Writing and Rewriting History in Ancient Israel and Near Eastern Cultures 3447113634, 9783447113632

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WRITING AND REWRITING HISTORY IN ANCIENT ISRAEL AND NEAR EASTERN CULTURES Edited by Isaac Kalimi

Harrassowitz

Writing and Rewriting History in Ancient Israel and Near Eastern Cultures

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG,Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11363-2 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19958-2

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG,Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11363-2 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19958-2

Writing and Rewriting History in Ancient Israel and Near Eastern Cultures Edited by Isaac Kalimi

2020

Harrassowitz Verlag . Wiesbaden

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG,Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11363-2 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19958-2

Cover illustration: Bar-Rakib and his Scribe, Relief / Basalt (ca. 730 B.C.E.) Height x width 113 x 115 cm, Sam’al (Zincirli) / southeastern Turkey © bpk / Vorderasiatisches Museum, SMB / Jürgen Liepe

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über http://dnb.dnb.de abrufbar. Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de.

For further information about our publishing program consult our website http://www.harrassowitz-verlag.de © Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG, Wiesbaden 2020 This work, including all of its parts, is protected by copyright. Any use beyond the limits of copyright law without the permission of the publisher is forbidden and subject to penalty. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations, microfilms and storage and processing in electronic systems. Printed on permanent/durable paper. Printing and binding: Memminger MedienCentrum AG Printed in Germany ISSN 2193-4436 ISBN 978-3-447-11363-2 e-ISBN 978-3-447-19958-2

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG,Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11363-2 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19958-2

‫לזכרו הברוך של בן‪-‬דודתי‪ ,‬אלישע סרצי ז"ל‪,‬‬ ‫איש רעים‪ ,‬אציל נפש ונדיב לב‪,‬‬ ‫שנקטף מארצות החיים בלא עת‪,‬‬ ‫חבל על דאבדין ולא משתכחין!‬

‫‪© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG,Wiesbaden‬‬ ‫‪ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11363-2 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19958-2‬‬



© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG,Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11363-2 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19958-2

Table of Contents Abbreviations ............................................................................................................................... IX Illustrations .................................................................................................................................. XV Part One: Perspectives and Approaches Isaac Kalimi An Introduction: History and Historiography ......................................................................... 3 Peter Machinist Writing and Rewriting the History of Ancient Israel: Some Preliminary Expectorations .... 5 Gary A. Rendsburg The Epic Tradition in Ancient Israel – and What Happened to It? ........................................ 17 Wolfgang Zwickel Perspectives on the Future of Biblical Historiography .............................................................. 31 Jan Retsö How Tradition Literature is Created: A Comparative Perspective on the Pentateuch/ Hexateuch and Early Arabo-Islamic Historiography ................................................................ 45 Part Two: Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Sources Herbert Niehr Royal Inscriptions from Samʾal and Hamath as Sources for the History of Anatolia and Syria in the First Half of the 1st Millennium B.C. .................................................................... 61 K. Lawson Younger, Jr. Reflections on Hazael’s Empire in Light of Recent Study in the Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Texts ....................................................................................................................... 79 Abraham Winitzer World Literature as a Source for Israelite History: Gilgamesh in Ezekiel 16 ........................... 103 Part Three: Biblical History and Religion Alexander Rofé Allegedly Anachronistic Notes in the Books of Joshua and Samuel ........................................ 123 Klaas Spronk Samuel as the Paradigm of the Judges: The Use of the Verb ‫ ׁשפט‬in the Books of Judges and Samuel .......................................................................................................................................... 129 Ruth Fidler Writing and Rewriting the History of Israelite Religion: The Controversy regarding the Queen of Heaven ................................................................................................................... 141

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VIII

Table of Contents

Sebastian Grätz The Letters in the Book of Ezra: Origin and Context .............................................................. 161 Yigal Levin The Chronicler’s Rewriting of the History of Israel: Why and How? ..................................... 173 Manfred Oeming Cyrus, the Great Jew? A Critical Comparison of Cyrus-Images in Judah, Babylon, and Greece ........................................................................................................................................... 189 Part Four: Post-Biblical Historiography Michael Avioz King Solomon in Josephus’ Writings ......................................................................................... 211 Edward Dąbrowa Rewritten History: First Mac­ca­bees and Josephus on Simon the Maccabee .......................... 223 Contributors ................................................................................................................................ 231 Index of Authors .......................................................................................................................... 235 Index of Sources ........................................................................................................................... 243

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Abbreviations Biblical Books Gen Genesis Exod Exodus Lev Leviticus Num Numbers Deut Deuteronomy Josh Joshua Judg Judges 1–2 Sam 1–2 Samuel 1–2 Kgs 1–2 Kings Isa Isaiah Jer Jeremiah Ezek Ezekiel Hos Hosea Joel Joel Amos Amos Obad Obadiah Jon Jonah Mic Micah Nah Nahum Hab Habakkuk Zeph Zephaniah Hag Haggai Zech Zechariah Mal Malachi Ps Psalms Prov Proverbs Job Job Song The Song of Songs (or Canticles) Ruth Ruth

Lam Lamentations Qoh Qohelet (Ecclesiastes) Esth Esther Dan Daniel Ezra Ezra Neh Nehemiah 1–2 Chr 1–2 Chronicles 1–2–3–4 Macc 1–2–3–4 Mac­ca­bees Jub Jubilees Matt Matthew Mark Mark Luke Luke John John Acts Acts Rom Romans 1–2 Cor 1–2 Corinthians Gal Galatians Eph Ephesians Phil Philippians Col Colossians 1–2 Thess 1–2 Thessalonians 1–2 Tim 1–2 Timothy Tit Titus Phlm Philemon Heb Hebrews Jas James 1–2 Pet 1–2 Peter 1–2–3 John 1–2–3 John Jude Jude Rev Revelation

Cited Reference Works, Series and Periodicals AANL Atti dell‘Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei, Rendiconti ÄAT Ägypten und Altes Testament AB The Anchor Bible ABS Archaeology and Biblical Studies AcOr Acta Orientalia ADPV Abhandlungen des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins

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X AfO AGJU AHR AHw AI AJP ALASP ANESS ANET AOAT AOS AUSS BA BAR BASOR BBB BDB BEATAJ BHS BibInt BibSac BiOr BJS BN NF BTAVO B BThSt BTS BWANT BZABR BZAW CAD

CCS CDOG CHANE ConBOT COS DCLS DJD DSD

Abbreviations

Archiv für Orientforschung Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums American Historical Review Wolfram von Soden, Akkadisches Handwörterbuch (3 vols.; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1st–2nd ed., 1965–1985). Acta Iranica American Journal of Philology Abhandlungen zur Literatur Altsyrien-Palästinas Ancient Near Eastern Studies Supplements James B. Pritchard (ed.), Ancient Near Eastern Texts Related to the Old Testa­­­­ ment (3rd ed. with Supplement; Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1969). Alter Orient und Altes Testament American Oriental Series Andrews University Seminary Studies The Biblical Archaeologist Biblical Archaeology Review Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research Bonner Biblische Beiträge Francis Brown, Samuel Rolles Driver and Charles Augustus Briggs, A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (Oxford: Clarendon, 1907). Beiträge zur Erforschung des Alten Testaments und des Antiken Judentums Biblica Hebraica Stuttgartensia Biblical Interpretation Bibliotheca Sacra Bibliotheca orientalis Brown Judaic Studies Biblische Notizen. Neue Folge Beihefte zum Tübinger Atlas des Vorderen Orients, Reihe B: Geisteswissenschaften Biblisch-Theologische Studien Beiruter Texte und Studien Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechtsgeschichte Beihefte der Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Chicago Assyrian Dictionary; Ignace J. Gelb, et al. (eds.), The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago (21 volumes; Chicago: The Orien­­tal Institute / Glückstadt: J. J. Augustin / Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1956–2010). Cambridge Classical Studies Colloquien der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft Culture and History of the Ancient Near East Coniectanea Biblica Old Testament Series William W. Hallo and K. Lawson Younger, The Context of Scripture (3 vols.; Leiden and Boston: Brill 1997, 2000, 2002). Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature Studies Discoveries in the Judean Desert Dead Sea Discoveries

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Abbreviations

ÉB NS EI ESMIH ET FAT FM GöHAT HALOT HAT HBS HdO HTR HUCA HUCM ICC IEJ IHC JAJ JAJSup JANEH JANER JAOS JBL JBS JESHO JJS JNES JQR JR JSHRZ JSJ JSOT JSOTSup JTS KAI KAT KHAT KST LAOS LCL LHB/OTS LNTS LOS LXX

XI

Études Bibliques Nouvelle Série Eretz-Israel European Seminar on Methodology in Israel’s History English translation Forschungen zum Alten Testament Florilegium marianum Göttinger Handkommentar zum Alten Testament Ludwig Koehler, Walter Baumgartner, et al., Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament (5 vols.; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1994–2000). Handkommentar zum Alten Testament  Herders Biblische Studien Handbuch der Orientalistik Harvard Theological Review Hebrew Union College Annual Monographs of the Hebrew Union College International Critical Commentary Israel Exploration Journal Islamic History and Civilization Journal of Ancient Judaism Journal of Ancient Judaism Supplements Journal of Ancient Near Eastern History Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions Journal of the American Oriental Society Journal of Biblical Literature Je­ru­sa­lem Biblical Studies Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient Journal of Jewish Studies Journal of Near Eastern Studies Jewish Quarterly Review Journal of Religion Jüdische Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Zeit Journal for the Study of Judaism Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series Journal of Theological Studies Herbert Donner and Wolfgang Röllig, Kanaanäische und aramäische Inschriften (3 vols.; 2nd–5th ed.; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1968–2002). Kommentar zum Alten Testament Kurzer Hand-Commentar zum Alten Testament Kohlhammer Studienbücher Theologie Leipziger Altorientalistische Studien Loeb Classical Library The Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies Library of New Testament Studies Leipziger Altorientalistische Studien The Septuagint

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XII MC MDAI MIOS MT NABU NCBC NEA NEA NEAHL NETS NICOT NRTh NTS OAM OBO SA OBO ÖBS OJA OLA ORA OTL OTS PAAJR PEQ PNA PRSt RA RB RevQ RIMA RlA RlA RRJ RSF SAACT SAK SANER SAOC SBB SBL SBS SC

Abbreviations

Mesopotamian Civilizations Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Mitt(h)eilungen aus den Orientalischen Sammlungen The Masoretic Text Nouvelles Assyriologiques Brèves et Utilitaires New Century Bible Commentary Near Eastern Archaeology Near Eastern Archaeology Ephraim Stern (ed.), The New encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land (5 vols.; Je­ru­sa­lem and New York: Israel Exploration Society & Carta; Simon & Schuster, 1993–2008). Albert Pietersma and Benjamin G. Wright (eds.), A New English Translation of the Septuagint and the Other Greek Translations Traditionally Included under that Name (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007). The New International Commentary on the Old Testament La nouvelle revue théologique New Testament Studies Orientis Antiqui Miscellanea Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis Series Archaeologica Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis Österreichische Biblische Studien Oxford Journal of Archaeology Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta Orientalische Religionen in der Antike Old Testament Library Oudtestamentsche Studien Proceedings of the American Academy of Jewish Research Palestine Exploration Quarterly The Prosopography of the Neo-Assyrian Empire Perspectives in Religious Studies Revue dʼAssyriologie et dʼArchéologie Orientale Revue biblique Revue de Qumran The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia. Assyrian periods Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie Review of Rabbinic Judaism Rivista di Studi Fenici State Archives of Assyria Cuneiform Texts Studien zur altägyptischen Kultur Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilizations Simor Bible Bibliographies Society of Biblical Literature Stuttgarter Bibelstudien Semitica et Classica

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Abbreviations

SCI SEL SEPOA SHANE SJOT SLAEI SO SSI

XIII

Scripta Classica Israelica Studi Epigrafici e Linguistici Société pour l’étude du Proche-Orient Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Middle East Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam Symbolae Osloenses John C. L . Gibson, Textbook of Syrian Semitic Inscriptions (3 vols.; Oxford: Claren­­ don, 1971–1982). SSN Studia Semitica Neerlandica ST Studia Theologica – Nordic Journal of Theology StBoT Studien zu den Boğazköy-Texten StPhoen Studia Phoenicia THeth Texte der Hethiter ThQ Theologische Quartalschrift TLZ Theologische Literaturzeitung TR Theologische Rundschau TSAJ Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism TUAT Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments TZ Theologische Zeitschrift UF Ugarit-Forschung UISK Untersuchungen zur indogermanischen Sprach- und Kulturwissenschaft VT Vetus Testamentum VTSup Vetus Testamentum Supplements VWGTh Veröffentlichungen der Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft für Theologie WAW Writings from the Ancient World WBC Word Biblical Commentary WMANT Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament WO Die Welt des Orients WZKM Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes ZABR Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte ZAW Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft ZDPV Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins

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© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG,Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11363-2 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19958-2

Illustrations Figure 1: Borders of Israel in the early 9th century B.C.E according to Finkelstein .............. 33 Figure 2: Borders of Israel in the early 9th century B.C.E according to Zwickel ................... 33 Figure 3: The orthostat of King Kulamuwa; from: Herbert Niehr, “Questions of text and image in ancient Samʾal (Zincirli),” in Pascal Attinger, Antoine Cavigneaux, Cathe­rine Mit­ter­meyer, Mirko Novák (eds), Text and Image. Proceedings of the 61e Ren­con­tre Assyrio­lo­gique Internationale, Geneva and Bern, 22–26 June 2015 (OBO SA 40; Leu­ven–Paris–Bristol, CT: Peeters, 2018), pp. 309–319, 312 fig. 3 ... 65 Figure 4: Building J/K on the acropolis of Samʾal; from: ibid. 310 fig. 2 ............................... 67 Figure 5: Amulet case of King Kulamuwa; from: Felix von Luschan, Die Kleinfunde von Send­schir­li (MIOS XV; ed. by W. Andrae, Berlin: de Gruyter, 1943), pl. 47 f–g .. 68 Figure 6: King Bar-Rakib of Samʾal, the Moon God of Harran and a scribe; from: Niehr, “Questions of text and image,” p. 313 fig. 4 ............................................................. 69 Figure 7: Statue and inscription (part A) of King Zakkur; from: Herbert Niehr, Baʿalšamem. Stu­dien zu Herkunft, Geschichte und Rezeptionsgeschichte eines phöni­zischen Gottes (StPhoen XVII; OLA 123; Leiden–Paris–Dudley, MA: Peeters, 2003), p. 407 fig. 10a ................................................................................................. 73 Figure 8: Mazar’s 1962 map of Hazael’s Empire with borders added based on his article ... 80 Figure 9: Pitard’s Map of Hazael’s Kingdom (with permission) ............................................ 80 Figure 10: Hazael’s Empire (Younger 2016) .............................................................................. 91 Figure 11: A gold-plated medal that depicts President Trump together with Cyrus the Great (Jerusalem, 2019) ...................................................................................... 207

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Part One: Perspectives and Approaches

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An Introduction: History and Historiography Isaac Kalimi Johannes Gutenberg-University Mainz The relationship between “history” (that is, what actually happened, or to cite Leopold von Ranke, “wie es eigentlich gewesen [ist]”)1 and “historiography” (or the writing of history, “Ge­­ schichts­­schreibung,” that is, the attempt to describe what happened), has long been a keen interest for historians, scholars of the Bible and other ancient literature. Yet recent years have seen the rise of a range of new approaches to this relationship. Increasing attention has been paid particularly to the ways that history is told and retold by ancient historians and other writers, and the ways that these retellings reflect the individual perspectives of their authors and editors. Indeed, every writing of history – any history – is a product of the historian’s educational, cultural, religious, social, economic and political settings, and is influenced by his or her specific ideological and theological worldview (“Weltanschauung”). These historical settings shape the conceptual and compositional approaches of the historian – any historian – both consciously and unconsciously, as they select to write about this or that event (or even just about a detail of it), while choosing a specific document(s) from among some others. It also shaped how the historian arrange his sources, connect between them, interpret and occasionally modify elements from them in order to create a narrative description of the past, and how much space in his writing he dedicates to it. Usually that narrative description is accompanied with the historian’s implicit or explicit evaluation, that often stems from some central (theological, political etc.) tendency (/ tendencies) or an idea that leads him, and it he wishes to promote. Furthermore, each historian addresses a specific audience, using his/her own distinctive compositional methods, literary style, and linguistic vocabulary, idioms, phrasing and syntax, resulting in a never-ending process of rewriting. The historian also employs his or her own creativity and imagination in crafting a unique account of the past. Since every historian has his or her own unique historical setting, perspective and personality, no description of the past can ever be final, universal, or purely objective. Thus, the writing of “history” inevitably changes from one historian to another, one generation to another, and one place to another, even when all of them are describing the same event, institution, figure, or an era. Therefore, the analysis of ancient history and historiography requires careful, methodologically controlled comparison of all available sources, both written sources and material remaining. Doing this in a responsible way, I mean without either overly skeptical or overly confident, requires paying close attention to the available “empirical data,” the sources and various evidence that have been survived, with awareness of the text’s compositional methods, as well as its religious, cultural, stylistic and linguistic nuances. This can include also a close examination of all available textual variants of the written source, analysis of both the similarities and differences 1 On Leopold von Ranke and his method of history-writing and influence on European historians, see Isaac Kalimi, An Ancient Israelite Historian: Studies in the Chronicler, His Time, Place, and Writing (SSN 46; Assen: Royal Van Gorcum [now under: E. J. Brill, Leiden], 2005), pp. 22–23 with additional references.

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4

Isaac Kalimi

between different editions of the same works, comparison of how one historiographical text reuses its sources, when the latter have also been preserved, or comparison of historiographical texts with the surviving archaeological finds and epigraphical evidence. Such concrete comparisons allow scholars to analyze the literary, editorial and historiographical methods of their sources directly, while minimizing unfounded conclusion and baseless speculation. An international academic conference was held on this topic in June 17–20, 2018 at Er­­­­ba­­­­cher Hof – Akademie Mainz, under the auspices of Johannes Gutenberg University Mainz. The purpose was to bring together a range of scholars from Europe, North America and Israel to discuss these and other developments in the analysis of history and historiography in ancient Israel and its surrounding Near Eastern cultures. Together, the papers addressed the correlations and mutual influences or encounters between the historiographical methods of these ancient societies, and attempt to consider the most recent insights, methods and material discoveries pertaining to the history of ancient Israel and other people. In each of these areas, the papers bring to bear the concrete empirical evidence for the analysis of history and historiographical method. They represent the concepts, approaches, and methods in the analysis of these topics, while focusing on a specific theme from ancient Israelite history and historiography within its ancient Near Eastern neighboring context. The volume reflects, some scholars compare the compositional and editorial methods evident in biblical and post-biblical historiographical texts with those attested in other ancient literature. An inspiration for organizing this conference was one of my recent books, namely: Writing and Rewriting the Story of Solomon in Ancient Israel, which explores – among other issues – the topic of the current volume in great detail regarding the portrayals of King Solomon and his reign in the early and late biblical historiographies, mainly the books of Samuel-Kings and Chronicles, as well as on the background of some archaeological finds and indirect epigraphical sources.2 Most of the papers collected in this volume were delivered at the conference, while a few addi­ tional papers were invited. My thanks go to the colleagues who willingly contributed to the volume, and to Dr. Barbara Krauß, Director of Harrassowitz Verlag (Wiesbaden) for publishing this collection.

2 See Isaac Kalimi, Writing and Rewriting the Story of Solomon in Ancient Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018). For a brief overview and summary of the book, see idem, in The Ancient Near East Today vol. 7 no. 7 (2019), http://www.asor.org/anetoday/2019/07/Writing-and-Rewriting-the-Story-ofSolomon

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Writing and Rewriting the History of Ancient Israel: Some Preliminary Expectorations Peter Machinist Harvard University

I Introduction Historiography has always been an important component in the study of the Hebrew Bible, because history is so central to it. But the understanding and the writing of history in the Bible constitute no simple matter. The variety of viewpoints among the different biblical books – is there a commonalty despite or behind this variety; the historical authenticity of the biblical accounts as measured by the internal analysis of them and in comparison with putatively related outside sources of evidence; how history co-exists with other concerns in the Hebrew Bible; and whether, indeed, the Hebrew Bible is finally to be regarded as a work of history, or of religious thought, or of literature, or of some combination of these and perhaps other perspectives – all of it has drawn the attention of biblical scholars for a very long time, even back to the antiquity from which the Hebrew Bible emerged. Certainly, these issues in the approach and understanding of biblical historiography are well illustrated in the papers in this volume. An admittedly rough and to some degree arbitrary classification of the fourteen papers, apart from the present one, may help to clarify the variety and range at hand: 1) More general essays on the shape of history-telling in the Hebrew Bible and methods of interpreting it. a) Wolfgang Zwickel, “Perspectives on the Future of Biblical Historiography.” b) Jan Retsö, “How Traditional Literature is Created: A Comparative View on the Question of Source Analysis in the Hebrew Bible.” c) Gary Rendsburg, “The Epic Tradition of Ancient Israel.” 2) Particular sources, biblical and other ancient Near Eastern, and their historiographic significance. a) Herbert Niehr, “Royal Inscriptions as Sources for the Historiography of Syria in the First Half of the 1st Mill. B.C.E.” b) Klaas Spronk, “Rewriting History according to the Book of Judges.” c) Yigal Levin, “The Chronicler’s Re-Writing of the History of Israel: Why and How?” d) Sebastian Grätz, “The Letters in the Book of Ezra ‒ Origin and Context.” e) Alexander Rofé, “Allegedly Anachronistic Notes in the Books of Joshua and Samuel – Evidence from the Septuagint and a Qumran Manuscript vis-à-vis the Masoretic Text.” 3) Particular historical episodes and their reconstruction. K. Lawson Younger, Jr., “Reflections on Hazael’s Empire in Light of Recent Study in the Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Texts.”

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6

Peter Machinist

4) Particular characters and episodes and their presentation in biblical and post-biblical texts. a) Abraham Winitzer, “The Legacy of the Gilgamesh Epic in Ezekiel 16.” b) Michael Avioz, “King Solomon in Josephus’ Rewritings.” c) Manfred Oeming, “Cyrus in Chronicles. The King as Protector of the Cult in the Bible and in Ancient Near Eastern Patterns of Rewriting History.” d) Ruth Fidler, “Writing and Rewriting the History of Israelite Religion: The Controversy regarding the Queen of Heaven.” e) Edward Dąbrowa, “Rewritten History: 1 Mac­ca­bees and Josephus on Simon the Maccabee.” The richness of the papers listed is such that I have found that I cannot comment on them all except superficially and so very inadequately. Rather, what I would prefer is to offer some thoughts on one issue that appears to underlie, explicitly or implicitly, most, if not all, of them – an issue briefly noted at the beginning of this paper. The issue concerns authenticity or historicity as it applies to the Hebrew Bible. I shall begin with some general points about the existing scholarly discussion, and then move to some specific examples and suggestions. II Five Points in the Study of Ancient Israelite History The study of the history of ancient Israel, as we are well aware, has been pursued for the last forty or so years under the rubrics “maximalists” versus “minimalists.” Introduced into the context of ancient Israelite history independently, it appears, by the Assyriologist, William W. Hallo, and the archaeologist, William G. Dever,3 these terms have become famous, or more exactly infamous, because of their primary use in the polemics of one side against the other. I do not propose to discuss these rubrics and the various meanings given to them as such here. But they do serve to epitomize five fundamental issues or points in the study of ancient Israelite history with which we are all concerned, and so which I would like to highlight. The first and most fundamental centers on the generally recognized importance of the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament as a source – the source? – for the history of ancient Israel. Yet, on closer inspection, if it is a source, it is one whose importance is not self-evident and thus requires evaluation. That evaluation, as a second point, makes it plain that the Bible has substantial problems as an historical source: biases, incomplete or otherwise inadequate coverage of events, persons, and institutions, outright inventions. Indeed, it has been clear for a long time to all modern critical historians – the latter, an important qualification – that the Bible cannot be trusted as a source without serious critical examination of its problems. But this kind of examination – the third point – cannot be carried out simply as an internal exercise on the Bible alone; it requires a steady and comprehensive confrontation with the increasing quantity and variety of non-biblical evidence on ancient Israelite history – much of it, though not all, from archaeological excavation. This quantity and variety have grown to the level that some scholars have called for – and a few have tried (the names of Mario Liverani and William G. Dever being the most recent and substantial)4 – to write a history of ancient Israel with these non-biblical data as the primary, if not virtually the exclusive, source. This focus has been urged all the more, because a good deal of the 3 William W. Hallo, “Biblical History in Its Near Eastern Setting: The Contextual Approach” (1980), reprinted in V. Philips Long (ed.), Israel’s Past in Present Research. Essays on Ancient Israelite Historiography (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1999), p. 80, who refers to William G. Dever, “The Patriarchal Traditions. § 1 Palestine in the Second Millennium BCE: The Archaeological Picture,” in John H. Hayes and J. Maxwell Miller (eds.), Israelite and Judaean History (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1977), p. 77. 4 See especially, Mario Liverani, Israel’s History and the History of Israel (London and New York: Routledge,

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non-biblical data appears to be roughly contemporary with the historical phenomena that these data refer to, and such a connection, as a fourth point, has been held against the Hebrew Bible, for which a late date of composition has been argued, rather insistently in recent years. The fifth and final point is that the present debate on the historical worth of the Hebrew Bible appears to center on only a part of the history that the Bible depicts, namely, the period from the so-called Conquest of Canaan through the Persian Post-Exile; the earlier biblical periods of the Patriarchs, Exodus, and the Wilderness Wanderings are now almost entirely left out of the discussion, because of the opinion of an increasingly large number of scholars that the Bible is a hopeless source on these periods, if, indeed, they are historical periods at all. This judgment, it should be observed, represents a gradual development over the last half century or so toward lowering the date or period as to when a possible reconstruction of Israelite history should begin. A key moment in this development, as is now widely recognized, came in 1974–1975 with the publication of books by Thomas Thompson5 and John Van Seters.6 These forcefully challenged a previously dominant scholarly position that the Patriarchs of Genesis constituted an actual historical period, which should be dated at some point – here there had been debate – at the end of the third or first half of the second millennium B.C.E. The books did not simply throw into chaos the idea of a Patriarchal period. From the moment of their publication, they sparked, I would argue, an intensification of the discussion about the historicity of the succeeding periods laid out in the Hebrew Bible, and soon there was a proposal, in 1978 by the Italian scholar, J. Alberto Soggin, to begin the real history of Israel with the United Monarchy, specifically, the reign of David.7 But here too debate has ensued: not over the existence of David nor even over the date of his reign in the tenth century B.C.E., but over how much beyond these bare factoids we really know about David and the United Monarchy – and so whether, therefore, we should initiate an organized, systematic history of ancient Israel with it, or rather with the Divided Monarchy of Israel and Judah beginning in the following ninth century, when non-biblical written confirmation of the history of Israel seems to emerge more distinctly and more fully. Within the framework of the five points I have just outlined, modern scholars disagree particularly on two more fundamental issues. The first is: how deeply biased and so untrustworthy is the Hebrew Bible as an historical source? Most scholars, so far as I can judge, would not eliminate the Bible completely in this regard – and this appears to me absolutely correct, given the ultimate Sitz im Leben of this text in the ancient Near East and the fact that it alone provides an historical narrative – better, narratives – no matter what their difficulty, on the place of Israel in the ancient Near Eastern world. But how much one should distrust the Hebrew Bible elicits different scholarly responses. Put concisely: is the Hebrew Bible guilty until proven innocent, or the reverse, and how much one way or the other?

2014); and William G. Dever, Beyond the Texts. An Archaeological Portrait of Ancient Israel and Judah (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2017). 5 Thomas L. Thompson, The Historicity of the Patriarchal Narratives. The Quest for the Historical Abraham (BZAW 133; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1974). 6 John Van Seters, Abraham in History and Tradition (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1975). 7 J. Alberto Soggin, “The History of Ancient Israel: A Study in Some Questions of Method,” Eretz-Israel 14 (1978) (H.L. Ginsberg Volume), 44*–51*; idem, A History of Israel (London: SCM Press, 1985), pp. 26–32; idem, An Introduction to the History of Israel and Judah (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1993), pp. 30–34. For a general review, see Megan B. Moore and Brad E. Kelle, Biblical History and Israel’s Past: The Changing Study of the Bible and History (Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. Eerdmans, 2011).

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The second fundamental issue of disagreement is: what should historical reconstruction aim at – the history of ancient Israel, the history of ancient Palestine, or, more recently, the history of the southern Levant?8 This second point is not a trivial, terminological one, for the different labels connote different foci, whether on Israel – Israel and Judah – exclusively or primarily, or as part of larger entities with other groups in the region to be considered on an equal footing. III Going Further Can we build now on our five fundamental points about the Hebrew Bible and ancient Israelite history, so as to sharpen an appreciation of what that relationship entails? Here, in turn, are five suggestions. 1. The first is a question: what is involved in deciding upon the Hebrew Bible as an historical source? The answer comprises at least four elements: a) The historical validity of the details the Bible offers on particular events and persons that it mentions and describes. b) The historical validity of the Bible’s reconstruction – or reconstructions – of such events and persons. c) The historical validity of the larger contexts in which it places events and persons. Here the work of the French historian, Fernand Braudel, and his Annales colleagues is helpful. If events and persons themselves belong to the level of Braudel’s histoire événementielle, then the larger contexts include the social and institutional world – Braudel’s histoire de la conjoncture – and the ecological/geographical setting – la longue durée.9 To these we may add the cultural setting, that is, the climate of ideas about worldview, which for a younger group of Annales-related historians, like Emanuel Le Roy Ladurie,10 and various nonFrench colleagues like Natalie Zemon Davis,11 Robert Darnton,12 and Carlo Ginzburg,13 has been labelled a community’s mentalité. d) The validity of the overall historical framework, that is, the sequence of historical periods, that the Hebrew Bible provides: thus, pre-Israelite, patriarchal, exodus and wanderings, and so on. 2. However, there is another perspective on these four aspects of the Hebrew Bible as a historical source: what historical reality does the Bible reflect? Is it the group of events, persons, and institutions that it purports to depict? Or is the Bible at the most a source about the period, events, and setting of itself as a composition and its authors? This is, of course, an old problem, endemic 8 To be sure, the term Palestine has sometimes in this scholarly discussion carried also a modern political significance, in which the focus on ancient Israel is connected to a concern with modern Israel over against the modern Palestinian Arab community. This is evident, for example, in two books which played a major role in initiating discussion of the different labels at issue: Philip R. Davies, In Search of “Ancient Israel”: A Study in Biblical Origins (JSOTSup 148; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992), and Keith W. Whitelam, The Invention of Ancient Israel: The Silencing of Palestinian History (London and New York: Routledge, 1996). The connection to modern politics, however, does not appear, so far as I can judge, in the papers in the present volume. 9 E. g., Fernand Braudel, On History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980), pp. 25–54, 64–82, esp. 74. 10 E. g., Emanuel Le Roy Ladurie, Montaillou. The Promised Land of Error (New York: Vintage Books, 1979). 11 E. g., Natalie Zemon Davis, The Return of Martin Guerre (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1983). 12 E. g., Robert Darnton, The Great Cat Massacre: and Other Episodes in French Cultural History (New York: Basic Books, 1984). 13 E. g., Carlo Ginzburg, The Cheese and the Worms. The Cosmos of a Sixteenth-Century Miller (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1980).

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to historical sources from all periods of human history; and in biblical scholarship, it certainly has a strong base in nineteenth century authors – Julius Wellhausen comes particularly to mind – on the nature of the Pentateuchal/Hexateuchal sources and what they represent. Hannes Galter has characterized the overall problem as whether a historical source is Information (about itself and its author) or Informationsquelle (about the events, persons, etc. that it depicts).14 But a little thought about the matter suggests that many biblical sources, like those in other historical arenas, are often a mixture of both. Disentangling Information from Informationsquelle and evaluating the historical worth of each, thus, are the challenge – one made all the more difficult by the fact, as generally accepted, that the Hebrew Bible as we now have it in a form of the Tiberian Masoretic Text is the result of a long, complex compositional history, with, in many cases, the likelihood of several sets of authors/editors from different periods and settings. Indeed, it is, at least in part, because of the difficulty of penetrating this compositional history that a strong turn has emerged in recent biblical scholarship toward emphasizing the Hebrew Bible as Information, marginalizing, even giving up on it as Informationsquelle, particularly for what it regards as the early periods of Israelite history, namely, before the dual monarchies of Israel and Judah. A variant of this Information orientation has also become noticeable, focusing on the reconstruction not of history per se, but of historical memory: the ways in which the biblical authors and their communities remembered their history.15 These current emphases are important, not to be disregarded; and they resonate with current work in other historical arenas. But it is equally important to remember that determining the Bible as Information or as memory may just be as difficult, as uncertain, as determining it as Informationsquelle. Additionally, given an expanded sense, outlined above in (1), of what Informationsquelle involves, we should not give up on its possibilities for the Bible. 3. Critical to the historical issues we have been discussing are the dates, broad and narrow, for the composition of the Hebrew Bible. But fixing these remains a problem that probably will never achieve a lasting consensus. One trend in the discussion we have already noted in the scholarship of recent decades: a progressive lowering of the dates down to the Babylonian Exile of the sixth century B.C.E., but then further to the post-Exilic Achaemenid period of the latter sixth through the fourth centuries, and, even for some, into the Hellenistic period of the third/second centuries. To be sure, the late dating of certain biblical books has enjoyed a near consensus among scholars for many decades, for example, Chronicles, Ezra and Nehemiah, and the prophets Haggai, Zechariah, Joel, and Malachi. The flash point, however, has been the Pentateuch and the Deuteronomistic History, along with various prophetic books like Hosea, for which a late dating, in the Exilic but particularly the post-Exilic, even Hellenistic period has emerged.16 14 Hannes Galter, “Kommunikationsebenen innerhalb der politischen Sprache des assyrischen Reiches,“ in Chr. Zinko (ed.), Akten der 13. Osterreichischen Linguistentagung Graz, 25.–27. Oktober 1985 (Arbeiten aus der Ab­teilung “Vergleichende Sprachwissenschaft“ Graz; Graz: Leykam, 1988), vol. 1, p. 84, referring to Mario Liverani, “Memorandum on the Approach to Historiographic Texts,” Orientalia NS 42 (1973), pp. 178–194. 15 For an orientation, see Mark S. Smith, The Memoirs of God: History, Memory, and the Experience of the Divine in Ancient Israel (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2004), especially chapter 4, with a useful bibliography on the study of memory on p. 183. A formative study in this field of history and memory as applied to biblical and, more broadly, ancient Near Eastern studies is Jan Assmann, Moses the Egyptian: The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997). 16 For recent reviews, see for the Pentateuch, the large and varied collections of essays in Thomas B. Dozeman, Kon­rad Schmid and Baruch J. Schwartz, The Pentateuch: International Perspectives on Current Research (FAT≈78; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), and in Jan C. Gertz, Bernard M. Levinson, Dalit Rom-Shiloni and Kon­rad Schmid (eds.), The Formation of the Pentateuch. Bridging the Academic Cultures of Europe, Israel, and North America (FAT 111; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016). For the Deuteronomistic History, there is

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Again, it is rare that advocates for such late dates would exclude the possibility of earlier material in the Pentateuch or Deuteronomistic History. Rather, the argument is that as organized compositions, these texts should not be placed before the post-Exile or Exile, and that, consequently, they should reflect the ambience of these late periods. But how late in dating should we go? The debate becomes acute when Hellenistic dates are proposed for these biblical texts.17 Without entering the debate in detail, we may strike a cautionary note on at least one basis. It is that we do have Hellenistic period Jewish compositions that deal with biblical themes and stories, of which at least several show a distorted historical picture that is not present in the biblical texts of the Deuteronomistic History, when these Deuteronomistic texts are compared with pre-Hellenistic extra-biblical sources, both written and non-written, that are more or less contemporary with the events and cultures that the Deuteronomistic texts depict. Lawrence Stager has demonstrated this for the Philistines,18 and Alan Millard has done so for the portrait of the Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian empires in, for example, the Hellenistic book of Judith.19 Could this not suggest that the biblical versions are more authentic accounts of the events and cultures they depict and so belong earlier in date, or at least reflect earlier sources, than a number of scholars would prefer? 4. We may move to another issue in the scholarship on ancient Israel, one that, again, has a long history behind it: historical causation and the place of the supernatural in this. The Hebrew Bible is a text that, while not eschewing other explanations, reserves the fundamental understanding of historical change to the work of the divine. Joshua, in the book of that name, is able to capture and destroy Jericho because of the power of the god Yahweh, who agrees to exercise his power after the Israelites elicit it by engaging in a repeated ritual procession around the city over six days, each time returning to their camp, and then on the seventh repetition, attacking the city successfully with trumpet blasts (Joshua 6). But Western historiography, particularly since the Enlightenment, is not supernaturalistic: historical events are not the result of divine intent and intervention, but of natural and human causes. So if the biblical text attributes the fall of Jericho to Yahweh, this has been taken as a mask for the “real” cause or causes: in one reading, for the tactical ruse that the repeated ritual procession is supposed to entail, namely, to lull the Jericho inhabitants into a false sense of security that the Israelites outside their walls do not intend to attack, until the surprise attack that eventually comes after the seventh procession, and then only after this seventh procession winds around Jericho seven times.20 Modern Western study a handy volume of Thomas Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction (London: T & T Clark, 2007). 17 Niels P. Lemche, “The Old Testament - A Hellenistic Book?” SJOT 7 (1993), pp. 163–193, and idem, “Does the Idea of the Old Testament as a Hellenistic Book Prevent Source Criticism of the Pentateuch,” SJOT 25 (2011), pp. 75–92. There is a precedent to this late Hellenistic dating in some earlier biblical scholarship of the late nineteenth/early twentieth century, particularly as concerned with the Psalms and various prophetic books. See, for instance, Paul Haupt’s view that something like half of the book of Nahum originated in the “Maccabean” period of the mid-second century B.C.E. (“The Book of Nahum,” JBL 26 [1907], pp. 1–53). 18 Lawrence E. Stager, “Biblical Philistines: A Hellenistic Literary Creation?” in Aren M. Maeir and Pierre 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: Eisenbrauns, 2006), vol. 1, pp. 375–384. 19 Alan Millard, “Judith, Tobit, Ahiqar and History,” in P.J. Harland and C.T.R. Hayward, eds., New Heaven and New Earth. Prophecy and the Millennium. Essays in Honour of Anthony Gelston (Leiden, Boston and Köln: Brill, 1999), pp. 195–203. 20 Yigael Yadin, The Art of Warfare in Biblical Lands in the Light of Archaeological Discovery (London: Wei­den­ feld and Nicholson, 1963), pp. 99–100; Abraham Malamat, “Conquest of Canaan: Israelite Conduct of War

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of ancient Israelite history, in other words, sharply tends toward the reductive, removing what it regards as the superficial and epiphenomenal explanations in the biblical text of divine intention and activity to uncover the “real” scientific causes, which are, after all, the only ones amenable to rational discussion and evaluation. But can the supernatural explanations be discarded so easily? Do they have any actual historical value even for modern Western historians? Clearly, they testify to the ubiquity and crucial importance of the divine in the thinking – the mentalité – of the biblical authors, and not only of them, but of the wider societies of ancient Israel and Judah, and of the ancient Near East as a whole. As has often been observed, secularism in the modern, Western, Enlightenment-based trajectory, is hardly, perhaps nowhere, to be found in Near Eastern antiquity, and probably in other regions of antiquity as well. The divine was understood, rather, as omnipresent, the ground of all activity. But how can we as modern Western historians get hold of this ancient view in our efforts to reconstruct the course of ancient history? We can see how the ancients understood it simply as a matter of belief, but can we do more? When the Hebrew Bible asserts, for example, that Joshua fought the battle of Jericho under the aegis of Yahweh in Joshua 6, how can this assertion figure into our reconstruction of what the battle might have been? Or can it figure in? In such cases, we can only speculate, unless we want to step out of our Western-style historiography and accept on belief the action of the deity in history. But our speculation may not be frivolous, because it involves not only what kind of concept of deity the ancients held, but the power of that concept to motivate human action. That is, we can say, as Western-style historians, that it was a belief in the power of Yahweh to act on their behalf that impelled Joshua and his Israelites to fight successfully and conquer. While clearly something that cannot be confirmed in this instance – if, indeed, the whole event of the Jericho attack can be marked as historical! – yet motivation is an issue that can be rationally grasped and accorded validity in the Western historiographic tradition in a way that the content of religious belief cannot. This is not a matter of reductionism, of stripping away ancient belief in the divine, but of discerning another side to that belief that the biblical texts envisage. In short, if we cannot agree on and discuss whether the ancient belief in Yahweh was true, we can agree on and discuss its power to motivate. Another example from the Hebrew Bible may make all of this clearer. Isa 10:5–15 is a harangue of the prophet, the First Isaiah, against Assyria.21 In it, Isaiah makes the argument that Assyria’s military prowess and achievements, including those against (northern) Israel and Judah, have been due to Yahweh, but that because Assyria and its king have not recognized this – indeed, have flouted Yahweh’s directives – they will eventually be punished by Yahweh after they have attacked Israel and Judah. The argument here is a tricky one, designed to explain Assyria’s military and political successes of the latter half of the eighth century B.C.E., but at the same time to give hope to the still standing Judah that Assyria will not remain triumphant forever. The point is that the argument is fundamentally theological: about the power of Yahweh to conAccording to Biblical Tradition,” History of Biblical Israel. Major Problems and Minor Issues (Leiden, Boston and Köln: Brill, 2001), p. 85. 21 Hugh G.M. Williamson, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Isaiah 1–27, vol. 2: Isaiah 6–12 (In­ter­ national Critical Commentary; London and New York: Bloomsbury T. & T. Clark, 2018), pp. 480–531; Shawn Zelig Aster, Reflections of Empire in Isaiah 1–39. Responses to Assyrian Ideology (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2017), pp. 173–237; Peter Machinist, “’Ah, Assyria…’ (Isaiah 10:5ff). Isaiah’s Assyrian Polemic Revisited,” in Gilda Bartoloni and Maria Giovanna Biga with Armando Bramanti, eds., Not Only History. Proceedings of the Conference in Honor of Mario Liverani Held in Sapienza-Università di Roma, Dipartimento di Scienze dell’Antichità, 20–21 April 2009 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2016), pp. 183–217.

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trol international history and, implicitly, to deny that role to the Assyrian imperial god, Ashur, which is otherwise loudly proclaimed in the Assyrian imperial inscriptions and visual art. In order to make his argument, Isaiah deliberately employs the ideas and rhetoric of the Assyrian inscriptions, but turns them upside-down in order to use them to affirm the primary position of Yahweh, not Ashur, in history. Isaiah 10:5–15, in essence, is a polemic against Assyrian imperial theology. And while we as Western historians may not wish to discuss the existence of Yahweh or Ashur as real, active historical agents, we can legitimately use this Isaianic text as a witness to what Isaiah, his Judahite royal audience, and the biblical authors responsible for the text believed about the existence and power of these deities and how that belief played out in their attitudes and actions as they faced the Assyrian menace against them. 5. Lastly, it may be asked: how does one treat a potentially historical phenomenon for which there is only one source? This question is foundational because more often than one would like, the study of ancient Israelite history involves just one lonely source, and it is usually the Hebrew Bible – itself, to be sure, a congeries of sources. How, then, to respond? A short answer would be: avoid treating the phenomenon and its source altogether, following the advice of the old Latin phrase: testus unus testis nullus “one witness is no witness.”22 But while this might be a productive, even successful strategy in a courtroom, where the Latin phrase seems to have been most at home, it would stultify historical work, especially on antiquity where the sources are not only more sparse than for contemporary history, but much more unevenly distributed over topics and phenomena of historical concern. At the least, therefore, a careful, critical examination must be done of the source in order to see whether it can be used as an historical witness and what kind of witness, Information or Informationsquelle, or a combination of the two. But what is involved in such an examination? First of all, it must be internal: discerning from the source itself its structure; its narrative style and characterization, if relevant; its function(s) and, if again relevant, its aim or message; how the particular portion of the source that is important for the historian studying it relates to and can be evaluated in terms of the rest of the source; who is responsible for it; in what setting(s), from original to secondary, was it found; who is the audience(s). This internal examination, in other words, has the goal of establishing how the source presents itself on the historical issue at hand: whether as an objective, neutral, and primary document, or as a reflection at some distance from the event, etc. that it depicts; or as advocacy, even polemic. Included in this is the question of whether the source is, in fact, as it wants to present itself. Then, after or as separate from the internal examination, the source can be placed in a wider, external context: on the one hand, in a context of other sources that, while not directly treating the same, specific historical issue, come from the same general setting and are of a similar type (e.g., one text from the Deuteronomistic History as compared with the entire History, or one inscription of a particular Assyrian king as compared with other inscriptions of the same king or of the Neo-Assyrian kings as a whole); on the other hand, in a context of other historical issues that are of related or analogous settings and periods (e.g., Ahab’s response to the Levantine campaign of the Assyrian Shalmaneser III in the Assyrian sources as compared with the Hebrew Bible, where the response does not appear).23 These wider contexts can serve as benchmarks for assessing the historical validity of the single ancient source under study. They may also raise a potentially revealing ques22 See Wikipedia (French). “Testis unus, testis nullus,” where it is suggested that the phrase is rooted in the Vulgate translation of Deut 19:15; https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Testis_unus,_testis_nullus (accessed 4.07.2018). 23 Cf. the narrative on Ahab in 1 Kgs 16:29–22:40 with the Kurkh Monolith inscription of Shalmaneser III, recounting the battle at Levantine Qarqar - the latter as translated and commented on, inter alia, by Mordechai

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tion: Would it be possible, on the basis of the internal and external analyses of the single source, to predict that other testimony on the historical issue at hand could be found? And if so, where and under what circumstances? If such other testimony could be predicted, might this serve as a further indication of the historical validity of the one source actually known? A more extended example may illustrate some of the challenges posed by a one-source situation. The example involves Manasseh, king of Judah, who from biblical and Assyrian evidence is to be placed in the middle decades of the seventh century B.C.E.24 The biblical sources are mainly two-fold: 2 Kings 21 and 2 Chronicles 33. Both are sharply critical of Manasseh, who for the authors committed horrible acts of idolatry and other cultic violations, reversing the religious reforms of his father Hezekiah, and “leading them astray” (‫ ויתעם‬in 2 Kgs 21:9 // 2 Chr 33:9), that is, the population that followed him (2 Kgs 21:2–11; 2 Chr 33:2–10). There is, however, one glaring difference between the two accounts – along with a number of more minor ones: In 2 Chr 33:10–19, Manasseh is punished by Yahweh for his heinous acts and violations through the agency of the army of the Assyrian king. The army takes Manasseh captive, bringing him to Babylon in chains, where he repents earnestly to Yahweh in a prayer for forgiveness. Yahweh responds favorably and returns him freed from bondage to Je­ru­sa­lem, whereupon he reverses virtually all of the evil work he had done and adds some defensive measures in Je­ru­sa­lem and the fortified towns outside of it. The Chronicler then notes Manasseh’s death and burial. None of this, except for a slightly variant notice of the king’s death, is in 2 Kings 21. There (verses 2–17) Manasseh’s evil acts are recounted, together with a prediction of their negative consequences many years after his death, then followed by a summary statement and notice of his death. Now, if we assume with the scholarly communis opinio that the composition of 2 Kings precedes that of the Chronicler, who uses a form of the books of Samuel and Kings as his base, how should we evaluate the addition in the Chronicler of Manasseh’s arrest and repentance? The question is all the more pressing because this addition is not only strikingly different from the account in 2 Kings, but is testis unus within the Hebrew Bible and all other extant sources on Manasseh and his period, especially the Mesopotamian.25 Scholarly answers here are divided. One side dismisses Cogan, The Raging Torrent: Historical Inscriptions from Assyria and Babylonia Relating to Ancient Israel (2nd ed.; Je­r u­sa­lem: Carta, 2015), pp. 14, 16, 20–21, 24. 24 See, for example, Klaas A.D. Smelik, “The Portrayal of King Manasseh: A Literary Analysis of II Kings xxi and II Chronicles xxiii,” in idem, Converting the Past. Studies in Ancient Israelite and Moabite Historiography (OTS 28; Leiden, New York and Köln: Brill, 1992), pp. 129–189; Anson Rainey, “Manasseh, King of Judah, in the Whirlpool of the Seventh Century B.C.E.,” in idem (ed.), kinattūtu ša dārâti. Raphael Kutscher Memorial Volume (Tel Aviv. Occasional Publications 1, 1993), pp. 147–164; Percy S.F. Van Keulen, Manasseh Through the Eyes of the Deuteronomists. The Manasseh Account (2 Kings 21:1–18) and the Final Chapters of the Deu­te­ ronomistic History (OtSt 38; Leiden, New York and Köln: Brill, 1996); Roy Gane, “The Role of Assyria in the Ancient Near East During the Reign of Manasseh,” AUSS 35 (1997), pp. 21–32; Gary Knoppers, “Saint or Sinner? Manasseh in Chronicles,” in J. Corley and H. van Grol (eds.), Rewriting Biblical History. Essays on Chronicles and Ben Sira in Honor of Pancratius C. Beentjes (DCLS 7; Berlin and New York: W. de Gruyter, 2011), pp. 211–229; Gunnar Lehmann, “Survival and Reconstruction of Judah in the Time of Manasseh,” in A. Berlejung (ed.), Disaster and Relief Management/Katastrophen und ihre Bewältigung (FAT 81; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), pp. 289–309; Christian Frevel, Geschichte Israels (2nd ed.; Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 2018), pp. 300–304 with bibliography. 25 Josephus, Jewish Antiquities 10.40–46 (Josephus, Jewish Antiquities vol. VI: Books IX–XI, translated Ralph Marcus [LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1937], pp. 180–183), has a version of the addition in 2 Chronicles, but here the king is identified not as of Assyria, but over Babylonia and Chaldea, and he has his army capture Manasseh after invading Judah – the whole orchestrated by God to punish Judah for its impious behavior. This looks like a corrupt version of the Chronicles text, and in any case cannot be pressed as

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the historicity of the Chronicler’s addition as just another example of his “midrashic” embroidering, even invention, of material that he has received from his Samuel-Kings foundation. The other side supports the essential historical fact of Manasseh’s capture by the Assyrians and then his release back to Judah. Space constraints do not allow a full analysis of this scholarly division. But several features need to be mentioned that will highlight what is at stake with a one-source historical problem. A general point, to begin with: sources. One source is an old difficulty, of course, in the study of the books of Chronicles, and it focuses directly on the Chronicler’s additions to the underlying books of Samuel and Kings: Are these additions indeed “midrashic” embroiderings by the Chronicler, or do they come from sources now lost that were unavailable to or not used by the (Deuteronomistic) authors of Samuel and Kings? This debate has not been resolved, nor, in the nature of the evidence, is it likely that it will ever be. But there seems to be a more general willingness in recent scholarly discussions, over against the negative evaluations, say, of Julius Wellhausen a century and a half ago,26 to allow to the Chronicler genuine sources no longer extant, even if we must always reckon with the possibility that the sources could have been reconfigured by the Chronicler or have been incomplete, distorted, or otherwise defective in themselves.27 In the present case, while the Chronicles text does mention two sources for Manasseh’s prayer of entreaty to Yahweh (2 Chr 33:18–19), it does not say that these sources include the arrest of Manasseh and then his release. Indeed, one source is said also to contain a list of Manasseh’s cultic violations, but strangely the Chronicler does not mention whether this source describes Manasseh’s reversal of these violations after his entreaty or God’s favorable response. The two sources cited, therefore, are not fully congruent with the narrative in 2 Chronicles 33 of Manasseh’s arrest and release, and this suggests that some kind of editorial shaping on the part of the Chronicler has occurred. The consequence is that it is difficult to use the mention of sources here in Chronicles as a way of validating the historicity of the arrest and release addition. Let us consider two other aspects of the scholarly divergence over this addition. On the side of those who dismiss its historicity28 is the argument that the addition comes to serve the Chronicler’s larger theological aims. The first aim concerns an issue of theodicy that the 2 Kings 21 account of Manasseh poses, namely, that Manasseh is not himself punished for his sins; rather he is allowed the unprecedented long reign of 55 years and punishment comes, as stated in 2 Kgs 21:10–15, 23:26–27, and 24:1–4, only much after his death in the form of the destruction of Judah, Je­ru­sa­ lem, and the Davidic dynasty in the Babylonian conquest and exile of the following sixth century B.C.E. In other words, punishment is not direct, but transgenerational. For the Chronicler, however, as many scholars have observed,29 transgenerational punishment or reward is unacceptable; each person is to be dealt with directly by Yahweh. And so, Manasseh himself must be punished for his sins – and yet forgiven for them, because the Chronicler accepts the end of Manasseh’s story from Kings, namely, that he died peacefully in his own house. Moreover, the Chronicler’s independent historical evidence. Equally dependent, but as an elaboration on 2 Chronicles is the apocryphal Prayer of Manasseh, in which Manasseh confesses his sins to and implores God for forgiveness; he also makes mention of being constrained by many iron bands (verse 10), though otherwise there is no specific reference to his arrest and release. 26 Julius Wellhausen, Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel (Cleveland and New York: World Publishing Co., 1957/1883), pp. 171–227. 27 See below, the paper of Yigal Levin. 28 For example, Smelik, “The Portrayal of King Manasseh.” 29 For example, Wellhausen, Prolegomena, pp. 203–209; Hugh G.M. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles (NCBC; Grand Rapids, MI: W. Eerdmans, 1982), pp. 31–33; and Sara Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and Its Place in Biblical Thought (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009), pp. 117–155.

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statement that Manasseh’s punishment by the Assyrians occurs at Babylon is, for our dismissive scholars, neither an accident nor historical, because it contains a deliberate foreshadowing of the disaster of the Babylonian exile (though this foreshadowing, it may be seen, indicates that the Chronicler did not wholly give up on transgenerational punishment!). Finally, the elaborate theological language in which the Chronicler describes Manasseh’s punishment and release only underscores the unhistorical nature of the episode. So much, in brief compass, for the arguments to dismiss the Chronicler’s addition as unhistorical. But the other scholarly side has a counter-proposal.30 The case here goes immediately outside of Chronicles and its addition for support. It appeals to non-biblical, especially Assyrian sources that indicate Manasseh was a dutiful Assyrian vassal, as manifest on two occasions, and that describe a long and violent civil war later between the Assyrian king, Ashurbanipal, and his brother, Shamash-shuma-ukin, the subordinate ruler of Babylonia. From the biblical chronology, this war must have occurred during Manasseh’s reign. Given, then, these historically established facts, our “historicist” scholars go on to hypothesize that the story in Chronicles is some kind of reconfiguration of the actual situation in which Manasseh, having been an Assyrian vassal, then temporarily broke away to join the Babylonian side of the civil war, and when Ashurbanipal won that war, he arrested the treasonous Manasseh in the city of Babylon, which was the site of the Assyrian triumph. Afterwards, he released Manasseh, presumably with a new oath of loyalty and a large payment of tribute, because Ashurbanipal needed him as a local ruler in his administration of the southern Levant, just as Ashurbanipal’s grandfather, Sennacherib, had done with the disloyalty of Manasseh’s father, Hezekiah, according to both Assyrian and biblical sources.31 How should we react to the two opposing positions on Manasseh just described? Frankly, neither feels completely satisfactory if presented in exclusive, absolute form. The dismissal position seems then too rooted in an internal analysis of the biblical sources alone. After all, can we really imagine that the Chronicler invented the story about Manasseh’s arrest and release out of whole cloth, when the external Assyrian evidence shows that he was indeed an Assyrian vassal and that the civil war provides a realistic setting for his disloyalty to the Assyrian crown? On the other hand, is the “historicist” position too focused on the weight of the non-biblical, Mesopotamian sources, disregarding or excessively diminishing the theological dimensions within which the Chronicler was working, namely, that the reason for Manasseh’s arrest was not disloyalty to Assyria, but evil acts against Yahweh? If, then, there is a solution to this dilemma, perhaps it lies in some combination of the two positions, wherein the Chronicler has indeed offered a reconfiguration of an original (set of) encounter(s) between Manasseh, as vassal, and the Assyrian Ashurbanipal, as overlord. This reconfiguration could have been caused by transmission of the episode to the Chronicler through a lengthy chain of sources, but also, at least in part, by the Chronicler’s exploitation of the episode to support his own theological aims of direct punishment and reward and of anticipation of the Babylonian conquest and exile. And in this reconfiguration, we allow that Babylon as the meeting place of Manasseh and the Assyrian army commanders could have been invented to establish the connection to the Babylonian exile. We 30 See especially Rainey, “Manasseh, King of Judah.” . 31 For the Hebrew Bible, see 2 Kgs 18:13–19:37 // Isaiah 36–37 and 2 Chr 32:1–23, especially 2 Kgs 18:13–16. For Assyria, see the royal inscriptions describing Sennacherib’s third campaign (701 B.C.E.), in Cogan, Raging Torrent, pp. 125, 131–133 (no. 6.01), 136 (no. 6.03). Both sets of texts state that Sennacherib imposed upon Hezekiah a heavy tribute, which the latter paid. No mention is made of Sennacherib removing Hezekiah as the vassal king of Judah; indeed, text no. 6.03, a so-called “bull” inscription, states that Sennacherib made Hezekiah “bow down at my feet” – a classic expression of vassal submission.

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may go further: given the external Assyrian background, it does appear possible that a piece of evidence could be discovered in the future that would describe an incident of Manasseh’s temporary disloyalty to the Assyrians and his punishment and restoration after that. In the end, internal as well as external examination of our Chronicles addition yields an uneasy conclusion: this testis unus cannot certainly avoid the taint of a testis nullus, but neither can it quickly be dismissed as a source of no genuine historical worth on the reign of Manasseh, thus as Informationsquelle. At the same time, examining this addition yields Information, about the biblical author who has presented it. IV Conclusion The debate about the role of the Hebrew Bible in studying the history of ancient Israel has, as we have noted, very old roots, going back more than two centuries, at the least. If the last several decades have witnessed an intensification in the arguments, this is due not only to the increase in ancient evidence and the difficulties of interpreting it, but also to a more general set of intellectual and social changes of the period. I refer to the challenges and, more, resistance to existing forms of authority in politics, society, economy, and culture especially in Western countries, which have witnessed determined groups of opposition on a variety of fronts beginning particularly in the 1960s. While, of course, the challenges and opposition have involved many issues, prominent among them intellectually has been the question about the contingency of truth: that if truth were an absolute, then its accessibility remains highly uncertain, and yet even to think of it as an absolute may be mistaken, for it may well be a non-existent fantasy. Whatever we know, one influential line of argument sometimes labelled as “post-modernist” has averred, is not the Truth out there but what individuals have read, heard, or seen. Argument, not Truth would seem to be the order of the day. This question, to be sure, well pre-dates the 1960s, but its political and societal ramifications – that no existing authority can and should claim as its legitimization the possession of Truth, rather that the world is and should be an arena of competing “truths” – has become since the 1960s a common and often tense fact of life. In the study of ancient Israel, as we have seen, this question of t/Truth has centered on the attack against existing conventions about the understanding of history and the role of the Hebrew Bible as a/the source for this, but it has spread out to a variety of other issues. Of course, if the maintenance of Truth as an active force in human life carries with it the ever-present danger of oppressive dogmatism, the dethroning of Truth threatens the abandonment of all standards: the inability to pronounce on excellence and to carry excellence out to general approbation and use in private as well as public life. In light of this, what, then, is the problem, the challenge, for modern historians of ancient Israel, indeed, for historians everywhere? It is, I think, to find a balance between recognizing that there is something out there, beyond the self of the historian, which is the object of his or her scholarship, and acknowledging at the same time that this something is accessible primarily, on occasion even only, through the self of the historian, or the selves of several historians working on the same something. Put another way, if Truth is the something out there, and evidence a manifestation of that Truth, then they present themselves through the historian’s perception and argument. Historical work, thus, is a dialectic between these poles, and the best and most productive historians will remain constantly aware of it.

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The Epic Tradition in Ancient Israel – and What Happened to It?* Gary A. Rendsburg Rutgers University The early books of the Bible are filled with stories that derive from the epic tradition in Israel.1 The later books of the Bible generally are devoid of such narratives. Why? What happened? This essay poses these questions (ones not often asked, to the best of my knowledge) and then seeks to answer them. I The Barren Woman and Younger Son Motifs Let us begin with the two literary motifs which dominate the book of Genesis: the childless hero with barren woman motif; and the younger son motif. The first of these occurs with Abraham and Sarah, where it dominates much of Genesis 15‒21; it reoccurs, albeit briefly, with Isaac and Rebekah (25:21); and then five chapters later one reads of the barrenness of Rachel (29:31, 30:22). For later echoes of this motif, see the wife of Manoah (Judges 13) and Hannah (1 Samuel 1). The second motif in Genesis mentioned above is the younger son motif. In each successive generation, primogeniture is set aside, so that Isaac supersedes Ishmael, Jacob supersedes Esau, Joseph supersedes his brothers, Perez supersedes Zerah, and Ephraim supersedes Manasseh. This motif is foreshadowed, it seems, with God’s favoring Abel over Cain (Genesis 4), and is continued in the next book of the Bible, in which Moses becomes the leader of the Israelites, with Aaron holding second position (Exod 7:7). The motif surfaces again in the case of David (1 Sam 16:1‒13), whose last-born status is explicitly noted, and then once more in the next generation in the case of Solomon (1 Kings 1–2).2 * An oral version of this article was read at the conference on “Writing and Rewriting History in Ancient Israel and Near Eastern Cultures,” sponsored by the Johannes Gutenberg-Universtät Mainz and held at Erbacher Hof – Akademie Mainz, June 17–20, 2018. Heartfelt gratitude is here expressed both to Professor Isaac Kalimi (J.G.U.) for his organizing and hosting the conference, and to Professor Ralf Rothenbusch (Erbacher Hof) for the warm welcome and hospitality that we enjoyed during our visit. 1 I use the term “epic tradition” herein very loosely. I do not intend a long narrative poem (the usual definition of “epic”), but rather the themes, motifs, features, and so on that one finds in epic literature. On the question of an epic poetic tradition in ancient Israel, see the programmatic essays by Charles Conroy, “Hebrew Epic: Historical Notes and Critical Reflections,” Biblica 61 (1980), pp. 1‒30; and Shemaryahu Talmon, “Did There Exist a Biblical National Epic?” Proceedings of the Seventh World Congress of Jewish Studies: Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East (Je­ru­sa­lem: Magnes, 1981), vol. 2, pp. 41‒61, reprinted in Shemaryahu Talmon, Literary Studies in the Hebrew Bible (Je­ru­sa­lem: Magnes / Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1993), pp. 91‒111. Both Conroy and Talmon answered the question (posed in the title of the latter’s article) in the negative, and I find myself in essential agreement with their position, for all the reasons that both scholars expressed so eloquently. 2 As envisioned by the author of the David story, it appears that Solomon is the last-born son of David. The Chronicler, however, mentions additional sons born to Bathsheba/Bathshua, who presumably were younger than Solomon (1 Chr 3:5). Though even in said verse, Solomon is the last of the four sons mentioned. On this issue, see the detailed discussion by Isaac Kalimi, Writing and Rewriting the Story of Solomon in Ancient Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), pp. 166‒175.

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Now, these two motifs are part of the epic tradition of ancient Canaan, as can be determined by observing their presence in Ugaritic literature. The theme of the childless hero dominates the Epic of Aqhat, with the key couplet repeated throughout, with reference to Danʾel: “Who has no son like his siblings, and (no) offspring like his kinsmen” (CAT 1.17 col. I, lines 18‒19; with parallels at col. I, lines 42‒43 and col. II, lines 14‒15). At the opening of the Epic of Keret, the hero loses all of his children, while his wife has departed (that is, either she died, or she was taken from Keret3). The hero’s desire, accordingly, is for offspring (CAT 1.14 col. II, lines 4‒5) and for his wife Ḥuray to be restored to him (CAT 1.14 col. III, lines 38‒40) – more on this latter point anon. As the Epic of Keret continues, we learn of the return of Ḥuray to Keret (restored at the beginning of CAT 1.15 col. II) and the subsequent birth of seven sons and an eighth child, a daughter (CAT 1.15 col. II, line 23 – col. III, line 25).4 Strikingly, either the god El or the hero Keret (more likely the former) declares ṣǵrthn . abkrn “the youngest of them I make to be firstborn” (CAT 1.15 col. III, line 16). Now, if all of this sounds familiar, it is because, to repeat, the same motifs occur in Genesis. The childless heroes Danʾel and Keret find their echoes in Abraham especially, though also with Isaac; while the raising of the youngest to firstborn status resonates in the stories of Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Perez, and Ephraim, as noted above. Regarding the former motif, I would observe the following, however. While in Ugaritic lore, the focus is on the male heroes (especially with Danʾel, though also with Keret), in the Bible the stories focus on the female protagonists. In all five cases, the issue is more centered on the barren women than it is on their husbands: Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, the wife of Manoah, and Hannah. To my mind, this has to do with Israel’s desire to identify with the lowly. Israel saw itself not as a heroic male or a firstborn son, but rather as a barren woman and as a younger or youngest son. Israel is not Egypt or Assyria or Babylonia, nations of old with abundant water and natural resources, but rather a new nation, a younger nation, which flourishes only through divine intervention, as Yahweh guides and protects her.5 II The Helen-of-Troy Motif I noted earlier that a portion of the Keret Epic is devoted to the hero’s need to recover his wife Ḥuray, for she had been taken into the foreign palace of King Pebel of Udum (CAT 1.14 col. III, lines 38‒40; col. VI, lines 22‒25). This motif also finds its resonance in Genesis: Abraham needs to reclaim Sarah from two foreign palaces, that of the Pharaoh and that of Abimelech, king of Gerar; while Isaac must do the same with Rebekah, as she too is taken by Abimelech, king of Gerar. I also would relate the Dinah episode to this motif, even though she is not the wife of the hero, but rather the daughter, with the story thereby serving as a variation on the theme. Now, in the two cases of Sarah and the one instance of Rebekah, no military action was necessary – but such action did play a role in the Dinah episode. I mention this because of Keret’s need to amass an army and to march on Udum in order to reclaim his wife. At this point in the text, the key lines are missing,6 though it appears that in the end Pebel acquiesced to Keret’s demand for the return of his wife Ḥuray – which is to say, the reclamations of Dinah and of Ḥuray are not exactly the 3 On the two options, see below. For the nonce, I will proceed with the latter option, to wit, that his wife (not named yet, at this point in the epic) was taken from him. 4 Admittedly, the text is not as clear as I suggest here, but such is the best understanding, to my mind. 5 See Gary A. Rendsburg, “Unlikely Heroes: Women as Israel,” Bible Review 19,1 (February 2003), pp. 16‒23, 52‒53. 6 See at the beginning of CAT 1.15, col. I, along with the comments by Edward L. Greenstein, “Kirta,” in UNP, p. 23.

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same, for the one required the sword while the other did not, but the parallel remains nonetheless. And to broaden our horizon further, all of these tales share the major theme of the Iliad, that is to say, the Helen-of-Troy motif. These interconnections and many others were posited more than sixty years ago by my teacher Cyrus Gordon, in his pathbreaking article, “Homer and Bible” (1955).7 [Important sidebar: Most scholars interpret wtbʿt “and she departed” in CAT 1.14 col. I, line 14 to refer to the death of Keret’s wife.8 This remains possible, though I would observe that only here in all of Ugaritic literature would the root t-b-ʿ “leave, depart” bear such (metaphorical) meaning.9 In addition, its exceedingly common Akkadian cognate tebû “leave, depart” never bears this meaning;10 and the same is true of the Arabic cognate tabiʿa “follow, pursue.”11 Hence Gordon preferred to see literal departure (however to be understood), rather than death, expressed in CAT 1.14 col. I, line 14 wtbʿt, and I have followed suit here.12 There is no need to be dogmatic about the issue, however. For even if the wife of Keret died, and Ḥuray is a new wife, “this will not be the first time that a theme has been diffused with variations.”13 Which is to say, the basic outline of the Helen-of-Troy motif is to regain the captured wife by force, but we also encounter the following variations. In Genesis, we have three instances where the wife is regained through peaceful means, along with one instance where a sister/daughter needs to be regained by violent means; while in Ugaritic we would have the march and siege of Udum to gain Ḥuray as a new wife for Keret.] III The Epic of Keret and the Exodus-through-Joshua Narrative Let us remain with the Epic of Keret, but instead of looking at individual scenes, let us now consider the larger picture. In so doing, I build upon the work of earlier scholars, including once again Gordon and more importantly Gregorio del Olmo Lete (1965).14 My focus here is on the 7 Cyrus H. Gordon, “Homer and Bible: The Origin and Character of East Mediterranean Literature,” HUCA 26 (1955), pp. 43‒108; reprinted as idem, Homer and Bible: The Origin and Character of East Med­i­ ter­ranean Literature (Ventnor, NJ: Ventnor Publishers, 1967). See also Cyrus H. Gordon, The Common Back­ ground of Greek and Hebrew Civilizations (New York: W. W. Norton, 1965). 8 See, for example, H. L . Ginsberg, “The Legend of King Keret,” in ANET, p. 143 note 2; and John C. L. Gib­ son, Canaanite Myths and Legends, 2nd ed. (London: T. & T. Clark, 2004), p. 82, note 4. Note as well the use of “departed” (with quotation marks) by Greenstein, “Kirta,” p. 12. 9 Gregorio del Olmo Lete and Joaquín Sanmartín, A Dictionary of the Ugaritic Language in the Alphabetic Tra­ dition (trans. Wilfred G. E . Watson; Leiden: Brill, 2003), vol. 2, pp. 857‒858. 10 CAD 18 [T], pp. 306‒320. 11 Lane, Arabic-English Lexicon, vol. 1, pp. 293‒296. Note that in Aramaic-Syriac the root t-b-ʿ occurs as well, though mainly with the meanings “seek, desire, demand, sue”; see CAL, s.v. ‫תבע‬, for a summary. The word was borrowed from Aramaic into Mishnaic Hebrew, with the same range of meanings; see Menahem Moreshet, A Lexicon of the New Verbs in Tannaitic Hebrew (Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1980), p. 384 (Hebrew). 12 For examples of other scholars who render the word with its basic meaning, see F. Charles Fensham, “Remarks on Certain Difficult Passages in Keret,” JNSL 1 (1971), pp. 17–18 (“she goes out”); Zvi Rin and Shifra Rin, ʿAlilot ha-ʾElim (Philadelphia: Inbal, 1996), p. 434 (simply ‫“ וִ יצָ ַא ְתהוּ‬she departed him”); and Gregorio del Olmo Lete, Mitos y Leyendas de Canaan (Madrid: Ediciones Cristiandad, 1981), p. 289 (“pero se [le] fue”). In the glossary to the latter volume (p. 634), del Olmo Lete renders t-b-ʿ as “marchar, irse, partir,” with no hint of any metaphorical meaning “depart” = “die”; though as intimated above (see note 9), in his co-authored dictionary the same scholar does countenance the meaning “die.” For an alternative interpretation, see John Gray, The KRT Text in the Literature of Ras Shamra (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1964), pp. 11, 32 (“she gave him issue”, i. e., she produced offspring). 13 Cyrus H. Gordon, “Poetic Legends and Myths from Ugarit,” Berytus 25 (1977), p. 35. 14 Cyrus H. Gordon, “Notes on the Legend of Keret,” JNES (1952), pp. 212‒13; and Gregorio del Olmo Lete, “La conquista de Jericó y la leyenda ugaritica de KRT,” Sefarad 25 (1965), pp. 1‒15. More recently, see Marieke

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military expedition to (re)claim Ḥuray from the palace of King Pebel of Udum. The poetic narrative includes the following elements:15 1) Keret sacrifices a lamb to commence the proceedings (CAT 1.14 col. III, line 55 – col. IV, line 9). 2) Keret prepares bread for the journey (CAT 1.14 col. IV, lines 9‒12). 3) An enormous army, numbering 300 myriads (= 3,000,000 men), goes forth (CAT 1.14 col. IV, lines 13‒18). 4) The army marches for three days and then reaches the shrine of Asherah (CAT 1.14 col. IV lines 19‒36). 5) Keret engages in a ritual act, to wit, he makes a vow (CAT 1.14 col. IV, lines 36‒43). 6) The army marches for another three days and then reaches Udum (CAT 1.14 col. IV, lines 44‒48).16 7) The army is quiet for six days (CAT 1.14 col. V, lines 3–5). 8) The action renews on the seventh day (CAT 1.14 col. V, line 6).17 The tale that I have just outlined, spanning about two columns of text on Tablet 1 of the Keret Epic, finds its parallel in the long and extended narrative that stretches from Exodus through Joshua. All of the elements are present. 1) The Israelites sacrifice lambs to commence the proceedings (Exod 12:1‒11; 12:21‒28). 2) The Israelites prepare bread for the journey (Exod 12:34, 12:39). 3) An enormous army, numbering 600,000 men, marches forth (Exod 12:37‒38).18 4) The people travel until they reach Mt. Sinai (Exodus 16‒19). 5) The Israelites engage in a ritual act at Mt. Sinai (Exodus 24). 6) The Israelites leave Mt. Sinai and continue their journey (Numbers 10‒36, Joshua 1‒5). 7) The army engages in maneuvers, but does not attack, for six days (Josh 6:1‒14). 8) On the seventh day, the Israelites attack (Josh 6:15‒21). Which is to say, the grand narrative of Exodus through Joshua utilizes the same building blocks as the older Epic of Keret. Or to put this in other terms, with attention to one of the details, and to quote Gordon: “Nearly every army takes some food with it before commencing a long campaign. den Braber and Jan-Wim Wesselius, “The Unity of Joshua 1‒8, its Relation to the Story of King Keret, and the Literary Background to the Exodus and Conquest Stories,” SJOT 22 (2008), pp. 253‒274. While the authors have something to contribute to the point under consideration, unfortunately the value of their article is greatly diminished upon encountering statements such as this: “There can be no serious doubt that the Primary History, and especially its account of the great campaign of conquest from Egypt to Canaan, was shaped as a literary emulation of the Histories of Herodotus” (p. 272). This position has been argued at length by Jan-Wim Wesselius, The Origin of the History of Israel: Herodotus’ Histories as Blueprint for the First Books of the Bible (JSOTSup 345; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002). As with most such attempts to date much of biblical literature to the Persian period, Wesselius totally ignores the linguistic evidence, on which see further below. 15 The earlier portion of the Keret Epic provides the command portion of the command-and-fulfillment device; see CAT 1.14 II 9 – III 51. I provide the column-and-line numbers for the fulfillment portion only, that is, the actual action. 16 Here follows the attack on various towns, villages, and fields (CAT 1.14 IV 49 – V 2), though for our present purposes I skip these few lines. 17 At this point the narrative records at length the various messages back-and-forth between Pebel and Keret, until Ḥuray is released and is restored to her husband (see above). 18 Readers often overlook the fact that the Israelites are described as an army, with words such as ‫“ ַרגְ לִ י‬infantrymen” (Exod 12:37), ‫“ צְ ָבאוֹת‬armies” (Exod 12:41), and ‫“ ֲח ֻמ ִשׁ ים‬armed” (Exod 13:18).

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The Epic Tradition in Ancient Israel – and What Happened to It?

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Nevertheless, history usually takes little or no notice of such a seemingly prosaic detail. But that detail is singled out as worthy of saga in the Legend of Keret (Krt:79‒84, 171‒75), where the baking of bread is celebrated before the launching of the great expedition.”19 And similarly with the greatly inflated numbers of men who participated in the expedition: the biblical 600,000 is to be explained as the retention of epic hyperbole, even as the text was translated into the narrative prose that dominates biblical storytelling.20 IV An Additional Parallel between Ugaritic Epic and the Genesis Narratives There are other scenes in the two Ugaritic epics with echoes in Genesis, though I limit myself here to one. In the Aqhat legend, in anticipation of the visit of Kothar-wa-Ḫasis, Danʾel instructs his wife Danatay: “Prepare a lamb from the flock, for the appetite of Kothar-wa-Ḫasis, for the desire of Hayyan, the one of handicrafts” (CAT 1.17 col. V, lines 16‒19); and then, in classic epic poetic style, a few lines later, she carries out the command, “She prepares a lamb from the flock, for the appetite of Kothar-wa-Ḫasis, for the desire of Hayyan, the one of handicrafts” (CAT 1.17 col. V, lines 22‒25). Similarly, when divine messengers visit Abraham, he instructs Sarah to prepare food. True, it is bread (Gen 18:6), while Abraham and his servant attend to the calf (Gen 18:7), but the overall effect is the same.21 Divine visitors require special hospitality, including a personally prepared meal: both the Ugaritic epic and the book of Genesis comply with this meme. Note similarly the offer by Manoah to prepare a kid for the divine visitor who speaks to him and his wife, even though the offer is declined (Judg 13:15‒16). V The Type-scene The next item to be discussed lacks any ancient Near Eastern parallels, but because it serves as the paradigm type-scene in biblical storytelling, I feel the need to mention it here, especially since it fits well into the larger picture that I am portraying. I refer to the type-scene of the Israelite bachelor in a foreign land who meets his destined bride at the well.22 The basic versions are the stories of Jacob (Gen 29:1‒30) and Moses (Exod 2:15‒22), while in the case of Isaac (Genesis 24), the text presents something slightly different, as in this instance a surrogate for Isaac encounters Rebekah at the well in Harran.23 In addition to these three cases, we have the inverted type-scene in the book of Ruth (chapter 1). As Robert Alter observed, in this story, the foreign Moabite lass encounters her destined husband at a well in the land of Israel. To be more precise, the word ‫ְּב ֵאר‬ ‫ב‬-‫א‬-‫שׁ‬ “well” does not appear in the story, but one is implied by the use of the verb       “draw water” in Ruth 2:9. Finally, again as Alter observed, there is the aborted type-scene in 1 Samuel 9, where Saul encounters the lasses exiting the city in order to draw water, but the episode trails off, or at least heads in a different direction, so that no nuptials ensue. We will return to these episodes below, though for now I simply observe that all five appear within the span of Genesis through Samuel, with Ruth. 19 Gordon, “Notes on the Legend of Keret,” p. 213. 20 See further Gary A. Rendsburg, “An Additional Note to Two Recent Articles on the Number of People in the Exodus from Egypt and the Large Numbers in Numbers i and xxvi,” VT 51 (2001), pp. 392‒396, esp. 392‒393. 21 Jonas C. Greenfield, “The Hebrew Bible and Canaanite Literature,” in Robert Alter and Frank Kermode (eds.), The Literary Guide to the Bible (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 1987), pp. 545–560, esp. 559. 22 See the classic treatment by Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (2nd ed.; New York: Basic Books, 2011), pp. 55‒78. 23 Actually, neither Aram nor Harran is mentioned by name in Genesis 24, though we know from Genesis 29 and elsewhere that such must be the location of the encounter.

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VI Joseph and Potiphar’s Wife I now turn our attention to other accounts in the early biblical books with various Near Eastern parallels. As is well known, the episode of Joseph and Potiphar’s Wife (Genesis 39) finds two parallels, one in the Egyptian Tale of Two Brothers (P. D’Orbiney = P. BM 10183), and the other in the story of Bellerophontes in the Iliad (book 6, lines 156‒170). In each case, the young man is seduced by the wife of his master, the hero valiantly refuses, he then is accused by the woman of seduction and attempted rape, at which point the hero is either banished or imprisoned.24 VII The Nostos Theme Remaining with Egyptian tales: a prominent theme in three of the major narratives is the journey motif with the concomitant nostos, or homecoming. The three tales are Sinuhe (on land), the Ship­wrecked Sailor (at sea), both from the Middle Kingdom, and Wenamon (mainly at sea, with various stops on land), from the New Kingdom. All three stories include the episodic journey (especially Sinuhe and Wenamon), and all three end with the successful return home,25 the nostos. This theme, of course, as befits the word itself, is best known from Greek epic, as embodied in the Odyssey, for Menelaus and Nestor in more minor ways, and for Odysseus obviously in the most major way. Also relevant here is the Epic of Gilgamesh, whose episodic journey ends with his return home to Uruk.26 I would submit that the major arc of the biblical narrative from Genesis through Joshua is just such a journey as well: The people leave their homeland at the end of the book of Genesis, they are resident in Egypt for several generations, they leave Egypt and journey through the Sinai, with numerous episodes related in Exodus 15‒19 and Numbers 10‒27; 31‒34, and then the nostos occurs in the opening chapters of the book of Joshua. To the best of my knowledge, this reading has not been proposed previously, but I believe it fits well with the overall ethos of ancient Israel. The role of the individual recedes, while the people as a whole become the protagonist. Hence, no Sinuhe, no Sailor, no Wenamun, no Odysseus, no Gilgamesh, and also no Moses and no Aaron (both of whom, of course, die before the homecoming). Instead, the people of Israel collectively constitute the lead character, as may be seen throughout the narrative, with the term ‫ְּבנֵ י יִ ְשׂ ָר ֵאל‬ “children of Israel” attested ca. 387 times in the span of Genesis 46 through Joshua 12. This approach may explain certain minor elements in the grand narrative, one of which I mention here. The Israelites receive gifts of gold, silver, and clothing from their Egyptian neighbors, immediately before departure (Exod 12:35), just as the Serpent bestowed gifts upon the Shipwrecked Sailor as he departed the island to return to Egypt, and just as the Phaecians showered Odysseus with gifts as he departed their land to return to Ithaca.27 Incidentally, or perhaps not so incidentally, another nostos story appears in the Bible, in Genesis 35, when Jacob returns to the land of Canaan. A minor element in this pericope is thereby explained, namely, Jacob’s command to his entourage: ‫ֹלת ֶיכֽם׃‬ ֵ ‫“ וְ ִ ֽה ַּט ֲהרּ֔ו וְ ַה ֲחלִ ֖יפּו ִׂש ְמ‬and purify yourselves, and change your clothes” (Gen 35:2), with the former action requiring bathing, of 24 Gordon, The Common Background of Greek and Hebrew Civilizations, pp. 119‒20; and Robert Graves, The Greek Myths (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1955), vol. 1, p. 254 (§75.1). For additional Greek parallels, see Graves, The Greek Myths, vol. 1, p. 229 (§70.2). 25 While we lack the end of the Tale of Wenamon in our sole manuscript (P. Pushkin 120), most scholars agree that the protagonist must have returned successfully to Egypt, especially since he narrates his tale in first person. 26 On nostos in these ancient compositions, see Gordon, The Common Background of Greek and Hebrew Civilizations, pp. 102, 111, 125, 223. 27 Gordon, The Common Background of Greek and Hebrew Civilizations, pp. 83, 272‒73.

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course.28 One of the features of the nostos, as once more Gordon pointed out, is the bathing and changing of one’s clothes upon the return home. In Gilgamesh, tablet XI, lines 262‒270, we read:29 Ur-shanabi took him and led him to the washtub. He washed his matted locks as clean as could be, he cast off his pelts, and the sea bore them off. His body was soaked till fair, he made a new [kerchief for] his head, he wore royal robes, the dress fitting his dignity. “Until he goes [home to his city,] until he reaches the end of his road, let [the robes show no mark, but stay fresh and] new!” In Sinuhe we read as follows (MS B, lines 285‒293):30 We went through the great portals, and I was put in the house of a prince. In it were luxuries: a bathroom and mirrors. In it were riches from the treasury; clothes of royal linen, myrrh, and the choice perfume of the king and of his favorite courtiers were in every room. Every servant was at his task. Years were removed from my body. I was shaved; my hair was combed. Thus, was my squalor returned to the foreign land, my dress to the Sand-farers. I was clothed in fine linen; I was anointed with fine oil. Perhaps most well-known is the scene in the Odyssey, book 23, where Homer uses the feature of bathing and new clothes to great effect. At first, Penelope does not recognize her husband, until the following occurs (lines 152‒155):31 Now the housekeeper Eurynome bathed great-hearted Odysseus in his own house, and anointed him with olive oil, and threw a beautiful mantle and a tunic about him. Only now can the nostos be complete, so that Penelope “burst into tears and ran straight to him, throwing her arms around the neck of Odysseus, and kissed his head” (lines 207‒208). As with Gilgamesh, Sinuhe, and Odysseus, so with Jacob and his entourage: bathing and new clothes are required to complete the homecoming.32 I further would add: is it a coincidence that both Jacob (Gen 31:41) and Odysseus (Odyssey 23:102) were away from their respective homes for twenty years? I leave the question there, without an answer, though as a point to ponder. VIII The Single Combat Scene We remain with Sinuhe for one final feature that produces a parallel between an ancient Near Eastern text and a biblical passage. I refer to the duel between Sinuhe and the Syrian/Canaanite chieftain, narrated in MS B, lines 138‒140: “Then, when he charged me, I shot him, my arrow 28 Admittedly, this action is connected to Jacob’s previous command to remove the alien gods. 29 Translation of Andrew George, The Epic of Gilgamesh (London: Penguin, 1999), pp. 97‒98. 30 Translation of Miriam Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, 3 vols. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973), vol. 1, pp. 232‒233. 31 This and the next passage, translation of Richard Lattimore, The Odyssey of Homer (New York: Harper & Row, 1967), pp. 338‒40. 32 See Gary A. Rendsburg, “Notes of Genesis XXXV,” VT 34 (1984), pp. 361‒366.

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sticking in his neck. He screamed; he fell on his nose; I slew him with his axe.”33 To this scene one may compare the contest between David and Goliath, with particular attention to this passage (1 Sam 17:51): ‫ׁש֑ו‬ ֹ ‫ת־ּבּ֖ה ֶאת־רֹא‬ ָ ‫ת־ח ְ֠רֹּבו וַ ּֽיִ ְׁשלְ ָפּ֤ה ִמ ַּתעְ ָרּה֙ וַ יְ מֹ ְ֣ת ֵת֔הּו וַ ּיִ כְ ָר‬ ַ ‫ל־ה ְּפלִ ְׁש ִּת֜י וַ ּיִ ַּק֣ח ֶא‬ ַ ‫וַ ּיָ ָ֣ר ץ ָּד֠וִ ד וַ ּיַ עֲ מֹ֨ד ֶא‬ And David ran, and he stood over the Philistine, and he took his sword, and he withdrew it from its sheath, and he killed him,34 and he cut off his head. Notice how in both episodes, the hero launches a weapon (arrow, slingshot) at the challenger, who is thereby felled, after which the victor uses the main weapon of the defeated (axe, sword) to finish the deed.35 IX The Larger Picture I could continue to present further examples of ancient Near Eastern and Mediterranean parallels to biblical material, but at this point, let us move to the larger picture. What has not been stated until now is that all of the parallels observed here, and numerous others not mentioned here, are pertinent to the books of Genesis through Samuel only. Edward Greenstein has surveyed much of this material in a classic article, “The Formation of the Biblical Narrative Corpus,”36 and there is much overlay between his article and the present essay. Almost without exception (and for those, see below), his examples also come from Genesis through Samuel, with most of those relevant to these two books in particular, as stories in Genesis mirror those in Samuel, and vice versa.37 From the ancestral narratives through the time of David and Solomon, we have one style of He­brew narrative prose, and then from the time of Solomon onwards, there is a drastic change in tone and tenor. In fact, the earlier material may be classified as follows, using the mathematical equation: Biblical Narrative Prose (1) = History + Epic That is to say, the stories contain a historical kernel, as can be determined from occasional references in ancient Egyptian historical texts and more significantly from archaeological fieldwork in Israel, but the biblical prose authors narrated that history with an epic overlay.38 This epic overlay includes not only all manner of parallels with Ugaritic and Babylonian narrative poems, the Iliad and the Odyssey, and Egyptian prose stories, as we have illustrated, but other features as well. These include the grossly inflated numbers (one of which, the 600,000 Israelites, already has been mentioned); the unreliable ages and years, with various stereotypical numbers and numerical

33 Translation of Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, vol. 1, p. 228. 34 The form of the Hebrew verb provides the sense of “and he finished him off,” but I use the simpler “and he killed him” here. 35 Again, see Gordon, The Common Background of Greek and Hebrew Civilizations, p. 106. 36 Edward L. Greenstein, “The Formation of the Biblical Narrative Corpus,” AJS Review 15 (1990), pp. 151‒78. 37 For detailed studies of corresponding episodes in Genesis and Samuel, see Yair Zakovitch, “Reflection Story: Another Dimension for the Valuation of Characters in Biblical Narrative,” Tarbiz 54 (5745/1985), pp. 165‒176, esp. 172‒176 (Hebrew); idem, “Through the Looking Glass: Reflections/Inversions of Genesis Stories in the Bible,” BibInt 1 (1993), pp. 139‒152, esp. 149‒151. 38 And then, in addition, with a theological overlay as well.

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patterns present;39 and the use of strong female characters, whose presence adds considerably to the various plotlines.40 The historian within us wishes to peel away the epic overlay, in order to reveal the history, but by doing so we would lose the aesthetic quality of the composition. We prefer, accordingly, to proceed as a literary scholar, and to marvel at the text as we have it. An apt analogy is to be found in Beowulf, about which I quote Robert Farrell in extenso: Beowulf is a work of heroic history, i. e. a poem in which facts and chronology are subservient to the poet’s interest in heroic deeds and their value in representing the ethics of an heroic civilization. A poet writing in this mode does not disregard absolute historical fact, history, that is, as we know it. He rather sees it as less important than other considerations… His account will sometimes mesh reasonably well with history, as in the episode of Hygelac’s raid on the Frisian shore. But more often, his work will be a freely-woven structure in which the characters and actions of the past will be part of an ethically satisfying narrative.41 So it is with the biblical material as well: The authors do not disregard absolute historical fact, history, that is, as we know it. Rather, they see history as less important than other considerations. The accounts sometimes mesh reasonably well with history, as in the episode of the Israelites’ migration to Egypt and their settlement in Pithom, paralleled by the same migration by the Edomites and their settlement in Per-Atum (= Pithom), as known from Papyrus Anastasi VI 4:11–5:5, dated to the reign of Merneptah. But more often, their work will be a freely-woven structure in which the characters and actions of the past will be part of an ethically, aesthetically, and theologically satisfying narrative. As indicated above, with the rise of the monarchy, especially under Solomon, one observes a total shift in the style of storytelling. We shift from the Biblical Narrative Prose (1) style, with its combination of history and epic, to the Biblical Narrative Prose (2) style.42 Here we gain a more credible history, as reflected from 1 Kings 12 through 2 Kings 25, characterized by a focus on the institutions of kingship and the Temple, with what we assume to be reliable regnal years, a dearth of female characters, and in the main very few literary and thematic parallels from ancient Near Eastern and Mediterranean literature.

39 See, for example, the age of 110 years for both Joseph (Gen 50:26) and Joshua (Josh 24:29), representing the ideal age of an ancient Egyptian, noteworthy since the two characters represent the generations of the Eisodus and the Exodus, respectively. For the Egyptian evidence, see the classic treatment by J. M. A. Janssen, “On the Ideal Lifetime of the Egyptians,” Oudheidkundige Mededelingen uit het Rijksmuseum van Oudheden 31 (1950), pp. 33‒43. 40 Again, see Rendsburg, “Unlikely Heroes: Women as Israel.” Note that in the standard treatment, Tikva Frymer-Kensky, Reading the Women of the Bible (New York: Schocken, 2002), almost without exception, every character treated in the 435–page book appears within the span of Genesis through Samuel (including Ruth). The only exceptions are the Shunammite (10 pages), Athaliah (4 pages), the Cannibal Mothers (2 pages), Jezebel (6 pages), and Huldah (3 pages) – though for three of these, see further below. 41 Robert T. Farrell, “Beowulf, Swedes and Geats,” Saga-Book of the Viking Society for Northern Research 18 (1970‒73), pp. 220‒296, esp. 229; republished as Robert T. Farrell, Beowulf, Swedes and Geats (London: Viking Society for Northern Research, University College London, 1972). 42 While I continue to use these full designations below, at times I will abbreviate them as BNP (1) and BNP (2), respectively.

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Gary A. Rendsburg

X The Role of the Israelite Monarchy How to explain this? To my mind, the monarchy itself is responsible for this shift. With the monarchy came an ever-increasing bureaucracy, including a scribal chancellery. The hints at this are to be found in the list of David’s and Solomon’s officials: in the former, we read of Jehoshaphat ben Aḥilud, mazkir “recorder,” Seraiah, sofer “scribe,” and Sheva, sofer “scribe” (2 Sam 8:16‒17, 20:24‒25); while in the latter we read of Eliḥoreph and Aḥijah sons of Shisha,43 sofrim “scribes” and once again Jehoshaphat ben Aḥilud, mazkir “recorder” (1 Kgs 4:3). Unfortunately, after David and Solomon, the evidence is sparse, but we do gain notice of three additional royal scribes, all from the kingdom of Judah: the anonymous one from the reign of Jehoash (2 Kgs 12:11), Shebna from the reign of Hezekiah (2 Kgs 18:18, 18:37, 19:2), and Shaphan from the reign of Josiah (2 Kgs 22:3‒14 [7x]).44 These individuals, who must have numbered scores (in both kingdoms) between the years 930–586 B.C.E., are most likely the ones responsible for the information contained within the Annals of the Kings of Israel (e.g., 1 Kgs 14:19) and the Annals of the Kings of Judah (e.g., 1 Kgs 14:29), the source material for the canonical book of Kings.45 And yes, I take the Bible at face value here, especially since the material on the northern kings is written in Israelian Hebrew, while the material on the southern kings is written in Judahite Hebrew.46 We are fortunate for this material, as we are able to reconstruct the history of the two kingdoms quite accurately, especially when supplemented by Moabite, Aramaic, Assyrian, and Babylonian records (such as the Mesha Stele, Tel Dan Inscription, Sennacherib’s Annals). That said, possessing specific dates, reliable regnal years, the names of each queen mother in the case of Judah, details about battles, the names of various government bureaucrats, and more – even the names of foreign rulers known from their own native documents (starting with Shishaq/ Sheshonq) – all of this is small compensation for the lack of the rich literary portrayal present in the accounts of biblical characters from Abraham through David. Thus, the establishment of the monarchy, and with it a government bureaucracy, replete with scribes creating annals within the royal chancellery, is the root cause for the end of the epic tradition. Moreover, if this is the case, then we must, according to my reconstruction, date the Biblical Narrative Prose (1) style to the period preceding the well-established monarchy.47 43 As various scholars have noted, Hebrew ‫ישׁא‬ ָ ‫ ִשׁ‬šišaʾ “Shisha” looks suspiciously like the Egyptian word śš “scribe,” the unmatched sibilants notwithstanding. 44 For a thorough survey of the data, see Nili S. Fox, In the Service of the King: Officialdom in Ancient Israel and Judah (HUCM 23; Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 2000), pp. 96–121. 45 Epigraphic Hebrew provides the names of about six other scribes, though the relevant seals and bullae are all unprovenanced. See G. I. Davies, Ancient Hebrew Inscriptions: Corpus and Concordance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), pp. 130, 159, 165, 186 (with summary on p. 450); and G. I. Davies, Ancient Hebrew Inscriptions, Volume 2: Corpus and Concordance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 33, 51 (with summary on p. 202). The most famous of these is Berekyahu ben Neriyahu, presumably to be identified as Baruch the scribe of Jeremiah, in which case, though, he would not be a royal scribe. For the publication of this bulla and discussion, see Nahman Avigad, Hebrew Bullae from the Time of Jeremiah: Remnants of a Burnt Archive (Je­r u­sa­lem: Israel Exploration Society, 1986), pp. 28‒29. 46 Gary A. Rendsburg, Israelian Hebrew in the Book of Kings, Occasional Publications of the Department of Near Eastern Studies and the Program of Jewish Studies, Cornell University 5 (Bethesda, MD: CDL Press, 2002). 47 To some (small) extent, my BNP (1) and BNP (2) styles correspond to the two branches of biblical historiographic literature identified by Alexander Rofé, “Properties of Biblical Historiography and Historical Thought,” VT 66 (2016), pp. 433–455. Rofé characterizes the one branch as “the heraldic-prophetic, better defined as the kerygmatic direction” and the other as “the political quasi-secular trend” (p. 435). That said, our dating schemes are very different, since in his reconstruction the former “gained the upper hand” over the

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The Epic Tradition in Ancient Israel – and What Happened to It?

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Or, let me word this differently, by asking the following series of questions: During the Monarchic period, did no Israelite ever receive a divine visitor and prepare a meal for him? Did no Israelite travel abroad and return home with all the emotion of the nostos? Did no Israelite bachelor ever again meet his destined bride at a well? Were there no more barren women in Israel? Did primogeniture take hold, so that no younger or youngest son ever surpassed his older brother or brothers again? Was there never again a virtuous Israelite young man who was seduced and then wrongly accused by a lying woman? Were there no more duels in all the battles that Judah or Israel fought, so that never again did an Israelite hero slay the enemy champion with his own weapon? Did all of these things, which are the stuff of biblical narrative from Genesis through Samuel, simply never happen again? Clearly, life goes on, and barren women remained a part of society (see Ps 113:9), while young men still were seduced by temptress women (see, e.g., Prov 2:16, 5:3). But the very fabric of storytelling had changed, and no longer do these features occur in the prose accounts of the book of Kings. Instead, the royal chancellery now ruled the day, and the accounts of the kings gained a new and different focus, hence the development of the Biblical Narrative Prose (2) style.48 This will explain the numerous parallels between the Genesis narratives and life of King David especially, but not between the Genesis narratives and later kings of Judah. For example, Jeho­ sheba hid the young Joash for six years in the Temple (2 Kings 11); Ahaz visited Damascus, saw an altar, and had a replica built in Je­ru­sa­lem (2 Kings 16); and Hezekiah fell ill, prayed to God, was treated with fig cakes administered by Isaiah, and returned to good health (2 Kings 20) – and yet there are no parallel plotlines to these episodes in Genesis or elsewhere in the earlier books. XI The Elijah and Elisha Narratives There is one glaring exception to what I have just stated, but in this case it actually helps prove the rule. In the northern kingdom of Israel, the Biblical Narrative Prose (1) style continued for the first century of the kingdom, as reflected in the cycle of stories surrounding the prophets Elijah and Elisha.49 In these accounts we still find epic features and important female characters (Jezebel, the widow of Zarephath, the widow of Elisha’s colleague, and the Shunammite woman). Amongst the epic features known from other literature, I would mention two associated with Elijah. In 1 Kgs 18:36‒38, Elijah prays to God in order to light the fire for the altar, just as in the Iliad 23:192‒211 Achilles prays to the gods in order to light the fire for the funerary pyre of his dear comrade Patroclus; while in 2 Kgs 2:11 Elijah ascends to heaven on a fiery chariot, just as Athena drives the fiery chariot in the Iliad 8:389.50 This latter parallel may explain Elisha’s declaration ‫ָא ִב֣י ׀ ָא ִב֗י ֶר֤כֶ ב יִ ְׂש ָר ֵאל֙ ָּופ ָ֣ר ָׁש֔יו‬ “my father, my father, chariotry of Israel and their horsemen”(2 Kgs 2:12) to describe Elijah, just as Athena is associated with horses and horsemanship and bears the epithet Athena Hippa in Greek texts. For an inner-biblical parallel, note the similarities between the story of Sarah in Genesis 18 and the story of the Shunammite woman in 2 Kings 4, as elucidated by Greenstein in the aforelatter (p. 438) only with the downfall of the two kingdoms (p. 439). For the exception of the Elijah and Elisha narratives to my scheme, see below. 48 The differences between the two styles, and the connection of BNP (1) to the earlier epic material, was captured by Greenstein, “Kirta,” p. 9, as follows: “The routine interactions of humans and gods in the narrative [that is, the Epic of Keret] recall the mythic stories of bygone days in Genesis more than the more mundane stories of relatively recent events in Kings.” 49 For analyses of these narratives, see Alexander Rofé, The Prophetical Stories (Je­r u­sa­lem: Magnes, 1988), though, once again (see note 47), Rofé and I differ widely on the dating of these accounts. 50 Gordon, “Homer and Bible,” p. 97.

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cited article.51 In his words, “In both these latter narratives, a desperate woman is promised a son following an act of hospitality. In both the woman waits hopefully in the entrance (petaḥ)… Both women react incredulously – Sarah doubles the earlier behavior of her husband by laughing…, and the Shunammite suspects the prophet may be teasing her… Both women are told they will give birth in one year (kaʿet ḥayya).” Moreover, this key phrase ‫ ּכָ עֵ ת ַחּיָ ה‬appears only here in the Bible (Gen 18:10, 18:14; 2 Kgs 4:16–17) – and nowhere else.52 All of which is to say, the epic tradition was yet alive in the northern kingdom into the 9th century, as a key ingredient in the tales of the prophets Elijah and Elisha. What factors may have prompted the writers in northern Israel to retain the epic tradition for a century-plus more than their counterparts in southern Judah? The answer, I would suggest, lies in the two key differences between the two kingdoms. In Judah, a) palace and Temple were nearly consolidated into a single institution, with the two buildings in close proximation one to another; while b) the Davidic dynasty took hold quickly and firmly, and then continued to reign for four-plus centuries, thereby allowing royal chancellery, government bureaucracy, and attendant organization to develop in a strong and sustained manner.53 In Israel, by contrast, a) the two temples in Dan and Bethel were as far away from the palace in Shechem/Tirzah/Samaria as geographically possible, leading to a more decentralized government structure; while b) the tortuous history of the revolving dynasties in northern Israel did not allow for government institutions to develop in a sustained manner. Regarding this last point, one notes the following royal families: Jeroboam I – Nadab (928‒906 B.C.E.) / Baasha – Elah (906‒882 B.C.E.) / Zimri (882 B.C.E. [for seven days]) / Tibni (undetermined short period) / Omri – Jehoram (882–842 B.C.E.).54 With the dynasties (excluding Zimri and Tibni here) ruling only 23, 25, and 41 years, respectively, there was no opportunity for the royal chancellery to take hold and dominate, as it did in Judah. Clearly, there were royal annals, since, per what was stated above, they served as the basis for the material in the canonical book of Kings. But alongside such writing activity centered in the palace, the Biblical Narrative Prose (1) style continued to flourish, especially regarding the two key characters of Elijah and Elisha. Finally, northern Israel achieved its one sustained dynasty, the one spanning five generations from Jehu to Zechariah (842‒747 B.C.E.) for a total of 96 years. This situation, I submit, brought an end to the Biblical Narrative Prose (1) style even in the north. From this point onward, there would be no further epic storytelling tradition in all of Israel, north or south. XII The Biblical Narrative Prose Styles: BNP (1) and BNP (2) I have argued herein that there is a diachronic development from the BNP (1) style to BNP (2) style, with the former preceding the monarchy, and with the latter developed upon the rise of the monarchy. It is, of course, possible, that the two existed side-by-side, that Israelite bookmen 51 Greenstein, “The Formation of the Biblical Narrative Corpus,” p. 168. 52 On the meaning of the expression, see Chaim Cohen, “Jewish Medieval Commentary on the Book of Genesis and Modern Biblical Philology, Part I: Gen 1‒18,” JQR 91 (1990), pp. 9–11. 53 Note, by the way, that the Davidic dynasty, with its stretch of approximately 415 years (ca. 1000‒586 B.C.E.) is the second longest attested regnal family in the ancient Near East. The only dynasty which reigned longer is the Assyrian one, bridging the Middle Assyrian and Neo-Assyrian periods, from Ninurta-apal-Ekur (r. ca. 1182‒1180 B.C.E.) through Ashur-etil-ilani (r. 631‒627 B.C.E.), for a total of 555 years. 54 Specific years from the “Chronological Table of Rulers” in Adele Berlin and Marc Z. Brettler (eds.), The Jewish Study Bible (2nd ed.; New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), p. 2227.

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The Epic Tradition in Ancient Israel – and What Happened to It?

29

chose the former to recount the ancient heroic pre-monarchic past and the latter to describe the monarchic present. I prefer my approach, however, based on several considerations. First, the general time frame of the Near Eastern compositions discussed above is the 2nd Millennium B.C.E. The Ugaritic epics, the Middle Egyptian and Late Egyptian tales, and the Gilgamesh Epic all date to this time period. True, the Homeric poems come from the 1st Millennium B.C.E., and in fact they are precisely coeval with monarchic Judah and Israel. That said, regardless of when the Homeric poems are to be dated, many scholars posit an epic cycle composed centuries earlier, perhaps as early as 1100 B.C.E. The Late Bronze Age and the Early Iron Ages were characterized by international trade connections and the movements of people; it is during this period that the exchange of tales, accounts, memes, and motifs easily could have informed what emerges as the Biblical Narrative Prose (1) style.55 This basic layout, of course, cannot be proved or disproved; it remains just that, a basic layout, without specific contours. I turn, accordingly, to the second and much more empirical consideration, namely, the linguistic evidence. Frank Polak introduced into the field of biblical studies a method of stylistic analysis, which I believe can be used profitably for the dating of biblical texts. Using such data sets as noun-verb ratio, and then within verbs the finite-nominal ratio, along with others factors, Polak demonstrated that the narratives of Abraham, Jacob, Exodus, Samson, David, Elijah, and Elisha reflect the “classical stratum” of Hebrew prose – with the tales of Joseph, Joshua, and selected Judges reflecting a slightly later subclass thereof. By contrast, the narratives in Kings, with their higher noun-verb ratio, must stem from a later time period; and then the post-exilic literature, with the highest (by far) noun-verb ratio, must derive from a still later epoch (which is rather obvious, since these can be dated, without debate, to the Persian period).56 These findings are paralleled by Polak’s research into key verbs: in the classical stratum there is a higher propensity for ‫“ הלך‬go” and ‫“ ראה‬see,” rather than the semantically related words ‫“ בוא‬come” and ‫“ שׁמע‬hear.” The former two verbs dominate in the earlier biblical books; in the later biblical books one finds a decrease in their use with a concomitant increase in the second pair of verbs.57 I, for one, would utilize the findings of Polak’s research and apply them to the dating of biblical prose texts. Polak refers to the former style as the plain, crisp style, which I would correlate to my BNP (1) style, and to the latter as the elaborate, scribal style, which I would correlate to my BNP (2) style. The question remains: can the two literary styles be dated, not just relative to one another, but to a specific century or time period. Polak dates the plain, crisp style (more or less my BNP (1) style) to the late 10th, 9th and early 8th centuries B.C.E.; he dates the texts belonging to the subclass thereof to the early 8th century B.C.E.; and he then attributes texts written in the elaborate, scribal style (more or less my BNP (2)

55 One must admit, however, that the Epic of Aqhat was known to Ezekiel (see chapter 14) and presumably his audience during the 6th century B.C.E. 56 Frank H. Polak, “The Oral and the Written: Syntax, Stylistics and the Development of Biblical Prose Narrative,” JANES 26 (1998), pp. 59‒105; see especially the summary chart on p. 70. 57 Frank Polak, “Changes and Periods in the Language of Biblical Prose,” Beit Mikra 43 (1997), pp. 30‒52, 142‒60 (Hebrew); see especially the summary charts on pp. 158‒60. For an English article that develops one aspect of the Hebrew article, see Frank Polak, “Verbs of Motion in Biblical Hebrew: Lexical Shifts and Syntactic Structure,” in Ehud Ben-Zvi, Diana Edelman and Frank Polak (eds.), A Palimpsest: Rhetoric, Ideology, Stylistics, and Language Relating to Persian Israel (PHSC 5; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2009), pp. 199‒235.

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Gary A. Rendsburg

style) to the late 8th, 7th, and early 6th centuries B.C.E.58 By dating the texts in this fashion, he is able to situate the Elijah and Elisha narratives in the time contemporary with the events themselves. I agree with Polak’s relative dating of these various styles, but based on the arguments presented above, I would move everything up a bit. As I have indicated, the epic storytelling style, with its array of ancient Near Eastern and Mediterranean parallels, strong female characters, and more, is not to be found in Judahite writing from the time of Solomon onward. Texts written in the BNP (1) style, accordingly, must be dated pre-Solomon. I also hasten to add that these compositions, especially those of the Torah, are written in good Judahite Hebrew, with no influence of northern Israelian Hebrew. Moreover, as has been pointed out by numerous scholars, myself included, the themes of the Genesis narratives are echoed in the life of David. More accurately, and to look at this the other way around, the author of Genesis is someone situated in David’s court, who narrates the past, but reflects the present.59 And for anyone who might think it impossible for ancient Israel to possess written literature during the 10th century, I direct the reader’s attention to the recent article on the subject by Matthieu Richelle.60 How, then, to deal with the question of the Elijah and Elisha narratives? Clearly these stories demonstrate that it was possible for coeval writers to compose in different styles: Those responsible for the Elijah and Elisha cycles wrote in the plain, crisp style, while their contemporaries who fashioned the material about the northern kings wrote in the incipient elaborate, scribal style. And then both chunks of material wound up side-by-side, interposed, in the canonical book of Kings, especially the section stretching from 1 Kings 17 – 2 Kings 5.61 I admit that this situation creates a problem for my dating scheme, but I would argue that in the north such was possible, for the reasons outlined above – but such was not possible in southern Judah. XIII Conclusion The Bible comes to us from Je­ru­sa­lem. The royal scribes there composed annals, with accurate historical details, and this information eventually wound its way into the canonical book of Kings. The development of this writing style, which is similar to that of royal annals and royal proclamations (e.g., the Mesha Stele) from Israel’s neighbors, had an (unintended?) consequence: the loss of the epic storytelling style which so enlivens the books of Genesis, Exodus, Judges, Samuel, and so on. This literary style was able to continue in northern Israel for another century-plus, until it too breathed its last and succumbed to the new mode of writing developed in Samaria and other centers.

58 Frank Polak, “Sociolinguistics: A Key to the Typology and the Social Background of Biblical Hebrew,” HS 47 (2006), pp. 115‒162, esp. 160‒161. 59 Gary A. Rendsburg, “The Genesis of the Bible,” in The Blanche and Irving Laurie Chair in Jewish History, Separatum published by the Allen and Joan Bildner Center for the Study of Jewish Life, Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey (2005), pp. 11‒30. For an earlier statement, see Benjamin Mazar, “The Historical Background of the Book of Genesis,” JNES 28 (1969), pp. 73–83. 60 Matthieu Richelle, “Elusive Scrolls: Could Any Hebrew Literature Have Been Written Prior to the Eighth Century BCE?” VT 66 (2016), pp. 556‒594. 61 Elisha continues to appear in texts through 2 Kings 13, but the stories with epic overlay end with chapter 5. From that point onward, by-and-large Elisha is seen dealing with individual kings.

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Perspectives on the Future of Biblical Historiography Wolfgang Zwickel Johannes Gutenberg-University Mainz

I Quality of the Written Sources Twenty-five years ago, Manfred Weippert, having been one of the students of Herbert Donner, reviewed the famous and very well-done history of Israel of his teacher.1 In this review he wrote: The concept of these books (about history of Israel) is basically a post- or better sub-deuteronomistic description insofar as the authors follow in their outline, but also in their valuation of events and persons mainly the presentation offered in the books Genesis to Kings.2 Many other scholars added correctly that the biblical presentation of data is more interested in an interpretation of the events than in a correct description of the history.3 Anyhow, we have to admit that an exact report of every event did not exist. Every description of an event is depending on the specific view of the author and this is valid still today. In a soccer game we generally accept that a foul may be interpreted as a correct action if the referee has a specific view on the situation. However, cameras in a stadium can demonstrate today that the decision of the referee was wrong or right. The descriptions of an accident event may vary considerably. A person’s point of view is important. Generally, as every judge may agree, the person causing the accident has a different description of the accident than the victim, even if they are both telling accurate information. Every description of a historical event is strongly influenced by the personal experience of the author. Additionally, both biblical and extra-biblical texts were written by persons who often have to support the official opinion of the courtyard of the king. Today, Assyrian chronicles are considered highly confidential for the reconstruction of the historical events. A simple note like “Sennacherib went down to Elam and ravaged and plundered Nagitum, Hilmi, Pilatum and Hupapanu”4 only informs us about (possible) victories of the Assyrians. We may be able to identify the towns, but we are not told anything about the death of Assyrian soldiers, about attacks in the context of these battles and so on. The Chronicle only informs us about the victorious army. We do not know if the description in the chronicle is actually correct or if it is only an ideal description of the Assyrian administration, without corresponding 1 Herbert Donner, Geschichte des Volkes Israel und seiner Nachbarn in Grundzügen 1/2 (2nd ed.; Göttingen: Van­ den­hoeck & Ruprecht, 1995). 2 Manfred Weippert, “Geschichte Israels am Scheideweg,” TR 58 (1993), pp. 71–103, esp. 73: “Es handelt sich bei die­sen Darstellungen im Grunde sämtlich um “post-” oder besser “subdeuteronomistische” Geschichtswerke, und zwar insofern, als ihre Autoren sich in einem beträchtlichen Maße den Geschichtsaufriss, aber auch die Wer­tung von Ereignissen und Personen, von der atl. Geschichtsdarstellung in den Büchern Genesis bis Kö­ni­ ge… vorgeben lassen.” 3 Cf., e.g., Christian Frevel, Geschichte Israel (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2016), p. 21. 4 A. Kirk Grayson, Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2000), 78 lines 36–38.

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Wolfgang Zwickel

archaeological destruction levels well-dated by purely archaeological methods at these sites. The two verbs “he ravaged and plundered it” are found several times in the Chronicle I and seem to be very stereotypical. Generally, at least in the Levant, we are only able to date a few cases of destruction level independently by archaeological methods, and normally this dating relies on specific historical ideas of the modern authors. II Models of Historical Reconstruction There is another very important point which has to be stressed. Scholars presently have completely different models of historical reconstructions in mind: 1) Some scholars trust Biblical texts, 2) others trust the Biblical texts after doing some historical-critical research including mainly Literarkritik,5 3) and a third group considers the final Biblical text as a product only from the postexilic or sometimes even Hellenistic period without the possibility to reconstruct events from the pre-exilic period. Doing so we get completely different reconstructions of the kingdoms of Israel and Judah. These different concepts also influence our reconstruction of archaeology. The most famous case in this field is the archaeological reconstruction of the archaeology of Israel discussed by Israel Finkelstein6 and Amihai Mazar.7 Using mostly the same archaeological data, the reconstruction of Je­ru­sa­lem in the 10th century B.C.E. is completely different. This is not only due to discussions about High and Low Chronology, but also due to completely different conceptions of Israel and Judah in the Iron Age. In 2016, Israel Finkelstein published an article about the border of Aram and Israel in the Iron Age, based on his ideas of the size of ancient Israel, and combined it with archaeological observations.8 Some months before the publication of his article I presented a paper on the same topic at another conference.9 Comparing both studies demonstrates big differences. Let me compare just one map. Finkelstein’s Israel in the time before the Omrides comprises only the Ephraimite hill country, the Jesreel valley, and territories in Transjordan – the area south of Wadi Ziqlab. Hazor and Dan were not integrated into Israel at around 900 B.C.E. (Figure 1). My map includes Hazor and Dan at the end of the 10th century B.C.E. and the Transjordanian border runs on the Wadi Yarmouk (Figure 2). Neither Dan nor Hazor offer definite archaeological results if they were Aramean or Israelite in those days. But one of the main reasons for my reconstruction is 1 Kgs 15:20. According to this text the Aramean king Benhadad, in the early 9th century conquered Ijjon, Dan, Abel-Bet-Maacah, all of Kinneret and the land of Naphtali, which includes the area of the Huleh valley and parts of Upper Galilee. If Benhadad conquered those areas, they must 5 Note, the English term, “literary criticism” is not identical with the German one – “Literarkritik.” 6 Israel Finkelstein, “A Great United Monarchy? Archaeological and Historical Perspectives”, in: Reinhard G. Kratz/Herr­mann Spieckermann (eds.), One God – One Cult – One Nation. Archaeological and Biblical Perspectives (BZAW 405; Berlin and New York: W. de Gruyter, 2010), pp. 3–28. 7 Amihai Mazar, “Archaeology and the Biblical Narrative: The Case of the United Monarchy,” in Kratz/Spie­ cker­mann (eds.), One God, pp. 29–58. 8 Israel Finkelstein, “Israel and Aram. Reflections on their Border,” in Omer Sergi et al. (eds.), In Search for Aram and Israel. Politics, Culture, and Identity (ORA 20; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck 2016), pp. 17–36. 9 Wolfgang Zwickel, “Borders between Aram-Damascus and Israel: A Historical Investigation,” in Jan Dušek and Jana Mynářová (eds.), Aramean Borders. Defining Aramean Borders in the 10th–8th Centuries BCE (Leiden: Brill, 2019), pp. 267–335.

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Perspectives on the Future of Biblical Historiography

33

Figure 1: Borders of Israel in the early 9th century B.C.E according to Finkelstein

Figure 2: Borders of Israel in the early 9th century B.C.E according to Zwickel

have belonged to Israel before that attack! Finkelstein on the other hand, refuses the historical value of this text. He points out that the destruction level of Hazor IX, proposed by Yadin to be connected with Benhadad’s attack, must be dated into the late 9th century B.C.E. (cf. Table 1). Therefore, no link exists between biblical texts and archaeology. This new dating of Hazor IX is based on his Low Chronology that is highly discussed by different scholars and definitely not accepted as a consensus. He therefore supposes that the description of Benhadad’s campaign has been adopted from the account of the campaign of the Assyrian king Tiglath-Pileser III against the northern part of Israel in 732 B.C.E. 2 Kgs 15:29 mentions this attack, but with some (important) differences.

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34

Wolfgang Zwickel

Table 1: Chronological systems for the site of Hazor Stratum Absolute Chronology Yadin/Ben-Tor

Zwickel

Finkelstein

XII

12th c. B.C.E.

1150–1100

11th c.

XI

11th c.

1100–950

XB

Mid of 10 c.

XA

Mid of 10th c.

IX

End of 10th – early 9th c.

VIII

9th c.

885–842 (destroyed by Hazael)

Late 9th c. (Aramean)

VII

9th c.

842–790 (Aramean)

End of 9th c. (Aramean, destroyed ca. 800 by Joash or Jerobeam II)

VI

8th c.

790–760 (Israelite, destroyed by earthquake)

Early 8th c. (Israelite, destroyed by earthquake)

VB

8th c.

760–732 destroyed by Tiglath-Pileser

VA

8th c.

IV

8th c.

Late 8th c.

III

7th c.

7th c.

th

950–885 (destroyed by Banhadad I)

Early 9th c. (Omride) First half of 9th c. (Omride, destroyed by Hazael)

Mid-8th c., destroyed by Tiglath-Pileser

Generally, I do not wish to discuss if Finkelstein is right or wrong, or if I am right or wrong although I believe that strong archaeological and exegetical data exist to support my reconstruction. The only thing I want to show is that not only do the ancient authors have an ideology-based view of historical events, but our modern reconstructions of history are also highly ideology-based! This we must always keep in mind. Both exegetical and archaeological studies include the ideological ideas of an author. Using Literarkritik results in completely different models of the history of Israel than using the “Endtext” (final version of the Biblical text). Likewise, archaeology is always connected with presumptions of historical models and not a value-free scientific approach. III History is More than History of Events Let me mention another important point. Nearly all German books about History of Israel written in the last 30 years are connected with a history of events. They always discuss the valuation and credibility of an historical event. Manfred Clauss, former Professor for History at the Goethe University of Frankfurt a. M. and not being influenced by theological discussions, wrote

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Perspectives on the Future of Biblical Historiography

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a completely different history of Israel.10 I do not completely agree with his approach since he scarcely discussed the Literarkritik of the biblical texts. But his book, which is hardly recognized by scholars in Hebrew Bible/Old Testament, is strongly interested in topics which are not in the center of a theological approach to History of Israel. He discussed extensively the social system, the military developments, the economy and the trade in Israel and Judah, the changes in jurisdiction and in religion and cult. All those topics influenced the historical development and are extremely important for the reconstruction of the History of Israel. We may even add other topics of importance like: – – – –

the increase of population, the international politic in those years, road connection to understand the regional infrastructure, architectural history for understanding foreign influences and changes in the way of living of the inhabitants of the country, as well as – natural catastrophes like earthquakes or climate changes that clearly influenced the regional politic and historical development in Israel and Judah. Naturally archaeology is also an important source for understanding history. Besides a history of events we urgently need more studies in the history of social development, craft, jurisdiction, economy, trade, military improvement and so on. Improvements in those fields are often connected with changes in the historical situation, and we need to understand this co-action more closely. Additionally another argument is important. Interdisciplinary research needs a methodological basis. Using Lawson Younger’s Political History of the Arameans11 based mostly on non-Biblical sources concerning the Aramean history we get a completely different impression of the Aramean territory than in the article of Finkelstein. Different opinions are the basis of any research in humanities. But completely different methodological or ideological ideas about reconstructing history prohibit scientific discussions and a fruitful exchange of opinions. IV Inner-Biblical References as a Testimony for a Reconstruction of History of Israel After demonstrating the present-day problems in historical research, I want to present a new way of promising research in the future. For juridical problems, the Bible claims: “One witness is not enough to convict anyone accused of any crime or offense they may have committed. A matter must be established by the testimony of two or three witnesses” (Deut 19:15). This requirement may also be helpful for historical reconstructions: we need two or even better three independent sources for the same hypothesis in order to be sure that this topic is really convincing. The main problem is that we normally do not have several independent textual sources, and historians often only look for textual sources and overlook other independent sources. Sometimes we have these accidental traditions that are referred to in several texts. For example, it is very likely that there was a famine in the second quarter of the 9th century B.C.E., since 1 Kgs 17:1; 18:2; 2 Kgs 4:38 and 8:1 all mention these periods of drought.12 Three of these texts are independent. Only 1 Kgs 17:1 and 18:2 can perhaps be attributed to the same author. 10 Manfred Clauss, Geschichte des Alten Israel (Oldenbourg Grundriss der Geschichte 37; München: R. Olden­ bourg, 2009). 11 K. Lawson Younger, A Political History of the Arameans from Their Origins to the End of Their Polities (ABS 13; Atlanta: SBL Press, 2016). 12 Wolfgang Zwickel, “Hungersnöte in der südlichen Levante vom 14. Jh. v. Chr. bis zum 1. Jh. n. Chr.”, in Mayer Gruber et al. (eds.), All the Wisdom of the East. Studies in Near Eastern Archaeology and History in

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Wolfgang Zwickel

I only want to mention Odil Hanes Steck, one of the authors who analyzed this text carefully.13 He considers a Dürreerzählung (story of a drought) to be the original core of the text, and this Dürreerzählung comprises 17:1–6; 18:1–2a.17–18a.*41–46. If his analysis is correct, both 1 Kgs 17:1 and 18:2 are written by the same author. 2 Kgs 4:38–44 belongs to a miracle which became part of the Elisha stories. And 2 Kgs 8:1 is part of a completely different miracle story of the same prophet. One may suppose that both miracle stories were collected in a compilation of miracle stories. Hans-Christoph Schmitt called this compilation “a compilation of miracle stories” (Wundergeschichtensammlung).14 But originally all these different miracles were independent and only compiled. Therefore, we have three independent sources mentioning the famine. According to 2 Kgs 8:1 it continued for seven years, and according to 1 Kgs 18:2 the famine happened during the reign of Ahab (871–852 B.C.E.). Likely the number seven is only a symbolic number for a period of several years. Even so, we have to assume a famine in the second quarter of the 9th century B.C.E., which lasted several years. According to my understanding of the reconstruction of historical events, the detection of this famine seems to be acceptable and convincing. Anyhow, neither Elias miraculous support with nourishment in 1 Kings 17, nor the contest between Baal and JHWH in 1 Kings 18, nor the two miracles of Elisha can be considered as historical events. All these stories may only highlight the help and the power of JHWH without being historical events in the way that they are described in the texts. The texts want to glorify JHWH. Nevertheless, such stories are only understandable in the context of a historical famine. Telling people who never experienced a famine how helpful JHWH is in periods of no or less nourishment is not very persuading. But those stories are very convincing in periods of suffering a famine. Therefore, at least the basic tradition of these legends and miracles was written in the 9th century B.C.E., and a famine seems convincingly be attested in that period. Accepting the hypothesis of a famine lasting several years provokes some other historical speculations or considerations. The famine was likely not limited on Israel and Judah, but was effective in other countries in the Levant as well. All these countries depend on the rain in the winter months, and if there is not enough rain during this period, a drought is the natural result. All these Levantine tribes and countries had to look for additional food and this makes the political order in these countries unstable. Attacks to neighboring countries become more attractive as a means to plunder foreign food. People suffering hunger are not good warriors, and people from other countries with no drought (like the Assyrians) have an advantage in battles. On the other hand, political elites having available a surplus of grain may offer food as a salary for building activities. Both, intensive infrastructure and military activities seem understandable during such a period. At the same time, a famine lasting several years was a challenge for the elites. Even if our biblical texts do not inform us about the procedures of the elites, we may speculate about their political activities. V Extra-biblical References as a Testimony for the Reconstruction of a History of Israel Besides these few inner-biblical links that may confirm a specific event we also have several extra-biblical sources confirming the history of Israel. I only want to mention the Tel Dan stela, which can convincingly be connected with the death of Joram and Ahasja. The amazement of Honor of Eliezer D. Oren (OBO 255; Fribourg i.Br.: Academic Press / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012), pp. 453–466. 13 Odil Hannes Steck, Überlieferung und Zeitgeschichte in den Elia-Erzählungen (WMANT 26; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener, 1968), pp. 5–31. 14 Hans-Christoph Schmitt, Elisa. Traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur vorklassischen nordisraelitischen Prophetie (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1972).

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scholars about the different description of historical events found in both the Bible and in the Tell Dan stela is not amazing to me at all. The Tell Dan stela glorifies the Aramean king, the Biblical text tries to demonstrate the same event as success of Jehu. Historically Jehu was a rather weak king who lost most of the territory of Israel to the Arameans (cf. 2 Kgs 10:32–33). Maybe this is the reason why the author of the Biblical Jehu story had to describe him as a very successful king. Fake news is not a modern invention but were typical in ancient times, too. Many scholars today consider the work of the Deuteronomistic historian as completely deuteronomistic. This implies that all of the stories were written during the Babylonian exile. The narratives are not informative about events that happened during the pre-exilic period. In 1943, Martin Noth published his outstanding book Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien. He clearly demonstrates that the Deuteronomist not only worked as a redactor, but also as an author of a historical work, he compiled different traditions and connected it according to a deliberated scheme.15 But he also adopted traditional sources and combined them by a connecting text. Therefore, Literarkritik may often enable modern scholars to divide between traditional sources used unchanged by the Deuteronomist and his typical deuteronomistic additions. Every paragraph in the books of Kings starts with a typical entrance formula: the name of the king is mentioned, his capital and the length of his reign, in Judah additionally the name of the mother of the new king; then follows a typical deuteronomistic evaluation of the king being only interested in his religious behavior, followed by some historical notes about his reign; a final note mentions his death and burial. In these verses, we clearly can divide deuteronomistic interpretation from pre-deuteronomistic historical notes. Interestingly the style and the form of the pre-deuteronomistic parts are very similar to Assyrian and Babylonian chronicles. Using Formand Gattungsgeschichte (form criticism) these pre-deuteronomic parts seem to be of the same type as the Mesopotamian annals, and therefore we have to assume that such annals also existed in the royal administration in Israel and Judah. Let me compare two typical passages, one from the Bible (1 Kings 15:1–8 without deuteronomistic additions), the other one from the chronicle I, describing the reign of Tiglath-Pileser III: Table 2: Comparison of 1 Kgs 15:1–8* and Chronicle I 1 Kings 15:1–8*

Chronicle I16

Year of accession to power in a synchronistic chronicle

1 Abijam began to rule over Judah in the 18th year of Jerobeam’s reign in Israel.

1 The 3rd year of Nabu-nasir, king of Babylon: Tiglat-Pileser ascended the throne of Assyria.

Period of reign

2 He reigned in Je­ru­sa­lem three years.

(12 For 14 years Nabu-nasir ruled Babylon)

King’s mother (only mentioned in texts about Judean kings)

His mother was Maacah, the granddaughter of Absalom. 

15 Martin Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien: Teil 1: Die sammelnden und bearbeitenden Geschichts­ wer­ke im Alten Testament (Schriften der Königsberger Gelehrten Gesellschaft, Geisteswissenschaftli­che Klas­­se 18,2; Halle: Max Niemeyer, 1943), p. 11 (English edition: The Deuteronomistic History [Sheffield: Shef­ field Academic press, 1990]). 16 Grayson, Chronicles, pp. 70–71.

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Wolfgang Zwickel 1 Kings 15:1–8*

Chronicle I

Political events

6 There was war between Abija and Jerobeam throughout Abija’s reign. 7b There was constant war between Abijam and Jeroboam. 

3 In that same year [the king of Assyria] went down to Akkad, 4 plundered Rabbilu and Hamranu 5 and abducted the gods of Shapazza. 6 At that time of Nabu-nasir Borsippa 7 committed hostile acts against Babylon (but) the battle which Nabu-nasir 8 waged against Borsippa is not written.

Reference to the annals

7 The rest of the events in Abija’s reign and everything he did are recorded in the chronicles of the kings of Judah.

cf.: 7 (but) the battle which Nabu-nasir 8 waged against Borsippa is not written

Death

8 Abija died, he was buried in the City of David.

11 The 14th year: Nabu-nasir became ill and died in his palace.

Note about successor

His son Asa became the next king.

13 (Nabu-)nadin-(zeri), his son, ascended the throne in Babylon.

The parallel structure is significant, and therefore we have to assume that every royal administration in the Near East used such a chronological system mentioning main events during the reign of a king.17 The historical validity of the Assyrian and Babylonian texts is generally accepted. If we recognize the existence of such annals in Israel and Judah also, we should trust these short historical data, too. And if we do so, we get an historical frame for a history of events, which sometimes can be filled in with more data from other sources. This chronological frame with well-established absolute data starts at the end of the 10th century B.C.E., approximately at the death of Solomon. For the period of David and Solomon both reigning according to biblical sources for exactly 40 years each, we do not have such data. The 40 years seem to be a general note about a long reign, but are likely not exact. However, for the period starting at 1 Kings 12 in and ending at 2 Kings 25 (ca. 926–587 B.C.E.) our chronological frame is rather trustable.18 VI International Politics as a Tool for Understanding Historical Events The military power of ancient societies was limited. Some texts mention enormous numbers of participants, but these numbers are definitely too high. The famous battle of Qadesh was such a battle with enormous numbers. Ramesses II was reportedly accompanied by 20.000 soldiers and 2.000 chariots, the Hittite King Muwatalli II had 37.000 soldiers and 3.500 chariots. Considering a number of altogether approximately 40.000 inhabitants in the Southern Levant and likely a comparable number of inhabitants in the north, the number of 57.000 soldiers and 17 For a similar chronological system in Phoenicia, cf. Wolfgang Zwickel, “Die tyrische Königsliste und die An­ na­lenangaben des Alten Testaments,” in Thomas Wagner at al. (eds.), Text – Textgeschichte – Textwirkung. FS Sieg­fried Kreuzer (AOAT 419; Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 2014), pp. 83–92. 18 Cf. Antti Laato, Guide to Biblical Chronology (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2015) and other books about the chronology of Israel and Judah with only minor changes in the chronological system.

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5.500 chariots is definitely too high. The same is true for the 2.641.610 soldiers (Herodotus, Histories 7.184–185) in the army of Xerxes. Other texts are more reliable. Ahmose conquered Auaris and looted one man and three women, and he conquered Sharuhen taking two captives and one severed hand as a sign of victory.19 According to the Mesha inscription the Moabite king conquered some neighboring towns with 200 soldiers (KAI 181:20). Battles with roundabout 200 soldiers on every side seem reliable. Israelite and Judahite officers were set over 50 or 100 soldiers. Only the Persian army had many mercenaries in order to be larger. This army was divided into troops according to the decimal system; they had officials set over 1000, 100 and 10. Likely this system was also used in Judah, although the number of soldiers were less in these small satrapies. Mercenaries and other soldiers had to be paid by the administration; they do not earn money besides plundering. A huge army is not likely for Jewish and Israelite societies during the Iron Age. Therefore, the Heerbann was so important: only by recruiting all adults were Judah and Israel able to confront the Assyrian army. This situation is important for understanding some Biblical texts. With the small contingent of permanently paid soldiers it is impossible to fight at two fronts. This is the background of 1 Kgs 15:17–22 and 2 Kgs 16:5,7–9 (cf. Table 3), when Israel attacked Judah and the Judean kings paid foreign soldiers to attack the northern border of Israel. Due to the critical situation in the north, Israel had to move its limited number of soldiers to the northern border in order to avoid significant loss of territory. Table 3: Comparision of 1 Kgs 15:17–22 and 2 Kgs 16:5,7–9 1 Kings 15:17–22

2 Kings 16:5,7–9

King Baasha of Israel went up against Judah, and Then King Rezin of Aram and King Pekah son of built Ramah, to prevent anyone from going out or Remaliah of Israel came up to wage war on Je­ru­sa­ coming in to King Asa of Judah.  lem; they besieged Ahaz but could not conquer him. 17 

5 

8  Then Asa took all the silver and the gold Ahaz also took the silver and gold found in the that were left in the treasures of the house of house of the Lord and in the treasures of the king’s the Lord and the treasures of the king’s house, and house, and sent a present to the king of Assyria.  gave them into the hands of his servants. 18 

King Asa sent them to King Ben-hadad son of Tabrimmon son of Hezion of Aram, who resided in Damascus, saying, 19 “Let there be an alliance between me and you, like that between my father and your father: I am sending you a present of silver and gold; go, break your alliance with King Baasha of Israel, so that he may withdraw from me.”

7 

Ben-hadad listened to King Asa, and sent the commanders of his armies against the cities of Israel.

9 

20 

Ahaz sent messengers to King Tiglath-pileser of Assyria, saying, “I am your servant and your son. Come up, and rescue me from the hand of the king of Aram and from the hand of the king of Israel, who are attacking me.” 

The king of Assyria listened to him; the king of Assyria marched up against Damascus, and took it, carrying its people captive to Kir; then he killed Rezin.

19 See John A. Wilson in ANET, pp. 233–234.

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This background is also important for the wars between Israel and Aram. We know from Assyrian sources that in some years Aram(-Damascus) was at war with the Assyrians. In those years Aram was definitely not powerful enough to also endanger Israel while fighting against the Assyrians. On the other hand, years with battles between Israel and Aram must have been years with no Assyrian attacks in the north. This helps us analyze the history of events more concretely and allows a more concrete chronological reconstruction of the wars in the Ancient Near East. VI Other Sources for Reconstructing History: Archaeology as Regional Archaeology I would like to also mention some other examples for a new kind of historical research. Archaeology is always important to understand history with much more accuracy. Traditionally, scholars are interested in excavating specific sites and combining the historical information of the site with the archaeological results. This is the typical way of the excellent summarizing publication Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land. This kind of archaeology is site-concentrated, meaning that it is mainly concentrated on the most important sites mentioned in the Bible, and not regional-concentrated. Having a look on the landscape around such a site we get much more information about the history of the site. I will use the area of the oasis of Jericho as an example. There exist several studies about the history of Tell es-Sultan. Every Hebrew Bible/Old Testament or Biblical archaeology scholar was fascinated by this important site with its excellent stratigraphy. But nobody was ever interested in the whole oasis, although some more sites existed in the area. I only will concentrate here on the 7th century, a period that is normally not of interest in scholarly discussions about Jericho. Just opposite of Tell es-Sultan is a strong spring Ain el-Sultan watering the whole oasis. Around the tell are some other 7th century sites in the oasis, especially in the north near the later Hisham’s palace. The site of Gilgal was probably also situated here.20 Although those sites are not excavated the settlement cluster demonstrates that smaller sites were settled next to the fertile fields and agriculture played a major role for their income. Beside this northern cluster of sites some more sites existed in the very south of Jericho. Vered Jericho21 was built up as a fortress with storage rooms, being a shelter and accommodation site on the road to Transjordan, and just west of Vered Jericho existed some smaller sites. People living there likely supported the traders and the military people living in Vered Jericho. To the east is a small site at Ain Hajla, controlling the ford crossing the Jordan River. Evidently this ford was in the late Iron Age next to the traditional Baptismal site of John the Baptist and not a little bit further north near present-day Allenby bridge. Trading activities with Transjordan in the 7th century B.C.E. can be considered as a proof for rather peaceful relations between Israel and Moab/Ammon on the other side of the Jordan River. There was no fortress directly at the Jordan River, neither on the western nor on the eastern shore of the River. The distribution of sites tells us something about the social structure, but also about the political connections of people living on both sites of the Jordan River. Regional archaeology can be very informative if we use it in that way. 1. Population Density No other country all over the world is archaeologically as well explored as Israel. We know plenty of sites and can reconstruct a correct picture of ancient settlement density. There are good esti20 Zwickel, in preparation. 21 Avraham Eitan, “Vered Yeriho,” in Ephraim Stern (ed.), The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land 5. Supplementary Volume (Je­r u­sa­lem: Israel Exploration Society / Washington: Biblical Ar­ chae­ology Society, 2008), pp. 2067–2068.

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mations of settlement density in the country although calculations are always a little bit tricky. In the Early Bronze Age II and III about 602 ha were settled,22 in the Middle Bronze Age IIA 555 ha, in the Middle Bronze Age IIB 660 ha.23 Unfortunately, no estimation exists for the Late Bronze Age, but there was a steep decline. Likely according to my personal calculation only 200–250 ha were settled. Also, in the Iron Age I the settled area was rather small, likely the same size as in the Late Bronze Age. But there is an enormous rise in the Iron Age II period with more than 1400 ha settled area in the 8th century B.C.E.24 If we calculate 250 inhabitants per ha we get the following number of inhabitants in the country: Table 4: Settled area and inhabitants Period

Settled size

Inhabitants

Early Bronze Age II/III

602

150,000

Middle Bronze Age IIA

555

138,000

Middle Bronze Age IIB

660

165,000

Late Bronze Age

200–250

50,000–62,000

Iron Age I

200–250

50,000–62,000

Iron Age II

1422

355,000

Although plenty of estimation faults are possible, the Iron Age number seems to be rather convincing. According to 2 Kgs 15:19 Menahem paid 1,000 talents silver tribute to Tiglath-Pileser. This sum is in agreement with other tributes countries had to pay to the Assyrians. Menahem levied the silver from the Israelites. Every man of means had to pay 50 shekels of silver, evidently for him and his nuclear family. One talent equals 3000 shekels. This helps us to calculate approximately 60,000 men in Israel. Normally a family consisted of the parents and 2–3 children. 60,000 families means approximately 275,000 inhabitants in Israel. Adding some people who were not able to pay the 50 shekels and approximately 30,000 Judeans, the calculation of 350,000 people living in the country seems reliable. Menahem reigned from 747 to 738 B.C.E. Evidently the number of inhabitants quadrupled within 300 years from Iron Age I to the second half of the 8th century B.C.E. Today the yearly population growth is about 1,14 %. Having this rate constantly the number of inhabitants is doubled within 50 years. But in ancient times the population growth was less. Scholars accept today a number of 200 to 400 million people worldwide at the time when Jesus was born. The growth rate changes regionally and chronologically according to natural conditions like a surplus of nourishment and stable political conditions. We only can postulate the growth rate in ancient Israel, but 0,2 % seems reliable. Based on this population growth the number of inhabitants is doubled in more than 300 years. Even if we accept a growth rate of 0,3 % it takes more than 200 years to double the number of inhabitants. 22 Magen Broshi and Ram Gophna, “The Settlements and Population of Palestine during the Early Bronze Age II–III,” BASOR 253 (1984), pp. 41–53. 23 Magen Broshi and Ram Gophna, “Middle Bronze Age II Palestine: Its Settlements and Population,” BASOR 261 (1986), pp. 73–90. 24 Magen Broshi and Israel Finkelstein, “The Population of Palestine in Iron Age II,” BASOR 287 (1992), pp. 47–60.

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This clearly shows that the rise from 60,000 to 350,000 inhabitants within 300 years is not possible by natural growth. We have to assume that Israel was a country of heavy immigration. Rather stable political conditions and an increasing international trade enabled additional jobs. The landscape was attractive since it offered plenty of fields for agriculture. The authors of the calculations mentioned above assume that more than 14,000 square kilometers or 1,400,000 ha could be used for agriculture. One family needed approximately 7 ha cultivable land to survive. Therefore, there was space for up to 200,000 families or nearly 1 million people–a number which was only reached in antiquity during the Byzantine period. Evidently, the country was attractive for people from all over the ancient world to settle here. The Philistines still had connections to the Aegean world, to Asia Minor, and to northern Syria. The Phoenicians were in contact with all Mediterranean countries and even people originating from Egypt could be interested to settle here. The Levant was always a country with steep ups and downs concerning the number of settlers. After the Assyrian campaigns of 733 and 722 B.C.E. wide regions especially in Galilee were nearly deserted,25 and after the conquest of Judah in 587 B.C.E. 75 %–80 % of the inhabitants left the country.26 Integration of immigrants was evidently a permanent problem of the Iron Age societies. Accepting the calculations as only approximates and keeping in mind the enormous number of immigrants, we get a completely different impression of the societies in the southern Levant. Israel was never a stable isolated society but was always composite of different traditions and influences. This casts a new light on a specific term in the Hebrew Bible – nokri (the stranger) and ger (the foreigner). These are social terms which are important in the discussing a History of Israel. Only if we understand the plurality of traditions in cities, tribes, and in the whole country we can understand the political problems to be solved by the elites. 2. Earthquake Earthquakes are completely underestimated in present-day history writing. Normally they are considered as part of a history of events. The earthquake mentioned in Amos 1:1 can be used as part of the history of the 8th century B.C.E.27 However, earthquakes are more than just historical events. Speaking as an archaeologist, they are extremely important, because they produce contemporaneous destruction levels at many sites. A campaign of the Assyrians does not necessarily create destruction levels at every site. Maybe some citizens capitulated voluntarily and opened the gates for the Assyrian army. This does not effect a destruction level, while at other sites there may be some destruction levels. Earthquakes are chaotic for every site and they enable a stable chronological basis for further archaeological dating. 1) Earthquakes are also important for reconstructing historical events. Chaotic situations may result in different scenarios: People may be depressed about the ruined villages and their ruined plans for the future and they may leave the territory in which they had resided for several years. This results in an emigration and a fast decline of civilization.

25 Zvi Gal, “Israel in Exile,” BAR 24,3 (1998), pp. 48–53. 26 Avraham Faust, Judah in the Neo-Babylonian Period: The Archaeology of Desolation (Archaeology and Biblical Studies; Atlanta: SBL Press, 2012). 27 Wolfgang Zwickel, “Amos 1,1 und die Stratigraphie der eisenzeitlichen Ortslagen in Galiläa”, in Viktor K.Na­g y and László S. Egeresi (eds.), Propheten der Epochen – Prophets during the Epochs. Festschrift für István Ka­­rass­zon zum 60. Geburtstag (AOAT 426; Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 2015), pp. 31–49.

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2) People may stay in the ruined villages doing only the most necessary repairs for surviving. This results in a decline of infrastructure and a medium-term decline of regional and international economy. 3) People may stay in their villages and repair their houses immediately. The infrastructure will stay nearly at same conditions; they even may improve after a short time. The restoration work will result in improvements on the structure of buildings, which had been planned for a long while, but have to be realized now. 4) And there is even a fourth possible way. Foreign nations may use the chaotic situation to conquer other countries which are now unable to defend themselves. Normally historic reality is always a mixture of these four ways, but one way is always dominant. This clearly shows that we have to look more carefully at such natural catastrophes like earthquakes, climate catastrophes, famines and so on. VII Summary: History 2.0 To sum up, I would like to suggest some goals for future historical work: a) The traditional history of events will continue to be important in the future. It is not dispensable at all. We need a stable chronological frame in order to connect other facts with this frame. We also need it for archaeological work. Absolute archaeological dating in the Iron Age is always linked to a history of events. Until now we do not have exact dating methods for the periods before minting coins. C14 and other methods are not really exact in our sense. They have a range of 50 years or so. Fifty-year difference can make a specific item be dated either to the Solomonic or to the Omride period! b) History of events cannot be limited to the area of Israel and Judah alone. Historical events in Egypt, Asia Minor, Mesopotamia, Greece, Syria, Saudi-Arabia and Transjordan always influenced the development in Israel and Judah. The southern Levant was not an isolated insula but was always well connected with the neighboring countries. This is even confirmed by the Bible itself. Elites in Judah and Israel observed very carefully the situation in all other countries as the judgements on neighboring countries in the books of prophets may demonstrate. c) History of Israel and Judah cannot be isolated from history of religion and the development of theological ideas. Dating biblical texts becomes more and more problematic, and scholars even avoid dating a text. Nevertheless, history always interacts with developments in theological conceptions and history of religion. An important step in future historical research will be to link these two fields and to understand more clearly why elites influenced by theological or ideological ideas reacted in a specific way, and how religious and theological conceptions are influenced by historical changes. d) Nearly permanent natural conditions, called by Fernand Braudel and others as longue durée, are very important for reconstructing history. Conditions for agriculture, natural resources, trade routes and others help to understand historical developments much better. Archaeological results can be combined with a longue durée. As an example oil producing installations only found in the Chalcolithic period in the Golan area demonstrate a specific

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economical interest during this period.28 The same is true for the Shephelah during the Iron Age with plenty of oil pressing installations especially in Tel Miqne.29 e) Natural sciences need to be more in the focus of historical reseach. Notes based on climate history like pollen analysis, dendroclimatology or research on stalactites are seldom referred to in books dealing with the History of Israel. In excavations reports, papers about archaeobotany, archaeozoology and metal analysis are meanwhile typical. However, we still lack significant studies combining these scientific approaches to understand regional food habits, impact of agriculture or trade connections based on metallurgy, ivory trade, basalt trade and others. f) Archaeology not only presents history of sites, but landscape and regional archaeology can also demonstrate the historical developments of regions. Generally, we have to consider more and more the regional developments within a country or a state. Some regions may flourish during a specific period because of their economic centers and new methods of production, while others will drop behind. g) Additionally, there are still specific topics being nearly forgotten by archaeologists as relevant topics for reconstructing history. We still require some studies dealing with military equipment and organization, architectural developments, trade infrastructure, handcraft and others. h) History 2.0 must be in my opinion result in a combination of all fields being important for reconstructing history: Biblical exegesis, linguistic, philology, epigraphy, theology, archaeology, history of religion, architecture, social institutions, trade, economy, jurisdiction, cult and different fields of natural sciences. Only a group of researchers working closely together and discussing their results will be able to do such a research program. The actual crisis of historical research is, in my eyes, a crisis produced by the concentration on mostly the Bible as a source. If we add more disciplines to understand historical development better, we will get more witnesses to prove or disprove a theory – just as it is demanded in Deut 19:15.

28 Claire Epstein, “Oil Production in the Golan Heights during the Chalcolithic Period,” TA 20 (1993), pp. 133–146; Wolfgang Zwickel, Settlement History around the Sea of Galilee from the Neolithic to the Persian Period (ÄAT 86; Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 2017), pp. 164–166. 29 Wolfgang Zwickel, “‘Du salbest mein Haupt mit Ol’ (Ps 23,5). Die ökonomische und historische Bedeutung des Öls in biblischer Zeit,” in Melanie Peetz and Sandra Huebenthal (eds.), Ästhetik, sinnlicher Genuss und gu­­te Manieren. Ein biblisches Menü in 25 Gängen. Festschrift für Hans-Winfried Jüngling SJ (ÖBS 50; Bern: Pe­­ter Lang, 2018), pp. 171–182.

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How Tradition Literature Is Created A Comparative Perspective on the Pentateuch/Hexateuch and Early Arabo-Islamic Historiography Jan Retsö Gothenburg University, Sweden I Introduction: The Pentateuchal Problem Two of the things which strike the reader of the Pentateuch are (1) the variegated material which often does not seem very well integrated into a main narrative and (2) the overall concept leading from the creation of the world to the reaching of the Promised Land. A host of stories and episodes, often variants of each other and sometimes even contradictory, are put together according to an overreaching concept: a story with a beginning and an end (which, in fact, looks like a new beginning: the history of Israel in the Land) and with a specific message. An explanation of this double structure is crucial for understanding the text both as literature and as a historical source. There are thus two basic problems to be tackled by the critically minded historian. The first is that of the shape of the text itself, why it looks the way it does, how it has come into being, the story of its literary development, the sources behind the present text and the possible literary background, written and/or oral, of these sources. The other is the question of the value of the text as a historical source for the origins of Israel, a question which will not be discussed here. II Suggested solutions: the first 200 years The Pentateuch is the work of one author, Moses. The attached book dealing with the conquest of the Promised Land is the work of Joshua bin Nun, its protagonist. This unitarian view has been the traditional Jewish and Christian one and is still upheld by fundamentalists of different kinds. At the dawn of critical inquiry of history in the early period of the Enlightenment the solution of the problem of the Biblical text was to see it as the result of putting together various written sources that originally had a separate existence but which were woven together in different ways in a succession of redactions. This has been the dominating view in critical scholarship ever since. Already in the first stage of historical-critical scholarship on the Bible there arose three different ways of explaining the contradictions in the text. The first was the parallel documentary hypothesis, assuming two or more originally independent parallel accounts which have been woven together in the present text. This view was put forward already in the 18th century by Henning Bernhard Witter (1711) and Jean Astruc (1753) and became well known through the work of Johann Gottfried Eichhorn (1787). Astruc assumed two basic documents for Genesis: A characterized using the divine name elôhîm, and B in which the name YHWH is used.1 1 Hans-Joachim Kraus, Geschichte der historisch-kritischen Erforschung des Alten Testaments (3rd ed.; Neukirchen-

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The observation that even within the supposed parallel documents there were cracks and seams led Alexander Geddes (1792) followed by Johann Severin Vater (1802–1805) to formulate the fragment hypothesis, in which he assumes that the origin was, more likely, a collection of independent fragments which had been put together by a redactor. In both cases the redactor was identified as Moses.2 A third solution was the supplement hypothesis indicated by Heinrich Ewald (1830) and developed in detail later on in the 19th century, which assumes one basic document dealing with history from creation to the conquest of the Land, that had later been supplemented by different fragments.3 Originally, the parallel documentary and fragmentary hypotheses were relevant only for Genesis since it was assumed that Moses was the one who had put the documents/fragments together whereas Exodus-Deuteronomy were supposed to be more or less his own report. From Wilhelm Leberecht De Wette’s time (1805) it had, however, become clear that the Mosaic tradition in the Pentateuch did not seem to be reflected in the stories about the earliest period of settlement in the land and that Deuteronomy should be dated to the time of King Josiah, that is, the end of the 7th century B.C.E.4 By Ewald’s time most scholars expressed doubt about Mosaic involvement even if they admitted that there were documents from his time among those that were used in the composition the Pentateuch. Of the three suggestions for the composition of the Pentateuch, the first one, the parallel documentary hypothesis, became victorious. An important step was taken when Hermann Hupfeld (1853) pointed out that Astruc’s document A in fact should be divided into two, later called the Priestly code (P) and the Elohist (E).5 The problem of exact dating remained, however, since there were no concrete hints in any of the three documents, neither in Astruc’s document B, now called the Jahwist (J), nor in Astruc’s document A, now renamed E and P, as to when they were composed. Many still considered P the oldest of the documents although this had been cast into doubt already by De Wette. This ‘older documentary hypothesis‘ was definitely deconstructed by Karl Heinrich Graf (1865) who put forward the thesis that P contained legislation and a picture of conditions which must be dated to the time of Ezra, i. e., the 5th century B.C.E., i. e., much later than Deuteronomy.6 These achievements laid the foundations of the work of Julius Wellhausen who with his great linguistic and historical erudition laid a seemingly solid foundation for the view of the history of the texts which in turn became the basis of his description of the history of Israel. Wellhausen was fully aware of the complicated pre-history of the four assumed documents J, E, D and P, dated in that order, but refrained from speculating on the matter.7 The classical parallel documentary hypothesis thus tried to explain the differences between the elements making up the main story in a quite sophisticated way. The method was to try to see the contradictions and variations not as haphazard variations but classifiable according to four sets of basic concepts. The Pentateuchal text can be split up into a very large number of smaller Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1983), pp. 152–155; Cees Houtman, Der Pentateuch. Die Geschichte seiner Er­for­ schung neben einer Auswertung (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1994), pp. 62–80. 2 Kraus, Geschichte, pp. 155–160; Houtman, Pentateuch, pp. 80–87. 3 Kraus, Geschichte, pp. 157–160; Houtman, Pentateuch, pp. 91–95. 4 Kraus, Geschichte, pp. 174–189: Houtman, Pentateuch, pp. 84–87. 5 Houtman, Pentateuch, pp. 95–97. 6 Houtman, Pentateuch, pp. 98–100. 7 Kraus, Geschichte, pp. 242–274; Houtman, Pentateuch, pp. 98–114.

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pieces which in turn can be sorted out and patched together into new patterns, thereby forming four continuous narratives of Israel’s pre-history, now without the salient contradictions of the original existing text, instead conforming to the four basic sets of concepts and characteristics, ideological, literary, and linguistic.8 The solution was thus to explain the variations and contradictions as due to different theological and historical factors in hypothetical written sources, reflecting different environments, used by the creators of the existing Pentateuchal text. Behind this solution lies the idea that the Old Testament texts should contain a systematic and consistent theology. The classic parallel documentary hypothesis assumes this to have been the case also in the pre-stages of our extant text. It thus preserves the rationality and coherence of the Biblical text in accordance with the ideas of 19th century rationalism.9 At the same time it contains a blatant contradiction: the writers of the documents are supposed to be rational thinkers and authors, but those who composed or redacted the Pentateuch evidently did not have much of this. A characteristic remark by a ‘documentarian’ is worth quoting: “This compound narrative [i. e. the actual text we have] is not destitute of interest, but for the understanding of the ideas underlying the literature the primary documents are obviously of first importance.”10 The rationalist theologians found in their supposed documents, about which it could be argued that they in a way were constructed by them, the consistent theology they had looked for in vain in the main text. III The Century After Wellhausen Research after the formulation of the New Documentary Hypothesis followed two main lines: One was a continued intensive study of the documents and their structure, often leading scholars to the assumption of more documents than the four classic ones which tended to become atomized into a host of documents put together by complicated processes of redaction.11 Some scholars doubted the existence of an independent E-source.12 Another bone of contention was the status of the Priestly code: was it an independent literary work that had been integrated into the Pentateuchal story at a late stage, or a commentator’s addition representing a final redaction of the Pentateuch?13 The other track was the study of the pre-history of the written documents. The great name was Hermann Gunkel. He set out to study the concrete narratives constituting the building blocks of the documents without questioning the existence of the latter. He found most of them to be based on folktales, Sagen.14 He emphasized their similarity to what was known about such tales in other parts of the world. It should be noted that his analysis dealt with Genesis only, not the rest of the Hexateuch. A model reminiscent of the fragment hypothesis emerges as a neat description of the oral stage of the tradition. In Gunkel’s reading Genesis appears as an agglomera 8 Roger Norman Whybray, The Making of the Pentateuch. A Methodological Study (JSOTSup 53; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1987), pp. 20–31. 9 It is no coincidence that the documentary hypothesis is a child of the beginning enlightenment, see Kraus, Ge­schichte, pp. 80–82. 10 John Skinner, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1910), pp. 147–150. 11 Whybray, Making, pp. 31–34. 12 Houtman, Pentateuch, pp. 150–155. 13 Whybray, Making, pp. 108–111. 14 Hermann Gunkel, Genesis übersetzt und erklärt (HAT I,1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1901), pp. I–XL.

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tion of tales and legends of different kinds having lived on the lips of the people and subsequently used by the authors of the main documents with only very slight retouches. It is obvious that there arises a potentially dangerous challenge to the documentary hypothesis from Gunkel’s analysis since one must ask what constitutes the characteristic of the document if it consists of an agglomeration of folktales. Even if Gunkel acknowledged the existence of the four documents (three since he dealt only with Genesis), at least two of them, J and E, tend to disappear in the final picture.15 The writers were only collectors, not writers or authors. They codify texts already formulated and no particular theological bias is visible in the final version. To Gunkel, only P deserves the epithet writer since he reshapes the material according to his theological scheme. The challenges posed by Gunkel and his followers and the impossibility of reaching a consensus on the nature of the written documents whose existence remained hypothetical anyway led to a crisis which matured into explicit statements by several scholars, perhaps most decisively by Rolf Rendtorff in 1977.16 Rendtorff blatantly stated that there are no traces in the Pentateuch of the characteristic four documents. There are large complexes: the Urgeschichte, the stories of the patriarchs, the Exodus etc. but these are independent blocks. Rendtorff drew the consequences of Gunkel’s Formgeschichte: the Pentateuch consists of a series of cycles of traditions: the primeval story, the patriarchal stories, the Moses-exodus complex, the Sinai pericope, the wilderness wanderings. All are originally independent, each with its own characteristics as the result of an earlier process of merging of smaller traditional units. The continuous narrative we have within the units is the result of repeated reworking (Bearbeitung). Finally, everything has been moulded together by a deuteronomistically minded redactor (Bearbeiter). According to Rendtorff, the only overreaching stratum in the first four books of the Pentateuch was a Deuteronomistic strain (deuteronomistisch geprägt). This could indicate that the basic blocks were separate until a Deuteronomistic minded writer united them into a continuous narrative. Subsequently one more layer was imposed on his work, viz. P. To Rendtorff the main creator of the Pentateuch was a late Deuteronomist, not an early Yahwist as assumed by his predecessor Gerhard von Rad. In a way this is the re-emergence of the unitarian view: the Pentateuch is fundamentally the achievement of one redactional or even literary process by one writer, who, according to Rend­ torff, is a deuteronomistic one. The different blocks of tradition have on one specific occasion been united into a larger literary and theological concept.17 The idea that the Pentateuch is the result of one main literary effort has been followed by many scholars since Rendtorff, the main dividing line being between those who see a Deuteronomistic writer behind the main outline of the Torah-book (e.g., Lothar Perlitt, Erich Zenger) and those who advocate a priestly creator (Ko­nrad Schmid, Thomas Römer, Jan Christian Gertz, Israel Knohl).18 Connected with this is a main trend in lowering the dating of the overarching layer according to which the traditional Yah­wistic sections are later than Deuteronomy as argued already by Hans Heinrich Schmid (Der sogenannte Jahwist 1976) followed by, for example, Martin Rose (1981), John Van Seters (1992, 1994) and Christoph Levin (1993). Like Rendtorff, Erhard Blum (1984, 1990) concluded that there are two final layers, one Deuteronomistic who is the main originator of the whole structure, followed by a priestly redaction. 15 Gunkel, Genesis, pp. LV–LXXI. 16 Rolf Rendtorff, Das überlieferungsgeschichtliche Problem des Pentateuch (BZATW 147; Berlin and New York: W. de Gruyter, 1977); Houtman, Pentateuch, p. 226. Ernest Nicholson: The Pentateuch in the Twentieth Cen­ tu­ry: The Legacy of Julius Wellhausen (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998), pp. 95–116. 17 Houtman, Perntateuch, pp. 241–249. 18 Cf. Thomas Dozeman, “The Pentateuch,” Oxford Research Encyclopedia of Religions. Online 2018, p. 16.

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Not everyone has been happy with the low dating of the overall structure of the Pentateuch. A main spokesman of an earlier dating of P at least to the time of Hezekiah is Israel Knohl (The Sanctuary of Silence, English 1995) having some predecessors in Menahem Haran (1985), Jacob Milgrom (1991) and Yehezkel Kaufmann (1960).19 IV Pentateuchal Scholarship Since 1970s: The Main Issues The main problem emerging from the discussion after the 1970s is how to understand the relationship between assumed parallel documents and separate independent blocks. To this is added the status of the overarching structure of the entire Pentateuch. What is its fundament? The ‘documentarians’ assume an early date for the latter tradition since the earliest document, J, is seen as the blueprint of the outline of Israelite history, being dated to the early royal period. For them the historical tradition codified in the documents is old, conceived in the early royal period and even before that. Scholars like Martin Noth and Frank Moore Cross have argued for the existence of a pre-literary epic story about the history of Israel which is reflected in the overall structure of the Pentateuch.20 For the other school emerging in the 1970s the historical concept of the Pentateuch was created together with the creation of the book itself, a process made in one sweep, by Deuteronomists or even the people behind the Priestly code and consequently dated much later, i. e., to exilic or post-exilic times. In spite of the almost total domination in Biblical scholarship of the parallel documentary hypothesis some modern serious critical scholars have remained skeptical from the beginning, even rejecting it altogether, claiming a single authorship for the whole Pentateuch (Fred Winnet, Moses Hirsch Segal, Umberto Cassuto, Ivan Engnell and to a certain extent Johannes Pedersen and, lately, Roger Norman Whybray and Joshua Berman) thus expressing an outspoken unitarian view.21 Rendtorff’s iconoclasm was not completely new. One of their main arguments has been that the contradictions, variants and stylistic differences in the text, which form the basis of the documentary hypothesis, do not necessarily reflect a redactional work of weaving together different sources as claimed by the hypothesis. This is instead a feature of oriental literature in general and the interpretation of it according to the documentary hypothesis is based on a misunderstanding of this kind of literature. The cracks, the contradictions etc. are usually explained by assuming that the author indeed had before him the variegated material transmitted by the tradition which he has integrated in his story.22

19 For a collection of arguments for an early dating of P see Matthias Armgardt, Benjamin Kilchör and Markus Zehnder (eds.), Paradigm Change in Pentateuchal Research (BZABR 22; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2019). 20 Houtman, Pentateuch, p. 247. 21 Houtman, Pentateuch, p. 167; Whybray, Making, pp. 221–242; Joshua A. Berman, Inconsistency in the Torah: Ancient Literary Convention and the Limits of Source Criticism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017). 22 Houtman, Pentateuch, pp. 207–219, 240–241. For developments after the 1970s, see the surveys in Gary Knop­pers and Bernard M. Levinson (eds.), The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Understanding Its Pro­ mul­­gation and Acceptance (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007); Thomas. Dozeman, Konrad Schmid, Ba­ ruch Schwartz (eds.), The Pentateuch: International Perspectives on Current Research (FAT 78; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011); Thomas Dozeman, “The Pentateuch,” Oxford Research Encyclopedia of Religions. On­line 2018

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V The Neglected Track: The Arabo-Islamic Historiography One argument against the existence of parallel sources, the hallmark of the parallel documentary hypothesis which has been the main goal of the attack from the ‘sceptics’, has been the unlikeliness of the redaction process where the redactors are imagined to have been sitting with scissors and glue putting bits and pieces of the earlier documents together. Critics like John Van Seters and lately Joshua Berman have pointed to the importance of comparative studies of the historiography of other ancient peoples comparable with the Israelites in order to get a deeper understanding of how historical memories are treated.23 Both these scholars point at the relevance not only of historical writing in the ancient Middle East but also of Hellenistic-Roman and western medieval historiography.24 This is of course true but one wonders why nobody has ever referred to another obvious parallel, viz. early Arabic historiography.25 This literature is extremely illustrative of how ancient writing of history developed. Due to its continuous adducing of the references to sources the development of how historical tradition is handled at least from the 8th century CE and several centuries onwards is fully documented. Unlike the Hebrew Bible we can study how this kind of literature is handled; the process is in full daylight. VI The Basic Building Blocks of Arabo-Islamic Historiography: khabar and qiṣṣa The fundamental elements out of which the early Arabic historical works are constructed are of two kinds. The first is labelled khabar or ḥadīth, the second qiṣṣa. All three words mean ‘story,’ ‘account,’ ‘narrative’ and originally they were used haphazardly. In medieval Islam the word ḥadīth was early reserved as a designation of the normative accounts of the Prophet.26 The word qāṣṣ, plural quṣṣāṣ, i. e., ‘storyteller,’ is quite often used for the people giving what one could call haggadic commentaries of passages in the Qur’an, which actually represent the earliest stage of qur’anic exegesis.27 But the medieval usage of the term is far from being consistent. The modern scholarly study of this literature, however, needs a distinct terminology and has tried to characterize two kinds of narrative literature clearly visible in the Arabic tradition and has applied the two terms in a more distinct meaning. Khabar can be defined both in stylistic terms and according to content. It is mostly a quite short account, sometimes almost an anecdote, about honor and violence in a traditional Arabic milieu. The scene is in Arabia itself; the description is realistic, no miracles or supernatural elements occur. The narrative technique is terse, using as few words as possible and without unnecessary deviations. One usually finds dramatic dialogues with pregnant exchanges of lines. The aim of the khabar is to illustrate the heroic virtues of the warriors of Arabia. The core is the description of a battle between individuals or groups of people. A background for the conflict is given, often with detailed genealogical information about those involved.28 This shows that the 23 See John Van Seters, In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983; repr. Winona Lake. IN: Eisenbrauns, 1997). Cf the survey by Dozeman, Pentateuch, pp. 13–14. 24 Van Seters, Search, pp. 8–54; Berman, Inconsistency, pp. 25–32. 25 The only exception is the article by Geo Widengren, “Oral Tradition and Written Literature Among the Hebrews in the Light of Arabic Evidence, with Special Regard to Prose Narratives,” AcOr 23 (1955), pp. 201– 262. Dealing with ibn Isḥāq’s text and its similarities with the Pentateuch. 26 Fuat Sezgin, Geschichte des arabischen Schrifttums Band I: Qur’ānwissenschaften, Ḥadīṯ, Geschichte, Fiqh, Dog­ ma­tik, Mystik bis ca. 430 H (Leiden: Brill, 1967), pp. 53, 237. 27 Widengren, Tradition, p. 237; Lyall Richard Armstrong, The Quṣṣāṣ of Early Islam (IHC 139; Leiden: Brill, 2017), pp. 75–152. 28 Cf. the characterization by Widengren, Tradition, pp. 232–234.

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khabar-tradition functions as a means of promulgating the honor, sharaf, of a specific tribe, a clan or an individual hero. There is a clear tendency towards documentarianism: the khabar is usually centered around a piece of poetry which has been/is said to have been composed in connection with the event and/or place-names which together with the genealogical notes ensure the ‘truth’ of the account, almost serving as a scholarly reference.29 A Scandinavian reader is continuously reminded of the Icelandic sagas. Both traditions have the heroic content and the high literary level in common. An interesting parallel to the khabar as defined here is the story of Baraq and Deborah in Judges 4–5 which shows many similarities to a classic Arabic khabar including the poem quoted. This also holds, although to a lesser degree, of the Exodus story with its prose narrative followed and ‘documented’ by the Song of the Sea. If the khabar has an anecdotal stamp, the qiṣṣa shows an epic structure. It tells a story consisting of many episodes in chronological order with a long, winding narrative line. The language is adorned with rhetoric devices like parallellismus membrorum, rhymed prose as well as poetry. The latter is, unlike the poetry quoted in a khabar, an integrated part of the narrative, functioning as resting points or turning points in the story. One often has the impression that the poetry is composed by the storyteller (which most likely is also the case in many instances). A main difference compared with the khabar is that the qiṣṣa often tells about distant countries and times, legendary kings and heroes but not a more or less contemporary Arabia. Also, jinns, demons and strange monsters may appear. It is also important that the qiṣṣa-tradition is open to international narrative culture: legends about Babylonian and Iranian kings, Alexander the Great, heroes in pre-Islamic Yemen and, not the least, Biblical and haggadic lore of Jewish and Christian origin are favorite subjects. We are, in fact, not so far from the Alf layla wa-layla. Even if we do not have any pre-Islamic written evidence for the existence of these literary traditions there are arguments favoring the assumption that these two ways of storytelling go back to pre-Islamic times. It can be assumed that the khabar-tradition represents attitudes and values among the tribal aristocrats of Arabia whereas the qiṣṣa-tradition is the voice of other layers of pre-Islamic society, i. e., ordinary farmers, cattle herders, itinerant merchants etc. VII The Earliest Historical Writings The qiṣṣa-tradition was obviously well-known in the Qur’anic milieu. The Qur’an contains a plethora of references, allusions and even specimens of qiṣṣa. Sura 12 relates the story of Joseph with all the characteristics known from later qiṣṣa-texts. The same tradition lies behind the allusions to legends about the earlier prophets as well as the stories about the perished peoples of Arabia like ‘Ād and Thamūd. It has also been shown that the earliest exegesis of the Qur’an was made by quṣṣāṣ who had a vast repertoire of stories and legends from ancient Arabia as well as from the Middle East in general.30 The earliest written example of this literature (apart from the allusions in the Qur’an) are the texts ascribed to Wahb b. Munabbih, ([the year of the birth of the person is unknown]–728 or 730 C. E.), a Yemeni of Iranian Jewish descent to whom several books are ascribed but which are only known by long quotations in later historical works. Wahb wrote, or dictated, a book on the creation of the world based on Genesis known as the Kitāb al-mubtada’, ‘the Book of Beginning.’ Further, a collection of stories about the Israelite prophets as a continuation of The Book of Beginnings, as well as a book on the wars of the Muslims in 29 The basic study is still Werner Caskel, “Aijām al-‘arab. Studien zur altarabischen Epik,” Islamica 3 (1930) Fasz. 5: Ergänzungsheft. An important following-up is Egbert Meyer, Der historische Gehalt der Aiyām al-‘arab (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1970). 30 Armstrong, Quṣṣāṣ.

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the Medina period are ascribed to him.31 Wahb’s series of writings dealt with the creation of the world, the history of mankind, the line of Prophets and the pre-Islamic kings of Yemen followed by the military expeditions of the Prophet and, probably, also a history of the Umayyad caliphs. Wahb thus seems to have had a larger perspective inspired by the earlier monotheist tradition, Jewish and Christian, as the passages from his works show an ambition to create an Islamic world history, in his case with a strong pro-Yemeni tendency.32 Another example is the ’Akhbār al-yaman ascribed to a certain ‘Ubayd b. Shariya who lived in the late 7th century (the work is probably a pseudepigraph written in the 8th century), containing a lot of lore about pre-Islamic Yemen as well as long accounts about some of the pre-Islamic peoples hinted at in the Qur’an.33 Just like the qiṣṣa-tradition, the earliest textual documentation of the khabar is connected with early Islam. Around 700 C. E. a certain ‘Urwa b. Zubayr (–712) compiled notes dealing with the wars said to have occurred during Muhammad’s sojourn in Yathrib/Medina, thus between 622 and 632 according to traditional chronology. The history of that period was told in khabarform, that is quite short, anecdotal episodes relating to well-known place names and battles. ‘Urwa’s disciple az-Zuhrī b. Shihāb (–742) expanded his work with more episodes into a book called Kitāb al-maghāzī, ‘the Book of Battles.’ The word maghāzī, originally meaning traditional Bedouin raids, became the technical term for the battles of early Islam. The works of ‘Urwa and az-Zuhrī are not extant as independent books but are known through ample quotations in later writers, above all ibn Isḥāq (see below). We also know that Wahb ibn Munabbih composed a maghāzī-book, a fragment of which is preserved.34 The material about the Medina-expeditions was finally collected by al-Wāqidī (–835) whose Kitāb al-maghāzī is preserved intact.35 31 Raif Georges Khoury, Wahb b. Munabbih Teil 1: Der Heidelberger Papyrus PSR Heid Arab 23 (Wiesba­den: Har­ras­so­w itz, 1972), pp. 183–316; idem, “Wahb b. Munabbih,” in C. E. Bosworth et al. (eds.) The Enc­yc­lo­pae­ dia of Islam N. E . (Leiden: Brill, 2000), vol. 11, pp. 34–36; Nabia Abbott: Studies in Arabic Literary Pa­py­ri I: Historical Texts (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1955), pp. 30–37. Tilman Nagel: Die Qiṣaṣ al-anbiyā’. Ein Beitrag zur arabischen Literaturgeschichte (Dissertation, University of Bonn, 1967), pp. 149–153; idem, Ale­xan­der der Grosse in der frühislamischen Volkslitteratur (Beiträge zur Sprach- und Kulturgeschichte des Orients 28; Walldorf-Hessen: Verlag für Orientkunde Vorndran, 1978). The exact nature of Wahb’s writings are debated since we only know the tradition via quotations in later authors. 32 For the rise of the Medina and Yemeni schools of historiography Abd Al-Aziz Duri, The Rise of Historical Wri­ting Among the Arabs (edited and translated by Lawrence I Conrad; Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983) is still a most readable introduction. A classic is Franz Rosenthal, A History of Muslim His­to­ri­og­ raphy (2nd ed.; Leiden: Brill 1968). The literature on Muslim historiography has since then grown considerably: Albrecht Noth: Quellenkritische Studien zu Themen, Formen und Tendenzen frühislami­scher Ge­schichts­ über­lieferung, Volume 1: Themen und Formen (Bonn: Oriental Seminar der Universität Bonn, 1973); Ju­lian Ober­mann: “Early Islam,” in R. G. Dentan (ed.), The Idea of History in the Ancient Near East (New Haven: American Oriental Society, 1983), pp. 237–310; Joseph Bradin Roberts, Early Islamic Historiography: Ide­ol­ ogy and Methodology (Dissertation, Ohio State University, 1986); Albrecht Noth and Lawrence. I. Con­rad, The Early Arabic Historical Tradition: A Source Critical Study (translated by M. Bonner; Princeton: Dar­w in Press, 1993); Tarif Khalidi, Arabic Historical Thought in the Classical Period (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni­ versity Press, 1994); Stephen Humphreys, “Ta’rīkh: Historical writings,” C. E. Boswort et al. (eds.) The En­ cy­clo­paedia of Islam N. E . (Leiden: Brill, 1998), vol. 10, pp. 271–280; Fred M. Donner, Narratives of Islamic Origins: The Beginnings of Islamic Historical Writing (Princeton: Darwin Press, 1998); Case F. Robinson, Is­­lamic Historiography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003). 33 Abbott, Studies, pp. 9–1; Elise Crosby, Akhbar al-Yaman wa-ash’aruha wa-ansabuha: The History, Poetry, and Genealogy of the Yemen of ‘Abid b. Sharya al-Jurhumi (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2013). 34 Khoury, Wahb, pp. 118–175. 35 Ed. by Marsden Jones: The Kitāb al-Maghāzī of al-Wāqidī (3 vols.; London: Oxford University Press, 1966).

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The khabar-tradition dealing with the warfare of the tribes of Arabia in pre-Islamic times was also documented in writing but, as it seems, later than the stories about the Prophet’s maghāzī. The technical term for these battles was yawm ‘day,’ plur. ’ayyām. ‘The Battle Days of the Arabs,’ ’ayyām al-‘arab, were documented in writing in the beginning of the 9th century by two authors: Hishām b. al-Kalbī (–832) and Abū ‘Ubayda (–824/5).36 The book of the latter as well as several of the former are lost but known through quotations in later historiographic works. The quotations are so numerous that it has been possible to make a plausible reconstruction of Abū ‘Ubayda’s book.37 One might also argue that the khabar-form is the frame of classical ḥadīth, i. e. the anecdotes and short stories about the Prophet and his normative acts and sayings. The ḥadīths collected in the classical sunni and shiite works exhibit all the characteristics of the classical khabar. Both the Islamic ḥadīth and the ’ayyām-literature are normative in their own way: the former providing the base for the development of Islamic law and orthopraxy, the latter as examples of recommendable virtues of the Arab (and also Muslim) warrior. Both these literary traditions thus continued to live on and were transmitted during several centuries in medieval Islam. In the khabar tradition we can observe a trend to link several ’akhbār into larger compositions preserving the literary characteristics of the heroic khabar, In this way narrative cycles about famous pre-Islamic heroes and events, like the poet Imru’ al-Qays or the Basūs war, were created which made the khabar-literature even more like the Icelandic saga.38 A similar tendency can be seen in the maghāzī-tradition, well documented in al-Wāqidī’s book. But the khabar material was also used by historians with larger perspectives and ambitions to create more sophisticated historical works. The great pioneer was Muḥammad b. Isḥāq (–767), the main biographer of the Prophet.39 VIII The Islamic Pentateuch: The Work of Ibn Isḥāq Ibn Isḥāq belonged to the school of learned men housed in Medina where the memory of the Prophet was most alive. Here the ḥadīth-tradition was developed, i. e. the codification of the Prophet’s sayings and acts in khabar form. To this was added a ground-breaking innovation: the source reference. A khabar about the Prophet, i. e. a ḥadīth, had to be attributable tο a trustworthy witness who could show a line of transmission, ’isnād, back to the Prophet or his associates.40 In accordance with this ibn Isḥāq mentions his sources at least in large parts of the work, which makes it possible to study how he has constructed his account. When ibn Isḥāq set out to write his book he followed Wahb’s concept even quoting him extensively, especially in the part dealing with the pre-Prophet age, called by him Kitāb al-mubtada’, ‘the Book of Beginning’, a clear reference to Wahb’s book with the same title and, ultimately, the book of Genesis. In the later part of his book ibn Isḥāq followed Wahb’s concept but replaced 36 Widengren, Tradition, p. 238. 37 ‘Ādil Ğāsim al-Bayyātī (ed.), Kitāb ayyām al-‘arab qabla l-‘ islām li-‘Abī ‘Ubayda Ma‘mar b. al-Muthannā at-Taymī. 1–2 (Bayrūt, 1987 C. E . / 1407 H.). 38 Cf. Stefan Leder, ‘The Literary Use of the Khabar: A Basic Form of Historical Writing,’ in Averil Cameron and Lawrence L. Conrad (eds.), The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East, Volume 1: Problems in the Lit­er­ ary Source Material (SLAEI 1; Princeton: Darwin Press, 1992), pp. 277–315. 39 Johann Fück, Muḥammad ibn Isḥāq: Literaturhistorische Untersuchungen (Frankfurt a. M.: [[Publisher?]], 1925); Joseph Horowitz, “The Earliest Biographies of the Prophet and Their Authors,” Islamic Culture 2 (1928), pp. 22–50, 164–182, 495–526, esp. 169–180. Rudolf Sellheim, Prophet, Chalif und Geschichte. Die Muhammadbiographie des Ibn Isḥāq (Leiden: Brill, 1967). 40 Joseph Horowitz, ‘Alter und Ursprung des Isnād,’ Der Islam 8 (1918), pp. 39–47.

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his material with other traditions which better fitted the ideological outlook of the school of Medina. For the events after 622 C. E. he mainly followed the maghāzī-tradition from ‘Urwa and az-Zuhrī. For the period from the call of Muhammad to the hiǧra in 622 it has been noted that authorized ḥadīths are sparse in ibn Isḥāq. This section is to a large extent based on Qur’anic exegesis and it is obvious that the learned men in Medina did not have much memory about this crucial period. We thus have a basic historical concept originating with Wahb b. Munabbih which is partly reproduced by ibn Isḥāq but filled out with material from others. The result was a world history in four parts: Kitāb al-mubtada’, ‘the Book of Beginning,’ Kitāb al-mab‘ath, ‘the Book of Sending,’ Kitāb al-maghāzī, ‘the Book of Battles’ and Kitāb al-khulafā’, ‘the Book of the Successors,’ thus beginning with the creation of the world and ending with the history of the caliphs and, probably with the Abbasid revolution in 750.41 The work was commissioned by the Abbasid caliph al-Manṣūr (754–75 CE) and there is a pro-­ Abbasid tendency in it expressed by frequent mention of the roles of ‘Aliyy b. Abī Ṭālib and the Prophet’s uncle ‘Abbās on crucial occasions, the latter being the ancestor of the Abbasids.42 This tendency is, however, not the dominating feature of the work which instead shows an ambition to tell as much as possible about the life of the Prophet, even if this meant including contradictory traditions.43 Especially noteworthy are the quotations of poems by the enemies of the Prophet. Ibn Isḥāq’s Islamic world history was heavily redacted and edited by Muḥammad b. Hishām in the beginning of the 9th century. He cut away large parts of the book including most of the first part (the Kitāb al-mubtada’) and the entire story of the caliphs.44 He then added his own comments and traditions all of which are marked by his name. The remaining torso with ibn Hishām’s additions is since then known as the Sīrat an-nabiyy, ‘The Life of the Prophet,’ the canonical document of the origins of Islam.45 Ibn Hishām also edited parts of the works of Wahb. In a book entitled Kitāb at-tīǧān, ‘the Book of Crowns’, he edited Wahb’s Kitāb al-mubtadaʾ combining it with a work on the pre-Islamic history of Yemen, Kitāb al-mulūk al-mutawwaǧa, ‘The Book of Crowned Kings’ (perhaps not by Wahb) presenting the legendary history of Yemen until the end of the 6th century.46

41 For documentation of his history of the caliphs, see Abbott, Studies, pp. 80–99. 42 See als William Montgomery Watt, ‘The Materials Used by Ibn Isḥāq,’ in Bernard Lewis and P. M. Holt (eds.), Historians of the Middle East (London: Oxford University Press, 1962), pp. 23–34; Uri Rubin, The Eye of the Beholder: The Life of Muhammad as Viewed by the Early Muslims, A Textual Analysis (Princeton: Dar­ win Press, 1995); Gregor Schoeler, Charakter und Authentie der muslimischen Überlieferung über das Leben Mohammeds (Studien zur Geschichte und Kultur des islamischen Orients 14; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1996). 43 Widengren, Tradition, p. 239. 44 Large parts of the Kitāb al-mubtada’ are preserved in aṭ-Ṭabarī’s Tārīkh (see below). They are now available in an English translation by Gordon Darnell Newby: The Making of the Last Prophet:A Reconstruction of the Earliest Biography of Muhammad (Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 1989). 45 See Ferdinand Wüstenfeld (ed.), Das Leben Muhammed’s nach Muhammed Ibn Ishâk bearbeitet von Abd al-­ Malik Ibn Hishâm (Göttingen: Dieterischsche Universitäts-Buchhandlung, 1858–1860); Translation, Al­fred Guillaume: The Life of Muhammad: A Translation of Ibn Isḥāq’s Sīrat rasūl Allāh (Oxford: Oxford Uni­ver­si­ ty Press, 1955). 46 Zayn al-‘Ābidīn al-Mūsawī (ed.), Kitāb at-Tīǧān (Haiderabad, 1929 CE/1347 H.).

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IX The Islamic Deuteronomistic Historian: The Work of at-Tabari Another example of the methods used by Islamic historiographers is the Tārīkh ar-rusul wa-lmulūk, ‘The History of Apostles and Kings,’ the world history by the great historian Abū Ǧa‘far Muḥammad b. Ǧarīr aṭ-Ṭabarī (–922).47 This work is the great culmination of the concept originating with Wahb b. Munabbih and developed by ibn Isḥāq. At a first glance aṭ-Ṭabarī appears as a collector of a vast array of material of different kinds. He is very careful in adducing references to his sources and because of this it is possible to follow how he has handled them. It can be observed that his method varies a lot. In a large section in the first part of his great work he tells the history of the Sasanid kings of Iran and their vassal kings in al-Ḥīra in Iraq who on their behalf exercised different degrees of control and influence among the tribes of Arabia.48 Aṭ-Ṭabarī used two main sources for this section: a Middle Iranian book about the history of the Iranian kings, the Khwadāy nāmag, translated into Arabic, and ibn al-Kalbī’s history of the kings of al-Ḥīra written in the beginning of the 9th century C. E. We know that these were aṭ-Ṭabarī’s sources since he refers to them explicitly. It is also quite certain that they were written documents. Now aṭ-Ṭabarī has divided the two books into sections dealing with the same period and then woven them together into a continuous narrative with a perspective oscillating between Iran and al-Ḥīra in a procedure of cutting and gluing. This is thus a process which is not alien to the Semitic thinking as has sometimes been said concerning the classical documentary hypothesis of the Pentateuch but has been performed by one of the greatest historians of the ‘Semitic world’.49 In his description of the events after the death of Muhammed aṭ-Ṭabarī uses another method. He has here used a history-book from the 8th century by Sayf b. ‘Umar, the Kitāb ar-ridda wal-futūḥ, ‘The Book of Defection and Conquests,’ as his main source.50 The account of the wars with the tribes in Arabia and the conquests under the first caliphs is dominated by long quotations from Sayf’s work. Here and there aṭ-Ṭabarī adduces complementary information from other sources, written or oral. He thus illustrates the supplementary hypothesis assumed by Ewald for the Pentateuch. Finally, we have many examples where different and contradictory traditions about the same event are just juxtaposed. When aṭ-Ṭabarī tells about the call of the prophet he follows ibn Isḥāq but adds several traditions not found in his predecessor. In ibn Isḥāq, the call of Muhammad, is a compilation of different traditions about the event, which are linked together in a not very clever and convincing way.51 Remarkably, the ’isnād system makes the complicative character 47 C. E . Bosworth: ‘al-Ṭabarī’, C. E . Bosworth et al. (eds.) The Encyclopaedia of Islam N. E . (Leiden: Brill, 1998), vol. 10, pp. 11–15. The Tārīkh was edited by Michael Jan de Goeje cum aliis: Annales quos scripsit Abu Djafar Mohammed Ibn Djarir At-Tabari (vols. 1–15; Leiden: Brill, 1879–1901). 48 Aṭ-Ṭabarī, Tārīkh I:813. This section is translated and commented by Theodor Nöldeke, Geschichte der Per­ser und Araber zur Zeit der Sasaniden: Aus der arabischen Chronik des Tabari übersetzt mit ausführlichen Er­läu­te­ run­gen und Ergänzungen versehn (Leiden: Brill, 1879; repr. 1973); cf. also the modern translation by Clifford Edmund Bosworth, The History of al-Ṭabarī, Volume 5: The Sāsānids, the Byzantines, the Lakhmids, and Yemen (Albany: SUNY Press, 1999). 49 The fact that aṭ-Ṭabarī was of Iranian descent does not need to concern us. He was fully integrated into the Islamic literary culture which in his days was still largely ‘Semitic,’ i. e. Arabic. 50 Sayf lived in the latter half of the 8th century C. E ., see Fred. M. Donner, “Sayf b. ‘Umar,” The Encyclopaedia of Islam N. E . (Leiden: Brill, 1995), vol. 9, pp. 102–103. The classic analysis of aṭ-Ṭabarī’s use of Sayf is Ju­lius Well­hausen, Prolegomena zur ältesten Geschichte des Islams: Skizzen und Vorarbeiten VI (Berlin: W. de Gruy­­ ter, 1899). The complete original text of Sayf was found in 1991 and edited in two volumes by Qasim Al-­Sa­ marrai (ed.), Sayf b. ‘Umar al-Tamîmî: Kitâb al-Ridda wa’ l-futûh and Kitâb al-Jamal wa masîr ‘Â’ isha wa ‘Alî (Lei­den: Smitskamp Oriental Antiquarium, 1995). 51 Wüstenfeld, Leben, pp. 150–154; Guillaume, Life, pp. 104–107.

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obvious in spite of the fact that ibn Isḥāq probably hoped that the mosaic of different testimonies would still give the impression of a continuous narrative. Ibn Isḥāq has five clearly distinctive ’akhbār/’aḥādīth whereas aṭ-Ṭabarī adduces fifteen.52 Unlike ibn Isḥāq aṭ-Ṭabarī does not show any tendency to weave the different akhbār/’aḥādīth together to form a continuous narrative. Instead we see a series of different traditions regarding the event, often deviating from each other. X Arabo-Islamic Historiography and the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Literature Compared It has been convincingly shown that the Islamic historian did not compose ideological tractates.53 Their history books are characterized by strong antiquarian interests and, not the least important, a sense of the value of a good story. There are sometimes markings of ideological positions in them: Ibn Isḥāq was after all a servant of the victorious Abbasid dynasty which is visible here and there in his work. But the Sīra is not a continuous pro-Abbasid tract. A historian like al-­Ya‘­qū­bī (892/3 B.C.E.) was a shiite, which is also visible here and there in his Tārīkh but the book is not a shiite world history. aṭ-Ṭabarī himself was certainly an imperialist, a supporter of the Iranian-influenced ideology of the Abbasid state, but this is not a message which characterizes his book. It is, however, hinted at here and there quite subtle ways.54 These examples from the Arabo-Islamic historiography may suffice to show how tradition literature, Traditionslitteraur, is handled within a framework of intensive ideological and theological discussion and conflict as was the case during the first two or three centuries of Islam. We can here follow in detail how historical matter, oral and written, is transmitted, reused, and rewritten by writers during several centuries. We find the main hypotheses about the composition of the Pentateuch illustrated: the ordering of separate texts, short ones or longer ones in a narrative order, the supplementation of a basic text with extra material relevant for the story, and juxtaposition of different versions of the same event. Clear examples of the weaving together of several continuous strains as assumed by the parallel documentary hypothesis are, however, rare in Arabic historiography.55 It is worth mentioning the examples of unambiguous one-man works. al-Ya‘qūbī’s world history is one such book where the author is the narrator of the content, with only sporadic references to sources. An even clearer case is ad-Dīnawarī‘s (dead between 894/5 and 902/3 CE) al-’akhbār aṭ-ṭiwāl, ‘The Long Stories’ which is a continuous account of the his52 aṭ-Ṭabarī, Tārīkh I:1147–1159; William Montgomery Watt and Michael V. McDonald, The History of alṬabarI Vol. VI: Muḥammad at Mecca (Albany: SUNY Press, 1988), pp. 60–80. 53 The basic work is Noth, Studien, which is a thorough criticism of the views of Wellhausen on the early Is­lamic sources as representing ideological standpoints in early Islam, much like the supposed four documents in the Pentateuch; cf. his analysis of Sayf b. ‘Umar in Noth, Studien, pp. 16–22 compared with Whybray, Making, pp. 91–93. 54 Marshall G. S. Hodgeson: The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World Civilization, Volume 1: The Classical Age of Islam (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1974), pp. 352–357. 55 This can be used as an argument for considering the parallel documentary hypothesis to be the least likely of the supposed methods. On the other hand, the weaving together of different sources as assumed by the classic model is well documented in hellenistic historiography. For instance, the biographies by Plutarch and Arrian of Alexander the Great employ exactly this method, mixing the accounts of Ptolemy and Aristobulus; see Nicholas Geoffrey Lempière. Hammond: Sources for Alexander the Great. An Analysis of Plutarch’s Life and Arrian’s Anabasis Alexandrou (Cambridge Classical Studies; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993). Cf. also Hammond’s other book: Three Historians of Alexander the Great. (CCS; Cambridge: Cam­ bridge University Press, 1983). It should, however, be observed that the mixing is the work of one man, not a successive weaving together by several redactors as assumed by the hypothesis.

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tory of Islam by one voice who forms his account almost like a modern epic novel with dialogues, without any references to authorities.56 To a Hebrew Bible/Old Testament scholar these procedures observable in the Arabic historiography are thus strongly reminiscent of some of the hypotheses assumed about the history of the Pentateuch. The basic building material, the khabar/ḥadīth-material, recalls the claims by Gun­kel concerning the fundamentals of the stories in Genesis. The method employed by ibn Isḥāq is a thorough illustration of the fragment hypothesis launched by Geddes in the 18th century and revived by Rendtorff in the 1970s. Ibn Isḥāq is a colleague of Rendtorff’s D-redactor. And ibn Hishām’s activity is an illustration of the activities of the final P-redactor assumed by Rendtorff and others. The big difference is that in the Arabic historical works the whole compositional procedure is fully documented through the isnād-system and by the partial preservation of the sources used by, for instance, ibn Isḥāq. Returning to the Pentateuch after extensive reading of the Arabo-Islamic historians one is struck by the frequent similarities in the very structure of the texts. The early Islamic historian tells a story but often includes variant traditions or even opposing traditions in the main narrative. This is what we find in the Flood story in Genesis, the account of the Plagues of Egypt, the discussion about the consequences of the sin of the calf in Exodus, the revolt of Qorah and Dathan, and so on. The only main difference is that the Muslims as a rule are very consistent in giving references to their sources and the sources of their sources, a happy heritage from the school of Medina. If we delete the isnāds we get texts that are quite like many passages in the Pentateuch where one has to look more closely for the cracks. It is worth pointing out that one looks in vain in the Old Testament for text like those of al-Ya‘qūbī and ad-Dīnawarī. The Old Testament shows closeness to the mainstream methods of the Arabic historians. An interesting question is if there are linguistic, i. e. grammatical and stylistic, differences between the Arabic sources similar to those often described concerning the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament ones. The answer is that we do not know yet since such investigations have not been made to date. It is clear that there are stylistic differences between khabar-texts and qiṣṣa-stories even if these have not been compared or analyzed systematically. But the main work remains to be done. Perhaps it has not been considered very important until now since the identity of the varying sources is evident anyway through the isnād system. An objection to the claims made here is, of course, that there is a large chronological gap between the formation of the Hebrew Bible and the rise of Arabo-Islamic historiography which prima facie makes the connection problematic or even irrelevant. This sounds like a valid argument – until one starts studying the Arabic texts themselves. Then one has to change one’s mind. The parallels and similarities are so salient that it would be dishonest to ignore them. References to other historiographic traditions, from the Sumerians to the Latin Middle Ages, have indeed been made in the discussion.57 These parallels are certainly of interest and should be taken into account but then even more so the early Islamic historical literature. It is very reasonable to assume that the Israelite historical literature was handled in the manner similar to what we can observe in detail in the Arabic historical works. The centuries around the Babylonian exile was a period of intensive theological debate and reconsideration in Israel, as were the three first centuries of Islam. And in both periods, we see the rise of a new religion, two monotheistic creeds 56 Further examples of how historical material is handled in early Arabic historiography are given by Widen­ gren, Tradition, pp. 244–260. 57 Cf. Van Seters, Search, pp. 8–54; Berman, Inconsistency, pp. 25–32

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typologically very close to each other. The existence of written documents among the Israelites/ Jews at this time is beyond any doubt. It is most likely that literary writing had developed during the last 150 years of the Judaean kingdom, and probably already in the northern Israelite kingdom. Like the first centuries of Islam, Israel in this period witnessed the emergence of a strict monotheistic ideology. The Old Testament as we have it is the result and the main literary monument of the victorious monotheistic movement(s). But like the later Islamic historical works, the Hebrew Bible is a most variegated text. The Old Testament is not a monotheistic tractate even if the message is clear.58 XI Concluding Remarks All the models suggested for the origins of the Pentateuch are documented in the Arabo-Islamic historiography, not hypothetically but black on white in texts with source references and everything one could wish for. In many cases we can follow the development of separate stories through centuries of reformulation and retelling. If ibn Isḥāq’s/ibn Hishām’s book is the Islamic equivalent of the Pentateuch, aṭ-Ṭabarī’s Tārīkh reminds us very much of Noth’s supposed Deuteronomistic history.59 None of the models suggested for the origin of the Pentateuch is unlikely or ‘alien to oriental literature’ even if the parallel documentary hypothesis is the least documented. Everything assumed as hypotheses by Old Testament scholars is found in the works of the Arab historians even if this insight does not provide a final solution to the problem of the Pentateuch. But it can definitely improve the arguments and give new ideas how to proceed.

58 Cf. Widengren, Tradition, p. 215. 59 It is worth pointing out that one of the ground-breaking works on this subject was made by Albrecht Noth, the son of Martin. Undoubtedly, he had been raised in a milieu where these problems continuously were on the table.

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Part Two: Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Sources

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Royal Inscriptions from Samʾal and Hamath as Sources for the History of Anatolia and Syria in the First Half of the 1st Millennium B.C.* Herbert Niehr Tübingen / Stellenbosch I Introduction In the wake of the foundation of Aramaean kingdoms in Anatolia and Syria,2 several Aramaic chancellary languages were developed, which served to fulfill the duties of royal administration and also convey royal messages. As Holger Gzella has demonstrated recently the main chancelleries were situated in the royal cities of Damascus, Hamath, Arpad, and Samʾal. In these chancelleries a standard Aramaic language and a common orthography were achieved.3 But what about historiography? Was it newly invented during the 1st millennium B.C. for the purpose of Aramaean royal ideology or do we have to reckon with older traditions of royal historiography? Two recent monographs dealing with this question should be mentioned here. Simon B. Parker discusses in a comparative manner some Northwest Semitic royal inscriptions together with reports of the Hebrew Bible.4 He presented an insightful book that, however, lacks a discussion of a possible Ancient Near Eastern influence – be it from Anatolia or Mes­o­po­ ta­mia – on the historiographic traditions of the West. * I am obliged to Dagmar Kühn, for her critical lecture, to Susanne Maier for her support and to Nicole Herzog for improving my English style (all of them from Tübingen). 2 Cf. on this process e.g., Hélène Sader, Les États araméens de Syrie jusqu’ à leur transformation en provinces as­sy­ riennes (BTS 36; Beirut and Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1987); eadem, “The Aramaean Kingdoms of Syria: Origin and For­mation Processes,” in Guy Bunnens (ed.), Essays on Syria in the Iron Age (ANESS 7; Leuven: Pee­ters, 2000), pp. 61–78; eadem, “History,” in Herbert Niehr (ed.), The Aramaeans in Ancient Syria (HdO I/106; Lei­den and Bos­ton: Brill, 2014), pp. 11–36; Paul-Eugène Dion, Les Araméens à l’ âge du fer: Histoire politique et structures so­ciales (ÉB NS 34; Paris: Gabalda, 1997); Edward Lipiński, The Aramaeans. Their Ancient History, Culture, Reli­ gion (OLA 100; Leuven: Peeters, 2000); Guy Bunnens, “Confrontation, emulation and eth­no-genesis of the Aramaeans in Iron Age Syria,” in Omer Sergi, Manfred Oeming, Izaak J. de Hulster (eds.), In Search for Aram and Israel. Politics, Culture, and Identity (ORA 20; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), pp. 253–280; K. Law­son Younger, A Political History of the Arameans. From Their Origins to the End of Their Polities (ABS 13; Atlan­ta: SBL Press, 2016); Frederick M. Fales, “Ethnicity in the Assyrian Empire: A View from the Nisbe, (III) ‘Ara­means’ and Related Tribalists,” in Yağmur Heffron, Adam Stone, Martin Worthing­ton (eds.), At the Dawn of History: Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honor of John N. Postgate (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2017), pp. 133–177. 3 Cf. Holger Gzella, A Cultural History of Aramaic. From the Beginnings to the Advent of Islam (HdO I/111; Lei­ den and Boston: Brill, 2015), pp. 57–77; idem, “Von der Kanzlei- zur Kultursprache. Die Anfänge der ara­mäi­ schen Weltliteratur,” ThQ 197 (2017), pp. 107–132, esp. 110–114; idem, “New Light on Linguistic Diversity in Pre-Achaemenid Aramaic: Wandering Arameans or Language Spread,” in Angelika Berlejung, Aren M. Maeir, Andreas Schüle (eds.), Wandering Arameans: Arameans Outside Syria. Textual and Archaeological Perspectives (LAOS 5; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017), pp. 19–37, esp. 21–25. 4 Simon B. Parker, Stories in Scripture and Inscriptions. Comparative Studies on Narratives in Northwest Semitic Inscriptions and the Hebrew Bible (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997).

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In his recent monograph on the ideology of domestic achievements in West Semitic royal inscriptions, Douglas J. Green starts with some considerations of Assyrian royal inscriptions and Assyrian royal ideology and then proceeds immediately to the discussion of several North West Semitic royal inscriptions.5 It is striking that the well-attested Hittite historiographic tradition from Anatolia6 is not even mentioned. So, one is tempted to read and to interpret the royal inscriptions of the Aramaean kingdoms in the West only and exclusively based on the background of Assyrian royal inscriptions. But this is a very one-sided approach. Time has come to see that the Aramaean civilizations of Southern Anatolia, and of Northern and Inner Syria of the 1st millennium B.C. were influenced by a Hittite legacy conveyed to them by the Luwians. The pertinent Hieroglyphic-Luwian written sources are easily accessible nowadays.7 This insight of a Hittite legacy contained in the Hieroglyphic - Luwian sources is also valid for the realm of historiography. A clear continuity of motifs and phraseology between Hittite and Luwian historiography has been demonstrated.8 Considering this continuity, an approach based on two selected inscriptions from the Ara­ maean kingdoms of Anatolia and Syria might be useful in order to gain a clearer impression of the historiography in the first half of the 1st millennium B.C. in Syria.

5 Douglas J. Green, “I undertook Great Works”: The Ideology of Domestic Achievements in West Semitic Royal In­scrip­tions (FAT II/41; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010). 6 On Hittite historiography see e.g., Hubert Cancik, Grundzüge der hethitischen und alttestamentlichen Ge­ schichts­schreibung (ADPV 4; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1976); idem, “Die hethitische Historiographie. Ge­ schichts­schrei­bung vor den Griechen I,” in Kunst- und Ausstellungshalle der Bundesrepublik Deutschland (ed.), Die Hethiter und ihr Reich. Das Volk der 1000 Götter (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2002), pp. 74–77; Hans G. Güterbock, “Hittite Historiography: A Survey,” in Hayim Tadmor and Moshe Wein­feld (eds.), History, Historiography, and Interpretation. Studies in biblical and cuneiform literatures (Je­ ru­sa­lem: Magnes,1983), pp.  21–35; Einar von Schuler, “Literatur bei den Hethitern,” in RlA 7 (Berlin: de Gruy­ter, 1987–1990), pp. 66–75, esp. 68–73; Jörg Klinger, “Historiographie als Paradigma. Die Quellen zur he­thi­ti­schen Ge­schich­te und ihre Deutung,” in Gernot Wilhelm (ed.), Akten des 4. Internationalen Kon­gres­ ses für Hethitologie (StBoT 45; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2001), pp. 272–291; idem, “Geschichte oder Ge­ schich­ten – zum li­te­ra­ri­schen Charakter der hethitischen Historiographie,” in Klaus-Peter Adam (ed.), His­ to­rio­graphie in der Antike (BZAW 373; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2007), pp. 27–47; Volkert Haas, Ge­schich­te der he­thi­tischen Literatur (Ber­lin and New York: de Gruyter, 2006), pp. 77–95; Karl Strobel, “Die Ge­schichts­ schrei­bung der He­thiter und die frühe griechische Historiographie. Wertungsfragen im Lichte der Ana­to­ lisch-­Ä gäischen Koinē,” in Man­fred Hutter and Silvia Hutter-Braunsar (eds.), Hethitische Literatur. Über­lie­fe­ rungs­prozesse, Text­strukturen, Aus­drucks­for­men und Nachwirken. Akten des Symposiums vom 18. bis 20. Fe­bruar 2010 in Bonn (AOAT 391; Müns­ter: Ugarit-Verlag, 2011), pp. 245–274; Meik Gerhards, “Hethitische und bi­bli­sche Historiographie,” BN NF 156 (2013), pp. 107–129; Amir Gilan, Formen und Inhalte althe­thi­ti­scher his­to­rischer Literatur (THeth 29; Hei­del­berg: Winter, 2015). 7 See John D. Hawkins, Corpus of Hieroglyphic Luwian Inscriptions I–III (UISK 8.1; Berlin and New York: de Gruy­ter, 2000) and the selection of inscriptions in Annick Payne, Iron Age Hieroglyphic Luwian Inscriptions (SBL Writings from the Ancient World 29; Atlanta: SBL Press, 2012). 8 See Hubert Cancik, “Die luwische Historiographie. Geschichtsschreibung vor den Griechen II,” in Kunstund Ausstellungshalle der Bundesrepublik Deutschland (ed.), Die Hethiter und ihr Reich. Das Volk der 1000 Göt­ter (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2002), pp. 78–81 and Zsolt Simon, “Hethitische To­ poi in der hieroglyphen-luwischen Historiographie, Bemerkungen zur Frage der Kontinuität,” in Manfred Hut­ter and Silvia Hutter-Braunsar (eds.), Hethitische Literatur. Überlieferungsprozesse, Textstrukturen, Aus­ drucks­formen und Nachwirken. Akten des Symposiums vom 18. bis 20. Februar 2010 in Bonn (AOAT 391; Müns­ter: Ugarit-Verlag, 2011), pp. 227–243, esp. 233–238.

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II Royal Inscriptions as Sources for Historiography For the purpose of this article two written sources from the chancelleries in Samʾal and in Hamath are presented in order to demonstrate how historiography was practiced in the Aramaean kingdoms of Anatolia and Syria. Generally spoken, the written sources in Aramaic at our disposal are just a very small remnant of the literary corpus which existed in the Aramaean kingdoms of Syria. The reason for this is that during the 1st millennium B.C. the majority of written sources in Aramaic consisted of papyri, all which have been lost mostly due to the burning of palaces and their associated archives as well as libraries within temples and houses. Nevertheless, there are two relevant and well-known exceptions to the pervasive loss of Aramaic papyri from Syria. The first case which proves the existence of extensive sources on papyri is demonstrated with the Aḥiqar tradition. This is materially only preserved on papyri from the end of the 5th century B.C. found in Elephantine in Upper Egypt. Yet the origin of the Aḥiqar tradition, which comprises the narrative and the proverbs, can be made out at a royal court in 8th century Northern Syria.9 The second case is given with Papyrus Amherst 63. Although a copy in Demotic script found near Thebes has been composed and written during the 4th century B.C. in Egypt, the contents of Papyrus Amherst 63 hail from Syria, particularly from Hamath and from Palmyra, and date to the 7th century B.C..10 We have to take seriously the fact that papyrus archives which would have contained written sources such as royal annals or reports on campaigns are not widely preserved in Syria. Thus, the monumental sources on stone still preserved in our time grant only a very small glimpse of the literature, annals, and other reports written in the Aramaean kingdoms of Syria. This also has consequences for dealing with historiography because it shows, how restricted the sources are. Concerning the interpretation of these preserved sources from the chancelleries of Samʾal and Hamath, some insights of modern research must be acknowledged. In this regard Matthew Suriano has suggested: “If we move away from looking at royal inscriptions as messages about the past, and approach them as forms of past media, it becomes possible to recognize the historical consciousness of the respective king that is deeply embedded within each artifact.”11 Paolo Merlo has drawn the attention to the fact that royal inscriptions from the Ancient Near East do not simply list or describe historical events as they had happened. First of all, these inscriptions have to be read and analyzed as literary and ideological works.12 This insight agrees with the 9 See e.g., Frederick M. Fales, “Riflessioni sull’Ahiqar di Elefantina,” OAM 1 (1994), pp. 39–60; Simo Par­po­la, “Il retroterra assiro di Ahiqar,” in Riccardo Contini and Cristiano Grottanelli (eds.), Il saggio Ahiqar. For­ tuna e trasformazioni di uno scritto sapienziale. Il testo più antico e le sue versioni (Studi Biblici 148; Brescia: Pai­ deia, 2005), pp. 91–112; Herbert Niehr, Aramäischer Aḥiqar (JSHRZ II/2; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlag, 2007), pp. 7–23; Michael Weigl, Die aramäischen Achikar-Sprüche aus Elephantine und die alttestamentliche Wei­sheits­literatur (BZAW 399; Berlin and New York: W. de Gruyter, 2010), pp. 30–51. 10 On Papyrus Amherst 63 see esp. Karel van der Toorn, Papyrus Amherst 63 (AOAT 448; Münster: Ugarit-Ver­ lag, 2018). 11 See Matthew J. Suriano, “The Historicality of the King: An Exercise in Reading Royal Inscriptions from the Ancient Levant,” JANEH 1 (2014), pp. 1–24, esp. 20. 12 See Paolo Merlo, “Die Inschrift des Kulamuwa KAI 24 und ihre Rhetorik,” in Paolo Merlo and Angelo Pas­saro (eds.), Testi e Contesti. Studi in onore di Innocenzo Cardellini nel suo 70° compleanno (Supplementi alla Ri­v ista Biblica 60; Bologna: Edizioni Dehoniane: Bologna, 2016), pp. 19–29.

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proposal made by William M. Schniedewind to look for ‘disinterested’ statements of a text or an author, i. e. “those things that do not apparently serve the political and ideological interests…”13 This point was further stressed by Mario Liverani, who demonstrated that for Mesopotamia no specific genre of ‘historical texts’ existed; the documents have to be analyzed in order to disclose historical information.14 Addressed by these inscriptions were the gods, the successor king, and the people.15 And furthermore, these documents never tell the history as it had been; they try to exaggerate the king’s deeds and minimize his faults. The ‘evil’ enemy is responsible for the war, whereas now a new era of peace, well-being, and progress is starting.16 Beyond these important insights, special attention should be given to the exact provenance of the written sources discussed in this article. It does not suffice to cite Samʾal and Hamath; we have to evaluate the archaeological reports for the exact contexts where these objects had been placed, e.g. within a palace, a temple, or a public space. From here we obtain hints as to the intended readership or audience of these inscriptions. 2.1 The orthostat of King Kulamuwa from Samʾal The orthostat of King Kulamuwa with its famous Phoenician inscription (KAI 24) and the relief was found in 1902 during the 5th campaign of excavations in Zincirli.17 Apart from the classical treatments of this inscription,18 there are some recent analyses on its style and royal ideology.19 In this inscription King Kulamuwa says:

13 William M. Schniedewind, “Tel Dan Stela: New Light on Aramaic and Jehu’s Revolt,” BASOR 302 (1996), pp. 75–90, here 76. 14 See Mario Liverani, Dal testo alla storia nell’Antico Oriente (AANL; Memorie Serie IX - Volume XXXIV/2); Rome: Scienze e Lettere, 2014), and idem, Assiria: La preistoria dell’ imperialismo (Bari and Rome: Laterza, 2017), pp. 95–102. 15 Liverani, Assiria, p. 98. 16 Liverani, Assiria, p. 98–99. 17 See Felix von Luschan, “Bericht über die fünfte Grabung,” Ausgrabungen in Sendschirli IV (MIOS XIV; Berlin: G. Reimer, 1911), pp. 237–266, esp. 245–254, and idem, “Bildwerke und Inschriften,” ibid., pp. 325– 380, esp. 374–377. 18 See von Luschan, “Bildwerke,” pp. 374–377; Mark Lidzbarski, “Eine phönizische Inschrift aus Zendschirli,” in: idem, Ephemeris für Semitische Epigraphik III (Gießen: Töpelmann, 1909–1915), pp. 218–238; Herbert Don­ner and Wolfgang Röllig, Kanaanäische und Aramäische Inschriften III, (3rd ed.; Wiesbaden: Har­ras­so­ witz, 1973), pp. 30–34; John C. L . Gibson, Textbook of Syrian Semitic Inscriptions 3. Phoenician Inscriptions including inscriptions in the mixed dialect of Arslan Tas (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982), pp. 30– 39; Josef Tropper, Die Inschriften von Zincirli: Neue Edition und vergleichende Grammatik des phönizischen, samʾalischen und aramäischen Textkorpus (ALASP 6; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1993), pp. 27–46, 153–154; K. Law­­son Younger, “The Kulamuwa Inscription,” in William W. Hallo and K. Lawson Younger (eds), The Context of Scripture II (Leiden–Boston–Köln: Brill, 2000), pp. 147–148. 19 See Fredrick M. Fales, “Kilamuwa and the Foreign Kings: Propaganda vs. Power,” WO 10 (1979), pp. 6–22; S. David Sper­ling, “KAI 24 Re-examined,” UF 20 (1988), pp. 323–337; Parker, Inscriptions, pp. 78–83; Aaron Schade, A Syntactic and Literary Analysis of Ancient Northwest Semitic Inscriptions (Lewiston–Queen­ ston–Lampeter: Edwin Mellen, 2006), pp. 69–97; Green, Works, pp. 136–156; Alessandra Gilibert, SyroHittite Monumental Art and the Archaeology of Performance (TOPOI. Berlin Studies of the Ancient World 2; Berlin–New York: de Gruyter, 2011), pp. 79–84; Merlo, “Inschrift”; Herbert Niehr, “Kingship in Samʾal,” in: Agos­ti­no Gianto and Peter Dubovský (eds.), Changing Faces of Kingship (AOAT 459; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2018), pp. 51–79, esp. 58–62.

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Figure 3: The orthostat of King Kulamuwa; from: Herbert Niehr, “Questions of text and image in ancient Samʾal (Zincirli),” in Pascal Attinger, Antoine Cavigneaux, Catherine Mittermeyer, Mirko Novák (eds), Text and Image. Proceedings of the 61e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Geneva and Bern, 22–26 June 2015 (OBO SA 40; Leuven–Paris–Bristol, CT: Peeters, 2018), pp. 309–319, 312 fig. 3.

(1) I am Kulamuwa, son of Ḥayy[a].20 (2) Gabbar was king over Yādiya, but he accomp[lished] nothing. (3) There was Banihu,21 but he accomplished nothing. Then there was my father Ḥayya, but he accomplished nothing. Then there was my brother (4) Šaʾil, but he accomplished nothing. But I Kulamuwa, son of Tamal,22 what I accomplished (5) not (even) the predecessors23 accomplished. My father’s house was in the midst of powerful 20 Although the formulation klmw br ḥyʾ is Samʾalian and could be understood as a proper name and be left un­ translated, one has to see that in Line 4 klmw br tml occurs. 21 This is the correct form of the name; in Line 16 an error (bmh) occurs. See the literature quoted in Niehr, “Kingship,” pp. 56–57 fn 17 and also Schade, Analysis, p. 72 fn. 8. 22 Perhaps the name of his mother; see e.g., Lidzbarski, “Inschrift,” p. 227; Gibson, Phoenician Inscriptions, p. 36; Tropper, Inschriften, p. 33; Parker, Stories, p. 159 fn. 7; Ian Young, “KLMW BR TML,” Syria 70 (1993), pp. 95–98; Lipiński, Aramaeans, p. 242; Schade, Analysis, p. 92. 23 According to KAI 24 and Tropper, Inschriften, pp. 34–35 the second h in hlpnyhm is a scribal error.

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kings, (6) and each put forth his hand to wage war.24 And I was in the hand of the kings like a fire that consumes (7) the beard or [like] a fire that consumes the hand. When the king of the Danunians became too strong for me, (8) I hired against him the king of Assyria. A girl was given for the price of a sheep and a boy for the price of a garment.25 (9) I am Kulamuwa, son of Ḥayya. I sat on the throne of my father. In the presence of the previous kin(10)gs the mškbm lived like dogs. But I, to some I became a father and to some I became a mother (11) and to some I became a brother. And who never had seen the face of a sheep, I made him owner of a flock. And who never had seen the face of a cow, I made him owner of (12) a herd, and owner of silver and gold. And who never had seen linen from his youth, in my days byssus covered him. (13) And I hold the mškbm by the hand and they behaved26 like an orphan without mother. And if any of my sons, (14) who sits in my place, harms this inscription, the mškbm will not honor the bʿrrm and the bʿrrm (15) will not honor the mškbm.27 And whoever smashes this inscription, may Baʿal Ṣemed (the god) of Gabbar smash his head, (16) and my Baʿal Hammon (the god) of Banihu and Rakkabʾel, the lord of the house, smash his head. The orthostat (height 156 cm; width 130 cm) with its relief and inscription, which is now housed in the Vorderasiatisches Museum in Berlin,28 was found in situ in the entrance of building J on the acropolis of Samʾal.29 This place was not frequented by the lower classes of Samʾal, who had no access to the royal palace, but rather by the upper class and foreign visitors. This aspect of a restricted access to the orthostat is furthermore strengthened by the choice of language, because the inscription is written in Phoenician, which was a prestigious language in Northern Syria and Southern Anatolia during this period. In choosing Phoenician, King Kulamuwa emphasized his important international contacts.30 Let us now envisage the historical aspects of this inscription. Of special interest is the lineage of King Kulamuwa’s predecessors on the throne of Samʾal. The kings mentioned here are Gabbar (ca. 900–880 B.C.), Banihu (ca. 880–870 B.C.), Ḥayya

24 For this translation of the verb lḥm, see Tropper, Inschriften, pp. 35–36, 153; contra e.g., Green, Works, p. 139 note 22. 25 This means that there was a “cheap supply of slave labor”; see Parker, Stories, p. 82 and also Tropper, In­schrif­ ten, p. 38; Younger, “Kulamuwa Inscription,” pp. 147–148 note 13; Schade, Analysis, p. 78; Green, Works, pp. 146–147. 26 For the different kinds of translation of št nbš, see e.g., Tropper, Inschriften, pp. 43–44, 154; Schade, Analysis, pp. 71, 84–85; Green, Works, pp. 143–144 and note 35. 27 The precise meaning of this sentences still escapes us in spite of Philip Ch. Schmitz, “The Phoenician Words mškb and ʿrr in the Royal Inscription of Kulamuwa (KAI 24.14–15) and the Body Language of Peripheral Pol­itics,” in Robert D. Holmstedt and Aaron Schade (eds.), Linguistic Studies in Phoenician in Memory of J. Brian Peckham (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), pp. 68–83; see also below. 28 Vorderasiatisches Museum; Inv.: VA S 6579. 29 See von Luschan, “Bericht,” p. 246; idem., “Bildwerke,” pp. 374–377; Gustav Jacoby, “Die Architektur der Grabung,” in Felix von Luschan, Ausgrabungen in Sendschirli IV (MIOS 14; Berlin: G. Reimer, 1911), pp. 267–324, esp. 272–273 and pl. IL. 30 See Herbert Niehr, “The Power of Language. Language situation and language policy in Samʾal,” in Omer Sergi, Manfred Oeming, Izaak J. de Hulster (eds.), In Search for Aram and Israel. Politics, Culture, and Identity (ORA 20; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), pp. 305–332, esp. 313.321.

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Figure 4: Building J/K on the acropolis of Samʾal; from: ibid. 310 fig. 2.

(ca. 870–850 B.C.), Šaʾil (ca. 850–840 B.C.), and Kulamuwa (ca. 840–810 B.C.). This does not, however, mean that they all belonged to the same dynasty.31 It is unlikely that one could present such a royal line covering ca. 100 years of political history in a correct manner by memory alone. Thus, we can conclude that King Kulamuwa and his scribes had annals at their disposal. This also hints at the existence of a royal historiography at the court of Samʾal. The existence of different cultural influences on the Kulamuwa inscription has often been stressed in research. The Luwian influence on the inscription is clearly demonstrated by the protruding characters of the writing, the end of the two paragraphs after Line 9 and Line 16, and by the dividing rope between the two parts of the inscription.32 The Samʾalian influence is obvious 31 See for these kings and their reigns e.g., Tropper, Inschriften, p. 19; Dion, Araméens, pp. 106–108; Lipiński, Aramaeans, pp. 238–242, 247; Younger, History, pp. 388–406; Niehr, “Kingship,” pp. 52–62. 32 See John D. Hawkins, “The Syro-Hittite States,” in John Boardman (ed), The Cambridge Ancient History. Plates to Volume 2. The Middle East, the Greek World and the Balkans to the Sixth Century B.C., New Edition, (Cam­bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), pp. 65–92, esp. 78 no. 115; idem, “Samʾal. A. Philologisch,” in RlA 11 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2006–2008), pp. 600–605, esp. 601; Gilibert, Monumental Art, p. 82. Yet King Kulamuwa is not represented in the form of the Luwian Ego-sign; contra Hawkins, “States,” p. 78 and Gilibert, Monumental Art, p. 82, but in the Assyrian ubāna-tarāṣu-speech-gesture.

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because of the linguistic substratum of the Phoe­ni­cian text.33 So we can reasonably suppose a Samʾalian vorlage behind KAI 24 and, fur­ther­more, a Luwian school of historiography in the background. This Luwian school of historiography can be recognized in several topoi of the Kula­mu­ wa inscription: the royal self-presentation, the failures of the preceding kings in addition to the achievements of the reigning king, and the blessing and curse at the end of the text.34 The art of writing in Samʾal must also be stressed because apart from the existence of several inscriptions on stone perpetrated by Figure 5: sculp­tors few other indications of the pracAmulet case of King Kulamuwa; tice of handwriting in Samʾal are preserved. In from: Felix von Luschan, Die Kleinfunde von the first place one can refer to a silver object Sendschirli (MIOS XV; ed. by W. Andrae, from the time of King Kulamuwa which was Berlin: de Gruyter, 1943), pl. 47 f–g. dedicated to the dynastic god Rakkabʾel. This object, called smr (KAI 25), once contained a papyrus sheet, and thus is interpreted as an amulet case.35 Unfortunately, the papyrus sheet was already lost when the object was found in Zincirli and since World War II, the container has also been missing from the Berlin museum.36 A second object to be drawn into consideration is the relief of King Bar-Rakib showing the king and his scribe and the Moon-God of Harran. Under his left arm, the scribe is wearing a diptych and writing utensils.37 Apart from the question of dynasty already discussed above, we can learn more historical insights from KAI 24 because the text mentions several aspects of foreign and domestic affairs. Alessandra Gilibert has shown that KAI 24 is structured according to a pattern of conflict negotiation, in which the Danunians and Assyrians (Lines 1–8) on the one hand and the mškbm and the bʿrrm (Lines 9–16) on the other hand are opposed with King Kulamuwa as the central agent.38 This first mention of conflict concerning foreign affairs is reflected in the background of the historical geography of this region.39 33 See Tropper, Inschriften, pp. 31, 33, 35, 41–45, 278–279 and Gzella, History, p. 73. 34 See in detail Cancik, “Historiographie,” pp. 79–80 and Simon, “Topoi,” p. 233. 35 See André Lemaire, “SMR dans la petite inscription de Kilamuwa (Zencirli),” Syria 67 (1990), pp. 323–327 and Tropper, Inschriften, pp. 50–51. 36 On this silver object cf. Felix von Luschan, Die Kleinfunde von Sendschirli (MIOS XV; ed. by Walter Andrae, Berlin: de Gruyter, 1943), p. 102 and pl. 47 f-g. 37 See Herbert Niehr, “Questions of text and image in ancient Samʾal (Zincirli),” in: Pascal Attinger, Antoine Ca­­v i­gneaux, Catherine Mittermeyer, Mirko Novák (eds), Text and Image. Proceedings of the 61e Rencontre Assy­­riologique Internationale, Geneva and Bern, 22–26 June 2015 (OBO SA 40; Leuven - Paris - Bristol, CT: Pee­­ters, 2018), pp. 309–319, esp. 313–316. 38 See Gilibert, Monumental Art, pp. 80–81 with fig. 45. 39 See e.g. the maps in Anna-Maria Wittke, Eckart Olshausen, Richard Szydlak (eds), Brill’s Historical Atlas of the Ancient World (Brill’s New Pauly Supplements; Leiden - Boston: Brill, 2010).

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Figure 6: King Bar-Rakib of Samʾal, the Moon God of Harran and a scribe; from: Niehr, “Questions of text and image,” p. 313 fig. 4.

The kingdom of Yādiya/Samʾal was surrounded by the kingdoms of Que in the West, Patti­ na/Unqi in the South-West, Bit Agusi in the South-East, Maraş/Gurgum in the North, and Kummuḫ and Karkamiš in the East. This makes it clear why King Kulamuwa wrote that his king­dom was at the centre of powerful kings and that each of them reached out his hand to fight (Lines 5–6). Above all, the king of the Danunians, i. e. the ruler of the kingdom of Que, was more powerful than the other kings. The kingdom of Que tried to expand its territory and power to the East to cross the Amanus mountain range which protected the kingdom of Yādiya/Samʾal as a natural barrier from Inner Anatolia. As Kulamuwa’s father, King Ḥayya, had already submitted to Shalmaneser III in 857 B.C. and had stayed loyal to the Assyrians shortly before the battle of Qarqar in 853 B.C.,40 King Kulamuwa also knew rather well about the advantage of being on good terms with the Assyrians. That is why, when confronted by the above-mentioned external threats, Kulamuwa called upon the Assyrians for help (Lines 5–8). Kulamuwa does not call the

40 See Albert K. Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium B.C. II (858–745 B.C.) (RIMA 3; Toronto–Buffalo–London: University of Toronto Press, 1996), pp. 18, 23. See Lipiński, Aramaeans, pp. 239, 241 and Shigeo Yamada, The Construction of the Assyrian Empire. A Historical Study of the Inscriptions of Shalma­ne­ser II (859–824 B.C.) Relating to His Campaigns to the West (CHANE 3; Leiden–Boston: Brill, 2000), pp. 110, 153, 243, 374, 378.

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Assyrian king by his name, but it is clear that he is alluding to Shalmaneser III (858–824 B.C.) and his campaigns against King Kati of Que in 833 B.C. and 831 B.C.41 These campaigns, however, did not bring about the end of the kingdom of Que. The Phoenician inscription from Hassan Beyli (KAI 23) shows that, in spite of its fragmentary preservation, the kingdom of Que existed into the second half of the 8th century B.C. when it was finally annexed by the Assyrians.42 Concerning the second conflict mentioned in King Kulamuwa’s inscription, i. e. the domestic affairs, the kingdom of Samʾal was endangered by tensions between two population groups: the mškbm and the bʿrrm. In spite of all the research on the history and epigraphy of Samʾal, the identity of these population groups is not clear. According to the classical conception the former term, mškbm, stands for the long-established Luwian population and the term bʿrrm for the newly arrived Aramaean élite.43 However, Philipp Schmitz suggested that the topic of this part of the inscription concerns the power King Kulamuwa held over the previously dominant rulers (mškbm), whereas the term ʿrrm designates the ‘destitutes’. 44 Recently Virginia R. Herrmann proposed to interpret the mškbm as ‘sedentists’ and the others as ‘roamers’.45 She describes the policy of King Kulamuwa towards the ‘sedentists’ in the following manner: “By giving them new homes at the capital, the king could co-opt thousands of new clients, giving himself the largest power-base in the kingdom and strengthening his position vis-à-vis other prominent locals. This synoecism in the pursuit of the unification of a kingdom under a strong ruler, by re-settling villagers without re-structuring them, could produce a ‘corporate’pattern in the urban residential districts, even in a ‘citadel city’ with strong differentiation in status and function between the citadel and the lower town.”46 Beyond access to the history of Samʾal granted by this written source, we should also take into consideration the relief at the upper left side of the orthostat.47 This relief shows King Kulamuwa, who is depicted wearing a tiara similar to the Assyrian royal tiara, as well as the headdress, beard, bracelets, and clothing of an Assyrian king. These garments make King Kulamuwa comparable to an Assyrian overlord. This is especially clear for the ‘Schalgewand’ (“Schalgewand no. 2”) which is only worn by Assyrian kings. In this way, King Kulamuwa did not only elevate his own status over that of an ordinary Aramaean petty king, he also displayed his status as a loyal vassal to his Assyrian overlord. But one should not overlook some deviations from the Assyrian model. “Details such as the flower …, however, provide proof for a self-conscious deviation from the Assyrian model, arguing for deliberate adaption that carries on local references.”48 This was likely the case because a local audience was to be addressed.49 41 On Shalmaneser III and his campaigns to the West, see esp. Yamada, Construction and Ariel M. Bagg, Die Assyrer und das Westland. Studien zur historischen Geographie und Herrschaftspraxis in der Levante im 1. Jt. v.u.Z. (OLA 216; Leuven–Paris–Walpole, MA: Peeters, 2011), pp. 194–205. 42 See André Lemaire, “L’inscription phénicienne de Hassan-Beyli reconsidérée,” RSF 11 (1983), pp. 9–19. 43 See the overview on the history of research in Schmitz, “Phoenician Words,” pp.  68–71. 44 See Schmitz, “Phoenician Words”. 45 See Virginia R. Herrmann, “Urban Organization and Empire: Iron Age Samʾal (Zincirli, Turkey) from royal to provincial capital,” Levant 49 (2018), pp. 284–311, here 302–303. 46 Herrmann, “Organization,” p. 303. 47 For the following paragraphs on the iconography of the orthostat see the literature mentioned in Niehr, “Kingship,” pp. 198 fns. 22–31 and in id., “Questions,” pp. 311–313. 48 Dirk Wicke, “Assyrian or Assyrianized. Reflections on the Impact of Assyrian Art in Southern Anatolia,” in Robert Rollinger and E. van Dongen (eds), Mesopotamia in the Ancient World. Impact, Continuities, Parallels. Pro­ceedings of the Seventh Symposium of the Melammu Project Held in Obergurgel, Austria, November 4–8, 2013 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2015), pp. 561–601, esp. 576. On this topic see also Virginia R. Herrmann,

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The aforementioned insight of King Kulamuwa being a loyal vassal to his Assyrian overlord further agrees with the ubāna-tarāṣu-speech-gesture with which King Kulamuwa points to the gods, who are represented by their divine symbols. The arrangement of the divine symbols also betrays an Assyrian influence. From left to right we can see a horned crown, a yoke, a winged sun disc, and a moon. Following a lengthy history of discussion, it is most plausible to identify the horned crown with the Assyrian main god Aššur, and the yoke with the tutelary god of the Samʾalian dynasty, Rakkabʾel, the divine charioteer. The symbols of the sun-god and the moon-god represent the guarantees of justice and order, thus underlining King Kulamuwa’s loyalty towards his Assyrian overlords. Comparing the messages of the inscription and the relief, one sees an overall agreement as concerns King Kulamuwa’s foreign policy. The aspects that are accentuated in each of the two components, however, are somewhat different. Whereas in the inscription King Kulamuwa boasts of having hired the king of the Assyrians (Lines 7–8), the relief shows Kulamuwa worshipping the god Aššur, wearing an Assyrian garment, and displaying the symbols of sun and moon, thus, being loyal to the Assyrians. Consequently, the relief also displays a historical message. In spite of all the ideological overtones, both the text and the image of the Kulamuwa relief convey valuable insights into the history of Yādiya/ Samʾal: the foreign and domestic policy, kingship, religion, ideology, scribal art, iconography, and historiography during the second half of the 9th century B.C.E.50 2.2 The Statue of King Zakkur from Hamath and Luʿash Zakkur, king of Hamath (ca. 807–780 B.C.), was a usurper on the throne of Hamath, who – according to his inscription – hailed from ʿAnah on the Euphrates (KAI 202:2). Furthermore, the fact that he does not adduce a filiation in his self-presentation and that the god Baʿalšamayin had supported him and made him king over Hazrak clearly favors this interpretation. King Zakkur has left an important account of his deliverance from the siege of his royal city, Hazrak, by several hostile kings.51 In the first part of his victory inscription (KAI 202 A) he writes: (1) The [mo]nument which Zakkur, king of [Ha]math and Luʿaš, set up for Iluwer [in Afis].52 (2) [I] am Zakkur, king of Hamath and Luʿash. I am a man of ʿAnah and Baʿalša­ “Cos­mopolitan Politics in the Neo-Assyrian Empire: Local Elite Identity at Zincirli-Samʾal,” Semitica 60 (2018), pp. 493–535, esp. 500–502 for King Kulamuwa. 49 See Wicke, ibid. 50 Parker, Stories, p. 85 is too pessimistic about the historical evaluation of the Kulamuwa-inscription; but see Schade, Analysis, pp. 91–97 for a more optimistic view. 51 On King Zakkur and the history of Hamath during the 9th century B.C.E. see Martin Noth, “Laʾasch und Haz­rak,” ZDPV 52 (1929), pp. 124–141; reprinted in Martin Noth, Aufsätze zur biblischen Landes- und Al­ter­ tums­kunde 2, (ed. by. Hans Walter Wolff, Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1971), pp. 135–147; Dion, Araméens, pp. 137–162; Lipiński, Aramaeans, pp. 299–311; John D. Hawkins, “Hamath in the Iron Age: The Inscriptions,” in Dominique Parayre (ed.), Le fleuve rebelle. Géographie historique du moyen Oronte d’Ebla à l’ époque médiévale. Actes du colloque international tenu les 13 et 14 décembre 2012 à Nanterre (MAE) et à Paris (INHA) (Syria Supplément IV; Beyrouth: Institut Français du Proche-Orient, 2016), pp. 183–190, esp. 187–189; Younger, History, pp. 476–486; Herbert Niehr, “The Relations between the Kingdoms of Hamath and Israel (10th to 8th Centuries B.C.E),” in: Aren M. Maeir and Angelika Berlejung (eds), Dependency and Autonomy in Intercultural Relations: Israel and Aram as a Case Study (ORA 34; Tübingen: Mohr–Siebeck, 2019), pp. 391–412. 52 This reconstruction is more convincing than “his lord” as proposed by e.g., Donner - Röllig, KAI II, 204 and

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mayin [raised] (3) [m]e and stood beside me, and Baʿalšamayin made me king [in] (4) [Ha] zrak. Then Bar-Hadad, son of Hazael, king of Aram, united against me s[ix](5)teen kings. Bar-Hadad and his army, Bar-Guš and his army, [the ki](6)[ng of] Que and his army, the king of Amuq and his army, the king of Gurg[m] (7) [and] his [ar]my, the king of Samʾal and his a[rmy], the king of Melid [and his a]rm[y …] (8) [ …] seve[n … kings], [th]ey and their armies. All these kings laid siege to Hazra[k] (10) and they raised a wall higher than the wall of Hazrak, they dug a ditch deeper than [its] dit[ch]. (11) Now I raised my hands to Baʿalšam[ayi]n and Baʿalšam[ayin] answered me [and] Baʿalšamayin [spoke to] (12) [me through] seers and diviners. [And] Baʿalšamayin [said to] (13) [me]: “Do not be afraid! Since I have made [you king, I will] (14) [stand] beside you. I will save you from all [these kings, who] (15) have besieged you.” [Baʿalšamayin] also said to [me: “… ] (16) all these kings, who have [besieged you …] and this wall […].” The second part (KAI 202 B) is heavily destroyed. Up to 30 lines are missing. Nevertheless, several sentences can be understood: (1) […] Hazrak. […] (2) […] with chariots [and] with horsemen. (3) […] its king in its midst. I (4) [rebuilt] Hazrak, and [I] added (5) a whole circle of (6) [strongholds], and I established it as [my king]dom, (7) and established it as [my la]nd. [I built] (8) [all] these strongholds throughout my whole territory, (9) and I built temples for the gods throughout my wh[ole] (10) [land.] Then I rebuilt [… and] (11) [I rebuilt] Afis; and [I made] (12) [the gods abide] in the temple of […] (13) […] and I have set up this stela before [Ilu](14)[wer], and wr[itten] (15) [there]on what my hands [achieved]. (16) Now, whoever effaces the (17) [the achievements of the hands of] Zakkur, king of Ha[math and] (18) [Lu]ʿaš, from this stela, and who[ever] (19) [re]moves this stela from (20) [befor]e Iluwer and drags it away from (21) its [pla]ce, or whoever sends […] (22) […] (23) [Baʿa]lšamayin and Ilu(24)[wer …] and Šamaš and Śahr (25) [and …] and the gods of heav[en] (26) [and the god]s of earth and the Baʿal of (27) […] the man and […] (28) his [roo]t. From the third part (KAI 202 C) only two fragmentary lines survive: (1) [But may …] (2) the name of Zakkur and the name [of his house remain forever].53 Frederick M. Fales and Giulia F. Grassi, L’aramaico antico. Storia, grammatica, testi commentati (Fonti e Tes­ti. Raccolta di Archeologia e Storia dell’arte; Udine: Editrice Universitaria Udinese, 2016), p. 124. 53 See on this inscription Mark Lidzbarski, “Zkr von Hamath,” in idem, Ephemeris für Semitische Epigraphik III (Gießen: Töpelmann, 1909–1915), pp. 1–11; Noth, “Laʾasch”; Donner - Röllig, KAI II, pp. 204–211; John C. L . Gibson, Textbook of Syrian Semitic Inscriptions 2. Aramaic Inscriptions including inscriptions in the dialect of Zenjirli (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975), pp. 6–17; Wilhelmus C. Delsman, “Die Inschrift des Kö­­nigs Zakkur von Hamath, ” in Otto Kaiser (ed.), Historisch-chronologische Texte III (TUAT I/6; Güters­loh: Gü­­ters­loher Verlag, 1985), pp. 626–628; Parker, Stories, pp. 106–112; Alan R. Millard, “The Inscription of Zak­kur, King of Hamath,” in William W. Hallo (ed), The Context of Scripture II. Monumental Inscriptions from the Biblical World (Leiden–Boston–Köln: Brill, 2000), p. 155; Herbert Niehr, Baʿalšamem. Stu­d ien zu Herkunft, Geschichte und Rezeptionsgeschichte eines phönizischen Gottes (StPhoen XVII; OLA 123; Lei­ den–Paris–Dudley, MA: Peeters, 2003), pp. 89–96; idem, “Religion,” in Herbert Niehr. (ed), The Ara­maeans in Ancient Syria (HdO I/106; Leiden - Boston: Brill, 2014), pp. 127–203, esp. 167–169; Choon-Leong Seow, “West Semitic Sources,” in: Martti Nissinen (ed.), Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient Near East (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003), pp. 201–218, esp. 201–203; Green, Works, pp. 157–174; Fales and Grassi, Aramaico, pp. 123–131; Younger, History, pp.  476–486.

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Figure 7: Statue and inscription (part A) of King Zakkur; from: Herbert Niehr, Baʿalšamem. Studien zu Herkunft, Geschichte und Rezeptionsgeschichte eines phönizischen Gottes (StPhoen XVII; OLA 123; Leiden–Paris– Dudley, MA: Peeters, 2003), p. 407 fig. 10a.

The inscription of King Zakkur can be dated ca. 800 B.C. Unfortunately, it was not found during an archaeological excavation. The four remnants of the royal statue were found by Henri Pognon in 1903, who concealed the find-spot because he wanted to undertake excavations there at a later time.54 Only some time later did it become clear that the statue had been found at Tell 54 Cf. Henri Pognon, Inscriptions sémitiques de la Syrie, de la Mésopotamie et de la région de Mossoul (Paris: Ga­ bal­da, 1908), pp. 156–158. He writes: “Je ne peux pas songer à faire des fouilles en ce moment, mais je compte bien en faire un jour; j’ai d’autre part, la conviction que, si je commettais l’immense maladresse de dire où j’ai dé­couvert la stèle de Zakir, il se trouverait certainement quelqu’un qui irait immédiatement faire des fouilles, dé­couvrirait sans aucune difficulté les fragments qui manquent, et s’empresserait de publier complète l’in-

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Afis, ancient Hazrak.55 The editio princeps of the Aramaic inscription was made by Henri Pognon in 190756 and the statue is now housed in the Musée du Louvre in Paris.57 In the Zakkur inscription there is an interesting analogy to the inscription of King Yeḥimilk (KAI 4) from Byblos. In both inscriptions we are facing a duality of main gods: Baʿalšamem and the ‘Lord of Byblos’ in Byblos and Baʿalšamayin and Iluwer in Luʿaš. The ‘Lord of Byblos’58 and Iluwer59 were gods, whose cults were restricted to a certain city or an area, whereas the cult of Baʿalšamem or Baʿalšamayin was a transregional one.60 But one can learn more about this duality in the Zakkur inscription. In his analysis of some West-Semitic royal inscriptions, Simon B. Parker has demonstrated that KAI 202 contains two inscriptions: an older memorial inscription and a younger dedicatory inscription.61 This can be seen very clearly in the circumstance that Line 1 speaks about King Zakkur in the 3rd person, whereas in the following lines the king himself speaks in the 1st person (except C 1). The memorial inscription had been written in order to commemorate King Zakkur’s relief from the siege of Hazrak. According to this inscription the delivery had been operated by the god Baʿalšamayin, who had already made Zakkur king. Sometime later, when Zakkur had rebuilt a temple in Afis, this memorial inscription became integrated into a dedicatory inscription directed to the god Iluwer. This explains the duality of the two gods worshipped by King Zakkur. Trying to evaluate the data given by the Zakkur inscription on the one hand, and the information provided by the archaeology of Tell Afis on the other hand, we see that text and archaeology are supplementing each other. KAI 202 B 10–15 says: Then I rebuilt [… and] (11) [I rebuilt] Afis; and [I made] (12) [the gods abide] in the temple of […] (13) […] and I have set up this stela before [Ilu](14)[wer], and wr[itten] (15) [there]on what my hands [achieved]. According to the Zakkur inscription, the temple of the god Iluwer in Hazrak, modern Tell Afis, is most likely the place of provenance of this royal statue (KAI 202 A 1; B 13–15). How is it that we can recognize this? The Zakkur inscription makes a clear difference between Afis (B 11) and Hazrak (A 4.9–10; B 1.14). Yet these two names do not stand for two different cities.62 In a convincing manner Ed­ ward Lipiński and Stefania Mazzoni have proposed to see Hazrak as the city and Afis as the royal acropolis of this city.63 scription qu’à mon grand regret je ne peux publier qu’en partie. Je n’ai qu’un moyen de rendre une spoliation im­possible, mais ce moyen me paraît excellent: c’est de ne pas dire où j’ai trouvé la stèle de Zakir.” 55 See René Dussaud, “La stèle araméenne de Zakir au Musée du Louvre,” Syria 3 (1922), pp.  175–176. 56 Pognon, Inscriptions, pp. 158–176. 57 Musée du Louvre; Inv.: AO 8185. 58 For the ‚Lord of Byblos‘ see Corinne Bonnet, “Existe-t-il un BʿL GBL à Byblos?,” UF 25 (1993), pp.  25–34. 59 For Iluwer see Daniel Schwemer, Die Wettergottgestalten Mesopotamiens und Nordsyriens im Zeitalter der Keil­schriftkulturen (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2001), pp. 200–210 and idem, “Wettergott(heiten). A. Philologisch,” in RlA 15 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2016), pp. 69–91, esp. 90 §8. 60 See Niehr, Baʿalšamem, pp. 85, 92–93, 95–96. 61 So Parker, Stories, pp. 107–108 and idem, “The Composition and Sources of Some Northwest Semitic In­ scrip­tions,” SEL 16 (1999), pp.  49–62, esp. 53–55. 62 As claimed e.g., by Parker, Stories, p. 108. 63 See Lipiński, Aramaeans, pp. 256–257 and Stefania Mazzoni, Tell Afis and the Luʿash in the Aramaean Pe­ ri­od,” in P.M. Michèle Daviau, John W. Wevers, Michael Weigl (eds), The World of the Aramaeans. Studies in History and Archaeology in Honour of Paul-Eugène Dion II (JSOTS 325; Sheffield: Academic Press, 2001), pp. 99–114, esp. 100.

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The Italian excavations at Tell Afis give more information about the precise placement of the statue. The temple of Iluwer was situated on the western summit of the acropolis. The so-called temple A 1 is from the time of King Zakkur. 64 The name of the god Iluwer is mentioned not only in the Zakkur inscription, but also on a sherd found outside the temple in the square court, thus showing that the temple of Afis and its adjacent court were dedicated to the god Iluwer.65 Furthermore, the basalt plate situated actually before the threshold of the cenotaph of Sheikh Hassan in Tell Afis has been identified as the original base of the Zakkur stele.66 This provides a further archaeological hint at the provenance of the Zakkur stele from Tell Afis. As for the relief above the inscription, only the feet on the stool are preserved. So it is not clearly visible whether a god, e.g., the god Iluwer,67 or a human being, e.g., King Zakkur,68 is depicted here. The interpretation, according to which it is Zakkur that is represented here, is based on a comparison with the fully preserved statue of a Aramaean king from ʿAin et-Tell and is contemporaneous to the Zakkur stele.69 Consequently, the latter interpretation seems to be the most plausible one. When one concentrates on the realm of realpolitik, it is surprising that King Zakkur does not mention the part of the Assyrians in the delivery from the siege.70 That this delivery had been operated by the Assyrians under King Adad Nerari III (810–783 B.C.) is more than likely.71 In the Zakkur inscription this rescue, however, is only ascribed to the god Baʿalšamayin. How can this omission of the Assyrians be explained? Was King Zakkur disappointed by the Assyrians because of their later politics in reducing the borders of the kingdom of Hamath in favour of King Atarsumki of Arpad, as it becomes clear by the inscription on the Antakya stela?72 Or do we have to reckon with theological and ideological reasons: by not mentioning the Assyrians, the roles of Baʿalšamayin and of King Zakkur become more prominent?73 Thereby we can make out a particular aspect of the royal ideology in Hamath, which is well known from other royal inscriptions in the Levant.74 That the inscription of King Zakkur stands in the wake of Hittite historiography can clearly be seen by a comparison with Hittite historiographical texts. V. Haas has described these texts 64 See Stefania Mazzoni, “Temples at Tell Āfis in Iron Age I-III,” in Jens Kamlah (ed), Temple Building and Temple Cult. Architecture and Cultic Paraphernalia of Temples in the Levant (2.–1. Mill. B.C.E.) (ADPV 41; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2012), pp. 23–40, esp. 30–35; ead., “Tell Afis in the Iron Age: The Temple on the Acropolis,” NEA 77 (2014), pp. 44–52; ead., “Identity and Multiculturality in the Northern Levant of the 9th–7th century B.C.E,” in Omer Sergi, Manfred Oeming, Izaak J. de Hulster (eds), In Search for Aram and Israel. Politics, Culture, and Identity (ORA 20; Tübingen: Mohr – Siebeck, 2016), pp. 281–304, esp. 295– 299; Serena Maria Cecchini, “Tell Afis in the Iron Age: The Official Buildings on the Acropolis,” NEA 77 (2014), pp. 58–63. 65 See Stefania Mazzoni, “Tell Afis,” in Ministère de la Culture. Direction Générale des Antiquités et des Mu­ sées (ed.), Chronique Archéologique en Syrie 2 (Damascus 1998), pp. 193–198, esp. 196 and Maria Giulia Ama­ da­si Guzzo, “Tell Afis in the Iron Age: The Aramaic Inscriptions,” NEA 77 (2014), pp. 54–57, here 56 fig.4. 66 See the photo in Amadasi Guzzo, “Aramaic Inscriptions,” p. 54. 67 So Seow, “Sources,” p. 203. 68 So Niehr, Baʿalšamem, p. 89. 69 See Winfried Orthmann, Der Alte Orient (Propyläen Kunstgeschichte 18; Berlin: Propyläen, 1985), fig. 411. 70 But see Lipiński, Aramaeans, p. 310, who sees the Assyrians mentioned in B 2–3. 71 See e.g., Dion, Araméens, pp. 152–154 and Younger, History, p. 486. 72 A. O. 104.2; see the text in Grayson, Inscriptions, pp. 203–204. On the interpretation of Zakkur’s reaction see Younger, History, p. 486. 73 See also Younger, History, p. 486 fn. 230. 74 See e.g. Green, Works.

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as highly subjective and ideological.75 This is also valid for the Zakkur inscription and, furthermore, it becomes clear that there was a continuity from Hittite historiography to the historiography at the royal court of Hamath and Luʿaš. This insight can be further supported. Regarding the history of Hamath a distinction must be made between the Luwian and the Aramaean periods of the city and the kingdom.76 Hamath’s Luwian period is marked by a dependency on the kingdom of Wadasatini with Kunulua as its capital from the 12th to the 9th century B.C. and then a growing independence of Hamath during the 9th century B.C. During the 9th century B.C. Hamath was governed by a Luwian élite, from which the names of kings Parita (ca. 900–870 B.C.), Urḫilina (ca. 870–840 B.C.), and Uratami (ca. 840–807 B.C.) are known from Hieroglyphic Luwian inscriptions. Shortly before 800 B.C. an Aramaean chief, Zakkur of Anah, ended the Luwian domination of Hamath, likely by a coup d’état. Zakkur’s coup d’état, however, meant only a change of government, but not a change of population. So we expect a high degree of cultural continuity in Hamath. Likewise the Luwian practice of historiography did not disappear with the advent of Zakkur. This knowledge of Luwian historiography can be seen in the case of the Zakkur inscription. The relevant topics are the royal self-presentation, the stating of the achievements, and the curses at the end of the inscription. Beyond these insights, the Zakkur inscription also informs us about the history of Inner Syria around 800 B.C. When King Zakkur expanded his kingdom to the North by annexing the kingdom of Luʿaš, he created a strong opposition against him. This opposition, which laid siege to the capital Hazrak, was led by King Bar-Hadad II of Damascus (ca. 803–775 B.C.), who succeeded in uniting sixteen kings77 under him. Mentioned by name or by kingdom are the kings Bar-Hadad from Damascus, Bar-Guš from Bit Agusi, the king of Que, the king of Amuq, the king of Gurgum, the king of Samʾal, and the king of Melid. Here we have seven kings and their armies. Conceivably, in Line A 8 two more kings or kingdoms should be added, so that a total of nine kings or kingdoms would have been known. To them seven more - not known by name - are added in Line 8. This would result in a likely total of sixteen kings or kingdoms mentioned in Lines 4 and 8.78 The names of the kings or kingdoms represent an interesting distribution, because only King Bar-Hadad II of Damascus is from the area South of Hamath, whereas all the other kings are from the North-West (Que, Unqi), the North (Samʾal, Gurgum, Melid) and the North-East (Bit Agusi). Two features are of particular interest. 1. Only the kingdoms of Damascus, Unqi and Bit Agusi, were the immediate neighbours of Hamath-Luʿaš, whereas the other ones (Que, Samʾal, Gurgum, Melid) were situated rather far away. This means that Bar-Hadad II was successful in uniting all Luwian - Aramaic kingdoms to the West, North and East of Hamath in his coalition against King Zakkur. This can only be explained by a further adversary of this coalition: not only were King Zakkur and his expansionist policy attacked but also the Assyrians, who helped their ally Zakkur.79 This coalition of Northern kings can be explained by the circumstance that the kings of the North had suffered from King Adad Nerari’s III campaign to Syria and Anatolia in 805/804 B.C.80 75 Haas, Geschichte, p. 77. 76 See for this paragraph the bibliography in Niehr, “Relations,” pp. 392–393 fns 12–15. 77 On this number see Fales and Grassi, Aramaico, p. 127. 78 See e.g., Gibson, Inscriptions, pp. 8–9; Dion, Araméens, pp. 150–152; Lipiński, Aramaeans, p. 254; Younger, History, pp. 477–478; Fales and Grassi, Aramaico, pp. 127–128. 79 See Younger, History, p. 484. 80 See on this campaign Lipiński, Aramaeans, p. 311.

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and, therefore, they were motivated to fight against Assyria. Conversely, this also demonstrates that Israel and its neighbours were less likely to support Damascus in a campaign to the North of Hamath due to the attacks they had suffered from King Hazael only a short time before.81 2. This explanation does not exclude that Bar-Hadad II was likely supported by several minor allies, who are not mentioned explicitly in the list written by King Zakkur’s scribes. A. Lemaire proposed several kings (the kings e.g., of Byblos, Ṣumur, Arqa, Arwad), whose kingdoms were situated to the West of Hamath.82 Furthermore, not to be excluded is the king of Ṣobah/Bet Reḥob in the Beqaʿ, the immediate neighbour of Hamath in the South. What can be made out as the motive of King Bar-Hadad II to bring together such a large coalition against Zakkur of Hamath? Bar-Hadad II of Damascus was the son and successor of King Hazael (843–803 B.C.), who during his reign brought the kingdom of Damascus to an unprecedented height of power. Above all, Hazael had been successful in getting access to the Mediterranean Sea in the North-West via Hamath and Unqi and in the South-West via Israel.83 Even the region of Luʿaš had belonged to Hazael’s sphere of influence. This is proved by a fragmentary inscription found in the temple of Tell Afis in which the name of Hazael can still be read (TA.03.A.300).84 For epigraphic reasons the inscription has been attributed to the same school from which the Zakkur inscription (KAI 202) also hails, though it was written some time before the Zakkur inscription.85 While its content remains unclear, one can speculate that it mentions the conquering of Hazael’s territory by king Zakkur and the subsequent erection of this stela in the temple of the god Iluwer. During the first years of his reign, which lasted from ca. 803 to 775 B.C., King Bar-Hadad II was able to preserve the power of Damascus. But after a while Zakkur from Hamath and the Assyrians became his adversaries, who challenged his dominant position in Inner Syria. With Zakkur’s rise to power in Hamath and his annexation of Luʿaš, King Bar-Hadad II saw the role of Damascus diminishing. As a result Bar-Hadad II became King Zakkur’s major opponent, who organized a coalition primarily against him, but also against the Assyrians, who menaced Inner Syria. Three more factors that were immediately threatening to Damascus should be mentioned in this context. 1) The region to the South of Hamath, the area of Mishrife or, ancient Qatna, was also under con­trol of Hamath. Unfortunately, the dating of this extension of Hamathite control to the South is still uncertain. However, we do now that Mishrife became the seat of an Aramaean pro­vin­cial governor, who was a vassal of the Hamathite king, around 800 B.C..86 81 See on this campaign Herbert Niehr, “König Hazael von Damaskus im Licht neuer Funde und In­ter­pre­ta­ tio­nen,” in Erasmus Gaß and Hermann-Josef Stipp (eds), “Ich werde meinen Bund mit euch niemals brechen” (Ri 2,1). Festschrift für Walter Groß zum 70. Geburtstag (HBS 62; Freiburg 2011: Herder), pp. 339–356, esp. 345–347; Shuichi Hasegawa, Aram and Israel during the Jehuite Dynasty (BZAW 434; Berlin - Boston: de Gruy­ter, 2012), pp. 63, 102–103; Younger, History, pp. 620–627. 82 See André Lemaire, “Joas de Samarie, Barhadad de Damas, Zakkur de Hamat: La Syrie-Palestine vers 800 av. J.-C.,” EI 24 (1993), pp. 148*–157*, esp. 153*. 83 See Niehr, “König Hazael,” pp. 354–351; Younger, History, pp. 621–630 and K. Lawson Younger’s article in this volume. 84 See Maria Giulia Amadasi Guzzo, “Un fragment de stèle araméenne de Tell Afis,” Or NS 78 (2009), pp. 336– 347 and eadem, “Aramaic Inscriptions,” pp. 54–55. 85 See Amadasi Guzzo, “Fragment,” pp. 338–341 and eadem, “Aramaic Inscriptions,” pp. 54–55. 86 See Michel al-Maqdissi and Daniele Morandi Bonacossi, “Die Geschichte geht weiter: Mischrife in der Eisen­zeit,” in Landesmuseum Württemberg, Stuttgart (ed), Schätze des Alten Syrien. Die Entdeckung des Kö­nig­reichs Qatna (Stuttgart: Theiss Verlag, 2009), pp. 278–285; Daniele Morandi Bonacossi, “Un centro

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2) It is unknown, if and how the kings of Hamath subjugated the area of Emesa (Homs). The few excavations made in Homs have not provided any further conclusions of this topic.87 3) Last but not least, the Beqaʿ. Already King Zakkur’s predecessor, King Uratami (ca. 840–807 B.C.) boasts of having extended the frontiers of Hamath to the South. The HieroglyphicLuwian inscription HAMA 7 mentions a fortress in the river-land of Mount Labrana88 which is to be identified with Mount Lebanon,89 whereas the river-land can only be the Beqaʿ, where the Orontes starts.90 This shows that the kingdom of Ṣoba/Bit-Reḥob was a vassal of Hamath during the second half of the 9th century B.C. During the 8th century B.C. it was annexed by Hamath.91 All in all, and in spite of the ideological overtones in his inscriptions, King Zakkur gives some insight into the history of Hamath and Luʿaš around 800 B.C. This insight concerns the usurpation of Zakkur from Anah, the expansionist policy of the king, the opposition he had to face, and his final victory over his enemies. He also provides insight into the important role that religion, royal ideology, and historiography play in this period. III Resumé and Outlook On the basis of the two royal inscriptions from Samʾal and Hamath presented in this article three main insights were obtained: (1) The most important aspect of these inscriptions are the needs of royal ideology. That is why at first view the royal inscriptions do not show a historical interest or soberness sine ira et studio. The authors did not try to write history “as it really had been.” On the contrary, the authors exaggerate the king’s deeds and minimize his faults. (2) Although there was no historical recording in the modern sense of the term, it should not be underestimated that historical information is conveyed through ideological texts and images. Consequently, royal inscriptions are valuable sources for the history of Anatolia and Syria in the first half of the 1st millennium B.C. (3) As it concerns the two documents from Samʾal and Hamath discussed in this article, one has to take into consideration the considerable Luwian heritage in Anatolia and Western Syria, and its impact on the writing of history in the 1st millennium B.C.

ammi­nis­trativo nel regno di Hamath. Tell Mishrife e la sua regione nella seconda età del Ferro (IX–VIII secolo a. C.),” in Daniele Morandi Bonacossi et al. (eds.), Tra Oriente e Occidente. Studi in Onore di Elena di Filip­po Bar­lestrazzi (Padua: S.A.R.G.O.N., 2009), pp. 4–52; idem, “The Crisis of Qatna at the Beginning of the Late Bronze Age II and the Iron Age II Settlement Revival. A Regional Trajectory towards the Collapse of the Late Bronze Age Palace System in the Northern Levant,” in Kutlu Aslıhan Yener (ed.), Across the Border: Late Bronze-Iron Age Relations between Syria and Anatolia. Proceedings of a Symposium held at the Research Center of Anatolian Studies, Koç University, Istanbul May 31 – June 1, 2010 (ANESS 42; Leuven–Paris–Walpole, MA: Pee­ters, 2013), pp. 113–146. 87 See for the archaeology of Emesa esp. Majed Moussli, “Tell Ḥomṣ (Qalʿat Ḥomṣ),” ZDPV 100 (1984), pp. 9–11 and G.R.D. King, “Archaeological Fieldwork at the Citadel of Homs, Syria: 1995–1999, ” Levant 34 (2002), pp. 39–58. 88 See Hawkins, Corpus, pp. 413–414 and Payne, Inscriptions, p. 64. 89 See Hawkins, Corpus, pp. 413–414; Edward Lipiński, On the Skirts of Canaan in the Iron Age. Historical and Topographical Researches (OLA 153; Leuven – Paris – Dudley, MA: Peeters, 2006), p. 212; Payne, Inscriptions, p. 64 fn. 75. 90 See Lipiński, Skirts, pp. 212–213. 91 See Younger, History, pp. 192–204.

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Reflections on Hazael’s Empire in Light of Recent Study in the Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Texts K. Lawson Younger, Jr. Trinity International University – Divinity School

“peace cannot be made without conflict… friendly relations cannot come about without a “hard-fought” victory…”1

Over the last fifty years, there have been many different treatments of “the empire” of Hazael of Aram-Damascus. A brief word about some of these is very revealing in the “writing and rewriting of history.” Working assumptions, methodologies, reactional tendencies are all seen in the way that Hazael’s empire has been assessed over the decades. I will highlight three important scholars in order to demonstrate some of the contrasting exemplary views. I will then present a detailed integration of the biblical and ancient Near Eastern texts with recent archaeological discoveries and analyses. I Three Exemplary Scholarly Views In Benjamin Mazar’s 1962 study,2 he proposed that Damascus under Ben-Hadad II (Hadadezer in his understanding) created a major Aramean empire, which Hazael inherited upon his usurpation. After Shalmaneser III’s campaigns against him, Hazael regained this unified empire, even extending it further. His son Bar-Hadad (III) lost this empire early in his reign. Mazar’s hypothesis was widely accepted in his day. Hazael’s empire reached far into the south to “the bay of Elath” as well as into north Syria and east of the Euphrates. The map in Figure 1 reflects Mazar’s view of Hazael’s empire. In 1987, Wayne Pitard concluded that “there is no evidence that he (Hazael) was able to extend his influence farther north than his border with the kingdom of Hamath.”3 However, he argued in favor of Hazael’s southern expansion, stating: … Hazael’s expansionist policy led to the subjugation of the area south of Damascus, including Israel, Philistia, and Judah, and perhaps extending southward east of the Jordan Valley as well… The size of Hazael’s empire was significant enough to make Damascus the capital of one of the most powerful states of Syria, one that Assyria would have to deal with as it began to stir once again at the end of the ninth century. 1 ul iššakkan salīmu balu mitḫuṣi… ul ibbašši ṭubtu balu šitnunimma… (The words of Tukulti-Ninurta I from the Tukulti-Ninurta Epic. See Peter Machinist, The Epic of Tukulti-Ninurta [Ph.D. dissertation, Yale University, 1978], p. 90, A iii 15′–16′). These words attributed to Tukulti-Ninurta I found in the TukultiNinurta Epic are almost proverbial. In a pithy manner, they seem to illustrate Hazael’s reign. 2 Benjamin Mazar, “The Aramean Empire and Its Relations with Israel,” BA 25 (1962), pp. 98–120, esp. 108– 116. 3 Wayne T. Pitard, Ancient Damascus: A Historical Study of the Syrian City-State from Earliest Times until Its Fall to the Assyrians in 732 B.C.E. (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1987), p. 158.

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Figure 8: Mazar’s 1962 map of Hazael’s Empire with borders added based on his article

Figure 9: Pitard’s Map of Hazael’s Kingdom (with permission)

The map of Pitard’s view of Hazael’s empire can be seen in Figure 2. In a recently published essay,4 Christian Frevel presents a thorough discussion of the usage of the term “empire”5 in the scholarly secondary literature, starting with nineteenth century scholars and ending with his own assessment of recent scholarship. Through comparison with the Neo-Assyrian empire, he appraises it as an adequate expression to describe the Aramean kingdom of Hazael. His essay is an important contribution and lays much of the groundwork for this essay, because Frevel does a wonderful job looking at some of the working assumptions, methodologies, and reactional tendencies in the way that Hazael’s empire has been treated in the past. 4 Christian Frevel, “Was Aram an Empire? A Kind of Shibboleth-Question,” Semitica 60 (2018), pp. 397–426. 5 Regarding the notion of “empire,” Yifat Thareani states: “Of the various theoretical models dealing with the structure, organization, and maintenance of empires, the Territorial-Hegemonic theory is the most flexible. The distinction between ‘territorial’ and ‘hegemonic’ refers to a spectrum of control strategies, involving degrees of rule fortitude and integration in the imperial space. The hegemonic scale is composed of a core-polity surrounded by client-polities and semi-autonomous groups, which experience varying levels of interaction.” See Yifat Thareani, “The Empire and the ‘Upper Sea’: Assyrian Control Strategies along the Southern Levantine Coast,” BASOR 375 (2016), pp. 77–102, esp. 78.

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In another forthcoming article,6 Frevel interacts with recent scholarship, dealing especially with the extent of Hazael’s empire in the southern Levant. He concludes that Hazael’s empire extended as far south as Elath, due to his interest in the copper trade, as well as the spice trade.7 With this background, we can now once again analyze the evidence and offer a reconstruction. II Historical Analysis and Reconstruction 1. The Setting Since Hadad-ezer was still listed as an active participant in the coalition against Assyria8 that resisted Shalmaneser III in 845 B.C.E., Hazael’s usurpation of the throne of Aram-Damascus must have occurred in 844/843 B.C.E.9 Not long thereafter in 842, war broke out between Aram and Israel at Ramoth-Gilead (2 Kgs 8:28–29; 9:14–15a). Joram, king of Israel, was wounded and retired to Jezreel. There Jehu assassinated Joram, as well as Ahaziah, the king of Judah, on the same day according to 2 Kgs 9:21–29, in coordination with the Tel Dan Inscription with Hazael’s claim.10 In the very next year (841) Shalmaneser III brought significant devastation upon Aram-Da­ mas­cus. This was followed by the 838–837 campaigns. For Hazael, this was undoubtedly a period where he fought desperately just to survive. Although Shalmaneser rated these campaigns as great “successes,” they were actually less than resounding defeats for Hazael. Shalmaneser’s failure to capture Damascus should not be minimized. This polity while under the rule of Hadadezer had built up significant wealth, power and resources,11 which Hazael, upon his usurpation of the throne, seized. All of this was left intact because of the failure of Shalmaneser to capture Da­mascus. For the next decade (837–827 B.C.E.), Shalmaneser was very preoccupied with other concerns. In fact, there was enormous political weakness in the last three years of Shal­

6 Christian Frevel, “State Formation in the Southern Levant: The Case of the Aramaeans and the Role of Hazael’s Expansion,” forthcoming. See also Christian Frevel, Geschichte Israels (KST 2; Stuttgart: Kohl­ham­ mer, 2016), pp. 221–223. 7 I thank Prof. Frevel for letting me see earlier copies of these articles. 8 The histories of Aram-Damascus and Israel are, in ways, dictated by the history of Assyria. The persistent aggression of Shalmaneser III (853–845 B.C.E.) led to the weakening of the Levantine polities (i. e., attrition took its toll). Shalmaneser’s actions surely impacted the economies and manpower capacities of the western states. They ground down the coalition’s ability and will to sustain resistance against the Assyrian military’s incursions. Hamath, in particular, had carried and absorbed the bulk of the load, with its territory being the main arena of military action in the campaigns of 853, 849, 848 and 845. There can be little doubt that the usurpations in Damascus and Israel and the change in policy in Hamath after 845 were due, at least in part, to this overall weakening. Of course, other factors of an internal sort were also at work. Urhilina, king of Hamath, must have felt after the usurpations in Damascus and Israel that he could not trust these polities to be reliable partners and that a peaceful solution with Assyria was in Hamath’s best interests. 9 Stith states: “It seems most likely that Hazael took the Aramean throne in 844 (though 843 cannot be ruled out), and that the conflict at Ramoth-Gilead and Jehu’s coup should be dated to 842.” See D. Matthew Stith, The Coups of Hazael and Jehu: Building an Historical Narrative (Gorgias Dissertations 37; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2008), p. 41. 10 K. Lawson Younger, Jr., A Political History of the Arameans: From Their Origins to the End of Their Polities (Ar­chaeology and Biblical Studies 13; Atlanta: SBL Press, 2016), pp. 593–613; Erhard Blum, “The Relations bet­ween Aram and Israel in the 9th and 8th Centuries BCE. The Textual Evidence,” in Omer Sergi, Manfred Oeming, and Izaak J. de Hulster (eds.), In Search for Aram and Israel: Politics, Culture, and Identity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), pp. 37–56, esp. 37–46. 11 Though the extent of this kingdom was nothing like what Mazar envisioned.

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ma­ne­ser III’s reign (826–824 B.C.E.)12 in which the powerful prince Aššur-da ʾʾ in-aplu began a seven-year revolt (from 826 to 820 B.C.E.) in order to seize the throne. This revolt spread to over twenty-seven cities of Assyria, including such major cities as Nineveh, Assur, Arbail and Arrapḫa.13 The events appear to be mentioned in an inscription on a statue that was illicitly excavated at ancient Šadikanni (modern Tell ʿAjaja) on the Ḫābūr River.14 In a preliminary edition, Eckart Frahm15 has suggested that it commemorates the deeds of Dayyān-Aššur, the turtānu under Shalmaneser III and attests to his loyalty in the fortification of ancient Šadikanni in support of Šamšī-Adad V. In all likelihood, the inscription was written in the name of an Assyrian general or a local leader of Šadikanni, and not in that of the Assyrian king. This revolt was followed by the reign of Šamšī-Adad V (823–811 B.C.E.) when the Assyrians appear to have withdrawn from the political arena of the Levant almost completely. All this opened the window quite wide for Hazael’s military expansion without Assyrian interference. It empowered the emerging Damascene king who was more than eager to implement his own expansionistic plans. Thus, through a series of conquests, Hazael created a significant Levantine empire (the different regions that were brought under the hegemony of Hazael will be outlined below). The power that Hazael amassed must have been quite impressive as recognized by the Assyrians. After his death, they often refer to the kingdom of Aram-Damascus as Bīt-­Ḫaza ʾ ili.16 And very significantly, Hazael was deified in some fashion after his death according to a centuries’ old tradition.17 2. The Extent of Hazael’s Empire (a) The Northern Extent Although Shalmaneser III was preoccupied with campaigns elsewhere from 836 to 830, it seems unlikely that Hazael campaigned north of his own territory during this period. In 829, Shalmaneser sent Dayyān-Aššur, his turtānu, to campaign against Patina/Unqi (ʿUmq), which may have been growing in power during Shalmaneser’s involvements in Anatolia. Hazael’s campaign against ʿUmq very likely occurred after this campaign when ʿUmq would have been already softened up. Therefore, any northward expansion probably took place after 828 B.C.E.18 As noted above, Pitard was skeptical about any evidence for the expansion of Hazael’s empire northwards. This, I believe, was based on a reaction to the so-called evidence that had been typically utilized in arguing for a northern expansion. Thus, Mazar had posited a northern expansion in the days of Hadad-ezer (his Ben-Hadad II). He based this on his analysis of 1 Kgs 20, 12 “The precise circumstances of the end of Shalmaneser’s reign are unknown.” See Shigeo Yamada, “Salmānuašarēd,” in The Prosopography of the Neo-Assyrian Empire. Edited by Simo Parpola. 3 vols. in 6. Helsinki: NeoAssyrian Text Corpus Project, 1998–2011, vol. 3.1 (2002), p. 1075. 13 As revealed in an inscription of Šamšī-Adad V. See RIMA 3 A.0.103.1 ii.7–9. 14 Perhaps in 2014 or slightly earlier by local people. 15 Eckart Frahm, “‘Whoever Destroys this Image’: A Neo-Assyrian Statue from Tell ʿAǧāǧa (Šadikanni),” NABU 51 (2015), pp. 77–82, esp. 80. 16 Matthew J. Suriano, “The Apology of Hazael: A Literary and Historical Analysis of the Tel Dan Inscription,” JNES 66 (2007), pp. 163–176 esp. 175, note 85. 17 Younger, A Political History of the Arameans, 631. 18 Similarly, see Yutaka Ikeda, “Looking from Til Barsip on the Euphrates: Assyria and the West in Ninth and Eighth Centuries B.C.,” in Kazuko Watanabe (ed.), Priests and Officials in the Ancient Near East: Papers of the Second Colloquium on the Ancient Near East, The City and Its Life Held at the Middle Eastern Culture Center in Japan (Mitaka, Tokyo) (Heidelberg: Winter, 1999), pp. 271–302, esp. 291.

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as well as his appeal to the Melqart Stela.19 Mazar argued that after the Assyrian invasions under Shalmaneser III, Hazael revived this already established empire, which controlled “northern Syria and the Euphrates region,” the Israelite territories in Transjordan (2 Kgs 10:32–33; Amos 1:3) “dominating the King’s Highway throughout its length to the Bay of Elath.”20 Hence, Hazael’s empire in the north was based on the prior empire of Hadad-ezer (Ben-Hadad II). However, the general consensus today is that 1 Kgs is a displaced narrative from the time of Jehoahaz.21 But even if one granted that this passage speaks about Hadad-ezer, Hazael’s predecessor, Mazar’s exegesis is wanting. This passage simply does not support some kind of northern expansion of Aram-Damascus prior to the days of Hazael.22 In addition, in spite of some recent persistence to the contrary,23 the Melqart Stela undoubtedly belongs to a king of Bīt-Agūsi/ Arpad, as I have recently argued including some additional circumstantial evidence.24 This is not the place to repeat all of that and there seems to be a strong consensus today that this is the case.25 In sum, there quite simply is no evidence of an empire of Hadad-ezer that included territories north of Damascus’s realm. Pitard was right in rejecting this. The only piece of evidence directly bearing on Hazael, that Mazar appealed to, was the Hazael Booty Inscription on an ivory piece26 from Arslan Taş, which he took as evidence of Hazael’s pen19 Mazar, “The Aramean Empire,” pp. 112–114. 20 Mazar, “The Aramean Empire,” pp. 114, 116. 21 This is not as clear cut as it is often assumed. 22 The history of Hamath during this period contradicts an empire of Hadad-ezer (see Younger, A Political History of the Arameans, pp. 448–473). See also the earlier analysis of Pitard, Ancient Damascus, 152–156. 23 Gotthard G. G. Reinhold, “Zu den Stelenbruchstücken der altaramäischen Inschrift von Têl Dân, Israel,” Bei Son­nen­aufgang auf dem Tell = At Sunrise on the Tell: Essays about Decades researches in the Field of Near Eastern Arc­hae­ology (Remshalden: Greiner, 2003), pp. 121–129; Lawrence J. Mykytiuk, “Corrections and Updates to ‘Identifying Biblical Persons in Northwest Semitic Inscriptions of 1200–539 B.C.E.,’” Maarav 16 (2009), pp. 49–132 esp. 69–85. 24 Younger, A Political History of the Arameans, pp. 533–35. 25 See now the forthcoming essay Jo Ann Hackett and Aren M. Wilson-Wright, “A Revised Interpretation of the Melqart Stele (KAI 201),” in H. H. Hardy II, Joseph Lam, and Eric D. Reymond (eds.),“Like ʾIlu Are You Wise”: Studies in Northwest Semitic Languages and Literatures in Honor of Dennis G. Pardee (Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 2019; in press). 26 Originally, this was one ivory plaque that was part of a piece of furniture (possibly the edge of a bed). It is comprised of three pieces: two larger pieces that have a clear join and a smaller piece that should be placed at the end, mainly due to grammar considerations. See Maria Giulia Amadasi Guzzo, “Quelques notes sur les inscriptions et marques des ivoires d’Arslan Tash,” in Élisabeth Fontan and Giorgio Affanni (eds.), Les ivoires d’Arslan Tash. Décor de mobilier syrien IXe–VIIIe siècles avant J.-C. (Paris: Picard / Louvre Éditions, 2018), pp. 63–68 esp. 64–65, and p. 239, Catalogue no. 268. This plaque was discovered, along with numerous other pieces, in a Neo-Assyrian style building next to the royal palace in 1928 at Arslan Taş, ancient Ḫa­ dattu. Winter suggests that it may have been carried to Arslan Taş as booty by Šamšī-ilu after the capture of Damascus in 773. See Irene J. Winter, “Is There a South Syrian Style of Ivory Carving in the Early First Millennium B.C.?” Iraq 43 (1981), pp. 101–130 esp. 123. For other possibilities and the way that this ivory found its way to Arslan Taş, see Marian H. Feldman, Communities of Style: Portable Luxury Arts, Identity, and Collective Memory in the Iron Age Levant (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014), pp. 151–153. For the Arslan Taş ivories, see Serena Maria Cecchini, “Les ivories de Arslan Tash,” in Serana Maria Cecchini, Ste­fania Mazzoni, and Elena Sciglizzo (eds.), Syrian and Phoenician Ivories of the Early First Millennium BCE: Chronology, Regional Styles and Iconographic Repertories, Patterns or Inter-regional Distributions (Acts of the International Workshop, Pisa, December 9–11, 2004; Pisa: Edizioni ETS, 2009), pp. 87–105. For the excavations at ʾArslan Taş, see Francois Thureau-Dangin, et al. Arslan-Tash (Bibliothèque archéologique et historique 16; Paris: Geuthner, 1931); Serena Maria Cecchini and Fabrizio Venturi, “A Sounding at Arslan Tash. Re-visiting the ‘Bâtiment aux ivoires,’” in Roger Matthews and John E. Curtis (eds.), Proceedings of the

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etration east of the Euphrates.27 But this ivory cannot serve as this type of evidence. It was take to Arslan Taş by either Adad-nērārī III (796), Šamšī-ilu (773 B.C.E.) or Tiglath-pileser III (732), most likely Šamšī-ilu, who gave it to his eunuch, Ninurta-bēlu-uṣur.28 Although the ivory has been used to possibly define a “South Syrian” artistic style,29 it is very likely, as Marian Feldman has recently argued, that this ivory, along with the others at the site in this group, did not originate in Damascus, but were themselves booty from other Levantine polities, just like the bronze horse frontlet and blinker from ʿUmq (see below), inscribed with Hazael’s inscription once they had come to Damascus.30 Therefore, this piece cannot be used to argue for Hazael’s empire east of the Euphrates. However, a fragmentary toponym preserved in its inscription may possibly provide evidence of the northern expansion (see below). There are, however, real evidences of Hazael’s northern expansion. One of these can be seen in his inscribed bronze horse frontlet and blinker, two of the so-called Hazael Booty Inscriptions (the inscription on each item is the same).31 The established reading of the text of these inscriptions reads:32 zy ntn hdd lmrʾn ḥzʾl mn ʿmq bšnt ʿdh mrʾn nhr, “That which Hadad gave to our lord Hazael from ʿAmq in the year when our lord crossed the river.” The various interpretive issues have been discussed33 and it is clear that this inscription is a type of label, tag or registration34 proclaiming that the piece was given to Hazael by the deity Hadad from the land of ʿUmq/Patina at the time when Hazael crossed the Orontes River to enter that country. While some scholars have understood the reference to nhr as the Euphrates,35 it seems more likely, given the mention

7th International Congress on the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East (7 ICAANE) 12 April–16 April 2010 (Lon­don: British Museum; Wiesbaden: UCL, Harrassowitz, 2012), vol. 3, pp. 325–341; idem, “Le context strati­g raphique du Bâtiment aux ivoires,” in Élisabeth Fontan and Giorgio Affanni (eds.), Les ivoires d’Arslan Tash. Décor de mobilier syrien IXe–VIIIe siècles avant J.-C. (Paris: Picard / Louvre Éditions, 2018), pp. 29–34. 27 Mazar, “The Aramaean Empire,” pp. 112–114. 28 Cecchini and Venturi, “A Sounding at Arslan Tash,” p. 326. For this man’s own inscription, see K. Lawson Younger, Jr., “Ninurta-bēlu-uṣur,” in idem (ed.), The Context of Scripture. Volume 4: Supplements (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2016), pp. 97–98. 29 Winter, “Is There a South Syrian Style of Ivory Carving in the Early First Millennium B.C.?,” p. 122. 30 Marian H. Feldman, Communities of Style: Portable Luxury Arts, Identity, and Collective Memory in the Iron Age Levant (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014), pp. 151–152. 31 K. Lawson Younger, Jr., “‘Hazaʾel, Son of a Nobody’: Some Reflections in Light of Recent Study,” in Piotr Bien­kowski, Christopher Mee and Elizabeth A. Slater (eds.), Writing and Ancient Near Eastern Society: Papers in Honour of Alan R. Millard (LHBOTS 426; New York: T&T Clark, 2005), pp. 245–270 esp. 257–260 (Inscriptions 1 and 2); Maria Guilia Amadasi Guzzo, “Le harnais des chevaux du roi Hazaël,” in Lidiano Bacchiel­li and Margherita Bonanno Aravantinos (eds.), Scritti di antichità in memoria di Sandro Stucchi (Studi miscellanei 29; Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1996), vol. 1, pp. 329–338; “Un fragment de stèle aramé­enne de Tell Afis,” Or 78 (2009), pp. 336–347. 32 Röllig read the inscription: zy ntn hdr lmrʾn ḥzʾl mn ʿmq bšn tʿrh mrʾn nhr “(Das ist es) was HDR gab unserem Herrn Haza’el von der Ebene von Basan. ‘Stirnbedeckung’ unseres erhabenen Herrn.” He understood HDR as the name of the one dedicating the object to Hazael. See Wolfgang Röllig, “Die aramäische Inschrift für Haza’el und ihr Duplikat,” MDAI 103 (1988), pp. 62–75 esp. 62. 33 Younger, “Hazaʾel, Son of a Nobody,” pp. 257–260; idem, A Political History of the Arameans, pp. 627–630. 34 Amadasi Guzzo (“Le harnais des chevaux du roi Hazaël,” pp. 331–336) argues that Hadad must refer to the deity and that the inscription is a type of label, tag or registration. Thus, on this type of booty object, the inscription would function as a registration of its origin similar, for example, to the Black Stone Cylinder inscription of Shalmaneser III (COS 2.113Η, p. 271). 35 E. g. Paul-Eugène Dion, Les Araméens à l’ âge du fer: Histoire politique et structures sociales (ÉB NS 34; Paris: Ga­balda, 1997), pp. 201–202.

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of ʿUmq in the context, that the river is the Orontes.36 It is very interesting that Amos 6:2a uses the collation: ‫“ עִ ְברּו כַ לְ נֵ ה‬Cross over to Kalneh” (Kunulua, the capital of ʿUmq), implying the crossing of a river, whereas in the inscription it is ʿdh … nhr “crossed the river.” How did Hazael campaign against ‘Umq with the powerful kingdom of Hamath lying in between? Sometime after the 845 campaign and before the 841 campaign of Shalmaneser III, Urhilina, king of Hamath, had submitted to Assyria. This allowed the Assyrian troops to move unencumbered through Hamathite territory on their way to attack Damascus in 841. However, sometime late in the reign of Uratami or possibly his successor, Hamath and Luǵath must have become vassal to Hazael. Certainly, the horse frontlet and blinker inscription would point to this.37 In addition, a fragment of a basalt stela discovered at Tell Afis, ancient Ḥaḏrak (TA.03.A.300) seems to be an additional witness to Hazael’s power in the region. The inscription appears to contain the name of Hazael (line 5′: […]lḥz˹ʾ˺[l]) and points to his control over the city.38 The ivory from Arslan Taş, ancient Ḫadattu, containing Hazael’s booty inscription may have originally made reference to Hazael’s northern campaigns. Through her study of various Old Aramaic texts from the end of the 9th century to the beginning of the eighth century B.C.E., Amadasi Guzzo has demonstrated that the script of the Tel Dan stela, the blinker and frontlet and the ivory from Arslan Taş are homogeneous and must be related to the same tradition of scribes.39 The inscription reads: [ ]?? . ʿmʾ . l//mrʾn . ḥzʾl . bšnt //[. ʾḥ]zt . ḥ[…?].40 ʿmʾ(?)41 to our lord Hazael in the year of capture of Ḥ[…] 36 See Alan Millard, “Eden, Bit Adini, and Bet Eden,” Eretz Israel 24 (Avraham Malamat Volume 1993), pp. 173*–177* esp. 175*–176*; Amadasi Guzzo, “Le harnais des chevaux du roi Hazaël,” p. 334; Edward Li­ pińs­k i, The Aramaeans: Their Ancient History, Culture, Religion (OLA 100; Leuven: Peeters, 2000), p. 389; Her­bert Niehr, “König Hazael von Damaskus im Licht neuer Funde und Interpretationen,” in E. Gaß (ed.), “Ich wer­de meinen Bund mit euch niemals brechen!” (Ri 2,1): Festschrift für Walter Groß zum 70. Geburtstag (Her­ders Biblische Studien 62; Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 2011), pp. 339–356 esp. 349; Younger, A Political History of the Arameans, pp. 629–630. 37 See the history of Hamath, Younger, A Political History of the Arameans, chapter 7. 38 See Maria Giulia Amadasi Guzzo, “Area 1: Il frammento di stele in basalto con iscrizione,” in Stefania Mazzoni, et al. (eds.), Tell Afis (Siria) 2002–2004 (Pisa: Università di Pisa, 2005), pp. 21–23 and figure 18; “Un fragment de stèle araméenne de Tell Afis,” Or 78 (2009), pp. 336–347 esp. 336–341; “Tell Afis in the Iron Age: The Aramaic Inscriptions,” NEA 77 (2014), pp. 54–57; K. Lawson Younger, Jr., “Some of What’s New in Old Aramaic Epigraphy,” NEA 70 (2007), pp. 138–146, esp. 139. 39 Amadasi Guzzo, “Un fragment de stele araméenne de Tell Afis,” pp. 340–341. 40 The // represent the division points between the fragments. Generally accepted is the restoration of [ʾḥ]zt. 41 See note 26 above. The beginning of the text is broken and difficult. The two partially preserved letters before the term ʿmʾ have been read as br (“son”), [q]rb (“offered”) or [h]dd (“Hadad”) (KAI 232; SSI 2:4–5; Émile Puech, “L’ivoire inscrit d’Arslan-Tash et les rois de Damas,” RB 88 (1981), pp. 544–562; François Bron and An­dré Lemaire, “Les inscriptions araméennes de Hazaël,” RA 83 (1989), pp. 35–44 esp. 37; Nadav Na’aman, “Hazael of ʿAmqi and Hadadezer of Beth-rehob,” UF 27 (1995), pp. 381–394 esp. 382–383; Lipiński, The Ara­­ maeans, p. 388. In 2005, I suggested that the two words br and ʿmʾ might be read as one: brʿmʾ, a proper name, Bir-ammâ. This must be rejected as there is a word divider before ʿmʾ. See the photo in Élisabeth Fontan and Gior­gio Affanni (eds.), Les ivoires d’Arslan Tash. Décor de mobilier syrien IXe–VIIIe siècles avant J.-C. (Paris: Pi­card / Louvre Éditions, 2018), pp. 238–239, cat. 268. The term ʿmʾ has been often understood as a per­so­nal name, ‘Amma, although some scholars have seen it as the noun “people” (e.g., Alan Millard, “The Ha­zael Boo­t y Inscriptions,” COS 2.40: 162–163). Lipiński (The Aramaeans, p. 388) is unique in understanding it as a to­po­nym: ‘Imma. For a thorough discussion, see now Amadasi Guzzo, “Quelques notes sur les in­scrip­tions et marques des ivoires d’Arslan Tash,” pp. 64–66.

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The majority of scholars42 argue that the restoration [ʾḥ]zt43 speaks of the capture of a city (cf. Barrākib 1:11; Mesha 11, 14, 15–16, 20) and that one could restore ḥ[ṣr] “Ḥ[azor],” ḥ[lb] “Ḥalab,”44 ḥ[mt] “Ḥ[amath],” ḥ[zrk] “Ḥ[aḏrak],” or ḥ[zz] “Ḥ[azazu].” It would seem that the most likely possibilities for restoration, in light of the Tell Afis Stela fragment, would be Ḥ[aḏrak] or Ḥ[amath].45 In light of this, it is interesting to look again at Amos 6:2, which states: ‫עִ ְברּו כַ לְ נֵ ה ְּוראּו‬ ‫ּולְ כּו ִמ ָּׁשם ֲח ַמת ַר ָּבה‬ ‫ת־ּפלִ ְׁש ִּתים‬ ְ ַ‫ְּורדּו ג‬ ‫ן־ה ַּמ ְמלָ כֹות ָה ֵאלֶ ה‬ ַ ‫טֹובים ִמ‬ ִ ‫ֲה‬ ‫ם־רב ּגְ בּולָ ם ִמּגְ ֻבלְ כֶ ם‬ ַ ‫ִא‬ Cross over to Kalneh (Kunulua) and see, go from there to Great Hamath,46 and go down to Gath of the Philistines, are (you) better than these kingdoms, or is their territory greater than your territory? Scholars have typically understood the events of this verse to date from the time of either Tiglathpileser III (745–727 B.C.E.) or Sargon II (722–705 B.C.E.), and hence to a later redactor of Amos.47 However, in light of the Hazael horse frontlet and blinker inscriptions and the Tell Afis stela fragment, along with the evidence from Tell eṣ-Ṣāfī/Gath, it would seem that Amos 6:2 might be alluding to Hazael’s campaigns. This has been strongly argued by Nadav Na’aman and Aren Maeir.48 It is very probable that the Assyrian campaign in 829 B.C.E., followed by the campaign of Ha­zael (perhaps as early as 828, but more likely around 826), weakened Patina/ʿUmq significant­ ly. Its internal politics may have been thrown into confusion (perhaps giving rise to greater Ara­

42 Bron and Lemaire, “Les inscriptions araméennes de Hazaël,” p. 37; Israel Eph‘al and Joseph Naveh, “Hazael’s Booty Inscriptions,” IEJ 39 (1989), pp. 192–200, esp. 197, note 24; Niehr, “König Hazael von Damaskus,” p. 345. 43 Noun, feminine construct. 44 Edward Lipiński, Studies in Aramaic Inscriptions and Onomastics II (OLA 57; Leuven: Peeters, 1994), p. 93. 45 ḥ[zrk] “Ḥ[azrak]” would be a better choice now that the Tell Afis Stela fragment has been found. See Amadasi Guzzo, “Un fragment de stèle araméenne de Tell Afis,” p. 342, note 14. 46 Bordreuil argued that since Kalneh (= Kunulua/Kullania, modern Tell Ta‘yinat) and Gath (modern Tell eṣṢāfī) are cities, logically Hamath should also designate a city. In addition, the designation “Great Hamath” refers to the city’s regional importance. See Pierre Bordreuil, “Ḥamat la Grande,” SC 6 (2013), pp. 285–290, esp. 285. While Uzziah’s action against Gath in 2 Chr 26:6 could be the reference in Amos, that text simply states that Uzziah “broke down the wall of Gath.” The siege and destruction of Hazael seems a more probable candidate. Younger, A Political History of the Arameans, p. 625, note 248. 47 Hans W. Wolff, Joel and Amos: A Commentary on the Prophets Joel and Amos (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: For­ tress, 1977), p. 275; Shalom Paul, Amos: A Commentary on the Book of Amos (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: For­tress, 1991), pp. 201–204; Erhard Blum, “‘Amos’ in Je­ru­sa­lem. Beobachtungen zu Am 6,1–7,” Henoch 16 (1994), pp. 23–47, esp. 32–34; Jörg Jeremias, The Book of Amos: A Commentary (transl. Douglas W. Stott; Louis­ville: Westminster John Know, 1998), pp. 114–115. 48 See Nadav Na’aman, “In Search of the Reality Behind the Account of David’s Wars with Israel’s Neighbors,” IEJ 52 (2002), pp. 200–224, esp. 210–212; Aren M. Maeir, “The Historical Background and Dating of Amos VI 2: An Archaeological Perspective from Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath,” VT 54 (2004), pp. 319–334; Paul, Amos, pp. 201–204.

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mean power within49); and in due course, it lost territory to Bīt-Agūsi/Arpad.50 Na’aman rightly con­cludes: “Amos must have referred to the decline of Calneh/Kullani as a result of Ha­­zael’s cam­paign against Unqi/Patina and the taking of its territories by Arpad in the late ninth-­early eighth century B.C.E.”51 The precise reason for Zakkur’s choice of Ḥaḏrak as his capital, as opposed to the city of Ha­ math, is not stated in any text. While it seems likely that the choice was driven by the fact that Ḥaḏrak was more the base of Zakkur’s power (ca. 803–780 B.C.E.) than Hamath, it may also be possible that Hamath had declined temporarily due to Hazael’s activities.52 There is no indication that Hazael’s expansion during the last decades of the 800s was able to bring Arpad under his control. Instead, the picture that emerges is that of a resurgence of BētGūš/Bīt-Agūsi that produced a significant challenge to Assyrian power in the region, a power that will be labeled simply “Aram” as an indicator of the kingdom’s potency.53 This is likely the product of the reduction in power of ʿUmq/Patina and Hamath. Finally, the Zakkur Inscription could be considered another piece of evidence, though very indirect. Although it seems clear that Zakkur was a usurper, the circumstances of his seizure of power are, unfortunately, uncertain. The arguments are complex, and I will not attempt to get into this here.54 (b) The Southern Extent A specific date for the loss of any particular territory in the south cannot be ascertained from the textual or archaeological evidence. Furthermore, it is very likely that, as Assaf Kleiman has recently argued,55 the Aramaean subjugation of the southern Levant was not the result of a single campaign but instead a gradual process of conquest over a number of years. He differentiates 49 See Timothy P. Harrison, “Tell Taʿyinat and the Kingdom of Unqi,” in P. M. Michèle Daviau, John W. Wevers and Michael Weigl (eds.), The World of the Aramaeans (JSOTSup 324–326; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2001), vol. 2, pp. 115–144. Harrison (p. 120) suggests that the use of the Aramaic term ʿmq in the Zakkur in­scrip­tion, instead of Patina, may “carry an ethnic connotation, acknowledging the Aramaic-speaking West Se­mi­tic segment of the population that apparently had now gained the upper hand in the former Luwian stronghold. The shift from Patina to Unqi in the Assyrian records may also reflect the increasing influence and visi­bility enjoyed by the Aramaeans (Dion, Les Araméens, pp. 124–125), in effect documenting a shift in ethnic asso­ciation that unfolded over the latter half of the ninth century.” For the few Aramaic ostraca discovered in the earlier twentieth century excavations at Tell Taʿyinat, see James F. Osborne and K. Lawson Younger, Jr., “Ostra­ca,” in Heather Snow (ed.), Tell Tayinat. Final Report (Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chi­cago, forthcoming). Nevertheless, Tutammu/Tutamuwa, who was removed by Tiglath-pileser III from the throne in 738, had a Luwian name, and the actual evidence for Aramean rule in Unqi/ʿUmq is missing. 50 Younger, A Political History of the Arameans, pp. 485–486. 51 Na’aman, “In Search of the Reality,” p. 211. 52 Na’aman, “In Search of the Reality,” p. 212. He cites possible archaeological evidence at the end of stratum E2 at Hama. 53 See Younger, A Political History of the Arameans, pp. 37–38, 505–508. In fact, the leader of Bēt-Gūš/BītAgūsi in the late 830s was still Arame, having survived numerous Assyrian attacks, the destruction of his capital at Arnê, and the humiliation of the annexation of one of his cities outright. However, it seems that Arame was able to move his capital from Arnê to Arpad. Perhaps, he was even the one responsible for the city’s initial strong defensive works. It was he who put his kingdom in a position to take advantage of Assyrian weakness during and after the revolt at the end of Shalmaneser III’s reign. 54 See Younger, A Political History of the Arameans, pp. 476, 481. 55 Assaf Kleiman, “The Damascene Subjugation of the Southern Levant as a Gradual Process (ca. 842–800 BCE),” in Omer Sergi, Manfred Oeming, and Izaak J. de Hulster (eds.), In Search for Aram and Israel: Politics, Culture, and Identity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), pp. 57–76 esp. 69–70 and Table 1.

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three main stages: (1) in the regions of Gilead and the Beth-shean valley (842–before the Assyrian campaigns of 838–837); (2) in the region of the northern valleys (ca. 837–830?); (3) in the regions of the Central Coastal Plain, the Shephelah and Beer-sheba valley (ca. 930–800).56 Another issue, however, that remains unanswered by the texts or archaeology is the level of Damascene control in each of these areas. So, for example, exactly what is the situation in Geshur? Is there direct control or is the land simply a client? Does the notice embedded in 1 Chr 2:23a contribute to this question when it asserts: “But Geshur and Aram took Ḥavvoth-Jair from them, along with Qenath and its villages, sixty towns?”57 Moreover, even if there was direct control in some place like Geshur, how long was this the situation?58 (1) Transjordan To the south of Damascus, the natural geographic link is the Transjordan. As witnessed in the Tel Dan stela, Hazael had success against Joram (Jehoram) of Israel, though the exact extent of his involvement in Jehu’s revolt is not entirely clear. In any case, the Transjordan was a particular territory that Israel was forced to concede. The region of the Bashan/the Ḥauran had likely already been a Damascene territory for quite some time. This is certainly correct, if the toponyms of Malaḫa and Danabu are located in this region.59 At any rate, the land of Gilead was one of the initial areas to fall under the political domination of Damascus.60 This mastery over the Transjordan probably picked up steam in the context of the attempt of the kings of Israel and Judah (Jehoram and Ahaziah) to make territorial gains at the expense of Damascus at a time of perceived weakness as the result of Hazael’s usurpation, though earlier attempts probably had been made (2 Kgs 8:28–29; 9:14b; Tel Dan stela, line 3b– 4a61). The area around Ramoth-Gilead was the center of much of the conflict.62 Nonetheless, it 56 Ibid. For regions (1) and (2), see now the comments of Wolfgang Zwickel, “Borders between Aram-Damascus and Israel: A Historical Investigation,” in Jan Dušek and Jana Mynářová (eds.), Aramaean Borders: Defining Ara­maean Territories in the 10th–8th Centuries B.C.E. (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2019), pp. 267–335, esp. 296– 297, 326. 57 My translation follows Gary N. Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9 (AB 12; New York: Doubleday, 2003), pp. 295, 299. Being found in the midst of the genealogical material of Ḥezron, it is impossible to determine the date (see Pitard, Ancient Damascus, p. 151 note 12). 58 See now Omer Sergi and Assaf Kleiman, “The Kingdom of Geshur and the Expansion of Aram-Damascus into the Northern Jordan Valley: Archaeological and Historical Perspectives,” BASOR 379 (2018), pp. 1–18. 59 See Younger, “Hazael, Son of a Nobody,” pp. 260–261 (Inscriptions 3 and 4); Amadasi Guzzo, “Le harnais des chevaux du roi Hazaël,” pp. 329–338; “Un fragment de stèle araméenne de Tell Afis,” pp. 336–347; Hadi Ghantous, The Elisha-Hazael Paradigm and the Kingdom of Israel: The Politics of God in Ancient SyriaPalestine (Durham: Acumen, 2013), pp. 67–69; Feldman, Communities of Style, pp. 150–153. However, this cannot be based on Hazael’s booty inscription from Arslan Taş (see above). The very fragmentary booty inscription from Kalḫu (modern Nimrud) simply reads: [mr]ʾn ḥzʾl, “[ our lor]d Hazael.” It is too short to contribute anything historical. See Younger, A Political History of the Arameans, pp. 615–616. 60 Kleiman, “The Damascene Subjugation,” stage 1. Perhaps some of the northern areas fell under Damascene control during the reign of Hadad-ezer (Adad-idri). 61 I am understanding the sentence “And the king of I[s](4)rael earlier invaded the land of my father” to be claiming, as part of Hazael’s apology, that the king of Israel made the initial aggression; Hazael was simply em­ powered by Hadad to defend against a clear aggressor of the land that belonged to his predecessor (“his father”)! 62 Ramoth-Gilead has been identified with Tell er-Ramīt (= Tell er-Rumeith) (2455.2116), Tell er-Ram­­ṯ ā (2450.2186) or Tell el-Ḥuṣn (3248.3588). See Wolfgang Zwickel, Eisenzeitliche Ortslagen im Ostjordan­­land (BTAVO B 81; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1990), p. 315; and Tristan J. Barako, “The Setting and Iden­ti­­fi­ca­ tion,” in Tristan J. Barako and Nancy L. Lapp (eds.), Tell er-Rumeith: The Excavations of Paul W. Lapp, 1962

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was not until the Assyrian pressure upon Hazael had abated that he was able to gain uncontested control in the Transjordan. In this regard, 2 Kgs 10:32–33 serves as an important witness, though not nearly as detailed as the modern historian might prefer.63 ‫ ַּבּיָ ִמים ָה ֵהם‬32 ‫ֵה ֵחל יהוה לְ ַקּצֹות ְּביִ ְׂש ָר ֵאל‬ ‫וַ ּיַ ּכֵ ם ֲחזָ ֵאל ְּבכָ ל־ּגְ בּול יִ ְׂש ָר ֵאל‬ ‫ן־הּיַ ְר ֵּדן ִמזְ ַרח ַה ֶּׁש ֶמׁש‬ ַ ‫ ִמ‬33 ‫ל־א ֶר ץ ַהּגִ לְ עָ ד‬ ֶ ָ‫ֵאת כ‬ ‫ראּובנִ י וְ ַה ְמנַ ִּׁשי‬ ֵ ‫ַהּגָ ִד י וְ ָה‬ ‫ֵמעֲ רֹעֵ ר ֲא ֶׁשר עַ ל־נַ ַחל ַא ְרנֹן‬ ‫וְ ַהּגִ לְ עָ ד וְ ַה ָּב ָׁשן‬ 32 In those days, Yahweh began to cut off from Israel piece by piece; and Hazael struck them throughout the territory of Israel, 33 from the east of Jordan, all the land of the Gilead – the Gadites, the Reubenites, and the Manassites – from (the town of) Aroer, which is on the Wadi Arnon, and the Gilead and the Bashan.

and 1967 (Archaeological Reports 22; Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 2015), pp. 6–8. Since Tell er-Ramtā is situated seven kilometers further north and is considerably larger than Tell er-Ramīt, there may be a preference for identifying this site. But Tell er-Ramṯā has not been excavated (modern town located on the bulk of the site). Likely both sites were strongly fortified and were important in the Iron II period. For the identification of Ramoth-gilead with Tell er-Rumeith, see Nelson Glueck, “Ramoth Gilead,” BASOR 92 (1943), pp. 10–16; Paul W. Lapp, The Tale of a Tell: Archaeological Studies (Pittsburgh Theological Mono­­g raph Series 5; Pittsburgh: Pickwick, 1975). The site, however, is quite small. Criticisms of this iden­ti­ fi­c­a­tion can be seen in Ernst Axel Knauf, “The Mists of Ramathalon, or: How Ramoth Gilead Disappeared from the Archaeological Record,” BN 110 (2001), pp. 33–36; Larry G. Herr and Muhammad Najjar, “The Iron Age,” in Burton MacDonald, Russell Adams and Piotr Bienowski (eds.), The Archaeology of Jordan (Le­ van­­­tine Archaeology 1; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), pp. 323–345; Israel Finkelstein, Oded Lip­ schits and Omer Sergi, “Tell er-Rumeith in Northern Jordan: Some Archaeological and Historical Obser­va­ tions,” Semitica 55 (2013), pp. 7–23. See now Tristan J. Barako, “The Iron Age Pottery,” and “Summary and Con­­clusions,” in Tristan J. Barako and Nancy L. Lapp (eds.), Tell er-Rumeith: The Excavations of Paul W. Lapp, 1962 and 1967 (ASOR Archaeological Reports 22; Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 2015), pp. 71–188, esp. 189–195. 63 See André Lemaire, “Hazaël de Damas, roi d’Aram,” in Dominique Charpin and Francis Joannès (eds.), Mar­chands, diplomates et empereurs: Études sur la civilisation mésopotamienne offertes à Paul Garelli (Paris: Édi­tions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 1991), pp. 91–108; Lipiński, The Aramaeans, pp. 353–367; and Sigur­ður Hafþórsson, A Passing Power: An Examination of the Sources for the History of Aram-Damascus in the Second Half of the Ninth Century B.C. (ConBOT 54; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2006), pp. 201–205. Dion, Les Araméens, p. 199 note 121 considers 2 Kgs 10:33 to be subject to caution since it attributes to Ha­zael the territories north of the Wadi Arnon which Mesha claims in his inscription to have conquered. However, Mesha’s claim to have seized territory north of the Arnon is undoubtedly the situation in the days after the death of Ahab (i. e., more or less immediately post 853); the statement in verse 33 is reflecting much later developments in the region ca. 835–814 B.C.E.

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In the first clause of verse 32, the Piel verbal form of the infinitive reflects the plurative nuance64 and thus emphasizes the piecemeal nature of the process.65 Though this certainly applies to the entire land of Israel, it is the Transjordan that is singled out in verse 33. Hence, not all of even this area was necessarily captured during the reign of Jehu; some of it may have been seized during the reign of Jehoahaz (2 Kgs 13:25). The first clause also emphasizes the divine causality in this process – Hazael was the human agent. Moreover, this passage seems to contain a Wiederaufnahme, perhaps signaled by the two occurrences of ‫ַהּגִ לְ עָ ד‬ (as reflected in the text in bold above).66 This editorial addition serves as a reference to territories that only belonged to Israel by ideological “right.” This is because the Bashan was already Aramean; and the Mishor or Medeba plain67 had already been lost and was in the hands of the Moabites according to the Mesha Inscription.68 There is no evidence that it was ever re-conquered or possessed by Israel after Mesha’s rebellion. As a result, it is reasonable to conclude that 2 Kgs 10:32–33 does not imply that Jehu or his son ever held territories in Aroer or the Medeba region. Hence, the final conquest of Gilead by Hazael was probably the result of several campaigns,69 as too the conquests west of the Jordan. Amos 1:3b is witness to its long-remembered results in Israel, particularly Gilead. In my opinion, a possible further evidence can be seen in the Lucianic recension of 2 Kgs 13:22. This passage, far from evoking an Aramean campaign in Philistia, should be understood as a perfect description of this same area of the Transjordan (i. e. it appears to be a reformulation of 2 Kgs 10:32–33), although it is, most certainly, a much later editorial addition (see full discussion below). The annexation of Transjordan had numerous benefits, one of which was control of the Kings’ Highway. This has undoubtedly led to the speculation that there may have been alliances with the Ammonites70 and the Moabites.71 Though this remains a possibility, there is no actual evidence of such alliances and there is certainly no evidence that these entities were vassal or client to Damascus.72 They seem to have been independent and in good relationships with Damascus. 64 My translation attempts to reflect this. See HALOT, p. 1120, s.v. I‫קצה‬. 65 This gives clear exegetical support to Kleiman’s gradual process interpretation cited above. 66 Lemaire, “Hazaël de Damas, roi d’Aram,” pp. 101–102, 105. 67 Isaiah 15:2 also lists Medeba among the Moabite cities doomed to devastation which have led some to believe that Medeba remained Moabite territory throughout the ninth century. See Timothy P. Harrison and Celeste Barlow, “Mesha, the Mishor, and the Chronology of Iron Age Madaba,” in Thomas E. Levy and Thomas Higham (eds.), The Bible and Radiocarbon Dating: Archaeology, Text and Science (London: Equinox, 2005), p. 180. See also now Zwickel, “Borders between Aram-Damascus and Israel: A Historical Investigation,” p. 278. 68 Cf. Gershon Galil, The Chronology of the Kings of Israel and Judah (SHANE 9; Leiden: Brill, 1996), p. 48, note 12, who opted to see the passages as “a literary model reflecting the reality from the time of the united kingdom.” See also Shuichi Hasegawa, Aram and Israel during the Jehuite Dynasty (BZAW 434; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2012), p. 61; J. Andrew Dearman, Studies in the Mesha Inscription and Moab (Atlanta, GA: American Schools of Oriental Research, 1989), pp. 178–186, and see Jer 48:21–24. 69 See Lipiński, The Aramaeans, p. 386. 70 Amos 1:13–15 might allude to Ammonite involvements, if it must be related to a crime contemporaneous with the activities of Hazael. This could, however, simply be a reference to the Ammonites taking advantage of the situation, not that they were in alliance with Damascus. 71 Lemaire, “Hazaël de Damas, roi d’Aram,” p. 102; idem, “La stèle de Mésha et l’histoire de l’ancien Israël,” in Daniele Garrone and Felice Israel (eds.), Storia e tradizioni di Israele: Scitti in onore di J. Alberto Soggin (Brescia: Paideia, 1991), pp. 143–169 esp. 158–160; Lipiński, The Aramaeans, p. 386. 72 Niehr, “König Hazael von Damaskus,” p. 345; Erasmus Gaß, Die Moabiter: Geschichte und Kultur eines ostjor­ da­ni­schen Volkes im 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. (ADPV 38; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2009), p. 60, note 286; Ul­ rich Hübner, Die Ammoniter. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte, Kultur und Religion eines transjordanischen Vol­ kes im 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. (ADPV 16; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1992), p. 184.

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Figure 10: Hazael’s Empire (Younger 2016)

This is why in my map (Figure 3) I do not consider all the information in 2 Kgs 10:32–33 to contribute to the historical reconstruction. I believe that Mesha’s seizure of the Mishor, as described in the Mesha Stela, stood; and that Hazael did not annex this area since it was Moabite territory. And I do not show Moab and Ammon as tributary clients of Aram. (2) Cisjordan As for Israel west of the Jordan, the magnitude of Hazael’s military successes is especially attested by the Tel Dan stela, as well as 2 Kgs 12:18 and 13:22. Once again, there is the issue regarding the level of Damascene control in each of these areas. – (i) The Beth-shean Valley As part of his stage 1, Kleiman has suggested that the Beth-shean valley may have come under Hazael’s control in connection with his takeover in the Gilead which he dates between 842 and 838.73 The evidence for Hazael’s campaign in the Beth-shean valley is possibly seen in destruc73 Kleiman, “The Damascene Subjugation,” pp. 69–70, and Table 1.

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tions at Tel Rehov IV,74 Beth-shean S–1b,75 Tel Amal IV, and the lower Iron Age IIA stratum at Tell el-Hammeh. However, he rightly notes: “The exact date of the destructions in the Bethshean Valley is still disputed. Therefore, their attribution to the first stage of the conflicts should be taken as no more than a tentative suggestion.”76 The results of radiocarbon dating from Tel Rehov IV demonstrate some of the challenges for historical reconstruction. These results were too high to fit comfortably with Hazael (ca. 844/843–803 B.C.E.). Thus, Finkelstein and Piasetzky suggested that the city was destroyed before the reign of Hazael.77 However, Mazar felt that the lowest dates on the radiocarbon curve allow for a destruction of Tel Rehov during the wars between Aram-Damascus and Israel, but no later than ca. 830 B.C.E.78 – (ii) The Northern Valleys As part of his stage 2, Kleiman suggests that this region was conquered between 837–830 as evidenced by Hazor IX, Rosh-zayit II, Megiddo VA-IVB79 and Yokneam XIV.80 Though the Tel Dan Stela obviously attests to Aramean presence during the period of Hazael, it does not give any date for this or the length of time of Aramean dominance. Aramean destruction at Tel Dan has been attributed to levels IVA81/IVB82, on the basis of the different dating systems. The presence of destruction layers from the Iron IIA period at other sites like Jezreel,83 Taanach IIB,84 and 74 For Tel Rehov, see most recently Amihai Mazar, “Culture, Identity and Politics Relating to Tel Reḥov in the 10th–9th Centuries BCE (with an Excursus on the Identification of Tel Reḥov),” in Omer Sergi, Man­ fred Oeming, and Izaak J. de Hulster (eds.), In Search for Aram and Israel: Politics, Culture, and Identity (Tü­­bin­­gen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), pp. 89–120. See earlier Shmuel Aḥituv and Amihai Mazar, “The Inscrip­ tions from Tel Reḥov and Their Contribution to Study of Script and Writing during the Iron Age IIA,” in Esther Eshel and Yigal Levin (eds.), “See, I will Bring a Scroll Recounting What Befell Me” (Ps 40:8): Epig­ra­phy and Daily Life from the Bible to the Talmud Dedicated to the Memory of Professor Hanan Eshel (Journal of An­cient Judaism, Supplements 12; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014) 39–68; Amihai Mazar and Nava Panitz-Cohen, “It is the Land of Honey: Beekeeping in Iron Age IIA Tel Reḥov – Culture, Cult and Econ­omy,” NEA 70 (2007), pp. 202–219; and Amihai Mazar, “The Debate over the Chronology of the Iron Age in the Southern Levant: It’s History, the Current Situation, and a Suggested Resolution,” in Thomas E. Levy and Thomas Higham (eds.), The Bible and Radiocarbon Dating: Archaeology, Text and Science (London: Equinox, 2005), pp. 15–30, esp. Table 2.1. 75 Mazar, “The Debate over Chronology,” Table 2.2. 76 Kleiman, “The Damascene Subjugation,” p. 69, note x. 77 Israel Finkelstein and Eli Piasetzky, “Radiocarbon, Iron IIa Destructions and the Israel-Aram Damascus Conflicts in the 9th Century BCE,” UF 39 (2007), pp. 261–276, esp. 272–273. 78 Mazar, “The Debate over Chronology”; Mazar and Panitz-Cohen, “It is the Land of Honey: Beekeeping in Iron Age IIA Tel Reḥov,” 204; Aḥituv and Mazar, “The Inscriptions from Tel Reḥov,” p. 51. 79 Israel Finkelstein, “Bible Archaeology or Archaeology of Palestine in the Iron Age? A Rejoinder,” Levant 30 (1998), pp. 167–174 esp. 170. 80 See Kleiman, “The Damascene Subjugation,” pp. 69–70, and Table 1. 81 Abraham Biran, “Part I: A Chronicle of the Excavations,” in Abraham Biran and Rachel Ben-Dov (eds.), Dan II. A Chronicle of the Excavations and the Late Bronze Age “Mycenaean Tomb” (Je­r u­sa­lem: Nelson Glueck School of Biblical Archaeology, Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion, 2002), pp. 3–32. 82 Israel Finkelstein and Eli Piasetzky, “Radiocarbon-Dated Destruction Layers: A Skeleton for Iron Age Chron­ology in the Levant,” OJA 28 (2009), pp. 255–274. 83 Nadav Na’aman, “Historical and Literary Notes on the Excavation of Tel Jezreel,” Tel Aviv 24 (1997), pp. 122–128 esp. 126; David Ussishkin, “Samaria, Jezreel and Megiddo: Royal Centers of Omri and Ahab,” in Lester L. Grabbe (ed.), Ahab Agonistes: The Rise and Fall of the Omri Dynasty (ESMIH 6; New York: T. & T. Clark, 2007), pp. 293–309, esp. 307. 84 Israel Finkelstein, “Notes on the Stratigraphy and Chronology of Iron Age Ta‘anach,” Tel Aviv 25 (1998), pp. 208–218 esp. 216.

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Gezer VIII85 have led some to believe that Israel’s territory was reduced to the hill country around Samaria thanks to Hazael and Ben-Hadad’s assaults.86 For example, Finkelstein87 has attributed the destruction of level IX at Hazor to Hazael and proposed that Hazor VIII–VII was an Aramean city.88 Ben-Tor attributed the destruction of Hazor VII to Hazael.89 However, more recently, the excavators of the site have argued that there is no clear-cut evidence at Hazor for any proposed breaks in the occupational sequence, with no evidence of a wholesale destruction in either Stratum IX or Stratum VII.90 If this is correct, there is no evidence at Hazor for a destruction by Hazael. Whether Hazor was under direct control of Hazael or under some form of indirect control (i. e. tributary status) is likely given the situation in Israel under the initial Jehuite monarchs. That some of the destructions may be attributed to Hazael is entirely possible, although some may be attributable to other Damascene monarchs. Without textual support, it cannot definitively be known. The fact is that “the destruction of any site in Israel during the time in question can be assigned to any Aramean king, depending on the chronology being advocated.”91 – (iii) The Central Coastal Plain, the Shephelah and Beer-sheba Valley Kleiman’s stage 3 includes “the regions of the Central Coastal Plain, the Shephelah and Beersheba valley (ca. 830–800), as evidenced by Michal XIV, Aphek A7, Tell eṣ-Ṣafi/Gath A3, Tel Zayit I, Tel Goded, Lachish IV, Beer-sheba V and Arad XI.”92 On the one hand, the clearest evidence for Hazael’s campaigns is at the ancient city of Gath. On the other hand, the most uncertain attributions for the extent of his empire are from the southwestern and far southern regions.

85 Israel Finkelstein, “Gezer Revisited and Revised,” Tel Aviv 29 (2002), pp. 262–296, esp. 285. 86 Israel Finkelstein, “Stages in the Territorial Expansion of the Northern Kingdom,” VT 61 (2011), pp. 227– 242 esp. 240. 87 Israel Finkelstein, “Hazor and the North in the Iron Age: A Low Chronology Perspective,” BASOR 314 (1999), pp 55–70 esp. 59; Finkelstein and Piasetzky, “Radiocarbon, Iron IIa Destructions,” p. 261. Finkelstein proposes the destructions of Dan IVA, Hazor IX, Megiddo VA–IVB, Yoqneam XIV, and Tanaach IIB are attributable to Hazael. However, see Amnon Ben-Tor, “Hazor and Chronology of Northern Israel: A Reply to Israel Finkelstein,” BASOR (2000), pp. 9–15. Finkelstein understands the destructions at Tel el-Ḥammāh (early), Hazor IX, Megiddo VA–IVB, and Tel eṣ-Ṣāfī to be the work of Hazael (830–800). See Israel Fin­ kel­stein, The Forgotten Kingdom: The Archaeology and History of Northern Israel (Atlanta: Society of Bibli­ cal Literature, 2013), pp. 120–121. For the low chronology, see Ghantous, The Elisha–Hazael Paradigm, pp. 21–35. For a survey following the high chronology, see Hafþórsson, A Passing Power, pp. 185–246. 88 For a full presentation and discussion of Hazor, see Doron Ben-Ami, “The Early Iron Age II (Strata X–IX),” in Amnon Ben-Tor, Doron Ben-Ami and Débora Sandhaus (eds.), Hazor VI: The 1990–2009 Excavations, the Iron Age (Je­r u­sa­lem: Israel Exploration Society; Hebrew University of Je­r u­sa­lem, 2012), 52–153. Earlier dis­cussion Hafþórsson, A Passing Power, pp. 229–234, 236–238. For a recent discussion of the stamp seal evidence, see Izaak J. de Hulster, “Material Aramaeisms? Sphragistic Reflections on the Aram–Israel Border Zone through a Case Study on Hazor,” in Omer Sergi, Manfred Oeming, and Izaak J. de Hulster (eds.), In Search for Aram and Israel: Politics, Culture, and Identity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), pp. 229–250. 89 Ben-Tor, “Hazor and Chronology of Northern Israel,” p. 11 (Hazor VII to Hazael as attributed by Yadin). 90 Amnon Ben-Tor, Doron Ben-Ami and Debora Sandhaus, Hazor VI: The 1990–2009 Excavations. The Iron Age (Je­r u­sa­lem: Israel Exploration Society; Hebrew University of Je­r u­sa­lem, 2012), p. 3. Sergi and Kleiman question this conclusion (“The Kingdom of Geshur,” p. 4, note 9). 91 Ben-Tor, “Hazor and Chronology of Northern Israel,” p. 12. See also Doron Ben-Ami and Nili Wazana, “Enemy at the Gates: The Phenomenon of Fortifications in Israel Reexamined,” VT 63 (2013), pp. 368–382. 92 See Kleiman, “The Damascene Subjugation,” pp. 69–70, and Table 1.

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(a) Gath In the case of Gath, there is textual and archaeological evidence. According to 2 Kgs 12:18, Hazael captured the Philistine city of Gath (Tel eṣ-Ṣāfī). There is no date for this event indicated in the verse; it is simply attributed to the period of Joash, king of Judah (2 Kgs 12:19). The archaeological exploration of the Tell eṣ-Ṣāfī has led to the discovery of a siege trench that the excavators have attributed to Hazael.93 Although this attribution has been questioned, the evidence seems to point to Hazael. It is important to underscore that the excavations of Tell eṣ-Ṣāfī/Gath have revealed Hazael’s destruction of the site (both in the upper and lower city),94 a destruction that had clear reverberations in Amos 6:2.95 Other sites in the vicinity of Gath may have evidence of Hazael’s campaign(s). These include Tel Harasim,96 Tel Zayit (Judah), Tel Goded,97 Aphek Sharon (Israel),98 and Azekah (Judah or Philistine?). However, caution should be applied since some of this “evidence” is based on different chronologies.99 93 Aren M. Maeir and Carl S. Ehrlich, “Excavating Philistine Gath: Have We Found Goliath’s Hometown?” BAR 27/6 (2001), pp. 22–31; Carl S. Ehrlich, “Die Suche nach Gat und die neuen Ausgrabungen auf Tell eṣ-­Ṣāfī,” in Ulrich Hübner and Ernst Axel Knauf (eds.), Kein Land für sich allein: Studien zum Kulturkontakt in Kanaan, Israel/Palästina und Ebirnâri für Manfred Weippert zum 65. Geburtstag (OBO 186; Fribourg: Uni­versitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002), pp. 55–69. Aren Maeir and Joe Uziel, “A Tale of Two Tells: A Comparative Perspective on Tel Miqne-Ekron and Tell eṣ-Ṣāfī/Gath in Light of Recent Ar­chaeological Research,” in Sidnie White Crawford and Amnon Ben-Tor (eds.), “Up to the Gates of Ekron”: Essays on the Archaeology and History of the Eastern Mediterranean in Honor of Seymour Gitin (Je­r u­sa­lem: William F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research; Israel Exploration Society, 2007), pp. 29–42; Aren M. Maeir, “Hazael, Birhadad, and the ḤRṢ.” in Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of Lawrence E. Stager (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009), pp. 273–277. 94 This Gath A3’s destruction date is supported by radiocardon dating. See Aren M. Maeir, Oren Ackermann, and Hendrik J. Bruins, “The Ecological Consequences of a Siege: A Marginal Note on Deuteronomy 20:19– 20,” in Sey­mour Gitin, J. Edward Wright, and J. P. Dessel (eds.), Confronting the Past: Archaeological and His­tor­ical Essays on Ancient Israel in Honor of William G. Dever (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), pp. 238–243. Aren M. Maeir, “The Historical Background and Dating of Amos VI 2,” pp. 319–334; Ilan Sha­ron, Ayelet Gilboa, A. J. Timothy Jull, and Elisabetta Boaretto, “Report on the First Stage of the Iron Age Dating Project in Israel: Supporting a Low Chronology,” Radiocarbon 49 (2007), pp. 1–46 esp. 39; Klei­ man, “The Damascene Subjugation,” pp. 57–76. The remains of what might have been a victory stela (?) were found in earlier excavations at Tel eṣ-Ṣāfī/Gath. See Aren M. Maier, “Fragments of Stone Reliefs from Bliss and Macalister’s Excavations at Tell eṣ-Ṣafi,” Eretz Israel 29 (Ephraim Stern Volume 2009), pp. 270–276, 291*; An­ge­lika Berlejung, “Outlook: Aramaeans outside of Syria: 5. Palestine,” in Herbert Niehr (ed.), The Ara­ maeans in Ancient Syria (HdO 106; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 10), pp. 339–365. 95 While Uzziah’s action against Gath in 2 Chr 26:6 could be the reference in Amos, that text simply states that Uzziah “broke down the wall of Gath.” The siege and destruction of Hazael seems a more probable candidate. 96 Shmuel Givon, “Harasim, Tel,” in NEAHL, vol. 5, pp. 1766–1767. 97 Shimon Gibson, “The Tell ej-Judeideh (Tel Goded) Excavations: A Re-appraisal Based on Archival Records in the Palestine Exploration Fund,” Tel Aviv 21 (1994), pp. 194–234. 98 Assaf Kleiman, “A Late Iron IIA Destruction Layer at the Western Slope of Tel Aphek,” Tel Aviv 42 (2015), pp. 32–186. 99 Compare Hasegawa’s survey (Aram and Israel, 68–74) with the presentation of Ben-Ami and Wazana. See Doron Ben-Ami and Nili Wazana, “Enemy at the Gates: The Phenomenon of Fortifications in Israel Re­ examined,” VT 63 (2013), pp. 368–382, esp. 371–373. For further discussion of the different chronologies, see Israel Finkelstein and Amihai Mazar, The Quest for the Historical Israel: Debating Archaeology and the History of Early Israel (ed. Brian B. Schmidt; ABS 17; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2007); Daniel A. Frese, Thomas E. Levy and Thomas Higham, “The Four Pillars of the Iron Age Low Chronology,” in Thomas E. Levy (ed.), Historical Biblical Archaeology and the Future: The New Pragmatism (London: Equinox, 2010), pp. 187–202.

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When was Gath besieged and captured? The exact date of the campaign is unclear. While some scholars prefer a higher date, somewhere around ca. 830 B.C.E., others suggest lower dates, generally toward the very end of the 9th century B.C.E.100 Certainly by 810 B.C.E., at the very latest, Hazael had captured and destroyed Gath. The reasons for the destruction of Gath are also unclear. Niehr has suggested that Hazael was interest in the Via Maris and the Mediterranean, since Damascus had no harbor itself.101 Some scholars have speculated that the reason for Hazael’s destruction of Gath was due to his attempt to monopolize the copper trade from the Arabah to the Mediterranean coast.102 However, this has been criticized.103 I will say more about this below. Finally, did Judah expand as the result of the destruction of Gath and is this attested in the archaeological record? This too is highly debated. The Arameans probably chose to approach Gath by means of the coastal plain. This very well may have meant that they would have encountered two Iron Age IIA towns which may evince destructions from the period: Tel Michal (Stratum XIV) and Tel Aphek (Stra­tum A7).104 Kleiman states: While the ceramic assemblage exposed in Tel Michal was relatively small, the ceramic assemblage unearthed at Tel Aphek was comprised of large number of complete vessels, including typical Late Iron Age IIA ceramic forms, in addition to several vessels which presage later Iron Age IIB shapes. From here it is possible to deduce that that the destruction of the coastal sites occurred relatively late within the 9th century BCE, a date, which is supported by the radiocarbon results from Aphek.105 At this time period was Aphek Israelite or Philistine? 100 See Aren M. Maeir, “The Tell es-Safi/Gath Archaeological Project 1996–2010: Introduction, Overview and Synopsis of Results,” Tell es-Safi/Gath I: The 1996–2005 Seasons. Part 1: Text (ÄAT 69; Wiesbaden: Har­ras­ so­w itz, 2012), pp. 47–49. For different lower dates for Hazael’s campaign, see Lipiński, The Aramaeans, p. 386; Anson F. Rainey and R. Steven Notley, The Sacred Bridge: Carta’s Atlas of the Biblical World (Je­r u­sa­ lem: Carta, 2006), p. 108. 101 Niehr, “König Hazael von Damaskus,” p. 348. Niehr’s proposal, of course, is possible, but there is simply no way to validate it. See also Lipiński, The Aramaeans, pp. 387–388. 102 Alexander Fantalkin and Israel Finkelstein, “The Sheshonq I Campaign and the 8th-Century BCE Earth­ quake – More on the Archaeology and History of the South in the Iron I–IIA,” Tel Aviv 33 (2006), pp. 18–42 esp. 30–32; Finkelstein, The Forgotten Kingdom, pp. 124–127; Israel Finkelstein, “The Southern Steppe of the Levant ca. 1050–750 BCE. A Framework for a Territorial History,” PEQ 146 (2014), pp. 89–104 esp. 98–100. 103 Ze’ev Herzog and Lily Singer-Avitz, “Iron Age IIA Occupational Phases in the Coastal Plain of Israel,” in Israel Finkelstein and Nadav Na’aman (eds.), The Fire Signals of Lachish: Studies in the Archaeology and History of Israel in Honor of David Ussishkin (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011), pp. 159–174 esp. 172; Maeir, “The Tell es-Safi/Gath Archaeological Project 1996–2010,” pp. 27–28. 104 Shmuel Moshkovitz, “Iron Age Stratigraphy (Strata XIV–XIII),” in Zeev Herzog, George R. Rapp, Jr., and Ora Negbi (eds.), Excavations at Tel Michal, Israel (Minneapolis and Tel Aviv: University of Minnesota Press and Tel Aviv University, 1989), pp. 64–72; Lily Singer-Avitz, “Iron Age Pottery (Strata XIV–XII),” in Zeev Herzog, George R. Rapp, Jr., and Ora Negbi (eds.), Excavations at Tel Michal, Israel (Minneapolis and Tel Aviv: University of Minnesota Press and Tel Aviv University, 1989), pp. 76–87; Herzog and SingerAvitz, “Iron Age IIA Occupational Phases,” pp. 159–174; Kleiman, “A Late Iron IIA Destruction Layer,” pp. 32–186. 105 Kleiman, “The Damascene Subjugation,” p. 63. He cites Elisabetta Boaretto, Ayelet Gilboa and Ilan Sharon, “Radiocardon Dating,” in Yuval Gadot and Esther Yadin (eds.), Aphek-Antipatris II: The Remains on the Acropolis (The Moshe Kochavi and Pirhiya Beck Excavations) (Monograph Series of the Institute of Ar­chae­ol­ogy of Tel Aviv University 27; Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 2009), pp. 575–79 esp. Table 24.1.

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– (iv) Judah After his destruction of Gath, Hazael threatened Je­ru­sa­lem. This could only be averted by significant gifts to Hazael from king Joash taken from the treasuries of the temple of the Lord (2 Kgs 12:18–19). Obviously, at this juncture, Joash became vassal to Hazael. Whether Judah was permitted to expand at this time is still an open question. – (v) Philistia Lipiński has attempted to attribute the destruction in Stratum IX at Ashdod (Lower Town) to Hazael, as too Beth-Shemesh (Stratum IIb).106 It is clear that Lipiński has based his reconstruction on his understanding of the Lucianic Recension of 2 Kgs 13:22 and on his assessment of the archaeological evidence at Ashdod which is different than the excavator’s interpretation. He argues that the partial destruction of Stratum IX at Ashdod is to be dated to the end of the ninth century, not the mid-eighth century, as Moshe Dothan dated it, attributing it to Uzziah.107 In the case of 2 Kgs 13:22, the MT has “King Hazael of Aram oppressed Israel all the days of Jehoahaz.” While many of the manuscripts of the Old Greek concur with the MT, the Lucianic Recension has an additional sentence at the end of the verse: καὶ ἔλαβεν Ἀζαὴλ τὸν ἀλλόφυλον ἐκ χειρὸς αὐτοῦ ἀπὸ τῆς θαλάσσης τῆς καθ᾽ ἑσπέραν ἑως Ἀφέκ And Hazael took ‘the stranger’ (sing.) from his (Jehoahaz’s) hand from the sea ‘in the west’ to Aphek. Commentators who accept the recension’s reading generally understand that Hazael conquered Philistine territory between the Mediterranean Sea and Aphek in the coastal plain.108 Nevertheless, caution should most certainly be exercised as pointed out by Cogan and Tadmor.109 For one thing, we really do not know whether the Aphek in the Sharon plain was at this time Philistine or Israelite. Matthieu Richelle has conducted an outstanding study of the internal usages within the Lucianic Recension of two crucial items: the term ἀλλόφυλον and the phrase καθ᾽ ἑσπέραν.110 Regarding the phrase καθ᾽ ἑσπέραν, he demonstrates that while it has the possible meaning “in the west,” the translators of the recension have, in fact, confused an original toponym ‫“ ערבה‬Arabah” as being from the root ‫“ ערב‬evening,” a type of confusion that is also found in the Old Greek of Deut 1:1 and 11:30.111 Thus Richelle argues that the Vorlage must have read: ‫ים הערבה‬.112 Based 106 Lipiński, The Aramaeans, pp. 387–388. 107 Moshe Dothan, “Ashdod,” NEAHL, vol. 1, pp. 93–102 esp. 99. Herzog and Singer-Avitz (“Iron Age IIA Occupational Phases,” p. 170) have recently observed that “Stratum IX should not be defined as a separate stratum. It was artificially created and some pottery has been attributed to it.” See Israel Finkelstein and Lily Singer-Avitz, “Ashdod Revisited,” Tel Aviv 28 (2001), pp. 231–259 esp. 242–244. 108 Pitard, Ancient Damascus, pp. 151–152; Lipiński, The Aramaeans, pp. 386–387; Niehr, “König Hazael von Damaskus,” p. 348; Gunnar Lehmann and Hermann M. Niemann, “When Did the Shephelah Become Judahite?,” Tel Aviv 41 (2014), pp. 77–94, esp. 88. 109 Mordechai Cogan and Hayim Tadmor, II Kings. A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 11; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1988), p. 149. 110 Matthieu Richelle, “Les conquêtes de Hazaël selon la recension lucianique en 4 Règnes 13,22,” BN 146 (2010), pp. 19–25. 111 Cécile Dogniez and Marguerite Harl, Le Deutéronome (La Bible d’Alexandrie 5; Paris: Cerf, 1992), p. 95. 112 Richelle, “Les conquêtes de Hazaël,” pp. 21–22. Note also his remark: “Au passage, remarquons que cette difficulté de traduction constitue un indice très fort de l’existence d’une Vorlage hébraïque pour ce verset, qui n’est donc sans doute pas une invention d’un glossateur hellénisant” (p. 22). Hasegawa states: “On a tex-

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on his analysis of the translators of the Lucianic recension, Richelle concludes that this additional sentence in 2 Kgs 13:22 refers to the region of the Transjordan between the Dead Sea and a site called Aphek in the Golan.113 Thus, this verse may be compared to the description of Hazael’s invasion in 2 Kgs 10:32–33. While the term ἀλλόφυλον is generally used by the translators of the Septuagint to describe the Philistines,114 Richelle shows through his analysis of 2 Kgs 8:28 that the Greek translator, in this case, decided to translate ‫ ֲא ַרם‬by ἀλλοφύλων.115 In Richelle’s analysis, it is possible that in 2 Kgs 13:22 (only five chapters later) the translator has still used ἀλλοφύλων where he read ‫א ַרם‬.ֲ In light of this analysis, it would seem that the Lucianic sentence should be rendered: “Hazael took ‘the Aram’ from his (Jehoahaz’s) hand, from the Arabah (Dead Sea) to Aphek.”116 If Richelle is correct in his analysis, this means that there is no textual evidence of Hazael having a more extensive Philistine campaign, and so there is no reason to attribute the destruction of Stratum IX at Ashdod to Hazael (if, in fact, Stratum IX can be isolated). Alternatively, Hasegawa has argued that the form ἀλλόφυλον in the LXX L may reflect the Vorlage in which ‫ ֶהעָ ִרים‬was corrupted to ‫ ָהעֲ ֵרלִ ים‬and then emended as ‫ּפלִ ְׁש ִּתים‬.ְ 117 Thus, an earlier version of the Hebrew text would be reconstructed as “Hazael took the towns from his hand from the Sea of the Arabah to Aphek” (‫)ויקח חזאל מידו את הערים מים הערבה עד אפק‬.118 However, he also argues, perhaps rightly, that the mention of Aphek is, in fact, a later gloss, so that the earliest form of the clause may have read: “And Hazael took from his hand the cities from Kinneroth to the Sea of the Arabah (‫)ויקח חזאל מידו את הערים מכנרת עד ים הערבה‬. This is certainly a possible explanation.119 In any case, Hasegawa rightly observes that this addition to 2 Kgs 13:22 is problematic for “… the mention of Aramaean conquests of the Philistines here is out of context with the Aramaean tual basis, Richelle’s reconstruction seems most probable, and thus the reconstructed Hebrew Vorlage unequivocally designates the Dead Sea.” See Shuichi Hasegawa, “The Conquests of Hazael in 2 Kings 13:22 in the Antiochian Text,” JBL 133 (2014), pp. 61–76 esp. 62. 113 For this Aphek, see Yigal Levin, “Aphek,” in Hans-Josef Klauck, et al. (eds.), Encyclopedia of the Bible and Its Reception (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), vol. 2, pp. 303–308 esp. 305, s.v. Aphek, no. 2 (although Levin understands the reference in LXX L to be Aphek of the Sharon plain). 114 Lemaire, “Hazaël de Damas,” p. 103, note 85. 115 MT: ‫ְך־א ַרם‬ ֲ ֶ‫האל ֶמל‬ ֵ ָ‫ ֲחז‬but Αζαηλ βασιλέως ἀλλοφύλων in LXX B. 116 “Aram” is the direct object of the verb ἔλαβεν “he took”; hence the use of “Aram” for this territory would indicate that these areas have been annexed to the kingdom of Hazael. On the other hand, Hasegawa (Aram and Israel, p. 81) suggests that the employment of the two toponyms in 2 Kgs 13:17 (Aphek) and 14:25 (the Sea of Arabah) are ideological and not historical, since he understands that the plus in the OGL is most probably editorial, being added (like 2 Kgs 10:33; 13:7; 14:25a) to existing passages (2 Kgs 10:32; 13:3, 25a; 14:28) to add concrete information to accentuate the vicissitude of the Jehuite dynasty in the history of the kingdom of Israel (Hasegawa, “The Conquests of Hazael”). 117 Hasegawa, “The Conquests of Hazael,” pp. 64–68. 118 Hasegawa, “The Conquests of Hazael,” p. 68. 119 Hasegawa states: “Appealing as it is, Richelle’s interpretation of ̓Αζαὴλ τὸν ἀλλόφυλον generates another textual problem. The appellation “Hazael of Aram” is not attested elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible (MT); instead, he is always mentioned as either ‘Hazael’ (‫חזאל‬/‫ )חזהאל‬or ‘Hazael king of Aram’ (‫חזהאל מלך ארם‬/ ‫)חזאל‬. This applies also to the other two Damascene kings mentioned in the Hebrew Bible, namely, BenHadad and Rezin, and may reflect the customary manner of referring to a Damascene king” (Hasegawa, The Conquests of Hazael,” p. 64). But Hasegawa has taken this as an appellation, when Richelle is understanding τὸν ἀλλόφυλον (i. e. ‫ )ארם‬as the direct object of the verb “took” (ἔλαβεν): “Hazael took ‘the Aram’ from his (Jehoahaz’s) hand from the Arabah (Dead Sea) to Aphek.”

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oppression of the Israelites.”120 One would expect an addition that expounded on the initial statement in 2 Kgs 13:22, not an out-of-the-blue assertion about the seizure of Philistine lands. Finally, and importantly, the boundary description itself is a major problem, if understood as evidence of a campaign by Hazael into Philistia. Those who accept this addition would understand the Greek text (ἀπὸ τῆς θαλάσσης τῆς καθ᾽ ἑσπέραν ἑως Ἀφέκ) to assert that Philistine territory was seized “from the western Sea (i. e. the Mediterranean) to Aphek Sharon (i. e. AphekAntipatris),” a west to east territorial formulation.121 But this is an incredibly narrow strip (ca. 15 km / 10 mi),122 and frankly is, in my opinion, nonsense. Taking the reference to be to another one of the “Apheks,”123 is worse. Therefore, it signals that something is amiss in the textual transmission, and that this Lucianic recensional reading in 2 Kgs 13:22 should be excluded from consideration in the historical reconstruction of Hazael’s campaigns. This means that the only textual evidence for Hazael’s campaign west of the Jordan and south of Dan is the reference to Gath and Je­ru­sa­lem in 2 Kgs 12:18. It is, of course, entirely possible that Hazael campaigned against other Philistine and Judahite cities, besides Gath. But there is, at present, no textual evidence to support this. – (vi) Far South How far south did Hazael campaign? This is still a very open question. Destruction levels at sites in the south have been accredited to Hazael, for example: Tell el-Farʿah (South), Tel Seraʿ, Tel Burna, Lachish, Beersheba, Arad, and other places as well.124 Some of these might have been connected with Hazael’s campaign against Gath. But what about the others? A group of scholars over the years have asserted that Hazael gained control over the Kings’ Highway as far south as Elath.125 Over the last decade, some, who believe that Hazael had interest in the Negev copper production and trade, have asserted that Hazael aimed at the termination of copper production in the Faynan region in order to enhance the Cypriot resources and monopolize the copper trade with the Phoenician coastal cities.126 This has been the proposed reason for

120 Hasegawa, “The Conquests of Hazael,” p. 65. 121 For example, see Adrian Schenker, Älteste Textgeschichte der Königsbücher: Die hebräische Vorlage der ur­ sprüng­lichen Septuaginta als älteste Textform der Königsbücher (OBO 199; Fribourg: Academic Press; Göt­ tin­gen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), pp. 113–114; “The Septuagint in the Text History of 1–2 Kings,” in André Lemaire and Baruch Halpern (eds.), The Book of Kings: Sources, Composition, Historiography and Re­ception (VTSup 129; Leiden: Brill, 2010), pp. 3–17. 122 While the pattern “west to east” occurs, it is not common. One might have expected a description like “from Aphek to Gaza” or “from Gaza to Aphek,” if all of Philistia was in view. 123 See Levin, “Aphek,” pp. 303–308. 124 See Lehmann and Niemann, “When Did the Shephelah Become Judahite?” p. 88; Kleiman, “The Dama­ scene Subjugation,” p. 58. 125 For example, see Mazar, “The Aramaean Empire,” pp. 103, 114. 126 Israel Finkelstein and Eliezer Piasetzky, “Radiocarbon and the History of Copper Production at Khirbet en-­Naḥas,” Tel Aviv 35 (2008), pp. 82–95 esp. 86–91; J. Manuel Tebes, “Socio-Economic Fluctuations and Chief­dom Formation in Edom, the Negev and the Hejaz during the First Millennium BCE,” Unearthing the Wil­der­ness. Studies on the History and Archaeology of the Negev and Edom in the Iron Age (ANESSup 45; Leu­ven, Paris and Walpole, MA: Peeters, 2014), pp. 1–30 esp. 10. Fantalkin and Finkelstein, “The Sheshonq I Cam­paign,” p. 31; Naama Yahalom-Mack, et al., “New Insights into Levantine Copper Trade. Analysis of In­gots from the Bronze and Iron Ages in Israel,” Journal of Archaeological Science 45 (2014), pp. 159–177 esp. 174.

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Hazael’s destruction of Gath.127 This is assumed, based on circumstantial evidence, that Gath was involved in the copper trade as a major distribution center. Along another line, Frevel128 has recently argued that the evidence is not sufficient to conclude that Hazael’s campaign intended to give preference to Cypriot copper. Instead, he feels that the evidence seems to indicate a continuation of copper production at least to the end of the 9th century.129 Thus, he suggests that Hazael was interested in integrating the copper trade under his control by eliminating the power of Gath. By thoroughly destroying Gath around 830 B.C.E. (Frevel’s date), Hazael would have controlled the copper trade in the Faynan and Arabah during his reign. Furthermore, he argues that not only was Hazael interested in dominating the copper trade, but he also had interest in controlling the Arabian long-distance spice trade.130 The “Frankincense Route” went through the Negev and terminated in Gaza and certainly existed prior to the Assyrian domination.131 From the early Iron Age, residue analysis reveals the presence of spices (in particular cinnamon).132 Control of the copper and incense trade was the aim of Hazael’s campaigns. In support, Frevel suggests that 2 Kgs 16:6 may refer to the earlier conquest of Elath by Hazael. The BHS of 2 Kgs 16:6 reads (the translation reflects this text): ‫ָּבעֵ ת ַה ִהיא‬ ‫ת־אילַ ת לַ ֲא ָרם‬ ֵ ‫ְך־א ָרם ֶא‬ ֲ ֶ‫ַה ִׁשיב ְר צִ ין ֶמל‬ ‫הּוד ים ֵמ ֵאלֹות‬ ָ ְ‫ת־הי‬ ַ ‫וַ יְ נַ ֵּׁשל ֶא‬ ‫וַ ֲאר ִֹמים ָּבאּו ֵאילַ ת‬ ‫וַ ּיֵ ְׁשבּו ָׁשם עַ ד ַהּיֹום ַהּזֶ ה‬

127 See now Erez Ben-Yosef and Omer Sergi, “The Destruction of Gath by Hazael and the Arabah Copper In­dus­try: A Reassessment,” in Itzhaq Shai, Jeffrey R. Chadwick, Louise Hitchock, Amit Dagan, Chris Mc­ Kinny and Joe Uziel (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; Münster: Zaphon, 2018), pp. 461–480. 128 Frevel, “State Formation in the Southern Levant,” forthcoming. 129 Frevel cites in support of this the following (however, these only assert that the end of the occupation of the sites involved in copper mining date to the end of the ninth, or beginning of the eighth, century): Thomas E. Levy, Erez Ben-Yosef and Mohammad Najjar, “New Perspectives on Iron Age Copper Production and So­cie­t y in the Faynan Region, Jordan,” in Vasiliki Kassianidou and Giorgos Papasavvas (eds.), Eastern Med­ it­erranean Metallurgy and Metalwork in the Second Millennium BC. A Conference in Honour of James D. Muhly, Nicosia, 10th–11th October 2009 (Oxford: Oxbow, 2012), pp. 197–214; Thomas E. Levy, et al., “Ex­ ca­vations at Khirbat en-Nahas 2002–2009. An Iron Age Copper Production Center in the Lowlands of Edom,” in Thomas E. Levy, Mohammad Najjar and Erez Ben-Yosef (eds.), New Insights into the Iron Age Ar­chaeol­ogy of Edom, Southern Judah, Vol. 1 (Monumenta Archaeologica 35; Los Angeles: UCLA Cotsen Insti­tute of Archaeology Press, 2014), pp. 89–245; Thomas E. Levy, Megan Bettilyon and Margie M. Bur­ ton, “The Iron Age Copper Industrial Complex. A Preliminary Study of the Role of Ground Stone Tools at Khirbat en-Nahas, Jordan,” Journal of Lithic Studies (2016), pp. 313–335. 130 Frevel, “State Formation in the Southern Levant,” forthcoming. 131 Jeffrey A. Blakely, James W. Hardin and Daniel M. Master, “The Southwestern Border of Judah in the Ninth and Eighth Centuries B.C.E.,” in John R. Spencer, Robert A. Mullins, and Aaron J. Brody (eds.), Material Culture Matters. Essays on the Archaeology of the Southern Levant in Honor of Seymour Gitin (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2014), pp. 33–52 esp. 38 and 46. See also Alex H. Joffe, “The Rise of Secondary States in the Iron Age Levant,” JESHO 45 (2001), pp. 425–467 esp. 446–447. 132 Ayelet Gilboa and Dvory Namdar, “On the Beginnings of South Asian Spice Trade with the Mediterranean Region. A Review,” Radiocarbon 57.2 (2015), pp. 265–283 esp. 275.

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At that time, Rezin, the king of Aram, restored Elath to Aram; he drove out the Judahites from Elath; and Arameans (K)/Edomites(Q)133 came to Elath; and they lived there until this day. Frevel understands this verse to credit Rezin with recovering Elath for Aram from Judah, who had taken it in the days of Azariah from Aram (2 Kgs 14:22). The problem of the Ketiv ‫ וַ ֲא ַר ִּמים‬/ Qerê ‫דֹומים‬ ִ ‫( וַ ֲא‬the LXX has Ιδουμαῖοι) may be explained as the frequent textual confusion of Aram (‫ )ארם‬and Edom (‫ )אדם‬or the Edomites were a sort of vassal of Aram under Rezin.134 However, a study of the text-critical issues135 and the history of interpretation demonstrates that this verse is problematic in the extreme. There is not enough time to document all of this, but I will simply note the NRSV translation136 (with its notes): At that time The king of Edoma recovered Elath for Edom,b And drove the Judeans from Elath; And the Edomites came to Elath, where they live to this day. a Heb King Rezin of Aram b Heb Aram There are numerous commentators who understand the passage similarly and give detailed discussions.137 Then, there are scholars who understand Rezin to be original, but the restoration of Elath is to Edom, not Aram.138 For example, Aharoni states: “The Judean hold over Edom was broken, apparently with the help of Rezin, king of Aram, and Elath returned once more to Edom­­ite hands (2 Kgs 16:6; 2 Chr 28:17).”139 In either of these understandings of the verse, there would not have been an earlier Aramean possession of Elath; hence, no necessary conquest by Ha­zael, though this is not completely ruled out. My argument is while I have no problem seeing Ha­zael capturing Elath for the purpose of controlling the copper and spice trade, I do not believe that we have a clear textual witness to it. Therefore, the archaeological evidence is far from being conclusive. 133 BHS note: K mlt Mss Syriac and Targum codex mss Vulgate codex mss read: ‫;וא ַר ִּמ ים‬ ֲ Q LXX, Targum, Vulgate ‫ואדמים‬. OG reads Ιδουμαι̂ οι “Idumeans.” 134 Christoph Levin, “Aram und/oder Edom in den Büchern Samuel und Könige,” Verheißung und Recht­fer­ ti­gung: Gesammelte Studien zum Alten Testament II (BZAW 431; Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter, 2013), pp. 178–195 esp. 188–193. The archaeology of the harbor is another issue which Frevel addresses and I will not repeat his arguments here. 135 Still very useful is the presentation in Dominique Barthélemy, Critique textuelle de l’Ancien Testament, Vol­ ume 1: Josué, Juges, Ruth, Samuel, Rois, Chroniques, Esdras, Néhémie, Esther (OBO 50.1; Fribourg: Uni­ver­si­ täts­­verlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982), p. 406. 136 Of course, there are dissenters to this translation. For example, John H. Hayes, “Historical Reconstruction, Textual Emendation, and Biblical Translation: Some Examples from the RSV,” PRSt 14 (1987), pp. 5–9 esp. 7–8. 137 E. g. John Gray, 1 and 2 Kings (2nd ed. OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1970), pp. 632–633; Cogan and Tad­mor, II Kings, pp. 184, 186–187; T. Raymond Hobbs, 2 Kings (WBC 13; Waco, TX: Word Publishers, 1985), pp. 213–214. 138 E. g. Rainey in Rainey and Notley, The Sacred Bridge, p. 228. 139 Yohanan Aharoni, The Land of the Bible. A Historical Geography (Translated by Anson F. Rainey; Phil­a­del­ phia: Westminster, 1979), p. 371.

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The Calaḫ Orthostat (Nimrud Slab) of Adad-nērārī III has been cited as indirect evidence that Damascus had control over the southern Transjordanian polities, particularly Edom. The text lists Tyre, Sidon, Israel (Ḫumrî), Edom and Philistia as being subdued and paying tribute, probably in 796 B.C.E.140 Perhaps, as Israel, Edom and Philistia were formerly vassals or clients of Aram, they sent their tribute to Adad-nērārī III (now recognizing his overlordship).141 This may be true, but since there is no firm evidence that Tyre and Sidon were vassal/client to Damascus, there is a need for caution. Adad-nērārī III’s capture of Damascus and extraction of a good deal of its wealth was an event of such magnitude142 that it undoubtedly spawned many “display-gifts” from all of the southern Levantine polities. This leads to a final question. Are all the Iron IIa destruction levels in the southern Levant the result of Hazael’s campaign? Kleiman has mapped nearly thirty sites with late Iron IIA destruction layers.143 Thareani has also listed the destruction layers attributed to Hazael’s campaign in the scholarly literature, including the alternative strata in sites analyzed using different chronologies: Dan IVA/IVB, Hazor VII/IX, Tel Rehov IV, Beth-Shean Sl, the Jezreel Compound, Taanach IIB, Megiddo VA-IVB, Gezer VIII, and Gath A3. Sites destroyed in connection with the Gath campaign include Tel Harasim, Tel Zayit (Judahite), Tel Goded, Aphek Sharon (Israelite), and Azekah (Judahite or Philistine?).144 However, among all these sites there are nevertheless only two that have potentially-identifying markers in the archaeological record that might indicate Hazael as the destroyer (one very likely, the other a sure identification): Dan (Tel Dan Inscription) and Gath (2 Kgs 12:18). Frankly, I am skeptical about all of these being attributable to Hazael. Some of these must be the results of other conflicts in the region during this period. This reminds me a bit of the days of William F. Albright when virtually every 13th century destruction level was attributed to Joshua! Surely some caution is in order. III Conclusion While Hazael’s reign began with a fight for survival, it became the period of Aram-Damascus’s greatest power, a time when Damascus dominated a very large portion of the Levant. His empire reached far to the south with the destruction of Gath and vassalage of Judah being indicators of its extent. While speculation might lead us to see his dominance over areas further southwest and south, caution is needed since the textual evidence is lacking. Although his empire did not have a border on the other side of the Euphrates as Mazar thought, its extent was certainly as far north as ‘Umq/Patina. The impact of this empire must have been significant economically, though nothing is really known about this. Certainly, a promotion of the Aramaic language, in particular the Damascene dialect, was a byproduct.145 140 RIMA 3:212–213, A.0.104.8, lines 11–14. COS 2.114G: 276. 141 Mazar, “The Aramaean Empire,” p. 114; Alan R. Millard and Hayim Tadmor, “Adad-nirari III in Syria: Another Stele Fragment and the Dates of His Campaigns,” Iraq 35 (1973), pp. 57–64 esp. 64; Frevel, “State Formation in the Southern Levant,” forthcoming. 142 See Younger, A Political History of the Arameans, pp. 635–638. 143 Kleiman, “The Damascene Subjugation,” pp. 63–66. 144 Yifat Thareani, “Enemy at the Gates? The Archaeological Visibility of the Aramaeans at Dan,” in Omer Sergi, Manfred Oeming, and Izaak J. de Hulster (eds.), In Search for Aram and Israel: Politics, Culture, and Iden­tity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), pp. 169–197, esp. 171–172. 145 E. g. the Deir ʿAllā Inscription. See Erhard Blum, “Die altaramäischen Wandinschriften vom Tell Deir ‘Alla und ihr institutioneller Kontext,” in Friedrich-Emanuel Focken and Michael R. Ott (eds.), Metatexte. Er­ zäh­lun­gen von schrifttragenden Artefakten in der alttestamentlichen und mittelalterlichen Literatur (Materiale Text­kul­turen 15; Berlin and Boston: Walter de Gruyter, 2016), pp. 21–52; idem, “The Relations between

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Resilience, perseverance, drive, military prowess, ruthlessness—these are some of the traits no doubt possessed by Hazael that led to Damascene hegemony. However, it must be remembered that Assyrian weakness was most certainly a major contributing factor. It was not just Hazael’s raw personality. And of course, one should not forget the troops who brought about the empire. The average foot-soldier of Hazael’s Aramean army who survived the horrors of combat during those years, over time, remembered, with the pride of participation, the “glory” of all the victories, although his battle scars remained as a red badge of courage. Perhaps, the notion found in the words of the epic of Tukulti-Ninurta, “peace cannot be made without conflict,” had a great significance that caused him and others of Aram-Damascus to glorify Hazael, as later tradition recorded.146 For the defeated Israelites, as attested in the Hebrew Bible, and perhaps for others too, Hazael was remembered very differently; and hence the writing and rewriting of history had a different coloring. Yet, even here, intriguingly the late kaige tradition in 2 Kgs 9:16 reads: ὅτι αὐτὸς δυνατὸς καὶ ἀνὴρ δυνάμεως “for he (Hazael) was powerful and a man of power,”147 which seems to echo Josephus’ description of Hazael as: δραστήριός τε ὢν ἀνὴρ “being a man of action.” The account that I have written has been a humble attempt to grapple with all the data that we currently possess and to carefully reconstruct an explanatory history of Hazael’s empire. Not long from now, a new narrative, a rewriting of this history, will take place as new material for the reconstruction will be discovered.

Aram and Israel,” pp. 46–52. Also see the comments of Holger Gzella, A Cultural History of Aramaic. From the Beginnings to the Advent of Islam (HdO 111; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2015), pp. 70–71. 146 Perhaps akin to Tukulti-Ninurta I? 147 Also attested in Codex Vaticanus. Jonathan Robker has argued that this addition is original since it is more likely that the positive image of the king of Aram has been removed later than that it was added. See Jonathan M. Robker, The Jehu Revolution. A Royal Tradition of the Northern Kingdom and Its Ramifications (BZAW 435; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2012), p. 21. It has been understood by most scholars as a late addition and in light of the Josephus’ description, the notion of Hazael’s dynamic character is certainly upheld.

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World Literature as a Source for Israelite History: Gilgamesh in Ezekiel 16 * Abraham Winitzer University of Notre Dame ,‫ַהכְ נִ ִיסינִ י ַּת ַחת ּכְ נָ ֵפְך‬ …‫וַ ֲהיִ י לִ י ֵאם וְ ָאחֹות‬ ,‫אֹותי‬ ִ ‫ַהּכֹוכָ ִבים ִרּמּו‬ ‫ָהיָ ה ֲחלֹום – ַאְך ּגַ ם הּוא עָ ָבר‬ (1905) ‫ח"נ ביאליק‬ I Introduction This study aims to offer a new example of Mesopotamia’s intellectual legacy in the Bible’s prophetic literature and, in so doing, to propose that a well-established, non-native Israelite source was employed in this part of Israel’s reflections on and writing of her history. This involves Ezekiel, of special interest of late with respect to that prophet’s apparent familiarity with and even knowledge of the Babylonian world, as witnessed in the writings ascribed to this figure.1 In one such instance, in Ezekiel 28, a case was recently made for Ezekiel’s drawing on the Gilgamesh Epic (GE) for an allegory about Tyre’s destruction, on that occasion recalling a Garden of Eden * In addition to the stimulating discussion enabled by the international conference organized by Professor Isaac Kalimi in the Summer of 2018, Mainz, a version of this paper was presented at the Melammu Symposium held as part of the 64th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale meeting in Innsbruck (July, 2018) and benefitted from comments and suggestions received on that occasion. It is a pleasure to offer thanks to the organizers of both meetings, as well as to others, including Yoram Cohen, Ronnie Goldstein, Susanne Görke, David Vander­hooft, and students and colleagues at Notre Dame, who helped me on various issues. Abbreviations follow those of the standard reference works in Biblical and Assyriological studies, though in addition note or recall the following: GE = SB Gilgamesh Epic; OB = Old Babylonian; MB = Middle Babylonian; DN = Divine Name; PN = Personal Name. 1 See, for example, Tova Ganzel and Shalom E. Holtz, “Ezekiel’s Temple in Babylonian Context,” VT 64 (2014), pp. 211–226; David Vanderhooft, “Ezekiel in and on Babylon,” Transeuphratène 46 (= Josette Elayi and Jean-Marie Durand [eds.], Bible et Proche-Orient: Mélanges André Lemaire III [Pendé: Gabalda, 2014]), pp. 99–119; Abraham Winitzer, “Assyriology and Jewish Studies in Tel Aviv: Ezekiel among the Babylonian Lite­rati,” in Uri Gabbay and Shai Secunda (eds.), Encounters by the Rivers of Babylon: Scholarly Conversations Bet­ween Jews, Iranians, and Babylonians in Antiquity (TSAJ 160; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), pp. 163– 216; Jonathan Stökl, “‘A Youth Without Blemish, Handsome, Proficient in All Wisdom, Knowledgeable and In­telligent’: Ezekiel’s Access to Babylonian Culture,” in Jonathan Stökl and Caroline Waerzeggers (eds.), Exile and Return: The Babylonian Context (BZAW 478; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2015), pp. 223–252; Martti Nissi­nen, “(How) Does the Book of Ezekiel Reveal Its Babylonian Context?” WO 45 (2015), pp. 85–98; Lau­ rie Pierce, “Ezekiel: A Jewish Priest and a Babylonian Intellectual,” The Torah.com: A Historical and Con­­tex­ tual Approach (2017), https://thetorah.com/ezekiel-a-jewish-priest-and-a-babylonian-intellectual/ (ac­cessed Jan­uary 1, 2019); Mladen Popović, “Ancient Jewish Cultural Encounters and a Case Study on Eze­k iel,” in Mladen Popović, Myles Schoonover, and Marijn Vandenberghe (eds.), Jewish Cultural Encounters in the An­ cient Mediterranean and the Near Eastern World (Leiden: Brill, 2017), pp. 1–12.

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tradition that appears in that chapter.2 In the present instance our interests turn to Ezekiel 16, which concerns Je­ru­sa­lem’s downfall in the same period and contains another such allegory, this time personifying that city as a woman turned prostitute gone berserk. The prospect of isolating a distinct source in Ezekiel 16, with its extensive discourse on Is­rael’s history, is not new. Many among those who have struggled to understand the depiction of Je­ru­sa­ lem in this chapter have sensed different threads in the weaving of its tapestry.3 The most significant expression of which came from Hermann Gunkel, who, now over a century ago, recognized the complexity of the text and sensed that the foundling story in verses 4–14 appearing in it must stem from distinct narrative material that found its way into the chapter: Thus, while these features of the narrative were intended allegorically by the prophet, the ex­tensive portrayal of the girl’s exposure and her growing up among the flowers of the field defies any interpretation of Je­ru­sa­lem’s fate. Here then it is obvious that Ezekiel has taken narrative ma­terial (Erzählungsstoff ) that somehow reached him.4 The present study proposes to identify the very Erzählungsstoff imagined by Gunkel to have provided the impetus for this chapter’s stunning picture as GE, a specific portion of which, it is argued, was drawn on in discernible ways to form parts of the depiction of Israel’s history in Eze­ kiel 16 and thus transform this history toward its current standing. This claim goes considerably further than a recent and insightful consideration of the civilization-of-the-savage motif with respect to Ezek 16:8, which, inter alia, found “remarkable parallels” between the Šamḫat-Enki­du encounter in GE and Ezekiel 16 and even spoke of “Ezekiel’s adaptation of the Gilgamesh material.”5 But that study, which is manifestly limited in scope, did not develop this idea signifi­cant­ly, and ultimately offered no real context for the limited parallels observed. By contrast, this paper claims a much more extensive, deliberate, and meaningful relationship between the Mesopo­ ta­mian and Biblical traditions, a claim bolstered by specific, lexical points of contact that are analyzed below. Though it remains difficult to account for the specific setting in which the transmission asserted here took place, the following does not shy away from the qualification of this relationship between GE and Ezekiel 16 as intertextual.6 In order to appreciate all this, an overview of Ezekiel 16 is in order, followed by another, of the passage from GE that provides the alleged source of the allegory. Following these, attention is turned to the parallels between the two texts, including the contact points just noted. The implications of these findings for this paper’s overall contention are taken up in the concluding section. 2 Winitzer, “Assyriology and Jewish Studies,” pp. 179–205. 3 With minor exceptions, the following does not entertain the massive secondary literature on the subject of Ezekiel 16 and its composition, though it does rely on summaries of the chapter’s major exegetical issues in some of the more recent and reliable commentaries. 4 Hermann Gunkel, Das Märchen im Alten Testament (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr; Paul Siebeck, 1917), p. 115: “Wäh­rend also diese Züge der Erzählung vom Propheten allegorisch gemeint sind, spottet die so breit ausge­ führ­te Schilderung der Aussetzung des Mädchens und ihres Aufwachsens unter den Blumen des Feldes jeder Deu­tung auf Je­r u­sa­lems Geschick. Hier ist es also mit Händen zu greifen, daß Hesekiel einen ihm irgendwie zu­ge­kommenen Erzählungsstoff aufgenommen hat.” 5 S. Tamar Kamiankowski, “The Savage Made Civilized: An Examination of Ezekiel 16.8,” in Lester Grabbe and Robert Haak (eds.), Every City Shall Be Forsaken: Urbanism and Prophecy in Ancient Israel and the Near East (London: Bloomsbury, 2001), pp. 124–136, esp. 134. 6 On the challenges to this possibility, however, see Winitzer, “Assyriology and Jewish Studies,” pp. 203–204.

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II Ezekiel 16: Introductory Matters How is one to summarize Ezekiel 16? This massive, bizarre, graphic, disturbing chapter defies simple explanation. Atop usual text-critical problems and the like, the text is linguistically rich and difficult, with many foreign or at least non-standard words and forms,7 as well as highly unusual, eyebrow-raising imagery. It is also literarily complex and artfully constructed, making use of different structures, metaphors, and themes; these include elements of the lawsuit pattern and, of course, the metaphor of adultery in the chapter’s overall presentation of history and prophecy. In fact, however, in few of these respects is Ezekiel 16 unique. One can point to parallels to nearly every aspect of it elsewhere, including, most significantly, the adulterous-wife metaphor, a well-established idea in Biblical prophecy, which goes back at least as far as Hosea. Even its graphic version here finds analogue, as do the named nations with which all this is done or the depraved sisters later in the chapter. Indeed, all this is found within Ezekiel itself (Chapter 23). Still, one struggles to find parallels in any other text with the detail and force manifest in Eze­ kiel 16, in particular with respect to the adultery metaphor. In both quantitative and qualitative terms things here appear of a different order. This claim finds backing in the preponderance of the root zānā(h), “to whore,” occurring some twenty-one times in various forms and in some of the most vulgar senses imaginable, far more than anywhere else. But more significant still than this display of mass and force is the all-encompassing manner by which the picture is presented, for nowhere else is this idea extended in time so as to offer the adulteress what one commentary described as a full-fledged “biography.”8 It is the combination of this biography and its artistry with a statement about Israel’s history that makes this chapter so compelling – indeed, ultimately unique. The present setting cannot dwell on this chapter’s shaping of Israel’s history. This, too, has been amply discussed in the secondary literature, and what appears below sheds no new light on the text’s implicit references to historical or political events.9 But in any case, ten or fifteen verses would surely have sufficed for such purposes, not this chapter’s sixty-three. And stripped of the rest, the periodization of Israel’s prehistory, early kingship, and the ever-growing international entanglements leading to the text’s present day would struggle to contend with the sophistica­tion of an ancient chronicle. It is, rather, the mediation of this history through an elaborate allegory that animates this chapter and enables its spectacular portrait. And it is exactly this allegory, whose start Gunkel had suspected to stem from an earlier source, that constitutes our present focus. The following moves then to the summaries of Ezekiel 16 and the relevant portion of GE. Though our findings will ultimately be demonstrated to bear on the entire Biblical chapter, the emphasis below is directed to its first half and the details about the personified Je­ru­sa­lem appearing therein. In the case of GE, our interest centers on the early part of the actual story, which follows the epic’s prologue and Gilgameš’s introductory hymnic praise, with the background, creation, and humanization of Enkidu, leading up to his civilization and arrival at Uruk. Each 7 Summaries of which appear in the commentaries, e.g., Moshe Greenberg, Ezekiel 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 22; New York: Doubleday, 1983), pp. 29–67; Daniel Block, The Book of Ezekiel: Chapters 1–24 (NICOT; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1997), pp. 464–465. 8 Greenberg, Ezekiel 1–20, p. 299. 9 We accept the communis opinio holding that the references to Assyria and Babylonia reflect, respectively, Ahaz’s vassalage to Tiglath-Pileser III in exchange of support in the Aramean wars, and Hezekiah’s involvement with Merodach-Baladan II just before Sennacherib’s arrival in Judah. See on which, e.g., Greenberg, Eze­kiel 1–20, p. 299; Block, Ezekiel, p. 495, and cf. below with note 68.

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summary is presented with minimal philology, with the reader referred to alternative readings, commentary, and references in the secondary literature, especially that by Zimmerli,10 Greenberg, Block, and George.11 III Textual Summaries 1. Ezekiel 16 In the first section following the opening call, Je­ru­sa­lem, having been reminded of her ancestry, is personified, initially as a foundling deprived of all the basics of the birthing rituals (vv. 4–14). On the day of her birth she is cast onto the open field, exposed, left to flounder in her own blood.12 Yahweh, who passes by and sees this image, pronounces that, despite her state, she should live and grow13 like the plants of the field. She eventually does, reaching puberty, sprouting hair all over though still bare in the open field. Again, Yahweh passes by and recognizes that she has reached the period of normative sexual activity. He covers her with his outer garment14 and takes her – an act sealed by way of covenant – as his own. He proceeds to care for her, washing, clothing, and bedecking her with jewelry. Her beauty becomes legendary, indeed royal, with perfect splendor that is divine (kālîl … hādār). But perfection breeds hubris and with hubris comes the predictable fall. In the next section (vv. 15–34) Je­ru­sa­lem is personified once again, but this time in a manner that, for reasons clarified below, is properly appreciated only when taken in its intended, raw sense – as a nymphomaniac turned untamed whore.15 This figure breaks every sacred taboo and even some norms of her assumed, profane line of work. Among the charges leveled at her one reads that she has turned to the precious metals of her God-given jewelry and made from these male, or phallic, images (ṣalmê zākār) with which she is said to whore; she covers these with some of the very clothes Yahweh had given to her, as she had previously done with the rest, when (literally) setting the stage16 for her activity. She not only offers to these images the food given to her; worse, she sacrifices, indeed, slaughters (šāḥāṭ) her own children to them. Whoring occurs everywhere, with everyone, including those from the nations mentioned, and in pornographic detail. So deranged is she that even

10 Walther Zimmerli, Ezekiel: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel, Chapters 1–24 (Hermeneia; Phil­ adelphia: Fortress, 1979). 11 Andrew R. George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic: Introduction, Critical Edition and Cuneiform Texts (2 vols.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003). 12 On the background of this imagery, see below and note 34. 13 The reading of the imperative follows LXX, which does not have nātattîk; so, e.g., Zimmerli, Ezekiel, p. 324. For an understanding of the verb’s sense, see Meir Malul, “Adoption of Foundlings in the Bible and Mesopotamian Documents: A Study of Some Legal Metaphors in Ezekiel 16.1–7,” JSOT 46 (1990), pp. 97– 126, esp. 112–113, and cf. below, note 34. 14 Lit., “wing,” though with the secondary sense of kānāp as a garment and its extremity or end; see BDB, p. 489b (text cited); cf. Block, Ezekiel, p. 478. For a parallel in GE, see below. 15 As shall be seen, attempts to whitewash Je­r u­sa­lem’s image with labels such as “harlot” misses the point of the story. 16 Or better, “stages.” Heb. bāmôt is described here as ṭəlû’ ôt, “variegated, speckled,” referring elsewhere to wool and here obviously to wool-based fabric (cf. Akk. burrumu). Thus, the standard sense for the noun, “high places,” is insufficient in the present case, even if it is clear that the word relates conceptually to the gāb and rāmā(h) in verses 24–25. Zimmerli, Ezekiel, p. 326, based on the versions, tentatively qualifies the latter as “tents?” Our rendering is based on Rabbinic Hebrew and elsewhere in Semitic (see AHw, p. 101) and on the suggested background for this image, which is explained below.

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the ways and means of her profession she turns on their head, paying prostitute’s wages to her lovers, rather than these coming from them to her!17 The text finally moves to summary and sentence (vv. 35–63): whereas something of hers has been poured out (MT: hiššāpek nəḥuštēk) and she has exposed herself (v. 36), and whereas she did not remember (zākart(î)) her youth, severe punishment looms. Significantly, the subject of the last charge, that of memory, is picked up at this chapter’s end, appearing prominently in the final promise of the covenant’s affirmation. Accordingly, ultimately Yahweh will remember (wəzākartî [v. 60]) the covenant of Je­ru­sa­lem’s youth and establish now an eternal one; and she will remember her ways and the shame of it all and be thereby absolved (wəzākart; tizkərî [vv. 61, 63]). 2. GE I 65–II ca. 112 18 Initially, Gilgameš is depicted as perfect, unearthly in beauty (lalû), walking about without equal in his great city (I 65–69). Once more, however, perfection and supreme prowess appear not to suffice. The king oppresses his citizens and exploits them in different ways.19 The youth of Uruk can no longer bear this and complain to the birth-goddess about Gilgameš’s endless harassment. They request of the goddess to create the king’s zikru, his idea or image,20 which, it is hoped, will somehow placate him (I 94–98). Their wish is granted. The goddess fashions Anu’s zikru from clay tossed in the wild, an act that also credits her with the forming of Enkidu (I 99–104). The description of this figure’s untamed nature stresses his hair, especially the hair appearing all over his body. He inhabits the open field, where he feeds on grass and takes drink from local waterholes (I 105–112). One day a hunter trapping animals catches sight of him. At once fascinated and scared, the hunter reports his findings to his father, who advises the son to go to Uruk, seek Gilgameš, and to return with a harlot who will tend to Enkidu. The son obliges, and Gilgameš’s advice fittingly parallels the father’s (I 140–145 // 162–166):21 Go, my son/O hunter, take with you Šamḫat, the harlot, When the herd comes down to the water hole, She should strip off (šaḫāṭu) her clothing to reveal her charms (kuzbu). He will see her and go up to her, His herd will reject him, though he grew up in their presence. Things go as planned. The harlot, Šamḫat, accompanies the hunter to Enkidu’s roaming place, and receives his instructions there (I 180–188):

17 See on which especially Yoram Cohen, “The Wages of a Prostitute: Two Instructions from the Wisdom Com­ position ‘Hear the Advice’ and an Excursus on Ezekiel 16,33,” Semitica 57 (2015): pp. 43–55, esp. 54–55. 18 For the text and commentary to it, see George, Gilgamesh, pp. 448–456, 524–563, 785–806. 19 Including, it seems, sexually (I 72–77); on which, cf. George, Gilgamesh, p. 449. For the significance of which, in the context of the story’s overall view of the place of sexuality in human development, see below. 20 For a discussion of differences between these options, see below, § V/1. 21 This parallel, which repeats the passage from two different perspectives, is taken in Tzvi Abusch, Male and Female in the Epic of Gilgamesh: Encounters, Literary History, and Interpretation (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2015), pp. 144–165, as evidence of an earlier source to the story, but this idea seems tenuous given this common literary ploy in ancient Near Eastern storytelling; see, indeed, the instructions to Šamḫat in ll. 180–187 appearing just below, whose content the narrator subsequently repeats in ll. 188–193.

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This is he, Šamḫat! Uncradle your bosom (kirimmu); Expose your nakedness (ūru) so he may take in your bounty (kuzbu)!22 Do not fear (šaḫāṭu), take in his scent! … Spread your clothing so he can lie on you! Treat him the sensuous art of a woman,23 His “love” (dādū) will caress (ḫabābu) you …,24 Šamḫat loosened her skirts (dīdū) … Enkidu does copulate with Šamḫat for six days and seven nights and is thereby sated (šebû) by her delights (lalû [I 194–195]). The experience proves transformative, with Enkidu’s very essence described as having changed. Wild animals, which had previously travelled with him in a pack, now turn away. He, by contrast, is now said to have reason and intelligence (ṭē[mu], ḫasīsu), and Šamḫat grasps fully the meaning of this change, likening Enkidu to a god (kī ili) whose place is in Uruk and its sacred temple (I 207–211). There, she adds, festivals are held daily, with its harlots bountifully adorned (kuzbu), full of joy (I 229–232). Uruk is also of course where Gilgameš is to be found, equally god-like and perfect in strength. Gil­gameš actually has a premonition of the future encounter in two nearly identical dreams, which he reports in turn to his mother. In the first, meteorites fall from the heavens (kiṣru ša Anim), and Gilgamesh loves and caresses one like a wife (râmu, ḫabābu … kīma aššati [I 246– 258]); in the second an axe (ḫaṣinnu) is the object of the same attention (I 276–285). Gilgameš’s mother interprets both identically: each foretells the coming of a companion (ibru), strong as the very rock Gilgameš had seen, who will befriend her son and be his savior. In both cases she predicts Gilgameš will love and caress this visitor as a wife (I 267 // 289). Plainly ideas about sexual ab­normality, let alone obsessions with gender distinctions, were of no concern to Gilgameš or his poet, with neither conveying the slightest hint of confusion or angst by the mother’s wisdom (I 295–297).25 The scene shifts back to the steppe, where Šamḫat, who somehow also knows of Gilgameš’s dreams, reveals everything to Enkidu, whereupon the two resume lovemaking (I 299–300). She continues to care for Enkidu as they head to Uruk. The standard text here is still quite broken, though in the better-preserved corresponding OB version it is clear that this involves her clothing Enkidu and later teaching him how to eat and drink (SB II 34–7, 44–?; OB Penn 85–108).26 Clothed and fed, the two reach Uruk, where, finally, Enkidu confronts Gilgameš (ca. II 112).

22 Our rendering of ūru here follows AHw, p. 1435, “Blöße”; cf. George, Gilgamesh, p. 796. More explicit options (e.g., CAD U, p. 265: “vulva”) or those defined by secondary connotations (e.g., Stefan M. Maul, Das Gilgamesch-Epos [Munich: Beck, 2005], p. 52: “Scham”) seem less fitting for this context; though with respect to the latter, note the reference to Je­r u­sa­lem’s shame (wabōšt … mippənê kəlimmātēk) in verse 63, surely with recalling the exposure of her ‘erwā(h) earlier (verse 36). On the rendering of kuzbu, see below. 23 Cf. George, Gilgamesh, p. 549, notes 31, 34. 24 The sense of ḫabābu here approximates George, Gilgamesh, p. 549; cf., however, Michael P. Streck, “Beiträge zum akkadischen Gilgameš-Epos,” Or 76 (2007), pp. 404–423, esp. 412. 25 For a recent word on these matters, see Martti Nissinen, “Are There Homosexuals in Mesopotamian Literature?” JAOS 130 (2010), pp. 73–77. 26 Additional versions of the scene are also extant in the MB versions; for a tally of which, see Andrew R. George, “The Civilizing of Ea-Enkidu: An Unusual Tablet of the Babylonian Gilgameš Epic,” RA 101 (2007), pp. 59– 80, esp. 71–72.

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IV Parallels, Contact, and Borrowing Some parallels between the details from Ezekiel 16 and GE surveyed here seem difficult to overlook. Indeed, when these are assembled and considered together, the stories at times appear to mirror one another. Both concern civilization and provide, via the medium of sex with a harlot, etiologies concerning it, for civilization’s formation on the one hand and its undoing on the other. Both engage in hyperbole to make their overall point, and both make use of graphic details in doing so. Initially the stories share a common “anti-primitivism” outlook: both imagine an origin of humanity’s earliest days as “a savage, pre-human, animal-[like] existence,” in which man lived in the wild chaos,27 in stark contrast to the city, in both traditions the terrestrial seat of divinity. Je­ru­sa­lem’s early divine-like beauty mirrors Enkidu’s ultimate appearance like a god; while the cover she takes under Yahweh’s kānāp recalls Šamḫat’s kirimmu, a term that likewise connotes protection, referring primarily to a mother’s cradling of a child, though with a secondary sense of a garment as well.28 At this point the stories go in opposite directions, though the imprint of one on the other is nonetheless clear. GE, it was seen, employs the sex metaphor to push towards the civilized city. In Ezekiel the reverse holds true. Details in GE echo those appearing in Ezekiel, though with opposite valences. These include undressing, the spreading of clothing, taking in/offering of fragrances, feeding, sexual satiation (šebû/śāba‘), and as shall be seen below, even more. Upon reflection, however, it becomes clear that the Biblical story should not be viewed as a simple reversal of its counterpart in GE. For starters, it appears that Ezekiel takes elements from the portrayal of both Enkidu and Šamḫat and combines them in his image of the personified Je­ ru­sa­lem.29 Accordingly, the early depiction of Enkidu in his savage state forms the initial parts of the Ezekiel passage, the portion Gunkel had suspected as building on an earlier source. Here one finds parallels with respect to two’s unusual birth, their growing in the open field, bodily hair as a marker of maturation, adulthood, and beauty. But a full appreciation of the complexity of Je­ ru­sa­lem’s image in Ezekiel 16 and the manner by which it relates to GE demands consideration of this image’s relationship with GE’s presentation of Šamḫat as well. The latter figure, after all, offers a metaphor for civilization and proves its mythic agent, transforming by way of her knowledge the undomesticated wild into the ordered urban. Exactly the opposite holds for Je­ru­sa­lem, a point underscored by the Biblical text when contrasting Je­ru­sa­ lem’s frenzy with what are deemed standard practices of prostitution (wayhî bāk hēpek, watəhî ləhepek [verse 34]). Je­ru­sa­lem is thus no more a prostitute in the conventional sense than is Šamḫat, whose idealization early on in GE also stands at a considerable remove from typical Mesopotamian attitudes about both the vulgar side of this practice and even this world’s favorable opinion of the “art” of some such women (šipir sinništi), whether in secular or cultic settings.30 Like Šamḫat, 27 See William L. Moran, “Ovid’s Blanda Voluptas and the Humanization of Enkidu,” JNES 50 (1991), pp. 121–127, who draws on the discussion of the “anti-primitivism” theme apparent in some classical writings in comparison to the depiction of Enkidu in GE. 28 See CAD K, p. 406; D, p. 136; George, Gilgamesh, p. 796. In what follows in both GE and Ezekiel this figurative language is replaced by the mention of actual clothes. On the motivation for the switch in the case of GE, see Benjamin R. Foster, “Gilgamesh: Sex, Love and the Ascent of Knowledge,” in John H. Marks and Robert M. Good (eds.), Love and Death in the Ancient Near East: Essays in Honor of Marvin H. Pope (Guilford, CT: Four Quarters, 1987), pp. 21–42; George, Gilgamesh, p. 797. 29 In this the Biblical text is not unique, even with respect to GE. A parallel may be found in the portrayal of Adam, which combines aspects of Enkidu (on which, see further below), Gilgamesh, and Utnapishtim. 30 On the positive side of the image of prostitution in Mesopotamian society, see George, Gilgamesh, p. 454; Jerrold Cooper, “Prostitution,” RlA 11 (2006), pp. 12–21, esp. 13; Dominique Charpin, La vie méconnue des temples mésopotamiens (Paris: Collège de France; Les Belles Lettres, 2017), pp. 139–140, 153.

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then, Je­ru­sa­lem in Ezekiel 16 is thus a metaphor, though in her case for the breakdown of the social, civilized, and cosmic order. As such her image figures as a calculated overturning of Šamḫat’s and her depiction, and is for this reason equally extreme, albeit in the opposite direction.31 An appreciation of the full extent of this calculation and the thinking behind it would take us too far afield in the present setting.32 But one tantalizing detail of the overall effort may offer a glimpse of the larger whole: this is the suggestion of Šamḫat’s hygiene, expressed by the spreading of her clothing, lubūšī muṣṣû (I 184 // 191), as part of her preparations for lovemaking; the phrase recalls the idiom ṣubāta muṣṣû, “to spread cloth/garment,” known in rituals in connection to spatial adornment or the preservation of cleanliness.33 The contrast with Je­ru­sa­lem, who feeds idols on her own spread, god-given clothes and then profanely butchers her own children on them, could hardly be starker. Yet things are even more complex than that. There are many important elements in Ezekiel 16 that have no equal in GE and that plainly reflect other traditions and thinking, both external and internal to Israel.34 Chief among these, no doubt, is Ezekiel’s conception of Israel’s relationship to her god as a covenant, or bərît, in keeping with this fundamental biblical idea; though this is perhaps better labeled a re-conception, since, as suggested here, in so doing the prophet reforms a non-native tradition he incorporates in keeping with genuine Israelite belief. In this respect things echo the well-known case of the Genesis’ flood story, which also incorporates an older counterpart from GE but does so according to Israelite theology (Gen 6:18; 9:1–17). And, as in that instance, the juxtaposition of GE and Ezekiel 16 on this occasion highlights Israelite thinking, which was doubtlessly sharpened by this occasion of ancient theological deliberation.35 31 It should be recalled, however, that GE offers an opposite, negative image of Šamḫat and what she represents as well. One place in which this can be sensed is in I 199, which describes Enkidu’s previously pure body now as defiled (šuḫḫû), perhaps owing to illicit his sexual relations with a prostitute; see on which George, Gil­ga­ mesh, p. 798; Walther Sallaberger, Das Gilgamesch-Epos: Mythos, Werk und Tradition (Munich: Beck, 2008), p. 29. But a negative image of prostitution is witnessed most prominently in Enkidu’s pre-death long curse of the harlot in GE VII 101–131 (better preserved in an earlier MB version; for which, see George, Gilga­mesh, p. 298), which surely echoes Mesopotamian attitudes about and fears of prostitution and its threats to the social order (so Cooper and Charpin; see previous note). It is left to wonder whether this tradition was known to Ezekiel, too, and provided additional inspiration or even the hook for his overall effort. 32 Inter alia, the issue would demand consideration of ideas about the place of prostitution and sexuality in cultic and religious contexts as well as the even-more difficult question of whether either was ever viewed in this world in purely non-religious terms. 33 Following the astute observation in George, Gilgamesh, p. 796; for the relevant references, see CAD U, p. 287. 34 An important insight about another part of the text’s external influence appears in Malul, “Adoption of Foundlings,” (slightly revised in idem, Society, Law and Custom in the Land of Israel in Biblical Times and in the Ancient Near Eastern Cultures [Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 2006], pp. 70–87 [Hebrew]; cf. also ibid., pp. 247–258), which relates the language in verses 1–7, in the depiction of the foundling, to legal terminology of adoption of foundlings in the Neo-Babylonian period. The overall picture of adoption, including that of foundlings, in Neo-Babylonian legal texts that appears in extensive study of the primary evidence and analysis of the terminology in Cornelia Wunsch, “Findelkinder und Adoption nach neubabylonischen Quellen,” AfO 50 (2003–2004), pp. 174–244, strongly supports Malul’s Sitz im Leben for Ezekiel 16; contra S. Tamar Kamiankowski, “‘In Your Blood, Live’ (Ezekiel 16:6): A Reconsideration of Meir Malul’s Adoption Formula,” in Kathryn F. Kravitz and Diane M. Sharon (eds.), Bringing the Hidden to Light: The Process of Interpretation: Studies in Honor of Stephen A. Geller (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007), pp. 103–113. 35 The likelihood that GE could have advanced Israelite ideas of covenant on this occasion may find further support when one recalls the epic’s highlighting of Gilgameš’s and Enkidu’s relationship, which, precisely as forecast by Gilgameš’s mother, blossoms into a friendship that proves transformative for her son. Mark S. Smith, Poetic Heroes: Literary Commemorations of Warriors and Warrior Culture in the Early Biblical World

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Such differences, however, should not take away from this paper’s overall claim; nor should they suggest an interpretation that is merely analogous in nature, with alleged parallels explicable as elements of a common human-origins motif. The factors already looked at as well as their sequence all militate against such possibility. But, as is typically the case in such instances, it is ultimately a detailed examination of specific points of contact that dispels lingering doubts. An examination of this sort appears in the following, concerning two lexical connections between GE and Ezekiel 16 that reinforce those discussed hitherto. As shall be seen, these cases offer compelling evidence of real knowledge of and reflection on the Mesopotamian tradition by the Biblical. V Two Contact Points Detailed 1. ṣalmê zākār and zikru The first involves the ṣalmê zākār, or male images, noted above, concerning which Je­ru­sa­lem is charged with her gravest offense. The etiology of these objects bears repeating: these she forms from the precious materials that Yahweh had given to her (v. 17). A startling parallel with GE becomes apparent when one recalls its discussion of the zikru in connection to the request made to the mother goddess for something with which Gilgameš can be pacified. Heb. zākār and Akk. zikru are cognates, though the full extent of their connection and this connection’s implications is revealed upon closer consideration of the Akkadian term in its Semitic context. The tentative renderings offered above to Akk. zikru as either “image” or “idea” reflect past schol­arly dissent concerning the word’s semantic range: on the one hand it has been taken in a more concrete sense, which has lead to understandings of Uruk’s plea as referring to Gilgameš’s “repli­ca”; on the other it has been understood as something more abstract, as in “idea.” 36 But such disagreement is both unnecessary and unfortunate, since it ignores basic etymological and tex­­tual factors that settle the matter and prove significant in this context. With respect to etymology, it is clear that Sem. √ðkr, which underlies Akk. √zkr, always bears both senses, as in Heb. zēker “memorial, commemoration,” frequently referring to something that can be formalized, and zākar “to remember,” a standard verb of cognition.37 The request to the birth goddess assumes this very point. If the sons of Uruk were somehow unclear about the pregnant nature of their own request, this was certainly not missed by the all-wise deity: When Aruru heard this, she formed (ibtani) Anu’s idea (zikru ša Anim) in her mind. Aruru washed her hands, she took a pinch of clay, she threw it down in the wild. In the wild she created (ibtani) Enkidu, the hero (I 99–103). Thus, the text, in its poetic unfolding, relates one sense of zikru to the other, according to which the form the birth goddess conceives is concretized by her actions. This development appears (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2014), pp. 53–54, 388–390 has recently entertained the proximity of Akk. ibru/ibrūtu, “friend/friendship,” to Heb. bərît and the potential of a relationship between these terms and ideas (with respect to David and Jonathan [1 Sam 18:1–3]). Though an etymological connection between the Akkadian and Hebrew words seems highly unlikely, it is not out of the realm of possibility that GE’s musings on the protagonists’ friendship provided inspiration for Ezekiel 16. 36 The extreme case of which appears in CAD Z, pp. 112–116, which divides these into two independent lexemes, labeled A and B; cf. AHw, pp. 1526–1527. 37 So Arab. ðikr and ðakara, respectively.

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to be mirrored (and is perhaps motivated) by the meaning of the phrase zikra banû, rendered in George’s provocative words as “to make the word flesh.”38 The understanding of humans in Mesopotamia as the zikru of the gods is not unique to GE. This is precisely the sense of PNs that adhere to the form zikir-DN (e.g., Zikir-Šamaš; cf. Zechariah); while kings, who are frequently described as the ṣalmu, or “image,” of the gods, appear in an analogous sense as their zikru, their incarnate form.39 The Epic of Zimri-Lim provides an instructive example of the latter, a reflection of the essence of Mesopotamian kingship with respect to the divine realm: May he be sanctified by the idea of Anu (zikru Anim), wild bull of the land! The gods named him (ibbû šumšu) Zimri-Lim. May he be sanctified by the idea of Anu (zikru Anim), wild bull of the land!… The king, in the form of Dagan (zikruš Dagan), is the prince (i 13–15, iii 31 // 33).40 In GE the connection between a physical sense of zikru and the king is not direct. Rather, as we have seen, it runs through Enkidu, the very embodiment of this idea and the epitome of physicality itself, who not only wows Šamḫat with his physique but in time is even dreamt of by Gilgameš in what are obviously phallic terms. This is the underlying sense of the kiṣru and ḫaṣṣinnu, the caressed meteorite and axe, which have also been recognized to alluding to other ideas or notions including strength and birth.41 The most intriguing of which remains the terms’ echo of Akk. kezru and especially assinnu, a would-be male version of a sacred courtesan figure (kezretu) in the first place and a gender-ambiguous cultic performer (assinnu) in the second. These allusions have been accepted by modern scholarship as intentional,42 38 George, Gilgamesh, p. 788. Note, too, that in his rendering of Uruk’s sons’ request, ibidem, p. 543 and n. 12, teases out still another, less developed sense of this term, rendering their words as merely “create what he suggests (zikiršu [I 96]).” 39 For an appreciation of Mesopotamian kings as the ṣalmu of the gods, see especially Peter Machinist, “Kingship and Divinity in Imperial Assyria,” in Gary M. Beckman and Theodore J. Lewis (eds.), Text, Artifact, and Image: Revealing Ancient Israelite Religion (Providence, RI: Brown Judaic Studies, 2006), pp. 152–188, esp. 161–162, 170–172; idem, “Kingship and Divinity in Imperial Assyria,” in Johannes Renger (ed.), Assur – Gott, Stadt und Land: 5. Internationales Colloquium der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft, 18.–21. Februar 2004 in Berlin (CDOG 5; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011), pp. 405–430. On the essential equivalence between ṣalmu and zikru in this respect, see Michaël Guichard, L’ épopée de Zimri-Lîm (FM 14; Mémoires de NABU 16; Paris: SEPOA, 2014), p. 32 note 57; cf. also John F. Kutsko, Between Heaven and Earth: Divine Presence and Absence in the Book of Ezekiel (BJS 7; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2000), p. 58, who lists zikru along with other, less-common terms that were used to describe divine cult statues, the primary term for which being ṣalmu. 40 Guichard, L’ épopée, pp. 13, 21, 30–32, with reference to similar examples. 41 See, e.g., Michael P. Streck, Die Bildersprache der akkadischen Epik (AOAT 264; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1999), p. 186; Barbara Böck, “Gilgamesh’s Dreams of Enkidu,” BiOr 71 (2014), pp. 664–672. Such ideas or notions, it should be added, need to be mutually exclusive to one another. 42 See George, Gilgamesh, pp. 452–454, who accepts the original insight of Anne D. Kilmer, “A Note on an Overlooked Word-play in the Akkadian Gilgamesh,” in Govert van Driel et al. (eds.), Zikir Šumim: Assyr­ i­ological Studies Presented to F. R. Kraus on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday (Leiden: Brill, 1982), pp. 128–132, but cautiously lays out the challenges in relating kiṣru to kezru; so Scott B. Noegel, Nocturnal Ciphers: The Allusive Language of Dreams in the Ancient Near East (AOS 89; New Haven: AOS, 2007), pp. 64–65. This reading has been challenged recently, most prominently in Martin Worthington, Principles of Akkadian Textual Criticism (SANER 1; Boston: W. de Gruyter, 2012), pp. 204–209, which considers such allusions offensive and thus unlikely; however, see note 46 below.

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a part of a calculated effort by GE and a commitment to paronomasia as a consequential medium for the story’s development.43 Indeed, it seems likely that this occasion of ancient philology went even further. For in Akkadian, as in Semitic generally, √zkr has a still more concretized form, met in Akk. zik(a)ru, “male, man,” 44 and this word has likewise been proposed as having been in mind in the layout of GE’s overall narrative.45 If so, then the relationship of zikru to zik(a)ru would parallel that of kiṣru and ḫaṣṣinnu to kezru and assinnu, respectively, with each of the terms that appear in the story (zikru, kiṣru, and ḫaṣṣinnu) resonating with its implicit referent (zik(a)ru, kezru, and assinnu) and thereby providing an important medium – that of language and its interpretation – through which to explore the place of human sexuality in the story’s overall dynamics. The present setting cannot elaborate the specifics of these matters, let alone offer a conclusive word on Mesopotamian thinking about the place of sexual knowledge in this world’s conceptions of civilization and order; though, as shall be seen, some unexpected light on these matters is shed from the external, Biblical perspective discussed below. Indeed, we may already note when turning back to Ezekiel that the latter text likely offers the sought-after corroboration46 that this instance of GE’s appeal to hermeneutics was not missed by at least one of the story’s perspicacious students. 43 For a further word on which, see, e.g., Dietz O. Edzard, “Kleine Beiträge zum Gilgames-Epos,” Or 54 (1985), pp. 46–55, esp. 48–50; Foster, “Gilgamesh”; idem, The Epic of Gilgamesh: A New Translation, Analogues, Crit­ i­cism (Norton Critical Edition; New York: Norton, 2001), pp. xviii-xix; Victor A. Hurowitz, “Finding New Life in Old Words: Word Play in the Gilgamesh Epic,” in Joseph Azize and Noel Weeks (eds.), Gilgameš and the World of Assyria: Proceedings of the Conference Held at Mandelbaum House, the University of Sydney, 21–23 July, 2004 (ANESS 21; Leuven: Peters, 2007), pp. 67–78. 44 So Heb. zākār “male, man”; Arab. ðakar/ðukrān, “male, penis.” A common etymological root for these senses of Sem. √zkr is highly likely but difficult to prove, though it is equally impossible and unwise to deny; pace, e.g., Willy Schottroff, “Gedenken” im Alten Orient und im Alten Testament: Die Wurzel zākar im semitischen Sprachkreis (2nd ed.; WMANT 15; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1967). Given the male-dominated nature of genealogies, the reasoning for connecting the sense of “memory” with that of “male” posited in Lane, pp. 969–970, s.v. ðakar, seems sound: “[male is to be understood as] probably signifying ‘mentioned’ or ‘talked of ’ … the corresponding word in Hebrew … has been supposed to have this signification because a male is much ‘mentioned,’ or ‘talked of ’; and it is well known that the Arabs make comparatively little account of a female.” But it is important to remember that even if one disputes this explanation, it is the perspective of the ancients that ultimately matters, for whom the connection would never have been in doubt. 45 So, e.g., Stephanie Dalley, Myths from Mesopotamia: Creation, The Flood, Gilgamesh, and Others [rev. ed.; Ox­ ford: Oxford University Press, 2000], p. 126 ad 9; Foster, The Epic of Gilgamesh, p. xix; cf. George, Gilga­mesh, pp. 788–789. 46 See George, Gilgamesh, p. 452. This point finds important backing when connected to the passage in Ištar’s Descent that tells of Ea’s creation of Aṣûšu-namir, the figure who will descend to the Netherworld to rescue Ištar. Lines 91–92 of that text (K 162 version; ms. A in Pirjo Lapinkivi, The Neo-Assyrian Myth of Ištar’s Descent and Resurrection: Introduction, Cuneiform Text, and Transliteration with a Translation, Glossary, and Extensive Commentary [SAACT 6; Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 2010], 19) read: “Ea, conceived the idea (ibtani zikru) in his wise mind, He formed (ibni) Aṣûšu-namir, the assinnu.” Here, then, the connection of zikru and assinnu is explicit and must be intentional (cf. Martti Nissinen, Homoeroticism in the Biblical World: A Historical Perspective [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998], pp. 29, 33–34), a further twist on the implicit play of zikru in l. 91 and zikaru, “male.” (On the latter, see, e.g., Dalley, Myths from Mesopotamia, p. 161 ad 12; Benjamin R. Foster, Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature [3rd ed.; Bethesda, MD: CDL, 2005], p. 502 note 2.) What makes so-called third-gender characters including the assinnu, kulu’u (in the variant ms.), or kurgarrû (in the Sumerian version of the story in Inanna’s Descent) intrinsic for the plotline of Ištar’s or Inanna’s rescue remains less than clear (for some proposals, see Nissinen, Homoeroticism, p. 29; Ilan Peled, Masculinities and Third Gender: The Origins and Nature of

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This, after all, is one implication of Heb. zākār in ṣalmê zākār, which demonstrates that in the case of Ezekiel Mesopotamian hermeneutics were clearly grasped and taken as instrumental to the larger story. Of course in Ezekiel’s rendition one encounters no meteorites or axes falling from the sky, and the borrowing of the zikru idea appears to have been undertaken not to advance a tale of a primordial male to be cultured via sexuality, clothing, feeding, and the like, and elevated to a level approaching divinity. The latter appears with diametrically opposite intentions: for the prophet the subject of attention to which clothing and feeding and, above all, sex is directed is a mere image, though one with devestating effects. And it may well be that even with respect to the meteorites and axe the possibility for a connection was not lost on the mind of the insightful prophet, either, and the etiology he develops for Je­ru­sa­lem’s metal images. For in Mesopotamia meteorites were celebrated as the heavenly source of good-quality iron – in one text fitting for no less than an axe (or dagger) of Lugalbanda, Gilgameš’s legendary father (Lugalbanda I 358–359).47 In short, the Mesopotamian zikru is turned inside out in Ezekiel’s zākār. The latter, in turn, finds a fitting home in the prophet’s extensive polemics against idolatry, which employ an extensive terminology, including ṣəlāmîm, “images,” to excoriate cult worship deemed improper.48 As with ṣalmê tô‘ēbôt, “images of abominations (7:20)” and ṣalmê kaśdîm, “images of Chaldeans (23:14)” appearing elsewhere, Ezekiel employs zākār here to specify the nature of the ṣəlāmîm against which he rails. All three of these cases, along with the prophet’s broader anti-idolatry terminology and imagery, have been characterized as “illegitimate expressions of divine presence,” the opposite of his prominent depiction of true divine manifestation (esp. kābôd) elsewhere.49 But given what has been proposed for its background on this occasion, it is tempting to see in zākār the very essence of this idea, intended, once concretized, as the prototypical anti-divine form.50 Justification for this claim as well as a measure of its significance become more appreciable when one recalls the only parallel in which the constituents of the phrase ṣalmê zākār appear in comparable proximity to one another: this occurs in the expression of the imago dei idea in Genesis 1, in which the ṣelem ’ǝlōhîm is substantivized in gendered forms, zākār and nəqēbāh.51 The extent to which that crucial idea may relate to Ezekiel cannot be taken up here in any detail, although parallels between what emerges from the Bible’s divine-based zākār, Adam, and Enkidu – these include their clay-based formation, divine/savage duality, animal-based life, humanization via sexuality – offer an important perspective on Ezekiel’s inversion of this shared mythology about the primal human. The portrayal of Je­ru­sa­lem’s gravest offense, then, which

an Institutionalized Gender Otherness in the Ancient Near East [AOAT 435; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2016], pp. 57–58). Whatever the case, a parallel between the language of Aṣûšu-namir’s formation and that of En­k i­ du’s in GE is undeniable (so, e.g., Nissinen, Homoeroticism, pp. 33–34; George, Gilgamesh, p. 788). More­over, while they are certainly not to be imposed in full on the Mesopotamian counterpart, Ezekiel’s reflections about zākār inevitably say something about the manner by which Akk. zikru was intended in GE itself. When one connects the dots, the proposition that the connection of zikru and assinnu in Ištar’s Descent was over­ looked in GE seems impossible to defend. 47 George, Gilgamesh, p. 793; cf. Herman L. J. Vanstiphout, Epics of Sumerian Kings: The Matter of Aratta (WAW 20; Atlanta: SBL, 2003), pp. 124–125, where these are ll. 363–364. 48 On which, see the extensive discussion in Kutsko, Between Heaven and Earth, pp. 25–47. 49 Kutsko, ibid., p. 25. 50 Cf. Kutsko, ibid, p. 55, the prominence of ṣalmê zākār in Ezekiel 16:17–19 relates to the elaborate detail given on that occasion to the idol’s care and feeding. 51 On the connection and tension between the imago dei idea in Genesis and Ezekiel, see already Kutsko, ibid., pp. 63–70.

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relates to the prophet’s broader attack on idolatry and its imagery, appears to draw inspiration from GE’s heavenly zikru in expressing the vulgar zākār.52 2. *nəḥūšā(h) and kuzbu The second contact point involves the crux nəḥuštēk (verse 36), conveying, as described above, something poured out of the body of the personified Je­ru­sa­lem.53 The term’s connection to the Mesopotamian world and Akk. √nḫš, which underlies the very common Akk. nuḫšu, “abundance, plenty,” was posited by Greenberg years ago; though he turned his attention to naḫšātu, “(vaginal) hemorrhage,”54 and read nəḥuštēk as a substantivize, suggesting that a cognate of the Akkadian medical term was reimagined in Ezekiel in graphic, erotic ways.55 Greenberg’s solution is to be commended for turning to Akk. √nḫš for perspective, though it remains problematic nonetheless. For no evidence of the sense proposed is known in the case of naḫšātu, which has been taken more recently as an actual loan in Ezekiel.56 And even if *nəḥūšā(h) is understood as only a cognate to the Akkadian, still no explanation was offered concerning the motivation for the curious choice of a lexeme, with a root that is almost non-existent in Israel’s writings but abundant in Mesopotamia’s.57 Nor are more suitable alternatives to convey different senses of “bounty” difficult to imagine: these include allusive options, such as ‘ēden, a favorite term of the prophet (Ezekiel 28; 31; 36),58 or a graphic one, such as zôb, a fitting choice given his priestly background. Is it a mere coincidence, then, that Ezekiel, situated in Mesopotamia and steeped in its traditions, would simply have opted for a rare Hebrew word with well-known Akkadian parallels? Or may something specific have prompted his choice? The comparison of GE to Ezekiel 16 opens the necessary path to answer these questions and also bolsters this paper’s main contention. The key to this is to be found when one juxtaposes the stories of the harlots in the respective traditions and considers the specific language directed at each. More precisely this involves GE’s reference to kuzbu in the instructions given to Šamḫat 52 This is not to say that Ezekiel 16 is unique in its employment of Heb. √zkr when speaking about idolatry; cf. Isa 57:8 (on the imagery three verses earlier in this text, see n. 68 below); Jer 17:2. Still, as has already been seen, and as is detailed further in what follows, the prophet’s message seems especially gripping when it suc­cess­fully merges Mesopotamian tradition with ideas native to or at least established elsewhere in Israelite thought. 53 The following discussion builds on the introductory comment on this issue in Winitzer, “Assyriology and Jewish Studies,” p. 166 and note 15. 54 Moshe Greenberg, “NḤŠTK (Ezek. 16:36): Another Hebrew Cognate of Akkadian naḫāšu,” in Maria de Jong Ellis (ed.), Essays on the Ancient Near East in Memory of Jacob Joel Finkelstein (Hamden, CT: Archon 1977), pp. 85–86. 55 Specifically as “juice”; see Greenberg, “NḤŠTK,” p. 86; Greenberg, Ezekiel 1–20, p. 285; also Block, Ezekiel, pp. 467, 500, which, however, still renders the term as “passion”; Hayim Tawil, An Akkadian Lexical Com­ pan­ion for Biblical Hebrew: Etymological-Semantic and Idiomatic Equivalents with Supplement on Biblical Ara­ maic (Jersey City, NJ: Ktav, 2009), pp. 237–238. 56 Victor A. Hurowitz, review of Akkadian Loanwords in Biblical Hebrew, by Paul Mankowski. JAOS 122 (2002), pp. 136–138, esp. 138; cf. Tawil, Akkadian Lexical Companion, pp. 237–238. 57 On Heb. √nḥš in Gen 30:27 as a cognate of Akk. √nḫš, see Jacob J. Finkelstein, “An Old Babylonian Herding Contract and Genesis 31:38,” JAOS 88 (1968), pp. 30–36, esp. 34 note 19, and Tawil, Akkadian Lexical Com­ pan­ion, p. 237, both with additional bibliography. For attestations of Akk. √nḫš in cuneiform literature, see CAD N/1, pp. 133–134 and N/2, pp. 319–321. 58 On the semantic range of ‘ēden, see Jonas C. Greenfield, “A Touch of Eden,” in Orientalia J. Duchesne-Guille­ min emerito oblate (AI 23; Leiden: Brill, 1984), pp. 219–224; Alan R. Millard, “The Etymology of Eden,” VT 34 (1984), pp. 103–106, building on the equation of Aram. √‘ dn and Akk. ṭuḫdu in the bilingual inscription from Fakhariya. On synonyms of ṭuḫdu, including nuḫšu, see below.

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(and their repetition); these direct her to “expose (her) nakedness,” ūra petû, so as to enable Enki­ du to partake of it: Expose your nakedness (ūru) so that he may take in your kuzbu (I 181 // 189).59 On this occasion kuzbu appears to be a euphemism for Šamḫat’s or sexual vigor or even parts, although generally the term has the sense of “luxuriance, abundance (cf. Ger. Fülle).”60 One encounters this meaning for kuzbu even in GE itself, in the depiction of Uruk’s harlots (I 231). In this latter, more common sense, kuzbu is an established synonym of nuḫšu. This is evident in different literary genres, including lexical sources, as in the following, in which the two are equated via Sumerian: 102. ḫé-gal = ṭuḫ[du] 103. ḫé-nun = nuḫ[šu] 104. ma-dam = ḫiṣ[bu] 105. ḫi-li = ku[zbu] 106. ḫi-li = n[uḫšu] (Lú = ša Short Recension II 102–106 [MSL 12, 107]) The same picture appears elsewhere, including in the writings of Sennacherib, in which the king boasts of his lavish renovation of Assur’s Akītu Temple: I surrounded it with a fertile (nuḫšu) grove, an orchard of all kinds of fruit, and edged it with luxuriant (kuzbu) flowerbeds (Sennacherib no. 168, l. 35 [RINAP 3/2, 246–249]). Could this synonymy have been appreciated outside the cuneiform world, with GE’s kuzbu inspiring Ezekiel’s nəḥuštēk? The possibility finds support when considered in the context of the broad matrix presented above, which was already shown to include a case of a Hebrew trope allegedly building on an Akkadian counterpart: Yahweh’s clothing Je­ru­sa­lem with his kānāp with respect to Šamḫat’s loosening her kirimmu for Enkidu. The case of nəḥuštēk offers a more impressive example of this effort. In other words, it is submitted that the word represents an attempt to render kuzbu, an otherwise-enigmatic foreign idea,61 with something evidently more familiar to a Hebrew audience. The immediate environment in which the two words appear reinforces this claim. For in the respective line and verse in which they occur, each is coupled with reflexes of Sem. √‘rw, Akk. ūru and Heb. ‘erwāh, precisely in the same sense.62 Noteworthy, too, is the order of the Hebrew pairing vis-à-vis the Akkadian: 59 As noted above, the term also occurs earlier with respect to Šamḫat (I 143 // 164). 60 Not all translations of the term’s appearance on this occasion have veered away from this basic sense: cf., thus, Albert Schott, Das Gilgamesch-Epos (rev. ed. by Wolfram von Soden; Stuttgart: Reclam, 1984), p. 21: “Deinen Schoß tu auf, daß deine Fülle er nehme!” 61 Note, however, Hurowitz, “Finding New Life,” p. 68 and n. 13 who tentatively suggests a connection between the PN kozbî for the Moabite seductress appearing in Num 25:15, 18, and Akk. kuzbu. Though this possibility seems highly likely, it does not necessarily prove knowledge of kuzbu’s background. The term appears in many female PNs and is an attribute of numerous goddesses (see, e.g., CAD K, p. 614), and thus could have been cleverly adopted though without real knowledge of its roots. 62 Recall that there is clear evidence elsewhere of the Biblical appreciation of this equivalence; see Abraham Winitzer, “Etana in Eden: New Light on the Mesopotamian and Biblical Tales in Their Semitic Context,” JAOS 133 (2013), pp. 441–465.

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Expose your nakedness (ūru) so that he may take in your bounty (kuzbu) (I 181 // 189) Because your abundance (nəḥuštēk) was poured out and your nakedness (‘erwātēk) was exposed owing to your whoring with all your lovers … (verse 36). Inversion of word order has been recognized as a hallmark of intertextual reference in a broad swath of ancient literature.63 In the case of Mesopotamia, for which this phenomenon was most recently studied, different levels of intertextuality have been described. These included a basic level, consisting of the inversion of individual phrases or sentences of one text by another, and a more advanced one, at which one text is demonstrably dependent on another in terms of structure. 64 It was further established that the former, basic level, could at times be situated within the more advanced one, with a quotation by one text of another appearing within a broader literary structure that is itself based on the same text.65 Something of this picture seems to describe the case here. Within the broader claim of textual dependency by Ezekiel 16 on GE, the charges laid out in verse 36 against Je­ru­sa­lem appear to paraphrase the instructions given to and dutifully followed by Šamḫat. It appears, then, that Greenberg was correct in his analysis of Heb. nəḥuštēk as a cognate of Akk. √nḫš, and only steered off course without the benefit of the context presented here. In the final analysis, the difficult Hebrew term should not be taken graphically and in all likelihood was not intended as such. Rather, it is a euphemism that was meant allusively, precisely as in the case of Šamḫat’s kuzbu, of which it is a learned loan translation, or calque. VI Analysis and Conclusions The correspondences of zikru and zākār and that of kuzbu and *nəḥūšā(h) explored in the preceding section add compelling evidence to claims of contact between Ezekiel 16 and GE. These correspondences, moreover, contribute beyond their number for our assessment of Ezekiel’s grasp of GE. This can already be appreciated from the Mesopotamian perspective, from which a concern with zikru and kuzbu needs little explanation. Indeed, despite their brief mention in the epic, it is clear that these terms should not be construed as insignificant or incidental to an understanding of GE and its main thrust. Zikru and kuzbu, after all, reflect complex ideas in Mesopotamian thought, especially with respect to the relation between the heavenly and earthly domains of that world. In the case of zikru, as we have seen, this included abstract notions of divine origins that find their most meaningful expression, indeed their embodiment, in the human form. Some parallel to this overlap in the relation of divinity and humanity can be seen in the case of kuzbu. This attribute bears numerous 63 In Old Testament studies of inner-biblical exegesis, the recurrent phenomenon is often dubbed Seidel’s Law; see, e.g., Bernard M. Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), pp. 18–20; Isaac Kalimi, The Reshaping of Ancient Israelite History in Chronicles (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005), pp. 232–233. For examples of this practice in the literatures from antiquity, see esp. Pancratius C. Beentjes “Discovering a New Path of Intertextuality: Inverted Quotations and Their Dynamics,” in L. J. de Regt, J. de Waard, and J. P. Fokkelman (eds.), Literary Structure and Rhetorical Strategies in the Hebrew Bible (Assen: Van Gorcum; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996), pp. 31–50 (citing examples from Biblical, Classical, and even Egyptian sources) and Andrea Seri, “Borrowings to Create Anew: Intertextuality in the Babylonian Poem of ‘Creation’ (Enūma eliš),” JAOS 114 (2014), pp. 89–106 (Mesopotamia); also Angela Standhartinger, “Colossians and the Pauline School,” NTS 50 (2004), pp. 572–593 (New Testament). 64 Seri, “Borrowings to Create Anew.” 65 Seri, “Borrowings to Create Anew,” pp. 99–100.

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connotations of attractiveness that are shared by humans and the gods, and, indeed – as already met in Sennacherib’s words above – even their nexus in the Mesopotamian temples.66 GE’s reference to Šamḫat’s sexuality as her kuzbu may seem initially incongruent against this background, though not when one recalls the prostitute’s overall role in the epic. This euphemism fits squarely within her role as purveyor of knowledge via sex, or, better, as the agent or personification of the sexual metaphor itself, which advances human development towards the ultimate goal of an appreciation of the ineffable and transcendent. Šamḫat’s kuzbu, in other words, is nothing less than a microcosm of cosmos itself. Given this background, Ezekiel’s attention to zikru and kuzbu may seem less than surprising initially. Though even upon brief reconsideration it becomes clear that an outsider’s appreciation of these ideas and their significance represents a singularly impressive achievement. In engaging with these matters, after all, the prophet reveals not only an understanding of key aspects of Mesopotamian thought in GE and perhaps even beyond. As the preceding has tried to demonstrate, Ezekiel 16 strives not for a comprehension of Mesopotamian ideas but rather for their manipulation and reconfiguration, in an effort undertaken toward the telling of Israel’s story. It is in this effort, in the translation of foreign ideas into counterparts meaningful within the internal biblical framework, that Ezekiel’s mastery shines fully through. The preceding thus provides key evidence to support this paper’s broader claim. In the end, it does appear as if Ezekiel knew GE and made meaningful and extensive use of it, specifically its telling of the humanization of Enkidu by Šamḫat, in the composition of the longest chapter comprising that book. In so doing the prophet expanded considerably on a rendering of Israel’s history by way of an elaborate allegory, fleshing out the intriguing but otherwise brief historiographical account of Israel’s tribulations into its present “biographical” form. GE’s introduction into this complex provided the primary source for this undertaking. At times the borrowing of GE by Ezekiel is looser in nature, with the prophet using poetic license in the arrangement of his narrative, as when conflating imagery of Enkidu and Šamḫat in his personified Je­ru­sa­lem. Elsewhere, however, one encounters an impressive attention to detail, as in the prophet’s consideration of Akk. zikru and kuzbu and their biblical renditions. Such occasions, in combination with the remaining posited points of contact noted above as well as their overall sequence, support the overall contention that GE was a source of Ezekiel 16. Much, no doubt, remains to be said. Indeed, the preceding discussion could not consider additional factors that might well have furthered its overall claim. These include the statement of Je­ru­ sa­lem’s divine-like splendor (kālîl … hādār) and the possibility that, as elsewhere, here too such imagery relates to and may even have been inspired by Mesopotamian counterparts, in this case the repeated statements of divine beauty and splendor in GE (cf. lalû therein).67 A more intriguing case of further influence by GE on Ezekiel may be found in a parallel case of paronomasia involving two word pairings in the two traditions, with respect to Šamḫat’s name on the one hand and Je­ru­ sa­lem’s actions on the other. In GE this is evident in the twice-occurring prediction (ll. 143 // 164) 66 The issue is explained especially well in Irene J. Winter, “Sex, Rhetoric, and the Public Monument: The Alluring Body of Naram Sîn of Agade,” On Art in the Ancient Near East. Volume 2: From the Third Millen­ni­ um B.C.E. (CHANE 34; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2010), pp. 85–107, here 87–90. On Mesopotamian temple names comprised of ḫi-li, the Sumerian counterpart to kuzbu, see Andrew R. George, House Most High: The Temples of Ancient Mesopotamia (MC 5; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1992), pp. 98–99; Charpin, La vie mé­connue, pp. 152, 236. 67 On biblical hādār with respect to Mesopotamian analogues, see Shawn Z. Aster, The Unbeatable Light: Melam­mu and Its Biblical Parallels (AOAT 384; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2012).

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of her stripping, or šaḫāṭu, an act that reveals her kuzbu, as well as her twofold encouragement not to fear, from šaḫātu, the imminent sexual union (ll. 182 // 190), again in proximity to kuzbu (ll. 181 // 189). Homophones to these Akkadian terms can be pointed to in Ezekiel 16, in two of the most damning charges leveled against Je­ru­sa­lem: the sacrifice of her sons, employing šāḥaṭ (v. 21) and the bribing of lovers by way of šāḥad (verse 33). The appearance of such language in Ezekiel 16, while not unique, is nonetheless striking, especially for the manner by which it interrupts the allegory with hints of the possible underlying historical background.68 The possibility that, here, too, Ezekiel found some inspiration in GE is difficult to establish though, given the rest, also inviting to consider. It must be stressed, however, that the sort of borrowing of materials or ideas from GE posited here does not deny their reinterpretation in Ezekiel; nor, in the end, can one dissent from the conclusion that this effort must be deemed far more creative than adaptive in the ancient Near Eastern intellectual milieu – a milieu in which apparently, as those studies of Ezekiel noted above have stressed, the prophet was somehow also a part. As has been repeatedly observed, innovation, originality, and a text’s subsequent authority in this world were not envisioned from the ex nihilo perspective of later theological doctrine; rather, these qualities were measured with respect to a text’s composition from established tradition and the manner by which the new reshaped, subsumed, succeeded, or even inverted the old.69 It is hoped that what has been presented above offers a convincing case for Ezekiel 16’s seat at this table. But one, final demonstration of this chapter’s incorporation of tradition in the formation of something new may offer its finest example yet. This returns us to the chapter’s reflections on √zkr. Initially this was witnessed in Ezekiel’s transformation of Anu’s zikru, which in GE had formed the godly Enkidu, with Je­ru­sa­lem’s deformation of divine matter into the anti-divine ṣalmê zākār. But Ezekiel 16’s concern with √zkr does not end here. The root, as noted early on, reappears no less than three times in this chapter’s culmination, with the prophet’s final assertion that it is only via the remembrance (zākar) of things past that Yahweh will reestablish his covenant and Je­ru­sa­lem will find reconciliation and ultimate redemption. It is memory (√zkr), therefore, that for Ezekiel represents the sine qua non for Israel’s comprehension of the divine plan and the promise of its perpetuity, a bərît ‘ ôlām, or “eternal covenant,” to be established and remembered (√zkr) forever. Anu’s original “idea” (zikru), then, finds here its greatest metamorphosis – and thereby another example of Israel’s transformation from mythical to historical modes of divine representation. In posing things in this way, the prophet fulfills the fundamental requirement in the Bible’s telling of the past. For as has rightly been stressed, in the end, even above the use of sources, one imperative dictated Israel’s writing of history: zākôr.70 68 The former charge, referring to the practice of child sacrifice, is a subject of recurrent prophetic rebuke described in different terms (including šāḥaṭ; see Isa 57:5; Ezek 23:39) that are essentially interchangeable (Mordechai Cogan and Hayim Tadmor, II Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 11; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1988], p. 266), and thus it is impossible to connect it to a specific historical event. The latter references the paying of tribute in international relations, unusually described as šōḥad on two occasions (see Cogan and Tadmor, II Kings, p. 188). Of these one involves Ahaz’s dealings with Tiglath-Pileser III (II Kgs 16:8), and given the likely reference to that period earlier in the chapter (see note 9 above), it is tempting to posit a connection, though this cannot be confirmed. 69 For recent reiterations of this point, both with additional references, see Seri, “Borrowings to Create Anew”; Gösta I. Gabriel, “An Exemplificational Critique of Violence: Re-Reading the Old Babylonian Epic Inūma ilū awīlum (a.k.a. Epic of Atramḫasīs),” JANEH 5 (2018), pp. 179–213. 70 On the injunction to remember and its place in and tension with biblical and later Jewish historiography, see Yosef H. Yerushalmi, Zakhor: Jewish History and Jewish Memory (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1996).

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Part Three: Biblical History and Religion

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Allegedly Anachronistic Notes in the Books of Joshua and Samuel Alexander Rofé The Hebrew University of Je­ru­sa­lem A few words are called for to explain the title. There is a scant number of historical mentions in the books of Joshua and Samuel, mostly in the Septuagint and once in a Qumran manuscript, which betray knowledge of events occurring later in the history of pre-exilic Israel. To the modern scholar, these references do not constitute a problem. For him, for us, it is obvious that the books of the Former Prophets were not written contemporaneously with the events they describe. Karl Budde, for instance, maintained that the Documents of the Pentateuch J and E went on in the historical books, ending with events of monarchic times.1 Martin Noth put forward his theory that the Deuteronomistic work was compiled after the fall of Je­ru­sa­lem, being based on older sources.2 But what about ancient readers and scribes? They must certainly have noticed that historical books, such as Joshua and Samuel, usually do not contain allusions to later times. Had they found such references they would have considered them as anachronistic. And since we do not share their views in this respect, I classify such remarks as “allegedly anachronistic.” Let us take the passage, 1 Sam 27:6b, “therefore Ziklag belongs to the kings of Judah until this day” as an instance of the cleavage between the pre-critical and critical stance. This time, the pre-critical reader is represented by me as a youngster who read the Bible at leisure. Encountering this remark about the kings of Judah who owned Ziklag, I felt this verse to be out of tune with the surrounding accounts. It seemed to me as an intrusive element. On the other hand, if one looks into critical commentaries – such as by Julius Wellhausen, Karl Budde, Arnold B. Ehrlich, P. Kyle McCarter3 – he does not find any comment on the spot. For these critics, the verse constitutes an obvious confirmation for their conclusions about the composition of these stories at some point in the monarchic period. There are, of course, exceptions: Hugo Gressmann, Alexander F. Kirkpatrick and Ralph W. Klein,4 who highlighted the implications of the contents of this verse as relevant for the date of composition of the entire document, probably after the secession of Israel. They had been preceded by Don Isaac Abarbanel (1437–1508) who reiterated here his opinion that the Former Prophets were written by the prophet Jeremiah.5 Thus, Abarbanel boldly contested the Tannaitic view that: “Samuel wrote his book.”6 The way, now, was open to 1 Karl Budde, Die Bücher Richter und Samuel, ihre Quellen und ihr Aufbau (Giessen: Ricker, 1890). 2 Martin Noth, The Deuteronomistic History (JSOTSup 15; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1981; original German: 1943). 3 Julius Wellhausen, Der Text der Bücher Samuelis (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1871); Karl Budde, Das Buch der Richter erklärt (KHAT; Freiburg i.B.: Mohr, 1897); Arnold B. Ehrlich, Randglossen zur He­bräi­ schen Bibel (vol. 3; Leipzig: Hinrichs 1910); P. Kyle McCarter, Jr., I Samuel (AB 8; Garden City, NY: Double­ day, 1980). 4 Hugo Gressmann, Die älteste Geschichtsschreibung und Prophetie Israels (SATA; 2nd ed.; Göttingen: Vanden­ hoeck & Ruprecht, 1921), pp. 106–107; Alexander F. Kirkpatrick, The First and Second Books of Samuel (CB; Cam­bridge: University Press, 1930); Ralph W. Klein, 1 Samuel (WBC; Nashville: Th. Nelson, 1983). 5 Y. Abarbanel, Commentary on the Former Prophets (Pesaro, 1520; repr. Je­r u­sa­lem: Benei Arbel, 1955), p. 291 (‫ ;רצא‬Hebrew). 6 See below, pp. 7–8.

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another Sephardic Jew, Baruch Espinoza (Benedictus Spinoza) who attributed the Torah and the historical books to Ezra, the scribe.7 An isolated, yet noteworthy, comment has been offered by Henry Preserved Smith. He wrote: “As we have no other instance of the phrase kings of Judah in the books of Samuel, we may regard this sentence as an interpolation.”8 Yet I wonder: was it the phrase “kings of Judah” which prompted Smith or the exceptional character of verse 6b as a whole? First Samuel 27:6b is unique, it is a single case in the book of Samuel that explicitly mentions subsequent circumstances (a minor similar case is 2 Sam 12:20 which refers to the “House of the Lord” in the days of David).9 Now our question comes to the fore: How should we explain this situation? Were ancient Hebrew writers so sophisticated that they avoided references to their own times when they described the past? Or were later scribes, who copied existing works, so attentive that they deleted such references in order to present the ancient books as contemporary with the events they describe? I would say: Both questions are to be answered affirmatively. The Hebrew writers were indeed sophisticated; this I have tried to demonstrate elsewhere.10 As for the later scribes, some of their interventions in their inherited literature will be presented in the following. Let me start with Josh 6:26. The MT reads: At that time Joshua pronounced this oath: Cursed of the Lord be the man who shall undertake to rebuild this city of Jericho: he shall lay its foundations at the cost of his firstborn, and set up its gates at the cost of his youngest.11 Then the LXX has a plus which reads: “And so did Hozan from Bethel: he laid its foundations with Abiron, his firstborn, and with his youngest, Survivor, set up its gates.”12 In my opinion, Hozan is a light corruption of ho-zon, which corresponds to the Hebrew ‫החי‬, akin to Hebrew ‫ חיאל‬in the MT of the parallel passage, 1 Kgs 16:34. Abiron corresponds to the Hebrew ‫אבירם‬. As for the youngest son diasothenti, a passive participle of diasozo it should be retroverted to the Hebrew ‫“ ָׂש ִריד‬survivor” which is the usual correspondent in the book of Joshua.13 The fulfillment of Joshua’s curse is mentioned again in the MT of 1 Kgs 16:34: “In his days [namely, the days of Ahab] Hiel the Bethelite rebuilt Jericho. He laid its foundations at the cost of Abiram his first-born and set its gates at the cost of Segub his youngest, in accordance with the word of the Lord, spoken through Joshua son of Nun.” The prevailing opinion in the commentaries to the book of Joshua holds the LXX plus to be secondary and the verse in 1 Kgs 16:34 to be original. However, a recognized LXX expert,

7 Baruch Spinoza, Tractatus Thologico-Politicus (English Transl. by R. Willis; London: Trübner & Co., 1862), chap­ter VIII. 8 Henry P. Smith, Commentary on the Books of Samuel (ICC; New York: T. & T. Clark, 1909). 9 My student Yair Segev drew my attention to this passage. Cf. also Isaac Kalimi, Writing and Rewriting the Story of Solomon (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2018), pp. 70–73. 10 Alexander Rofé, “Properties of Biblical Historiography and Historical Thought,” VT 66 (2016), pp. 1–23. 11 NJPS translation. Apparently, the expression is a permerismus: all the children of the rebuilder of Jericho will perish while he is at work. 12 Here and below readings from the LXX have been quoted from A.E. Brooke and N. McLean, The Old Tes­ta­ ment in Greek (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1906–1940). 13 I cannot subscribe to the ingenious interpretation of Leah Mazor,” The Origin and Evolution of the Curse upon the Rebuilder of Jericho: A Contribution of Textual Criticism to Biblical Historiography,” Textus 14 (1988), pp. 1–26.

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Allegedly Anachronistic Notes in the Books of Joshua and Samuel

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Samuel Holmes,14 considered the LXX of Josh 6:26 to reflect a primary text. The main argument here is the secondary quality of the verse in 1 Kgs 16:34 MT. Not only it is not represented in the Lucianic manuscripts of the Septuagint; it disturbs the sequence of the grand story of Elijah and the Lord’s fight against Baal, 1 Kgs 16:29–19:18. Going into details: 1 Kgs 16:29–33 presents Ahab, his wife Jezebel, and the introduction of the Baal worship into Israel; 1 Kgs 17:1 brings in their antagonist, Elijah who retaliates the idol­ atry, announcing the Lord’s punishment, a prolonged drought.15 The insertion of a remark concerning the building of Jericho by Hiel interrupts the preamble of the story. It disturbed the sequence so badly that when Bishop Stephen Langton divided the Bible into chapters (ending in Can­terbury, 1215, I. K.) he started a new one after this verse, thus finally disrupting the presentation of the main characters of this majestic composition. The midrash also sensed the disconnected position of this new character, Hiel the Bethelite, and invented a short story in order to integrate him into an exchange between Ahab and Elijah.16 Finally, why was the statement about the rebuilding of Jericho interpolated at this point? Here we are at the outset of Elijah’s career. At the end of his career, in 2 Kgs 2:4–5, Jericho already exists. A scribe felt the need to tell how the city had come into being. Going back to Josh 6:26, it has been observed that the wording of the LXX-plus is not dependent on 1 Kgs 16:34. One can hardly explain why this passage has been secondarily appended here. On the other hand, if a late scribe knew the rather recent origin of that Hiel from Bethel, he would delete the remark from the Hebrew manuscript to the effect that the book of Joshua should not contain any data that belonged to later times. We turn now to the passage in Josh 16:10. The MT reads: “However, they [the Ephraimites] did not dispossess the Canaanites who dwelt in Gezer, so the Canaanites dwelt in the midst of Ephraim until this day. But they had to perform forced labor.” Once again a plus shows in the LXX: “until Pharaoh, king of Egypt, went up and took it and burnt it with fire, and they stabbed the Canaanites and the Perizites and the dwellers in Gezer. And Pharaoh gave it as dowry to his daughter.” The same contents appears in the MT of 1 Kgs 9:16 (not in the LXX there): “Pharaoh King of Egypt came up and captured Gezer and burned it down, killed the Canaanites who dwelt in the town, and gave it as a dowry to his daughter, Solomon’s wife.” Let us look into the verse’s context (9:15): “This was the issue of the forced labor which king Solomon imposed. It was in order to build the House of the Lord, and his own house, the Millo, the wall of Je­ru­sa­lem, and Hazor, Megiddo and Gezer…” The list continues at verse 17: “Solomon built Gezer, lower Beth Horon (9:18): Baalat and Tadmor in the desert…”. Evidently, verse 16 is extraneous. It interrupts the list of the cities built by Solomon. There is even an external mark that this historical comment has been interpolated – the repetition of 14 Samuel Holmes, Joshua: The Hebrew and Greek Texts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1914). He referred to Hollenberg as the one who preceded him in his appreciation of the LXX in Joshua; see Johannes Hol­lenberg, Der Charakter der alexandrinischen Uebersetzung des Buches Josua (Moers: Gymnasium, 1876). An important review of the research has been supplied in Michael N. van der Meer, Formation and Re­for­mu­ la­tion: The Redaction of the Book of Joshua in the Light of the Oldest Textual Witnesses (Leiden: Brill, 2001). 15 Alexander Rofé, The Prophetical Stories (Je­r u­sa­lem: Magnes, 1988), pp. 184–185. 16 Je­r u­sa­lem Talmud, Sanhedrin 10:2 [29b]. According to this midrash, Elijah went at the Lord’s command to console Hiel. He met there Ahab who claimed to have filled his country with idolatry, and despite Moses’ admonition (Deut 11:16–17) the land has enjoyed plenty and blessing. Thereupon Elijah retaliated, by inflicting a drought on the land.

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the statement about the building of Gezer functions here as a resumptive repetition (Wie­der­ aufnahme). Regarding the parallel passage, in the LXX to 1 Kgs 5:14, it looks as an elegant attempt to rearrange the data about Pharaoh’s daughter, setting the information within the international relations of Solomon. Thus, it appears that the comment about Gezer in Josh 16:10 LXX can be reckoned as original.17 At first sight the wording is cumbersome. The Greek starts out: “And the Canaanite dwelt amidst Ephraim until this day.” Then it proceeds to say: “Until Pharaoh King of Egypt came up…”. These two “until” statements contradict one another. However, it has been pointed out that a more genuine form of this verse obtains in Judg 1:29: “Ephraim did not dispossess the Canaanite who dwelt in Gezer, thus the Canaanite dwelt in his midst in Gezer.” Holmes adduced further arguments for the originality of the LXX-plus in Josh 16:10, namely that it represents an original Hebrew text.18 The omission of this sentence from the MT is due, in my opinion, to the purpose already mentioned: Events that occurred in monarchic times should have no place in the book of Joshua. There is an additional passage in the book of Joshua where the LXX presents a longer text. In Josh 19:47 we are told that the territory of the tribe of Dan was too narrow19 and therefore they went up to the north, conquered the city of Leshem, that is Laish, and settled there. The LXX here has two additional verses, one before 19:47, and one after. Both are extant in the MT of Judg 1:34–35. They tell the circumstances of that migration of the Danites: “The Amorites pressed the Danites into the hill country; they would not let them come down to the plain.” Then, after the migration of the Danites, the Amorites in turn were oppressed by the House of Joseph. Holmes, again, pronounced himself in favor of the originality of the extra verses in the LXX. In his opinion, they were omitted in a pre-MT text, because “the Hebrew reviser… omitted the part of the narrative which recorded failure, and retained the part which recorded conquest.”20 I would revert to the explanation already stated: The verses omitted from the MT describe events that obviously took place after the settlement; therefore they could not belong to the book of Joshua. We move now to the book of Samuel. In 2 Sam 8:7 we read: “David took the gold shields carried by the servants of Hadadezer and brought them to Je­ru­sa­lem.” Then the LXX supplies a plus: “And Susak King of Egypt took them when he went up to Je­ru­sa­lem in the days of Rehoboam son of Solomon.” The same contents is submitted by the Hebrew Qumran manuscript 4Q51 (socalled 4QSama):‫בן שלו[מה‬21 ‫( גם אותם [לקח אתו שושק מלך מצרים ב]עלותו אל יר[ושלים] בימי רחבעם‬If one ever needed a proof that these plusses of the LXX reflect a Hebrew text, here he finds it). Indeed, the data about Shishak (or Shushak) King of Egypt who took as his loot gold shields from Je­ru­sa­lem is mentioned in 1 Kgs 14:26 and 2 Chr 12:9. One cannot suspect that the extra-verse in 2 Sam 8:7 has been introduced after 1 Kgs 14:26, because there is a discrepancy between the two sources: 2 Samuel 8 speaks about ‫ ְׁשלָ ִטים‬taken by David from Hadadezer; 1 Kings 17 Cf. Carl Steuernagel, Das Buch Josua, übersetzt un erklärt (GHAT; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1923), p. 273. 18 Cf. Holmes, Joshua, pp. 7–8. 19 Reading ‫ ויאץ‬instead of ‫ויצא‬, as suggested by Houbigant, quoted by H.H. Rowley. From Joseph to Joshua (Lon­ don: Oxford University Press, 1958), p. 84, note 3. This elegant conjecture of a lectio difficilior, corrupted through scribal metathesis, relies on the parallel expression ‫ אץ‬in Josh 17:15 20 Cf. Holmes, Joshua, pp. 14–16. 21 Frank M. Cross et al., Qumran Cave 4. XII: 1–2 Samuel (DJD 17; Oxford: Clarendon, 2005), pp. 132–133.

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14 mentions ‫ ָמגִ ּנִ ים‬made by Solomon. ‫ ְׁשלָ ִטים‬equals ‫ ָמגִ ּנִ ים‬in Song of Songs 4:4: ,‫אלף המגן תלוי עליו‬ ‫כל שלטי הגבורים‬. However, Jer 51:11 submits the meaning “quiver” for ‫ׁשלָ ִטים‬, ְ which is supported by Akkadian parallels.22 Thus, one can doubt the veracity of the notice in the plus of the LXX and 4Q51 to 2 Sam 8:7. However, there is no reason to question the authenticity of this plus.23 In short: the document is authentic, but not reliable as a historical witness. We could suggest the same about the plus in the LXX of the next verse. Here again the Greek in 2 Sam 8:8 has a corresponding Hebrew text, this time in 1 Chr 18:8b. The MT in 2 Sam 8:8 tells us that from two cities of Hadadezer David took “a vast amount of copper.” The LXX and Chronicles add: “With that Solomon made the brazen sea, and the pillars [LXX+ and the layers] and all the vessels”. Is this plus original or was it added by a late, pietistic scribe? Let me first say that verse 11 in 2 Samuel 8 mentions dedications offered by David to the Lord. Thus, a certain cultic interest belonged to the chapter from its inception. In the present context, the mention of the vast quantity of copper, obtained by David, requires a destination. Or was the copper just piled up in a storehouse? Not so. That copper was utilized by Solomon. I find the remark quite natural. And, on the other hand, the mention of Solomon making use of the copper would disturb a scribe who believed that the book of Samuel was written by contemporaries. Concerning these passages, three in the book of Joshua and two in the book of Samuel, my conclusion is that they belonged to the primary text of these books. They were deleted by late scribes on dogmatic grounds: that Joshua wrote his own book, Samuel did the same, and after his death the work was continued by the two prophets mentioned in his book, Gad and Nathan. Thus, I would maintain that the Baraita in the Babylonian Talmud, Baba Batra 14b, is not a late invention; rather it conveys an opinion about the authors of Biblical books which originated long before, in early Hellenistic times. It says: “And who wrote them [the Biblical books]? Moses wrote his book and the book of Balaam and Job; Joshua wrote his book and eight verses in the Torah; Samuel wrote his book and Judges and Ruth…” These conclusions do not apply to 2 Sam 14:27 LXX which runs: “she [ea est, Tamar] became the wife of Rehoboam son of Solomon and she bore him Abiyah.” Indeed, a daughter of Absalom married King Rehoboam, but her name was not Tamar, but Maacah (1 Kgs 15:2). And if we look into 2 Chr 11:20–21 we read about this king that he had eighteen wives and sixty concubines and he begot twenty-eight sons and sixty daughters, sixty again! I wonder if these pieces of information befit this unfortunate king of a curtailed kingdom. But Rehoboam loved Maacah all right. I believe that we encounter here folkloristic data, legends that were told in late times. And legends freely disregard chronology: a daughter of Absalom could marry a reigning son of Solomon? How old would she be by then? Thus, I believe 2 Sam 14:27 LXX represents a late expansion which is part of a legendary embellishment of the history of the Davidic dynasty. The scribes of the pre-MT were right in not admitting this expansion into their text. The criterion I suggest for distinguishing between extra-Massoretic primary notes and secondary ones is form-critical. Historical remarks, right or wrong, could belong to the original literary sequences, while legendary embellishments, not unlike the midrash, probably derive from scribes active in the Persian or Hellenistic periods.

22 Cf. HALAT, pp. 1409–1410. 23 Contra Wellhausen, Der Text der Bücher Samuelis, p. 175; Moshe H. Segal, The Book of Samuel (Je­r u­sa­lem: Kiryat Sefer, 1956), p. ‫( רפז‬Hebrew).

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Samuel as the Paradigm of the Judges The Use of the Verb ‫ ׁשפט‬in the Books of Judges and Samuel Klaas Spronk Protestant Theological University, Amsterdam Characteristic of Israel’s history as it is written in the books of Samuel and Kings is its critical view of kingship. This distinguishes it from most of the history writing in the cultures of the ancient Near East. Among scholars there is much discussion concerning the relation between the texts criticizing kingship and those that are more positive. This also concerns the book of Judges, which, especially in its final chapters, may be read as an introduction to the stories about the kings. It is generally assumed that the repeated phrase “there was no king in Israel in these days; everyone did what was right in his own eyes” (Judg 17:6; 21:25; the first line is also found in 18:1; 19:1) may be seen to be an explanation of the cultic and moral decline and thus as a positive view of kingship. This seems to be in contrast with the negative view of kingship as expressed most clearly in chapter 9; the story of the bad king Abimelech and in Jotham’s fable condemning him. Different solutions have been proposed to explain this apparent contradiction. It should also be noted, however, that the history of Israel – as it is told in the Hebrew Bible – simply shows that there can be good kings and bad kings. So the question should be: What makes a king a good king or a bad king? The answer is: A good king is a king who brings “justice” (‫ )מׁשפט‬like Solomon (1 Kgs 3:9). This is precisely what the elders of Israel are asking for when they say to Samuel: “make us a king to judge us” (1 Sam 8:5) and: “that our king may judge us” (1 Sam 8:20). In this study it will be demonstrated that the book of Judges, in which the verb ‫ ׁשפט‬takes a central place, can very well be read in the light of this text in the book of Samuel. This offers a new perspective on the relationship between the book of Judges and the following books of Samuel and Kings. I The Relationship of the Book of Judges to the Books of Samuel, Kings, and Chronicles In both its beginning and end the book of Judges is clearly connected to the surrounding books. Just like Josh 1:1 (“It happened after the death of Moses”), it starts with a reference to the death of the primary figure in the preceding book: “It happened after the death of Joshua.” The final part of the book is related to the beginning of 1 Samuel by the sequence of stories all beginning with the phrase “there was a/one man from… and his name was…” (Judg 13:2; 17:1; 1 Sam 1:1; 9:1; partly also Judg 19:1).1 Whereas the beginning of the story of Samson in Judges 13 is related in this way to the beginning of the books of Samuel, especially in their God-given birth, the 1 Cf. M. Leuchter, “‘Now There Was a [Certain] Man’: Compositional Chronology in Judges–1 Samuel,” CBQ 69 (2007), pp. 429–439; K. Spronk, “The Book of Judges as a Late Construct,” in L. Jonker (ed.), His­ to­riog­raphy and Identity: (Re)formulation in Second Temple Historiographic Literature (The Library of the Bible / Old Testament Studies 534; New York: T. & T. Clark, 2010), 15–28, esp. 23–24; and C. Levin, “On the Cohesion and Separation of Books within the Enneateuch,” in T.B. Dozeman et al. (eds.), Pentateuch, Hexa­teuch, or Enneateuch? Identifying Literary Works in Genesis through Kings (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Lit­era­ture, 2011), pp. 127–154, esp. 136.

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end of Samson’s story has a clear parallel with the end of the books of Kings: both Samson and Zedekiah, the final king of Judah, are blinded and bound with bronze fetters (Judg 16:21; 2 Kgs 25:7). All this is hardly coincidental and suggests that the author or editor of the book of Judges was familiar with the books of Samuel and Kings or, at least, with stories recounted therein. It indicates that the book of Judges was written or composed after the books of Samuel and Kings. This is confirmed by the fact that reminiscences of the book of Judges in the books of Samuel are scarce and contradictory. One finds very few references to the period of the judges and when they are related they are not in line with what we read about this period in the book of Judges. In his overview of the history of Israel and its God since the time of Moses and Aaron, Samuel gives the following summary of the period of the Judges: And when they forgot the Lord their God, He sold them into the hand of Sisera, commander of the army of Hazor, into the hand of the Philistines, and into the hand of the king of Moab; and they fought against them. Then they cried out to the Lord, and said, “We have sinned, because we have forsaken the Lord and served the Baals and Ashtoreths; but now deliver us from the hand of our enemies, and we will serve You.” And the Lord sent Jerubbaal, Bedan, Jephthah, and Samuel, and delivered you out of the hand of your enemies on every side; and you dwelt in safety. (1 Sam 12:9–11 NKJ) It is remarkable that he only mentions a small selection of the deliverers mentioned in the book of Judges, that he uses the name Jerubbaal, that he mentions the otherwise unknown Bedan (often “corrected” in the commentaries to Barak or Abdon), and includes himself (sometimes “corrected” to Samson). It is also remarkable that he does not use the word ‫ ׁשפט‬here. One gets the impression that the author of this text knows of a period before the monarchy and of stories about God punishing Israel by sending enemies but also helping his people again by sending deliverers, but that he is not familiar with the way this period was described in the book of Judges. In 2 Sam 7:11 the reference to the pre-monarchic period is more in line with the book of Judges: Since the time that I commanded judges to be over My people Israel [‫הּיֹום ֲא ֶׁשר צִ ּוִ ִיתי‬-‫ן‬ ַ ‫ּולְ ִמ‬ ‫ׁש ְפ ִטים עַ ל־עַ ִּמי יִ ְׂש ָר ֵאל‬ ֹ ֽ ] and have caused you to rest from all your enemies. It should be noted, however, that it is not in line with the usual formula in the book of Judges, namely that God “raises” judges: ‫ׁש ְפ ִטים‬ ֹ ֽ ‫( ;וַ ּיָ ֶקם יְ הוָ ה‬2:16; cf. 3:9, 15). Again, this seems to point at different traditions. Another reference to the period of the judges is found in 2 Sam 11:21 showing that the writer was familiar with the untimely and shameful death of Abimelech: “Who struck Abimelech the son of Jerubbesheth? Was it not a woman who cast a piece of a millstone on him from the wall, so that he died in Thebez?” The difference with the story in Judges 9 is clear. Instead of Jerubbaal, his father is called Je­rubbesheth, avoiding and dishonouring the name of the god Baal. This can be seen as a correction to the stories about Gideon who is also named Jerubbaal, but it also suggests that the author of the story in 2 Samuel 11 was not familiar with the way the name of Jerubbaal received a proper Yahwistic explanation in Judg 6:32, relating it not to the veneration of Baal, but to acting against this god. Another indication that the way the period of the judges, as it is pictured in the book of Judges, was not known to other authors of the Hebrew Bible or, that there were different traditions about the period before the monarchy, can be found in a remarkable difference between Kings and Chronicles. In the parallel descriptions of the celebration of Passover by Josiah we read:

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Such a Passover surely had never been held since the days of the judges who judged Israel, nor in all the days of the kings of Israel and the kings of Judah. (2 Kgs 23:22) There had been no Passover kept in Israel like that since the days of Samuel the prophet; and none of the kings of Israel had kept such a Passover as Josiah kept (2 Chr 35:18) It seems that according to the Chronicler “Samuel represents the period of Judges.”2 It can also be regarded as another indication that the book of Judges in its present form is a late construct.3 II The Meaning and Historical Background of ‫ׁשפט‬ The question arises whether this relative position of the book of Judges, as being written or composed after the books of Samuel and Kings can also offer a new perspective on the ongoing discussion about the precise meaning and historical background of ‫ ׁשפט‬defining the leadership in the period before the kings. It is usually assumed that the term had its origin in old lists, partly preserved in the references to the “minor judges” in Judg 10:1–5 and 12:8–15. The deuteronomistic author would have added them to the original six pre-monarchic leaders of Israel, some of them also named “judge,” in order to make a full dozen and to create a fitting chronology.4 In 1950 Martin Noth launched the theory that the “minor judges,” plus Jephthah, were officials of the amphictyony; a tribal league in the period before the monarchy, united around a cultic center. This implies that the tradition used by the deuteronomistic author refers to a historical reality. The deuteronomist would also have attributed this title to Samuel in 1 Sam 7:2–17.5 Some

2 S. Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and its Place in Biblical Thought (2nd rev. ed.; BEATAJ 9; Frank­ furt am Main: P. Lang, 1997), p. 292, note 72. 3 Cf. R. F. Person, The Deu­ter­o­nom­ic History and the Book of Chronicles: Scribal Works in an Oral World (An­ cient Israel and Its Literature 6; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2010), p. 167: “Perhaps the book of Judges, for example, was a later addition to the Deu­ter­o­nom­ic History, such that it was not considered part of the common tradition by the Chronistic school.” 4 Cf. W. Groß, Richter (HThKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2009), 205: “Der Terminus ‘regieren’ ‫ ׁשפט‬ist den ihm vor­gegebenen Heldenepisoden noch fremd. Er findet dieses Verb aber in der Liste der ‘Kleinen Regenten’ 10,1–5; 12,8–15; es charakterisiert dort die lebenslange Tätigkeit diese einander ablösenden Männer. Indem er hier [2,]16a.18c das substantivierte Partizip ‘Regierende’ bildet und programmatisch, generalisierend auf alle im folgenden erwähnten Helden appliziert,… verwandelt er die Sammlung chronologisch unverbundener Hel­denerzählungen in die Darstellung eines kontinuierlichen Geschichtsablauf mit Anführern, die jeweils le­benslang amten, aber keine Dynastien gründen.” [The verb “to rule” ‫ ׁשפט‬does not occur in the existing stories about the heroes. He does find it, however, in the list of the “minor judges” 10:1–5; 12:8–15; it characterizes the lifelong occupation these men take over from each other. Because in 2:16a, 18c he forms the substantive par­ticiple “judge” and applies it as a generalizing program to all following heroes … he changes the collection of chronologically not linked stories about heroes into a presentation of a continuous history with leaders, who fulfilled their office all their life, but did not found a dynasty.] Similarly R. D. Nelson, Judges: A Critical & Rhetorical Commentary (London: Bloomsbury T. & T. Clark, 2017), 205: “the author (that is, DH) adopted the phrase judges Israel and the concept of leadership in terms of judging from the minor judges list and applied it to the local heroes in order to turn them into national leaders.” 5 M. Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien. Erster Teil. Die sammelnden und bearbeitenden Geschichtswerke Im Alten Testament (Halle, 1943; reprint Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1963), p. 55. Cf. al­so T. Veijola, Das Königtum in der Beurteilung der deuteronomistischen Historiographie. Eine redaktionsge­schicht­ liche Untersuchung (Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia, 1977), pp. 33–34, who ascribes 1 Sam 7:2–17 to the deuteronomistic historian; in his view only the reference to Samuel’s travels in v. 16 was derived from an older source.

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s­ cholars assume that the references to Samuel as a judge in 1 Sam 7:15–17 and 25:1 were originally part of the list of “minor judges.”6 And Samuel judged Israel all the days of his life. He went from year to year on a circuit to Beth­el, Gilgal, and Mizpah, and judged Israel in all those places. But he always returned to Ra­mah, for his home was there. There he judged Israel, and there he built an altar to the Lord. (1 Sam 7:15–17) Then Samuel died; and the Israelites gathered together and lamented for him, and buried him at his home in Ramah. (1 Sam 25:1a) Although the theory of the amphictyony has been abandoned, the assumption of a distinction between charismatic and institutional leadership, coinciding with the distinction between “major” and “minor judges,” is still dominant. The same holds true for the assumed relation between the “minor judges” and the original meaning of the verb ‫ׁשפט‬. Noth relates it to the way the work of an Israelite judge is described in Deut 17:8–13 and assumes that he had the special task of judging important issues.7 Already, long before Noth, Hans Wilhelm Herzberg pointed to the possibility that ‫ ׁשפט‬can also have the meaning of “to rule.”8 In later studies, arguments for the double meaning of ‫ ׁשפט‬are based on the comparison with related verbs in Akkadian (especially in texts from Mari), Ugaritic, and Phoenician.9 Recently, this is called in question again. According to Jack Sasson the evidence from Mari appears not to be as convincing as it was presented fifty years ago, and in general he concludes that the study about the right translation of the title ‫ׁשפט‬ “has led to no happy outcome.”10 6 Cf. P. Mommer, Samuel. Geschichte und Überlieferung (WMANT 65; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Ver­ lag, 1991), 47; W. Dietrich, Samuel. Teilband 1. 1 Sam 1–12 (BK VIII/1; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Ver­lag, 2010), pp. 311–312. 7 M. Noth, “Das Amt des ‘Richters Israels’,” in W. Baumgartner et al. (eds), Festschrift Alfred Bertholet (Tü­bin­ gen: Mohr, 1950), pp. 404–417; reprinted in Gesammelte Studien zum Alten Testament II (München: Kaiser, 1969), pp. 71–85, 417: “Er hatte besonders schwierige Fälle der Rechtsfindung zu entscheiden, und zwar auch auf dem Gebiete alltäglicher Rechtsstreitigkeiten, das eben auch mit in den Bereich des israelitischen Got­ tes­recht hineingehörte.” [He had to decide in very difficult judicial cases, and also in everyday disputes, because these were part of the field of the Israelite divine law.] This was based on a suggestion by Albrecht Alt, who saw a parallel with the Islandic “Gesetzsprecher… dessen eigentliche Aufgabe es war… der versammel­ten Volks­gemeinde einen Teil des im Jahre 930 von Norwegen her übernommenen, allmählich umgebil­de­ten Land­rechts mündlich vorzutragen, und der außerdem je nach Bedarf in streitigen Rechtsfällen zur Aus­ kunfts­erteilung herangezogen werden konnte” [It was the task of the Islandic speaker of the law to recite to the assembled community of the people a part of the law of the land, which was taken over from Norway in the year 930, which was gradually adapted and could be consulted when necessary in juridical cases.] (A. Alt, Die Ursprünge des Israelitischen Rechts [Leipzig: Hirzel, 1934; reprinted in Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Vol­kes Israel. Erster Band, München: Kaiser, 1953, pp. 278–332], p. 32). 8 Hertzberg started his big study on the development of the term ‫ מׁשפט‬in the Old Testament with the statement: “Für das Verbum ‫ שפט‬sind zwei Sinnmöglichkeiten als unsprünglich erkennbar. Die eine läßt sich am einfachsten kennzeichnen durch das Wort ‘regieren’” (H. W. Hertzberg, “Die Entwicklung des Begriffes ‫ משפט‬im AT,” ZAW 40 (1922), pp. 256–287; 41 (1923), pp. 16–76). He refers here among others to the use of ‫ ׁשפט‬in the book of Judges and assumes that judging was an element of the work of the rulers denoted with this word (p. 258). 9 Cf. F.C. Fensham, “The Judges and Ancient Israelite Jurisprudence,” OTWSAP (1959), pp. 15–22; A. van Selms, “The Title ‘Judge’,” OTWSAP 1959, 41–50; W. Richter, “Zu den ‘Richtern Israel’,” ZAW 77 (1965), pp. 40–72, esp. 59–70; H. Niehr, ThWAT VIII, pp. 412–416 (ET: XV, pp. 414–420). 10 Cf. J.M. Sasson, Judges 1–12 (The Anchor Yale Bible, 6D; New Haven: Yale Universiy Press, 2014), 187. Cf. also the remark by G. Liedke, THAT II, 1003 (ET: p. 1728): “Aus der Betrachtung von špṭ ist für das ‘Richter’-

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Also, the historical reliability of the report about the “minor judges” is questioned. According to Reinhard Müller the list of “minor judges” was composed by the redactor for its present literary context by analogy with the royal annals, thus presenting them as mighty and wealthy leaders.11 In his opinion the use of the verb ‫ ׁשפט‬in the book of Judges should be compared to the description of the function of prince Jotham replacing his sick father Azariah: “Jotham the king’s son was over the royal house, judging the people of the land” (‫ׁש ֵֹפט ֶאת־עַ ם ָה ָא ֶר ץ‬, 2 Kgs 15:5). It may be seen as “pars pro toto for the government as a whole,”12 as can be derived also from Absalom’s wish: “Oh, that I was made judge in the land” (‫ׁש ֵֹפט ָּב ָא ֶר ץ‬, 2 Sam 15:4). For Absalom this would be the first step in replacing his father as king. Richard D. Nelson is of the opinion that the list of “minor judges” was a scribal construction. It would have been intended to show that for good leadership no kings were needed. The verb ‫ ׁשפט‬would have been used to indicate that they ruled Israel but did not reign as king, avoiding the verb ‫ מלך‬and also ‫( מׁשל‬denoting hereditary rule offered to Gideon in Judg 8:22–23) and ‫( ׁשרר‬used for Abimelech in Judg 9:2, 22). The phrase that they “judged Israel,” “need not suggest any sort of intertribal league or national institution or office… Notices about Deborah (Judg. 4.4–5) and Samuel (1 Sam 7.15–17) suggest that early readers could picture someone judging ‘Israel’ while restricted to a narrow geographical area.”13 A similar view may be found with Andreas Scherer, who states that, within the present literary context, the stories of the “minor judges” were intended to present the pre-monarchic period as a time of order and prosperity. But he is more confident that they also go back to a historical reality. In his opinion we should look for the best description of the function at the way Samuel was pictured as a judge in 1 Sam 7:15–17 and 25:1. According to Scherer these texts describing Samuel as a judge and reports of his death are loosely connected to their present literary context. Originally they would have been the climax of the list of the “minor judges.”14 This means that

Problem der vorstaatlichen Zeit Israels kein Aufschluß zu gewinnen.” A. Scherer, “Die ‘kleinen’ Richter und ihre Funktion,” ZAW 119 (2007), pp. 190–200, 191: “Was ‫“( ויׁשפט את־ישראל‬und er ‘richtete’ Israel”) im Rah­ men der Richterliste tatsächlich bedeutet, ist damit noch in keiner Weise geklärt”. Scherer criticizes especially the suggestion by Niehr in his article on ‫ ׁשפט‬in ThWAT VIII who assumes that the mention of judges in the pre-monarchic period served to legitimize the newly created judicial office in the time of Josiah. 11 R. Müller, Königtum und Gottesherrschaft: Untersuchungen zur alttestamentlichen Monarchiekritik (FAT 2.3; Tü­bingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 63: “Bei der Interpretation des Begriffes ‫ שפט‬im Rahmen der Richterliste muß v. a. vorschnelle Historisierung vermieden werden. Deutlich ist zunächst nur, daß das Bild der klei­nen Rich­ter in wesentlichen Punkten in Anlehnung an einige über das Alte Testament verstreute Züge des Kö­ nig­tums entworfen ist.” [When interpreting the term ‫ שפט‬within the framework of the list of the judges, one should avoid especially rash historicizing. The only thing that is clear is that the most important aspects of the image of the minor judges are constructed according different elements of kingship as they can be found throughout the Old Testament.] 12 “pars pro toto für die gesamte Regierungstätigkeit”; Müller, Königtum, p. 62. 13 R. D. Nelson, “Ideology, Geography, and the List of Minor Judges,” JSOT 31 (2007), pp. 347–364, 353. 14 Scherer, “Die ‘kleinen’ Richter und ihre Funktion”, 196: “Die Angaben über Samuel führen die Liste frei­lich nicht nur weiter, sondern sie sind Schluß- und Höhepunkt der Liste. Mit Samuel erreicht die Zu­sam­men­stel­ lung ihr Ziel. Er nimmt als letzter die mit ‫ שפט‬bezeichnete Aufgabe wahr, und er ist ohne jeden Zweifel der pro­mi­nenteste Repräsentant der fraglichen Funktion.” [The statements about Samuel not just continue the list, they are the end and climax of the list. With Samuel the compilation reaches its goal. As latest he fulfills the task indicated as ‫ שפט‬and he is without doubt the most prominent representative of the function in question.]

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Samuel should be seen to be the “paradigm of the ‘minor judges’”15 and that we have to look at 1 Sam 7:15–17 for the right interpretation of the verb ‫ ׁשפט‬in the book of Judges. III Samuel as the Paradigm of the Judges As may be inferred from the title of the present study, in what follows the suggestion by Scherer is taken up, though it will be turned around. Scherer does not explain why the assumed original list of “minor judges” would have been built up in such a way, that it only at the end gives more precise information about the function of the judges. He remarks that in its present form the original text of 1 Sam 7:15–17 and 25:1 has been expanded, but he does not give a reconstruction.16 He probably finds the expansions mostly in the context and not in these verses themselves. It can be compared to Walter Dietrich who assumes that verses 15–17a (leaving out the reference to building the altar in verse 17b) were taken by the Deuteronomist from the list of “minor judges” and put in the chronologically right place.17 The information about traveling around and judging at different places would have been part then of the original list. Dietrich suggests that next to the reference to Samuel’s death and burial in 1 Sam 25:1 also the information about his sons in 1 Sam 8:1–2 might have been part of this list.18 There are good reasons to consider the possibility of relating the references to Samuel as a judge to the manner in which the judges are described in the book of Judges. As was indicated above, the book of Judges could be read as a kind of introduction to the books of Samuel and Kings and, therefore, it is likely that at least some parts of Judges were written after Samuel and Kings. This may have included the description of the leaders in the pre-monarchic period as judges. A first indication in this direction is that the title and function of judge fits Samuel and his actions as leader of Israel and as precursor of the kings very well. Contrary to the remark by Scherer that it is obvious that the references to Samuel as a judge would not fit within their context,19 it may be noted that already previous to the general remarks about his function as a judge a clear example is given of his work. In 1 Sam 7:5–6 Samuel’s judging is described as acting as intermediary between God and the people. And Samuel said, “Gather all Israel to Mizpah, and I will pray to the Lord for you.” So they gathered together at Mizpah, drew water, and poured it out before the Lord. And they fasted that day, and said there, ‘We have sinned against the Lord.’ And Samuel judged [‫ ]ׁשפט‬the children of Israel at Mizpah.

15 Scherer, “Die ‘kleinen’ Richter und ihre Funktion”, p. 199. Cf. also D. Jobling, “What, if Anything, is 1 Sam­ uel?,” SJOT 7 (1993), pp. 17–31, who problematizes the canonical division between the books of Judges and Sam­uel: “we focus on the present ending of Judges, with its suggestion that judgeship was a failure, and forget its apparent rehabilitation in the figure of Samuel (1 Sam 7)” (p. 25). 16 He speaks of the “Schlußteil der Liste (…), der heute in stark erweiterter Form in I Sam 7,15–17; 25,1 vorliegt” [the concluding part of the list which is now found in a highly enlarged form in 1 Sam 7:15–17; 25:1] (p. 196). 17 Dietrich, Samuel, pp. 310–312. As was noted above (cf. n. 5), Veijola, Das Königtum, pp. 33–34, assumes that only verse 16 was taken over by the Deuteronomist from an existing source. 18 Dietrich, Samuel, p. 312. 19 Scherer, “Die ‘kleinen’ Richter und ihre Funktion”, 196: “Man kann ohne Übertreibung sagen, daß sie sich aus­gesprochen disparat zu ihren gegenwärtigen Kontexten verhalten”. [One can state without exaggeration that they are explicitly of a different kind within their present context].

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Something similar can be found in 1 Sam 12:7: Now therefore, stand still, that I may judge20 with you [‫ ]ׁשפט‬before the Lord concerning all the righteous acts of the Lord which He did to you and your fathers. Samuel’s function as a judge and his act of judging also play a key role in the story about Israel asking for a king. The wish for a king only comes up because the sons of Samuel prove to be unworthy successors of their father. They are two times explicitly called “judges” (‫ )ׁש ְֹפ ִטים‬and their misbehaviour is indicated as “they perverted justice” (‫)וַ ּיַ ּטּו ִמ ְׁש ָּפט‬: Now it came to pass when Samuel was old that he made his sons judges over Israel. The name of his firstborn was Joel, and the name of his second, Abijah; they were judges in Beersheba. But his sons did not walk in his ways; they turned aside after dishonest gain, took bribes, and perverted justice. Then all the elders of Israel gathered together and came to Samuel at Ramah, and said to him, “Look, you are old, and your sons do not walk in your ways. Now make us a king to judge us like all the nations.” (1 Sam 8:1–5) When the elders ask for a good successor of Samuel, they also use the verb ‫ׁשפט‬. They do not just want a king, but “a king to judge us” (‫)מלֶ ְך לְ ָׁש ְפ ֵטנּו‬. ֶ In verse 20 it is repeated: “our king may judge us and go out before us and fight our battles.” The first task of a king is to judge, that is, to bring justice. And when he goes to war, it is to restore justice. A good king is focused on representing divine justice (1 Kgs 3:9; Ps 72:1–4). In the first seven chapters of the book, Samuel is pictured as the ideal leader of Israel: he is appointed by God, has a continuing direct relation with God, and defeats with God’s help the Philistines. He sets the example for the kings to come and, therefore, his title “judge” is associated with ideal leadership.21 This makes it likely that, instead of the common assumption that the term “judge” was taken over from the list of the “minor judges” and then connected with Samuel as the main figure in the period before the monarchy, the primary source for the use of the words “judge” and “to judge” in the book of Judges was the tradition about Samuel as the ideal leader of Israel. This is corroborated by the use of the verb ‫ ׁשפט‬in 1 Sam 12:7, quoted above. Here, again, it is said of Samuel that he judges, whereas in the list of judges mentioned in verse 11 of the same chapter the saviours of the pre-monarchic period are not referred to by this title. It suggests that this must have happened in a different, later tradition. If it is true, as suggested by Scherer and others, that Samuel would have received his title “judge” from the list of “minor judges,” one would have expected that the list in 1 Sam 12:11 would have been more in line with the information from the book of Judges. At least two stories in the book of Judges show signs of being written or edited according to Samuel as paradigm. As was noted above, the stories of the birth of Samson and of the birth of Samuel have many parallels. According to Dietrich, the shared motifs of being childless and of a miraculous birth are so common that one cannot decide about whether one text depends on 20 On this translation, see Dietrich, Samuel, p. 524. 21 Here I disagree with R. Baker, Hollow Men, Strange Women: Riddles, Codes and Otherness in the Book of Judges (Biblical Interpretation Series 143; Leiden: Brill, 2016), p. 4, who states that Samuel was only valued in his judicial capacity and was is pictured negatively as leader: “Samuel did not succeed in delivering Israel from the aggression/domination of the alien power. As such, compared with, for example, Othniel or Deborah, his judge­ship was a failure, a distinction he shares with Samson alone”. This is contradicted by the clear references to the great success in the fight against the Philistines as reported in 1 Sam 7:13–14.

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the other.22 There are good reasons, however, to explain the many parallels by assuming that the author of the story of Samson was familiar with the story of the birth of Samuel.23 Especially the element of non-drinking as part of the regulations for the Nazirite is more natural in the story of Hannah, whereas it hardly functions in the story of Samson.24 The story in Judges 13 is also made more miraculous by replacing the priest Eli with the messenger of the Lord. It is likely that Judges 13 was added as an introduction to chapter 14–16 when the story of Samson was incorporated into the book of Judges.25 It is also likely that in this way the story of Samson was related to the beginning of the books of Samuel, presenting Samson as the negative counterpart of Samuel. In the book of Judges, we also find a parallel to Samuel in the person of Deborah. The way she is presented in Judg 4:4–5 seems to be inspired by the way Samuel is pictured in 1 Samuel 7. Whereas Samuel lives in Ramah and regularly travels to Bethel, Gilgal and Mizpah, Debora lives “between Ramah and Bethel.” That the geographical information is derived from the story of Samuel is indicated by the fact that it suggests that Deborah is living and working far away from the events taking place in the northern part of the land. Samuel and Deborah are also the only people in the Hebrew Bible to combine the function of prophet and judge. Moreover, in the book of Judges, Deborah is the only one of whom more information is given about the way she acted as a judge. Again, this is in line with what we read about Samuel’s activities. Whereas Samson may be seen as Samuel’s negative counterpart, Deborah is pictured positively in line with Samuel as the Lord’s prophet. The contrast is emphasized by the fact that, on the one hand, Samson is presented as very strong but also defeated by a woman; on the other hand, Deborah is presented as a woman who has to ask a man to fight for her people but, who can also announce that the final blow will be dealt by a woman. Samuel’s paradigm may also be discerned by the fact that in her relation to Barak, Deborah plays the same role as Samuel in his relation to Saul; in brutally finishing off Sisera, the leader of the beaten army of the enemy, Jael acts in a similar way as Samuel hacking Agag, the king of the beaten army of the Amalekites, in pieces (1 Sam 15:33). In both stories this symbolizes the shortcomings of the leader of Israel: first Barak and then Saul. IV Why judges? The reason why the author/editor of the book of Judges used the verb ‫ ׁשפט‬may be found in the combination of his view of Samuel as the ideal leader and the fact that he was familiar with a list of judges. It is a generally acknowledged fact that the author/editor used many different sources. 22 Dietrich, Samuel, p. 31: “Das Grundmotiv von Kinderlosigheid und wonderbarer Geburt freilich ist für bei­de Erzählungen konstitutiv; da es, wie gezeigt, noch häufiger begegnet, muss hier nicht mit literarischer Ab­­hän­g ig­keit, sondern kann mit paralleler Überlieferungsbildung gerechnet werden, zumal das Motiv auf bei­den Sei­ten doch sehr unterschiedlich ausgebildet ist.” [However, the basic motif of childlessness and miraculous birth is characteristic of both stories; because, as was indicated, it occurs more often, we must not assume literary dependency, but a parallel development of the tradition, even more so because the motif is developed in very different ways.] 23 It is also suggested that the birth story of Samuel originally referred to Saul; for a bibliography and discussion, see I. Kalimi, Writing and Rewriting the Story of Solomon in Ancient Israel (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2019), pp. 127–128. 24 Cf. R. Bartelmus, Heroentum in Israel und seiner Umwelt (AThANT 65; Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1979), pp. 86–87. According to Dietrich, Samuel, p. 31, the command that “no razor shall come upon his head” was added by the deuteronomistic author to 1 Sam. 1:13 to relate the story to Judg 13:5, because this el­e­ment does not play a role in the rest of the story of Samuel. It can also be explained, however, as taken from the law on the Nazirite in Num. 6:5. 25 Cf. Groß, Richter, p. 658.

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It is not likely, as suggested by Nelson, that 10:1–5 and 12:8–15 were constructed by the author using analogy with formulas of royal succession from the books of Kings.26 A better parallel can be found in the list of “mighty men” (‫)ּגּבֹורים‬ ִ in 2 Sam 23:8–39. This list is often mentioned in connection with the short story about Shamgar in Judg 3:31, because of the related information about David’s heroes.27 In the list in 2 Sam 23:11–12 we read: And after him [‫ ]ואחריו‬was Shammah [‫]ׁש ָּמא‬ ַ son of Agee, the Hararite. The Philistines gathered together at Lehi, where there was a plot of ground full of lentils; and the army fled from the Philistines. But he took his stand in the middle of the plot, defended it and killed the Philistines; and the Lord brought about a great victory. Next to the identical beginning to Judg 3:31 and the related names of Shammah and Shamgar, one may also note the correspondence with the story of Samson slaying a thousand Philistines at Lehi (Judg 15:14–16). The author of the book of Judges seems to have adapted information from this ancient list of heroes to create the foreign hero Shamgar ben Anat. In Judg 5:6 Shamgar is mentioned next to Jael. They are both presented as outsider, apparently to set an example for the Israelites who hesitate to take action. It is interesting to note that also the enumeration of judges in Judg 10:1–5 and 12:8–15 could be compared to the list in 2 Samuel 23. In both lists the different members are connected with the preposition ‫א ַחר‬,ַ “after” (2 Sam 23:9, 11; Judg 10:1, 3; 12:8, 11, 13). Both lists combine short personal information with short stories. In 2 Samuel 23 we also find longer stories, followed again by lapidary information, just as in the book of Judges where, after the few verses on Tola and Jair, the elaborate story of Jephthah follows, which is followed again by the few verses on another three judges. A similar list might have been used by the author/editor of the book of Judges as background of chapters 10–12. An example of such a list can be found according to some scholars28 in Josephus’ description of the history of Tyre after the campaign of Nebukadnezzar: I shall add the Phoenician records as well – for one must not pass over the abundance of proofs. The calculation of dates goes like this. In the reign of king Ithobalos, Nabou­ ko­drosoros besieged Tyre for 13 years. After him Baal reigned for 10 years. Thereafter, judges were appointed: Ednibalos, son of Baslechos, was judge for 2 months, Chelbes, son of Abdaeos, for 10 months, Abbalos, the high-priest, for 3 months; Myttynos and Gerastartos, son of Abdelimos, were judges for 6 years, after whom Balatoros was king for 1 year. When he died they sent for Merbalos and summoned him from Babylon, and he reigned for 4 years; when he died they summoned his brother Eiromos, who reigned for 20 years. It was during his reign that Cyrus became ruler of the Persians. So the whole period is 54 years, with 3 months in addition (Josephus, Against Apion 1.155–159).29

26 Nelson, “Ideology”, p. 362. 27 Cf. K. Spronk, “Shamgar ben Anat (Judg 3:31) – a Meaningful Name,” ZAW 128 (2016), pp. 684–687, esp. 686. 28 Cf. Van Selms, “The Title ‘Judge’”, pp. 46–47; J. Van Seters, In Search of History: Historiography in the An­ cient World and the Origins of Biblical History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), pp. 345–346; P. Guillaume, “From a Post-monarchical to the Pre-monarchical Period of the Judges”, BN 113 (2002), pp. 12–17, esp. 13–14. 29 Translation J. M. G. Barclay, Against Apion (Flavius Josephus. Translation and Commentary, vol. 10; Leiden: Brill, 2007), pp. 89–90.

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Not only do we find here a list of judges and the periods of their activity, we also come across the interesting fact that these judges were appointed to govern the city in the absence of a king. This points to the same situation as described in 2 Kgs 15:5, where it is told of Jotham that he replaced his father, king Azariah, as “judge of the people of the land.” Absalom’s aspirations to become king instead of his father David by acting as a good judge (2 Sam 15:1–6), probably also have to be seen against this background.30 The leaders of Israel are described in the book of Judges as “proto-kings”31 and their stories “anticipate, pre-play key elements of the royal story.”32 This is usually interpreted as the work of one or more deuteronomistic authors connecting their different sources to form a consistent unity of the ongoing history. The way some of these texts are related indicates that we have to assume that the history was written “backwards”: to the existing story of the kings of Judah and Israel the history of the previous period was added. This is in line with a tendency in recent research on the Deuteronomistic History.33 In his monograph on the first part of the books of Samuel, Serge Frolov makes a similar case for 1 Samuel 1–8. He convincingly maintains that these chapters were added as an antimonarchic introduction to the more positive account of the story of kingship starting in chapter 9.34 Whereas Frolov assumes a redactional interpolation between Judges 21 and 1 Samuel 9, one could also consider the possibility that the book of Judges or parts of it were added in their turn as an extra introduction to the stories of Israel and its leaders. In this connection it is interesting to look again at the repeated phrase “there was a/one man from… and his name was…” in Judg 13:2; 17:1; 1 Sam. 1:1; and 9:1. According to the history of the text, as it is proposed here, the original story would have started in 1 Sam 9:1 with the introduction of Saul, son of the Benjaminite Kish. To this would have been added the story beginning in 1 Sam 1:1 with the introduction of Samuel, son of the Ephraimite Elkanah. The connection with the later added book of Judges would have been made via Samson who is introduced in Judges 13 as the son of the Danite Manoah. When in a probably later stage the chapters 17–18 and 19–21

30 These texts were also quoted above as arguments used by Müller to interpret ‫ ׁשפט‬as an element of kingship; cf. Müller, Königtum und Gottesherrschaft, 62. It should be noted, however, that in both cases the emphasis is on the fact that we are dealing with a position inferior to the position of the king. Also the according to Noth‚ “Das Amt des ‘Richters Israels’,” 404–405, incomprehensible reference to “the judges of Israel” in Mic. 4:14, can be interpreted in this way: as a reference to king Pekah who was demoted by Tiglath-Pileser to the ”status of a petty ruler”; cf. J. C. de Moor, “Je­r u­sa­lem: Nightmare and Daydream in Micah,” in M.C.A. Korpel, L. L . Grabbe (eds.), Open-Mindedness in the Bible and Beyond (Fs Becking; LHB/OTS 616; London: Blooms­bury, 2015, 191–213), 195. 31 Cf. M. Z . Brettler, “The Book of Judges: Literature as Politics,” JBL 108 (1989), 395–418, 407; cf also I. De Cas­tel­bajac, “Les juges d’Israël: une invention du Deutéronomiste?,” RHR 221 (2004), 83–97: “proto-­royau­té” (pp. 88–91). 32 G. Auld, “The Deuteronomists between History and Theology,” in A. Lemaire, M. Saebø (eds), Congress Volume Oslo 1998 (SVT 80; Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 353–367 esp. 355. 33 Cf. Levin, “On the Cohesion and Separation of Books within the Enneateuch,” 134: “At present the opinion is gaining ground that the Deuteronomistic History originally consisted only of the books of Samuel and Kings”. He refers to the analysis of R. G. Kratz, The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 158; cf. also D. Carr, The Formation of the Hebrew Bible. A New Reconstruction (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), p. 291. 34 S. Frolov, The Turn of the Cycle: 1 Samuel 1–8 in Synchronic and Diachronic Perspective (BZAW 342; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2004). See also the critical discussion by Leuchter, “Now There Was a [Certain] Man”, and the res­ponse by Frolov, “‘Certain Men’ in Judges and Samuel: A Rejoinder to Mark Leuchter,” CBQ 73 (2011), pp. 251–264.

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were included,35 the same path was followed, using a similar formula in 17:1, introducing the Ephraimite Micah, and in 19:1, introducing the anonymous Levite. With 1 Samuel 1–8, ideal leadership is represented by Samuel and connected to his function as judge. It is precisely formulated this way by the Israelites when they ask Samuel for a king to “judge” them (1 Sam 8:5, 20). From this perspective, old stories about local heroes were collected and adapted in a series of stories which, in later tradition, became known as Judges 1–16. They represent a critical evaluation of leadership. With Samuel as the criterion, only few of them stand the test of good leadership. The many links to the future kings of Israel and Judah,36 especially the one relating the deaths of Samson and Zedekiah, function as a warning and a call for a critical reading of the following texts about kingship. The use of the verb ‫ ׁשפט‬as a key word in the story of Samuel must have been the reason why the author/editor also added an existing list of “judges.” Strictly speaking, the function of these judges differed from that of Samuel and was more in line with that of Jotham as described in 2 Kgs 5:15. Within the book of Judges the dominant but also secondary role of the verb ‫ ׁשפט‬is illustrated by the fact that it is used – next to the references to the “minor judges” and Jephthah – in strategic places: in the introduction (Judg 2:16–19), with the first leader Otniel (3:10), with Deborah as the leader who looks most like Samuel (4:4), and with the final leader Samson (16:31). One may see a deliberate alternation with the verb ‫יׁשע‬, “to deliver”: the two verbs are combined in the references to the first and the last leader (Judg 3:9–10 about Otniel; 13:5; 15:20; 16:31 about Samson), whereas ‫ יׁשע‬is used with the leaders that are not referred to as “judge” (3:15 Ehud; 3:31 Shamgar; 6:14–15 Gideon).37 The combination of these two verbs is part of the description of the ideal king (cf. Ps 72:4). It will be no coincidence that whereas the first judge, Otniel, may have met this ideal, the last judge, Samson, is far removed from it. The fact that the verb ‫ ׁשפט‬is missing in Judges 17–21 is one of the indications of the generally held idea that these chapters are added, presenting a more positive view on kingship. Dating these assumed redactional activities must remain hypothetical. One can only conclude from the relative order of the texts that the book of Judges in its present form must be dated after the history which ended with the Babylonian exile. As was noted above, 2 Chr 35:18 suggests that the Chronicler speaks of the period of Samuel instead of the period of the judges. This can be interpreted as an indication that the descriptions of that period – as found now in the book of Judges – is of a later date, and even as another argument for regarding Samuel as the paradigm of the judges before him. There are no clear indications of a more specific time in which it was written and edited.38 Discussions about leadership in general and more specifically kingship have taken place in many times and many different situations. 35 The secondary nature of these chapters is broadly accepted; cf. Levin, “On the Cohesion and Separation of Books within the Enneateuch,” 137, 36 Cf. Spronk, “The Book of Judges as a Late Construct,” 21–24. 37 Cf. Frolov, Judges, p. 353. 38 According to Baker, Hollow Men Strange Women, 246, the book of Judges was written by someone living in Je­r u­sa­lem during the reign of Manasseh, shortly after the death of the Assyrian king Sennacherib in 681 B.C.E. and was “conceived as an encrypted prophecy that takes as its object the people of Judah who chose to accept the other gods and the transgressions of covenant law promoted by their rulers”. This remains highly hypothetical, as we have to assume that the author used devices like “mirror-imaging, the confusing of single and double characters, and ascribing to one participant an act that properly belongs to another” (p. 278). In this way the author hided that in fact he caricatures Assyrian kings. Baker has to admit: “If a guiding principle of the method is plausible deniability, demonstrability is, by the same token, impossible”.

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V Summary Comparison of the references to the period of the judges in the books of Samuel, Kings and Chronicles shows that the book of Judges in its present form is a late construct. This insight appears also to be helpful in understanding the special use of the verb ‫ ׁשפט‬in the book of Judges. The way Samuel is described in 1 Sam 7:15–17 may be regarded as paradigmatic for the way the leaders in pre-monarchic Israel are presented. It may have inspired the author/editor of the book of Judges also to use an ancient list of judges, taking for granted its slightly different use of the verb ‫ׁשפט‬. The formation of the stories of the judges and kings of Israel can be considered as a process in which the original story beginning in 1 Samuel 9 was first supplemented with a critical introduction consisting of 1 Samuel 1–8. Therefore, the example of Samuel as judge would have been illustrated by the stories of the leaders, who are critically mirroring the later kings, in Judges 1–16. A final addition with an again more positive view of kingship may be assumed in Judges 17–21.

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Writing and Rewriting the History of Israelite Religion The Controversy regarding the Queen of Heaven* Ruth Fidler Gordon Academic College, Haifa I Introduction Jeremiah 44 reports a public dispute between the prophet Jeremiah, after his forced descent to Egypt following the murder of the governor Gedaliah (Jer 43:4–7), and his Judean compatriots. The dispute concerns the Judeans’ idolatrous conduct in Egypt, apparently demonstrated in their worship of the queen of heaven. This may not be the first text that comes to mind as material for a volume dedicated to the writing of history, since both its genre (prophecy, prophetic biography) and theme (faith and worship) appear somewhat removed from the more apparent concerns of historiography. I nevertheless propose to look at the controversy regarding the queen of heaven (QH) displayed in Jeremiah 44 as an instructive instance of “writing and rewriting history in ancient Israel,” considering its properties specified herewith, some of which are discussed in subsequent sections of this essay: (1) Relevance to Biblical Historiography: Matters of faith and worship are permanent and integral components in biblical historiography, as shown by the attention it devotes to such themes as temple building, cultic reforms, and prophetic involvement in state affairs. Links between religious conduct and historical events are repeatedly highlighted in prophetic speeches, as evident also in the text at hand (44:1–9, esp. 4, 26–28, 29–30). The prophetic involvement is recounted here from a biographical stance (44:1, 15, 20, 25), forming part of a fuller account about Jeremiah in Egypt.1 Such prophetic biographies come close to historiography as regards their historical setting and sense of reality, differing from it in their special focus on the prophetic activity.2 (2) Variety of voices: Beyond its programmatic overture, Jeremiah 44 is of interest in the context of this volume due to the response of the accused (44:15–19). Enabling this response incurs the risk of QH worshippers presenting not only their point of view on the accusation but also * This essay proceeds from my previous work on the queen of heaven controversy: “‘Midrashic Dramatization’ or a Drama Subdued? The Feminine Voice in the Dispute on the Queen of Heaven (Jeremiah 44),” in Zipi Talshir and Dalia Amara (eds.), On the Border Line: Textual Meets Literary Criticism; Proceedings of a Conference in Honor of Alexander Rofé on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday (Beer Sheva 18; Beer Sheva: Ben Gurion University of Beer Sheva Press, 2005), pp. 163–188 (Hebrew); and my paper, “What Shall We Do with Devout Idolaters? Jeremiah 44 Reconsidered,” read in the British Association for Jewish Studies (BAJS) Conference: Atheism, Skepticism, and Challenges to Monotheism, University of Manchester, 5–7 July 2015. I am grateful to Prof. Alexander Rofé for the concept of “Midrashic Dramatization” which inspired my interpretation of Jer 44:25, to Prof. Nili Shupak for her kind advice on Papyrus Amherst 63, and to Prof. Zipi Talshir, of blessed memory, for her important comments on my article in Beer Sheva 18. 1 Mowinckel attributed 44:15–19; 24–30 to the “personal history” source (B); Sigmund Mowinckel, Zur Kom­ po­sition des Buches Jeremia (Kristiania [Oslo]: In Kommission bei Jacob Dybwad, 1914), pp. 11–12, 24. 2 Alexander Rofé, The Prophetical Stories: The Narratives about the Prophets in the Hebrew Bible, Their Literary Types and History (Je­r u­sa­lem: Magnes Press, 1988), pp. 108–109.

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their take on the history of Israelite religion, as indeed they do in 44:17–18. Leaving aside for the moment the possible motive for taking such a risk, the attention shown here to the experience of worshipping “other gods” can be seen as a revolutionary move in terms of writing history. In some respects it brings to mind John Keegan’s The Face of Battle, with its practical and psychological interest in the battle experience of ordinary soldiers, a method reputed to have remodelled the subsequent writing of military history.3 Whether or not Jer 44:17–18 should be taken as the biblical Face of Idolatry, the passage has its contribution to the biblical representation of history: A variety of sources and voices goes beyond official historiography and state documents, enriching and enlivening history writing, while making the task of historians more challenging.4 In what follows (section IV) I opt for a lively reading of Jer 44:15–19 and 25 as a basis for considering the historical import of the voices that echo in these scriptures. (3) “Casual Speech”: Presented as part of a dramatic episode in the prophet’s biography, the words of QH worshippers in Jer 44:15–19 can be taken as devoid of historiographic intent. When they claim that QH cult was standard practice in Judah for generations (44:17a), they do so as part of their retort in an animated dispute, not in order to overturn the traditional biblical narrative of Israelite monotheism. Is this the import of their speech, nonetheless? According to talmudic logic,5 such disinterested, “casual speech” (‫ )משׂיח לפי תומו‬is sometimes given more credence than direct testimonies. A question remains however, as to whether the retort in 44:15–19 is an authentic sample of QH worshippers reminiscing “offhandedly” about the cult of their homeland or perhaps a speech devised by an author with other interests, such as the denunciation of the speakers or their community. Thus Jeremiah 44, while not sheer historiography, certainly presents information that historians may take into consideration. (4) Writing and Rewriting: The main theme of Jeremiah 44, the worship of “other gods,” has all the tell-tale signs of further reworking. First and foremost, these signs pertain to the very object of the worship, condemned also in Jer 7:18, to which I have so far referred as the queen of heaven (QH). The title ‘queen’ follows the Masoretic spelling (‫ )מלכת‬in Jer 7:18; 44:17–19, 25, as well as some of the ancient Greek and Latin versions, and a wide consensus in modern scholarship. The Hebrew vocalization (‫)מלֶ כֶ ת השמים‬ ְ however, has a different noun (‫מלָ אכָ ה‬,ְ cstr. ‫מלֶ אכֶ ת‬,ְ as indeed found in some Hebrew manuscripts), signifying “work,” “service,” or “cult.” A reference to the “host (of heaven)” is also possible. The Masoretic vocalization and the spelling ‫ מלאכת‬have been explained as a theological correction, intended to remove “any suggestion that the people of Judah had engaged in the worship of the queen of heaven.”6 The correction is older 3 John Keegan, The Face of Battle: A Study of Agincourt, Waterloo and the Somme (London: Jonathan Cape, 1976). 4 It would seem useful at this point to recall the distinction attributed to the 19th century historian Leopold von Ranke, between “history” (the past “as it actually happened”) and “historiography” (how it is described in writing). Cf. John Barton, “Historical-Critical Approaches,” in John Barton (ed.), The Cambridge Com­pan­ ion to Biblical Interpretation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 12; Isaac Kalimi, “Placing the Chronicler in His Own Historical Context: A Closer Examination,” JNES 68 (2009), pp. 179–192, esp. 185; idem, Writing and Rewriting the Story of Solomon in Ancient Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), p. 13. The term “historians” is used above (for lack of a better term) to indicate those engaged in the scientific enquiry of historiography (as distinct from “historiographers”). 5 For instance, Babylonian Talmud, Yebamot 121b. For other examples and the relevance of this principle for the study of biblical and ancient Near Eastern sources, see Meir Malul, Society, Law and Custom in the Land of Israel in Biblical Times and in the Ancient Near Eastern Cultures (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 2006), pp. 39–40 (Hebrew). 6 Robert P. Gordon, “Aleph Apologeticum,” JQR 69 (1978–1979), p. 112. Similarly Cornelis Houtman, “Queen of Heaven ‫מלכת השמים‬,” in Karel van der Toorn, Bob Becking, and Pieter Willem van der Horst (eds.),

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than the Masoretic vocalization, judging by the support it has in some of the ancient versions.7 More will be said about the queen of heaven and why she was rewritten (or out-written) as “the work / worship / host of heaven” (sections V–VI). Whatever cultic object may be intended, its textual treatment suggests that it was felt to present a threat to Yahwism or to Israelite monotheism. II Jeremiah 44 and the History of Israelite Monotheism A threat to Yahwism or to Israelite monotheism, may bring to mind instances of deviation from a presumed Yahwistic-monotheistic norm, with which Hebrew scriptures abound, for example Numbers 25; Deut 4:3–4, 15–19; 32:17; Judg 2:7–15; 5:8; 6:25–32; 1 Kgs 11:1–10. Were the devout idolaters in Jeremiah 44 aware of such a norm? Does Jeremiah 44 express any response to this threat, apart from the punishments predicted in 44:7–8, 11–14*, 27? In one way or another, the Hebrew Bible bears witness to the emergence of monotheism in Is­ raelite religion. Admittedly, its testimony often seems secondary,8 “or even tertiary,”9 and at other times what is described (Judg 11:24; Mic 4:5) or required (Exod 20:2–4; Deut 5:6–8; 6:4) is more accurately defined as “henotheism” or “monolatry,” namely faith and worship focused in only one god, tolerating the existence and potency of other gods elsewhere, most typically in other nations (1 Sam 26:19).10 Moreover, in some biblical texts the status of the one God is reflected as Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible (2nd ed.; Leiden: Brill, 1999), p. 678; idem, Der Himmel im Alten Testament: Israels Weltbild und Weltanschauung (Leiden: Brill, 1993), p. 111. More recently, Rofé categorized the textual treatment of the queen of heaven in MT as a late (second commonwealth) sequel to a long tradition of dysphemism of pagan names and epithets in the Hebrew Bible; see Alexander Rofé, “Text and Context: The Textual Elimination of the Names of Gods and Its Literary, Administrative, and Legal Context,” in Cana Werman (ed.), From Author to Copyist: Essays on the Composition, Redaction, and Transmission of the Hebrew Bible in Honor of Zipi Talshir (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2015), pp. 63–79, esp. 77. 7 Among the renderings which may support the Masoretic correction are Syriac pwlḥan and LXX Jer 7:18 στρατιᾷ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ (“host of heaven,” as distinct from the rendering in Jeremiah 44 βασιλίσσῃ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ – “queen of heaven”). LXX Jer 7:18 is differently interpreted by Holladay, who associates it with the epithet of Aphrodite-Astarte; see William Lee Holladay, Jeremiah 1: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah, Chapters 1–25 (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1986), p. 251. Targum ‫“( כוכבת שׁמיא‬star of heaven”) remains undecided. It could possibly reflect MT, according to William McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clarke, 1996), vol. 2, p. 1076; but Rashi associated it with the “great star” which was called “the queen of heaven,” and which – based on other rabbinical sources – could be identified as Venus; see Marcus Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Babli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature (New York: Pardes Publishing House, 1950), s.v. ‫ כוכבתא‬and ‫כוכבת‬ (no. I), p. 619. As noted by Houtman (“Queen of Heaven ‫מלכת השמים‬,” p. 679; Der Himmel im Alten Tes­ ta­ment, p. 116), in the 5th century C. E . Isaac of Antioch equated QH in Jeremiah with the Syrian goddess Kau­kabta – “the star” (Venus). Finally, on the veneration of the host of heaven as an Aramean astral cult analogous to that of QH see Othmar Keel and Christoph Uehlinger, Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in An­cient Israel (Edinburgh: T. &T. Clark, 1998), p. 370. 8 Cf. William G. Dever, Did God Have a Wife? Archaeology and Folk Religion in Ancient Israel (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 2005), pp. 12, 63–87. I find Dever’s case for archaeology as a “primary source” for history and religion impressive, but somewhat overstated. See also Herbert Niehr, “The Rise of YHWH in Judahite and Israelite Religion: Methodological and Religio-Historical Aspects,” in Diana V. Edelman (ed.), The Triumph of Elohim: from Yahwisms to Judaisms (2nd ed.; Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 1996), p. 47. 9 Niehr, “The Rise of YHWH in Judahite and Israelite Religion”, p. 47. 10 André Lemaire, The Birth of Monotheism: The Rise and Disappearance of Yahwism (Washington DC: Biblical Archeology Society, 2007), pp. 9, 43–47, 144. For a more nuanced analysis of the textual data with similar results see Mark S. Smith, The Origins of Biblical Monotheism: Israel’s Polytheistic Background and the Ugaritic Texts (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), pp. 151–154: “on the whole, the late monarchy and exile seem to represent the general period for the emergence of monotheistic rhetoric.” However, “because of the relative

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superior to that of other gods, for example Exod 15:11; Ps 89:6–7; in other texts it seems exclusive as regards the presence, let alone the potency, of any other god, for example Deut 4:35, 39; Isa 41:4, 23–24; 43:11; 44:6; 45:5–6; Neh 9:6.11 Although such details have given rise to diverse interpretations of the history of monotheism in ancient Israel,12 it is remarkable how intent Hebrew Scriptures are on demonstrating the necessity of Israelites’ faithfulness to their only God. Lapses into the worship of “other gods” are portrayed as departures from the binding rules of a divine covenant. Such failures are sometimes amended, but more usually they are severely censured and punished, until a point of no return is reached leading to downfall, destruction, and exile. With no tolerance for such transgressions, biblical authors tend to leave out the culprits’ points of view.13 It is against this backdrop that the debate concerning the queen of heaven in Jeremiah 44 stands out as a rare counter example. Here the idolaters speak out in support of their actions; they explain their devotion to QH, attributing the adversities that befell the nation to the neglect of her worship. In possession of this contrary interpretation of the downfall of Judah, they all but reject the words of the prophet Jeremiah “spoken to us in the name of the Lord” (44:16); words which turn out to be Jeremiah’s last address to a group of his fellow compatriots in the book that bears his name.14 It seems that this intense episode leads inevitably to a broader question: Does the appearance, in the twilight of biblical history, of such a debate as in Jeremiah 44 point to the prior existence of a “monotheistic norm,” or rather to the absence of such a norm? Undeniably, the answer would vary depending on whom we ask: When monotheism is understood as the essence of “Mosaic religion”, following what Konrad Schmid entitles “the traditional view,”15 then QH embodies a deviation from the norm, taking her place next to Baal, Asherah, Molech and other triggers of presumed mid-life crises in the history of Israelite monotheism. If, however, closer to current consensus, monotheism is perceived as “an idea about the nature of the universe that was born during the Israelite captivity in Babylon,”16 then the debate in Jeremiah 44 may be seen as part of the labor of this birth; simply, a phase in the making of a monotheistic norm. rarity of monotheistic claims and the ongoing presence of polytheism in ancient Israel, no one can confirm a clear evolution from monarchic monolatry […] to a new stage of religion called monotheism.” 11 On Deut 4.32–40* as the primary theological claim formulated by Israelite monotheism and on its exilic dating, see Alexander Rofé, “The Monotheistic Argumentation in Deuteronomy 4,32–40: Contents, Com­ po­sition and Text,” VT 35 (1985), pp. 434–445. 12 A full account of this complex subject is not possible here. For a concise review see Bustenay Oded, The Early History of the Babylonian Exile (8th–6th Centuries B.C.E.) (Haifa: Pardes, 2010), pp. 280–286 (Hebrew). For an appraisal of models and paradigms in the study of monotheism in the biblical world see Beate Pon­ gratz-Leisten, “A New Agenda for the Study of the Rise of Monotheism,” in Beate Pongratz-Leisten (ed.), Reconsidering the Concept of Revolutionary Monotheism (Winona Lake, IN.: Eisenbrauns, 2011), pp. 1–40. 13 Thus no “psalms celebrating the tender mercies of Asherah” or “histories of the piety and devotion of Ma­nas­ seh and Jezebel” have come down to us, as pointed out by Morton Smith, Palestinian Parties and Politics that Shaped the Old Testament (New York: Columbia University Press, 1971), p. 19. 14 This is even more clearly visible in LXX, where this chapter (51) is second last in the book of Jeremiah. 15 Konrad Schmid, “The Quest for ‘God’: Monotheistic Arguments in the Priestly Texts of the Hebrew Bible,” in Beate Pongratz-Leisten (ed.), Reconsidering the Concept of Revolutionary Monotheism (Winona Lake, IN: Eisen­brauns, 2011), pp. 271–272. Schmid criticizes the changes and problems in the use of the terms Mono­ theism and Polytheism since the 1930’s; see ibid., pp. 272–276. 16 Lemaire, The Birth of Monotheism, pp. 7, 10: “during the sixth century B.C.E. Exile, somewhere in Babylonia, Deutero-Isaiah gave Yahwism a universal expression and monotheism was born.”

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To be sure, an interpretation of the drama reflected in Jeremiah 44 should be primarily informed by the text, leaving aside any general preconceived notions regarding the monotheistic evolution (or revolution) in Israelite religion or regarding the historic appraisal of the biblical texts relating these matters. Still, approaching the text has its own set of difficulties and dilemmas. Its complex texture (historiographic-biographic background account, prose sermon, prophetic word, dialogue, later adjustments)17 and the diversity of the groups involved (Judean women, Judean men, “a great assembly, all the people who lived in Pathros in the land of Egypt,” Jer 44:15) complicate our task, lending it literary-historical and societal dimensions. Following a ‘final form’ analysis of the text and comments on its composition, I argue that the response to the challenge presented by QH worship goes beyond the threats of annihilation in 44:7–8, 11–14*, 27, and that its later repercussions may be seen in some of the rewriting concerning this cult. III Text, Structure, Composition In its general outline Jeremiah 44 reads like a three-move dialogue,18 from accusation to defense and finally to the rejoinder of this defense, shown in table 1 as 1, 2, and 3.19 It also exhibits a more or less logical progression along three lines of argumentation, entitled A, B, and C. A constructed dialogue about Judeans’ idolatry in Egypt (Italics indicate recurring phrases)

A

1. Accusation

2. Defense

3. Rejoinder

Vss 2–6, 9: A lesson from history-> “You yourselves have seen all the disaster that I have brought on Je­ru­sa­lem and on all the towns of Judah […] Have you forgotten the crimes of your ancestors, of the kings of Judah, […] which they committed in the land of Judah and in the streets of Je­ru­sa­lem?”

Vss 17b–18: A contrary lesson -> “We used to have plenty of food, and prospered, and saw no misfortune.  But from the time we stopped making offerings to the queen of heaven and pouring out libations to her, we have lacked everything and have perished by the sword and by famine.”

Vss 21–23: A comment on sequence and consequence “As for the offerings that you made in the towns of Judah and in the streets of Je­ru­sa­lem, you and your ancestors, your kings and your officials, […] did not the Lord remember them? […] therefore your land became a desolation […] It is because you sinned against the Lord and did not […] walk in his law and in his statutes […], that this disaster has befallen you.”

17 See the discussion in Section III. 18 For the terminology cf. Erving Goffman, Forms of Talk (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1981), pp. 52–60. For a more sophisticated, if somewhat bizarre, discourse analysis of Jeremiah 44 see Teresa Ann Ellis, “Jeremiah 44: What if ‘the Queen of Heaven’ is YHWH?” JSOT 33 (2009), pp. 465–488. 19 Possibly a “juridical dialogue”; Cf. Asnat Bartor, “The ‘Juridical Dialogue’: A Literary-Judicial Pattern,” VT 53 (2003), pp. 445–464.

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B

Ruth Fidler 1. Accusation

2. Defense

3. Rejoinder

Vs 3: New gods->

Vs 17aβ: Judean ancestral tradition-> “[J]ust as we and our ancestors, our kings and our officials, used to do in the towns of Judah and in the streets of Je­ru­sa­lem.”

Vss 27, 30: Threat – the same fate as Judah “[A]ll the people of Judah who are in the land of Egypt shall perish by the sword and by famine, until not one is left.” Pharaoh Hophra, king of Egypt, will fall into the hands of his enemies like King Zedekiah of Judah. Cf. vs. 13

“[T]hey went to make offerings and serve other gods that they had not known, neither they, nor you, nor your ancestors.” Cf. Deut. 32: 17

C

Vss 7–8, 10: Departure Vs 17aα: Conformity to from the norm-> a[nother] norm -> “Why are you doing such Keeping vows made to QH great harm […] leaving yourselves without a remnant? Why do you provoke me […] making offerings to other gods in the land of Egypt? […N]or have they walked in my law and my statutes that I set before you and before your ancestors.”

Vss 24–25: Irony “[…] By all means, keep your vows!”

1. Accusation: Chapter 44 opens with a condemnation (44:2–14) of “offerings to other gods in the land of Egypt” (vs. 8), accusing “all the Judeans living in the land of Egypt at Migdol, at Tahpanhes, at Memphis, and in the land of Pathros” (44:1) of A. failure to learn the lesson of Judah’s tragic history (44:2–6, 9). Since they continue to serve other gods in Egypt, they will be “cut off… without a remnant” (44:7). B. Their idolatry is equated with that of their ancestors and kings, who turning to new gods “that they had not known” (44:3; cf. Deut 32:17), committed C. A violation of the covenant that binds them to their own God (“my law and my statutes that I set before you and before your ancestors”; vs. 10). These offences are punishable by total annihilation (44:11–14*),20 matching the punishment of Je­ru­sa­lem (44:13). 2. Defense: The next passage (44:15–19) is presented as the retort of “all the men who were aware that their wives had been making offerings to other gods, and all the women who stood by, a great assembly, all the people who lived in Pathros in the land of Egypt” (vs. 15). This representation of the parties to the “great assembly” continues the impression of a grand public occasion given 20 44:28a and the words “except some fugitives” at the end of vs. 14 contradict the total annihilation in 44:7–8, 11–14*, 27, hence they are often considered a later adjustment “in light of the knowledge that some have returned from Egypt to Judah” [and that the addressees themselves are a remnant from Je­r u­sa­lem!]; McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah, vol. 2, pp. 1074–1075, cf. p. 1081.

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in move 1 (44:1). It is possible, as shown presently, that this occasion has grown somewhat more public and verbose over time. Even so, the second move justifies the title “Defense”, since it responds to the charges made in the accusation, in reverse order as it seems: [C] Rather than a departure from a binding norm, QH worship signifies the participants’ adherence to a (different, though not less binding) norm: the necessity of keeping one’s vows (44:17aα: ‫“ ;כי עשה נעשה את כל הדבר אשר יצא מפינו לקטר למלכת השמים והסיך לה נסכים‬we will do everything that we have vowed, make offerings to the queen of heaven and pour out libations to her”). The idiom ‫ כל הדבר אשר יצא מפינו‬is aptly rendered in NRSV “everything that we have vowed,” but its literal sense (“the word[s] that came out of our mouth”) is significant. It uses the same term, ‫ – דבר‬word(s), with which the speakers also refer to the word of God in the opening verse: ‫הדבר‬ ‫ ;אשר דברת אלינו בשם יהוה איננו שומעים אליך‬terminology perhaps intended to indicate that they reject the word of God in favor of their own words. [B] The cult in question is not devoted to some unknown new deity; it is a time-honored tradition, say the accused, practiced “in the towns of Judah and in the streets of Je­ru­sa­lem” by “our ancestors,” kings and officials (44:17aβ). [A] The lesson from Judah’s tragic history is not the one declared in the prophet’s words of doom but quite the contrary. QH worshippers insist that all went well for them while their cult lasted, whereas its interruption was followed by disasters “by the sword and by famine” (44:17b– 18). It seems that with this logically faulty equation of sequence and consequence (post hoc ergo propter hoc),21 the debate is reduced to a different level: it is no longer the worship of “other gods” that is in focus, but the quest for valid faith: one that “works.”22As far as the defendants are concerned, QH has excelled in the test of reality; so YHWH is no longer in a position to command any devotion to his covenant, and the concept of “other gods” is irrelevant. It seems therefore that the accusation and the defense move along different sets of values, almost different languages: a covenant theology and a utilitarian-“whatever- works” approach, respectively. It remains to be seen if ever the twain shall meet. 3. Rejoinder: The last section of chapter 44 (verses 20–30) is presented as the prophet’s response to the arguments in the defense (2), again starting with the last argument treated in the foregoing section. [A] Disasters came over Judah and its inhabitants in consequence of their sins “against the Lord” and his laws (44:21–23). Thus, covenantal faith in “his law and in his statutes and in his decrees” is fundamental to grasping this causality, while speculation on any selected sequence of events is ignored or implicitly rejected. [C] The response to the claim that QH worship was obligated by vows made to her can only be taken as bitterly ironic:23 “By all means, keep your vows and make your libations!” (44:25). Keeping one’s vows to QH is thus rendered as commendable as eating ritually impeccable meat on the Day of Atonement. 21 Carl Heinrich Cornill, Das Buch Jeremia (Leipzig: C. H. Tauchnitz, 1905), p. 430. 22 Cf. Walter Brueggemann, A Commentary on Jeremiah: Exile and Homecoming (Grand Rapids, MI: William. B. Eerdmans, 1998), p. 407: “The reason for holding this alternative faith is simple: It works! The queen of heaven delivers the goods.” 23 Bernhard Duhm, Das Buch Jeremia (KHAT; Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr, 1901), p. 333. Differently Dever, Did God Have a Wife? p. 191, who interprets this response literally: “Jeremiah almost acquiesces […] one senses that he accepts the reality.”

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[B] Finally, the threat of annihilation “by the sword and by famine” (44:27) of all “Judeans who live in the land of Egypt” is reiterated, under divine oath (44:26). Textually, this threat hearkens back to 44:13, on one hand, and is further developed in 44:29–30, with the ex eventu sign of Pharaoh Hophra’s demise (570 B.C.E.), on the other hand. In vs. 13 the threat of punishing “those who live in the land of Egypt, as I have punished Je­ru­sa­lem” seems to follow from the general equation of the idolatry of Judeans in Egypt with that of their ancestors. However, in the context of the rejoinder (3) it can also be connected to the defense that in worshipping QH the Judeans in Egypt keep a time-honored ancestral tradition. Following Je­ru­sa­lem in its idolatrous QH tradition thus entails following it also in its punishment. The above outline of the dialogue between Jeremiah and the “great assembly” of “all the Judeans living in the land of Egypt” relates to Jeremiah 44 in its given form. However, attention to finer points of text, style and motif casts some suspicion on this dialogue. These details are apparent in all its three moves, and are noted in critical studies and commentaries on the book of Jeremiah. In what follows a selection of such details is presented according to the aspects or the elements concerned. Coherence: The logical progression along three lines of argumentation is not flawless. Since the threat of annihilation in the rejoinder (44:26–27) is basically a repetition of the threat following the accusation (44:11–12), it carries little conviction as an ultimate verdict triggered by the audacity of the defense. Verses 11–14, which make no mention of idolatry but echo the prophecy of doom to the Judeans going to Egypt in 42:15–18, may “seem out of context in chapter 44.”24 Nevertheless, in the course of this chapter they can only be read as a divine response to the idolatry denounced in the foregoing sermon, rendering the whole dialogue structure somewhat artificial. Also, the equation of Judeans in Egypt with their ancestors in “the towns of Judah and in the streets of Je­ru­sa­lem” regarding their idolatry is repeated awkwardly in all the three moves, apparently with different purposes: 1 Accusation – 44:3, 9, 10 (MT); 2 Defense – 44:17aβ; 3 Re­ join­der – 44: 21.25 Deuteronomistic Quality: “[T]he inclination to blur the distinction between ‘fathers’ and ‘sons,’ past and present generations” is one of the Deuteronomistic features generally recognized in Jeremiah 44.26 Scribes from the Deu­ter­o­nom­ic school, a century or more after Jeremiah, had a penchant for presenting the prophetic words in the form of prose speeches or sermons (such as 7:1–15 or 21:1–7)27 with their own typical ideology and phraseology. Jeremiah 44:2–14 has been categorized as such a Deuteronomistic sermon or a secondary supplement.28 The accusation: The main theme of the accusation in 44: 2–10 uses a general stereotype phrase “serve / make offerings to other gods” (44:3, 8), with which other prose sermons or interpola24 McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah, vol. 2, p. 1090. 25 Further problems of coherence are pointed out in the paragraphs devoted to the accusation and the accused. 26 Yair Hoffman, “History and Ideology: The Case of Jeremiah 44,” The Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University 28 (2001), p. 47. Other relevant features cited there in support of the thoroughly Deuteronomistic quality of Jeremiah 44 are: “the stereotypic ideology of the chapter; the description of the ‘entire’ people gathering to listen to God’s reproach, followed by the audience’s rejection of the condemnation; the concept of idolatry being the cause of all national calamities; […] the syntax and the vocabulary.” 27 Alexander Rofé, Introduction to the literature of the Hebrew Bible (JBS 9; Je­ru­sa­lem: Simor, 2009), pp. 319–322. 28 Duhm, Das Buch Jeremia, p. 328; Mowinckel, Zur Komposition des Buches Jeremia, pp. 12, 36, 39; Win­fried Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 26–45 (WMANT 52; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukir­che­ ner Verlag, 1981), p. 69. Duhm regarded these verses as a supplement (by a “Bearbeiter” or “Ergänzer”) that replaced the original opening found in 7:18.

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tions refer to idolatry as “the standard Deuteronomistic” reason29 for Juda’s downfall: 22:8–9.30 By comparison, the more specific QH worship with its accompanying customs and ceremonies seems to point to a particular and perhaps more restricted conflict. The accused: The “great assembly” of “all the Judeans living in the land of Egypt,” described in 44:1, 15, 20, and 24 in both gender and geographical terms, and addressed in 44:24 and 26, is probably the prime suspect regarding authenticity. The list of addressees in vs 1 seems further inflated in vs 15. Nevertheless, the reference to “the men who were aware that their wives had been making offerings to other gods” appears oddly confined to the wives’ activities. Judging by the sermon (44:7–10) the men should have their own worship of “other gods” to account for. The words “all the people who lived in Pathros in the land of Egypt,” which adjust this peculiarity somewhat, seem like an appended gloss, dependent on vs 1.31 In the third move we find two different introductions, verses 20 and 24 (perhaps resulting from the addition of vss. 21–23), which both extend the accusations to “all the people, men and women” (44:20). In vs 24 one of these generalizations, “all you Judeans who are in the land of Egypt” (‫ )כל יהודה אשר בארץ מצרים‬in the prophetic address, as well as the double appearance of the word “all” (‫ )כל‬in its introduction, are all unrepresented in the Septuagint (LXX), which may indicate the secondary quality of these words.32Anyone who generally insists on separating textual evaluation from historical analysis may admit at this point that the two “can hardly be separated.”33 The main difficulty in 44:15–19 lies in assessing the event that may be reflected here and those taking part in it: (1) The text with its variant readings tolerates diverse gender identities of the speakers: could they be men, women, or perhaps a mixed group? (2) More difficult questions: Once the literary-textual analysis has “deleted” or “removed” all suspect, stereotype, contradictory or awkwardly fitting elements, does a core text emerge from among the ruins? (3) If and when a core text is exposed, can it reveal the historical kernel of the account? Further to the basic distinction between “history” and “historiography,”34 it would be appro­ pri­ate to recall here our inability to access “a full and authentic past […] unmediated by the surviving textual traces of the society in question.”35 The text may ‘mediate’ an event that is other­wise inaccessible, but it is not necessarily a neutral reflection of the event or even proof of its occurrence. 29 Hoffman, “History and Ideology: The Case of Jeremiah 44,” p. 49, with further bibliography. In his list of “Deu­­ter­­o­nom­ic Phraseology” Moshe Weinfeld has a long series of phrases with “other gods” occurring in all the literary components of the Deu­ter­o­nom­ic school: Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deu­ter­o­nom­ic School (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), pp. 320–324. 30 Alexander Rofé, “Jeremiah, the Book of,” in Paul Achtemeier (ed.), The HarperCollins Bible Dictionary, (San Francisco, CA: Harper, 1996), pp. 490–492, esp. 491. 31 Duhm, Das Buch Jeremia, p. 330; Wilhelm Rudolph, Jeremia (HAT; Tübingen: Jacob C. Benjamin Mohr, 1958). Cf. also the various editions of Biblia Hebraica. It seems that the distinction between the idolatry accusation leveled at a small group (possibly the Yohanan group of Jer 43:7–8) and its Deuteronomistic expansions to the whole Egyptian diaspora (44:15b, 24b, 26, 27) was acceptable also to Menahem Haran, The Biblical Collection: Its Consolidation to the end of Second Temple Times and Changes of Form to the End of the Midddle Ages, Part 2 (Je­r u­sa­lem: Bialik Institute and Magnes Press, 2003), p. 239, note 59 (Hebrew). 32 McKane (A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah, vol. 2, p. 1078) has details on those who hold this opinion. 33 McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah, vol. 2, p. 1078 34 See above, note 4. 35 Robert P. Carroll, “Poststructuralist approaches New Historicism and Postmodernism,” in John Barton (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Biblical Interpretation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 52. This awareness is one of the features with which Carroll’s review credited New Historicism, but which seem generally valid to rational historians. On Carroll’s approach to Jeremiah 44 see section IV.

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IV The ‘Writing’: Between Text and Event An influential hypothesis advanced by Bernhard Duhm pictured the event at the core of Jeremi­ ah 44 as an unexpected appearance of the prophet in a private celebration for QH, in which Judean women from the Johanan group (Jer 43:4–7) paid vows they had made to the goddess, conditioned on their safe arrival in Egypt.36 Duhm traced this account in Jeremiah 7:18; 44:15–19*, 24–26*, 28*.37 In his reconstruction of this event Duhm emphasized the central role of the women, based on their abrupt and somewhat anticlimactic words in 44:19 and on LXX of 44:25, where those addressed by Jeremiah appear as “you women” (ὑμεῖς γυναῖκες), giving the impression that he is speaking only to the women, whereas MT “you and your women/wives” (‫ )אתם ונשיכם‬has him speaking to members of both genders.38 Duhm concluded that the verbal exchange was between the prophet and the women, while the men, and particularly the “great assembly” of all the Judeans in Egypt in verse 15, were not genuine features of the episode, but added to build it up into a general polemic against idolatry in the Egyptian diaspora. When the text did not support his theory Duhm adapted it to say what was required, for example reading “a great voice”(‫)קול גדול‬ instead of MT “a great assembly” (‫)קהל גדול‬, replacing masculine verbal forms with feminine ones (44:15, 25), and deleting as irrelevant the reference to “our kings and our officials… in the towns of Judah and in the streets of Je­ru­sa­lem” (44:17). Duhm’s reading of the QH dispute as involving the women and not the men had its support,39 but the premise of his historical-critical method, that MT rewriting could be ‘peeled off’ to reveal more authentic writing that reflected a historical event, is no longer in methodological consensus. The idea of neutral critical retrieval of the past is often set aside in favor of reading biblical texts as a reflection of their (Persian or Hellenistic) periods of composition.40 In Jeremiah studies the change is apparent in the commentary by Robert P. Carroll, who describes the book of Jeremiah as “a miscellany of disparate writings,” in which “the ‘historical’ Jeremiah disappears behind the activities of redactional circles and levels of tradition which have created the words and story of Jeremiah ben Hilkiah of Anathoth!”41 As regards Jeremiah 44, Carroll sees the “prolix sermon” (particularly 44:2–14) as “a mosaic of phrases and motifs drawn from many of the prose discours36 Duhm, Das Buch Jeremia, p. 330, 333; Zevit adds that it was during the siege of Je­r u­sa­lem that the women made their oaths to QH to renew her cult if she saved their lives; see Ziony Zevit, The Religions of Ancient Is­ rael: A Synthesis of Parallactic Approaches (London: Continuum, 2001), p. 555. 37 Duhm, Das Buch Jeremia, p. 328; For a review of some other proposals regarding a core text and historic event in Jeremiah 44 see McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah, vol. 2, pp. 1085–1086. There is no consensus on the degree of fantasy in the “great assembly” of all the Judeans in Egypt, hence various suggestions on the purpose of that assembly. 38 It can be added that in vs 24 the word “all” (twice), as well as the phrase “all you Judeans who are in the land of Egypt” are not represented in LXX. 39 Cornill, Das Buch Jeremia, p. 430; Karl-Friedrich Pohlmann, Studien zum Jeremiabuch, Göttingen 1978, pp. 166–167, 172–174, 182; Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 26–45, pp. 69–81, esp. 74, 76. Duhm’s reading of a historical episode in Jer 7:18; 44:15–19*, 24–26*, 28* must have impressed scholars also in view of his otherwise highly critical approach to historicity in the book of Jeremiah. According to Carroll’s summary, Duhm allocated some 63 % of the book of Jeremiah (850 out of 1350 verses) to later supple­ments that consisted of theology rather than history; Robert P. Carroll, The Book of Jeremiah (OTL; Lon­don: SCM Press, 1986), p. 39. 40 For further discussion of these and other features of New historicism see the articles by Robert. P. Carroll, “Post­structuralist approaches New Historicism and Postmodernism,” and John Barton, “Historical-critical approaches,” both in John Barton (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Biblical Interpretation (Cambridge: Cam­bridge University Press, 1998), pp. 50–66 and pp. 9–20 respectively. 41 Carroll, The Book of Jeremiah, pp. 38, 48.

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es in the book of Jeremiah,” with little that represents an independent tradition, not even on the historical Jewish communities in Egypt. The interests are those of the Je­ru­sa­lem community in the second temple period or of the exiles in Babylon (as in 24:4–7). In the rest of the chapter (44:15–19, 20–23, 25) Carroll finds a “midrashic section which develops 7:17–19.” This section was added “as a particular example of idolatry leading to destruction.”42 No explanation was offered as to why this Midrash chose QH as an example of “idolatry leading to destruction” rather than Baal for example (cf. Jer 7:9; 9:13). The possibility that the Judeo-Egyptian affiliation of QH may be authenticated by extra-biblical sources (discussed in section V) seems to have been ignored by Carroll, since he had already decided that the QH episode was just a Midrash. Carroll’s views are nevertheless further developed by Ronnie Goldstein, who concurs that Jeremiah 42 and 44 make it impossible to point to core texts or events, adding characteristics of late Hebrew in these chapters and pointing to their conceptual affinity to the penitential prayers in Ezra 9, Neh 1:5–11; 9 and Daniel 9.43 Within the complex of post-exilic writings about Jeremiah in Egypt the QH episode as well as the prophet’s role in the flight to Egypt stand out as a somewhat later secondary stratum. Thus, Goldstein reads the stories of Jeremiah in Egypt entirely through the prism of the Persian period and the Je­ru­sa­lem community of returnees from Babylon. It is the interest of this community which is served by presenting Judeans in Egypt as rightly punished for rejecting the warnings of YHWH’s prophet, and moreover (in the secondary stratum), as people who broke their oath to YHWH’s prophet, but kept their vows to a foreign deity. This type of theodicy leaves the returnees from Babylon the sole legitimate bearers of the divine covenant. Goldstein makes a good case for the possibility of such a reading, not for its exclusivity. In other words, it should also be possible to understand Jeremiah’s objection to the flight to Egypt in terms of ideas expressed in the book pertaining to the period described (for example Jer 2:18, 36; 37:3–10; 38:14–18). Signs of late language and ideology that cloud earlier writing may well point to substantial rewriting, to late composition, or to both; but they do not necessarily preclude the possibility of some historical material surviving under the stereotype or later phraseology.44 That much is implicit in the distinction between event and text (or history and historiography):45 just as isolating a core text does not prove the occurrence of an actual event, so also the inaccessibility of a core text does not amount to the non-existence of an event. A step closer towards accepting the veracity of Jeremiah 44 comes Yair Hoffman’s study of the way Jer 44:18 reflects, even authenticates, the Josianic cultic reform.46 Yet the QH controversy Hoffman regards as the invention of the Deuteronomist in defence of his dogma of predetermined doom. A question still remains as to the reason for the Deuteronomist’s choice of QH as the focus of his invented controversy. Jeremiah 44 – be it stratified or (according to William McKane), one “deplorably long and in­consequential pastiche on ‘idolatry’”47 – does report an event: a verbal exchange between Jer­e­ 42 Carroll, The Book of Jeremiah, pp. 730–733. Carroll’s account is not without some odd variations: His subsequent comment, on 44:15–19, says that the passage looks like a midrash on 7:17–18 only “at first sight,” but that in fact the cult is presented differently here, more as a feminine cult than as a family one, the discrepancy attributed to “inconsistent editing” (pp.735–736). 43 Ronnie Goldstein, The Life of Jeremiah: Tradition about the Prophet and their Evolution in Biblical Times (Je­ ru­­sa­lem: Bialik Institute, 2013), pp. 87–130 (Hebrew). 44 Goldstein seems aware of this possibility: Goldstein, ‫‏‬The Life of Jeremiah, pp. 89 note 5, 98–99 notes 21, 24. 45 See above, note 4 and the conclusion to section III. 46 Hoffman, “History and Ideology: The Case of Jeremiah 44”. 47 McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah, vol. 2, p. 1084.

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miah and a group of Judeans. Before trying to assess the historical plausibility of such an event it would be necessary to reconsider the division of roles in this dialogue. Contrary to Duhm and his followers,48 it seems preferable to be guided by the blend of masculine and feminine elements, both in matter and in grammar, evident in MT 44:15, 19, 24, 25 as well as by the familial scene in 7:18, and to assume that Jeremiah’s partners in this dialogue are depicted as a mixed group, men and women.49 Both genders are involved in the accusation and in the defense: the women, who seem to play the main role in the cult under discussion and the men, who patronize it and possibly participate (44: 25; cf. 7:18). From verse 25b it is evident that the women made vows, since the makers of the vows are urged in feminine plural imperatives to keep their vows: ‫נִ ְד ֵריכֶ ם‬-‫נִ ְד ֵריכֶ ם וְ עָ שֹה ַתעֲ ֶשֹינָ ה ֶאת‬-‫ה ֵקים ָּת ִק ְימנָ ה ֶאת‬.ָ Interpretation of the role division in the rest of the passage can therefore be informed by other situations in which women make vows and their husbands are involved: the legislation in Numbers 30 and Hannah’s vow in 1 Sam 1:11. According to Numbers 30 a woman’s vow is ultimately the liability of the paterfamilias, namely her father (until she is married) and her husband (afterwards). He is authorized to veto the vow upon hearing it by declaring it void (‫ )יפרנו‬or to validate it (‫ )יקימנו‬by saying nothing. This legislation is understandable from male controlled family life,50 thus reflecting social conditions and is not necessarily a Priestly innovation. It is possible that in 1 Samuel 1and in Jeremiah 44 the husbands’ involvement is expressed differently, namely by attributing the vows to them: in1 Sam 1:21 Hanna’s vow appears as Elkana’s (“his vow”), in what seems to be an interpolated solution to a legal problem;51 and in Jeremiah 44 a similar stylistic feature can be demonstrated in the husbands’ appropriation of the wives’ vows as their own. Hence, the gender ambiguity in 44:16–19; 25 may be resolved when viewed from this angle of patriarchal appropriation of women’s vows. In MT verse 25a the men are those addressed as the main culprits: “You and your wives” (‫אתם‬ ‫ ;)ונשיכם‬but the grammatically mixed text that follows suggests the wives are seen as those who spoke from their husbands’ mouths:



Jer 44:25 MT ‫אתם ונשיכם – ותדברנה בפיכם‬ ‫ובידיכם מלאתם לאמר‬ ‘‫עשה נעשה את נדרינו אשר נדרנו‬ ‫’לקטר למלכת השמים ולהסך לה נסכים‬ ‘‫’הקים תקימנה את־נדריכם‬ ‫ועשה תעשינה את־נדריכם‬

48 To the followers of Duhm’s theory (about the dialogue excluding the men) mentioned in note 39 may be added McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah, vol. 2, p. 1077: “The best conclusion in all the circumstances is that… in a more original text of vv. 15–19, the women were represented as the speakers through­out (Duhm, Cornill, Peake, H. Schmidt).” This is remarkable given McKane’s criticism of this kind of analysis. It is indeed difficult to write off Duhm’s exegetical legacy. 49 Cf. Yair Hoffman, Jeremiah (Mikra LeYisra’el; Je­ru­sa­lem: Magnes press, 2001), vol. 2, pp. 744–745, 747 (Hebrew). 50 Tony W. Cartledge, Vows in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East (JSOTSup147; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), pp. 34–35; Cf. Phyllis Ann Bird, “The Place of Women in the Israelite Cultus,” Patrick D. Miller, Paul D. Hanson, and Samuel Dean McBride (eds.), Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987), pp. 397–419, esp. 402. 51 Ruth Fidler, “A Wife’s Vow – The Husband’s Woe? (1 Samuel 1,21.23): The case of Hannah and Elkanah,” ZAW 118 (2006), pp. 374–388.

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[Jeremiah to the men] You and your wives – they [the wives] spoke through your mouths And you made it happen [lit. fulfilled it with your hands], saying: [Jeremiah to the men, paraphrasing their saying in vs 17] ‘We will surely perform our vows that we have made, To burn incense to the queen of heaven and to pour out libations to her’.52 [Jeremiah to the men, quoting their direction to their wives, endorsing their vows] ‘Do Keep (fulfill) your vows!’ [Jeremiah to the women, ironically confirming the necessity of paying vows] And surely, you will perform (pay) your vows This reading holds a key to interpreting the rest of the dialogue: If it is the men whose words are paraphrased in verse 25, then they are also the speakers in verse 17, the source of the paraphrase, or even in verses 17–18, the women entering the conversation only in 44:19. In both 44:17 and its paraphrase in 44:25 the men represent their wives, appropriating the wives’ vows as their own. Nevertheless, the vows are also the wives’, who made them. Therefore, the men could urge their wives (verse 25b): ‘Do Keep (fulfill)53 your vows!’ This stylistic feature seems to have been familiar to the interpolator of “his vow” in 1 Sam 1:21, when he wished to present the vow made by Hannah also as her husband’s. To recap, I see no textual reason why Jeremiah 44 could not be read as presenting an event, along the lines suggested by Duhm, minus the forced or self-serving features of his theory. This could be envisaged as a cultic gathering of Judean men and women in Egypt to pay vows to QH. The prophet’s response to this activity (now represented mostly in the Deuteronomistic sermon, 44:1–10) prompted the men involved to explain their position and reveal their commitment, following from their belief and from ‘their’ vows, to worship QH as a time-honoured homeland tradition (44:17–18), while rejecting the word of YHWH delivered by the prophet (vs 16). Finally (44:19), the women added that their part in the cult was supported (or confirmed, or shared – cf. Jer 7:18) by their husbands. They present here their own point of view approving the foregoing men’s account of familial cooperation. Duhm thought this was unwarranted if 44:16–18 came from the men, seeing here a reason to attribute the whole of 44:16–19 to the women. My conclusion is that Duhm’s worry about proper sequence and avoiding repetition was unwarranted, since as already pointed out, the text is no treatise on theology but an account of an animated dispute. 52 NRSV “You and your wives have accomplished in deeds what you declared in words” and similar translations give expression to the fusion of genders but are of little help in clarifying it. The reading I propose here differs somewhat from the one adopted in my article mentioned in note *. There I followed Arnold B. Ehrlich, Mikrâ ki-Pheschutô: Die Schrift nach ihrem Wortlaut (Berlin: M. Poppelauer, 1901), vol. 3, p. 268 (Hebrew), who explained that Jer 44:25 quoted the words of the women “We will surely perform our vows that we have made” etc. and then the words of the men: “Then confirm your vows,” etc. Upon further consideration, I adopted some of Ehrlich’s latter reading, but found that the first part of the verse fell exactly into place when taken as a quotation of the men as their wives’ voices! (‫וַ ְּת ַד ֵּב ְרנָ ה‬, 3rd f. pl. – “they spoke”, is more usually taken for 2nd f. pl., thus contributing to the notion that only the women are addressed). This reading developed from my realization that a husband could be presented as the proprietor of his wife’s vow: Fidler, “A Wife’s Vow – The Husband’s Woe?,” pp. 379–381. I later noticed that this reading of Jer 44: 25 has been proposed also by Zevit, The Religions of Ancient Israel, p. 555 (who did not connect it to women’s vows). 53 This denotation of ‫ ֵהקים‬is not unlike the one it has with God as subject, fulfilling his promise, for instance ‫ ֵהקים ְּברית‬or ‫ שבועה‬or ‫( ָדבר‬Gen 26:3; Lev 26:9; I Kgs 6:12 etc.). Num 23:19 has a similar usage of a human subject, paralleled by ‫ עשה‬as in Jer 44:25. In Num 30:13–14 (Heb 30:14–15) ‫ ֵהקים‬has a slightly different denotation with a vow: let it stand, make it binding. See BDB, p. 879 (6 ‫ ֵהקים‬e, f).

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Reading it this way makes it a little more difficult to dismiss the account as just “an inconsequential pastiche on ‘idolatry’.” However, in trying to assess the historical feasibility of such a dispute, the difficulty of looking through stereotype, later phraseology reasserts itself, as shown herewith. The retort of the men (44:15–18) depicts QH cult as widespread in the kingdom of Judah up to the highest levels of government: “[…] we and our fathers, our kings and our princes, in the cities of Judah and in the streets of Je­ru­sa­lem.” These words apart, the cultic activity in Jeremiah 44:17–19, 25 and particularly 7:18 strikes a more familial or domestic impression: vows, cakes, even libation, could be offered by anyone anywhere, hardly requiring “the cities of Judah and […] the streets of Je­ru­sa­lem” or the participation of kings and princes. Which component in this double aspect of QH cult, the familial or the national, if any, may be closer to the religio-historical actuality of 6th century B.C.E. Judeans? Is it possible that both aspects have their place here, given the changing circumstances (from kingdom to exile)?54 In the analysis of the text as a three-move dialogue offered in section III (table 1) the phrases conveying the nationwide impression were noted as recurring in all three moves: (1) 44:2, 6, 9; (2) 44:17; (3) 44:21. This suggests that they may be the product of the Deuteronomistic rendition, with its tendency to enhance the forbidden cult to a more general condemnation of idolatry.55 Should this lead to the conclusion that a QH cult, if it did exist, operated only in the familial domain? In the (already established) absence of continuity between text and event, it would be preferable to try and examine QH from other, non-textual, angles before proceeding to such conclusions.56 V QH Cult vis-à-vis Yahwism: Syncretistic Solution or Substitution? As already noted, the Masoretic correction, ‘work / cult / host of heaven’, has succeeded to rid MT Jer 7:18 and 44:17–19, 25 of any mention of QH; yet it has not erased the impression that the condemned cult had to do with a goddess, since the object of this cult and the recipient of its offerings still appears as feminine: “we made cakes for her, marked with her image, and poured out libations to her” (44:19; cf. 44:17, 18, 25). Another type of revision that is still somewhat transparent is the generalization of QH cult as the worship of “other gods” in verse 15: “Then all the men who were aware that their wives had been making offerings57 to other gods” etc. While this tactic helps connect the defence of QH worshippers with the accusations regarding “other gods” in the Deuteronomistic sermon: 44:3, 5, 8), it also leaves the impression that the wives were the only culprits, an impression which contradicts the Deuteronomistic accusations. This incongruence makes it clear that the worship

54 Thus, Dever, Did God Have a Wife?, p. 190: “We are dealing not with ‘state’ religion, for the state has disap­peared. The family remains the center of religious life, as it always had been; and there women rule as well as men.” 55 Goldstein, The Life of Jeremiah,‫‏‬pp. 97–98. Goldstein presents a list of Deuteronomistic phrases which appear in the parts usually considered authentic. ‫‏‬ 56 Differently: Goldstein, The Life of Jeremiah,‫‏‬pp. 98–99, note 30: The late, tendentious writing on Jeremiah in Egypt indicates to him that the importance of exploring QH in extra-biblical realia is reduced. Such data are introduced somewhat marginally, p. 122, note 88. 57 The Hebrew verb is ‫מקטרות‬, literally “offering incense,” the verb used throughout Jeremiah 44 of both general idolatry and QH worship.

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intended here is that of QH, as performed by women who had made vows to her,58 despite the fact that it is now garbed in the standard phrase “other gods.”59 The goddess is mentioned five times in the Hebrew Bible (Jer 7:18; 44:17, 18, 19, 25) as QH but without her name, an absence which has generated recurring attempts of identification based on her title, offerings and locations.60 Several goddesses would seem to fit the bill to some degree, but none completely. Perhaps the closest is Assyrian Ishtar (/ Canaanite Astarte), who has not only similar titles and astral representations, but is also offered kamānu cakes, that are probably reflected in the Hebrew kawwānîm (‫ כַ וָ נִ ים‬Jer 7:18; 44:19). A degree of participation with Asherah (2 Kgs 21:7; 23:4, 7) could reasonably be assumed.61 Furthermore, relating QH to the goddess Anat, entitled “mistress of the heavens” (in 2nd millennium B.C.E. texts and iconography),62 attends to the Judeo-Egyptian location of QH in Jeremiah 44, where in the subsequent (5th) century B.C.E. the goddess ‘AnathYHW’ (‫ )ענתיהו‬appears in an Aramaic papyrus from Elephantine, in the context of an oath (cf. Jer 44:26).63 By the 5th century B.C.E. the nameless QH seems to be well known as a goddess and has a temple dedicated to her in Egypt, as apparent from Hermopolis letter 4.64 The reason for QH anonymity is perhaps a more significant question than the one regarding her identity. Two explanations may be considered:

58 The men’s awareness of their wives’ activities becomes especially relevant when these are seen as linked to the vows made to QH, mentioned in 44:17 and 25; as observed by Goldstein, ‫‏‬The Life of Jeremiah, p. 129. Goldstein attributes this detail also to the author’s awareness of the Priestly legislation regarding women’s vows and the requirement of their husbands’ (or fathers’) involvement in validating or vetoing such vows as they hear them (Num 30:14). This is possible, but hardly proves his argument for the secondary, post-Deuteronomistic, quality of the whole QH theme in this chapter. See also above, note 44. 59 This suggests textual priority of the QH theme to the stereotypical “other gods,” pace Goldstein. 60 For some of the reviews of these identifications in past scholarship see: Susan Ackerman, ‘“And the Women Knead Dough”: The Worship of the Queen of Heaven in Sixth Century Judah,’ Peggy L. Day (ed.), Gender and Difference in Ancient Israel (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1989), p. 110; Gerald Lynwood Keown, Pamela J. Scalise and Thomas J. Smothers, Jeremiah 26–52 (WBC; Dallas, TX: Word Books, 1995), pp. 266– 267; Houtman, “Queen of Heaven ‫מלכת השמים‬,” p. 678; and especially idem, Der Himmel im Alten Testament, pp. 111–113. 61 Keel and Uehlinger, Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in Ancient Israel, pp. 292–294, and illustration 287; pp. 337–339 and illustration 331a. On the astral feature in QH see above, note 7. On Asherah(-Ishtar) as QH see Klaus Koch, “Aschera als Himmelskӧnigin in Je­r u­sa­lem,” UF 20 (1988), pp. 97–120; Niehr, “The Rise of YHWH in Judahite and Israelite Religion,” pp. 55, 68; Dever, Did God Have a Wife?, p. 192. 62 Keel and Uehlinger, Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in Ancient Israel, pp. 86, 338. 63 This is the oath of Menahem son of Shallum to Meshullam son of Nathan concerning the ownership of a she-ass. The oath is taken “by Ḥ[erem] the [god] in/by the place of prostration and by AnathYHW” (‫בח[רם‬ ‫ ;)אלה]א במסגדא ובענתיהו‬Bezalel Porten and Ada Yardeni, Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt, II: Contracts (Je­r u­sa­lem: Hebrew University, Dept. of the History of the Jewish People, 1999), B7.3:3 Recto. 64 Edda Bresciani and Murād Kāmil, Le lettere aramaiche di Hermopoli (Roma: Accademia Nazionale dei Lin­ cei, 1966), p. 398, 4:1: ‫שלם בית בתאל ובית מלכת שמין‬. The importance of this source for our topic was recognized even prior to its publication by Israel Ephʽal, “‫מלֶ כֶ ת השמים‬,” ְ Encyclopaedia Biblica (Je­r u­sa­lem: Bia­lik Institute, 1962), p. 1159 (Hebrew). Although the letter is of non-Jewish origin, the temple of QH (byt mlkt šmyn) in Syene may have been in proximity to the Judean migrants (Houtman, “Queen of Heaven ‫מלכת השמים‬,” p. 479). It is interesting that the god btʼl (Bethel), whose temple is blessed just before that of mlkt šmyn, probably had a north Israelite provenance: Alexander Rofé, Angels in the Bible: Israelite Belief in Angels as Evidenced by Biblical Traditions (2nd ed.; Je­r u­sa­lem: Carmel, 2012), pp. 179–183 (Hebrew).

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1. According to Cornelis Houtman, leaving the goddess nameless is “a symptom of a religious atmosphere in which the qualities of a deity are held to be of more importance than her name.”65 Houtman explains: “In the syncretistic world of the first millennium B.C.E. Near East, the title Queen of Heaven was evidently a designation for the universal mother goddess, who according to the time and the place of her worship could have a different character.”66 2. According to Mark Leuchter, “[T]he ambiguity regarding the identity of the Queen of Heaven is a deliberate rhetorical strategy, allowing for all variations on the dedication to the numinous female concept (Asherah, Astarte, Tanit, etc.) to fall under the same category of illegitimacy. The critique is thereby applied to all kinship groups preserving their own traditions and variations of the numinous female principle in association with the veneration of the ancestral deity.”67 These explanations use different approaches to address the double aspect – universal and domestic – of the elusive goddess. The first explanation sets QH anonymity in its presumed ‘original’ context, linking it to the type of deity in question: the universal mother goddess, who could assume different names and cultural forms.68 Seen in this light, the scholarly search of a QH equivalent in any one particular goddess appears misguided. The second explanation relates to the literary context: A Deuteronomist, faced with the “numinous female concept” in the shape of various goddesses, cleverly left them all lumped together under the general QH title, so his critique could apply to any such cult. Leuchter adds: “As a result, the family based cult is elevated to the level of competing national theology rather than remaining a matter of private religious expression, replaying in a sense the “showdown” between Yahwism and Baalism conducted by Elijah in 1 Kings 18.” Each of these two explanations could be relevant to a different stage in the history of QH, but I find only the first one indispensable. A Deuteronomist who used QH as a synonym of “other gods” could be responding to some prior manifestation of the nameless QH in Judean religion. While Leuchter rightly points out that Jeremiah 44 makes the QH cult the subject of a “show­down” reminiscent of 1 Kings 18 (only with different results), it is not this showdown that “elevated” QH from the private to the national domain. Considering her cosmic title, her temple mentioned in Hermopolis letter 4, as well as the warfare powers ascribed to some of the goddesses proposed as her equivalents, it seems that QH familial cult69 had more to it than childbirth, vege­ table gardens, and measles70 or “a forlorn and debased worship” by some poor old women.71 It is 65 Houtman, “Queen of Heaven ‫מלכת השמים‬,” p. 678. Houtman refers to Delcor for this explanation: Mathias Delcor, “Le culte de la ‘Reine du Ciel’ selon Jer 7.18; 44,1–19,25 et ses survivances,” in Wim C. Delsman et al (eds.), Vom Kanaan bis Kerala. Festschrift für Prof. Mag. Dr. J. P. M. van der Ploeg O.P. (Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1982), pp. 115–119. 66 Houtman, “Queen of Heaven ‫מלכת השמים‬,” p. 678; cf. Carroll, The Book of Jeremiah, p. 213. 67 Mark Leuchter, “Cult of Personality: The Eclipse of Pre-Exilic Judahite Cultic Structures in the Book of Jer­­emiah,” in: Lester L. Grabbe and Martti Nissinen (eds.), Constructs of Prophecy in the Former and Latter Proph­ets and Other Texts (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011), pp. 95–115, esp. 106–107. 68 As shown in a study of the archetype in terms of its universal human significance: Erich Neumann, The Great Mother: An Analysis of the Archetype (2nd ed.; translated by R. Manheim; Bollingen Series 47; Princeton: Prince­ton University Press, 1963). I am indebted to Dr Shlomo Bahar for referring me to Neumann’s study in this context. 69 According to Zevit, The Religions of Ancient Israel, p. 541, the cult described in Jer 7:18 “was familial, perhaps at the level of the beytāb or even the nuclear family, with many such units involved at the same place at the same time.” 70 As styled by Duhm, Das Buch Jeremia, p. 331. 71 Thus Yehezkel Kaufmann, The Religion of Israel: from Its Beginnings to the Babylonian Exile (translated and abridged by Moshe Greenberg; London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd.), p. 408.

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remarkable that scholars in the past fell for such marginalization of QH cult, overlooking the fact that interest in fertility, victory (or survival) in war, and general well-being, was never exclusive to women. A different approach to the possible role of QH in Judean cult takes its cue from some of her presumed equivalents, especially Asherah and Anat, suggesting that she was worshipped as YHWH’s consort.72 The difficulty here however is that QH worshippers seem to have high regard for the sovereignty of their goddess, and they say nothing to suggest that her position was subordinate to YHWH or beside him. Indeed, they acknowledge YHWH, accepting that the prophet speaks his word (in contrast to Jer 43:2), but reject his authority and demand of exclusivity. Do they propose or even allude to some complementary relation or a syncretistic solution between the two deities?73 Scholars who have reached such conclusions seem oblivious of the fact that the speakers in Jer 44:15–19 are neither theologians nor philosophers, just simple folk speaking of their needs. Thus, by way of elimination, a more sincere interpretation of the testimony embedded in Jer 44:15–19 may be reached: [T]he Queen of Heaven seems to have challenged the YHWH cult as an alternative at least with regard to political well-being (cf. Jer 44:15–19) and may not have had a niche in the lower echelons of divinities ensconced in Israelite mythology. Her cult may have been an alternative.74 VI The “Rewriting”: Generalization and De-feminization Despite the titles here and in section IV, the textual circumstances of Jeremiah 44 make it difficult to discuss “writing” and “rewriting” as neatly separate categories. Thus, while the generalization of QH cult as the worship of “other gods” may well seem to be revising a more specific event (esp. in verse 15), it is not possible to prove the existence of a core text relating such an event. Paradoxical as it may seem, it is as though some ‘rewriting’ forms part of the (Dtr) ‘writing’! As regards the intensification of the participants in the dialogue to include “all the Judeans living in the land of Egypt, at Migdol, at Tahpanhes, at Memphis, and in the land of Pathros” (44:1), “a great assembly, all the people who lived in Pathros in the land of Egypt” (44:15), “all the people, men and women, all the people who were giving him this answer” (44:20), and “all the people and all the women … all you Judeans who are in the land of Egypt” (44:24) – evidence of rewriting is in the bulky, repetitious style, the syntactic awkwardness, and the textual witnesses.75 This too is not sufficient to indicate a different core text; but it does suggest that the grand, intensifying phrases are the more suspect, given the minus in LXX that concerns such a phrase (44:24: “all you Judeans who are in the land of Egypt”) and the tendency against the descent to 72 Koch, “Aschera als Himmelskӧnigin in Je­r u­sa­lem,” pp. 108, 120; Niehr, “The Rise of YHWH in Judahite and Israelite Religion,” pp. 54–55, 57. 73 Theoretically QH worshippers could be practicing a form of syncretism based on different spheres of operation, with QH in the domestic sphere and YHWH heading the national one, as proposed by Duhm and Frie­d rich Giesebrecht, Das Buch Jeremia (2nd ed.; HAT; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1907); cf. Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 26–45, p. 75. McKane rightly points out that this theory entirely contradicts the claims in Jer 44:17–18; McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah, vol. 2, p. 1088. 74 Zevit, The Religions of Ancient Israel, p. 653, note 77. 75 For further comments on Jer 44:1, 15, 20, 24 see section III and the text critical editions and commentaries.

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Egypt and/or the Egyptian diaspora apparent in a secondary passage (44:11–14) as well as in other textual units of the book (Jer 42–43; 24:8–10). This seems to leave the Masoretic correction of the QH title – from “Queen” to “service” /  “cult” / “host” of heaven – as the best documented example of rewriting in QH texts. It is interesting that the corrected text could still be indirectly linked to the objectionable goddess (for example in the Targum “star”),76 having only just superficially77 concealed QH as part of a larger group that is likewise idolatrous. It may well be reconsidered what was to be gained by the correction.78 Beyond the general need to remove names of “other gods,”79 the Masoretic correction regarding QH amounts to the removal of her femininity. In biblical terms QH appearance in Judean religious praxis and in the Judeo-Egyptian sphere is not only a threat to Yahwism or monotheism, but a cultural clash in the making. As sometimes noted, the fact that the Hebrew Bible has no feminine words for anything divine is no coincidence.80 God, sons of God, angels are all grammatically, and to a great extent also conceptually, masculine. This is also the gender of the phrase “other gods,” generally used to reject claims of divine status regarding deities other than YHWH, while still referring to them as “gods.” Such gods (Baal, ’El) could be, and were at some stage, syncretized into YHWH; a possibility nonexistent with a goddess, who would remain a separate entity.81 It seems then, that the otherness of a goddess is greater, or more threatening, than that of “other gods.” The worship of a goddess could be condemned by using her name (when she had one!), as with Asherah (2 Kgs 21:7; 23:4, 7), even attributing her to a nation as its “god,” as “Ashtoreth god of (sgK 1( .cte ”snainodiS eht )‫אלהי‬ ”sdog rehto“ sa tsuj elyts citsimonoretueD eht ni denmednoc – HQ sseleman ,tsartnoc yB 82.)5:11 on ,nevaeh fo )tluc ro( tsoh suohproma na fo trap semoceb – eltit on raeb ot TM ni detomed dna .ytied eninimef a regnol Finally, the female worshippers of QH seem to have received a textual treatment comparable to that of their goddess: Their only speech, 44:19, which was apparently introduced with such words as “and the women said” (extant in LXXLuc and Peshiṭta) is unidentified in MT, and forms part of a longer speech (44:15–19) ascribed to the mixed, magnified group: “all the men who knew… with all the women… and all the people living in Lower and Upper Egypt” (verse 15). The disastrous finale of Jeremiah’s prophetic mission as reflected in this chapter was probably felt to be degrading enough, without the last word explicitly given to women defending their worship of a goddess.83 76 See above, note 7. 77 Superficially, because some of the feminine grammatical forms related to QH were left intact, as explained in section V. Perhaps it was assumed that they would be related to the creatively devised, similar sounding substitute noun ‫מלאכה‬, which was grammatically feminine. 78 It could perhaps be argued that the association with the host of heaven, suggested by the corrected text ‫ְמלֶ כֶ ת‬ or ‫( ְמלֶ אכֶ ת‬cf. Gen 2:1–2), presents the cult in question as more specifically idolatrous. Cf. Deut 4:19; 17:3. 79 Rofé, “Text and Context: The Textual Elimination of the Names of Gods and Its Literary, Administrative, and Legal Context,” pp. 75–76, traces the origin of this scribal practice to an interpretative addition in Exod 23:13 that forbids uttering the names of “other gods.” 80 Kaufmann, The Religion of Israel: from its Beginnings to the Babylonian Exile, p. 10; Bird, “The Place of Women in the Israelite Cultus,” pp. 397–399. 81 An even closer relation between QH and YHWH was proposed by Ellis, “Jeremiah 44: What if ‘the Queen of Heaven’ is YHWH?”, arguing that “worshipping ‘the Queen of Heaven’ does not preclude worshipping YHWH”, and is even identical with it. Despite its captivating presentation, Ellis’ thesis remains unconvincing. 82 Translations tend to smooth over the gender incongruity, for example NRSV: “Astarte the goddess of the Sidonians”. 83 That verse 19 was the speech of the women (cf. “we made cakes for her”; “our husbands”) was nevertheless evident to careful readers and interpreters, for example David Kimchi, Metsudat David, and moderns. My

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VII Conclusion “It is archaeology, and archaeology alone, that can bring back those anonymous, forgotten folk of antiquity and give them back their long-lost voice, allowing them to speak to us of their ultimate concerns. We must listen, especially to women, whom patriarchy has rendered largely mute.”  84 I hope to have shown that, with all due respect to archaeology,85 there is also something to be learnt about “those… forgotten folk of antiquity… especially… women,” through careful reading of that great, problematic, secondary “or even tertiary”  86 source, the Hebrew Bible.87 In Jeremiah 44 it is possible to look through the rhetoric and scribal modifications intended to intensify or to soften such voices: Intensify – by expanding and generalizing the group of Judeans involved; Soften – by concealing the femininity of the deity and obscuring the women who seemed to be having the last word. The first type, generalizations that apply the episode to the whole Egyptian diaspora, could indeed serve the interests of the Second Temple community; but they should not blur the difference between the basic picture and its intensification. The second type, de-feminization etc., seems to ameliorate somewhat the great threat in a feminine alternative to Yahwism. Thus both types of modifications interfere with the main, post-traumatic-theodicy thrust of the account, which had as its focus the apostasy of Judean fugitives as justifying their fate, comparably to Ezek 14:22–23 (where a more general outlook on the iniquities is apparent). Both types also demonstrate the difficulty and controversy inherent in this sensitive subject. From the perspective of other biblical and extra-biblical data, the practice of a QH type of cult both in Judah and by Judeans in Egypt seems feasible. Its earlier background could be the 8th century B.C.E. Assyrian influence during the reign of Ahaz, reaching its peak under Ma­nas­ seh.88 The interruption of the cult (Jer 44:17) may be linked to Josiah’s reform, some forty years before the arrival of the group of Yohanan in Egypt. Admittedly, evidence on Egyptian soil that is (almost) contemporary comes from the 5th and not the 6th century B.C.E. (Elephantine, Her­ mo­polis). The latter circumstance could appear to support a Second Temple date of composition for the QH controversy, but would not necessitate it; divine appellations are known to linger for some generations in the collective memory or cultural traditions of communities.89 Currently, after the full publication of Papyrus Amherst 63, there are good reasons to consider that the presence of QH and other deities in the YHW entourage in documents from 5th Century B.C.E. Upper Egypt had deeper roots in the history of these communities.90 position regarding the possible authenticity of the LXX plus “and the women said” is discussed in detail in the article mentioned in note *. 84 Dever, Did God Have a Wife? p. 12. 85 A different view from Dever’s on the relation between archaeology and Bible research is given by Menahem Haran, “The Bible and Archaeology as a Testimony to the History of Israel,” Beit Mikra 49 (2003), pp. 31–46 (Hebrew). 86 See above, notes 8–9. 87 Cf. Hoffman, “History and Ideology: The Case of Jeremiah 44,” p. 51, on the historicity of Josiah’s reform: “Ideology can and does create fictitious historiography or molds real historical events according to its needs… Yet, this need not obstruct our ability to verify or refute the basic historical authenticity of a story even without any external evidence.” 88 Moshe Weinfeld, “The Worship of Molech and of the Queen of Heaven and its background,” UF 4 (1972), pp. 133–154. 89 It is interesting to note for example, the wealth of material on Egyptian gods and goddesses found in midrash literature (rabbinic and other types): Rivka Ulmer, “The Egyptian Gods in Midrashic Texts,” HTR 103 (2010), pp. 181–204; idem, Egyptian Cultural Icons in Midrash (Studia Judaica 52; Berlin and New York: De Gruyter:, 2009), pp. 257–272. I am indebted to Dr. Zvi Stampfer, who referred me to Ulmer’s work. 90 Karel van der Toorn, Papyrus Amherst 63 (AOAT 448; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2018); idem, “Egyptian Pa­py­ rus Sheds New Light on Jewish History,” BAR 44 (2018), pp. 32–68.

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Judging by textual, epigraphic and archeological data, the devotion to QH described in Jeremiah 44 seems realistic and intense enough to have its impact on any appraisal of Israelite religion and its development. The Judeans’ conduct, placed in a historical context related to the destruction of their temple and land, can be described in terms of crisis religiosity. The series of upheavals and catastrophes that befell Judah and its population, starting with the death in battle of the reforming king Josiah (609 B.C.E.) and continuing with ruin and exiles, would inevitably have brought about also a religious upheaval. This could result in different, even contrasting, attitudes: contrition and theodicy on one hand with scepticism and revision on the other hand; recognition of the prophetic veracity versus challenging prophetic models of preaching up to a kind of deconstruction.91 Crisis religiosity sometimes causes crisis sufferers to revert to cults centred in natural phenomena, such as vegetation, procreation, and heavenly bodies.92 By returning to QH Judean fugitives combine the appeal to such natural powers believed to provide fertility and survival with the universality of the Great mother archetype, allowing women to find their place in the cult. Thus they seem blind to the fundamentals of Israelite Yahwism: the covenant commitment, the superiority or exclusiveness of YHWH, and his just rule of his created world. Their defence in 44:15–19 shows they have no understanding of these fundamentals, or as Hosea might have put it, “She [Israel as a fallen woman] did not know that it was I who gave her the grain, the wine, and the oil” (Hos 2:10 [ET, 2:8]). If however, the relation of Jeremiah 44 to 6th century B.C.E. realities is abandoned in favor of reading it as a later de-legitimization of the Egyptian diaspora, it is still remarkable that QH cult was thought sufficiently feasible to be used in this way. The course of writing and rewriting is also one of reading and rereading. Did later scribes present these aberrant voices for their own purposes? Most probably; but this is not to say that theirs was the only or primary purpose of such texts. Did they read them in view of the realities of their own (Persian) period? Inevitably; but it is not necessary to restrict the reading to this period. Did they even invent these voices? If this is the case, they must have “lied like truth”93 to gain any credence. A defamation of a present-day office-bearer would not resort to such an accusation as making kamānu – cakes for Ishtar. An accusation, whether true or false, must be feasible to carry any weight. As “core text” and “core event” turn out to be such elusive factors, it is “rewriting” and “rereading” that take more of the burden in the search for historical significance or authenticity. Bearing in mind the different possibilities proposed, discussed, or even criticized in this essay is my way of maintaining “a reciprocal concern with the historicity of texts and the textuality of history.”94 91 McKane explained that in Jeremiah 44:17–18; 21–22 the prophet and his interlocutors use the same post hoc propter hoc argumentation, but their conclusions diverge, “and who is to say whether their conclusions or those of Jeremiah are the better.” McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah, vol. 2, p. 1089; cf. Carroll, The Book of Jeremiah, pp. 737–738. 92 See for example the explanation offered to some of the temple abominations in Ezekiel’s vision (Ezek 8: 5–17) by Walther Eichrodt, Ezekiel: A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM, 1970), pp. 125–126: “The bitter disillusionment of 598 had left them homeless, religiously speaking, as well as in other respects. It had seemed to them that their national God had neither the will not the power to assert his lordship against the gods of the great powers.… The mystery of life and fertility, upon which Israel’s earthly existence depends… is torn away from him and handed over to a natural power.” 93 “I… begin to doubt th’ equivocation of the fiend that lies like truth.” Macbeth, V,5,41–43; William Shake­ speare: The Complete Works, ed. Peter Alexander (London and Glasgow: Collins, 1951), p. 1025. 94 Louis A. Montrose, “Professing the Renaissance: The Poetics and Politics of Culture,” in Harold Aram Veeser (ed.), The New Historicism (New York and London: Routledge, 1989), p. 20.

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The Letters in the Book of Ezra: Origin and Context* Sebastian Grätz Johannes Gutenberg University Mainz

I Introduction More than one hundred years ago a heated discussion about the authenticity of the Aramaic letters contained within Ezra 4‒7 took place. Especially involved in the debate were the scholars Willem Kosters, Julius Wellhausen, Bernardus Eerdmans and Eduard Meyer, from whom Meyer emerged victorious insofar as his opinion was long upheld by the majority of Biblical scholars and ancient historians.1 Meyer considered the Aramaic letters or documents in Ezra 4‒7 to be essentially authentic, and because the late biblical books like Ezra and Nehemiah were of rather little interest to the scholarly world of the 20th century, his opinion could survive by and large uncontested: Most scholars adopted Meyer’s assumptions without a closer re-evaluation of the evidence. During the last couple of decades, however, the late biblical literature has come under intense critical scrutiny, not least due to the insight that the post-exilic times probably formed the background of the most important editorial processes behind the Torah/Pentateuch and the books of the Prophets.2 An important piece of evidence is Ezra 7:26, a phrase that terminates the Aramaic letter of a certain Artaxerxes (Ezra 7:12‒26):3 All who will not obey the law of your God and the law of the king, let judgment be strictly executed on them, whether for death or for banishment or for confiscation of their goods or for imprisonment. The main focus of the scholarly debate has been the issue of the relationship of “the law of God” and “the law of the king” (in each case dāt). The ancient historian Peter Frei took Ezra 7:26 as an example for his theory of a Persian imperial authorization of local laws: “By definition it is a pro* The first three parts of this article were originally presented at the conference “Configuring Communities: The Socio-Political Dimensions of Ancient Epistolography,” 2011, at Durham, UK, and printed as “The Lit­­ er­a­r y and Ideological Character of the Letters in Ezra 4‒7,” in Paola Ceccarelli et al. (eds.), Letters and Com­­ mu­­nities. Studies in the Socio-Political Dimensions of Ancient Epistolography (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), pp. 239‒251. 1 See Willem Kosters, Die Wiederherstellung Israels in der persischen Periode (Heidelberg: Verlag J. Hörning, 1895); Julius Wellhausen, “Die Rückkehr der Juden aus dem babylonischen Exil,” Nachrichten der Königl. Ge­­­­ sell­­­schaft der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen, Philologisch-Historische Klasse, (Göttingen 1885), pp. 166–86; J. Well­­­ hau­sen, “Review of: E. Meyer, Die Entstehung des Judenthums,” 1897, Göttinger Gelehrte An­­zei­gen159 (1897), pp. 89–97; Bernardus D. Eerdmans, “Ezra and the Priestly Code,” The Expositor 7.10 (1910), pp. 306–326, Eduard Meyer, Die Entstehung des Judenthums: Eine historische Untersuchung (Halle: Niemeyer, 1896). 2 See the recent introductory literature, e.g., Konrad Schmid, Literaturgeschichte des Alten Testaments: Eine Ein­­führung (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2008), pp. 140‒144; Oded Lipschits, Gary N. Knop­pers and Manfred Oeming (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in the Achaemenid Period: Negotiating Iden­ tity in an International Context (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011). 3 Unless otherwise noted, the translations offered here follow the NRSV.

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cess by which the norms established by a local authority are not only approved and accepted by a central authority but adopted as its own. The local norms are thereby established and protected within the framework of the entire state association, that is, the empire, as higher-ranking norms binding on all.”4 Frei tends to identify the “law of God” with “the law of the king.” The “law of God” would, thus, be authorized by the king as legally binding imperial law. If this “law of God” is to be identified with the Torah, one can easily imagine the far-reaching con­sequences of Frei’s thesis: the Torah would have been the binding law (dāt) for the Judaean com­munity since the Persian period, which raises the further question of how far the Persian policy influenced the editorial process that generated the Torah. Eduard Meyer put it as follows: “…so the establishment of Judaism can only be understood as a product of the Persian empire.”5 In short, the question concerning the authenticity of the documents displayed in Ezra 4‒7 has far-reaching implications for our understanding of the beginnings of the Torah and of Judaism, and it is reasonable to take a closer look at these documents again. It seems appropriate to start with a short examination of the form and the content of the documents in question. II The Form of the Prescripts of the Letters It is noteworthy that the embedded documents are written in Aramaic whereas the surrounding text is written in Hebrew. At first glance, their derivation from Persian chancelleries therefore appears to be likely, given that Aramaic was the official language in Persian times. And many scholars following Meyer, have indeed assumed that the documents are by and large authentic.6 Recently, however, doubts about their authenticity have come to the fore. Dirk Schwiderski, for instance, has re-examined the form of the letters, especially the prescripts,7 and concluded that the forms employed in Ezra do not fit properly the form of official letters from the Persian period.8 On the contrary, they show significant differences. A good example is the beginning of the letter in Ezra 4:6‒11, which runs as follows: In the reign of Ahasuerus, in his accession year, they wrote an accusation against the inhabitants of Judah and Je­ru­sa­lem. 7 And in the days of Artaxerxes, Bishlam and Mithredath and Tabeel and the rest of their associates wrote to King Artaxerxes of Persia; the letter was written in Aramaic and translated.9 6

4 Peter Frei, “Persian Imperial Authorization: A Summary,” in James W. Watts (ed.), Persia and Torah: The The­ o­ry of Imperial Authorization of the Pentateuch (SBLSymS 17, Atlanta: SBL Press, 2001), pp. 5–40, esp. 7. 5 Meyer, Entstehung, p. 71, “… so ist die Entstehung des Judenthums nur zu begreifen als Product des Per­ser­ reichs.” 6 For a closer discussion, see the contributions in: James W. Watts (ed.), Persia and Torah. The Theory of Im­pe­ rial Authorization of the Pentateuch, SBL Symposium Series 17 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2001). 7 Dirk Schwiderski, Handbuch des nordwestsemitischen Briefformulars: Ein Beitrag zur Echtheitsfrage der aramäischen Briefe des Esrabuches (BZAW 295; Berlin and New York: W. de Gruyter, 2000), pp. 343‒380. See already the proposals of H. H. Rowley, The Aramaic of the Old Testament: A Grammatical and Lexical Study of Its Relations with other Early Aramaic Dialects (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1929), pp. 8‒13: “…the con­clusion is inevitable that Biblical Aramaic is intermediate between that of the Papyri [found at Ele­phan­ tine] and the Nabatean and Palmyrene dialects” (pp. 12–13). 8 The exception, according to Schwiderski is Ezra 7:12‒26. On this text see below, section III. 9 See on the difficult translation of verse 7 by Joseph Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah: A Commentary (Old Tes­ta­ ment Library; London: SCM Press, 1989), p. 110. Blenkinsopp states that “ketāb, Aram., should be read as a gloss on the unfamiliar Old Persian loanword ništevān.”

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Rehum the royal deputy and Shimshai the scribe wrote a letter against Je­ru­sa­lem to King Artaxerxes as follows 9 then Rehum the royal deputy, Shimshai the scribe, and the rest of their associates, the judges, the envoys, the officials, the Persians, the people of Erech, the Babylonians, the people of Susa, that is, the Elamites, 10 and the rest of the nations whom the great and noble Osnappar deported and settled in the cities of Samaria and in the rest of the province Beyond the River wrote – and now 11 this is a copy of the letter that they sent: To King Artaxerxes: Your servants, the people of the province Beyond the River. And now … 8

Here, we have, according to Schwiderski, an accumulation of reports concerning four letters: 1) verse 6 2) verse 7 3) verse 8 4) verses 9‒10 (without: “and now,” Aramaic ûke‘ænæt ).10 Not until verse 11 do we come to know the content of the last of these letters (= no. 4), which probably begins with verse 9. Apart from the unrealistically large number of addressors in verse 9, Schwiderski also pointed out the remarkably unspecific and brief statement of addressors in verse 11. Letters written on papyrus usually display a detailed form of address on the outside (verso) and a shorter repetition of the address on the inside (recto). If we had such a two-fold form in the verses 9‒11, the repetition of the address in verse 11 could be expected to be more detailed, as shown by the following letter from the Aršama archive at Elephantine, written in the late fifth century B.C.E.:11 Verso: To our lord Arsames who is in Egypt, your servants Achaemenes and his colleagues the heralds, Bagadana and his colleagues the judges, Peteisi and his colleagues the scribes of the province of Pamunparat (?), Harudj and his colleagues the scribes of the province of […] Recto: To our lord Arsames, your servants Achaemenes and his colleagues, Bagadana and his colleagues, and the scribes of the province (TAD A6.1; Cowley 17).12 Here, the addressors introduce themselves by name also on the inside (recto) of the letter, whereas Ezra 4:11 seems to be much less specific. Moreover, there is no salutation in Ezra 4:11. In verse 12 the addressors turn directly to their concern, without an appropriate salutation: “And now may it be known to the king…” This, too, differs from the style of official letters in the Persian period. Consider the answer of the king, as given in Ezra 4:17: 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 Aramaic šelām is translated as “greeting” in the NRSV. This kind of salutation with an isolated šelām, however, has no parallels in the epigraphic material from the Persian era. Rather, 10 A fifth one, perhaps a part of a rescript, could be hidden in verse 7. See Schwiderski, Handbuch, p. 345. 11 See Schwiderski, Handbuch, pp. 358‒361. 12 Translation: Bezalel Porten and Ada Yardeni, (eds.), Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt: Newly Copied, Edited and Translated into Hebrew and English, Vol. 1: Letters (Je­ru­sa­lem: Magnes, 1986), p. 94.

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according to Schwiderski, it is characteristic of examples from the Hellenistic-Roman period.13 Furthermore, the rescript of the king is lacking an indication of the addressor. Hence, Schwiderski assumes that the prescripts of the letters rendered in Ezra 4 display the customs of Imperial Aramaic letters only partially. In contrast to Meyer and others, he thinks that in the book of Ezra we are not dealing with authentic documents but rather with the phenomenon of literary reception.14 The form of official letters from the Persian period served as a model for the creation of the letters that we find in Ezra 4‒7. However, in creating the prescripts, the author made some mistakes. Two conclusions can be drawn from this: First, the person responsible for the compilation or edition of the text probably worked in the Hellenistic period. This does not mean, however, that the content of the letters edited in this way should also automatically be dated to the Hellenistic period. This assumption requires further examination. Second, since he was sensitive for the issue of authenticity, he probably imitated the customs of Imperial Aramaic letter-writing as best he could. A comparable awareness of matters of authenticity is also evident from the literary development of the correspondence between Solomon and Hiram of Tyre. The oldest version is found in 1 Kings 5: Now King Hiram of Tyre sent his servants to Solomon, when he heard that they had anointed him king in place of his father; for Hiram had always been a friend to David. 16 Solomon sent word to Hiram, saying, 17 “You know that my father David could not build a house for the name of the LORD his God because of the warfare with which his enemies surrounded him, until the LORD put them under the soles of his feet.…” 21 When Hiram heard the words of Solomon, he rejoiced greatly, and said, “Blessed be the LORD today, who has given to David a wise son to be over this great people.” 22 Hiram sent word to Solomon, “I have heard the message that you have sent to me; I will fulfil all your needs in the matter of cedar and cypress timber.…” 24 So Hiram supplied Solomon’s every need for timber of cedar and cypress. 15

It is most likely that the correspondence took place by an exchange of messengers who delivered their messages orally. In the version of the books of Chronicles the same correspondence is imagined as an exchange of letters (2 Chronicles 2): Solomon sent word to King Huram of Tyre: “Once you dealt with my father David and sent him cedar to build himself a house to live in.…” 11 Then King Huram of Tyre answered in a letter that he sent to Solomon, “Because the LORD loves his people he has made you king over them.”15 3

Finally, Josephus added the following ( Jewish Antiquities 8.55–56): Copies of these letters have endured until today, having been preserved not only in our records, but also in those of the Tyrians. Thus, if anyone should wish to learn about their 13 See Schwiderski, Handbuch, pp. 312‒314. 14 See Schwiderski Handbuch, p. 363. The position of Schwiderski, however, has recently been criticized by some scholars, e.g., Hugh G. M. Williamson, “The Aramaic Documents in Ezra Revisited,” JTS 59 (2008), pp. 57‒62. For a capable summary of the debate see Lutz Doering, Ancient Jewish Letters and the Beginnings of Christian Epistolography (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), pp. 116‒126. 15 For further discussion of 2 Chr 2:11, see Isaac Kalimi, The Reshaping of Ancient Israelite History in Chronicles (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005; reprinted, 2012), pp. 261, 290–291.

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reliability, upon his asking the keeper of the Tyrian archives he will find that what we have said agrees with what is in these. I have gone through these things in detail, then, wishing readers to know that we are speaking nothing but the truth.16 What we can learn from this obvious literary development is that these letters or copies probably never existed in any Tyrian archive, because the oldest text in 1 Kings is seemingly based on messenger traffic, in which the corresponding messages were delivered orally. But due to his commitment to the absolute reliability of his information according to the standards set by the Greek historians such as Herodotus (ὄψις – ἀκοή),17 he acted on the assumption that the correspondence of Solomon and Hiram had, of course, also been kept in the Phoenician archive. Also, the Chronicler also seems to have had an idea about the material form of his report, since he turned this piece of communication from an oral message into a letter. The same phenomenon as in Josephus is also in evidence in the book of Ezra (6:1‒5; Aramaic): Then King Darius made a decree, and they searched the archives where the documents were stored in Babylon. 2 But it was in Ecbatana, the capital in the province of Media, that a scroll was found on which this was written: “A record. 3 In the first year of his reign, King Cyrus issued a decree: Concerning the house of God at Je­ru­sa­lem, let the house be rebuilt, the place where sacrifices are offered and burnt offerings are brought; its height shall be sixty cubits and its width sixty cubits, 4 with three courses of hewn stones and one course of timber; let the cost be paid from the royal treasury. 5 Moreover, let the gold and silver vessels of the house of God, which Nebuchadnezzar took out of the temple in Je­ru­sa­lem and brought to Babylon, be restored and brought back to the temple in Je­ru­sa­lem, each to its place; you shall put them in the house of God.” 1

The search in the royal archives brings to light a document of Cyrus which contains certain benefits for the Judaeans and their temple. However, there are four difficulties with this evidence: First, it is noteworthy that the document was stored in Ecbatana, the capital of Media; this, however, is far away from the people in charge in Babylon or Damascus, where the governor’s seat in Persian times may be presumed.18Second, the alleged record is said to have been written on a scroll (megillā), a piece of leather or papyrus that was rolled up. In general, however, the official records of the early Persian kings, especially, as the Biblical text in Ezr 6:2 suggests, in the eastern parts of their realm, were written on clay tablets.19 Third, it is not yet known whether Cyrus already used the so-called Imperial Aramaic language, rather than Elamite, for his (potential though as of yet undocumented) announcements.20 Fourth, one would expect that the “record” 16 Trans. Christopher T. Begg and Paul Spilsbury, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Vol. 5: Judean An­tiquties, Books 8‒10 (Leiden: Brill, 2005). 17 See John Marincola, Authority and Tradition in Ancient Historiography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 63‒85. 18 See Pierre Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2002), p. 487. 19 See Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 124. 20 See on this issue Sebastian Grätz, “Geschichte Israels: Erwägungen zu einer historischen und theologischen Disziplin am Beispiel von Esra 1‒6 und dem Bau des Zweiten Tempels in Je­r u­sa­lem,” TLZ 139 (2014), pp. 1414‒1416.

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(dikrônāh) in question should also be in possession of the Judeans in Je­ru­sa­lem as the parallel case in Elephantine (TAD A4.9) clearly shows. Here, the “record” (zkrn) of the permission of the temple-rebuilding was stored in the archives of the applicants.21 In sum, these inconsistencies lead to the conclusion that the author tried to reproduce an authentic document of the royal court – but his inaccuracies reveal that he probably did not have access to any such document himself. He could, however, have had knowledge of the existence of such documents: conceivably, any political or religious-political change in the province required approval by representatives of the government.22 The account of the discovery in Media, which is in its present state probably the result of literary editing shows that the author (like Josephus) was clearly aware of questions of authenticity. Now it is necessary to go a step further by asking if this observation might also fit the content of the letters in Ezra 4‒7. III The Content of the Letters Besides Ezra 4:6‒24, which seems to be an insertion in the context of Ezra 1‒3 and 5‒623 all the letters and documents preserved in the book of Ezra contain rich benefactions for the Judeans, which are granted by the Achaemenid emperors: Ezra 6:1‒5 Ezra 6:6‒12 Ezra 7:12‒26

Cyrus: allowance to build the temple; return of the temple vessels Darius: protection of the temple; refund of the costs by the royal court; funding of the regular sacrifices Artaxerxes: funding of the regular sacrifices; exemption of the temple staff from taxes and tributes; implementation of the “Law of God”

Whereas the content of the decree of Cyrus with its allowance to rebuild the temple and the order to return the holy vessels might fit Achaemenid policy well,24 it is extraordinary that in the Biblical letters of Darius and Artaxerxes the money went its way from the Achaemenid court 21 This assumption can be illustrated by TAD A4.7/8 (= Cowley 30/31). Here, the responsible officials of the provinces of Judea and Samaria are begged for their permission to rebuild a destroyed sanctuary in El­e­phan­ tine. Interestingly the petitioners never received an official answer but only an unofficial record of the recom­ men­dation, handed over by a confidant (TAD A4.9 = Cowley 32). 22 See LisbethS. Fried, Ezra: A Critical Commentary (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2015), pp. 263–264. 23 Ezra 4:6‒24 interrupts the chronological order of Ezra 1‒3 (Cyrus) and 5‒6 (Darius) and is in addition not concerned with the building of the temple, but rather the city-walls and also displays a clear anti-Samari­(ti)an tendency. See esp. Jacob L Wright, Rebuilding Identity: The Nehemiah-Memoir and its Earliest Readers (BZAW 348; Berlin and New York: W. de Gruyter, 2004), pp. 31‒44; Sebastian Grätz, “The Adversaries in Ez­ra/Nehe­ miah – Fictitious or Real? A Case Study in Creating Identity in Late Persian and Hellenistic Times,” in Rainer Albertz (ed.), Between Cooperation and Hostility: Multiple Identities in Ancient Judaism and the Interaction with Foreign Powers (JAJSup 11; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), pp. 73–88, 73‒77. 24 This is partly corroborated by the so-called Cyrus-Cylinder; see Briant, Cyrus, p. 43. On the other hand, it is debated whether or to what extend the promises and commitments recorded in this inscription were really implemented. Especially János Harmatta and Amélie Kuhrt have emphasized the topical character of the text of the cylinder, which hints to the inscriptions of Assurbanipal after his conquest of Babylon. “For this reason the Cyrus Cylinder could thus be presented not as a foreign and barbarian invader but as a restorer of what was right in the tradition of an earlier, venerated predecessor.” Amélie Kuhrt, “The Cyrus Cylinder and Achaemenid Imperial Policy,” JSOT 25 (1983), pp. 32‒56, 34. According to Irving Finkel (ed.), The Cyrus Cyl­inder: The King of Persia’s Proclamation from Ancient Babylonia (New York: I.B. Tauris, 2013), pp. 18–19, it is furthermore evident that the text of the Cylinder served actually as a means of propaganda, because it was copied on clay tablets for the purpose of wider distribution.

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to the province and not vice versa. The Achaemenids used to impose high duties and tributes on their provinces. According to Herodotus (Histories 3.91), the fifth satrapy (known to him as Συρίη ἡ Παλαιστίνη καλεομένη), which included also the province of Yehud, should have paid a total of 350 talents of silver per year at the time of Darius I. The importance of the payment of tribute is also witnessed in Achaemenid inscriptions and iconography. Darius I wrote in one of his royal inscriptions (DNa 15‒19): Saith Darius the king: By the favo[u]r of Ahuramazda these are the countries which I seized outside of Persia; I ruled over them; they bore tribute to me.25 The idea of tributaries who bring their gifts to the great king is also broadly illustrated on the staircases of the Apadāna palace at Persepolis. The payment of tribute was intrinsically bound up with the acknowledgement of the Persian claim of leadership.26 Thus, it seems peculiar when in the book of Ezra the money is donated by the Persian king in favor of the temple in Je­ru­sa­lem. A section of the letter of Darius in Ezra 6:8‒10 runs as follows: Moreover I make a decree regarding what you shall do for these elders of the Jews for the rebuilding of this house of God: the cost is to be paid to these people, in full and without delay, from the royal revenue, the tribute of the province Beyond the River. 9 Whatever is needed – young bulls, rams, or sheep for burnt offerings to the God of heaven, wheat, salt, wine, or oil, as the priests in Je­ru­sa­lem require – let that be given to them day by day without fail, 10 so that they may offer pleasing sacrifices to the God of heaven, and pray for the life of the king and his children. 8

It is very peculiar that parts of the tribute of the province “Beyond the River” (Ebir-nāri) are paid to the temple in Je­ru­sa­lem because of the king’s devotion to the “God of Heaven.” This attitude of a Persian king towards a provincial sanctuary is not reported elsewhere in historically reliable sources.27 Also, the content of the letter goes far beyond the benefactions of the famous Cyrus-Cylinder.28 Thus, the letter probably does not mirror a historical benefaction of a Persian king but rather a theological concept. Again, in the books of Chronicles one can detect the comparable image of the Judahite king as supportive of the temple in Je­ru­sa­lem as shown by generous donations. Concerning the celebration of Passover by king Josiah, it is reported in 2 Chr 35:7:

25 Roland G. Kent, Old Persian: Grammar, Texts, Lexicon (American Oriental Series 33; New Haven: American Ori­en­tal Society, 1953), p. 138. 26 See Margaret C. Root, The King and Kingship in Achaemenid Art: Essays on the Creation of an Iconography of Empire (Acta Iranica 19; Leiden: Brill, 1979), p. 282: “In conclusion, then, the intend behind the Apadana tribute procession seems to have been to show an idealized vision of the conceptual structure of the Achae­ menid Empire, with the figure of the king an crown prince in the center…” 27 On the inscription of Udjahorresnet and the letter of Gadatas, also mentioned by Meyer, see Sebastian Grätz, Das Edikt des Artaxerxes: Eine Untersuchung zum religionspolitischen Umfeld von Esra 7,12‒26 (BZAW 337; Berlin and New York: W. de Gruyter, 2004), pp. 215‒262. 28 See above note 25. The Babylonians in particular are otherwise known for their restorative work on sanctuaries ‒ at least according to the corresponding royal inscriptions (whose forma is also used by the Kyros cyl­inder). For Persian times, however, Paul-Alain Beaulieu states: “The installation of Pers. Rule in 539 broke the cultural bond between Bab. t. [i. e. temple, S.G.] and the monarchy, now in the hands of a foreign people. Direct royal sponsorship of t. ended, although the imperial state continued to claim control over the resources.” Paul-Alain Beaulieu, “Tempel AI,” RlA 13 (Berlin and Boston: W. de Gruyter, 2011‒2013), pp. 524‒527, esp. 527.

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Then Josiah contributed to the people, as Passover offerings for all that were present, lambs and kids from the flock to the number of thirty thousand, and three thousand bulls; these were from the king’s possessions. The pious king enables the appropriate celebration of Passover by contributing sacrificial animals to his people. This image of the Judahite king as generous sponsor is typical for the books of Chronicles, and the narrative culminates with the exemplary reign of Josiah. Thus, Chronicles and Ezra seem to share a comparable concept of kingship. The difference is that it is once a foreign ruler and one time a Davidic.29 By the time in which the book of Ezra was written, however, fundamental political changes had taken place: The Babylonian conquest of Judah and Je­ru­sa­lem entailed not only the destruction of the temple but also the definite end of the Judahite kingship. In Persian times the temple was rebuilt but Judah remained in a provincial status (now known as Yehud) under Persian rule. Thus, the book of Ezra from the very beginning (Ezra 1:1‒3) tries to promote the Persian kingship as a valid substitute for the lost Judahite kingship. The reason for this specific position may be the reception of the prophecy of Deutero-Isaiah who had declared the Persian king as God-chosen shepherd for his people (Isa 44:28): [Thus says the LORD] who says of Cyrus, “He is my shepherd, and he shall carry out all my purpose”; and who says of Je­ru­sa­lem, “It shall be rebuilt,” and of the temple, “Your foundation shall be laid.” The book of Ezra appears to be an exegesis of this prophecy by telling the story of the rebuilding of Judah and the temple under the direct patronage of the Persian king. However, it is uncertain whether the image of the king employed in the text really originates from the Persian period. The most important feature of the king’s behaviour toward the Judaeans and their temple is his generosity, which, however, seems to have been motivated by theological considerations. It is hardly in accordance with Persian policy in general. Thus, the Biblical books of Haggai and Zech­ariah, probably written in large part in the Persian period, do not know anything about Persian sponsorship of the rebuilding of the temple.30 Thus, one can wonder whence the image of the giving king is derived. In my opinion, it is likely that the book of Ezra has borrowed its image of the generous king from Hellenistic concepts. In addition, this assumption would also provide a good fit for the observations concerning the form of the letters mentioned above. The image of the Hellenistic king as generous sponsor of sanctuaries and cities is witnessed by a large number of records and letters, partly epigraphic, partly literary. Three examples may be sufficient to illustrate the case: 1) C.B. Welles, Royal Correspondence, Nr. 70:31 Letter of a king Antiochus to an official inclosing a memorandum from the royal journal concerning grants to Zeus Baetocaece (late 2nd century B.C.E.), 4‒13: Report having brought to me of the “power” of the god Zeus of Baetocaece, it has been declared to grant him for all time the place whence the “power” of the god issues, the vil29 This observation contains no judgement on the literary dependencies of both works. 30 See Rüdiger Lux, “Der zweite Tempel von Je­ru­sa­lem: Ein persisches oder prophetisches Projekt?,” in Uwe Becker and Jürgen van Oorschot (eds.), Das Alte Testament – ein Geschichtsbuch?! Geschichtsschreibung oder Ge­schichts­ überlieferung im antiken Israel (ABG 17; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2005), pp. 145–72, 148‒150. 31 C. Bradford Welles, Royal Correspondence in the Hellenistic Period (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1943), pp. 280‒288.

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lage of Baetocaece… with all its property and possessions according to the existing surveys and with the harvest of the present year, so that the revenue from this may be spent by the priest… for the monthly sacrifices…, and also that there may be held each month on the fifteenth and thirtieth days fairs free from taxation… 2) M. Austin, The Hellenistic World from Alexander to the Roman Conquest, Nr. 235:32 Decree of Apollonia of Rhydacus (?) in honour of an Attalid governor (after 188?), 1‒22: Resolved by the council and the people. Menemachus son of Archelaus moved: Since Corragus son of Aristomachus… continuously applied all his enthusiasm and goodwill to the improvement of the people’s condition…, and when he took over the city he requested from the king the restoration of our laws, the ancestral constitution, the sacred precincts, the fund for the cult expenses and the administration of the city…, and as the citizens were destitute because of the war, he supplied at his own expense cattle and other victims for the public sacrifices…, and he enthusiastically assisted (the king) in preserving the private property of each of the citizens and in providing those who had none with some from the royal treasury, and an exemption from all taxes had been granted by the king for three years … 3) Flavius Josephus, Jewish Antiquities 12:138‒39: letter of Antiochus III (trans. R. Marcus, LCL 365): King Antiochus to Ptolemy, greeting. Inasmuch as the Jews… showed their eagerness to serve us…, we have seen fit on our part to requite them for these acts and to restore their city… In the first place we have decided… to furnish them for their sacrifices an allowance of sacrificial animals, wine, oil and frankincense to the value of twenty thousand pieces of silver, and sacred artabae of fine flour, in accordance with their native law… And all the members of the nation shall have a form of government in accordance with the law of their country, and the senate, the priests, the scribes of the temple and the temple-singers shall be relieved from the poll-tax and the crown-tax and the salt-tax which they pay. As in the text of Ezra 6 (quoted above), the Hellenistic king is portrayed as benefactor, who acts in favour of cities and their sanctuaries. The policy of euergetism derives from the idea that accepting grants and gifts (first and foremost, of course, in the Greek world by poleis) according to the do ut des principle leads to a relationship of dependency on the donor.33 A significant number of records from the Hellenistic period illustrate this idea of Hellenistic leadership. Likewise, several sources preserve decisions of Greek city councils which feared falling into the king’s trap when they accepted his gifts and, thus, declined to accept.34 The book of Ezra does not follow this route; conversely, however, this means that the idea of loyalty towards the king becomes important in this book. 32 Michel M. Austin, The Hellenistic World from Alexander to the Roman Conquest: A Selection of Ancient Sources in Translation (2nd ed.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 411‒412. 33 See Klaus Bringmann, Geben und Nehmen: Monarchische Wohltätigkeit und Selbstdarstellung im Zeitalter des Hellenismus (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2000), pp. 166‒183. 34 E. g., Polybius 22,8,1‒3, where the acceptance of donations is equated with corruptibility: ‘After their withdrawal Apollonidas of Sicyon rose. He said that sum offered by Eumenes was a gift not unworthy of the Achaeans’ acceptance, (2) but that the intention of the giver and the purpose to which it was to be applied were as disgraceful and illegal as could be. (3) For, as it was forbidden by law for any private person or magistrate to receive gifts, on no matter what pretext, from a king, that all should be openly bribed by accepting this money was the most illegal thing conceivable, besides being confessedly the most disgraceful.’ (Trans. William R. Paton, Polybios I–VI (The Loeb Classical Library, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press, 1927).

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In sum, the content of the letters displayed in the book of Ezra is best explained as interacting with the practice of euergetism. This means that the letters are probably fabricated by the authors who tried to depict the Persian kings as God-chosen guarantors of the rebuilding of Judah. By doing so, they co-opted the image of the king as a generous donor from the contemporary Hellenistic ideal. IV The Literary Context of the Letters (Ezra 4 and Ezra 7) As shown above the Aramaic documents function in their particular contexts also as a means to prove the authenticity of the narrative account. However, a closer examination of these accounts shows that the documents are not contemporary with the narrations in which they obviously were embedded by redactors.35 This is easily to discern in the case of Ezra 4:7(.8)‒24 which is embedded into the account of the building of the temple and which is introduced by Ezra 4:1‒5 where the hostility of the “people of the land” (4:4: ‘am hā’āræṣ) is emphasized. Thus, the Aramaic documents in Ezra 4:7(.8)(‒24 deal on the one hand with an accusation of certain enemies (4:7‒16), probably the Samarians/Samaritans,36 and contain on the other hand the response of the king Artaxerxes to suspend the rebuilding activities in Je­ru­sa­lem (4:17‒22). Firstly, it is obvious that elsewhere in Ezra 1‒6 the account of the building of the temple is closely linked to the measures of a certain Darius (Ezra 4:5, 24; 5‒6), whereas in contrast Ezra 4:7‒24 mention Xerxes and Artaxerxes. The redactors framed this correspondence by mentioning Darius again and resuming Ezra 4:4 in 4:25.37 In so doing, the redactors adapt the insertion of the correspondence to its (new) context. Secondly, the content of the correspondence in Ezra 4:7‒24 is not occupied with the building of the temple at all, but with the erection of the city-walls.38 Thus, the reference to Artaxerxes fits very well to the Nehemiah-story, which is primarily concerned with the rebuilding of the citywalls in the times of a certain Artaxerxes (Neh 1:1; 2:1). Moreover, also the confrontation with specific enemies plays a central role in the Nehemiah narrative (Neh 2:10; 3:33‒36; 4:1‒2; 6:1‒14 etc.).39 In sum, it is likely that the correspondence displayed in Ezra 4:7(8)‒22, (23‒24) was inserted by redactors with the aim to prove the hostility of the ‘am hā’āræṣ reported in Ezra 4:1‒5.40 Hereby, obviously the redactors used material that belongs originally to the tradition of the rebuilding of Je­ru­sa­lem against the resistance of certain adversaries. Also the letter of Artaxerxes in Ezra 7:12‒26 seems to be secondary to its literary context. Contrary to Ezra 4, this letter probably was created especially for its present context. This is suggested by the following observations: 35 In contrast, the so-called Aramaic Chronicle in Ezra 5‒6 displays Aramaic documents embedded in an Ar­a­ maic narrative. According to the observations mentioned above the authenticity of these documents ‒ at least in their present shape ‒ can be questioned. Thus, it seems likely that these documents are contemporary with their context. See on this issue, Juha Pakkala, Ezra the Scribe. The Development of Ezra 7‒10 and Nehemiah 8 (BZAW 347; Berlin and New York: W. de Gruyter, 2004), p. 42; Sebastian Grätz, “Die Aramäische Chronik des Esrabuches und die Rolle der Ältesten in Esr 5‒6,” ZAW 118 (2006), pp. 405‒422. 36 See Benedikt Hensel, Juda und Samaria: Zum Verhältnis zweier nach-exilisicher Jahwismen (FAT 110; Tü­bin­ gen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), pp. 292‒299. Especially Ezra 4:2, 10 hint to a Samarian origin of the adversaries. 37 See summarizing: Fried, Ezra, pp. 220‒221. 38 See Fried, Ezra, pp. 222‒223. 39 See Grätz, “Adversaries,” p. 80. Esp. the term mrd “revolt” occurs in Ezra 4:15 and Neh 2:19 within the accusations of the adversaries. 40 See Fried, Ezra, pp. 222‒223. This observation, however, does not include a decision concerning the authenticity of this correspondence.

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1) The letter of Artaxerxes (Ezra 7:12‒26) is primarily concerned with the temple in Je­ru­sa­lem. In contrast, the Ezra narrative in Ezra 7:1‒10; 9‒10 does not focus on the temple. Only the (redactional) passages in Ezra 7:27; 8:24‒30, 33‒35 reflect the execution of the stipulations of Ezra 7:12‒26.41 According to Ezra 7:1‒10* Ezra is portrayed as a skilled scribe who is occupied with the Torah and not the temple. This is also reflected in Ezra 9‒10 and Nehamiah 8. Especially in Nehemiah 8 the Torah, read by Ezra, the scribe, seems to be the focal point of a worship where the temple plays no role at all.42 2) Juha Pakkala has pointed out that the letter of Artaxerxes “begins abruptly without any background introduction.”43 He concludes: “In other words, the documents in Ezr 1:3‒4; 5:6‒17 and 6:6‒12 are well integrated into the corresponding narratives, while Artaxerxes’ rescript is not.”44 This observation fits well to the special focus of the royal letter as mentioned above. 3) In Ezra 7‒10 only the pedigree in 7:1b‒5 suggest the priestly provenance of Ezra. Among others, Lisbeth Fried has argued that this list of ancestors stems originally from 1 Chr 5:29‒41 and is, thus, secondary to its present context in Ezra 7.45 The letter of Artaxerxes, however, calls Ezra “priest” (kōhen) which is otherwise comparatively alien to the Ezra narrative, except for Ezra 10:10, 1646 (Neh 8:2, 9). It is likely that the letter of Artaxerxes reflects a literary stra­ tum where the priestly origin of Ezra has already been integrated into the portrayal of the Ezra-­figure. In conclusion, there is enough evidence for the assumption that the letter of Artaxerxes (Ezra 7:12‒26) is secondary to its literary context. In the first place the insertion of the letter effects the presence of the temple in the Ezra narrative, which plays otherwise in Ezra 7‒10 at most a minor role. In the present context, the issue of the temple in Je­ru­sa­lem, supported by the royal court, prolongs the story of the temple building (Ezra 1‒6) and thus, transports the Samarian matter into the Ezra narrative: The only legitimate sanctuary is that of Je­ru­sa­lem, built by the Golah in accordance with the orders of the Persian kings (Ezra 4:1‒5).47 Moreover, in the present context the royal authorization of Ezra also has consequences for the case of the so-called mixed marriages (Ezra 9‒10) insofar as in the present context the action of Ezra took place under the patronage of the royal court. V Conclusion and Perspectives The letters and records displayed in Ezra 4‒7 are probably fictitious. There are three main reasons for this assessment: First, the style and form of the letters show Hellenistic customs. Second, the contents of the letters follow the demands of Deutero-Isaiah, and the image of the Persian kings corresponds to the one employed for the Judahite king in the book of Chronicles. This is corroborated by the testimony of Haggai and Zechariah, who do not mention the Persian king as

41 See Pakkala, Ezra, pp. 41‒42: “In other parts of the EM [i. e. Ezra Material], the temple plays no role, except in passing as the background of a physical setting (Ezra 10:1 and 6)” (p. 41). 42 See Sebastian Grätz, “Heiliges Buch ‒ Heilige Sprache? Die Stellung der Tora in der biblischen Überlieferung und ihre Auswirkungen in persischer und hellenistischer Zeit,” WdO 44 (2014), pp. 237‒250 esp. 241‒243. 43 Pakkala, Ezra, p. 42. 44 Pakkala, Ezra, p. 42. 45 See Fried, Ezra, pp. 294‒297. 46 See Pakkala, Ezra, pp. 42‒43. 47 See below.

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benefactor. And third, the image of the generous king is frequently attested in Hellenistic records (much more so than in Persian sources). This image is transferred to the Persian ruler in our letters. It is, however, likely that certain (lost) decrees of the Achaemenid kings concerning the Judaeans and their sanctuary form the historical background of the story. The particular records of the book of Ezra, however, function primarily as a means to present the Persian period as a time of reconstruction and rebuilding under God’s surveillance: The Persian kings behave in the same way as, according to the books of Chronicles, their Judahite predecessors have done, when they acted for the benefit of the temple and their people. For this purpose, the authors applied the Hellenistic image of the king as benefactor to the Persian ruler. At the same time, these authors were aware – as was Josephus – of the problem of authenticity. They chose the form of a royal correspondence by naming the royal addressor and by using Aramaic, which was common as Imperial Aramaic in the Persian period. However, concerning the style and the form of the letters, the authors also employ contemporary conventions, which show that the letters are probably fabrications. For the letters in Ezra 4:8‒24 and 7:12‒26 it could be demonstrated that these specific records are secondary to their present literary context, or especially in the case of Ezra 7:12‒26 made for a presumably older context.48 Nonetheless, the authors intended to tell a reliable history of the Judaean restoration in those times. To endow their efforts with a veneer of authenticity, they fabricated the royal correspondence concerning the main steps of the rebuilding of their sanctuary and the introduction of the Torah by Ezra as an authoritative law for the Judeans. Both features fit very well in the Hellenistic period, not least because of the Samarian or Samaritan issue: In those times the Samaritan sanctuary on Mt. Gerizim was increasingly interpreted as a rival to the temple in Je­ru­sa­lem.49 By contrast, the letters and records displayed in the Book of Ezra serve to demonstrate that only the sanctuary of Je­ru­sa­lem has received royal legitimization. To this very day, the Torah is shared by the Jewish and the Samaritan communities. According to Ezra 7:25‒26, however, it is clearly linked to the person of Ezra and, thus, to the Judaean community and their sanctuary in Je­ru­ sa­lem. Besides the fact that there is no extra-Biblical evidence for the Torah functioning as binding law already in Persian times,50 one can, therefore, rightly compare the introduction of the Torah with the introduction of the Greek Torah according to the Letter of Aristeas, which also incorporates many quoted letters and documents. In both cases these “documents” are used “… for the purposes of enhancing the credibility of the narrative.”51 This method stems from Greek historiographical writing and in the case of the book of Ezra it is designed to prove God’s lasting election of Judah and the temple in Je­ru­sa­lem. Therefore, the book of Ezra, like the Letter of Aristeas, is a theological narrative rather than a strictly historical account. 48 There is no obstacle to assume that an original Ezra account was already written in Persian times and depicted Ezra as a learned scribe who was occupied with the (teaching of?) the Torah. This account was successively en­larged until the Hellenistic period. 49 See on this issue Étienne Nodet, “Israelites, Samaritans, Temples, Jews,” in József Zsengellér (ed.), Samaria, Samarians, Samaritans: Studies on Bible, History and Linguistics (Studia Samaritana 6, Berlin and New York: W. de Gruyter, 2011), pp. 121‒171; Gary N. Knoppers, Jews and Samaritans. The Origins and History of their Early Relations (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), pp. 135‒216; Hensel, Juda und Samaria, pp. 207–208, assumes that the rivalry between both sanctuaries has its origin in Hasmonaean times. 50 Neither the Elephantine Papyri nor the Samaria Papyri reflect in their application of law references to the Torah or parts of it. On the interpretation of the so-called Passover-Letter (TAD A4.1 = Cowley 21) see, e.g., Grätz, Edikt des Artaxerxes, pp. 247‒251. 51 Doering, Letters, p. 232.

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The Chronicler’s Rewriting of the History of Israel: Why and How? Yigal Levin Bar-Ilan University The book of Chronicles, apparently written in the late Persian period, presents its readers with an “alternative history” of pre-exilic Israel.1 In rabbinic tradition, it was assigned to the Writings rather than to the Prophets and not was included in the liturgy, making it less read, less studied, and of lesser authority than the “parallel” history of Samuel and Kings. Even in Christian tradition, where, following the Septuagint, Chronicles was placed in the sequence of “historical books,” it has often been thought of in accordance to its name in Greek, Παραλειπομένων, “things left aside” or “supplements,” that is, a collection of those pieces of information that the writers of the “parallel” Samuel and Kings decided not to include.2 However, despite the “common source” theory as proposed by Graeme A. Auld and its variants,3 the consensus, even today, is still that the Chronicler seems to have known what we today commonly call the “Deuteronomistic His­ tory,” or at least significant parts of it (albeit in a “pre-Masoretic” form).4 This means that we 1 For a detailed discussion on the date, extent, unity and sources of Chronicles, see Isaac Kalimi, An Ancient His­torian: Studies in the Chronicler, His Time, Place, and Writing (SSN 46; Assen: Royal Van Gurcum [now under: Leiden, Brill], 2005), pp. 41–65; idem, “1 and 2 Chronicles,” in M. D. Coogan (ed.), The Oxford Ency­ clo­pe­dia of the Books of the Bible (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), vol. 1, pp. 120–132 (Kalimi dates the book to the late 5th – first quarter of the 4th century B.C.E.), and the introductory chapters of the modern com­men­taries, such as Gary N. Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9: A New Translation with Introduction and Com­men­tary (AB; New York: Doubleday, 2003), pp. 66–137; Peter B. Dirksen, 1 Chronicles (Leuven: Peeters, 2005), pp. 1–21; Ralph W. Klein, 1 Chronicles: A Commentary (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006), pp. 6–44, and the many references therein. The placing of Chronicles in the fourth century, “closer to 400 than to 300”, has recently been reiterated by David Janzen, Chronicles and the Politics of Davidic Restoration: A Quiet Revolution (London: Bloomsbury T. & T. Clark, 2017), pp. 10–13, with reference to earlier works. 2 For the neglect of Chronicles in biblical study, followed by a discussion of the book’s canonical status, see Isaac Kalimi, The Retelling of Chronicles in Jewish Tradition and Literature: A Historical Journey (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009), pp. 1–3, 21–33. 3 Graeme A. Auld, Kings Without Privilege: David and Moses in the Story of the Bible’s Kings (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1994), and more recently, idem, “The Text of Chronicles and the beginnings of Samuel,” in Uwe Becker and Hannes Bezzel (eds.), Rereading the Relecture? The Question of (Post)chronistic Influence in the Latest Re­ dac­tions of the Books of Samuel (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), pp. 31–40. A similar model was proposed by Raymond F. Person, Jr., “The Deu­ter­o­nom­ic History and the Books of Chronicles: Contemporary and Competing Historiographies,” in Robert Rezetko, Timothy H. Lim and W. Brian Aucker (eds.), Reflection and Refraction: Studies in Biblical Historiography in Honour of A. Graeme Auld (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2007), pp. 315–336. 4 For the many critiques of Auld’s ideas see John Van Seters, “The ‘Shared Text’ of Samuel-Kings and Chron­icles Re-examined,” in Robert Rezetko, Timothy H. Lim and W. Brian Aucker (eds.), Reflection and Refrac­tion: Studies in Biblical Historiography in Honour of A. Graeme Auld (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2007), pp. 503–515; Jozef Tiňo, King and Temple in Chronicles: A Contextual Approach to their Relations (Göttingen: Vanden­ hoeck & Ru­precht, 2010), 20–34; Isaac Kalimi, “Kings with Privilege: The Core Source(s) of the Parallel

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can consider his book to be a reinterpretation, a rewriting, or perhaps even a midrash, of the Deuteronomistic History.5 This means in turn, that for the most part, differences between the text of Chronicles and that of Samuel-Kings can be considered to fall within one of three categories: those due to the Chronicler’s having a slightly different Vorlage of Samuel-Kings than that represented by the MT, those due to the process of transmission of the texts (such as scribal errors or stylistic differences), and those that reflect a purposeful revision on the part of the Chronicler. In general, we can assume that omissions of sections of Samuel-Kings by the Chronicler were probably purposeful, while significant additions to the Deuteronomistic History may be either “midrashic,” or they may represent the Chronicler’s use of sources that were not used by the Deuteronomistic History.6 The end result of this process is what we may call “an alternative history.” The purpose of this paper is to examine the reasons for the writing of this “alternative history,” and at least some of the methods by which the author of Chronicles did so. I Why Was Chronicles Composed? As a generality, we can state that neither the Deuteronomistic History nor Chronicles were written for the purpose of what we moderns would call “history.” In fact, neither of them was even written with the sense of ἱστορία, “inquiry,” as used by Herodotus, “the father of history,” who lived and wrote half-way between the times of the two Hebrew writers, and who, in his famous prologue, stated: This is the showing forth of the inquiry (ἱστορίης) of Herodotus of Halicarnassus so that neither the deeds of men may be forgotten by lapse of time, nor the works great and mar Texts between the Deuteronomistic and Chronistic Histories,” Revue Biblique 119 (2012), pp. 498–517; idem, “Die Quelle(n) der Textparallelen zwischen Samuel-Könige und Chronik,” in Uwe Becker and Han­nes Bez­zel (eds.), Rereading the Relecture? The Question of (Post)chronistic Influence in the Latest Redactions of the Books of Samuel (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), pp. 11–30; Janzen, Chronicles and the Politics of Davidic Res­to­ra­tion, pp. 25–30. For the possible differences between the relationship of Chronicles to Samuel and its relation­ship to Kings see Christophe Nihan, “Samuel, Chronicles, and ‘Postchronistic’ Revisions: Some Remarks on Method,” ibid., pp. 57–78. 5 On this issue, see in detail Isaac Kalimi, “Was the Chronicler a Historian?” in M. Patrick Graham, Kenneth G. Hoglund and Steven L. McKenzie (eds.), The Chronicler as Historian (JSOTSup 238; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), pp. 73–89; idem, An Ancient Historian, pp. 19–39. Of course, since first proposed by Martin Noth in 1943, the way in which scholars have understood the DH has also changed, even to the extent of some scholars denying its very existence. Despite this, the DH hypothesis remains the most convincing model for the understanding of Joshua-Judges-Samuel-Kings as a work of historiography. For recent summaries, see Thomas Römer, “From Deuteronomistic History to Nebiim and Torah,” in Innocent Himbaza (ed.), Making the Biblical Text: Textual Studies in the Hebrew and Greek Bible (OBO 275; Fribourg and Göttingen: Academic Press / Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2015), pp. 1–18; Leslie J. Hoppe, “The Strategy of the Deuteronomistic History: A Proposal,” CBQ 79 (2017), pp. 1–19. 6 The actual existence of such sources and their historical value have been the subject of multiple inquiries, but will not be discussed in the present paper. Besides the introductory chapters of practically every modern commentary on Chronicles, see, first and foremost, Kalimi, The Reshaping of Ancient Israelite History in Chronicles; see also Ehud Ben Zvi, History, Literature and Theology in the Book of Chronicles (London and New York: Routledge, 2014), the various papers collected in M. Patrick Graham, Kenneth G. Hoglund and Steven L. McKenzie (eds.), The Chronicler as Historian (JSOTSup 238; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997); M. Patrick Graham and Steven L. McKenzie (eds.), The Chronicler as Author (JSOTSup 263; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999); Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edelman (eds.), What Was Authoritative for Chronicles (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011); Paul S. Evans and Tyler F. Williams (eds.), Chronicling the Chronicler: The Book of Chronicles and Early Second Temple Historiography (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), and many more.

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velous, which have been produced some by Hellenes and some by Barbarians, may lose their renown …7 As made clear from the above prologue, while Herodotus was concerned with memory, he at least claimed to have no “religious” or “national” motivation: He was concerned neither with the glory of the Greeks nor with that of their gods.8 On the other hand, both the Deuteronomistic Historian and the Chronicler were very much concerned with both Israel and its God, and especially with the relationship between them.9 Of course this can be said about pretty much any book that is included in the biblical canon, despite the fact that different biblical writers had different views about that relationship and articulated their views in different ways. Both the Deuteronomistic Historian and the Chronicler chose to use the genre of historiography, although their styles were quite different. For the Chronicler, some sort of Deuteronomistic History, in fact some sort of Primary History, including the Pentateuch, was a given. A good example of this is the way in which Joshua, Samuel and Saul are mentioned. The former appears only in 1 Chr 7:27, at the “focal point” of the genealogy of Ephraim, which would not make any sense to the reader unless he already knew that Joshua had been an important figure in Israel’s past.10 The prophet Samuel appears seven times in Chronicles.11 The first two of these are in the genealogy of Levi (1 Chr 6:13, 18 [ET, 6:28, 33]), and like in the case of Joshua, Samuel’s appearance there would make no sense if the fact that Samuel served in the sanctuary, offered sacrifices and performed other tasks that in the Chronicler’s Second-Temple-Period view, could have only been performed by a member of the Levitical class, was not already known to the readers. Since Chronicles does not actually tell of Samuel performing these tasks, the Chronicler must have assumed that his readers were familiar with the stories that appear in what we know of as 1 Samuel. In two additional cases, Samuel is mentioned as having “founded,” together with David, various aspects of the Temple cult (1 Chr 9:22; 26:28). In 1 Chr 11:3, the Chronicler quotes 2 Sam 5:3 in telling of David’s being enthroned over Israel at Hebron, but then adds that this was done “according to the word of the Lord by the hand of Samuel” – once again, nonsensical to a reader who was not familiar with 1 Samuel 16. First Chronicles 29:29 cites “the words of Samuel the seer, and the words of Nathan the prophet, and the words of Gad the visionary” as the source for his history of David. And finally, where 2 Kgs 23:22 tells us that a Passover such as Josiah’s had not been celebrated since the days of the Judges, 2 Chr 35:18 says “since the days of Samuel the prophet.”12 7 Herodotus, The Histories (translated by G. C. Macaulay and revised throughout by Donald Lateiner; New York: Barnes & Noble Classics, 2004), p. 3. 8 Of course, Herodotus was hardly a “detached” or “objective” observer himself; see, for example, Marek We­ cows­k i, “The Hedgehog and the Fox: Form and Meaning in the Prologue of Herodotus,” Journal of Hellenic Studies 124 (2004), pp. 143–164. 9 Or, to quote Isaac Kalimi, The Reshaping of Ancient Israelite History in Chronicles (Winona Lake, IN: Eisen­ brauns, 2005; reprinted, 2012), p. 28: “[the Chronicler] understood that the essence of ‘history’ was not a human activity only, but first and foremost God’s treatment of humanity.” 10 This is true even if the Ephraim-to-Joshua genealogy is merely a literary construct, as assumed by many schol­ ars. For instance, Sara Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and its Place in Biblical Thought (Frank­ furt a. M.: Peter Lang, 1997), pp. 378–379, considers Joshua, together with Nahshon and Bezalel, to serve as “links in the continuous genealogical chain” of Israel’s living in the land, rather than as allusions to the Exo­dus. However, they would only have been significant to the Chronicler’s readers if they were familiar with some version of the Exodus-Conquest narrative. 11 An additional individual named Samuel appears in the genealogy of Issachar in 1 Chr 7:2. 12 Although it is not clear why the Chronicler chose to change the reference to the Judges to one of Samuel. Sara Japhet, I & II Chronicles – A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1993), pp. 1054–1055,

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King Saul is mentioned in Chronicles in several different contexts. The most prominent of these is of course in 1 Chronicles 10, in which the Chronicler retells the story of the death of Saul and his sons on Mount Gilboa. The assumption that this chapter in Chronicles is based on 1 Samuel 31, and thus that most, if not all, of the differences between the two chapters are a result of the Chronicler’s editorial activity, has been the basis for almost all modern treatments of this chapter.13 One notable exception to this is Craig Ho, who, following in the footsteps of Auld, claimed that not only is 1 Chronicles 10 not based on 1 Samuel 31 and that both were derived from a “common source,” but that the Chronicler’s version is actually the “earlier” and “more original” one.14 If accepted, this would mean that the Chronicler did not know of Saul’s chasing after David and of David’s struggle with his son Ish-bosheth, and that “the transgressions” referred to in verse 13 do not have anything to do with Saul’s various sins enumerated in 1 Samuel 13–30. We, however, would join the vast majority of scholars who have rejected Ho’s hypothesis.15 In other words, the Chronicler assumed that his readers were already familiar with at least some version of the stories about Saul that are recounted in 1 Samuel 8–31. For example, the comment in verse 13 about his consulting an ʾôb (ghost or medium) obviously refers to Saul’s visit to the necromancer at En-dor, during which the spirit of Samuel was brought up from the dead (1 Samuel 28). No explanation is needed for the brave act of the people of Jabesh-gilead, since the reader would be familiar with Saul’s rescue of that city in 1 Samuel 11. And even the abrupt beginning of the chapter, “and the Philistines fought against Israel,” would come as no surprise to anyone who was familiar with the life of Saul. However, if some version of what we call the Deuteronomistic History was already written and known, why did the Chronicler feel a need to write a new history of pre-exilic Israel? In order to begin to answer this question, we must remember that the Chronicler lived in an age of history-writing, a phenomenon that was not really known in the pre-Achaemenid Ancient Near East. While various Ancient Near Eastern king lists, annalistic writings and royal inscriptions are sometimes claimed to be early examples of historiography,16 there is a major difference between a king bragging about his own deeds in a few tens of lines, occasionally referring to past events, and a writer who spends years collecting material, editing sources and eventually publishing what is in effect a summary of his nation’s past. But the new era than began in the 6th and 5th centuries B.C.E. brought changes with it. Not just Herodotus, but the slightly later Graeco-Babylonian Berossus and his almost-contemporary Graeco-Egyptian Manetho, the Roman-Jewish Philo of points out that the days of the Judges are rarely mentioned in Chronicles, while “Samuel is a person of stature in Chronicles, mentioned by name seven times in different contexts.” 13 See, for example, Saul Zalewski, “The Purpose of the Story of the Death of Saul in 1 Chronicles X,” VT 39 (1989), pp. 449–467; Gary N. Knoppers, I Chronicles 10–29: A New Translation with Introduction and Com­ men­tary (AB; New York: Doubleday, 2004), pp. 525–531; Dirksen, 1 Chronicles, pp. 162–167; Peter J. Sabo, “Seeking Saul in Chronicles,” in Paul S. Evans and Tyler F. Williams (eds.), Chronicling the Chronicler: The Book of Chronicles and Early Second Temple Historiography (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), pp. 43–63. 14 Craig Y.S. Ho, “Conjectures and Refutations: Is 1 Samuel XXXI 1–13 Really the Source of 1 Chronicles X 1–12?” VT 45 (1995), pp. 82–106. 15 Including Klein, 1 Chronicles, p. 283 note 1, who calls it “completely unconvincing.” See also above, note 4. 16 For just a few examples see Warwick Pearson, “Rameses II and the Battle of Kadesh: A Miraculous Victory?”, An­cient History: Resources for Teachers 40 (2010), pp. 1–20; Mary R. Bachvarova, “From ‘Kingship in Heaven’ to King Lists: Syro-Anatolian Courts and the History of the World,” JANER 12 (2012), pp. 97–118; Matthew J. Suriano, “The Historicality of the King: An Exercise in Reading Royal Inscriptions from the Ancient Levant,” JANEH 1 (2014), 95–118; Jan Dušek and Jana Mynářová, “Tell Fekheriye Inscription: A Process of Authority on the Edge of the Assyrian Empire,” in Jan Dušek and Jan Roskovec (eds.), The Dynamics in Trans­mission and Reception of Canonical Texts (Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2016), pp. 9–39.

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Al­ex­andria and the Roman-Judean Josephus Flavius and many of the classical Greek and Roman historians, all seem to have written during or immediately after times of great change, be it the rise of Hellenism, the transition from Republic to Empire or, for the people of Judah, the destruction of the First Temple, the restoration and then the destruction of the Second Temple.17 And so it seems to indeed have been the exile of Judah, or maybe even the restoration, which in retrospect prompted a scribe/priest/prophet of Judah to collect the available data in order to write down the story of Israel, a story in which God fulfilled his promise, gave his chosen people both land and king, and the people time and again broke the covenant by worshipping foreign gods (and a long litany of other sins as well), until ultimately God, as per that same covenant, exiled the people and destroyed their kingdom. This is the main theme of what we call the Deuteronomistic History, aimed at an audience for whom the destruction was a well-remembered experience, and for which an explanation was needed.18 By the Chronicler’s day, the destruction was history, and even the restoration was a well-established past event. The people of late Persian-Period Judah had different issues to deal with.19 One of these may well have been the primacy of the Je­ru­sa­lem Temple over those of Mount Gerizim, Elephantine, perhaps one in Idumea, maybe others as well.20 As Pancratius Beentjes put it some years ago: “It Is All About the Temple.”21 There may have also been some sort of struggle between the priesthood and the “secular” leadership, in which the Chronicler clearly took the side of the 17 For recent studies on Berossus and Manetho see John Dillery, Clio’s Other Sons: Berossus and Manetho (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 2015). For Philo see Torrey Seland (ed.), Reading Philo: A Handbook to Philo of Alexandria (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2014). For Josephus see Daniel R. Schwartz, Reading the First Century: On Reading Josephus and Studying Jewish History of the First Century (Tubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013). For an exploration of the relationship between Chronicles and Greek histories see Gary N. Knoppers, “Greek Historiography and the Chronicler’s History: A Reexamination,” JBL 122 (2003), pp. 627–650; Diana Edelman and Lynette Mitchell, “Chronicles and Local Greek Histories,” in Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edel­man (eds.), What Was Authoritative for Chronicles (Winona Lake. IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011), pp. 229–252; John W. Wright, “Divine Retribution in Herodotus and the Book of Chronicles,” in Paul S. Evans and Tyler F. Williams (eds.), Chronicling the Chronicler: The Book of Chronicles and Early Second Temple Historiography (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), pp. 195–214. 18 For more on the idea of “covenant” in the DH, see Cynthia Edenburg, “From Covenant to Connubium: Per­sian Period Developments in the Perception of Covenant in the,” in Richard J. Bautch and Gary N. Knop­ pers (eds.), Covenant in the Persian Period: From Genesis to Chronicles (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2015), pp. 131–149. For the DH as “crisis literature” see Kåre Berge, “Is There Hope in the Deuteronomistic His­ to­r y?” in Rannfrid I. Thelle, Terje Stordalen and Mervyn E.J. Richardson (eds.), New Perspectives on Old Tes­ta­ment Prophecy and History: Essays in Honour of Hans M. Barstad (VTSup 168; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2015), pp. 264–277. 19 Or, in the words of William Riley, King and Cultus in Chronicles: Worship and the Reinterpretation of Histo­ry (JSOTSup 160; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), p. 29: “The Chronicler’s historical interest… has two foci: the events of the past and his contemporary community. The precritical historical task that he has set for himself is to tell past events in such a way that he is actually speaking equally about the present.” See also Isaac Kalimi, “Placing the Chronicler in His Own Historical Context: A Closer Examination,” JNES 68 (2009), pp. 179–192. 20 For which see, respectively, Jan Dušek, “Mt. Gerizim Sanctuary, Its History and Enigma of Origin,” Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel 3 (2014), pp. 111–133; Angela Rohrmoser, Götter, Tempel und Kult der Judäo-Ara­ mäer von Elephantine: Archäologische und schriftliche Zeugnisse aus dem perserzeitlichen Ägypten (AOAT 396; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2014); André Lemaire, “Another Temple to the Israelite God: Aramaic Hoard Doc­ u­ments Life in Fourth Century B.C.,” BAR 30,4 (2004), pp. 38–44, 60. 21 Pancratius C. Beentjes, Tradition and Transformation in the Book of Chronicles (SSN 52; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2008), p. 103. For the ways in which the Chronicler emphasized the centrality of Je­r u­sa­lem in general see pp. 115–127 therein.

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priests. This may, for example, be one of the reasons behind the story of Uzziah’s leprosy in 2 Chr 26:21; 2 Kgs 15:5 simply states that God struck him with leprosy, but it is the Chronicler who adds the story of the proud king who attempted to usurp the priests’ prerogatives as a reason for his affliction.22 The Chronicler’s preference of Temple over Palace can also be seen in his restructuring of the events which followed David’s conquest of Je­ru­sa­lem. The conquest narrative as told in 2 Sam 5:6–9, obviously served as the source for 1 Chr 11:4–8, although the Chronicler did “fix up” the syntax and delete the ṣinnôr and the blind and the lame, which were as mysterious to him as they are to us. He also changed Samuel’s “the king and his men” to “David and all Israel,” in order to emphasize the centrality of Je­ru­sa­lem to the entire nation.23 Both versions conclude with the words “and David became greater and greater, for the Lord, God of hosts, was with him.” But in Samuel, David’s conquest of the city is followed immediately by Hiram’s building a palace for David (5:11), David’s moving his wives into the city (5:13–16) and then the Philistines’ two attempts to attack him (5:17–25). Only after his successful defense of his new capital does David, at the beginning of chapter 6, begin the process of moving the Ark of God into the city, establishing it as the cultic center of the realm and as the site of the future Temple. The Chronicler recounted all of these events, using either the text of Samuel or something very much like it as his source, but making quite a few interesting changes along the way. Since we cannot discuss all of these in depth we will only point out the largest of them all: the very order in which the events are told. In Chronicles, the conquest of the city is followed by the list of David’s heroes (1 Chr 11:10–47), most of which is copied from 2 Samuel 23. Then come further lists of David’s supporters (chapter 12), which are not found in Samuel.24 Then, after establishing once more that David’s rule was supported by the entire nation of Israel, chapter 13 tells of David’s beginning to bring up the Ark,25 and only then does chapter 14 tell us of Hiram’s building the palace, followed by the Philistine attack. So instead of Samuel’s “conquest > palace > Philistine attack > Ark,” in Chronicles it is “conquest > Ark > palace > Philistine attack.” In other words, the Deuteronomistic History, written when the memory of the monarchy was still fresh in the people’s collective mind, and when in fact various descendants of the royal family may have still been part of their leadership, sees Je­ru­sa­lem first of all as David’s capital, of which the Temple was a part. For the Chronicler, writing after the monarchy was a distant memory, while the priesthood had emerged as the nation’s leaders, the Temple was the raison d’ être for the city itself. David’s conquest of the city was first of all in order to bring about the building of the Temple, and only then to establish it as the nation’s capital.26 22 For which see Beentjes, Tradition and Transformation, pp. 79–90. 23 For more on Chronicles’ version of the capture of Je­r u­sa­lem see Isaac Kalimi, “The Capture of Je­r u­sa­lem in the Chronistic History,” VT 52 (2002), pp. 66–79. For a recent attempt to explain the difficult text see Jon­ a­than Grossman, “Did David Actually Conquer Je­r u­sa­lem? The Blind, the Lame, and the Ṣinnôr”, VT 69 (2019), pp. 46–59. 24 For some of which see Yigal Levin, “‘In Hebron He Reigned Seven Years’: Notes on David’s Rule in Hebron,” in Y. Eshel (ed.), Judea and Samaria Research Studies XV (Ariel: College of Judean and Samaria, 2006), pp. 21–38 (Hebrew). 25 For the way in which the Ark is presented in Chroniclers see Christopher T. Begg, “The Ark in Chronicles”, in The Chronicler as Theologian: Essays in Honor of Ralph W. Klein, ed. M. Patrick Graham, Steven L. McKenzie and Gary N. Knoppers (eds.), The Chronicler as Theologian: Essays in Honor of Ralph W. Klein (JSOTSup 371; London and New York: T. & T. Clark International, 2003), pp. 133–145. 26 For more on the way in which the Chronicler used his “idealized” characters of David and Solomon as the founders of the cultus see Riley, King and Cultus in Chronicles, pp. 31–36. See also Tiňo, King and Temple in

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Another reason for writing a new historiography of pre-exilic Israel was probably that of defining the identity of post-exilic Yehud. Jonathan Dyke, in his comparison of the Chronicler’s “ideology of identity” to that of the writer of Ezra-Nehemiah, calls it “a lateral ethnicity versus a vertical one.”27 The nation of Israel and its identity obviously play an important role in Chronicles. This is seen first and foremost in the nine-chapter “genealogical introduction” to Chronicles, which basically stands in for all of the Primary History’s Genesis–1 Samuel. In these chapters, the Chronicler defines Israel’s “place” in the world, its structure and its distribution. By combining the forms of both linear and segmented genealogies, the Chronicler gave these chapters both spatial and chronological qualities. Having read through the genealogies, the reader will now know just who is included in Israel, where they live and the main points of their history, all the way from Abraham to the death of Saul, and with some of the lists including information reaching all the way to the Chronicler’s own day, meaning that the intended reader could find his own identity in those genealogies as well.28 The same is true of the Chronicler’s retelling of the wars of the various kings, which various scholars have read as reflecting the situation of the Yehud province in the Chronicler’s own day.29 And many have emphasized the purported conflict between Judah and Samaria, or between “Jews” and “Samaritans,” as one of the main issues of the time which is reflected in Chronicles, although most scholars no longer see Chronicles as being inherently “anti-Samaritan.”30 On the contrary: while it is obvious that the Chronicler does not consider the northern monarchy as being legitimate in any way, he does not exclude the northern tribes from the nation of Israel. In fact, except for the Transjordanians, he does not even mention their exile, and assumes that they continued to exist even to his own day.31 Chronicles; and Mark J. Boda, “Gazing through the Cloud of Incense: Davidic Dynasty and Temple Com­ munity in the Chronicler’s Perspective,” in Paul S. Evans and Tyler F. Williams (eds.), Chronicling the Chron­ i­cler: The Book of Chronicles and Early Second Temple Historiography (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), pp. 215–245. 27 Dyke, The Theocratic Ideology of the Chronicler, p. 117. 28 For useful summaries of work on the Chronicler’s genealogies see the commentaries, as well as Yigal Levin, “Who Was the Chronicler’s Audience? – A Hint from his Genealogies,” JBL 122 (2003), pp. 229–245; James T. Sparks, The Chronicler’s Genealogies: Towards an Understanding of 1 Chronicles 1–9 (Atlanta: Society of Bibli­cal Literature, 2008); Steven Schweitzer, “The Genealogies of 1 Chronicles 1–9: Purposes, Forms, and the Utopian Identity of Israel,” in Paul S. Evans and Tyler F. Williams (eds.), Chronicling the Chronicler: The Book of Chronicles and Early Second Temple Historiography, (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), pp. 9–27; Keith Bodner, “Reading the Lists: Several Recent Studies of the Chronicler’s Genealogies,” ibid. pp. 29–41. The recent suggestion of David Janzen, “A Monument and a Name: The Primary Purpose of Chronicles’ Ge­ne­a l­ogies,” JSOT 43 (2018), pp. 45–66, even if accepted in principle, adds another layer of meaning to the ge­ne­a l­ogies, but does not really affect their core significance. 29 For example: Armin Siedlecki, “Foreigners, Warfare and Judahite Identity in Chronicles,” in M. Patrick Gra­ ham and Steven L. McKenzie (eds.), The Chronicler as Author: Studies in Text and Texture (JSOTSup 263; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), pp. 229–266. More recently see Troy D. Cudworth, War in Chron­ icles: Temple Faithfulness and Israel’s Place in the Land (London: Bloomsbury T. & T. Clark, 2016). 30 Philip R. Davies, “Chronicles and the Definition of ‘Israel’,” in Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edelman (eds.), What was Authoritative for Chronicles (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011), pp. 77–88, although the view of Chronicles as “anti-Samaritan,” commonly held in the past, is no longer accepted by a majority of scholars. See also Dyke, The Theocratic Ideology of the Chronicler, pp. 33–34; Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chron­ icles, pp. 325–334. 31 As can be seen, for example, in his story of the northerners who “remained from the hand of the kings of Assyria,” who were invited and came to celebrate the Passover in Je­r u­sa­lem in the days of Hezekiah (2 Chr 30:1–11) and in the days of Josiah (2 Chr 35:19, where the expression is, “and all Judah and Israel who were to be found [‫)”]הנמצא‬.

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Janzen has argued that the primary purpose of Chronicles was to convince the Judean community of the late Persian Period to look forward to “a restoration of the Davidides as a client monarchy within the existing empire,” as “a viable political reality and not simply an eschatological hope.”32 He then goes on to list a variety of examples of such client-kings who were allowed to rule, under both the Achaemenid and the early Hellenistic empires.33 Janzen’s thesis, and the way it may interact with previous ways of understanding Chronicles, will have to be examined more closely in the future. So the Chronicler first made the decision to write a new history of pre-exilic Israel, one which would serve his generation of readers. He then had to choose which of the pre-existing “biblical” writings to use and in what manner, when to subtract, when to add and what to change. II How Was Chronicles Composed? The ways in which the Chronicler used the earlier books of the Bible (in whatever form he knew them) in order to rewrite the history of Israel have been discussed widely in recent decades, as have the possibility of his having used additional sources.34 In general terms, it is possible to distinguish between changes that are mostly textual in nature, and those that are more literary and historiographical. The now “classical” treatment of the first type of changes is that composed by Steven L. McKenzie over thirty years ago. The second is investigated by Isaac Kalimi’s exhaustive works.35 Kalimi, did not limit his work only to textual issues; he also investigated the Chronicler’s literary and historiographical methods. In this essay, I wish to add to the features that Kalimi pointed out. 1. The Authority of the Chronicler’s Sources. As stated above, we consider Chronicles to have been composed, at least in part, as a “commentary,” a “midrash,” or a “rewriting” of the earlier books, that were already considered to be authoritative in his day. To quote Ben Zvi, “Chronicles recognized Kings and Samuel as classical sources that it could not fully compete with or imitate. Chronicles explicitly presents itself as less authoritative than Samuel and Kings…, takes for granted the basic structure of Samuel-Kings as regnal accounts, and presents itself on many occasions as clearly derivative because it actually ‘copies’ much of their material”36 and as he emphasized more recently, there is no reason to assume that the Chronicler intended his history to supersede or to replace the older histories.37 This 32 Janzen, Chronicles and the Politics of Davidic Restoration, p. 3. 33 Janzen, Chronicles and the Politics of Davidic Restoration, pp. 16–23. 34 For which, see above, note 6. 35 Steven L. McKenzie, The Chronicler’s Use of the Deuteronomistic History (Atlanta: Scholar’s Press, 1984); Isaac Kalimi, Zur Geschichtsschreibung des Chronisten: Literarisch-historiographische Abweichungen der Chronik von ihren Paralleltexten in den Samuel- und Königsbüchern (BZAW 226; Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruy­­ter, 1995; based on the original Hebrew, 1990); revised and much enlarged in English: The Reshaping of An­­cient Israelite History in Chronicles; and in addition see also idem, An Ancient Historian, esp. pp. 67–157; idem, Writing and Rewriting the Story of Solomon in Ancient Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018). 36 Ehud Ben Zvi, “One Size Does Not Fit All: Observations on the Different Ways That Chronicles Dealt with the Authoritative Literature of Its Time,” in Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edelman (eds.), What was Authoritative for Chronicles, (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011), p. 18. Even if one accepts Ben Zvi’s argument, the term “explicitly” seems to be going beyond what the text actually does. 37 Ehud Ben Zvi, “Chronicles and Social Memory,” ST 71 (2017), pp. 11–12. For a recent counter-argument, that the Chronicler did expect his readers to think of his work as “a new and better history, and so replaces the earlier source,” see Janzen, Chronicles and the Politics of Davidic Restoration, pp. 30–33.

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is also very true for the Torah, which the Chronicler assumed to have existed as an authoritative text since the time of Moses.38 This can be seen, for example, in the Chronicler’s version of the finding of “the book of the Torah” in the time of Josiah. In the Kings version (2 Kgs 22:8), the book is called simply sēper hattôrāh, “the book of the Torah”, while 2 Chr 34:14 specifies et-sēper tôrat-YHWH beyad Môšeh, “the book of the Torah of YHWH by the hand of Moses.”39 This expression and “the book of Moses” are also cited in verses 6 and 12 of the following chapter as the source of the law that was being followed, unmentioned in the parallel account in Kings. The same is true in 1 Chr 6:33 [ET, 6:49]; 15:15; 22:13; 2 Chr 8:13; 23:18; 24:6, 9 and in 30:16 – in all of these, the Chronicler added the Torah of Moses, where it did not exist in his source. Of course, “the book of the Torah of Moses” as an authoritative source is hardly an invention of the Chronicler. Second Kings 14:6 tells of Amaziah’s execution of his father’s assassins, and then emphasizes that “he did not put to death the sons of the murderers; according to what is written in the book of the Torah of Moses, which the Lord commanded: fathers shall not be put to death for the sons, and the sons shall not be put to death for the fathers; but each shall be put to death for his own sin.” This is almost a direct quote of Deut 24:16, and is quoted in turn almost verbatim in 2 Chr 25:4.40 We find a similar situation at 2 Chr 33:8, where the reference to “all the Torah, and the statutes and the ordinances by hand of Moses” is taken, although not quite word-forword, from 2 Kgs 21:8, “all the Torah which my servant Moses commanded them”, and the sins referred to in both versions are taken from Deut 18:9–12.41 This second passage, however, does not mention a “book” of the Torah. Such a book is mentioned, once again with no parallel in Kings, in connection with Jehoshaphat’s “teaching mission” in 2 Chr 17:9: “and they taught in Judah, and with them was a book of the Torah of the Lord”. This may have been inspired by Deut 17:18, according to which the king is supposed to write “a copy of this Torah on a book/scroll before the Levitical priests”, although the “book” here is not said to have been copied by the king, and Deuteronomy does not state that the purpose of the book is for public instruction. The Chronicler’s dependence on Deuteronomy can further be seen in the description of Jehoshaphat’s “judicial reform” in 2 Chr 19:5–11.42 However, the Chronicler’s “Torah of Moses” includes not only Deuteronomy and its related literature. As conclusively shown long ago by Judson Shaver, the Chronicler is undoubtedly familiar with much of the material that is conventionally attributed to all of the assumed Pentateuchal

38 See Ben Zvi, “One Size Does Not Fit All,” p. 16, where he includes the “pentateuchal books” as part of the authoritative “core of the repertoire of the text-centered community in Yehud”. For the concept of “the Torah” in Chronicles as a specific, authoritative, written book see Judson R. Shaver, Torah and the Chronicler’s History Work (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), pp. 76–82; Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles, pp. 234–244; Yigal Levin, The Chronicles of the Kings of Judah: 2 Chronicles 10–36: A New Translation and Commentary (London: Bloomsbury T. & T. Clark, 2017), pp. 27–28. 39 For use of the particle ʾet as indicating a definite object, as in “the book”, see Hanneke van Loon, “The Varia­ tional Use of the Particle ‫ את‬with Subject and Direct Object.” Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 38 (2012), pp. 93–114, although he does not refer specifically to this passage. 40 Albeit with slight differences. See Levin, The Chronicles of the Kings of Judah, pp. 222–223 and literature cited there. 41 For further comments see Levin, The Chronicles of the Kings of Judah, pp. 366, 372–373. 42 For details see Gary N. Knoppers, “Jehoshaphat’s Judiciary and ‘The Scroll of YHWH’s Torah’,” JBL 113 (1994), pp. 59–80; Levin, The Chronicles of the Kings of Judah, pp. 122–136 and sources there.

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sources, including JE, P, H and D.43 As stated by David Glatt-Gilad, “The Chronicler not only refers to Moses’ Torah as a source of authority but also looks to it as a recent model to emulate in his own quest for achieving authoritative status.”44 2. The Divided Kingdom In the Deuteronomistic History, the “blame” for the division of the monarchy is laid on Solomon as punishment for his sins (1 Kgs 11:11–13), with Rehoboam and Jeroboam playing out the roles for which they were predestined. As such, the very division and existence of the northern monarchy are not only legitimate, but are divinely ordained. Consequently, Kings follows the reigns of the northern kings in parallel to those of the south. In Chronicles, Solomon’s sins are absent, as are the stories of Ahijah the Shilonite and the other prophets who appeared to Solomon, Rehoboam and Jeroboam, with the exception of Shemaiah, who tells Rehoboam not to fight his brethren-Israelites (1 Chr 11:2–4). However, Rehoboam himself is also not to blame for the division.45 Ben Zvi emphasizes the fact that the assembly took place at Shechem, which was, on the one hand, a historical “fact” that the Chronicler drew from his source (the Deuteronomistic History), but on the other, certainly significant in light of the tensions between Judah and Samaria in the Chronicler’s own day.46 As pointed out by Amos Frisch, Chronicles also deletes 1 Kgs 12:20, which tells of the coronation of Jeroboam “by the assembly.”47 The end result is that the northern monarchy is not recognized as legitimate in any way, and indeed, the Chronicler does not survey the northern kings and their deeds, and only mentions them when they interact with the kings of Judah. However, as recognized by many scholars, it is the northern monarchy that the Chronicler considers illegitimate, not the northerners themselves. He often refers to the north as “Israel”, although this is of course also his term for the entire nation, and sometimes for just Judah as well.48 But he does not even mention the exile of the northern tribes (except the Transjordanians in 1 Chr 5:25–26), and of course both Hezekiah and Josiah invite the northerners, in Hezekiah’s case named by tribe, to celebrate the Passover in Je­ru­sa­lem (2 Chr 30:1–10; 35:18). In fact, even when describing the purification of the land under Josiah, where 2 Kgs 23:19 mentions “Samaria,” 2 Chr 34:6 has “Ephraim and Manasseh and Simeon unto Naphtali.” So it is the northern kingdom that is illegitimate, but the northern tribes are still a part of the Chronicler’s “Israel,” and in fact

43 Shaver, Torah and the Chronicler’s History Work. For a summary see pp, 127–128; see also Kalimi, The Re­ shaping of Ancient Israelite History in Chronicles, p. 392. 44 David Glatt-Gilad, “Chronicles as Consensus Literature”, in What was Authoritative for Chronicles, ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edelman (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2011), p. 68. 45 See Gary N. Knoppers, “Rehoboam in Chronicles: Villain or Victim?”, JBL 109 (1990), pp. 423–440. 46 Ehud Ben Zvi, “The Secession of the Northern Kingdom in Chronicles: Accepted ‘Facts’ and New Mean­ ings,” in M. Patrick Graham, Steven L. McKenzie and Gary N. Knoppers (eds.), The Chronicler as Theologian: Essays in Honor of Ralph W. Klein (JSOTSup 371; London and New York: T. & T. Clark International, 2003), pp. 61–88. 47 Amos Frisch, “Jeroboam and the Division of the Kingdom: Mapping Contrasting Biblical Accounts”, Jour­ nal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society 27 (2000), pp. 21–22. 48 See, for example, Hugh G.M. Williamson, Israel in the Books of Chronicles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), pp. 97–118; Riley, King and Cultus in Chronicles, pp. 187–191. See also Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles, pp. 267–278. However, this issue was discussed long before any of these scholars; see the bibliography listed by Isaac Kalimi, The Books of Chronicles: A Classified Bibliography (SBB 1; Je­r u­sa­lem: Simor, 1990), pp. 103–104 items no. 708–714.

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once their apostate kingdom is gone, the northern tribes are invited to rejoin Judah and the house of David. 3. Good Kings and Bad Kings Both the Deuteronomistic History (or at least Samuel-Kings) and Chronicles (after the genealogies) are organized around the reigns of kings. For almost every king, they include an assessment of his wickedness or piety, usually as part of the introductory formula, such as: “and Asa did what was right in the eyes of the Lord like David his father” (1 Kgs 15:11); “And Asa did what was good and right in the eyes of the Lord his God” (2 Chr 14:1 [ET, 14:2]); “And he [Ahaziah] did evil in the eyes of the Lord like the house of Ahab” (2 Kgs 8:27; 2 Chr 22:4). There are, however, several important differences between the ways in which the kings are presented in the two books. The first, of course, is that where Kings traces the kings of both kingdoms, Chronicles concentrates on the kings of Judah, and does not repeat Kings’ assessments of the northern monarchs. This is in line with the Chronicler’s non-legitimization of the northern kingdom and its monarchs. But there are other differences as well. The characterization of the kings of Judah in Kings tends to be rather one-sided: either good or bad. Thus, Asa and Jehoshaphat are good, Joram and Ahaziah are bad, Joash, Amaziah, Azariah and Jotham are good, Ahaz is evil, Hezekiah is good, Manasseh and Amon are evil, Josiah is of course almost perfect, and the final four are all bad. If anything, it is the earlier kings, up to Rehoboam and Abijam, who are more multi-faceted. In Chronicles, it is the earlier kings who are one-sided, with the sins of David and Solomon and even the mention that “Judah did evil in the eyes of the Lord” in Rehoboam’s days (1 Kgs 14:22) and that Abijah “went in all the sins that his father did before him” (1 Kgs 15:3) being passed over.49 Conversely, quite a few of the later kings turn out to be more complex, starting off good and turning bad or vice-versa. This is accomplished, for the most part, by introducing an episode or an influential event, which causes the king under discussion to change his ways. The two most prominent cases are those of the turning of Joash after his evil counselors following the death of Jehoiada (2 Chr 24:17–18) and of the repentance of Manasseh after being imprisoned by “the officers of the army of the king of Assyria” (2 Chr 33:11–12),50 but there are others. In almost all of these cases, the result is that the kings’ reigns are divided into “good years” and “bad years,” a scheme not found in Kings. The reign of Asa, for example, starts off with his doing “what was good and right in the eyes of the Lord his God” (2 Chr 14:1 [ET, 14:2]) and being rewarded appropriately with success in war, in building and in progeny. However, according to 2 Chr 14:19 [ET, 14:20], all of this lasted only through his thirty-fifth year. In year thirty-six, Judah was attacked by Baasha of Israel, to which Asa reacted by turning to the king of Aram-Damascus, a move which in Kings seems like clever diplomacy, but which Chronicles, through the agency of Hanani the Seer, condemns for lack of faith in God. Asa, in his anger, threw Hanani into jail, and was rewarded, in his thirty-ninth year, with a painful foot disease. As a final note, 2 Chr 16:12 49 With the one outstanding exception of the census ordered by David and taken by Joab, which 1 Chron­i­cles 21 based on 2 Samuel 24. For the way in which this was done see Paul S. Evans, “Let the Crime Fit the Pun­ish­ ment: The Chronicler’s Explication of David’s ‘Sin’ in 1 Chronicles 21,” in Paul S. Evans and Tyler F. Williams (eds.), Chronicling the Chronicler: The Book of Chronicles and Early Second Temple Historiography (Wi­no­na Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), pp. 65–80. See also Beentjes, Tradition and Transformation, pp. 45–56. 50 For which see, among others, Philippe Abadie, “From the Impious Manasseh (2 Kings 21) to the Convert Ma­ nas­seh (2 Chronicles 33): Theological Rewriting by the Chronicler,” in The Chronicler as Theologian: Essays in Honor of Ralph W. Klein (SJOTSup 371; London and New York: T. & T. Clark International, 2003), pp. 89–104.

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comments that even then, Asa sought out the help of physicians instead of God. And while the bare fact of his foot disease is also mentioned in Kings, it is not seen as having any theological significance, and the various dates cited by the Chronicler are unmentioned in Kings. The important question is, of course, “why?” Why does the Chronicler make good kings “go bad” and bad kings repent? The most common answer, is that of the Chronicler’s well-known idea of “immediate retribution”: to him, the fact that a “good” king like Asa or Uzziah ended his life with an incurable disease, or that a “bad” king like Manasseh reigned for fifty-five long and seemingly prosperous years, must mean that they did something to deserve their destiny. The use of this concept in Chronicles studies is most often associated with Sara Japhet, but it actually has quite a long history including already Julius Wellhausen.51 Japhet and others also emphasize the role of grace and repentance in deciding an individual’s destiny in Chronicles.52 However I do believe that there is more to it than that. By making his main characters more multi-faceted, the Chronicler also made them more human, and perhaps less stereotypical.53 4. The Tribes of Israel While never actually stating so explicitly, the Deuteronomistic History seems to assume that the tribal structure of Israelite society pretty much dissolved after the establishment of the monarchy. In any case, the with the exception of Judah and Benjamin, the individual tribes are very rarely mentioned in Samuel and Kings, with the northern tribes usually being referred to collectively as “Israel.” The Chronicler, while also often referring to the north as “Israel” and to the south as “Judah” or “Judah and Benjamin,” also takes great pains to emphasize the continuing existence of the individual tribes as vital components of that “Israel.” This is of course obvious in the tribal genealogies of the book’s first nine chapters, but also beyond them. For example, where 2 Sam 5:1–3 tells us that “all the tribes of Israel” came to David at Hebron, where he was made king by “all the elders of Israel,” the Chronicler, after repeating the pericope almost verbatim in 1 Chr 11:1–3 (omitting, interestingly, the word “tribes” in verse 1), then adds, in 12:24–41 [ET, 12:23–40], a list of “the numbers of the divisions of the armed troops who came to David in Hebron to turn the kingdom of Saul over to him, according to the word of the Lord,” listed as tribal units. These are preceded by the Benjaminites, Gadites and Manassites who came to David at Ziklag (12:1–23 [ET, 12:24]). First Chr 27:16–22 includes officers whom David appointed over each of the tribes of Israel.54 In other words, the Chronicler wished to emphasize that David’s kingdom was not just “all Israel,” but also the individual tribes that made up the nation of Israel. Even statistically, the names of the individual tribes appear more often in Chronicles than they do in Samuel and Kings. Outside the genealogies, Reuben appears five times in Chronicles, 51 See Julius Wellhausen, Prolegomena to the History of Ancient Israel (Cleveland and New York: World Publishing Company, 1957), pp. 203–210; Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles, pp. 165–176; Brian E. Kelly, “‘Retribution’ Revisited: Covenant, Grace and Restoration,” in M. Patrick Graham, Steven L. McKenzie and Gary N. Knoppers (eds.), The Chronicler as Theologian: Essays in Honor of Ralph W. Klein (JSOTSup 371; Lon­don and New York: T. & T. Clark International, 2003), pp. 206–227. 52 Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles, pp. 176–198. 53 Ben Zvi, “Chronicles and Social Memory,” p. 6, emphasizes that “tendencies towards fuzziness, multivocality, acceptance and promotion of seeming inconsistency are all characteristic of societies that lack a sense of strong existential anxiety. Moreover, integrative fuzziness is often a necessary feature of relatively small, multivocal groups.” 54 For a more detailed study of the tribal system in Chronicles see Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles, pp. 278–308. Japhet emphasizes the “non-schematic” nature of the Chronicler’s tribal system, which sometimes includes 12 elements, sometimes 14, sometimes other figures.

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as opposed to once in Samuel-Kings (2 Kgs 10:33), Simeon is mentioned four times in Chronicles and never in Samuel-Kings, Issachar four times in Chronicles and twice in Samuel-Kings (1 Kgs 4:17; 15:27), Zebulun six times in Chronicles and never in Samuel-Kings, Dan (as a tribe, not a city) three in Chronicles and never in Samuel-Kings, Naphtali five to three, Gad four and four (of course not counting the prophet of this name). Asher appears twice in Chronicles outside the genealogies and in Samuel-Kings only if the “Ashurites” of 2 Sam 2:9 refer to “Asherites” and not to something else.55 Manasseh (the tribe, not the king) is mentioned 16 times in Chronicles and only once in Samuel-Kings (with reference to “the villages of Jair son of Manasseh, which are in Gilead” in 1 Kgs 4:18). And finally, Ephraim (not counting “Mount Ephraim” as a geographical region and the Gate of Ephraim in Je­ru­sa­lem) appears 16 times in Chronicles and only twice in Samuel-Kings (2 Sam 13:23; 18:6, both actually geographic references as well), in addition to two references to “Ephrathites,” who are supposedly from the tribe of Ephraim (1 Sam 1:1; 1 Kgs 11:26). Just from these references, all from outside the genealogies, we can see that the Chron­icler attached much greater importance to the idea of Israel, even during the time of the mon­ar­chy, as being composed of individual tribes than did the author of the Deuteronomistic His­tory.56 This comparison is especially striking, if we consider that while Kings traces the histories of both the northern and southern kingdoms, and in fact devotes much more of its narrative up until the destruction of the northern kingdom in 2 Kings 17 to the northern kingdom than to Judah, Chronicles focusses exclusively on the southern kingdom, mentioning the north and its kings only in relationship to the south. Of course, by the time of the Chronicler, there were no longer “Twelve Tribes of Israel.” While it is certainly possible that there were individuals living in Yehud and in other parts of the country (as well as in the Diaspora) who preserved family traditions about their being descended from one tribe or another, there is no evidence that these people comprised any type of “tribal communities” in the Chronicler’s day. Thus, the Chronicler’s frequent presentation of Israel as being made up of the various tribes, not only in the pre-monarchial period but throughout its history, is an idealized vision, although it might also reflect a social reality that was known to the Chronicler. 5. Priests and Levites The noun kôhên, “priest,” referring to both Israelite and non-Israelite priests, is actually more common in Samuel and Kings than it is in Chronicles (104 times in Samuel-Kings to 86 in Chron­ i­cles outside of the genealogies, many of those being in passages taken from Samuel-Kings). But even so, the priests’ prevalence in both historiographies reflects their centrality in both the ideol­ ogy and the “real-life” practice of Israelite and Judahite religion in both the First and Second Temple periods. The noun “Levite,” on the other hand, appears 113 times in Chronicles, 96 of which are out­ side the genealogies, as opposed to only twice each in Samuel and in Kings (1 Sam 6:15; 2 Sam 15:24; 1 Kgs 8:4; 12:31), obviously indicating the Levites’ importance to the Chronicler. Ba­si­cal­ly, the Chronicler inserted Levites at every possible opportunity. It has often been claimed that the 55 See, for example, Diana Edelman, “The ‘Ashurites’ of Eshbaal’s State (2 Sam. 2,9),” Palestine Exploration Quar­terly 117 (1985), pp. 85–91. 56 We did not include a count of either Judah or Benjamin, since they are the main components of the southern king­dom, which is the focus of the Chronicler’s work. However for Benjamin specifically, see Louis Jonker, “Of Jebus, Je­ru­sa­lem and Benjamin: The Chronicler’s Sondergut in 1 Chronicles 21 against the Background of the Late Persian Era in Yehud”, in Chronicling the Chronicler: The Book of Chronicles and Early Second Temple Historiography, ed. Paul S. Evans and Tyler F. Williams (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), pp. 81–102.

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Levites’ centrality in Chronicles must reflect their centrality in the “real world” of the early Second Temple Period, although not all scholars agree on this point.57 Some have argued that the Levites’ prominence in Chronicles is a sort of “utopia” or “wishful thinking” on the part of the Chronicler.58 6. Prophets So much has been written on the role of prophets and prophecy in Chronicles that little need be repeated here. Just to summarize, almost every pre-exilic prophet mentioned in the Deu­ter­o­nom­ istic History from Moses to Jeremiah59 finds his (or her, with the inclusion of Huldah) place in Chron­icles, plus quite a few who are not known from the earlier historiography. They appear in various roles, as divine messengers, as advisors to kings, as orators, but also as the authors of many of the “sources” cited by the Chronicler for his histories of the various kings, a role in which they do not appear in the Deuteronomistic History.60 In the opinion of Ben Zvi, this multiplicity of prophetic voices that appeared in Judah throughout the Chronicler’s version of its history, many of which were heeded by the kings and people of Judah, served to “balance” the consistently negative picture of Israel and Judah not heeding to prophets in the Deuteronomistic History and in the prophetic corpus. “The main narrative about Israel’s continuous rejection of YHWH’s prophets that emerged from the Prophetic Book Collection was also balanced within the comprehensive social memory of the literati as they recalled the multiple instances that Israel/Judah pay heed to prophetic voices.”61 So while the question of whether the various prophets cited by the Chronicler were historical figures or literary ones is interesting, it is not really germane to our discussion.62 The same is true for the question of whether the Chronicler and his audience considered prophecy as a phenom57 See, for example, Jacob M. Myers, I Chronicles: Introduction, Translation and Notes (AB; Garden City: Double­ day, 1965), lxx; Richard D. Nelson, Raising Up a Faithful Priest: Community and Priesthood in Biblical Theology (Louis­ville: Westminster/John Knox, 1993), p. 132; Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles, pp. 89–92. 58 See Steven James Schweitzer, Reading Utopia in Chronicles (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 446; New York and London: T. & T. Clark, 2007), pp. 149–173; Yigal Levin, “The Role of the Levites in Chronicles: Past, Present, or Utopia?” in Yael Shemesh and Michael Avioz (eds.), Joseph Fleishman Jubilee Volume (Münster: Ugarit Verlag, forthcoming). 59 Strictly speaking, Jeremiah is actually not mentioned in Kings, but his presence “behind the scenes” is clear in the final two chapters, which are largely parallel to Jeremiah 39–40 and 52. For the role of Jeremiah in Chronicles see Mark Leuchter, “Rethinking the ‘Jeremiah’ Doublet in Ezra-Nehemiah and Chronicles, in Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edelman (eds.), What was Authoritative for Chronicles (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011), pp. 183–200; idem, “Remembering Jeremiah in the Persian Period,” in Remembering Biblical Figures in the Late Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods: Social Memory and Imagination, ed. Diana Edelman and Ehud Ben Zvi (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), pp. 384–414. Two additional prominent DH prophets who are not mentioned in Chronicles are Deborah, since Chronicles does not recount the deeds of the Judges, and Elisha, who was active only in the northern kingdom. 60 For which see, among many others, William M. Schniedewind, The Word of God in Transition: From Prophet to Exegete in the Second Temple Period (JSOTSup 197; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), pp. 209–230; Beentjes, Tradition and Transformation, pp. 129–139; Louis Jonker, “The Chronicler and the Prophets: Who Were His Authoritative Sources?” in Ehud Ben Zvi and Diana Edelman (eds.), What was Authoritative for Chron­icles, (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011), pp. 145–164; Amber K. Warhurst, “The Chronicler’s Use of the Prophets,” ibid., pp. 165–181; Gary N. Knoppers, “‘To Him You Must Listen’: The Prophetic Legis­la­ tion in Deuteronomy and the Reformation of Classical Tradition in Chronicles,” in Paul S. Evans and Tyler F. Williams (eds.), Chronicling the Chronicler: The Book of Chronicles and Early Second Temple Historiography (Wi­no­na Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2013), pp. 161–194 and the many references therein. 61 Ben Zvi, “Chronicles and Social Memory,” p. 17. 62 For example, Beentjes, Tradition and Transformation, p. 139, considers most of the prophets mentioned

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enon to be a thing of the past or whether they viewed prophecy as something that continued to exist in their time. William Schniedewind, commenting on the different roles played by prophets and prophecy in Chronicles and in Ezra-Nehemiah, noted that “they represent vastly different approaches. In Chronicles prophecy plays an important role whereas in Ezra-Nehemiah prophecy is marginalized.”63 He then goes on to explain this as being due – at least in part – to the age to which each work is dedicated: in the Chronicler’s view, prophets had been “inspired messengers” in the pre-exilic period, while in Ezra-Nehemiah’s post-exilic world, Ezra himself took on that role, leaving no place for additional prophets. But as Gary Knoppers wrote, “the Chronistic work presupposes a historical and social context in which at least some in the Judean community still held prophecy – or at least prophecy in certain forms – in high regard.”64 I, at least, read the prophets in Chronicles to be a thing of the past, whose voices were still very much relevant to the readers’ present and future.65 III What Sort of New History of Israel is Chronicles? In an earlier study, I suggested that much of the Chronicler’s genealogical material for the tribes of Judah, Simeon, Manasseh, Ephraim, Asher and Benjamin was actually taken from the living traditions of the descendants of those tribes living in the Chronicler’s own time.66 This can also be seen in the list of the high priests, which also extends to the post-exilic period.67 On the other hand, not a few of the Chronicler’s descriptions of pre-exilic Israel are non-historical, meant to convey various messages to the readers of the Chronicler’s own time in terms which would be relevant to them. About a decade ago, Steven Schweitzer, following in the footsteps of Roland Boer, classified Chronicles as “utopian literature.”68 To summarize the definitions offered by both of them and by others, a “utopia” is a literary place that is both non-existent in the “real world” (that is, u-topia, “no-place”) and one that is better than the “real-world” (eutopia, “good-place”).69 In a later essay, expanding on the Chronicler’s presentation of the institution of prophecy, Schweitzer commented that “In his own authoritative composition, the Chronicler has retrojected his utopian vision into the past in order to actualize it in his present and into the future. This utopian vision does in Chronicles, as well as their speeches, to be literary construction rather than reflecting any real historical ­memories. 63 Schniedewind, The Word of God in Transition, p. 250. 64 Knoppers, “‘To Him You Must Listen’,” p. 192. 65 For discussions about the question of prophecy in Second Temple Judaism and its being seen as a continuation of biblical prophecy, see Frederick E. Greenspahn, “Why Prophecy Ceased,” JBL 108 (1989), pp. 37–49; Ben­jamin D. Sommer, “Did Prophecy Cease?: Evaluating a Reevaluation,” JBL 115 (1996), pp. 31–47; Alex P. Jassen, “Prophecy After ‘The Prophets’: The Dead Sea Scrolls and the History of Prophecy in Judaism,” in Armin Lange, Emanuel Tov and Matthias Weigold (eds.), The Dead Sea Scrolls in Context; Integrating the Dead Sea Scrolls in the Study of Ancient Texts, Languages, and Cultures (Leiden: Brill, 2011), vol. 2, pp. 577–593. 66 Levin, “Who Was the Chronicler’s Audience?” pp. 342–343. 67 See also Benjamin E. Scolnic, Chronology and Papponymy: A List of Judean High Priests of the Persian Period (At­lanta: Scholars Press, 1999), pp. 163–184. 68 Schweitzer, Reading Utopia in Chronicles, p. 12; Roland Boer, Novel Histories: The Fiction of Biblical Criticism (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), pp. 136–168. 69 Roland Boer, Novel Histories, p. 117, based on Louis Marin, Utopiques: jeux d’espaces (Paris: Editions de Mi­ nuit, 1973), pp. 9–50. See also Terje Stordalen, “Worlds Than Could Not Be: Realism and Irrealism in Tho­ mas More’s Utopia”, in Steven J. Schweitzer and Frauke Uhlenbruch (eds.), Worlds that Could Not Be: Utopia in Chronicles, Ezra and Nehemiah (Library of Hebrew Bible/ Old Testament Studies 620; London: Blooms­ bury T. & T. Clark, 2016), pp. 13–37.

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not replicate the past nor continue the status quo of the present. By his use of the prophets, the Chron­icler critiques the present and offers his understanding of a better alternative reality anchored in the words and inherent authority of these personages and concepts.”70 To a certain extent, this seems to be correct. As pointed out by Beentjes, had Samuel-Kings been unknown to us, the history of Israel that we would have been able to reconstruct from Chron­icles would be very different from the one we have today.71 So the Chronicler’s version of the history of pre-exilic Israel is very different than that of the Deuteronomistic History. But Beentjes also rejects Schweitzer’s definition of Chronicles as “utopia,” at least in the “classic” sense of the word as originally coined by Thomas More.72 Unlike More’s Utopia, the Chronicler’s Israel is not set on an uncharted island but in the very real and familiar Land of Israel, the same Land as that inhabited by his readers. Like the Deuteronomistic History, the Chronicler’s history of Israel still ends with almost-total destruction and with a hope for the future, although the Chron­icler’s “happy ending,” is set 21 years later than that of Kings.73 The Chronicler, by “updating” his readers’ past, hoped to also influence the way in which they envisioned and brought about their future. IV Conclusion The world in which the Chronicler lived was very different from both the world about which he wrote, and the world in which his predecessor, the “Deuteronomistic Historian”, lived and wrote. In the Chronicler’s world, the people of Israel/Judah had known destruction and dispersal, but were now, at least in his eyes, living in their Land once again. In the Chronicler’s world, Israel was once again a tribal society, in which monarchy, even Davidic monarchy, was a thing of the past, perhaps an ideal, but not part of the everyday life of the community. In his eyes, the city of Je­ru­ sa­lem and its Temple (small and poor as they may have been when compared to their past glory) were the center of Israel’s existence. To him, new times meant that a new history was needed, but since there already was a history which he considered to be “authoritative,” the Chronicler used the Deuteronomistic History (in whatever “pre-Masoretic” form he knew it) as a “template”. But however “authoritative” he considered the Deuteronomistic History to be, he did not consider it to be definitive. He felt free to subtract, to add, and to change where he thought it was necessary. Alongside the Deuteronomistic History, the Chronicler made use of the equally authoritative “Torah of Moses” (again, obviously “pre-Masoretic”, but including much of both P and D), and also, probably, of various oral traditions and written sources, all now impossible to trace with any certainty. The end result is a vison of pre-exilic Israel that is very different from that presented by the Deuteronomistic Historian: still monarchic, still idealizing the Davidic line, but also much more tribal, more priestly, more Levitical, more Temple-centered, with more prophetic activity. This is the “ideal” Israel of the past, and perhaps also the Israel that the Chronicler hoped would exist in the future. 70 Steven James Schweitzer, “Exile, Empire, and Prophecy: Reframing Utopian Concerns in Chronicles,” in Steven J. Schweitzer and Frauke Uhlenbruch (eds.), Worlds that Could Not Be: Utopia in Chronicles, Ezra and Nehemiah (Library of Hebrew Bible/ Old Testament Studies 620; London: Bloomsbury T. & T. Clark, 2016), pp. 98–99. 71 Beentjes, Tradition and Transformation, p. 101. For a detailed example, see Kalimi, Writing and Rewriting the Story of Solomon in Ancient Israel. 72 Beentjes, Tradition and Transformation, p. 105. 73 Where 2 Kgs 25:27 tells of the 37th year of Jehoiachin’s exile, which would be 560 B.C.E., 2 Chr 36:22 cites the first year of Cyrus, usually assumed to refer to the year in which he conquered Babylon, 539 B.C.E.

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Cyrus, the Great Jew? A Critical Comparison of Cyrus-Images in Judah, Babylon, and Greece Manfred Oeming University of Heidelberg An excellent example for the critical analysis of writing and rewriting history in Ancient Israel and the Ancient Near East are the sources concerning Cyrus II, the Great.1 Comparing the manifold traditions in Judah, Babylon, and Greece offers deep insights into the nature of ancient historiography in general, and into the peculiarities of the construction of history in the Hebrew Bible in particular.2 So, our enquiry starts with an exegesis of the Judean portrait of Cyrus in 2 Chr 36:22–23 (dated around 300 B.C.E.),3 with an inner-biblical comparison with Ezra 1 and 6 (dated around 450 B.C.E.) as well as Isaiah 45 (dated around 540 B.C.E.). In a second step, we will move to the image of Cyrus in the Babylonian/Persian “Cyrus-Cylinder” (dated around 539 B.C.E.) and to Greek pictures of Cyrus (dated between 450 to 350 B.C.E., with a few remarks on the history of reception of this Greek image). Finally, we will draw the necessary conclusions about the nature of ancient “historiography,” also in the Hebrew Bible.

1 Cyrus, the son of Cambyses, was the founder of the Persian Empire (born around 600, ruled 559–530 B.C.E.), 553 he conquered Pasargadae, thereafter declaring it the capital. Following a battle against Croesus in 545 he took over Cappadocia and subjected all of Asia Minor step by step. On October 12, 539 he captured/entered Babylon. Maybe in exactly the same year, he gave the permission to all the Jews in Babylon to return to Judah, but not all of them used this allowance. Cyrus died 530 B.C.E. at the age of 70 in a battle against the Scythians. For basic information, see Muhammad A. Dandamayev, “Cyrus iii. Cyrus II The Great,” in Ehsan Yarshater (ed.), Encyclopædia Iranica (Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda Publications, 1993), vol. 6, pp. 516–521; Heidemarie Koch, “Kyros,” in Manfred Görg and Bernhard Lang (eds.), Neues Bibel-Lexikon (Zürich: Benzinger, 1995), vol. 2, p. 570; Pierre Briant, Histoire de l’empire perse. De Cyrus à Alexandre (Paris: Librairie Arthème Fayard: 1996; English translation: idem, From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2002), pp. 13–106. 2 David Vanderhooft analyzed in a brilliant paper all the historical traditions connected to October 539 B.C.E., when Ugbarua, and two weeks later Cyrus, captured or “liberated” the city of Babylon with war actions or without it; see David Vanderhooft, “Cyrus II, liberator or conqueror?” in Oded Lipschits and Man­fred Oeming (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), pp. 351– 372. My focus here is wider; I’m interested in all the life of Cyrus and in all his afterlife in recep­tion history; this means in all the ideas connected to him in literature, political ideologies and theological concepts in antiquity and later. 3 Cf. Manfred Oeming, Das wahre Israel. Die genealogische Vorhalle 1 Chr 1–9 (BWANT 128; Stuttgart: Kohl­ ham­mer, 1990), pp. 45–47. For a different dating of the book of Chronicles (namely: at the end of the 5th–first quar­ter of the 4th century B.C.E.), see Isaac Kalimi, An Ancient Israelite Historian: Studies in the Chronicler, His Time, Place, and Writing (SSN 46; Assen: Royal Van Gorcum [now under: Brill, Leiden], 2005), pp. 41– 65, and there also survey and discussion of many other suggestions.

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I Cyrus in Judah 1. Cyrus in 2 Chr 36:22–23 The revision of the Deuteronomistic history by the Chronicler (or better the Chronistic school) is of special interest. In the first year of Cyrus king of Persia –in order to fulfill the word of YHWH by the mouth of Jeremiah – YHWH stirred up the spirit of Cyrus king of Persia, so that he sent a proclamation (by heralds) throughout his kingdom, and also put it in writing, saying: “Thus says Cyrus king of Persia: YHWH, the God of heaven, has given me all the kingdoms of the earth, and He has appointed me to build Him a house in Je­ru­sa­lem, which is in Judah. Whosoever there is among you of all His people – his God be with him – let him go up!” These verses are very important, not only because they are the last verses of the Hebrew Bible in the majority of existing ancient manuscripts. While the Deuteronomistic History ends with the rehabilitation of Jehoiachin and his death in Babylon around 560 B.C.E. (2 Kgs 25:27–30), Chronicles leads beyond the end of the exile into the year 539 B.C.E. This makes a big difference: With king Cyrus a new epoch began. Although 36:22—23 is not to be found in the Deuteronomistic source text, these verses are present in the introduction to the book of Ezra (1:1–3). Scholars debate intensely which one of these versions is the original, but a consensus has emerged that the Chronicler probably copied these verses from the earlier book of Ezra in order to establish a unity of some sort with the historiography contained in Ezra-Nehemiah (which describes the history after the exile). However, the inclusion of these verses, and particularly the figure of Cyrus, as a conclusion of Chronicles not only served a literary function, but also concluded the whole history of Israel from a universalist perspective. The book starts with Adam and ends with Cyrus. With those figures bracketing his historiography, the Chronicler put the history of Israel within the context of wider humanity and the nations.4 The edict interprets the past exile as a divine judgment – predicted by the mouth of the prophet – and proclaims that a time of salvation begun with the first king of the Achaemenids. From the beginning (in the year one) Cyrus gave an oral and written testimony to the entire world that he believes (and all readers in the entire world should know this too) that his power and his duties are a gift of YHWH, the God of the heaven (and for sure the God of the Jews). This expression combines a general Persian concept of the deity (Ezra 5:1, 12; 6:9, 10; 7:12, 21, 23; Neh 1:4, 5; 4:20; Dan 2:18, 19, 37, 44; Jonah 1:9) with the specific God of Israel. The public confession in all ancient media is de facto equivalent to a spectacular conversion to Judaism. The idea that a pagan king can become a Jew is not impossible. On the contrary, we have three clear parallels.5 4 Louis C. Jonker, Defining All-Israel in Chronicles: Multi-levelled Identity Negotiation in Late Per­sian-Period Yehud (FAT 106; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), pp. 146–147; see already the discussion by Isaac Kalimi, The Retelling of Chronicles in Jewish Tradition and Literature: A Historical Journey (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009), pp. 28–31, with earlier bibliography. 5 1. Nebuchadnezzar: His conversion to Judaism is prominent but discreet in the book of Daniel 2–6, in which Nebuchadnezzar acknowledges YHWH as “the true living God” and gives him and his followers great honor (Dan 2:47; 3:28–29; 3:31–33; 4:34; 6:26–29): ‫“ ִּד י־הּ֣וא ֱאלָ ָה֣א ַחּיָ ֗א‬For he is the living God!” (Dan 6:27).

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But 2 Chronicles 36 is the most explicit creed. The Persian king is inspired by YHWH himself; it is a kind of vocation by the God of Israel with the typical terminology of awakening (the Lord aroused the spirit of Cyrus); therefore, Cyrus has a deeper understanding of history and he himself declares his own actions as part of YHWH’s divine plan. It was announced by the word of YHWH by the mouth of Jeremiah, the most important prophet – most probably this is an interpretation of Jer 29:10 that announces 70 years of captivity (cf. Dan 9:2) in the light of Lev 26:346 that explains the exile as compensation for not celebrated Sabbaths. To build a house for the God is a central duty of the king as a loyal servant of the God (He has appointed me to build Him a house in Je­ru­sa­ lem).7 Similar to the succession from David to Solomon, Cyrus is portrayed hereby as the legitimate successor of the Davidic dynasty.8 He is building the central sanctuary and he is guiding the people of God (this is the most tolerant statement about a foreign monarch in the Hebrew Bible/ Old Testament). The implications of this statement are immense: The Persian king is directing God’s people (“Whosoever there is among you of all His people – his God be with him – let him go up!”), and he is organizing the new era in Je­ru­sa­lem. This statement is outstanding. However, we have to notice that these two verses are highly underestimated in the commentaries.9 In spite 2 Chr 36:22–23 being a fully developed theological and political program with a lot 2. Cyrus in the later additions to Daniel in Daniel 14 (Bel and the Dragon): The Babylonians accuse king Cyrus after his destruction of an idol: Ιουδαῖος γέγονεν ὁ βασιλεύς “The king has become a Jew!” (Bel 1:28). 3. Ptolemy IV: At the end of 3 Mac­ca­bees Ptolemy IV regrets his cruelty against the Jews and confirms the God of the Jews as “the almighty living God of heaven” and is required for the protection of his people: ἀπολύσατε τοὺς υἱοὺς τοῦ παντοκράτορος ἐπουρανίου θεοῦ ζῶντος ὃς ἀφ᾽ ἡμετέρων μέχρι τοῦ νῦν προγόνων ἀπαραπόδιστον μετὰ δόξης εὐστάθειαν παρέχει τοῖς ἡμετέροις πράγμασιν (“Release the sons of the almighty and living God of heaven, who from the time of our ancestors until now has granted an unimpeded and notable stability to our government”; 3 Macc 6:28). Similar ideas are present in Deutero-Isaiah (Isa 44:28; 45:1); this will be discussed in more detail below. This success of Judaism with the kings of the ruling nations is one of the factors for anti-Jewish fears and anti-Jewish pogroms; cf. M. Oeming, “‘To be destroyed, to be killed, and to be annihilated’ (Esth 7:4): Historicity and Fictionality of Anti-Jewish Pogrom Stories before the Maccabean Crisis,” in Sylvie Honigman and Oded Lipschits (eds.), Jews and Judeans in the Long Third Century (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2019; in print). 6 Since Julius Wellhausen, Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels (De Gruyter Studienbuch, reprint of 6th edition, 1927; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2001, p. 114), the usual interpretation is: “for, according to Leviticus xxvi. 34, 35, the desolation of the land during the exile is to be a compensation made for the previously neglected fallow years: ‘Then shall the land pay its Sabbaths as long as it lieth desolate; when ye are in your enemiesʼ land then shall the land rest and pay its Sabbaths; all the days that it lieth desolate shall it rest, which it rested not in your Sabbaths when ye dwelt upon it.’ The verse is quoted in 2 Chronicles xxxvi. 21 as the language of Jeremiah,– a correct and unprejudiced indication of its exilic origin” (translated by Sutherland Black and Allan Manzies [Edin­burgh: A. & C. Black, 1885, rep. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2003], p. 120). But in contemporary re­ search, the 70 years of exile and especially the idea of “reimbursement” by emptying all the land is not at all an old idea emerging during the exile but a much later concept; Hans Barstad, The Myth of the Empty Land: A Study of the History and Archaeology of Judah During the Exile Period (SO 28; Oslo: Scandinavian University Press, 1996). 7 Victor Hurowitz, I Have Built You an Exalted House: Temple Building in the Bible in Light of Mesopotamian and North-West Semitic Writings (JSOTSup 115; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992). 8 “Cyrus’ words, ‘he has appointed me to build him a house in Je­r u­sa­lem’ (2 Chr 36,23c // Ezra 1,2c), are similar to the promise made about David’s successor, ‘he is one who will build a house for me,’ in Nathan’s prophecy (1 Chr 17,12 // 2 Sam 7,13)”; Kalimi, An Ancient Israelite Historian, p. 148, note 17. 9 One voice for many: These verses “are not the proper close of a history, but the introduction; hence their true place is in 1 and 2 Chronicles originally formed with Ezra one work, and in the separation this paragraph was allowed to remain in each either by chance, or as an evidence that the two writings were originally one, or, with less probability, it may have been appended to 2 Chronicles to give a more hopeful close to the

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of explosive force, they are not valued as such, only partly and diffidently. For this undervaluation I found many reasons. I will mention only five: A) The first reason for not taking these two verses as an important theological and political statement is the fact that they are under suspicion to be a secondary addition. Even Isaac Kalimi, who is interpreting the book of Chronicles as a literary unit, judged in a former analysis: “This study seems to lend support to the first thesis, that the whole book of Chronicles comes from the pen of the Chronicler (perhaps with the exception of the last two verses of the book, 2 Chr 36:22–23 // Ezra 1:l–3a, which, being more positive, were subsequently added, along with a few scattered expressions.”10 However, he later changed his estimation: “Thus, in contrast to some scholars,… the story of Je­ru­sa­lem’s destruction and the Babylonian exile in 2 Chr 36,11–21 (// 2 Kgs 24,18– 25 // Jeremiah 52) could not be ended with a more encouraging paragraph than that of Cyrus’ edict.”11 The argument for such a high estimation is the right insight: “The Chron­ icler testifies here that a large number of prophecies are completely fulfilled at the time of restoration. He mentions verbatim the fulfillment of Jeremiah’s prophecy concerning the ‘70 years’.”12 B) These verses are not considered important because they represent only fragments of Cyrus’ decree.13 ‎‫ׁש ֶמ֣לֶ ְך ָּפ ַר֔ס‬ ֙ ‫ְכֹור‬ ֶ ֙‫ִּוב ְׁשנַ ֣ת ַא ַח֗ת ל‬ ‎‫ׁש ֶמ֣לֶ ְך ָּפ ַ ֔רס‬ ֙ ‫ְכֹור‬ ֶ ֙‫ִּוב ְׁשנַ ֣ת ַא ַח֗ת ל‬ ‫לִ כְ לֹ֥ות ְּד ַבר־יְ הוָ ֖ה ִמ ִּפ֣י יִ ְר ְמיָ ֑ה‬ ‫לִ כְ לֹ֥ות ְּד ַבר־יְ הוָ ֖ה ְּב ִפ֣י יִ ְר ְמיָ ֑הּו‬ ‫ְך־ּפ ַר֔ס‬ ָ ֶ‫ֵהעִ ֣יר יְ הוָ ֗ה ֶאת־רּ֙ו ַ֙ח ֹּכ ֶ֣ר ׁש ֶ ֽמל‬ ‫ְך־ּפ ַר֔ס‬ ָ ֶ‫ֵהעִ ֣יר יְ הוָ ֗ה ֶאת־רּ֙וחַ֙ ּכ ֶֹ֣ור ׁש ֶ ֽמל‬ ‫ם־ּב ִמכְ ָּת֖ב לֵ א ֽמֹר׃‬ ְ ַ‫ל־מלְ כּותֹ֔ו וְ ג‬ ַ ָ‫וַ ּיַ ֽעֲ ֶבר־קֹו ֙ל ְּבכ‬ ‫ם־ּב ִמכְ ָּת֖ב לֵ א ֽמֹר׃‬ ְ ַ‫ל־מלְ כּותֹ֔ו וְ ג‬ ַ ָ‫וַ ּיַ ֽעֲ ֶבר־קֹו ֙ל ְּבכ‬ 2 ‫ֹּכ֣ה ָא ַמ֗ר ֹּכ ֶ֚ר ׁש ֶמ֣לֶ ְך ָּפ ַר֔ס‬ 23 ‫ֹה־אמַ֞ר ּכ ֶֹ֣ור ׁש׀ ֶמ֣לֶ ְך ָּפ ַר֗ס‬ ָ ‫ּכ‬ ‫ֹלה֣י ַה ָּׁש ָמ֑יִ ם‬ ֵ ‫ֹּכ֚ל ַמ ְמלְ כֹ֣ות ָה ָא ֶ֔ר ץ נָ ַ֣תן לִ ֔י יְ הוָ ֖ה ֱא‬ ‫ֹלה֣י ַה ָּׁש ַמ֔יִ ם‬ ֵ ‫ל־מ ְמלְ כֹ֤ות ָהא֙ ֶָר ץ֙ נָ ַ֣תן לִ ֗י יְ הוָ ה֙ ֱא‬ ַ ָ‫ּכ‬ ‫יהּודה׃‬ ֽ ָ ‫ירּוׁשלַ ִ֖ם ֲא ֶׁש֥ר ִ ּֽב‬ ָ ‫ּוא־פ ַק֤ד עָ לַ י֙ לִ ְבנֽ ֹות־לֹ֣ו ַב֔יִ ת ִּב‬ ָ ‫וְ ֽה‬ ‫יהּוד֑ה‬ ָ ‫ירּוׁשלַ ִ֖ם ֲא ֶׁש֣ר ִ ּֽב‬ ָ ‫ּוא־פ ַק֤ד עָ לַ י֙ לִ ְבנֽ ֹות־לֹ֣ו ַב֔יִ ת ִּב‬ ָ ‫וְ ֽה‬ 3 ‫ֹלהיו֙ עִ ּמֹ֔ו‬ ָ ‫י־בכֶ ֣ם ִמּכָ ל־עַ ּמֹ֗ו יְ ִה֤י ֱא‬ ָ ‫ִ ֽמ‬ ‫ֹלה֛יו עִ ּמֹ֖ו‬ ָ ‫י־בכֶ ֣ם ִמּכָ ל־עַ ּמֹ֗ו יְ הוָ ֧ה ֱא‬ ָ ‫ִ ֽמ‬ ‫וְ יַ ֕עַ ל‬ ‫וְ יָ ֽעַ ל׃‬ ‎ ‫ֹלה֣י‬ ֵ ‫ת־ּב֤ית יְ הוָ ה֙ ֱא‬ ֵ ‫יהּוד֑ה וְ יִ ֶ֗בן ֶא‬ ָ ‫ירּוׁשלַ ִ֖ם ֲא ֶׁש֣ר ִּב‬ ָ ִ‫ל‬ ‫ירּוׁש ָ ִ ֽלם׃‬ ָ ‫ֹלה֖ים ֲא ֶׁש֥ר ִּב‬ ִ ‫יִ ְׂש ָר ֵא֔ל הּ֥וא ָה ֱא‬ (Ezra 1:1–3)

(2 Chr 36:22–23.)

book (even as 2 Kings closes with a notice of the release of Jehoiachin)”; see Edward Lewis Curtis and Albert Alonzo Madson, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Books of 1 & 2 Chronicles (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1910), p. 525. 10 Isaac Kalimi, Zur Geschichtsschreibung des Chronisten: Literarisch-historiographische Abweichungen der Chronik von ihren Paralleltexten in den Samuelbüchern und Königsbüchern (BZAW 226; Berlin and New York: W. de Gruy­ter, 1995), p. 322: “Diese Studie scheint den Ausschlag zugunsten der ersten These zu geben, wonach die ganze Chronik aus der Feder des Chronisten stammt (vielleicht mit Ausnahme der beiden letzten Verse des Buches, 2 Chr 36, 22–23 // Esr 1, l–3a, die als positiver Abschluß nachträglich hinzugesetzt wurden, so­ wie einiger verstreuter Ausdrücke.” 11 See also Kalimi, An Ancient Israelite Historian, pp. 151–152, who cites earlier scholars such as Bertheau and Elmslie. 12 Kalimi, An Ancient Israelite Historian, p. 152. 13 Cf. Kalimi, An Ancient Israelite Historian, pp. 144–147.

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In the first year of Cyrus king of Persia – in order to fulfill the word of YHWH by the mouth of Jeremiah – YHWH stirred up the spirit of Cyrus king of Persia, so that he sent a proclamation (by heralds) throughout his kingdom, and also put it in writing, saying: Thus says Cyrus king of Persia, “YHWH, the God of heaven, has given me all the kingdoms of the earth, and He has appointed me to build Him a house in Je­ru­sa­lem, which is in Judah.” Whosoever there is among you of all His people – his God be with him – let him go up to Je­ru­sa­lem, which is in Judah, and build the house of YHWH, the God of Israel, He is the God who is in Je­ru­sa­lem (Ezra 1:1–3 // 2 Chr 36:22–23 (the text underlined is not quoted / presented in 2 Chr 36,23). C) It is assumed that a pure quotation from the book of Ezra, meaning “only” a repetition, cannot be a hermeneutical key for the message of the whole book of Chronicles. But the question is: Why did the Chronicler stop his quotation? The book of Ezra starts with an edict of Cyrus, the great king of Persia, and the second book of Chronicles ends with exactly the same edict of Cyrus. It seems to be clear that it should or must be considered as an integral part of the intended message. D) The fourth reason is the so-called “ideology” of the book of Chronicles. According to some scholars Cyrus is not the real final goal, and not the end of history written in this book: With the downfall of Je­ru­sa­lem in the time of Zedekiah, the monarchy came to an end. The fate of Judah’s kings is not described, and restoration hinted at in the section from Cyrus’ proclamation that concludes Chronicles speaks only of the return from exile and rebuilding of the Temple (2 Chr 36:23). The monarchy is not mentioned. Yet, the genealogies in Chronicles provide us with the most important testimony regarding the continuity of David’s line after the destruction (l Chr 3:17–24). The list makes no distinction between David’s descendants before and after the time of Zedekiah. In Chronicles, we are told that the monarchy came to an end because certain conditions, which were part of YHWH’s promise to David, were not fulfilled. The question is: did the promise itself also come to an end?14 E) The fifth reason was developed by my teacher, Antonius Gunneweg: The position of 2 Chron­icles 36 is not original: 2 Chr 36:22–23. reflects the history of canonization, not the intention of the Chronicler. The existence of this duplication is a classical tool of literary criticism: the repetition is the consequence of a late and artificial separation of Ezra/Nehemiah from Chronicles; Ez­ra/Nehemiah have been canonized as the continuation of 2 Kings, only later also 1 + 2 Chron­icles have been accepted as part of the canon.15 F) An additional argument is the strongly deviating evidence in the ancient manuscripts.16 Especially in the part of the canon called Ketubim the sequence of the books is not homogeneous. We find as the last books in the codices the sequence Ezra/Nehemiah/Chronicles, but 14 Sara Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and Its Place in Biblical Thought (BEATAJ 9; Frankfurt a. M.: Peter Lang, 1989), pp. 466–467. 15 Antonius H.J. Gunneweg, Esra (KAT; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlag, 1986), p. 41 (italics mine). 16 Roger T. Beckwith, The Old Testament Canon of the New Testament Church and its Background in Early Judaism (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2008), pp. 452–464; Peter Brandt, Endgestalten des Kanons. Das Arran­

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also Chronicles/Ezra/Nehemiah or a total separation of Chronicles from Ezra/Nehemiah17 or Esther or Lamentation or Daniel as the last book of the Hebrew canon.18 Particularly important to mention are the Palestinian order of the Ketubim with Chronicles at the beginning and the festive roles as a group in the middle, on the one hand, and the arrangement represented by the Babylonian Talmud, partly according to chronological considerations, with Chronicles at the end, on the other hand. In the more recent editions, a mixture between the two traditions finally prevailed, in which the festive scrolls are arranged as a group and the chronicle books at the end of the Ketubim. In 25 of the 70 Jewish textual traditions mentioned by Beckwith, 2 Chr 36:22–23 are not the last words of the Hebrew Bible, while in 45 cases they are. This means in 65 % of the ancient texts Cyrus words are closing the Holy Scriptures! According to the strong rule “non numerantur sed ponderantur,” we must say that in the majority of the Jewish traditions the book of Chronicles is the last sentence of the Hebrew bible. Especially after it became the order of the printed editions of the Hebrew Bible it is nearly “canonical” – for the Jewish tradition. In Christian tradition the situation is totally different. The principle order of the canon of the LXX is the sequence past – present – future; therefore Malachi represents the standard last book of the Old Testament.19 Despite these arguments against the importance of 2 Chr 36:22–23, however, there are five strong counter-arguments against the dismissal of these verses: A’) The Chronicler or the Chronistic school quotes older sources all the time. The fact that a quotation of Ezra 1 and 6 functions as the apex of the book of Chronicles is unquestionable. But the only appropriate question is: Why have the theologians of the early Hellenistic period decided to put this text as the cap stone of all their writing about the history of Israel? Here I follow Isaac Kalimi and recently Yigal Levin: “As a fitting ending for his story of pre-exilic Israel, the Chronicler copied over the initial two and a half verses of Ezra, containing the introduction to the edict of Cyrus and the beginning of the edict itself. Assuming, as we have, that Chronicles and Ezra-Nehemiah are separate works and that Chronicles was composed after we do assume that these verses were used by the Chronicler as a ‘source’ in order to complete his story, as an alternative to that of the release of Jehoiachin in Kings. The purview of Kings is exilic; Chronicles is post-exilic: he has given us his view of the pre-exilic period, and now he has tied it into that of the Second Temple Period – the world of his readers.”20 If scholars ask whether a simple quotation can be the hermeneutical key of a whole book, I answer: Yes, it can. We have strong parallels in

ge­ment der Schriften Israels in der jüdischen und christlichen Bibel (BBB 131; Berlin and Wien: Philo, 2001), pp. 148–171; see also Kalimi, The Retelling of Chronicles in Jewish Tradition and Literature, pp. 21–31. 17 This is the case in the Codex Leningradensis. Here 2 Chronicles 36 stands before the Psalms, whereas Nehe­ miah is the last word. The printed edition in BHS changed this sequence according to the strong Jewish tra­ di­tion, but against its own principle to reproduce exactly the original manuscript. 18 For an overview and the theological profile of each sequence see Isaac Kalimi, Das Chronikbuch und seine Chro­ nik. Zur Entstehung und Rezeption eines biblischen Buches (Fuldaer Studien 17; Freiburg i.B.: Herder, 2013), pp. 37–53; Konrad Schmid, Theologie des Alten Testaments (Neue Theologische Grundrisse; Tübingen: Mohr Sie­beck, 2019), pp. 53–59,113–122. 19 Konrad Schmid, “Christologien antiker Bibelcodices. Biblisch-theologische Beobachtungen zu den Bü­cher­ an­ordnungen im Codex Sinaiticus, im Codex Alexandrinus und im Codex Vaticanus,” in Günter Tho­mas and Andreas Schüle (eds.), Gegenwart des lebendigen Christus. Festschrift für Michael Welker zum 60. Ge­burts­ tag (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2007), pp. 43–55. 20 Yigal Levin, The Chronicles of the Kings of Judah: 2 Chronicles 10–36: A New Translation and Commentary (Lon­don: Bloomsbury T. & T. Clark, 2017), p. 467.

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Jeremiah 52, which is a quotation of 2 Kgs 24:18–25:30 as a key to the book of Jeremiah,21 and in Isaiah 38–39, which as the conclusion of Proto-Isaiah has a quotation of 2 Kgs 20:1–11, 12–19, without the psalm that is in Isaiah. B’) The Chronicler is not hoping for a return of a Davidic king. This is the political message of the two verses, but also of the rest of the book. Even the genealogies 1 Chronicles 1–9 are not intended to witness a political hope for a new Davidic king. In the Persian and the early Hellenistic period the identity of Israel is not connected with a state, but with a temple and an appropriate cult.22 C’) Never underestimate the last sentences of a literary work! What Thomas Hieke and Tobias Niclas have shown for the last book of the Christian Bible, the book of Revelation,23 is per analogiam also true for the last book of the Hebrew Bible. The intensive interpretation of the closing part of a book is the beginning of an appropriate understanding of the book as a whole. This general insight of literary sciences is also true for the book of Chronicles. But the Chronicler is not quoting all the edict, but stops in the middle: Why did the Chronicler not include the whole edict in his composition? The exclusion of Ezra 1,3b in Chronicles stems presumably from the Chronicler’s wish to close his work with the immigration to the Land of Israel, ‫“ ויעל‬so let him go up,” rather than with the well known geographical indication: “to Je­ru­sa­lem which is in Judah” (which appears already in verse [2 Chr 36,]23cβ // Ezra 1,2cβ), and the repeating goal, “and rebuild the house of the Lord,” which is clear from verse 2 Chr 36,23c. In addition to the Chronicler’s will to end his work with ‫ויעל‬, the exclusion of Ezra 1,3c is also due to its theological perspective …24 D’) Although we know that there are several forms of canons, the most influential one is the one with 2 Chr 36:22–23 at the end. The fact that more than 60 percent of the manuscripts testify to the non-logical position of 2 Chronicles 36 after Nehemiah implies that this position was chosen not by coincidence but by purpose. The lectio difficilior probabilior or, in other words: the Cyrus-decree as the end of historiography is intended and well planned. This means that now the verbal and written message of king Cyrus to all the world forms the Hebrew Bible’s “finale grande.” E’) A short look at the context of 2 Chronicles 36 underlines the importance of the text. The chapter is organized according to a three-part scheme: guilt – punishment – salvation. Guilt: 11 Zedekiah was twenty-one years old when he became king, and he reigned eleven years in Je­ru­sa­lem. 12 And he did evil in the sight of YHWH his God; he did not humble himself before Jeremiah the prophet who [spoke] the words of YHWH. 21 Georg Fischer, “Jeremia 52 – ein Schlüssel zum Jeremiabuch,” Biblica 79 (1998), pp. 333–359. 22 Cf. Manfred Oeming, Das wahre Israel: die “genealogische Vorhalle” in 1 Chronik 1–9 (BWANT 128; Stuttgart 1990); Israel Finkelstein, “The Historical Reality Behind the Genealogical Lists in 1 Chronicles,” JBL 131 (2012), 65–83; Manfred Oeming, “Rethinking the Origins of Israel: 1 Chr 1–9 in the Light of Archaeology,” in Oded Lipschits, Yuval Gadot, and Matthew J. Adams (eds.), Rethinking Israel. Studies in the History and Ar­ chae­ology of Ancient Israel in Honor of Israel Finkelstein (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2017), pp. 303–318. 23 Thomas Hieke and Tobias Nicklas, „Die Worte der Prophetie dieses Buches“. Offenbarung 22, 6–21 als Schluss­ stein der christlichen Bibel Alten und Neuen Testaments gelesen (BThSt 62; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Ver­lag, 2003). 24 Kalimi, An Ancient Israelite Historian, p. 152, for additional reasons, see ibid., p. 153.

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Punishment: 17 Therefore He brought up against them the king of the Chaldeans who slew their young men with the sword in the house of their sanctuary, and had no compassion on young man or virgin, old man or infirm; He gave them all into his hand. … and they were servants to him and to his sons until the rule of the kingdom of Persia, 21 to fulfill the word of YHWH by the mouth of Jeremiah, until the land had enjoyed its sabbaths. All the days of its desolation it kept sabbath until seventy years25 were complete. 20 And those who had escaped from the sword he carried away to Babylon; and they were servants to him and to his sons until the rule of the kingdom of Persia. After this heavy punishment until the rule of the kingdom of Persia the actions of Cyrus are like a divine amnesty. The decree of this king is – from a theological point of view – an act of grace. The permission to go back to Israel is a great thing, but Cyrus is acting like Solomon and initiates the rebuilding of the temple in Je­ru­sa­lem. It is the most noble duty for a Judean king to build the house for his God and to organize an appropriate cult.26 Therefore, the Cyrus decree in Chronicles is no later addition, but represents the central message of the book. The concluding high estimation of this great king does not represent a coincidence, but it constitutes the principal point of these “historical” books in its final stage of composition. In its final form the decree of Cyrus forms a chiastic framework of the historical work of the Chronicler or the Chronistic school. Cyrus’ solemn declaration has an important function in the literary composition of the book; it forms a bracket encompassing the beginning of the postexilic history in 539 B.C.E. in Ezra 1 and at the same time the conclusion and summary of all the revised Deuteronomistic History at the end of the Persian period or the early beginnings of the Hellenistic period. The edict as the frame puts Cyrus into the theological center of the whole composition. There is a long debate over whether the edict is historical – at least in parts.27 Christian Frevel rightly states: “Although the Aramaic document gives the impression to be more historical [than the Hebrew one] because it specifies the details of the construction of the temple so that in scholarship it has been considered for a long time as a doubtlessly authentic copy from the archive in Ecbatana, serious doubts have recently arisen against this view as well because of the huge dimensions of the Achaemenid Empire and – in comparison – the small significance of the province Yehud. Did Cyrus (559–530 B.C.E.) (and even in person?) care about the insignificant Judah, before the Syro-palestinian land bridge regained strategic importance after the power [of the Achaemenid Empire] had expanded to Egypt?”28 With the increasing majority of modern schol25 70 years is a number full of symbolism: 10 x 7 years are not historical, but two hands full of Sabbaths are a sign for the fullness of the Sabbaths: The guilty generation finished its life, because “The days of our years in them are seventy years” Ps 90:10. In particular, according to Isa 23:15 70 years is the life span of a king: “As pointed out by Carasik […], this was actually ‘year one’ of Cyrus as king of Babylon – by that time he had been king of Persia for twenty years. This date, ‘year one of Cyrus king of Persia’ is also repeated in Ezra l:1; 5:13 and 6:3. In his opinion, this indicates that for the writer (of Ezra), ‘the years before Cyrus stepped onto the stage of biblical history, before he became king of Babylon, are unimportant’” (Levin, The Chronicles of the Kings of Judah, p. 453 note 62). Considering the formulations in V. 23 I’m tempted to understand this “first year” as the beginning of the kingdom of Cyrus over Judah and Je­ru­sa­lem. 26 Hurowitz, I Have Built You an Exalted House. 27 Jacques Briend, “L’édit de Cyrus et sa valeur historique,” Transeuphratène 11 (1996), pp. 33–44. 28 Christian Frevel, Geschichte Israels (2nd ed.; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2018), p. 343: “Zwar gibt sich das ara­mäi­ sche Dokument stärker den Anschein der Historizität durch die Umstände des Tempelbaus, sodass es in der Forschung lange als unzweifelhaft authentische Kopie aus dem Archiv in Ekbatana galt, doch erheben sich in

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arship29 for me it is totally clear that this edict is not at all historical.30 It is a theological construction written 100 years after the event (whatever it was). The scepticism towards the historical core in Ezra 1 and 6, 2 Chronicles 36 has many additional arguments: Why was the restoration of the Second Temple not carried out as sanctioned by Cyrus and his edict sent not only to the Jews but to the whole empire? Why was it delayed until the early years of Darius I? This problem already concerned the ancient chronicler in Ezra, who compiled his account well over a century after the events. He attributed the delay to the enmity of the “adversaries of Judah and Benjamin” (Ezra 4:1–5), taken as an archaistic reference to those who later will be known as the Samaritans. Original Persian sources from Cyrus are extremely rare,31 but one inscription on bricks from the wall of Egifougal in Ur is available; it is very remarkable that that this unique document states in direct opposition to 2 Chronicles 36: (I) Cyrus, king of all, king of Anshan (2) son of Cambyses, (3) king of Anshan. (4, 5) The great gods have delivered all the lands into my hand [ilani rabuti kal matat a-na ga-ti-ia umallu-ma] (6) the land I have made to dwell (in) a peaceful habitation.32 In order to explain this delay scholars stress the dismal economic conditions in Judah, which had been caused by a prolonged drought (Hag 1:6, 10–11), as the main reason for the failure to build the Temple during the reigns of Cyrus and Cambyses. Another possible reason, of an entirely different nature, was suggested by Elias J. Bickerman: The Jews, or some of them, were unwilling to acknowledge a gentile king as the restorer of the Temple. Only a descendant of David would be worthy of that honor.33 The compromise eventually reached, under Darius I, was that the rebuilding of the Temple was entrusted to Zerubbabel, governor of Yehud, who was a Davidide prince. Hayim Tadmor34 emphasizes the vox populi Hag 1:2 that “the appointed time has not yet arrive[d]” and calculated that it must be the year 521, proclaimed by the prophet Haggai to start jüngerer Zeit auch dagegen grundsätzliche Zweifel angesichts der Ausmaße des achämenidischen Welt­reiches und der demgegenüber geringen Bedeutung der Provinz Jehud. Hat sich Kyrus (559–530 v. Chr.) (noch dazu selbst?) um das unbedeutende Juda gekümmert, bevor die syro-palästinische Landbrücke mit der Aus­deh­ nung der Macht auf Ägypten wieder strategische Bedeutung erlangt hat?” 29 Cf. Bob Becking, “We All Returned as One!” in Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), pp. 3–18; Gary Knoppers, “Exile, Re­turn and Diaspora,” in Louis Jonker (ed.), Texts, Contexts and Readings in Postexilic Literature (FAT 11/53; Tü­bin­gen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), pp. 29–61; Sebastian Grätz, “Kyroszylinder, Kyrosedikt und Kyrosorakel,” in Michael Meyer-Blanck (ed.), Geschichte und Gott (VWGTh 44; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2016), pp. 339–353. 30 “Historisch ist das Edikt recht unwahrscheinlich”; Gunneweg, Esra, p. 41. 31 Cf. Bruno Jacobs and Kai Trampedach, “Das Konzept der achämenidischen Monarchie nach den Pri­mär­ quel­len und nach den Historien des Herodot,” in Nicolas Zenzen, Tonio Hölscher and Kai Trampedach (eds.), Aneignung und Abgrenzung. Wechselnde Perspektiven auf die Antithese von ‘Ost’ und ‘West’ in der griechi­ schen Antike (= Oikumene. Studien zur antiken Weltgeschichte; Heidelberg: Verlag Antike, 2013), pp. 60–92, esp. 63–64. 32 My own translation follows Hanspeter Schaudig, Die Inschriften Nabonids von Babylon und Kyros’ des Großen samt den in ihrem Umfeld entstandenen Tendenzschriften. Textausgabe und Grammatik (AOAT 256; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2001), p. 549; cf. Cyril John Gadd and Leon Legrain, Ur Excavations: Texts, Volume 1: Royal Inscriptions (London: Oxford University, 1928), Plate 58 Nb. 194. 33 Elias Bickerman, “The edict of Cyrus in Ezra,” Studies in Jewish and Christian History. A New Edition in En­ glish including The God of the Mac­ca­bees (edited by Amram Tropper; AGJU 68/1; Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2007), vol. 1, pp. 71–107. 34 Hayim Tadmor, “‘The Appointed Time Has Not Yet arrived’: The Historical Background of Haggai 1:2,” in Robert Chazan, William W. Hallo, and Louis H. Schiffman (eds.), Ki Baruch Hu: Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical, and Judaic Studies in Honor of Baruch A. Levine (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1999), pp. 401–408.

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the rebuilding of the temple. The prophecy of Jeremiah, stating that the exile will endure 70 years, has to be fulfilled! But for me it is much easier to assume that there was no Edict of Cyrus than to explain why this was not realized, which the most powerful man on earth had ordered, especially since it was comparatively a very modest project. This free interpretation of Cyrus as the new David, as a new king of Judah (which therefore does not need another king) is full of implications that need careful consideration: 1) A more precise understanding is dependent on dating the text. If it really was Persian, the message would have been: The king of Persia inherited all kingdoms on earth, also and especially the Davidic dynasty; therefore Cyrus (= Persian rulers) became the “umbrella” under which Judah should develop as a “temple state.” It is his duty to support the temple and the Jewish people. This is a political program and a subtle agenda: The protection of the land of Judah and the law of Moses is for this pious Persian ruler, who is accepted by the Jewish community as its leader. The cult in Je­ru­sa­lem and the spiritual education for the inhabitants of Judah, an obedient people, is without any political claims. 2) If it was an early Hellenistic text, then the message would have been: We the Jews have a long tradition of living under the Persian protection. For the new rulers, the Ptolemaic kings, this should be a model. If you will support us like Cyrus 200 years before, we will support you and accept you as the messenger of YHWH. But this dimension is not very clear in the text’s arrangement. 3) This text does not represent “real history,” but a confession. It was most probably not one of the first acts of the new Achaemenid king Cyrus to release the Jews from exile. He did not want to fulfill the prophecy of Jeremiah. The Persian king has had no inspiration by YHWH, the God of the Jews. He did not convert to any kind of Yahwism. The proclamation of this royal commandment orally and in writing in all corners of the vast Persian empire to everybody, but especially to all Jews in the diaspora, as a public confession of Cyrus to be a servant of YHWH is not a fact; it is a fiction. However, one should not just reject the historicity as “fake news,” but ask about the intentions behind it. There are two ways of interpretation: Either it was Persian propaganda in order to get the support of the Jews. This seems very unlikely to me, because the building of the temple did not start under Cyrus, but only under Darius II on a very limited scale. Or it was the proclamation of the self-understanding of the Jewish population in all the Persian empire, in other words: the construction of identity of the diaspora or for the diaspora: We are living under the friendly protection of the Persians, but we have a spiritual and ritual center in Je­ru­sa­lem. Our Persian rulers are very liberal and tolerant, accepting also our God YHWH as a part of their imperial policy and his house, the temple in Je­ru­sa­lem, as an important sanctuary. In the following, we will compare the position of the Chronistic historical work with other images of Cyrus in the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament. II Cyrus in Isa 44:24–45:1–5* The text is usually dated before 539, because the prediction of victory in an armed conflict with Babylon was not realized. Cyrus entered Babylon in 539 – according to the Babylonian priests (see below) – without any act of war. That the biblical prophecy is not fulfilled is taken as a sign for its authenticity.35 In this text we find some ideas very similar to 2 Chronicles 36. This is the outline of the Cyrus oracle in Isaiah 44–45: 35 On the other hand, one should ask the question whether the Cyrus Cylinder is authentic. Perhaps the story

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Creation: The Creator of the world, who created also you in your mother’s womb, spreads the sky (44:24); Announcement of the future: Foreign fortune-tellers are being refuted, because only what YHWH predicted (Deuteronomy 18: a true prophet is confirmed by the facts) will really happen (44:25–28): repopulation of Je­ru­sa­lem, reconstruction of the cities of Judah, Cyrus as a tool of YHWH to rebuild the city and temple! Speech of YHWH directly to Cyrus (45:1–7): The God of Israel elected and equipped Cyrus with power (45:1); YHWH will lead the military triumph of Cyrus (45:2–3a). The goal of this mighty act of God is that Cyrus, who does not know YHWH, should recognize and acknowledge him (45:3b–6a); Theological Summary: The Essence of YHWH (45:6bα–7); Hymn of praise as the climax: The earth shall experience “righteousness” (45:8). The three main ideas of this prophecy in comparison with 2 Chronicles 36 are: Cyrus does not know the god who uses him as a tool; he has no idea that it is YHWH who presents himself to the king as the only god. The Persian victory over Babylon, perceived worldwide, is usurped as evidence of the greatness and power of the God who lives in Je­ru­sa­lem. One can understand this as a form of theological propaganda, adorned with foreign feathers.36 Cyrus is acting as agent of the Judeans: “for the sake of Jacob, my servant, and Israel, my chosen one“ (Isa 45:4). “Cyrus is only the tool, Israel is the goal of the divine action.”37 III Babylon (Persia?) – The Cyrus Cylinder An assessment of the entering of Babylon as almost contemporary to Deutero-Isaiah in 539 B.C.E. seems to be given by Cyrus himself in the famous clay cylinder inscribed in Babylonian cuneiform. The clay cylinder was discovered in 1879, probably in the foundations of the Baby­ lonian main temple for Marduk, Esagila, by A. Hormuzd Rassam.38 But it must be assumed that the Cyrus cylinder was most probably written by the Marduk priests and does not give a full govern­mental statement. In spite of the fact that there are two newly found copies of the text in the British Museum in the form of a flat tablet,39 which indicates a wider distribution of the text, the tendency of the inscription is very positive towards Marduk and his priests.40 The partly destroyed cylinder consists of a third person part (lines 1–19) and a first person part (lines 20–45). In both parts the deeds of Cyrus are reported as done on behalf of Marduk, the main God of Babylon, and they are evaluated extremely positively. of a peaceful entry into the city and a warm welcome by an enthusiastic population is a tendentious misrepresentation, cf. Vanderhooft, “Cyrus II, liberator or conqueror?” pp. 353–354. 36 Cf. Martin Leuenberger, “Kyros-Orakel und Kyros-Zylinder. Ein religionsgeschichtlicher Vergleich ihrer Got­tes-­Konzeptionen,” VT 59 (2009), pp. 244–256; idem, “Ich bin Jhwh und keiner sonst”: Der exklusive Mo­ no­theismus des Kyros-Orakels Jes 45, 1–7 (SBS 224; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2010). 37 “Cyrus ist nur das Werkzeug, Israel das Ziel der göttlichen Tätigkeit”; Bernhard Duhm, Das Buch Jesaja (3rd ed.; GöHAT III/1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1914), p. 313. 38 For a detailed description and critical interpretation see Irving Finkel, The Cyrus Cylinder. The Great Persian Edict from Babylon (London: I.B. Tauris, 2013). 39 Finkel, The Cyrus Cylinder, pp. 20–22. 40 Thanks to Prof. Sebastian Grätz for this hint.

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The text starts with a description of the chaos in Babylon before Cyrus arrived, stating that the disorder was so bad that the Babylonian gods had left their own temples.41 In spite of the fact that the first ten lines are only fragmentary, they clearly report on the extremely negative rule of Nabonidus, the last Babylonian king. Nabonidus is said to have caused cultic violations (lines 5–8). Marduk then became furious; he and the other gods left their houses (lines 9–10). Marduk went out in search of a candidate to rule Babylon instead of the incompetent reigning king Nabonidus. He found his ideal man in Cyrus – not from Babylon but from Iran (line 12), whom Marduk commanded (line 15) to move to Babylon and to renew the totally neglected cult of Marduk. Cyrus could finally take the fortified city with his troops, without a fight. According to line 17 Nabonidus was handed over to him and in line 19 Cyrus is praised as a “liberator.” The following first-person part is a hymn of Cyrus on Cyrus himself: I am Cyrus, king of the universe, the great king, the powerful king, king of Babylon, king of Sumer and Akkad, king of the four quarters of the world […] 26 … Marduk, the great lord, was glad of my [good] deeds. 27 He blessed me, Cyrus, the king who worshiped him, and Cambyses, my natural son, and all my troops, 28 graciously. In welfare, we joyfully walk before him. [On his] sublime [command] 29 all the kings sitting on thrones brought me from all the world’s sectors, from the upper seas to the lower seas inhabiting [distant districts], 30 all the kings of Amurru who dwell in tents their heavy tribute, and they kissed my feet in Babel. From Nineveh, Assur, and Susa, 31 Akkad, Eschnunnak, Zamban, Meturnu, and Dere to the area of Gutium, the cities beyond the Tigris, whose residence had been forfeited from time immemorial, I brought back to their place and left the deities living there, they relate to an eternal dwelling. I gathered all their people and brought them back to their homes. Here one can make a whole series of analogies to the picture of Cyrus in Deutero-Isaiah: All Isaiah commentators emphasize the parallelism of Isa 45:1–3 and the Cyrus Cylinder. The following table is intended to illustrate this: Biblical Cyrus Oracle

Babylonian Cyrus Cylinder

Jewish-Judahite Interpretation

Interpretation of the Marduk priests

YHWH appoints Cyrus

Marduk appoints Cyrus

Cyrus acts for the good of Israel (bringer of salvation for Israel)

Cyrus acts for the good of the Babylonians (bringer of salvation for Babylon)

Decisive constellation = YHWH - Cyrus

Decisive constellation = Marduk/Nabȗ - Cyrus

YHWH is marching in front of Cyrus

Marduk is marching beside Cyrus

41 This dualistic scheme – a very bad last king brought chaos / a new and much better king brought security, happiness and richness – belongs to the typical propaganda of kings, e.g., Kilamuwa in his famous in­scrip­­tion; he is even dividing the text by a thick line to mark the total change beginning with his reign, see Man­fred Oeming, “‘Ich habe einen Greis gegessen.’ Kannibalismus und Autophagie als Topos der Kriegs­not­­schil­derung in der Ki­la­muwa-Inschrift, Zeile 5–8, im Alten Orient und im Alten Testament,” Verstehen und Glauben. Exegetische Bau­steine zu einer Theologie des Alten Testaments (BBB 142; Berlin: Philo, 2003), pp. 153–164.‬‬‬

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Biblical Cyrus Oracle

Babylonian Cyrus Cylinder

Capture of Babylon

Capture of Babylon

Exclusive and universal YHWH-monotheism

Polytheistic and inclusive concept of “monolatry” of Marduk (by restoring the other gods too, not only Marduk would be worshipped.)

However, there is one big difference: While Deutero-Isaiah places Cyrus’ actions entirely in the service of Judah and Je­ru­sa­lem, the Babylonian text strongly emphasizes that Cyrus has actively restituted all religions and thus, despite all subordination to Marduk, has also recognized the right of existence of the other gods. He was not a monotheist, but wanted religious-political peace through recognition and support of the other gods. For many researchers and others in Cyrus’ historical reception, this has led to the image of an almost modern pioneer of the idea of tolerance. However, the widespread picture is unlikely. Van der Spek summarizes the arguments for this criticism as follows: “In the first place, it rests on an anachronistic perception of ancient political discourse. In antiquity, no discourse on religious tolerance existed. Religion was deeply embedded in society, in political structures, in daily life. Secondly, it is too facile to characterize Cyrus’ rule as one that had ‘tolerance’ as its starting point. Although it is indeed possible to describe his policy as positively pragmatic or even mild in some respects, it is also clear that Cyrus was a normal conqueror with the usual policy of brutal warfare and harsh measures. The will of the Persian king was law, and no principal right of participation in government was allowed. Thirdly, the comparison with Assyrian policy is mistaken in its portrayal of that policy as principally different from Cyrus’.”42 But besides this difference, how can the close relationship of Deutero-Isaiah and the Cyrus Cylinder be explained? The assumption of literary dependency of Deutero-Isaiah on the Cyrus Cylinder is possible, but not convincing.43 Or is there a common root in the ancient oriental royal ritual, especially the form of coronation? Or was there a pro-Persian opposition movement in Babylon before 539 B.C.E. using similar arguments and hopes for their different ethnic groups? Or is propaganda working in all cultures with similar tools, especially when it is written by priests? Hanspeter Schaudig demonstrated convincingly the hidden agenda of the “report”: “The capture of Babylon by Cyrus was quite a remarkable event in ist own right. But it turned into a miracle induced by Marduk himself when the Babylonians presented their reading of history on the basis of the Enūma elîš and the Esaĝil Chronicle to account for the ‘righteous heart of Cyrus,’

42 Robartus Johannes van der Spek, “Cyrus the Great, Exiles, and Foreign Gods. A Comparison of Assyrian and Persian Policies on Subject Nations,” in Michael Kozuh, Wouter F. M. Henkelman, Charles E. Jones, and Christopher Woods (eds.), Extraction & Control: Studies in Honor of Matthew W. Stolper (SAOC 68; Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 2014), pp. 233–264, here p. 235; cf. Jonker, Defining AllIsrael in Chronicles, pp. 89–95. 43 Josephus assumes that the Cyrus decree is dependent on Isaiah: “This was known to Cyrus by his reading the book which Isaiah left behind him of his prophecies; for this prophet said that God had spoken to him in a secret vision: ‘My will is, that Cyrus, whom I have appointed to be king over many and great nations, send back my people to their own land, and build my temple.’ This was foretold by Isaiah one hundred and forty years before the temple was demolished. Accordingly, when Cyrus read this, and admired the Divine power, an earnest desire and ambition seized upon him to fulfill what was so written” ( Jewish Antiquities 11.5).

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and the punishment of the wicked Nabonidus. Before the eyes of the Babylonians, their sacred scriptures had been fulfilled.”44 IV Cyrus in the Greek Contexts Cyrus is also prominent in Greek literature; one must even say that Cyrus was somehow “venerated” by the Greeks as a Persian messiah. Aeschylus (ca. 524–456 B.C.E.) mentions Cyrus only shortly in his famous play The Persians,45 but with high estimation. Herodotus (around 484–430 B.C.E.) gives more information, especially about Cyrus’ complicated story of ascension46, beginning with dreams47, the wars of Cyrus and his achievements in establishing an imperium.48 Despite this, he is assessing him very highly and representing him as “an ideal king who gave to the Persians freedom, an important Greek political value”49, Herodotus also wants to demonstrate through Cyrus paradigmatically the danger of too much power leading to self-overestimation and hybris – like in the case of all other oriental kings. From Ktesias from Knidos with his 23 books of the Persika (around 400) and from Antisthenes from Athens (around 455–360 B.C.E.) with his two books Kyros ou peri basileias we have only few fragments. Plato (around 427–347 B.C.E.) takes Cyrus as a model (Laws 3.694A-D),50 but Xenophon (around 431–354 B.C.E.) wrote a whole book about his education: Κύρου παιδεία (finished around 365 B.C.E.). Much later Cicero (106–43 B.C.E.) is recommending his younger brother Quintus Cyrus as an ideal model of a just king. Even when he knows that many things in Xenophon’s “portrait” are invented and not historical at all – it is well invented and should serve as a benchmark.51 Again 200 44 Hanspeter Schaudig, “The Magnanimous Heart of Cyrus. The Cyrus Cylinder and its Literary Models,” in M. Rahim Shayegan (ed.), Cyrus the Great: Life and Lore (Ilex Series 21, Harvard University Press, 2019), pp. 67–91, esp. 88. 45 “Third after him, Cyrus, god-favored man, Reigned, and for all his friends established peace; Over Lydia’s host and Phrygia spread his rule, And all Ionia forcibly subdued, For, such his wisdom, God was not his foe.” (Aeschylus, The Persians, lines 768–772). 46 Katherine Stott, “Herodotus and the Old Testament. A comparative reading of the ascendancy stories of King Cyrus and David,” SJOT 16 (2002), pp. 52–78. 47 Harry C. Avery, “Herodotusʼ Picture of Cyrus,” AJP 93 (1972), pp. 529–546, esp. 529–531. 48 Herodotus, Histories 1.210: “King, may no Persian be born who threatens your life. If this is one, then he shall die immediately! You have made the Persians free from slaves, so that they now rule over all, while they were once subject to others.” 49 Lynette Mitchell, “Remembering Cyrus the Persian: Exploring Monarchy and Freedom in Classical Greece,” in Diana Edelman and Ehud Ben Zvi (eds.), Remembering Biblical Figures in the Late Persian and Early Hellenistic Periods: Social Memory and Imagination (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), pp. 283–292, esp. 288. 50 “There was a time when the Persians had more of the state which is a mean between slavery and freedom. In the reign of Cyrus they were freemen and also lords of many others: the rulers gave a share of freedom to the subjects, and being treated as equals, the soldiers were on better terms with their generals, and showed themselves more ready in the hour of danger. And if there was any wise man among them, who was able to give good counsel, he imparted his wisdom to the public; for the king was not jealous, but allowed him full liberty of speech, and gave honor to those who could advise him in any matter. And the nation waxed in all respects, because there was freedom and friendship and communion of mind among them.” 51 Cicero, Epistulae ad Quintum fratrem, 1, 1, 23: “Cyrus ille a Xenophonte non ad historiae fidem scriptus sed ad effigiem iusti imperi, cuius summa gravitas ab illo philosopho cum singulari comitate coniungitur. quos quidem libros non sine causa noster ille Africanus de manibus ponere non solebat. nullum est enim prae­termissum in iis officium diligentis et moderati imperi.” (“Take the case of the famous Cyrus, portrayed by Xenophon, not as an historical character, but as a model of righteous government, the serious dignity of

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years later a famous Greek historian in the roman era, Arrian (around 90–175 C. E.), touches in his Anabasis of Alexander (Ἀλεξάνδρου Ἀνάβασις) the relation of Alexander with Cyrus (3,27,4; 6,24 and 6,29): In the time of Caesar, Hadrian and Antonius Pius Alexander the Great was presented as the ideal ruler, and Alexander referred positively to Cyrus, even if he tried to surpass him - of course.52 Arrian describes: “Within the enclosure, near the ascent leading to the tomb, there was a small house built for the Magians who guarded the tomb; a duty which they had discharged ever since the time of Cambyses, son of Cyrus, son succeeding father as guard. To these men a sheep and specified quantities of wheaten flour and wine were given daily by the king; and a horse once a month as a sacrifice to Cyrus. Upon the tomb an inscription in Persian letters had been placed, which bore the following meaning in the Persian language: ‘man, I am Cyrus, son of Cambyses, who founded the empire of the Persians, and was king of Asia. Do not therefore grudge me this monument.’” As soon as Alexander had conquered Persia, he was very desirous of entering the tomb of Cyrus; but he found that everything else had been carried off except the coffin and couch. They had even maltreated the kingʼs body; for they had torn off the lid of the coffin and cast out the corpse. They had tried to make the coffin itself out of smaller bulk and thus more portable by cutting part of it off and crushing part of it up, but as their efforts did not succeed, they departed, leaving the coffin in that state. Aristobulus says that he was himself commissioned by Alexander to restore the tomb for Cyrus, to put in the coffin the parts of the body still preserved, to put the lid on, and to restore the parts of the coffin which had been defaced. Moreover, he was instructed to stretch the couch tight with bands, and to deposit all the other things which used to lie there for ornament. “The undoubtedly apocryphal Greek inscription on the tomb of Cyrus mentioned in the Alexander tradition is a particularly interesting example of the Greek world’s admiration for Cyrus on the one hand, and Greek interpretation of foreign ways of life on the other.”53 And the long history of influence of Cyrus went through the middle ages54, renewed in the renaissance55 until the 20th century – especially via Xenophon.56 whose character is represented by that philosopher as combined with a peculiar courtesy. And, indeed, it is not without reason that our hero Africanus used perpetually to have those books in his hands, for there is no duty pertaining to a careful and equitable governor which is not to be found in them.”) 52 Lynette Mitchell, “Alexander the Great: Divinity and the Rule of Law,” in Lynette Mitchell and Charles Melville (eds.), Every Inch a King: Comparative Studies on Kings and Kingship in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds (Leiden: Brill, 2012), pp. 91–108. 53 Josef Wiesehöfer, Ancient Persia from 550 BC to 650 AD (London and New York: I.  B. Tauris, 2001), p. 12. Cf. David Stronach, “Of Cyrus, Darius and Alexander: A new look at the ‘epitaphs’ of Cyrus the Great,” in Reinhard Dittmann, Barthel Hrouda, Ulrike Löw, Paolo Matthiae, Ruth Mayer-Opificius, and Sabine Thür­wächter (eds.), Variatio delectat. Iran und der Westen. Gedenkschrift für Peter Calmeyer (AOAT 272; Müns­ter: Ugarit-Verlag, 2000), pp. 681–702. 54 In the Bibliotheca Corvina there is a very richly decorated manuscript from the time around 1500 A.D. (see https://corvina.hu/en/about-corvinas/?highlight=Kyrupaideia.) 55 “The Cyropaedia was revived in the western renaissance, as soon as classical texts were available to the tutors of princes. Plato’s Republic is now the most familiar example of this new direction in fourth-century Greek literature, but Machiavelli and many others concerned with the education of their own princes thought just as highly of Xenophon and the Cyropaedia. Machiavelli in fact cites Xenophon more often than he does Plato” (James Tatum, Xenophonʼs Imperial Fiction: On the Education of Cyrus [Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1989], p. 5). 56 “When I visited St. Petersburg in the early 1990s, I met an elderly scholar who regularly read it with his pupils. Not that I have reason to suppose this commonplace even there. The gentleman in question had had his troubles with the Communist authorities; and it is arguable how congenial a text Cyropaedia is for orthodox

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Here I only want to have a closer look at Xenophon and his Cyropaedia57 (around 350 B.C.E.) 58 that is – from a chronological point of view – close to the Chronistic historiography. The famous philosopher and general, Xenophon of Athens, like Plato a student of Sokrates, wants to give his readers a model of an ideal ruler and for this purpose he has chosen Cyrus.59 He is not interested in pure historiography, but he invented a lot of details and persons, in order to give a “Fürstenspiegel”, an ἐγκώμιον, but it is a matter under debate, if and how much historical information is included.60 In this biographical wisdom story (not history) Cyrus is presented as an ideal king.61 Xenophon tells us that Cyrus was educated as an ideal soldier; he was not only a hard military fighter, but also an intellectual fighter for values and virtues: freedom, equality, tolerance. The title “Education of Cyrus” is misguiding, because only the first book is describing his youth. Books 2 until 7 describe the campaigns of conquest up to the establishment of the Persian Empire, and book 8 the establishment of an exemplary administration. It can be said that the majority of the work shows how an excellent education in youth can prove itself useful in the biography of adults and lead to extraordinary successes. Cyrus was so successful, because he was so well educated and learned especially through sports and hunting: Politically speaking, justice and moderation may be said to be the most important virtues. Accounting for those virtues may be taken to be the mark of wisdom; taken by themselves and without appearing in speech, they are in one sense internal; but in another sense they appear as characteristic activities, especially war and politics. Xenophon gave several examples of how anger or a lack of moderation led to disaster in war. […] On the other hand, Young Persians were taught to praise moderation, and hunting was an integral part of their paideia (Kyro. 1.2.10—11). They were so moderate that it was considered shameful to spit, to blow the nose, to break wind, or to be seen preparing to make water or anything similar (Kyro. 1.2.16). What was inside remained inside. Most of their bodily wastes, apparently, were sweated out invisibly (Kyro. 1.2.16; cf. 5.2.16). Indeed, when the Persians began again to spit and blow their noses, it was clear evidence of their degeneration following the death of Cyrus (Kyro. 8.8.8, cf. 8.1.42).62 Marxist-Leninists: so I was possibly seeing an example of quiet personal dissidence.” (Christopher Tuplin, “Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Fictive history, political analysis and thinking with Iranian Kings,” in Lynette Mitchell, Charles Melville (ed.), Every Inch a King. Comparative Studies on Kings and Kingship in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2013), pp. 67–90, esp. 67. 57 Xenophon, Cyropaedia (translated by Walter Miller; LCL 51/52; London: William Heinemann, 1914; rep. Cam­bridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997); a modern edition of the Greek text with a German transla­ tion is Rainer Nickel (ed. and transl.), Xenophon, Kyrupädie. Die Erziehung des Kyros. Griechisch – deutsch (Samm­lung Tusculum; München und Zürich: Artemis & Winkler, 1992). 58 Rainer Nickel, Lexikon der antiken Literatur (Marburg: Tectum Wissenschaftsverlag 2014), pp. 517–518; Ro­bert Rollinger, “Herodotus iv: Cyrus according to Herodotus,” in Ehsan Yarshater (ed.), Encyclopædia Iranica (New York: Columbia University Center for Iranian Studies, 2004), vol. 12, pp. 260–262. 59 Avery, “Herodotusʼ Picture of Cyrus,” pp. 529–531. 60 Especially Steven W. Hirsch, The Friendship of the Barbarians. Xenophon and the Persian Empire (Hanover, NH: University Press of New England, 1985) takes the view that many processes and customs which Xeno­ phon describes in Cyropaedia are not fictions, but historical facts (cf. his own summary: idem, “1000 Iranian Nights: History and Fiction in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia,” in Michael Jameson (ed.), The Greek Historians: Literature and History. Papers Presented to A. E . Raubitschek (Saratoga, CA: Anma Libra, 1985), pp. 65–85. 61 Mitchell, “Remembering Cyrus the Persian,” pp. 283–292. 62 Barry Cooper, “Hunting and political Philosophy. An Interpretation of the Kynegeticos,” in Charles R. Embry and Barry Cooper (eds.), Philosophy, Literature, and Politics: Essays Honoring Ellis Sandoz (Colum­ bia, MO: University of Missouri Press , 2005), pp. 28–52, esp. 43.

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In the Cyropaedia there is an important religious element interwoven: The permanent invocations and questionings of the gods play an important role. The continuous practice of prayer and the appreciation and observation of divine oracles have been elements of a good education.63 Xenophon at the end describes that the Persians, immediately after the death of Cyrus, turned away from his exemplary way of life and have committed themselves to decadence and corruption. V Conclusions about Writing and Rewriting History in the Antiquity (including the Hebrew Bible) If one interprets the different Cyrus traditions on its own, it is easy to miss a few punchlines. Those, however, can come to the forefront if one reads every text in the context of the contemporaneous Ancient Oriental and Greek ideas about Cyrus (and their history of effect). Only this shows to what extent the figure of the Achaemenid king was modelled in the respective applications.64 In the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Cyrus is a messianic figure of light. In Deutero-Isaiah he is the shepherd, the servant of YHWH, the anointed one.65 In the book of Chronicles, the ending with Cyrus’ decree marks the beginning of the new era of salvation history. The Davidides are replaced by the Persian kings. Under the protective umbrella of the Achaemenid state Israel can be concentrated on its essentials: To be YHWH’s people, to build the temple and to go up to Je­ru­ sa­lem. Cyrus is a political and a religious leader. The quotation of Ezra 1 and 6, the older text, in 2 Chronicles 36 makes clear: Cyrus should be understood as the beginning of a new political order. 63 Here only few examples: “Cyrus went home, prayed to the patriotic Hestia (divine primeval fire), to the patriotic Zeus and to the other gods, and went on the campaign.” (1, 6, 1) “But after an eagle had appeared before them from the right side, they prayed to the gods and heroes who rule over Persia, to accompany them graciously and benevolently, and then crossed the border. After crossing the border, they prayed again to the protective gods of Media to receive them graciously and kindly.” (2, 1, 1) “At last, after they had brought the third drink offering and prayed to the gods for happiness, they separated to go to sleep.” He is always looking for divine signs: 1, 4, 30: “When Cyrus saw the sign, he rejoiced, prayed to King Zeus, and said to those present: ‘Men, the hunt will turn out well with God’s will’” (2, 3, 1). And he offered regularly: “Then Cyrus ordered the soldier to pack up, and sacrificed first to Zeus the king, then also to the other gods, and implored that they would lead the army graciously and kindly, and be close to him with assistance, help, and good advice; also to the heroes which media inhabited and shielded he implored. When the sacrifice was favorable and the army was assembled at the borders, he invaded the land of the enemies under happy premonitions. As soon as he had crossed the borders, he soothed the earth with consecrated offerings and implored the favor of the gods and the native heroes of Assyria by sacrifice. Then he sacrificed again to Zeus, the fatherland, without neglecting the other gods given to him (by the magicians)” (3, 3, 3). 64 As far as the precise conquest of the city of Babylon in 539 is concerned, David Vanderhooft made this very clear, although he puts the Persian point of view at the centre. “Each of the historiographical perspectives discussed so far is basically transparent. There were reasons why Cyrusʼs Babylonian apologists might have hesitated to describe his military capture of the city: he was a liberator, not a conqueror. The Chronicle [the Babylonian chronicles, M.O.] and the Cyrus Cylinder also assert that Cyrus showed proper respect for the Babylonian cultic establishment. Could such a king – designated by Marduk – have orchestrated a ruse to penetrate the holy city? The cuneiform sources continually emphasize that the transfer of power from Nabonidus to Cyrus deserved comment precisely because the theological stakes in interpreting its significance were so high. The Greek accounts – and that of Herodotus in particular – on the other hand, empha­ size the glory and impressive might of Babylon, a typical motif in Greek historiography, and couple this with an account of the brilliance of Cyrus, whom they honor to show his extraordinary gifts. […] Ultimately, how­ever, it was the Persian-inspired propaganda about Cyrus that carried the day and decisively influenced the Western historiography of Cyrus as liberator.” (Vanderhooft, “Cyrus II, liberator or conqueror?” p. 368.) 65 Philip R. Davies, “God of Cyrus, God of Israel: Some Religio-Historical Reflections on Isaiah 40–55,” in Jon Davies, Graham Harvey and Wilfred G.E. Watson (eds.), Words Remembered, Texts Renewed. Essays in Hon­ our of John F.A. Sawyer (LHB/OTS 195; London: Bloomsbury, 1995), pp. 207–225.

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YHWH himself had intended this outcome of the theological development (“Heilsgeschichte”). The former kings of Israel have had their chances, but they failed. The land of Israel was dishonoured; therefore, the land was empty in order to pay the land her Sabbaths (2 Chr 36:21; notice the theology of the personalised land). The “foreign” king is now the new David or the new Salomon, the protector of the temple and patron of all the Jews. Under his patronage, the history of Israel is getting a totally new framework. Cyrus is confessing by himself and highly officially that he believes in YHWH; the god of Israel is standing behind all his success. The final words of the Hebrew Bible paint a picture that is very much saturated with typical Chronistic theological thoughts: The history of the only god YHWH, with his only elected people Israel and his only elected land Eretz Israel, is following the forgoing prophecies according to three-steps: a) Salvation and golden age (David, Solomon), b) Because of mischief in Kings the time of exile in Babylon serves as a punishment, c) Salvation after the exile. The symbol for this new start is “the first year of Cyrus”, the beginning of a general alija. This somehow proto-Zionistic imperative is the last massage of the Hebrew Bible. We find Cyrus in the beginning and in the end of the Chronistic historiography (if one understands Ezra to Chronicles as one unit). It is a frame for all the work: as the first sentence and as closing with the same words. This is not a coincidence, but a well-planned message. My proposal to interpret this phenomenon is: It is the central message! I am nearly sure that Hans-Peter Mathys is right that the books of Chronicles were composed around 300 B.C.E., as a Judean answer to the new Hellenistic culture in Judah (“Zeitgeist”).66 Especially regarding Greek historiography the rewritten history of Israel of Chronicles became a tool “for self-assurance and survival […] it needed a work in which [the history of Israel] appeared, though not free of transgressions and defeats, but in a bright light – in a brighter one than in the Deuteronomistic History”67. For this purpose, the name of Cyrus was perfect: Cyrus has had a very good sound in the ears of the Ptolemaic new emperors and could impress them. The Jews are decisively connected to the same ideal person that was venerated by Alexander and his successors! And this messiah confessed that he is believing in YHWH. Cyrus the Great was a great Jew.68 In the Babylonian / Persian sphere, Cyrus is the chosen one of the state god Marduk. Because he has placed himself entirely in the service of this highest God – and thus of the priests of this God – he is rewarded by Marduk. In the context of Greek tradition, Cyrus is the paradigmatic case in which philosophical problems of the state are discussed. In the sense of the Platonic concept of state, Cyrus realizes the task 66 Hans-Peter Mathys, “Chronikbücher und hellenistischer Zeitgeist,” Vom Anfang und vom Ende. Fünf alttestamentliche Studien (BEATAJ 47; Frankfurt a. M.: Peter Lang, 2000), pp. 41–155. 67 Mathys, “Die Ethik der Chronikbücher. Ein Entwurf,” Vom Anfang und vom Ende, pp. 156–255, esp. 157: “zur Selbst­vergewisserung und zum Überleben […] Es brauchte ein Werk, in dem sie [die Geschichte Israels], wenn auch nicht frei von Verfehlungen und Niederlagen, doch in hellem Licht erschien – in hellerem als in DtrG”. 68 Some scholars do admit that “the anointing” does mean the end of the Davidic monarchy, however. What God once did through David, he now does through Cyrus, e.g. Claus Westermann, Isaiah 40–66 (OTL; Phil­ adelphia: Westminster, 1969), pp. 160–161; John D.W. Watts, Isaiah 34–66 (WBC 25; 2nd ed.; Nashville, TN: Tho­mas Nelson, 2005), p. 156. The most extensive agent of this interpretation is Lisbeth S. Fried, “Cyrus the Messiah? The Historical Background to Isaiah 45:1,” HTR 95 (2002), pp. 373–393; she argues against Klaus Baltzer, who dates Deutero-Isaiah into the days of Nehemiah and sees here a slight critique of the actual Persian king; for her the text is contemporary to the Cyrus cylinder and wants to legitimize Cyrus as the Davidic monarch.

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Figure 11: A gold-plated medal that depicts President Trump together with Cyrus the Great (Jerusalem, 2019)

that is serving the political freedom with great wisdom. In the sense of Xenophon as a political thinker, Cyrus illustrated the importance of good education. Strict paideia in the youth proves itself in the life of the adult. Finally, the Greek tradition makes clear the necessity of closely involving the gods in political action. There is no evidence of appropriation by a particular priesthood in a particular place. It is more general: Success makes heroes. The defeated kings are not revered, but criticized as examples of failure. Alexander goes to the tomb of Cyrus and restores it, with which he wants to take up the inheritance of Cyrus (although he probably treated Darius III very respectfully). None of all the ancient traditions represents “historical” writing in a modern sense. Cyrus was neither a YHWH worshipper, nor a Marduk worshipper, nor did he pray to Zeus or the Greek pantheon. Whether he already served Ahura-Mazda, we do not know for sure. All the testimonies about Cyrus are not “objective” at all! On the contrary, Cyrus is always connected with apparent interests and specific claims of different groups. It is an inspiring test case of anticolonial seizure of power: After all his “takeovers” Cyrus was taken over and has had to serve the glorification of the national gods of the defeated nations – may it be YHWH or Marduk or Zeus – and their particular priests or philosophers. It seems noteworthy that the same principles of hermeneutical application are still working in present day receptions of Cyrus. Various groups refer back to Cyrus as a form of legitimizing their political interests: e.g. the Shah of Persia issued a stamp depicting the Cyrus Cylinder in order to legitimize his own rulership. The state of Israel also issued a commemorative stamp in the year of 2016 to trace its own existence directly back to Cyrus. On the occasion of the transfer of the American embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, a gold-plated medal was minted, which depicts President Trump together with Cyrus, so that this decision appears as the fulfillment of a biblical mission.

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Part Four: Post-Biblical Historiography

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King Solomon in Josephus’ Writings Michael Avioz Bar-Ilan University The biblical story of Solomon appears mostly in the books of Kings (1 Kings 1–11) and Chronicles (2 Chronicles 1–9).1 This paper will compare the biblical narratives on Solomon to their retelling in Flavius Josephus’ portrayal, mainly presented in his work Jewish Antiquities. In his monumental 1998 work Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible, Louis Feldman devotes no fewer than fifty nine pages to an analysis of Solomon’s character.2 Feldman’s discussion of Josephus’ Solomon follows his usual system of analysis. For every character, Feldman explores the same components: the character’s birth; temperament; courage; wisdom; and virtues. He then considers the extent of Josephus’ Hellenization of the biblical narrative. The analysis I propose in this discussion, however, is inherently different from Feldman’s methodology. Feldman does not address the different issues that arise from the biblical text before evaluating Josephus’ own treatment of the text. There are definite parallels between biblical narratives, but each one presents its own challenges, and each narrative and book requires its own unique analytical tools. The importance of familiarity with the biblical narratives and the problems they present before addressing Josephus’ rewriting of them can be demonstrated in respect to two topics: 1. The structure of the Solomon narratives; 2. The biblical narrator’s characterization of Solomon. As Dan­iel Hays puts it: “Has the narrator come to praise Solomon or to bury him?”3 Employing his methodology, Feldman fails to address these two important discussions. 1 Solomon is mentioned in 2 Sam 12:24–25 as well, as well as in 1 Chr 22:5; 23:1; and chapters 28–29. In his rewriting of this story, Josephus ( Jewish Antiquities 7.158) does not mention Solomon’s additional name Jedidiah. See Isaac Kalimi, Writing and Rewriting the Story of Solomon in Ancient Israel (Cambridge: Cam­bridge University Press, 2018), pp. 165–184. For a full analysis of the David-Bathsheba affair in Josephus, see Michael Avioz, “Retelling the David and Bathsheba Narrative in Josephus’ Antiquities,” in Marzena Zawa­nows­ka (ed.), Warrior, Poet, Prophet and King: The Character of David in Judaism, Christianity and Islam (Forth­coming). 2 Louis H. Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible (Berkeley, CA; University of California Press, 1998), pp. 570–628. Christopher Begg has written extensively on Solomon, but my focus differs from his. See C. T. Begg, “Solomon Secures his Kingdom according to Josephus,” Textus 24 (2009), pp. 179–204; idem, “Solomon’s Post Temple-Dedication: Initiatives according to Josephus,” BN 138 (2008), pp. 89–105; “Sol­ o­mon’s Preparations for Building the Temple according to Josephus,” Rivista Biblica 55 (2007), pp. 25–40; idem, “The Judg­ment of Solomon according to Josephus,” TZ 62 (2006), pp. 452–461; idem, “Solomon’s Installation of the Ark in the Temple according to Josephus”, Revista Catalana de Teología 30 (2005), pp. 251– 265; idem, “David’s Dying Directives according to Josephus,” Sefarad 65 (2005), pp. 271–285; “Solomon’s Apostasy (1 Kgs. 11,1–13) according to Josephus,” JSJ 28 (1997), pp. 294–313; idem, “Solomon’s Two ‘Satans’ according to Josephus,” BN 85 (1996), pp. 44–55; idem, “Solomon’s Two Dreams according to Josephus,” An­to­nia­num 71 (1996), pp. 687–704. Begg is mainly interested in the text form that Josephus was using and on the changes that Josephus has entered into the biblical text. In most cases, the results of the comparison of the MT, the LXX and Josephus are inconclusive. Begg himself admits that it is often difficult to assess which version Josephus was using. 3 J. Daniel Hays, “Has the Narrator Come to Praise Solomon or to Bury Him? Narrative Subtlety in 1 Kings 1–11,” JSOT 28 (2003), pp. 149–174.

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I The Structure of the Solomon Narratives I first present the contents of the MT’s version of the Solomon narratives in 1 Kings 1–11: 1) In David’s old age, Solomon and Adonijah struggle over who is to inherit the kingship. Sol­ o­mon emerges triumphant and he succeeds his father. David dies and is buried in Je­ru­sa­lem (1 Kings 1–2). 2) Solomon’s dream at Gibeon, followed by the trial of the two prostitutes (1 Kings 3); 3) The division of the kingdom into provinces (1 Kings 4); 4) Preparations for the construction of the Temple, and its construction (1 Kings 5–7); 5) Solomon’s prayer at the dedication of the Temple and God’s response (1 Kings 8–9); 6) The Queen of Sheba’s visit and Solomon’s wealth (1 Kings 10); 7) Solomon’s sins at the end of his life, and Ahiah’s prophecy about the schism of the kingdoms during his son’s reign (1 Kings 11). The status of the first two chapters of 1 Kings is given to scholarly debate. Most scholars perceive them as the conclusion to David’s succession narrative, in 2 Samuel 9–20; this is how things are in the Lucianic version of the Septuagint. Other scholars hold that these chapters are not a continuation of the chapters in 2 Samuel, but an introduction to Solomon’s reign in the book of Kings.4 II The Starting Point of the Solomon Narratives Josephus portrays Solomon in the seventh book of Jewish Antiquities, paragraphs 335–394, and in 8.1–211.5 If one were to open the eighth book of Antiquities, he or she would presumably think that the story of Solomon begins with the eighth book,6 whereas it in fact begins at the end of the seventh book. It is theoretically possible to claim that Josephus’ transition from the seventh to eighth book of Antiquities reflects the Lucianic version of the Septuagint, which concludes the succession narrative in 1 Kings 2, and that Josephus’ Vorlage was proto-Lucianic.7 However, the question of the text that Josephus used has not yet been determined: Was his a Hebrew version similar to the MT, a Greek version similar to a version of the Septuagint, or even both? Moreover, he may also have made changes to the order and content of his source texts. 8 4 See David Williams, “Once Again: The Structure of the Narrative of Solomon’s Reign,” JSOT 86 (1999), pp. 49–66 with earlier literature. On 1 Kings 1–2 as the end of 2 Kingdoms, see also Kalimi, Writing and Re­writing the Story of Solomon in Ancient Israel, pp. 218–219, note 57. In Hays’ (Has the Narrator,”, p. 154, n. 11) view, “1 Kgs 1–2 is transitional and does connect to both the preceding unit and the following unit.” 5 English translation of Josephus is based upon Christopher T. Begg, Judean Antiquities 5–7 (Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Vol. 4; Leiden: Brill, 2005) and Christopher Begg and Paul Spilsbury, eds., Ju­dean Antiquities 8–10 (Leiden: Brill, 2005), pp. 3–56. 6 As was done by Castelli; see Silvia Castelli, “Kings in Josephus,” in André Lemaire and Baruch Halpern (eds.), The Books of Kings: Sources, Composition, Historiography and Reception (Leiden: Brill, 2010), pp. 541–59. See also David M.‬Carr, From D to Q: A Study of Early Jewish Interpretations of Solomon’s Dream at Gibeon ‬(Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1991), pp. 114–115. See in contrast Begg, “Solomon Secures his Kingdom.” 7 See most recently Tuukka Kauhanen, The Proto-Lucianic Problem in 1 Samuel (De Septuaginta investigations 3; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012). See also M. Victoria Spottorno, “Josephus’ Text for 1–2 Kings (3–4 Kingdoms),” in Leonard Greenspoon and Olivier Munnich (eds.), VIII Congress of the In­ter­national Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies Paris 1992 (SBLSCSS 41; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995), pp. 146–63; idem, “The Book of Chronicles in Josephus’ Jewish Antiquities,” in Bernard A. Tay­ lor (ed.), IX Congress of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies Cambridge 1995 (SBLSCSS 45; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997), pp. 381–90. 8 See the literature cited in Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation. See also Jonathan D. H. Norton, Contours in the

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Why do books seven and eight of Josephus’ Antiquities not parallel the conclusion of Samuel and the beginning of Kings? The answer to this question lies in the way that Josephus integrates the book of Chronicles into his rewriting of Samuel and Kings. Josephus had several possible methods of adapting the biblical material in his own work: 1) He could have favored the books of Samuel and Kings over Chronicles. 2) He could have favored the book of Chronicles over Samuel and Kings. 3) He could have created a synthesis between the works.9 Second Samuel concludes with the story of David’s census. In the Samuel version, there is no hint whatsoever that this narrative is concerned with choosing a site for the Temple. This, however, is precisely the purpose of the parallel version in 1 Chronicles 21: to describe how David determines that the Temple will be built upon the threshing-floor of Araunah, or Ornan the Jebusite.10 Taking advantage of the mention of the Temple, Josephus also incorporates David’s speeches to Solomon from chapters 22 and 28 of 1 Chronicles, where David informs Solomon about the preparations he has made for the Temple, given that God will not allow him to actually build the Temple himself. Josephus adds a detail that does not feature in Kings: that David clarifies Solomon’s role as the designated Temple builder ( Jewish Antiquities 7.336). Josephus adapts the Chronicler’s characterization of Solomon as the king who is elected by God even before his birth. In this way he solves the problematic sequence in Kings, where David chooses Solomon as his heir but this choice is only corroborated by God later, at the revelation at Gibeon. In 1 Chr 28:6, it is explicitly stated: “He said to me, ‘It is your son Solomon who shall build my house and my courts, for I have chosen him to be a son to me, and I will be a father to him.” It is the Chronicler who introduces the element of Solomon’s divine election.11 So far, we can summarize that Josephus is not satisfied with the ending of the book of Samuel or the beginning of the book of Kings. David cannot die until he has ascertained that Solomon has made the necessary preparations for the Temple’s construction. Solomon cannot succeed his father before he is elected by God. Josephus takes care of both these issues by incorporating the relevant content from Chronicles. Only after the preparations for the Temple are complete, and only after we learn that Solomon has been elected by God, does Josephus introduce the final obstacle to Solomon’s ascent to the throne – Adonijah. Therefore, Josephus’ adaptation of the beginning of Kings, of the struggle between Solomon and Adonijah, is not as significant, given that we already know that God has elected Solomon as rightful heir to the throne.

Text: Textual Variation in the Writings of Paul, Josephus and the Yahad (LNTS 430; London: T. & T. Clark In­ter­national, 2011), pp. 67–68. 9 See Isaac Kalimi, The Retelling of Chronicles in Jewish Tradition and Literature: A Historical Journey (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009), pp. 93–104; Michael Avioz, Josephus’ Interpretation of the Books of Samuel (Lon­don and New York: Bloomsbury, 2015). 10 For an analysis of the changes between the two versions, see e.g. John W. Wright, “The Innocence of David in 1 Chronicles 21,” JSOT 60 (1993), pp. 87–105; Gary N. Knoppers, “Images of David in Early Judaism: David as Repentant Sinner in Chronicles,” Bib 76 (1995), pp. 449–70. 11 See Sara Japhet, I and II Chronicles (OTL; Louisville, KY; Westminster/John Knox Press, 1993), p. 488. How­ ever, Isaac Kalimi shows that Samuel-Kings presents the election of Solomon in different ways than Chron­ icles, but it definitely emphasizes it (e.g., 2 Sam 12:24–25; 1 Kgs 1:48; 2:15b, 24); see Kalimi,, Writing and Re­writing the Story of Solomon in Ancient Israel, pp. 127–164, esp. 227–230.

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This description contradicts Feldman’s claim that the Solomon narrative is de-theologized.12 Rather, the opposite is true: in the MT version of the first two chapters of 1 Kings, all is decided by human action – by David’s decision – whereas Josephus employs material from Chronicles to emphasize Solomon’s divine election. III The Evaluation of Solomon’s Character In general, Josephus seems to have adopted the methodology of the historian Polybius of the second century B.C.E.; he was well versed in his writings, and he even quotes them.13 According to Polybius, the reigns of all kings follow a certain pattern: formation, growth and prime, and decline.14 Polybius’ theory was influenced by the writings of Plato and Aristotle. Josephus seems to have applied this theory to Solomon’s reign. Formation: His coronation; his dream at Gibeon; his relationship with Hiram. Growth and Prime: The building of the Temple. Decline: His marriage to foreign women and the prophecy about the schism of the kingdom. There is considerable scholarly dispute regarding Solomon’s characterization in 1 Kings 1–11. Some argue that Solomon is portrayed in a positive light for most of the narrative, while his corruption only begins in chapter 11. As Mordechai Cogan writes: “The Deuteronomist’s criticism of Solomon begins in chapter 11, not beforehand.”15 Others are convinced that from the very first chapter, Solomon is the subject of the narrator’s criticism, while yet others believe that the narratives comprise both positive and negative aspects of Solomon’s character and actions, woven and patched together throughout the text.16 The premise of the latter theory is that there is further criticism of Solomon not only in chapters 1–11 of 1 Kings, but in other narratives, such as chapter 12, where the people complain to Rehoboam that life was literally and figuratively taxing under Solomon’s reign. In retrospect, it thus emerges that not only did the people suffer under Solomon, but that they were not able to express these complaints to anyone. It is not feasible that such serious decline began in chapter 11; it probably have begun long before that. A thorough analysis of Josephus’ adaptation of the biblical record reveals that he was aware of at least some of the issues raised by modern scholars, and that he attempted to solve them in his rewriting. One of the qualities that Feldman perceives as central in Josephus’ rewriting of Solomon’s reign is Solomon’s wisdom.17 Feldman believes that this is due to the apologetic motives behind Josephus’ work: that Josephus wanted to prove to his Roman contemporaries (and especially to Apion, who claimed otherwise) that the Jews also had leaders with legendary talents and virtues. To this end, Josephus placed great emphasis on Solomon’s wisdom, and made many allusions, Feldman claims, to the story of Oedipus. For example, Feldman points out similarities between the riddles of Solomon and the riddles of the Sphinx, and between the prophecy about 12 Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation, 603–605. 13 See, e.g. Shaye J. D. Cohen, The Significance of Yavneh and Other Essays in Jewish Hellenism (Tübingen: Mohr Sie­beck, 2010), pp. 105–20. 14 Polybius, Histories 6.9. See Robin Waterfield (trans.), Polybius, The Histories (Oxford World’s Classics; Ox­ ford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), p. 378. 15 Mordecai Cogan, 1 Kings. A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (Anchor Bible 10; New York: Doubleday, 2001), p. 189. 16 See the literature cited in Hays, “Has the Narrator.” See also Jung Ju Kang, The Persuasive Portrayal of Solomon in 1 Kings 1–11 (Bern: Peter Lang, 2003); Eric A. Seibert, Subversive Scribes and the Solomonic Narrative: A Re­reading of I Kings 1–11 (LHB/OTS, 436; New York and London: T. & T. Clark, 2006). 17 Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation, pp. 579–588.

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Oedipus and the prophecy that Nathan pronounced about Solomon. However, the stories of Solomon and Oedipus are so different from each other that any similarities, if indeed they exist, are negligible; it is certainly difficult to point to direct, intentional parallels between Josephus’ Solomon and the story of Oedipus.18 The root ‫חכ”ם‬, “to be wise,” appears 21 times in the MT version of Solomon’s reign, but not once in the rest of Kings, so that merely echoing the biblical source already seems like hyperbole. Josephus attributes φρόνησις (practical wisdom, intelligence) to Solomon on several occasions; e.g. Jewish Antiquities 8.23, 8.34, 8.42, 8.165, 8.171. He uses the combination of σοφία (“wisdom”) and φρόνησις three times in reference to Solomon in 8.34, 8.42, 8.171. Even so, Josephus does flesh out this aspect in certain places, rendering the characteristically concise biblical language in more explicit “showing-telling.” Josephus foreshadows Solomon’s wisdom in his rewriting of David’s prayer that God grant wisdom to his son: “He prayed as well for good things for the whole people, and for an upright and just mind, one made strong by all the components of virtue, for his son Solomon” ( Jewish Antiquities 7.381). Josephus incorporates this into his rewriting of Kings based on David’s prayer in 1 Chr 22:12, “Only, may the Lord grant you discretion and understanding, so that when he gives you charge over Israel you may keep the law of the Lord your God.” In the story of Solomon’s dream at Gibeon, according to the MT, Solomon asks for a “discerning heart.” Josephus, however, presents this scene differently: his Solomon asks for “an upright mind and a good intellect” ( Jewish Antiquities 8.23), and he is granted, above all, “sagacity and wisdom” (8.24). IV The Story of the Solomon’s Trial of the Two Prostitutes (1 Kings 3) The story of Solomon’s solution to the two prostitutes’ dilemma (1 Kgs 3:16–28) does not necessarily move all its readers to wonder and admiration of Solomon’s wisdom. Certain scholars have pointed out that various difficulties make the famous scene quite inscrutable, and it is not at all clear that its objective is to praise Solomon. To list some of these difficulties: 1) The one who saves the child from death is not Solomon, but the woman who is granted custody of the child at the story’s end. 2) Cutting the child in half is a violent solution that is employed instead of a serious, thorough investigation. 3) The narrator does not clarify to the reader which of the two women eventually receives the child (“give the child to her” – to whom?), and never explicitly confirms whether Solomon’s decision was correct.19 4) The story’s conclusion that the people feared Solomon leaves the reader with a sense of disconcertion – one might expect that the people would be moved to love and admiration, not fear.20 In regard to this last point, I will once again mention Polybius, who writes in his History that the ideal monarchy is based on wisdom, rather than fear and power. Josephus resolves this unsettling issue by modifying the people’s reaction: “The crowd supposed this to be a great proof and token 18 See Paul Spilsbury, The Image of the Jew in Flavius Josephus’ Paraphrase of the Bible (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), p. 186. 19 See Ellen Van Wolde, “Who Guides Whom? Embeddedness and Perspective in Biblical Hebrew and in 1 Kings 3:16–28,” JBL 114 (1995), p. 630: ‘Because the narrator does not connect the conflicting information of the two women or give further information of his own, the reader cannot identify the women or value their statements.” 20 See Van Wolde, “Who Guides Whom?”, and the literature cited therein.

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of the king’s intelligence and wisdom; from that day on they regarded him as one having divine understanding” ( Jewish Antiquities 8.34). While the Septuagint translates the verb ‫ ויראו‬literally (ἐφοβήθησαν, “feared”), Josephus translates it as αὐτῷ προσεῖχον, “regarded him as.”21 Josephus makes many changes and additions to the story in order to present the episode in the best possible light: In those days a difficult case was brought to him, the solution to which would be laborious to find. I have thought it necessary to relate the matter that the [king’s] judgment happened to concern, in order that the difficulty of the case might become clear to my readers, so that they might, as it were, receive an image of the king’s shrewdness in being able to easily judge about those things that were sought [from him]. Two women, prostitutes by occupation, came to him. Of these, she who appeared to be the one wronged began to speak first: “I live,” she said, “O king, with this [woman] in a single room. It happened that we both gave birth to male children several days ago at the same hour. When three days had passed, she lay upon her own child while she slept and killed it. She removed my child from my knees and carried it over to where she herself was, placing the dead [child] in my arms as I was sleeping. In the early morning when I wished to nurse my child, I did not find it; instead, I saw that it was hers that was lying dead beside me, as I realized by careful examination. Having requested my son but not getting him back [from her], I have turned to you, O master, for help. For since we were alone, in her arrogant confidence that she [need not] fear anyone who can convict her she stubbornly persists in denying it” ( Jewish Antiquities 8.26–29) Josephus embellishes the more matter-of-fact biblical description in order to impress his audience: A “difficult case was brought to him, the solution to which would be laborious to find”; and another such example: “No one could resolve the case; rather all were, as if by a riddle, mentally blinded concerning its solution; the king alone thought things out as follows” (8.30). IV Additions to the MT Version An addition to the MT version of Kings can be found in Jewish Antiquities 8.143. According to Josephus, the Queen of Sheba 22 was not the only one who presented Solomon with riddles; King Hiram did so as well: The king of the Tyrians also dispatched subtle questions and enigmas to Solomon and appealed to him to elucidate these for him and resolve the difficulty of the questions [posed] in them. None of them stumped the ingenious and sagacious Solomon; rather, he succeeded in explicating them all by use of reason and by learning their meaning. This is also mentioned at length in Against Apion 1.114–115 where he cites Dios and Menander as the sources of these traditions. Josephus is keenly aware that there are relatively few biblical stories that demonstrate Solomon’s wisdom. He wishes to portray Solomon as a figure of legendary wisdom, but he has little material to prove this. In the Second Temple period, the rabbinic literature presented many traditions and legends about Solomon’s great wisdom, as is evident in

21 Thackeray and Marcus translate: “hearkened to him.” See Henry St. J. Thackeray and R. Marcus, Josephus V, Jewish Antiquities, books V–VIII (LCL; London: William Heinemann, 1934), p. 589. 22 On Josephus’ version of this story, see Christopher T. Begg, “The Visit of the Queen of Sheba according to Josephus,” Journal for Semitics 15 (2006), pp. 107–129.

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the Pseudepigrapha, the New Testament, and midrashic literature,23 and Josephus draws on these sources, in his descriptions, for example, of Solomon’s relationship with Hiram. IV Solomon the Magician In Jewish Antiquities 8.45–49 Josephus incorporates material which has no parallel in the MT about Solomon’s powers against evil spirits.24 These traditions may be based on the descriptions of Solomon’s encyclopedic knowledge (1 Kgs 5:9–14). This addition to the MT shows that Josephus did not hesitate to include descriptions of miracles or the supernatural into his writings, as some scholars believe.25 Josephus’ audience was acquainted with his use of the motif of sorcery, and the discussion of this topic in relation to Solomon is part of the debate about the sources he used to describe Solomon’s wisdom. This addition imparts a double message to both parts of Josephus’ audience: his gentile audience was no doubt fascinated with the subject, while Solomon’s engagement with sorcery serves to warn his Jewish audience that this particular wisdom is liable to lead to idolatry. 1. Solomon’s Attitude towards the People The biblical narrator describes Solomon’s great wealth, which accumulates as a result of successful trade, heavy taxation from the people (1 Kgs 5:13–14, 27–32), and tributes from nations that are subject to his rule (1 Kgs 5:4). The question is how this great wealth is utilized. The biblical narrative criticizes Solomon for using his great wealth for his own benefit and the benefit of those close to him (1 Kgs 5:7), and this criticism must certainly be addressed. In general, the biblical description paints a picture of alienation between the king and his subjects, and this led them to appeal to his son, Rehoboam, to lighten their heavy burden and allow the people to have a say in government decisions (1 Kings 12). Scholars generally hold that the verses in 1 Kgs 5:29–30 cast criticism on Solomon:26 “Solomon also had seventy thousand laborers and eighty thousand stonecutters in the hill country, besides Solomon’s three thousand three hundred supervisors who were over the work, having charge of the people who did the work” (NJPS). The verb “having charge,” ‫רודים‬, hints to the story of Israel’s slavery in Egypt, and draws an analogy between Solomon and Pharaoh.27 This is further reinforced by the fact that Solomon married Pharaoh’s daughter, and by the intriguing description that Solomon began building his Temple four hundred and eighty years after the Israelites 23 See Gerhard Langer, “Solomon in Rabbinic Literature,” in Joseph Verheyden (ed.), The Figure of Solomon in Jewish, Christian, and Islamic Tradition: King, Sage, and Architect (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2013), pp. 127– 142; Jiří Dvořáček, The Son of David in Matthew’s Gospel in the Light of the Solomon as Exorcist Tradition (WUNT 2/415; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck 2016), pp. 33–36. Ben Sira also mentions Solomon: While in 47:12–18 he portrays the wise Solomon, in 47:19–21 he mentions the foolish Solomon. See Leong Cheng Phua, “The Wise Kings of Judah according to Ben Sira. A Study in Second Temple Use of Biblical Traditions” (Ph.D. dissertation; Westminster Theological Seminary, Philadelphia, 2008), pp. 169–181. 24 See Dennis C. Duling, “The Eleazar Miracle and Solomon’s Magical Wisdom in Flavius Josephus’s Anti­ qui­ta­tes Judaicae 8.42–49,” HTR 78 (1985), pp. 1–25; Pablo A. Torijano, “Solomon and Magic,” in Joseph Ver­hey­den (ed.), The Figure of Solomon in Jewish, Christian, and Islamic Tradition: King, Sage, and Architect (Lei­den: Brill, 2013), pp. 107–124. 25 See Michael Avioz, “Josephus’ Concept of Miracles,” Zutot 9 (2012), pp. 1–25, with bibliography. 26 See Jerome T. Walsh, “The Characterization of Solomon in First Kings 1–5,” CBQ 57 (1995), pp. 471–493. See also the literature cited in Michael Avioz, “The Characterization of Solomon in Solomon’s Prayer (1 Kings 8),” BN 126 (2005), pp. 19–28. 27 See Marvin A. Sweeney, I and II Kings: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007), p. 73.

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left Egypt (1 Kgs 6:1). All these details, according to scholars, generate a negative parallel between Solomon and Pharaoh. Josephus, however, uses different terms for Solomon’s overseers: In Exodus he refers to the overseers as τεταγμένον ( Jewish Antiquities 2.288; Exod. 5:6–13), whereas he calls Solomon’s overseers (ἐφίστημι; 8.59), which connotes supervision, rather than slave driving. Josephus also makes changes to the employment conditions of Solomon’s lumbermen. According to 1 Kgs 5:26–28, a task force is sent to Lebanon in order to supply the necessary cedar; these men spend one month in Lebanon, followed by an ambiguous Hebrew expression that literally means “and then two months in his house.” While some read that the workers were then sent to the palace for two months of labor, Josephus interprets this phrase differently: “For he made 10,000 chop [wood] for one month on Mount Liban; going to their homes, these then rested for two months until the [other] 20,000 had completed the work in their prescribed time” ( Jewish Antiquities 8.58). This interpretation is also evident in the Septuagint, but according to the MT, the Targum, and the Peshiṭta, Solomon’s workers continued directly from Lebanon to two months of labor at the palace. In his adaptation of 1 Kings 4, Josephus elegantly omits the list of Solomon’s prefects, where it is implied that Judah were exempt from taxes; instead, Josephus describes the national prosperity that Solomon’s taxation brought about: The people of the Hebrews and the tribe of Iouda made remarkable progress by devoting themselves to agriculture and the care of the soil. For enjoying peace, and not being preoccupied with enemies or troubles, and likewise making full use of their longed-for freedom, each was able to enlarge his own house and make this of greater worth ( Jewish Antiquities 8.38). Josephus also emphasizes Solomon’s contribution to his people’s welfare in a passage that is absent in the MT: In all matters he displayed a divine attention and solicitude. As a great lover of the beautiful, he did not neglect the roads either. Rather, he paved those leading to Hierosolyma, the royal [city], with black stone, both for the ease of travelers and to display the state of his wealth and leadership ( Jewish Antiquities 8.187).28 2. Solomon’s Ascent to the Throne The biblical narrative does not describe Solomon’s coronation in great detail,29 but Josephus adds that the people blessed Solomon and wished him well: In the volume before this one, then, we have explained about David, about his virtue and his being the cause of many good things for his compatriots: having succeeded in wars and battles, he died in old age. His son Solomon, who was still a youth, assumed the kingship; David had appointed him master of the people according to the will of God while he was still alive. Once he sat upon the throne, the whole mob – as is customary with a king when

28 On Solomon’s Wealth in Josephus, see Christopher T. Begg,“The Wealth of Solomon according to Josephus,” Antonianum 81 (2006) pp. 413–429. 29 See 1 Kgs 1:35–40; 1 Chr 29:22–24. According to Josephus (Ant. 7.382), there were two coronations; see the detailed discussion by Kalimi, Writing and Rewriting the Story of Solomon in Ancient Israel, pp. 237–258 esp. 240–242.

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he begins – expressed the wish that affairs would turn out well for him and that his leadership might reach old age smoothly and happily in every respect ( Jewish Antiquities 8.1). To refer back to Polybius’ Histories: In the olden days, anyway, once a man had been chosen as king and had gained this position of authority, he retained it for life. He saw to his subjects’ security by fortifying places and enclosing them within walls, and took over land to make sure that they were well supplied with provisions. And as he occupied himself with these matters, no one ever spoke ill of him or resented him, because he did not dress or eat or drink in a way that made him stand out; he lived pretty much like everyone else, and spent all his time in close contact with the general populace. But kingship was passed down from generation to generation within the same family, and once the kings had made everything as secure as they could and had ensured a more than adequate supply of food, the fact that there was so much of everything tempted them to begin to indulge their appetites. They felt that rulers should dress in a fashion that distinguished them from their subjects, that their food should be presented and prepared in distinctive and elaborate ways, and that they should be allowed total sexual freedom, even to the extent of sleeping with inappropriate partners. This behaviour aroused people’s resentment and disgust, which in turn kindled hatred and hostile anger in the kings, and so kingship gave way to tyranny. Had Josephus applied this theory to Solomon, the logical conclusion would have been that Solomon effectively became a tyrant. Not wishing to characterize the great king thus, however, Josephus makes subtle changes to the biblical account. V Solomon’s Sins Firstly, Josephus clarifies the actual problems with Solomon’s marriages in more detail than in the biblical narrative. His actual sin, according to Josephus, was not that he married multiple women, but that he married foreign wives. As is also evident from his description of Herod’s ten wives ( Jewish War 1.561–563; Jewish Antiquities 17.19–21), Josephus does not have issues with polygamy. We read in Jewish Antiquities 8.190–194: Although he was the most famous of kings and close to God, just as he surpassed in intelligence and wealth those who exercised rule over the Hebrews before him, he nevertheless did not persevere in these things until his death. Rather, due to his abandoning the observance of the ancestral customs, he ended up in a way that was unlike what we have told previously. Becoming crazy about women and in his weakness for sexual pleasure, he was not satisfied with native [women] alone but also married many foreigners, Sidonians, Tyrians, Ammanites, and Idumeans. [In doing this], he transgressed against the laws of Moyses, who prohibited cohabitating with non-compatriots. He began to worship their gods, indulging these women and his passion for them. This was the very thing the legislator had suspected would happen when he told [the Israelites] in advance not to marry those of other countries. [He did this] in order that they not become entangled in foreign ways of life and leave the ancestral ones aside, and while worshipping those gods, fail to honor their own. Solomon, however, disregarded these things, incited by irrational pleasure. He married 700 women, the daughters of rulers and nobles; he also had 300 concubines, and in addition the daughter of the King of the Egyptians. He was immediately overcome by them, so that he imitated

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their ways. He was compelled to provide them proof of his benevolence and tenderness by living in their ancestral manner. When he became old and his reason was too weakened by time to oppose [this tendency] with the memory of his native customs, he showed still greater contempt for his own God, while he continued to honor those of his alien wives. This description is even harsher than the biblical account. Josephus chooses not to follow the Chronicler, who omits these sinful ways; on the contrary, he describes the passage in more detail than Kings. This is presumably due to the message that he wishes to impart to his readers, Jews and non-Jews alike: Solomon’s sinful end serves as a warning to all about the dangers of abandoning ancestral tradition. In several places, Josephus condemns idolatry, and he considers the Greek polytheism inferior to Jewish monotheism (such as in his account of the act of Phinehas in Numbers 25; cf. Jewish Antiquities 4.152–155).30 While he omits the story of the Golden Calf (Exodus 32–34) in order to avoid supplying antagonists with ammunition against the Jews, he was unable to do so in regard to Solomon, since Solomon’s story was well-known, at least by Philiscus of Miletus (4th century B.C.E.), Dios, Alexander Polyhistor and Eupolemus. Feldman claims that Josephus attempts to exaggerate Solomon’s greatness in order to prove that the Jewish people had great leaders who changed the face of history. I find this unconvincing. If this were the case, then Josephus would have followed the Chronicler’s version and omitted Solomon’s sinful end. His version, however, retains the problematic aspects of Solomon’s reign. Moreover, Josephus also describes Solomon’s use of animal images in the Temple as a sin ( Jewish Antiquities 8.190). This is not consistent with biblical law, which does not forbid artistic images for the sake of decoration; this is not even forbidden in rabbinic law.31 In the Bible, there is not even any criticism of Solomon’s reproduction of cherubim (1 Kgs 6:23–28). This addition was presumably calculated to exacerbate Solomon’s corruption. To summarize, David’s wise son had full potential to succeed, but he failed and fell short because he did not adhere to the laws of God. This description is not necessarily apologetic, and it seems to be consistent with the author of Kings’ objectives. Instead of similarity between Solomon and his father David, his failure generates parallels between Solomon and Saul. Josephus’ description of kings who change their ways when they ascend the throne can also be applied to Solomon. Both Saul and Solomon betray God, and ultimately, both of them are punished for their betrayal. Saul, as the first king, had no one to emulate, but Solomon should have followed in his father’s ways. According to Josephus, Saul’s transformation of character when he became king is a lesson in human nature: This gives everyone [the opportunity] of learning about and discerning the ways of humans: as long as they are private, humble citizens, incapable of exercising their [true] nature or daring to do as they wish, such persons are gentle and moderate; pursuing only what is just, they devote all their loyalty and solicitude to this. As for the Deity, they are convinced that he is present to everything that happens in life, and not only sees the deeds that are done, but already knows the thoughts themselves from which those deeds will [flow]. When, however, they attain to authority and dynastic power, they set all these things aside. 30 See Richard Liong-Seng Phua, Idolatry and Authority: A Study of 1 Corinthians 8.1–11.1 in the Light of the Jewish Diaspora (LNTS 299; London: T. & T. Clark, 2005), pp. 68–76. 31 E. g., Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 64a; Arachin 32b. See Jason von Ehrenkrook, Sculpting Idolatry in Fla­ vian Rome: (An)Iconic Rhetoric in the Writings of Flavius Josephus (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2011), pp. 152–153.

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VI Josephus’ Summaries of David and Solomon’s Narratives While Josephus’ encomium of David discusses his virtues at length, such a description is absent from his summary of Solomon: David

Solomon

In addition to his being an excellent man, possessing every virtue and being entrusted with the safety of so many nations, he ought also to be praised on account of his vigorous strength and prudential understanding. For he was more courageous than anyone else; in his struggles on behalf of his subjects, he was the first to rush into danger, appealing to his soldiers to [move] against the [enemy] battlelines by exerting himself and fighting, rather than issuing orders like a master. He was very competent in thinking and in perceiving both the future and present matters. He was prudent, gentle, kind towards those in misfortune, just, and humane – qualities that are suitable only for [outstanding] kings. Moreover, with such great authority, he never once offended, the case of the wife of Ourias excepted. He left behind as well wealth such as no other king, whether of the Hebrews or of other nations, ever did ( Jewish Antiquities 7.390–391)

Solomon died, already an old man, having reigned as king for eighty1 years and lived for ninety-four. He was buried in Hierosolyma. He surpassed all who reigned as kings in well-being, wealth, and intelligence, except that in his old age he was led astray by his wives and acted lawlessly. Concerning these things and the calamities that happened to the Hebrews because of them, we shall have to report at a more appropriate moment ( Jewish Antiquities 8.211)

VII Summary If we consider the full picture that emerges from Josephus’ characterization of Solomon, we cannot accept Feldman’s conclusion that Solomon is presented in a very positive light, as a fair, wise, righteous, wealthy king of universal fame and renown.2 Feldman seems to downplay the importance of the negative aspects of Josephus’ portrayal.3 Josephus does make certain positive changes to the biblical representation of Solomon, but he does not ignore the fact that in the book of Kings, Solomon is held accountable for the schism of the kingdoms that tears Judah and Israel apart. For this reason, Josephus adopts a method he also favors elsewhere: From the moment that the ruler abandons God’s ways, his decline begins. This happened to Saul, and it happens to Solomon. He has great wisdom, but unless his wisdom is applied to keeping God’s laws, it is not a virtue in itself, and it does not prevent him from sin. 1 The MT and LXX have here 40 years. Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation, p. 576 writes that it “adds to the stature of the king, for he is depicted as reigning eighty years, a period exceeded by no known Greek, Roman, or Oriental sovereign.” 2 Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation, p. 626. 3 That is also true with regard to Carr, From D to Q, and Joseph Verheyden, “Josephus on Solomon,” in Joseph Verheyden (ed.), The Figure of Solomon in Jewish, Christian and Islamic Tradition: King, Sage and Architect (Themes in Biblical Narrative, 16; Leiden: Brill, 2013), pp. 85–106; Jacob Feeley, “Josephus as a Political Philosopher: His Concept of Kingship” (PhD dissertation, University of Pennsylvania, 2017).

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Josephus does not conclude Solomon’s reign with words of praise, as he does at the end of David’s reign; in addition to describing the idolatry his wives encouraged, Josephus also mentions that Solomon sinned by building cherubim in the Temple. This negative conclusion is further bolstered by the negative statements Josephus makes about monarchy throughout his Jewish Antiquities. Josephus’ other works may reflect a different position about the monarchy,4 but his opinions in Antiquities are largely negative; monarchy is far from ideal. Rather, he holds that the ideal system of government is aristocracy – a government comprising a group of individuals with the talent and skills to rule with the citizens’ best interests at heart. The priesthood, for example, may serve as an aristocracy. As Aristotle writes in Rhetoric: “for it is those who have been loyal to the national institutions that hold office under an aristocracy. These are bound to be looked upon as ‘the best men,’ and it is from this fact that this form of government has derived its name (‘the rule of the best’).”5 Josephus adopts this theory in his rewriting of the laws of the king in Deuteronomy 17 ( Jewish Antiquities 4.223): “Now aristocracy and the life therein is best. Let not a longing for another government take hold of you, but be content with this. And having the laws as your masters do each thing according to them, for it is sufficient that God is your ruler.” According to Josephus’ worldview, Samuel was reluctant to accept the people’s request for a king because it contradicted the principle that aristocracy is best. The ideal ruler, according to Josephus, should be just, brave, revered by his subjects and pious. I have doubts whether all these traits can be found in Josephus’ Solomon.

4 See the references in Avioz, Josephus’ Interpretation, pp. 185–188. 5 Jonathan Barnes (ed.), The Complete Works of Aristotle: The Revised Oxford Translation (Princeton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 1984), vol. 2, p. 2173.

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Rewritten History: 1 Mac­ca­bees and Josephus on Simon the Maccabee Edward Dąbrowa Jagiellonian University, Kraków The phenomenon of rewritten history, meaning an author’s (verbatim or otherwise) use of the contents of an existing work(s) and including them in his or her own, rightly attracts scholars’ interest. When analyzing the practice, it is important to remember that the contents of one work used in another might not only paint a different picture of events from the original, but also have a different ideological import. There is no doubt that certain parts of Antiquitates Judaicae are an excellent illustration of Josephus’ use of this practice. The relationship between the content of Antiquitates Judaicae and that of 1 Mac­ca­bees has long been the subject of analyses, mostly in terms of the amount of use the historian makes of the work as well as the extent and aim of his own additions.1 Not without reason, scholars consider Josephus’ narrative on the actions of the Mac­ca­bees to be essentially an accurate paraphrase of 1 Mac­ca­bees. Isaiah M. Gafni is clear in his assessment of the debt it owes to 1 Mac­ca­bees: “Josephus’ description of the Hasmonean uprising, from the beginning of the revolt and until the days of Simon, relies primarily on I Mac­ca­bees. There can no longer remain any doubt on this issue, and any comparison of Jewish Antiquities 12.242 ff. with I Macc 1.11 ff. leads to the irrefutable conclusion that, all the deviations and discrepancies notwithstanding, before us is essentially a ‘stylized paraphrase’ of I Mac­ca­bees.”2 Gafni also concludes that the objective of Josephus’ changes, far from being to expand knowledge on the Hasmoneans, was to allow him to air his own views on them.3 Such an approach to the text is undoubtedly the key to understanding the author’s style of thinking about events from the past, in this case the Hasmonean era. It is worth adding one example to those Gafni uses in his analysis: the description of Simon’s achievements, which not only provides an excellent illustration of the use Josephus made of 1 Mac­ca­bees to create his own image of the events presented in it, but also features his own description of one of their protagonists. References to Simon and his actions in the period before he came to power appear in 1 Mac­ ca­bees in the description, in chronological order, of the actions of his brothers Judah Maccabee and Jonathan.4 The author of 1 Mac­ca­bees writes at greater length on the achievements of Simon 1 Cf. H.W. Ettelson, The Integrity of I Mac­ca­bees (Transactions of the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sci­ ences 27; New Haven, CT: Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1925), pp. 255–380; Isaiah M. Gaf­ni, “Jo­sephus and I Mac­ca­bees,” in Louis H. Feldman and Gohei Hata (eds.), Josephus, the Bible and His­tory (Lei­ den: Brill, 1989), pp. 116–131; Louis H. Feldman, “Josephus’ Portrayal of the Hasmoneans Compared with 1 Mac­ca­bees,” in Fausto Parente and Joseph Sievers (eds.), Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Pe­riod: Essays in Memory of Morton Smith (Leiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 41–42 and notes 2–3. 2 Gafni, “Josephus and I Mac­ca­bees,” p. 116. 3 Gafni, “Josephus and I Mac­ca­bees,” p. 127: “… he was changing material, and these changes cannot be explained merely as an attempt to provide additional information, but as a means of expressing his own ideas on the Hasmonean episode.” 4 Cf. 1 Macc 3:25, 42–43; 4:36, 59; 5:10, 61, 63, 67; 7:6, 10, 27; 8:20; 10:15.

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in the period after he became leader of Judaea following Jonathan’s death in 143 B.C.E. (1 Macc 13:1–16, 17). Josephus uses the same basic construction, yet introduces numerous modifications in certain passages in his narrative mentioning Simon. These include condensing the contents of some sections of 1 Mac­ca­bees, as well as the addition of the historian’s own views.5 The distinct alignment between the narratives of Josephus and of the author of 1 Mac­ca­ bees ends, however, with the reference to the implementation in Judaea of the practice of dating documents according to the years of the rule of Simon, which took place in 142 B.C.E. (1 Macc 13:41–42; cf. Jewish Antiquities 13.213–214). The historian outlines his subsequent reign, between 142 and 135 B.C.E., concisely and in rather general terms ( Jewish Antiquities 13.215–217, 223–229). The brevity of the passages in which he mentions the events of these years stands in marked contrast to the descriptions concerning the previous period of Simon’s activity. Josephus’ reasons for moving away from the narrative of 1 Mac­ca­bees and giving a different portrayal of the final years of Simon’s rule from the source he used are not clear, and explaining them is a challenge for many scholars. One hypothesis is that when writing his work, Josephus only had access to an incomplete copy of 1 Mac­ca­bees, lacking the passage referring to the last years of Simon’s reign.6 According to another hypothesis, the last three chapters of 1 Mac­ca­bees do not belong to its original but are a supplement by a later author.7 Although the authors of these and many other theories offer a series of arguments in support, none has gained universal acceptance. In order to explain the reasons for Josephus’ abbreviated treatment of this period of the ruler of Judaea’s activity, we must compare his account with that of 1 Mac­ca­bees. In his description of Simon’s actions after 142 B.C.E., the author of 1 Mac­ca­bees writes at length about his siege of Gezer, which, after prolonged battles, ended with taking control of the city (1 Macc 13:43–48). In this passage he signals Simon’s readiness to make peace with and spare the residents of Gezer (13:45–47), but also mentions Simon’s determination to remove them from the houses they were occupying. Yet he adds that this act was religious in nature, since following expulsion of the Greek population the city was ritually purified, and only then handed over to the Jewish settlers. This was also when Simon built his house there (13:47–48). Following his conquest of Gezer, Simon set off to Je­ru­sa­lem. Lacking provisions, the Syrian occupants surrendered the city without a fight. Capturing the Acra (Greek: Ἄκρα, Hebrew: ‫חקרא‬‎ or ‫חקרה‬: the Seleucid fortress in Je­ru­sa­lem) also encompassed the ritual of cleansing the place (13:49–50). To commemorate the event, Simon made the day on which Je­ru­sa­lem was captured an annual celebration (13:51–52). In addition, he fortified the Temple Mount and the Acra, having people installed there (13:52). The passage is concluded by a reference to Simon’s decision to appoint his eldest son, John, as commander, and his living in Gezer from then on (13:53). The next passage of 1 Mac­ca­bees concerning Simon has a unique literary form. It is an extensive eulogy (14:4–15) mentioning his deeds and demonstrating the positive consequences of his rule for the state and subjects: aspiring to provide security to the state and expel from its borders all those who were enemies within, abiding by the rules of religion, care for the Temple and attention to the needs of the subjects, including the poorest ones. Apart from the eulogy, the author of 1 Mac­ca­bees 5 Cf. Josephus, Jewish Antiquities 12.283, 432; 13.155–157, 181, 183, 197–207, 213–215, 223–229. For more on this subject, see Feldman, “Josephus’ Portrayal of the Hasmoneans Compared with 1 Mac­ca­bees,” pp. 42–43. 6 Cf. Gafni, “Josephus and I Mac­ca­bees,” pp. 116–117, and 128 note 7; David S. Williams, The Structure of 1 Mac­ca­bees (The Catholic Biblical Quarterly. Monograph Series 31; Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Asso­ cia­tion, 1999), pp. 113–114. 7 Ettelson, “The Integrity of I Mac­ca­bees,” pp. 255–287; cf. Williams, “The Structure of 1 Mac­ca­bees,” pp. 114–117.

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also devotes the rest of the chapter to Simon’s activity (14:16–49). He fills it with an account of Simon’s diplomatic contacts with Rome and Sparta (14:16–24) as well as the content of the resolutions adopted in 141 B.C.E. by the so-called “Great Assembly,” determining the foundations of the Judaea leader’s rule.8 These were also to be binding in the event that one of his sons came to the throne (14:25–49).9 The last two chapters of 1 Mac­ca­bees include lengthy sections on Simon’s contacts with Antiochus VII Sidetes and his fighting off a Syrian army attack on Judaea (15:1–9, 25–36; 15:38–16:10), the political effects of his deputations to Rome (15:15–25), and the circumstances of his death (16:11–17). As in the previous parts of his work, the author of 1 Mac­ca­bees mostly concentrates on showing the political and military aspects of Simon’s rule against the background of political events also played out beyond Judaea’s borders. Scholars also point out that the author intentionally emphasised Simon’s deeds at the cost of his brothers.10 To this end, he did not even hesitate to falsify the actual course of events. His purpose was not only to serve the glorification of Simon himself, but also dynastic propaganda, meant to justify his sons’ right to rule over Judaea. Events which the author of 1 Mac­ca­bees spent a large part of his work describing are covered by Josephus in two passages in Jewish Antiquities. The first opens with a mention of Simon’s occupation of the cities of Gezer, Joppa, and Jamnia and capture of the Acra in Je­ru­sa­lem ( Jewish Antiquities 13.215). The remainder of this passage is filled with his own comments on the later history of the Je­ru­sa­lem citadel ( Jewish Antiquities 13.215–217; cf. Jewish War 1.50; 5.139). According to Josephus, immediately after it was captured, the ruler of Judaea decided to have it razed, to avoid it ever again finding its way into Seleucid hands. According to the historian, the destruction of the Acra was to be accompanied by leveling of the hill on which it stood. These actions, supported by the city’s residents, served to remove from the city landscape a forbidding symbol of Seleucid rule and domination over the Temple, and also inextricably associated with the betrayal of the rules of the religion and customs of their ancestors by the Jewish Hellenists, for whom the Acra was a place of refuge. Josephus also added the remark that the destruction of the Acra and the hill on which it was built meant that the Temple had again come to dominate the 8 Cf. Joseph Sievers, “The High Priesthood of Simon Maccabeus: an Analysis of 1 Macc 14:25–49,” in K. H. Richards (ed.), Society of Biblical Literature. 1981 Seminar Papers (One Hundred Seventeenth Annual Meeting, December 19–22, 1981, San Francisco (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1982), pp. 309–318; Adrian Schen­ker, Die zweitmalige Einsetzung Simons des Makkabäers zum Hohenpriester. Die Neuordnung des Hohe­pries­ ter­tums unter dem Hasmonäer Simon (1 Makk 14,25–49),“ Recht und Kult im Alten Testament. Achtzehn Stu­dien (Friborg: Universitätsverlag / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000), pp. 163–168; Edward Dąbrowa, The Hasmoneans and their State. A Study in History, Ideology, and the Institutions (Kraków: Jagiellonian University Press, 2010), pp. 58–59, 63–64, 112–114. 9 The matter of the succession of Simon’s sons is not specified clearly in the text of the resolution of the Great Assembly. However, on the basis of certain phrases it contains (cf. 1 Macc 14:41, 49), we can surmise that this was self-evident; see Williams, “The Structure of 1 Mac­ca­bees”, pp. 123–126; Daniel R. Schwartz, “1 Mac­ ca­bees 14 and the History of the Hasmonean State,” in Friedrich Avemarie, Predrag Bukovec, Stefan Krauter and Michael Tilly (eds.), Die Makkabäer, (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017), p. 80. 10 Several scholars have analysed this issue in recent years, cf. Daniel R. Schwartz, “Mattathias’ Final Speech (1 Mac­ca­bees 2): from Religious Zeal to Simonide Propaganda,” in Aren M. Maeir, Jodi Magness, Lawrence H. Schiffman (eds.), ‘Go Out and Study the Land’ (Judges 18:2). Archaeological, Historical and Textual Studies in Honor of Hannan Eshel (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2012), pp. 217–219; idem., “1 Mac­ca­bees 14 and the History of the Hasmonean State,” pp. 72–73, 78–80; J. C. Bernhardt, Judas und seine Brüder. Zum Bild der Has­monäer­familie in den Makkbäerbüchern, in Avemarie, Bukovec, Krauter and Tilly (eds.), Die Makka­ bäer, pp. 17, 221–242.

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city skyline.11 This view of events, though in reality untrue, portrayed Simon as a leader willing to relinquish the important political benefits resulting from possession of the fortress in favor of the values that mattered to him and his subjects. In the second passage ( Jewish Antiquities 13.223–228), Josephus provided information about the events that followed after Antiochus VII Sidetes ascended the throne of Syria: his struggle against the usurper Tryphon and the proposal to form an alliance with Simon ( Jewish Antiquities 13.323). According to the historian, the ruler of Judaea not only accepted the proposal, but also took it upon himself to support the new Syrian king, offering him the food and material goods needed to wage war with Tryphon and thereby gaining his favor ( Jewish Antiquities 13.224). When Antiochus VII defeated Tryphon, he radically changed his approach to Simon, sending his commander Cendebaeus against him to plunder Judaea and capture him. Simon would not be caught unawares: Disappointed by the Syrian king’s disloyalty, he headed an army, as well as sending his sons to fight with the Syrian forces, although they did not play a major role in its course ( Jewish Antiquities 13.227). Joseph notes that the main architect of victory over Cendebaeus was, despite his advanced age, Simon, and that with this victory he guaranteed peace in Judaea until the end of his life. The passage in question also refers to an alliance with Rome 11 Both the question of the Acra’s location and what happened to it after it was captured by Simon have long been matters of debate among scholars, cf. Dąbrowa, The Hasmoneans and their State, pp. 57–58 (including earlier bibliography); Hillel Geva, “Hasmonean Je­r u­sa­lem in the Light of Archaeology. Notes on Urban To­ pog­raphy,” Eretz Israel 31 (Ehud Netzer Volume; 2015), pp. 57–75 (Hebrew), pp. 184*–185* (English summary). The reason for this is that various sources give different locations. According to the author of 1 Macc (1:33; 2: 31; cf. 7:32), the Acra was built at the top of the City of David Hill, whereas Josephus places it within the Lower City ( Jewish War 1.39; 5.137; Jewish Antiquities 13.252). Based on archaeological excavations on the eastern side of the City of David, we can ascertain that Josephus was not only imprecise in giving the location of the Acra (cf. N. Szanton and A. Zilberstein, “‘The Second Hill, which Bore the Name of Acra, and Supported the Lower City…’ A New Look at the Lower City of Je­r u­sa­lem in the End of the Second Temple Period,” City of David: Studies of Ancient Je­ru­sa­lem 11 (2016), pp. 30*–42*, but also gave incorrect information regarding its fate after it was conquered by Simon. A particularly significant contribution to the debate was made by the recent discoveries at the Givati Parking Lot, where parts of the Hellenistic defence walls were unearthed: Doron Ben-Ami and Yona Tchekhanovets, “‘… and they also that were in the city of David in Je­ ru­­sa­lem, who had made themselves a tower’ (1 Macc 14:36). The Seleucid Fortification System at the Givati Parking Lot, City of David,” New Studies in the Archaeology of Je­ru­sa­lem and Its Region 9 (2015), pp. 313– 322 (Hebrew); Doron Ben-Ami and Yona Tchekhanovets, “‘Then they built up the City of David with a high, strong wall and strong towers, and it became their citadel’ (I Mac­ca­bees 1:33),” City of David: Studies of Ancient Je­ru­sa­lem 11 (2016), pp. 21*–23*. The accompanying finds of ceramics and coins show that these walls were built during the reign of Antiochus IV, and used at least until the time of Antiochus VII Sidetes’ siege of Je­r u­sa­lem, and can thus be identified as remnants of the Acra: Ben-Ami and Tchekhanovets, “Then they built up,” pp. 23*–25*. The discoveries at the Givati Parking Lot permit a new interpretation of the frag­ ments of the Hellenistic walls unearthed in previous digs on the site of the City of David. There are many argu­ments to suggest that they are remnants of the fortifications of the Acra raised by the Seleucids: BenAmi and Tchekhanovets, “Then they built up,” pp. 25*–28*; Szanton and Zilberstein, “The Second Hill,” pp. 36*–37*; Israel Finkelstein, Hasmonean Realities behind Ezra, Nehemiah, and Chronicles: Archaeological and Historical Perspectives (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2018), p. 26. The archaeological data available today also allows us to reconstruct the likely shape of the Syrian fortress: Ben-Ami and Tchekhanovets, “Then they built up,” p. 26*, Fig. 4. These data leave no doubt that, contrary to Josephus’ account, Simon neither razed the Acra nor leveled the hill on which it was built. A recent hypothesis concerning dating of the fortifications unearthed during excavations at the Givati Parking Lot suggests that the walls were in fact built by John Hyrcanus: Donald T. Ariel, New Evidence for the Dates of the Walls of Jerusalem in the Second Half of the Second Century BC, “Electrum” 26, 2019, forthcoming.

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( Jewish Antiquities 13.225–227), and closes with information on the cause and circumstances of Simon’s death ( Jewish Antiquities 13.228). Comparing the two sources, we note that Josephus makes no mention of the resolution of the “Great Assembly” in Je­ru­sa­lem, which the author of 1 Mac­ca­bees presented at length. His narrative regarding Simon’s relationship with Antiochus VII Sidetes, though quite extensive ( Jewish Antiquities 13.223–227), is very much simplified. The author of 1 Mac­ca­bees presents a much more detailed depiction of these relations (15:1–9, 26–36, 15:38–16:10). Moreover, in his account some of the events have a different order, protagonists, and even causes, to those given by Josephus. It is also noteworthy that Josephus treats the question of the Judaean ruler’s efforts to court friendly relations with Rome only marginally, unlike the author of 1 Mac­ca­bees, who discussed them in some detail (15:15–24). The difference between the two works in the passages concerning Simon is not limited to Josephus’ overlooking the resolutions of the “Great Assembly”. The two authors also vary in their presentation of the history of the Acra after Simon’s conquest of it. The author of 1 Mac­ca­ bees just mentions this event briefly, noting its joyous nature (13:50–51). Josephus, meanwhile, emphasizes Simon’s role in the destruction of the Acra and the hill on which it was located. There is a long list of other differences, making it difficult to analyze them precisely here, especially as in many cases they mostly boil down to a slightly different description of events as a result of the historian adding his own comments or supplementary information to the original text of 1 Mac­ca­bees. However, it is certainly worth citing those differences which are significant for the description of Simon provided by Josephus’ work. Josephus concludes his account of the Hasmonean mausoleum in Modein by writing that Simon’s reason for building it was his huge attachment to Jonathan and other members of the family ( Jewish Antiquities 13.212). In his version of events, Simon, speaking to his subjects after Jonathan’s death, uses words that express his religious zeal ( Jewish Antiquities 13.199–200) to a greater extent than those which the author of 1 Mac­ca­bees attributes to him. Josephus uses the words “hegemon” and “high priest” to describe Simon’s official position. The title “ethnarch” accompanying his name, which appears in the text of the Jewish Antiquities, derives from a quotation from public documents cited by Josephus, and was supposedly used by the subjects themselves, satisfied with Simon’s rule ( Jewish Antiquitates 13.214: ἀπὸ τοῦ πρώτος ἔτους … Σίμωνος τοῦ εὐεργέτου Ἰουδαίων καὶ ἐθνάρχου.).12 Furthermore, the historian’s narrative lacks any suggestions that Simon aspired to monarchical power. Perhaps this is the reason why he says nothing about the resolutions of the “Great Assembly” in Je­ru­sa­lem which gave him almost royal power (cf. 1 Macc 14:27–47). Josephus also ignores the question of the practically royal luxury that the ruler of Judaea enjoyed, mentioned by the author of 1 Mac­ca­bees in the context of the visit of Athenobius, Antiochus VII Sidetes’ envoy to Je­ru­sa­lem (cf. 1 Macc 15:32–36). This 12 The author of 1 Mac­ca­bees mentions that Simon received the title of ethnarch, which he agreed to accept (1 Macc 14:47: καὶ ἐπεδέξατο Σιμον καὶ εὐδόκησεν ἀρχιερατεύειν καὶ εἶναι στρατηγὸς καὶ ἐθνάρχης τῶν Ιουδαίων καὶ ἱερέων καὶ τοῦ προστατῆσαι πάντων). The credibility of this information is the subject of discussion. According to Nadav Sharon (“The Title of Ethnarch in Second Temple Period Judea,” JSJ 41 [2010], pp. 476– 478, 488–490), the uncertainty in this regard results from the fact that this title was not yet used in Simon’s time. His association with the term is actually the consequence of its use by a Greek translator as an equivalent for the title mentioned in the Hebrew version of 1 Mac­ca­bees; cf. Altay Coşkun, “Der Ethnarchentitel des Simon (Makkabaios) und die Verleihung der Souveränität durch Antiochos VII. Sidetes,” SCI 37 (2018), pp. 137–140. Coşkun (pp. 140–145, 155) takes a slightly different perspective on this issue, arguing that Antio­chus VII Sidetes’ use of this title to refer to Simon (1 Macc 15:2) might have been dictated by diplomatic concerns.

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was because any mention of royal aspirations and practices did not fit the portrayal of the ruler as a modest man, unmoved by the splendors of power.13 Josephus consistently depicts Simon as a brave and victorious leader, both at the side of Judah Maccabee and Jonathan and afterwards, when he had taken their place. Although the historian sticks closely to 1 Mac­ca­bees on the question of his role in the insurgent battles, he often adds his own supplementary information to the account from this source, portraying Simon’s military successes in an even better light than is the case in 1 Mac­ca­bees. Josephus’ verdict is clear: that Simon’s courage and determination, which he displayed consistently in battles, even when his advanced age had robbed him of his earlier skill, were dictated not only by his aspiration to regain freedom for Judaea, but especially by his desire to defend the religion of his forefathers and the Temple. An important character trait of Simon noted discreetly by Josephus was his great dedication to his brothers and parents, manifested even in the toughest situations. The portrait of Simon contained in the Jewish Antiquities is not an accurate copy of the one sketched by the author of 1 Mac­ca­bees, although it resembles it in its main elements. The description of the Judaean ruler presented by Josephus accentuates different features, emphasizing the characteristics that present him as a victorious commander and religious leader committed to defending the tradition of his forefathers and the freedom of his people, and devoted to his closest family members.14 The content of 1 Mac­ca­bees is much more expressive and fulsome in this respect. The reason for this is that the two works differed in character. 1 Mac­ca­bees is a historical work proclaiming the glory and uniqueness of the entire Hasmonean family (5:62), but also particularly emphasizing Simon’s merits.15 The Jewish Antiquities, on the other hand, covers the panorama of Jewish history from the biblical era to the time of Josephus, in which the portrait of Simon was just one of many portraits in the Hasmonean gallery.16 By depicting the individual characteristics and accomplishments of each of them, the author aimed to familiarize the reader with the history and rule of the entire family. It is therefore natural that the ideological and editorial concerns that motivated Josephus produced a portrayal of Simon that differed somewhat from the one presented in 1 Mac­ca­bees. In the light of this discussion, it is hard to avoid taking a position on the theory that when writing about Simon in his Jewish Antiquities, Josephus had an incomplete copy of 1 Mac­ca­bees available, or that he used another source when presenting the events of his activity between 142 and 135 B.C.E.17 Neither of these hypotheses is convincing, in particular because if this passage from Josephus is compared with the relevant section from 1 Mac­ca­bees, it is indeed difficult to discern any significant differences in terms of the order and content of the events they describe. The exception is the reference to Simon’s contacts with Rome, which in Josephus’ text appears after the description of the battles with Cendebaeus. Given the concise nature of his narrative, it is more natural that it is included here. It is also notable that, although the historian records 13 Certain scholars point to places in Jewish Antiquities (4.223–224; 6.35–36; 11.111; 14.91) which they see as proving Josephus’ anti-monarchist attitude. However, based on the contexts in which the historian’s supposedly hostile opinions appear there are no grounds for giving any credence to this claim. 14 Cf. Feldman, “Josephus’ Portrayal of the Hasmoneans Compared with 1 Mac­ca­bees,” pp. 62–63, 66–67. 15 Dąbrowa, “Hasmoneans,” p. 14 and note 6 (with earlier bibliography); K. Berthelot, In Search of the Promised Land? The Hasmonean Dynasty Between Biblical Models and Hellenistic Diplomacy (Göttingen and Bristol, CT: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2018), pp. 109–118. 16 Gidon Fuks, “Josephus and the Hasmoneans,” JJS 41, 1990, 166–176; Daniel R. Schwartz, “Josephus on Hyr­ ca­nus II,” in F. Parente and Joseph Sievers (eds.), Josephus and the History of the Greco – Roman Period. Essays in Memory of Morton Smith (Leiden: Brill, 1994), pp. 210–232. 17 See above, notes 6–8.

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Simon’s contacts with Rome, he makes no comment on this information, which may suggest that he did not find it as important as the author of the source he was using. The probable reason for this is the fact that the way he presents the events is less important than the different ideological premises of his work. Josephus intentionally disregards those parts of 1 Mac­ca­bees concerning the resolutions of the “Great Assembly”, as they contradicted his portrayal of Simon. He interjects his extensive commentary on the events in Je­ru­sa­lem after its capture and shortens the narrative on the details of the contacts with Antiochus VII Sidetes to the bare minimum required, to give the reader the best view of the Judaean ruler. He needed these editorial amendments and abbreviations to the text of 1 Mac­ca­bees to form the portrait of Simon in readers’ minds that he was aiming for. This is also confirmed by one more factor. The Jewish Antiquities is not the only work in which Josephus wrote about Simon. There is also an only short passage devoted to him in Josephus’ Jewish War (1.50–53), which the historian wrote many years earlier. It is not hard to notice that this work contains the same information found in the relevant passages of the Jewish Antiquities (with just one exception: in the aforementioned section of his Jewish War, Josephus ignores Simon’s contacts with Rome). The style of the two passages is also the same, meaning that the version in the Jewish Antiquities can be regarded as almost a verbatim quotation from the earlier work. The evident similarities in context and style in the passages from Josephus’ two works regarding Simon leave no doubt that he wrote them using the same source, which we can identify as 1 Mac­ca­bees.18

18 According to some scholars omission of the last three chapters of 1 Mac­ca­bees in Josephus’ narration about Simon is result of author’s premeditate choice or his historiographical aims; cf. Ettelson, “The Integrity of I Mac­ca­bees,” pp. 288–341, 376; Gafni, “Josephus and I Mac­ca­bees,” pp. 117–127; Feldman, “Josephus’ Por­ tray­a l of the Hasmoneans Compared with 1 Mac­ca­bees,” pp. 41–43.

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Contributors Michael Avioz is Associate Professor of Hebrew Bible and the Chair of the Department of Bible at Bar-Ilan University. His research focuses on biblical historiography and early biblical interpretation. He is the author of many articles and three books: Nathan’s Oracle (2 Samuel 7) and Its Interpreters (2005); I Sat Alone: Jeremiah among the Prophets (2009); and Josephus’ Interpretation of the Books of Samuel (2015). Edward Dąbrowa is Professor of Ancient History at Jagiellonian University, Kraków. His research focuses on political and military history of Asia Minor, and the Middle East and Iran in the Hellenistic and Roman periods. He was the Editor-in-Chief of Scripta Judaica Cracoviensia (2001–2016); and Electrum. Journal of Ancient History. His publications include: Legio X Fre­ ten­sis. A Propographical Study of Its Officers (I–III c. A.D.) (1993); The Governors of Roman Syria from Augustus to Septimius Severus (1998); The Hasmoneans and Their State: A Study in History, Ideology, and the Institutions (2010); and Studia Graeco-Parthica: Political and Cultural Relations between Greeks and Parthians (2011). Ruth Fidler is a senior lecturer in the Department of Bible studies at Gordon Academic College, Haifa, Israel, and formerly a lecturer in the department of Bible studies at the University of Haifa. She is the author of Dreams Speak Falsely? Dream Theophanies in the Bible: Their Place in Ancient Israelite Faith and Traditions (2005, Hebrew). Sebastian Grätz is Professor for Old Testament Studies at Johannes Gutenberg University Mainz, where he has also served as a Dean. He is co-editor of Die Welt des Orients (Vandenhoeck & Ru­precht), and Zeitschriftenschau der Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft (de Gruy­ter). His publications include: Der strafende Wettergott. Erwägungen zur Traditionsgeschichte des Wet­tergottes im Alten Orient und im Alten Testament (1998), Das Edikt des Artaxerxes. Eine Un­ter­su­chung zum religionspolitischen und historischen Umfeld von Esr 7,12–26 (2004), and Alt­tes­ ta­ment­li­che Wissenschaft in Selbstdarstellungen (2007, with Bernd U. Schipper). Isaac Kalimi is Gutenberg Research Professor of Hebrew Bible and the History of Ancient Israel at Johannes Gutenberg University Mainz. He is a member of the Belgian Royal Academy for Over­ seas Sciences, and an honorary member of the Scandinavian Society for Iranian Studies. Kalimi authored numerous articles and books, including: The Reshaping of Ancient Israelite History in Chron­icles (2005, reprinted 2012); An Ancient Israelite Historian: Studies in the Chronicler, His Time, Place and Writing (2005); The Retelling of Chronicles in Jewish Tradition and Literature: A Historical Journey (2009); Fighting Over the Bible (2017); Writing and Rewriting the Story of Solomon in Ancient Israel (2018); Metathesis in the Hebrew Bible (2018); Untersuchungen zur Jü­di­ schen Schriftauslegung und Theologie (2018); and The Book of Esther between Jews and Christians: The Biblical Story, Self-identification, and Judeophobic Interpretation (2020). He is editor of many volumes, including: Jewish Bible Theology (2012); New Perspectives on Ezra-Nehemiah (2012); and Bridging between Sister Religions (2016), as well as co-editor of books such as: Biblical Interpretation in Judaism and Christianity (2006); The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Bible and Ethics (2 vols., 2014); and Sennacherib at the Gates of Je­ru­sa­lem (2014).

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232

Contributors

Yigal Levin is Associate Professor ancient Jewish history at Bar-Ilan University, Israel. He is the author of The Chronicles of the Kings of Judah: 2 Chronicles 10–36 – A New Translation and Com­men­tary (2017), and editor/co-editor of several volumes: “And Inscribe the Name of Aaron”: Studies in Bible, Epigraphy, Literacy and History Presented to Aaron Demsky (2017); “See, I will bring a scroll recounting what befell me” (Ps 40:8): Epigraphy and Daily Life - From the Bible to the Tal­mud – Dedicated to the memory of Professor Hanan Eshel (2014); War and Peace in Jewish Tra­ di­tion from the Biblical World to the Present (2012); and A Time of Change: Judah and its Neighbors in the Persian and Early Hellenistic Period (2007). Peter Machinist is (emeritus) Hancock Professor of Hebrew and other Oriental Languages at Harvard University. He has also served as a Fellow at the Wissenschaftskolleg zu Berlin; Lady Davis Visiting Professor at the Hebrew University of Je­ru­sa­lem; Victor and Sylvia Blank Fellow and Visiting Scholar at Oxford University, and Visiting Professor at the University of Munich. He has served on the editorial boards of numerous scholarly organizations, journals, monograph series and encyclopedia on the biblical literature and related ancient Near Eastern fields, including serving as Editor-in-Chief of Old Testament for Hermeneia. He has published on a variety of topics in ancient Near Eastern and biblical studies, including: Provincial Governance in Middle Assyria and Some New Texts from Yale (1982), and Letters from Priests to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal (1998; with Steven W. Cole), as well as many important articles. Herbert Niehr is Professor of Biblical Introduction and History of the Biblical Period at Eber­ hard Karls University Tübingen (Germany) and Professor Extraordinary of Ancient Studies at Stel­lenbosch University (South Africa). He has published on West Semitic philology and religions, including Baʿalšamem: Studien zu Herkunft, Geschichte und Rezeptionsgeschichte eines phönizi­schen Gottes (2003); Götter und Kulte in Ugarit (2004, co-authored with I. Cornelius), furthermore, he has edited The Aramaeans in Ancient Syria (2014) and is co-editor of the Encyclopaedic Dictionary of Phoenician Culture (2018). Manfred Oeming is Professor of Old Testament Theology and Biblical Archaeology at the Ruprecht-Karls-Universität, Heidelberg. His publications include: Warum ist das Alte Testament Teil des christlichen? (PhD 1985, 3rd ed. 2001); Das wahre Israel: Die gegenalogische Vorhalle 1 Chr 1–9 (1991); Verstehen und Glauben: Exegetische Bausteine zu einer Theologie des Alten Testaments (2001); Hiobs Weg: Stationen von Menschen im Leid (co-author with K. Schmid; 1995); Biblische Her­me­neutik: Eine Einführung (1995, 5th ed. 2020); and Das Buch der Psalmen (3 vols., partly together with Joachim Vette; 2000–2016). Gary A. Rendsburg serves as the Blanche and Irving Laurie Professor of Jewish History in the Department of Jewish Studies at Rutgers University. His work focuses on many aspects of biblical studies: language, literature, history, archaeology. He is the author of seven books, including, most recently, How the Bible Is Written (2019). In addition, Rendsburg served as associate editor for the Encyclopedia of Hebrew Language and Linguistics (4 vols., 2013). Jan Retsö is (emeritus) Professor of Arabic in Gothenburg University, Sweden. His publications include: The Finite Passive Voice in Modern Arabic Dialects (1983); Diathesis in the Semitic Lan­ guages. A Comparative Morphological Study (1989); The Arabs in Antiquity. Their History from the Assyrians to the Umayyads (2003); “Nominal Attribution in Semitic. Typology and Di­ach­rony,” Journal of Semitic Studies Supplement 25 (2009); “Petra and Qadesh,” Svensk Exegetisk Årsbok 76 (2011) pp. 115–136.

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Contributors

233

Alexander Rofé taught nearly forty years at the Hebrew University of Je­ru­sa­lem, where he served twice as Chair of the Department of Bible, and retired as full professor in 2000. He has co-edited the series of monographs Je­ru­sa­lem Bible Studies (1979–1986) and has been editor and co-editor of Textus – Studies of the Hebrew University Bible Project (1995–2009). His many books and numerous articles include: The Israelite Belief in Angels (1979; reprinted 2012; Hebrew), The Book of Balaam (Numbers 22.2–24.25) (1979; Hebrew); The Prophetical Stories: The Narratives about the Prophets in the Hebrew Bible (1988), Introduction to Deuteronomy (2002), Introduction to the Literature of the Hebrew Bible (2009), and The Religion of Israel and the Text of the Hebrew Bible (2018; Hebrew). Klaas Spronk is professor of Old Testament at the Protestant Theological University in Am­ster­ dam. He is author of Judges (Historical Commentary on the Old Testament, 2019); editor of The Present State of Old Testament Studies in the Low Countries (2016); and co-editor of Hebrew Texts in Jewish, Christian and Muslim Surroundings (2018); and Torah and Tradition. Papers Read at the Sixteenth Joint Meeting of the Society for Old Testament Study and the Oudtestamentisch Werk­ ge­zelschap 2015 (2017). Abraham Winitzer is Associate Professor of Ancient Near Eastern Languages and History and Jordan H. Kapson Associate Professor of Jewish Studies, at the University of Notre Dame. He is Editor-in-Chief of the Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions, and recently served as a guest editor of Hebrew Bible and Ancient Israel for a volume devoted to the new perspectives on the Babylonian Exile. His publications include: Early Mesopotamian Divination Literature: Its Organizational Framework and Generative and Paradigmatic Characteristics (2017); and currently he is completing an intellectual biography of A.L. Oppenheim: The Worlds of Yesterday: A. Leo Oppenheim and Ancient Mesopotamia in the Light of the Twentieth Century. K. Lawson Younger, Jr. is Professor of Old Testament, Semitic Languages, and Ancient Near Eastern History at Trinity International University, Divinity School (Deerfield, Illinois). He has published a number of works involving ancient Near Eastern texts and their relationship to the Hebrew Bible, such as: Ancient Conquest Accounts (1990), A Political History of the Arameans (2016), associate editor of the three-volume The Context of Scripture: Canonical Compositions, Mon­u­mental Inscriptions and Archival Documents from the Biblical World (Brill), editor of volume 4 of The Context of Scripture: Supplements (2016), and editor of Ugarit at Seventy-Five (2007). He is also the co-editor of Mesopotamia and the Bible: Comparative Explorations (2002). Wolfgang Zwickel is Professor for Old Testament and Biblical Archaeology at Johannes Gu­ten­ berg University Mainz, having been responsible for several excavations: Kamid el-Loz (Lebanon), Khirbet ez-­Ze­ra­qon (Jordan), Accor, Bir Zeit, Jaffa, and Kinneret (Israel). His Pub­li­ca­­tions include: Räucher­kult und Räuchergeräte (1990); Eisenzeitliche Ortslagen im Ost­jor­dan­land (1990); Der Tempelkult in Kanaan und Israel (1994); Der salomonische Tempel von seiner Grün­dung bis zur Zerstörung durch die Babylonier (1999); (together with R. Kletter, I. Ziffer): Yavneh ­I/II. The Excavation of the ‚Temple Hill‘ Repository Pit and the Cult Stands (2010/2015); (together with M. Tilly): Re­li­gions­ge­schich­te Israels (2011); (together with R. Egger-Wenzel and M. Ernst): Her­ ders Neuer Bibelatlas (2013); Studien zur Geschichte Israels (2015); and Settlement History around the Sea of Galilee from the Neolithic to the Persian Period (2017).

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© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG,Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11363-2 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19958-2

Index of Authors Abadie, P. 183 Abarbanel, Y. 123 Abbott, N. 52 Abusch, T.  107 Ackerman, O. 94 Ackerman, S.  155 Aeschylus 202 Aharoni, Y. 100 Aḥiqar 10, 63 Aḥituv, S. 92 Alexander Polyhistor 220 Alexander, P. 160 Al-Maqdissi, M. 77 Alt. A. 132 Alter, R. 21 Amadasi Guzzo, M.G. 75, 77, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87 Amara, D. 141 Ariel, D.T. 226 Aristotle 222 Armstrong, L. R. 50, 51 Arrian 203 Assmann, J. 9 Aster, S.Z. 11, 118 Athistenes of Athens 202 Aucker, W. B. 173 Auld, G. A. 138, 173, 176 Austin, M.M. 169 Avery, H. C. 202, 204 Avigad, N. 26 Avioz, M. 6, 186, 213, 217, 222 Bachvarova, M.R. 176 Bagg, A.M. 70 Baker, R. 135, 139 Baltzer, K. 206 Barako, T. 88, 89 Barclay, J.M.G. 137 Barlow, C. 90 Barnes, J. 222 Barstadt, H. 191

Bartelmus, R. 136 Barthélemy, D. 100 Bartoloni, G. 11 Barton, J. 142, 149, 150 Bartor, A. 145 Bautch, R.J. 177 Beaulieu, P. 167 Becker, U. 173, 174 Becking, B. 142, 197 Beckwith, R. T. 193, 194 Beentjes, P.C. 13, 117, 177, 178, 183, 186, 188 Begg, C.T. 178, 211, 212, 216, 218 Ben-Ami, D. 93, 94, 226 Ben-Tor, A. 34, 93, 94 Ben-Yosef, E. 99 Ben-Zvi, E. 29, 174, 179, 180, 181, 182, 184, 186 Berge, K. 177 Berlejung, A. 13, 94 Berlin, A. 28 Berman, J. 49, 50, 57 Bernhardt, J.C. 225 Berossus 176 Berthelot, K. 228 Bettilyon, M. 99 Bezzel, H. 173, 174 Bickerman, E.J. 197 Biga, M.G. 11 Bird, P.A. 152, 158 Black, S.  Blakely, J. 99 Blenkinsopp, J. 162, 165 Block, D. 105, 106, 115 Blum, E. 81, 101 Boaretto, E. 94, 95 Böck, B. 112 Boda, M.J. 179 Bodner, K. 179 Boer, R. 187 Bonnet, C. 74 Bosworth, C.E. 54. 55.

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Bramanti, A. 11 Brandt, P. 193 Bresciani, E. 155 Brettler, M.Z. 28, 138 Briant, P. 165, 189 Briend, J. 196 Bringmann, K. 169 Bron, F. 85, 86 Brooke, A.E. 124 Broshi, M. 41 Brueggemann, W. 147 Bruins, H. 94 Budde, K. 123 Bunnens, G. 61 Burton, M. 99 Cancik, H. 62, 68 Carr, D.M. 138, 212, 216, 221 Carroll, R.P. 149, 150, 151, 156 Cartledge, T.W. 152 Caskel, W. 51. Castelli, S. 212 Ceccarelli, P. 161 Cecchini, S.M. 75, 83, 84 Charpin, D. 109–110 Cicero 202 Clauss, M. 34, 35 Cogan, M. 12, 13, 15, 96, 100, 119, 214 Cohen, C. 28 Cohen, S.J. D. 214 Cohen, Y. 107 Conroy, C. 17 Cooper, B. 204 Cooper, J. 109–110, 118 Corley, J. 13 Cornill, C.H. 147, 150 Coşkun, A. 227 Crosby, E. 52 Cross, F.M. 126 Cudworth, T.D. 179 Curtis, E.L. 192 Dąbrowa, E. 6, 225, 226, 228 Dalley, S. 113 Dandamayev. M.A. 189 Davies, G.I. 26 Davies, P.R. 179, 205 Day, P.L. 155

De Castelbajac, I. 138 de Hulster, I. 81, 87, 92, 93 De Miroschedji, P. 10 Dearman, J.A. 90 del Olmo Lete, G. 19 Delcor, M. 156 Delsman, W.C. 72, 156 den Braber, M. 20 Dever, W.G. 6, 143, 147, 154, 155, 159 Dietrich, W. 132, 134, 135, 136 Dillery, J. 177 Dion, P.-E. 61, 67, 71, 76, 84, 86, 89 Dios 216, 220 Dirksen, P.B. 173, 176 Doering, L. 164, 172 Dogniez, C. 96 Donner, F.M. 52, 55 Donner, H. 31 Donner, H. 64, 71, 72 Dothan, M. 96 Dozeman, T.B. 9, 48, 49 Duhm, B. 147, 148, 149, 150, 152, 156 Duhm, B. 199 Duling, D.C. 217 Duri, A.A. 52 Dušek, J. 176, 177 Dussaud, R. 74 Dvořáček, J. 217 Dyke, J. 179 Edelman, D.V. 29, 143, 174, 177, 180, 182, 185, 186 Edenburg, C. 177, 179 Edzard, D.O. 113 Ehrlich, A.B. 123 Ehrlich, C. 94 Eichrodt, W. 160 Eitan, A. 40 Ellis, T. A. 145, 158 Ephʽal, I. 155 Epstein, C. 44 Eshel, Y. 178 Ettelson, H.W. 223, 224, 229 Eupolemus 220 Evans, P.S. 174, 176, 177, 179, 183, 185, 186 Fales, F.M. 61, 63, 64, 71, 72, 76 Fantalkin, A. 95, 98

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Index of Authors

Farrell, R. 25 Faust, A. 42 Feeley, J. 221 Feldman, L.H. 211, 212, 214, 220, 221, 223, 224, 228, 229 Feldman, M. 83, 84, 86 Fensham, F.C. 19, 132 Fidler, R. 6, 141, 152 Finkel, I. 166, 199 Finkelstein, I. 32, 34, 41, 89, 92–96, 98, 115, 195, 226 Finkelstein, J.J. 115 Fischer, G. 195 Foster, B.F. 109, 113 Fox, N.S. 26 Frahm, E. 82 Frei, P. 162 Frese, D. 94 Frevel, C. 13, 31, 80, 81, 99, 100, 101, 196 Fried, L.S. 166, 170, 171, 206 Frisch, A. 182 Frolov, S. 138, 139 Frymer-Kensky, T. 25 Fück, J. 53 Fuks, G. 228 Gabriel, G.I. 119 Gafni, I.M. 223, 224, 229 Gal, Z. 42 Galil, G. 90 Galter, H. 9 Gane, R. 13 Ganzel, T. 103 Gaß, E. 84, 90 George, A. 23 George, A.R. 106–110, 112–114, 118 Gerhards, M. 62 Gertz, J.C. 9 Geva, H. 226 Ghantous, H. 88, 93 Gibson, J.C.L. 19, 64, 65, 72, 76 Gibson, S. 94 Giesebrecht, F. 157 Gilan, A. 62 Gilboa, A. 94, 95, 99 Gilibert, A. 64, 67, 68 Ginsberg, H.L. 19

237

Givon, S. 94 Glatt-Gilad, D. 182 Glueck, N. 89 Goffman, E. 145 Goldstein, R. 151, 154, 155 Gordon, C.H. 19, 21, 22, 24, 27 Gordon, R.P. 142 Grabbe, L.L. 138, 156 Graham, M.P. 174, 178, 179, 182, 184 Grassi, G.F. 71, 72, 76 Grätz, S. 5, 165, 166, 167, 170, 171, 172, 197, 199 Graves, R. 22 Gray, J. 19, 100 Grayson, A.K. 31, 37, 69 Green, D.J. 62, 64, 66, 72, 75 Greenberg, M. 105–106, 115, 117, 156 Greenfield, J.C. 21, 115 Greenspahn, F.E. 187 Greenspoon L. 212 Greenstein, E.L. 18, 19, 24, 27, 28 Gressmann, H. 123 Groß, W. 131, 136 Grossman, J. 178 Guichard, M. 112 Guillaume, A. 54, 55 Guillaume, P. 137 Gunkel, H. 47, 48, 104–105, 109 Gunneweg, A. 193, 197 Güterbock, H.G. 62 Gzella, H. 61, 68, 102 Haas, V. 62, 75, 76 Hackett, J. 83 Hafpórsson, S. 89, 93 Hallo, W.W. 6 Halpern B. 212 Hammond, N.G.L. 56 Hanson, P.D. 152 Haran, M. 149, 159 Hardin, J. 99 Harl, M. 96 Harland, P.J. 10 Harmatta, J. 166 Harrison, T. 87, 90 Hasegawa, S. 77, 89, 94, 96–98 Haupt, P. 10 Hawkins, J.D. 62, 67, 71, 78

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Index of Authors

Hayes, J.H. 6, 100 Hays, D. 211, 212, 214 Hayward, C.T.R. 10 Hensel, B. 170, 172 Herodotus 20, 174–175, 202, 205 Herr, L. 89 Herrmann, V.R. 70, 71 Herzberg, H.W. 132 Herzog, Z. 94, 96 Hieke, T. 195 Higham, T. 94 Himbaza, I. 174 Hirsch, S.W. 204 Ho, C. 176 Hobbs, T. 100 Hodgeson, M.G.S. 56 Hoffman, Y. 148, 149, 151, 152, 159 Hoglund, K.G. 174 Holladay, W.L. 143 Hollenberg, J. 125 Holmes, S. 125,126 Holts, S. 103 Hoppe, L.J. 174 Horowitz, J. 53 Houbigant, C. 126 Houtman, C. 46, 48, 49, 142, 143, 155, 156 Hübner, U. 90 Humphreys, S. 52 Hurowitz, V.A. 191, 196, 113, 115–116 Ikeda, Y. 82 Jacobs, B. 197 Jacoby, G. 66 Janssen, J.M.A. 25 Janzen, D. 173, 174, 179, 180 Japhet, S. 14, 131, 175, 179, 181, 182, 184, 186, 193 Jassen, A.P. 187 Jastrow, M. 143 Jeremias, J. 86 Joffe, A. 99 Jonker, L.C. 185, 186, 190, 201 Josephus Flavius 177, 201 Jull, A. 94 Kalimi, I. 3, 4, 17, 117, 124, 135, 142, 164, 173, 174, 175, 177, 178, 180, 182, 189, 190, 191, 192, 194, 195, 211, 212, 213, 218

Kamiankowski, S.T. 104, 110 Kāmil, M. 155 Kang, J.J. 214 Ktesias 202 Kaufmann, Y. 156, 158 Kauhanen T. 212 Keegan, J. 142 Keel, O. 143, 155 Kelle, B.E. 7, 184 Kent, R.G. 167 Keown, G. L. 155 Kermode, F. 21 Khalidi, T. 52 Khoury, R. G. 52 Kilmer, A.D. 112 Kimchi, D. 158 King, G.R.D. 78 Kirkpatrick, A.F. 123 Kleiman, A. 87, 88, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 98, 101 Klein, R.W. 123, 176 Klinger, J. 62 Knauf, E.A. 89, 94 Knoppers, G.N. 13, 88, 172, 173, 176–178, 181, 182, 184, 186, 187, 197, 213 Koch, H. 189 Koch, K. 155, 157 Korpel, M.C.A. 138 Kosters, W. 161 Kratz, R. 138 Kraus, H.-J. 45, 46, 47, 48, 49. Ktesias from Knidos 202 Kuhrt, A. 166 Kulamuwa of Samʾal 64–71 Kutscher, R. 13 Kutsko, J.F. 112, 114 Laato, A. 38 Lane, E. 19 Lange, A. 187 Langer, G. 217 Lapinkivi, P. 113 Lapp, P. 89 Lateiner, D. 175 Lattimore, R. 23 Leder, S. 53 Lehmann, G. 13, 96, 98

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Index of Authors

Lemaire, A. 68, 70, 77, 85, 86, 89, 90, 97, 143, 144, 177, 212 Lemche, N.P. 10 Leuchter, M. 129, 138, 156, 186 Leuenberger, M. 199 Levin, C. 100, 129, 138 Levin, Y. 5, 14, 97, 98, 178, 179, 181, 186, 187, 194, 196 Levinson, B.M. 9, 117 Levy, T. 90, 92, 94, 99 Lichtheim, M. 23, 24 Lidzbarski, M. 64, 65, 72 Liedke, G. 132 Lim, T. H. 173 Lipiński, E. 61, 65, 67, 69, 71, 74, 75, 76, 78, 84, 85, 86, 89, 90, 91, 95, 96 Lipschits, O. 89, 161 Liverani, M. 6–7, 9, 11, 64 Long, V.P. 6 Luschan, F. von 64, 66 Lux, R. 168 Macaulay, G. C. 175 Machiavelli 203 Machinist, P. 11, 79, 112 Madson, A.A. 192 Maeir, A.M. 10, 86, 94, 95 Malamat, A. 10, 11 Malul, M. 106, 110, 142 Manetho 176 Manzies, A. 191 Marcus, R. 13, 216 Marin, L. 187 Marincola, P. 165 Master, D. 99 Mathys, H.-P. 206 Maul, S. 108 Mazar, A. 32, 92, 94 Mazar, B. 30, 79, 80–84, 98, 101 Mazor, L. 124 Mazzoni, St. 74, 75 McBride S.D. 152 McCarter, P.K. 123 McDonald, M.V. 55 McKane, W. 143, 146, 148, 149, 150–152, 157, 160 McKenzie, S.L. 174, 178, 179, 180, 182, 184

239

McLean, N. 124 Meer van der, M.N. 125 Menander 216 Menander 216 Merlo, P. 63, 64 Meyer, E. 51, 161, 162 Millard, A.R. 10, 72, 84, 85, 101 Miller, J.M. 6 Miller, P.D. 152 Mitchell, L. 177, 202, 203, 204 Mommer, P. 132 Montrose, L. A. 160 Moor, J.C. de 138 Moore, M.B. 7 Moran, W.L. 109 Morandi Bonacossi, D. 77, 78 More, T. 188 Moreshet, M. 19 Moshovitz, S. 94 Moussli, M. 78 Mowinckel, S. 141, 148 Müller, R. 133, 138 Munnich, O. 212 Myers, J.M. 186 Mykytiuk, L. 83 Mynářová, J. 176 Na’aman, N. 85–87, 92 Nagel, T. 52 Najjar, M. 89, 99 Namdar, D. 99 Nelson, R.D. 131, 133, 136, 186 Neumann, E. 156 Newby, G.D. 54 Nicholson, E. 48 Nickel, R. 204 Nicklas, T. 195 Niehr, H. 5, 63–67, 68, 70–77, 84, 86, 90, 95, 96, 143, 155, 157 Niemann, H. 96, 98 Nihan, C. 174 Nissinen, M. 103, 108, 113, 114, 156 Nodet, É. 172 Noegel, S.B. 112 Nöldeke, Th. 55 Norton, J.D.H. 212 Noth, A. 52, 56.

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240

Index of Authors

Noth, M. 37, 71, 72, 123, 131, 132, 138, 174 Notley, S. 95, 100 Obermann, J. 52 Oded, B. 144 Oeming, M. 6, 189, 191, 195, 200 Orthmann, W. 75 Osborne, J. 87 Pakkala, J. 170, 171 Panitz-Cohen, N. 92 Parker, S.B. 61, 65, 66, 71, 74 Parpola, S. 63 Paul, S. 86 Payne, A. 62, 78 Pearson, W. 176 Person, R.F. 131, 173 Philiscus of Miletus 220 Philo of Alexandria 176, 177 Phua, R.L.S. 217, 220 Piasetzky, E. 92, 93, 98 Pierce, L. 103 Pitard, W. 79, 80, 82, 83, 88, 96 Plato 202, 203, 204 Pognon, H. 73, 74 Pohlmann, K.-F. 150 Polak, F.H. 29, 30 Pongratz-Leisten, B. 144 Popović, M. 103 Porten, B. 155, 163 Puech, E. 85 Rainey, A. 13, 15, 95, 100 Rassam, A. H. 199 Reinhold, G. 83 Rendsburg, G.A. 5, 18, 21, 23, 25, 26, 30 Rendtorff, R. 48 Retsö, J. 5 Rezetko, R. 173 Richardson, M. E. J. 177 Richelle, M. 30, 30, 96, 97 Richter, W. 132 Riley, W. 177, 182 Rin, S. 19 Rin, Z. 19 Roberts, J.B. 52. Robinson C.F. 52 Robker, J. 102

Rofé, A. 5, 26, 27, 124,125, 141, 143, 144, 148, 149, 155, 158 Rohrmoser, A. 177 Rolleringer, R. 204 Röllig, W. 64, 71, 72, 84 Römer, T. 10, 174 Rom-Shiloni, D. 9 Root, M.C. 167 Rosenthal, F. 52. Roskovec, J. 176 Rowley, H.H. 126, 162 Rubin, U. 54 Rudolph, W. 149 Sabo, P. J. 176 Sader, H. 61 Sallaberger, W. 110 Sanmartín, J. 19 Sasson, J.M. 132 Scalise, P.J. 155 Schade, A. 64, 65, 66, 71 Schaudig, H. 197, 201, 202 Scherer, A. 98, 132, 133, 134, 135, 225 Schmid, K. 9, 144, 161, 194, Schmitt, H.-C. 36 Schmitz, P.C. 66, 70 Schniedewind, W.M. 64, 186, 187 Schoeler, G. 54 Schott, A. 116 Schottroff, W. 113 Schuler, E. Von 62 Schwartz, B.J. 9 Schwartz, D.R. 177, 225, 228 Schweitzer, S. 179, 186, 187, 188 Schwemer, D. 74 Schwiderski, D. 162, 163, 164 Scolnic, B.E. 187 Segal, M.H. 127 Segev, Y. 124 Seibert, E.A. 214 Seland, T. 177 Sellheim, R. 53 Selms, A. van 132, 137 Seow, Ch.-L. 72, 75 Sergi, O. 88, 89, 93, 99 Seri, A. 117, 119 Sezgin, F. 50

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG,Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11363-2 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19958-2

Index of Authors

Shakespeare, W. 160 Sharon, I. 94, 95 Sharon, N. 227 Shaver, J. 181, 182 Shemesh, Y.  186 Siedlecki, A. 179 Sievers, J. 225 Simon, Z. 62, 68 Singer-Avitz, L. 95, 96 Skinner, J. 47 Smelik, K.A.D. 13, 14 Smith, H.P. 124 Smith, M.S. 9, 110, 111, 143, 144 Smothers, T.J. 155 Soggin, J.A. 7 Sokrates 204 Sommer, B. D. 187 Sparks, J.T. 179 Sperling, S.D. 64 Spilsbury, P. 212, 215 Spinoza, B. 124 Spottorno, M.V. 212 Spronk, K. 5, 129, 136, 139 Stager, L.E. 10 Standhartinger, A. 117 Steck, O.H. 36 Steuernagel, C. 126 Stith, D. 81 Stökl, J. 103 Stordalen, T. 177, 187 Stott, K. 202 Streck, M.P. 108, 112 Strobel, K. 62 Stronach, D. 203 Suriano, M.J. 63, 82, 176 Sweeney, M.A. 217 Szanton, N. 226 Tadmor, H. 96, 100, 101, 119, 197 Talmon, S. 17 Talshir, Z. 141 Tatum, J. 203 Tawil, H. 115 Taylor, B. A. 212 Tchekhanovets, Y. 226 Tebes, J. 98 Thackeray, H.St.J. 216

241

Thareani, Y. 80, 101 Thelle, R.I. 177 Thiel, W. 148, 150 Thompson, T.L. 7 Thureau-Dangin, F. 83 Tiňo, J. 173, 178 Torijano, P.A. 217 Tov, E. 187 Trampedach, K. 197 Tropper, J. 64, 65, 66, 67, 68 Tuplin, C. 204 Uehlinger, C. 143, 155 Uhlenbruch, F. 187, 188 Ulmer, R. 159 Ussishkin, D. 92 van der Horst, W. 142 van der Spek, R.J. 201 van der Toorn, K. 63, 142, 159 Van Grol, H. 13 van Keulen, P.S.F. 13 van Loon, H. 181 Van Seters, J. 7, 50, 57, 137, 173 Van Wolde, E. 215 Vanderhooft, D. 189, 199, 205 Vanderhooft, D.S. 103 Vanstiphout, H.L.J. 114 Veijola, T. 131, 134 Venturi, F. 83, 84 Verheyden, J. 211, 217 Vesser, H.A. 160 Von Ehrenkrook, J. 220 von Ranke, L. 3, 142 Walsh, J.T. 217 Warhurst, A.K. 186 Waterfield, R. 214 Watson, W.G.E. 19 Watt, W.M. 54, 55 Watts, J.D.W. 162, 206 Wazana, N. 93, 94 Wecowski, M. 175 Weigl, M. 63 Weigold, M. 187 Weinfeld, M. 149, 159 Weippert, M. 31 Welles, C.B. 168 Wellhausen, J. 9, 14, 55, 123, 127, 161, 184, 191

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Index of Authors

Werman, C. 143 Wesselius, J.W. 20 Westermann, C. 206 Whybray, R.N 47, 56. Wicke, D. 70, 71 Widengren, G. 50, 53, 54, 58. Wiesehöfer, J. 203 Williams, D. 212 Williams, D.S. 224, 225 Williams, T.F. 174, 176, 177, 179, 183, 185, 186 Williamson, H.G.M. 11, 14, 164, 182 Wilson, J.A. 39 Wilson-Wright, A. 83 Winitzer, A. 6, 103, 104, 115, 116 Winter, I.J. 83, 84, 118 Wolff, H. 86 Worthington, M. 112 Wright, J.L. 166

Wright, J.W. 177, 213 Wunsch, C. 110 Xenophon 202–205, 207 Yadin, Y. 10, 33 Yahalom-Mack, N. 98 Yamada, S. 69, 70, 81 Yardeni, A. 155, 163 Yerushalmi, Y.H. 119 Young, I. 65 Younger, K.L. 5, 35, 61, 64, 66, 67, 71, 72, 75, 76, 77, 78, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, Zakkur of Hamath  71–78 Zakovitch, Y. 24 Zalewski, S. 176 Zawanowska M. 211 Zevit, Z. 150, 156, 157 Zilberstein, A. 226 Zimmerli, W. 106 Zwickel, W. 5, 32, 34, 35, 38, 40, 42, 44, 88, 90

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG,Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11363-2 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19958-2

Index of Sources 1. Hebrew Bible Genesis 1........................................ 114 2:1–2................................. 158 4.......................................... 17 6:18................................... 110 9:1–17............................... 110 15–21.................................. 17 18........................................ 27 18:6..................................... 21 18:7..................................... 21 18:10................................... 28 18:14.................................... 28 24........................................ 21 25:21................................... 17 26:3................................... 153 29........................................ 21 29:1–30............................... 21 29:31................................... 17 30:22................................... 17 30:27................................. 115 31:41................................... 23 35 ........................................ 22 35:2..................................... 22 39........................................ 22 50:26................................... 25 Exodus 2:15–22............................... 21 5:6–13................................ 218 7:7........................................ 17 12:1–11............................... 20 12:21–28............................. 20 12:34................................... 20 12:35................................... 22 12:37................................... 20 12:37–38............................. 20 12:39................................... 20 12:41................................... 20 13:18................................... 20

15–19.................................. 22 15:11................................. 144 16–19.................................. 20 20:2–4.............................. 143 23:13................................. 158 24........................................ 20 32–34................................ 220 Leviticus 26:9................................... 153 26:34, 35........................... 191 Numbers 10–27.................................. 22 10–36 ................................. 20 23:19................................. 153 25.............................. 143, 220 25:15, 18........................... 116 30...................................... 152 30:13–14........................... 153 31–34.................................. 22 Deuteronomy 1:1....................................... 96 4:3–4................................. 143 4:15–19............................. 143 4:19 .................................. 158 4.32–40 ........................... 144 4:35, 39............................. 144 5:6–8................................. 143 6:4..................................... 143 11:16–17........................... 125 11:30................................... 96 17...................................... 222 17:3.................................... 158 17:8–13............................. 132 17:18.................................. 181 18...................................... 199 18:9–12............................. 181

19:15................................... 12 24:16................................. 181 32:17......................... 143, 146 Joshua...................................... 5 1:1..................................... 129 1–5...................................... 20 6.................................... 10, 11 6:1–14................................. 20 6:15–21............................... 20 6:26........................... 124,125 16:10......................... 125,126 19:47........................................ 24:29................................... 25 Judges....................................... 5 1–16.......................... 138, 139 1:1..................................... 129 1:29................................... 126 1:34–35............................. 126 2:7–15............................... 143 2:9–16............................... 139 2:16................................... 130 3:9–10............................... 139 3:9..................................... 130 3:10................................... 139 3:15........................... 130, 139 3:31................... 136, 137, 139 4:4–5......................... 133, 136 4:4..................................... 139 5:6..................................... 137 5:8..................................... 143 6:14–15............................. 139 6:25–32............................. 143 6:32................................... 130 8:22–23............................ 133 9................................ 129, 130 9:2..................................... 133 9:22................................... 133

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10–12................................ 137 10:1–5............... 131, 136, 137 10:1................................... 137 10:3................................... 137 11:24................................. 143 12:8–15............. 131, 136, 137 12:8................................... 137 12:11................................. 137 12:13................................. 137 13........................ 17, 136, 138 13:2........................... 129, 138 13:5........................... 136, 139 13:15–16............................. 21 14–16................................ 136 15:14–16........................... 137 15:20................................. 139 16:21................................. 130 16:31................................. 139 17–21................................ 139 17–18................................ 138 17:1............................ 129, 138 17:6................................... 129 18:1................................... 129 19–21................................ 138 19:1........................... 129, 138 21...................................... 138 21:25................................. 129 Samuel.............................. 5, 14 1 Samuel 1–8............................ 138, 139 1.......................................... 17 1:1..................... 129, 138, 185 1:11................................... 152 1:13................................... 136 1:21........................... 152, 153 6:15................................... 185 7........................................ 136 7:2–17............................... 131 7:5–6................................. 134 7:13–14............................. 135 7:15–17.... 132, 133, 134, 139 8:1–2................................. 134 8:1–5........................ 134–135 8:5............................. 129, 138 8:20................... 129, 135, 138

9.......................... 21, 138, 139 9:1............................. 129, 138 11...................................... 176 12:7........................... 134, 135 12:9................................... 130 12:11................................. 135 13–30................................ 176 15:33................................. 136 16...................................... 175 16:1–13............................... 17 17:51.................................... 24 18:1–3............................... 111 25:1.................. 132, 133, 134 26:19................................. 143 27:6................................... 123 28...................................... 176 31....................................... 176 2 Samuel 2:9.................................... 185 5:1–3................................ 184 5:3..................................... 175 5:6–9................................. 178 5:11.................................. 178 5:13–16............................ 178 5:17–25............................. 178 7:11.................................... 130 7:13................................... 191 8:7–8, 11........................... 127 8:16–17............................... 26 9–20.................................. 212 11:21................................. 130 12:20................................. 124 12:24–25.................. 211, 213 13:23................................. 185 14:26................................. 126 14:27................................. 127 15:1–6............................... 137 15:4................................... 133 15:24................................. 185 18:6................................... 185 20:24–25............................ 26 23:8–39.................... 136, 137 23:9................................... 137 23:11–12........................... 136

23:11................................. 137 24...................................... 183 Kings................................... 14 1 Kings 1–11.......................... 211–214 1–2.............................. 17, 212 1:35–40............................ 218 1:48................................... 213 2........................................ 212 2:15b................................. 213 2:24................................... 213 3................................ 212, 215 3:9............................. 129, 135 3:16–28............................. 215 4................................ 212, 218 4:3....................................... 26 4:17................................... 185 4:18................................... 185 5–7.................................... 212 5:4..................................... 217 5:7..................................... 217 5:9–14............................... 217 5:13–14............................. 217 5:15–24............................. 164 5:26–28............................ 218 5:27–32............................. 217 5:29–30............................. 217 6:1..................................... 218 6:12 .................................. 153 6:23–28............................ 220 8–9.................................... 212 8:4..................................... 185 9:16–18............................. 125 10...................................... 212 11...................................... 212 11:1–10............................ 143 11:5................................... 158 11:11–13........................... 182 11:26................................. 185 12...................................... 217 12:20................................. 182 12:31................................. 185 14:19................................... 26 14:22................................. 183 14:26................................. 126

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Index of Sources

14:29................................... 26 15:1–8........................... 37, 38 15:2................................... 127 15:3................................... 183 15:11................................. 183 15:17–22............................. 39 15:20................................... 32 15:27................................. 185 15:29................................... 33 16:5,7–9.............................. 39 16:29–22:40....................... 12 16:29–19:18...................... 125 16:29–33........................... 125 16:34........................ 124, 125 17........................................ 36 17:1–6................................. 36 17:1.................................... 125 18............................ 35, 36156 18:36–38............................. 27 20.................................. 82, 83 2 Kings 2:4–5................................. 125 2:11..................................... 27 2:12..................................... 27 4.......................................... 27 4:16–17............................... 28 4:38–44 ........................ 4, 36 5:15................................... 139 8:1................................. 35, 36 8:27 .................................. 183 8:28–29......................... 81, 88 8:28..................................... 97 9:14–15......................... 81, 88 9:16................................... 102 9:21–29............................... 81 10:32–33.......... 82, 89–90, 97 10:33................................. 185 11........................................ 27 12:11................................... 26 12:18............... 91, 94, 98, 101 12:18–19............................. 96 12:19................................... 94 13........................................ 30 13:2..................................... 97 13:7..................................... 97

13:17................................... 97 13:22................ 90–91, 96–98 13:25................................... 90 14:6................................... 181 14:22................................. 100 14:25................................... 97 14:28................................... 97 16:6............................ 99–100 15:5................... 133, 137, 178 15:19................................... 41 16........................................ 27 17...................................... 185 18:13–19:37........................ 15 18:13–16............................. 15 18:18................................... 26 18:37................................... 26 19:2..................................... 26 20........................................ 27 20:1–11............................. 195 20:12–19........................... 195 20:32–33............................. 37 21.................................. 13, 14 21:7........................... 155, 158 21:8 .................................. 181 22:3–14............................... 26 22:8................................... 181 23:4, 7....................... 155, 158 23:19 ................................ 182 23:22......................... 131, 175 23:26–27............................ 14 24:1–4................................. 14 24:18–25.................. 192, 195 25:7................................... 130 25:27–30........................... 190 25:27 ................................ 188 Isaiah..................................... 11 6–12................................... 11 10:5–15........................ 11, 12 15:2..................................... 90 23:15 ................................ 196 36–37.................................. 15 38–39................................ 195 41:4, 23–24...................... 144 43:11................................. 144 44:6................................... 144

44:28................................. 168 44:24–45,1–5*................. 198 44:24 ................................ 199 44:25–28 ......................... 199 44:28................................. 191 45 ..................................... 189 45:1–7 .............................. 199 45:1–3 .............................. 199 45:1 .................................. 191 45:4................................... 199 45:5–6............................... 144 45:6bα–7 .......................... 199 45:8 .................................. 199 57:5.................................... 119 57:8................................... 115 Jeremiah 2:18, 36............................. 151 7:1–15............................... 148 7:9...................................... 151 7:17–19............................. 151 7:18.................. 142, 143, 148, 150, 152, 154, 155, 156 9:13................................... 151 17:2................................... 115 21:1–7............................... 148 22:8–9............................... 149 24:4–7............................... 151 24:8–10............................. 158 29:10 ................................ 191 37:3–10............................. 151 38:14–18........................... 151 39–40................................ 186 42–43............................... 158 42:15–18........................... 148 43:2................................... 157 43:4–7....................... 141, 150 43:7–8............................... 149 44 .... 141, 143, 144, 145, 148, 149, 150, 151, 157, 160 44:1 ................. 141, 146, 147, 149, 157 44:1–9............................... 141 44:2–14..................... 146, 148 44:2–10............................. 148 44:2–6...................... 145, 146

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Index of Sources

44:2................................... 154 44:3.................. 146, 148, 154 44:4................................... 141 44:5................................... 154 44:6................................... 154 44:7–10............................. 149 44:7–8............... 143, 145, 146 44:8.................. 146, 148, 154 44:9........... 145, 146, 148, 154 44:10......................... 146, 148 44:11–14 .. 143, 145, 146, 158 44:11–12........................... 148 44:13........................ 146, 148 44:15–19 ........ 141, 142, 146, 149, 150, 151, 157, 158, 160 44:15–18........................... 154 44:15 ....... 141, 146, 149, 150, 152, 157, 158 44:16......................... 144, 153 44:16–19........................... 152 44:16–18........................... 153 44:17 ....... 142, 146, 147, 148, 150, 153, 154, 155 44:17–19 ................. 142, 154 44:17–18 ......... 142, 145, 147, 153, 160 44:18......... 151, 152, 154, 155 44:19....... 150, 152, 153, 154, 155, 158 44:20 ............... 141, 149, 157 44:20–30.......................... 147 44:20–23.......................... 151 44:21–23................... 145, 147 44:21–22........................... 160 44:21......................... 148, 154 44:24................. 149, 152, 157 44:24–30 ........................ 141 44:24–26.......................... 150 44:24–25.......................... 146 44:25 .............. 141, 142, 150, 151, 152–153, 154, 155 44:26......................... 149, 155 44:26–28 ........................ 141 44:26–27.......................... 148 44:27... 143, 145, 146, 148, 149 44:28......................... 146, 150

44:29–30 ................ 141, 148 44:30................................. 146 51:11.................................. 127 52............................. 192, 195 Ezekiel 7:20................................... 114 8: 5–17.............................. 160 16........ 6, 104–105, 109–111, 115, 117–119 16:1–7............................... 110 16:4–14..................... 104, 106 16:6................................... 110 16:8................................... 104 16:15–34........................... 106 16:17................................. 111 16:17–19........................... 114 16:21................................. 119 16:24–25........................... 106 16:33................................. 119 16:34................................. 109 16:35–63........................... 107 16:36......... 107, 108, 115, 117 16:60................................. 107 16:61, 63........................... 107 16:63................................. 108 23...................................... 105 23:14................................. 114 23:39................................. 119 28...................................... 103 28:31, 36........................... 115

Nahum............................... 10 Jonah 1:9 .......................... 190 Haggai .................................... 9 1:2 .................................... 197 1:6, 10–11 ........................ 197 Zechariah.............................. 9 Malachi ....................... 9, 194 Psalms 72:1–4............................... 135 72:4................................... 139 89:6–7............................... 144 90:10 ................................ 196 113:9................................... 27 Proverbs 2:16..................................... 27 5:3....................................... 27 Song of Songs 4:4..................................... 127 Ruth 1.......................................... 21 2:9....................................... 21 Lamentation .................... 194

Hosea..................................... 9 2:10................................... 160

Esther ............................... 194 7:4 ..................................... 191

Amos 1:1...................................... 42 1:3................................ 82, 90 1:13–15............................... 90 6:2.......................... 84–86, 94 Micah 4:5..................................... 143

Daniel 2:18, 19, 37, 44 ................. 190 2:47................................... 190 3:28–29............................. 190 4:34 .................................. 190 6:26–29............................ 190 9........................................ 151 9:2..................................... 191

Joel......................................... 9

Ezra–Nehemiah ...... 193, 194

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Ezra .......................... 5, 9, 191 1........ 189, 194, 196, 197, 205 1:1–3........ 190, 191, 192, 193 1:1..................................... 196 1:2c ................................... 191 1:2cβ ................................ 195 1:3b .................................. 195 1:3c ................................... 195 4:1–5 ................................ 197 5:1, 12 ............................... 190 5:13 .................................. 196 6................ 189, 194, 197, 205 6:9, 10 ............................... 190 6:3 .................................... 196 7:12, 21, 23 ...................... 190 1:3–4................................. 172 4‒7... 161, 162, 164, 166, 172 4:1–5................................. 170 4:7–24....................... 170, 171 4:6‒11....................... 162, 163 4:17................................... 163 5:6–17............................... 171 6:1–5......................... 165, 166 6:6–12....................... 166, 171 6:8–10....................... 167, 169 7‒10.................................. 171 7:1–10................................ 171 7:12–26............ 161, 166, 170, 171, 172 7:26........................... 161, 172 7:27................................... 171 8:24–30............................ 171 9‒10.................................. 171 9........................................ 151 10:10, 16........................... 172 Nehemiah............................... 9 1:1..................................... 170 1:4, 5 ................................ 190 1:5–11............................... 151 2:1..................................... 170 2:10................................... 170 3:33–36............................. 170 4:1–2................................. 170 4:20 .................................. 190 6:1–14............................... 170

8........................................ 171 8:2, 9................................. 171 9........................................ 151 9:6..................................... 144 Chronicles... 5, 6, 9, 14, 15, 16, 194, 195, 196 1 Chronicles...... 191, 193, 194 1–9 ................................... 195 2:23..................................... 88 3:5...................................... 17 3:17–24 ............................ 193 5:25–26............................. 182 5:29–41........................... 171 6:13, 18............................. 175 6:33................................... 181 7:2..................................... 175 7:27................................... 175 9:22................................... 175 10...................................... 176 11:1–3............................... 184 11:2–4............................... 182 11:3................................... 175 11:4–8............................... 178 11:10–47.......................... 178 12–14................................ 178 12:1–23............................. 184 12:24–41.......................... 184 15:15................................. 181 17:12 ................................. 191 18:8................................... 127 21..................................... 183 22...................................... 213 22:5................................... 211 22:12................................. 215 22:13................................. 181 23:1................................... 211 26:28................................. 175 27:16–22........................... 184 28–29................................ 211 28...................................... 213 28:6................................... 213 29:22–24.......................... 218 29:29................................. 175 2 Chronicles...... 191, 193, 194 1–9.................................... 211

2:3, 11............................... 164 8:13................................... 181 11:20–21........................... 127 12:9................................... 126 14:1................................... 183 14:19................................. 183 16:12................................. 183 17:9.................................... 181 19:5–11............................. 181 22:4................................... 183 23:18................................. 181 24:6................................... 181 24:9................................... 181 24:17–18........................... 183 25:4................................... 181 26:6............................... 86, 94 26:21................................. 178 28:17................................. 100 30:1–11..................... 179, 182 30:16................................. 181 32:1–23............................... 15 33.................................. 13, 14 33:2–10, 10–19............ 13, 14 33:8................................... 181 33:11–12.......................... 183 34:6.................................. 182 34:14................................ 181 35:7.......................... 167, 168 35:18.......... 131, 139, 175, 182 35:19................................ 179 36 ... 191, 193–195, 197, 198, 199, 205 36:11–21........................... 192 36:11–12 .......................... 195 36:17–20 .......................... 196 36:21 ........................ 191, 206 36:22–23......... 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195 36:22................................. 188 36:23 ......................... 191,193 36:23c .............................. 195 36:23cβ ............................ 195

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2. Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha Additions to Daniel 5:62................................... 228 14 / Bel 1:28..................... 191 5:63................................... 223 5:67................................... 223 Ben Sira 7:6..................................... 223 47:12–18........................... 217 7:10.................................... 223 47:19–21........................... 217 7:27................................... 223 7:32................................... 226 Judith.................................. 10 8:20................................... 223 Prayer of Manasseh............ 14 10:15................................. 223 Tobit.................................... 10 13:1–16: 17....................... 224 13:41–42........................... 224 1 Maccabees ......................... 6 13:43–48.......................... 224 1:33................................... 226 13:45–47.......................... 224 2:31................................... 226 13:47–48........................... 224 3:25................................... 223 13:49–50........................... 224 3:42–43............................ 223 13:50–51........................... 227 4:36................................... 223 13:51–52........................... 224 4:59................................... 223 13:52................................. 224 5:10................................... 223 13:53................................. 224 5:61................................... 223 14:4–15............................. 224

14:16–24........................... 225 14:16–49........................... 225 14:25–49.......................... 225 14:27–47........................... 227 14:41................................. 225 14:47................................. 227 14:49................................. 225 15:1–9...................... 225, 227 15:2................................... 227 15:15–24........................... 227 15:15–25........................... 225 15:25–36........................... 225 15:26–36........................... 227 15:32–36........................... 225 15:38–16: 10............ 225, 227 16:11–17........................... 225 3 Maccabees 6:28 .................................. 191

3. Dead Sea Scrolls 4QSama (/ 4Q51)............. 126 4. Septuagint ..................... 5 Joshua 6:26.......................... 124–125 16:10........................ 125–126 19:47................................ 126 5. Rabbinic Sources Jerusalem Talmud Sanhedrin10:2 (29b)......... 125

2 Samuel 8:7..................................... 126 14:27................................. 127

1 Kings 5:14.................................... 126

Babylonian Talmud ........ 194 Arachin 32b...................... 220 Baba Batra 14b................ 127

Sanhedrin 64a.................. 220 Yebamot 121b .................. 142

6. New Testament and Christian Sources Isaac of Antioch............... 143 7. Ancient Near Eastern and Archaeological Sources Aḥiqar KAI 202....................... 71–78 HAMA 7 ........................... 78 KAI 218.............................. 69 KAI 23 .............................. 70 KAI 24 ....................... 64–71 Egyptian Texts KAI 25 ............................... 68 Papyrus Anastasi VI, KAI 181:20........................ 39 4:11–5:5.............................. 25

Papyrus Amherst 63.......... 63 Sheshonq’s Annals............. 26 Shipwrecked Sailor............ 22 Sinuhe................................. 22 Sinuhe, MS B, 138–140..... 23 Sinuhe, MS B, 285–293..... 23

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Tale of Two Brothers (P. D’Or­biney = P. BM 10183).22 Wenamon........................... 22 Elephantine Papyri TAD A4:1........................ 172 TAD A4:7, 8..................... 166 TAD A4:9........................ 166 TAD A6:1........................ 163 B7.3:3 Recto............. 155, 159 Hermopolis letters 4:1.... 155, 156, 159 Gilgamesh................ 6, 22, 29 Epic of Gilgamesh (SB) I 65–69............................. 107 I 72–77............................. 107 I 94–98............................. 107 I 99–103............................ 111 I 99–104........................... 107 I 105–112.......................... 107 I 140–145, 162–166......... 107 I 143, 164.................. 116, 118 I 180–188......................... 107 I 180–193......................... 107 I 181, 189.................. 116, 119 I 182, 190.......................... 119 I 184, 191.......................... 110 I 194–195......................... 108 I 199.................................. 110 I 207–211.......................... 108 I 229–232......................... 108 I 231.................................. 116 I 246–258......................... 108 I 267, 289.......................... 108 I 276–285......................... 108 I 295–297......................... 108 I 299–300......................... 108

II 34–37, 44...................... 108 II 112................................ 108 VII 101–131..................... 110 XI, 262–270....................... 23 Epic of Gilgamesh (OB) Penn II 85–108................ 108 Enūma elîš ............... 117, 201 Esaĝil ............................... 201 Epic of Zimri-Lim I 13–15.............................. 112 III 31, 33........................... 112 Ištar’s Descent 91–92......................... 113n46 Lugalbanda I 358–359.......................... 114 Semitic Epigraphy Adad-nērārī III (Calaḫ rthostat)...................... 101 Barrākib Inscription.......... 86 Cyrus Cylinder............... 189, 198–201, 205 Darius I (DNa 15‒19) .... 167 Epic of Tukulti-Ninurta.... 79, 102 Hazael Inscription: Tell Afis................. 85–86 Hazael Booty Inscription: Arslan Taş............. 83–85 Horse Blinker..................... 84 Horse Frontlet.................... 84 Nimrud.............................. 88 Kilamuwa inscription .... 200 Melqart Stela...................... 83

8. Greek, Jewish-Hellenistic and Roman Sources Aeschylus, The Persians, Arrian Anabasis of Alexander lines 768–772 ............ 202 3.27,4................................ 202 6.24................................... 202 Antisthenes of Athens Kyros 6.29 .................................. 202 ou peri basileias .......... 202

Mesha Stela........... 26, 30, 86, 90–91 Nabonid brick inscriptions ................ 197 Šamši-Adad V.................... 82 Sennacherib’s inscriptions............ 15, 26 Shalmaneser III, Kurkh Monolith................. 2–13 Tel Dan Stela... 26, 36, 37, 81, 88, 92 Zakkur Inscription............ 87 Ugaritic Texts (CAT) 1.14 col. I, 14...................... 19 1.14 col. II, 4–5.................. 18 1.14 col. II, 9 – col. III, 51. 20 1.14 col. III, 38–40............ 18 1.14 col. III, 55 – col. IV, 9. 20 1.14 col. IV, 9–12............... 20 1.14 col. IV, 13–18............. 20 1.14 col. IV, 19–36 ............ 20 1.14 col. IV, 36–43............. 20 1.14 col. IV, 44–48............. 20 1.14 col. IV, 49 – col. V, 2.. 20 1.14 col. V, 3–5................... 20 1.14 col. V, 6....................... 20 1.14 col. VI, 22–25............. 18 1.15 col. I............................ 18 1.15 col. II........................... 18 1.15 col. II, 23 – col. III, 25. 18 1.15 col. III, 16................... 18 1.17 col. I, 18–19................ 18 1.17 col. I, 42–43............... 18 1.17 col. II, 14–15.............. 18 1.17 col. V, 16–19............... 21 1.17 col. V, 22–25............... 21

Cicero, Epistulae 1.1,23... 202 Herodotus, Histories Prologue.................. 174–175 1.210 ................................ 202

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3.91................................... 167 7.184–185.......................... 39 Iliad 6:156–170.......................... 22 8:389................................... 27 23:192–211........................ 27 Josephus Flavius Against Apion 1.114–115........................ 216 1.155–159 ........................ 137 Jewish Antiquities 10.40–46........................ 3–14 11.5 .................................. 201 2.288................................. 218 4.152–155........................ 220 4.223................................. 222 7.158................................... 211 7. 335–394........................ 212 7.336................................. 213 7.381................................. 215 7.382................................. 218 7.390–391........................ 221 8.1–211............................. 212 8.1..................................... 219 8.23................................... 215 8.24................................... 215 8.26–29............................. 216 8.30................................... 216

8.34........................... 215, 216 8.38................................... 218 8.42................................... 215 8.45–49............................. 217 8.58................................... 218 8.59................................... 218 8.143................................. 216 8.165................................. 215 8.171................................. 215 8.187................................. 218 8.190................................. 220 8.190–194........................ 219 8.211................................. 221 17.19–21........................... 219 4.223–224........................ 228 6.35–36............................. 228 8.55‒56..................... 164, 165 12.138, 139....................... 169 11.111............................... 228 12.283............................... 224 12.432............................... 224 13.155–157...................... 224 13.181............................... 224 13.183............................... 224 13.197–207...................... 224 13.199–200...................... 227 13.212............................... 227 13.213–214...................... 224 13.213–215...................... 224 13.214............................... 227 13.215............................... 225

13.215–217.............. 224, 225 13.223–227...................... 227 13.223–228...................... 226 13.223–229...................... 224 13.224............................... 226 13.225–227...................... 226 13.227............................... 226 13.228............................... 226 13.252............................... 226 13.323............................... 226 14.91................................. 228 Jewish War 1.561–563 1.561–563........................ 219 1.39................................... 226 1.50................................... 225 1.50–53.................................... 229........................................... 5.137................................. 226 5.139........................................ 225........................................... Odyssey................................ 22 23:102................................. 23 23:152–155........................ 23 23:207–208........................ 23 Polybius, Histories 6.9..................................... 214 22.8................................... 169

9. Islamic Sources Abū ʿUbayda = Kitāb ayyām al-ʿarab qabla l-islām li-Abī ʿUbayda Maʿmar b. al-Muthannā at-Tamīmī (ed. ʿĀdil Ǧāsim al-Bayyātī; Bayrūt, 1987)............................................................ 53 Ibn Hishām = ʿAbd al-Malik b. Hishām: Kitāb at-tīǧān (ed. Zayn al-ʿĀbidīn al-Mūsawī; Haydarabad, 1929)..................................................................................................................... 54 Ibn Isḥāq = Muḥammad ibn Isḥāq: Das Leben Muhammeds nach Muhammed b. Ishâq bearbeitet von ʿAbd al-Malik b. Hishâm (ed. F. Wüstenfeld; Göttingen, 1858/60).... 52, 54–57 Sayf b. ʿUmar al-Tamîmî: Kitâb ar-ridda wa’ l-futûh and Kitâb al-jamal wa masîr ʿ Â’isha wa ʿAlî (ed. Qāsim Al-Samarrai; Leiden, 1995)....................................................... 55, 56 aț-Ṭabarī = Annales quos scripsit Abu Djafar Mohammed Ibn Djarir At-Tabari (vols. 1–15; ed. M. de Goeje et al.; Leiden, 1897–1901)............................................... 54–56, 58 al-Wāqidī = Kitāb al-maghāzī of al-Wāqidī (vols 1–3; ed. M. Jones; London, 1966).................. 52

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