most of it was composed and redacted under Nimshide rule, was intentional. Just as the Nimshides eradicated the memory of the Omrides from the landscape and slandered their name in literature,74 they also obliterated the memory of Tel Reḥov, their own hometown, while constructing a new, and maybe more exclusive, Israelite highland identity.

IV. Concluding Remarks Under the last Nimshide monarchs the Israelite polity went through a social, political, and cultic reorganization towards a more centralized rule, economy, and cult – all focused on the Nimshide political and cultic centers in the Samaria Hills. The Iron IIB building activity associated with the Nimshides intensified especially in Samaria and Bethel (as well as Dan), and under these circumstances it seems that the valleys, and particularly the Beth-shean Valley, lost their importance altogether. Hence, the Nim-

74

SERGI/GADOT 2017, 110–11.

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shides did not invest much in order to restore the past glory of their hometown, Tel Reḥov, and concentrated much of their building efforts and royal prestige in highland sites, but also in their new economic venture in Megiddo, which they turned into their own private estate. I have suggested above that these structural changes were echoed in the Israelite literary works, which are dated to the eighth century BCE (the pre-Priestly Jacob Story and the pre-Deuteronomistic book of Judges). These literary works reformulated the Israelite kinship structure, laying more emphasize on the primacy of the highland clans – the Josephites and the Benjaminites – presenting them as the leaders who ruled Israel entirely, while delineating the core Israelite territory in the Samaria Hills. Within this newly established Israelite social hierarchy, the valley clans, towns, and families, who played a crucial and even leading role in the early monarchic period (and in preNimshide literature, cf. Judges 5), lost their prominence. It seems to me that the decline of Tel Reḥov under Nimshide rule and the fact that it entirely lost its former prominent economic, political, and cultic roles should be explained on this background. If so, also its total absence from the Israelite literature preserved in the Hebrew Bible is not accidental. The Nimshides intentionally omitted Tel Reḥov, thus erasing the memory of their lowland origin. Hence, it is not because of its assumed foreignness (non-Israelite) that Tel Reḥov was not mentioned in the Hebrew Bible,75 but exactly because it was Israelite and a hometown of an Israelite ruling family, that its memory as a prosperous valley town had to be erased when constructing the highland identity. If this reconstruction is correct, the Nimshide reformulation of Israelite kinship identity as a highland phenomenon might be considered as one of their most successful projects – after all, most of us, scholars, are still preoccupied with identifying, explaining and delineating the highland origin of ancient Israel.

Bibliography AḤITUV, S./A. MAZAR (2014): The Inscriptions from Tel Reḥov and Their Contribution to the Study of Script and Writing During Iron Age IIA, in: E. ESHEL/Y. LEVINE (eds.), “See, I Will Bring a Scroll Recounting What Befell Me” (Ps 40:8): Epigraphy and Daily Life from the Bible to the Talmud, Göttingen, 39–68. ALBERTZ, R. (2003): Israel in Exile: The History and Literature of the Sixth Century BCE, (Studies in Biblical Literature 3), Atlanta, GA. ARIE, E. (2008): Reconsidering the Iron Age II Strata at Tel Dan: Archaeological and Historical Implications, Tel Aviv 35, 6–64. – (2011): ‘In the Land of the Valley’: Settlement, Social and Cultural Processes in the Jezreel Valley from the End of the Late Bronze Age to the Formation of the Monarchy, (Ph.D. dissertation, Tel Aviv University), Tel Aviv. – (2017): The Omride Annexation of the Beth-Shean Valley, in: O. LIPSCHITS/Y. GADOT/M.J. ADAMS (eds.), Rethinking Israel: Studies in the History and Archaeology of Ancient Israel in Honor of Israel Finkelstein, Winona Lake, IN, 1–18. 75

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BECKER, U. (2009): Jakob in Bet-El und Sichem, in: A.C. HAGEDORN/H. PFEIFFER (eds.), Die Erzväter in der biblischen Tradition: Festschrift für Matthias Köckert, (BZAW 400), Berlin/New York,159–85. BERLEJUNG, A. (2009): Twisting Traditions: Programmatic Absence-Theology for the Northern Kingdom in 1 Kgs 12:26–33* (the ‘Sin of Jeroboam’), JNSL 35, 1–42 BLOCH, G/T.M. FRANCOYB/I. WACHTEL/N. PANITZ-COHENC/S. FUCHS/A. MAZAR (2010): Industrial Apiculture in the Jordan Valley During Biblical Times with Anatolian Honeybees, PNAS 2010, 1– 5. BLUM, E. (1984): Die Komposition der Vätergeschichte (WMANT 57), Neukirchen-Vluyn. – (2012a): The Jacob Tradition, in: C.E. EVANS/J.N. LOHR/D.L. PETERSEN (eds.), The Book of Genesis: Composition, Reception and Interpretation, Leiden, 181–211. – (2012b): Der historische Mose und die Frühgeschichte Israels, Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 1, 37–63. – (forthcoming): The Israelite Tribal System – Literary Fiction or Social Reality?, in: J.J. KRAUSE /O. SERGI/K. WEINGART (eds.), Saul, Benjamin and the Emergence of Monarchy in Israel: Archaeological and Biblical Perspectives, (Ancient Israel and its Literature), Atlanta, GA. CAHILL, J.M. (2006): The Excavations at Tell el-Hammah: A Prelude to Amihai Mazar’s Beth-Shean Valley Regional Project, in: A.M. MAEIR/E. DE MIROSCHEDJI (eds.), “I Will Speak the Riddles of Ancient Times”: Archaeological and Historical Studies in Honor of Amihai Mazar on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday, Winona Lake, IN, 429–59. CANTRELL, D.O. (2006): Stables Issues, in: I. FINKELSTEIN/ D. USSISHKIN/B. HALPERN (eds.), Megiddo IV: The 1998–2002 Seasons, Tel Aviv, 630–42. – (2011): The Horsemen of Israel: Horses and Chariotry in Monarchic Israel, Winona Lake, IN. CANTRELL, D.O./I. FINKELSTEIN (2006): A Kingdom for a Horse: The Megiddo Stables and Eighth Century Israel, in: I. FINKELSTEIN/D. USSISHKIN/B. HALPERN (eds.), Megiddo IV: The 1998–2002 Seasons, Tel Aviv, 643–65. CARR, D.M. (1996): Reading the Fractures of Genesis: Historical and Literary Approaches, Louisville. – (2011): The Formation of the Hebrew Bible: A New Reconstruction, Oxford. – (2012): The Moses Story: Literary Historical Reflections, Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 1, 7– 36. COVELLO-PARAN, K./E. ARIE (2016): Excavations at Tel Shunem (Sulam), Areas G and G1, ʿAtiqot 84, 25–62. DIETRICH, W. (2001): Jakobs Kampf am Jabbok (Gen 32:23–33), in: J.D. MACCHI/T. RÖMER (eds.), Jacob: A Plural Commentary of Gen 25–36: Mélanges offerts à Albert de Pury, Geneva, 197–210. FEIG, N. (2013): Tel ʿAmal: An Iron Age IIA Settlements and Remains from the Bronze Age and the Ottoman Period, Hadashot Arkheologiyot – Excavations and Surveys in Israel, 125 [IAA Website, Hebrew with English Summary] http://www.hadashot-esi.org.il/Report_Detail_Eng.aspx?id=5412 &mag_id=120. FINKELSTEIN, I. (2007): Iron Age I Khirbet et-Tell and Khirbet Raddana: Methodological Lesson, in: S. WHITE CRAWFORD (ed.), “Up to the Gates of Ekron”: Essays on the Archaeology and History of the Eastern Mediterranean in Honor of Seymour Gitin, Jerusalem, 107–13. – (2011a): Stages in the Territorial Expansion of the Northern Kingdom, VT 61, 227–42. – (2011b): Observations on the Layout of Iron Age Samaria, Tel Aviv 38, 194–207. – (2013): The Forgotten Kingdom: The Archaeology and History of Northern Israel, (SBL Ancient Near Eastern Monograph 5), Atlanta, GA. – (2016): Rehob of the Beth-Shean Valley Appear in the Bible?, BN 169, 3–10. FINKELSTEIN, I./A. KLEIMAN (2019): The Archaeology of the Days of Baasha?, RB 126, 277–96. FINKELSTEIN, I./T. RÖMER (2014): Comments on the Historical Background of the Jacob Narrative in Genesis, ZAW 126, 317–38. FINKELSTEIN, I./L. SINGER-AVITZ (2009): Reevaluating Bethel, ZDPV 125, 1–48.

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FLEMING, D. (2012): The Legacy of Israel in Judah’s Bible: History, Politics and the Reinscribing of Tradition, Cambridge. FOKKELMAN, J.P. (1975): Narrative Art in Genesis, Assen/Amsterdam. FRANKLIN, N. (2004): Samaria: From the Bedrock to the Omride Palace, Levant 36, 189–202. – (2007): Response to David Ussishkin, BASOR 348, 71–73. GOREN, Y./I. FINKELSTEIN/N. NAʾAMAN (2004): Inscribed in Clay: Provenance Study of the Amarna Letters and Other Ancient Near Eastern Texts, Tel Aviv. GROß, W. (2009): Richter, (Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament), Freiburg. GUILLAUME, P. (2004): Waiting for Josiah, (JSOTSup 385), London. KEEL, O./A. MAZAR (2009): Iron Age Seals and Seal Impressions from Tel Reḥov, Eretz-Israel 29, 57*–69*. KLEIMAN, A. (2016): The Damascene Subjugation of the Southern Levant as a Gradual Process (ca. 842–800 BCE), in: O. SERGI/M. OEMING/I. DE-HULSTER (eds.), In Search of Aram and Israel: Politics, Culture and Identity, (Oriental Religions in Antiquity 20), Tübingen, 89–119. – (2017): A North Israelite Royal Administrative System and Its Impact on Late-Monarchic Judah, Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 6, 354–71. – (2018): Comments on the Archaeology and History of Tell el-Farʿah North (Biblical Tirzah) in the Iron IIA, Semitica 60, 85–104. KLEIMAN, A./A. KAPLAN/I. FINKELSTEIN (2016): Building 338 at Megiddo: New Evidence from the Field, IEJ 66, 161–76. KLEIMAN, A./A. FANTALKIN/H. MOMMESEN/I. FINKELSTEIN (2019): The Date and Origin of Blackon-Red Ware: A View from Megiddo, AJA 123, 531–55. KRATZ, R.G. (2005): The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament, London. LEONARD-FLECKMAN, M. (2016): The House of David: Between Political Formation and Literary Revision, Minneapolis, MN. LEVY, S./G. EDELSTEIN (1972): Cinq Années de Fouilles a Tel ʿAmal (Nir David), RB 79, 325–67. LIPSCHITS, O. (2017): Bethel Revisited, in: O. LIPSCHITS/Y. GADOT/M.J. ADAMS (eds.), Rethinking Israel: Studies in the History and Archaeology of Ancient Israel in Honor of Israel Finkelstein, Winona Lake, IN, 233–46. MAYFIELD, T. (2009): The Accounts of Deborah (Judges 4–5) in Recent Research, Currents in Biblical Research 7, 306–35. MAZAR, A. (1999): The 1997–1998 Excavations in Tel Reḥov: Preliminary Report, IEJ 49, 1–42. – (2015): Religious Practices and Cult Objects During the Iron Age IIA at Tel Reḥov and Their Implications Regarding Religion in Northern Israel, Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 4, 25–55. – (2016a): Culture, Identity and Politics Relating to Tel Reḥov in the 10th–9th Centuries BCE, in: O. SERGI/M. OEMING/I. DE-HULSTER (eds.), In Search of Aram and Israel: Politics, Culture and Identity, (Oriental Religions in Antiquity 20), Tübingen, 89–119. – (2016b): Discoveries from the Early Monarchic Period in Tel Reḥov, in: I. ZIFFER (ed.), It is the Land of Honey: Discoveries from Tel Reḥov, the Early Days of the Israelite Monarchy, Tel Aviv, 9–65. – (2019): Weaving in Iron Age Tel Reḥov and the Jordan Valley, Journal of Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology and Heritage Studies 7, 119–37. MAZAR, A./S. AḤITUV (2011): Tel Reḥov in the Assyrian Period: Squatters, Burials, and a Hebrew Seal, in: I. FINKELSTEIN/N. NAʾAMAN (eds.), The Fire Signals from Lachish: Studies in the Archaeology and History of Israel in the Late Bronze Age, Iron Age and Persian Period in Honor of David Ussishkin, Winona Lake, IN, 265–80. MAZAR, A./U. DAVIDOVICH (2019): Canaanite Reḥob: Tel Reḥov in the Late Bronze Age, BASOR 381, 163–91. MAZAR, A./N. KOUROU (2019): Greece and the Levant in the 10th–9th Centuries BC: A View from Tel Reḥov, Opuscula 12, 369–92.

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MAZAR, A./N. PANITZ-COHEN (2007): It is the Land of Honey: Beekeeping at Tel Reḥov, NEA 70, 202–19. MAZAR, A./H.J. BRUINS/N. PANITZ-COHEN/J. VAN DER PLICHT (2005): Ladder of Time at Tel Reḥov Stratigraphy, Archaeological Context, Pottery and Radiocarbon Dates, in: T.E. LEVY/T. HIGHAM (eds.), The Bible and Radiocarbon Dating: Archaeology, Text and Science, London/New-York, 193–255. NAʾAMAN, N. (1981): Economic Aspects of the Egyptian Occupation of Canaan, IEJ 31, 172–85. – (1988): Pharaonic Lands in the Jezreel Valley in the Late Bronze Age, in: M. HELTZER/ E. LIPIŃSKI (eds.), Society and Economy in the Eastern Mediterranean (C. 1500–1000 BCE), (OLA 23), Leuven, 177–85. – (1990): Literary and Topographical Notes on the Battle of Kishon, VT 40, 423–36. – (2002): The Abandonment of Cult Places in the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah as Acts of Cult Reform, UF 34, 585–602. – (2006): The King Leading Cult Reforms in His Kingdom: Josiah and Other Kings in the Ancient Near East, ZAR 12, 131–68. – (2008): Naboth’s Vineyard and the Foundation of Jezreel, JSOT 33, 197–218. – (2014): The Jacob Story and the Formation of Biblical Israel, Tel Aviv 41, 95–125. – (2016): The Royal Dynasties of Israel and Judah, ZAR 22, 59–73. NIEHR, H. (2011): König Hazael von Damaskus im Licht neuer Funde und Interpretationen, in: E. GASS/H.-J. STIPP (ed.), ‘Ich werde meinen Bund mit euch niemals brechen!’ (Ri 2,1): Festschrift für Walter Groß, Freiburg, 339–56. NIEMANN, H.M. (2006): Core Israel in the Highlands and Its Periphery: Megiddo, the Jezreel Valley and the Galilee in the 11th–8th century BCE, in: I. FINKELSTEIN/D. USSISHKIN/B. HALPERN (eds.), Megiddo IV: The 1998–2002 Seasons, (Monograph Series 24), Tel Aviv, 821–42. – (2008): A New Look at the Samaria Ostraca: The King-Clan Relationship, Tel Aviv 35, 249–65. – (2011): Observations on the Layout of Iron Age Samaria, UF 43, 325–34. PFEIFFER, H. (2005): Jahwes Kommen von Süden, (FRLANT 21), Göttingen. PFOH, E. (2009): The Emergence of Israel in Ancient Palestine: Historical and Anthropological Perspectives, (Copenhagen International Seminar), London/New York. – (2016): Syria-Palestine in the Late Bronze Age: Anthropology of Political Power, (Copenhagen International Seminar), London/New York. DE PURY, A. (2006): The Jacob Story and the Beginning of the Formation of the Pentateuch, in: T.B. DOZEMAN/K. SCHMID (eds.), A Farewell to the Yahwist?: The Composition of the Pentateuch in Recent European Interpretation, (SBL Symposium Series 34), Atlanta, 51–72. RICHTER, W. (1965): Traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zum Richterbuch, Bonn. ROBKER, J.M. (2012): The Jehu Revolution: A Royal Tradition of the Northern Kingdom and Its Ramifications, (BZAW 435), Berlin/Boston. RÖMER, T. (2017): How Jeroboam II Became Jeroboam I, Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 6, 372–82. ROUTLEDGE, B. (2004): Moab in the Iron Age: Hegemony, Polity, Archaeology, Philadelphia, PA. SCHERER, A. (2005): Überlieferungen von Religion und Krieg: Exegetische und religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu Richter 3–8 und verwandten Texten, (WMANT 105), Neukirchen-Vluyn. SCHLOEN, D.J. (2001): The House of the Father as Fact and Symbol: Patrimonialism in Ugarit and the Ancient Near East, (Studies in the Archaeology and History of the Levant 2), Winona Lake, IN. SHOCHAT, H./A. GILBOA (2019): Elusive Destructions: Reconsidering the Hazor Iron Age II Sequence and Its Chronological and Historical Implications, Levant 50, 363–86. SERGI, O. (2017a): The Battle of Ramoth-gilead and the Rise of the Aramaean Hegemony in the Southern Levant During the Second Half of the 9th Century BCE, in: A. BERLEJUNG/ A.M. MAEIR/A. SCHÜLE (ed.), Wandering Aramaean: Aramaeans Outside Syria – Textual and Archaeological Perspectives (Leipziger Altorientalistische Studies 5), Wiesbaden, 81–97. – (2017b): The Emergence of Judah as a Political Entity Between Jerusalem and Benjamin, ZDPV 133, 1–23.

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– (2018): Jacob and the Aramaean Identity of Ancient Israel Between the Judges and the Prophets, in: M. BRETT/J. WÖHRLE (eds.), The Politics of the Ancestors: Exegetical and Historical Perspectives on Genesis 12–36, Tübingen, 283–305. – (2019): Israelite Identity and the Formation of the Israelite Polities in the Iron I–IIA Central Canaanite Highlands, Welts des Orients 49, 206–35. SERGI, O./Y. GADOT (2017): Omride Palatial Architecture as Symbol in Action: Between State Formation, Obliteration and Heritage, JNES 76, 103–11. SERGI, O./A. KLEIMAN (2018): The Kingdom of Geshur and the Expansion of Aram-Damascus into the Northern Jordan Valley: Archaeological and Historical Perspectives, BASOR 379, 1–18. THAREANI, Y. (2019): Changing Allegiances in Disputed Borderlands: Dan’s Political Status on the Eve of the Aramaean Invasion, PEQ 151, 184–201. USSISHKIN, D. (2006): Megiddo and Samaria: A Rejoinder to Norma Franklin, BASOR 348, 49–70. WAHL, H.M. (1997): Die Jakobserzählungen: Studien zu ihrer mündlichen Überlieferung, Verschriftung und Historizität, (BZAW 258), Berlin/New York. WEINGART, K. (2014): Stämmevolk – Staatvolk – Gottesvolk?: Studien zur Verwendung des IsraelsNamens im Alten Testament, (FAT II/68), Tübingen. – (2019): “All These Are the Twelve Tribes of Israel”: The Origins of Israel’s Kinship Identity, NEA 82, 24–31. WRIGHT, J.L. (2011a): War Commemoration and the Interpretation of Judges 5:15b–17, VT 61, 505– 21. – (2011b): Deborah’s War Memorial: The Composition of Judges 4–5 and the Politics of War Commemoration, ZAW 123, 516–34.

II. Reflections on Destruction and Loss in Prophetic, Poetic, and Post-Biblical Literature

Echoes in Time The Perception of Jehoiachin’s Amnesty in Past and Present (2 Kings 25:27–30) Bob Becking* Destruction and loss are perennial problems of humankind. It is an enduring challenge to cope with them. This paper does not concentrate on trauma and disaster: instead, it focuses on an event that prima facie is to be seen as a liberating moment in the past. Nonetheless, the history of interpretation of 2 Kings 25:27–30 makes clear that trauma and relief often come as a pair. Next to that, it is intriguing to see that boring facts from the past can lead to a lively discussion that challenges the reader in his or her attitude towards harm and happiness. The event chosen took place during the Babylonian exile of the people of Judah.

I. Amēl-Marduk’s Generous Act In 562 BCE, Amēl-Marduk succeeded his father Nebuchadnezzar II as king of Babylon.1 His reign was not enduring. Within two years, Amēl-Marduk was assassinated by Nergal-šarru-uṣur (Neriglissar), his brother-in-law.2 This is what Berossus wanted us to believe.3 According to the same source, he “governed public affairs after an illegal and impure manner.”4 Neo-Babylonian inscriptions from the reign of Amēl-Marduk are scarce and not very informative.5 These inscriptions neither confirm nor challenge the negative image of Amēl-Marduk as presented by Berossus. They inform about * The abbreviation system of H.D. BETZ et al. (eds.), Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, 8 Vols., (4th ed., Tübingen, 1998–2007) is followed. 1 Two Neo-Babylonian texts indicate that the transmission of power was not without problems. Amēl-Marduk is accused of having his brother Nabû-šuma-ukīn incarcerated in order to have a competitor to the throne out of sight, see FINKEL 1999; AYALI-DARSHAN 2017, 28. The intriguing suggestion by FINKEL 1999, 333–38, that Amēl-Marduk is in fact Nabû-šuma-ukīn having changed his name after his release has no ground in the evidence. 2 On Neriglissar’s assumed Aramean background, see BEAULIEU 2013, 35–36; DA RIVA 2013, 14. 3 Apud Josephus, Contra Apionem, 1.20; see SACK 1972, 6; on Berossus see the essays in HAUBOLD et al. 2013. 4 οὗτος προστὰς τῶν πραγµάτων ἀνόµως: Josephus, Contra Apionem, 1.20. 5 SACK 1972, lists 95 and DA RIVA 2014, 106–11, lists 6 cuneiform inscriptions all of which are of no other historical value than the indication that LÚ-dAMAR.UTU (amēl-marduk), “Amēl-Marduk (literally it means ‘the Man of Marduk’),” was a son of Nebuchadnezzar.

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building activities and trade activities during his reign. The ending of the book of Kings challenges the negative image of Amēl-Marduk as expressed by Berossus.6 The Hebrew Bible contains a reflex of Amēl-Marduk’s accession: 27

In the thirty-seventh year of the exile of Jehoiachin, the king of Judah, in the twelfth month, on the twenty-seventh day of the month, Evil-Merodakh, king of Babylon, pardoned, in his accession year, Jehoiachin, king of Judah, from prison. He spoke kind things to him and gave him a throne above the throne of the kings who were with him in Babylon: “He7 will change his prison clothes. He will eat food permanently by his favour, all the days of his life. His allowance will be a permanent allowance Distributed to him on behalf of the king, all the days of his life.”8 (2 Kings 25:27–30//Jer 52:31–34)

28 29 30

As I have argued elsewhere, the Babylonian king granted, on the occasion of his first New Year festival, Jehoiachin, the imprisoned king of Judah, amnesty.9 There are various ancient Near Eastern parallels that indicate that kings on the occasion of their first New Year Festival granted amnesty to some of their subjects.10 The idea of humane treatment being connected to the Akitu-festival of Nisannu supplies an interesting religious background to the release of Jehoiachin as well as an argument for the historical reliability of the report in 2 Kings 25:27–30.11 This act of Amel-Marduk/ʾewı̂ l merōdak can be compared with a stone thrown in a pond causing waves and echoes in time. The first echoes are relatively calm waves. The LXX, Vulgate, and Targum Jonathan present rather literal translations with no comments or expansions. The only notable point is the fact that LXX renders the name of yehôyākîn, “Jehoiachin,” with Ιωακιµ apparently confusing Jehoiachin with his father.

II. First Waves and Wrinklings The first reference to Amēl-Marduk/Evil-Merodakh outside the cuneiform or Biblical texts is found in a remark by the Greek historian Megasthenes (350–290 BCE) that was handed down via Abydenus and is known from Eusebius: He12 after uttering this prediction had immediately disappeared, and his son Amil-Marudocus became king. But he was slain by his kinsman Iglisar, who left a son Labassoarask. And when he died by a

6

See AVISHUR/HELTZER 2007. FROLOV 2007, 184–85, correctly takes Evil Merodach as the subject of the verb. 8 I interpret the shift in verb-forms in 29 as a sign that the last two verses should be construed as direct royal speech, BECKING 1990; this view is unconvincingly challenged by PATTON 2017, 27. 9 See BECKING 1990. 10 See ibid.; on the Akitu-festival see PONGRATZ-LEISTEN 1994; BIDMEAD 2002. 11 See also GALIL 1996, 117–18, who connects the release of Jehojachin with the context of a duraru proclaimed close to the coronation of Evil-Merodakh; and PATTON 2017, 18. 12 I.e. Nebuchadnezzar who went into a frenzy. 7

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violent death, Nabannidochus, who was not at all related to him was appointed king. But after the capture of Babylon, Cyrus presents him with the principality of Carmania.13

Eusebius presents this predicted end of Nebuchadnezzar as an interpretation of a remark he found in Josephus: So, then Nebuchadnezzar, after he had begun the wall before-mentioned, fell sick and died, after a reign of forty-three years, and his son Evil-Merodach became master of the kingdom. He governed the affairs of the kingdom in a lawless and outrageous manner, and was plotted against and put to death by his sister’s husband Neriglissar, after having reigned two years.14

An interpretation of the event is found in Flavius Josephus: But now, after the death of Nebuchadnezzar, Evil-Merodach, his son, succeeded in the kingdom, who immediately set Jeconiah at liberty, and esteemed him among his most intimate friends. He also gave him many presents, and made him honourable above the rest of the kings that were in Babylon; for his father had not kept his faith with Jeconiah, when he voluntarily delivered up himself to him, with his wives and children, and his whole kindred, for the sake of his country, that it might not be taken by siege, and utterly destroyed, as we said before.15

According to Josephus, Amel-Marduk was doing the right thing when correcting the bad behavior of his father. Nebuchadnezzar had broken the promise not to imprison Jehoiachin. Josephus gives a free interpretation of 2 Kings 24:11–12 where it is narrated that Jehoiachin voluntarily surrendered to the Babylonian king. Josephus presents this scene as if the Babylonian king had given an oath to Jehoiachin that neither he, his family, nor the city should suffer any harm on which Jehoiachin surrendered, hoping to spare Jerusalem from destruction. The Babylonian king, however, turned out to be untrustworthy.16 It should be noted that Josephus as a Jew who dared to stand in the service of a foreign power had special attention for Judeans and Jews in the past acting in a comparable way such as Jehoiachin and Nehemiah. As servants between powers, they have been a role model for Josephus.17 An echo of the event is found in Jerome’s commentary on the book of Isaiah at Isa 14:19. In a side-remark, the church father refers to Evil-Merodakh when stating that the “magnates of the state,” were very much against the installment of EvilMerodakh as a king over Babylon. They feared that Nebuchadnezzar might return and thus tried to retain Evil-Merodakh from ascending the throne. According to Jerome, this is, however, a Jewish fable – narrant Hebraei huius modi fabulam.18 Sack has indicated that no such fable is known in rabbinic sources.19 It is, in my view, not im-

13

Eusebius, Praep. Ev. IX:41. Josephus, Contra Ap. I:19, in Eusebius, Praep. Ev. IX:40; SACK 1972, 5–6, has unfortunately blurred the two sections in Eusebius. 15 Josephus, Ant. X:11.2; see SACK 1972, 8–9; a comparable view is present in the early ninth century CE anonymous chronicle Seder Olam Zutta II (early ninth century CE). 16 Josephus, Ant. X:7.1. 17 See FELDMAN 1995; GROJNOWSKI 2015. 18 Jerome, Comm. Esaiam, X:xiv, 9. 19 SACK 1972, 13; IDEM 2004, 31–32. 14

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possible that Jerome projected contemporary problems with the succession of Roman emperors and the suspected role of Jews in it into ancient times.20 An intriguing but unique note is found in the Chronicle of Jerachmeel. In this fourteenth century CE text, the compiler Eleasar ben Asher the Levite presents a historical tale based on the Hebrew Bible, some deuterocanonical books, and Pseudo Philo’s Liber Antiquorum Biblicarum.21 He22 did this23 because Nebuchadnezzar the great did not keep faith with him, for Evil-Merodach was really his eldest son; but he made Nebuchadnezzar the younger, king, because he had humbled the wicked. They slandered him to his father who placed him in prison together with Jehoiachin, where they remained until the death of Nebuchadnezzar, his brother after whom he reigned.24

The compiler – or his source – adopts the view of Josephus on the untrustworthiness of Nebuchadnezzar and adds an allusion to the fate of Joseph in Egypt and the solidarity he found in Pharaoh’s prison.

III. Modern Scholarship In critical biblical scholarship, the last four verses of the book of Kings have been disputed in a quite different manner. The focal question in this dispute is about the function of this short report within the composition of the book of Kings. Two subquestions are of importance: 1) Is the section to be construed as an integral part of the book of Kings, or was it a later addition and hence part of one of the assumed redactions of the book of Kings/or the Deuteronomistic History (DtrH)? 2) When seen as the end of the story on the monarchic period of Israel and Judah, is the short note to be interpreted as a sign of hope, or does it just underscore the pessimistic tendency? In this essay, I will not discuss modern scholarship on these verses in all aspects. Neither will I refer to every single piece written about the. I would like to focus on one question: How did scholars interpret Dtr as a way to cope with collective cultural trauma?25 III.A. Martin Noth In 1943, Martin Noth published an important book, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien.26 In it, he presented the idea that the biblical books of Deuteronomy up to 2 Kings are to be construed as the work of the Deuteronomist. In the Babylonian exile, this redactor narrated Israel’s past as a kind of theodicy to answer the question of how it could be possible that despite the love of God his chosen people ended up at the 20

See KRAUSS 1894. GASTER 1899. 22 Evil-Merodach. 23 The release of Jehoiachin. 24 Chronicle of Jerachmeel, LXVI: 5; GASTER 1899, 206–207; see SACK 1972, 22–23; 26–27. 25 I adopt this idea from ALEXANDER 2004, 1–30; IRWIN-ZARECKA 2017. 26 NOTH 1943. On Noth as a scholar, see SMEND 1989, 255–75. 21

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rivers of Babylon. Based on oral and written traditions, the Deuteronomist constructed a narrative in which the accumulation of guilt eventually provoked the anger of God. Using the Babylonians as a rod for his wrath, Judah was sent into exile. Noth clearly states that DtrH did not express any ideas of the future of God’s people. In his view, DtrH is of the opinion that the sack of Jerusalem and the demolition of the temple indicate the end of the relationship between God and people. No hope for the future is given: 2 Kings 25:27–30 is nothing more than an accidental final notice without any theological value. As Noth remarks that with: … die Verbesserung der persönlichen Lage des deportierten Königs Jojachin […] das Morgenrot einer neuen Zukunft nicht erschienen sei.27

Living in the cradle of trauma, Noth only detects the traumatic aspects of Dtr, but sees no way of coping with the trauma other than merely accepting it as such. III.B. Gerhard von Rad Against Noth’s minimalistic view stands Gerhard von Rad’s more maximal interpretation. A few years after the Second World War, von Rad published a short monograph on the compositions and theology of the book of Deuteronomy.28 Here he offers, in a nutshell, the view that he later developed in his Theologie des Alten Testaments. In his book on Deuteronomy, von Rad hints at the fact that, in D as well as in Dtr, a thread is present that was overlooked by Noth. Von Rad concurs with Noth that Dtr offers a view on history that presents the exile as the final act of God in answer to the guilt of the people of Israel. Von Rad, however, adds an important note: Aber Dtr sah noch ein anderes Wort in der Geschichte wirksam, nämlich die Heilszusage der Nathanweissagung, die ebenfalls wirkungskräftig durch die Geschichte gegangen ist.29

He refers to God’s promise to David in 2 Samuel 7:16: And your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me. Your throne shall be established forever.

In his Theologie des Alten Testaments, he connects this thread with the final report of the book of Kings. The promise of an everlasting dynasty is seen by von Rad as the hermeneutical key to understand the last four verses of the book of Kings. The report on the release of Jehoiachin is not a random addition but a thoughtful ending (nachdenkliche Abschluss) of Dtr. With this report, Dtr consciously opens the door to the future, an almost Messianic sign of hope in the darkness of the exile.30 Von Rad’s views have been very influential.31 Living in a period in which World War II has be-

27

NOTH 1943, 12.108. See also GRAY 1963, 773; CROSS 1973, 277; WÜRTHWEIN 1984, 484; AL2001, 91; FREEDMAN/KELLY 2004, 39–41; KASWALDER 2004; SCHMITZ 2008, 375–76. 28 VON RAD 1947, 63–64. On von Rad, see SMEND 1989, 226–54. 29 VON RAD 1969, 355. 30 IDEM 1947, 63–64; IDEM 1969, 355. 31 See also ZENGER 1968; DIETRICH 1972, 142; GRANOWSKI 1992; PROVAN 1995, 71–76; PIETSCH 2017; PATTON 2017. BERTZ

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come a collective trauma for all who survived, von Rad reads Dtr as a text with a double strategy to cope with trauma: acceptance and hope for better days.32 III.C. Christopher Begg Nevertheless, a new approach arose around 1985. Scholars like Christopher T. Begg,33 Thomas L. Thompson,34 and Thomas C. Römer35 were looking for a mediating position between the view of Noth and von Rad. In line with the upcoming tendency to read the Bible as a piece of literary art, attention was paid to aspects that are not mentioned in the text: – God, ‫יהוה‬, is not portrayed as the protagonist of the release. As Begg has noticed, the deuteronomistic author could have phrased these verses in a different way if his purpose was to attribute Jehoiachin’s release to YHWH’s initiative.36 Quite the contrary is observable: there is a pro-Babylonian stand in the present wording of these clauses. Evil-Merodakh is the main subject of almost all clauses. 37 – There is no return from exile. The only “positive” thing that is narrated is the shift of Jehoiachin from the ergastulum under the palace to the table-room in the palace.38 – Parallel to this: Jehoiachin was set on a ‫כסא‬, “throne,” at the table of the Babylonian king, not on the ‫ כסא‬of David in Jerusalem.39 – Jehoiachin’s release was – at the most – a matter of personal liberation. The act of amnesty had no consequences for the people as a whole. His amnesty did not imply salvation for his people. These observations imply that 2 Kings 25:27–30 can, in the view of these scholars, not be construed as an almost Messianic sign of hope or as a haphazard remark. It should be read as an indication that life went on in exile and that the impetus for a return from exile is not to be awaited from a Babylonian king. Although Jehoiachin’s release was an indication for an “ameliorated exile,”40 it was not yet a second exodus. Next to that, it should be noted that, in 2 Kings 25:27–30, no mention is made of Jehoiachin’s offspring. This absence of a son or an heir to Jehoiachin makes a “messian-

32

There is a multitude of literature on the Second World War and its aftermath; see, e.g., SCHREIBER 2013. The traumatic events were not without effect on Biblical scholarship. 33 BEGG 1986; adapted by BECKING 1990; GERHARDS 1998; FISCHER 2005, 656–57. 34 THOMPSON 1999, 30. 35 RÖMER 2005, 177. 36 BEGG 1986, 50; MURRAY 2001, 252–56. 37 See NOBILE 1986, 207–24; BEGG 1987, 3–11; SEITZ 1989, 215–22; THOMPSON 1990, 30. 38 See, e.g. GERHARDS 1998, 5; the Hebrew expression bêt kèlèʾ is to be construed as a Babylonian loanword: bīt kīli, “prison; house of confinement,” see ALBERTZ 2001, 90. 39 See PATTON 2017, 27. 40 MURRAY 2001, 48–50; PATTON 2017, 28.

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ic” interpretation not very plausible, especially in light of the presence of his offspring in 1 Chron. 3:17–18 and in the Babylonian assignment lists.41

IV. Zeitgeist The three scholarly views just discussed present themselves as based on written evidence and as the result of a non-subjective argument. Strangely enough, the three scholars mentioned intriguingly arrive at a variety of views although applying basically the same critical methods. This seems astonishing, and when told to scholars from a different field, it will only intensify their suspicion as regards the academic status of biblical scholarship. A physicist would suggest that the measures in the experiment were probably flawed or polluted: the test needs to be done again and then properly. A social science scholar could be of the opinion that the N – number of cases or sample size – is too low for any conclusion.42 A scholar working in gender studies in literature might nod positively and prompt me to admit that biblical scholars always look at texts with a specific gaze. I did not follow these pieces of advices. I started an inquiry on the reasons why the interpretations did differ. In my view, all scholars should be seen as “children of their time.” Although the changes in opinion are not so drastic that one could talk about a “paradigm shift,” the variety could be approached by applying the fundamental ideas of Thomas Kuhn.43 All scholars mentioned looked at the echoes in their time when looking at the original “event” and its significance. I will make a few remarks on the way the Zeitgeist from the different periods in which they wrote, could be decisive for the development of their views.44 IV.A. Martin Noth Martin Noth published his view in 1943, amid a tarnishing war that was jeopardizing the great values of the liberal society. Meaningless violence almost made an end to culture.45 This negative framework seems to have influenced Noth’s basic views on the character of Dtr. According to Noth, Dtr communicated the view that doom, decay, and destruction were the inevitable outcome for a nation that had given up faith and fidelity. On page 101, Noth makes a side remark on the fate of all nations “die schließlich einmal ihrem Ende entgegen gehen.”46 I read this as a veiled warning towards Nazi pseudo supremacy. Interestingly, Noth remarks that a distinctive character of Dtr is not so much the negative view on history, as well as the fact that an Israelite scribe was writing this negative evaluation of his own history.

41

As edited by WEIDNER 1939; see MURRAY 2001, 262–63; PATTON 2017, 14–17. FIREBAUGH 2008. 43 KUHN 1962. 44 On Zeitgeist and science, see SIMONTON 2004. 45 See, e.g., SCHREIBER 2013; CROWE 2018. 46 NOTH 1943, 101. 42

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IV.B. Gerhard von Rad Gerhard von Rad wrote his monograph on Deuteronomy shortly after World War II. His Theologie des Alten Testaments first appeared in 1957, that is in an era of hope. In my view, von Rad’s most important and influential work should be read against a double background. On the one hand, Germany rose from its ashes – the Wirtschaftswunder.47 Thanks to the Marshall Plan, the economy of West Germany – and other European countries – started to blossom again. On the other hand, Germans had to cope with the recent past that was quite often repressed. In those days, there was an awareness of the great evil that had taken place during the zwölf braunen Jahre. Although this awareness was often silenced, it became more and more accompanied by the idea that the Western World was now on its way to a bright future in which the lessons of the past were learned. Prosperity was around the corner. This concept of renewed hope after disaster and destruction is mirrored in von Rad’s view on 2 Kings 25:27–30: now that the disaster is a reality, hope dawns at the horizon. Or phrased otherwise: destruction is not the final word in history. IV.C. Christopher Begg The authors of the mediating position published their views in the era of Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher. During the late sixties and greater part of the seventies, world politics were dominated by a progressivist form of liberalism. This can be detected in the politics of the Labour Party in the United Kingdom, Jimmy Carter, and the SPD in West Germany, just to mention a few examples. The wave was inspired by the Paris 1968 slogan “l’imagination au pouvoir.” In a fierce reaction to it, a worldwide politics of no-nonsense arose. Harsh measures and unpopular budget cuts were needed to bring the ghost back into the bottle and to tame the phantom of massive unemployment.48 It was again a period of uncertainty and it is only in hindsight that the politics of no-nonsense turned out to have been the right path leading to the Wende in Germany (1989) and the downfall of the communist experiment. In my view, this realistic policy of small steps within the possible is mirrored in the mediating position. The book of Kings is seen not as ending in a panoramic view on the future, but with a set of minor steps colored in Realpolitik that only in hindsight can be seen as the first stepping-stone towards the end of the exile. In line with the postmodernists’ slogan, DtrH is no longer a “grand narrative” but a collection of reports on human failure and divine misguidance. This concept is also at the back of the multi-layer redactional models in the schools of Cross and Smend: DtrH – Joshua up to 2 Kings – is no longer seen as a single composition but a patchwork of various and contrasting views on the past. In this period, World War II is something of the past. Trauma is no longer seen as part of the collective identity of (Western) culture. A shift has taken place towards a concept of trauma as a way of coping with individual cases.

47 48

See HERMAND 1986. See COOPER 2012.

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V. Post 9/11 The exercise above evoked an inquisitiveness. I was wondering whether or not – and to what degree – the events on Monday, September 11, 2001 have had any repercussions on the interpretation of 2 Kings 25:27–30. By the attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, the world was bereft of its optimism and plunged into a new collective trauma leading on the one hand to political uncertainty and on the other hand to all sorts of anti-terrorist measures and the stale-mate war in Afghanistan. Next to that, a worldwide regression to more traditional forms of beliefs and ideologies is discernible after 9/11. All over Europe, populist political parties with an anti-Islam agenda popped up as out of nowhere. Are there scholars who implicitly or explicitly read the final four verses of the book of Kings in the shadow of these events? V.A. No Echoes There is a variety of publications on 2 Kings 25:17–30 that appeared after 9/11. The majority of them are interesting academic papers that do not really connect to the worldwide shifts in politics, culture, and religion. I will refer to a few. Paul Evans and Michael Chan elaborate on the intertextual connection between Joseph and Jehoiachin as does Thomas Römer.49 Just as Joseph’s release from prison and exaltation were a prelude to Israel’s original exodus from Egypt, so Jehoiachin’s own release and exaltation may be interpreted as a prelude to a return from exile seen as a second exodus.50 In a way, these scholars adopt and reinforce the view of Gerhard von Rad. Matthew Patton elaborated the ideas of von Rad by putting the release of Jehoiachin in the framework of a salvific history: the tender sprig released from the Babylonian prison refers to the cross and resurrection of Christ Jesus.51 A very specific interpretation has been proposed by Michael Goulder who compares the fate of Jehoiachin with the description of the Suffering Servant in Isaiah 53.52 Although some of Goulder’s parallels are striking, his proposal as a whole is not very convincing and does not really help to understand the last four verses of the II Kings. It is also interesting to see that the view of Gerhard von Rad is still adapted, for instance by Michael Avioz and Christian Frevel.53 V.B. Some Echo David Janzen offered a reading of 2 Kings 25:27–30 that mirrors the uncertainties of the times after 9/11 and the ambiguity towards political and military measures to be taken. In Janzen’s view, the last four verses of the book of Kings display a fundamental ambiguity with regard to the future of Judah and the Davidic dynasty.54 49

CHAN 2013; EVANS 2015; RÖMER 2005, 177. CHAN 2013; EVANS 2015. 51 PATTON 2017, 179–99. 52 GOULDER 2002. 53 AVIOZ 2006; FREVEL 2015, 281–82. 54 JANZEN 2008. 50

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V.C. Real Echo Two recent publications contain an echo of 9/11. V.C.1. Serge Frolov Serge Frolov has published an interesting article.55 His argument starts with a grammatical and syntactical analysis of the last four verses of the book of Kings. In his view, these verses indicate that they have been written during the reign of EvilMerodakh and not later. He then argues that DtrH as a whole could have been written during the reign of this king – based on a calculation of how many words a scribe could write per day. From this point of view, he challenges the theories of multiple redactions on the emergence of DtrH in the schools of Cross, Smend, and beyond.56 In his view, no postexilic strata can be detected in Dtr. Although Frolov does not give a hint on his interpretation of the release of Jehoiachin, his article is instructive in a different way. Frolov opts for a return to tradition. Despite his great appreciation for the work of scholars from the Smend and Cross schools, he argues for a single redaction of Dtr with a single message written at the end of the Babylonian exile. This regression to a philosophically, or ideologically passed station parallels the worldwide search for security in traditional forms of belief and scholarship after 9/11. V.C.2. Kari Latvus A completely different lane is taken by Kari Latvus.57 In a relatively short paper, he presents a reading of 2 Kings 24–25 from a post-colonial perspective. From the dawn of civilization until this day, colonialism is connected to conflict of power. In 2 Kings 24–25, Latvus detaches a conflict of power between those who are left behind in Judah and the ruling elite in Babylon, or phrased otherwise: imperial center versus peripheral margin. The imperial power is destructive and, at the meantime, sustained by YHWH. Contrary to ideas from liberation-theology, YHWH is not supportive of the powerless in Judah. According to Latvus: The main message of the writer focuses on the good relations between empire and subordinate. Rebellion or nationalistic hopes to have one’s own king are far beyond these lines.58

Jehoiachin is partly rehabilitated as an effect of his loyalty to the colonial powers. In 2 Kings 24–25, YHWH does not seem to care for the poor and the needy. The release of Jehoiachin is seen by Latvus as a mere act of a colonial realpolitiker with no implications for the future of Judah as a whole. Reading his paper in the aftermath of the attacks on the Pentagon and the World Trade Center, I understand that the dichotomy between “colonial power” and the “nameless others” still continues. The installment of Hamid Karzai – sponsored by the 55

FROLOV 2007. On them see RÖMER 2005. 57 LATVUS 2006. 58 Ibid., 188. 56

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USA 59 – can, like the amnesty for Jehoiachin, only be seen as an act of colonial power and not as a new hope for the Muslim world and not as an act out of generosity. In fact, Latvus’ reading is as pessimistic as the interpretation by Martin Noth and hence a mirror of his time.

VI. Dealing with Decay and Destruction and Remembering Past Releases Exegetes – like ordinary people – are children of their time. It is hardly doable to escape the limits and the language of one’s own time. As Gadamer phrased it: “Every finite present has its limitations.”60 When describing the past or trying to understand it, we are limited to the realm of our own horizon. As soon as we try to read an event from the past within its own former horizon, we bring in our own gaze. When it comes to a traumatic event, such as the destruction of Jerusalem, or a decisive moment, such as the relief of Jehoiachin from prison, we bring in our own traumas and hopes. The exercise in this paper has once more made clear the impossibility of escaping one’s own life experience. There is, however, no reason to be dramatic or astonished by this fact. It makes thinking about the past a less boring activity.

Bibliography ALBERTZ, R. (2001): Die Exilszeit 6. Jahrhundert v. Chr., (BE, 7), Stuttgart/Berlin/Colonge. ALEXANDER, J.C (2004): Toward a Theory of Cultural Trauma, in: J.C. ALEXANDER et al. (eds.), Cultural Trauma and Collective Identity, Berkeley/Los Angeles/London, 1–30. AVIOZ, M. (2006): The Narrative of Jehoiachin’s Release from Prison: Its Literary Context and Theological Significance, Shnaton, 29–41 [Hebrew]. AVISHUR, Y./M. HELTZER (2007): Jehoiachin, King of Judah in Light of Biblical and Extra-Biblical Sources: His Exile and Release According to Events in the Neo-Babylonian Kingdom and the Babylonian Diaspora, Transeuphratène 34, 17–36. AYALI-DARSHAN, N. (2017): A Redundancy in Nebuchadnezzar 15 and Its Literary Historical Significance, JANES 32, 21–29. BEAULIEU P.-A. (2013): Arameans, Chaldeans, and Arabs in Cuneiform Sources from the Late Babylonian Period, in: A. BERLEJUNG/M. P. STRECK (eds.), Arameans, Chaldeans, and Arabs in Babylonia and Palestine in the First Millennium B.C., (LAOS 3), Wiesbaden, 31–55. BECKING, B. (1990): Jehoiachin’s Amnesty, Salvation for Israel?: Remarks on 2 Kings 25, 27–30, in: C. BREKELMANS/J. LUST (eds.), Pentateuchal and Deuteronomistic Studies: Papers Read at the XIIIth IOSOT Congress Leuven 1989, (BEThL 94), Leuven, 283–93. BEGG, C.T. (1986): The Significance of Jehoiachin’s Release: A New Proposal, JSOT 36, 49–56. – (1987): The Interpretation of the Gedalajah Episode (2 Kgs 25, 22–26) in Context, Antonianum 62, 3–11. BIDMEAD, J. (2002): The Akitu Festival: Religious Continuity and Royal Legitimation in Mesopotamia, Piscataway, NJ. CHAN, M.J. (2013): Joseph and Jehoiachin: On the Edge of Exodus, ZAW 125, 566–77. 59 60

See DAM 2014. GADAMER 1997, 302.

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COOPER, J. (2012): Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan: A Very Political Special Relationship, London. CROSS, F.M. (1973): Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic, Cambridge, MA/London. CROWE, D.M. (2018): The Holocaust: Roots, History, and Aftermath, New York/London. DAM, B. (2014): A Man and a Motorcycle: How Hamid Karzai Came to Power, Utrecht. DA RIVA, R. (2014): The Inscriptions of Nabopolassar, Amel-Marduk and Neriglissar, (SANER 3), Berlin/New York. DIETRICH, W. (1972): Prophetie und Geschichte: Eine redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zum deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk, (FRLANT, 108), Göttingen. EVANS, P.S. (2015): The End of Kings as Presaging an Exodus: The Function of the Jehoiachin Epilogue (2 Kgs 25: 27–30) in Light of Parallels with the Joseph Story in Genesis, McMaster Journal of Theology and Ministry 16, 66–100. FELDMAN, L.H. (1995): Josephus’ Portrait of Jehoiachin, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 139, 11–31. FIREBAUGH, G. (2018): Seven Rules for Social Research, Princeton, NJ/London. FISCHER, G. (2005): Jeremia 26–52, (HThKAT), Freiburg/Basel/Vienna. FINKEL, I. (1999): The Lament of Nâbu-šuma-ukīn, in: J. RENGER (ed.), Babylon: Focus mesopotamischer Geschichte, Wiege früher Gelehrsamkeit, Mythos in der Moderne, Saarbrücken, 323–42 FREEDMAN, D.N./B. KELLY (2004): Who Redacted the Primary History?, in: C. COHEN/A. HURVITZ/ S.M. PAUL (eds.), Sefer Moshe: The Moshe Weinfeld Jubilee Volume, Winona Lake, IN, 39–47. FREVEL, C. (2015): Geschichte Israels, Stuttgart, 2015. FROLOV, S. (2007): Evil-Merodach and the Deuteronomist: The Sociohistorical Setting of Dtr in the Light of 2 Kgs 25, 27–30, Biblica 88, 174–90. GADAMER, H.-G. (1997): Truth and Method, London/New York. GALIL, G. (1996): The Chronology of the Kings of Israel and Judah, (SHCANE, 9), Leiden. GASTER, M. (1899): The Chronicles Of Jerahmeel (Annotated Edition), London. GERHARDS, M. (1998): Die Begnadigung Jojachins: Überlegungen zu 2. Kön. 25, 27–30 (mit einem Anhang zu den Nennungen Jojachins auf Zuteilungslisten aus Babylonien, BN 94, 52–67. GOULDER, M. (2002): Behold my Servant Jehoiachin, VT 52, 175–90. GRANOWSKI, J.J. (1992): Jehoiachin at the King’s Table: A Reading of the Ending of the Second Book of Kings, in: D.N. FEWELL (ed.), Reading Between Texts: Intertextuality and the Hebrew Bible, Louisville, KY, 173–90. GRAY, J. (1963): I & II Kings: A Commentary (OTL), London. GROJNOWSKI, D. (2015): Flavius Josephus, Nehemiah, and a Study in Self-Presentation, JSJ 46, 345– 65. HAUBOLD, J./G.B. LANFRANCHI/R. RÖLLINGER/J. STEELE (eds.) (2013): The World of Berossos: Proceedings of the 4th International Colloquium on “The Ancient Near East Between Classical and Ancient Oriental Traditions,” Hatfield College, Durham 7th–9th July 2010, Wiesbaden. HERMAND, J. (1986): Kultur im Wiederaufbau: Die Bundesrepublik Deutschland, 1945–1965, Munich. IRWIN-ZARECKA, I. (2017): Frames of Remembrance: The Dynamics of Collective Memory, London/ New York. JANZEN, D. (2008): An Ambiguous Ending: Dynastic Punishment in Kings and the Fate of the Davidides in 2 Kings 25.27–30, JSOT 33, 39–58. KASWALDER, P. (2004): Re Ioiachin, una speranza perduta (2Re 25, 27–30), Liber Annuus 54, 9–24. KRAUSS, S. (1894): The Jews in the Works of the Church Fathers, VI, JQR 6, 225–61. KUHN, T.S. (1962): The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, Chicago, IL. LATVUS, K. (2006): Decolonizing Yahweh: A Postcolonial Reading of 2 Kings 24–25, in: R.S. SUGIRTHARAJAH (ed.), The Postcolonial Biblical Reader, Malden/Oxford, 186–92. MURRAY, D.F. (2001): Of All the Years the Hopes – or Fears?: Jehoiachin in Babylon (2 Kings 25:27–30), JBL 120, 245–65.

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NOBILE, M. (1986): Un contributo alla lettura sincronica della redazione Genesis-2 Re sulla la basa del filo narrativo da 2 Re 25,27–20, Antonianum 61, 207–24. NOTH, M. (1943): Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien: Die sammelnden und bearbeitenden Geschichtswerke im Alten Testament, Tübingen. PATTON, M.H. (2017): Hope for a Tender Sprig: Jehoiachin in Biblical Theology, (BBRS 16), Winona Lake, IN. PIETSCH, M. (2017): Zwischen Restauration und Resignation: Die Amnestie Jojachins (II Reg 25, 27– 30) als deuteronomistischer Programmtext?, ZAW 129, 390–410. PONGRATZ-LEISTEN, B. (1994): “Ina šulmi irub”: Die Kulttopografische und ideologische Programmik der Akitu-Prozession in Babylonien und Assyrien im I. Jahrtausend v. Chr., Mainz am Rhein. PROVAN, I.W. (1995): The Messiah in the Book of Kings, in: P.E. SATTERTHWAITE/R.S. HESS (eds.), The Lord’s Anointed: Interpretation of Old Testament Messianic Texts, Carlisle/Grand Rapids, 67–86. VON RAD, G. (1947): Deuteronomium-Studien, Göttingen, 1947. – (1969): Theologie des Alten Testaments, Band I: Die Theologie der geschichtlichen Überlieferungen Israels (sechster Auflage), Munich. RÖMER, TH.C. (2005): The So-called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction, London/New York. SACK, R.H. (1972): Amel-Marduk: 562–560 BC: A Study Based on Cuneiform, Old Testament, Greek, Latin and Rabbinical Sources, (AOATS 4), Neukirchen-Vluyn. – (2004): Images of Nebuchadnezzar: The Emergence of a Legend, Selinsgrove, PA. SCHREIBER, G. (2013): Der Zweite Weltkrieg, (Beck’sche Reihe 2164), Munich. SCHMITZ, B. (2008): Prophetie und Königtum: Eine narratologisch-historische Methodologie entwickelt an den Königsbüchern, (FAT 60), Tübingen. SEITZ, C.R. (1989): Theology in Conflict: Reactions to the Exile in the Book of Jeremiah, (BZAW, 176), Berlin/New York. SIMONTON, D.K. (2004): Creativity in Science: Chance, Logic, Genius, and Zeitgeist, Cambridge. SMEND, R. (1989): Deutsche Alttestamentler in drei Jahrhunderten, Göttingen. THOMPSON, TH.L. (1999): The Bible in History: How Writers Create a Past, London. WEIDNER, E.F. (1939): Jojachin, König von Juda in Babylonischen Keilschrifttexten, in: Mélanges syriens offerts à Monsieur René Dussaud 2, Paris, 923–35. WÜRTHWEIN, E. (1984): Die Bücher der Könige: 1. Kön. 17 – 2. Kön. 25, (ATD, 11,2), Göttingen. ZENGER, E. (1968): Die deuteronomistische Interpretation der Rehabilitierung Jojachins, BiZs 12, 16– 30.

The Trace of Inter-Generational Trauma in the Composition History of Ezekiel David G. Garber* The increasingly influential use of trauma studies in biblical scholarship has often understandably focused on texts that testify to Babylon’s destruction of Jerusalem and the resulting exile – texts like Jeremiah, Lamentations, and Ezekiel. Much of this work has taken the form of synchronic literary analysis that investigates the final form of these books, assuming the production of large portions of the text during or shortly after the events surrounding Jerusalem’s destruction. Scholars who examine these texts synchronically while using the rubric of trauma, including myself, also admit the probability of a complex history of transmission for these writings. For instance, many have suggested the seemingly haphazard composition of, as well as the various genres and perspectives within, the book of Jeremiah is the result of a long process of redaction history, and they tend to separate the book by form into the original oracles, thirdperson biographical prose, and longer Deuteronomic prose sermons. Kathleen O’Connor’s reading of Jeremiah, while acknowledging a complex composition history, offers that the fragmented nature of trauma testimony is an additional rationale for the book’s disjointed nature, noting the literature mirrors the way traumatic experience fragments the psyche.1 In my own work on Ezekiel, I have often operated in a similar fashion, following the approaches of scholars such as Ellen Davis who reads the book more holistically. In so doing, however, there were a few passages that still seemed to stem from a later time period than the first to third generations of exile. My hunch with those passages was that they constituted approaches to a transmitted history of trauma from generation to generation in such a way that the traumatic events of exile and the destruction of Jerusalem became identity markers for the post-exilic community. Today, I will explore the ways in which a conversation with more recent approaches to trauma and traditional diachronic readings, particularly redaction criticism, can offer additional insights on how the biblical material functions as testimony to trauma. Using the book of Ezekiel as a test-case, I will investigate how later additions in chapters 16 and 23 show a trace of inter-generational trauma and may help us understand how the traumatic events of 586 BCE continue to have an impact on the culture of Judah into the Persian period and beyond.

* Abbreviations for bibliographical references in Biblical Studies follow the SBL Handbook of Style (2nd ed., Atlanta, 2014). 1 O’CONNOR 2011, 126.

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I. Trauma Theory and Trans-Generational Trauma The exilic period and its aftermath seem to have been an impetus for preserving much of what we find in the Hebrew Bible. David Carr, for example, has recently argued that the entire canon, including materials that predate and postdate the exile, is a reflection of a people who have survived a long and destructive history. He suggests, “The Bibles, both of Judaism and of Christianity, are a written deposit of centuries of survival of suffering, communal resilience. Where the myths of other nations focused on triumph and died with them, the Bible speaks of survival of total catastrophe.”2 Carr further suggests that Judah subsumed the identity of northern Israel after the Assyrians destroyed it. Subsequently, the inhabitants of Jerusalem again reshaped their identity as a result of the exile and destruction of Jerusalem. Eventually, according to Carr, the later Greek attempt to destroy Judaism led to the emergence of the canon itself. Carr writes, “These crises did not just produce pain and suffering for individuals. They shattered the identities of whole groups, requiring them to come to new understandings of themselves, understandings now inscribed and fixed in the Jewish and Christian scriptures.”3 The collection of these materials into the form we have now in the Hebrew Bible bears the trace of exile as the latest of countless catastrophes that befell the small nations of Israel and Judah as they lived under the thumbs of various ancient empires. Trauma theory in biblical studies does not constitute a method of interpretation, but a frame of reference that can couple with diverse forms of biblical criticism. As EveMarie Becker points out, ‘trauma studies’ occupy “the intersection of various academic subjects, such as medicine, psychology, social sciences, theology, and the humanities.”4 The use of trauma theory with various versions of biblical criticism reflects trauma-theory’s own composite and interdisciplinary nature. In the study of prophets such as Jeremiah or Ezekiel, scholars have used trauma theory to discuss these prophets’ abnormal personalities, focusing on Jeremiah’s laments and pain or suggesting that trauma, both personal and communal, is at the root of Ezekiel’s strangeness. Even when I suggest the latter, however, I do so with an understanding that the character of Ezekiel is itself an expression of the community’s own pain and a construct of the text itself. The book invites us to do so, for example, in chapter 4 where Ezekiel’s performance highlights his liminal capacity as he represents both the deity, who will perpetrate the destruction on Jerusalem, and the people, who will be bound up under siege and have to ration their meals. Ezekiel also performs this role representing the community in his final symbolic non-action in chapter 24 when God commands him not to mourn his wife’s death as an example to the people who should not mourn the final destruction of the temple. For all the biblical writings and rewritings of history, a god who interacts within and steers history is central. Kai Erikson, who examines modern communal trauma, observes theistic explanations of suffering. In his examination of the modern Buffalo 2

CARR 2014, 6. Ibid., 8–9. 4 BECKER 2014, 23. 3

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Creek flood, he found the corporation held responsible for the flood by the community defended themselves saying, “The dam was incapable of holding the water God poured into it.”5 He offers a bridge between the psychoanalytic focus on individual ruptures of the psyche to its application to suffering communities with his concept of “collective trauma” which he defines as “a blow to the basic tissues of social life that damages the bonds attaching people together and impairs the prevailing sense of community. The collective trauma works its way slowly and even insidiously into the awareness of those who suffer from it, so that it does not have the suddenness normally associated with ‘trauma.’ But is a form of shock all the same, a gradual realization that the community no longer exists as an effective form of support and that an important part of the self has disappeared.”6 Elizabeth Boase in her treatment of somatic language in Lamentations 1 as communal trauma, concludes that use of various types of body language “reinforces the function of this text in the context of communal trauma.”7 She views the transmission or testimony to the event rather than the event itself as the locus for understanding this communal trauma. While she does not deny “severe physical duress and wounding” of the community, the impact of the event over time becomes central.8 She adds that reading Lamentations “as a text which helps to re-member the community in the ancient world, giving voice to that which cannot be articulated, expressing distress and suffering in culturally efficacious metaphors, accounts for the ongoing power of Lamentations to function in liturgical contexts of grief, and speak into contemporary contexts of trauma and disaster.”9 Dissatisfied with the attempts to psychologize a community by psychoanalyzing biblical characters, recently some have suggested sociological or anthropological approaches that may take into account social structures rather than rely on a pseudometaphorical psychoanalysis of the exilic and post-exilic communities. Else K. Holt has respectfully challenged O’Connor’s synchronic reading of Jeremiah on the grounds of redaction criticism. She asks how we can read later redactions that are not a part of the exilic book through the lens of trauma and disaster, citing the scholarly consensus on Jeremiah’s long and complex redaction history.10 Holt’s solution to this problem is to suggest that biblical scholars engaging trauma studies must familiarize themselves with the ideas of “cultural memory” and “cultural trauma.”11 She does not deny that the events of 587 BCE traumatized individuals and a community in the exilic period, but suggests that taking a diachronic approach accounts for the transmission of the text after the first generations of survivors. Relying on the work of J. Assman, Holt suggests communicative memories, which are limited to a three-generational timeline and therefore are synchronic, cannot account for later additions past the third genera5

ERIKSON 1995, 190. Ibid., 187. 7 BOASE 2014, 207. 8 Ibid., 205. 9 Ibid., 207. 10 HOLT 2014, 165. 11 Ibid., 166. 6

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tion of survivors. Instead, she offers using Assmann’s category of “cultural memory” which has a diachronic structure.12 Holt develops this by way of J.C. Alexander who defines cultural trauma as something that “occurs when members of a collectivity feel they have been subjected to a horrendous event that leaves indelible marks upon their group consciousness, marking their memories forever and changing their future identity in fundamental and irrevocable ways.” 13 In this way, Holt’s work has shifted the focus from the individual trauma represented in prophetic figures such as Jeremiah or Ezekiel and from communal trauma represented in the first generations following the events, to cultural trauma that can address the many generations afterwards who preserved and later interpreted the exilic texts. Holt applies Assmann’s and Alexander’s theories to the reconstruction of biblical material, suggesting that polyphony of authors and editors of the poetic books and the prophets represent a strategy to overcome the cultural trauma of exile.14 The idea of cultural trauma, by extension, opens the door not only for diachronic readings exploring redaction history, but also for a history of interpretation that focuses on how oppressed people groups have turned to the materials in the Jewish and Christian Bibles to articulate their identities, from diaspora Jews, to early Christians facing persecution, to Holocaust survivors, to African American survivors of the middle passage, slave trade, and Jim Crow policies in the United States. According to Alexander’s perspectives on cultural trauma, the events themselves do not create cultural trauma, but their mediation does.15 Becker also stresses the benefits of a diachronic reading of traumatic history on our study of the development of culture and societies, citing scholarship on the effects of World War II soldiers and civilian victims, such as refugees and children, shaped the cultural development of European societies in the twentieth century. She suggests, “various families have suffered, and may continue to suffer, from the psychic stress and somatic injury and violation caused by the war and post-war incidents.” She concludes that trauma can have a large effect on literature and literary history. She deems these cultural artifacts as examples of ‘transgenerational communication’ and suggests that this might be a rubric for reading Hebrew Bible texts as “a literary adaption of traumatic experiences.”16 In concert with Holt and Becker, I suggest that what we commonly refer to as redaction history in biblical studies might enlighten our understanding of this transgenerational communication of trauma, and with that will turn to two passages within Ezekiel as a test-case.

12

Ibid., 166; see also ASSMANN 2006, 2–9. ALEXANDER 2004, 1. 14 HOLT 2014, 169. 15 ALEXANDER 2004, 7–9. 16 BECKER 2014, 20–21. 13

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II. Composition History of Ezekiel As with many books from the Hebrew Bible, scholars have hotly debated the composition and transmission history of the book of Ezekiel. Early in the rise of historicalcritical methodology, Ezekiel seemed to avoid the dissection of source critics that the Pentateuch and other prophetic books enjoyed. In 1891, S.R. Driver claimed, “No critical question arises in connexion with the authorship of the book, the whole from beginning to end bearing unmistakably the stamp of a single mind.”17 Gustav Hölscher challenged this notion, examining Ezekiel in light of what he called the “psychological phenomenon of prophecy” and concluded that only the poetic visions and oracles of Ezekiel reflect the ecstatic nature of prophecy and are authentic.18 Representing the most extreme example of historical-critical dissection of the text, Hölscher’s conclusions attributed only approximately 170 of 1,273 verses in the book to the original prophet.19 Walther Zimmerli’s influential commentary celebrates the middle ground. Zimmerli postulates a “successive formation” of Ezekiel. Despite evidence of editorial additions, Zimmerli maintains that much in the book stems from the spoken words of a prophet living in the early sixth century BCE and speaking to the community of exiles in Babylon. He proposes a process of literary supplementation in which an original kernel element was developed at a somewhat later time. While the prophet spoke the oracles before or in conjunction with the fall of Jerusalem in 587/586 BCE, the later elements reflect a time beyond this destruction according to Zimmerli. In addition, many of the oral units were reworked in light of subsequent events.20 While scholars in the last few decades have moved away from Zimmerli’s brand of form and redaction criticism and returned to more “holistic” analyses of the material,21 the redactioncritical approach continues in the work of such scholars as Karl-Friedrich Pohlmann. Whereas Zimmerli’s suggestion of redaction focuses on the exilic work of a school of the original prophet’s disciples,22 Pohlmann traces a much broader development, including an original prophetic book, an exilic-oriented (golaorientierten) editorial layer, and a diaspora layer.23 According to Pohlmann, the original prophetic book formed a relatively small portion of the entire book and was characterized primarily by the oracles of judgment and the few oracles of restoration found in the first 24 chapters and parts of chs. 36–37.24 The second, “exile-oriented” stage represents an editorial phase

17

DRIVER 1956, 261. Like Torrey, Hölscher suggests that the book as we now have it is essentially a pseudepigraphon. Hölscher, however, believed that one could trace in the present book the original poetic forms (HÖLSCHER 1922, 114.). 19 BLENKINSOPP 1990, 8. Davis also notes that the texts Hölscher deems original make up only a little more than ten percent of the whole book (DAVIS 1989, 13.). 20 ZIMMERLI 1979, 68. 21 See, e.g., GREENBERG 1983, 18–20 and DAVIS 1989, 11. 22 ZIMMERLI 1979, 70–71. 23 POHLMANN 1996, 28. 24 Ibid., 33–34. 18

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lasting from the middle of the exilic period through the end of the fifth century BCE,25 privileging the perspective of those taken in the first Babylonian exile in 598–597 BCE.26 The diaspora redactional layer accrued gradually and belongs to the fourth century BCE.27 Pohlmann detects at least three different diaspora hands in this stage of the book’s development.28

III. Test Case Passages Scholars have often used trauma theory as a lens to investigate the two most misogynist chapters of the book of Ezekiel, chapters 16 and 23. Gale Yee insists that feminist responses to these chapters must reflect their history. Using trauma theory, Yee suggests that the prophet was “a victim and survivor of state-sponsored terrorism” who suffered “barbaric conquest,” the “destruction of the temple and his lifework,” exile, a “radical loss of status and prestige,” and “forced labor in an unfamiliar occupation.”29 Yee argues, then, that “the gendered narrative of the nation’s history is produced by the collective male elite experience of humiliation and emasculation by the victorious colonizer” and that Ezek 23 represents an attempt of the prophet to integrate his traumatic experiences in light of and in terms recognizable to the male elite audience.30 The conclusions of both Ezek 16 and Ezek 23, however, include later redactions that interrupt the flow of each chapters rhetoric in diverse ways. III.A. Ezekiel 16:59–63 Many scholars have suggested that the hopeful nature of Ezek 16:59–63 does not resonate with the predominately negative portrayal in Ezek 1–24 and offer this section as a redactional addition. The oracle of hope redirects the reader’s gaze from the desperate portrayal of the naked, vulnerable, and defiled woman in the rest of Ezek 16 to a possible future of restoration. Moshe Greenberg articulates the division of Ezek 16 into three parts: A (vv. 3–43), B (vv. 44–58), and C (vv. 59–63).31 Regarding the composition history of the three sections, Greenberg concedes that both sections B and C are accretions to a core prophecy in 3–43. He sets A as before the Fall of Jerusalem and B as after the divine retribution has occurred because the three sisters Jerusalem, Samaria, and Sodom are all on equal footing as destroyed cities. He suggests that C is even later

25

POHLMANN 1996, 34. Dated by the record of Nebuchadnezzar’s invasion in the seventh year of his reign according to the Babylonian Chronicles (GREENBERG 1983, 9). 27 POHLMANN 1996, 34. Pohlmann (ibid.) also suggests that there may be an even later apocalyptic hand that shows up in two of the major visions in chs. 1–3 and 8–11 and that further investigation into the nature and origin of 40–48 needs to be conducted. 28 Ibid., 32. 29 YEE 2003, 117. 30 Ibid., 120. 31 GREENBERG 1983, 292. 26

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and comparable to the “latest prophecies of consolation.”32 Zimmerli describes Ezek 16:59–63 as the last part of “later interpretative additions to the chapter,” attributing it to Ezekiel’s disciples.33 While he attributes this section to later hands, he adds that it stays in tune with the prior passage. He writes, “through his judgment God will lead his people so that they will be made ashamed of the overplays of grace shown to them and will be pleased to accept as a daughter the Canaanite Sodom, which they had hitherto rejected as too sinful. By such action, they will come to recognize their God and know who he is.”34 The redactors, perhaps from what Zimmerli calls an Ezekielian school, were careful to integrate the message of hope with the message of shame and condemnation that precedes it. Though God has every right as the scorned husband in the ancient world not to renew his covenant with his disreputable bride, God chooses to remain in the marriage covenant with her. The mercy of God accentuates the fact that the sinful bride/community does not deserve restoration. Though she is worse than her sisters in her iniquities, they will be as daughters to her. Both the punishment and mercy have but one purpose: to save the reputation of the divine husband. The restoration culminates in the silence of shame accompanied by the memory of Jerusalem’s sins and the calamity that befell her: “ ‘So, you will remember and will be ashamed, and you will never again have an open mouth because of your shame when I have forgiven you for all that you have done,’ utters the Lord God” (Ezek 16:63). In her restoration, the woman returns to the status of silent object as she was in her infanthood at the beginning of the chapter. She remains the possession of the deity, having no control over her own personhood, reflecting the community’s feelings of powerlessness in the face of an arbitrary deity to whom the culture attributes their history of destruction and exile. I once claimed that this “quick move towards hopeful rhetoric in 16:59–63 evades deeper reflection on traumatic testimony found in the rest of the chapter.”35 The link to shame in the final verse suggests otherwise, however, especially in light of Alexander’s idea that the mediation of the events in texts such as these creates a cultural trauma that persists from generation to generation, especially given the reality of perpetual colonial oppression of the people even after the Babylonian captivity. III.B. Ezekiel 23:36–49 Likewise, the latter portions of Ezek 16’s sister text in Ezek 23 have been suspected of later editing. Zimmerli identifies two major additions in vv. 28–35 and vv. 36–49. He distinguishes between them, however, suggesting that vv. 28–35 have a much similar language to the writings of the prophet. In addition, he argues vv. 36–49 have a clear linguistic distinction. Zimmerli notes that the introduction ‫ ו ַ֤יּ ֹא ֶמר י ְה ָו ֙ה ֵא ַ֔ל י‬in verse 36 is unusual for Ezekiel and that both form and content suggest that this text is secondary.36 Verse 37 reminds the reader that the blood and guilt now stain the hands of the 32

GREENBERG 1983, 304. ZIMMERLI 1979, 353. 34 Ibid., 353. 35 GARBER 2005, 211. 36 ZIMMERLI 1979, 480. 33

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women, not God, nor even the lovers who perform the judgment. The victimized community recognizes itself as the responsible party. Other issues also persist. There are jarring perspectival shifts in Ezek 23:40–42. The segment begins in a third person narrative form with “They even sent for men to come from far away,” referring to the plural sisters Oholah and Oholibah. In the latter half of the verse, however, the perspective shifts to a second person singular: “For them you bathed yourself, painted your eyes, and decked yourself with ornaments; you sat on a stately couch, with a table spread before it on which you had placed my incense and my oil” (Ezek 23:40b–42). Ezek 23:43 then abruptly returns to a third person plural perspective.37 From the perspective of content, Zimmerli suggests the detailed account of the sisters’ sins and the punishment in vv. 36–44 “has strikingly run wild.”38 As the episode draws to a conclusion in Ezek 23:47, the women will bear the weight of their sentence as adulteresses, facing stoning and dismembering by the sword. The fragmentary nature of the text and its purpose culminates in verse 48: “Thus will I put an end to lewdness in the land, so that all women may take warning and not commit lewdness as you have done (NRSV).” With this verse, Ezek 23 becomes a didactic narrative articulating divine judgment on promiscuous women. Zimmerli laments how this addition narrows the scope of an essay “into a moral admonition which applies to everyday life.”39 Verse 48 perpetuates the violence against women in general, setting the entire chapter in this moralistic framework. The sinfulness of the nation shifts from the sinfulness of the specific character to the perceived danger of uncontrolled female sexuality in general. This move diverts the implied male reader’s attention from the tenor of the metaphor that requires him to identify with the woman and allows him to redirect judgment on real women whom he considers promiscuous. One might defend the originality of the verse by arguing that it is included in the metaphor and does not address the moral status of female readers or participants in the culture. To hold this view, one would have to prove that the reference to “all women” either refers directly to Ohalah and Ohalibah, or other female characters that represent Israel as the wife of YHWH (i.e. Gomer in Hos 1–3). Because Ezekiel does not introduce other female characters at this point, it seems, as most commentators point out, that the reference is to the women in the redactor’s historical audience. Perhaps, one could press the matter and argue that the reference to “all women” refers to a universalistic perspective in which all nations that have a relationship to YHWH (cf. Isa 19:23–25; Amos 9:7) must learn from Israel’s whorish example and ghastly fate. This, too, seems unlikely in that the other nations in this passage are depicted as the two women’s lovers and God’s rivals. In addition, the other nations are depicted in the most bestial of terms as drunken and raucous crowds who finally carry out God’s vengeance. Although they become the whip in the Divine Husband’s hands, the passage portrays them as thoroughly negative in character. Mary Shields notes that the

37

Ibid., 491. Ibid. 39 Ibid., 492. 38

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burning of houses “in the sight of many women” in Ezek 16:41 could exhibit a similar object lesson.40 Just as the addition of restoration to the essay in Ezek 16 runs the risk of silencing the despairing testimony of the witness, this moralistic addition runs the risk of bearing false witness to the calamity. Both traumatic testimony and the patriarchal language of the chosen metaphor have potentially devastating implications for the construction of female sexuality. In fact, the choice of the metaphor, by significantly representing one trauma in terms of another, magnifies this danger of the traumatized community turning from a reflection on their own plight to the oppression of women in general and the characterization of female sexuality as evil. The original rhetoric of the essay intends to compel readers from the exilic community to identify with the abused woman, but the redactions reflect the rejection of this identification and functions to suppress the cry of the traumatic witness.41 Finally, and most importantly, the narrative of Ezek 23 encourages its ideal male readers to identify with God as a spurned husband and evokes their sympathy to the point that they condone the harsh consequences of the women’s sins. The text implies that sexually promiscuous women deserve violent treatment at the hands of the men they associate with, whether they be their husbands or their lovers. Ezek 23:48 allows the male reader who takes this position to follow the divine example and carry out harsh, abusive, and deadly violence against the women who may have betrayed him. In this way, the final form of Ezek 23, including v. 48, fulfills all three of J. Cheryl Exum’s criteria for literary rape: it portrays the women in pornographic style before a voyeuristic ideal male audience; it treats women who transgress patriarchal sexual relations violently; and it perpetuates that violence both in the redactional addition and possibly in the attitudes of real readers.42 Instead of relating to their own history of trauma, the later generations that add the moralistic application make meaning of their suffering in terms of another’s potential traumatization – the potential suffering of a woman who might violate this proscription.

IV. Conclusions The additions in both Ezek 16:59–63 and 23:36–49 constitute the transition from what Holt calls communal trauma within the first three generations of survivors to cultural trauma. Both passages reflect Ezekielian ideas within their current contexts. The addition in Ezek 16:59–63 turns towards hope, but it is a hope wounded by a shame that suggests that whoever added this portion of the text attempted to stay true to the tradition while trying to make sense of how the people of post-exilic Jerusalem might one day experience a renewed relationship with God. Whatever cultural memory this creates will be one haunted by the trace of trauma in the language of shame. In this way,

40

SHIELDS 1998, 12. Cf. FELMAN/LAUB 1991, 185. 42 EXUM 1993, 170–72. 41

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the addition in Ezek 16:59–63 remains true to the theological premise of the entire chapter, representing Jerusalem as a woman not worthy of divine love and attention. While the concluding redactional additions of chapter 16 refocus the audience towards a self-actualization of shame, the devolution in the redactions of Ezek 23:36–49 – culminating in the admonition against common, real women in verse 48 – deflect the intent of the preceding verses which was to make a male audience think of themselves as wanton women in need of God’s grace. Instead, the implied audience of the redaction can now evade the conviction by ricocheting the shame and control onto the women in their society, solidifying their control as husbands over their wives’ sexuality. Elsewhere I have related this to what Robert Lifton has called “false witness.”43 Lifton defines false witness as “deriving one’s solution to one’s death anxiety from extreme trauma, in this case in an extreme situation, by exploiting a group of people and rendering them victims, designated victims for that psychological work.”44 By shifting the metaphorical shame to a moralistic one, the redactor of Ezek 23:48 renders the women in their culture as the designated victims. So, we see two redactions, cultural memories if you will, of the traditions in Ezek 16 and 23. Both have their inception in the intent of the powerful metaphor of sexual infidelity, as problematic as it is. Both of the cultural memories, however, take divergent paths, perhaps suggesting that cultural trauma, as removed as it is from the original traumatic events, is just as fragmentary as the communal trauma of the first generations of survivors, as it gropes for language to understand why this trace of trauma still haunts the culture into the Persian period and beyond.

Bibliography ALEXANDER, J.C. (2004): Cultural Trauma, Berkeley, CA. ASSMANN, J. (2006): Religion and Cultural Memory, Stanford. BECKER, E.M. (2014): ‘Trauma Studies’ and Exegesis: Challenges, Limits and Prospects, in: E.M. BAKER/J. DOCHBORN/E.K. HOLT (eds.), Trauma and Traumatization in Individual and Collective Dimensions: Insights from Biblical Studies and Beyond, Bristol, CT, 15–29. BLENKINSOPP, J. (1990): Ezekiel (Interpretation), Louisville, KY. BOASE, E. (2014): The Traumatized Body: Communal Trauma and Somatization in Lamentations, in: E.M. BAKER/J. DOCHBORN/E.K. HOLT (eds.), Trauma and Traumatization in Individual and Collective Dimensions: Insights from Biblical Studies and Beyond, Bristol, CT, 193–209. CARR, D.M. (2014): Holy Resilience: The Bible’s Traumatic Origins, New Haven, CT. CARUTH, C. (1995): An Interview with Robert J. Lifton, in: C. CARUTH (ed.), Trauma: Explorations in Memory, Baltimore, MD, 128–47. DAVIS, E.F. (1989): Swallowing the Scroll: Textuality and the Dynamics of Discourse, (JSOTSup 78), Sheffield. DRIVER, S.R. (1956): An Introduction to the Literature of the Old Testament, New York, NY. ERIKSON, K. (1995): Notes on Trauma and Community, in: C. CARUTH (ed.), Trauma: Explorations in Memory, Baltimore, MD, 183–99.

43 44

GARBER 2005, 205–206. CARUTH 1995, 139.

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EXUM, J.C. (1993): Fragmented Women: Feminist (Sub)versions of Biblical Narratives, Valley Forge, PA. FELMAN, S./D.LAUB (1991): Testimony: Crises of Witnessing in Literature, Psychoanalysis, and History, New York. GARBER, D.G. (2005): Trauma, History and Survival in Ezekiel 1–24, Atlanta, GA. GREENBERG, M. (1983): Ezekiel 1–20, (Anchor Bible 22), Garden City, NY. HÖLSCHER, G. (1922): Geschichte der israelitischen und jüdischen Religion, Giessen. HOLT, E.K. (2014): Daughter Zion: Trauma, Cultural Memory and Gender in OT Poetics, in: E.M. BAKER/J. DOCHBORN/E.K. HOLT (eds.), Trauma and Traumatization in Individual and Collective Dimensions: Insights from Biblical Studies and Beyond, Bristol, CT, 162–76. O’CONNOR, K. (2011): Jeremiah: Pain and Promise, Minneapolis, MN. SHIELDS, M. (1998): Multiple Exposures: Body Rhetoric and Gender Characterizations in Ezekiel 16, JFSR 14.1, 5–18. YEE, G. (2003): Poor Banished Children of Eve: Woman as Evil in the Hebrew Bible, Minneapolis, MN. ZIMMERLI, W. (1979): Ezekiel 1, (Hermeneia), R.E. Clements (trans.), Philadelphia, PA.

The End of Judah and the Persistence of Cosmic Order Understanding History in the Light of Creation in Psalms and Prophetic Books Friedhelm Hartenstein* I. Implicit and Explicit Theology of Creation: Introductory Remarks I.A. The Emergence of Monotheistic Creation Theology Current theories about the formation of the Hebrew scriptures share the insight that the repeated experience of crisis was a strong impulse for literary production: the end of Judah with the destruction of the Jerusalem temple and the deportation of the urban elites in 586 BCE is the most important collective concussion in this respect. As a further communis opinio it seems very likely that the seventh century BCE, too, has been a formative period for the founding histories and prophetic writings. The strong productivity of Hebrew literature, beginning with Kingdom of Israel until 720 BCE, is, compared with other Iron Age countries of the southern Levant, quite remarkable. It must have been connected with the specific profile of the god YHWH who was, especially for the prophetic writers, the secrete but decisive power behind the Assyrian, Babylonian, and Persian overlords. That political catastrophes of the extent of the fall of Israel and Judah demanded the re-evaluation of the shared collective symbolism, at least by the literati, has been rightly emphasized.1 It is in order to cope with the “cognitive dissonances” caused especially by quick and complex catastrophic events that a great amount of texts has been produced. They were obviously the necessary media of reflection on why all of this had happened. This contribution focuses on only one element in the transformation of the collective identity after the end of Judah: the form and function of creation theology for the understanding of history. It has often been observed that under Babylonian and Persian rule, an explicit emphasis on the “firsts,” on the formative events of primeval times comes to the fore. The creation account of the Priestly Writer in Gen 1 and the elaboration on YHWH’s creative power in Isa 40–55 are the best-known examples for this. It

* Abbreviations in this contribution follow the Society of Biblical Literature Handbook of Style (2nd ed., Atlanta, 2014) and, for series not listed there, S. SCHWERTNER, Internationales Abkürzungsverzeichnis für Theologie und Grenzgebiete (3rd ed., Berlin, 2014). All translations of the Bible text in this article are by the author. 1 In particular, the articles of a former Leipzig conference with the title “Disaster and Relief Management” (BERLEJUNG 2012) present valuable theoretical insights and case studies on the subject.

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is clear that with the latter third of the sixth century BCE there is notable evidence for such an explicit theology of creation: If one compares the biblical texts with the literary remains of the great cultures from Israel’s surroundings, two observations are striking: On the one hand, the number of biblical texts that speak elaborately about creation is limited, on the other hand, most of these texts were written comparatively late, that is during the exile or afterwards. Both observations indicate that “creation” as a topic has a completely different status in the Old Testament than in Egypt or Mesopotamia. Creation became a dominant and defining issue only from the exile onwards.2

In fact, this new theological reasoning, based on primeval creation, cannot be overestimated. It offered a fundamental framework for thinking about YHWH’s actions in all areas of experience. Such arguments, despite their limitation in number, are widespread in Biblical literature of the Second Temple period. They endured through early Judaism, Christianity, and Islam until today. It is precisely the universal scope of the monotheistic concept of God that demands an idea of the world figured as a whole. As Fritz Stolz frequently stated: “the idea of God in this new (that is post-exilic) conception is oriented at the fundamental distinction between God and world.”3 As a consequence, the world as such has no cosmological significance of its own. But everything in it has to be explained with regard to the creator. Even all the events in “history” and “nature” (modern terms) that seem contradictory or remain opaque could now be perceived in the light of God’s elusive “ways” 4 (cf. Isa 45:7; see IV.B.). From late post-exilic wisdom literature emerged the most elaborate statements of such creational thinking, for example, in Ps 104; Job 38; Prov 8:22–31, or, in a close connection with the Torah in Ps 19 and Ben Sira. As Hans-Jürgen Hermisson rightly stressed, the recourse to the fundaments of cosmic order in such texts follows the logical structure of eph’ hapax, “once and for all”:5 There are limits set up against the “chaos” which for biblical thinking was embodied particularly in the raging sea, and those boundaries are unshakeable since the beginning of the earth: A barrier have you set they (the mighty waters) may not pass over, they may not turn back to cover the earth. (Ps 104:9) And I broke for it my bond, and set bars and doors, and said: until here you come, and no further, and here be your proud waves stayed! (Job 38:10–11)

Such statements have a background in older “worldviews” that we find in the biblical texts as well. Like in the ancient Near East, one dominant context for the use of creation topics remains stable over the course of time: hymns and praise. So, in order to reconstruct the transformation of creational thinking after the end of the Kingdom of Judah, one has to focus on the transition from implicit to explicit cosmology that can be observed best in the Psalms:

2

JEREMIAS 2015a, 84 (transl. FH). STOLZ 1996, 186 (transl. FH). 4 Cf. HARTENSTEIN 2012. 5 Cf. HERMISSON 1998, but note the subtle contrasting argument of LEVINSON 1988, 14–25 (“The Survival of Chaos After the Victory of God”). 3

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While an explicit cosmology refers to an order of space and time that has an independent significance, the implicit older cosmology […] shows no such meaning of its own since it is presupposed in the respective texts all along. Accordingly, it is difficult to reconstruct.6

Methodologically, it is necessary to realize that each text from a given culture contains elements of worldviews shared by authors or recipients unconsciously. It would be a misunderstanding to think of the transition from implicit cosmology to explicit thinking about creation in terms of a single-line evolution. The bulk of texts from Persian times onwards transports still “implicit” cosmologies since they are not interested in the topic of creation theology in the first place. My thesis, then, is in accordance with the general concept of “theology” stated by Jan Assmann, Konrad Schmid, and others. They distinguish between implicit and explicit theology in religious traditions.7 “Explicitness,” in this sense, refers only to the reflective character of thought which explains, for example, older traditions when they were not self-evident anymore. I.B. Implicit Cosmology: Earlier Worldviews in Judah If we try to reconstruct older “implicit” worldviews and the ideas of creation connected with them, we face two restrictions with regard to the sources: 1) We get only a coincidental extract from non-biblical material of ancient Hebrew texts and iconography of the Iron Age. Even if we correlate this often ambiguous evidence with biblical writings (in a critical reconstruction) the outcome is not very precise.8 2) Since many texts of the Hebrew Bible as well as of the Dead Sea Scrolls are strongly marked by the Jerusalem temple symbolism, we have at our disposal only a part of the “worldviews” that must have existed. What I am trying to demonstrate now is based solely on biblical texts and insofar follows a circle of understanding. Therefore, I would like to name three presuppositions for what follows. In doing so, I refer to my former research in the field of the tradition history of the cosmological implications of YHWH’s abode and its transformation during the first millennium BCE:9 1) It is well known that, statistically, there is a significant increase of notions of “heaven” (‫ )שׁמים‬in texts considered as post-exilic.10 The same holds true for the talk on YHWH’s throne “in heaven” and on his looking/acting from there.11 As Sebastian Grätz recently explained anew, also the title “God of heaven(s)” is restrict-

6

JANOWSKI 2003, 61 (transl. FH). ASSMANN 1984, 21–23; 192–98; SCHMID 2013, 54–61. 8 The last comprehensive works on the historical transformations of the religion of ancient Israel and Judah as reflected in the writings of the Hebrew Bible and in the archaeological findings are KEEL 2007 and LEWIS 2020; IRSIGLER 2021 focusses only on the biblical texts. 9 Cf. HARTENSTEIN 1997; 2001; 2013a. 10 For an overview, see BARTELMUS 2001. 11 Cf. EGO 1998. For this, see also J. Gärtner’s contribution in the volume, pp. 213–27. 7

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ed to the Persian and Hellenistic period.12 So it is meaningful when in the late extensive prayer for the dedication of the temple in 1 Kings 8 the much older textual core of vv. 12–13 (MT) is corrected in v. 30 and – even later – in v. 27 precisely with regard to an explicit heavenly location of God’s abode:13 YHWH has proclaimed to reside in the dark (cloud); yes, I have built you an exalted house, a firm place for your enthronement forever (‫)מכון לשׁבתך‬. (1 Kgs 8:12–13) At the place where you are enthroned (‫)מקום לשׁבתך‬, at heaven (‫)אל־שׁמים‬.

(1 Kgs 8:30)

Behold, the heaven and the heaven of heavens cannot encompass you.

(1 Kgs 8:27)

2) On the other hand, there is a small group of passages mostly from the Psalms that can be isolated from the context and presumably dates back into the period of the 8th–7th centuries BCE: Ps 29; 93; 24:7–10; 46*; 48*; 65; cf. Isa 6; 1 Kgs 8:12–13 (MT). The dating is supported by the fact that Ps 29 and especially Ps 93, which is something like a paradigm for the Iron age “state myth” of Jerusalem, are alluded to and rewritten in Ps 96 and 104 with considerable alterations.14 To name only one of them: in Ps 96:7 the older notion of the minor gods serving king YHWH (Ps 29:1–2) are replaced by the “families of the nations” – a concept fitting well into the post-exilic idea of a world of nations ruled by the “great” and only God. Another famous example is the transformation of the hostile attack of the nations against Jerusalem from Ps 48 into a peaceful procession of tribute bearers in Isa 2 // Mic. 4.15 3) With focus on long-term changes in the “worldviews” expressed in texts using temple symbolism it is notable that the earlier group mentioned above shows no explicit location of the divine abode “in the heaven(s).” Instead, it is centered around a very “high” throne, situated in the cella of the temple and at the same time on a mythical level on the top of a mountain (Zion with traces of the North Syrian Zaphon).16 There is a vertical as well as a horizontal axis within this space symbolism: at the intersection, YHWH rules out of his elevated palace to the ends of the earth. This worldview is not an issue of reflection but it provides the framework for all assertions of cosmic and social stability. It is important to notice that these preexilic Judaean texts lack also any direct statements of YHWH as the creator of the world. This does not mean that the mythical time of the “firsts” is not alluded to. But again, when this is the case it serves to stress YHWH’s dominance over the world without explaining how he reached his position. In Ps 93:1–2 proclaiming YHWH’s kingship, 12

GRÄTZ 2012. Cf. HARTENSTEIN 1997, 224–28; IDEM 2001, 127–29; see also SCHMID 2006, 119–22; KOCH 2018, 5–9. 14 Cf. for the reception of Ps 29; 93 in Ps 96 JEREMIAS 1987, 121–31; for the analogous use of Ps 93 in Ps 104 ibid., 45–50; KRÜGER 1997, 115–17. 15 As Ego 2013 has shown this could be easily connected with the change of reception of Assyrian to Persian propaganda topics by the biblical writers. 16 Cf. HARTENSTEIN 1997, 41–56, and recently KOCH 2018, 20–43. 13

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his throne is blessed to be “firm since once” (‫ )מאז‬and he himself is praised to rule “since the most distant past” (‫)מעולם‬. There is surely “primeval time” here, and YHWH must have ordered, then, the earth and battled the roaring sea. But, as Jörg Jeremias and Bernd Janowski exposed, Ps 93 (and Ps 29) depict only the final result of such primeval deeds in an icon of unshattered kingship:17 More than the roaring of mighty waters, stronger than the breakers of the sea, is splendid YHWH in the height. (Ps 93:4) The voice of YHWH over the waters, the god of glory has thundered, YHWH over the mighty waters. (Ps 29:3)

It is clear from the later texts we will now examine closer that after the destruction of the temple such once natural assertions became doubtful and questionable. If the stability of the world was guaranteed by the God King in Jerusalem, how was it possible to continue with this root metaphor of the temple symbolism after all? What was it exactly that made a continuation attractive under radically altered circumstances?

II. A Deeper Notion of the Cosmic Order: Ps 74 and Lam 5 as Early Reactions to the End of Judah II.A. The Cosmic Order Endures: Ps 74, a Collective Lament Coping with Destruction In the opinion of most scholars, Ps 74 is an early example of the group of collective laments over the destruction of the temple, the decimation of the people, and the end of Judah as a state. It belongs to the collection of Asaph (Pss 50; 73–83) and is a complex composition pleading to YHWH to change the unbearable situation.18 Unlike other psalms of the group, it does not reflect on the causes for the catastrophe. There are no traces of a Deuteronomistic theology of guilt and punishment (with the possible exception of the presumably later addition in vv. 18–21 where the covenant is mentioned). The psalm’s only hope follows the trace of the former caring of YHWH for his people and, with traditional prayer topic, that he will once again change his attitude from hiding to a new benevolence. As simple as that may sound, the complexity of the Psalm is remarkable. It can be decoded well by looking in greater detail at the terms and concepts for time and space:19 Ps 74 starts with a typical “why”-question (‫)למה‬ appealing to YHWH by the royal metaphor of God as the shepherd of his herd, who, inexplicable, has rejected them in anger (v. 1). In v. 1 the term ‫“ נצח‬forever” is used for the first time here to underline how desolate the situation is (cf. further ‫ נצח‬in Ps 74:3; 10; 19). With v. 2 the psalm establishes another concept of time that shifts between the catastrophic presence, seemingly stretching until forever, and a former mythical period of the “firsts” (‫ )קדם‬when YHWH once “acquired” his people and “redeemed” them as the tribe of his own heritage. We could call this a “double face of 17

Cf. JEREMIAS 1987, 15–45; JANOWSKI 1993, 157–80. For Ps 74 cf. SPIECKERMANN 1989, 122–33; EMMENDÖRFER 1998, 77–102. 19 Cf. with special focus on the concepts of time in Ps 74, HARTENSTEIN 1997, 229–44. 18

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time”:20 ‫נצח‬, thus, denotes the totally negative experience of the presence while the other term used for the founding “proto-history” is ‫( קדם‬Ps 74:2; 12). It signifies the time of the “origins,” encompassing the Exodus, the conquest and the constitution of a cultic community of God and the people on Zion.21 This mythical concept of a defining past is similar to respective constructions of a founding history in other ancient cultures.22 And it is obviously rooted in the older traditions of a mythical representation of history from the pre-exilic temple cult (the strong connections to Exod 15 have often been noticed in this respect23). After the introduction of this antithetical time experience vv. 3b–11 execute the lament. It is a detailed and lively account of the foreigner’s (sc. the Babylonian troops’) destruction of the temple. They are called “your (that is God’s) enemies,” since they roar like chaos monsters in the sacred precinct (v. 4). They erected standards of their gods and hacked down the inner walls of the temple’s main room with axes like logging trees in a forest (vv. 5–6). Afterwards, the enemies burned the sanctuary and “defiled the dwelling place of your name” (v. 7). The last verses of the lament reveal the utter disorientation of the prayers (vv. 9– 10): With the fall of the temple the communication with YHWH ended, there are no more offerings or divination, only the noise of the enemies and deadly silence from the side of God. Verse 10 culminates in another question of “how long, until forever?” (‫ צחנ‬again). What follows is crucial: with v. 12 there is a change in tone, introduced by a waw adversativum, and a change of person (from “we” to “I”): And yet, YHWH (MT: Elohim) is my king from primordial time (‫)מלכי מקדם‬.

The section opened up by v. 12 is divided into three parts: Overarching sentence of confession (v. 12): God as my king from the origins (‫)קדם‬ First elaboration (vv. 13–15): address to YHWH, remembering him of his primeval deeds (battling the sea, beating the leviathan, and transforming the chaos waters into cosmic irrigation) Second elaboration (vv. 16–17): address to YHWH, remembering him of his possession of ordered time and space on earth which he has established by his primeval creation.

Ps 74:12 still builds upon the old root metaphor of YHWH’s kingship despite the experiences of disorder (cf. vv. 3b–11). How is this possible? The passage reveals a complex answer, and scholars disagree how to interpret it adequately. Earlier research focussed on the problem of “mythized history” or “historicized myth” which is obviously more an issue of modern prejudice. Current interpretations agree that the verses offer a concept of a founding history (in mythical form), but they disagree whether this refers only to events of Israel’s “proto-history” or also to primeval creation.24 It seems 20

Cf. JANOWSKI 2008a, 89–97. Cf. the important contribution by KOCH 1991. 22 For an overview of ancient concepts of history following the idea of a mythical “primeval time,” e.g. ASSMANN/MÜLLER 2005; GEHRKE 2014; see, for Israel, also VAN SETERS 1989. 23 See, for example, GÄRTNER 2012, 116–20. 24 Cf. JANOWSKI 2008a, 93–96. 21

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that this is not a viable alternative: the address to YHWH in vv. 13–14 with its qatalsequence of heroic deeds against monstrous enemies in the past, but still effective in the presence, passes into a statement of primeval creation in v. 15: You have split (‫ )בקע‬fountains and brooks, you have dried up never-failing rivers.

The verse is transitional to the following sequence vv. 16–17 and seems to locate the motif of divine combat from the preceding verses in the period of the cosmic “firsts” as well. Scholars often stressed the analogies of the Ugaritic Baal myth and the narrative sequence of the Enuma elish (Marduk’s victory over Tiamat – establishment of the cosmic order). But there is no such thing as a general ancient Near Eastern “pattern” of a cosmic battle.25 Ps 74:13–15, instead, obviously lays one level of mythical time (the “primeval cosmic events”) on another (the “proto-history” of Israel). It seems, furthermore, that we observe here the emergence of the creation topic as an independent argument: vv. 16–17 repeat the qatal-sequence from vv. 13–15, but shift entirely to the deepest time level: the very “firsts” of the world’s genesis: 16

Your’s is the day and the night: you have prepared (‫ כון‬Hif.) the light of the night (that is the moon) and the sun. 17 You have established (‫ נצב‬Hif.) all the borders of the earth. Summer and winter, you have formed them (‫)יצר‬ (Ps 74:16–17)

It is no coincidence that this argument uses the so-called “declaration of property,” thoroughly explained by Martin Metzger.26 Such an address to YHWH is always in a nominal sentence with the preposition lamed to signify God’s claim on his possession and it is sometimes accounted for by the following qatal-clause naming YHWH’s creational actions (beside Ps 74:16, in Pss 89:12; 95:5; 24:1–2; cf. Ez 29:3).27 This shift from the presence to the founding past is highly significant: in pre-exilic “implicit” cosmology the praise of the ever-enduring kingship of YHWH was most prominent (cf. above for Ps 93; 29). To root this kingship explicitly in primeval creation would have been possible before the crisis, but it was unnecessary. Only after the destruction of the temple, the recourse to the establishment of cosmic order gained its theological significance: as an “empirical” counter-argument against the evidence of the temple lying in ruins.28 The thematic structure of Ps 74:16 is revealing in this respect:29 16a day–night 16b moon–sun 17a all the borders of the earth 17b summer–winter

time: space: space: time:

cycle of the day heaven earth cycle of the year

V. 16a is about the most elementary awareness of cosmic order, the cycle of day and night. By naming YHWH the royal owner of this process, he is acknowledged and appealed as the still-active power above all the shattered certainties on the level of history. The reliability of the cosmic rhythms of days and years with its seasons were 25

See, e.g., PODELLA 1993. METZGER 2003. 27 Cf. ibid., 76–77. 28 Cf. HARTENSTEIN 1997, 241–43. 29 Following the figure from METZGER 2003, 43. 26

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of great importance as an anchor in the midst of disorientation: that these processes endure is a sign of hope that God could turn the fate of Israel at any time. In this respect it is obvious to compare the analogue promise at the end of the Non-Priestly flood narrative: While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night shall not cease. (Gen 8:22)30

II.B. The Throne of God Endures: The Solution of Lam 5 The probably oldest text of Lamentations, chapter 5, shows a similar shift of perspective. It could easily reach back to the same period not too far from the experience of the end of the Kingdom of Judah. Lam 5:17–19 reads: 17

For this our heart has become sick, for these things our eyes have grown dim, 18 for Mount Zion which lies desolate; jackals prowl over it. 19 But you, YHWH, you throne forever (‫)לעולם תשׁב‬, your throne (endures) from generation to generation! (Lam 5:17–19)

Like in Ps 74 the temple mount lies desolate. And similar to Ps 74 this does not refer only to the ostensible reality but goes deeper. This is visible through the use of a traditional metaphor for chaos (the jackals are protagonists of a counter-worldly sphere, cf. KAI 222 A, 33; Jer 9:10; 10:22; Ez 13:4). In Lam 5:20 we find – exactly like in Ps 74:1 – the designation ‫ נצח‬for the present historical experience as a time when YHWH has forgotten his people seemingly “forever.” And like in Ps 74, Lam 5:21 pleads to God, to turn their fate by “renewing our days like in the time of origins” (‫כקדם‬, cf. Ps 74:2; 12).31 With regard to the specific location of YHWH’s cosmic abode apart from the chaotic sphere of the former temple mount, Lam 5 keeps silent. But the strict opposition between “wasteland” (‫ שׁמם‬v. 18, often as an effect of curse32) and the throne of God enduring “forever” (‫ לעולם‬v. 19) suggests strongly a mythical high place undisturbed by any historical events. The earth and the throne are separated now since their former bond is torn (cf. Ps 93 for the intact symbolism of the throne and stability of the earth). Maybe, the recourse to primeval creation is not yet at hand for Lam 5. Or, more plausible, this prayer found another way to cope with the cognitive dissonance in an elegant economy of separating the two levels of temple symbolism:33 [T]he city is destroyed. The presence of the city god is no longer recognizable. However, God is not dead or deprived of his power – on the contrary. This would have been the declaration of bankruptcy of every theology.34

30 For Gen 8:20–22 see JANOWSKI 2008a, 94–95; IDEM 2008b, 191; further HARTENSTEIN 2017, 60, and esp. GERTZ 2018, 270–75. 31 For Lam 5 and its twofold designations for time as a close parallel to Ps 74, cf. HARTENSTEIN 1997, 244–48. 32 Cf. KAI 222, 25f., see HARTENSTEIN 1997, 170–71. 33 Cf. also Ps 102:4–12, and in contrast v. 13–17 (a shift of perspective from the desolated Zion to the heavenly throne very similar to Lam 5:18–19). 34 FREVEL 2017, 352–53 (transl. FH).

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III. The Ambiguous Power of the Creator: The “Doxologies” in Am 4:13; 5:8; 9:5–6 III.A. The Amos “Doxologies” and Their Setting in the Book A probably exilic redaction at the earliest of the Amos scripture has given this prophetical work, originally shaped from the eighth century onwards, a new profile. By inserting three fragments of what has been formerly one consistent hymn (cf. Job 9:5– 10), the whole reading of the book was altered. The so-called “doxologies” in Amos 4:13; 5:8; 9:5–6 focus on the power of YHWH, the creator, to change darkness to light and vice versa and to overthrow his salvific acts into the opposite: [T]he very form of a doxology requires the enduring existence of a (purified!) cosmic order, to be performed at all. Every doxology in the book of Amos praises […] the creational power of God in a contradictory manner.35

The words of Amos once addressed to the Kingdom of Israel, for which YHWH announced “the end” (Am 8:2), culminated in the threat of the destruction of the sanctuaries, especially Bet-El (Am 9:1–4; 5:5–6; cf. 3:14). In particular, these passages were interpreted by the doxologies in the light of an explicit monotheistic theology of creation. After the fall of the Kingdom of Judah and the destruction of Jerusalem, it was not possible anymore, to read the Amos scripture restricted to the North. Instead, as with other prophetic books like Isaiah and Jeremiah, there is a surplus of meaning in the message that does not fit into only one historical realization. The readers of the Bet-El passages now realize additionally what has happened to the temple of Jerusalem. Most notably, the final doxology opens up a particular new understanding of history in light of creation. III.B. Reading History in the Light of YHWH’s Creational Power: Amos 9:5–6; 5:8; 4:13 in Their Context Amos 9:5–6 once were probably the final verses of the doxological composition. All of them show typical hymnic participles: 5

[But the lord, YHWH of hosts], who touches the earth and it shakes and all who dwell in it mourn and all of it rises like the Nile and sinks like the Nile of Egypt; 6 who has built (‫ )בנה‬in the heavens (‫ )בשׁמים‬his stairs (‫מעלותו‬, and his bond (‫ – )אגדתו‬upon/on the earth he had founded it (‫ ;)יסד‬who calls the waters of the sea and pours them out upon the surface of the earth – YHWH is his name. (Amos 9:5–6)

Since there are a lot of uncertainties with regard to philological and traditiohistorical details, I summarize my former more detailed exegesis of the passage which owed a lot to studies namely by Klaus Koch and Jörg Jeremias.36 Amos 9:5–6 interpret the preceding last vision in Amos 9:1–4 in which YHWH announces the smashing of

35 36

GILLINGHAM 1993, 121 (transl. FH). KOCH 1973; JEREMIAS 22013, 127f.

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the sanctuary by his own hands.37 V. 5 emphasizes the dominant power of YHWH who demonstrates his sovereignty over the earth and the river Nile by causing both to tremble (a near parallel are the participles of Ps 104:32: “Who looks on the earth and it trembles, who touches the mountains and they smoke”; cf. Job 9:6). The most disputed statement follows in v. 6. It has a primeval cosmological meaning: YHWH has erected a building structure (‫“ )מעלות‬in the heavens,” which is either his transcendent heavenly abode like, again, in Ps 104:3; 13 (there ‫“ עליות‬lofty chambers”); or it goes for a “stair,” which, in the context of the preceding vision Amos 9:1– 4 and with regard to the ‫ סלם‬Gen 28:12, would signify a vertical axis between above and below, possibly reaching back to the temple symbolism of Bet-El.38 We definitely are in the realm of such a cosmic symbol with v. 6b, where YHWH is praised to have founded “his bond“ (‫ )אגדה‬on the earth (‫ יסד‬Qal is a technical word for laying the foundations and is used metaphorically in creational contexts to display the earth as a skillfully planned edifice, set up firmly by its royal builder, cf. Ps 104:5; 8; 24:2; Job 38:4; Prov 3:19; Isa 48:13 etc.). There are striking parallels from Mesopotamia for the idea of a cosmic bond, holding firmly together heaven and earth (cf. temple names like dur.an.ki, “bond of heaven and earth,” or the durmāḫu, “great bond,” in Enuma elish V 59, which secures the heavens from drifting away).39 Amos 9:6 ends with the capacity of YHWH to call the sea, obviously a domesticated version of the former chaos waters, and to pour out irrigating or destructive waters from above. The same formula occurs already at the end of the second doxology Amos 5:8. This ensures the connection of the fragments and must have had a special significance: He, who made the Pleiades and Orion and overthrows (‫ )הפך‬deep darkness (‫ )צלמות‬into morning and darkens day into night; who calls for the waters of the sea, and pours them out (‫ )שׁפך‬upon the surface of the earth. (Amos 5:8)

YHWH, who established the heavenly order of stars and constellations, sometimes disrupts the cosmic rhythms of days and seasons. It is surely intentional when this is demonstrated at first with a positive example (like in Isa 45:7; see below IV.B.): he “overthrows” (‫ )הפך‬the deep darkness into the salvific morning light, the traditional time of justice (cf. for example Ps 46:6b).40 The change from night to day as such is, of course, natural. But here the focus is on an unnaturally sudden and abrupt transition from deep and chaotic darkness without orientation (‫צלמות‬, cf. Isa 9:1; Ps 44:20; 107:10; 14; Job 10:21–22). Amos 5:8 can be read as a sign of hope on the level of historical experience since the book at this stage looks already back to the fulfillment 37

For an in-depth analysis of the terminology and the traditio-historical contexts of Amos 9:1–4, see RIEDE 2008, 169–282. 38 See for Amos 9:5–6, HARTENSTEIN 2001, 152–66; JEREMIAS 22013, 127–28; KESSLER 2021, 253–58. 39 Cf. for these Parallels HARTENSTEIN 2001, 163–64, with regard to EDZARD 1987; GEORGE 1997; HOROWITZ 1998, 119–20; cf. ibid., 265: “A Number of texts refer to cosmic bonds, including ‘bonds’ (riksu, markasu), ‘lead ropes’ (ṣerretu) and durmāḫu (‘great bond’), which secure the heavens in place.” 40 Cf. for Ps 46:6b the thorough exegetical remarks by LICHTENSTEIN 2014, 271–85.

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of God’s judgment on Israel and Judah (cf. Amos 5:7: Israel has “overthrown” [again the keyword ‫ ]הפך‬justice and righteousness). With the next predication in Amos 5:8, God’s “darkening” of daylight, an opposite reading seems also true: such an eclipse is usually a sign of YHWH’s anger. The “pouring” out of water from the height is also ambiguous (object of ‫ שׁפך‬is often YHWH’s wrath). The rabbinic tradition related this passage to the deluge (b. Ber. 59a).41 On the other hand, the above mentioned closest parallel to Amos 9:6 in Ps 104:13 stresses the positive effects: He, who waters the mountains from out of his lofty chambers, with the fruit of your work the earth is satiated. (Ps 104:13)

In Amos 5:8 and 9:6, the allusion to the deluge as a paradigm is strong. But taken together with Ps 104, the verses confirm that everything, positive and negative, depends on the transcendent creator: the stability of the earth is laid out from primeval acts of creation and God’s heavenly abode stands for his universal rule and sovereignty. The remaining doxology Amos 4:13 is similar, but with a surprising note: For him, who forms (‫ )יצר‬mountains and creates (‫ )ברא‬the wind, and declares (‫ נגד‬Hif.) to man what is his thought; who makes dawn (‫ )שׁחר‬darkness and treads the heights of the earth – YHWH [God of hosts], is his name. (Amos 4:13)

The creator is able to change the course of history so fast that it is impossible to understand: he sometimes darkens the rising dawn as quickly as he makes an end to Israel or Judah. The hymn is silent about Israel’s misconduct or sins, but – to be sure – YHWH makes known his plans; in the context, this can only refer to his prophetic announcements and to the “reading of history” enabled by the prophetic writings. Not only here one is strongly reminded of Deutero-Isaiah (note also that ‫ יצר‬and ‫ ברא‬occur together otherwise only in Isa 43:1;7; 45:7;18). Jörg Jeremias summarized the creational thinking of the doxologies with regard to their two contradictory topics: 1. The stability of heaven (Amos 9:6), stars (5:8), earth, and mountains (4:13), which shows that YHWH is the ruler of the world, despite the apparent rejection of Israel in the destruction of Jerusalem. 2. In addition, the emphasis that the very same YHWH can bring “overthrow” (4:11) […], in short, that he can change at any time the conditions humans take as naturally given and against whom any resistance is useless […].42

The last section of this contribution is dedicated to the similar but much more explicitly reflected monotheistic creation theology of Isa 40–55.

41 42

Cf. KOCH 1973, 517. JEREMIAS 22013, 57 (transl. FH).

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IV. The Absolute Transcendence of Divine Actions: Creation as the Frame of Understanding History in Deutero-Isaiah IV.A. The Role of Creation in Deutero-Isaiah: A Brief Summary The chapters Isa 40–55, in particular, their earlier literary levels, contain the most elaborate use of explicit arguments based on the primeval deeds of YHWH in the Hebrew Bible. The anonymous authors, in my opinion, lived almost certainly in Southern Mesopotamia because of the many references to Babylonian propaganda and cultural imaginary especially in Isa 40–46. For them, the topic “creation” was crucial to claim the former Judaean God as the one and only agent in history. Unlike other biblical writings the literary prophetical composition forming now the second part of the book of Isaiah tried to convince the addressees of the truth and reliability of their transformed traditional beliefs. With regard to creation this had two main directions: 1) Creational thinking is a form of argument that, since it evolved after the end of Judah, could effectively claim particular attention by the audience. If the addressees belonged to the former elites of Judah (or their descendants), they shared the older “official” worldview (cf. above I.B.). Since these traditions became highly questionable, it was exactly the new explicit “nomination” of primeval creation that could confirm the content of those traditional concepts as reliable (cf., for example, the appeal to “former knowledge” in Isa 40:21–22 and its bold reinterpretation: “the foundations of the earth” have been known for long, but its true implications are only now fully visible). 2) The other direction of creational thinking is closely interwoven with the previous one: since the Marduk religion of the Babylonian Empire, which has survived the downfall of 539 BCE for a long time, was centered around the old “state myth” Enuma elish, it was inevitable for the prophetical thinkers to react to its cosmological splendour.43 If Marduk claimed the central position as the king of the gods and if he had established everything through his mighty primeval deeds, this must have had a deep impact on the deported inhabitants from a small peripheral state that ended 586 BCE. For Isa 40–55, creation is the frame to understand “history” in all its facets:44 be it the salvation accounts of the “proto-history” of the fathers or the exodus, or be it the more recent events of the fate of Judah and its inhabitants. Even more important, “history” encompasses also the “counter history” of the “new” things to come, more “wondrous” than anything before. It is no coincidence that the language used for these “historical topics” is mostly that of hymns. This connects all the examples for the transition from “implicit” to “explicit” creation theology I have selected for this con-

43

Cf. ALBANI 2000; HARTENSTEIN 2013a. See the concise summary of the theological topics in Isa 40–55 by JEREMIAS 2015b, 260–74. Other recent introductions and overviews on Isa 40–55 are also useful, e.g. ALBERTZ 2001, 283–323; BERGES/BEUKEN 2016, 135–90; HEFFELFINGER 2020. 44

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tribution. I conclude with four paradigmatic passages from Isa 40–45 to substantiate my considerations. IV.B. Explicit Creation Theology as the Basis and Form of Monotheistic Thinking (Isa 40:12–31; 43:10–12; 45:6b–7) There is a broad consensus that the extensive disputation Isa 40:12–31 is essential for the following composition.45 It opens up the discussion with the audience by use of rhetorical questions: Who has measured the waters with his hollow hand and regulated the heavens with his46 span? (Isa 40:12a)

The first question could have been answered easily with regard to the Enuma elish, in which the victorious Marduk holds control over all the waters and arranged their cosmological function (V, 47–58). 47 But the second rhetorical question cannot be solved like that. Marduk only completed and arranged the heavens, but their beginning in the time of theogony was connected with his forefather, Anu, whose name means “heaven.”48 YHWH, so the bold statement of the opening verse (Isa 40:12), is a timetranscendent skillful builder of heaven and earth whose origin, therefore, is not a reasonable topic: he exceeds “the ends of the earth” in time and space (v. 28). These arguments aim to reach addressees, who have obviously resigned or are indifferent to the possibilities of a new understanding of their situation: 27

Why (‫ )למה‬do you say, Jacob, and speak, Israel: my way is hidden from YHWH, and my right passes by unnoticed by my God? 28 Have you not known? Have you not heard? YHWH is the God of everlasting time (‫)עולם אלוהי‬, the creator (‫ )בורא‬of the ends of the earth. (Isa 40:27–28)

The two directions of creation theology mentioned above are even more clearly visible in another disputation, Isa 43:10–12 (part of a larger unit: vv. 8–13): 10

Your are my witnesses (pl.), says YHWH, and my servant whom I have chosen, that you know and believe me and understand that I am He. Before me, no god was formed (‫ יצר‬Nif.), and after me, there shall be no other. 11 I, I am YHWH, and beside me, there is no saviour. 12 I made known (‫ נגד‬Hif.) and saved and let hear, and there was no other (god) among you; and you are my witnesses, says YHWH, and I am God. (Isa 43:10–12)

Again the addressees are sceptical or indifferent (in v. 8 they are characterized as “blind”). They are imagined as participants in a kind of trial against the gods of the nations (the Babylonians). YHWH’s line of argument is twofold:

45

See KRATZ 1991, 161–63; for the discussion of dating Isa 40,12–31. see, esp BERGES 2008, 128–30. 46 Cf. 4QIsaa. 47 Cf. LAMBERT 2013, 101. 48 A possible but not conclusive interpretation of the name Andurunna for the first cosmic locality mentioned in Enuma elish connected with Anu is that it could be a designation for “heaven” (I, 24), cf. HARTENSTEIN 2013a, 396; see HOROWITZ 1998, 109, and the commentary of LAMBERT 2013, 470.

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1) As in Isa 40, he claims to have been “there” long before any narratable or thinkable beginnings: “Before me, no god was formed”. He has no part in any theogony like that in the first lines of the Enuma elish.49 2) And in opposite to this transcendence, he is active “here and now” to save his people. Through the course of their mutual history, he has reliably predicted future events and stated his will. No “other” (god) has ever been in such an intimate relation with the people. There is a tension in the very structure of this idea of God, simultaneously imagined to be near and remote, manifest and elusive. This tension found its foremost expression in the short predication of Isa 45:7 concluding the core message of YHWH’s election of Cyrus: 6b

I am YHWH, and there is no other, who forms light (‫ )יצר אור‬and creates darkness (‫)ובורא חשׁך‬, who works peace (‫ )עשׂה שׁלום‬and creates evil (‫)ובורא רע‬: I, YHWH, am he who works this all (‫)עשׂה כל־אלה‬. 7

(Isa 45:6b–7)

All four hymnic participles relate to the primeval creation as well as to the present time. The structure is deliberate and reveals an astonishing reflection:50 The frame (v. 6b // 7b) emphasizes twice YHWH’s identity as the one and unique god. The sequence of participles is divided into two pairs. The first pair names two basic cosmic elements of primeval as well as of enduring significance: light and darkness. At once one associates Gen 1:1–3, but not only in this respect it is remarkable that the positive and life-giving “light” (‫ )אור‬stands at first place; its opposite is not simply the night but the pre-cosmic and counter-worldly deep gloom (‫)חשׁך‬. The verbs related to these objects testify again to a very deliberate choice: the light is “formed” (‫ )יצר‬like an object of clay and, therefore, the creator’s action is rooted in everyday experience. The darkness, on the other hand, is “created” (‫)ברא‬, but without any analogy. The use of the verb ‫ ברא‬is strictly theocentric in the Hebrew Bible (only with divine subject). In Isa 45:7 it stresses the opaque and secret character of the “gloom” for the human mind. A similar sequence follows with the second pair of objects: “peace/perfection” (‫ )שׁלום‬and “evil/disaster” (‫)רע‬. Again, it starts with the positive term and with an intuitively accessible verb: “to make” (‫ )עשׂה‬which denotes a skillful work of production. Finally, the negative object, “evil,” is construed again with ‫ברא‬. It is surely no coincidence that this as an object of divine action has the last position in the row since it is the most offensive term of the four.

This unique monotheistic assertion has often been considered a climax of creational thinking in the bible. And, indeed, it is (far more sophisticated than the similar contradictory doxologies in Amos, cf. III.). It shows profoundly the possibilities and the limits of the explicit theology of creation. The suspenseful structure of opposites cannot be solved through dialectics or speculation. Like all biblical thought, it is deeply rooted in concrete historical experience with all its burning questions that cannot be answered sufficiently.

49

Cf. with regard to Gen 1:1–3 and Isa 43:10 compared to Enuma elish I, 1–16 HARTENSTEIN 2019, 50–52. 50 Cf. for the following section HARTENSTEIN 2016, 262–64; JEREMIAS 2015b, 272.

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Bibliography ALBANI, M. (2000): Der eine Gott und die himmlischen Heerscharen: Zur Begründung des Monotheismus bei Deuterojesaja im Horizont der Astralisierung des Gottesverständnisses im Alten Orient, (ABG 1), Leipzig. ALBERTZ, R. (2001): Die Exilszeit: 6. Jahrhundert v.Chr., (Biblische Enzyklopädie 7), Stuttgart/Berlin/Cologne. ASSMANN, J. (1984): Ägypten: Theologie und Frömmigkeit einer frühen Hochkultur, (UT 366), Stuttgart/Berlin/Cologne. ASSMANN, J./K.E. MÜLLER (eds.) (2005): Der Ursprung der Geschichte: Archaische Kulturen, das Alte Ägypten und das Frühe Griechenland, Stuttgart. BARTELMUS, R. (2001): šāmajim – Himmel. Semantische und traditionsgeschichtliche Aspekte, in: B. JANOWSKI/B. EGO (eds.), Das biblische Weltbild und seine altorientalischen Kontexte, (FAT 32), Tübingen, 87–124. BERGES, U. (2008): Jesaja 40–48, (HThK), Freiburg/Basel/Vienna. BERGES, U./W. BEUKEN (2016): Das Buch Jesaja: Eine Einführung, (UTB 4647), Göttingen. BERLEJUNG, A. (ed.) (2012): Disaster and Relief Management: Katastrophen und ihre Bewältigung, (FAT 81), Tübingen. EDZARD, D.O. (1987): Deep-Rooted Skyscrapers and Bricks: Ancient Mesopotamian Architecture and its Imagery, in: M. MINDLIN/M.J. GELLER/J.E. WANSBROUGH (ed.), Figurative Language in the Ancient Near East, London 1987, 13–24. EGO, B. (1998): “Der Herr blickt herab von der Höhe seines Heiligtums”: Zur Vorstellung von Gottes himmlischem Thronen in exilisch-nachexilischer Zeit, ZAW 110, 556–69. – (2013): Vom Völkerchaos zum Völkerkosmos: Zu einem Aspekt der Jerusalemer Kultkonzeption, in: A. GRUND/A. KRÜGER/F. LIPPKE (eds.), Ich will dir danken unter den Völkern: Studien zur israelitischen und altorientalischen Gebetsliteratur, Gütersloh, 123–41. EMMENDÖRFFER, M. (1998): Der ferne Gott: Eine Untersuchung der alttestamentlichen Volksklagelieder vor dem Hintergrund der mesopotamischen Literatur, (FAT 21), Tübingen. FREVEL, C. (2017): Die Klagelieder, (NSKAT 20/1), Stuttgart. GÄRTNER, J. (2012): Die Geschichtspsalmen: Eine Studie zu den Psalmen 78, 105, 106, 135 und 136 als hermeneutische Schlüsseltexte im Psalter, (FAT 84), Tübingen. GEHRKE, H.-J. (2014): Geschichte als Element antiker Kultur: Die Griechen und ihre Geschichte(n), (Münchner Vorlesungen zu Antiken Welten 2), Berlin. GEORGE, A.R. (1997): ‘Bond of the Lands’: Babylon, The Cosmic Capital, in: G. WILHELM (ed.), Die orientalische Stadt: Kontinuität, Wandel, Bruch. 1. Internationales Colloquium der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft 9.–10. Mai 1996 in Halle/Saale, Saarbrücken, 125–45. GERTZ, J.-C. (2018): Das erste Buch Mose: Genesis: Die Urgeschichte Gen 1–11, (ATD 1), Göttingen. GILLINGHAM, S. (1993): “Der die Morgenröte zur Finsternis macht”: Gott und Schöpfung im Amosbuch, EvT 53, 109–23. GRÄTZ, S. (2012): Jhwh, der Gott des Himmels: Erwägungen zu einer alttestamentlichen Vorstellung, in: A. BERLEJUNG/R. HECKL (eds.), Ex oriente Lux: Studien zur Theologie des Alten Testaments, (ABG 39), Leipzig, 407–17. HARTENSTEIN, F. (1997): Die Unzugänglichkeit Gottes im Heiligtum: Jesaja 6 und der Wohnort JHWHs in der Jerusalemer Kulttradition, (WMANT 75), Neukirchen-Vluyn. – (2001): Wolkendunkel und Himmelsfeste: Zur Genese und Kosmologie der Vorstellung des himmlischen Heiligtums JHWHs, in: B. JANOWSKI/B. EGO (eds.), Das biblische Weltbild und seine altorientalischen Kontexte, (FAT 32), Tübingen, 125–79. – (2012): YHWH’s Ways and New Creation in Deutero-Isaiah, in: E. BEN ZVI/C. LEVIN (eds.), Remembering and Forgetting in Early Second Temple Judah, (FAT 85), Tübingen, 73–89.

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– (2013): JHWH, Erschaffer des Himmels: Zu Herkunft und Bedeutung eines monotheistischen Kernarguments, ZTK 110, 383–409. – (2016), Personalität Gottes im Alten Testament, in: IDEM, Die bleibende Bedeutung des Alten Testaments: Studien zur Relevanz des ersten Kanonteils für Theologie und Kirche, (BThSt 165), Göttingen, 229–67. – (2017): Das Ende als Anfang: Die biblische Sintfluterzählung, in: H.-J. SIMM (ed.), Aspekte der Bibel: Themen – Figuren – Motive, Freiburg/Basel/Vienna, 47–63. – (2019): Von der Vorwelt zur Welt: Kosmogonische Übergänge in alttestamentlichen und altorientalischen Texten zur Weltentstehung, in: R.A. DÍAZ HERNÁNDEZ/M.C. FLOSSMANN-SCHÜTZE/ F. HOFFMANN (eds.), Antike Kosmogonien: Beiträge zum internationalen Workshop vom 28.–30. Januar 2016, (Tuna el-Gebel 9), Vaterstetten, 43–58. HEFFELFINGER, K.M. (2020): Isaiah 40–55, in: L.-S. TIEMEYER (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Isaiah, Oxford, 111–27. HERMISSON, H.-J. (1998): Zur Schöpfungstheologie der Weisheit, in: J. BARTHEL (ed.), Studien zu Prophetie und Weisheit, (FAT 23), Tübingen 269–85 (=H.-J. HERMISSON [1978]: Observations on the Creation Theology in Wisdom, in: J.G. GAMMIE et al. [eds.], Israelite Wisdom, Missoula, 43– 57). HOROWITZ, W. (1998): Mesopotamian Cosmic Geography, (MesCiv 8), Winona Lake, IN. IRSIGLER, H. (2021): Gottesbilder des Alten Testaments: Von Israels Anfängen bis zum Ende der exilischen Epoche 1–2, Freiburg/Basel/Vienna. JANOWSKi, B. (1993): Das Königtum Gottes in den Psalmen: Bemerkungen zu einem neuen Gesamtentwurf, in: IDEM, Gottes Gegenwart in Israel: Beiträge zur Theologie des Alten Testaments, Neukirchen-Vluyn, 148–213. – (2003): Die heilige Wohnung des Höchsten: Kosmologische Implikationen der Jerusalemer Tempeltheologie, in: IDEM, Der Gott des Lebens: Beiträge zur Theologie des Alten Testaments 3, Neukirchen-Vluyn, 27–71. – (2008a): Das Doppelgesicht der Zeit: Alttestamentliche Variationen zum Thema “Mythos und Geschichte”, in: IDEM, Die Welt als Schöpfung: Beiträge zur Theologie des Alten Testaments 4, Neukirchen-Vluyn, 79–104. – (2008b), Schöpferische Erinnerung: Zum “Gedenken” Gottes in der biblischen Fluterzählung, in: IDEM, Die Welt als Schöpfung: Beiträge zur Theologie des Alten Testaments 4, Neukirchen-Vluyn, 172–98. JEREMIAS, J. (1987): Das Königtum Gottes in den Psalmen: Israels Begegnung mit dem kanaanäischen Mythos in den Jahwe-König-Psalmen, (FRLANT 141), Göttingen. – (22013): Der Prophet Amos, (ATD 24/2), Göttingen. – (2015a): Schöpfung in Poesie und Prosa des Alten Testaments: Gen 1–3 im Vergleich mit anderen Schöpfungstexten des Alten Testaments, in: F. HARTENSTEIN/J. KRISPENZ (eds.), Studien zur Theologie des Alten Testaments, (FAT 99), Tübingen, 83–108. – (2015b): Theologie des Alten Testaments, (GAT 6), Göttingen KEEL, O. (2007): Die Geschichte Jerusalems und die Entstehung des Monotheismus 1–2, (OLB IV/1– 2), Göttingen. KESSLER, R. (2021): Amos, (IEKAT), Stuttgart. KOCH, C. (2018), Gottes himmlische Wohnstatt: Transformationen im Verhältnis von Gott und Himmel in tempeltheologischen Entwürfen des Alten Testaments in der Exilszeit, (FAT 119), Tübingen. KOCH, K. (1973): Die Rolle der hymnischen Abschnitte in der Komposition des Amos-Buches, ZAW 85, 504–37. – (1991): Qädäm: Heilsgeschichte als mythische Urzeit im Alten (und Neuen) Testament, in: IDEM, Spuren des Hebräischen Denkens: Beiträge zur alttestamentlichen Theologie: Gesammelte Aufsätze 1, Neukirchen-Vluyn, 248–80. KRATZ, R.G. (1991): Kyros im Deuterojesaja-Buch: Redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu Entstehung und Theologie von Jes 40–55, (FAT 1), Tübingen.

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KRÜGER, T. (1997): “Kosmo-theologie” zwischen Mythos und Erfahrung: Psalm 104 im Horizont alttestamentlicher und altorientalischer “Schöpfungs”-Konzepte, in: IDEM, Kritische Weisheit: Studien zur weisheitlichen Traditionskritik im Alten Testament, Zürich, 91–120. LAMBERT, W.G. (2013): Babylonian Creation Myths, (MesCiv 16), Winona Lake, IN. LEVENSON, J.D. (1988): Creation and the Persistence of Evil: The Jewish Drama of Divine Omnipotence, Princeton. LEWIS, T.D. (2020): The Origin and Character of God: Ancient Israelite Religion through the Lens of Divinity, Oxford. LICHTENSTEIN, M. (2014): Von der Mitte der Gottesstadt bis ans Ende der Welt: Psalm 46 und die Kosmologie der Zionstradition, (WMANT 139), Neukirchen-Vluyn. PODELLA, T. (1993): Der “Chaoskampfmythos” im Alten Testament: Eine Problemanzeige, in: M. DIETRICH/O. LORETZ (eds.), Mesopotamica – Ugaritica – Biblica, (AOAT 232), Münster, 283– 329. METZGER, M. (2003): Eigentumsdeklaration und Schöpfungsaussage, in: IDEM, Schöpfung, Thron und Heiligtum: Beiträge zur Theologie des Alten Testaments, (BThSt 57), Neukirchen-Vluyn, 75– 94. RIEDE, P. (2008): Vom Erbarmen zum Gericht: Die Visionen des Amosbuches (Am 7–9*) und ihr literatur- und traditionsgeschichtlicher Zusammenhang, (WMANT 120), Neukirchen-Vluyn. SPIECKERMANN, H. (1989): Heilsgegenwart: Eine Theologie der Psalmen, (FRLANT 148), Göttingen. STOLZ, F. (1996): Einführung in den biblischen Monotheismus, Darmstadt. SCHMID, K. (2006): Himmelsgott, Weltgott und Schöpfer: “Gott” und “Himmel” in der Zeit des Zweiten Tempels, in: M. EBNER et al. (eds.), Der Himmel, (JBTh 20), Neukirchen-Vluyn, 111–48. SCHMID, K. (2013): Gibt es Theologie im Alten Testament? Zum Theologiebegriff in der alttestamentlichen Wissenschaft, (ThStud NF 7), Zurich. VAN SETERS, J. (1989): Myth and History: The Problem of Origins, in: Histoire et conscience historique dans les civilisations du Proche-Orient Ancien: Actes du Colloque de Cartigny 1986, (Les Cahiers du CEPOA 5), Leuven, 49–61.

Persian-Period Jerusalem in the Shadow of Destruction Yigal Levin* A song of ascents: When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with song; then it was said among the nations: The Lord has done great things for them. The Lord has done great things for us, and we rejoiced. (Ps 126:1–3)

These words, as understood in Jewish tradition as well as by many modern scholars, were written by a poet who wished to give expression to the feeling of gratitude and uplifting of spirit that was felt by the Jews who made the journey from Babylon to Jerusalem, as part of the process known as “the Restoration” or “the Return to Zion.” According to biblical tradition, some seventy years after the destruction of the city and its Temple by the Babylonians, at least some of the exiles and their descendants returned to the city, rebuilt the Temple, and were allowed once more to manage their own lives in their land and their city. This process is expressed in the biblical literature of the period, including Psalm 126. A more critical examination, of course, raises quite a few questions. We do not really know when or by whom this psalm was composed. The psalm itself does not refer to any specific occasion or event. The true meaning of “ ‫שׁיבַת צִיּוֹן‬ ִ ‫ ”בְּשׁוּב יהוה ֶאת‬is debated by translators, exegetes, and scholars.1 According to the internal chronology of the book of Ezra-Nehemiah, when matched to the known chronology of the Achaeme-

* All Bible translations in this article are based on NRSV but adapted by the author as necessary. The abbreviation system of H.D. BETZ et al. (eds.), Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, 8 Vols., (4th ed., Tübingen, 1998–2007) is followed. 1 In the Septuagint, the Vulgate, and the Targum, “‫ ”שיבת ציון‬is translated τὴν αἰχµαλωσίαν Σιων, captivitatem Sion, and “‫ ”גלוות ציון‬respectively, all of which mean “the captivity of Zion.” In BT Taanit 23a this verse is quoted as meaning “seventy years in a dream,” which was interpreted by Rashi as meaning “when the Lord returns the captives of Zion from Babylonian exile – we will be as dreamers” (GRUBER 2004, 709). Thus also KJV, “When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion.” However, even some of the Medieval commentators understood it differently. Qimhi, for example, understood the verb šub as meaning “repentance” – “that the sons of Zion shall return to the Lord.” However, after the publication of the eighth century BCE “treaty inscriptions” from as-Safire near Aleppo in the 1930s, in which lines 24–25 of Stele III read “ [‫”וכעת השבו אלהן שיבת בי] ת אבי‬, “now the gods have returned the fortunes of my [father’s hou]se,” many scholars have translated our verse as meaning “When Yahweh restored the fortunes of Zion” (DAHOOD 1970, 217–18); “When the Lord restores Zion’s fortunes” (ALLEN 1983, 169–74; ALTER 2007, 447 following NJPS); “When the Lord restored the lives of Zion” (DECLAISSÉ-WALFORD/JACOBSON/TANNER 2014, 913–14), and more. Not all commentators, however, have accepted this interpretation. Fitzmyer (1995, 160) continues to translate the verse as referring to “restoration or return,” and Hossfeld/Zenger (2011, 369) render it as “When YHWH returned again to Zion.” See also WALLACE 2009, 185.

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nid Persian Empire, twenty years separated the initial decree of Cyrus allowing the Jews to rebuild the Temple and its actual dedication, and another seventy years passed from the dedication of the Temple to the rebuilding of the city walls. So to which of these events does the psalm refer? Was it composed retrospectively many years after the events? Or is it actually unrelated to the process which we have come to call “the Return to Zion”? 2 The purpose of this article is to examine the dissonance that exists between the memory of redemption, not only as expressed in this psalm but also in the book of Ezra-Nehemiah and in the prophetic books of the period, and the less-than-glorious reality of the time, the reality of Jerusalem in the early Persian period, as pictured both in the biblical sources themselves and in the archaeological evidence.

I. The Historical Background: Babylonian Exile and the Return to Zion The basic facts are well known. In the month of Ab of 586 BCE, Jerusalem and its Temple were destroyed by the armies of Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon, and the majority of the inhabitants that survived the siege were taken into exile. Unlike their Assyrian predecessors, the Babylonians did not scatter the exiles throughout their empire. Instead, most of the exiles were brought to the Babylonian heartland, where they joined previous groups of exiles, led by the exiled king Jehoiachin/Jechoniah, who had been there since 597. At some point, according to 2 Kings 25:27–30, Jehoiachin was released from captivity and recognized as a sort of “king in exile.” From various references in such books as Jeremiah and Ezekiel, and from the documents attributed to the archives of such places as Āl-Yahudu and Bīt-Našar, we know that over time, at least some of the exiles developed communities, raised families, built houses, opened businesses, and gradually became acclimated to life in Babylonia.3 But then, in the autumn of 539, Cyrus II king of Anshan, king of Persia and Medea, conquered Babylon, and at least according to Ezra 1, issued his famous “edict,” which allowed the Jews to return to Jerusalem and to rebuild the Temple. And while scholars debate the extent to which the edict, in its Hebrew version in Ezra 1:2–6 or in its Aramaic version in Ezra 6:3–12, is an authentic historical document,4 the famous “Cyrus Cylinder” displayed at the British Museum shows us that it does seem to match what we know of Cyrus’ general policy: to recognize the local deities of the various conquered nations as those who gave him victory, and to allow the restoration of temples that had been damaged by the Babylonians, as a means of securing the loyalty of at

2

For a sampling of the various opinions on the date of composition of Ps 126 see DAHOOD 1970, 217–19; ALLEN 1983, 169–75; ZAKOVITCH 2009; HOSSFELD/ZENGER 2011, 369–78; DECLAISSÉWALFORD/JACOBSON/TANNER 2014, 913–16; BECKING 2014, 244–49 and references therein. 3 For which see ODED 2000; IDEM 2010; ABRAHAM 2005–2006; BEAULIEU 2011; BERLEJUNG 2016; IDEM 2017; IDEM 2018; PEARCE 2015; HOFFMAN 2018. 4 See, for example the discussion in FRIED 2015, 62–66, 252–55.

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least some of his new subjects.5 The appointment of “Sheshbazzar the Nasi of Judah,” who may have been a son of Jehoiachin, as the person who received the Temple treasures and transported them to Jerusalem, and of Zerubbabel son of Shealtiel, Jehoiachin’s grandson, as governor of the Yehud province, together with Jeshua/Joshua son of Jehozadak, perhaps the son of the last high priest of the First Temple, seems to have been only natural.6 According to the first chapters of Ezra, immediately after their arrival, the returnees dedicated the altar at the site of the ruined Temple and celebrated the festival of Sukkot.7 And then, a month later, the Temple’s foundations were laid in an impressive ceremony: When the builders laid the foundation of the Temple of the Lord, the priests in their vestments were stationed to praise the Lord with trumpets, and the Levites, the sons of Asaph, with cymbals, according to the directions of David King of Israel; And they sang responsively, praising and giving thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever toward Israel. And all the people responded with a great shout when they praised the Lord, because the foundation of the house of the Lord was laid. (Ezra 3:10–11)

II. Not All Is Perfect But just at that moment of the Temple’s foundation, the narrator adds a rather strange comment: But many of the priests and Levites and heads of families, old people who had seen the first house on its foundations, wept with a loud voice when they saw this house, though many shouted aloud for joy; so that the people could not distinguish the sound of the joyful shout from the sound of the people’s weeping, for the people shouted so loudly that the sound was heard far away. (Ezra 3:12–13)

Although the context is not totally clear, these verses are often understood as meaning that some of the older people, who had seen the First Temple in all its glory with their own eyes, wept when they saw the foundations of the smaller and poorer Second Temple.8 5

On the way in which Cyrus is pictured in the various sources see VANDERHOOFT 2006; KUHRT 2007. For a seemingly similar but less-documented process in Ashur under Cyrus see RADNER 2017. For a more critical view see WAERZEGGERS 2015. 6 On the identity and status of Sheshbazzar, Zerubbabel, and Joshua, see JAPHET 1982–83; DEMSKY 1999; NAʾAMAN 2000; FULTON 2009; SILVERMAN 2015. 7 Notably, the text does not specify the year in which these events took place. Ezra 2 mentions no dates at all. Ezra 3:1 mentions “the seventh month” without indicating the year, and verse 8 states “and in the second year since their coming to the house of God in Jerusalem, in the second month.” Some scholars (such as CLINES 1984, 63–69; BLENKINSOPP 1988, 96–97) believe that this refers to an initial group of returnees that arrived during the year after Cyrus issued his edict. Others (such as WILLIAMSON 1985, 43–45; EDELMAN 2005, 159–63) emphasizeq the literary character of this story as belonging to the “temple building story” genre, and the difficulties inherent in accepting the dates given in such stories too literally. See also, more recently, BECKING 2018, 46–53. 8 See, for example, BLENKINSOP 1988, 101 and more recently MATZAL 2018, 438. Fried (2015, 184–87) pointed out that one of the standard features of Mesopotamian temple rebuilding ceremonies

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The truth is, that we have no information about the physical dimensions of Zerubbabel’s Temple. It is reasonable to assume that it was built along a plan that was similar to that of the First Temple, which is described in detail in 1 Kings 6–7,9 but we do not possess any actual description of the size, plan, or surroundings of the Second Temple.10 From Ezra-Nehemiah we know that there was an “open place before the house of God” (‫ – רחוב בית האלהים‬Ezra 10:9) and “chambers” (‫ – לשכות‬Ezra 10:6; Neh 13:4–8), but we have no details about these structures. Edelman raised the possibility that the Temple described in the visions of Ezekiel (chapters 40–48) actually reflects the Second Temple in its earliest stages, but then concluded that even if so, there is not enough information in these chapters for a real reconstruction of the Temple itself.11 Wright, who analyzed the detailed descriptions of Jerusalem and of the Temple that appear in the Letter of Aristeas (83–120) arrived at the conclusion, as did most of his predecessors, that these descriptions are idealized and do not reflect any historical reality.12 In similar vein, Schwartz and Peleg, after examining the detailed descriptions of the Temple and its courtyards that are recorded in the Mishnah’s tractate Middot, which are often thought to preserve memories of the pre-Herodian Second Temple, concluded that they are late and cannot be trusted as an accurate historical source.13 In other words, we have no real knowledge of the plan, the design or the measurements of the Second Temple, the Temple of Ezra, and of the Maccabees, which stood for close to 500 years, until it was dismantled and rebuilt by Herod the Great in the late first century BCE.14 But that was only the beginning. According to Ezra 4, immediately after construction was started, “the adversaries of Judah and Benjamin” and “the people of the land” appeared and began to impede the returnees’ work, perhaps because they wished to join in and in reality to take over the new Temple.15 Many scholars identify these “adwas the recitation of lamentations by special priests known as kalû, and suggested that in our case as well, the crying was a part of the ritual and not an expression of grief over the Second Temple’s small size. 9 Although, as pointed out by Hurovitz (2010, 281–82), the biblical descriptions of Solomon’s Temple were actually written after that Temple had been destroyed, and thus cannot be considered first-hand accounts of the Temple as it was in the tenth century BCE. 10 Fried (2010) showed that the description of the construction of the Temple in Ezra 1–6 includes all of the usual components of Mesopotamian temple-building descriptions, and concluded that the author had access to an actual building inscription from the reign of Darius I. But even if this is true, these chapters do not describe the Temple itself. 11 EDELMAN 2005, 178–80. See also MILGROM 2009, who suggested that Ezekiel’s Temple design was a combination of a Mesopotamian ziggurat and the sanctuary at Delphi in Greece, and GANZEL/ HOLTZ 2014, who emphasized the Babylonian context of Ezekiel’s Temple, but in any case it is clear that Ezekiel did not describe a real structure. For Ezekiel’s vision of the Temple, see Chapter III, Circumnavigating History of this volume below. 12 WRIGHT 2015, 193–235. 13 SCHWARTZ/PELEG 2011, 73–74. Patrich (2009, 40), based on rabbinic tradition, pointed out that the Second Temple did not possess the Ark, the fragments of the tablets of the Law and the Urim and Thummim. 14 See also JAPHET 1991. 15 For a discussion of the “adversaries” motives see LEVIN 2019, 91 and references there.

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versaries” with the group that would eventually be known as “Samaritans,” although the word “Samaria” is never mentioned in the story.16 “The people of the land” are sometimes identified as the descendants of those Judahites whom the Babylonians had not exiled, who may not have been overjoyed at the sudden appearance of returnees holding a royal decree which made them the masters of the land.17 In any case construction was stopped, and was only renewed in the second year of Darius I (Ezra 4:24), 520 BCE, after a visit by “Tattenai the governor of Beyond the River” (Ezra 5: 3–6, 14).18 Construction of the Temple was finally completed only in Darius’ sixth year (Ezra 6: 15), 516 BCE, more than twenty years after Cyrus’ original decree.19 But why was construction so slow? The book of Ezra lays most of the blame on those “adversaries,” who managed to convince the Persians to order the work to stop. But it also admits that, even after work was continued, it took some encouragement by the prophets Haggai and Zechariah to actually get the job done (Ezra 5:1–2; 6:14).20 However, the story told in these prophets’ own books leaves us with a very different impression.

III. Haggai and Zechariah: Construction is Not Progressing Haggai, all of whose recorded prophecies are dated to the second year of Darius (520 BCE),21 tells of a reality in which the people were suffering from hunger and deprivation, and cited these as the reason for not building the Temple: “These people say the time has not yet come to rebuild the Lord’s house” (Haggai 1:2).22 Haggai offers a contrary interpretation of the situation: hunger and deprivation were the result of the Temple’s not having been built, not its cause. Once the Temple was built: “Since the day that the foundation of the Lord’s temple was laid, consider: Is there any seed left 16

The identification of “the adversaries of Judah and Benjamin” with the Samaritans already appears in Josephus (Antiquities 11, 84) and has been accepted by many modern scholars as well. As an example see BLENKINSOPP 1988, 106–108, and for a contrasting view see WILLIAMSON 1985, 49–50. For additional sources, see LEVIN 2019, 91. 17 On which see in detail LEVIN 2019. 18 On Tattenai’s visit, see FLEISHMAN 1995. “Tattenai governor of Across the River” is known from an inscription from Babylon dated to 502 BCE, OLMSTEAD 1944. 19 In this we accept the majority opinion, according to which Ezra 4:24 “skips” from describing an event that occurred during the reign of Artaxerxes I (465–424 BCE – on which see below) back to the reign of his grandfather Darius I (522–486), contra the opinions of EDELMAN 2005 and of BECKING 2018, that the Temple was actually completed during the reigns of Artaxerxes I or of Darius II (423– 404). 20 Although some scholars (such as GRABBE 2018, 303) believe that these prophets’ appearance in the book of Ezra cannot be taken as independent evidence of their activity, but rather reflects the author’s own conclusion, based on his familiarity with the books of Haggai and Zechariah. 21 For an updated survey of opinions on the date and composition of the book of Haggai, see KOOPMANS 2017, 23–29. In general, Koopmans considers the dates in the book to be reliable. 22 To which Meyers (2018, 438) adds, that considering what we now know about the size and demography of sixth-century Jerusalem, there just may not have been enough people in the city to carry out the building project!

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in the barn? Do the vine, the fig tree, the pomegranate, and the olive tree still yield nothing? From this day on I will bless you” (Haggai 2:18–19).23 Haggai also seems to confirm our understanding of the comparison made in Ezra 3:12 between the First Temple and the Second: “Who is left among you that saw this house in its former glory? How does it look to you now? Is it not in your sight as nothing?” (Haggai 2:3).24 The prophet promises that in the future, “Greater will be the glory of this latter house than of the former, says the Lord of Hosts” (Haggai 2:9). Kessler, who compared the description of the building of the Temple in Haggai to other such descriptions in the Bible and in Mesopotamian literature, points out several unique features in Haggai. The first of these is that Haggai never mentions either a royal or a divine commandment to build the Temple in the first place. Haggai does not mention the edict of Cyrus, which stands at the beginning of Ezra’s description of the building of the Temple. Kessler also interprets Haggai 2:9 as referring to the former and latter glory of “this house,” not the former and latter houses, as if there had been no break between them.25 The first eight chapters of the book of Zechariah, which cite dates in Darius’ second year (1:1, 7) and his fourth (7:1), do not discuss the non-building of the Temple, and mostly focus on the future of the city of Jerusalem.26 Even so, the Temple is certainly present (such as in 1:16, “I have returned to Jerusalem with compassion; my house shall be built in it”), and so is the high priest Joshua, who stands at the center of the “trial” described in chapter 3 and receives a crown of silver and gold in chapter 6. Jerusalem as a city is mentioned 23 times in chapters 1–3 and 7–8.27 The opening chapters speak primarily of God’s return to Jerusalem and his making it his place, while the city itself, “Jerusalem shall be inhabited like villages without walls, because of the multitude of people and animals in it” (2:8 [Eng. 5]). The city, which has no wall, will not need a wall in the future, “for I will be a wall of fire all around it, says the Lord, and I will be the glory within it” (2:9 [Eng. 5]). 23

Bang (2013) rejects suggestions that have been raised, that the shortages described in Haggai were caused by Darius’ military campaigns to Egypt, which occurred at that time, and during which the inhabitants of Yehud were forced to supply food for the Persian army, causing a shortage in Yehud itself. Redditt (2016) wonders if the shortages could not have been caused by the returnees themselves, although he is aware of the debate on the actual numbers of people in the various groups of returnees. 24 Although Koopmans (2017, 29, 156–57) points out that the event described in Ezra 3:12–13 is described as taking place during the reign of Cyrus, while Haggai describes a Sukkot celebration in the second year of Darius, over a decade later. Becking (2018, 60–61) noted the chronological difficulty: if the event described in Ezra 3 did take place during the reign of Darius I, after 522 BCE, the chances of anyone who had actually seen the First Temple with their own eyes, being present nearly seventy years after its destruction, was very small. 25 KESSLER 2010, 360–61. NRSV offers a similar interpretation in its translation of verse 9: “The latter splendor of this house shall be greater than the former.” Verse 3, “Who is left among you that saw this house in its former glory,” might support this interpretation. 26 For a comparison of the dates cited in Haggai and in Zechariah 1–8, see MEYERS 1987, xlvii– xliv. For a recent discussion of the date of composition of Zechariah 1–8, see TIEMEYER 2019, who believes that at least chapters 3–4 were actually composed during the time of Zerubbabel and Joshua. 27 Which Ristau (2009, 195) calls the “book ends” of the “book” of Zechariah 1–8.

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In general, we can see that Ezra 2–6, Haggai, and Zechariah 1–8 depict the physical state of Jerusalem in the final decades of the sixth century BCE in a similar manner: all agree that Jerusalem was a small city trying to recover from its state of destruction, with no wall or other physical defense. Each of the three focuses on a different facet of the city’s position: Ezra on the political and ethnic aspects and Haggai on the economy, while Zechariah focuses on God’s presence in the city.28

IV. Nehemiah: Building the Walls In the first chapters of Nehemiah we are told that in the twentieth year of King Artaxerxes, a messenger from Jerusalem came to Nehemiah, son of Hacaliah, who was “cupbearer” (i.e. personal butler) to the king in Susa.29 According to accepted chronology, this happened in 445 BCE, 71 years after the dedication of the Temple. That messenger, to whom Nehemiah refers as “one of my brothers” (although we do not know if this means that he was actually a biological sibling or simply “brother” in the sense of “fellow Jew”), told Nehemiah of the great distress of the people of Jerusalem: “the survivors there in the province who escaped captivity are in great trouble and shame; the wall of Jerusalem is broken down, and its gates have been destroyed by fire” (Neh 1:3). Nehemiah, who is greatly surprised at hearing this news, mourns and weeps, until even the king asks “why is your face sad, since you are not sick? This can only be sadness of the heart” (2:2), to which Nehemiah replies: “the city, the place of my ancestors’ graves, lies waste, and its gates have been destroyed by fire” (2:3). However it is not really clear why Nehemiah should be surprised at the news from Jerusalem. At the time of this meeting, 141 years had passed since the destruction of Jerusalem by Nebuchadnezzar, and the Second Temple, humble as it may have been, had already been standing for over 70 years. So it does not seem likely that the destruction of the Temple was the reason for Nehemiah’s grief, and indeed, in his answer to the king he does not mention the Temple, only that “the wall of Jerusalem is broken down, and its gates have been destroyed by fire.” However, if we return to Ezra 4, we learn that besides the troubles with “the adversaries of Judah and Benjamin” in the days of Darius, the returnees also had problems with their neighbors in the days of Ahasuerus (who is usually identified as Xerxes I, son of Darius I), and that in the reign of Artaxerxes (I, son of Xerxes I), the governors of Samaria (this time explicitly!) wrote to the king and complained that the Jews were building a wall around Jerusalem. They warned the king, that if the Jews completed this wall they would rebel against him, and the king’s answer was non-equivocal: The king sent an answer: To Rehum the royal deputy and Shimshai the scribe and the rest of their associates who live in Samaria and in the rest of the province Beyond the River, greeting. And now the letter that you sent to us has been read in translation before me. So I made a decree, and 28

We have chosen not to include a discussion of those chapters of Isaiah that could be dated to the Persian period because they do not seem to reflect the actual situation in Jerusalem. For such a discussion, see RISTAU 2016, 89–116. 29 For Nehemiah as a “Court Jew,” see SMELIK 2012.

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someone searched and discovered that this city has risen against kings from long ago, and that rebellion and sedition have been made in it. Jerusalem has had mighty kings who ruled over the whole province Beyond the River, to whom tribute, custom, and toll were paid. Therefore issue an order that these people be made to cease, and that this city not be rebuilt, until I make a decree. Moreover, take care not to be slack in this matter; why should damage grow to the hurt of the king? Then when the copy of King Artaxerxes’ letter was read before Rehum and the scribe Shimshai and their associates, they hurried to the Jews in Jerusalem and by force and power made them cease. (Ezra 4:17–23)

In other words, at some point during the reign of Artaxerxes, presumably before his twentieth year, there was an attempt to fortify Jerusalem, which was stopped by force.30 We do not have further information, but the overall picture seems to be one of repeated attacks on the city and its inhabitants throughout the period since the dedication of the Temple, sometimes with the support of the imperial government.31 The appointment of Nehemiah as peḥah, governor of Yehud, came at a time when the city’s fortunes were at a low point.32 After arriving in the city and before revealing himself to its inhabitants, Nehemiah embarked on a nighttime inspection of the ruined walls (Neh 2:12–15). In verse 14 we are told that the ruins were so intense that his animal was unable to navigate them, forcing him to turn back. According to chapters 3, 4, and 6, Nehemiah immediately went to work, organizing the people of the entire province in groups of workers, withstanding attacks from enemies and opponents, and managing to have the walls completed within 52 days (Neh 6:15)!33 The remainder of the book tells us how Nehemiah also worked in order to ease the economic hardships of the inhabitants of Jerusalem, how he enforced observance of the Sabbath, about his conflicts with various opponents within the city, and about his opposition to intermarriage with “foreign” women. Neh 11:1 tells how he had to force one in ten of the inhabitants of the province to move to the city.34 So despite the rather heroic descriptions, we can read between the lines that even after the building of its walls, Jerusalem remained a small, poor, and underpopulated city: “The city was wide and large, but the people within it were few and no houses had been built” (Neh 7:4). 30

As we know from the writings of Greek historians such as Ctesias and Thucydides, the first decade of Artaxerxes’ reign (that is, ca. 465–455) was characterized by a series of military confrontations in the west of the empire, beginning with the Egyptian rebellion under Inaros, the struggle over Cyprus against the Athenian leader Cimon, and finally the rebellion of Megabyzus, satrap of “Across the River.” For details, see BRIANT 2002, 573–83. Briant raises the possibility that the episode recounted in Ezra 4:7–24 may be connected to these events, but concludes that until further evidence is uncovered, this possibility must remain hypothetical. For a more recent evaluation of the Inaros revolt, see KAHN 2008. 31 For a recent discussion of this episode and of the historical reliability of the “letters” quoted in Ezra 4, see FRIED 2015, 222–29. Unlike many of the scholars whom Fried mentions, she sees no reason not to consider this story to be historically reliable. 32 For a recent discussion on the status of Nehemiah as governor, see FULTON 2018. 33 There is a wide variety of opinions on the manner in which the building was organized. See, for example, DEMSKY 1983; LIPSCHITS 2007; IDEM 2012a; FRIED 2018. 34 Most commentators, such as BLENKINSOPP 1988, 322–23, assume that Nehemiah was forced to coerce the people of the province in order to populate the city. For more on the acts of Nehemiah see DUGUID 2012.

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V. The Archaeological Picture: Jerusalem in the Persian Period As is well known, archaeologists have had a difficult time identifying significant archaeological remains from the Persian period in Jerusalem, especially fortifications.35 Since the excavations by Kathleen Kenyon in the 1960’s, many scholars have identified one of the towers at the top of the slope of “Area G” in what is now called “the City of David” as a remnant of Nehemiah’s wall, and have further concluded that if Nehemiah built his wall at the top of the slope and not lower down where the Iron Age wall had been, it was because he had basically “given up” on the slope, due to the intensity of the ruins as mentioned above.36 This wall at the top of the eastern slope of the City of David continued to be used and was even refurbished during the Hasmonean Period.37 Beyond this, the number of coins, stamp impressions, and even pottery shards from the Persian period that were found in excavations in Jerusalem is relatively small, and most of what was found was found in a relatively small part of the site – in its northern part, commonly called “the Ophel.”38 As a result, over a decade ago Finkelstein proposed that the descriptions of Nehemiah’s building of the wall actually reflected a Hellenistic-Period reality, and that Jerusalem remained a small and unwalled town throughout the Persian period.39 And even though the majority of scholars have not accepted Finkelstein’s proposal,40 it does seem that even if the city was surrounded by a wall at some point, it remained a small and poor city throughout the Persian period.41 But in order to see the wider picture, we must look, not only at the few signs of settlement and building that have been found, but also at the many signs of destruction. As emphasized by Ristau, the extensive excavations conducted all over the city over the past century allow us to comment not only on what has been found, but also on what has not been found.42 Following the excavations led by Nahman Avigad, Benjamin Mazar, and others in the Jewish Quarter and other parts of the “western hill” during the 1960’s and 70’s, the majority of scholars have recognized that Jerusalem of the Persian and early Hellenistic periods was limited to the “eastern hill” – the Temple Mount and what today is called “the City of David.” The western hill, which includes 35

For an updated summary of the archaeological picture, see RISTAU 2016, 13–88 and the many references there. 36 This perhaps being the place at which, according to Neh 2:14–15, Nehemiah was forced to turn back because of the ruins. 37 For a discussion, see GEVA 2015, 61. 38 Although Lipschits (2012b, 158), based on the places in which “Yehud” stamp impressions were found, describes a reverse process, of early settlement in the southern part of the city and only later in the area closer to the Temple Mount. 39 FINKELSTEIN 2008, repeated in IDEM 2018, 3–28. 40 For example, LIPSCHITS 2011; IDEM 2012b, 152; USSISHKIN 2012, 118–20; RISTAU 2016, 15– 21 and in a long note on ibid. 63–65; LEVIN 2017, 93–95. 41 On the number of inhabitants that lived in the city during the various stages of the Persian period there are different estimates, that vary from a few hundred to tens of thousands. See, for example, FINKELSTEIN 2010, 39–46; LIPSCHITS 2012b, 158; MEYERS 2018, 438–40. 42 RISTAU 2016, 14.

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today’s Jewish and Armenian Quarters and what is now called “Mount Zion,” which were part of the city prior to its destruction in 586 BCE,43 was not resettled until the Hasmonean period, towards the end of the second century BCE. Even Ussishkin, who has partially returned to the pre-1960’s “maximalist” position, claiming that Nehemiah rebuilt the city walls as they had been before their destruction by Nebuchadnezzar, is forced to admit that the western hill, even if it was included within some sort of wall, remained largely ruined and uninhabited.44

VI. Jerusalem in the Shadow of Destruction “A Brand Plucked from the Fire” At this point, I wish to emphasize the significance of this fact: over the first 400 years of the Second Temple period, from the days of Zerubbabel to that of the Hasmoneans, the inhabitants of Jerusalem could look to the west, and see the vast piles of ruins covering what had once been the western part of their ancient royal capital. For four centuries, the people of Jerusalem lived in the shadow of a constant, tangible reminder that they and their city were, indeed, “a brand plucked from the fire” (Zech 3:2), but a small remnant of what had once been “beautiful in elevation, the joy of all the earth, Mount Zion…the city of the great King” (Ps 48:2). However, there is no hint of this fact in the book of Ezra-Nehemiah. Ezra-Nehemiah tell a story of redemption, of restoration, of building, and the city that is described at the end of the book is a city that is fortified, that has thousands of inhabitants, with no mention of the piles of ruins that covered, not only the western hill, but also the eastern slope of the eastern hill. The very fact that before the excavations by Avigad and his contemporaries there was a debate between those scholars who assumed that Nehemiah did rebuild the walls as they had been on the eve of the Babylonian destruction of the city and those who believed that he fortified only the eastern hill, shows the extent to which the book of Ezra-Nehemiah simply ignores the reality of the time. And if one assumes, as do we and a majority of scholars, that the book of Ezra-Nehemiah was composed sometime before the second century BCE (and is probably based on even earlier sources),45 then that was also the reality that was known to the author. The author’s ignoring of this reality must have been purposeful. The author wished to present Zerubbabel and Joshua, Ezra and Nehemiah, as those who overcame the difficulties and brought about God’s redemption of Judah and Jerusalem. Such a redemption must have been a complete one. There was no room in their book for a partially-built Jerusalem, large sections of which were still in ruins.

43

On which see, for example, GEVA 2003. USSISHKIN 2012, 124–25. 45 For an updated discussion on the date of composition of Ezra-Nehemiah, see TIEMEYER 2017 and references there. 44

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Figure 1: View of the destroyed Jewish Quarter from the City of David, ca. 1955. The wall is the present-day Ottoman wall, but the photograph shows how the inhabitants of the City of David in the 46 Persian period would have seen the ruins on the western hill. © The Library of Congress

It is interesting to compare this description to the way Josephus Flavius described the city walls on the eve of their destruction by the Romans in 70 CE. In The Jewish War 5, 143, Josephus describes what he calls “the first wall,” which surrounded the eastern and western hills. Today we know that this wall was built by the Hasmoneans, with its eastern part presumably built on the foundations laid by Nehemiah and its western part built more-or-less along the line of the late Iron Age walls,47 but Josephus attributes its construction to “David and Solomon and their successors”! He, of course, knew that the city and its walls had been destroyed and rebuilt since the days of the Davidic kings, but he, too, seems to have read the book of Nehemiah, and assumed that Nehemiah had built his wall along the same line as that destroyed by the Babylonians, making it in effect “the same wall” as that built by the kings of Judah!

46

http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/mpc 2010000589/PP/resource/. Courtesy of the Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs: http://jcpa.org/ article/creation-western-wall-plaza-1967-necessarylegal/#_edn11. 47 See, for example, GEVA 2015, 62–65.

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Figure 2: Map of Jerusalem during the Persian period.

Another case of the biblical authors ignoring reality lay on the southern horizon. About three ridges (or 4 km) south of the city, on the summit of the hill known today as Ramat Raḥel, stood a palatial structure whose excavators believe was the residence of an imperial governor – even to the extent of claiming that it was the true “capital” of the Yehud province, leaving Jerusalem as only the religious center.48 But even if we do not accept this interpretation in full, it is clear that the structure at Ramat Raḥel was a significant feature in the lives of the inhabitants of the province, and it is equally clear that the biblical writers totally ignored it! According to Lipschits, “Ramat Raḥel cannot be seen from the City of David ridge… nor can it be seen from the Temple Mount” since it is hidden by the ridge of Jabel Mukaber, upon which the British Mandatory High Commissioner’s Residence (“Government House”) was built.49 In Lipschits’ view, the palace was built out of sight of the city on purpose, so that “the internal independence of the Jerusalem elite was left alone; there was no overt interference from the constant presence of an imperial administrative center serving as a daily re48

LIPSCHITS/VANDERHOOFT 2007. For a general survey of the finds at Ramat Raḥel, see LIP2017. 49 Ibid., 14.

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minder to Jerusalem of its subordination and vassal status.”50 However, this claim is only partly correct. As can be seen in Figure 3, today the Dome of the Rock is clearly visible from Ramat Raḥel, meaning that even if Ramat Raḥel was not visible from the City of David, it certainly was visible from the Temple Mount. In other words, when Joshua son of Jehozadak and his successors went about their priestly duties in the Temple courtyards, they only had to look southward in order to be reminded that they were not really the masters of their own destiny!

Figure 3: The Dome of the Rock as seen from Ramat Raḥel. Photograph by George Athas.

50

LIPSCHITS/GADOT/ARUBAS/OEMING 2017, 52, when discussing the Neo-Assyrian period.

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Lipschits has also compared the Ramat Raḥel structure with another imperial government structure build 2500 years later and one ridge to the north, and even more visible on the southern horizon of Jerusalem, namely the above-mentioned British Mandate “Government House,” completed in 1931 as the residence of the High Commissioner of Palestine (today the headquarters of the United Nations Truce Supervision Organization).51 The comparison is an apt one, and for our purposes it does not matter who originally built the structure at Ramat Raḥel in the eighth or seventh centuries BCE or exactly how it functioned during the Persian period. What is remarkable is that the large structure on the southern horizon was simply ignored by the biblical writers!52

Figure 4: “Government House” during the British Mandate, as seen from the north. © The Library of Congress 53

51

On the construction of “Government House” and its function during the mandatory period, see FUCHS/HERBERT 2000; KROYANKER 2010. 52 This remains true even if Lipschits is correct in identifying Ramat Raḥel with the BethHakkerem that is mentioned in Neh 3:14 (LIPSCHITS/GADOT/ARUBAS/OEMING 2017, 112), since there Beth-Hakkerem is simply one of several district centers, with no hint at its having any special status. 53 http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/mpc 2005008386/ PP/.

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VII. Restored Jerusalem: Great Visions, Harsh Realities The main biblical sources that inform us about the restoration of Jerusalem under the Persians paint a clear picture: the returnees arrive at a destroyed city, bravely overcome various obstacles, set up the altar, complete the Temple, and in the end even rebuild the ruined city walls. At the same time, they struggle against external enemies and internal opponents, and create an exemplary, Torah-abiding society, a robust economy, and a city that is full of people, commerce and holiness. The reader of Haggai, Zechariah, Ezra, and Nehemiah is assured that even after the cessation of prophecy, the Torah is taught by Ezra and enforced by Nehemiah, and the vision is well on its way to fulfillment. The archaeological evidence cannot shed much light on Sabbath observance or on intermarriage, but it can help us understand the conflict between vision and reality. The harsh realities are not totally ignored by the texts, but only after we integrate the archaeological evidence can we see the whole picture. The fact that despite the harsh realities, the returnees did manage to achieve what they did, to re-establish their Temple, even if it was small, to rebuild their city, even if it did remain tiny, and to basically lay the foundations for Second Temple period Judaism, is proof enough of the power of those visions. So let us return the Zechariah, living early in the reign of Darius I, near the end of the sixth century BCE. In his days, Jerusalem was definitely unfortified, and almost empty of inhabitants. Zechariah and his contemporaries lived in a tiny village, with huge mounds of ruins on the hill to the west, piles of rubble on the slope to the east, and a foreign governor’s mansion on the southern horizon. I looked up and saw a man with a measuring line in his hand. Then I asked, Where are you going? He answered me, To measure Jerusalem, to see what is its width and what is its length. Then the angel who talked with me came forward, and another angel came forward to meet him, and said to him, Run, say to that young man: Jerusalem shall be inhabited like villages without walls, because of the multitude of people and animals in it. For I will be a wall of fire all around it, says the Lord, and I will be the glory within it. (Zechariah 2:5–9 [Eng.1–5])

Our knowledge of the reality of Jerusalem in the Persian period enables us to understand Zechariah’s vision. Zechariah and his audience lived in a tiny, unfortified town, surrounded by enemies, but also surrounded by tangible reminders of their city’s glorious past and complex present. Their main comforts were their visions of the future, a future in which their glorious city would not even need walls, because God himself would be “a wall of fire all around it.” Then, the inhabitants of Jerusalem will truly be able to say: “When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with song.”

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Bibliography ABRAHAM, K. (2005–2006): West Semitic and Judean Brides in Cuneiform Sources from the Sixth Century BCE: New Evidence from a Marriage Contract from Āl-Yahudu, Archiv für Orientforschung 51, 198–219. ALLEN, L.C. (1983): Psalms 101–150 (WBC), Waco, TX. ALTER, R. (2007): The Book of Psalms: A Translation with Commentary, New York/London. BANG, S.H. (2013): “Is There Any Seed Left in The Barn?” (Hag 2:19): What Could Grain Storage Tell Us About Yehud During the Late Sixth Century B.C.E.?, Revue Biblique 120, 388–404. BEAULIEU, P.-A. (2011): Yahwistic Names in Light of Late Babylonian Onomastics, in: O. LIPSCHITS/G.N. KNOPPERS/M. OEMING (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in the Achaemenid Period: Negotiating Identity in an International Context, Winona Lake, IN, 245–66. BECKING, B. (2014): Coping with Drought and Famine in Some Post Exilic Texts, in: E. BEN ZVI/ C LEVIN (eds.), Thinking of Water in the Early Second Temple Period, (BZAW 461), Berlin/New York, 229–55. – (2018): Ezra-Nehemiah, (HCOT), Leuven. BERLEJUNG, A. (2016): New Life, New Skills, and New Friends in Exile: The Loss and Rise of Capitals of the Judeans in Babylonia, in: I. FINKELSTEIN/C. ROBIN/T. RÖMER (eds.), Alphabets, Texts and Artifacts in the Ancient Near East, Studies Presented to Benjamin Sass, Paris, 12–45. – (2017): Social Climbing in the Babylonian Exile, in: A. BERLEJUNG/A. MAEIR/A. SCHUELE (eds.), Wandering Arameans, Arameans Outside Syria: Textual and Archaeological Perspectives, (Leipziger Altorientalische Studien 5), Wiesbaden, 101–24. – (2018): Social Demarcation Lines and Marriage Rules in Urban Babylonia and Their Impact on the Golah, in: I. SHAI/J.R. CHADWICK, et al. (eds.), Tell It in Gath: Studies in the History and Archaeology of Israel, Essays in Honor of Aren M. Maeir on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday, (ÄAT 90), Wiesbaden, 1051–77. BLENKINSOPP, J. (1988): Ezra-Nehemiah, (OTL), London. BRIANT, P. (2002): From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire (translated by P.T. Daniels), Winona Lake, IN. CLINES, D.J.A. (1984): Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, (NCB), Grand Rapids, MI/London. DAHOOD, M. (1970): Psalms III: 101–150: Introduction, Translation, and Notes, (AB), Garden City, NY. DECLAISSÉ-WALFORD, N./R.A. JACOBSON/B. LANEEL TANNER (2014): The Book of Psalms, (NICOT), Grand Rapids, MI. DEMSKY, A. (1983): “Pelekh” in Nehemiah 3, Israel Exploration Journal 33, 242–44. – (1999): Double Names in the Babylonian Exile and the Identity of Sheshbazzar, in: A. DEMSKY (ed.), These Are the Names: Studies in Jewish Onomastics, Vol. 2, Ramat-Gan, 23–40. DUGUID, I. (2012): Nehemiah – The Best King Judah Never Had, in: I. PROVAN/M.J. BODA (eds.), Let Us Go up to Zion: Essays in Honour of H.G.M. Williamson on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday, Leiden, 261–71. EDELMAN, D. (2005): The Origins of the ‘Second’ Temple: Persian Imperial Policy and the Rebuilding of Jerusalem, London/Oakville. FINKELSTEIN, I. (2008): Jerusalem in the Persian (and Early Hellenistic) Period and the Wall of Nehemiah, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 32, 501–20. – (2010): The Territorial Extent and Demography of Yehud/Judea in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods, Revue Biblique 117, 39–54. – (2018): Hasmonean Realities Behind Ezra, Nehemiah, and Chronicles: Archaeological and Historical Perspectives, Atlanta, GA. FITZMYER, J.A. (1995): The Aramaic Inscriptions of Sefire (rev. ed.), Rome. FLEISHMAN, J. (1995): The Investigating Commission of Tattenai: The Purpose of the Investigation and Its Results, Hebrew Union College Annual 66, 81–102.

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FRIED, L.S. (2010): Temple Building in Ezra 1–6, in: M.J. BODA/J. NOVOTNY (eds.), From the Foundations to the Crenellations: Essays on Temple Building in the Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible, Münster, 319–38. – (2015): Ezra: A Commentary, Sheffield. – (2018): The Construction of Public Works in the Persian Empire: Nehemiah’s Wall as a Test Case, Transeuphratène 50, 39–47. FUCHS, R./G. HERBERT (2000): Representing Mandatory Palestine: Austen St Barbe Harrison and the Representational Buildings of the British Mandate in Palestine, 1922–37, Architectural History 43, 281–333. FULTON, D.N. (2009): Jeshua’s ‘High Priestly’ Lineage?: A Reassessment of Nehemiah 12.10–11, in: G.N. KNOPPERS/L.L. GRABBE with D.N. FULTON (eds.), Exile and Restoration Revisited: Essays on the Babylonian and Persian Periods in Memory of Peter R. Ackroyd, London, 94–115. – (2018): What Kind of Governor was Nehemiah? The Titles ‫ פחה‬and ‫ תרשתא‬in MT and LXX EzraNehemiah, Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 130, 252–67. GANZEL, T./S.E. HOLTZ (2014): Ezekiel’s Temple in Babylonian Context, Vetus Testamentum 64, 211–26. GEVA, H. (2003): Western Jerusalem at the End of the First Temple Period in Light of the Excavations on the Jewish Quarter, in: A.G. VAUGHN/A.E. KILLEBREW (eds.), Jerusalem in Bible and Archaeology: The First Temple Period, Atlanta, GA, 183–208. – (2015): Hasmonean Jerusalem in the Light of Archaeology – Notes on Urban Topography, EretzIsrael 31 (Ehud Netzer Volume), 57–75 [Hebrew with English Abstract]. GRABBE, L.L. (2018): Prophets in the Chronicler: The Books of 1 and 2 Chronicles and EzraNehemiah, in: C.A. ROLLSTON (ed.), Enemies and Friends of the State: Ancient Prophecy in Context, University Park, PA, 297–310. GRUBER, M.I. (2004): Rashi’s Commentary on Psalms, Leiden/Boston. HOFFMAN, Y. (2018): The Good Figs: The Jehoyachin Exile and Its Heritage, Tel Aviv [Hebrew]. HOSSFELD, F-L./E. ZENGER, 2011, Psalms 3: A Commentary on Psalms 101–150, (Hermeneia), (trans. L.M. Maloney), Minneapolis, MN. HUROWITZ, V.A. (2010): “Solomon Built the Temple and Completed It”: Building the First Temple According to the Book of Kings, in: M.J. BODA/J. NOVOTNY (eds.), From the Foundations to the Crenellations: Essays on Temple Building in the Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible, Münster, 281–302. JAPHET, S. (1982–83): Sheshbazzar and Zerubbabel Against the Background of the Historical and Religious Tendencies of Ezra-Nehemiah, Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 94/1, 66–98; 95/2, 218–29. – (1991): The Temple in the Restoration Period: Reality and Ideology, Union Seminary Quarterly Review 44, 3–4, 195–251. KAHN, D. (2008): Inaros’ Rebellion against Artaxerxes I and the Athenian Disaster in Egypt, Classical Quarterly 58, 424–40. KESSLER, J. (2010): Temple Building in Haggai: Variations on a Theme, in: M.J. BODA/J. NOVOTNY (eds.), From the Foundations to the Crenellations: Essays on Temple Building in the Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible, Münster, 357–79. KOOPMANS, W.T. (2017): Haggai, (HCOT), Leuven. KROYANKER, D. (2010): Jerusalem Government Buildings During the British Mandate, in: E. SCHILLER (ed.), From Safed to Jerusalem: Essays on the History, Culture and Lore of Jerusalem and Safed Dedicated to Shoshana Halevy, Jerusalem, 89–100 [Hebrew]. KUHRT, A. (2007): Ancient Near Eastern History: The Case of Cyrus the Great of Persia, in: H.G.M. WILLIAMSON (ed.), Understanding the History of Ancient Israel, Oxford, 107–27. LEVIN, Y. (2017): The Days of the Return to Zion: Jerusalem Under Persian Rule, in: A. FAUST/ E. BARUCH/J. SCHWARTZ (eds.), Jerusalem: From Its Beginning to the Ottoman Conquest, RamatGan, 81–101 [Hebrew].

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– (2019): Why Did Zerubbabel’s Adversaries Emphasize Their Foreign Origins?, in: R.J. BAUTCH/ M. LACKOWSKI (eds.), On Dating Biblical Texts to the Persian Period: Discerning Criteria and Establishing Epochs, Tübingen, 91–99. LIPSCHITS, O. (2007): Who Financed and Who Arranged the Building of Jerusalem’s Walls? The Sources of the List of the Builders of the Wall (Nehemiah 3:1–32) and the Purposes of its Literary Placement Within Nehemiah’s Memoirs, in M. BAR-ASHER/D. ROM-SHILONI/E. TOV/N. WAZANA (eds.), Shai le-Sara Japhet: Studies in the Bible, Its Exegesis and Its Language, Jerusalem, 73–89 [Hebrew]. – (2011): Jerusalem Between Two Periods of Greatness: The Size and Status of the City in the Babylonian, Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods, in: L.L. GRABBE/O. LIPSCHITS (eds.), Judah Between East and West: The Transition from Persian to Greek Rule (ca. 400-200 BCE): A Conference Held at Tel Aviv University, 17–19 April 2007, London, 163–79. – (2012a): Nehemiah 3: Sources, Composition, and Purpose, in: I. KALIMI (ed.), New Perspectives on Ezra–Nehemiah: History and Historiography, Text, Literature, and Interpretation, Winona Lake, IN, 73–99. – (2012b): Between Archaeology and Text: A Reevaluation of the Development Process of Jerusalem in the Persian Period, in: M. NISSINEN (ed.), Congress Volume Helsinki 2010, Leiden/Boston, 145–65. LIPSCHITS, O./D. S. VANDERHOOFT (2007): Jerusalem in the Persian and Hellenistic Periods in Light of the Yehud Stamp Impressions, Eretz-Israel 28 (Teddy Kollek Volume), 106–15 [Hebrew with English Abstract]. LIPSCHITS, O./Y. GADOT/B. ARUBAS/M. OEMING, 2017, What Are the Stones Whispering? Ramat Raḥel: 3000 Years of Forgotten History, Winona Lake, IN. MATZAL, S.C. (2018): The Structure of Ezra 3, Vetus Testamentum 68, 436–43. MEYERS, C.L./E.M. MEYERS (1987): Haggai, Zechariah 1–8: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, (AB), New York. MEYERS, E.M. (2018): Haggai and Zechariah: A Maximalist View of the Return in a Minimalist Social Context, in: C.A. ROLLSTON (ed.), Enemies and Friends of the State: Ancient Prophecy in Context, University Park, PA, 433–48. MILGROM, J. (2009): The Unique Features of Ezekiel’s Sanctuary, in: N. SACHER FOX/D. A. GLATTGILAD/M. J. WILLIAMS (eds.), Mishneh Todah: Studies in Deuteronomy and Its Cultural Environment, in Honor of Jeffrey H. Tigay, Winona Lake, IN, 293–305. NAʾAMAN, N. (2000): Royal Vassals or Governors? On the Status of Sheshbazzar and Zerubbabel in the Persian Empire, Henoch 22, 35–44. ODED, B. (2000): The Settlements of the Israelite and the Judean Exiles in Mesopotamia in the 8th–6th Centuries BCE, in: G. GALIL/M. WEINFELD (eds.), Studies in Historical Geography and Biblical Historiography Presented to Zecharia Kallai, Leiden, 91–103. – (2010): The Early History of the Babylonian Exile (8th–6th Centuries B.C.E.), Haifa [Hebrew]. OLMSTEAD, A.T. (1944): Tattenai, Governor of “Across the River,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 3, 46. PATRICH, J. (2009): 538 BCE–70 CE: The Temple (Beyt Ha-Miqdash) and its Mount, in: O. GRABAR/ B.Z. KEDAR (eds.), Where Heaven and Earth Meet: Jerusalem’s Sacred Esplanade, Jerusalem/ Austin, TX, 37–71. PEARCE, L.E. (2015): Identifying Judeans and Judean Identity in the Babylonian Evidence, in: J. STÖKL/C. WAERZEGGERS (eds.), Exile and Return: The Babylonian Context, Berlin, 7–32. RADNER, K. (2017): Assur’s “Second Temple Period”: The Restoration of the Cult of Aššur, c. 538 BCE, in: C. LEVIN/R. MÜLLER (eds.), Herrschaftslegitimation in vorderorientalischen Reichen der Eisenzeit, (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 21), Tübingen, 77–96. REDDITT, P.L. (2016): King, Priest, and Temple in Haggai-Zechariah-Malachi and Ezra-Nehemiah, in: L.-S. TIEMEYER (ed.), Priests and Cults in the Book of the Twelve, Atlanta, GA, 157–72.

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RISTAU, K.A. (2009): Rebuilding Jerusalem: Zechariah’s Vision Within Visions, in: G.N. KNOPPERS/ L.L. GRABBE with D.N. FULTON (eds.), Exile and Restoration Revisited: Essays on the Babylonian and Persian Periods in Memory of Peter R. Ackroyd, London, 195–214. – (2016): Reconstructing Jerusalem: Persian-Period Prophetic Perspectives, Winona Lake, IN. SCHWARTZ, J./Y. PELEG (2011): Notes on the Virtual Reconstruction of the Herodian Period Temple and Courtyards, in: S. FINE (ed.), The Temple of Jerusalem: From Moses to the Messiah: In Honor of Professor Louis H. Feldman, Leiden/Boston: 69–89. SILVERMAN, J.M. (2015): Sheshbazzar, a Judean or a Babylonian? A Note on His Identity, in: J. STÖKL/C. WAERZEGGERS (eds.), Exile and Return: The Babylonian Context, (BZAW 478), Berlin, 308–21. SMELIK, K.A.D. (2012): Nehemiah as a “Court Jew,” in: I. KALIMI (ed.), New Perspectives on EzraNehemiah: History and Historiography, Text, Literature, and Interpretation, Winona Lake, IN, 61–72. TIEMEYER, L.-S. (2017): Ezra-Nehemiah: An Introduction and Study Guide: Israel’s Quest for Identity, London. – (2019): Dating Zechariah 1–8: The Evidence in Favour of and Against Understanding Zechariah 3 and 4 as Sixth Century Texts, in: R.J. BAUTCH/M. LACKOWSKI (eds.), On Dating Biblical Texts to the Persian Period: Discerning Criteria and Establishing Epochs, (Forschungen zum Alten Testament 2/101), Tübingen, 65–77. USSISHKIN, D. (2012): On Nehemiah’s City Wall and the Size of Jerusalem During the Persian Period: An Archaeologist’s View, in: I. KALIMI (ed.), New Perspectives on Ezra-Nehemiah: History and Historiography, Text, Literature, and Interpretation, Winona Lake, IN, 101–130. VANDERHOOFT, D.S. (2006): Cyrus II, Liberator or Conqueror? Ancient Historiography Concerning Cyrus in Babylon, in: O. LIPSCHITS/M. OEMING (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period, Winona Lake, IN, 351–72. WAERZEGGERS, C. (2015): Facts, Propaganda, or History? Shaping Political Memory in the Nabonidus Chronicle, in: J.M. SILVERMAN/C. WAERZEGGERS (eds.), Political Memory in and After the Persian Empire, Atlanta, GA, 95–124. WALLACE, N. H. (2009): Psalms (Readings), Sheffield. WILLIAMSON, H.G.M. (1985): Ezra, Nehemiah, (WBC), Waco, TX. WRIGHT, B.G. III, (2015): The Letter of Aristeas: ‘Aristeas to Philocrates’ or ‘On the Translation of the Law of the Jews,’ Berlin. ZAKOVITCH, Y. (2009): What Makes an Interpretation Jewish?: Psalm 126 as an Example, in: M. GROHMANN/Y. ZAKOVITCH (eds.), Jewish and Christian Approaches to Psalms, (Herders Biblische Studien 57), Freiburg im Breisgau, 161–71.

From Ritual to the Story of Ritual The Influence of the Destruction of the Temple on Ritual Writing of the First Century CE Hillel Mali* The Mishnah, compiled in Roman Palestine at the beginning of the third century CE, is the constitutive document of Rabbinic Judaism and the foundation of the two Talmuds and thus, much of later Judaism. Surprisingly, extensive sections of this text, which were compiled almost a century and a half after the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE, are preoccupied with the laws of the Temple and its cult. These laws, to quote Jacob Neusner, are a “map without territory.”1 They painstakingly detail all the aspects of a defunct ritual environment and the ruins of the monumental building in which they once took place. Some scholars have suggested that these texts should be understood as a frozen “archaeological relic” preserved in the rabbinic corpus,2 whose preservation attests not only to the eclectic nature of rabbinic literature but also reflects the messianic aspirations of the editors of the Mishnah.3 Another approach is to see the ritual texts not as a legacy but as a literary creation of the period following the destruction of the Temple, expressing the political, theological, and sociological world of the Sages. Texts concerning the Temple are considered in this view a reflection of the heated cultural discourse that prevailed in the world of the Rabbis of the second century.4 It may be, however, that both of these approaches – the one that sees rabbinic Temple law as the conservation of a legacy and the one that highlights the innovative aspect of these ritual texts – lose sight of the larger picture: the extensive and wondrous process by means of which earlier ritual texts, created in the context of an active cult, were repurposed for use in the world of the rabbinic study house. They are, to paraphrase Jacob Neusner, an old map for a new territory . Tracing the manner in which ritual texts dealing with purity and cult were reworked after the destruction of the Temple can reveal conceptual and theological changes that shaped rabbinic thought.5 In this article, I wish to examine the evolutionary processes

* Abbreviations follow the Society of Biblical Literature Handbook of Style (2nd ed., Atlanta, 2014). 1 NEUSNER 1979. 2 GINZBERG 1919. 3 GOODMAN 2005. 4 See ROSEN-ZVI 2012; COHN 2013; MALI 2018. 5 NOAM 2010; FURSTENBERG 2016; BALBERG 2017.

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undergone by ritual texts, but rather than focusing as usual on the laws themselves, I will focus on the literary works in which they are embedded. I would like to call attention to processes of translation and transmutation that affected not the law but its literary framework. I will examine the effect of the destruction of the Temple on the genre of “orders of service,” literature that describes the rituals on a timeline, which serve as a manual instructing the priest in his service, step by step. A rare example of this genre has been preserved in the Aramaic priestly literature of the Second Temple period. The genre developed in pragmatic, pedagogic contexts connected with the training of priests in the Jerusalem Temple. Its surprising preservation in the Rabbinic halakhic corpus allows us to trace the way in which the trauma of the destruction recreated this genre, which is preserved in Rabbinic literature not as a frozen archaeological relic but rather as rare evidence of the dynamic nature of ritual texts, and the new role they played in the religious sphere following the destruction of the Temple.6 In the first section, I will describe the Second Temple Aramaic Levi Document (henceforth: ALD) and explain why I consider it a text that describes the daily order of ritual in the Temple. In section two, I will describe the Mishnaic tractate Tamid and explain why I think it should be dated to the years immediately following the destruction of the Second Temple. In section three, I will point out the similarities between the two works, which attest to the fact that Mishnah Tamid is a metamorphosis of the genre of orders of priestly service. In so doing, I will attempt to outline the change that the destruction of the Temple engendered in the literary genre, and demonstrate how a literary genre was reborn in the wake of the destruction.

I. The Aramaic Levi Document ALD (ca. third century BCE) is an Aramaic composition in which Jacob’s son Levi gives a first-person account of his election to the priesthood and his priestly education.7 Unlike the Hebrew Bible, which ascribes the election of the Levites to the period 6

Students of the Greco-Roman world and of the ancient Near East have noted that ritual texts often shift genres and contexts over time. Prescriptive texts become descriptive, and texts created in a pedagogic environment become performative and political. See LEVIN 1965; BEARD 1985; WATTS 2008. In this context the Mishnah is a fascinating test case. The Mishnah is a wide-ranging project of cultural translation, which preserved ritual language and texts in the context of a broad, non-priestly legal composition. 7 The earliest ALD manuscript (4Q214b [4QLevif]) dates to ca. 150 BCE. GREENFIELD/STONE/ ESHEL 2004, 4, but since it is not an autograph, we can assume the work itself is much older. This assumption is confirmed if we adopt the theory that ALD was a source of Jubilees (WERMAN 1997, 220–21; IDEM 2015, 334), in which case it should be dated to the first half of the second century BCE at the latest, the date adopted by Greenfield, Stone, and Eshel in their edition (2004, 19–21). Even scholars who do not believe that Jubilees is dependent on ALD, but rather that the two share a common source, date ALD before Jubilees and ascribe it to the same general time period. See KUGLER 1996, 3; 146–55; VANDERKAM 2018, 90–93; KUGEL 2007, 310. Henryk Drawnel, who like Greenfield, Stone, and Eshel published an edition of ALD, dated it to around the fourth century BCE on the basis

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of wandering in the wilderness following the exodus from Egypt (Exodus 32; Deuteronomy 10:8),8 authors of the Second Temple period ascribed priesthood to early biblical figures such as Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and in ALD, Levi explains in the first person, how he came to be chosen from among his brothers to be instructed in the priesthood.9 The first five chapters of the book10 describe events in Levi’s life, such as his zealous treatment of Shechem (chapters 1–2) and his prayer (chapter 3), which led to his election on heaven and earth (chapter 4) and his consequent service as a priest (chapter 5). The central section of the book (5:6–10:14) describes how Levi was taught “the law of the priesthood” (6:2) by his grandfather, Isaac.11 The end of the book (chapters 11–13) tells of the birth of his children and grandchildren, and his instructions to his descendants. The unit concerning the law of the priesthood has been preserved in Aramaic Geniza fragments, in Greek translation, and in a number of short Qumran fragments.12 It includes an admonition regarding the sanctity of the seed and the purity of of his discoveries of the Mesopotamian background of the work and other considerations. DRAWNEL 2004, 66–75. 8 Aside from the single enigmatic figure of Melchizedek, who is described as “a priest of God Most High” (Genesis 14:18–20), no figure from the period before the covenant at Sinai is identified in the Bible as a priest. According to Exodus 32, the Levites were rewarded with their special role for their zeal in the episode of the golden calf; the motif connecting their service with violent behavior that superseded family ties is found in the Blessing of Moses as well (Deuteronomy 33:9). Another tradition has the Levites chosen as a replacement for the firstborn (Numbers 3:13, 8:17). See TAGGAR-COHEN 1998. 9 This is done by rewriting the rather sparse biblical tale of Levi into a rich story of election and education. This tradition also appears in Jubilees 30–32 and the Testament of Levi. Other works deal with the dynasty of Levi (4QTestament of Qahat [4Q542]; 4QVisions of Amram [4Q543-547/9). For Levi traditions in Second Temple literature, see KUGEL 1993; KUGLER 1996; WERMAN 1997. 10 Unless otherwise indicated, numeration of the ALD follows GREENFIELD/STONE/ESHEL 2004. 11 Levi twice meets Isaac in ALD; the first time he receives a blessing (5:1; the content of the blessing is found in 10:11–14; a parallel tradition is found in Jubilees 31:14–17), and the second time he receives instruction (5:8ff.). These traditions do not cohere into a single narrative sequence: Isaac is said to have first learned of Levi’s priesthood at the second meeting, even though he himself already blessed him with the priesthood at the first meeting. Also, Levi officiates as a full-fledged, knowledgeable priest at Bethel even before he is instructed by Isaac in the laws of priesthood. Werman has therefore suggested that two originally independent traditions regarding Levi’s meeting with Isaac have been woven together, see WERMAN 1997, 216–18; for a different distinction, between “Levi’s Apocalypse” and “Levi’s Initiation”, see KUGEL 1993, 27–33; 52–58; 60–64. 12 The Geniza fragment is Bodleian Library MS Heb c. 27 (see photograph at genizah.bodleian.ox.ac.uk). The Greek fragment is Mt. Athos, Monastery of Koutlloumous, cod. 39.3108 (see photograph in DRAWNEL 2004, pls .XII–XIII). ALD has been preserved in seven Qumran manuscripts: 1Q21 (1QLevi; BARTHÉLEMY/MILIK 1955, 87–91); 4Q213b (4QLevic); 4Q213a (4QLevib) ; 4Q213 (4QLevia) ; 4Q214b (4QLevif) ; 4Q214a (4QLevie); 4Q214 (4QLevid; STONE/GREENFIELD 1996, 1–61). A Hebrew text containing similar instructions is found in Jubilees chapter 21, and has been preserved partially in 4Q219 (4QJubd); 4Q220 (4QJube); 4Q221 (4QJubf). The instructions in that text differ both in language (Hebrew, rather than Aramaic), and in their narrative framework, which has Abraham instructing Isaac rather than Isaac instructing Levi. There are also specific laws found in one set that are missing in the other and vice versa. A short version of the instructions in the same narrative framework as ALD is found in the Testament of Levi 9:6–14. For a comparative table

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the body (chapter 6), purity regulations (7:1–3), regulations regarding wood for the altar and the burnt offering (7:4–8:6), quantities of ingredients accompanying the offering (9:1–16), a section concerning measures (9:17–19), and a concluding speech by Isaac consisting of repetitions, additional instructions, blessings, and various admonitions (chapter 10).13 Our interest here lies in the unit describing how Isaac instructed Levi in the laws of the priesthood (5:6–10:14), and more specifically in the editorial principle that intertwines, in what seems to be an eclectic manner, the laws of purification and sacrifice that appear in the unit. Robert Kugler claimed that the common denominator of these laws lies in their stringency as compared to biblical law. In his view, just as the ALD narrative portrays an idealized figure of Levi as an alternative to the flawed Jerusalem priesthood, so too do the laws of ALD present and a more stringent alternative, transplanted into patriarchal times in order to give them chronological primacy over the laws of the Jerusalem priests which are attributed to the covenant at Sinai.14 Martha Himmelfarb argued against Kugler that it is difficult to identify a polemical tone in the ALD narrative about Levi, the father of all priests, and the laws in the document are not more stringent than those of the Hebrew Bible, but rather supplement them, and their function is pragmatic, not ideological: training young priests for service.15 This suggestion was further developed by Henryk Drawnel, who noted links between ALD and Mesopotamian “school literature.”16 Elsewhere I demonstrated that the laws regarding ablution, wood, and sacrifice in effect describe the daily schedule of the priest in the Temple.17 The offering described in the document is not, as previously maintained by scholars, the burnt-offering of a bull brought by an individual, but rather the communal burnt-offering known as the see VAN RUITEN 2012, 283. As van Ruiten points out, the order of several laws in ALD is disturbed in Jubilees, and therefore it is hard to imagine that ALD is dependent on Jubilees; it is likely that the author of Jubilees is dependent on ALD or a similar source concerning Levi, which he reworked for his own purposes. 13 Kugler believed that this unit was added later, KUGLER 1996, 108. Himmelfarb maintained that the fact that instructions in this unit are also found in Jubilees, and nowhere else, is evidence of their antiquity, HIMMELFARB 2004, 104–105, note 2. 14 KUGLER 1996, 108–10; 130; 136–47; and see STONE 2011, 56. Kugler’s assumption that the gap between the priestly source of the Pentateuch (P) and ALD implies a polemical tendency is not justified, since by the same token one can argue that the stringency of the work vis-à-vis P reflects a general stringency with regard to the laws of purity among Second Temple Jews, rather than sectarian opposition to the standard laws. 15 HIMMELFARB 2004, 104–16; IDEM 2006, pp. 46–47; WERMAN 2015, 24–25. GREENFIELD/ STONE/ESHEL 2004, 157. J. T. Milik, the first scholar to publish ALD, also understood the instructions in this manner (as cited by KUGLER 1996, 109, note 170). 16 Drawnel’s conclusions are based on the identification of the background of the meteorological and mathematical lore in ALD as Babylonian. See DRAWNEL 2004, 66–67; 76–85; 283–291; IDEM 2006; and IDEM 2010. For other works linked with this genre, see IDEM, 2006, 551. Drawnel also proposed that ALD’s attribution of Babylonian arithmetic knowledge to Isaac was meant to encourage its adoption and adaptation to Hebrew tradition, and to validate its place in the priestly curriculum. See IDEM 2004, 81. 17 MALI 2018b.

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tamid (“continual”) sacrifice, offered twice daily; specifically the morning tamid (the other was offered in the afternoon). This explains the relationship between the literary genre of the work, instructional literature, and its specific legal content, the order of the daily service. I noted that ALD has been identified as an instructional text and the ritual content of the unit dealing with the daily routine of the priest is appropriate to the genre. An inductee into the priesthood who is expected to learn the laws of sacrifice has no need for abstract discussion of the ritual; what he needs is a practical order of service, delineating the rituals he expected to perform each day from morning onward. This is also the explanation for the fact that ALD combines the laws of purity and sacrifice, which are usually dealt with separately, in a single sequence comprising the daily tamid service of the priest.18 In another study, forthcoming in the journal Dead Sea Discoveries, I show that the narrative framework enveloping the laws of the priesthood priest is based on the story of the sacrifice of Isaac in Genesis 22. The priestly instructions are taught from the point-of-view of a child bound upon the altar: Isaac, the priest who was himself a sacrifice, teaches his descendent Levi how to sacrifice. By studying the laws of the priesthood from the serekh (sequence) of service presented in ALD, the inductee into the priesthood is following in the footsteps of the ideal archetypical priest, Isaac, who gave himself up as an offering.

II. The Mishnah Tractate Tamid Tractate Tamid of the Mishnah is a six-chapter19 tannaitic work dealing with the order of the sacrifice of the morning tamid offering. It can be divided into three sections consisting of two chapters each, each of which opens with the drawing of lots to determine which priests will perform the service described therein. Chapters 1–2 deal with the preparation of the altar;20 chapters 3–4 deal with the preparation of the offering;21 and chapters 5–6 with the offering of the sacrifice upon the altar itself. This is a unique text, as noted already in the nineteenth century by one of the first critical scholars of the Mishnah, Rabbi Nahman Krochmal, who wrote: “Tractate Tamid, as will be 18

Unlike Jubilees, which distinguishes between the laws of sacrifice (21:7–14) and the laws of the ablution of the priest (21:16–17), in the Temple Scroll the laws of the burnt offering are found in column 24, ll. 1–8; other laws regarding sacrifice are found in columns 13–29, and the laws of purity are found in columns 55–57. 19 In the manuscripts, the tractate consists of six chapters, rather than seven as in the printed editions. See EPSTEIN 2000, 986. 20 The section begins with the drawing of lots to determine which priest will remove the ashes of the previous day’s offerings from the altar and ends with the words “they set fire to both wood piles.” This emphasizes the fact that the altar has been cleaned and emptied of ashes and the fire now appearing on it is “new.” 21 In addition, this section lists other ingredients necessary for the daily continual service in the Temple: the “continual” [Heb. tamid] lights of the Menorah; the “continual” incense offering. The division ends with the completion of the preparation for sacrifice: the placement of the organs of the tamid victim on the ramp of the altar.

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admitted by anyone who has a palate to taste, is very ancient in the collation of its laws.”22 Its vocabulary is archaic, its style is narrative and ofttimes even poetic, and as characterized by Maimonides, “It contains no reflection, and no rulings permissive or prohibitive, but is rather the story of how the tamid was offered so that it may be done so forever.”23 Unlike the other tractates of the Mishnah, the tractate is anonymous: the activities that make up the order of the tamid offering are not cited as legal rulings by this or that rabbinic authority but rather as a narrative without a narrator.24 These characteristics were described a hundred years ago, i.e. 1919, by Louis Ginzberg in an essay entitled “Tamid: The Oldest Treatise of the Mishnah,” and they led him to the conclusion that the tractate is a foreign body, an “archaeological relic” preserved in the Mishnah of Rabbi Judah the Patriarch,25 composed around the time of the destruction of the Temple.26 Arguing against Ginzberg, Jacob Neusner claimed that Tamid was an integral part of the discourse at the tannaitic academy that flourished at Usha in the latter part of the second century, this in light of connections between the order of service in Tamid and laws discussed by the “Usha generation.”27 In my view, his position is misguided, since there is no reason to categorize an anonymous work that contains no halakhic disputes and has no interest in halakhic categorization or analysis as a composition of a tannaitic academy. Nor is the notion that the narrative of Tamid was composed “in connection with” the discourse of Ushan tannaim correct: It is the other Mishnaic tractates that are citing the earlier tractate Tamid,28 evidence of whose antiq-

22 KROCHMAL 1894, 224. The uniqueness of the tamid among the sacrifices finds expression in the unusual, fragmentary tractate devoted to it in the Bavli. See ARAZI 2007; ROSENTHAL 2013; and literature cited there. On sugyot to tractate Tamid in the Yerushalmi, see HAREL 2014, 42–43. On the Talmud to Tamid in Geonic literature, see FUCHS 2001, 97, note 3. On medieval commentaries to the tractate, see ibid., 107–16; ZUSSMAN 2001, 166–67. 23 EPSTEIN 1957, 50 24 With the exception of named legal rulings found in 2:3, 8; 5:2; and 7:2 (Tamid 3:2 is an integral part of the narrative). By contrast, tractate Yoma, which deals with the sacrificial service for the Day of Atonement, is interrupted 20 [!] times for halakhic discourses, in which 28 distinct named tannaitic opinions are cited. 25 GINZBERG 1919, 43. See also Epstein’s critique of this description in EPSTEIN 1957, 29. 26 GINZBERG 1919, 43. Others dated the tractate to the reign of either Agrippa I or Agrippa II, by identifying the historical reality reflected in the names of the Temple officials mentioned in the tractate. See, for example, EPSTIEN 1957, 31; SAFRAI 1994, 36. However, even if the identification of a concrete historical reality reflected in the description of the activities in the tractate were possible, this evidence would clearly be inconclusive in dating a work in which these activities are described in the past tense. 27 NEUSNER 1979. He was preceded in his suggestion of an alternative to Ginzberg’s analysis by BLUMBERG 1970. 28 Epstein (1957, 36) lists the citations of Tamid in other tractates, which I have supplemented in the following list with additional attestations that I found of this phenomenon: Tamid 1:1 = Middot 1:1; Tamid 1:1 = Middot 1:8; Tamid 1:1 = Middot 1:9; Tamid 1:2 = Yoma1:8; Tamid 1:3 = Middot 1:7; Tamid 3:2 = Yoma 3:1; Tamid 3:3 = Middot 1:6; Tamid 3:5 = Pesahim 5:9; Tamid 3:5 = Middot 3:5; Tamid 3:7 = Middot 4:2; Tamid 7:3 = Bikkurim 3:4; Tamid 7:3 = Pesahim 5:5, Sukkah 4:9, 5:4. Epstein (ibid.) maintained that Middot made use of Tamid; Walfish (1997, 79–92) saw the two as independent redactions sharing common traditions. Elsewhere I have shown that Middot supplements

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uity can be found in the unique language of the tractate,29 which corroborates the Talmudic tradition (Bavli Yom 14b; Yerushalmi Yoma 2:3, 39d) attributing it to Rabbi Simeon of Mizpah, a first–century CE tanna who witnessed the destruction of the Temple.30 The tractate is thus a coherent narrative composed shortly after the destruction of the Temple, which organizes the various acts of service performed by the priests in the Temple as a schedule on a timeline. This is also the way the tractate presents itself in its concluding sentence: “This is the order of the tamid for the service of the house of our God.”

III. Comparison At first glance, the legal section of ALD and Mishnah Tamid seem to be two very different texts: while the first is written in third-century BCE Aramaic, using verbs in the imperative to instruct the priest as to his duties, the second is a text transmitted in Hebrew, using verbs in the past tense to describe how the priests offered up the tamid sacrifice in the Temple. Despite these differences, the two texts exhibit an extraordinary similarity, as I will describe:

the earlier work Tamid in the manner usually associated with the Tosefta. In a work currently in progress, I offer a comprehensive analysis of Tamid’s status as one of the sources of the Mishnah. 29 While, as argued by Blumberg (1970, 111) against Ginzberg, unique language does not necessarily imply antiquity, and even “archaic” language is not necessarily an indication of “archaeological stratification” in the Mishnah, it may in fact be an indication of “rhetorical stratification,” as argued by Rosen-Zvi (2008, 243–45). However, even Rosen-Zvi sees Tamid as a unique case in which archaic language is an indication of antiquity. I concur with his opinion. There are many types of archaic language in the tractate, see GINZBERG 1919, 46–50; EPSTEIN 1957, 27–31; BAR-ASHER 2005, 60. One type is intertextual allusions that create an old-new register between that of biblical and that of rabbinic Hebrew, which characterize late Second Temple Hebrew, and is intentionally designed in my opinion to allude to the descriptions of the Temple in Ezekiel, pace MISHOR 2000, 331. Examples of this type are the presence of the unelided consonantal he of the definite article following prefixes such as l- in Tamid 3:7, or the assimilation of the nun in the word min, “from,” into the next word. However, there is another type of archaic language in Tamid: cases in which a single verb appears sporadically in the tractate in a conjugation typical of pre-rabbinic strata of Hebrew, alongside the usual rabbinic form. For example, the biblical heḥel, “he began,” appears in Tamid 2:2–3; 6:1, alongside the usual rabbinic form hithil found in Tamid 6:3. In Tamid this cannot be explained away by source criticism, and must be attributed to an intermediate stage in the development of the Hebrew language. The phenomenon clearly reflects a historical situation rather than a rhetorical one. 30 According to Mishnah Peah 2:6, Rabbi Simeon of Mitspah was a contemporary of Rabban Gamiliel. Scholars differ as to whether the reference is to Rabban Gamliel the Elder of the early first century CE (EPSTEIN 1957, 31), or Rabban Gamliel of Yavneh of the late first-early second centuries CE (GINZBERG 1919, 62; SAFRAI 2012, 108–109). I incline toward the second view, in light of another source hitherto unmentioned in the context of this discussion, the Midrash Pitron Torah, Pinhas, 214–15, which mentions the interaction of Rabbi Simeon of Mitspah, Rabban Gamliel, and Rabban Gamliel’s slave Tabbai (who is known from other sources to have belonged to the latter Rabban Gamliel).

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The texts are both Palestinian compositions with a common subject matter, the morning tamid offering. In both the regulations are listed in sequence as a schedule of the Temple service, which leads to the intertwining of laws regarding the sacrifice itself and laws regarding the person offering the sacrifice.31 For example, both texts open with a description of the entrance of the priest into the Temple and reference to his state of purity (ALD 7:1; Tamid 1:1–2). Surprisingly, the two texts share regulations unattested elsewhere: for example, according to ALD the severed head of the offering must be covered with the suet to prevent the blood of slaughter from being seen, “First offer up the head and the suet covering it up, so that the blood of the of the bull shall not be seen” (ALD 8:3).32 This law, unattested anywhere else in Second Temple literature, resurfaces not once, but twice, in Mishnah Tamid: “and its slaughtered neck above, with the suet placed upon it” (4:3; also 4:2).33 Another regulation common only to ALD and Tamid is the requirement to wash the hands and feet after donning the vestments (ALD 7:2; Tamid 1:4, which quotes the priests themselves, who warn the priest removing the ashes of the previous day’s offerings from the altar: “Beware, lest you touch the vessel before you wash your hands and feet from the laver”). Other examples are the specification in both texts of the order in which the organs of the victim are to be brought to the altar (ALD 8:3–5; Tamid chapter 4; 7:3), as well as purification laws such as the requirement of immersion before donning the vestments (ALD 7:1; Tamid 1:2); and washing the hands and feet after donning the vest31 This is understandable in ALD, in which the regulations are addressed to the priest conducting the service, who needs a schedule rather than a thematic categorization of the laws. Contrast the parallel text in Jubilees chapter 21, which repeats the laws found in ALD but divides them into those concerning the offerings (vv. 7–14) and those concerning the ablutions of the priest (15–17). See WERMAN 2015, 21–25; 334. But the intertwining of laws regarding priest and offering is rare in rabbinic literature: tractates of the Mishnah are normally organized according to subject matter. For example: Zevahim (Animal Sacrifices); Menahot (Meal Offerings); Tohorot (Purities), but Tamid (and Yoma, influenced by Tamid) are organized according to the sequence of service, which necessitates the intertwining of the priest’s own preparations with those of his offering. By analogy to P (the priestly source in the Pentateuch), one can demonstrate that laws directed at the people such as the order of the burnt offering in Leviticus 1 (“Speak unto the Israelites,” v. 2) are laws concerning the offering, but not the one making sacrifice, while laws addressed to the priests such as the law of the burnt-offering in Leviticus 6 (“Command Aaron and his sons saying,” v. 2) include alongside discussion of the sacrifice discussion of the laws concerning the priest, such as the donning his vestments (vv. 3–4). See Nachmanides to Leviticus 6:2; MILGROM 1991, 382–83. Even without recourse to the complicated question of possible pragmatic contexts for the sacrificial legislation of Leviticus (see LEVINE 1965; WATTS 2008, LEUCHTER 2010), it is important for our purposes to note the link between the instruction to address the priests and the content of the passage, which intertwines regulations regarding the priest and his offering. 32 For the edition, see GREENFIELD/STONE/ESHEL 2004, 82. 33 See also Sifra Vayiqra Nedava 6 (for the edition, see FINKELSTEIN 1983, 45); Bavli Yoma 25b– 26a; Hullin 27a; Pesiqta Zutreta 4, 1. The word translated “suet” here is the biblical term pader. For a discussion of the term and extensive literature see LIPINSKI 2008, 59–68, whose conclusion, however, that the term refers to the genitalia, is disputed by the Targumim and LXX, both of which translate “suet” (Aramaic tarba; Greek stear). For our purposes, it is sufficient to note the agreement of the Tarugmim and LXX, which indicates that ALD also understood pader as suet.

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ments (ALD 7:2–3; Tamid 1:4, which quotes the priest themselves, who warn the priest removing the ashes of the previous day’s offerings from the altar: “Beware, lest you touch the vessel before you wash your hands and feet from the laver”) and before beginning the service. In addition to these common regulations, another link between the texts is the concern of both with rare halakhic issues, which reflects an interest in cultic ritual from a practical point of view, such as a listing of the types of wood permissible for the altar34 and the order in which the organs are to be brought to the altar. Michael Stone has already surmised that “the existence of the ritual instruction book in Aramaic Levi Document may serve to remind us that there must have been a literature of priestly instruction, even if partly oral.”35 In light of the interpretation that I have proposed for ALD, we can characterize the genre to which it belongs not only with the general terms “manual” or “handbook,” but more specifically as sequential schedules: “the order of service” or “the order of the day.”36 Evidence for this genre is found in rabbinic sources such as Mishnah Yoma 1:3, which describes how “they would read to [the High Priest] from the order of the day.” The verb “read” (Hebrew qorin) indicates that we are dealing with a written text, and the context indicates an instructional text describing the sequence of acts that the priest must carry out in the Temple. Scholars of the last few decades have hitherto read this text as referring to the ritual for the Day of Atonement found in the Bible (Leviticus 16),37 but I believe this is incorrect, since elsewhere in Mishnah Yoma Leviticus 16 is referred to as Aharei Mot, “After the death,” prominent words at the beginning of the biblical passage, and not by the term seder hayom, “the order of the day”! If so, the term seder hayom must refer to a different text, a post-biblical composition of the priestly order of service.38 It also stands to reason that they would read to the High Priest from a practical manual from which he can learn the actual service, rather than a biblical text far re34 Extensive interest in the wood appropriate for the altar, including references to both the quality of the wood and the types of wood permissible appears in both Tamid and ALD. However, the halakhic status of the types of wood listed is different in each work: ALD has a decisive list of trees from which the wood can be taken, while Tamid establishes in principle that “all wood is fit for the altar fire except vine and olive wood,” but notes that it is customary to use “branches of fig, walnut and oil trees.” ALD’s list is cited in Jubilees chapter 21, see ESHEL 2009, 85–87; WERMAN 2015, 340–41. 35 For Stone see BERTHOLET 2010, 200. I believe that my interpretation of ALD as practical, concrete guide to the priestly service strengthens Stone’s theory, because there are references to sequential manuals for the Temple service in rabbinic literature, as I will demonstrate below. 36 Examples of similar instructional literature were found in the archives of several temples throughout the ancient Near East. For a survey of literature, see WATTS 2008, 39–46. We know of dozens of prescriptive texts from the Hellenistic period, formulated in the second or third person, which contain instructions of how to perform daily, monthly, and annual ritual, whose origin is apparently the library of the temple at Uruk. See KRUL 2018, 58–60; 107–108; 140. An example of a text detailing the morning service from the Egyptian sphere is the papyrus from the Temple of AmonRe (ca. 10th–9th BCE), see RITNER 1997, 55–57; BRAUN 2013, 88–187. 37 ALBECK 1959, Vol. 2, 223; STEMBERGER 2011, 123; SAFRAI 2010, 38; KNOHL/NAEH 1993, 19; ROSEN-ZVI 2008, 244; COHEN 2008, 45 – all following Rashi’s commentary to Bavli Yoma 18a s.v. qorin lefanav. 38 As suggested by Epstein (1957, 36, and note 139 on 514), who believed the reference was to a lost Pharisaic work, an early version of tractate Yoma.

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moved from the service as carried out in practice. The term seder hayom, “order of the day,” is reminiscent of the name seder hatamid, “order of the tamid,” assigned to tractate Tamid in its closing sentence, “This is the order of the tamid for the service of the house of our God” (Mishnah Tamid 7:3). These orders of service should thus by right be assigned to the genre found, as I have shown, at Qumran, which is thus further attested in the Mishnah. In light of the familiarity of the Pharisees with works of this genre, I would like to suggest the following explanation for the thematic identity and redactional, stylistic, and halakhic similarities between ALD and Tamid: the author of Mishnah Tamid, in fashioning his descriptive text outlining the Temple service, made use of textual materials and rhetoric structures taken from schedules of service used in the Second Temple itself. The reason the author of Tamid chose to make use of the ancient genre of priestly manuals can be discovered by comparing the concluding formulae of the orders of the morning tamid service in ALD and in Mishnah Tamid. The description of the tamid service in ALD ends with the words “and thus shall all your deeds in sequence and all your offerings be acceptable as a pleasing odor before God Most High” (8:6). In other words, performing the sacrifice in the correct sequence (Aramaic: ovadakh beserekh; Greek translation: to ergon sou en taxei) is what makes it acceptable. The concluding words of Tractate Tamid are “This is the order of the tamid for the service of the house of our God – May it be [God’s] will that it be rebuilt speedily in our days. Amen” (7:3).39 Here, too, I believe there is a causal relationship between the two parts of the conclusion: study of the correct sequence of service will lead to the speedy rebuilding of the Temple and renewal of the sacrificial service.40 Concluding the tractate with a 39

Some scholars consider the second part of this conclusion (“May it be…”) a later addition, as are the conclusions to tractates Taanit (4:8) and Avot (5:20), see MANDEL 1996, 159. But while there is textual evidence to bolster this claim with regard to Taanit and Avot, no such evidence is attested in the manuscripts of Tamid. The post-destruction point-of-view reflected in this sentence is not unique; it is found throughout the tractate. The evidence cited by Ginzberg (1919, 280, n. 100) and Epstein (2000, 979) from the citation of the first part of the concluding formula in Yerushalmi Rosh Hashanah 1:9 (57c) without the second part is most certainly not conclusive; partial citations are as common in rabbinic literature as elsewhere, and cannot be cited as indication that the words not cited are secondary. In fact, in Bavli Sanhedrin 49b only the words “This is the order of the Tamid” are cited from the first part of the concluding sentence, and no one would argue that this attests to the fact that the words “for the service of the house of our God” are secondary. 40 The notion that discussion of the laws of sacrifice can serve as a replacement for the cultic ritual itself is found in rabbinic literature, and it seems that in some cases the reference is not to intellectual academic study of texts but the recitation of a certain genre of literature, that of “orders of service”: “… I have already established for them the order of sacrifices. When they read it before me, I consider it as though they have offered them up before me, and I forgive them all of their sins” (Bavli Taanit 27b, but contrast Bavli Menahot 110a, “Anyone who studies the Torah of the sin-offering it is as though he sacrificed a sin-offering”). An eyewitness account of this custom is found in Bavli Yoma 36b; see Rashi ad loc., s.v. hahu denahit. For a history of the concept and an explanation of these sources, see MALACHI 1973, esp. 78–79; STOEKL 2003, esp. 59–60 and 62 n. 258; EHRLICH 2009, 190–91. However, liturgical recitation of the order of sacrifice may in fact predate the destruction of the Temple, since liturgical readings of the laws for the ritual are described in tractate Yoma as a part of the ritual itself: “The High Priest stands up and receives the scroll and reads. He stands up and

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prayer alludes to the liturgical and performative context in which the tractate was composed,41 enabling us to understand the function of the ancient genre of the priestly manual in the post-destruction sphere. Tractate Tamid, which is not a dialectical academic text and does not deal with matters of legal or scholastic import, is based on the genre of priestly manuals and preserves the practical point-of-view that characterizes the genre. That is why it opens with the manner in which the priest prepares himself for service, and that is why it is built on a framework describing the lots drawn to determine that he is the one chosen for service. Preserving the priestly perspective allows the student of Tamid to imagine himself following in the priest’s footsteps through the Temple precincts, which now exist as a text, rather than in reality, and to reads Aharei Mot (Leviticus 16) and Veʾakh Beʿasor (Leviticus 23:26–32), and rolls up the Torah and places it on his chest, and says ‘there is more here written than I have read to you’ ” (Mishnah Yoma 7:1; Sotah 7:7). This practice may have been born in Temple times of the necessity to bridge the gap between the service itself, unseen by the people, and the people gathered in the Temple courtyard. See MALACHI 1973, 77; STOEKL 2003, 60. In any case, the liturgical use of a text commanding the performance of a ritual in the context of that ritual is qualitatively different from the liturgical use of a narrative describing how the ritual was conducted. 41 For this use of the “orders of service”, and for the distinction between description of the Temple ritual and re-enacting the Temple ritual by means of recitation in later periods, see ZOHAR 1989. If my theory regarding Tamid is correct, then the order of service in Tamid not only provided the raw materials from which liturgical poets crafted the piyyutim for the synagogue service, but the tractate was itself composed in a liturgical context. A similar theory was advanced in Second Temple literature with regard to tractate Yoma. Scholars attempted to peel off the scholastic layer and halakhic rulings found in that tractate and reconstruct a proto-Yoma that served as a liturgical “order of service.” See YAHALOM 1997, 13; IDEM 2000, 124, and literature cited by STOEKL 2003, 28, n. 260; 62; SWARTZ 2014; JAFFEE 1994, 129–35. Our discussion here concerns the liturgical context in which tractate Tamid was composed. A very different discussion is found in scholarship regarding the liturgical and mystical usage of tractate Tamid in much later periods. Scholars have attested to the renaissance of interest in Tamid after years of neglect during the Geonic and early medieval periods. Hasidei Ashkenaz, German pietists of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries took a renewed interest in the forgotten tractates of Order Qodashim, especially Tamid and Middot (alongside tractate Sheqalim of the Order Moed). These commentators did not explicitly cite the reason for the revival of interest in these tractates, but allusions to the reason can be culled by various methods. For example, the commentary to Tamid in ms. Paris 1408 attributed to Rabbi Samuel ben Isaac opens with the words: “It is written: in every place incense is offered (Malachi 1:11) – these are the scholars who study the laws of the sacrificial service anywhere, and Scripture accounts them as though they offered up sacrifice in the Temple. The end of the verse states: in every place a pure meal offering is offered to me – are there meal offerings everywhere? Rather, if you study them, it is as though you offered up all of the sacrifices. This is an exegesis, and this is the beginning of the tractate” (on the commentary, see FUCHS 2001, 115). Zussman (2001, 150–52) has pointed out that the cultural context of this commentary is the German pietist movement, a context which gave rise to a number of additional works concerning the order Qodashim (ibid., nn. 50 [commentaries to Sheqalim in the order Moed]; 61 [commentaries to Tamid]; and 66 [commentaries on the Sifra]. For additional information regarding these commentaries, see FUCHS 2001, 107–16). This attests to the specific motivation that is the basis for the renaissance of the study of these texts by the German pietists. Zussman noted the link between the German pietists and scholars who were close to the circles of the early Kabbalists in Provence, who were likewise motivated to study obscure tractates in the order Qodashim for mystical reasons, ZUSSMAN 2001, 155–57.

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“perform” the rituals by studying them. The practical genre of priestly instruction manuals thus became the foundation of a new genre of orders of service, which are practical and performative in the sense that their text is not an analytical, dialectical inquiry, but a verbal performance of the tamid service.

IV. Conclusion In this article, I proposed a theory regarding the relationship between the literature of priestly instruction written in Aramaic during the Second Temple period and tractate Tamid in the Mishnah, composed shortly after the destruction of the Temple. Usually, the oral and eclectic nature of rabbinic literature makes it difficult to distinguish literary blocks of a style and form characteristic of Second Temple times from those that postdate the destruction, and therefore it is hard to map the concrete transmutation of a Second Temple work into rabbinic literature.42 Identifying the links between tractate Tamid and the genre of priestly manuals of instruction, of which ALD is an example, and dating the former to the period immediately following the destruction of the Temple, allow us to trace a single example of a literary genre transformed in the wake of the destruction: from a practical schedule to guide the priests themselves in their service into an “order of the Tamid” addressed to the student, for whom study of the order of service replaces the actual sacrifice. This insight can contribute to the resolution of the question of “the sources of the Mishnah,”43 in that it bridges the gap between Second Temple and rabbinic literature. It also sheds light on the way in which catastrophe, while shattering the structure of society and the contexts in which literature is composed, can reveal new capabilities of that literature. In other words, the “darkroom” of the destruction of the Temple uncovers surprising qualities of ancient texts: the pedagogic literary framework that guided the priest by daylight, teaching him how to perform ritual, turns out to be an ore-rich mine for post-destruction authors guiding the imagination of the student to perform ritual with his mind and lips. The precious sequence of ritual, preserved in Temple times as a prerequisite for divine acceptance of the service, becomes a prerequisite for the acceptance of a prayer. This is a touching example of the way in which people deal with catastrophe, taking burnt out textual building blocks, bereft and seemingly useless, and using them to build new buildings, often more abstract in nature.

42 A notable exception is the research of Yair Furstenberg, who uncovered the earliest layer of a number of tractates in order Taharot, and discovered that the earliest collections that lie at the basis of a number of these tractates (Uqtsin, Taharot, Tevul Yom, and Makhshirin) are edited in accordance with realistic and practical principles (for example, arranging laws on the basis of the type of food to which they apply), later texts in these tractates are inserted and redacted in accordance with academic and scholastic principles. He surmised that the principle of redaction underlying the earliest collections is connected with their use as “practical handbooks” or “technical manuals,” and the redactional change they underwent reflects the adaptation of the earlier texts to post-destructions contexts. See FURSTENBERG 2011, 112–13; IDEM 2013, 507–37. 43 As formulated by COHEN 2007.

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Bibliography ALBECK, H. (1959): Shisha sidrei Mishnah, Jerusalem/Tel Aviv [Hebrew]. ARAZI, S. (2007): Two Earlier Editions of the Tractate Tamid, Tarbiz 76, 265–72 [Hebrew]. BALBERG, M. (2017): Blood for Thought: The Reinvention of Sacrifice in Early Rabbinic Literature, Oakland, CA. BAR-ASHER, M. (2005): Roshmei leshon ha-mikra ba-mishnah (the Remnants of Biblical Hebrew in the Mishnah), in: A. EDREI et al. (eds.), Studies in Talmud and Midrash, Jerusalem, 59–69 [Hebrew]. BARTHÉLEMY D./ J.T. MILIK (1955): Qumran Cave 1 [DJD 1], Oxford. BERTHELOT, K. (2010): References to Biblical Texts in the Aramaic Texts from Qumran, in: K. BERTHELOT/D. STÖKL BEN EZRA (eds.), Aramaica Qumranica: Proceedings of the Conference on the Texts from Qumran in Aix-en-Provence 2008, (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah 94), Leiden/Boston, 183–203. BEARD, M. (1985): Writing and Ritual: A Study of Diversity and Expansion in the Arval Acta, Papers of the British School at Rome 53, 114–62. BLUMBERG, H. J. (1970): Saul Lieberman on the Talmud of Caesarea and Louis Ginzberg on Mishna Tamid, in: J. NEUSNER (ed.), The Formation of the Babylonian Talmud, Leiden, 107–26. BRAUN, N.ST., (2013): Pharao und Priester – sakrale Affirmation von Herrschaft durch Kultvollzug. Das Tägliche Kultbildritual im Neuen Reich und der Dritten Zwischenzeit, (Philippika 23), Wiesbaden. COHEN, S.J.D. (2007): The Judaean Legal Tradition and the Halakhah of the Mishnah, in: C.E. FONROBERT/M.S. JAFFEE, (eds.), The Cambridge Companion to the Talmud and Rabbinic Literature, Cambridge, 121–43. COHN, N.S. (2013): The Memory of the Temple and the Making of the Rabbis, Philadelphia, PA. DRAWNEL, H. (2004): An Aramaic Wisdom Text from Qumran: A New Interpretation of the Levi Document, Leiden. – (2006): Priestly Education in the Aramaic Levi Document (Visions of Levi) and Aramaic Astronomical Book (4Q208-211), Revue de Qumran 22, 547–74. – (2010): The Literary Characteristics of the Vision of Levi (So-called Aramaic Levi Document), Journal of Ancient Judaism 1, 303–19. EHRLICH, U. (2009): “Maʿaseh Bereshit” and “Shir Shel Yom” in the Early Siddur: New Finds from the Cairo Geniza, Tarbiz 78, 189–202 [Hebrew]. EPSTEIN, J.N. (1957): Prolegomena ad litteras tannaiticas, Jerusalem/Tel Aviv. – (2000): Introduction to the Mishnaic Text, Second edition, Jerusalem [Hebrew]. ESHEL, E. (2009): The Aramaic Levi Document, the Genesis Apocryphon, and Jubilees: A Study of Shared Traditions, in: G. BOCCACCINI/G. IBBA (eds.), Enoch and the Mosaic Torah, Grand Rapids, MI. FUCHS, U. (2001): Shenei perushim hadashim al massekhet tamid (Two New Commentaries on Tractate Tamid), Kovets al yad 15 (25), 95–142 [Hebrew]. FURSTENBERG, Y. (2013): Early Redactions of Purities: Re-Examination of Mishnah Source Criticism, Tarbiz 80, 507–37 [Hebrew]. – (2016): Purity and Community in Antiquity Traditions of the Law from Second Temple Judaism to the Mishnah, Jerusalem [Hebrew]. GINZBERG, L. (1919): TAMID: The Oldest Treatise of the Mishnah, Journal of Jewish Lore and Philosophy 1, 265–95. GOODMAN, M. (2005): The Temple in First Century CE Judaism, in: J. DAY (ed.), Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel, London, 459–68. GREENFIELD, J.C./M.E. STONE/E. ESHEL (2004): The Aramaic Levi Document, Leiden. HALBERTAL, M. (2013): The History of Halacha and the Appearance of Halacha, Dinei Israel 29, 1– 23 [Hebrew].

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HAREL, Y. (2014): Palestinian Sugyiot to Seder Kodshim, (PhD. Diss. The Hebrew University), Jerusalem. HIMMELFARB, M. (2004): Earthly Sacrifice and Heavenly Incense: The Law of the Priesthood in Aramaic Levi and Jubilees, in: R.S. BOUSTAN/A.Y. REED (eds.), Heavenly Realms and Earthly Realities in Late Antique Religions, Cambridge, 103–22. – (2006): A Kingdom of Priests: Ancestry and Merit in Ancient Judaism, Philadelphia, PA. JAFFEE, M.S. (1994): Writing and Rabbinic Oral Tradition: On Mishnaic Narrative List and Mnemonics, Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy 4, 123–46. KNOHL, I./S. NAEH (1993): Milluim ve-Kippurim, Tarbiz 62, 17–44. KROCHMAL, N. (1894): More nevukhe ha-zeman: Sefer more emuna tserufa umelamed hokhmat yisraʾel, Berlin. KRUL, J. (2018): The Revival of the Anu Cult and the Nocturnal Fire Ceremony at Late Babylonian Uruk, Leiden. KUGEL, J.L. (1993): Levi’s Elevation to the Priesthood in Second Temple Writing, Harvard Theological Review 86, 1–64. – (2007): How Old Is the Aramaic Levi Document?, Dead Sea Discoveries 14, 291–312. KUGLER, R.A. (1996): From Patriarch to Priest: The Levi-Tradition from Aramaic Levi to Testament of Levi, (SBL Early Judaism and Its Literature 9), Atlanta, GA. LEUCHTER, M. (2010): The Politics of Ritual Rhetoric: A Proposed Sociopolitical Context for the Redaction of Leviticus 1–16, Vetus Testamentum 60, 345–65. LEVINE, B.A. (1965): The Descriptive Tabernacle Text of the Pentateuch, Journal of the American Oriental Society 85, 307–18. – (1967): Offerings to the Temple Gates at Ur, Hebrew Union College Annual 38, 17–58. LIPINSKI, E. (2008): Burnt Offering of Head, Peder, and Kidneys, in: C. COHEN (ed.), 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, Winona Lake, IN, 59–68. MALACHI, Z., (1973): Seder avodat yom ha-kippurim: mekorotav ve-teoledotav shel sug ha-piyyut (The Order of Service of the Day of Atonement: Its Sources, and the History of the Genre), in Benoam siah, perakim mitoledot sifrutenu, 76–104 [Hebrew]. MALI, H. (2018a): MI-MIQDASH LE-MIDRASH: Descriptions of the Temple in the Mishna: History, Redaction and Meaning, (PhD Diss., Bar-Ilan University), [Hebrew]. – (2018b): The Aramaic Levi Document: A New Reading, Meghillot 14, 3–23 [Hebrew]. – (2019): Conceptual and Ideological Aspects in the Mishnaic Description of Bringing the First Fruit to Jerusalem, in: G. STEMBERGER (ed.), Religious Dynamics in Jewish and Christian Contexts, Leiden. 128–47. MANDEL, P. (1996): ‘There were no Happier Days for Israel than the Fifteenth of Av and the Day of Atonement’: On the Final Mishna of Tractate Ta‘anit and its Transmission, Teuda 11 (1996), 147– 78 [Hebrew]. MILGROM, J. (1991): Leviticus 1–16, (Anchor Bible), Garden City, NJ. MISHOR, M. (2000): Some Linguistic Peculiarities of First Revolt Period Documents, Lšonenu 63, 327–32 [Hebrew]. NEUSNER, J. (1979): Map Without Territory: Mishnah’s System of Sacrifice and Sanctuary, History of Religion 19, 103–27. NOAM, V. (2010): From Qumran to the Rabbinic Revolution: Conceptions of Impurity, Jerusalem [Hebrew]. RITNER, R.K. (1997): Daily Ritual of the Temple of Amun-Re at Karnak (1.34), in: W.W. HALLO et al (eds.), The Context of Scripture: Canonical Compositions, Monumental Inscriptions and Archival Documents from the Biblical World, Vol. I, Leiden, 55–57. ROSEN-ZVI, I. (2008): Orality, Narrative, Rhetoric: New Directions in Mishnah Research, AJS Review 32, 235–49. – (2012): The Mishnaic Sotah Ritual: Temple, Gender and Midrash, Leiden.

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ROSENTHAL, Y. (2013): The Integration of Sugyot on Mishnah Middot into Bavli Tamid, Tarbiz 81, 327–42 [Hebrew]. SAFRAI, S. (1994): In Times of Temple and Mishnah: Studies in Jewish History, Jerusalem [Hebrew]. SAFRAI, S./Z. SAFRAI with H. SAFRAI (2010): Mishnat Eretz Israel: Tractate Yoma (Moed 7), Jerusalem [Hebrew]. – (2012): Mishnat Eretz Israel: Tractate Peah (Zeraʿim 2), Jerusalem [Hebrew]. STEMBERGER, G. (2011): Yom Kippur in Mishnah Yoma: The Day of Atonement, Themes in Biblical Narrative 15, 121–37. STÖKEL BEN-EZRA, D. (2003): The Impact of Yom Kippur on Early Christianity, (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 163), Tübingen. STONE, M.E. (2011): Ancient Judaism: New Visions and Views, Grand Rapids, MI. STONE, M.E./J.C. GREENFIELD (1996); ‘Aramaic Levi Document’, in Qumran Cave 4, XVII: Parabiblical Texts, Part 3 [DJD 22], Oxford. SUSSMAN, Y. (2001): Rabad on Sheḳalim?: A Biographical and Historical Riddle, in: E. FLEISCHER/ G. BLIDSTEIN/C. HOROWITZ/B. SEPTIMUS (eds.), Meʾah Sheʿarim: Studies in Medieval Jewish Spiritual Life in Memory of Isadore Twersky, Jerusalem, 13–170. SWARTZ, M.D. (2014): Ritual is with People: Sacrifice and Society in Palestinian Yoma Tradition, in: A. HOUTMAN et al. (eds.), The Actuality of Sacrifice – Past and Present, (Jewish and Christian Perspectives Series 28), Leiden, 206–27. TAGGAR-COHEN, A. (1998): Law and Family in the Book of Numbers: The Levites and the tidennūtu Documents from Nuzi, VT 48, 74–94. VANDERKAM, J.C. (2018): Jubilees: A Commentary in Two Volumes, Minneapolis, MN. WATTS, J. (2008): Ritual Rhetoric in the Pentateuch: The Case of Leviticus 1–16, in: T. RÖMER (ed.), The Books of Leviticus and Numbers, Leuven, 305–18. WERMAN, C. (1997): Levi and Levites in the Second Temple Period, Dead Sea Discoveries 4, 211– 25. – (2015): The Book of Jubilees: Introduction, Translation and Interpretation, Jerusalem [Hebrew]. YAHALOM, J. (1997): Priestly Palestinian Poetry: A Narrative Liturgy for the Day of Atonement, Jerusalem [Hebrew]. ZOHAR, Z. (1989): U-mi metaher etkhem?: Avikhem she-bashamayim: tefilat seder ha-avoda shel yom ha-kippurim: token, tifkud u-mashmaʾut (And Who Purifies You?: Your Father in Heaven: The Avoda Liturgy for the Day of Atonement: Content, Function, and Meaning), AJS Review 14, ‫א כח‬ [Hebrew].

III. Circumnavigating History Isaiah’s Response to the Temple Destruction

Does Isaiah Implicate the Temple in His Pronouncements of Judgment Against Jerusalem? J. Todd Hibbard This short study asks if First Isaiah (Isa 1–39) implicates the temple in its threats of destruction against Jerusalem. On the surface, this is a relatively simple question. However, as the following analysis will make clear, several factors complicate the question. First, as is well known, the book of Isaiah has a long and complicated composition history. It is arguably the case that the difficulties – and therefore, the greatest disagreement – are most severe in the first thirty-nine chapters of the book. Here we likely find material that stretches the entire length of the book’s formation history. This situation makes it difficult to assert with confidence that a passage derives from any specific historical context. Moreover, when discussing the issue before us, we have at least two different horizons: first, the horizon of the historical Isaiah and second, the horizon of chs. 1–39 of the book. That is, we have a socio-historical context of the prophet himself and the socio-historical and literary context of a portion of the book and its authors. That these do not represent the same interpretive horizon is clear. So our first complication, then, is to treat as separate questions what the historical Isaiah’s views on these matters might have been (again, to the extent that they are recoverable) and what the views on these matters were of later tradents who have contributed to Isa 1–39. It goes without saying that there will be some disagreement over assigning certain texts to one or the other horizons of origin. When we turn to the matter of the historical Isaiah himself, several scholars have argued that he should be seen as one of Jerusalem’s elites.1 Several pieces of evidence give this impression. In two of the three narratives featuring him, he is depicted as a confidant of Judah’s kings. Both Ahaz and Hezekiah consult with him privately in chapters 7 and 36–39. Even if one views Isa 36–39 as a later addition brought over from the Deuteronomistic History (which I think likely), its depiction of Isaiah’s access to Hezekiah seems substantially in agreement with the narrative in Isa 7 featuring Isaiah and Ahaz.2 We cannot discount the view that the composition of these two texts have influenced each other, but this does not vitiate the view that there is some genuine historical reflection in the depiction of the interaction between prophet and king in both chs. 7 and 36–39. This could be true even if one is inclined to see Isa 7–8 as late 1

WILDBERGER 2002, 569–72. ROBERTS 1997, 135–46. He argues that Isaiah’s status as a prophet whose advice occasionally ran contrary to the official state policy meant that he was sometimes out of the loop, as in the scene with Hezekiah in Isa 39 where he clearly does not know what the purpose of the Babylonian envoys’ visit is beforehand. 2

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compositions. Of perhaps more importance is Isa 22:15–25, a stinging rebuke of the royal official Shebna for improperly allocating a tomb for himself. This passage bespeaks a prophet who knows elite officials. It is more difficult to say anything about his connection with temple officials (though see below), but the fact that his inaugural vision in ch. 6 is a vision of YHWH in the temple provides at least some suggestion that he moved comfortably in temple circles. There is no indication that Isaiah was a priest (as the books of his later prophetic successors Jeremiah and Ezekiel present them) but that does not eliminate the possibility that he was sympathetic to the temple for other reasons. This might explain why, as we will see, he is so harsh about worship that is disconnected from the temple.

I. Prophets and Temples: Preliminary Thoughts Ample evidence exists pointing to a close connection between prophets and temples in the ancient Near East. As the Mari and Neo-Assyrian archives show, temples often constituted the institutional home for prophets.3 As van der Toorn has shown, the oracles from Mari prophets were normally delivered in a temple in front of the cult statue, where the cult statue was understood to be the speaker and the prophet the mouthpiece.4 The Neo-Assyrian prophecies depict prophets within temples as well, speaking on behalf of various deities, especially Ishtar.5 Similarly, the Hebrew Bible associates prophets with cult shrines and temples. In the narrative literature, figures such as Samuel, Elisha, and Huldah, to name just a few, are all connected with sanctuaries or temples in some way. Additionally, we find evidence that the so-called writing prophets were interested in cultic temple matters as well, including prophets like such as Joel, Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi, Ezekiel, and Jeremiah. Hence, the conclusion that some prophets in ancient Israel had deep associations with the temple is not surprising.6 However, this does not mean that prophets exercised an official role in the worship of the Jerusalem temple. Indeed, the Pentateuchal literature devoted to cultic activity outlines no role whatsoever for prophets.7 On the other hand, certain psalms seem to suggest cultic prophecy.8 Consequently, we must be cautious in asserting institutional connections between prophets and the cult in Israel. When we turn to Isa 1–39, we see that explicit language referencing the temple is relatively rare in this first part of the book. The term ‫היכל‬, “temple,” appears only once

3

See NISSINEN 2017, 201–23. VAN DER TOORN 2000, 80–82. 5 See PARPOLA 1997, XIII–XXXVI. 6 This does not require us to conclude that such prophets were so-called cultic prophets, whatever that might mean. For the classic but now outdated view on Israelite cultic prophets, see JOHNSON 1962. 7 See, e.g., Leviticus, which does not include a single reference to ‫נביאים‬. 8 HILBER 2005. He is particularly interested in psalms using first-person divine speech as possible examples of cultic prophecy. 4

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with the reference to the temple in Jerusalem. However, that one occurrence is in a theologically central text in the book: Isa 6:1, the previously mentioned inaugural vision. “In the year of king Uzziah’s death I saw YHWH sitting on a throne high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple (‫)היכל‬.”9 Terms such as ‫בית יהוה‬, “house of YHWH,” or ‫בית האלהים‬, “house of God” (also the shortened ‫ )בית‬appear primarily in Isa 36–39 (37:1, 14; 38:20, 22), though there is one additional reference in the interesting passage in Isa 2:2–4 which invites the nations to come to “the house of the God of Jacob” (‫ )בית אלהי יעקב‬to learn Torah and peace. Parallel to this phrase in Isa 2:3 is the ‫הר יהוה‬, “the mountain of YHWH” (see 2:2 also). The temple is central to this future vision of peace and comity among the nations. Interestingly, however, its function here is arguably not as a place of Israelite religious cult, but as a location of teaching and instruction that produces universal harmony.10 More numerous are the references to ‫הר ציון‬, “Mount Zion” or simply ‫ההר‬, “the mountain.” Since this phrase or term can simply function as a synonym for Jerusalem, not all such texts have the temple in view, but several do.11 This brief linguistic survey reveals that the temple does not appear often, but in several of those cases, it appears in texts that are theologically or literarily significant in Isaiah. Given the relatively few texts reflective of the temple, we might ask if Isaiah says much in the way of critique of cultic practice. Again, the evidence reveals that the book does not contain an abundance of such texts. Both Isa 2:20 and 31:7 express expectations that in a future day the people will throw away the idols (‫ )אלילים‬that they have made (see also 2:8, 18). A similar expectation following two of the ubiquitous “on that day” expansionary introductions in Isaiah is found in Isa 17:7–8 and 27:9.12 In these, someone has inserted a future expectation that people (‫ )האדם‬will seek YHWH and abandon their idols, especially the asherim (‫ )אשרים‬and incense altars (‫)חמנים‬. These two texts share important similarities: both are directed at Jacob/Israel (17:4; 27:9), suggesting that the destruction of the northern kingdom centered at Samaria generated both of these later additions (at what point and by whom is impossible to say). Additionally, both use the identical phrase ‫אשרים וחמנים‬, “asherim and incense altars” as well as ‫מזבח‬, “altar.” In the case of the shared phrase ‫א שרים וחמנים‬, Isa 17:8 and 27:9 are the only two places in the prophetic literature where this phrase occurs, strongly suggesting common authorship in my view. These two texts likely constitute reflections on the aftermath of Samaria’s conquest by Assyria linked to inappropriate cultic activity reminiscent of the Deuteronomistic Historian’s assessment (2 Kgs 17:3, 7–23). We would perhaps be justified in including the anti-idol texts in Isa 2:8, 18, 20 and 31:7 in this expansion as well, given that these are also expansions envisioning the future that ostensibly have Jacob/Israel in view (cf. 2:2; 31:7). Indeed, both Isa 2:8 and

9

WILLIAMSON 2005, 123–44. BLENKINSOPP 2000a, 190. 11 Among those that do seem to have cultic practice in view are 8:18; 10:12; 11:9; 14:32; 16:1; 18:7; 24:23; 25:6, 7, 10; 27:13; 29:8; 30:29; 31:4, 9; 33:20; 37:32. 12 Blenkinsopp calls Isa 27:7–13 “one of the more obscure pericopes in the book.” The first part of the unit, vv. 7–11, offers a reflection on Israel’s conquest by Assyria. See BLENKINSOPP 2000a, 376. 10

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17:8 use the identical phrase “what their fingers have made” (‫ )עשו אצבעתיו‬to refer to idols, the only two such usages in the book of Isaiah. What can we conclude from this brief survey of the linguistic data? These passages appear to offer later reflection (how much later is difficult to know) on the northern kingdom of Israel’s demise that understands the cause as aberrant worship involving idols, asherim, and incense stands, among other things. The inclusion of these passages here would likely have stood as a warning to Jerusalem and Judah encouraging them to avoid the same fate (see 1:18–20). It is noteworthy that none of these texts explicitly link this cultic behavior with a temple, Jerusalem’s or otherwise.

II. Destruction in Isaiah 1–39 Is the Temple Implicated? We turn now to Isaiah 1–39’s rhetoric of destruction. What does the language Isaiah uses about destruction reveal? What historical contexts do such threats reflect? Must all such texts be regarded as redactional additions reflective of the events of the early sixth century or do some originate in the prophet’s eighth century context? What is (are) the cause(s) of such destruction in Isaiah’s view (prophet or book)? Is the temple implicated in this destruction? Let us begin by noting that the destruction of Israel, Judah, or Jerusalem represents a consistent and persistent theme in First Isaiah. Isaiah 1–31 includes, by my count, at least twenty-five different passages speaking to this theme.13 Not all of these passages address the topic in the same way, however. A few focus on Israel, others deal with Judah and Jerusalem, and some are ambiguous. Of those that are concerned with Judah’s and Jerusalem’s destruction, we cannot always be certain what historical context they have in view. We must resist the urge to link all of them with the sixth century Babylonian destruction because both the Syrian-Israelite crisis of the 730s BCE and the Assyrian threat in 701 BCE undoubtedly offer two likely contexts for these sentiments as well. To address this issue in the book comprehensively would require far more space than is available in this modest study. The relevant texts offer quite a panoply of images, including Jerusalem as a heap of ruins (3:6), a vineyard whose hedge has been cut exposing it to threatening foes (5:1– 7), a land “shaved” (7:20), and overtaken with bristles and thorn bushes (7:23–25). One also reads of YHWH’s extended hand (5:25) and fighting against his own people (29:1–4) because they have become objects of his wrath (10:5–19). In a related vein, YHWH uses Assyria as the “rod” of his anger against people (10:5, 24–27). Twice, we apparently encounter the itineraries (real or imagined) of advancing armies (5:26–30; 10:27b–32). This brief survey demonstrates that this theme occurs with some regularity in the first part of the book. At least some, if not most, of these passages go back to

13

The list would include at least 1:18–20; 3:6; 3:13–4:1; 5:1–7, 8–10, 11–13, 25, 26–30; 6:11–13; 7:18–25; 9:8–12, 18–21; 10:1–4, 5–19, 20–23, 24–27a, 27b–32; 22:1–14; 24:1–23; 26:20–21; 27:2–5; 28:23–29; 29:1–4; 30:8–17; 31:1–3. A case could be made for including others as well.

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Isaiah himself, proving that the notion that Isaiah was exclusively a prophet of Heilsorakeln is mistaken.14 When necessary, he could and did offer strong denunciations and threats. The question that we are asking in this study is this: Does Isaiah implicate the temple in any of these threats of destruction? Additionally, is the temple included in any of these threats as an object of destruction? If we mean by this the sort of criticism one finds in Jeremiah and Ezekiel, where worship abuses in the temple form the rationale for destruction and, therefore, allow or require the temple to become the object of destruction, then the short answer is no. Isaiah 1–39 does contain criticism over cultic abuse, notably idolatry (e.g., 1:29; 2:8, 18), but Isaiah does not appear to link these practices with the temple, at least not explicitly. Moreover, at the risk of oversimplification, I would argue that for Isaiah the causes of potential destruction are rooted principally in two sources: 1) social injustice and 2) a failure to follow his military and political advice. Like his other eighth century contemporaries Amos and Micah, Isaiah is a strong critic of social injustice. He could denounce elites who enacted laws disadvantaging the poor and economically vulnerable. He also denounces political and military leaders for failing to follow his advice about the required course of action in the face of military threats from Syria, Israel, and Assyria. At this point, I would like to offer a hugely important “however.” I have been making the case that Isaiah does not connect cultic abuse in the temple with threats of Jerusalem’s destruction. He does, however, fault the institution of the temple and its leadership for failures in another important way. To understand this, we need to think about the intersection of religious ritual and institutional authority. 15 As sociologists and anthropologists of religion have long noted, institutions confer legitimacy on ritual actions and, by extension, their participants.16 Such institutions guard carefully who participates and what is ritually authoritative. In the performance of sanctioned rituals, institutions confer theological approval upon the participants. Indeed, they become sites of religious endorsement. Moreover, such rituals undergird and sanction social realities by providing theological assent to the status quo. In Isaiah, participation in rituals authorized or sanctioned by the temple amounted to institutional sanction of and by the participants. Understanding the role and function of religious institutions in this way offers the theological and social coordinates that help us understand more adequately how Isaiah does include the temple in his critique about Jerusalem’s society and becomes an important aspect of his threat of destruction. I wish to focus on two texts, Isa 1:10–17 and 28:1–22, to illustrate this point. These passages offer two examples in which Isaiah implicated the temple in Jerusalem’s

14 It seems clear that later tradents have sought to show how the rejection of Isaiah’s words of advice to Ahaz that all would be well in the face of the Syrian and Israelite aggression if the king would trust YHWH through re-casting his mission in 6:1–11 as one of ensuring that people would reject his words. The hardening saying of 6:9–10 is especially important here. Destruction and disaster would predictably follow. See UHLIG 2009, 96–116. 15 Especially important in this regard is the well-known essay by DOUGLAS 1970, 54–68. See also the broader discussion in BELL 1997, esp. 91–136. 16 This is why excommunication is such a powerful sanction.

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potential destruction, in the former indirectly and in the latter directly. An analysis of these through the lens of ritual helps to clarify the issues. Isaiah 1:10–17 constitutes instruction by YHWH (lit. ‫תורת אלהינו‬, v. 10) proclaiming the deity’s disdain for Jerusalem’s cultic practices.17 “Hear the word of YHWH, you rulers of Sodom! Listen to the teaching of our God, you people of Gomorrah! What to me is the multitude of your sacrifices? says the YHWH; I have had enough of burnt offerings of rams and the fat of fed beasts; I do not delight in the blood of bulls, or of lambs, or of goats. When you come to appear before me, who asked this from your hand? Trample my courts no more; bringing offerings is futile; incense is an abomination to me. New moon and sabbath and calling of convocation— I cannot endure solemn assemblies with iniquity. Your new moons and your appointed festivals my soul hates; they have become a burden to me, I am weary of bearing them. When you stretch out your hands, I will hide my eyes from you; even though you make many prayers, I will not listen; your hands are full of blood. Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean; remove the evil of your doings from before my eyes; cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow.” (Isa 1:10–17 NRSV modified)

The cultic activities listed here constitute regular, prescribed sacrifice and worship. Hence, it is more than a little surprising to read in v. 14 that YHWH “hates” (‫)שנאה נפשי‬ such practices. Why would this portion of the introductory chapter of Isaiah take such a dim view of these otherwise licit worship activities? What circumstances would give rise to this sentiment? The answer appears to lie at the end of the section in vv. 15b–17, where we read of the presence of violence18 and injustice. YHWH demands that the 17

Isaiah 1 is a composite text that most scholars think has was crafted in large part out of earlier Isaian oracles that have been re-positioned to this opening chapter. Additionally, the chapter has been written to function as an opening for the entire book, which means that its present form is the result of late editorial activity responsible for the shaping of the book. Isa 1:10–17 is generally regarded as eighth century material (with the possible exception of v. 10) that can be traced to Isaiah himself. For a discussion, see WILLIAMSON 2006, 7–11 and SWEENEY 1996, 63–70. 18 The charge that the community’s hands are “full of blood” signifies violence, not the blood of sacrifice. The plural ‫ דמים‬always points to bloodshed. By contrast, the blood of sacrifice always uses the singular ‫דם‬. See WILLIAMSON 2006, 98.

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community eliminate evil and embody justice. Only through such remedies will YHWH find the community acceptable. This implies that Isaiah places justice ahead of cultic practice in the hierarchy of required behaviors. To reverse this hierarchical order nullifies the efficacy of cultic ritual. If this interpretation is correct, then it becomes clear that this passage does not constitute a wholesale rejection of cultic practice, but rather a certain kind of religiosity that regards ritual cultic performance as sufficient without accompanying moral behaviors. Indeed, Isaiah was not opposed to cultic ritual, especially in times of crisis, as 22:12–14 make clear. Viewed from the perspective of the function of ritual, Isa 1:10–17’s attack on legitimate temple worship activities takes on a different hue. I agree with those who do not think this criticism constitutes a rejection of the temple and its cult per se but the language remains striking.19 As I noted above, the worship activities outlined in vv. 11– 15 constituted aspects of regular temple cultic life.20 This observation is important because it signaled that the community, and especially the leaders, Isaiah seeks to castigate were participating in the normal religious life of the community as if all was well. As such, it suggested institutionally authorized divine approval of the community and its leaders, a fact with which Isaiah disagreed vehemently. These shared religious rituals offered the illusion that elite society in Jerusalem had the sanction of YHWH. It did not, however. Hence, the demand that such ritual cease was aimed both at calling into question the moral standing of these participating elites and loosening the glue of the social reality to which Isaiah objects. This explains why Isaiah’s criticism of these rituals prescribed as part of the fabric of worship can simultaneously exclude explicit mention of priests and temple. They were not, primarily, the objects of his ire because their theological legitimacy was not what he aimed to destabilize. However, their complicity in the situation would not have gone unnoticed. Isaiah does not hate the rituals of the temple; rather, he hates the rituals of the temple when the leaders and people of Jerusalem participate because of their moral taint. Verses 16–20 make this clear. The temple’s role in facilitating theological approval despite this need for repentance indirectly implicates the temple in condoning such immorality, if only indirectly. It is only indirectly implicated because the primary focus of Isaiah’s criticism was directed at the participants, not the institution, a fact made clear by the corrective in 1:18–20. That is, the remedy is not institutional, but rather social and behavioral. Nevertheless, the temple’s role in this state of affairs cannot be dismissed. Isaiah 28 is a different matter. The chapter begins with a so-called woe oracle (vv. 1–3) denouncing the northern kingdom of Israel, here called Ephraim (28:1). At a later point the chapter transitions to a critique of Jerusalem’s leaders (see 28:14).21 Verses 19

See BARTON 2005, 111–22; and BIBB 2004, 31–43. Harsh criticism of the cult is found in other eighth-century BCE prophets; see Hosea 4:6; Amos 5:21–24; and Micah 6:6–8. 20 The context is not a military crisis but regular temple activities. On the other hand, the book of Joel delivers a prophetic argument in favor of the temple’s role in times of crisis (fasting, sackcloth, etc.); see, e.g., Joel 1:13–14; 2:15–17. 21 Scholars are divided over where this transition from Israel to Judah occurs in the chapter. See the discussion in ROBERTS 2015, 350–56.

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7–8 denounce priests and prophets because they offer erring judgment induced by drunkenness.22 These also reel with wine and stagger with strong drink; the priest and the prophet reel with strong drink, they are confused with wine, they stagger with strong drink; they err in vision, they stumble in giving judgment. All tables are covered with filthy vomit; no place is clean.

(Isa 28:7–8 NRSV)

The context is sometimes described as analogous to a marzeah, the drinking party that appears in several textual traditions throughout the ancient Near East (Amos 6:7; Jer 16:5; see, among others, KTU 1. 21, 114; 3.9; 4.642).23 After quoting his drunken opponents’ mocking of his message (28:9–10), Isaiah proceeds to offer a severe warning that Assyria will soon “speak to this people” (28:11). The climax of the chapter occurs in vv. 14–22 as Isaiah takes Jerusalem’s leadership to task for cutting a covenant with either death/Mot or the Egyptian goddess Mut.24 Several critical issues complicate any assessment of these verses from the perspective of our question about the Jerusalem temple. First, does 28:7–8 refer to priests in Jerusalem or to priests in Samaria? Second, if the criticism is of Jerusalem’s priests, does this implicate the temple for Jerusalem’s potential disaster? In my view, the priests and prophets in question are Jerusalemites, not Samarians based on the change of audience beginning with v. 7. If this interpretation is correct, this is the only place in First Isaiah where the prophet denounces Jerusalem priests explicitly. The reason for this is apparent not only because of their drunken stupor, but because of their role in the covenant that Jerusalem’s leadership has established which they think justifies their pursuit of Egyptian assistance in the face of the looming Assyrian threat (see also 29:1–6; 30:1–3). From Isaiah’s perspective, forging such an alliance constitutes folly that will only lead to disaster (28:22). There can be no doubt that the priestly temple leadership is included in this critique. However, Isaiah’s criticism is aimed principally at their support for a disastrous political policy, not cultic missteps. He directs his ire at their complicity in this disastrous policy; the fact that they are party to the “covenant with Mot” grants religious legitimacy to a course of action at odds with Isaiah’s sense of YHWH’s plan. The case in Isaiah 28 is different and more complicated but ultimately related to the same issue of institutionally sanctioned ritual. In this text, we should also recall that Isaiah includes priests presumably attached to the Jerusalem temple in his harsh invec-

22

For the role of the prophets in this passage, see HIBBARD 2018, 26–39. LEWIS, 80–94. See also MCLAUGHLIN 2014. The question of how much the marzeah should be associated with cults of the dead remains debated. 24 Most interpreters understand the ‫ ברית את מות‬of v. 15 to mean “covenant with death,” perhaps a reference to the Canaanite god Mot. Recently, Christopher Hays has argued that the covenant also refers to the Egyptian mother goddess Mut and, therefore, contains a double reference. On the different interpretive possibilities for understanding this section, see BLENKINSOPP 2000b, 472–83; also HAYS 2010, 212–40 and IDEM 2015, 311. 23

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tive (see 28:7). Does this not constitute a criticism of the temple, at least obliquely? Again, the view from the perspective of ritual provides assistance in understanding the critique here. We noted above that the condemnations of the actions of priests and prophets in this chapter is associated in the minds of many scholars with the necromancy and the ritual drinking party or marzeah as well as the covenant established with death and/or Mut (28:15, 18). All of these activities are clearly rituals, albeit of different sorts. Inasmuch as priests were party to this arrangement, the agreement must have been seen as has having the institutional sanction of the temple. If this is the case, it becomes (part of) the institutional context for understanding the covenant with death/Mut that one reads about in these verses, a covenant meant to ensure a future differing from YHWH’s plan as articulated by Isaiah. It was also customary in the ancient Near East to deposit a copy of treaties in temples. Whether a copy of this covenant was deposited in the Jerusalem temple is impossible to know, but the priestly involvement in its creation makes this a possibility. Priestly participation in such actions violated their role as mediators of the relationship between YHWH and his people. Finally, if Hays is correct that the rites include necromancy, this also made them party to ritual acts elsewhere prohibited as part of YHWH worship.25 To be sure, the ritual activity in Isaiah 28 differs from that in Isa 1:11–15. That does not negate the similar social function. As in Isa 1:10–17, we see in Isaiah 28 criticism of ritual actions comprising the glue to a social compact. Most scholars argue that the passage should be situated in the aftermath of the Assyrian aggression against Judah and Jerusalem in 701 BCE. On this showing, the priests and prophets of v. 7 had “lost faith in YHWH’s ability to protect the city,” prompting them to participate in covenantmaking rituals associated with either Mot or the Egyptian deity Mut as part of the compact with Egypt to support Jerusalem against Assyria. If this reading is correct, then the passage unquestionably refers to a ritual setting. Although the specific details of the rituals in question differ from Isa 1:10–17, the theological and social function of the rituals would be similar and would also confer the institutional authority of the temple on the ritual enactment of the agreement. If the interpretation offered here of these two texts is correct, then we have evidence that Isaiah was willing to offer criticism of the temple in his threats of Jerusalem’s potential destruction. Both Isa 1:10–17 and 28:1–22 point to ritual actions undertaken with the temple’s sanction. In the first case, the threat of destruction finds a basis in the failure of Jerusalem’s leaders to repent and change their ways. However, their participation in temple cultic activities obscured the need for such change. Because the ritual actions noted in Isaiah 1 are unexceptional, the temple’s role in the threat of destruction is indirect at best. Conversely, In Isaiah 28, Isaiah criticizes the priests and other leaders directly for ritual activities meant to legitimize a political arrangement at odds with Isaiah’s prophetic pronouncements. Here, the temple leadership’s role in establishing the agreement with death and/or Mut opens the temple to the charge that it has abandoned its institutional function as the location of YHWH’s authority in favor of abetting those who seek other sources of aid from the divine world. In light of priestly involvement in the rituals of the drinking party and the establishment of the non25

Ibid., 307.

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Yahwistic covenant, Isaiah implicates the temple directly for potential destruction. That Jerusalem survived the Assyrian assault in 701 BCE occurs despite these priestly and prophetic errors and are, in Isaiah’s view, an example of God’s decision to act salvifically despite the actions of the leadership of his own temple.

Bibliography BARTON, J. (2005): The Prophets and the Cult, in: J. DAY (ed.), Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel, (LHBOTS 422), London, 111–22. BELL, C. (1997): Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions, New York. BIBB, B. (2004): The Prophetic Critique of Ritual in Old Testament Theology, in: L. GRABBE/ A. OGDEN BELLIS (eds.), The Priests in the Prophets: The Portrayal of Priest, Prophets and Other Religious Specialists in the Latter Prophets, (JSOTSup), London, 31–43. BLENKINSOPP, J. (2000a): Isaiah 1–39, (AYBC), New Haven, CT. – (2000b): Judah’s Covenant with Death (Isaiah XXVIII 14–22), VT 50/4, 472–83. DOUGLAS, M. (1970): Group and Grid, in: IDEM, Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology, London, 54–68. HAYS, C. (2010): The Covenant with Mut: A New Interpretation of Isaiah 28:1–22, VT 60/2, 212–40. – (2015): Covenant with Death: Death in the Iron Age II and Its Rhetorical Uses in Proto-Isaiah, Grand Rapids, MI. HIBBARD, T. (2018): To Err is Human, Unless You’re a Prophet: Isaiah and Micah on Prophetic Opposition, ZAW 130/1, 26–39. HILBER, J. (2005): Cultic Prophecy in the Psalms, (BZAW), Berlin. JOHNSON, A. (1962): The Cultic Prophet in Ancient Israel, Cardiff. LEWIS, T. (1989): Cults of the Dead in Ancient Israel and Ugarit, (HSM), Atlanta, GA. MCLAUGHLIN, J. (2014): The Marzeah in the Prophetic Literature, (VTSup), Leiden. NISSINEN, M. (2017): Ancient Prophecy: Near Eastern, Biblical, and Greek Perspectives, Oxford. PARPOLA, S. (1997): Assyrian Prophecies, (SAA), Helsinki. ROBERTS, J. (1997): Blindfolding the Prophets: Political Resistance to First Isaiah’s Oracles in the Light of Ancient Near Eastern Attitudes Toward Oracles, in: J.-G. HENITZ (ed.), Oracles et Prophéties dans l’Antiquitè: Actes du Colloque de Strasbourg 15–17 juin 1995, (Université des Sciences humaines de Strasbourg, Travaux du Centre de Recherche sur le Proche-Orient et la Grèce antiques 15), Paris, 135–46. – (2015): First Isaiah, (Hermeneia), Minneapolis, MN. SWEENEY, M. (1996): Isaiah 1–39, (FOTL), Grand Rapids, MI. UHLIG, T. (2009): The Theme of Hardening in the Book of Isaiah, (FAT II), Tübingen. VAN DER TOORN, K. (2000): Mesopotamian Prophecy Between Immanence and Transcendence: A Comparison of Old Babylonian and Neo-Assyrian Prophecy, in: M. NISSINEN (ed.), Prophecy in Its Ancient Near Eastern Context: Mesopotamian, Biblical, and Arabian Perspectives, (SymS), Atlanta, GA, 71–87. WILDBERGER, H. (2002): Isaiah 28–39, (CC), Minneapolis, MN. WILLIAMSON, H.G.M. (2005): Temple and Worship in Isaiah 6, in: J. DAY (ed.), Temple and Worship in Biblical Israel, (LHBOTS), London, 123–44. – (2006): Isaiah 1–5, (ICC), London.

Continuity of Worship The Portrayal of the Temple and Its Cult in Isaiah 40–55 Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer* Isa 40–55 displays a marked absence of references to temple, priests, and Levites. There are also hardly any references to a sacrificial cult and organized worship. In fact, with the single exception of Isa 44:28b, it is fair to say that Isa 40–55 neglects the Jerusalem temple and its cult. This essay confirms yet also nuances this statement. I contend that rather than neglecting the cult, Isa 40–55 transforms the traditional cultic imagery – normally associated with sanctuary and clergy – and in part also replaces it with new and innovative vision. In my view, the silence in Isa 40–55 vis-à-vis the temple and its cult, in conjunction with its reconstruction of cultic language, can best be explained by a Judahite origin of Isa 40–55. The people in Judah, who had survived the destruction of 586 BCE, were left without traditional cultic leadership. This situation enabled and possibly also encouraged them to imagine the restoration of their capital city in a non-traditional and largely non-cultic fashion. They dreamt of a future where Israel’s worship went beyond the temple building and its personnel; instead it took cosmic dimensions and became an integral part of nature.

I. Methodology I treat Isa 40–55 as a distinct textual unit, i.e. as a set of texts that are held together by their early post-monarchic dating and their shared thematic focus on God’s compassion for his people, his return to Zion, and his ingathering of the exiles. I do not postulate single authorship of Isa 40–55, and I am open to the possibility of a gradual history of composition. There may, for instance, be some chronological overlap between the material in Isa 40–55 and that in 56–66. I furthermore view the boundary between the two sections at the end of Isa 55:13 to be artificial insofar as clear links exist between Isa 55:1–13 and Isa 56:1–8. In this regard, I follow M. Marvin Sweeney and others who view Isa 55 as a literary bridge between Isa 40–54 and Isa 56–66.1 My ensuing investigation is historical-critical in character inasmuch as I assume that most of the material in Isa 40–55 was composed in and thus reflects views prevalent at the end of the sixth century BCE; a different dating of these texts would yield * Abbreviations in this essay follow the Society of Biblical Literature Handbook of Style (2nd ed., Atlanta, 2014). 1 Cf. BLENKINSOPP 2002, 298; SWEENEY 2016, 232.

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different results. In parallel, my investigation is literary in the sense that it focuses on the portrayals of the temple and its cult in the texts of Isa 40–55. These portrayals relate to a hoped-for future and thus do not necessarily mirror the facts on the ground.

II. History of Research: Isaiah and the Temple My investigation of the attitude towards the cult and the temple in Isa 40–55 is tied to traditio-historical issues: in what social and spatial location(s) were the various strands of Isa 40–55 composed and with which cultic tradition(s) did they interact? I shall survey the latter issue in detail here; I shall postpone my investigation of the former issue until the end of this essay. The similarity of Isa 40–55 and the Psalter in terms of language and theology has greatly shaped the scholarly discussion of the attitude towards the cult in the former.2 As I hope to show, though, our assessment of this affinity and its repercussion for the interpretation of Isa 40–55 requires caution. A shared manner of expressing praise to God with the Psalter does not in itself entail a favourable attitude towards the establishment of traditional priestly temple worship. II.A. An Autumn Festival Several predominantly earlier scholars argued that the hymnic quality of some of the oracles in Isa 40–55 testified to their cultic setting. I. Engnell, for example, claimed that the material in Isa 40–55 constitutes a prophetic imitation of the temple liturgy. For instance, the Servant Songs are examples of “re-modelling of a liturgical composition belonging to the Annual Festival.” What we have in the current Psalter are later, reworked traditions of these earlier liturgical forms.3 S. Mowinckel likewise associated Isa 40–55 with the presumed pre-exilic festivals of YHWH in the Jerusalem temple, most notably the autumn New Year festival, the festival of YHWH’s epiphany, and the festival of YHWH’s enthronement.4 Several more recent scholars have returned to and modified these ideas. For N. Whybray, Isa 53 corresponds to the shape of the “individual psalm of thanksgiving” (to follow H. Gunkel’s categories).5 As many psalms of thanksgiving do, Isa 53 carries elements of lament over past events.6 In contrast, J. Vincent, challenging Engnell’s view, argues instead that Isa 40–55 was the real Jerusalemite cult-prophecy (“echte kultprophetische Dichtung”) that stood in direct continuity with pre-exilic temple poetry.7 J. Eaton, detecting clear influence of what he calls pre-exilic liturgical language upon Isa 40–55, accepts Mowinckel’s and Engnell’s theories regarding the existence of an autumn festival. In his view, this assumed autumnal New Year festival tradition, which proclaimed YHWH’s kingship in Zion and his salvific purpose, underlies all of 2

A useful summary can be found in BLENKINSOPP 2019, 57–67. ENGNELL 1948, 56–57. 4 MOWINCKEL 1951, 98. 5 WHYBRAY 1978, 110, 132, following, to a significant extent, BEGRICH 1963, 63–65. 6 WHYBRAY 1978, 115. 7 VINCENT 1977, 256. 3

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Isa 40–55. This pre-exilic tradition is, however, transformed insofar as it is now the Servant who is to be enthroned and thus to become a symbol of YHWH’s kingship.8 Most recently, M. Goulder has suggested that the entire book of Isaiah constitutes a liturgical work that was “proclaimed, recited and adapted” from year to year at the Feats of Tabernacles.9 Due to its themes of victory and redemption, so Goulder, Isa 40–48 was proclaimed during the latter part of the festival week, which is characterized by these same themes.10 II.B. The Hymnic Quality of Isaiah 40–55 Exploring the affinity between Isa 40–55 and the Psalter from a traditio-historical perspective, J. Begrich highlights the multiplicity of literary genres in Isa 40–55.11 He notes, for instance, the familiarity of Isa 40–55 with mythological creation traditions and the Exodus traditions, as well as with covenant theology and the traditions of Israel as God’s chosen people.12 In parallel, Begrich argues that the presence of hymns, laments, and assuring oracles in Isa 40–55 testifies to influence by lyric traditions.13 The presence of these genres in Isa 40–55, together with the absence of other speech forms that elsewhere characterize the prophetic literature, points towards its (partly) non-prophetic origin.14 Begrich’s study raises wider issues concerning the specific literary genres Gattungen and speech forms in Isa 40–55 and their connection with the Psalter.15 Blenkinsopp identifies four “Psalm elements” in Isa 40–55: 1) direct address to God in praise and thanksgiving, 2) the presence of languages and themes in psalms, 3) context, and 4) prosody. His discussion focuses on Isa 42:10–12 (cf. Pss 96; 98 – the whole world is invited to join the praise of God); 44:23 (cf. Pss 96; 98; 149 – the nature is praising God); 45:8 (cf. Ps 85 – God’s power is manifest in the cosmos); Isa 49:13 (God’s compassion for his afflicted people); Isa 51:3 (cf. Ps 74:2–3 – God will remember Mt. Zion and take note of its perpetual ruins); 51:9–11 (Ps 74:13–15 – God is victorious in combat over the mythological chaos creatures); Isa 52:7–10 (cf. Ps 99 – praise of God as king, enthroned in Zion).16

8

EATON 1959, 152–55; IDEM, 1979. GOULDER 2004, vii–viii. 10 Ibid., 111. 11 BEGRICH 1963, 14–95. 12 Ibid., 90–92. 13 Ibid., 14. 14 Ibid., 67. 15 See, e.g., MELUGIN 1976. Melugin touches upon the issue whether DI imitates the cultic genre but ultimately states the DI’s use of earlier genres tells us little about his own setting (ibid., 21–22). Other studies examining the form-critical similarities between Isa 40–55 and select psalms include MATHEUS 1990. 16 BLENKINSOPP 2019, 67–74. 9

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II.C. Deutero-Isaiah as a Cultic Persona Several exegetes argue for priestly/Levitical authorship of Isa 40–55. This view is mainly informed by the thematic and form-critical similarities between Isa 40–55 and the Psalter. C. Westermann, noting the resemblance between Isa 40:7 and, e.g., Ps 90, argues that the author of Isa 40–55 was familiar with the Psalter, which “played a leading part in the exiles’ serviced of worship” (even though Ezekiel contains no trace thereof); the Isaianic author may thus have been a temple singer.17 H.-J. Hermisson likewise locates the author of Isa 40–55 among a group of cultic singers, as suggested by the affinity in style and form between Isa 40–55 and the Psalter, as well as by the anonymity of their respective authors.18 In contrast, E. Heßler detects in Isa 40:6–8 a connection to the priests in Jerusalem (Isa 40:6–8). In her view, the author of Isa 40– 55 saw himself as a teacher and understood his ministry in priestly terms. Ultimately, however, she argues for a connection to the temple and cult in Elephantine.19 A few scholars have detected similarities between Isa 40–55 and specific subgroups of liturgical texts/cultic personnel. U. Berges proposes seeing Isa 40–55 as the product of the temple singers, who, as must be assumed, were among the deportees in Babylon (cf. Ps 137:3). Based on the striking likeness between Lamentations and Isa 40–55, Berges postulates that the exilic “Levitical singers” sought to create in Isa 40– 55 a positive response to the laments composed by their professional brothers who had remained in Judah.20 From a different perspective, B. Weber argues that the thematic interdependency between the Asaphite Psalms (Pss 50; 73–83; 90–106*) and Isa 40– 66 suggests that a group of (Asaphite) temple singers was responsible for composing, transmitting, and/or editing the exilic and the post-exilic portions of Isa 40–66.21 Looking more broadly at the connection between prophecy and music making, J. Kleinig highlights the fact that Chronicles connects the music-making of Asaph, Heman, and Jeduthun with prophecy (1 Chron 25:1) and refers to musicians as “seers” in 1 Chron 25:5 (Heman), 2 Chron 29:30 (Asaph) and 2 Chron 35:15 (Asaph, Heman and Jeduthun).22 In his view, although Chronicles clearly is a later development, it may nonetheless preserve earlier traditions. II.D. Response I certainly do not deny the affinity between the language of Isa 40–55 and the Psalter. In fact, I agree that the theology of worship in Isa 40–55 resembles what we encounter in many psalms. At the same time, an identification of the authors of Isa 40–55 with cultic personnel rests on rather meagre textual support. Furthermore, as J. Blenkinsopp points out:

17

WESTERMANN 1966, 11. HERMISSON 1999, 684. 19 HEßLER 1988, 296–99; 425–26. 20 BERGES 2008, 38–43. 21 WEBER 2009, 456–87. 22 KLEINIG 1993, 148–49. 18

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The polemical and disputatious tone throughout [Isaiah 40–55] is foreign to temple psalmody […] and the combined themes of Babylon and the commissioning of Cyrus by the God of Israel are the subject matter of prophetic rather than liturgical concerns.23

Thus, until more research has been done in this area, a cult-prophetic circle of authors behind Isa 40–55 must remain no more than a possibility. I also contest the inevitability of concluding that 1) Isa 40–55 envisages a temple cult, and that 2) its theology originated among the priests and Levites. Instead, what we have in the Psalter may at times be adaptations of traditions that first saw light in Isa 40–55. A case in point is Ps 51 that offers a remarkable parallel to the theology of Isa 40–55, yet with a final caveat. Its date of composition is likely post-monarchic, as evidenced by the reference in verse 17 to the rebuilding of the city walls (see below). Verse 4 [Eng. 2] is a plea directly to God by the psalmist to “wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin” (‫))הרבה( ]הרב [ כבסני מעוני ומחטאתי טהרני‬, cf. Isa 44:22 (below). Verse 18 [Eng. 16] further speaks of how God does not delight in sacrifices and takes no pleasure in burnt offering (‫)כי לא־תחפץ זבח ואתנה עולה לא תרצה‬, cf. Isa 43:22–25 (below). Verse 20 [Eng. 18] mentions the rebuilding of the walls of Jerusalem and how God will prosper Jerusalem (‫)היטיבה ברצונך את־ציון תבנה חומות ירושלם‬, cf. 49:16 (below). Verse 21 [Eng. 19], however, has no parallel in Isa 40–55 as it combines all the above-mentioned theological themes with a clear and unmistakable reference to the significance of the restored cult: ‫אז תחפץ זבחי־צדק עולה וכליל אז יעלו על־מזבחך פרים‬ Then you will delight in the sacrifices of the righteous, in burnt offerings offered whole; then bulls will be offered on your altar. (NIV)

Ps 51 thus testifies to a combination of the priestly emphasis on the cult with its temple and its sacrifices that has no equivalence in Isa 40–55. In sum, the authors of the Psalter and Isaiah in all likelihood drew from shared themes and traditions, such as Zion traditions.24 In the rare cases of direct dependency, there is no single direction dependency for the two corpora: some psalms, such as the Korahite psalms (Pss 42–49; 84–85; 87–88),25 may stem from the first temple and thus precede chronologically the composition of Isa 40–55; other psalms are clearly postmonarchic and witness the influence of Isa 40–55. Cases of direct dependency must therefore be determined on a case-by-case scenario. Moreover, an individual psalm may attest to internal gradual growth and mutual influence, with a monarchic early core that was later supplemented by post-monarchic redactional material.26 Thus, some psalmic material may form a source of influence to Isa 40–55, whereas other psalms, in their entirety or in part, may constitute reworkings of traditions that first saw their light in Isa 40–55. In view of this complicated scenario, it should not be a foregone

23

BLENKINSOPP 2019, 67. See, e.g., KÖRTING 2006; BLENKINSOPP 2019, 87–105. For the criticism of a single “Zion motif” in the prophetic literature, see also POULSEN 2015, 189–91 (conclusion). 25 See further WANKE 1966, 1–5 (introduction). 26 See, e.g., ZENGER 1994, 195. Cf. STEINER 2012, 690, 700–701, who isolates a basic pre-exilic layer and a redactional exilic layer of the Korahite Ps 48. 24

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conclusion – as many earlier scholars argued – that select psalms preserve the worship of pre-exilic worship in the first temple. The Psalter, in its final form, is better understood as a compromise as it reveals how the thoughts of Isa 40–55 were combined with the existing priestly traditions and, as such, incorporated in the temple cult. With regard to the geographical question, to which we shall turn shortly, it is worth noting that nothing in this interpretation necessitates an exilic setting of Isa 40–55.27 As noted by Berges, cultic singers would have been active in the Jewish communities both in Babylon and post-monarchic Judah. More specifically, Weber stresses the similarities in their ways of dealing with the past catastrophe between Isa 63:7–64:11, a lament of likely Judahite origin, and Pss 77–79 and 106.28 Along similar lines, Keel argues that while the Asaph psalms may stem from the golah, the Heman and Jeduthun psalms may have originated in Judah.29

III. Matters of Torah In the rest of this article, I shall investigate how Isa 40–55 conceptualizes the temple and the cult. My investigation deals with two principal areas: 1) matters of torah, and 2) matters of the cult. III.A. Who Will Teach? Throughout Isa 40–55, the notion of teaching God’s instruction, i.e. his torah, and the significance of the proclamation of his word is emphasized. The question is, however, who is doing the teaching. The opening scenes in Isa 40–55 appear to speak about a human teacher. The prologue in Isa 40:1–11 sets the tone, where in verses 6–8 the authorial voice is encouraged to “cry out” (v. 6) and to proclaim that “our God’s word endures forever.” The identity of the speaker(s) in Isa 40:1–11 is a crux interpretum. The Old Greek of Isa 40:2 identifies the speaker with a priest (ἱερεῖς). Targum Jonathan later “corrected” this identification by having verse 1 assigns the section in its entirety to a prophet (‫)נבייא‬. The uncertain identity of the teacher continues in Isa 40:9 and 41:26–27 where someone30 is encouraged to proclaim the good news of God’s arrival [in Jerusalem]. The uncertainty is resolved in Isa 42:9, where God states that he himself will declare the new things (v. 9bα, ‫)וחדשות אני מגיד‬. The rest of Isa 40–55 follows suit as it regards God as responsible for the dissemination of instruction (torah): God will make his instruction grand and glorious (Isa 42:21b, ‫ )יגדיל תורה ויאדיר‬and the instruction will proceed directly from him (Isa 51:4bα, ‫)כי תורה מאתי תצא‬. Likewise, God is Israel’s

27

See also my discussion in TIEMEYER 2019, 30–31. WEBER 2009, 462–73. 29 KEEL 2007, 1101. See also BERGES 2008, 40. 30 The matter of the subject of this verse is often debated; see my discussion in TIEMEYER 2011, 279–85. 28

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teacher who is offering guidance to his people (Isa 48:17b, ‫אני ה' אלהיך מלמדך להועיל‬ ‫)מדריכך בדרך תלך‬. God is, furthermore, the Servant’s teacher. God instructs the Servant (Isa 50:4, ‫[ יעיר לי אזן לשמע כלמודים‬...] ‫ )אדני ה' נתן לי לשון למודים לדעת לעות את יעף דבר‬and God has put his word into the Servant’s mouth (Isa 51:16aα, ‫)ואשים דברי בפיך‬, a statement that can be understood as referring to either the Servant’s prophetic task or his task to be a teacher. In sum, Isa 40–55 depicts a situation where God (or possibly his prophet) is responsible for teaching his people. III.B. The Durability of the Divine Word In parallel, other passages emphasize the durability and effectiveness of the divine word. God declares that when he has spoken something, he will also bring it to pass, (Isa 46:11b, ‫)אף דברתי אף אביאנה יצרתי אף אעשנה‬, and he takes on the responsibility for declaring matters from the very beginning (Isa 45:21bα, ‫מי השמיע זאת מקדם מאז הגידה‬ '‫)הלוא אני ה‬. This emphasis on the durability of God’s word and how God has uttered it himself is also expressed in Isa 45:23a (‫ )בי נשבעתי יצא מפי צדקה דבר ולא ישוב‬and in Isa 55:11 (‫)כן יהיה דברי אשר יצא מפי לא ישוב אלי ריקם‬: God’s word will go out of his mouth and not return in vain. Taken together with the aforementioned emphasis on God’s teaching role, Isa 40–55 clearly envisages God teaching Israel his unmediated and eternal word. III.C. The Clerical Teacher This picture of God as the teacher, both of Israel in general and of the Servant in particular, agrees with yet also modifies the view of God’s word and instruction found elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible. On the one hand, we find the same emphasis on God’s teaching responsibility in a few other passages in Isaiah. Most famously perhaps, Isa 2:3 // Mic 4:2 states that God will teach his people directly and that his instruction and word will emanate from Zion-Jerusalem: Many peoples will come and say, “Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the temple of the God of Jacob. He will teach us his ways, so that we may walk in his paths.” The law (‫ )תורה‬will go out from Zion, the word of the LORD ( ' ‫ )ודבר ה‬from Jerusalem. (Isa 2:3 NIV)

Most contemporary critical scholars date Isa 2:3 to the post-monarchic period, due in part to the clear parallels with the material in Isa 40–55.31 Thus, although running the risk of circularity, this verse actually confirms the picture painted in Isa 40–55 of God in charge of teaching his people directly. On the other hand, this Isaianic vision stands in opposition to many other biblical passages that portray this teaching task as a priestly and Levitical prerogative. Lev 10:10–11 states unequivocally that the priests will teach Israel God’s word (v. 11, ‫)ולהורות את בני ישראל את כל החקים אשר דבר ה' אליהם ביד משה‬, and Deut 33:10a speaks of 31

WILLIAMSON 2006, 174–77.

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the [Levites] teaching [God’s] judgement to Jacob and [God’s] law to Israel (‫)יורו משפטיך ליעקב ותורתך לישראל‬. Along similar lines, 2 Chron 17:7–9 tells how priests and Levites were sent to teach in the towns of Judah. As verse 9a states, “They taught in Judah, and with them was the book of YHWH’s instruction” ( ‫וילמדו ביהודה ועמהם ספר‬ '‫תורת ה‬, cf. v. 7b, ‫)ללמד בעיר יהודה‬. Ezek 44:23 expresses a similar thought: They are to teach my people (‫ )ואת עמי יורו‬the difference between the holy and the common and show them how to distinguish between the unclean and the clean. In any dispute, the priests are to serve as judges and decide it according to my ordinances. They are to keep my laws and my decrees for all my appointed festivals, and they are to keep my Sabbaths holy. (Ezek 44:23–24 NIV)32

Hag 2:10–14 likewise stresses that the priests are to be consulted in matters of cultic instruction, encouraging the people to “ask the priests for instruction” (v. 11b, ‫)שאל נא את הכהנים תורה לאמר‬, and Zech 7:3 depicts interaction between prophet and priests regarding cultic teaching. In both texts, the priestly teaching duty is emphasized; it is, however, also superseded by the prophetic word (Hag 2:15; Zech 7:5). Deut 32:1–2 also has a bearing on our discussion. This text shows theological and thematic affinity with several psalms (e.g. Pss 49; 78) as well with Isa 40–55.33 In verse 2, the speaker claims that “[his] doctrine will drip like rain” and “[his] saying will flow like dew” (‫)יערף כמטר לקחי תזל כטל אמרתי‬. In its present context within the book of Deuteronomy,34 the speaker is presumably Moses, thus anew confirming that teaching is a priestly prerogative. Looking at the same issue albeit from a negative viewpoint, Ezek 7:26 confirms the priests’ teaching role: the priests will lose their role as teachers of Torah (v. 26bα, ‫)ותורה תאבד מכהן‬. Along similar lines, 2 Chron 15:3 emphasizes the priestly duty to teach and disseminate law by depicting a lamentable past situation when the priests did not teach and where (possibly as a result) God’s instruction was absent (v. 13bβ, ‫)וללא כהן מורה וללא תורה‬. Hos 4:6 likewise stresses the priests’ failure to teach: the priests have “rejected knowledge” (‫ )כי אתה הדעת מאסת‬and “ignored the instruction of [their] God” (‫)ותשכח תורת אלהיך‬, then God will reject and ignore them and their children. Although this statement is highly disparaging of the priestly teaching, it nonetheless confirms the expectation that it was the role of the priesthood to teach. Micah 3:11 likewise both affirms the priestly teaching role yet also criticizes its shortcomings (v. 11aα, ‫)וכהניה במחיר יורו‬, as does Jer 2:8 (lack of knowledge causes false teaching) and 5:31 (faulty teaching).35 Zeph 3:4, going one step further, claims that the priests “have violated [God’s] instruction” (v. 4bβ, ‫)חמסו תורה‬.36 In their criticism of the priesthood, these texts emphasize what the situation should be like: the priests are teachers and 32

Ezek 44:24 furthermore contradicts Isa 2:4 directly, as it states that the priests are to serve as judges, whereas in Isa 2:4 God will judge between the nations and settle disputes. 33 See especially KEISER 2005, 486–500, who argues for direct dependence between the two texts. Although the article does not address the relative chronology of the germane texts, Keiser appears to regard Isa 40–55 as the later text (a conclusion with which I agree). 34 The origin and date of composition of Deut 32 is vexed question. See SANDERS 1996, for an exhaustive discussion. He ultimately favours a pre-exilic dating. 35 TIEMEYER 2006, 115–22. 36 Ibid., 218–20.

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they should teach God’s torah. Last but not least, Mal 2:7–8, part of the larger discussion of the enigmatic character Levi in verses 4–9, is scathing in its critique of the priesthood for failing their teaching duties. Summing up, Isa 40–55, alongside other post-monarchic texts in Isaiah, portrays God as Israel’s sole teacher. He is their teacher (root ‫)למד‬, he speaks his word directly to them, and his instruction (‫ )תורה‬is given straight to them. This picture is corroborated by evidence from silence: Isa 40–55 does not contain any references to priests and Levites, i.e. the cultic personnel who elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible is depicted as responsible for teaching Israel and spreading God’s instruction. On the basis of Isa 40– 55 alone, a reader is justified to draw the conclusion that God alone is in charge of teaching his people and to disseminate his instruction. This picture, however, stands in glaring contrast to the impression gathered from a wide spectrum of other both monarchic and post-monarchic text where the priests’ responsibility to teach God’s torah is time and again emphasized.

IV. Matters of the Cult The near complete absence of the temple in Isa 40–55 is conspicuous, given its focus on the city of Zion-Jerusalem.37 This absence takes a number of shapes. I shall here look at two key aspects: the emphasis on Jerusalem and the redirected and transformed cultic language. The latter category explores the Servant’s cultic role, the emphasis on God’s glory, worship of YHWH, and critique of the cult. IV.A. The City of Jerusalem Isa 40–55 is first and foremost concerned with the city of Jerusalem. Although it can, of course, be argued that the city of Jerusalem contains the temple, the absence of any explicit reference to the latter is glaring. There is one exception – Isa 44:28 – where the temple parallels Jerusalem. Notably, however, most scholars treat this statement as a later addition, composed for the very purpose of rectifying that same absence.38 In support of the secondary status of verse 28, the preceding Isa 44:26 contains much of the same information, albeit without the reference to the temple. Instead of focusing on Jerusalem as a cultic center, Isa 40–55 describes the city in terms of its buildings and human population. The abovementioned Isa 44:26 constitutes a good example in its focus on the soon-to-be inhabited status of Jerusalem (v. 26bα, ‫)האמר לירושלם תושב‬. The same picture of a rebuilt and resettled Jerusalem pervades the rest of Isa 40–55. Without ever mentioning the temple, verse after verse speak of God’s choice of Jerusalem and how God will act on her behalf. Isa 45:13bα

37 Yet few scholars have discussed the absence of temple-related language; what is anew notable is the silence. For example, Maier’s comprehensive discussion of the conceptualization of Zion in Isa 40–66 as a rebuilt and populated city (MAIER 2008, 161–88) rarely touches upon the “missing” temple (e.g. ibid., 185). 38 See, e.g., BLENKINSOPP 2002, 245.

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promises that Cyrus will build Jerusalem (‫)הוא יבנה עירי‬, Isa 49:16b stresses how important the city walls of Jerusalem are for God (‫)חומתיך נגדי תמיד‬, Isa 51:3 declares God’s compassion for Zion and her ruins and how he will transform her present sorry state into a place of fertility and joy, Isa 51:19–20 laments the past destruction of the city and depicts poignantly how its present citizens lie faint on the street, and Isa 54:11–12 offers a splendid vision of God’s rebuilding of the city. In parallel, other verses emphasize the restoration of the land (Isa 49:8bβ, ‫)להקים ארץ להנחיל נחלות שממות‬ or mourn its destruction (Isa 49:19a, ‫)כי חרבתיך ושממתיך וארץ הרסתיך‬. Again, however, none of these passages mention the temple. In some of these passages, a reference to the temple would have been eminently suitable, yet none is attested. Notably, Isa 44:23bα proclaims that God has redeemed Israel ( ‫)כי גאל ה' יעקב‬, Isa 46:13bα states that God will grant salvation in Zion ( ‫)ונתתי בציון תשועה‬, Isa 48:2a declares that Jerusalem’s citizens see themselves as inhabitants of the holy city (‫)כי מעיר הקדש נקראו‬, and Isa 52:1bα calls Jerusalem “the holy city” ( ‫ )לבשי בגדי תפארתך ירושלם עיר הקדש‬and depicts her ascending to her throne in splendour as a free woman. Furthermore, in sharp contrast to Ezek 43:1–9 and 48:35 that proclaim God’s return to the temple, Isa 40:3–5, 9–11; and 52:7–10 speak of God’s return to the city.39 This very contrast highlights effectively the absence of the temple from Isa 40–55 and, in doing so, also emphasizes that the temple does not seem to be important to the authors of Isa 40–55. IV.B. Redirected and Transformed Cultic Language Alongside the absence of any explicit reference to the temple in Jerusalem, Isa 40–55 redirects the language of the cult away from the temple and its clergy in three key ways: critique of the cult, the cultic role of the Servant, and direct worship of YHWH. IV.B.a. Critique of the Cult First, Isa 40–55 often conveys a critical disposition towards the cult. It would, however, be to go too far to say that Isa 40–55 is anti-cult. Rather, as I hope to show here, Isa 40–55 reconceptualises the cult by distancing it from the professional understanding that emerges in much of the Pentateuch (i.e. officiated by priests and Levites) and instead emphasizing the close cultic relationship between God and his entire people. IV.B.a.1. Isaiah 43:22–25 On this issue, Isa 43:22–25 is a key passage. In verse 23a, God states that Israel has neither brought sheep for burnt offerings (‫ )לא הביאת לי שה עלתיך‬nor honoured him with sacrifices (‫)וזבחיך לא כבדתני‬, whereas in verse 23b, God declares that he has neither caused Israel to serve him with sacrifices (‫ )לא העבדתיך במנחה‬nor caused them to be weary with incense (‫)ולא הוגעתיך בלבונה‬. The argument put forward by the text – as well as the relationship between verses 23a and 23b – is unclear. There are three key ways of understanding the matter: 39

Cf. TIEMEYER 2011, 331.

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1. Israel has neglected the first two types of offerings (‫עלה‬, ‫ )זבח‬but fulfilled the last one (‫)מנחה‬, i.e. the one that contains incense. As J. Blenkinsopp puts it, Israel may be accused of having “skimped by confining itself to the cheapest type of sacrifice.”40 2. Alternatively, and in Blenkinsopp’s view more likely, Israel has indeed offered also the last type of sacrifice (‫)מנחה‬. God has not accepted it, however, due to Israel’s sins (as indicated by the following v. 24b, cf. Isa 1:10–17).41 3. Yet again, following J. Goldingay and D. Payne, verse 23 is merely a statement of facts rather than a divine complaint. The people had not sacrificed (v. 23a) and God had not asked them to do so (v. 23b) because the situation did not allow for it.42 The specific situation, according to these two scholars, was the exile. In my view, the third interpretation of verse 23 is the most convincing one: Israel has not sacrificed, and God has not demanded it. Even so, I prefer stating the issue more generally: sacrifices could not be offered to YHWH because the temple in Jerusalem had been destroyed. There is no reason to bring the exiles into the equation. Verse 24a continues directly on from verse 23. Here again, the most straightforward understanding of the text is to understand it as a series of statement of facts: Israel has not bought God sweet cane for silver (‫ )לא קנית לי בכסף קנה‬and not given God the fat of sacrifices ( ‫)וחלב זבחיך לא הרויתני‬. In contrast, verse 24b clearly constitutes a complaint: God accuses Israel of having served him with their sins (‫ )אך העבדתני בחטאותיך‬and tired him with their iniquities (‫)הוגעתני בעונתיך‬. Its choice of verbs (‫העבדתני‬, ‫ )הוגעתני‬provides a conscious contrast to verse 23b.43 I suggest that we are dealing with a three-part structure. Verses 23–24a outline the situation without the temple, verse 24b describes the problem that this has caused, and verse 25 offers the solution: 1. The people have not sacrificed, and God has not demanded that they sacrifice (vv. 23–24a). 2. The present lack of sacrifices has nonetheless caused a problem: the people are standing before God in a sinful state (v. 24b). 3. In view of this regrettable situation, God has decided to rectify this situation by blotting out their sins, and not remembering them (v. 25, ‫אנכי אנכי הוא מחה פשעיך‬ ‫למעני וחטאתיך לא אזכר‬, cf. 44:22 [below]). Such a reading upholds the necessity of the cult yet also offers a novel solution whereby God circumvents the cult. This portrayal has affinity with Isa 1:10–17, a passage that many scholars hold to go back to the prophet Isaiah himself.44 40

BLENKINSOPP 2002, 231. Ibid. 42 GOLDINGAY/PAYNE 2006, 1:309–10. 43 The LXX preserve a different text: ἀλλὰ ἐν ταῖς ἁµαρτίαις σου καὶ ἐν ταῖς ἀδικίαις σου προέστην σου (“but you [stood] before me in your sins and in your iniquities”). 44 For a succinct discussion, see WILLIAMSON 2006, 85. Cf. also BLENKINSOPP 2000, 184, who states that there is “no reason why this critique of the state cult […] could not have originated in 41

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IV.B.a.2. Isaiah 43:28 The subsequent Isa 43:28 follows naturally on from this reading. This verse is, however, unclear in two regards: when did the events happen and who carried them out? Beginning with the temporal issue, in the MT God declares how he “will profane the princes of the sanctuary” (v. 28a, ‫ )ואחלל שרי קדש‬and how he “will give Jacob over to destruction (‫ )חרם‬and Israel to scorn” (v. 28b, ‫)ואתנה לחרם יעקב וישראל לגדופים‬. Both verbs ‫ ואחלל‬and ‫ ואתנה‬are vocalized as weyiktol verbs, thus indicating actions that have not yet been completed.45 This reading is not ideal, however, given that the verse appears to offer a reflection of the past as indicated by the content (and Perfect verb forms) of the immediately preceding verse 27 (‫)אביך הראשון חטא ומליציך פשעו‬. In contrast, LXX Isa 43:28a situates the actions in the past, where the princes defiled [God’s] sanctuary (καὶ ἐµίαναν οἱ ἄρχοντες τὰ ἅγιά µου). This reading, using Aorist verb forms (καὶ ἐµίαναν, καὶ ἔδωκα), continues naturally on from the past acts of defiance of verse 27. These Aorist forms in the LXX appear to be based on a wayyiktol vocalization of the abovementioned Hebrew verbs (v. 28a) and, in my view, reflect the original past temporal meaning of the statement (presumably a reference to the destruction in 586 BCE). A few scholars, nonetheless, wish to maintain the Masoretic pointing. Goldingay and Payne, for example, argue that the weyiktol forms indicate that this profaning is an on-going action.46 This latter reading would, however, also entail that God is still giving Jacob over to herem and Israel to scorn (v. 28b), something that is less likely in the wider context of Isa 43. In sum, the temporal aspects of the LXX are preferable to the temporal aspects of the MT: Isa 43:28 refers to actions in the past. Turning to matters of syntax, the two versions pose a different question: does the entire verse 28 constitute the apodosis (MT) or does verse 28a contain the protasis whereas verse 28b alone contains the apodosis (LXX)? Phrased differently, did God or the princes demolish the temple? According to the MT, God is the perpetrator (cf. the Vulgate (et contaminavi principes sanctos), whereas the LXX assigns this role to the princes. Furthermore, whereas the MT refers to the “princes of the sanctuary,” presumably “sacred leaders,” i.e. priests, the LXX speaks of the less clearly defined “mighty men” who either physically or cultically destroyed the sanctuary. This issue has significance for our understanding of the attitude towards the cult in Isa 40–55. In my view, the syntax of MT reading of verse 28a – God destroyed the priests – is structurally preferable in view of the similar syntax (God as subject, people as object) in verse 28b. As such, verse 28 indicates that God, in the past and possibly also at present, profaned the cultic leaders. This statement, in turn, adds another nuance to the surrounding silence vis-à-vis the temple and its clergy in Isa 40–55. The silence may not merely be a matter of omission but of active criticism.

eighth century B.C.E. Judah.” For a slightly later dating, prior to Hezekiah’s preparation for revolt against the Assyrians, see SWEENEY 1996, 80. 45 For these types of verb forms in Isa 40–55, see further TIEMEYER 2017, 157–80. 46 GOLDINGAY/PAYNE 2006, 1:316–17.

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IV.B.a.3. Isaiah 44:25 Isa 44:25 may also indicate a disparaging outlook vis-à-vis the clergy or, in fact, towards all kinds of qualified cultic personnel. God frustrates the signs of the bārû priests (Akk. “omen priest”) (‫)מפר אתות בדים‬,47 he makes fools of diviners (‫)וקסמים יהולל‬, he turns wise men back (‫ )משיב חכמים אחור‬and makes foolish their knowledge ( ‫)ודעתם ישכל‬. Although this verse does not speak of priests and cult per se, it nevertheless testifies to what we might call an anti-establishment attitude. God is responsible for confounding these practitioners, with the inevitable result that they look foolish. Normally Isa 44:25 is understood to speak about Babylonian cultic personnel, along the lines of Isa 47:9, 10, 12–13, 15, yet it should be acknowledged that some of these professions were established in Judah (see Hos 11:6, ‫ ;בדים‬Isa 3:2 and Mic 3:11, root ‫)קסם‬. In sum, Isa 44:25 contributes to the idea, prevalent in the other parts of Isa 40–55, that God does not favour “organized cult” with professional men in charge. Rather, the pervasive idea is a more “grass-root” level cult with God as its supreme head. IV.B.a.4. Critique of the Cult in Isaiah and the Psalter Returning to the relationship between Isa 40–55 and the Psalter, several psalms repudiate the sacrificial cult in a manner akin to what we see in Isaiah 40–55. The critique of the sacrificial cult in Asaphite Ps 50, for example, offers an interesting point of comparison to the sentiments expressed in Isa 43:23 (cf. Isa 1:10–20; 66:1–6): the cult, when unaccompanied by justice, is worthless. This criticism, however, does not in itself entail wholesale repudiation of the cult. As Blenkinsopp, among others, has pointed out, Ps 50 contains not only criticism of the cult (e.g. vv. 7–13) but also a recognition of its value (v. 14, ‫)זבח לאלהים תודה ושלם לעליון נדריך‬.48 Other psalms, such as Ps 107:22, speak of sacrifices in a manner that is both literal and metaphoric. To offer “sacrifice of thanksgiving” refer to the temple cult and, in parallel, also to a less literal attitude of thankfulness towards God. While these examples demonstrate the links between the Isa 40–55 and the Psalter, they do not show that Isa 40–55 originated within temple circles. On the contrary, the critique of the official cult, found in both sets of texts, instead confirms that there existed a group of influential people in postmonarchic Yehud who did not confine worship of YHWH to the temple and the clerical classes. Moreover, there is again a salient difference between them: whereas Ps 50 contains both criticism and acknowledgement of the temple cult, Isa 40–55 is silent about the latter. IV.B.b. The Cultic Role of the Servant Second, Isa 40–55 redirects the language of the cult away from its customary temple setting. The fourth Servant Song, for example, uses priestly language to denote the actions of this figure. The Servant is “led like a lamb to the slaughter” (Isa 53:7, ‫)כשה לטבח ויבל‬, he is presented as a “guilt offering” (v. 10a, ‫)אם תשים אשם נפשו‬, and he 47 48

For this emendation, see further TIEMEYER 2019, 135–51. BLENKINSOPP 2019, 137–43.

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fulfills the priestly role of “bearing the iniquity” of Israel (v. 11b, ‫ )ועונתם הוא יסבל‬and “carrying the sins” of many (v. 12bα, ‫והוא חטא רבים נשא‬, cf. vv. 5–6). The priestly background of Isa 53:10 has been much debated, as the situation is not clear-cut. As noted by, among others, F. Hägglund, the cultic vocabulary is often inexact and also slightly “incorrect”: – First, the word for “slaughter” (‫ )טבח‬in verse 7 denotes profane slaughter (unlike the verbs ‫ זבח‬and ‫ שחט‬that denote ritual slaughter, cf. Isa 43:23 above).49 – Secondly, the use of the term ‫ אשם‬in verse 10 does not fully correspond to the way in which it denotes sacrifices in Lev 5:6, 10:17, and 16:22.50 – Thirdly, the phrases “bearing iniquity” (‫ )סבל עון‬and “carrying sin” (‫ )נשא חטא‬in verses 11–12 resemble – but are not identical to – the language of the priestly writing. The noun + verb combinations differ: Lev 10:17, Lev 16:22, and Ezek 4:4 all employ the expression “carrying guilt” (‫)נשא עון‬, and Lev 10:17 also speak of a “sin offering” (‫)חטאת‬.51 This lack of exact use of priestly language is, in fact, a case in point. As Hägglund remarks in support of his own translation of ‫ אשם‬as “guilt,” sacrificial language is remarkably uncommon in Isa 40–55.”52 Exactly! What we have here is a different vision of guilt removal. Isa 40–55 is, in my view, mimicking the priestly language and, at the same time, providing a twist: priests and temple and sacrificial cult are not required in its new vision of the restoration, and the traditional language will be updated to fit this new vision. To confirm this impression, Isa 44:22 makes do completely without the priests, as God states that “[he] has blotted out [Israel’s] transgression” (v. 22a, ‫)מחיתי כעב פשעיך וכענן חטאותיך‬. God himself, rather than any priest, has removed the transgression. IV.B.b.1. The Servant in Isaiah 40–55 and the Psalter Both Isa 40–55 and the Psalter feature the notion of God’s servant(s).53 Again, however, there is a tangible difference between the two textual corpora: whereas the servant(s) in Isa 40–55 form part of a cultic vision of redemption without the temple, the servant(s) in the Psalter is often associated with the temple. Ps 134, for example, speaks of the servants of YHWH who minister by night in the house of YHWH. ‫שיר המעלות הנה ברכו ה' כל־עבדי ה' העמדים בבית־ה' בלילות‬ A song of ascents. Praise the LORD, all you servants of the LORD who minister by night in the house of the LORD. (NIV)

49

HÄGGLUND 2008, 98–99. Ibid., 7–73. 51 Ibid., 82–94. 52 Ibid., 73. 53 BERGES 2000, 153–78; see also BLENKINSOPP 2019, 121–33. 50

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Ps 135:1–2 likewise refers to the servants of YHWH who serve in the house of God: ‫הללו יה הללו את־שם ה' הללו עבדי ה' שעמדים בבית ה' בחצרות בית אלהינו‬ Praise the LORD. Praise the name of the LORD; praise him, you servants of the LORD, you who minister in the house of the LORD, in the courts of the house of our God. (NIV)

The Asaphite Ps 7954 also connects, albeit to a lesser degree, the servants with the temple by juxtaposing the destruction of God’s “holy temple” with the death of God’s servants, thus implying that at least some of these servants were temple personnel: ‫מזמור לאסף אלהים באו גוים בנחלתך טמאו את־היכל קדשך שמו את־ירושלם לעיים נתנו את־נבלת עבדיך מאכל לעוף השמים‬ ‫בשר חסידיך לחיתו־ארץ‬ A psalm of Asaph. O God, the nations have invaded your inheritance; they have defiled your holy temple, they have reduced Jerusalem to rubble. They have left the dead bodies of your servants as food for the birds of the sky, the flesh of your own people for the animals of the wild. (NIV)

In contrast, the depiction of God’s servant(s) in Ps 69:17, 35–36 resembles those in Isa 40–55 insofar as it occurs within a context that speaks of Jerusalem’s rebuilding yet does not mention the temple explicitly. Likewise, Ps 102:13–22, in its description of the restoration of Zion, associates God’s servant (v. 15 [Eng. 14], ‫כי רצו עבדיך את אבניה‬ ‫ )ואת עפרה יחננו‬with the heavenly temple (v. 20 [Eng. 19], ‫כי השקיף ממרום קדשו ה' משמים‬ ‫)אל ארץ הביט‬, even though verse 23 [Eng. 22] hints also at the earthly temple as it mentions the peoples assembling to worship YHWH ('‫)בהקבץ עמים יחדו וממלכות לעבד את ה‬. In sum, both the Psalter and Isa 40–55 speak about God’s servant(s), yet they often disagree regarding their spatial location. Whereas many psalms (Pss 79; 134; 135) depict God’s servants in or near “the house of YHWH” or God’s “holy temple,” the same is never true for Isa 40–55. In my view, it is likely that these psalms have modified the language of Isa 40–55 (rather than vice versa) to make it fit the reality of the Second Temple Period. The temple has been re-built and the vision of Isa 40–55 has been updated to fit that new reality. IV.C. Worship of YHWH The lack of traditional cultic imagery in Isa 40–55 is corroborated by its extant depictions of worship. There are no references to a cultic setting wherein God is being worshipped by a group of select members of the clerical classes. Instead, God is praised by his people (43:21, ‫)עם זר יצרתי לי תהלתי יספרו‬, throughout the ends of the earth (42:10a, ‫)שירו לה' שיר חדש תהלתו מקצה הארץ‬, by the mountains and the forests (Isa 44:23, cf. 49:13; 55:12), and his witnesses are the nations that have assembled [in Jerusalem] (Isa 43:9). The absence of priests and Levites, temple and sacrifices, becomes poignant when we compare Isa 40–55 with the Psalter. Although its imagery of worldwide and almost cosmic praise of God is attested in many psalms, those same psalms often refer also to formal worship. Ps 96 is a case in point. While it shares the notion of worship among the nations with the above-mentioned examples from Isa 40–55, it also contains a 54

For the general background of this psalm, see BLENKINSOPP 2019, 122, who associates it with the destruction of Jerusalem in 586 BCE or alternatively with a later disturbance of the temple during Hellenistic times.

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reference to the temple (v. 6, ‫ )הוד־והדר לפניו עז ותפארת במקדשו‬and it talks about sacrifices in its courts (v. 8, ‫)הבו לה' כבוד שמו שאו־מנחה ובאו לחצרותיו‬. The monarchic Korahite psalm 47 describes God in similar terminology, yet the possible reference to the temple is more veiled, instead mentioning God’s “holy throne” (v. 9 [Eng. 8], ‫)מלך אלהים על־גוים אלהים ישב על־כסא קדשו‬. What we thus have is again a combination of the temple-less vision of Isa 40–55 plus the temple. This combination is, in my view, a later development that sought to incorporate the language of Isa 40–55 into the restored cult of the second temple.

V. Analysis What caused this new vision of the cult in Isa 40–55 and its accompanying silence visà-vis the established cultic system of the temple, priests, and Levites? We now enter the realm of speculation, as it is notoriously difficult and potentially methodologically flawed to draw conclusions from silence. Nevertheless, as silence is one of our two chief factors, we need to make the best of the situation.55 I shall here postulate two alternative scenarios. It is, however, my hope here to demonstrate that only the second scenario fits the extant evidence. V.A. A Babylonian Origin of the Temple-less Vision of Isaiah 40–55 Most scholars maintain that Isa 40–55, either in part or in its entirety, was composed in Babylon. For those who argue for a gradually composed text, the earlier parts of Isa 40–55 are assigned to a Babylonian author while the latter parts are assumed to be of Judahite origin. Would the exilic community in Babylon create a text that omits the temple and its cult? Several factors speak against this suggestion. First, if we take seriously the claim in 2 Kgs 25:18 that the leading clergy was exiled, alongside other leaders of the city (vv. 19–20), as well as the claim in Ezra 2:36– 58 // Neh 7:39–63 that a substantial number of clerical officials choose to travel to Yehud in the early Persian period, the exilic community in Babylon consisted to a relatively large degree of people with ties to the established temple cult and with an interest in its reestablishment.56 It is therefore, in my view, unlikely that they would envisage the restoration of Jerusalem only in terms of its building and its population but not in terms of its temple and cult. Second, if we take seriously the exilic origin of the book of Ezekiel, we have a comparative textual corpus that depicts the restoration of Jerusalem purely in terms of the rebuilding of the temple (Ezek 40–48).57 Although a given community can produce 55 For a comparative study of “silence,” see the discussion of the absence of the city in Ezek 40–48 in GALAMBUSH 1992, 148–56. The exclusion of personified Jerusalem is exegetically significant: she has no place in the restored and faithful community. 56 Cf. BLENKINSOPP 2019, 66, who highlights that temple singers and other cultic personnel were recorded as deported to Babylon in 2 Kings 24:14, 16; 25:11–12, 28–30, and their repatriation is reported in Ezra 2:41; Neh 7:44; 1 Esd 5:27. 57 See, e.g., GALAMBUSH 1992, 147–48.

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185

a variety of texts and host societal groups with conflicting opinions, it is overall unlikely that the same community would stand behind two such divergent visions of the restored city and its cult. Thirdly, if we take seriously the evidence of Haggai and Zech 1–8, as well as that of Ezra 1–6, the rebuilding of the temple and the restoration of the temple cult were at the very top of the agenda of Joshua and Zerubbabel, i.e. the leaders of the returnees. Although some material in these books hint at a critical disposition towards the cult (Hag 2:10–14; Zech 3; 7:1–3), the aim is to reform it, not to replace it with a temple-less Jerusalem. Taken together, it is difficult to find the impetus for the (lack of) temple and cult in Isa 40–55 within the exilic community. V.B. A Judahite Origin of the Temple-less Vision of Isaiah 40–55 Turning to the alternative, namely that the temple-less vision of Isa 40–55 is a product of the people of Judah, a different scenario opens. First, using the same arguments as above, if the Jerusalem-based priestly establishment and Levites were exiled to Babylon, the community left in Judah would have forged out a living without clear traditional religious leadership. Moreover, they might even have blamed them for the calamities that they had experienced (cf. Lam 4:13). This issue is tied in with the much wider discussion of the clerical personnel in the monarchic and early post-monarchic times. 58 In short, to what extent did (nonZadokite) clergy perform clerical duties at the temple site in post-destruction Jerusalem throughout the Neo-Babylonian period? Several scholars have argued that some form of cultic worship took place in Jerusalem between 586 and 520 BCE.59 According J. Schaper, the Zadokite priesthood, who had come to power during the reign of Josiah, was exiled to Babylon. During their absence, the Aaronite priesthood associated with Bethel began to exert their influence more. In parallel, the Levites, having lost much of the clerical power during Josiah’s reign continued to decline during the postmonarchic period. 60 When the Zadokites returned from Babylon they encountered opposition from the Jerusalem-based Levites, the priests associated with Anathoth (cf. Jer 1:1), and the Aaronite priests based in Bethel, yet the Zadokites eventually triumphed.61 Secondly, the near silent criticism of the temple, its cult, and its personnel in Isa 40–55 metamorphoses into open criticism of the priesthood in Isa 56–66, particularly in Isa 66:3–4 but hinted at also in Isa 56:9–12 and Isa 58:3–5.62 Thirdly, the theology of God’s direct interaction with this people and the parallel focus on nation-wide and worldwide worship of YHWH in Isa 40–55, taken together with its lack of a concrete vision of the cult, paved the way for the later visions in Isa 56–66 of a democratization and globalization of the priesthood. Isa 61:6 speaks of the 58

For a succinct overview, see GRABBE 2004, 224–30. ALLAN 1982, 259–69; BLENKINSOPP 1998, 25–43; and TIEMEYER 2011, 57. 60 SCHAPER 2000, 91–95; 110–12; 115–22; 126–29. Cf. also NURMELA 1998, 10. 61 SCHAPER 2000, 167–94. 62 TIEMEYER 2006, 122–26; 139–42; 160–77. 59

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democratization of the priesthood where every Israelite, regardless of lineage, would participate and serve God, Isa 56:1–8 speaks of the participation of proselytes in the priesthood, and finally Isa 66:21 speaks of the globalization of the priesthood.63 In this context, if should be acknowledged that the prevalent focus on Zion in Isa 40–55 is not necessarily a sign of a Judahite setting. As Blenkinsopp and others have highlighted, the presentation of Zion as the object of desire and longing, i.e. “Zionism,” is in many respects “a diasporic phenomenon.”64 At the same time, Zionism can of course also be a feature of those living in the land of Israel. What I am aiming at here, though, is not so much what the extant emphasis of Zion suggests, but what the absence of temple language proposes. V.C. The Geographical Setting of Isaiah 40–55: Conclusion My discussion effectively turns the arguments of many previous scholars, among them Berges and Blenkinsopp, up-side-down. They maintain that 1) the language of Isa 40– 55 is cultic; 2) there is evidence of traditional cultic personnel in Babylon; 3) Isa 40– 55 was written in Babylon. By combining these three (independent) dots, they argue that Isa 40–55 is connected to the official priestly cult. My own argumentation follows a different trajectory: 1) the language of Isa 40–55 is cultic but the absence of priest and temple is striking; 2) there is evidence of traditional cultic personnel in Babylon; 3) the geographical location of Isa 40–55 is uncertain. By combining these different dots, I propose that Isa 40–55 is unlikely to be connected to the official priestly cult. The vision of the cult in Isa 40–55 is innovative, daring, and – last but not least – impractical (how exactly is God supposed to teach Israel and to blot out their transgressions?), something that the established cultic leaders would have neither condoned nor supported. It is instead more likely to be the product of a community that lacked strong traditional leadership and dreamt of a new beginning. What we have in the end is a powerful sense of continuity throughout the last 27 chapters of the book of Isaiah, even though the emphases of the two sets of texts differ. Most of Isa 40–55 reflects a situation in early post-monarchic Judah prior to the return of any exiles. At this point, conflicting groups of clergy sought ways to continue, yet also to adapt, the pre-exilic cult of YHWH to suit the new temple-less situation. Whereas some groups seem to have opted to carry out a more formalized cult in Bethel, other groups such as the one responsible for Isa 40–55 envisaged more revolutionary forms of renewal. When the exiles began to return – and with them the Zadokite priesthood – in 520 BCE and later, the conflict between the different groups hardened, as reflected in Isa 56–66.

63 64

Ibid., 274–86. BLENKINSOPP 2019, 98

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187

VI. Conclusion To sum up, I suggest that the vision of restoration in Isa 40–55 is a direct result of its temporal and geographical setting in Judah following the disaster in 586 BCE. The temple was destroyed and the clergy either killed or deported. What they had left were smoking ruins. From the ashes of these ruins rose a vision that did not demand a building or a professional body of priests; rather God himself would teach them his laws and wipe out their sins. This vision is remarkable in its lack of concrete details and its lack of practicality; what we receive instead is an extraordinary conceptualization of worship that battles with theological issues detached from a cultic setting.

Bibliography ALLAN, N. (1982): The Identity of the Jerusalem Priesthood During the Exile, HeyJ 23, 259–69. BEGRICH, J. (1963): Studien zu Deuterojesaja, (Theologische Bücherei 20), München. BERGES, U. (2000): Die Knechte im Psalter: Ein Beitrag zu seiner Kompositionsgeschichte, Biblica 81, 153–78. – (2008): Jesaja 40–48, (HThKAT), Freiburg. BLENKINSOPP, J. (1998): The Judaean Priesthood During the Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid Periods: A Hypothetical Reconstruction, CBQ 60, 25–43. – (2000): Isaiah 1–39: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, (AB 19), New York. – (2002): Isaiah 40–55: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, (AB 19A), New York. – (2019): The Beauty of Holiness: Re-Reading Isaiah in the Light of the Psalms, London. EATON, J.H. (1959): The Origin of the Book of Isaiah, VT 9, 138–57. – (1979): Festal Drama in Deutero-Isaiah, London. ENGNELL, I. (1948): The Ebed Yahweh Songs and the Suffering Messiah in “Deutero-Isaiah,” BJRL 31, 54–93. GALAMBUSH, J. (1992): Jerusalem in the Book of Ezekiel: The City as Yahweh’s Wife, (SBLDS 130), Atlanta, GA. GOLDINGAY, J./D.F. PAYNE (2006): A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Isaiah 40–55, (ICC), London. GOULDER, M.D. (2004): Isaiah as Liturgy, (SOTS Monograph Series), Aldershot. GRABBE, L.L. (2004): A History of the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, Vol.1, (LSTS 47), New York. HÄGGLUND, F. (2008): Isaiah 53 in the Light of Homecoming After Exile, (FAT II/31), Tübingen. HERMISSON, H.-J. (1999): Deuterojesaja, in: H.D. BETZ (ed.), Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, Vol. 2, Tübingen, 684–88. HEßLER, E. (1988): Das Heilsdrama: Der Weg zur Weltherrschaft Jahwes, (Religionswissenschaftliche Texte und Studien 2), Hildesheim. KEEL, O. (2007): Die Geschichte Jerusalems und die Entstehung des Monotheismus, Vol. 2, Orte und Landschaften der Bibel IV/1, Göttingen. KEISER, T.A. (2005): The Song of Moses a Basis for Isaiah’s Prophecy, VT 55, 486–500. KLEINIG, J.W. 1993. The Lord’s Song: The Basis, Function, and Significance of Choral Music in Chronicles, (JSOTS 156), Sheffield. KÖRTING, C. (2006): Zion in den Psalmen, (FAT 48), Tübingen. MAIER, C. (2008): Daughter Zion, Mother Zion: Gender, Space, and the Sacred in Ancient Israel, Minneapolis, MN.

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MATHEUS, F. (1990): Singt dem Herrn ein neues Lied: Die Hymnen Deuterojesajas, (SBS 141), Stuttgart. MELUGIN, R. (1976): The Formation of Isaiah 40–55, (BZAW 141), Berlin. MOWINCKEL, S. (1951): Han som kommer: Messiasforventningen i det Gamle Testament og på Jesu tid, Copenhagen. NURMELA, R. (1998): The Levites: Their Emergence as a Second-Class Priesthood, (South Florida Studies in the History of Judaism 193), Atlanta, GA. POULSEN, F. (2015): Representing Zion. Judgement and Salvation in the Old Testament, (Copenhagen International Seminar), London. SANDERS, P. (1996): The Provenance of Deuteronomy 32, (OtSt 37), Leiden. SCHAPER, J. (2000): Priester und Leviten im achämenidischen Juda: Studien zur Kult- und Sozialgeschichte Israels in persischer Zeit, (FAT 31), Tübingen. STEINER, T.M. (2012): Perceived and Narrated Space in Psalm 48, OTE 25/3, 685–704. SWEENEY, M. (1996): Isaiah 1–39, (FOTL), Grand Rapids, MI. – (2016): Isaiah 40–66, (FOTL), Grand Rapids, MI. TIEMEYER, L.-S. (2006): Priestly Rites and Prophetic Rage: Post-exilic Prophetic Critique of the Priesthood, (FAT II/19), Tübingen. – (2011): For the Comfort of Zion: The Geographical and Theological Location of Isaiah 40–55, (VTS 139), Leiden. – (2017): Vocalization and Interpretation in Isaiah 56–66: Weyikṭol or Wayyikṭol in Isaiah 63.1–6 as a Case of Early Jewish Interpretation, in: G. ANDERSSON/D. WILLGREN (eds.), Studies in Isaiah: History, Theology, and Reception, (LHBOTS 654), London, 157–80. – (2019): The Seer and the Priest: The Case of the So-called Linen Ephod, in: L.-S. TIEMEYER (ed.), Prophecy and Its Cultic Dimensions, (JAJS 31), Göttingen, 135–51. VINCENT, J.M. (1977): Studien zur literarischen Eigenart und zur geistigen Heimat von Jesaja, Kap. 40–55, (BBET 5), Frankfurt am Main. WANKE, G. (1966): Die Zionstheologie der Korachiten in ihrem traditionsgeschichtlichen Zusammenhang, (BZAW 97), Berlin. WEBER, B. (2009): “Asaf” und “Jesaja”: Eine komparatistische Studie zur These von Tempelsängern als für Jesaja 40–66 verantwortlichem Trägerkreis, OTE 22/2, 456–87. WESTERMANN, C. 1966. Das Buch Jesaja Kapitel 40–66, ATD 19, Göttingen. WHYBRAY, R.N. 1978. Thanksgiving for a Liberated Prophet: An Interpretation of Isaiah Chapter 53, JSOTS 4, Sheffield. WILLIAMSON, H.G.M. (2006): A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Isaiah 1–27, Vol. 1, Commentary on Isaiah 1–5, (ICC), London. ZENGER, E. (1994): Zur redaktionsgeschichtlichen Bedeutung der Korachpsalmen, in: K. SEYBOLD/ E. ZENGER (eds.), Neue Wege der Psalmenforschung, Freiburg, 175–98.

Destruction and Desert Transformation in Isaiah 43:14–21 Clemens Schneider* I. Preamble It has been claimed that, in the texts commonly dubbed Deutero-Isaiah (Isa 40–55), the events of the early Persian period are interpreted through a particular lens: the beginning of a new time of salvation is proclaimed (cf. Isa 40:1–5) by resorting to old preexilic traditions. Likewise, it has often been postulated within the history of research that one prominent tradition in particular forms the essential background foil of Deutero-Isaiah: the exodus tradition. The return of Israelites from the Babylonian exile, which is discussed several times in Isa 40–52, has often been classified as a “second” or “new” exodus.1 The author of this essay attempts to put this old and prominent interpretation to the test and discusses alternative approaches for interpretation. This essay focuses on one specific text of Deutero-Isaiah, Isa 43:14–21.2 A brief description of the history of traditions in Isa 40–55 will be given, before Isa 43:14–21 is brought into focus. Deutero-Isaiah proclaims a salvific turning point in the context of a collective trauma. The destruction of the palace, temple, and considerable parts of the city of Jerusalem (587 BCE) precedes the texts as a historical experience. On the other side, it is remarkable that, in the entire book of Isaiah, neither the destruction of the temple nor the exilic period explicitly comes into focus. Perhaps the call to oblivion in Isa 43:18 is related to this phenomenon. Instead of recalling painful chapters of its own history, Deutero-Isaiah revitalizes traditional pre-exilic Zion theology. Thus, the texts, on the one hand, establish thematic references to the first major part of the book of Isaiah (cf. Isa 6) and, on the other hand, serve as a rich reservoir of old motifs and ideas. In pre* Special thanks to Prof. Dr. Dr. Andreas Schüle, Sandy Rogers, and Anja Marschall for reading and commenting on earlier manuscripts. The abbreviations of the article are according to the Society of Biblical Literature Handbook of Style (2nd ed., Atlanta, 2014). All errors are the author’s. 1 These terms were already shaped at the beginning of the twentieth century and became well known with an essay of the famous scholar Walther Zimmerli in 1963, if not before. See ZIMMERLI 1963, 198. According to Zimmerli the new exodus in Deutero-Isaiah is definitely seen as the departure of the exiles from the country of their deportation, Babylon, which YHWH will defeat (Isa 47), whose bars he will break through (Isa 43:14–15) and whose gods he will humiliate (Isa 46:1–2). In his opinion, the pattern of the first exodus from Egypt appears in many passages. This view remains prominently in current Deutero-Isaiah scholarship; see FOHRER 1986, 67–68; KRATZ 1991, 152–54; SCHMID 2008, 36; IDEM 2018, 57. 2 In the context of a doctoral project, the author investigates further thematically relevant passages within Isa 40–52. The whole investigation involves Isa 43:1–7; 48:20–21; 49:8–13; 51:9–11; 52:1–6, 11–12.

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exilic times, the entry of YHWH into his sanctuary was celebrated and ritualized according to the ancient oriental model (cf. Ps 24:7–10).3 Without explicitly referring to the temple, Deutero-Isaiah takes up these cultic traditions anew by promising YHWH’s return to Zion. Thus, a way for YHWH in the wilderness is prepared (Isa 40) so that he may finally enter Zion again (Isa 52). For Deutero-Isaiah, however, this homecoming no longer seems to be a recurring ritual but a unique, new, and salvific beginning. The texts go into considerable detail to connect this new beginning with concrete historical events. Within Isa 40–55, the rise of Cyrus II (cf. Isa 45:1–4), the collapse of the NeoBabylonian Empire (cf. Isa 43:14–15; 47; 48:14), and the Persian campaigns in the territory of Egypt under Cambyses II (cf. Isa 43:3; 45:14), are interpreted as signs of a renewed reign of YHWH.4 This leads to a revolution in the history of theology. A foreign ruler – Cyrus II – is called the Messiah of YHWH (Isa 45:1), who, instead of their own national king, campaigns against the enemies of Israel.5 Against this background, the old idea of the chaos battle also gains new momentum. YHWH defeats both mythical chaos powers – e.g. Rahab and Leviathan in Isa 51:9–10 – and the concrete political enemies of Israel with the help of his Messiah. Regarding the political dimension of the texts, Deutero-Isaiah is comparable to the narrative expression of the exodus tradition in Exod 1–14(15). Both texts reflect the situation of Israel in the context of dominating great powers, though in different ways. If Cyrus in Deutero-Isaiah is integrated into a divine world domination as Messiah or a tool of YHWH, Egypt in Exod 1–15 appears as a symbol of an oppressive great power, in a heightened sense even as an ungodly chaos power, which is destroyed by YHWH. This rather one-sided representation of Egypt seems to reflect a centuries-long political experience of Israel. In the course of their history, both the northern and southern kingdoms were confronted with great powers that exerted influence on the Levant through cultural pressure and military force. The imperial reaction against rebellion was consistently brutal. Both the Assyrians and the Babylonians played key roles in the history of the two kingdoms through their destructions and deportations. This experience of crisis left deep marks in Israel’s cultural memory,6 as the Old Testament literature shows. In the course of collective reflection, overcoming these experiences was integrated into the ways of imagining YHWH. Jeremiah and the Deuteronomistic literature, for example, held their own national deity responsible for the catastrophe of 587 BCE. YHWH, in this view, had reacted to the breach of faith by his people. Thus, he had sent foreign powers as punishment and had not even shrunk back from the destruction of his own temple. Deutero-Isaiah, on the other hand, revitalizes a very positive image of YHWH against the background of a new political climate, which in

3

See KRAUS 1989, 343–44. Regarding the Persian campaigns against Egypt, see BERGES 2008, 274; KUHRT 2010, 104–34; QUACK 2011, 228–46. 5 See SCHMID 2008, 134. 6 The term “cultural memory” refers to Jan Assmann’s distinction between cultural and communicative memory, see, e.g., ASSMANN 1995, 95–97. Communicative memory, on the one hand, means the knowledge transmitted orally, from generation to generation. Cultural memory, on the other hand, represents the retention of knowledge by medial sign systems (images, texts etc.). 4

Destruction and Desert Transformation

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turn finds precedent in certain theological ideas of the pre-exilic period. DeuteroIsaiah goes beyond the national boundaries of these ideas by characterizing YHWH as the only and world-dominating god (cf. Isa 45:5–7). In the style of an ancient oriental ruler, YHWH himself now writes history by caring for his people on the one hand and destroying their enemies on the other. However, the focus turns to the question of literary dependencies between the reflection of oppression and foreign rule in the exodus narrative of the Pentateuch and the political theology of Deutero-Isaiah. In the later stages of the redaction history of the book of Isaiah, intended references to the exodus tradition cannot be dismissed, as the singular references to Moses in Isa 63:11–15 show. Nevertheless, the question remains. Did the exodus tradition already have a formative dimension in the formation of the earliest texts of Isa 40–66? One text of particular relevance to this question is Isa 43:14–21 (MT), which will first be presented in an English translation: 14 Thus says YHWH, your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel: “For your sake I have sent to Babylon and have brought them down, all the fugitives, namely the Chaldeans, in the ships of their rejoicing / supplication. 15 I am YHWH, your Holy One, the Creator of Israel, your King.” 16 Thus says YHWH, who makes a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters, 17 who leads out chariot and horse, army and warrior; they lie down, they cannot rise, they are extinguished, quenched like a wick: 18 “Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. 19 Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it emerges; do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and streams in the desert. 20 The wild beasts will honor me, the jackals and the ostriches, for I give water in the wilderness, rivers in the desert, to give drink to my chosen people, 21 the people whom I formed for myself will declare my praise.” (NRSV modified)

The form of the text is divided into two parts, with the messenger formula in v. 16 creating a new beginning. This caesura also corresponds to a characteristic change of the tempora. If verses 14–15 depict a divine decision of the immediate past (perfect forms), verses 16–21 represent a proclamation focused on the present time and the future (participles and imperfect forms). On the other hand, the Tetragrammaton in vv. 14a, 15a, 16a and the hymn-like participial forms provide formal continuity.7 In terms of content, however, the two parts are essentially related to each other. First, the decline of the Babylonian Empire is reflected upon in a very polemical manner (vv. 14–15). This immediate event is taken as an occasion to characterize YHWH as a warrior victorious for all time in the battle against chaos (vv. 16–17). He proves his power by creating completely new things without historical analogy (vv. 18–19a). This creative dimension finds its expression in YHWH as the one who radically transforms the desert (vv. 19b–21). Destruction and new creation form two conceptual and corresponding themes of the entire passage.

7

See BERGES 2008, 296.

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As already indicated, this passage was often interpreted in the form of a new or second exodus. There are several arguments for this view.8 However, there are also serious content-related problems associated with this interpretation. There are three main arguments to support the notion of a new exodus. First, the narrative chronology of Exod 13–18 can be identified in the Isaianic text. Thus vv. 16– 17 can be understood as an allusion to the miracle of the sea in Exod 14–15, whereupon the desert journey follows, beginning with Exod 15:22 (vv. 19–20). In addition to a possible chronological analogy of this text, there is also the possibility of an analogy with regard to the respective enemy of the exodus of Israel. If one understands vv. 16–17 as an allusion to the sea miracle in Exod 14–15, one can identify the defeated Chaldeans in v. 14 as reminiscent of the once destroyed Egyptians (v. 17). According to this interpretation, the text stresses a historical continuity of divine action against the background of the new beginning in v. 19a. Third, vv. 18–19a can be interpreted in a certain way that the old exodus is to be forgotten in order to be replaced by an incomparable new exodus. However, these three arguments are problematical. Whether, in vv. 16–17, the miracle of the Red Sea is actually intended, cannot be concluded with certainty, since the text does not mention Moses, the Egyptians, or the Red Sea. A further difficulty with this interpretation arises with reference to those scholars, who call into question the existence of a pre-priestly narrative of a miracle of the sea.9 Since Isa 43:14–21 is, according to a majority of scholars, attributed to DeuteroIsaiah’s core text that is dated to around 550–530 BCE, it is rather unlikely that the text is literarily dependent on the Priestly Code (P), which tends to be dated later.10 Even the Song of Miriam (Exod 15:21b), which for a long time has been identified as an ancient literary tradition, is now mostly assigned to redactional work, which, as such, cannot be any older than the (priestly?) core material of the story of the miracle of the sea.11 These considerations disable all three arguments mentioned, because they are essentially based on literary dependencies between Exod 13–18* and Isa 43:14–21. Also the contrast identified by Ulrich Berges between the increased praise of God in Isa 43:21 and Israel’s mourning within the desert journey narratives (cf. Exod 15–17; Num 11: 20) are challenged by current concepts of redaction history.12 The considera-

8

See KIESOW 1979, 70–78; KOOLE 1997, 323–36; LUND 2007, 181. See BERNER 2014; GERMANY 2017, 76–91. 10 Regarding the redaction criticism of Isa 43:14–21, see e.g., KRATZ 1991, 148; VAN OORSCHOT 1993, 95; contra KLEIN 2015, 288–95. Regarding the debate on the dating of the Priestly Code (P), see e.g. ZENGER 2012, 203–204. With regard to a consensus for the dating of P, scholarship currently divides roughly into two camps: one votes for an early exilic origin around 520 BCE in Babylon, the other for a somewhat later dating in the fifth century BCE in Jerusalem. In addition to these options, there are many other theories. Erhard Blum, for example, locates P as part of a priestly composition of the Pentateuch around 500 BCE. This composition of priestly and non-priestly texts was created in the course of Persian imperial authorisation in order to create a document capable of maintaining a majority in the Persian province of Yehud, see ZENGER 2012, 130–35. 11 See BERNER 2014, 18; GERMANY 2017, 94; SCHMITT 2014, 35. 12 See e.g. GERMANY 2017, 71–112; 197–202; 236–38. Germany assigns the mentioned narratives to priestly and post-priestly stages of development. 9

Destruction and Desert Transformation

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tion that Isaiah used orally transmitted or not preserved (pre-priestly) literary versions of the narratives of the exodus and the desert journey is entirely speculative. Also within Isa 43:14–21 there are serious examples of incoherence if one interprets the passage according to the concept of a new or second exodus. First, it has to be stated that the real historical journey between Babylonia and Palestine did not lead through any desert.13 On the other hand, the desert semantics in Isa 40–55 are very broadly distributed throughout the text, with no implication of a return from Babylonia. Thus, the promise of water in the desert in Isa 43:19–20 is connected with other passages in Isa 40–55 focussing on water and lush vegetation in the desert (Isa 40:3–8; 41:17–20; 44:1–5; 51:3; cf. Isa 35). Therefore the water in the desert is connected with a transformation of nature, which has no parallel in the exodus tradition.14 Rather, a fundamental transformation appears in the corresponding texts in Isa 40–55 by dissolving the dualism of cultivated land and desert, which is characteristic of the geographical and cultural situation of the Levant, into a paradisiacal state.15 Since the desert appears both in Isa 40–55 and in the entire Old Testament as a symbol of existential endangerment and hopelessness (cf., among others, Deut 32:10; Ps 107:40), a corresponding metaphorical interpretation in the sense of ending a fundamentally negative situation should be seriously considered for Isa 43:14–21 as well.16 This consideration also corresponds to the indication that the water in vv. 19b–20 seems to be far more than just provisions for a journey. Furthermore, the animals in v. 20, which play no role within the exodus and desert journey narratives in Exodus and Numbers, remain strangely inexplicable in the context of a second or new exodus. Should the jackals and ostriches just be spectators and admirers of an exodus newly staged by YHWH? In order to resolve all these questions, Isa 43:14–21 must be examined in detail.

II. Isaiah 43:14–15 Verse fourteen begins with an antagonistic action of YHWH against Babel (‫ שׁלח‬in connection with ‫“ בבלה‬I have sent to Babel”; cf. 1QJesa ‫“ שׁלחתי ]ידי[ בבבל‬I have reached out [my hand] against Babel”). The refugees do not seem to be the prisoners of the Babylonians at this point, but the Babylonians themselves are under the curse of the divine punishment.17 The last waw of the verse is interpreted as a waw explicativum, whereby v. 14b acquires the structure of a parallelismus membrorum. According to 13

TIEMEYER 2011, 172: “[T]he idea of a return route from Babylon through a hostile desert is historically unjustifiable, and no comparable textual evidence suggests that any of the Babylonian exiles ever returned this way. Blenkinsopp aptly labels such an itinerary ‘suicidal’. The returning exiles would rather have followed the north-western road through the Fertile Crescent along the course of the Euphrates into Syria, then south to Damascus, and then either along the coastal route or the central ridge to Jerusalem (this route can be inferred from Neh 2:7 ff.; Ezra 7:13 ff.).” 14 See BERGES 2004. 15 See LINDEMANN 2000, 66. 16 Øystein Lund (2007, 295) presents very convincing interpretations of the key metaphors of Isa 40–55 – way and desert – and interprets them in relationship to real life experiences. 17 See BERGES 2008, 294.

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this interpretation, the root ‫( ירד‬hi.) integrates both the refugees (v. 14bα) and the Chaldeans in their ships as objects (v. 14bβ), which makes a cumbersome nominal sentence at the end of the verse unnecessary. Regarding content, v. 14 is a polemical expression of the inglorious end of the Babylonian Empire. In view of the presumably non-military capture of Babylon by Cyrus II, the aggressive impetus of the text towards the world metropolis on the Euphrates is remarkable.18 Presumably, this text reflects the author’s anti-Babylonian attitude rather than a historical reality. On the other hand, this text possibly reacts to the ruthless suppression of revolts in Babylon by Dareios I in the years 522–520 BCE.19 The element of water plays an essential role in the literary expression of v. 14, as in the rest of the text. Throughout the entire text, the image is drawn ambiguously. In v. 14 it is associated with the Chaldeans by the term ‫“( אנית רנתם‬ships of their rejoicing / supplication”). This peculiar term could mean different things: warships, merchant ships sailing the Euphrates, or boats decorated for the processions of the Babylonian deities.20 The text thus refers here to the fact that the Chaldeans liked to utilize the element of water for their own purposes. V. 14 stages this element used by the Chaldeans as a polemic against them. Water as the reason for their pride now becomes a place of doom. The verb ‫ ירד‬functions as a linguistic expression of a downfall, which can be interpreted in different ways, including as sinking into the water or as downfall into Sheol21 (cf. Gen 37:35, 42:38; Isa 14:11, 15; 38:18; Ez 31:15–18, 32:27; Ps 55:16). In the context of this scenario, YHWH is characterized as the true master of water in the sense of the Lord of creation. This aspect is continued and deepened in vv. 16–17. The self-imagination formula in v. 15 confirms what was said before. This formula marks the sovereignty of YHWH on the one hand.22 On the other hand, it expresses a turning to his people, who should recognize him both as the reason for their existence and as their true and effective king.

III. Isaiah 43:16–17 In v. 16 both YHWH’s sovereignty and his turning toward Israel are illustrated by his power to make a way in the sea. The reader familiar with the OT naturally sees a reference to the Red Sea miracle (Exod 14–15). To what extent Isa 43:14–21 is literarily dependent on Exod 14–15 is, as already mentioned, questionable. On the other hand, 18

For the unarmed capture of Babylon see e.g. FREVEL 2016, 288. With reference to Rainer Albertz, see BLENKINSOPP 2019, 27: “Cyrus had proved to be a disappointment after entering Babylon peacefully, under the aegis of the Babylonian imperial deity Marduk and the sponsorship of his priesthood, but now Darius, after crushing the Babylonian dynastic revolts, would act as agent of the God of Israel in authorizing and facilitating the repatriation of Judeans exiled by the Babylonians.” 20 See BERGES 2008, 294–95. 21 See ibid., 295. 22 Note Berges’ observation (2008, 295): “Das, was sich vor den Augen aller Welt vollzieht, ist nicht fremden Göttern wie etwa Marduk anzurechnen, den Kyrus an seinen angestammten Platz im babylonischen Großkult zurückbrachte, sondern JHWH allein.” 19

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in the context of Isa 43:14–21, this verse can also be plausibly interpreted without any exodus reference. The way in the sea is not just a narrative element of Exod 1–15, but also a motif of the pre-exilic idea of the chaos battle with regard to the fight of a deity against the sea or against a power representing the sea (cf. Ps 77; 93).23 Thus, the way in the sea ultimately is a metaphorical expression of the fact that YHWH overcomes resistance and existential threats. Isa 43:2 serves as an essential reference here. This verse expresses YHWH’s assistance to Jacob-Israel as they walk through water and fire. At the least, walking through fire is hardly to be interpreted as an exodus memory. On the other side a plausible derivation of the motives in v. 16 from the idea of the chaos battle can be given. As the victorious deity, YHWH creating a way in the water (v. 16 cf. Ps 77:20) is domesticating the water just as he is cultivating the desert (vv. 19–20). Water thus appears in Isa 43:14–21 as both a life-threatening power of chaos and a life-giving gift. With regards to v. 17, it should be noted that the root ‫ יצא‬possibly represents a reference to the exodus tradition. The roots ‫( יצא‬hi .) and ‫( עלה‬hi .) with the subject YHWH and the object Israel are constitutive components of the dtn-dtr exodus credo (cf. e.g. Deut 5:6). However, it must also be pointed out that, in v. 17, YHWH is the subject of the verb, but the object is not Israel but rather the enemy forces. In this respect, v. 17 shows an inconsistency in comparison to the dtn-dtr exodus tradition. Furthermore, the exodus credo itself does not appear anywhere in Deutero-Isaiah. What stands out, however, is a combination of the semantics of water and the semantics of war involving a hostile cavalry. This combination results in both an inner-biblical reference to the story of the miracle of the sea (Exod 14) and to the Song of Miriam (Exod 15:21). However, both the depiction of the Egyptian warriors in Exod 14:9 as a mighty cavalry and the Song of Miriam (Exod 15:21b) with its reference to horse and rider (‫סוס ורכבו‬ cf. v. 17 ‫)רכב־וסוס‬, are, to all appearances, (post-)priestly inventions.24 Even if the Song of Miriam is a pre-exilic hymn, its genuine reference to the exodus tradition is questionable.25 Considering that, an intended reference of vv. 16–17 to Exod 14–15 is not easily given. As already mentioned, a reference of the verses to an orally transmitted or not preserved (pre-priestly) literary version of the sea miracle narrative is entirely speculative. In this respect, it is necessary to ask what interpretative approaches the text itself provides in the context of Isa 40–52. The clear terminological reference between Isa 43:17 and 42:3 is revealing.26 Only in these two verses in Isaiah does the lexeme ‫ פשׁתה‬appear. This reference creates images with stark and intriguing contrasts. The Babylonians as merciless oppressors suffer a fate commensurate with their behavior, and as a brightly burning wick they are extinguished by Cyrus II. The Persian leader, on the other hand, takes care of the weak by not extinguishing a dimly burning wick. This marks the ideal of a divine dominion represented by the Messiah, Cyrus. For this interpretation, which is based on the internal program of Isa 40–52, the exodus tradition is obsolete. 23

See MÜLLER 2013. See BERNER 2014, 5; GERMANY 2017, 89; KLEIN 2015, 292; SCHMITT 2014, 34–35. 25 See BERNER 2010, 391–92. 26 See e.g. FOHRER 1986, 68. 24

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IV. Isaiah 43:18–19a These verses generate the crux interpretum regarding the question of whether Isa 43:14–21 intends to allude to the exodus tradition. Does the prohibition of remembrance formulated in v. 18 demand a relativization or rejection of the exodus from Egypt?27 The lexemes ‫ ראשׁנות‬and ‫ קדמניות‬could refer to pre-historic or meta-historic events such as the exodus from Egypt or historical events of the recent past such as the destruction of Jerusalem in 587 BCE and the exilic period. In addition to that, it would be possible to combine both variants through different interpretations of the respective lexemes.28 If the exodus from Egypt is an intended point of reference for this verse, it raises the question of whether the exodus tradition should be completely eliminated from the culture of memory, although in v. 16 elements of the tradition appear with a positive connotation. Schüle and Berges vote in favor of understanding the prohibition of remembrance in v. 18 more as a prohibition against creating analogies – in mind or in practice. Berges argues that the radically new beginning in v. 19a forbids a mental determination tied to previous paradigms of the relationship with God.29 Schüle interprets the verse as a call for a new kind of memory culture between preservation and selection. This culture intends to shape memory in such a way that it provides orientation for the present without forcing it into an old form.30 With regard to v. 18, this means that Israel should remember the divine act of salvation when leaving Egypt (v. 16f.) but without falling back into the old behavior patterns that led to the downfall of 587 BCE. Lund, on the other hand, clearly lessens the exodus reference. In his interpretation the verse completely focuses on the new that is now emerging: “The point with the command in v. 18 is [...] not, that the addressee should forget what is narrated in v. 16f but that they should not let it be the last word in their story with YHWH.”31 Lund thus sees in the exodus from Egypt in vv. 16–17 a vanishing point of remembrance, whereas he understands the proclaimed events in vv. 19–21 not as a second or new exodus, but as a transformation. “A better solution [than the idea of a Second Exodus] is to take the ‘new thing’ foreshadowed in v. 19a as YHWH’s action to create a new situation for the people.”32 To what extent the exodus from Egypt is a constitutive element for Lund’s interpretation will be discussed at the end of this essay. The idea of a transformation staged by Isa 43:14–21 is still continued and accentuated with regard to the concluding verses.

27

See e.g. ZAPF 2001, 263. See e.g. BERGES 2008, 300–301; FOHRER 1986, 67–68; LUND 2007, 187–91; VAN OORSCHOT 1993, 71–74; SCHÜLE 2018, 363–64. Lund considers both variants as possible with a certain tendency to a distant point of remembrance (possibly exodus). Berges and Schüle consider the exodus from Egypt to be the plausible background of v. 18, whereas Fohrer and VAN Oorschot vote for the destruction of Jerusalem and the subsequent exile as reference point. 29 See BERGES 2008, 300. 30 See SCHÜLE 2018, 363. 31 LUND 2007, 189. 32 Ibid., 191. 28

Destruction and Desert Transformation

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V. Isaiah 43:19b–21 As already mentioned at the beginning, the interpretation of Isa 43:14–21 within the framework of a new or second exodus leads to various examples of incoherence. This is particularly striking in the last verses to be considered. At this point, the literary function of the elements “desert,” “water,” and the desert animals appearing in v. 20 will be examined in detail. The aim is to discuss whether these elements speak for or against a new or second exodus. Beyond that, the concept of fundamental creative transformation presented by Lund will be applied to the interpretation of the whole passage. At this point it is necessary to refer once again to the argument that it causes considerable problems to understand “desert” in Isa 43:19b–21 as a geographical location of a second exodus. At the same time, the gift of water in these verses seems to be far more than quenching the thirst of a group of travellers. Lund rightly points out that Isa 40–55 focuses on people who are already thirsty and are already in a desert (cf. Isa 41:17).33 The consequence of these considerations is that the prophetic word of salvation in Isa 43:19b–21 is not about a forthcoming journey, but about a desert in which one already finds oneself. This interpretation is independent of the concrete whereabouts of the addressees, so it could be written for the Israelite exiles in Babylon as well as for people in Judah-Jerusalem. The semantic field of “desert” is broadly positioned in Isa 40–55 (e.g. ‫ מדבר‬/ ‫ ארץ ציה‬/ ‫ ערבה‬cf. Isa 41:17). The role of the people in the desert is partly unmentioned, which excludes an exodus reference at these points. However, the main theme of all of the texts in Isa 40–55 that include desert semantics is the transformation of a basic situation expressed by divine cultivation of the desert. The desert itself can be described as a desolate situation that is experienced as distance from God.34 The desert transformation in Isa 43:19b–21 leads to a changed relationship with God, namely to the ability to praise YHWH (v. 21). This interpretation also corresponds to the observation that the word pairs ‫ דרך‬/ ‫ נטבה‬and ‫ מדבר‬/ ‫ ישׁמן‬occurring in v. 19 always appear in metaphorical contexts in the Old Testament (e.g., Deut 32:9– 10).35 An essential reference point for the interpretation of desert in Isa 40–55 is Isa 40, which marks a preparation of a way in the desert for YHWH’s return to Zion (Isa 40:1– 11 cf. 52:7–10) and YHWH’s promise that he would come “to give the people strength for further journeying”36 (Isa 40:27–31). YHWH takes the initiative and proceeds so that the people can follow him. Within that image, according to psalmic language, the drinking people can be understood as the image of an active relationship with God that overcomes thirst, which is itself a break in this relationship (e.g., Ps 36:9; 42:2–3; 63:2–6; 107:4–9; cf. Isa 12:3; 33:21).37 33

See ibid. See BERGES 2008, 304: “Auch in den übrigen Passagen von Wüste (vgl. Jes 40,3; 41,17–20; 44,1–5; 51,3; 58,11) symbolisiert das Trockenland eine schwierige Lage, in welcher der Segen Gottes fehlt.” 35 See LUND 2007, 182–83. 36 Ibid., 195. 37 See ibid., 195–96. 34

198

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The desert animals appearing in v. 20 fit coherently into this interpretation. In the Old Testament, jackals and ostriches are usually representatives of a misanthropic region and, beyond that, representatives of chaos. Particularly in poetic texts they serve as metaphorical expressions of misery, extreme punishment, and abandonment by God (cf. Job 30:29; Isa 34:13b). In v. 20 their praise of YHWH exposes the undreamed-of significance of the transformation initiated by God. The representatives of chaos become praising servants of YHWH. Thus, the desert appears in an absolutely different light: “The changed behaviour of these animals thus marks the transformation of the desert from a place of curse to a place of blessing – a place of God’s presence.”38 This dramaturgical climax is completely lost when Isa 43:14–21 is interpreted within the framework of a new or second exodus and the animals are thus degraded to decorative ornaments of the scenery.39

VI. Conclusion Within the framework of a transformation created by YHWH, Isa 43:14–21 can be interpreted as a declaration that just as YHWH defeated the Chaldeans and was always able to defeat the chaotic powers and open up new ways, he will transform the desert in which the people currently find themselves. If a reference to the exodus tradition was intended, which cannot be proven beyond doubt, it only has an encouraging function but is not constitutive for the overall statement. Thus, the focus of the passage is not a second or new exodus but a radical transformation of a miserable situation, including the healing of a broken relationship with God. The conceptual correspondence between destruction and new creation in Isa 43:14– 21 can be described as YHWH rigorously eliminating all enemies and existential threats to the people in order to establish a salutary situation. Historical events take on a mythical dimension within the framework of this divine battle against chaos. This can be interpreted as an innovative attempt to counter an “absolutism of reality” (Blumenberg).40 According to Deutero-Isaiah’s perspective, the small province of Yehud no longer has to understand itself as a plaything of the great powers but as the center of the worldwide reign of God.

38

LUND 2007, 196–97; see also BERGES 2008, 304. Fohrer (1986, 68) speaks of a triumphal procession in honour of God in the context of the second exodus. See also VAN OORSCHOT 1993, 70–71. 40 According to the functional definition of the myth by Hans Blumenberg (2014, 9), the mythical world of gods serves as a means to keep the so-called absolutism of reality at bay. Blumenberg refers to the diffuse fears and tensions to which humans are exposed as deficient beings. The myth call these fears and tensions by name and keeps them at a distance, such as the desert animals in Isa 43:20 or Rahab and Leviathan in Isa 51:9. 39

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Bibliography ASSMANN, J. (1995): Kulturelles Gedächtnis als normative Erinnerung: Das Prinzip “Kanon” in der Erinnerungskultur Ägyptens und Israels, in: O.G. OEXLE (ed.), Memoria als Kultur, (Veröffentlichungen des Max Planck Instituts für Geschichte 121), Göttingen, 95–114. BERGES, U. (2004): Der zweite Exodus im Jesajabuch: Auszug oder Verwandlung?, in: F.-L. HOSSFELD/L. SCHWIENHORST-SCHÖNBERGER (eds.), Das Manna fällt auch heute noch: Beiträge zur Geschichte und Theologie des Alten, Ersten Testaments, (HBS 44), Freiburg im Breisgau, 77–95. – (2008): Jesaja 40–48, (HThKAT), Freiburg im Breisgau. BERNER, C. (2010): Die Exoduserzählung: Das literarische Werden einer Ursprungslegende Israels, (FAT 73), Tübingen. – (2014): Gab es einen vorpriesterlichen Meerwunderbericht?, Bib 95, 1–25. BLENKINSOPP, J. (2019): The Earliest Persian Prophetic Texts, in: R.J. BAUTCH/M. LACKOWSKI (eds.), On Dating Biblical Texts to the Persian Period, (FAT II/101), Tübingen, 19–29. BLUMENBERG, H. 4(2014): Arbeit am Mythos, Frankfurt am Main. FOHRER, G. 2(1986): Jesaja 40–66: Deuterojesaja/Tritojesaja, (ZBK AT 19.3), Zürich. GERMANY, S. (2017): The Exodus-Conquest Narrative: The Composition of the Non-Priestly Narratives in Exodus-Josua, (FAT 115), Tübingen. KIESOW, K. (1979): Exodustexte im Jesajabuch: Literarkritische und motivgeschichtliche Analysen, (OBO 24), Göttingen. KLEIN, A. (2015): “Zieht heraus aus Babel”: Beobachtungen zum Zweiten Exodus im Deuterojesajabuch, ZThK 112.3, 279–99. KOOLE, J.L. (1997): Isaiah Part 3/Vol. 1: Isaiah 40–48, (Historical Commentary on the Old Testament), Kampen. KRATZ, R.G. (1991): Kyros im Deuterojesaja-Buch: Redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu Entstehung und Theologie von Jes 40–55, (FAT 1), Tübingen. KRAUS, H.-J. 6(1989): Psalmen: 1. Teilband Psalmen 1–59, (BKAT XV/1), Neukirchen-Vluyn. KUHRT, A. (2010) The Persian Empire: A Corpus of Sources from the Achaemenid Period, London/ New York. LINDEMANN, U. (2000): Die Wüste Terra incognita Erlebnis Symbol: Eine Genealogie der abendländischen Wüstenvorstellungen in der Literatur von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart, (Beiträge zur Neueren Literaturgeschichte 175), Heidelberg. LUND, Ø. (2007): Way Metaphors and Way Topics in Isaiah 40–55, (FAT II/28), Tübingen. MÜLLER, R. (2013): Die frühe Jahweverehrung im Spiegel der ältesten Psalmen, BThZ 30.1, 89–119. VAN OORSCHOT, J. (1993): Von Babel zum Zion: Eine literarkritische und redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung, (BZAW 206), Berlin. QUACK, J.F. (2011): Zum Datum der persischen Eroberung Ägyptens unter Kambyses, JEH 4, 228– 46. SCHMID, K. (2008): Literaturgeschichte des Alten Testaments: Eine Einführung, Darmstadt. – (2018): Die Schrift als Text und Kommentar verstehen: Theologische Konsequenzen der neuesten literaturgeschichtlichen Forschung an der Hebräischen Bibel, in: I. FISCHER et al. (eds.), Der Streit um die Schrift, (JBTh 31), Göttingen, 47–63. SCHMITT, H.-C. (2014): Wie deuteronomistisch ist der nichtpriesterliche Meerwunderbericht von Exodus 13,17–14,31?, Bib 95, 26–48. SCHÜLE, A. (2018): Erinnern und Vergessen. Die prophetische Hermeneutik einer Theologie des Neuen, EvTh 78.5, 361–74. TIEMEYER, L.-S. (2011): For the Comfort of Zion: The Geographical and Theological Location of Isaiah 40–55, (VT.S 139), Leiden. ZAPFF, B.M. (2001): Jesaja 40–55, (NEchtB 36), Würzburg. ZENGER, E. 8(2012): Einleitung in das Alte Testament, Stuttgart.

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ZIMMERLI, W. (1963): Der “neue Exodus” in der Verkündigung der beiden großen Exilspropheten, in: W. ZIMMERLI (ed.), Gottes Offenbarung: Gesammelte Aufsätze, Munich, 192–204.

The Terminology of the Cult in Isaiah 56–66 Nathan MacDonald* The final eleven chapters of the book of Isaiah, a complex of texts that scholarship has christened Trito-Isaiah, frequently employs cultic terminology. Its frequency presents a striking contrast with the previous sixteen chapters of Deutero-Isaiah. In this essay I examine the cultic terminology that Trito-Isaiah used and explore how it was used to communicate the messages of its composers to the small temple-centered community that subsisted in Persian Yehud. The kind of terminological survey that I am undertaking has certain methodological limitations. For one thing, cultic terminology does not belong in its own sealed environment. Near Eastern cults developed their own specialized vocabulary, but also utilized vocabulary that was used in other contexts. Any examination of cultic terminology must take such factors into account, and also recognize that there is no clear boundary where cultic terminology ends and non-cultic begins. For another thing, such a survey cannot analyze coded critiques that use non-cultic language to speak about cultic infractions. It has been argued that such claims are to be found in the cryptic accusations against the “children of the sorceress” in Isa 57:1–13, for example. Nevertheless, I hope that there will be some benefits to what I present here. In particular, I hope to find a way to work across a text that all agree has had a complex genesis, the precise contours of which still elude us. For myself, I am satisfied that the book had an extended period of sedimentation with some of the earliest material located in Isa 60– 62 and some of the latest material in Isa 56 and 65–66. For my purposes Trito-Isaiah is a convenient moniker for texts that critical scholars have conventionally considered together without making any claim to compositional unity. Indeed, the presence of cultic terminology across the eleven chapters illustrates something of the continuity across Trito-Isaiah as well as some of the internal developments and tensions. My intention, though, is not to elucidate the compositional history of this text, but rather to find a slightly different way of cutting into the text in the hope that by doing so one or two features might be revealed which are often missed in other approaches to the text. My essay will examine the following semantic fields: sanctuary, priesthood, sacrifice, purity and holiness, calendar, and oracular enquiry.

* I am grateful to colleagues who attended the third RIAB conference for their questions and feedback to my paper, most especially to Andreas Schüle, Todd Hibbard, and Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer who gave detailed comments on the original paper.

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I. Sanctuary Vocabulary In Isaiah 56–66, the most frequently attested cultic terminology relates to the temple in Jerusalem, and we find a diverse array of expressions being employed to refer to it. The description of the temple as God’s house (‫ )בית‬occurs eight times, and is especially common in chapters 56 and 66. The temple as God’s domestic space is emphasized especially through the use of first-person suffixes. Though not previously found in the book of Isaiah, ‫ ביתי‬is common in other prophetic books. The temple is “my house” (56:5, 7) and “my glorious house” (60:7). Yet, it can also be aptly described as the people’s. They lament over the destruction of “our holy and beautiful house” (64:10). In 66:20 the expression “house of YHWH” appears in a context that appears almost proverbial: “just as the Israelites bring a grain offering in a clean vessel to the house of YHWH.” The appellation “house of prayer” in 56:7 is not found elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, but does comport well with Solomon’s prayer of dedication which envisages the foreigner praying towards the temple (1 Kgs 8:41–43).1 Since both Isaiah 56 and 1 Kgs 8 envisage foreigners praying in or towards the temple,2 it is possible that Solomon’s prayer has influenced the composer of Isa 56:1–8.3 The juxtaposition of prayer with sacrifices belies the attempts to use this verse to argue for a shift from the temple as a place of sacrifice to a place of prayer.4 The temple is also frequently referred to with the metonym “my holy mountain” (‫ ;הר קדשי‬56:7; 57:13; 65:11, 25; 66:20).5 The association of deities with mountains in 1

BLENKINSOPP 2003, 141. The common features include the “foreigner” (‫בני נכרי‬, Isa 56:6; ‫הנכרי‬, 1 Kgs 8:41), “house” (‫ביתי‬, Isa 56:6; ‫ ;אל־הבית הזה‬1 Kgs 8:42), “all peoples” (‫לכל־העמים‬, Isa 56:7; ‫כל־עמי הארץ‬, 1 Kgs 8:43), and “prayer” (‫תפלה‬, Isa 56:7; ‫והתפלל‬, 1 Kgs 8:42). 3 Determining the direction of influence here, as in other cases, is not straightforward. It is possible that 1 Kgs 8:41–43 is a secondary addition to Solomon’s prayer, since it is connected rather loosely with ‫ וגם‬and marks a noticeable shift away from Israel praying to the temple as a result of some affliction (1 Kgs 8:33–40). The case in Isa 56 appears to be a development unanticipated in 1 Kgs 8, since in Solomon’s prayer the foreigner lives at a distance to the temple. This could, however, represent an assimilation by a later redactor to the narrative context of Solomon’s reign. A more convincing argument would be that the idea of God’s dwelling in heaven is also found in Isa 66. Thus, we have a case where the lexemes and idea of 1 Kgs 8:41–43 are distributed more widely in Isa 56–66, which would usually be evidence that Isa 56–66 is the later text (for discussion see TOOMAN 2011, 32). 4 Contra, for example, WESTERMANN 1969, 315: “Significantly, the temple is now called ‘house of prayer.’ Because sacrifice had not been possible during the exile, the spoken element in worship had become the dominant one.” 5 LXX has additional examples in 63:18 and 65:9. In 63:18a it reads ἵνα µικρὸν κληρονοµήσωµεν τοῦ ὄρους τοῦ ἁγίου σου for MT’s ‫למצער ירשו עם קדשך‬. The LXX’s reading would provide a good parallel to the following line: ‫( צרינו בוססו מקדשך‬v. 18b), but as Blenkinsopp (2003, 255) notes “this verse bristles with problems” and LXX may simply be trying to make sense of a text similar to MT. In 65:9 LXX reads καὶ κληρονοµήσει τὸ ὄρος τὸ ἅγιόν µου for MT’s ‫יוֹר שׁ ה ָָרי‬. ֵ The Masoretic pointing as a plural does not commend itself in light of the 3fs suffix that follows in the following line: ‫וירשוה בחירי‬. Inheriting God’s holy mountain is an idea also found in 57:13 and the reference to “my mountain” in 65:9 would anticipate the reference to “my holy mountain” in v. 11. In 66:20, on the other hand, LXX lacks a reference to “my holy mountain” and reads εἰς τὴν ἁγίαν πόλιν Ιερουσαληµ. 2

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the Near East is well known, and does not need to be repeated here.6 “My holy mountain,” however, need not refer to simply the site of the temple complex as it does in Isa 56, for it occurs in parallelism with the land (57:13) and in apposition with Jerusalem (66:20). Thus, the metonym’s polyvalency can be exploited to suggest the interrelationship between temple, city, and land. The polyvalency is probably not original to Isaiah 56–66, for the use of “my holy mountain” in the psalms suggests various referents.7 The term “sanctuary” (‫ )מקדש‬occurs only twice in Isaiah 56–66. In 60:13, “the place of my sanctuary” will be beautified (‫ )פאר‬through building materials from Lebanon,8 whilst in 63:18 the people lament the destruction of “your sanctuary.” The two texts portray contrasting relationships that foreigners have with the temple. In 60:13 their wealth adorns the temple, but in 63:18 the adversaries of Jerusalem trample it. Both uses of ‫ מקדש‬seem to have the physicality of the structures in view. The temple is also “the place where my feet rest” (‫ )מקום רגלי‬in 60:13. An almost identical image is used in 66:1, but the referent is different: God describes the earth as his footstool ( ‫)הדם רגלי‬.9 The idea of the temple as the resting place of the heavenly being is also found in Ezek 43:7; Ps 132:7; and Lam 2:1. The expression “my holy courts” (‫ ;חצרות קדשי‬62:9) is attested nowhere else in the Hebrew Bible, but the open area of the tabernacle and Solomon’s temple are called courts in P, 1 Kgs 7–8 and some of the psalms. In Isa 62:9, the courts are the places where the people bring and enjoy their offerings. The qualification of the temple courts as “holy” highlights the importance of the root ‫ קדש‬for the conceptualization of YHWH and his temple in Isaiah 56–66. In Isa 56:5 “within my walls” (‫ )בחומתי‬appears to be another metonym for the wider sanctuary and describes the space marked out by the temenos. The temple might also be referred to on one occasion with the word ‫( היכל‬66:6). The use of a term associated with royal power and the absence of any qualification of it as holy is appropriate as YHWH is portrayed dealing retribution on his enemies.10 In the context of sanctuary vocabulary, we might also mention the term “altar” ( ‫ ;מזבח‬56:7; 60:7). Although it might also be discussed under sacrificial terminology, there are a couple of reasons for discussing it here. First, it is used in conjunction with the other sanctuary terminology already examined. In 56:7 it appears with “my holy mountain” and “my house of prayer,” whilst in 60:7 it appears with “my glorious house.” Secondly, the term ‫ מזבח‬bears first-person suffixes in the same way that sanctuary terminology does. The similarities to sanctuary vocabulary suggest that ‫ מזבח‬can function as something of a metonym for the entire temple complex.

The translator may have been wrestling with the fact that “my holy mountain” seems to refer elsewhere to the sanctuary, rather than the city. Describing Jerusalem as the “holy city” is rare and late in the Hebrew Bible, and is found in Isa 48:2; 52:1; Dan 9:24; Neh 11: 1, 18 (cf. Ps 48:1). 6 See, for example, the classic study by CLIFFORD 1972. 7 Compare, e.g., Ps 2:6; 43:3; 48:1; 87:1. 8 LXX reads τὸν τόπον τὸν ἅγιόν µου which seems to reflect the Hebrew text ‫מקום קדשי‬. 9 For this, see Gärtner’s contribution in this volume, pp. 213–28. 10 See GOLDINGAY 2014, 493.

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A few observations should be made about the sanctuary terminology that I have briefly described. First, it is striking how frequently personal suffixes are attached to the terms for the temple. It is “my house,” “my sanctuary,” “the place where my feet rest,” “my holy courts,” “my walls,” “my altar,” and “my holy mountain.” The relationship that God has to the Jerusalem temple is deep and integral. It is, perhaps, unsurprising then that the most common term for the temple – “house” – highlights the close association God has with the sanctuary. A striking illustration of this bond is 65:11 where forsaking YHWH is paralleled to forgetting “my holy mountain.” Secondly, the identification of the altar as “my altar” and as a metonym for the sanctuary are telling factors against any attempt to see a de-emphasis on sacrifice in Isaiah 56–66. Thirdly, we find a number of collocations that are unattested anywhere else in the Hebrew Bible: “house of prayer,” “my glorious house,” and “my holy courts.” This allows us to attribute their precise formulation some significance, since they do not appear to be traditional appellations. Fourthly, a number of the modifiers for the temple are also applied to God’s heavenly habitation. Just as the temple is described as “holy,” God dwells in a “high and holy place” (‫ )מרום וקדוש‬according to 57:15. Similarly, just as “glory” (‫ ;תפארת‬60:7; 64:10; cf. 60:13) is applied to the temple so it is also appropriate for describing heaven: “your holy and glorious habitation” ( ‫ ;זבל קדשך ותפארתך‬63:15). In sum, the heavens and the temple are united by shared characteristics. It is in light of these observations that we can consider the controversial view of the temple in Isa 66:1–2.11 Is the affirmation that heaven is God’s throne and the earth his footstool a radical rejection of any temple, including the one in Jerusalem, to claim to be God’s dwelling place? Thus Shalom Paul insists that these verses are “a polemic against the popular view that the Temple on earth serves as the divine abode … In stark contrast with this belief, the prophet states that the Temple is not God’s resting place … but only serves as the locus and focus of prayers, both Israelite and otherwise.”12 Such a view would clearly be a radical departure from the other texts in Isaiah 56–66 that closely identify the sanctuary with YHWH. Nevertheless, it would seem that some distance is being intentionally created. Where other texts speak of “my house” (‫)ביתי‬, Isa 66:1 refers to “the house that you would build for me” (‫)בית אשר תבנו־לי‬. The subtle redeployment of the personal suffix “my” suggesting a certain distance, and the severing of the personal suffix from “house” points to the presence of a disruptive element. A reasonable interpretation of the syntax is that the writer objects to what he perceives as attempts by the builders wish to wrest control of the sanctuary from God. Thus, it is no longer “my house” that we encountered elsewhere in Trito-Isaiah, but “the house that you will build for me.” To such hubris God points to the heavens and earth that he has built and have come into being (v. 2a). 13

11

For a similar observation on Isa 66:1–2, see also J. Gärtner’s contribution in this volume, pp. 213–28. 12 PAUL 2012, 611. 13 For the contrast of the human builders to the divine creator see BERGES 2012, 489.

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II. Priesthood Vocabulary Language relating to priesthood occurs on a few occasions, but these are highly significant and have resulted in considerable discussion. Two roots are used: ‫ שרת‬and ‫כהן‬. Both terms appear in 61:5–6 where the prophet’s audience are contrasted to foreigners. – Strangers shall stand and feed your flocks – The sons of foreigners will be your farmers and vinedressers – But you shall be called priests of YHWH ( ‫)כהני יהוה‬, – You shall be named ministers of our God (‫)משרתי אלהינו‬. Whilst the foreigners while taken on farming roles, the prophet’s audience will enjoy priestly privileges. The implication appears to be that all Judahites will function as priests (‫ )כהן‬and ministers ( ‫)משרת‬. The difference can also be expressed through the recipient of service. In 60:10 foreign kings and their animals minister to you (‫)ישרתונך‬ that is the prophet’s audience. In 61:6, the prophet’s audience will minister to God (‫)משרתי אלהינו‬. The vocabulary of service is taken up in Isa 56:6 where the foreigners are said to minister to YHWH (‫)לשרתו‬. This would appear to suggest that the foreigner has also taken on the role of priest alongside the prophet’s audience. Indeed, I have argued elsewhere that this is precisely how the writer of the original oracle in Ezek 44 understood it.14 Yet, the language of service is sufficiently ambiguous for some interpreters to have argued that priestly service is not in view. The surrounding expressions about loving the name of YHWH, and becoming his servant suggest a general devotion rather than an unprecedented departure from the idea that only Israelites may serve as priests.15 The vocabulary of priesthood is also utilized in Isa 66, where we face similar challenges of determining textual meaning. The oracle about the nations in vv. 18–21 concludes with the promise “I will take some of them as Levitical priests.”16 But who are “they”? It is uncertain whether “they” are the brother Israelites borne back to Jerusalem by the nations (v. 20), or the gentile survivors who took the message of hope to the nations (v. 18).

III. Sacrificial Vocabulary There is a significant and varied sacrificial vocabulary in Trito-Isaiah. There are verbs for the act of offering, ‫זבח‬, ‫שחט‬, ‫( עלה‬Hiph), ‫קטר‬, and ‫( זכר‬Hiph) as well as nouns denoting the item sacrificed, ‫עולה‬, ‫זבח‬, ‫נסך‬, and ‫מנחה‬. All of these terms are attested elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible with the exception of ‫( זכר‬Hiph), which is presumably 14

MACDONALD 2015. E.g. SOMMER 1998, 147. 16 GOLDINGAY 2014, 519. The exact expression here has no precise parallel elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible. It is closest to Deut 18:1 which reads ‫לכהנים הלוים‬. A number of the versions have readings as though the Hebrew read ‫לכהנים וללוים‬. This expression is found elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible and gives every appearance of being a lectio facilior. 15

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related to the ‫ אזכרה‬known from P.17 Despite the range of terms, sacrificial vocabulary is restricted to a small number of texts, and mostly to negative contexts. In Isa 57:5–7 sacrifices are offered in a variety of locations – under trees, in the valleys, amongst the rocks, upon a mountain. None of these locations correspond to the temple, and the recipients of these sacrifices is not YHWH. In 65:3–7 sacrifices are made in gardens, inside tombs, and on mountains and hills. The intended recipient of these sacrifices is not apparent, but YHWH views them as a provocation (v. 3) and a personal insult (v. 7). Finally, in 66:3 the apparently licit actions of sacrifice are related in some way to immoral and polluting activities: killing someone, breaking a dog’s neck, offering pig’s blood, and blessing an idol. Despite the negative evaluation of these sacrificial activities, the immediate context appears to associate them with the Jerusalem temple (v. 1). All three passages show a preference for participle forms to describe the condemned group, but this presents an obstacle for identifying the reprobates, as does the use of polemical tropes. Which group is so elliptically referred to in these three accusations, and is it the same group in all three passages? The prophet is not directing his ire against external opponents, but are those condemned the people of Judah as a whole or some smaller group, either the Samarians or the Jewish priesthood?18 One influential line of interpretation contends that the polemic is aimed against the Jewish priesthood.19 The issue turns around the identification of those who are permitted to offer the sacrifices outlined in Isa 66: the one slaughtering an ox (‫)שוחט השור‬, the one sacrificing a lamb (‫)זובח השה‬, the one presenting a grain offering (‫ )מעלה מנחה‬and the one offering the reserved portion of frankincense (‫)מזכיר לבנה‬. Rofé observes that the first two participles are indecisive because the ritual slaughter of animals described by ‫ שחט‬and ‫ זבח‬was slowly restricted during the Second Temple period. In the early Persian period the sacrificial animals were slaughtered by the paterfamilias (Lev 1), but was gradually restricted to the Levites (Ezek 44:10–11; Ezra 6:20; 2 Chr 30:16– 17) and finally just the priesthood (2 Chr 29:23–24). Where to place Isaiah 66 in this trajectory is difficult to say with any confidence. But the following two rites mentioned in Isa 66:3, the offering of the grain offering and the reserved portion were limited to the priests according to Lev 2. Consequently, Rofé argues that the last two participles securely identify the prophet’s opponents as the Judahite priesthood.20 Rofé’s reliance on Lev 2 is a problematic basis on which to argue that 66:3 is directed against the priests. First, in light of the references to non-priests offering a ‫מנחה‬ in narratives about the pre-exilic period (Judg 13; 1 Kgs 8:64; 2 Kgs 8:13), it is almost certainly the case that the ‫ מנחה‬took the same path towards becoming a priestly prerogative as the other sacrifices did in the Second Temple period. As Nihan has demonstrated, Lev 2 appears to be a later addition to the sacrificial legislation in Leviticus that breaks the connection between the ‫ עולה‬and the ‫שלמים‬,21 and it is possible that the identification of the ‫ מנחה‬as a priestly prerogative represents a later stage in this pro17 18 19 20 21

Lev 2:2, 9, 16; 5:12; 6:15; 24:7; Num 5:26. For an overview of the discussion see TIEMEYER 2006, 6–13. ROFÉ 1988; BLENKINSOPP 1990; TIEMEYER 2006, 170–71; PAUL 2012, 613–14. ROFÉ 1988. For a detailed discussion see NIHAN 2007, 198–215.

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cess than we find in Lev 1 and 3. Precisely where we should place Isa 66 on this development is problematic, especially since there is no literary relationship between Trito-Isaiah and the sacrificial legislation in Lev 1–7. Secondly, it is possible even in priestly texts that are judged later than the sacrificial legislation in Lev 1–7 for the ‫ מנחה‬to be spoken of as offered by ordinary Israelites (Num 15:4, 6, 9). As a result, the basis for restricting vv. 3–4 to the priests is lacking. In the case of Isa 57 and 65 it is even more difficult to make a case for the accused being specifically priests. The accusation of being children of an adulteress in 57:3 is similar to Hosea’s accusations of Israel, whilst 65:2–3 addresses “a rebellious people…the people who provoke me to my face continually.”22 In both cases, there are no grounds for restricting the audience to the priesthood, and the implied audience appears to be a general one. As well as the issue of identifying the doers of these cultic misdemeanors, there is the additional issue of whether Isa 66:3–4 condemns sacrificial worship entirely. In one significant way Isa 66 is quite different from Isa 57 and 65: the sacrificial practices are not unambiguously negative. The rhetoric of 66:3 only works if the first participle in each of the four pairs would normally be considered a positive action. This provides at least one reason for rejecting the traditional reading of these participles as though there were the word “as” between each pair: “whoever slaughters an ox is like one who kills a human being.”23 Understanding these participles as a radical rejection of temple worship is rather too abstract for literature that is seeking to confront an audience. It is more convincing to render these as Rofé does as subject and predicate: “the one slaughtering an ox is killing a human being.”24 The prophet condemns those who do both acceptable cultic actions and illicit things. The rejection of all forms of sacrifice would also sit uncomfortably with the positive view of the temple elsewhere in Isa 56–66, and the acceptance of the foreigner’s sacrifices in Isa 56. The approval of foreign animals in 60:7 and the foreigner’s sacrifices in 56:7 provide a striking contrast with the negative portrayal of Judahite offerings. Viewed from this perspective, we do not see a line drawn within the post-exilic community, as is often suggested,25 but a discourse that confronts its hearers by affirming the notional outsiders and condemning the notional insiders. The best way to understand this, it seems to me, is to regard these oracles in Isa 56–66 as a form of persuasive rhetoric that seeks to influence what are viewed as compromised hearers, rather than as an attempt to articulate and harden internal community boundaries.

22

Tiemeyer (2006, 98) argues that the absence of a definite article, “a nation who do not call upon God’s name” (v. 1) and “a rebellious people” (v. 2), implies that the accused group in Isa 65:2–3 are not the nation, but a smaller group. I am unable to follow her logic at this point, not least because v. 3 opens with “the people provoking me to my face continually” (‫)העם המכעיסים אותי על־פני תמיד‬. 23 For this approach see, e.g., the versions. 24 ROFÉ 1988. 25 See, esp., HANSON 1975.

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IV. Purity and Holiness Vocabulary The language of holiness is as prominent in Isa 56–66 as it is elsewhere in the book of Isaiah, but with striking differences. In Isa 1–55 the root ‫ קדש‬appears overwhelmingly in the expression “Holy One of Israel,” but in these final eleven chapters “Holy One of Israel” occurs only twice and in a single passage (Isa 60:9, 14).26 More often, ‫ קדוש‬is predicated of a diverse array of people, places, dates, and other entities that are associated with God in some way: mountain (56:7; 57:13; 65:11, 25; 66:20), name (57:15), eternal dwelling place (57:15), day/Sabbath (58:13), courts (62:9), people (62:12; 63:18), spirit (63:10, 11), habitation (63:15), cities (64:9), house (64:10). It is also interesting that very few of these correspond with anything in Isa 1–55 with only three exceptions. Isaiah 11:9 and 27:13 also speak of the “holy mountain,” but both are usually judged as late redactional additions and may well have been added under the influence of Isaiah 56–66.27 Finally, in 29:23 God’s name is sanctified by the house of Jacob, but this also appears to be part of a late addendum (vv. 22–24). As a result, the overlaps in the theology of holiness between Isa 1–55 and 56–66 appear to be relatively superficial. Holiness would appear to be a quality that something possesses as a result of its relationship to YHWH, rather than something acquired. The only exceptions – two appearances of the verb ‫קדש‬, in the Qal and Hithpael – occur in negative contexts in relation to those who sanctify themselves for participation in illicit cults (65:5; 66:17). Holy objects can be profaned (‫)חלל‬, however, and the foreigners of Isa 56 are commended for not profaning the Sabbath. As well as sanctifying themselves, those involved in improper worship also purify themselves (66:17). This sanctification and purification is ironic, because it is in order to eat food that is identified as “abominable” (‫)שקץ‬, an expression only otherwise found in Ezek 8:10 and numerous times in the priestly food laws (Lev 11). The appearance of purity language in 66:17 is relatively unusual; in contrast to the language of holiness, purity language appears rarely in Trito-Isaiah. The only other occurrences besides 66:17 are by means of comparison. The people have become like someone impure (64:5) and the scattered Israelites will be brought back to Jerusalem like an offering in a clean vessel (66:20).

V. Calendrical Vocabulary The most conspicuous calendrical expression in Trito-Isaiah is the word “Sabbath,” which occurs in Isa 56, 58 and 66. The Sabbath is to be kept (‫ ;שמר‬56:2,4, 6), the same expression found in the Holiness Code (Lev 19:3, 30; 26.2; Ex 31:13, 16)28 and the 26

55.

27

As noted by Williamson (2001) who also observes that both uses stand very close to Isaiah 40–

WILLIAMSON 2018, 663–64; WILDBERGER 1997, 600. For a discussion of whether Isa 11:9 has influenced Isa 65:25 rather than the other way around, see STROMBERG 2011, 101–109. 28 BLENKINSOPP 2003, 135.

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Deuteronomic version of the Decalogue (Deut 5:12). Such keeping of the Sabbath entails refraining from (‫ )מן‬certain things – described variously as things that profane the Sabbath, doing evil, and your own interest – and doing things that please God. It is described as “my holy day” (58.13), but also as an expression as “my covenant” (cf. Ex 31). An uncertain issue is whether the Sabbath of Isa 56 and 58 is the same Sabbath mentioned in Isa 66 in conjunction with the new moon. This association of new moon and Sabbath in Isa 66:23 and other prophetic passages has long driven speculation about the origins of the Sabbath as a lunar festival. Since the word pair seems to be already traditional, and in the case of Isa 66:23 perhaps composed as an inclusio to 1:13, it is difficult to deduce much from this particular instance. It is notable, however, that Isa 58:13 insists on “turning your foot from Sabbath,” whilst Isa 66:23 envisages Sabbath as an occasion for pilgrimage. There is some tension between these two formulations.

VI. Vocabulary of Oracular Enquiry In ancient Israel and Judah both priests and prophets could be approached to consult the denizens of the divine world. The verbs used for such consultation include ‫ דרש‬and ‫שאל‬.29 Both verbs appear in Isa 58:2: “Day after day they seek me … they ask of me righteous judgements,”30 and it seems likely that the prophet is describing the people’s oracular consultation of cultic functionaries. As with other consultations, a question is posed to the priest or prophet: “Why do we fast, but you do not see? Why afflict our appetites, but you do not notice?” (v. 3). The oracular response is introduced with the word ‫( הֵן‬v. 3b, 4), and leads to a rebuke. Who is it posing the enquiry and suffering the prophet’s rebuke? Most commentators identify the enquirer with “my people” and “the house of Jacob” from v. 1.31 In Hanson’s view, however, we have a polemical attack on the priestly elite. Such an identification is based on three observations. First, ‫ דרש‬is a technical term for cultic enquiry and so the ones enquiring are priests. Secondly, the ‫ דעת דרכי‬in which they delight is the knowledge proper to the priests on the basis of Mal 2:7. Thirdly, the root ‫ קרב‬is a technical term for the priest’s entry into the sanctuary in the priestly literature.32 Hanson’s position requires a change of subject from v. 1 to v. 2 that cannot be justified in the text. In addition, each of his points can be countered. First, Hanson is certainly correct to argue that ‫ דרש‬is a technical term for cultic enquiry, but cultic functionaries such as priests and prophets fielded enquiries from the people which they 29

In Ezek 14, the prophet Ezekiel is consulted (‫ )דרש‬by the Israelite elders, and in Hag 2, the priests are asked (‫ )שאל‬for a ruling. 30 Both verbs are used in parallel with ‫חפץ‬, a word meaning “to delight” and that is not used elsewhere for oracular consultation, but does occur another five times in Trito-Isaiah. 31 E.g. GOLDINGAY 2014, 164–66. 32 HANSON 1975, 109.

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then addressed through divinatory means. Thus, in Ezek 14 the people enquire (‫ )דרש‬of God by means of the prophet. The identification of ‫ דרש‬as a technical term for divination does not settle the identification of those enquiring. Secondly, the priests are portrayed elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible as having knowledge of ritual practice, but I am not aware of that knowledge being described as “my way.” Rather, the language of knowledge and, most especially, the way is a characteristic of Deutero-Isaiah and its development into Trito-Isaiah.33 It is the salvation offered in Deutero-Isaiah, which stands in contrast to the way of the wicked (55:6–9). As such “my way” is something that the people as a whole need, and not just the cultic leaders. Thirdly, the priestly literature of the Pentateuch does use ‫ קרב‬of the priests approaching God to do service in the tabernacle, but in the second-half of Isaiah ‫ קרב‬is used of the people or the peoples drawing near to God to hear his judgment (41:1, 5; 48:16; 57:3; cf. 34:1). Since an oracular response is anticipated from the enquiry, and there is no reference to sacrifices being brought near, it is more convincing to interpret the appearance of ‫ קרב‬in light of these references in Deutero-Isaiah.34 In conclusion, the vocabulary of oracular enquiry has been combined with themes and vocabulary from the developing Isaianic tradition so as to promote the message of release of the enslaved and generosity towards the poor (58:6–12). There is no need to posit a change of subject from v. 1 to v. 2. Rather the same audience is in view in both verses: the people who imagine that Deutero-Isaiah’s message is one of salvation and not of simultaneous judgment.

VII. Conclusion For the attentive reader of the entire book of Isaiah, the different deployment of cultic vocabulary between Isa 40–55 and 56–66 could not be marked. Deutero-Isaiah is a part of the book of Isaiah that shows relatively little explicit interest in the cult with the obvious exception of the idol polemics, whose compositional relationship to the rest of Deutero-Isaiah has been long discussed.35 By contrast, cultic vocabulary is found throughout Trito-Isaiah, even in chapters 60–62. The contrast between Deutero33

See, e.g., LUND 2007. In her book on priests and prophets, Tiemeyer follows Hanson’s proposed identification, and seeks to address the problem of the change of subject by observing the difficulties in the transition from v. 1 to v. 2. “Following the command to tell the people of their sins, we would expect a description of their failings. Instead, we hear about a people seeking God’s will. Thus, we will find that a close reading of the text reveals that verse 2 does not follow smoothly after verse 1. As such, it is unlikely to contain the direct continuation of the train of thoughts expressed in the preceding verse” (TIEMEYER 2006, 92). The condemnation of the people is certainly circuitous, but not such as to demand severing v. 1 from v. 2 in the way Tiemeyer suggests. The supposed enthusiasm for discovering God’s ways is exposed as a sham in vv. 3b–5, and vv. 2–3a is a necessary precursor to exposing the people’s duplicity. In addition, Tiemeyer’s reading introduces its own problems. It requires that the cultic leaders be the recipients of a second-person singular address in v. 1 and a third-person plural address in v. 2, and does not explain how the leaders can be compared to a nation in v. 2. 35 For a thoughtful reflection of the implications of this fact, see Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer’s essay in this volume, pp. 169–88. 34

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Isaiah and Trito-Isaiah provides some of the reason why these two parts of the books feel so different, and why critical scholars have been so persuaded to associate Deutero-Isaiah with the time of the Babylonian exile, and Trito-Isaiah with the period afterwards. It also provides a reason why Trito-Isaiah still commends itself as a unit of analysis. But only to a degree, for even the analysis of cultic vocabulary shows some differences within Isaiah 56–66. The clarity in the use of language about cultic functionaries in Isa 60–62 is in contrast to the opacity of Isa 56 and 66, and the Sabbath of Isa 58 might not be the same Sabbath as Isa 66. It is not only Trito-Isaiah’s differences with Deutero-Isaiah that are noticeable, but also the fact that despite the prominence and frequency of cultic terminology in Trito-Isaiah, the vocabulary shows a limited overlap with the terminology and concerns of the priestly document of the Pentateuch. This is, perhaps, surprising, whether we regard the priestly document as a pre-exilic work or a post-exilic composition roughly contemporary with Isaiah 56–66. The primary purpose of my essay is not to reinforce or dispute critical arguments about composition, but to try and highlight features of the cultic vocabulary which are often neglected. The first of these has been the very close bond between YHWH and the temple with which any interpretation of Isa 66:1–2 must wrestle. The second is the great difficulty that any interpretation of Isaiah 56–66 confronts in trying to determine the text’s audience(s) and opponents. Historical reconstructions have frequently been offered where the amount of speculation is inversely proportional to the historical evidence. Not only is a greater degree of circumspection required, but as I have shown, there are good grounds for finding wanting some of the most frequently ventured proposals that the opponents are the priestly caste, or some group within it.

Bibliography BERGES, U.F. (2012): The Book of Isaiah: Its Composition and Final Form, (HBM 46), Sheffield. BLENKINSOPP, J. (2000): A Jewish Sect of the Persian Period, CBQ 52, 2–20. – (2003): Isaiah 56–66, (AB 19B), New York. CLIFFORD, R.J. (1972): The Cosmic Mountain in Canaan and the Old Testament, (HSM 4), Cambridge, MA. GOLDINGAY, J. (2014): Isaiah 56–66, (ICC), London. HANSON, P.D. (1975): The Dawn of Apocalyptic, Philadelphia, PA. LUND, Ø. (2007): Way Metaphors and Way Topics in Isaiah 40–55, (FAT II/28), Tübingen. MACDONALD, N. (2015): Priestly Rule: Polemic and Biblical Interpretation in Ezekiel 44, (BZAW 476), Berlin. NIHAN, C. (2007): From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch: A Study in the Composition of the Book of Leviticus, (FAT II/25), Tübingen. PAUL, S.M. (2012): Isaiah 40–66, (ECC), Grand Rapids, MI. ROFÉ, A. (1985): Isaiah 66:1–4: Judean Sects in the Persian Period as Viewed by Trito-Isaiah, in: A. KORT/S. MORSCHAUER (eds.), Biblical and Related Studies Presented to Samuel Iwry, Winona Lake, IN, 205–17. SCHRAMM, B. (1995): The Opponents of Third Isaiah: Reconstructing the Cultic History of the Restoration, (JSOT.S 193), Sheffield. SOMMER, B.D. (1998): A Prophet Read Scripture: Allusion in Isaiah 40–66, Stanford.

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STROMBERG, J. (2011): Isaiah After Exile: The Author of Third Isaiah as Reader and Redactor of the Book, (OTM), Oxford. TIEMEYER, L.-S., (2006): Priestly Rites and Prophetic Rage, (FAT II/19), Tübingen. TOOMAN, W.A. (2011): Gog of Magog: Reuse of Scripture and Compositional Technique in Ezekiel 38–39 (FAT II/52), Tübingen. WESTERMANN, C. (1969): Isaiah 40–66, (OTL), London. WILDBERGER, H. (1997): Isaiah 13–27, (CC), Minneapolis, MN. WILLIAMSON, H.G.M. (2001): Isaiah and the Holy One of Israel, in: A. RAPOPORT-ALVERT/ G. GREENBERG (eds.), Biblical Hebrew, Biblical Texts: Essays in Memory of Michael P. Weitzman, (JSOT.S 333), London. – (2018): Isaiah 6–12, (ICC), London.

“The Dwelling Place of Your Holiness” (Isa 63:15) On the Meaning of Temple Theology in Trito-Isaiah Judith Gärtner* The attitude about the temple in the texts of the Trito-Isaiahnic collection has always been discussed most ambivalently in research.1 Mostly the controversy about the temple as well as about temple theological concepts ignited at the end of the book in Isa 66:1: Thus said YHWH: Heaven is my throne and the Earth is my footstool. What is the house that you would build for me, and what is the place of my rest?2

With this bold statement that Heaven becomes the throne of YHWH and Earth His footstool, the last great vision of the completion of history begins in the book of Isaiah. Here the traditional idea of the throne of YHWH in the temple and thus the enabling of closeness to God or contact with Him is expressed in traditional metaphorical terms.3 At the same time, it is being transcended. No longer, as in pre-exilic times, is the throne of YHWH in the temple, which once provided access to the hidden divine realm, regarded as an appropriate speech of God. Rather, Heaven becomes the throne and Earth the footstool. With this, however, the entire cosmos becomes a temple. This means that the special quality of the proximity to God originally reserved for the temple is no longer limited to the temple as a place and building, but is transferred to the entire cosmos. The throne ideas of YHWH, which cannot be further extended now, are contrasted with the range of human action. A house built by man can no longer be a symbol for the world domination of the King God.4 If one now asks from the delimited temple theology in Isa 66 about the temple theological ideas in the Trito-Isaiah collection as a whole, it is first to be noted that the temple theological metaphor serves primarily, as in Isa 66, to express the presence and the dominion of the royal God. Put differently, not the actual temple, but the conceptual ideas developed from the temple are the main interest.5 * Abbreviations for bibliographical references in Biblical Studies follow the Society of Biblical Literature Handbook of Style (2nd ed., Atlanta, 2014). 1 Cf. KOENEN 1990, 183–95. 2 All translations by the author. 3 Regarding the religio-historical background, cf. HARTENSTEIN 1997, 57–68. 4 See also the temple consecration prayer in 1 Kgs 8, especially 1 Kgs 8:27. 5 This also applies to the great promise in Isa 60. Against the background of the Persian ideology of dominion, the divine glory radiating from Zion leads to a great tribute procession of the world of nations, through which the world of nations recognizes YHWH’s world domination. The reconstruc-

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Thus, the metaphor of pre-exilic temple theology keeps its expressiveness. The prerequisite here is a development in which an increasing transcendence of YHWH’s ideas of housing can be observed from the pre-exilic period to the postexilic period.6 With the destruction of the temple and the experience of exile, the place of YHWH’s residence in the temple transforms to the point that YHWH no longer dwells in the temple (cf. e.g. Isa 6), but first in Heaven (cf. e.g. Isa 63:15), and finally enthrones on Heaven (cf. Isa 66:1). This development is an expression of the universal image of God formulated by Deutero-Isaiah, which profiles YHWH as the creator of Heaven and Earth and thus as the only God (Isa 45:6–7) and hence also shows an increasing transcendence. One of the central concerns of Isaiahnic theology is to develop the effects of the world domination of YHWH as salvific or as court presence through the ideas of thrones and dwellings. This focus, however, is not an invention of the late texts. It is already expressed clearly in the central text for the temple theology of the book of Isaiah in chapter 6. In Isa 6 the salvific presence of YHWH in His sanctuary, guaranteed in the pre-exilic temple theology, is negated. It is no longer the salutary contact with God that is made possible by the temple, but the destructive presence of YHWH in judgment (Isa 6:11–13). This is justified by the severe guilt of the people, which through the motif of hardening becomes an entanglement of guilt out of which the people can no longer repent by their own strength. In this way, the concept of guilt and divine presence in temple theology is combined in Isa 6. This connection of temple theology and guilt theme then runs like a red thread through the Isaiah book and is also further profiled in the Trito-Isaiahnic text section up to the last chapter of the book. In addition to the programmatic statement in Isa 66, in particular, Isa 57:14–21 and the people’s lament Isa 63:7–64:11 come to the front here. With recourse to the temple theological conceptions in Isa 6, both texts raise the question of the salvific presence of YHWH under the changed conditions of the post-exilic period as a theme. Therefore these two texts will be in the focus of the following considerations, especially as they have so far received far less attention under temple theological perspective than 66. The question, then, is how the connection between guilt and temple theology was further developed from Isa 6 in these late texts and what new options of interpretation for the temple arise from it.

I. The High and Exalted – Temple Theology in Isa 57:14–21 The text passage in Isa 57:14–21 is described by most commentators as a late literary addition which, in the literary context of Isa 56:9–59:21, is to be considered as a prelude to the great promise of salvation for Zion in Isa 60–62. In Isa 60–62, the realization of the world dominion of the King God YHWH of Zion and thus the dawn of the tion of the temple thus becomes the inevitable consequence of the procession of nations. Primarily it is about the recognition of YHWH as the powerful ruler of the world. I.e. here the idea of the reconstruction of the second temple is connected with the world domination of the King God. 6 On the development of the concept of YHWH’s dwelling in the book of Isaiah via Isa 6:3–6; Isa 40:18–26; 33:5–20, 22 to Isa 57:15; 63:15 to the final statement in 66:1–2 see STECK 1993, 229.

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new salvific time is promised with recourse to traditional material from Deutero-Isaiah. But since this promise stands in contrast to the experienced reality of the Judeans in Jerusalem, the discourse with one’s own tradition is called on. This has been expressed in literature in a particularly concise way in the text complex Isa 56:9–59:21.7 These chapters describe a struggle with the disappointed hope about the salvation not yet realized. In order to counter resignation and the abandonment of the visions of salvation, options for interpretation and action from one’s own prophetic tradition are sought.8 One of these newly gained perspectives is developed in Isa 57:14–21:9 And He speaks10: Build up! Build up! Make a way! Take away (the) obstacle from the way of my people! For so has spoken (the) High and Exalted One, Eternal Dwelling One and Holy One is His name: “As High and Holy One I dwell, and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit to revive (the) spirit of the lowly, and to revive (the) heart of the contrite. For I will not contend forever, nor will I always be angry, for the spirit grows faint before me, and the breath of life (that) I made. For the sake of guilt, for the sake of profit debt, I was angry, and I will strike it, (I) will hide (myself) and be angry. It went on backsliding in the way of His heart. 11 I have seen His ways. But I will heal it and lead it and restore comfort to it and it mourners, (the) creator of the fruit of the lips12: Peace, peace, to the far and to the near – so has spoken YHWH – , and I heal it.” But the wicked are like the tossing sea, yes, it cannot hold quit, its waters toss up mire and dirt. No peace – has spoken my God – for the wicked!

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

7

This observation that the texts, despite all accusations of guilt, aim at the possibility of the salvific participation of the people of God, is aptly described by the name of the “Umkehrredaktion” in Isa 56:9–59:21 chosen by BERGES 2012, 463–80. 8 In the history of editing, it is therefore remarkable that, in the reading sequence of the chapters, the discussion about the discrepancy between the vision of salvation and reality appears first and is then followed by the vision of salvation in Isa 60–62. 9 Cf., for the following text analysis, GÄRTNER 2006b, 244–49 10 For the discussion about ‫ אמר‬cf. KOENEN 1990, 48f. In my estimation MT is to be maintained here with reference to Isa 40:3, cf. e.g. DELITZSCH 1984, 556. 11 Cf., for the division of the verses, KOENEN 1990, 50. 12 Read with Qere.

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The section begins in v. 14 with the connection of the two imperatives plural of “build up (‫ ”)סלל‬and “make a way (‫)פנה דרך‬.” Consequently, the verse clearly stands out from the preceding one. A group that is not further defined is called upon to build, to pave a way, to lift the obstacle from the way of the people of the first century. Thus the motif of preparing a way from Isa 40:3 and Isa 62:10 is already present in the first verse.13 Also in Isa 40:3, a voice calls to make a way in the desert (‫)פנה דרך‬. In contrast to Isa 40:3, which deals with the way of YHWH, Isa 57:14 refers to a way for the people. The subjects in Isa 40:1ff. remain unresolved. If, in Isa 40:1–2, an imperative plural is used, Isa 40:3 speaks of one voice (‫)קול‬. The same can be observed in Isa 57:14. Also here the subjects do not allow a clear identification of the addressees and speakers.14 The situation is different from the last thematically related text in Isa 62:10. Now the people of Jerusalem are meant to pave the way for the returnees (‫ פנה דרך‬and ‫)סלל המסלה‬. If, however, Isa 62:10 as well as Isa 40:3 deal with the homecoming of the diaspora, for which the way home is prepared in Isa 62:10, this aspect is omitted in Isa 57:14. In Isa 57:14, the obstacles that separate the people of God from YHWH are removed from their way.15 So the return home described in Isa 57:14–21 no longer aims at the homecoming of the exiled people like Isa 40:3–4 and Isa 62:10, but at a restoration of inner connection of the people to their God, i.e. an “inner” return home.16 The call to pave the way is given in Isa 57:15, introduced by a ‫כי‬-sentence, its justification respectively its facilitation. With reference to Isa 6:1–2, YHWH is presented as the Exalted One, the Eternal Dwelling One and the Holy One.17 This takes up the decisive temple theological classifications that present YHWH as the enthroned King God. Thus the temple theological conception implied in Isa 6 is presupposed by the inclusion of this concept. As enthroned King God, He is with the humiliated and battered in order to enliven them.18 This is followed in v. 16 by a further reason, this time in two parts. YHWH will not dispute (‫ )ריב‬forever (‫ )לעולם‬and be angry (‫ )קצף‬forever (‫ )לנצח‬so (‫ כי‬in v. 16b) as not to exterminate the breath. The spirit of life and the breath that 13

Cf. STECK 1985, 66f., and GOLDENSTEIN 2001, 175–79, who describes Isa 62:10–12 as the conclusion of an older book composition. 14 Whether it is still about the people’s leaders with Steck because of the context or about heavenly beings according to Koenen, is strongly connected with the reconstruction of Isa 56:9ff. See KOENEN 1990, 32–58, and STECK 1991, 195–203. 15 For the use of ‫ מכשׁול‬in particular by Jeremiah, see STECK 1991, 174f. 16 The term ‫ פנה‬can be found only in two further passages in the Isaiah book, namely in Isa 56:11 and 53:6. Both passages have in common that it is now a matter of the wrong way to which in Isa 53:6 the people turn like sheep and to which in Isa 56:11 the shepherds or scouts of the people turn. Both passages differ from the passages mentioned above in the word field “shepherd and flock” and in the grammatical construction (‫)פנה לדרך‬. It is about turning to a way that is contrary to God and not about making or building a way in the sense of Isa 40:3 and Isa 62:10. Therefore, Isa 57:14 and Isa 56:11 are related to each other in a contrary way (see further the reference via ‫בצע‬, which only appears in these two passages in the book of Isaiah). The shepherds or superiors of the people should not turn to their own ways – and thus away from YHWH. As in Isa 62:10, they are called to pave the way to YHWH and to remove the obstacle from the way of the people. See STECK 1991, 173ff. 17 Cf. here also the similarity to Isa 2:2, where the attributes of the high and sublime apply to the mountain of God. 18 See Isa 66:2.

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YHWH has made are (already) dwindling before him.19 Because of this, He has the obstacle removed. He cannot destroy His creation and be angry forever because He is holy and eternally enthroned. The anger which God directs against His creation he applies to himself as well. Isa 57:17 begins anew with a change of tense. If YHWH’s action was presented in v. 16 as a future one (i.e. imperfect form), v. 17 sets in with a perfect form. YHWH was angry because of the guilt, the profit debt (‫)בצע‬.20 Isa 57:17 thus provides the reason for YHWH’s wrath.21 With the combination of guilt (‫ )עון‬and profit debt (‫)בצע‬, which is unusual for the book of Isaiah, more than a concrete guilt is described. Via ‫בצע‬, the profit debt, a reference to the context in Isa 56:11 is first established. Isa 56:9–12 accuse the upper class of not orienting themselves to law and justice and of no longer fulfilling their role as shepherds and guardians. Instead of taking responsibility for the people, they are accused of greed and an excessive lifestyle. Through ‫עון‬, a fundamental aspect of wrongdoing is added to this concrete guilt. Thus, it concerns more than a concrete transgression. Of particular importance for the understanding of the issue of guilt is the sequence of tenses of the verbs. According to MT, this is an imperfect with waw-copulativum (i.e. an unfinished/consecutive action), an infinitive absolutus and again an imperfect with waw-copulativum. Because of the guilt of the people YHWH was angry (‫)קצפתי‬, and he beats (‫ )ואכהו‬it (the people), hides (His face) Himself (‫)הסתר‬ and is angry (‫)ואקצף‬.22 Thus the anger triggered by the double named guilt (‫ )עון בצע‬of the people reaches into the future and describes it as a lasting condition. In Isa 57:17b, the train of thought is continued with a consecutive imperfect. If one reads such as a logical consequence of the previous action,23 then not only the guilt is assumed, but already the connection between guilt and anger, which leads to the fact that the people go astray. Only against this background, does the extent of YHWH’s contained wrath from Isa 57:15f. become understandable. Here Isa 57:18 takes up immediately and repeats the time structure there. YHWH saw (‫ראתי‬, Perf.) the disloyal ways of the people (cf. 17b), i.e. those which are to be regarded as a consequence of guilt and anger. The following imperfect forms with waw-copulativum serve to describe YHWH’s salvific action upon this people: He heals (‫ )וארפאהו‬and directs (‫ )ואנחהו‬it and restores consolations for the people and their mourners ( ‫)ואשׁלם‬. Therefore v. 17a and v. 18 are in structural analogy to each other. 19 See Isa 42:5 as the only further evidence in the book of Isaiah. Only there do ‫ רוח‬and ‫ נ שׁמה‬appear, and clearly in a context of creation. 20 On the phenomenon of profit debt and the associated concentration of ownership on the part of the upper class on the one hand and the impoverishment of large sections of the population in postexilic Judah on the other, see KESSLER 2008, 267, and ALBERTZ 1997, 538–41. 21 Particularly interesting is that, here too, the sinful path (‫ )דרך‬is connected with the profit debt (‫)בצע‬, so that the connection is made to Isa 56:11 via ‫בצע‬. In addition, the construction ‫ עון בצע‬at least implicitly alludes to the culpable conditions described in Isa 57:3ff. 22 Cf., on the discussion of the tempora, KOENEN 1990, 51, n. 253. Most commentators read a consecutive imperfect instead of an imperfect waw-copula. Qa reads an imperfect with waw for all three verb forms, which corresponds to the time structure in v. 18. The aim of conjecture is to simplify the complex understanding of guilt. 23 Cf. G–K §11a.

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The ways (v. 18) and the guilt of the people (v. 17) are parallelized with each other. They are followed in each case by YHWH’s action in the perfect, and this again by the imperfect. Isa 57:17b stands out from this structure. This partial verse, therefore, has a double function. Firstly, in v. 17b, as already shown above, the connection between the guilt of the people and the wrath of YHWH is presupposed. At the same time, the verse via the term “way (‫ ”)דרך‬leads over to YHWH’s salutary action in v. 18. YHWH sees the disloyal ways of the people and thus the connection between guilt and anger unfolded in the previous verses.24 Therefore, YHWH puts an end to His wrath and heals (‫ )רפא‬the people, because analogous to Isa 6:10–11, they can no longer find healing themselves.25 The wrath of YHWH, which is based on the guilt of the people, has thus again resulted in the disloyalty of the people. This in turn causes YHWH not to continue in His wrath but to give in. Only YHWH himself can, by renouncing His wrath, break the cycle of guilt-wrath and the resulting further indebtedness. Eventually, Isa 57:19, which in turn directly follows v. 18 through the participle, makes reference to vv. 15–16 through the theme “creation” and through the renewed recourse to Isa 6. YHWH is the one who creates the fruit (‫ )ניב‬of the lips, promises peace to the Near and Far and heals His people (‫רפא‬, Isa 6:9–10). This also implicitly reminds again of the atonement of the prophet in Isa 6:5–7. In Isa 6:5–7 the prophet has impure lips ( ‫)טמא־שׂפתים‬, lives within a people of impure lips, and is atoned for by one of the seraphs by touching his lips with a glowing stone from the altar, so that the guilt (‫ )עון‬has departed from him and the transgressions (‫ )חטאה‬have been atoned for.26 According to Isa 6, the prophet is thus exempt from the entanglement of guilt of the people and can therefore be instructed to proclaim the entanglement of guilt to the people on the basis of the order of hardening (6:9ff.). The result of His actions is peace (‫ )שׁלום‬for the Near and Far. As in Isa 6:10, it is now up to YHWH to give healing (‫)רפא‬ to the people or to renounce it. Thus Isa 57:19 refers back to Isa 6 in the following way: the Holy and Exalted One, in whose sphere of authority judgment and salvation lie, is like in Isa 6 the one who makes clean lips out of unclean lips and beyond that is the Creator of the fruit of lips. In contrast to the temple theological concept of Isa 6, however, in Isa 57 this process is not ritualistically described as atonement. Instead, YHWH acts in His function as the Creator in Isa 57:19.27 Isa 57:14–21 thus takes up the entanglements of guilt founded in Isa 6:1–11 but turns them into salvation through the complementary aspects of YHWH as the Creator 24

Due to the continuing wrath of YHWH in v. 17, in my opinion, ‫ שׁובב‬and ‫ לבו שׁובב‬cannot be positively understood. It means the disloyal ways, cf. KOENEN 1990, 51, n. 254. Accordingly also ‫ דרך‬in v. 18 is to be understood as YHWH sees the disloyal change of His people, cf. e.g. WESTERMANN 1986, 263. 25 On reference to Isa 6:10, see BLENKINSOPP 2003, 172 and BERGES 2016, 471–72. 26 With HARTENSTEIN 1997, 199–200, reference must be made in this context to the word of judgment in Isa 29:13–14, since in this text the meaning of unclean lips is expressed. The people nourish themselves with lips and mouth, but their heart is far from YHWH. The people’s praise of God is therefore guilty because it remains a “vordergründiges Lippenbekenntnis” (HARTENSTEIN 1997, 200). 27 See also BLENKINSOPP 2003, 171–72, on the connection between temple and creation.

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as well as the references to Isa 40. However, this does not happen without keeping the judgment dimension open in YHWH’s actions. The last two verses introduce the sinners into the text. They are compared with the turmoil of the sea.28 Therefore, they have a different quality than the rest of creation.29 They stand for the side of the chaotic and thus the negated relationship with God. That is why the promised peace from Isa 57:19 does not apply to them.30 This verse is often regarded as an editorial addition.31 From a conceptual point of view, this literarycritical assessment does not seem quite so clear, because the dimension of the wrongdoers is also introduced against the background of the idea of creation.32 Concerning the meaning of the temple, the following can be said for Isa 57:14–21: 1. The pre-exilic concepts of dwelling and throne from Isa 6:1–3 are invoked in Isa 57:15. YHWH is presented as the High and the Exalted One, the Eternal Dweller and the Holy One. Thus the concept of YHWH as King God associated with this concept is adopted. 2. At the same time the idea of the enthroned King God from Isa 6 is transcended in Isa 57:14–21, in that the King God is at the same time the Creator. This is above all unfolded in divine action. The concept of healing is taken up from Isa 6:10. This is then unfolded in Isa 57:19 in connection with God the Creator. Thus it is not a cultic act as in Isa 6, but the action of the Creator on His creatures. 3. In this way, the aspect of YHWH’s creative action raises the extent of guilt taken from Isa 6 to another level. No longer is the collective of God’s people the focus of YHWH’s action as in Isa 6. Rather, the Creator’s action is directed at the individual as his creation. 4. Part of the creation of man is His fallibility. Thus the dimension of guilt is reflected on the level of creation and thus becomes part of human life. Just as YHWH is the Creator of light and darkness (Isa 45:7), so He is also the Creator of the fallible man. But this means that His anger is always directed against His own work, namely His created beings.33

28

There is no vocabulary of a procession of nations here; the roaring sea is described by ‫ גרשׁ‬and ‫רפשׁ וטיט‬. 29 In a very similar way, the sinners are described in Ps 104:35. 30 This is a quotation from Isa 48:22 and an allusion to Jer 12:7–13. 31 See e.g. KOENEN 1990, 46–58 or LAU 1994, 125f. 32 BLENKINSOPP 2003, 172f. also leaves this decision in the balance. But if we assume in our view that it is edited, then this is to be seen in connection with the addition in Isa 66:24. For even there the promise of salvation for all flesh is restricted by supplementing the fate of the wicked. DUHM 1968, 434f., and STECK 1991, 30–34; 197–202, assume a literary unity in Isa 57:14–21. However, in the following, it will be necessary to assert against Steck that Isa 57:14–21 stands out from the context of Isa 56:9–59:21 because of its understanding of guilt resting on Isa 6, and that it is questionable to proceed from a text unit in Isa 56:9–59:21 because of its references to Isa 56:9ff. 33 With Blenkinsopp (2003, 171–72), two further interesting parallels should be pointed out at this point. In this context, the promise from Isa 54:7–8 echoes, in which the wrath of YHWH is limited to a

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5. Against this background, the motif of the hardening is resorted to, which is reinterpreted theologically from the point of view of creation. In Isa 6:9–11, the hardening was justified by the wrongdoings of the people. In Isa 57, on the other hand, becoming guilty is an anthropological category. This is part of what man is as a created being. 6. Therefore YHWH as creator God withdraws His wrath in spite of the people’s entanglement in guilt.

II. A Place of Holiness: Temple Theology in the People’s Lament (Isa 63:7–64:11) II.A. The Lament in Isa 63:7–64:11 Like Isa 57:14–21, the prayer formulated in Isa 63:7–64,11 also falls back in a profiled way on the temple theological guidelines of Isa 6, in order to ask YHWH in the form of a lament to cease His wrath.34 To this end, the prayer begins with the days of antiquity ( ‫)כל־ימי עולם‬.35 In Isa 63:7– 10 and in Isa 63:11–14, the prayers describe the glorious deeds of YHWH in two historical retrospects.36 Both historical reviews are formally related to each other through the keyword of remembrance (‫ )ויזכר‬in v. 7 and v. 11.37 They are about the beginnings of Israel as a people of God. The first historical review aims at a contrast between the divine devotion to His people (salvation from hardship) on the one hand and the rebellious and antagonistic attitude of the people on the other. This makes it clear that the rebellion against YHWH has shaped the history of YHWH and His people from the very beginning. The second historical review unfolds this by recalling the great act of salvation at the Red Sea against the background of Ex 13–15.38

“kleine Weile (little while).” And secondly, Ps 103:9 almost literally alludes to Isa 57:16 by linking the formula of grace from Ex 34:6 with the knowledge that YHWH is not eternally angry (Isa 57:16). 34 For text analysis cf. GÄRTNER 2006a, 145–63. 35 With ‫ עולם‬a central keyword is given, which runs through all parts of the prayer. The days of antiquity stand for the basic principles of the actions of YHWH and the people and show an analogy to the mythical primeval times marked with ‫ימי קדם‬, cf. Pss 44:2; 77:6; Lam 1:7; 2:17; 5:21. Cf. regarding the term KOCH 1991, 248–80. 36 See EMMENDÖRFFER 1998, 268, notes 664 and 271. Steck (1991, 236, note 45), for example, assumes a dtr influence on the people’s lament. In his opinion, the assumption that the destruction of Jerusalem is a judgment of YHWH that continues until the turning point of salvation stands in the dtr line. FISCHER, 1989, 238, goes beyond Steck and assumes a great proximity to the author circles of the dtr Geschichtswerkes. 37 Goldenstein (2001, 36–46) points out that Isa 63:7 via ‫ זכר‬refers to Isa 62:6f., via ‫ תהלה‬to Isa 60:6 and to Isa 42:10ff., and via the two terms ‫ רחמים‬and ‫ חסד‬to Isa 54:7ff., thus taking up the previous book context. See also further under 259ff. 38 Cf. EMMENDÖRFFER 1998, 275f., who brings this view of the Exodus event close to the interpretation in the priestly writing. At the same time, reference should be made here to GOLDENSTEIN 2001, 82–85, which clearly emphasizes the independent handling of the exodus tradition by the wor-

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Isa 63:15–19a follows a part of request and lament. This part continues the ambivalence of the devotion of God and the turning away of the people. An imperative in v. 15 calls YHWH to look down from Heaven, His place of residence. YHWH is addressed in v. 16 as “Father” and “our Redeemer.” Thus the worshippers take up the historical reviews. They confirm that YHWH has turned to them as Father and Redeemer since the beginning, despite their entanglements in guilt. Then v. 17a accusingly states, “Why do you let us, YHWH, stray from your path, harden our heart from your fear?”; and v. 17b concludes by saying, “Turn back for the sake of your servants ….” With this, the worshippers provocatively emphasize that YHWH contributed to the situation of His people. He lets His people sink more and more into guilt because only He Himself can stop this mechanism. They know that they themselves can no longer get out of these entanglements because the entanglements of guilt influenced YHWH’s relationship with His people from the very beginning. Thus, the possibility of repentance lies solely in YHWH. The confession of guilt in Isa 64:4–6 takes up this thought. Like the request for YHWH to return from 63:17, also in 64:4b and 6b the actual focus is on the absence of YHWH, through which the people of God remains imprisoned in their guilty entanglements. The chronological sequence in vv. 4b and 6b is particularly speaking in this respect. The perfect form (‫ )הן־אתה קצפת‬is followed by a consecutive imperfect (‫)ונחטא‬. Thus one must translate: “You have been angry and as a result we have sinned ….” The sin appears at first as a consequence of the wrath of God. This sequence has often provoked offence because this verse has been understood as a reversal of the usual Old Testament connection between the sin of the people and the wrath of God.39 Considering the context of 63:15–19a, it becomes clear that it is not about the sequence of sin and wrath in the conventional sense. The perfect form describes less the beginning of divine wrath. Rather, it aims to emphasize the effects of divine wrath up to the present day. This correlates with the sinful state of the people from ancient times (see historical reviews in 63:7–10 and 11–14). An analogous structure can be found in v. 6b. The perfect form (‫ )כי־הסתרת‬is followed by a consecutive imperfect (‫ )ותמוגנו‬so that it is to be translated: “For you have hidden your face from us and as a result you have made us waver into the hand of our transgressions.”40 Here, too, the perfect form is aimed at

shippers. The references to Pss 78; 105; 106; 135 and Neh 9 remain vague because it is not about the chronological order but about the fundamental nature of the events. The same applies to the references to the days of antiquity to Isa 46:9 and Isa 51:9f. In contrast, FISCHER 1989, 46, who sees in Isa 63:8–14 a more concrete definition of God’s saving deeds in the exodus and in the desert migration up to the taking of land. 39 Cf. the detailed account of GROß 2000, 163–73, who traces the conjecture of the earlier text witnesses to the present day and states that they all have in common a defusing of the order handed down in MT. With Goldenstein (2001, 117), one can distinguish between two tendencies of conjecture. The most far-reaching assumes a causal connection and reads: “You have been angry because we have sinned”; e.g. in BEUKEN 1989, 37f. The second conjecture understands divine wrath in such a way that it reveals sin and the sinner only as such, e.g. DELITZSCH 1984, 609, and PAURITSCH 1971, 170. For the problem of the formulation kept open in Hebrew see BLENKINSOPP 2003, 264. 40 For the motif of the hidden face of YHWH see HARTENSTEIN 2008, 53–58; 284–91.

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naming the effects of God’s absence on the present. YHWH has hidden His face. This means that the people of God remain caught in their entanglements of guilt. The prayer concludes with the request and lament part in Isa 64:8–11. This is linguistically related to the first part of the request and lament in Isa 63:15–19a. 8

Be not so terribly angry, YHWH, and remember not (the) iniquity forever. Behold, please look, we are all your people. The cities of your holiness have become a wilderness, Zion has become a wilderness, Jerusalem a desolation. The house of our holiness and glory, Where our fathers praised you, Has been burned by fire, and all our valuables have become ruins. Will you restrain yourself at all these things, YHWH, will you keep silent and afflict us so terribly?

9 10

11

The imperative “Look” (‫ )נבט‬refers to the first request in Isa 63:15. If YHWH was asked there to look down from His dwelling place in Heaven, he is now asked to look directly at His people. Also in vv. 9–10, reference is made to Isa 63:15 via the motif of YHWH’s residence. But now it is described that the cities of the holiness of God are devastated. The same applies to Zion and Jerusalem and to the temple. The temple in Heaven and on Zion is described in both verses as dwelling or house of holiness ( ‫)קדשׁ‬ and glory (‫)תפארה‬.41 However, while the residence in Heaven in Isa 63:15 is the dwelling place of the glory and holiness of YHWH through the suffix 2.pers.sg., the earthly temple is the house of the glory and holiness of the worshippers (suffix 1.pers.pl.), which is consecrated to YHWH. The earthly and heavenly residence of YHWH is thus clearly distinguished. And although the temple as the house of holiness and glory is permeable for the holiness of YHWH and His presence, it is clearly distinguished from the actual place of residence of YHWH. YHWH lives in His dwelling place in Heaven; there people are denied direct access. And yet the earthly temple offers access to YHWH as an image of the heavenly dwelling place, when YHWH turns the earthly temple into His temple again.42 The section heads towards the question in Isa 63:11. “Can you hold back on all this, YHWH, be silent and humiliate us even more?” Through ‫ אפק‬a link is again made to the requests and laments in Isa 63:15ff. The final question of the people’s lament emphasizes desperately one last time that the possibility of a rescue lies only in YHWH alone. As the passage through the text has shown, the urgent request for YHWH to turn to His people is at the center of the prayer (Isa 63:15–17; 64:8). It is a matter of readjusting the relationship between the people’s involvement in guilt and divine wrath. It is no longer about the connection between the guilt of the people and the wrath of YHWH in the sense of cause and effect. Instead, it is emphasized that the spiral of guilt entanglements can only be interrupted by YHWH alone. The prayer, therefore, aims at a 41 42

Cf., AEJMELAEUS 1995, 40–41. See also EMMENDÖRFFER 1998, 288.

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223

conversion of YHWH, i.e. the renunciation of His wrath. To this end, the lament of Isa 6 is taken up in order to describe the possibility of renewed salutary closeness to God in temple theology. II.B. Temple Theological Concepts in Isa 6 and Isa 63:7–64:11 Isa 6:1–11 unfolds YHWH’s presence of judgment in His sanctuary on the basis of the “Jerusalem cult tradition.”43 The earthquake of the door jambs, the smoke that fills the temple (Isa 6:4), and by analogy the devastation of the whole country (Isa 6:11), describe the inaccessibility of YHWH in his sanctuary, which manifests itself both in the temple, in the center itself, and in the outside world in correspondence with it. The throne of YHWH and the fullness of His garment are no longer proving to be salvific for the people according to tradition. 44 His presence means judgment. Already the idea of the presence of YHWH in His sanctuary, which can mean judgment or salvation for the people of God, is shared by both texts. However, by using different suffix extensions, the people’s lament clearly distinguishes between the sanctuary of YHWH in Heaven (Isa 63:15) and the earthly temple (Isa 64:10). This is the temple of the worshippers, although both the earthly temple and the heavenly dwelling place of YHWH are described with the same attributes ( ‫קדשׁ‬, ‫)תפארה‬. The worshippers know that YHWH dwells in His heavenly dwelling place, to which people are denied access. But they also know that access to YHWH becomes possible again when YHWH turns the earthly temple, which is an image of His heavenly dwelling place, into His own temple again. This temple theological background and thus the function of the temple as God’s dwelling place is the basis of both texts.45 In the history of tradition, however, they start at different points. In Isa 6, the divine presence in the temple presupposed according to the pre-exilic temple theological conception is suspended due to the guilt of the people (Isa 6:5–6). For the people, this presence of judgment means hardening: in Isa 6:10 the people’s heart ( ‫ )לב‬is fattened (‫)השׁמן‬, its ears (‫ )אזניו‬are heavy (‫)הכבד‬, its eyes (‫ )עיניו‬are glued (‫)השׁע‬, so that it could no longer see ( ‫ )ראה‬with its eyes ( ‫)בעיניו‬, hear ( ‫ )ישׁמע‬with its ears (‫ )אזניו‬and thus does not turn back (‫ )ושׁב‬and is healed (‫( )ורפא‬Isa 6:10). In this way, in Isa 6 the consequence of the misconduct of the people is expressed temple-theologically. In Isa 63:7–64:11, the exile reflection on God’s place of residence and His presence of judgment is presupposed in the history of tradition. This is where the lament arises when it refers back to the temple theological conception of Isa 6. The experience of the destroyed temple belongs to the reality of the worshippers. For this purpose, the motif of the hardened heart in Isa 63:17 is taken up firstly by the motif of the hardened heart in Isa 6:10. The heart of the worshippers is hardened and no longer able to recognize the right way. Since this state of judgment was brought about by YHWH Himself through the order of hardening, the people themselves can no longer repent and 43

For the analysis of Isa 6 and Isa 63:7–64:11, see GÄRTNER 2006b, 222–55. Cf. HARTENSTEIN 1997, 109–83, and in particular the summary 183. 45 Cf. GOLDENSTEIN 2001, 160–64 as well as FISCHER 1989, 289, who reads the people’s lament within the book of Isaiah as fulfillment of the vision of vocation and in doing so includes the ideas regarding YHWH’s dwelling place and throne. 44

224

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find healing (Isa 6:10b). This is the background to the complaint in Isa 63:17a, “Why do you let us stray from your ways?” The subsequent request can therefore only be made to YHWH Himself to lift the hardening and repent. Only then can the people participate again in its salvific presence. That only YHWH Himself can do this, however, is already implied in Isa 6. With the question ‫עד־מתי‬, typical of the people’s lament, the prophet turns to YHWH. “How long” will this state of the inevitable judgment last (Isa 6:11a)? Secondly, the pleading part in Isa 64:9–10 alludes to the consequences of the judgment of Isa 6:11. Until (‫ )עד‬the cities (‫ )ערים‬are devastated (‫ )שׁאו‬and the country (‫ )והאדמה‬is desolate (‫)שׁממה‬. This situation of desolation of the holy cities and desolation (‫ )שׁממה‬of Jerusalem is again described in Isa 4:9–10 as the present reality of the people of God. What YHWH announced in Isa 6:11b has arrived. The prophecy has been fulfilled. Now it can only lie in YHWH Himself to put an end to this state of judgment presence. Concerning the meaning of the temple, the following can be said for Isa 63:7– 64:11: 1. The pre-exilic ideas of dwelling and throne from Isa 6:1–3 are invoked in Isa 63:15 and Isa 64:8–11 and represent the background of the history of tradition. YHWH’s place of residence is portrayed in Heaven. 2. Different from His sanctuary in Heaven is the earthly sanctuary of the worshippers. The lament aims at YHWH making the earthly sanctuary His sanctuary again by renouncing His wrath so that the temple becomes again a place of salvific communication with God. 3. The prerequisite is the knowledge that the temple, as in Isa 6, has become a place of judgment presence. This is unfolded in Isa 64:8–11 with recourse to the destroyed place from Isa 6:11. These are mourned as the reality of the worshippers. 4. The reason for the divine wrath is also derived from Isa 6. For this the motif of hardening is adopted. It is further developed to the effect that the worshippers cannot overcome the spiral of indebtedness and anger on their own initiative. A conversion of the worshippers is impossible. The reasons for this are given from a historical theological point of view. The entanglement of guilt is anchored in the beginnings of the people of God. It belongs to its historical reality, i.e. past, present, and future are shaped by it. Therefore the divine wrath reaction to the entanglement of guilt cannot cause any conversion, but only further indebtedness. 5. In this sense, the temple-theological conception of YHWH’s presence in court from Isa 6 represents the horizon of interpretation for the people’s guilt in the lament. For this purpose, the inevitability of guilt is historically theologically justified and anchored in the origins of God’s people. So the worshippers in Isa 64:11, like the prophet in Isa 6:11, only have the lamenting request to YHWH to put an end to this situation.

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III. Temple Concepts in the Speech of God in Isa 57:14–21 and in the Lament in Isa 63:7–64:11 It has become clear above that Isa 6 represents both the temple theological foundation for Isa 57:14–21 and also for the lamentation in Isa 63:7–64:11, because in both texts programmatically reference is made to Isa 6. For this reason, the temple theological differences, as well as similarities between these two texts, should be summarized. Firstly, it is striking that in both texts the ideas of YHWH’s dwelling place and throne are developed from Isa 6. Isa 57:15 explicitly refers to the concepts of the throne from Isa 6:1–3. It is emphasized that YHWH is enthroned eternally as High and Exalted in order to intervene savingly. The focus is on the throne itself, i.e. it is about the profiling of YHWH as the universal world ruler. In contrast, in Isa 63:7–64:11, the place of dwelling itself is central. The dwelling place of YHWH is in Heaven (Isa 63:13). Contrary to the experience of the distance from God, the worshippers pray that YHWH should turn away from His heavenly dwelling to them again. The throne is not explicitly named as such in the people’s lament. However, it is presupposed. For the focus lies on the power of the enthroned royal God. It is about the possibility of a salutary contact with God guaranteed by the enthroned King God. Secondly, both texts take up the connection between divine presence as presence of judgment and the development of the subject of guilt from Isa 6. To this end, the motif of hardening is further developed in both texts. While the motif of hardening in Isa 6 serves to emphasize the inevitability of the guilt of the people and thus of the judgment, in Isa 57:14–21 and Isa 63:7–64:11 new horizons of interpretation for this understanding of guilt are worked out. This is connected with the continuing state of divine wrath and human guilt. Therefore, both texts primarily emphasize the fundamental nature of guilt. However, this is then nuanced differently in each case. In Isa 57:14–21, guilt is defined anthropologically as a part of being human. On the other hand, in Isa 63:7–64:11, a historical-theological definition of guilt is unfolded. For this purpose, however, the entanglement of guilt is already anchored in the beginnings of God’s people and thus in the time of origin. This means that the entanglement in guilt has always belonged to the reality of God’s people. There is no history of Israel with its God without guilt entanglement. Against this background, the prayers of the people’s lament then also come to the shocking realization that because of this connection between their own guilt and divine wrath the people are drawn ever further into their entanglements of guilt (Isa 64:4–6). So in Isa 57:14–21 and Isa 63:7–64:11 the aspect of the inevitability of guilt is further developed from Isa 6. According to Isa 57:14–21 guilt entanglements belong to creation, and according to Isa 63:7–64:11 to its historical reality since the origins of the people of God. In this sense, the dimension of guilt is anthropologically and historically anchored and is thus an inevitable dimension of human life. Thirdly, the question of how this state of guilt and wrath can be overcome is unfolded from the point of creation in Isa 57:14–21 and from the point of view of history in Isa 63:7–64:11. Both texts again refer to Isa 6 for this purpose. For already in Isa 6:11–13, it is clear that only YHWH Himself can abolish the state of hardening and the

226

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presence of judgment. This is presupposed in the two Trito-Isaiahnic texts and is at the same time continued. Both Isa 63:7–64:11 and Isa 57:14–21 show that YHWH’s wrath is always directed against Himself as well. In the petitions in Isa 63:17 and 64:7, it is argued historically and theologically. The worshippers ask YHWH to renounce His wrath for the sake of His servants in order to open a salvific history to the people of God. In Isa 57:16, on the other hand, the renunciation of divine wrath is justified theologically by creation. YHWH will not destroy the breath He has made.46 Fourthly, however, both texts differ in their perspective. Isa 57:14–21 is a speech of God. Here, from YHWH’s point of view, the inevitable consequence of His wrath is named: the people go (‫ )הלך‬on the disloyal ways of their heart (‫)שׁובב הלך לבו‬.47 Isa 63:7–64:11, on the other hand, is a prayer; the perspective of the worshippers is unfolded. That is why the texts read like a lament and a response to each other. The worshippers lament that YHWH lets them stray (‫תעה‬, hif.) from His ways (‫ )דרך‬by taking up the subject of guilt from Isa 6 as a consequence of YHWH’s wrath. With the same root as in Isa 57:17b ‫שׁוב‬, the complaint continues with the request to YHWH to turn back.48 YHWH’s answer to this request seems to be unfolding in Isa 57:14–21. Referring again to Isa 6:9–10, it is described that YHWH breaks the connection between guilt and wrath by healing the people (‫ רפא‬Isa 6:10; 57:18–19) and thus cancels the hardening announced in Isa 6:9–10.49

IV. Conclusion The temple theological conception from Isaiah 6 is to be regarded thus as an interpretive horizon for Isa 57:14–21 and Isa 63:7–64:11. The pre-exilic concept of the presence of the royal God is further developed at two decisive points. On the one hand, the place of residence is moved to Heaven after the destruction of the temple (Isa 63:15) and distinguished from its earthly sanctuary. In Isa 57:14–21, the idea of the enthroned royal God is unfolded creation-theologically. The Creator God is the enthroned King God. On the other hand, the awareness crucial for Isa 6, that the divine presence in the 46

In this context, reference should be made to GOLDENSTEIN 2001, 161, who sees the incorporation of the motif of hardening in Isa 57:16f. as well as in Isa 63:17 and Isa 64:4–6. 47 Cf. also GOLDENSTEIN 2011, 98; 115f.; 125. 48 This relationship between the two texts is also underlined by the fact that the confession of guilt in Isa 64:4–6 is also connected to Isa 57:14–21 via the keyword “to anger” (‫קצף‬, 57:17; 64:4) and the keyword “to hide” (‫סתר‬, 57:17; 64:6). In addition, both texts proceed from the “we” of the post-exile congregation. The division within the people of God has not yet taken place, though it is already indicated in Isa 57:20–21. YHWH’s salvific action as an option is still open to the entire people (Isa 57:16; 19), even if the text points out that the people of God living in the end times will no longer be identical with the empirical people (Isa 57:20–21). 49 The idea of YHWH as Creator is also contained in both texts (Isa 57:16, 19; 64:7). It is, however, used with different intentions, as is the concept of YHWH’s dwelling place. In Isa 57:16, 19, YHWH is presented directly as the Creator ( ‫ונ שׁמות אני עשׂיתי‬, ‫ ;)ברא‬in the people’s lament, this aspect is only indirectly touched upon by the motif of the potter (Isa 64:7). To the prayer more important than the aspect of the Creator is the God acting in history, as it is expressed in the historical reviews.

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temple, against the assumptions of tradition due to the entanglements of guilt, can no longer be a healing one, is continued. To this end, the inevitability of guilt described by the order of hardening is further developed. In Isa 57:14–21, guilt becomes an anthropological constant and belongs to the creation of man. According to Isa 63:7– 64:11, the entanglements of guilt have been anchored history-theologically since the beginnings of the people. Both of these arguments aim to show that the divine wrath is ultimately directed against God Himself. Be it against his own creation, be it against His servants, His people. Consequently, the divine reaction, the renunciation of His wrath, is also unfolded history-theologically and creation-theologically. This means that the temple theology from Isa 6 experiences a history-theological and creationtheological continuation, which, due to the relationship of the two texts to each other, represent as lament and response the two sides of a universal monotheistic concept of God.

Bibliography AEJMELAEUS, A. (1995): Der Prophet als Klageliedsänger: Zur Funktion des Psalms Jes 63, 7–64, 11 in Tritojesaja, ZAW 107/1, 31–50. ALBERTZ, R. (1997): Religionsgeschichte Israels in alttestamentlicher Zeit, 2: Vom Exil bis zu den Makkabäern, (ATD 8), Göttingen. BERGES, U. (2012): The Book of Isaiah: Its Composition and Final Form, (Hebrew Bible Monographs 46), Sheffield. BERGES, U./W. BEUKEN (2016): Das Buch Jesaja: Eine Einführung, (UTB), Göttingen. BEUKEN, W. (1989): Jesaja, deel III, (De Prediking van het Oude Testament), Nijkerk. BLENKINSOPP, J. (2003): Isaiah 56–66: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, (The Anchor Bible, 19B), New York. DELITZSCH, F. (1984): Jesaja, Gießen/Basel. DUHM, B. (1968): Das Buch Jesaia, (GHK.AT/3), Göttingen. EMMENDÖRFFER, M. (1998): Der ferne Gott: Eine Untersuchung der alttestamentlichen Volksklagelieder vor dem Hintergrund der mesopotamischen Literatur, (FAT 21), Tübingen. FISCHER, I. (1989): Wo ist Jahwe? Das Volksklagelied Jes 63, 7–64, 11 als Ausdruck des Ringens um eine gebrochene Beziehung, (SBB 19), Stuttgart. GÄRTNER, J. (2006a): “…Why Do You Let Us Stray from Your Paths…” (Isa 63:17): The Concept of Guilt in the Communal Lament Isa 63:7–64:11, in: M.J. BODA (ed.), The Origins of Penitential Prayer in Second Temple Judaism, (Early Judaism and its literature 21), Leiden, 145–63. – (2006b): Jesaja 66 und Sacharja 14 als Summe der Prophetie: Eine traditions- und redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zum Abschluss des Jesaja- und des Zwölfprophetenbuches, (WMANT 114), Neukirchen-Vluyn. GOLDENSTEIN, J. (2001): Das Gebet der Gottesknechte: Jesaja 63, 7–64, 11 im Jesajabuch/ u.d.T.: J. GOLDENSTEIN, Das Gebet Jesaja 63, 7–64, 11 als Bestandteil des Buches, (WMANT 92), Neukirchen-Vluyn. GROß, W. (2000): Jes 64, 4: “Siehe, du hast gezürnt, und dann haben wir gesündigt” zu 2000 Jahren problematischer Rezeption zweier brisanter Sätze, in: R.G. KRATZ (ed.) unter Mitarbeit von O.H. Steck, Schriftauslegung in der Schrift: Festschrift für Odil Hannes Steck zu seinem 65. Geburtstag, (BZWA 300), Berlin, 163–73. HARTENSTEIN, F. (1997): Die Unzugänglichkeit Gottes im Heiligtum: Jesaja 6 und der Wohnort JHWHs in der Jerusalemer Kulttradition, (WMANT 75), Neukirchen-Vluyn.

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HARTENSTEIN, F. (2008): Das Angesicht JHWHs: Studien zu seinem höfischen und kultischen Bedeutungshintergrund in den Psalmen und in Exodus 32–34, (FAT 55), Tübingen. KESSLER, R. (2008): Sozialgeschichte des alten Israel: Eine Einführung, Darmstadt. KOCH, K. (1991): Qädäm: Heilsgeschichte als mythische Urzeit im Alten (und Neuen) Testament, in: K. KOCH/B. JANOWSKI (eds.), Spuren des hebräischen Denkens. Beiträge zur alttestamentlichen Theologie, Neukirchen-Vluyn, 248–80. KOENEN, K. (1990): Ethik und Eschatologie im Tritojesajabuch: Eine literarkritische und redaktionsgeschichtliche Studie, (WMANT 62), Neukirchen-Vluyn. LAU, W. (1994): Schriftgelehrte Prophetie in Jes 56–66: Eine Untersuchung zu den literarischen Bezügen in den letzten elf Kapiteln des Jesajabuches, (BZAW 225), Berlin. PAURITSCH, K. (1971): Die neue Gemeinde Gott sammelt Ausgestoßene und Arme (Jesaja 56–66): Die Botschaft des Tritojesaja-Buches literar-, form-, gattungskritisch und redaktionsgeschichtlich untersucht, (AnBibl 47), Rome. STECK, O. H. (1985): Bereitete Heimkehr: Jesaja 35 als redaktionelle Brücke zwischen dem 1. u. dem 2. Jesaja, (SBS 121), Stuttgart. – (1991): Studien zu Tritojesaja, (BZAW 203), Berlin. – (1993): Der sich selbst aktualisierende “Jesaja” in Jes 56, 9–59, 21, in: W. ZWICKEL (ed.) unter Mitarbeit von M. METZGER, Biblische Welten: Festschrift für Martin Metzger zu seinem 65. Geburtstag, (Orbis biblicus et orientalis 123), Freiburg, Schweiz/Göttingen, 215–30. WESTERMANN, C. (2011): Das Buch Jesaja, Kapitel 40–66, (ATD 19), Göttingen.

IV. Re-Writing History by Destruction in Assyria

The Destruction of the Assyrian Capitals Natalie N. May* Urbicide is one of the most widespread means of rewriting history by destruction. Invented in the cradle of civilization, urbicide is continuously applied in order to destroy historical and cultural memories of the enemies, foreign and internal. Stalin’s 1933 “plan of ‘reconstruction’ of Moscow,” which erased most of the historical look of the city, together with the cultural memory of pre-revolutionary past, is an example of the continuity of such practices in modernity. The case of Germany, where a triple urbicide took place, is the most clear-cut case of rewriting history by destruction in modern time. First, bombing in the course of World War II aimed at erasing cultural heritage, which was comprehended as solely German and not the world cultural heritage. Then came the “revolutionary” redecoration of the East German cities going hand in hand with the negligence of what was left of historical urban landscape. Nowadays the urbicide of the GDR cities, especially of East Berlin, is aimed at the demolition of memory of the communist regime. Sometimes it takes forms most ridiculous from the point of view of preservation and reconstruction of architectural monuments. Thus, the Palast der Republik – the model example of the GDR architecture – was destroyed, and the royal palace bombed to ground in World War II is being rebuilt now in concrete in its place, while 500 meters west of it, the building of the Staatsoper is reconstructed over again since the GDR reconstruction is insufficiently “historical.”1 In English, the term urbicide, “killing of a city,” was coined by recent events, not by the practices of the ancient Near East. It was first used in 1963 by the writer Michael Moorcock, who “was born, raised and began his literary education in a city that was bombed, rebuilt, then changed beyond recognition.” That reflects his experience of life in “London Falling.”2 Resulting from increasingly rapid urbanization in the second half of the twentieth century, this term has been widely adopted and applied to describe the negative impact of much too swift development on social life of cities and to stress the harmful effects of the aggressive restructure of urban spaces in the US by architecture critic Ada Louise Huxtable and Marxist philosopher and writer Marshall

* The abbreviations used in this article are those employed by the Reallexikon der Assyriologie. Aššur stands for the god Aššur and Assur for the city. The preparation of this article was funded by the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme under the Marie Skłodowska-Curie grant agreement No 797758. 1 For the role of iconoclasm in politics, see MAY 2012a, especially 1–2, 6–8, 17, 22 on destruction of capital cities as an iconoclastic policy aimed at destruction of political and cultural identity and memory. 2 “London Falling” Financial Times, June 27, 2009.

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Berman. After three years of continuous tragedy at Sarajevo, the term acquired the meaning of the deliberately hostile destruction of urban area.3 The very notion of killing the city is much more ancient than the twentieth century. The expression “to kill the city,” – ‫ ְל ָה ִמית עִיר‬is biblical. It comes from 2 Samuel 20:19. The practice of urbicide started even earlier – in Sumer. From the very beginning, urbicide was distinct from a simple sack of cities. Ancient Near Eastern lamentations over the destruction of cities, such as the Lamentation over the Destruction of Sumer and Ur, and the biblical book of Lamentations, describe the sweeping demolition of images, temples, cities, and peoples in one breath.4 These exquisite literary compositions resulted, however, from the millennia long tradition of lamenting destruction of cities, known in Assyriology as kalûtu-laments. This is a substantial corpus of poetic lamentations over destruction of cities and temples, the performance of which was the priestly duty of the lamentation priests (kalû), one of the oldest and most important Mesopotamian scholarly professions.5 The antiquity and longevity of this tradition, as well as the huge number of kalûtu-lamentations prove not just the consciousness of Mesopotamians to the phenomenon of urbicide, but the significance of this phenomenon to and the role it played in Mesopotamian civilisation from its very beginning. The purpose of the ancient Near Eastern urbicide, especially the “killing” of capital cities, was the elimination of the whole cultural identity of the enemy.6 The way the Assyrian capitals were destroyed was the strategy of total annihilation of political and cultural identity of Assyria – the most powerful empire of ancient Mesopotamia. In the ancient Near East, the destruction of a capital city was the priority and privilege of the kings, and salient target and tool of royal policies. Assyrians were particularly creative inventing their ways of destruction in general and the destruction of cities in particular.7 Starting already with the Middle Assyrian period, royal annals present us with a rich variety of the ways of urbicide. Cities are often described as being put under bans or made taboo. When “the holy city” Arinnu rebels against Shalmaneser I, he razes it to the ground, sows it with “salty plants,” brings its earth to Assur and heaps it up before the city gate as a triumphal monument “for posterity”:8 46b uru

A-ri-na ki-sa šur-šu-da 47 ki-sir ḫur-šá-ni šá i-na maḫ-ra 48 ib-bal-ki-tu i-še-ṭu Aš-šur 49 i-na meš meš 50 meš 51 TUKUL-ti Aš-šur ù DINGIR GAL EN -ia URU šá-a-tu ak-šud aq-qur ù ku-di-me e-li-šu azru ep-ri-šu 52 e-si-pa-ma i-na KÁ.GAL URU-ia Aš-šur 53 a-na aḫ-rat UDmeš lu aš-pu-uk giš

3 See also WRIGHT 2015, 148 and Schaudig, this volume, pp. 258–74. His statement that urbicide in the ancient Near East is closely connected to genocide or ethnocide does not hold water since in the ANCIENT Near East the concept of “genocide” or “ethnocide” simply did not exist: the interest of a conqueror was economical acquisition of goods as well as of manpower and not exterminating this manpower. The purpose of the urbicide was subjugation and annihilation of an enemy as a national state. As is well known, Assyrians as well as Persians spared even male fighters of their conquered peoples and incorporated them in their armies, MAY 2015, 79 with further literature in n. 4. 4 MAY 2012a, 3–4, 18. 5 For editions, see GABBAY 2015 and COHEN 1988; for detailed discussion of kalûtu, GABBAY 2014. 6 MAY 2012a, 17. 7 RIMA, passim. 8 RIMA 1, A.0.77.1 ll. 46b–53.

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The city Arinnu, the holy city founded in bedrock, which had previously rebelled (and) disregarded Aššur: with the support of Aššur and the great gods, my lords, I captured (and) destroyed that city and sowed salty plants over it. I gathered (some of) its earth and made a heap of it at the gate of my city, Assur, for posterity.

Tiglath-pileser I boasts that he razed the city Ḫunusu, turned it into a ruin hill of deluge – til abūbi – and covered it with a ṣīpu-mineral to make its soil infertile: uruḪunu-sa URU dan-nu-ti-šu-nu ki-ma DU6 a-bu-be áš-ḫu-up, “I covered Ḫunusu, their fortified city, like (as if it was) a hill of the deluge.”9 On the ruins he builds a brick structure, which contained bronze lightning bolts – symbol and weapon of a storm god inscribed with a prohibition to reoccupy the city and rebuilt its wall:10 8b

šu-a-tu ak-šud 9 DINGIRmeš-šu-nu áš-ša-a šal-la-su-nu bu-ša-šu-nu nam-kur-šu-nu 10 ú-še-ṣa-a meš URU i-na IZI áš-ru-up 11 3 BÀDmeš-šu ša i-na a-gúr-ri 12 ra-áṣ-bu ù si-ḫir-ti URU-šu 13 ap-púl aq-qur a-na DU6 ù kar-me 14 ú-ter ù NA4meš ṣi-pa i-na muḫ-ḫi-šu 15 az-ru NIM.GÍR ZABAR e-pu-uš 16 ki-šit-ti meš KUR.KUR ša i-na dA-šur EN-ia 17 ak-šu-du URU šu-a-tu a-na la-a ṣa-ba-te 18 ù BÀD-šu la-a ra-ṣa-pi 19 i-na muḫ-ḫi al-ṭu-ur É ša a-gúr-ri i-na muḫ-ḫi-šu 20 ar-sip NIM.GÍR ZABAR ša-tu-nu 21 i-na lìb-bi úše-ši-ib URU

I conquered that city. I took their gods (and) brought out their booty, possessions, (and) property. I burnt the city. The three walls which were constructed with baked brick and the entire city I razed, destroyed, turned into a ruin hill and strewed ṣīpu-stones over it. I made bronze lightning bolts (and) inscribed on them (a description of) the conquest of the lands which with the god Aššur, my lord, I conquered (and a warning) not to occupy that city and not to rebuild its wall. On that (site) I built a house of baked brick and put inside those bronze lightning bolts.

The installation of the lightning bolts, unique on its own, in the Neo-Assyrian period is paralleled by the common practice of Tiglath-pileser III and Sargon II to install a divine “weapon,” kak Aššur, inside the temples and sacred precincts of subjugated cities.11 Lightning bolts, the weapon and symbol of a storm god, suggests that in the MA period Aššur absorbed features of the “Storm god of the Ruin Mound(s),” dU EN til-lani the deity well attested in the international treaties of Assyria’s recent sovereign Ḫatti.12 The Middle Assyrian trop of sowing the land with salt and salt cress is revived in Assurbanipal’s accounts of urbicides during his Elamite campaign13 and is echoed in the Hebrew Bible. Apparently, this was not just a trop, but a standard practice of dealing with the especially stubborn enemy. The book of Judges stresses that the battle for 9

RIMA 2, A.0.87.1 v 99–100. The syntax of this sentence is somewhat defective, but it is clear that the king is a flood, covering the city, and turning it into the hill of deluge. 10 Ibid., vi 8b–21. 11 For the history and the overview of the practice of the installation of the “weapon of Aššur,” see HOLLOWAY 2002, 160–77. In the early Neo-Assyrian period, the installation of the royal images in the sacred spaces of an enemy was practiced, see MAY in print. 12 E.g., KBo 5.3 rev 42′ (http://www.hethport.uni-wuerzburg.de/txhet_svh/exemplar.php?xst=CTH 51.I&expl=&lg=DE&ed=G. Wilhelm) and passim in the Hittite treaties. 13 … kurELAM.M ki ú-šaḫ-rib MUN Ú.ZAG.ḪI.LI.SAR ú-sap-pi-ḫa EDIN-uš-šú-un, “I devastated … of the land of Elam (and over) their fields scattered salt (and) cress,” RINAP 5/1, 204, no. 9, v 55–56 = BIWA F v 55–56; RINAP 5/1, 219, no. 10, v 6–8 = BIWA T v 6–8; RINAP 5/1, 250, no. 11, vi 78– 80 = BIWA A vi 78–80.

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Shechem lasted the entire day. When captured, the city was sowed with salt, ‫ַו ֲאבִי ֶמלְֶך‬ :‫שׁר בָּהּ ה ָָרג ַויּ ִתּ ֹץ ֶאת ָה עִיר ַויִּז ְָר ֶע ָה ֶמלַח‬ ֶ ‫נ ִ ְלחָם ָבּעִיר כּ ֹל הַיּוֹם הַהוּא ַויִּלְכּ ֹד ֶאת ָהעִיר ְו ֶאת ָהעָם ֲא‬, “And Abimelech fought against the city all that day; and he took the city, and slew the people that were therein; and he beat down the city, and sowed it with salt.”14 An amazingly detailed description of the sack of Rusa/Ursa I’s “garden-city” Ulḫu is found in Sargon II’s Letter to Aššur.15 Sargon first describes Rusa’s unprecedented undertakings in construction of this city, then his own rigid “systematic destruction of all the works and achievements of Ursa.”16 Sargon’s report of de-struction mirrors Rusa’s con-struction. Ruining of the royal palace and gardens is depicted together with 17 levelling to the ground of its fortifications: ii 200 uru

Ul-ḫu URU dan-nu-ti ša i-na G[ÌR KUR …] 201 ù UNmeš-šu ki-ma nu-ú-ni a-na [... la] i-šat-tu-ú la i-šab-bu-ú 202 m Ur-sa-a LUGAL ma-lik-šu-nu i-na bi-ib-[lat lìb-bi-šu … mu]-ṣe-e ma-a-mi ú-šak-lim 203 pal-gu ba-bíl Ameš šu-du-ti iḫ-[ri-ma . . . . . . . .. Ameš] ḪÉ.NUN ki-ma Pu-rat-ti ú-šar-di 204 a-tap-pi la mi-i-na ṣur-ru-uš-šá ú-še-ṣa-am-ma […] lu-ú ú-šam-ki-ra qar-ba-a-te 205 A.GÀR-šu ar-bu ša ul-tu u4-um ul-lu-t[i…]-du-ma GURUN ù GESTIN ki-ma zu-un-ni ú-šá-az-nin 206 gišdul-bu giššu-rat-ḫu bal-ti giš 207 É.GAL-lì-[šu…] ki-ma TIR UGU ta-mer-ti-šú ta-ra-nu ú-šá-áš-di-ši ù i-na qer-bi-ti-šu na-di-ti ameš 208 ra-[aḫ-ḫe … ] GIM DINGIR a-la-la DÙG.GA ù-šal-sa-a UN -šu 3 ME AN ŠE ŠE.NUMUNmeš ku-pat d meš NIDABA i-na AB.[SÍN x x x x x x x] ù-šaḫ-[ni]-ib-ma še-am i-na pa-šèr-te uṣ-ṣa-pu te-li-tu 209 A.ŠÀ U.GÀR ar-bu-ti sa-aḫ-ḫiš ú-še-mi […] ma-di-iš pa-an šat-⌈ti⌉ šam-mu ù ri-i-tu la ip-pa-rak-ku-ú ku-ṣu ḫar-pu 210 a-na tar-ba-aṣ ANŠE.KUR.RAmeš ù šu-⌈gul⌉-ti ù-ter-šu-ma ANŠE.A.[AB.BA g]i-mer KUR-šu kut-tum-te ú-šal-mid-ma i-šap-pa-ku er-re-tu 211 É.GAL šu-bat LUGAL-ti a-na mul-ta-ʾu-ti-šu i-na a-ḫi giš meš 212 uru ÍD-ti [ib-ni] ÙR ŠIM.LI ú-ṣal-lil-ši-ma i-ri-sa ú-ṭib Sar-du-ri-ḫu-ur-da bir-tu a-na ka-a-di-šu kur meš i-na Kiš-te-er [e-pùš-ma ERIN KUR ... -t]i-b/na-a-a tu-kul-ti KUR-šu i-na lìb-bi ú-še-rib 213 UNmeš na-gi-i šu-a-ti a-mat ma-ru-uš-ti ša i-na pa-an m Ur-sa-[a] ⌈ú⌉-šap-ri-ku is-mu-ma ùʾ-a iq-bu-ú im-ḫaṣu šá-pár-šu-un 214 uruUl-ḫu URU dan-nu-ti-šu-nu a-di uruSar-du-ri-ḫu-ur-da bir-ti t[uk-la-ti-šu-nu ú]maš-še-ru-ma a-na šá-ḫat KUR-e pa-áš-qa-te ip-par-šid-du mu-ši-taš 215 i-na šu-ḫu-ut lìb-bi-ia li-méet na-gi-i šu-a-ti ki-ma im-ba-r[i as-ḫu-up]-ma šid-du ú pu-ú-tu ak-ṣu-ra šu-ri-biš 216 a-na uruUl-hi ! m URU tar -ma-a-te-šú ša Ur-sa-a e-tel-liš e-ru-ub-[ma a-na qé-reb] É.GAL-lì šu-bat LUGAL-ti-šú šalṭiš at-tal-lak 217 BÀD-šú dan-nu ša i-na NA4 KUR-i zaq-re ep-šu i-na qul-mi-i AN.[BAR ù pat-r]e 218 giš meš AN.BAR ḫaṣ-ba-ti-iš ú-daq-qi-iq-ma qaq-qa-reš am-nu ÙR ŠIM.LI še-ḫu-ti ta-aṣ-lil-ti É.GAL-lìkur ki šú as-[suḫ i-na ka-la]-pi ú-maḫ-ḫi-iṣ-ma a-na Aš-šur al-qa-a 219 qi-ra-a-te-šú na-kam-a-te ú-patti-ma ŠE.PADmeš-su ma-at-tu l[a ni-i-b]i um-ma-ni ú-šá-kil 200 É GESTINmeš-šú šá ni-ṣir-te e-ru-ub-ma um-ma-nat dA-šur DAGAL[meš ki-ma Am ]eš ÍD i-na kušna-a-de kušmaš-le-e iḫ-bu-ú GESTIN DUG.GA 221 íd Ḫi-ri-tu ÍD tuk-la-te-šu a-ru-ur-šá as-ker-ma Ameš du-[uš-šu]-ti a-na ru-šum-di ú-ter 222 a-da-appi ḫa-li-li si-lit-te ṣur-ri-ša ú-ḫa-ṭi-im-ma šá [...-š]u is-qi-la-si-na ú-kal-lim dUTU-šu 223 a-na giš meš meš KIRI6 -šú aṣ-ma-a-ti bu-un-na-né-e URU-šú ša GURUN ù GESTIN za-aʾ-na-a-ma ki-ma ti-ik AN-e i-na-tu!-ka iii224 lúqu-ra-di-ia ek-du-ti ú!-se-r[i-i]b-ma ki-ma dIM ú-šá-áš-gi-mu ri-gim ka-la-bi AN.BAR 225 ? GURUN-šú ma-aʾ-du ša mi-ni-tu la i-šu-⸢ú⸣ iq-tu-pu-ma a-na an-ḫu -ti lìb-bi la e-zi-bu da-re-eš 226 meš meš še šat-ti su-uḫ-ḫu GIŠ -šu GAL si-mat É.GAL-lì-šú ki-ma ⌈ MUNU5/6⌉ áš-ṭi-ma URU ta-nit-ti-šú úma-si-ik-ma ú-šaṭ-pi-la na-gu-šu 227 gišgu-up-ni šu-a-tu- iṣ-ṣa mal ak-šiṭ-ṭu ú-paḫ-ḫer-ma a-na gu-ru-un-ni ag-ru-un-ma i-na dBIL.GI aq-mu 228 ⌈EBUR⌉-šu-nu ma-aʾ-du ša ki GI a-pi ni-i-ba la i-šu-ú šur-šiš as-suḫ-ma a-na muš-ši-e te-ṣi-ti la e-zi-ba šu-bul-tú 229 A.GÀR-šu as-mu ša ki-i za-gìn-du-re-e ṣer-pa šak-nu-ma i-na di-še ù hab-bu-re šu-ru-šat ta-mer-tu 230 i-na gišGIGIR pet-ḫal-lì me-te-eq ki14 Judges 9: 45. R.T. Ridley (1986) demonstrates that ascribing this destiny to Rome’s most hazardous and sever adversary, Carthage, was a modern invention of the Cambridge Ancient History. 15 MAYER 1983, 290–94, iii 200–32. 16 ZACCAGNINI 1981, 263–76, esp. 274. 17 Translation after ibid., 265, 267–68 with the emendations by the author.

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mar-[ri]-ia ki-ma dIM ar-ḫi-iṣ-ma saḫ-ḫu tu-kul-ti ANSE.KUR.RAmeš-šú ki-ru-ba-niš um-mi 231 uruSardu-ri-ḫu-ur-da dan-na-su-nu GAL-tu a-di 57 URUmeš-ni ša li-mé-ti-šá ša kurSa-an-gi-bu-tu na-gi-i 232 se-ḫer-šu-nu ap-pul-ma qaq-qa-reš am-nu gišÙRmeš ta-aṣ-lil-ti-šu-nu i-na dBIL.GI aq-mu-ma di-talli-iš ú-še-mi 200

Ulḫu, (his) fortress at the foot [of the mount Kišpal…] 201 and their people, like fishes, to [… ] they could [not] drink and could not be satiated. 202 According to the desi[re of his heart, ] Ursa, the king, their lord, [ ]showed (them) the water-outlets. 203 He dug a main ditch which carried flowing waters [… and waters] of abundance he caused to flow like the Euphrates. 204 He had countless irrigation ditches run out of its interior [and with the waters) which he ra]ised?, he provided irrigation for the fields. 205 His arable land that was uncultivated since far-off days [… he] planted and fruit and wine he poured out like rain. 206 He made plane-trees and šuratḫu-trees, the pride of [his] palace, […] carry a covering over his region like a forest. 207 And over his abandoned fields [he brought back?] the araḫḫu-song and he made his people intone (again) the sweet alala-song. 208 Over 300 imēru of arable fields he let grain reap early in [its] furrows?], so that he increased the yield of barley in the soft ground.? 209 The uncultivated fields of his farmland he turned into meadows […] and the vegetation of spring, grass and pasture, did not cease winter (or) summer. 210 He turned (his land) into folds for horses and herds of cattle; he made his entire inaccessible land know (the breeding of) the camels, and he heaped a barrage?. 211 [He built] a palace, (his) royal residence, at the bank of a canal, for his leisure; he roofed it with juniper beams and made its fragrance sweet. 212 [He built] Sarduriḫurda, the fortress, as an outpost in the mountain Kišter; he made the […]eans, the support of his country, enter therein. 213 The people of this district heard a report of the trouble which I had put before Ursa: “Uha!” – they said, and smote their thighs. 214 They abandoned Ulḫu, their fortified city and Sarduriḫurda, the citadel of their trust, and flew at night to the difficult sides of the mountain. 215 In the rage of my heart, I [overwhelmed] the perimeter of this district like fog; sides and front I clustered like ice. 216 Into Ulḫu, the city of Ursa’s rest, I entered like a lord: [in the midst] of the palace, his royal residence, I walked around proudly. 217 Its strong wal1, which was made of massive mountain stone, I crumbled like a pot with adzes of ir[on and sword]s? of iron, and leveled (it). 218 Its long juniper beams, the roofing of his palace, I era[dicated]; I stroke (them)? [with axe]s’ and took (then) to Assyria. 219 I opened his granaries and storehouses: I let my troops eat his abundant grain supplies, [cou]ntless. 220 I entered his hidden cellars: the wide troops of Aššur drew the sweet vine with waterskins and leather buckets [like wa]ters from a river. 221 I blocked the outlet of the canal, the stream of his reservoir, and turned the abundant water (supply) into a swamp. 222 I obstructed the ditches of the pipe? – (secondary) derivations from it and I exposed (even) the deep(est) of their pebbles to the sun. 223 In his pleasant gardens, the (typical) feature of his city, which were studded with fruit and wine, that dripped like rain drops, 224 I let my fierce warriors enter (therein): like the thunderstorm they made roar the noise of the iron axes; 225 they plucked its abundant fruits, which were countless; for the exhaustion of the heart (of the enemy) they did not leave (any) smile for the years to come. 226 I spread like malt his great trees, the appurtenance of his palace; I made his famous city disgusting and dishonored his region. 227 I assembled the trees – what trees I had cut down: I heaped (them) in a heap and burnt (them) in fire. 228 I extirpated from (its) roots their abundant crop, which was countless like reeds in a canebrake; I did not leave one (single) ear (of barley) in order to designate the destruction. 229 His verdant meadowland, which was spotted with color like red-stained lapis-lazuli, – the territory was planted with spring grass and sprouting shoots – 230 I overflew (it) with chariots, cavalry and the transit of my ..., like the storm, I turned the meadows, the support of his horses, into uncultivated land. 231 Sarduriḫurda, their great fortress, together with 57 surrounding villages of the district of Sangibutu, 232 I destroyed their region and leveled; the beams, their roofing, I destroyed with fire and turned (them) into ashes.

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As has been shown by Carlo Zaccagnini,18 this description of lamentable devastation of the flourishing garden-city, which sounds so pitiful to a sober mind, contains the Urarṭian building inscriptions (ll. 200–12), which is followed by description of Sargon’s demolishing all Rusa’s creations. The construction and creation by the Urarṭian is mirrored by the destruction by the Assyrian. This description of the Assyrian destruction is in fact another, but very much extended Assyrian trop for de-fertilizing enemy’s land – hewing of vineyards, palm, and fruit trees – well illustrated in both Assyrian imagery and royal inscriptions. The expression kirâtīšu(nu) akkis/akšiṭ, “I cut down (the trees in) their orchards,” introduced also by Tiglath-pileser I is common place in descriptions of ruining conquered territories.19 The pictorial realization of this motive is ubiquitous in the NA palatial reliefs and beyond.20 As have been shown by Steven Cole, cutting down fruit trees during military campaigns started already in the Old Babylonian period. 21 But Assyrians made it a standard practice and apparently brought it to an absurd. Economical inefficiency of such a thorough devastation, which would have many years lasting effects echoed in the Deuteronomic prohibition to cut down fruit trees of besieged cities.22 Assyrian war machine, however, had its own reasoning and the imperative to cast fear was stronger than economic rationale. Nili Wazana has shown that these Assyrian habits were well known to the empire’s adversaries23 and considered unacceptable. Wazana suggested that it was “a face-saving literary device” when Assyrian attacks were unsuccessful and “the siege dragged out and the royal scribe could not report an unequivocal victory.”24 It seems more plausible that, like in other instances of sweeping urbicides, destruction of orchards was applied in cases of especially stubborn resistance, like cutting down palm trees of Merodach-baladan’s tribal capital Dūr-Yakīn by Sargon and burning sacred groves of Susa by Assurbanipal.25 The more the Assyrian atrocities grew, the more severe its end was. The end of the Assyrian Empire started with the uprising of Babylonians, headed by Nabopolassar, a scion of a prominent Urukean family, which had a long history of collaboration with Assyrians.26 But, in 626 BCE (November 2327), soon after the death of Assurbanipal, 18

ZACCAGNINI 1981. RIMA 2, A. 0.87.4, ll. 42.23; A.0. 101.1 iii 109; RIMA 3, A.0.102.2 ii 68; A.0.102.2 iii 4 and iv 5; A.0.102.8, l. 17′′; A.0.102.10 iv 3; A.0.102.12: 26; A.0.103.1 iv 17–18; A.0.103.2 iii 35′; RINAP 1, 59, no. 20, ll. 11′–12′; 47, 23–24. See also COLE 1997. 20 See COLE 1997, figs. 1–8. 21 See ibid., 31 for the evidence. 22 Deut 20:19–20. This topic was exhaustively treated by WAZANA 2008. 23 See also Jer 6:6. 24 WASANA 2008, 287. 25 FUCHS 1993, Ann 288b–91; RINAP 5/1, 203–204, no. 9, v 44–48. See also reliefs with Sennacherib’s treatment of palm groves of Babylonia: BARNETT/BLEIBTREU/TURNER 1998, pl. 49 – Assyrian soldiers cutting the palms of Dilbat; pls. 460–46 – probably scenes of Sennacherib’s first Babylonian campaign. As demonstrated by both Cole and Wazana, the practice of devastating fruit orchards continued in the Middle East (COLE 1997, 34–36) until nowadays (WAZANA 2008, 274, the epigraph). 26 JURSA 2007, 130–34. 27 GRAYSON 1975, 88, Chronicle 2, ll.14–15. 19

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Nabopolassar was able to establish himself as a king in Babylon and rebelled against his former masters. For ten years the Assyrians fought Babylonians on their territory trying to regain control over Babylonia. Babylonian cities changed hands several times. Finally, Nabopolassar succeeded to firm his rule over all of Babylonia by 616 BCE. In 615 BCE, after they freed themselves from Assyrian oppression, the Babylonians managed to transfer hostilities onto the enemy territory and started the invasion into the Assyrian heartland. Remarkably, Nabopolassar’s first target was the ancient religious capital – Assur. Babylonian Chronicle 3, dubbed the Fall of Nineveh Chronicle, describes Nabopolassar’s fruitless siege and attempts to capture the city in AjaruSimānu of his eleventh year, i.e. 615 BCE. He battled against the city but could not capture it. The Assyrians were still able to muster an army, push the Babylonians back from Assur and pursue them down the Tigris as far as Tagrīiānu, modern Tekrit. There the battle which lasted ten days took place. The defeated Assyrians retreated. The exhausted Babylonians could not chase them. Why did Nabopalassar first attack Assur and not Nineveh? One could claim that the reasons were a matter of military strategy: Assur was closer to Babylonia and on the way to Nineveh. Nevertheless, in the next year, the Medes attacked Assur and sacked it. For them, Nineveh was closer, and indeed they first marched against Nineveh and took Tarbiṣu and its vicinity. But then they turned towards Assur, captured and sacked it without waiting for their Babylonian allies. They were strong enough to do it alone and probably did not want to share the spoil. 28 It seems, however, that targeting Assur and not Nineveh first by both the Babylonians and the Medes had ideological rather than strategic reasons. In the reign of Assurbanipal, Assyrians invaded and plundered their countries. In 653 BCE Assurbanipal sacked Susa. He left a lengthy account of destruction of the Elamite capital, one of the most detailed of all the Assyrian accounts of an urbicide. This account terminates with ruining the Elamite temples, smashing the divine statues, violating the royal tombs, 29 and “deporting” the bones of Elamite kings to Assyria: 42

eš-re-e-ti kurE-lam-ti a-di la ba-še-e ú-šal-pit 43 DINGIRmeš-šú d15meš-šú am-na-a a-na za-qí-qí …49 ki-maḫ-ḫi LUGALmeš-šú-nu maḫ-ru-ti u EGIRmeš 50 la pa-li-ḫu-ti d15 GAŠAN-ia 51 mu-nàr-ri-ṭu meš meš 52 LUGAL AD -ia ap-pul aq-qur dUTU ú-kal-lim 53 GÌR.PAD.DUmeš-šú-nu al-qa-a a-na kurAN.ŠÁRki 54 e-ṭém-me-šú-nu la ṣa-la-lu e-mì-id ki-is-pu naq-me-e ú-za-am-me-šú-nu-ti 42–43

I desecrated all the sacred places of Elam; (its) gods (and) goddesses I turned into ghosts. ... 49– Graves of their earlier and later kings, who did not obey Ištar, my Lady; who made my royal forefathers tremble, I dug out, I demolished, I exposed to the sun. Their bones I took to Assyria; I inflicted restlessness on their ghosts. I deprived them of funerary offerings and water libation! 54

The Medes were strongly connected to Elam, ethnically as well as culturally. In the same Fall of Nineveh Chronicle, they are described first using the toponym kurMa-daa-a, “the land of the Medes,”30 commonly translated just as the Medes, but then the

28

These events are described in Chronicle 3, ll. 16–30 dubbed the “Fall of Nineveh Chronicle,” GRAYSON 1975, 92–93. 29 RINAP 5/1, 203, no. 9, v 42–43; 49–54. 30 GRAYSON 1975, 93–94, Chronicle 3, ll. 23–24, 28.

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archaic ethnonym Ummān-manda is applied to them. In particular, Chronicle 3 calls Cyaxares the king of the Ummān-manda.31 The word, as such meaning “an enemy hoard,” 32 is, on one hand, in the first millennium, applied to Iranian peoples, particularly the Cimmerians and the Medes. On the other, it can be interpreted as the “army of Media.” But “Ummān” is also an Akkadian rendering of the name of the Elamite deity Ḫumban, the theophoric element present in the name of almost every Elamite king. This allusion makes it clear that, in Babylonia, Media and Elam were perceived as related to each other, which is not surprising taking into consideration their geographical proximity. The Letter of Sîn-šarru-iškun to Nabopolassar includes kurPa-ra-ši-i (l. 5),33 the area in Iran beyond Elam, and refers to it as to Nabopolassar’s ally and partner in his revenge. This geographical term obviously designates the Medes. The reign of Nabopolassar started with him returning the Elamite gods, deported by the Assyrians to his native city, Uruk, back to Susa.34 This action apparently laid grounds for his successful alliance with the Medes against the Assyrians. The Medes saw themselves as the heirs of Elam – the greatest and most ancient power in their region. Typically, even the administrative documentation of the successor of Assyrian and Babylonian Empires, Achaemenid Persia, whose founder was in fact a Median – Cyrus, was written in Elamite. Elamite is one of the languages of the Behistun Inscription of Darius I, together with Old Persian and Akkadian, which again points to the importance of Elam and its culture for the region. Assurbanipal’s annihilation of Susa and other Elamite cities must have deeply shaken the Iranian peoples of the region, the Medes among them. It seems that the destruction of Assur, the ancient religious capital of Assyria not only echoes, but mirrors, the destruction of Susa by the Assyrians in every possible way. The huge sanctuary of Assur rebuilt and refurbished by odious Sennacherib just 70 year prior to the sack of the city was levelled to the ground. The Anu-Adad temple was ruined and burnt, as were both Old and New Palaces.35 Moreover, the graves of the Assyrian kings below the floors of the Old Palace were not just disturbed but totally razed. Walter Andrae’s team found meager burnt bone fragments.36 Presumably, the victors also took remains of Assyrian kings with them, mirroring the removal of the bones of the Elamite kings by Assurbanipal. Enormous sarcophagi of the Assyrian kings were broken into smithereens (Figure 1) – an undertaking that alone demanded a great effort. But the destruction of Assur, which obviously was the first priority for both the Babylonians and the Medes, meant much more than just revenge and plunder. Togeth-

31

GRAYSON 1975, 94, Chronicle 3, l. 38. CAD U, 103, s.v. ummān-manda. 33 See LAMBERT 2005, 205 with n. 2, and below pp. 241–42. 34 GRAYSON 1975, 88, Chronicle 2, ll. 16–17. 35 MIGLUS 2000, 87. 36 HALLER 1954, 170–81, for the sarcophagi, see ibid., 175, 177, 180 and pls. 41d and 44d. Note that a limestone sarcophagus in the grave of Aššur-bēl-kala was spared (ibid., 177, pl. 43) while the basalt one, which belonged to the king himself, was smashed (ibid., 177). 32

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er with the empire’s main temple and royal graves, the very world order of Assyria was annihilated. Its god was made homeless, its king lost his ancestry and his successor could not be crowned for kingship at the Aššur temple.37 The great empire was ideologically crushed. Hanspeter Schaudig has recently shown that the Babylonians completed the annihilation of the cult of Aššur by constructing a temple for the deity of destruction – Nergal – atop the ground zero, laying in place of the Aššur temple.38 The symbol of Nergal was, together with the symbol of Assur, carried by Assyrians on their campaigns (e.g., Figure 2). By constructing the temple of Nergal over the ruins of the temple of Assur and thus tabooing its rebuilding, Babylonians again copied the urbicide strategy coined by Shalmaneser I.39 Remarkably, the very stone tablets of Shalmanesser I, which describe the annihilation of the holy city Arinnu, capital of Muṣri, were found in the temple of Nergal in the secondary use. 40 Despite the elimination of the Assyrian state cult, the end of the empire was yet far. Nineveh too was destined for total annihilation. But it came only in 612 BCE, two years after the destruction of Assur. The uniformity of the damage of Nineveh palaces’ visual program is amazing. The systematic character of the damage of royal images and insignia on Nineveh palatial reliefs aimed at the destruction of palaces as figurative complexes, at the visual destruction of the Assyrian Empire.41 In Nineveh palaces, every effigy of the Assyrian king was effaced with systematic obstinacy, including even the smallest ones, which are actually royal effigies hewn on the steles depicted upon the reliefs (e.g., Figure 3). The author of the present article checked all the images of the king upon the Nineveh reliefs in the European museums and examined the rest using photographs.42 Of all the Nineveh royal imagery, only seven effigies escaped at least facial damage. Six of them derive from Assurbanipal’s North Palace and are related to hunt, and only one shows the triumphant king.43 In South-West Palace of Sennacherib, all the images of the king suffered some degree of damage. The only exclusion is the relief of inner court XIX, representing a triumphant king in a chariot, but this is Assurbanipal and not Sennacherib.44 Typically, many royal images suffered from damage that targeted multiple purposes: the crown,

37

RADNER 2017, 82. SCHAUDIG 2018, 623; 631–32. See also Schaudig’s study in this volume pp. 258–74 below. 39 Above, p. 233 with fn. 10. 40 SCHAUDIG 2018, 628. 41 MAY 2012a, 6–8; 17. 42 The museum records still must be checked in order to establish whether the damaged places on the reliefs were restored. Drawings alone are not reliable in this respect since they do not always reflect the damage. 43 These are BM 124872 (Room S, Slab 16, lower register; BARNETT 1976, pls. XLIX, L, and LII); BM 124876 (Room S, Slab 12, lower register; BARNETT 1976, pls. LI and LII); VA 963, 960 (Room S, Slabs 9-8?, upper? register; BARNETT 1976, pl. LIII; BM 124886 Room S1, Slab D, lower register; ibid., pls. LVII and LIX). All these are images of the royal hunt; on the first four of them Assurbanipal is shown only with a headband, without the crown, maybe still as a crown prince. AO 19904 is the only undamaged representation of a triumphant king (Room V1/T1, Slab F, lower register;ibid., pl. LXVIII). 44 BARNETT/BLEIBTREU/TURNER 1998, 82 and pls. 205, 212. 38

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eyes, noses and mouths, hands, insignia, and weapon (e.g., Figure 4). The images of the king’s courtiers and attendants were obliterated as well (e.g., Figure 5). The majority of the images of Assyrians or collaborators of the empire were defaced in one way or another, among them the Elamite puppet king and Assurbanipal’s official introducing him to “his” subjects.45 Every figurative complex and pictorial narrative was subject to various degrees of damage. The throne room of the South-West Palace of formidable Sennacherib and its forecourt were just completely destroyed. Once huge apotropaic figures that guarded the parade court leading to the throne room were “uprooted” similarly to what Assurbanipal did to the guardian figures of the Elamite temples.46 Only the remains of their lower parts survived. The fragments of the badly damaged wall reliefs, discovered in this courtyard and in the throne room give no clue to the program of the reliefs of this most important audience area of the palace, aimed to impress the king’s subjects and frighten his vassals.47 A single image of the enthroned king inside a camp is now known only from a drawing.48 On the reliefs of the passage to the Ištar temple, which is the only surviving representation of religious character in Sennacherib’s entire palace,49 all the iconoclastic patterns are present (Figure 6).50 Every face, even that of the horse-head image adorning the wheeled throne, was damaged. The damage to the images of the higher-ranked individuals is more severe than that of the simple soldiers: the king was completely effaced and both his hands, but especially the right one, erased, which is reflected even in the drawing. The crown prince’s face was chiseled away. On his second representation, his nose and mouth were chiseled out, eye gouged, ear, beard, and arm damaged with strokes, and the rosette of the bracelet erased. After mutilation the reliefs were probably buried in in a pit, halfway between the South-West Palace and the temple of Ištar.51 On the so-called Assurbanipal’s Garden Scene and Sennacherib’s siege of Lachish relief, both celebrating Assyrian victories, not only the main protagonists – the king, the queen, and the crown prince, but most of simple soldiers on the Lachish relief52 and every female attendant on the Garden Scene, were defaced.53 Contrarily, all the faces of non-Assyrians – Judean exiles and Elamite kings – on these reliefs are intact. It is worth noting that the hunting scenes suffered lesser degree of obliteration and 45

Ibid., pls. 305, 307. RINAP 5/1, 203, no. 9, v 40–48; May 2010, 108–10. 47 See RUSSEL 1998, pls. 60–113. BARNETT/BLEIBTREU/TURNER 1998, pls. 20, 24 for the remains of apotropaic figures and pls. 27–47 for what is left of the reliefs of the throne room and its courtyard. Only for slab 1, more complete that the others, the preserved epigraph permits to establish that it represented the siege of the city Ukku (RINAP 3/2, 101, no. 53). 48 Thus the drawing; only a small fragment of the relief on this slab is probably preserved. Russel 1998, pl. 87, 43–44; see also BARNETT/BLEIBTREU/TURNER 1998, pl. 35. 49 BARNETT/BLEIBTREU/TURNER 1998, 133–37, pls. 473–96. 50 MAY 2012b, 188–89. 51 BARNETT/BLEIBTREU/TURNER 1998, 133. 52 Ibid., pls. 325, 337, 339, 343, 347, 350–52. 53 BARNETT 1976, pl. LXIV especially BM 124920, Slabs B–C. 46

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some of their royal images were sparred.54 No doubt that the iconoclasts knew the representations of whom and of what they were destroying. They were also aware of the significance of the relief sequence as a whole and of its subject matter. But the palatial imagery of the former Assyrian capitals – Kalḫu and Dūr-Šarrukīn – remained intact or almost intact. The Fall of Nineveh Chronicle does not even mention these cities. Thus, we do not know when exactly Kalḫu was sacked, although the Burnt Palace in Kalḫu was set on the fire; the Nabû temple in this city was burned 55 and its library plundered,56 and Esarhaddon’s Vassal Treaties smashed at the Nabû’s cella.57 The palace reliefs, however, remained almost untouched.58 Modestly gorged eyes of the main-theme relief of Assunasirpal II’s throne room (Figure 7),59 and his effaced Banquet Stele (Figure 8) cannot rival the total annihilation of the pictorial narratives of Nineveh and of the sacred spaces of Assur. Of all Assyrian capitals, the traces of some occupation in NB and Achaemenid, and quite massive settlement in Hellenistic periods, are clearest at Kalḫu.60 Why was the palatial imagery of Nineveh so thoroughly destroyed? This was the iconoclasm of the imperial visual propaganda. Obliteration of the main royal palace and the capital – the avatar of the not yet subjugated empire targeted the obliteration of the empire. And the Empire had not yet surrendered. Clear sense of legitimate and just war as opposed to unjust war, indiscriminate in its means, was inherent to Mesopotamians. It is best exemplified by the Erra Epic, where noble warrior Išum is juxtaposed with ferocious and bloodthirsty Erra.61 Assyrians did not bother much to justify their wars. The claim that this was the order of the gods, Aššur in the first place, was enough. What were the motives of Babylonians? Late Babylonian tablet BM 5546762 preserves a unique document, which in a great detail grounds the Babylonian destruction of Assyria. Pamela Gerardi dubbed it a

54

Above p. 239, with fn. 43. MALLOWAN 1966, 256–57. 56 Ibid., 271–77 and CTN IV, 1–7. 57 MAY 2012a, 6–7; 15. 58 Note, however, that the gored eye of the royal image upon a large ivory plaque, which once adorned a throne (MALLOWAN 1966, fig. 21). Mallowan also notices deliberate mutilation of some ivories 230. 59 Note, however, that king’s hands are damaged as well, especially his index fingers. This annihilated the adoration gesture. 60 Ibid., 285; 296. Mallowan also refers to the testimony of Xenophon, but does not quote the passage. 61 GEORGE 2013. 62 For the date of the copy, see GERARDI 1986, 37. P. Gerardi suggested that the original was written in the first part of the reign of Nabopolassar (626–605 BCE; ibid., 31), particularly between 614 and 612 (ibid., 38). Since it describes, although in imperfective, the fall of Assyria, which was not an easy achievable task and took at least four years of fighting on the Assyrian soil, I assume that the text was written ex eventu. For the terminology used here regarding the Akkadian verbal system, see KOUWENBERG 2010, 29. 55

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“Declaration of War,”63 but in fact it is a proclamation of revenge. Gerardi suggested to identify the protagonist of the text as Nabopolassar.64 I consider her identification correct. The obverse and reverse of this tablet are divided into three sections each; every section of the obverse, as was pointed out by Gerardi, is paralleled by sections of the reverse.65 The verbs on the obverse are in the perfective and perfect, on the reverse they are in the imperfective. The first section of the obverse enlists the crimes of the Assyrian against Babylon. It is paralleled by the first section of the reverse with the declaration of intention to destroy Nineveh. The second section of the obverse contains a divine command: Marduk’s appointment of the Babylonian, apparently Nabopolassar. It is paralleled by the rejection of the Assyrian on the reverse. The divine investiture of the Babylonian on the obverse proves that he is a legitimate ruler. On the reverse, the legitimacy of the Assyrian is discredited by the claim that Sargon, his forefather, was a “house slave” (rev. 7). Demeaning the Sargonids right to the throne disclaimed their legitimacy. Nabopolassar, the victor of the Assyrian Sargonids and the avenger of Babylonia – “Akkad,” sought legitimacy in Sargonic dynasty of Akkad. Describing his origin and rise to power in his Imgur-Enlil cylinder, the founder of the new Babylonian dynasty alluded to its connection to the Akkadian forerunners.66 His heir Nebuchadnezzar II claimed descent from Narām-Sîn, whom he called his abu labiru, “ancient ancestor, forefather.”67 The last sections are not well preserved and difficult to comprehend. Gerardi suggested that the obverse might be interpreted as some effort of the Babylonian “at peaceful reconciliation. The reverse may answer with the confrontation, which was made inevitable by the Assyrian rejection of Babylonian overtures.”68 The motif of revenge clearly prevails in this inscription: Marduk is said to check the author of BM 55467 for being fit to “avenge Akkad” (gi-mil kurURIki, ll.10–12). The literary Letter of Sîn-šarru-iškun to Nabopolassar,69 of which very little is preserved, states that Marduk “summoned Nabopolassar to avenge Babylonia” (l. 2, gi-[mil-li kur]URIki ú-mál-⌈la⌉ qatuš-šu). Wilfred G. Lambert, who published this letter, pointed out its similarity to BM 55467. 70 Paul-Alain Beaulieu notes that both documents “recorded an alleged exchange of correspondence between Nabopolassar and Sîn-šarru-iškun.”71 The style and 63

GERARDI 1986, 32. The evidence for the existence of the habit of declaring war in Mesopotamia is found in the omen texts, e.g. in apodoses of the Enūma Anu Enlil 24/25 (K. 213 + Rm 2, 250: 17; K. 2932+K. 14533 (+) K. 2131+ K. 2283+ K. 11824: rev. 10; VAN SOLDT 1995, 31) and 34 (K.

2236+ K. 2891 (+) K. 6195: rev. 21', cathchline in the colophon). It is articulated as ár LUGAL SAL.KÚR KIN , “ the king will declare war to another king.” 64

LUGAL

ana

GERARDI 1986, 37–38. Ibid. 66 BEAULIEU 2003, especially 2*–3*. 67 YOS 1 44 ii 3 apud BEAULIEU 2003, 5*. 68 GERARDI 1986, 37–38. 69 MMA.11.370A+ = CTMM II 44 (LAMBERT 2005, 207–10). 70 For the comparison of the Akkadian expressions in both texts, see LAMBERT 2005, 209 (note 2) to the edition of the Letter of Sîn-šarru-iškun to Nabopolassar. There is also physical similarity between them – the shape of the tablet and the hand of the scribe (ibid., 205). 71 BEAULIEU 2017, 550. 65

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tone of both texts – the arrogant challenge in BM 55467 and the servile reverence of the Assyrian king towards the Babylonian one in the Letter of Sîn-šarru-iškun72 – prove that these are literary texts and not a real correspondence between the kings.73 Apparently both documents were created during the campaign against Assyria as a part of Nabopolassar’s propaganda, which presented him as the avenger of Babylon appointed by Marduk. The structure BM 55467 with the description of sins of Assyria and the revenge of Marduk and Babylonians brings to mind the words of Amos (1:3–4): ‫שׁב ְַר ִתּי בּ ְִרי ַח‬ ָ ‫ ְו‬:‫אַר ְמנוֹת בֶּן ֲה ָדד‬ ְ ‫שׁ ַלּ ְח ִתּי ֵא שׁ ְבּבֵית ֲחז ָ ֵאל וְאָ ְכלָה‬ ִ ‫ ְו‬: ...‫שׁיבֶנּוּ‬ ִ ‫אַר ָבּעָה ֹלא ֲא‬ ְ ‫שׂק ְועַל‬ ֶ ‫שׁעֵי ַד ֶמּ‬ ְ ‫שׁ ה ִפּ‬ ָ ‫שֹׁל‬ ְ ‫עַל‬ :.. ‫שׂק‬ ֶ ‫ַדּ ֶמּ‬ For three transgressions of Damascus, yea, for four, I will not reverse it … I will send a fire into the house of Hazael, and it shall devour the palaces of Ben-Hadad. And I will break the bar of Damascus …

Gerardi in turn compares the structure of BM 55467 to that of the Basalt Stele of Nabonidus, where the destruction of Babylon in column i is paralleled by the destruction of Assyria in column ii, both sanctioned by Marduk.74 Neo-Babylonian Empire founded by Nabopolassar redounds its demolished rival and predecessor in many ways. But the destruction of Nineveh not just redounded but mirrored the destruction of Babylon by Sennacherib even in what in Nineveh was not feasible. Sennacherib’s Bavian Inscription incised upon a cliff at the beginning of the canal that was a part of a larger network of canals and aqueducts constructed by Sennacherib to provide water for Nineveh all year round. Sennacherib canal building for supplying Nineveh mirrors his canal building for flooding Babylon. His destruction account is a mirrored building account.75 It recollects his father Sargon’s account of the destruction of Ulḫu, mirroring the account of its construction:76 50b

ul-tu UŠ₈-šú a-di gaba-dib-bi-šú ap-pul aq-qur i-na dGIŠ.BAR aq-mu BÀD ù šal-ḫu-u É DINGIR ziq-qur-rat SIG₄ u SAḪARḫi.a ma-la ba-šu-ú 52 as-suḫ-ma a-na ídA-ra-aḫ-ti ad-di i-na qéreb URU šu-a-tu ⌈ḫi-ra⌉-a-ti aḫ-re-e-ma er-ṣe-es-su-nu ina Ameš as-pu-un ši-kin 53 uš-še-šú ú-ḫal-liqma UGU ša a-bu-bu na-al-pan-ta-šú ú-šá-tir áš-šu aḫ-rat u₄-me qaq-qar URU šu-a-tu ù Émeš DINGIRmeš 54 la muš-ši-i i-na ma-a-mi uš-ḫar-miṭ-su-ma ag-da-mar ú-šal-liš URU

meš

ù Émeš

51

meš

50b–54a

I destroyed, devastated, (and) burned with fire the city, and (its) buildings, from its foundations to its crenellations. I removed the brick(s) and earth as much as there was, from the (inner) wall and outer wall, the temples (and) the ziggurat, (and) I threw (it) into the Araḫtu river. I dug canals into the center of that city and (thus) leveled their site with water. I destroyed the outline of its foundations and (thereby) made its destruction surpass that of the Deluge. So that in the future, the site of that city and (its) temples will be unrecognizable, I dissolved it (Babylon) in water and annihilated (it), (making it) like a meadow.

Both Diodorus Siculus (ca. 90–60 BCE) and the biblical prophet Nahum report flooding of Nineveh during the Babylonian attack. Another Greek author, Xenophon, 72

The latter is called the lord of the former: EN-iá, “my lord, l. 30; EN-šú, “his lord,” l. 31. Contra LAMBERT 2005, 205, who considered them both to be authentic letters. 74 GERARDI 1986, 37–38. 75 GALTER 1984. 76 RINAP 3/2, 316–17, no. 223 ll. 50b–54a. 73

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reports that the city was destroyed by the thunder of Zeus.77 The evidence of Diodorus is based on the lost Persika by Ctesias of Cnidus, who was a physician at the Persian court in the second half of the fifth century–the beginning of the fourth century BCE. Diodorus describes flooding caused by heavy rains:78 …τῷ τρίτῳ δ᾿ ἔτει συνεχῶς ὄµβρων µεγάλων καταρραγέντων συνέβη τὸν Εὐφράτην µέγαν γενόµενον κατακλύσαι τε µέρος τῆς πόλεως καὶ καταβαλεῖν τὸ τεῖχος ἐπὶ σταδίους εἴκοσιν. …but in the third year, after there had been heavy and continuous rains, it came to pass that the Euphrates, running very full, both inundated a portion of the city and broke down the walls for a distance of twenty stades.

Greeks could easily confuse Babylon and Nineveh, since Classical authors often confuse Babylonia and Assyria.79 Diororus, in this very passage, reports that Nineveh was flooded by the Euphrates, not even by the Tigris thus demonstrating his ignorance of Mesopotamian geography. Furthermore, flooding of Nineveh in Diodorus’ narration is immediately followed by another topos – self burning of the king, here Sardanapalus:80 ἐνταῦθα ὁ βασιλεὺς νοµίσας τετελέσθαι τὸν χρησµὸν καὶ τῇ πόλει τὸν ποταµὸν γεγονέναι φανερῶς πολέµιον, ἀπέγνω τὴν σωτηρίαν. ἵνα δὲ µὴ τοῖς πολεµίοις ὑποχείριος γένηται, πυρὰν ἐν τοῖς βασιλείοις κατεσκεύασεν ὑπερµεγέθη, καὶ τόν τε χρυσὸν καὶ τὸν ἄργυρον ἅπαντα, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις τὴν βασιλικὴν ἐσθῆτα πᾶσαν ἐπὶ ταύτην ἐσώρευσε, τὰς δὲ παλλακίδας καὶ τοὺς εὐνούχους συγκλείσας εἰς τὸν ἐν µέσῃ τῇ πυρᾷ κατεσκευασµένον οἶκον ἅµα τούτοις ἅπασιν ἑαυτόν τε καὶ τὰ βασίλεια κατέκαυσεν. At this, the king, believing that the oracle had been fulfilled and that the river had plainly become the city’s enemy, abandoned hope of saving himself. And in order that he might not fall into the hands of the enemy, he built an enormous pyre1 in his palace, heaped upon it all his gold and silver as well as every article of the royal wardrobe, and then, shutting his concubines and eunuchs in the room which had been built in the middle of the pyre, he consigned both them and himself and his palace to the flames.

The topos of the last Assyrian king, Sarakos (Sîn-šarru-iškun) committing suicide by burning himself together with his capital is found also in Berossos.81 The annals of Assurbanipal himself report that his rebellious brother Šamaš-šumu-ukīn was cast into fire by divine will.82

77 Xenophon, Anab, 3.4.12. Xenophon calls Nineveh, Mespila and most probably does not recognize the Assyrian capital in it. 78 Diod Sic 2.27. 1. 79 See, e.g., MAY 2018, 279 with n. 181 for the Classical authors taking Assyrian queens for the Babylonian ones. See also DALLEY 1994, 46–50 for the confusion between Babylon and Nineveh in classical sources. 80 Diod Sic 2.27. 2. 81 For Berossos, see BURSTEIN 1978, 26, 6c (= Josephus, A.J. 34; FGrH, 3C1, 680 F 7d). 82 RINAP 5/1, Ashurbanipal 6 xi 24′; 8 viii 19′′′′–20′′′′; 11 iv 57–58. For the discussion of his possible suicide, see ibid., 23 with n. 146.

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Diodorus then continues with the story of transporting the ashes of Sardanapalus’ palace to Babylonian sacred precinct to commemorate the victory over the oppressor of Babylon:83 …ἀποκοµιεῖν τὴν σποδὸν τὴν ἐκ τούτων εἰς Βαβυλῶνα, καὶ πλησίον τοῦ τεµένους τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ τοῦ ποταµοῦ καταθέµενον χῶµα κατασκευάσειν τὸ παρεξόµενον τοῖς κατὰ τὸν Εὐφράτην πλέουσιν ἀθάνατον ὑπόµνηµα τοῦ καταλύσαντος τὴν, Ἀσσυρίων ἀρχήν. He would bring its ashes to Babylon, and depositing them near the river and the sacred precinct of the god he would construct a mound which, for all who sailed down the Euphrates, would stand as an eternal memorial of the man who had overthrown the rule of the Assyrians.

Transporting the earth of a destroyed city to Assyria and piling it at the city gates as a triumphal monument was an Assyrian practice since the beginning of Assyrian expansion in the reign of Shalmaneser I, as we learned from the above quoted passage on destruction of Arinnu.84 His example was followed in two most fierce urbicides of the later Assyrian kings. Sennacherib brought the earth of the flooded Babylon to the newly built akītu-house of Aššur:85 44b

a-na nu-uḫ-ḫi lìb-bi 45 AN.ŠÁR EN-ia ta-nit-ti dan-nu-ti-šú UNmeš a-na da-la-li 46 a-na ta-mar-ti meš UN aḫ-ra-a-ti SAḪARḫi.a TIN.TIRki 47 as-su-ḫa-am-ma ina É a-ki-ti šú-a-ti ka-re-e DU₆ ú-gar-ri-in In order to pacify Aššur, my lord, for people to sing the praises of his might, (and) for the admiration of future people, I removed earth from Babylon and piled (it) up in heaps (and) mounds in that akītuhouse (of Aššur – NNM).

Assurbanipal brought to Assyria the earth of Susa and other demolished Elamite cities:86 66 SAḪARḫi.a uruŠu-šá-an uruMa-dak-tu uruḪal-te-ma-áš 67 ù si-it-ti ma-ḫa-ze-e-šú esi-pa al-qa-a a-na kurAN.ŠÁRki, “I gathered earth from the cities Susa, Madaktu, Ḫaltemaš, and the rest of his cult centres (and) took (it) to Assyria.” Sennacherib’s report of deportation of the earth of the Elamite cities immediately follows his description of destroying them.87 Unlike Diodorus and Ctesias, the prophet Nahum was a contemporary of the sack of Nineveh.88 His small book is entirely dedicated to this event. It opens with the words ‫שּׂא נִינְוֵה‬ ָ ‫ ַמ‬, “The burden of Nineveh,” (Nahum 1:1), which is in fact its title. Further, the prophet describes the God of Israel as a storm deity (Nahum 1:3–4; 8): ‫שׂ ה ְמקוֹ ָמ הּ‬ ֶ ‫שׁ טֶף ע ֹבֵר ָכּלָה י ַ ֲע‬ ֶ ‫ וּ ְב‬...‫שׁהוּ ְוכָל ַהנְּהָרוֹת ֶהח ֱִריב‬ ֵ ‫ גּוֹעֵר ַבּיּ ָם ַויּ ַ ְבּ‬:‫ ֲא בַק ַרגְלָי‬, ‫שׂע ָָרה ַדּ ְרכּוֹ ְו ָענ ָן‬ ְ ‫י ְהוָה בְּסוּפָה וּ ִב‬... :‫שְׁך‬ ֶ ֹ ‫וְאֹיְבָיו י ְַר ֶדּף ח‬ YHWH… in the whirlwind and in the storm is His way, and the clouds are the dust of His feet … He rebukes the sea, and makes it dry, and dries up all the rivers … But with an overrunning flood. He will make a full end of the place thereof (i.e. Nineveh), and darkness shall pursue His enemies. 89

83

Diod Sic 2.28. 2. RIMA 1, A.0.77.1, 51–53. See above, p. 232 with fn. 8. 85 RINAP 3/2, Sennacherib 168 ll. 44b–47. 86 RINAP 5/1, Ashurbanipal 9 v 66–67. 87 Ibid., v 19–65; see above, p. 237 with fn. 29. 88 CHRISTENSEN 2009, 53; 54–56. 89 Modernized JPS 1917 translation. 84

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Nahum’s description is reminiscent of the Assyrian royal inscriptions. Flooding was an urbicidal metaphor in Mesopotamia from the earliest days.90 It is known starting with the city laments. The Lamentation over the Destruction of Sumer and Ur and the Lamentation over the Destruction of Ur describe the demolition of the main Sumerian cities at the fall of the Ur III dynasty (ca. 2004 BCE) and repetitively refer to the devastating storm (u 4) that destroys the cities of Sumer.91 Centuries later, Sargon II of Assyria in his Letter to Aššur, quoted above, compares himself to the storm-(god) – Adad, wiping off the cities of his enemies.92 He claims that he leveled the settlements of the insolent Arameans in Babylonia “like a deluge (abūbiš).”93 The curses in the succession treaties of Esarhaddon threaten the breaker of the oath with devastating flood.94 Sennacherib’s rhetoric is especially abundant with similes of Aššur and the king himself to a flood. Moreover, Sennacherib realized the metaphor by flooding Babylon eli (UGU) ša abūbu, “more complete than a deluge,” as he claims.95 He boasts of dissolving Babylon in water, annihilating it, and turning it into a meadow by diverting of the Araḫtu-channel.96 In his very inscription dedicated to the channel building for Nineveh water supply, placed at the source of this channel, he likens himself to a storm god, who is able to revert rivers and course a deluge. The text describing Sennacherib’s tremendous water enterprise wraps the narration of his war with Elamites and Babylonians, which terminates with the ultimate destruction of Babylon. Like a god, Sennacherib brings the deluge to the hostile Babylon and sweet waters of abundance to his newly built capital Nineveh. Flooding Nineveh, a mound of circa 450 ha of an area, about 12 km in circumference, towering 40 meters high above the plain and the Khors and even more above the Tigris river surface, would be impossible. Although we know that Nabopolassar changed the course of the Euphrates near Sippar in order to ensure the ritual bathing of the sun-god Šamaš and his spouse Aya,97 but neither turning the stream of the Tigris nor its or Khors’ natural flood coursed by rains, as described by Diodorous, could wash away the mound of Nineveh. No archeological record of its flooding was ever found in excavations. Nabopolassar himself never claimed that he ruined Nineveh in the same way Sennacherib ruined Babylon since for his contemporaries it was obvious that flooding of Nineveh was technically impossible. But Nabopolassar’s determination to mirror damage that the Assyrians inflicted on Babylon, could have resulted in the later stories of the deluge that terminated Nineveh. Both Ctesias/Diodorus and Nahum are certainly 90

MAY 2012a, 3–4 with n. 8. MICHALOWSKI 1989, ll. 1–2, 59, 79-82; SAMET 2014, ll. 196–204. 92 MAYER 1983, ll. 224, 230 (quoted above, pp. 234–35 with fns. 15–17) and ll. 326, 343. 93 FUCHS 1993, Ann 289. 94 SAA 2, 6, 488 (§ 53). For the rhetoric of destruction, particularly devastating of orchards and flooding storm in the context of the dismay of Babylon and Dēr respectively, see also Erra Epic IV 40–42 and 81–82 (CAGNI 1969). 95 RINAP 3/2, Sennacherib 223 ll. 52 and 53. 96 Ibid., ll. 43b–44a; 50b–54b. 97 DA RIVA 2013, 67–69; C 21/2 I 10–ii 14. 91

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reminiscent of the rhetoric of the Assyrian royal inscriptions which describe Assyrian invasion as flood, – the simile that found the way also to First Isaiah. Whereas Sennacherib actually flooded Babylon, Assurbanipal applied the flooding metaphor to describe his devastation of Elam.98 Diodorus using the topoi of the king consumed by fire and pilling the earth of a conquered city in the capital(s) of the victor as a memorial of a triumph further confirms that Assyrian rhetoric of destruction was well known to the destructors – the Babylonians, and beyond. The destruction of Nineveh was mythologized using the very phraseology of the Assyrian royal inscriptions. As is clear from BM 55467 and the Letter of Sîn-šarru-iškun, Nabopolassar justified the obliteration of Nineveh by Sennacherib’s obliteration of Babylon and proclaimed the revenge.99 Nabopolassar’s revenge on Sennacherib’s crimes against Babylon, however, indeed needed justification; the heirs of Sennacherib, Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, piously restored the city, rebuilt and redecorated its temples, returned and splendidly refurbished the deported divine statues. It might be that Nabopolassar’s revenge had much more personal grounds. Michael Jursa has suggested100 that Nabopolassar was the eldest son of Kudurru of Uruk, whose corpse was violated during the early years of Nabopolassar’s uprising. If so, the implementation by Assyrians of the punishment for breaking the vassal treaties, the curses of which include exhumation of bodies and grinding the bones of violator’s ancestors,101 could be a matter of Nabopolassar’s personal vengeance. Jursa goes even further. He points out that Kudurru is a hypocoristic for Nabû-kudurru-uṣur and suggests that Nebuchadnezzar, the first-born of Nabopolassar, was named after his grandfather.102 Papponymy did not exist in the Neo-Babylonian period, and naming a son after his grandfather is exceptional. By the time of violating the remains of Kudurru, Nebuchadnezzar was not only already born, but was probably an adult. Thus, if Jursa’s suggestion is correct, he was not named, but renamed after his grandfather. Nabopolassar, the father of Nebuchadnezzar II, notoriously celebrated devastator of Jerusalem, avenged the violation of his father’s corpse by the Assyrians with the sweeping urbicide of Nineveh. The destruction of Babylon and the destruction of Nineveh were two most famous and impressive urbicides in the ancient Near East. They impacted biblical narratives of destruction of cities and laid grounds for the urbicidal practices of posterity. The destruction of Nineveh coined a new pattern in the urbicide of capitals and the demolition of palaces. Persepolis, sacked almost three centuries later, displays exactly the same rigid and focused patterns of damage: every royal image was destroyed together with its power signifiers. Was this a retribution for plundering and burning the Atheni98

Cf. Isaiah 8:7–8, Assyria will overflow over Judah (MACHINIST 1983, 735; 726–27); see also Vassal Treaties’ curses (SAA 2, 6, 488) and RINAP 5/1, Ashurbanipal 2 v 22′; Ashurbanipal 12 vi 10′ (concerning Elam). 99 Lines 10–12 and l. 2 respectively. See above, p. 242. 100 JURSA 2007, 131–32. 101 SAA 2, 6 ll. 445–67 (§47) 102 JURSA 2007, 133.

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an temples as claimed by Alexander? Here again Sennacherib created a precedent by premising the description of flooding of Babylon with the report of returning the gods of Ekallātu, claimed to be deported by the Babylonians.103 Apparently, the revenge for destroyed Athens was a pretext. The real reason was the need to annihilate the enemy’s programmatic visual propaganda. Certainly, the destruction of Persepolis was what the historians of Alexander, ancient and modern, dubbed “orientalization” of the king,104 the adoption by him of the traditions and habits of the “Orient”, in this case the long-established iconoclastic practices of the ancient Near East. The imperial imagery of the Achaemenid Empire was destroyed systematically, as were the image systems of its Akkadian105 and Assyrian predecessors,106 and much later Soviet successors.107 Babylonians, however, only partially succeeded in re-writing history by destruction and urbicide. Despite the leveling of the Aššur temple, the cult of Aššur survived. Paul-Alan Beaulieu demonstrated the existence of the cult of Aššur in the Late Babylonian Uruk,108 which could have been brought there by Assyrian refugees.109 The cultural and historical memory of Assyria endured in Babylonia. 110 The Assyrian scholarship impacted the Babylonian one.111 In Parthian times, the cult of Aššur/Assor was revived in Assur itself112 and Aramaic inscriptions from 44–238 CE Assur testify to the cult of the god Assor.113 Assyrians survived until nowadays. Apparently, they kept memories of their history,114 but could not anymore impact historical narrations of others. Babylon totally took over the image of Assyria. Nevertheless, the Babylonians managed to re-write Assyrian history to some extent. Thus, Classical and Hellenistic writings, and consequently all historians before the rediscovery of Assyria consistently confuse Assyria and Babylonia. Typically, the book of Judith starts with: Ετους δωδεκάτου τῆς βασιλείας Ναβουχοδονόσορ, ὃς ἐβασίλευσεν ᾿Ασσυρίων ἐν Νινευῆ τῇ πόλει τῇ µεγάλῃ, “In the twelfth year of the reign of Nabuchodonosor, who reigned in Nineveh…”115 One of the most important means to re-write history was overwriting it using the very metaphors of destruction that the Assyrians invented.116 Typically, no traces of statues of Assyrian gods were unearthed.117 This is not surprising since due to the 103

RINAP 3/2, Sennacherib 223 ll. 48b–49. ROISMAN 2002; MOORE 2018, passim. 105 GOODNICK WESTENHOLZ 2012. 106 See above, passim. 107 JONES 2007. 108 BEAULIEU 1997. 109 Ibid., 60–61; RADNER 2017, 83–84. 110 BEAULIEU 2017. 111 BEAULIEU 2010. 112 RADNER 2017, 77; SCHAUDIG 2018, 623; LIVINGSTONE 2009; HAUSER 2011. 113 BEYER 1998, 12–25. 114 E.g., STEINER/NIMS 1985; VAN DER TOORN 2018, 79–86; HOLM 2014, 295–323. 115 Judith 1: 1. 116 See also DALLEY 2005 for the “language of destruction.” 117 The only possible exclusion is the headless, armless and otherwise mutilated naked female statue with the inscription of Aššur-bēl-kala from Nineveh (BM 124963) is apparently not of Ištar (ASSANTE 2007, 385). 104

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iconoclastic practices of godnapping118 and annihilation of cult statues, they are hardly known in Mesopotamia.119 But no two-dimensional imagery survived in Assur either, although it doubtlessly existed. Of all Assyrian capitals, the religious center – Assur – suffered most, certainly because of its ideological importance. Nineveh was annihilated thoroughly as well, but to a lesser degree than Assur. At Nineveh, the destroyers gave preference to the South-West palace of Sennacherib, devastator of Babylon, and to his images, rather to those of Assurbanipal. Former capitals, Kalḫu and DūrŠarrukīn were damaged least. The destruction of Assyrian capitals mirrors the destruction of the political centers of their destructors, Susa and Babylon. The return to Susa of the statues of the Elamite gods, which were deported by Assurbanipal to Uruk, by Nabopolassar in his accession year120 was the starting point of his revenge. The razing of Nineveh terminated it. The destruction of the Assyrian capitals was overwritten in later historical traditions using the Assyrian metaphors of destruction. The very principle of “mirroring” destruction is taken from Assyrians as is testified by Sargon II’s description of his demolition of Urarṭian Ulḫu.121 This “mirroring” follows the “biblical” talion principal: graves for graves, ancestor for ancestors, temple for temple, city for city, flooding for flooding, both in action and rhetoric. The memory of urbicides committed by Assyrian and mirrored in Greek narration of the fall of Nineveh 122 through them reached nowadays: Ἡ Νίνος µέν, ὦ πορθµεῦ, ἀπόλωλεν ἤδη καὶ οὐδὲ ἴχνος ἔτι λοιπὸν αὐτῆς, οὐδ᾿ ἂν εἴποις ὅπου ποτὲ ἦν. ἡ Βαβυλὼν δέ σοι ἐκείνη ἐστὶν ἡ εὔπυργος, ἡ τὸν µέγαν περίβολον, οὐ µετὰ πολὺ καὶ αὐτὴ ζητηθησοµένη ὥσπερ ἡ Νίνος. As for Nineveh, ferryman, it is already gone and there is not a trace of it left now; you couldn’t even say where it was. But there you have Babylon, the city of the beautiful towers and the great wall, which will itself soon have to be searched for like Nineveh.123

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– (2003): Nabopolassar and the Antiquity of Babylon, in: I. EPHʿAL/A. BEN-TOR/P. MACHINIST (eds.), Hayim and Miriam Tadmor Volume: Eretz-Israel, Archaeological, Historical and Geographical Studies 27, 1*–9*. – (2010): The Afterlife of Assyrian Scholarship in Hellenistic Babylonia, in: J. STACKERT/ B.N. PORTER/D.P. WRIGHT (eds.), Gazing on the Deep: Ancient Near Eastern and Other Studies in Honor of Tzvi Abusch, Bethesda, MD, 1–18. – (2017): Assyrian in the Late Babylonian Sources, in E. FRAHM (ed.), A Companion to Assyria, Hoboken, NJ, 54 –55. BURSTEIN, S. (1978): The Babyloniaca of Berossus, Malibu. CAGNI, L. (1969): L’epopea di Erra, Rome. COLE, S. (1997): The Destruction of Orchards in Assyrian Warfare, in: S. PARPOLA/R.M. WHITING (eds.), Assyria 1995, Helsinki, 29–40. CHRISTENSEN, D.L. (2009): Nahum, (Anchor Yale Bible 24F), New Haven, CT. COHEN, M.E. (1988): The Canonical Lamentations of Ancient Mesopotamia, Potomac. DALLEY, S. (1994): Nineveh, Babylon and the Hanging Gardens: Cuneiform and Classical Sources Reconciled, Iraq 56, 45–58. – (2005): The Language of Destruction and Its Interpretation, BaM 36, 275–82. FUCHS, A. (1994): Die Inschriften Sargons II. aus Khorsabad, Göttingen. GABBAY, U. (2014): Pacifying the Hearts of the Gods: Sumerian Emesal Prayers of the First Millennium BC, Wiesbaden. – (2015): The Eršema Prayers of the First Millennium BC, Wiesbaden. GALTER, H. (1984): Die Zerstörung Babylons durch Sanherib, StOr (Memoriae Jussi Aro dedicata) 55, 161–73. GEORGE, A.R. (2013): The Poem of Erra and Ishum: A Babylonian Poet’s View of War, in: H. KENNEDY (ed.), Warfare and Poetry in the Middle East, London/New York, 39–71. GERARDI, P. (1986): Declaring War in Mesopotamia, AfO 33, 30–38. GOODNICK WESTENHOLZ, J. (2012); Damnatio Memoriae: The Old Akkadian Evidence for Destruction of Name and Destruction of Person, in: N.N. MAY (ed.), Iconoclasm and Text Destruction in the Ancient Near East and Beyond, (OIS 8), Chicago. GRAYSON, A.K. (1975): Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles, (TCS 5), Locust Valley. DA RIVA, R. (2013): The Inscriptions of Nabopolassar, Amēl-Marduk and Neriglissar, (SANER 3), Berlin. JONES, P. (2007): ‘Idols in Stone’ or Empty Pedestals?: Debating Revolutionary Iconoclasm in the Post-Soviet Transition, in: S. BOLDRICK/R. CLAY (eds.), Iconoclasm: Contested Objects, Contested Terms, Burlington, 241–60. JURSA, M. (2007): Die Söhne Kudurrus und die Herkunft der neubabylonischen Dynastie, RA 101, 125–36. HAUSER, S.R. (2011): Assur und sein Umland in der Arsakidenzeit, in: J. Renger (ed.), Assur – Gott, Stadt und Land, Wiesbaden, 115–48. HALLER, A. (1954): Die Gräber und Grüfte von Assur, Berlin. HOLLOWAY, S.W. (2002): Aššur is King! Aššur is King! Religion in the Exercise of Power in the NeoAssyrian Empire, (CHANE 50), Leiden/Boston. HOLM, T. (2014): Memories of Sennacherib in Aramaic Tradition, in: I. KALIMI (ed.), Sennacherib at the Gates of Jerusalem: Story, History and Historiography, (CHANE 71), Leiden/Boston, 295– 324. KOUWENBERG N. J. C. (2010): The Akkadian Verb and Its Semitic Background, Winona Lake IN. LAMBERT, W. G. (2005): Letter of Sîn-šarru-iškun to Nabopolassar, in I. SPAR/W.G. LAMBERT (eds.), Cuneiform Texts in the Metropolitan Museum of Art II: Literary and Scholastic Texts of the First Millennium B.C., New York NY, 203–10. LIVINGSTONE A. (1997): New Dimensions in the Study of Assyrian Religion, in: S. PARPOLA/R.M. WHITING (eds.), Assyria 1995, Helsinki, 165–77.

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– (2009): Remembrance at Assur: the Case of the Dated Aramaic Memorials, StOr 106, 151–57. MACHINIST, P. (1983): Assyria and its Image in the First Isaiah, JAOS 103, 719–37. MALLOWAN, M.E.L. (1966): Nimrud and Its Remains, New York. MAY, N.N. (2010): Decapitation of Statues and Mutilation of the Image’s Facial Features, in: W. HOROWITZ/U. GABBAY/F. VUKOSANOVIĆ (eds), A Woman of Valor: Jerusalem Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honor of Joan Goodnick Westenholz, (BPOA 8), Madrid, 105–18. – (2012a): Iconoclasm and Text Destruction in the Ancient Near East (Introduction), in: N.N. MAY (ed.), Iconoclasm and Text Destruction in the Ancient Near East and Beyond, (OIS 8), Chicago, 1–32. – (2012b): m Ali-talīmu, or What Can Be Learned from the Destruction of Figurative Complexes?, in: N.N. MAY (ed.), Iconoclasm and Text Destruction in the Ancient Near East and Beyond, (OIS 8), Chicago, 183–230. – (2012c): Royal Triumph as an Aspect of the Neo-Assyrian Decorative Program, in G. WILHELM (ed.), Organization, Representation, and Symbols of Power in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the 54th RAI, Würzburg, 20–25 July 2008, Winona Lake, IN, 461–88. – (2015): Administrative and Other Reforms of Sargon II and Tiglath-pileser III, in: N.N. MAY/ S. SVÄRD (eds.), Change in Neo-Assyrian Imperial Administration: Evolution and Revolution, State Archives of Assyria Bulletin 21, 79–116. – (2018): Neo-Assyrian Women, Their Visibility and Representation in Written and Pictorial Sources, in: A. GARCIA-VENTURA/S. SVÄRD (eds.), Gender, Methodology and the Ancient Near East, Winona Lake, IN, 249–88. – (in print): ‘True Image of the God’: Adoration of the King’s Image, Assyrian Imperial Cult and Territorial Control, in: E. WAGNER-DURAND/J. LINKE (eds.), Tales of Royalty, (SANER), Berlin. MAYER W. (1983): Sargons Feldzug gegen Urartu – 714 v. Chr. Text und Übersetzung, MDOG 115, 65–132. MICHALOWSKI, P. (1989): The Lamentation over the Destruction of Sumer and Ur, Winona Lake, IN. MIGLUS, P. (2000): Die letzten Tage von Assur und die Zeit danach, ISIMU, Revista sobre Oriente Próximo y Egipto en la antigüedad 3, 85–99. MOORE, K.R. (ed.) (2018): Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Alexander the Great, Leiden/Boston. RIDLEY, R.T. (1986): To Be Taken with a Pinch of Salt: The Destruction of Carthage, Classical Philology 81, 140–46. ROISMAN, J. (ed.) (2002): Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great, Leiden. RUSSEL, J. M. (1998): The Final Sack of Nineveh: The Discovery, Documentation, and Destruction of King Sennacherib’s Throne Room at Nineveh, Iraq, New Haven, CT/London. SAMET, N. (2014): The Lamentation over the Destruction of Ur, Winona Lake, IN. SCHAUDIG, H. (2012): Death of Statues and Rebirth of Gods in: N.N. MAY (ed.), Iconoclasm and Text Destruction in the Ancient Near East and Beyond, (OIS 8), Chicago, 123–49. – (2018): Zum Tempel “A” in Assur: Zeugnis eines Urbizids, in: K. KLEBER/ G. NEUMANN/S. PAULUS (eds.), Grenzüberschreitungen: Studien zur Kulturgeschichte des Alten Orients: Festschrift für Hans Neumann zum 65. Geburtstag am 9. Mai 2018, Münster. STEINER, R.C./C.F. NIMS (1985): Ashurbanipal and Shamash-Shum-Ukin: A Tale of Two Brothers from the Aramaic Text in Demotic Script (Part I), RB 92, 60–81. VAN DER TOORN, K. (2018): Papyrus Amherst 63, Münster. VAN SOLDT, W. (1995): Solar Omens of Enuma Anu Enlil: Tablets 23 (24)–29 (30), Istanbul. WAZANA, N. (2008): Are Trees of the Field Human? A Biblical War Law (Deuteronomy 20:19–20) and Neo-Assyrian Propaganda, in: M. COGAN/D. KAHN (eds.), Treasures on Camels’ Humps Historical and Literary Studies from the Ancient Near East Presented to Israel Ephʿal, Jerusalem, 275–95. WISEMAN, D.J. (1952): A New Stela of Aššur-naṣir-pal II, Iraq 14/1, 24–44.

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WRIGHT, J.L. (2015): Urbicide: The Ritualized Killing of Cities in the Ancient Near East, in: S.M. OLYAN (ed.), Ritual Violence in the Hebrew Bible: New Perspectives, Oxford, 147–66. ZACCAGNINI, C. (1981): An Urartean Royal Inscription in the Report of Sargon’s Eighth Campaign, in: F.M. FALES (ed.), Assyrian Royal Inscriptions: New Horizons in Literary, Ideological, and Historical Analysis: Papers Of A Symposium Held In Cetona (Siena), June 26–28, 1980, Rome.

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Figure 1a: Reconstructed sarcophagus of the Assyrian king Assurnasirpal II from Assur. VAM. Photograph by the author.

Figure 2b: Reconstructed sarcophagus of the Assyrian king Šamšī-Adad V from Assur. VAM. Photograph by the author.

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Figure 2: Standards of Aššur and Nergal mounted on Assyrian battle chariots. Assurnasirpal II, Kalḫu.124

Figure 3: Defaced image of Assurbanipal’s miniature depiction upon his Hunting Stela. Part of Assurbanipal’s Nineveh Arena Hunting Cycle, Nineveh. Photograph by the author.125

124 125

© The Trustees of the British Museum. Courtesy the Trusties of the British Museum.

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Figure 4: Iconoclasts’ multiple targets: Assurbanipal and his attendant, Nineveh. Photograph by the author. 126

Figure 5: Defaced images of Assurbanipal courtiers, Nineveh. Photograph by the author.127

126 127

Courtesy the Trustees of the British Museum. Courtesy the Trustees of the British Museum.

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Figure 6: Passage to the Ištar Temple reliefs, Sennacherib, Nineveh. Damaged faces of the king, the crown prince, the courtiers, and the horse-head adoration of the royal carriage. After MAY 2012b, figs. 8.2, 8.4 (left – in The British museum; right – lost).

Figure 7: Gored eyes and damaged hands of Assurnasirpal II on his throne room main-theme relief, Kalḫu. Photograph by the author.128

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Courtesy the Trustees of the British Museum.

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Figure 8: Defaced image of Assurnasirpal II on his Banquet Stele, Kalḫu. Probably in the Mosul Museum(?). After WISEMAN 1952, pl. III.

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“Uprooting” A Visual Element of Assyrian Imperialistic Propaganda Hanspeter Schaudig* The Assyrian Empire has the particularly bad reputation as the most ruthless and brutal military state in the ancient Near East, which looks down on a long history of ruthless and brutal military states. Assyria flourished during the second and first millennia BCE. Assyria caused many destructions, but since the main topic discussed in this volume is “re-writing history,” I shall not deal with the many examples of simple destruction, when Assyria conquered a city and destroyed it along the way. Neither shall I deal with conquest, occupation, and resettling a conquered city as part of the Assyrian realm. All these measures have been discussed in detail in other places. Only rather recently, Heather Baker has collected and arranged the evidence in an article on “Assyrian accounts of deliberate architectural destruction.”1 What I am interested in is the very process of destruction itself and, in particular, the ways how to make the status of the devastation last, how to make the nonexistence of a destroyed item visible. In the following, I shall mainly discuss the Assyrians and their deeds. This, however, is simply because the (mis)deeds of the Assyrian kings are so well documented due to Assyria’s political success. The measures, however, which the Assyrians took were widely understood and were also taken by other people. The element of deliberate architectural destruction is in fact quite a tricky matter. Of course, one can destroy things, anyone can do. But if one wants to use destruction as a means to re-write history, that is, as a means to undo a given state and to reinterpret it in a different framework, the trouble begins. If a city, a place, or a temple is destroyed properly and thoroughly, this leaves in fact nothing to see – but rubbles, of *

Abbreviations in this article: PNA: S. PARPOLA (ed. in chief): The Prosopography of the Neo-Assyrian Empire, Vols. 1–3, Helsinki 1998–2011. RIMA 1: A.K. GRAYSON, Assyrian Rulers of the Third and Second Millennia BC (to 1115 BC), Toronto 1987; RIMA 2: IDEM, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC, I (1114–859 BC), 1991; RIMA 3: IDEM, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC, II (858–745 BC), 1996. RINAP 3/2: AK. GRAYSON/J. NOVOTNY, The Royal Inscriptions of Sennacherib, King of Assyria (704–681 BC), Part 2, (The Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period 3/2), Winona Lake, IN 2014. “Aššur” stands for the god Aššur, while “Assur” is for the city of Aššur. 1 BAKER 2014. Cf., N. May’s contribution in this volume pp. 231–57 above.

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course, and only on the very spot. In order to make the impact of destruction last, one either has to take some item from the ruin and put in on display in a place one can control, that means, in one’s own city, palace, or temple, or one could set up a monument of destruction on the site itself. And this is what I want to discuss: a number of examples of spoils of war, trophies set up at the city of Assur, and two examples of temples of victory, built at the devastated sites on top of the ruins in order to document and to perpetuate the destruction.

I. Urbicide Urbicide, literally the “killing of cities,” is a term that emerged in the 1960s in the field of urban architecture. It described the disastrous effects of modern city-planning, which often resulted in killing the centers of the cities off as a living social space.2 During the 1990s, the term was transferred to the destruction of cities like Sarajevo or Vukovar during the Bosnian War.3 Only quite recently, the term has been introduced into the field of biblical studies and the ancient Near East.4 The concept construes the annihilation of human settlements parallel to the annihilation of human groups or societies (genocide or ethnocide). It understands the social space of a city as a living organism which can be killed. In the field of Ancient Near Eastern studies, I use the term “urbicide” for complex destructions of cities as social human space, in particular, if the destruction goes with symbolic acts that aim at tabooing the city and making it “barren for evermore.” One of these acts consists in sowing salt over the ruins of a destroyed city, we shall discuss examples below. A very famous case of an urbicide is certainly the destruction of the city of Babylon by the Assyrian king Sennacherib in 689 BCE. When Sennacherib had conquered the holy city of Babylon in 689 BCE, he killed and enslaved its inhabitants, he looted and destroyed the city. So far, so rather normal. But then he added a little extra: he razed the city’s buildings from top to bottom, dumped the ruins into the Euphrates, and dug canals through the city, turning the site into a swamp. In his inscriptions at Bawian, Sennacherib gave an extremely sarcastic and sophisticated report on his deeds. As Hannes Galter (1984) has demonstrated, Sennacherib produced in fact a “negative building report,” in which he described how he de-constructed Babylon “from its foundations to its crenellations.” Sennacherib also described how he watered – in fact drowned – Babylon in abundant waters. In the same report, he contrasted the negative de-construction of Babylon with the positive construction work he did for his royal city Nineveh.

2

The term “urbicide” is considered to have been coined by Michael Moorcock in his novella Dead God’s Homecoming (1963). Slightly later, Ada Louise Huxtable used the term in an article “Manchester, N.H.: Lessons in Urbicide,” the New York Times, December 22, 1968. For urbicide in the ancient Near East, see also N.N. May’s contribution in this volume, pp. 231–57. 3 See – among others – SHAW 2004; COWARD 2004; IDEM 2009. 4 WRIGHT 2015; SCHAUDIG 2018.

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II. Hostages and Trophies: Earth, Maces, Pillars The subtleties of Sennacherib’s report, however, unfolded only to the ancient literati, to those who were familiar with the solemn and peculiar phrases of Babylonian building inscriptions. That is why Sennacherib also was keen to produce something that could actually be seen and admired by the vast mass of the Assyrian people: he took earth from Babylon, abducted it to Assyria like a hostage or trophy, and heaped it up for everyone to see in the akītu-temple of the god Aššur at the city of Assur:5 44b

In order to quiet the heart of 45 Aššur my lord, and so that the people may sing the praise of his might, 46 and future people may see (and learn), 47 I tore out 46the soil of Babylon 47 and piled it up in mounds and heaps inside that akītu house.

The term which Sennacherib used for his action is nasāḫu, “to tear out” (l. 47), a term which is also the normal expression for removing a structure or deporting people. We know the symbolic act of gathering and abducting soil also from other cases. Sennacherib was probably imitating a legendary misdeed, attributed to Sargon of Akkade, a king from the third millennium BCE. Later legends have it, that this king conquered Babylon and took earth from the holy city to his own capital, Akkade.6 The measure of abducting earth as a hostage or trophy was also taken by other Assyrian kings. After he had destroyed the city Arinnu in Muṣri – later known as Muṣaṣir, the city of the god Ḫaldi – Shalmaneser I (ca. 1273–1244 BCE) abducted the soil of the city and “heaped it up in the gate of his city Assur.”7 In 646 BCE, Aššurbanipal “gathered up the dust of the cities Susa, Madaktu, Haltemaš, and the rest of their cities, and took it to Assyria” after he had destroyed the Elamite royal cities.8 Since a simple heap of earth is not much of a sight and can easily be mistaken for another heap of earth, we are probably safe to surmise that these heaps bore at least labels that identified them. Perhaps parts of the earth of a given city had also been formed into a small city model to contain the rest of the earth in its midst. There are Neo-Assyrian reliefs showing tribute bringers who, among other gifts, present models of walled cities (Figure 1), certainly in a symbolic act of handing these cities quite physically in effigie over to the Assyrian king.9 It would be only logical and appropriate if these models were made from the very earth of the cities they represented.

5

Excerpt from the bīt-akīti-inscription of Sennacherib from the city of Assur; GALTER 1984, 169; RINAP 3/2, 248, no. 168, ll. 44b–47: 44b ana nuḫḫi libbi 45Aššur bēlīya tanitti dannūtīšu nišū ana dalāli 46ana tāmarti nišī aḫrâti eperī Bābil 47assuḫamma ina bīt akīti šuʾāti karê tillī ugarrin. 6 The Chronicle of Early Kings: GRAYSON 1975, 153–54, chronicle 20, A: 18–19; GLASSNER 2005, 270–71. The same story is told in a historical liver omen: KING 1907/II, 27–28, obv. 7–11 = § 3; KOCH 2005, 226–27, § 3. 7 RIMA 1, 183, A.0.77.1, ll. 51b–53: 51eprīšu 52ēsipamma ina abul ālīya Aššur 53ana aḫrât ūmī lū ašpuk. 8 STRECK 1916/II, 56, annals VI, 96–98: 96eperī āl Šūšan āl Madakti āl Ḫaltemaš 97u sitti māḫāzēšunu 98ēsipa alqâ ana māt Aššur. 9 BOTTA/FLANDIN 1849/II, plates 124–30; 133–34: numerous examples from the palace of Sargon II at Khorsabad.

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But these mounds of earth were not the only trophies to be seen at Assur. In the Tabira gate of the city of Assur, the Assyrian kings had accommodated a collection of mace sceptres of enemy kings, which they had seized and put here on display (Figure 2).10 Among them, there is the scepter of Marduk-mudammiq, the king of Namri, which Shalmaneser III had captured in 843 BCE. Shalmaneser had the mace inscribed and dedicated it to the god Nergal, the god of warfare.11 As a place for putting trophies on public display, the Tabira gate was certainly the choice to make. It was the main gate of Assur, opening to the via sacra of the city which was lined on either side with the temples of the Assyrian gods. This enormous thoroughfare led all the way up to the temple of Aššur at the northern end of the hilltop. It was probably the Tabira gate, which Shalmaneser I referred to as “the gate of his city Assur” and where he put up the earth of Arinnu for display. At least from the days of Shalmaneser III on, the Tabira gate bore the ceremonial name “Controller of (foreign) Kings.”12 By gathering and guarding the mace sceptres of enemy kings seized in battle the gate certainly lived up to its name. And there were more trophies to see. In the famous “Row of Stelae” at Assur, the excavators found three stone pillars, which had been abducted by the Assyrian kings from Syrian 13 cities they had conquered (Figures 3–4). At Assur, these pillars were secondarily inscribed with labels giving the names and titles of individual Assyrian kings. Then, they were set up upside-down, on their heads, but with the Assyrian labels in upright position. There is a pillar inscribed in the name of Šamšī-Adad IV (1053–1050 BCE), 14 another one belonging either to Tiglath-pileser I (1114–1076 BCE) or to Aššurnasirpal I (1049–1031 BCE),15 and a pillar which perhaps belonged to Aššur-bēl-kala (1073–1056 BCE).16 10

ANDRAE 1913a/I, fig. 33 after p. 36; UNGER 1932, 176–77, § 15 on the Tabira gate; READE 2004b, 256. 11 No. 19 (bottom row, right end) in ANDRAE 1913a/I, fig. 33 after p. 36 (see here Figure 2); NASSOUHI 1927, 12–14, no. V, A; RIMA 3, 152–53, A.0.102.94. 12 (abullu) sāniqat malkī; see GEORGE 1992, 455–56 on the entry of the name in line 120 of the Götteradressbuch von Assur. In Akkadian, the western Semitic word malku can be used as a “poetic” term for a ruler or king, but as opposed to the proper Akkadian term šarru it often designates foreign rulers in particular. Later, the name was reinterpreted as sāniqat malkat “(the gate is) Controller and Queen”; cf. GEORGE 1992, 176–77, § 2, line 120 (George understands the name differently as sāniqat malkāt, “Controller of Queens”). 13 The stelae are made from basalt and display North-Syrian iconography; see NAUMANN 1952–53, 253. 14 Figure 3a: VA Ass 2015 = Ass 15259+15272; ANDRAE 1913b, 24–30, no. 15 with figs. 29–32 and pls. XV–XVI; IDEM 1977, 149–50 with fig. 125; NAUMANN 1952–53, 253, fig. 9; IDEM 1971, 148, fig. 178; MIGLUS 2004, 423; READE 2004a, 461; RIMA 2, 120–21, A.0.91.5. 15 Figure 3b: VA Ass 2016 = Ass 15269; ANDRAE 1913b, 30–35, no. 16 with figs. 33–34 and pl. XVII; IDEM 1977, 149–50 with fig. 126; NAUMANN 1952–53, 253, fig. 10 with reconstruction; IDEM 1971, 147, fig. 175; MIGLUS 2004, 423; READE 2004a, 461 (Aššurnasirpal I?); RIMA 2, 79–80, A.0.87.1013 (= Tiglath-pileser I). 16 Figure 3c: VA Ass 2017 = Ass 15270; ANDRAE 1913b, 35–36, no. 17 with fig. 36 and pl. XV:t, XVI; IDEM 1977, 149–50 with fig. 127; MIGLUS 2004, 423; READE 2004a, 460; RIMA 2, 110, A.0.89.13.

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These pillars were not the only specimens of their kind at Assur.17 From a text of the Assyrian administration,18 we know that Adad-nērārī I (ca. 1305–1274 BCE) had abducted as trophies 9 or 10 pillars made from cedar-wood from Naḫur near Ḫarrān, when he had conquered the city. He had them inscribed and had them set up in a chapel of the New Palace at Assur, near the Tabira gate discussed above. Half a century later, Tukultī-Ninurta I (ca. 1243–1207 BCE) had them transferred to his new residence at Kār-Tukultī-Ninurta. Regrettably, the text does not tell us whether the columns had been set upside-down or not. However, we quite certainly know that these columns were mere showpieces. Since they were very different in size – 7, 8, 9, 10, and 11 cubits high – it is unlikely that they might have been part of an architectural construction at Assur.

III. Turning Upside-Down Turning elements upside-down in order to express that they have been overthrown, overcome, or overturned appears to be a readily understandable figurative language. Since we all have a head, which is “up,” the symbolism of “turning something or someone upside-down” is probably an anthropological constant. Turning something upside-down expresses the inversion of power into impotence, of existence into nonexistence. We can find examples of this figurative language throughout the ages, in particular with spoils of war.19 Nevertheless, it is important here to demonstrate that the idea of turning someone or something upside-down as a shameful punishment is also known from textual evidence from the ancient Near East. The motif of imploring the gods to overturn the rule or the throne of a royal colleague who would violate an oath is found in numerous curses from ancient Mesopotamia. The typical expressions employ the terms šupêlu or šubalkutu, “to overturn”: –

šarrūssu šupêlam ... liqbi20 “(DN) may order to overturn his kingship!”

17

However, pace Andrae (1977, 149), the perhaps reused (royal) statue Ass 15739 had – according to the direction of its perhaps secondary label – not been set upside-down. See on this piece ANDRAE 1913b, 14–18, no. 9 (Adad-nērārī II?) with figs. 18–19 and pl. XII; READE 2004a, 462; RIMA 2, 161–62, A.0.99.1002 (Adad-nērārī II?). 18 WEIDNER 1954–56. 19 This figurative language is ruled by the principles of the mundus inversus (KRUGER 2010). Famous examples include the pittura infamante (LENTZ 2004) and other expressions of shameful inversion such as the “skimmington ride”. Iconic historical examples include the photographs of Russian soldiers wielding seized Nazi standards, held downwards during the victory celebration on the Red Square in Moscow on June 24, 1945. More recent examples can be seen in the numerous photographs showing Iraqi forces turning seized DAESH flags upside-down, together with Iraqi national flags held upright against them (e.g. during the liberation of Ramadi 2015, pictures on the internet). 20 Old Babylonian period: Hammurapi of Babylon, Codex Hammurapi col. 42 (= rev. 26), ll. 75, 80.

“Uprooting” –

kussâšu u ḫaṭ[ṭaš]u lišbalkissu21 “(DN) may overturn his throne and scep[ter]!”

–

kussâ šarrūtīšu lišbalkitma litīr bēlūssu22 “(DN) may overturn the throne of his kingship and may reduce his reign!”

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The final curses of the Aramaic inscription of the stele Sefire no. 1 from the region of Aleppo, dating to the eighth century BCE, end with a mirror punishment centering on the idea of turning something over and placing evil in the place of goodness. The man who would overturn (√‫ )הפך‬the good written in this stele and replace it with evil is to be overturned (√‫ )הפך‬by the gods. They may turn him upside-down, making his lower part his upper part, as the text puts it:23 16

… And whoever 17 shall not protect the words of the composition which is (inscribed) on this stele, but shall say, “I will detract from [its] word(s),” 19 or, “I will overturn (‫ )אהפך‬the good and set (down) 20 evil”; on the day he shall do 21 so, may the gods overturn (‫ )יהפכו‬that man, 22 and his house, and everything that [belongs to] 23 ⌈him⌉! And may they turn him upside-down (lit.: set his lower [part] for his upper [part])! (‫ )וישמו תחתיתה ]ל ע[ליתה‬24 And may his […] not inherit 25 a name! 18

In the Hebrew Bible, the topic of “overturning one’s throne,” combining the topic “throne” from the Akkadian curses and the West-Semitic root ‫ הפך‬from the Sefire stele, appears in the words of Yahweh directed towards Zerubbabel through the mouth of Haggai (2:22): “I shall overturn the thrones of the kingdoms (‫)והפכתי כסא ממלכות‬.”

IV. Staging Destruction: Demolishing a bīt ḫilāni Let us return now to the topic of “columns” or “pillars”. As we have seen above, pillars were interesting objects for the Assyrians, proper to use them as trophies, even though they had no or only small material value. But why is this so? In the classical mud-brick architecture of Mesopotamia, pillars were not a functional element.24 To Assyrians and Babylonians, pillars must have been rather exotic items. In the architecture of Syria and the Levant, however, pillars were a very typical element. Moreover, they were probably associated with royal or divine power. The so-called bīt ḫilāni, a monumental building with a frontal hall supported by two columns, constitutes the typical architecture for royal audience halls in Syria.25 There were also free-standing pillars, such as the two columns flanking the entrance of a palace or temple on a Phoenician acropolis as depicted on a Neo-Assyrian relief (Figure 5). Probably, these columns are siblings of the famous two columns at the entrance of Solomon’s temple, Jachin and Boaz (1 Kgs 7:15–22). There is also the enigmatic “pillar of the king” in 21

Old Babylonian period (fifteenth century BCE): Niqmepa of Mukiš and Alalaḫ, WISEMAN 1953, 28, pl. III, no. 2, l. 79, reads: ĝišGU.ZA-šu ù ĝišĜI[DRU-š]u li-iš-bal-kit9-šu. 22 Neo-Assyrian period: Aššurbanipal, STRECK 1916/II, 244, stele S2, ll. 75–77; 248, stele S3, ll. 93–96. 23 The following quote after GEVIRTZ 1961, 144; discussed by KRUGER 2010, 50. 24 On columns and pillars in the Ancient Near East, see MIGLUS 2004 and 2006–2008. 25 IDEM 2006–2008, 511, § 3.

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the story of the fall of queen Athaliah (2 Kgs 11:14 // 2 Chr 23:13). In this story the new king Jehoash is proclaimed while he was standing “on” or “by his pillar (‫עמודו‬//‫)על־העמוד‬, as was the custom (‫)כמשפט‬,” or “the rite.” Whatever this column was, the story shows that there was a close connection between the institution of kingship and such a pillar. As to this “pillar of the king,” Christoph Levin (1982, 21; 2017, 236) thinks indeed of a representative architecture of the bīt ḫilāni type. Since the bīt ḫilāni-type was the classical representative architecture in Syria, it became a target for Assyrians when they looked for a meaningful object to stage a punitive action, if a city had rebelled. Figure 6 shows the drawing of a detail of a relief from Sennacherib’s South-West-Palace at Nineveh.26 Regrettably, the relief itself is lost today. The scene depicts the typical looting of a Syrian city that had been conquered. But on the city’s acropolis, we see something very interesting: Assyrian soldiers hack down the central columns of a monumental building. Sadly, the scene is damaged, but the building can safely be reconstructed as a bīt ḫilāni. We also have direct archaeological evidence from the ruins of the bīt ḫilāni at Guzana, modern Tell Halaf, for such an ostentatious destruction.27 The bīt ḫilāni of Guzana (Figure 7) stood on the acropolis of the city on a raised terrace to which a monumental flight of stairs gave access. On the terrace, an altar made of glazed brick had been erected just opposite of the facade of the bīt ḫilāni. The pillars of this facade were not made of two simple tree-shaped columns, as usual, but depicted and incorporated the divine triad, the heads of the North-Syrian pantheon. The divine family consisted of the weather-god Teššob, placed in the middle, with his consort Ḫepat and his son Šarrumma on either side. The gods stood on their attributive animals, two lions and a bull. The whole arrangement was made from local basalt. The rooms behind this facade comprised throne-rooms and assembly halls. Modern scholars, eager to differentiate between “religious” and “secular” spheres, a differentiation which quite certainly does not meet with the ancient perspective, have dubbed this complex a “temple-palace.” The building had been constructed by a local ruler in the ninth century BCE. Already in 894 BCE, the Assyrian king Adad-nērārī II had received a tribute from Guzana. Ever since, Guzana was perceived a vassal by the Assyrians. However, it still was governed by its local, native dynasty. In 808 BCE, Guzana was “fully” conquered by Adad-nērārī III and turned into a province of the Assyrian Empire. Half a century later, in 759 BCE, Guzana rose in rebellion. In 758 BCE, this rebellion was quelled by Aššur-dān III. This second conquest in 758 BCE, not the first one in 808 BCE, quite certainly provides the setting for the destruction of Guzana’s “templepalace.” It was Guzana’s defection from Assur, the violation of a sworn vassal treaty, that called not only for reconquest but also for punishment. And so, after the rebellion 26

After LAYARD 1853, pl. 40 (detail); reconstruction by the author; see also READE 2008, 27, fig. 13; SCHAUDIG 2011, 362, fig. 283. 27 On the following see in more detail SCHAUDIG 2011. On the bīt ḫilāni of Guzana, see ORTHMANN 2002, 35–40, with a reconstruction in fig. 17 on p. 36. Rather recently, DUBIEL 2014 has cast doubts on the traditional reconstruction of the facade of the bīt ḫilāni of Guzana. However, since she did not offer a reconstruction of her own, I keep to the traditional one. On the history of Guzana, see FUCHS 2011, on the reconstruction of the figures, see CHOLIDIS/DUBIEL 2011.

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had been put down by the Assyrians, the impressive audience-hall was burnt down. This is what is important in the present framework. The hall was burnt down in a massive fire and the pillars with the images of the gods were smashed to pieces. Since fire alone cannot do any harm to basalt, being a volcanic stone, it is clear that the destruction was brought about by heating the stones first and by suddenly cooling them afterwards with cold water. This procedure cracked the columns and turned the hall into a heap of rubble of ruins. As is apparent from the excavation photographs,28 the cracking affected primarily the more accessible pedestals of the figures, whereas the figures of the gods broke only into big pieces when they fell down. This means that this was not a simple demolition or a collateral damage, but rather a deliberately staged show of destruction that literally annihilated the “royal house of Guzana” together with its gods. As we can see from the capitals of the Syrian pillars from Assur discussed above, all these pillars had originally not been free-standing, but weight-bearing. To the ancient Assyrian spectator, it must have been utterly clear that the Syrian royal houses from which they had been taken must have collapsed. Furthermore, those columns from Syrian temples or palaces were usually formed in the shape of trees. The Assyrians certainly knew very well which ideological and spiritual connotations the columns shaped as trees or gods conveyed for their Syrian neighbors. At Assur, these trees had been set up upside-down, with their heads placed into the foreign soil. Torn out and placed upside-down into the foreign soil of Assyria, they turned into symbols of the members of the broken and deported Syrian royal houses. Reconstructing the original meaning of the Assyrian figurative language, which has survived in its positive counter-image in the words of consolation uttered by Yahweh towards the remnant of Judah,29 those deported and manipulated “Syrian family trees of life were not to take root in Assyrian soil, they were not to bloom any more, nor to bear fruit.” These examples of destruction, which bring a temple or palace down in a spectacular scene by tearing off the columns that support it, are highly reminiscent of the story about the death of Samson (Judg 16:23–30). When Samson was brought into the “house” – a temple or a palace, or a “temple-palace” like the one at Guzana? – where the Philistines celebrated a festival of their god Dagon, “he took fast hold of the two middle pillars upon which the house rested. And he bent with all his might; and the house fell upon the lords, and upon all the people that were therein.”

V. Temple of Assyrian Victory: Ḫunusa in Qumānu In the following, I shall discuss a last element, by which the Assyrians and Babylonians visualized destruction. That is the erection of temples of victory in combination with the occupation of the space of a destroyed city, trying to prevent its reoccupation. These measures could be accompanied by symbolic acts aiming at tabooing the city’s ground, like sowing salt over the ruins, marking the soil as infertile for evermore. 28

Reproduced in SCHAUDIG 2011, 360, fig. 281. “And the remnant that is escaped of the house of Judah shall yet again take root downward, and bear fruit upward” (2 Kgs 19:30). 29

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The first source is a Middle-Assyrian royal inscription. When Tiglath-pileser I (1114–1076 BCE) destroyed the city of Ḫunusa in Qumānu, located somewhere in the mountain regions North or East of Assyria, he not only looted and destroyed the city, but he also undertook two highly meaningful or symbolic actions:30 I conquered that city. I took their gods and brought out their booty, possessions and property. I burnt the city. The three walls which were constructed with baked brick and the entire city I razed, destroyed, turned into a ruin hill and strewed (salty) ṣīpu-mineral over it. I made bronze lightning bolts (and) inscribed on them (a description of) the conquest of the lands which with the god Aššur, my lord, I had conquered (and I added a warning) not to occupy that city and not to rebuild its wall. On that (very site) I built a house of baked bricks and had those bronze lightning bolts dwell (ušēšib) in it.

Tiglath-pileser obviously tried to make the devastation of the city last and to document it. On top of the ruins, he erected a building made from burnt brick – quite certainly the very bricks of the walls he had destroyed. He fashioned lightning-bolts of bronze, the divine weapons of the storm-god, and he wrote the triumph of his god Aššur upon them. Finally, he let these divine lightning-bolts “dwell” (wašābu Š) in this building, turning it into a temple of victory. The inscription and the sanctuary built around it meant to document and to perpetuate the destruction of the rebellious city. In choosing the weapon of the storm-god as a symbol, Tiglath-pileser probably also appealed to the religious beliefs of the local population. The storm-god Adad-Teššob was certainly also venerated by the subdued people and so there was a fair chance that Tiglathpileser’s plan worked, at least for a while. Tiglath-pileser also scattered ṣīpu-mineral, which is probably a kind of salt, over the ruins of the city.31 The symbolic act of sowing salt or weeds is already testified in an inscription of Anitta of Kuššara, an Anatolian ruler dating to the mid-eighteenth century BCE.32 After he had conquered and destroyed the city of Ḫattuša, he tried to taboo the city by sowing weeds. He also cursed anyone who would rebuild the city again, calling – very much like Tiglath-pileser with the lightning bolts – upon the storm-god as a protector of the curse. The act of sowing salt is also known of Adad-nērārī I (ca. 1305–1274 BCE),33 Shalmaneser I (ca. 1273–1244 BCE)34 and Aššurbanipal, when he destroyed the Elamite royal cities in 646 BCE. In Aššurbanipal’s report, the sowing of salt is just one among many highly meaningful actions within a comprehensive framework of utter destruction. Aššurbanipal devastated Elam on a large scale, in

30

The following after RIMA 2, 24, A.0.87.1, vi 8b–21. RIMA 2, 24, A.0.87.1, vi 14–15: ṣīpa ina muḫḫīšu azru, “I sowed (salty) ṣīpu-mineral over it.” 32 NEU 1974, 12–13, ll. 44–51; MAYER 1995, 480, with note 3; IDEM 2002, 5, 20. On salt and salination, see also STRECK 2006–2008, 598, § 9.3. For the topic “salt” in curses, see CARDASCIA 1975. 33 RIMA 1, 136–37, A.0.76.3, ll. 36, 51: *kuddimmē elīšu(nu) azru, “I sowed salty plants over it/them.” 34 RIMA 1, 183, A.0.77.1, l. 51: kuddimmē elīšu azru, “I sowed salty plants over it.” This was Arinnu of Muṣri, which had rebelled against Aššur. Shalmaneser also abducted the soil of the city, which has been discussed above in this article. 31

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particular the royal cities.35 He plundered and destroyed the Elamite temples and their sacred groves. He also desecrated the graves of the Elamite kings and abducted their bones to Assyria. Having devastated the districts of Elam, he “scattered salt and cress over them.”36 Finally, Aššurbanipal “gathered up the dust of the cities Susa, Madaktu, Haltemaš, and the rest of their cities, and took it to Assyria.”37 In the Hebrew Bible, it is Abimelech who is said to have taken Shechem, to have killed the inhabitants and to have sown the devastated city with salt (Judg 9:45).

VI. Temple of Babylonian Victory: Temple ‘A’ at Assur When the old and holy city of Assur fell in 614 BCE, the Babylonians documented this finis Assyriae very much by the same means which also Tiglath-pileser I had taken half a century earlier.38 On top of the destroyed temple of the god Aššur at the city of Assur, into the remains of the enclosure walls with a good view over the ruins, the Babylonians built a small shrine, called today temple ‘A’ (Figure 8). This building displays typical Babylonian features such as the Breitraumcella and, as the excavators emphasize, also other typical Babylonian building techniques. This, I think, is reason enough to rule it out that the temple might be a product of some Assyrians who had survived the doom of Assur. Moreover, the temple is not only built on top of the ruins, but from the very debris of the sanctuary. Throughout its fabric, we find numerous Assyrian royal inscriptions, reused as a mere building material. The inscriptions have not been placed piously into the room for documentation. On the contrary, quite often they have been broken to pieces on the very spot in order to fit them into the pavement or the walls. As I have argued elsewhere,39 the temple is certainly not the last “state archive of the Assyrians,”40 nor is it the “second temple of Aššur.”41 It is a Babylonian temple of victory, erected on the ruins of the temple of Aššur in order to document and to perpetuate the triumph of Babylon together with the finis Assyriae. The chapel was quite certainly dedicated to Nergal, the god of warfare, who kindly assisted Nabopolassar in his just revenge on Assyria.

35 See the lengthy description in his annals: STRECK 1916/II, 46–62, V, 63–VII, 81. It was the 2nd campaign against Ḫumban-ḫaldaš III in 647/6 BCE; recent overview by J. Ruby in PNA 1/I, 166–67, s.v. Aššūr-bāni-apli, II, 3d, 5´. 36 After STRECK 1916/II, 56, annals VI, 79–80: ṭābta saḫlê usappiḫa ṣēruššun; two more examples in CAD S, 153, s.v. sapāḫu 5a; CAD Ṭ, 13, s.v. ṭābtu b. 37 STRECK 1916/II, 56, annals VI, 96–98; we have discussed this aspect above in this article. 38 On the following, see in more detail SCHAUDIG 2018. 39 SCHAUDIG 2018. 40 MIGLUS 1992. 41 RADNER 2015, 6–7; IDEM 2017, 86–90.

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VII. Summary As examples of actual and also symbolic destructions carried out on human social space and architecture we have seen the abduction of soil, the abduction of pillars, setting them up upside-down in a new environment, and the occupation of the deserted site by a monument in order to document the devastation. All three measures seek to visualize the destruction, since doing nothing would leave nothing to see.

Bibliography ANDRAE, W. (1913a): Die Festungswerke von Assur: Text- und Tafelband, Vols. I–II, (WVDOG 23), Leipzig. – (1913b): Die Stelenreihen in Assur, (WVDOG 24), Leipzig. – ed. by B. HROUDA (1977): Das wiedererstandene Assur: Zweite, durchgesehene und erweiterte Auflage, Munich. BAKER, H. (2014): “I Burnt, Razed (and) Destroyed Those Cities”: The Assyrian Accounts of Deliberate Architectural Destruction, in: J.M. MANCINI/K. BRESNAHAN (eds.), Architecture and Armed Conflict: The Politics of Destruction, London, 45–57. BOTTA, P.E./E. FLANDIN (1849): Monument de Ninive, Tome II: Architecture et Sculpture, Paris. CARDASCIA, G. (1975): La malédiction par le sel dans les droits du Proche-Orient ancien, in: H. HÜBNER/E. KLINGMÜLLER/A. WACKE (eds.), Festschrift für Erwin Seidl zum 70. Geburtstag, Köln, 27–34. CHOLIDIS, N./U. DUBIEL (2011): Augen auf! Geduld hoch! Und Herz hoch! – Wie aus 27.000 Fragmenten wieder Bildwerke wurden, in: N. CHOLIDIS (ed.), Die geretteten Götter aus dem Palast vom Tell Halaf, Berlin, 299–307. DUBIEL, U. (2014): Überlegungen zur Rekonstruktion des West-Palastes vom Tell Halaf, in: U. DUBIEL (ed.), Abenteuer Orient: Max von Oppenheim und seine Entdeckung des Tell Halaf, Tübingen, 133–41. FUCHS, A. (2011): Zur Geschichte von Guzana, in: N. CHOLIDIS (ed.), Die geretteten Götter aus dem Palast vom Tell Halaf, Berlin, 353–58. COWARD, M. (2004): Urbicide in Bosnia, in: ST. GRAHAM (ed.), Cities, War, and Terrorism: Towards an Urban Geopolitics, Oxford, 154–71. – (2009): Urbicide: The Politics of Urban Destruction, Abingdon. GALTER, H. (1984): Die Zerstörung Babylons durch Sanherib, Studia Orientalia (Memoriae Jussi Aro dedicata) 55, Helsinki, 161–73. GEORGE, A.R. (1992): Babylonian Topographical Texts, (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 40), Leuven. GEVIRTZ, ST. (1961): West-Semitic Curses and the Problem of the Origins of Hebrew Law, Vetus Testamentum 11, 137–58.

GLASSNER, J.-J. (2005): Mesopotamian Chronicles, (Society of Biblical Literature, Writings from the Ancient World 19), Atlanta, GA. GRAYSON, A.K. (1987): Assyrian Rulers of the Third and Second Millennia BC (to 1115 BC), (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia. Assyrian Periods 1), Toronto. – (1991): Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC, I (1114–859 BC), (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia. Assyrian Periods 2), Toronto. – (1996): Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC, II (858–745 BC), (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia. Assyrian Periods 3), Toronto.

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GRAYSON, A.K./J. NOVOTNY (2014): The Royal Inscriptions of Sennacherib, King of Assyria (704– 681 BC), Part 2, (The Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period 3/2), Winona Lake, IN. King, L.W. (1907): Chronicles Concerning Early Babylonian Kings, Including Records of the Early History of the Kassites and the Country of the Sea, Vols. I–II, London. KOCH, U.S. (2005): Secrets of Extispicy: The Chapter Multābiltu of the Babylonian Extispicy Series and Niṣirti bārûti Texts Mainly from Aššurbanipal’s Library, (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 326), Münster. KRUGER, P.A. (2010): Mundus inversus and the Phenomenon of Cursing: Some Examples From the Ancient Near East and the Hebrew Bible, in: P: GEMEINHARDT/A. ZGOLL (eds.), Weltkonstruktionen, (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 5), Tübingen, 47–63. LAYARD, A.H. (1853): A Second Series of the Monuments of Nineveh, London. LENTZ, M. (2004): Konflikt, Ehre, Ordnung: Untersuchungen zu den Schmähbriefen und Schandbildern des späten Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit (ca. 1350 bis 1600): Mit einem illustrierten Katalog der Überlieferung, Hannover. LEVIN, CH. (1982): Der Sturz der Königin Atalja, (Stuttgarter Bibelstudien 105), Stuttgart. – (2017): Das Königsritual in Israel und Juda, in: CH. LEVIN/R. MÜLLER (eds.), Herrschaftslegitimation in vorderorientalischen Reichen der Eisenzeit, (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 21), Tübingen, 231–60. MAYER, W. (1995): Politik und Kriegskunst der Assyrer, (Abhandlungen zur Literatur Alt-SyrienPalästinas und Mesopotamiens 9), Münster. MIGLUS, P.A. (1992): Das letzte Staatsarchiv der Assyrer, in: B. HROUDA et al. (eds.), Von Uruk nach Tuttul – eine Festschrift für Eva Strommenger: Studien und Aufsätze von Kollegen und Freunden, München, 135–42. – (2004): Die Säule in Assyrien, in: J.G. DERCKSEN (ed.), Assyria and Beyond: Studies Presented to Mogens Trolle Larsen, (Publications de l’Institut Historique-Archéologique Néerlandais à Stamboul 100), Leiden, 421–34. – (2006–2008): Säule, Säulenhalle (Pfeiler, Pfeilerhalle), Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 11, 506–14. NASSOUHI, E. (1927): Textes divers relatifs à l’histoire de l’Assyrie, Mitteilungen der Altorientalischen Gesellschaft 3, 1–38. NAUMANN, R. (1952–53): Das Hausmodell vom Tell Halaf und die nach unten verjüngten Säulen Nordsyriens, Jahrbuch für Kleinasiatische Forschung 2, 246–61. – (1971): Architektur Kleinasiens von ihren Anfängen bis zum Ende der hethitischen Zeit, 2nd and enlarged edition, Tübingen. NEU, E. (1974): Der Anitta-Text, (Studien zu den Bogazköy-Texten 18), Wiesbaden. ORTHMANN, W. (2002): Die aramäisch-assyrische Stadt Guzana: Ein Rückblick auf die Ausgrabungen Max von Oppenheims in Tell Halaf, (Schriften der Max Freiherr von Oppenheim-Stiftung, Heft 15), Saarbrücken. RADNER, K. (2015): Ancient Assyria: A Very Short Introduction, (Very Short Introductions 424), Oxford. – (2017): Assur’s ‘Second Temple Period’: The Restoration of the Cult of Aššur, c. 538 BC, in: CH. LEVIN/R. MÜLLER (eds.), Herrschaftslegitimation in vorderorientalischen Reichen der Eisenzeit, (Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 21), Tübingen, 77–96. READE, J. (2004a): The Historical Status of the Assur Stelas, in: J.G. DERCKSEN (ed.), Assyria and Beyond: Studies Presented to Mogens Trolle Larsen, (Publications de l’Institut HistoriqueArchéologique Néerlandais à Stamboul 100), Leiden, 455–73. – (2004b): The Assyrians as Collectors: From Accumulation to Synthesis, in: G. FRAME (ed.) with the assistance of L. Wilding, From the Upper Sea to the Lower Sea: Studies on the History of Assyria and Babylonia in Honour of A.K. Grayson, (Publications de l’Institut HistoriqueArchéologique Néerlandais à Stamboul 101), Leiden, 255–68. – (2008): Real and Imagined “Hittite Palaces” at Khorsabad and Elsewhere, Iraq 70, 13–40.

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RUSSELL, J.M. (1998): The Final Sack of Nineveh, New Haven, CT. SCHAUDIG, H. (2011): Die Zerstörung des Westpalastes von Guzana, in: N. CHOLIDIS (ed.), Die geretteten Götter aus dem Palast vom Tell Halaf, Berlin, 359–62. – (2018): Zum Tempel ‘A’ in Assur: Zeugnis eines Urbizids, in: K. KLEBER/G. NEUMANN/S. PAULUS, (eds.) unter Mitarbeit von Ch. Möllenbeck, Grenzüberschreitungen: Studien zur Kulturgeschichte des Alten Orients: Festschrift für Hans Neumann zum 65. Geburtstag am 9. Mai 2018, (dubsar 5), Münster, 621–35. – (2019): Explaining Disaster: Tradition and Transformation of the “Catastrophe of Ibbi-Sîn” in Babylonian Literature, (dubsar 13), Münster. SHAW, M. (2004): New Wars of the City: Relationships of ‘Urbicide’ and ‘Genocide’, in: ST. GRAHAM (ed.), Cities, War, and Terrorism: Towards an Urban Geopolitics, Oxford, 141–53. STRECK, MAXIMILIAN (1916): Assurbanipal und die letzten assyrischen Könige bis zum Untergang Niniveh’s, (Vorderasiatische Bibliothek 7/I–III), Leipzig. STRECK, MICHAEL (2006–2008): Salz, Versalzung. A. Nach Schriftquellen, Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 11, 592–99. WEIDNER, E. (1954–56): Säulen aus Naḫur, Archiv für Orientforschung 17, 145–46. WISEMAN, D.J. (1953): The Alalakh Tablets, (Occasional Publications of the British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara no. 2), London. WRIGHT, J.L. (2015): Urbicide. The Ritualized Killing of Cities in the Ancient Near East, in: S.M. OLYAN (ed.), Ritual Violence in the Hebrew Bible: New Perspectives, Oxford, 147–66. UNGER, E. (1932): Aššur, Stadt, Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 1, 170–95.

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Figure 1: Tribute bringer handing his city over in effigie to the Assyrian king. Relief from the Palace of Sargon II at Khorsabad. After BOTTA/FLANDIN 1849 II, pl. 125 (detail).

Figure 2: Collection of seized mace scepters of foreign kings, set up on display in the Tabira Gate at the city of Assur. No. 19 (bottom row, right end) is the mace of Marduk-mudammiq of Namri, seized by Shalmaneser III in 843 BCE and dedicated to Nergal. After ANDRAE 1913a/I, fig. 33 after p. 36.

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Figure 3: Pillars from Syrian temples or palaces, set up upside-down in the “Row of Stelae” at Assur, with labels of Assyrian kings (not visible here). VA Ass 2015–2017; for details see notes 14–16.

Figure 4: VA Ass 2016 (see note 15) in situ. After ANDRAE 1913b, 31, fig. 33.

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Figure 5: Freestanding columns on either side of the entrance of a temple or palace on a Phoenician acropolis; detail from a lost relief from the Palace of Sennacherib at Nineveh. After RUSSELL 1998, pl. 95, fig. 55.

Figure 6: Assyrian soldiers tear down the columns of a representative building of the bīt ḫilāni type in an unknown Syrian city; detail of a lost relief from Sennacherib’s South-West-Palace at Nineveh. After LAYARD 1853, pl. 40; reconstruction by the author.

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Figure 7: Reconstruction of the bīt ḫilāni of Guzana (Tell Halaf) with the local divine triad supporting the ceiling of the central hall. After ORTHMANN 2002, 36, fig. 17.

Figure 8: The Babylonian Temple of Victory (Temple ‘A’) on top of the ruins of the temple of Aššur at the city of Assur. After ANDRAE 1977, 239, fig. 216.

V. Re-Writing History by Destruction of Heritage

The Arameans/Syriacs During the First Three Centuries of the Muslim Rule Witold Witakowski* In the 630s CE in the Near East, a momentous event took place that changed the political map of the Byzantine Empire, particularly its eastern provinces, and of Iran. This event also impacted on the situation of the Aramaic-speaking population, or the Syriacs, who lived both in Byzantium and Sassanid Persia. In fact, the changes that they experienced were to be felt across their entire future history. This momentous event was, of course, the Muslim Arab conquest of these territories which had been in Roman possession for nearly 700 years, ever since Pompey terminated the Seleucid state, and created the Roman Province of Syria (64 BCE). The same wave of Arab conquest also encompassed Byzantium’s imperial rival, Persia, where Syriacs lived too. In summary, the Roman and the Persian parts of Aramea (i.e., the area where Aramaic and Syriac, its literary dialect, were spoken and written), found themselves subject to a new sovereign.

I. The Syriac-Speaking Churches Before we proceed, we should specify who the people who abruptly found themselves living under Muslim Arab dominion were. The Syriacs were Arameans who had accepted Christianity, and then, having come under strong influence of the Greek Christian culture that radiated from Antioch, also adopted the ethnonym by which the Greeks referred to them: Gr. Σύριοι > Syr. Suryāyē. Over time this group of people underwent several ecclesiastical divisions (see below), but here they will be jointly called Syriacs. The name Syriacs is thus an ethnonym that marks the difference between them and the Syrians, i.e., inhabitants of the modern state of Syria, which today is populated by mostly Muslims. Although linguistically united (at least as far as their literary language, Syriac, is concerned) the Syriacs were divided into three separate churches that were not infrequently hostile to each other. These were: 1. The “Imperial” Orthodox Church, also called “Melkite” (from Aram. malkā – “king, emperor”), was the main and oldest Syriac-speaking church. This Church, with a membership that was concentrated in the area of north-western Syria, was part of the Byzantine Church and consequently followed its theological develop* Abbreviations in this essay follow Corpus Scriptorum Chrstianorum Orientalium: Scriptores Syri.

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ment (with respect to monoenergism, monotheletism, and later, iconoclasm, etc.). The head of this Church was the patriarch of Antioch, once the third city of the Roman Empire. After the Arab Muslim conquest, this Church lost the privileged position that it had enjoyed under the Byzantine Empire as it became one of the religious organizations that fell under Muslim political supremacy. 2. The (Syriac) Church of the East, previously also known as “Nestorian,” took on a separate identity after 431 CE, as a result of the excommunication imposed by the Council of Ephesus, of Nestorios, patriarch of Constantinople, who represented the dyophysite views of the Antiochene school of theology. Because of this excommunication, theologians who adhered to these views were forced to leave their sees or other positions and flee to a region that was outside imperial control, namely to Persia. Here they found a less strictly structured Syriac-speaking church that had been developing independently from the Roman Church, even though it remained in communion with it. Consequently, this Church did not differ greatly from the Roman Church on basic theological positions. The well-educated “Nestorian” theologians, refugees from the Roman Empire, quickly acquired episcopal positions within the Persian Church. Notwithstanding this, it still took a further 150 years before “Nestorian” (actually “Theodorian,” from the name of Theodore, Bishop of Mopsuestia, d. 428, the teacher of Nestorios) theology was officially accepted at the synod of the Church of the East in the year 612. The seat of the head of this church (katholikos) during the Persian epoch and the Umayyad dynasty was Seleucia/Ktesiphon, but during the period of the Abbasid Caliphs the seat was moved to Baghdad. 3. The West-Syrian or Syrian Orthodox Church, Miaphysite (previously but erroneously called Monophysite), was the youngest. It was also known as Jacobite, from the name of Jacob Baradaios (Syr. Yaʽqobh Burdəʽāyā, d. 578), who by his clandestine, but very numerous, ordinations of priests and bishops in the years 553–566 created a new generation of Miaphysite ecclesiastical hierarchy. This theology had been anathematized at the Council of Chalcedon in 451 CE. Thus Jacob’s Church and its theology grew independently from the Imperial/Melkite Church. The seat of the patriarch of the Syrian Orthodox Church was theoretically Antioch, as is seen in its official titulature, but since, in fact, a Melkite patriarch resided there, the Jacobite patriarch’s residence was either ambulatory – preferably in the vicinity of Antioch – or at the monasteries from which the elected patriarchs came (including Qennešrīn, Gubbā Barrāyā, Zuqnīn, and others).1

II. The Perception of the Arab Conquest The importance of the Arab conquest as a watershed event in Near Eastern history (and indeed universal history), was not at the time fully realized, either by the Syriacs 1 Quite often the seat of the patriarch is not mentioned in the sources, see HAGE 1966, 10–11, and table A. For the later period, see NABE-VON SCHÖNBERG 1977, Liste der Patriarchen.

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or by the Byzantines. The account of Emperor Heraclius’s saying “Farewell to Syria” seems to be a later, somewhat legendary, story that was transmitted from an unknown source by the 9th-century historian, the West-Syrian Patriarch Dionysius of Tel-Maḥrē (d. 845) whose work is now lost, but was excerpted by Michael the Elder (d. 1199) for his Chronicle, and by the anonymous author of the Chronicle up to the Year 1234.2 We may reasonably assume that the Persian conquest of Aramea and other regions of the Near East including Egypt in 614 was fresh in the memory of both the Byzantines and the Syriacs. This event caused deep trauma to both the state apparatus and the population, perhaps exacerbated by acts of great symbolic value, such as the removal of the Holy Cross by the Persians. This may have invoked more distress than purely military or political events of the time. Nevertheless, after the passing of a decade, Emperor Heraclius, demonstrating Roman prowess, proved that the Empire was robust and powerful enough to recapture lost territories, as well as the lost relic of the Holy Cross (629). In contrast, the generation of the Syriacs who experienced the Persian and the Arab Muslim conquests may have not been as traumatized by the latter and may have accepted it with a shrug of their shoulders. In hindsight, we know now that it was a watershed event in world history, and therefore we may be surprised how insignificant it felt for contemporary Syriacs. The conquest itself left but a few traces in Syriac sources, at least those that have been preserved. Besides the accounts in later works of historiography (e.g., the History of patriarch Dionysius of Tel-Maḥrē, d. 845, mentioned above), we have only one extant folio, unfortunately in a much-damaged state, which tells about these events. Mention is made here of the large losses of the Byzantine army in the Battle of Yarmuk in 636,3 but not of the name of the river in the vicinity of which the battle took place.4 This paucity of description of the conquests was, one may assume, due to the fact that the killings that took place during the relevant military actions were not deemed conspicuous in the eyes of the Syriacs.5 They do not seem to have served in the Byzantine army, and thus were not particularly affected by the military losses that were incurred. Moreover, since most of the cities of Aramea surrendered, widespread destruction was avoided. Additionally, the effect of the settlement of new immigrants was also insignificant at the time. Most of the Arabs of the region, Tanūkh and Ṭayyi᾽ (whose name is used as pars pro toto by the Syriacs as the general ethnonym for all Arabs: Ṭayyāyē) and the Kalb, had been living there for a long time, in the north and in Central Syria, respectively. Many of these people were Christians. In the years following the conquest, the number of new settlers to the area was probably not more than a few thousands. Moreover, besides the settlements in coastal cities and the inland border area, where a possible Byzantine reconquista might

2

CHABOT 1899–1924, Vol. 2, 418 with French transl., 424; English translation in PLAMER 1993,

158. 3

Syriac text: CHABOT 1904, textus 75, versio 59–60; an English transl. in PLAMER 1993, 1–4. It was known, however, to later Syriac historiography, e.g., CHABOT (1899–1924), as Yarmūkhā. 5 It was recruited from among the Anatolian population, Armenians, and Christian Arabs. HUMPHREYS 2010, 512. 4

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have been expected, these new settlers were concentrated in the military garrisons, amṣār, that were established for that purpose. It seems that the Syriacs demonstrated a passive acceptance of their lot during the Arab conquest of Syria. The narrative in the Chronicle of Patriarch Michael the Elder of the end of the 12th century, that is nearly 500 years later, is admittedly averse to the Byzantines due to the persecution of the Jacobites half a millennium earlier. In fact, this text was used by some scholars as proof that the Syriacs welcomed the Arabs as liberators. However, as has been recently shown,6 Michael the Elder’s account should be taken as a late construct, by means of which the author pursued his own agenda: an agenda that had little to do with the real attitude of the Syriacs during the conquest. Moreover, one should remember that whatever aversion the non-Chalcedonian Syriacs may have felt towards the Byzantines, they never made any attempt at armed resistance, for the simple reason that the persecutions that took place at the time were aimed at a few bishops and a few monastic congregations, not at the Syriac people in general. The general population – contrary to episcopal and monastic hierarchy of the time – probably did not understand in much detail the subtle theological differences between Chalcedonianism and Miaphysitism.

III. Destructions and Persecutions The conquests brought about some destructions, particularly of churches and of crosses, as the Arab Muslim invaders, themselves recent converts to their new religion, felt quite hostile to the objects and symbols of other religions. The destructions that took place, however, although intentional, does not seem to have been systematic, or particularly widespread. Nor were these acts of destruction performed as attempts at damnatio memoriae of Christianity, which moreover, would have been unthinkable at the time. In an archaeologist’s opinion, the Arab take-over is insignificant in the archaeological record.7 Some examples of the destruction include the churches that were destroyed before 651 CE in Al-Kūfah and in the vicinity of Al-Ḥīrah (southern Iraq):8 Al-Kūfah was a miṣr, a Muslim garrison city where the troops who had recently taken part in the conquest of Mesopotamia, were settled. Al-Ḥīrah, on the other hand, was the main city of the Christian Arab kingdom of Lakhmids. The amṣār (pl. of miṣr), the garrison cities, were understood by the conquerors, and in later legal theory, as free of non-Muslims. Consequently, the conditions of the surrender of cities by agreement (Ar. ṣulḥ), which obliged the Muslims to preserve their status quo, did not apply to the amṣār. For the early period following the conquest, not many cases of the killing of Christians are reported, either. Some such incidents have been listed and described in previ-

6

VAN GINKEL 2006, 171–84. WALMSLEY 2007, 47. 8 TRITTON 1931, 312. 7

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ous research, by both A.S. Tritton9 and Bat Ye’or.10 One more case should be added to this context, however. In 634, the year ʽUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb became the caliph, Arabs [on their way from Syria to fight with the Persians] went up to the Mardīn mountains and they killed there many monks and excellent ascetics, especially in the great and famous abbey on the 11 mountain above Rēšʽaynā, which is called the Abbey of Bēʽāthā, i.e. of the Eggs.

In a recent study, Christian C. Sahner has used a new source to examine the Muslim persecution of the Christians, namely hagiography. Having cautiously totaled up all the victims recorded in this type of literature, Sahner counted only 270 martyrs.12 These individuals were known to the various churches during the period in question, and who were recognized by these churches as martyrs. This means that either their martyrdom accounts were codified by their biographers (i.e., hagiographers) or figure in synaxaria or menologia (the liturgical calendars) with short accounts of their life and death put under the dates of their martyrdom, to be commemorated on those days in the liturgical year cycle. It goes without saying that cases like the above-mentioned account of the Bēʽāthā Monastery monks, do not feature in the hagiographical sources. Consequently, the real numbers of Christian martyrs must have been much higher. Admittedly, it is practically impossible to provide even approximate numbers of the victims of Muslim persecutions of Syriac Christians in the early period, and no attempt at that will be ventured here. On the positive side for the Syriacs, the Arab conquest meant that the Roman/Byzantine domination and the persecution of the Jacobite Church was stopped. The Chalcedonian Melkite Church has lost its favored position and merely became one of three Churches that were tolerated and no longer privileged. Moreover, the political border that divided Aramea into the Byzantine and Persian part had been removed. Over time, a certain movement of the Christian population in either direction began, to the effect that we find East Syriacs (“Nestorians”) in Egypt a century later.

IV. The Beginning of Muslim Arab Rule After the period of conquests and of the rule of four “rightly guided (Ar. rāšidūn)” caliphs, came the period of the dynastic caliphate of the ʽUmayyads, which was founded by Muʽāwiyah ibn Abī Sufyān who ruled between 661 and 680. Because his power base was constituted by the Arab tribes in Syria, particularly the Kalb tribe, he received the oath of obedience from them in Jerusalem. Notwithstanding these signs of fealty from his supporters, in order to more overtly demonstrate that he was the ruler and protector of the whole population of his realm, he visited Golgotha, prayed there, 9

TRITTON 1930, 127–36. BAT YE’OR 1985; IDEM 1996, passim. 11 Transl. by A. Palmer (his Syr. transcription corrected) in PALMER 1993, 150, from the text of the Chronicle of Dionysios of Tel-Maḥrē (d. 845), reconstructed on the basis of the Chronicle of Michael the Elder and the anonymous Chronicle to the Year 1234; VAN GINKEL 2006, 180. 12 SAHNER 2018, 3. 10

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then “went to Gethsemane and went down to the tomb of the blessed Mary to pray in it.”13 He decided to make Damascus, not Medina, the capital of his caliphate. Syriac sources unanimously praise him for his tolerance and magnanimity, qualities that the Syriacs had not been accustomed to by their rulers.14 The East Syriac author, Yōḥannān BarPenkāyē, wrote in his historiographical work Kəthābhā də-rē(y)š mellē – The Book of the Main Problems (of God’s Economy of Salvation), before 693/4, just a decade after Muʽāwiyah’s demise, the following words: Justice flourished in his time, and there was great peace in the regions under his control; he allowed everyone to live as they wanted.

And: … the peace throughout the world was such that we have never heard, either from our fathers or from 15 our grandfathers, or seen that there had ever been any like it.

What is even more surprising is that after an earthquake had destroyed the Great Church in Edessa, Muʽāwiyah gave orders that it be restored.16

V. Dhimmīs The Muslim Arabs found themselves dominating a vast area inhabited by masses of conquered peoples that in a variety of ethnic, linguistic, and religious aspects were quite different from them. An exception was the Arab tribes, which were living a somewhat sedentary life in the Fertile Crescent, since the late Seleucid period, and which by the time of the Muslim conquest had already been Christianized over 2–3 centuries. One of these tribes’ political units was the Ghassanids (Banū Ġassān), a tribe of Yemenite origin whose kingdom in the Levant lived in symbiosis with the Byzantine Empire. King Ḥārīth (Greek: Aretas) ibn Jabala is known to have helped to save the Miaphysite section of the Church when in 542/3 CE he went to Constantinople and asked for two bishops who had to be of the Miaphysite persuasion to officiate in his kingdom. One of the bishops the king eventually was able to take with him was Jacob (Syr. Yaʽqobh), later known as Baradaios, i.e., the previously mentioned founder of the Jacobite Church. In the Battle of Yarmouk, the Ghassanid Arabs fought together with the Byzantine army against the Muslims. The other Christian Arab state was that of the Lakhmids (Banū Laḫm) concentrated in what is today southern Iraq, whose capital was Al-Ḥīra. The Lakhmid state often cooperated with the Sassanid Iran, until the Persians put an end to its independence in the first decade of the seventh century, on the eve of the birth of Islam and the following conquest of Iran.17 13

The Maronite Chronicle (after 664), transl. in PALMER 1993, 31. As noted by HUMPHREYS 2010, 515. 15 Transl. in BROCK 1987, 61. 16 The historiographic work of Dionysius of Tel-Maḥrē (d. 846) reconstructed on the basis of the anonymous Chronicle up to the Year 1234, transl. in PALMER 1993, 195. 17 TRIMINGHAM 1979 remains the seminal monograph on the topic. 14

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The Muslim conquerors had to find some sort of theoretical approach to, and understanding of, the people who they had subjugated to their rule. Thus it was necessary to establish a modus vivendi with the conquered peoples on a stable, Muslim legal basis. For this purpose two handy concepts, both with a background in the Qur’ān, came to be used: ahl al-dhimmah – “People of the Covenant”,18 and ahl al-kitāb – “People of the Book.”19 Formally, these were two different categories, one socio-political, the other religious, but both had the same referent. The concept of the “People of the Book” allowed for religious tolerance vis-à-vis the conquered. Under this designation, the Muslims referred to the adherents of “revealed” religions, the tenets of which had been codified in some “holy” book. By virtue of this, adherents of such religions were regarded as being capable of achieving salvation. The Qur’ān, Sura 2:59 says: Surely they that believe, and those of Jewry, and the Christians, and those Sabaeans, whoso believes in God and the Last Day, and works righteousness – their wage awaits them with their Lord, and no 20 fear shall be on them, neither shall they sorrow.

Of course, their holy scriptures were not accepted by the Muslims as such, i.e., as “holy.” On the contrary, they were regarded as forged (Ar. taḥrīf – “alteration, forgery”), that is, not the ones that “really” originated with Jesus (al-Injīl – “the Gospels”) and Moses (al-Tawrāt – “the Tora”), since it was believed that the “true” Scriptures must have contained prophesies regarding Muḥammad.21 Nevertheless, since the revelation had taken place, then the “Peoples of the Book” would be allowed to live in peace under Islam’s sovereignty and protection. This state of affairs was not to be enjoyed by pagans or idol worshippers (Ar. mušrikūn): such people were not tolerated and their only choice was either to accept Islam or to be put to death. Primarily, only the Christians (Naṣārā) and the Jews (Yahūd) were understood as falling under the category ahl al-kitāb, but soon also the Samaritans (Sāmira), the Zoroastrians (Majūs) and the Sabians or Mandaeans (Ṣābi’ūn) were included too. Incidentally, this may have contributed to putting the Avesta – after a long period of oral transmission – into writing by the Zoroastrians, and the Ginza – “The Treasure” by the Mandaeans. The holy book of the Samaritans was the (Samaritan) Tora. The other category, “People of the Covenant” (Arab. ahl al-dhimmah), was militarily and politically grounded and originally referred to the inhabitants of the cities that had surrendered to the Arabs during the conquests, by concluding some sort of peace treaty (dhimmah) with the assailants, to the effect that they had to open the gates of their cities, and thus accept the rule of the conquerors. The defeated peoples would have to pay a special tribute or tax (Ar. jizyah) in return for the Muslims’ religiouspolitical tolerance and protection. The surrender treaties have been known mainly from much later Muslim historiographical works by al-Balādhurī (d. 892), al-Yaʽqūbī (d. 898), al-Ṭabarī (d. 923) and 18

The word dhimma is used twice in the Qur’ān, Sura 9:8 and 10. The expression occurs 54 times in the Qur’ān. GRIFFITH 2008, 7. 20 Cf. also Sura 2:106. 21 The concept of taḥrīf is based on the Qur’ān, Sura 4:47 and 5:13. 19

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others.22 Consequently, doubts have been raised as to whether the treaties reported in these sources were authentic and not merely literary devices that were invented by the historians who lived and wrote 200 or 300 years after the fact. However, Milka LeviRubin has recently shown that the drawing up of a written document between an attacking army and the inhabitants of a beleaguered city or community, was an established tradition in antiquity in the Near East. Such written treaties specified conditions of surrender whereupon it would be possible for the conquered party – usually after paying a certain amount of money agreed upon with the victorious party – to continue to live as normal a life as possible, under new suzerainty. Individual cities seem to have been used to taking care of their own fate independently of any decision, command, or policy of peace negotiation that the central government may have wished to pursue. This was particularly the case in instances where military campaigns, the result of which were uncertain, were still being conducted. In such cases, the people who were living in the endangered cities would themselves negotiate their surrender and conclude their own agreements.23 An example of such a course of action is reported by John Malalas (sixth century), who wrote in his Chronicle (in Greek) that during Emperor Trajan’s reign (98–117 CE), the Persians captured Antioch “through an amicable agreement and treaty,” that was initiated by the inhabitants (109 CE).24 The treaties themselves, i.e., the original documents, did not survive because they were written on perishable materials, such as papyrus. However, in 1972, the archaeological excavations at Qaṣr Ibrīm in northern Sudan (ancient Nubia) brought to light a papyrus from 758 CE, containing a letter in Arabic from the governor of Egypt to the king of Makouria (Arab. Muqurra), demanding from the latter a payment of “what you owe of the baqṭ (from Lat. pactum) about which a peace agreement was made with you.”25 This document shows that a treaty between the Arab conquerors and Makouria, the northernmost kingdom of Christian Nubia, must have been once concluded and a sort of ransom was paid by the Nubians, even though the territory of Makouria was not occupied by the Muslims at the time. Consequently, one may conclude with M. Levy-Rubin, that there is no reason to doubt that the Arabs simply continued an established tradition and really did conclude treaties with conquered communities, and that this type of treaty was real and not merely a literary invention. The conditions of surrender for various cities in Syria and Mesopotamia that were specified in the treaties that were made during the conquest became one of the sources of a later document which defined the conditions of life, or rather its limitations, for the Syriacs and other non-Muslim peoples (Dhimmīs) under Muslim Arab rule. It is known as the Pact or Covenant of Umar (Šurūṭ ʽUmar or ʽAhd ʽUmar), and it exists in several versions that were transmitted by various Muslim authors. Even before the Pact was generally accepted by the Muslim authorities, thus reaching an official legal status, many of the rules that were included in it had been previously recorded in other 22

LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 8. Ibid., 24. 24 JEFFREYS/JEFFREYS/SCOTT 1986, 143–44; LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 22. 25 LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 9; HINDS/SAKKOUT 1981. 23

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collections of injunctions that did not gain official acceptance. An example of this are the rules cited by Abū Yūsuf in his Kitāb al-ḫarāj (from the end of the eighth century). In many versions, The Pact of Umar is formulated as a list of self-imposed rules that the Christians obliged themselves to follow. The text copied out below comes from The History of the City of Damascus (Ta᾽rīḫ madinat Dimašq)26 by Imam Abū al-Qāsim ʽAlī ibn al-Ḥasan Ibn ʽAsākir (d. 1175). It was provided there as part of a letter from the second Caliph, ʽUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb (634–644), wherein the latter quotes it as an epistle directed to him by the Christians of the city. The Covenant of Umar27 When you came to us we asked of you safety for our lives, our families, our property, and the people of our religion, on these conditions: [1] To pay tribute out of hand and be humiliated; [2] Not to hinder any Muslim from stopping in our churches by night or day; [3] To entertain him there three days and give him food there and open to him their doors; [4] To beat the nāqūs28 only gently in them and [5] Not to raise our voices in them in chanting; [6] Not to shelter there, nor in any of our houses a spy of your enemies; [7] Not to build a church, convent, hermitage or cell, nor repair those that are dilapidated; [8] Nor assemble in any that is in a Muslim quarter, nor in their presence; [9] Not to display idolatry nor invite to it; [10] Nor show a cross on our churches, nor in any of the roads or markets of the Muslims; [11] Not to learn the Koran nor teach it to our children; [12] Not to prevent any of our relatives from turning Muslim if he wish it; [13] To cut our hair in front; [14] To tie the zunnār29 round our waists; [15] To keep to our religion; [16] Not to resemble the Muslims in dress, appearance, saddles, the engraving on our seals;30 26

IBN ʽASAKIR 1995–2000. The translation is A.S. Tritton’s, copied here from his book, TRITTON 1930, 5–7, translated from Ibn ʽAsākir, I, 178. An English translation of another version, from Al-Ṭurṭūšī’s Lamp of the Kings, beg. of the twelfth century (AL-ṬURṬŪŠĪ 1935), has also been published in LEWIS 1976, 217– 19, and republished by LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 171–72. On more versions, see IBID 2009; still other sources are listed by NOTH 1987, 291, n. 4. 28 A gong or semantron, the oriental counterpart of Western church bells, often made of stone or metal. 29 A special waist-belt (from Syr. zōnārā, itself a loan word from Greek: ζωναριον) that came to be the most distinctive sign of a Dhimmī, the prototype of which was probably observed by the Muslims as part of a monk’s attire. 27

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[17] Not to use their kunyas;31 [18] To honor and respect them; [19] To stand up for them when we meet together; [20] To guide them in their ways and goings; [21] Not to make our houses higher (than theirs); [22] Not to keep weapons or swords, nor wear them in a town or on a journey in Muslim lands; [23] Not to sell wine or display it, [nor shall we keep pigs in their vicinity32]; [24] Not to light fires with our dead in a road where Muslims dwell; [25] Nor to raise our voices at our [Ms.: their] funerals, [26] Nor bring them near Muslims; [27] Not to strike a Muslim; [28] Not to keep slaves who have been the property of Muslims; We impose these terms on ourselves and our co-religionists; He who rejects them has no protection. Another version of the Covenant is extant in a letter to Abū ʽUbayda ʽĀmir ibn ʽAbd Allah ibn al-Jarrāḥ, who was one of the Muslim generals at the Battle of Yarmuk, and later the military commander in Syria who completed the conquest of Northern Syria (Aleppo, Antioch), and apparently also Damascus, as this version is attributed to the people of that city, too. It repeats most of the injunctions we have seen in the first version, but has a few additions which are: [29] [30] [31] [32] [33] [34]

Not to hide one who is a traitor to the Muslims; … Not to display a cross on them (scil. churches); Not to take out Easter or Palm Sunday processions; … Not to ride on saddles; … Not to teach our children the Koran; Not to be partners with a Muslim, except in business.33

VI. Observations Concerning the Pact Since conquered peoples do not decide what the conditions of their surrender may be, we have to take the attribution of the Pact to the conquered people as only a literary device. This circumstance led two scholars, A.S. Tritton34 and Antoine Fattal,35 to present a hypothesis that the Pact was instead a type of document that was most probably drawn up by mujtahids (students of law), as an exercise in a Muslim school of 30

I.e., not to engrave them in Arabic. The part of the Arab name, e.g. Aḥmad Abū Zayd – Aḥmad, the father of Zayd, or Umm – the mother of, added when a person has a progeny, understood as more respectful. 32 An addition from other sources, LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 172. 33 TRITTON 1930, 7–8. 34 Ibid., 233. 35 FATTAL 1958, 68. 31

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law. Such an exercise would include the listing of a number of already-existing rules directed at the Dhimmīs’ stance and quite a few new additions that were only an expression of the Muslims’ wishful thinking at the time. However, notwithstanding its unofficial origin, over time the document did reach some sort of legal validity. Various scholars have pointed out that the conditions specified in the Pact do not fit with those of the epoch of Caliph ʽUmar I. One may assign most of the rules found within the Pact to three chronological layers, each from a distinct period of the development of the Muslim state:36 1. rules from the period of the conquest; 2. rules from the period of the settlement of the Arabs; 3. rules from later periods. To the first group of rules belong those that aim to guarantee the security of the Muslims and thus require political loyalty from the conquered peoples. This aim can be seen in the promise not to entertain spies [6], in the obligation to act as guides for Muslims [20], to host them in Christian houses and churches [2, 3], and, in general, remaining loyal to their conquerors. Prohibition to bear weapons is obvious for security reasons [22]. Even some of the ġiyār rules, i.e., concerning the attire of the Dhimmīs, belong to this period, due to the Muslims’ wish to differ from Non-Muslims [14, 16].37 Later rules were drawn up in defense of Islamic tenets: for example, it was forbidden to sell pigs or alcohol (namely wine) to Muslims [23]. Caliph ʽAbd al-Malik, was particularly keen on the enforcement of Muslim ways of life, and so in 703/4 (1015 Sel.) gave the order to kill all the pigs in the caliphate.38 Christian worship was allowed but only when it was kept to a low profile, that is to say without loud prayers, striking semantrons (nāqūs) [4, 5], drawing processions in public space [31], or displaying crosses [10, 30]. For the religious life of the Christians, a much more harmful rule was the one that forbade the building of new churches or the repair of old, dilapidated churches [7]. It is, however, probable that this prohibition was, at least initially, drawn up with the intention of being applied to cities with a Muslim majority, including the amṣār. Still later rules seem to be those that stem from the epoch when the economic and social life of a mixed society in which Muslims, including converts, lived together with non-Muslims in the same urban conglomerations. This situation caused the Muslims to wish for a sort of apartheid by commanding the Dhimmīs to maintain differences in costume and appearance as different to the attire and appearance of the Muslims (ġiyār [13]). These rules even prevented them from embracing Arabic name customs [17]. A number of directly humiliating rules [1] were added including stepping off the road for a passing Muslim [18, 19] and not being allowed to ride a saddled horse [32]. This prohibition was something that slaves were prohibited from doing in ancient Arabian society before Islam. We thus observe that the rules collected in the 36

Based on LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 61–62, who refers to NOTH 1987, 312–15. It should be noted, however, that many of the ġiyār rules, were partly overtaken from those that had been applied by the Sassanid aristocracy in Persia on the lower classes, LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 130– 63. 38 The Chronicle to the year 819, transl. in PALMER 1993, 78. 37

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Covenant clearly show a particular attitude of Muslims towards Dhimmīs, the intention of which was to make clear to both sides the inferior status of the latter. In this context, we can also find a number of contradictory injunctions. For example, Christians are expected to keep to their religion [15], and not teach their children about the Qur’ān [11]. However, they should also not hinder anybody from converting to Islam [12]. As mentioned above, the social conditions of the Christians under Islam envisaged in the Covenant, make it impossible to acknowledge that they were in a state of complete implementation at such an early date as that of the reign of the second Caliph ʽUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb (634–644). On the other hand, it is known that the ġiyār rules were promulgated by Caliph ʽUmar [II] ibn ʽAbd al-ʽAzīz (717–720). This makes it probable that the entire Covenant could, in fact, be his work and not the work of his earlier namesake.39 The ġiyār rules must be taken much more seriously than it may initially appear to a modern mindset, because they are the distinct expression and sign of being either a Dhimmī or a Muslim. A case where a death sentence for the crime of apostasy was issued occurred when a Christian, Elias of Heliopolis, participated in a male dance with his Muslim friends in Damascus. When one of them took off his zunnār, an item of clothing that, as a Christian, he was obliged to wear, he became regarded as a Muslim. The simple removal of a part of his Christian outfit, admittedly a distinctive part of such an attire, and not a declaration of the šahāda, was regarded as a proof of conversion! Although he returned safely home to Baʽalbek (Heliopolis), eight years later he visited Damascus again and was exposed by someone who remembered him dancing without his zunnār to the authorities: as a result, he was sentenced to death and killed.40 The injunction that Dhimmīs should not use a kunya (names of the type: Abū Bakr – “the Father of Bakr”) [17], was directly informed by the social concept that Dhimmīs were at the level of the mawālī, the clients of the tribes of the pre-Muslim Arab society. The mawālīs were not treated as equal to the native tribesmen, and were discriminated against in many ways that were later codified in the Pact of ʽUmar, but in this case with reference to Dhimmīs. Among the degrading restrictions that they were subject to, they were not allowed to marry women of the Arab tribe to which they were subordinate, and they were not allowed to use kunyas because it was a prestigious and dignified name implying social status and close acquaintance between the members of the tribe that mawālīs did not possess. Consequently, they used only a simple name -᾽ism. The general impression that one gets from a close examination of the rules and injunctions of the Pact, is that anything that implied social prestige or authority was explicitly denied for the Dhimmīs, including even such trivial customs as allowing one’s forelock to grow [13].41 Even though not specified in the Pact, another blow against the Christians’ religious practices was the decree of Yazīd II (720–724) where he ordered the destruction of all 39

LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 62. SAHNER 2018, 53–59. 41 LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 144. 40

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images of animated beings – i.e. icons.42 Incidentally, this order was paralleled in Byzantium by Emperor Leo III’s iconoclastic decree, sometime between 726 and 730. The rules of the Pact of ʽUmar were vigorously enforced, particularly from the beginning of the ninth century onwards. Caliph Hārūn al-Rašīd (786–809) ordered the churches on the frontier areas with Byzantium to be razed to the ground.43 Perhaps this was an act in the spirit of rule [7] of the Pact, even though there may have been a strategic purpose behind this order in the light of his planned war with Byzantium. Notwithstanding this, the first established set of rules that remind us of those of the Šurūṭ, was promulgated by Caliph Al-Mutawakkil (847–861).44 In particular, the ġiyār rules were emphasized, but also the destruction of the prayer houses of Dhimmīs, the prohibition of public processions, the removal of Dhimmīs from employment in the state administration, the prohibition of their children from attending Muslim schools, and even the seizure of one-tenth of their residences,45 although this last order does not seem to be enforced very strictly. A number of Dhimmī sources confirm the implementation of Al-Mutawakkil’s rules. For instance, Grigoryos Bar‘Ebroyo (d. 1286) mentions the order of destruction of churches and the existence of regulations governing clothing.46 Also, a contemporary source, the Continuation of the Samaritan Chronicle of Abū ’l-Fatḥ,47 lists Mutawakkil’s restrictions as complete as in Al-Ṭabarī’s History,48 and even includes several additions. The Continuation also testifies to the local application of Al-Mutawakkil’s laws, at least during the governorship of Aḥmad ibn Ṭūlūn (878–884) in Palestine.49 It is also interesting to note that the restrictions were not only applied by the Muslim authorities, but were also generally known by the Muslim people. Elias BarShēnāyā of Nisibis (d. 1046) writes in his Chronicle that the people of Baghdad revolted against the Christians because they rode on horses!50 This clearly shows that the rules were generally accepted by the Muslim population. Later traditions continued to add various prohibitions to the rules already extant in the Pact of ʽUmar, such as the notion that the Arabian Peninsula should be an exclusively Muslim territory in which Christians and Jews would not be allowed to live. This rule was not based on any Qur’ānic text, but on the memory of the expulsion of the Jews from Medina, Ḥijāz, and Khaybar, and the expulsion of the Christians from Nagran (Ar. Najrān, today on the Saudi side of the border with Yemen) by ʽUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb. As indicated by Seth Ward,51 these events were codified in the ḥadīths, where the claim that two religions (“two qiblas”) cannot co-exist in one land, namely 42

HUMPHREYS 2010, 522. LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 102. 44 AL-ṬABARĪ 1989, 89–90; Arabic: IDEM 1879–1901, Vol. 3, 1389–90. 45 LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 103–105; AL-ṬABARĪ 1989, transl. vol. 34, 90; Arabic: IDEM 1879–1901, Vol. 3, 1390. 46 LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 105; BUDGE 1976, 141. 47 LEVY-RUBIN 2002, 91–93; IDEM 2011, 105–109. 48 AL-ṬABARĪ 1989, 89–94; Arabic, IDEM 1879–1901, Vol. 3, 1389–94. 49 LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 109. 50 BROOKS 1910, textus, 188; Latin tr., versio, 89; LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 110. 51 WARD 1990, 407–20. 43

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in Arabia, was attributed to Muḥammad. In the two most important collections of the ḥadīths, al-Bukhārī’s (d. 870) and Muslim’s (d. 875), both called Ṣaḥīḥ - ‘Truthful (collections)’, there are chapters entitled On Exiling of the Jews from Arabia and from Ḥijāz respectively. 52 As reported by al-Balādhurī, the same rule expressed by Muḥammad was referred to as the reason for the expulsion of the Christians from Nagran; ever since the Himyarite epoch (the fifth and sixth centuries) Nagran had been the center of Christianity in Yemen. The rule also seems to have been endorsed by the historian Al-Ṭabarī (d. 923) even though it is difficult to identify the exact work, legal rather than historiographical.53 However, the reality at the time was that outside the Ḥijāz Dhimmīs lived relatively undisturbed lives. Both Jews and Christians lived in the Arabian Peninsula for quite some time before the rise of Islam and continued to do so long after it was an established religion. The expulsion of the Nagran Christians to Syria and Iraq effected by ʽUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb,54 did not encompass the entire community. The last bishop of the Christians in Nagran was appointed, according to the Chronicle of Michael the Elder, by the Syrian Orthodox patriarch John IV (910– 922).55 Note too that, at least up to the ninth century CE, there were flourishing Syriac communities in what is today known as Qatar (Syr. Beth Qaṭrāyē). There were also several writers who were characterized by the nomen gentilicium or nisba: Qaṭrāyā, e.g., the famous East Syriac monastic author Dādhīšōʽ Qaṭrāyā, of the late seventh century. In the case of the Jews in Yemen – they had been living there from before the Christian era up until the time they were transported to Israel in the early 1950s. This leads us to the conclusion that the expression “Arabian Peninsula” (Jazīrat al-ʽArab) or the “Land of Arabia” (Arḍ al-ʽArab) was not understood as encompassing the entire region as it is understood today, but instead only Ḥijāz. As in this point, concerning how far the term Jazīrat al-ʽArab extended geographically in the past, so one may argue that the lived reality at the time concerning other rules of the Pact was not quite in accordance with them. For instance, there is evidence56 that new churches were built, and the old ones were restored. Again, one may suppose that such restrictions concerning church buildings were deemed relevant to amṣār only, or, later, to cities where Muslims constituted the majority of the population. However, the omission of this limitation (purposely?) created the possibility of applying the rule whenever Muslim authorities found it expedient to do so. It was not allowed for Dhimmīs to proselytize amongst the Muslims. On the other hand, it was permitted for Muslims to convert Christians to Islam. However, if such a convert later wished to return to his previous religion, then he would be punished by death, as was already shown above in the case of the martyr Elias of Heliopolis. It is not known exactly when the Covenant of ʽUmar was codified or when it was promulgated as a comprehensive legal document, but it must have been around 800.57 52

Ibid., 407. It has been preserved only by the Shafi’ite jurist Taqī al-Dīn al-Subkī, d. 1355, ibid., 409–11. 54 AL-BALĀDHURĪ 1966, 103; Arabic text: IDEM 1866, 66–67. 55 CHABOT 1899–1924, 758 /tr. III 462, no. 17. 56 TRITTON 1930, 42–60. 57 LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 99. 53

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It has to be assumed that initially the enforcement of the Covenant’s rules was rather lax, whereas a more strict enforcement seems to be for the purpose of extorting money from the Dhimmīs. Nevertheless, the Covenant gradually became to be applied more and more strictly, something which was supported by the qāḍīs, the Muslim judges. A more rigid attitude to the Covenant was shown by the caliphs Al-Mutawakkil (847– 861) and Al-Ḥakim (996–1020). It may be assumed, consequently, that it was during the caliphate of the first of the two that the Covenant was already a recognized legal source, and by the second half of the ninth century, it was applied more regularly.58

VII. Taxes We have already mentioned the imposition of a poll tax, jizyah (Syr. gəzīthā), which was based on Sura 9:29 in the Qur’ān: Fight those among the People of the Book who do not believe in Allah and the Last Day, who do not forbid what Allah and his Messenger have forbidden and do not profess the true religion, until they 59 pay the tribute (jizyah) out of hand and have been humbled.

The holy text of Islam thus prompted Muslims to adopt a disparaging attitude towards Dhimmīs. This would come to influence the way in which Muslims were to treat their non-Muslim neighbors from that time onwards. The condition under which Dhimmīs had to live reduced them to the people of second category. Reality was not always so dark as this particular Sura suggests, but it sanctioned a social atmosphere that, at any time, could turn hostile towards the people who – as the Koranic injunction says – should “be humbled.” However, the imposition and collection of the jizya were not immediate after the conquest and, in certain provinces, its enforcement was rather irregular, more like the levying of an occasional tribute. It seems – on the basis of the research performed by Chase Robinson60 – that it was established as a regular poll tax only after a cadastral census (Syr. from Arab. taʽdīl) that was carried out in the end of the seventh century. This was the case in northern Mesopotamia, from which we have the Syriac testimony of the Chronicle of Zuqnin (written after 775), in the year 691/2 by ʽAbd al-Malik ibn Marwān. The anonymous author of this Chronicle writes that on the caliph’s order everyone should go to his country, village and paternal house to register his name and that of his father, as well as his vineyards, olive trees, cattle, children, and all that he owned. From this time the poll tax (Syr.: gəzīthā = jizya) began to be levied on the male heads. […] Previously, kings used to levy tribute on 61 land, not on men. From this time onward the Sons of Hagar began to reduce the Sons of Ārām to 62 Egyptian slavery […] This was the first census the Arabs had made. 58

LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 100. ARBERRY, 1955, vol. I, 210. 60 ROBINSON 2000, 44–50. 61 Hagar, in the Hebrew Bible (Gen. 16), was the female servant of Abraham, who gave birth to his son, Ishmael, regarded as the protoplast of the Arabs. In Syriac tradition, she grew as a symbol or the “mother” of the Arabs, who, it is true, were called “The Sons of Ishma’el,” but also “Hagarenes.” 59

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The somewhat dramatic tone of this testimony suggests that the jizya had not been previously levied. It is also possible to interpret this text such that the author himself had now to pay it, which would mean that jizya had not been previously collected from the monks.63 This was true, for instance, in Egypt,64 since the monks may have been regarded as not being able to pay it. The jizya was also regarded as a substitute for military service that Dhimmīs were generally exempt from performing.65 Consequently, women, children, and the sick were exempt from the tax, as were, for other reasons, beggars and the poor, who were unable to provide for themselves. The sums of tribute or tax obligations may have been specified in the surrender treaties (Arab. ṣulḥ). It is rather seldom, however, that the amount to be paid by a given community would be specified. However, in at least a few cases it was. Aḥmad ibn Yaḥya al-Balādhurī in his Book of the Conquest of the Countries (Kitāb al-futūḥ al-buldān) writes about ar-Raqqah:66 … ʽUmar wrote after this to ʽUmar ibn Saʽd, his governor, instructing him to assess four dinârs on every man, as it was the case with those who possessed gold.

and about Al-Ruhā (i.e., Edessa), the terms being offered by ʽIyād ibn Ghanm: …If ye open before me the city gate and agree to offer to me for every man one dinâr and two modi 67 of wheat, then I grant you safety for your persons, possession and those dependent on you.

At the beginning of the Abbasid period, the imposition of taxation was relatively moderate until in 773 Caliph Al-Manṣūr appointed one Musā b. Muṣʽab as the governor of the Jazīra (Mesopotamia). Musā was brutal and his purpose was to extract as much taxes as possible from the Dhimmī population. The memory of his actions left a vivid trace in Syriac historiography.68 Another tax that was imposed on Dhimmīs, if they lived by tilling the earth, was ḫarāj, the land tax. It was to be paid depending on the dimension of the land tilled. As both taxes had to be paid together (initially ḫarāj was not paid by the Muslim peasants, Using her name as an etymon, the new verb “to convert to Islam” – haggar (conjugation paʽʽel) was created, and the active participle derived from it – məhaggərāyē, was used to refer to converts and the Muslim Arabs in general. It was from the latter form, not the verb, that the Byzantine Greek language constructed the verb – µαγαριζειν, with the meaning equal to the Syr. haggar. 62 HARRAK 1999, 147–48. 63 FATTAL 1958, 270–71. 64 LEVY-RUBIN 2011, 100–101. The monks in Egypt began to pay taxes in the end of the seventh century. 65 In the early period under the Umayyads there were however Christians (e.g., Armenians) and other Dhimmīs, particularly former Persian soldiers, who served in the Muslim army. These became also early converts to Islam. LAPIDUS 2014, 59. There is however no evidence about Syriacs ever (before the modern epoch) becoming soldiers. 66 ROBINSON 2000, 10–11. 67 Engl. transl. by Ph. Kh. Hitti, AL-BALĀDHURĪ 1966, 272 and 273; the Arabic text: IDEM 1866, 173–74. 68 A. Harrak in the introd. to his translation of the Chronicle of Zuqnīn, HARRAK 1999, 7; see also ibid., 253–55; 290–92.

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because there were hardly any), they were not distinguished between by the rural Christian population. The amount and incidence of these taxes are not clear, because it depended on the conditions of the incorporation of a given territory into dār al-islām – “the domain of Islam,” whether by a surrender treaty (ṣulḥ) or by conquest (ʽanwatan). Other factors that were taken into consideration were the pre-Islamic, Byzantine and Persian, taxation systems, which were initially kept by the Muslims.69 In connection with the injunction made in Sura 9:29 quoted above, Muslim legal theoreticians, the fuqahā’, described various humiliating practices connected with the payment of the jizya. They prescribed that a Dhimmī should be struck on his neck.70 But just as with several other rules in the Covenant of Umar, it is not certain if such practices were actually applied (we do not have any direct Syriac testimony), or instead should be taken as wishful thinking without real relevance. What is supported by various sources, however, is the existence of the custom of the “sealing of the neck” (Syr. ṭabhʽā ba-qdhālā). It was introduced by the governor of Jazīra Maslama, the brother of Caliph Al-Walīd (705–715), who is reported to have ordered sealing the necks.71 This custom was also mentioned by the anonymous author of the Chronicle of Zuqnin.72 The sealing of the neck, however, was the sign of tax acquittance in the form of a leaden seal that was attached to the neck of a Dhimmī who had paid his jizya. The seal was removed when all the Dhimmīs of a given region had discharged their fiscal obligations towards the Muslim authorities. Although it does not seem to be intended as a sign of humiliation, it was so perceived by the Dhimmīs.

VIII. Social Conditions At the beginning of the Muslim rule and the Umayyad period, Dhimmīs were often employed in administrative work. Since there were insufficient competent enough Arab administrators or fiscal officers to the job, the Muslim authorities had no option but to re-employ individuals from the lower (and sometimes higher) echelons of the Byzantine administration. These Dhimmīs simply continued within the positions that they held during the ancien régime, as it were. A well-known example is the Melkite Sarjūn ibn Manṣūr, the son of the last Byzantine governor of Damascus (who had surrendered the city to the Arabs in 635). Sarjūn was himself the chief of the caliphate’s tax administration, appointed by Muʽāwiya (661–680), but remained in office also under his successors. His son, Yūḥannā ibn Sarjūn ibn Manṣūr (c. 665–749), better known as John of Damascus (the last Church Father of the Greek Orthodox 69 The Muslims paid taxes too, but these were not as high as those that were imposed on the Dhimmīs. The taxes paid by the Muslims were in the form of zakāt – “alms” (for the poor), a religious obligation, one of the so-called Five Pillars of Islam, based on a Qur’ānic injunction, at the rate of 2.5 %, and, later on, in the form of ʽušra – a tithe on the value of the harvest reaped from irrigated land. ZYSOW 2002, 406–22. 70 On this and other practices, see FATTAL 1958, 287. 71 PALMER 1993, 79 (Chronicle to the Year 819), 209 (Dionysius of Tel-Maḥrē). 72 CHABOT 1933, 268, 1–23, and 291,24–292,23; transl. HARRAK 1999, 236, 254–55.

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Church), had been a high ranking officer in the administration apparatus of Caliph ʽAbd al-Malīk ibn Marwān (685–705). He performed his work before retiring early and settling in a monastery (probably Mar Sabas in the Judaean Desert) where he composed all his theological works. However, it was the last-named caliph who reformed the Muslim state administration by requiring Arabic (instead of the “lingering” Greek language) to be used in all of its ranks, as well as on the currency. The latter matter is interesting in the light of the fact that just 20 years earlier, according to a Syriac source, Muʽāwiya tried to introduce Arab currency in gold and silver, but these were discarded by the Christians because there was no cross stamped on them(!), 73 as was the case with the Byzantine coins that were still in circulation. Now the šahāda replaced the sign of the cross on the new currency. Whether due to a language concern or not, ʽAbd al-Malīk removed Dhimmīs from the caliphate’s administration, thus practically Islamizing it. This reform, however, turned out to be temporary, since, in the ninth century, that is, during the Abbasid epoch, numerous East Syriacs (“Nestorian” Christians) of the clan Banū Jarrah, were able to find employment in the Muslim state administration again. Moreover, these people reached the highest positions in administration after that of the caliphs – the viziers. In 852 during the reign of Caliph Al-Mutawakkil (847–861), the Banū Jarrah were able to convince the Caliph to grant Christians the freedom of religion, including – against the Pact of ʽUmar – the right to construct new churches, as well as some other concessions that were beneficial for the Christians.74 These social successes of the type experienced by Sarjūn, Yūḥannā, and the Banū Jarrah were, however, the lot of only a few Dhimmīs. For those Dhimmīs who aspired to pursue a political or military career, there remained no other pathway to achieve this but to convert to Islam. Conversion not only opened up various social possibilities for them, but it also liberated them from the financial burden and humiliation of the jizya. This observation now leads us to the issue of conversion.

IX. Islamization and Arabization In addition to the purely economic exploitation of Dhimmīs yet another supposed effect of the jizya was that it would bring them to Islam. 75 The early Muslim rulers were, however, not interested in mass conversions of their non-Muslim subjects because it would severely diminish the state income generated by the jizya. There were exceptions to this general attitude as illustrated by Caliph ʽUmar II (717–720), who was hostile towards the Christian Dhimmīs. The conquests, in themselves, did not imply conversion to Islam, but it soon became one of its consequences. Nevertheless, during the Umayyad period, there were no mass conversions, except in Persia. However, the growing and systematic taxation led to 73

The Maronite Chronicle, transl. in PALMER 1993, 32. LAPIDUS 2014, 86–87. 75 FATTAL 1958, 287. 74

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numerous Syriacs’ decision to leave Christianity and the communities of their ancestors and neighbors. One testimony, again from the Syriac Chronicle of Zuqnin, describes the situation thus: The extortions and the poll tax of the Christian people were intensified beyond measure and began to bring about devastation on the earth … The Christians, however, lest the tributes in the Arab epoch become more and more heavy, beyond their endurance, and (lest) the evils of the bitter extortions suffocate them (lit. burn upon them), and (since) they had not yet learned to escape from one place to another, and (since) here the gate into paganism (= Islam) opened for them – all the wanton and slack 76 easily slipped into the pitfall and the well of perdition.

The process of conversion was not uniform across all the various regions of the Muslim empire. It seems to have started with the Bedouins of Arabia, who paid tribal allegiance to the Prophet Muhammad himself, and thus were assumed to be converted to his religion. After his death, however, that personal allegiance became void, in accordance with their tribal customs. Nevertheless, the Muslims interpreted this as apostasy and forced them back to the ʽumma – the Muslim commonwealth – by the so-called Ḥurūb al-ridda – the Apostasy Wars, 632–633. Similarly, according to Muslim tradition, the Berber tribes of Maghrib, nomads just as the Bedouin tribes of Arabia, apostatized 12 times (!) before they were finally brought back to Islam by force.77 In the conquered areas where no nomadic tribes lived, the conversion process had various results. In Iran, the process was practically complete (the landed gentry wished to keep their socio-economic privileges). In India, however, the majority of population never became Muslims. The Islamization of other regions depended on two factors: 1) colonization by Muslim Arab nomads, wherever geographical and socio-economic conditions allowed it; and 2) the establishment of a Muslim administration and institutions and their activities. The migration and settlement of Arab nomads, who were, however, under urban leadership (from Mecca), resulted in numerous conflicts with the sedentary population. But when land was available for the nomads, the interaction with their non-Muslim neighbors that followed their arrival, created “osmotic” conditions for a gradual Islamization of the Dhimmīs. Another factor that contributed to the Islamization of the conquered lands was the foundation of the amṣār, i.e., garrison towns, such as Kūfah, Baṣrah, and Mosul (Mawṣīl) in Iraq, Damascus and Qinnasrīn in Syria, al-Fusṭaṭ in Egypt, and Qairawan in Tunisia. Over time, these garrisons developed into flourishing cities, and centers of trade, crafts and administration, thereby becoming attractive for a non-Muslim skilled workforce to settle in. These cities were thus also centers of cultural assimilation, of linguistic Arabization, and of Islamization. In Syria and Iraq, the mechanisms of Arabization and Islamization were initiated and reinforced by the Arab Christian population, who, as was noted above, had been living there for centuries, prior to the arrival of the Muslim Arabs.78 Some of these Christian Arabs withdrew to Asia Minor beyond the Taurus Mountains, following the 76

CHABOT 1933, 381, 18–20 (my transl.). LEVTZION 1979, 6. 78 It should be remembered that the dynasty of Abgarids of ᾽Ōrhāy /Edessa was of Arab origin; whereas the Roman emperor Philip the Arab (244–249) originated from Auranitis (today Ḥawrān). 77

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withdrawal of Byzantine troops from the lost regions. Most, however, stayed (Ṭayy, Banū Tanūkh) and under some pressure eventually converted to Islam. The Arabization of the area was also periodically reinforced by the influx of newcomers from Arabia, again, mostly nomads. These were encouraged to settle close to the Byzantine frontier, for the reinforcement of this militarily sensitive region, but also in the amṣār. ʽAbd al-Malik ibn Marwān settled the Qays tribe on the Byzantine frontier.79 Except for this area, the nomads were directed to settle in cities (Damascus, Homs, and Antioch), so that the agricultural structure of the countryside would not be disrupted. The same caliph and his successor, Al-Walīd, implemented a complete Arabization of the administration. Previously the administration’s files had been kept in Greek,80 obviously by Christian clerks. The Islamization of the Byzantine border area was to a degree informed and dependent on the concept of jihād. The target of this particular jihād was Byzantium, and therefore the border area, once populated by Christians, had to be reinforced with a Muslim population, including soldiers and potential soldiers. The settlement of the Qays has been remarked upon, but in the early Abbasid period, the Byzantine border was reinforced by Arabs from Khurāsān.81 These people were obviously regarded as more faithful to the Abbasids than the Qays, who had been the power base of the Umayyads. However, after the defeat of the Arab army under the command of Maslama ibn ʽAbd al-Malik, in the siege of Constantinople in 717, the Umayyads did not launch any large expedition, but limited the jihād to yearly summer raids with the purpose of plunder and military exercise, instead of all-out conquest. The early Abbasids did this too, but made sure to secure the area by resettling it with immigrants from the eastern part of the caliphate. Incidentally, this created an ethnic environment that even attracted Muslim scholars from Iraq.82 The linguistic Arabization continued among the Syriacs, even though not as swiftly or completely as among the Copts. The process was uneven between the various ecclesiastical communities. It was the quickest for the Melkites, who were deprived of much of their Greek-speaking clergy during the conquest and thereafter. As early as the end of the eighth century their liturgy was performed in Arabic. Furthermore, their intellectuals were the quickest to write in Arabic. At the beginning of the ninth century, Theodore Abū Qurrah, a Melkite theologian (ca. 755–ca. 830), decided to write in Arabic, even though he knew both Greek and Syriac.83 A generation later he was followed by both a West Syriac (Jacobite) author, Ḥabīb ibn Khidmah Abū Rā᾽iṭah, and East Syriac (“Nestorian”) author, ʽAmmar al-Baṣrī. The dispute that the East Syrian Catholicos Timothy I had with the caliph al-Mahdī (775–785) was held in Arabic, meaning that Arabic had made progress even among the church hierarchy. In the beginning of the Muslim rule, the ratio of the Dhimmī population in the conquered territories versus the Muslim Arabs must have been close to 99.9 % : 0.1 %. 79

HUMPHREYS 2014, 401. Dionysius of Tel-Maḥrē, apud the Chronicle up to 1234, transl. PALMER 1993, 209. 81 HUMPHREYS 1910, 530. 82 Ibid., 531. 83 GRIFFITH 2008, 59–62. 80

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The real rate of the conversion of the Dhimmīs to Islam is, of course, unknown, yet some attempts to calculate it have been made. An influential assessment of Islamization, based on the appearance of Muslim names in the genealogies of certain families in Iran, was presented by R.W. Bulliet in 1979.84 However, Michael G. Morony has shown how uncertain Bulliet’s calculations regarding conversion were.85 Consequently, a new, simple statistical assessment may be useful in this context. Due to the recent events in the Near East, including the so-called Arab Spring and the catastrophe wrought on the Syriacs by ISIS, the ratio of Christians versus Muslims in Syria and Iraq is, for the time being, impossible to assess. However, a much more moderate demographic process, without revolutionary leaps due to major waves of persecutions or civil wars, can be observed in Egypt, and it is admitted that today the ratio of the Muslims to Copts is about 90 % : 10 %. Thus, just for a very rough orientation, we may assume that the pace at which the Christian substrate diminished under the Islamic power may amount to something like 6.5 % per century, which does not seem to be too far from the truth. Admittedly, there were periods when the process of conversion was more rapid and periods when it was slower. Even if the reign of AlḤākim (1004–1021), who was very harsh against the Dhimmīs, is included, we note that in Egypt there were no major genocidal attacks on the Christians that could be compared to the so-called “Seyfo,” the genocide of the Syriacs perpetrated by the Turks and Kurds in 1915 and the following years, in which 47 % (!) of the Syriacs, belonging to all the Syriac-speaking churches, perished.86 The “pogroms” of the Copts in recent years, the deadly attacks on churches, and so on, by the Iḫwān al-Muslimūn – the Muslim Brotherhood, is nothing new to Egypt. Therefore the pace of conversion at 6.5 % per century could be admitted as a “natural,” occasional persecutions or pogroms taken into consideration. It is of course a rather uncertain approximation, but given the serious lack of statistical sources – a situation that will change only in Ottoman Empire – it seems to be acceptable, faute de mieux, as a rough assessment. Consequently, a similar rate of Islamization of the Christian population for Aramea may then also be accepted. Many historians are inclined to believe, although without clear arguments, that the proportion of Christian vs. Muslim population in the Near East was tipped for the Muslim majority in the epoch of the Crusades. However, if we apply the “Egyptian” rate of conversion as calculated above, then the Christian: Muslim ratio, at the time when Saladin captured Jerusalem (1187, i.e., circa five and a half centuries after the Arab Muslim conquest) could very well have been estimated to 64 % : 36 % (6.5 % × 5.5 centuries), that is the Syriacs would have been still quite a substantial majority. The Christian Arab tribes survived until the tenth century. The Banū Tanūkh were forced to embrace Islam about 780 87, whereas the last bishop for the Taghlibites is known to have been ordained by Syrian Orthodox Patriarch, John IV, whose pontifi84

BULLIET 1979. MORONY 1990, 135–50. 86 According to the calculations by David Gaunt, GAUNT 2006, 200–72. The Seyfo was a parallel, although less known, phenomenon contemporary with the genocide of the Armenians of Turkey. 87 CHABOT 1899–1924, 478a and f / tr. III, 1. 85

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cate occupied the years 910–922.88 The longevity of genuine pre-Islamic Arab Christianity is worthy of note, since according to the sunna – the Muslim traditions of the Prophet, Arabs were not allowed to be adherents of any other religion but Islam.89 So is it stated in the speech of Caliph Al-Walīd (705–715) to Shamʽalla, the chief of the Christian tribe of Taghlibites: Inasmuch as thou art the chief of Arabs, thou disgracest all of them when thou dost worship the Cross. 90 Therefore do what I wish and become a Muslim.

Non-Arab Christians, including the Syriacs, were not put under such pressure to convert except in some salient, but sporadic cases.91 This does not mean, however, that there were no periodical violent attacks on the Dhimmīs, but these were not systematic and were seldom organized or prompted by the Muslims authorities. Having said that, the prevailing attitude that was informed by the Covenant of ʽUmar almost guaranteed that there would be outbursts of Muslim hatred against the Christians and other Dhimmīs, not unlike the recent case of the Yazidis who were on the verge of extinction at the hands of ISIS. The Qur’ān itself is rather indecisive regarding attitudes towards Christians. For instance, Sura 5:85 (82) exhorts the Muslim believer to heed the following: … and thou wilt surely find the nearest of them in love to the believers are those who say “We are 92 Christians.”

But in another place, Sura 9:30, the opinion expressed with respect to Christians is somewhat different: The Christians say: “The Messiah is the son of God.” That is the utterance of their mouth, conforming 93 with the unbelievers before them. God assail them! How they are perverted!

Consequently, the legal status of Christians was subject to varying interpretations of these statements in the Qur’ān. Conversion once effectuated, was irrevocable: a relapse to the former faith was punished by death. However, modern research has shown that initially the rule that apostasy from Islam was always followed by capital punishment had not yet won general acceptance. Uriel Simonsohn who has studied the legal sources, including both the ecclesiastical legislation of the Syriac churches and the Rabbinic responsa, found that conversion to Islam was – at least in the first two centuries of Islam – a rather undramatic event. This claim is supported by not infrequent cases of converts to Islam returning back to Christianity or Judaism. This pattern of conversion and then returning to one’s original faith was the reason why the legal-religious authorities of the two religions had to decide how to deal with these returning converts. There were also cases where one half of a married couple converted and the other did not. This created 88

Ibid., 758 / tr. III, 462, no. 17. TRITTON 1930, 92. 90 CHABOT 1899–1924, 451c, 27–30 / tr. II, 481. 91 NOTH 1978, 190–91. 92 ARBERRY 1955, Vol. I, 141. 93 Ibid., 210. 89

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problem with respect to inheritance, an issue which again had to be regulated by the religious authorities of the Dhimmīs.94 Nevertheless, the idea that apostasy regarding Islam should be punished by death quite quickly became the common conviction among the Muslims. This was the case despite the fact that the Qur’ān, although condemning apostasy, does not impose the capital punishment. In C.C. Sahner’s collection of hagiographical sources, instances where Muslims of Christian background who converted back to the Christian faith, or were supposed to have converted back, and therefore were killed, are not infrequent.95 However, on the whole, such cases were rather rare. Most of the conversions to Islam were triggered by socio-economic reasons, such as in response to the extortions that the Zuqnin chronicler, quoted above,96 complained. This fact seems to have been clear to Muslim intellectuals. In this context, it is with interest that we refer to a rare testimony of a reverted conversion, that of Muslims to Christianity, outside the realm of Islam. When the Byzantine Emperor John Tzimiskes (969–976), having defeated Sayf al-Dawla (the founder of the Ḥamdānid dynasty ruling northern Syria with Aleppo as the capital) and his army in 964–965, recaptured Cilicia, much of the population of the region was Muslim. In his report of the situation, Muḥammad ibn Ḥawqal, the famous geographer, projected his understanding of the conversion process of the Dhimmīs in the Caliphate with respect to the Muslims in the opposite situation. Writing in circa 980 in his Kitāb ṣurat al-arḍ – The Configuration of the Earth, he observes that: Many are now under Byzantine rule; compelled to live in humiliation and pay a heavy capitation, it 97 cannot be long before they give up their religion and go over to Christianity.

X. Resistance There was not much that Dhimmīs could do to defend themselves against the onslaughts of the Muslims, except to offer passive resistance by holding on to their faith and communal traditions. Yet the resilience of both the Christian and Jewish groups is impressive, as both have survived until the present day, surviving for nearly 1400 years of living under Islam. The Samaritans have done the same (even though in not such impressive numbers), and also the Mandaeans and the Zoroastrians, the latter even in Iran itself, not only in India (Parsis). The only military attempts at liberation from Islamic rule are known to take place in the nineteenth century, among the European Christian nations, that had lived under Turkish Ottoman dominion, starting with the Greek uprising at the beginning of the nineteenth century that resulted in the independence of Greece in 1822.

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SIMONSOHN 2013, 647–62. SAHNER 2018. 96 CHABOT 1933, 381:18–20 (my transl.); see p. 291 above. 97 Humphreys’ transl., HUMPHREYS 2010, 539, from IBN HAWQAL 1938, 187–89. French transl. in IDEM 1964, tome I, 186. 95

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As far as the Syriacs are concerned, no such uprisings were ever attempted, except perhaps during the Maronite peasant resurrection in 1860, which was pacified by the Druzes. However, one should not forget the successful defense of the villages ʽAinwardo, Ḥaḥ, and Azakh in Tur Abdin, during the Seyfo genocide (1915). All the above-mentioned cases of military resistance belong to the modern epoch:98 at the beginning of the Muslim era, the Syriacs did not provide such resistance. The ecclesiastical authorities of the various Syriac Christian churches enjoyed the economic and religious internal autonomy that they had (periodically, the church hierarchies and monks were even exempted from paying taxes). This also included legal autonomy with respect to civil matters. The Syriac Churches could pass their own laws, albeit restricted to civil legal issues, such as marriages, hereditary matters, etc., that were to be adhered to by only the members of the respective churches. Using this legal approach, they tried to close at least one way of Islamization by forbidding mixed marriages, because such marriages nearly always led to conversion of the Christian wife (and the Christian children that the couple might have).99 The Syriac Churches also invoked canonical legislation in an attempt to forbid their members from appealing to Islamic courts, which occurred when one of the litigating parties was not satisfied with the decision of the ecclesiastical court. On the intellectual level, several apologetic treatises were composed in which Islamic attacks on Christianity were refuted. In these works “disputes” between Christians and Muslims were described, although it is not certain if these actually took place (contrary to certain Jewish–Christian disputes that took place in the Mediaeval Spain, for example). Instead, the accounts of such disputes can only be taken as literary devices in which arguments were collected against Muslim attempts to attack Christianity on the intellectual level.100 For the same purpose, apocalyptic literature was used, more or less consciously. The most famous apocalyptic composition was the Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodios, composed in between the 680s–690s. It was addressed to Syriacs apparently considering conversion, reminding them that the “end of the world” was approaching and therefore there was no point in them committing apostasy. However, it was impossible to stop the Islamization process completely. When the Syriacs began to understand that the Arabs were in Aramea to stay, the process of Islamization acquired momentum. This process was enhanced by certain symbolic acts of marking the new era of Muslim supremacy, of which the most spectacular was the construction of the Dome of the Rock (Qubbat al-Sakhra) in Jerusalem in 692, following the order of ʽAbd al-Malīk. This edifice was a clear sign that a new religion has now replaced, or at least gained 98

One has to bear in mind that after the epoch of Tanzimat in Turkey (1839–78), when the country was making large steps towards modernization, Dhimmīs began to be drafted for military service. At least some of the defenders of Ainwardo and other villages were probably previously trained in the Turkish army. 99 No case of a Christian man marrying a Muslim woman is known, as it was not allowed by the Muslims. 100 GRIFFITH 2008, 45–105.

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the upper hand over, all the older ones. Another such act occurred when Al-Walīd, ʽAbd al-Malīk’s son and successor (705–715), had the Great Mosque in Damascus erected in the place of the Church of St. John the Baptist. The church was destroyed, but the masonry was partly reused in building the mosque. The parallel process to Islamization, namely that of linguistic Arabization, was much less dangerous to the survival of the Syriac churches and their communities. Most often, Arabization preceded Islamization. Only one case of Islamization without Arabization is known: it is the case of two villages, Jubb‘adīn and Bakh‘a, north-east of Damascus, in the Anti-Lebanon, whose inhabitants are Muslims but they still speak Aramaic. In fact, a modern Western Aramaic dialect, not Syriac (which is an Eastern Aramaic language) is spoken there today.101

XI. Conclusion In summary, the situation of the Syriacs after the Arab Muslim conquest changed rather slowly during the first three centuries, i.e., when they moved from the state in which they had lived under Byzantine rule to the state in which they fully understood their role as the conquered population of Dhimmīs – as inhabitants of a land, granted only an inferior stature. This period may be divided into three distinct phases. 1: The first phase (if we disregard the years of the conquest itself), is that of the first Four Caliphs and the early Umayyads. This period is best demonstrated by the rule of Caliph Muʽāwiyah (661–680): the Syriacs, with the exception of the Melkites, probably felt more comfortable with this ruler than under Byzantine rule. The peace that ruled during his reign was perceived as a bliss, and since the caliph showed them respect by honoring both the places of their worship, as well as their role in the administrative and economic system which the Omayyads had inherited from the ancien régime,102 and while they were not exposed to any direct threat, including overt pressure to convert, they might have developed quite a positive attitude towards the political structure that the caliphate instantiated. 2: The second phase is characterized by a gradual reversal of Mu‘āwiya’s attitude towards Dhimmīs, starting with the reign of ʽAbd al-Malīk (685–705). This change can be interpreted as an effect of the caliphs feeling safe and strong in their position as the rulers of a vast empire that stretched from the Indus to the Atlantic. This period is characterized by the caliphate’s need to reconfirm itself in terms of its own Muslim Arab identity. Maintaining the Byzantine administration system with Greek files began to be felt obsolete, whereas its Arabization felt natural and necessary. Consequently, hundreds of Dhimmī clerks automatically became redundant, even though many of them were already able to use Arabic. The Arabization and 101

Incidentally, this dialect (and those of two other Christian villages) is the closest living language to the language that was spoken by Jesus, i.e., Galilean Aramaic, belonging to the Western Aramaic group. 102 WIET 1953–54, 63–71.

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Islamization of the countryside were seriously enhanced by the settlement of Arab tribes, particularly in the regions close to Byzantine frontier. By this time the currency had now turned clearly Arabic, not just post-Byzantine. Simultaneously, the fiscal regime over the population tightened, with the implementation of poll tax – jizya – required from Non-Muslims. Symbolically, the domination of Islam over the older religions of the region was shown by the erection of the Dome of the Rock (691–692 on the order of ʽAbd al-Malīk) located directly on the holy place of both Judaism and Christianity. Such a manifestation of the power of the god of the Muslims, who apparently gave them victory over the Christian Empire and Persia, could not be misunderstood by the Dhimmīs. This phase did not involve significant persecutions of Dhimmīs, only an expression of the Muslims’ tour de force. 3: The third phase, which can be delineated to the beginning of the ninth century onwards, was characterized by growing anti-Dhimmī feelings among the militarypolitical elite, evinced by the destruction of churches, as a sort of compensation after military failures during the Byzantine Reconquista, but also before it. Furthermore, Muslim intellectuals, particularly lawyers and ‘ulama, as well as the populace, also expressed anti-Dhimmī sentiment. It is then that earlier attempts of codifying the rules for the “proper” behavior of Dhimmīs grew into a generally accepted document known as the Pact of ‘Umar. This finalized the legislative work of the lawyers, thereby reducing Dhimmīs to a position of subordination: people of the second category. The ġhiyar rules, which had the purpose of visualizing the apartheid of the first category citizens from the second, took root among the broad masses of Muslims. These and the rest of the rules of the Pact of ‘Umar inculcated in the people a mental attitude which allowed them to regard Dhimmīs as a lower cast. This attitude could then be exploited in the future by the authorities, whenever they found it expedient for their political or other purposes, including the horrendous case of the Seyfo.

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The Treatment of Christian Denominations in the Republic of Turkey Tessa Hofmann I. Background of Recent Developments: The Ottoman Genocide(s) During the last decade of Ottoman rule over Anatolia and Mesopotamia, i.e. during 1912–22, more than three million Christians perished during massacres, forced deportations, and forced labor in Ottoman territories and in the twice-Ottoman occupied Northwest of Iran. The period in question was characterized by the transition from a destabilized multi-ethnic and multi-religious monarchy to a mono-ethnic Turkish Republic under the leadership of Mustafa Kemal. The main drivers for the destabilization and eventual collapse of Ottoman rule were: – Modern-style Western European nationalism (since the nineteenth century): Multinational states such as the Ottoman and Russian Empires, or Austria-Hungary, were now perceived as “prisons of nations,” which in the interest of domestic and international stability ought to be replaced by ethnically uniform nation-states. In population policies, this caused the ethno-nationalism and homoethnization. – Liberation and independence struggles in the Ottoman territories of Southeastern Europe (Serbia 1804–78; Greece 1821/29–1912; Bulgaria 1876–1908; Albania 1911/2) triggered the massive flight, expulsion, and resettlement of Muslim populaces in predominantly non-Muslim areas of the Ottoman territories. They also elicited Ottoman retaliation acts and the “clash of nationalisms,” when the emancipatory nationalism (of the liberation movements) met the reactive and reactionary nationalism of the ruling Ottoman Muslim elites. – Russian-Ottoman Antagonism during the period from 1578–1878 caused eleven wars in three centuries; with the exception of the Crimean War, the Ottoman Empire was defeated in all these wars. – Repeated military defeat and loss of Ottoman territories triggered the immigration of five to seven million Muslim refugees into the Ottoman Empire.1 The failure of the victorious allies of the Great War to prosecute those responsible for the genocide2 against the Ottoman Armenians, Greeks, and Syriacs, to safeguard

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security for the remaining Christians and to compensate surviving victims of state confiscations encouraged further crimes by the rebel nationalist regime of Mustafa Kemal during 1919–22. All these factors put together resulted in the destruction of the largest Christian denomination of the Ottoman Empire, the Greek Orthodox Christians.

II. In the Turkish Republic: The Legal Situation The two Treaties of Lausanne (30 January and 24 July 1923) acknowledged in retrospect the situations that had been established by the successive regimes of the socalled Young Turks and the Kemalists from 1912 to 1922. Although the multilateral Lausanne Treaty of 24 July 1923 included religious and cultural safeguards for Turkey’s non-Muslim minorities, these were soon violated. Essentially, the safeguards proved incompatible with the legal definitions of the Turkish nation and of Turkishness, as given in Turkey’s constitution. The Turkish constitution does not refer to minorities, but starts from a monistically defined nation.3 With regard to the protection of minorities, only Article 10 is of importance. This article ensures equal rights and protection against discrimination, irrespective of language, race, color, sex, political and other beliefs, and religious or sectarian affiliations. Otherwise, there are no separate laws on minority protection, let alone any anti-discrimination law. Article three (1) of the Constitution reads: “The Turkish State, the country and the people of Turkey are an indivisible whole, and the language is Turkish.” In this short formulation, there are two issues that contradict the pluralistic reality of Turkey, democratic principles, and even Turkish laws. For one thing, the Constitution constructs an “indivisible people” and a monistic state, which excludes any ethnic, religious, and individual differences from the outset; secondly, the Constitution recognizes Turkish alone as the national language.

2 As early as 24 May 1915, the Entente states and war enemies of the Ottoman Empire, Great Britain, France, and Russia evaluated the massacres against the Ottoman Armenians as “crimes against humanity civilization,” threatening the Ottoman government “that they will hold personally responsible [for] these crimes all members of the Ottoman government and those of their agents who are implicated in such massacres.” (https://www.armenian-genocide.org/Affirmation.160/current_ category.7/offset.50/ affirmation_detail.html. [Last retrieved March 16, 2019]). Raphael Lemkin (2013, 141), the initiator and main author of the UN Convention for the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (1948), described the genocide against the Armenians as “religious genocide.” Together with the Shoah and other crimes by Nazi Germany during WWII, the Ottoman genocide(s) of WWI and its aftermath form the empirical base of genocide definition in the UN Convention which remains the only internationally binding definition of this particular “atrocity crime.” Today, there exists a wealth of academic and more general literature on the genocide against the Ottoman Armenians and, to a lesser degree, on the extermination of Ottoman Greeks and Ottoman and Iranian Syriacs. To name a few more recent publications: FALTAITS 2016; FOTIADIS 2004; HALO 2001; HOFMANN 2004; HOFMANN/BJØRNLUND/MEICHANETSIDIS 2011; MALKIDIS 2008; MILTON 2008; SHIRINIAN 2012; IDEM 2016; IDEM 2019. 3 For a comprehensive analysis of Turkish minority law, see JACOB 2017, a dissertation on Turkey’s jurisprudence.

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The Turkish party law resulting from this constitution correspondingly prohibits party-political publications or speeches in any language other than Turkish, thus also contradicting the international treaty of Lausanne of 1923, which, as the founding treaty of the republic, has achieved almost sacred status. Although the Lausanne treaty recognizes only non-Muslims as religious minorities, it guarantees in Art. 39 (4) the absolute freedom of the various languages, implicitly also of the Kurdish language. Contrary to this, Turkey’s party law prohibits political activities based on the demand for minority rights. Article 81 of this law is intended to “prevent the creation of minorities” and prohibits political parties from stating that “in the Turkish Republic minorities exist on national, religious, denominational, racial or linguistic otherness.” Numerous political parties in Turkey have been accused of violating this particular law. As the European Court of Human Rights stated, Turkey’s party law violates Article 11 of the Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities (1995) of the Council of Europe. In implicit continuity of Ottoman practices, in Turkish legal practice there exist only religious minorities, including Jews, and Armenian and Greek Orthodox Christians. Millions of Muslim ethnic or linguistic groups, including up to 15 million Kurds, more than three million North Caucasians, more than one million Bosnians, half a million Laz people, and the usually Muslim Gypsies, are denied any recognition as a community with distinctive cultural and linguistic identity.4 Turkey’s legal practice violates numerous international agreements and legislation, granting collective as well as individual protective rights to minorities, such as: – The United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948); – The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Persons Belonging to National, Religious, and Linguistic Minorities (1992, UNDM); – The Council of Europe Convention on Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms (1950, amended 1970, 2010);

4 However, in her 2013 monograph, Turkish scholar Derya Bayır rather optimistically characterizes the Turkish state’s political discourse since the 2000s as including “important changes” and refers to, as examples of such developments, “ recognition of the ‘Kurdish reality’ and the recent series of workshops (çahçtay) with the aim of determining the problems of Alevis and Roma in Turkey.” She further notes:

“Moreover, there have even been some legal changes to this end, for example, allowing the establishment of ethno-religious associations to be opened, return of the properties of non-Muslim foundations unlawfully acquired by the state, and accommodating some minority languages since 2000, for instance, allowing the teaching of some minority languages in private courses and broadcasting in these languages. It may be said that after almost 90 years of denial of diversity in the country, Turkish political discourse has reached a stage of selective recognition of the reality of some diverse groups. The actual situation is termed ‘selective recognition’ because the reality of only certain groups is entitled to recognition. Thus, while Kurds, Roma, Alevis, and so on, to a certain extent are accorded recognition. Further, recognition of the reality of some groups has been conditioned upon the compatibility of their differences with the majority’s perceptions. For instance, because of presumed incompatibility with Islamic theology, the Alevis’ congregational places are still not recognized as religious places.” BAYıR 2013, 2–3 (file:///C:/Users/LSAVVI~1/AppData/Local/Temp/DERYA_BAYIR_MINORITIES_ AND_NATI-ONALISM_I.pdf. [Last retrieved March 16, 2019]).

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– European Charter for Regional and Minority Languages of the Council of Europe (1992); – The Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities of the Council of Europe (FCNM, 1995); – The OSCE Copenhagen Final Document (1990), which unanimously established the rights of minorities in the territory of the member states. Turkey is a member of the United Nations, the OSCE, and the Council of Europe. Despite those minority protection agreements of the abovementioned international associations, which it signed, Turkey has constantly violated or does not comply with them. Other agreements, such as the Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities of the Council of Europe, it did not even sign. Article 27 of the International Convention on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), which is relevant to the rights of minorities, Turkey applies only to those three above-mentioned nonMuslim minorities, which it interprets as objects of the Lausanne Agreement.

III. Deprivation of Nationality, Further Deportations, Assimilation As British historian Christopher Walker writes, “the Pontic Greeks (in Trebizond province) were savagely persecuted in the years 1922–24, until the community was virtually wiped out; and as a spin-off of their persecution Armenians were subjected to renewed attacks.”5 Since the early 1920’s a series of laws and regulations has governed the return of Ottoman Christians as well as questions relating to their properties. These laws were aimed at impeding or preventing their return into Turkey. At the Lausanne Conference, “the Turkish side furiously refused a national home for Armenians, where they could live and maintain their race, language, and culture, under the rule of a Turkish governor-general within Turkish sovereignty. As a direct consequence of this refusal, the Turkish government would not accept any undertaking to accept the return of the Armenian refugees from the First World War. (…) All these efforts by the Turkish delegation were made in order to actualize a more homogenous population in line with their nation-state ideal. However, the Lausanne Treaty was not the only measure taken along these lines. The Republic also attempted to realize that ideal through the various denationalization laws which came into force in the second half of the 1920s and which almost completely excluded the return of the non-Muslim subjects of the Ottoman Empire who had fled the country during the war. The most vulnerable ones in this sense were the Armenians”6 A law adopted as early as September 1923 states that no Armenian who had emigrated from Cilicia and the “Eastern Provinces” could return to Turkey. A second law of 23 May 1927 stated that all citizens who had not participated in the Liberation War and had not returned to Turkey between 24 July 1923 and the law’s announcement, 5 6

WALKER 1980, 345. BAYıR 2013, 83.

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would be denied their citizenship. In August 1926, the Turkish government announced that it would retain all property seized before 6 August 1924. This related mainly to the property seized by the Unionist wartime junta from deported Armenians, which, according to official announcements, had been registered and safeguarded by the state for the deportees. Christian peasants, who had survived deportation and later ventured to return to their village of origin, found that Muslims had occupied their farms and threatened to kill them if they insisted on the return of their property, although the post-War Ottoman government announced the restitution of confiscated properties to their righteous owners.7 Deportation and expulsion remained a frequently used method in republican Turkey’s ethnic and religious policies. During the summer of 1929 and the following months, as Christopher Walker put it, “new deportations of the sad remnant of Armenian peasants and artisans, living on the fringes of the ancient home country of Turkish-Armenia, were set in motion.”8 Walker further details the event as follows: At that time altogether 30,000 Armenians were banished. In a dispatch, dated Aleppo, 14 November 1929, British consul A. Monck-Mason reported that refugees had been arriving continually for the preceding six months from the regions of Kharput, Diyarbakır and Mardin. In his opinion, “the settled policy of the Turkish government seems to be to get rid of all Christian elements in the distant Anatolian provinces by all means short of absolute massacres (…).” Aleppo, he continues, has been the sanctuary for the daily caravans of Armenians. “Whole families are sick, and nearly all are absolutely destitute.” He quotes an Armenian from Kharput saying: “in Turkey today we have no means of existence; we are persecuted, robbed, ill-treated, thrown into prison, judged, and, if we are lucky, deported.” Bombs had been thrown into churches, and the Armenian bishop of Diyarbakır murdered by seven drunken soldiers. Estimates of those expelled in the 1929–30 deportations put the number at 30,000.9

In regions where Christian survivors managed to return after 1915, they were confronted with the intolerance and greed of Muslim majorities, which led to a creeping process of forced assimilation or expulsion. In Sasun, for example, most Armenian villages were destroyed after 1915 and the population was forcibly resettled to West Anatolia (Ikinci Ferman – “Second [Deportations] Edict”)10 in the course of the prostration of a Kurdish uprising (1925–37), together with Kurds and Arabs. The threat of the officials to transfer them to the Kütahya concentration camp drove hundreds of Sasun Armenians to a change of faith.11 A similar effect was had in 1961 by the temporary arrest of Armenian tribesmen in Urfa, who were locked there for days in a cage until their personal data and fingerprints were registered; allegedly 3,000 cryptoChristians, however, were still living in that city.12 Only the registry offices know more exactly, where every change of faith has to be registered and, as it became known by chance in 2013, coded registers of ethno-religious affiliations are kept. Attempts by Armenians to reorganize themselves and cultivate their land failed in the 7

KOUTCHARIAN 1989, 172; LANG/WALKER 1977, 15. WALKER 1980, 348. 9 Ibid. 10 HADJIAN 2018, 27. 11 Ibid., 19. 12 Ibid., 379. 8

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long term, as the fate of the Sasun village Argint (Turkish Acar, Kurdish Herend) shows: surrounded and threatened by their Kurdish neighbors, Argint’s remaining 30 households decided in 1964 to convert to Islam, of which even the daily Hürriyet reported on 7 April 1964. However, in the same year, the Kurds indiscriminately burned down the wheat fields of the Armenians, Islam, or not. Thanks to the intervention of Demirel and the Turkish military, those temporarily fled to Diyarbakır reverted to Argint in 1965 and stayed another 20 years, until village leader Isa capitulated in 1985 to the impoverishment and emigration of the youth, sold the entire property and “evacuated” the remaining inhabitants to Istanbul, so that the youth there could be taught at Armenian schools – however at the price of their final loss of homeland.

IV. 1942 Discriminatory Tax Law After the occupation of Greece by Nazi Germany, parts of the ascending elites in adjacent Turkey showed increasing sympathy for the Nazis and their discriminative racial policies.13 On 12 November 1942, an additional tax was introduced on the basis of law 4305.14 “The law was very simple to apply. It had only two tax classes, one for Muslims and one for non-Muslims. Other regulations were not foreseen.”15 This religiously selective law concerned 4 to 5 thousand of an estimated 28,000 Armenians, Greeks, Jews, and even Dönme (Jews or Christians converted to Islam), the Armenians being affected by the highest taxes. Those who could not pay up were exiled or condemned to forced labor in “Turkey’s Siberia,” namely in the quarries of Aşkale near Erzurum, where 21 forced laborers died. According to Turkey’s Head of Government at that time, Şükrü Saracoğlu, the tax did not aim to finance war costs, but to help Turkify the economy, as only 8,000 of the 19,000 firms registered in Istanbul at the time belonged to Turkish Muslims. The “property tax” was repealed on 15 March 1944 after the country had collected more than six billion current Turkish pounds (approximately 921 million EUR).16

V. Forced Expatriation of Greek Orthodox Christians In all periods of foreign political crises during the second half of the twentieth century, members of non-Muslim communities who did not possess Turkish citizenship were threatened with deportation. Thus, at the height of Greek-Turkish tensions over Cyprus in 1964, Turkey applied a law from the 1950s, which annulled the residence permits of 20,000 Greeks, many of whom were married to Turkish nationals and owned real estate in Turkey. They had to leave Turkey within a few days and could only leave with 20 kilograms of baggage and 20 Turkish Lira. 13

WERTMÜLLER 2004, 12–19, in particular 16–17. ÖKTE 1987. 15 ASDERIS 2018, 187. 16 HOFMANN 2002, 16. 14

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With 2.7 million Greek Orthodox Christians had been the largest church-nation or millet during late Ottoman times, comprising not only ethnic Greeks but all people of Orthodox Byzantine belief (romyi). In the year 1946, a “Report on Minorities,” prepared by the 9th Bureau of ruling nationalist (Kemalist) CHP party and responsible for minorities, made it very clear that the descendants of the erstwhile “Romans” or rumlar in Turkish were still seen as threatening state security, at least in the previous Ottoman capital Istanbul: We should take serious measures against the Greeks, especially in Istanbul. There is only one sentence to be said in this context: there should not be a single Greek in this city until the 500th anniversary of the conquest of Istanbul. According to the report, the rest of Anatolia should be free of nonMuslims before the solution to this problem.17

On 6 September 1955, false reports of alleged bomb attacks on Mustafa Kemal’s birth house, which is a protected museum in the second largest Greek city of Thessaloniki, provoked pogroms in Istanbul and Izmir, where angry mobs attacked Greek private and church properties under the slogan “first the property, then the blood!”18 As a kind of collateral damage, Armenian and Jewish properties, churches, synagogues, cemeteries, schools, and business premises suffered as well. The Septembriana, as the pogrom or “Crystal Night of Istanbul” is called in Greek language, started the exodus of Turkey’s Christian communities to Greece, Central Europe, and Scandinavia. Chart 1: Denominational composition of the Christian communities in Turkey Armenian Apostolic (Orthodox) Armenian Uniates

18% 1%

Armenian Protestants

0% Greek Orthodox

1%

Syriac Orthodox

4% 0%

Syriac Catholics

2%

65%

1% 8%

Chaldeans Converted to Christianity Roman Catholics Christian migrants

17

“Minority Report” (Azınlık[lar] Raporu) of the 9th Bureau of Republican People’s Party (Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi – CHP), Ankara 1946, quoted from HÜR 2012 (http://www.agos. com.tr/tr/yazi/347/ayse-hur-quot-cumhuriyetin-azinlik-raporu-quot [Last retrieved 20 March 2019]). 18 VRYONIS 2005; GÜVEN 2005; DE ZAYAS 2007; AĞıR 2014.

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VI. Immigration and Deportation Threats In the late twentieth century, Turkey became a country of immigration again. With the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, the residents of neighboring Armenia gained their freedom of mobility. A further driver of massive Armenian migration was the profound impoverishment of their post-socialist homeland. More recently, Armenian labor migrants from post-Soviet territories and in particular from the area hit by the earthquake of 1988, found themselves in a hostage position in Turkey.19 When the House of Representatives of the USA debated in October 2000 over a resolution about the genocide against the Armenians, the politician Tansu Ciller called for the deportation of allegedly 30,000 Armenian residents in Turkey without Turkish citizenship. Ever since Armenian migrants were similarly threatened with deportation when a foreign parliament issued resolutions or even laws on the genocide against the Armenians. But while Ciller spoke as a leader of the parliamentary opposition, the head of the Islamist AKP party that has ruled since 2002 spoke as the head of government. In March 2010, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan reacted to the genocide, affirming resolutions of the Foreign Affairs Committee of the US House of Representatives and the Swedish Parliament with an announcement to deport the undocumented Armenian immigrants from Turkey, whose number he inflated to nearly 100,000 instead of the probable 14,000 Armenian labor migrants.20 Despite all the media and social protests against Erdoğan’s threat of deportation according to a 2010 survey, almost half of the respondents – 48.8% – agreed with their head of government’s view that “illegal” Armenian workers should be deported; only 33.9% opposed. A critical comment to the survey results emphasized that the percentage of deportation supporters was about as high as the share of Erdoğan’s AKP of the vote in the last general elections (47%). In recent years, the right-wing politician Mustafa Destici repeatedly articulated deportation demands.21

VII. Restrictive Church Policies Numerous restrictions were imposed on the Ecumenical and the Armenian Apostolic Patriarchates throughout the republican Turkish era, undermining the provisions of the Lausanne Treaty. The chronic shortage of priests is mainly caused by the closure of all theological universities in Turkey in 1969. However, whereas the Muslim universities were later allowed to reopen, the Armenian (Dprevank) and the Greek-Orthodox theological universities on the Chalkis Island (Heybeliada) remained closed. Armenian 19

Cf. the results of an international research project on out-migration from Armenia and Georgia, conducted during 2008–2012, see SAVVIDIS 2009 (https://www.academia.edu/10893795/International Migration_Local_Conditions_and_Effects [Last retrieved 20 March 2019]); GENOV/SAVVIDIS 2011. 20 http://www.aga-online.org/news/detail.php?locale=en&newsId=364. (Last retrieved March 20, 2019). 21 JEAN YACKLEY 2019 ( https://eurasianet.org/rightwing-turkish-politician-calls-for-expulsion-ofarmenian-migrants [Last retrieved March 20, 2019]).

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clergymen who are not Turkish nationals are not allowed to practice in Turkey, while Armenians who are Turkish citizens and attend seminaries abroad run the risk of not being allowed to return to Turkey. Over the decades, the private and self-funded schools of the Greek Orthodox and the Armenian communities in Istanbul were continuously reduced in numbers and more so were the weekly hours of lessons in Greek and Armenian languages. Christian children from outside Istanbul had to provide evidence of their Christian origin, which was frequently difficult, given the tendency of Christian parents to camouflage their ethno-religious affiliations. Because Turkish identity cards contain the religion of the holder, Armenians and Syriacs from rural areas camouflaged themselves as Muslims.

VIII. Ottoman and Republican Turkification Policies When in 1934 Turkey adopted a surname law modeled after the Fascist Italianization law of 1926, all nationals of Turkey were compelled to Turkify their surnames or to adopt Turkish surnames if they had not possessed a surname so far. However, the law’s name – Adı Soy Kanunu or Soyadı Kanunu (Race Name Law) “indicated that the legislator wanted to enjoin the adoption of names signifying a person’s racial background.”22 Despite this initial intention, the Soyadı Kanunu stipulated that second names must not relate to tribes, foreign races, or ethnicities, which caused Armenians to change the typical ending “-ian” into Turkish “-oğlu,” while Greeks had to change the typical endings of “-is,” “-dis,” “-opoulos,” or “-aki” in the same way. Kurds and Syriacs had to give up their tribal names and to adopt Turkish surnames. Successive Ottoman and Republican Turkish governments Turkified toponyms, in particular in the Eastern provinces and at the coast of the eastern Black Sea, in order to manipulate the collective memory. As early as 1880 and under the reign of Sultan Abdülhamit II, the regional toponym Armenia had been banned from use in the press, schoolbooks, and governmental establishments, to be replaced with Anatolia or Kurdistan. According to D. Bayır: The “Turkification” of place names was first anticipated by the ÎTC (Ittihat ve Terraki CemiyetiCommittee for Union and Progress, alias Young Turks; TH) in 1915 in line with the agenda of the Balkan nationalist movements. It reappeared six years later before the TBMM as a draft Law on Changing Non-National (Gayrı Milli) Village and City Names, based on lists already prepared by the İTC during the First World War. The draft proposed the replacement of those village, town, city and port names irreconcilable with ‘Islam and Turkishness’ (İslamiyet ve Türklük) with ‘national and historical’ names.23

22 23

BAYıR 2013, 104. Ibid., 105–106.

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In the Turkish Republic, Turkification practices remained regional during the 1920s and 1930s: for example, Artvin, Hatay – previously the Sancak of Alexandretta – and Dersim. Bayır succinctly describes the escalation of “Turkification” policy as follows: The changing of places names became official with Circular no. 8589 of the Ministry of Internal Affairs (MoIA) in 1940 by which foreign-language or original place names were to be substituted with Turkish names (Türkçe isim). In fact, many place names had already been changed through administrative decisions. Following the 1940 circular, provincial governors were asked to prepare lists, which contained non-Turkish place names, although the policy could not be applied immediately because of the Second World War. Finally, in 1949, the changing of place names obtained a legal basis with Law no. 5442,77 article 2(D).24

In 1952, a Special Commission for Name Change (Ad Değiştirme İhtisas Kurulu) was established, that claimed in 1978 to have officially renamed 28,000 toponyms; 12,211 of these changes related to towns and villages, the remainder to mountains and rivers. The renaming of toponyms included also Turkish toponyms. The Turkish journalist and writer Ayşe Hür noted that after Mustafa Kemal’s death and during the democratic period of the Turkish Republic in the late 1940s and 1950s, all those names that were allegedly “ugly, demeaning, insulting, or mocking” were changed, even if they were Turkish. Place names that include lexical components such as red (Kızıl), bell (Çan), or church (Kilise) have all been changed. Everything that came with “separatist ideas” and was in Arabic, Persian, Armenian, Kurdish, Georgian, Tatar, Circassian, and Laz languages was likewise changed.25 Turkey’s efforts to join the European Union in the early twenty-first century have led to a decrease of such changes by local, and in particular by the central government. In some cases, legislation has even restored the names of certain villages (primarily those housing Kurdish communities). Through independent study, the Armenian etymologist Sevan Nişanyan estimates that, of the changed toponyms 4,200 were Greek, 4,000 Kurdish, 3,600 Armenian, 750 Arabic, 400 ‘Assyrian’ (Syriac), 300 Georgian, 200 Laz, and 50 others. As the chart below illustrates, the most targeted administrative units were Erzurum, Mardin, and Diyarbakır.

24

Ibid., 106. 28 BİN YERİN İSMİ DEĞİŞTİ, HANGİ İSİM HANGİ DİLE AİT? (Not retrievable anymore) In: KentHaber August 16, 2009: 25

“Ayşe Hür, Demokrat Parti döneminde oluşturulan kurul için şöyle diyor: ‘ Bu çalışmalar sırasında anlamları güzel çağrışımlar uyandırmayan, insanları utandıran, gurur incitici yahut alay edilmesine fırsat tanıyan isimler, Türkçe de olsalar değiştirildi. İçinde “Kızıl”, “Çan”, “Kilise” kelimeleri olan köylerin isimleri ile Arapça, Farsça, Ermenice, Kürtçe, Gürcüce, Tatarca, Çerkezce, Lazca köy isimleri “bölücülüğe meydan vermemek” amacıyla değiştirildi.’ ” Cf. also, BAYıR 2013, 107–108.

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The Treatment of Christian Denominations in Turkey Chart 2: Toponym changes in Turkish provinces Province

Number Province Number Province Number Province Number Province Number

Erzurum

653

Kastamonu

295

Giresun

167

Amasya

99

Denizli

53

Mardin Diyarbakır Van

647 555 415

Gaziantep Tunceli Bingöl

279 273 247

Zonguldak Bursa Ordu

156 136 134

Kütahya Yozgat Afyon

93 90 88

Burdur Niğde Uşak

49 48 47

Sivas Kars

406 398

Tokat Bitlis

245 236

Hakkari Hatay

128 117

Kayseri Manisa

86 83

Isparta Kırşehir

46 39

Siirt Trabzon Şanlıurfa

392 390 389

Konya Adıyaman Malatya

236 224 217

Sakarya Mersin Balıkesir

117 112 110

Çankırı Eskişehir Muğla

76 70 70

Kırklareli Bilecik Kocaeli

35 32 26

Elazığ

383

Ankara

193

Kahraman -maraş

105

Aydın

69

Nevşehir

24

Ağrı Erzincan

374 366

Samsun Bolu

185 182

Rize Çorum

105 103

Izmir Sinop

68 59

Istanbul Edirne

21 20

Gümüşhane Muş

343 297

Adana Antalya

169 168

Artvin

101

Çanakkale

53

Tekirdağ

19

Turkey’s current province of Mardin comprises the heartland of Western Syriacs, the hilly Tur Abdin region. The following chart depicts prominent examples of the Turkification of Aramaic toponyms. Chart 3: Turkification of Aramaic toponyms Aramaic toponym

renamed

Kafrô Taxtaytô Barsomik

Elbeğendi Tütenocak

From Aramaic “Lower Village” Named after the Nestorian Patriarch Bar Sawma

Merdô Aynwardo, I(n)wardo Arbo

Mardin Gülgöze Taşköy

From Aramaic “Fortress/es” From Aramaic “Fountain of Roses” (other translation: “eye of the rose”) From Aramaic “Goat”

Qartmîn Kfargawsô

Yayvantepe Gercüş

From Aramaic “Central Village” From Aramaic “Protected Village”

Kefshenne

Kayalı

Beṯ Zabday

İdil

From Aramaic “Stone of Peace” Named after Babai the Great (Founder of the monastery and school of same name)

Xisna d’Kêpha (Hisno d’Kifo) Zaz Anḥel

Hasankeyf İzbırak Yemişli

Comment

From Aramaic “Stone Fortress”

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The Turkification was not limited to toponyms. A report of Turkey’s Human Rights Association (İnsan Hakları Derneği, İHD) quotes according to BBC News dated 8 March 2005: Turkey has said it is changing the names of three animals found on its territory to remove references to Kurdistan or Armenia. The environment ministry says the Latin names of the red fox, the wild sheep and the roe deer will be altered. The red fox for instance, known as Vulpes Vulpes Kurdistanica, will now be known as Vulpes Vulpes. Turkey has uneasy relations with neighboring Armenia and opposes Kurdish separatists in Turkey. The ministry said the old names were contrary to Turkish unity. “Unfortunately there are many other species in Turkey which were named this way with ill intentions. This ill intent is so obvious that even species only found in our country were given names against Turkey's unity,” a ministry statement quoted by Reuters news agency said. Some Turkish officials say the names are being used to argue that Armenians or Kurds had lived in the areas where the animals were found.26

IX. Syriac Peculiarities Past and Present As the current situation of Christian communities in Turkey is still determined by Ottoman practices, these also explain persistent differences. While most Armenians belong to the Armenian-Apostolic denomination and subsequently to the Ottoman Ermeni millet-i and the Ottoman Rum millet tended to form even a transnational denomination,27 the Aramaic-speaking Christians were divided into more than five denominations at the turn to the twentieth century.28 Under these circumstances, it was difficult for Syriacs to develop a cross-denominational national consciousness. Of all Syriac denominations, only the Syriac Orthodox community has survived the Ottoman genocide on Turkish territories. Until the 1960s, it was the only still existing Christian community outside of Istanbul. There it found itself in a difficult position between the Turkish state and the Kurdish majority population. Very late in Ottoman history, in 1882, the Syriac Orthodox Church gained recognition as a millet after British pressure and became independent from the Armenian Apostolic Patriarchate, to which it had been subordinated together with the other preChalcedonian churches by Sultan Mehmet II since 1461. Similar to the Armenian Apostolic Patriarchate in 1864, the Syriac Orthodox Church in the Ottoman Empire gained a church constitution approved by the Ottoman government in 1913 and with the National Assembly (Turkish Meclis Milli) a kind of internal parliament, in which lay people, in addition to the clergy, were given broad space to influence social pro26

Committee against Racism and Discrimination, Istanbul Branch – Human Rights Association: Review of Minority Rights Environment in Turkey, January–July 2005, 9. (http://www.agaonline.org/news/attachments/IHD%20Bericht%20zu%20Minderheiten.pdf). 27 The Rum millet comprised not only ethnic Greeks, but all Christians of Orthodox (Byzantine) belief, including, for example, Bulgarians, Albanians, and Arabs. 28 The denominational sub-division of Syriacs consisted mainly of the Syriac Orthodox (vulgo “Jacobites”) and the (Old) Apostolic (Assyrian) Catholic Church of the East („Nestorians“); of these, two Uniate churches emerged: the Syriac-Catholic Church (founded 1781) and the Chaldean (Catholic) Church (founded 1552). Furthermore, there were Protestant Syriacs.

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cesses. Regardless of their millet status, Syriac Orthodox Christians in the south of Turkey, where their dioceses were far away from Constantinople/Istanbul, were allowed to regulate their internal civil administration. Presumably, the Patriarchs and Mapherians29 obtained this decree after their enthronement by paying large sums to the emirs. However, Republican Turkey does not treat the Orthodox Syriacs as successors of a former Ottoman millet, unlike Greeks and Armenians; instead, it continues to ignore the legal facts as established between the late Ottoman period of 1882 until 1913. To these historical facts and the rights enshrined in the Lausanne Treaty for all “non-Muslim minorities” refers the request of 1996 by the Syriac Orthodox archdioceses of Tur Abdin and Istanbul to the then President and Prime Minister of Turkey, Demirel, and Ciller, in which they requested that the Syriac Orthodox Church has its status as an independent religious community officially restored in order to ensure legal certainty for the preservation of the cultural and religious identity of Syriac Orthodox Christians.30 Today, Syriac Orthodox Christians are a minority even in Tur Abdin, whereas their community in Turkey comprises overall approximately 19,000 people. From the once numerous monasteries only two are still active, namely Mor Gabriel at Midyat and the Zafaran Monastery. Mor Gabriel is the social and religious center of the archdiocese of Tur Abdin and a place of pilgrimage. With the ordination of the abbot Mor Timotheos Samuel Aktaş as the archbishop in 1995, it became the actual bishop seat of the Tur Abdin (instead of Midyat). In 2007, besides the Bishop, there were three monks, about 15 nuns, 40 disciples, and three families of teachers and workers working in the convent within the monastery walls. In 1997, the governor of the Mardin province issued a ban on the two monasteries of Mor Gabriel and Zafaran to host foreign guests and to teach Aramaic and religious education. Meanwhile, international protests have caused the ban on accommodation to be lifted. However, native-language teaching in Aramaic is still prohibited. In 2008, the Mor Gabriel Monastery was sued by three Kurdish villages for “illegal settlement.” The plaintiffs denied the monks’ claim to the land they had been cultivating for centuries. Currently and in the context of the resulting legal proceedings, the monastery is threatened by state authorities in Turkey by de facto expropriation and dissolution. The plaintiffs are supported by local politicians of the ruling AKP. In May 2009, the monastery obtained a lawsuit from the Midyat Civil Court against the surrounding municipality in terms of administrative boundaries. However, the Court of Cassation in Ankara overturned the verdict of the first-instance on 13 August 2010 and relinquished jurisdiction to the Midyat Administrative Court, where the case should be reopened. On 24 June 2009, in another process, over 27 hectares of land were decided in favor of the Turkish Forest Service. This decision was appealed by the lawyer representing 29

Catholicos – Head of an autarcic church. Die Verfolgung und Vernichtung der Syro-Aramäer im Tur Abdin 1915; gesammelt vom Erzpriester Sleman Henno aus Arkah, Tur Abdin (1987). Übersetzt aus dem Syro-Aramäischen von Amill Gorgis und Georg Toro. Bar Hebräus-Verlag, Holland, 201–202. 30

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the monastery. Another trial was adjourned until the decision of the Supreme Court of Appeal of Turkey in the Forest Case. A part of the disputed lands was awarded by court order to the Turkish state, as the monastery could present no legal documents that identified it as owner of the land. Ten years later, in Mai 2019, this decision was affirmed by the European Court of Human Rights, which dismissed an action by the Foundation of the Syriac Orthodox Monastery of Mor Gabriel for restitution of church land on the grounds of “lack of documentation.”31 The typical ambivalence of current Turkish religious and minority policy is also apparent in the following: over a period of decades, the architectural, sacral, and secular heritage of the annihilated or expulsed Christians has either been intentionally destroyed or at least neglected. Under the AKP government, however, a certain “generosity” was displayed when the restoration and conservation of abandoned Armenian and Greek monasteries were permitted. In the past, refurbishment permits were often denied under the pretext of monument preservation. The authorities delayed or prevented urgent repair works for years.

X. Prospects of Monument Protection, Conservation, and Church Construction New construction of churches was excluded by 2015, while on the other hand, the number of mosques in Turkey was constantly increasing – the total was around 70,000 in 2001. In 2015, the Turkish government approved, for the first time in the history of the Turkish Republic, the construction of a new Christian church. This Syriac Orthodox Church was built on municipal land in the Istanbul suburb of Yeşilköy. Covering 750 seats, the church serves the Istanbul community of 17,000 Syriac Orthodox Christians, many of whom are refugees from Syria. Numerous Armenian and Greek Orthodox cathedrals or churches, however, have been permanently converted into mosques under the supervision of the state authority, often resulting in the destruction of frescoes and representational stonemasonry. A return of sacral monuments to the real owners, i.e. to the Armenian Apostolic and the Ecumenical Patriarchates, as demanded by the United States House of Representatives on 13 December 2011 in its Resolution 306,32 has not been done yet. However, certain progress was expected when in 2010 Greek Orthodox believers were allowed to celebrate the feast of Mary’s Dormition in the Pontos Greek monastery at Panaghia Soumela for the first time since the Ottoman genocide. At the request of the Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew and with the permission of the Islamist AKP government, the Patriarch celebrated the traditional mass on 15 August (old calendar) 31

EGMR weist Klage von Mor-Gabriel-Stiftung ab. “AFN-News,” 16 May 2019. (https://anfdeutsch.com/kultur/egmr-weist-klage-von-mor-gabriel-stiftung-ab-11414 [Last retrieved June 20, 2019]). 32 “H.Res. 306 – 112th Congress: Urging the Republic of Turkey to safeguard its Christian heritage and to return confiscated church ...” (www.GovTrack.us. 2011. March 19, 2019 https://www. govtrack.us/congress/bills/112/hres306 [Last retrieved March 19, 2019]).

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after decades. For Orthodox Pontic Greeks, this is the highest church holiday. But the joy did not last long. In 2016, no mass could be held in Panaghia Sumela, allegedly because of restoration work. As in numerous other cases, the permission to celebrate this Feast Day bore the character of an act of grace, but one which could be revoked at any time – “in case of bad conduct” – and therefore did not possess any legal character. In a statement of 13 September 2018, the Ecumenical Patriarchate complained accordingly: (…) of great concern is the fact that the relevant Turkish authorities decided, in 2016, to suspend the celebrations of the Virgin Mary’s Day (August 15) that had taken place at the Panaghia Soumela Monastery in Trabzon since 2010, using as a pretext the need for its restoration. Nevertheless, despite previous reassurances that renovation works would not last longer than a year, the Church of Panaghia Soumela remains closed without any timeline for its reopening or any progress in the restoration works.33

While in this case restoration purposes serve as a pretext to prevent religious practices, in many other cases state induced restoration, conservation, and monument protection in general do not take place at all. Nonetheless, since 2014, the following three nongovernmental initiatives have been taking stock of non-Muslim cultural assets: – Until the end of March 2016, a voluntary international project under the direction of Çağla Parlak (Association for the Protection of Cultural Heritage), financed by the US Embassy Ankara. The project conducts documentary work in seven regions of Turkey, including Central Anatolia (Kayseri), Izmir/Aegean, south of Adana, Mardin. – A register of non-Muslim buildings, compiled by Hrant Dink Foundation (Istanbul), listing about 10,000 non-Muslim secular and sacral buildings, of which 4,600 are Armenian, 4,100 Greek, 650 Syriac, and 300 Jewish. – In Kayseri, 18 particularly endangered Armenian and Greek buildings, which are to be primarily restored and preserved, including the Church of the Holy Mother of God (Surb Astvadzadzin), the Church of St. Stephens (Surb Stepanos), the Sargis Gumusyan School, the school in Molu, and the Church of St. George (Agios Georgios). In conclusion, I agree with the following characterization of monument protection in Turkey: The modern state of Turkey is one of the most archaeologically and culturally rich places in the world; scholars have published on over a hundred thousand sites across the country (Özdoğan 2013). It boasts 15 sites of cultural importance on UNESCO’s World Heritage list, and has 60 additional sites under consideration. Despite the identification of and reporting on thousands of sites, only about 11,000 are officially registered with the Turkish government. Registration is critical to the preservation and protection of sites; without it, they can be destroyed during new building projects and land development. (…) Turkey has a long list of laws to protect archaeological sites and artifacts from destruction, looting, and illicit sales (UNESCO Database of National Heritage Laws-Turkey). Its 33 Statement of the Ecumenical Patriarchate in Turkey, September 13, 2018. https://www.osce. org/odihr/394325?download=true (Last retrieved March 22, 2019).

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most important, the Law on the Protection of Cultural and Natural Property, was enacted in 198334 as a form of blanket legislation, which declares that all antiquities found and not yet found within Turkey are property of the state.35

The following hurdles, however, diminish the effective preservation and protection of non-Muslim, in particular Christian, cultural monuments: – Financing of restoration and conservation: governmental agencies are understaffed and underfunded; – Monument protection and conservation depend on the approval by local authorities and the Ministry of Culture; both proceed religiously and culturally selectivity; – Increasing religious radicalization and deep-rooted bias against non-Muslims.

Bibliography AĞIR, Ü. (2014): Pogrom in Istanbul, 6./7. September 1955: Die Rolle der türkischen Presse in einer kollektiven Plünderungs- und Vernichtungshysterie, (Islamkundliche Untersuchungen 319), Berlin. ASDERIS, M. (2018): Das Tor zur Glückseligkeit: Migration, Heimat, Vertreibung – die Geschichte einer Istanbuler Familie, erzählerisches Sachbuch, Berlin. BAYıR, D. (2013): Minorities and Nationalism in Turkish Law, Farnham. ASTOURIAN, S.H. (2011): The Silence of the Land, in: R.G. SUNY/ F.M. GÖÇEK/N.M. NAIMARK (eds.), A Question of Genocide: Armenians and Turks at the End of the Ottoman Empire, Oxford/New York, 55–81. FALTAITS, K. (Trans and ed. by E.S. PHUFAS-JOUSMA and A. TSILFIDIS) (2016): The Genocide of the Greeks in Turkey: Survivor Testimonies from the Nicomedia (Izmit) Massacres of 1920–1921, River Vale, NJ. FOTIADIS, K.E. (2004): I genoktonia ton ellinon tou Pontou, Idryma tis Voulis ton Ellinon. GENOV, N./T. SAVVIDIS (eds.) (2011): Trans-Boundary Migration in the Post-Soviet Space: Three Comparative Case Studies, Frankfurt am Main. GÜVEN, D. (2005): 6–7 Eylül Olayları: Cumhuriyet Dönemi Azınlık Politikaları ve Stratejileri Bağlamında 6-7 Eylül Olayları, (2nd ed.), Istanbul. HADJINA, A. (2018): Secret Nation: The Hidden Armenians of Turkey, London/New York. HALO, T. (2001): Not Even My Name: A True Story, New York. HOFMANN, T. (2002): Armenians in Turkey Today: A Critical Assessment of the Situation of the Armenian Minority in the Turkish Republic, Brussels. – (ed.) (2007): Verfolgung, Vertreibung und Vernichtung der Christen im Osmanischen Reich 1912– 1922, (2nd rev. ed.), Münster. HOFMANN, T./M. BJØRNLUND/V. MEICHANETSIDIS (eds.) (2011): The Genocide of the Ottoman Greeks: Studies on the State-Sponsored Campaign of Extermination of the Christians of Asia Minor, 1912– 1922 and Its Aftermath: History, Law, Memory, New York. HÜR, A. (2012): Cumhuriyet’in ‘azınlık raporu,’ Agos 22 January. JACOB, D. (2017): Minderheitenrecht in der Türkei, Tübingen.

34 http://www.kulturvarliklari.gov.tr/TR-43249/law-on-the-conservation-of-cultural-and-naturalpropert-.html (Last retrieved 22 March 2019). 35 SAFE (Saving Antiquities for Everyone), “Cultural heritage at risk: Turkey,” in Smarthistory, January 30, 2018. (Last retrieved March 22, 2019: https://smarthistory.org/cultural-heritage-riskturkey/).

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JEAN YACKLEY, A. (2019): Rightwing Turkish Politician Calls for Expulsion of Armenian Migrants, Eurasianet, 8 February. KOUTCHARIAN, G: (1989): Der Siedlungsraum der Armenier unter dem Einfluss der historischpolitischen Ereignisse seit dem Berliner Kongress 1878: Eine politisch-geographische Analyse und Dokumentation, (Freie Universität Berlin/Institut für Anthropogeographie, 43), Berlin. LANG, D. M./C. WALKER (1977): The Armenians, (2nd rev. ed.), (Minority Rights Group Report No. 32), London LEMKIN, R. (ed. D.-L. FREEZE) (2013): Totally Unofficial: The Autobiography of Raphael Lemkin, New Haven, CT/London. MALKIDIS, T. (2008): The Hellenic Genocide: A Case Study of the Thracian Greeks, Alexandroupoli [in Greek and English]. MILTON, G. (2008): Paradise Lost: Smyrna 1922, the Destruction of a Christian City in the Islamic World, New York. ÖKTE, F. (1987): The Tragedy of the Turkish Capital Tax, London/Sydney/New Hampshire. SAVVIDIS, T. (ed.) (2009): International Migration: Local Conditions and Effects, (Arbeitspapiere des Osteuropa-Instituts/Freie Universität Berlin, Heft 3), Berlin. SHIRINIAN, G.N. (ed.) (2012): The Asia Minor Catastrophe and the Ottoman Greek Genocide, Bloomsdale, MO. – (ed.) (2016): Genocide in the Ottoman Empire: Armenians, Assyrians, and Greeks, 1913–1923, Oxford/New York. – (2019): The Greek Genocide 1913–1924: New Perspectives, Chicago. SUNY, R.G./F.M. GÖÇEK/N.M. NAIMARK (2011): A Question of Genocide: Armenians and Turks at the End of the Ottoman Empire, Oxford/New York. VRYONIS, S. (2005): The Mechanism of Catastrophe: The Turkish Pogrom of September 6–7, 1955, and the Destruction of the Greek Community of Istanbul, Ann Arbor, MI. WALKER, C.J. (1980): Armenia: The Survival of a Nation, London. WERTMÜLLER, J. (2004): Komplotte gegen das Türkentum: Die Kontinuität des Antisemitismus in der modernen Türkei, Bahamas 43, 12–19. DE ZAYAS, A. (2007): The Istanbul Pogrom of 6–7 September 1955 in the Light of International Law, Genocide Studies and Prevention 2, 137–54.

Index of Quoted Ancient Texts Akkadian

Aramaic

Babylonian Chronicle 3, 23–24; 28 237 Babylonian Chronicle 3, 38 237 Codex Hammurapi col. 42 (= rev. 26), 75; 80 262 KBo 5.3 rev 42′ 233 RIMA 1, 136–37, A.0.76.3, 36, 51 266 RIMA 1, 183, A.0.77.1, 46b–53 232 RIMA 1, 183, A.0.77.1, 51 266 RIMA 1, 183, A.0.77.1, 51b–53 260 RIMA 2, A.0.87.1, v 99–100 233 RIMA 2, A.0.87.1, vi 8b–21 266 RIMA 2, 24, A.0.87.1, vi 14–15 266 RINAP 3/2, 248, no. 168, 44b–47 245 RINAP 3/2, 316, no. 223, 43b–44a 246 RINAP 3/2, 316–17, no. 223, 50b–54a 243 RINAP 3/2, 316–17, no. 223, 52–53 246 RINAP 5/1, 203, no. 9, v 42–43; 49–54 237 RINAP 5/1, 204, no. 9, v 55–56 233 RINAP 5/1, 204, no. 9 v 66–67 245 RINAP 5/1, 219, no. 10, v 6–8 233 RINAP 5/1, 250. no. 11, vi 78–80 233 Sargon II’s Letter to Aššur, 200–32 234–35 STRECK, Assurbanipal, II, 56, Annals VI, 79–80 267 STRECK, Assurbanipal, II, 56, Annals VI, 96–98 267 STRECK, Assurbanipal, II, 244, Stele S2, 75–77 263 STRECK, Assurbanipal, II, 248, Stele S3, 93–96 263

ALD 4:3 148 ALD 6:2 143 ALD 7:2 148 ALD 7:2–3 149 ALD 7:3 150 ALD 8:3 148 ALD 8:6 150 Bavli Menahot 110a 150 Bavli Taanit 27b 150 Mishnah Yoma 7:1 151 Stele Sefire no. 1, 16–25 273 Tamid 1:1–2 148 Tamid 1:4 148 Treaty inscriptions from as-Safire Stele III, 24–25 122 Dead Sea Scrolls 1QJesa 193

Arabic Chronicle of Zuqnin 18–20 Covenant of Umar 1–34 Qur’ān Sura 2:59 Sura 5:85 Sura 9:29 Sura 9:30

295 285–86 283 298 291 298

Hebrew Bible Gen 8:22 Lev 1:2 Lev 6:2 Lev 10:11 Deut 18:1 Deut 32:2 Deut 33:10 Judg 9:45 2 Sam 7:16 1 Kgs 8:12–13 1 Kgs 8:27 1 Kgs 8:30 2 Kgs 19:30 2 Kgs 25:27–30 2 Chr 15:13 2 Chr 17:7 2 Chr 17:9 Ezra 3:1 Ezra 3:8 Ezra 3:10–11 Ezra 3:12–13 Ezra 4:17–23 Ezra 10:9 Neh 1:3

112 148 148 175 205 176 175–76 234 85 108 108 108 265 82 176 176 176 124 124 124 124 128–29 125 128

324 Neh 2:2 Neh 2:3 Neh 7:4 Job 38:10–11 Ps 29:3 Ps 48:2 Ps 50:14 Ps 51:4 [Eng. 2] Ps 51:20 [Eng. 18] Ps 51:21 [Eng. 19] Ps 74:1 Ps 74:12 Ps 74:15 Ps 74:16–17 Ps 79:1–2 Ps 93:4 Ps 96:6 Ps 96:8 Ps 96:9 [Eng. 8] Ps 102:15 [Eng. 14] Ps 102:20 [Eng. 19] Ps 102:23 [Eng. 22] Ps 104:9 Ps 104:13 Ps 104:32 Ps 126:1–3 Ps 134:1 Ps 135:1–2 Isa 2:3 Isa 2:8 Isa 1:10–17 Isa 2:8 Isa 17:8 Isa 28:7–8 Isa 40:12 Isa 40:27–28 Isa 42:9 Isa 42:21 Isa 43:10 Isa 43:10–12 Isa 43:14–21 Isa 43:21 Isa 43:23 Isa 43:24 Isa 43:25 Isa 43:27 Isa 43:28 Isa 44:22 Isa 44:25 Isa 44:26 Isa 45:6–7

Index of Ancient Texts 128 128 129 106 109 131 181 173 173 173 109 110 111 111 183 109 184 184 184 183 183 183 106 115 114 122 182 183 161 161 164 161 162 166 117 117 174 174 183 117 191 183 178 179 179 180 180 182 181 178 118

Isa 45:13 Isa 45:21 Isa 45:23 Isa 46:11 Isa 46:13 Isa 48:2 Isa 48:17 Isa 49:8 Isa 49:16 Isa 49:19 Isa 50:4 Isa 51:4 Isa 51:16 Isa 52:1 Isa 53:7 Isa 53:10 Isa 53:11 Isa 53:12 Isa 55:11 Isa 56:5 Isa 57:15 Isa 58:2 Isa 58:3 Isa 58:13 Isa 60:13 Isa 62:9 Isa 63:11 Isa 63:15–19 Isa 63:15 Isa 63:17 Isa 63:18 Isa 65:1 Isa 65:2–3 Isa 65:9 Isa 65:11 Isa 65:25 Isa 66:1 Isa 66:20 Jer 52:31–34 Lam 5:17–19 Ezek 7:26 Ezek 44:23–24 Hos 4:6 Amos 1:3–4 Amos 4:13 Amos 5:8 Amos 9:5–6 Mic 3:11 Nah 1:3–4 Nah 1:8 Zeph 3:4

178 175 175 175 178 178 175 178 178 178 175 174 175 178 181 182 182 182 175 202; 203 204 209 200 208; 207 203 203 222 222 204; 222 224 202 207 207 202 202 202 204; 213 202 82 112 176 176 176 243 115 114 113 176 245 245 176

325

Index of Ancient Texts Hag 1:2 Hag 2:18–19 Hag 2:11 Hag 2:22 Zech 1:16 Zech 2:5–9 [Eng.1–5] Zech 2:8 [Eng. 5] Zech 2:9 [Eng. 5] Zech 3:2

126 126–27 176 273 127 136 127 127 131

LXX Jdt 1:1 Isa 40:1 Isa 43:23 Isa 43:28 Isa 60:13

248 174 179 180 203

Isa 63:18 Isa 65:9 Isa 66:20

202 202 202

Classic Sources Diod. Sic 2.27. 1 244 Diod. Sic 2.27. 2 244 Diod. Sic 2.28. 2 245 Eusebius, Praep. Ev. IX:40 83 Eusebius, Praep. Ev. IX:41 83 Josephus, Ant. X:11.2 83 Josephus, Contra Apionem, 1.20 81 Josephus, Jewish War 5.143 132 Lucian, Charon 23 249

Index of Personal Names ʿAbd al-Malik 287; 291; 294; 296; 300–302 Abdülhamit II 313 Abraham 143; 291 Abū al-Qāsim ʿAlī ibn al-Ḥasan Ibn ʿAsākir, imam 285 Abū ʾl-Fatḥ 289 Abū ʿUbayda ʿĀmir ibn ʿAbd Allah ibn alJarrāḥ 286 Abū Yūsuf 284 Adad-nērārī I 262; 266 Adad-nērārī II 262; 264 Adad-nērārī III 264 Agrippa I 146 Agrippa II 146 Ahasuerus, see Xerxes I Ahaz 159; 162 Aḥmad ibn Ṭūlūn 289 Aḥmad ibn Yaḥya al-Balādhurī 283; 290; 292 Al-Ḥakim 291; 297 Al-Mahdī 296 Al-Manṣūr 296 Al-Mutawakkil 289; 291; 294 Al-Ṭabarī 282; 289; 290 Al-Yaʿqūbī 283 Al-Walīd 293; 296; 298; 301 Alexander (the Great) 247–48 Amēl-Marduk (biblical Evil-Merodach) 81– 84 ʿAmmar al-Baṣrī 296 Amos 113; 163 Artaxerxes I 126; 128–29 Asaph 109; 124; 172 Assurbanipal (Aššurbanipal) 233; 236–40; 244–45; 247; 249; 254–55; 260; 263; 266–67 Assurnasirpal I (Aššurnasirpal I) 261 Assunasirpal II (Aššurnasirpal II) 253–54; 256–57 Aššur-bēl-kala 238; 248; 261 Athaliah 264 Baasha 63–66; 73 Berossus 81–82 Cimon 129

Ctesias 129; 244–46 Cyrus II 118; 123–24; 126–27; 173; 178; 190; 193–95; 238 Dareios I 194 Darius I 125–28; 136; 194; 238 Darius II 126 David 18–19; 85–86; 124; 132 Deborah 71–73 Diodorus Siculus 243 Dionysius 278–79; 282; 293 Ehud 71 Eleasar ben Asher 84 Elias BarShēnāyā 289 Elias of Heliopolis 288; 290 Elisha 160 Ephraim 165 Esarhaddon 241; 246–47 Ezekiel 95; 97–98; 100; 125; 160; 163; 209 Gideon 71 Grigoryos BarʿEbroyo 289 Ḥabīb ibn Khidmah Abū Rāʾiṭah 296 Hacaliah 128 Haggai 126–27; 160 Hammurabi 45 Ḥārīth ibn Jabala (Greek Aretas) 282 Hārūn al-Rašīd 289 Hazael 7; 15; 17; 20; 28; 62; 66–67; 73; 243 Heman 172 Heraclius 278–79 Herod the Great 125 Huldah 160 Inaros 129 Isa 310 Isaac 143–45 Issachar 62; 71 ʿIyād ibn Ghanm 292 Jacob 70–71; 117; 142–43; 161; 175–76; 180; 190; 208–209; 282 Jacob Baradaios 278 Jeconiah 83 Jeduthun 172, 174 Jehoiachin 81–86; 89–91; 123–24 Jehozadak 124; 134 Jehu 20; 66; 73

Index of Personal Names Jeremiah 49; 95; 97; 160; 216 Jeroboam I 69 Jeroboam II 62; 67; 69–71 Jerome 83–84 Jiphtach 71 Joahaz 66; 73 Joash 62; 67 Joel 160 John IV 290; 297 John Malalas 284 John of Damascus 293–94 John Tzimiskes 299 Joseph 71; 89 Josephus, Titus Flavius 83–84; 126; 132 Joshua (son of Jehozadak) 124; 127; 131; 134; 185 Josiah 47; 185 Judah the Patriarch, Rabbi 146 Kudurru (of Uruk) 247 Leo III 289 Levi 142–45; 177 Malachi 160 Manasseh 47 Marduk-mudammiq 261; 271 Mary 281; 318–19 Megabyzus 129 Mehmet II 316 Melchizedek 143 Merodach-baladan 236 Michael the Elder 279–81; 290 Moses 143; 176; 191–92; 283 Muʿāwiyah ibn Abī Sufyān 281–82; 301 Muḥammad (prophet) 283; 290; 295 Muḥammad ibn Ḥawqal 299 Mustafa Kemal 305–306; 311; 314 Nabopolassar 236–38; 241–43; 246–47; 249; 267 Nabû-šuma-ukīn 81 Nahman Krochmal 145 Nahum 243; 245–46 Narām-Sîn 242 Nebuchadnezzar II 10; 40; 42; 48; 50; 81– 84; 99; 123; 128; 131; 242; 247 Nehemiah 83; 128–32; 136 Nergal-šarru-uṣur (Neriglissar) 81; 83 Nimshi 15; 20 Rabban Gamiliel, the Elder 147 Rabban Gamiliel, of Yavneh 147 Rabshakeh 50 Rachel 71 Ramesses II 28

327

Rehum 128–29 Rusa/Ursa I 234 Samson 265 Samuel 160 Samuel ben Isaac, Rabbi 151 Sargon the Great (of Akkad) 260 Sargon II 48; 233–34; 236; 242–43; 246; 249; 260; 271 Sarjūn ibn Manṣūr 292 Saul 19 Sayf al-Dawla 299 Shalmaneser I 232; 239; 245; 260–61; 266 Shalmaneser III 45; 261; 271 Shealtiel 124 Shebna 159 Sheshbazzar 124 Shimshai 128–29 Shishak, see Shoshenq I Shoshenq I (biblical Shishak) 9; 19–20 Sennacherib 7–8; 10; 13; 15; 21; 40; 45; 48– 50; 236; 238–40; 243; 245–49; 256; 259– 60; 264; 273 Simeon of Mizpah, Rabbi 147 Sîn-šarru-iškun 238; 242; 244; 247 Solomon 125; 132; 202–203; 263 Stalin 231 Šamaš-šumu-ukīn 244 Šamšī-Adad V 253; 261 Šarrumma 264 Tabbai 147 Tattenai 126 Theodore Abū Qurrah 296 Thucydides 129 Thutmosis III 15 Tiglath-pileser I 233; 236; 266–67 Tiglath-pileser III 233; 261 Trajan 284 ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb / ʿUmar I 280; 285; 287–90; 292 ʿUmar II 294 Uzziah 160 Xenophon 241; 243 Xerxes I 128 Yazīd II 288 Yōḥannān BarPenkāyē 282 Yūḥannā ibn Sarjūn ibn Manṣūr, see John of Damascus Zebulun 72–73 Zechariah 126; 128; 136; 160 Zedekiah 41 Zerubbabel 124–25; 127; 131; 185; 263

Index of Geographical Names Akkad / Akkade 242; 260 Albania 305 Aleppo 122; 263; 286; 299; 309 Al-Fusṭaṭ 295 Al-Ḥīrah 280 Al-Kūfah 280 Āl-Yahudu 123 Anatolia 305; 309; 311; 313; 319 Antioch 277–78; 284; 286; 296 Arabian Peninsula 289–90 Araḫtu river / canal 243; 246; 259 Aramea 277; 279; 281; 297; 300 Argint (Turkish Acar, Kurdish Herend) 310 Arinnu 232; 239; 245; 260–61; 266 Armenia 309; 312–13; 316 Ar-Raqqah 292 Ashkelon 16–17 Asia Minor 295 Assur (city of Aššur) 232; 237–39; 241; 248–49; 253; 259–62; 264–65; 267; 271– 72; 274 Assyria 67; 161–63; 166–67; 232; 235; 237– 38; 241; 243–48; 258; 260; 265–67 Aşkale 310 ʿAzekah 49 Baʿalbek / Heliopolis 288; 290 Babylon 48; 81–83; 85; 90; 98; 122–23; 126; 172–74; 184–86; 189; 191–94; 197; 236; 242–49; 259–60; 262; 267 Babylonia 48; 123; 192–93; 236–38; 242; 244; 246; 248 Baghdad 278; 289 Baṣrah 295 Beer Sheba / Tel Beer Sheba 10; 14 Benjamin 68; 125 Benjamin plateau 68 Bethel 62–63; 68–71; 73; 143; 185–86 Beth Shean (Scythopolis) 8; 10–14; 16–17; 62–63; 73 Beth-Shean Valley 61–62; 64–68; 71; 73 Beth Shemesh 10 Beyond the River (province) 126; 128–29 Bīt-Našar 123 Bulgaria 305

Byzantium / Constantinople (see also Istanbul) 277–78; 282; 289; 296; 317 Canaan 12; 16–19; 61 Chalkis Island 312 Cilicia 299; 308 City of David 130; 132–34 Constantinople, see Byzantium Crete 34 Cyprus 129; 310 Damascus 20; 62; 66; 193; 243; 281; 286; 288; 293; 295–96; 301 Dan, see Tel Dan Delphi 125 Diyarbakır 309–10; 314–15 Dor 63 Dūr-Šarrukīn / Khorsabad 241; 260; 271 Dūr-Yakīn 236 East Gremany (GDR) 231 Edessa / Al-Ruhā 282; 292; 295 Egypt 19; 48–49; 67; 84; 89; 106; 113; 127; 143; 167; 189–90; 196; 279; 281; 284; 292; 295; 297 ʿEin el-Hilu 67 Ekron, see Tel Miqne Elephantine 172 Ephraim 68; 71 Erzurum 310; 314; 315 Et-Tell 68 Euphrates 193–94; 235; 244–46; 259 Fertile Crescent 193; 282 Gath, see Tell es-Safi Georgia 312 Germany 88; 231; 306; 310 Gethsemane 281 Gezer 13; 17–19 Gilboa Ridge 61 Gilead 65; 71 Golgotha 281 Great Rift Valley 61 Guzana (= modern Tell Halaf) 264–65; 274 Haltemaš 245; 260; 267 Ḫarrān 262 Hazor / Tel Hazor 7–8; 13–14; 17–18; 21; 21–34; 38; 63–66

Index of Geographical Names Heliopolis, see Baʿalbek Ḥijāz 289–90 Homs 296 Ḥorvat Tevet 67 Hula Valley 29; 34 Ḫunusu 233 Iran 238; 277; 282; 295; 297; 299; 305 Israel (land, see also southern Levant) 10; 30; 61; 73–74; 85; 124; 162; 163; 190; 290 Istanbul (see also Byzantium / Constantinople) 310–11; 313; 315–19 Izmir 311; 315; 319 Jabel Mukaber 133 Jerusalem 8; 13; 14; 20–21; 40; 43; 45; 49– 50; 68; 83; 85–86; 91; 94–95; 98–100; 102–103; 105; 107–109; 113; 115; 122– 31; 133–36; 142; 159–68; 170; 172–75; 177–79; 183–85; 189; 192–93; 196–97; 202–206; 208; 215–11; 220; 222–24; 247; 281; 297; 300 Jezreel Valley 19; 61; 63–65; 67–68; 72 Jordan River 61 Jordan Valley 16; 30; 61 Judah 20; 17; 20–21; 40–41; 48–50; 81–82; 84–85; 90; 94–95; 105–107; 109; 112–13; 115–16; 124; 131–32; 159; 162; 165; 167; 169; 172; 174; 176; 180–81; 185–87; 197; 206; 209; 217; 247; 265 Kalḫu 241; 249; 254; 256–57 Karnak 19 Kār-Tukultī-Ninurta 262 Kharput 309 Khaybar 289 Kh. ed-Dawwāra 68 Khirbet Qeiyafa 10 Kh. Raddāna 68 Khors 246 Khorsabad, see Dūr-Šarrukīn Lachish 7; 10; 13–14; 16–18; 39–51; 63; 240 Levant (see also northern Levant, southern Levant) 27; 33; 40; 61; 190; 193; 263; 279; 282 Madaktu 245; 260; 267 Makouria 284 Mardin 309; 314–15; 317; 319 Mardīn mountains 281 Mari 45; 160 Medina 281; 289 Megiddo 7; 9–10; 13; 17–20; 28; 30; 32; 63– 64; 66–69; 74

329

Mesopotamia (see also Assyria, Babylonia, Iraq) 106; 114; 116; 124–25; 127; 143; 232; 241; 244–45; 249; 262–63; 280; 284; 291–92; 305 Midyat 317 Moscow 231; 262 Mosul 257; 295 Muṣri / Muṣaṣir 239; 260; 266 Nagran 289–90 Naḫur 262 Namri 261; 271 Negev 10; 20; 49 Nineveh 237; 239; 241–49; 254–56; 259; 264; 273 Northern Levant (see also Syria) 67 Ophel 130 Palestine (see also Canaan, Israel, southern Levant) 135; 141; 192; 289 Panaghia Soumela 318–19 Pancarlı Höyük 33 Penuel 70 Persepolis 247–48 Phoenicia 64 Provence 151 Qairawan 295 Qaṣr Ibrīm 284 Qatar 290 Qinnasrīn 295 Qumran 143; 150 Ramat Raḥel 133–35 Rēšʿaynā 281 Samʿal, see Zincirli Höyük Samaria 62–66; 68; 71–73; 99; 126; 128; 161; 166; 206 Samaria Hills 63–66; 68; 71; 73–74 Sarajevo 231; 259 Sarid 72 Sasun 309–10 Scythopolis, see Beth Shean Seleucia / Ktesiphon 278 Serbia 305 Shechem 63; 143; 233; 267 Shephelah 10 Shiloh 21; 63 Siloam Tunnel 40 Sinai 143–44 Sippar 246 Southern Levant (see also Canaan, Israel, Palestine) 7–8; 13; 20; 27; 32–33; 61–62; 105 Sumer 232; 246

330

Index of Geographical Names

Susa 128; 236–38; 245; 249; 260; 267 Syria (see alson northern Levant) 108; 163; 193; 258; 260–61; 263–64; 272; 277–79; 281; 284; 286; 290; 295–97; 299; 318 Syro-African fault line 11 Taʿanach 19; 63; 66 Tagrīiānu 237 Tarbiṣu 237 Taurus Mountains 295 Tekrit 237 Tel Abel Beth Maacah 30 Tel ʿAfula 67 Tel ʿAmal 62; 66–67 Tel Aphek 28; 32 Tel Batash (biblical Timnah) 8–10; 13–15; 17–18; 24 Tel Beth Shean, see Beth Shean Tel Dan 21; 30; 68–69; 73 Tel Dothan 63 Tel el-Hammeh 66–67 Tel ʿEton 10 Tel Hadar 11; 30 Tel Halif 10 Tel Hazor, see Hazor Tel Keisan 10 Tel Kinneret 30 Tel Kinrot 11 Tel Masos 10 Tel Miqne (biblical Ekron) 14; 16–17; 63 Tel Qishyon 67 Tel Rechesh 10 Tel Reḥov 8–9; 11–21; 27–29; 61–67; 69; 71; 73–74 Tel Shaddud 67; 72

Tel Shunem 67 Tell Abu el-Kharaz 11 Tell es-Safi (biblical Gath) 7; 20–21; 63 Tell Halaf, see Guzana Tell Qasile 8; 10; 15; 17–18; 25–26 Thessaloniki 311 Tigris 237; 244; 246 Timnah, see Tel Batash Tirzah 19; 63–65 Transjordan 72 Trebizond 308 Tunisia 295 Tur Abdin 300; 315; 317 Ugarit 28 Ukku 240 Ulḫu 234–35; 243; 249 Urfa 309 Uruk 149; 238; 247–49 Usha 146 Vukovar 259 West Germany 88 Western Hill (of Jerusalem) 14; 130–32 Yehud province 124; 127; 129–30; 181; 184; 192; 198; 201 Yemen 289–90 Yeşilköy 318 Yoqneʿam 10; 63; 66 Zaphon 108 Zincirli Höyük (Samʿal) 33 Zion 108; 110; 112; 122–23; 131; 136; 161; 169–71; 173; 175; 177–78; 183; 186; 189–90; 197; 213–15; 222

Subject Index A Aaronite priesthood 185 Abandonment of settlement 7; 11–12; 14– 17; 30; 41; 45–46 Abbasid 278; 292; 294–96 Achaemenid Persia 105; 123; 248 Adad 246; 266 Akītu-house (of Aššur) 245; 260 AKP party 312; 317–18 Alevis 307 Altar 69; 124; 135; 144–45; 148–49; 161; 173; 203–204; 218; 264 Amarna period 12 Anathoth 185 Andurunna 117 Angel 136 Anu 117 Anu-Adad temple (at Assur) 238 Apostasy Wars 295 Arabization 294–96; 301 Arab Spring 297 Aramaic 277; 301; 315–17 ban of 315; 317 Aramaic Geniza 143 Aramaic Levi Document (= ALD) 142–45; 147–50; 152 Aramaic priestly literature 142 Aramean (people) 13; 246; 277 Aramean attacks 12; 19 Ark 125 Armenian 307–14; 319 Armenian Quarter 131 Arrow / arrowhead 9; 42–43; 46; 48; 51 Asaphite Psalms 172; 181; 183 Assimilation, forced (see also Arabization, Islamization) 295; 309 Assyrian Campaign to Israel and Judah (see also Sennacherib’s campaign) 12–14; 16–17; 21; 40–42; 43; 47–50; 95; 123; 162; 166– 68; 190 Empire 48; 236; 232; 236; 238–41; 258; 264

Aššur (god) 232–35; 239; 241; 245–46; 254; 260–61; 266–67 Aššur temple 239; 248; 261; 267; 274 Atonement, Day of 146; 149 Audience-hall 265 Austria-Hungary 305 Autumn New Year festival (of Jerusalem) 170 Aya 246 B Baal myth (Ugaritic) 111 Babylonian Conquest of Jerusalem / Judah and Philistia by (see also Nebuchadnezzar II’s campaign) 13; 16–17; 21; 41; 45; 131; 162 Babylonian Empire 116; 123; 190–91; 193; 232; 243 Babylonian exile 81; 84; 90; 99–100; 122– 23; 189; 193; 211 Banquet Stele (Assunasirpal II’s) 241; 257 Banū Ġassān 282 Banū Jarrah 294 Banū Laḫm 282 Banū Tanūkh 296–97 Battering ram (see also siege machine) 14 Battle of Yarmuk 279; 286 Bavian Inscription (Sennacherib’s) 243; 259 Behistun Inscription 238 Benjaminite (clan) 71–74; 125 Blessing of Moses 143 Blind 117 Book of the Conquest of the Countries 292 Book of the Main Problems 282 Book of Saviors 71 Bosnian 307 Bronze-flower 46 Byzantine (people) 278–80 Byzantine Empire 277–78; 282; 299; 301 Burial (see also tomb) 16–17; 44 C Ceremonial palace (see also temple) 29; 31 Chaldean (see also Babylonian) 191–94; 198; 311; 316

332

Subject Index

Chaos 106; 110; 112; 114; 171; 190–91; 194–95; 198 Christianity 95; 106; 277; 280; 290; 295; 298–300; 302; 311 Chronicle of Jerachmeel 84 Collapse of the Soviet Union 312 Column, see pillar Con-struction 234 Copt 296–97 Corpse, see human remain Council of Chalcedon 278 Council of Ephesus 278 Council of Europe 307–308 Covenant 100; 109; 143–44; 166–68; 171; 209; 283 Covenant with Mot 166 Creator 106; 108; 113; 115; 117–18; 191; 204; 214–15; 218–20; 225 Crimean War 305 Crisis architecture (see also warchitecture) 7; 41 Crypto-Christians 309 Cyrus Cylinder 123 D Dagon 265 Declaration of war text (BM 55467) 241–43; 247 De-construction 259 Decree of Yazīd II 288 De-fertilizing 236 Deportation, see expulsion De-struction 234 Deutero-Isaia 115–16; 172; 189–98; 201; 210–11; 214–17 Deuteronomistic History (DtrH) 84–85; 88; 90; 159 Dome of the Rock 134; 300; 301 Dönme 310 Dust (of a city) 245; 260; 267 E Earthquake 10–11; 19; 223; 282; 312 Easter / Palm Sunday procession 286–87 Eastern hill (Jerusalem) 130–31 Edict of Cyrus 123–24; 127 Effigy (damage on / destruction of) 239; 260; 271 Egyptian 12; 28; 48; 195; 291; 297 Garrison 12; 16–17 Control of Canaan 12; 18–19; 67 Elamite campaign (Assurbanipal’s) 233

Enuma elish 111; 114; 116–18 Ephraim (clan) 71–73 Erra 241 Erra Epic 241; 246 Eternal Dweller 219 Ethnocide, see Genocide European Court of Human Rights 307; 318 Excommunication 163; 278 Explicit theology 105–108; 113; 116; 118 Expulsion / deportation 45; 50; 105; 189–90; 245; 289–90; 305; 308–10; 312 F Fall of Nineveh Chronicle (Babylonian Chronicle 3) 237; 241 Feats of Tabernacles 171 First World War / Great War / WWI 305– 306; 308; 313 Flood narrative 112 Flooding a city (for destruction) 243–47; 249 Footstool of YHWH (reference to the earth) 203–204; 213 G Gad (clan) 72 Garden Scene (Assurbanipal’s) 240 Genocide / ethnocide / pogrom 231–32; 259; 297; 300; 305–306; 311–12; 316; 318; 320 God / goddess (common noun) 15; 95; 108; 110; 116–18; 122; 166; 189; 198; 232–33; 238; 242; 245–49; 261–67 God, see YHWH God of Jacob, see YHWH God of heaven(s) (see also YHWH) 107 Godnapping 249 Golden calf 143 Great War, see First World War Greek (language), ban of 294; 296; 301; 313 Greek Orthodox Christian 277; 293; 296; 299; 306–307; 310–13; 318 Guilt (see also guilt and punishment) 85; 100; 181–82; 214–15; 217–27 Guilt and punishment (see also guilt) 109; 217–18; 222; 225–26 Gypsy, Muslim 307 Ġiyār rules 287–89 H Hagarenes 291 Hagiography 281 Haldi 260

Subject Index Ḫepat 264 High Priest (Jewish) 124; 127; 149–50 History of the City of Damascus 285 Horse industry 67 House of Issachar 63; 65; 72–73 House of prayer (see also Temple of Jerusalem) 202–204 House of YHWH (see also Temple of Jerusalem) 161; 182–83; 202 Human remain / body / corpse / skeleton 10; 15–16; 40; 44–45; 48; 51; 183; 247 Ḫumban 238 Hymn 106; 113; 115–16; 171; 191; 195 I Imperial Orthodox Church (Melkite) 277– 78; 281; 293; 296; 301 Implicit cosmology 107; 111 Iron chain 42 ISIS 297–98 Islamization 294–97; 300–302 Israel (people), see Israelite Israel, northern kingdom of 17; 20; 62–66; 69–73; 84; 95; 101; 105–107; 113; 115; 160; 165; 209 Israelite / Israel (people) 18; 28; 29; 62; 70; 71–73; 85; 89; 101; 110–12; 115; 117; 124; 148; 160–62; 169; 171; 173–80; 182; 186; 189–92; 194–97; 202; 204–205; 207–208; 220; 225; 245 Israelite conquest 18 Israelite origin myth (cf. state myth) 70–71 Issacharite (clan) 65; 72–73 Ištar temple (Nineveh) 240; 256 Išum 241 J Jachin and Boaz (at the Jerusalem Temple) 263 Jackal 112; 191; 193; 198 Jacob-Laban narrative, see Jacob Story Jacob Story / Jacob-Laban narrative 70–72; 74 Jeremiah, book of 21; 49; 94–97; 113; 123; 163; 190 Jerusalem, destruction of 8; 21; 43; 45; 49; 83; 85; 91; 94–95; 98–99; 105; 113; 115; 123; 128; 159; 162; 167; 183; 189; 196; 220; 222; 247 Jewish Quarter 130; 132 Jew 83–84; 97; 122–23; 128–29; 144; 174; 283; 289–90; 299; 307; 310–11

333

Jihad 296 Josephite (clan) 71; 74 Judah, kingdom of 17; 20–21; 40–41; 48–50; 81–82; 84–85; 89; 95; 105–106; 109; 112–13; 115–16; 132; 159; 162; 165; 167; 180; 209; 302 Judah (tribe) 72; 125–26; 128 Judaism (see also Rabbinic Judaism) 95; 106; 136; 141; 298 Judean / Judahite 42; 48; 60; 83; 126; 194; 205; 215 K Kalb (tribe) 279; 281 Kemalist 306; 311 Killing of a capital city 231–32 King God 213–16; 219; 225–26 Kingship, divine / of YHWH (see also King God) 108–11; 170–71 Korahite psalms 173; 184 Kurd 297; 307; 309–10; 313–14; 316 Kurdish (language) 307; 314 Kütahya concentration camp 309 L Lachish relief 43; 45; 58–60; 240 Lakhmid 280; 282 Lamentations, book of 21; 94; 96; 112; 172; 232 Lamentations, cuneiform 125; 232; 245–46 Law 4305 310 Law of the priesthood 143 Laws of the Temple 141 Laz 307; 314 Leviathan 110; 190; 198 Levi’s Apocalypse 143 Levi’s Initiation 143 Levite 84; 142–43; 169; 173; 176–78; 183– 85; 206 Liber Antiquorum Biblicarum 84 Liberation War (of Turky) 308 Lightning bolts 233; 266 Lmlk stamps 41 Lmlk-type jar 16; 40 Looting / plunder / scanvenging 15; 33–34; 45; 237–38; 241; 247; 264; 296; 319 LORD, see YHWH Lunar festival 209 M Maccabees 125 Machir (clan) 72

334

Subject Index

Manasseh (clan) 71–72 Mandaean 283; 299 Marduk 81; 111; 116–17; 194; 242–43 Marshall Plan 88 Martyrdom / martyr 281; 290 Massacre, see genocide Maṣṣebah 32; 33 Medes (Ummān-manda) 237–38 Menahot 148 Menorah 145 Messiah 190; 195; 298 Messianic aspiration 141 Michah, book of 18 Middot 125; 146; 151 Military campaign, see warfare Military destruction, see warfare Miracle of the Red Sea 192; 194; 220 Mishnah 125; 141–42; 145–52 Monotheistic Creation Theology 105; 115 Most High, see YHWH Mot 166–67 Muslim Arab dominion 295; 297 Muslim Brotherhood 297 Mut 166–67 N National Assembly 316 Nazi Germany 87; 262; 306; 310 Nazi pseudo supremacy 87 Nebuchadnezzar II’s campaign to Judah 13; 40; 42; 48; 50; 123; 128; 131 Nergal 239; 254; 261; 267; 271 Nergal temple, see Temple ‘A’ Nestorios 278 New / second exodus 86; 89; 189; 191–93; 196–98 New Kingdom (Egyptian) 17 New Palace (at Assur) 262 New Year Festival, Babylonian (Akītufestival of Nisannu) 82 Nimshide 20; 62–63; 65–71; 73–74 9/11 89–90 North Palace (Nineveh) 239 O Old Palace (at Assur) 238 Omride kings / dynasty 62; 64; 67–68; 73 Order Qodashim 151 OSCE 308 Ottoman Empire 297; 299; 305–309; 316–18 Ostriche 191; 193; 198

P Pact of Umar 284–91; 293–94; 298; 302 People of the Book 283; 291 People of the Covenant (see also dhimmīs 283 Perforated stone 42; 48 Persecution (ethnic / religious. See also genocide) 97; 280–81; 297; 302; 308 Persian (people) 105; 279; 281–82; 284; 292 Pillar (stone, wooden) 15; 261–65; 268; 272–73; 293 Pit 16; 30–34; 38 Plunder, see looting Pogrom, see genocide Pre-Deuteronomistic 70–71; 73–74 Pre-Priestly 70–71; 74; 192; 195 Priest / priesthood (see also High Priest) 124–25; 142–45; 147–52; 160; 165–67; 169; 172–87; 194; 201; 205–207; 209– 210; 232; 278; 312 Primeval creation / proto-history 106; 110– 12; 116; 118 Prophecy 21; 49; 98–100; 126; 136; 160; 170; 172; 224 Prophet 95; 97–100; 126–27; 159–60; 162; 165–67; 174–76; 179; 204; 205–207; 209–210; 218; 224; 243; 245; 295; 298 Proto-history, see primeval creation Proto-Isaia / first Isaia 159; 162; 166; 246 R Rabbinic Judaism 141 Rabbinic literature 83; 115; 125; 141–42; 148–50; 152 Race Name Law (Soyadı Kanunu) 313 Rahab 190; 198 Realpolitik 88; 90 Rebellion of Megabyzus 129 Re-member 96 Removal of the Holy Cross 279 Report on Minorities 311 Return to Zion 122–23; 169; 190; 197 Roman Church 278 Roman Empire 277–79 Row of Stelae (at Assur) 261; 272 Royal tomb, violation of, 237 Ruin cult 29; 32 Russian-Ottoman Antagonism 305 S Sabbath 129; 136; 164; 176; 208–209; 211

Subject Index Salt, sowing of (see also ṣīpu-stones) 232– 34; 259; 265–67 Samaritan 126; 283; 289; 299 Sanctuary, see temple Sanctuary at Delphi 125 Sarcophagus 238; 253 Sassanid Persia 277; 282; 287 Scepter 261; 271 Sea People conquest 17 Second exodus, see new exodus Second World War / WWII 85–86; 88; 97; 231; 306; 314 Seder hatamid 150 Seder hayom 149–50 Sennacherib’s campaign to Judah 7–8; 10; 13; 16; 21; 40; 48–50 Septembriana 311 Servant Song 170; 181 Settlement pit 32 Seyfo (see also genocide) 297; 300; 302 Sheol 194 Shrine, see temple Siege 7; 41–44; 48–51; 83; 95; 123; 236–37; 240; 296 Simeon (tribe) 72 Skeleton, see human remains Sling stone 42–43; 48; 58 Solomon’s prayer 202 Song of Deborah (Judge 5) 63 Song of Miriam (Exod 15) 192; 195 Special Commission for Name Change (Ad Değiştirme İhtisas Kurulu) 314 State myth (of Jerusalem. Cf. Israelite origin myth.) 108; 116 Storage facility 14; 32; 40; 42 South-West Palace (Nineveh) 239–40; 249; 264; 273 Suet 148 Sukkot celebration 124; 127 Synagogue service 151 Syriac (ethnonym) 277–302; 305; 306; 313– 19 Syrian-Israelite crisis (see also Assyrian, Sennacherib) 162 Ṣīpu-stones/mineral, sowing of (see also salt) 233; 266 Šamaš 246 T Tabernacle, see temple Tabira gate (at Assur) 261–62; 271 Talion 249

335

Talmud 142; 146–47 Tamid, Mishnaic tractate 142; 145–52 Tamid (communal burnt-offering) 145–48; 150; 152 Tannaitic academy 146 Tanūkh and Ṭayyiʾ 279 Targum Jonathan 82; 174 Temple / sanctuary / shrine (see also temple of Jerusalem) 8; 15; 17; 29; 31; 33; 62; 69–70; 81; 110; 114; 125; 149; 160; 169; 172; 203; 232; 237–41; 243; 247–49; 256; 258–59; 261; 263–67; 272; 274; 309 Temple ‘A’ 267; 274 Temple Mount 112; 130; 133–34 Temple / sanctuary / tabernacle of Jerusalem, First and Second 81; 95; 99; 105; 107– 14; 122–30; 133–36; 141–52; 159–63; 165–68; 169–70; 173–75; 177–87; 189– 90; 202–204; 206–11; 213–14; 218–19; 222–24; 226–27; 263; 170 Teššob 264 Throne of YHWH 107–109; 112; 160; 184; 204; 213–14; 219; 223–25 Tiamat 111 Tomb 46; 67; 159; 206; 237; 281 Tradent 159; 162 Treaties of Lausanne 306–308; 312; 317 Trito-Isaia 201; 204–205; 207–11; 213–14; 226 Turkification 313–16 Turkish (language) 306–307; 313–14 Turkish party law 307 Turkish Republic 305; 314; 318 Turning upside-down 261–63; 265; 268 U Umayyad dynasty 278; 281; 293–94; 296; 301 Ummān-manda, see Medes UNESCO 319 United Nations 135; 307–308 Urbicide 231–33; 236–37; 239; 245; 247–49; 259 Urim 125 V Vassal Treaties (Esarhaddon’s) 241; 247 W Warchitecture 41–42; 48 Warfare / military campaign / military destruction 7–21; 28; 39–51; 62; 66–67; 83;

336 94–95; 105; 122; 127–32; 163; 165; 189; 193; 231–49; 258–67; 279; 284 Waw adversativum 110 Waw copulativum 217 Waw explicativum 193 Way (of God) 106; 117; 175 Weapon (see also arrow, perforated stones, sling stone) 40; 42–43; 239; 286–87 Weapon, divne 233; 266 Wende 88 Western hill (Jerusalem) 14; 130–32 Wide wall (of Jerusalem) 14 Wirtschaftswunder 88 Woe oracle 165

Subject Index Y Yazidi 298 YHWH / God / LORD / Most High 84–86; 95– 96; 100–103; 106–13; 115–18; 124–25; 127–28; 131; 136; 143; 147; 150; 161; 164; 168; 169–71; 173–87; 192; 194; 196– 98; 202–210; 213–27; 245; 283; 298; 319 Yoma 146–51 Z Zadokite priesthood 185–86 Zebulunite (clan) 72 Zeus 243 Zevahim 148 Ziggurat 125; 243 Zoroastrian (Majūs) 283; 299 Zwölf braunen Jahre 88

Index of Discussed Terms and Expressions Akkadian bārû bīt ḫilāni bīt kīli durmāḫu kak Aššur kalû kalûtu markasu nasāḫu riksu ṣerretu ṣīpu šubalkutu šupêlu tīl abūbi ummān Ummān-manda

181 263–64 86 114 233 125; 232 232 114 260 114 114 233; 266 262 262 233 238 237–38

Arabic ahl al-dhimmah ahl al-kitāb al-Injīl al-Tawrāt ʿanwatan baqṭ dār al-islām dhimmah dhimmī fuqahāʾ ġiyār haggar ḥadīth jihād jizyah kunya Majūs mawālī miṣr / amṣār 96 mujtahid mušrikūn nāqūs

283 283 283 283 293 284 293 283 284–302 293 287–89 292 289–90 296 283; 291 285; 288 283 288 279–80; 287; 290; 295– 286 283 285; 287

Naṣārā qāḍī rāšidūn Sāmira sunna Ṣābiʾūn ṣulḥ šahāda šurūṭ taʿdīl taḥrīf ʿumma ʿušra Yahūd zakat zunnār

283 291 281 283 298 283 280; 292–93 288; 294 289 291 283 295 293 283 293 285; 288

Aramaic milka tarba ‫הפך‬ ‫נבייא‬

277 148 263 174

Greek stear 148 ἱερεῖς 174 Σύριοι 277 ζωναριον 285 τὴν αἰχµαλωσίαν Σιων 122 Hebrew aharei mot bêt kèlèʾ marzeah menahot pader peḥah seder hatamid seder hayom sheol tamid torah

149; 151 86 166–67 148 148 129 150 149–50 194 145 174

‫‪338‬‬

‫‪Index of Terms and Expressions‬‬ ‫‪182‬‬ ‫‪161‬‬ ‫‪220‬‬ ‫‪209‬‬ ‫‪203‬‬ ‫‪180‬‬ ‫‪118‬‬ ‫‪182‬‬ ‫‪86‬‬ ‫‪220‬‬ ‫‪113–14‬‬ ‫‪195‬‬ ‫‪111; 115; 117–18‬‬ ‫‪193–94‬‬ ‫‪205‬‬ ‫‪205‬‬ ‫‪111‬‬ ‫‪216‬‬ ‫‪86‬‬ ‫‪223‬‬ ‫‪205‬‬ ‫‪205‬‬ ‫‪177‬‬ ‫‪109; 117‬‬ ‫‪197‬‬ ‫‪161; 203‬‬ ‫‪166‬‬ ‫‪232‬‬ ‫‪108‬‬ ‫‪216‬‬ ‫‪110‬‬ ‫‪209‬‬ ‫‪179; 205–207‬‬ ‫‪216; 223‬‬ ‫‪113–14‬‬ ‫‪203‬‬ ‫‪108‬‬ ‫‪203‬‬ ‫‪203‬‬ ‫‪204‬‬ ‫‪205‬‬ ‫‪264‬‬ ‫‪222‬‬ ‫‪115; 117‬‬ ‫‪197‬‬

‫חטאת‬ ‫חמן‬ ‫חסד‬ ‫חפץ‬ ‫חצרות‬ ‫חצרות קד ש‬ ‫חרם‬ ‫חשׁך‬ ‫טבח‬ ‫יהוה‬ ‫יום‬ ‫ימי קדם‬ ‫יסד‬ ‫יצא‬ ‫יצר‬ ‫ירד‬ ‫כהן‬ ‫כהני יהוה‬ ‫כון‬ ‫כי‬ ‫כסא‬ ‫לב‬ ‫לוי‬ ‫ללוי‬ ‫למד‬ ‫למה‬ ‫מדבר‬ ‫מזבח‬ ‫מות‬ ‫מות‬ ‫המית עיר‬ ‫מכון‬ ‫מכון לשׁבתך‬ ‫מכשׁול‬ ‫מלך‬ ‫מלכי מקדם‬ ‫מן‬ ‫מנחה‬ ‫מסלה‬ ‫מעלות‬ ‫מקדש‬ ‫מקום‬ ‫מקום לשׁבתך‬ ‫מקום קדש‬ ‫מקום רגל‬ ‫מרום וקדוש‬ ‫משרת‬ ‫משפט‬ ‫נבט‬ ‫נגד‬ ‫נטבה‬

‫‪148‬‬ ‫‪109‬‬ ‫‪114‬‬ ‫‪161‬‬ ‫‪206‬‬ ‫‪223‬‬ ‫‪118‬‬ ‫‪117‬‬ ‫‪161‬‬ ‫‪215‬‬ ‫‪222‬‬ ‫‪197‬‬ ‫‪182‬‬ ‫‪161‬‬ ‫‪193‬‬ ‫‪161‬‬ ‫‪161‬‬ ‫‪161‬‬ ‫‪113‬‬ ‫‪216; 217‬‬ ‫‪111‬‬ ‫‪115; 118; 225‬‬ ‫‪116‬‬ ‫‪122‬‬ ‫‪219‬‬ ‫‪175‬‬ ‫‪164‬‬ ‫‪209‬‬ ‫‪217; 218; 226‬‬ ‫‪209–210‬‬ ‫‪203‬‬ ‫‪160–61; 203‬‬ ‫‪226‬‬ ‫‪209‬‬ ‫‪114–15; 263‬‬ ‫‪161‬‬ ‫‪161‬‬ ‫‪202‬‬ ‫‪179; 182; 205–206‬‬ ‫‪205; 220‬‬ ‫‪203‬‬ ‫‪208‬‬ ‫‪218‬‬

‫‪zevahim‬‬ ‫אז‬ ‫מאז‬ ‫אגדה‬ ‫אדם‬ ‫אזכרה‬ ‫אזן‬ ‫אור‬ ‫אלוהים‬ ‫אלוהי עולם‬ ‫אליל‬ ‫אמר‬ ‫אפק‬ ‫ארץ‬ ‫ארץ ציה‬ ‫אשם‬ ‫אשר‬ ‫בבל‬ ‫בית‬ ‫בית אלהי יעקב‬ ‫בית האלהים‬ ‫בית יהוה‬ ‫בנה‬ ‫בצע‬ ‫בקע‬ ‫ברא‬ ‫ברית‬ ‫גלות‬ ‫גלות ציון‬ ‫גרשׁ‬ ‫דבר‬ ‫דבר יהוה‬ ‫דם‬ ‫דעה‬ ‫דעת דרך‬ ‫דרך‬ ‫דרש‬ ‫הדם‬ ‫הדם רגל‬ ‫היכל‬ ‫הלך‬ ‫הֵן‬ ‫הפך‬ ‫הר‬ ‫הר ציון‬ ‫הר קד ש‬ ‫זבח‬ ‫זכר‬ ‫חומה‬ ‫חלל‬ ‫חטאה‬

‫‪339‬‬

‫‪Index of Terms and Expressions‬‬ ‫‪217‬‬ ‫‪220‬‬ ‫‪216‬‬ ‫‪118‬‬ ‫‪218; 226‬‬ ‫‪209‬‬ ‫‪226‬‬ ‫‪218‬‬ ‫‪182; 205–206‬‬ ‫‪115‬‬ ‫‪122‬‬ ‫‪193‬‬ ‫‪118; 218‬‬ ‫‪107–108; 113‬‬ ‫‪112‬‬ ‫‪224‬‬ ‫‪207‬‬ ‫‪114–15‬‬ ‫‪208‬‬ ‫‪205‬‬ ‫‪72‬‬ ‫‪220‬‬ ‫‪164; 175; 177‬‬ ‫‪226‬‬ ‫‪222–23‬‬ ‫‪204‬‬ ‫‪202‬‬

‫רוח‬ ‫רחם‬ ‫ריב‬ ‫רע‬ ‫רפא‬ ‫שאל‬ ‫שׁוב‬ ‫שׁובב‬ ‫שחט‬ ‫שׁחר‬ ‫שיבה‬ ‫שיבת ציון‬ ‫שׁלח‬ ‫שׁלום‬ ‫שׁמים‬ ‫שׁמם‬ ‫שׁממה‬ ‫שמר‬ ‫שׁפך‬ ‫שקץ‬ ‫שרת‬ ‫שר‬ ‫תהלה‬ ‫תורה‬ ‫תעה‬ ‫תפארה‬ ‫תפארת‬ ‫תפלה‬ ‫‪Latin‬‬

‫‪122‬‬

‫‪captivitatem Sion‬‬ ‫‪Sumerian‬‬

‫‪114‬‬

‫‪dur-an-ki‬‬ ‫‪Syriac‬‬

‫‪277‬‬ ‫‪293‬‬ ‫‪285‬‬

‫‪Suryāyē‬‬ ‫‪ṭabhʿā ba-qdhālā‬‬ ‫‪zōnārā‬‬

‫‪218‬‬ ‫‪205‬‬ ‫‪111‬‬ ‫‪216‬‬ ‫‪182‬‬ ‫‪182‬‬ ‫‪217‬‬ ‫‪182‬‬ ‫‪216‬‬ ‫‪114‬‬ ‫‪217; 226‬‬ ‫‪224‬‬ ‫‪179; 205–206‬‬ ‫‪220‬‬ ‫‪216‬‬ ‫‪109‬‬ ‫‪217; 218‬‬ ‫‪195; 205‬‬ ‫‪264‬‬ ‫‪197‬‬ ‫‪118‬‬ ‫‪203‬‬ ‫‪202‬‬ ‫‪216‬‬ ‫‪216‬‬ ‫‪195‬‬ ‫‪114‬‬ ‫‪204; 208‬‬ ‫‪109–10; 112‬‬ ‫‪196‬‬ ‫‪203; 208; 222–23‬‬ ‫‪216‬‬ ‫‪205‬‬ ‫‪181‬‬ ‫‪216; 226‬‬ ‫‪209–210‬‬ ‫‪223‬‬ ‫‪196‬‬

‫ניב‬ ‫נסך‬ ‫נצב‬ ‫נצח‬ ‫לנצח‬ ‫נשא‬ ‫נשא חטא‬ ‫נשא עון‬ ‫נ שׁמה‬ ‫סבל‬ ‫סבל עון‬ ‫סלל‬ ‫סלם‬ ‫סתר‬ ‫עד‬ ‫עו לה‬ ‫עולם‬ ‫לעולם‬ ‫מעולם‬ ‫עון‬ ‫עלה‬ ‫עמוד‬ ‫ערבה‬ ‫עשׂה‬ ‫פאר‬ ‫פלל‬ ‫התפלל‬ ‫פנה‬ ‫פנה דרך‬ ‫פשׁתה‬ ‫צלמות‬ ‫קדוש‬ ‫קדם‬ ‫קדמניות‬ ‫קדש‬ ‫קול‬ ‫קטר‬ ‫קסם‬ ‫קצף‬ ‫קרב‬ ‫ראה‬ ‫ראשׁנות‬

List of Authors Bob Becking is Emeritus Senior Research Professor for Bible, Religion, and Identity at the University of Utrecht. His research circles around the history of and the religion in Ancient Israel. David G. Garber Jr. is Associate Professor of Old Testament and Hebrew at Mercer University’s McAfee School of Theology. He primarily employs trauma hermeneutics to the Hebrew Bible’s prophetic material and also studies the Bible’s reception history in popular culture. Judith Gärtner is Professor of Old Testament at the University of Rostock, Germany. Her main research foci are prophetic literature (Isa, Zechariah), Psalms, hermeneutics, and Old Testament Theology. Friedhelm Hartenstein was 2002–2010 Professor of Old Testament and Ancient Near Eastern History of Religion at the Department of Protestant Theology, University of Hamburg. Since 2010, he is Professor of Old Testament and History of Religion of Ancient Israel in its Ancient Near Eastern Context at the Faculty of Protestant Theology, LMU Munich. Main fields of work: Psalms, prophecy, religious history, theology of the Old Testament, and hermeneutics. Todd Hibbard is Associate Professor and Chair of the Religious Studies department at the University of Detroit Mercy. His research focuses on prophets and prophecy in ancient Israel, especially the book of Isa, and economic life in Persian Period Yehud. Tessa Hofmann, Dr. phil., Prof. h.c. of the Yerevan State University, worked until March 2015 as a research fellow at the Chair of Sociology at the Institute for Eastern European Studies, Freie Universität Berlin. Since then she is an independent scholar of Armenian and comparative genocide studies, with a focus on the Ottoman genocide against indigenous Christians (1912–1922). Assaf Kleiman is a postdoctoral research fellow of the Minerva Stiftung at Leipzig University. His main research interests are the settlement history, material culture, and inter-regional contacts of complex communities across the Iron Age Levant. Igor Kreimerman is a postdoctoral fellow of the Minerva Stiftung at Heidelberg University. His research combines the use of geoarchaeology, experimental archaeology, and traditional archaeological methods for the study of formation processes, especially construction and destruction, in the Bronze and Iron Age Levant.

342

List of Authors

Yigal Levin is Associate Professor at the Israel and Golda Koschitzky Department of Jewish History and Contemporary Jewry, Bar Ilan University, Israel, and serves as the head of the Multidisciplinary Department of Jewish Studies. His main areas of interest are the history of biblical Israel and its relationship with its neighbors, and the points of contact between historical studies, Bible, historcial geography, and archaeology. Nathan MacDonald is Reader in the Interpretation of the Old Testament at the University of Cambridge and a fellow of St John’s College. His main research areas are Pentateuchal criticism, and the history of the Israelite cult and priesthood. Hillel Mali is a faculty member in the Biblical Department at Bar Ilan University. His primary fields of interest are biblical priestly law, Second-Temple Halacha, and the evolution of the rabbinic movement. Natalie Naomi May is an Assyriologist, a scholar of the Hebrew Bible, and an ancient Near Eastern art historian. She is presently conducting her research on the Colophons and Scholars Project at the Leiden University as the Marie Skłodowska-Curie Fellow. Amihai Mazar is Professor Emeritus at the Institute of Archaeology, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. His research interests are the Bronze and Iron Ages in the Levant. Hanspeter Schaudig is Associate Professor of Assyriology at the University of Heidelberg, Germany. His studies focus on Sumerian and Akkadian, and on the interconnection of history and literature in Babylonia and Assyria in the first millennium BCE. Clemens Schneider is a research associate of Old Testament Studies at Leipzig University, Germany. His main research areas are ideational fundamentals, literary developments, and inner-biblical influences in Second Isa. Omer Sergi is a researcher at the Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology, Tel Aviv University. His main research areas are the archaeology and history of the Levant in the Bronze and Iron Ages, biblical history, and ancient Israel studies. Lena-Sofia Tiemeyer is Professor of Old Testament Exegesis at Örebro School of Theology, Sweden, and Research Associate at the Department of Old Testament and Hebrew Scriptures, Faculty of Theology and Religion, University of Pretoria, South Africa. Her main research foci are the prophetic literature (Isa, Jonah, Zechariah), 1–2 Samuel, and reception history. Witold Witakowski, PhD, is Emeritus Associate Professor of Semitics at the Uppsala University, Sweden. His main research areas are Syriac studies and Ethiopian studies, and more specifically historiographic, apocalyptic, and apocryphal literature in the two languages.