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Jou Study of the Id Testament Volume 32.2 · December 2007

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Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Editors: John Jarick (Oxford) and Keith W. Whitelam (Sheffield) Book List Editor: John Day (Oxford)

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Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Volume 32.2

December 2007 CONTENTS

EVELINE J. VAN DER S T E E N AND KLAAS A . D . SMELIK

King Mesha and the Tribe of Dibon

139-162

JAMES C. OKOYE Sarah and Hagar: Genesis 16 and 21

163-175

STEVEN D.MASON Another Flood? Genesis 9 and Isaiah's Broken Eternal Covenant

177-198

ANDREW HOCK-SOON NG Revisiting Judges 19: A Gothic Perspective

199-215

NANCY TAN The Chronicler's Obed-edom': A Foreigner and/or a Lévite?

217-230

HECTOR M. PATMORE The Shorter and Longer Texts of Ezekiel: The Implications of the Manuscript Finds from Masada and Qumran

231-242

JONATHAN S. GREER A Marzeah and a Mizraq: A Prophet's Mêlée with Religious Diversity in Amos 6.4-7

243-262

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Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Vol 32.2 (2007): 139-162 © 2007 SAGE Publications, Los Angeles, London, New Delhi and Singapore DOI: 10.1177/0309089207085880 http://JSOT.sagepub.com

King Mesha and the Tribe of Dibon

EVELINE J. VAN DER STEEN AND KLAAS A.D. SMELIK University of Liverpool, Department of Archaeology, Hartley Building, Brownlow Street, Liverpool L69 3GS Faculteit Letteren en Wijsbegeerte, Universiteit Gent, Sint-Pietersplein 6, B-9000 Gent, Belgium

Abstract The Mesha Inscription has attracted much attention and scholarly debate ever since its discovery. King Mesha of Moab, mentioned in the Bible, threw off the yoke of Omride supremacy and reigned from his capital of Dibon over a kingdom that extended both north and south of the Wadi Mujib (the river Arnon). The identification of modern-day Dhiban with Dibon has never been doubted. In this article, however, it is suggested that Dibon, mentioned in the inscription, was not Mesha’s capital, but the tribe of which he was the leader. Mesha forged a tribal confederation into a tribal kingdom in Moab. The name of Mesha’s capital was Carchoh, also mentioned in the inscription and located at present-day Dhiban. Biblical Kir-Hareseth is identified with this same Carchoh, and the heartland of Mesha’s kingdom is north of the Wadi Mujib. Keywords: Mesha, Moab, Dibon, Kir-Hareseth, Carchoh, tribes, state formation.

Ever since its spectacular discovery, and the messy battle over its acquisition (Graham 1989), the Mesha Stela, or Moab Inscription, has been the subject of unceasing interest and study, as well as a fair amount of

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controversy (see articles in Dearman [ed.] 1989; Smelik 1992; Na’aman 1997; Finkelstein 2000; Rainey 2000; Steiner 2001; Routledge 2004: 13353, with references). This present article is concerned with one specific problem in the stela: that of the name of Dibon, and its generally accepted identification with the present-day village of Dhiban. We shall suggest here that when Mesha called himself a ‘Diboni’, he referred to a tribal affiliation. In other words, Mesha’s Dibon was a tribe rather than a town. The name ‘Dibon’ only became attached to the city of Karchoh after Mesha had made it his capital, not before. As a consequence, biblical Kir Hareseth, Mesha’s capital in the book of Kings, may be identified with Karchoh and therefore lie north of the Wadi Mujib, which has implications for our understanding of the borders of Moab. Our hypothesis also has consequences for the social and political organization of Moab in the time of Mesha, and for the status of Mesha as ruler of Moab. We suggest that Moab was a tribal kingdom, where the Diboni were the leading tribe. Various Problems Notwithstanding the fact that the contents of Mesha’s inscription is rather clear, there are various problems that scholars in the past have been struggling with. For example: 1. There is a tension between Mesha’s claims of authority over all of Moab and his need for major campaigns during his reign. This relates directly to the question whether Moab was a ‘real’ state, and if so, what kind of state. This question has been the subject of much speculation (Dearman 1989; Na’aman 1997; Rainey 2000; Steiner 2001; Routledge 2004). 2. General opinion on the territorial extension of Moab into the south, including Kerak and a place named Hawronen (which is identified with biblical Horonaim) rests on a rather shaky foundation: the find of a fragment of another possible stela that possibly bears the name of Mesha’s father, Kemosh-yat(ti), in Kerak; the possible identification of Kerak with Kir-Hareseth (based largely on similarity in sound) and the uncertain identification of Horonaim (Miller 1989: 34-35). A look at the map (Fig. 1) makes this clear: every place mentioned in the inscription lies north of the Wadi Mujib, with the exception of these two sites, which seem to be too far to the south to form a unity with the northern part of

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VAN DER STEEN AND SMELIK King Mesha

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the kingdom. Routledge solves this problem by suggesting that other sites, in between, may have been mentioned on the missing part of the stela. This is not very likely (see Miller 1989: 36; see also the literary analysis of the stela by Smelik 1990 and 1992). 3. The Dibon/Karchoh controversy: one assumes that Dibon was Mesha’s capital, but in the stela this city is called Karchoh, not Dibon. The usual solution to this problem is to propose that Karchoh was the ‘acropolis’ of Dibon. But is this the most likely solution? 4. The discrepancy between Mesha’s account and the story in 2 Kings 3. According to Mesha, he defeated Israel completely; but according to the Bible, it was he who was defeated (see, e.g., Smelik 1992). Starting with the question of the identification of Dibon, we shall try to shed new light on some of these problems. Dibon/Dhiban The fact that the stela was found at Dhiban and mentioned Dibon, and that there is an obvious etymological similarity between the two names, made identification of Dibon with Dhiban inevitable, and the identification has never really been doubted so far. There are, however, some problems if we accept it. The first problem that arises with regard to the identification of Dibon with Dhiban originates long before Mesha, in the Late Bronze Age. There are several Egyptian sources that mention a city called Tpn or Tbn. The first is the famous topographical list from the reign of Thutmosis III (c. 1450 BCE). Here the name Tpn does not have a town-determinative, which leads Dearman, among others, to suggest that Tpn was a region rather than a town (Dearman 1989: 172; see also Kitchen 1992: 25).1 A topographical text from the forecourt of Ramesses II in the Luxor temple proved to be a palimpsest. The original text, which apparently also dated from the reign of Ramesses II, mentions a ‘Town that Pharaoh’s arm captured: Tbn’. Kitchen (1964) has identified Tbn with Dibon, almost as a 1. Redford’s suggestion (1982) that place-names 89-101 on the topographical list of Tutmoses represent an itinerary through Transjordan is tenuous to say the least. None of the identifications suggested by Redford are more than mere possibilities, and many are problematic. It is only the accumulation of these possibilities that leads him to his conclusion. See Na’aman 1994: 184 n. 7; van der Steen 2004: 8-9.

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matter of course, but this identification was refuted by Ahituv in an article from 1972 (see also Weippert 1979: 27 and Smelik 1984: 88). The main objection to Kitchen’s identification is the fact that there are no archaeological remains from the Late Bronze Age at Dhiban. Therefore, Ahituv (1984: 189) identifies Tbn/Tpn with Tibnin, instead of Dibon.

Figure 1

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VAN DER STEEN AND SMELIK King Mesha

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Late Bronze Age settled occupation in southern Transjordan was sparse. Nelson Glueck, basing himself on his surveys of Eastern Palestine (Glueck 1934 and references in Sauer 1986: 1), stated that Transjordan was largely uninhabited in the Middle and Late Bronze Ages. Over the years, and as a result of more intensive surveys and an increasing knowledge of the pottery of Transjordan, numerous Late Bronze Age sites have been found in northern and central Transjordan, particularly on the Amman Plateau and in the Jordan Valley (Van der Steen 2004: Chapter 3 with references). However, for the southern regions, Moab and Edom, Glueck’s conclusions remain largely valid. Some transitional Late Bronze–Early Iron Age pottery has been found at sites such as Mudaynah el-Mu’arradjah (Olavarri 1983: Fig 6), Balu’a (Worschech and Ninow 1999), Lehun (Homès-Frédericq and Hennessy 1989: 355; HomèsFrédericq et al. 1997: 66) and (possibly) Ara’ir (Olavarri 1965: Figs. 1, 2, 3). Tomb A at Madaba (Harding and Isserlin 1953: Figs. 12-17) has revealed an extensive repertoire of Late Bronze–Early Iron Age transitional pottery, but so far no settled occupation has been found that can be associated with the tomb, suggesting that it was used by a nomadic population (Foran et al. 2004, with references). The JADIS database (Palumbo 1994), which is the most extensive and complete overview of surveyed and excavated sites in Jordan to date, confirms this pattern.2 In the Early Iron Age the number of sites in Moab increases to about 19 (depending on where exactly the borders are drawn). Hypotheses of early state formation in Moab in the transitional Late Bronze–Early Iron Age period (Worschech 1990; Zayadine 1991) are therefore not supported by archaeological evidence. As one could expect, those scholars who feel that the identification of Tbn with Dhiban is inevitable have put forward the usual counterarguments, such as: archaeological remains can be elusive, archaeologists 2. The JADIS (Jordanian Antiquities Database and Information System) database records 297 Late Bronze Age sites, 2.5% of the total number of sites recorded. 128 of these sites have been found by the Archaeological Survey of the Kerak Plateau conducted by Miller (1991). However, later research has shown that the pottery analysis of this survey is unreliable, and that practically all the pottery that has been attributed to the Late Bronze Age belongs to other periods (Bienkowski and Adams 1999). If this survey is excluded from the JADIS database, the number of sites in Moab with Late Bronze Age pottery diminishes dramatically to about twelve sites, most of which are north of the Wadi Mujib, and all of which, with the possible exception of Lehun, are mere sherd scatters. Dhiban is not one of these. Routledge recognizes a pattern of Late Bronze Age sites around Kerak, but he bases himself entirely on Miller’s survey of the Kerak Plateau.

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may have looked in the wrong place or may have missed or even not recognized the material (e.g. Kitchen 1992: 28-29). These arguments are not very convincing and suggestive of the circular reasoning so typical of Biblical Archaeology in the old days. Before we accept the identification Tpn = Dibon, we had better ask: What was actually found at Dhiban? Dhiban: The Remains After the discovery of the Mesha Stela in 1868 at Dhiban, the site became a focus for historical research; yet it was not until 1950 that the first excavations started. These excavations were sponsored by the American School of Oriental Research, and conducted by Winnett and Reed (Winnett and Reed 1964; Tushingham 1972). The initial results proved to be disappointing, with no evidence being found for the major capital that people had come to expect on the basis of the stela. Therefore, William Morton undertook three more seasons of excavation in 1955, 1956 and 1965. For these three seasons only very limited reports have been published (Morton 1955, 1957, 1989). Morton, however, claimed to have found substantial remains from the ninth century: a palace and the possible remains of a temple. Nearby was a gateway with the remains of a wall. This is the area where the stela was found. In another part of the tell possible domestic buildings were discovered, dated to the same period. An incense stand was found (out of context) and also dated to this period. Routledge (2004: 162-68) has (re)published some of Morton’s top plans and section drawings, as well as some of the pottery from Morton’s excavations. His main purpose in doing this was to be able to compare the ninth-century ‘palace’ of phases 1 and 2 with the prevalent monumental architecture of the period. The presence of Iron Age I pottery shows that the site was occupied before the ninth century, but no monumental architecture of that period has come to light and it seems that the ‘palace’ and the gateway may well be the buildings referred to in the Mesha Stela. Morton certainly believed so. Routledge makes no such claims, though he does date the palace to the ninth century and interpret it as belonging to a repertoire of ‘kingly things’, material expressions of kingship. Since, as he does further on in the same chapter, he identifies these expressions of kingship with Mesha and his inscription, the conclusion seems inevitable that Routledge also sees the palace as having been built by Mesha. In which case, it is

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probably one of the buildings mentioned in the stela in lines 21-24, which can be translated as follows: I myself have built Karchoh, the wall of the woods and the wall [22]of the citadel, and I myself have built its gates, and I myself have built its towers, and I myself [23]have built the house of the king, and I myself have made the double reser[voir for the spr]ing(?) in the innermost part [24]of the city.3

Mesha built a high place for Kemosh, in Karchoh, and placed the stela in or near this sanctuary (line 3). He also built a palace and a city wall with a gateway in Karchoh. Since the stela was found in Dhiban, Karchoh must also have been situated there—unless the stela had been moved afterwards. If Dhiban is to be identified with Dibon, Karchoh must be Dibon, or a part of Dibon. The usual explanation, followed by most scholars, is that Karchoh was Mesha’s Royal Quarter, added to an already existing village or town: Dibon. There is, however, nothing in the inscription that can confirm this interpretation. On the contrary, lines 24-25 state: Now, there was no cistern in the innermost part of the city, in Karchoh, and I said to all the people: Make, each [25]one of you, a cistern in his house.

This suggests that Karchoh cannot have been the acropolis, since it obviously contained also the living quarters of the people. Mesha’s town, his capital, situated at the site of contemporary Dhiban, was Karchoh. So, what was Dibon? Mesha the Dibonite The name ‘Dibon’ appears four times in the Mesha Stela. The first reference in the inscription refers to Mesha himself: he calls himself a Dibonite. Dearman states that ‘Mesha’s self-identification as a Dibonite king of Moab is unusual. He may have inherited the title and the city from his father; perhaps his was the leading family in the area of Dhiban’ (Dearman 1989: 171). Dearman’s own solution, which he applies equally to the problem of the Late Bronze Age identification of Tbn / Tpn with Dibon, is to suggest that Dibon was a region rather than a town: in his 3. The translation used here is that of Smelik 2000.

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opinion the kingdom of Moab incorporated more than one ‘tribal or territorial group’, each of which had its own regional centre. Dibon may have been the name of one of those regions (Dearman 1989: 172). If Dibon was the name of a tribal territory, it is only half a step to say that Dibon was also the name of a tribe. Dearman does not take that last half-step, mainly because in the Hebrew Bible Dibon is always mentioned as a town, and most likely the town that is now identified with the site of Dhiban. The second time Dibon is mentioned in the stela is in lines 20-21: …[20] I took two hundred men of Moab, all its division(?), and I led it up to Jahaz. And I have taken it [21] in order to add it to Dibon.

Routledge (2004: 145) sees an anomaly here, as the army comes from Moab, the country, but the annexation of Jahaz is to Dibon, not to Moab, as one would expect. If we interpret Dibon as a town, there is indeed a problem. However, if we see Dibon as a political entity, the leading tribe of the confederation of Moab, the situation makes much more sense. It is clear from the inscription that Moab is not just a territory or a geographical term. The first two lines leave no doubt about the political status of Moab: it is a state. It may be a tribal state, or a ‘segmentary’ state, or some other form of state, but it is definitely a form of state ruled by a king. At the same time, we should remember that certainly in the Late Bronze Age, according to the Egyptian texts mentioned above, Moab was a geographical name: the name of a region. It is likely that, since the name survived, the original meaning, that of a region, should also survive. So, Moab is the name of the region, and of the state, defining both the political borders (in relation to, for example, Israel) and the geographical borders. It seems that in line 20 Moab is used in its geographical sense. The annexation of Jahaz to Dibon must then be interpreted as the subjugation of the town of Jahaz to the tribe of Dibon. The next two references are to be found in line 28; they are related: [And the me]n of Dibon stood in battle-order, for all Dibon, they were in subjection.

Both instances refer to a group of people: ‘the men of Dibon’, and ‘all Dibon’. Whether these men are inhabitants of a town or members of a tribe is not immediately clear from the context. On the other hand, we may wonder why Mesha would bother to mention that ‘all Dibon, they were in subjection’, if Dibon was his home town and capital, and the men

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of Dibon its citizens, and therefore, his subjects. However, if the relationship between Mesha and the men of Dibon was that of a tribe and its leader, the situation is different. Ethno-archaeological examples show that a tribal leader, however powerful, could never automatically expect obedience from his tribe (see below). What is reflected in this sentence is rather the statement that Mesha was a successful leader who could rally his tribe behind him in order to re-conquer and rebuild the country that had been occupied and ravished by Israel during the reign of his father. So, in summary, every reference to Dibon in the Mesha Stela actually refers to a group of people, rather than to a town. In line 1 Mesha calls himself a Diboni. In line 21 Dibon is a political entity. And the two references in line 28 are to the ‘men of Dibon’ and to ‘all Dibon’, in the sense of ‘all the men of the tribe Dibon’, respectively. On the other hand, Karchoh is very clearly a town. Mesha made a high place for Kemosh in Karchoh. He built the walls of the parks, the walls of the acropolis, the gates, the towers, the palace, a large water reservoir and a moat. Moreover, he told the inhabitants to build their own cisterns in their houses, which were also situated in Karchoh. Therefore, Karchoh, the town of Mesha, is to be identified with present-day Dhiban, where his inscription was found. The Hebrew Bible, however, does not mention Karchoh. The Mesha Stela, on the other hand, does not mention Kir Hareseth, which in the book of Kings is the capital of Mesha’s Moab. This has led one of the authors of this article to suggest that biblical Kir Hareseth should be identified with Karchoh (Smelik 1992: 85-89). Kir Hareseth, meaning ‘Shard-city’, is probably a pun of the actual name of Mesha’s royal capital: Karchoh. From the Tribe of Dibon to the Town of Dibon As we saw above, the main reason why Dibon is always identified as a town is because the Bible mentions it as a town. So how did the tribe of Dibon become the town of Dibon? There are a number of examples in the history of the region where a town was renamed after the ruling tribe. The best known example is that of the town of Laish in the north of Israel, which was renamed after the tribe that had conquered it: Dan (Judg. 18.29).4 4. Although the situation may be somewhat more complex, a case can also be made for the name of the town of Ammon, Rabbath Ammon, or Rabbath Bene Ammon, as originating from the name of a tribe, the Bene Ammon (Bienkowski and van der Steen

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We also have a more recent example in nineteenth-century CE Palestine. In the eighteenth century a family immigrated from the Balkans and came to live in Qariat el-Anab, west of Jerusalem: the Abu Gosh family (Finn 1878: 228-32; Macalister and Masterman 1906: 33-50). In 1806, Abu Gosh sheikhs terrorized the region from their home village (Seetzen 1854–59: IIa, 65). The monasteries in Jerusalem paid them protection money to guarantee a safe passage for the many pilgrims to the Holy City. There was an ongoing feud in which some forty villages in the region of Jerusalem were involved, and in which the Abu Gosh family played a leading role. In 1834, Abu Gosh gained (very briefly) governorship of Jerusalem itself (Kinglake 1879: 321; Macalister and Masterman 1906: 35). In 1848, William Lynch passed the village and refered to it as Abu Gosh (Lynch 1849: 427). In 1906, the old name of the village, Qariat elAnab, was still known but the name Abu Ghosh was more commonly used (Baldensperger 1906: 192; Macalister and Masterman 1906: 44). These days, Abu Gosh is the official name of the village. It is still largely inhabited by members of the Abu Gosh family. A change in name from Karchoh to Dibon is, therefore, not as farfetched as it may seem at first sight. That this name-change would occur after Mesha had made his tribe the absolute leader of the coalition, and his town the monumental showpiece that he described in the stela, and not earlier, is only to be expected. The biblical texts in which Dibon occurs as a city are to be dated after Mesha’s reign. Dibon is mentioned in Num. 21.30; 32.3, 34; Josh. 13.9, 17; Isa. 15.2, 9; Jer. 48.18, 22, while in Num. 33.45-46 the combination ‘Dibon-Gad’ occurs. Of these passages, Num. 21.30 is assumed to be the most ancient. The fact, however, that we find a quite similar passage in Jer. 48.45-46 suggests that also the song cited in Num. 21.30 stems from the same period as the other anti-Moabite texts in Isaiah 15 and Jeremiah 48: the seventh or sixth century BCE, long after Mesha’s reign (Smelik 1984: 71-74). In Isa. 15.2, 9 we see the name of Dibon mentioned in a prophecy against Moab, but in the next chapter we find a second prophecy against Moab of another nature. In this second prophecy, Dibon is not mentioned but Kir-Chares(et) does occur (Isa. 16.7, 11). It stands twice parallel with the general designation, Moab.

2001: 35). Another example of a town named after a tribe is the ‘City of Amalek’ in 1 Sam. 15.5.

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In Jeremiah 48, however, we find the combination of Kir-cheres and Dibon within one chapter (Kir-cheres, 48.31, 36; Dibon, 48.18, 22). Are we dealing here with references to the same town? If so, why are here two names used instead of one? As is well-known, Jeremiah 48 is a composite text (Holladay 1989: 346). The passages in which the name Kir-cheres occurs are actually derived from the prophecy against Moab in Isaiah 16 already mentioned (Wildberger 1978: 608; Holladay 1989: 347-48). The passages in which Dibon is mentioned, however, stem from a different tradition or even from two different traditions (Holladay 1989: 343). In other words, the gradual replacement of the city name Karchoh/Kirchares(et) with the new designation Dibon is witnessed in a number of biblical passages. Tribes and Tribal Kingdoms The claim that Dibon was a tribe and Mesha its leader, has consequences for how we interpret the statehood of Moab. It is generally accepted that Mesha’s Moab was some form of state, with a formalized leadership, an administration, a capital. The discussion is rather about what kind of statehood we should ascribe to Moab. Steiner (2001) suggests it conformed to the ‘Early State’ as described by Claessen and Skalnik (1978). Others (Knauf 1992; Labianca and Younker 1995; Younker 1997) have suggested that Mesha’s Moab was a tribal state. Harrison (2001) and Routledge (2004) argue for a ‘segmentary’ state, in which the segments are formed by the population of the towns that are mentioned in the stela, together with their hinterlands.5 If, as we argue here, Mesha’s Dibon was a tribe, the leading tribe of a tribal confederation, and we accept, at the same time, that Moab was a state, or a kingdom, as Mesha claims, that would make Moab a tribal kingdom. But how do we define a ‘tribal kingdom’? Definitions of the words ‘tribe’ and ‘tribal’ have a long history in anthropology, much of which originates in anthropological research in Africa and the New World, and some in Turkey and Mesopotamia (see Parkinson 2002 for an overview of the history of the research, with extensive literature). There is still no consensus as to what a ‘tribe’ constitutes, or even whether we should use the word at all, but there are some basic 5. Although it has also been pointed out that while Routledge argues against Moab as a tribal state, his arguments go a long way towards actually making a case for the tribal state (Bienkowski forthcoming).

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traits that are generally accepted as indigenous to any ‘tribal’ society. These are: 1. A segmentary social structure based on an accepted unilineal lineage system. This is mostly (but not necessarily) patrilineal and consists of clans or families bonded by a system of sodalities or social networks that crosscut the clan system. The different clans may recognize one communal apical ancestor. This system does not so much represent actual kinship and descent relations, but is regularly reconstructed and manipulated for social and political purposes with the consent of the members. 2. Leadership of the tribe is maintained through a combination of ascribed and achieved qualities. In most studies the emphasis is on achieved qualities, and the leader is depicted as a ‘first among equals’. Other studies have pointed out however, that leadership is at least partly hereditary, within the leading family or clan of the tribe. 3. Social interaction within and between tribes is strongly determined by the concept of ‘honour’ (Eickelman 1981: 153; Lancaster 1981: 43-45; Abu-Lughod 1986 passim). Other traits and characteristics that have been ascribed to tribal societies, referring, for example, to their subsistence activities and economic development, their relation to territory, hierarchies, or the lack thereof within the tribe, and the nature of the sodalities that cut through the kinship structure, are often dependent on the tribe or group of tribes that has been studied by the researcher in question, the ecosystem in which the tribe functions, or even on the personal convictions of the researcher. They vary widely among tribal societies worldwide. The concept of Tribal State, or Tribal Kingdom, has been approached by LaBianca (1999), who has proposed a definition consisting of a number of structural traits. This is a model that, as he himself states, is still developing, and here we take the liberty of paraphrasing what we think are the most important characteristics: 1. A tribal kingdom would coalesce out of a tribal alliance usually under the influence of some outside pressure or threat. 2. The pre-monarchical tribal social structure would not be extinguished by the rise of kings. A ‘class-based’ society, with an urban class controlling a ‘rural class’, would not evolve.

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3. The intra- and intertribal social organization would be used and adapted in order to accommodate the bureaucracy that was the result of the kingdom structure. 4. Basic features of tribal society would continue to exist, such as the association of tribes with their traditional territories, an economy that continues to take place on the scale of the individual tribes, and an overlapping of territories among tribes for different economic purposes. 5. Tribal hinterlands would be administered from fortified centres, but most people would still be living in the hinterlands, in their own traditional tribal territory. 6. Power structures within the kingdom were heterarchical rather than hierarchical: there could be several power bases on the same level, basing their power on different resources, such as economic, religious or political resources. 7. The maintenance of a central militia, to protect the interests of the kingdom as a whole. The Ethnohistory of Tribal Societies Both ‘tribalism’ and ‘tribal states’ are still often seen as static, ahistorical concepts rather than historical processes (Routledge 2004: 115-23). However, this approach ignores a whole corpus of historical and ethno-historical evidence that shows that tribal state formation was a real phenomenon in many historical periods and that the basic conditions for the formation of a tribal state were always present. There is a plethora of nineteenth-century and early twentieth-century sources (mostly travel accounts and early anthropological studies) about the Southern Levant, that describe a politically autonomous tribal society that has since ceased to exist. A heterogeneous complex of tribes and tribal confederations interacted, both in a positive (alliances and cooperation) and in a negative (feuding, raiding and warfare) sense, continually shaping and reshaping the territorial and political landscape. These tribal groups and alliances, in their social organization, conformed to the three main traits of tribal societies mentioned above, but were shaped into specific power structures by the ecological and climatic conditions of the region (the presence or absence of water, flora and fauna), and political, social and historical contingencies.

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These power structures could and sometimes did evolve into a state-like organization. A well-documented case is that of the nineteenth-century emirate of Ibn Rashid in the Jebel Shammar on the Arabian peninsula (alRasheed 1991; Van der Steen 2005 and forthcoming). Another example may be the Majali control of the Kerak plateau (Dissard 1905; Peake 1958: 188-91; Gubser 1973: 14-20; references in Van der Steen 2007a, b). Both polities, however much they may have differed from each other, displayed many of the characteristics that feature in LaBianca’s model, such as the continuation and actual integration into the government of the tribal system; a tribal approach to territory and a tribally based local economy; and, in the case of the Rashidi, a professional militia. Their development also justifies the addition of two more characteristics to the model that were instrumental in the creation of the tribal state: the appearance at the right moment of a ‘strong man’ whose status and personality made him acceptable to all the tribes involved, and the existence of a strong economy that made it possible for the state to maintain its independence. Moab: A Tribal Kingdom Most of the characteristics of a tribal kingdom that have been postulated above can be found in the Mesha Stela. First, there was external pressure, from the side of Israel, that may have transformed the confederation of tribes that controlled the territory of Moab into a more state-like structure (a ‘kingdom’). Mesha claims that his father ruled over Moab before him (line 2), but it was Mesha who finally threw off the yoke of the Israelites, and transformed Moab into an independent ‘kingdom’.6 Second, the new, more integrated structure would not dissolve the tribal structure of society. Dibon, as we have argued above, was the leading tribe of the confederation. The ‘Men of Sharon’ and the ‘Men of Maharith’ (line 13), who were settled in Atarot, were probably tribes as well, as most scholars seem to agree (Dearman 1992: 73; Routledge 2004: 145). 6. Whether the transformation of the polity into a ‘kingdom’ also had an impact on Mesha’s title of ‘king’ is arguable. ‘Kings’ of Moab seem to be accounted for in earlier contexts (such as 1 Sam. 22.3). We have to be aware that the word ‘king’ (malek) was used among Arab tribes in different periods for tribal leaders that would not be counted as, or even claim to be, actual ‘kings’. They were paramount sheikhs, leaders of confederations (see Athamina 1998).

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Third, moreover, these tribes were given the territory of Atarot to dwell in; in other words, Mesha used or manipulated the tribal organization to consolidate and organize his kingdom. Fourth, Mesha presents himself in his stela as the strong leader, the right person who came at the right moment to liberate his country from the suppression of the Israelites, and who transformed and consolidated the kingdom of Moab. He compares his successful kingship with that of his father; he even extends the comparison by contrasting his achievements with those by Omri’s son, his adversary. Was this son (whose name is not mentioned out of contempt) unable to achieve what his father Omri had done, namely, the subjugation of Moab? Mesha did what his own father could not achieve: he made Moab free and crushed the enemy for ever. Fifth, Mesha turned the town of Karchoh into the fortified centre from which to govern the kingdom. In the Dhiban excavations, outside the gate, two large grain storage silos were found that may have played a role in the local economy (Morton 1989: 243). Sixth, a strong economy is implied in the extensive building activities, which would not have been possible otherwise. The Bible also suggests that Mesha was rich: his wealth was largely based on sheep-pastoralism (2 Kgs 3.4). Seventh, finally, Mesha refers to the presence of a central militia, or ‘standing army’. There are two references to Mesha’s army. The first one in line 20: [20]

I took two hundred men of Moab, all its division(?), and I led it up to Jahaz.

The second is a reference in line 28: [And the me]n of Dibon stood in battle-order, for all Dibon, they were in subjection.

Whether the second reference refers to a standing army is not clear, but the ‘two hundred men of Moab’ probably represented a professional militia at Mesha’s disposal. The settlement patterns according to the JADIS database show that there is a 50% increase in the total number of settlements in Moab north of the Arnon from the Iron Age I to Iron Age IIab: from 19 to 28. This is a trend that is representative for all of Jordan. Actually, the increase in Northern Moab is lower than in the rest of the country, where it is over 100%. With very few of these sites excavated, and even fewer published, it is difficult to draw conclusions, although there appears to be a certain

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stability and continuity in the transition from Iron Age I to Iron Age II. Of the five sites mentioned by Mesha that have actually been identified geographically (see below), only Nebo and Dibon have revealed Iron Age I material, and this mainly in burials. How Large was Mesha’s Kingdom? The final question explored in this article is: How large was Mesha’s kingdom? It has been suggested, on the basis of the identifications of Kir Hareseth as Kerak and Horonaim also as a city far south of the Arnon, that it extended over the whole Kerak Plateau. However, only five or possibly six out of Mesha’s thirteen place names have been identified with certainty, and only because they are still known by their ancient names: Dibon/Karchoh (Morton 1955, 1959, 1989; Tushingham 1972), Medeba (Harrison et al. 2003; Harrison and Barlow 2005), Nebo (Piccirillo and Alliata 1998), Ataroth (Ji 2002) and Aroer (Olavarri 1965, 1969), and possibly Baal Meon (MacDonald 2000: 117-18 with references7). Dibon/ Karchoh, Ataroth, Medeba and Aroer have revealed the presence of monumental architecture from the time of Mesha; the other two have not been excavated. The identification of the other sites is uncertain, although there are a number of important Iron Age II sites in Moab that must have played a role in Mesha’s kingdom, such as Mudeineh eth-Themed (Daviau 1997; Chadwick, Daviau and Steiner 2000; Daviau and Dion 2002), Khirbet Libb (Glueck 1934: 32; Zwickel 1990), Umm el-Amad (Ibach 1987: 16067; Zwickel 1990), and Jalul (Younker et al. 1996; Younker 2000), all north of the Arnon. Most of these, as well as others, have on various occasions been tentatively identified with place names in the Mesha Stela. MacDonald (2000: 171-83) gives an overview of the various identifications that have been proposed, all of which, with the exception of Hawronen/Horonaim and Kir Hareseth, lie north of the Arnon. Jahaz, for example, has been variously identified with Mudayneh eth-Themed, Khirbet Iskander, Jalul, Khirbet Libb and a number of other sites (MacDonald 2000: 104 with references). Both Umm el-Amad and Jalul have been put forward as possible locations for Bezer/Bozrah. (Another overview can be 7. The identification of Ba‘al-Me‘on with the site of Ma‘in, generally based on toponymic grounds, has now been made more likely since surveys on the site have revealed considerable numbers of Iron I and II pottery sherds (D. Foran, personal communication).

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found in Smelik 1992.) The main site south of the Arnon is Kerak, but its identification with Kir Hareseth is tenuous (Jones 1991; Miller 1992: 85). If, as we suggest, Kir Hareseth is identified with Karchoh, and hence with present-day Dhiban, the southernmost town of Moab that can be identified is Hawronen/Horonaim. The biblical evidence on Horonaim is not very clear. It is listed as one of the cities in Moab in Isa. 15.5 and Jer. 48.3, 5, 34. The only way to ascertain the location of this city is to look at the other places mentioned in the same verse. From this we can conclude that Horonaim was situated south of the Arnon (Wadi Mujib) and in the vicinity of the Dead Sea, but north of Kerak. A possible identification is ed Deir (Worschech and Knauf 1986; Mittmann and Schmitt 2001). Some biblical authors, however, suggest that the main part of Moab situated north of the Arnon once belonged to the Amorite kingdom of Sihon, king of Heshbon (Deut. 2.24). In this view, Moab consisted of the region south of the Arnon. Actually, the Amorite kingdom of Heshbon never existed; it was invented by these writers in order to claim this territory for Israel (Van Seters 1972; Smelik 1984). In the prophecies against Moab, Heshbon and its surroundings do belong to Moab (Isa. 15.4; 16.89; Jer. 48.2, 34, 45; 49.3), reflecting the actual situation in biblical times. Mesha’s reputation as a ‘shepherd-king’ (2 Kgs 3.4) also points to the region north of the Wadi Mujib as the core area of his kingdom. The Belqa, the land north of the Wadi Mujib had a reputation among subrecent tribes as the best grazing land in the country. According to Burckhardt: ‘The Bedouins have this saying, “Thou canst not find a country like the Belka.”—Methel el Belka ma teltaka…the beef and mutton of this district are preferred to those of all others’ (Burckhardt 1822: 368-69; also Seetzen 1854–49: I, 364; Merrill 1881: 240-41). It was contested territory between the herding tribes of the Beni Sakhr and the Adwan during much of the nineteenth century, as a result of which the settled population had largely disappeared (Buckingham 1825: 267; Oliphant 1880: 196; Peake 1958: 170). This does not mean that there was no cultivation in the Belqa. Both the Adwan and the Abbadi, another tribal confederation that had its tents in the Belqa, were engaged in both agriculture and sheep/goat herding, as well as cattle pastoralism (Buckingham 1825: 122; Burckhardt 1831: 40; Oliphant 1880: 196; Schumacher 1886: 307; Shryock 1997: 4344). The two large grain silos found outside the gate of Dhiban, together with large amounts of carbonized grain found elsewhere on the site radiocarbon dated to c. 850 BCE also suggest that grain was a major commodity in the economy of the kingdom (Morton 1989: 243).

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Conclusion The identification of ‘Dibon’ in the Mesha Inscription with both the biblical town of Dibon and the modern site of Dhiban in Jordan has never been doubted by scholars. However, in the inscription ‘Dibon’ never refers to a town, but always to a group of people, or a political entity. At the same time, the inscription clearly describes the town of Karchoh as the capital of Mesha’s kingdom, which is enlarged and embellished with monumental architecture during his reign. We therefore suggest here that in his days the name of Mesha’s capital was Karchoh and that it can be identified with the present-day site of Dhiban, on the basis of the discovery of the Mesha stele there. Mesha, the ‘Diboni’, was the leader of the tribe of Dibon. The Diboni, in their turn, were the leading tribe of a tribal confederation that was forged into a tribal kingdom by Mesha, and that forced out the Israelite occupation of the land. As Karchoh was the hometown, the ‘seat’ of the Diboni tribe, the name Dibon eventually became attached to the town, perhaps originally as ‘Karchoh of the Diboni’, later shortened to Dibon. This happened some time after Mesha’s death. This identification reinforces Smelik’s earlier identification of biblical Kir Hareseth, the capital of Moab, with Karchoh (Dhiban), instead of Kerak. As a consequence, the core of Mesha’s kingdom of Moab can be identified with the Belqa, the lands north of the Wadi Mujib, and the southern border may well have been just at the other side of this river, although Mesha tried to extend his kingdom not only to the north but also to the south by conquering Horonaim, which originally was not a part of Moab, and building a road to connect the territory north and south of the Arnon. Or should we follow Mesha and say it was Kemosh who enlarged Moab both to the north and the south? BIBLIOGRAPHY Abu-Lughod, L. 1986 Veiled Sentiments: Honor and Poetry in a Bedouin Society (Cairo: American University in Cairo Press). Ahituv, S. 1972 ‘Did Ramses II Conquer Dibon?’, IEJ 22: 141-42. 1984 Canaanite Toponyms in Ancient Egyptian Documents (Jerusalem: Magnes Press). Al-Rasheed, M. 1991 Politics in an Arabian Oasis: The Rashidis of Saudi Arabia (London: I.B. Tauris).

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Athamina, Kh. 1998 ‘The Tribal Kings in Pre-Islamic Arabia: A Study of the Epithet malik or dhu al-taj in Early Arabic Traditions’, in Kh. Athamina (ed.), Studies in Early Islamic History: Socio-political and Religious Aspects in Medieval Islamic Society (Al-Bireh: Mediterranean Studies Unit, Al-Nashir Technical Service): 461-85. Baldensperger, Ph.G. 1906 ‘The Immovable East (part 2)’, PEFQS: 13-23, 97-102, 190-97. Bienkowski, P. (ed.) 1992 Early Edom and Moab: The Beginning of the Iron Age in Southern Jordan (Sheffield Archaeological Monographs, 7; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press). forthcoming Review of Routledge 2004, in NEA. Bienkowski, P., and R. Adams 1999 ‘Soundings at Ash-Shorabat and Khirbet Dubab in the Wadi Hasa, Jordan: The Pottery’, Levant 31: 149-72. Bienkowski. P., and E.J. van der Steen 2001 ‘Tribes, Trade and Towns: A New Framework for the Late Iron Age in Southern Jordan and the Negev’, BASOR 323: 21-47. Buckingham, J.S. 1825 Travels among the Arab tribes inhabiting the countries east of Syria and Palestine, including a journey from Nazareth to the mountains beyond the Dead Sea, and from thence through the plains of the Hauran to Bozra, Damascus, Tripoly, Lebanon, Baalbeck, and by the valley of the Orontes to Seleucia, Antioch, and Aleppo (London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, Brown, & Green). Burckhardt, J.L. 1822 Travels in Syria and the Holy Land (London: John Murray). 1831 Notes on the Bedouins and Wahabis, Collected during his travels in the East (London: John Murray). Chadwick, R., P.M.M. Daviau and M.L. Steiner 2000 ‘Four Seasons of Excavations at Khirbat al-Mudayna on the Wadi athThamad, 1996–1999’, ADAJ 44: 257-70. Claessen, H.J.M., and P. Skalnik 1978 The Early State (The Hague: Mouton). Daviau, P.M.M. 1997 ‘Moab’s Northern Border: Khirbet al-Mudayna on the Wadi ath-Thamad’, BA 60: 222-28. Daviau, P.M.M., and P.-E. Dion 2002 ‘Economy-related Finds from Khirbat al-Mudayna (Wadi ath-Thamad, Jordan)’, BASOR 328: 31-48. Dearman, J.A. 1989 ‘Historical Reconstruction and the Mesha Inscription’, in Dearman (ed.) 1989: 155-210. 1992 ‘Settlement Patterns and the Beginning of the Iron Age in Moab’, in Bienkowski (ed.) 1992: 65-75.

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Dearman, J.A. (ed.) 1989 Studies in the Mesha Inscription and Moab (Atlanta: Scholars Press). Dissard, J. 1905 ‘Les migrations et les vicissitudes de la tribu des Amer’, RB 2: 410-25. Eickelman, D.F. 1981 The Middle East: An Anthropological Approach (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice–Hall). Finkelstein, I. 2000 ‘Omride Architecture’, ZDPV 116: 114-38. Finn, E.A. 1878 Stirring times, or, records from Jerusalem consular chronicles of 1853 to 1856 (London: Paul Kegan). Foran, D.C., et al. 2004 ‘The Tall Madaba Archaeological Project: Preliminary Report of the 2002 Field Season’, ADAJ 48: 79-96. Glueck, N. 1934 ‘Explorations in Eastern Palestine I’, AASOR 14: 1-114. Graham, M.P. 1989 ‘The Discovery and Reconstruction of the Mesha Inscription’, in Dearman (ed.) 1989: 41-92. Gubser, P. 1973 Politics and Change in el-Kerak, Jordan (London: Oxford University Press). Harding, G.L., and B.S.J. Isserlin 1953 ‘An Early Iron Age Tomb from Madaba’, PEFA 6: 27-47. Harrison, T.P. 2001 ‘The Construction and Negotiation of a National Identity in Iron Age Moab’ (paper presented at the eighth conference on the History and Archaeology of Jordan, Sydney 2001). Harrison, T.P., and C. Barlow 2005 ‘Mesha, the Mishor, and the Chronology of Iron Age Madaba’, in T.E. Levy and T. Higham (eds.), The Bible and Radiocarbon Dating: Archaeology, Text and Science (London: Equinox): 41-92. Harrison, T.P., et al. 2003 ‘The Tall Madaba Archaeological Project: Preliminary Report of the 1998–2000 Field Excavations’, ADAJ 47: 129-48. Holladay, W.L. 1989 Jeremiah 2 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press). Homès-Frédericq, D., and J.B. Hennessy 1989 Archaeology of Jordan II: Field Reports, Surveys and Sites (Leuven: Peeters). Homès-Frédericq, D., et al. 1997 Lehun et la Voie Royale (Brussels: Belgisch Comite voor Opgravingen in Jordanie).

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Archaeological Survey of the Hesban Region: Catalogue of Sites and Characterization of Periods (Berrien Springs: Andrews University Press). ‘The Iron Age Temple at Khirbat !Ataruz’ (paper presented at the ASOR meetings in Toronto, November 2002).

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‘In Search of Kir-hereseth: A Case Study in Site Identification’, JSOT 52: 3-24. Kinglake, A.W. 1879 Eothen (London: William Blackwood & Sons, new edn). Kitchen, K.A. 1964 ‘Some New Light on the Asiatic Wars of Ramesses II’, JEA 50: 47-70. 1992 ‘The Egyptian Evidence on Ancient Jordan’, in Bienkowski (ed.) 1992: 21-34. Knauf, E.A. 1992 ‘The Cultural Impact of Secondary State Formation: The Cases of the Edomites and Moabites’, in Bienkowski (ed.) 1992: 47-54. LaBianca, O.S. 1999 ‘Salient Features of Iron Age Tribal Kingdoms’, in B. MacDonald and R.W. Younker (ed.), Ancient Ammon (Leiden: Brill): 19-23. LaBianca, O.S., and R.W. Younker 1995 ‘The Kingdoms of Ammon, Moab and Edom: The Archaeology of Society in Late Bronze / Iron Age Transjordan (ca. 1400–500 BC)’, in T.E. Levy (ed.), The Archaeology of Society in the Holy Land (London: Leicester University Press): 399-415. Lancaster, W. 1981 The Rwala Bedouin Today (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Lynch, W.F. 1849 Narrative of the US Expedition to the River Jordan and the Dead Sea (Philadelphia: Lea & Blanchard). Macalister, R.A.S., and E.W.G. Masterman 1906 ‘Occasional Papers on the Modern Inhabitants of Palestine’, PEFQS 38: 33-50, 110-14, 221-25, 286-91. Macdonald, B. 2000 East of the Jordan (Boston: ASOR). Merrill, S. 1881 East of the Jordan: A record of travel and observation in the countries of Moab, Gilead and Bashan during the years 1875–1877 (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons). Miller, J.M. 1989 ‘Moab and the Moabites’, in Dearman (ed.) 1989: 1-40. 1991 Archaeological Survey of the Kerak Plateau (Atlanta: Scholars Press). 1992 ‘Early Monarchy in Moab?’, in Bienkowski (ed.) 1992: 77-91. Mittmann, S., and G. Schmitt 2001 Tübinger Bibelatlas (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft).

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Morton, W.H. 1955 ‘Report of the Director of the School in Jerusalem’, BASOR 140: 4-7. 1957 ‘Dhiban’, RB 64: 221-23. 1989 ‘A Summary of the 1955, 1956 and 1965 Excavations at Dhiban’, in Dearman (ed.) 1989: 237-46. Na’aman, N. 1994 ‘The Hurrians and the End of the Middle Bronze Age in Palestine’, Levant 26: 175-87 1997 ‘King Mesha and the Foundation of the Moabite Monarchy’, IEJ 47: 8392. Olavarri, E. 1965 ‘Sondages a Aro’er sur l’Arnon’, RB 72: 77-94. 1969 ‘Fouilles à Aro’er sur l’Arnon’, RB 76: 230-59. 1983 ‘La campagne de fouilles 1982 a Khirbet Medinet el-Mu’arradjeh près de Smakieh (Kerak)’, ADAJ 27: 165-78. Oliphant, L. 1880 The Land of Gilead, with Excursions in the Lebanon (Edinburgh: William Blackwood & Sons). Palumbo, G. (ed.) 1994 Jordan Antiquities Database and Information System (JADIS) (Amman: Department of Antiquities of Jordan and American Schools for Oriental Research). Parkinson, W.A. 2002 ‘Introduction: Archaeology and Tribal Societies’, in W.A. Parkinson (ed.), The Archaeology of Tribal Societies (Ann Arbor, MI: International Monographs in Prehistory): 237-46. Peake, F.G. 1958 History and Tribes of Jordan (Coral Gables: University of Miami Press). Piccirillo, M., and E. Alliata 1998 Mount Nebo: New Archaeological Excavations 1967–1997 (Jerusalem: Studium Biblicum Franciscanum). Rainey, A.F. 2000 ‘Following Up on the Ekron and Mesha Inscriptions’, IEJ 50: 116-17. Redford, D.B. 1982 ‘A Bronze Age Itinerary in Transjordan (nos 89-101 of Thutmose III’s List of Asiatic Toponyms)’, JSSEA 12: 55-74. Routledge, B. 2004 Moab in the Iron Age: Hegemony, Polity, Archaeology (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press). Sauer, J. 1986 ‘Transjordan in the Bronze and Iron Ages: A Critique of Glueck’s Synthesis’, BASOR 263: 1-26. Seetzen, U.J. 1854–59 Reisen durch Syrien, Palaestina, Phoenizien, die Trans-Jordanländer, Arabia-Petraea und Unter Ägypten (2 vols. in 3; Berlin: Georg Reimer).

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Schumacher, G. 1886 Across the Jordan: Being an exploration and survey of part of Hauran and Jaulan (London: Watt). Shryock, A. 1997 Nationalism and the Genealogical Imagination: Oral History and Textual Authority in Tribal Jordan (Berkeley: University of California Press). Smelik, K.A.D. 1984 ‘ “Een vuur gaat uit van Chesbon”: Een onderzoek naar Numeri 20.14-21; 21.10-35 en parallelplaatsen’, ACEBT 5: 61-109. 1990 ‘The Literary Structure of King Mesha’s Inscription’, JSOT 46: 21-30. 1992 Converting the Past: Studies in Ancient Israelite and Moabite Historiography (Leiden: Brill). 2000 ‘The Inscription of King Mesha’, in W.W. Hallo and K.L. Younger Jr (eds.), The Context of Scripture. II. Monumental Inscriptions from the Biblical World (Leiden: Brill): 137-38. Steen, E.J. van der 2004 Tribes and Territories in Transition (Leuven: Peeters). 2005 ‘Ottoman Society and Power Structures: The View from Ha’il’ (paper presented at the Ottoman seminar 2005, at the Albright Institute for Archaeological Research, Jerusalem, 5 June 2005). 2007a ‘Tribes and Power Structures in the Ottoman Empire’, NEA 69/1: 27-36. 2007b ‘Town and Countryside of the Kerak Plateau’, in E.J. van der Steen and B. Saidel (eds.), On the Fringe of Society (BAR Int. Series, 1657; Oxford: Archeopress). Forthcoming ‘Tribal States in History: The Emirate of Ibn Rashid as a Case Study’, in B. Saidel and E.J. van der Steen (eds.), Ottoman Archaeology. Steiner, M.L. 2001 ‘I Am Mesha, King of Moab, or: Economic Organization in Iron Age II’, SHAJ 7: 327-30. Tushingham, A.D. 1972 The Excavation at Dibon (Dhiban) in Moab: The Third Campaign 1952–1953 (Cambridge, MA: ASOR).

Van Seters, J. 1972 ‘The Conquest of Sihon’s Kingdom: A Literary Examination’, JBL 91: 182-97. Weippert, M. 1979 ‘The Israelite “Conquest” and the Evidence from Transjordan’, in F.M. Cross (ed.), Symposia Celebrating the Seventy-fifth Anniversary of the Founding of the American Schools for Oriental Research (1900–1975) (Cambridge, MA: ASOR): 15-34. Wildberger, H. 1978 Jesaja. II. Jesaja 13–27 (BKAT, 10/2; Neukirchen–Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag). Winnett, F.V., and W.L. Reed 1964 The Excavations at Dibon (Dhiban) in Moab (New Haven: American Schools of Oriental Research).

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Worschech, U. 1990 Die Beziehungen Moabs zu Israel und Ägypten in der Eisenzeit: siedlungsarchäologische und siedlungshistorische Untersuchungen im Kernland Moabs (Ard el-Kerak) (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz). Worschech, U., and E.A. Knauf 1986 ‘Dimon und Horonaim’, BN 31: 80-94. Worschech, U., and F. Ninow 1999 ‘Preliminary Report on the Excavation at Al-Balu‘ and a First Sounding at Al-Misna in 1997’, ADAJ 43: 169-73. Younker, R.W. 1997 ‘Moabite Social Structure’, BA 60: 237-48. 2000 ‘Archaeology in Jordan’, AJA 104: 578-79. Younker, R.W., et al. 1996 ‘Preliminary Report of the 1994 Season of the Madaba Plains Project: Regional Survey, Tall al-’Umayri and Tall Jalul Excavations (June 15 to July 30, 1994)’, Andrews University Seminary Studies 34: 65-92. Zayadine, F. 1991 ‘Sculpture in Ancient Jordan’, in P. Bienkowski (ed.), The Art of Jordan: Treasures from an Ancient Land (Phoenix Mill, Gloucestershire: Alan Sutton): 31-61. Zwickel, W. 1990 Eisenzeitliche Ortslagen im Ostjordanland (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz).

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Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Vol 32.2 (2007): 163-175 © 2007 SAGE Publications, Los Angeles, London, New Delhi and Singapore DOI: 10.1177/0309089207085881 http://JSOT.sagepub.com

Sarah and Hagar: Genesis 16 and 21*

JAMES C. OKOYE Catholic Theological Union, 5401 South Cornell Avenue, Chicago, IL 60615, USA

Abstract For many people, Scripture is sacrosanct, and examining the character of the god of its ‘story world’ is taboo. Biblical characters tend to be viewed as models and not mirrors of the human situation. The Hebrew Scriptures are both the national history of a people and an utterly religious account of the encounters of this people with their God. Aspects of this national history do not always measure up to the ideals of the religion, nor do certain things taken for granted in a particular period in the text meet the standards arrived at in the ongoing development of revelation. ‘Reading against the grain’, the present article views the story of Sarah and Hagar from the ‘downside of history’, as an African American would. Keywords: African Americans, Sarah, Hagar, Ideological Criticism, confession, national history.

Auerbach was on target in saying that Scripture exerts a tyranny on readers and forces them to subscribe to its own world as the only true and just world: * This article is a revised version of a paper presented at the Colloquium of the Academy of Catholic Hispanic Theologians of the United States (ACHTUS), San Antonio, Texas, 4–7 June 2006.

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Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 32.2 (2007) The world of the Scripture stories is not satisfied with claiming to be a historically true reality—it insists that it is the only real world, is destined for autocracy. All other scenes, issues, and ordinances have no right to appear independently of it, and it is promised that all of them, the history of all mankind, will be given their due place within its frame, will be subordinated to it. The Scripture stories do not, like Homer’s, court our favor, they do not flatter us that they may please us and enchant us—they seek to subject us, and if we refuse to be subjected we are rebels.1

The promise of Scripture that ‘the history of all [hu]mankind will be given their due place within its frame’ is often honored in the breaking by having that history ‘subordinated’ to that of the protagonist of the biblical story, the people of Israel. It must be remembered that the Old Testament emerged as sacred text from a religious community with a specific identity.2 It tells the story of a people with their God, Yahweh, while also claiming that this God is the universal Lord of all creation. Although parts of the story are open to the inclusion of all peoples under Yahweh, the narrative is first and foremost a history of Israel written with an overriding nationalistic focus. Some peoples are included in it only by having their history and their interests either wiped out or subordinated to those of Israel. The story of Sarah and Hagar is a case in point. As can be seen from the bibliographical references appearing in the footnotes of the present study, and the authors cited in the course of its development, scholars have examined the story of Sarah and Hagar from many different angles. The present article focuses on the ideology of the story, that is, what the narrator takes for granted as the right ordering of affairs and peoples in his or her world. It examines in particular how the history and interests of Hagar and her progeny have been co-opted and subordinated to those of Sarah and her progeny. As elsewhere in Genesis, so here ‘the Hebrew Bible presents information on the individual who will not be the Israelite lineal heir in the following generation’,3 that is, information on whose rights and interests do not count over against the claim that the ‘blessing’ belongs to Isaac, son of Sarah. God is invoked to sanction this perspective, just as God and the biblical text have been used 1. Erich Auerbach, Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1968), pp. 14-15. 2. Cf. Christopher R. Seitz, ‘Conclusion’, in idem, Word Without End: The Old Testament as Abiding Theological Witness (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2004), pp. 340-44 (341). 3. Naomi Steinberg, Kinship and Marriage in Genesis: A Household Economics Perspective (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), p. 42.

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in African American experience to sanction oppression and slavery in the mindset of ‘If it’s White, it’s right; if it’s Black, get back’.4 The story of Sarah and Hagar backs the claims of Isaac against those of Ishmael (and the progeny of these two), concerning both election and possession of the land of Canaan. The present study examines this advocacy and measures the behavior of the God of this ‘story world’ over against Israel’s confession of Yahweh as creator and universal Lord of all. The text tells the story of Sarah and Hagar from the dominant character’s point of view; the present article ‘rebels’ against the tyranny of Scripture and reads it from the point of view of the subordinated and marginalized character. Reading Texts is Reading Ourselves 5 African American biblical interpretation does not interpret texts, but life with the aid of texts. The present study reads the story of Sarah and Hagar consciously from the point of view of African Americans, long periods of whose history cast them in the mold of Hagar. On the surface, the story is one of how to provide progeny for a man whose wife is barren. As the story unfolds, however, the plot thickens and intertwined theological issues begin to emerge. It begins to look as if some people can be used for the ends of others. Yahweh seems so partial to Isaac as to be prepared to forego questions of justice and fairness when it comes to dealing with Ishmael. So, one can ask, whose God is the God of this story? Are all peoples equally under this God’s care? Does this God condone oppression and every human imposition of suffering on others or rather is against them? Who may inherit the Promised Land and on what basis? Who is called to covenantal relationship with this God and on what basis? Specifically, in relation to African American experience, is this text a pharmacon or a toxin,6 that is, does this text contain elements that can be used to kill, dehumanize, or marginalize others, as some biblical texts have been used in African American experience? 4. Cf. Latta R. Thomas, Biblical Faith and the Black American (Valley Forge, PA: Judson Press, 1976), p. 59. 5. Cf. Vincent L. Wimbush, ‘Reading Texts as Reading Ourselves: A Chapter in the History of African American Biblical Interpretation’, in Fernando Segovia and Mary Ann Tolbert (eds.), Reading from this Place. I. Social Location and Biblical Interpretation in the United States (Augsburg: Fortress Press, 1993), pp. 95-108. 6. I have borrowed these figures of speech from Theophus H. Smith, Conjuring Culture: Biblical Formations of Black America (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), p. 106.

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The treatment will be divided into three parts. The first will be a tour of the narrative units, examining especially the plot and the interplay of characters, including God. The second part will lift up the ideology of the text, what it takes for granted as the order of its world. Finally, the issues raised will be discussed in light of African American experience. Unless otherwise noted, the biblical text will be cited according to the New Jerusalem Bible version. Three Parallel Accounts The story of Sarah and Hagar is a doublet narrated in Gen. 16.1-16 and 21.8-21. Scholars categorize these pericopae as J and E, respectively. In the former, Hagar is maid of Sarai, the term for her being 9IA, while in the latter, Hagar is maid of Abraham, the term used being 9> . In the former, Hagar flees in defiance of her mistress; in the latter, she is cast out against her will.7 The final editor has, however, read the two versions consecutively, leading to a glaring discrepancy at Gen. 21.14 where Ishmael is a child who can be put on the shoulder of Hagar, while from internal evidence he was then about sixteen or seventeen years old.8 Between the two accounts is a P account of Abraham’s plea to God on behalf of Ishmael, God’s oracle about Ishmael, and the circumcision of Abraham and Ishmael on the self-same day (Gen. 17.18-27). This P account is later than the J and E accounts and has been constructed in order to resolve issues emerging from them of the family and religious belonging of Ishmael and his descendants. The Texts: The J Narrative, Genesis 16.1-16 Sarah bore no children for she was barren. Yet Yahweh had promised Abram that ‘your heir will be the issue of your own body’ (Gen. 15.4). Sarah had a plan that she thought was consistent with this promise. She took Hagar,9 her Egyptian maid,10 and gave her to Abram as wife,11 7. Hermann Gunkel, ‘The Hagar Traditions’, in K.C. Hanson (ed.), Water for a Thirsty Land: Israelite Literature and Religion (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001), pp. 68-84 (82). 8. If in Gen. 16.16 Abram was 86 years old when Ishmael was born, while in Gen. 21.5 he was 100 years old at the birth of Isaac, then Ishmael was at least 14 years old when Isaac was born, and should be 16 or 17 at the weaning of Isaac! 9. Martin Noth, A History of Pentateuch Traditions (New York: Prentice–Hall, 1972), p. 108 n. 311, explains the name Hagar from Arabic hajara, ‘emigration’. He thinks that the name manifests the viewpoint of dwellers of arable land who used to meet the seminomadic descendants of Hagar, whom they called ‘emigrants’, at the well of Lahai-Roi.

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saying, ‘perhaps I shall be built up through her’ (Gen. 16.2). The verb, 9?3, is normally used of building up a house, EJ3. But the Hebrew word EJ3 may mean house as structure or house as family or dynasty. Sarah is focused on herself. She needs to be built up—children will secure her identity and status. Hagar is seen as a possession, a disposable commodity that can exchange hands at the will of the owner. She does not need to be asked what she feels about the arrangement; her feelings are of no consequence in the transaction. In the entire narrative, Sarah never speaks directly to Hagar. But Hagar had a mind of her own. Once she conceived, her mistress began to lack luster in her eyes. The verb, ‘to become light’, ==B, appears in Gen. 12.3 where Yahweh promises Abram that ‘I shall curse those who treat you lightly’. The reader thus expects Hagar to fall into bad times. In giving Hagar as wife to Abram, Sarah had transferred authority over her to Abraham.12 Then she cries D>I (‘violence’), a legal formula of appeal for redress and calls upon Yahweh to judge between her and Abram. The response of Abram was to strip Hagar of the status of secondary wife and to hand her back to Sarah. His words introduce the motif of power: ‘your slave-maid is in your hand, do to her what is good in your eyes’. The word ‘hand’ symbolizes power and will recur often in this narrative. Who has power over whom, and what that power is used for is a motif in the narrative. With Hagar abandoned by Abram and scorned by Sarah, the status of the innocent child at birth would be that of its mother—a slave. And so one would have the paradox immortalized by Frederick Douglass, who himself was the fruit of liaison between his master and one of his African slaves. He writes:

10. Gunkel in ‘The Hagar Traditions’, p. 84 n. 5 considers quite probable the opinion of Hugo Winckler who thinks that EJC4> (‘Egyptian’, Gen. 16.1) is not related to )JC4> (‘Egypt’) but to MÑr, a name of a Bedouin tribe in the south of Palestine. He points out that Hagar is at home in the wilderness. The reference for Hugo Winckler was not given and I was unable to have independent verification of his view. 11. At Gen. 16.3, the term for concubine, 8=JA, does not appear, rather 9 , ‘wife’, is used. Steinberg, Kinship and Marriage, pp. 63, 79, uses the socio-anthropological terms, ‘primary wife’ and ‘secondary wife’, the latter of which would be equivalent to concubine. She also says that primary marriage is established for property concerns, while concubinage separates property from procreation. There can, however, be multiple primary wives in societies that allow polycoity; witness the sisters Rachel and Leah. 12. McEvenue, ‘Hagar Stories’, p. 78 n. 4, challenges this assertion, saying that the text has ‘your maid is in your power’, not ‘the maid’, and ‘go in to my maid’, not ‘take my maid to yourself and go in to her’.

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Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 32.2 (2007) The whisper that my master was my father may or may not be true… [T]he fact remains, in all its glaring odiousness, that slaveholders have ordained, and by law established, that the children of slave women shall in all cases follow the condition of their mothers…for by this cunning arrangement, the slaveholder, in cases not a few, sustains to his slaves the double relation of master and father.13

Sarah oppressed Hagar. The verb 9? is the same verb used later for the oppression of Hebrews in Egypt. It is ironic that ‘Sarai does to a child of Egypt…what the Egyptians would later do to Sarai’s children’.14 Like every slave when oppression becomes unbearable, Hagar damned the consequences and fled from Sarah’s face. Her path could take her only through the desert, for Abram was in the area of Beersheba. She set her face towards freedom in Egypt, her homeland, and came by a spring near Shur. Shur means literally ‘wall’ and may refer to the Egyptian border forts.15 The angel of Yahweh (surrogate for Yahweh) met her there and asked her to return to her mistress and subject herself to her hand. The verb used is J?E9. Sarah oppressed (9?EH) Hagar and Yahweh tells her to submit to oppression (J?E9H)! The angel of Yahweh also made promises to Hagar (these were possibly later additions): ‘I shall make your descendants too numerous to be counted’ (Gen. 16.10). Hagar is told to name the boy she will bear Ishmael, which means, ‘may El hear’. The reason is that Yahweh has heard ‘your oppression’—(J? derives from the same root, 9? (‘to oppress’). So, Yahweh/the angel of Yahweh admits that Sarah is an oppressor, yet sends Hagar back to her. Trible16 rightly says in shock that these words strike at the root of exodus faith. Inexplicably, the God who later, seeing (rh) the suffering (!ǀnî) of a slave people, comes down to deliver them out of the hand of the Egyptians (Exod. 3.7-8), here identifies with the oppressor and orders a servant to return not only to bondage but also to affliction.

A strange footnote is added to the promises. Ishmael will be a wild ass of a man. He will roam the desert like an ass. His hand will be against all 13. Henry Louis Gates, Jr, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave, Written by Himself (New York: Laurel Books, 1997), p. 3. 14. M. Tsevat, ‘Hagar and the Birth of Ishmael’, in idem, The Meaning of the Book of Job and Other Biblical Studies: Essays on the Literature and Religion of the Hebrew Bible (New York: Ktav, 1980), pp. 53-76 (69). 15. Claus Westermann, Genesis 12–36: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1981), p. 244. 16. Phyllis Trible, Texts of Terror: Literary-Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984), p. 16.

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and the hand of all against him. He will live his life in defiance of all his brothers. Is this a description of what the ancient Israelites knew of the Ishmaelites or prescription of what will be in the future? Is it blessing or curse? Hagar named Yahweh who spoke to her: ‘you are El Roi’ (Gen. 16.13). She is the first and only person in the Bible to name God. El Roi means ‘God of Vision’ or ‘God of my seeing’ or the ‘God who Sees Me’. Her name for this god relates to her personal experience. Because of her experience, the well is called Lahai-Roi, which means ‘the well of the Living One who sees me’ or, in the words of Westermann,17 the well of the one ‘who came to my aid in my distress’. Gunkel argues, plausibly, that Yahweh was absent in the original story and that El Roi was the tribal god of the Ishmaelites, whose chief seat and sanctuary was at the spring Lahai-roi.18 Hagar was the founding matriarch of the Ishmaelite Bedouin tribe. That in earlier traditions both Ishmael and Isaac were associated with the spring Lahai-roi is suggested by Gen. 25.11, which says that ‘after Abraham’s death, God blessed his son Isaac. Isaac settled near the well of Lahai-Roi.’ Noth19 opines that in the most ancient traditions Ishmael was primarily the brother of Isaac and that both were connected to the well of Lahai-Roi before traditions wove any genealogical link to Abraham or spoke of Yahweh. Both were ‘brothers’ as ancestors of two clans who shared the water of the well at Lahai-Roi and participated in the cult of El Roi who was worshiped there. The name Ishma-el is prefixed not on Yahweh (or it would be Shema-yah,20 ‘Yahweh hears’) but on El, the chief god of the Canaanite pantheon. But the editor has made El Roi just another epithet of Yahweh, the God of Israel, and in this manner both subsumed and subordinated the religious experience of the Ishmaelites to the interests of Israel. Hagar went back to Abram and bore a son for him and Abram called him Ishmael. One imagines that in naming the child Abram adopted him as son with all the rights accruing to that status. Yahweh, in the guise of El Roi, apparently both saved Hagar from her rebellious self and restored Abram’s child to him. Nevertheless, the text seems to deconstruct itself. Hagar was told to name the child in v. 11, but it was Abram who named 17. Claus Westermann, Genesis 12–36 (Minneapolis. Augsburg, 1985), p. 247. 18. Gunkel, ‘The Hagar Traditions’, pp. 73, 75. 19. Noth, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions, p. 108 and n. 311. See also McEvenue, ‘Hagar Stories’, p. 67. 20. Gunkel, ‘The Hagar Traditions’, p. 72.

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him in v. 15. The promises made to Hagar parallel those made elsewhere to Abram, and this is significant. Hagar is the only woman in the Old Testament who both receives an epiphany of God and a promise of progeny. However, this significant fact is deconstructed in the narrative: the promise lacks the covenant context so crucial to the patriarchal narratives,21 and with that the possession of the land of Canaan. Just as Hagar’s god, El Roi, is displaced and subsumed by Yahweh, so Ishmael, by being treated by the narrator as descendant of Hagar and not of Abraham, is on the way out of the direct line of promise! The text already envisages him living in the desert and defying all his brothers. That is, he is not counted among the chosen progeny of Abram and will not inherit any portion of the Promised Land. The Texts: The P Narrative, Genesis 17.18-27 Upon God’s promise that Sarah will bear him a child, Abraham bowed to the ground and laughed and pleaded with Yahweh saying, ‘may Ishmael live in your presence! That will be enough’ (Gen. 17.18). Echoing Yahweh’s promises to Hagar in ch. 16, God promised to bless Ishmael and to make him very numerous. God will make him father of twelve princes and will make him into a great nation. But ‘my covenant I shall maintain with Isaac, whom Sarah will bear you at this time next year’ (17.20). Ishmael was circumcised at the age of 13 with Abraham on the same day. In 17.11, circumcision was called the ‘sign of my covenant between myself and you’. The covenant was ‘to be your God and the God of your descendants after you’ (17.7). It included the promise that ‘to you and your descendants I will give the country where you are now immigrants’ (17.8). Something seems not quite right when Ishmael is both circumcised and excluded from God’s covenant and thus from the Promised Land. What is the value of Ishmael’s circumcision? What is the real attitude of the God of the ‘text world’ towards Ishmael? The Texts: The E Narrative, Genesis 21.8-21 Meanwhile Isaac was born and grew up. Abraham made a great feast on the occasion of the weaning of Isaac. On that occasion, Sarah saw Ishmael BI4>. This participle is a pun on the name Isaac. It could mean that Ishmael was ‘laughing’, or that he was ‘playing’. The LXX adds NFUB@ *TBBL UPV OJPV BVUI_K (‘with Isaac her son’) and thus has Ishmael playing 21. Trible, Texts of Terror, p. 16.

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with Isaac. But the meaning was probably that in Sarah’s eye Ishmael was ‘Isaacing’, that is, ‘playing Isaac’.22 The narrator was looking at the scene from the standpoint of Sarah and from that standpoint Ishmael was ‘the son of Hagar the Egyptian, whom she bore to Abraham’, while Isaac was ‘my son’. Sarah saw Ishmael as displacing Isaac. She could not bear the presence of Ishmael or the possibility of his inheriting with her son, so she insisted with Abraham, ‘drive out this slave-girl and her son, for the son of this slave-girl will not inherit with my son, with Isaac (Gen. 21.10). The demonstrative, ‘this’, expresses both Sarah’s repugnance and her feelings of distance from Hagar. The verb used for ‘to drive out’ is C8. This verb does double duty here. In the legal texts of the Old Testament it is the technical term for the putting away of a wife by the husband.23 Hence, Sarah is forcing Abraham to divorce Hagar (in this account Hagar was both maid and wife of Abraham) and revoke his adoption of Ishmael. But the verb is also used consistently for the driving out of the indigenous nations of Canaan. The implication is clear: the actions that Sarah wants Abraham to take will also effectively banish Ishmael from having a part in the possession of the Promised Land! Sarah viewed Ishmael as the son of Hagar; Abraham viewed him as his own son. So Sarah’s word was very evil in his eyes. But God intervened and asked him to obey Sarah, ‘for in Isaac will be named seed for you’. God also promised to make the son of the slave-girl into a nation, for he is Abraham’s seed (the LXX and some Versions add the word, ‘great’, to nation, as it appears in v. 18). But why may Ishmael not inherit with Isaac? Why should seed be named for Abraham in Isaac and not in Ishmael? In Genesis 30 both Rachel and Leah gave their slave-girls to Jacob who had sons through them and all were numbered in Israel. Steinberg asked the question, ‘why are the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah included as chosen heirs when earlier Hagar’s son Ishmael could not be so included?’24 She noted that at this point in the story genealogy moves from vertical/linear to segmented, and that the story in fact loses interest in choosing a lineal heir. She suggests two possible reasons. First, as 22. George W. Coats, ‘The Curse in the Blessing: Gen 12.1-4a in the Structure and Theology of the Yahwist’, in Jörg Jeremias and Lothar Perlitt (eds.), Die Botschaft und die Boten. Festschift für Hans Walter Wolff zum 70. Geburtstag (Neuchirchen–Vluyn: Neuchirchener Verlag, 1981), pp. 31-41 (37-38). 23. H. Ringgren, ‘C8’, in TDOT, III, p. 69—see also Lev. 21.7, 14; 22.13; Num. 30.9; and Ezek. 44.22. 24. Steinberg, Kinship and Marriage, p. 132.

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opposed to the lone voice of Ishmael, there were more sons competing for a place in the lineage. Her second reason is that Rachel and Leah were equal in status as primary wives of Jacob and they both named the sons borne them by secondary wives.25 To this author the first reason does not hold water, for outside the law of the jungle what is right and just does not usually depend on the number of people concerned. As to the second reason, one may note that Steinberg did not establish that in comparative kinship studies naming (hence adoption) by the wife was more potent than naming by the husband, in this case the naming of Ishmael by Abraham himself. The fact may have been that the exclusion of Ishmael from the inheritance seemed right to an editor who saw the material uniquely from the perspective of Israel. Abraham obeyed the voice of God. Early in the morning, Abraham put some bread and a skin of water on Hagar’s shoulder and also the child and sent her away. She wandered aimlessly in the wilderness of Beersheba till the skin of water ran out. Then she cast ((=) the boy under one of the bushes and withdrew a distance of a bow shot saying, ‘I shall not see the child die’. Sitting over against him she raised her voice and cried. God heard the boy crying, and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven. ‘What is wrong, Hagar?’, he asked. ‘Do not be afraid, for God has heard the boy’s cry in his plight. Go and pick the boy up and hold him safe, for I shall make him into a great nation’. God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water. She filled the skin and gave water to the boy. God was with the boy; he grew up and dwelt in the desert of Paran and became an archer. His mother fetched him a wife from Egypt. That sounds a jagged note, for a strand of the Genesis tradition frowns on marrying outside the clan. Esau married into the Hittites and this was a bitter grief to Rebekah (Gen. 26.35). In fact, Isaac ordered Jacob not to marry any of the Canaanite women, but to go back to Paddan-Aram to look for a wife (28.2). The next we hear of Ishmael he is living in Havilahby-Shur just outside Egypt. He bore twelve chiefs and as many tribes and he lived in defiance of all his brothers, as foreseen in 16.12. When Abraham died, his sons, Isaac and Ishmael, buried him in the cave of Machpelah facing Mamre (Gen. 25.9 [P]). So, as far the narrator was concerned, Ishmael was content with his inheritance in the desert! In like manner, the oppressors in African American history tried to assuage their consciences with the myth of the ‘contented and happy black slave’. 25. Steinberg, Kinship and Marriage, pp. 133-34.

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Shall Not the Judge of the Whole World Act Justly? In the laws of Hammurabi and in ancient Nuzi law, a barren woman may offer her maid to her husband to bear a son through her. The son so born may be adopted by her and becomes her son with all the rights attached to that status. However, the slave-girl remains a slave and does not become her mistress’s equal. Yet once she bears a son she may not be cast out, as Hagar was. Sarah’s demand for the expulsion of Hagar and her child can thus be said to be against law and custom. But the story is driven by the underlying claims of Ishmael and Isaac (and the progeny of these two) to the Promised Land. It is at pains to explain that although Ishmael was son of Abraham and was circumcised with him, he did not inherit the Promised Land nor enter into God’s special covenant relationship with Israel as the elect people of God. He inherited the blessing of Abraham, which in his case was limited to numerous progeny and the desert as his habitat. Genesis 25.5-6 thus reports that Abraham left all his possessions to Isaac. To the sons of his concubines he made grants during his lifetime, sending them away from his son Isaac eastward. He made sure that no one would disturb Isaac’s possession of the Promised Land. Ever since Cain was banished to the land of Nod, east of Eden (Gen. 4.16), eastward became the direction of oblivion, away from the line of promise. In respect of Ishmael, God did not even follow God’s own principles laid out in the Torah concerning circumcision! The contradiction about circumcision may have been introduced in two ways. The P editor may have been concerned to make Abraham a model of keeping the law, so had him circumcised with his entire household, including Ishmael. But in so doing, P would have introduced the complication that Ishmael and his clan, who were circumcised, were nevertheless excluded from the very covenant relationship with God that circumcision was meant to symbolize! Or, it may have been an historical fact that the Ishmaelites were circumcised, though for them circumcision may have been merely a cultural, not a religious, symbol. Whatever may have been the case, the logic of the text demands that the circumcision of Ishmael should have led to his inclusion in both the covenant with God and the possession of the Promised Land. Conclusion: African Americans and the God of the Text Hagar’s god, El Roi, is her personal God. From her personal experience of this god as the One who accompanies her and ‘makes a way where there’s

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no way’, she named her god ‘the God who sees me’. In Gen. 21.20, the narrator assures us that ‘God was with the boy’. This God heard the cry of the child and was at hand to provide for him and his mother when both mother and child were in straits. For African Americans, God is not an abstract idea but a personal God who has been ‘the only one who was with them, who gave them a feeling of “somebodyness”, and who became the bedrock of black identity and sanity’.26 Only a deep relationship to a personal God who addressed black people in terms of who they were has kept black people self-assured and with a sense of their true humanity.27 Yet all the while, this same God was being presented by the dominant society as willing and decreeing their servitude. In a similar manner, the experience of Hagar has been subverted. The El Roi who took Hagar’s side has in the ‘story world’ vanished and become only a secondary epithet of Yahweh, the partisan of Isaac. Dozeman posits that Hagar, having been privileged with a founding theophany in the desert, was in some sense a prototype of Moses. He asserts that both for Hagar and Moses, expulsion is an act of liberation for the one being driven out, signifying release from slavery. The salvific character of expulsion for Hagar is made explicit when she receives a divine oracle of salvation in Gen. 21.17, with the stereotyped formula that she ‘not fear’.28

What Dozeman did not address was the probability that the founding story of a people has been both co-opted and subverted by the Isaac tradition. Trible’s remark seems more apposite: Hagar foreshadows Israel’s pilgrimage of faith through contrast. As a maid in bondage, she flees from suffering. Yet she experiences exodus without liberation, revelation without salvation, wilderness without covenant, wanderings without land, promise without fulfillment, and unmerited exile without return.29

This present study began with the consciousness that the Hebrew Scriptures canonize the national epic of a nation. One is therefore not surprised if tensions sometimes exist between the drift of the story and that nation’s ultimate faith confessions of Yahweh as universal Lord and 26. Major J. Jones, ‘Toward an Afro-Americanized God-Concept’, in idem, The Color of G.O.D. The Concept of God in Afro-American Thought (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1987), pp. 29-44 (36-37). 27. Jones, ‘Toward an Afro-Americanized God-Concept’, p. 33. 28. Thomas Dozeman, ‘The Wilderness and Salvation History in the Hagar Story’, JBL 117 (1998), pp. 23-43 (30). 29. Trible, Texts of Terror, p. 28.

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God. In the ancient stories of the tribes before the emergence of the canonical tradition, Ishmael and Isaac appear to have been ‘brother’ clans located at the well of Lahai-Roi where El Roi was worshiped. Hagar was probably the matriarch of the Ishmaelite clan. The current story makes Ishmael and Isaac both sons of Abraham, Ishmael being descended from him through an escaped or expelled secondary wife. The national epic of the Ishmaelites has been co-opted but now functions to show how and why Ishmael may neither inherit the land nor be included in the covenant with Yahweh. The narrator saw it fit that Ishmael was excluded from the covenant and given the desert as his divine inheritance. But Israel would later see inclusion in Yahweh’s covenant as the ‘blessing’ of Abraham for ‘all families of the earth’ (Gen. 12.3 read in light of Isa. 56.1-8 and 66.825). If this later consciousness had been present at the time of the story of Sarah and Hagar, perhaps Ishmael and his clan might have been included in the covenant blessing, and perhaps even in the co-possession of the Promised Land. Exegetes bear tremendous ethical responsibility for making sure that the biblical text is not used or interpreted as a toxin that kills individuals or peoples. Exegesis, to be true to the total message of the word of God, must sometimes resist the tyranny of Scripture and the ideology of certain of its texts. This is so especially where the ideology of the ‘story world’ runs afoul of the universal faith confessions of ancient Israel about their God and ours, as it apparently does in the story of Sarah and Hagar.

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Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Vol 32.2 (2007): 177-198 © 2007 SAGE Publications, Los Angeles, London, New Delhi and Singapore DOI: 10.1177/0309089207085882 http://JSOT.sagepub.com

Another Flood? Genesis 9 and Isaiah’s Broken Eternal Covenant

STEVEN D. MASON LeTourneau University, P.O. Box 7001, 2100 S. Mobberly Ave., Longview, TX 75607-7001, USA

Abstract The pressing question regarding the broken eternal covenant of Isa. 24.5 is precisely, ‘Which eternal covenant of the Old Testament is in view?’ While scholars propose a range of possibilities, this study argues that the broken eternal covenant refers precisely to the Noachic eternal covenant established in Genesis 9. In contrast to traditional conceptions of the Noachic eternal covenant, a close reading of Gen. 9.1-17 reveals literary and conceptual features that reflect a conditional and bilateral covenant between God and humankind. Understanding the true nature of the eternal covenant in Genesis 9 brings clarity to the context of Isa. 24.5 whereby the prevalence of bloodshed and the dominion of Israel’s international enemies results in cosmic consequences on the earth. Keywords: covenant, flood, eternal, Genesis 9, rainbow, Isaiah 24, Noah, Isaiah 24, Genesis 9.

The earth lies polluted under its inhabitants; for they have transgressed laws, violated the statutes, broken the everlasting covenant ()=H EJC3 HCA9). Therefore a curse devours the earth, and its inhabitants suffer for their guilt; therefore the inhabitants of the earth dwindled, and few people are left. (Isa. 24.5-6)

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The identity of the broken )=H EJC3 in Isa. 24.5 is an issue of continual debate in Isaiah scholarship. A cursory scan of Isaiah commentaries and general treatments of the passage demonstrates a lack of consensus as to which specific eternal covenant of the Old Testament is in view.1 Scholars traditionally propose one of four possible covenant backdrops to Isa. 24.5: (1) an original creation covenant;2 (2) the Noachic covenant;3 (3) the Mosaic covenant;4 or (4) a combination of covenants.5 While each of 1. The Old Testament story presents several eternal covenants that range in scope and character. The phrase )=H EJC3 occurs 18 times in the Hebrew Bible as a whole (eight times in the Pentateuch, seven times in the Major Prophets, and one time each in 2 Samuel, 1 Chronicles and the Psalms). )=H EJC3 represents ideas as wide-ranging as the promise never to flood the earth again, and also as narrow and specific as the command to set out the Bread of Presence every Sabbath at the tabernacle. This does not take into account the various places in the Hebrew Bible where a covenant and its everlasting nature may be alluded to in other ways. The present study is focusing on )=H EJC3 specifically, as a rather technical phrase, which often serves as the backdrop to passages which employ similar language and concepts. 2. E.g. W.J. Dumbrell, Covenant and Creation (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1984), p. 74; E.J. Young, The Book of Isaiah: A Commentary. II. Chapters 19–39 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), p. 158; J.N. Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah: Chapters 1–39 (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1986), p. 446. 3. E.g. Otto Kaiser, Isaiah 13–39: A Commentary (London: SCM Press, 1974), p. 183; Christopher R. Seitz, Isaiah 1–39 (Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 1993), pp. 180-84; Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 2001), p. 179; Joseph Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39 (AB, 19A; New York: Doubleday, 2000), pp. 351-52; Joseph Loete, ‘A Premature Hymn of Praise: The Meaning and Function of Isaiah 24.1416c in its Present Context’, in Hendrik Jan Bosman et al. (eds.), Studies in Isaiah 24–27 (Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 226-38 (229 n. 12); Bernhard W. Anderson, From Creation to New Creation (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1994), p. 203. 4. For the most succinct and thorough discussion in favor of a Mosaic covenant position against the Noachic covenant view, see Dan G. Johnson, From Chaos to Restoration: An Integrative Reading of Isaiah 24–27 (JSOTSup, 61; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1988), pp. 27-29. Other proponents of Mosaic reference include R.E. Clements, Isaiah 1–39 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980), pp. 201-202 (though he sees the issue as uncertain); Donald C. Polaski, ‘Reflections on a Mosaic covenant: The Eternal Covenant (Isaiah 24.5) and Intertextuality’, JSOT 77 (1998), pp. 55-73 (Polaski sees Mosaic imagery as most prominent though in combination with other P covenants); E.J. Kissane, The Book of Isaiah: Translated from a Critically Revised Hebrew Text with Commentary (Dublin: Browne & Nolan, rev. edn, 1961), pp. 271-72; Otto Ludwig, Die Stadt in der Jesaja-Apokalpse: zur Datierung von Jes. 24–27 (Cologne: Kleikamp, 1961), pp. 108-109; Dominic Rudman, ‘Midrash in the Isaiah Apocalypse’, ZAW 112 (2000), pp. 404-408 (405). 5. E.g. Robert B. Chisholm, Jr, ‘“The Everlasting Covenant” and the “City of Chaos”: Intentional Ambiguity and Irony in Isaiah 24’, Criswell Theological Review 6 (1993), pp. 237-53; Polaski, ‘Reflections on a Mosaic Covenant’, pp. 55-73 (according to Polaski, the

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these positions possesses strengths, the lack of consensus reveals that each also has significant problems for interpretation. The following paragraphs attempt to shed some light on the disagree ment surrounding the broken )=H EJC3 in Isa. 24.5. This study argues that the )=H EJC3 of Isa. 24.5 solely refers to the Noachic eternal covenant of Genesis 9. However, instead of arguing this position by combating the other three common views, I would simply like to focus attention on a misconception regarding the nature of the Noachic eternal covenant which potentially influences one’s viewpoint of Isa. 24.5. This misconception is the idea that the Noachic eternal covenant is unbreakable. The notion that the Noachic )=H EJC3 is an unbreakable/unconditional covenant serves as the greatest obstacle for reading Isaiah 24 as a reference to the Noah story since Isa. 24.5 claims )=H EJC3 HCA9.6

P covenants serve as the Second Temple backdrop to the Mosaic Law and are alluded to in Isa. 24.5); J.A. Motyer, The Prophecy of Isaiah (Leicester: Inter-Varsity Press, 1993), p. 199. Though peripheral to his argument and mentioned without explanation, Woudstra believes the broken eternal covenant of v. 5 refers to ‘that with Abraham’; see Martin H. Woudstra, ‘The Everlasting Covenant in Ezekiel 16.59-63’, CTJ 6 (1971), pp. 22-48 (32). 6. The terms ‘unbreakable’ and ‘unconditional’ (and their opposites) are used synonymously in this study. The literature pertaining to the issue of covenant conditionality and/or mutuality is vast since it is difficult to discuss any of the biblical covenants without addressing the nature of fulfillment. For specific works on covenant conditionality; cf., e.g., Jože Krašovec. ‘Two Types of Unconditional Covenant’, Horizons in Biblical Theology 18 (1996), pp. 55-77; Bruce K. Waltke, ‘The Phenomenon of Conditionality within Unconditional Covenants’, and William J. Dumbrell, ‘The Prospect of Unconditionality in the Sinaitic Covenant’, in Avraham Gileadi (ed.), Israel’s Apostasy and Restoration (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 1988), pp. 123-39 and 141-55, respectively; Ronald Youngblood, ‘The Abrahamic Covenant: Conditional or Unconditional’, in Morris Inch and Ronald Youngblood (eds.), Living and Active Word of God (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1983), pp. 31-46. Some studies attempt to address the nature of covenants by appealing to the meaning of the term EJC3 itself. Cf. the helpful work of S. Van Den Eynde, ‘The Missing Link: EJC3 in the Flood Narrative: Meaning and Peculiarities of a Hebrew Key Word’, in A. Wénin (ed.), Studies in the Book of Genesis: Literature, Redaction and History (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2001), pp. 467-78. One of the ambitions of the present study is to allow the biblical text to determine the meaning of a word or the nature of a covenant, and to demonstrate the virtue in using terms such as ‘unconditional’ and ‘conditional’ carefully. While some covenants may fit nicely into this traditional scheme, most of the covenants between God and humanity/Israel are too dynamic to be categorized so simply. As to whether an ‘eternal’ covenant can actually be broken a priori, the Old Testament seems to answer in the affirmative. Cf. the threats of being ‘cut off’, for example, for breaking the )=H EJC3 of Abrahamic and Sabbath in Gen. 17 and Exod. 31, respectively, not to mention the failure of the Davidic monarchy, which is

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I will argue that the Noachic eternal covenant is a bilateral covenant with responsibilities placed on both God and creation (humanity and animals). It is a covenant too dynamic to fit into the traditional categories of (un)conditionality when one understands the consequences of breaking the )=H EJC3. Isaiah 24.5 thus refers to the Noachic eternal covenant of Genesis 9 because (1) the Noachic covenant never to flood the earth again and destroy all things is conceived as an eternal covenant which is bilateral and breakable,7 and (2) it best fits the context of Isaiah 24. In order to substantiate this position, I will first examine the text of Genesis 9 and then briefly visit Isaiah.8 I. The Noachic Eternal Covenant and its Conditionality The Traditional Reading of Genesis 9 The argument for the unconditionality of the Noachic eternal covenant is due in large part to appeals to a form-critical analysis of Genesis 9. It is widely accepted that the content of the Noachic )=H EJC3 resides solely within vv. 8-17 of Genesis 9. It is in this section of the chapter that God promises never to cut off all flesh and destroy the earth with a flood. He establishes this promise as a )=H EJC3 for all generations. Thus the message of Gen. 9.8-17 is clearly a promise of God to preserve the earth and all living things. Confining the contours of Noah’s eternal covenant to vv. 8-17 is a reflection of the view that the literary structure and content of Gen. 9.1-17 displays two distinct pericopes.9 Such a view recognizes a blessing section (vv. 1-7) and a covenant section (vv. 8-17).

termed a )=H EJC3 in 2 Sam. 23.5. On this point, cf. also Polaski, ‘Reflections on a Mosaic Covenant’, p. 64. 7. The complexities regarding how the covenant is broken will be discussed below. 8. For a comprehensive treatment of )=H EJC3 in the Pentateuch, cf. Steven D. Mason, Eternal Covenant in the Pentateuch (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies; New York: T&T Clark International, forthcoming). 9. This is either explicitly mentioned or assumed. Cf., e.g., Gerhard von Rad, Genesis: A Commentary (trans. John H. Marks; London: SCM Press, 1972), pp. 130-34; Hermann Gunkel, Genesis (trans. Mark E. Biddle; Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1997), p. 149; Claus Westermann, Genesis 1–11: A Commentary (trans. John J. Scullion; London: SPCK, 1984), p. 461; Dumbrell, Creation and Covenant, p. 31; Van Den Eynde, ‘The Missing Link’, p. 472 n. 20; Gordon Wenham, Genesis 1–15 (Waco, TX: Word Books,

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The blessing pericope, designated as such because v. 1 reintroduces the creation mandate as a blessing like Gen. 1.28, is marked out by a verbal and conceptual inclusio. Verses 1 and 7 both share the imperative ‘be fruitful and multiply’ (H3CH HCA) along with the call to fill the earth and multiply in it, restating the original commands of Gen. 1.26-30.10 The phrase ‘subdue and rule’ (H5CH 93 JH at v. 8 and 17. This inclusio frames two sections of the covenant passage. The first (vv. 8-11) is the establishing of the covenant itself. The second is the establishing of the token or sign of the covenant (vv. 12-17). This covenant is called a EJC3 )=H in v. 16. 1987), p. 192; Thomas L. Brodie, Genesis as Dialogue (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), pp. 179-81. 10. The verses differ in the language used to fill the earth; => is used in v. 1, #C is used in v. 7. Verse 1’s command to ‘be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth’ is identical to Gen. 1.28. The word #C is often used in reference to the animal kingdom ‘swarming’ the earth (Gen. 1.20-21; 7.21; 8.17). 11. Harland, von Rad, Westermann and Wenham all offer slightly differing structures to 9.8-17, with varying rationales. See P.J. Harland, The Value of Human Life: A Study of the Story of the Flood (Genesis 6–9) (VTSup, 64; Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1996), pp. 130-32. Von Rad (Genesis, p. 130) sees the passage as full of doublets ‘so that two complete recensions can be distinguished without effort’. Westermann (Genesis 1–11, p. 470) takes v. 12 as the separation point of two sections by the P author. He believes that the use of EJC3 must be an attempt by the P author to ‘fit the flood narrative into the context of the Priestly theology as a whole’. Wenham (Genesis, p. 194) arranges the section chiastically, or ‘concentrically’, whereby the mention of the bow at 9.16 serves as the climax. Harland (The Value of Human Life, p. 131) agrees with Wenham and considers the structure of the section to hinge on three speeches which begin ‘and God said’, but feels the repetition in the passage is not simply to say the same thing, as the other three scholars hold, but to ‘serve as a means of inculcating the message of Gen 9’. Ultimately, the text could be doing several things at the same time. Determining how many P recensions or versions originally existed is difficult in the light of the possible literary and rhetorical features at play. Also, the sevenfold use of EJC3 in vv. 8-17 is probably a deliberate literary feature that argues against disparate layering. Cf. John Olley, ‘Mixed Blessings for Animals: The Contrasts of Genesis 9’, in Norman C. Habel and Shirley Wurst (eds.), Earth Story in Genesis (The Earth Bible, 2; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), pp. 130-39 (132).

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These literary and conceptual markers demarcate two, distinct pericopes, one consisting of a restatement of God’s original mandate for humankind, and the other establishing God’s )=H EJC3. Both sections make sense on their own without being genetically linked. About the latter, Barr thus notes, ‘God makes it, or “sets it up”, but no corresponding action or attitude on Noah’s part is required.’12 Barr feels that the fact that the term ‘covenant’ is not used in Gen. 9.1-7 demonstrates that this section ‘contrasts starkly with the situation in 8-17’ which is a covenantoriented pericope.13 Similarly, Zimmerli comments, ‘This “covenant” is a pure promise of God’s beneficence toward the entire world, given unconditionally. It is striking that the “Noachian laws” recorded in 9.1-7 precede the promise of the covenant totally independent of it, and have no conditional significance for the “covenant”.’14 This understanding of Genesis 9 directly impacts scholars’ interpretation of Isa. 24.5. In light of this accepted understanding of Gen. 9.1-17 whereby the stipulations of 9.1-7 are separate from the eternal covenant, Dan Johnson for example believes it is inappropriate to link the issue of bloodshed in the Isaiah 24 context, or some other human act, to the breaking of the Noachic eternal covenant since, in his reading, There is no mention of human responsibility, nor even of human involvement in this covenant… In the Genesis account the law against bloodshed and the covenant promise which God made to Noah are in two distinct and separate pericopae. The one is in no way contingent on the other.15

Robert Chisholm states, …a structural analysis of Genesis 9 reveals that the covenant mentioned there is a seemingly unconditional divine promise which does not appear to be linked formally to the mandate issued at the beginning of the chapter (Gen 9.17). Furthermore, Isa 54.9 refers to this promise and unilateral divine oath 12. James Barr, ‘Reflections on the Covenant with Noah’, in A.D.H. Mayes and R.B. Salters (eds.), Covenant as Context (Oxford: Oxford Press, 2003), pp. 11-22 (11). 13. Barr, ‘Reflections on the Covenant with Noah’, pp. 19-20. Interestingly, Barr compares the book of Jubilees’ recounting of the flood account with what Genesis is doing. His point is to notice that they are doing something different. Whereas Jubilees relates 9.1-7 and 8.20-22 with Israel’s festival and covenant renewal, Barr contends that the biblical text does not understand this section as part of the covenant. Cf. Barr, ‘Covenant with Noah’, pp. 20-22. 14. Walther Zimmerli, Old Testament Theology in Outline (trans. David E. Green; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1978), p. 56. 15. Johnson, Chaos to Restoration, pp. 28-29. On these respective points Johnson references von Rad, Genesis, pp. 133-34, and Kissane, Isaiah, p. 271.

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which God will not violate. Thus the Noahic covenant appears to be different in nature from the ‘everlasting covenant’ of Isaiah 24, which is clearly an arrangement that can be broken by humankind and has a curse attached.16

These views are representative of the scholarly consensus regarding the distinct pericopes of Genesis 9 and the eternal covenant’s unconditionality. The weight of this reading of Genesis 9 is even highlighted by those who prefer reading Isa. 24.5 as an exclusive reference to Genesis 9’s Noahic )=H EJC3. Such scholars are forced to conclude that Isa. 24.5 is doing something innovative with Noah’s covenant.17 For example, Christopher Seitz reads Isaiah 24 as reflecting something creative in respect to the eternal covenant of Genesis 9. He notes, ‘What was seemingly unthinkable—the breaking of an everlasting covenant—has tragically occurred. Humanity has encroached upon a covenant that God had established as inviolate.’ 18 Several scholars who contend that Isaiah is doing something innovative with the Noachic covenant recognize the apparent relationship in the Isaiah context between the covenant and the mandate of Gen. 9.1-7. For example, Chisholm writes, ‘In short, by giving the phrase “the everlasting covenant” a new twist, Isaiah is saying that the mandate is every bit as important as the promise and the violation of the mandate emasculates the promise of its practical value for humankind’.19 Chisholm believes that the phrase )=H EJC3 itself has been ‘transferred’ in Isaiah 24 to the mandate of Gen. 9.1-7 whereas in Genesis 9 it only pertains to God’s promise never to flood the earth again. In the same vein, Blenkinsopp believes that the Isaiah author is ‘incorporating his own reading of the primeval history’.20 He notes, The Isaian author appears to have understood the so-called laws of Noah as stated in Gen 9.1-7, especially the prohibition of shedding blood, in a different

16. Chisholm, ‘Intentional Ambiguity’, pp. 239-40. 17. In contrast to the scholars mentioned below, Bernhard Anderson does not seem to feel the need to discuss how the message of breaking the eternal covenant with Noah harmonizes with his view that the covenant is originally an unconditional commitment of God to his creation. Cf. Anderson, Creation to New Creation, pp. 136 and 203-206. 18. Seitz, Isaiah 1–39, p. 182. 19. Chisholm, ‘Intentional Ambiguity’, p. 247. Chisholm believes that there is intentional ambiguity in the reference to the eternal covenant to accommodate dual referentiality (Noahic and Mosaic covenant). 20. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, pp. 351-52.

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Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 32.2 (2007) way from the Priestly author—namely, as stipulations attached to the perpetual covenant, the violation of which cancelled the divine promise not to destroy the earth a second time.21

Therefore, scholars who hold to Noachic referentiality to some degree argue that the Isaiah author is making an innovative move with Genesis 9’s )=H EJC3.22 A New Reading of Genesis 9 I would like to propose that there is another way to hold to the breakability of the Noachic eternal covenant rather than appealing to Isaiah’s inventiveness with the original covenant. On the contrary, I would like to appeal to the covenant’s inherent conditional character. Specifically, I would argue that there is both a literary and conceptual basis for reading the two pericopes of Genesis 9 together as two sides of the )=H EJC3, which produces and reflects an authentic conditional component to the Noachic eternal covenant. Literary connection of the pericopes. There is a fundamental literary/ structural feature of Gen. 9.1-17 that is overlooked in scholarship which prohibits the two sections from being separated. The clearest indication of the bilateral nature of the )=H EJC3 is grammatically and verbally marked off at vv. 7 and 9: 93H3CH #C 3 H4C H3CH HCA )E H As for you, be fruitful and multiply, abound on the earth and multiply in it. (Gen. 9.7) )<E JEJC3E )JB> J??9 J? H As for me, behold, I am establishing my covenant with you. (Gen. 9.9)

When one recognizes the Old Testament 9E /9?9 J? pattern employed in Genesis 9 it is clear that there are two sides to the Noachic eternal covenant. The phrase ‘as for you’, represented by )E H followed by a volitional idea (the imperative ‘be fruitful and multiply’ etc. in this case), combined with ‘as for me’, represented by the emphatic J??9 J? H, is a common construction in the Hebrew Bible used to demarcate the responsibilities of

21. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, pp. 351-52. 22. Presumably this includes Otto Kaiser, who does not explain his Noachic covenant position.

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two parties within a single, direct discourse.23 The situation may involve a covenant explicitly or a rather loose arrangement. A prime example of the way this construction creates a bilateral arrangement may be found in Genesis 17, also a )=H EJC3 context, which significantly parallels this pattern as presented in Genesis 9: (E JEJC3 9?9 J?  As for me, behold my covenant with you. (Gen. 17.4) )EC5= (JCI (CKH 9E C>E JEJC3E 9E H As for you, you shall keep my covenant, you and your offspring after you throughout their generations. (Gen. 17.9)

Both locations reflect a similar verbal and syntactical pattern. Man’s responsibility is marked out by a form of 9E followed by commands/ requests while God’s responsibilities are signified by a form of 9?9 J? followed by a non-temporal marker in presenting the covenant (participle in Gen. 9, no verb in Gen. 17). There are other links between these two eternal covenant passages. For example, 9.11 and 17.7 both use the phrase JEJC3E JE><9H in relation to 9?9 J? , and the issue of fruitfulness and multiplication (93C/9CA, 9.1, 7; 17.2, 6) is at stake in both the eternal covenant passages.24 While most scholars acknowledge that Genesis 17 reflects a conditional eternal covenant between God and Abraham, and often note the function of 9E and 9?9 J? in the passage, I have yet to find anyone who links this construction exemplified in Genesis 17 to its parallel in Genesis 9.25 23. Cf. especially in the following )=H EJC3 passages: Gen. 17.4, 9; Exod. 31.6, 13; Num. 18.6, 7, 8. Cf. also Exod. 14.16, 17; Jer. 1.17, 18; 40.10; Ezek. 36–39 (9?9 J? , 37.5, 12, 19, 21; 9E H, 36.8, 37.16, 39.1, 17).  9?9 J? is also used in conjunction with explicit commands given to another party in situations where 9E H is not used but implied. Cf., e.g., 9?9 J? (Gen. 6.18), which pivotally contrasts the specific commands to Noah to build the ark and include the animals (Gen. 6.14-16, 19-21). In Num. 3, God gives the Levites to Aaron’s family as servants of the priesthood (3.9-10) while receiving the Levites himself (9?9 J? ) as a substitute for the firstborn of Israel. Sometimes the word 9EH, a possible word-play on 9E H, is placed where the latter term is usually expected. Cf. Jer. 26.13-14. 24. In addition, some interesting observations linking the two passages are offered in Wilfried Warning, ‘Terminological Patterns and Genesis 17’, HUCA 70–71 (1999–2000), pp. 93-107. 25. Cf. Walter Brueggemann, ‘Genesis 17.1-22’, Int 45 (1991), pp. 55-59 (57); Westermann, Genesis 12–36, p. 255; Wenham, Genesis 16–50, pp. 21, 24; Youngblood, ‘Conditional or Unconditional?’, p. 38. Spurrell, for example, notes that J? is ‘opposed’

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The point for this discussion is that the pattern ‘as for me/as for you’ in Genesis 9 formally links the so-called ‘blessing’ and ‘covenant’ sections of Genesis 9, marking-out dual responsibilities in the covenant. The dynamic relationship between the two sides will be discussed below. For now, however, the point is to say that this simple but significant literary feature demonstrates that 9.1-7 is indeed a covenant text, part of the eternal covenant of Noah.26 Not only is 9.1-7 bridged to vv. 8-17 by this literary feature, but also there are conceptual features of 9.1-7 which overlap with covenant themes expressed in other places in the Old Testament. The ‘blessing’ section thus reflects inherent covenant qualities. Conceptual Feature #1: Enemies overtaking God’s People. I stated above that vv. 2-6 of Genesis 9 elaborate and define what it means to be fruitful and multiply, essentially detailing how to subdue and rule the earth in the new post-flood era. These verses are fundamentally about how humankind is now to relate to itself and the animal kingdom. Verses 2-3 describe humanity’s authority and dominion over the animal kingdom by stating ‘into your hands they are delivered’ (v. 2, H?E? )<5J3) and ‘I give you everything’ (v. 3, =<E )<= JEE?). There is now ‘fear and dread’ (v. 2, 9J9J )<EIH )4 CH>H) upon the animal kingdom, implying a new enmity between humanity and animal. For humankind’s security and the earth’s harmony, he is allowed to kill and eat animals. In order for human being and animal to cohabitate, animals are to live in submission, if you will, to humans. It is well argued by scholars that the language in this section is explicit language of holy war.27 Lohfink comments, to 9E H in v. 9; see G.J. Spurrell, Notes on the Hebrew Text of the Book of Genesis: With Two Appendices (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1887), p. 157. Delitzsch and Dillman notice the way that J? and 9E H demarcate parallel sections in Gen. 9 but neither links the construction to Gen. 17 or considers Gen 9.1-7 more than a blessing corresponding to the eternal covenant; cf. Franz Delitzsch, A New Commentary on Genesis (trans. Sophia Taylor; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1888–89), pp. 286-87; August Dillmann, Genesis Critically and Exegetically Expounded (trans. William B. Stevenson; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1897), p. 287. 26. Also, see the way the two pericopes could be linked by the phrase ‘And God said…’ in vv. 1, 8, 12, 17. 27. Gerhard von Rad, Holy War in Ancient Israel (ed. and trans. Marva J. Dawn; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991); Manfred Weippert, ‘“Heiliger Krieg” in Israel und Assyrien’, ZAW 84 (1972), pp. 460-93 (contrary to von Rad, Weippert argues that the

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The formulations ‘fear and dread’, and ‘to deliver into [someone’s] hand’ are part of the language of war. In the oracle that is reflected here [Gen 9.2-3] the divinity gave the enemies ‘into the power’ of those making war on them, and in the battle itself the god took part and thus threw the enemies into ‘fear and dread’.28

The term 9CH> of Gen. 9.2 is commonly used with other terms to produce the hendiadys ‘fear and dread’ in the Old Testament regarding the response of the Egyptians vis-à-vis the works of God in the Exodus story and/or the future response of Israel’s enemies as Israel procures the promised land.29 Patrick Miller recognizes the connection between the fear of the enemies of Israel and the nation’s possession of the land. Concerning Rahab’s confession in Josh. 2.8-13, he notes, ‘That act distinguishes her from her countrymen, who have also seen the power of the Lord and whose hearts have melted in fear and dread’.30 The phrase H?E? )<5J3 reflects an idea that pervades the Old Testament in respect to Israel overcoming enemies.31 Lohfink is so convinced of this that he states, ‘There is no need to discuss the fact that ntn bƟyƗd was the fixed expression of the oracle of salvation in war’.32 This new post-flood relationship between humans and animals thus prefigures Israel’s mandated relationship to its human, international enemies. According to Genesis 9, in order for humankind properly to dwell on the earth, harmony must exist between humans and any threat to being fruitful and multiplying. This can only take place by implementing a proper authority structure. This principle applies to the particularities of conception of Holy War in Israel was not a distinctly Israelite concept); Norbert Lohfink, Theology of the Pentateuch: Themes of the Priestly Narrative and Deuteronomy (trans. Linda M. Maloney; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1994), p. 13. Von Rad does not identify this language in Gen. 9 since he is primarily concerned with Holy War in the history and story of Israel. 28. Lohfink, Theology of the Pentateuch, p. 13. Also cf. pp. 168 and 168 n. 94 (brackets are not original). 29. CJ = Isa. 8.12; Mal. 2.5; 5IA = Deut. 11.25; #C = Isa. 8.13; EI = Gen. 9.2; =H58 = Deut. 4.34; 26.8; 34.12; Jer. 32.21. Also cf. Olley, ‘Mixed Blessings’, pp. 134-36; von Rad, Der Heilige Krieg, pp. 10-12. 30. Patrick Miller, ‘The Story of the First Commandment: The Book of Joshua’, in A.D.H. Mayes and R.B. Salters (eds.), Covenant as Context (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), pp. 311-24. 31. Cf. von Rad, Der Heilige Krieg, pp. 7-8. In the Pentateuch alone, cf., e.g., Gen. 14.20; Exod. 23.31; Lev. 26.25; Num. 21.2, 34; Deut. 1.27; 2.24, 30; 3.2, 3; 7.24; 20.13; 21.10. 32. Lohfink, Theology of the Pentateuch, pp. 168 and 168 n. 94.

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Israel’s relationship to its enemies.33 In Exod. 1.12, it is the Egyptians who grew to dread the Hebrew people who were fruitful and multiplied (Exod. 1.7-12). In Num. 22.3, it is the Moabites who were overcome with fear and dread because Israel had grown so numerous (22.3-6). In Deuteronomy 7 and 8, the idea of fruitfulness and multiplication in the land serves as warrant and reward for overcoming its enemies.34 These various expressions for subduing Israel’s enemies are direct products, promises, and rewards of God’s covenant with Israel.35 Israel’s enemies are properly to fear them and be given over to their dominion in the same manner that Gen. 9.2-3 mandates for animals. This ensures fruitfulness and multiplication in the land, that is, the earth. In respect to the way animals function in Scripture, Murray makes several observations which are applicable to my assertion that Genesis 9’s use of the human to animal imagery is to be reapplied to Israel relationship to its enemies in the Old Testament. He notes, One feature of many biblical passages about animals and humans which calls for delicate care in interpretation is the varying degree to which metaphor is in play, constantly raising the question of its sense or implications… [A] text, while picturing a relationship to animals, may seem to say something about human society, or about all creatures before God. These possibilities are most manifold and complex in mythical narratives or in poetic pictures which seem to evoke the mythical order, yet also to have a reference to the actual order.36

He notes that wild animals are functioning as a metaphor for human enemies in the full sense in Isa. 5.29.37 Peace with animals is metaphorical of social peace, and peace with wild animals signifies security from ene33. Cf. Gen. 22.17 for an example of God’s promise of prosperity (multiplication/ fruitfulness) inherently connected with military success. Verses 17 and 18 represent the multiple elements of the Abrahamic covenant presented from chs. 12–22. 34. Also cf. Deut. 1.10; 6.3; 7.13, 22; 8.1, 13; 11.21; 28; 30.5, 16. 35. For identifying the covenant theme that undergirds these ideas, cf. especially Exod. 2.24; 6.4-5; 19.5; 34.10-11; Deut. 7; 29.8 (Eng. 9); Ezek. 37.24-28. 36. Robert Murray, SJ, The Cosmic Covenant: Biblical Themes of Justice, Peace, and the Integrity of Creation (London: Sheed & Ward, 1992), p. 95. 37. Houston and Douglas contend that domestic animals are generally viewed as members of the Israelite community while wild animals ‘have no covenant to protect them’; see Walter Houston, Purity and Monotheism: Clean and Unclean Animals in Biblical Law (JSOTSup, 140; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), p. 184, quoting Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (New York: Praeger Publications, 1966), p. 54. Houston believes ‘covenant’ is a bit strong but agrees with Douglas’ assertion and views the relationship between domestic and wild animals as metaphors for human society (Purity and Monotheism, p. 185).

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mies, according to Ezekiel 34.38 Paul Beauchamp goes further in seeing Gen. 9.2-6 as essentially a literary midrash of which animals are a part, though it fundamentally concerns human society and ethics.39 Yet, while animals do serve as a metaphor in Genesis 9 for the future Israel–nations relationship, this does not mean that animals are solely a metaphor for international enemies in Genesis 9. Several Old Testament texts demonstrate that animals do indeed pose a real threat to Israel’s ability to succeed in the promised land. Leviticus 26 demonstrates this point well. The passage reflects how fruitfulness and multiplication is inherently a covenant concept (cf. v. 9; EJC3 occurs eight times in the chapter40) involving Israel’s ability to overcome the threat of wild animals. If Israel does not heed God’s commands (cf. v. 3), multiplying is stunted by wild animals (v. 22). To become few in number is a direct contradiction to the mandate reinstated in Genesis 9.41 However, if the Israelites are obedient to God, he will bless them with protection from animals to ensure security and peace, as stated in vv. 56.42 So as noted in Genesis 9 on a universal scale, Israel’s calling to be 38. Murray, The Cosmic Covenant, p. 96. He also lists other ways in which animals and inanimate objects serve metaphorically in relationship to humans or human qualities. Cf. his Table 2.2. 39. Murray references Paul Beauchamp, ‘Création et fondation de la loi en Gn 1,1– 2,4’, in Création dans l’Orient ancient (congrès de l’ACFEB, Lille 1985; Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1987), pp. 153-67. Murray, Cosmic Covenant, p. 100. Murray acknowledges the difficulty in certain texts of determining a literal or metaphorical use of animals (p. 200 n. 27). 40. Verses 9, 15, 25, 42 (×3), 44, 45. 41. For a similar connection between the ability to multiply and possess the land and protection from wild animals, see Exod. 23.29-30. 42. Another covenant text which upholds this theme is Ezek. 34. Verse 25 reads ‘I will make with them a covenant of peace and banish wild animals from the land, so that they may live in the wild and sleep in the woods securely’. As in Lev. 26.6, peace and security is contingent upon protection from wild animals. Yet, v. 25 of Ezekiel has altered the )H= in Lev. 26.6 to become a )H= EJC3. This represents how the issue of animals in the land is inherently a covenant issue. In Ezek. 34 we find half of the classic covenant formula (‘I Yhwh will be their God…’) as in Lev. 26, also legitimizing it as a covenant text. Milgrom presents Ezek. 34.24-28 as ‘a glaring example’ of borrowing from Lev. 26; cf. Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27 (AB, 3B; New York: Doubleday, 2001), pp. 2348-49, for more on the potential connection between these texts. There are other places in Ezekiel which address the role of wild animals in relation to God’s blessing or wrath in the land (5.17; 14.15, 21; 32.4; 33.27; 34.5, 8; 39.4). Thus, it is clear that humankind’s relationship with animals, who threaten security and peace in the promised land, is a key covenant issue. Cf. also the covenant of peace made with humans and animals in Job 5.22-23.

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fruitful and multiply can be thwarted by disobedience to God which results in chaos for the human–animal relationship. Yet, Leviticus demonstrates the close association that animals have with enemy nations as dual threats to Israel’s calling. Leviticus 26.6 says, #C 9*> 9C 9JI JE39H 5JCI> *J H )E3<H #C 3 )H= JEE?H     )<4C 3 C3E = 3CIH And I will grant peace in the land, and you shall lie down, and no one shall make you afraid; I will remove dangerous animals from the land, and no sword shall go through your land.

Thirteen times in the chapter Israel’s enemies (3J ) are referred to as threats to Israel’s life and success as God’s people. In two instances this is paired with animals (vv. 6 and 22).43 Both animals and human enemies represent threats and punishments for Israel. While both the human– animal and human–human relationship is addressed in Gen. 9.2-6, the language of fear and being ‘handed over’ applies only to the human– animal relationship in that pericope. In Leviticus 26 these ideas are reversed. Both entities are mentioned as enemies, but it is only human beings that will be afraid and ‘handed-over’ to their enemies. In line with the curses of Leviticus 26, if the Israelites are disobedient and break the covenant, the consequence is that ‘your foes over you shall rule’ (H5CH )<J ? )<3, Lev. 26.17) and ‘you shall be given over to enemy hands’ (3JH 5J3 )EE?H, Lev. 26.25).44 The obvious implication of the curses in Leviticus 26 is that if Israel is obedient to God, then Israel will rule over their enemies and their enemies will be handed over to them.45 This language represents the ‘subdue’ ideas of the human–animal relationship in Genesis 9.46 43. In Gen. 9 and Lev. 26, ‘animals’ is seen as the appropriate translation for ‘living things’. In Gen. 9.2 it is ‘every animal of the earth’ (#C 9 EJI=<), v. 5 ‘every animal’ (9JI=<), vv. 10, 12, 15, 16 ‘every living creature’ (#C 9 EJI=<3H, 9JI9 A?=<, 9JI A?=<). In Lev. 26.6 it is ‘every wild animal of the land’ (#C 9*> 9C 9JI), in v. 22 it is every living thing of the field (959E EJI). 44. Ezek. 5.17 and 34.28 both pair animals with enemy nations as threats to Israel’s safety in the land. In Ezek. 34 and 39, like Lev. 26, it is only human beings who will deal positively or negatively with ‘fear’. The animal metaphor for human enemies works well in Ezek. 34 amidst the shepherd/sheep/wild animal imagery. In the end, it is clear that both nations and animals are in view (vv. 28-29). The hope for there to be no fear of enemies in the land is reiterated in Ezek. 39.26. 45. Notice the positional emphasis of ‘over you’ ()<J ? )<3 H5CH) in Lev. 26.17. 46. 2 Samuel illustrates this point in another way. Immediately after God blesses David with the promises of a dynasty in ch. 7 (referred to later in ch. 23 as a )=H EJC3),

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The point offered here is twofold. First, the human to animal relationship in Genesis 9 characterizes and prefigures Israel’s dominion over other nations. Thus, the animals in Genesis 9 serve double-duty. They represent the real relationship between human beings and animals within the world, and they represent in anticipatory fashion the relationship between Israel and its enemies in the promised land. Second, the images and ideas of fruitfulness and multiplication, and subduing threats to this mandate as expressed in Gen. 9.1-7, Leviticus 26, and other Old Testament covenant texts noted above, demonstrate that these elements of Gen. 9.1-7 are intrinsically covenant ideas.47 One does not have to retroject this upon 9.1-7 when the traditionally designated ‘blessing’ and ‘covenant’ pericopes are recognized as equal parts of the single )=H EJC3 of Genesis 9. Conceptual feature #2: Indiscriminate bloodshed. A second major covenant concept embedded in Gen. 9.1-7 is the relationship of humanity to lifeblood. The stipulations involving proper reverence and stewardship of lifeblood in vv. 4-6 are a direct address to the problem of violence (D>I) prior to the flood (cf. 6.11).48 While taking the life of other living things is, ironically, sanctioned in the post-flood context, the prohibitions prevent ‘killing for the sake of killing’.49 It is fairly obvious that 9.4’s prohibition of consuming meat with its blood still in it parallels the same teaching within the Mosaic Law which often results in the penalty of being v. 1 of ch. 8 says that David subdued the Philistines and took their leading city from their hand (5J>). In v. 11 of the same chapter David dedicates to God the riches taken from the nations which he subdued, 3< C (the same term used for subdue in Gen. 1.28 and implied in 9.2-6). This authority and submission language used in reference to Israel’s relationship to its enemy nations parallels the same eternal covenant reality of the human and animal relationship in Gen. 9. 47. In the second chapter of Hosea we again find covenant language surrounding safety in the land with animals and enemies. 2.18 reads, ‘I will make for you a covenant on that day with the wild animals, the birds of the air, and the creeping things of the ground; and I will abolish the bow, the sword, and war from the land; and I will make you lie down in safety’. Chapter 2 of Hosea not only includes the word EJC3 (2.20) but possesses the covenant formula (2.25) within the text. 48. Cf., e.g., Harland, The Value of Human Life, p. 145; Israel Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995), p. 137 n. 51; M. Vervenne, ‘“The Blood is the Life and the Life is the Blood”: Blood as Symbol of Life and Death in Biblical Tradition (Gen. 9,4)’, in J. Quaegebeur (ed.), Ritual and Sacrifice in the Ancient Near East (Leuven: Peeters, 1993), pp. 451-70 (469). 49. Westermann, Genesis 1–11, pp. 462-63.

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‘cut off from the people’.50 While the shedding of blood has only involved the lives of animals in 9.4, v. 5 demonstrates that animals and humans will be held accountable for the shedding of lifeblood. These prohibitions of vv. 4-5 address the problem of indiscriminate bloodshed. Verse 6 addresses how the accountability of shedding blood will be enforced. Humankind, created in God’s image, will enforce the death penalty. Verses 5-6 address the topic of lifeblood in a subtle covenant fashion. They confirm that God will require a reckoning for human life from all creatures and now sanctions humankind’s authority to shed the blood of another human. These ideas are not foreign to the life of Israel (cf., e.g., Deut. 19.11-13). God’s sanctioning of just blood vengeance in v. 6 is also a theme found throughout the Israelite story (i.e. Exod. 32.26-29 and Num. 25.5-8). Yet, the full significance and covenantal thrust of these new sanctions in vv. 4-6 are only properly understood in the light of their relationship to vv. 8-17 and the )=H EJC3. The ideas of vv. 5-6 create an important message here when read in conjunction with God’s promise never to flood the earth again in 9.8-17, and even the same promise in 8.21 where God first promises never to destroy every living creature. Verse 5 makes it clear that though God makes such a promise, he still requires a just accounting for life on earth (v. 5) when humans or animals fail to follow his mandate. But now (v. 6), humankind is responsible for reckoning it in contrast to God. The poetic and emphatic nature of v. 6ab stresses this point: (A!J H>5 )5 3 )5 9 )5 (A Whoever sheds the blood of a human, by a human his blood shall be shed… (Gen. 9.6ab)

In the light of God’s promise never to destroy all living things again, the focus in 9.6 is on humankind’s ()5 ) new responsibility to avenge, appropriately, indiscriminate bloodshed. Verse 6c indicates that this is the reality of being image bearers of God (J
50. Cf., e.g., Lev. 1.15; 3.17; 7.26-27; especially 17.10, 12, 14; 19.26; Num. 23.24; Deut. 12.16, especially 12.23; 15.23; 1 Sam. 14.32-34. Israel’s stewardship of human and animal life in the land is a pervading covenant theme in various texts of the Old Testament. Cf., e.g., the concentration on Israel’s responsibility for death and bloodshed in Lev. 17.4; Hos. 4.1-3; Ezek. 7.23; 9.9; 22.1-4, 7; 23.45; 36.18.

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Understanding these verses in the light of God’s promise in vv. 8-17 influences the point of v. 6c vis-à-vis parts a and b of the verse. It is conceivable that v. 6c ‘reasserts the unique status of man and explains why human life is specially protected, but animal life is not’.51 Thus, ‘The commandment against shedding human blood is substantiated by the fact that man is made in the image of God’.52 This implies that killing a human defames God. Another proposal is that v. 6c shows ‘that the murderer experiences exactly what he did,’53 a sort of ‘eye for an eye’ rationale. Unfortunately while these ideas may be inherent parts to being made in the image of God, these views miss the primary point of v. 6c. Verse 6 sanctions a human being to take the life of another in the place of God.54 In the light of v. 6ab, it is humankind, as bearers of God’s image, who will represent God in the reckoning of indiscriminate bloodshed. This maintains the idea of rulership and authority inherent in this section and within the image of God idea. This is what is new in light of God’s postflood promise. God relinquishes his own responsibility of just blood punishment. Now humankind ()5 ) holds that (new) position of responsibility since God will restrain himself from destroying all life. This contrast can only be understood when one understands that the eternal covenant of Noah has two sides, vv. 1-7 and 8-17. The precise relationship between the two major covenant ideas of 9.1-7 discussed above, humankind’s authority over his enemies and sanctioned bloodshed, is exemplified in the microcosm of the life of Israel. Exodus 32 illustrates how these ‘subduing’ ideas correspond to one another. The nation forgets who their true God is (vv. 1, 4, 8, 23) and falls into idolatry by building the calf and worshipping it. The potential negative reputation 51. Wenham, Genesis 1–15, pp. 193-94. 52. Gerhard von Rad, Old Testament Theology, I (trans. D.M.G. Stalker; Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, 1962), p. 198. Cf. also Walther Zimmerli, Old Testament Theology in Outline (trans. David E. Green; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1978), p. 134. Similarly, cf. Westermann, Genesis 1–11, p. 468; Walther Eichrodt, Theology of the Old Testament, II (OTL; London: SCM Press, 1967), p. 125; Laurence A. Turner, Genesis (Readings: A New Biblical Commentary; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), p. 53 (who contends that this is one of the main reasons); cf. Robert Davidson, Genesis 1–11 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), p. 88 (who sees the prohibition as a protection of the sanctity of life but recognizes the irony in sanctioning killing). 53. Gunkel, Genesis, p. 149. 54. Cf. von Rad, Genesis, pp. 132-33, which highlights this point (contra his Theology) because of the phrase ‘by man’. Also cf. Turner, Genesis, p. 53; Delitzsch, Genesis, pp. 286-87; Dillmann, Genesis, p. 287.

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of Israel as the people of God, and its military prowess vis-à-vis other nations and enemies, underpins this horrific sin (vv. 12, 17-18, 25). God threatens to destroy the entire nation (except for Moses, vv. 9-10), but Moses asks God to restrain his wrath and reminds him of his covenant with the patriarchs, which promised land and multiplication (v. 12-13). God relents from destroying the nation. However, it is the Levites who administer blood punishment (slaying 3000 people) and are blessed. This story significantly overlaps with Noah’s eternal covenant. Israel’s concession to idolatry is the product of failing to maintain the proper relationship to its enemies (and hence, their gods), which potentially affects Israel’s ability to overcome its enemies (thus failing to fulfill Gen. 9.2-3). God would destroy the nation, but his covenant prevents him from doing so (as in Gen. 9.8-17). This covenant concerns land (as in Gen. 9.8-17) and multiplication (as in Gen. 9.1-7).55 Instead, it is humankind who takes the responsibility for blood justice (~ Gen. 9.4-6). The story of Phinehas in Numbers 25, a )=H EJC3 passage, exemplifies these same qualities.56 Conclusion to Genesis 9 For conceptual and literary reasons, then, Gen. 9.1-7 should be viewed as the human side of the bilateral )=H EJC3 that God makes with Noah and his sons. The 9E /9?9 J? pattern employed in Genesis 9 formally connects the two sides of the covenant. The covenantal imagery of 9.1-7 also demonstrates that it belongs to the )=H EJC3. Thus, God can promise never to destroy the earth again because he has implemented a way to account for the enmity in the human–human, and human–animal, relationship. Humankind has been given God’s authority to execute blood 55. Amid the metaphors represented by the new human to animal relationship and stipulations regarding lifeblood, there are other lessons for Israel and their quest for the promised land. Not only do real animals pose a threat to Israel, but 9.2-4 indeed implies that what Israel eats is an important component of fruitfulness. That is, 9.2-4 stipulate that humankind may eat animals, adhering to certain rules, within the new post-flood economy. In turn, God is also interested in the food of Israel for carrying out its vocation. As with the universal post-flood setting of Gen. 9, God mandates certain food with rules in route to the promised land (e.g. manna on the Sabbath in Exod. 16). God provides food in Gen. 9 and God will provide food in the story of Israel. These are forms of fruitfulness in the land. 56. In Num. 25, for instance, another )=H EJC3 passage, Phinehas is rewarded with an eternal covenant of priesthood for killing an Israelite man who had yoked himself with a Midianite woman (and thus the God of Baal-Peor) in marriage. Phinehas is carrying out God’s proper judgment (cf. Num. 25.1-5) on those who worship other gods by marrying foreigners.

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punishment for the indiscriminate killing that instigated the flood. Genesis 9.2-6 details how humans are to subdue and rule the earth in order to be fruitful and multiply successfully. Thus, the )=H EJC3 is a covenant that God bestows to preserve the land (Gen. 9.8-17) and keep himself from exercising just punishment on a comprehensive scale. In return, God expects humankind to be fruitful and multiply (9.1-7), which involves the new responsibility of executing just blood punishment as an image bearer of God. As we leave the biblical story of Genesis 9, the consequences for breaking the covenant are not primarily in view. Rather, this covenant is established in Genesis 9 with the expectation that both parties will uphold their covenant responsibilities in order to rule the earth in harmony. Moreover, it is safe to say that God’s promise to remember (C
57. Scholars disagree as to the appropriateness of the designation ‘apocalyptic’ (cf., e.g., Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, p. 346, vis-à-vis Childs, Isaiah, pp. 173-74). The first commentators to use this language were B. Duhm, Das Buch Jesaja (Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 4th edn, 1922), p. 172, and R. Smend, ‘Anmerkungen zu Jes. 24–27’, ZAW 4 (1884), pp. 161-224. For a detailed discussion of the character of this section of Isaiah, that is, its dating, historical indicators, redactional questions, and the apocalyptic genre, see William R. Miller, Isaiah 24–27 and the Origin of the Apocalyptic (Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1976), pp. 1-22; Paul D. Hanson, The Dawn of the Apocalyptic (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, rev. edn, 1979), pp. 1-31, 313-14; Clements, Isaiah 1–39, pp. 196-200; Seitz, Isaiah 1–39, pp. 172-79; Kaiser, Isaiah 13–39, pp. 17379; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, pp. 346-48; Childs, Isaiah, pp. 171-74; Marvin A. Sweeney, ‘Textual Citations in Isaiah 24–27: Toward an Understanding of the Redactional Function of Chapters 24–27 in the Book of Isaiah’, JBL 107 (1988), pp. 39-52.

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against the nations detailed in the previous eleven chapters.58 While risking oversimplification, chs. 13–27 of Isaiah essentially raise two interrelated issues: (1) Israel’s enemies overtaking them, and (2) indiscriminate bloodshed among the nations. These two issues lie at the very heart of the commands of Gen. 9.1-7 and eternal covenant violation in Isaiah. Both Genesis 9 and Isaiah 24 connect these two concepts to worldwide devastation and a )=H EJC3 in Gen. 9.16 and Isa. 24.5, respectively. Isaiah 24 speaks of worldwide judgment in language and imagery that many relate to a flood-like catastrophe. The heavens and the earth are laid waste and desolate, utterly despoiled (vv. 1-4); the earth suffers from a curse (v. 6); the windows of heaven are open (v. 18); the earth staggers like a drunkard (v. 20); the Lord will punish the heavens and the earth and its inhabitants (v. 21); and few will be left (v. 6), for ‘they have transgressed laws, violated statutes, broken the everlasting covenant’ (v. 5). These are the laws and statutes of the everlasting covenant established in Gen. 9.1-7. The outlook for the world changes, however, as chs. 25–27 reflect a positive future whereby Israel turns to God and the hope of his ultimate judgment upon those responsible for violence on the earth. And it is within these chapters that we find the central issues related to the breaking of the eternal covenant as first identified in Genesis 9. Isaiah 26.13 says, ‘O LORD our God, other lords besides you have ruled over us, but we acknowledge your name alone’. Thus, Israel was not able to reach the nations. Verse 18 says, ‘…we did not bring salvation to the earth…’ When Israel is ruled by its enemies, nations are not drawn to the God of Israel. Therefore the promise of God’s wrath is restated in 26.21, ‘For the LORD comes out from his place to punish the inhabitants of the earth for their iniquity; the earth will disclose the bloodshed on it, and will no longer cover its slain’. God will punish the earth for indiscriminate bloodshed. A Flood of Soldiers Chapters 24–27 of Isaiah reveal the conditional nature of Genesis 9’s EJC3 )=H. The eternal covenant of Noah is indeed breakable. Humankind 58. For more on the relationship of Isa. 24–27 to the rest of Isaiah, including observations of texts and themes within this section introduced in other parts of the book as well, see Brevard S. Childs, Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture (London: SCM Press, 1979), pp. 330-33; Christopher R. Seitz, ‘Isaiah 1–66: Making Sense of the Whole’, in Christopher R. Seitz (ed.), Reading and Preaching the Book of Isaiah (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988), pp. 105-26; Sweeney, ‘Isaiah 24–27’, pp. 39-52.

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has failed to honor God’s authority structure (i.e. Israel over international enemies) and this has resulted in indiscriminate bloodshed. And yet, while humankind’s covenant violation gives God the right to send a second flood as the bilateral arrangement of Genesis 9 dictates, he foregoes this prerogative and sticks with his original promise that extends this duty to humans. Thus, Christopher Seitz correctly observes that, In the poetic language of ch. 24, the author argues that the nations have returned to the violent ways of their forebears in the days of Noah. The world is not destroyed again by a forty-day flood, as God had promised, but rather by the centuries-long assaults of the nations.59

God maintains the original agreement and allows the hand of human beings to execute his own cosmic judgment. In the eighth-century setting, it is the Assyrians who are God’s instrument of bloody judgment (10.5). But God’s ultimate instrument of destruction in the future will be the Babylonian empire called God’s ‘consecrated ones’, which carries out his divine wrath (13.3; 23.13).60 Ironically, God ordains the nations (threats to the mandate) to overcome his people and execute the divine wrath, which was originally to be the duty of his chosen people.61 Though devastated, Israel is not finished. The worldwide devastation which included them was a sort of purging of their sin (cf. 27.1, 9). Verses 7-9 are explicit in noting that, ironically, bloodshed and being overcome by its enemies brought about a removal of Israel’s sin and was God’s way of cleansing his people. It was through God’s wrath and judgment that a new start is possible, so that his people may worship him on his holy mountain (v. 13) and that ‘ruthless nations will fear ( CJ) God’ (cf. 25.3). God’s actions of restoring Israel and reinstilling this ‘fear’ in the nations is the route to worldwide salvation. These ideas are reminiscent of the purpose of the flood whereby a single act served as both judgment and salvation giving a new beginning to humanity. The proper relationship between Israel and the nations will be restored because the hands of 59. Seitz, Isaiah 1–39, p. 182. 60. Yet, ultimately, even these enemies will be overthrown by God (10.12; 13.17; 21.9). 61. At times in the Old Testament it is righteous men executing just punishment. In 2 Sam. 4, David illustrates this point in confronting the men who killed Abner. Verse 11 reads: ‘How much more, then, when wicked men have killed a righteous man on his bed in his own house! And now shall I not require his blood at your hand, and destroy you from the earth?’ The point in Isaiah and 2 Samuel is that executing just punishment for bloodshed results in destruction from the earth.

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humankind, albeit Israel’s enemies, still accomplished his divine punishment as intended in Genesis 9. III. Summary In sum, this study of the )=H EJC3 of Genesis 9 and the reference to it in Isaiah 24 attempts to posit the following ideas. First, the mandate of Gen. 9.1-7 is an inherent part of the Noachic eternal covenant. This is due to its syntactical and literary connection to vv. 8-17 and its presentation of covenant ideas as illustrated in the life of Israel. Second, Genesis 9 presents a bilateral covenant with expectations on both sides. The goal is that this covenant will ensure the mandate’s success on the earth. Third, in the event of indiscriminate bloodshed, Gen. 9.6 should be read in juxtaposition to vv. 8-17, showing that God ordains humans to bestow his divine wrath through appropriate bloodshed.

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Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Vol 32.2 (2007): 199-215 © 2007 SAGE Publications, Los Angeles, London, New Delhi and Singapore DOI: 10.1177/0309089207085883 http://JSOT.sagepub.com

Revisiting Judges 19: A Gothic Perspective

ANDREW HOCK-SOON NG Jalan Lagoon Selatan, Bandar Sunway, 46150, Selangor, Malaysia

Abstract This study deploys Gothic scholarship to illuminate one of the more harrowing passages of the Bible—the story of the Levite and his concubine in Judges 19. Reading this passage against familiar Gothic tropes of cannibalism, excess, abjection and mutilation, this study argues that the concubine’s victimization, at least as evidenced in the text, is effected to consolidate homosocial ties that have been disrupted when the first father-figure (the concubine’s father) fails to preserve his paternal prerogative, thus giving way to the concubine’s assertion of agency which intimidates the patriarchal system. As a ‘male’ gothic tale, such a feminine threat must be overcome, which justifies the text’s cruel treatment of her. Keywords. Gothic, textual burial, travelling woman, cannibalism, homosocial panic, abjection.

What is known as Gothic literature began as a Romantic reaction to the Enlightenment, challenging the alleged superiority of rationalism and culture (as portrayed in realist writing) over imagination and nature.1 1. Space does not permit me to discuss the socio-cultural contexts of the Gothic. For

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Beginning with Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto (1764), Gothic narratives have persistently portrayed a profound dimension of evil inherent in the project of the modern (Shelley’s Frankenstein [1818] is of course, the most famous example). It is therefore unsurprising that the Gothic dwells on issues which realist fiction tends to marginalize or obfuscate, such as the supernatural, psychosis (The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde [1886]), real and imagined representations of monstrosities (Dracula [1897]), sexuality (usually perversely depicted) and visceral violence. But to argue that the Gothic systematically vexes realist literature would be incorrect, for Gothic novels have ultimately an ambivalent relationship with the dominant discourse. Many early Gothic novels, especially those by Ann Radcliffe, offer redemptive conclusions, which directly align them to the trajectory of the Enlightenment project all over again. Good is rewarded and evil punished. And yet, typical of the Gothic, of which excess is another characteristic, the nature of transgression remains a powerful and lingering quality that renders the salvific conclusion artificial and forced. Gothic literature, in the end, is haunted by its own insidious surplus, which invariably refuses any form of closure. A marginal literature during its time, the Gothic has recently witnessed a revival in academic studies of eighteenth-century writings, and has yielded a body of sophisticated critical works, forming what is now known as Gothic theory, or more commonly, Gothic studies. As such, the Gothic can no longer be seen as merely a ‘genre’. Instead, it has become a mode of critical expression in its own right as well, benefiting from the perspicacity of various theoretical purviews including feminism, Marxism and (especially) psychoanalysis, all of which combine to intensify its work of excavating the deep structures of discourses. As an aesthetics, it enables the articulation of what is otherwise unutterable, providing a discursive space for epistemologically and ontologically problematic configurations to be represented, and vexing the dominant discourses which seek to repress it. As Fred Botting notes, the Gothic, among other things, is about transgression (1996: 6-13)—the breaking open of texts to reveal their hidden and otherwise indescribable instances of terror. This is why moments of crises which disrupt the subject’s coherence and confront his or her symbolic interpellation with a gaping void (familiarly conceptualized as the sublime) are especially prominent. The Gothic is also about liminal positions, a discourse that situates the subject on the threshold of detailed explications, see Punter (ed.) 1996, 2000; Botting 1996; Hogle 2002.

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humanness. The Gothic monsters, for example, simultaneously human and abhuman, remind us of our precarious identity, which is always threatening to slip into otherness. In the Gothic, there are not stable foundations. Activating the theoretical enterprise of the Gothic to read discourses provides a vital opportunity to unveil the transgressive and menacing elements that underpin them. For example, some postcolonial theorists have deployed the Gothic to uncover the racialized technologies of othering inherent in nineteenth century English legal and medical writings which justified colonialism and Imperial rule.2 But the Gothic remains unaffiliated to any ideological positions, ambivalently situated between opposing discourses and continuously vexing both (thus reflecting its concerns about liminality). This is perhaps the Gothic’s most important aspect—its refusal to become appropriated, and its simultaneous conformity to, and resistance against, the status quo. In this essay, I profess such a critical performance with a biblical text, more specifically the brutal tale of the unnamed concubine in Judges 19. This narrative is replete with textual (‘live burial’), metaphorical (‘cannibalism’) and literal (‘rape and dismemberment’) representations of unrelenting horror (I will be considering them throughout the course of this essay) performed on the body of a woman, inviting lively and invigorating feminist responses which read the text as representing feminine repudiation (especially Trible 1984; Exum 1993; Bal 1999, 2001). Rich in historical and ideological references, as well as close attention to literary devices, these interpretations have provided important insights into the cultural and customary practices during the troubled time of the Judges to reveal the deep-seated subjection of women to a social order that privileges only men. One shortcoming of such feminist readings, however, is the tendency to treat the text as unabashedly misogynistic. The book of Judges, as some critics have noted, reflects a period when unlawfulness was rife, thus justifying the impending monarchy (Sawyer 2002: 77). The rape and murder of the concubine is meant, in this sense, to indict the patriarchal system and to expose the entrenched sinfulness of the men. Fathers and husbands who are supposed to function as guardians have renounced this vital role for cowardly self-preservation. The homosocial panic that results testifies to the chaotic, godless circumstance of the time (Carden 1999). The value of such readings is that they do not only admit to the violent treatment of the unnamed woman, but acknowledge the 2. See, e.g., Brantlinger 1988 and Malchow 1996.

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textual ambiguity. For me, it is this ambiguity that prominently associates Judges 19 with the Gothic. It must be stressed here that I am not a Bible scholar but a practitioner of literary criticism. My modest approach is a comparative assessment of a biblical text with an aesthetical mode constructed by modern critics. I am interested in the possibility of the Gothic as a comparative apparatus to elicit important nuances that appear on the level of theme (female repression) and style in Judges 19 (e.g. the proliferation of rhetorical violence in the text despite the minimal mention of the subject of violence). By drawing on feminist readings of the Gothic, as well as the kind of tropic expressions characteristic of the Gothic which paradoxically suggest the transgressive/excessive and the unspeakable, I rethink the issues of female representation, hospitality and the family romance in this ‘text of terror’ (Trible 1984). This does not suggest that there are no vital distinctions between the Gothic and Judges 19. In this essay, I will also consider the socio-ideological motivations that underscore the discursive practices that enable the compositions of these two narratives. The Concubine and the ‘Travelling Woman’ A summary of Judges 19 would be useful, if only for those who are unfamiliar with this narrative. A woman (significantly translated into English as ‘concubine’) leaves her Levite husband to return to her father’s home. Her husband goes after her, and after staying a few days at his in-law’s house, he journeys back with his wife to his abode in the hill country of Ephraim (v. 1). But due to lateness, they stop at Gibeah where they are subsequently hosted by a kindly old man who also, as it turns out, hails from Ephraim. During the night, the menfolk of Gibeah surround the house and demand that the Levite be handed over to them for questioning.3 In lieu of the custom of hospitality, the old man refuses and offers instead his own virgin daughter and the man’s concubine. However, it is only the concubine who becomes submitted to the mob (in the text it her own husband who ‘took’ and ‘sent her outside’ [v. 25]), which then 3. This passage has been famously read as a homosexual subtext, thereby justifying the sin of homosexuality. I am however inclined to agree with Morschauser that the verb ‘know’ here does not carry sexual overtones (i.e. connoting ‘homosexual rape’) but has a legal dimension of ‘interrogation’. That is, the men in Gibeah (like the men in Sodom) want the stranger to be handed to them in order ‘to discover, and to ascertain [his] true identity—whether [he is a friend or foe]; whether [he] truly deserve[s] hospitality, or [is] to face hostility’ (2003: 472).

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proceeds to sexually violate her ‘throughout the night’, letting her go only at dawn (v. 25). In the morning, as the Levite prepares to leave, he discovers his concubine lying at the threshold of the house, either dead or unconscious. Placing her on his donkey, they depart for home, where he will subsequently dismember her into twelve parts to be distributed to the twelve Israelite tribes to incite them against the unruly mob. Judges 20 and 21 chronicle the terrible consequences (including the near annihilation of the tribe of Benjamin, and the murder and rape of innocent women from Jabesh-Gilead and Shiloh) that follow this poignant episode. As mentioned, feminist criticisms of Judges 19 have consistently highlighted the story’s deeply misogynistic predilection—a predilection which Alice Laffey (1988) observes as threading through the entire book of Judges—especially in its relegation of the concubine as nameless and objectified. That the concubine is reduced and victimized by her supposed guardians suggests an important affinity with the Gothic. Tanya Modleski notes that the Gothic deals ‘with women’s fears of and confusion about masculine behaviour in the world in which men learn to devalue women’ (1984: 60), a point that seems to echo the narrative thrusts of Judges 19. The reduction of the concubine is prominently marked by the shift from agency in the first three verses—her active leave-taking of her husband (v. 2) and later, serving in the capacity of a mediator between her father and husband (v. 3)—to that of complete obscurity in the rest of the narrative up to the point of her violation. Indeed, her silence and intermittent appearances can be metonymically understood as a form of ‘textual burial’. Discussing the Gothic convention, Eve Sedgwick suggests that the buried self not only suffers a ‘loss of outside activity’, but also has to endure ‘the continuation of a parallel activity that is suddenly redundant’ (1980: 20). This ‘outside activity’ constitutes ‘things that should normally be most accessible’ (p. 13), such as freedom of movement and agency, and the loss of them results in a metaphorical burial, the ‘parallel activity’ that, in the case of this biblical story, is associated with the domestic sphere. As Eugenia DeLamotte observes, ‘Gothic romances tell, again and again, the story of women trapped in domestic space’ (DeLamotte 1990: 157). In Judges 19, the concubine’s ‘burial’ is textually reinforced: beyond the first three verses (in which she clearly exhibits agency), she remains an intimated and redundant presence until the fateful moment of her rape.4 Stories in the Old Testament consistently reveal that a woman’s 4. One of the ways in which the domestic sphere in both the Gothic and the biblical texts disempower women is by socially isolating them. In the case of the Gothic, Modleski

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subjectivity is not only severely limited within the home, she is not guaranteed any measure of safety as well. Ownership of her sex and body belongs to her alleged ‘protector’ (father/husband) who often has no qualms about sacrificing her for homosocial (disguised as hospitality) mediation. Judges 19 and its related text, Genesis 19, both foreground father-figures who willingly offer up their female protégés for violation so that the men they are entertaining are spared humiliation. As Trible rightly asserts, ‘[these] two stories show that rules of hospitality in Israel protects only males’ (1984: 75). And as in Judges 19, Lot’s daughters too are ‘buried’ in the text, embedded entities of intermittent verses (Gen. 19.8, 12, 14-16) whose presence is called forth only as objects of violence or helplessness.5 To an extent, Judges 19 echoes the framework of what Anne Williams terms the ‘male Gothic’. What characterizes this Gothic model is the malemotivated ‘control’ of the plot (Williams 1995: 114). Williams argues that in such a plot, occurrences of the uncanny and the supernatural figuratively represent a feminine threat which must, in the end, be subdued by Symbolic (that is, male) order (p. 114). Such a conceptual angle seems to echo the biblical text: as several critics have alluded (Davies 2003: 76; Fuchs 2003: 210-11), the concubine’s agency at the start of the story poses precisely such a threat to a patriarchal order, which justifies her subsequent susceptibility to diminishment and punishment. Indeed, designating the woman as ‘concubine’ in the English translation of Judges 19 merely reinforces her transgressive quality, thus qualifying her eventual disposability (Exum 1993: 177). Furthermore, most translations of the second verse in Judges 19 suggest that unfaithfulness (or adultery) is the basis for has noted that social isolation is one of the way in which a woman’s individuality is progressively broken down to the point of paranoia, which further compounds her helplessness and dependency on men to care for her. Charlotte Perkin Gilman’s elegant Gothic tale, ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’ (1899) is a familiar case in point. The concubine in Judg. 19 is a victim because she is ‘alone in the world of men’ (Trible 1984: 80). Moving from her husband’s house to that of her father’s, and later to the house in Gibeah, she is presented as a lonely individual at the mercy of a patriarchal system that offers her no refuge and friendship. 5. Lot’s wife is mentioned three times (vv. 15-16, 26). The first two times, she is a helpless object who needs the ministration of her husband and the angels for salvation; in the third, despite this assistance, her curiosity and unwillingness to renounce her past prove her undoing. Nameless, she is another biblical woman who is made the victim of divine wrath (Judg. 20 and 21 would again foreground women who pay for the corruption of patriarchy).

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the woman’s leave-taking (NIV, NASB, KJV, NKJV).6 Exum disagrees, and sees this as the text’s (or at least, its English translations’) promotion of an ‘androcentric agenda’ (p. 179). Ultimately, the woman must, from the onset of the narrative, be distinctively designated as a disruptive presence within the Symbolic order so that the text may validate her later chastisement. Considered from a Gothic perspective, the first three verses of Judges 19 would suggest the ‘travelling woman’ motif. Ellen Moers describes this motif as a ‘woman who moves, who acts, who copes with vicissitudes and adventure’ (1963: 126). Several scholars have noted the concubine’s extraordinary freedom and courage at the start of the narrative (O’Connor 1986: 281; Bohmbach 1999: 91) especially since she would have to ‘make her way through all the highways and byways that lead from the remote uplands of the hill country of Ephraim down to Bethlehem, a city in the southern tribal area of Judah’, and is probably travelling ‘alone’ and ‘on foot’ (Bohmbach 1999: 89). In the Gothic, such ‘outdoor travelling’ provides the heroine with a sense of rapture as she traverses through ‘exotic, impossible landscape’ (Moers 1963: 128) because it grants her a sense of freedom and independence. In the Gothic, the woman is also often the subject of romance; despite her being constantly in danger, and her having to thwart attempts at her life and sanity, she manages somehow to transcend her circumscription and finally flee her domestic entrapment. This escape often comes in the form of the ‘outdoor travel’ conceptualized by Moers, which will lead to the exposure of her ‘guardians’ as interlopers, and her eventual resumption of proprietary rights (in the form of a 6. It is only recently that scholarship has reconsidered the possibility of other plausible meanings to the verb zanah (traditionally translated as ‘playing the harlot against’). Mieke Bal, for one, suggests that the Latinate term denotes a woman who hails from a patrilocal system (a woman who marries but remains with her father) but who then enters into a virilocal one (a woman who marries and goes with her husband) (1999: 327). Thus her ‘unfaithfulness’ to her father becomes construed, or transcribed, as sexual unfaithfulness in English translations which fail to consider cultural nuances (in Bal’s provocative reading, Judges evinces a transitional time from one form of patriarchy to another [p. 332]). Bal’s theory however, remains unsupported by historical records. Another theorist, Yair Zakovitch, posits that zanah suggests the woman’s courage in leaving, or more directly, divorcing her husband—‘a phenomenon which was frequently connected with immoral behaviour’ (Zakovitch quoted in Exum 1993: 178)—but not necessarily so. As Karla Bohmbach insightfully asks, if the woman did indeed play the harlot, ‘why would she return to her father’s house? Why too, under circumstances that supposedly would bring shame to him, would a father welcome her back… And why, finally, would a husband in such a case go to such lengths to work for her return to his house?’ (1999: 90).

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vast inheritance) and marriage to her true love. Radcliffe’s novels clearly evidence such plot structures. But in Judges 19, if the concubine does derive any rapture at all from her travelling experience, it is short lived. Her ‘escape’ in v. 2 merely transports her from one patriarchal domicile to another, where, after a brief stay, she will be returned once more to her guardian and subsequently face punishment. Once ‘indoors’ (or within the domestic sphere), her enclosed space will be fraught with ‘danger’ (Moers 1977: 129) (especially at Gibeah). As noted earlier, that the concubine’s initial freedom is possibly the textual inference of her transgressive nature necessitates her subsequent retribution. Exum avers that the text seems to suggest that had the concubine ‘stayed in her place, under her husband’s authority where she belonged, she would not have ended up at the wrong place—Gibeah of Benjamin—at the wrong time’ (1993: 189). Yet, this variance between the two discourses is merely apparent, for even in the Gothic, the heroine’s story often ends in marriage, indirectly implying her return to domestic entrapment in the form of narrative closure. Thus, the female subject of romance is merely a version of victimhood. Arguably, both the Gothic and Judges 19 deploy the victimized woman to criticize and expose the dereliction of patriarchy. The dissimilar consequences for the woman reflects the different historio-ideological proscriptions that govern discourses. Gothic writers must grant the female subject an artificial salvation to conform to marketplace requirements, and to support and restore the privilege of the family unit as the most prominent economic vehicle which encourages and propels the Industrial Revolution (which is why ‘romance’ is merely a veiling narrative strategy, complicit with patriarchy). The biblical text (or texts, if others are considered, such as Gen. 19, and 2 Sam. 13), on the other hand, often offers only punishment and even death (Lot’s wife, Jepthah’s daughter) to the assertive woman because such economic factors which influenced discursive practices in eighteenth-century Europe were absent during the time of the Judges. Old Testament stories serve primarily didactic and religious purposes, and women, who are marginal within the social and religious structures of ancient Israel, must bear the full weight of patriarchy’s injustices. Hospitality and the ‘Eating’ of Woman After receiving her husband into her father’s house (v. 3), the concubine’s presence in the text is no longer actively registered. The following verses

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(vv. 4-10) concentrate on the patriarch’s convivial persuasion (with food and more food) over his reluctant son-in-law so that the latter would delay his return—a portrayal of hospitality that completely elides the presence of the woman. If, as McCree suggests, meals are signifiers of covenant relationships between partakers (1926: 120), Judges 19 clearly indicates that ‘women were considered to be outside the “pale” of meal-covenant’ (p. 123).7 If the first three verses foreground a woman with courage and agency, the episode in her father’s house provides a stark contrast, prompting Karla Bohmbach’s question: ‘just where is the woman while this dizzying round of dinner parties is going on? She seemed to have vanished’ (Bohmbach 1999: 93). The concubine only reappears again in v. 10, when the man, ‘unwilling to stay another night…left and went to Jebus (that is, Jerusalem), with his two saddled donkeys and his concubine’ (here, the phrasal placement of the woman is telling). Carol Meyers, in her anthropological research on the social roles of men and women in ancient Jewish history, concludes that although the domestic sphere is presided over by women, their tasks ‘tend to be invisible in written records’ (Meyers 1988: 145). Thus in Judges 19, not only is the woman’s activity blocked in her own home, she is literally the ‘unseen’ and the ‘unspoken’ as well. What I find curious in these verses is the overemphasis of the father’s hospitality, especially manifested through alimentary representations. Within vv. 4 to 8, the verb ‘eat’ appears four times while ‘drink’ appears three times (even in v. 9, eating and drinking are implied consequences if the Levite had allowed himself to be prevailed upon to stay one more night); ‘enjoy’ is twice mentioned (vv. 6, 9). I want to suggest that this dietary display has a metonymic implication which is related to the ‘textual cannibalism’ of the repressed woman. That is, this episode functions as a figurative compendium to the way in which the woman will be subsequently ‘devoured’ later in/by the text (the rape in Gibeah). The ‘eating’ motif in this episode, I argue, serves as a powerful leitwort that foreshadows the meal-covenant that will serve to consolidate homosocial hospitality, and which entails the sacrifice of women. In her book Carnal Appetites, Elspeth Probyn makes a compelling argument that ‘food and its relation to bodies is fundamentally about power… This power is obviously exercised at the macro level of economics and class…but it is also 7. McCree further corroborates this point by citing Josh. 2 (‘the covenant between Rahab and the spies was not ratified by a meal’) and Judg. 4 (‘Sisera’s murder by his hostess awakened no feeling of horror in the minds of his hearers’) (1926: 123).

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palpable at individual levels’ (Probyn 2000: 7). Who gets to eat, what gets eaten, and how food is consumed variously indicate the subtle powerstructure inherent within any socio-ideological systems. Later in Judges 19, vv. 21 and 22 will echo the first scene at the concubine’s father’s household, with a delicate but telling variation: ‘So he took him into his house and fed his donkey. After they had washed their feet, they had something to eat and drink. While they were enjoying themselves, some of the wicked men of the city surrounded the house.’ The repetition of the three leitworts—eat, drink, enjoy—are notable. As Alter observes, a ‘leitwort is a word or a word-root that recurs significantly in a text, in a continuum of texts, or in a configuration of texts: by following these repetitions, one is able to decipher or grasp a meaning of the text, or at any rate, the meaning will be revealed more strikingly’ (1981: 93). How precisely is their repetition in Judges 19 significant or striking then? The absence of the woman in both the hospitality episodes points to her exclusion; but more importantly, the drawn-out consolidation between the two men in the first scene succeeds in turning it into the text’s prominent feature, so much so that the later violence done to the concubine becomes a secondary, even incidental, occurrence (the fact that exegesis until recently has consistently focussed on the hospitality theme when citing this text [and Gen. 19] evinces this point). Indeed, if hospitality is read against the alimentary motif in this text, it becomes clear that the juxtaposition of the two versions have vital implications for the textual representation of the concubine.8 This juxtaposition also opens the text up 8. One possible way of interpreting the food motif is by recourse to Bal’s theory of patrilocality vs. verilocality. In a patrilocal society, a woman’s rightful and ‘natural’ place is with her father, even after she is married (Bal 1999: 328). To go away with her husband evinces her ‘unfaithfulness’, an ‘arbitrariness as opposed to naturalness’ (p. 328), which may explain why the woman in Judg. 19 is branded ‘a concubine’. Thus, when she returns to her father, her action reinstates her to her ‘natural’ state, but her action renders her now as ‘unfaithful’ to her husband (v. 2); her husband’s subsequent arrival is also only ‘natural’ because now he is ‘behaving according to the rules’ of patrilocality (p. 327). This would go some way in explaining the father’s happiness (often a point of contention with many critics of this passage) in seeing him. But the Levite has come to reclaim his wife, thus (re)disrupting the ‘rules’ once again. The father’s persistent attempts to delay their departure could possibly be a ruse to try and make his son-in-law change his mind. Following Probyn’s argument, the father’s display of alimentary opulence can be read as a strategic means to assert his power over his daughter and, indirectly, his son-in-law. Also, in feeding the Levite, the father is sublimating his son-in-law’s sexual desire with food, replacing carnal appetite with an alimentary one so that his daughter’s sexuality would (rightly) belong to her father. Here is an excessive generosity that indirectly restrains the

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to possible a Gothic revision. Speaking of the Gothic, Michelle Massé argues that the ‘affinity between husband and father is most glaring in cautionary tales where the heroine moves past admiration to elopement, from passivity to activity. The interests of older and younger male generations consolidate to eliminate such a threat’. Judges 19, read in light of such a concept, suggests an important way for which to understand the father’s extravagant hospitality. I argue that the patriarch’s sense of dishonour, brought upon by his transgressive daughter, is what motivates his lavish display towards his son-in-law. His hospitality is fundamentally an ameliorative performance. The dismissal of the daughter implies both his shame and her punishment. Such a display somewhat reflects what Massé terms the ‘code of the Gothic virtue’: [The women] knowingly commit no violation: they obediently place the desire and suffering of another above their own, but it is now their suitors’ wills that they follow instead of their fathers’. Their punishment for this normal transfer, undertaken for the love supposedly sanctioned by the Gothic, highlights the structure of patriarchy that underlies the ideology of romance. (1992: 24)

Massé’s argument, slightly modified, can illuminate the Gothic dimensions of Judges 19. The concubine ‘violates’ only in so far as she dares to express agency. But after v. 3, her invisibility hints at her submission to her father’s ‘desire and suffering’ (thus promoting filial guilt), which confirms her decision to return to Ephraim with her husband (therefore transferring again her obedience from father to husband), thus directly subsuming to her husband’s will once more. But as if this is not enough, the text will submit her to an even more heightened retribution when she comes to the house of the other father.9 It father’s disquiet at his son-in-law’s impending attempt to break patrilocal rules once again. Here, what is obvious is that the homosocial bonding between the two men is riven with a sexual anxiety over the possession of the female body. What is more, the entire sexual/alimentary tension between the two men is played out against the absence of the woman. In this sense, not only is ‘eating’ a strategy of power assertion of a father over the proprietary, sexual and moral rights of his daughter, ‘eating’ also becomes a means of excluding certain bodies from any position of negotiating power at all—in this case, the woman. In Judg. 19, the two men in the act of eating are at least each other’s equal: the father may assert, but the son-in-law is directly present to either accept or counter his host’s hospitality. But the daughter, denied any participation in the power struggle between the two men rehearsed through performances of eating, can only submit helplessly to her fate as decided by them. Indeed, if the metaphor of eating is further stretched, the concubine can figuratively be read as being ‘cannibalized’ by the two men. 9. Comparing these two episodes, we see two father-figures who function as the

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is at Gibeah where the interior space of the domestic will prove most threatening to the woman. Here, as in a typical Gothic story, the home becomes unheimlich; the woman’s (or more precisely, women’s) sense of domestic security will be betrayed by the very persons from whom she would expect protection (the host/elderly man serves as the father-figure here). The type-scene of the two men having a relaxing meal is repeated, but this time it is disrupted by the arrival of the wicked mob (v. 22);10 but upholding the sacred principle of hospitality, the old man proffers instead the Levite’s concubine and his own virgin daughter as compensation (v. 24), only to have his offer rejected.11 In a desperate (and cowardly) attempt to assuage the mob’s sexual perversion, the Levite ‘sent [his concubine] outside to them, and they raped her and abused her throughout the night, and at dawn they let her go’ (v. 25). (I will consider this rape scene in more detail later). Let me consider the variations in the two hospitality scenes. In the first, it is the concubine who comes out to greet her husband and takes him to her father: ‘…her husband went to her to persuade her to return. He had with him his servant and two donkeys. She took him into her father’s house, and when her father saw him, he gladly welcomed him’ (v. 3). In Gibeah, it is the old man—the substitute father-figure—who comes out to greet the Levite and takes him into his home. This understated difference in the second type-scene is, in my view, important for compensatory reasons. In the earlier episode, the woman not only serves as a go-between for the two men, she is also the point of contention that exposes a

narrative’s doubling device (a Gothic characteristic). One familiar feature in Gothic stories is the substitution of the ‘real’ father with a surrogate guardian (in Judg. 19, this is represented by both her husband and the ‘other’ father), and in the process endangering the heroine. 10. Of course, this itself is a type-scene which repeats Gen. 19. 11. There are various theories as to why the mob refuses the offer of the virgin and not the concubine. Following Bal’s reading, the concubine’s transgression of her patrilocal bond with her father relegates her to an ‘unnatural’ position, or, a woman who has been ‘unfaithful towards her man’. Bal concludes that ‘the punishment against this particular transgression, then, can be of only two kinds: either confinement, return to exclusive possession and the impossibility ever to enter the compromise situation of marriage…or gang-rape, public, mass abuse… Both punishments lead to the death of the female subject’ (1999: 328). Niditch (1982) and Carden (1999), on the other hand, view the violation of the concubine as indirectly an act of humiliating and emasculating the Levite, which is the intent of the mob, and which the old man’s virgin daughter—by virtue of the fact that she does not belong to the Levite—will not have had such an impact.

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homosocial bonding ridden with dishonour and forced conviviality. The fact that it is the woman who has come out to greet her husband indicates her dangerous freedom for which her father must beg forgiveness (from his son-in-law), and be disciplined. In this sense, the concubine’s father represents the ‘weak father-figure’ for whom the second father-figure must recompense in order to restore the patriarchal status quo. In the second scene, that it is the elderly host who comes out to greet and invite his guests into the house suggests cultural appropriateness which corresponds to the rule of hospitality. If eating disguises the homosocial tension (brought upon by the woman) in the first type-scene, in the second, it serves to solidify male bonding at the expense of the woman. In the former, there is at least an implied presence of the concubine who serves as the (unacknowledged) focal point of contention; in the latter household, she is not even registered as a presence any more. Verse 21 informs us that the old man ‘took him [the Levite] into his house and fed his donkey’, nowhere at all mentioning the concubine. The rape scene that follows immediately after the repeated type-scene and leitworts brings to the fore the muted violence embedded in the first type-scene. In the earlier episode, violence to the woman is implicit; her gradual effacement signifies a figurative consumption of her body and space; in Gibeah, this violence is made explicit when the two men literally give the concubine up to be sexually ‘devoured’ by the mob. Here, if the concubine is configured as a Gothic heroine, she is the Gothic heroine par excellence, submitting completely to the code of Gothic virtue at the expense of her own life. Her act of self-assertion (‘she left him’ [v. 2]) begins the terrible cycle of events that will finally culminate in her doom, as well as the fierce events that follow (Judg. 20 and 21). In this case, Marc Zvi Brettler’s suggestion that ‘the actions done to her [her rape and dismemberment in ch. 19] motivate everything that happens in the final two chapters’ (2002: 81) requires a slight adjustment. Although the retaliation of the eleven tribes against the Benjaminites is a direct result of the concubine’s tragedy, the last three chapters of Judges is, in my view, primarily motivated by the woman’s initial display of agency. The ideological structure (the primary motivator) governing this text must plot the woman as (initial) disruptor of patriarchy in order to justify her, and the unyielding Benjaminites’, punishment. The narrative’s most Gothic moments are the concubine’s rape and subsequent dismembering. After an entire night of abuse, the woman returns exhausted and unable even to make it completely into the house.

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Verse 27 tells us that ‘when her master got up in the morning and opened the door of the house and stepped out to continue on his way, there lay his concubine, fallen in the doorway of the house, with her hands on the threshold’. Bal reads the woman’s strategic placement at the threshold as a final act of reclaiming a subject-position to ‘counter the oblivion [she is] condemned to’ (1990: 330). She argues that the concubine’s ‘hand on the threshold, points in accusation to her murderer. She also claims entrance into the house’ (p. 330). As interesting a feminist reading as this may be, I am not too sure if such an interpretation is tenable in view of the narrative’s deliberate and systematic attempt to objectify and ultimately obliterate the woman. Furthermore, such a reading implies agency which, in the concubine’s state, is not possible. I am of the opinion that this threshold space that she comes to occupy at last merely confirms the liminal status that the text has imposed upon her. Throughout the narrative (apart from the first three verses), she is an absent presence, at once ‘there’ but invisible at the same time. Kristeva (1982) would term such a ‘being’ an abject. At the threshold, where she is literally neither dead nor alive, the concubine finally comes to embody the abjection which she has hitherto merely personified.12 Conclusion: the Paradox of the Gothic It is not clear from the text when the woman actually dies, whether at the threshold or when she reaches her husband’s home; if the latter, it is possible to argue that it is the Levite who murdered his wife before dismembering her.13 In doing so, the Levite’s (re)possession of his wife is complete. He now literally owns her, able to do whatever he wishes to her and her body, even to the extent of cutting her up ‘limb from limb, into twelve parts’ (v. 29). At the same time, the concubine’s shocking dismemberment represents a metonymic culmination of her already textually ‘dismembered’ body. Not only is she ‘buried’, she is also neatly scattered in objectified, piecemeal mentions throughout the story that consistently reveal her disenfranchised, and finally, abject status. The few times that the narrative refers to her after the first three verses (vv. 10, 19, 24-29) 12. In death, of course, the concubine will become the abject par excellence (Kristeva 1982: 3). 13. As Bal argues, ‘we cannot know when exactly she dies, and we must not know it, for that incapacity to know is an important element in the biblical epistemology of gender which equates sex with knowledge in the expression “to know a woman”’ (2001: 151).

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either cast her in the third person position (that is, she is being ‘spoken about’) or, as in the last few verses of the chapter, an object for extreme violation. This atrocious performance is possibly to shock the other tribes of Israel into exerting punishment on the Benjaminite mob which had done ‘such a thing’ (v. 29). Indeed, such a ‘political’ justification carefully exonerates the Levite from blame, and displaces the extreme violence that he performs on her. Here again, a Gothic characteristic trait is suggestive: the ‘narrative sympathy [in Judg. 19 seemingly] remains with the perpetrator of trauma, not its victim’ (Massé 1992: 23 [my emphasis]). Pursuing this political trajectory reveals a dimension to the text which necessitates the woman’s sacrifice in order to mobilize and solidify homosocial bonding—this time, on a macro-level that includes the twelve Israelite tribes. Here, however, is where the text manifests a contradictory quality akin to the Gothic. Judges 19 seemingly supports the status quo, but also subtly subverts and criticizes it. The carnage which follows directly implicates the entire Israelite body in lawlessness, thus indicting them further for their godlessness. The dismembered concubine becomes a powerful metaphor for the divided body politic; the divinely sanctioned violence resulting from the incident is, in the end, directed at all the contending forces, and not just the initial perpetrators of the rape. Hence, as much as the woman is ‘raped by the pen’ (Exum), the text is also subtly critical of a patriarchal system that foregrounds failed and weak guardians (husbands and fathers), a system that God has abandoned. As Sawyer contends: The accounts of Jephthah’s daughter and the Levite’s concubine serve to illustrate a godless land… This passive role of God is underlined by the repeated refrain, which laments the absence of a king, and which is given such careful positioning in the book. It makes its first appearance in the heart of the book, as Israel’s downward spiral starts to reach its nadir, and is deliberately at its end as a summary and conclusion to the terrible events described. (2002: 79)

On a surface reading, Judges 19–21 unleashes various textual mechanisms to efface the feminine (including woman and ‘homosexuals’). Indeed, what the narrative does to the woman is excessive. Not only is she silenced, raped, killed and dismembered on a narrative level, she is also buried alive, cannibalized and dissected on a textual one as well. The text, according to such an interpretation, ‘insures that “woman” equals the “material”, as she must according to the patriarchal scheme of things. If she acts according to what he unconsciously knows is true of her, that she is a human subject stirred by intellectual desire, she is trapped, confronted

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with his definition of her as unruly matter, deservedly punished, the dirty secret in the house of culture’ (Williams 1995: 43 [author’s emphasis]). But in Judges 19, the dirty secret is the house of culture which the text, in its strategic placement in the book of Judges, indicates. The woman is ‘deservedly’ punished indeed, but this ultimately does not exonerate her husband or Israel from guilt, for in her death they have all become implicated. Repressed in life, her ‘return’ registers a form of divine violence that merely intensifies Israel’s sin. BIBLIOGRAPHY Alter, Robert 1981 Bal, Mieke 2001

The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books).

‘Body Politic’, in David Jobling, Tina Pippin and Ronald Schleifer (eds.), The Postmodern Bible Reader (London: Blackwell): 142-58. 1999 ‘Dealing/With/Women: Daughters in the Book of Judges’, in Alice Bach (ed.), Women in the Hebrew Bible (New York/London: Routledge): 317-34. Bohmbach, Karla G. 1999 ‘Conventions/Contraventions: The Meaning of Public and Private for the Judges 19 Concubine’, JSOT 83: 83-98. Botting, Fred 1996 Gothic (London: Routledge). Brantlinger, Patrick 1988 Rule of Darkness: British Literature and Imperialism, 1830–1914 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press). Brettler, Marc Zvi 2002 The Book of Judges (London/New York: Routledge). Carden, Michael 1999 ‘Homophobia and Rape in Sodom and Gibeah: A Response to Ken Stone’, JSOT 82: 83-96. Davies, Eryl W. 2003 The Dissenting Reader: Feminist Approaches to the Hebrew Bible (Aldershot: Ashgate). DeLamotte, Eugenia 1990 Perils of the Night: A Feminist Study of Nineteenth Century Gothic (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Exum, J. Cheryl 1993 Fragmented Women: Feminist (Sub)versions of Biblical Narratives (JSOTSup, 163; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press). Fuchs, Esther 2003 Sexual Politics in the Biblical Narrative: Reading the Hebrew Bible as a Woman (London/New York: Continuum). Hogle, Jerrold (ed.) 2002 The Cambridge Companion to the Gothic (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).

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Kristeva, Julia 1982 Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection (trans. Leon Roudiez; New York: Columbia University Press). Laffey, Alice 1988 Introduction to the Old Testament: A Feminist Perspective (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress). Malchow, Howard 1996 Gothic Images of Race in Nineteenth-Century Britain (Stanford: Stanford University Press). Massé, Michelle A. 1992 In the Name of Love: Women, Masochism and the Gothic (Ithaca, NJ: Cornell University Press). McCree, Walter T. 1926 ‘The Covenant Meal in the Old Testament’, JBL 45.1/2: 120-28. Meyers, Carol 1988 Discovering Eve (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Modleski, Tanya 1984 Loving with a Vengeance: Mass Produced Fantasies for Women (New York: Methuen). Moers, Ellen 1977 Literary Women (New York: Doubleday, [1963]). Morschauser, Scott 2003 ‘“Hospitality”, Hostiles and Hostages: On the Legal Background to Genesis 19.1-9’, JSOT 27: 461–85. Niditch, Susan 1982 ‘The “Sodomite” Theme in Judges 19–20: Family, Community and Social Disintegration’, CBQ 44: 365-78. O’Connor, Michael Patrick 1986 ‘Women in the Book of Judges’, HAR 10: 277-93. Probyn, Elspeth 2000 Carnal Appetites: FoodSexIdentities (New York/London: Routledge). Punter, David (ed.) 1996 The Literature of Terror (2 vols.; London: Longman). 2000 A Companion to the Gothic (Malden/Oxford: Blackwell). Sawyer, Deborah 2002 God, Gender and the Bible (London/New York: Routledge). Sedgwick, Eve Kosofsky 1980 The Coherence of Gothic Conventions (New York/London: Methuen). Trible, Phyllis 1984 Texts of Terror: Literary-Feminist Reading of Biblical Narratives (Philadelphia: Fortress Press). Williams, Anne 1995 Art of Darkness: A Poetics of Gothic (London/Chicago: University of Chicago Press).

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Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Vol 32.2 (2007): 217-230 © 2007 SAGE Publications, Los Angeles, London, New Delhi and Singapore DOI: 10.1177/0309089207085884 http://JSOT.sagepub.com

The Chronicler’s ‘Obed-edom’: A Foreigner and/or a Levite?

NANCY TAN Cultural and Religious Studies Department, Divinity School of Chung Chi College, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong

Abstract This article examines how the name ‘Obed-edom’, which has been identified in 2 Samuel 6 as a foreigner, becomes a Levitical household name in the books of Chronicles. It observes the function of this character in its original context in 2 Samuel 6, and compares how the Chronicler changes his role in the same account concerning the transportation of the ark in 1 Chronicles 15 and 16, as well as the other occurrences in the later portions of Chronicles. It also argues that the Chronicler is not anxious to distinguish how many Obed-edoms appear in his book, but is largely concerned that the name came to be recognized as a faithful and honored Levitical priest rather than a foreigner. While not denying the urgency to portray that the ark has not been desecrated by foreigners, as Gary N. Knoppers suggests, this article proposes that what underlies this portrayal of ‘Obed-edom’ by the Chronicler fits his overall intention to include not only foreigners, but also the marginalized groups of the temple servants as legitimate Levites. Keywords: Obed-edom, Levite, foreigner, ark, Gittite, blessing, gate-keeper.

‘Obed-edom, the Gittite’—the name itself implies no loyalty to Yahweh, nor does the epithet that follows connote Israelite ethnicity. He is known

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first in 2 Samuel 6: twice with ‘the Gittite’ (vv. 10, 11), once without it (v. 12), occurrences that are all found in the passage where he hosts the ark after David’s unsuccessful attempt to bring it into Jerusalem. 2 Samuel 6.12 reads: So David was unwilling to take the ark of the LORD into his care in the city of David; instead David took it to the house of Obed-edom the Gittite. The ark of the LORD remained in the house of Obed-edom the Gittite three months; and the LORD blessed Obed-edom and all his household. It was told King David, ‘The LORD has blessed the household of Obed-edom and all that belongs to him, because of the ark of God’. So David went and brought up the ark of God from the house of Obed-edom to the city of David with rejoicing.1

‘Obed-edom’ does not appear in the other books of the Hebrew Bible, except for Chronicles. It occurs there fifteen times: ten times in connection with the parallel event of the transportation of the ark to Jerusalem (1 Chron. 13.13, 14 [twice]; 15.18, 21, 24, 25; 16.5, 38 [twice]). However, his ethnic marker, ‘the Gittite’, appears only when the name Obededom is first mentioned in 1 Chron. 13.13, and this identity is dropped altogether in exchange for a Levitical pedigree throughout the rest of its occurrences in Chronicles. As the title of the present study suggests, it seeks to understand how and why this distinctly foreign name which first appears in 2 Samuel 6, becomes, under the pen of the Chronicler, a household name in the Levitical priesthood. This study will begin with a study of 2 Samuel 6 in which the name Obed-edom first appears, before offering an analysis of the occurrences of the name in Chronicles. In this way, this study seeks to offer a better understanding of the original context of the name Obed-edom, then assess and appreciate the significance of the changes the Chronicler makes to the name’s connotations. This study seeks to offer further insights into the Chronicler’s theology concerning foreigners and how he crafts it meaningfully in the major themes of his work. 1. Obed-edom in 2 Samuel 6 It is difficult not to picture ‘Obed-edom, the Gittite’ as a foreigner. The name Obed-edom means ‘servant of (the deity of) Edom’,2 declaring 1. All biblical citations in this paper are taken from NRSV. 2. Apparently, ‘Edom’ does not refer to the nation, but possibly the name of a deity ( ed¿m/Ɨd¿m?) from Egypt or Canaan. See especially W.F. Albright, Yahweh and the Gods of Canaan (Anchor Books; New York: Doubleday, 1969), p. 140, as well as David

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devotion to a foreign deity other than Yahweh, and ‘the Gittite’ denotes the ethnic origin of Gath, Philistine.3 If Obed-edom is truly a Philistine, then the question remains as to why David would deposit the ark with a foreigner. It is indeed difficult to grasp the whole meaning of the event leading to the death of Uzzah. What begins with an exuberant celebration, accompanied by dancing and music, of the transportation of the ark from Kireath-jearim, descends into fear and mourning when Uzzah seems to be irrationally punished for trying to prevent the ark from falling over on the threshing floor. The author of Samuel offers no explanation as to why this absolutely logical, spontaneous and reflex response to the situation arouses such a violent reaction from Yahweh. It just happened—Yahweh’s wrath is kindled, followed by David’s, and with immediate decisiveness, David sends the ark away to the house of Obed-edom, the Gittite. While we may not understand the reasons for Yahweh’s wrath, we might, however, be able to appreciate the rationale for David’s decision if we look into the ark narratives. According to the account of the ark’s plight in 1 Sam. 4.1–7.1, Yahweh’s anger against the Philistines in the form of plagues did not cease until the Philistines returned the ark to the care of a consecrated Israelite. Yahweh’s anger and the plagues he unleashes, for the sake of the ark, seem to take delight in targeting the Philistines alone. To return to the fateful event in 2 Samuel 6: David does not expect to witness a revisiting of Yahweh’s anger, especially not upon Yahweh’s covenanted people, during a festivity in honor of him. David’s first impulse is to divert the anger and plague from himself and his people, while the Philistines, the common target of the ark’s vengeance, are the natural option for him.4 It L. Thompson, ‘Obed-edom (person)’, in ABD, V, pp. 5-6 (5). 3. Most commentators of the books of Samuel and Chronicles agree on this. To name some: P.K. McCarter, II Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes and Commentary (AB, 9; New York: Doubleday, 1984), p. 170; J. Mauchline, 1 & 2 Samuel (NCB; London: Oliphants, 1971), p. 224; Sara Japhet, 1 & 2 Chronicles (OTL; London: SCM Press, 1993), p. 281; Jacob Myers, 1 Chronicles (AB, 12; New York: Doubleday, 1965), p. 102; and Diana Edelman, ‘Abinadab (person)’, in ABD, I, pp. 22-23. There are two other persons who are also known by the epithet ‘the Gittite’, and there is no doubt they were Philistines: Ittai (2 Sam. 15.19, 22; 18.2) and Goliath (2 Sam. 21.19; 1 Chron. 20.5). For the possibility that Gath-Rimmon might be implied, see A.A. Anderson, 2 Samuel (WBC, 11; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1989), pp. 68-69, 105. 4. Robert Polzin, David and the Deuteronomist: 2 Samuel (A Literary Study of the Deuteronomistic History, Part 3; Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1993), p. 64.

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has been questioned rightly whether or not Obed-edom, a Philistine, albeit a resident alien,5 would have been a willing recipient of the ark.6 When the situation presents itself, however, Obed-edom does not seem to have a choice. Obed-edom has to refuse either the Israelite warrior-king or the famously vengeful (or rather notoriously dangerous, especially towards the Philistines) Israelite warrior-deity. Even if his humble abode is foreign and unfit to receive such an awesome responsibility, out of fear he obliges, most reverently. Unexpectedly, his efforts are not left unreciprocated—for Yahweh is exceedingly pleased with him, and endows his household with blessings beyond measure.7 A.A. Anderson believes that the blessing of Obed-edom during the lapse of three months was a sign to David.8 Indeed, after the incident, David seems to cease all his activities out of fear of Yahweh, and wait anxiously for news as to what might befall Obed-edom or his kingdom. Blessings rather than evil follow the temporary abode of the ark, and this is a good indication that he should make another attempt to proceed with the original plan. During his second attempt, David makes elaborate sacrifices to Yahweh after every six steps during the whole procession, and the ark is brought safely into Jerusalem. 2. Obed-edom or Obed-edoms in the Ark Narratives in Chronicles (1 Chronicles 13, 15, 16) 1 Chronicles 13.12-14 reads: David was afraid of God that day; he said, ‘How can I bring the ark of God into my care?’ So David did not take the ark into his care into the city of

5. Anderson, 2 Samuel, p. 105. Most of the commentators mentioned above maintain that Obed-edom was a Philistine and therefore a resident alien of Israel’s territories. In consideration of the geographical location between Gath, Kireath Jearim and Jerusalem, this is a likely conclusion to make. Nevertheless, one should not dismiss the possibility of an Obed-Edom from Gath residing within the Philistine territories which border the Judean regions mentioned above. See below. 6. Anderson, 2 Samuel, p. 105; Hans W. Hertzberg, I & II Samuel (OTL; London: SPCK, 1964), p. 279. 7. According to Polzin’s treatment of the Deuteronomistic History (Deuteronomy to 2 Samuel), he observes that Obed-edom’s house is the only one which Yahweh has blessed, as contrasted to David who is said to have blessed his own house in 2 Sam. 6.20; see Polzin, David and the Deuteronomist, p. 64. Interestingly, Polzin also interprets the mishap as Yahweh’s way of reacting against being housed in. 8. Anderson, 2 Samuel, p. 105.

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David; he took it instead to the house of Obed-edom the Gittite. The ark of God remained with the household of Obed-edom in his house three months, and the LORD blessed the household of Obed-edom and all that he had.

The Chronicler introduces Obed-edom in 1 Chron. 13.13 in the same way as is found in 2 Sam. 6.10. However, he drops ‘the Gittite’ in the consecutive line. For the Chronicler, 1 Chron. 13.1-4 serves to portray David as proactive in his plans despite the circumstances, which runs contrary to the three months of inactivity on David’s part in the Samuel account. The Chronicler ends ch. 13 with Yahweh blessing Obed-edom for three months, and begins ch. 14 with the blessing of David’s progeny (vv. 1-7) and the victories Yahweh wrought for David against the Philistines (vv. 8-17). As much as Yahweh blesses Obed-edom and his household during the lapse of three months, he also blesses David’s household.9 Moreover, the Chronicler invokes Yahweh as the one who blessed David’s exploit against the Philistines. There seems to be an irony at play here, for even if Obed-edom was a Philistine who by gracefully hosting the ark accrues abundant blessings for his household, in return, his nation suffers mercilessly at the hands of Israel’s warrior king and deity. Nonetheless, assuming that the Chronicler intends to portray Obed-edom as a Philistine, he is more eager, as we will see later, to portray one whose allegiance is towards Yahweh rather than his nation. The other occurrences of Obed-edom are found in the following chapter, which begins with David’s recollection of the Deuteronomic order that the Levites alone were to carry and minister before the ark (1 Sam. 15.2; cf. Deut. 10.8; 18.5). This gives the mishap earlier a theological justification.10 Hence, David makes elaborate plans to marshal the 9. Tamara Eskenazi notes that David’s blessings are a result of his meticulousness in the ark. See her ‘A Literary Approach to Chronicles’ Ark Narrative in 1 Chronicles 13– 16’, in Astrid B. Beck et al. (eds.), Fortunate the Eyes that See: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman in Celebration of his Seventieth Birthday (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), pp. 258-74 (272). 10. It is worth mentioning here that in 1 Sam. 7.1, Abinadab and his son Eleazar are consecrated in order to perform the priestly functions of guarding and ministering to the ark. 2 Sam. 6.3 also notes that Uzzah is a son of Abinadab. (Concerning the relationships between Abinadab, Eleazar, Uzzah and the dodgy Ahio, see Andersen, 2 Samuel, pp. 102103.) More importantly, it is doubtful that the persons who are in charge of the ark in Kireath-jearim are not consecrated personnel. In addition, one wonders why the judgment against Uzzah comes only when the ark reached the threshing floor, and not earlier if the issue is simply a question of their being Levitical priests or not. Simultaneously, one also wonders who might have carried the ark from the threshing floor to the house of Obed-

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consecration of the Levitical priests, in order that they may escort the ark to Jerusalem (1 Sam. 15.3-24). In 15.18, Obed-edom is named as one of the gatekeepers, together with Jehiel. Three verses later in v. 21, again with Jehiel, Obed-edom is to play the harp. Then, another three verses later in v. 24, both Obed-edom and Jehiel again are listed as gatekeepers for the ark.11 In the next verse, Obed-edom is mentioned as the host of the ark. The three 1 Chronicles texts read: …and with them their kindred of the second order, Zechariah, Jaaziel, Shemiramoth, Jehiel, Unni, Eliab, Benaiah, Maaseiah, Mattithiah, Eliphelehu, and Mikneiah, and the gatekeepers Obed-edom and Jeiel. (1 Chron. 15.18) …but Mattithiah, Eliphelehu, Mikneiah, Obed-edom, Jeiel, and Azaziah were to lead with harps12 according to the Sheminith. (1 Chron. 15.21) Shebaniah, Joshaphat, Nethanel, Amasai, Zechariah, Benaiah, and Eliezer, the priests, were to blow the trumpets before the ark of God. Obed-edom and Jehiah also were to be gatekeepers for the ark. So David and the elders of Israel, and the commanders of the thousands, went to bring up the ark of the covenant of the LORD from the house of Obed-edom with rejoicing. (1 Chron. 15.24-25)

Among these four references, scholars think that there are at least two to three different Obed-edoms:13 1. Obed-edom, the host of the ark (15.25; the same Obed-edom in 13.13, 14), 2. Obed-edom, the gatekeeper (15.18, 24), 3. Obed-edom, the musician (15.21).

edom. Japhet also makes the observation that the evoking of the Deuteronomic law makes David culpable of the wrath incurred on Uzzah, for it is David’s oversight to the prescribed method of carrying the ark. For Japhet, David’s efforts to make right the whole situation in the second attempt absolve him from his sins. See Sara Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and its Place in Biblical Thought (BEAT, 9; New York: Peter Lang, 1989), pp. 474-75. 11. This verse is textually corrupt. Either ‘Berekiah and Elkanah’ or ‘Obed-edom and Jehiel’ has been considered a gloss. There is no consensus to the debate. Taken as it is, the Chronicler seems to be insistent on the presence of Obed-edom at the procession. See Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 304; also, for an explanation of the name ‘Jehiel’, which follows Obed-edom, see p. 305. 12. To follow the reading of kinarôt as ‘harps’. 13. Martin Selman, 1 Chronicles (TOTC; Leicester: InterVarsity Press, 1994), p. 165; Gary N. Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10–29: A New Introduction, Notes and Commentary (AB, 12A; New York: Doubleday, 2004), pp. 588-89.

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Then, in ch. 16, where David gives specific instructions to the Levites concerning the ministry of the ark, Obed-edom is again mentioned in vv. 5 and 38 (twice). Before we continue with the analysis of the possible different Obededoms, three questions need to be raised. First, could a gatekeeper also be a musician? Second, could the host of the ark be a Levite as well? Last but not least, what is the Chronicler’s reason for this intensive use of the name ‘Obed-edom’14—a name that is closely tied to a foreign ethnicity but to be identified by context with the Levitical pedigree? Although to be dealt with last, this is an important question to bear in mind as we continue our discussion. Gary N. Knoppers has given an excellent explanation of the role of gatekeepers in the ancient Near East and its corresponding religious context in Israel.15 In summary, gatekeepers in the ancient Near East perform the important functions of guarding and maintaining vigilant security at the royal institutions, including the temple. Hence, priests also perform guard duties and, like the other non-priestly gatekeepers, their role is often associated with martial skills besides its military nature. Their vocation is also ranked, acknowledged, decorated and lauded. Returning to the first question, we see that 1 Chronicles 25 organizes the descendants of Asaph, Heman and Jeduthun for the ministry of music in the Temple, while a separate list is made in ch. 26 for the gatekeepers, who were also descendants of Korah, one of the sons of Asaph. According to H.G.M. Williamson, the two roles are distinct and one could not be performing both at the same time.16 He believes that Obed-edom was originally a Levitical singer, but was demoted to the rank of a gatekeeper (cf. 16.35). Hence, the occurrences in 15.18, 24 are a later gloss.17 Following Williamson, Knoppers concludes that the Chronicler is describing

14. ‘Obed-edom’ occurs seven times in chs. 15 and 16. Comparatively, ‘Asaph’, a more prominent character after David in these chapters, occurs only five times (15.17, 19; 16.5, 7, 37), which is the same number of times as ‘Ethan’ and ‘Jeduthun’ (15.17, 19; 16.38, 41, 42). 15. The following summary is also taken from Knoppers’ study of gatekeepers; see his 1 Chronicles 10–29, pp. 871-73. However, for an earlier opinion concerning gatekeepers, see Myers, 1 Chronicles, p. 176. 16. Williamson, 1& 2 Chronicles (NCB; London: Marshall Morgan & Scott, 1982), pp. 125-26. 17. See Japhet, I & II Chronicles, pp. 292-96, for a comprehensive discussion on the problem of composition.

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two Obed-edoms in these ark narratives.18 The key text for him for this conclusion is 16.38, where the two Obed-edoms meet: the first is the musician, and the second, the son of Jeduthun, the gatekeeper. 1 Chronicles 16.37-38 reads: David left Asaph and his kinsfolk there before the ark of the covenant of the LORD to minister regularly before the ark as each day required, and also Obededom and his sixty-eight kinsfolk; while Obed-edom son of Jeduthun and Hosah were to be gatekeepers.

The problem with this interpretation is that it bases its argument on a text that is notoriously difficult to read.19 Furthermore, this detail that Obededom is the descendant of Jeduthun is not found anywhere else in the Chronicler’s genealogical records of Jeduthun (cf. 1 Chron. 9.16).20 As for Sara Japhet, she believes there is one Obed-edom in the ark narratives.21 She explains that while Obed-edom is no doubt a gatekeeper, this function should not be deemed as ‘exclusive’. Obed-edom could possibly also perform as a musician on the particular occasion of the ark’s transportation.22 Japhet also highlights a telling fact: the ratio of two gatekeepers to eight hundred levitical priests, to thirty singers.23 Japhet’s interpretation of these passages links ‘Obed-edom, the Gittite’ to ‘Obed-edom, the gatekeeper’, a connection about which, as mentioned above, most scholars prefer to maintain reservations. For Japhet, this identification 18. Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10–29, p. 624. 19. Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 320. The double occurrence of Obed-edom here is indeed suspicious. NRSV attempts to make two emendations in order to distinguish two Obed-edoms: first, instead of the MT, ‘Obed-edom and their sixty-eight kinsfolk’ or ‘brothers’, it opts for ‘Obed-edom and his sixty-eight kinsfolk’; second, it makes the phrase a continuation of v. 37 by means of the adverb ‘also’, even though, syntactically speaking, the phrase should have followed after ‘Asaph and his brothers’ instead of its present location which reads somewhat awkwardly. Furthermore, v. 37 would have been a direct reference to v. 7 where Asaph and his brothers are assigned specifically as singers. Japhet admits that this text has undergone some interpolations, and this untidy arrangement could be the result of the attempts to tie in what is said about the gatekeepers in the other texts with the present one. Hence, for example, one could take ‘and Obed-edom son of Jeduthun and Hosah’ as a gloss, or ‘son of Jeduthun’ as a haplography, in reference to v. 42. 20. Obed-edom is not listed as a son of Jeduthun here. The nearest possible resemblance is the name ‘Obadiah’, meaning ‘servant of Yah’. 21. Japhet, I & II Chronicles, pp. 303, 305. 22. Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 465. 23. Japhet opts ‘and Jehiel’ after ‘Obed-edom’ to be read as ‘and his brothers’; see I & II Chronicles, p. 305.

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poses no threat or contradiction for the Chronicler as she does not treat ‘the Gittite’ to be a reference of ethnicity, but strictly of geographical locality.24 In other words, Obed-edom was to the Chronicler, in Japhet’s view, simply a resident of Gath. Japhet also believes that Obed-edom’s Levitical origin was a long-standing tradition before the Chronicler’s time.25 In summary, Japhet seems to have adequately answered the first two questions of the three raised earlier. First, she asserts that the particular designation of Obed-edom as musician was only a temporary designation for the procession of the ark, while his role as the gatekeeper stands with the stronger tradition testified in 1 Chronicles 26. Second, according to Japhet, the Chronicler does not think ‘the Gittite’ is necessarily an ethnic designation—a point to which I shall return later. 3. Obed-edoms, the Gatekeepers in 1 Chronicles 26.1-9, 15 and 2 Chronicles 25.24 1 Chronicles 26.1-9 and 26.15 read: As for the divisions of the gatekeepers: of the Korahites, Meshelemiah son of Kore, of the sons of Asaph. Meshelemiah had sons: Zechariah the firstborn, Jediael the second, Zebadiah the third, Jathniel the fourth, Elam the fifth, Jehohanan the sixth, Eliehoenai the seventh. Obed-edom had sons: Shemaiah the firstborn, Jehozabad the second, Joah the third, Sachar the fourth, Nethanel the fifth, Ammiel the sixth, Issachar the seventh, Peullethai the eighth; for God blessed him. Also to his son Shemaiah sons were born who exercised authority in their ancestral houses, for they were men of great ability. The sons of Shemaiah: Othni, Rephael, Obed, and Elzabad, whose brothers were able men, Elihu and Semachiah. All these, sons of Obed-edom with their sons and brothers, were able men qualified for the service; sixty-two of Obed-edom. Meshelemiah had sons and brothers, able men, eighteen. Obed-edom’s came out for the south, and to his sons was allotted the storehouse.

Obed-edom in 1 Chronicles 26 is linked precariously to the Korahite stock of gatekeepers in vv. 4-8. Most scholars agree that the phrase ‘because God blessed him’ in v. 5 recalls 1 Chron. 13.14, ‘and YHWH blessed the household of Obed-edom, and all that he had’, consequently

24. Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 282. 25. Knoppers also holds to this view, 1 Chronicles 10–29, p. 871.

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referring to ‘Obed-edom, the Gittite’.26 Here, the Chronicler elaborates the blessing as one of fruitful progeny. However, the text does not directly link Obed-edom to the descendants of Korah, and it seems to be an intrusion to the genealogy of the Korahite stock (vv. 1-3) and the Meshelemites (v. 9).27 Nonetheless, it serves the purpose of confirming the status and identity of Obed-edom as a Levitical gatekeeper, and to legitimatize the duties of his descendants (v. 15). Having established the link between the name ‘Obed-edom’ and the Levitical role of the gatekeeper, the Chronicler finds another context, generations later, to re-use the name for his purpose. 2 Chronicles 25.24 reads: He seized all the gold and silver, and all the vessels that were found in the house of God, and Obed-edom with them; he seized also the treasuries of the king’s house, also hostages; then he returned to Samaria.

Patrick Graham argues that, for this text, the Chronicler has purposefully drawn out the irony of Amaziah’s idolatry with Edom’s gods, which resulted in Yahweh’s punishment of him by allowing Israel to be overcome by their enemies.28 Then the Chronicler notes a faithful gatekeeper, Obed-edom, guarding the temple’s treasuries while the enemies intrude into Yahweh’s Temple and loot all the treasuries. By the time this last occurrence of ‘Obed-edom’ is found, this name, although foreign, has firmly established its connection with Israel’s religious and prestigious guild of the gatekeeper. 4. The Chronicler and his Purpose for Obed-edom/s I will now attempt to answer the second question: could the host of the ark be a Levite? Japhet and Knoppers believe that there is an earlier tradition that ‘Obed-edom, the Gittite’ was a Levitical priest.29 Knoppers 26. Selman, 1 Chronicles, p. 239; Williamson, 1 & 2 Chronicles, p. 170; Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10–29, p. 867; and Japhet, I & II Chronicles, pp. 455-56. The results of Japhet’s study on the names of Obed-edom’s descendants indicate that many of the meanings point to notions of ‘reward’. This may be intentional, intended to recall the blessing in 13.14. 27. Japhet, I & II Chronicles, pp. 451-53; Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10–29, p. 869. 28. P. Graham, ‘Aspects of the Structure and Rhetoric of 2 Chronicles 25’, in P. Graham, W.P. Brown and J.K. Kuan (eds.), History and Interpretation: Essays in Honour of John Hayes (JSOTSup, 173; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), pp. 78-89 (85-89). 29. Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10–29, p. 871.

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argues that as far as the ancient Near Eastern context is concerned, it is incumbent that an object of sacrality must be stored at a place that has already been consecrated, consequently making that place a sanctuary.30 In this way, ‘Obed-edom, the Gittite’ must also be a member of the consecrated personnel in order to host the ark. Perhaps in addition to Knoppers’ argument, one might also consider the Chronicler’s inclusive tendency, clearly at work here, to accept foreigners who are willing to become Yahweh worshippers and be a part of the covenanted people, Israel. It has long been acknowledged that the Chronicler, in contrast to Ezra and Nehemiah, is open to receiving foreigners into the worship of Yahweh.31 Japhet observes that the Chronicler admits the foreigners in two ways: through intermarriage whereby they become an inherent part of Israel’s genealogy and through the admission of gerim, the resident aliens, whereby they become integral participants in the community of Israel, consequently sharing the same destiny as determined by Yahweh.32 Obed-edom seems to have been admitted in the second manner. Should one doubt if Obed-edom was a resident alien prior to the time when he was charged with the care of the ark, the Chronicler’s arrangement of the materials for the conquest of Philistine at the Judean borders immediately after the event (cf. 1 Chron. 14.9-17) has in any case conveniently made Obed-edom a resident alien. Moreover, the ‘inclusiveness’ of the Chronicler seems to extend beyond accepting foreigners into the Israelite community, for it even encompasses accepting classes of people into the Levitical priesthood, which Ezra and Nehemiah carefully categorize separately—the singers, musicians and gatekeepers (cf. Ezra 2.40-42, 70; Neh. 11.18-20).33 The Levites: the descendants of Jeshua and Kadmiel, of the descendants of Hodaviah, seventy-four. The singers: the descendants of Asaph, one hundred twenty-eight. The descendants of the gatekeepers: of Shallum, of Ater, of Talmon, of Akkub, of Hatita, and of Shobai, in all one hundred thirty-nine. (Ezra 2.40-42)

30. Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10–29, p. 589. 31. For a brief and concise treatment of the different outlooks toward foreigners between Ezra–Nehemiah and Chronicles, see Joseph Blenkinsopp, Ezra–Nehemiah: A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM Press, 1988), pp. 54, 67-69. 32. See especially the section on ‘Foreigners and Aliens’ in Chapter 3 of Japhet, Ideology, pp. 334-51 (351). 33. Myers, 1 Chronicles, pp. 120-21, 171; Japhet, I & II Chronicles, p. 452.

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Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 32.2 (2007) The priests, the Levites, and some of the people lived in Jerusalem and its vicinity; and the singers, the gatekeepers, and the temple servants lived in their towns, and all Israel in their towns. (Ezra 2.70) All the Levites in the holy city were two hundred eighty-four. The gatekeepers, Akkub, Talmon and their associates, who kept watch at the gates, were one hundred seventy-two. And the rest of Israel, and of the priests and the Levites, were in all the towns of Judah, all of them in their inheritance. (Neh. 11.18-20)

Interestingly, the move to include these classes also occurs in those chapters where Obed-edom appears—1 Chronicles 15 and 16; as well as 26. There, they are tied in to the priestly genealogy. As Paul Hanson has pointed out,34 the Chronicler seems to have made this provision in 1 Chron. 16.41, which reads: …and the rest of those chosen and expressly named to render thanks to the LORD, for his steadfast love endures forever.

Last but not least, the repetitive and extensive occurrences of the name Obed-edom, both in the ark narratives—especially in 1 Chronicles 15 and 16—and in the organization of the Levitical gatekeepers in ch. 26, are a good indication that the Chronicler is overly concerned that the reader associate the foreign name Obed-edom as that of a faithful priest of Yahweh. Apparently the Chronicler does not feel the need to clarify if there was more than one Obed-edom, or if the same Obed-edom was a gatekeeper and/or a musician, or to clarify the relationship of ‘Obededom, the Gittite’, in 1 Chronicles 13, with the rest of the Obed-edoms who appear in the succeeding texts. His sole aim, when the ark narratives begin with the introduction of this figure, is to emphasize Obed-edom’s identity as a Levitical priest. 5. Conclusion In 2 Samuel 6, where Obed-edom first appears, the author gives a forthright account of Obed-edom’s foreign identity and makes no attempt to suppress David’s selfish intentions, and the significance of the relationship between the ark and the Philistines. For the Chronicler, however, when ‘Obed-edom, the Gittite’ receives the ark with reverence at his door, he is 34. P.D. Hanson, ‘1 Chronicles 15–16 and the Chronicler’s Views on the Levites’, in Michael Fishbane and Emanuel Tov (eds.), Sha‘arei Talmon: Studies in the Bible, Qumran, and the Ancient Near East Presented to Shemaryahu Talmon (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1992), pp. 69-77 (73).

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deemed a worthy worshipper. And in the rest of the occurrences of the name Obed-edom, references to his Gittite ethnic identity are dropped almost automatically (1 Chron. 13.14). Almost automatically, Obededom’s ‘Gittite’ identity is no longer an issue, a retrospective reading of the texts notwithstanding. By the time the ark narratives conclude in ch. 16, Obed-edom is not only a Yahweh worshipper, but also, without a shadow of doubt, a Levitical priest. Moreover, he is of the class of the Levitical priesthood that signifies loyalty, honor and patriotism, and resonates with the image of a faithful servant. This acceptance by Yahweh is perhaps the most crucial part of the blessing which he receives (1 Chron. 13.15). Indeed, the blessings of Obed-edom must be deemed to be beyond the duration of the three months, and above and beyond those given to his household—they lie in the fact that the personal name ‘Obed-edom’ has become associated with the priestly and privileged ministry of the ark. Even without considering the abundant descendants available to carry his legacy, the memory of Obed-edom continues—even until the time of King Amaziah. The image of Obed-edom, the faithful, devoted servant and Levitical gatekeeper of Yahweh, prevails. This memory lingers so long because, since its first appearance, the Chronicler repeatedly and successfully impresses the name upon his readers. The readers cannot forget the grace extended by this faithful servant who hosts the ark, nor the blessings he receives from Yahweh. As for the Chronicler, there are a couple of advantages in portraying Obed-edom as a Levite. First, the patron of the ark, King David, is portrayed in a positive light as someone who consistently seeks the will of Yahweh at every point in his rulership, and as someone who has no ill intentions to harm the innocent.35 Second, the ark, which is one of the crucial objects of the Temple and represents the antiquity of Israel’s worship, was never mistreated nor desecrated by any foreigner.36 Granting that one of the Chronicler’s major focuses is on the Temple,37 these two points are paramount to the overall theology of the composition. Within this framework, the Chronicler skillfully weaves the character of Obededom into his theology concerning foreigners and the legitimacy of the 35. Japhet, Ideology, pp. 467-75; Diana Edelman, ‘The Deuteronomist’s David and the Chronicler’s David’, in T. Römer (ed.), The Future of the Deuteronomistic History (BETL, 147; Leuven: Peeters, 2000), pp. 67-83 (82). 36. Knoppers, 1 Chronicles 10–29, p. 589. 37. After Roddy Braun, 1 Chronicles (WBC, 14; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1986), pp. xxix-xi.

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gatekeepers, singers and musicians as belonging to the Levitical priesthood. Obed-edom, a non-Yahwist name of non-Israelite ethnic origins, is not only another case for the Chronicler where the grace of Yahweh embraces the foreigner who willingly accepts Yahwism, but also a noteworthy case, where a foreigner becomes a worthy priest to Yahweh.

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Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Vol 32.2 (2007): 231-242 © 2007 SAGE Publications, Los Angeles, London, New Delhi and Singapore DOI: 10.1177/0309089207085885 http://JSOT.sagepub.com

The Shorter and Longer Texts of Ezekiel: The Implications of the Manuscript Finds from Masada and Qumran

HECTOR M. PATMORE Department of Theology and Religion, Abbey House, Palace Green, Durham DH1 3RS

Abstract The second-century CE Papyrus 967 contains a Greek version of Ezekiel that is significantly shorter than the Masoretic text. It has been argued that this shorter text reflected an earlier version of the Hebrew that was later expanded to form the text now found in the Masoretic text. Although the manuscript finds of Ezekiel from Qumran and Masada are scant, enough data are available to demonstrate a broadly proto-Masoretic text, which contains sections absent in the pre-Hexaplaric Greek versions. As these finds predate the earliest Greek witness (Papyrus 967) by over 200 years, the conclusion that the shorter text had been expanded becomes seriously questionable. This article argues that the available data are better explained by the conclusion that two different texts of Ezekiel must have been in circulation concurrently for a prolonged period of time and that the historical precedence of either text cannot be established legitimately. Keywords: Ezekiel, Papyrus 967, Septuagint, Masada, Qumran, 1QEzek, 1Q9, 3QEzek, 3Q1, 4QEzek, 4Q73, 4Q74, 4Q75, 11QEzek, 11Q4, Vorlage, Greek.

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Introduction It is a well-known peculiarity in biblical studies that, while the origin of the Hebrew consonantal texts are early, the Masoretic text (MT) proper is the product of the early Middle Ages (although preservation of ‘standardized’ texts seems to have long predated that).1 Around the third century BCE, Hebrew texts began to be translated into Greek. So, according to conventional wisdom, the pre-Hexaplaric Greek bears witness to much earlier versions of the Hebrew texts than the material we find in the MT, but is of course a translation that has undergone its own transmission history. The discoveries in the Judean desert have brought into sharper relief the complexity and implications of this situation. Roughly speaking, among the Hebrew biblical manuscripts from the Judaean desert we find three groups of text: texts presenting a consonantal text ‘virtually indistinguishable’ from our MT; texts related to the Vorlage used by the Greek translators; and ‘independent’ texts reflecting neither.2 By and large it appears that the texts of Ezekiel from Qumran and Masada fall into the first group. This poses a problem for the established understanding of the Greek text of Ezekiel. It has been argued that the much shorter Greek of Ezekiel reflects an ‘earlier’ version of the text, and that if manuscripts reflecting the longer proto-MT predate the manuscripts of the shorter Greek text by three hundred or so years, surely the notion that the Greek text reflects an ‘earlier’ text becomes seriously questionable. The Texts of Ezekiel at Qumran and Masada Remnants of Ezekiel manuscripts have been found both at Qumran and at Masada. Tragically, only small fragments from six manuscripts of Ezekiel have survived at Qumran (1Q9, 3Q1, 4Q73-75, 11Q4), although the relatively small number of manuscripts does not seem to reflect the evident importance of Ezekiel to the community, as the New Jerusalem text, the 1. See, e.g., Martin Jan Mulder, ‘The Transmission of the Biblical Text’, in idem (ed.) Mikra (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2004), pp. 87-135 (107). 2. See, e.g., William F. Albright, ‘New Light on Early Recensions of the Hebrew Bible’, in Frank Moore Cross and Shemaryahu Talmon (eds.), Qumran and the History of the Biblical Text (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1975), pp. 140-46. A more up-to-date summary of research can be found in Natalio Fernández Marcos, The Septuagint in Context: Introduction to the Greek Version of the Bible (trans. Wilfred G.E. Watson; Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 73-76.

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Temple Scroll, and their self-identification as ‘Sons of Zadok’ bears witness. The small quantity of manuscripts that has been preserved at both sites, on the whole, reflects the textual tradition of the MT. Two small fragments of Ezekiel have been preserved in cave one (1Q9).3 The leather of the scroll has been blackened by the humidity but remains legible. The fragments (with some reconstruction) preserve only fifteen words, which can be identified as part of the text of Ezek. 4.16– 5.1. Given how little of the text has been preserved, it is possible that this may be a citation rather than the remnants of biblical manuscript. Regardless, the extant text agrees with the MT, possibly even in verse division.4 Very little remains of the fragment from Cave 3 (3Q1)5 and what does remain can only be read using infra-red photography. The identification of Ezek. 16.31-33 is based on the appearance of the word D=B=, the only complete word on the fragment. The particular form, D=B=, is found in the Hebrew Bible only at Ezek. 16.31. If the identification is correct, then, considered as part of a wider pool of evidence, this might signal a protoMT at this point, but by itself it tells us very little. Eight fragments from three scrolls of Ezekiel were found in Cave 4 (4Q73-75),6 and along with the Cave 11 finds these are the most interesting. First, there is evidence of some deviation from the MT; and secondly, there is evidence of agreement with the Masoretic against the Greek versions. The fragments cover the following sections of Ezekiel: 1.10-13, 1617, 19, 20-24; 10.6-16; 10.17–11.11; 23.14-15, 17-18, 44-47; 24.2-3; 41.3-6. 4QEzeka (4Q73) is written in a late Hasmonaean script with some tendencies towards the early Herodian semiformal hand, suggesting a date 3. Barthélemy observes, ‘the empty space at the end of v.17 corresponds with the Masoretic petu­ah’; see Dominique Barthélemy, ‘Ézéchiel (Pl. XII)’, in Dominique Barthélemy and Józef Tadeusz Milik, Qumran Cave 1 (DJD, 1; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1955), pp. 68-69. 4. Barthélemy, ‘Ézéchiel (Pl. XII)’, p. 69. 5. Maurice Baillet, ‘Ézéchiel (Pl. XVIII)’, in Maurice Baillet, Józef Tadeusz Milik, and Roland de Vaux, Les ‘petites grottes’ de Qumrân: exploration de la falaise, les grottes 2Q, 3Q, 5Q, 6Q, 7Q à 10Q, le rouleau de cuivre (DJD, 3i; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1962), p. 94. 6. Judith E. Sanderson, ‘Ezekiel’, in Eugene Ulrich et al., Qumran Cave 4. X. The Prophets (DJD, 15; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997), pp. 209-20. See also Lust’s preliminary presentation and assessment of the finds: ‘Ezekiel Manuscripts in Qumran: Preliminary Edition of 4Q Eza and b’, in his Ezekiel and his Book (BETL, 74; Leuven: Peeters, 1986), pp. 90-100.

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from the middle of the first century BCE.7 The fragments contain a handful of orthographic variants (reflecting plene vs. defective spelling), one correction (towards Masoretic spelling), and one apparent error. The fragments reflect the paragraph division of the MT between 11.1 and 11.2 and between 23.45 and 46, but lack a division where one is to be found in the MT before 11.1 and 11.7.8 Two variants apparently reflect the Greek: 10.8 (4QEzeka Frg. 1 l.6) reads J5J where the MT reads simply 5J; and 23.44 (4QEzeka Frg. 3 col. ii l.6) reads H 3JH where the Masoretic reads H3JH, which reflects the reading of a number of Hebrew manuscripts, Greek, Targum, Syriac and Vulgate. These agreements do not reflect a different text ‘type’; rather, they are probably either corrections by a scribe, or the MT is corrupt, which seems more likely. However, this does not call into question the basic identity of the text as proto-Masoretic.9 Regarding the Greek Versions, 4QEzeka maintains several readings against the Greek: in Frg. 1, 10.7 (line 4) retains 3[HC<9, which is omitted in the Greek, and preserves one word from v. 14 (93]C H, line 13), a verse entirely absent from the Greek; in Frg. 2, 10.18 (line 2) reads *EA> => where the Greek reads simply BQP , and 10.21 (line 6) reads 93C H (MT 3C H) where the Greek reads PLUX . Finally, in Frg. 3 col. ii, 23.46 (line 4) retains J<, which is absent in the Greek. According to Sanderson, the manuscript from which the 4QEzekb (4Q74) fragments derive would not have contained the whole of the book of Ezekiel, since the spacing of the text and columns would have resulted in an absurdly long scroll (some 32 meters). Instead, Sanderson suggests the manuscript contained ‘edited highlights’ of the prophets visions.10 The manuscript is later than 4QEzeka, written in an Herodian hand from the early first century CE. As with 4QEzeka, a number of orthographic variants and scribal errors appear. Only two variants are of real interest for the present study: in 1.11 (col. iii, frgs. 1-4, l.6) the confusing J of MT is omitted; and in 1.22 (4QEzekb col. v, frg. 6 ii, l.4) reads )EH>5H against 7. Sanderson, ‘Ezekiel’, p. 209. A view supported by Lawrence A. Sinclair in his ‘A Qumran Biblical Fragment 4QEZEKa (EZEK. 10, 17–11, 11)’, RevQ 14 (1989), pp. 99105 (100). 8. For details see Sanderson, ‘Ezekiel’, p. 210. 9. See Sinclair ‘A Qumran Biblical Fragment 4QEZEKa (EZEK. 10, 17–11, 11)’, who supports a Proto-Masoretic identification of this fragment. Peuch sees a closer resemblance to Greek, but his argument is based principally on reconstructed sections of the text and as such ought not be granted any credence; see Émile Puech, ‘4QEza: Note Additionnelle’, RevQ 14 (1989), pp. 107-108. 10. Sanderson, ‘Ezekiel’, p. 216.

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EH>5H, the reading of all the principal Versions and the MT. Fragment 6ii displays three examples of agreement with the MT against the Greek, where words are present in the MT but absent in the Greek: )J?AH 9 (Ezek. 1.21, col. v, frg. 6ii, l.3); CH?9 (Ezek 1.22, Frg. 6 col. ii l. 3); and 9?9= (Ezek. 1.23, Frg. 6 col. ii l. 8). So, again, the text closely resembles the Masoretic, but contains ‘independent’ variants probably resulting from ‘tidying’ by the scribe. The remaining fragment from Cave 4, 4QEzekc (4Q75), measures a mere 1.1 cm by 1.4 cm. It preserves just nine words (only three in full), which show no variants from MT consonantal text. Sanderson dates the script to the early or middle first century BCE. The last remaining Ezekiel manuscript from Qumran was found in Cave 11 (11Q4).11 Unfortunately, this manuscript survives only as ‘heavy solid lump’,12 having suffered considerably from water damage. Indeed, after extensive work on the scroll with Strugnell and Plenderleith, Brownlee concluded, ‘When one considers the total condition of the manuscript, it is a marvel that we can know that it is indeed a copy of the Book of Ezekiel’.13 Nevertheless, a few fragments were recovered, enough to identify this ‘dense, unopenable mass’14 as a scroll of Ezekiel, to date it to the late pre-Herodian period, and to engender a discussion of its relation to the MT in length, order and, to a lesser extent, wording. The text does contain some variants from the MT. Brownlee notes three occurrences which he suggests demonstrate agreement with the Greek: the omission of the conjunction before (
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the copula is unrelated to its absence in the Greek; EJ9H is probably an error, which might conceivably reflect either a second masculine singular or third feminine singular. Finally, regarding line length, the evidence demonstrates only that the lines contained fewer words than the Masoretic, not that they agreed with the Greek (as Brownlee supposed). Brownlee goes on to observe one instance where the Septuagint’s Vorlage apparently omitted seven Hebrew words (5.16), three of which are attested in 11QEzek (Frgs. 3b and 6, l.7); and a further instance where the verse order reflects the Masoretic not the Septuagint (LXX) text (Frg. 7).16 In general, Herbert is correct in his conclusion that 11QEzek is ‘broadly Masoretic’, while exhibiting some evidence of deviation from Masoretic, but without any significant agreement with the Greek.17 The manuscript finds at Masada are of an equally limited and fragmentary nature. More than fifty fragments of parchment from four columns were found hidden beneath the floor of the synagogue.18 According to Talmon, the script is an ‘early Herodian bookhand’ or ‘formal Herodian script’ and can be dated to the second half of the last century BCE. The fragments cover Ezek. 35.11–38.14 (including 36.23b-38). Like the fragments from Qumran, the limited evidence appears to point to a text in basic conformity to the MT. Talmon has mapped out in some detail the deviations from the MT. There are the textual variants one might normally expect: defective vs. plene spelling and vice versa, and supralinear emendations of scribal mistakes (such as the omission of individual letters). Talmon also notes the appearance of the three letters E J 3 above the phrase C )JH83 in the locution ) )E 3C )JH83 )E==I C J5B)=) J< of 36.22 (col. ii, 1. 12), which prompts the conjecture that the scribe began to insert the expression = CJ EJ3 before the word )JH83, either as a result of lapus calami (vertical dittography) under the influence of the preceding verse, which seems likely, or on the strength of a Vorlage that differed from MT and the Versions.19

16. Brownlee, ‘The Scroll of Ezekiel from the Eleventh Qumran Cave’, pp. 15-16. 17. Herbert, ‘11QEzekiel (Pls. II, LIV)’, p. 22. 18. For a description of the excavation, see Yigael Yadin, Masada: Herod’s Fortress and the Zealots’ Last Stand (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1966), pp. 168-89. An analysis of the manuscript finds of Ezekiel is found in Shemaryahu Talmon, ‘1043–2220 (MasEzek) Ezekiel 35.11–38.14’, in J. Aviram et al. (eds.), Masada: The Yigael Yadin Excavations 1963–1965 (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1999), VI, pp. 59-75. 19. Talmon, ‘1043–2220 (MasEzek) Ezekiel 35.11–38.14’, p. 68.

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Talmon does flag up two instances where a variant (or rather a possible variant) might reflect a Vorlage underlying the Greek: col. iii, l. 12’s EH>4 H3CBE appears to reflect MT 37.7’s EH>4 H3CBEH, except for the lack of the pre-positional waw. Talmon observes a lacuna preceding EH>4 and suggests a letter is missing; he proposes -9, indicating the definite article, the reading of the Greek. Similarly, Talmon suggests that the restoration of a taw at the end of I>< in col. i, l. 5 might help explain a homoioarkton that appears to have occurred in the Greek of Ezek. 35.14-15. This argument, however, is somewhat spurious, since in reality the presence or absence of the taw would hardly have affected the homoioarkton—not only because the alleged confusion has occurred between the 9>> of 35.14 and 35.15, but also because in 35.15 (col. i l.6) the form is (EI>< with final kaph against (E)I>< in 35.14 (col. i l.5), so the taw is not likely to have influenced the scribes. These example are not strong, a point Talmon concedes: ‘the above differences do not obfuscate the basic textual identity of MasEzek with MT’.20 Talmon supports this view by drawing to our attention pluses and minuses between Masoretic and Greek: two examples where the Greek has additional text not found in MT Ezekiel or MasEzek; a further ten examples where MT Ezekiel and MasEzek contain text absent in the Greek version; and a further eleven examples where the Greek has a variant reading where MT Ezekiel and MasEzek are in accord. The text fragments from Qumran and Masada exhibit a number of variants that are all rightly classified as ‘minor’. While the fragments depart from the MT on some minor points—generally the construction of individual words (perhaps varying the suffix, person, or conjugation)— mostly they reflect the present MT. In the case of Qumran, it is interesting given the paucity of the material to note that there are a surprising number of what must be errors. None of those variants displayed in either the Qumran or Masada texts reflect any particular text family; the most likely explanation is that they reflect minor adjustments by individual scribes. Although we must caution against over-confidence (in total the fragments of Ezekiel from Qumran preserve a mere 340 words, many of which are preserved only in part, sometimes only a single letter, and require reconstruction), what we can say positively is that what data we do have do not reflect a prototype of the Greek recensions. At both Qumran and Masada we are able to cite examples where the text is in disagreement with the Greek; primarily, this is in cases where a text is found in the 20. Talmon, ‘1043–2220 (MasEzek) Ezekiel 35.11–38.14’, p. 70.

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Hebrew but absent in the Greek. Of course, Qumran and Masada provide only a snapshot of the state of the text of Ezekiel in the few centuries up to the turn of the eras. Although the fragments do cover portions of chapters from throughout Ezekiel (i.e. chs. 1, 10, 11, 23, 24, 35–38 and 41), the majority of the text remains unattested. The Historical Precedence of the Greek Text The question of the relationship between Greek and Masoretic versions of Ezekiel was brought into even sharper relief by the publication of Papyrus 967. Papyrus 967 contains a Greek version of Ezekiel that dates to the late second century CE,21 and therefore predates Codex Vaticanus by around one hundred years. By and large Papyrus 967 has been found to support the text witnessed in Codex Vaticanus, though it differs in several features (such as the rendering of 9H9J J?5 ). Based on the witness of Papyrus 967, Edmund Kase suggested that the Hebrew of the divine name had systematically been expanded (e.g. from 9H9J to 9H9J J?5 ), and that Papyrus 967, in fact, reflected an earlier form of the Hebrew text. The Hebrew text was later expanded, so Codex Vaticanus reflected an attempt to bring the Greek into line with this expanded Hebrew text.22 This basic hypothesis has been accepted, refined and expanded upon by both Johan Lust and Emmanuel Tov.23 Both accept that a long period of 21. Allan Chester Johnson, ‘Date’, in Allan Chester Johnson, Henry Snyder Gehman and Edmund Harris Kase Jr (eds.), The John H. Scheide Biblical Papyri: Ezekiel (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1938), p. 5. 22. Edmund Harris Kase, ‘The Nomen Sacrum in Ezekiel’, in Johnson, Gehman and Kase (eds.), The John H. Scheide Biblical Papyri, pp. 48-52 (50-51). 23. See Johan Lust, ‘Major Divergences between LXX and MT in Ezekiel’, in Adrian Schenker (ed.), The Earliest Text of the Hebrew Bible: The Relationship between the Masoretic Text and the Hebrew Base of the Septuagint Reconsidered (SBLSCS, 52; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003), pp. 83-92; ‘Textual Criticism of the Old Testament and of the New Testament: Stepbrothers?’, in A. Denaux (ed.), New Testament Criticism and Exegesis: Major Omissions in P967 Ezekiel (Festschrift J. Delobel; BETL, 161; Leuven: University Press/Peeters, 2002), pp. 15-31 (20-31); ‘The Use of Textual Witnesses for the Establishment of the Text: The Shorter and Longer Texts of Ezekiel’, in his Ezekiel and his Book, pp. 7-20; and Emanuel Tov, ‘Recensional Differences between the MT and LXX of Ezekiel’, ETL 62 (1986), pp. 89-101. Cf. John William Wevers (Ezekiel [The Century Bible; London: Thomas Nelson, 1969], p. 30), who also accepted that the Greek text ‘often attested an earlier stage in the history of tradition’; also Pierre-Maurice Bogaert, ‘Montagne Sainte, Jardin d’Éden en Sanctuaire (Hiérosolymitain) dans un Oracle d’Ézéchiel contre le Prince de Tyr (éz 28.11-19)’, in H. Limet and J. Ries (eds.), Le Mythe, son langage et son message: actes du colloque de Liège et Louvain-la-Neuve 1981 (Homo religiosus, 9; Louvain-la-Neuve: Centre d’Histoire des Religions, 1983), pp. 131-53 (135).

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formation of the text accompanied the period of transmission (and consequently translation). Thus Papyrus 967 apparently supported the widely held view that the Greek of Ezekiel represents an earlier redactional stage of the Hebrew than the MT.24 As Tov puts it, ‘we are confronted here with different stages in the literary development of the book (preserved in textual witnesses)’.25 Where Papyrus 967 lacked text present in Codex Vaticanus or the MT (‘minuses’), this was not necessarily to be explained, as Johnson proposed, ‘by the fact that the scribe or reader often allowed his eye to jump from words or phrases to others in the vicinity’.26 Rather, ‘they [the minuses] are witnesses to an earlier Hebrew text in which these sections were not yet added’.27 In short, the witnesses available to us reflect three successive stages in the literary growth of the Hebrew: earliest is Papyrus 967, which represents a shorter text; next comes the pre-Hexaplaric Greek sources (e.g. Codex Vaticanus), which reflect an adaptation of the shorter Greek towards an expanded form of the Hebrew; finally, we find the MT, which contains significant additional layering,28 as Tov puts it, ‘rather than taking the LXX as a short text, we should thus take MT as a long one’.29 Lust has provided a discussion of several longer ‘minuses’ or variations in order in Papyrus 967 (e.g. 7.6-9; 12.26-28, 13.7 and 36.23c-38), which he concludes ought to be regarded as insertions in the Masoretic rather than omissions in the Greek.30

24. See, for example, Wever, Ezekiel, p. 30, who notes, ‘the text of G. is usually shorter, but often attests an earlier stage in the history of tradition’; also Walther Eichrodt, Ezekiel: A Commentary (trans. Cosslett Quin; London: SCM Press, 1970), p. 12, who notes, ‘the terser Septuagint text guides us to an older recension of the Hebrew text, more reliable than the Masoretic text’; Walther Zimmerli, Ezekiel 1 (Hermenia; trans. R.E. Clement; ed. F.M. Cross and K. Baltzer; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1979), p. 75. 25. Tov, ‘Recensional Differences between the MT and LXX of Ezekiel’, p. 101. 26. Allan Chester Johnson, ‘Description of Text’, in Johnson, Gehman, and Kase (eds.), The John H. Scheide Biblical Papyri, p. 7. 27. Lust, ‘Major Divergences between LXX and MT in Ezekiel’, p. 85. 28. Tov (‘Recensional Differences between the MT and LXX of Ezekiel’, pp. 93-99) provides an extensive list of ‘pluses’ in the MT, broken down into the following categories: contextually secondary elements; addition of parallel words/phrases; exegetical additions; contextual clarification; harmonizing pluses; emphasis; new material; deuteronomistic formulations; and formulaic language. 29. Tov, ‘Recensional Differences between the MT and LXX of Ezekiel’, p. 92. 30. See Lust, ‘Major Divergences between LXX and MT in Ezekiel’; ‘Textual Criticism of the Old Testament and of the New Testament: Stepbrothers?’, pp. 23-28; ‘The Use of Textual Witnesses for the Establishment of the Text’, pp. 12-14.

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The conclusions of Lust and Tov can be thought correct in one respect, namely, that while smaller omissions can be accepted as being the result of parablepsis, larger omissions simply cannot, especially given the fairly ‘literal’ nature of the translation in Papyrus 967 as a whole. Yet, as a whole, their theory is brought into serious question by the finds at Masada and to a lesser extent, Qumran. Questions Raised by the Masada Finds The manuscript finds from Masada include the section Ezek. 36.23b-38, which is absent from Papyrus 967. The absence of 36.23b-38 from Papyrus 967 was explained by Lust as the result of a later insertion into the Hebrew text, composed to form a transition between chs. 36 and 37, in a text where ch. 37 followed 36, not ch. 39 as it had done in earlier versions31—a viewpoint supported by the obviously incongruous language of the section in both Hebrew and Greek, something Thackeray had earlier noted and attributed to the presence of a fragment of a different version (resembling Theodotion) due to lectionary usage.32 Tov accepted Lust’s explanation of the section’s absence.33 The presence of the section among the fragments at Masada is consequently problematic: Papyrus 967 dates from the late second century CE and does not contain the section; the Masada text dates from the second half of the last century BCE and does contain the section. So, ought we then conclude that Lust was wrong in his assessment, and that what we have here is in fact an omission in Papyrus 967? Three factors go against this. First, the size of the omission would require an explanation, as Lust rightly notes: ‘an omission of 1451 letters is too long for an accidental skip of the scribe’s eye’.34 An explanation for the omission is also required since no homoioteleuton is obvious. Secondly, the order of the Papyrus must also be taken into account, since the scribe jumps from 36.23 to 38.1 and places ch. 37 after 39. Finally, the same section of text is omitted in

31. Johan Lust, ‘Ezekiel 36–40 in the Oldest Greek Manuscript’, CBQ 43 (1981), pp. 517-33; cf. ‘Textual Criticism of the Old Testament and of the New Testament: Stepbrothers?’, pp. 22-31. 32. H.St.J. Thackeray, ‘The Greek Translators of Ezekiel’, JTS 4 (1903), pp. 398-411 (407-408). 33. Tov, ‘Recensional Differences between the MT and LXX of Ezekiel’, pp. 99-101. 34. Lust, ‘Textual Criticism of the Old Testament and of the New Testament: Stepbrothers?’, p. 28; cf. ‘Ezekiel 36–40 in the Oldest Greek Manuscript’, p. 520.

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the sixth-century CE Codex Wirceburgensis of the Vetus Latina. This witness is not apparently dependent on Papyrus 967 (although closer to it than the other Old Latin witnesses), so we must contend with the possibility that Papyrus 967 reflects a textual tradition, rather than simply being an isolated text. So, we have the unusual situation that the earliest manuscript (Masada) attests a proto-MT, while the later Papyrus 967 preserves a version that clearly represents a shorter Vorlage. If Papyrus 967 represents an ‘earlier’ or ‘more original’ text in a linear sequence, as Lust and Tov suppose, I do not see how that can be reconciled with the presences of 36.23-38 at Masada. Is the explanation that two (or more) co-existent recensions were in circulation not a better explanation of the data? Ought we to say that Papyrus 967 represents a ‘different’ text rather than an ‘earlier’ or ‘more original’ text? Are we right to think of an Urseptuagint at all, let alone an Urtext? It appears that Greek translations arose before the Hebrew text was stabilized, and thus they may reflect different Vorlagen. There does not seem to have been a single authoritative translation into Greek from which all other translations derived (an Urseptuaginta), although there is an obvious closeness between a number of the Greek versions. From a textcritical point of view, in the case of Ezekiel we ought not really to talk of ‘the Septuagint’ at all; rather, we can only speak properly of the ‘Greek versions’. The Greek versions may well reflect different redactional stages in the Hebrew; however, the manuscript evidence available to us does not allow the conclusion that these redactional stages were chronologically progressive with one version of the Hebrew text superseding another (so that we could see in Papyrus 967 an ‘earlier’ Hebrew text). The assumption lurking in the subtext of Lust and Tov’s theory is that at any one point in time only a single homogeneous text-type could have been in existence, as if the existing text would drop out of circulation as soon as the new text was produced. This, of course, is historically unlikely, and cannot be sustained by the available evidence. It appears that Papyrus 967 and the proto-MT from Masada (and Qumran) demonstrate that at some point two different versions of the Hebrew were in existence at the same time. The ‘longer’ (i.e. Masoretic) and ‘shorter’ (i.e. Greek) texts were in circulation concurrently and in Hebrew for at least 200 years. Both versions may have at one time stemmed from a Hebrew Urtext, but the data do not allow us to say which

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is now nearer to that Urtext. There was clearly a fluidity in the Hebrew text, so that in Papyrus 967 we see a ‘different’ text not necessarily an ‘earlier’ one.35 Concluding Comments So what is the significance of all this? If my conclusions are correct, this will have serious consequence for the way in which we approach and seek to understand the text of Ezekiel. The data from Masada and Qumran make the Urtext of Ezekiel a will-o’-the-wisp. Behind the texts of Papyrus 967 and the MT lie two distinct Vorlagen, and unless new materials come to light, there is no credible way of establishing the historical precedence or originality of either. As historical texts, both the shorter and longer texts (and the fact of their co-existence) illuminate our understanding of Jewish scripture during and shortly after the late Second Temple period. But as biblical texts, things are more complex (and this is a problem not only for the book of Ezekiel). The problem is one of authority: if authority is to be found in the ‘most original’ form of the text, what ought one do when two versions of a text exist, neither of which provide clear access to the Urtext? If ‘originality’ cannot be used as the yardstick of authority, on what other foundation might authority be built?

35. See Moshe Greenberg, ‘The Use of the Ancient Versions for Interpreting the Hebrew Text: A Sampling from Ezekiel ii 1–iii 11’, in International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament: Congress (1977 Göttingen) 9th Congress Volume: Göttingen, 1977 (VTSup, 29; Leiden: Brill, 1978), pp. 131-48 (144-48), in which Greenberg argues that the hypothesis of a single ‘original’ text is misleading since some variants between MT and the Versions, particularly in Ezekiel, demonstrably result from ancient non-MT Vorlagen rather than from the translators. He concludes that it is not always possible for the critic to derive one version from the other(s). Cf. Moshe Greenberg, Ezekiel 1–37 (AB, 22; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1983), pp. 18-24.

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Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Vol 32.2 (2007): 243-262 © 2007 SAGE Publications, Los Angeles, London, New Delhi and Singapore DOI: 10.1177/0309089207085886 http://JSOT.sagepub.com

A Marzea­ and a Mizraq: A Prophet’s Mêlée with Religious Diversity in Amos 6.4-7* JONATHAN S. GREER The Pennsylvania State University, University Park, PA 16802-5500, USA

Abstract This article supports the hypothesis that the feast described in Amos 6.4-7 was a religious event, even a marzea­ banquet. The loungers’ practice of drinking from mizraq vessels is singled out as a definitively syncretistic practice adopted from the nations around them. Epigraphic and iconographic evidence is used to illustrate the prevalence of drinking from ritual vessels at cultic banquets in the ancient Near East, thus explaining the ready incorporation of such a custom by the Samarian elite and bringing greater clarity to Amos’s denouncement. Keywords: Israelite Religion, marzea­, Amos, Assyrian reliefs, Phoenician bowls, syncretism.

Amos has long been recognized as ‘the’ prophet of social action. In the last few decades, however, several studies have suggested that the core of the prophet’s message was primarily religious polemic against the prevailing ‘idolatry’ of eighth-century Israel.1 This new paradigm has served * Adapted from a paper presented at ‘Diversity in the Book of the Twelve’, the annual meeting of the Old Testament Society of South Africa (1–4 September 2003), while serving as lecturer in Old Testament and Hebrew Language at the Theological

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as the impetus for fresh examinations of familiar pericopes usually viewed as promoting social justice, often altering previously held conclusions. One such passage is Amos 6.4-7, seemingly a description of an extravagant feast held by an arrogant Samarian aristocracy. Traditionally, Amos’s denouncement of the event has been viewed as a ‘woe’ of injustice, in that he condemned the rich for wallowing in luxury at the expense of the poor who suffered under oppression and neglect.2 Alternatively, the prophet’s ‘woe’ may be seen to have much more to do with a specific cultic event that deviated from the Yahwistic orthodoxy he promoted: the marzea­ banquet.3 Though Amos undoubtedly was concerned with the ethical depravity of the loungers of Samaria, it is argued that he was more troubled by their ‘religious diversity’ evidenced by their incorporation of a ritual feast practiced by the nations around them. College of Zimbabwe, Bulawayo, Zimbabwe. Much of the original research stems from graduate work under the direction of Professor Gary Pratico, for whose input I am most grateful. 1. See, most importantly, H. Barstad, The Religious Polemics of Amos (VTSup, 34; Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1984). Others noting the religious connotations of Amos 6.4-7 include in particular: S.M. Paul, Amos (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991); J. Jeremias, The Book of Amos (OTL; Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1998); D.N. Freedman and F.I. Andersen, Amos (AB, 24A; New York: Doubleday, 1989). For a recent reaction against such views, see B.B. Schmidt, Israel’s Beneficent Dead: Ancestor Cult and Necromancy in Ancient Israelite Religion and Tradition (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996), pp. 146-47, echoing J.A. Soggin, The Prophet Amos: A Translation and Commentary (trans. J. Bowden; London: SCM Press, 1987), p. 105. Though the traditional term ‘idolatry’ retained above is perhaps a dated, less-preferred designation by some, from the perspective of the biblical writers it was loaded with much of the negative and exclusivistic baggage that is still associated with the term. 2. Variations of this view are to be found in: W.R. Harper, Amos and Hosea (ICC; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1905); H.C.O. Lanchester, The Books of Joel and Amos (ed. S.R. Driver; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1942); E.A. Edghill, The Book of Amos (ed. G.A. Cooke; London: Methuen & Co., 2nd edn, 1926); H.W. Wolff, Joel and Amos (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1977); R.S. Cripps, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Amos (London: SPCK, 1969); E. Hammershaimb, The Book of Amos (trans. J. Sturdy; New York: Schocken Books, 1970); J.L. Mays, Amos: A Commentary (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1969); D. Stuart, Hosea– Jonah (WBC, 31; Waco, TX: Word Books, 1987); J. Niehaus, ‘Amos’, in T.E. McComiskey (ed.), The Minor Prophets: An Exegetical and Expository Commentary, I (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1992), pp. 315-494. 3. See, most notably, P.J. King, ‘The Marzeah Amos Denounces: Using Archaeology to Interpret a Biblical Text’, BAR 15.4 (1988), pp. 34-44, and ‘The Marzeah: Textual and Archaeological Evidence’, EI 20 (1989), pp. 101*-105*. Also see Barstad, Religious Polemics, pp. 127-42.

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This article will reiterate and affirm the hypothesis set forth by others that the feast described in Amos 6.4-7 was indeed a religious event, even directly related to the Semitic marzea­ institution and its banquet. Attention will be given to the individual elements described in this text that support such conclusions. Epigraphic and iconographic evidence will also be utilized, suggesting that the banqueters’ act of drinking from mizraq (BCK>) vessels mirrored a cultic practice common among Israel’s neighbors. These findings will highlight the ‘syncretistic’ nature of the banquet of Amos 6.4-7, and thus, the prophet’s condemnation of it. Amos 6.4-7 and the Marzea­ Banquet At first glance, the traditional understanding of the banquet described in Amos 6.4-7 as an aristocratic binge seems to be accurate—especially as it is rendered in many of the modern English translations. Consider the text of the NRSV alongside of the MT below: MT

NRSV

* EH>= )J3<9 [JH9] 4. Alas for those who lie on beds of ivory, and lounge on their couches, )EHC= )JICDH and eat lambs from the flock, * 4> >JC< )J=< H and calves from the stall; B3C> (HE> )J=8H =3?9 JA= )JCA9 5. who sing idle songs to the sound of the harp, and like David improvise on instruments of music; CJJ=< )9= H3I 5JH5< *JJ JBCK>3 )JE9 6. who drink wine from bowls, and anoint themselves with the finest oils, HI>J )J?> EJ CH but are not grieved over the ruin of Joseph! ,DHJ C3= H=I? =H )J=8  C3 H=8J 9E *<= 7. Therefore they shall now be the first to go into exile, and the revelry of the loungers shall pass away. )JIHCD IKC> CDH

The text describes the rich reclining upon fancy couches, drinking wine, and eating ‘calves from the stall’ (i.e. veal)4 while one reads elsewhere in Amos that the poor were sold ‘for a pair of sandals’ (2.6; 8.6) and trampled upon (2.7; 5.11). What is known of the historical-political situation under Jeroboam II makes such a scenario all the more plausible. The existing political power vacuum, coupled with extensive trade and flourishing agriculture, had ushered in a second ‘golden age’ rivaled only

4. MT: B3C> (HE> )J=8. The term B3C> (‘stall’) is used to describe restrainment areas for the fattening of calves. See King, ‘The Marzeah Amos Denounces’, p. 40, and ‘The Marzeah: Textual and Archaeological Evidence’, p. 103*.

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by the Davidic–Solomonic era.5 This newfound wealth and power appears to have been held (and abused) by a privileged minority rather than by the masses. Therefore, a denouncement of a banquet at which opulent aristocrats lounged in luxury while the defenseless poor suffered in poverty seems to fit the context. A closer look, however, reveals that there was something more to this banquet. Indeed, cultic features abound, indicating the religious nature of the event and a connection with the Semitic marzea­ institution. There are already a number of detailed studies describing the marzea­ institution and its practices, so an exhaustive survey will not be given here.6 In brief, the marzea­ is known primarily through a patchwork of administrative, legal, ritual, and prophetic texts from Syria-Palestine dating from the fourteenth century BCE through the third century CE.7 This collection of Ugaritic, Phoenician, Nabatean, and Palmyrean texts, in addition to the biblical material and later rabbinic commentary, provides an image of a socio-religious association and its observances that maintained remarkable continuity throughout the centuries and across various cultures. The most prominent feature of the marzea­ (and the most applicable to this study of Amos 6.4-7) seems to have been its periodic cultic banquet, which was held by an elite membership, associated with a patron

5. The usual super-powers, Egypt, Babylon, and Assyria, were unusually weak. Egypt suffered great internal strife and political fragmentation (see A. Kuhrt, The Ancient Near East: c. 3000–330 B.C., II [New York: Routledge, 1995], p. 628). Babylon was in great disarray, as seen in regional records even indicating periods of anarchy (p. 577). Assyria was also in a period of decline, wracked by epidemics, famines, succession problems, revolts, and rival powers (i.e. Urartu to the north), though the empire managed to maintain control of its previously conquered territories (pp. 490-93). On the local scene, Israel’s rival Aram was still crippled by the earlier destruction of Damascus by Adad-Nirari III (c. 802 BCE) and relations between Israel and Judah were relatively peaceful after years of civil turmoil (Stuart, Amos, p. 283). On the ‘golden age’, see Paul, Amos, p. 1. 6. See D. Bryan, ‘Texts Relating to the Marzeah: A Study of an Ancient Semitic Institution’ (PhD dissertation, The Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, 1973), and J.L. McLaughlin, The MarzƝa­ in the Prophetic Literature: References and Allusions in Light of the Extra-Biblical Evidence (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2001). McLaughlin has not only reexamined Bryan’s work, but also included the new discoveries of the past decades. He further provides an analysis of the various texts in the Hebrew Bible that have been identified as relating to the marzea­ in the secondary literature. A good bibliography is also found in Paul, Amos, pp. 210-11. 7. Though the term does occur both earlier, in texts from Ebla (third millennium BCE), and later, on the Madeba map (sixth century CE).

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deity, and marked by excessive drinking. The extent of a connection between the marzea­ and the cult of the dead continues to be debated.8 In the studies that identify the banquet of Amos 6.4-7 as a marzea­ banquet,9 several features are highlighted as evidence. Most importantly, the cognate term for the institution or the banquet itself is present in v. 7 (IKC>). Disappointingly, this is obscured in most of the modern English translations.10 Many translate the term in a general sense (e.g. ‘revelry’, as above in the NRSV reading)11 despite the wealth of epigraphic evidence that has come to light in the recent decades regarding the specific nature of the marzea­ and its banquet. A better translation for v. 7 might read, ‘…and the cultic institution [or cultic banquet] of the loungers shall pass away’.12

8. In support of a connection, see most notably: M.H. Pope, ‘The Cult of the Dead at Ugarit’, in G. Young (ed.), Ugarit in Retrospect (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1981), pp. 159-79 (169-77); ‘A Divine Banquet at Ugarit’, in J. Efrid (ed.), The Use of the Old Testament in the New and Other Essays: Studies in Honor of W.F. Steinspring (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1972), pp. 170-205; Song of Songs (AB, 7C; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1977), p. 216. For more cautious views regarding the extent of the connection, see: T. Lewis, Cults of the Dead in Ancient Israel and Ugarit (HSM, 39; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), p. 88; Bryan, Texts Relating to the Marzeah, p. 209; and Barstad, Religious Polemics, pp. 108-29. Schmidt, Israel’s Beneficent Dead, pp. 144-47, rejects any connection whatsoever. An up-to-date survey and evaluation of the views may be found in McLaughlin, MarzƝa­ in the Prophetic Literature, pp. 70-79. 9. See especially King, ‘The Marzeah Amos Denounces’, pp. 101*-105*; and ‘The Marzeah: Textual and Archaeological Evidence’; King and L.E. Stager, Life in Biblical Israel (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press: 2001), pp. 355-57; and Barstad, Religious Polemics, pp. 127-42. See also, in relation to the marzea­, Jeremias, Amos, pp. 110-14; Paul, Amos, pp. 208-12; Freedman and Andersen, Amos, pp. 556-58; Greenfield, ‘The MarzƝa­ as a Social Institution’, in J. Harmatta and G. Komoroczy (eds.), Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft im alten Vorderasien (Budapest: Akademiai Kiado, 1976), pp. 451-55 (452-55). 10. The NRSV, NEB, and JB translate IKC> as ‘revelry’. The NASB translates it as, ‘banqueting’, the NKJV, ‘banquets’, and the NIV, ‘feasting’. The best may be the NJPS, ‘festive meal’. 11. Such translations carry forward the older understanding of this word based on an Arabic root (rz­ I, ‘to cry out’), originally proposed by O. Eissfeldt, ‘Kultvereine in Ugarit’, Ugaritica VI (1966), pp. 187-95, and followed particularly by Pope, in ‘Divine Banquet’, p. 195, and in his Song of Songs, pp. 221-22. More recently, see Niehaus, Amos, p. 441. For critiques see Bryan, Texts Relating to the Marzeah, p. 210, and Barstad, Religious Polemics, pp. 141-42. 12. It may even be better to leave it untranslated, as in Barstad, Religious Polemics, p. 128.

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In addition to the potentially religious images of loungers reclining on couches, eating meat, and drinking wine,13 the terms used to describe the nature of their music making, anointing, and drinking indicate the distinctly cultic nature of the banquet. For example, the loungers did not make their music with a CH?<, the common term for the lyre, but with a =3?.14 This later designation for a stringed instrument occurs twenty-eight times in the Hebrew Bible, almost exclusively in religious contexts.15 The =3? is also associated with the CJJ=< (‘instruments’) in v. 5, a construction that only appears six times in the Hebrew Bible, five of which are clearly religious.16 Further, the =3? is mentioned in the previous chapter (5.23) as an instrument specifically used in the Bethel cult, thus attesting to the religious significance of the instrument and Amos’s reference to it in a cultic setting. Similarly, the loungers’ practice of anointing carries a cultic nuance, as indicated by the use of the verb I> (‘to anoint’).17 The verb I> is reserved for ritual and formal anointings associated with the inauguration and dedication of prophets, priests, and kings,18 as opposed to the other Hebrew verb meaning ‘to anoint’ ((HD) used for secular anointings associated with cosmetic, hygienic, and perhaps occasionally medicinal 13. See Freedman and Andersen, Amos, pp. 562-67; King, ‘The Marzeah Amos Denounces’; ‘The Marzeah: Textual and Archaeological Evidence’, pp. 98*-106*; Greenfield, ‘The MarzƝa­ as a Social Institution’, pp. 452-55. 14. The term CH?< is thought to be used for the more common type of lyre and occurs 41 times in both secular and sacred settings. When appearing in sacred contexts, it often occurs with =3?. According to King (‘The Marzeah Amos Denounces’, p. 41), the =3? is the larger, more symmetrical type of lyre, likely having ten strings (cf. Ps. 33.2), which possibly carried a more somber sound than the smaller, asymmetrical CH?<. 15. The only texts that are not clearly cultic are Neh. 12.27 and Isa. 14.11. 16. Cf. especially 1 Chron. 16.42 ()J9H= 9 CJJ=<) and 2 Chron. 7.6 (9H9J CJJ=<), possibly implying that the CJJ=< were specifically religious instruments. Also see arguably cultic associations with David: 1 Chron. 15.16; 2 Chron. 7.6; 29.26, 27; Neh. 12.36. 17. Paul, Amos, p. 208, citing E. Kutsch, Salburg als Rechtsakt im alten Testament und im alten Orient (BZAW, 87; Berlin: Alfred Töpelmann, 1963), pp. 7, 9 n. 50. 18. Statistical work from J.N. Oswalt, ‘I>’, in NIDOTTE, II, pp. 1123-27, confirms this. On its use for the anointing of prophets, see 1 Kgs 19.16; 1 Chron. 16.22; and Ps. 105.15. On its use associated with the tabernacle and the priesthood, see Exod. 29.36; 40.9, 10, 11, 13, 15; Lev. 8.10, 11, 12; and Num. 7.1. Uses that refer to the inauguration of the kingship during the united monarchy occur 34 times between 1 Sam. 2.10 and 1 Kgs 5.1 (Heb. v. 15). It is also used for the anointing of sacred places and objects (e.g. Gen. 31.13). Of the 130 times I> is used in the Hebrew Bible, outside of Amos 6.6, only three occurrences (2 Sam. 1.21; Isa. 21.5; Jer. 22.14) are not overtly cultic in nature.

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purposes.19 That the anointing of v. 6 was done with the ‘finest oils’ may also imply a cultic context.20 Finally, the nature of the loungers’ drinking implies a cultic context as well. Such drinking was done from a BCK> vessel instead of simply from a DH< (‘cup’, the usual drinking vessel).21 The technical term BCK> is employed in the Hebrew Bible to describe a gold, silver, or bronze bowl,22 used for both the presentation of offerings and the sprinkling of blood associated with the tabernacle and temple rituals.23 The term can be found

19. Again, Oswalt (‘I>’, p. 1124) demonstrates that the distinct connotation of each term is most evident in the one biblical passage where the two roots (I> and (HD) occur in the same context, namely, Exod. 30.30-32. This text specifies that the holy oil (5BEI>) used for ‘anointing’ (a verbal form of I>) Aaron and his sons was not to be used for any ordinary ‘anointing’ (a verbal form of (HD) of the body. 20. Note association with Akkadian interdialectal cognate and semantic equivalents šamnu rƝštu and šamnu rnjstu in Paul (Amos, pp. 208-209). Cf. an offering given by Shamshi-Adad I in the dedication of a temple of Enlil that included ‘the best [finest] oil’ (A.K. Grayson, Assyrian Royal Inscriptions [2 vols.; Weisbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1976], I, p. 20). On a connection with the #IC *> (‘washed/refined oil’) of the Samaria Ostraca, see Paul, Amos, p. 209 n. 88; L.E. Stager, ‘The Finest Olive Oil in Samaria’, JSS 28 (1983), pp. 241-45; and King and Stager, Life in Biblical Israel, p. 356. 21. The Versions may attest to the interpretive difficulty of a description of humans drinking from ritual vessels. The LXX translates the expression *JJ BCK>3 as UPO EJVMJTNFOPO PJOPO (‘refined/strained wine’), hinting at its confusion (Paul, Amos, p. 208 n. 76). The Vulgate and an unassigned translation cited by Justin Martyr (Dialogue with Trypho, p. 179, in Honeyman, below) recovered the cultic nature of the term translating BCK>3 as in phialis and FO GJBMBJK respectively, both terms used in religious and drinking contexts (A.M. Honeyman, ‘The Pottery Vessels of the Old Testament’, PEQ 71 [1939], pp. 76-90 [83]). 22. According to Honeyman (‘Pottery Vessels’, p. 83), the existence of earthenware EHBCK> should not be ruled out entirely simply because they are not specifically mentioned in the biblical text. He suggests that the Iron II four-handled krater with a ring base may serve as a material example of a BCK> (Honeyman, ‘Pottery Vessels’, pp. 83-84; followed by King, ‘The Marzeah: Textual and Archaeological Evidence’, pp. 98*-106*). All biblical examples, however, refer specifically to metal vessels (except for the few that do not overtly state the material of composition: Neh. 7.69 [Eng. v. 70]; Zech. 9.15; and 14.20 [Eng. v. 21]). The best material example discovered to date is a bronze bowl discovered at Tel Dan which this author plans to discuss in a future publication. The bowl has been published in A. Biran, ‘The Dancer from Dan, the Empty Tomb and the Altar Room’, IEJ 36 (1986), pp. 168-87, and in Biblical Dan (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1994). 23. On references to its use as an offering vessel, see n. 24 below. Its use for sprinkling blood is based on its derivation from BCK (‘to sprinkle/throw’), implying that the bowls may have also been used to catch and to sprinkle or throw the blood of sacrificed animals against an altar (cf. Exod. 24.6-8; 2 Kgs 16.13-15), according to Freedman

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thirty-one times in the Hebrew Bible outside of Amos, exclusively in cultic settings.24 It follows that the act of drinking from such BCK> vessels implies a clearly religious act (albeit ‘blasphemous’) and affirms a cultic context for the banquet.25 When the cumulative force of the cultic terminology used to describe the loungers’ music-making, anointing, and drinking is considered, it is difficult to ignore the religious overtones of the event described.26 Even if such a group of cult-related words occurred in isolation, a case might be made for a marzea­ banquet, but the specific use of the Hebrew term IKC> in the closing verse (v. 7) makes such a connection even more likely. Some may argue that the nature of the loungers’ music-making and anointing may indeed suggest a religious event (even a marzea­ banquet) without necessarily implying a heterodox affair that would have raised the ire of Amos.27 It will be argued that, even if religious music and ritual and Andersen, Amos, p. 564; and King, ‘The Marzeah Amos Denounces’, p. 42. Cf. also Zech. 14.20 (Eng. 21). 24. Cf. Exod. 27.3; 38.3; Num. 4.14; 7 (×14); 1 Kgs 7 (×3); 2 Kgs 12.14 (Eng. 13); 25.15; 1 Chron. 28.17; 2 Chron. 4 (×3); Jer. 52 (×2); Neh. 7.69 (Eng. 70); Zech. 9.15; 14.20 (Eng. 21). 25. Many commentators emphasize the large size of the vessel and link it to intemperance, including: Harper, Amos and Hosea, p. 149; Lanchester, Joel and Amos, p. 199; Edghill, Amos, p. 63; Stuart, Hosea–Jonah, p. 360; Niehaus, ‘Amos’, p. 440; Soggin, The Prophet Amos, pp. 103, 105. The NIV follows in its translation, ‘[Woe to those who]… drink wine by the bowlful’, similarly in the NJPS (‘straight from the wine bowls’), whereas the NRSV, NKJV, and NASB provide more literal renderings, ‘[Woe to those who]…drink wine from bowls (NASB “sacrificial bowls”)’. Emphasis is better placed on the cultic connotations, rather than its size, as seen below. 26. A.G. Auld, Amos (OTG; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1986), p. 62, notes that, ‘[t]he effective blasphemy of these revelers is placarded in the very Hebrew words that describe it’, and that, ‘the Hebrew [word choice] would have sent a frisson of horror up the spine of its first hearers’. 27. So S. Ackerman (‘A Marzea­ in Ezekiel 8.7-13?’, HTR 82 [1989], pp. 267-81 [279-81]). Though she does not isolate any of the practices, she suggests that the marzea­ of Amos 6.4-7 (and of Jer. 16.5-9 even more so) on the whole was ‘not condemned as religious apostasy, but as social abomination’ and that ‘there was nothing religiously unacceptable about the marzea­ institution in Israel or Judah’, hinting at the possibility of an ‘acceptable’ marzea­ for Yahweh (also see M.E. Polley, Amos and the Davidic Empire: A Socio-historical Approach [New York: Oxford University Press, 1989], p. 89). See a more forthright example of such an approach in G. Fleischer, Von Menschen verkaüfern, Baschankühen und Rechtsverkehrern: die Sozialkritik des Amosbuches in historischkritischer, sozialgeschichtlicher und archäologischer Perspektive (BBB, 74; Frankfurt am Main: Athenäum Verlag, 1989), p. 239, in McLaughlin, MarzƝa­ in the Prophetic Literature, p. 106 n. 139.

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anointing were not considered by the prophet to be inherently ‘pagan’, the act of drinking from ritual vessels was. Indeed, the choice of the banqueters to drink from sacred vessels was no mere coincidence; on the contrary, it echoed a well-established custom practiced by the nations around them, as shall be seen below. Drinking from Ritual Vessels at Cultic Banquets in the Ancient Near East Evidence for establishing the commonality of drinking from ritual vessels at cultic banquets (whether connected with the marzea­ or not) in other ancient Near Eastern cultures may, in fact, be observed in both texts and iconography. The most immediate literary parallel is found in another biblical text, Dan. 5.1-4, displayed below. The affinity is strikingly obvious; in both accounts, banqueters drink from ritual vessels at an extravagant banquet and are condemned by Yahweh through his prophets.28 (1) King Belshazzar made a great festival for a thousand of his lords, and he was drinking wine in the presence of the thousand. (2) Under the influence of the wine, Belshazzar commanded that they bring in the vessels of gold and silver that his father Nebuchadnezzar had taken out of the temple in Jerusalem, so that the king and his lords, his wives, and his concubines might drink from them. (3) So they brought in the vessels of gold and silver that had been taken out of the temple, the house of God in Jerusalem, and the king and his lords, his wives, and his concubines drank from them. (4) They drank the wine and praised the gods of gold and silver, bronze, iron, wood, and stone.

Belshazzar’s ‘great festival’ was apparently cultic in nature, characterized by eating and drinking coupled with the ‘praise’ (I3) of the ‘gods of gold and silver, bronze, iron, wood, and stone’ (Dan. 5.4).29 Further, the juxtaposition of the ‘drinking of wine’ and the ‘praising of gods’ may imply libations at a ritual feast, possibly an akƯtu festival.30 It is even 28. In rabbinic tradition, it was Belshazzar’s disrespect for the vessels that directly caused his death. See b. Ned. 62b, as in J.J. Collins, Daniel (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), p. 245. 29. But see J.E. Goldingay, Daniel (WBC, 30; Dallas: Word Books, 1989), p. 108, who finds no indication that it was primarily a religious festival. 30. See Collins, Daniel, pp. 243-46, consulting L.M. Wills, The Jew in the Court of a Foreign King: Ancient Jewish Court Legends (Harvard Dissertations in Religion, 26; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990), pp. 123-24. Cf. the libation of wine at the akƯtu festival just prior to the fall of Babylon in the year 539 BCE mentioned in the Nabonidus Chronicle

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possible that BCK> vessels were among the )J? > (Aramaic: ‘vessels’) employed by the king and his entourage at their cultic feast for drinking wine, if not singled out specifically for this purpose as they were in Amos 6.6, based on the context and terminology employed.31 This Neo-Babylonian custom, as depicted in Dan. 5.1-4, resembles that of their Assyrian predecessors, dating more closely to the time of Amos. Consider a description of a banquet of Esarhaddon described below: Assur, Ishtar of Nineveh, all the gods of Assyria, I invited into its midst. Pure sacrifices in great numbers I offered before them and presented my gifts. Those gods blessed my kingship from the bottom of their hearts (lit., in the firmness of their hearts). The nobles and the people of my land, all of them, I made sit down therein, at feasts and banquets of choice dishes, and gratify their appetites. With grape-wine and sesame-wine I ‘sprinkled their hearts’, with the choicest oils I drenched their foreheads. (Col. VI, ll. 27-40)32

Though the vessels employed for eating and drinking are not named in the text, cultic overtones are evident in the invitation to the gods to join in the festivities, the mention of offered sacrifices and presented gifts, and even in the application of ‘the choicest oils’ (šamnu rƝštu) upon the foreheads of the banqueters (cf. Amos 6.6).33 Assyrian iconographic material provides greater specificity in regard to the actual practice of drinking from ritual vessels at cultic banquets. 7.7, cited by Collins (Daniel, pp. 243-44). Also see Goldingay, Daniel, p. 113; J.A. Montgomery, The Book of Daniel (ICC; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1927), p. 251. 31. Note that in Dan. 5.2 (also v. 23), Belshazzar demands the vessels that ‘Nebuchadnezzar had taken out of the temple in Jerusalem’. According to the biblical accounts of the Babylonian sack of Jerusalem (2 Kgs 25.14-15; Jer. 52.19), BCK> vessels were among the ‘vessels’ (Hebrew: )J=< = Aramaic: )J? >; compare Dan. 1.2; 2 Chron. 28.24; 36.18; and Neh. 13.9 with Ezra 5.14 and 6.5—also note the LXX translation of both terms as TLFVPK) taken as plunder. Further, in the 2 Kgs 25.14-15 account of the sack, the only vessels taken that could have been used for drinking and that were made of gold and silver were BCK> vessels (but cf. Jer. 52.19). 32. Translation from D. Luckenbill, Ancient Records of Assyria and Babylon (2 vols.; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1926–27), II, pp. 269-70; for the transliterated test, see R. Borger, Die Inschriften Asarhaddons Königs von Assyrien (Graz: Selbstverlage des Herausgebers, 1956), p. 63. The spelling ‘Assur’ is Luckenbill’s, though this writer uses ‘Ashur’ in the text. 33. In Akkadian texts, oil (šamnu) is used not only in cooking, as a fuel, and for medicinal purposes, but for ritual anointing of monuments, pouring out libations, and in divination. See J. Black, A. George and N. Postgate (eds.), A Concise Dictionary of Akkadian (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 2nd edn, 2000), p. 354, and CAD 17:321-30. Note especially a foundation ritual text (5R 66 I 11) that records an anointing of the first bricks with šamnu rƝšti (CAD 17:326).

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Consider the well-known banquet scene from the palace of Ashurbanipal (Fig.1),34 a depiction of a clearly cultic event evidenced in the presence of incense stands, an offering table, and (possibly) a kalû priest,35 in addition to an accompanying epigraph that may connect it to an akƯtu-festival.36

Figure 1. ‘Ashurbanipal’s Feast’ Copyright The Trustees of the British Museum37

34. The broken slabs of the scene were found on the floor of room S, apparently having fallen from the ‘upper chambers’ (room S1), in the western corner of his North Palace at Nineveh. See a description of the find in Barnett, Sculptures, p. 19.Both come from the western corner of his North Palace at Nineveh (Room S1; Upper Chambers). 35. See R.D. Barnett, Sculptures from the North Palace of Ashurbanipal at Nineveh, 668–627 B.C. (London: British Museum Publications, 1976), Pl. LXIII: Slab A. The kalû priest at the far left of Slab A (not shown in the detail of Fig. 1) is identified by his distinctive fish-tail headdress, according to Albenda (P. Albenda, ‘Lanscape Bas-Reliefs in the Bit-Hilani of Ashurbanipal’, BASOR 224 [1976], pp. 49-72 [62], and Figs. 5, 7) and Barnett (Sculptures, p. 57), though the panel is broken directly through the figure. See also Van Driel, The Cult of Aššur, p. 180. Barnett, Sculptures, p. 20, even adds an identification of Ashurbanipal’s couch as a ‘ritual couch’. 36. The epigraph (see transliteration and translation in Barnett, Sculptures, p. 57) clearly points to the defeat of Elam, as the defeated kings themselves are said and shown to be serving the meal, and is confirmed by the depiction of Teumman’s head hanging in a tree nearby. Connection to an akƯtu-festival is established by another text that also describes this same defeat of Teumman and a subsequent celebration of an akƯtu-festival, even mentioning the “decapitated head of Teumman” (Luckenbill, Ancient Records, II, p. 398 §1070-71). Barnett (‘Assurbanipal’s Feast’, EI 18 [1985], pp. 1*-6*) argues that the Ashurbanipal banquet scene depicts an actual marzea­ feast, though this writer agrees with King (‘The Marzeah: Textual and Archaeological Evidence’, p. 105*), who finds the suggestion ‘dubious’. 37. British Museum No. 124920. Plate taken from A. Moortgat, The Art of Ancient Mesopotamia: The Classical Art of the Near East (trans. J. Filson; London and New York: Phaidon, 1969), Fig. 287. Image used with the permission of the British Museum and the

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Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 32.2 (2007)

Figure 2. ‘Ashurbanipal’s Libation’ Copyright The Trustees of the British Museum38

In the relief, both the king and his queen, Ashur-sharrat, sip from seemingly identical bowls (though the king’s is damaged in part) that may in fact be cultic vessels. Confirmation of their cultic nature may be found when the bowls in the feasting scene are compared to those in another relief found in the same room of Ashurbanipal’s palace, namely, ‘Ashurbanipal’s Libation’ (Fig. 2), which shows the king (accompanied by a band of young attendants and harp-toting musicians)39 pouring out a libation to the unseen ‘gods of the hunt’40 over four lion carcasses laid before an incense altar and a offering table set with food.41 cooperation of Phaidon Press. For other quality plates of Figs. 1 and 2, see H.R. Hall, Babylonian Sculpture in the British Museum (Paris: Van Oest, 1928), Pl. XLI and LII; R.D. Barnett, (text) and A. Lorenzini (photographs), Assyrian Sculpture in the British Museum (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1975), Pl. 125, 169-73; Barnett, Sculptures, Pl. LXIV, LXV, LVII. 38. British Museum No. 124886-87. Plate taken from Moortgat, Art of Ancient Mesopotamia, Fig. 288. Image used with the permission of the British Museum and the cooperation of Phaidon Press. 39. Musicians are not shown in Fig. 2. See Moortgat, Art of Ancient Mesopotamia, Fig. 288; H.R. Hall, Babylonian Sculpture in the British Museum (Paris: Van Oest, 1928), Pl. LII; Barnett and Lorenzini, Assyrian Sculpture, Pl. 125. 40. Context for the libation scene is confirmed by the following epigraph: ‘I am Ashurbanipal, king of the Universe, king of Assyria, whom Ashur and Ninlil have endowed with surpassing strength the lions which I slew—the terrible bow of Ishtar, lady of battle, I aimed upon them. I brought an offering. I poured wine over them.’ See Barnett and Lorenzini, Assyrian Sculpture, Pl. 125. The act of pouring out a libation over the carcasses of slain animals is indicative of honoring the divine powers behind the

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The bowls portrayed in both the banqueting and libation scenes are seemingly identical (see a close-up comparison, Fig. 3). Each vessel exhibits a distinctly carinated body and flaring everted rim typical of Assyrian libation vessels (cf. the Ashurnasirpal II murals and material examples known from excavation).42 It appears, therefore, that Ashurbanipal and his queen were indeed drinking (Fig. 3a) from ritual vessels used for offering (Fig. 3b) at their cultic banquet.

a.

b.

Figure 3. Close-up Comparison of the Bowls in Figures 1 and 2 Copyright The Trustees of the British Museum

Such a practice is not only attested to in other Assyrian reliefs (e.g. the White Obelisk),43 but may also be suggested in other iconographic examples from the ancient Near East including the Megiddo ivories,44 a Ugaritic stela,45 and the Palmyrean tesserae.46 Of special importance is the corpus successful hunt. See P. Albenda, ‘Ashurnasirpal II Lion Hunt Relief BM 124534’, JNES 31 (1972), pp. 167-78 (178 n. 42). 41. Note the presence of both an incense altar (not shown in Fig. 2, above) and offering table identical to those portrayed in ‘Ashurbanipal’s Feast’. 42. See Ashurnasirpal pouring a libation over a lion (Moortgat, Art of Ancient Mesopotamia, Pl. 266; British Museum, Nimrud Gallery, No. 3b-4b), and over an ox (Barnett and Loerenzini, Assyrian Sculpture in the British Museum, Pl. 35; British Museum No. 124533). 43. Cf. the plates in E. Sollberger (‘The White Obelisk’, Iraq 36 [1974], pp. 231-39): Register A3 (Pl. XLII), Register D7 (Pl. XLV), and Register A7 (Pl. XLII). For probable material examples of the vessels portrayed in Assyrian reliefs, see R.W. Hamilton, ‘A Silver Bowl in the Ashmolean Museum’, Iraq 28 (1966), pp. 1-17, and R. Hestrin and E. Stern, ‘Two “Assyrian” Bowls from Israel’, IEJ 23 (1973), pp. 152-55. 44. See Megiddo Ivories A (ANEP, Pl. 332; H. Frankfort, The Art and Architecture of the Ancient Orient [Baltimore: Penguin Books, 4th edn, 1969], p. 159, Fig. 75) and B (Frankfort, Art and Architecture of the Ancient Orient, p. 158, Fig. 74). 45. On the Ugaritic stela depicting El holding a cup, which some view as an offering, see A. Caquot and M. Sznycer, Ugaritic Religion (Iconography of Religion, 15/8; Leiden:

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of the so-called ‘Phoenician’ bowls that display incised banquet scenes; in fact, these bowls may have even been used in the banquets they depict.47

Figure 4. Phoenician Bowl Cy5 Line drawing courtesy of Dr E. F. Beach and Near Eastern Archaeology48 E.J. Brill, 1980), Pl. VII; B. Margalit, The Ugaritic Poem of AQHT: Text, Translation, Commentary (BZAW, 182; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1989), pp. 281-82; N. Wyatt, ‘The Stela of the Seated God from Ugarit’, UF 15 (1983), pp. 271-77; and D.P. Wright, Ritual in Narrative: The Dynamics of Feasting, Mourning, and Retaliation Rites in the Ugaritic Tale of Aqhat (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbraus, 2001), pp. 71-72. On general examples of drinking/offering bowls in the ancient Near East, see a relief of an Egyptian princess sipping milk from a bowl (ANEP, Pl. 76) and a stela depicting King Yehawmilk of Byblos presenting a libation to the ‘Lady of Byblos’ (ANEP, Fig. 477). 46. On the tesserae and a connection between drinking and offering (and the marzea­), see H. Ingholt et al., Recueil des tessères de Palmyre (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1955), R. no. 17 and 27 (Pl. I), as well as R. no. 697. Also see a similar sarcophagus lid in H.J.W. Drijvers, The Religion of Palmyra (Iconography of Religion, 15; Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1976), Pl. LXXVI. 47. On the decorated Phoenician bowls, see G. Markoe, Phoenician Bronze and Silver Bowls from Cyprus and the Mediterranean (Classical Studies, 26; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), and R.D. Barnett, ‘Layard’s Nimrud Bronzes and Their Inscription’, EI 20 (1967), pp. 1-7. 48. From E.F. Beach, ‘The Samaria Ivories, Marzeah, and Texts’, BA 56 (1993), pp. 98-102, following the plate in Markoe, Phoenician Bronze and Silver Bowls, p. 251; British Museum Catalogue of Bronzes No. 186. The image is used with the kind

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One such bronze bowl (Fig. 4) dated to the seventh century BCE49 displays a banquet scene circling a central Egyptian-style motif50 that shows male and female figures reclining (some apparently engaged in sexual activity),51 eating, and drinking. It also shows a ritual procession of musicians followed by a votary with an upraised bowl.52

a.

b.

Figure 5. Close-up Comparison of the Bowls in Figure 4 Based on the line drawing courtesy of Dr E.F. Beach and Near Eastern Archaeology

Regardless of whether or not the scene specifically represents a marzea­ banquet,53 the similarities with Amos 6.4-7 abound (cf. the lounging on couches, music making, and drinking). Further, similar or identical bowls are again depicted as being used for drinking (Fig. 5b)54 permission of Dr Beach and Near Eastern Archaeology, with the cooperation of Dr Markoe and the British Museum. 49. See Markoe (Phoenician Bowls, pp. 149-56, following E. Gjerstad, ‘Decorated Metal Bowls from Cyprus’, Opus Arch 4 [1946], pp. 1-18), for a full discussion of bowl chronology. 50. Markoe, Phoenician Bowls, pp. 174-75, 251. 51. On the sexual nature of this banquet scene, see King and Stager, Life in Biblical Israel, pp. 356-57, and especially V. Karageorghis, ‘Erotica from Salamis’, RSFSup 21 (1993), pp. 7-13. 52. On the image and elements of a votive procession in both Mesopotamian and Egyptian art depicted on Phoenician bowls, see Markoe (Phoenician Bowls, pp. 56-59), who cites twelve examples in his catalog (note especially Cy3 on p. 246). On the votary, cf. Cy6 (pp. 252-53) and U6 (p. 347). 53. As some have suggested; cf. Karageorghis, ‘Erotica’, p. 11; and Beach, ‘The Samaria Ivories, Marzeah, and Texts’. Also see King and Stager, Biblical Israel, pp. 35657; and Markoe, Phoenician Bowls, p. 57. It is, of course, impossible to verify such claims with anepigraphic evidence alone. 54. Also see the parallel examples in Markoe, Phoenician Bowls: Cy13 (p. 264), E9 (p. 301), and U6 (p. 347).

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and for offering (Fig. 5a), thus suggesting a practice of drinking from ritual vessels at this cultic banquet.55

Figure 6. Phoenician Bowl G3 Line drawing courtesy of Yale University Press56

A second shallow bronze bowl (Fig. 6) dated to the ninth century BCE may bolster the case. It depicts a circling frieze around a star medallion divided into four scenes separated by two alternating naked goddesses holding their breasts and two bearded gods with their arms at their side, each flanked by lotus columns and topped with a winged sun disk.57 The panel scenes show two figures slaying a griffin, two alternating 55. The damaged state of the depictions prevents any certain conclusions with regard to a definite typological correlation between the vessels, but it may be observed that the bowls are generally of the same size and shape. 56. Plate from Frankfort, The Art and Architecture of the Ancient Orient, p. 198; also see the drawing and plate in Markoe, Phoenician Bronze and Silver Bowls, pp. 316-17; National Archaeological Museum, Athens. Inv. No. NM 7941. The image is used with the kind permission of Yale University Press and Dr Markoe, and the cooperation of the National Archaeological Museum of Athens. 57. Markoe, Phoenician Bowls, pp. 204-205, 316-19.

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cult-banquet scenes, and a procession of musicians. The deities (probably Asherah/Astarte and Resheph), cult-banquet scenes (likely showing a priest/priestess attending a deity),58 and votive procession all leave little doubt of the bowl’s cultic theme. Once again, it may be observed that similar bowls are depicted as being used for drinking (close-up, Fig. 7a) and offering (close-up, Fig. 7b),59 attesting to banqueters (whether human or divine) drinking from ritual bowls in a cult-banquet context.

a.

b.

Figure 7. Close-up of the Bowls in Figure 6 Based on the line drawing courtesy of Yale University Press

An undecorated Phoenician-style bowl dated to the fourth century BCE also deserves mention.60 Though plain, having only a simple exterior rosette around its omphalos base, it bears a one-line Phoenician inscription incised in dotted lettering on its flaring rim: > IKC>= E3C // *I? )3B We two cups are offerings for the mrz­ of Shamash.61

58. See Markoe, Phoenician Bowls, p. 204. Note also the presence of an altar and the handheld ankh. On the cultic significance of the ankh, see C.A.R. Andrews, ‘Amulets’, in OEAE, I, pp. 78-79. 59. As was the case with the scenes on the Cy5 bowl, determining a definite correlation between the vessels portrayed is not possible in light of the inadequacy of the plates and the absence of typological detail. 60. Published by N. Avigad and J.C. Greenfield, ‘A Bronze phialƝ with a Phoenician Dedicatory Inscription’, IEJ 32 (1982), pp. 118-28. 61. Following the translation by M.G. Guzzo Amadasi (‘Under Western Eyes’, Studi epigrafici e linguistici 4 [1987], pp. 121-28, in McLaughlin, MarzƝa­ in the Prophetic Literature, p. 38), as opposed to that of Avigad and Greenfield (‘A Bronze phialƝ’, p. 121), who read ‘2 cups we offer to the mrz­ of Shamash’.

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If authentic,62 this find would confirm a connection between such carinated bowls and the marzea­ banquet. It may further illustrate the specific type of vessel used for drinking and offering at such events, remarkably complimenting the iconography. Going even further back in history prior to Amos, theological grounding for worshipers imbibing from ritual vessels at sacred banquets may be found in Ugaritic texts. The descriptions of the ‘banquets of the gods’ (associated with the marzea­ in some cases)63 may have served as heavenly paradigms for earthly cult-banquets, divine dramas acted out by human participants in the ritual presenting and partaking of food and drink.64 Offerings were considered as ‘food’ and libations as ‘drink’ for the gods,65 a concept not unknown to the biblical writers (cf. Deut. 32.3738). Acceptance was then symbolically represented in the Ugaritic narratives by the deity ‘cutting the meat’ to eat the offering or ‘taking the cup’ to drink the libation.66 Human priests and participants may have imitated their divine antitypes by carrying out these actions, eating the meat and drinking the wine in the ritual vessels in which they were offered, as an act of worship.67 Thus, a custom of banqueters drinking from ritual

62. The artifact comes from a private collection (Avigad and Greenfield, ‘A Bronze phialƝ’, 118). 63. Cf. KTU 1.114, and also 1.3 i 10-17, which bears considerable affinity with El’s banquet in KTU 1.114, though not specifically mentioning the term. 64. Cf. KTU 1.15 ii 9-18; 1.17 i 10-11. See also G. del Olmo Lete, Canaanite Religion According to the Liturgical Texts of Ugarit (Bethesda, MD: CDL Press, 1999), pp. 28, 331. On the opinion that many of the mythic narrative accounts functioned as liturgical texts read during specific festivals, ceremonies, and rituals, see T.H. Gaster, Thespis: Ritual, Myth, and Drama in the Ancient Near East (New York: W.W. Norton, 1977 [1950]), pp. 129, 316, and other examples in Wright, Ritual in Narrative, pp. 4-6, who acknowledges the general thesis but looks at the internal impact of ‘ritual’ in the myths and its effect on the plot. See also D. Clemens, Sources for Ugaritic Ritual and Sacrifice, I (Ugaritic and Ugarit Akkadian Texts; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2001), especially Chapter 1. 65. See, for example, an invitation to Shapash: ‘Come, pray, to the fresh meat; yes, eat the offering-bread; pray, drink the libation wine’ (KTU 1.6 vi 42-45). Translation from N. Wyatt, Religious Texts from Ugarit: The Words of Ilimilku and his Colleagues (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), p. 143. Cf. also KTU 1.3 v 33-34; 1.17 i 10-11; 1.108 R 1. 66. E.g. KTU 1.4 vi 39-48; 1.15 ii 9-18, iv 24-25. See also discussion of ‘the cup’ as symbolic of acceptance in Wright, Ritual in Narrative, pp. 71-72; and Wyatt, Religious Texts, p. 208. 67. A possible illustration of this practice may be found in the first two lines of KTU 1.91; see Olmo Lette, Canaanite Religion, pp. 257, 259.

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offering vessels at cultic banquets is at least consistent with this theology and hypothetical reconstruction. Such a custom may have maintained continuity in its practice at Ugarit and other nations around Israel until the time of Amos’s denouncements, even specifically as part of the marzea­ banquet. Though this Ugaritic genesis is admittedly speculative, by the time of the prophet drinking from ritual bowls at cult feasts was apparently widespread, as seen in the Babylonian, Assyrian, and Phoenician examples above. If it has now been established that the Samarian loungers were emulating their neighbors in the act of drinking from their own sacred vessels, Amos’s condemnation becomes clear. From the prophet’s perspective, this practice would have represented an importation of ‘pagan’ religion contrary to the ‘orthodox’ worship of Yahweh which demanded a clear distinction between man and God; libations were for pouring out to the deity, not for drinking. Thus, this Yahwistic purist’s root cause of ‘woe’ was the offense of syncretism, rather than simply the symptomatic neglect of the poor. According to Amos, it was such ‘religious diversity’ that angered Yahweh and sent these mizraq-sippers of Samaria into exile a few decades later.

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Journal for the Study of the Old Testament NOTES FOR CONTRIBUTORS

The Journalfor the Study of the Old Testament aims to offer the best in current scholarship on the Hebrew Bible across a range of critical methodologies. The Editors welcome contributions from both new and established scholars. All contributions are peer reviewed for publication, with the reviewers looking especially for original and creative approaches to the interpretation of the Old Testament literature and cognate fields of inquiry. Manuscripts for consideration should, if possible, be submitted in electronic form by e-mail to JSOTs Administrator, Ms Lindsay Burns, via <[email protected]>. The contribution should be presented in Microsoft Word format (if using WordPerfect, please convert to RTF). For the ancient languages, please ensure that the following fonts (available from ) are used: SPTiberian for Hebrew and Aramaic, SPIonic for Greek, and SPAtlantis for transliteration. Graphics other than tables should not be embedded in the document, but sent in a separate file (as an eps, jpg or tif at 300 dpi resolution). If it is not possible to submit the article electronically, then 2 copies of the manuscript and all accompanying illustrations (if any) should be posted to: Dr John Jarick, St Stephen's House, 16 Marston Street, Oxford 0X4 1JX, England. All manuscripts submitted for consideration should be in grammatical, idiomatic English, consistently employing gender-inclusive language where appropriate. Authors for whom English is not their native tongue are asked to have their manuscripts checked for errors in language and style prior to submission. Quotations from other languages (e.g. German, French) should be translated if in the main text; the original may be reproduced in a footnote if it is important. Either British spelling (for British and non-American contributors) or American spelling (for American contributors only) should be used; please do not mix spelling conventions. Either social-scientific (i.e. author-date) referencing or traditional footnote style is acceptable. Biblical references should be given in the following style: Gen. 4.2; Isa. 34.14-15; Eccl. 10-12 (note that full verse or chapter numbers should be given, not f. or ff). Quotations should be enclosed in single quotation marks, double quotation marks being reserved for quotations within a quoted sentence. Manuscripts or files sent for consideration must be complete, including all necessary bibliographical details, illustrations/charts/tables, and the text and footnotes (or endnotes) all set out in double-spaced lines. The author's name should not appear on the manuscript, but please ensure that in the covering e-mail or letter the name and full contact details (including postal address and telephone number) of the author are clearly given. Authors of accepted manuscripts will be required to assign copyright to SAGE Publications, subject to retaining their right to reuse the material in other publications written or edited by themselves and due to be published at least one year after initial publication in the journal. Accepted articles cannot be published in the absence of the signed copyright form. Authors will be given one copy of the journal and 25 credits for the downloading of electronic proofs of their article. Books for review should be sent to Professor John Day, Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford 0X2 6QA, England.

Journal for the Study of the Old Testament D e c e m b e r 2007

Volume 32.2 CONTENTS EVELINE J. VAN D E R S T E E N A N D KLAAS A.D.

SMELIK

139-162

King Mesha and the Tribe of D i b o n JAMES C. O K O Y E

163-175

Sarah and Hagar: Genesis 16 and 21 S T E V E N D. M A S O N

Another Flood? Genesis 9 and Isaiah's Broken Eternal Covenant ANDREW HOCK-SOON

177-198

NG

Revisiting Judges 19: A Gothic Perspective

199-215

NANCY TAN

T h e Chronicler's O b e d - e d o m ' : A Foreigner a n d / o r a Lévite? H E C T O R M.

217-230

PATMORE

T h e Shorter and Longer Texts of Ezekiel: T h e Implications of the Manuscript Finds from Masada and Q u m r a n

231-242

J O N A T H A N S. G R E E R

A Marzeah and a Mizraq: A Prophet's Mêlée with Religious Diversity in Amos 6.4-7

®SAGE Publications www.sagepublications.com

243-262

0309-0892(200712)31:2; 1-4